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Misty Hollow

By June Foster

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1

Molly Cambridge's car bounced and bumped with each rut on the narrow dirt road. Thick old-growth forest obscured the light. Farther down, leaves on a stand of birch trees quivered in the wind.
A gust rocked the ten-year-old Mazda, sending Molly's pulse pounding. Storms in the mountains could be fierce, even in the summer months.
Ahead, low concrete guardrails bordered the sides of a bridge. Molly peered out the windshield at a rising creek. The muddy water threatened the banks as it rushed and rippled on the way to lower ground.
She gripped the steering wheel until her fingers turned white. How easy it would be for the wind to sweep her light-weight car over the sides and into the rushing stream. She clenched her jaw. "Maybe I should've stayed in Nashville."
No, she had to follow her heart.
The red Mazda zigzagged across the narrow wooden bridge and jaunted along the road's curves through shadowy maples. Ahead, a rusty sign attached to a metal pole read Misty Hollow .5 miles. Almost there.
A blast of air pitched the car, nearly jerking the steering wheel from her hands. She swerved and barely avoided plummeting down the cliff. Her heart went wild, synchronized with the velocity of the wind.
Drops of rain the size of quarters pelted the windshield and the Mazda swayed again. Molly squinted, trying to see through waves of water distorting her view ahead. Lightning split the darkened sky, and thunder boomed overhead. "Nothing to do now but stop and wait it out. Calm down, girl. It'll be over soon."
A chill traversed her spine. The soil on the side of the road was a mucky mess. No way could she pull over there.
Something darted from the tree line in front of her and stopped. Hands clammy on the steering wheel, she slammed on the brakes. The Mazda's back tires skidded in the mud.
The headlights reflected a black and white shape. She held her breath, afraid to look at where she'd ended up.
Finally, she dared to peek through her fingers.
A young calf, ears protruding, blinked terror-struck eyes.
She rolled down the window and gaped at the creature. Raindrops splattered the dashboard and dotted her arm all the way to her clenched fist. "Hey, what are you doing out here in the rain?"
An ear-splitting whop rocked the car. Her uncontrollable scream rushed into the fragrance of pine filling the air. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. When she dared open them again, evergreen needles, like a prickly car cover, blanketed the windshield, which had splintered into a dozen jagged lines.
She cut the engine and peered to the left, the only space not obstructed by the fallen branch. About twenty feet across the road, an old wooden fence hugged the tree line. The calf, nothing more than a distant memory, must've headed for safety from the falling debris.
A few feet up, a gate opened to a dirt path leading to what looked like a farm with a couple of mountain cabins and a weather-worn barn beyond.
A man jogged along the driveway toward her then lost footing and staggered in the strong wind. He cupped a hand around his mouth. "Hey, you OK?" he yelled.
Molly clutched the handle and yanked, but the door wouldn't budge. Slamming her shoulder hard against it accomplished nothing except pain shooting down her arm.
Hot tears and the sense of suffocation overcame her. "OK, I'll admit it. Dad reminded me a hundred times that Misty Hollow was nothing like Nashville." She ignored the urge to panic and chewed a hangnail on her pinky.
A hunk of a guy pulled his dingy John Deere cap farther down and jerked the outside door handle. After a couple of tugs, it screeched open. He sloshed backward then offered his hand. "Let me help you."
The man's gentle voice diminished some of her frustration and alarm. His strong grip pulled her out. Molly limped onto the wet, potholed road, her tennis shoes soaked. "I…I almost ran over a cow."
A grin formed on his well-shaped lips. "I'm sorry about Flora's calf. I seen him runnin' along the road. 'Spect he'll be back directly."
She curved around with a few hesitant steps to peek at her car and swallowed the lump in her throat. A limb, still partially attached to the pine tree, had splintered off and landed on top. The bough dented the roof and scratched the red paint, sticking her with a big repair bill. Though teaching salaries were meager, she wouldn't ask Dad for a loan. No way she'd give him the chance to say 'I told you so again.'
As quickly as it had blown in, the wind subsided. The trees lining the road no longer bent at an angle and rain fell in a steady stream.
Her words chirped past her quickened breath with each pound of her pulse. "If you could help me get this tree off my car, I'll be on my way. I'm looking for the old Cambridge place on Smokescreen Road."
The guy gave her an encouraging glance. His muscles rounded out his faded overalls and cotton jacket. "You're almost there. 'Bout two hundred yards. Second turn to the right. But I reckon me and Daddy are going to have to saw that thing off."
Another crack of thunder rumbled. Molly flinched and pulled in a shallow breath. "I'd appreciate it." Though August was warm as usual, the storm sent a chill along her arms.
"Here. Take this." He ripped off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Thank you." The woven fabric smelled of freshly burned wood, evergreen trees, and wet dog.
He peered at her with compassionate brown eyes and tugged his cap down again, his long-sleeved cotton shirt soaked. "Come on with me. This is gonna be a two-man job. I'll get Daddy."
Murky water filled holes along the path, and limbs strewed the fence line. Muck splashed her shoes and legs on her way up the driveway.
He reached toward her. "This dirt's as black as your locks are gold, ma'am." He flicked mud from her hair.
The frail calf she'd almost hit wobbled up from the main road toward them with unsteady legs.
"There you are." The farmer who looked to be in his late twenties turned to the little fellow and back to Molly. "Wait up there out of the rain."
Wooden stairs led her to a wide porch with two rockers. The roof overhang blocked the soaking downpour, and water gushed from the eave onto the ground.
