by Lin Stepp
Carter pointed to several quartz rocks in the display case sporting gold veins in them. “Most gold was found in quartz veins like this. Sometimes, when you are hiking in the mountains, you can find quartz pieces similar to these—some with bits of gold or copper running in them. However, most gold was panned from rivulets and brooks in the mountains.”
He discussed a rough map of the area and an old rifle and knife in the display case and then pointed to a small collection of gold pieces in a tin box. “Prospectors had different names for the gold pieces they found. Small bits like these—large enough to pick out of the pan with one’s fingers—were called ‘pickers.’ Bigger pieces, which could weigh up to several ounces or pounds if a prospector was lucky, were called ‘nuggets.’ Gold pieces larger than nuggets were rare in this area.”
Carter turned to the group. “Most of the gold in the Appalachian region was found along a forty-to fifty-mile-wide belt going through East Tennessee, North Carolina, Georgia, and Virginia. You can still prospect for gold in the Smokies—but you need a gold prospecting permit from the ranger station to do it.”
Kent leaned forward with interest. “Do people still find gold in the Smokies?”
“Some people still do, Kent, and a few tourist venues capitalize on this by offering sites to encourage tourists to pan.” Carter grinned. “Generally, these locations stock a little gold or a few flecks of gemstones in the panning areas to make their tourists happy.”
McMahan considered this thoughtfully. “With gold having seen a 20 percent increase in value lately—and with the price of gold now up to nine hundred dollars an ounce, it might be worth getting out the pans again and hitting the streams.” He laughed. “I read that some professional panners make sixty to eighty dollars a day panning around the Appalachian region. That’s not bad money while you’re having a little fun.”
The college kids began to talk enthusiastically about doing a panning expedition as Carter led the group out of the cabin and back down to the tram.
To her increasing irritation, Carter led the rest of the tour with equal aplomb and success. Rhea only barely kept her anger in check. She had no idea how he’d learned so much about gold mining in the area or how he remembered so much about Laurel Springs history after all these years. She could have kicked herself for handing the tour over to him.
In addition, Carter shared personal memories as he led the rest of the tour, memories Rhea didn’t want to remember. His eyes found hers often as he shared these old stories.
At the elaborate gazebo by the lake, he talked about how couples often danced there in the moonlight. “When you’re in love,” he said softly, “you make your own music.”
Rhea felt color rise in her cheeks. She and Carter had danced in the gazebo many times at night to music from a transistor radio, or to no music at all, just for the chance to be close and to hold each other. She focused her eyes out toward the raft built in the middle of the lake to avoid looking at Carter.
“There’s the raft my dad can swim to.” Taylor pointed toward the raft in excitement. “My dad said he and Rhea used to skinny-dip here at night sometimes when no one could see and they’d swim out to the raft.”
The group tittered and passed knowing looks to one another. Rhea thought she would die on the spot. This certainly didn’t help the professional image she was trying to maintain.
“We were very young then.” She smiled at Taylor. “About your age.”
Carter moved closer to her as they walked up the path back to the tram. “We weren’t always small when we skinny-dipped,” he whispered.
She jerked away from him in annoyance.
At the old one-room schoolhouse, the last point on the tour, Carter finally turned the tour graciously back over to Rhea. “I’m going to let Rhea close out the tour for you here at the school,” he said. “She knows more about the history of the Laurel Springs School than I do—especially since it was her great-grandmother, Rhea Ansley Dean, who restored the log schoolhouse and taught classes for the local children.”
He smiled at Rhea. “Rhea often dresses in costume and teaches classes here to show outsiders what school was like in the 1800s. You should stop by when her school hours are scheduled and sit in to sample the experience.”
Rhea, embarrassed and surprised at the compliment, stumbled over her words for a few minutes as she settled back into the tour discussion. She talked about the history of the school as she led her visitors through the log building, and then she drove the group back to the old meeting grounds, where the tour had begun.
