Pop's Cabin

By Furman Kenney

The setting of the book is in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western Virginia. It concerns the settling of an old man's estate by its heirs, his two sons. The two sons expected it to be a very simple matter to handle the disposition of the small estate consisting of a two room mountain cabin and a few acres of land on the side of a mountain. Little did they dream what a hard and exciting task it would be. Mystery and mayhem occurred at "Pop's cabin" as the two brothers referred to it. They found themselves involved in "wild west" excitement through no fault of theirs. Never in their wildest dreams would they have expected to encounter such excitement as occurred to them in their efforts to settle the estate centered around "Pop's cabin". The reader will be wondering what will happen next to the two brothers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481703970

Furman Kenney

The author is a native of northeast Mississippi but has spent most of his adult life in tidewater Virginia. He is a widower, has two children and two grandchildren. He majored in English while in college. He holds the Ph. D. degree in biblical studies. He was awarded the Bronze Cross for meritorious service with the Marine Corps. He is the author of seven books of varied genre. His works are admired for their ability to hold the interest of the reader.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I know that Pop put his will in a safe place! yelled Arthur from the kitchen. Yeah, that’s well and good, but where is that ‘safe place’? replied Jim from the sitting room which was actually a dual purpose room with a bed in one corner, a small chest of drawers with a large dime store mirror suspended over it in another corner, and in the rest of the space was a couple of small rocking chairs and one straight chair. The only other room in Pop’s cabin was a lean-to kitchen. Arthur admonished Jim, You must remember that Pop told us the last time we were with him before he died that the will was in his handwriting and that he signed it in the presence of a notary public some twenty to twenty-five years ago. He had heard some of his neighbors say that a will should be signed in front of a notary in order for his children to prove to the powers that be that it was really his will. He neglected to tell us where he kept his will, and we never got around to asking him.

Jim added, You will recall that Pop never spent a penny that he was not required of him. He was not about to pay for a ‘high priced lawyer’ to draw up his will. Yeah, that was Pop all right . . . tight with his money. Poor old soul, he never had much spending money in his life, so he was tight with what he had. All that he ever accrued by way of worldly possessions was this little cabin on twenty-nine acres of land. He and Mom, God rest her soul, lived very frugal lives. After retiring from his job in a machine shop in Richmond and moving over to this little farm, they literally lived off the produce of this small farm and off their very small Social Security monthly checks . . . . at least that’s all that I know that they had by way of income.

They both paused in their search and stood looking out the back door of the little house. Arthur said in a hushed voice, Now that’s what I call a million dollar view! Just look up at that mountain side. There seems to hang over it a blue haze. Guess that’s how that mountain chain got its name, ‘Blue Ridge Mountain’ or ‘Mountains’. I remember that Pop once told me that the locals refer to the mountain nearest to this spot as ‘Brush Mountain’. Of course they recognized it as being a part of the overall ‘Blue Ridge’ chain of mountains. Yep, a shrewd deduction as to why most people call this chain of mountains by its main name, ‘Blue Ridge Mountains’, replied Jim with a bit of sarcasm but more of awe in his voice. Without a doubt you are right about that. At certain times one can almost see a blue vapor hanging over its ridges. It gives one a sense of peace, a sort of contentment of soul that one does not find in the flat lands to the east of us, especially over near the Atlantic Ocean. These last forty years during which I have lived on the Peninsula of Virginia in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the area around the ship yard in Newport News there is no such view as this. Down there when I look out a window or door all I see is the neighbor’s house across the street. The only thing I see higher than that is the sky. There is no such scenery to be found over there.

