 
Dead Limbs and Leaves

By Bobby A. Troutt

Copyright 2011 Bobby A. Troutt

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

The Smell of Cedar

When Autumn Falls

The Seasons of Life (a Psalm)

When God Was Silent

The Lost Fisherman

Slightly Bent

Hurley

Sixteen Candles

Return of the Redwing

Dividing Waters

A Punkin for the Porch

One Night Stand

Dead Limbs and Leaves

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

The Smell of Cedar

It had been a long time since I looked into the family cedar chest. When I opened the top, there was a faint smell of cedar. Slowly, I stirred about in the old chest. I came across some old photographs from my younger days. The memories came back so clear. I wore my cowboy hat with my toy gun strapped to my side and rode my stick horse named Buttermilk. There was a photo of me with my front teeth out. One picture was of Mom and Dad standing in front of his old pickup truck. It seemed liked yesterday, but Mom and Dad are gone now. I came across his old smoking pipe and Mom's old shawl. Carefully, I prowled some more in the old chest. I found one of my report cards. I smiled at my grades. They weren't too bad. I laughed at what the teacher wrote. He liked to talk a lot.

I paused for a moment as my eyes began to water and the smell of cedar filled the room. I slowly lifted my wife's wedding dress and held it close to me. In a box next to it, I found her wedding ring. It was tarnished and worn. It was cancer that took her away. I fought back the tears as my heart raced; I glanced down and saw our wedding pictures. She still looks as she did the day I met her. Her smile so warm, eyes so bright, and her laughter was as a song. There were some old 45's inside the chest. I tapped my foot and hummed the sweet words. I also found some of our children's pictures. My daughter moved to the big city where she teaches school. She calls me about every day now. My son is in and out. He hasn't really settled down. I'm beginning to wonder if he ever will. I guess he needs some time. In the back of the chest, I found a small music box. I carefully winded it, trying not to break it. I watched as the ballerina danced. The music entangled with the smell of cedar as the memoires of our family's first Christmas came back to me. I closed it and held her wedding dress close to me. I wished she was here with me just once more. The music box was a present to her on our first Christmas. Several years have come and gone since then. There have been many changes, some good, bad, and for the best. The good memories outweigh the bad.

It's amazing to me how one's life can be contained in a three by six wooden box with a cushion seat top and the fragrant smell of cedar. There was my old glove, Momma's hair barrette and Daddy's pocket watch. Through more treasures of my life, I found Sis's old doll stained with coffee I spilled on it when we were small.

I again reached down into the chest of past dreams and lifted up something of Grandma's and Grandpa's. It was Grandma's half empty snuff box and Grandpa's wedding ring with nicks, cuts, and scratches from working in the field. I know it has been a long time. I have taken my losses, but I still strive onward. I don't have the time I started with. I only hope that I have used it wisely. With every bridge you must cross, look behind and stand firm on the good things, but be not moved by the bad.

I even found our son's first baby tooth. I looked at it and thought how much more he needs me now. We don't always see eye to eye. We fuss and yell some. I remember how I was when I was young. Maybe someday he'll sit down and spend some time prowling through his family cedar chest. Maybe someday he'll catch the smell of cedar and remember.

I prowled a little further to a picture of a Christmas long gone. There we stood by the tree while our children opened their gifts. Why here is one of me eating country ham and biscuits with my Santa's hat on. There is one of Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa drinking eggnog during Christmas dinner. We weren't perfect. We had our troubles, but we worked together to get through them the best we could. Without failure, there can be no accomplishments. We tried to pull together even though there were times we were pulled apart. We struggled and failed, but I hope all has not been lost.

I have always loved the smell of cedar, especially when Dad and I would cut a cedar tree and bring it home. It stood tall and decorated in the house. When you brushed against it, you could smell the cedar. At night, with the tree dressed in lights of many color, is when I thought the tree looked its prettiest. The flickering of the fireplace lit up the room. In the cold of the night you could hear the fireplace pop and snap as the smell of cedar hovered about the room.

Oh, I am but a foolish old man now. I have no more boyish dreams. I have learned a few things along the way and I cherish the good memories in my heart. I may never look again in this treasure chest of cedar. But I can truly say that I haven't lost—I have only gained.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

When Autumn Falls

Through the briskness of winter, the chilled air begins to warm, opening the buds of the trees and releasing their pleasant fragrance of spring. The air is fresh and crisp with the sounds of the birds chirping, and the smell of flowers stirring in the gentle breeze. The frozen waters of the creek bubbles once more, as the last of winter's scene flows down stream. A birth of new life awakens from its long winter slumber. The sky is blue, clouds are white, and the meadow is ripe with the abundance of butterflies. The bees dart about, the eagle flies high, and the early morning awakens by the light of the rising sun. Who I ask; who is it that can paint such a beautiful landscape? I say, only the touch of the Master can mix radiant colors and sweet sounds, that fill the air with spring.

As time passes, the frozen bite of winter shall come back, but not for a while. With its icy touch on the buds and its breeze a bit nippy, it will soon pass and summer will come.

As the days press onward, it becomes hotter. The air is filled with heat, becomes heavy, and turns the grass brown. Who, I ask, can paint a picture such as this? Only the hand of God, I pray. Slowly, the ground cracks open, dust fills the air, and leaves begin to wilt. But, the birds still sing. The meadow that once was green and alive is now golden with very few butterflies. I ask myself, will it last or shall it pass? Late in the evening, I hear the cry of a whippoorwill coming across the meadow from the woods.

As the days pass, the air becomes nippy again. The blue sky above is now a light gray. The clouds only streak the sky instead of being fluffy. Slowly, the leaves on the trees begin to turn their brilliant colors, telling my heart autumn is near. The air has chilled once more, and life about me is preparing to rest. It has been good, even if I quit now. The treasures of God's earthly seasons shall carry me a lifetime. I may not see His face in the dew nor upon the pedal of a flower. I may not hear His song in the falling of the gentle rain. But in my heart, I know God is real. For when the thunder roars and the lightning streaks the sky, I know the Lord sleeps not because God is there. From the tiniest drop of nectar, to the mightiest rushing wind, I worry not for He is in control. His love endures all things.

I may be a blade of grass in a meadow amongst many, a thorn on a rose, or a rock by a creek. I could be dust on the ground that stirs in the wind, or I could be the late frost that comes and goes. But, no matter what I am or what my purpose is, the Lord loves me. I could be a thistle or weed in the field, but He knows me and He cares. Where, oh where, will this day end? Could it be a seed from a daffodil floating in the wind? Or could it be a chirp from a swallow or wren. Who knows? Who can tell? I am nothing but a leaf on a limb. When my time shall come, by the changing of my colors, I shall feel His smile through the warmth of the autumn sun. As the touch of winter stirs in the wind, I know my time is short. But, I thank the Lord I have lived. Who, I ask, can do such wonderful things? I say no one but the hand of God. My body slowly begins to dry and become wrinkled. The beautiful color I had is now over, autumn is gone.

From the wind's touch I can feel it won't be long until I am carried away. I'll miss the freshness of spring and the long days of summer. I regret not that I have lived, for I have lived it to my fullness. I am pleased. I was a small part among many to enhance the Lord's creation. I may have been but a leaf dangling from a limb, but He thought enough of me to let me be a small part of the meadow. Let it be known, that when autumn falls, I shall be carried away by the breeze of the wind and never come back. If there would be any regret, if there was one, I'd carry it with me because I cannot undo that which I have already done. I gave it my best. I went all the way and I know in my heart the Lord is pleased. As the wind passes, the leaf snaps from the twig of the tree. My prayer is, I pray, I did some good for someone in some way.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

The Seasons of Life (a Psalm)

Through the awakening of spring, I find myself with a journey ahead. With the sweet fragrances of the spring flowers and the songs of the birds surrounding me, I find peace and serenity within the newly fallen rain. I can smell the dust in the air as the rain slowly blankets the earth with each raindrop that falls. Carefully, the gentle breeze of the wind blows through the trees, stirring the new leaves. As the wind dances about, the sunlight pierces through, bouncing off each leaf, with sounds signifying it is spring!

I shall find my way for my heart is in the hands of a true and living God directing my steps. His spirit too shall move within me as the wind ballets in the trees. His love shall overshadow me as the sunlight bounces about the leaves. Although those things which are behind me may never be again, only humble steps forward shall I endure with His helping hand. I may be a man, but with a frail child's heart I will endure. It may be that path I have chosen to follow, but it is within Him that I trust and believe to bring me through the seasons of life.

Spring is as the youth of us all, fresh, clean, vibrant, full of life and with the promise of adventure. There will be times that I will walk the clouds with Him. Soaring like an eagle, holding my head up high. But there are the times I will feel alone when He appears not to be around. The dark valleys of life surround and overtake me, smothering me with darkness. It is then with only a bit of light that I may see from my darkness of troubles. In my heart, spirit and soul, He calls me by my name saying, "Come, my child, and walk with me."

I shall find my way to conquer and achieve what lies before me. My God shall guide my path and I will endure. Troubles, troubles, troubles get behind me in the name of the living God. Be gone. Break away and surround me with the light of Heaven. It is when I climb out from my darkest hole; I lift up my sorrowed heart in song and loose my spirit to dance upon the morning horizon. I am free. I am free is the song of my spirit, as I shall rest upon the edge of night. My Lord, my God when He looks upon me will be pleased. If I choose to go alone, there may be times I walk upright, stumble, crawl, and I fall. That is not all that important, but I must pick myself up and choose to go on. No matter what comes my way, how dark the night, or how bad the storm, I must and will endure and go on. It will be the choice that I choose which will make the difference in me.

It is within the newly fallen rain that has showered down upon the meadow and across the hillside that I smell the fresh breath of life. The valley is green with life and an abundance of hope. It is in a short time that I shall grow older, as spring will pass and summer will come.

I find the seasons of my life shall grow as the grass, weaken as a young tree in a storm, and age as the moss on the banks of the creek. I have a new promise of a continuing hope that I may endure the harshness of the heat of summers, long droughts, and dried weeds. I may error to defeat that shall challenge me from time to time, but I will overcome that which lies before me, for my God and I are as one. With the freshness of spring my life slowly turns toward summer, I find myself a bit older now, my youth is all but the memory of moments past.

Stir dry winds, stir upon the earth. Dry up my bones as the creek beds and rob my joy from me. Oh summer, you may have me but in the fall, I shall bounce back. I, too, will be wiser, oh summer, and find rest in the coming of winter. And if by chance we shall meet in some golden meadow, it's not me who shall send the rain. My God shall rescue me. Rain, oh rain, my God, quench this thirst in my soul that shall bring back the newness of life. Summer may enter with trying times, periods of troubles, struggles and battles along the way. But, it is through those times and on the battlefield that one learns to survive. I shall find rest in the hands of my God. The heat of the day may linger, lands may be dry, and the earth may begin to crack as the scorching sun appears. But, my God is still in control.

I shall look up into the hills from where the waters fall. There I shall find my strength in my weakness, and the keeper of my soul shall find grace. The battle is not over, the war has not been won, but I have received the victory for I have delivered my heart unto His hands.

I have found an energy that flows in the creek with a power so untold that I find myself walking in its bed, with dust clinging to my bare feet. Oh my Lord, my God, deliver me for I have wandered from the path. Set me free from the sands of hell. Let my soul be as the eagle once more or the daffodil of spring that flies in the winds. Lead me back o' Lord I pray.

Through my youth, I foolishly prayed at an empty well where the water was tainted and musty. I have so failed. Oh Lord, let my feet rise above the scorched, parched creek bed. Let me wash my feet, humble me again. Guide my steps, oh Lord. Lend me your ear that I may cry as my heart sorrows.

There have been many times, within the seasons of life that it seems I have walked alone. Take my hand, oh Lord, lest I fall. Lift me, oh Lord, with your love and touch my troubled journey that I may endure to the end. The dust behind me may settle in the showers of the rains, the Lord only knows my heart, for it is He that breathes within me. I may walk it alone and my body may quiver and shake. It is when I lose it, He puts it back together again.

The meadow may be changing its color to reds, yellows, and browns. I have looked back in times where I have fell and fallen short. But, I am assured in my heart that my God, my Lord, is with me. He is in my tears, laughs, fears, and loneliness. In my mistakes and faults, He is with me to help me through. He is my all. All that is, is what's behind me. All that I have been is in the passing of summer that autumn shall begin.

Through the changing of the seasons, from summer to fall, I am surrounded by all new worlds of bright colors and deep blue skies. Aged now, through life's timeless battles, I have stepped forward from a child to an old man. Though my walk may be bent and my steps slower, my vessel is like a beached ship upon a sandy shore. The hull is cracked, the mass is ripped, and it sits alone on the beach as the waves of the sea crash in on it. Little by little and day by day, as time goes on, my body slowly breaks away. Crash goes the waves against the ship as the tide comes in. God as my Captain, I shall set sail again, not upon these watery banks, but in the blue skies above. Hear my cry, oh Lord, my God, and let my spirit sail amongst the bluest skies. Let the sun be my wheel and the clouds my bow and I shall float on the blue skies. Hear my cry, oh Lord.

I am not as young as I once was. I have slowed down in my time. I'm looking at things differently than I did years ago. I don't take for granted anymore the sweet fragrance of flowers for I cherish each new day. As the rain softly beats upon my face, I don't run. I get wet. I smile in my heart for the storm cloud I fear not. As the warm rain runs down my face, I know it won't be long. The dust doesn't bother me anymore and I can walk in the dry creek, and be refreshed. Oh Lord, oh God, I have called upon you. You have never failed me, but many times I have hurt you. Whatever it may be, no matter how it turns out, you are the first and the last, my everything. Let me cry, oh Lord, I pray my soul that you'll not dry my eyes. Let me wet this earth with my tears that you may know the tears of disobedience. Let the tears of my sins flood the earth with your grace, and let me fly like the sparrow that fell once more.

As the stirring of the brisk autumn breeze speaks to my heart and bones, I know it won't be too long. The magnificent colors of the flowers and trees paint a brilliant masterpiece, assuring me the time of age will soon come. As the artist paints and the poet writes, there is a still peace in my heart, in the cool of the autumn skies. As the autumn trees shed their leaves of many colors, they cling to the earth as I come to realize I shall not pass this way again.

There have been many of life's bridges, some short and some long. It's not what has passed under the bridges that count, but it is the bridge itself—my God who has helped me cross over. Some bridges have burned, some are left to burn, and some are yet to be crossed. It is my life that I have lived, some of it good, a lot of it bad. I made my choices, but it was the Lord who was always there. I find the stirring of joy in my heart like the freshness of the autumn breeze.

As I stand upon the peak of the mountain looking out and addressing the Heavens above, I then look up into the sky and watch patiently the passing of the geese. I know that it is a matter of time that I shall be on my way.

Autumn soon passed and winter set in, and I have but a short journey left. My hands are frail and wrinkled, and my walk is but a crawl. I'm bent over now more than before. My hair is white, my beard is long and wavy, my heart is weak, but my voice is still strong.

Winter came early, the ground soon covered with snow, and I looked out across the snow-covered fields that once were green and gold. As the sunlight gracefully dances across the snow, it glistened like diamonds; I hunch my shoulder and slip on my coat. I wonder if there will be another spring, with the chirping of the robin for me to see. But my heart lets me know with a slight chill inside.

The nights are longer and the darkness seems blacker than ever before. The coldness of winter runs throughout my body as the still night draws near. You know, it's funny as I lie here and rest, I can smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers of spring. I can see the bright lights of summer along with the brilliant colors of autumn. Isn't that funny! They seem so different this time. As the coldness of winter lingers on, I close my eyes. I once again stand high upon the peak of the mountains and patiently watch as the geese fly by.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

When God Was Silent

At the breaking of day, the dove cooed high in the Skulley Ridge Mountains between Tennessee and North Carolina as the sun slowly appeared. Skulley Ridge was no more than a stretch of mountains locked in the Smokies that crossed over into two states. It was a place where daylight winked through the peaks and the early morning kissed the ray of light. The sweetness of the fresh mountain air twirled in the wind, driving the fragrance gracefully through the valley. Once where the smell of night lurked from the darkness, the smell of fresh fallen rain now sweetened the air.

It is said that daylight is when the morning sun first appears through Taylor's Gap. From there it filters across the Smokies into Tennessee. Giant timbers emerge from the land, standing tall amongst the rushing streams, rolling hills, and miles of dark hollows. The small but quaint community of Willow Brooks in Gifford County is a nice tourist town. You can find souvenir shops, restaurants, and bargain barns there. It is the last town you will find before crossing over into North Carolina from Tennessee. High up in Taylor Gap is a small clearing called Sycamore Shade. The tall timbers meet an open clearing there. For miles the roaming meadow enhances the mountains with a floral beauty, babbling brooks, and tall grasses. Above the timbers, in the distance, you can see white snowcapped mountains asleep for the winter. In the spring the snow melts and feeds the meadow below.

Also, at the edge of the tree line sits a little cabin. It is the home of Amos who lives alone. Years ago when he was traveling through the Smokies he came across the clearing, bought it, and settled down. He wanted to get out of the hustle and bustle of the fast city life. Amos was an old man. His body was bent from a crippling walk and his walk wasn't as true as it once was. His hands were drawn in a bit, especially at the fingertips. Amos' snowy white hair waved in the mountain wind. His eyebrows were as black as coal and his voice wheezed a slight. His deep soft voice came in from deep in his chest as he gasped for a breath. Amos had lived in the little cabin for at least forty years. He loved life and his solitude. But most importantly, he loved the Lord. The clearing was his place of peace and many times he found the Lord there while relaxing from the day. "Lord," he would say, "are you there?" Patiently, he would wait and within a few minutes a twist of the wind would caress his hear. Then he would wait a few more minutes. "Lord, I'm here," he would say as he smiled. "I guess you can already see that." He would then feel the warmth of the sun upon his face and lay back and enjoy the day.

It came to pass when the Black-eyed Susans were in bloom. Summer would soon end. The cool breeze of autumn would settle in the clearing. Summer had been mild. August would soon pass and September would come. The fall colors and the crisp air would transform the clearing into a time of rest. Amos also needed a time of rest. His strength wasn't the same as when he was a young man. His hands shook and his sight was nearly gone. He was a humble man who loved the Lord. There was no doubt about that he loved him with all his heart. He loved the Lord's beautiful handiwork. The different seasons were so breathtaking and overwhelming. He felt in his heart that the Lord had even planted the weeds in the right spot. The Black-eyed Susans were his favorite. He loved the smell of a new autumn, the burning of leaves, the smell of fresh cut wood, and watching the fireplace snap and pop on a cold winter nights. Amos would always chuckle to himself when he referred to the clearing as the Lord's backyard. Even though he loved it all, the Black-eyed Susans held a special place in his heart.

The clearing was special to him. It meant a lot, but he knew in his heart there was nothing compared to that Heavenly home up above. The Lord had been good to Amos. He'd be the first to let you know. The harvest had been bountiful; the crops had been full and plentiful. Amos told the Lord, it had been a good year. I guess you would say Amos was a man without want. He was content and happy just sitting on his porch and enjoying the sight. The brilliant colors of reds, yellows, oranges, and light greens dressed the rolling hills. "Autumn, autumn," he would say, "is my favorite season you know."

Then one night the darkness sent a bitter chill into his room. As the darkness fell Amos fell sick with the flu. His body was weak and trembled as the fever moved in. The bitter chill, chilled him to his bones. He'd had spells before, but not this strong. Suddenly he cried out unto the Lord, "Please help me, my Lord. Are you there?" But there wasn't a reply. He cried out again, "Oh, Lord, please don't forsake me I pray." God remained silent. Amos didn't hear from the Lord. Amos waited in complete love, trust, and faith. Time soon passed and he laid in want. But, his faith stood bold and he believed in the Lord. But the days went by, he laid broken and lost, for the needs of his wounds and spirits was more than he could bear. "Lord, Lord," he cried again, "I need you now more than ever before. Why, oh God, why have you turned away?" With his trembling hand he wiped away the tears. "I thought I was so strong, Lord," he said. "But, I have found that I am weak and I am so afraid."

