The Picture Part 2

By the time he had driven home, he was thoroughly perplexed as to why anyone would go to this much trouble to play a practical joke on him. That was the only thing he could imagine this was about, but then he remembered Jack was dead. He wanted desperately to call and ask if there was any further information about the cause of death but was afraid the police would make more of it than idle curiosity. He had already been subjected to quite an inquisition by the police and wanted to avoid another.
The next morning, as Kent was preparing to leave for his office, the phone rang. Upon answering it, he was asked if he would mind stopping by the police station. When he asked the reason for the request, he was told that there was a few details that needed to be cleared up. Nothing more was forthcoming so he decided to risk being placed under arrest by going to his office instead.
Once Kent had arrived at this office, he began to get things in order so that, if arrested, he would not have to worry about his business. Taking the phone off the hook, he stared by locking all his files and his desk to keep them safe. The next step was making a phone call to his attorney to advise him of the possibility of imminent arrest. Once these were accomplished, he sat down behind his desk with the morning paper to await developments.
He had just finished the front page when the door opened and in walked one of the two cops who had questioned him at Jack's office. In his hand was an official looking envelope and he had a frown on his face. Taking a chair without being asked, he opened the envelope and proceeded to read the contents out loud so Kent could hear. This was the preliminary autopsy report on Jack. It stated that he had died as a result of a heart attack and not foul play at all. The cop apologized to Kent for the way they had treated him and then told him that they had found a bottle of nitro glycerin tablets on the floor near Jack's desk. Evidently, he had been trying to take a tablet but had dropped the bottle when he died.
After the cop left, Kent unlocked the files and his desk and replaced the phone on it's hook. One mystery had been solved but there still remained the mystery concerning the picture. He was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this since he had received the envelope containing the cash. He knew the city where Jack had received the mail instructions from so thought that would be a good place to start.
The airline told him there was only one plane per day that made connections that would take him to his desired destination. It left at 6:30 in the morning and a return flight got in at 8:00 in the evening. Making reservations, Kent filled his briefcase with everything he had that had any connection to the picture or the house. Then, he locked his office and left to go, once more, to the old house.
When he arrived, there was an old pick-up in the driveway and an older man was using a riding lawn mower to cut the grass. He saw Kent approaching and stopped the mower and shut off the engine. Without the mower running the only sound was the birds in the trees and the far off whistle of a train. Kent introduced himself and they shook hands as the other fellow gave his name as Seth Davis, a gardener. It seemed that Jack had hired him to keep the yard up until the house sold. Kent was disappointed to find that Seth knew less about the heirs than he did. It looked as if the trip was the only option if he wanted to learn anything. Seth said he knew about Jack's death but figured he had been hired to do a job and would continue doing it until someone told him to stop.
The lawn mower started up as Kent walked to the front of the house. Unlocking the door, Kent made his way inside and into the parlor where the picture was hanging on the wall just as he had left it. Taking it down, he once again carried it with him out to his car which he had left behind Seth's pick-up. Tomorrow he would take the picture with him to the distant city where he hoped to find someone who could shed some light on the mystery.
Next morning Kent was at the airport a half hour before his plane was due to board. Just as he was walking toward the check-in desk, he heard his name being paged. Asking the young lady behind the counter, he was directed to some phones a short way to the side. There he picked up the one she had indicated and spoke into it. A female voice he did not recognize told him he would be wasting his time taking the trip as the location was only a mail box. He was instructed to go to his office where he would be contacted by the people who had paid for the appraisal. Kent had to admit to himself that it made a lot more sense to go to the office and wait than to go on a wild goose chase. Still, he wanted to find out what was going on. Canceling his reservation, he drove to his office and parked in the street instead of the parking lot he normally used. This made it simpler for him to enter the building through the front door rather than the back. When he opened the door to the building, a man was standing in the hall near the door to his office. Hearing him coming, the man turned and Kent was staring at someone who looked astonishingly like himself. In fact, the man was his identical double, even to the way his hair tended to fall over his forehead.
There was a moment of discomfort as the two men stood staring at one another. Then the other man spoke in a voice that even sounded much the same as Kent's. Only, his speech indicated an ivy league education while Kent had attended state university. Greeting Kent by name and asking for a few minutes of his time, the man stepped aside to let him open the door to his office.
An hour later, Kent was aware that he had a twin brother who had been raised by his paternal grandparents who Kent had never known. He had been told all his life that his grandparents had died before his birth. Now he discovered that, not only had they not died but had lived only a few miles away in the next state. The house he had been appraising belonged to his great grand parents who had recently died. Before they died, they had told James (Kent's twin brother) the facts concerning his birth. Kent's father had been killed in Korea before he was born and his mother had no money to pay the doctors and hospital. Kent's paternal grandfather had never liked the woman his son had married and offered no help. Finally, upon learning that there were twins expected, he made her an offer. If she would give one of the babies to him to raise he would pay all her expenses and provide a monthly amount for the support of the child she would keep. She was never to divulge the existence of the twin and was never to make any attempt to contact either them or the child. James had been to visit his great grandparents several times through the years but had never been allowed to go into town while there. The great grandparents had kept a scrap book filled with every piece of information and every picture of Kent through the years. This is where James had gotten the picture he had hung to replace the one Kent had taken. It was a couple of friends who had been in the van each time Kent had seen it and was James' fiancee who had paged Kent at the airport that morning. All of this was a scheme to find out as much as possible before James revealed himself to his twin brother.
James' grandparents had left him extremely wealthy and it was his desire to share his wealth with his long missing brother. This was the reason for the elaborate scheme. He wanted to be sure Kent was someone he would want as part of his family.
By the time they had finished talking it was plain that both men were anxious to become better acquainted and be the brothers they had been denied the opportunity to be.
All this came about because of The Picture.
THE END

