The Sanders Saga

by N. C. Reed

  “No ma'am,” Clay shook his head. “I'm out. Done.”

  “So you're here for good then?” she asked hopefully.

  “If you'll have me I am,” he smiled slightly right before a wooden spoon crashed into the top of his head.

  “That's for insinuating I wouldn't have you,” she told him flatly. “This is wonderful!” she changed just as suddenly, wrapping her arms around him once more. “I thought you were just here for a few days!”

  “No, I'm here for the duration,” he said.

  But I don't know what the duration will be, or what it will be like. Just a vague idea and a lot of half made plans, He thought to himself as his mother hugged him again.

  But then he couldn't tell them any of that. Certainly, not yet and probably not at all.

  “What are you planning on doing?” Gordon asked.

  “For a while just working here with you unless you don't need me,” Clay admitted.

  “There's always work to do around here,” Gordon laughed. “Everyone works at something else and then works here too. You planning on just working here for a while?”

  “That's the plan,” Clay nodded. “Maybe that will help you out. All I charge is room and board,” he laughed.

  “We 'll have to see if you're worth what you eat,” Gordon cracked. “For now, we better go and see the Old Man. He'll be wondering-”

  “What in tar-nation was that law here for?” a scratchy voice cut him off neatly. All three turned toward the voice to see Leon Sanders standing in the back door, staff in his gnarled right hand as he leaned on it only slightly. Tall, still broad despite his advanced years, Leon, The Old Man as everyone called him, was something of a legend in Calhoun, though not always in a good way.

  “What are Pepper's boys doing out here in the mid-” Leon cut himself off as he noted Clay for the first time.

  “Clayton?” he asked, squinting only a bit. “Boy, is that you?” he demanded.

  “Yes sir,” Clay replied, standing and crossing to where Leon stood.

  “I should o' knowed you was here when I heard one of them packs o' coyotes had been tore up at the diner,” Leon smirked. “You always was short on any kind of tolerance for bullshit, boy,” he grinned outright. Clay laughed as he gingerly hugged the old man.

  “All right, all right,” Leon pushed him away after a minute. “Get off me, boy, before you get all mushy. I ain't no woman! Let me look at you,” he ordered, pulling glasses from the bib pocket of his overalls and placing them on his face.

  He studied his grandson for a full minute as Clay withstood the scrutiny. Finally, the Old Man nodded, pulling the glasses off and returning them to his pocket.

  “You done been a ways, ain't you son?” he said softly, so softly that Clay's parents almost didn't hear.

  “Some,” Clay nodded but made no other reply.

  “How long you here for?”

  “I'm home for good, Pa,” Clay told him. Leon's right hand reached out and slapped Clay's left shoulder firmly.

  “Best news I've had in a while that is!” he grinned broadly. “Since you're here you can take me to town.” He turned toward the door.

  “Uh, now?” Clay asked, frowning.

  “No, next week,” Leon shot back. “Of course now! I mentioned it now didn't I?”

  “Uh, Pa. . .Pa, I don't have a license any more,” Clay said. “Well, that is I still got one, somewhere, but it's long expired.”

  “Did you forget how to drive?” Leon demanded.

  “No, I just can't legally drive here,” Clay tried again.

  “Dad, I'll drive you,” Gordon sighed, getting to his feet. “Clay, if you want to come along we can take you by the license station and see about getting yours renewed.”

  “Okay,” Clay nodded. “You got time for me to get cleaned up and changed first?” he asked.

  “We'll wait,” Leon nodded. “Get on with it.”

  “Good to see you too, Pa,” Clay grinned.

  -

  Peabody had not changed near as much as Clay had imagined based on everything else. Some old haunts were gone of course, replaced by new buildings or in one case a parking lot for the new court house.

  “Where did you need to go, Pa?” Gordon asked.

  “Needed some snuff,” the old man replied.

  “Dad you could have got that in Jordan!” his son complained.

  “Could have, but I didn't,” Leon nodded. “Sides, boy needs his license to work on the farm, don't he?”

  “That's true,” Gordon nodded in resignation. “Clay, you got any ID?”

