Story The Nomad

Chapter Sixty-Five

Monday morning, after rebuilding the fire in the fireplace insert, Alex made breakfast and quickly cleaned the kitchen. Later that morning, after the mailman ran, and he was as regular as clockwork, Alex walked down to the mailbox, studying the driveway as he walked. The trees and shrubs were glistening with a thin layer of ice and sparkled like diamonds in the morning light. He’d have to do something about the driveway. It had developed a high crown and would need to be graded. An idea flashed and he pushed it to the back of his mind to research. As he figured, the mailbox was stuffed with advertisement junk…food for the fire. He hadn’t been there long enough to receive anything addressed to anyone other than “Resident of…” He hauled the armload of junk mail back to the house and tossed it into the kindling beside the fireplace. He pulled the sheets off the bed and did a wash and piddled around hanging things on his “I Love Me” wall in his office. He was putting his hammer and box of wall hangers away when he heard a door slam. He walked out into the great room and saw AnnaMarie hanging her coat on the coat rack.

“She looked over at him and said, “I just came over to wash your sheets.”

“I’ve already put them in the washer.” Alex replied.

“DON’T DO THAT! You’re paying me for that! I did all the cleaning Saturday, now I have nothing to do!
“You can help me season the rest of my cast iron.” Alex said, heading for the kitchen.

Alex turned on the gas oven cleaning setting, got a bottle of flax oil out of the cabinet poured the oil on a ten-inch round griddle and wiped the oil over the surface with a pad of paper towels. Once it was completely coated, he wiped the excess oil off with a dry paper towel. He grabbed another piece of cast iron cookware and repeated the process.

“Where did you learn to do that?” AnnaMarie asked.

“YouTube.” Alex replied.

When he had enough pieces of cookware to fill the oven, he placed the cookware in and set a kitchen timer.
“I know that was redundant, setting the timer; the oven will automatically shut off, but it is a reminder for me.”
Alex washed his hands and dried them off with more paper towels.

“Now you can help me make the bed.” Alex said, grinning.

Alex got a fresh set of sheets and pillowcases out of the linen closet and headed for his bedroom. They got the bottom sheet on and Alex shook out the top sheet.

“Why didn’t you just wash the sheets Saturday?”

AnnaMarie blushed. “They seemed fresh! I thought you might have a …. visitor over the weekend…I didn’t know if Darby…”

Catching on to what she was trying to say, Alex said, “Whoa. We’re not like that! I think I was a momentary glint in Darby’s eye and then she moved on. She’s in my rearview mirror now. I don’t know enough women around here to have them lining up at the door.”

AnnaMarie blushed again, or she hadn’t stopped blushing. “I’m sorry. I just assumed….”

AnnaMarie copied Alex’s hospital corner on her side of the bed and began pulling a pillowcase onto a pillow.

Alex fluffed out the down comforter and tossed it almost perfectly onto the bed, only requiring a slight straightening.

Once they had the pillows covered and in place, Alex said, “Well, I’d offer you some pot roast for lunch but the stove is busy right now. Why don’t you take the container back to your house and warm it up for Hank?”

“Show it to me.” AnnaMarie said.

She followed Alex to the kitchen and Alex took the large container out of the refrigerator.

“There’s plenty here! Why don’t you come over and eat with us?”

“You don’t have to twist my arm. I make pretty good pot roast.”

Alex checked the stove in the kitchen to make sure there was nothing that would catch on fire from the overheated stove, then they put on their coats and when they got outside, Alex saw her footprints where she had walked across the yard. “Let’s take my truck.”

AnnaMarie warmed up everything and made a pan of cornbread.

While they were eating, Hank began questioning Alex.

“So, what kind of plans do you have for your place, Alex?”

“I don’t really know. I don’t have any set plans except to live day by day and build whatever pleases me. I just want to blend into the countryside and maybe start a family, something of which I am short.”

“Why do you think you need a tractor?”

“Oh, to do general maintenance comes to mind. There’s plenty to keep mowed, I want to have a garden, the driveway will need occasional maintenance…things like that.”

Hank nodded his head and continued to eat.

“That’s going to take a right bit of money. You going to be able to handle the debt?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in debt. My credit score has just recently reached what some call a respectable score because I’ve never been burdened with debt. From a young age my grandaddy told me that If my plan was to grow old and enjoy the fruits of my labors I better not have a pile of debts hanging over me, so when I was ready to lay down the tools of my trade, my first step was to build my credit, but I still don’t have any debt. My credit card is automatically paid off monthly, my water is pulled out of the ground on my own place, I don’t have a monthly power bill, and when I make large purchases, I pay cash. My main expenses have been sprucing up the place and my food preps.

“How are you gonna pay for farm equipment?” Hank asked.

“I’ll pay with a debit card.”

“Still, a right smart chunk of your savings. You’ll spend yourself right into the poorhouse.”

Alex chuckled. “Hank, my Grandfather and Father were investment bankers. I was encouraged from an early age to save and invest the money I made. Even when I was in the military, I saved more than I spent. I’m well engrained in using money to make money. I am fallible but I still make money on investments I started when I was 18 years old and I continue to make more than I spend. A few thousand dollars spent on farm equipment won’t even be a hiccup.

Hank nodded and took a bite of cornbread.

“Hank, could you go with me when I go shopping for equipment and keep me on the straight and narrow?”
“Shore. Any day after my morning chores.”

“Well, I was thinking of going tomorrow.”

“Shore! Stop by around 09:00 and I’ll be ready.”

The next morning Alex picked Hank up and they headed to Cookeville.

“I just upgraded my tractor last year. Used to swear by John Deere, but they got uppity.”

“How so?”

“They computerized their tractors and you can’t repair one on your own anymore. You have to have all maintenance done at a dealer, and that gets expensive. Massey Ferguson also has electronics but it mainly has to do with controlling planting depth, steerage and such. You can replace parts on it without taking the tractor to a dealership. We’ll go to AG1; they carry Massey Ferguson.”

Alex ended up getting a Massey Ferguson Model 6 tractor with an 180-horsepower engine and front-end loader, an equipment trailer, rotary tiller, disk harrow, auger, box blade, land plane, large bucket with grapple, landscape rake, landscape blade, two different types of mowers, and a front blade. Alex filled his trailer with as much equipment as he could and the dealer would deliver the tractor and the rest the next day.


Amanda tossed her backpack into the passenger seat of her Porsche Cayenne and her B.O.B. in the rear seat; the orange and white University of Tennessee sticker displayed prominently on the rear window. It was a chilly grey afternoon in Knoxville, the kind where the distant Smoky Mountains cloaked themselves in streams of mist. She'd just aced her environmental science midterms and decided to surprise her Uncle Alex, who lived somewhere near Livingston, a two-hour drive west. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year and Amanda had received a tip from one of his friends that he was moving out to a farm he had purchased and she figured to visit and welcome him to the area.

She cranked the engine, and the radio blared Dolly Parton's "Jolene," a fitting soundtrack for the road trip through Tennessee's rolling hills. The I-40 stretched ahead, lined with bare maples and oaks. Amanda sang along, her voice off-key but enthusiastic, windows cracked to let the cool air whip through her dark ponytail. Her phone buzzed with a text from her roommate…."Drive safe, don’t get pregnant by some tobacco spitting redneck, and don't get lost in the boonies!"….and she grinned, tossing it into the cupholder.

The drive was smooth at first, but as she exited onto State Route 84, the roads grew narrower, winding through small towns with names like Monterey and Algood. She passed a roadside stand selling boiled peanuts and considered stopping but thought better of it-Uncle Ray was probably already firing up the grill for his famous ribs. Her stomach growled at the thought. Halfway there, her GPS glitched, the screen freezing on a pixelated map. "Come on,” she muttered, smacking the dashboard. The signal was spotty out here, where cell towers were as scarce as skyscrapers. She pulled over at a gas station, its faded sign reading "Bubba's Fuel Feed." An old man in overalls sat on a bench outside, chewing tobacco. "Lost, darlin'?" he asked, squinting. "Just heading to Livingston," Amanda said, shielding her eyes from the sun. "GPS died." He chuckled. "Take 84 to the old oak split by lightning-can't miss it. Right there, then straight on till you hit Main Street."

"Thanks!" she called, hopping back in the car. Sure enough, she spotted the lightning-struck oak, its gnarled halves like a natural fork in the road. She turned left, the Cayenne bouncing through potholes, and soon saw the familiar water tower with "Livingston" painted in bold letters.

About that time the GPS blinked to life and guided her straight through town on 111 for another 7.8 miles then make a right turn.

She made the turn, the road narrowed to a two-lane blacktop road and travel another 3.81 miles and turned onto a drive with a strip of grass down the center. The smell of hickory smoke greeted her. There were no vehicles around. He might have had to go to the store for something. She tilted the seat back and listened to a local radio station and drifted off to sleep.

That’s how Alex found her. He opened her car door, his flannel shirt rolled to the elbows, eyes crinkling with surprise. "Amanda? What in the world....how did you find me?

“I finally convinced your friend Jack I JUST HAD to see you. He gave me your coordinates. I just finished my mid-terms and wanted to get away from the partying. "I wanted to surprise you," she said, hugging him tight.

They spent the evening laughing, swapping stories about her college life and his getting things ready around the farm and eating sausage, cheese and crackers. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Amanda felt the warmth of home, glad she'd made the drive.
 
 
Chapter Sixty-Six

Amanda woke the next morning to the delicious smells of bacon and coffee, but hated to get out of the bed. She was so comfortable. Finally, she got up, threw a robe over her flannel pajamas and went downstairs. Following her nose and the sound of a pan banging to the kitchen, she found Alex cooking at the stove, dressed in his daily uniform consisted of a simple gray T-shirt, a worn plaid-flannel shirt left unbuttoned, faded denim jeans, and a pair of scuffed but solid work boots.

She walked over, checked the mug Alex had set out for her for cockroaches, and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“You still like pancakes?” Alex asked her.

“Of course….blueberry?”

“Nothing but,” Alex said, taking a bag of dehydrated blueberries and a bag of Krusteaz buttermilk pancake mix from the pantry.

“I can make them!” Amanda said.

Alex directed her to where she could find the things needed and continued frying bacon.

“Uncle Alex, why did you move way out here in the boondocks?” Amanda said as she stirred the milk into the pancake mix.

Alex stopped turning the bacon and looked at her. “For peace. Here, the noises and chaos of modern life are muffled by the sheer calming weight of country living. This area has been mostly forgotten by mainstream America, thank God. This area of Tennessee hasn’t yet been sullied by the Yankees moving in and bringing their socialist ideas with them.”

“You’re missing out. I have fun debating the Goths at school.”

“Be careful, you are debating idiots who haven’t a clue to what the real world is about and have a propensity to turn to violence when you don’t agree with their dumb-ass ideas.”

“I still carry a neck knife and the Walther PDP you taught me on.” Amanda said, adding blueberries to the batter.

As Amanda was transferring the pancake batter into the dispenser, there was a knock at the door and AnnaMarie stepped in.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you had a visitor! I was just dropping some eggs off.”

“Hey! Come on in and have a cup of coffee.” Alex said.

AnnaMarie shuffled cautiously by Amanda, got a mug out of the cabinet and poured her own coffee.
<”She already has this place mapped out” Amanda thought, smirking.

“AnnaMarie, this is Amanda Stallings, visiting from UT in Knoxville.”

AnnaMarie_2.png“Pleased to meet you, AnnaMarie! I haven’t been here long enough for Uncle Alex to tell me about his friends.” Amanda said sweetly.

“I….I can’t stay long.” AnnaMarie said. “Uncle Hank and I are cleaning up the greenhouse for planting.”

“You could at least stay for pancakes! Uncle Alex has fried enough bacon to feed my whole class!” Amanda said.

“If I remember correctly, the last time we ate breakfast together you ate almost a whole pound yourself!” Alex said.

”So, I was hungry! Oh, and AnnaMarie, Uncle Alex isn’t really my uncle.” Amanda said. “He and my father served together in the military and I’ve call him ‘Uncle Alex’ for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s nice.” Anna Marie replied.

“Amanda, stand down!” Alex said.

“Amanda, I really feel like Alex is my Uncle, almost a second father. I came out here to chill after just finishing my mid-term exams and needed a break. He feels enough like family that I’m comfortable appearing for breakfast in his home in pajamas and a robe. I’m so happy he has found at least one friend out here. He was always too busy to before.”

“Yes. I haven’t known Alex long enough to talk about our family and friends.” AnnaMarie said.

“Do you live nearby?” Amanda asked.

“Next door.” AnnaMarie replied.

“THAT’S GREAT! You two will have plenty of time to get to know each other!” Amanda said, grinning between the two.

AnnaMarie took another sip of coffee. “I really should be going. I don’t want Uncle Hank to be doing all the work.”

She stood up and told Alex she would talk to him later and walked out the door.

“Better watch that one, Uncle Alex. She has a streak of jealousy in her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When she came in and saw me in pajamas here in the kitchen with you, lightning bolts were practically shooting from her eyes. I’m sorry if I cock-blocked you.”

“Amanda, where did you learn such language?”

“They teach you all kinds of things in college these days.” Amanda said, grinning.

“So, are your studies going well?” Alex asked.

“Yes, my studies are going very well. It’s the atmosphere that gets me.”

“What do you mean?”

Oh, the place is a den of sin. You have to have a spreadsheet to figure out who is screwing whose husband or wife, boyfriend or girlfriend. I had to get an apartment off campus because everyone in the dorm was playing musical beds. You didn’t know whether it was a serial killer sneaking into your room at night, a guy from the next quad looking for a good time, or one of the carpet munchers looking for a sleep buddy.

