A New Heaven and Earth

By Ronnie L. Seals

A New Heaven and Earth
“In Scarcely more than a generation, millions of acres, as much as 90% of the mature forests in the southeastern United States, had been replaced by expanse of brush, weeds, scrub, and dead treetops"
The Encyclopedia of Appalachia

Near the end of the 19th century the Cumberland Plateau remains a primitive frontier. There are no railroads, no industry and few school. The only law is an eye for an eye and the blood feud. Its rugged mountains and Dark hollows hold a scattering of strong, independent people whose anger can be aroused at the slightest hint of insult and whose grudges can last for generations.
Into this virtually untouched wilderness comes conmen and gamblers and speculators, clear-cutting the virgin forest and enslaving the native people.
Into this upheaval comes a new religion. Some call it insane; others see it as the last hope of salvation.

To purchase hardcover or paperback copies of these novels, go to www.ronseals.com
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• Language: English
• Publisher: Ronnie L. Seals
• Release date: May 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370695867

Ronnie L. Seals

I was born and Raised in Michigan, the son of a Kentucky coal miner. Like thousands of others, my parents were forced to move from their home in the mountains when the coal mines modernized. Every long weekend or vacation found us on the long journey from the flatlands of southern Michigan to the mountains of Kentucky, My summers were spent in Harlan and Bell County, running around with my cousins and picking green beans in my grandmother garden. This is the root of my fascination and love of the south.I would like to believe that my writing style was inspired by Steinbeck and Hemmingway. But the pulp detective novels of Mickey Spillane and Edward S. Aarons, which I devoured at much too young an age, probably had more to do with who I am as a writer.

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A New Heaven and Earth

by

Ronnie L. Seals

Copyright: pending

Library of Congress Number: pending

ISBN: 978-0-9896886-0-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, electronic or mechanical, including recordings, photocopies, or by any information and retrieval system, without permission from the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction

All names, characters, places and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Other books in the series:

Book 1:Down Every Dark Valley

Book 2: The Passions of Our Tribes

To order additional copies, or to leave a comment, go to:

Ronseals.com

This book is dedicated to my brothers:

Clyde and Charles Seals

We pave the forest

Kill the stream

Burned the bridges to our dreams

The earth is bursting at its seams

And in pain of childbirth screams

As it gives life to what seem

To either be an age that gleams

Or simply lays there, dying

Larry Norman

Nightmare #71

PROLOGUE

1880

The rain came down in a sudden burst. Fat, heavy drops fell on Eagle Rock and scattered to fill in the low points, probed for weaknesses in the Limestone and found the grooves that millions of years of raindrops had etched into the surface. Some of the water falling on the rock was caught by the stunted, twisted trees, their roots spreading along the surface of the rock in a never-ended search for nutrients, some fell into the many cracks and were absorbed by the earth below, and some found the crevice that the mountain people called, 'horse killer,' because it was just wide enough to trap a horses hoof, and from there it found the edge of the cliff, skirted 'lover's Leap,' then fell in a gentle stream to the ground two hundred feet below. There it formed a small pool, and when pool was full, it continued its journey down the mountain.

It was a meandering course that rippled over stones worn smooth by countless years of rainfall, past stands of giant Oak, Poplar, Chestnut, and hundreds of other varieties of trees, many of them having stood since before the first settlers trudged through the gap, some before Columbus stumbled blindly onto the new world. They formed a canopy hundreds of feet above the ground, casting the forest into semi-darkness, allowing only thin shafts of light to dapple the underbrush. This was a world of deep green mystery, half-light and dark shadow, where bird-song, and babbling brook, and insect life, and the patter of rain filled the ear, and the sweet smell of decay was everywhere.

The stream would occasionally form a pool, and, invariably, there would be a crude cabin somewhere close by. Mountain people, young girls if the family had one, would walk down to these pools and dip their bucket to bring water for the family. Livestock would be led there to drink. If a particular pool was deep enough, all the children of the mountain would come there to swim. And at night, when human activity had ceased, the creatures of the mountain, the raccoon, opossum, deer, and the bear, would come to drink, all moving furtively, instinctively aware of the dangers.

The water moved on, winding through the mountain, growing stronger and faster as the rain continued to fall and the lesser streams joined and lost themselves in the larger stream. The flowering trees, the rose of Sharon and the dogwood, and a thousand varieties of wildflowers, brightened the way of the ever growing, ever restless water.

