Page 31 of Christmas at Black Cherry Retreat
Chapter Fifteen
Tom watched indulgently as Fee took yet another photo of the weathered, old barn. They’d been lucky to get the last two seats available for today’s tour. His intrepid companion grasped his hand more than once on the hour long drive most of which was along a steep, winding one-track road. The park ranger escorting them was a descendent of the original ownersof the land who had sold it to the Hensley family and everyone was enjoying his interesting stories.
‘How many people lived here?’ Fee asked their guide.
‘About 150 at its height and nearly all of them were related to the Hensley family by either blood or marriage. They never had electricity or indoor plumbing and were pretty much self-sufficient.’ The man grinned. ‘It’s been saidthere was more than a little moonshine made here but you didn’t hear that from me. I’d take a guess they needed something to barter with the folks down the mountain for the things they couldn’t make themselves.’
As the rest of the group walked on to see inside the next restored cabin Fee lingered by the long split-rail fence built to keep out deer and bears. She framed a shot out overthe rolling fields.
‘The fog’s lifting. Look how the colours are starting to glow.’ She tossed him a satisfied smile. Fee’s enthusiasm was infectious and he loved seeing the familiar place through her fresh, observant eyes. ‘Next time I’ll bring a decent camera. This thing frustrates me.’ Fee glared at the offending object but carried on taking more pictures.
‘I’m surprised youdidn’t bring your regular one along with you.’ Her smile disappeared and Tom wished he could rip out his tongue, unsure what he’d said to upset her. ‘Forget it. None of my business.’
She lowered the camera and touched his arm. ‘It’s okay. My therapist persuaded me not to bring a camera on this trip. He says I’ve been hiding behind a lens for too long and need to face people and life withoutit.’ Her monotone voice made it clear she didn’t agree.
‘Sounds crazy to me. It’s what you do.’
‘I almost asked him how he’d like having his medical license taken away, but I didn’t.’ A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. ‘I disobeyed and bought this a few days after I arrived. I’m going to buy a better camera tomorrow before this one makes me scream.’
‘Good idea.’ Tom noticed the guide waving at them. He was beckoning for them to come and rejoin the group. ‘Let’s go.’
They finished the tour by seeing the tiny one-room schoolhouse with its plain wood and cast iron desks and wood-burning stove and ended at the family cemetery with its poignant, worn headstones. The last person buried here was Sherman Hensley, the original founder, who’dbeen forced off the mountain in 1951 because none of his family wanted to stay there and he couldn’t manage on his own. Tom admired the fact he’d stubbornly insisted on being brought back up the mountain to be buried by his late wife in 1979 and chosen his own epitaph “When we all get to Heaven”. He was pretty sure Sherman had cordoned off a separate corner for his family.
‘Time to stopdreaming. Are you ready for another hair-raising drive?’ Fee spoke nearby and Tom was startled back to awareness.
‘I should be asking you that question,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I didn’t grip onto you as if my life depended on it.’
‘I wasn’t that bad,’ she protested. ‘Anyway it’s better than going by horse or walking. No wonder the women rarely left the mountain.’
‘It’llbe getting cold soon.’ Tom slipped his arm around her shoulder. ‘You goin’ to do a Nancy Gibbons and knit some thick wool socks to see me through the winter?’ He’d seen her horrified face when their guide told them about the poor woman who knitted two pairs for everyone in her immediate family each winter. A total of fifty-six socks.
‘Knit your own or go to Wal-Mart.’ Her pithy remark,accompanied by a sharp poke to the ribs made Tom chuckle.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He sneaked a quick kiss. ‘Come on. Get on the bus and think about the good lunch I’ll reward you with when we survive the journey.’
‘I’m sure you’ve planned out where we’re going. Food is usually a priority with you.’
‘I might’ve done,’ Tom admitted. ‘If you don’t mind us driving about twenty minutesor so we can refuel at Boone’s Country Store. They’ve got good Southern cooking and free Wi-Fi. I could do with checking my emails because I’ll miss goin’ into town today.’
‘Of course. I probably ought to catch up too.’
‘No problem.’ He nodded. ‘They won’t be overrun because it’ll be well past most people’s lunchtime by the time we get there.’ Tom helped Fee onto the bus and theysettled into their same seats at the back of the bus. They chatted to the other tourists and the drive down seemed to go quickly.
As soon as they parked in front of the restaurant Fee pulled her camera out. ‘It’s gorgeous. Is the building original?’
‘Yeah, mostly. It was used as a store when the pioneers were going through this area heading west. For a long time it fell out ofuse and then was rebuilt using as much of the original materials as possible. The wood is mainly eastern hemlock.’
She gave him a shrewd look. ‘That means a lot to you doesn’t it?’
Tom tried to explain the lure of preserving the past in a good way and the strong links he felt with his own courageous ancestors who’d made their way over the Appalachian Mountains from North Carolinain the early nineteenth century. ‘The more I discover about them I find out an equal amount about myself.’ She didn’t look convinced. ‘I’m guessin’ you don’t feel the same way?’
Fee shrugged. ‘Not really. Partly because I don’t have anywhere I really “come from” plus I’ve seen people the world over fighting and losing their lives over small areas of land. I can never quite understand why.If I’m not content in one place I move somewhere else.’
For a few seconds he wasn’t sure how to reply. Tom hesitated to put into words his theory that part of Fee’s problems stemmed from not belonging anywhere and having no family to keep her solid and grounded. ‘We’re all different I guess.’ Tom left it at that although it felt dishonest. ‘You ready to go in for lunch?’
‘I certainlyam. Lead on.’ It was clear she knew what he was doing but wasn’t ready to have the conversation either.
They were fortunate enough to get a table by the window looking out over the beautiful countryside saturated in the vibrant colours of fall. Tom always thought it was a toss-up between this and spring for his favourite seasons. If pushed he’d have to plump for fall because there wassomething brave about the defiant splash of colour before the onset of winter.
