The Shadow of the Mountain

The Quilt

The waters in the creek were dark. They always have been. Since Jesse was a boy, the color had never changed—a grayish brown, merely because the sky beckoned it to be so— and one could never see beyond its surface. The dark silhouettes of the figures above reflected off its surface, which rippled in waves as what lay underneath came to pass. It was like trying to look in a hazy mirror. It was like trying to look through smoke.

You had to cross the river on your way to visit Mamaw and Papaw’s house. Even as the family approached the home, the sight of the stream weaving its way between the mountains—in and out of sight from the road, a serpent slithering its away along some God-forsaken path—stood before the difficulty of the drive ahead. To get there, one had to cross a wooden bridge and take a side road off the parkway that seemed to echo each ripple of the river, flexing in satisfaction with its course. Jesse could anticipate each turn on the road, each bend in the river, but was always surprised by the sight of what lay ahead. His mamaw told him “Life runs its course as steady as the stream—sometimes, it meanders along a steady path, but oftentimes, it’s as rough as those jagged ole mountains you see when you look up toward the sky. But remember, Jesse, if you have faith, even in the difficult bits, a dream will be just around the riverbend.” [1]

He never liked the road, though. Deep potholes and broke pavement with each turn. The car would rock back and forth along the uneven surface in some spots. There was hardly a place where it ran smooth. Landslides and rockfalls often broke the asphalt from above, too, leaving chunks in the road to tumble down into the gulch below. Other parts were as old as dirt, or, perhaps because they were dirt, passing through would leave behind a cloud of what once was. The revving pickup trucks, especially. 

The trees, like those growing on the sunless side of the riverbank, were much darker than those from back home. The soil from which they grew was nearly black. Their bark was covered like a cigar. Their leaves danced like sprites in the wind, even to their eventual deaths. On early fall mornings, Jesse always looked upon the eastern side of the mountains, whose trees gleamed like diamonds against the brilliant sky. The canopy blanketed the crags by a quilt so fine, it must have been sewn together by the Great Artist, Himself, who, like a divine Jackson Pollock [2], let the world form itself from the design of the all-knowing mind. The bright yellows, ambers, oranges, and crimson reds against the sky energized the plain in a radiant liberation. On the drive up, one could never miss the red leaves. They looked beautiful in the allure of the sun. However, the red leaves of the trees in the valley—where the creek made its course and the people made their homes—were quite unusual. Their hue was of a faded scarlet, never longing nor never hoping. They oftentimes sagged to the ground, only showing their backsides, as if to gesture to the pain of being a part of the life of the lowly—a part of the people of the valley. If you looked at them closely, you could see their darkened veins, appearing to defy death as a skeleton before the light. Jesse wished these trees were like those on the eastern face of the mountain, but Papaw told him to look at them differently. Papaw just believed one couldn’t see them as clearly because they lived in the shadow of the mountain. He said the shadow hid the stream, the animals, and the people to protect them. It made everything invisible. Jesse supposed, but the trees oftentimes looked so dark, it was never worth looking at them. 

Sitting on the same creek it had sat on for decades, the house was a ways from the parkway. A trek to get to, certainly. Jesse was always relieved by its sight. It appeared just around a corner, the sun shining against its facade, a humble creature under the wing of a great protector. Papaw built it; all by himself, he did. Jesse didn’t know how old it was nor could he even guess, but Papaw said when Jesse was little, he was under the impression it had been there forever. Ever since the beginning. What amazing things young’uns think! The ones furthest from the end, closest to the beginning, and most curious about the world. Jesse could remember so many times coming up yonder on weekends, family reunions, and for birthdays and holidays, as if it were only yesterday. 

