When the Owl Calls

By Edna Jones

Judith Early was a privileged only child of an affluent family. She expected this life of comfort to continue when she became engaged to Dr. Jim Bradley, who was completing his surgical residency in Boston. That dream was shattered when he shared plans to practice in an isolated community of the Blue Ridge, a mountainous area in the southern Appalachians.

Disappointed, Judith questions why Jim would pass up a promising partnership to squander his skills in a backwoods, impoverished community. Deeply hurt, she breaks the engagement, forcing Jim to leave without her in answer to Gods call. Trusting in her power of persuasion, Judith travels to Balsam Ridge to seek Jim, regain his love, and convince him to return to Boston. From the moment she disembarks the locomotive, challenges threaten her resolve. Balsam Ridge is a place where faith and superstition often go hand in hand, where sadness and joy are birthed in equal portion, and the call of an owl portends calamity.

Jims desire to bring recent advances in medicine to the mountain people is often impeded by their staunch reliance on home remedies and their view of tragedy as Gods will. However, his greatest threat to success comes through a wealthy, ruthless timberman, who cheats the local people and ravages the beautiful mountains by stripping them of their virgin timber.

Judiths ultimate challenge comes in the form of a great personal loss; a loss so painful that she questions the love of both God and her husband.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512718331

Edna Jones

Edna Jones grew up in a small community of the Blue Ridge mountains in Western North Carolina. It was the colorful story telling of her Scott-Irish ancestors which inspired her stories in her Blue Ridge Trilogy. After graduating, Edna earned a degree in nursing, working in North Carolina and Florida. The mother of four children her interests included, gardening, painting, writing, church drama and community theatre. Now retired, she remains active in her local church in Taylorsville, teaching an adult Bible class.

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Chapter 1

With heart pounding, Judith Early gripped the seat and stared into the gray, winding river below. Every nightmare of falling rushed back when the locomotive took a sharp bend and open space lay below the window. She shivered more from apprehension than the November chill pervading the antiquated car. When boarding the train in Boston she was confident in this decision, but now, far from everything familiar and secure, her resolve was weakening. As the lowlands slipped away and this endless climbing began, the fear that she might never exit these towering Appalachian peaks grew stronger.

With each belch from the engine, black soot seeped into the car, filling nose and throat with an unpleasant taste. She had long since given up trying to brush the particles from her clothing. What possibly lay at the end of this train ride posed greater concerns than her fashionable outfit. Pulling her coat tighter, she peered through the window. Webs of fog draped a dismal terrain which merged into a molten, pewter sky. To the left of the slow moving locomotive the ground rose sharply upward, disappearing from view, giving the appearance the tracks literally clung to the hillside. At times, the cars brushed so close, vegetation caught on protruding steel, whipped like tattered flags And then again the train veered so near the edge Judith feared plummeting off the tracks. A cold rain driven by gusty winds pelted the fading daylight. On the opposite ridge bare trees moved as dancing skeletons, branches battling like dry bones.

Along the route each passenger had disembarked, leaving only Judith and the lone figure dozing at the front. With every sway of the coach, his gray head rolled like a slow swinging pendulum. The old man awakened on cue seconds before a mournful whistle pierced the air. Righting a conductor’s cap, he rose stiffly, and reaching into a vest pocket, pulled out a large stem-winder. From under shaggy brows, he checked the time and then tucked it safely away with a proud and prudent motion. His steps matched the swaying coach as he came up the aisle toward her.

Ma’am, he smiled, touching his conductor’s cap.

Is this Balsam Ridge?

Oh no, this is the Clear Creek crossing. Balsam Ridge is still a good two hours, give or take, up the way.

Are you sure?

Ma’am, I’m as sure as my name is Joseph Barnes. Been working this locomotive ever since her first run, he replied, slightly offended.

I don’t understand. The stationmaster in Boston had the train arriving around three o’clock.

Stroking his chin, the old man chuckled softly. Reckon them city fellers only know maps. The ins and outs of these coves don’t hold to time tables.