About halfway to the valley floor the stream passed through Dark Valley, where it widened and slowed, and where it got its name. For this narrow hollow, where the sun rarely shone and wildflowers refused to grow, was inhabited by the equally cheerless people called the Bransons, and so the stream was named Branson Creek. Here, in the predawn hours, fog rose from the creek, and there it stayed for most of the day, with very little sun to drive it away. At the mouth of the 'holler,' the creek became hemmed in again, causing it to narrow and grow stronger.

Just before reaching the Lacern homestead, near the base of the mountain, the creek encountered another steep fall. Here the water would crash and flow between the stones until it came to the falls, which the locals called Sparrow Falls. It was a beautiful place; people would come from mountain and valley to sit beside the falls and listen to the roar as the water hit the pool, or farther up, where the whisper of water on stone would lull them to sleep. It was a favorite spot for picnics, or for a young man to court a young woman.

At the base of the mountain, the water split the Lacern homestead in half. Bryson Lacern had built a bridge to connect his house to his mother's cabin, an act he grew to regret when his mother took to spending a great deal of time on his porch, telling him all the things that were wrong with the world, the valley, and himself. His only relief came when the creek flooded and the bridge was unusable.

Once in the valley, the creek snaked its way in a generally north eastern direction toward the opposite corner. Here it passed the occasional farm or cabin until, near the northern end, it found a large low spot, where it became a reedy, mosquito infested swamp.

The watercourse had flowed in this manner for untold thousands of years, its course sometime being altered by a fallen tree or other object, but basically unchanged. The coming of the native tribes did little to affect the mountain or the stream that ran through it. They took what water they needed, used a few stones to make their weapons and tools, and killed what animals they needed for food and clothing and shelter. They came, they lived among the ancient trees, and they disappeared, or were push out, without making any real changes to the way thing were before they came.

When white settlers started trickling through the gap, most kept going north, toward the promised land of Boone and Harrod, where the hills were gentle and rolling and they were confident that civilization would soon follow. But another type of man came through the gap and found the rough mountains more to their liking. These men were not looking for civilization, they were running from it, whether because of conflicts with the law, or just a general distaste for their fellow man. They built isolated cabins along the stream, cleared land for the planting of crops, and hunted the creatures of the forest.

They fought the natives, The Cherokee, The Shawnee and The Mingo, and they won, and they thought that now the land was theirs, forever, to be passed down from generation to generation. The world belonged to the strong, and who was stronger than the mountain man, with his muzzle loader and the tomahawk he had taken from the Indian.

CHAPTER

1

The Moss twins were not happy. Their father had forced them to put on their church clothes, which didn't fit. Their pant legs ended two inches above their ankles, and the waists were tight around their stomachs. The collars of their starched white shirts made it hard to breathe. But the worst were the shoes. It was August, and they hadn't had their shoes on since April. They were tight and clumsy and it hurt when they walked in them.

We're going to have blisters before this day is out, Boonie said.

You can take them off as soon as we've paid our respects, their father said.

Why can't we take them off now? We can put them on again when we get to the valley? John said.

Frank thought about this and said, Fine, but hurry up. We're running late.

They were riding down Blue Mountain, their father, Frank, ahead of them on his horse, the two boys riding the old mule. Boonie rode in front, with John behind him, his arms wrapped around his brother to keep from falling off.

They were going to the funeral of William Lacern, though neither of the boys understood why. From what they understood, the Lacerns had been the deadly enemies of the Toland Clan ever since The Civil War, and William was the head of the rival clan. Their Uncle Buck had been outraged when their father had told him they were going to the funeral.

You should be shooting Lacerns, not praying over them, Buck had shouted when Frank told him.

The feud is over, Frank had replied, softly. Boonie had never once heard his father raise his voice in anger. From everything I hear, William was a good man-

He's a good man now, ‘cause he's dead, Buck shouted back.

I’m going, and the boys are going with me. It is way past time to put the final nail in the coffin of this feud, and that is what I intend to do.

There hadn't been any violence in at the last seven years, and most people on both sides considered the feud to be long dead. But there were still diehards on both sides, and Buck was the hardest of all.

Reckon they'll be any trouble? Boonie shouted to his father as they rode on.

No, Frank shouted back.

Wish we would have brought some guns with us.

He could see his father ahead of him, shaking his head. Son, there's going to be more Lacerns there than we have bullets. Being armed would be an insult, and would only make trouble.

Boonie was only thirteen, but he disagreed strongly with his father's peaceful ways. In his mind, a good shootout would liven things up a bit, bring some excitement to their boring existence. Not that he thought his father was a coward; from the stories he'd been told, he had chased a bunch of renegade Rebs all the way from Ohio to Tennessee when he wasn't much older than Boonie and John. But that was a long time ago, and now all he wanted to do was sit on his front porch and drink.

