. . . Bumping along the untended mountain road, I easily found the left fork Sally Jean told me to watch for, with its “Keep Out” sign swinging from a chain across a path of a road. I got out of my car and moved the chain so I could drive onto the road. I saw nobody, and hoped nobody saw me. I didn’t want Fergus to hear me coming, but I didn’t want to be too far from the car, either. I didn’t know how far up the path Fergus lived. All I could do is drive as far as the path would let me go, and then walk.

     I found a small clearing where I could park my car, out of the way of any unlikely traffic, and began my hike. I had no idea what I would say or do. I only knew I had to find out something, anything about my family. Walking cooled my anger, and led me to think twice, then again, about what I was doing on this part of the mountain.

     After hiking forever, I sat on a fallen tree to rest. I took a puff from my inhaler to calm my wheezing, and slipped it into my back pocket.

The rotten smell of sour corn mash assaulted my senses. I’d heard that the scent of a moonshine still can travel a mile or more. If that were the case, it could be any direction. I followed the path. Fergus needed a route to carry his wares down the mountain, after all, and this could be it.

     I must have hiked the last half of eternity before I came to a dismantled car. Its rusted chassis rested off the path, while the hood lay separately almost in the path, its crumbling insulation black with oil and dirt. Miscellaneous dead car parts lay strewn about. Ahead I could see a clearing with wooden steps leading to a cabin with an open porch. Trees flanked the porch, and provided shade for it. A charcoal grill burned atop the porch as if ready to receive the beginnings of a meal. I wondered about the safety of an open grill on the wooden porch, as I clung to the shadows, deciding how to make my approach.

     A grizzled old man opened a dilapidated screen door. He was carrying a piece of meat on a long fork. He appeared ancient, with stooped shoulders and long white hair and beard. A cigarette hung dead center from his mouth. He flung the meat onto the grill, then drew what looked like a potato from the front pocket of his bib overalls, flipped open a switchblade knife, and deftly sliced the potato length-wise into halves. He placed the cut sides down onto the grill. Coals sizzled and smoke curled upward, stopping at the underside of the tin roof of the porch.

     I watched, then took a deep breath. It was now or never.

     I attempted to appear confident as I strode from my hiding place toward the porch. The man jumped from his grill and shouted at me.            “Don’t come no closer.” He threw the remainder of his cigarette into the grill.

     “I’m looking for Fergus Starks,” I said.

     “He ain’t here,” said the man.

     “I’m Lacey Roberts. My mother was Caroline Starks.”

     “Dagnabbit woman! Leave me be,” the man said. “I’ve nothin’ to do with y’all. Stick to yer own bizness and leave me t’ mine.”

     I took a few more steps toward him. Despite his denial, I was certain I’d found Fergus Starks. “I’ve spoken to Ruthella.” I stretched the truth a bit. “She suggested you had answers to my questions.”

     “Don’t know nothin’, ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Don’t know who you are. Don’t care,” said Fergus.

     Friendly lot, these mountain people, I thought. I decided to drop the bomb. “What happened to my grandfather?”

     “Missy, yer messin’ where y’ ought not be messin’. Let it rest and git out.”

     “I only want to find out about my family. What’s wrong with them? I think I have a right to know.”

     “Ya don’t. Let it lay.”

     “Fergus. Listen. I need to know. I’m being married, and I need to know if I carry something in my genes—something that makes the women kill their husbands. If I get married, will I put my husband in danger some day? I need to know what has happened to all the men in this family.”

     Fergus came down the steps. He looked menacing, bow legged and holding the long-handled fork, but he didn’t raise a hand toward me. “Woman, what d’ya think I’m doin’ in these mountains? I left them loony wimmen years ago without saying g’bye. Roped m’self off and stayed clear o’ the bunch of ’em. If yer any kin of theirs, then yer no kin of mine.” Fergus stopped short and sniffed the air with a wrinkled nose. “Dag blame it! Ya made me burn m’ dinner.”

     Fergus ran up the stairs and stabbed the meat with the fork, then flipped it on the grill. As he poked the potato, a deep rumble of heavy equipment began, and grew deeper. Or was it thunder?

     Shouting and swearing, Fergus ran into his house. I could feel the rumble beneath my feet, and panic rose up my spine until it engulfed me. I remembered the liquor-smelling-man Amos’ story at church about the moonshiner on the riding lawn mower, and I knew—

     “No!” I shouted. “Fergus, get out! Get out!” Not thinking about my own safety, I dashed up the steps and through the door. “Fergus!”

