The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Wait a minute, Homer. That’s a dangerous weapon.”

  “I can use it.”

  “I already know that, but I am not sure that you need to be carrying something like that in our search.”

  “Can’t I hunt along the way? I need some meat and there’s lots of good critters in these mountains for me.”

  I turned to Starnes and she shrugged. “He was your idea.”

  We headed out and decided that Homer should lead the way. Better to have him in front so I could keep an eye on him. Starnes smiled at that suggestion.

  Homer led our little party with Dog and Sam following in his wake. Starnes was next and I was once more the tail of the party. Despite my aversion to hiking in general, I had to admit to myself that this jaunt through the woods of the Blue Ridge Mountains was quite enjoyable, except for the fact that we were searching for a desperate runaway with a giant who sported a crossbow. And from my limited experience, he could shoot it quite well.

  It was a sight better than the trail Starnes and I blazed coming up to Homer Gosnell’s place. Homer had done an admirable job making this trail across the tops of the mountains surrounding his home. Even though it was a trail taking us down into a valley, there were some little mountains involved in our downward walk, little mountains which we were forced to climb as we descended. By and large it was much easier to walk Homer’s trail than what we had endured on the previous two days of our Laurel adventure.

  I wasn’t ready to sing the hills are alive with the sound of music like Julie Andrews, but I was feeling more upbeat along Homer’s path.

  The dogs were trotting and sniffing along the way. They acted satisfied, as well. Starnes was pretty much like she always is, grumpy and vigilant.

  Homer stopped us after nearly two hours of walking. He must have measured the spot from his home because he had created a quaint area with several logs raised to the seat-of-a-chair height in a quasi-circular fashion. There was a small circle of stones in the middle of the log-seats in case the hiker or hikers wanted to make a fire. It was a shaded spot and quite nice. One might even say restful.

  Fifteen minutes of joy ended quickly for me. Homer began walking without so much as a command to leave or a goodbye. He merely stood up and headed off. The dogs followed him as if they had read his mind. Starnes and I scampered in pursuit.

  Two more hours passed quickly and we arrived at yet another clearing with log seats and a campfire circle of stones built by our new friend Homer Gosnell. The National Park Service would hire this guy in a second, if they had any money. Homer was adept at blazing trails and making them user friendly. It also came to my attention that his trails were clean and free of debris. Homer could’ve been a poster guy for how to take care of our natural resources. They’d likely edit out the crossbow and arrows he carried.

  “How about you give us some warning before you leave this time,” Starnes said to Homer.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Before you head out on the trail,” she altered her notion.

  “Oh. I want to find Laurel.”

  “So do we,” I said. “Do you have any idea where she might be heading?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said.

  “No, I guess you don’t. What are we likely to run into if we stay on this trail?” I said.

  “Trees, flowers, mountains in the distance, and maybe some game.”

  “Game as in animals for you to kill and eat,” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Those energy bars you called them, the ones you gave me, they don’t do much for my hunger.”

  “I would imagine not. But, back to the issue … are there any structures on this trail?”

  “You mean like cabins or shelters?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Not on the trail … but there’s one place you can see from the trail if you happen to climb on a big rock that is near the edge of the mountain. It’s a long way down and kinda scary.”

  “But you have to be on the big rock,” I said.

  “That’s right. If you don’t climb up to have a look-see, then you will not know the cabin is there.”

  “Someone live in the cabin?”

  “Not the last time I came through. I think every now and then some men come up to hunt, and they use it.”

  “A hunter’s cabin,” I said.

  “If you say so,” Homer said.

  “That’s what they are called,” I said.

  “Oh. I guess everything’s got a name, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I chewed my energy bar and drank some water. I felt like Homer did. I knew the bars were good for me while I was hiking, but they didn’t really solve my hunger issues. I wasn’t about to say anything to Starnes about that. She generally gets testy whenever I mention the absence of amenities in the wilderness. Go figure.

  After some helpful rest, we were at it once again, plodding along on our journey to wherever we were going, as if we actually knew where we were going. As the tag line on the old joke says, and we were making excellent time. Homer probably knew where we were headed, but he hadn’t divulged that information to us yet. I had not asked the right question.

  The fun ended abruptly. The sun was lost in the cloud cover. A thunder clap roared overhead and we were under a deluge without any prior notification. I thought it rained hard in Norfolk. At least I had seen it rain, which could only be described, at the time, as a hard rain. I can assure whoever needs assurance, that it rains harder in the mountains of North Carolina than it ever had in my experience in Norfolk.

  In a matter of a few seconds, I was completely soaked. It took a little longer to saturate Homer. The dogs loved it, but what do they know? Starnes was her usual cheerful self.

  We sloshed along literally for the next hour in the downpour of the century. Maybe a little overstated, but certainly the rain came in torrents, as if the sky was angry with someone.

  I ran to catch up with Homer, our leader.

  “How far are we from the cabin you mentioned?” I had to raise my voice because of the downpour.

  “Pretty close.”