He jogged out and lifted the calf into his arms. "Hey, little guy. I bet you're mighty hungry. Let's get you back to your mama." With the wiggly calf squirming to get down, he trudged toward the barn. Unlatching the door, he scooted the animal inside.
A wooly dog squeezed out into the yard, wagging his tail.
The farmer closed the barn door and headed back toward Molly. "That little calf's gonna be fine after he gets a belly full of his mama's milk."
What was it she found so fascinating about the man? Maybe his gentle way with animals.
"Hey." A bearded man swung the screen door open behind Molly and eyed her. The way he frowned, she figured he wasn't exactly happy at the intrusion.
"Oh, the other man told me to wait on the porch. Are you his father?"
The younger guy raced up the stairs. "Daddy, this here lady don't mean no harm. A big tree limb fell on top of her car. I need your help cuttin' it off." He shot a look at his father and back to her. "I'm Joel Greenfield, ma'am, and this here's my dad, Luke." Flakes of gold glimmered in Joel's amber eyes.
"Molly Cambridge, Will Cambridge's niece. I'm the new third grade teacher in Misty Hollow." Her charm bracelet jingled as she extended her fingers. "I haven't been back here for a visit since I was fifteen. I'm afraid my memory of the area is a little fuzzy."
Mr. Greenfield stepped out of the house and pumped her hand up and down with rough, work-worn fingers. "Right sorry, ma'am. Thought you might be a furner. We get 'em in these parts sometimes." He plopped a straw hat on his head. "I'd be pleased if'n we could help you out. Let me go fetch the saw." He disappeared around the other side of the simple wooden cabin.
The younger man shook the rain out of his eyes. "Mr. and Mrs. Cambridge moved here a few years ago."
"Yeah, my uncle decided to fix up his and my dad's childhood home. Uncle Will and Aunt Sue bought the grocery store in town, too."
"You plannin' on staying with them?"
"Yes. They built an apartment in back when they remodeled."
The sound of rain on the porch roof stopped, and the sun poked through a gray film of clouds.
Joel whipped off his cap, ran a hand through his hair, and dropped his hat back on his head. "I 'spect you know a lot about learnin', being a teacher and all."
"I love children. Even more, I want to teach adults to read." How many times had she listened to her father's tales about the effects of illiteracy in Misty Hollow, their family's roots? The decent, hardworking people, who as children and teens hadn't attended the area schools long enough to get an education. Parents, desperate for help on their modest farms, had yanked kids out of class too frequently. But most of all, seeing Grandma Cambridge struggle broke her heart. "I'd like to open an adult learning center. Ever since I was in high school, I've felt passionate about helping others experience the written word. I suppose it's been a dream of mine for years."
Joel gaped at her as if she'd said she was bringing a circus to town. He stroked the light covering of golden stubble on his chin with grimy fingers. "That's … uh …"
"Here she be." Mr. Greenfield returned, gripping the handle of a two-man saw with one fist. "Let's get right to it afore it comes up another cloud."
Molly followed the two Greenfields out the main road. "Sir, your son came along at the right time."
Joel's dad lifted his free hand. "Yep, Joel's a good ole boy. When he was a kid, he was always rescuin' somethin'. Baby birds what fell from the nest, and I recollect a toad gettin' stuck to fly paper out in the barn once. Took Joel a while to set him free without killin' the poor thing."
Joel passed his dad and tramped down the road toward the gate. "The lady don't want to hear about that."
The dog caught up with them, yipping and waving his curly tail.
"Howdy, Sam." Mr. Greenfield reached down and gave the hound's blond fur a couple of pats.
The tree branch draped over Molly's car sent another twinge of alarm through her.
Mr. Greenfield whistled. "Reckon this here limb gave you quite a start. Son, help me cut that thing in two, so's we can git 'er off." Mr. Greenfield tramped around the front of the Mazda and positioned the saw.
Joel grabbed the other end. His arm muscles flexed, dragging the blade toward him, reminding her of her boyfriend in college who thought his brawn ought to impress her enough to coax her into bed. At least in Misty Hollow she wouldn't run into him every other day.
Each time Mr. Greenfield hauled the saw across the limb, Joel tugged it back again. Sweat rolled down his forehead, but the branch remained attached, as if the two men were using a saw with no blades.
"Argh." Joel laid his end down and bend over, hands on knees, as the bough covering the car finally broke away from the tree.
The middle-aged man set the tool on the ground. Together they hauled the detached limb onto the side of the road. Joel's father squinted at the front of the car. "Your windshield's plumb broke in two, Miss Molly. If'n you'll hop in and give 'er a crank, we'll see if she starts." He wiped filthy hands on his overalls.
Molly edged down into the driver's seat and gave a relieved sigh when the motor turned over. Other than a shattered windshield and some scraped paint, the car seemed drivable. She shrugged out of Joel's jacket and handed it to him through the side window. "Thanks to both of you. School starts in a couple of weeks. I hope the rest of the year isn't this eventful."
Joel's father wiped a hand through his graying, short-cropped hair. "You're most welcome, ma'am." He gathered up the saw, waved, and headed back toward the house. Then he turned around. "Tell your uncle and aunt howdy for me."
"Yes, sir. As soon as I make it there."
Joel threw another stray branch off the road and took a few steps toward the car. "Well, I guess I'll see you around Misty Hollow."
"Thanks again, Joel. I bet some of the teachers I'm working with will remember you."
He ran a hand over his unshaven cheeks. "Naw. I don't rightly think they will. It's been a long time since I went to school." Without a smile, he jerked around, each rigid step pounding the ground as he trudged up the path to the smaller cabin.
 

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