Both stood gazing at the beautiful mountain side rising up from the back door of the house. When Pop retired, and he and Mom moved over to this little isolated piece of land and built this small cabin home on it, the two of us agreed that they must have lost their minds. What could this little plot of land have to offer them? I suppose back when he was still working in Richmond that on one of their infrequent summer vacations they discovered this small farm and decided that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives here on this spot. Upon his retirement they plunked down their life’s savings in order to buy it and to build this small cottage. Evidently they thought of it as being their ‘heaven on earth’, mused Arthur. I’m surprised that Mom would settle for such a crude little cabin to serve as her home during her last days of life, Jim added. Oh, you know how Mom was; anything that Pop wanted to do was all right with her. He was her ‘king’, and when he wanted to do something, she was certain that he must have a mighty good reason for that decision, so she went along with his decision, Arthur reasoned. Yeah, I guess you are right about that. Well, I must say that every time I visited with them here in this cabin they seemed to be very contented with their life style. What I don’t know is how he managed to do it, but he found money with which to buy a small and very old tractor and the equipment to go along with it so that he could cultivate the land. It seems that Pop read in the want ad section of the Roanoke newspaper that it was for sale; it sounded like what he would need in the way of farm equipment, so he purchased it. Actually I was surprised that he would try to farm this small plot of land, for, when I first saw it, the soil did not look rich enough to grow sage brush, let alone something that could be raised and sold for profit, Jim said. Yeah, the soil looks so poor that an earthworm would have to bring his lunch in order to survive? I guess it’s likely that Pop must have learned something about farming when he was a lad back on his father’s farm in South Carolina. Of course you know and I know that a lot of changes had been made in farming techniques between his early days of farm life and the days of his retirement when he began trying to farm this little plot of land.

Well, I must admit that Pop attacked his new life as a farmer with a lot of vim, vigor and vitality, observed Arthur. On those infrequent occasions when my family and I came to visit with him, I saw a lot of leaflets from the county agent’s office scattered around the place. I assumed from seeing those papers that he had actually sought from a reliable source help as how to go about farming this little acreage. After he and Mom had lived here for about two years I saw that he had begun to farm some four or five acres in vegetables. I ‘called him on the carpet’ about doing such a thing as growing vegetables instead of some cash crop such as tobacco, cotton or soy beans. I let him know that I thought he was being very stupid to be raising vegetables. All the time I was giving him a ‘piece of my mind’ on the subject he just stood there grinning at me. I wondered if he had gone ‘daffy’. City slicker that I am I was acting as though I had all the answers as to the proper way to go about farming.

Arthur continued, When I had finally put down a comma in my berating him on his growing vegetables instead of the usual cash crops, Pop looked me in the eye and asked, ‘Do you have a degree in agricultural science?’ That question ‘knocked the wind out of my sails’. After a long pause I simply said to him, ‘Pop, suppose you tell me why you are raising vegetables instead of the usual ‘cash crops’.

Well, it’s like this, Pop answered, I looked at the soil on this place. With my naked eye I could tell that it was a lot different to the soil of my father’s farm in South Carolina where I grew up. I realized that I needed help to understand about what would grow in this climate and in the soil of this little farm. I went into Roanoke and talked with the County Agent. He offered to analyze the soil I had brought in a fruit jar from the little farm. When he had done that, he wrote me a letter in which he told me that the soil was not fit for the usual cash crops which I had in mind, that I ought to grow vegetables. I admit that I laughed in his face, well, more correctly, into the letter I was holding in my hand. Then I exploded a bit and said, Grow vegetables as a cash crop??? In the agent’s next letter to me he replied, Sir, you may not know it, but we have here in Roanoke a ‘farmers’ market’ where all kinds of vegetables are sold along with such stuff as fruit, honey, molasses, canned preserves, jellies, etc. The farmers bring in their products and realize good sales from them. All I could say by way of a reply to him was, You don’t say! I knew that I had to put that information from him ‘into my pipe and smoke it’ for a while before I could digest such information as he had given to me. Growing vegetables and fruits for sale at a farmers’ market was not something I had experienced, actually not even something that I had heard of people doing.

