I opened the car door for her. “Bye, Mom.”
She sighed and got into the car, guided by my dad’s hand. He gave me an apologetic look and went around to the driver’s side. I walked between a couple of rows to my own little sedan.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, door open, engine running, I checked my phone. Sammie had answered. Sounds good. MLE misses you. When & where?
Forty Winks? I texted back. Just whenever you can make it, I’m free.
Her answer was quick: Cool be there in 30
I was reaching out to close my car door when I saw a manicured hand take hold of its top edge. I looked up to see my mother’s face.
“I’m sorry, Kelly,” she said. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just so concerned for you.”
“It’s OK, Mom. You want what’s best. I get it.” I stood up to give her a hug. She held onto me tighter than I had expected. Her perfume, a floral scent I had known since childhood, caused me to relax. I looked over her shoulder to see my father sitting in the idling SUV nearby. He winked at me.
My mother let go, favoring me with her pretty smile and reaching up to tuck an errant chestnut curl behind my ear. “Have fun with Sammie. Is the baby going to be there?”
“Yes. Sammie said Emma Lee misses me.”
“I’m not surprised. What about Rachael?”
“I don’t think she’ll be joining us. I haven’t talked to her in a long time.”
“Alright, go enjoy yourself. Hug that child for me. Be safe.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Chapter 3
Despite my irritation, I smiled as I pulled out of the parking lot. This drive always put me in a good mood.
Leaving Bellwether Church at the interstate, I turned onto Farm to Market Road 138 that would take me back to Grunwald proper. This was the Texas Hill Country as it appeared in postcards, eternally green with rolling peaks and deep valleys that made this area one of the country’s most at-risk for flash floods. I was headed for one of those low points.
The two-lane road cut a meandering path through the live oak and red cedar for a couple of miles before the big plunge. Grunwald lay near the bottom of an especially deep river valley called the Green Ravine, with a slope so steep it felt like the finale of a roller-coaster ride. Teenagers broke bones and scraped knees skating down this road so frequently that it had become something of a high school rite of passage.
The slope leveled off as I neared town. A mile or two ahead, the road would dip down one more time, then bridge over the dry bed of the Green Ravine River before winding east toward Canyon Lake. But I wasn’t going that far. The town stood on this flat stretch on the near side of the dry river.
Even on clear days like this, not much light penetrated this deep into the forest. A sort of fog hung in the branches above everyone who lived in Grunwald. Coming from the relative open expanse of San Antonio, the descent into the Green Ravine always felt like a trip into another world. An underground village. Or the medieval past. I assumed the hazy weather and dark greens of the forest had been a draw for the Germans and Scots-Irish who had settled the area in the 1800s. Comforts of home, or something.
I turned left off FM-138 and passed the big stylized billboard that said “Welcome to Grunwald; pop. 1,206.” Standing next to the sign was a weathered statue of a grizzly bear, carved and painted by hand, with an expression that was not very welcoming at all. The bear’s left front paw was raised by its face, and the right paw held a sign that stated “SPEED LIMIT 20 MPH.” The bear’s back feet melded into the tree stump from which it had been carved. Whittled into the bark below the bear were the words “Momma Kodi.”
There was the general store, the Veterans of Foreign Wars post, the gas station, the library, and the museum. Enticed by the increased traffic brought on by the megachurch’s arrival, a few more businesses had sprung up along the main street. One of these was the Sunday brunch place, Forty Winks.
I passed a side road that led to the residential area. My own home was nestled a quarter mile down that street. My single-story, two-bedroom house was seventy years old, like most of these homes, but it would have been perfect for starting a little family.
I shook that thought away as I parked in front of the restaurant. Forty Winks’s bright, colorful front did not quite fit in with the established shops of Grunwald.
The door swung open and a petite, pretty, wide-eyed southern belle scurried out carrying a virtually identical three-year-old girl in one arm. My Sammie and her Emma Lee.