The wife of the Dean of Law was caught screwing a high-powered executive and you could almost hear the trees being uprooted and buildings collapsing. The word spread like the clap on an adults only cruise ship.
“Amanda please, tone down your language.” Alex said.

“Oh! Come on! You’ve seen and heard worse!” Amanda replied.

“Yes, but I want to keep the illusion in my mind you’re still that little angel with who I used to go on walks with through the forest.”

Maybe you’ll be happy to know I haven’t gotten even one STD during my time at college.

“Well, I don’t know whether to be happy or sad to hear that!”

“So, is AnnaMarie your new squeeze?”

“Amanda, my personal life is not your concern!”

“I just want to make sure you are happy!”

“Well, what about you? Are you happy?”

“I’m getting there. Like I said, I moved out of the dorms and have a high-grade security system and am getting a little peace and quiet.”

“How’s your father doing?”

“I talk to him every Sunday. He, like you, worries about me being at UT. He had greased the skids for me to go to Barnard but I had to get away from the city. It’s dangerous there and I don’t like to keep looking over my shoulder all the time. And the men worth dating are only looking for arm candy to occasionally clean their pipes. You have to use a taxi to go anywhere; riding the subway, even down to the east village is running the gauntlet.”

“Your father seeing anyone?”

“Not that I know of. Since he sold his company, he spends a lot of time up at his place in the Catskills. He might have someone around there. Anytime I ask him about things like that he tells me to mind my own business.”

“Good advice.” Alex said, flipping another pancake.

“So, how about your Country Cutie? Does she know you are practically a James Bond?”

Irritated, Alex tapped the spatula on the edge of the pan. “You know you’re not supposed to bring that up!”
“Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t ever mention it in front of anyone else. What are your plans for today?”

“I need to go up to Byrdstown and talk to the County Extension agent about the ends and outs of building a pond.”

“Good, I’ll get dressed and go with you!”

“I’ll warn you. There’s not much to Byrdstown. It’s just another small country town.”

“Well, I’m not sitting around waiting for a young country stud to come around wanting to test my charms!”

“Eat your pancakes! I’m leaving here at 09:00.”

Amanda was ready on time, wearing one of HER chic outfits that cost more than most people spend on rent. A faded pastel color, tailored within an inch of its life. Paired with heels that could double as weapons in a pinch. She was dressed up a little more than he expected a college sophomore would, but what did he know, he hadn’t been around a college campus in years.

As they neared the Sunset Marina and resort on 111, Amanda exclaimed, “Oh, a marina! I’ll bet it is beautiful in summer.”

“I imagine it is,” Alex replied dryly.

“Remember when we used to go kayaking up in Pine Hill?”

“Yeah we had some good times.”

“Do you have a boat?”

“No, and I haven’t considered getting one.”

“You should. It would be relaxing for you…just cruising along on the water.”

“I suppose it would.”

This place must be beautiful when there are leaves on the trees!” Amanda said.

“What are you going to do while I’m in talking to the extension agent?” Alex asked.

“Oh, you can drop me off somewhere to do some shopping.”

Alex chuckled. “Unless you are into shopping at convenience stores, that’s about all there is. I think there might be a couple of consignment shops.”

“Is there anywhere I can pick up some outdoor clothing? I didn’t realize you were so far out in the boondocks.”

The only thing that comes to mind is Academy Sports and Outdoor down in Cookeville.”

“Can we go there after you’ve talked to your pond guy?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

Alex’s meeting with the extension agent didn’t take long. He gave Alex a handful of brochures of designs and regulations and a list of companies who specialized in containment structures. Twenty minutes later, Alex was getting into his truck. Amanda was scrolling through her phone.

“You done?” Amanda asked.

“Yep. Not much to it.”

“Good, let’s go shopping!”
 
 
Chapter Sixty-Seven

Alex drove straight to Academy Sports after they left Byrdstown. When they went in, Amanda went straight to the clothing section and Alex went to a display of Kayaks. After looking them over, he meandered over to the grill section and looked those over then drifted to the gun section. A particular short rifle caught his eye and he asked to see it. It was a Palmetto State Armory AK-V 9MM MOE SBA3 PISTOL. ”Throw a micro red dot sight on it and it would make an excellent truck gun!” Alex thought. Alex requested the AK-V, an Aimpoint Micro T-2, and a case of 9mm. He asked the salesman to hold onto his selections, that his niece was still shopping. He knew he would be escorted with his purchases to the cashiers up front before he could pay for the items. It cut down on shoplifting. Alex went to the clothing section and found Amanda with a half-full cart.

“Are you about done?” Alex asked.

“Yes, I was just going through these cute T-shirts, but I’m done.” They walked back to the gun area and got Alex’s selections and were escorted to the cashier. Alex paid for everything under protest from Amanda.

“I can pay for my own things!”

“I know you can but I made it easy on the cashier.” Alex replied.

“Is there a BBQ place near here?” Amanda asked.

“I’m sure I can find one.”

“I have fallen in love with southern BBQ. I practically live at Calhoun's on The River!”

“Remember what I told you about setting a pattern.”

“I’m careful. I just love BBQ!”

They had a decent lunch at Stroud's Barbeque and went back home. As soon as they arrived, Amanda changed into a pair of tight jeans, T-shirt and comfortable looking hiking boots.

“This is so much more comfortable! I don’t know what I was thinking when I packed to come up here.” Amanda said, tracing her hands down her sides.

“Those jeans are so tight they make you two inches taller.” Alex muttered.

“They are the style Uncle Alex.”

“Well, don’t bend over suddenly or you’ll rip the seat right out of them!”

Amanda left the next morning to return to Knoxville and asked if she could come back every couple of weeks to “get her head on straight, and she wanted to shoot the AK-V. Alex said “Sure”, checked her oil, water and tires and sent her on her way.

As the first blush of dawn painted the Sunday morning sky in soft pastels, Alex stood at the edge of the grassy field overlooking the Obey River. It was early spring in Tennessee, and the air carried the crisp promise of renewal. Budding leaves whispered on the branches of nearby oaks, and the river's surface shimmered below him like a mirror, reflecting the awakening world. Alex, a retired 30-year-old world traveler who had traded his hectic and sometimes dangerous job for the peace of the countryside and the occasional thrill of the skies, adjusted the straps of his paramotor harness. The motorized paraglider on his back hummed faintly as he primed the engine, its propeller cage casting long shadows in the golden light.

He had discovered paramotoring four years ago during an operation that opened his mind to thrills you could get with little danger. Grounded by operational cadence, Alex craved the freedom of flight….the kind that didn't require airports or tickets. Dale Hollow, with its sprawling 27,000 acres of crystal-clear water nestled between rolling hills and forested ridges, had become his sanctuary. Straddling the Tennessee-Kentucky border, the lake was a haven for boaters, fishermen, and now, for him, a canvas for aerial artistry. This morning, he planned a leisurely circuit around the lake's eastern arm, chasing the sunrise and perhaps spotting the bald eagles that nested along the cliffs.

With a final check of his wing….a vibrant orange and white canopy laid out behind him like a sleeping dragon….Alex revved the engine. The two-stroke motor roared to life, a mechanical heartbeat syncing with his own. He leaned forward, feeling the thrust propel him across the dew-kissed grass. The wing inflated with a whoosh, billowing into a perfect arc overhead. His feet lifted off the ground, and suddenly, he was airborne. The transition was always magical: from earthbound mortal to soaring bird in seconds.

Climbing steadily to 500 feet, Alex banked gently left, following the river's shoreline. Below, the water was a deep sapphire, dotted with islands that appeared like emerald jewels from the mist. Spring had coaxed wildflowers into bloom along the banks, white dogwoods and purple violets carpeting the landscape. The air was cool and invigorating, carrying the scent of pine and fresh earth. He throttled back slightly, letting the thermal updrafts from the warming hills carry him higher. At this altitude, the world felt intimate yet vast; the distant rumble of a sport fishing boat echoed up, but it seemed worlds away.

Alex's mind wandered as he glided. He thought of his niece, Amanda, who was probably still snoring in her bed in Knoxville. She had left the previous weekend but promised to return often. She was still finding her place in life but had a good handle on it. Supported by her grandfather’s trust fund, she was nevertheless flighty on occasion and called to him for advice. Up here, those concerns for her dissolved like fog in the sun. He spotted a heron wading in the shallows of Dragonfly Cove, its long neck arched gracefully as it hunted for breakfast. Further along, the Obey River inlet snaked into the lake, its waters swollen from recent rains, feeding the reservoir's depths.

As he approached the steeper cliffs near the Wolf River Dock, the terrain grew dramatic. Limestone bluffs rose sheer from the water, etched with crevices where ferns clung tenaciously. Alex circled lazily, his altimeter reading 800 feet. The engine's steady purr was a comforting companion, but he savored the moments when he could kill it and soar silently on thermals. Today, though, with the light winds, he kept it running low. A family of deer grazed on a meadow below, oblivious to his shadow passing overhead. Spring's vitality was everywhere: newborn fawns stumbling on wobbly legs, birdsong filling the air like a symphony.

But tranquility gave way to challenge as Alex ventured toward the lake's narrower fingers. A sudden gust from the east caught his wing, tilting him sharply. His heart raced….paramotoring demanded respect for the elements. He countered with a weight shift, pulling on the brakes to stabilize. The wind was picking up, funneled through the valleys, a common spring phenomenon here. Below, whitecaps began to form on the lake, and a distant thunderhead loomed on the horizon, hinting at an afternoon shower. Alex decided to press on, drawn to the allure of Eagle Cove, a secluded bay known for its resident raptors.

Dipping lower to 300 feet for a better view, he marveled at the cove's isolation. Towering pines and oaks framed the inlet, and the water was so clear he could see schools of bass darting beneath the surface. Then, a flash of white caught his eye….a bald eagle launching from its nest atop a dead snag. The majestic bird soared effortlessly, its wingspan nearly seven feet, gliding on the same thermals Alex rode. For a moment, they flew in tandem, the eagle eyeing him curiously before banking away toward the open lake. Alex whooped in delight; the sound was lost in the wind. This was why he flew: connections like this, raw and unscripted.

Yet, as he looped back toward his launch site, the wind intensified. His canopy fluttered, and he felt the first pangs of turbulence. Paramotors weren't built for storms; their lightweight design made them vulnerable. Alex scanned for a safe landing spot….an open field near Hendricks Creek Resort, perhaps. But curiosity tugged him toward one last detour: the historic Cordell Hull Birthplace in the state park, visible from the air as a quaint cabin nestled next to the highway. Hull, the "Father of the United Nations," had grown up here, overlooking the same waters. Alex pondered the irony….a man who tried to shape global peace finding solace in this serene corner of the world.

The engine sputtered briefly, a reminder to check fuel. He had enough for another 20 minutes, but the gathering clouds urged caution. Turning south, he followed the Obey River's main channel, where houseboats bobbed lazily in the mornings. Weekend warriors were stirring, coffee mugs in hand, waving up at him. Alex waved back, feeling a kinship with these lake dwellers. Spring mornings like this were gifts, ephemeral and precious.

Descending gradually, he prepared to land in the Sunset Marina parking lot. It was the only place to get fuel this early on a Sunday. The nearly empty lot came into view; its concrete now bathed in full sunlight. He flared the wing, bleeding off speed, and his feet touched down lightly, running a few steps before coming to a halt. The engine cut out, leaving only the chorus of birds and people talking. Alex unclipped his harness, collapsing the canopy with practiced ease. His cheeks flushed from the wind, he sat on a bench, gazing at the people carrying their possessions to the moored boats for another day of boating, fishing and relaxation.

The flight had been more than recreation; it was therapy. In the air, problems shrank to insignificance against the grandeur of nature. Dale Hollow, with its 620 miles of shoreline and hidden coves, reminded him that life was about exploration, not just endurance. As the sun climbed higher, warming the earth, Alex felt rejuvenated. Spring was a time of beginnings, and today, once again, he had begun anew.

But the story didn't end there. As Alex refilled his fuel tank, his phone buzzed…. a text from his old friend, Duncan, inviting him over for burgers and beer that afternoon. Duncan, at one time a fellow adventurer, had retired to his family home not far down the road. Alex was almost at the point of getting Duncan to go parasailing with him again. Paramotoring wasn't solitary; it could build communities of like-minded souls chasing horizons.

Taking flight from the parking lot flanked by blooming dogwoods, Alex reflected on the morning's nuances. The eagle's gaze had felt profound, a silent acknowledgment between flyers. The wind's push had tested his skills, honing them sharper. Even the lake itself, forged by the Army Corps of Engineers in the 1940s for flood control, symbolized human ingenuity harmonizing with nature.

That evening, over a beer on his porch, Alex journaled the flight. Words flowed: the thrill of takeoff, the serenity of glide, the brief adrenaline of turbulence. He aimed for 1500 words, capturing every detail….the mist rising like steam from a giant cauldron, the play of light on rippling water, the earthy aroma carried aloft. His mind drifted back to this week’s coming events. Howard Construction would be out the next morning to dig out his pond and line the edges with stone rip rap. Alex had dug out an old spring head at the top of a small wash leading to the pond site with a six-foot steel prybar he had borrowed from Hank. There was enough of a trickle to keep the pond filled without depending on rain all the time. Once the pond was filling, he would plant a willow or two and perhaps some flowering shrubs. He needed advice on those. His next project was to extend the deck for the large grill he wanted to buy. The grills you would normally get at the hardware store or Walmart, rusted out too quickly in the humid air near the river. He was going to get the best stainless-steel smoker-grill he could find, maybe have running water near it, Hell! Why not an outdoor kitchen?
 