I never heard him tell why he chose to cultivate vegetables on two or three acres of his little farm or to put out peach and apple trees on an acre or so. From what you say it appears that Pop followed good advice from an expert, Jim replied. Arthur continued, A few years after he had set out young peach, apple, plum and pear trees, he began to harvest some good fruit from them and a lot of it. I usually found it to be ‘very convenient’ to visit Pop and Mom when the peaches were ripening . . . . that’s my favorite fruit. Oh, the other fruits he raised were good also. He usually loaded my car with enough fruit to last me for several days. Living alone after the untimely death of my dear wife, Mary, I had no need for enough vegetables or fruit to can or preserve. If I had tried my hand at canning and preserving, I strongly suspect that all of it would have spoiled; I have no gifts along that line.

The two of them stood silently as they gazed at the majestic view from the back door of the little cabin. It seemed that they could not get enough of the beauty of the mountain side which at that particular season was dotted with brilliant blossoms of assorted wild flowers. If they had had more of a poet’s heart resting within their bodies, no doubt they would have grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and would have written down their thoughts and emotions while viewing God’s wonderful wild flowers which decorated the side of the mountain.

Well, if we don’t stop gazing at the scenery and turn back to our present project of seeking to find where Pop stored his ‘Last Will and Testament’, we shall never succeed in the task that we came to do, observed Arthur. Looking through Pop’s things is a sentimental journey which I won’t enjoy, because it will be a very sad journey. Since his death two years ago, I have tried to put behind me the great sadness which his passing cast over me. As you know, I have procrastinated a long time in finding a spot in my schedule to come over here to meet with you so that we could accomplish two things: first, to find Pop’s will which will reveal to the authorities that we two now own this little ‘cabin house’ and these twenty-nine acres of land; second, to clean out the cabin and storage shed in order for the place to be ready to put up for sale. Just imagine how hard it was for Pop to sort through Mom’s things when she died five years ago. I offered to help, but he said that he could do it alone. No doubt he said that because he knew that I didn’t have time.

The same goes for me, added Arthur. I knew in my heart that I should come over from Nashville to help him, but I am such a sentimental ‘jerk’ that I dreaded the task of sorting out Mom’s things so that Pop could send them to such organizations as might be able to use them. Of course you and I know that she had precious little of this world’s goods that was of any value. Her clothes were out of date, and her jewelry was simple and of little value. BUT going through her things with Pop would have been a hard experience for me. Looking back on it, I realize that the two of us really let Pop down by not being here to assist him in that sad task.

You’re right about that, brother. You know and I know that the two of us have let Pop down on many, many occasions. We always pretended to be so tied up with our work that we could not find the time to visit him, let alone coming here to assist him in things wherein we could have been of help, Arthur mused. I can think of many, many times when I could have been of assistance to him but was ‘too busy’. For instance, there was the time after Mom’s stroke when he was trying to take care of her in this crude little house. I called him frequently to inquire how she was doing, but I can’t recall having offered to take time from my job to come over and assist Pop in her actual care. Awkward soul that I am, I probably would not have been of much real help . . . . but my conscience tells me that I could have been here to show moral support.

The same goes for me, Jim admitted. I used the excuse that my work-a-day job needed me so much that I just didn’t have the time to come to Pop’s assistance in caring for Mom. Now I live with my regrets. All things added up, I guess I can say that I was a ‘sorry’ son. As busy as Pop was back in the days when he was working as a machinist in Richmond, he always had time to listen to my childish chatter about things that concerned me. As tired as he was after a day of hard work, he sometimes relieved Mom of the task of putting me to bed complete with the ‘tucking in’, reading a bed time story, and giving me a goodnight kiss. I took all of that for granted back then. Looking from the vantage point of the present, I realize that he was always there for me in spite of the fact that he worked many hours per day in a tiring job. I’m ashamed of myself for not being there for Pop during life’s journey, especially when Mom was an invalid in this little ‘cabin home’. Of course Pop was too thrifty (or was it a matter of his being too financially strapped) to put Mom in a nursing home where there would be trained personnel to care for her needs. However, there was another side to it . . . . he could not bear to have Mom out of his sight. She was his ‘treasure’. She could not speak, but he could tell that her eyes followed him as he moved about doing his household chores.