THE PICTURE Part 1

Kent McKamey stood staring at the picture on the wall of the family room. He was in this house in one of the older sections of town to give an appraisal for Jack King Real Estate. They had recently been contacted by the heir of the late owners about selling the property. The house was quite large and set on spacious grounds. It was quite an imposing structure albeit somewhat run down due to the ill health of the late owners.
He had first seen the picture when Jack had brought him over to the house yesterday and had been intrigued by it ever since. The picture seemed to have been taken in the very room where it hung. One could see the drapes, which covered the front windows, behind the figure as if they had been used for a backdrop. What had caught Kent's attention was the fact that the man in the picture looked enough like him to be his twin. Standing there, now, he became determined to find out about the picture.
This was not the first picture, seemingly of himself, that Kent had been confronted with. There had been the one in the bar up at the state capital. Then there was the one he had caught a glimpse of as it was being loaded in a van. He had tried to catch up to the van but lost it due to having to find a place to turn around. He had gone inside the photo shop where the picture had come from, only to be told he was mistaken. The proprietor had said there was no picture taken from his establishment. Kent had no choice but to mark it up as imagination on his part and let it go at that. He still had the reality of the one in the bar, though, and now this one. If he could only trace the picture to the photographer and learn who the subject was.
Taking the picture from the wall, Kent examined it in the light from the windows , after opening the drapes. In one corner there was a mark that could very well be the logo of the photographer. It was not very clear, however, and would need to be examined under better conditions and with a magnifying glass. This would necessitate removing the picture from the frame and from the premises as well. With no way to get in touch with the heirs except through Jack's agency, he started to rehang the picture. Just as he was about to place it back on the wall, he noticed a mark on the frame as though someone had tried to remove the picture. Wanting to be sure it was not removed before he could check it out, Kent decided to take it with him when he finished his preliminary appraisal. Then, when he came back for a more thorough look at the house, he would return the picture.
With his mind made up about what he was going to do, he got busy taking notes as he gave the old house a once over. It was his custom not to spend a lot of time on the preliminary appraisal. Many people were reluctant to pay for a thorough appraisal and only wanted enough of one to enable them to make a quick sale. On the other hand, he wanted to give a fair value to the property so the heirs would be able to make a good decision.
Upon completion of his work at the house, Kent took the picture and, locking the door, walked to his car parked on the driveway. As he placed the picture on the front seat beside himself he glanced at it one more time. There was something about it that unnerved him somewhat. Why would a picture that looked like him be hanging in this particular house and what about the other two?
Once Kent arrived back at his office, with the picture, he immediately began a closer examination. Taking a magnifying glass from a drawer of his file cabinet, he bent over the logo in the corner of the picture. He was able to make out the letters J.M. with some kind of flourish beneath them. It was the very same way he had made his signature during his high school years. However, he had not used it several years and it came as a shock to him to find it here. The more he delved into the mystery of the pictures, the stranger it got.
Taking a small knife from this desk, he turned the picture face down and began loosening it from the frame. Upon removing it from the frame he glanced at the back for any writing but, at first saw nothing. Closer examination, though, revealed some faint markings suggesting that the picture had once been signed. With his magnifying glass, he as able to read what had been erased. It read: To my love J.M. with the same flourish as was on the front. No further writing appeared though he studied the picture intently with the magnifying glass.
He replaced the picture in it's frame and had just turned it over when Jack King opened the door and stepped inside. Kent showed him the picture and asked what he made of it without telling him where he had gotten it. Jack told him it appeared to be a picture of him and was dumbfounded when told where it had come from. He was even more amazed when Kent told him about the other two pictures and the mystery surrounding them. He even went so far as to say that Kent must have had some connection with the late owners of the house. That idea proved untenable when taken into conjunction with the two other pictures.
Kent asked about the heirs only to be told that the had contacted Jack through a letter. The return address was a Post Office box in a distant city and there was no other means of contacting them. All correspondence had to be through the mails. Kent would get no help from that quarter.
Kent knew by now that he had to find out about the picture, no matter what it took. There was no way he was going to just let things continue as they were with three pictures that looked like him but weren't. There had to be someone who knew what was going on and he meant to find that someone. With the money from this appraisal he would be able to take a few days off and that was exactly what he intended to do.
It was five days later when Kent received a call from Jack telling him he needed to come by the Real Estate office to talk about the appraisal. He wouldn't discuss the reason over the phone so Kent had no choice but to close up and go. When he reached Jack's office there was no one in the front so he went on back and knocked lightly on Jack's door. Receiving no answer to his knock, he opened the door to see Jack slumped over his desk. There was no sign of life and, when he checked, he found no pulse. Reacting as any normal person would, he called 911 and gave them what information he had.
The Police arrived before the ambulance and immediately took charge of the situation. They questioned Kent about his finding Jack and whether he had seen anyone when he arrived. At this time there was no indication of a cause of death and wouldn't be until the medical examiner did his preliminary examination. Still, the police were treating this like it was a homicide. For all anyone knew, though, it could have been a heart attack or any number of health related things.
By the time the police had finished taking his statement, Kent felt like a suspect in a murder case and was only too glad when the M.E. arrived. He would soon be able to put their minds at ease concerning the cause of death. Things didn't work out quite like Kent expected, in that the M.E. stated that he was unable to make a ruling until he performed a Post-mortem. This would not be until the day after tomorrow as he would be out of town until then.
With the normal warning not to leave town, the police dismissed Kent and he was able to leave. Just as he walked out the door he saw the same van he had seen leaving the photo shop with the picture. Again, before he could get to his car and follow, the van had vanished.
By the time Kent got back to his office he as totally worn out due to everything that had happened. Not only had he not discovered what it was that Jack had wanted to discuss with him but Jack was dead and ,to all intents and purposes, so was his contract. Without Jack he had no way to get in touch with the people he was working for. This meant no job and no pay; at least as far as he could tell.
You can imagine his surprise when he opened his office door and found an envelope with cash enough in it to cover his preliminary appraisal plus an advance on the final. There was no note and certainly no contract to be signed and returned, but there was one small piece of paper besides the money. It was the kind of tiny picture like the kids at school gave to their friends, and it appeared to be of him. Of course he knew it wasn't him because he had never owned the kind of clothing in the picture.
Closing the office early, Kent drove back to the old house with the intention of returning the picture he had "Borrowed". Taking the picture under his arm, he walked up the steps and crossed the porch to the front door. As he started to put his key into the lock, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He was sure he had closed and locked it when he had left the day before, but thought Jack may have been there since. Pushing the door wide, he stepped into the shadowy interior and made his way to the parlor where the picture had been hanging. The drapes were still open, allowing him to see fairly well, and he immediately noticed a picture hanging where the one he now held had been previously. And it was truly a picture of him as he recognized it as one he had taken upon graduation from college.
There was no doubt someone was up to something involving him, but he had no idea who or what. He only knew he was going to do everything in his power to get to the bottom of the mystery. Meanwhile, he thought it best to exchange the pictures and get out of there.