 
Chapter Sixty-Eight

That evening Alex was watching YouTube videos when he stumbled across an ABC News documentary about the 1989 San Francisco Earthquake. The documentary showed scenes of Candlestick Park and the surrounding area damage and segued into earthquake faults in other parts of the United States. This had Alex stopping the video and looking at the closest fault near his location….the New Madrid seismic zone. From his research, Alex determined there probably wouldn’t be much physical damage in his area, unless it unveiled hidden faults not previously known in middle Tennessee, but it could interrupt commerce in the area for a while. (NOTE: Store more foods I like!) He needed to talk with Duncan to see if there was anything that he needed to be prepared for. He found the grill/smoker he wanted online and went ahead and ordered it. He would have to assemble the pieces himself, but he had nothing but time. He looked for designs for outdoor kitchens and took notes on a couple of ideas. He might extend the deck and cover it for an entertainment area. He sketched out a couple of designs and decided to wait and talk to someone who knew what they were doing.

When Alex woke the next morning, fog had lifted from the river and was drifting through the trees. Some people would look at it as the beginning of a dismal day, but Alex smiled as he stood and drank his coffee on the deck. The sun would rise and wipe the fog away. The damp air felt good on his face as he thought of his list of things to do.

As he drained the rest of his coffee, he heard footsteps crunching gravel and looked to his left. It was AnnaMarie with a basket of eggs.

“Good Morning!” She said, smiling.

“A good morning to you, too!” Alex replied. “Come on in!”

He held the door and followed her to the kitchen.

“I’ve already cleaned them.” AnnaMarie said as she began filling an empty carton he had on the counter.

“Want a cup of coffee?” Alex asked.

“Sure! What are your plans today?”

“I’m headed down to a landscaping company in Knoxville to arrange for them to install gravel grid on my driveway.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a four-inch-high grid they lay in your driveway to hold the gravel. With proper installation, grass won’t grow through and I’ll have little maintenance to do except edge it once in a while.

“You should stop by Sam’s Club and check out the canned goods.”

“I might just do that. Want to go with me?”

“I’ll have to clean up and change clothes.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be ready!”

AnnaMarie hurried out of the kitchen and Alex watched her running through the hedgerow and disappear.
Alex washed up his dishes and wiped down the counter then changed his pants and put on a cleaner pair of boots. He had plenty of time. It was about 500 meters to her house so she would be winded. He could give her some extra minutes. He finally filled a travel mug with ice and water and got in his truck. When he got to Hank’s house, he only sat for a couple of minutes and AnnaMarie came out. She looked like a cover from Country Living Magazine. She got into the truck smiling and buckled up.

“Okay, let’s go!”

Alex chuckled and turned the truck around, turning right on the country road.

“What’s Hank up to?”

“He’s going down to the garden and farm store to pick up tomato plants to plant in the greenhouse. He misses his fresh tomatoes.”

“He doesn’t grow them in the greenhouse in the winter?”

“He does, but his plants gave up the ghost back in February and he didn’t plant any to let the soil rest. He’s going to remove the soil from the beds and refresh it with compost and start anew.”

“Well, tell him to call me if he needs some help. I’m just killin’ time ‘til time kills me.” Alex said.

“What?!” Is there something wrong with you?”

“No, not at all. It’s just since coming here I no longer look over my shoulder for enemies. It seems now Time is my only enemy.”

“Well, don’t talk like that. It gives me the willies!”

Alex found the address for the landscapers and he told them what he wanted and they showed him samples of the Geogrid and recommended the four inch since he was using gravel for his driveway. The grid would easily handle the weight of heavy trucks and farm equipment. When Alex found they also built decks, he spoke with the salesperson of his desire to have his deck expanded and building an outdoor kitchen. The salesperson showed him examples of work they had done and signed a separate contract to have the construction done. They would send out an inspector to look at what he wanted done before the end of the week.

That out of the way, AnnaMarie directed Alex over to Sam’s Club. Alex bought a basic membership; he didn’t need nor want all the extra membership options they offered. Alex had been in a COSTCO before but never a Sam’s Club so he took a cart and they just walked down the aisles first, just looking at what they had in stock.
Once they made the rounds of the store, Alex returned to where they had started and began selecting items and put them in the cart, keeping in mind those foods that kept the longest in storage. They almost filled the cart and AnnaMarie went to get another one. In deference to Amanda, Alex loaded the cart with 24 packages of bacon, a twin pack of JIF peanut butter and two large jars of dill slices. Amanda liked peanut butter and dill sandwiches. They loaded everything into the back of the truck and headed straight home.

Once they had everything unloaded, Alex decided he needed another refrigerator to keep his kitchen fridge from being overloaded with condiments. He had time, and there was a furniture store in Livingston that also sold appliances. He picked up a plain refrigerator and placed it in the basement near the stairs.

Amanda returned at 8:00 PM Friday night and found Alex and AnnaMarie drinking wine in the great room.

“Why aren’t you guys out barhopping and dancing?!” Amanda asked.

“Too tired. We’ve been working all day!” AnnaMarie replied.

Amanda shook her head ad took her bag to the guestroom.

Saturday morning Alex received the UPS package he had been waiting for. It was a dual harness and frame for his paramotor and a slightly larger canopy. Now he could take someone else up with him and show them the beauty of flying around the lake. Saturday evening, Alex asked AnnaMarie if she wanted to go parasailing with him in the morning. He was going to leave at sunup. AnnaMarie grinned and said, of course she would. He told her not to eat anything until she knew she could handle the flying.

The next morning Alex had everything laid on the knoll in the pasture to the north of the house. He had everything laid out so they could run down the knoll into the wind and quickly inflate the chute. Alex explained the safety harnesses and got AnnaMarie strapped in. Her heart was beating like a machine gun firing. When she said she was ready Alex opened the throttle, the chute partially inflated and they ran down the knoll into the wind. The channels on the canopy opened with a thump and they were flying. Alex steered right and lined up on the Obey and started gaining altitude. He caught a couple of thermals and rose up to around 700 feet and began heading cross-country to the Sunset Marina. From there he turned north and west and did a racetrack around the Cordell Hull Birthplace then headed for Raptor Cove to see the eagles. They flew around the lake for a while then made a beeline back to the farm. As they lost altitude to land, AnnaMarie already had one leg out to start running when they touched down. Surprisingly, they didn’t stumble and crash and burn. Alex got the canopy down then began packing the canopy into its bag. The two of them carried the frame to the shed and Alex packed everything. When they walked into the house, Amanda was cooking pancakes, a pound of bacon was already draining on a Paper Towel covered platter.
“You’re staying this time to help eat these blueberry pancakes, aren’t you AnnaMarie?” Amanda asked.

“Yes, I’ll stay. Is there anything I can do?”

“Nope! Got it handled.”

Everyone decided on scrambled eggs so Alex got out an eight-inch cast iron pan and fried up six eggs.

“How did you like Uncle Alex’s toy?” Amanda asked AnnaMarie.

“My heart was in my throat at first but it turned out to be a beautiful experience.” AnnaMarie replied.

“I thought it would be. I was hoping Uncle Alex was going to ask me.”

“Well, you should have asked.” Alex said.

“I didn’t want to…cu…uh…block AnnaMarie’s time, but whenever you have the time…”

Alex coughed on the sip of coffee he had taken and glared at Amanda.

“I loved flying up with the eagles. They are so majestic!” AnnaMarie said.

“Uncle Alex, are you going to get any chickens so you can have your own eggs?” Amanda asked.

“Oh! He doesn’t need to raise chickens for eggs. We get more than enough that we can share. That’s what neighbors do!”

“That’s really nice of you!” Amanda said, grinning.

AnnaMarie cleaned her plate and got up. She took her plate, cup and utensils to the sink and rinsed them before loading them into the dishwasher.

“I’ve got to get back. Uncle Hank has a hen boiling over at the house for me to make chicken and dumplings. I’ll bring y’all over a batch for lunch.” AnnaMarie said.

“You don’t have to go to all that trouble!” Alex said.

“Oh, it’s no trouble. It’s gonna get cooked anyway. I’ll just add another cup of flour to my dough.”
 
 
Chapter Sixty-Nine

The landscapers showed up with their equipment and cut down the drive, laid landscaping fabric to block weeds and grass, laid the grid and filled everything with crushed gravel. His truck wheels didn’t even sink into the gravel, Two days later, the deck crew showed up and put his deck extension in and built a beautiful covered outdoor kitchen, complete with an area for his new grill, a separate gas burner, sink with running hot and cold water, a small fridge/wine cooler and weatherproof drawers and cabinets.

In the weeks that followed, Alex would return to Dale Hollow often. As Spring deepened into lush greenery, his flights would grow bolder. One morning when AnnaMarie was with him, they encountered a flock of migrating geese, their V-formation a lesson in efficiency, and flew level with them. Another time, he skimmed low over a waterfall cascading into the lake, the spray misting their faces.

Yet, the true magic lay in the quiet moments: hovering at dawn, watching the world wake. Paramotoring taught patience, respect, and wonder. For Alex, Dale Hollow wasn't just a lake; it was a portal to freedom.

As summer approached, he planned longer excursions, perhaps to nearby Pickett State Park. But that first spring flight remained etched in memory….a perfect blend of adventure and peace, high above the timeless waters.

On a weekend Amanda wasn’t showing up, on Friday night, Alex invited AnnaMarie and Hank over for steaks and the movie “Wind River”, written by Taylor Sheridan; the same dude that wrote Sicario, Yellowstone, and the spinoffs 1883 and 1923, streamed over Netflix. AnnaMarie, of course, was all up for it and surprisingly, Hank was too. He liked steak and anything with Taylor Sheridan’s name tied to it was good for him. He’d liked the picture show about the Yellowstone ranch even though he hated the ending.

Alex put together simple chef’s salads but with three different choices for dressing, smokey twice baked potatoes and defrosted the best prime ribeye steaks he could find in his freezer. A pack of those King's Hawaiian Original Hawaiian Sweet Dinner Rolls he had warming in the warming oven were ready to be plated in the warming breadbasket to keep them hot. AnnaMarie and Hank arrived at 6:00 PM; AnnaMarie dressed in a red blouse and a pair of tight jeans, Hank had on a clean and fairly new pair of bibb overalls and clean boots. His beard appeared combed and show no stems of hay poking out of it. Alex served them the drink of their choice and took the steaks which he’d been marinating in a dry rub to the outdoor kitchen and began cooking them. Hank and AnnaMarie followed him out.

“They done a pretty fair job on your porch here!” Hank declared, packing his pipe bowl.

“Thanks! I like it.” Alex said.

“I’ll bet it is beautiful out here at night.” AnnaMarie said.

“It’s even better on that couch over there out from under the deck cover. There are a billion stars with just a bit of glow from over toward Byrdstown.” Alex said, feeling the steaks for doneness.

“Can we eat out here?” AnnaMarie asked, pointing to the table she and Hank were sitting at.

“Sure, the plates and stuff are on the counter.” Alex said.

AnnaMarie set the table and brought out the bowl of salad, the hot potatoes, and the basket of rolls. Alex plated the steaks and set them before Hank and AnnaMarie. When Alex was seated, Hank took AnnaMarie and Hank’s hands and gave a short blessing then quickly grabbed his knife and fork and began cutting bite-size pieces of steak. AnnaMarie grinned, shook her head, and used the salad tongs to fill Hank’s salad bowl then poured Thousand Island salad dressing over his salad. She spooned a dab of sour cream on his potato served on its own plate then prepared her salad and potato. Hank never said a word. There was a constant rotation of steak, potato and a bite of salad always heading toward his mouth. Alex grinned at Hank’s gusto.
“This is delicious Alex!” AnnaMarie said.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Alex replied.

Hank sopped his plates with a half of a dinner roll and sat back.

“Hank, how about a slice of cheesecake and a cup of coffee?” Alex asked.

Hank’s eyes lit up as he grinned. “Why shore!”

Alex went inside and returned with the cheesecake and a container of sliced strawberries. He cut Hank a big slice, then spooned the macerated strawberries and sugar over the cake. AnnaMarie poured him a cup of coffee from the pot on the single burner. Hank to a sip of coffee, nodded his head, and proceeded to devour the dessert. AnnaMarie cut her and Alex’s cake, covered the slices in strawberries, and poured their coffee.
“That was one fine meal!” Hank said, sipping his coffee and packing his pipe. Alex scraped the last of his dessert from is serving plate and stood, gathering empty dishes.

“I’ll help,” AnnaMarie said. “Uncle Hank, why don’t you finish your pipe and come on in. We should have the movie ready by then.”

“I’ll do that!” Hank replied, nodding.

Alex and AnnaMarie carried everything into the kitchen, rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. Alex added the detergent and some stuff that kept watermarks from forming on everything and started the machine. They went into the great room and Alex turned on the satellite receiver and TV with the remotes. As everything was coming up on the screen, Hank came in. Alex told Hank he could sit in the recliner and Hank sat down. AnnaMarie show him how to raise the footrest and he groaned.

“It ain’t right to feel this good!” Hank said, shifting his butt around, getting even more comfortable.

Alex worked his way through the menus, found the movie and pressed “play”.

“The movie was good. Alex had thought Hank might fall asleep, but Hank would exclaim once in a while and point out actors that would later appear in the Yellowstone episodes.

Everyone enjoyed the movie and were kind of let down when it ended.

“They did a right smart job of that movie,” Hank said.”

AnnaMarie helped Hank out of the recliner. Hank sighed at the recliner and said, “That’s a nice chair!”

“Let’s get you home and to bed Uncle Hank. You wanted to go to that estate sale in the morning.” AnnaMarie said.

“Yep. There are some things I want to look at.” Hank said. “Why don‘t you come with us, Alex? You might find something you didn’t know you needed.”

AnnaMarie looked up into Alex’s eyes and said, “It would be nice having you along.”

