Story Ettie and Don

[Kathy in FL]

Here's another in-progress story. I know this one has seen the light of day before but never on TB2K. Twenty-one chapters thus far. I'll post them all but maybe not all today.

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Ettie

Chapter 1​

I don’t know what to write or how to start but I must absolutely do something. I’ve had the last anxiety attack that I ever want to have. I will not turn into my mother. I love her but doing things her way is impossible. I won’t. I can’t. I’ve got to bleed off these feelings or at least beat them into some kind of manageable form. I can’t be like some of the patients that used to come to the clinic. I don’t have the luxury of exploding or falling apart and then sitting around while other people pick up the pieces and put things to right. There isn’t anyone else.

He just left me … us I mean. He just had to know about his family, it was eating him alive he said. He had a responsibility as the oldest he said. Fine. I get that. I do. Really. At least academically. But didn’t he have a higher responsibility to his wife and baby daughter?

It’s been a month. God has it been a month. I hope to never live through another month like this one the remainder of my life. If I had as much energy as I have inclination I would sit down and ball my head off. But I can’t. Besides I’d only set the baby off and I have to be strong if for no other reason than she needs me to be.

I got the last of the summer garden in by myself. Mom just wasn’t capable … or should I say able … in body, spirit, or mind at that point. I got everything we didn’t eat fresh preserved and didn’t need a freezer to do it thank you very much. I’m proud of that. It was my first truly independent act that was totally self-directed. Lord knows there wasn’t anyone to give me any direction by then. And a good thing I was able to accomplish it as the last of the power outages came … and never ended … that same week. And I buried Daddy myself. And now I’ve buried Momma myself, who in the end was a woman more broken than when she first had to start taking her meds when I was in middle school and Travis got killed by riding in a car driven by one of his frat brothers that had been only slightly less drunk than he was.

I’m trying to believe Robert wouldn’t have left us if he’d had an inkling of the condition my parents were in and what I’d soon be facing but I’m not sure I can say it and believe it. Maybe after he comes back, but not right now; right now I’m just angry at having to do all of this alone even though I really do understand the position he was in. He’s really close to his family, as close as I am (was) to mine. And his relationship with my parents became so strained after we had to move in with them.

The dynamics of my family is so different from how he grew up. My parents close but culturally different from his and touched by tragedy making them more somber. They rarely laughed with abandon, but weren’t stingy with their smiles. Work took precedent over everything but church, and sometimes church was the work of the day. Daddy’s grandfather a cast off Mennonite turned Southern Baptist that didn’t have a whole lot of flexibility about some things. Daddy’s father an alcoholic who got bit by the bottle early in life and struggled until his own untimely death in a car crash eerily similar to the one that took my brother. Daddy caught in the middle trying to be neither man but his own, and not always realizing how much of each of them he dragged around as baggage. My mother a woman partially broken by the loss of her oldest child who as a result tended to hold onto things rather than people. It took me weeks to dig out of the rat’s warren my mother had turned most of the house into after I married and moved out. Daddy enabling her because he just wanted them to be at peace as they got older and unwilling to see just how much Momma had deteriorated.

Most of Robert’s clan were loud, boisterous, and only worked so they could have time and resources to play … at least his siblings are like that, and the relatives on his mother’s side; his father is different. Robert’s father is a nice man, a good man, but extremely passive. He works a job cleaning up around the Parkway and then he works in his shop piddling but never quite finishing a project. Those are about the only two places that you will find him if he isn’t in church or sleeping. And that’s about all there is to him. He is more shadow than substance. Robert’s mother treats him almost like another son rather than her husband, or so it seems from my perspective. Mrs. Belmont is … well she is definitely … oh Good Lord, just say it Ettie, your mother in law is a force to be reckoned with and that you never know whether she is going to try to rule your world or advice you to death about it.

Don’t get me wrong, 99.9% of the time Mrs. Belmont means well and is as good as you can ask for when it comes to getting support, but if you aren’t careful she can be controlling … and manipulative … all with the best of intentions, but still. That took quite a bit of effort to learn on my part (with a little friendly advice from a sister in law) so I could avoid the pitfalls. I’d probably still be walking through a mine field of advice if we hadn’t gotten caught on this side of the evacuation and had little to no choice but to head to my parents’ place. And boy did Mrs. Belmont pitch a fit about it until Daddy took over the conversation and smoothed the road. Daddy understood about in-laws as his own had been a trifle difficult to deal with in the early years and I’ll miss having him to talk to and getting his advice on how to handle things when my last nerve gets to twanging. I wish Daddy had had as much understanding of Robert.

Had Robert had his space, if there’d been space for us to carve out for our own, Robert and Daddy would have been good friends. They were friends of a sort before, enjoying going fishing and stuff together that Robert could never get his own father to do. But living under the same roof just didn’t work no matter how they tried. Robert had never had his father check his ego, question him; Daddy hadn’t exactly been easy on Robert. He wanted him … expected him … to be what he remembered of Travis except that Robert wasn’t Travis and that shoe never would have fit. It was all a bunch of complicated psychobabble I just can’t handle rehashing in my mind yet again, both of them being partially responsible for how things progressed. There were never outright hostilities – both man respecting the other too much for that – but the strain began to tell nevertheless.

All of it made worse by my parents hiding how bad things were on their end and resenting a bit feeling the need to hide it. Not financially because we were all in that bucket. The whole country was and is; I don’t even think a Rockefeller could escape what is going on. It was the personal stuff that perhaps I should have been more aware of except that I wasn’t and that was by design if I understand what Momma tried to explain after it was too late to do anything about it. It is frustrating trying to take my portion of the responsibility for how things played out while accepting that my parents intentionally put me – at least partially – in the position of not having enough information to work with. I didn’t know they were running out of Mom’s medications. They said, and I had no reason not to believe them, that they’d gotten their doctor to give them double scripts and that he’d given them all sorts of free samples before he’d been forced to close his office. I didn’t know Dad was on anything except a cholesterol pill. What a fool I was. A blind fool. Looking back all of the signs were there for both of them. I just didn’t want to see their weaknesses, was afraid to, and was wound up in my own fear of what was playing out in the news every day. Then having Robert get the need and drive to go check on his parents and siblings. It was all just a nightmare occasionally interspersed with terror, like when Evie spiked a temp of almost 104 degrees and there was no phone, electric, or doctor to call even if there had the phones actually worked.

Blood pressure. Daddy hadn’t been feeling well but put it down to the cabbage we served for two meals running to get rid of the leftovers since there wasn’t any refrigeration. We’d left him to spend some time in the barn so that the inevitable consequences could work their way through his system. But when he didn’t come in for lunch Mom went out to get him. When she didn’t come in I went out to find her sitting in the oily dirt, holding him – his body – and rocking as tears fell from her unseeing gaze. Even I, with my limited training and experience, could tell any attempt at resuscitating him was useless, that he’d been gone long enough for it to start to show, probably almost as soon as he’d gone out right after breakfast.

Mom’s tears were silent for a long time and I couldn’t get her to respond to me at all. I ran to the neighbor’s and she came over to help with Mom. It was Mrs. Carmichael – stoic and unusually practical for her – that explained that we’d have to take care of Daddy ourselves, that with no phones or emergency services and no men close by to help …

Mrs. Carmichael stayed two nights and I will be forever grateful to her because when Momma started to let loose it took both of us to deal with her. That’s when I started coming out of my shock and having my first suspicions that not everything was how my parents had been portraying it. It took a week for me to be able to leave Mom’s side for more than the time it took me to run to the bathroom or take care of Evie. Mom finally came around enough that she asked me to check on Mrs. Carmichael and the woman was grateful and relieved. I asked her to come stay with us but she said she had to stay because her kids were due to show up at any time.

Over the next few days Mom did her best to explain how things had really stood with both of us going over all the important papers and making sure all was in order. I was a bit shocked to find out that Daddy had added a handwritten codicil to his will after Robert left to check on his family. The contents of the will was even more harsh than I expected, harsh enough to hurt me though Momma said that hadn’t been the purpose of it but to protect me and Evie since Robert seemed to be siding with his biological family over us.

I’m still certain that isn’t what has happened. They’re his parents and siblings. He’s the oldest son. I try to imagine how Travis would have acted in a similar situation but I can only guess. Any given day might find my answer different from what it was the day before. I’ve given up trying to analyze the why’s and simply live with the what are’s. There’s so many things I’m still coming to grips with. It feels like I’m on a stomach churning ferris wheel and no one wants to let me off. Up and down and round and round, too fast to do much more than catch a glimpse of the ground rushing up, fearing the worst, and then finding me leaving my stomach contents behind as I rush back up; the centrifugal force slowly building more and more cruelly.

I thought Momma was … well, coming to terms with things is one way of putting it but it sounds almost cruel to say it that way. I just mean she seemed … better, and that she was at least trying to cope with reality, like she was surviving the transition from medicated coping skills to behavioral coping skills even if it wasn’t a completely smooth transition. She wasn’t great but she seemed better. We’d both start crying and in the beginning it was me comforting Momma. But those last couple of days, when stuff was getting so hard to do … dealing with the garden, canning and drying stuff, culling the chickens, putting down a goat that had broken her back falling from some place she had no business being, the endless task of cutting and stacking wood to feed the stove because winter is coming … it was Momma that comforted me, and Evie too who only understood yet another man was missing from her life and that I didn’t have the energy or strength for piggy back rides or much of anything else.

I’m pretty sure that Momma had another breakdown. I’m going to put it all in that column of the ledger. That she wasn’t completely responsible and that I’d missed signals I shouldn’t have. My fault. The thing is I still don’t know if she took Dad’s meds on purpose or if she’d just mistaken his pill caddy for hers. He’d been piecing his out to make them last but she managed to take just enough of them. My fault. I should have gotten rid of them. Or at least put them away. My fault. Should have watched her closer. Not believed she was getting better just because I wanted to believe it. My fault.

Now they’re both gone. Buried side by side in the old family cemetery in a rocky patch of hillside ground that had never been fit to grow anything but rocks. I’m alone, or the next best thing to it. Evie is barely a year old. Robert had promised to be back for her birthday but he isn’t. One week he said, two at the most. It’s been a month! Damn you anyway Robert Belmont.

Oh God, please forgive me. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please God don’t hold that against me. Let Robert come back. He has to.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 2 - Part 1​

Mrs. Carmichael is gone. Looks like she’s been gone for almost as long as the last time I saw her which is about a week after Daddy passed. I should have checked on her more but there’s been so much to do between taking care of Momma and Evie and the animals and the garden; there was never enough time. I meant to, I just never did get over there. The last time I had been over there she’d been so … so standoffish. It struck me as strange then; it strikes me even stranger now and makes me wonder. I wasn’t sure what to do; asking her to come live with us seems to be what put the wall up. Honestly I kept expecting her to walk over here to let us know her family had arrived. Finally, I did walk to her place but it appears to have been too late by more than a few days. There is a slim chance that her kids came to get her and they left together but … but I can’t really bring myself to believe it. There’s no evidence that they were there. And the few clues I’ve found don’t lead me to that conclusion at all.

I went over there to let her know about Momma, to ask her again, despite how she’d responded last time, if she wanted to move over with me and Evie. Heating one place is easier and cheaper than heating two and they use propane where we use wood. She’d already confessed she wouldn’t make it through the winter on what she had left, especially with the electric completely off. Her stove’s electric on top of that.

She’s honestly just gone. There’s no sign of her anywhere. Not in the house, the outhouse, shed, creek, down her road, nowhere that I’ve looked and I’ve looked in as many places as I can think that doesn’t take me too far from home. If this was a detective novel I would say, “No sign of a struggle or foul play.” The house wasn’t secured but it wasn’t open to the elements … I mean the doors and downstairs windows were closed but weren’t locked. I did find one of her good cooking pots she was forever bragging about out behind the shed which is strange but I’m not sure what it means.

I had to stop looking. I needed to get Evie home and take care of our animals. Went back the next day and looked some more and further from the house but there was still no sign. I even walked her private drive down to the county road. That was a hike of almost two miles one way and the further from home I got the more anxious I became. When I got to the Carmichael’s gate I wanted to puke. I hadn’t been there since Robert left. The road is in terrible shape and obviously hasn’t been travelled on much if at all. It wasn’t in this bad of a shape when Robert left so I guess the wet weather we’ve been having has washed places out. Can’t imagine what it looks like at the switchbacks going down to town. I remember back in high school the road washed out completely and those of us up here were completely cut off from things for almost two weeks until the County people could shore up the road enough to start letting cars drive on it again.

I knew after looking at that road I was even more on my own than on the days I had buried my parents. I started adding things up in my head and didn’t like the sums I was coming up with. When I got back to Mrs. Carmichael’s house, I did something I never imagined myself doing. I became a thief. I’m not proud about it. I’m not bragging. I’m just admitting what I have done.

Here’s the deal. My parents put in a huge garden – bigger than there had been in my memory anyway – and even an extra field of corn and split another between extra potatoes and winter squash because they’d been expecting Uncle Paul and Aunt Pauline and their families. Didn’t happen that way. Instead, they’d gotten Robert, Evie, and I which thrilled my parents even with the trouble that developed between Daddy and Robert but for a long time they still kept hoping that Daddy’s younger siblings would show up. The way it turned out was despite the best of intentions they’d waited too long for their kids Jason and Tabby to get home from college. They should have met them outside the city and then driven in, but they thought they’d had time. They got boxed in at Asheville during the second evacuation. Last we heard the family was all safe but living in cramped refugee quarters at the historical estate where Uncle Paul had a job as a curator of the living museum.

That was in the early spring. There had still been gas then and Daddy had wanted to go get them, but Uncle Paul said they were fine where they were and besides, Daddy couldn’t have gotten into the area as the military had all the roads blocked off. Daddy was so mad he nearly abandoned part of the garden but left off after Robert promised to help him with it in exchange for our room and board. Daddy nearly went off again until he accepted that Robert was trying to pull his weight and show he wasn’t going to just sponge off Daddy’s generosity forever or take it for granted.

I had to flip the calendar to September this morning. Two weeks ago we’d been having a heat wave here in Sugar Mill (Sugar Hill, NC) but this morning I needed a light jacket to be comfortable when I checked on the barn residents. It’s still getting up into the 80s during the day, sometimes the upper 80s, but at night the cold air slides down the mountain, and under the trees it is already starting to fall into the low 60’s and upper 50s. By the end of the month the 80s will be a memory not resurrected until next year and the nights will be cold enough that I won’t have any choice but to take time from everything else and finish those pajamas and other warmer things for Evie.

I looked at the Farmer’s Almanac, something my father used to swear by, and if I’m understanding it winter is going to be early again this year even if we did have a record-breaking hot summer. And it’s time to start getting in the corn that has dried on the stalks and get them tied together and hung in the barn. The next job is even worse … the first rows of the potatoes need to be dug and taken to the potato cellar. It won’t be easy but I’m pretty sure I can manage it myself. Daddy had it all planned out and it was just going to be him and I doing it. It’s one of the reasons apparently he was so angry with Robert leaving. He wasn’t just leaving me and the baby, he was leaving Daddy and Momma too and they had needed him, more than either one of us had known. Shades of Travis all over again I suppose. Just more psychological crud taking up space in our brains creating problems that didn’t need to exist.

I wish I could force something besides dead air and static to come out of the stupid radio. I’d like to know what is going on. But curiosity killed the cat and I’ll not risk going to town just because I’m aching for the sound of another voice, another adult voice; aching to hear Robert’s voice telling me everything will be OK.

I guess I’m avoiding confessing why I became a thief and what I stole. I know I should feel worse than I do but I don’t. I’m going to need most of what I took … stole … took. It wasn’t mine. Now it is. I’ll answer for it when I must, but things being what they are someone will have to really make the case for me to be sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry for why I did it, but not for what I did. And I suppose I must admit that it’s a rationalization that I see a difference between the two. I think I’ve finally put it all together and figured it out and since I’m confessing, I might as well get it all out … justify it, rationalize it, whatever you want to call it.

The Carmichaels built their place when I was little. It was never meant to be a year-round residence, just a summer cottage kind of place, a place for their family to escape hurricane season. And that’s what they used it for until the last half dozen years or so. They lived in their place all summer and part of the fall … just long enough to observe the change of seasons … and then they would skedaddle to Florida to live the rest of the year. Daddy kept an eye on things when they weren’t around and would sometimes do minor repairs if something needed it while they were away. Then retirement and finances and all that other kind of stuff caught up with them and the Carmichaels sold their place down in Florida and started to live up here full time. Daddy used to laugh at how much time the Carmichaels spent at our place that first winter as they realized a tiny little “for looks” fireplace was insufficient to their needs. Since we were such close neighbors, we became good friends and the Carmichaels learned to fit in year round and not just as one of the summer dwellers. The Carmichaels had a good retirement for a while, but fast forward.

Mr. Carmichael developed cancer from something he was exposed to in the military. They found it in stage 1 but no matter what they tried it seemed to push through stages 2 and 3 like a hot knife through butter. At stage 4 he went hard and fast, making it a blessing and relief when he finally passed. That was last year and for a while my parents were sure that Mrs. Carmichael was going to move back to Florida to be with her kids but then the world, and consequently everyone’s finances, went insane.

Before Mr. Carmichael got sick, he used to talk about the “zombieapocalypse” saying that zombies were just a metaphor for anything that could go wrong; that if you were prepared for zombies you were prepared for anything … well apparently everything but cancer though under the circumstances it sounds more than a little disrespectful to say it like that. My parents thought it was just a quirk, a joke he was a little too fond of using. I just thought it was weird and that he was reading too much into something that was supposed to just be entertaining for those who found it thus. Mr. Carmichael’s own family on the other hand took it a little too seriously; or so my opinion was at the time. I went to college with one of their granddaughters. She told me how her family had gone kinda crazy and was storing food and stuff at her grandparents’ place for when the world came to an end. I didn’t pay much attention to what she was blathering on about at the time; she was a drama queen and always exaggerated things. However, her words and her endless spook stories about her family came back to me when I started looking for Mrs. Carmichael.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 2 - Part 2

While looking through the house for possible clues I realized there was a lot more food than one or two people could ever use in a year stocked up in a big storage area off the basement they had dug and finished right before Robert and I got married. I remember Daddy grumping a bit at the construction noise that would come across the creek that separates our properties … sometimes right as the first rays of dawn were peeping through the clouds. That had been Daddy’s quiet time and he resented it being disturbed. In retrospect it hadn’t lasted long, only a couple of weeks, so there weren’t any hard feelings. And their kids had come up the month after that and had cut down some trees and given several of them to Daddy, saving him from having to do too much chopping on our own acreage. I don’t think any of us suspected what they were really doing, certainly my parents never mentioned having suspicions.

The stuff in the kitchen cabinets was mainly what I think of as college food … soups, peanut butter, soda crackers, ramen noodles, instant oatmeal, cream of wheat, and things like that. Of course, some people think of it as “old folks food” as well, or at least that is what they called it at the clinic. Either way it was pretty typical of singles and widows and widowers with no dependents. However, down in the basement it was a different story. I’ve never seen so many varieties of dried beans in one place in all my life outside of my one trip to a big box store in Atlanta. Big pails of grains and #10 cans of just unbelievable stuff. There were magazines and catalogs on a shelf in there and it looks like they might have placed some kind of order to one of those emergency food storage companies that were always advertising on tv before things went bust. A friend of Robert’s at work was into that stuff and said it was good insurance against a lay off and things like that. We almost bought some until we found out how expensive it was and with a baby on the way the idea of that kind of “insurance” just slipped away when we were struggling to pay our medical expenses even with health insurance. But it obviously hadn’t slipped away from the Carmichaels. Rather than slipping away it looks like they grabbed onto that idea with a death grip and then beat it into a manageable tool for their purposes.

I’ll feel bad when and if any of their family shows up but for now, I need that “insurance” for Evie and I. Yes, the garden is bigger than ever in my memory. Yes, we’d been able to get things from the grocery store for a while after Robert and I moved in, at least until the little grocery store at the bottom of the road had closed and gas had gotten impossible to find much less buy because of rationing. Yes, I still have apples coming in on the trees faster than I can do much more than make applesauce with. The fall garden, the corn, the squash, the potatoes, the goats and chickens, and a few other things will add to what I have as well. But the canned milk is almost gone and so is the flour and cornmeal. Robert took the last tube of toothpaste with him when he left. There’s only one bottle of bleach tablets left, and hot water just isn’t cutting it to get things clean. Now, after going through the Carmichaels’ place I’m stocked back up, way up. It’s obvious they’d been storing stuff for all their large family to use at some point in the future.

