by Ison, S. A.
He and his sister used to play for hours down in the cave, exploring. Over the last one hundred years, modifications had been made to the cavern, each generation adding their own touches. There were many rooms, some large and cathedral-like, some small and closet-like.
Each of the rooms was filled with things the children loved and cherished: books, toys, lanterns, flashlights, beds, couches, and even a toilet and fireplace. The children had been shown how a fire could be built and had been, on the homemade hearth and grate positioned by the deep crack that actually pulled the smoke out of the cave. Their grandfather explained that there was suction via the crack and drew it through the rock and filtered out of the cave at some point. They had marveled at it and run in and out of the cave, looking for the smoke from the fire. They’d never found it. The fireplace kept the cave warm. In the summer the caves were cool and, in the winter, they were warm and snug. It was the go-to place for fun, though only the children played there.
His grandfather looked out the window, not answering, and again Harry wondered if his grandfather was mentally there in the room with him. But his eyes seemed clear and he didn’t seem confused. He heard the door, and Willene answered it downstairs. Marilyn’s voice drifted up the stairs. She was the Hospice nurse.
“Marilyn’s here, Peapot. She’ll be up in a few minutes,” Harry said, putting the clippers down and patting the shriveled hand lovingly. He bent forward and kissed his grandfather’s head.
“She’ll be good for you,” his grandfather said, and smiled knowingly.
Harry looked confused, and worried about his grandfather once more. He went to the radio to turn down the volume when the power went out. Pulling his hand back, he looked at the silent radio, cocking his dark head to the side.
CHAPTER TWO
“Power’s out,” Willene called unnecessarily from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah, I got that,” Harry called back, and turned to his grandfather, who was smiling still, his eyes closed.
When Marilyn came up the stairs, she smiled at Harry and he smiled back in reflex. He’d known Marilyn all his life. She was a few years younger than him, but he’d gone to school with her. She had a son, he knew, but her husband, Moses, had died in the coal mines some years back. Her boy was six or seven, he believed.
“He seems a little disoriented today. I’m not sure what that is about,” Harry said, laying a hand lightly on Marilyn’s forearm.
Marilyn’s dark eyes shone with an inner radiance, and she smiled. “Well, we’ll just see how he’s doin’, won’t we.” She moved past Harry and into the room with his grandfather.
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Marilyn Little watched as Harry left the room, his broad shoulders filling the doorway as he walked out. He was a tall man and well made. She smiled. She’d liked Harry since they were children. He had a sweetness about him. Perhaps she’d loved him. She didn’t really know.
They’d all been friends since grade school, and she and Willene has been as close as two peas in a pod. Though a few years younger than Willene, they’d hung out on the swing sets and monkey bars. Willene had at times carried the much smaller child, as though guarding her. Marilyn had tagged along, and they’d remained best friends since.
Since they’d grown up, Harry was gone for years at a time, but he was still as handsome as ever with his thick dark hair and beautiful, oddly-colored eyes. They were hypnotic, though when she was young she’d not really noticed. She’d had a crush on Harry in her Freshman year in high school. Like most boys, he’d been oblivious.
She’d married her high school sweetheart, Moses Little, and had been happy. After numerous attempts at getting pregnant and many failures, they had given up. But then, eight years ago, she’d gotten pregnant, and she and Moses had been thrilled. When she’d been seven months along, there’d been an accident in the mine and Moses had been killed.
Had it not been for Willene, she might well have lost the baby. Willene had moved her into the farmhouse until she’d delivered Monroe. He was a sweet baby and she’d been smitten. He’d brought her untold joy, and also sorrow that Moses would not see his son grow up.
Up until that point Marilyn had been a housekeeper, but Willene had encouraged her to go to nursing school, and had even helped, along with other nurses and even Peapot, take care of Monroe while she went to school. Since then, she’d worked as a nurse and part-time as a hospice nurse. Monroe was a happy healthy child.