Her heart raced as she considered the prospect of arriving so late in a strange community. I must get there before night fall to locate him. You mean we could arrive near dark?

More’n likely. Gits dark earlier now, he said, peering out the window.

Judith recalled rumored stories of lawless, uneducated mountain dwellers and that was one of many reasons she questioned Jim’s location to practice medicine. Is Balsam Ridge a fair size community?

Amusement colored his faded eyes. Well, as one feller put it; given a gentle breeze you can spit from one end t’other. He studied her thoughtfully. If you don’t mind an old man’s curiosity, might you be a schoolmarm?

She did mind, but replied, No.

Thet’s too bad. I hear they don’t have no more schoolin’ since Miss Nell’s gone. A mighty fine person she was. Young, ‘bout your age I’d say. Real purty little thing, all eager to be taking on her first teaching job. He hesitated, as if the recalling took pleasurable effort, and then chuckling, continued, I’ll never fergit all them books she brought with her. Give old Becker the dickens fer letting the boxes set out on the platform and it a’weatherin.

Judith’s hopes brightened. If Balsam Ridge had an educational program, perhaps it wasn’t as backwoods as she feared.

Such a shame. Miss Nell come to these parts full of life, and then… a waste I allus thought, but life’s hard back here and death’s no respecter of age or education.

His mention of death drew her attention. What happened?

She got the fever. Jest too frail, I ‘spect. She rode this train twice. On the way in, set right up there a’talkin’ my ears off but she rode out in a silent box in the caboose. Too bad that ‘young doctor didn’t git here sooner—might’ve saved her, he remarked walking away.

She called after the shuffling figure, Wait! You said a young doctor. In Balsam Ridge? Do you know his name?

The elderly conductor studied the ceiling of the car, then shaking his head slowly, said, Well now hit’s been several months and I only seen his name that one time on the ticket. Cain’t recall it right off. Nice feller though, real friendly sort. He gave an enormous yawn and started slowly back to the front.

Was it Bradley, Jim Bradley? she asked hopefully.

He halted his forward motion and turned to face her again. The train suddenly lurched on a short bend and his veined hand grasped the back of a seat. Her impatience grew as she watched him mull over the information.

Now thet you mention it, Bradley does sound familiar. I do believe fer a fact it was. You a relative of this Jim Bradley?

No.

Friend then I guess, he pressed.

Annoyed by his intrusive curiosity, she nevertheless replied, I’m his fiancée. I’ll be living in Balsam Ridge. For a short time anyway.

That right? Well I wish you luck, ma’am.

His pensive gaze seemed to want to add more, but she turned back to the window, hoping he would take the hint. Not that she could see anything; darkness was fast closing in. However, she was encouraged—Jim was in Balsam Ridge—had traveled on this very train, but so much could have happened since his leaving six months ago. She suddenly found her thoughts assailed by what ifs, the worst being, what if he were there, but no longer desired her in his life. Her thoughts drifted back.

The hill behind the hospital had become their special place for stolen moments from their busy schedules. That day a picnic was planned and Jim hinted at a surprise. She felt confident he was finally accepting the offer to practice in the downtown office of a prominent surgeon. Now they could be married.

Settled on the hill with their deli sandwiches and lemonade, she said, I can’t eat a bite until I hear your good news

My first news is, I sold my car."

Why?

For train fare and money for supplies and equipment.

Why do you need equipment? Dr. Cantrell office is a modern, well-equipped facility.

That’s my good news. I’m not staying in Boston, but going to practice medicine in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Momentarily speechless, she said, Jim, you aren’t serious…

But Jim was serious. When trying to make her understand this was something he felt called to, she had broken their engagement, stating that an impoverished, backwoods community held no appeal for her future.

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Jim Bradley gripped the steering wheel as the vehicle lurched in the deep ruts on the winding dirt road. The windshield wipers swung from side to side in noisy protest against the falling drizzle. Never knowing what to expect from these sudden calls, tension tightened his stomach as they steadily climbed into the remote hollow. Martha knew of the general location and now they both peered beyond the headlight beams, searching for the isolated dwelling where either life or death awaited.

