February

February 6, Monday

Wade checked his watch. Three, two, one—bang went Joe’s gavel.

“Come to order.” The geezer was looking a little better this time. Last month the guy looked about ready to croak. Now he was just grouchy like usual. “Go ahead, Patsy,” Joe said.

Wade checked out the audience.

Five chairs were filled in the front row, side by side, and the natives were looking restless. Somebody had something on their mind.

“Everyone’s present, Joe,” Patsy said.

For once, the newspaper guy wasn’t asleep. Luke Goddard. He wrote the entire paper, three times a week. Wade read it none times a week.

“Thank you, Patsy. Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors is now in session. Motion to accept last month’s minutes?” Someday he’d have to jump in and second before Randy could. That might even make it into the news. “Motion and second,” Joe said. “Any discussion? Go ahead, Patsy.”

On with the charade.

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Gulotsky?”

“I vote no.”

“Mr. Harris?”

“Wait a minute.” This was ridiculous. He turned to his left. “Are you ever going to vote yes for anything?”

This time he looked at her close. Somehow she wasn’t what he’d expected. She was about ten years older than he’d guessed, and not how he figured a crazy would look.

“At the right time,” she said.

“For Pete’s sake.” He turned back to Patsy. “I find last month’s minutes worthy. Yes.”

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Yes.”

“Four in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said.

“Motion carries,” Joe said. “Minutes are accepted. Next is receiving public comment.”

Looked like there was going to be some. A guy from the audience was already coming up to the podium, and he looked familiar.

“Please state your name and address for the record,” Joe said.

“Dr. Everett Colony.” Sure, that was it. Corny knew him from PTA at the high school. “712 Hemlock Street in Wardsville.” And here it came.

“I wish to make a statement concerning this ill-advised plan to put a major road through the Mountain View neighborhood.”

The board settled into their diatribe positions. Louise was looking all concerned, and Randy was pretending to, and Joe didn’t move. On the left, Eliza Gulotsky’s eyes were as big as saucers. Luke Goddard had moved to right behind Colony’s chair, and he was as serious as if he were reporting Pearl Harbor.

“I can only presume that our Board of Supervisors was unaware of what they were voting for last month,” the good doctor was saying. “I request that you immediately withdraw your application to the state for the construction of Gold River Highway over Ayawisgi Mountain. There is not a person in Wardsville who wants this road, and the damage it would do to Hemlock Street and Mountain View would be immeasurable. . . .”

The words poured forth.

“. . . this colossal waste of taxpayer money is indefensible . . .”

How long did one person get for their comments, anyway?

“. . . it will destroy a matchless vista and wreak havoc on the mountain wilderness we have all enjoyed for generations . . .”

Baloney. Wade checked his watch: four minutes, and counting. Well, it looked like he’d had his back turned and Randy had stolen a base. Ten months of this was going to wear them all down. Or at least, it would be enough to wear down Louise. She was already looking frayed.

“. . . Hemlock Street is already burdened with a constant stream of trucks from the furniture factory . . .”

Blah, blah, blah.

“. . . will serve no purpose, connecting Wardsville with an empty valley, and will remain an unused, expensive, empty scar . . .”

Yak, yak, yak.

“. . . bringing hundreds and hundreds of cars through a once-peaceful neighborhood—”

“Wait a minute,” Wade said. There was usually no point arguing with the public, but this was flat crazy. “So how is this road bringing hundreds of cars if it’s an unused and empty scar?”

“Excuse me?” the man said. Joe shifted in his chair, the first time he’d moved, and now it was Randy’s eyes as big as saucers.

“If there are no cars, there won’t be any traffic bothering Mountain View. And if there are cars using it, then the road’s no waste.”

Dr. Everett Colony hit the roof.

“You wait a minute!” His face was hot red and his voice was red hot. “Your job is to listen to the people who vote and pay taxes. We’re telling you we don’t want this road, and you had better kill it as fast as you can.”

Oh yeah? Any little pretense that this was going to be a polite discussion had melted in that blast. Wade didn’t take heat like that from anybody.

“The voters and taxpayers in Gold Valley—”

“Gold Valley has no right to put a highway right through the middle of Wardsville, and they should just keep out of this.” And Dr. Colony was not finished. “And we don’t need a slick salesman from Raleigh who only got himself elected to line his own pockets—”

There was a crack like a gunshot and every eye was on Joe Esterhouse and his gavel.

“I’ll thank everyone for their civil comments,” he said. “And I’ll point out the funding for this project has not yet been approved. Now we’re going to proceed with our business.”

Wade was taking deep breaths. What a hit job! Okay, then Randy McCoy was going to see how two could play this game, and pockets in Raleigh were a lot deeper than pockets in Wardsville.

Colony was sitting down, and Luke Goddard was leaning forward, whispering to him. He’d probably have to buy a newspaper whenever it came out next. Or maybe he could just imagine what it was going to say.

The meeting went on and Joe went through his agenda and Wade fumed. He stared up at all the curlicues and corkscrews in the ceiling woodwork just to keep his eyes from connecting with the audience. There was a place up in the corner between the ceiling and the walls where a sheet of plywood was nailed up over part of a mural. He was trying to figure why it was there, or what would be under it. It was painted to match the walls—

“Mr. Harris?” It was Patsy.

“Huh? What?”

“Are you voting?”

“On what?” He looked at his agenda.

“It’s to put more parking meters on Main Street,” Louise said.

Wade turned to Randy. “How are you voting?”

Randy scrunched back in his chair. “It’s not my turn yet.”

“What will you vote?”

“Well, yes.”

Wade turned to Patsy. “Then put me down for a big fat no.”

“Mr. McCoy?” she said after a little pause.

“Um . . . well, yes.”

“Three in favor, two opposed.”

“The motion passes,” Joe said.

Wade looked through his agenda. There were three more items to vote on. He wasn’t sure that what was left of his temper was going to hold.

“Next item,” Joe said. “Report from the Planning Commission on flood control.”

That sounded mind-numbing enough to cool everyone down.

Someone new had come to the podium. It took a second to remember that it was the guy they’d put on the Planning Commission. Whatever his name was. Stephen Carter.

“Good evening.” he said, and he held out a wad of papers to them, one by one. “Um . . . I haven’t presented anything to you before, and I’m not sure how it’s done.”

“Of course you haven’t done it before,” Joe said. “We only appointed you last month. How’d you get roped into this? Usually it’s the chairman that presents reports.”

“I am the chairman.”

Wade laughed out loud. He was on edge, and the whole Jefferson County absurdity of it just got to him.

Joe ignored him. “How’d you get to be chairman?”

“No one else wanted to be.”

Louise had to laugh at that and even Joe smiled. That blew the tension like a popped balloon. Wade turned back to Randy. “You mean, after all that fuss you made last month about not wanting him on the Planning Commission, you went and made him chairman?”

“Well, now, I didn’t say I didn’t want him,” Randy said, in true Randy-speak. “Just that I had some concerns.”

“But you voted him chairman?”

“You see, Humphrey King had been before and he wanted someone else to take a turn, and Ed Fiddler’s real busy at the bank now that he’s vice-president, and Duane Fowler wasn’t there, and I can’t because I’m on this board, too–”

“Never mind,” Wade said. Bunch of hypocrites. “Go ahead and give your report.”

“Yes.” Carter straightened his papers. The man was probably thirty-five. Or maybe not yet—he was nervous, but he still had a competent feel that made him seem older, and thin hair and thick glasses, too. He paused, then set the papers down and looked right at Joe.

“The state wants every county to update the flood emergency sections of their comprehensive plans. Jefferson County doesn’t have a flood section in their plan, so the Planning Commission has to write one. I’ve looked at other county’s plans and state flood plain maps and put together a draft. However, the Board of Supervisors needs to approve adding sections to the comprehensive plan.”

“Hasn’t it only been a week since your first meeting?” Louise asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ed Fiddler thought we should have it for tonight,” Randy said.

Louise was shaking her head. “Honey, those people will run you ragged if you let them. Now, don’t just give in to them like that.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. Now that he was talking, he had presence. Like he’d made lots of presentations, and to more important people than the Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors. “I’m a civil engineer, Mrs. Brown. This is what I do.”