“Yeah, sure. What time do we need to leave?”

“Eight o’clock.” Hank said, grinning.

“I’ll pick y’all up at 08:00 then.”

Alex walked them to Hank’s truck and watched them drive down the lane. He went back to the outdoor kitchen, cleaned the grill, sat on the outdoor sofa, and looked at the stars until sleep started overtaking him.

Alex was up early the next morning, made a pot of coffee, and while it was perking, emptied the dishwasher. He made toast, fried a slice of country ham and one egg, over easy. By the time he had cleaned up from breakfast, and got fully dressed, it was time to head to Hank’s. They came out the door as soon as he pulled up to the porch. Hank got in front to direct Alex to the sale and AnnaMarie got in the back seat.

“Was there something you were specifically looking for, Hank?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Chalmers used to have several clay kraut crocks with the original stone weights. I planted plenty of cabbages this year. I was hoping the crocks were for sale.”

“Okay then! The kraut crock search is under way!”

When the got to the old Chalmer’s farm, there were a couple of dozen cars and trucks parked along the road and all around the farm buildings. Some of the things were gathered in lots to be sold. Alex was interested in any cast iron cookware that was for sale. There was some listed on the information sheet the auction company handed out. Alex and AnnaMarie found it all stacked together in what was probably the dining room. AnnaMarie pointed out several things Alex should buy to hang on the walls to spruce his place up. Alex wasn’t into clutter but they’d be hanging on the wall out of the way and told her to remind him. Alex, AnnaMarie and Hank followed the auctioneer around together and watched people pay little for some things, and sky-high for others. When they got to the kraut crocks, Hank got into a bidding war with some lady who looked like she might own a boutique. The bid reached Hank’s limit then he started to pull away until Alex slipped him a roll of fifties and twenties and told Hank how much was in the roll. Hank kept on bidding and pushed the competition out.

“I’m going to owe you a lot of sour kraut!” Hank said.

“Well, I’m dug in and I’m not going anywhere.” Alex replied, winking at AnnaMarie.

Alex picked up the cookware at a reasonable price. He figured every home in the area probably had plenty of it already. He picked up several things AnnaMarie said would bring warmth to his house. The day had been very interesting.
 
 
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Chapter Seventy

AnnaMarie went over to Alex’s house and directed him on where to hang the things he’d bought. They inspected the cast iron cookware and found a Dutch oven and a 12-inch frying pan that were heavily crusted.

“I don’t know about you, but I find it icky eating off someone else’s old food. Are you going to re-season these?”

“I guess so, if you show me how.”

AnnaMarie looked the frying pan over carefully. “This is a Wagner! It’s old!”

“That’s going to take a lot of chiseling and scrubbing to get that crust off.” Alex said.

“No, we just have to burn it off. You need to make a fire in the yard and get a good bed of coals. We then put the pan and pot into the coals upside down and pile more wood on top. The fire will burn the crust off. When the pots have cooled down, we wash and dry them, then we can start seasoning.”

“I’ll go start a fire.” Alex said.

Alex went outside and went to a spot near the edge of the tree canopy and made a bed of small limbs that were meant for kindling. Building up bigger limbs, he started the fire and watch the limbs. Going inside, He went back to the kitchen where AnnaMarie was still inspecting the cookware.

“You’ve got some really old pieces here!”

“Do I need to throw them away?”

“No! They are still good to cook in, but collectors would pay a mint for some of these.”

“Well, I guess it’s less innocuous to shuffle around my cookware than sitting around counting my coins and jewels.”

AnnaMarie giggled. “Yes, it is!”

“When the fire had burned down to coals, Alex spread them evenly, flipped the frying pan and set it over the coals. The Dutch oven and its lid followed. Alex stacked more kindling and larger pieces of firewood on top and the fire began to blaze. When the flames reached almost shoulder high, they went back inside.

“The ashes and cast iron should be cooled by the morning and we can start seasoning them.” AnnaMarie said.

“Do you think I should burn the rest of these pieces?” Alex asked.

“You can if you want to. For me….I think it kind of establishes ownership.”

“Then I think I’ll do them too, but when I was down at Home Depot a while ago, I saw a stone fire pit kit I want to get. I started the fire where I want to put it. Since I’m going to fire the others, I think I’ll go get the kit and put it in before I fire the others.” Alex said.

“Makes sense to me.” AnnaMarie replied.

“Go with me tomorrow morning and I’ll buy lunch.”

“You’re on!”

AnnaMarie soon left and Alex checked the fire. It was burning brightly.

Bob looked around and guessed he had an hour or so of daylight left so he continued cutting the deadfall up and stacking it in the woodshed. He had a lot in the big pile that had accumulated from his cleanups over the winter. Bobby had been helping him for a while…carrying and stacking wood until Angie called him home. Finally, when the shadows had lengthened, touching the sides of the shop, Bob gathered up his tools and put them away. When he walked into the house, he smelled cornbread cooking. Ashelyn had pork roast, green beans, and roasted potatoes ready for supper.

“Wash up! I got supper almost ready!” Ashelyn called out.

“Be right back!”

When Bob returned, Ashelyn had the serving bowls on the table and the cornbread pan sitting on a trivet, covered with a cloth. Bob poured the tea in their glasses and sat down.

“I took Allie some Beefsteak tomato seeds to plant earlier.” Ashelyn said.

“I thought I heard the boat. How is Allie and Little Gabriel?”

“They are both fine. She carries him around all over the place in a papoose carrier.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about but I’m sure it gives her a lot of back strain.”

“It makes it easier to breastfeed Gabriel and still keep working.”

“I really didn’t need to know that.” Bob said.


Duncan and Allie finished planting the rest of the bell peppers while Sally babysat the other kids in the yard. Sally kept Gabriel’s swing bed going and he was sleeping.

“I need to plant the seeds Ashelyn gave me in starter trays. By the time the Yellow Brandywine plants start blooming, the Beefsteaks will be ready to plant.” Allie said.

“So, we’ll have a rolling harvest of tomatoes?”

“Also, a lot of canning to do.”


…..The officer on the line didn’t sound concerned.

“How long's he been gone?”

“Almost a month.” She replied, her voice cracking for the first time.

“Did he leave a note?”

“No.”

“Was there a fight?”

“No…I mean no more than usual.”

“Any reason to believe he harmed himself?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Does he have a history of disappearing?”

“No, not really. Sometimes he was away for business.”

The officer sighed, “Look ma’am, it's not uncommon for someone to take a break especially if there’s no sign of foul play.”

He’s an adult. He left everything legally in your name. Sounds like he wanted space.

“SPACE!” She snapped. “This isn’t space! This is a disappearance!”

“Not if it was intentional”, The officer said.

That line stuck with her, “not if it was intentional.”

That word kept repeating in her skull like a drumbeat because it was.

Everything about his exit was intentional!

Legal transfers, wiped tech, no chaos, no trace. A man doesn’t go to that much effort unless he wants one thing; to never be found and what bothered her almost no one seemed alarmed; not his work, not the police, not even his distant cousin in Idaho who replied to her email with, “Well, maybe he’s better off wherever he is,” as if they all knew something she didn’t…. as if she was the last to realize the ghosting wasn’t accidental …. it was planned. How did he find out?

She wasn't grieving a loss; she was being erased from a man's life she was once a part of.

“Ma’am, you can file a missing person report but if he was looking to disappear, he likely will stay away from anything that would bring him close to law enforcement. I’d hire a good P.I. if I were you.”

Julia hung up and looked at the EPT laying on the counter. She threw it into the waste receptacle, grabbed her purse and keys and left the house.


Martin Harris sat eating a small pie and sipping a draft in the New York Pizza Company in Danielson, Connecticut, waiting for his next ride. He had just taken his last bite and washed it down with a gulp of beer when the man entered. The Yankee’s cap gave him away at first, then the hand signal verified his bona fides. Martin stood, picked up and slung his travel pack over one shoulder and walked out. His eyes scanned the parking lot and saw the Forest Green Dodge Challenger parked in the side lot. He walked over, opened the door, placed his pack in the back seat and sat down in the passenger seat. The driver soon returned carrying a small, boxed pie.

“You want to stop and eat your pie?” Martin asked.

“I like cold pizza.” The driver said.

The driver turned right onto Route 6 and didn’t stop until they reached Windham Airport. The driver turned in and soon stopped at a building with a Connecticut Soaring Association sign on it. Martin got out, retrieved his pack and the Challenger drove away. Martin looked around and had decided to go into the building when he saw a man in a golf cart coming toward him from what looked like a six-bay hangar building. The golf cart pulled up next to him and the driver motioned for him to get in. He was driven to the other side of the hangar where they stopped next to a Beechcraft King Air. Martin got out of the cart with his travel pack and watched as a man strode toward him from the hangar, clipboard in hand.

“Ready to go?”

“Are you the pilot?” Martin asked.

“Yep. Just put your pack on the floor behind your seat.”

Martin put his pack in the plane and sat in the seat next to the pilot.

“It’s going to be a few hours. If you want to get some good sleep, I’d sit in back. The seats recline. ”

Martin nodded and moved into the back and took a right-side window seat.

The seat was comfortable and Martin could barely keep his eyes open as the pilot cranked the engines, talked on the radio and moved the plane to the runway. After they took off and the plane leveled, Martin reclined his seat and fell asleep.

Martin awoke to the sun shining through his eyelids. He shook the weariness off and raised his seat.

“There’s bottled water in that little fridge in front of you.” The pilot said.

Martin stretched, then bent over and opened the fridge, retrieving a bottle of water. He drained half of it then opened a side pocket on his pack and pulled out the bottle of aspirin. Taking two, He washed them down with more water and relaxed, looking out the window. Soon, the pilot put the plane in a slight nose-down attitude and slowed the plane. Martin watched as the mountains, hills, and the occasional building became more discernible. He saw an airport off to the left but the pilot flew straight on. When they banked to the left, Martin heard the sound of the landing gear extending and locking. They grew closer to the ground then the wheels screeched.

“Where are we?” Martin asked as they taxied to a hangar.

“Oneida, Tennessee. Your next ride is right over there,” the pilot said, pointing to a helicopter sitting about 50 yards away. Have a nice trip.”
 
 
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Chapter Seventy-One

The helicopter had sprayer booms folded along the sides. Martin was familiar with the military version; the OH-58 Kiowa. This was a Bell 206 JetRanger, modified for aerial spraying of crops. Martin watched the King air taxi over to the self-serve fuel pumps and the pilot was filling its tanks. A man wearing blue overalls with a flying service logo embossed above the right zippered chest pocket came out of the hangar office carrying a small kit bag in his hand and walked over to the helicopter.

“Put your bag on the back seat.” The man said.

The side door was blocked by the sprayer boom so Martin opened the right door, leaned in, and tossed the travel pack onto the back seat. He got in, strapped in the harness and the pilot handed him the headset.
“How long is the flight?” Martin asked over the intercom.

“About seventeen miles. We’ll be there in no time.”

Martin kept quiet, listening to the pilot talking to whatever controllers he needed to. The blades started turning and after an undetermined amount of time, lifted off and air-taxied over next to the runway. After given instructions by the controller, the nose tilted down and the helicopter began racing down the edge of the runway and gained altitude. The pilot turned the helicopter and the morning sun moved behind them. They were flying west. They were soon flying over a forest devoid of any habitation, as far as he could tell. They soon seemed to be heading for a V-shaped gap in the hills that soon showed it turned to the southwest. They entered a small valley and soon turned back to the west and the valley opened up a little. They flew toward a road that seemed to end abruptly and landed.

“Welcome to the Wolf Den!” The pilot said.

Martin took off his headset, handed it to the pilot, unbuckled his harness, and leaned around and grabbed his travel pack. He got out of the helicopter, secured the door and started walking toward the only manmade structure he could see. It was a large culvert….no, a tunnel big enough to drive an 18-wheeler into. A man stepped out of the shadows and motioned Martin forward.

“What is this place?” Martin asked.

“Questions and answers later. Follow me.” The man replied.

Martin followed the man into the shadow. The man wore a grey T-shirt, blue jeans held up by both belt and suspenders and well-worn boots. They reached a side door off the tunnel and went in. The air was chilled, but dry. They walked down a series of corridors and went into a large room with tables, security monitor screens and consoles.

“Welcome to the Wolf Den. My name is Joe Nelson.”

“What is this place?” Martin asked.

“An auxiliary Continuity of Government site. If things go BOOM, certain people shelter here until it’s time to straighten things out.”

“I would think there would be more than one man for security for this place.”

“Oh, there is. More hell can crawl out of these walls, if necessary, than you could handle . I’ve been told you’ll remain here until the area coordinator gets here in a couple of days. Then you’ll probably be shuttled to your final site.”

“Where do I bunk?”

“Oh! Follow me!”

Joe led him two doors down to a dormitory room with ten bunks. “Pick whichever you want. Showers are through that door over there. Come on, I’ll show you where you eat.”

They went down the hall to a small alcove and went through a door. It looked like a diner with stainless-steel tables. “It’s cook your own, clean your own. There is a ton of food in that walk-in freezer. The pizzas are really good. Drinks are in that cooler. There’s beer in there but don’t get shitfaced. Harry doesn’t like it. I saw him snatch the nose ring out of a guy that he found in here passed out and the place a mess.”

“Who’s Harry?”

“He’s the area coordinator, Harry Rhyme. Oh, and no consumables in the sleeping quarters.”

“Copy that.”