  “Is it possible that we could take shelter there until the angry rain gods let up on us poor mortals?” I felt like I was yelling at him.

  “Not sure all of what you said, but, yes, we can go down to the cabin, and dry out a bit.”

  I barely caught the words of his sentence.

  “Go down?” I said in my new-found raised voice.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s in the valley.”

  “But if we descend, then we have to ascend when the rain abates.”

  “Not sure all you mean, but I ‘spect you mean that if we go down to the cabin we will have to come back up.”

  “You got it,” I yelled at him.

  “Is that bad?” he asked.

  “Only if the trail is muddy and slippery.”

  “Then it will be bad,” he smiled at me. I think Homer had more of a sense of humor than most people would give him credit.

  I stopped and waited for Starnes to catch up. Homer marched on ahead. The dogs were still following Homer. They acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Dogs. What do they know?

  “I think we should go to the cabin,” I yelled when Starnes approached.

  “Good idea.”

  “You’re not enjoying this?”

  “I’m on a mission. I don’t entertain thoughts of enjoyment.”

  “Good to be motivated. This is above and beyond.”

  “Maybe, but I figure Curly is dumb enough to be out in this somewhere searching for Laurel.”

  “Homer says that the cabin is not far.”

  “We’ll follow the leader,” she yelled at me.

  I saluted and she moved on ahead. I was still the tail, but this time I was not really thrilled about our adventure.

  The descent to the cabin was nearly straight down. Homer was the first one to slide. I think he knew it was going to happen, so it appeared from my back position that he
planned his muddy glide down the slope by sitting down and letting nature do the rest. Now and then I could see him push on a tree or a rock to alter his path. Mostly he stayed on the dubious slick trail down the mountain.

  I wasn’t so concerned about sliding my way to the cabin to get out of the rain. My chief thoughts were about coming back this way once the rains stopped. I was using the word impossible a lot in my self-talk.

  The dogs were the only ones who maintained their footing down the slippery slope. Starnes and I frequently managed to bump, as in ram, ourselves into trees and rocks. Some people would consider this fun.

  I was not one of them.

  By the time we had reached the end of our fun, we were about fifty yards from the hunter’s cabin in the cloistered ravine at the bottom of the mountain. I felt as if I were under the mountain. My backside was dark brown with mud, or so Starnes informed me. In fact, all three of us were heavy laden with mud. The dogs had only muddy paws.

  Since there were no apparent sources of water either inside or around the isolated cabin, I remained outside in the pouring rain to wash some of the mud from my clothing. Overall, it wasn’t such a horrible experience, except for the slide itself. My tail bone was hurting from the two or three times I hit a root along the way. At least I had survived the downhill escapade.

  Starnes and Homer were both inside. I was outside with the dogs. I made a tactical decision. I opened the cabin door without entering.

  “You two stay put. I’m going to take off my clothes and try to get some of the mud out of them,” I said and shut the door.

  I removed my boots, pants and shirt. I found a good-sized rock and did an old-fashioned thing of beating my clothing against it. It helped, a little. I took a few minutes and held out the beaten clothing so the rain could wash away some more mud. At some point, I decided that the rain alone was not going to clean me sufficiently, so I dressed and joined the two inside. The cabin was nothing more than four walls with a table and four chairs for dining or card playing or planning the overthrow of the government. It was situated in the exact center of the cabin. There was a kitchen counter, which looked odd because there was no sink. Four oil lamps were on the counter. The counter had multiple drawers underneath. The top drawers contained a few kitchen utensils – knives, forks, spoons, and a church-key. At least that’s what I called those archaic can openers from my childhood. One end was pointed for making an indented opening in a canned item that had no self-opening mechanism. The other end of the church-key was rounded and used primarily for removing the caps from bottled drinks. It sported some rust, so I immediately deduced that it had been a part of the main-stay of the cabin for a few decades. Shrewd detective.

  Starnes found two match books in another drawer, so she lit the lamps, since the cabin was a bit shadowy due to the cloud cover, the depth and density of the surrounding forest, and the rainstorm. The lighted lamps gave the cabin a sort of dismal homey atmosphere. If a body was not there to hunt, then the first thing in your mind was to leave and go back to your real home. Maybe it was just me.

  The rain finally stopped.

  “We need to keep moving,” Starnes said after a few minutes had elapsed in the quietness.

  “I’m not ready to slide my way back to the top of this mountain,” I said.

  “Can we make it back up to the trail?” Starnes said to Homer.

  Home shook his head.

  “Don’t have to.”

  “Whattaya mean?” I said.

  “There’s another way out from this place.”

  Homer opened the cabin door and left us sitting at the table. After a few minutes, Starnes and I decided that he was not coming back inside, that he had marched off again without a word. He had left us holding our cards, so to speak.

  “You go,” I said to her. “I’ll blow out the lamps.”

  She moved quickly through the door in search of Homer, and the dogs followed. I took care of the lamps and headed after her.