Several in the group had established friendships by the time the tour ended. And the college kids were full of plans to go panning for gold, to take both hikes to the old cemetery areas, and to hike up High Ridge behind the Sutton place to catch the Lower Mount Cammerer Trail inside the Smokies park boundary.
“Thanks for letting us take your tour.” Taylor offered his hand to Rhea in a surprisingly adult manner.
She shook his hand. “I hope you had a good time.”
His eyes shone. “I did. And Dad’s going to take me and Beau swimming next and then Grandpa’s going to let me ride with him on his tractor.”
“That’s nice.” Rhea tried to smile again, but the strain of the day was wearing on her.
“I love Laurel Springs,” Taylor enthused. “And me and Beau are getting to be the bestest friends. Just like you and Dad were.” He paused. “Dad says we’re probably going to stay here to live and not go back to California.” His eyes shone. “We’re going to build our own house where the Costner cabin ruins are. That’s on Low Ridge not too far from your house. You told us about that place today, remember?”
Rhea nodded. She felt sick. The site of the Costner cabin ruins had always been a favorite tryst spot for her and Carter. They sat against the old rock chimney on the hillside many times planning how they would build a house there one day.
She felt Carter’s brown eyes probing hers and busied herself collecting weekly schedules from off the tram seat. Then she studied her watch.
“I need to go now.” Rhea attempted another smile. “I’m supposed to work in the store this afternoon for a few hours to cover for Jeannie, and before that time I need to do some work in the office.”
She turned toward the administrative building.
Carter’s voice started behind her. “See ya later… .”
“Don’t finish that, Carter.” She turned to frown at him, knowing the next words would be and love you forever, Rhea Dean. “The past can’t be recaptured. You need to keep that in mind.”
She strode off then, but she could feel his eyes following her.
CHAPTER 6
Carter’s thoughts centered around Rhea for the rest of the afternoon. It was proving more difficult to get back into her good graces than expected.
He took Taylor swimming in the lake and decided the old swim raft should definitely be replaced. The deck boards felt loose, and it shook so much on its worn foundations that it was downright dangerous. The big gazebo needed its roof replaced, the boat dock needed a total rebuild, and some of the canoes looked decrepit.
It saddened Carter to see how run-down many areas of Laurel Springs had become. He’d taken Taylor to see the administrative building and the old church after Rhea stalked off. Arriving late, they’d missed that part of the tour. The furniture and equipment in the ad-min building looked archaic, and the broad front porch of the long building seemed to be listing to one side. Carter scowled. The paint had even faded off part of the exterior of the church—a sorrowful sight to see. A stained-glass window in the church was broken and boarded over, and the old Scripture over the doorway had faded almost to oblivion.
He mumbled to himself as he walked through the assembly grounds, adding continual notes to the notepad tucked in his shirt pocket. Was the place this run-down when he left? Or did it just seem worse after so many years away?
Leaving Taylor to ride the tractor with his grandpa, Carter decided to walk t
hrough parts of the assembly grounds he hadn’t closely studied yet. He’d seen most of the historic areas on the tour earlier, so he walked up the Assembly Road toward the covered bridge now, wanting to check out the cabin and campsite roads.
He stopped and laughed out loud when he spotted a familiar weathered signpost at the junction of the East and West Cabin Roads. The top sign read “Thisa Way,” while the bottom sign said “Thata Way.”
“Shoot, I remember when I had this sign made,” he said out loud to himself. Rhea had made a joke one day about trying to decide whether to go Thisa Way or Thata Way, and he got a guy in high school shop to make the street sign.
He felt pleased to see it still standing.
Carter sighed. How could Rhea walk around this place every day and not think about him? Their memories lived in every nook and corner of Laurel Springs. He ran a hand through his hair. It’s why he could never come back when Judith was living. It would have driven him crazy to be here.
He started down the West Cabin Road, looking at the resort houses on either side of the paved lane. They all looked shabby. He scribbled notes as he walked, letting the old familiar names of the cabins comfort him—Hemlocks, Redbud Cottage, Leaning Oak, Hickory House, the Magnolia—still in the same soft colors of green, pink, gray, nut brown, and white.