Off next to the kitchen was a small room that reminded Martin of the old “Day Rooms” in military barracks. There were comfortable chairs, a flat screen TV on the wall, a recessed rack of DVDs the Held “Saving Private Ryan”, “Band of Brothers”, “The Green Berets”, and a load of other classics. A bookshelf held a bevy of paperback books to include what seemed to be every book Louis Dearborn L'Amour ever wrote. All were well-worn. Returning to the kitchen, Martin checked the walk-in freezer and sure enough, there were a couple of large bags of frozen chicken nuggets. A memory flashed in his mind of sitting in a remote base with other Task Force members watching the Super Bowl and snacking on chicken nuggets and Ranch dressing. Shaking the memory off, Martin returned to the bunk room. Many of those guys didn’t return from that mission; compromised by a mid-term Senator who tried to prove he knew more than anyone else and thus smarter. The memories and efforts of those guys swept into the dustbin of history. What a waste!

Martin looked at his watch then up at a digital 24-hour clock and decided it really was 20:15 at night. That seemed within the ballpark. Down here it would be easy to lose when daytime and nighttime was. More memories flashed through his mind and he found the latrine and passed the water he had consumed.

Martin felt a twinge of hunger, washed his hands and smile. Returning to the kitchen, Martin found the paper plate, took one, opened one of the bags of chicken nuggets and placed a dozen on the plates, then microwaved the nuggets for 75 seconds. While the nuggets were cooking, he found a large bottle of Ranch dressing in the cooler. He grabbed it and a coke and retrieved the nuggets when the microwave alarmed. He took his plate and drink into the Day Room and turned on the TV. <(The remote was stuck to the wall with Velcro pads next to the TV.) He filtered the menu to show him the movie channels and selected “Starship Troopers”, watching the future soldiers blow up gigantic bugs while he scooped up Ranch dressing with chicken nuggets.

When the movie ended Martin turned off the TV, stuck the remote back to the wall, gathered his trash, and returned to the kitchen area. There was a trash area that had what looked like two chutes on the wall. The one labeled “Paper”, Martin pressed the menu button and a lid opened and he dropped the plate in then pressed the flashing button. There was a slight aroma of paper and nugget crumbs burning and then nothing. On the menu above the “Recycle” chute, Martin selected metal and the lid opened quickly and martin dropped the can in. He pressed the flashing button and heard the crushing of the can and the noised stopped. Neat! Martin used the cleaning cloth and spray sitting on a counter and wiped down where he had worked and anything he had touched. The floor was clean. He shook the cloth out over the sink, ran a little water, then wiped the sink down. He hung up the cloth on a drying rack that swung out from the backsplash, left the bottle of cleaning solution on the counter under it. Martin returned to the dormitory room, took his toilet kit out of his travel pack, brushed his teeth and took a quick shower. Martin put on fresh underwear, uncrumpled his leather moccasins and sat them by the bed and laid down. When his body sank into the memory-foam mattress, Martin closed his eyes and blanked out.

Martin awoke, the fluorescent lights glowing brightly. ”Shit! I forgot to turn the lights off!” Martin didn’t know that after five minutes of inactivity in any room in the installation, the lights were automatically turned off. The door to the corridor opened and a man stuck his head in.

“Let’s go. I’ve got coffee on in the mess!”

Martin sat up, pulled on his pants and tugged on his moccasins. Combing his hair with his fingers, he opened the door and walked to the kitchen. It wasn’t until he was in the corridor that he noticed the time on the digital clock; 0400. He wasn’t going to complain. It was his normal time to get up. When he walked in the kitchen, the man was sitting at one of the metal tables with two mugs of coffee before him.

“Come on in a sit with me.” The man directed.

When Martin sat down the man pushed one of the mugs of coffee to him and held out his hand. “I’m Harry Rhyme, Sergeant Major, retired, Tenth Special Forces.”

“Martin Harris, Escapee.” Martin replied.

Harry chuckled. “Yes, we all are at one time or another. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, very well, thank you. What is this place?”

“You’ve already been told. I ran the tapes, but again, it’s an auxiliary Continuity of Government site, although the corrupt scums of government have been directed to other sites in the case the balloon goes up, so we know exactly where they are.”

“Who is in charge?”

“Why, I am, at least for this district. I’m an Area Coordinator for Shield, a closely knit organization that was formed to make sure Marxists didn’t get control of the country.”

“How did I get roped into this?”

“I’d rather use the term ‘Drawn’ rather than roped. Shield was contacted by a group of retired military NONCOMs who don’t like to see bad things done to good people. You were spotted in your planning to escape your situation and sort of guided here to offer you a new life. Otherwise, you would have stayed in the ratline and continued to some desolate part of South Dakota or Wyoming. Believe me, you are better off in this area. We can get freaky weather here, but you won’t freeze your ass off in the wintertime.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“You’ll be here at least another day. I’m having your new home cleaned up and stocked. Today is Tuesday. Thursday, I’ll take you there and show you around. It’s not far, about ten miles as the crow flies, but much longer by road. You just chill out for now and enjoy the amenities.”

“Okay, and Thanks, I guess.”

Harry laughed, got up, took his mug to the sink, washed and dried it, then put it in an overhead cabinet.
Martin washed and put away his mug, made sure the kitchen was spic-and-span, then went back to the dormitory, then went to the Day Room and got a hard-bound edition of Louis L'Amour’s “Last of the Breed” out of the bookcase.
 
 
Chapter Seventy-Two

The next morning Martin arose, got partially dressed, and went to the kitchen. Joe was there pouring a cup of coffee.

“Good Morning. I made a good pot of coffee and left yesterday’s copy of the Knoxville News Sentinel in the TV room. It covers most parts of the Appalachia geographic region of Tennessee.”

“Okay, thanks.” Martin said as he got down a coffee mug. After pouring his coffee and setting it on a table, he walked to the Day Room and retrieved the paper. He sipped his coffee and scanned the paper and read through the editorial section. Another rambling article boosting the corruption in Washington, declaring the charges filed against the sitting President of the United States were just. Martin was confident the President could beat the trumped up Demmerhoid charges, (No pun intended!) and turn the Justice Department from lawfare to fair laws.

The next page held the crossword puzzle. Martin laid the paper down and went into the dormitory and retrieved the presentation case out of his travel pack. It was the only personal thing he kept from his sordid past. The case held a Montblanc Meisterstuck Ballpoint Pen that the police Department had given him to replace the Montblanc his grandfather had given him and had been ruined when he defused the bomb, keeping the day from becoming a repeat of Oklahoma City. This pen was also used to sign away an earlier life to begin anew. When possible, Martin liked to start the day doing a crossword. It cleared his head and prepared it for the day’s information download.

Half-way through his puzzle, Martin got up to warm up his coffee and noticed a plate piled high with Chef Piere Individually Wrapped Blueberry Muffins sitting on the counter. He grabbed one and sat back down to continue his puzzle.

Bob had launched his boat early that morning and had his limit of trout before 08:00. He cleaned the fish and put them into a brine and brown sugar solution to soak for a while. While the fish were soaking, he set the smoker up, made sure the racks were clean, then started a fire in the firebox with some hardwood to build a bed of coals. He added water to the old well bucket of 70/30 mix of apple and hickory chips to produce the smoke.

Duncan drove up to Alex’s house and thought, (Man, he’s been busy! A refurbished driveway, deck extension, pond…)

Getting out of his truck, Duncan mounted the steps and saw the outdoor kitchen setup. Alex heard the footsteps on the deck and came outside.

“You’ve been busy!” Duncan said.

Alex grinned. “It keeps me out of the bars. Come on in and have some coffee!”

Alex led him to the kitchen, poured two mugs of coffee and sat them on the kitchen island.

“I was thinking about old times the other night.” Duncan said. “Do you know whatever happened to Sean Ferguson?”

“I certainly do!” Alex said. “He moved to Ireland and used some program they have over there to renovate what he calls a cottage, but by the pictures I’ve seen, it is a manor, or at least it’s too freaking big to be a cottage. Anyway, he bought the cottage with 20 hectares of land on Inishmore Island. He bought into a local pub and now has a sweet Irish lass and expecting a baby. Drinking Guiness for breakfast I suppose.”

“What the hell did he do with all those guns? I’d think he would have a devil of a time importing those.”

He lives on an island, Duncan. He definitely didn’t bring them through Dublin, Cork or Kinsale.”

“Well, I guess he’s set then, has his hobby and a pub.”

“Not to mention an Irish girl who is willing to put up with the crafty bastard.”

“What’s your next project?” Duncan asked.

“I’ve got a fire pit I’m putting in, AnnaMarie showed me how to burn the crust off of some old pieces of cast iron cookware and I’m doing the rest I bought at an estate sale once I get the fire pit finished.”

“Are you still flying that ass dragger?”

“What?! I make stand up landings every time! Even when AnnaMarie is flying with me!”

“You talked her into going up?! She must really like you to trust you that much!”

“You need to get over your Aerophobia and buy a rig.”

”I’m not afraid of flying, it was those sharp pointy things that were coming up from the ground that bothered me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that around here!”

“What about duck hunters?”

“Stay away from the flying birds and make sure your leg straps are tight so you don’t honk.” Alex said, laughing.

“I’ll give it some thought.” Duncan said.

Duncan drained his coffee mug and told Alex he had to go into town and buy chicken feed.

When Duncan had left, Alex went out and kicked the ashes around and pulled the cooled pot, lid, and pan out of the ashes. He took them inside and scrubbed them well, then dried them. Going back outside, he shoveled the ashes into a wheelbarrow then traced the circumference of the pit on the ground and used a sharpshooter to dig four inches of soil out of the area he marked and scraped it until he had the area level. He then dumped in builder’s sand and leveled it off, misted it then began tamping the sand down. When the sand was tamped down and level, Alex began laying the faux stone. He squirted ribbons of the recommended adhesive onto each layer of stone and on the third layer, placed in the metal liner, adding extra adhesive under the lip of it. He was almost done putting the cap on when AnnaMarie walked up.

“Ready to fire the other pieces?” AnnaMarie asked.

“Nope. Instructions say to wait two days. The Dutch oven and frying pan came out pretty good though.”
Alex replied.

“Well, let’s see the oven and pan.”

They went inside and AnnaMarie inspected the cast iron. She went over to the stove, turned the oven on to 350 and went into the pantry. She came back with a small can of Crisco, tore off a paper towel and folded it until she had about a three-inch square. She took the pad, rubbed it into the Crisco, and began lightly coating every inch of the frying pan, Dutch oven, and its lid. Getting out three raised-side baking sheets she lined the sheets with parchment paper then placed the pot, frying pan and lid on the sheets. The pan and pot went on upside down so the melting grease didn’t pool and burn. She placed the sheets on the racks and closed the oven and set the stove timer for four hours.

“That’s all there is to it?” Alex asked.

“Well, that will be sort of a glazing coat. I usually do ours four to six times. The more times you do it the more stick free the metal will get. If you are going to do more coats, you need to let the metal cool completely before adding more Crisco.”

“Well, I’d better go clean up my mess.” Alex said.

AnnaMarie grabbed Alex’s arm. “Alex could we do the movie night thing again…but with just the two of us?”
“Of course! I’ll look forward to it.” Alex said, gently rubbing the side of her neck.

AnnaMarie helped him pick up and carry the empty bags and packing materials to the incinerator and watched him as the smoke started coming out of the pipe.

“I need to go fix Uncle Hank’s lunch.” AnnaMarie said.

“Okay, I’ll see you later, then.” Alex said.

Bob opened the door on the smoker, placed the framed metal screen in the opening and secured it with the latches. Going around to the other side, he opened the side door to allow the breeze to flow through the smoker, cooling the fish. The off side of the smoker’s screen was already in place. Bob had modified the smoker during the winter so when he used the smoker in the warmer months, insects would get on his fish.
He waited an hour then went back with a bussing pan and carried the fish into the house. Ashelyn was waiting with the vacuum packer and they vacuum-sealed the fish into bags and stored them in the freezer.
“The next batch goes into jars.” Bob said.

“I’ve got three cases of wide-mouth quart jars ready. I’ll just need to sterilize them.” Ashelyn said.

Well, that’s a couple of days away. We can sterilize the jars in the oven. I want to go to Kodak tomorrow to the Bass Pro Shop and pick up several bags of Alder and Apple wood chips to smoke the next batch with and a couple of cases of vacuum seal bags.

“Good! I’ll go along. I want some summer-weight cargo pants and shorts.” Ashelyn said. “And we need to stop by Edward’s Restaurant Supply and pick up twenty-five pounds of sea salt and ten pounds of peppercorns.”

“I want to spend some time in there and see if there’s anything else we might want.” Bob said.

“Tomato powder, if they have it, and San Marzano tomatoes.” Ashelyn said. “I want to use up most of the garlic and onions we have from the harvest and make Marinara sauce to can. I’d like to stop at Harriman’s too, to get fresh basil for the sauce.”

“We don’t have enough in the greenhouse?”

“Not for the amount of sauce I plan on making.”
 
 
Chapter Seventy-Three

“What are you doing Saturday?” AnnaMarie asked.

“Uh….nothing comes to mind.” Alex replied. “Do you have something in mind?”

“I’d like to ride down to Muddy Pond to visit the Mennonite stores. They are only about 45 minutes from here.”

“Is there something special about the stores?”

“Yes there is, but you’ll have to experience them to figure it out yourself.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What time do we need to leave?”

“I’d like to leave at 07:30 if possible.”

“I’ll have my chariot at your front door at 07:30 then.”

Martin found the washers and washed and dried his dirty clothes. He repacked his travel pack and was ready to move on a moment’s notice. That night he cooked one of the frozen pizzas. It wasn’t bad after he put a few dashes of Texas Pete on it. He woke early Thursday and made the coffee before Joe was able to get to it. A mug of coffee and a banana-nut muffin was his breakfast as he waited for Harry Rhyme to take him to his next destination.