Christmas was his favorite time of year! They would bring food and have the merriest of times, away from the ruckus outside. Papaw would be in the living room preaching about some tall tale from his younger days, especially to the young ones: Jesse, his brothers, and cousins. Auntie Ruth, one of Papaw’s sisters, would sometimes join in on his fun, usually to correct him on some finer points of the stories, but for the most part, she let Jesse’s littlest brother sit on her lap while she listened. Papaw, animated in a fervor like the passion of his soul, loved to re-enact his memories, just the way he had seen and experienced them decades ago, occasionally having to sit down for a moment on the red couch but rearing up on the next. Ruth, at the stories’ fine conclusion, usually gave Jesse, the oldest of the lot, a little parable, for safekeeping. His mom and her cousin—who were so close when they were younger, they were practically sisters—chatted about the education world, and trust ‘em, there were loads of stories to tell. Teachers, those shrewd intellects willing to unfurl the bounds of the physical world and transform the lives of the future. On car rides home from school, it never ceased to amaze him the work his mom was able to accomplish—so joyful in hope, patient in affliction, and faithful in the struggle. She helped kids when they were down, showed them the ways of the learned, and taught them along their own paths. Jesse’s dad and Uncle Isaac—a rugged lot—quite often spoke about their hunting trips. Cousin Jacob, Uncle Isaac’s son, walked into the house, strapped down by a bag of presents and two small daughters, who anxiously awaited their meeting with Jesse and his brothers. Jacob’s wife, Dara—one of the nicest ladies you could imagine, with a levity only angels possessed—loved to sing, especially at Christmastime. Jesse could still hear her voice floating as a sweet bell does along the harmonies of the breeze on a silent winter’s night, when darkness pervades the quiet little valleys, except for the lights keeping the homes cozily nestled in their refuge. Uncle Yvon, an eclectic native, as one might call him, occasionally appeared, with his apolaustic attitude and loving heart, as well as a purple jacket Jesse never saw him without. Mamaw also had several sisters who made an appearance, with their cars filled to the brim with dishes upon dishes of food for the Christmas Eve meal. Mary, Susanna, and Joanna were their names, and if you were a stranger, they’d never let you forget it! They came down to the house wearing matching sweaters, all three with the same design—red, green, and white stripes—embroidered with their names on the front. Eccentric was the easiest word Jesse could think of. 

Mamaw sat in the living room, listening to her record player and crocheting a turquoise and green blanket. A quiet woman, she was always searching for a moment when her wisdom was most needed. Jesse believed she possessed one of the most authentic expressions of joy he’d ever heard. When she laughed, it was as if silence commanded the rest of the world to listen in wonder, as if an immaculate trumpet of the jubilee sounded to precede the arrival of some divine angel bellowing forth from Heaven, itself. It was such a beautiful sound, such a contagious note. Papaw always brought Mamaw to laughter, and everyone who heard it would laugh along with her. She loved to babysit Jesse and his brothers while his parents were away at work. Jesse’s brothers were very young, and she’d have to take good care of them. She did have a temper, sometimes, too, as did Daniel, one of Jesse’s brothers, who, in a fit of infantile rage against the oppressive nature of humanity, threw his dirty diaper right in her face. “Dan’l! YOU LITTLE DEVIL!” Her body towered over his. “You want me to throw you in the Troublesome [3], do you?! He’ll wring your scrawny little neck and swallow you whole!” To which Daniel screamed, “NOOO, Mee Maw! I be good!! I bee good!” Tears dotted his poor little eyes. He was now tugging on her violet dress as if to take back what he had thrown. She looked into his innocent eyes and put a gentle, repentant smile on her face. She raised him up, wiped away his tears, and let him lean his little head against her breast while she caressed him. “As long as those who love you stay here,” she pointed to his heart “sweet child…nothing won’t never happen to you!” She shook her head as she spoke those last words, and so did Jesse. Nothing won’t never happen to you, he told himself. 

She was a crafter. She’d dabble in crocheting, a bit of textile, some painting and drawing. She used to quilt, too, and behind her rocking chair, hanging on the wall, was a great quilt she’d made with Jesse’s family tree. It was the first thing Jesse’s youngest brother, Joey, would see when the family entered the home, apart from, of course, the welcoming arms of Papaw. He would stare at it with those great big eyes of his, pleasuring in the royal splendor of its many colors. “It’s for you, little one! When you stand to be a great man. To remind you of those before and a promise of those ahead,” she’d say to him, who, taking no note of the glistening smile that stood before his facade, simply examined each intricate detail. Each face looked right back at him.