Yeah, you’re right about that. He loved Mom with all his heart. He wanted to give her the best care he could so that she could remain at home with him. Probably she would have received much better care, that is, ‘skilled care’ which would have made Mom more comfortable, but the two of us know that she wanted to be here in her ‘palace’ with her ‘king’ moving about within her sight, agreed Arthur. Those two were a real pair of ‘love birds’! They had so little of this world’s goods, but I must admit that I never saw a happier couple. As long as they were together, life was good. Poor Pop! Those three years after she went to heaven were extremely sad for him. He tried to cope with his loss by working as much as fifteen hours per day. He was up at sunrise during the vegetable growing season, made his breakfast (as best he knew how), was on the old tractor plowing, planting, cultivating and later harvesting the fruit and vegetables and taking them in his ancient pick up truck over to the Farmer’s Market in Roanoke. That was a long trip over miles of dirt roads and more miles of pock marked, narrow poorly paved roads, and still more miles of state highways before arriving at the market. He enjoyed being able to talk with the other farmers who were there to sell their produce. As far as I know, that was the only social life he had. Oh, I heard him say that on occasions he attended worship services in a little church on the crest of the mountain. It was not of his denomination, but he went there because it was the nearest church. Since that church’s mode of worship was different to what he had been accustomed, he admitted to me that it was not very satisfying.

Jim quietly said, When I thought of Mom and Dad living over here on the side of a mountain in such cramped quarters as this little cabin afforded, I grieved over their situation. Your style of life and mine . . . . bright city lights and activity all around us . . . . have made us to think that no one could be happy in such a situation as this. To us happiness can only be in a situation where there is constant activity. However, I must admit there just might be other backgrounds that provide happy situations . . . . this situation here for instance. Mom and Pop always gave every appearance of being happy on those occasions when I visited them. Arthur quietly gave assent to Jim’s summation of the style of happiness the two of them desired in life, that is, he was giving an amen to Jim’s assessment of their parents’ apparent happiness in the solitary situation in which they had lived out their last years on the little farm.

Hey, I’m hungry. How about our ‘knocking off’ our search for Pop’s will for a while and drive down the narrow winding country road to the small ‘mom and pop looking restaurant’ at the crossroads. When I came through that area I noticed the old looking building which had a hand printed sign saying ‘restaurant’. Only an automobile or two parked in front of it seemed to represent the ‘breakfast customers’. My empty stomach will second your motion, brother. Let’s go," Arthur replied.

CHAPTER 2

Arriving at the little restaurant, they entered and stood for a moment to assess the situation. It was rather dark inside, causing them to wait until their eyes became adjusted to the change from the noonday sunlight on the outside to the poorly lit interior. A greasy odor hit their nostrils almost immediately. Yep, this is a ‘mom and pop restaurant’ all right, the two quietly agreed. A waitress who appeared to be in her sixties finally came over, sized them up for a moment and said in a gruff voice, Y’all come on over to this table, as she led the way. Oops! I haven’t cleaned it off yet; y’all just stand there for a minute while I wipe off the table. With that command having been issued, she lifted her apron and proceeded to use it as a cleaning cloth, raking the crumbs left by the last customer off onto the floor. O. K., you two can sit down now. The menu is printed on the board on that wall over there. When you are ready to order, just give me a whistle. Y’all hear?