The black-eyed Susans soon faded and died. The passing of fall turned over to winter. The frigid mountain air rushed in overnight driving the temperatures down to record lows. Winter may have quickly captured and paralyed the life in the clearing, but Amos stood bold and steadfast in his faith with the Lord. He believed that even if he didn't overcome it he would still be better off with his Lord. Although he kept the faith, sometimes he would waver and think to himself that he was all alone. It had seemed so long since he heard from the Lord. He prayed but it didn't get above the chill in the air. There were times he held truer in his beliefs, but he still would fall short and be weak. He tried to keep the faith and be strong in the Lord, but the enemy of darkness lurked at the cabin door. He rested in his heart and spirit for he knew the Lord had been there before. Amos knew the Lord had pulled him through and there was no doubt. The Lord knew what was best he thought, as he shoveled a hunk of coal into the fireplace and he used the light from the fire to make his way to the door. Amos had made up in his mind that the enemy of darkness would not keep him down. He was going to keep his faith and trust in the Lord until the breaking of dawn. A cold breeze shot through the crack in the door and extinguished the light of the coal as Amos cried out, "Get behind me, Satan," I pray, "for God is my true light that will guide me true." The fire snapped and popped as a little black smoke filled the room. Carefully, Amos made his way back to his bed.

Winter had sat hard that year. The bitter cold and snow had made it nearly impossible to travel. The tall timbers that barricaded the clearing had broken open with heavy snow and ice while the chilling temperature hovered over the clearing.

Amos kept his faith and the Lord still remained silent. Although Amos's faith at times hung from a thin thread, he never gave up on hearing from the Lord.

In the spring the melting snow soon filled the creeks. As time passed the warm breath of the Lord turned the chilling bite of winter into the sweet smell of the early spring blooms. Slowly, spring began moving in, pressing winter out. The tall timbers had shed the chains and shackles of winter, the ice and snow. The tall grasses that once were embedded in heavy snow were free again and waved once more. Amos now laid flat on his back. He could hardly move, but he still held on for an answer from the Lord.

Soon the spring rains passed and summer arrived bringing in the heat. Amos was up now, but still weak and trembling as he walked. But, the things in the clearing didn't mean as much to him as times before. The joys of the flowers were gone and the breath of summer didn't set well. Something was wrong. The flowers were not as fragrant and the grass didn't wave briskly as before. Even the tall timbers that stood so brave and bold seemed weak and his patience and faith was nearly gone. He looked up toward the sky across the rigid mountain skyline. He looked to see if there was a sign from God. But in the glittering smoky haze of the mountain, he saw nothing and he cared not to look anymore. All he could hear was the cooing of a dove. He turned slowly, dropped his head, and mumbled under his breath, "Lord, Lord."

By the close of summer Amos was up and about. September came as August passed. Amos walked down the trail near his cabin where he came upon a bunch of wild black-eyed Susans. The first he had seen in a long while. Suddenly, there came a soft breeze and the Lord spoke in a whisper on the wind.

"My child, I have not forgotten you. For when you were weak I was your strength. When you were tired and suffered, I cradled you in my arms. Those moments when you believed you walked alone, I was the light that guided your steps. I remained silent my child because it hurt me to see you in so much pain."

"Amos bowed his head and cried, "Lord, Lord, please don't leave me again."

"I pray, my son," said the Lord. "You'll never walk alone again. It's time to come home."

Amos listened about in the clearing once more. He heard hundreds of doves cooing and a floral fragrance he had never smelled before as he told the Lord, "I believe you're right, Lord. It's time and I'm ready to come home."

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

The Lost Fisherman

Gracefully, the tender rose petals, plucked from a fail hand drifted down into the salty sea. Down, down they twirled disappearing below. Boom! Crash! roared the mighty waves as they violently beat against the rugged rocks. Oh, such anger force the sea can be. From the haunting cries of the deep, come the screams of the waves, of lost loves so true. High between the peaks of rock swings a bridge. There on the bridge, stood the beautiful maiden, named Katherine, holding a rose. As tears filled her eyes she longed for her lover lost at sea. Day after day she came. She cried and looked for her love, but he was nowhere to be found. She was with child, the joy of his love and hers combined. "Sweet, Sweet Katherine my love." She grieved heavily for months, wearing a path to and fro to the bridge. At night, she cried herself to sleep, wishing, hoping, that tomorrow would bring her peace. "Sweet, Sweet, Katherine, if you only knew." They say time heals all wounds. Sometime it may, but this time it won't. Boom! Crash! roared the waves, as the angry sea beat against the rocks below. Quietly, she stood on the bridge above, longing for her lover still grieving in her heart. Then suddenly, out of nowhere a giant wave crashed across the bridge, driving her to her knees. In rage and anger she rose, grasped the rope and hung on as another wave forced her back. "You way have taken my lover," she cried, "but you'll never take my child and me." As the heavy salt water dripped from her body she cried, "You'll never beat me." Day after day passed as the hurt and pain grew, settling within her heart. Not a day went by that she didn't come to the sea and search for her lost lover, so true. But, the more she came, the harder her heart filled with the loss of her love, the father of her child. As she held on to her belly, she cried, "I hate you," she screamed her lover's name. Who was lost in the belly of the sea. Then she rose quickly and shouted, "I hate you LORD." Suddenly, she stopped. "What is it?" she asked. Then she carefully felt of her belly as the baby kicked. She fell down onto the bridge, she held her belly tight. The sea crashed against her, she looked up. Then she began to cry even more. She rose up fist drawn, and shouted, "Damn you sea." In the days that followed, she became more depressed. Her heart longed no more, her tears were dried up. She knew her lover would never be back, and there was only one thing left. She held her baby tight. There was one way and that was to give herself and the baby to the sea. High above, standing on the bridge with the wind driving the waves stood Katherine holding tight to her belly, as the chilling wind blew through her hair. "Damn you sea," she uttered the words. "Take me, and let us live with my lover in the belly of the sea." Arise, arise I say, tarry not, for I give myself to thee. "I love you," she shouted her lovers name and "I love you LORD I pray it's not too late." Then with a mighty roar, a giant wall of water crashed the bridge to the ocean floor. When the water finally stilled, Katherine the beautiful maiden, was nowhere to be found. "Sweet, Sweet, Sweet, Katherine. "There's only this haunting tale about Katherine that still lives today. I know, for I was her lover that was lost at sea. I am alive. I made it, and I had found another. MY SWEET, SWEET, KATHERINE, I WISH I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU SOME WAY OF MY SWEET SWEET RACHEL just down the way......

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

Slightly Bent

In the hills and hollows of Hickman County in Middle Tennessee laid the small quiet community of Walnut Creek nestled between the Cumberland Plateau and the Cumberland River. Hubert Emmitt was a young boy who lived on Broken Fence Road. He was a tall, slinky boy about 6 feet 4 inches, a little tall for children his age. He had dark hair and he always wore his overalls. When he walked, he would tilt from side to side in harmony with his steps. His hands dangled about the length of his pockets and his wavy hair flowed in the wind as a flag on a windy day. Hubert was a gentle giant, humble with a childlike manner with a driving love to play baseball. Everyone around Walnut Creek called him Slightly Bent. First the children teased him in school, then after a while the name began to stick with him. Hubert was born with a hump in his back, right about the shoulder line, causing him to lean forward. Slightly bent you would say. But, he was a goodhearted soul and he never paid any mind to what people said. He was a happy go lucky boy with a dream of playing professional baseball one day.

The people who lived in and around Broken Fence Road were very poor. They were mostly farmers who raised milk cows, gardens, tobacco, and corn. They sold eggs and fresh garden vegetables to nearby markets and killed hogs in the winter, selling the meat to eager buyers. Country smoked ham, fresh tenderloin, shoulder, homemade sausage, and smoked bacon enticed a lot of people. They came from neighboring counties for the hams and other fresh meats. Walnut Creek may not have been but a stop and a turn in the road, but Broken Fence Road was Hubert's house.

He lived in a three room shack with grayish tarnished boards, tin roof, and windows with no screens. The inside was decorated with cardboard covered walls, a pot belly wood stove, with a single bed nearby. There were cracks in the floor. You could see the chickens play. Winter time, he covered up with old coats at night because the snow would fall through the holes in the roof, at times. They drew water from a well and in the summer time they set jugs of milk and other items in a nearby spring to help keep it cool. Hubert lived there with his grandma and older sister, Rebecca. His parents had been killed in a freak accident several years ago. They may not of had much, but what they did have was each other and with that they knew they could make it.

He loved the outdoors. In the winter time, his sister and some friends would take an old car hood and slide down the hills in the snow. They made snowmen, threw snow balls, and ice skated on a nearby frozen pond. One winter when they were skating, his sister, Rebecca, whom everyone called Becky, had fallen through a thin place in the ice. Hubert and the others raced for the bank of the pond. There he found a long tree limb near the bank. He quickly reached it out to her. She was struggling to stay a float. Finally through all the commotion, she grabbed onto the limb. As Hubert and the others slowly pulled her in, he cried out, "Hold on Sissy, hold on." About that time Big Jim came by in a wagon load with wood. Evidently, he had been cutting firewood in the ridge above the pond where they had been cutting timber. Quickly, he jumped off the wagon and ran over to them. He wrapped his coat around her, placed her in the wagon, and tore out. It was cold that day. You could feel the cold wind freeze the moisture in your nostrils as you breathed. I don't know what we would have done if Big Jim hadn't taken Sissy down the ridge to the neighbor's house. But not all the winters were bad. There was one thing Hubert loved to do about as much as baseball.

He loved to hunt squirrels and rabbits. Hubert spent most of his time in the woods as a child growing up with his best friend and running partner. His old hound Smoke, named after his grayish black and blue tint color. Hubert loved fried rabbit, gravy, and biscuits or squirrel and dumplings with a cold glass of fresh cow's milk and biscuits with churned butter.

He rode a mule everywhere he went with a grass sack hanging off to the side. The mule's name was Mr. Gibbs, named after one of his teachers.

Although Hubert stayed to himself most of the time, he did have friends, and his dream one day was to be a baseball player. He collected baseball cards and newspaper clippings. He spent a lot of his time in the bottom pasture with a stick, pitching up stones and seeing how far he could hit them. In the summertime he and his friends would turn the bottom pasture into a baseball stadium. They would team up and play ball. Now let me tell you. That Hubert was a natural. He had an act for the sport. If he had the right coaching, there was not telling how he would be. But summers were short to children that age and they came and went as the time passed by, but not Hubert's love for the sport. It grew and grew. The harder he played the more he tried. He became the sport. He was good.

Hubert was now seventeen, a tall, thin boy for his age, slightly bent at the shoulders you now. He walks now with a small shuffle with one of his feet. But, he pays it no mind. Besides, he loved to play ball, it's his dream. He was full of life and spunk. He loved living. Opportunity came knocking one day at Walnut Creek. If there was ever a happy boy, it was Hubert Emmitt. His chance at his dream had come true.

Walnut Creek was no more than a spot beside the road, and when Fields Pedigo decided to start a summer league, everyone was excited, especially who, you're right, Hubert. From all around and beyond Walnut Creek, children gathered in the old cow pasture behind his barn. It was summer and things were beginning to happen. They lined up to swing the bat, throw the ball, and have fun. Hubert could throw, hit, and run, he was a natural. When he swung the bat, it was level, solid, and quick. When he fielded the ball, he was precise, accurate, and right on the ball. Mr. Pedigo watched him closely. He kept a close eye on Hubert. He knew he had something with him. He was different. With a little polishing Hubert would be a real baseball player. Mr. Pedigo watched Hubert at the plate. Hubert's eyes were focused and serious; his stand was firm and solid. He noticed that Hubert was slightly bent over the plate where he could grab the ball with the bat and drive it hard across the field for a homerun.

"Hey, Hubert," yelled Mr. Pedigo across the field.

Quickly, Hubert turned and waved as Mr. Pedigo motion for him to come over.

"You're a pretty snazzy ballplayer," he said taking his cap off and wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.

Hubert didn't know what to say and then he spoke up.

"Well, maybe not bad."

"Not too bad," replied Mr. Pedigo. "I think you have a lot of potential. Have you ever played ball on a summer league before or any kind of tour?"

"No, sir," he answered as he wiped the seat off that was running down his face.

As Mr. Pedigo reached over and patted him on the back, he replied, "You keep up the good work and have fun. I've got a feeling there are some important people that will be watching you this summer."

"Batter up," yelled one of the coaches.

After the tryout, the boys were divided up into teams. There was Bon Air, Sideview, Mitchville, Providence, Pondville, and Mr. Pedigo's team, Walnut Creek. Bon Air and Pondville were the first two teams scheduled for the upcoming weekend starting on Friday, followed by Mitchville and Walnut Creek on Saturday. The summer games started off with a hit and Slightly Bent was on his way to becoming a hero in the hearts of them all. Mr. Pedigo's team, Walnut Creek, ended Saturday night in an uproar. Slightly Bent hit two homeruns and knocked in three players for scores. The crowd cheered him on. They beat Mitchville 6-2.

"It's going to be a good season," said Mr. Pedigo.

"A very interesting season," replied one of the scouts.

Game after game, the crowd shouted and cheered for Slightly Bent. Hit after hit, run after run, he drove the team quickly up the ladder at first place and holding. The game with Providence was a complete no-hitter, with Bon Air it was 8-3, and Pondville 10-3.

"You've got a good player there, Mr. Pedigo," spoke up one of the scouts. "Where did you ever run across a player like that?"

"Oh, Hubert, he's been around here all his life," replied Mr. Pedigo. "He's a good boy, and he loves to play ball.

As the summer slowly passed, he had become well known across the country. People drove for miles to watch him play ball. Slightly Bent drove his teammates home as the crowd cheered for more. He was a natural. He was born with a bat in his hand and it looked like he was going further. On over in the season at one of the games, Coach Pedigo had asked another coach from a nearby college to look at him. He did, and he loved what he saw, a major league player one day. Hubert was so excited. He couldn't believe it, a chance at the majors after college ball. He was on top of the world and loved every bit of it. His eyes sparked as a crystal, his warm smile warmed his face into a blush and his laughter was that of a songbird on a bright spring morning.

The summer played hard with the heat and all but little of no rain had fallen and the ground was parched and dry. Dust from the field hovered about their feet, as the boys played hard for the win, and the victory. The season was playing out, getting closer each game. There were but a few games left. Walnut Creek was tied for first place with Bon Air. The winner would be decided in this weekend's game. Could Slightly Bent pull the championship off? Would Walnut Creek be the summer champions?

Hubert had fallen in love with the game. He had found his dream, his heart's desire. He was somebody to others and that meant a lot to him, he was not just a poor kid from Broken Fence Road anymore. He had found his place. Everyone was excited about the upcoming game. It was all they talked about. Finally, the big day had come. It was an old fashioned county played World Series. Walnut Creek and Bon Air was in the playoffs. People from everywhere were there to see the games. They brought chairs, picnic baskets, grilled hot dogs and hamburgers, ice cold lemonade, and fresh garden grown watermelon. As the crowd gathered in about the bleachers and the baseline, they all waited for those enchanting words—PLAY BALL. But first the players on the other teams were recognized and awarded a trophy. Then they all stood and sung the National Anthem. Then all of a sudden a voice rang out across the field. Play ball.

"Woof, woof, woof, Slightly Bent," they all cried.

We'd like to invite everyone here today at the Summer League World Series between two of the best teams I have seen in a long while," said the announcer. "I will have to say, Slightly Bent, one of the most favored here today I will believe will show some tremendous ball playing. I know I have been fortunate to see him in some of the other games and it is remarkable talent that one boy has got. I've talked to him a few times through the summer and he's a remarkable young man and I know there are scouts watching him today. Walnut Creek takes the field as Bon Air comes up to bat. This pitcher for Walnut Creek is a fine talent himself. He pitched 9 wins out of 12 games this summer, a fine arm on a country boy.

"Strike one," yelled the umpire.

As the game moved on the crowd cheered and yelled. It was probably one of the most exciting Saturday evenings around there in a long time. At the bottom on the third inning the score was Walnut Creek 2 and Bon Air 1. Slightly Bent walked up to the plate with 2 men on base. The crowd held their breath. There was not an eye blinked. The only thing you could hear was the ball breaking through the wind and the crack of the bat as Slightly Bent hit a line drive, driving two men home.

"What a hit," yelled the announcer.

Not only did two men miss it but three, an unbelievable play. The crowd went wild from then on. By the bottom of the sixth inning, Walnut Creek had won the series. They were the County Classic Champion with trophies and ribbon for all. The final score was 7-4. By the end of the sixth inning, it had started to get dark. Hubert had a ways to go on his old mule, Mr. Gibbs. As he started to climb up, a couple of scouts came over to talk to him about trying out for the minor league. They told him that they would like to meet with him early next week if possible. One of the agents thought he was one of the best rookies he had seen in years. The other agreed. He replied, sure that would be great. You did some great ball playing out there today they all agreed. But, they held back about the question of his little shuffle in one of his feet. Summer league would be fine for a player like that, but I don't know about the pros, one agent said. As they turned to walk away, they waved goodbye. Hurriedly, he took off toward home, hopeful in time to get the last of his chores done before night. Own his way home, he was so excited he couldn't wait to tell his grandmother and sister.

"I did it he shouted. I did it. No more summer league from now on it's the minors. Getty-up, Mr. Gibbs, let's get moving."

Mr. Gibbs was spooked by a rattler. As the mule jerked and bucked suddenly down the road without warning, he bounced Hubert around and about on his back.

"Whoa boy now," cried Hubert.

As Hubert fought to hang on, Mr. Gibbs danced about frantically. Then suddenly he threw Hubert to the ground causing him to land on his neck and pass out. Shortly, Hubert awoke. Gibbs stood nearby. There was no sign of the rattler. Hubert tried to move but couldn't. He couldn't move his legs. He tried and tried. He began to cry and yell for help. Mr. Gibbs took off through the woods. He was stranded in the woods, alone. He couldn't fell his legs. He began to pray.

"Help me," he cried. "Please help me."

But, there was no reply. As the late summer breeze stirred the newly turning leaves, his cries echoed throughout the woods. Not far away, some younger boys were playing in the woods. When they heard his cries they ran to help.

"Wow, its Slightly Bent," one said.

As one of the boys ran for help, the other two stayed with him. Shortly, a couple of sawmill workers came for him. They had been snaking logs out of the timbers on the next hill.

"Look," cried one lumberjack. "It's Slightly Bent."

"What on earth happened," asked the other.

Hubert explained, "But I can't move. I can't move my legs."

In a matter of minutes, help was there. Quickly, they rushed him to the hospital where he stayed for a week. There they ran tests and examined him. It didn't look good, not good at all. He was paralyzed from his waist down with little of no hope of ever walking again. Such a tragedy said one doctor to the other. He had it all before him. Friends from all around came to visit him. Coach Pedigo and the team came. They all came, coaches and teammates from all the other teams.

Then the doctors came in. They asked everyone if they would step outside. Slowly the room emptied and the doctors stood before him. His eyes filled with tears as he tilted his head to the side. He knew he would never walk again or even play ball. His life was over. The doctors quietly left as the others slipped into the room. Coach Pedigo asked him if everything was all right. Hubert lay quietly in bed with his head tilted to one side, away from them. Then the room was filled with the bitter words, leave me alone. Then Coach Pedigo chokingly replied are you—then Hubert said with watery eyes, yes. Do you want us to pray, asked the coach. No he replied I want to die. As they all turned to leave the room, the teammates began to cry as one little boy stopped and looked back, I love you Slightly Bent. Hubert never said a word. Mixed up, hurt, and confused, he lay crying. His hopes and dreams had all been shattered and his spirit lay broken, such as his body. God why were the last words spoken as the door shut into a complete darkness.

It wasn't too long before he came home in a wheelchair. His heart was as empty as the feeling in his legs. He felt life had cheated him and God had failed him. Day after day he struggled with life, being paralyzed, and his bitterness toward God. He slowly withdrew from life, eventually turning into a recluse. Friends would come by and visit him. They tried to comfort him with encouragement and brighten his hope. Becky tried to help him to deal with his handicap but the harder she tried the farther away he seemed to get. From the loss from his accident and the passing away of his grandmother it didn't leave him with a very bright outlook of anything. As time passed, they stopped coming.

"Why, God," he cried. "Why me?"

As the months passed, he grew even more bitter and angry inside. He pushed away the ones who loved him and became a recluse. Only his sister was there now for him. She never let his side, she still believes in him. His spirit was broken and he suffered deep depression. He had given up on all hope and his faith he held onto was more than a tread.

