Chapter 7
Seven
THE TOWN TREE
She stretched, yawned, climbed out of bed, then looked at the bullet-like brassiere and waist-high, slightly baggy panties she was wearing.
How did the human race continue to propagate? she wondered.
An hour later, Goldie had showered, put on her last clean dress, and eaten a breakfast of blueberry pancakes, sausage, and coffee in the restaurant. Coming back into the lobby, Maddie, wearing her usual glasses with the silver chain, beckoned her over to the registration counter.
“Good morning, Miss Maraschino,” she smiled.
“Call me Goldie.”
“Uh, Goldie. The McCaw brothers are here for you.”
“Who?”
Maddie gestured to the circular crimson sofa in the middle of the lobby.
Goldie turned and raised her eyebrows in surprise.
Facing her were two very rough-looking men who looked like they lived on the streets.
They were unshaven, had long, greasy hair, earflap caps, and wore coats and boots that had clearly never been cleaned.
They had dirt under their fingernails, no particular expression on their weatherworn faces, and bad teeth.
It was hard to tell their ages, but they could’ve been in their early thirties.
She hadn’t noticed them before because when she crossed the lobby, the tall back of the circular sofa had obscured her view.
When she turned to them, they both rose.
“Hey,” the taller of the two said. “I’m Saul.”
“I’m Paul,” the other one nodded.
Goldie looked at them, unsure what to conclude.
“Saul and Paul McCaw?” she asked, resisting the temptation to snicker.
“We’re here to fetch you to the mountains,” Saul said.
“But you’re going to have to lose them clothes,” Paul warned.
Goldie turned back to Maddie behind the counter.
“Can you interpret this?”
“The McCaw brothers live up in the mountains,” Maddie smiled.
“The boys have some beautiful pine trees up there and provide the town with its Christmas tree that goes in the little square next to the post office. No doubt Mayor Banyan thought you’d like to be there when they cut down the tree, but you’re going to have to wear more rugged clothing.
This is quite an honor, Goldie. They made a special trip into town just to come get you. ”
The visitor turned back to the expressionless mountain men. “Lucky me,” she said with reserve. She stepped over and shook hands with each, wanting to wipe her hands on her dress afterwards.
“You’ll want to go down to Miller’s General Store,” Maddie suggested. “Get some boots, pants, a hat, whatever you need. Remember, the mayor’s paying for it. Then, send your overcoat and dress back here with Chad, and I’ll take care of them.”
“Chad?”
“He works at Miller’s.”
“Okay.”
“Also, you got any laundry, honey?”
“A little, yes.”
“With your permission, I’ll get it from your room, and we’ll fix you right up while you’re gone.”
“That’s awfully nice of you, Maddie. Thanks.” She stepped back over to the counter and whispered confidentially. “Uh, these guys are okay, right?”
“Oh, no,” Maddie replied quietly, slipping off her glasses. “They’re as odd as a five-legged dog. But you’ll be safe.”
Goldie turned back to the grubby-looking brothers and smiled faintly, hesitant but accepting. Then, she went up to her room to get her overcoat.
Miller’s General Store was on River Street, three blocks away, and the McCaws drove her down to the store in their 1936 Chevy flatbed pickup.
Goldie sat wedged in between the two brothers in the small cab and had to practically hold her breath from the smell of their clothing and body odor.
If Charles Banyan intended for this to be a homey excursion into the mountains to select the town’s ideal Christmas tree, it so far wasn’t having the desired effect.
Miller’s, on the other hand, was fascinating.
Inside, one could find clothing, tools, heavy woolen Native American blankets, paint—a little bit of everything.
There was even a glass counter with a selection of candy bars and homemade beef jerky.
The centerpiece of the store was a cast-iron potbelly stove with its door swung open and hickory logs burning brightly inside to fend off the morning chill.
Sitting in three chairs around the stove was a man in his late seventies named Deke Miller, his son Chad Miller, who was in his fifties, and Clara, from Clara’s Gifts, whom Goldie had met on her first day.
They were chatting amongst themselves and having coffee when Saul, Paul, and Goldie came in.
“Well, if it ain’t the McCaw boys,” Deke said. “You got the Christmas tree already?”
“No,” Saul replied. “Just came into town to fetch this writer so she could tell about it in her magazine.”
“How’s your daddy, boys?” Chad asked.
“Hall’s fine,” Paul replied.
“Your father’s name is Hall?” Goldie queried.
“Yup.”
“Hall, Saul, and Paul?” Goldie asked.
“Does have a kind of symmetry to it, don’t it?” Saul noted.
“How’re you feeling, dear?” Clara asked.
“Good,” Goldie replied. “Got off to a rough start in town. But I’m doin’ fine now.”