Sprouting from the base, a large tree adorned its center, embroidered with sages, junipers, emeralds, olives, and a plethora of other greens. The top of the trunk rose to the center of the blanket, and each of its branches reached out to the edges. The tree juxtaposed the background’s deep, crimson red, which contrasted the Sun and the Moon ornamenting each of the top corners—the white stars shining betwixt. Where one would have expected to find leaves perched the members of Jesse’s family, knitted each in a frame of gold. Of course, you had his mother and father, his younger brothers, Uncle Isaac and his sons Jacob and Callahan, Jacob’s wife Dara and their daughters, Mamaw and Papaw, his sister Ruth and brother Yvon, and Mamaw’s three sisters: Mary, Susanna, and Joanna. 

Then, there were Papaw’s mommy and daddy, Margaret and Mitchell, the fiery ones. Margaret’s brother was Clive, who, no matter the circumstances, could make everyone roar with laughter ‘til the day drew to its close. Mitchell was an only child, and his parents were Leroy and Abigail. Leroy was, in spirit, as stubborn and hard-working as a pack mule, and Abigail was sweeter than the flower gardens on the Appalachians. Jesse had a lot of cousins from that side of the family, like the Eli brothers (Elijah and Elisha—the miracle workers), Asa the wanderer, and Delilah the fair. Delilah had two brothers: Silas the friend and Wendell the never-ending ray over the mountain. Clive was married to Rebecca, the wise, and they had three children: Andrew the bold leader, Ricky Wayne the cloud jumper, and little Miss Winnie, the golden child. They were certainly the handful! Winnie had a daughter named Miriam and a son named Enoch. All Jesse could fathom of that man was he lived well beyond the normal capacity of humankind. Brilliant, that one!

Mamaw’s parents were named Kenan and Hannah Marie, the blessed ones. Kenan’s sisters were Esther the brave, Leah Leigh the lovely, and Diane the magnificently glamorous. Jeb and Judith were their parents, and they were the most loving and most hateful people Jesse’s Mamaw ever knew. One minute they’d walk with you in the fire and the next, they’d treat you like a rat needing to be gotten rid of. Hannah Marie was the sister of Jesse James, a rowdy tirade of a man, always getting himself into more trouble than his britches could ever handle and never asking questions. But bring trouble his sister’s way, and he’d be up your tail like a cold-nosed coon-dog putting a ringtail up a tree. Then there was Rachel, Tommy, Bobbie, and Emmy Lou, his sons and daughters. Of those four, there were only two children, twins. Josie and Sarah Mae, quite the opposite bunch. Just like their great-grandparents, Jeb and Judith. Jesse knew all of them at one point or another. The tree continued that way for several generations. 

Everyone was connected by the branches, interweaving their way amongst each other, but a thinly veiled vine of silver and gold was the connection between them all. It led from the youngest to the oldest, from the smallest to the biggest. And at the very top of the tree was Abram, the Highest of the Stars. He was long gone and the memories of him were as ancient as the days, but they used to say he danced along the light of the world as if it would never leave. He was from a foreign land and, all by himself, moved to this little hollow, on a river that shakes the Earth and in the shadow no one dears tread. Mamaw knew all of this, and over seven years’ time, she’d knitted each branch and leaf and embroidered every detail of every face. It was a rainbow before the eyes, especially hanging, like it was, above her rocker while she crocheted another blanket. 

While she sat there, listening to the record player, she’d be singing a hymn Papaw’s mommy always used to sing. [4]

I’m going to that city
Where the streets with gold are laid
And all the trees of life is blooming
And those roses never fade

Here they bloom, but for a season
Then their beauty is decayed
But I’m going to a city
Where the roses never fade

A spiritual woman, she was. Jesse always admired that about her. Dara would occasionally jump in, and Jesse always felt so warm inside, knowing, he too, would go to a city—above the clouds, shining in the resplendent rays of the Sun—where the roses never, never fade. Then Papaw would butt in, “you may live right in the shadow of those mountains o’er there, and we definitely don’t have no golden streets around. But if you’uns have a little faith, then you’ll be alright. You stay good, you hear? Be good!”