As the years passed, Hubert had little to no improvement. He had opened up some to Becky. He was beginning to see the picture more clearly, now, the parts he wanted to see. He accepted what he wanted and denied the part he didn't want. Finally, he had started to hold his head up and at times you could catch a slight smile—something he hadn't been able to do in a long while. He had stopped blaming God, but he still had some questions, he mainly stayed quiet and to himself. He slept a lot.

Becky had started to work at a clinic for handicapped children. At the clinic there was a little boy named David who loved baseball. He hoped one day to be a professional baseball player. It was his dream. He may have been crippled and in a wheelchair but he believed that one day he would play. When he found out her brother was Slightly Bent, he begged her to meet him.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "He doesn't get much company."

"Oh, please," cried David. "I have heard so much about him. He is my favorite baseball player. I just want his autograph."

As the little boy sat before her with is baseball hat on and his glove and ball in his lap, she studied on the matter. Should she or not? Am I making a mistake for both of them? Carefully she thought as David pleaded, please. Okay, David she said, let me see if they'll let you go meet him.

She talked to her boss and they said it would be fine to take him home with her. On the way home that day, Becky was so nervous. She didn't know what to expect. What would Hubert say or do? What about David? He's a frail small child. Oh, God, please help me. Please work this out. I pray I haven't made a mistake. When they got home, she helped David into the house.

"You have a nice house, Becky, and look at all the trophies. That's neat," he said. "When I grow up I want to have a lot of trophies like that. I want to be like Slightly Bent."

As Becky knocked on Hubert's door, she opened it a slight and told Hubert there was someone to see him. He first said no, he didn't feel well. But Becky insisted and finally he agreed. When David opened the door the darkened, shadowed room the light from the door glowed the shape of a cripple little boy.

"Can I come in?" asked a wee voice.

As the popping, squeaking sound of a wheelchair haunted the room he turned his back on the little boy, Slightly Bent said, "Why me, God?"

"I've asked the same question," replied the little boy. "I never got the chance to play like you did, slightly Bent. I've been a cripple since birth, but I still hope and believe. I may never walk or even no how it is to walk or run and play like other have. I may have this old chair, two bum legs, but I still believe and have my dreams. Deep down I know I'll probably never walk or play ball, but I still have love, the love of life and the love of the game. I struck out the day I entered into the world. With it all against me, I didn't give up or give in. I found peace when I gave it all to God."

"What do you want from me?" shouted Hubert.

"I just wanted to meet you and for you to autograph my baseball. That's all."

Slowly, the wheelchair started to turn around.

"You have heard of me," asked Hubert, "but you're just a child."

"All the children have heard of you. I have heard about you all my life," he said. "I dreamed for the day I could meet you Slightly Bent. You're my hero," he cried.

"But—but—I don't understand," replied Hubert. "I'm a cripple."

"You may be a cripple," said the little boy, "but you're still Slightly Bent, a famous baseball player that I still look up to. Look at me, I'm crippled. We're both crippled," said the little boy. "But we love baseball, life, and God, right?"

A chill that once filled the room was now slowly warming and the icy barriers of times long ago were finally coming down. The warmth of his heart began to awaken him to the newness and a refreshed spirit that once he was familiar with. As he awoke form his dream, he searched about the room for the child, but he was no where to be seen, but yet in his hand he gripped hard a baseball which was inscribed to Slightly Bent, from David. As tears filled his eyes he cried out I'm sorry Lord. About then, Becky entered the room. She had just gotten home from work.

"Where is he," he said.

"Where is who," she asked.

"David, the little boy in the wheelchair you brought home from work."

"Hubert, I don't know what in the world you're talking about. I haven't brought anyone home with me."

"But, but, but," cried Hubert. I saw him. I talked to him. He was here," he replied.

"You sleep too much," she said.

From that day on, Hubert, little by little, broke out of his shell and became the person he once so loved. Where there was once darkness, light shone brightly and the hurt from a broken heart was replaced with a smile on his face and the laughter that sat idle for years, began to ring out. The dark far off distance that had settled deep within his eyes that dreadful day sprinkled with warmth and cheer as he thought to himself, I'm ready Lord, thank you. It wasn't long until doors began to open for him. He never dreamed of the potential opportunities that lay await for such a handicap. He never knew how good a sister Becky had been, till she became his best friend.

She got him a job at the clinic where she worked as a P.E. coach, teaching the fundamentals of sports and sportsmanship. It may not be the major league but it sure did help fill the spot and to be happy again. From there he went on to coach the clinic's little league team, bringing them to victory in many games. Then one day at a practice a little boy came up to him.

"I want to be a baseball player like you, Slightly Bent," he said. "Will you autograph my baseball?"

As he turned to take the ball, he began to sign, "And by the way, what is your name?" asked Slightly Bent.

"David," smiled the little boy.

Then David said thanks, hugged him, and ran off to play. A few years later, Hubert passed from complications of his heart. He died peacefully, leaving behind a lot of fans and friends. His last few words were play ball.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

Hurley

It was late in the evening in early October 1947. Larry David, Rick and Todd were walking home from snipe hunting. They had slipped out of the orphanage and taken young Benny Marshall, a new kid, snipe hunting with them, leaving him alone in the middle of the woods holding the bag.

"Can you see the expression on his face," said Larry David, "when we don't come back?"

"Yeah," laughed Rick. "When he finally realizes he's left out in the dark all alone, he'll beat us home."

"I bet he'll have to change his pants too," boasted Todd.

Their laughter lingered in the midst of the dark until they heard a shrill yell of sort. "Ay!"

"Shhh, what's that?" hushed Rick. "It's the faint scream of Benny." As they burst out laughing again, they made their way back to the orphanage.

A red-orange sky hovered over the little town of Rosedale, Georgia. The sky slowly began to fade into a dark blanket of black night. The wind began to whistle as it drove its way through the giant pines, stirring the leaves from the oaks, hickories, and maples. The wind recklessly scattered the leaves about while the night air became crisp, and the smell of summer was gone. Autumn perched its feet upon Rosedale and rested, while the distant cry of the whip-o-will accented the darkness over Omer County.

The young pranksters made their way home. Larry David, the oldest with black hair, was chubby, short, with glasses. Rick a redheaded, freckled face boy, was tall and slim with ears that stuck out. Todd a stringy headed blond boy, was medium size, with blue eyes, and a small mole on his chin. They passed by the old Warner place, and suddenly, Larry David stopped dead in his tracks.

"Look," he whispered quietly. "There's a light on in the old Warner house."

"Where?" replied Todd.

"Over there," said Rick.

"I can see it," replied Todd.

"That old house has been empty as long as I can remember," said Larry David.

"What do you make of it?" asked Rick.

"I don't know," he answered. "It's probably nothing but a homeless person."

The house was an old, tarnished weatherboard building. The roof was tin and rattled in the wind. Most of the windows were broken out. The porch had fallen in and the rest of the estate was guarded by bushes, dead trees, weeds and tall grass.

"Look," whispered Todd, "I can see someone."

"Come on guys, let's get a closer look," motioned Larry David.

Slowly, the boys crept up to the house and carefully eased up on the porch. Trying to be quiet they moved across the porch as boards popped, snapped, and squeaked.

"Shhh," hushed Larry David.

"I'm trying to," whispered back Rick.

Luckily, the restless wind carried the sounds away from the window. As they approached the unbroken dirty windows, their eyes slowly rose over the window sill and peeped in. They saw a huge man with his back toward them. It sounded like he was talking to someone in the room. There was a mattress on the floor, a table, and several chairs scattered about. On the table was a lantern which filled the room with light.

He appeared to be working on a chair. It looked like he had thin strips of tree bark that were soaked in water. Then he wove the strips in and out of the bottom and back of the chairs. Suddenly he stopped and stood up. He was the biggest man they had ever seen. When he turned to walk around they noticed his hair was long and stringy. He looked to be 6 feet tall, husky with a scraggly beard, bushy eyebrows, and deep-set eyes.

"Look!" cried Rick. "Look at his mouth; part of it is gone. He's a freak."

Quickly, they looked. There was a big gap in his top lip, and his teeth tilted to one side.

"He's got a cleft lip," replied Larry David.

"It may be a cleft lip, whatever that is," said Rick, "but he's scary."

Then the strange man suddenly turned toward the window. Immediately, the three sets of eyes disappeared from the window and the boys raced across the yard. Scared and running, the three boys made their way down the road to the Willow Leaf Children's Home where the boys lived. Panting for breath and about to collapse at any moment, when they reached the orphanage.

"Shhh," hushed Larry David as they eased the back door open. They slipped in, gently closing the door behind them, and suddenly the lights came on. There stood Sister Anne and Sister Finley.

"Don't say a word," she scolded. "Go to your rooms right now; we'll talk tomorrow. Larry David you go with Sister Finley in the car and get Benny."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"The rest of you," she threatened, "I'll talk to you in the morning. Now go to bed."

While on their way to get Benny, they passed by the old Warner place. Larry David looked but saw nothing—the light was out. A little piece up the road they came upon Benny walking home. He was crying, afraid, and fighting mad. He grabbed Larry David, and they tied up together. Sister Finley quickly broke in between them.

"That's enough boys," she said. "Now settle down and let's get back." Neither boy said a word.

On the way back to the orphanage, headlights appeared on an object on the side of the road. Quickly, Larry David looked. It was a man packing a grass sack. When he saw the man he eased down in the seat. It was the same man at the house. As the lights passed there was nothing but a shadowy figure left fading off into the darkness.

Morning came early for the three night prowlers, and Sister Anne was waiting for them. She piled them up with a week's worth of extra work, kitchen chores, and bathroom patrol.

The boys didn't waste any time spreading the word about a freak or monster living in the old Warner house. They had all the children afraid. No one knew who the stranger was or where he came from. He could have been an escaped convict. As the days passed, the rumor grew and spread about the orphanage. There were even rumors of missing children in the next county. Suspicions began to grow.

The old Warner house was up the road from the orphanage, near junction 10 and Dutch Creek Road. There was a field and some woods across the road that separated the children's home from the Warner house. Larry David and some of the other boys slipped off into the woods to watch the strange visitor, seeing what they could find out.

One evening Larry David and Rick decided to sneak up to the house to spy on him. When they approached the house, they heard someone crying. Cautiously, they peeped in. It was the stranger; he was crying and talking to himself. The boys sat quietly for a moment then left for the orphanage.

Who was this mystery man? That was the question on all their minds. About two o'clock every morning, seven days a week, he left the house and headed down the road to Pedigo's Dairy Farm where he milked cows to earn money to live. There he gathered up the cows, driving them across the road to the barn. Then he fed them; and milked twelve cows by hand until four o'clock. In the afternoon, about three o'clock, he milked them again, and after he cleaned up every evening about six o'clock, he headed home. Later at night, he put bottoms and backs in chairs which he sold.

Days passed in Rosedale, and at the passing of each day, the children taunted the strange man. They sang songs about him, the freak and the monster of Warner House. Rick and Larry David threw rocks up on his tin roof, causing the stranger to come out and yell at them.

"Get away from me," he cried, "and stay away."

Larry David had noticed the strange man never used the front door. Whenever he left, he would go out the back door as not to be seen.

"What do you make of that, Todd?" asked Larry.

"He's a strange man," replied Todd.

"Wait until Halloween night," cried Rick, "you freaky monster."

The days began to slip by as autumn waited patiently for winter. Finally, the long awaited day came—Halloween. The children at the orphanage were excited. Larry David, Rick, and Todd were loaded with soap and toilet paper. The gruesome threesome was on the prowl. Their main target was the old Warner house. As the chill of the October evening spread with the sunset, the threesome planned their attack. Get him before he gets you was the motto. Shortly after the appearance of night, while the other children were in the gym at the Halloween party, the three determined boys sneaked out the backdoor and disappeared in the dark. Hurriedly, they raced through the woods with their bags of soap and paper. Running through the woods with their flashlights, the boys appeared as three drunken fireflies. As they approached the house, they carefully looked about. They didn't see anyone; everything was quiet except the wind. The house was dark.

"He must be gone," they thought.

"Now is the time," said Rick. "We'll move in for the attack and get back to the party before we are missed."

"What about it guys?" asked Todd.

"I'm ready," stated Larry David and Rick.

"Let's do it!" cried Todd.

Quickly, the three swarmed the yard. They were like bees, soaping what windows were there and stringing toilet paper everywhere. But no one saw what lurked in the shadows. All of a sudden, ripping his way from out of the dark, the monster appeared with a loud, deep yell, "Leave me alone!"

Quickly, the boys screamed, "Let's get out of here," and headed for the woods. Screaming for their lives, they raced toward the orphanage. When, suddenly, Todd fell, the other two boys stopped and looked back. The monster stood tall and boldly over Todd and him at his feet, shaking and trembling. He was afraid to move, was afraid to look up. Then the monster bent down and picked him up in his arms. Todd's pants were torn and his knee was bleeding. He was so scared. Then the giant slowly turned and headed toward the house. The other boys quietly sneaked back, but all they could see was Todd dangling in his arms.

"Come on," whispered Larry David, "we've got to get Todd back."

"I don't know," replied Rick, "let's go get some help."

"We can't do that," said Larry David. "Sister Anne will know we sneaked out."

"Well let's go back to the party," suggested Rick, "and act like we don't know anything. By then Todd may get away."

"That's not a bad idea," replied Larry David. "We'll do that for now, but if Todd's not back soon, I'm coming after him."

Quickly, the two boys raced back to the school and slipped into the party unnoticed.

Meanwhile back at the house, Todd was sitting on the table eating cookies and candy while the strange man was cleaning his scraped knee.

"I'm sorry about your yard," Todd apologized. "We were wrong about you. You're not a bad person like we thought."

"Thank you," he replied. "It's alright."

"What's your name?" asked Todd.

"Hurley," he said.

"Hurley," replied Todd. "Where are you from?"

"Not far from here," he said. "What's your name?"

"Todd, sir," he replied.

"Todd, now that's a good name," he replied. "I don't believe I have ever met a Todd before."

"You have now," he giggled.

"Do you want some more cookies?" asked Hurley.

"No, I guess not," he said. "I need to get back. I'm sorry, Hurley, about everything. I'll tell the other children that you're not a monster."

"Don't worry about it," replied Hurley. "Sometimes things don't always seem like they are. Besides boys will be boys. Believe it or not, I was a little boy once. Come on, I'll walk you back to the school."

As the two new friends made their way out, Todd looked at the yard and was ashamed for what they had done.

"We'll come over tomorrow," said Todd, "and clean up your yard. If they don't want to, I'll tell Sister Anne the whole story."

"That'll be fine," replied Hurley. "You need to take responsibility for your action; besides, I'll help too."

When they reached the orphanage, Todd started to go in but, when he looked back, Hurley was gone. Slowly he eased the door open but as he looked again, he saw no one.

"Bye, Hurley," he said as he closed the door.

In the shadow stood a tall figure, and as the door closed, it disappeared.

When Todd had come in, Larry David and Rick spotted him down the hall.

"Hey, Todd," yelled Rick, "are you alright?"

"How did you get away?" questioned Larry David. "Tell us about him."

"Yeah, Todd, was he scary?"

"He's not like you said Larry David," replied Todd. "And Rick, he's not a monster either."

"What are you talking about?" questioned Larry David. "He's big and ugly and his mouth is all messed up."

"Yeah, Todd, what do you say about that?" interrupted Rick.

"He may look like that, and he may appear scary, but he's a nice man," answered Todd. "Look, he fixed my knee."

"So," they said.

"So," he replied, "it's time to leave him alone, no more jokes, and pranks."

"Says who?" spoke up Rick.

Then they started teasing Todd about him.

"That's enough," yelled Todd. "Tomorrow, we are going to clean up his yard."

"Who says?" replied Larry David.

"I say," answered Todd, "or I'll tell Sister Anne what we did."

"You wouldn't dare," stated Rick.

"If you tell," threatened Larry David, "you're going to have to fight Rick and me. Now what do you say?"

"Try me," cried Todd.

Slowly, the other two boys began to back down. They couldn't take a chance of getting in trouble again.

"Okay, Todd," asked Larry David, 'what is your plan?"

"Tomorrow we will clean up Hurley's yard, and he has offered to help."

"Hurley, who's Hurley," said Rick.

"That's his name," replied Todd.

"Hurley," said Larry David pausing a minute. "Okay, I'm in."

"What about you Rick?"

"Sure I'm in," he agreed.

About then, sister Anne walked up.

"Now what might you boys be up too?" she asked. "Why aren't you at the party?"

"We're just out here talking about nothing special," said Rick.

When they turned and started walking off she noticed Todd's knee.

"What on earth happened to your knee, Todd?" she questioned him.

"I fell," he replied.

"That is an awfully nasty scrape," she replied. "You did a great job cleaning it up. It's time to get back to the party, and I better not catch you sneaking out."

As the boys moved down the hall, they couldn't help but giggle.

At daybreak, they jumped out of bed and headed for Hurley's house. As they reached the clearing in the woods, they saw him walking down the road headed home. He had done his morning milking, and when he saw them it placed a smile upon his face. When the boys drew near him, Todd yelled out, "Hey, Hurley." He lifted up his hand and waved.

"Hey, boys," he said as he greeted them.

"Hurley, this is Larry David and this is Rick."

"Good morning," he said.

"Hi," they replied.

Larry David and Rick didn't know what to say. He was big and ugly, but they dared not say anything.

"We're coming to help you," said Todd, "like I promised."

"That's good," replied Hurley, "and I'm here to help also."

The time passed, and Hurley and the boys finally sat down and took a break.

"You boys are doing a good job," he said as he offered them cookies and candy.

"Thanks, Hurley," said Larry David and Rick.

"Is this your place?" Todd inquired.

"This is my old home place," he replied. "It belonged to my grandfather who handed it down to my father and now it is mine. It's been abandoned now for several years. My grandfather moved away and left the place to go to work in Atlanta. He meant to come back, but it never worked out. Daddy and Mama stayed in Atlanta also. The old place set for years. It's pretty much run down."

"Can I have some more candy?" asked Larry David.

"Sure you can," replied Hurley. "We're about done anyway."

"Do you have any children?" asked Larry David.

Hurley dropped his head and fell silent. He never said a word, he just go up and went into the house.

After that day, Hurley and the boys became good friends. They helped him bottom chairs, and he taught them to gather cows in and milk them. The boys loved to go with him to Pedigo's Dairy Farm. Mrs. Pedigo would churn butter, and the boys loved to put it on her hot biscuits. They would help her skim the cream from off the milk and add a dash of salt—the boys wore those dashes out. They would take turns putting the butter into the mold and selling it for 15-20 cents a pound to customers. Hurley, too, liked that homemade butter and biscuits but with a little tad of sugar.

The next few weeks were great, but Hurley had his moments. There appeared to be something that bothered him, but he wouldn't let it go. He never talked about his family or where he was from. It all remained a secret, like a box with no key or a song with no words.

Thanksgiving rolled in with a big turkey on a platter with dressing, giblet gravy, green beans, and corn. There was a new little boy named Jimmy at the orphanage. Jimmy was in a wheelchair. Hurley was walking home from milking when he noticed the little boy going into the orphanage. His eyes watered as a lump came in his throat, and he dashed toward the house. From that day on, the boys didn't see Hurley much. Every once in a while they spotted him in the woods staring at the orphanage. When they tried to talk to him, he didn't have much to say. It was like he was in his own little world.

Then finally, the big day came for Rosedale. It was the yearly Christmas parade. All the children at the orphanage loaded on the buses and headed for the parade. They were so excited, laughing, shouting, and carrying on like you wouldn't believe. Hurley stood at the edge of the woods and watched. They brought out little Jimmy and put him on the bus and drove off.

A few hours later, the street downtown was lined with grownups and children. Hurley stayed back while he watched as the parade passed by. There were floats, clowns, candy, balloons, and bands. Everyone was cheering and laughing. As Hurley watched the parade, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Jimmy. Soon the last of the fire engines roared through, and the last piece of candy left the ground. The crowd began to break up and head home. Then Todd and Larry David glanced up and saw Hurley. By the time they took a second look, he had vanished.

Winter fell hard after that day. The heavy snow and cold weather locked everyone inside. The snow looked lonely to Hurley. The boys saw him wading in the snow coming back from milking, smoke was coming from the chimney of his house. There was another set of eyes watching; little Jimmy stared out the window at him, too.

Slowly, the seasoned wheels of time turned winter into spring, and spring fever was in the air. The fever had hit Omer County, and no one had it worse than Larry David, Todd, Rick, and Jimmy. They had become good friends. In the evening, Larry David and Rick took a shortcut through the woods, hoping to find Hurley. Todd stayed with Jimmy and pushed him up the road. It wasn't long until they saw him coming back from milking, and they all gathered at his house.

