Makin' Miracles

by Lin Stepp

  Zola’s troubled voice interrupted Spencer’s thoughts. “Oh, no,” she said, her eyes still on the newspaper. “A little kid is lost up in the mountains. His parents must be worried sick.”

  Spencer poured more coffee into both their car mugs. “I saw that piece earlier,” he replied, taking another bite of the bagel she offered him.

  He watched her eyes scan the newspaper article. “It says here he was with a Scout group camping in the mountains and wandered off.” She paused, an anxious frown darkening her face.

  “Lord have mercy, Spencer, he’s only eight years old and he’s been out all night. They’ve searched for him since yesterday afternoon.”

  “I heard something about that on the news last night.” He merged into the turn lane to swing a right at the Sugarlands Visitor Center. “The television news reporter said eight Cub Scouts hiked that short trail down from Clingmans Dome Road to the Mount Collins shelter to spend the night on the mountain. Evidently this one kid took off when they were looking for kindling around the camping area. The other Scouts and their leader didn’t miss him for an hour or so and when they couldn’t find the boy they called the rangers.”

  “Well, bless his heart. He must be scared to death. I hope they find him today.”

  Spencer reached over to snag another orange section from her hand and rustle the newspaper playfully. “Got any good news in there?”

  She grinned at him. “Why sure. Dolly Parton’s in town for some event having to do with her Imagination Library.” She paused to sip her coffee. “Isn’t it wonderful she gives children free books every year through that effort? She is one fine person.”

  Spencer changed gears as he started up the mountain.

  Zola looked out the window then. “By the way, where are we going for this photo shoot? We’ve left Gatlinburg far behind now.”

  “Well, my plan was to try for some early wildflower shots today, maybe find some spring wonders for my new book. I thought the Little River Trail out of the Elkmont area might be a good place for photos.”

  “Oh, that’s a favorite trail of mine.” Zola turned a sunny smile toward him. “Further up that trail after the bridge is a stunning display of phlox and there are snowy orchids along the early trail if you look carefully for them.”

  “So I’ve heard.” He smiled at her.

  She sighed. “I can climb out onto some of those big boulders in the stream to sit in the sun while you’re shooting your pictures.”

  “Maybe. But we have to stay together, Zola. That’s important.” He frowned.

  “You’re thinking of that child. If he’d stayed with the others, or with a buddy, he probably wouldn’t have gotten lost.”

  “Yes. It’s one of the first things you learn in scouting—the importance of a buddy.”

  She patted him on the knee. “Well, I’ll be your buddy today, Spencer Jackson. And the lunch I brought is even better than the breakfast.”

  He resisted the urge to capture her hand and hold it on his leg. “What did you bring us for lunch?”

  “Ham and cheese sandwiches, made with some of Nana Etta’s fresh-baked ham,” she recited. “Chips, pickles, fresh pineapple chunks in a Ziploc bag, and homemade sugar cookies.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She nodded.

  An hour later, they’d hiked almost a mile up the Little River Trail. Spencer had found a bounty of trillium to photograph, both the white and yellow variety. They’d discovered fire pinks, showy orchis, and a world of different violets along the trail. Spencer even cut down a side path to photograph the remains of an old, rusted-out car left behind from the logging days.

  “I read that old car was a fancy Cadillac once belonging to one of the logging superintendents,” Zola said as they walked on up the trail.

  Spencer grinned. “Doesn’t look very fancy now.” He hoisted his tripod over one shoulder.

  Zola swung her arms happily while she walked. “Have you photographed anything special you might include in your new book today?”

  “Maybe. That squawroot you discovered is interesting.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s a parasite, you know. That’s why it’s yellow like it is and not green like most plants. It steals its chlorophyll from the trees it grows under.”

  She paused to take off her jacket and tie it around her waist. “You know, squawroot is really common in the Smokies, Spencer. I thought this book is supposed to be about hidden treasure in the mountains and the unexpected. Perhaps we’ll run across something more unique.”

