Draw and Order

by Cheryl Hollon

  “What is your new delivery date?”

  “Miss Trent, I swear on the grave of my dear granny that your tank will be delivered on tomorrow.”

  She had no choice but to agree. She mentally calculated the impact of another day of delay to her production plans. It was disappointing. It appeared that the moonshine spirits of the mountains were plotting against her.

  Her late uncle Gene Buchanan had left her the ancestral farm. But the will stipulated she had to establish a distillery to produce his legendary moonshine. The deadline for acquiring her license was at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve. It was still a few weeks until Thanksgiving, but time was getting tight.

  She had so far endured delay after delay. First, from the county officials in getting the right permits. Then next, it was getting permission to upgrade the tobacco barn. More rejected drawing plans, more delays. Each of these issues was not catastrophic, but they added up to a significant financial risk if she didn’t get production of her new moonshine started soon.

  At the moment, she was still on good terms with the owner of the Limestone Distillery over in the outskirts of Lexington. He was happy to supply her with as much moonshine as she could sell out of her little gift shop. He provided her with sampling supplies free of charge. That was how small distilleries helped one another.

  Miranda went out to the van and called to Iris and Lily, “Don’t forget to tuck Sandy up in his cage.”

  She started up the van and heard a ding. She let her head fall against the steering wheel. The “low fuel” warning symbol lit up and continued to ding.

  Chapter 2

  Sunday Morning, Hemlock Lodge

  After stopping at the gas station at the Slade Hill exit for a fill-up, Miranda Trent arrived at Hemlock Lodge only a few minutes late. Set back into the cliffside of the Natural Bridge State Park, the lodge offered basic rooms with balconies that overlooked the mountainside. Miranda’s tours started in the lobby in front of a two-story fireplace built with local honey-colored stone.

  A roaring fire crackled as Miranda rushed over to a group of six people dressed in matching bright red T-shirts. Their high-tech outerwear proclaimed them ready for an outdoor adventure.

  In general, there were two types of visitors to Hemlock Lodge this early on a Sunday morning. One, the churchgoing families getting a filling breakfast meant to last during a long service, or two, the hikers off to an early start on the trails.

  Miranda made a beeline for the red shirts.

  “Good morning, are you here for the Paint and Shine cultural adventure?”

  The tallest man in the group smiled broadly and stepped forward with his hand stretched out. “Hi, you must be Miranda. I’m Alfred Whittaker, the unofficial leader of our little adventure group, which we’ve been calling Risky Business Adventurers.”

  Miranda shook hands in a strong grip to match his. “Good morning, I’m so sorry to be a little late. I hope you’re all set to sketch the overlook at Battleship Rock.”

  There were nods and murmurs from the group. “We are,” said Alfred, who returned to his spot across the room near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “First, I would like to welcome you to a Paint and Shine picnic tour. This is a unique experience blending art, adventure, food, and drink in one package. Although you know each other well, I would like an introduction before we head out. Just your name and profession and where you’re from if you don’t mind. Alfred, you first.”

  He flashed a little self-possessed grin. “I’m a freelance reporter with the Lexington Herald-Leader and I live over near the Blue Grass Airport.” He nodded to the short, bald, trim man next to him.

  “I’m Ben DeBerg. I’m a criminal defense lawyer. My mother and I own a practice in Washington, DC.” He glanced at the slender woman to his left.

  “I’m Jennifer O’Rourke. I’m a jewelry artist.” She pulled back her long brown locks to reveal a set of silver-encased amber earrings. “I own a shop over in Stanton, about twenty minutes from here.” Her smile warmed her amber-brown eyes.

  Leaning against the ledge of the window with his arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles, a dark-haired man with a deep tan spoke. “I’m Kevin Burkart. I was born over in Stanton and I have a financial services business down in St. Petersburg, Florida. I love to hunt, fish, hike, and play electric guitar.” He waved a hand to the sandy-haired, blue-eyed, stocky man next to him.