"Hey, Hurley," said Larry David.

"Hi," said Rick.

"Hey," replied Hurley. "I see you made it through the winter."

"Yes, sir," they said, "I love the snow, but I don't like that cold wind."

"Who do we have here?" asked Hurley. "Todd, ain't you going to introduce me?"

"Sure, Hurley, this is Jimmy, and Jimmy this is Hurley."

"Well, hello, Jimmy," he replied.

"Hello," answered Jimmy.

About that time a car pulled up in front of the house and a woman got out.

"Boys, I need you to come back later," said Hurley.

Quickly, they left one by one. As they were leaving, you could hear her in the background. You couldn't make out what she said, but she was upset. From behind closed doors she was letting him have it. The boys slowly drifted out of sight, leaving Hurley back at the house in hot water.

"Why did you leave, Hurley?" she asked.

"I needed some time alone to think things through," he replied.

"I went to my sister's for a couple of weeks," she said. "I had to get away too. You were killing me with your guilt, and when I came back you were gone. I looked everywhere for you."

"I'm sorry that I worried you," he replied.

"Hurley, you have got to let it go. You couldn't help what happened. You have got to go on with your life before there is nothing left of our lives.

"I know, I know," he said. "but, it won't leave me alone. It's not that easy to let go and walk away."

"Will you come home with me," she suggested, "and we'll get some help, some counseling?"

"Carolyn, if you would give me a little more time," he pleaded, "that's all I need. Then if you want me back, I'll be there."

Then she spoke up to say something, and he suddenly stopped her.

"A little more time," he repeated. "Don't press me."

Tears filled her eyes as she turned to walk away, then stopped, and came back to him. Carefully she reached for him, and he reached for her. They embraced in a tight hug as she softly whispered, "I love you." Quickly she turned again and left in tears.

Hurley wasn't seen the rest of the day. The next morning he passed the orphanage, and Jimmy was sitting in the yard.

"Hi, Hurley," he said.

"Well, hit there, Jimmy," he replied.

"Where are you going," asked Jimmy.

"Nowhere," he laughed, "just wandering about."

"Want to sit down and talk?" asked Jimmy.

"Why, sure," replied Hurley. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you ever have dreams?" asked Jimmy.

"Sometimes," he replied.

"Do they ever come true?" he asked.

"Sometimes they do, but sometimes they don't," replied Hurley. "I guess it depends on what your dream is. Do you believe in miracles Jimmy? Miracles happen every day. We don't always recognize them, most of the time we take them for granted."

"Hurley, do you believe I could walk again?" questioned Jimmy.

Hurley never said a word.

"What happened to you, Jimmy?" he asked.

"I was at home playing upstairs and I tripped and fell down the steps. I damaged my neck and spine," he explained. "When I got out of the hospital, they said I would probably never walk again."

"Well, Jimbo," said Hurley. "Is it alright to call you Jimbo?"

"Sure," replied Jimmy.

"You look like a Jimbo to me," said Hurley.

"What's a Jimbo look like?" asked Jimmy.

"Why, look in the mirror," he replied, "and you'll see a Jimbo."

Then they both died laughing.

"Well, I've got to go," he said.

"I'll see you later," replied Jimbo.

"Always keep believing," instructed Hurley, "and hold on to that dream."

"Okay," cried Jimbo. "Bye, Hurley!"

About that time the other boys came up.

"Hey, guys, Hurley gave me a new nickname, Jimbo."

"Cool," they replied.

"Hey, Hurley, can we go milking with you this afternoon?" yelled Rick.

"I don't see why not," he replied.

Hurley walked on as the boys started to play. He couldn't get his mind off the question Jimmy asked him. He tried to brush it off, ignore it, but it kept haunting, like other things in his past. Then suddenly, a man pulled up in a pickup.

"Hurley, how are you doing?" the man asked.

"Fine, sir," he replied.

"About how many more chairs have you got ready?" he asked.

"About twenty-five," replied Hurley.

"Sounds good," said the man. "I have fifty more for you to repair."

"That's good," replied Hurley. "You want to pick the finished ones up now?"

"That would be great," said the man. "Hop in and we'll go get them."

Spring slipped by and Hurley and Jimbo grew closer. Jimbo had told Hurley his love and lifelong dream was to be a clown and walk in a Christmas parade. He asked Hurley if he would help him. Hurley didn't know what to say. He was at a loss for words. Then he thought a few minutes and turned to him and said, "I can try, Jimbo," he said. "I'll do my best."

From that moment on a crusade began to help Jimbo walk in this year's Christmas parade. Everyone was excited, everyone believed, but no one believed it any stronger than Jimbo.

"It's impossible," some skeptics would say. "It'll never happen."

But as long as Jimbo and Hurley believed, all doubts vanished away.

From that time on, it would take a lot of hard work and determination and a far greater faith to endure the obstacles. Everyone worked hard, and pulled their own weight. But no one worked any harder than Jimbo and Hurley. They kept the faith; they believed; they prayed because if the miracle was ever to be achieved, it was only by the hand of God. Larry David, Rick and Todd all stood by Jimbo's and Hurley's side. It was all for one and one for all. "Will God answer?" a lot of them thought.

Sister Anne said, "If He doesn't there are going to be a lot of disappointed people." She prayed and believed that a righteous prayer would not go unanswered.

From mid-summer to mid-fall, all but a few still pressed for the miracle. A lot of them felt discouraged. The crisp breeze of autumn laid low about Rosedale; the dream still seemed impossible to some. But Hurley and Jimbo never gave up hope. They pressed onward.

Then one day a car pulled up in front of the orphanage. Larry David and Rick recognized it as the car in front of Hurley's house. A woman got out and headed into the front of the building. The boys followed and listened outside the door as she asked to speak to Sister Anne. Shortly, they escorted her to Sister Anne's office.

"May I help you," asked Sister Anne.

"I don't know for sure," she said. "I am Carolyn, Hurley's wife."

"Oh, I didn't know," replied Sister Anne.

"There's a lot about Hurley you don't know," she said.

"I have heard the rumor of the miracle of the boy walking," she said. "Sister, I need your help."

"What can I do?" she replied.

"Hurley is a very troubled man," warned Carolyn.

"Are you saying, Mrs. Warner, that the children are in danger?"

"Oh, no," Carolyn quickly spoke up, "he wouldn't harm the children. It's him. Ever since the loss of our son, he has turned away from everybody, especially me."

"Oh, I didn't know," replied Sister Anne. "Hurley never mentioned he had a son."

"He can't," said Carolyn. "He blames himself for our son's death."

"He seems so good with the children," bragged Sister Anne.

"Dusty was our little boy's name," she said. "They were inseparable. He was nine years old when he died."

"What is it you want me to do?" questioned Sister Anne.

"I don't know exactly. If maybe you could talk to him," she said, "and help me to try to reach him."

"I don't know," replied Sister Anne. "I'll see what I can do."

"I'm going to talk with him again," she said. "Please pray for us."

"You will be in our prayers," promised Sister Anne.

As the boys scattered, Carolyn came out and headed for Hurley's.

"She cares for him a lot," said Todd.

When Carolyn pulled up, Hurley met her at the door.

"I'm staying," she said, "Till you're ready to come home."

"Now, Carolyn, there's no need," he said. "I'm doing fine."

"Hurley, don't you understand that I love you," replied Carolyn.

"I know," he said. "I believe you. I love you too, but Dusty..."

"Dusty is gone," she cried. "He's dead. I need you now."

Then he took her in his arms. "It's going to work out Don't get so upset."

That night, Hurley pulled an old wooden chest from the closet. Slowly he opened it, and there inside was a set of leg braces carved out of sycamore and laced in birch. The straps that harnessed the leg tightly in place were made of slick leather hides. Braided in place they were firm and stout. The braces had some kind of special clip-on weight that helped keep the balance. Hurley sat a few minutes in silence as tears filled his eyes.

"Lord," he said, "we do need a miracle. If there is any left in heaven, we could use one down here. I pray Jimmy's dreams can come true."

It wasn't long until Halloween. This year, instead of rolling Hurley's yard, Hurley and the boys rolled the yard at the orphanage. Sister Anne watched from her room as did the other children. When she opened the window and yelled out, "Hurley, you know better than that," they all scattered like buckshot, diving into the bushes and woods laughing.

"I know what you'll be doing tomorrow, Hurley," said Rick.

"Me, too," he replied.

The other boys all laughed and said, "We'll pitch in."

Thanksgiving, Hurley carved the turkey and Carolyn helped with the meal at the orphanage. There was a lot to be thankful for, but, Hurley was most thankful for his new friends.

During the Christmas season, Hurley and the boys cut the tree, and Carolyn and the others trimmed it. It was a sight to see. It dressed the halls of the orphanage with its strong smell of cedar. The popping and snapping of the wood in the fireplace set the mood for carols, as they all sang with the season's cheer in their hearts.

"Hey, look," yelled one of the children, "it's snowing."

"Hooray," cried the others as they raced outside to play.

It was only a couple of weeks till the Christmas parade. Carolyn had sewn Jimbo a clown suit to wear, and Hurley worked with him on the braces for his legs.

"Remember, Jimbo, you've come a long way, but we are far from being there. If you want to change your mind, I understand."

"No way, Hurley, I want my dream to come true."

"Okay, then you are going to have to listen, take small steps, heel first and then toe. The braces should hold you up, but don't lean forward or to either side. They are heavy, but I believe you can wear them."

For the next week, Jimmy struggled with the braces. He kept tilting forward so Hurley gave him two canes to hold out in front of him for balance. By the time of the parade, Jimmy was ready to give it his all. Everyone was so excited, rushing about to get to the parade. But they all hoped and wished the best for Jimbo and Hurley.

Jimmy was dressed in his clown suit, and his face was painted. Larry David, Rick, and Todd would walk along beside him in case he should fall. Hurley was a few steps ahead of him to help motivate Jimmy and encourage him to keep his chin up, take small steps, and keep his back straight.

There was a little crust of snow still on the ground from the last snow fall. A giant Christmas tree stood decorated in the town square. It was covered with silver and gold bulbs, balls and tinsel. The aroma of the season created a song of joy in the air. The stores were decorated with bows and ribbons. There was the typical hustle and bustle of the people.

Suddenly, the town was blasted with sirens and horns as the marching bands came alive. There were pops and bangs from the clown cars, and Jimbo was leading the parade. Carefully, he took one step at a time, tilting his smiling face from side to side as tears smeared in his makeup.

Hurley yelled out, "It's a miracle."

The crowd cheered and roared, "It's a miracle sent from God," cried the crowd.

They couldn't believe it. As the parade proceeded, Hurley noticed that he was getting tired. He motioned the boys to keep watch. Then suddenly, Jimbo stumbled and almost fell, but he caught himself.

"Three words for Jimbo and three for Hurley," shouted the crowd.

It was the grandest parade ever. There were balloons, candy, and popcorn galore. Then unexpectedly, it started to snow.

"The Lord is pleased," cried Hurley, "keep the faith."

With sirens of the last fire engine and the last toss of candy, the parade finally ended. Everyone ran toward Jimbo, praising the Lord and lifting him up on their shoulders. When they looked for Hurley, he was gone. They turned to Sister Anne and Carolyn. Sister Anne knew where to find him. She could always see hurt in his eyes, but didn't know what it was till Carolyn explained. When she found him, he was crying.

"Hurley," she said, "things will be alright. You're going to have to give it to the Lord. The Lord loves you and I believe if you'll open up to Him, He'll give you peace.

"But Sister Anne," he said, "I feel like I have failed my son."

"I know, Hurley," she replied, "and listen to what I am saying, trust Him."

Quickly, he wiped away the tears from his eyes.

"Hurley, it's time to go home. It's time to face the truth," she said. "It's time for you and Carolyn..."

"I know," he replied. "But, I love my son. I miss him."

As he took his shirt sleeve and wiped his eyes. Carolyn walked up to them.

"Take him home Carolyn, things are going to work out," she encouraged. "Keep the faith my child."

No one knew that day at the parade that Hurley had had a son who was crippled. He had worked hard making the braces with the hope his son would walk, but his son died before Hurley got them done.

Hurley whispered, "Sister Anne, it's time to go."

Carolyn took him in her arms and he took her in his. Then they turned and walked away.

"Thank you, Sister Anne," said Carolyn.

Six months later a car pulled up in front of the orphanage.

"It's Hurley and Carolyn."

The adoption papers for Jimmy had finally been accepted. Hurley and Carolyn had a new son, and Jimbo had a new mama and daddy.

"Carolyn, how are things at home?" asked Sister Anne.

"It's better," she replied. "He's trying, and he's come a long way."

"He's got a long way to go," said Sister Anne, "but his heart is in the right place."

"He's a good man, Sister and a good father," replied Carolyn.

"I believe that," she replied. "I saw it with him and Jimmy."

"Well, Jimmy, it's time to go," said Hurley. "Are you ready?"

"I sure am," shouted Jimmy.

"Let's go," replied Hurley. "You ready, Carolyn?"

"Goodbye, Jimbo," yelled the children and Sister Anne.

"Keep in touch," cried Larry David, Todd and Rick.

"Bye!" waved Jimbo out the back window of the car.

"I think Hurley's dream has come true," thought Sister Anne—Amen.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

Sixteen Candles

Night's darkness hovered as the storm raged and fiery lightning streaked across the black sky as thunder rumbled above. Flashing again at the side of the little, old, weatherboard house it revealed the embraced silhouette of a little girl looking out the window.

She stood alone in the darkened room with many thoughts rushing through her mind. Fierce wind and rain beat against the window. As she watched, rain began to puddle into little streams. Listening to the thunder in the distance, her breath fogged the glass before her.

"Why God," she quietly uttered. "Why me?"

Cherry was a bright, pretty thirteen-year-old girl. Her long, dark brown hair dangled below her shoulders. Freckles accented her face and embroidered her smile. She was full of life, but tonight she was solemn.

She had been raised on a farm in Flat Ridge, Sullivan County, in northern middle Tennessee. Most of her years, she had lived with her mom and dad on the farm off Broken Fence Road. Her Dad sold the farm and moved the family to Halfway, a bigger town with better job opportunities for him.

It had only been a week since Cherry had come home from the hospital. Her Mom, Dad, and little brother spent most of their time crying and asking why. Weeks ago her test results had confirmed the doctor's diagnosis of brain cancer. The test not only confirmed it, but showed that the cancer was worse than they had expected. The cancerous tumors had surrounded her brain, and there was nothing that could be done. The way the tumors were embedded made surgery impossible. Radiation was her only hope.

"With the treatments," he stated, "we may be able to reduce their size or possibly stop them from growing. We can always hope for a remission, but with or without treatment, she has one year at the most."

They gritted their teeth to hold back the tears on the way home. After arriving home, cries and screams could be heard throughout the house. Her mother cried out in rage as she turned to her husband.

"What are we going to do? I can't lose my little girl."

"What can I do?" he shouted as his eyes welled up with tears and pain. He tried to hold them back; his hands began to quiver as he took a deep breath. His head dropped, and he cried out, "Why my little girl? Oh God, why?"

Cherry sat with her head in her mother's lap. A small frightened voice stilled the room. "Why what, mama?" asked little brother. He was too young to understand. He began to cry with them as he patted his sister's hand.

Looking around at each other their tears stopped. Heads lifted up and hearts filled with love as Dad spoke up, "We'll do the best we can do and make the best of it. There is nothing we can do except the treatments, and we will pray."

Broken and confused, Cherry sat beside her mom with her little brother feeling helpless. "I don't want to die," she cried.

"Hush baby," replied her mother. "Things will work out, you'll see."

The hopelessness of the past few weeks stirred anger in Cherry that night. She cried in the darkness of her room. "I don't want to die!" Slowly, she slid down in front of her window. She clenched her fists in anger and beat them on the floor. The rain tapered off as the sound of thunder became faint in the distance. A glimmer of light ran across her room. Slowly, she turned up the lighted dial of her radio and heard the words of a song that warmed the air and made her happy to be a teenager. Earth Angel, Earth Angel...

The year was 1962, Cherry was thirteen years old. War was going on in Southeast Asia and young men and women were being sent to Vietnam. People were protesting and marching in demonstrations against the war. The Civil Rights Movement was sweeping its way across the south. The six o'clock news broadcast the war from Da Nang, the Ho Chi Minh Trail to Hanoi, Cambodia and Thailand. It was becoming all too familiar to the people of the U.S.

Cherry didn't understand the war. Music and television were her world. Songs like "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" and "Please Mr. Postman" and shows like "Gunsmoke," "Ben Casey," and "The Andy Griffith Show" were among her favorites.

She would start her treatments in a few days. She and her family were briefed by the doctors on what to expect. They knew she would be sick, weak, and possibly lose her hair. These things you could live with, but the thought of losing their child was unbearable.

The family waited patiently and prayed. Things that once seemed so important now seemed so pointless. Their dreams were on hold. Cherry's future now took center stage in their lives.

Cherry sat in her room one day listening to the radio. She talked to the Lord for the first time since the night of the storm. "Lord, I've been thinking. I'm not mad at you, I just don't understand. I'm afraid. I have so many unanswered questions. Can I ask you some of them? What did I do? Whatever it was, I'm so sorry. Does dying hurt? I don't want to hurt. I hope I can go to Heaven, but I don't want to leave Mom and Dad and little brother. There are so many things that I will miss: my first date, first dance, prom, getting married and having my own children." Cherry sighed then laid there quietly for what seemed like hours. She never said another word, nor did the Lord speak. From the radio Chubby Checker sang, "Come on everybody clap your hands." The Twist was the biggest dance crave across the country, and as he sang she joined in. The songs and singing helped her a lot. The songs played a huge role in keeping her hopes up.

The day of the first treatment finally came, and it looked like her parents were more frightened than she was. At the hospital they saw many other children suffering with similar diseases. It humbled them to see all the other parents in the same situation. Still, they believed the Lord would do what was best for Cherry. The first treatment wasn't too bad. Getting over the fright of the experience was worse than the treatment itself.

When Cherry got home she lay down for a nap. The trips to Nashville took a lot out of her. Carefully Cherry's mother eased the door shut while Cherry lay and looked up at the ceiling and said, "Lord, I know you don't ever say much, matter of fact, nothing at all, but I know you were with me today. I felt your presence. I wasn't afraid. Please take it away. Sometimes you act big and tough, which I guess you have to when you look around. But, you have a kind heart with a gentle touch when you want to. Lord, I can't wait till I'm sixteen. I pray for a birthday party with ice cream and a cake with sixteen candles. I would like all my friends to come over. I need to get my learner's permit so I can chauffer mom and dad around. I'd go to some of the school dances with my girlfriends and see the boys dance and have fun. I think being sixteen is one of the coolest years of growing up. Don't you, Lord?" Her eyes became heavy as she fell asleep.

Slowly a crack appeared at the bedroom door, and a set of tiny blue eyes peeped in. "Goodnight, Sissy," whispered her little brother as he closed the door.

Cherry slept through the night and awoke to a fresh, new day. Each day now was special, and she was determined to live it to the fullest. Today was special to her for another reason. She didn't want to do anything but play with her little brother. She wanted to have fun. They played and laughed the whole day. She wasn't able to do much, but she did her best. "Sissy, are you going to leave and never come back?" asked her little brother.

"Why, no," she replied. "What makes you think that?"

"'Cause you're sick," he said.

His little eyes watered, and his bottom lip poked out and started to quiver. "I don't want you to go," he cried. "You are the best sissy in the world. You are the only one I have." Lovingly she reached over and took him in her arms and gave him a big hug as tears ran from her eyes. "I won't ever leave you," she said encouraging him. "I'll always be here for you. Hey! I know what."

"What?" he asked.

"Let's look through the picture album," she said.

"Oh boy," he cried.

The two sat comfortably in the chair turning the pages of the album. "These are some pictures of the farm we used to live on before you were born," she said. "I was four then. I used to play in the creek that ran in front of the house. It had a foot-log across it like a bridge. I made many mud pies by that creek."

"Wow," he replied. "Can you eat them?"

"There's the old house," she said. "On Saturday nights we listened to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio. That was before Daddy bought the television. There's a picture of him."

"Dad had a lot of hair then," he giggled.

"Momma had this old rooster that didn't have any feathers on his butt. We called him Naked Butt. Every time I went out in the yard to play, he would chase me back in the house. I tried to hide from him but he always seemed to find me and take off after me," she laughed.

