In a Dark Season

by Vicki Lane

  And the sky itself, pale where it touches the mountains, but deepening to that amazing, almost cobalt blue higher up. She could feel tears brimming in her eyes and she turned impulsively to Phillip. “I’m so glad to be here today. And so glad you’re here with me.”

  “Me too.” He was studying the view intently. “It’s funny—I didn’t think I’d been here before but it seems so familiar….”

  They walked, emerging from the trees onto an open field that stretched out and gently down to show an endless vista of layered pastels in the distance. A little farther and they were at the metal sign that marked the summit.

  “It’s the top of the world!” Throwing open her arms, Elizabeth turned in a slow circle, her head back and her face to the cloudless sky above. “The perfect place.” Catching sight of Phillip’s beaming smile, she went to him and hugged him hard. “You thought I was going to break into a chorus of ‘The Hills Are Alive,’ didn’t you? I swear, if I could carry a tune, I probably would. Isn’t this amazing!”

  Without waiting for a reply, she released him and pointed to the footpath that snaked its way across the meadow to disappear into a small dip.

  “Want to do a little section of the Appalachian Trail? We could follow it till lunchtime, have our picnic, then head back.”

  They ate their ham-and-cheese sandwiches sitting on the dry grass of a little hollow just off the trail. The sun was warm there, and in spite of the coffee they had shared from a small thermos, they both felt drowsy and little inclined to move.

  “I’m going to stretch out for a few minutes, Lizabeth.” Phillip yawned and, shoving the sandwich wrappings back into his knapsack, lay down, using the lumpy little bag as a pillow. “Ten minutes, no more,” he promised.

  Elizabeth sat quietly, trying to absorb the beauty and the peace that she felt all around her, to let it flow through her and become a part of her being. The soft touch of the sun, the familiar bitter tang of the coffee in her mouth, the scents of dried grass and clean mountain air, the deep, deep, mesmerizing blue of the sky above her, the murmur of the breeze in the trees just below…

  There’re leaves on those trees. That’s impossible.

  With the help of her hiking staff, she levered herself up and took a few tentative steps down the steep slope toward the golden-foliaged wood. I know some trees hold on to their leaves a lot longer than others, but this is unbelievable.

  She blinked. A thin curl of blue smoke was wisping up in the midst of the golden billows below her. She blinked again and saw, through the trees, the outline of a log house with a tall stone chimney that was the source of the smoke. Weird. I didn’t think anyone lived up here.

  Looking back at Phillip, she saw that he was sound asleep, his chest rising and falling, his lips parted in a half-smile. He must be having a nice dream. The sight of him aroused tender feelings—maternal, rather than erotic, she noted with amusement.

  “You folks picked a good day to come up here.”

  She dropped her staff. Swinging round, she saw a man climbing toward her from out of the golden grove. A battered black felt hat was on his head, and he wore loose jeans and a brown jacket that might have been fashioned from a woolen blanket. He looked to be in his forties, possibly younger. His face was brown and weather-worn but his eyes sparkled blue and clear as the sky, a webbing of fine lines at their corners.

  “You surprised me. I didn’t know anyone lived up here anymore. Are we trespassing? We didn’t mean to.” She stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Elizabeth Goodweather. I have a farm over near Ransom.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miz Goodweather. James Suttles. No, ma’am, you’re not trespassing. You and your man are just where you ought to be.”

  His smile was as warming as the sun and he looked at her, she thought, as if he knew the answer to some question she hadn’t yet learned to ask.

  “Is that your place down there?” As she looked past him, she could make out more shapes beyond the trees: a barn with a white mule standing in the open doorway, the log house and several outbuildings, rows and rows of small trees and shrubs, and a kitchen garden with covered beds. “You must be quite a gardener, to have things growing at this time of year.”

  “Anytime’s good for growing, if you give your heart to it.” He smiled that secret smile again and bent to retrieve her hiking staff. For a moment he held it in both hands, then offered it to her. She took the staff and almost dropped it again. The familiar touch of dry, long-dead wood was gone: the stick in her hand was as cool and moist to the touch as a fresh-cut sapling.