  Spencer put out a hand to slow down her pace. “Maybe we just did, Zola. You might want to walk more to the left side of the trail.”

  She followed his eyes, and Spencer heard her quick intake of breath. “That’s a rattlesnake, Spencer.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “You don’t want to mess with him. He’s a big one.”

  The large snake lay coiled in a circle on a sunny spot on the side of the trail. His mottled, brown snakeskin almost blended in with the dirt.

  “He’s just resting in the sun on the side of the trail.” Spencer studied him. “I don’t intend to bother him or interrupt his siesta, but I think I might be able to get a shot or two of him if we’re quiet about it.”

  Zola retreated backward and climbed on top of a big rock beside the trail. “You don’t usually see snakes on well-hiked trails like this. They don’t like people, and they try to stay away from places tourists frequent.”

  Spencer focused his camera. “Yes, but it’s early. We haven’t seen anyone on the trail except for those two guys hiking down from Jakes Creek when we first got out of the car. He probably thought he could snag a little nap in the morning sunshine before the tourist traffic kicked in.”

  He heard her blow out a breath. “You know, I really think I could skip this experience, Spencer, and slip on by this big guy. Why don’t we simply let him sleep on? I’m not fond of snakes.”

  “I’ll only be a minute.” He squatted down now to plan and frame his shot. “This rattler blends in so beautifully with the trail and the rocks behind him. I think he’ll make a great photo.”

  He snapped off a few shots without the rattler even moving a muscle. Then the big snake seemed to sense the light from the camera and lifted his head from out of the coils. A soft rattle followed as he saw them.

  “That’s a warning. Time to go,” Spencer said, skirting carefully backward to catch Zola’s hand as she climbed down from the rock.

  They walked quickly up the trail, staying as far away from the snake as they could. Spencer heard Zola breathe a deep sigh of relief when they moved out of sight of the reptile.

  “I hope he’s not there when we come back.” She shivered slightly at the thought. “We really should have stayed clear of him.”

  “Yeah, but I got some great pictures.” He stopped to back up the digital camera to show her the shots he’d taken.

  “Eeew.” She made a face. “You zoomed in really close. It looks like you were right on top of him instead of a safe distance away.”

  He grinned. “They’re great shots. Maybe I can use one of them in the new book.”

  “Hmmmph.” She snorted. “I’d hardly call a rattlesnake an unexpected treasure in the Smokies.”

  He laughed and swatted her on the bottom. “It’s all in the eye of the beholder, Zolakieran.”

  Farther up the path, they found the sweeps of purple phlox Zola remembered seeing on an earlier hike on the trail. The flowers spread gaily in a broad, sunny area beyond the bridge that spanned the Little River. In a cluster by the stream bank, Zola also found lush stonecrop, with starlike white flowers, for Spencer to photograph. It was a pretty spot.

  “We can sit here in the grass by the bridge and eat our lunch if you like,” Spencer told Zola.

  He scanned a nearby hillside. “You get our things out while I walk up that hill to get some shots of those ferns around that fallen log.”

  She nodded and smiled as he started up the slope.

  A short time lat
er, Spencer came back to find Zola sitting quietly on a log by the bridge, the picnic still not out of her backpack. She looked tense.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, squatting down beside her.

  She looked up at him with big eyes. “I see the child.”

  “What child?” He dropped down to sit beside her, puzzled. “What are you talking about, Zola?”

  “The child that’s lost. I can see him.”

  Spencer felt a chill go up his spine. He hoped Zola wasn’t seeing a little corpse or something.

  “Is he all right?” Spencer finally asked.

  “He’s hurt.” She closed her eyes, looking pained. “It’s his foot, or his ankle or something. I can feel how much it hurts. He can’t walk anymore.”

  “Where is he?” Spencer laid a hand on her arm. “Can you see that, Zola? Can you see where he is?”