"Naked Butt, that's funny," giggled little brother. "I wonder whatever happened to him."

"Momma put him in the pot," assured Cherry, then they both laughed. "There's Grandma. On Sunday after church we would all go over to her house for dinner. The children had to eat last because the grownups always ate first. A lot of the time there was not much left. I remember going over to Grandma's on Saturday evenings too. We would sit around and watch the Porter Wagoner Show and Grandpa would make popcorn in a covered skillet. Then we would watch Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs till the wrestling came on later. Grandma loved wrestling."

"Look, Sissy, is that you as a cowgirl?" asked her little brother.

"Yep, that was one Christmas at the farm," she said. "I got a record player, a stick horse, and that cowgirl outfit."

"Gee you got a lot of neat stuff," he replied.

"When I was six we got our first television. I loved it. I watched TV all the time. Look at this one; brother, this is you in my baby carriage. I would push you around in it all the time."

"You did, Sissy?" he asked amazed.

"Yes, I did," she replied. "I loved to play with paper dolls and plant flowers, too. See? Here's one of the flower beds I fixed, and it was pretty, too, until daddy's old redbone hound wallowed in it."

"Look, Sissy, it's you dressed up in momma's clothes," shouted brother.

Cherry broke out laughing. "I used to cut up her dresses and sew them together to fit me. I had forgotten about that."

The day soon passed, and the time for another treatment was at hand. The trip to Nashville and back put everyone on edge. Momma and Daddy had started fussing.

When they arrived home Momma said, "We need to be strong for each other. We need to pull together."

"Today is not one of those days," Daddy replied. Suddenly he grabbed his hat and marched out the door. "I'm going out."

Momma started to cry. I went over and laid my head in her lap. She gently rolled my hair between her fingers and said, "I love you, baby. I wish I could make it all go away."

"Momma," I said, "There is something I have been thinking about."

"What's that, baby?" she replied.

"My fourteenth birthday is coming up and I wish I could have my sixteenth birthday instead," Cherry requested.

"Why baby, why would you want to do that?" questioned her mother.

"I can't wait till I'm sixteen, and I'm afraid the way things are..."

"Don't you think such a thing. You're going to be fine," replied her mother.

"But mom, please can I?" she asked. It won't have to be all that big, just cake and some friends is all, please."

"Okay baby girl," she replied. "We'll talk it over with your daddy."

"Oh, thank you Momma," cried Cherry. "I love you!"

That night Momma and I stayed up late waiting for Daddy to come home. By early morning, we hadn't seen him. She was worried and mad; she walked out to the car and found him asleep in the backseat. She pecked on the window, waking him. Then she marched into the house storming mad, not far behind came Daddy. He had a crick in his neck. Momma raced out of the room fussing, Daddy followed. Then he slammed the bedroom door behind him. You could hear them arguing in the other room.

"Don't you think it's hard on me too?" yelled Momma.

"What if she dies?" shouted Daddy.

Cherry sat quietly in the living room holding her little brother with her hands over his ears.

"What's wrong?" little brother asked.

"Hush brother," she said to comfort him. "It's going to be alright."

Then suddenly they marched out of the bedroom, still arguing. Quickly, Cherry jumped up. "Stop it! Stop it!" she screamed.

Her mom and dad fell silent and turned to look at their children.

"I wish was dead," Cherry cried.

"No, no, no!" yelled little brother.

As Cherry raced to her room, her brother looked up at his momma. "Momma," he cried, then he rain over to her.

She took him in her arms, hugged him tightly and went into the other room. Daddy looked around. He made his way solemnly to Cherry's room and apologized. After that day, there were no more arguments, and everyone pulled together as a family.

Cherry had two more treatments. After that, the doctors ran tests to check the size of her tumors. They were shrinking but not much or fast enough. The doctors decided after the tests to do one more treatment and wait a few weeks.

She was weaker, becoming sick to her stomach, and spending a lot of time resting. Cherry found her strength in the love of family and friends. The children in the hospital looked forward to seeing her. Something about her gave them hope.

Cherry loved being at home more than anything. She helped her momma around the house when she could. She loved to hang clean, fresh clothes on the clothesline. It delighted her to notice when the wind was just right, the ends of the sheets snapped and popped with crispness. Little things meant a lot to her now.

"Momma, did you ask Daddy about my sixteenth birthday party?" she asked.

"I sure did and guess what he said?" replied her momma. Before Cherry could answer, momma told her. "He said that would be great!"

"Momma, I want to have it at the hospital with my friends if that would be okay," she said.

"Well, I don't know, baby, if the hospital will let us do that," replied her momma. "I'll have to see."

"Are you ready to make some flowers out of crepe paper for Decoration Day?"

"Sure," said Cherry.

Time passed and the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went. The new year was 1963. The Vietnam War was still being fought. Everyone was watching the "Beverly Hillbillies," "Bonanza," and "Lassie".

When Cherry was too sick or tired to do much with her mother, she lay across her bed and listened to her radio. Songs like 'My Boyfriend's Back,' 'Chantilly Lace' and 'It's My Party' comforted her like beloved friends. Her favorite show at the time was "American Bandstand." The music was the latest and best, and she enjoyed watching the couples dance on the show.

She loved to dance even if she didn't move as well as she used to. She would try her best to do the bop, the stroll, and the mashed potatoes. At one of her friend's party they played records, sang, and danced. It was so much fun! She wished she could spend more time with them.

There was this one boy that lived in her neighborhood named Chip, and she had a huge crush on him. When she was able to go to school, he carried her books down the hall for her, and they walked home together. Now that she was homebound, he would come over and help her with homework. She thought he was so cute.

Cherry had a best girlfriend she had met at the hospital. She loved to make Katherine laugh. Cherry called her Kat. She would braid Kat's hair into pig tails. The friends talked for hours at a time making plans for the things they wanted to do when they got well. Kat was as sick as Cherry. She had brain cancer also, only more advanced.

Cherry's next treatment caused her to stay at the hospital for a longer time. She began to lose her hair. Two weeks after what was to be her last treatment the doctors had found that some of the smaller tumors had disappeared but the larger ones had not. At least they weren't getting any bigger. It was a long shot but the doctors wanted to try mixing the radiation with chemotherapy. They were desperate to try to shrink the size of the tumors.

When the time came, the hospital allowed Cherry to have her sixteenth birthday in their day room. Nurses, doctors and orderlies volunteered to bring the children out to enjoy the party, and the ones that could not be moved would be served cake and ice cream in their rooms. Cherry was not the only one who was excited, even the adults were.

"You're going to come aren't you Kat?" begged Cherry.

"You bet! "I wouldn't miss this for the world," promised Kat.

"Good," replied Cherry, "because I want you to help blow out my candles."

"In a few more days I'll be fourteen having my sixteenth birthday party. That's crazy," laughed Cherry.

That night Kat passed away in her sleep. Cherry felt more alone than ever before. After the funeral Cherry decided to cancel the party. Kat's mother encouraged her to go on and have it. Kat would be very sad if she didn't. She knew that Kat would have wanted the party to go on no matter what. Cherry listened to Kat's mother and decided to go ahead and hold the party like Kat would have wanted.

Party time had come and everyone was excited. Kat's spirit filled the room. There was a huge cake with sixteen candles, and daddy brought her record player and a stack of 45's; he was the DJ. Cherry had requested no gifts but asked everyone to bring their brightest smiles, which they did. Kat's mom and dad came and so did Chip.

The music Cherry loved was played continuously. The staff danced with children in wheelchairs. They bopped, did the twist and laughed till their sides hurt. Doctors would pop in and dance, too, until the nurses began to snicker, and they popped back out.

It was the greatest party ever! The cake was rolled out and Cherry spoke up.

"I want to thank you all for being here with me and making this possible. I want to thank the Lord for allowing my biggest dream ever to come true. Before we cut the cake, I want to have a moment of silence for Kat." Cherry was radiant in the candle glow. "I'll make my wish, and the second blow is for Kat." With a big breath, Cherry blew across the cake leaving candles smoldering in smoke and some still lit. She blew the rest out for Kat, and everyone cheered, "Happy Birthday."

Daddy turned up the volume on the record player and played, Sixteen Candles. She felt a tug on her dress and turned around. "Happy Birthday, Sissy," brother said. Cherry felt that this was the happiest day of her life.

"May I have this dance?" asked Chip.

"Yes you may," she answered shyly.

To this day people who work at the hospital still talk about Cherry's sixteenth birthday party. It was the brightest event that year after the shock of President Kennedy's assassination that same year. The next year, 1964, the Beatles took America by storm with 25,000 screaming fans to meet them at the airport in New York. They brought new music for Cherry to adore.

Much time has passed since the party, and if we could ask Cherry how she has been doing since then she might tell us...The Lord granted my birthday wish. The cancer went into remission, I asked God for a little more time. I graduated from high school in 1966. In 1971, I graduated from college with a degree in Music. I have a job at a middle school. I have seen a man land on the moon! Woodstock was the craziest happening ever. The Beatles broke up and I cried for days. Ringo will always be my favorite. The war in Vietnam finally ended. I got married! Yep, Chip asked and of course I didn't even blink to say yes! We even have two little girls and the oldest is named Kat. The Lord has been a good and true friend to me. He still doesn't have much to say, but I'm always listening just in case. I can say now that I am ready to go to Him when He calls.

In 1977 at the age of twenty-eight, the cancer returned and Cherry quietly passed away listening to her music. By special request from her husband, Chip, they played Earth Angel at her funeral, and no one doubted that she was listening still.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

Return of the Redwing

It had been a long hard winter that year in the little community of Dry Creek. I remember my name is Billy Joe. The snows had been heavy and the cold arctic air had been colder than anyone remembered. Rabbit hunting had begun, especially from the brush piles where everyone had cut wood in the fall for winter. There was nothing but one thing better than fried rabbit, sawmill gravy, and homemade biscuits for breakfast and that was fried chicken, gravy and biscuits.

It was the winter of 1959 in Stonebridge County in Tennessee when the heavy snows and ice storms hit. The snows blanketed the ground so deep that it was up to the bumpers of cars. The ice had knocked out over half the power, leaving the county in a blackout. I was a young boy then. I remember carrying wood in and stacking it on the porch, drawing water from the well and packing water into the house. The last thing that I had to do was feed and water Daddy's hunting dogs, Jake and Susie. It wasn't too bad feeding them until you got in the pen with them. Jake and Susie would jump upon you and knock you down if you wasn't careful. It was rough growing up back then, a lot of people had it bad. A lot of us were in the same boat, just trying to get by.

In the spring and summer you had to work in the tobacco fields, hall hay, and keep the garden cleaned out. There was plenty to do. Trying to get it done was not an easy task. The welcome of winter sometimes seemed to be a blessing. You had more times for other things to do. It won't be too long now after Christmas. In February and March, we would start fixing plant beds. First, we clean off a spot of ground. Then we cut some small trees and lay them on the ground I a long rectangular shape. Then we would pile a bunch of brush in it and set it on fire. This helped kill out any weeds that might try to grow. Next we would dig up the ground inside the bed. Then we would sow the seeds and we covered the bed with a canvas and compost. Then we waited for the plants to get big enough to set, and then pulled them from the bed and transplanted them in the field. Talking about all this, I recall Daddy, a lot of times, plowing the tobacco patch with our two mules, Jenny and Nell. Daddy would walk behind them in the hot sun for hours as sweat ran down his face yelling neigh and yea. Old Jenny and Nell would buck a little, sometimes they would fart, and Daddy would laugh. I believe Daddy farted too sometimes.

What time I wasn't at home, I spent time with my best friend, Maurice. He could make the best chocolate gravy and biscuits I have ever put in my mouth. He was the pastor of the church in Dry Creek. He lived on Muddy Pond Road next to the church. Muddy Pond Road ran straight down the middle of Dry Creek on toward Flat Woods, which was the next town about five miles up the road.

I lived between Dry Creek and Flat Woods up in the hollow. At Walker's Market in Dry Creek you could get anything you wanted. You could take a quarter and buy a soft drink and some eater snacks and have money left over. Ten dollars would buy a box of groceries, a stand of lard, and a sack of flour. At the old school house it was divided into two rooms. Grades one through four were in one room and grades five through eight in the other. The school was kept warm in the winter by a big old pot-bellied stove. The boys had to take turns bringing the coal in. Around Dry Creek, there was a post office, scattered farmhouses, barns, and farms. Besides logging, tobacco, corn, and hay were about all that was raised around there. But, just between you and me, up in these hollows are some of the biggest moonshine stills in the county. I know for a fact I've been with Daddy many times.

It was early one morning when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Anybody home?" asked a deep voice from behind the door.

"I'll get it," I yelled as I quickly jumped up from the table. When I got to the door, there stood Maurice. "It's Maurice," I shouted. "Come on in."

"Brother Dunkin, what are you doing out in this storm?" asked Mama. "Let me have your hat and coat," she said. "Step over here by the fire. It's rough out there."

"The word is they won't be able to get the snow plows up here until the end of the week," explained Maurice.

"By the end of the week," replied Daddy. "We might be snowed under by then."

"Are you hungry, Pastor?" Daddy asked.

"Yeah, Maurice, we got fried rabbit and gravy," I shouted.

"You do," he replied. "Why, I might take a bite of that, thank the Lord."

"Good, I'll go set you a place," Mama said as she left for the kitchen.

Sometimes it would get so cold at night that the dipper would freeze in the water bucket. In the morning you would wake up from under a pile of blankets and the fire had gone out in the night. It was hard building a fire in the morning when you were so cold you couldn't keep from shaking. But it was home.

"I must say, Sister Brown that is the best fried rabbit I believe I have ever eaten," replied Maurice. "You can't beat that white gravy. Let me have a little more of that."

"Brother Dunkin," asked Daddy, "have you heard anything about Sister Marshall lately?"

"I talked to her Brother a few days ago," Maurice replied. "I'm afraid she's in for a long spell."

"I know when you break your hip," Daddy replied, "there isn't much you can do."

"You're right about that," answered Maurice.

"If those snow plows would hurry up and get here," Mama said, "some of the other ladies from the church and I could get up there to see her."

"I know," replied Maurice, "and believe me she would be tickled to see you. This weather has just about shut me down. I've got to go and make my rounds while I can before dark. There's a lot of members from church that are sick."

"You don't have to rush off," said Daddy. "Come back anytime. Bye, Brother Dunkin," we all cried.

"Bye, thanks for breakfast," he yelled. "Talk to you later."

The snowplows came earlier than they thought, opening the roads so they were passable again. Not long afterward, that brought the end of winter that year. Eventually the snow melted, causing the flooding of the creeks and opening of the buds of the trees to spring. From the passing of the long winter, spring brought in a new life to Dry Creek. The hills and hollows were alive with the chirping of the birds and the smell of the fragrance of the wild flowers. I do have to say we have come a long way since outhouses and slop jars.

My life and my world was wrapped up in Dry Creek and my best friend Maurice. We spent every day together. We fished and hunted, we looked for dry land fish and gigged frogs at night. We picked blackberries, strawberries, and poke salad. We were inseparable. Maurice was like a second dad to me. He had no family. His wife had died several years ago and his children moved off to the big city. They only came to see him about twice a year. He had been the pastor of our church for a long time. Maurice may have been old and stubborn at times, but when he preaches he would get on your toes. The church didn't have many members, some moved away and others died. But like Maurice always said where two or three are gathered together in the Lord's name, he would be in the mist of them.

I remember a couple of years ago when Sister Perry wore a new wide brim hat to church. During the service she got happy and started running around the church. Maurice got happy too and as she passed by he reached for her hat to put it on. Instead, he jerked the brim of her hat down around her neck. They went on praising the Lord and shouting. I didn't know what to think.

A few days later, Maurice and I was walking down the road by the creek when we heard something. I quickly looked about but didn't see anything. Maurice pointed up into a tree. That's when I saw the redwing blackbird.

"Can you see it up there?" he asked.

"Yeah, I can now," I replied back.

"There's an old negro folklore," he said. "The first redwing blackbird you see after winter signifies that spring is soon coming and the last one you see in summer means autumn is near. You can tell the coming of the season by keeping your eye on him, so they say."

"It sure is pretty," I replied.

"It's one of my favorites," replied Maurice.

From that day on the years seemed to go by now quicker than before. I was growing up and Maurice was beginning to show his age. His health was starting to fail. I would always tell Maurice there was a big world out there and I wanted to taste it. I tried to talk to him about it, but he would always tell me it it's not what you think. But, I didn't care. I didn't put much into what he said about that. He had been out there. I hadn't and I didn't believe it would be that way with me. I believed I could handle it, besides Dry Creek had nothing to offer me. There was no money here nor excitement, parties or fame in this old stick in the mud place. But I'll always remember what he would always say.

"You'll have to find out for yourself, son," said Maurice. "No one can tell you about it. You'll have to experience it for yourself."

I was a young rowdy youth with a few dollars and a heedful of dreams. I was going to change the world, and make a fortune, and live fast and make a difference. Maurice wouldn't say much. He would always tell me he was praying for me.

"What do I have to hang around here for, Maurice? What's in Dry Creek for me? I've got my whole life before me. Daddy is gone, we buried him last week."

"I am here," replied Maurice.

"But, Maurice, you're old and we have had our times together," I explained. "I need something new and exciting in my life. Meet new people; people my age and girls too."

"What you need, son is the Lord," stated Maurice. "I just hate to see you hurt and throw it all away, but you might as well go on because you'll never be satisfied until you find out for yourself."

A few days later, I knocked on Maurice's door. When Maurice opened the door, he didn't have to say anything because he already knew. I had my things and my dreams; I was heading out.

"Be careful, son," was all he said.

"Yes, sir," I replied as I turned and walked away. "I'll be back to see you." I stopped for a moment and paused. "Maurice, the things I said about you I didn't mean."

Maurice replied, "I know you didn't mean it, but you were right."

Then he slowly closed the door as I walked away. Deep inside I wanted to stay, I was a little afraid, but there was a part of me that sought the adventure.

The seasons came to pass and Maurice kept his eye on the return of the redwing, but most of all he watched for the return of his best friend. He never had much to say after that. I believe he prayed each day for the Lord to watch over me and bring me home safe. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of him. There were the times I thought about going back home, but I just couldn't give up trying. It came later in the fall a few years later when I left that his health made a turn for the worst. Mama had written me that. Maurice laid flat on his back and could hardly move from complications of health problems. Mama too was going down. Then one day there came a knock at the door. As he yelled come in, the door slowly opened. It was his youngest daughter, Kristine.

"Daddy, I'm home," she yelled as she ran to hug him.

His eyes balled in with water, and then he took a deep breath and sighed. Then he started to cough.

"Daddy, I ran into Billy Joe in the city. He told me what his mama had said about you being sick so I decided to come home."

"How have you been doing?"

"I've been doing pretty good," she replied.

"How's Billy Joe?" he asked.

She didn't say, but he knew.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

He said, "No, but I am glad you're finally home."

They then reached for each other at the same time as she hugged him, as it may be her last time.

"Where on earth have you been, baby girl?" he cried. "Why didn't you let me know something?"

"I've been in the city," she said. "I've been busy trying to get by."

"But couldn't you have called."

"I'm sorry, Daddy, I could have several times but I just didn't" she replied. "I'm home now. We have to get you back up and going."

Then he slowly turned his head, "My best days are over with," he sighed. "But it's good to have you back. I didn't think I would ever see you again."

"It's good to be home with you again, Daddy" she responded.

As the tears flooded their eyes, they hugged again.

Maurice turned his eyes upward and whispered, "Thank you, Lord."

"But, what about Ellen, your sister?" he asked. "Have you seen her, my child?"

"No, Daddy, I haven't," she answered. "I stayed with her for a while until her boyfriend ran me off. I haven't seen her since."

"Why on earth, child, didn't you come home?" he asked.

"I don't know Daddy," she replied, "I just didn't."

"Ellen wanted to see the world and I tagged along behind her. Daddy, there wasn't anything left here for us. You were always going off preaching revivals and visiting people. Daddy, you became a different person after Mama died."

He just dropped his head.

"Daddy, I am home now and you need not worry. I'm going to take care of you."