     Fergus turned and pushed me backward through the door. I landed on the porch on my backside. I scrambled to my feet and retreated down the steps, falling, tucking into a roll. I sprang to my feet again and ran away from the house toward the extinct car in the path.

     I didn’t make it. An explosive force pushed me forward onto my face. A ball of flames flew above my head with a thunderous roar. I couldn’t hear. The pressure on my ears filled my head with confusion. Stunned, I lay there for . . . how long? A moment? Longer?

     “Fergus!”

     From my position on my belly, I twisted around to look toward the house. I didn’t see him. Panic-driven adrenalin allowed me to pull myself to my feet. My muddled brain pushed my feet, running toward the house, which was now engulfed in flames. The overturned grill on the wooden porch added to the devastation. I spotted Fergus face up on the porch, unconscious, flames licking close to him. He’ll die there! It could explode again!

     I dashed up the steps. I grabbed Fergus under the arms and pulled him toward the steps. “Come on, Fergus, get up!” I received no response. I dragged him down the steps, holding his head and shoulders up near my knees while his boots slammed against each step.

     I stopped briefly for breath and saw, more than heard, the crash of the tinder-dry timbers inside Fergus’ house as the porch began to sway. Transfixed, I saw a side post fall near the grill and lean against one of the trees near the porch. A supporting post on the porch buckled threateningly. The house is gone, and the tree is on fire! I had no sooner thought about the tree when its bark exploded with a pop, the sound muffled by my explosion-damaged ears.

     The whole forest is going to go! I tugged Fergus along the ground as a second wave of adrenalin energized my body. I made it down the path to the old car hood. With my lungs about to burst, I could go no farther. Insulation, my mind screamed. I pulled Fergus past the hood, then lifted it over his limp body. With my last ounce of energy, I slid my wheezing and spent body under the car hood with him, my body protectively over his, and prayed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     My next sensation was that of being lifted upward in strong arms. I was either dead, or dreaming.

     “Oxygen, stat!”

     Good. I wasn’t dead. I felt an oxygen mask being clapped over my face, while I coughed. I focused my eyes on my rescuer to see the largest Indian man I had ever seen. His young and handsome face shone with urgency and concern. His muscled chest and arms made me feel secure. His black, straight hair, the little that was visible under his fireman’s helmet, looked Native American, even though he wore a modern cut—longer than most, perhaps. His black eyes and bronze skin finished a look to swoon over, as if I hadn’t swooned already. He stood tall despite cradling his burden—me—in one arm, and holding the oxygen mask over my face with the other. Gently. That’s what I noticed most.

     Fergus! What happened to Fergus?

     “Git that blamed thing offa my face! Nobody toldja t’ save me.” Obviously, Fergus was fine.

     “Shoulda let me die, woman,” Fergus shouted at me. “Look what your infernal meddling caused t’ happen. Blew my still. Never blew my still in all them years till a woman set foot near it.” Fergus shoved the arm of the fireman who offered an oxygen mask. “I said git that blamed thing offa my face!” Fergus’ smoker’s lungs apparently had more stamina than my asthmatic ones.

     Chuckling and shaking his head, my fireman seated me on the ground. “The Hermit Fergus,” he said. “Never thought I’d get to meet him. Are you okay, miss?” He bent to my level to speak to me, looking intently at me with his dark eyes.

     “I think so.” I began coughing uncontrollably. I fished my inhaler from my back pocket, even though I wasn’t wheezing quite yet. Smoke stung my lungs and my eyes.

     “You’re that new girl in town,” said the fireman. “Are you able to stand up now?” He stood and offered me a hand up as well, steadying me with his other hand.

     How did everybody know me when I knew nobody? “How did you know about the fire?” My lungs convulsed with more coughing. “How did you find this place?” I asked.

     He pointed toward the sky. “Aerial detection,” said the fireman. “We followed the smoke. We couldn’t get here early enough to save much. We had only the water on the water tenders, so mostly we tried to prevent the fire from spreading.”

     “How did you find me?” I asked. I felt a little unsteady, and the fireman braced me up with an arm around my shoulders, his hand beneath my arm.

      “You’re lucky we didn’t run over you. I saw two pairs of legs sticking out from under that old car hood. Way too close to the road.”

     “I couldn’t drag Fergus any farther,” I said.

     “I’m surprised he didn’t fight you,” said the fireman.

     “I’m sure he would have, if he’d been conscious. He already was furious with me. I’m afraid he blew his stack before he blew his still.” I felt a familiar tightening of my lungs, and I took a puff from my inhaler. I tried to breathe calmly, waiting for it to work. “He saved my life, you know.” I took a ragged breath. The fireman pressed the oxygen mask over my face again.

