Every Hill and Mountain

by Deborah Heal

  As they stood there discussing what to do next, the Salt Queen came bouncing down the crumbling sidewalk toward them. As she got closer, Abby estimated her age at fifteen or sixteen.

  Abby smiled at her. “I loved your music. I’m sorry I didn’t get to hear more.”

  “Thanks,” the girl said. “But if y’all are going to be around, we’ll be playing ‘til dark. We’re just taking a break.”

  “Pardon us, Your Highness,” John said with a courtly bow, “We are from a distant land and know not of this Salt Festival. Can you tell us about it?”

  She laughed and curtsied to him. “I guess I’d better be able to,” she answered, winking at them. “It’s part of my job description, after all. But can y’all walk with me as I tell you? I need to check on my grandma up yonder before I go back to fiddling on the square.”

  Just ahead on the right, a small house covered in gray asphalt shingles stood in the shade of a mulberry tree. A small wooden table sat crookedly on the sloping sidewalk in front. Abby couldn’t tell what was on the table, but she and the others followed as the girl continued on down the sidewalk toward it.

  “You see,” the girl began, “salt was really important around here—since way back—because of the salt springs. You can see buffalo trails all over the place, if you know where to look. The Half Moon Salt Mine just outside of town is named for the crescent-shaped indentation where for thousands of years mastodons, buffalo, and other animals came to lick the salty soil. The Piankashaw and later the Shawnee Indian tribes made salt at the springs using clay evaporation bowls. They traded the salt to other Native American tribes in the area and as far away as Cahokia and Peoria. You can see evidence of their presence by the pottery shards, arrowheads, and other cool artifacts they left behind. Thomas Jefferson considered our salt springs national treasures. And in the early years after Illinois became a state in 1818, as much as one-seventh of the state’s revenues came from the sale of salt. Unfortunately for us, the saline content of the spring eventually declined until it became unprofitable to manufacture salt here.”

  When the girl paused for a breath, Abby said, “Wow, you’re an excellent salt queen.”

  “You could say,” John said, “she’s worth her salt.”

  “Why thank you,” she said, smiling again at John. “I’m glad you know that saying. Which, as you probably already know, comes from the fact that it was such a valuable commodity that people were often paid in salt. We get the word salary from the word salt. Our Saline River flows into the Ohio, and Saline County is just next door.” She stopped suddenly and grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I tend to get carried away. That was probably more than you ever wanted to know about salt.”

  “No, that was great,” Abby said. “I love learning about stuff like that.”

  When they got to the table in front of the little gray house, Abby saw that jars of some amber-colored substance stood in rows on it. Beside them, colorful handmade potholders were fanned out, each cleverly designed and expertly stitched. “They’re like little quilts,” she said, picking up one fashioned from coordinating blue and white fabrics. “Look at the workmanship.”

  “Aren’t they darling?” Kate said. A hand-lettered sign made from a brown paper grocery bag taped to the side of the table indicated the potholders were two dollars each.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the Salt Queen said.

  “You made these?” Abby asked.

  “Yep. My grandma taught me to sew. She’s minding the stand while I fiddle.”

  John picked up one of the jars and studied it. “Maybe I’ll get some of this honey for my dad.” He looked around. “Do I pay you or your grandma?”

  Abby heard a creaking sound coming from the porch. An elderly woman she had not noticed before was rising from a porch swing. “Sold three while you were gone, Patty Ann,” she said as she trudged slowly down the front walk toward them.

  “Hey, Grandma,” the girl said, walking forward to put an arm around the old woman’s waist. “I thought you’d gone on in to look at TV. This is my Grandma Ethel Frailey.”

  After Abby introduced herself and the others, Patty Ann said to John, “That’s sorghum, not honey. My dad makes it.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.” Ryan said it as if he doubted her since he hadn’t been aware of sorghum before. “What is it for?”

  Patty Ann looked shocked at his ignorance. “For putting on your biscuits,” she said kindly as if she were dealing with a particularly slow child. “I like it on leftover cornbread too.”