  “Yes sir,” his son replied from the back seat of the crew cab truck. “Got my old license. Found it in my bag. I thought I kept it. Never needed it in the Army,” he shrugged.

  “Military ID serves as license, don't it?” Gordon asked.

  “Yes sir,” Clay replied, but said nothing else. His father steered the big truck into the parking lot of the Department of Safety Driver Testing Center, a newer looking building in the heart of Peabody.

  “There really enough people around to justify this?” Clay asked.

  “I guess,” Gordon shrugged. “Built it about five years back or so. State did a lot of that kind of stuff of late.”

  Clay nodded and opened the door.

  “You go and get Pa's snuff,” he grinned. “I'll see if I can get a license and that way I can bring him next time.”

  “We'll be back in a few minutes,” Gordon promised. Clay left the truck and made his way into the building.

  “Something riding him,” Leon said at once as Gordon back away.

  “Imagine a lot's eating him, considering how he spent the last ten years,” Gordon replied. “Not to mention he just killed a man a few hours ago.”

  “No, it's something else,” Leon shook his head. “Something connected, maybe, but it ain't got nothing to do with the Army direct like. He looks like a man with a monster chasing him.”

  “Didn't know you believed in monsters, Dad,” Gordon teased. The Old Man turned a stony look on his son.

  “All kind of monsters in the world, son.”

  -

  Gordon followed Leon into the tobacco store, enjoying the smells. He wasn't a smoker and rarely used any kind of tobacco but the smell of this place, especially pipe tobacco, was always welcome to him.

  “Hello, Mister Sanders,” a pretty young brunette behind the counter said. “It's good to see you today. How are you?”

  “I'm old and wrinkled dear,” Leon smiled back. “If I was just ten years younger I'd knock your old man on the head and steal you!” he threatened with a grin.

  “If you were ten years younger I'd let you!” the girl giggled. “Are you here to see Mister Bert?”

  “I am,” Leon nodded.

  “He's in his office,” she pointed to the door behind the counter. Leon looked at Gordon.

  “Find something to amuse yourself while I see about this.”

  “Yes Pa,” Gordon sighed, shaking his head. He had learned not to be too aggravated when his father treated him like this. With grown grandchildren, being treated like a child could grate on a man if he let it, but Gordon took it in stride. It was just one of the things that made Leon . . . well, Leon.

  He perused the racks of stuff in the store, purchased a Coke, and on a whim a one dollar lottery scratch off ticket. He won five dollars and put it in his pocket, having paid for the initial ticket and his soft drink.

  “Too bad I can't do that every day,” he grinned at the girl, who smiled.

  “Do what every day?” Leon demanded as he came back out into the store, stuffing a small brown bag into his pocket as he did so. He picked up several containers of Garrett and held them up.

  “Put these on my ticket, Giggles!” he told the girl, who promptly giggled and nodded. Leon was at the door by then and turned to look back at Gordon who had yet to move.

  “You coming?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  -

  Clay found that gett
ing a driver's license was no easy task despite all the new equipment. He walked to the counter where a balding fat man in a uniform that had to be a least two sizes too small sat on a stool that Clay honestly felt sorry for. A name tag on the uniform said 'Franks'.

  “I need to see if my-” Clay began but 'Franks' cut him right off.

  “Please take a number and have a seat, sir,” he pointed to a roller that dispensed small, numbered tags.

  Looking around him to verify that no one else was there, Clay sighed and took the number. Seventeen. He turned away from the counter and walked to where maybe twenty chairs were arranged in almost rows. Just as his butt was about to make contact with the chair, Franks took the microphone in hand and said;

  “Seventeen.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Clay grumbled as he got back to is feet and walked back to see Franks.

  “How can I help you today, sir?” Franks asked, as if he hadn't just spoken to Clay seconds before.

  “I need to see if my license can be renewed or if I have to get a new one,” Clay told him. “If I need a new one then I'd like to test for it.”

  “You have your old license?” Franks asked. Clay nodded and handed it over.

  “This is six years out of date,” Franks observed. “How have you been driving for six years without a valid license?” he demanded.