  “I’m Kurt Smith. I own a large and, if I may say so, very profitable cosmetic-surgery and spa facility in Lexington.” He looked over to his left. “You’re next, Stephanie.”

  Stephanie narrowed her green eyes beneath a short fringe of auburn hair. “My name is Stephanie Brinkley. I’m a licensed pharmacist and I work over at Lexington’s Saint Joseph Hospital.”

  “Thank y’all for that. My turn. I’m Miranda Trent, born here in Wolfe County. I was working as an artist in New York City when I inherited my bachelor uncle’s farmhouse in Pine Ridge, Kentucky. Not only is this my dream job to teach art, but I’m in the process of turning the barn into a distillery and brewing up the secret recipes I found of my uncle’s famous moonshine.”

  “Awesome,” said Kevin. “I love ’shine. Good luck to you.”

  “Thanks. If all y’all would please follow me out to the van, we’ll drive over to the trailhead, get our packs, and head out.”

  After she parked and got their permit at the Gladie Learning Center, the group picked up their backpacks and headed out onto the Bison Way Trailhead, which connected to the loop that led to Battleship Rock.

  Miranda led the way and had asked Kevin, as the most experienced hiker, to bring up the rear. This not being a particularly well-traveled trail, the footing was tricky with the wet leaves from last night’s rain. A comfortable bantering floated in the air among the group.

  In about an hour, they were grouped in front of a vertical sandstone wall that had hand-carved footholds up to the summit. The cliff face was about twenty feet high and pitched up at about a forty-five-degree angle.

  “Kevin, would you mind going up first? I’ll hang back here and—”

  “Good morning, can I help?” A tall figure in a tan uniform appeared at the edge of the group. He flashed a broad smile at Miranda, then stepped up beside her.

  “You sure can.” Miranda turned to him, mirroring his smile. “Folks, this is Forest Ranger Austin Morgan. He’s the local officer in charge of this part of the Daniel Boone National Forest. He’s also one of the founders of our local rescue organization. Expertise I’m certain we won’t need given your adventuring track record.”

  Austin turned to her. “Do you want me down here or would you like for me to demonstrate the climb? I could also add a little history.”

  Relief swept through Miranda’s tense shoulders. The wet rocks added a hazardous component that she wasn’t certain she could in good conscience thrust upon her clients. Ranger Morgan’s presence turned that uncomfortable situation into an educational opportunity.

  Austin stood in front of the group and waited until he had their undivided attention. “These indentations have been a popular challenge here in the Red River Gorge since they were discovered. We’re lucky it is still here. This area came very close to being flooded by a proposed dam. The locals made sure that the proposal was shot down. It is now a world-famous rock-climbing area and also known for excellent backpacking.

  “History has it that these steps are the handiwork of a native tribe. They not only carved them into the soft sandstone but took advantage of a natural shelter in the cliff above us. There’s plenty of evidence of their culture and lifestyle during their tenure here, including well-preserved clothing and household items. Sadly, the exact nature of the steps—who exactly built them and what they were for—remains a mystery. The shelter has dozens of pictogram images that tell of hunting feats.”

  “Has anyone documented the images?” asked Jennifer. “You know, an anthropologist or maybe an expert from the University of Kentucky?”<
br />
  Austin wrinkled his brow. “Good questions. According to the Forest Service, there are over forty petroglyphs located in the Daniel Boone National Forest. There are many common themes or motifs, including turkey tracks, deer tracks, lines, and geometric designs. We’ve had visiting archaeologists and anthropologists try to answer this question, but their theories are all over the place. One study I find interesting suggests that the animal tracks were guideposts to important minerals or possibly silver deposits. Some say that they point to the Jonathan Swift mines. No one has yet found a silver mine based on the petroglyphs. No one who has let that be known, anyway. I think it’s something that needs to be researched.”

  “Great,” said Jennifer. “That’s something I might be interested in, as well as sketching them to use as inspiration for my jewelry designs. I’m always looking for a unique vision in order to launch a new line.”