Hillbilly

HILLBILLY

He sat on the front porch of the cabin in the hills watching the rain continue to fall. It had been raining like this for the past week with no let up in sight. There had come one little lull for about an hour, day before yesterday. At least they wouldn't come while it was raining this hard. Maybe when it let up, if it ever did, then they would come. When they did he would be ready for them. Leaning against the rough wooden chair in which he was sitting was an M-15 assault rifle and he had a 357 Magnum tucked inside his waist band. In the cabin, in various vantage points, there was enough firepower to hold off an army. He hoped that would not be necessary but if it was he would take it as it came.
It had started almost a year ago when he had been to the city down in the central part of the state. He had decided it was time for him to buy a new truck and went to the city to
get what he wanted. Like most people up in the hills, he was a little slow talking and slow moving. That is what started the problem with the men who were coming.
He had just taken delivery of his new three quarter ton four wheel drive Dodge pick-up. He had spent most of the day shopping for the truck and was tired. It was still a long drive back home and he was anxious to get started. He hadn't dressed up for the trip to the city since it wasn't Sunday and he didn't expect to see anybody important. Just wore his paratroop boots, his bib overalls and a blue work shirt. He looked like what he was, a backwoodsman in town.
I guess that's the reason things happened like they did. He had stopped at a convenience store to fill the dual tanks on his truck and get himself a sandwich for the trip home. As he walked back to his truck after paying the clerk he was accosted by three young men in their early twenties. One of them stepped in front of him so he was forced to stop to keep from running into him. The other two took positions on either side so as to block his movements away from the confrontation.
"Hey, Hillbilly," the one in front said, making it sound like an insult, "Where'd you get that new truck? How did a hillbilly like you ever get the money for anything like that?" His entire manner was one of scorn and insult.
"I worked hard and saved my money, just like anyone else," he told them in a slow drawl. He attempted to pass his accosters and get into his truck. They weren't through with their harassment though and the one who had done the talking gave him a push backward. "If you have that much money you can buy us a few beers, "he said. "Then, maybe, you can get in that pretty new truck and go back up into the hills where you came from."
Taking the man's silence for fear, he pushed him once again. Only this time the man pushed back. And when push came to shove, the man pushed a little harder. Surprised and angered by the resistance, the talker reached for the knife he always carried. "Come on, hillbilly, I'm gonna cut your heart out, he cursed, Then we'll just take what money you have and get our own beer." His two friends were laughing and dancing about and egging him on. With that encouragement, the talker made a lunge toward the man intending to cut him with the knife. The man surprised him again by stepping in close instead of backing away. He grabbed the talkers wrist and, with a quick twist, sent the knife into his own chest. The talker made one short step before crumpling to the ground with the knife through his heart. Turning, the man was just in time to see the other two scramble into an old sedan and peel out of the parking lot.
Meanwhile, the clerk who had seen the whole incident, had called the police. They came with sirens blaring a moment or two after the other accosters had left.
Seeing the man standing over the downed victim, they drew guns and commanded him to get on the ground. Before he could comply, the clerk came out and told the officers what had transpired. By this time an ambulance had arrived on the scene so the officers asked the man to follow them to one side. After taking his statement and that of the clerk he was free to go; however, one officer warned him to watch his back. "The fellow you killed," he said, "has several brothers and they are all gang members. They will be looking for revenge. I wouldn't want to be you right now."
He thought about what the officer had said as he got in his truck and began the long drive homeward. He had already been tired and the altercation had drained him of whatever reserve he had. It seemed to him that the drive back to his cabin was three times as far as it had been coming down to the city. He had made it inside the cabin and collapsed on the couch, where he had spent the night.
When six months had passed without him hearing anything further about the incident he began to hope for the best. Then he had seen a strange car go by on the road driving slowly,
with two men inside. They went on up the road a ways then turned and came back still driving slow. The next day, the same car made the same trip past his cabin with the same two men inside. He saw nothing more of them for two weeks and then one day when he had gone to the crossroads store for coffee and bread, they followed him home. They didn't stop; just followed him til he turned off up his driveway, then stopped. They sat in their car for several minutes, looking at the cabin, before turning around and driving back the way they had come. He knew he was being stalked, for he had stalked his share of game in his time. He had stalked a few men, too, during his time in the Army Rangers. There was no doubt in his mind who was involved in the stalking. He was sure it was kin folks of the young man who had died by his own knife. After all, the police officer had warned him. He decided to make some preparations for self preservation after they followed him home from the crossroads. That's when he had taken to carrying the 357 and keeping the M-15 handy. He didn't intend to make it easy for whoever came to even the score. Now he had even more reason to be wary; two days ago he had come back from the woods to find a rabbit nailed to his front door with it's throat cut. There was a note, scrawled on a piece of a paper sack, which read, "You can run, Rabbit, but we are going to get you. When we do we're going to leave you just like we left this rabbit."
He wasn't scared but he wasn't one to take any chances either. He started watching when he went out into the woods so as not to be caught by surprise. He didn't intend to run, though, for he wasn't the running kind. Besides they were in his territory here in the hills. He knew every trail and spring and cave in the surrounding area for ten miles in each direction. He could out maneuver them if it came to that but he still intended to stay at his cabin.
He had told only one person about his troubles. That was the old man who had a cabin on the next ridge over. He had been visiting one of the times when the outsiders came by. He had noticed them looking at the cabin and asked about it. Never one to lie, the man told him about his run in with the three in the city. He said he reckoned this was some of their friends or kinfolks come to settle things. The old man just nodded by way of reply but said nothing as he filled his pipe with tobacco. Though he didn't smoke himself, the younger man enjoyed sitting on the porch with the old man while he smoked.
Nothing more was said while he finished his pipe, then the old man took his rifle and started back over the ridge toward his own cabin. He hadn't gone very far when he came upon two men with hunting rifles standing alongside the trail. "That's not a very safe place for a man to visit," one of them said. "In fact, it's downright dangerous." They made no move to stop him, though, as he stepped past the place where they were standing. They just stood watching him til he was out of sight down the trail.
That had been three weeks ago and it had been raining ever since. He figured that was the only reason they hadn't been back; or at least he hadn't seen them. When the rain quit that's when he figured they would come. He'd have to be wary once again.
He had never married; didn't even have a dog so there would be no-one to grieve if something happened to him. There was no family as he had lost his only brother and kin in the war. He had moved up to the hills as a way of dealing with being all alone. Here he could forget the war and all that went with it.
Now it seemed someone was wanting to bring a war to him and there was nothing he could do about it.
The next morning it was still raining but the clouds didn't seem to be quite as thick. You could almost see the sun from time to time. He guessed that the rain would be gone by tomorrow and the woods and ground would begin to dry up also.
Soon, then, they would be coming and he had begun to look forward to it. Not the war that was coming, but the getting it over with. That's the way he had been while he was in combat; he always got in a little bit of a hurry when they were moving out. Just wanted to get the job done, that's all.
Expecting them to wait until things dried up a bit was a mistake. It was almost a costly one. He had just set his coffee cup on the porch rail when it literally exploded. He heard the sound of the shot at the same time the cup disintegrated. Grabbing his rifle and falling sideways out of his chair, he rolled off the end of the porch to the ground. Then, staying close to the side of the house he scurried around and into the back door. He was determined not to let them drive him into the woods just yet. He knew something he was sure they had no way of knowing. Under the floor of his kitchen was a tunnel that led from the house to a brush covered slope approximately two hundred yards away. It had been one of the things he had kept from his combat training. Always have a way out of any situation. His tunnel started under the table, which was a large spool left by the power company when they ran new power lines through the hills a couple of years before. To gain access all that was required was to lift one side of the table which was hinged with concealed hinges. It was a simple matter to let the table return to its place when one was inside the tunnel. Thus even a very thorough search was unlikely to reveal it's location.
From where the tunnel came out it was easy to slip unseen into the woods. After that it was just a matter of locating them before they located him. He was pretty sure he would be able to do that unless they sure enough had an army.
The outer end of the tunnel was covered with what appeared to be a large boulder. In reality it was a man made boulder constructed of light weight aggregate and given the look of reality by the special effort of coloration. Only a very close inspection would be able to detect any difference between it and the boulders nearby. With the brush growing all over the hillside it was virtually invisible.
He had spent several months digging and shoring up the tunnel, getting rid of the dirt and rock by filling up pot holes in the county road and his own driveway. This took care of most of the detritus and what was left he hauled down to the creek where he scattered it along the bank. The first rain storm afterwards had washed all evidence of this away.
Now, with the outsiders already here, he began preparing to repel them as long as possible. The back door was made of planks fastened together with screws much as storm cellar doors were made and covered with steel sheeting. Only dynamite or some other explosive would gain them entrance there. His windows were covered with thick steel shutters which closed from the inside. The outer walls of the cabin, itself, were rock and logs which he had treated with a fire retardent chemical because of brush fires. The roof was the weakest part of the cabin as it was of regular corrugated metal; but at least it wouldn't burn.
With the cabin secure, he began transferring most of his firepower to the tunnel. Once his major weapons were in the tunnel he picked up his cross-bow and arrows and strapped them to his back. He had learned to use the cross-bow for hunting deer and other large game and had even gotten a bear with it last winter. He had become expert in it's use by constant practice and was as comfortable with it as a weapon as with any of his guns. He still had his 357 and his M-15 in the kitchen with him as well. There had only been a few sporadic shots from outside during the two hours or so since they had shot his coffee cup. It was early in the day though and he figured they were trying to come up with some way to draw him out or a way to get inside. He knew they would not be content to spend a lot of time just waiting. He was counting on their impatience to make them careless. He had several gun ports installed in such a way as to prevent anyone from shooting inside the cabin through them. These enabled him to have a good field of fire all around .
It was nearly noon when the first one of them got careless. He attempted to move from one spot to another across a small clearing. The distance was barely two hundred yards from the cabin and the man didn't miss. He couldn't be sure how badly the attacker was hurt but he lay where he fell without moving. He was still laying there an hour later but sometime after that someone apparently dragged him to cover.
He didn't know how many there were of them but he guessed at least seven or eight. He made this guess based on where the shots had come from. Even with one down that was a considerable force for one man to deal with. He thought it was about time for him to get the odds down just a bit so, leaving his rifle, he carefully made his way into the tunnel. It took several minutes for him to make his way to the end of the tunnel and several more before he came out. He had lifted the cover enough to look all around and be sure nobody was near before coming completely outside. When he was sure it was safe
and he was not being observed, he lifted the cover and stepped out into the brush. In moments he had faded back into the trees and made his way some distance back from the cabin. Then he began to work his way around to the front where most of the shots had come from. Being careful to make no noise, he began stalking his prey as though stalking game. His intention was to remove some of his adversaries and thus bring the odds down a bit..
Suddenly, he spied one of his attackers standing with his shoulder against a large tree several yards off to his left. Moving carefully, he took his cross-bow from his shoulder. Removing an arrow from the quiver and fitting it to the bow, he took careful aim and loosed the arrow. It flew straight to the target and, going completely through his head, pinned the outsider to the tree. He never made a sound and, since he was already leaning against the tree, he didn't fall. "That makes two I won't need to worry about", the man thought as he moved on in an arc toward the road in front of the cabin. He had no intention of crossing the road and giving them a chance at seeing him. So far he didn't think they knew he was out side and he wanted to keep it that way for a while.
The next one he got with his knife. He was standing with his back to a large pine tree when he heard a sound behind him. Carefully taking his knife from it's sheath, he turned just as the other fellow started to tap him on the shoulder. The surprise on the fellow's face when he realized it wasn't one of his compatriots, let him know they had no idea he was among them. His knife thrust was quick and accurate, slicing the outsider's throat and severing his windpipe. His only sound was a small gurgling noise as his final breath left him.
That made three accounted for with, maybe, five left. It was time for him to return to his tunnel and the cabin before someone discovered the bodies.
Back inside the cabin he began to shoot once in a while just to let them know he was there. That would give them something more to worry about when they did discover the bodies.
All of a sudden he heard some yelling then they started shooting in earnest. He guessed they had found those two fellows out there in the woods. The shooting died down some-what but was still steady. They must be still trying to figure out what had happened to those two, he thought. Well, he was going to give them something else to think about in a few minutes. He had rigged up a timing device which would fire from two sides of the cabin so they would think there were at least two inside. Now for another foray out through the tunnel. This time he intended to get their vehicle so as to leave them afoot. They had already shot out the tires on his truck so he thought it only fair to disable theirs.
Again, he left the mouth of his tunnel without incident and made his way back into the woods. This time he went the opposite direction from before so as to head for where they likely had parked their vehicle. Sure enough, about three hundred yards down from his driveway was a late model Ford van with the windows darkened with film to prevent seeing inside. Moving carefully, in case there was anyone with in the van, he made his way up to the rear. Reaching inside his shirt he removed a small block of plastique and a fuse and timer. Taking his time he located these under the rear of the van near the gas tank. After setting the timer for fifteen minutes, he returned to the tunnel once more. In moments he was back inside the cabin watching toward the road. When the explosion came it shook the cabin and rattled the windows. He would have liked to see their faces when they realized someone had blown the van up.
There was no firing from outside for several minutes after the blast; then they began shooting rapidly once again. Of course the only damage they could do was if they shot holes in his roof and, so far, they hadn't done much of that. He would learn later that the man he had wounded at first was inside the van on a pallet when he blew it up. There were pieces of his body scattered for several hundred yards.
During the next hour he was able to pick off another one who had foolishly climbed a tree. Evidently the fellow thought he would be able to get a better look at the situation from a higher vantage point. His foolishness cost him his life for he made a perfect target for the M-15 rifle. The hillbilly knew that made four either dead or wounded which left five if his calculations were correct. So far they had lost approximately one half of their force and he wasn't even wounded. He knew better than to relax, though, and get careless. It would still take some doing to get through this in one piece.
He realized he was hungry and looked at his watch to see what time it was. He was surprised to see it was only ten-thirty as it seemed days since that shot that took his coffee cup. He hadn't given any thought to breakfast after that but now he decided it was time to eat something. There was plenty to cook so he set about getting a fire going in his wood cook-stove. When he had it started he placed several strips of bacon in a skillet and set it on top. While the bacon was frying he made another pot of coffee and got a loaf of bread from the cabinet. When the bacon was nearly ready he broke three eggs in the skillet and stirred them with a fork. In a few minutes his breakfast was ready and he set about eating, knowing it might be his last food for a while.
Evidently, the smell of his food cooking had made it to those men who had attacked for they started shooting fast and furiously. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after the last bite of egg, he pushed back from the table. Clearing the dishes from the table, he prepared for another trip to the outside.
This time he intended to remain outside until it was over. There was no point in going back and forth any longer; he had already done what he planned. The remaining attackers were bound to be worried not knowing for sure if he had help.
He came out of the tunnel and almost got caught. If the fellow had been turned slightly to one side, he would have seen him lower the trap door. He had just straightened up and was preparing to move out when he saw someone with their back toward him. This time there was no way to do the job silently as the distance was too great for a knife throw and he had the rifle in his hands. If he tried to lay down the rifle and get the cross-bow into position the movement was liable to catch the attention of his foe. The only thing to do was use the rifle so he loosed a round which took the fellow just below the left shoulder. He was dead before he hit the ground but the sound would carry to the others. Someone might come to investigate so he'd better move out and fast.
Keeping low and being careful not to expose himself more than necessary, he made a circle once more. This time he was farther out than the previous times and he thought it likely that he was well outside their hiding places. Figuring there were four men left out there somewhere, he took great care in moving about. He caught one standing near where the van had been parked and, this time using his cross-bow, got him without making a sound. This left three to worry about. Just as he found the next one, and was drawing a bead on him with the cross-bow, he heard the sound of a twig break under a foot. Letting the arrow fly, and throwing himself sideways he heard the shot and expected to feel the burn of the bullet. Instead, as he rolled over upon hitting the ground, he saw the other fellow fall. There appeared to be a bullet hole in his forehead the best he could tell.
Calling out first, the old man came out from behind some brush into the clearing where he lay.
"Didn't want to spoil your fun," the old man said. "Just watched til that fellow had a bead on you. Couldn't very well stand by and see him shoot you. Might be whoever moved in after you wouldn't like my pipe." He cackled as he said this last.
Just then they heard the sound of sirens coming up the county road so they walked back to the cabin. They were sitting on the porch with cups filled with cold coffee when the Sheriff's car came blaring up the driveway. right behind him was a police car with the emblem of the city police on the door. The officer who got out of it was the same one who had warned him to be careful. He was a few steps behind the sheriff as they approached the cabin.
"This officer was worried about you," the sheriff told the hillbilly. "He came all the way from the city to get me to come check on your safety. While we were deciding the best way to handle things someone phoned in about some kind of explosion around here. Must have been that van we saw down the road a piece. What happened out here anyway?"
"Well, sheriff, some fellows came up here looking for trouble and they found themselves a fair share of it. You will find them scattered around in the woods and one of them is down near that van you mentioned."
"You mean to tell me you two fellows handled all of those toughs from the city?" the police officer asked.
"Nope," the old man cackled, "He handled them by hisself." This with a nod toward the younger man. "I just stopped by for a cup of coffee after it was over with."
Saying he was going to radio for the coroner, the sheriff walked back to his car. After looking at the hillbilly for several minutes, then shaking his head, the police officer followed.
Several hours later, after everything was cleaned up and everyone else had gone, the two friends sat once again on the porch. This time the coffee was hot and fresh and there was a jug between them from which they had poured a splash of liquid into their cups. Sipping from the cups, the old man opined as how "it shore is peaceful up in these hills."