On those magical Christmas days, Jesse’s favorite part was the meal. After they all arrived, the women—led by Jesse’s mommy and Dara—made sure all the food was taken care of and began to set the table. It was a long wooden one that filled the entirety of the dining room and kitchen. They would start with the placemats—cloth in a deep green and crimson red, patterned like the argyle. The silverware, which was used just for occasions such as this, was prepared. The glasses, placed in their designated stations, and the remaining accouterments found their spaces ready for use. After that, the food would begin. They would, of course, start small, working their way to the largest portions. Jesse saw toast, panettone, and buttermilk biscuits. There were jams and jellies. You could smell freshly picked berries from the garden and see the rising steam from the mashed potatoes, broccoli casserole, and green beans. The hickory nuts and dumplings…ooh, what treats! At the very center, waiting, in exaltation, was the great, big ol’ ham! It was always a mighty thing, especially to the little ones. After the women had served, everyone came together, bowed their heads before the Lord on that very special day, and prayed. Oh, Lord, they prayed! Prayed for the sick, the weak, the suffering. Prayed for the meager, the lonely, and the scared. Prayed for those to come and those that have passed. Prayed for thanks, amen! And to that, they all dove in! 

Their mouths were filled with laughter then, and tongues with shouts of joy. Then. 

In those moments of days past, the house stood proud, its simplicity invigorated by the clandestine glow of the sun’s rays, and even today, on the rocky creek banks, Jesse saw it standing where no others were. The family all sat in the kitchen, and Jesse could, even now standing on the riverbank, see, so vivid in his memory, the yellow sunshines reflecting off their faces. The sandy, red brick of the house always stood out to Jesse, as well—against its dark gray roof and white trimmings, complete with a wood porch facing the river—because he thought as long as the house was on the earth, it would never fade. Its immutability was never in question before. It was the same yesterday as it is today, the essence of it, anyway. Looking at the scenes playing out from the windows, one could feel what it was like to live. Looking in, as the memories seemed to fade, he couldn’t help but shudder. Darkness was the home’s only friend, now. It only sits by the mere grace of Jesse’s memory. Looking upon its grim facade was reminiscent of a man, once at the pinnacle of humanity, washed away by his greed and ignorance—a folly of living with one’s head above the clouds. He saw these memories as the house lay in a wasteland. As it faded from existence.

“Everything has happened, mamaw…everything,” he spoke, out loud, to the wind, who, with his tongue, wandered slowly above the quaint, little valley up to the clouds, whose puffs it blew along on a path to nowhere. Jesse looked above the ridge, and all he could see was tomorrow. 

The Dark and the Light

The flood waters came. No one expected them, and they came faster than the burning of the midnight oil. The flood started on a hot, humid day in the late summer when the air hung heavy with the attitude of a downpour. The sun beat down on a parched earth, and the leaves on the trees drooped languidly, seeking refuge from the relentless glare. It was deadening. Out of nowhere, the rain came. The flood began, and all was lost.

Mamaw and Papaw were sleeping when it hit. Papaw had a particular propensity to wait on the flood waters. When he was a little boy, he used to play by the creek, and his mommy would yell like the dickens for him to get out of those dark waters. Afterward, she’d have him write lines until his fingers would fall off and a’praying on the mantle to the Lord, Good Almighty, bless and let him be good! All for going down there by himself. On his sixth birthday, history was made when a massive flood whipped the entire county off the map. It rained for days until the creek rose high enough to cover the valley in a murkiness unseen before now. It destroyed all but his family’s house. When Papaw and Papaw’s family returned to see what was left, they were surprised to find it in perfect condition, as if God had shined His grace on their faith. Ever since then, Papaw could feel it in his bones when the creek would rise and when it would fall. There was nothing ever major until that day, seventy-seven years later, just a few minor leaks in the floorboards or basement below. Nothing ‘til this one. He told the family his back was killing him that night. He wasn’t wrong. 