  Austin pointed up to the limestone steps. “Although the climb looks terrifying from this angle, it’s relatively easy and your packs are light. The payoff is a spectacular cliff view as well as some archaeological artifacts in an excellent state of preservation. Let me start with a little basic demonstration.”

  Alfred interrupted, “We’re all experienced climbers. Some better than others, but we are all at the intermediate to expert level.”

  “Well then,” continued Austin, “who wants to go first?”

  “Me, of course,” said Kevin. “I always go first in our little adventures.”

  Miranda bit at the corner of her lip. It looks like there are two leaders. One for travel arrangements and one as alpha male. I’ve seen this puppet leadership style before. It complicates everything.

  “Great,” said Miranda. “I can watch then. I’m certainly not an expert.”

  Kevin put both hands into the carved-out openings and placed one foot into the lowest step. He hauled himself up about three feet. The next handhold was easy to reach so he made that one in his next move. The angle steepened and he stepped into the next foothold so quickly that he slipped and skidded down the surface about a foot.

  Jennifer gasped and yelled, “Be careful. You’re showing off and not paying attention.”

  Kevin recovered. “Don’t get touchy. I’m just fooling around. I know what I’m doing.” Then he raced up the staircase like a mountain goat.

  Jennifer puffed a sigh of relief and patted her chest to indicate that her heart was still pounding. “You need to stop scaring us with your tricks.”

  Kevin turned to grin down at them. “Why? You fall for it every time. See, this is a piece of cake. You guys will be fine.”

  “Even so,” Ranger Austin Morgan called up to him, “caution is the best approach.” Austin scanned the remaining hikers. “It means that you’ll get to climb another day. Who’s next?”

  Alfred stepped up to face the sandstone wall. “I’ll get up there so you have someone reliable to count on.” He tackled the steps with deliberate precision and was soon standing on the upper level next to Kevin. “Oh, wow. The view is spectacular. This is so worth it.”

  “Okay, I’m ready to go next. I’m a pushover for a great view,” said Stephanie. She inhaled a great calming breath and cautiously climbed the incline slowly, but with complete competence. When she straightened up, she yelled down to the others, “The climb is not as bad as it looks from down there.”

  Miranda turned to Austin and said in a low voice, “I think I should go up next to keep things in order up there. This group seems a little more daring than my normal type of clients.”

  Austin nodded and raised his eyebrows. “I agree.” Apparently, he had noticed the same thing she had about the group’s dynamics. They appeared to spur one another on to risky behavior.

  “It feels like herding squirrels with cats,” she whispered back. She shifted her heavy pack to settle it better and reached for the first set of indented handholds.

  While reaching for the next recess in the sandstone at the point where the pitch was steepest, Miranda felt a sudden shift within her pack. It took her by surprise, but she automatically hitched up her shoulder to readjust the weight. Then she lost her footing. She yelped as her foot slipped out of the lower indention. She was hanging on to the cliff by one foot and one hand.

  “Freeze, Miranda,” yelled Ranger Morgan. “Don’t move. Hang on to the steps you already have.” The force of his voice pierced her confusion and she stiffened in place.

  “Now, grab a handhold and ignore your foot.”

  She did that and felt herself stabilize.

  “Slip your foot back to where it was.”

  She explored the surface of the rock with her toe and found the foothold that had given her the slip. “I’ve got it now.”

  “Rest a minute until you get your bearings.”

  “I’m good now.” Miranda refocused her attention to the remaining few handholds and climbed to the top in a tightly controlled set of cautious moves.

  Kevin grabbed her hand at the top. “Are you okay? That was a little scary. You did great to recover so well. I’ve known seasoned climbers to freeze in place and then have to be rescued. Well done.”

  “Thanks.” Miranda placed her pack on the ground, then plopped down beside it. Then she dropped her head between her knees gulping in air.

  After Ben, Jennifer, and Kurt arrived at the top, Ranger Morgan climbed up and rushed over to Miranda. “Are you okay? Do you need a drink of water or something stronger?”

