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Post by bretf on Dec 1, 2018 17:21:25 GMT
Story disclaimer: I didn’t spend much time checking the other stories for conflicting info. If you catch some, I’d appreciate it very much if you’d let me know. Thanks to Ozarks Tom for help with this installment.
Dan, Lisa, Alison and Brooke Smoke Mat, Heather, and Hope Gomez Indian Valley, Idaho
Hi Everyone,
I hope this letter reaches you, and you’re all well at home.
For the time being we’re in the Ozark Mountains. You know, it was a place I always wanted to see after reading Where the Red Fern Grows. I keep listening for the bay of hounds but haven’t heard any yet. I have seen raccoons though, and we make them the guest of honor at our meals when we can.
We’re not in Oklahoma like in the book, we’re in Missouri. It’s still the Ozarks, although I think someone was being generous when they were named mountains. They aren’t anything like we’re used to, more like hills, although some are pretty big.
We picked up a new friend recently who said he’ll travel with us when we leave here. He’s been away from home for years and comes from Wenatchee, Washington, so close to you, can you believe it.
Chad put the pencil down and considered what to write next. He certainly couldn’t tell his parents how he’d met Larry Cooper. On the chance the letter did reach home, they’d just worry more if he shared the details.
#
“I think that looks like a good place to hole up,” Chad said. An hour of daylight remained and Chad liked to get their camp set up before dark. He and Carol had left the meandering road - he’d yet to see a straight road in the area as they wound their way through the hills - and were following a narrow game trail as it approached a plateau.
“It looks good to me,” Carol said with a heavy sigh.
Chad caught the tone and looked at her closely, concerned they might be pushing too hard in her condition. She noticed the scrutiny and said, “I’m good, now as you said, let’s hole up for the night.”
Hole up indeed. A small cave was slightly visible in the thick brush and trees; a recess worn into the limestone plateau over time. They’d spent many nights sheltering in similar caves and recesses since entering the region.
The scene he gazed upon was foreign to him. The trees blanketing the hillsides weren’t anything like home, mostly oak and walnut, some of the walnut trees huge. Chad compared them to home. There were huge trees back home of course, but nothing like the ones before him. The trees at home, the towering trees at least, were Douglas fir and white pine in the mountains, and cottonwoods in the river valleys.
The hills he looked across were resplendent with fall color, hues of red, orange and yellow, splashed with green cedar highlights. The hills of home also had colors, patches of aspens and alders, thorn brush, cottonwoods, turning yellow and red in the fall, though mostly in the low lying valleys where water was present. The hills themselves were dominated by short brush and grasses, burnt brown, while the mountains were dominated by towering evergreens with colorful autumn highlights.
Mixed in with the splendor before Chad were numerous skeleton trees. Unfortunately, that was a familiar sight. Apparently, just like home, invasive beetles were wreaking havoc. It was amazing how so many undesirables had survived the nuclear winter.
The foliage might be unfamiliar, but Chad welcomed the nut trees as he and Carol passed through. Always foraging as they traveled, they collected nuts the squirrels hadn’t found and stashed away. Along with the walnuts and acorns, elderberries were abundant and they’d harvested several bagsful which they dried. Leery of plants he didn’t recognize, he hoped to spend time with someone native to the area to learn about other edible plants.
As he and Carol foraged and moved through the region, all his senses were finely tuned. He’d learned it wasn’t only invasive insects, but two-legged undesirables were also thick in certain areas. Chad had seen signs to indicate their presence in the immediate area and had been especially careful.
He glanced at Carol, his incredible wife, and felt a flush of warmth. Her baby bump showed and it tore him apart inside to be on the move with her pregnant. He’d like to talk her into going home, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring it up.
He wanted her to be somewhere safe for her pregnancy and the baby’s arrival, but home was too far away and they’d never make it in time. Not that she’d agree to go if he did say anything about it. Every time he mentioned going home, she got the haunted look in her eyes and had nightmares several nights in a row. He didn’t want her to go through it again, as the deep emotional wounds Rory had inflicted were still unhealed.