In the afternoon, the rain started to pour and it did so for nearly forty long hours or so. It became harsh by the morning of the second day, and by the morning of the third day, all the springs of the great deep burst forth and floodgates on the dam—a hundred or so miles upstream—were opened. It seemed it would put an end to all people. It destroyed the earth, destroyed the vale, and destroyed the life within it [5]. The creek first rose a little bit, and after a while, it reached the base of the house. It was already down in a hole, so when the waters reached the main road above, the house was filled. It, and everything that once crowded that place, was ruined.

Papaw and Mamaw had a rough time. Papaw called over on the second day to let the family know he and Mamaw loved them. On the third day, emergency alerts flooded the state, and that’s when Jesse knew his Papaw and Mamaw was in trouble. Jesse’s dad had turned on the news, seeking a way to pass his time, and there it was: news of the Troublesome flooding. Many were injured. Many were missing. Families, misplaced. Kids, misplaced. Separation. Drowning. Death—multiplied with a greater proclivity than nature would have it so—exerted its grim justice upon that little troublesome region of the country, animated by great fervor and lust. Vengeance restored. Papaw woke up to the rising water in their bedroom, and it was a chore helping Jesse’s poor Mamaw, crippled as she could be, rise from bed and walk to the little hill above the floodwaters. There was a moment as Papaw was recounting the story later that he let go of Mamaw for a moment to see her, as he turned, gently floating downstream. Like that little girl the Martins’ lost. Like that little boy the Calhouns’ never found. Like that baby Jesse saw lying a ways down the creek a few days later, just sitting, its eyes squared toward the Heavens. Mamaw did do it, though; she got out. After that scare, they sat at the top of the hill away from the water, with only a road between them and the destruction before them. They were waiting.

Today, years in the wake, Jesse turned his head from the creek to look upon the flood’s greater damages. Apart from the water, everything was nearly black, blacker than the soot of a dry chimney in the middle of the night after a long day, having been left to linger to its slow demise. The sky was quite feeble—in a pale grayness unlike a cliff face standing erect to a wild tempest of an ocean beneath—and coldness seemed to materialize in a kind of misty humidity around the valley. The clouds were no friend, seeming to guard against any warmth which may have entered upon the vale by their boisterous convictions, acting as a quilt preventing the icy exterior from harming the warm underneath, so delicate in its repose yet affected nevertheless. They sat in a lazy idleness, mocking the world below. The mountains vicariously responded in a rectitude notwithstanding the tremendous blow that attacked their roots and those who rested under their sleepy care. How sweet the vengeance could be, if but for a moment, the peaks of those many hillocks could pierce what once caressed from above! They minded to take their vengeance and bear the grudge of the weak below against the mindlessness of those above. In respect for those of the valley, the dark, black mountains—with their sons and daughters beguiled with the hatred of their forefathers—could only stand strong, where the people could not. Jesse looked upon the peaks of the distance, and their resoluteness only bemoaned his own strength standing on the riverbank. From the years of meandering its way through the mountains, the creek had made sand of the place. Papaw made sure, lacking space on top of the mountains themselves, that the house had large stone slabs placed under the foundation for that very reason. Lucky he had, because he said when he and Mamaw were waiting, they saw an entire home just meander its way along the stream, along with an assortment of other large items, but namely the house. From where he sat, he swore he saw people glaring outside the windows. Jesse thought it must have just been the shadows of something, instead. Bodies making their way along the creek was too troubling to imagine. Jesse mourned for the trees. Their leaves, once as summerly spirited as the greens on Mamaw’s quilt, now looked down, tainted by darkness. They wilted again, as they did in the heat. They stood like skeletons lining the banks of the river, that evil spirit. 

What was once his grandparents’ home lay an enduring ruin. Mamaw and Papaw weren’t here, so he knew not why he was here, either. He could hardly look at it too much for fear that what used to be there would remind him it was no longer the same.

“Oh, Lord, what will my family do? What will I do?” Jesse cried, a helpless castaway lost. He sat on the bank of those troubled waters and began to think of days when the Sun melted away any need for tomorrow and invigorated living like we all used to do. Like what was once the vibrancy of our adventurous youths! Once we could breathe, watching a lazy world go by. Now—by the grains of sand in an hourglass running out of time—the days seem to fly, further and further away [6]. Jesse looked at the door, and at once, he was back.