     “What did he do?” asked the fireman.

     With quivering breath, I rehearsed the events of the horrific explosion for the fireman, emphasizing how Fergus had pushed me out of harm’s way.

     “How did he get out?” the fireman asked.

     “The explosion must have thrown him out of the house,” I said. “I pulled him to the car hood for protection.”

     “Quick thinking. Even so, if the whole forest had caught on fire, you couldn’t have survived,” said the fireman.

     “I suppose not.” I began to breathe more easily as the medication took effect, but I physically shuddered at the thought of Fergus’ and my danger. I answered his questions between breaths through the oxygen mask.

     “What are you doing here, anyway?” asked the fireman. “I know you weren’t invited.”

     “My parents used to live in these mountains,” I said. I looked around at the blackened, steaming wreckage of Fergus’ cabin and the trees that had burned. I felt defeated. I’d learned nothing, and I’d been the cause of ruining everything. “My mother’s name was Caroline Starks Roberts. My name is Lacey Roberts. I’m here to find information about my parents and my grandparents. Fergus was my mother’s uncle.”

     “Was?” asked the firefighter.

     “My parents are deceased,” I said.

     “I’m sorry to hear that. My name is Tsali Eagle. It’s good to meet you, Lacey. Maybe not under these circumstances.” He offered his large bronze hand, and I shook it.

     “You’re wrong, Mr. Eagle. I’m so happy to meet you right here, right now.”

     We laughed. “Please call me Tsali,” he said. “It’s Cherokee.”

     “SAUL-ee?” I knew I mispronounced his name.

     “Close enough for an English speaker.” Tsali smiled. “Is that your car we passed down the road?”

     “Yes, I’m staying at the Day’s Inn in Asheville.” As the seriousness of the situation sank into my mind, I realized how close I’d come to facing my death. My legs trembled beneath me, and my hands shook above them.

     “So you’re okay, and have a place to stay?” asked Tsali.

     I nodded, not at all sure if I could physically drive, let alone have the mental capability to find my way to Asheville. I took a deep breath into the mask. At least my lungs were clearing up. “What about Fergus?” I asked. “Where will he go? His sister lives not too far from here.”

     “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” said Fergus.

     I didn’t know he had been listening.

     “I’m stayin’ right here,” Fergus said. “I wrestled my house outta this mountain, and I can do it again. I ain’t goin’ nowhere near them crazy wimmen, and I don’t want nobody comin’ around here.”

     “But your house is gone,” I said.

     “And who’s t’ blame fer that?” Fergus demanded. He pushed his chin toward me defiantly and stood with his fists on his hips, his feet planted on the ground in a fighter’s pose.

     I felt terrible for Fergus, as well as guilty and speechless. Even so, I noticed my hackles rise at his accusation that everything was my fault. My defensiveness took over. “I didn’t start any fires.” I said it a little less than kindly.

     “It’s not your fault,” Tsali said to me. “Stills blow fairly often. It didn’t happen simply because you’re here. Bad timing, that’s all.”

     Fergus gestured toward me. “She got me distracted, and I couldn’t watch m’ brew.”

     “You were cooking your steak.” I realized we sounded like tattling children, each stating our cases to a parent.

     “Yeah, and who’s cookin’ me another’n?” said Fergus. He shoved his face into mine, so close that I could see singed edges on his beard. “You owe me a steak, and I aim t’ collect.”

     “Whoa,” said Tsali. He turned to address Fergus. “It happened because methanol gasses came in contact with a spark or flame. Maybe you didn’t vent off the first vapors properly, or didn’t watch your temperatures.” Fergus began to fume like an overheated still at Tsali’s explanation, anger reddening his ears and the parts of his face not covered with his beard. “What are you doing with a still so close to your house anyway?” continued Tsali.

     Barely able to control himself, Fergus stomped toward Tsali and shook his fist angrily at him. “I want y’all to git. An’ you, missy, seein’ hows you saved my life, like it or not, I’ll tell you one thing. Ruthella knows everything about everybody. Nosy old bat meddles with everyone. An’ don’t be afeard. She looks meaner ’n she is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The next day, I chose to rest in my motel room. I needed to make a trip back to Ruthella’s house, but I couldn’t manage it yet.

     The phone on my nightstand rang for the first time since I’d come to Asheville. The front desk delivered a message for me. I had a visitor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Tsali Eagle stood in the lobby. And he’d brought flowers.

​

Continues . . .