I'd feel better if I had a gun, Boonie said. What about you, John. Wouldn't you feel better with a gun?

But John had fallen asleep listening to the conversation.

Their first sight of the Lacern Place was the sawmill. It was idle today, but the piles of stacked planks told Frank that they were doing a fair business. Riding past the mill, he saw that the homestead was split in two by Branson Creek. On one side was the small cabin that had been the home of William and Rose Lacern, and of many generations of Lacerns before them. Like most homes in the mountains, it was just bare logs and cedar shingles, with a wide front porch covered with dogs and rocking chairs. There was a barn about twelve feet from the cabin, and the cabin roof extending to the barn, providing a sheltered passage between the two buildings. There were the usual outbuildings, corn crib, chicken coop, smokehouse, and the inevitable three by three privy with a quarter moon carved into the door.

Across the creek was the much larger house that Grant had built for his new bride, Serina. It was not a log cabin, but something rare in the mountains, a house made of sawed wooden planks. There was the same collection of outhouses scattered around, though these were larger and in better condition than those on the cabin side of the creek.

Twenty feet behind the big house was the beginnings of Blue Mountain. It started slow, with soft slopes, like it was easing in to its greatness. Some of the slopes had been clear cut, and only ugly stumps remained, but most were still covered with a lush, green blanket of trees.

Grave Yard Hill was on a gentle slope to the south. A crowd was gathered around one of the graves.

Looks like we missed it, Boonie asked.

Put your shoes back on, Frank said. When the boys both began to grumble he said, You can take them off again after we pay our respects to the family.

They tied their mounts to a tree, and then looked toward the tables of food waiting for the mourners.

Well can we at least eat something? Boonie asked.

No, Frank said. There are some kids in the barn. Go and make friends.

The barn was packed with young people, some the twins knew, some they didn't. John saw Hugo Rice Junior in a corner, kneeling down, talking to a little girl who was sitting on a bale of hay. He walked over to him and said, Hey, Junior. Is your brother around?

Junior looked up, seemingly annoyed by the interruption. Then he smiled when he saw John. Hey John, good to see you. Ulie's up at the funeral. He's thinking of being as preacher, like Daddy, so I guess he thinks he needs to learn something.

Junior was ten years old, his brother Ulie, seventeen, but in some ways the younger brother had always struck John as the more grown up of the two.

I'll have to make sure I talk to him before we leave, John said.

Well, he'll be tickled to see you, he said, and then he turned back to the girl.

I'm Guyla, the girl said, smiling up at him.

John tipped his hat the way he'd seen grown men do and said, Good to meet you, Guyla.

Guyla's from over in Powell Valley, Junior said. She's related to the Lotts, somehow.

Then another boy came to the corner. He was bigger than John, and angry. You boys get away from my sister, he shouted. Then he grabbed Junior by the collar and pulled him to his feet. He pulled back his fist, but John grabbed his arm and said, Leave him alone. He's smaller than you.

The boy turned and said, Well you ain't smaller than me. He let go of Junior and swung at John. John moved away swiftly and landed a punch that knocked the boy to the floor. But the boy got up, angrier than ever, and tried another wide swing. John just stepped aside and let the boy's momentum throw him back to the ground. John was not very big for his age, but he and his brother got into a fight about every other day, so he'd learned how to handle himself.

The boy tried to get up, but John put his foot on his chest and said, I don't know what's got you so riled up. We was just talking.

Maybe you was just talking, the other boy said, so angry that ropes of spit were coming from his mouth, But I know what he was up to?

He's only ten. What could he be up to?

Then someone pushed John from behind, sending him to the floor. John pivoted quickly, his fists raised, ready for a fight, but Boonie was already there. He delivered a hard punch to the new boy’s lower back. The boy turned and took a swing, his fist landing on Boonie's face. Soon, all four boys were swinging and rolling in the hay, biting and gouging and kicking. The rest of the kids formed a circle and cheered for whichever side they were related to. Then a strong hand pulled Boone and one of the other boys away from each other.

Stop it, he said, then separated the other two.

Who do you think you are, Boonie shouted, ready to fight the intruder.

I'm Robert Parks. My father is the sheriff.

Well, you ain't no sheriff, so mind your own business.

But John had had enough of the fight. He helped his opponent to his feet and said, I'm John Moss, and this is my brother, Boonie.

The boys shook hands and the other said, I'm Hal Brock.

So, what were we fighting about, Hal? John said.

Hal shot an angry look at his sister and said, Nothing. Reckon I'm just in a bad mood.

Boonie said, If you plan on getting in bad moods a lot, you'd better learn how to fight better.

Hal looked at Boonie as though he would be willing to start the fight again, but the other boy stepped in and said, I'm Collin, Hal's cousin.