She felt as though the Banks family was her own. She loved the old man, and he had become a surrogate grandfather for Monroe. Moses had also been an only child, and by the time he’d died, his parents had passed away some years before. Her own parents had long since moved to Lexington, and she saw them every few months.
“How are you feeling today, Mr. Banks?” Marilyn asked, smiling down at the old man.
“Oh, fine as a frog’s hair.” He gave a gummy grin and wheezed out a laugh.
“Well that’s awfully fine then, isn’t it?” She laughed and patted his hand.
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Harry went downstairs and joined his sister in the kitchen. She was breading chicken to fry on the gas stove. There was flour smudged on her face and flour all over the counters. He wasn’t sure how his sister did it, but she always seemed to make a mess, no matter the task at hand. She was a wonderful cook, but messy as hell. She liked to say it was the artist in her.
The cast iron frying pan popped a little, ready for the chicken. It sat on the huge old-fashioned cast iron wood stove. Over the years, the stove had been partially converted to gas. The wood usage part of the stove was still used in the winter, but during the warmer seasons, the gas burners were used. It has been in the family since the old farmhouse was built in 1878.
“Can I help?” Harry asked, walking over to the refrigerator and opening the door. It was dark inside.
“Keep that door closed or you’ll let the cold out. And no. Just sit here and keep me company,” Willene said as she salted the raw chicken, then peppered it. She then dipped the pieces into beaten eggs, then flour, then back to the egg mixture and then to corn meal and then into the cast iron frying pan. A satisfying sizzle erupted from the pan, and the scent of fried chicken filled the air, causing Harry’s stomach to rumble.
“Yes ma’m,” Harry said, his eyes crinkling in good humor, and reached a finger over to the chocolate cake that was sitting on the counter. He ran the tip of his finger along the bottom edge, catching some of the homemade chocolate frosting. He brought it up to his mouth and rolled his eyes back in bliss.
He missed the down-home cooking that he could only get here. Franziska could cook, but not like this. He hoped Willene would teach her some tricks while she was here. He still hadn’t told Willene about Fran, or that she was coming. Maybe tonight, after dinner.
“Don’t you ruin your’uns appetite. I’ll scald you,” Willene said, a dark brow rising and her eyes narrowing, a smile pulling at the side of her mouth.
Harry grinned, “That’s a mess of chicken you’re frying. You need me to shuck taters?” He snuck another swipe of the icing. He jerked his hand away as his sister took a swipe at him with the long fork she used to turn the chicken.
“Marilyn and her boy are stayin’ for supper. This is her last call of the day, so I figured we’d feed them up,” Willene said, turning her back and moving the frying chicken around in the cast iron skillet. The sizzling and popping of the chicken filled the air.
“Monroe is here?” Harry asked, looking around as though the child would pop out of the cabinet.
“He’s outside playin’ with Charley,” Willene said. Charley was the family dog, a King Charles Spaniel. Harry had gotten him for Willene for their birthday.
“Guess I’ll go keep him company since you don’t need my help,” he said and ambled out of the house.
“That’s fine. I’ll just shuck them taters myself, brother,” Willene yelled after him, a laugh in her voice.
Harry could hear the boy laughing, and found him chasing the dog
as they came running from around the house. Harry walked onto the long wide porch and sat in the porch swing. There were also several old wooden rocking chairs and two gliders spread around. It was room for plenty of company.
The house didn’t have air conditioning, but it was high enough in the mountains to stay relatively cool in the summer months, especially at night. The windows were open to the constant breeze and strategic placement of fans helped move the air around. Sitting out on the porch ensured a relaxing and enjoyable pastime.
He watched the child and dog run up and down the hill in front of the house. The farmhouse sat nestled five hundred feet up from the road atop a medium steep hill, in one hundred acres of forested land. It had been cut over the years for its timber, but recently had been left to grow. Down the hill were two huge black walnut trees that obscured the house from the road, and apple trees dotted their way up the hill toward the house.
When he and his sister were children, they had run and played up and down the hill until well after dark, and climbed the walnut and apple trees. When the trees were loaded with fruit, they’d sat among the branches and eaten their fill. They’d chased ladybugs, June bugs and lightning bugs. They’d rolled from the top of the hill all the way down to the bottom, running back up for another go.