“I’d say you were being real civil,” she said.

That had given Wade a chance to look through his copy, and he was seeing something real interesting.

“What’s this on page six?”

Carter didn’t even pick up his own papers to look. “That’s the part about accessibility into the town of Wardsville in the event of a flood. If the Fort Ashe River floods and damages the bridge, there’s no access into town from the south and west. I’m sure you all know what would happen if the bridge went out.”

“You either need to go all the way to the bridge at Coble,” Wade said, “or over the mountain on the dirt road into Gold Valley.”

“Exactly,” Carter said. “The comprehensive plan shows Gold River Highway being completed, and that–”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Everett Colony was erupting again. “Who got this man on the Planning Commission? You’re not from the county.”

Crack went the gavel again. “This board appointed Mr. Carter,” Joe said, “and he is a resident of the county.” His voice would have intimidated a flood.

“You’re trying to sneak this road in under some unrelated planning section,” Colony said, and he was not intimidated. “This is outrageous.”

Wade was biting his lip. Just don’t get into it again.

“The board is not accepting public comment at this time,” Joe said in a voice that would have frozen the flood solid, and this time even Colony sat down. “Is there a motion to add a section to the comprehensive plan concerning flood planning?”

“I’ll move that,” Wade said.

“I’ll second,” Louise said.

“Any discussion?”

“Now, Joe.” Randy was squirming. The whole audience had their eyes on him, and the reporter had his pencil at the ready. “Am I understanding that the state says we have to put this section in?”

“Lyle,” Joe said to the county manager, “you have any comments on that?”

The guy turned white. “Well, Joe, uh.” Then red. “That depends. Or actually, uh—”

Carter cut in. Mercifully. “It’s part of the basic requirements for state funding.”

“My point,” Randy said, “is whether this means we’re making any kind of commitment to Gold River Highway. That’s all I’m asking.”

Joe shook his head. “We’re not committing to build that road.”

“But we’re saying that we’re counting on it in case of a flood.”

“Do you have a better plan?” Wade asked. “What should we do if that bridge gets washed away?”

“Well, I don’t think it will. It looks pretty strong to me, and I don’t see it going anywhere.”

“The last flood washed it right out,” Louise said.

“That was thirty years ago,” Randy said. “And they built this new bridge to stay put. I don’t think we need to even talk about it washing away in this report.”

“That’s up to the Planning Commission,” Wade said. “We’re just letting them put in a section on flooding. You’re on the commission— you can decide what to put in it.” He waved the report. “Didn’t you even look at this after you told him to write it?”

“There hasn’t been much time.” Randy’s friends were glaring at him. “We’ll talk about it at the next commission meeting.”

“Go ahead, Patsy,” Joe said.

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Gulotsky?”

“I vote no.”

“Mr. Harris?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Well, it’s already passed, and we can talk about it later, and we need to because Raleigh says so. So I’ll say yes.”

Everett Colony stood, his mouth clamped shut, and walked out of the room.

“Four in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said after the echoes from the slammed door subsided.

“Motion carries.” Joe said. Apparently he’d had enough, too. “We’ll leave the last two items for next month. Meeting adjourned.”

The deep, ancient black of night; her way curved and climbed in the forest shadows. Away from the false light of the hard streets and straight buildings, here the road respected the land and only went where it was allowed by the hills and trees, not going through but around and between and among.

Beneath and above her, and everything, was the mountain.

The quiet battering of the motor was the only sound. Zach left it running as he stopped in the clearing, but he darkened the headlights to give as little offense as he could to the night.

“Do you need anything?” he said as she opened the car door.

“No.” It was cold, but still. “Thank you so much, Zach.”

“We’ll check in. Good night, Eliza.”

He waited until she had her door open; then the headlights came on again and the car turned. Inside the old cabin, she watched the trees cover the light and sound of the car, and at last it was gone.

She stirred the embers of the fire. It came to flickering life, and with a match she lit two lamps on the table.

What a strange place that had been. How strange to have been there. Anger; force against force, will against will. One’s purpose against another’s.

In the small circle that each person drew around their own life, they saw so little. Few saw the great forces that ruled from their strongholds and dominated the small women and men living beneath. But the great conflicts were often fought using small lives.

The Warrior.

As she braided her hair, she considered her own presence on the council. It was for a greater purpose than her own that she was a member of it. She understood little of what was said, and the decisions they made were about such strange things.

What a strange place!

But the Warrior was mighty. It was his words she was listening for. She had heard his great and angry voice tonight in the angry voices of men. There were great powers involving themselves in the small world.

The Warrior. Ancient, and known by the ancient people who had lived here in ancient times. If he was not known now, he was still as mighty.

He had opened the place on the council for her. He would do anything else he chose.

“Outright bunch of schoolchildren.” Home and sitting in the kitchen, Joe was feeling slightly less aggravated.

“Drink your milk.” Rose had it on the table in front of him.

“That bunch from Mountain View are about the worst at it. Don’t give a lick about anyone but themselves.”

“They’re worried about the road.”

“People worry about too many things, and there’s no sense to most of it.”

“But they don’t know that. When would anyone see what the road looks like?”

“We’ll hear in April it’s been approved, and we’ll see plans in July.” Joe sniffed the milk and set it back down. “Vote in December.”

“Are you going to drink that or not?”

“I’m going to drink it.”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

He drank a bit. It was the road that smelled. “It’s not the milk.”

“You’re not letting people’s complaining bother you?”

“No, there’s always people complaining. It’s the road itself. There’s never trouble about anything like there is about a road. Especially this one.”

“What if the state doesn’t approve it?”

“They will.”

She didn’t question that. “And the five of you?”

“Might come down to Louise.”

But it wasn’t just the road, either. Rose had her eye on him.

“So what’s really bothering you, Joe?”

“Mort.”

“I’m sorry he’s gone.”

“It’s more than being sorry.”

“What about him?”

“Just a thought, and I don’t care for it.”

“About Mort or about the road?”

“Both.”

“Both,” she said, and that made her think. “What do you mean?”

Once Minnie had brought him that letter, it’d been nagging at him.

“In fifty years, I’ve never seen a letter like that one from Raleigh.

I’ve never seen such a list of rules for qualifying. To get the money, the project had to have been in the plans for at least twenty years. That’s what it said—projects of at least twenty years’ standing. Only county roads, no state or U.S. routes. It had to be a new road, not an improvement to an existing road, but it had to be a connection between existing dead-end roads. Now what is all that supposed to mean?”

“You know better than anyone what to expect from them in Raleigh.”

“I thought I did. How many roads in North Carolina are matching all those rules?”

“It’s a big state,” Rose said.

“They might just as well have said it was for Gold River Highway.”

“Then what does that have to do with Mort?”

He hated to say it. “If Mort was alive, the road would have been voted in. Now that’s he dead, it just might not.”

“I don’t believe that’s the reason.”

“Wish I didn’t. There’s always someone behind a road. This one’s worse than the usual. There’s like to be someone just as bad against it.” He was sure of it, and he said it. “It’s evil, Rose. It’s more than politics. It’s true evil.”

“True good can stand against that.”

“Joe looks so tired anymore,” Louise said. She was sitting in the bed, thinking.

“Know how he feels,” Byron said. “Put the light out.”

“I will. He’s been on that board for more than forty years.”

“Enough to wear anybody out.”

“I don’t even remember how long,” she said. Now she was thinking.

February 10, Friday

They were half way up Ayawisgi, looking north toward Fiddler Mountain. The snow was real thick; way down was Gold River, slicing between the white mountains like a knife—they could even make out the rapids.

Wade had the door to the model open but the customers had their eyes stuck. Wade pointed left, west. “That’s the national park way out there. Sure looks nice in the winter when the weather’s clear.” Everyone’s breath was little cloud puffs.

“It’s just beautiful.” That was the wife. Wade still wasn’t sure if they were real or just window shopping.

“Come on in,” he said. “Same view from inside, but a lot warmer.”

Randy took a deep breath. Everett was really a reasonable man, and he always had been. He was just forceful. And he didn’t hesitate when he had something to say. And— “Mr. McCoy? Dr. Colony can see you.”