Harry arrived at 0900 and told Martin to get his possessions, that Martin wouldn’t be returning to the wolf den. They got into a refurbished Willys pickup and headed to what Harry was calling the “Landing.” The distance wasn’t that far but the roads were narrow and on some of the turns you could almost meet yourself negotiating them. Several times cows just walked out in front of the vehicle with no warning, and once a black bear. The homes were spaced quite a ways apart, which pleased Martin. He really didn’t care for close neighbors.

“You called this place the ‘Landing’. What’s that about?”

“Well, the property is located beside the East Fork of the Obey River. In the 1800’s, they used to bring empty flatboats this far up the river and haul out lumber and barrels of pine pitch. The flatboats then traveled to as far as Nashville, buying and selling whatever they could gather. It wasn’t long before the area picked up the name 'Flatboat Landing' for obvious reasons. Nowadays, you’d need a small hovercraft to get to the Obey main channel."

“How big is this place?” Martin asked.

“Oh, it’s only about 160 acres. There are two houses on it with outbuildings. One is occupied with a caretaker family, the Edisons; George, John George’s brother, George’s wife Emelda, and George and Emelda’s son Otis. Along with keeping the place up, they also do a little farming to keep up appearances. They are actually under witness protection. We gave them a place for protection as a favor for a favor.”

When they got closer, Harry pointed out the Obey river running along the side of the road. Harry turned off the country road onto a drive that ran he guessed, due west, passed a farmhouse and continued through what seemed to be a pasture and on into the trees. After entering the hardwood forest, there sat, covered by a canopy of old-growth oaks, a nice-looking, single-story log home, obviously sitting on piles. The house had a wrap-around porch, most of it screened in.

Harry parked in front of the house and they got out.

“The original builder of this house here was once an instructor at the Air Force survival School at Fairchild Airforce Base. He gave a lot of thought into building this home.”

“What does he do now?” Martin asked.

“Oh, he’s gone. Dropped dead one day from a brain aneurysm. He was one of the good ones. Let’s take a look at the house.”

Harry unlocked the door and stepped in.

“I believe this is a total of 2154 square feet. The upper level where you could see dormers is only around 800 square feet. Not enough for more bedrooms, but it gives you some storage area. You’ve got a nice, updated country kitchen with a restaurant gas range, three bedrooms, a large family room, three baths, an office, a laundry room, and a large pantry. Martin checked the attic and yes, it had storage place and looked as if someone had recently cleaned it. It smelled of pine scent.

The refrigerator had an ice maker, and there was even a fresh quart of milk in it along with a six-pack of Dos Equis. The pantry was stocked from floor to ceiling.

“This is a nice place. How long will I stay here?” Martin asked.

Harry rubbed his chin. “Well, as long as you like. The powers that be are going to offer you a position here to run a communications hub and host the occasional guest who is running through the ratline. One of the chairpersons will be here this weekend to talk to you. Make yourself at home and give it some thought. You are in the middle of practically nowhere, there’s no way anyone could track you here. You are completely off the radar. You’ve got 160 acres to play in and there’s another 46 across the road George and John farm sometimes.”

“Well, we’ll see this weekend then.” Martin said. “I don’t play alone very well.”

“You say these are Mennonites?” Alex asked as he turned onto TN-84 South.

“Yes, there are several variety stores, I guess you could call them and carry similar merchandise, but all have their differences. There’s even a leather store and a farm that makes sorghum syrup.”

“Sounds interesting.” Martin said, keeping his eyes on the road.

AnnaMarie navigated him through Monterey and onto TN-164. “It’s not far now!”

The first place they stopped at was the Mountain Leather Shop. They had everything leather you could think of to include harness for horses and mules. Alex spotted a well-made duty belt and purchased it. They custom made holsters and did leather repairs. Alex decided to keep them in mind. He had a couple of knives he’d like to get sheaths made for.

They went a couple of hundred yards down the road and visited the Muddy Pond Country store, which was interesting. AnnaMarie told him not to buy anything yet, although Alex couldn’t resist the little tin of horehound lozenges. The left there and retraced their way back to TN-164 and turned right. About a mile down the road, she had him pull into the “Country Porch.”

“Good! We’re here ahead of time!” AnnaMarie said.

Alex looked at his watch. It was a little before 11:00. “Ahead of what time?”

“The lunch rush! This parking lot will overflow in a little while.”

AnnaMarie led him inside and walked straight to a counter where she picked up an order form for a sandwich.

“Do you want a hot or cold sandwich?”

“Cold.” Alex replied.

AnnaMarie selected another form and a couple of those stubby golf pencils. Alex ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and added lettuce, tomato, onions, and mustard. AnnaMarie ordered roast beef and added lettuce, tomato, and horseradish.

It only took a couple of minutes for their sandwiches to be made. AnnaMarie got two bottles of Spring Water out of the cooler and Alex paid the damages. The bill was quite reasonable. AnnaMarie cracked the seal on Alex’s water bottle and sat it in front of him. “You don’t want to eat these sandwiches with any flavored drinks that can distract from the flavors.”

Alex took one bite and was won over. The bread made a big difference. It was baked fresh every day and by hand, no restaurant bread mixes. Alex was licking his finger and picking up the crumbs left on the sandwich wrapper when AnnaMarie said, “They’ve got a lot of good things here, especially the wind chimes. You should get some for your deck.”

“Well, let’s go look around.” Alex replied.

When they finally reached the hanging chimes, Anna Marie listened to the sound of each one and picked out two sets for Alex. She let him pick out the brackets they would hang from.

Alex was mesmerized by the many different kinds of jams and jellies, many locally made. His shopping basket ended up with six different varieties along with jars of the salsas he had been allowed to taste before he bought.

Finally, AnnaMarie pulled on his arm. “Let’s get out of here; spread the wealth at the other stores.”

The went on to visit the Muddy Pond General Store and the Muddy Pond Variety Store. AnnaMarie suggested a couple of things for Alex to hang on the walls so Alex bought them. He did buy a set of Salt and Pepper grinders on his own accord and a love seat for the deck. AnnaMarie told him about the Guenther sorghum operation but they didn’t visit. They decided to wait until Fall and come back to see the syrup actually made. On the way back to Alex’s farm, they stopped by a roadside stand and ate a cup of homemade ice cream. When they arrived home, both were tired and sat down to watch a movie. It wasn’t long before they both fell asleep sitting on the couch together. Sometime during the night, one of them pulled the throw off the back of the couch and covered themselves.

As the ridgelines began to brighten in the early morning, AnnaMarie woke up and found herself nestled in Alex’s arms. She screeched and fought herself up, startling Alex.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asked.

“We fell asleep! What is Uncle Hank going to think?”

“That we slept together last night, which is technically true.” Alex said, grinning.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!

“Come on, I’ll make some coffee.” Alex said.

He got out a special container of coffee beans from the freezer and ground them for the coffee; Colombian blend, medium roast, he saved for special occasions. He felt the occasion was as special as any, at least it was a step in the right direction.

The coffee was perking when there was a knock at the door. Alex went to answer it and there stood Hank.

“Alex, is AnnaMarie here? She didn’t come home last night.”

Alex opened the door wide. “Come on in Hank, she’s in the kitchen.”

“You all right, girl?”

“I’m sorry Uncle Hank. When we got back from Muddy Pond we were tired. We started watching a movie and fell asleep. We just woke up.”

Hank looked at her face, then at Alex’s. “Well, I wasn’t really worried. I knew where you went and saw Alex’s truck pulling in yestiday afternoon so I figured you were here. Just let me know next time when you decide to get ‘comfortable.’”

“Uncle Hank! Nothing happened! We just fell asleep! I am so embarrassed!”

“Uh Hmm. Pay it no mind. You could have ended up a lot worse with one of the yahoos around here. That coffee smells mighty good.”

AnnaMarie got three mugs out of the cabinet and poured the coffee. Alex and Hank started talking about the pond and Hank told Alex where he could get Willow trees.
 
 
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Chapter Seventy-Four

Slowly, the awkwardness was cut away like a sharp blade through silk. Hank had seen the innocence of what happened and secretly hoped it would develop into more. AnnaMarie made a pan of biscuits and Hank sat down with the sorghum syrup and ate four biscuits with sorghum syrup and butter.

“Y’all didn’t go riding with the birds this morning?”

“No, AnnaMarie said sadly.”

“We can still go. The thermals will start developing soon and we can get some good rides on those.” Alex said.

“Really?!” AnnaMarie’s eyes lit up.

“Sure, Let me go get things ready.”

Hank grinned. “You go have a good time. I’ll need a nap after those biscuits.”

AnnaMarie quickly dried her hands with a dish towel and hurried after Alex.

AnnaMarie quickly put on her harness while Alex flaked the canopy out behind them. Cranking the engine, they both rocked in unison then trotted down the slope. Alex revved the engine up and the canopy filled, lifting them off the ground. Alex turned toward the bluffs along the river, searching for the warm air the would lift them higher. Alex turned and followed the dark forests to the East point Marina and continued following the East Fork of the Obey river, taking advantage of the large hill thermals.

Martin heard buzzing above him and to his side and stepped back under the low tree. Martin saw the paramotor and relaxed. Just a couple out for a joy ride this afternoon. Alex remembered the paralight he had once owned and abandoned when he decided to rebuild his life. Maybe he could let things like that re-enter his life. It certainly had been a stress reliever at one time.

Alex turned north and rode the line of hills back to the Obey river. Alex looked over at AnnaMarie and she was gleefully taking pictures with a 16-megapixel camera she had strapped to her wrist. The only birds they encountered were a couple of Red-Tail Hawks who quickly moved away from them.

When they got back, AnnaMarie helped him load everything into the back of the UV and store the Paramotor in the shed.

“You know, I feel kind of cheated last night.” Alex said. “I only woke up to a warm spot beside me.”

“You feel cheated because I kept you warm during the night.”

“Well, that was nice but I would like to have remembered more!”

“You had your chance buster!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know I was getting a chance!”

“You snooze, you lose.” AnnaMarie giggled.

“”Well, the next time…”

“Oh, there’s going to be a next time?” AnnaMarie asked. “I suppose you’ll lure me to your home with gifts of tender steak and rich wines to entice me with your charms and have your way with me?”

“Now, that is something to think about.” Alex said, rubbing his chin and grinning.

“Just make sure the steaks are tender. And I’m not sleeping on a crowded couch again.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Jacob checked the trailer lighting and the brake and turn signals worked. Jacob had custom built the “crash trailer” for a couple of hunters who liked to be at their stand early. It had drop down beds and a cooking area to make the first coffee in the morning.

The outside had been painted in a Mossy Oak camo pattern and would not stand out well in the woods. Jacob had just finished the gun racks and the ammo storage area inside. They would have it in time for a hunt next weekend. He locked the doors, pocketed the keys and headed back into the shop. He had two sheds to build for the Christian Church so he pulled the plans from the cabinet. They were straight forward builds and would only take a couple of days. He started selecting two by sixes to cut the floor joists to length.


Angie, Ashelyn, Lorrie Jo and Bobby sat down with baskets of green beans and began snapping them. They had been picked early that morning and had been sitting in a tub of ice and water. The afternoon was hot and humid and the ice water brought a little relief to a drudgerous chore. The stock pots were ready to parboil the beans to can them in wide-mouth jars. In a couple of hours, Angie and Ashelyn left Lorrie Jo and Bobby to finish stringing the beans while they started canning.

Bob and Gene finished putting up the deer fence and leaned up against the brace.

“Well, that’s done!” Gene said.

“I was hoping not to have to put this up for another year but we had some new bucks wander in. Next, we’d start getting boars and a thousand piglets.” Bob replied.

“They’ll still come. We’ll have to keep an eye out. You could get wiped out in one night with those things.”

“Well, the corn, melons and squash are safe for now. I need to get those game cameras out.”

They loaded their tools, drove to the shop, unpacked eight game cameras and put fresh batteries in them. They would mount them down the fenceline, facing out to catch any movement. The good thing about these is was they sent out a WIFI signal that warned a controller station when there was activity in the area. When they went to check cameras, they only had to download the pictures that had alarmed.

Allie and Sally were picking strawberries from the towers. Allie was planning on having strawberry crepes for breakfast in the morning. It had become a favorite with the kids. Although any fruits in season were fine with them. Duncan had grabbed a basket and was helping them.

“These will be producing really well next week. You need to think about canning some.”

“I’m freezing some of them and making jam out of the rest.” Allie said. We’ll cull through them and pick out the best ones for freezing. They are so BIG!”

At first, it seemed like another afternoon summer thunderstorm, but it built into a SuperCell no one had imagined. The EF3 tornado touched down in the Midway Community area and tore the door canopies off the church above the doors, removed some siding and tore the roof of their sheltered picnic area of the Mennonite Church. The tornado continued northeast, skipped over the river and barely missed the Doyle property, but still brought down some trees. No lives were lost, but caused unease whenever there was a roll of thunder.

The next day, after greenhouse and garden chores, Gene and Bob began cutting up the damage from the winds and stocked the wood well away from the rest of their firewood. This wood was filled with sap and would take longer to season. They would cut it up, split it and stack it where it could dry out completely. They spent a couple of hours each day dragging logs and larger limbs to their work area to be processed into firewood.

Joshua loaded his trailer and went to the Mennonite community. There were already men working on the church and the covered eating area, removing debris and trimming siding. Alex grabbed his toolbelt and joined in. The thing Joshua liked about the Mennonites, whenever someone had troubles, they all jumped in and worked shoulder to shoulder until things were put right. It didn’t make any difference if you were Black, Brown, Green or Yellow, you were one of God’s creatures and deserved help.

By the end of the day, porch roofs had been built to replace the cloth canopies and the roof over the picnic tables had been replaced. The debris had been removed and the place was spic and span for the next service. Joshua used his magnetic sweep to go around the parking area and up next to the church to get any nails dropped. The farmers appreciated him doing that. There was always the danger of a horse picking up a lost nail in the graveled parking area.