When I got to the big city, I hit it running with both feet on the ground. There was no turning back. I had the world by the tail so I thought. But inside I missed Mama and Daddy too. I thought I was a man now. Putting away my childish things I thought I was ready to take on what the world had to offer, but it didn't take me long. I found out I was so wrong. I was robbed and beat up the first week I was in the city and I sowed my wild oats. Within the next three years, I was shot, stabbed, and cut. And that's not counting the fights I had. By now, after all this time, I was beginning to understand what Maurice was saying. I miss him a lot, but I'm not quite ready to throw in the towel yet. I have run into a little bad luck from time to time, but I have also had some good luck and some fun. Things will get better for me, wait and see.

In 1979, as I was driving home from a bar, I had a wreck. A few days earlier, I had received a letter from Dry Creek. It was an obituary from the local paper. Mama had died. The letter was Kristine. I hit a woman and a child head on. The child died at the scene. I was arrested for drunk driving, went to court, and was sentenced to fifteen years in the Louisiana State Prison at Angola for involuntary manslaughter. I never let anyone back home now, Mama, Maurice or Kristine. I didn't want anyone to know. I just wanted to do my time. As far as they knew I had vanished off the face of the earth. The first three years were hell. I practically had to fight every day to stay alive or keep from getting raped. Most of the time, I stayed to myself and didn't become buddies with many of the other inmates. I had to be careful and watch my back at all times. There wasn't a day that didn't go by that someone didn't get stabbed in the stomach with a shank. The years in prison were hard, but by the grace of God I endured. It has a way of humbling you and driving you back the other way.

In 1984, I gave my life to Jesus. I guess now I can see and understand the things Maurice used to say. You look at things in a different light, the light of Christ. Not long after that, I felt led to start a Bible class. It went good, thank the Lord. You have to work out your own salvation through fear and trembling. Many of the things I shared were things I heard Maurice say time and time again when I went to church as a boy. His version of the world I can see now, far better than before. I had done ten years of my sentence when I finally I wrote Maurice to tell him of the good news, that I had been born again and had answered my calling to preach in 1989. But, I never got a response. I guess it's better to leave some things alone. There were several preachers in prison. But sometimes you couldn't help to wonder by their fruit. We took turns preaching in the chapel on Sunday. There were a few who came, but that was alright. The Lord was in the mist.

Also in 1989, I went up for parole and was released. I'll always remember that day for the rest of my life. When I walked out of that prison gate with twenty-five dollars and my few things in a big brown paper bag, I thanked God in heaven for helping me and bringing me through hell on earth. I pray the next gates I would enter would be the pearly gates one day. I remember the bus stopping. The bus driver asked me where I was headed. I smiled and told him to Dry Creek my home. He told me to get on because I was a long way from home. I took my seat as the bus disappeared down the highway. It took me a few days to reach Dry Creek. I didn't think I would ever get there. It seemed like we went through every town from here to there and every hill and hollow. But, finally, praise God, I was home. As I stepped off the bus my eyes filled with tears and all I could say was thank God I'm home. I remember taking in a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled good again next to the inside of prison. Even the air smelled like home. It felt good. I grabbed my bag and the first place and the first person I wanted to see was Maurice. On the way over there I thought about all the things on my heart I had said to him. I wished I could take it back but it was too late. I still remember the look in his eyes when he said I know you're right. But, I can't dwell on it now. I'm home and that's all that matters.

When I stepped up on Maurice's porch, the boards gave in a bit they popped and snapped as I noticed someone peeping out from the curtains. I hesitantly knocked on the door. It seemed like forever for someone to answer the door. I knew someone was at home because I saw them peeping out the window so I knocked again.

"Maurice," I called out. "Are you home?"

I then heard someone unlatching the door. A small pin like crack appeared in the door.

"Excuse me, is Maurice at home?" I said.

I told her my name, Billy Joe, and she opened the door some more.

"Kristine is that you?" I asked.

"Billy Joe is it you? Daddy talked about you all the time," she said.

As she opened the door she replied, "Why look at you, Billy Joe. It has been a long time."

"Let me see," he said. "The last I saw you was in New Orleans."

"That has been a long time ago," she replied. "Why come on in," she said as he walked into the house. "How on earth are you?" she said.

"Oh, I'm doing great," I replied.

"Where have you been keeping yourself?" she said. "Why just look at you, Daddy would have been proud."

"Has Maurice passed?" I asked.

"You didn't know, Billy Joe, I'm sorry," she said. "He died a few days ago."

I stopped for a moment and turned to the window as I tried to get myself together. A redwing flew in a nearby tree next to the window. I thought about Maurice and the things he used to say. That was the first redwing I had seen in years.

"Daddy talked about you a lot," she said. "I know he would have loved to have seen you. He talked about you a lot. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't ask about you. He looked every day for you to come home. He loved you like a son, Billy Joe."

"I love him too; he was like a second daddy to me. How did he die?" I asked.

"His heart finally gave out. He was old and worn out."

Her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry.

As she went on we sat down and filled in the blanks of the last few years.

Kristine turned and said, "I hated to hear about your mother."

"Thanks, I miss her too," I replied. "Whatever happened to Ellen?" I said.

She just shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her in years. I don't know if she is still alive."

"I am sorry," I replied.

We swapped memories of days past. I couldn't believe they were gone. Afterward, I visited Maurice's gravesite; I had so much to tell him. How wrong I was and how right he was. The world wasn't like I imagined. I had no idea. Then unexpectedly, I heard something and looked up. It was another redwing. I remembered what Maurice had said about the folklore and that the redwing was his favorite. Maybe it was the Lord's way of saying Maurice says welcome home. As it took flight and sailed toward me, I leaned back as it landed on Maurice's headstone. It chirped a few times and then took flight again. This time it disappeared into the trees.

I see Kristine at church and go by her house from time to time. The pastor of the church is in the process of going to another church and he asked me to fill in. I told him I would be honored.

He replied, "Maurice would be proud."

My first Sunday I stood in front of the congregation welcoming everyone in when suddenly Kristine came up and handed me a present. I told her she didn't have to. But, she insisted and I opened it. It was a Holy Bible. Not just any Bible but the same old Bible I gave Maurice several years ago for Christmas. I didn't know what to say. I large lump hung in my throat. As I thumbed through it, there was a bookmark with a picture of a redwing blackbird on it. I whispered a thank-you unto the Lord as I gathered the tears from my eyes with my handkerchief.

The following weeks around Dry Creek, I visited and done some things around the church. I hadn't been a pastor that many weeks when something unordinary took place at the house of God. We opened with our songs, testimonies, prayers, and I was about to open my Bible to bring the message when suddenly the door opened and a woman, man, and three children came in. As I started to welcome them Kristine started to scream, "Ellen!" It was Ellen, Maurice's oldest daughter. At that moment, the spirit began to move. The music started again and everyone was hugging necks.

"What an unforgiveable homecoming," I shouted, "praise God."

They were moving back and forth, waving hand and arms. They were moving to the front then toward the back and shouting, "Praise the Lord, Maurice would be so happy," as the choir began to sing We Shall Overcome.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

Dividing Waters

The crisp breeze of early autumn followed by a little bite of the coming winter raced through the Nickajack Mountains. As far as your eyes could see, the Nickajack Mountains stretched across the Appalachian to Red Turtle Ridge which was a short range of mountains in Eastern Tennessee. The slopes of the mountain were dressed in many radiant colors of reds, oranges, yellows, and greens. The giant pillars of earth stood bold and dominating against a curtain of deep blue sky, with just a touch of white.

The Point Oliver River lay engraved in the deep-set mountains of Appalachia. It was the heartbeat and the life of the mountain. The river raged out of control, but at places the water was still as death. Its life was carved in its banks and the hollowed out caves and crevices. The waves crashed off the rocks and boulders as it raced to a still dead pool of water. The Point Oliver was fierce and domineering. The sole of it had little hope of changing.

High in the foothills of the mountains, nestled in a clearing at Miller's Creek and Horseshoe Bend Ridge, sat a small cabin. The two-room home stood among the tall oaks, maples, and hickories. The woods around it were carpeted with wild flowers, bluebells, may-apple, trillium, and maidenhair fern. Smoke from the chimney of the cabin settled in the air with a pleasant smell. High above, you could hear the wind rustling through the leaves as the ground began to show its first signs of fall.

Standing in the doorway of the cabin stood a tall, old white-haired man dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and suspenders. His hair stirred about his face as the wind blew and his white beard hovered about his neck and chest. The man's name was Big Charlie Thomas. He had spent his life on the mountain. It was his home.

The forest was his way of life and the river was his greatest fear. Time and time again he wrestled with his fear of the river. At night he had nightmares of the river sucking him down to its bottomless pit. Big Charlie knew in his heart what he had to do. But deep down, he was afraid. Afraid of what he river would do to him. Charlie knew one day he would have to face the bondage of the river and be set free of it once and for all. However, each time he thought about it, he recalled how the river overtook his wife and son. His memories reflected back time and time again to his wife and son canoeing down the river. The waters that day had broken into a rushing rage, overturning their canoe into a watery grave. Without warning, their bodies were carried downstream. By the time Big Charlie heard their cries, it was too late. Frantically, he searched the river day after day until, finally, he found their bodies entangled in some brush and rock downstream next to the shore. The haunting memories torment him daily with a driving rage for revenge.

The bitterness in his heart of the river and the loss of his family has molded him into something worse than the angry river. He thought he would overcome it when the right time came. He would straighten that which was crooked and it would stay straight from now on.

Eventually he needed to leave the mountain and get supplies at the Lost Creek trading post. As he packed his mules and got ready for the journey, like he had done so many times before, he suddenly stopped, turned, and walked over to the edge of the river. He stood on a giant boulder at the river's edge. As he stood in silence, he looked up and down the river and then across it. The deep blue water splashed hard against the boulders teasing Big Charlie, but he never flinched. He smiled and told the river it was time.

Cautiously, he turned his back to the river. Placing his gear and supplies on his raft he told himself he had waited a long time for this moment.

The spirit of the river seemed to come alive, sensing his presence. Slowly, he eased the raft into the water. Boldly he stood afloat as the irritated waters began to move the raft down the stream. As the hours passed, the raft slowly moved in on the quiet, still waters. Big Charlie hardly noticed the beauty of the canyon. There he saw the small mountain stream feeding into the river and snow-covered peaks in the far off distance hidden deep in the blue sky. There was the cry of a cougar and the sound of raging water ahead, singing in harmony with nature's silence. Across the way, up on the bluff stood a family of mountain goats picking at the small growth in the cracks of the rocks. He thought to himself how beautiful the handiwork of God was.

Big Charlie kept quiet, but stayed alert. Big Charlie knew the river. He could in no way take it for granted. There was no second chance, nor turning back. It was the river or him to the end. For a long time, Big Charlie had longed for this day, to take back what the river had taken a long time ago. That was his life and the revenge of his wife and son.

"Who can tame the mighty Point Oliver," he cried out. "I can. I can."

As he drifted on, he looked over to his right. There were giant sycamores hugging the banks of the river, its giant washout roots entangling the river with the bank. Suddenly, he heard something.

"Bark! Bark, Bark!" came the sound from high in the sycamore trees. He looked and saw some fox squirrels barking and playing. As he went on, he noticed there in the bend of the river, the river forked. He suddenly began to think which way he should go.

"This way is to Hackett Hollow," he pondered. "I must turn quickly and go the other way or should I?"

In his haste and confusion, he made his choice. Whether his judgment was right or wrong, he would bear the consequences. As he approached the bend in the river, the river divided and he went on his way. Everything seemed good as he entered the fork. The waters were gentle, calm, and relaxed. But up ahead he heard the mighty roar of the water. Quickly, he manned the raft and began to navigate his way about the rocks and giant boulders. As he stood steadfast on the breast of the raft, he rode hard down the treacherous rapids. The bough of the raft bounced across the water as the river drove the waves upon him, trying to beat him down.

Without warning, the raft shot up into the air throwing Big Charlie over to the side. As he fought to hold on to a boulder, he struggled to reach his raft. Weak and beaten from the rapids, he pressed against the forcing waves to reach the broken raft. Slowly, he managed to bring it to the shore. Exhausted, he collapsed upon the bank. After a while, he regained his strength and was able to dry dock the raft for repair.

As night began to fall about the canyon, Big Charlie set up camp with what little supplies he had saved. First, he built a fire to dry off and stay warm. The pitch-black night hovered about the river. In the distance, you could still hear the raging rapids along with the sounds of crickets and frogs about the banks. Deep in the night you could hear the haunting cry of a mountain lion, and the cool wind blowing off the river. As the night passed, he worked on the raft making all the necessary repairs and getting it ready for the morning launch. As he tried and tried to understand what had happened, he realized that the river appeared to be ready for him. He had underestimated his enemy. But, the next time he would be ready.

"I can't give up," he said to himself. "I must see this thing through for my sake. Either I tame this river, or I'll die trying."

Suddenly, he heard something in the trees. He reached for his knife and pulled it out of its sleeve. Whooo, whooo, screeched an old hoot owl as it took flight across the river to the other side.

Before long, the rising sun will appear on the crest of the mountain ridge. After a while the tiny beams of light from the sun filtered through the trees, and down to Big Charlie's camp. Slowly, he turned over, sore and cut from the day before. However, he in no way was giving up. He noticed the woods were alive with the singing birds as he caught a quick glance of a young deer dashing through the trees. Across the river, he watched as some cranes fished for their breakfast. Hurriedly, he got ready to face the river. After breaking camp, he eased the raft back in the water and headed downstream.

As he drifted about, he came upon a giant beechnut tree leaning across the water. Watching in amazement, he spotted a kingfisher as it dove from a limb down into the water, disappeared for a moment, and then shooting up out of the water with a fish in its mouth. But, Big Charlie kept his eyes and ears open as he journeyed on. He didn't want to make the same mistake again. Things went well for a while until, down the river; he came face to face with another fork of driving water. He drove his pole deep into the riverbed and lodged his raft between some rocks. Patiently, he waited at the river's fork; this time he wanted to be sure before he went ahead. He knew there was no room for error. Carefully, he judged the two forks. One went down into Wilbur Hollow, where the water looked rough, like it could possibly run into a fall. The other side was calm, peaceful, and quiet. Big Charlie took his time and tried to think things out.

"I believe I'll choose the quiet side," he said to himself. "I'm afraid there may be a fall down Wilbur Hollow."

Big Charlie shifted the raft toward the fork he had chosen. As he held his breath, he kept his eyes open wide, for he didn't really know what to expect. Slowly, the raft moved into the still water as he plunged the long shaft down into the bed of the river. He thought everything looked good. Maybe this time he had made the right choice.

As he slowly moved down the river, he began to notice he was picking up speed. The water was becoming white-capped as it splashed upon the rocks and boulders. Could the river have deceived him again? Should he have gone down Wilbur Hollow?

Without warning, the troubled waters were suddenly upon him. The raging rapids, filled with small falls, tried their best to take over the control of the raft. Big Charlie fought with all his might. He struggled to stay afloat, as he tried to keep the raft together and from falling overboard. The roaring water echoed throughout the canyon (what sounded like I am King), as the raging river tossed the raft back and forth, turning it around and around. Big Charlie fought for his life to hold on.

Drenched, weak, and torn, he screamed out, "God, please help me!"

Then the worst of all happened. A giant wave crashed against him, causing him to lose hold and knock him overboard. He disappeared under the bubbling water. The raft crashed against the boulder and beached itself upon the bank. Big Charlie struggled in the river as the water reached his neck, pulling him down while the water beat against him. As the swirling water wrapped around his legs, whipping him about, it tried to pull him under. Big Charlie fought for his life. He cried for help, but there was no one there. The force of the water was so strong it sucked him down, time and time again. Twice he went down as he struggled to stay afloat. The third time down he finally disappeared. There was no sign of Big Charlie. Only a few bubbles surfaced to the top of the water. Had the river won? Had he given up the fight? Out of the blue, he shot up out of the water about waist high, gasping for air and waving his fist.

"You haven't conquered me yet," he cried.

Hurriedly, he made his way to the bank and collapsed to the ground. He tried to catch his breath as he lay there. He was soaked and his legs were heavy, as if he had weights on them.

"I will not," he cried. "I will not be outdone. You took my wife and my son, you will not take me."

As angry tears filled his eyes, he wondered how long he could hold on.

"I've got to go on," he mumbled to himself. "Oh, Lord, where are you? Why won't you help me?" he cried.

As night slipped in about the river, Big Charlie gathered some wood and built a fire. He curled into a ball and fell asleep. As night rested upon the canyon, Big Charlie was suddenly awakened. He thought he heard something.

"Who is it?" he cried out into the darkness. "Who is there?"

Poking the fire to stir up more heat, he decided to sit up the rest of the night thinking about everything, and what to do. As morning broke the darkness, Big Charlie pushed his beached raft back into the water and headed once again downstream.

"I'm going to see this through," he said to himself. "I've come too far and been through too much not to."

Slowly, he drifted down the river. All was quiet. He listened for the sounds of the rapids, but heard none. Then high upon the crest of the ridge, he saw the shadow of a man standing there. He yelled, "Hello," but there was no sound. He yelled again and waved, but there was no sound and the man turned and walked away.

Things seemed to be getting better on the river. He thought it was about time. As he looked up he yelled, "Lord, it can't be, not another fork!"

Carefully, he eased the raft closer to the fork in the river. He looked the situation over; one fork looked like the other. He thought about the two forks before and the choices he made. The choices seemed good so he eased his raft down the calm waters.

The river was quiet, but what lay ahead was darkness. On down the river, the mountains were so high and the forest so thick that the river was as black as night. As he entered the darkness, he became uneasy. He sat down on the raft and let the current of the river move the raft. He looked from side to side, to his back, up above, and to his front. All he saw was pitch black. He began to recite Psalm 23, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; they rod and they staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. Lord help me," he prayed.

For miles and miles, the raft drifted in the darkness as Big Charlie patiently waited. This is the worst yet, he thought to himself, the not knowing. Without warning, he began to hear a loud roaring in front of him. Quickly, he leaped to his feet and shouted, "It's a waterfall." But, it was too late.

Big Charlie reached and grabbed his pole. He fought and fought with all his might to maneuver the raft toward the bank. Unfortunately, the swift water had quickly picked up speed and the raft began to twirl. The mighty river began to rise and pool up around the mouth of the fall. Big Charlie struggled to reach the shore, but the current of the water was too strong. He was slowly being sucked in.

"This is it," he cried. "This time the river has me."

He dove into the angry water trying to hold on to a boulder. Down, down, down, the raft crashed against the rocks as it finally slipped over the edge of the fall. As Big Charlie held on with all his might, he began to slip. He grew weaker. The river beat hard against him until it finally broke him loose. He finally went over the fall. At the base of the fall, Big Charlie disappeared in the churning waters.

On the shore stood the figure of a man patiently waiting as he looked about the water. Eventually, he saw Big Charlie's body appear near the shallow bank. As he floated about his body appeared broken and limp. He looked dead. The stranger raced out to him and took him by the arms and pulled him to the bank.

Immediately, the stranger began to work with Big Charlie. All hope seemed to be gone as the stranger tried to revive him with all his might. Had the river beaten him? The stranger worked frantically to save him.

"Come on, come on," he cried. "You can't give up now."

Big Charlie started coughing and spitting up water. As he gasped for air, he looked around but the stranger was gone. Carefully, he struggled to his feet and pulled himself up to a weak stance. He turned this way and that, but he did not see him anywhere. Unexpectedly, he heard a voice yelling.

"Hey, are you alright," came a cry from two men running up to him?

"You're a very lucky man," said one.

"Yeah, not too many have ever beaten the river," said the other.

"But, did you see the man who saved my life? Did you see which way he went?" asked Big Charlie.

They both answered, "We haven't seen anyone but you. We were at the trading post and just happened to see you."

He looked down the bank apiece and saw the trading post as he looked about. The stranger was nowhere to be found."

"But, who was he and where did he go?" asked Charlie. "Surely someone saw him."

"I'm sorry, sir," they said. "But we didn't see anyone."

"But, how can you explain..." he asked. "There has to be an explanation."

The men looked at each other and said, "Could it have been a guardian angel?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Do you think so?"

"You know that we entertain angels unaware," they said.

"Are you saying it was an angel that saved my life?" cried Big Charlie.

"He could have," they said. "God works in mysterious ways."

"Praise God," cried Big Charlie. "Bless you Jesus. I have overcome my fear. I have received my revenge and I am free at last from my bondage. I have love in my heart once again."