For how long it will last us I’m not sure, but I’m positive that I can piece things out through the worst of winter, and maybe beyond that if I get creative; some stuff definitely longer than that. And by then I’ll be planting another garden if I can figure out how to till up the ground. Also, by then I won’t be alone. Robert will be back; though what he’ll have to say about what I’ve done I’m not sure I want to hear. Robert can be as big a stickler as Daddy, and on some things even worse.

There were other things around their place that wouldn’t have struck me at all odd had I seen them in my parents’ house … or in some other working farm in the area. But that’s not who the Carmichaels were. Mr. Carmichael hunted only once during the year and stopped as soon as he had bagged one deer which he took to the slaughterhouse and had them process and package for him. I can see him having one or two hunting rifles for this. I can also see a shotgun because we have problems with bears every once in a while when the stupid summer tourists can’t understand that don’t feed the animals includes securing your trash and keeping your small pets well leashed and indoors. But having more than a dozen of everything was a bit overkill if you don’t mind me saying so, not to mention expensive. Not even Daddy has a dozen rifles, even including the ones left to him by his father and grandfather and his two childless uncles. They also had a bunch of different handguns and ammo cans full of fodder for each weapon. Didn’t exactly scream security either to keep those expensive guns in a gun safe in the basement since the key was hanging on a magnetic hook attached to the side of the safe which was even labeled “gun safe key.” Pardon my language but that stuff was heavy as crap to carry back. I should have used a few brain cells and just tied them all onto one of Daddy’s dollies and brought them back that way but I didn’t really put my brain in gear until it was too late.

It was more than just guns, however. Mrs. Carmichael loved buying those jams and jellies and stuff like that from all of the roadside stands in the area – thought she was supporting the local economy or something like that; however, she never took up the skill of canning and preserving herself. That’s why I found it beyond strange to find case upon unopened case of canning jars, lids, and rings of all sizes sitting under a tarp in their shed. Some of the rings have rusted but most of them are still good and I only found two chipped jars which I put nail polish on to mark them so I wouldn’t accidentally use them for anything other than storage of dry goods.

Initially all I could think of at first glance was what a waste it all was. The house being full of stuff the Carmichaels had never practiced. Wasted money. Wasted space. That it was just going to sit around and spoil. And that’s when it struck me, that it would only get wasted if it didn’t get used. It has been a while since I heard any of the other neighbors, most of whom just lived there part time to begin with. Longer since any of them stopped by to see if Daddy had heard any news. In fact, one of the reasons that Robert left was because we’d stopped hearing from anyone else in the area and the radios had stopped getting a signal. The Carmichaels and we were the only ones on this spur of the road to begin with because of the topography and the proximity to the state land. Now even Mrs. Carmichael is gone … and that leaves Evie and I. No way was I going to sit around and let the inevitable happen. Mrs. Carmichael couldn’t seem to keep their house mouse-proofed. Or maybe it wasn’t the house so much as the population problem they had. She wouldn’t let Mr. Carmichael kill the mice, only catch them in have-a-heart type traps and then release them back out into the woods. Boy did Daddy and Mr. Carmichael have a few discussions about that one but that was then, and this is now and I need to think about Evie first since no one else is around to do it.

Even after days spent packing that stuff by hand back here, I still have a hard time understanding the what and the why of their story. I have some things figured out – or at least figured out to the best of my ability with the known facts – but honestly it is still strange. They always made out like they were living on a shoestring … and honestly may have been after sinking all their money into those guns and the food. When Daddy would try and encourage Mr. Carmichael to do more during the various hunting and fishing seasons to take some pressure off of their budget, he would always demure, right before Mrs. Carmichael would get all upset about unnecessary cruelty since they could still afford to get stuff at the grocery store. She wouldn’t even cull her little flock of chickens even though Momma explained it kept the flock healthier. She treated them more like pets than food … though she liked to brag how she hadn’t had to buy an egg in years. Momma and Daddy would mutter “you wouldn’t have to buy meat anymore either if you’d just lighten up on the animal activism a bit.” But they never muttered it loud enough for their friends to hear and get offended or hurt. Each to his own was the way my parents looked at it, so long as they didn’t try and interfere with my parents’ chosen lifestyle.

It was more along the lines that the Carmichaels may have lived local but they hadn’t really ever tried to live as a local, not to any extent. And yes, there is a difference. It set them apart and Daddy still felt he had to look after them like he would the foolish tourists that would occasionally get lost and find their way to our place.

I suspect the Carmichaels may have had a different way of looking at my parents as well. Mrs. Carmichael “made allowances” for Daddy hunting because he never hunted for sport, only to put food on the table. Daddy wasn’t against hunting for sport in general but he considered it too much of a waste of time and money when he was doing other things that paid better than trophies and ribbons on the wall.

The other thing that Mrs. Carmichael was a little over fond of was her midget fruit trees. She went into ecstasies every year when she’d get maybe a bushel all told from all of those runty little things. Momma was happy for her friend because she was happy but Robert and I had to bite our tongue every Christmas when she’d present us with a fruit cake she’d made herself, explaining yet again just how healthy and all natural it was because she knew exactly where the fruit in it came from and what it had been grown with. To be honest it wasn’t half bad but I still like Momma’s better.

Oh Momma, what am I going to do without you? And without Daddy. And Robert? When is Robert coming home? I know where you are and why you can’t be here but what about Robert? Why? How could he leave us alone? Although I know we weren’t alone when he left. This is just all too much tonight.

I’m tired. And I need to empty Evie’s potty one more time before the sun goes down. Thank God Momma talked me into trying to potty train her early. She said I was an early trainer and that it would save on at least some of the diapers having to be washed so much. Keeping up with her nighttime diapers is hard enough. Cloth diapers rock but honestly, all that boiling and everything else is just a lot of work.

I need to check the animals before night sets as well. I don’t go outside after dark anymore. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of what might be out there in the dark. An idea has been sneaking in about what might have happened to Mrs. Carmichael. Oh God.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 3​

I had to shoot a dog. I don’t feel particularly bad about doing it though if the tags on its collar can be believed it used to be someone’s pet named “Ruff” of all things. It was some kind of shovel-headed mutt, thin but still muscular. And hungry enough to be vicious. It scared Evie when it ran up on the porch where she was in her play pen. I knocked it over the side of the porch the first time with the broom I had been using to sweep off leaves with. The second time it charged it got a side full of .338, or what Daddy and Robert called “bear shot.” It made a mess that was positively disgusting to clean up but I didn’t have to worry about the dog climbing the stairs for a third try.

The reason I had a rifle of .338 so close at hand is because I’ve been thinking about Mrs. Carmichael. I loved her like an auntie, but she had this blind spot about a few things and wild animals was one of them … trash being kept in the house overnight was another one. What I’m thinking is that Mrs. Carmichael was dumping the house trash out in their burn barrel that they kept behind the shed. I’m also thinking that maybe some bear had gotten wind of Mrs. Carmichael’s bad habit and laid in wait for more to be brought out. It’s all just guessing but that would fit the known facts … good cooking pot in a location you wouldn’t have thought to find it, knocked over and empty burn and trash barrels, and no sign of Mrs. Carmichael.

Maybe I am jumping to conclusions, scaring myself when it isn’t necessary, but I saw bear tracks around the creek. It is the right time of year. They’re likely out scavenging, trying to prepare for winter just like I am. Evie’s diapers would be a powerful attractant to any animal on the hunt. So would I when I’m on my monthly though I’ve been skipping as many times as it visits … stress, hard work, and meals light on fat will do that every time. That’s about the only “female topic” Daddy would ever bring up. If I was on my monthly he didn’t want me out in the woods during bear season, nor was I allowed on a hunt if I was on it. Made sense after Momma explained it and it still makes sense. Which means that I now go loaded for bear and not just with a .22lr or 9mm from here on out … at least until it warms up and the bears head back down into the lowlands.

For now, I’m busy finding places for all the stuff that I brought from the Carmichaels in what few holes there are left that hadn’t been filled with all of the stuff Momma refused to part with and all of our stuff we brought with us when we came. I’m also busy working on the fall garden though I haven’t gotten much more than broccoli, carrots, and beets planted in any number. There are also the root crops like rutabagas, turnips, and leeks. I’m going to be drowning in zukes and cukes in short order if all the blooms on the plants are any indication. It was a bad year for most of the tomatoes except for the Cherokee Purples and the baskets of cherry tomatoes on the porch, but there are a few of the other varieties still giving. I may just pick them green to be done with them … or at least I will after I’ve used what I can stand with the salad greens in Momma’s kitchen garden. I’ve put in some kale but only because I had the seeds and Evie likes it better than Spinach, which I have too much of, and I’m trying to get her completely switched over to regular table food that I don’t have to grind up to mush. I’ve got a row of radishes that I’m nursing along and if they don’t make I’ll just let them go to seed. I’m probably going to have more cabbage than I know what to do with. On second thought I’ll can slaw[1]. Robert has always liked my canned slaw even better than the fresh stuff we’d get at the fish n’ chips place and that was hard to beat. I’ll likely wind up canning most of the greens as well since I now have an excess of jars.

Speaking of fish, maybe I’ll go fishing in a couple of days. I’m so tired of what comes out of a can or jar and that fancy freeze-dried stuff from the Carmichael place isn’t as much of a relief as I thought it would be. Momma, me a grown woman or not, would pop my behind for complaining after being so worried I wouldn’t have enough to keep Evie fed but I want something fresh … as in I want fresh meat. I am jonesing for a steak but that isn’t happening. I’d even go for a thick, juicy hamburger; just as unlikely to happen as the steak.

It isn’t cold enough yet to hunt deer though I’m thankful for the deer fencing Daddy kept up even though the tourists thought it “unsightly and not authentic.” Daddy and Robert would sometimes bag a feral pig but I have no idea if I’ll be able to do the same thing if Robert doesn’t get back in time. Daddy gave up keeping pigs about the time I started sixth grade; said goats were just easier for him and Momma to manage though I don’t see it myself. I swear their goats – now my goats – act as dumb as a stump on such a regular basis it makes me wonder if they give themselves lobotomies when they take to banging their heads together. Lord the thought of a nice, fat trout is making my mouth water.

I hope the garlic bed makes as I’m already fighting a blasted cold. I know it is from getting hot during the day and it getting cool and damp at night and not washing up properly but a cold I do not need. Evie isn’t too happy with the amount of garlic I’m already eating but I’m going to have to start weaning her soon anyway. She’s starting to chew instead of just suckle no matter how much I try and stop her. I’m going to miss nursing her but to all things there is a season. Trying to get her to sip from a cup is an exercise in frustration for both of us. Momma warned me. Seems a lot of Momma’s words are coming back to me these days.

Saw another set of bear tracks but these were heading up and over towards the ski area. I helped Daddy and Travis, and later Daddy and Robert, slaughter plenty of different animals but a bear was never one of them. Not sure I’d want to eat a bear right now since I don’t know what it has been eating. Don’t even want to go there in my head.

Went for a walk with Evie today. Pretty much that is why I am so wound up I suppose and needing to write tonight in spite of being so tired. I’m wasting lamp light and I’ll doubtless have a headache in the morning but I’m itching to do something with my thoughts rather than allowing them to ping around in my head like a pinball.

I had Evie in a sling across my back; Momma helped me design it and some of the stitches in it are hers as well. We made it so that I could work in the garden without having to leave her for Mom to watch since nine times out of ten Mom was out in the garden with me, at least in the beginning. Robert and I always wanted one of those fancy baby backpacks but couldn’t afford to buy one before we needed it. Oh well. I can’t worry about what might have beens. I have enough trouble dealing with what actually is.

Tied a couple of bags to my belt so I could forage while we walked. I know it is a risk with bears in the area but I can’t stay tied to the house every flaming second. Besides I had a purpose. I brought the radio and Robert’s old Royal Ambassadors binoculars and wanted the midway point of the hike to be the scenic overlook at the head of the trail.

While Evie and I walked I told her about the different plants and trees and what they were used for the same way my parents had raised me and the way my grandparents had raised my father. Black cherries, amaranth, fairy potatoes, honey mushrooms, and all the other things that used to be known as poor folks food and is nearly forgotten by most people – including the modern “poor people” – as even being edible. Momma, to humor Daddy if for no other reason, always made a habit of keeping up with foraging stuff like that a few times a year. It made Daddy nostalgic and put him in a good mood which was good for all of us.

Momma’s family were lowland farmers that sold out not too long before she graduated high school. Turned out she hated city life so much that she left home against her parents’ wishes and started teaching in one of those nature’s classroom summer camps which is how she met my father and the rest as they say is history. Told that to Evie also. I stopped talking when I realized I’d put her to sleep. Oh well, at least things were quiet. And restful even though the trail was badly overgrown in all but the wash outs.

Went by way of Daddy’s secret ginseng patches. His years of intentional sowing would have paid off big time this year as it looks like a bumper crop. Doubt anyone is buying the stuff anyway so I left it alone though it might be a future stream of income in case Robert and I … not going there in my head right now.

After I left our property line and crossed over into the state and forestry area I ran across an old fence row of wild grapes. They were delicious – not bitter at all – and I’ll be going back for more of them tomorrow. The fact that the fence row was so loaded tells me that hikers haven’t been that way for at least a season. Usually the back to nature bunch strips anything wild and edible within several yards of the trail. Not this year. On the one hand that is good for me. On the other hand, it lets me know that it’s bad since no one has thought to (or perhaps been able to) get up the trails to hunt for forageables. Of course that could mean that food is once again plentiful but I somehow doubted that being true … and later found my opinion to be absolutely correct.

Along the way I found some figs and raspberries too. The raspberry canes I was very careful before getting near. It would have been a toss-up who loves raspberries more … Daddy, Robert, or bears. I only took enough berries to slack mine and Evie’s hunger and thirst as I’m still working on the briar patch Daddy encouraged to grow down where the utility company tended to park their trucks when they were up this way. Daddy said there wasn’t reason to make them too comfortable so they wouldn’t stay long. The figs aren’t as good as the ones off of Momma’s trees anyway so unless I’m real hard up I’ll leave that feral tree for the animals to finish off since they were already on their way to having it completely stripped of fruit.

I’m glad I stopped to catch my breath before heading down the trail to the overlook. When I did take a good look there were what I initially took to be a bunch of tourists … until I realized there weren’t but a few vehicles there. I was still trying to figure out what was going on when I heard the distinct sound of a zipper going up and a man’s voice saying, “It’s OK. We’ve got security so you and your little one should be fine.”

---

[1][1] Canned Coleslaw?! - Farm Bell Recipes

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 4​

I yelped, tripped over an inconveniently placed rock, and would have likely tumbled down the trail with Evie if the man hadn’t reached out a hand to steady me. After he steadied me, he pulled his hand back quickly and said, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh. Of … of course. Um …”

He took a couple of steps back down the trail towards the overlook crowd and said, “It really is all right. My partner is female and always makes sure there’s sufficient security, so we don’t run into the problems at the swap meets like we run into closer to town.”

“Town? You’re from Asheville?”

He gave me a studied look. “Asheville is out of our area. We meet some of the couriers that go there. Sylvan Mackie is who you need to talk to if you want to get a letter that way. Can’t guarantee hand delivery but he is licensed and can get it as far as the second gate and they take it to central processing at the main post office. Name’s Don Stillwell by the way. And you are?”

I wasn’t sure I should be talking to a complete stranger … in particular a large, grungy male stranger … but my manners caught me before I could finish the thought. “Ettie Belmont.”

“Belmont? Don’t know the name.”

“It’s my married name.”

“Married.”

“Yes. Um … I … um … I guess I’ll be going. I hadn’t actually expected anyone to be here and … well to be honest I don’t have any cash on me so …”

He snorted. “Don’t take cash per se anyway. Too hard to exchange for the new local currency because of all the paperwork you have to fill out.” As I looked at him blankly, not having a clue what he was talking about, he slowly asked, “How long have you been without communication?”

Trying to undig the hole I had created, “I … I really should be going and …”

“Easy there. Look, just come down and get some news from Stella … my partner. Trust me …” He sighed and shook his head. “Scratch that. You can trust me but having a healthy suspicion of strangers is a good thing though why in God’s name your husband would have you traipsing around alone … alone and with a kid … he needs a serious mental adjustment on things. Talk to Stella, get the lay of the land so to speak, and take the info to your ol’ man. You’ll be glad you did.”

I honestly think I need my head examined. Being hungry for news is one thing. The temptation of thinking I could send a letter to Robert, or at least his family, is another. But good sense would have dictated I held back instead of following Mr. Stillwell down the trail and even letting him help me across where the trail had washed out. He reminded me a bit of some of Daddy’s friends, though definitely younger. He had that old-fashioned gentleman approach … or at least he did when he was dealing with me.

“Yo … Stella!” he bellowed.

A woman who looked to be forty-something in a rode hard and hung up wet way turned and bellowed back, “Do I look deaf to you Don?!”

“Naw but you sure sound it. Got a sec?”

It must have been an old joke because they were both smiling despite the tone though the woman gave me a curious look when she saw me standing there. Mr. Stillwell said, “Here’s another one. See what you can do while I go try and convince Abe he really doesn’t want to trade that axe for rotgut.”

“Awe, you’re going to ruin our profit.”

In moderate disgust Mr. Stillwell answered, “Stella the man has a wife and three kids at home.”

“Maybe the axe is a spare.”

With a cynical look Mr. Stillwell asked, “You really believe that?”

Stella sighed. “No. Steer him towards Harrison. They’re near neighbors. Harrison has apples to spare but needs help cutting wood. Maybe they can strike a deal.”

When Mr. Stillwell turned and headed over towards a man I vaguely recognized as a sometimes visitor to the church I grew up in – usually about the time the list of holiday food boxes was being created – Stella said, “Name is Stella Jackson. What can I do for you?”

“Well …”

“Deep subject.”

I nodded and said, “Even deeper these days.” My ready response seemed to surprise her.

“Sure is.”

Deciding that it would be a waste of time to beat around the bush I said, “Mr. Stillwell said I was ‘another one’. What exactly did he mean?”

“If I understand him – and I usually do – he means that you haven’t had much news in a while.” At my nod she said, “Mind if I ask how long?”

“Real news? Not since the grocery store in Sugar Mill closed. We’d get a stray signal here and there on the radio but when the power went off – almost two months now – little to nothing … might as well say nothing it was so little. That’s why my husband went …”

Too late. And Stella caught it before I could retract what I said. “Aw geez. If you almost said what I think you said you keep that to yourself from here on out. Don’t even say anything to Don. You hear?”

“Yes,” I said tightly. “Contrary to the way I’m acting at the moment I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Happens to the best of us Honey. We get lonesome. It is in the female genes. I’ve made a few mistakes in my time but try and not make the same one twice … especially one that makes you vulnerable. Believe me, the world is a place where you need to control those needs and who knows about them.” She stopped as if she was debating something and then asked, “So your man went off? Looking for something?”

“His family.”

“Better than some reasons I’ve heard.” Stella drew me over to a folding table covered in what looked like account books and maps. “Just pretend we’re having a friendly conversation, so we don’t draw too much notice. You don’t need no nosey busy body getting in your business … and that includes Don.”

“Uh …”

“Don’t get me wrong, Don’s a good man but he’s got some kind of complex.”

“A … complex?”

“Yeah. He’s a … well the man is normally the best business partner I could ask for but I gotta admit that he is a soft touch for some things. Women and kids and old folks are at the top of the list. You cover two of ‘em just by drawing breath. And if he thinks you need looking after he’ll be worse than a bunch of hitchhikers in a horse blanket to get rid of. Unless of course that is what you are looking for?”

“God no. I’ve got enough trouble as it is.”

Stella laughed and said, “Well, that sums up the lot of most of us women. And as Don is working out as a partner better than my previous one did I’d hate to lose him so soon. So let’s see what I can tell you. You said it’s been about two months since you’ve heard anything?”

“About that. Definitely not since the power went out which is just about as long.”

Stella sighed and nodded. “That would have been the fire.”

“Fire?!”

“Yep, lightning strike but the rain kept it from going far. But with no replacement parts because of the embargoes, they had to cannibalize some of the other switching stations and several rural areas got the short straw. ‘Course given the current restrictions it doesn’t much matter these days even in Asheville. If you get electric one day out of three you should consider yourself well and truly blessed. Not even the military has it every day except in the command centers.”

“So, most of the surrounding area is just as dark as we are.”

“Sure is Honey. Next thing is there’s been ….”