  “Well, you don't actually have to have a license to operate a vehicle,” Clay pointed out. “You just need a license to do it legally. But to answer your question, I-”

  “You think this is a laughing matter?” Franks cut him off again. “I could write you a citation right now for driving on this!” he waved the expired license around.

  “Except I'm not driving,” Clay reminded him. “Didn't even drive here. My father brought me. As I was saying, I've been out-”

  “You can't tell me that you've gone six years without operating a motor vehicle in some capacity and that means you were driving illegally!” Franks was like a Chihuahua with lockjaw. He just wasn't going to let this go.

  “I've been out of the country for almost ten years!” Clay shot back, trying to get his words in before Franks could spout off again. “And I don't need a license to operate a vehicle with a military ID!”

  “What's the problem here?” a woman wearing the same uniform as Franks, albeit much better, stepped up. “Why are you yelling?” she asked Clay. She had shoulder length brown hair, pretty green eyes and he would bet his life savings that uniform was covering a truly wonderful looking-

  “Sir, I asked you a question,” she broke his train of thought. Her name tag, much more pleasingly displayed than Franks', said Cole.

  “I thought you were talking to him, sorry,” Clay replied. “I wasn't yelling, or at least I didn't mean to be. Mister Franks here was overly excited by my expired license and was threatening to cite me for illegal operation of a motor vehicle, even though I am not, in fact, operating such vehicle. I came to see if my license could be renewed or if I have to test for a new one.”

  Cole took the license from Franks and looked at it.

  “Six years?” she looked up at him.

  “I've been out of the country on active duty,” Clay nodded.

  “For six years?” she looked surprised.

  “Closer to ten, actually,” he admitted.

  “Wow,” she said softly. “Do you have your military ID?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he nodded, producing a sheaf of papers. She glanced at the name and photo and returned them without going further, for which he was thankful.

  “No reason not to renew them,” she told Franks. “He's been on active duty, technically still is according to his paperwork, and is covered by the military service laws. Fix him up,” she ordered. “Thanks for your service Mister Sanders,” she smiled at him and Clay was sure he heard angels singing.

  “Ain't you done yet?” the Devil interrupted the choir as he turned to see Leon standing there, staring at him.

  “We're getting there,” he promised.

  “Trouble there, boy,” Leon said softly. “Lay off.” Clay nodded, understanding that Leon was telling him to 'lay off' of Officer Cole. And anyway, officer Franks was 'fixing him up' so everything was fine. Right?

  -

  “That girl is trouble, boy,” Leon said as they got back into the truck.

  “Which girl?” Gordon asked as he put the truck in gear.

  “Stacey Cole,” Leon replied.

  “Oh,” Gordon's demeanor changed. “Yeah. She is, son,” he looked in the mirror at his son. “She's tied in to that bunch you had a run in with at Lorrie's. Her. . .boyfriend, I guess, is one of their ring leaders.”

  “Figures,” he sighed. “Good thing I got my license today then, before she found out who I was. I might never have gotten 'em.”

  “Well, you got 'em now, so what else you need?” Leon asked.

  “I need some Copenhagen if we got time to get any,” Clay replied. “And it wouldn't hurt if we could go by Tractor Supply and let me get some clothes. Work clothes I mean,” he added.

  “We got time,” Gordon nodded. “Let’s get you set up.”

  -

  It was nearing dusk when Gordon pulled into the drive. Clay had bought himself work clothes, underwear, and two pairs of boots, along with accessories including a brand-new Justin Black Hills cowboy hat.

  Cars were now parked at the other two houses, signaling that Robert and Alicia were home, or at least members of their family were at any rate.

  “Guess I need to go see them,” Clay said idly.

  “Your mother is planning a big supper for it tonight,” Gordon told him. “I'm sure she already told them your home.”

  “Along with half the county by now,” Leon added with a chuckle. “I tell you what, boy. You put a shine in your mamma's eyes today when you showed up.”

  “You sure did,” Gordon agreed.

  “Well at least she was glad to see me,” he jibed at both of them, eliciting a laugh from the two older Sanders men.

