The Bluestone Review 2020

The Bluestone Review 2020

Prose

in. Uncle Less was a carpenter for the mines and had made a contraption that fit on Old Pete’s back for hauling groceries and such. My older friends had told me about Thomas Edison’s new-fangled lightbulb that he invented recently and predicted that our whole camp would be lit up in the next ten years or so. They were so smart having also told me about a beauti- ful field of grain that shined like a gold coin three mountain ridges past the sand house at the head of the hollow. I was determined to go and look at it that sunny morning. At school on Monday, I was going to tell my teacher that I had seen the amber fields that we sang about in music class. The old animal path had been easy to follow across the forested ridges. My older brother had been there before and said the narrow trail was a warriors’ path from Indian hunting and scalping parties from long ago. He cautioned me about never to be caught there after dark as the banshee wailing of tortured souls that were scalped would send blood-curdling chills down your spine. A great day was at hand for a leisurely adventure. I took off as soon as my parents began leading “Old Pete” down the dusty mountain road. Dickie was watching over my sister while they were gone. She noticed which way I was headed. She knew I wasn’t going to play at the local sawmill with my friends as I normally did on a Saturday. That didn’t matter as the day was young. What a beautiful sight to behold after an hour and a half of quick walking. I spotted hidden ginseng plants to tell Dickie about as he liked to go hunting for the plants. Having reached the fields of grain, I sat down in the middle and enjoyed me one of Mama’s cathead biscuits crammed full of lightly salted bacon that I retrieved from my red bandana in my overall’s pocket. Kneeling on the damp grass, I cupped my hands and quenched my thirst from the cold mountain stream and gratefully smiled as I detected the presence of small forest animals watching me. My thoughts wandered. Why, I might even tell my Sunday School teacher about it, as well. She was so nice and knew the Bible frontwards and backwards. Her daughter Sandra was also as nice as the day was long. Noon hour came, and I knew to head towards home. Quickly, I came across the knoll of the second ridge on my return trip full of confidence that I had pulled my adventure off and had slickered my ‘pap.’ Crossing over to the last ridge, I heard… ”Come here, boy. What did I tell you about going past that old sand house?” I about choked on my spit when I saw him. “Augh, just that Thomasena and I might be a little young to be wandering out in the woods. I reckoned that I was grown enough now to do a little exploring on my own, even spotted some hidden ginseng plants. I would never put her in danger’s path, Pap.” “Got my behind tanned!” I squalled back to my siblings. “Dadburn it, it still stings.” I held back any sissy tears, but my red-looking eyes about betrayed me. “Buck, you knew better than to cross Pap,” my younger sister grinned like a possum eating “hockey.” My father always called poop this and never the slang word for it. Pap’s mining belt had put welts on my backside, and I probably deserved it. He hung the wide leather belt back on the nail on our back porch. The number three washtub that ‘pap’ took his bath in hung on the nail beside it. Mother always had a fresh pot of hot coffee and the water heated in the tub on

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