Everybody shook hands, though Boonie still seemed to be simmering for a fight, and the four of them walked out of the barn together. They found a fallen tree by the creek and sat down.

Which side of the feud was your folks on? Boonie said.

We came from over in Harlan County, so we never did have much to do with it. But our Uncle Bobby was a Lott, so I reckon we'd of come down on the Lacern side if it come to it.

Well, our momma was a Toland, Boonie said. So I reckon that makes us deadly enemies.

The boys all laughed at that. Collin said, You folks live over on the Tennessee side of the mountain, don't you?

Yes, up in Toland Holler, John said. Daddy says that the feud is over. Our Uncle Buck don't think so, though. He wouldn't come, said we ought to be shooting Lacerns, not praying over 'em.

I heard a lot about Buck, Collin said. He's said to be the meanest Toland of them all.

The twins beamed with pride.

Collin's daddy was a bad outlaw, Hal said, feeling a need to uphold the family honor. Had a ten thousand dollar price on his head.

No he wasn't. Collin said.

What's your last name? Boonie said.

Brock, Collin said.

Hal started to say, No it ain't, but was stopped mid-sentence by a look from Collin.

It's Brock. Let's leave it at that, Collin said. Are you two twins?

Yes, Boonie said.

You ain't twins, Hal said. I can tell you apart easy.

Not all twins look alike, John said.

Why do they call you Boonie? Hal said. That sounds like a baby’s name.

Boonie looked like he was ready to fight again, but John put an arm on his shoulder and said, His real name is Frank Junior, but since Daddy's name is Frank, we call him Boonie.

Well, it's a stupid name, Hal said.

Boonie jumped up, his hands clinched in rage, but then he heard his father calling for them and stopped. I've got to go see what Daddy wants, but if you want to talk about how stupid my name is later, you just let me know.

As the twins turned to join their father, Hal shouted, I'll be sure and do that.

Ira listened to the preacher drone on about the dearly departed. He was only eight, so he understood little of what was being said. In front of him stood Momma Rose, holding the hand of his older brother, Forrest. When the service began, Ira had taken hold of his grandmother's other hand. She had held it for a moment, then pulled it away so she could take the handkerchief out of her sleeve and wipe her eyes, even though Ira could see no evidence of tears. She then stuffed the handkerchief back into her sleeve, where it remained for the rest of the service. She didn't lower her hand to Ira, but held it up to her chest, where he could not reach. Ira backed away and put his hands in his pockets.

His mother was nearby, standing with her kin, the Bransons, and holding his sister's hand. But she was crying real tears, and sobbing, so Ira decided not to bother her. The Bransons were a somber bunch. Ira could not recall ever seeing a one of them laugh, or cry, or show any trace of affection for one another. His mother was so different from the rest of the clan. She had a fair face, with blond hair and blue eyes, while most of her kin were dark. Her moods swung wildly; she could be laughing and joking one moment, and in a terrible rage the next, throwing whatever was at hand against the wall, or shouting curses at someone who, moments before, she had been hugging or laughing with.

When the service was over and men began shoveling dirt into the grave, the large crowd turned and started down the hill. Frank had been at the edge of the crowd, not wanting to disturb the service, so he was one of the first to reach the valley. He went to the barn and called for his sons, and was shocked by their appearance. Their clothes were dirty and torn and covered with hay. Boonie's shirt pocket had been ripped loose and was hanging by a few threads. John had a black eye. Good Lord, boys. What have you been doing? he shouted.

Making friends, just like you said, Boonie replied.

Frank shook his head and said, Come on, there's someone I want you to meet.

He led them to the small cabin where a small, old woman sat in a rocking chair. A young boy sat near her, holding her hand. This is Mrs. Rose Lacern, William's widow, Frank said. When the boys looked like they didn't understand, he added, The man who died.

The boys took off their hats and Frank winced when he saw their hair. Sorry for your loss, ma'am, they said in unison, just like they'd practiced.

So this is Rachel's boys, the old woman said. Seems like they could use a woman's touch.

Well, you're probably right, Frank said. I've been raising them on my own since, well, you know.

Yes, I know, Rose said. She looked at the boys and said, Never did care much for your mother. She tried to marry my boy Grant before the war, but I wouldn't have it.

I beg your pardon? Frank said.

Beg all you want. I'm too old to worry about what folks think. Your wife-

That's a mighty fine looking boy you've got there, ma'am. Is he your grandson? Frank said.

Rose smiled and said, Yes, this is Forrest. She caressed his hair as she said his name. He's just the sweetest thing.