He followed the young lady down the hall to the office in back.

Everett had a file open and was scratching notes on the first page.

“Thank you for seeing me, Everett. I just wanted to take make sure you were understanding that vote the other night.”

Everett finished his writing and Randy was looking straight into his eyes. “I understand,” he said.

“That wasn’t about the road. It was completely different.”

“No one’s fooling me. Wade Harris and his crew back in Raleigh are pulling their strings.” He closed his folder. “They’re behind this flood plan.”

“Now, that’s why I came to explain. That’s just a normal thing, Everett. We’re always getting papers like that from departments in Raleigh. I’ll take care of it at the next Planning Commission meeting.”

“When is that?”

“We only meet every other month, and just when we have to, so it’ll be March, or later. But I don’t think it has a thing to do with the road. You can really believe me on this.”

“I’ll believe what I want to believe.” He stood up from his desk with the folder in his hand and pointed it right at Randy. “Those people will do whatever it takes to force that road into Mountain View, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that road out.”

“Who’s buying houses like these?” the husband asked. Wade had done the tour, the wife was just about sold and the husband was leaning.

“It’s mostly people like you buying the cabins, couples wanting a vacation place in the mountains. The larger houses are more year-round people, retired or a few who work in Asheville. You have the quiet here, and the view, and the prices are reasonable.” He started the finance spiel.

They acted okay with the numbers, but Wade was only giving it maybe a thirty percent shot. There was still the big hurdle to get over.

“And where is the grocery store?” the lady asked.

That was it. Wade smiled. “Well, now.”

There were a couple strategies to try. He’d had a lot of practice experimenting with them, figuring which one worked best for which customers. Except that none of them worked for anyone.

“One big reason people like Gold Valley so much is it’s not being real developed.” This wasn’t going to work, but it was the best he had. “Some people go into Wardsville to the nice little local grocery there. And some people drive on down to Asheville.”

“How close is Wardsville?”

“You go out to the interstate and about ten miles, and then right into town. It’s a cute little place.”

“Ten miles?” Just that exact tone in her voice.

“That’s after you get to the interstate,” the husband said.

Move fast. Wade led them over to the big front window.

“Just look out here. Sure, you don’t see any stores. But I’d say most people don’t want to.” The sun was reflecting off Fiddler Mountain and the whole thing was sparkling like Disneyland. The sky was baby blue and not a cloud in it, and Gold River looked like liquid silver through the bare black toothpick trees. “And for a second home for weekends and quiet vacations, you find out the shopping ends up not being so important.”

But that was looking real hard for her to imagine. “Well . . . but . . .” She was sinking quick.

At least they didn’t care about schools. That was death.

“We’ll think about it,” the man said, starting toward the door.

January and February were real thin months, and Wade was ready for desperate measures. “And let me mention that Gold River Highway, that we came up here on, is going to be extended right over the mountain into Wardsville. The town’s only about three miles from right here in a straight line.” Nothing wrong with saying that. It was on the plan.

“When would that happen?” the man asked.

“We’re working on that right now.” The law said he couldn’t outright lie to them. “Last I heard, it might be about two years.” That was the truth. He had heard it. “And that’s going to push prices of everything in the valley here way up.”

“Two years . . .” The wife was looking at the book again. Then back at her husband. “And then he says prices will go up.”

“We’ll think about it,” the man said, and Wade took a deep, satisfied breath. They were the same words as before, but with a slightly different tone and a completely different meaning.

And Wade hadn’t told any lies. Except calling Wardsville cute.

Louise locked the salon door. There was still some sunset left out over the courthouse, and she stood to look at it.

It was just lovely, a little pink and orange and a few clouds. And stars off in the other direction where the sky was black, and the mountain right up in them.

She made herself think about that road. She could see where it would come over Mount Ayawisgi. It had been a while since she’d been over in Mountain View, and she decided it might be worth a peek.

She turned onto Hemlock and passed King Food, and then up the hill by Memorial Park, past the library, and there was Mountain View.

It wasn’t that big of a neighborhood, just about five blocks along Hemlock and three or four blocks on either side, but so fancy. The houses away from Hemlock weren’t as large, but people still took such good care of them.

Of course, it wasn’t the easiest place to live. She and Byron were just as happy to be where they were, on Coble Highway, where people didn’t have to keep their yard perfect and neighbors didn’t mind a few extra Christmas decorations or all the clutter of little statues and birdbaths she liked in her garden. There was a lot of looking down on each other in Mountain View, and having to please each other.

She came back out at the far end of Hemlock by the high school. The parking lot was mostly empty at this time of the evening, but across the street and down a little, the furniture factory still had some cars. They must have had some good orders recently to be running an evening shift.

And down past the factory, Hemlock just petered out into that dirt road. Goodness sakes. It was hard to imagine what that would look like.

Somebody was down there, tall and thin and in a black suit. She drove up close.

“Roger!”

Roger Gallaudet was looking every inch like a funeral home director, even just standing beside his car at the end of the pavement.

“Hello, Louise.”

“I came to see what it would look like to have a road up here.”

Roger nodded. “That’s why I’m here myself. I suppose lots of people are thinking about it.”

“Don’t you live up here?”

“Right behind Everett Colony.”

“Then you know what he thinks.” Louise was not looking forward to the next year of board meetings.

“I do.” Roger was still staring up the mountain. “I think I’ll go have a talk with him.”

“I won’t get mixed up with that!” She gave him a big good-night smile and turned her car around and started back toward town. Hemlock was lined with trees through Mountain View, old oaks and maples, and even a few hemlocks.

Well, Randy and Everett Colony and all of them shouldn’t have to worry a bit about widening Hemlock. There wouldn’t be room, with all the old big trees right up by the street and leaning over it. Especially the biggest ones, right in front of Everett’s house.

Oh, look at the sky! What a color it was, an impossible dark white mix of blue and red, and gray cloud smudges like old paint on weathered wood, and the knife-sharp silhouette of the mountain like torn black paper.

The trees were silent as the sky, watching. The whole mountainside of them, standing rigid and black, held their arms up to it.

Eliza joined them as the mountain, the sky, all of life together changed from day to night, through every moment between light and dark.

They had all talked about a road at the meeting. She couldn’t imagine it, or where it would be; it was too disturbing to even understand. But she knew the Warrior would not allow it.

February 13, Monday

“Charlie.”

“What?”

Wade was staring out his window. Dead day, not a client, not even a call. Might as well call the boss and make it worse.

“Hey. I’ve been thinking. You have the timeline for completions this summer?”

The voice in his ear was annoyed. “It hasn’t changed since Christmas.”

“Maybe it should. I think we’ll be overbuilt by October, by maybe twenty or thirty houses.”

“We need to sell eighty houses this year, so that’s how many I’m building.”

It was always the same. “Jump in a lake, Charlie. Nobody wants a house twenty miles from a grocery store.” Wade was fuming, like he was most of the time when he was on the phone with Charlie Ryder. He took his three deep breaths.

Charlie was talking before breath number two. “I’d build a grocery store. What was the problem with that? I don’t remember. The land by the interstate is zoned commercial, right? Didn’t we try to buy it?”

“Yeah, when I first moved up here. The whole place around the Gold River Highway exit is zoned commercial. But it’s all messed up who owns it. It’s called the Trinkle farm and there’s a bunch of heirs, and they’re all out of state, and they’re all suing each other over who owns it.”

“Yeah. Now I remember. Can’t we get someplace else rezoned?”

“There’s no place big enough and flat enough, and the board wouldn’t rezone anything else anyway.”

“Go ahead and try,” Charlie said.

“You try. I’ve got enough to do.”

“Like what? You haven’t sold anything in two weeks.”

Three deep breaths wasn’t going to do it, so Wade didn’t even try. “I’ll quit, Charlie. In a heartbeat.”

“No, don’t quit. Just sell the houses.”

He didn’t get to answer. The front door was open and a man was standing in it, letting in cold air.

Wade punched the button on the phone and Charlie was gone. “Be right with you,” he shouted, and he grabbed a sales package and hiked out to the main room.