He ventured a quick glance across the seat where Martha sat rigidly alert, tightly holding a wrapped surgical pack on her knees. Martha had a deep love and concern for the welfare of her mountain people, and his adjustment here was aided by her recommendation, and her own personal knowledge of the local ways.

Now, if only Judith did not still haunt his thoughts. The realization that he may have misjudged God’s plan for their life together, still left him confused and disappointed. However, thoughts of what might-have-been were futile and certainly too late. So he prayed for contentment in God’s call, and this present arrangement.

Suddenly a man stepped out of the darkness and into the headlight beams and frantically waved his arms. They made out a barely visible cabin beneath a canopy of trees. Jim and Martha quickly hurried inside where they were met by the strong odor of wood smoke, lamp oil and illness.

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A long, mournful blast of the whistle interrupted Judith’s thoughts. The train slowed its forward motion amid the noise of screeching steel as the lumbering cars jammed together with a loud jolt. Like an iron monster sighing in relief, a final blast of steam escaped as the wheels stilled.

Mr. Barnes came up the aisle. Well, Miss, this is where you git off. I’ll help with your baggage.

Judith looked out the window, straining to see something. Across a narrow platform stood a small weathered building with a sagging wooden sign which read, Welcome to Balsam Ridge. A pale light reflected from within. That and a lantern in a man’s hand were the only visible lights in the oppressive gloom. Turning to face the elderly conductor, she said, There must be some mistake. There’s nothing out there.

Not a whole lot, he agreed, but hit’s Balsam Ridge all the same, and Miss, we’re running behind so best you hurry off, a‘fore the engineer pulls out.

With forced resolve, Judith rose from her seat and followed. Depositing the baggage beside her on the soggy platform, the old conductor touched his cap and swung stiffly back up the steps, leaving her alone, except for the disgruntled looking man holding the lantern. She waited as he swung the light, signaling someone at the front of the train. With much groaning and labored effort, the steel drivers began to turn the mammoth wheels and the locomotive inched forward. With a warning whistle blast, it picked up speed and disappeared around a dark turn. Pulling up his collar against the drizzle, the man cast a disinterested glance in her direction, and then headed for the weathered depot.

Sir, I need help with my baggage, she called. He turned grudgingly, walked back and grabbed the larger one, leaving her to pick up the other. Once inside he asked abruptly, Who’s meetin’ you?

No one… exactly. I didn’t notify anyone of my arrival, she stammered, feeling the need to apologize in light of his scowl. I need transportation. Would you please call a taxicab?

We ain’t got one in Balsam Ridge. Sometimes Floyd Burch hangs around with his truck fer hire, leastwise during daylight hours.

All the while the man was talking, Judith observed him preparing to lock up. Can you call this Floyd… person for me?

Nope, he ain’t got no phone.

Then surely I can find transportation in town. Where is it?

You’re in it.

Is he serious? Towns had buildings and lights, there was neither here. What’ll I do? Of course, Dr. Bradley will have a phone, please ring him.

Reluctantly the man removed his gloves, walked over to the box on the wall, lifted the receiver and turned the crank. After giving the operator Jim’s name, he waited a short time and then hung up.

Ain’t there, he drawled. Then pulling on his thick gloves, he walked to the center of the room, grasped a string hanging from an overhead bulb and plunged the room into semi darkness, leaving only the pale glow from his lantern.

Wait! What am I going to do? she cried, struggling against full-blown panic.

Ma’am, that’s fer you to decide. Now, as fer me, I’m closing this place up and going home. My missus is waiting supper and once that engine pulls out she gits pretty blamified if I tarry. With that, he set the lantern on the weathered floorboards, reached down and grasped the handles of her bags. I’ll be settin’ these back outside fer you.

The realization of his intent jolted Judith to practical action. No, they’ll get wet. Close to pleading, she asked, Would you consider driving me to Dr. Bradley’s home? I’ll pay you well.