Would you like to play with my boys? Frank asked, relieved that he'd gotten the old woman onto a different track.

No, I don't think he'd like that, Rose said, a distasteful look on her face. Your boys seem a little, wild. But then, with a mother like theirs, who can blame them.

Well, it was nice talking to you, Frank said, and pulled his sons away from her.

Can we take our shoes off now? Boonie said as they walked away.

Not yet. We're going to call on the son.

Frank led his boys across the wooden bridge that spanned the creek to the big house on the other side. The wide front porch was crowded with men.

Bryson sat by the door. He smiled when he saw the Moss family walk up the steps and stood to shake Frank's hand. Thanks for coming, he said, then looked down at the twins. My Lord, that one is the very image of his Uncle Clifford, he said.

Oh? Frank said.

Yes, Frank said. I'd guess he was about two or three years younger than your boy when, he stopped himself and said, I think there's enough sadness on this day.

The boys looked at each other, confused.

We were good friends, Bryson said, feeling the need to explain.

I thought the Tolands and Lacerns hated each other, Boonie said.

This was before the feud, when we just didn't like each other, Bryson said, wishing he hadn't brought the subject up.

From everything I hear, your daddy was a fine man, Frank said, as they all sat down. I've known some people who hated him, but I've never met anyone who didn't respect him.

Bryson nodded and said, Yes, Daddy was one of a kind.

Can we take our shoes off now? Boonie said.

The adults all laughed and Frank said, Yes, go ahead.

As the boys were taking their shoes off, Bryson said to Frank, You know Preacher Hugo and his boy, Ulie.

Frank went over and shook their hands, saying Oh yes, I know them well. It's good to see you again. It's been a long time.

Too long, Hugo said.

And how are you doing, Ulie?

Ulie smiled and said, Doing okay, I reckon.

Frank greeted the other men in much the same manner. There was Sheriff James Parks, whom he knew well, and a few he'd never met.

This is Andy Bell and Hollis Black, from over in Powell Valley, Bryson said.

Frank shook their hands, then the hands of various other Lacerns and Lotts and one Branson.

There's food inside, Bryson said.

Frank looked down at the boys and said, Let's go get something to eat.

The twins eagerly obeyed.

Inside, the house was packed with women. The cooking and feeding of the men being mostly done, it was clean-up time. This was being done in shifts, because the kitchen could only hold so many women. The rest were scattered around the rest of the house.

The Moss family had to walk through the sitting room to get to the food in the kitchen. Serina sat in a stuffed chair at the front of the room. Two of her children stood at her side.

When Frank walked into the room, she said, Frank Moss, then stood, smiling, and gave him a hug. It is so good to see you again.

Frank took off his hat and said, Good to see you again. I miss hearing you sing in church. He looked at her children and said, I met your boy Forrest down at the other cabin. He was with his grandmother.

He always is, the girl said.

This is my boy, Ira, and the little girl with the big mouth is Emily, Serina said.

Good to meet you, Frank said. These are my boys, John and Boonie.

Serina's smile faltered slightly upon being introduced to the boys, but she recovered before Frank noticed and said, They're some good looking boys.

Thank you, I'm very proud of them, Frank said. I was sorry to hear about William's death.

Not as sorry as I was, Serina said. But what have you been doing with yourself up there on that mountain all by your lonesome.

The twins soon lost what little interest they'd ever had in the conversation of the grown-ups, and focused their attention on the children. Ordinarily, they didn't take much interest in children younger than themselves, but both were stricken, as almost everyone was, by the face of the little girl. It was heart-shaped, with sharp, hazel colored eyes and full lips. She was only eight, but had already received marriage proposals from almost every boy she'd ever known close her own age. They were mostly from cousins, since they were the only boys she knew, and once from her little brother. She was the kind of child who soaked up all the attention in any room. Men, women, children, it didn't matter; there was something about her face that drew the eye and held it.

We've got a swing out back, she said. Want to go see?

Well, we was hoping to get something to eat, Boonie said, then looked up at his father and added, Sometime today.

Frank laughed and said, All right. He tipped his hat to Serina and said, Maybe we can talk later.

We better, Serina said. Lord knows when I'll get to see you again.

After eating, Frank and the boys went out to the back yard with Serina and her children. There was a swing hanging from a tree branch, Emily ran and sat down on it before her brother could get to it, and said, Would one of you boys give me a push?

Say please, Serina said, as she walked to the wooden bench at the back of the yard.

Please. Emily smiled at John and said, You'll give me a push, won't you.

John went behind her and gave her a shove in the back. The swing moved slightly. She said, Harder.

John pushed harder, sending Emily into the air.