  “Do you live nearby, Patty Ann?” Abby asked.

  “No. We live out in the hills. Least ways for now.”

  “Do you ladies mind if I draw you?” Kate asked, turning to a fresh page in her sketchpad.

  “I don’t mind,” Patty Ann said. “Do you, Grandma?”

  Nodding her permission, the old woman looked solemnly at Kate.

  “Smile,” Kate said, already starting to draw.

  “She’s not wearing her teeth today,” Patty Ann explained.

  “You’re an artist, too,” Abby said, turning back to the potholders on the table. “These are all so great. I don’t know which ones to choose.”

  “Why, thank you.” Patty Ann said it from the corner of her mouth as she stood beside her grandma trying not to move.

  Finally, John decided on two jars of sorghum, and Abby picked out several of the potholders. They laid their money on the table, but Abby felt a bit like a bandit for paying such a small sum for the little works of art.

  “Kathryn, you’d better hurry,” Ryan said. “if we’re ever going to find that library.” He turned to Patty Ann. “Are we close?”

  “I wouldn’t plan on walking if I were you,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Well, we’ve walked this far.”

  “It’s your business, of course. But the nearest library is ten miles away in Shawneetown.”

  “But the goat woman said it was by the Dollar Store.”

  Patty Ann, obviously forgetting about posing for Kate, drew herself up to her full height and turned to glare at him. “That’s Mrs. Barnett. She must have assumed you’d realize that a village the size of Equality couldn’t possibly support a public library—or a Dollar Store—and that Equality citizens use the library—and Dollar Store—in Shawneetown, which is the nearest real town.” She looked at her watch. “But it’s closed now, so you’ll have to wait until Monday.” There was a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

  Ethel cackled behind her hand. “Now, Patty Ann, you be nice to our visitors.”

  Abby held back a laugh herself when she saw that Ryan had received Patty Ann’s message loud and clear and was looking a little chastened.

  “Why can’t we go to the library tomorrow?” Ryan asked.

  “It’s Sunday, Rye,” John said. “Libraries are closed on Sundays.”

  “How should I know that? I buy all my books.”

  “What about restaurants?” John asked hopefully. “I don’t suppose….” He put the sorghum and Abby’s potholders in his backpack and zipped it closed.

  No doubt John sincerely wanted to know, but he was also obviously trying to change the subject. She’d have to give him a star for diplomacy.

  “Sure, we’ve got a restaurant,” Patty Ann answered with a small sniff. “The Red Onion on Lane Street.”

  “How do we get across the ravine?” John asked.

  A loud boom sounded and then a series of smaller ones followed. They all automatically ducked at the sudden noise, John drawing Abby close to his side. A dog started barking from inside the gray house. It sounded like the small yapping type.

  Ryan swore, but had the grace to look apologetically toward Patty Ann and Ethel. “What on earth was that?”

  “Just Sherman doing some more blasting,” Patty Ann said. Her expression was one of deep sadness as she looked at her grandmother.

  “Don’t you worry so, Patty Ann.” The old woman pulled her granddaughter into a hug. �
�Remember, God’s going to make all things new again one day.”

  “I know, Grandma.” Patty Ann drew away from her and said, “Well, you’d better go in and calm Brownie down. I’ve got to get back to fiddling.”

  “Let’s go listen,” Abby said.

  “I’m game,” Kate said. “I want to do some more sketches.”

  “After we eat,” John said.

  Kate tore the sketch she’d made from her pad. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to Patty Ann.

  The girl studied the drawing and then looked up in amazement at Kate. “You’re good, really good.” She held it up for Ethel to see. “Look, Grandma, you’ve got an actual portrait done by an actual artist.”

  The old woman forgot to be embarrassed about her toothless state and smiled happily at Kate. “Patty Ann, you’ll have to make me a frame for it. We’ll hang it in the living room next to your grandpa’s picture.”