Ma’am, I don’t keer how well you pay me, I cain’t drive you nowhere.

And why not?

Got no vehicle.

How are you getting home? she asked, clearly annoyed.

Walking, like most folks here ‘bouts. Your bags can stay inside till tomorrow. He picked up the lantern and marched to the outside door. Hand on the knob he turned, waiting for her to follow.

She had no choice but to pick up her small valise and step outside. As the man inserted the key into the lock she asked, How far is Dr. Bradley’s?

About a mile up the ridge road in the old mineral building.

I don’t know where that is. Can you give me more concise directions? She fought annoyance lest severing this one link to information.

You cain’t miss it. Go past the store and follow the road up the ridge, first house on the right. As I said no more’n a mile. With that he left, taking the circle of light with him.

So much for Balsam Ridge congeniality. She stared at the spot where dusk had swallowed him. Shivering, she drew her coat tighter and moved to the edge of the platform looking in the direction indicated. In the rapidly fading twilight, town appeared to consist of three or four buildings. Casting a fearful glance over her shoulder, she decided lingering might be risky. Tightening her fingers on the handle of her valise, she started walking. When her heels mired down into soggy earth, she mentally scolded the choice of impractical footwear. The drizzle was becoming decidedly more dependable, so the small pheasant-trimmed hat, which had seemed fashionable yesterday, was providing little coverage for her head.

Leaving the buildings behind, the ground began to steepen underfoot and small stones made walking perilous. Off on either side of the road, trees appeared as gray shadows etched against a deepening background. Suddenly, something large took flight from a nearby bush, sending her heart pounding, and her feet slipping. Gulping painfully, she lay flat in the muddy roadbed, as rain and tears of frustration mingling on her face. Sitting up, she felt around in the dark, locating the valise but no feathered hat.

Questioning the stationmaster’s directions, she was close to despairing when the silhouette of a building came into view. No light reflected from within. Turning toward the structure, she bumped into a post. Jim’s shingle? Finding steps and porch, she groped along for a door, knocking hesitantly at first, and then pounding the silent boards. With no response, she tired the knob, but the door refused to open. Two front facing windows were also stuck tight. Working her way down the side yard, she saw steps leading to a small back porch. Shoving against that door, she felt it give slightly. Encouraged that it was only blocked, she placed her shoulder against the damp wood, and shoved with all her might. The effort opened a space large enough to allow passage. Closing the door, she leaned against it, enjoying the warmth while her eyes acclimated to a new shade of darkness.

As the room came into shadowy focus, she made out hot embers winking in an open fireplace, leading her to believe Jim had not been gone long. Shoving the trunk back against the outside door, she stepped out of her muddy shoes. Searching for lighting, she moved to the center of the room swinging her arms wildly to locate a pull. The switches at home are by the door. At the thought of home, a wave of doubt filled her, bolstered by the strangeness of the quiet room. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred. What if this isn’t Jim’s place? It had been too dark to see his name out front. What if I’ve forced my way into some stranger’s home, and they’re in another room—or this room? Her frantic hand found a familiar shape and pushed. Whirling, fully expecting to confront someone face to face, she breathed a sigh of relief as light revealed an empty, fair size bedroom, sparsely furnished but neat and orderly. She saw personal articles she recognized as Jims and was encouraged.

Noticing a door on the opposite wall, she looked inside to find a small, frigid bathroom. Grabbing Jim’s robe from a peg on the door, she quickly closed off the room and standing before the dying embers, she removed her wet outer clothing. A wooden box beside the hearth held firewood, and after stirring up the ashes, she dropped the wood on the coals. As an old clock on the mantle struck the half-hour with lingering sound, she curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs. Eyelids heavy, and weary from the long trip, she rested her head on the back of the chair and fought a compelling drowsiness.

Sometime later, the room’s chill awakened her. Outside, the wind moaned restlessly. The ashes in the fireplace were powdery, making the coverlet on the bed appear inviting. Snuggling down into the soft pillow that bore the familiar fragrance of Jim’s shaving soap, she longingly thought, he’ll be home soon, find me a place to stay and tomorrow we can make wedding plans.