She filled me up with so much news I still haven’t processed it all. Things are horrible all over; better in some places, worse in others but overall, nothing like it used to be except for a few who insist on playacting like it is. And the War is officially declared and getting meaner by the day though military action on our continental land is still rare, though not so in Hawaii and Alaska and the Protectorates. There have been some large terror actions but not as many as was anticipated. The ferocity of the locals against “suspicious foreigners” has made some pull their heads in like turtles. That’s bad enough but it gets worse. There are people that are honestly starving in the streets. And Daddy and Momma aren’t the only people to have died from a lack of medication and medical attention. It goes on and on. Lack of sanitation in some cities has created its own set of problems including some nasty viral and bacterial outbreaks the likes our country hasn’t seen since the 1800s and an explosion in the rodent populations. Too much to think about. Too much to worry about.

Stella told me to take a look around to get the feel of how the Swap Meets work. “This particular one is on the first Friday of every month. We’ve got ‘em spaced out the best we can … and we aren’t the only ones doing it. I am gonna warn you though that not all of them take security as seriously as we do. Some men have just started to … might have been all along … hmmm … how do I put this …”

“Shown themselves to be jackasses with no manners?” I asked seeing as she was having trouble coming up with a good descriptive.

“That’s only part of it Sugar. What you must remember is people in general – both sexes – only have a thin veneer of civilization to ‘em and most of that is only there because they have to to function and survive. All that stuff is starting to crack and peel away in people. Some – like Don – are trying to hold onto theirs, but not even Don is who he used to be.”

“And that would be?”

“Was a guidance counselor slash assistant principal in some ritzy private school.”

I turned to look at Mr. Stillwell and then turned back to Stella. “If we’d had one that looked like that when I was in school more girls might have listened.”

Stella laughed and said, “Oh don’t act like it’s been that long ago.”

“Long enough … I’m nearly 26. Never mind and tell me to shut up, it’s just been too long since I had anyone but Evie here to have a conversation with.”

Stella turned serious. “You’ve got no one?”

Having cried all the tears I’ve got back when it happened, I explained about Daddy and Momma and Mrs. Carmichael and that I was doing ok.

“Well keep your location to yourself. You recognize anyone here at the swap meet?”

“A couple but not to speak to. They would have known my parents though so I’d just as soon not … put my situation out there. At least not until Robert comes back.”

Stella remained serious and said, “That’s showing some brains so maybe you have more than hair up top of your head. But … and don’t take this the wrong way Honey … you need to get realistic about that husband of yours. A man takes off – for a good reason or not – and is two months late coming home? Sugar … the longer he is gone the less likely he is coming home.”

“Robert isn’t like that.”

“I’m not saying he set out for it to be that way but there’s a lot of … there’s been a lot of sickness and violence and maybe he meant to come home and just can’t.”

Realistically I have to admit the thought has been trying to creep in. I still don’t want to think about it. I have to have hope … faith in Robert. Until I have proof … I just don’t want to think about it right now.

I didn’t want to think about it then either and Stella didn’t push. Instead she said, “Just take a look around. Get a feel for things. The way this type of business is starting to pick up for us as the competition is beginning to thin out we may move the schedule around and do two days in the same location rather than just one per month.”

Stella obviously needed to get back to work as people had started coming over and crowding near like they wanted her attention and I’d honestly just had enough as well. I headed off towards the other folding tables to see what people were selling.

 

[Lake Lili]

Thanks Kathy!
Lili

 

[Kathy in FL]

Thanks Kathy!
Lili

I'll get more up tomorrow. I just finished Edie and I gotta figure out what I'm up to finishing next.

 

[Jeepcats27]

All of your stories are Great!! Waiting for what works for you!!Take Care!!

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 5​

In hindsight selling isn’t the correct term. It was a wholly barter-based system. A few people did have cash but not much of it and those that did have cash were there to exchange it for what is being called a “local currency” which is more like a book of what looks like tickets if you want the truth. I remember my grandmother talking about how you used to get coupons in cartons of cigarettes or stamps from the grocery that you would then collect and exchange for things … there is still a big, metal Coleman cooler that my grandmother got for her father that way sitting down in the basement. The books of coupon currency looked very similar to pictures my grandmother had shown me.

Apparently the way it works is you can exchange “found” federal currency for local currency. The federal currency is fairly worthless for a variety of reasons but mostly because the government says it is and that everyone is supposed to convert over to the new “dollar-less” financial system which is all stored on government computers. The problem is that operating that system requires electricity which isn’t always readily available, and the system has been crashing … and keeps going down due to attacks by international hackers. So until some trust can be forced into the system many areas are using local currencies. Some currencies are more local than others so there are rates of exchange that boggle the mind.

The other way to acquire the coupon currency is to exchange goods and/or services for it. However, to do that you have to go to one of the financial hubs located closer to large cities like Asheville and with little to no fuel available that isn’t rationed and painfully expensive it isn’t always realistic. Working for the government … federal, state, or local … will make it easier to obtain the coupon currency though the feds keep trying to push their electronic dollar-less system.

Having enough of the coupon currency means that you can pay for things like municipal utilities – if they are available, municipal and state taxes, and federal taxes though apparently the IRS suffered one of the larger terrorist attacks with many of its archive system irreparably damaged. Not a few IRS employees have also been assassinated. I heard mutterings of that even before we lost power with no one sure how many of the assassinations perpetrated by individuals and how many were perpetrated by terrorist organizations as “false flags” to get the feds riled up against its own citizenry.

Since Daddy had the property taxes paid three years in advance – it was some weird quirk started by my great grandfather because he almost lost the farm due to taxes and continued by his son and then my father – that is something I’m fairly certain I won’t have to worry about this year though eventually Robert and I will need to come up with a plan.

There is more to the coupon currency but since it really doesn’t apply to me I’ve got other things on my mind that need more headspace. For instance, looking around was like re-reading “Alas, Babylon” and other such novels. People were trading corn – both fresh and bagged field varieties, apples, bundles of greens, fish, eggs, and household goods. One man had a pretty good trade going in jerky though in my opinion some of it looked suspect. I didn’t see a lot of medicine though I saw plenty of people saying they’d take most any kind in trade. People were trying on clothes right out in the open and I had to turn away or start blushing at a few that were practically commando under their clothing. There was another man there sharpening knives and tools with a whet stone and I thought of my great grandfather’s pedal powered sharpening wheel sitting in the tool shed.

One of the bigger areas was what turned out to be a recycler. You would exchange metals, glass, and some plastics and get a voucher(s) that you could then spend at some of the other meet vendors. Apparently, the recycler would then take his haul to a pick up point, receive coupon currency that he would then buy back the vouchers with for a certain percentage of his haul, hopefully making a profit for the partners involved.

I knew I had a long walk back, but I took one chance and stopped by a small booth run by the man Mr. Stillwell had mention … Sylvan Mackie.

“How can I halp you ma’am?” he asked.

“I’m enquiring about your rates.”

We haggled a bit – his price included the standard allowable postcard – and he seemed pleased to take the bag of wild grapes in exchange for carrying a post card addressed to my in-laws. Since there was next to no privacy with a postcard I simply wrote, “Have not heard from you or Robert! Checking on everyone’s safety! Please let me know soonest! Evie is doing well. Love, Ettie.” And watched as Mr. Mackie dropped the card into a padlocked metal crate. Reminded me a bit of the “gold chests” that were once used by stage coach companies for transporting valuable items along their routes.

It certainly wasn’t all that I wanted to say but at least it is a way to make contact. I just pray they receive it – mail is reportedly slow but supposedly reliable – and will find a way to get word back to me, preferably with Robert bringing it himself. I still can’t imagine what he must be thinking to be staying away so long. Evie doesn’t even say “daddy” anymore and I know that is going to hurt Robert. I’m trying to prompt her about it but she’s just not responding since he’s not here to reinforce it. If she were older I would wonder if she wasn’t doing on purpose because she was mad at him.

The postcard was really the only business I did though I did plenty of looking. I didn’t need anything that was there and listening to people mutter and whisper amongst themselves I have a feeling Evie and I are much better off than people living in or closer to the ‘burbs and the cities … at least as far as “stuff” goes. Security is going to depend on me keeping our location quiet. I don’t need some of the trouble I hear others speaking about. Most everyone was mentioning the trouble they had with vandals and thieves. We’ve had nothing like that which makes me wonder why. Sure, we’re off the beaten path but we’re not in the middle of nowhere.

Among the other gossip I picked up I heard they are thinking of using the ski lodges as evacuation housing to get all the homeless off the roads and take off the refugee stations in town. Now that could cause a problem for me if someone took it into their head to try and hike over the ridge. I’m just not sure how many would actually go to the trouble. Not even I would enjoy that kind of hike as it takes most of a day even for those in the best of condition.

The thing is too many people evacuated without a plan, or assuming that where they were running to would welcome them without question. And not a few people have been put back on the road when their welcome got worn out. That’s going to be a lot of people stuck over there during the worst time of year for it to happen. No one knows how they plan on feeding anyone but farmers muttered angrily that the government better not think about simply coming and taking stuff as has happened in the Midwest and Northeast parts of the country.

Eventually I left without saying a word, trying to be careful to head along the trail before anyone else could determine my direction. I was winded when I got to the crest but after that it was a simple matter of setting off down an unposted side trail I knew and working my way across to our property line and then back to the house.

Even writing this all down my head is still so full that if I wasn’t so tired I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. But I am tired. Even Evie is ready for bed and usually she fusses a bit, but not tonight. Besides, tomorrow I’m going for more grapes and check on a few other things.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 6​

I’ve been back along the trail for the last four mornings running, trying to beat the heat as the weather is once again getting well into the 80s by ten o’clock. I guess the weather didn’t read the Almanac. It is hard to believe that we are going to have an early winter with these temps. Evie has heat rash and I was going nuts with a cranky baby until I remembered Momma used to have me use cornstarch when I first started shaving and would get heat rash in uncomfortable places. It might explain why there are about three dozen boxes of the stuff down in the basement. Unless it was part of one of her hoarding fits.

Speaking of hoarding, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe she didn’t have at least some of it right even if it was for the wrong reasons. I keep thinking about some of the talk I heard at the Swap Meet … people are being warned not to “hoard” and to be “fair” or risk having things “confiscated and redistributed”. It isn’t the vendors doing it but messages coming out of the cities and federally controlled locations. Really makes you wonder about where all of this is going. Makes me doubly glad that Robert and I were able to evacuate from our place and make it to Daddy and Momma’s. Makes me worry about what Mr. and Mrs. Belmont and the rest of them are doing because they chose to stay. And that thankfulness and worry is why I’m doing what I’m doing I suppose.

First day I overdid it and almost couldn’t get the two five-gallon buckets home that I filled with grapes. It took me forever to get them home and then I ran out of time to process them the way I had intended. I would have just put them on drying screens but with as damp as it has been they would have just spoiled before they dried into raisins. So instead I made grape juice using Momma’s steam juicer.[1] I knew that meant going back for more grapes but I’d gotten all of the ripe ones that day.

However, I’d spotted something I’d missed being so rushed the day of the swap meet and that’s what I did the next day. I found a small grove of persimmon trees and a lot of the fruit was getting so ripe that it was dropping. However, I knew if I’d had trouble carrying two buckets of grapes trying to carry even one full bucket of persimmons was definitely out. I thought about taking Momma’s garden wagon, but there were places in the trail that were a little steep and narrow which would make the wagon almost as bad as trying to carry things by hand. That’s when I hit on the idea of trying to use Daddy’s appliance dolly. Two five-gallon buckets would easily fit on the dolly. I just had to bring a plywood square so I could fit the buckets one on top of another. I also brought packing straps and bungee cords to hold the buckets on the dolly. I’m not saying that it was a brilliant solution but it sure beat carrying both the buckets and Evie at the same time.

Friday was the swap meet. Saturday I picked grapes. Sunday I picked persimmons.[2] I didn’t really register that it was Sunday until after I’d gotten home and started to think about dinner. Daddy would be so disappointed. He’s not been gone that long and I’m already slipping and not keeping the Sabbath as a day of rest like he always practiced and raised me to practice. As hardheaded as both Daddy and Robert could be (can be?) remembering the Sabbath is something they both agreed on whole heartedly. I need to try and do better. I’m determined to do better. For Evie’s sake if not for my own. But Sunday happened and it wasn’t a day of rest and that’s nothing I can change.

Monday I went back hoping that the grapes were ready to pick and there were a few small clusters but nothing worth making the trek for. I refused to go home empty handed, so I picked another half-bucket of persimmons until I saw a Pawpaw tree.[3] Momma’s died a couple of years ago when something girdled it and the one Daddy planted in its place isn’t big enough to produce fruit yet. It was nice to find the tree but a pain to play squirrel to get to the fruit. And I swear I felt someone watching me. I know the difference between an animal and a human eyeballing me; they just feel different. Travis used to play rotten tricks on me in the woods – Daddy would have fried him had he known about half of what he did – and I learned to refuse to be scared in the woods, but I am cautious.

Or maybe I was wrong because not too long after I got down and started back home I caught sight of what looked like a yearling cub waddling into the brush heading towards the crest and that had me looking around for his momma or possible cub mates. Either way I decided no more tree climbing and the next day I brought the fruit picker on the telescoping pole.

Today is Tuesday and I finally got the grapes that I had been wanting all along and I managed to get home before lunch which was a good thing because the sky opened up and started raining again. The garden enjoyed it and it saved me from having to worry about irrigating things but it makes a flaming mess now that I can’t buy a couple of bales of hay like Momma would send Daddy to the feed store for. Leaves and wood chips aren’t good for the garden, even in the walking paths as it wrecks up the pH too much, but I suppose I might try cutting some grass before it goes to seed and stacking it to dry over near the wood pile. I’m going to need it for the chickens anyway. When Travis died, I took over that job so Momma wouldn’t have to and I still say using the old scythe is one of those zen activities that will let you work and relieve stress at the same time.

I’m going to stay home the rest of today and probably for the rest of the week though I’m itching to get out there and do some more exploring. I just can’t afford to. Work is piling up here at the house and I can’t let it get away from me. It has been less than a week since I sent that postcard to Robert’s family. There hasn’t been time for him to receive it and decide to straighten up and come back where he belongs. I need him here. Just because I can do all the work for now doesn’t mean that I should have to. If he plans on eating, then he needs to help me. I know that sounds … well nasty I guess you would call it but for pity sake it makes me wonder where his head is. We had a plan, he was part of the plan, you can’t just take off in the middle of the plan and just expect that other people are able to pick up that burden. It feels like he’s forgotten about us. I know it can’t be true but that’s what it feels like.

I need to dig more potatoes and get them down in the potato cellar. Turning those hills of potatoes is never fun but doing it by myself is going to be even less fun. It isn’t just turning the hills so much as picking up the potatoes a wheelbarrow load at a time and then carting them to the cellar and then hauling them down those stairs a bucketful at a time. I don’t have to worry about the cellar collapsing as Great Granddaddy used local rock he and his sons quarried out themselves to shore up the walls and Daddy rebuilt the ceiling joists out of steel beams that he got from Mr. Carmichael in exchange for helping him to repair his septic system some time back.

I’m in for the same amount of work with the long storage apples that need to start being picked and wrapped and put in the apple cellar. Those that aren’t pretty enough to store I need to either dry or make into something. Cider time is coming in October, but I mustn’t just sit around waiting.

The pears and quinces will probably start coming in this weekend. Both are a little late this year but at least I’m getting some. The midget trees at the Carmichael place aren’t making at all … or maybe something is eating them. Hard to tell because I wasn’t paying attention to them before now. There’s no dropped fruit to speak of. I also have to decide if I’m going to do anything with the chestnuts[4] and autumn olive berries[5] this year. The chestnuts aren’t worth a whole lot and the autumn olive berries are a lot of work. On the other hand, I’ve started thinking that just like in the olden days, I can’t let any potential food source slip through my fingers. What if when Robert comes back he brings the rest of his family with him? God, what a thought though I should probably slap myself for thinking it. If nothing else the foraged stuff might be something to take to the Swap Meets.

And of course, I have got to keep up with cutting and stacking wood. I don’t want Robert to come back and think I’ve left everything for him to do.

Oh good Lord, who am I trying to fool? I dreamed last night. Actually I had a nightmare last night. I was digging another hole out the family cemetery. It was a small hole and at first I thought I was digging Evie’s grave. I nearly stopped breathing even in my dream. But then a small girl’s voice said from over my shoulder, “That’s big enough Mommy.”

I never did see who had spoken but I know it was Evie … or maybe it was my subconscious coming out of the mouth of a “Dream Evie.” Instead I found myself burying my wedding dress.

“There now Mommy. It’s ok. Don’t cry. It’s just the way it is sometimes.”

Dream Evie may have told me not to cry but that’s exactly what I woke up doing. It’s the first time since I buried Momma that I’ve cried and it took me over an hour to stop. I nearly wound up puking.

I need to be realistic. I can hope but hope is not a plan. I don’t know where Robert is. I don’t even know if Robert still is. Wherever he is, it isn’t here even if here is where I need him to be. Like I said I can still hope but hope is not a plan. If I learned nothing else while working at the Clinic I learned that you can’t just wait around for something to fix itself. Sometimes, though rarely, things will get better on their own and that is sometimes what you have to allow happen, but most of the time when something is broken you have to take an active role in fixing or healing it. You can’t live in la-la land hoping that whatever the problem is will go away. My parents did that with Momma’s illness and look what happened there. No, for Evie’s sake if for no other reason I cannot take that path.

Tomorrow in addition to all my other chores I am going to do an inventory of everything I have to work with and what I expect to still bring in. Once I get that – or maybe as I go along – I am going to make a list of what I will need to get me through winter and keep me going until I can plant the spring garden and start harvesting. My third list is what I need to continue operating from that point through another year. This isn’t just about food though it is what is uppermost in my mind right now, what seemed to be uppermost in everyone’s mind at the Swap Meet.

I need to be thinking about Evie and what she needs. I think she is going to be small like Momma and Gran-Gran were. On the one hand that’s good that she isn’t growing like a weed making me have to find new clothes and shoes for her on an almost weekly basis like Momma was always saying she had to do for me and Travis. On the other hand what clothes and shoes I can find for her have to be good quality or at least sturdy enough to last between growth spurts that she’ll inevitably have. When she does get bigger Momma has my old clothes – most of which she made for me herself because of Daddy’s grandfather’s restrictive edicts – stored in lavender up in the attic. That’ll take pressure off some but not immediately because I don’t have anything warm for her yet. I’ll have to see if any of my warm things will fit her though I’m not too worried about it yet.

I need to look at my own wardrobe. My work clothes aren’t as good as what I used to have when I lived at home. Daddy and Momma both carped on it a bit after we came though not to be mean but because they were concerned that stuff wouldn’t hold up to use. I got away from buying certain things when I became a “career woman” not to mention being pregnant changed my figure. I got rid of my old clothes when my butt wouldn’t fit in them anymore. Now I wish I hadn’t because while I haven’t lost much weight I’ve tightened up enough that I bet I could fit in those old clothes again. There’s no way that any of Momma’s things will ever fit me. Oh, but here’s a thought. What might fit me are some of Mrs. Carmichael’s things. I know we wore the same size jeans because she used to brag about it. Her style was along the line of LL Bean, Cabela’s, and this place called Backcountry she was always trying to get me to order stuff from. Uh, little pricey for a college student and even more out of range for a newlywed. Robert and I didn’t ever get to the dead-broke stage but we sure came close a few times. The few arguments we had were about money so that was enough for me to be careful with where and how much I spent what we had.

What is with me?! Everything keeps coming back to that man. God forgive me but I keep flip flopping between grief and anger and some weird weaving of those two together. I must put this aside and get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day and I need to keep my head on straight. I love you Robert, but I just can’t let you drive me crazy,

---

[1] How To Make Grape Juice - Step by Step Instructions with Pictures
[2] http://www.persimmonpudding.com/recipes.html
[3] http://www.pawpaw.kysu.edu/pawpaw/recipes.htm
[4] Chestnuts - Guide - Cooks.com
[5] http://autumnberryinspired.com/about-autumn-berry/uses

 

[Griz3752]

AND we're off again!

Thank you Ma'am.

 

[Jeepcats27]

New recipes, Thank you for the new chapter!

 

[Mr Bill]

Thanks

 

[CGTech]

Liking what i see so far!! Thanks Kathy!

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 7​

Been so busy it is hard to believe that it has been two weeks since the last Swap Meet. I almost didn’t take the chance to see whether they had decided to add the extra meet because the morning was very foggy and damp and the closer I got to the overlook the air took on a smell of just plain weirdness. I am glad I went. I need my head examined but I am glad I went.