“Auntie Kelly!” Emma Lee sang out. Sammie set her down and she ran for me, her pink dress shoes clopping along the pavement. I crouched down with outstretched arms, and when the child crashed into me I swept her up as I stood.
“Emma Leeeee!” I cried, my smile as wide as hers. “You almost knocked me over! You’re getting too big for this! How’s my girl?”
“I’ll knock you over when I’m… four!” she said gleefully, holding up a hand with outstretched fingers and her thumb tucked into her palm.
“Hey, hon,” Sammie said, putting a hand on my shoulder and standing up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “How are you holding up? Didn’t see you at church this morning.”
“No, I went to the early service so I could get out in time to meet my parents at Bellwether. Just got back.”
“Oh,” she answered, pouting her bright red lips. She took hold of my arm and led me into the restaurant. “Let’s get you some coffee, or maybe a mimosa.”
I laughed. “It wasn’t so bad. But I won’t argue with you.”
Inside was more of the same: bold primary colors, rounded corners, and modern steel tables. We got a booth and Emma Lee jumped into the seat next to me. By the time we had placed our orders, the smell of bacon and pancakes had driven my ugly thoughts away.
“What did your folks say?” Sammie said between sips of coffee.
“She mentioned that Bellwether is going to bring eligible bachelors of good moral character and no post-traumatic stress disorder.”
She made a face. “Where’s the excitement in that?”
Sammie was probably the only person I knew who truly sympathized with me. Her husband, like mine, was a combat veteran. In fact, the two men had been friends since middle school, growing up right here in Grunwald.
Even though I knew she was on my side, I didn’t feel like talking about this anymore. Thankfully, our food arrived, and that line of conversation ended when the meal began.
“So,” Sammie said after a few bites in silence, “you going to keep going to Bellwether?”
I looked up from my plate. “I can’t imagine doing that to Pastor Gordon.” I took a bite of pancake while I thought it over. “Almost no one goes to Saint John’s anymore besides us and the old people.”
Emma Lee sighed loudly and scraped a fork across her plate.
“Eat your tots, Em.” Sammie reached over the table and took the fork out of her hand. “How are Gordon and Maggie holding up, anyway?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t talk to them very much. I’ve been tossing around the idea of interviewing Pastor Gordon for my article, and I finally asked him this morning. He and Maggie invited me to dinner. I haven’t decided if I’ll take them up on it. I’m embarrassed.”
“So you’re finally writing something about Bellwether?”
“Yeah. I managed to put it off for this long, but Ike’s coming down on me now.”
“Well, Ike is nicer than me. I wouldn’t have put up with such unpunctuality.”
I shrugged. “What’s he going to do? Fire his one employee?”
“Fair point. Still, this is a great opportunity for you to shine. It would be good to know what Pastor Gordon thinks of this whole Bellwether thing. Ike will take the credit, but everyone knows you’re the real talent behind the paper.”
Chapter 4
The next week went by slower than I would have liked, but that was probably because I was looking forward to the upcoming holiday. I drifted through my usual routine, ha
nding in a couple of articles for Ike to print to the Green Grapevine, our local paper. Normally I wrote about the high school football team, the Grunwald Grizzlies, so I rode around on the bus with the team moms on Friday night. That wasn’t bad, but it was mundane. I was holding out for Wednesday—Veterans Day. The people of Grunwald went wild for this holiday, and for good reason. This town had a long and proud tradition of military service, and almost all of the older generation were veterans.
So almost the entire population would show up for the Veterans Day celebration, along with relatives and spectators from the surrounding area. Grunwald’s scramble to accommodate a sudden influx of three or four thousand people always made for some entertaining interviews.
People parked all up and down the main road, climbed into the riverbed, played pickup ball games in the school field, got their faces painted, and sipped ice-cold drinks. In front of the VFW post, a massive hand-painted banner proclaimed VETERANS DAY, WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 11TH, 2015. Some of the old guard had gotten together enough barbecue pits to grill hamburgers and hot dogs for all these people.