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I don’t recall leaving the lights on, a voice beyond the door said. Fighting off sleep, Judith sat up in bed. Jim’s voice!

We did leave in a hurry, perhaps you forgot, a woman answered.

Judith’s heart thumped. A woman was with Jim. Who? Who else but a wife would be coming in with him this time of night? That he might have married had not occurred to her. Here you are in his house, in his robe and in his bed. Worse—their bed. Throwing back the covers, her feet hit the floor just as the bedroom door swung open and Jim stepped through. For a second he froze, staring as though he did not trust what he saw. The woman wore the same surprised expression.

Judith opened her mouth but no sound came as Jim covered the space between them and wrapped her in his arms. Laughing, he swung her around as if he had completely forgotten they were not alone, then he kissed her as no married man had business doing. Finally holding her at arm’s length, he exclaimed, Where did you come from?

It’s a long story. As much as she relished the feel of his arms, she drew back. Jim, please. The woman had tactfully averted her eyes from their intimate embrace.

Oh, forgive me. Judith this is Martha Burnett, my assistant. Martha this is Judith.

His assistant, not wife. Judith felt weak with relief.

Her speech unhurried the woman forced a smile and said, I’m glad to meet you. Dr. Bradley speaks often of you.

Judith smiled pleasantly, affording to be gracious now with Jim’s explanation. She might only be Jim’s assistant, but I suspect he means more to her.

I guess I’ll get on home, Doctor Bradley. I’ll drop these instruments in the treatment room.

Wait, Martha! We’ll need witnesses, Jim said, arm still around Judith’s waist. Martha turned back, her face reflecting pained surprise.

Witnesses… what for? Judith asked, wondering just how much response she had given his kiss.

We’re getting married. I’m not taking a chance on losing you again.

But, it’s almost midnight, she protested. If you’ll get my bags from the depot and take me to a hotel, we can make plans tomorrow.

Jim laughed, Honey, this is Balsam Ridge. There are no hotels, and as for Sam Becker, nothing short of a derailed locomotive would get him out of bed at this hour.

Is there another room here for sleeping?

Sorry, that’s it, he said, pointing to the bed she’d just vacated. Doug Matthews is a justice-of-the-peace, and Ben will be glad to witness our vows. Now, go wash your face. I’ll be back with both men before you know it, he grinned, brushing a speck of mud from her cheek.

Jim, look at me. I can’t be married in a bathrobe. I’m barefoot for heaven’s sake.

You look lovely to me, he called over his shoulder, disappearing down a short hallway.

There was an awkward silence, and for the first time Judith really looked at the other woman. This Martha appeared about her own age, an attractive woman despite the absence of cosmetics. She wore her rich chestnut hair in a halo of braids around the top of her head.

I’ll get these instruments in to soak, she said, leaving and closing the door behind her.

Mind racing, Judith didn’t move. Married tonight in a man’s bathrobe. Her mother would be aghast. We’re together, that’s what matters. Finding a small towel in the bathroom, she rinsed her face and brushed her teeth and hair. After applying a touch of powder and rouge, she surveyed her reflection in the clouded mirror. Longing for a tub bath, she eyed the big cast iron fixture, but decided the men would not feel favorably toward waiting.

While she was in the bathroom, someone had kindled the fire. Straightening the bed coverlet, Judith marveled, this will be my wedding night. That thought let loose a whirlwind of butterflies in her already fluttered middle. Male voices and a soft knock on the door, halted her introspect. The three men and Martha entered. One man stepped forward and warmly grasped her hand. How-do. I’m Ben Carroll. Hit’s a real pleasure to make your acquaintance.

He was a tall man, solid in build with a full moustache hugging both sides of his mouth; a mouth that appeared not to need a reason to smile. She felt her cheeks color with his next remark. Turning to Jim, he said, Well Doc, I gotta hand it to you, you know how to pick ‘em, eyes the color of ripe buckeyes, and hair as silky black as a mountain panther’s.