THE LOG HOUSE

THE LOG HOUSE Revised
I've always been fascinated with old buildings such as barns and houses; especially houses. Let me tell you about what happened as a result of this fascination one time. You can then be the judge; did what I relate to you really happen or is it just a figment of my imagination.
I had heard of this old log house that was still standing though it was over a hundred years old and had been vacant for almost more years than I had been alive. I, being enamored with such houses, decided that I had to visit this particular house even though it meant a walk of several miles through dense woods. There wasn’t even a recognizable trail to follow; just, maybe, a thinning of the brush where one might have been. This I had been told by my friend, Josh, who knew about my strange hobby.
It was a warm spring day when I pulled my Pick-up off the gravel road and started my trek. I had with me my thirty-five millimeter Nikon camera which was loaded with film. I also had several spare rolls in the pouch which was slung over my left shoulder. Other than the camera and film, I carried very little. I had a water bottle and a package of raisins and a can of nuts for lunch as I intended to spend most of the day taking pictures and writing notes about the old house. I had no idea what was going to happen to me as I started into the woods toward a brush with the past.
My trek to the house took a little over two hours due to the lack of a trail and the abundance of brush. I was glad I had gotten an early start as I wanted to spend enough time for my purpose and still be able to get back to my Pick-up before dusk.
Arriving at the site where the old log house stood I was surprised to find that there was no brush growing in the immediate vicinity. In fact there was quite a clearing in the woods and the house stood right in the middle. It appeared as though someone had kept the "yard" clear of even weeds as there were none of them either. I had a peculiar feeling, as though I had been here before, as I stood there looking about.
After taking several shots from different locations within the clearing it was time to go inside. Stepping up on the stoop I was surprised at how good a condition the house seemed to be in. The door was still intact and even the leather hinges looked to be relatively new. I began to think my friend, Josh, had pulled a fast one on me. Then I opened the door and stepped inside and felt something hit me on the head. When I awoke I was laying on a mat of some kind next to a fireplace and a strangely dressed young woman was bathing my head with a rag dipped in cool water. When I tried to sit up she pushed against me and said, "Don't you be trying to move just yet, Robert Smith. That was a nasty blow you took on the noggin. I've told Pa at least a dozen times to fix that shelf before it came loose and hurt someone. Now maybe he will listen to me." With that, she left off bathing my head and turned toward the back door to throw out the pan of water she had been using. This gave me a moment to try and understand what had happened to me and where I was. It hadn't seemed strange to me to have the young lady call me Robert Smith, though my name is Kevin Johnson. Somehow, I knew at that moment that I was this Robert Smith and I did not remember anything about my real self. It seemed I had stepped into another time when I stepped through the door and took that blow to my head. You probably won't believe this but I had no consciousness of being other than the one she had called me.
Looking down at my clothing, I saw that I was dressed in the clothing which was worn before the turn of the century, though it did not register at the time. What I'm trying to convey is that I was as completely a part of that scene as if I had always been there. Evidently, I had from the way the young woman talked to me when she returned to stand near where I was still laying on the pallet.
"I should be angry with you for coming into my house without so much as knocking on the door," she said with a smile. "Just because we are betrothed does not give you a right to just walk in on me any time you want to. Why I might be entertaining someone else and not want your company. All this was said with a smile still on her face.
"Just you let me catch you entertaining any other fellow besides me, Miss Nelly Blaine," I replied. "I am the only one for you to be thinking any such thoughts about. Why it is only a fort-night till we will be wed." By now I was able to raise up to a sitting position with my back against the wall beside the fireplace. I still felt weak and my head still hurt something awful.
Taking a cast iron tea kettle from the coals at the edge of the fireplace, Nelly poured a tin cup full of the steaming liquid and handed the cup to me. "Here, drink this," she ordered, "it will make your head feel better. There is nothing like Sassafras tea to take away a headache. You'll be all right soon if you just stay still for a while longer." I was in no hurry to get up from where I sat and was certainly not about to argue with her about it. At that moment Nelly's father opened the door and stepped into the room. "What happened to you?" he asked. "How come you're on the floor?" Nelly lit in on him about the shelf over the front door and told him that he nearly killed her betrothed by not fixing it as she had asked him to. While she was giving her father a bawling out, I managed to get to my feet and stand, leaning against the wall for support. A few moments more and I was ready to go on about my business.
"I left a brace of squirrel on the stoop before you konked me on the noggin", I teased. "If you don't want them I guess I'll just take them to Widow Jennings." With that, I started toward the door and she left off berating her father and started in on me instead.
"Don't you dare take any squirrels to her," she said with her brown eyes snapping. "Of course I want them. I've just been busy taking care of you and you never said anything about them until now." Mr. Blaine used the opportunity to go on through to the back door where he stepped back outside. He didn't seem concerned about me either being hurt or being there with Nelly without a chaperone.
I went out and got the squirrels and, taking them around back of the house, soon had them skinned and ready for the pot. When I entered the back door Mr. Blaine was standing on a stool driving a new peg into the log for the shelf to rest upon. After he was satisfied that it was in tight he fastened the shelf to it with a small nail, making it sturdy and safe. I was wishing he had done it before the shelf walloped me on the skull as I had quite a punk knot from it. Nelly insisted that I stay to supper since I had furnished the meat by bringing the squirrels.
After supper I helped Nelly wash the few dishes then we went for a walk in the moonlight. We never ventured out of sight of the house and I soon brought her back inside and made my departure. It was about a three mile walk through the woods to where I shared a cabin with my widowed mother. I had built two extra rooms on it in recent months in anticipation of bringing Nelly there when we wed. My mother was a wise woman and had eaten her supper alone knowing that I likely would take mine with Nelly and her father.
Next morning was meeting day and we had a circuit riding preacher coming for the morning service. Nelly and I would speak to him about performing the wedding ceremony on his next trip through our community. This would be the first week of June and that was when Nelly wanted to be wed. I would have been happy to have him do it this trip but she had other ideas. She said she wanted a proper wedding not a hurry up one as if we had to marry. In our settlement it wasn't considered proper for young folks to do any courting on the Sabbath day so I had to be content to be with Nelly just long enough to talk with the preacher. I wasn't even permitted to take her home from meeting.
It was a brisk autumn morning and two young men from the community decided to have a try at squirrel hunting. They were John Simpkins and Peter Whaley.Both boys were well acquainted with Mr. Blaines and had hunted with him on several occasions. Taking their cap and ball rifles with them they made their way to the woods surrounding the Blaines farm. They had been hunting for some hours and had several squirrels in their bag. They had decided to stop by and visit with Mr. Blaines for a spell. They were nearly to his cabin when John spied a large red squirrel on a low tree limb. Wanting to add it to his bag, he decided to make the shot even though it was not an acceptable practice. They had been taught never to shoot their rifles at anything low in trees lest the ball miss and hit something other than it's intended target. Just as John fired, Peter saw a horse and rider coming along the trail toward the Blaines cabin. Suddenly, the rider fell from his horse at the same time as the sound of John's shot rang out through the woods.
Nelly and I had been married almost three months when I had an accident. I was returning a mule I had borrowed from a neighbor to plow our garden and had decided to ride him rather than walk and lead him. The trail took me near Mr. Blaines' house so I thought I would stop and visit with him for a spell. I hadn't seen much of him since the wedding and I liked him a lot. As I rode into the clearing, a shot rang out and I felt something graze my head. I remember falling from the back of the mule and hitting the ground pretty hard. The next thing I remember is waking up and finding myself inside the old house on the floor. I had my camera and the rest of my gear but I wasn't sure who I was. One part of me remembered that I was Kevin Johnson but the other part knew I was Robert Smith. I managed to get to my feet and suddenly felt very thirsty and hungry. I still had my raisins, nuts and my water bottle was full so I ate some of the raisins and drank about half of the water. I saw the shelf that had fallen from over the door and was just getting ready to start taking pictures of the inside of the old house when the door opened and Josh came in. "Where have you been, Kevin?" he asked. "We have been worried sick. The Sheriff had a search party out looking for you for three days before giving up and deciding you had skipped the country." Your mom has been talking about hiring a private detective to find you. Where have you been for the last four months?"
I couldn't understand what he was talking about. I had just come to this place a few minutes before. I didn't think I could have been out more than ten minutes or so. Josh kept talking, though, about how I had been missing for four months. It just didn't make any sense to me and I told him to stop his nonsense. He finally got me to go outside and sit on the stoop. When I did, the first thing I saw were the weeds growing all around the house. The door was barely hanging on one leather hinge and looked as if it could fall any time. This wasn't what I remembered seeing when I came here a short while ago. This just didn't make any sense. There had to be something going on and Josh had to know what it was. I finally agreed to let him help me back to the road as I was still weak from the blow to the head.
When we arrived at the place where I had left my pick-up there was only one vehicle in sight. That was Josh's little red sports car. He said they had had my pick-up towed when the search parties had been unable to find any trace of me. He was so serious that I was beginning to believe him. I realized he was telling the truth when the disc jockey on the radio gave the date. It was four months from the date I had gone to take pictures of the old log house. Where had I been? Was I really alive in another time for those four months? I will never forget Nelly Blaine and the time I spent with her. Dream or reality I will never know but I had to be somewhere during the four months I had been missing and how did I turn up unconscious in the old log house after all that time?
Author: William L. Hyatt

 

 
Copywright 1997
Author: William L. Hyatt

THE INN

THE INN

The old inn looked sad and forlorn standing there beside the once busy, but now seldom used dirt road. At one time this inn was a favorite stopping place for weary travelers making the trip between Richmond and Charleston. It had long since fallen into disrepair as fewer and fewer people followed the old road through the countryside. Where there had been as many as twenty horses in the stables at one time, they were now as deserted as the inn itself. The corrals had literally fallen down and the poles and posts were just rotted reminders of what once had been. The fields behind the inn where grain and vegetables were grown to provide for the needs of the inn were overgrown and abandoned. There was an air of melancholy about the entire place.
 