The middle and high school bands stood on risers nearby. They had opened the ceremony with the national anthem and a medley of the armed service songs for each military branch. Among their ranks stood the occasional old veteran who still had the chops to play a trumpet or saxophone.
Following Ike’s wishes, I had hung out in front of the VFW for the music and the speech by our mayor, Martin Vintner. As the tunes wound down, the portly fellow stood up from a picnic bench and made his way to the risers. The band director stepped down to let Vintner take his place.
The chief of Grunwald Police, David Branchett, followed Vintner out of the crowd and took a place just off to one side. The two middle-aged men were never far apart. Both of them were wearing matching red polo shirts and star-spangled blue sun visors. The only difference in their outfits was that Branchett was wearing his badge on an oversized leather gun belt around his hips. Hanging in a holster at his side was a shiny revolver. He never appeared in public without that goofy cowboy gun, and I never understood why.
The local professional photographer, Sam Schroeder, ran up to get what looked to be a pretty good shot of the two. I’d have to remind Ike to ask him for prints. Following his lead, I walked up, crouched in the grass in front of the first row of seats, and took out my phone to record the speech so I could pull quotes for the paper. No one acknowledged me—like Sam to my right, everyone knew why I was there.
Vintner waved away the polite applause. “Good afternoon, everybody. Thank you all for coming to honor our veterans and show your solidarity. Since Grunwald was founded, this town has never failed to step up when called. We’re proud of our tradition of serving and defending America. And thanks also to the newest member of the town council for helping us make this the biggest Veterans Day celebration ever. Where are you at, Chester?”
“Right here, right here.”
I had to do a double take. The televangelist, Pastor Cotton, had appeared at Vintner’s side before I had realized he was even approaching. He’d just shown up out of thin air. Maybe he had a natural talent for showing up in front of cameras.
Cotton put his hand on Vintner’s shoulder, taking a small step between the mayor and the crowd. “Sorry folks, couldn’t tear myself away from that barbecue. I’m sure you understand.”
Appreciative laughter.
“Now, don’t give me all the credit for today’s festivities. The mayor and everyone else on the council played a vital role, as I’ve heard they do every year. But, as Martin said, today’s not about ourselves. It’s about the sacrifices made by the veterans of Grunwald and all over the country. It’s about the men and women who gave some of themselves—and some who gave all of themselves—to ensure our safety and freedom. I’d like to lead you all in a quick prayer. Martin, do you mind?”
The mayor shook his head and wiped his brow. Branchett made a face I couldn’t decipher.
I let my phone’s recording feature run but didn’t listen during the prayer. My eyes wandered down the street, to the library and the museum beyond. I had to force myself not to start walking over there right now.
The “amen” came faster than I’d expected. Once Cotton had excused himself, Vintner didn’t have anything more to say. I sighed as I put my phone back in my pocket. It wasn’t the first time an article about a Grunwald event would contain more quotes from the local celebrity than from the mayor.
Still, I couldn’t stay disappointed for long. Now that things had settled down, I could disappear and enjoy the festivities for a little bit. I wandered across the main road and over to the museum, where a different sort of celebration would be taking place.
Aside from the newcomers from Atlanta, my boss was the only person in town who had lived here for less time than I had. Ike had no interest in Grunwald’s lore, and he’d explicitly told me a few times that he didn’t want me coloring any articles in the Grapevine with, as he so eloquently put it, “that crap.” So I had to hope he wouldn’t catch me here. He would know I was here for pleasure and not for business.
Chapter 5
The front face of the Grunwald Museum had been done up to look like a log cabin. Inside, I was treated to a dark room with a high ceiling. Twisting plastic tree branches reached down from above, and manufactured fog crawled across the carpeted floor. The curators of the museum did not shy away from the creepy aesthetics of their town’s reputed history.