I had Evie bundled up against the unexpected morning chill. For once she was happy to snuggle down into the sling across my back and even left the mittens and ear muffs on that I had just finished crocheting for her the night before. With Evie in the sling I couldn’t wear a traditional backpack so I had converted an old, oversized leather purse with a long strap into a carry-all. It looked, and sometimes felt, like a motorcycle saddlebag. And just like last time I came loaded for bear and I’m glad I was … but not because of a bear.

I got to the crest and suddenly the smell really hit me. And so did the sound of quiet voices.

“We really going to have to wait for the authorities to move ‘im? Seems kinda callous to just leave him there, gutted like that.”

“That’s what they said. Apparently this isn’t the first attack they’ve had reported but this is the freshest.”

“This is going to ruin business.”

“Stella …”

“Relax Don, I’m just stating a fact.”

“So move everyone down to the next turnout.”

“It’s too small and our permit is for this one. If the cops are on the way I don’t want to give them any excuse to cite us.”

That’s when I saw it. I wouldn’t have seen it if the branch it was sitting on hadn’t moved. I could see it was getting ready to pounce. I don’t know what – or who – it was aiming for, but you can just tell when a cat is after a meal. I set, aimed, and pulled the trigger. I didn’t even get a chance to see if it had been a solid hit because Evie started screaming. So did people down at the overlook.

A whistle blasted into the middle of the chaos of noise and Stella’s voice bellowed, “Who took that @#$% shot?!”

I didn’t know whether to answer or not, but a man’s voice said, “It had to have come from up there!”

I considered just disappearing but didn’t want to wander into the woods if there was a wounded mountain lion in the area.

Someone said, “Where’s that crying coming from? Who has a kid?”

I finally shouted, “I do. And yes, I took the shot. Just tell me I killed the blasted thing. I don’t fancy being turned into catnip.”

There was muttering and finally I heard someone coming up the trail and then saw them. “Mrs. Belmont? Is that you?”

I wanted to answer in some smart aleck way but realized that it wouldn’t help the tense situation. “Yes. Please don’t tell me that was someone’s pet.”

A man with Mr. Stillwell said, “A little warning would have been nice.”

Before I could stop myself, I snorted and said, “You’re obviously not a hunter.”

I heard a couple of muffled coughs that were obviously meant to cover snickers. “And what’s that supposed to mean?!” the man asked clearly affronted.

“It means,” I said talking over the top of Mr. Stillwell who had started to answer for me. “That the cat was in hunt mode and getting ready to pounce. Had I shouted a warning prior to taking the shot it would have just gone right ahead and pounced or faded off in the trees to take another try.”

Still outraged the man tried another tact. “That beautiful creature was an endangered species. Do you know what you have done?!”

“Yeah. Kept it from hitting the breakfast buffet you all were making of yourselves down there.”

Stella interrupted whatever the man would have said by calling, “Well don’t just stand up there getting wet in all this fog. Come down here and get wet with the rest of us.”

Stella pretty much stayed glued to me until the “authorities” showed up about two hours later. My interview went something like this:

“Miss …”

“Mrs. … Mrs. Belmont.”

“Yes ma’am. Mrs. Belmont can you tell me why you shot the cat?”

“The ‘cat’ as you call it is a mountain lion. The mountain lion was about to pounce and eat someone. There’s another body under that tarp thing over there so it may have been coming back for an earlier kill and decided to take a two-fer. Once a wild animal gets a taste for human flesh there is no retraining it and it is a danger to human society.”

“So you were able to tell from here exactly what the animal intended?”

“I wasn’t down here. I was up on the crest and coming down the trail when I heard voices and smelled the … corpse. I just happened to catch the branch it was on moving and realized what was about to happen.”

“That’s very quick response time Mrs. Belmont.”

“That and situational awareness is a requirement if you are going to walk in the woods … or the city for that matter.”

There was some agreement to that and then they asked, “You have your hunting license up to date?”

I wanted to sigh and roll my eyes instead politely answered, “My husband and I renewed our annual licenses as each other’s Christmas gifts. Stella if you’ll hold my rifle I’ll get it out of my pocket.”

“Uh … you brought it with you?”

I did shake my head in exasperation at that. “You can’t be local if you don’t know how strict the local Fish & Wildlife people are. You have a gun in your hand you better have your permit and license in your pocket.”

“Er …”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you’re just doing your job. But if you want to make it easy on yourself, I’d just put it down to a dangerous nuisance animal that was already suspected of mauling at least one man and was imminently about to do it again. This way you won’t have to waste time and resources to track some dangerous animal like Fish & Wildlife would undoubtedly expect you to do if you tried to put the mauling down to a bear. The local laws are really strict as are the people that insist on enforcing them.”

After he handed me back my IDs I turned to take my rifle from Stella but one of the men with a badge took it instead. “This is some weapon. And it is scoped for hunting.”

“It is my father’s gun.”

“What’s it loaded with?”

“Daddy calls it bear shot … .338 … so please don’t swing it around like that and make sure the safety is still on.”

One of the other men took it and handed it back to me. “Please tell your father that if he is going hunting to bring his tags in.”

It was no skin off my nose to simply say, “Yes Sir.” And left it at that.

Finally I was “released,” and Stella guided me away from the group of men that began forming around the uniform types. Someone called, “What do you want to do with the carcass Mrs. Belmont?”

“Huh? How should I know? Ask the officers. They’re the ones in charge. They might need it for evidence or something.”

Stella muttered, “Oh that’ll give them something to jaw about for a while.”

“Seriously, what the heck do I want with the carcass of a nasty cat that’s been eating people?”

A man said, “The fur for starters. And they’re edible.”

He’d meant to shock me with the last comment, but I turned it on him and said, “I know they’re edible. Almost anything is edible if you cook it correctly. But I don’t eat things that have been eating people. That’s too close to cannibalism for my comfort.”

The man scratched his head like I might be half-way interesting even if I was crazy. “Well, I suppose it all depends on how hungry you are. Guess that makes you not hungry enough.”

“Oh I’m hungry … I just don’t eat people-eaters. It’s a line in the sand I have. Not to mention the risk of disease. There are others but that’s the one that currently applies.”

The man shrugged good-naturedly and moved along. After he was out of ear shot Stella chuckled and said, “I guess you do know how to handle yourself.”

I sighed. “I can but sometimes it isn’t fun. I know he was just looking for conversation but that kind of trouble and curiosity I don’t need.”

“And if you don’t mind my asking …?”

“I was an office manager in a mental health clinic in Asheville. I had to deal with all sorts of customer service issues … and staff issues. You either learn how to deal with personalities and head off potential problems or you don’t survive.”

Stella yawned. “I hear ya right there and the problems in this life have only gotten worse. I do have to admit I liked the way you avoided spilling the beans.”

Understanding that she meant about me being alone I just nodded. “Is this really going to hurt business for you today? It looks like there are more people and not less compared to last time.”

“Most of ‘em are lookie lous. Speaking of, whatcha got in the bag?”

“Chestnuts, persimmon paste, honey …”

“Honey?” Stella whispered, pulling me further away from the crowd. “How much and where did it come from? Is it registered?”

“No clue about what you mean by registered.”

“Stamped … oh forget it, obviously not. Basically, government inspected.”

“It’s raw honey from a wild hive we found early in the summer,” I told her not mentioning that my father had staked out several wild hives on our property that he harvested yearly.

“What will you take for it?”

“What’s the going price,” I asked with a smile.

A voice over my shoulder said, “Ah so Grasshoppah, you learn quickly.”

I turned to Mr. Stillwell and said, “You are nosey.”

Stella chuckled and said, “Yes he is but he’s not normally so obvious about it and the ladies usually eat it up.”

“I fit into neither category,” I said as I tried to avoid Evie shoving her mittens down my shirt front. Over my shoulder I told her, “I take it you don’t want them on at the moment?”

“Hot,” Evie lisped.

“Fine. But you will leave that hat on or no muffin.”

“Nummy, nummy, nummy.”

“And if you want that nummy you will leave that hat on.”

“Hat off.”

“Evie …” I warned. “Not the time for it. And Momma isn’t in the mood. Behave.”

She decided I was too boring to talk to and decided to chew on her teething keys. I turned back to find both Stella and Mr. Stillwell looking at me. “What?”

“Good kid,” Mr. Stillwell said. “Don’t they usually make more noise at this age?”

That made Stella laugh, pat his arm and walk over to answer the question of some woman that had just walked up. “You obviously don’t have kids,” I told him.

“None of my own. My sister has kids but they’re teenagers.”

“Well I assume they didn’t start out as teenagers so …”

“For her they did. They’re her step kids. About that honey.”

The abrupt change in subject which told me family was either a sore subject or he had something to hide. Being in the same boat I followed his lead. “Yeah, about the honey. What is the going rate?”

“Depends. What do you need?”

Carefully I said, “Winter shoes for my daughter. Barring that, leather or fleece that I can make warm shoes with.”

“You can do that?”

“What?”

“Make shoes?”

“I’m not a cobbler but making shoes for little kids isn’t rocket science unless you are talking about legitimate boots with leather uppers and real soles.’

Giving it a moment of thought Mr. Stillwell said, “There’s an older gentleman at one of the other Swap Meets that makes moccasins.”

“Well that doesn’t help me.”

“It might. I’d be willing to take the honey – on account – and procure the moccasins for you.”

We haggled a bit but I agreed to trade the honey and he’d bring the moccasins to the next Swap Meet.

“Bring your husband next time.”

“We’ll see,” I temporized before walking away to look at some of the other tables.

 

[CGTech]

"Bring your husband next time." Who is he kidding?

Thanks Kathy!

 

[Mr Bill]

Some mew don't like bargaining with the fairer sex. Just how they are.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 8​

Only one table was interested in the chestnuts and persimmon paste and it was run by an older couple.

“You’re definitely a local,” they said.

“Born and raised though we were living just outside of Asheville before the first evacuation. My parents took us in, and we share chores.”

“I hear that. Didn’t mind having my daughter move back but her husband is more work than just about anything I’ve seen,” the older woman said. “I never would have thought it of him either, he was always so good to her and the kids.”

The husband sighed and said, “Best thing he did was join the militia. At least he sends home a bit of pay when he gets it which helps Marlene and the kids.”

The description of their situation made me uncomfortable so I turned the subject by asking them what some things were on their table. Turns out mostly what they had were different kinds of dried berries and dried mushrooms.

“Should have gotten more over the summer but it is taking more to feed those kids than I expected,” the man muttered.

I nodded in sympathy though their complaining wore on me a bit and said, “Like I heard earlier, let people get hungry enough and they’ll start eating things they don’t usually think of as food. I just hope people don’t assume every mushroom and berry is safe to eat. Every year we always have a few tourists – and others that should know better – get poisoned.”

They agreed and seemed cheered by the idea that this winter their business would likely pick up. With no more trade I decided it was time to leave. I had noticed a few men heading up to the crest and was trying to wait them out when one called down and said, “Want to come show us where you shot from?”

“Actually I don’t want to get in the middle of a bunch of men but since I forgot to pick up my casing you’ll find it about where I was standing.”

The men looked around and one finally bent down, picked something up and then looked over towards the trees before saying, “That’s some shot.”

“My father taught me well and in all honesty it wasn’t that great of a shot considering the angle,” I responded giving them something to think about. Slowly they filed down the trail and I waited and watched them leave the Swap Meet in two’s and three’s before quickly leaving myself.

I again took a circuitous route home. Took longer but I figured if anyone was following me I lost them. Travis used to like to lose me in the woods until the day came when I could more easily lose him. The game wasn’t fun after that and had Daddy ever found out both of our tails would have been roasted over an open fire. We also both started growing up. Travis going his way with his fast friends and me determining to be the opposite and focus on grades and Daddy’s approval, thus being the goody-two shoes type. I wish Travis and I had been closer. On the other hand, Aunt Pauline once told me that Travis reminded her of her own father … always too close to trouble and enjoying it for everyone else’s peace of mind.

Robert and Travis had gone to school together but hadn’t been in the same crowd. Robert has never outright said anything against Travis, but I always got the impression that he hadn’t approved of the things Travis seemed to have a talent for getting into. Some of those men reminded me a bit of my brother for some reason … always too close to getting into the wrong kind of trouble. I’m also beginning to second guess the deal I made with Mr. Stillwell. I don’t want any more attention from those men. I don’t want or need trouble. I hated having to deal with this stuff at the clinic and I doubly hate it now. Blast you Robert, where are you?!

I really don’t think you meant to leave me in the lurch like this, but it has been nearly three months. At what point am I supposed to give up hope? At what point do I make the decision to move on without you? How am I supposed to do anything without knowing for sure?

 

[Lake Lili]

Thanks Kathy!
Lili

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 9 - Part 1​

October. Damp is still around but no rain; however, the cool weather has definitely finally arrived making the damp somehow worse even without the rain. Makes my hands ache first thing in the morning. I wish I didn’t have to bring Evie out in this stuff, but I can’t leave her in the house alone. It’s a Catch-22. At least she now has shoes but that’s another story that I’ll get to when my temper doesn’t want to ignite this paper.

I have had to get squirrels out of the corn so many times I finally started setting traps and snares. What a gory mess. But good eating. Got the live traps from the old Carmichael place. Yes, I call it that now … the Old Carmichael Place. It sits empty and is starting to show some wear though not too badly yet. About like the rental cabins and timeshares that don’t get regular use. I think I’ve pretty much given up on any of the Carmichael family showing up. Surely they would have by now. I don’t wish anything bad for them, but my conscience does still ping every once in a while no matter how much bravado I had in the beginning. I’ve almost stripped the place of anything immediately useful, including those traps. I found them when I decided to stop being stupid and go over and check out what was in Mrs. Carmichael’s wardrobe. Maybe I am losing weight, or Mrs. Carmichael exaggerated how close we were to the same size, but while I got quite a few shirts and a couple of jackets the jeans I brought back are all going to require me putting darts in the waist. I haven’t got the time to do it right now, not to mention I need to figure out how to set up Gran-Gran’s treadle sewing machine, so it will have to wait until the fall gardening is done with.

In hindsight I am glad I got what chestnuts that I did last month because most of the ones that I’ve tried this month have those nasty grubs in them. The chickens are going crazy over them but I’m not about to spoil those blasted birds by spending hours picking and preparing chestnuts for their dining pleasure. I’m just glad the hickory nuts are grub free. I’ve got bushels of the things air drying in mesh bags out in the barn in between the tobacco that Daddy had grown for his personal use. I don’t know for sure that will keep the squirrels out of the nuts until I can clean them and bring them into the house for roasting and dry canning, but it is all I have right now.

How I am managing to keep the squirrels out of the corn is that I sit every night and hull the dry kernels off the cobs and subsequently store them in the metal trash cans Daddy used to store the dog kibble in when he was still keeping hunting dogs. I think his last female dog died right before I got pregnant with Evie and he just didn’t have the heart to start a new kennel. He loved that dog and when she got sick – they never did find out what killed her – he didn’t want another one to fall in love with. I have two trashcans full of kernels so far. First one is sitting in the kitchen and there it is likely to stay since I was too stupid to think things through and let it get too heavy to move. I’ve got about five more cans that I can fill before I have to go back to putting the corn in the old corn crib. At least I was smart enough to wear gloves from the beginning or right about now my hands would be nothing but bloody pulp.

Still have quite a few rows of apple trees to pick but not all of them will ripen until November. That gives me some time and the waste should be minimal I am finally seeing the last of the figs. Not enough to do anything with except to eat them fresh or throw to the chickens. Evie likes them so I try and save them for her though I do have to be careful as they have unfortunate effects on her digestive system.

One of the other things I’ve been busy with is trying to find things I can bring to the Swap Meets. Going over my inventory I realize that while the garden will keep me in food until spring and even through to the next fall if I piece it out with new stuff, I worry that there won’t be “new stuff” to piece it out with. Daddy was fond of saying that a farmer can plan but that doesn’t mean that God will allow. It is a lot to worry about. With that reality in mind I really don’t want to trade off anything that Evie and I could need. I’m not even thinking about Robert and his family right now.

After just about worrying it to death, even in my sleep, I finally decided to take a page from the older couple with the dried mushrooms. I’m not going to set up my own table, I think that would be way too much work. Instead, I will try and trade foraged food. I’ve been collecting honey locust pods, dogwood fruit, the autumn olive berries, more persimmons to dry and to make pulp with, spicebush berries, more hickory nuts, and some beauty berries though I might have trouble getting people to trade for those; they make a gorgeous jelly, but a lot of people think the berries are poisonous for some reason. They think the same thing about the sumac drupes, but it is the white ones that are poisonous, not the red ones. The red ones you pick dry and then you can use them when you need a tart flavoring … or even make a kind of lemonade from them. That was Grandfather’s favorite summer drink according to Daddy.

Something else I decided to try since I was going to run into the same problem myself. My great grandmother who was alive long enough for me to have plenty of memories of her, used to tell stories of how her family – and most of the families – that lived here in the mountains got along when the corn wouldn’t grow or there wasn’t money to buy corn and flour from the store. Acorn flour. At Thanksgiving every year she’d even make a loaf of acorn bread so we would all remember where we came from and be thankful we didn’t have to worry like that anymore … and pray we never did again. Only maybe that time has come back around.

Granny had always said that the bigger the acorn the sweeter the meat would be … I was never sure whether she meant the nut meat or the meat of the old boars that she and Grandfather would feed the acorns to. My first experiment making the acorn flour wasn’t a dismal failure, but I got tired of cracking the itty bitty things from the oaks around the house. I decided to go along the trail to gather a bucket of them from a huge oak tree I remembered that Travis used to use for his slingshot … those blasted things hurt when they hit, almost as bad as getting hit with a paintball.

So there I was yesterday out raking acorns up trying to make sure I wasn’t wasting my time raking them up only to find grubs in them. Lucky for me I only found a few in the bucket with those pinholes in them. Then I hear this squealing and a bunch of ruckus coming down the trail. Well I recognized the squeal well enough … it was a hog and a good sized one from the sound of it. I was not in the mood to deal with a feral hog regardless of the size … nor anything that could set it off so that it would go thrashing through the underbrush. So I grabbed the rifle and made to climb a nearby tree telling Evie to hold on.

Then I hear, “Run Stella!”

Then down the trail I see Stella and Mr. Stillwell come lickety split. I yell, “Climb a tree!!”

Stella finally spots me waving and she heads my way, Mr. Stillwell close behind.

As he stops long enough to give her a boost I ask them both, “What’s chasing you?”

One of them says “pig” while the other says “bear.”

I’m still puzzling it out when a nasty boar comes charging into the clearing under the tree, cutting up a fuss and tearing at things with its large tusks. I took aim at the mean ol’ thing and was about to fire when into the clearing comes a bear and it wasn’t exactly taking its time as it makes a beeline for the boar. The boar finally realizes the danger it is in when it gets swiped snout over tail but it comes up charging. The bear could have been a twin of the yearling I saw a while back except that it was lighter on the backend, like it had set in bleach water.

I’ve been teaching Evie animal noises with my old flashcards that I’d found in the attic (Momma never threw anything away) and she starts laughing and making pig grunts and bear growls by turn. For some odd reason that tickles Stella’s funny bone and she snickering to the point she would have had trouble holding on if Mr. Stillwell hadn’t grabbed her by the back of her coat. Neither one of them had a rifle nor shotgun making me wonder if they were as smart as I first took them for.

The tusker and bear suddenly decided to stop fooling around and take their fight seriously and I decided that I’d had enough, especially when they knocked over my bushel basket of acorns leaving me to start all over again.

I must have made some noise in frustration because Evie laughed and doing her own bit of squealing and carrying on yelled, “Momma GROWL!!”

That set Stella off again and all I could do was look at Mr. Stillwell and roll my eyes before sighting the shotgun and letting the first shot rip into the bear and the second shot rip into the pig. That stopped the battle and both animals simply keeled over where they’d fought.

“Too loud Momma! Too loud!”

“I know Evie. Bet next time you’ll leave those headphones on like I tell you to.” I reached behind me and by feel and practice slid them back on her ears. I looked over to see Stella and Mr. Stillwell starting to climb down from the tree and asked them, “Are you two completely crazy?”

Stella glanced at me and asked, “As opposed to partially crazy?”

“Actually yes because I take it you two don’t have much experience with playing ‘possum.”

I was jacking another shell into the shotgun but it wasn’t loud enough to cover the bear’s grunt proving that it wasn’t quite as dead I’d hoped my first shot had made it. Before it could do much more than try and shake off the shock of the first I hit it with the second and that one I could tell was a killing shot since I obliterated one of its ears and what lay beneath it.

As soon as I could tell neither animal was drawing breath nor in the death shakes I told them, “Now we can get down.”

