Page 18 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
Jesse swallowed hard, remembering those days as remarkablyeasy. It hadn’t been long after that when Marcy had sent Brent packing, andshortly thereafter things had changed between him and Marcy too. But he wasn’tgoing to think about Marcy right now. Not tonight. Not here with Christopher.
“This way,” Christopher whispered.
He led Jesse toward the slowly revolving water wheel. Thegrist mill had been part of Smoky Mountain Dreams for as long as Jesse couldremember. The gingerbread and cookies had been one of the big draws of the parkwhen he was a kid, back when it had been still mostly a craft fair rather thanthe full-fledged amusement park it was now. As an adult he rarely came to SmokyMountain Dreams without taking home a loaf of gingerbread to enjoy over hismorning coffee.
“Down here,” Christopher said, ducking just behind the wheeland through a well-hidden door beneath the mill.
Jesse followed him, keeping silent as instructed since theyclearly weren’t supposed to be here. Underneath the grist mill, it wassurprisingly dry given how close they were to the pond and the splash of thewater wheel. It was also tall enough to stand fully upright, though it wasincredibly dark, and Jesse couldn’t see Christopher in the pitch black.
Suddenly there was a small burst of brightness, and Christopher’sface was visible above a flashlight on a key ring. “Dessert is straight ahead,”he said, gesturing with the beam at a set of wooden stairs that led up abouthalf a flight to a door which obviously went into the mill and the bakeryinside.
Carefully, Jesse followed Christopher up the stairs, feelingeach riser with his foot before taking the step. “They just leave it unlocked?”he asked.
“Nope. But I’ve got the key.”
“Why?” Jesse asked.
“Because I asked nicely.”
Jesse scoffed, but Christopher turned the key in the lockand opened the door. Jesse followed him through.
“Here, let me…” Christopher reached past Jesse, and a lowlight flickered on, just enough that the room was safe to traverse. There werestill looming shadows. Christopher locked the door again behind them.
They had entered by the millworks themselves, and Jesse tooka moment to run his eyes over the old gears and axle, and admired the metalequipment that sorted and poured the flour after it was ground.
“Nice, huh?”
“Beautiful,” Jesse said.
“I thought you’d appreciate it. My Gran used to work herewhen she was a teenager. She started when she was fourteen. It was a long timebefore Smoky Mountain Dreams bought the property, obviously.” Christopher ranhis hand along the polished wood of the banister that was erected to keep thetourists away from the equipment when it was running. “Well, more accurately,she was married to the owner.”
“Wow. It’s hard to believe howyoungpeople got married back then.”
Christopher looked thoughtful. “Yeah. She was forced into itfor money reasons. He was fifty.”
“Oh,” Jesse said, a feeling of repulsion rocking throughhim. He’d met men like that when he was younger. Chicken hawks, they’d calledthem, and he’d let one take him home only once when he’d been desperate andfull of self-destructive recklessness.
“She said working in the mill saved her sanity, though. Sheloved it. It kept her mind off the rest of her life. And when her husband diedof scarlet fever when Gran was seventeen and pregnant with Uncle Rodney, shesold it for enough money so she could start a life in Gatlinburg.”
“Wow. That’s a sad story in a way.”
“It gets sadder because Rodney died in Vietnam.”
“Your poor Gran.”
“Yeah. Appalachia is full of sad stories. Great ones too.Triumph over adversity and all of that stuff. Like this park and what MelissaMundy’s done for the people around here. But you’re from this area. You alreadyknow that.”
Jesse agreed. His own family was a perfect example. They’dbeen mountain folk too, and when he’d been very small, his grandfather had toldhim stories of the first time he’d seen the electric lights, fueled by powerfrom the TVA dams, turn on in the Tennessee Valley. It’d been beautiful, and it’dblown his mind.
Christopher went on, “Her life wound up being happy enough,I guess. She met my grandfather when she was twenty-four and had a good lifewith him. She’d used the money from selling this mill to open a store. She soldfudge…and books, because, well, why not?”
“No way. She owned Books and Fudge? I loved that place as akid.” Jesse grinned. “I mean, where else in the world could you buy books andfudge?”
Christopher laughed. “You’d know better than I would.”
“I guess I knew your grandmother. She was there every day,right? Sweet lady. She used to help me and my sister pick out cool books fromthe kid’s section, and then she’d give us a piece of fudge to split for free. Idon’t really know why she did that. I’m sure she knew we could afford to buyit.”
“Gran liked to see kids smile. Maybe she thought you didn’tsmile enough.”