  “Like old times this afternoon, riding to town together,” Gordon sounded nostalgic. “Have to do more of this while we still can.”

  And just like that Clay's good mood was ruined yet again as he was reminded of the one commodity he had little of, and could get no more of, either.

  Time.

  -

  “All right, all right, lets all settle down!” Gordon said from his spot at the head of the table. While the Sanders' children had their own homes, the evening meal was almost always a complete family affair at his house, with Gordon presiding from the head of the table.

  Usually with side effects and muttering from Leon.

  “Today has been a good day,” he said. “The prodigal has returned and we have killed the fatted calf-”

  “Pig,” Angela corrected. “It's ham.”

  “The fatted pig,” Gordon nodded without slowing. “We are blessed beyond measure and we should never forget that, most especially on a day like today.”

  He looked down the table at his assembled family. His oldest son Robert and his wife Patricia. Robert had turned a radio hobby into a thriving business of both radio and computer work, even going so far as to host a call-in radio/podcast twice each week for solving computer and radio issues. Gordon didn't know exactly what a pod cast was, but one of his grandchildren had explained it as 'radio for the computer'.

  Patricia Carson Sanders, his wife of twenty-one years sat beside him. Tall, with wavy blonde hair and a trim figure kept that way by her height and her busy schedule, Patricia was a certified Nurse Practitioner for the Jordan Medial Center, a very fancy name for a part time Doctor's office. Doctor Webb came from Peabody twice a week to see patients in Jordan, but Patricia, another Practitioner and two Registered Nurses worked there every day. There was a small pharmacy attached that usually had to order all but the most basic drugs. A dentist from Columbia also saw patients there on Monday afternoon. Gordon had joked more than once that all they needed was a Vet and
they'd have it all.

  Robert and Patricia's oldest child, their daughter Abigail, wasn't with the family this evening. She worked as a Forester Aide ten months of the years, which meant she fought wild fires among other things. She was this evening driving a fire plow fighting a wild fire about forty miles to the north. Dry conditions had made such fires more prevalent in the last month. Abigail had graduated fifth in her class at Calhoun County High School, from a class of three hundred and one, quite a feat for a tomboy who spent as much of her time on horseback or hunting, or both, as she could. When she wasn't fishing. She had earned an Associates Degree in Forestry while still in high school through an honors program, and was now earning her BS in Forestry from University of Tennessee online while already working for the State Forestry agency. Claiming she didn't have the patience to attend class on campus, she made use of the internet to advance her studies.

  Robert's son Gordy was there, his sandy blonde hair sitting high above everyone else. A senior at Calhoun the coming year, Gordy was already one of the most sought after football recruits seen in Tennessee in many a year. Rated as the best high school middle linebacker in the state, and tied for fifth best in the nation, recruiters were constantly calling, visiting, extending invitations to visit them, all in an effort to convince Gordy that he needed to play ball for their program. That their program would get him to the pros.

  The problem with that was that Gordy had absolutely no ambition to play pro football. He saw football as a vehicle to get a free education. Despite enticing offers from LSU, Georgia, Vandy, and the always hated Alabama and Florida, Gordy had privately settled on Tennessee almost from the start, not out of any commitment to his home state, but simply because Tennessee hosted one of the best agribusiness courses in the country. Gordy's plan was to get a degree and then return to the farm. Football was his way to do that and nothing more so far as he was concerned.

  Gordon's daughter, Alicia, sat across the table from Robert with her husband Ronny Tillman and their children. Alicia worked at the local Co-op managing farm accounts, and kept the books for the Sanders farm operation as her contribution to the family ranch. Ronny worked for a local quarry hauling rock, gravel, and other stone products. He also owned a backhoe, small bulldozer and truck of his own, and did a small but steady business on the side. There were always driveways to grade, paths to clear and septic tanks to put down. Of late he had also been making extra money working for the contractor responsible for the Highway 64 expansion project, something most people referred to as the 'never ending road construction'. It did seem like it was taking forever, but Ronny was taking advantage of the extra opportunity while it was there. Once the work in their area finished, the company would move on, and the work would move with it.