Chapter one
On the first Sunday in June Sarah Morgan became the bride of Larry McAuliffe. They were wed in a small ceremony attended by only a few close friends, as neither had any living relatives. Sarah had been orphaned at the age of seventeen; while Larry's mother had died giving birth to him, and his father had died when Larry was eleven. Larry had been raised in an orphanage where he remained until his eighteenth birthday. Upon reaching this age he inherited his father’s considerable fortune but, having been raised in a very frugal manner, was loath to spend more than absolutely necessary. Sarah, on the other hand, had never known want although she had been raised in modest circumstances. Upon the death of her parents she had inherited a modest home and a small bit of money, which amounted to only a few thousand dollars. It was enough to allow her to continue her education in the university, which is where she met Larry. He was a junior, majoring in American History when she began her Freshman classes. It had been her intention to take courses, which would allow her to prepare for a career in teaching. One of the classes she would have to take was American History although at a lower level than the class Larry was taking. It was at the beginning of her second year when she first met Larry. He had signed up as a tutor for American History since it was his favorite and, by far, best class. Sarah, on the other hand was struggling to maintain a "B" average. She liked American History; she just wasn't particularly good at it.
Sarah had asked her professor to recommend someone to tutor her since she was having so much difficulty. His first recommendation had been a Senior but he had been too busy to take on another student. This is when the professor had told her about Larry and had suggested she contact him. He had responded in the affirmative when she asked him if he could tutor her a couple of evenings weekly.
Their first evening was spent in the library where they began by introducing themselves and getting acquainted. They spent a few minutes reviewing where Sarah was having difficulty and, by the time they broke up, he had given her a study plan, which he said would help her. The second time they met was again in the library but it proved not to be a very good place for their purposes. Larry suggested they find someplace quiet yet not prohibitively so to do their work in the future. This proved to be hard to find. It was finally decided to use a booth at the local diner where they could eat dinner and study at the same time. It wasn't long before Larry was asking her to dinner on other evenings as well.
By the time he graduated they were engaged to be married and only waiting for her to finish her education. They had talked over the possibility of getting married when he graduated but had decided it would be better to wait. They neither one wanted to start their marriage with too many things going on in their lives. Larry took a job as assistant to his American History professor although the pay was quite small. It allowed them to see each other frequently during the two years until she graduated.
Graduation Day came for Sarah and Larry was in attendance to watch her receive her degree. With his help she had overcome her lack in American History and had graduated in the top ten per cent of her class. They had decided to wait until after they were permanently settled to marry so there would be no moving immediately after the ceremony. During the last year of her university stay they had used every opportunity to go for drives into the surrounding countryside looking at old homes and other historical buildings. Larry was offered a teaching position at a small college near Richmond, Virginia and, upon learning that the local high school was in need of teachers, they drove down to check things out. It took only a few hours for Sarah to become a member of the faculty at the high school with the understanding that it was a probationary hiring until her grades could be verified. Larry, on the other hand, had already been approved for his job and only had to give them his written acceptance. In less than half a day from their arrival both were employed in their chosen field.
Upon agreeing to become Larry's bride, Sarah had contacted a realtor for the purpose of listing her house for sale. The day after they had been hired she received a call with an offer from the realtor and, after discussing it with Larry, had accepted. It would take several days to close on the house and, meantime, they would have to find a home for themselves. Before that there was the matter of a wedding to be performed. Since they had become engaged while at the university they decided to be wed in the chapel there with a few close friends in attendance.
Immediately after the wedding they left for an extended trip covering a good deal of the eastern shore of the United States. It was while on their honeymoon trip that they had first seen the old inn. They neither one liked to drive on the fast highways and freeways but, rather, enjoyed those meandering country roads and lanes, which cover the countryside.
Larry and Sarah were on the third day of their honeymoon when they found the old inn.
It was a beautiful early summer day in the last week of June and they were driving leisurely along a narrow dirt and gravel road not far above the Virginia-North Carolina border when they came upon the structure quite unexpectedly. As they came around a bend in the road, it seemed to suddenly be there where, only moments before, there had been nothing. Sarah had wanted to drive that morning and was behind the wheel at the moment. She slammed on the brakes so suddenly that Larry was thrown forward into the seat belt. "Oh look", she exclaimed, " at that wonderful old building. I wonder what it used to be." Unbuckling her seat belt while speaking, she was out of the car and moving toward the old inn before Larry had even recovered from the sudden stop.
Three hours later they had finally finished exploring the inn which, despite its evident neglect, was in remarkably sound condition. The doors were still hanging in their frames and, except for several broken panes, the windows were in fair condition. Finding the front door ajar, they had carefully ventured inside where they had spent two hours going through the entire structure. Their tour included a thorough inspection of the upper floor as well as the rooms on the main floor. By the time they stepped back outside Sarah had fallen completely in love with the inn and was telling Larry that they should buy it and fix it up. Larry was not quite as enthusiastic as she was but he had a feeling for it too.
"We don't even know if it is for sale", he cautioned. "It may not be available so don't get your hopes up too much."
"I just have this feeling", Sarah replied," that it was meant for us to find it. I just know if we do some asking we can find the owners and they will sell it to us. Oh, Larry darling, I want it so badly. Please, can't we at least check and see if it is available?"
Acquiescing, Larry led the way to the car and got behind the wheel with a smile on his face. Driving back the way they had come they stopped at a farmhouse about half a mile from the old inn. Both of them had gotten out of the car and started toward the house when they saw an elderly man coming from the direction of the barn. Changing course, they walked to meet him as he came through the gate into the yard. Greeting them with a warm smile, the old gentleman asked if he could help them. When they told him of their interest in the property up the road from him he invited them to join him for a glass of iced tea on his front porch. After they were settled in rocking chairs he excused himself and went to fetch the tea. In moments he was back with a tray bearing a pitcher of tea and three glasses of ice.
"Now then, let me see if I understand you correctly", the old gentleman spoke slowly. "You say you are interested in the old inn? Do you mean that you are interested in buying it or did you mean you wanted to hear the story connected with it?"
Larry and Sarah glanced at each other before answering. "Both", Larry spoke, "We are interested in buying it and we most surely would like to hear any story in connection with it."
"Just what do you have in mind to do with it if you should buy it?" the old man asked. "Are you going to tear it down and build yourselves a house there or what?"
This time it was Sarah who did the speaking. "Oh, no we would never want to tear it down", she said, "We want to restore it and bring it back to its original condition as nearly as possible. Somehow, it seems to me we were meant to see the old place today. We are on our honeymoon and were just driving through the countryside. As soon as I saw it there was something about it that drew me to it. It's as though I have some connection to it somehow."
"Well, I'm right glad to hear your plans for the old inn if you get it", the old man answered her. "It happens that I am the one who has control of that piece of property. I wouldn't want to see it torn down to make room for a new house but not many people have any desire to fix up an old relic like it."
Hearing that he had control of the old inn and, understanding by his remarks, that it was for sale their next thought was price. "We would like to know what the asking price is for the property and if there is acreage with the inn", Larry said. "We are definitely interested in restoring it if we are able to acquire it. You see, we are both very interested in American History and this inn seems to be a part of it."
"The old inn sits on forty acres", the old man answered, "And the deed is written in such a way that it can never be broken up into smaller pieces. That is one reason it is still available. Most people that would consider buying it would want to sell off most of the acreage in order to raise money to pay for restoring or demolishing the inn and building there. You realize it will take considerable money to do all that needs to be done to get the old inn in useable condition. Of course you would have to bring it up to meet all the current building codes. There was never any electricity or plumbing installed in it as it has been vacant for almost a hundred years. It belonged to my wife's uncle and aunt and when they died she inherited it. They had closed it to the public a few years before their death. If you will come back tomorrow morning about this same time I will have the deed and abstract here and you can look them over then we can talk some more. I'll tell you a little bit about it then too."
With that, the old man stood as if dismissing them so they thanked him and returned to their car. As they drove back down the lane to the road they could see him standing on the porch looking after them.
Chapter 2
After watching the young couple drive out of sight the old man opened the door and stepped inside. Going over to a small table and picking up a picture he spoke to the woman whose likeness it contained. "I think I've finally found someone who will love the inn as much as you did, Martha", he said. "They seem like such a nice young couple. I think you would approve of me making a gift of the inn to them. When they come back tomorrow I will tell them we have talked it over and if they will sign an agreement to restore the old place and never let it be broken up into smaller parcels they can have it. I'm sure they will agree to those terms. The young woman's eyes lit up like yours used to when she talked about the inn. Sure will be nice to have neighbors again too."
He placed the picture back on the table and sat down in a chair, which was near the table. Opening the drawer, he took out the deed and abstract for the property in question and sat for a long time just looking at the papers in his hand. After a while he replaced the papers in the drawer and sighed deeply.
Sarah awoke at daybreak excited about what the day held in store. She could hardly wait to get going back to the farm to meet with the old man about buying the inn. Larry finally got her to slow down enough that he could remind her that they were supposed to be there at around ten o'clock. He suggested they go find a café and get some breakfast then look around to see if there was a lawyer who they could get to look over the deed and abstract before they committed to buy the inn.
Finally, at nine thirty, they started back out toward the farm and inn. Upon arriving at the farm they found the old man waiting on the porch for them. After greeting them warmly he asked if they would care for coffee. When they both accepted he invited them to follow him into the kitchen where he had a pot on the counter. Taking cups and saucers from a sideboard, he poured and set the cups in front of them. Replenishing his own, he sat on the opposite side of the table from them.