They turned and began to walk toward the post. Big Charlie couldn't believe all that had happened, especially about the Lord. But one thing he realized was each time the waters divided; he had been faced with a choice. At the time, each choice had seemed to be right, but had ended in chaos and trouble. But, the choices he had made were used to bring about his victory. Then he heard something screeching high above his head. As he looked into the sky, he saw a giant eagle circling. Victory was his through the Lord. It was so sweet. No longer would the river dominate him; now he and the Lord would dominate the river and whatever choice was to be made he would pray about it first. The change felt good, praise the Lord.

"I believe the Lord, your wife and son would be proud of you today," the men said as they patted him on the back and hugged him.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

A Punkin for the Porch

It was the hottest summer day in 1959 that I could remember in Jackson County Alabama. Billy Ray, my best friend, and I was fishing off the old iron bridge that stretched across the Hensley River around Turner's Point. I remember it was the hottest day that summer. It was 980 but the humidity made it feel like 1100. We were snatching for hog suckers that were swimming off the side of the bridge. We had already snagged three. They are not much for eating because they have too many bones. We catch them for Koodie Jenkins, our friend. He gives us three dollars apiece for them and five dollars for all the turtles we catch. I have always heard there are seven different kinds of meat in a turtle. But when we go frog gigging, that's a different story. I can put away those fried frog legs and so can Billy Ray; we almost fight over them. Keeping them in the skillet is the hardest thing because they have a tendency to jump out.

"Hey, John Westley," cried Billy Ray. "I've got something."

I looked over the side of the bridge into the water but I couldn't see anything. Whatever Billy Ray had hooked, it was bending his pole double. I kept watching and yelling back to him.

"Hold on to it," I cried. "It's got to be a big one."

About that time, I saw it as it flopped about on top of the water. The pole waved up and down because of the weight of whatever it was he had hooked. He began lifting it out of the water and that's when I realized what it was.

"It's a snake," I cried.

"A what?" he yelled back.

"A snake," I cried.

It sent a chill down my back. He had snagged it from its side.

"John Westley, what am I going to do," he asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "See if you can shake it loose."

As Billy Ray whipped the end of the pole back and forth in the air, the snake dangled in the air trying to get away. Finally, the pole snapped and the snake fell back into the water and swam away.

"Can you believe that, John Westley?" said Billy Ray.

"I have seen it all now," I replied. "I think that's enough fishing for today."

Billy Ray agreed. As we gathered our poles and fish, we headed down the dirt road toward home.

"That is the most exciting thing that has happened around Turner's Point in a long time," laughed Billy Ray.

I agreed.

"We need to take this fish over to Koodie's house."

I thought about what Billy Ray said. There's not much that goes on around here. Except, that time we camped out in the old abandoned motel on Highway 10.

"Remember that night, Billy Ray?"

"What night is that?" he asked.

"The night we camped out in the old abandoned motel," I stated.

"I'll never forget that night," he replied.

We had just turned in when the car's lights flashed outside. We eased over to the window. I was scared to death. Then two men got out of the car and stuffed an old grass sack up into a hollow tree outside the motel. When they left, we made our way across the road to the tree and took out the bag. We looked inside and it was filled with money. Nervously, we closed it and stuffed it back in the tree. Fearing they would come back, we hurriedly ran back to the motel. We didn't know if we should tell anybody or keep the money for ourselves. We talked about it and tossed it back and forth all night. Finally, we decided to keep an eye on it for a few days. If they didn't come back to get it, we would tell the sheriff with hopes of getting a reward. If there was one, we would split it.

A few days later, we went back to check on the money. When we opened the bag, the money was gone. There was nothing but a grass sack with a hole in it. We figured they had come back and we had missed them. Billy Ray began looking around on the ground. That's when he noticed acorn hulls scattered about. He looked up in the tree and saw a squirrel's nest.

"I believe I know where the money is," he said.

As Billy Ray shimmied up the tree, I yelled for him to be careful. In a short time, he was in reaching distance of the squirrel's nest. There was nobody in Jackson County that could climb a tree any better than Billy Ray. He reached up inside the nest being careful if there were babies. Across the way in the tops of some other trees two squirrels were pitching a fit.

"Hurry up," I cried.

I watched for Billy Ray and squirrels acted like they were getting ready to make a move.

"There're no babies in it," he yelled.

Then he broke the nest away from the limb causing the nest to fall to the ground. When it hit, I approached it with caution because I didn't know for sure if there were babies inside. I then looked inside; there were no babies. For some reason the older squirrel had abandoned the nest. But, it was full of money. As Billy Ray slid down the trunk of the tree, we bought began to laugh and sing. We were in the money. But, were we really? The inside of the nest was layered with 5, 10, and 20 dollar bills. The squirrels had taken the money and lined the nest with it. It cushioned it for their young ones. We may have taken the nest before they had the babies. It was still a little early. We counted $300 before we had to quit and there was still some left to count. Besides we were going to take the money to the sheriff anyway. We were hoping to get a reward.

By the time we got to the sheriff and explained our story to him there was $475. The sheriff told us there had been a break in at the bait shop in Chiggers Creek. He believed that's where the money came from. Unfortunately, there was no reward. However, the sheriff treated us to some ice cream and candy.

Summer soon passed in Turner's Point and autumn had set in. Billy Ray and I helped in the tobacco fields dropping sticks, picking up leaves, and sometimes we even got to drive the tractor. There was hay that had to be baled and stored in the barns. Mama had canning corn together and pumpkins to load. It was always something to do on the farm. Daddy let us help in the fields to earn extra spending money. Every year he planted a field of pumpkins. He didn't get much for them, but it was his hobby. We'd help load them on the wagon and pile them out in the front yard next to the road. He always placed a big sign beside them that read 'A Punkin for the Porch.' Not long after the pumpkins were harvested, we would help Daddy cut and haul wood. We had some timber on the backside of the farm. Daddy had sold four logs and we would cut up the brush that was left for firewood for the winter. Billy Ray and I usually loaded the small pieces of wood onto the wagon and piled the brush to the side. Koodie always helped Daddy and he saw that Koodie had plenty of firewood for himself.

Billy Ray was the clown of the bunch, always a practical jokester.

"Pull my finger," he said to Koodie.

Koodie would reach over and pull it. When he did Billy Ray would always fart with a sigh of relief and then laugh. The first few times it was pretty funny, but it was beginning to get old. Koodie would laugh and play along. He knew how the boys were. Daddy just turned his head and giggled and say Billy Ray what am I going to do with you. He knew how Billy Ray was.

There was always something to do around Turner's Corner. Daddy made sure of that. But, he was good to us also. We got to be boys, play, and have fun. We made a sled, tied it to an old Billy goat, and let him pull us around. We rode our bikes, went frog gigging with Koodie, and coon hunting with Koodie's old blue tick hounds. We went fished with Daddy sometimes, but not for snakes, I tell you. We also helped Mama. In the summer, Billy Ray and I would pick blackberries and get covered with chiggers. She would pick poke salad in the spring. I hated that stuff. When we had the time, Billy Ray and I would jump the Louisville/G&P train at Harper's Ridge and ride it through to Dog Leg, a stretch of track that was so curvy the train nearly had to stop before crossing the trestle. Late at night you could hear the train heading back north.

Seasons came and seasons went, but the one thing I remember most about winter, other than getting to rest more, was the smell of coal oil on a cold winter morning, the wrinkling of paper, the strike of matches, and a blowing breath onto the fire, simple but carries a lot of memories. Slowly, the fire would begin to smoke, as little as small flickers of fire broke through the kindling and began to spread across the fireplace. The wood would begin to sizzle then snap and pop as the warmth of the fire began to kill the chill of the room as a little puff of black smoke disappeared up the drafty chimney. I have many a fond memories as a child growing up, but I always felt for Mama. She would get up early before us on a cold winter morning and start the fire. And I'll tell you something else off the record. In the spring she would pick wild lettuce down by the spring on the bank and cut up green onions and some bacon grease and made some of the best spring salad I had ever eat.

Life may seem unchanging around Turner's Point but there was one thing that went unnoticed by Koodie and me. We were grown up. Times of picking blackberries, dry land fishing, and hunting poke salad, somehow seemed so long ago. Turner's Point may have seemed to be unchanged, but there was one thing for sure, there was a big old world out there that kept changing and waited for no one. Looking back to a few more thoughts, I remembered.

I can't forget that summer Mama made kraut in the backyard. She had placed the head of cabbage inside a washtub and took a chopper and cut up the heads. Koodie and I was playing in the backyard at the time and every once in a while we would circle by the tub and grab a handful of kraut. I remember Mama telling us we were going to get sick. But, Koodie and I paid her no attention. We continued to play and to go by and grab the kraut laughing at what she had said. I'll never forget that night it was late, maybe early morning, of what Mama had said about the kraut. She was right because I was sicker than a dog. I'll never do that again.

"Pull my finger," cried Billy Ray.

Life in Turner's Point went on, seems like it never would change.

"Oh, come on," I said. "Don't you ever get tired of that?"

"Sorry, John," he replied.

I don't know what I would have done, if I had missed growing up with Billy Ray. He could get into more trouble than a dozen of people. Like the time we were supposed to have gone coon hunting with Koodie, but instead we ended up stealing eggs out of old Miss Ethal's henhouse. Unknowing to us, a coon had the same idea. It scared us so bad that when we ran out of the henhouse Koodie forgot to duck and he hit his head on the top of the door facing. The only egg we got that night was the knot on Billy Ray's head, about the size of a large hen egg.

The times were changing and the things we boys use to do didn't mean the same, and life become more serious.

You wouldn't believe our first double date. I was with Cheryl and Billy Ray was with Katelynn, Cheryl's cousin from Indiana, who was visiting for the summer. We were in line at the drive-in when I heard Billy Ray ask Katelynn to pull his finger. I couldn't believe he said that. She took hold of his finger and pulled it before I could stop her and Billy Ray farted. I was so embarrassed; we grabbed for the handles of the windows and quickly rolled them down. Katelynn slightly turned the other way a bit, blushed, placed her finger under her nose, and then giggled, "You southern boys." I felt for her and Cheryl but we all laughed, everyone except for Katelynn. She was so embarrassed.

"Don't you have any respect for anyone?" said Cheryl.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but what?"

Katelynn looked at him and scooted to the other side of the car. That was what broke Billy Ray from his pull my finger trick. After that, I never knew him to do it again; if he did it wasn't around any girls.

Little did we know not long after that our world would change forever. The United Stated had entered the war in South East Asia, Vietnam. People were protesting, marching, and demonstrating in the streets. Across the south the Civil Rights was making its movement. Things were in an uproar. But, I felt safe in Turner's Point.

As time passed, Billy Ray and his family moved away to somewhere in Tennessee. We kept in touch for a while, but eventually lost contact. The last I heard from him he had been drafted. When I turned eighteen, I signed up for the draft. But, I didn't have to go because I was an only child. Billy Ray was the middle child of two brothers. My Mama and Daddy were in bad health. I took care of them the best I could. Daddy didn't have much to say and Mama just lay there. There was a nurse that come by and helped. I'm still seeing Cheryl. We are pretty steady now. She lives about three miles up the road. She helps me too. Billy Ray and I used to fight over her in grade school. One day she liked me, the next him. Of all the fights we had was over her. It won't be long until autumn and I'll gather Daddy's pumpkins and put the sign out front, 'Punkins for the Porch.' It makes Daddy smile to sit out there with me as the people come by to get their pumpkins for their porch. I guess I'll keep growing them. It's still one of the good things of the past. I didn't know it then, but a year later, Daddy would be gone.

Sometimes I sat and wondered where the time has gone. It seemed to slip away so quick. Then one day you wake up to a whole new world. I miss it all sometimes. I'm sorry that I had to grow up. It seems like a part of me died when my parents died, but yet I can still feel them around the farm. Time and the world as we know it has changed. I watch bits and pieces of the war on television. It doesn't look good. I hope and pray Coon dog is alright. The Civil Rights Movement marched in Birmingham and Montgomery the other day. Up north and across the west people have been protesting about the war, some are going to Canada, and drugs has widespread.

Cheryl and I eventually married. At the same time I heard old Koodie Jenkins was found dead. Koodie, Billy Ray, and I go back a lot of years. I'm going to miss him. He was one out of a million. He was my best friend. They say you only have one best friend in life. I would say he was mine. I still think about him and miss him, even saying pull my finger. We were like brothers. Sometimes I think about how Mama and Daddy thought more of him than they did me. It was long after our first child was born, about two more later.

Cheryl and I had spent many autumn evenings out beside the road selling pumpkins for the porch. We have seen many come and go through the years. Then one day a car pulled up with a woman and man inside. The woman got out and went to the passenger side and helped the man out. He was blind and had lost one of his legs. She told us she had seen the sign 'A Punkin for the Porch' that they were out joyriding and thought they would stop and get one for their porch. They weren't from Turner's Point. She said they lived in the next county. The man slowly stumbled about feeling the pumpkins with his hands. He looked kind of familiar. I watched him for a moment and looked him over. It couldn't be after all these years.

I spoke up and said, "Billy Ray, is that you?"

He suddenly stopped and turned toward me and then stuck out his hand and said, "Pull my finger."

My heart jumped up into my throat as it raced a mile a minute.

"Thank the Lord," I cried as I grabbed and embraced him.

Tears flooded my eyes and I couldn't talk for my quivering lip. After several hugs and some pats on the back, we paused a few minutes and then we introduced everyone. As I wiped tears from my eyes, I noticed the tears running from under his dark glasses.

"Why didn't you call or write?" I asked.

"I meant too many times. Then everything happened so fast. I got all caught up in it. I got drafted by the Army and they kept me busy. I did two tours in Nam. Then one day I was leading a platoon up the Ho Chi Me Trail just north of Hanoi when we were ambushed by the North Vietnamese. The next thing I remember was waking up at Walter Reed Army Hospital in Washington D.C. After Nam, I was finally ready to come home. I met Rachel at the hospital. We seemed to kick it off well. The next thing I knew we were married and living in Alabama. I don't know what I would have done without her. What about you John Westley?" he asked.

I held my finger out and said, "Pull my finger."

We all started laughing and without warning, someone farted.

"It wasn't me that time," said Billy Ray.

Everyone at the same time said, "John."

Who was it? I'll never tell.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

One Night Stand

A steady rain fell slowly over the small town of Flat Rock, Arkansas. I watched it bead up on the window where I was sitting on the bus. It had been a long time since I had been home. There were a lot of memories here. As we drove through town, I looked at all the stores. A few I remember when I was here. I saw the five and dime, Newberry's, Ben Franklins, and the Dollar Store. Some stores were new. I had never heard of them. We pulled into the bus station, as I looked out the window once more. The rain had let up. I slowly made my way off the bus as I took a deep breath of fresh air. The trip from Mississippi had been long and tiring. A cup of coffee would be good, I thought to myself. I remembered there used to be a small coffee shop not far from the station. As I turned to look across the street, I could see the sign 'Pedigo's Coffee Shop.' I grabbed my suitcase and headed across the street. As I made my way around, dodging the traffic trying not to get hit, I couldn't help to smell the exhaust fumes from the passing bus as it came by. When I finally reached the other side, I paused for a moment to catch my breath. I took out my inhaler and took a couple of short shots. I took a second look around once more and said to myself, the town had really changed a lot.

The last time I was here was in 1959. There were only a few buildings and crossroads. The clackety clack of the train still echoed as its whistle is long behind the stir of the caboose's wind. It used to bring soldiers through headed to Louisiana going off to war. I made my way into the coffee shop, took a cup, and sat at a table near the window. The rain had finally quit and the sun was beginning to shine again. The coffee was better than I remembered. As I blew my cup of coffee and tried to take a sip, I thought back of what the doctor told me a couple of months back. He was treating me for lung cancer. The doctor told me I didn't have but a few months to live. I am now at Flat Rock where I was born and raised to try and find peace of something from my past. A lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. I pondered the thought of calling her several times but it seemed like I couldn't. Would she come and meet me after all this time? As I weighed by objections and sipped on a little more coffee, I sat back in my chair and rested my head on my hands would she ever forgive me, I thought. After a few moment of silence, I rose to my feet, turned up my last sip of coffee, and headed out the door.

I looked from side to side looking for a phone to make the call and noticed a booth just up the street. Slowly, I thumbed through the phone book until I found her number. I hesitated a moment. I rolled the coin over and over between my fingers trying to decide. I thought about what I was going to do. If she said no – but what about yes, I didn't even know if she wanted to talk to me. It had been so long ago. I then dropped the coin on the ground and bent down to pick it up, then I inserted it in the slot on the phone and began to dial. Patiently, I waited. The phone rang as a gentle wind blew my snow white hair across my wrinkled brow.

"Hello."

For a moment I didn't say a word, my mind went blank.

"Hello," said the voice again as my hands tremble and my voice cracked.

"Rebecca, is that you?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, it is," she replied.

"It's Charlie, your dad," I said.

"Daddy," she cried. "Daddy, is that you? Oh, my God."

We talked and talked. There was so much to say, so many questions.

"Is your mother there?" I asked.

"Yes, she is. She's asleep," replied Becky.

"Do you think she'll see me?" I asked.

"I don't know daddy," she replied. "I'll try."

"Meet me at the coffee shop," I said, "next to the bus station."

"I'll bring her, Daddy," she replied, "if I can get her out of this house."

"Okay, girl," I said. "I love you."

"I love you too, daddy," she cried.

Click went the phone as I turned from the phone booth. I headed back to the coffee shop. It had been about ten years since I had seen Rebecca. As I nervously waited, I ran my fingers though my hair and quickly catching my breath. I then sat down at the same table and ordered a fresh cup. The sunlight was shining through the window, revealing a light haze over the glass. I didn't know if I should tell them about the cancer or not. I wasn't sure about anything right at that moment. About an hour later as I was staring out the window, a car pulled up in front of the shop it was them. I saw Becky getting out on the driver's side and Nell, my ex-wife, getting out on the passenger's side. The shade of the other buildings kept her from seeing in. I stood by the table and hugged them both as they came in.

My eyes quickly filled with tears as I looked at them. They were so beautiful. It had seemed so long ago. Nell was as beautiful as the day I had met her, and Rebecca was her spitting image.

"Nell do you want some coffee?" I asked. "It's the best in town."

"It's still early," she said. "Why not, maybe it won't keep me awake tonight. Charlie, let me look at you," Nell said.

Then she reached up and patted him on his face, "It's been a long time," she said, "too long." With a quiver in her voice and tears in her eyes, "I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mrs. Nell," I replied. Then I turned to my daughter, "Becky, you have grown into a beautiful woman. You always did have your mother's eyes."

"Why thank you, Daddy. I love you," she replied. "I've missed you so."  
We had a lot to talk about. There were so many unanswered questions. We spent the next couple of hours laughing awhile and then we cried. It was the best time we'd had in years.

"Daddy," spoke up Becky. "I'm going to run over to the mall to get something. I'll be back shortly," then she winked at me.

"Okay, Becky, I'll be here," I replied.

"Bye," she shouted.

"Well, she's all grown up," I said, "seems like overnight and Nell, you're still the prettiest woman in Flat Rock."

"Oh, hush, Charlie," she replied as she picked at her hair and pulled on her dress.

"I started to call several times," I stated, "but somehow I didn't see the use."

"Are you still living in Kemp?" she replied.

"Yes I am," I answered taking a sip of coffee.

"Why didn't you ever remarry?" she asked.

"I never could get over you," I answered.

Nell sort of grinned and turned her head.

"What about you?" I asked. "Did you?"

"Why, no," she replied. "I couldn't find anybody else who could put up with me like you did then," she laughed. "You ought to know me better than that, Charlie."

Slowly, I eased my hand over and took hers. With my other hand I gently patted hers and whispered, "I've missed you."

"You didn't have to leave," she stated. "We could have worked things out."

"It's been 32 years," I said. "I can't let it go."

Then I eased the toe of my shoe over to her leg and lightly moved it up and down.

"You remember that?" I asked.

Quickly, she jerked her leg back and twisted around in her seat.

"Charlie, you still got that spark," she replied. "You always did."

I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I've really missed you."

Nervously, she began to pick her hair, chattering a mile a minute.

"Slow down, Nell," he cried.

Then we both started laughing.

"You still have your moves," she replied. "But seriously, Charlie, what happened to us? Was it me?"

"No," I responded. "It was several things."

"The main thing," she asked, "was it over that one night stand? Charlie you never did get over it. After all this time can you just let it go? I made a mistake. I've told you I was sorry a million times. I don't know what else to say or do to make it right"

"That's not all of it," he replied.