The two brothers obediently did what the waitress had told them to do. Jim whispered across the table to Arthur, Was I right about this being a ‘mom and pop type restaurant’, or was I right?? Yep, your visual assessment as you passed up the little highway this morning ‘hit the nail on the head’, Jim agreed. For a while they strained their eyes to see in the dark room the menu on a blackboard on the wall beside the door leading into the kitchen. Finally they were able to read the menu which was: country style chicken soup, tomato soup, boiled chitterlings, fried chicken, country fried steak, turnip greens, black eyed peas, and corn on the cob. Drinks: soft drinks, coffee, iced tea.

They looked at each other and said, Of course we will order the ‘boiled chitterlings’! Yeah, of course, as they visibly grimaced. After a while the waitress came over to take their orders. Does bread come with our orders? I don’t see it listed on the board. Oh, everybody around here knows that bread comes with their orders. What kind of bread? they asked. She replied with a bit of sarcasm in her voice, Everybody knows that it’s corn bread! When they had given their orders, the waitress shuffled off toward the kitchen. They looked at each other and winked with a certain look shared by both which said, We would like to laugh, but the other customers would see us. While waiting for the waitress to bring their food, they studied the little country restaurant with interest. It had been many years since they had encountered such culture. They observed the other guests (four to be exact) at the tables around them. They appeared to have stopped their farming chores and rushed over to the restaurant in their work clothes. Most of the men were unshaven. Their wives were plainly dressed and were wearing no makeup. From the sound of the guffaws coming from some of them, Arthur and Jim made a mental note that they appeared to be happy with their way of life. Each of the brothers whispered to the other, To each his own as pertains to a choice of life style.

After the waitress had plopped their plates of food on the table, they tackled it rather gingerly. After a bit they found themselves devouring it. Their analysis of it was, Yes, it is simple country cooking, but it surely tastes good. When they had licked their platters clean so to speak, they called the waitress over, Yeah, what’cha want? Do you have anything by way of dessert? You mean something sweet? They nodded in assent. Yeah, we got bread pudding and apple pie. What’cha choice? Arthur replied, Bread pudding. And you? as she looked in Jim’s direction. Apple pie. O. K., I’ll be back in a minute. Why it took so long to dish up a saucer of bread pudding and cut a slice of apple pie, they could not figure. Not to worry, for they had that old contented feeling as they say rubbing their stomachs. They discovered that they actually enjoyed the nostalgia of the situation around them. It caused them to recall their childhood days when their family took a trip down to their grandparents’ home in South Carolina and had stopped at a country restaurant along the highway. Yes, this situation brought back to their memories incidents in their childhood. Well, at last, here she comes, they whispered to each other. The waitress unceremoniously set the deserts down on the table only to be told that she had crossed up their orders. You don’t say! she replied in a huff. Meekly they exchanged with each other their desserts. Umm, umm, this is one good bread pudding. It’s like Mom used to make. I can say the same for the apple pie. It’s the real thing . . . . it hasn’t been ‘doctored’ up with a lot of funny spices. Say, Jim, I’m sitting where I can get a glimpse into the kitchen; I believe the reason that it is taking so long for the waitress to serve us is that she is doing some or all of the cooking as well as doing the waitressing. Well, that would certainly explain why it took her so long to bring our food.

As they left the little restaurant, they remarked to each other, That was a real experience! Very ordinary surroundings (and I’m being kind), but such good country cooking. We’ll remember that meal for a long time. On those occasions when it is necessary for us to come back to handle Pop’s affairs we can come back for an encore.

Upon their return to the little home of their parents, they began in earnest to search for their father’s will. Everything is like Pop left it. It’s time we emptied the little house of all its furniture, items of clothing and all the other stuff. We need to get the house and tool shed out back cleaned out before we put it up for sale, Arthur suggested. "Yep, you’re right about that. In doing so we shall, without a doubt, be able to find Pop’s will. Pop was not only tight with his dollars, but he was very secretive about his business. No doubt he was fearful of his little home being broken into by some ‘n’er-do-wells’ who passed along the road. With that in mind he was very careful to keep things of any value out of sight. A burglar would earn his salt if he happened to find in