A smile gently curved his mouth as he watched Monroe do the same thing, knowing the child would be covered with grass stains. Neither his mother nor grandfather had ever cared that he and his sister came in filthy every night after playing on the hill. He was sure Monroe would be filthy as well. No one cared; he’d sleep soundly tonight.
Charley barked and followed the child down the hill, falling down a few times and rolling along beside him. There was a cool breeze blowing and it felt good. The twilight was quiet except for the childish laughter that drifted back up the hill. He heard the screen door open and close, and looked over as Marilyn made her way to the swing.
“How is he?” Harry asked, concern in his voice. She looked worried.
Marilyn’s dark eyes looked up from her phone, and her eyes cleared. “He’s as well as can be expected. He’s comfortable and in no pain, and seems very lucid. I’m sorry to say, though, he hasn’t more than a week. His blood pressure is lower, as is his pulse, but he isn’t in any distress and he isn’t sufferin’.” She smiled softly, compassion glowing in her eyes.
“Oh, okay. It was just that you looked worried,” Harry said.
“Oh that? No, it is just my phone died. I know I charged it, but it’s dead,” she said, handing Harry her phone.
Harry took her phone and tried to power it up. Nothing. He didn’t have a cellphone as he wasn’t in country enough to have one. He called to Willene to check her phone.
A few minutes later, Willene came to the screen door and looked at her brother. “Mine’s dead. I checked the house phone and it’s dead too.”
“Well that’s normal. The power is out,” Harry said.
“No. It is a landline. Even if the power is out, that line is always active,” Willene said.
“Maybe I’ll take a trip into town and see what is going on.” Harry got up from the swing. Marilyn made to get up, but Harry place a hand gently on her shoulder. He noticed a soft blush on her smooth light brown skin. “Don’t worry. You sit and relax, I’ll go and check things out.” He smiled at both women and made his way around the house. “Don’t forget the taters,” Harry called back, laughing.
“Peckerwood!” Willene’s voice drifted around the house and he heard both women cackle with loud laughter. He sniggered in response.
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Willene went back into the kitchen and turned the frying chicken down to low. She’d let it fry slowly to ensure a crispy crust and cooked interior. She gathered up some potatoes and placed them in a bowl, grabbed a dish towel, threw that over her shoulder and went out to the porch.
She sat beside Marilyn on the porch swing and began to peel potatoes.
“Would you like me to do that for you, Willy?” Marilyn asked.
“Naw, I’ve got it. The chicken will take some time to fry, so figured I’d get these potatoes on.”
She began cutting the clean potatoes with a small paring knife, her favorite knife for cutting up veggies. The breeze felt good on her face; it got hot in the kitchen when using the stove, gas or wood. She watched as her grandfather’s truck headed down the hill and grinned, knowing Monroe would be good company for him.
She worried that her brother was way too serious these days. He’d always been a serious boy, and had grown into an even more serious man. But she also knew he needed a little youthful joy in his life. Monroe was a little talker, and she laughed at the thought of him chatting away to Harry.
“What’s so funny?” Marilyn asked.
“I was thinking about Harry driving all the way to town with Monroe talking his ear off.” Willene laughed once more.
Marilyn joined in, and both women watched the truck disappear around the mountain curve.
“It sure is good to have Harry home,” Marilyn said.
Willene cut her eyes to the side and smiled. She knew Marilyn liked Harry very much. She’d known pretty much all her life. Whenever Harry had come home, she’d made sure to have Marilyn over for dinners and visits.
“What?” Marilyn asked defensively.
“Nothing. I need to get these taters in the water to boil. I’ll be back out in a bit. Relax and enjoy the breeze.” Willene laughed and winked at her friend, then took the bowl of potatoes back into the house. She knew she shouldn’t tease Marilyn, but she couldn’t help it. Perhaps she would do a little matchmaking with her brother. After all, he wasn’t getting any younger.