"Now, let's talk a bit about the old inn and then we can talk about whether you want it or not", he said. Going on without giving them a chance to answer he began to tell them about the inn's early days.
Chapter 3
The year was eighteen-twenty four and the nation was less than fifty years old. The new nation had already fought the British twice and won both times. One of the heroes of the latest war, called the war of 1812 was Major General Andrew Jackson. He had, with a much smaller force, defeated the British army in a decisive victory at New Orleans in the summer of 1815.
Traveling between his home and the nation's capitol in Washington, General Jackson stopped many times at an inn on the Richmond/Charlotte pike in south central Virginia. This inn had been built in 1810 as a stage stop along the pike which was the primary road connecting the town of Charlotte, North Carolina with Washington City. During the years it had been in operation many famous people had spent nights in its luxurious suites of which there were three along with several smaller rooms for the less affluent traveler. There was also a common room for those who were unable or unwilling to spend the sum required for private quarters. All in all the inn was a comfortable place for one night or several as the case might be.
On this midsummer's eve there were no other famous personages in residence when General Jackson, accompanied by two of his private servants rode up to the inn and dismounted. He had barely gotten off his magnificent white steed when one of his slaves took the reins and began to lead the horses toward the stables several hundred feet to the rear of the inn. The stables would also provide shelter for the two Negroes during the nights that the General remained here. As they started down the land which led to the stables General Jackson reminded them to bring his bag back to the inn and get some food from the kitchen before retiring. After giving these instructions, the General stepped up onto the wide verandah that wrapped the building on two sides. Nodding to a couple of farmers who were taking advantage of the shade offered, he then stepped inside to arrange for accommodations. After seeing to that matter and partaking of the evening meal he returned to the verandah for a final pipe before retiring for the night. Meanwhile, his servants had brought the General's bag and carried it up to his suite.
Morning came and with it a low mist that seemed to hug the ground and obscure all but the closest objects. Determining that it was impractical to travel under such circumstances, General Jackson returned to his suite where, taking pen and paper, he spent the morning writing. During his years in the army he had kept journals and had continued the practice after his retirement from the military. One of the house slaves came to his door and knocked to inform him that the noon meal was being served or he would probably have continued to write well into the afternoon.
The noon meal consisted of baked ham and sweet potatoes with wild greens and two or three other vegetables picked fresh from the large garden behind the inn. After eating, General Jackson again retired to the verandah with his pipe. Today, there was only one other person present and that was a young lady. One could tell by observing her demeanor that she was a lady of good breeding and some wealth. Though she had turned slightly toward him when the general stepped out onto the verandah, she quickly looked back to the small book in her hand. With this she seemed to dismiss General Jackson until he had moved over near her and spoken. "Would the lady object if I were to light my pipe," he inquired? "Not at all" was her reply, and again she returned to her book. Being summarily dismissed, the general moved back up the verandah and took a seat in a wicker rocker near the front door to the inn.
Almost half an hour had passed when a small coach came out of the mist and stopped near the steps at the corner of the verandah. A young man, evidently a gentleman, climbed out of the coach and approached the young lady. Upon his appearance, she had placed the book she had been reading in her reticule and smoothed her hair. Smiling, he said something in a low voice, which did not carry to where the general still sat with the cold pipe in his between his teeth. With a nod, the young lady took the hand of the young gentleman and allowed him to help her to her feet. Upon standing she appeared considerably taller than she had while seated. She was not, though, so tall as to be considered too tall and she seemed to be built in good proportion to her height. In moments the young gentleman had handed her into the carriage and, retrieving her baggage from inside the door, had joined her inside the coach. With a shake of the lines, the Negro coachman had pulled away from the inn, returning in the direction from which they had come.
An hour or so later a large passenger coach with several persons on board came rumbling up. Three men dismounted from inside and one who had been riding atop climbed down to take one of the spaces vacated by them. While all this was going on and luggage was being unloaded a Negro hostler was bringing fresh horses from the stable and exchanging them for the tired ones hooked to the coach. Moments later, with the remaining passengers still on board, the coach returned to the mist and vanished on along the pike.
The passenger coach had barely vanished when a horseman came riding up to the inn. Dismounting quickly, he hurried inside and soon loud voices were heard coming from the dining room where the three men from the stage were having coffee. It seemed the newcomer knew at least one of these men and they were having words about some matter. Their voices, though loud enough to carry to the verandah, were not distinct. The general appeared to be ignoring the argument going on inside, as he continued holding the cold pipe in the corner of his mouth. In fact, he seemed to be almost asleep until the two antagonists brought their argument out onto the verandah near where he was sitting. They paid him scant attention as they were busy casting recriminations back and forth. Suddenly, the newcomer struck the other man across the face with the back of his hand and, spinning on his heel, stepped down from the verandah and remounted his horse. Touching spurs to the horse, he lit out down the road in the direction taken by the stage.
Almost before the rider was out of sight the man he had struck turned to General Jackson and asked, "Did you see that, Sir? The scoundrel struck me then ran off before I had opportunity to challenge him to a duel. I intend to go after him and bring him back and make him stand to the code duel. Would you not agree that I have sufficient cause?"
The general arose from his chair and, bowing slightly, said "Dueling is such a final act gentlemen. It would seem there should be some other way to settle disputes without resorting to violence." With that, he turned and walked inside, leaving the two men standing there.
Next morning the sun was shining brightly and the mist that had blanketed the land burned off by mid morning. While waiting for the mist to leave, General Jackson had prepared to be off to resume his journey. His slaves had curried and saddled their horses and brought them to the inn shortly after sunrise. After breakfast they had packed the general's bag and tied it behind his saddle in preparation for leaving.
The two men who had been left on the porch the evening before made their appearance at the breakfast table. Barely nodding to the general, they made their way to the far end of the long trestle table before choosing seats. It was as if they didn't want any further contact with someone who had different ideas about honor than themselves. At the same time, they watched him closely as if they were quite interested in him.
After eating, the general walked out onto the verandah for his customary pipe. The men followed him and the one who had spoken the evening before now spoke again. "Sir, I think you must be a coward or a fool", he said. "Anyone with the least amount of manhood about themselves would know I can't let that man get away with striking me the way he did. If you weren't an old fool I'd challenge you too."
He was about to walk away when the general turned directly toward him and, impaling him with his cold blue eyes, said, "Young man you are the fool. You have thrown doubt upon my manhood without even knowing one thing about me. Therefore, it is I who must challenge you. What weapon would you prefer?"
With a sneer the young man replied, "pistols if you can see to shoot one." Seeing that this was agreeable he turned to his friend and asked him to be his second. General Jackson stepped inside and up to the desk and spoke to the innkeeper. "Morgan", he asked, "would you do me the honor of being my second in a little matter of a duel with the young man outside? He has insulted my manhood and wants to prove what kind of a fool he is and I'm inclined to oblige him." Receiving an assent, the general went out to his horse and untied his bag from behind the saddle. Bringing it up onto the verandah, and setting it on the floor, he proceeded to open it and retrieve a wooden box from inside. When opened it was seen to contain a pair of matched dueling pistols in exquisite condition.
An hour later they stood side by side as Morgan gave instructions. You will stand back to back and, upon my signal, will take exactly ten paces each and turn and fire. The one who remains standing will be declared the winner. In the event both are down it will be declared a draw. If neither is down the seconds will take the pistols and reload and return them to the combatants. You will turn your backs to each other and I will count to three upon which you will turn and fire again. This will continue until one is down or until you both declare the duel over."
Upon the command "begin" spoken by Morgan, the two men walked the required paces, turned and fired. The young man's ball went wide of its target due to the fact that he fired in a hurry. The general slowly pointed his pistol and fired striking the younger man in the left leg and knocking him to the ground. Upon seeing the young man fall, Morgan announced the duel over with General Jackson declared the winner. While his friend was caring for the wounded man the general retrieved the other pistol and set about cleaning them and returning them to their case. After placing the case back in his bag he once more tied it behind his saddle. Then calling his two slaves to join him he climbed on his horse and turned him toward the road. As soon as his two Negroes had caught up with him he gave his horse his head and touching him with spurs galloped on up the road.
Morgan helped the injured man's friend move him into the gathering room of the inn where they laid him on a pallet Morgan's wife had prepared on the floor near the fireplace. There were a few coals still in the bottom of the firebox from the fire kindled against chill of the early morning. With a pan of hot water and some rags furnished by his wife, Morgan began the task of caring for the wounded man. The first thing was to get the ball out of his leg and then his leg could be dressed. With a sharp knife heated over the coals, Morgan began the task of removing the ball, which had struck the injured man in the calf of his left leg burrowing deeply onto the muscle. It took several minutes to extract the ball during which time the young man cried out with pain on several occasions. The operation was successful, however, and soon Morgan dropped the lead ball into the pan of water and, after washing the wound, poured in a good supply of turpentine before bandaging it thoroughly. During the final moments the young man had fainted due to the extreme pain.
When he had finished his ministrations, Morgan helped carry the young man into one of the downstairs room where he could rest comfortably. It was only after settling the young man into a bed and returning to the gathering room that Morgan spoke to the young man's companion.
"Your friend has maybe learned a valuable lesson today", he said. "It is never wise to risk a duel without knowing who one is dueling with. I've known General Jackson for several years and this is the first time I've known him to purposely aim for other than a clean kill in a duel. Your friend is very fortunate indeed to still be among the living."
Upon hearing the name "General Jackson" the other man turned pale and dropped into a chair near where he had been standing. "Do you mean to tell me that was Old Hickory", he gasped? "Why we had no idea it was him. My friend was angry that he had been struck and just wanted someone to vent his anger against."
"The general is a personal friend of mine so I'd suggest you get your friend out of here as soon as he is able to ride. Make sure he never comes here again as he just might have less good fortune the next time." With these words, Morgan turned and left the room.
 