They called it the Lodge, high stone walls and a big fireplace, with his office back in the corner. The place would be the community center once there were enough residents to qualify Gold Valley as a community.

The man was still taking it in, door wide open, and Wade stopped cold when he saw who it was.

Maybe something good could come out of this. But he doubted it.

“Hi there, I’m Wade Harris.” He held out his hand. “And you’re from the newspaper, aren’t you?”

“Luke Goddard.” He did shake Wade’s hand, and he had to come inside and let the door close to do it. “Wardsville Guardian.” He was forty-something and already sort of bald. The hair that was there needed a trim.

“Thought so,” Wade said. “Seen you at the board meetings.”

“I’ve seen you there, too.” Whiny voice. “I came out to see your operation, Wade, and ask you about it.”

“Look around. And ask away.” Wade followed him to the map.

“You all started off four years ago?”

“Seven years. Broke ground April of ninety-nine. I’ve been here four years.”

“There’s that Trinkle farm.” He was pointing at the empty white space around the interstate. All around it were the colored sections that were part of the development plans.

“That’s it.”

“Sort of the hole in the middle of your doughnut.”

“Maybe it’ll be the filling someday.”

“Yeah. Sure it will. Once those Trinkle cousins work out their differences.” He winked at Wade. “They’ve got a reputation, you know.”

“Don’t know that much about them.”

“Oh, you don’t? Nasty bunch. Hermann Trinkle was ornery as all get out, and he passed it on. Now you got twenty Trinkle cousins or more, not a one hardly on speaking terms with another, and they all claim they own some part of that farm. I think you should give up on any idea of ever filling that doughnut, Wade.”

“None of them are getting anything out of it now.”

“I think any of them would rather get nothing than have any of the others get something.”

“They couldn’t be that bad, Mr. Goddard,” Wade said.

“They are! I know it.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they will work something out. That’s apt to be worse than just leaving the farm as it is. I can’t even think what they might come up with, but I’d know to stay away from it. And that—” Goddard traced his finger across the map— “that’s Gold River Highway.”

“That’s it so far.” He was keeping his answers short and neutral.

“Do you really think it’ll go all the way?” He moved his finger past the edge of the board.

“I really think it should.”

“Lots of people against it. You’ll have to read my report after the January board meeting.”

Might as well be blunt. “Sorry. I don’t read the Wardsville paper.”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“I didn’t like the things you’ve said about me the last two years.”

“Just stating the facts.”

“I could give you some facts.”

“I’d be glad to hear them. Wade, the Guardian is an impartial news organization.”

“Okay. There are four hundred houses in Gold Valley.”

“How many are year-round residents?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s about a third, isn’t it?”

“They all pay taxes year-round,” Wade said, “and they pay twice as much per house as the rest of the county.”

“You’re saying people are richer here than the rest of the county?”

There was probably no way to win this. “The county appraises the houses for a lot more. I don’t know that people here have any more money.”

Goddard was writing it down. “Now, if Gold River Highway was built, you’d probably make a lot of money yourself.”

Definitely no way to win. “I think a lot of people would make money, including the businesses in Wardsville. That’s what roads do.”

“Wade, isn’t it kind of improper for you to be voting on the road?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, that’s interesting.” He was suddenly already walking out. “Thanks so much for your time. I think I’ll drive around some and see these big houses for myself.”

“Mr. Goddard . . .”

“Everybody calls me Luke.”

“I really believe it’s the best thing for the whole county.”

He stopped with the door open. “But if the best thing for the whole county was different than the best thing for Gold Valley, which one would you vote?”

Think fast. “I don’t think they’ve ever been different.”

A big smile opened up on Luke’s face. “That’s a good answer, Wade! I like that. I’ll quote you!”

“Don’t get me in trouble.”

“Don’t you worry! And have a nice day.”

February 14, Tuesday

Louise was doodling, and why shouldn’t she? The bills were paid for the month and the mail was all done and there were five appointments even before lunchtime. Becky was humming something happy. Maybe that was why everything seemed so bright. And the phone was ringing, too.

“Wardsville Beauty,” she said. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Louise? It’s Wade Harris.”

“Good morning, Wade.” Because it was.

“Yeah, good morning. Hey, Louise, I want to ask you something. Gold River Highway. I wondered what you were thinking about it.”

“Oh, that?” The door opened, and the first two appointments for the morning walked in. “Aren’t we waiting for something before we have to decide?”

“The funding from the state.”

“That’s right. Well, it’ll be months before we hear anything.”

“April.”

“Then I guess I’ll start thinking about it then. Wade, you know how those things are. Everybody gets all in a tizzy.”

“But what would you vote when you do start thinking about it?”

She gave the phone her biggest smile. “Wade, I have no idea.”

“Okay. Never mind. Louise, I want that road. If it ever comes up, don’t decide anything without talking to me.”

“I’ll be glad to. I know it’s important to you and everybody in Gold Valley. You should talk to Joe. He might know more about it.”

“Yeah, I was going to call him next.”

She frowned at the phone. “I don’t think you should call him.”

“But you said I should.”

“You should talk to him, just not on the phone.”

“What do you mean? He has a phone. Doesn’t he?”

“Of course he does, but you won’t get two words out of him on it. Call and ask if you can come out to see him. Then he might even give you a few whole sentences. And maybe you’ll get to meet Rose.”

February 15, Wednesday

Dirt road. Louise had said once you got on the dirt road, it was on the right after about a mile. All Wade could see was a bunch of fields and fences. The mountains were off at a distance from there but he could still see them.

Some of the fields were dirt just like the road, some had leftover rows of stuff, and some were just grass or weeds. It must make sense why they were all different, but he couldn’t figure it out—this whole part of the county was a foreign country. Barns, sheds, tractors, and parts of tractors splattered all around farmhouses or just anywhere. Cows staring at anything going past. Farmers staring at him the same way. It was almost hard to tell them apart. Maybe when there weren’t cars, the cows and farmers just stared at each other.

Then it was there in front of him, a big old white house with a worn-out gray barn behind it and as many outbuildings as any farm he’d seen. No tractors in sight. Red pickup parked on the lawn by the side door. Wade pulled up next to it.

He walked around to the front porch.

No doorbell. He looked, but nothing. The farmhouse was a hundred fifty years old. Maybe it didn’t have electricity.

No, there were electric wires coming in from the pole.

It didn’t look a hundred years, maybe just fifty. Nice white paint on the wood siding, probably less than three years ago. Painting this place must be a job—two stories of hand-cut wood planks. Real stone foundation, too. That would cost a bundle nowadays, if anybody could even do it, and it wouldn’t pass inspection anyway.

Most of it wouldn’t pass inspection if it was built today, but this house had stood for more than a century, and the stuff they built today wouldn’t last half that. He stood back to look at it better.

Just a big cube with a front porch. No gables—the roof went up to a point. It would have been ugly but for the two huge oaks framing it, one in front and one off the corner. Massive trees. Probably already old back when the house was first built.

He knocked.

Nice flower beds, too. They’d be pretty in a couple months.

The door opened to a dark hall straight through and light coming in a window in back. And a person.

“Hello?” she said. Same voice as on the phone, and he would have recognized her from it. This would be the legendary Rose Esterhouse— tall, almost eye to eye with him, and straight as a level. Straight as her husband. “Mr. Harris?”

Maybe he could get a picture of her and Joe standing in front of the house. With a pitchfork. “Yes, ma’am. Wade Harris.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Plain dress of something dark, and an apron. Pure white hair in a bun. “Come in, Mr. Harris. Joe’s outside, but he’ll be in soon.”

“Thank you.” He followed her down the hall. On the right he had a glimpse of the front room. Rocking chair and sofa and stuffed chair, fireplace and rug, end tables. Grandfather clock. All of it old, old, old, and pictures everywhere. On the left was the dining room.

The wood floor. He couldn’t tell in the dark, but it felt like real floorboards as they walked down the hall.

Bedroom on the right, grand four-poster bed with a blue and white quilt, like delft china. A big Bible open on a desk under the window.

They turned left into the kitchen.