  I was learning that Homer was not only a genuine character; he was also efficient in doing what needed to be done. He may be slow mentally, but he was quick in responding to requests. When I emerged from the cabin and closed the door, Sam was waiting on me at the edge of the woods where, I presumed, my group had entered.

  Sam and I followed, not knowing where we were going. Such is my life.

  Chapter 18

  Laurel Shelton was sitting under a boulder deep in a forest of McAdams County. She was drying her eyes but not from the rain. The rain had saturated her, to be sure, but somewhere in the thick forest, an outpouring of emotions had merged with the downpour from the sky. Tired, lonely, and not a little afraid, she had reached a point where she needed to expel pent-up feelings from the last few days. The chase, the cat and mouse thing which was no game, and what was likely at least one death in her wake … it was more than her usual composure could handle. Her normally calm and controlled self needed an outlet. It surprised her how easily the tears came.

  I can’t give up. I have to keep moving. I will not let them catch me. I cannot. I cannot.

  She had been under the rock for a good while. She had no way of knowing how long. It seemed to her that a good portion of time had elapsed. Somewhere along the trail she had lost her cell phone. It didn’t matter anyway. There was no signal, at least not one that she had discovered before her phone was lost. The device’s battery had needed to be recharged as well. With all the excitement at Homer’s cabin, she had forgotten that her sophisticated cell phone device needed to be charged.

  She could do with a little charging herself. That idea made her smile.

  The noise level of the rainfall changed. It was not as loud. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled, gained some composure, and listened carefully to make certain that she was hearing the sounds around her correctly.

  The rain began to diminish. Hope quickly returned. She had to keep moving, that she knew, but she was uncertain as to where she was going. The terrain surrounding her was still unfamiliar domain. Even though it was another new trail for her, she felt at home and protected. Perhaps it was Homer’s influence that created this sense of safety.

  She swung her wet backpack to her right shoulder and moved from under the massive rock that had afforded her some shelter from the driving rain and the fears she entertained. It was quiet now except for the continual heavy drops from the leaves of the surrounding foliage in the damp woods. She remained on Homer Gosnell’s trail. He had told her to stay on it and to follow the signs. She knew that he had meant the natural signs. Still, there had been no time for him to explain what he had meant by signs. She had wanted a little clarification at the time he said it, but the men were coming, and Homer ushered her out the backdoor. She was running for her life again before she had been prepared to do so. And, it had been the dark of night when she left the warm confines of Homer’s cabin.

  Laurel hurried her pace now that there was a break in the weather. Her soggy clothes and squeaky boots made walking difficult. She wasn’t exactly miserable, just uncomfortable. Laurel hoped that the rain would take a break for a few hours. Maybe she could dry out some. It was a pleasant thought that kept her moving along and alert.

  She was moving again and no longer dealing with her emotions. The trail ahead demanded that she stay focused on the sounds and observant to her ever-changing environs.

  A new trail appeared just as she was wondering about the signs Homer had mentioned. Homer’s trail suddenly ended. She stopped and took a few moments to survey this important situation. Two possibilities faced her. Directly across from her was a hand-made marker. Someone had planted a post in the ground with some roughly cut boards shaped like arrows pointing in opposite directions. On the top board, there was the word Grapevine next to 5m. Five miles to Grapevine, she thought. The lower marker had the name Big Laurel followed by 10m. Ten miles to Big Laurel.

  She studied her choices. Turning around and heading back was a third option, but it was not an option
that had any merit at present. Out of the question. As much as she wished Homer to be with her now, she realized, of course, that there was no way she could go back. Homer told her that she must go, so she left. She knew that he would try to defend her against whoever was coming after her. She decided it was the same two men who had captured her earlier. It crossed her mind briefly that more men could be involved, but she had no evidence to pursue that line of thinking.

  If she turned and took the trail marked by the lower sign, it would take her back towards her home, and to her mother. Some part of her was tempted to go in that direction. There was a longing to do that until her mother’s boyfriend entered her thoughts, and the anger she felt towards him surfaced immediately. No way I can go back.

  The trail to the right led to an area of the county with which she was only slightly familiar. She had been there once or twice with her mother. The appeal of the trail to the right was that it would take her away from the situation at her mother’s house and hopefully away from whoever was likely behind her.

  Laurel Shelton was too young, with too little experience to know yet that we live and die by our choices. She did know that sometimes we live and die by the choices others make for us, or the decisions others make for themselves that have a direct affect upon us because of some connection we have with them. She was standing on a mountain ridge in the middle of a forest reading some trail signs because of the latter. Still, she had to decide. She had to choose. Life and death. Choices. Oftentimes these decisions seem meaningless, or just natural considering current circumstances. The drama is absent at the moment we decided which way we go.

  She took the trail to the right. Grapevine.

  A mile down the mountain a shelter was waiting on the young, weary traveler. She had no way of knowing that the shelter would be there. No signs announced its presence. It was a coarsely constructed shelter of castoff lumber that had been carried to the spot by someone before her. It was there because the builder believed it was needed. Whoever might walk this far in the mountains would benefit greatly from the kindness of a place to rest. It was waiting her arrival.