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 9 - Part 2

Mr. Stillwell was still helping Stella to touch the ground by time I was down and making sure I was once again loaded. Stella laughed and said, “Looks like you gotta little experience climbing trees.”

I shrugged feeling cautious now that the immediate danger was out of the way. I asked, “I know this is free land and not under contract but what are you doing out here? And unarmed?”

Stella snorted. “We got rousted day before last by some town committee or other and some federal troops got involved. Took everyone’s firearms and I quote ‘confiscated all goods until ownership can be proven’.”

It took me a moment to assimilate what she’d said. “OK, that explains the unarmed part but not the being here part.”

“That,” Stella said with obvious irritation. “Would be Mister I-can’t-go-back-on-a-deal Stillwell.”

For the first time Mr. Stillwell spoke. “The baby’s winter shoes. I had them in my personal gear along with a few other trades so they weren’t taken.”

Daddy taught me to value honesty so it softened my suspicion somewhat. “Well that’s him,” I said looking at Stella. “What’s your excuse for acting crazy?”

That sent Stella off into peels of laughter again only I noticed something this time. Her laughter had an edge of hysteria to it. It wasn’t real noticeable but it told me she’d been pushed pretty hard and was nearing her breaking point. I also noticed physically she was looking all used up and a glance at Mr. Stillwell revealed the same thing though it showed more in his eyes than in his physical demeanor.

Throwing my hands up – at least figuratively – at God’s machinations I bowed to the inevitable. Looking at Stella I asked, “Does he know?”

She answered, “He suspects but won’t come right out and ask.”

I looked at Mr. Stillwell and asked, “What do you suspect?”

Carefully he answered, “You don’t have a husband.”

“Well you are wrong on that point. I’ve simply … misplaced him … at the moment anyway.”

Mr. Stillwell gave away his educational background by giving me a stern look and saying, “You’ve … misplaced him.”

Stella shook her head. “Enough. If you aren’t going to ask her I will.” Turning to me she said, “We need a place to … to regroup and take stock. Just for a few days but weather is supposed to turn nasty by the end of the week and … and it might take us beyond that to figure a plan. Any place will do but an empty house would be best.”

I must need meds. I swear, I really must because what pops into my head but the old Carmichael place. Ridiculous. But then I looked at the two of them. They’d never steered me wrong and Stella had kept my secret even up to that moment. Desperation was also hiding in their eyes and I thought of Robert. I hoped where ever he was someone would help him if he needed it. Still, I’m fairly certain I need to have my head examined.

“I … might. Let me think it through. And since you don’t look like you have much in the way of supplies, help me string these two into the tree and get them field dressed and this will at least feed you for a bit.”

I was already pulling my gear out of my bag to hang the carcasses to bleed them. Mr. Stillwell quietly said, “Tell me what to do.”

I turned to look at him and found Stella sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of the tree. Quietly I asked, “Is she hurt?”

“Not … not physically.”

“Relax. I don’t judge. Off meds? On meds? No meds? What?”

“No meds … just … it was her husband … ex-husband … that started things.”

“Wonderful. Not that it is any of my business but were kids involved?”

“Step kids but never part of the picture on a regular basis. Look I know Stella looks capable, and she is, but this …”

I stopped him. “Like I said, I’m not judging her. I just needed to know. I’ll make her some tea when we get to my place and hopefully it will help.”

“You … uh …” He sighed. “This is awkward. I wouldn’t accept except Stella needs to get in out of the weather. Regardless of how she portrays it, this is not what she came from or is used to as a lifestyle. I’m concerned that this may be what pushes her over the edge and she’s already had a few health problems over the summer.”

Beginning to see that Mr. Stillwell was more of a protector than perhaps even Stella was aware I shrugged nonchalantly and told him, “We’ll work it out. Stella was nice to me, I’d like to return the favor since I can.” I had him move back so I could throw the rope without worrying that it was going to hit him on the way down. I used his muscle and height to lift the carcasses into the tree after I had tied them. Then I proceeded to field dress them. Strangely enough it was Mr. Stillwell who held Evie while Stella insisted on giving me a hand. She gagged a couple of times but then again, I had to fight it myself when it came to the bear. I’d really made a mess of its head.

“Pull them higher into the tree and we’ll go get my Dad’s hunting cart. I’m not dragging these two back by hand. We’d just have to clean them all over again.”

I returned Evie to my back after cleaning my hands the best I could. We started down the trail towards home. I noticed Mr. Stillwell was unusually quiet and kept looking around. I asked him, “What’s wrong?”

“Someone has been following us. I thought we lost them, but I keep feeling like … like someone is watching us.”

“Could it have been the bear?”

“No. At least … uh …”

“And do you feel like someone is still watching you?”

Mr. Stillwell hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, or at least I did until a moment ago. I know it doesn’t make …”

Suddenly I turned and ran back to towards the carcasses. There was a boy trying to cut down the hog. “Get down here right now young man,” I snapped. “Just who do you think you are cutting my rope? Do you know what those things cost?”

He tried to run but Mr. Stillwell was on him and while he might have taught in some uber ritzy private school he seemed to have the same kind of training the counselors did at the clinic. The knife the boy had held got tossed to the side and Mr. Stillwell bear hugged him until he ran out of steam but he wasn’t dumb enough to let him go.

“Hold still son,” Stella told the boy. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

I stepped up and grabbed him by the chin. “Hmmm. You’re a Markham or a close kin. Which is it?”

The boy looked at me in surprise. “How … how did you …?”

“Tell me, did you run away or did you get thrown out?”

“We didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Did I ask that? Don’t forget, I know the family.”

The boy slowed down and gave me a suspicious look. “Momma couldn’t take it anymore. Uncle Doze … he just … just …”

Stella looked at me. I shrugged. “Doze Markham is a legend in his own mind. He was a few years ahead of my brother in school. The family … feuds amongst themselves. A lot. Someone is always on the outs with someone else in the family. My father remarked on a few occasions that it was like that even when his father was a boy. The Markhams and the Quinns are two of the oldest families around these parts.”

“You’re kidding me?” Stella said. Only the word she used wasn’t kidding.

I checked to make sure that Evie still had the headphones on and found she was asleep. “No I’m not. That’s mountain people for you.” I turned back to the boy. “So who is your mother? Berniece or Suzanne?”

He blinked at me and said, “Suzanne.”

That surprised me. “Boy, you better not be who I think you are. I wake up in the morning feeling old enough as it is. Are you … Kevie?!”

“Aw, don’t call me that. My name is Kevin. Kevie is for babies.”

“Well that’s what you were last time I babysat you. Good grief, you were certainly cleaner then too. And smelled better. What have you been rolling in?!”

The boy slowly grinned showing a gap where one of his front teeth should have been.

Then I asked more gently, “And where is your mother?” I didn’t bother asking about his father as that was water under the bridge that was never coming back.

“She’s sick.”

“Sick? Sick how?”

“She’s got a bad cough.”

Mr. Stillwell said, “Where son?”

“In her chest.”

“No son, I meant where is she? If she’s sick she might need help.”

“I’m helping her.”

“Hmmm. Wouldn’t have been helping yourself to some fruit at the Carmichael place would you?”

“You mean where that old lady used to live?” At my nod he said, “She ain’t there no more.”

“No she isn’t and I’m not going to ride you about the fruit, just glad to find out the eyes I felt belonged to a person and not a ghost or bear or mountain lion for that matter.”

“You really know my Momma?”

“Uh huh. She and your granny go to the same church I did.”

“Granny is in Asheville in a home and there ain’t no church no more.”

Carefully I admitted, “So I’d heard on both counts. Is your granny what your mother and uncle were fighting over?”

“Yeah. Momma is the only one that stands up to Uncle Doze. Not even Aunt Niecy says anything anymore. They’re scart of not having no place to live.”

“Speaking of …”

“Oh we got a place to live. A nice place too. Mr. Mason said we could live in his cabin with him. Momma says that Mr. Mason is my granpaw and he seems to like having us around.”

Already knowing the story I asked, “Does Mr. Mason know you are out running around?”

“Kinda. He’s the reason why Momma is coughing. Mr. Mason is getting better now ‘cause Momma took care of him only he’s still too weak to take care of Momma so I’m taking care of both of ‘em. I’m old enough.”

I would have had something to say to that but Mr. Stillwell beat me to it. “Stealing other people’s stuff is only going to put you in a position where you can’t take care of them.”

The boy tried to hide his shame but in the end it was decided that Stella and Mr. Stillwell would head over to the Mason homestead ... roughly a five-mile hike as the crow flies … and see if they could lend some assistance. Apparently once they connected the dots Stella realized that Mr. Mason was one of their regular customers. They’d been wondering why they hadn’t seen him recently. The illness would account for his absence.

So there I was. Left standing with two carcasses hanging in the trees and no help to deal with them. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry or cry at the work in front of me. Either way it didn’t matter because it wasn’t going to change the situation.

 

[beaglemama]

Thank you, Kathy!

 

[sssarawolf]

Ohhhhhhh, now need more, lol and I know there is.

 

[Lake Lili]

Thanks Kathy! Appreciate the bedtime read.
Cheers, Lili

 

[Siskiyoumom]

Thank you so very much!

 

[Jeepcats27]

thank you for the new chapters!

 

[CGTech]

Thank you Kathy!

 

[ydderf]

I agree with
Everyone who would like to see more. You are such a gifted story teller Kathy. Thank you

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 10​

After wanting some fresh meat for so long all I can say is I’m thinking that becoming a vegetarian isn’t such a sad fate after all. What a bloody, gory mess. The pig was bad enough … bringing it back, scrapping it, cutting it … oh never mind, I really don’t want to think about it. I thought the ding blasted goat had been bad. At least I didn’t have to deal with the bear.

I’d no sooner gotten the pig strung up in the shed that Daddy had used for such things than I had to turn around and go back for the bear. But I got there and instead of just a bear I found a bear, a mule, two men, a woman, and a boy.

Mr. Mason didn’t look well, or should I say he looked like someone looks after an extended illness that was overextending his strength beyond what commonsense would dictate; however, when he spoke his voice was steady. “Well I guess it is you Ettie.”

“Hello Mr. Mason. Kevie … er … Kevin said you had been under the weather.”

“Yes, yes I have. Still not up to where I need to be. You … uh …”

“Mr. Mason you’ve actually saved the day. That is if you’d consider taking this bear off my hands. I helped Daddy with a lot of things but processing a bear isn’t one of them. It is certainly more than I can handle right now.”

“Welllll ….”

“Oh,” I said biting my lip. “Well, I guess it is a lot to ask.”

“Now, no reason to get upset. I suppose I can, but won’t you need it for your folks?”

“No Sir.”

Something must have shown on my face because Mr. Mason sighed. “Lost Martha this past Spring. Was on my way to joining her until Suzanne and the boy showed up. Knew Martha would want me to see to ‘em. Turned me from the path I was on.”

I nodded then Mr. Mason added, “But I expect we’d best keep this here all to ourselves. Not everyone would understand. Life is hard enough, no need to make it harder.”

Relieved in spite of my own big mouth I told him, “No Sir. And thank you.”

In the end the bear carcass was tied to Mr. Mason’s mule using a travois he told us how to make from some saplings; and Stella and Mr. Stillwell followed having been invited to stay a bit if they didn’t mind close quarters.

Well they didn’t mind and frankly by that point neither did I as I’d been rethinking my original intent. I trudged back home and finished up with the pig and then took care of the rest of the animals and then it was off to bed after feeding Evie her dinner because I had no appetite myself.

The next morning I was super sore but knew I had to get back on track with my original plan of collecting acorns. Up, morning chores, Evie’s breakfast … and mine though my appetite still wasn’t what it normally was … then after securing the house I left with the wagon and two bushel-baskets to make up for yesterday.

As I expected the offal from the two animals was gone, drug off by some hungry animal or other, so I was at least relieved not to have to smell the mess. I went to the next tree over however because there was still plenty of blood on the ground and I didn’t want to have to worry about possible contamination. I was raking up the second bushel of acorns when I heard a bell. I stopped and listened and sure enough I was hearing a bell. But I was spotted before I could step off the trail.

“Ms. Belmont? It’s Don Stillwell.”

Sighing I said, “So I see. And hear.”

He looked upset but I understood when he said, “It’s a … uh … bear bell. Mr. Mason suggested that since … anyway … I forgot to give you the baby’s shoes. I …”

“Thank you bringing them but I’m not angry if that’s what the look on your face is for.”

“Well. Uh. To be honest, I thought you would be. We left you with …” Then he shook his head. “Did you honestly think you’d be able to take care of that bear by yourself? I’ve had a little experience, but nothing compares to what we had to do with that animal.”

I chuckled. “I would have if I had to, but I was just as glad to not have to as I was telling Mr. Mason.”

“You … er … weren’t just being nice?”

I shrugged. “I had the pig. It’s more than I expected to have. And if Mr. Mason has been ill and now Suzanne, they need the bear more than I do. I would have given them the pig as well. Are they bad off?”

“Actually not as bad as I expected under the circumstances. Ms. Markham and Mr. Mason both seem to be well versed in getting along on little.”

“It’s what Mountain People do. I take it you aren’t from around here?”

“Actually I am. But after college I travelled a bit before coming home.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Not especially though there were experiences that offset the worst of it.” After a pause he added, “I was a civilian contractor.”

“I have a cousin doing … or at least he did … that kind of work. He said it was getting harder to find a new contract at the end of each job.”

“Which is how I ended up coming home and going to work for my sister.”

“So that is how you went from contractor to schoolteacher.”

He’d slowly relaxed as he started believing I really wasn’t angry and at my last comment said, “I taught history and geography, graphic design and helped with some of the more troubled students. What about you?”

I shrugged. “Used my degree in health administration to finally wrangle a job as an office manager in a county clinic in Asheville despite the economy being what it was at the time.”

“Did you like it?”

“Some days.”

He got a troubled look then said quietly, “Stella told me about your family, including your husband.”

“Don’t start. I’m no one’s cause.”

“So I’m beginning to see. Still … are you certain about your husband?”

Trying to not let it upset me I said, “On that front I … I’m not certain Mr. Stillwell but there’s nothing I can do but wait. It isn’t like Robert to simply disappear … or disappear in this way … or in any way I guess I mean to say. But without phones or anything else I can’t honestly say he has disappeared, only that I don’t know where he is. I sent a letter off to Robert’s family but I’m not sure how on earth they’d even write back to let me know anything, assuming ….” I took a calming breath. “I can’t afford to emotionally break down, nor do I have the luxury of simply going off to hunt for him. I haven’t lost hope but I’m having to accept that … that something …”

I had to harden myself against the understanding in his eyes. What he said next though gave me an insight into his character that was refreshing and unsettling at the same time. “As soon as Stella has a few days to pull herself together we’ll likely head back towards the Ashville check points. They publish a roster book there that … that lists the dead and missing. They also have a way that you can advertise if you are looking for someone and it gets published in a separate roster. If you’d care for me to, I’ll check next time I’m near there.”

I’ll admit the unexpectedness of it floored me. “Why would you do something like that? You barely know me?”

“I go when I get the chance, checking to see if my fiancé’s name is there.”

“Oh. I’m … I’m sorry.”

“Thank you but … she was doing what she had to. She has a little girl that was in daycare when the evac order came. I was on the other side of town. We were supposed to meet up. It didn’t work out that way.”

“Have you heard from her?”

He nodded. “People change,” was all he said.

Not knowing what else to say I instead asked, “How’s Stella? She wasn’t looking … well … when I saw her.”

“Stella will be ok. She’s good at landing on her feet. The thing with her ex just shook her up. The man was pretty vicious about his accusations. He’d been expecting a little extra … er … help I guess you’d call it.”

“If you were being polite you would, but more than likely polite isn’t what he was looking for.”

Mr. Stillwell gave a surprised chuckle. “Stella said not to sell you short.” I shrugged not really wanting to dissect my character. He didn’t seem to notice and simply continued explaining. “Yeah. The guy thought he’d get more than what he was due and when Stella didn’t because it would have meant shorting another customer that had already paid for their order the guy showed his true colors.”

“Sounds like it backfired on all concerned.”

He sighed and said, “It did that.”

Thinking a moment I asked, “You’re serious about checking those rosters for me aren’t you?”

“I said I would and I’m a man of my word.”

I nodded and wondered once again if I needed meds. “Come on. Help me pull this wagon and I have a trade for you. Assuming you have the time.”

“I do, though …”

“Trust me on this Mr. Stillwell. You’ll appreciate this trade.”

Well the trade had Mr. Stillwell looking at me like maybe he agreed that I needed meds. “Do you know what this is worth?!”

“Yes, I do so stop making a face like I need a caretaker. You can’t run around unarmed. And that 9mm on your hip may help but it won’t against what all is out in these woods. At least what is out in these woods this time of year. Feral pigs you might get lucky if you are good shot and close enough. Bears on the other hand …”

“Mrs. Belmont …”

“Look, call me Ettie. I know, I know … you are the professionally polite type that doesn’t mix the business and the personal. Good for you and I’m glad to see there is still some of that around. And if you insist on it you can continue to call me that in company. But right now, it seems kinda stuffy and … well, stuffy. If you must look at it all cock-eyed, then just consider it another type of trade.”

Slowly he unbent and gave me a cautious smile. “All right. And you can call me Don. Stella does. And … well I appreciate the trade.” I could tell he was referring to the shotgun (formerly of the Carmichael estate) as well as going on a first name basis. He looked at the sky and then asked, “Do you have enough wood?”

I had to chuckle. “Yes. I’m … look I’m doing ok. I’m not going to get into it chapter and verse, but as you can see I’m having no problem providing for Evie.”

He nodded and got thoughtful. “It would be wise to keep the chapter and verse to yourself for as long as possible. A few men were making remarks at the last Swap Meet. Uh … showing an interest. Asking questions.”

“I’ve taken precautions coming home just in case.” At his surprised look I felt like rolling my eyes. Instead, I told him, “I worked in the city with a clientele that could be problematic, some of the staffers and their families or connections weren’t much better. I also went to college and the campus I lived on was known to be a party haven for the more outlaw frats. If you aren’t totally ignorant and oblivious you live, you learn, you survive. Plus, I know these mountains, Don. I know the land, the trails, the seasons. And speaking of … the weather change is going to catch you outdoors if you don’t get going.”

He took the hint and agreed it was time for him to be on his way. I walked him back to the spur trail, made sure he knew where he was going and how to get there, and then breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted him taking the correct fork so I wouldn’t have to worry about him walking in circles. I felt Evie snuggle down into her sling and decided it was time to get back.

I suppose the bottom line is that I’m not truly irritated at Stella or Don but more at myself. Stella, and now Don, warned me to keep my situation to myself. Yet there I was, first thing in my head, was to tell them about the old Carmichael place. I feel foolish. I am very glad I didn’t tell them where the house was located but I don’t regret helping in the way I did. I don’t regret giving the bear to Mr. Mason, he’ll make good use out of it as he and Daddy used to occasionally hunt together. And I don’t regret trading Don the shotgun and a box of shells either though I’m sure both Daddy and Robert would have had something to say about it if they were here. But they aren’t. I am. Maybe I’ll regret it at some point, but I don’t think so. The man could have used a lot of legitimate excuses for not bringing those shoes for Evie, but he didn’t. And with the cold wind blowing tonight I am fairly certain I’ll be more thankful that he did bring them than I’ll ever regret trading the shotgun.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 11​

Living in town I’d forgotten what this could be like. It is rare enough that even had I never left home this would still be unusual. Home. I know this is home, it feels so familiar yet right now, in the dark with only the fire for light, it isn’t bringing me the comfort and security you would think that it should.

This storm isn’t the first one, just the latest. First time it happened I thought I was going to go stir crazy, unable to leave the house because of Evie. Unable to do any work if I couldn’t go outside because of the deep snow and cold. Just stuck trying to keep us both warm and praying the wood I had brought to the porch would last. I was terrified I’d lose the animals. I think that I’ve addressed that worry but who knows.

The house is so quiet. The only real sound the cracking of the fire in the wood stove. All three of us bundled up in here because of what the storm has left in its wake. The cold presses against the house. It would snow every winter but not always big snow. There were a couple of years that stand out in my memories, but my parents were here and when I would get scared all I would have to do was run to them and they would tell me everything would be ok. They didn’t always understand – or approve – how vivid my imagination was but they always knew what to say to allay my fears. As a child I used to fantasize that some giant had scooped up the farm and was mashing us into the center of some enormous snowball. Every window is covered with something … snow and ice or the black of a night so dark because the heavenly lights have been snuffed out. Either way it is almost like the world doesn’t exist beyond the glass.