He could sell tours to this place. That woodstove, complete with ancient coffeepot, was the real thing, from who knew when, and it was cranking. It was seventy-five degrees in there. And the fireplace, same stone as the foundation. Huge—just look at that thing! No fire in it, might not have been since the woodstove was put in, but that was where the cooking had been done back in the beginning.

There was a real stove, too, an electric one, that was maybe only forty years old. The cabinets were handmade and they were amazing. Somebody had known how to carve. They made him think of a—a what? A cuckoo clock. Not real ornate, sort of German. They’d be worth big, big bucks to a collector.

And the floor . . . not a nail, and not slotted. All pegs, all big wide planks. Big wood table that must have weighed a ton. Wallpaper that was . . . roses. Sure, her name was Rose.

Compare this to the Smoky Mountain Country Theme décor they offered in Gold Valley and that stuff looked like even cheaper plastic than it was. Even his own kitchen looked cheap next to this, and it had good quality stuff in it.

Open ceiling, exposed rafters. If this house were on a paved road, it’d go for half a million.

“Just sit down, Mr. Harris. I’ll see where Joe’s got to.”

He sat. He could have sat there all day.

“And would you like something to drink?”

“Oh, no thank you. I’m fine.”

“Then I’ll be right back.”

She opened the screen door and disappeared into the sunshine. Wade stared and kept seeing new things. Deep wood shelves packed with canning jars that were filled with everything—green beans, applesauce, beets, jams, whatever it all was. A refrigerator that was the same vintage as the electric stove. It looked like a ’57 Chevrolet.

It was all real.

He kept thinking that. He wouldn’t have even known what real was, except that now he’d seen it and he still didn’t know what it was he was seeing.

There must be stuff like this back in Raleigh. He’d just never seen it. Maybe it was all gone, anyway, sold off to collectors and replaced by Carolina Colonial kitchens with Chair Rails and Dark Oak Floor. Who knew how to can their own vegetables, anyway? Or even grow them?

No, there was nothing like this in Raleigh. Nothing real like this.

Rose was back. “He’s in the barn. He’ll be a few minutes.”

“I’m not in any hurry.”

“Just make yourself at home.” She had her back to him, standing at the stove. “You’re from Raleigh, aren’t you, Mr. Harris?”

Yes, he was from Raleigh. Completely from Raleigh.

“Yes, ma’am.” The ma’am came out by itself. This lady was as real as the kitchen, and she commanded respect. She was making conversation to be polite, but she sounded as casual as a congressional hearing. “We moved here four years ago.”

“You have a daughter in the high school.”

Was there a period or a question mark at the end of that sentence? He took it as a question. “That’s Lauren. Meredith is at college.”

“Two girls.”

That was definitely a period, for the sentence and the conversation. Her back was still turned. She wasn’t hostile, just a no-nonsense hardworking farm wife.

Okay. He would not be intimidated.

His job was to make friends. Nobody bought a house from someone they didn’t like. So maybe Joe and Rose weren’t in the market for a nice weekend cabin in Gold Valley, but it could still be good exercise for him to get a smile out of one of those stone faces.

Pick a subject. Family? Her life story? No, way too personal. Have to step a lot further back.

“Have you been to Raleigh, Mrs. Esterhouse?”

“Not in a while.”

It’s probably changed a lot. No, she wouldn’t care. We’d like to move back sometime. Not that, either. He had to get a hook somehow.

“Cities like that change so fast. Nothing ever stays the same.”

There. Now she could say she liked it around here where things didn’t change, or that she’d like some more changes. Take it, Rose.

“Gold River Highway would be a big change.”

But she’d turned around to say it, and there was a little smile. And now Wade was stuck. What was he supposed to say to that?

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to Joe about.”

“I expect.” She took her pot off the stove. It was cast iron. Did she know they had aluminum pots now? That thing would weigh ten pounds, and the handle was as hot as the rest of it. She probably knew all about the new stuff, and she preferred hers. “Now, are you sure you wouldn’t like something, Mr. Harris?”

Regain control of the conversation. He glanced over at the woodstove again. “Is that coffee in the pot there?”

“Joe likes his coffee strong,” Rose said. “I can make you some fresh if you like.”

“No, thanks. I’d give that a try, if it’s all right.”

She took down a white mug from a hook over the sink and set it in front of him. She filled it from the pot.

The acrid steam hit him, and it felt like the cast iron pot had.

“There’s milk or sugar.”

“Black is fine.”

Probably been sitting there on the hot stove since daybreak. It was a wonder there was any water left in it at all. He held the cup up close to his mouth and inhaled enough to get a few drops of the coffee itself.

He’d had straight-up horseradish that wasn’t this bitter.

He tried an actual sip. After a cup of this stuff, he’d be out there plowing fields himself, probably with his bare hands.

The conversation was on indefinite hold while he gave full attention to this jet fuel. Taste was not the point—this coffee was a kick in the pants to get a person out the door to work.

After a couple minutes, though, he was about ready to try talking again. And she’d brought the subject up. “What do people around here think of the new road?”

“Around here it won’t matter so much.”

“I guess not. You’re pretty far from Wardsville.”

The door wheezed and Joe Esterhouse himself was finally with them. Overalls, flannel shirt, hands black. He nodded at Wade. “Morning. Be right with you.” Then he was gone into the hall.

“Working on the tractors,” Rose said.

Wade took one more swallow. The last third of the cup looked pretty swampy, and he decided that discretion would be the better part of valor. He took one more long swallow of the room instead, and then Joe was back with clean hands and it was time for business.

Fool tractor. It still wasn’t right. And he wouldn’t get back at it till tomorrow.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, even if he already knew. Only one reason Wade Harris would drive all the way down here.

“Joe, I need your help.”

“I’ll help if I can.” Rose put some coffee on the table for him.

“It’s the road, Gold River Highway. I don’t know if anyone understands what it means for Gold Valley.”

“I might not.”

“That place could explode, and it’s the road that’s holding it back. There could be a thousand more houses in there, and I mean big ones. Million dollar houses. There’d be tax revenue and development. It’d put Jefferson County on the map.”

That was all the man ever thought about. “Already on the map, last I looked.”

“Okay, whatever. That’s not really my point. I know how everyone feels about it. But now, here’s the thing, and this is where I really need your help. My boss is a guy in Raleigh, Charlie Ryder. He’s got developments all up and down the mountains. He has lots of friends in the legislature.

“I looked at that letter from Raleigh, Joe. I can’t make out what most of it means, but I can tell there’s something fishy about it. So now I’m in a hornet’s nest, with Randy and all his friends screaming at me on one side, and Charlie screaming at me on the other side, and I’m just getting jerked around and I don’t know what’s going on. And I don’t like it.”

Salesmen and city folk, always the same. “How can I help you with that?”

“You’ll level with me, Joe. You don’t play games. Is this road deal rigged? Do you know?”

“There’s never trouble like there is with a road.” It hadn’t changed in fifty years. Joe felt the tiredness coming down. A bunch of trouble and he didn’t care anymore. But Wade was in it and he was asking for help. “Yes. It’s rigged. I’d been thinking you were part of it.”

“No. The first I heard of it was the meeting last month. Can you find out who’s behind it? You must know somebody there in Raleigh.”

“Most of the people I knew are gone, long ago.”

“Oh well. At least tell me this, Joe. I know it’s a ways off, but if . . . when the vote comes up, how are you leaning?”

“People have been counting on it. Wouldn’t be right to change now.”

“Okay. Great. I appreciate your time.”

That seemed to be enough for Wade. He stared around the kitchen for a minute or so and said his good-bye, and Rose showed him out. And then she was back, sitting across the table from him.

“I’d say you know a few people in Raleigh.”

“I suppose I do.”

“And you’ve had your own thoughts about the road.”

He didn’t answer her.

“Then you must be giving up on it all,” she said.

“Comes a time when it doesn’t seem to make a difference anymore.

It’s too hard to fight.”

February 21, Tuesday

Louise was fiddling in the kitchen. She had no idea what to fix for supper, and Byron was going to be home any minute. The man liked his dinner prompt.

Well, she did, too.