  “Only sort of.” She shook her head. “The Lord said you’d know where he is.”

  He stood up then, irritated. “Well, that’s nuts, Zola. How would I know?” He frowned at her. “You’re the one that does this seer stuff.”

  She took his hand and stood up, too. “No, Spencer. It’s the Spirit that sees. We’re simply the channels or the vessels for the spiritual gifts. And God is no respecter of persons. Everyone has the gifts deep within. It’s only that not many people walk in them.”

  He scowled. “I don’t think I’m going to be of any help here, Zola.”

  She led him over to a big boulder by the trail. “Here, sit down with me. I’ll tell you what I see and then you’ve got to pray to know the rest. Otherwise, we can’t go find him.”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “Why can’t we just hike out and tell the rangers what you’ve seen, Zola? I’ve got a cell phone in the car. We can call this in.”

  She gave him a small, patient smile. “Rangers and police like facts, Spencer, not what they call ‘speculation.’ They don’t put a lot of credence in the spiritual for answers to practical matters. Think about it and you’ll see why that probably isn’t a good idea.”

  He considered it. “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right. Even I have to admit the whole thing sounds kind of nutty and I know you.”

  She shook her head. “We have to go find him, Spencer. He isn’t too far away for us to get to. I know that for sure. And he’s praying for help.”

  Spencer heaved a big sigh. “So tell me what you know.”

  “He didn’t mean to get lost. He thought he was taking a little shortcut over this hill back to the shelter where they were staying. Only it didn’t work out like he planned.”

  “People need to stay on the maintained trails in the Smokies.” Spencer kicked at a stick below the rock they were sitting on. “They always get in trouble when they get off the trails.”

  Zola put a hand on his leg. “He didn’t mean to get lost, Spencer, and he’s truly sorry now that he tried that shortcut.”

  “You said earlier you saw he was hurt.”

  She nodded. “He wandered for a long time trying to find his way back. He must have gone deeper into the woods instead.” She closed her eyes again. “I think he found a stream at some point and thought if he followed that it would be good.”

  “You learn that in Scouts,” he put in, “that if you follow a stream it will usually lead you out, keep you from going around in circles. It also gives you something to drink if you get really thirsty.”

  She put her hand in his, continuing on. “About dark he found a trail. He got excited, thought maybe it would take him back. But he soon realized he was in a different place.” She paused. “He kept following the trail and the stream, because he didn’t know what else to do. Then he stepped in a hole—or something—and fell.”

  Zola winced as if she felt the pain. “That’s when he hurt his foot. He hobbled on in the dark, scared at all the night sounds, until he came to a place he thought would be safe to stay.”

  She looked at him with dark eyes. “This is the part I can’t see well. It’s by the creek but there seems to be a wide place by the trail. I see two creeks and two trails nearby. The trail he was walking on was steep, going downhill.”

  Zola stopped, shrugging. “That’s all I have.”

  He frowned at her. “That could be anywhere, Zola. Half the trails in the Smokies follow streams and there are hundreds of places where trails intersect.”

  She gave him a stubborn look. “Well, that’s where he is, Spencer. It can’t be too far from here or we wouldn’t have been given the knowledge to find him.”

  Spencer stood up, restless now. “There’s no ‘we’ in this, Zola. You’re the one who’s been given this to see.”

  “Let’s both pray,” she said, giving him an imploring look. “Maybe we’ll get some more. We need to find him.”

  Watching her drop her head and seeing her lips start to move, Spencer felt convinced enough to offer up his own silent prayers, too. He prayed she would see enough that if it were possible for them to find this child, that he would know where he was more clearly.

  “Do you see anything more?” he asked at last.

  She shook her head.

  “Tell me anything else you saw before.” He propped a foot on the boulder where she sat. “Anything, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

  She closed her eyes in focus. “The trail the boy came down before he got to the place I saw had some rough creek crossings. He felt scared getting across. There was a sort of broken-down bridge at one point but he was afraid to try to walk on it.”