Carter paused, noting sheets of blue plastic covering part of the roof of the Magnolia. He walked around the house and found a downed pine tree lying by the side of the house. A storm had obviously felled it right across the roof. With the house showing a gloomy look of disuse, Carter guessed the damage had been done months earlier—but never repaired. He marked it as a priority.
As he walked on down the road, he continued reading the signs in front of the houses alternating on either side—Wayside Way, Two Gables, Bluebird Stop, Sweetgum, Crow’s Nest, Summer House, and Mockingbird Hill—again all in a soft array of complementary colors.
Carter turned to start back up the street, savoring the sights of the picturesque cottages he so loved and enjoying the lyrical sounds of Little Cascades Creek tumbling over the rocks nearby.
Crossing the main road to East Cabin Road, he found the resort homes there equally derelict. Again he enjoyed reciting the names of the cabins as he walked, much like he and Rhea had done in singsong tones so many times as children, “Creekside Cottage, the Highlander, Pink Lady, Beech Grove, Dream Catcher, Four Seasons, Fox Den, Summerwind, Chestnut Place, Azalea House, Crescent Moon, and the Dancing Bear.”
He stopped to make a note that the Crescent Moon desperately needed new shutters and then detoured off the road to walk closer to the Dancing Bear. He and Rhea had painted and decorated this one themselves. A sweep of memories washed over him as he thought back. I wonder if that old set of car pictures is still on the bedroom wall. He tried to peek in the window but found the curtains drawn.
Annoyed at the memories, Carter headed back out toward the Assembly Road again. Maybe when he started fixing up Laurel Springs, Rhea would come around. He hoped so.
Carter walked through the covered bridge and then explored the West and East Camp Roads beyond the bridge. They paralleled the cabin roads on the other side of the creek but were set up for tent and RV camping.
There weren’t many campers using the sites, and Carter could hardly blame them. All the campsites needed to be cleaned up and resurfaced, and the grills needed replacing. He stuck his head into one of the bathhouses. “Yuck,” he said out loud. “These bathhouses need to be totally remodeled, too. They’re archaic.” He wrinkled his nose. “They smell musty, too.”
Knowing Rhea was working at the store this afternoon, Carter started up the road in that direction. If he kept putting himself in her face often enough, maybe he would break down that stubborn will of hers in time.
His lips narrowed in determination. Carter prided himself on his ability to rise above challenges and to maintain optimism in the face of discouragement. He certainly needed both of these traits with Rhea Dean right now.
A new wave of nostalgia washed over him as he walked up the porch steps of the Laurel Springs Market a short time later. Vintage tin signs still hung on the wall, battered wooden chairs lined the long porch, and the same old table with the checkerboard painted on top still sat in the corner. Heading inside through the rusted screened door, Carter could hear the soft chatter of local customers and the whine of country music on the radio. The vintage Coke machine that opened from the top still stood by the door, and the wood shelves in the store spilled over with the same mix of store goods and local crafts. A cluster of tables nestled near the back wall by the deli counter, and, amazingly, the ancient metal cash register was still ringing up sales.
A group of children sat eating ice cream cones at one of the tables, and Carter could hear Estelle’s voice and Jeannie’s over the din of the radio and the chatter of the kids. He looked around for Rhea and saw her, at last, propped in a corner, with Marshall Sutton leaning all too close to her.
A familiar rush of jealousy flashed in his veins as he pushed his way to the back of the store. Marshall Sutton had always nourished a yen for Rhea.
Carter saw Jeannie’s expression of surprise as he knocked over a chair on his way through the deli area.
“Hi, Carter,” Jeannie called.
Hearing Jeannie’s words, Marshall turned his way. “Well, Carter Layman.” He didn’t hold out a hand in welcome. “I heard you’d come back for a visit.” He propped an arm proprietarily against the wall beside Rhea.