The sun was coming right in the window, like it did this time of year. Angie said she should put up some blinds, but Louise couldn’t abide it. They cluttered up the window, and that was the one place in the kitchen she wanted big and open. There was plenty of clutter everywhere else. She didn’t know what she’d do if Byron hadn’t put up shelves on the wall for all her little things.

She picked up one that was about her favorite—a little castle with snow, like a fairy tale. She had a sticker on the bottom and she’d written “Christmas 1995 from Matt to Grandma” on it. That nine-year-old boy and his big hugs and he’d spent his own money.

What she wouldn’t give for one of his hugs right now. She made herself get back to supper before she started thinking about guns and wars and where he was now.

And there was Byron, slamming the door and dropping his coat on the chair and his lunchbox on top of it. She knew that’s what he was doing, anyway even if she couldn’t see him from the kitchen.

“What’s supper?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said.

Now he was settling into his chair, and the television came on. There was some roast left over and some chicken casserole that he liked.

“I think I’ll warm up the casserole from Monday.” She turned on the oven and put the dish in. The microwave was faster but she liked a hot casserole dish.

There, that was taken care of.

She went out to the front room to hang Byron’s coat in the closet and get his lunchbox to put away. He had the news on and she sat next to him to watch, but he wasn’t watching. He was just staring at the wall.

“Something happen at the factory today?”

“They had a meeting. Called everybody up front and Mr. Coates said he was giving us some news.”

“Well, what was it? New orders?” She’d never seen Byron looking so glum. Surely . . . “He isn’t closing the factory?”

“No. Well, not yet. But he’s selling it.”

“He’s selling the factory?”

“Some big company down in High Point.”

“Now, Byron, that doesn’t mean anything’s closing. They wouldn’t just buy the factory so they could close it.”

“They might. One way to get rid of competition.”

“Fiddlesticks.”

“It’ll mean bosses coming in from outside that don’t know how we do things, and making changes.”

Louise could smell the chicken, so it was time to get to work on the table. “What about Jeremy?”

“Well, sure, since they fought, everyone’s been guessing that he’d never take over. But nobody thought it would come to this.”

“What else would Mr. Coates do? He must be ready to retire.”

“Never acted like it.”

“It might all be for the best, you know.”

“Well, then I might be ready to retire.”

“I hope not!” Louise jumped up to get supper on the table. “What would I do with you all day? I don’t have any idea.”

“Might be about time to retire. I wouldn’t want to see things be all changed around.”

“Just don’t worry until you have something real to worry about.”

But she was worrying. That man was all the world to her, and change was hard on him.

And there’d be a lot of other people worrying, too.

First that road and now this—why did they have to happen at the same time?

“Sue Ann, why did I do it?” He didn’t feel like even moving. Kyle had put up a fire in the fireplace, and for that Randy would be eternally grateful. And now all he could do was just sit and imagine the further and endless persecution he would suffer.

“You had to vote yes at that meeting. It was just like you said.” Sue Ann was such a comfort, always saying just what he needed to hear.

“I’m wondering more about why I wanted to be on this board. After four years, you’d think I’d learn. But I went and got myself elected again last November and now I’ve got another four years. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking you could do some good.”

“Then I was sorely mistaken. Everett Colony was in my office for forty minutes this afternoon and I don’t believe I spoke a dozen words.” He rubbed his head. “I think I’ll take an aspirin.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you. Where are Kyle and Kelly?”

“They’re at the high school. They went over for a club meeting and they’ll stay for the basketball game.”

For a moment the picture of a high school gymnasium came to his mind, filled to overflowing with hundreds of fans all screaming at the top of their lungs. His head throbbed.

“Here’s your aspirin and some water.”

“That’s just perfect,” he said, “and now I believe I’ll sit here and enjoy the quiet.”

“Let me know whenever you’d like your dinner.”

“I’ll do that.” Randy opened his eyes to watch the fire, which was very soothing. A few more minutes and it seemed that maybe the aspirin was helping, too. Dinner was even starting to appeal to him a bit.

He looked over toward the dining room, and wasn’t that sweet. Sue Ann had their two places set with her mother’s china. She must have been thinking they’d be just the two of them with the children out for the night, and she’d probably made up a nice supper.

“Here I come, dear. I think I’m about recovered and I’m suddenly real hungry.”

“I have a roast for you.”

“I don’t want to keep it waiting.”

But it wouldn’t have been a real dinner without the telephone ringing, and so it did. Randy sat down next to it and picked it up.

“Randy McCoy, can I help you?”

“Randy, it’s Louise.”

That probably wouldn’t be too bad. “Well, good evening. What can I do for you?”

“I just heard some news and I thought I’d pass it on around the board. Byron says that Roland Coates told them all today that he was selling the furniture factory.”

“Selling it? Good gravy.” One little throb in his temple reminded him that his headache might be gone for the moment, but it was not far away. “What’s that going to mean?”

“Well, I don’t know. It might not mean anything at all. And, now, I’ve only heard it through Byron. I don’t think that counts for being official.”

“If they shut it down, there’s a hundred fifty people out of work, and half the school budget gone.”

“No one’s said they’re going to close the factory,” Louise said.

“Well, if they don’t, that means no end to the traffic and trucks through Mountain View.”

“It’s one way or the other, Randy.”

“I guess it has to be. What will the neighbors think?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wade set the phone down. “That was Louise. The plant in Wardsville, the furniture place. The guy is selling it.”

Cornelia had two steaming crocks of onion soup on the table. “So?”

“So? This is New York selling the Statue of Liberty.”

“Whoever buys it, maybe they’ll clean it up. Why is it way back there by the high school, anyway?”

“I think it was there first, before they built the school. I don’t know. It won’t matter to us.” He shrugged. “I guess.”

“No one in Gold Valley works there.”

“No. All people from Wardsville and Marker and Coble.” The soup had cooled off enough to eat. “But it’s all one county. I told you the newspaper guy came to the office?”

“Last week.”

“So I bought a copy to read.”

“How bad was it?”

“Worse than I figured. I’m pushing the road for my own profit and I don’t care about anyone else.”

Cornelia gave him a big sympathetic smile. “That’s not true.”

“I guess not. Hey, I forget. Where was Lauren tonight?”

“At school. At a basketball game.”

“How’s she getting home?”

“Friends.”

Kids? On those roads? “I’ll get her.” He started shoveling soup. Corny watched him.

“And Meredith called,” she said.

Why did she ever call? “She needs money?”

“Not this time. She’ll be home next month for spring break.”

“Great. And the soup was, too.” Wade had started toward the closet for his coat, but then he stopped. “We should do something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something fun. I’ll think about it.”

A game in the high school gym on a cold February night was just about as good as anything ever got. Randy and Sue Ann waited at the door just a minute before they went on, listening to the crowd.

Then they were in the sound instead of just hearing it, like being under water instead of just seeing it, and that warm heavy feeling came down on Randy like it always did. He could have been a teenager again whenever he was in there, out on the wood floor and the basketball rough and hard in his hand and running the drills and warming up, he and Ed Fiddler and Jeremy Coates and the others, and Sue Ann leading the cheers.

Now it was Kyle playing, and Kenny Fiddler, and Kelly was leading cheers, looking for all the world like her mother.

They sat right under the Cherokee Warrior painted on the wall, and just in time. The referee tipped the ball and the boys were off. It was back and forth real quick to start, and both teams put up points in the first minute. Randy was watching for a few things to see how the Cherokees were playing—how much they were passing, how close they were getting in under the basket—and it was looking pretty good. They’d really been working on that passing especially. The defense wasn’t clicking quite the same way, though, and Hoarde County was getting their shots in, too. There’d be a lot of points if it kept up like this. And that was fine.

Kyle wasn’t as tall as most of them—and all of them were so tall these days, not like twenty-five years ago, when it was shooting that counted and not much else. Now they’d have to get in close and pass, or else try for the three-pointers. But Kyle was a good strong boy and didn’t let anyone push him around. Some games he scored more from the free-throw line than from anywhere else.

Jefferson County was up by a few when the buzzer ended the half. Randy leaned back when the teams ran off to the locker rooms, and the whole gymnasium quieted down, and everyone started out to the concessions. It made him feel like the air going out of a balloon.