This year winter came early and has been brutal. I installed the storm windows but didn’t take off the fireplace covers except in the kitchen and even there I’ve put it back on. I moved from my old room that I was sharing with Robert to the room that my great grandparents used when climbing the stairs got beyond them. I used heavy drapes Momma bought someplace and never unpackaged to replace the light weight sheers that were being used as decorative bed curtains on the poster bed. I even rigged up bed curtains for Evie’s crib. It would have been easier just to bring her in bed with me except she isn’t completely dry all through the night and laundry is already a nightmare without adding trying to clean a mattress to it.

Trying to conserve heat … and make my wood last longer since I’ve gone through so much so quickly … I wound up covering all the windows and doors with floor rugs and blankets. The results are a house that is dark all the time. Matches my mood. I’ve closed down the rooms I’m not using by shutting doors and using those things my mother called draft dodgers to keep air from escaping in or out. I’ve tried to find every crack that a stray breeze could come through and stuff it with rags. There aren’t too many of those as my ancestors built things right and then took care so that things stayed right. My parents continued the tradition and now it is my turn. I don’t delay when I find something that needs repairing. And I’m blessed that I’ve thus far been able to find everything I need in one of the sheds or in Momma’s “collection” of stuff that could never be thrown away.

As cold as it is the snow is actually helping to insulate the house. It protects us from the wind and prevents what heat we are generating from escaping. The wind alone has been so ferocious that if there were any leaves left on the deciduous trees they are now gone until Spring. In a storm like this I’m sure a few trees, even conifers, have come down. At least it will make finding firewood a little easier.

December. Not only is it December, but it is also pretty close to the end of it. I keep telling myself the decorations need to come down, but I know how much it is going to hurt. It will be like packing away that last little bit of hope I had left. I don’t know if I’m ready to give it up yet though I think it may be time.

I expected Christmas to be … well what it obviously wasn’t. There is a man in the house, but it isn’t for long and it isn’t Robert. I still don’t understand what is going on. If he is ever coming home. If he cares. If he doesn’t care, why … what happened. I guess that is what I really want to know. What happened? What changed and when? Why have I had to find out what little bit I know this way after waiting so long? Why?

Time just keeps passing. I try and hold on as much as I can, but it just slips away, like so many things have. Like so many people have. Robert … gone since July … nearly 6 months gone. It seems forever and just yesterday at the same time. Daddy and Momma … gone since August. Still hard to believe. I know where they are and why they had to leave. Oh grow up Ettie, say it the way it really is instead of trying to sugar coat it. You’re twenty-six, you left childhood a long time ago, or should have. They died. Daddy and Momma died. And there’s nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

I know why they died. In my head I’ve come to terms with that part of it and at least I know they’re together and in a better place; but there are moments when I still walk into the kitchen first thing in the morning and think I see them sitting at the table enjoying a cup of coffee, waiting for me to join them before the day starts. Sometimes it is like I see Daddy out of the corner of my eye watching me. I must be careful though. I must keep reminding myself what is real and what isn’t. I can’t let the fantasies become real, no matter how comforting they might be. There’ve been days when it would have been all too easy to slip into the land of make believe and see Robert and Daddy and Momma … talk to them as if they were here … a few times I did. I almost forgot that it is just me and Evie. No one else. We’re alone. Even with him here we’re alone.

Evie is sixteen months old; walking and more than just babbling, trying to dress and feed herself whether I have the time to let her or not. She even tries to color with the “paints” I’ve made her out of plant dyes. Using the developmental scale I received at her early pediatric appointments, she is low on the growth chart but advanced in other areas. I’ll take small and smart with no complaints. I’m so proud of her … try to remember to be proud of myself for being able to raise her and keep her safe despite it all … yet so angry that I’m the only one around to see it; that there is no one to share her with, to show her off to, no one else to rejoice in her next accomplishment. Just me. There are days I am so furious with Robert that I don’t know what I can say to him that will ever explain it. There are days I am so lonely for him that I would accept any explanation or none at all, just to have him here. Most days I spend trying to not think of him at all just so I don’t have to feel anything, so that when … if … he comes home I will be able to give him a chance, something, anything rather than this black rage that wants to engulf me when it is least constructive for me to feel it. And that was before I found out.

I’ve been trying to hold on … to time, to my feelings, to hope, to faith … but each keep slipping away. Maybe not faith but even that on some days because I am so mad at God for letting us go through this. I try and turn away from that, know it isn’t healthy to throw away the one thing that can get me through the day when all else fails but there are moments, days, when I want to scream at the top of my lungs at the unfairness of it all. When that happens, I force myself to stop and remember what I do have. Evie. A roof over our heads. Food in our bellies. Our health. More than what a lot of people have. Worst thing I’ve had to deal with is when Evie got an earache and despite being nerve wracking it wasn’t horrible. Even if things were normal, it isn’t something I would have taken her to the doctor for, just called Momma. But Momma is gone and yet somehow, we survived. It’s a struggle to keep searching out those good things. The feelings and memories I must bury to survive, yet need at the same time, and the energy it requires to juggle it all drains me.

There’ve been days that by the end, all I want or can do is sit in the rocker and hold Evie. But she doesn’t always want to be held anymore. She has to be in the sling so much that when she isn’t she wants to move and be free to explore the world. I must force myself to stay awake long enough that she can have some time like that. I’ve fallen asleep on the floor in the middle of her toys a couple of times and it scared me. That’s one of the other reasons why we moved downstairs. The room was easier to baby-proof. If not for Evie, I think I would have given up smiling a long time ago. Might have given up waking up too. I know that isn’t the way it is supposed to be but nothing in life seems like it is the way it is supposed to be.

To help me remember what I need to be thankful for on the bad days I document what I can … in the farm ledger Daddy always kept, in the family Bible that Momma always kept, in Evie’s baby book Robert and I started when life still had so much promise. I started this journal for me, to document my part in it all, to give me a place to vent, but then I gave it up.

Why did I stop writing? I guess mostly because I stopped wanting to document what I was feeling. Wanted to try and forget some things, or maybe more honestly it was to avoid some feelings. The passage of time hurts. I grieved for my parents then moved on the best that I could. Mostly I think in the beginning for Evie, but eventually because I knew it is what my parents would have expected of me. Even Momma. I don’t know why I can’t move on from Robert. Even now. I don’t know if I want to move on from Robert. I’m not sure I can believe it … that I’m ready to believe it, though I know something needs to happen. I guess I stopped mostly because acknowledging my feelings of hurt and pain would mean acknowledging that I needed to deal with them, and I wasn’t ready.

Why did I pick this journal back up? Because I can’t hide any more. Because I can’t pretend any more. I don’t have all the answers. In a way now that I have some answers, I’ve only got more questions. And worse, I’m not sure if I want the answers to those questions. But I need to figure things out. I can’t keep going on this way. I looked in the mirror today and my God, I thought it was Momma. Not the looks … I take after Daddy’s side of the family … but the look in my eyes. I literally saw my mother staring back at me. Not the good part of her, the part I would gladly lay claim to, not the part I pray I can grow into … but the confusion and pain that she sometimes wouldn’t be able to hide. I can’t go there. I can’t be that. I loved my mother but that part of her I do not want to be.

When Travis died it felt like I lost my parents too. After a while Daddy came back … Momma never did, not all the way. She was never the same. It wasn’t just grief. Grief you can survive even when you don’t think you will. When Travis died something in Momma broke permanently. I never hated Travis for taking that part of Momma with him to the grave, but I came close. I don’t ever want Evie to feel like I felt. I can’t repeat that mistake. Maybe that is why I had to go through it … so Evie wouldn’t have to. Regardless of the reason I have got to take myself in hand. This is my reality. It is my present and apparently it is my future. More importantly, it is Evie’s present and future and if I can’t go on for myself I must find some way to go on for her. She didn’t choose to be created, to be born. Robert and I made the choice to bring her into this world. Robert may be gone – may be gone permanently – but I’m not and she needs me. She will not always need me the way she does now, but I want her to know that I will always be there for her in whatever way she does.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 12​

Fell asleep last night. Reread what I wrote now that both of them are back to sleep, and I had a little privacy and quiet to actually think with. I’m trying to decide whether to rip those pages out and throw them in the fire. I was in shock, so hurt as I put those words on paper. I’m not feeling much differently tonight. It will probably take me a while to work through this. And once I do I’m not sure I ever want to be reminded of this time. I know I can’t simply deny this chapter in my life, but I don’t want it staring back at me in black and white if I accidentally pick this journal up some time in the far future. And I sure don’t want anyone else reading my thoughts. I’m raw enough now. I don’t know if I could ever reach a point that I could share what is going on inside me and the thought of Evie ever reading this is frankly horrifying.

I also see that my writing skills are as rusty as my conversational skills have gotten. I was hired then promoted because of those skills; my ability to get dropped into a difficult situation and play moderator without losing my cool, because I could analyze the facts and then use my technical writing skills to relay the facts without creating unnecessary drama in the office or with the patients and their families. Good Lord, help me to put those skills back to work. This time I need them for myself. I must find some way to move forward; keep my pride and dignity while acknowledging my reality.

I’m ashamed to say that I really haven’t done myself any favors the last two months. Oh, that isn’t to say that I haven’t been working hard to build on the food and shelter for Evie but I haven’t been dealing very well with things otherwise, especially my emotions. I don’t think anyone noticed. I didn’t let anyone notice. There weren’t that many people to notice. My points of contact have been minimal, both intentionally and due to opportunity. Intentionally for the sake of Evie’s safety. Even if I hadn’t chosen that path, the number of opportunities to choose anything other than keeping to myself have been few and far between. What I’m realizing is that I’m not the only one on that path. There are a lot of unhappy stories out there.

Stella and Don struggled to get a new crew together, to get their reputation back. Stella’s ex kept harassing them, making it harder than it had to be. They were ostracized by the vast majority of the rest of the community of traders working in this area. Eventually they decided that instead of having their own crew they’d join one and let someone else take the risks and provide the security. Less return but also a smaller initial investment. It would get them working until they could build a new stake and a new crew … or perhaps buy someone out. They located someone who gave them a chance, someone that had also been on the wrong end of false accusations. I missed their Meet in October. Evie was teething and had an earache, and I just didn’t feel up to dealing with a cranky and irritable baby on the trail or amongst strangers.

Almost missed them in November when I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to take Evie out in the cold, but I wanted … needed … news. Any news. From any source. I needed to see people. I hadn’t even seen Kevie since I gave them the bear carcass. Almost a month since I had seen another soul besides Evie and my own reflection. I was suffering some serious cabin fever.

I had kept busy, so it wasn’t like I had a lot of time on my hands I didn’t know how to fill. I gathered the rest of the garden in. Pulled the last of the apples, saving the best and juicing the rest. I took care of the chickens and goats, even culled the ones that wouldn’t make it through the winter on the feed that I had left. By myself. I would have shared the rewards if someone had come looking for work, but no one did. And I tried to keep myself from thinking that Robert was one of those that didn’t come.

October had been beautiful, but November turned cool. Not much worse than it normally did but it was still noticeable. November is also deer season. I took my hunting tags, Robert’s tags, and Daddy’s tags too. But I was careful. I didn’t want to overhunt the area and I didn’t want to take a chance in running into Fish and Wildlife and having them confiscate what I knew I would need. Turns out that worry was a valid one, but I never had that trouble like others did. The authorities apparently had enough to keep them occupied investigating those that were turned in by their neighbors, or the self-appointed “monitors” that travelled around to the various community events, stores, and trading venues like the swap meets. You must be so careful that people don’t find out what you have. There are rewards for turning people in. Not just for hunting but for just about anything that could be considered “hoarding” or some such nonsense, for not recycling properly, for speaking out against certain things and people, for not towing the line favored by whoever was big dog of the day. It made me grateful that I never brought anything to the Swap Meets that drew that kind of attention, nor that I ever allowed myself to be drawn into conversations with people. After Suzanne’s warning I took even more pains to not stand out.

It was hard to be shunted off to the side of deals with people not thinking I had anything worth trading. And even if I hadn’t had anything to compete with the others it was still rude the way it was handled. I remember the day that I almost gave in and kicked a woman that treated me like I was a much poorer relative of the woman in the shoe with all those kids. I didn’t but it was a close thing. I had to walk away and keep my head down so people wouldn’t see me seething.

I was walking by tables not even paying attention when I walked into someone … practically bounced off them. I struggled for a few seconds when large hands kept me from falling. Then I saw who the hands belonged to and I regained my dignity.

He said, “Mrs. Belmont.”

“Mr. Stillwell.”

"I see you made it out today.”

I nodded and said, “The weather decided me. We haven’t had too many of these sunny days recently.”

I looked for Stella and saw her doing a trade with a cranky woman complaining of the price of the cheese and other groceries that were in a plexi-glass fronted cabinet attached to the side of a van. Quickly realizing they were on their own I said, “New van but no crew.”

“Same situation as before.”

“Oh.” I glanced briefly in Stella’s direction and then asked, “Is she ok?”

“Yeah. She found her mad and …” Then he shrugged. “We’ve decided to wait things out and give him time and rope and hope he hangs himself with it. Right now, he is still a man with friends though he’s using up a lot of favors.”

“Running out of get out of jail free cards?”

Mr. Stillwell gave a small smile and said, “Something like that. Are you here to trade?”

“I was. Not having a whole lot of luck.” Seeing the look on his face I added, “And I’m not looking for charity.”

“Heaven forfend anyone should think it.”

I almost laughed. “God, do people really still talk like that?”

He chuckled. “Apparently not. Seriously, are you looking for anything in particular?”

I sighed and shrugged. “To be honest, I … I just wanted to see people. Hear them. Might have been a mistake on my part from what I’ve heard.”

“Heard? From who?”

“I met Suzanne Markham and her … uh … Mr. Mason on the trail. They were here earlier and didn’t stay long because Kevie is coming down with a cold. She explained a few things.” What Suzanne had explained in a nutshell was that there were more trade goods at the Swap Meets but the people bringing them in were a different lot than what had been coming before; the men and the women. There were still some locals trading but they were considered interlopers rather than the people that belonged there. It was worse than when the tourist season was in high gear. Even if you wanted to make money off the season, the tourists never seemed to cooperate, being more interested in cheap import crap than locally made handcrafts.

“Hmmm,” was Don’s only response. He looked at the sling on my back and asked, “How’s the baby?”

“Asleep thank goodness. She babbled my ears off the whole way here. I didn’t know whether it was the cold or her volume that had them numb.”

He grinned and started to say something but was interrupted by a customer demanding attention. I saw the man had a book of coupons in his hand, so I backed away and left Don to his business. As I walked away, he asked me to come back in a bit, that he needed to relay something to me.

I’ll be honest, my chest tightened, and I didn’t know whether to be excited or scared; I picked stoic though even that was hard to put in place. I’d been fighting to use manners and not demand outright if he’d gotten to one of those check points and by the time I got back around to his and Stella’s space I was shaking so badly I put my mittens on so no one could see.

“Crowd has thinned out,” Stella said spotting me. She looked over at Don and said, “You told her yet?”

Something must have shown on my face because Don said, “Dammit Stella. Cover the table will you, you big mouth.”

All Stella did was snort and give a shrug as Don walked me away from the line of tables at the overlook and down the road where there was a little privacy.

Trying to speak in a normal voice I asked, “Did … did you find something?”

Don sighed and shook his head. At first I thought he meant no but then he said, “I can’t say for sure. I found a Robert M. Belmont listed as injured during a riot while manning a food station.”

“Injured? Not … not …?”

“No, not killed. Said he was treated and released.”

“Maybe … maybe that was his father.”

“Too young. Same age and race as you said your husband was. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t another man with the same name and age as your husband in the area. The newer reports have a lot of details the early ones didn’t, but they aren’t in-depth biographies.”

Confused I asked, “Newer reports?”

That’s when Don became cautious. “I can only relay the report but I … I don’t have any corroborating material that would be definitive.” He paused and then said, “The report said the riot took place in late September.”

“Late … September? But … he … he left in July.”

“Yeah. Look, I know it is a lot to ask but if you give me your in-law’s contact information I’ll see if I can find anything else out.”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing you can do. They live in Asheville proper and ...”

“I’ve got a three-day pass and a scheduled entry date in early December.” At my questioning look he wouldn’t look directly at me. “Stella has been on me about getting some closure and … and moving on. I’m going to see … I’m going to try and find my fiancé. I need to know if she wrote the letter or her big sister. Her sister …” he stopped and shook his head. “Thought she deserved someone better than a come down in the world ex-contractor.”

“Oh,” was the only thing I could think of saying because I was still reeling, trying to understand what I had learned. Trying to talk myself into it being the wrong Robert M. Belmont and then being scared that I was somehow wishing Robert dead rather than wanting the truth.

Don mumbled, “I’m sorry I don’t have more.”

I had to mentally shake myself to respond. “This is more than I had before. I don’t even know why you did this much … and then to say you’d do more? But, I don’t see as I have much choice.” I pulled a notepad out of my bag and wrote down what he’d asked for and a little more besides. “Just in case I’m going to give you my uncle’s contact information too. I know it is a lot to ask …”

“Relax. You didn’t ask, I offered. And I’ve been very grateful to have that shotgun on more than one occasion. And not just because of bears.”

I sighed and briefly closed my eyes. “The world just sucks so much right now.”

“A lot of it does. Not all of it. There’s still resiliency if you look for it.”

I looked and he was smiling at a point just over my shoulder. I turned and saw some kids playing what looked like some form of four square. They were laughing and carrying on like they didn’t have a care in the world. Seeing the smile was fading but still there I said, “You miss teaching.”

“Not really. The classroom stuff was basically just a means to an end. I was in a bad way and needed a job. My sister had her own set of problems and needed someone on staff she could trust. The truth is I hated the paperwork and all of the rules that the Board of Trustees hemmed us in with … words we could use, words we couldn’t, what curriculum we had to use, what subjects were off limits even if the kids brought them up, how close we could stand to the child, the resources we could use to teach with, what brand clothes we could wear, how we had to dress and speak even when we weren’t on the job, the places we weren’t supposed to go. It was like all they wanted us to be were robots so we could turn out more robots … little robots with high test scores. But even with all of that there were still kids that made it worth putting up with the BS.”

“It was your calling.”

He shook his head in denial. “Don’t make me out to be a saint. Good pay or not if I hadn’t owed my sister I would have been out of there as fast as I could have pulled it off. She and her husband took me in when our parents died in a boating accident.”

It was obvious that was all he was going to say on the subject. I nodded. “Family. They can drive you crazy or share your crazy. Sometimes there isn’t much difference between the two.”

We were silent just long enough for it to turn uncomfortable. I said, “Look, I better be …”

“I was serious when I asked what you were looking to trade for. Do you need something for the baby?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Mostly I am looking while trying not to get noticed. My parents were … well … they were pack rats and they had planned for family to come to the farm. Didn’t happen so with it just being Evie and I …” I shrugged wanting him to understand and back off so that I wouldn’t have to actually say there was no way I was going to explain things in detail.

“OK, so nothing you need but was there something you wanted? You seemed … er … preoccupied when we ran into each other.”

“That’s one way of putting it and no, mostly I just find people’s attitudes difficult to swallow. And some of these vendors have what I’d call unrealistic expectations.”

He smiled and using my own words said, “That’s one way of putting it.” We were silent again, this time it wasn’t quite as uncomfortable but it was interrupted by a sharp whistle followed by a bellow. I could just make out Don muttering, “She is definitely deaf, only explanation.”

We walked back towards the meet only to see a crowd forming while some man was yelling and causing a scene. Don said, “Stay out of it.”

It didn’t take long before I figured out the man making a spectacle of himself was Stella’s ex and that he was turning the crowd against Stella. I’d already sensed an unhealthy undercurrent of emotion, even felt it myself, and things were quickly progressing out of hand. When I saw the local authorities grab Don who had stepped in to protect Stella something popped into my head and I decided to run with it.

“Stella! You can’t keep protecting your ex. I know he has … problems and stuff but …” I forced a concerned look on my face. “He’s just going to have to pay. There’s no telling how many other people he’s swindled at this point.”

Don froze and Stella’s mouth fell open, neither look was especially attractive. I turned away and had my professional face firmly in place. “How many different swap meets does this make? Stella is trying to prevent you from being arrested for hoarding.”

“Shut your mouth you b****. You don’t know what you are talking about.”

He tried to keep talking but I simply ignored him and continued my ruse. The more agitated Stella’s ex got the more reasonable I appeared.

