Glory grabbed Bettina’s hand. “Let’s hurry. In case he gets home tonight already.”
Bettina didn’t figure he’d make it all the way from Lexington on the same day as his graduation, but she didn’t mind hurrying. Maybe her hurrying would hurry him.
Lynch
Emmett
THANK GOODNESS THE Louisville and Nashville Railroad sent two passenger trains on a line through the coal-mining towns every day, including Sunday. Emmett caught the midmorning train and arrived at the red-painted Lynch depot a little after one o’clock, right on schedule. With it being Sunday, he hadn’t expected a lot of activity in town. The coal miners were likely enjoying their single day off by relaxing. Not to mention the biblical admonition most folks honored about keeping the Lord’s day holy. But after the constant bustle of activity on the college campus, the stillness was almost unsettling.
He fetched his battered carpetbag from the deck, nodded hello to an elderly woman sitting on a trunk, fanning herself, then set off on the main street, heading west. If he were a crow, he could fly straight north about a thousand feet and light in Boone’s Hollow. But no way a man toting a heavy bag could walk that uphill climb through all the trees and undergrowth. Even without the encumbrance of a carpetbag, a fellow would be taxed by the climb. He’d take the mile-long dirt road that wound its way up Black Mountain to the little town where he’d been born and raised.
The sun beat down, making him drip sweat under his suit coat. He considered taking the jacket off, but then he’d have to carry it. Toting the bag that held his textbooks, diploma, and a few articles of clothing was enough. Besides, when he came walking into Boone’s Hollow, he wanted to be dressed like a gentleman. Paw might say he was putting on airs, but he wanted Maw to be proud of him. He’d put up with the heat.
He left the main road and started up the mountain road carved out of the forest more than fifty years ago. Beech and hemlock trees grew thick on both sides and blocked most of the sun. They couldn’t block the humidity, though. Perspiration ran in rivulets down his face. He used his handkerchief to wipe it away and blinked hard against the sting in his eyes. He squinted at the trees—at their trunks and leaves—and calculated his distance by what was growing. The tall beech and shaggy hemlock gave way to birch, hickory, magnolias already showy with pink or white blooms, and an abundance of maple. Paw used to tease when they walked up this road that if they stumbled onto chestnut or oak trees, they’d know they’d gone too far. Emmett didn’t intend to reach the oaks and chestnuts today. Getting to Boone’s Hollow would be distance enough.
Dust rose with every step. When had it last rained in these parts? Reddish-brown powder coated his shoes and the hem of his britches. Maw could smack the dust out, but she might have a time getting the sweat stains from the underarms of his suit coat. His roommate’s half of the closet had held three or four suits, plus stacks of button-up shirts, sweaters, vests, and trousers. Emmett had only the one suit, his present from Maw and Paw when he graduated from the local school. After four years of wear, it was getting some threadbare, but it was still the nicest set of clothes he owned. Had ever owned. And Maw’d been so proud to give it to him.
A flash of orange in the sea of green to his left caught his attention, and Maw’s voice from ten years past spoke in his memory. “I’m lettin’ ya have that slingshot your paw made for ya, ’cause somebody’s gotta keep the crows out o’ my garden patch. But, Emmett, if I catch ya takin’ aim at one o’ my pretty orioles, I’ll use that slingshot for kindlin’, an’ you won’t never be given another.” He’d known back then that Maw meant what she said, and he only shot at the pesky black birds that tormented her beans and squash and tomatoes. To this day, when he saw the telltale orange belly of an oriole, he thought of Maw.
Thoughts of Maw always led to thoughts of home, and eagerness made his feet speed up, even though the muscles in his calves and the backs of his thighs burned almost as hot as the sun. The quicker steps jarred him, and the arm bearing the bag’s weight felt like it could disconnect from his shoulder. He switched hands, not breaking stride. He set his lips in a grim line and ignored his aching muscles. He’d gotten soft walking only from building to building on mostly flat ground for the past four years.
He heaved mighty breaths and swiped at sweat and pushed himself upward, upward, upward. Finally, legs quivering like the limb on a hemlock bush in the breeze, he entered a narrow clearing lined with wooden structures. He paused in the break between the trees and set his bag beside his feet. Hands on his hips, he took in the familiar setting. Not a thing had changed since his last visit home a year ago, except somebody’d painted the Blevins’ old smokehouse. White with blue trim, the same as his fraternity colors.
His college buddies would probably scoff at the uneven dirt streets, weathered buildings with rock foundations, and grassless yards in front of the houses. But it was a welcome sight to him. He’d reached Boone’s Hollow. He was home.
“Emmett! Emmett Tharp!” a female voice blasted, its tone so full of joy that Emmett automatically smiled.
He turned in the direction of the call, expecting to see Maw running to greet him. Instead, Bettina Webber was coming at him. And she had her arms spread wide.
Boone’s Hollow
Emmett
EMMETT RUBBED HIS EYES, NOT sure he was seeing right. But when he lowered his fists, the same image filled his vision—Bettina, coming so fast puffs of dust hung in the humid air behind her. Her blue-checked skirt flew up and exposed her dirty knees, and her freckled face wore the biggest smile he’d ever seen.
He scratched his temple. Why’d she have her arms open like that? She was fixing to hug somebody. He glanced over his shoulder. No one else was there. So that meant—
“Emmett! Oh, Emmett, you’re home!” Without even a pause, she leaped.
He grunted, his arms closing around her in reflex, and staggered backward two steps. Good thing he’d put down his carpetbag or the two of them would probably be in a heap on the ground. He wouldn’t have been too pleased at getting his best clothes dusty from the suit collar to pant cuffs.
Between her stranglehold on him and some kind of flowery scent rising from her sweat-damp hair and filling his nostrils, he couldn’t breathe. Weary from his long walk, damp head to toe with perspiration, and worried he’d faint dead away if he didn’t draw a good breath soon, he leaned forward until her bare feet met the ground. Then he unwound her arms from his neck. With one wide sideways step, he put himself behind his luggage. From the safety of his barrier, he pulled in a full breath and then let it out, eyeing her close in case she decided to take another lunge in his direction.
She tilted her head, fluttering her eyelashes. “Hey, Emmett. I been watchin’ for you so I could welcome you home.”