Wooden railings around the perimeter of the room, apparently hand-cut branches of cedar, separated the public from the displays. I glanced at the impressively posed animals. They were far too large to be stuffed bodies of real creatures; they had to be extremely detailed models. Each stood over a plaque bearing their name and a description of their place in the lore. I’d been through here enough to read about them several times, so I didn’t give them more than a sweeping glance as I strode to the center the room.
Momma Kodi. King Firehide. Anvilback. Drag-Belly. Eld Stagger.
A group of about thirty elementary school children sat cross-legged on the floor, the mist crawling around their knees. Some parents leaned against the railings or looked at the displays.
Pastor Gordon Clegg, wearing a high-collared shirt and wooden cross necklace, drew close to speak softly in my ear. “I’m glad you’re here. He’s just about to start with this group.”
I couldn’t help but smile back. This day was the highlight of Pastor Gordon’s year. His son was in town. A gifted storyteller, Garrett Clegg would tell everyone willing to listen about the mythical history of Grunwald. Parents brought their kids in groups, and the story would be told every hour for as long as the Veterans Day celebration went on outside. I could stick around and hear it once before returning to my journalistic duties.
Pastor Gordon looked at his watch. “Alright, children. Let’s have some quiet, please. You don’t want to miss the story, do you?”
The kids ceased their idle chatter, exchanging glances. The parents headed for the door to wait outside, leaving one man facing the displays. He turned to the kids, taking a long pull from a bottle of water.
Garrett Clegg walked with a slight limp around to the display furthest from the exit. His heavy work boots made a distinct clomping sound, even on the carpet. He wore a ball cap pulled low, hiding his whole face except for the patch of black hair on his chin. His burly left arm was tattooed from shoulder to wrist. I could see the plastic cuff on his right forearm, but he kept his body turned so the kids could not see the prosthetic hook in place of his hand.
Garrett set the water bottle on the floor and sat on a bar stool against the wall beside the display. He cleared his throat and rested his chin on his hand.
“Since the dawn of time, when humans lived a nomadic lifestyle and wandered the earth, they’ve been able to adapt and settle in almost any environment.” The low growl of Garrett’s voice betrayed the fact that some damage had been done to his throat. “But there was one part
of this country that was too dangerous for anyone to live. Can anyone tell me where that is?”
None of the kids spoke up or raised their hands.
“Right here, in the Hill Country. Even during the Ice Age, when the world was cold and early humans fled this way from the north, the King of the Green Ravine would not let anyone live in this land. He kept it for himself and his servants. Can you see the evil King? Is he here in this room?”
After a pause, Garrett pointed his thumb at the animal display right beside him. “Give you a hint.”
Several hands shot up. Garrett waved his hand. “You can shout it out. I’m not your teacher.”
“Stagger!” the kids cried out.
“That’s right.” Garrett turned to look at the beast above him. “The Bramble-Crown. The First King of the Green Ravine, they called him. Eld Stagger.”
Standing straight and tall, chest thrust out, the gigantic brown-black deer towered over everything else in the room. His antlers formed curved points and were festooned with clumps of dangling moss. Lichen and patches of bark grew through his fur. His eyes were wild and rheumy, and his teeth were bared in a cruel sneer. Long fur around his head and neck formed a mane and beard.
“Back in those days,” Garrett said, “this part of the world was in the grip of a terrible curse. The whole land was covered in an evil forest that swallowed up people and animals, and they were never seen again. King Stagger wanted to spread this curse over the whole world. With his servants, he was well on his way to doing just that. Can anyone point out the two servants of King Stagger?”
Little fingers pointed, and his gaze followed. “That’s right. Those two next to him. They were his thugs who roamed the cursed forests and made sure no one dared to challenge Eld Stagger. There was Anvilback. He had a hide so tough that nothing could hurt him.”
Garrett indicated the display to the left of the deer where a scrappy grey-and-black badger crouched and snarled on a log. The beast’s sagging skin would have made him look silly and harmless, like an old basset hound, if not for the curved white claws and yellow teeth. I was not sure how large real-life badgers were, but this one was about as big as a medium-sized dog.
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