  Spencer tried hard to think if he’d ever been on a trail that looked like this. He shook his head in frustration. “Did you see anything else, Zola? About where he is now. Anything odd or unusual.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “There is some sort of sign about being careful about bears.”

  Spencer’s head snapped up. “I think I know where he might be.” He felt adrenalin rush through his system. “There’s a campsite farther up on the Little River Trail. It’s about a mile and a half to two miles from here. The rangers have posted a warning sign there because there’s been so much bear activity. There wouldn’t be a sign like that at any place except at a recognized campground.”

  She grabbed his hand to squeeze it as he talked.

  He looked up the trail thoughtfully. “It would seem more likely that he wandered out along the Appalachian Trail or down Sugarland Mountain Trail below the Mount Collins shelter where he started out. It wouldn’t seem logical he would have found his way over the ridges and down to the back end of the Little River Trail. Not many people hike the trail to its upper end because of all the rough stream crossings.” He searched his memory. “I think there is an old rotted-out bridge toward the end of the trail, too. I walked up there hoping to photograph hawks one day.”

  Spencer turned to look at Zola’s now-hopeful face. “I’ve only hiked that way once, Zola. My memory might not be right. I haven’t received a vision or anything. It just seems likely from what you are telling me.”

  “I think what you’re getting is right,” she said, jumping off the rock to take his hand. “Let’s hurry. He needs help and he’s frightened.”

  Spencer led the way, and they began to follow the trail as it climbed higher into the Smokies. He noticed scaly sycamore trees along the way and wished, for a moment, he had time to stop and take a few photographs. It was a beautiful area. The river tumbled along to the right of the trail, and the sound of the cascades often filled the air.

  After a mile, they came to a trail intersection. Zola gave Spencer a questioning look then. It gave Spencer an odd pleasure to tell her they needed to continue on straight. He estimated the campsite he knew about was probably a half mile farther up the trail.

  “Do you know this child’s name?” he asked, curious about the depth of her gifts.

  “Eddie,” she said with certainty. “It’s Eddie.”

  He shook his head in amazement at her as they walked on.

  They crossed a bridge over
another stream—pouring in from the left—and then rock-hopped over several other sections of the Little River as it split out. Spencer pointed to their right as the campsite came into view.

  Zola took Spencer’s hand in a tight grip as they scanned the area. They saw no sign of a child.

  “Eddie!” Spencer called in a loud voice.

  A small shape hobbled out from behind a group of trees, holding to a stick with one hand and to the tree trunk with the other. “Here!” he called, waving a hand. “Over here!”

  Relief surged through Spencer at sight of the boy.

  After a happy moment of rescue, and some tears the boy tried hard to brush away, Spencer settled Eddie down on a fallen log so they could examine his foot.

  “There are no breaks I can discern,” Spencer said, after running his hands over Eddie’s ankle and foot. “My guess is that you’ve got a severe strain, maybe even a torn piece of ligament.”

  He dug in his backpack to locate an Ace bandage and began to wrap Eddie’s ankle in a figure-eight design.

  “Nice work.” Zola watched. “How did you learn to do that?”

  “I was an Eagle Scout. Scouts learn a lot of things they might need to know in an emergency.”

  Eddie hung his head. “I was dumb and tried to take a shortcut over a hill back to the shelter. I thought I’d seen Garrett go that way. He was my buddy and we were supposed to stay together, but I must have gotten confused. I didn’t realize I was lost for a while and then I didn’t know what to do. I called out a lot and thought someone would hear me, and answer, but no one did. I turned around and tried to go back the way I came, but I must have screwed up or something. The woods got really dense and thick.”

  He winced as Spencer finished his bandage. “I walked for a long time and then about twilight I found a stream. I remembered in my Scout book that if you get lost you should find a stream and follow it.”

  Spencer smiled at Zola. He’d told her that.