Alex checked the roasting potatoes then added sesame seed to the asparagus tips sizzling in beef tallow. One minute later, he removed the asparagus from the pan, placed the spears into a serving dish, then placed the dish in the warming oven. He dished up the potatoes and place the bowl into the warming oven also. He would cook the filets after AnnaMarie arrived, hopefully within a few minutes. The wine was chilling in the bucket on the counter.

A knock on the door, and AnnaMarie walked in, her hair flowing from a single ponytail and falling over her left shoulder. She was dressed in a tasteful skirt and white blouse.

“Everything’s almost ready. Would you like a glass of wine?” Alex asked.

“Yes, please!” AnnaMarie replied.

Alex poured her a glass of wine and sat her in one of the overstuffed chairs.

Alex returned to the kitchen, picked up the plate of steaks and told AnnaMarie he needed to cook the steaks. She followed him out to the outdoor kitchen and watched as he prepared their meal. Taking the cooked steaks back into the house, Alex plated the vegetables and meat and placed a dab of chimichurri sauce on the plate next to the steak. AnnaMarie tried a bite of the steak and a piece of the asparagus.

“I don’t care much for asparagus but this is good. It has a nutty flavor to it!” AnnaMarie said.

“The beef tallow gives it more flavor and the nutty flavor is from the sesame seeds.”

After dinner, they went out onto the deck. “Here!” Alex disappeared inside for a moment and returned with a lightweight throw and wrapped it around AnnaMarie‘s shoulders. The gesture was thoughtful and protective without being presumptuous. Exactly the kind of consideration she had come to expect from him.

Alex settled in the chair beside her, and they sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, both looking out across the moonlit terrain. The night was quiet, punctuated by the hood of an owl and the song of the whippoorwill.

“The mists are coming off the water and the night has grown chilly.” Alex explained.

“Thank you!” AnnaMarie said. Her heart beating with anticipation.
 
 
Chapter Seventy-Five

Martin returned to the house and ate a snack of cheese and crackers and got out a couple of pork chops and a package of Green Giant frozen spinach to defrost for supper. He got out some small potatoes to have with everything. He placed the potatoes in a pot of water, adding fresh basil leaves from the herb garden and shoots of wild garlic he had gathered during his walk. He had stopped by to meet the Edisons but the men had gone to deliver hay to a horse farm somewhere south of Nashville. He felt uneasy being there with just Emelda, George’s wife, so he left quickly.

Biting down on another piece of cheese, Martin walked casually into what he called the “Study.” The room smelled of old books and pipe tobacco, Like Amos Prescott’s office, when they had sat and talked about the divorce papers.

”Amos, I’m not going to be like a rental car that she can turn in when she finds something shinier! She’s treated our joint credit cards like they were magical pieces of plastic that generated money through photosynthesis. there are six cards total, all with limits that would make most people dizzy. I’m fixing that. One side of my brain says to do a lot of things much worse, but I’m not a sociopath.“

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t want her to be left with anything but her horrifically mawkish personality! I want her to wake up one morning and her lifestyle has changed so much her ass won’t feel the thump when it hits the floor.”

“Then you’ll really have to disappear.”

“Help me get this set up and one day I’ll just slip my mooring ropes and drift away.”

Martin thought he could remember how to bread pork chops but consulted a church cookbook on a shelf beside the antique hand-cranked telephone hanging on the wall. He found all the ingredients for the breading either in cupboards or in the walk-in pantry. A dozen eggs were in the refrigerator. When he completed the meal, he had nice pork chops, fried golden brown, mashed potatoes oozing butter, and buttery spinach. He baked two cheater biscuits from a bag in the freezer. A Dos Equis helped wash it all down.

After cleaning up his dishes, Martin returned to the Study and turned on the desktop computer. The password was easy. It was taped under the USB ports on the front of the computer. He went in and changed the password and peeled the paper off the front. He ran a speed test and found he had a good link. He also found he was actually connecting with a Hughes Satellite system router. Well, they were pretty far out in the country. He had determined earlier that the power used here was either wind or solar, or both. There was a big bank of PV panels that followed the sun and a single wind generator that he supposed charged the batteries. He hadn’t seen a battery bank yet. He started browsing conservative news sites and was soon engrossed in the news snippets of the day. He was still there reading when the old Howard Miller mantel clock chimed 11:00.

Martin went to bed but awoke refreshed at 05:00. He had had a good night’s rest. He made coffee and went outside on the patio to drink it. The morning was fresh with a bit of ground fog around.

AnnaMarie decided it was time that Alex had a home warming party so Alex could introduce himself to his closest neighbors. They decided on simple foods, and Hank put in his two cents worth on the liquor and beer he should serve. AnnaMarie even went to the Hallmark Store and got a box of ready to send out invitations that she would hand deliver herself. The open house became a Saturday afternoon cookout where people could come and go, but most people came and sat and talked, and talked. Everyone seemed to be having a good time visiting with each other and they were down to mixed nuts and charcuterie boards for food. Alex had asked AnnaMarie to act as hostess since she knew more of the people than he did. She could barely contain her excitement of what it could mean. Later I the evening, Alex caught her by the arm and whispered, "I need to steal you away for a moment," he said, taking her hand. There is something I want to show you. AnnaMarie allowed him to lead her through the crowd and out onto the deck where moonlight created a romantic backdrop. The noise of the gathering behind them left them alone in the cool evening air.

“Alex what is this about?" AnnaMarie asked, though she was beginning to suspect. "This is about the future," Alex said, turning to face her fully. About what we have built together here and what we might build going forward. AnnaMarie felt her heart begin to race. “What do you mean? I’ve only helped you to make your home comfier.”

“I mean that our time together has shown me what is possible when two people trust each other completely. We have created a remarkable home here together, with you guiding me.

AnnaMarie felt her heart begin to race. “What do you mean? I….”

“We have created a remarkable home together here,” Alex repeated. His voice was steady but AnnaMarie could see the emotion in his eyes.

“I love you, AnnaMarie. I love your intelligence, I love your beauty, I love you for your love of life.”

“I love you, too, AnnaMarie replied,” her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’d hoped so, and I know that we have a home here to be proud of and worth protecting and nurturing.”

Alex reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet covered box. “Which is why I want to ask you something important.”

AnnaMarie’s breath caught as Alex dropped to one knee, opening the box to reveal a stunning diamond ring that caught the light through the French doors.

“AnnaMarie James,” he said, his voice filled with love and certainty. “Will you marry me?” AnnaMarie felt tears spring to her eyes as she looked down at the man who had become her partner in every sense of the word.
“Alex, are you sure? Marriage is a big step, and we haven’t talked about children!”

“I have never been surer of anything in my life," Alex interrupted gently. "You give me balance. You’ve given me a second chance. I want to build a new life with you. I want to be the father to however many children you want.”

AnnaMarie felt her heart overflow with love and gratitude. “Yes”, she said, her voice strong and clear. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Alex slipped the ring onto her finger and stood to kiss her, and AnnaMarie felt the satisfying click of everything in her life falling into place. She was fulfilled and deeply loved. She had found her place in the world and the person she wanted to share it with.

When they returned inside to the party, ten seconds didn’t go by before one of the wives saw the bird strangling stone on her finger. The excitement rose and drinks were poured. Uncle Hank sat beside the fireplace grinning and nodding with knowing in his eyes.

Alex awoke the next morning, his head throbbing. He went into the bathroom, took two aspirin and used the toilet. He got partially dressed and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He had just turned the burner on when AnnaMarie came in the door.

“You went home last night?!” Alex complained.

“Well, you were so sloshed I figured you wouldn’t be able to perform your manly duties, so I went home. Anyway, I didn’t think Uncle Hank would have made it past the hedgerow alone.”

Alex, not knowing if she was joking or what, kept his mouth shut. Then swore a semi-serious oath to himself he would never again do anything that would disappoint AnnaMarie.

AnnaMarie moved to the kitchen island and asked, “How do you want your eggs?”

Alex moved in behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered, “In the mother of my children.”

“Sober up and bring on the gold ring, then we can negotiate. My reputation means a lot to me.”

“That don’t make no difference.” Hank said, shuffling into the kitchen. “Sorry, the door was open.”

Hank perched himself on one of the isle stools. “Folks expect you two to be a sparkin’. Just make sure you fit into your wedding dress on the blessed day. That does cause some talk.”

AnnaMarie got three coffee mugs out of the cabinet and Alex poured the coffee.

“So, when is the wedding?” Hank asked.

Alex shrugged. “I’d go up to Byrdstown right now and see the magistrate if it were just me. AnnaMarie, when do you want to get married?”

AnnaMarie turned to the refrigerator and thumbed through the calendar. “September 14th.” She decided. “It doesn’t give me a lot of time but I’ll asked Cecilia Montigue to help me.

“She a wedding planner?” Alex asked.

“Better. She’s my BFF, but she has planned a couple of her sister’s weddings.”

Alex went to the bedroom and took his wallet off of the dresser. Returning to the kitchen, he handed a credit card to AnnaMarie. “Do it right!”

“Oh, I need to call Cecilia and I left my phone at home!” AnnaMarie said as she rushed out the door.

“Big step y’all are takin’.” Hank said.

“Yes, and I really feel it is the right one.” Alex replied.

“Alex, I’ve got some money set aside for Annie I want you to have.”

Alex waved him off. “Money is the least of my concerns. Keep the money and give it to her as a wedding present or start an education fund for our first born.”
 
 
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Chapter Seventy-Six

In no time, Martin had developed a routine for his mornings. He would arise, make coffee, go out on his porch and sit. The birds would begin to wake up, their songs alerting everyone they had begun their day, The squirrels, jumping around and chirping whenever they found the stray nut or pine cone. Then there would be brief moments of silence when all he could hear was his own breathing and the beating of his heart. Those were the moments he felt truly free.

Martin got up to go fill his cup again. Walking into the kitchen, his eyes locked in on the door he had meant to check and something else would catch his attention. Setting his mug on the counter, Martin walked over and moved a wire baker’s shelf to the side a couple of inches to get the door open. Darkness. He felt around on the wall and found a light switch. The sudden light blanked out his vision for a second or two but he could see the stairs. Checking each step carefully, Martin went down and a room opened up to his right. It was a basement, or cellar, or whatever they called them in these parts. There was a concrete floor and the walls were made of rock. The air was dry and he didn’t see any signs of water except for some old swirl marks where someone had mopped the place out in the past. Martin was curious how this had been done. The house was up on pilings but here was a basement with an eight and a half foot ceiling. There were small windows but they didn’t let any light in. Probably just for ventilation. Martin walked along all four walls and checked how it was built. There were four support columns down the center of the basement, probably to support the floors above. Martin trotted up the stairs and went outside and walked around the house, checking under for the basement walls. It was dark, so he couldn’t see anything. Well, that was good to know. He had a lot more storage space than he had believed.

Later that morning, he got to meet the Edisons and their hired hand, Jorge Valenzuela. The patriarch, George, Invited him down to supper that night. George’s son Otis, Handed over a set of keys to the detached garage that held a late-model pickup truck and a Polaris Ranger. That afternoon, Martin checked out the Polaris, discovered it ran on diesel, and began riding around the farm. He followed the perimeter fenceline and every trail he could find all the way to the river. The trees seemed to have been planted a long time ago because there were mature plots of hardwoods and conifers that didn’t seem to be a part of the natural landscape. He’d ask George about that at supper. The one barn near his house was empty except for a few square bales of hay but he found a couple of piles of dried horse nuggets in one of the stalls. There were about a dozen beef cattle in a couple of pastures, but no other animals except for a couple of big reddish-brown hounds at the Edison place.

On his way to the Edison’s for supper, Martin heard the sound of low-flying helicopters. He looked to the west and recognized the two Ch-47s flying in trail but it took him a second to recognize the third helicopter….an MI-8. “What the ….?” The MI-8 turned toward the farm and sat down in the field next to the drive. Martin stopped the truck to watch. A man jumped out of the helicopter and the MI-8 quickly took off to catch up with the Chinooks. George and John Edison arrived in a truck and got out.

“What the hell was that about?” George yelled out to the man.

The man laughed. “I caught a ride with the guys at Clarksville. The 160th were delivering relief supplies to western North Carolina.”

The man strode up to Martin said, “Hi, I’m Bob Gillum.”

“Pleased to meet you….I guess.” Martin replied, shaking the extended hand.

“Well, I’ve got about two hours before they return to pick me up. Where can we talk?” Gillum asked.

“Let’s go to the house.” George replied.

Gillum got into the truck with Martin and they followed George and John to the Edison house.

They sat on the porch and George’s wife, Emelda, brought them out glasses of iced tea.

“Well, do you want the job?” Gillum asked Martin.

“Sure,” Martin replied, “Only I don’t really know what I’ll be doing.”

“Basically, a glorified babysitter when we have a transfer through here. Follow George’s lead on most everything else. I’ll be back later to give you more responsibilities. It will be nothing taxing and you’ll have your freedom.”

“I guess I can handle that.”

“George, we’ll be shifting supplies to store in the bunkers next week. Can you make sure they are ready?” Gillum said.

“Sure, no problem. Are they being flown in or trucked?”

“Trucked, by Atlas Feed Delivery. They should be here by Wednesday.”

“Got it!”

“Do you have everything you need?” Gillum asked Martin.

“Well, I could use a haircut and maybe go to a Walmart to pick up more clothes.”

”I’ll have Otis take you over to Jamestown.” George said.

They talked for a few minutes longer then they heard the helicopters returning. George drove Gillum out to the field and the MI-8. They watched from the porch as the helicopter lifted off and raced to catch up with the Chinooks.