  Miranda waved him away and grabbed the water bottle from her pack. “Thanks, I only need some water.” She tipped back her head and downed most of the container. It was exactly the right thing for her. She hopped up and grinned. “Sorry about that. I’m a rank beginner in the sport of rock climbing. I think it may not ever be my sport of choice.”

  Kevin cleared his throat, “As we’ve mentioned, we don’t need a climbing instructor. We signed up for the chance to draw this overlook in the open air.” He walked over to the edge of the sandstone cliff. “This view is worth the trouble.”

  The group wandered over to stand next to Kevin. There was complete silence while they stared at the overlook.

  The vista stretched for miles and revealed stony ridges exposed between the fading autumn beauty of scarlet maples. The breeze carried the fresh scent of the emerald-green pines.

  Ranger Morgan cleared his throat. “This seems like the perfect time to give you the history of this spot.” He moved so that everyone could see the view behind him. “The steps you just climbed are known as the Indian Staircase. This is the most panoramic view of the Red River Gorge geologic area. That prominent rock formation in front of us is called Battleship Rock.”

  Ranger Morgan stepped back from the Indian Staircase into a small clearing in front of another sandstone cliff face. “Back over this way is what is considered as convincing evidence that Native Americans inhabited this area. There’s plenty of signs of their culture and lifestyle during their tenure here.

  “Another view worth a look is northwest along the ridge to see the Frog’s Head formation as well as another shelter called the Council Chamber.”

  Stephanie glanced back down over the top of the Indian Staircase. “How are we going to get back down? It will be trickier to descend.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Miranda. “There’s another trail down the other side of this cliff back here. It’s not very well marked, but it’s better than struggling to climb down with these loaded packs.” She gave a sour glance at hers. “We’ll take that route after our sketching session. First, let’s get set up for our picnic lunch. We’ll do our sketching lesson afterwards.”

  Miranda spoke up, “Lunches are in your pack. Just find a place to sit and dig in.”

  Her clients spread out in a cleared area on the sandstone rock at the top of the Indian Staircase. It was a good choice.

  “Austin, I packed a picnic for you if you can stay with us for a while.”

  “That’s nice.” He looked at the paper bag. “So that’s
why your pack was overbalanced.”

  Miranda frowned and looked down. “I’m so embarrassed. I should have set up a rope relay for the packs so that none of us would be overbalanced. I’ll do that the next time—if there is a next time.”

  “Not liking this?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  Miranda rubbed the back of her neck. “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” She scanned the area. “I feel the weight of the past here, and that feeling is even stronger near the Council Chamber.”

  “That’s weird. I didn’t think you were superstitious.”

  “I don’t think I am.” Miranda handed Austin his picnic. “Let me give my dining speech and we’ll eat. There’s a log over there that looks comfortable, okay?”

  She walked over to the group, who had settled in a circle. “What we have here is a typical picnic that would have been popular in this area during the forties and fifties. Way before Colonel Sanders perfected his special recipe.” That brought a chuckle. “Everything is locally sourced and prepared traditionally at my farmhouse. The beverage is a lemonade cocktail containing a home-brewed corn moonshine. Questions?”

  “Who made the moonshine?” asked Kevin after taking a sip. “It’s so smooth.”

  “That’s my own concoction. I’ve resurrected my late uncle’s original still equipment for small-batch brewing in the barn. My full-sized distillery is in construction. I’m hoping it will be ready for production for the Christmas holidays. That’s a big season for spirits around these parts.”

  “This chicken is incredible,” said Stephanie. “Can I have the recipe?”

  Miranda scrunched her forehead. “I don’t have a version I can hand out just yet. We’re not really chefs around here and don’t go by exact measurements. I learned how to make traditional fried chicken by watching my mother and grandmother.”

  “You should come up with a cookbook,” said Jennifer. “I would buy one.”

  “That is a great idea. I’ll add it to my list of items for the gift shop.” Miranda paused, then smiled broadly. “Enjoy!”