“This is the best time of year for painting this view. The fall colors are gorgeous. What we want to do is make varying sized blobs of the colors. First, we want to make the background colors a little muted to give them the illusion of distance.”
She took a shallow breath and swallowed to clear her voice. It always took her a little bit of time to get comfortable with speaking to a class. She could tell by the scratchiness in her voice. She also knew to trust that it would go away.
Miranda used green, yellow ocher, and orange to demonstrate the distant view of the fall foliage. “I’m making these color blobs fairly small towards the top of the canvas and then making them brighter and larger towards the bottom. That gives it a perspective.” She walked around to their canvases. “You guys are doing incredible.”
“Help! I’ve got too much orange.” Joe stepped back from his canvas. “I didn’t realize it until just now.”
“Let me look.” Miranda stood at his canvas. “Yes, too many orange blobs make the leaves look like a neon bar sign. Let this section dry and go back over the orange bits with some ocher to tone them down. You don’t have to cover them all. We do have some years where the trees turn mostly orange, but this year seems to be a yellow one.”
Miranda showed them how to mix ocher, white, and a touch of black. Then she laid in the next block of color that would become the tall cliff of the rugged chimney stacks of Lover’s Leap.
Shefton hadn’t yet completed setting up his easel. He was trying to get it level in the uneven scrub just beside the trail. Miranda noticed his struggles and pushed one of the easel legs into a bit of soft ground. He grinned. “Thanks.”
Linda and Kelly were not only keeping pace with Miranda, but they were finishing their painting steps in minimum time. She figured that being from New York City gave them an understanding of art just by living there. That was certainly her experience with the Big Apple. They appeared to be confident and relaxed.
In about forty-five minutes, when they reached the final stages of painting, a lean young man in a dark green uniform appeared on the trail. He walked over to the group with his thumbs in his belt and a broad smile across his weathered face. “Your group has definitely captured the fall colors, Miss Trent.” He rocked back on his heels. “Doris Ann sent me down here to give you a little history about our famous view up here at Lover’s Leap. That is, of course, if you want to know.”
Miranda sighed in relief. She had been expecting him but had not been able to confirm that he would be able to give one of the rangers’ celebrated talks out on the trail instead of in front of the fireplace at Hemlock Lodge. “I would very much appreciate that.”
She hoped that adding a speech on local history to her class would make the group feel more connected to the area—and set the mood for some authentic cuisine and moonshine. She beamed her gratitude at him. “Thank you.” Then she turned to the class. “Clean off your brushes and stick them in your water jar. We have a surprise speaker.” She signaled for the ranger to come up to where she was standing.
He walked over by Miranda, turned and faced the clients with his arms folded across his chest. “Good morning, I’m Austin Morgan, your local forest ranger here in the Daniel Boone National Forest. The view you’re painting is our most famous, Lover’s Leap. The area you’re exploring by trail is reckoned to have the most natural sandstone arches east of the Mississippi River. Please interrupt me at any time. I don’t really have a memorized talk, so your questions actually guide my remarks.”
He waited for a couple of seconds. “This park was established in nineteen twenty-six but tourists have been coming through here since eighteen eighty-nine. Natural Bridge is a sandstone arch that is seventy-eight feet long, sixty-five feet high, twelve feet thick, and twenty feet wide. Some geologists believe that the arch is at least a million years old. Now that you’ve been on the trail, what do you think?”
“What’s the legend behind Lover’s Leap?” asked Kelly.
“Ah, of course. There are several variations of the story and nothing has ever been proven. The valley below here is only accessible by dedicated trail buffs and expert rock climbers—too rugged for most. But that’s not the only reason this area is shunned by the locals. They’re convinced that the chimney of rocks over there is cursed.”
“Cursed? Oh no!” The New Yorker girlfriends pretended to be scared by waving their hands in the air, then giggled.
Miranda rolled her eyes and shrugged an apology to the ranger.