“Should we get a Coca-Cola?” he asked like he always did, and he and Sue Ann squeezed down to the floor and out into the hall.

“How’s your headache?” she asked.

“I don’t think I even remembered I had it.”

They got their sodas. Gordon Hite was there in his sheriff uniform, and Randy talked to him about the Cherokees’ defense while Sue Ann talked to Artis.

Then Gordon lowered his voice a little, even though it was plenty noisy in the hall. “You heard about the furniture factory?”

“Louise Brown called me,” Randy said. “She said Roland Coates told everybody there today.”

“That’s all we need,” Gordon said. “It was going to happen, though. Roland wasn’t going to pass it on to Jeremy, not after the blowup they had last year.”

“It’ll be the end of an era. Three generations they’ve had that factory.”

“Do you think they’ll close it?”

“I sure hope they don’t.” At the back of his neck there was a little twinge, and Randy wondered if anyone at the concession stand might have an aspirin. “Why would they?”

“We’ll hope for the best,” Gordon said. “But I was thinking about the budget and how maybe we could use another deputy this year, and if the factory closes, that’s going to mean hard times all around.”

“It would be, but I think we’ll manage, and I don’t think we’ll worry about it yet.”

The game was ready to start again and the bleachers were filling up. Randy and Sue Ann went back in and got themselves settled. The teams came running out onto the floor and the fans started whooping. The boys ran their warm-ups, big doughnut eights back and forth and around, pass, pass, pass, shoot.

“Randy!”

He turned around, and right behind him was Everett Colony.

“Why, Everett. Nice to see you.”

“What’s this about the furniture factory closing?” Everett had his usual scowl but seemed fairly equable.

“It’s not closing, at least that I know about. Just Roland Coates is selling.”

“That factory’s been making life unbearable for years with trucks and traffic up and down Hemlock. I wouldn’t mind if it closed.”

Randy had his eye on the referee, holding up the ball in the center of the court.

“Well now, Everett, those trucks would have a better way to get out to the interstate,” he said, and waited a few seconds until just the right moment, “if Gold River Highway got put through.”

The referee tipped the ball and the crowd went deafening loud. Everett was saying something but Randy could only put his hands up to show that he couldn’t hear, and then he turned back around to watch.

It wasn’t a bit difficult to not think about the road or the factory. The game started going a little downhill and Hoarde County got up on top, but not by far, and it was into the fourth quarter before Randy did look back to see if Everett was still there, but he wasn’t.

The Cherokees were fighting hard and Kyle got them tied with two points from the foul line. Then it was back and forth, back and forth, right up to the last minute. Everyone was on their feet when the clock ran out with three more points on the home side of the scoreboard than on the visitor side. Even if it had been the other way, it wouldn’t have hardly made a difference when the teams were both playing their hearts out like that.

Then the whole crowd started moving toward the doors like so much molasses. Randy and Sue Ann waited for the bleachers to clear some.

“Randy!”

He took a breath and turned around. “Good evening again, Everett.”

It did not appear that Everett had enjoyed the game at all, as he was just as agitated as he’d been when their conversation had been interrupted. He may have been even more so.

“I don’t want to hear anything about Gold River Highway except that it’s dead.”

“You know it’s not up to just me, and when we do vote . . .”

There was still plenty of noise, but Everett didn’t need to be screaming. “I’ll tell you how to vote and—”

“No you won’t.”

It was a new voice, and they were both a bit startled at it. Randy blinked just to focus, and there beside them was Wade Harris.

“He can vote however he wants,” Wade was saying, “and you’re acting like an idiot.”

Everett couldn’t even speak, and for a moment Randy was pretty sure that the man was going to explode, or at least some vital organ was going to blow out like a tire. Randy decided to take advantage of the silence.

“Good evening to you, Wade. Sue Ann, let’s go on.”

He scooted. He took Sue Ann’s hand in his and got caught up with the main part of the crowd, and a minute later they were out into the dark night.

They waited there at the curb, and even though it was good and cold, it actually felt nice after the hot gymnasium. Car engines were starting and head lamps coming on, and it was all as much a part of the game as everything else. Randy breathed in the cold air and helped Sue Ann straighten out her coat.

“Well, Randy!” she said.

“I think we got away.”

She was looking back. “I don’t see him coming.”

“I really am afraid Everett’s going to have a stroke one of these days.”

“I think he will! The poor man.”

“And this road thing’s going to go on for months.”

Then Kelly came running out to them with a big coat over her cheerleader outfit and they talked just a minute about the game and she told them she’d have a ride home with her friends, and of course she could really even walk if she had to, they were that close. Then she ran back in, and the parking lot was clearing out, and Randy and Sue Ann walked out to their car.

Halfway there, Randy stopped beside a big black sport vehicle that was just starting up and tapped on the window. The window glided down and Wade’s face looked up out of it.

“Wanted to make sure you were all right and hadn’t suffered too much back there,” Randy said.

“Oh yeah, no problem. I’m fine. He started up yelling when he caught his breath, but I just left him there.”

“Well, thank you. I did appreciate it.”

“Hey, Randy. Don’t let the guy bully you.”

“He has been for a long time, and I try not to let it get to me. But now, Wade, don’t get a wrong idea about him. I’ll vote the way I see best and not just for whoever’s the loudest.”

“Whatever. See you later.”

“Good night, Wade.” The window glided back up and the big car glided away as Randy and Sue Ann clumped over to their own little car.

Sue Ann was in and Randy had closed her door and was walking around to his own side when Kyle came running up to them. He hadn’t even changed out of his uniform yet, but he didn’t seem cold.

“Dad,” he said.

“Good game!” Randy said. He was ready to point out some of Kyle’s finer moments, but the boy had something to say.

“Sheriff Hite wants you. He sent me out to try and catch you.”

“All right, I’ll be right there. Let me get the car started and warming up for your mother, and you go tell him I’ll be right in.”

Trotting back to the gym, he was trying to think what he could have forgotten in the bleachers, as they had their coats, and that was all they’d taken in. Or maybe Gordon was still fretting over the furniture factory.

Sheriff Hite was back away from the twenty or so people still talking. Randy sidled up beside him. “Kyle told me you needed me?”

The sheriff lowered his head and his voice.

“Randy, did I see you and Everett Colony having words up there in the stands?”

“Sure, Gordon, but it wasn’t anything. You know Everett.”

“I do. And he looked even more worked up than usual.”

Gordon Hite was round and jowly, his face set up high on a big long heavy frame. Even with him leaning down, Randy still was looking up.

“It’s this road,” Randy said. “That’s the problem. He can’t abide the thought of it.”

Gordon was nodding slow and deliberate and sort of undecided, about the same as the way he did everything, including think. “Well, it’s not a secret, since it’s public record, even if people don’t always know it. Randy, Everett’s got a concealed-weapon permit.”

Randy was thinking. “What would he want with a gun? I don’t think he hunts, does he?”

“Not that I know of,” Gordon said. “What I mean is, I think you should just keep an eye open. Especially when he’s throwing a fit like tonight.”

It was finally getting clear, at least maybe. “What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying you should keep an eye open.”

“Well, how long has he had the permit?”

“Just got it last week.”

“There’s nothing to that, Gordon. I’m sure there isn’t.”

February 24, Friday

“Joe Esterhouse!”

Joe knew the voice. He had the spark plugs he needed and he was ready to be getting back to the tractor.

“Morning, Luke.”

“Good morning, Joe. Called the farm and Rose said I might catch you here.”

“Just these,” Joe said to the cashier. She took his money and he took his bag and walked out to the parking lot with the reporter beside him.

“I want to ask you a question,” Luke said.

“Go ahead.” They stopped beside Joe’s truck.

“It’s about the county’s long-range plans. Is there anything that’s been on the books longer than Gold River Highway?”

“You might just check with Patsy about that.”

“That’d be work, looking through papers. I figured you’d know.”

Luke should do his own work and let Joe get to his. But it wasn’t easy to be rid of him.

“Nothing longer than Gold River. You have Patsy get you a copy of the plan from 1974. That was the first one we took serious. Look through it and see for yourself what’s been done and what hasn’t.”