His friendly smile fostered an immediate liking, but the other man—another matter. Jim motioned him over and said, Judith, this is Mr. Doug Matthews. Judith extended her hand. Mr. Matthews grunted a response while eyeing the clock on the mantle, plainly averse to his sleep interruption.

Mr. Matthews, we’re ready when you are, Jim said.

Now hold your horses a minute, Doc. You got no ring, so at least your bride needs a bouquet. I’ll be right back. Shoving the trunk aside, he disappeared through the outside door. Returning shortly, he held a bunch of red-berried holly, combined with another greenery Judith did not recognize. There you are, Ma’am. Keerful you don’t stick your fingers.

The justice of the peace muttered and backed up to the fire’s warmth, then spoke a few words, Jim and Judith answered I do twice, and then signed a paper. A more comical wedding party had never been, but Judith was too happy to care.

As they stood in the door saying goodbye to the others, Jim pointed out that snow was replacing the rain. Mrs. Bradley, welcome to your new home, he said, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her down the hall. He deposited her in one of the chairs by the fire and dropped into the other, just savoring the sight of her. I can’t believe you’re actually here.

She laughed, I’m here, but I’m having trouble believing what just happened. Jim, are we really married? Legally, I mean?

Legal enough to satisfy the state and all concerned. Judith, I’ve missed you so. I welcomed that house call tonight just to get away from the quiet. Did you really walk all the way from the station in the dark?

Yes, and I must say, that stationmaster will never take honors in congeniality.

Sam Becker can be cantankerous, but once you meet his wife and twin sons, you’ll be more charitable in regards to his disposition.

I do like your friend Ben.

Ben’s a terrific fellow and you’ll like his wife Missy. These are good people Judith. Perhaps different from those you’re accustomed to but I know you’ll grow fond of them as I have. Standing, he glanced at the clock. It’s late and you must be exhausted. Shouldn’t we get ready for bed?

Jim, I’d like a bath first. I’ll not go to bed on my wedding night smelling of coal smoke. Do you have something I might use for sleep?

Lady, I’m a poor mountain physician with one pair of pajamas to my name, but I’ll gladly share. You’ll find a clean towel on the back of the door. While you bathe, I’ll bring up night wood from the basement.

Back in the bathroom, Judith took a closer look at the fixtures. The toilet had a tank hanging on the wall, with a chain dangling for flushing. The high and rounded tub stood on four claw feet with a makeshift showerhead hanging from a pipe running up from the faucet. She didn’t think she cared to sit down on the cold surface, so decided to shower.

Jim was just dropping an armload of wood into the box when her screams came through the closed door. Hurrying over to the bathroom, he heard her yell about no hot water?

He moaned. I’m sorry Judith, in all the excitement I forgot to mention, we don’t have hot water… yet.

Really, then just how have you been bathing?

I’ve showered in cold all summer, didn’t mind it until this morning when the weather turned off.

What am I going to do? I can’t bathe in this. It’s like ice, she chattered.

There should be some hot water in the kettle on the stove. I’ll get it and you can take a tub bath.

Struggling out of the tub, Judith wrapped herself in the towel and huddled away from the outside wall. Jim cracked the door and slid the steaming kettle in.

Judith, you’d be much warmer if you left the door open to get heat from the fireplace.

No, thank you, she said, emptying the hot water into the tub, cooling it as little as possible, and then sitting down in the inch deep water, she reached for a bar of soap and began to lather her body. She heard Jim drop another load of wood in the box and called, Jim, what is this I’m bathing with? It looks like soap, but smells terrible.

It’s homemade lye soap. A patient of mine gave it to me.

I’ve never heard of lye soap. What is it made from?

Jim hesitated. Uh, ash lye, rendered lard—things like that.

Phew, no wonder it stinks.

It cleans well.

I can believe that. It’s taking dirt, skin and all.

It’s pretty strong. Perhaps you’d better not stay in long.