  As always, Kate’s talent amazed Abby. Her sketch of Ethel and Patty Ann captured their love for each other and, beyond that, their strength and pride. Ethel was still smiling at the sketch when they left, and her dog Brownie was still yapping.

  Chapter 8

  The Red Onion Restaurant was behind the inflatable Disney castle with its flock of laughing kids, which was why they had missed it earlier. When they stepped through the doorway, a blast of cool air hit them. Abby sighed in relief and vowed that no matter what was on the menu, she was staying as long as possible.

  A waitress smiled and said, “Sit anywhere you like.” John held the door for a pair of ladies coming in after them, and the waitress’s smile super-sized. One lady had white hair permed high and wore a turquoise T-shirt adorned with rhinestone-studded birdhouses. The outfit looked like one the Old Dears would favor, and Abby smiled to herself.

  “You want sweet tea, Bernice, Alma?” the waitress asked as she hurried past, the wooden floor creaking under her feet.

  “You read my mind, Shireen,” the birdhouse woman called after her. “We’re parched.”

  The place was nearly full, but Ryan led the way to an empty booth near the back. He stood while Kate slid in next to the wall, and Abby and John followed their lead. The artificial wood grain was nearly rubbed off the tabletop, but the seats were comfortable. The tall ceiling overhead was of vintage pressed tin and gave the room a quaint charm.

  Abby looked around with interest. Three guys in matching work shirts and John Deere caps glanced her way but turned, almost shyly, back to their meal. She smiled at the young woman at the table next to theirs, who nodded a return greeting and went back to dealing out french fries to her three small children.

  Kate handed everyone menus from the rack in front of her. Studying the selection, Abby made a bet with herself that Ryan would choose the chef salad as the least objectionable item.

  “Oh, they’ve got corndogs,” Kate said. But when the waitress returned, she ordered the chef salad after a regretful look at Ryan.

  Abby went for the cheeseburger, and John chose a catfish sandwich.

  “How can you eat that?” Ryan asked. “Do you realize catfish are scavengers, bottom feeders?”

  John just rolled his eyes and smiled apologetically to the waitress while Ryan continued to frown over the menu. The waitress shifted from one foot to the other until Ryan finally looked up and said, “I’ll have the chef salad also. With vinaigrette dressing. Only please bring the dressing on the side.”

  Abby awarded herself ten points.

  “What are you smiling about?” John asked.

  “I’m just happy,” she said.

  “Miss?” Kate said, “I wonder if you could help us?”

  “Why sure,” the waitress answered. “I’d be glad to if I can.”

  “I’m trying to find some relatives of mine. Do you know of any Greenfields around here?”

  Putting her pen and pad back in her apron pocket, she cocked her head and thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Not in town anyway. You could ask Chief Logan. He knows pretty nearly everyone out in the hills.”

  “We already did,” Abby said.

  “Mayor Windham may know.”

  When the waitress left, Ryan scanned the restaurant with a sneer barely disguised as a smile. “Can you believe these hoosiers wearing their gimme caps indoors? Obviously no one taught them manners.”

  “Do you really think so?” John asked.

  Kate seemed to be wearing blinders when it came to Ryan. Or maybe she was not the real Kate at all. Maybe all those stories about alien abductions were true. In any case, the Kate Abby knew and loved would never condone disparaging others.

  “You might want to try the style yourself, Ryan,” John said. “A cap covers a multitude of sins.”

  “What do you mean?” Ryan worriedly ran his hands over his hair and then rose suddenly. “Excuse me, Kathryn, Abby. I’ll be right back,” he said, heading toward the rear of the restaurant.

  “John!” Abby said. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Please don’t tease him about his hair,” Kate said. “He hates it if it gets messed up.”

  John made a face. “I know, I know. I’m sorry for acting so juvenile.”

  But it was hard to be too annoyed with John, since his comment had made Ryan leave. “So anyway, Kate, you asked where John and I were. Well, we managed to do a little time-surfing in the Methodist Church while you and Ryan were making goo-goo eyes.”