“1974. Okay. I’ll check.”

That would be some work. He didn’t feel like listing all the projects they’d put in that year, but he could have. That had been Mort’s first year on the board. The two of them had worked long and hard together, dreaming up parks and improvements and new things. Back then it seemed like putting them in the plan meant they might happen, sometime or other. He knew what Luke would find, that hardly a one had ever come to pass.

“Anything particular from then you wish had been done?” Luke asked. “You personally?”

There were a few. “I’ll just be glad we’ve got done what we have.”

“How about Mort Walker? Wasn’t Gold River Highway one of his pet projects?”

“I think you should get that plan from Patsy. Good morning, Luke.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

Then Joe was out of the hardware store parking lot and away from the questions. Precious little had come of those plans, with money always tight and a board that was never intent on spending it anyway.

And now that there was a chance for something real to happen, Mort wasn’t here to see it.

The herbs, faint but still pungent; the smell of wood everywhere; coffee; soap, almost like fresh flowers; and woodsmoke. And no wind inside!

“Good morning, Eliza.”

“Good morning, Annie Kay, good morning.”

“How are you?”

Another deep inhalation and she was a part of the room. “Very well. And how warm it is in here!”

“Sit by the fire, dear. Warm up.”

Eliza passed the bins of oats and rices and grains, and the apothecary of extracts, and sat in the rocking chair by the woodstove, between the breads on one side and the stacked firewood on the other, beneath the shelf of books.

“Do you need anything, dear, or are you just stopping in?” Annie Kay leaned over from behind the counter. “I don’t think we’ll ever see spring. There’s just no end to this winter.”

“There’s an end, in time,” Eliza said. “I’ll find a few things in a moment. Is Jeanie in today?”

“She’s off today. She’s with Zach at the outfitters.”

“Tell her I was in, when you see her.”

“I will.”

Presently she rose from her place and began her collecting. Oil for the lamps, a spool of thread, a few other things.

“I’ll put those on the account.” Annie Kay looked under her counter. “No mail for you this week. And take a loaf of bread with you.”

“I have enough at home.”

“Go ahead. It’s so good.”

“Thank you, then.”

And then, back into the wind, a difficult acquaintance for the day.

Louise peeked in the window. It was always so dark in there. She went in anyway.

“Well, Louise Brown, howdy!”

It took her a minute to find him, but there he was. “Why don’t you put on a light, Luke? I can’t see a thing.”

“Guess I forgot. It’s always bright in the morning, and then the sun goes up over the building and leaves me in the dark.”

He had his feet up on the desk and his hands behind his head and he might have been sleeping in his chair, just like he did at the board meetings. The computer screen was the brightest light in the room.

Louise flipped the switch on the wall and one little bulb on the ceiling turned on. It hardly made a difference, except to show what a mess the room was. File cabinets and magazines and old newspapers in stacks. “For goodness’ sakes,” she said. “You couldn’t find anything in here.”

“Why would I want to?”

“Because I want to. I want to find a newspaper from fifty years ago.”

“Fifty? Well, let me see.” He got up and she followed him back a hallway and down some stairs, and it got darker and mustier every step. “You want 1956? That would have been Woodrow. No, Ezra. Ezra Dawkins.”

“You know, I think I remember him. With the long white beard?”

“That was Woodrow. Ezra was before him. Here’s a box.”

It said 1956 on the side, and it smelled terrible.

“That’s the whole year in one box?”

“It was only once a week then, twenty-four pages.”

She opened the lid and touched the top paper inside. “It’s all stuck together.”

“Probably got wet in the flood.”

“That was thirty years ago,” she said.

“Then it should be dried out by now.”

It was dry, more or less. “I guess I can just look through them.”

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“If I told you, you’d go and print it and everyone would know. And I want it to be a surprise.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“Well, I can, too,” she said. “You go back to your nap.”

“Hey, Corny.” Wade had the phone tucked in between his ear and his shoulder. “I got a house sold.”

“I didn’t know you had anyone coming in.”

“They were here a couple weeks ago. Just got the call.”

“Good for you, Wade!”

“Yeah, and it’ll get Charlie off my back for a couple days, too. Hey, I was thinking. When Meredith’s here. Let’s take her rafting.”

“She’d love it.”

“I’ll call the outfitter and make the reservations.” The front door opened. “Talk to you later, somebody’s coming in.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

A man was gawking around the room.

“Hi, there,” Wade said. He didn’t get up. Now that he saw him, the guy didn’t look real likely—more like a salesman than a buyer.

“Hi.” The man stopped at the big map board and blinked. He was maybe forty-five, slacks and a sweater, but the sweater was thick wool, dark gray. Not standard country club bright polyester/cotton mix. The shoes could pass for work boots.

“Just look that over,” Wade said. “Let me know if you have a question.”

“Sure. Thanks.” He squinted at the board and scratched his head. Diamond ring on his right hand. Wade stood up. The guy wasn’t city, but there was money somewhere.

“So, where you from?” Wade asked.

“Wardsville. More or less.”

Well, this was a first. “I don’t think we’ve met. Wade Harris.”

“Jeremy Coates.”

That rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Do you get up to Gold Valley much?”

“Uh, no.” He looked around the big room at the stone, heavy beams, wood floor. “I’m not buying. Just curious.”

“Sure, sure. Can I show you around?”

“Can I drive around myself?”

“Help yourself. Take a map. The black roads are the ones that are done and paved. The red ones are going in this year.”

“What color’s Gold River Highway?”

Wade caught himself and made sure he thought before he opened his mouth. “Let’s just call it real light pink.”

“I think that road’s going to wipe out Wardsville.”

“I think it might be a big help to the town.”

“Then you’re wrong. You wouldn’t know anyway.”

“Maybe none of us know what’s going to happen. You can’t let that stop you.”

Jeremy Coates didn’t like that. “Something has to stop you.” There wasn’t anything to say, but the man was already leaving anyway.

Wade just smiled. “Stop back in if you have any questions. Be glad to help.”

The door closed and Wade opened the phone book. Just think about Meredith. And rafting. The outfitter they usually used . . . Zach . . . something. Water should be up real high.

And he’d have to ask somebody who Jeremy Coates was.

“Jeremy! Jeremy Coates!” Good gravy. Randy pulled over to the curb, right there on Hemlock, where Jeremy was just walking down the sidewalk like he always had.

“Randy?”

“Of course it is! How are you doing? It’s been forever!”

“It’s been a year since I was back.” Jeremy leaned down to look in the car window. “You’ve heard what he’s doing?”

“Roland? Well, yes, I have heard, and most people in town have, and it’s been a shock, too, I’d have to say.”

“The old fool.”

That answered most everything that Randy might have asked. “Did you come to talk to him?”

“We talked. Over at the factory. We talked and talked. All morning. If you could call it talking. It wasn’t worth the gas driving up.”

“I’m sorry about that, but we all know how your father gets an idea in his head and just won’t let go.”

“You think I don’t know that? The old fool.”

“But tell me what you’re doing with yourself, Jeremy.” It seemed wise to change the topic of conversation.

“Waiting. I’ve been in Asheville, waiting for the old fool to retire. Waiting a year! And now what?”

“You have a place down there?”

“Just an apartment. And managing a furniture store.”

“Well, that’s not bad!”

“It’s more than bad,” Jeremy said. “But at least it wasn’t going to be forever.”

“And now you’re just thirty miles away in Asheville, and this is the first you’ve been back home?” It seemed wise to change the topic of conversation again.

“What would have been the point? But I did drive around this afternoon. And now I’m looking around at the neighborhood.”

“It hasn’t changed much, and your father’s house is just where it’s always been.”

“Nothing changes around here.”

“Hello, this is Randy McCoy. Louise? Is that you?”

All she could do was giggle. “It is. I can’t help it.”

“What has come over you?”

It was so fun!

“Randy,” she said, “did you know the board used to start terms in March instead of January?”

“March? What are you talking about?”

“Because I’ve got a little idea, and nobody’s going to stop me.”

Randy sounded so worried. “Louise. I hope you’re not going to cause trouble.”

“Randy, I’m going to cause all kinds of trouble!”