Judith was pleased to remember bath powder in her case. The fragrance of lard and lye is less appealing than coal smoke. The light in the bedroom was off, leaving the room bathed in a soft glow from the flaming logs on the hearth. Jim lifted the coverlet for her to slip under, then propping a pillow behind her he handed her a cup of tea.

My peace offering for the cold shower, he said, with a sheepish grin. She sipped the steaming brew. Um, wonderful. What is it?

Something Missy gave me. She gathers herbs to use for spices and teas.

Judith wondered about the woman who would be married to Jim’s friend. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Is she anything like Ben?

Jim chuckled. No one is quite like Ben, but if you’re asking, is she friendly and likeable, yes very.

Jim leaned closer and said, Ben is right, your eyes do look like ripe buckeyes.

I wasn’t sure that was a compliment, she said, heart quickening by his nearness.

You will, once you’ve seen a buckeye. Now, as for the hair description, I’ve never seen a Black Panther here, and hope I never do, he said. Are you finished with that? She nodded and Jim set their cups aside. As he turned and reached for her, all Judith’s fears and doubts concerning Balsam Ridge vanished. The flickering fire cast friendly shadows on the walls, and outside the snow continued to fall softly over the coves and ridges, spreading the season’s first blanket of white.

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Ben crawled into bed and Missy snuggled closer to share her body’s warmth. Is she purty, Ben?

Yes, she’s mighty purty, though not as purty as you, Sugar. She’s purty in a different, sorta high-class, citified way, but seems real nice. Old Doc is as happy as a coon dog on a moon-shiny night.

I’m glad. He’s been right lonely since coming here, Missy said.

Now how’d you know that? he teased.

Oh, women have ways of knowing.

Oh, women do, do they? Well tell me, does this woman know how much this Carroll boy loves her? Missy only smiled. Of course, she knew. After Ben fell asleep, she lay in the circle of his embrace, and in the silence of the night imagined hearing the snowflakes settling on the trees and bushes outside. Her thoughts wandered. Another woman on the ridge. Someone my own age that ain’t kin. Wouldn’t it be good if we could be friends, to learn from her about all the things out there that I’ve only dreamed of. Aye law, what would the likes of her find in common with a simple mountain girl like me? Ben did say she was real nice. She smiled in the dark. I’ll go calling soon; be the neighborly thing to do and hit’s ‘bout time to take my eggs down to Matthew’s store.

Chapter 2

Judith awakened to a room flooded with light. Confused for a moment, she stared at unfamiliar surroundings. When memories of last night rushed back, she quickly looked for Jim. Reaching for a note propped on the bedside table she read.

Had an early call. Didn’t want to disturb your sleep. Picked up your luggage from depot, see you around noon. Coffee is on stove.

All my love, Jim

Logs were blazing in the fireplace. She threw back the covers and hurried to the window in bare feet, anxious to get a daylight glimpse of her new surroundings. As far as vision allowed there were trees and more trees. Trees that were wrapped in a soft mantle of white, began a short distance below the house and climbed a steep mountain rising against a clear sky. The tall crest formed a living wall, which appeared impossible to go around or walk over. How easy it would be to forget a busy, populated world lay somewhere beyond.

She searched the terrain for something moving, something alive. There was nothing. Gripped with a shut-away feeling, fears and doubts so easily forgotten last night, threatened to overwhelm this morning. Judith continued studying her surroundings as the climbing sun lifted thousands of rainbow crystals from a sloping meadow below. The meadow ended at a wide flowing ribbon of water peeking through natural breaks in underbrush. A bird took flight from a tall evergreen causing a tenuous gown of sparkles to shower down.

Spotting the retrieved luggage from the depot, she dressed quickly, eager to explore the rest of the house and find that coffee Jim mentioned. A fair size kitchen held a large black stove, a table, two chairs and a freestanding cupboard. On closer inspection, she discovered the strange looking stove burned wood, not gas as her mother’s modern appliance.

Finding a cup, she poured coffee. This kitchen will take more than a woman’s touch to improve. Across the hall were two rooms. One appeared to be a storage