  What is this? Am I dreaming? Phillip’s the one who’s asleep.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I told you, Miz Goodweather, I’m James Suttles. I’ve lived here for quite some time—time out of mind, as folks say.”

  He looked up at the sun, now past its zenith and sliding westwards. “You know, to the old people, this was one of those special days. Solstice, they called it. In the Latin, that means ‘sun stands still.’ And when the sun stands still, well, you might say that time stops…”

  Is this man crazy? Or am I? Am I on the other side of the mirror?

  “…and when time stops, past, present, and future are all the same. It doesn’t matter which side of the mirror you’re on.” His smile was gone now and his stern eyes were boring into her. “You need to stop worrying about the past and the future, Miz Goodweather. Don’t you see they’re all the same?”

  Elizabeth stared, speechless.

  James Suttles raised his hand and pointed behind her. “Your man’s waking. You’d best go to him now.”

  She turned her head and looked back up the slope to see Phillip rousing and rubbing his eyes. “Go on now,” the gentle voice urged.

  Without looking back, she obeyed.

  The Drovers’ Road VI

  Driving Red Will’s Hitch

  Luellen took on right much at my leavin but Ol’ Luce told her that she could spend the time I was gone readyin her clothes and bedding, for when we was wed.

  Lydy studied the grimy cuff of his homespun shirt and ran his hand over the knee of his jeans pants. Luellen made these here clothes for me—they was to be for our marryin. A look of regret passed over his face. Then he shook his head and continued his story.

  The Professor, who had been diligently plying a wood sliver in an attempt to clean his fingernails, ceased his exertions. It must have been difficult to tear yourself from the bosom of your intended and take to the road. I can only speculate—

  Tell the truth, Professor, I was plumb tickled to be goin. Bein at the stand day atter day and watchin the stagecoaches and wagons comin from places I had only begun to hear of and on their way to places I hadn’t never been—well, hit had put a longin in my heart to see some of the world afore I settled down at Gudger’s Stand.

  Luellen’s eyes was red with cryin when she waved good-bye the next mornin. I set up high on that wagon seat with the reins in one hand and a whip in the other and couldn’t do more than nod her way. It was a four-mule hitch they had give me to drive, and corn and the night’s rest had made them rank. The near leader, a big sorrel horse-mule they called Pete, had danced around like a unbroke colt when I come to put the gears on him, and they was all of them right mettlesome. There weren’t no time for sweetheart good-byes.

  And when the lead team turned their noses to the road and all the wagons swung in behind, I felt my spirit lift again just like when I run off from my uncle’s place, though it remained my firm purpose to marry Luellen in December. I had no doubt that her daddy would keep his word and I figgered that someday hit might be me with the keys to the storeroom and a chest full of gold, like everyone said Ol’ Luce had. But Luellen’s way of hangin on me all the time had come to seem kindly tedious. And she was bad to take chances, slippin out at all hours to where I slept—ever since that first time, I had gone in fear of what Ol’ Luce might do, was he to find us layin together afore we was wed.

  We
set off downriver, following in the ruts of all the wagons and stagecoaches that went back and forth between South Carolina and Tennessee. The road bein dry, hit made for easy travelin. And by the time the sun was shinin full on us, the mules had settled down and I could lean back and take it all in. The clompin of the hooves, the jingle and creak of the harness, and the steady sound of the river filled my ears. Up the mountain to the right I could hear the hammerin of one of them big peckerwoods and then that crazy laughin sound they make when they take wing.

  I tell you what’s the truth, hit were a fine day to be alive. I dug a journey cake out of the poke Luellen had give me and gnawed on it as we went along.