When George returned, Emelda called them in for supper.

After washing up. they sat around a big table that could seat twelve people.

They were joined by Jorge whose wife, Maria was helping Emelda bring the last of the serving bowls and bread baskets in. Hands flew to the baskets and withdrew what Martin could only call fried cornbread but was told they were called corn dodgers. To Martin, they were like irregularly shaped hushpuppies that had bits of wild garlic mixed in and fried in bacon grease. The butter they smeared on them quickly melted and ran down over your fingers. Bowls of green beans, butter beans, and fried squash accompanied by a big platter of roasted chicken were placed on the table. The bowls were passed around but plates were passed to Emelda to be loaded with generous portions of roasted chicken. There had to be at least two chickens cut up on that platter to feed that group. A full tea pitcher sat on a sideboard to be passed around when needed.

About a third of the way through the meal George asked Martin if everything was to his liking. Martin had to stop eating to breathe and replied that the butter beans were the best he had ever eaten, but that pertained to all the food too.

George chuckled. “Emelda and Maria are right good cooks but wait until they had a fish fry. People in those fancy restaurants didn’t eat that good.”

Martin couldn’t imagine. This had to be the best home cooked meal he had ever eaten.

When everyone was stuffed to the gills, Emelda reminded them there was a banana pudding in the refrigerator but she was waved off. “Well, we can have it with coffee later.”

After supper, the men went out on the porch and watched the sun go down.

“Have you lived here long? Martin asked George.

“Oh, going on twelve years coming October. We, with the exception of Jorge and Maria, were originally from around the Forks of Cacapon in West Virginia. Had a nice place where I made my ‘shine and my brother grew grass for the politicians.”

“Grass? You mean….?”

“Yep, marijuana. We sold everything we produced to politicians in and around Washington. Our contacts got busted and to keep us safe, the U.S. Marshalls put us under Witness Protection. They put us in one place down in Florida but some rough dudes caught up with us. We were pulled from there and Mr. Gillum moved us here. The Marshalls don’t even know where we are. Just as well. If we had testified, I doubt we would be here talkin’ right now. Everything was swept under the rug. I suppose someone is still watching the old political crew. But I won’t bet on it. Those people play rough and there’s a lot of money that flows around those parts. We are happy here. John and Otis grow enough to keep them happy and I still make my ‘shine, but not to sell anymore. ‘Otis, fetch a jar!’”

Otis went inside and came back with a quart jar that George unscrewed the lid from and handed to Martin. Martin took a sip….then another.

“That’s pretty good!” Martin said.

“It ain’t that popskull most are making these days where you wake up the next morning feeling like you’ve been stomped by an angry mule.” George replied. He took a swallow and passed the jar to John, who in turn passed it to Otis. Afterwards, Otis lit up a cigar-shaped joint and began passing it back and forth with John. Martin was offered the sweet-smelling joint but declined.

“Otis is going to show you around over to Jamestown tomorrow for your extra clothes. Mr. Gillum gave me a brief rundown on your situation and told us to keep you away from the law dogs in case your wife had decided to put in a missing persons report. We hardly ever see the law out here except for the occasional game warden. You get nearer the towns and they become thicker, wantin’ to stay near those fast-food joints, I guess.”

Later, Emelda came out with a tray of small dishes of banana pudding and Maria followed with a coffee pot and mugs. George had Otis put the whiskey away; said whiskey and banana pudding gave him stomach troubles. The pudding was like ambrosia. Martin quickly finished his and declined a second helping even though he could eat it anytime. Emelda made him a container though, to take home with him.

The group broke up around 9:30 and Martin carefully set the basket of pudding and an unopened quart of whiskey on the truck seat beside him and went home. He sat down at the computer and browsed until the big meal caught up with him and he went to bed.

Walmart turned out to be the biggest retail store in Jamestown. Martin selected three pairs of Levi straight-fit jeans and some different long-sleeve shirts to carry him into the late fall. He also picked up metal, plastic coated coat hangers and pant stretchers. When he became more familiar with the area, he would make a trip to Cabela’s down in Knoxville. A lot of the clothes he had left behind had come from Cabela’s and Bass Pro Shops. He was running short on underwear but he ordered a dozen pairs of the ExOfficio boxers and V-neck t-shirts from Amazon. They were comfortable and you could wash them out by hand at night and they’d be dry to wear the next morning. He had always carried three pairs in his travel pack.
 
Chapter Seventy-Seven

Martin washed his new clothes when he returned home. He first soaked the jeans in salt water for a few hours so they would hold their color. He hung his shirts out on a clothesline since the weather was still good. When he washed the jeans, he crammed the pants stretchers into the legs of the jeans and hung those out on the line. They wouldn’t have any wrinkles when dried and even have a nice crease down the front of the legs.

Time seemed to fly and before Alex knew it, it was coming up on September the 14th. AnnaMarie and her cousin had planned everything. Alex had wanted her to pay for everything with his credit card but Hank told her to keep it in her purse and gave her the money he had been saving for her. Alex bought a new suit and shoes and had a new shirt and underwear. AnnaMarie had insisted they start going to Bethsaida Christian Church on Sunday mornings because that was where they were getting married. Alex didn’t mind. It was a nice small church and the people were friendly. The preacher wasn’t one of those fire and brimstone preachers you usually found in country churches and always gave a thoughtful sermon.

On the day of the wedding Hank came down to have breakfast with him because the females were already up and running around checking and rechecking everything. Alex had told him to come down if he wanted to get out of the whirlwind. The wedding wasn’t until one o’clock so they had plenty of time. They had a leisurely breakfast and Alex cleaned up the kitchen before laying out his clothes. He shaved closely, took a shower, and applied the Old Spice as AnnaMarie had asked. Hank had gone home when Alex was in the shower, so Alex folded his coat over his arm and went out to his truck. Placing the coat in the passenger seat, he left the house at 11:45 and drove the two miles to the church. The parking areas of the church were already filling up. Thank goodness it was a mild, sunny day, because the reception was planned to be held in the covered pavilion next to the church. There were ladies and a few men already setting it up. Preacher Hazlip met him as he went into the church and took him back to the church office to wait. In no time, Duncan (his best man) came into the office to check on him.

“Nervous?” Duncan asked.

“No…not really. Just kind of let down AnnaMarie didn’t want to go on a honeymoon yet.”

Duncan grinned. “Well, what you’re going to be doing can be done anywhere.”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. She wants to wait until December and go to Gatlinburg two weeks before Christmas to see the lights and buy presents. I’m going to have to buy a topper to cover the truck bed to haul back all the things she’ll buy.”

“Jeez! To have such a problem!” Duncan said, laughing.

“Well, if I can find one, you’re getting one of those singing bass on a plaque to hang on your wall!” Alex said.

“I can always hang it in the workshop on a timer to remind me when to go to eat,” grinned Duncan.
Duncan checked his watch. “We’d better get out there.”

Alex followed Duncan to the front of the church and waited for Hank to walk AnnaMarie down the aisle. Alex was looking at the floor when the pianist began playing Mendelssohn's Wedding March. His eyes snapped up. AnnaMarie looked like an angel coming down the aisle. They marched to the front of the church and Hank handed her off to Alex and shook his hand. The rest of the ceremony was a blur until Duncan handed him the rings and they exchanged rings. The kiss was brief, which AnnaMarie had warned him, and they headed back down the aisle. People outside were waiting to throw birdseed or something, it sure wasn’t rice, and they led the congregation to the Pavilion. The ladies were already handing out fruit punch and little mints. Although they had requested no gifts, a table was set up for them that contained several cardboard cases. Checking later, AnnaMarie said they were home canned goods and handmade items like doilies, towels and such, which were appreciated. AnnaMarie and Alex were soon separated; Alex to a group of men and AnnaMarie to a group of women. One of the men slipped a flask of what turned out to be pretty good moonshine and he took a slug. They began talking about deer in the area and got Alex to thinking about setting up feeders around the edge of his property. He asked a lot of questions and was given brand names of feed and mineral blocks the deer seemed to like.

Two hours later after dancing, AnnaMarie wrapped her arm around his and told him it was time to go. Jacob and Duncan loaded their gifts into Alex’s truck (Which already had tin cans tied to the rear bumper) and “Just Married” written on the rear glass. Alex was thankful they didn’t have far to drive! They left out of the parking lot with the clanging cans in tow and headed home.

Alex stopped AnnaMarie at the door, unlocked it, and carried her over the threshold. As soon as they got inside, She went to change out of her dress while Alex opened the bottle of champagne he had chilling in the fridge. AnnaMarie came out of the bedroom wearing a skirt and a smock, but barefooted.

Alex handed her a glass of champagne and said, “Well, you’re already barefooted, here’s to working to getting you pregnant!”

AnnaMarie raised her glass and said, “Here’s to you keeping me that way!”

They clinked glasses and Alex placed the bottle back into the fridge. They’d finish it off after dark.


The next morning, Martin heard vehicles go by the house and into the woods behind it. He went outside and caught a glimpse of the tailgate of George’s pickup truck going back into the woods. Martin followed on foot and soon came to where the pickup was parked. They were at the base of a long slope and there was what was no doubt a bunker entrance. Martin had seen plenty of them before. The large metal door was open and Otis, George, and Jorge were sweeping out the place and hauling out what little trash was there.

Martin walked in and began picking up trash before George saw him.

“What is this place?” Martin asked.

“Storage bunker that Gillum uses at times. We’ve got three here. We don’t let on to others they are here but you’re all right. Mr. Gillum said he had some trucks arriving next week and we wanted to get ahead of things. Jorge, why don’t you go open up the next bunker and make sure the forklift is charged up.” George said, tossing a key ring to Jorge.

“What all does he store in here?” Martin asked.

“You’ll see when it all gets here. Just don’t speak to others about it.”

“Of course!”

They bagged the assorted labels and strapping from pallets and went to the next bunker. Jorge was there cleaning the battery terminals on the forklift with a brush. Martin grabbed a push broom leaning next to the door and began sweeping. There was little trash here and the cleaning was soon done. The third bunker had six empty wooden pallets stacked inside, but Jorge removed them and Martin swept the floor.

The sun was just cresting the horizon as Jack Crain loaded the last box into his battered old RV parked on a quiet side street in Falls Church, Virginia, about 20 miles outside of Washington DC. At 45, he'd spent two decades in the grind of federal bureaucracy… endless meetings, policy memos, and the relentless hum of the city. But last month, he'd cashed in a part of his savings for a 70-acre farm in the rolling hills of eastern Tennessee. It was a leap, born from late-night dreams of soil under his nails instead of keyboard clicks. "Time for real living,” he muttered, firing up the engine. The RV rumbled to life, a beast of faded blue paint and memories from family trips long past. He merged onto I-66 westbound, the Potomac River glinting farewell in his rearview. D.C.'s monuments shrank to specks as Virginia's suburbs gave way to open fields. Jack tuned the radio to classic rock, Bob Dylan crooning about changing times. His mind wandered to the farm: a fixer-upper cabin, a barn needing paint, and land ripe for corn or maybe goats. He'd never farmed a day in his life, but YouTube tutorials and a stack of homesteading books packed in a storage bin promised guidance.

By midday, he crossed into Shenandoah Valley, the Blue Ridge Mountains rising like ancient guardians. He pulled over at a scenic overlook, stretching his legs and munching a sandwich from his cooler. A young couple in a hybrid car stopped nearby, snapping selfies. "Heading south?" the woman asked. Jack nodded.
"Tennessee. Starting over." They wished him luck; their voices laced with envy. Back on the road, I-81 stretched endlessly, semis thundering past. Rain pattered the windshield near Roanoke, turning the asphalt slick. Jack gripped the wheel, remembering his late wife's love for these drives-how she'd point out wildflowers or quirky billboards. Cancer had taken her five years ago, leaving a void the city couldn't fill.

As evening fell, he camped at a roadside RV park in Bristol, straddling the Virginia-Tennessee line. Around a fire pit, fellow travelers shared stories: a retired teacher from Ohio bound for Florida, a family escaping California's wildfires. Jack swapped tales of D.C. politics for their tips on well-digging and chicken coops.

"You're brave”, the teacher said. "Most folks dream but never jump.” Jack smiled, but doubt flickered…what if the farm was a bust? What if isolation swallowed him?

Dawn brought clearer skies. Crossing into Tennessee, the landscape softened into gentle valleys dotted with barns and silos. Knoxville's traffic was a brief snarl, then rural roads beckoned. Jack's GPS guided him off the interstate onto winding two-lanes, past tobacco fields and sleepy towns. He stopped at a farmer's market near Greeneville, buying fresh apples and chatting with a grizzled vendor. "New to farming? Start small," the man advised, handing over a jar of honey. "Land don't care about your resume."

By late afternoon, the RV crested a hill in the forest, and there it was: his farm. A gravel drive led to a Jack's_Cabin.pngweathered cabin framed by oaks and hickory trees, overgrown fields stretching to the northeast. He parked, stepped out, and inhaled the earthy scent…no honking horns or screeching car alarms, just birdsong and wind rustling leaves and thankfully free of cigarette and marijuana smoke. He unhooked the dolly he had towed the restored 1964 International Scout on he had bought a few months ago. Unloading boxes felt ceremonial: tools for the garden, seeds for spring, kitchen essentials, a photo of his wife for the mantel.

That night, Jack sat on the porch with a beer, stars blanketing the sky like he'd never seen in D.C. The journey had been more than miles...it was shedding the old skin. He'd till the soil, plant roots both literal and metaphorical. For the first time in years, he felt anchored, not adrift. Tennessee wasn't just a place; it was rebirth. Tomorrow he would start making a list of repairs and improvements he needed to make.
 
 
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