“Honestly, can’t you see she’s just trying to save you from yourself? You aren’t from this area. Yet you go to several swap meets every week taking unfair advantage and really upsetting the local economies. Do you think anyone else here has the opportunity to do what you are doing? Stella cut you off when she figured out what was happening. She didn’t even press charges when you made false accusations. But it must stop. Now you are not only hurting Stella, but you are committing fraud. I mean where do you get all your currency? And your truck? How do you get the fuel for it considering all the rationing? How do you have the money to hire those men that are guarding everything you have piled in the back end of your truck?”

At that point several of the “monitors” got involved and started asking questions of their own. The authorities realized things were getting even more out of control when the crowd started to change loyalties. This only made the ex act angrier which only intensified the crowd’s suspicions, most of which was based solely on jealousy. In the end the ex got dragged off by the authorities who were followed by the monitors who all tried to claim they were just about to turn him in. The ex’s truck was confiscated and the only thing that happened to Stella was a warning that protecting a hoarder wasn’t helpful and was actually harmful, regardless of the motives, and that she was to report her ex every time she saw him buying goods outside what would be considered his town.

Things settled down and I was planning my exit when Don said, “Not yet. There’s a couple of people here that need to leave before you do.”

Stella winked and said, “That was as slick as a greased pig.”

I shook my head and surprised them both by saying, “Stella that man is dangerous. I’m not going to ask what his damage is but we both know he has some. If there are still orders of protection you need to get one.”

Stella finally dropped her folksy act and got serious. “Have one but it’s worth less than the paper it is written on. Jared just has a skill of making people see things his way.”

“Not this time but I can guarantee I don’t want to have to do this on a regular basis. I’m not even sure I did you any favors. I sure don’t think I did his kids any favors.”

Stella gave Don a disgruntled look and grumbled, “And you say I have the bigger mouth.” Turning back to me she said, “Don’t worry about it. Jared needs to get knocked down a few pegs. This did it and reminded him his way of doing things can go both ways. Maybe if those monitors start eyeballing him he’ll give up whatever bug is up his butt.” She leaned against the truck and said, “Let’s clear up and clear out before the others start complaining they’re having to wait on us. We need to get before curfew catches us.”

Don nodded then looked around. “Looks like Jared’s friends are leaving as well.” To me he asked, “You sure …?”

“I’m fine. I know more trails and ways to get home than most people have ways to avoid traffic on the interstate.”

“That may be so but if you come to the next swap meet in two weeks be doubly careful. You are coming?”

“Probably but with the weather being so unpredictable satisfying my curiosity may not be a good enough reason.”

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 13​

That one taste of human interaction after such a drought only seemed to fuel my desire for more. I was forced to fill my time with more and more work to keep from using all my energy on worry … and anger … and a desire to find more people to talk to and compare my experiences with. Part of me wanted to believe that I wasn’t the only one going through hardships. Well not hardships because that was obvious just from looking at people who came to the swap meets and listening to their economic tales of woe … but of losing touch with those they love, of missing family members, going crazy just from the not knowing.

If I didn’t fall into bed exhausted at the end of each day, I would lie there thinking … mostly about Robert but about other worries as well. And even when I did fall into an exhausted sleep, I dreamed about all the things I was trying not to think about.

Some days I would go hunting only to lose my concentration – or Evie decided to be too noisy – and instead I would come back with things like more acorns, black walnuts, sassafras root, burdock root, dandelion root (if there was enough of the plant left for me to recognize), and Jerusalem artichoke (so I wouldn’t have to use any of the fresh potatoes and would have some left to plant next year). I harvested chickweed because I’d finally run through all the fresh greens from the garden and started craving the one thing I no longer had. I harvested – over-harvested – so many sumac berries that I’ll likely have to go further afield to get any next season. I picked prickly pear fruit and passionfruit to can just because I was running out of anything else to do it with.

I shot two wild turkeys but wound up just canning the meat and turning the carcasses into soup stock because I just couldn’t stomach the idea of trying to fake a Thanksgiving celebration. Mentally I knew I had an incredible amount to be thankful for but emotionally it was just beyond me. I cried myself sick three days running before I finally decided that enough was enough. But I’d no sooner committed to a different path than the first storm of the winter season hit without warning.

I could only leave the house briefly to check on the animals. The heater Daddy would have normally used in the barn was out of fuel and I was scared that I would lose the remaining chickens and goats. When that storm was over something inside must have slipped a notch because I certainly wasn’t very balanced. That’s when I decided to move downstairs but before I could, I needed to clean and once I started cleaning and rearranging, I couldn’t seem to stop.

The house wasn’t especially dirty, but I had shied away from cleaning out Daddy and Momma’s bedroom and putting away their other personal belongings. A lot of my childhood had simply been moved to the attic with what Robert and I had been able to evacuate the city with. Moving stuff around took me a week. While I was up in the attic, I decided to look for my old toys and clothes to get a better idea of what I would have for Evie. I found them … and also found the Christmas decorations. I needed room to reorganize with so decided to decorate, using Evie as the excuse. My great grandfather frowned on the commercial aspects of the holidays and basically raised my father the same way. You’d never find a Santa or elf or any such references in the decorations that were used in this house but there are still several beautiful pieces.

I cried a bit when I realized that I would likely never see the decorations Robert and I had made or collected our first few Christmases together. I wouldn’t see any of it again. We had managed to pack our “good” silver pieces that we got for wedding gifts as well as a few other things that we’d inherited after getting married, our pictures, some other memorabilia, but most of the everyday items we were forced to leave behind. It made me feel so guilty even though I knew I didn’t have anything to be guilty for. I can’t explain what was going through my head, but I felt so cut off from what should have been and then I developed some unreasonable fantasy that if I could just turn my parents’ home into our home that on Christmas, I would get the gift I was so praying for.

Part of me knew I was on the brink of falling down the rabbit hole and unlikely to be able to climb out on my own. It is probably why I needed to ground myself in the reality that I could control so much. I scared myself that morning I caught myself talking to my parents. Realizing what day it was I grabbed Evie, bundled her up, grabbed my bag that I had put some items to try and trade and hiked to the overlook to see whether there was a swap meet or not. There was but I was disappointed to not see Stella or Don. Then I remembered he’d said that his pass was for early December. I almost turned back but didn’t. I couldn’t allow myself to be so dependent.

There were several monitors there and I avoided coming to their notice. There were a few more locals there than there had been last time. I stuck to trading with them and because we spoke the same language and got much more accomplished. All the barters were small and simple by the standards of the day, but they were enough for my purposes. I traded a lock and key set for a package of embroidery needles; the needle eyes were large enough for embroidery floss and sharp enough to sew fleece with. I traded acorn flour and sumac berries for cornmeal. I traded venison jerky for summer sausage. I traded goat cheese preserved in oil for a small round of cheddar cheese. But mostly what I traded was knowledge.

Some of the old timers there laughed with me as I explained that you could parch acorns and dandelion roots and make a reasonable facsimile for coffee, but I even caught a monitor writing the directions down. I explained how sumac berries … the red ones, not the white ones … could be used to make a lemon-like flavoring for drinks or to season meat with. I showed them a few examples of edible mushrooms but warned them that they’d be better off sticking to something else if they weren’t sure what they were doing; that we had people die every year from poisoning during the mushroom round-ups. Told them how you could dry and grind acorns and other nuts to make your flour go further so long as you were careful with the ratio or were willing to eat flat bread.

Going home I should have felt better than I did. I had every reason to feel better. Everyone had been nice, helpful, I got things I could actually use … including a bag of popcorn that Mr. Mason had given me in gratitude for the bear carcass I sent his way. Evie had been an angel and didn’t fuss one bit. I even heard good news. There was a cease fire in effect for December and everyone seemed to be abiding by it, even countries that didn’t follow Christian tenets. No one was sure how long it would last but there were rumors that peace talks would begin before the end of the year. Overall, despite the obvious hardships everyone was suffering, people’s attitudes seemed to be on the upswing. But I just couldn’t shake my depression.

I got back to the farm and almost fell back into the fantasy that I’d run from just that morning. I decided work was the only remedy. I must have split an entire cord of wood in just the next two days. That was the easy part. The hard part was realizing that if I wanted more than that I was going to have to fell a tree or find one already down and bring it back; more than one tree. And that’s what I spent most of my time doing after that point.

Trees were handy enough and I had found my old swing up in the attic. I would use a rope to hang the swing in a nearby tree to put Evie in and then chop whatever I could find down into manageable pieces. Once I had a wagon load I would put Evie back in her sling and bring the wood back to the farm where I would use Daddy’s manual splitter. From there I would cut some of the wood into smaller and smaller pieces and keep them for separate uses … the stoves, the fireplace, the junk wood which I could burn in a barrel to have some way to warm my hands and keep Evie warm when we had to be outside.

Then two storms hit back-to-back and Christmas came and went and I almost fell apart.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 14​

Two days after Christmas would have been Daddy’s birthday. I went out to the cemetery to put a wreath of pinecones on their graves only to find that something – more than likely a feral hog – had rooted up and chewed on the crosses that I had so painstakingly carved and placed to mark where my parents are buried. It was too much. When I started crying Evie started crying. I don’t even know how long we sat there but when I felt Evie shiver in my arms I realized it was far longer than it should have been.

Wiping my eyes, I finally realized that snow was coming down and it wasn’t in a gentle drift. I also saw that amidst the flakes falling there was the occasional drop of sleet. I backed away from the trees and looked towards the ridge. The ridge wasn’t even visible but was hidden by some of the nastiest clouds I’ve seen to date. I stumbled back to the house and put Evie inside, lit the bedroom stove, and then ran to the barn. I was all but cursing the animals as I caught them up and ran them to the old storm shelter that was under Daddy’s workshop. It had been a root cellar at one point but my grandfather and his brother-in-law’s had expanded it, shored it up, and had hidden part of their moonshine operation there. How my great grandfather never found it I don’t know, and Daddy would never say, it is just one of those mysteries of family history that I’ll have to wait on Heaven to solve.

As quarrelsome as the chickens were, it was the last two goats that were nearly my undoing. They simply didn’t want to be caught and protected from the weather that was turning from bad to worse quickly. I finally managed to grab the horn of one of them and start dragging it toward the shed when the other made this weird bleating sound like the air was being squeezed out of it. I turned to see a man had grabbed it up and then started coming towards me. I didn’t have the sense to turn loose and run and in hindsight it was a good thing I didn’t.

“Where’s the baby?”

“Mr. Stillwell? Don?!”

“Yeah. Look, I’m about to impose but if you’d prefer I can sleep with the animals and …”

Startled and not in the best of moods I snapped, “Oh shut up. This isn’t the time to play Gentleman Jones. Help me get these two suicidal nannies into shelter.”

We did that and then made a run for the house as we were pelted with razor sharp pieces of hail mixed with the sleet and snow. I had to literally get behind him and push him inside, him being as stubborn as the animals had been. I slammed the door shut then rushed to check on Evie who was asleep in her crib, but the room was colder than I had expected. My hands were shaking as I added wood to the stove.

“God! I’ve got to get wood in.”

He’d followed me in and said, “Just tell me where it is and where you want it. If … if you could have something warm to drink … even water …”

I wanted to smack him with the broom because for some reason he just makes me feel that way when he starts being too gentlemanly. I am convinced one of these days that man is going to polite himself into a grave, and for no good reason. I told him where I keep it stacked and asked him to bring it all the way onto the porch. While he did that I took the coffee pot and a can of milk to the bedroom. I also pulled an extra chair in there. While it might have been more prudent to have kept to the kitchen it was simply too cold to be prudent and I knew from experience it would be easier to keep one room warm rather than two.

He came back inside bringing an armload of wood and I told him to put it in the wood box by the fireplace on the other side of the crib.

“Uh …”

“Don’t. I know how it looks but this weather is insane. The kitchen is just too big to heat during this storm. This is turning worse than what we’ve had thus far, and I honestly can’t remember anything like this when I was a kid either. I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am. Just accept the hospitality as a trade for helping me with the goats and wood.”

Don was so cold I had to help get his pack off. He didn’t want to come out of his coat but I said it was better to let it dry and I handed him a quilt to wrap up in while I took off my own coat and put on a quilted housecoat. It was when I was adjusting the curtains on the crib that I realized Don’s ruddy complexion wasn’t from the cold but from where he’d been in a fight.

“Don?”

Holding his coffee cup towards the percolator he asked, “Can I … can I have another mug?”

“Hang on, when is the last time you ate?”

Still shivering he said, “I don’t … mean to be a bother.”

“The only thing bothering me is that you are avoiding the question.”

He said it had been the previous day. I gave him half a mug of warm milk instead of the acorn coffee and went out to the kitchen where I kept the few food items that I could safeguard against freezing – in this case bouillon – and started some broth that he could sip.

He continued to shiver a bit and I kept catching him dozing off. Last time he did it was for long enough that I got his boots off before he knew what was happening.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he muttered almost angrily. “I will not take advantage …”

“If you sing that song one more time I may be forced to take drastic action. Now enough already. You’re stuck here, at least for the duration of the storm, so try and have a decent attitude about it.”

He just sat there looking at me and then finally shook his head and said, “I must be out of my mind.”

“You’re something all right. I don’t know too many in their right mind that would go hiking in the woods this time of year with no camping gear for just in case. At least I’m assuming there is no bedroll or anything in that thing,” I said pointing to his pack. “Anything in there that will freeze? If so you better bring it closer to this side of the room.”

He involuntarily groaned when he tried to stand and I guessed, “Your face isn’t all that is wrecked up.”

“No,” he admitted. “But it isn’t as bad as it was.”

“So you were worse than an arthritic old man at one point?”

He just grunted and dragged his pack over near the foot of the bed. I asked him, “Where’s Stella? With the Markhams?”

He was silent and I could see him struggling. “Don?”

Brokenly he tried to explain. “That bastard. That no good bastard. Some of his men dragged her off into the woods. By the time we got to her they’d already …”

Old habits are hard to break. I’d been called in to help with trauma patients and traumatized family members enough to recognize the signs. Staying professionally detached even though it was the last thing I wanted to be I tried to clarify, “We?”

“He overplayed his hand that time. Was bragging about it and word got around the meet quickly. The monitors were on him just that fast and … and some of us tried to find her.” He shuddered. “This isn’t something you need to hear.”

“Don, I worked in a clinic in one of the roughest areas of town. And Stella isn’t the first friend I’ve had to put back together after being attacked.”

Anger evident under his pain he snapped, “Well there isn’t any putting her back together. She … she was too hurt … internally. There were too many of them and they … I saw some of the most god-awful treatment of people when I was overseas, but this isn’t supposed to happen here.” He tried to calm himself and continue. “There were two women in the National Guard unit that had come with us to keep things from getting out of hand. Instead, it was them that ….” He stared into the window of the stove but he definitely wasn’t seeing the fire. “They took one look at what was happening to Stella and went up to each man and busted a cap on them … shot them in the back of the head I mean. No one knew what to say, not even me and there I sat in the dirt trying to cover Stella up and tell her it was going to be ok. Their Sergeant was right behind us with a medic. He just grimaced and coldly told the rest of us to move the bodies out of the way so the medic could get to Stella. For all I know the bodies of those men are still where they were rolled down the embankment.”

“I wanted to ride with her in the ambulance that finally came but since I wasn’t a relative, I had to stay back. It was after the ambulance left that things got crazy. Crazier I mean. The Sergeant spoke to their CO who then said he’d heard all he needed to hear and … and they hanged him Ettie. They just strung Jared up on a streetlight and hanged him. It … it reminded me too much of places and things that made me glad I couldn’t find work as a contractor. I’ve been shot at, had buildings blown up around me, scraped friends up and poured them into body bags … and not all of them due to enemy fire. I’ve seen some of the worst of the human race and while I’ve seen bodies hung, have seen men that needed to be hung, even been threatened with hanging myself, I’ve never seen an actual hanging in process. As much as I hated that son of a bitch it is something I wished I’d never witnessed. He … his neck didn’t snap, and he died slow and hard. They wouldn’t let anyone help him or end it. He kicked and twisted and … dammit this is a hell of a world we live in.”

He shivered under the quilt, and I grabbed another off the stack and draped it over his lap and poured more broth into his mug. “You have any injuries that need tending?”

He blinked and looked at me strangely. “Didn’t … didn’t you hear what I was saying?”

“Yes. And yes, I’m horrified. But right now, there’s you and you are hurt and there’s the storm and … and I need to keep my head and do something constructive.” I went to the corner hutch and reached into a top shelf and pulled down a first aid kit. “At least let me do something about that eyebrow. It looks painful.”

As I cleaned the cuts on his face and hands he told me the rest. “After Jared stopped kicking the CO announced his body was to remain in place at least 24 hours as a warning and that anyone caught disturbing the body before that time would get the same punishment. Some people that lived in the area complained and one got so close he got his mouth busted. Then things turned nastier. I’m not sure but I think Jared’s son may have started the fight. The fight eventually turned into a free-for-all and from there into an out and out riot. Afterwards I was only able to salvage what had been locked down hard in the back of the van. The rest of the crew was avoiding me like I was infectious. None of them would look me in the eye. The Crew Leader came over, handed me what he said Stella and I was owed then told me to take off.”

“Take off? How if the van was damaged?”

“He didn’t care. None of them cared. They’ll salvage the van and call it their due for the trouble Stella and I brought on them.”

“That’s insane!”

“You’ll wake the baby yelling like that.”

I almost snatched his ear and really did some damage, but I let it go. I think it was his way of trying to change the subject. Then he said, “You’ll want me to go soon too. I’m asking you just to let me stay the night.”

“Don, did you crack your head during the fight?”

I was about to lecture him on what an excess of politeness could cause when he said, “I saw him. Saw the guy running around with your husband’s name.”

My hands started shaking and I took a few steps away then sat on the chest at the end of the bed. “That’s … that’s an odd way of saying it.”

“He’s an odd guy. He denied who he was, but I know it was him. Right address. Hair color, eye color, height … everything you told me. Looks different from the picture had but only in the same way we all look different than we did before. I asked him straight out if he had a daughter named Evie and he got a little crazy and that’s when a woman came out … his mother … your mother-in-law. She demanded to know why I was upsetting her son. I asked her what his name was, and she answered truthfully but said that her son has been ill as a result of a trauma. I asked what trauma and she said that he’d lost his wife and baby daughter during the evacuation of Asheville, and it took him months to make his way back to them.”

All I could do is blink and try and take his story in.

“I swear Ettie. I know it sounds like a bad soap opera but that’s exactly what happened.”

“He … he thinks we’re dead? But it was months after the evacuation before he left. Months! This doesn’t make sense.”

Don looked at me and said, “I don’t think he really thinks that you’re dead. I think … I think he took the coward’s way out and just ran away and … and doesn’t want to find his way back. He told his family you were dead. Maybe he’s hiding from what he’s done thinking something asinine like he set you free, that you are better off …”

“Better off?! Did you tell him about my parents?! Did you tell him …”

“No I didn’t and before you think I’m cruel on purpose let me explain.”

“I don’t see as I have a choice!”

Don scrubbed his face and said, “Ettie, the man ran out on you. Flat out just ran away from his responsibilities. Maybe he didn’t mean to in the very beginning, but it couldn’t have been too long after that that he made his choice. From what I gathered from the neighbors he’s been there since the first of August. Most people remember because of the scene his family made when he climbed out of a pickup truck that had given him a ride.”

“But …”

“Let me finish please. What he did? As a man I find it unconscionable. You are a woman and child alone in a world gone insane. You have no protector. Even if he didn’t know about your parents, he certainly has an obligation to personally see that you are taken care of. I’m not saying you aren’t capable but in my view, he was responsible for you two, even if you and he were having problems there’s the baby. But he just made both of you go away. He couldn’t pretend you never existed, but he’s done the next thing to it.”

“Oh my God.” I think I may have whimpered, I really don’t know.

“If I thought it would have done any good to force him to come back I would have done it even without his cooperation and that dragon he has for a mother pulling on him the whole way. But I saw his eyes. He wants to believe you two are out of the way. He can’t, but he wants to.” While I sat there in shock he added, “And Ettie …there’s more. And likely you’ll be furious about it. I warned him off thinking he could come back and take you back.”

“Excuse me?!”

“From what you’ve told me this … this place, the farm, all of it … it is all you have. I didn’t want him to suddenly get it into his head that he’d be able to come take it.”

With no little suspicion I asked, “What have you done?”

“I caught up with him while he was on his way out to … never mind where he was going. Let’s just say I proved I knew you and the baby weren’t dead. I told him he’d dug his hole too deep, that I knew he’d been at the farm for months before leaving. That I had evidence everything that he’d told his family was a lie. And that I would make it my business to become his worst nightmare if he tried to come back and take advantage of you.”