 
Chapter 4
Back at the farm Sarah was hanging onto every word spoken by the old man. Larry, too, was giving his whole attention to the story he was hearing. Only when the old man paused to refill their coffee cups did either of them speak. It was Sarah who found her voice first and asked the question on both their minds.
"Did you say the Inn keeper's name was Morgan", she asked? "I don't suppose his first name could have been Will, could it?
My maiden name was Morgan and I know my great grandfather once owned an inn somewhere. I have not the least idea where, though."
Hearing her words, the old man nearly dropped the coffee pot he was holding. Managing to recover himself in time he sat down without finishing pouring their refills. "Indeed, the man I have been talking about was Will Morgan. He had come over from Ireland in time to fight with General Jackson in the battle of New Orleans against the British. It was while serving with the general that they became fast friends even though Will Morgan was only an enlisted man. Somehow that never seemed important to either of them. My wife was a niece of the wife of the last Morgan to operate the inn. That is how we came to be in control of it. She died a year ago this month and I promised her that I would look after the property. I sometimes take her picture down and talk with her when I need to make a decision. I did that last evening after you left and felt that I should make you an offer today. I might as well get to it for now I can understand the reason I felt so strongly about it. You see, I don't intend to sell the property to you at all." Seeing the startled expression on their faces he hurried on. "I am going to give it to you with a few conditions. That is, if you are willing to accept those conditions. The inn can never be torn down to make room for a new house and the land can never be sold off in bits and pieces. It was my wife's wish that it be maintained as one piece and she hoped someone would want to restore the old inn. When you said yesterday that that was your desire I felt that her wishes just might be going to come true. Now, you know it will take considerable money to restore the old inn and bring the rest of the property up to good condition. I will be willing to help you in any way I can but I haven't the finances to be of any assistance in that way."
Larry spoke then. "Sir, I am fortunate enough to have inherited a considerable fortune when I turned eighteen and I have invested it wisely so have accumulated a fairly large amount of money. My wife also has some money in her own right so that will pose no problem. We are still willing to pay a reasonable sum for the property as well."
"The property has never really been for sale," the old man replied. "That is why I never did put up a for sale sign. I just knew that someday the right person would come along. Now you are here and I am going to go ahead and do what I know my wife would have wanted. We can go into town this afternoon and take care of all the legalities involved and then the place will be yours. That is if you agree to those terms I mentioned."
"Of course we agree", Sarah and Larry spoke at the same time. "We would never consider doing anything other than restoring the property. We hope someday to be able to open it up once again for business."
The paperwork was completed that afternoon and the McAuliffes became the new owners of the "General Jackson Inn". If you are ever traveling in that area they invite you to stop and spend a night or several days.
Copyright 1998
William L. Hyatt