Ira took a piece of wood from his pocket and held it in front of Boonie's face. See my horse. Daddy William made it for me.

Boonie took the piece of wood and pretended to be interested in it. It was only a horse because Ira believed it to be one. It could just as well have been a dog or a cow. Your granddaddy weren't no hand at carving, was he, he said.

Ira's face scrunched in anger and he shouted, He was too. Take it back, and kicked Boonie in the shin.

Boonie let out a yelp, then laughed and said, All right, I take it back.

Serina came over and grabbed Ira by the hand. You know better than to act like that, she said. Now you apologize.

None of the anger left Ira's face, but he spit out an, I'm sorry.

Boonie gave him back his horse and said, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have insulted your granddaddy, especially today. It's a fine looking horse.

Then the two boys were friends. Serina went back to her chair without looking at Boonie. Don't your brother ever leave your grandmother's side? Boonie asked. They had been at the settlement for hours now, but every time they'd passed by the old cabin, Forrest was in the same spot next to the old woman. But I reckon he's just comforting her in her hour of mourning.

He's always like that, Ira said. And Momma Rose didn't like Daddy William, so I don't reckon she's doing a lot of crying over his dying. He slept in the barn most of the time, ‘til he got so sick he had to stay in the cabin.

I see, Boonie said.

She don't like me none, neither. Ira said.

Now why wouldn't your grandmother like you?

I don't know, Ira said, with a shrug. If he felt any unhappiness about this lack of love, he didn't show it. She called me a name once. Started with a T, Towands, or something like that.

Toland? Boonie said.

Yes, I think that was it. She don't like me 'cause I'm a Toland. Do you know what that is?

Then Boonie remembered the rumors about Uncle Buck and Serina. There were also rumors about Serina's husband, Grant Lacern, and Boonie's mother, about what they were doing together the night they were killed up in Grant's Cove. He shook the thoughts from his head and said, Why don't we see if we can get your sister off that swing so you can have a go at it.

Ira smiled and said, Okay.

Frank sat next to Serina on the bench as they watched the children play. When Emily finally gave up the swing, Boonie help Ira into it and then began swinging him gently. Emily led John to her playhouse. She went in, but John refused. Boys did not go into playhouses.

They seem to be getting along, Serina said.

That's just because your boy is too young for Boonie to fight with. They've already been in one scrape today.

I can tell.

There was an uneasy silence between them. The two really didn't know each other very well, but there was a bond between them that only a mystery could form.

Serina broke the silence by saying, How long's it been, anyway? Ten years?

More like eight, Frank said. And it wasn't the best day of either of our lives.

Serina nodded and said nothing.

Serina, I need to know. I don't want to know, but I need to. It's been eight years, and I haven't been able to get on with my life. Do you know if my wife and your man- He was not able to finish the rest.

You sure you want the answer to that question? Serina said.

I don't want it, but I need it.

Well, I can't say for sure, but I believe they were.

So far, they hadn't looked at each other, but kept their eyes on the children at play. Now Serina looked at him and said, It's time you put the whole thing behind you. What's done is done.

Have you put it behind you? Frank said, still keeping his eyes on the children.

No, but it's different with me. She looked at Ira, who was shouting for Boone to push him higher, and said, My past ain't done with me yet.

Frank didn't understand this, but didn't ask her to explain. You're still young and pretty. You ever give any thought to getting another man? he asked.

Serina smiled at him and said, Are you asking if you can come courting?

Frank hadn't meant that at all, but now that she had brought it up, it didn't sound like a bad idea. He stammered when he answered, Well, I hadn't given it much thought, but, well, if you-

Serina let out a laugh and said, I'm old enough to where you don't have to ask my daddy, if that's what’s worrying you.

Frank didn't know where to take things from here. Since Rachel's death, he'd never thought about another woman. He'd stayed in his lonely cabin up in Toland Hollow, staying away from the Toland Clan that scattered the surrounding hills, keeping himself half-drunk most of the time. Serina was right, it was time to put the past behind him and move on. Now that I think about it, he said, I would very much like to call on you.

Serina smiled and said, Well, you're always welcome. But I might be hard to find, since I ain't sure where I'll be living.

What do you mean? Frank said.

Just what I said. I might be moving.

But why would you want to move from here?

Didn't say I wanted to.

Emily soon tired of the swing. She got off and, smiling, said, Want to go see the falls?

John shrugged and said, Sure.

They climbed up the steep mountainside, following Branson Creek to the falls. It had been a dry summer, so the falls was no more than a slow trickle. The sound it made when hitting the water below was a faint plop, instead of the roar it would make in rainier times. Emily and John could see the damp rocks usually hidden by the water.