“The most popular legend behind the Lover’s Leap name is about a Native American princess, Winona, the daughter of a Cherokee chief. She chose to leap rather than marry a cruel suitor she did not love. Her spirit is rumored to appear on this very trail on the night of the new moon. That’s when the forest is the darkest.” He paused for effect. “I personally think she just likes to show up better.”
He grinned, then pointed down the trail. “Right about there, just by that crooked pine at the last bend in the trail.”
Everyone turned and looked.
Ranger Morgan paused until all of them stared at the trail. “Everyone who has ever claimed to see Winona has described her as wearing white buckskin.”
“Have you ever seen her?” asked Kelly.
He pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure. Like most locals, I’m not out in the woods after dark for good reason. I’ve had several unsettling experiences along this trail, but I can’t claim to have seen her.”
Kelly shrugged her shoulders. “Too bad. That would make a great ghost story.”
Ranger Morgan waited for the group to settle. “Another tale is that the brothers of a ruined maid threw her lover to his death. There was a strong moral code in the beliefs of the original European settlers, the Scotch Irish. They brought their clannish ways to these highlands along with their music. They kept to themselves and handled their troubles without the aid of the law.
“After the maid left the baby with the father’s family, she also came out here and threw herself to her death.
“Finally, it is rumored that during the height of the infamous family feud, a Hatfield girl and a McCoy boy ran away to get married, but were cornered. They embraced and threw themselves over so that they could be together in eternity.”
“Shoot! I’ve dropped my paintbrush,” said Shefton. “I’m almighty sorry, miss.”
“Don’t worry. I have plenty of extras.” Miranda handed over a fresh brush to Shefton. “Sorry for interrupting; please continue.”
Ranger Morgan smiled and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “No problem, Miss Trent. I’m finished.” He scanned the group. “Any more questions?”
Linda waved her hand. “Where did Daniel Boone live?”
Scratching at the back of his neck, Ranger Morgan laughed out loud. “I was wondering who would ask that one. I get that one the most. Anyway, the short answer is that he founded the village of Boonesborough, one of the first settlements west of the Appalachians.
“Boonesborough is a small unincorporated community in Madison County, about forty-five miles from here. It’s smack dab in the central part of the state along the Kentucky River and is the site of Fort Boonesborough State Park.”
He glanced at everyone. “As a final point, I want to remind everyone to keep to the trails, don’t litter, leave footprints, and take memories.” He tipped his hat and everyone clapped. Then he turned back down the trail and with his long strides reached the bend in the trail in seconds.
Miranda put down her brushes and ran like a deer to catch up with the fast retreating ranger. “Hold up a second, Ranger Morgan.”
He turned with a broad grin. “Please, just Austin. We’ve been neighbors forever.”
Miranda moaned. “Okay, Austin it is, but in front of customers, you’re Ranger Morgan.”
“Sure, that will work out fine, Miss Trent.”
“Please.” She smiled wide. “Just Miranda. Our families have lived down the road from each other for generation
s. It seems strange that we’ve both come to own the family homesteads this year. I’m sorry I didn’t make it down to your mom’s burial. My condolences.”
“Thank you. It’s comforting that our relations are all together again in the Adamses’ cemetery barely a quarter of a mile from their homes.”
“That is comforting. Thank you for saying that. Anyway, I’d like to invite you over to the farmhouse for the food-tasting event.”
“I’m not fishing for an invitation. You have clients to satisfy.”
“I’ve got Mrs. Childers and Mrs. Hobb doing the cooking back at the farmhouse. There will be tons of food and it shouldn’t go to waste. I also want your opinion on the quality of the moonshine.”
He again tipped his hat. “I’m not sure about this; I can’t really be seen supporting a commercial enterprise. But we are neighbors. Okay, I’d be delighted to stop by if I can. My work hours vary a lot.”
Miranda watched for a moment as he turned quickly and headed down the trail. She hadn’t thought about a conflict of interest. He was right; she’d have to be careful about that.