The Anniversary

The Anniversary


The old man trudging along the dusty road stopped and looked around. He seemed unsure of his whereabouts as he mopped the perspiration from his face with a soiled handkerchief. Then glancing behind him once more he moved on again out of the meager shade offered by the scrawny little tree that almost looked out of place in the otherwise treeless landscape. Topping a small rise in the road the old man paused once again to gaze ahead. Far in the distance a few hardscrabble buildings rested atop a small hill. They resembled a bit of something added to a painting as an afterthought by the artist. The late afternoon sun and shimmering heat waves made them appear to float on a sea of haze.

The old fellow started on with an expression of something akin to fear on his weathered face but with the determination of one on a mission that must be accomplished. However, as he drew closer to his apparent destination his steps began to lag once more as though he dreaded to go on. He stopped then started on, then stopped, then took a few more steps and finally stopped and sat down. Then burying his face in his hands he sat with silent sobs wracking his gaunt frame.

It was dusk before the old man got to his feet and resumed his journey toward the same ramshackle buildings. They now appeared as a dark splotch against the gray of a fading twilight. No lamp appeared in the window of the house to welcome him as he approached through the gloom of sudden darkness as the last of the light left the sky. There wasn’t even the welcome bark of a dog to greet him as he opened the gate and stepped into the sun baked yard; Not even a sound other than the squeak of the gate hinges as he pushed it shut behind him.

The old fellow’s shoulders seemed to droop even more as he stepped up on the porch and reached out to take the screen door handle and pull it toward him. It made a scraping noise as it dragged on the rough board floor of the porch. Reaching with his other hand he turned the knob and let himself into the darkened room. Again, the silence seemed almost to have a weight to it and he stopped just inside the door. Light flared suddenly as he struck a match on the inside door frame and touched it to the wick of a bracket lamp hanging on the wall nearby.

As the light pushed back the gloom, the meager furnishings could be seen. There was a couple of worn arm chairs and an old wicker table. A doorway opened into the kitchen while another opened into what was apparently the only bedroom in the small house. Inside this room the furniture was much like that in the main room, a chair, a wardrobe and a bed. At first glance the room seemed unoccupied but then as the old man carried in the lamp, a form could be seen in the bed. The small frame of a frail old lady was almost hidden by the quilts piled high. No movement or sound came from her as the old man moved about the room.

Finally, he came over to stand gazing down at the still form of the one lying there so quietly. It appeared as though he was forced to come against his will for he still seemed to be trying to avoid something. After some moments the old man spoke slowly and barely above a whisper; “It’s no use Martha, they won’t come. They didn’t even believe me when I told them. They tried to tell me you weren’t even here anymore. I told them, but they just wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t get them to come. Even when I explained it was our fiftieth anniversary they still just laughed. They just don’t understand that I couldn’t let you go before we celebrated our anniversary. We’ll have a party anyhow then I’ll take you back to the cemetery tomorrow."

THE END

Author: William L. Hyatt

Poetry

ONLY LONELINESS FOR ME


In this world of love and laughter
No happiness can I see;
Now and forever after,
There’s only loneliness for me.

No joy-but only sorrow
In this whole life will be;
The hope of my tomorrow
Holds only loneliness for me.

Pain, regret, broken dreams,
Gladness is gone, so is glee;
Life is darkness; now it seems
There’s only loneliness for me.

Sadness, tears, also heartaches
Are all that’s left, save memory;
O’ the pain of these heart-breaks
Leaves only loneliness for me.

A cloudy sky, a rainy day;
This the future seems to be;
Tomorrow painted twilight’s gray
Brings only loneliness for me.

Copyright 1998
William L. Hyatt