Rhea glared at Carter, eyeing the chair that had clattered to the floor.
Carter slid an eye over Marshall’s sharp gray suit, starched shirt, and neatly knotted tie. His hair, as always, was cut army short to his head and his dark eyes were not friendly.
From his mother’s letters Carter knew Marshall had become quite successful in the banking industry.
“I guess from the suit that you must still be working at your daddy’s bank.” Carter knew his tone sounded condescending, but he hardly cared.
Marshall’s mouth tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “I’d say you’d know how that is—working for your wife’s daddy like you do.”
Carter felt his right hand clench into a fist. He’d never liked Marshall Sutton, and looking at him now, he knew that hadn’t changed.
He studied the arm leaned too close to Rhea against the wall. “Is Marshall bothering you, Rhea?” he asked softly.
Marshall smiled at Carter in answer—a sly smile. “Rhea and I have been dating for the last six months, Carter. Perhaps you didn’t know that?” He straightened his tie carefully. “But, of course, it’s hardly your business anymore what Rhea does, is it?”
Carter’s eyes slid to Rhea’s in question. She lifted her chin and put a hand on Marshall’s arm. “I need to get back to work, Marshall. But I’ll see you Friday night.”
He put a hand over Rhea’s, but his eyes connected to Carter’s when he replied. “Yes. I’ll see you then. Wear something pretty. We’re driving into Knoxville for the symphony.”
Carter’s eyes followed Marshall as he walked away. In another day and time, he’d have gone after him and beaten the crap out of him in the parking lot. He’d certainly done it before.
Jeannie Ledford broke his concentration by coming up to throw herself in his arms. “Carter Layman, you big heartbreaker. Why haven’t you been by to see me?” She leaned back to let her gray eyes dance into his. “Billy Wade says he’s seen you twice now, and I haven’t gotten to see you once.”
Carter relaxed, looking into Jeannie’s pixie-cute face. “Well, you’re seeing me now, Jeannie. How has life been treating you?”
“Just fine,” she answered. She looked him up and down. “And you still look as handsome as I remember.”
“That’s the honest truth,” added Estelle Denton, coming around the counter to give Carter a hug of her own. “Lord, Son, how long has it been since I laid eyes on you? You’ve grown from a scruffy country boy into a fancy, slick city man. Real
polished and fine-looking.”
“Now, Estelle, Carter was always good-looking,” Jeannie said.
Another throaty voice chimed in. “And he was always one the ladies chased after.”
Carter turned to see Marion Baker leaning against one of the soda tables. She gave Carter an appreciative glance.
“Hello, Marion.” Carter nodded her way.
“I hope you’re going to be around for a while to spend some time with your old friends. Some of us would really enjoy that.” She twisted the end of the long necklace that fell into the deep cut of her shirt. It drew attention automatically to the large bustline Marion had always been famous for.
Carter heard Rhea snort.
Marion heard it, too, and looked in her direction. “I’m real pleased, Rhea, that you and Marshall Sutton are an item just now. It gives some of the rest of us a chance to know Carter in a way we never could before.”
Carter let his eyes rove over Marion simply to vex Rhea. There was no doubt that Marion Baker was still a good-looking woman.
Seeing his glance, Marion took out a small business card from her pocketbook. “Here’s my card,” she said. “You call me sometime. I’m in the real estate business, as you can see, and you’ll note that the name is Marion Baker again.” She made a little pout. “You might have heard I married and became Marion Cruse for a time but my marriage didn’t work out. I took back my maiden name.” She paused. “So, I’m single again at the moment.”
Carter tucked the card in his shirt pocket while watching Rhea stomp over to the register to ring up a customer sale. He grinned. He’d always loved riling her up.
After Marion left, Carter sat down at one of the soda tables to catch up with Jeannie and Estelle. Rhea kept busy the entire time, but Carter knew she could hear their conversation. The Laurel Springs Market was hardly a large store, and sound carried. He and Rhea had listened in to all the local gossip in times past often enough.