---

“Come on, little Jenny! This yur stop here!” Papaw cried out to the back of the bus. A small girl, with two small pigtails of golden blonde hair, poked her small head above the seat and slowly made her way to the front of the bus.

“Thank yoo Mi’ter Wonnie!” she said through the small hole in the front row of her teeth. She’d pulled it out only yesterday. 

“Of course, sweetie! Now hop right along! Yur missus won’t like fer you to be late, now. Get on!”

“Bye!” the little girl squealed, as she jumped down the stairs to stand next to the bus stop, waiting for Papaw to keep on moving. He saw her, as he passed it, in the mirror crossing the road. 

Papaw drove the school bus. He always loved doing it, especially after teaching. The joy of bringing kids along their ways, moving them forward, in a sense, gave him comfort. It was a journey from the public to the private, from the external to the internal. It was a journey he made with the kids every day, and he loved being able to be a little piece in their lives. 

Papaw’s route was quite interesting, though. It went right up the hill on some roads only wide enough for a small car, never mind a large school bus. He always made it work, though, mainly because you had to, but mostly because Papaw was just like that. Always wanting to make things work. 

Jesse sat right behind Papaw, so he could help him with all the responsibilities necessary for a person in his Papaw’s capacity. He knew, after all, where everyone lived. But on occasion, he did have some questions. 

“Papaw?”

“Yeah, little boy.”

“Why’s that place you froom cawled Rowdy?” asked the little boy.

“Rowdy? Well, Rowdy is the name of a place that has the es-teemed distinction,” he said in an air of frivolity, “of being a generational moniker, yuh might say.”

“What’s a mawnikeer?”

“A name…anyway, we call it Rowdy ‘cause of its people. You could say they’re a bit rowdy!” He gave a little chuckle. Jesse figured that must mean the people are little crazy. 

“Papaw, yur crazy!” Papaw rolled with laughter. And so did the little boy. 

Papaw had about fifteen stops every day, and driving past each of them was always a slow pilgrimage through the winding roads of those hillocks. Sometimes, if Jesse wasn’t careful enough, watching the road and all, he’d end up real sick. He tried to stay focused on the road ahead. Sometimes, Papaw would whistle a little song his mom always used to sing to him, at which Jesse, loving that little tune, would attempt to join in. It usually made the ride a whole lot better, but he still had to focus on the road. That’s what his mommy told him to do. As he was dropping off the kids, Papaw made some conversation, asking the boys about their games or the girls about their crushes. They all were very eager to talk to Papaw about these things and more. Jesse knew everyone just loved his Papaw. Everyone except for that Simon. Simon was a strange one, even Papaw knew it. He sat in the very back of the bus, just staring out the window. Jesse would sometimes look back to watch him, only to develop a troubling sensation in his gut, prompting his attention forward instead of behind. He seemed lonely, but Jesse was too scared to ever say anything, him being so strange and all alone like that. When it was that time for his stop, Simon would scoot his way right up the aisle—Jesse sitting right against the window—and out the door, only ever giving Papaw his thanks, to which a calm smile was returned. At this point, Papaw’s route would be done, and they could go home to a meal Mamaw was fixing as they spoke. 

“Papaw, why’re people so strange?”

“What’yuh mean?”

“Well, I dunno, but Simon is weerd.”

“What’s weird about him?” Papaw glanced in the mirror right into little Jesse’s wondering eyes.

Jesse thought for a moment, since he couldn’t really place it what he was thinking was so weird about Simon. “I guess ‘cause he don’t talk to no one, not here or at school.” 

“Well, Jesse, maybe that’s cuz he’s got a lot on his mind.”

“What’yuh mean Peepaw?”

“I mean, young’un, he’s thinking about some things. He might have some problems he’s working through.” 

“What kinds of problems?” Jesse looked awful confused at his Papaw’s reflection in the mirror, which was looking at the road. “I hope they’re not bad.”