She returned to her demonstration easel and taught the last few painting touches to the class. As usual, those final small flourishes had the biggest impact. She heard surprised comments all around.
Miranda flushed with pride. Maybe this will work.
The last step in the painting lesson was to sign their art. Miranda lined everyone up to pose with their finished works in front of the view of Lover’s Leap. As she snapped a photo, she smiled, satisfied with how happy everyone seemed.
“We’re going to take trail number one, the Original Trail, on our way back down to Hemlock Lodge. It descends the staircase to get below Natural Bridge and we’ll pass through Fat Man’s Squeeze.”
The famous feature was a pinch point in the rock formation also locally known as Fat Man’s Misery. There was some good-natured chattering about the narrow channel and that it should probably be renamed Super Model’s Dash.
Miranda took the narrow channel first, demonstrating how to hold the painting in front and grab the backpack by its top handle and carry it behind. It felt a little awkward, but it worked.
They were several minutes down the trail before Miranda looked back and counted the clients again. There were only five. Shefton wasn’t with the group. “Where’s Shefton?”
Kelly yelled over her shoulder back at Miranda. “He was behind me before we tackled the Fat Man’s Squeeze.” She whispered to Linda, “Teacher’s pet.”
“Tell everyone to continue on down and meet up in the lobby of Hemlock Lodge. I’m going to chase him down.” Miranda stalked up the trail, irritated with herself that she hadn’t been more observant earlier.
“Really?” Kelly shrugged and tapped Linda’s shoulder. “Tell everyone we have to wait while teacher finds her lost pet.”
Linda frowned at her friend, then whispered, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so nasty?”
Kelly turned sharply to Linda and mouthed, “You know.”
Linda widened her eyes and uttered, “No I don’t.”
Miranda waited until she heard the message travel from client to client over the bickering between Linda and Kelly. Then she scrambled back uphill to the pinch point in the rock formations.
She didn’t meet anyone else coming down the trail. This was not a good situation. What if there was an accident? A sinking sickness hit her gut.
Good grief, if he’s gotten caught in Fat Man’s Squeeze, he’ll have to be rescued. It will hit the local papers and he’ll never forgive me for that. There’s the alternative path, but I forgot to say anything about it. But then, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to call attention to himself. This tour leader stuff is tricky. I didn’t consider that I might have to think like a life coach.
She came face to face with a young couple with two small children who had obviously made it through the narrow slit. That meant that he wasn’t blocking up the pass, but then if not, where was he?
“Hi there!” she called to the family. “Have you seen a young man in a black cowboy shirt along here?” They all said no.
She hustled back down the trail to where the alternative path joined up and was barely in time to meet a red-faced Shefton. He was looking down, desperately trying to rub out the red cliff dirt stains from his fancy shirt. His fierce look told her to ask no questions.
“I’m fine, Miss Miranda. Just fine.”
Miranda formed a smile but thought that Shefton was not at all fine.
In a few more minutes of totally silent hiking, they joined the rest of the group gathered back in Hemlock Lodge’s lobby.
“Y’all look like you’ve had a grand old time.” Doris Ann greeted them from behind the registration desk. She admired everyone’s canvas one by one as they gathered in the lobby and made use of the facilities. “You sure did all right by the view at Lover’s Leap. Miranda, I think this little business of yours might be something you can be mighty proud of.”
“Thanks, Doris Ann.” She leaned in close to Doris Ann’s ear and whispered. “Now, for the tricky part—the traditional Southern meal accompanied by a moonshine tasting.”
“Little lady, you know I’m still not happy that you’re serving shine, don’t you? I’m glad you can’t do that here in the park. You do know better than that at least?”
“Yes, ma’am. I do. The owner himself will be bringing samples from his distillery in Lexington. We’ll be on my private property—nowhere near the park.”
Doris Ann nodded with tightly pursed lips. “Well, that’s at least legal, then.” She turned back to her computer. “Bye now.”