  It was nigh midday when we come to a stand. Not near to the size of Gudger’s, hit had a few lots for stock, a long low log house, and, set back behind a big garden, a little stone house. They was a stagecoach stopped out front and a boy was unhitching the horses. Passengers was climbin out of the inside and down from the top and they was headin for the porch of the log house, where a dark-complected feller waited to bid them welcome. I seen a tall woman, almost as dark as him, coming through the garden with a big basket of greens on her arm. There was flowers in the black hair that fell loose down her back, most to her knees.

  The feller drivin the wagon in front of me threw up his hand and hallooed but we kept on goin as Baylis was naming to make it to Warm Springs by nightfall. We was haulin dry goods from the mills of South Carolina as well as a world of stores for some big fancy place there at the springs.

  It’s called a ho-tel, one of the fellers told me when we stopped that night at the inn just across the river from Warm Springs. The Patton Hotel. Used to be an inn there, just a regular stagecoach stop like this. But then word got round about the warm springs and how the waters could cure all kindly of ills, so rich and sickly folks begun to travel from the lowlands just to waller in the water that comes flowin out of the ground already hot. Then the Patton family bought the place and built this great fine building, three stories high and beds for near three hundred people. Why, says he, they even got a room just fer dancin, and hit so big the whole of Gudger’s stand house could fit inside.

  Now I found such a tale hard to credit and started to speak, not wantin to be taken for a fool. But another feller who was there at the table—a little feller, travelin alone and headed for South Carolina—he leans over and says real low, What kin you boys tell me of Gudger’s Stand? I heared things…and he cast his eyes about the room real skeered like.

  What manner of things? says ol Baylis, starin at the traveler like a bull about to charge.

  Well, there’s some who say folks has stopped there for the night and never been seen again. The little feller drew back from Baylis’s gaze. Understand, I don’t say it’s so. Just what I heared.

  Baylis flung his big head back and let out a great laugh. Only thing you need fear at Gudger’s Stand is gittin tangled up with Gudger’s wife. He don’t take kindly to that. But I don’t believe—and Baylis looked the little feller up and down like he would the runt of a litter and hit hardly worth drownin—I don’t beleeeeve, he said, drawin the word out long and grinnin fit to bust, that she’d take to you nohow. She likes em big and young.

  Ever one there nodded and one said, Now that’s the truth, and somebody asked me what had happened to that Ramsey boy used to work there. He went off, I said, and I seen one of them fellers nudge the one next him.

  That’s enough idle talk, boys. Baylis stood up and yawned. We got to get these goods unloaded first thing in the morning and be on our way to Greenville.

  But before we hit our bedrolls, Baylis come over to me. Lydy, says he, they’s a feller here has driven for me back of this and he wants me to take him on. I appreciate you drivin Red Will’s hitch today but now’s your chancet. I’ll pay you fer your time and you can walk on back to Gudger’s Stand and be with your sweetheart by tomorrow evening…or, if you druther, I can put in a word for you with the folks at the hotel—bein as Ol’ Luce ain’t lookin to see you till December. Come fall, you could go with a drive and see a little of the world.

  He looked at me real close and said a quare thing. Might be good for your health, boy, was you to stay here in Warm Springs.

  Chapter 19

  Aunt Omie Remembers

  Thursday, December 21

  Where were you?” Phillip yawned and looked at his watch. “I feel like I slept for hours, but it was ten minutes, on the nose.”

  “I went down there a ways.” Elizabeth motioned to the slope behind her. “To get a close look at those trees. And then there was—”

  He craned his neck. “That’s a pretty spot, the way it’s sort of set off from everything. Look how the light hits on the ice and makes it look gold instead of white. Of course, with the sun on it that way, there won’t be any ice at all in another half an hour.”

  A strange look crossed her face and she turned slowly. She stood there, her back to him, scanning the wood below as if looking for something. He watched as she shook her head slightly, then raised her hiking staff to examine it minutely, running her fingers along its length. At last she turned and came to sit beside him.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” He peered into her face, puzzled.

  “I’m fine—maybe a little…I guess ‘mazed’ would be the word. Drunk on the day and the scenery.”

  She grinned and, to his relief, it was the familiar Elizabeth again. Reaching for the knapsack, she said, “I think I need some more coffee before we start back.”