“Problems are bad, young’un. You know that.” Papaw kept looking at the road. “Now you better not tell no one ‘bout this, but his parents are having some issues with each other.” 

Jesse stared at this Papaw. Problems? But why would a mommy and a daddy have issues? Is that what Mommy and Daddy were doin’ the other day? Little Jesse’s mind raced with questions, none having answers but all leading nowhere but to a confrontation with his Papaw.

“What’s wrong with ‘em? Are they fightin’?”

“Yes, baby, they fightin’. Bad, too, I’ve heard.” 

Jesse couldn’t look at his Papaw anymore. He felt ashamed.

“Will Simon be okay, Papaw?” Jesse’s little eyes glistened in the Sun, which shone from far away. Papaw glanced up to see his poor little grandson crying. 

“Jesse, now you listen to me! You hear! Mommies and daddies fight sometimes, but they get through it. Don’t you worry about it one bit! Simon’s a strong feller. He’ll be alright. And you, young’un, have a great Mommy and Daddy who love you and your brothers to the ends of the earth and back.”

“I do, Papaw! I do have a Mommy who loves me and a Daddy who loves me, too! I know it, fer sher!!” Jesse felt better about Simon, too, but he thought he might need to pray about it. 

Papaw smiled. Jesse smiled. 

“Maybe you should make friends with Simon. Maybe it’ll make his day! It’s what you ought to do, anyway. Its your duty, you know!”

“Duty? I have to go to him and ask him to be my fwend?”

“Yes, of course yah do! Why not?”

“I dunno…I guess it jus’ makes me scurred.”

“Of course it makes you scared. It makes me scared ev’ry day to drive this here school bus.”

Jesse’s eyes widened a bit. “YOU, PAPAW!” he squealed. “You get scurred!”

“Why, yes, of course, I get scared, young’un. I’m helpin’ a lot of kids on their way home. Now, I wouldn’t want to get them hurt or anything, would I?”

Jesse shook his little head. 

“And the destination is one of the most important parts of the journey, now ain’t it?”

Jesse agreed to that too.

“So’s I have to be careful and help you lost folk not wander too close to the creek down there.” He was referring to the Troublesome, which winded its way a few hundred feet below Papaw’s route. Jesse glanced down the mountain they were descending and took a big gulp. “I bring y’all safely to your destin-nation, so’s you can be home safe-n-soun’.”

They sat in silence for a while, after Papaw had descended the mountain. They were headed home. On the way, they had to cross over the creek on some rickety bridge that was built before even Papaw was born. He drove a couple of miles down the road, which wandered back and forth with the meandering path of the river. They finally reached Papaw’s house, and he parked the bus at the landing. He and Jesse got out of the bus and were walking through the garden when Jesse stopped and looked down the bank at the creek again. Papaw stopped and watched him.

“Papaw…”

“Yeh, little one.”

“What’s that water?” Jesse asked, referring to the Troublesome, again.

“That thing?” Papaw chuckled, “oh, that’s just the big ‘ol mighty Troublesome, the meanest snake that’s ever slithered in our valleys these centuries.” He raised his arms up as Jesse gasped at the sight. “Sometimes, if yur not car’ful, he’ll slither up right behind and bite at yer heels. You don’t wanna be snakebitten, do yah?”

“NO, NO PAPAW! I dun’t!” Jesse exclaimed full of fear, having remembered the hundred-foot descent from the road Papaw had to drive on. 

“Well, then,” Papaw got on his hands and knees, “stay close, and when yer old and strong, you can take care of yer own then.” 

“My own?” Jesse clocked his head to the side, in a confusion again. 

“Yer family, when you stan’ to be a great man!” Papaw stood up again, with a face of pride and strength. Jesse looked right up at his Papaw and did exactly as he did, and puffed out his little chest, too. Papaw reached down and tickled him right on his little ribs, and they both ended up laying in the grass, not giving a hoot about the little critters below them. Just laughing. 

They layed there for a couple of moments, giving Jesse time to remember his fear of Troublesome.