This is a beautiful place, John said.

You ain't never been here before? Emily said.

No, I ain't.

Emily took his hand to steady herself as she stepped over a rocky area. You're kind of little to come up here by yourself, ain't you? John said.

I ain't by myself, silly, I'm with you.

She had a strange way of making him feel like she was the mature one, while he was just a child.

They sat down on a bench that Bryson had made.

There's a cave behind the falls, Emily said. She was sitting closer to John than he thought necessary. You can almost see it now that the water is low. Me and Ira play back there sometimes. Forrest don't never come up this way.

Why not?

He can't leave Mommas Rose long enough. And besides, he'd get dirty. Forrest hates getting dirty. They say that Uncle Lucky used to hide out in that cave when he was here and the law came looking for him, she continued. Then, without warning, she stood up and kissed him. She had intended to kiss his lips, but she was too short, so she kissed his chin.

What'd you do that for? John said, as he wiped his chin with his sleeve.

I just wanted to. One of my cousins said that boys like it when a girl kisses them.

Well I don't. And you're just a little girl. Boys don't like being kissed by little girls.

Well, I'm sorry, Emily said, her hazel eyes flaring.

John didn't think she was sorry at all. He laughed at her and said, You ain't neither. Anyway, it's the boy that's supposed to decide when he wants to kiss a girl.

Why? They're my lips, ain't they? Why shouldn't I be the one to decide who they kiss

That's just the way it is, John said. The boy kind of leans in, slow like, watching the girl to see what she's going to do. If it seems okay with her, he gets a little closer, ‘til their lips meet and they kiss.

Where'd you learn so much about kissing? Emily said,

John was not used to being challenged by a girl, much less one so much younger than him. I'm a lot older than you, he said, with an air of superiority. Boy's know that kind of stuff when they're my age.

You ever kissed a girl?

Yeah, lots of times.

Who'd you ever kiss.

Nobody you know.

You better not be kissing no more girls.

Why not?

Because. John saw her bluish; it made her even prettier. One of these days I'm going to be your wife, so you just better not go kissing other girls.

John laughed and said, I ain't never marrying nobody.

We’ll just see about that, Emily said.

The Branson men sat apart from everyone else, on a slight rise overlooking the homestead. The hill was dotted with stumps, the trees all being chopped down as food for the hungry mill.

How long we going to stay here, Pap? Allen said.

We'll stay until I think it's decent to go, Wayne said.

Father and son sat on tree stumps, both of them looking down at the Lacern homestead. Drake, Allen's oldest son, was standing between them.

The Bransons had aligned themselves with the Lacern Clan even before The Civil War, but in Allen's mind they were looked upon more as poor relations than equals. His father Wayne should have been the leader of the clan. He was older than William, and had a lot more stomach for doing the things that needed to be done. The Bransons had paid dearly for their loyalty; Wayne had lost three sons to the feud.

Wayne was an old man now, and his mind seemed to wonder. Sometimes he called Allen by the name of one of his dead sons. He wore his best clothes for the funeral, a starched white shirt, like most of the other men, and a black suit coat. But the shirt and coat had brown streaks from where tobacco had drained from his mouth, or from trying to spit. Allen remembered when his father could hit a rock ten feet away, square in the middle, without even thinking about it. Now he was lucky if he got it past his long gray beard.

Allen was thirty-nine and had four sons of his own. He had daughters, too, but he'd never given them much thought. His three younger sons, still children, were running around somewhere down in the homestead.

Who are they? Drake asked, and pointed.

Those are the Moss boys, Allen said. They got a lot of nerve, showing up here.

Why? Drake said. He was sixteen, and although he had vague memories of the feud, he often got confused about who was an enemy and who was a friend.

They're Rachel Tolands boys, Allen said.

The name Toland was all Drake needed. I could go down there and give them a good licking, he offered.

They’re a lot younger than you are, Allen said.

But there's two of them, Drake said. That would make it fair, wouldn't it?

What Toland ever cared about things being fair, Wayne said. Two of them threw my boy off Eagle Rock, didn't they?

Well, it was the Pratt boys that done it, Allen said.

That don't matter none, Wayne said.

So, you want me to go down there? Drake said.

No, this is a funeral. It wouldn't be right, Allen said. Maybe some other time.

They all sat and chewed for a while, the only sound being when one of them spit a brown stream of tobacco. None of the Branson men were much for talking. No one knew what was going on behind their dark, brooding eyes. Allen broke the silence by saying, You reckon the old lady will let Serina and the boy stay down there now that William's gone?

Don't reckon, Wayne said.

We going to take her in? Allen said.

We have to, she's kin. Fact that she disgraced our family don't mean she ain't a Branson.