  He was behind her as they started up the trail to the summit. She strode along with a spring in her step. All traces of the odd mood that had possessed her were gone.

  A spectacular place, he thought, gazing at the blue mountains folding away on every side. I can see what she meant about wanting to sing. He cleared his throat in an exploratory way, then began, quietly at first but rapidly gaining confidence and volume.

  “We hike along the woodland trails,

  And if the way is long,

  We drink some booze…”

  She had stopped and spun around at the first notes and was regarding him with an incredulous expression.

  “…we take a snooze;

  And lift our voice in song.”

  It was a decent baritone, he decided, and it rolled out impressively across the open meadow. As he caught up to Elizabeth, he saw that her lips were moving, but he couldn’t tell if she was singing very softly or just mouthing the words.

  “Happy me! HAPPY WE!” He boomed out the syllables and was pleased to hear her low, slightly off-key, accompaniment.

  “Happy ME!”

  She fell in with him and they strode toward the summit, matching step for step as they swung along in time to the song.

  “Happy we-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” They shouted the line together, and both were instantly seized by laughter—gut-wrenching, deep-welling belly laughs. Elizabeth’s long legs folded under her and she sank to the ground, chortling, her eyes streaming. A second later, he joined her. They laughed till the sound of their mirth echoed back from the valleys below, like the calls of a band of lunatic yodelers.

  At last, weakly wiping a sleeve across her still-wet eyes, Elizabeth leaned against him. “I can’t remember when I last laughed like that…it’s been a very, very long time. I had no idea—you obviously have depths of which I was not previously aware. Where did that silly song come from? I recognized the tune—that fal-de-ree song about hikers—but somehow I don’t remember the words being quite so…so…”

  “Juvenile?” Phillip’s expression was innocent. “I cannot tell a lie, ma’am; I wrote those words. When I was twelve. Eagle Scout Hawkins of Troop Four. When we weren’t annoying old ladies by helping them to the other side of streets they didn’t want to cross, we were hiking and singing. Want to hear a verse of ‘The Caissons Go Rolling Along’? Or how about ‘Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends’?”

  “If I laugh anymore, I won’t be able to walk back to the car. Let me catch m
y breath.”

  They sat quietly, his arm draped around her. After a moment or two, she turned to him, lips parted as if about to speak.

  I could happily drown in those eyes. The thought came out of nowhere and caught him by surprise. Damn! That doesn’t sound like me. This place is getting to me too.

  Her eyes were still on him, somehow expectant. I wonder…this was the day we were going to talk about where I would live when I take the job with Mac…and if we’d get married. But everything’s good right now—why bring up something we might not agree about? And what does it matter, really? If she doesn’t want to be married, then—

  “Phillip?”

  “Yes, my love?” He was drowning, sinking willingly into the deep blue pool of her gaze. “What is it?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  The rime ice had all melted away by the time they walked, hands linked, back to the car. The return drive was through woods of lavender shadows and indigo trunks, rather than the crystalline wonders of the morning. He drove slowly, afraid to risk any disturbance of this newfound perfect harmony. But one thing had to be said.

  “Lizabeth?”

  “Phillip?” She looked like a child in the midst of a happy dream as she turned to him.

  “Lizabeth, I want you to be sure. About getting married, I mean. Today was so…I don’t know how to describe it. But if you wake up tomorrow and decide that you were high on mountain air and you’ve made a mistake—I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

  Before she could reply, he overrode her. “How about we keep this quiet for now; give you time to make sure? If on New Year’s Day you still feel the same, then we’ll tell everyone.”

  “If that’s what you want…” She tilted her head at him. “But I won’t change my mind.”

  “So you young uns has been up to Max Patch. I’ll just bet hit was a sight on earth! I ain’t been up there in the longest time. Phillip Lee, you kin put them packages over yon where a body won’t trip over them. Ay law, Lizbeth, look at the color in your cheeks; today you’re as purty as a bloomin’ rose.”