I was cold. So cold. In that moment I couldn’t have told what felt more betrayed … my marriage to Robert or the friendship I had I imagined I had with Don. I’m still confused. And I’m still cold; but I think I’m learning to live with it.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 15​

I guess we both sat there for an hour, completely silent, both of us so deep in thought that we looked like statutes. We might be sitting there still except that Evie woke up and wanted attention.

Evie wasn’t quite sure what to make of Don at first. He was something unusual, new, and because of that slightly interesting for my inquisitive magpie. And Don … melted. I know it is ridiculous to say it but that is essentially what happened. Whatever was riding him seemed to just melt away. Don seems as fascinated with Evie and she is with him. I’ve seen women be that way but never seen a man exhibit that type of behavior. I’ve met men who really adore kids but this … this thing that Don seems to be developing is more than that. He kept comparing her to his fiancé’s daughter. That’s what prompted me to put aside my feelings for the moment and ask him about what he’d found in his own search.

He hunched his shoulders like the weight of the world was baring down on him again and I realized he’d been using Evie as a type of escape.

“Don?”

“She doesn’t need me … or want me. She’s living with some guy her sister introduced her to. She … she threatened to call the authorities if I didn’t leave. She called me a fool for not believing her letter. Said it was my own fault that she was having to hurt me.”

“I’m … sorry.”

Sadly he said, “I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to Stella. Her own personal life was a mess, she’s the last person I should have taken that kind of advice from. Hell, she was ready to try and work it out with Jared up until he had our stuff confiscated.”

Carefully, unsure of his mood, I said, “She meant well. I … I thought you and she … uh …”

“No. It might have gone that direction but early on she said she was a lot of things but a cougar wasn’t one of them.”

“A … a what? Oh … wait … never mind. TMI. So you’re a few years younger than Stella.”

“Stella was my sister’s college roommate and my sister was seventeen years older than me.”

“Oh. Not an insurmountable age difference …” I temporized.

Sadly, and with no small embarrassment in his voice he admitted, “My sister asked her to look after me. Like I was a damn kid that needed babysitting and to be kept out of trouble. Doesn’t say much for what my sister thought of me does it?”

I could hear something in his voice. He’s hurt … like the latest thing with Stella is just another hurt in a long line of hurts. It made me leery all over again, but my instincts and experience say he’s more of a danger to himself than to me and Evie.

“You’re sister is …?”

“Dead. It was right before first evacuation orders. She had one of those syndromes that no one knows exactly what it is, what causes it, or how to fix it. Towards the end she was in a lot of pain though not even I knew how much. The meds she took for the chronic pain did something to her heart. I never found out what as things got disrupted before the autopsy report came back but basically she had a heart attack. She must have sensed things were getting bad because when I was cleaning out her office at the school I found a box full of letters she’d written to everyone. There were so many people … old students, her ex-husband and step kids, friends, colleagues, hell she even wrote a letter to the mail lady apologizing for never thanking her in person for her years of service. If it hadn’t been so much her style someone might have had good reason to think she was crazy.”

I almost went over to him but kept my seat. Still I felt compelled to say, “I know I’ve said it already but … I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He shook his head. “But I should apologize for the position I’ve put you in. I’ll be out of here at first …”

“Stop. I don’t know what is going through your head right now. I’m pretty sure you don’t know either. And I know I haven’t had time to … to process what you’ve told me. Give me some time. And don’t just take off. I … I might need to ask some questions … clarify …”

He looked at me. “I can go sleep in the …”

“No. Not that either.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m going to let myself trust you. Despite everything and then some. You’ve never given me any reason not to. It’s a little weird. Okay, more than a little weird. You remind me a bit of my father. I don’t know why and I’m not in the mood to examine it right now so I’m not going to. What I do know is the storm out there is a man killer. Even if it is over by morning – and I wouldn’t make a bet on it – it isn’t smart to try and travel for a while. There’s already ice on the inside of the kitchen windows; not frost but actual ice. So you’re staying here. In this room. And we’ll just deal with it. There’s a trundle bed under this one. It slides out. You sleep in the bed and …”

“Wait. No. I’ll take the trundle.”

“Forget it. You won’t fit. Not even lying it in diagonally. So I’ll sleep there and bring Evie in with me. She’s going to be hungry soon, she definitely needs changing. We should bring in some more wood so it can be drying. There’s a couple of boxes in the kitchen we can use. And I need to go down to the cellar and bring up …”

“Ettie are you sure about this?”

I gave it some honest thought. “Yeah. Don?”

“Yes?”

“Just don’t make me sorry. I’ve had enough of that for a while.”

He looked at me then nodded very seriously.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 16​

I couldn’t sleep last night and watched the old cuckoo clock as it heralded in the new day. Or more correctly New Year’s Day. It is supposed to be a happy event. I’m certainly not happy. But neither am I murderously angry or pathetically sad. I’d say I’m nothing except that isn’t true either. I have too much on my plate that keeps me from being nothing. There’s Evie and there’s the man fighting off all the demons that seem to chase him. If a man like that can find reason to smile, then why can’t I? You know I actually asked him after everything he has been through how he can smile. His answer? Practice. I wanted him to explain but he dozed off before I could get up the nerve.

Don is ill. I think it is just a bad cold, but it sounds like the kind that can get worse fast if he isn’t careful. He certainly isn’t able to travel unless he wants to catch his death of pneumonia. He has been sleeping most of the day and will probably sleep through the night now that he’s had his second real meal in days. Homemade chicken soup thick with homemade noodles. Even ill he seems fascinated with the fact that I made it from scratch. He tried to ask me about it but after surviving the latest round of sneezes he was just too exhausted and drifted off. I’m glad but I came this close to pounding him with a pillow. Why? Not because he is a bad patient but because he is so grateful and sorry for the “extra work he is creating” that it sets my teeth on edge.

He really isn’t much work and to be honest it has kept me from going stir crazy with cabin fever. The storm lasted for two days and after that there was so much ice in the trees that it was dangerous to be outside for long; branches and icicles are coming down all over. It did warm up enough that I was able to move the animals out of the storm shelter. It was as disgusting a mess as I thought it would be; but, better to have to clean a disgusting mess than to worry about the animals dying of cold and exposure. I take Evie with me when I can but when I can’t I’m not as creeped out about leaving her under Don’s supervision than I likely should be.

I think though I need to sit down with that man and have a talk. I know he feels bad about the Robert situation. Truthfully, I’m still not sure how to feel. At first I felt horrible, like something had come along and scooped out my insides and trampled all over them. Then that turned into feelings of anger and betrayal that burned so hot it made me shake. Now? I’m not sure what to call it.

It has only been a few days since Don arrived, but it has been a lot longer since Robert left. In my heart I’d begun to feel like the only thing that would have kept Robert away so long was death or severe incapacitation. I well and truly believed it even though I didn’t want to. How wrong I was. God, how stupid I’ve been. It isn’t that he is dead, it’s that he claims that Evie and I are. There is too much irony in that to be covered by mere words. As for incapacitation? Not physically, but mentally? I have no idea. I’m not sure that I can get over this either way, at least not enough to ever allow us to be together as man and wife again.

I think maybe I’ve been subconsciously grieving for Robert for a while now. It is about the only thing I can think of to explain the way I feel. I keep running into the idea that this should hurt more … this betrayal. I’m not sure why it doesn’t. Or maybe I just haven’t really accepted it yet. If Robert was accessible I might have needed to act on my initial emotions but he isn’t and perhaps that is a good thing. I never have quite gotten over that dream of burying my wedding dress. Maybe I should actually do that. Or maybe not. I don’t regret marrying Robert and for a while we were happy. In fact, I was never unhappy with Robert. I just didn’t realize he was unhappy with me. How did I miss something so important?

For a bit I gave serious consideration as to whether I should believe Don at all, but he described people and places far too well for me to discount his story. And he also told me the final piece … how Mr. Belmont had stopped him.

I had a feeling Don had been trying to protect me somewhat. He’s hard-headed that way. I finally said that he needed to tell me the whole story from the beginning so I could really hear it and not the buzzing in my ears that came on originally. He did and then admitted to there being more. After coughing and sneezing enough to make Evie laugh Don cleared his throat and said, “I was walking away from your … er … from Robert. I had to walk away to keep from making a worse scene and I was already … I didn’t want to have to wonder whether I was taking my situation out on him or not.”

“You went there after seeing your ex?”

“Yeah. Might not have been the smartest course of action considering my frame of mind, but I only had a limited amount of time to accomplish what I had come to do.” I nodded in understanding. “Your father in law has had some health problems. Looks like he might have had a stroke or something, at least that’s the impression I got when one of the younger girls that had been hanging out around the house came after him. His speech was a little garbled and he was walking with a cane. They treat him like some of his problems are mental.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Mr. Belmont never took up much space in the family, but he was still a nice man.”

“Well take this with a grain of salt. Apparently he suspected Robert was lying. He said Robert’s mother won’t listen to that though, apparently Robert … uh …”

Having come to terms with it already I said, “It’s all right. I had some things explained to me in detail the first Thanksgiving we were together as a real couple by the girl that married one of Robert’s younger brothers. I figured the rest out over time through trial and error. Mrs. Belmont put a lot of pressure on her kids. She can be … controlling. She means well but never wants to give anyone credit for being able to pick the right path without her direction. And she has definite ideas about who people are and how their lives should progress. She … she wasn’t always kind with her opinion of my mother. She blamed her in part for my brother’s … never mind that’s a lot more than you need to hear. Just … just finish with your story please.”

Don shrugged. “I don’t know about any of that only that the man said that his wife refuses to let anyone ask Robert for more details about what happened because he always gets upset and storms off. He … he told me to tell you he’ll pray for you but that … uh …”

“Uh?”

“He said you should just stay with your parents and go on with your life. Needless to say I didn’t tell him of your parents’ passing. Something he said struck me which leads me to believe that while his condition might be compromised, he still is reliable on some subjects. Mr. Belmont said there are people in this life you can change, some you can’t, and some who get changed by life to the point you don’t recognize them anymore. I think he would have said more but that’s when the girl came to get him, scolding him the entire way back to the house … not for risking his health but for upsetting everyone disappearing like he had.”

“Mr. Belmont never has gotten a lot of respect. Robert’s mother … never mind. I … I need to go check on the animals. Evie is napping, you should too.” I’m sure I wasn’t fooling him in the least but at least he let me keep my pride.

“Uh …”

I stopped and sighed. “There’s more?”

“Yeah. Not so bad but …”

I sat back down. “Just spit it out Don and stop worrying that I’m made of glass. I may not like it but whatever it is won’t make me fall apart. I can’t. Evie needs me and I refuse to … to let her down.”

Don was obviously tired, but he nodded. “I went to that address you gave me for your uncle.”

That made me sit up. “Were they … were they …”

“They’re doing all right. Better than all right to be honest. Your uncle’s position apparently carries some weight and some privilege. He supervises that entire operation now … and your family sends their regards but … dammit …”

“That bad?”

“They were broken up about your parents but said there was nothing they could do for you. My God you are out here on your own and …”

I stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Don, that’s what you think is bad? That they aren’t coming here?”

“Or that they couldn’t take you in.”

I relaxed. “Uncle Paul and Aunt Pauline … look, I love my family, but the farm has never been their thing. It always surprised Daddy how Uncle Paul took that job at the living history museum. Personally, I think it was a way for him to break away from … well, family stuff that is a bunch of psychobabble that I’m not going into. And where Uncle Paul went Aunt Pauline followed. They may be fraternal twins but they’re as close as identical with Uncle Paul being the dominant of the two. It is one of the reasons … well her husband used to be jealous of Uncle Paul. Just more family weirdness. I doubt you’d get it. You seem too normal.” I laughed but he didn’t.

“Trust me, my normality is hard won. Try explaining growing up that the woman raising you wasn’t your mother but your sister and that your siblings were actually your step nieces and nephew. That your stepdad was actually your sister’s ex-husband. That your real parents hadn’t wanted you in the first place since a baby cramped their style right as they were planning their retirement.”

“Retirement?”

“Mom was forty-five when I was born and my father’s fourth wife; he was pushing sixty-five.”

“So you and your sister don’t share the same father?”

“No. Her father was my mother’s second husband.” I tried to keep my feelings off of my face, but something still must have showed. “It’s all right. My parents were wealthy but weren’t what you would call doting. My sister and I might as well have been hatched for all the notice they gave us. I was four before I really figured out who my parents were … when I saw them I was expected to call them by their first names as they didn’t approve of ‘maudlin feelings’ or so they said.”

“Er … so it made for strange … uh …”

“I was five when they drowned. They were visiting friends down in the Caribbean. The entire party got drunk, took a sailboat out, and it capsized. It was called a tragic accident.”

“If you say so. Your sister … uh …”

“She tried. She just … she just wasn’t equipped for a little kid, and it changed some of her plans. Lucky for all of us that her ex-husband didn’t mind raising me. They didn’t divorce until I was out of the house at his insistence. In the end my sister did say that she was a better person for it and was grateful for me coming into her life but … .” He stopped and shrugged, obviously uncomfortable.

“But that’s not quite enough, is it? Is that why you became a contractor? To get away from it all?”

“I became a contractor because by the time I finished college my trust fund had been exhausted. No one had ever sat me down and explained things and I … wasn’t as responsible with what came my way as I should have been. I was dating a girl from a family that … let’s just say when they found out the girl decided we weren’t in love after all and a lot of my ‘friends’ disappeared. Contracting gave me what I needed. Life experience and real skills. Then I was shot and …”

“Wait! You were shot?!”

“Yeah. A guy in our unit tried to commit suicide and I and a couple other men got in his way. It wasn’t bad but it sidelined me in the states long enough that the economy caught up and … then my sister said she needed me, I owed her, and you know the rest.” Like I said, there’s things that chase Don that make it challenging for him to be comfortable in his own skin.

After what Don told me I’ve also concluded that I understand Mr. Belmont a little better, or at least think I do. I suppose in this life you must pick your battles. Which crisis do you address first? Which fire do you put out first? Do you fight or do you just give up? And if you give up do you stay or do you go and does that mean you hold onto your love or let it fade?

I might understand Mr. Belmont better now but I cannot repeat his choices any more than I can repeat my mother’s behaviors. Sometimes it doesn’t matter whether you love someone or not, it takes two to build something permanent. I thought Robert and I were building on forever. Maybe I’m not wrong and something happened to set Robert off course. Maybe like with my parents I was missing signals all along and the way I remember things isn’t really the way they were. Maybe, like my parents, Robert was intentionally hiding things from me, perhaps even because he meant well by doing it.

I’m just so tired of trying to figure it out. It is like I don’t have the energy left to really feel anything one way or the other. About the only thing that really makes me furious anymore is how this is going to affect Evie. Daddy was always so important to me. And working at the clinic I saw how growing up without a stable father-figure adversely affected so many girls and women that came through our doors. I never thought about having to worry about that for my daughter … and she is mine and mine alone now that Robert has abdicated his position in her life.

I could hate him. I see it and recognize the temptation. But I think I can choose not to hate him as well. Not for his sake but for my own … mine and Evie’s. I can remember Daddy counseling Aunt Pauline when Uncle Tad had an affair with one of his students at the college. Being angry was natural … even Job in the Bible got angry … but hate is destructive and makes us weak. We need to forgive people and then dump the rest of the crap so we don’t have to drag so much around with us throughout our lives. I’m glad Aunt Pauline worked it out. I’m glad for her sake for sure because Uncle Tad … he couldn’t forgive himself and he started jittering apart. They had a couple of rough years where Uncle Tad would move in and out of the house and then one day he didn’t show up for work. He was found in a hotel bathroom, dead of a heart attack. Man that was rough on Tabby.

I’m not exactly sure how that translates for Evie and me, but I guess I have to move forward for our sakes and leave Robert to live with his end of it. But I’m not Aunt Pauline. The one thing I don’t think I can do is take him back. Not after all this time. Not after what I’ve been told. I have to accept he is gone, and it is by his own choice. God help me.

 

[Lake Lili]

Thanks Kathy!
Lili

 

[CGTech]

Multiple chapters!!

Thanks Kathy!!

 

[Jeepcats27]

Nice chapters before bedtime, Thank you Kathy for bringing the chapters over!

 

[Mr Bill]

What a coward, and a real cad.

 

[Kathy in FL]

Chapter 17​

"You can’t want me here.”

“Don, it isn’t a matter of wanting you or not wanting you. You just got over what is about as close to bronchitis as it gets without actually calling it that. And now it is raining.”

“I’ve been here three weeks. I … I can’t …”

“Have you got someplace to be? Is that it?”

“No. But I’m not a charity case. And I’m not a sponge.”

“Nooooo kidding. You’ve cleaned and checked all those guns. You’ve kept Evie and I from driving each other crazy. You helped me to finally get those blasted buckets put down in the basement so I wouldn’t break my neck doing it. You even helped me figure out why the stove started smelling so bad … and thank you for cleaning that blasted raven carcass out. I could have done it … but I’m glad I didn’t have to. Burning feathers are one of the few things guaranteed to make me lose my lunch.”

Don shook his head. “Make work. I’m still eating your supplies and …”

When the pillow hit his face his surprise almost had me laughing. Almost. “Now will you knock it off?! What you belittle as ‘make work’ is stuff that I actually needed help with. What is it about burning feathers and upchuck that you don’t get? And stop minimizing everything else as well. I’ve used guns my whole life, and Daddy insisted I know how to take care of them, but a couple of those I didn’t know anything about. If it had been up to me, they probably would have stayed in their gun cases. You turned them into something useful … or at least useable though that one might stay put away. My shoulder still hurts.”

“It’s too big for you. The stock I mean. It was designed for someone with a much longer reach.”

“Like you.”

“Longer than mine.”

Thinking about it briefly I told him, “That would have been Mr. Carmichael’s son in law then. The guy is … was, whatever … tall and thin. He could palm a basketball right into the net. I went to school with … gah! Just tell me to shut up already. I keep spilling TMI all over the place.”

I went to walk away but Don reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s ok.”

I shook my head and told him, “No, it’s not. My … my mother would just run off at the mouth like this every once in a while and that’s when we knew she was starting to … to slide. Daddy would usually take her for a walk and let her talk herself out and then things would go back to normal … or as normal as they ever got which was pretty close most of the time. I can’t afford … look, I explained about Momma. All I’m going to say more on the subject is that I don’t want to repeat her mistakes and choices, at least to the point that it caused her to be … to have … problems. I need to find another way to deal with things. If not for my sake, then for Evie’s.”

“Like I said, it’s ok.”

“Don …”

“I said it’s ok and I mean it’s ok. You’re nervous with me here and …”

I groaned in frustration. “Actually I’m not. I’m more nervous about you wanting to leave if you want to know the truth.”

I’ve seen owls blink the same way he did. “Relax,” I said trying to put a smile on my face. “I know you have a life and want to get back to it. But for my peace of mind and your health you need to give yourself at least a few more days. Last thing you want to do is relapse.”

“You … you really don’t mind me being here do you.”

“No. I really don’t. I probably should but then again, I developed a fairly good skillset of knowing when I could work with someone and when I couldn’t. You aren’t a problem. I could stand for you to be a little less polite and ever loving grateful, but I figure you don’t mean anything bad by it. Just don’t be surprised if I smack you with a pillow again. I’m not an especially violent person but even the great granddaughter of a cast off old-order Mennonite occasionally gets topped off.”

To stay sane when you are stuck inside with someone else you generally wind up doing a lot of talking; Don and I did a lot of talking anyway. I think we each know way more about the other than we’re probably comfortable with but what the heck, things are what they are.

I’m not stupid. I know that he needs to go. I know I need to let him go … or get out of the way … or whatever you want to call it. I need to be careful about latching onto him … onto anyone but especially onto him. God help us both but he is nice … too nice, at least to me. I know what could happen and for all our sakes I must be careful. I’m not sure what is going through his mind but I’m worried where my own loneliness may be leading.

I’ve never been loose and I really … well Don is a nice-looking man, but sexual complications have never been my thing. I waited to be with Robert and even though we jumped the gun by a few weeks as we gave into temptation after a bridal shower where we both drank a little more than we should have, Robert is still the only man I’ve ever been with and he is at least technically still my husband. I don’t know how to fix that right now but for my own pride I can’t just throw my honor away.

This is just stupid. And crazy. And sad. And absofreakinglutely ridiculous. I cannot be so lonely that I’m willing to jump willy-nilly into a relationship with a man that … oh my Lord, I don’t even know if I can wrap my head around this. I’m going off the deep end. Next time he says he needs to go, if he isn’t still hacking and wheezing like Gran Gran’s old Chevy Impala I’m not going to stop him.