How'd she disgrace our family? Drake said. He'd heard whispers about something terrible Serina had done, but nobody would ever tell him what it was all about.

Never you mind, Wayne said, and the trio fell back into silence.

Then Drake pointed down to the homestead and said, Well, look at that.

When Abraham Toland and his family rode up to the small cabin in their buggy, everyone stopped whatever they were doing and stared in silence, many of them having never seen a black man before. These was the 'black' Tolands of Walkers Valley, Abraham, his wife, Kat, and their two sons, Isaac, now full grown, and ten year old Sam.

Abraham got off the buggy, took off his hat, and bowed his head to Rose Lacern. The rest of the family followed. We've come to offer our condolences, Abraham said. Your husband was a fine man.

Forrest stood up and said, We don't need no-

Rose grabbed his hand and said, Shush. Then she looked at Abraham, making no effort to hide her contempt, but said, I appreciate your coming out.

An uneasy silence fell as former slave faced former owner. Rose and Abraham hated each other, had ever since the war, but he knew Rose to be a woman who adhered strictly to the laws of mountain hospitality. He just wasn't sure they would apply to black folks.

I'm sure my son will be glad to see you, Rose said, then turned and began talking to Forrest, dismissing Abraham and his family.

Abraham, relieved to be getting away from the hateful old woman, led the buggy to a spot close to the barn and said to Isaac, See to it that the mules have food and water, then join us up at the big house.

The other guests, now over their initial shock, began murmuring to each other as the Toland family made its way to Serina's house. Abraham carried a small carpet bag in his right hand.

Bryson came off the porch and shook his hand. I'm glad to see you could make it, he said. I hope you're hungry, ‘cause we've got a mountain of food just waiting.

Well, it has been a long ride, Abraham said, and they all followed Bryson to a table full of food. Once there, Abraham opened his bag and took out four wooden bowls, four spoons and knives, and four cups.

We got plenty of stuff to eat off of. You didn't have to bring your own, Bryson said.

Abraham smiled and said, Well, I thought it would be for the best.

The Sam said, We figured you'd have to throw your own stuff away after us colored folks used 'em.

Abraham turned to him and said, Boy, shut your mouth. But it was true, most white folks would not think of putting a spoon in their mouths if there was any possibility that it had been in a black person's. Even if Bryson didn't feel that way, most folks in his family would.

I'm afraid your boy has a bad habit of telling the truth, Bryson said, in a whisper. I hope you teach him better before he gets himself in trouble.

I try, Mr. Bryson, Lord knows how I try.

When the family was alone, sitting under a tree, Sam said, Why do you have to call him Mister and he just calls you by your first name?

Because he's white, Kat said. It was said with no bitterness, but as a fact of life. You call white men mister, or sir, and you call white women ma'am, if you have to talk to them at all.

But why? Sam said. He looked at Abraham and said, You're always telling me to respect my elders, well ain't you that white man's elder?

You just do as I say, Abraham said. If it don't seem fair to you, it's ‘cause it ain't. But it's the way of the world. You start looking for things to be fair, you're going to be mighty disappointed in life.

Sam took a bite from a chicken leg and said, Ain't near as good as yours.

Thank you, Kat said. But don't talk when you've got food in your mouth.

You ever seen anything like that? Billy Branson said, as Isaac was tying up the wagon.

Floyd Branson spit out a long, brown stream of tobacco in Isaac's direction and said, They just come riding up here, all high and mighty in their fancy wagon. Colored folks ought to know their place,

Reckon it's up to Bryson Lacern who comes onto his property, and how they do it, Collin said.

I agree with my brother, Seth said. At ten, he was the youngest of Allen's sons, and he agreed with everything his older brothers said.

Collin was a cousin to the Branson boys, sort of. His mother, Charlotte, had remarried after Lucky had been gone for a couple of years, to Allen Branson's brother Hubert. Collin liked his so-called cousins well enough, but was relieved when his mother had convinced Hubert to move over into Powell Valley with her family, and away from the dreary valley that the Bransons called home. He had also been relieved when his step-father had been killed by a runaway horse.

Floyd saw Seth looking at Isaac as the young man saw to the mule. You ain't afraid of him, are you? he said.

No I ain't, Seth said. Why should I be?

Because you're afraid of everything, Billy said. And you should be, because black folks have special powers.

They do not, Seth said, but his older brothers heard the fear in his voice, and fed off it.

Folks say they can turn into animals, like wolves and bats, and they can sneak into houses without waking nobody up.

They like the young'uns, ‘cause they're the tastiest.

Shut up! Seth shouted.

"I be wantin' me