Miranda considered the situation pragmatically. There might be others who will react negatively to the moonshine. I’ll have to be a good bit more diplomatic with how I promote that part of the tour experience. Is this a bad promotional choice? I hope not. She stared into the fire looking for an answer.
The fire just crackled.
Chapter 4
Saturday Noon, Miranda’s Farmhouse
After freshening up at the Hemlock Lodge bathroom facilities, the clients piled into Miranda’s rented eight-passenger van. During the thirty-minute drive to her farmhouse, Miranda pointed out unique rock formations, named the crops growing in the fields, and identified roadside wildflowers. She also described the birds and butterflies that migrated through the area.
“Stop!” shouted Shefton.
Miranda hit the brakes and yelled “Hold on!”
There were grunts, shrieks, and the sound of tumbling possessions from the back.
She stopped inches away from a common box turtle about the size of a large grapefruit. She looked over to Shefton. “Good eye. I didn’t see him at all. I would have been upset if I had run over him.”
He smiled weakly from a pale face. “I would have thrown up in your brand-new van.”
“It’s a long-term rental, thank goodness. You better get behind the van and stop the traffic. The leaf peepers are out in full force.” Shefton leapt out of the passenger seat and ran around behind the van. He began waving his arms like a windmill to divert the path of the oncoming drivers.
Miranda put the van in park and switched on her hazard lights. Out in front, she carefully lifted the turtle and placed him down in a bit of dirt off the shoulder away from the road. She stood there until he started moving in the direction away from the road.
“He’s fine now,” she bellowed over the noise of the traffic. “Let’s go.” They got back in the van and drove away in an uneasy silence.
In a few minutes, Shefton cleared his throat. “I know they’re not endangered or anything. I just like them.”
Miranda was continually amazed at these Appalachian quirks. The locals would shoot a groundhog on sight and yet save a turtle from getting hit on a busy road. She wondered just how many more oddities she had missed about her relatives during her long summer vacations, but drove on. “I like them, too. Thank you.”
Finally,
she pulled off onto a newly paved road that climbed at a fairly steep grade. In about a mile, it led to a sparsely graveled dirt road that led to the farmhouse. It was an original Sears & Roebuck Catalog house that had been ordered and built by her grandfather in 1929.
So strange to think that it was common to order a house kit from a Sears catalog and have it shipped by rail and truck to your site. Sears mail-order catalogs were in millions of homes, so large numbers of landowners were able to open a catalog, see different house designs, visualize their new home, and then purchase it directly from Sears.
The house faced the road showing a wide porch that stretched along the entire width with a wooden swing at one end. Her grandfather’s handmade slatted benches were placed at the other end. Miranda’s uncle hadn’t painted the farmhouse for at least a decade, and the bright colors had faded to pleasing pastels. The house looked a bit shabby but nicely rustic against the bright yellow leaves of the silver maple tree in the front yard.
“Go on in,” said Miranda after she had parked. “We’re eating at the big round table in the dining room, which is just beyond the front room.” She looked at the New Yorkers. “For the out-of-towners, that means the living room. There’s a small bathroom just through the kitchen, which is at the back of the house. I’ll check with our cooks, but I think we might have at least twenty to thirty minutes before we eat.”
Her clients piled out of the van and began to wander off in all directions. Before she could say anything else, she heard toenails scrabbling on the wooden porch and looked over to see a goldish streak of desperate puppy. He tumbled down the steps and squatted in the nearest clump of grass. After he finished, he ran over and began to chew on Miranda’s bootlaces.
“Sandy! How did you get out of my bedroom? Did the church ladies let you out?” She would have to remind her cooks that Sandy needed to be kept inside, ideally in his crate. Most locals let their dogs run loose. Miranda was still operating on her New York City view of dogs, which was on leash at all times if they were out of the apartment. Goodness, how long was it going to take to acquire the local culture norms?
Still Knife Painting Page 3