Clara eyed the gauze on the visitor’s left hand. Goldie noticed it immediately.
“This is nothin’,” she said, raising her hand a little. “Just a scratch.”
“Glad to hear it.” Clara smiled. She turned to the men sitting with her. “Gentlemen, this is Goldie, a writer with Adventure Escape Magazine. She’s here to cover our holiday festivities.”
“Sparkledove’s the perfect place for Christmas,” Deke nodded.
“Yeah. Heard you were coming,” Chad smiled, rising to shake her hand.
“Goldie, this is Deke Miller and his son Chad. Deke’s father started Miller’s way back in the 1860s.”
“We were the first business of modern-day Sparkledove,” the older man said proudly while Goldie shook one man’s hand, then the other. “We were just a little provision store back then for the hill folk and hunters. Forgive me for not risin’, young lady. My arthritis acts up sometimes.”
“It’s okay,” Goldie smiled.
“They got good jerky,” Saul observed, straight-faced.
“And better coffee than I make,” Clara added.
“If you’re goin’ up in the mountains with these two hooligans,” Chad said. “Bet you want some more appropriate clothes.”
“Yes, please,” the guest verified.
“Yeah—gets cold up there where the good trees are,” Deke said.
“Although this winter ain’t gonna be so bad.
The worst winter I ever saw was the winter of ’99.
Nearly froze my fingers off for some kindlin’.
Look here,” he said, extending his arm and showing the pinky finger of his right hand.
“See that fingernail? Black as coal. That was ten minutes outside without gloves.”
“Oh, that’s nothin’,” Saul replied. He stepped over and sat down in the chair where Chad had been and started to untie his left boot.
“The worst winter was 1921. I was up on Tanner’s Ledge huntin’ with my daddy.
” He slipped off his boot, then his ratty sock.
“Had a worn spot on the bottom of my boot that broke through. Lost my fourth toe.”
“Nope, I got both ya beat,” Chad said, turning his back and yanking up his long-sleeved shirt. “Look above the beltline. See that scar? That’s ice burn from the winter of ’38. My jacket and shirt got hiked up from carrying a calf across the grazing pasture.”
“Naw, the worst was ’35,” Paul said. “I was up about ten thousand feet, trackin’ a mountain lion that killed one of our horses. I had to relieve myself…” He started to unbuckle his belt. “The wind was really whippin’ that day and—”
“Whoa!” Clair, Goldie, and Chad all yelled simultaneously.
Just then, Peter Banyan came into the store, dressed for going into the mountains.
“Morning, everyone,” he smiled. He looked at Goldie. “Just came from the hotel, and Maddie said you might be down here suiting up with the boys.” He looked at the McCaws. “Paul, Saul, how’s your mother, Moll?”
“Moll?” Goldie asked.
“Short for Molly,” Clara explained.
“Of course,” Goldie said, rolling her eyes.
“Good,” Paul nodded, unemotional.
“Dandy,” Saul verified, equally somber.
Goldie looked at Peter’s attire. “Are-are you coming to the mountains, too?”
“Yeah. Thought I might. Got my car and camera right outside and thought I’d drive you up. Getting the town Christmas tree is a big deal, and my paper should cover it.”
“Yes!” Goldie said, relieved. “Good!”
“Sorry that neither my dad nor I mentioned it last night. Guess we were too busy agreeing to disagree.”
“No, it’s fine,” Goldie said. “It’s really fine. Let me just pick out a few things, change, then we’ll be off.”
She selected an ensemble of heavy woolen pants, a long underwear top, and a plaid shirt to go over that.
Next, she selected black rubber boots that clipped shut, gloves, a burnt-orange stocking cap, and a blue jacket.
They left the store and climbed into Peter’s 1941 Ford Super Deluxe Station Wagon.
It had chains on the tires and sandbags in the back to give it more weight to plow through the snow.
They followed the McCaw brothers out of town, got onto Highway 70 for less than a quarter mile, then went up a steep dirt mountain road that bent and turned its way past boulders, fallen trees, and hand-lettered “No Trespassing” signs.
There wasn’t any snow for the first twenty minutes of the journey, but then they seemed to go around a corner, and suddenly, the landscape changed from limestone brown to dazzling white.
Goldie was wide-eyed and impressed, never having seen anything like it.
“I’m very glad you showed up, Peter,” she admitted, turning from the view back to him. “Without you, I was afraid of steppin’ into a winter version of Deliverance.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The McCaw brothers. They’re, they’re—I don’t know what the hell they are.”
“They’re mountain people,” he shrugged. “A little rough around the edges, maybe, but if you asked, they’d give the shirts off their backs.”