CHAPTER THREE
Monroe came running up behind him as he reached the truck. “Momma telled me I’s can come wiff you,” Monroe said, a wide grin on his light brown face, a front tooth missing.
Harry grinned back and helped the boy into the truck. He grabbed the boy’s head and squeezed it, making silly noises. The child’s peels of laughter filled the truck cab. He helped Monroe buckle in, and then pulled out and down the long drive.
As he drove, a few old cars passed him. There were numerous cars sitting in the middle of the road. He listened absently as Monroe chattered like a magpie and answered him just as absently. The child never noticed. He grinned. Monroe’s hands were in constant motion and his feet were kicking back and forth, his head waggling side to side as he spoke.
Harry carefully and slowly wound his way around the stalled vehicles, coming to stop by a small compact car. A man was standing by the engine with the hood of the vehicle up, scratching his balding head with one hand, a rag held in the other.
“What seems to be the matter?” Harry called.
“Damn iffin I’d knowd, dog gone thang’s done did stopped on me,” the man said puzzled.
“Need a lift?” Harry offered.
“Naw, my house down yonder a bit. I kin push it easy. Thanks kindly.” He bent once more to look down.
“Say, does your phone work?” Harry asked, suspicion creeping up his spine. Small tendrils of fear began to wiggle out and swim about his body, like tadpoles set free.
The man dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He looked down, pressed a button, shook it, pressed more on the buttons, shook it again as though that would fix it, and looked up confused, shaking his head. He shrugged his shoulders and put it back into his pocket, then leaned back over and looked down into his car.
Harry just shook his head and pulled away, and then drove up the road and past a convenience store. Several people were at the pumps, yelling and shaking their fists. Others were coming out of the store and gathering around. He pulled off the road, turned off the truck’s engine, and listened.
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Officer Clay Patterson was driving back from Lexington to Beattyville along Highway 52. He’d had a court date to testify against a meth suspect. He and Brian, his partner, a German Shepherd mix, had stopped off for lunch at a BBQ joint. It was
small and popular. Once back in Beattyville, he would stop by the precinct to finish up paperwork and then head home.
Some of the curves were forcing him to drive slowly. Brian was a stoic dog when out on the road. Clay had named him after his first partner, who’d been killed in the line of duty years ago. Clay had gotten a police dog, Hugo, several years ago, in lieu of a human partner, but unfortunately Hugo could not take the curves in the mountains and low valleys. Poor Hugo threw up whenever they left Beattyville. He’d had to rehome the dog to the Lexington airport, where they could use him.
He’d then gotten Brian two years ago and the dog had an iron stomach. Brian looked over at him and grinned, his tongue hanging out. Clay reached over and petted the canine. He slowed down once more for a sharp curve when his police cruiser just stopped running: the vehicle shut down, along with the power steering.
“Well Swanee! What the hell? What is goin’ on?” Clay cried out as the cruiser edged toward the fall off. Pulling as hard as he could, the wheels turned toward the mountain and the cruiser finally came to a stop. He opened the door and climbed out, his heart racing, his breaths coming in pants.
“Come on Brian, get out an’ come sit over yonder,” he called the dog out of the car and indicated the far side of the road. He pulled his smart phone out and tried to call the station. He stared at the blank screen. He turned his phone off and then back on. Nothing.
He then pressed the mike on his utility vest, trying to raise the station. He was unsure if there would be a signal with the mountains all around. Clicking the mike, he heard nothing. Not even static.
“Shit,” he muttered. He looked up and down the mountain road. He could hear no other vehicles. He walked over and locked the cruiser, then called Brian to him. “Like as not, looks like we are walkin’ home, boy.”
Walking to the trunk, he opened it. Inside was a backpack. He put several bottles of water inside it. He also took some flares and put them in the bag.
He checked his heavy steel flashlight. It was bright, so in it went. There was a small med kit in the pack, as well sanitary wipes. He pulled out a plastic bag of dog chow, some protein bars and beef jerky, three fruit cups, and Brian’s food bowl. He placed all these in the backpack.