"What else could it be?" she said. "You never could forgive me."

"Now, Nell, don't get all worked up," I pleaded with her.

"The best I remember," she said, "we had been broke up for about two weeks. I went to the bar and grill to get a drink and a bite to eat. While I was there your brother James Allen came in and started talking to me. He bought me a few drinks and we left."

"I remember what happened," I replied. "And I know what you have said. If you hadn't let it slip when we were arguing, I would have never known. You were the one that told me about it and I've had to live with it ever since."

"Do you think I haven't," she spoke up.

"Well, it is over," I said. "It's time to move on with our lives."

"It will never be over with you," she cried. "You'll never forgive me."

"Charlie, what do you want of me?"

"How was I to know I would get pregnant," she cried.

"Becky has nothing to do with it," I said. "I have always accepted her as my own."

"I know that," replied Nell. "Becky loves you Charlie. You're the only daddy she has ever known. After we separated I didn't know what she was going to do. She went to pieces. About two weeks after that, we went back together remember, Charlie. And by the next week we remarried. It was about a month later when I found out I was pregnant. Soon after, James Allen was killed in a car wreck."

"All those years you kept the one night stand from me. When Becky was born I thought she was mine. I confronted you about it when you let it slip and you never denied being with James. That's when I decided to move out."

"That's right, Charlie, I raised Becky by myself and I think I've done a darn good job."

"I agree," I said. "There's no need to keep pouring salt into the wounds. I came to see if we could let go of it all and bury the ghost of the past."

"But can you, Charlie," she asked. "Can you let it go?"

"I'm willing to try," I said for the first time. "What about you, Nell?"

"Sure," she replied. "It shouldn't have gone on this long anyway."

"How about some more coffee and a piece of chess pie," I asked.

"Sounds good," she answered. "What now, Charlie? What are you going to do? Are you going to stay here?"

"No, I don't guess so," I replied. "I'll be going back to Kemp. Maybe you and Becky can come and visit."

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe you can visit us and we can go over to the old dance hall some Saturday night. Best I remember you were one of the best two-step dancers around."

"Now, I don't know about all that," I said. "It has been awhile."

About that time, in walked Rebecca.

"Hi, Dad, hi, Mom," she said.

"Hi, Becky," we replied.

"What's going on," she said. "Daddy are you coming home with us?"

Silence filled the room. I didn't know what to say.

Nell interrupted, "Becky, your dad has to go back to Kemp to work on some things and when he gets them taken care of he'll be back."

"You won't be too long will you, dad? We still have a lot to talk about."

"It won't' be long, Becky," I encouraged. "What time do you have, Nell?"

"It is five till four," she replied. "Where on earth has the time gone?"

"What time is the bus?" asked Becky.

"Four o'clock," replied Charlie. "I guess that's it now pulling up."

It wasn't long until Becky returned. It was time to go. Becky seemed so happy. They walked me to the bus arm and arm as a family once more and for the last time. We hugged, shared kisses, and said our goodbyes. Shortly, the bus pulled off as tears ran down our faces. Nell and Becky waved goodbye until the bus was out of sight.

"Mama, do you think Daddy will ever come back?" she asked.

"No, not really," she replied. "It's time to get home, child."

I had made arrangements at the boarding house if anything happened to me to call them. A month later, they made the call. They said I had passed.

It was hard for Becky to accept losing her daddy. But, she was grateful for being able to see me a few weeks before my death. Nell didn't know what to say. I guess she believed I would live forever, that I would always be there. Her biggest regret was that she wished she had told me the truth a long time ago. But, she figures it doesn't really matter now. Six months later, Nell passed. It took Becky a long time to let it go, but she was a strong willed person like both of her parents.

A few years later, Becky was in the attic and came across her mother's diary. As she thumbed through it, she came upon the page with the words 'One Night Stand' written at the top. She'd heard us fight over it all her life. She then started to read what her Mama had written.

I talked to Mary Sue, my best friend, and she told me that she and Charlie have been slipping around. I told her that I hated her and that I didn't want to ever see her again. We have been friends ever since the third grade. I can't believe she would do that to me. It hurt me so that she and Charlie did this to me. I am bound and determined to make him hurt like he has hurt me. I broke up with him and called off the wedding. I went to the bar and grill and had a few drinks. James Allen came in and ordered a couple of drinks and started talking. He told me that he heard about me and Charlie breaking up and that he hated to hear it. He told me that Charlie was a good man and he hoped we could work things out. He got up and left so I followed behind him. He drove off and I went home. I wanted to confront

Charlie about his affair so many times, but I couldn't.

Nell had made it up to hurt him. There never was anyone else. She was so controlled by the hurt that Mary Sue and Charlie caused her. That's the result of a woman scorned. Her hurt eventually destroyed their marriage and home. Nell was obsessed by it and it was way out of her control. She wanted to confront him so many times, but she couldn't. The picture was so much clearer to me now than ever before.

I thumbed on through the diary to see if I could find Mary Sue's last name and she I. It was the Mary Sue I had figured. I raced downstairs and out the door. I headed to Mary Sue's house not far down the road. When I got there and inquired about Mary Sue, I found out she had moved. I found out that she had died a few weeks ago. But her sister, who lived in the house now, had found a letter addressed to Nell. She gave it to me. I opened it and began to read.

Nell, we are both getting u in years and I just want to say I'm sorry for what I did. I tried to go with Charlie, but he wouldn't let me. All he ever wanted was you and no one else. His rejection made me so hurt and jealous that I lied to you about our affair. Nothing ever happened, not because I didn't want it to. I hope and pray you'll forgive me. I have missed our friendship over the years, if it means anything to you.

*****

Dead Limbs and Leaves

Dead Limbs and Leaves

It was a hot summer day in 1949 in the small community of Dead Limbs and Leaves, Alabama—the hottest day on record. I remember that summer very well. My friends and I sat atop the Long Hungry Hollow Road road sign. My name is Ronny Rhoades III; but all my friends call me Road Kill.

I am a buzzard, you see. Some of us roosted in the nearby trees as others walked about the ground below. Occasionally, a car or truck would pass and a few of my friends would take flight, but they came back. Yep, I remember it well. You see, that was the summer when a young buzzard name Little Bit had his heart set on flying. He was no more than a cub cadet wanting to take on the sky above. Snickering a bit at him, I remembered how it was with me. His eyes grew big as he talked about it. He would flap his wings as his little feet barely lifted off. Bit was small and his body still weak, but his heart was strongly set. Nothing exciting ever happened around Dead Limbs until that summer, until a young bird with big dreams soared.

In the center of the community set a giant dead sycamore tree. Also called the roosting house, it was the community center where everyone gathered. They called it Bent Tree. There about it laid a small stream that ran across the community that dried up after spring. The community was dressed in sagebrush and an old wagon trail grown up with thorns and weeds. A few small straggly cedars and a small thicket of young shoemake saplings grew in spots. Beneath the slumbering giant lay parched dead bark, and the dancing wind caused the tree to swag from side to side. Inside the old tree you could hear snap, pop, and a cracking sound at times. The scent of decayed wood filled its chambers after a rain, but above it was home. Suddenly, Smokie, my best friend, yelled out.

"Here he comes," talking about a squirrel. "Will he make it?" he cried.

"I'll bet five to one on the squirrel," spoke up another buzzard.

"I don't know," said Road Kill, "that car is moving fast. Here we go," shouted Smokie.

"Can you believe it? That squirrel was right under that car."

"Maybe next time," the other bird chuckled. "You can stop smacking your lips now."

"You guys can hang around here if you want to," said Koodie, "but, I'm going to fly up the road and circle around. He may have hit something up there."

As he flew off, Smokie spoke up, "That bird that just left, R. K, didn't he do some time in the big bird house upstate?"

"He did," I replied. "He's a jail bird."

They all laughed, but I warned them, "Don't let him hear you poke fun. Koodie can be a mean ol' bird when he wants to be."

Then one of the newest members spoke up, "You went to college, didn't you R. K.?"

I acted like I didn't hear him.

"Come on," coaxed the other. "You did, didn't you?"

"Well, I got my college degree and two years of law school," I replied.

"Cool," they all mumbled. "What happened?"

"Well, I realized that life was nothing but a hit and a miss. Here today, gone tomorrow. I wanted to party and enjoy life. Mom and Pop wanted me to finish," he bragged. They wanted me to be a Big Bird in the community. But, all I wanted to do was to hang out with my friends."

"That's my man," cheered Smokie. "Us birds of a feather must stick together."

"How did you wind up here?" they asked.

"Mom and Pop are from up north," I stated. They flew in one day, liked it, and stayed. It's been my home ever since."

"Why there's not a hill or hollow, stream or water hole that R. K. don't know about," boasted Smokie.

"Now wait a minute," I interrupted. "Hold on guys, let's not get carried away. I want to finish my story on Little Bit. Day after day he would sit and watch the other buzzards fly and soar. You know how it is when you want something so bad, and it is right in front of you just out of your reach. That's the way it was with Little Bit. His wings were not ready for flight, but his heart was as he watched the others soar high in the blue velvet sky, laced and trimmed in glittering sunlight."

"One of these days when my wings get strong," Bit would always say. "I'm going to soar high and float about, dancing in the sky." His eyes grew big and his heart began to race as he looked on.

A few hours later, one of the birds spoke up, "I wonder what happened to Koodie?"

"I don't know. He never came back," said Smokie. "I guess he must have found something and didn't want to share it or didn't make it out of the road in time."

"Yeah," agreed another buzzard. "Birds like Koodie are loners, independent, keeping to themselves," replied Smokie. "You know what I mean?"

"Well, I thought they were a little hard on Koodie. He's done his time."

It was time to move on.

"Well, we ought to send a couple of birds out to look for him."

"Oh no," cried the other buzzard.

"Do we have any volunteers?" asked Smokie.

"I guess I'll go," said one.

"Me, too," spoke another.

"Good deal, birds," I replied. "We'll wait for you here," I told them.

Back at Bent Tree, Little Bit was watching his mentor and best friend, Slick, twirling about in the blue almost taking his breath away.

"Way to go," cried out Bit as little tears beaded up in his eyes. "I wish I could soar," he said to himself. "I'll show them one day," he boasted rearing back on his feet, throwing back his shoulders, and pushing out his chest. "I'll show them, wait and see. My wings feel stronger now. I'll be as good as Slick, or even better, one of these days."

About that time in flew Slick. "Hold on little fellow," he said. "You do remember the thing I taught you?"

"Sure I do, Slick," encouraged Bit. "Can I try it again?"

"Well, I don't know little fellow," he replied, "but, let's see what you've got."

"Slick was not called Slick just to be calling him that," I said. "Slick O. Byrd was his given name, and if there was anyone in Dead Limbs who could reach someone, it was O' Slick. He had it all up here."

"Cool, R.K." replied the other flock of birds.

"Quickly Bit flapped his wings creating a lift. Then he slowly lifted off the limb just barely but enough to take flight," I remembered. "Around and around he flew as Slick watched."

"Wee," cried Bit as his little wings flapped.

Then the little fellow landed back on the limb, in front of Slick.

I giggled.

"I'm going to do it," he shouted. "The sky is the limit."

"I believe you will someday," replied Slick.

Smokie whispered to himself, "Keep the faith, brother."

Shortly, the two buzzards that were looking for Koodie returned.

"What about it?" I said as they perched on a limb near me.

"We didn't see him," they replied. "It's like he vanished, disappeared. We saw a field mouse on the side of the road."

"Well," spoke up Smokie.

"There was nothing left," he said. "It was ugly."

"Wait a minute," cried Smokie. "Here comes a car."

As they all perked up on their perches their eyes quickly fixed on the car. Their mouths began to water as some flapped their wings to be ready. Suddenly, from a bush beside of the road, a rabbit shot across in front of the car.

"Yum, rabbit," said a voice in the crowd.

Then all of a sudden the car slowed down and turned off.

"Can you believe that," cried Smokie. "That was a sure hit."

"Well, maybe the next time," I replied. "It just wasn't time for the rabbit yet."

"Boys, I believe it's going to be a long, hot, dry summer," said Smokie.

"A hungry one at that," cried another buzzard.

Well, let me tell you what happened next. A few days later Bit came to Slick, confronted him, and said it was his time.

"Time for what?" replied Slick.

"It's time for me to soar," boasted Bit.

Slick stood quiet for a moment, ruffled his feathers a bit, rubbed his chin, and slowly looked up.

"First, I think it's time for you to see the Ole One," he said as he paused for a second and pointed up.

Quickly, Bit looked about, then up and saw what Slick was pointing at. It was the Ole One. Bit took a big long swallow as Slick dropped his wing.

"The Ole One," said Bit.

"Yep," replied Slick, "The Ole One."

"The Ole One," said Smokie and the others.

"Yep," the Ole One," I said.

At first Bit was afraid. He had heard tales of the Ole One. He wasn't for sure he wanted to go up there. But, he gritted his bill, stiffened his legs, flogged his wings, and said, "I still want to soar."

Slick tilted his head back and looked straight up. As Bit looked up high into the top of the tree, he saw a dark shadowy figure perched out on a limb.

"I've never been that high before," Bit said hesitantly.

"What did he do then?" asked Smokie.

"Well, let me tell you birds. The sun was about to set in Dead Limbs, and it was a long way up to the top of the tree."

"Are you with me, Slick?" asked Bit.

"Not this time, Bit. You'll have to do this on your own. I'll see you first thing in the morning," warned Slick. "Get a good night's sleep because you got a long day tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," said Bit. "But, Slick do I have..."

"Yes," said Slick, "it's time."

That night Bit couldn't sleep. He wiggled and squirmed, twisted and turned until dawn. Finally morning arrived. His eyes were heavy, with a little sleep in them, but his heart was still true. As he looked out across Dead Limbs that morning, a storm had started, driving the rain hard against the earth. Patiently he waited for the storm to ease up. He was sheltered by a big limb that stretched above him. Only a few drops of rain fell on him as he looked out across the way.

"Maybe it will rain all day," he said to himself, "and I won't have to go."

But, Bit's desire to soar beat down deep in his heart. Of all the things in the world he could want for, soaring was all that he wanted. Finally, the summer rain stopped, and a still, windless day settled in Dead Limbs.

Suddenly, a voice spoke.

"Bit," the voice said. "It's time."

Slowly, he came out from under the big limb that still dripped drops of rain. Without saying a word, Slick pointed up. Bit looked at him then up at Ole One. Taking a deep breath, Bit flogged his wings and flew to the first branch. Cautiously, he looked back at Slick then to Ole One at the top of the tree. Carefully he flew up to another limb, then another, higher and higher toward the top of the tree. As he climbed upward the bigger and darker Ole One appeared.

"Keep on going," cheered Slick. "Don't look down."

Limb by limb, he slowly moved up until he stood toe to toe with the Ole One. Slowly, Bit began to look up at the giant buzzard. He had never seen a buzzard so big. His little legs trembled as his voice cracked, "Sir," he said. The Ole One paid him no mind.

"Guys, what do you think about that?" cried Smokie.

"Cool," mumbled the other.

"I remember my time I stood in front of the Ole One," I recalled.

"We do too," cried the others as they their wings flopped about.

"But Bit was so young," said Smokie, "probably the youngest yet. What did the Ole One do? What did Bit do?"

"Give me a minute, guys, and I'll tell you," I said as I cleaned my bill on the limb and took a deep breath.

"Hey, man," yelled the others. "Turn that funky buzzard breath another way when you exhale. That smell would make anyone puke."

"How do you think I got my name, duh?" I chuckled.

"Forget them, R.K." said Smokie, "go on with the story."

"Alright, all that Bit could see was the Ole One's tiny beady eyes staring back at him through his thick glasses.

"Bit," called out the Ole One in a deep voice.

"Yes, sir," he replied, his legs trembling.

"How can I help you?" came a deep voice.

"Sir," he stated weakly. "I want to soar."

"To soar," he said, then laughed shaking the limb. "You are going to have to speak up."

"Yes, sir," he replied, "and it's not funny," Bit said. "I want to fly and soar like the others."

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you," replied the Ole One. "But, I do understand more than you think. I too at one time, could not soar."

"You couldn't," said Bit.

"Why, yes," he replied. "I was not much bigger than you. Yes, yes indeed I remember, and when the time came, I was ready. Are you ready, Bit?"

"Yes, sir," said Bit. "I'm ready. I've come a long way."

"I believe you have," said the Ole One. "I believe you have. So you want to soar?"

"Yes, sir," replied Bit. "I want to be one of the best."

Suddenly, Bit spread his wings and fluffed them with a quick jerk. He began to flap them, raising his feet off the limb. He squawked out, "Look at me. Yes, yes," he cried.

"You are quite an astounding bird, I must say," shouted the Ole One as he turned about. "Bit, there's an old secret you may not understand now, but the key is connecting the dots. Once you have figured it all out, connecting the dots will create a beautiful picture."

"Yes, sir," he cried. "I don't understand what you are saying, but I guess it's like they say you have to crawl before you walk. Fly before you soar," he yelled.

Then he looked away. Quickly, Bit looked about as he heard a flapping sound. It was the other buzzards flapping their wings, going into flight. As they stretched their wings, necks, and legs, the tree suddenly began to shake, and the buzzards took flight.

"Wow," shouted Bit as he watched the big birds take off.

Unaware to Bit, the Ole One turned back around and was watching him. The Ole One never said a word but watched his enthusiasm grow and grow. As he watched, Little Bit's heart began to beat faster and faster. His little feet flinched to let go of the limb, while his wings began to flutter. He looked up at the other buzzards circling above, and then looked back at the Ole One. The Ole One nodded his head and winked his eyes. A big bright smile crossed Bit's face as his little heart raced with the speed of his wings. Letting go of the limb, he took flight. Up, up, up, higher and higher he flew. As he topped out, he dropped into a free fall. The Ole One watched as Bit fell down through the sky.

"Pull up," he whispered to himself. "Pull up Little Bit."

As the others soared, they watched and held their breath. Then as the Ole One was about to cry out for him to pull up, Bit rolled out of his dive, caught the wind under his wings, and soared for the first time in his life. Everyone relaxed. The Ole One just giggled under his breath, "He, he, he, that Little Bit is something else."

As Bit soared, he looked about and saw Slick across the way and yelled, "It feels good."

Slick winked his eye at him and smiled.

As Ole One took off his glasses, he wiped away the tears.

Up, up and away climbed Bit into the blanket of blue.

"This was the greatest," he said. "My dream finally came true."

Hours later, Bit yelled at the Ole One sitting atop the big old Sycamore tree. "What is it?" he asked.

"Thanks for all your help," he yelled. "I didn't understand it all. I guess I connected all the dots. But you're right, it's a beautiful picture."

"All you had to do, Bit," proclaimed the Ole One, "was have faith and patience, and believe."

"Bit finally made it," cheered Smokie and the others.

"Yep, he was definitely one of a kind," I told them.

"Whatever happened to him?" one bird spoke up.

"If you look up into the sky on any given day and have faith and patience, and believe, you can see him soaring on the breast of the wind."

"Just connect the dots," said Smokie. "Just connect the dots."

Then Smokie looked up, "Here comes old Koodie."

About then I farted. You talk about a sick looking bunch of birds.

"Good grief," cried the others as they disfigured their faces.

"Is there no respect?" one cried.

"Is there no mercy?" cried another.

Quickly they took off, climbing high into the sky, trying to get away.

"Oh, come on guys," I shouted. "It's not that bad."

"Get a life," screamed Smokie.

"Where is everyone going?" asked Koodie.

"R.K. farted and it stinks to high heaven."

Suddenly, he turned about and began to fly the other way.

"Are we still on for rook Friday night?" I shouted as they disappeared out of sight.

I just laughed. A little while later a truck came down the road and a skunk crossed in the truck's path. Flip, flop, bump, roll went the skunk as the truck drove on. I sat a few minutes on the sign watching the dead skunk. Then I flew over to it. I paced this way, and that then, all of a sudden, I got a whiff of the skunk.

"Good grief," I screamed, "that would almost make you puke." Quickly flying off, I cried out to the others, "Hey, guys, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

After that, things around Dead Limbs and Leaves were never the same.

"I wish I had me some buttermilk and some salt," said R.K.

*****

Discover other titles by Bobby A. Troutt at Smashwords.com

A Cry in the Wind

Beyond the Truth

Thistles and Thorns

To read other work by Bobby A. Troutt, visit bobbysbooks.8m.com