  “So it’s working? Did you find Ned?”

  “Yes, it’s working. No, we did not find Ned. But we did hear Hickory Hill mentioned.”

  “The thing is,” John said, “A guy named John Granger owned it—at least he did at one time.”

  “We saw the famous General Lawler too,” Abby said. “He was related by marriage to Granger.”

  “We would have surfed more to see when the Greenfields lived at Hickory Hill, but Reverend Henderson came in and we had to leave.”

  “Quiet,” Abby said. “Here comes Ryan.”

  “But what are we going to do next?” Kate whispered.

  “I don’t know. John and I will think of something. And, John? Try to behave, will you?”

  “I promise. To try.”

  “Ryan, you got back just in time,” Kate said. “Here comes our food.”

  Ryan picked all the ham out of his salad, and Abby wondered how he ever got enough protein to survive. Her burger was wonderful, much better than the one at McDonald’s earlier, and she learned a new adjective to describe it when one of the cap-wearing customers thanked the waitress and told her his burger was “larrapin’ good.” She made a mental note to look that up and add it to her list of interesting words when she got home. She studied the chalkboard on the wall across from them where someone had listed the desserts. She was torn between chocolate pie, peach cobbler, and apple crumb cake.

  Ryan dabbed at his lips, folded his napkin precisely, and placed it next to his plate. “So when do we set up the computer?”

  Abby struggled to find an answer that wasn’t a lie and finally settled for, “It’s still a little too early for that.”

  “Why? We’re getting nowhere without it,” Ryan said.

  “It’s not exactly working right,” Kate said, “But Abby and John found a clue about Hickory Hill. We need to do some more asking around.”

  “Is it working or isn’t it, Kathryn? Because if it’s not, there’s no use sticking around here. Give me your keys and I’ll drive. You can nap on the way home.”

  “Home? We’re not going home,” Kate said, making no move to hand over her keys. “And I’m not tired.”

  “Obviously, the day has been a complete waste,” Ryan said. “And if the library and courthouse are as hoosier as everything else around here we won’t find—”

  “Well, I’m not going home until I’ve tried,” Kate said.

  “So, we’re going to hang around here all day tomorrow doing what?”

  “Asking about Ned Greenfield and Hickory Hill. Besides, it’s picturesque. Th
ink of it as a vacation.”

  “Why didn’t we think to ask Patty Ann or her grandma?” John said.

  Abby smacked the side of her head. “Duh. It didn’t even occur to me.”

  Ryan heaved a sigh and got out his wallet. “Okay, let’s go see if we have any better luck finding Mayor Windbag Windham than we did the library.”

  In spite of Abby and Kate’s efforts to go Dutch, the guys insisted on paying. As they left Abby gave one last longing look at the list of desserts and followed them out onto the hot sidewalk.

  “Y’all come again now,” the waitress called after them.

  The sun was lower in the sky than Abby had expected it to be. They’d have to get busy if the day wasn’t to be a waste.

  “You know, I think I’d better use the restroom before we go,” she said.

  “Okay,” John said. “We’ll wait for you here.”

  Abby willed Kate to look up, but she was smiling all gooey at Ryan again, probably trying to pacify him. So she cleared her throat and said, “Kate, are you coming?”

  Kate snapped out of it and immediately got the message. “Oh. Yeah. Me too. I’ll be right back.”

  Ryan heaved a sigh and looked at his watch. “All right. Try to hurry.”

  Abby and Kate hurried back into the Red Onion and edged past diners to the ladies’ room in the back hall. As soon as the door shut behind them, Kate grabbed her arms. “Okay, what do we do now?”

  “You take Ryan and ask around about Ned Greenfield and Hickory Hill. See if Mayor Windham’s still around. John and I will try to get back inside the church. We’ll meet up with you as soon as we can at the square.”

  “All right, but, Abby?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know how long I can hold off telling Ryan. I won’t lie to him.”

  “I’m not asking you to do that. Just try not to give it away, okay?”