“But Papaw!” cried little Jesse, “don’t you ever get scared of the creek?” He looked towards the dip in the hillock, where that nasty thing resided. Papaw, turned his head to look at his grandson, with an expression Jesse had never seen before on a man who was always happy. He stood up and picked Jesse off the ground and held him in his arms. He looked over to the distant hills, which stood before the setting sun. It was darker in the valley, now, with the shadows pervading the space before them. He could see the kitchen lights on, and Mamaw a’workin’ away.

Papaw turned his expression from that strangeness unbeknownst to the halls of men to one of warmth. “I’ve lived by this creek my whole life, young’un, and not once have I been bitten, and that’s never changed. It’s the truth, I tell ya! The absolute and gospel truth!” 

The genuine resonance from papaw’s eyes made the little boy believe he would always be safe as long as he was in the shadow of the mountain. 

“Now you listen, here, good ole Jesse Lewis,” Papaw said, poorly, with a stern expression, not being able to hide the glint in his deep, blue eyes. “Don’t be looking for things that just won’t come! You’ve been blessed—praise the Lord—with things others would give ev’rything fer. Just look at yer own house! Look at your mommy and your daddy. Look at me and your Mamaw! You wouldn’t want us to not give a hoot, now would yuh?” 

Jesse shook his head like a dog, hoping to make sure his papaw knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he was glad to have a papaw like him! 

“We have a long line,” as he stretched his free arm farther than he could go, “of people who’ve loved one another to the ends of the earth. Without that, you, nor I, nor good ole Abram wouldn’t have made it here, where you belong,” Papaw exclaimed, bright-eyed, pointing directly to Jesse’s little heart. 

“Jesse, we all need to have faith in the little things. That makes mountains move!” He pointed to up to the skyline, protruding behind those towering edifices of glory. “A world’s not fer choosing, but fer makin’, and makin’ from what’s been given to you is the greatest form of faith man could dream of. This house wasn’t built from nothing.” Papaw pointed to his house, and made sure Jesse could see Mamaw cooking through the window. “It was built by faith, and the people, your family, who accepted that faith. It’ll save you. You know that? People who wait and have patience, they’re the ones who dream. Just keep on riding down that stream! It’ll get you where it needs you to go!”

“But Papaw! I still scurred!”

“This, little boy,” Papaw sat him down, but held his hand still. He pointed to the stream again, “this is just what yer life will be on. But don’t worry, ‘cause I’ll be right here!” Papaw pointed right to his heart. Jesse remembered now.

“I luve you Papaw!” little Jesse exclaimed.

“I luve you too, young’un! Now come here!” Amidst the setting of the Sun, the late spring air beheld this embrace, and its presence was caught in serenity by the fireflies, who glowed along the field like limelight along the sea, and the crickets, which hummed their melodious songs on their waltz to the night. 

---

Jesse smiled as a tear was shed. He missed everyone, especially Papaw and Mamaw. Those moments when his family would come together, to eat and be merry. It was quiet in the hills, but not in his heart.

“Jesse…” a sultry voice cried out.

“Here I am.”

“Your heart, Jesse! The shadow…remains.”

He turned to nothing but looked up. He held one hand over his heart as if to protect his virtue for all eternity and with the other, he reached to the sky. “Yes, it will.” 

“I love you! Forever. Always!”

“I love you, too!”

He heard this voice, as the great Sun poked its little light through the blanket of clouds to shine upon the home he once knew. Jesse looked at it, now, after all these years. It stood in an apricity that warmed what once was lost. He found it.

Jesse stood there on the riverbank, his coat waving against the gales, his brow set high, in the shadow of the mountain. He turned around to look at the house one more time before finally turning from the creek and heading inside.

1. “Just Around the Riverbend” from the 1995 Disney film Pocahontas.
2. Artist of the Abstract Expressionist movement, known exclusively for using a “drip” technique to reflect the workings of the subconscious.
3. Troublesome Creek, a fork of the Kentucky River flowing through eastern Kentucky.
4. “Where the Roses Never Fade” by Jim Miller and Jack and Elsie Osborn.
5. Selections from the Bible’s Book of Genesis, chapters 6 and 7.
6. “Love”, a song from Walk Disney’s 1973 film Robin Hood.