So they would wander, and with luck would find somewhere to stay long enough for Carol to have the baby and regain her strength. Chad held in the deep sigh he wanted to emit and asked her to stay and watch while he checked out their possible home for the night.
He closed his eyes, listening, smelling, tuning senses other than sight. Squirrels chittered in the distance and a bird called, a bird he wasn’t familiar with from home. It was answered from further away. He smelled leaves, wet with a recent rainfall, but nothing that seemed foreign. He opened his eyes again and looked all around before he moved to the dark recess in the plateau.
After he’d checked the small cave for occupants, Carol joined him in the shelter. It’d been used, but not recently. Best of all, there was a good collection of dried branches. He wanted a fire and didn’t want to create noticeable smoke by burning damp wood. He had a raccoon he’d killed earlier in the day and needed to cook, hopefully unobserved.
He and Carol took off their packs and Carol settled gratefully on the bulge which was her sleeping bag. “You sure you’re all right?” Chad asked.
“Yes, just tired. Give me a few minutes and I’ll set up camp.”
Chad studied her before he nodded. He took their battered cook pot out of his pack and said, “I’m going back to that spring we just passed.” Small streams and springs were abundant in the area, and unlike some places they’d been, the water tasted great.
He returned with the pot full of water and set it aside. Carol was working on their bed and he studied her for a few moments. He so wished they were somewhere safe. But they weren’t, so he’d have to make do.
Chad took a branch and his knife, shaved off slivers of wood, and mixed in cattail fluff from his fire kit. The fluff flared to life with the second stroke on his flint and he carefully fed shavings and twigs into the fire until he had a reasonable blaze going. He set the pot on rocks over the fire and took the raccoon out to prepare for the pot. He returned soon with the skinned, gutted carcass in hand. He cut the meat into pieces and put them in the heating water. While he did it, Carol completed setting their camp up.
“It looks like we’re good for now, so I’m going to work on the skin a bit,” Chad said. He fashioned a quick frame from branches and stretched the raccoon’s hide to it with paracord. Being careful not to cut through the skin, he scraped it with his knife. It wasn’t perfect, but it was as good as it was going to get under the circumstances.
He cracked the coon’s skull with a rock and scooped the brain out and put in in an old tin cup he carried. Carol dipped water out of the cooking pot and poured it into the cup. With a forked stick, Chad smashed the brain and mixed the water into it. It took several minutes of stirring before the strawberry colored paste was somewhat consistent. He reached into the cup with three fingers, scooped up a glob, and rubbed it into the hide, He was on his fourth scoop with they heard shots.
They were close, too close for comfort and he cursed silently. Before he and Carol left home, such an outburst, silent or spoken, would have had him remembering the taste of soap. His mother wouldn’t tolerate foul language and used a bar of soap to emphasize it with her children. But all the time and experiences on the road had pushed that reaction from his mind.
He grimaced and wiped his hands on the furry side of the coon skin, grabbed it and his rifle, and slid deeper into the cave. He wanted to curse again, holding the single shot air rifle instead of the AK47. Carol had the fire smothered by the time he was settled. “Down between the packs” he whispered. “If someone shoots in here, ricochets could go anywhere.”
He pulled his 9mm pistol free and passed it to her, along with the spare magazines. She extended the AK forward, and Chad was reaching to exchange with her when a man slipped into the cave’s entrance, panting.
“That’s far enough,” Chad said softly. “One more step and you’re dead.” He left the AK at his side, and aimed the air rifle’s muzzle at the center of the man’s chest. The stranger was perfectly silhouetted in the entrance, while Chad knew he and Carol were invisible from the man’s location.
The man uttered a curse, and despite thinking nearly the same thing moments ago, Chad whispered “Watch your language. I don’t appreciate that sort of talk in front of my wife.”
The man was quiet as he tried to see into the darkness. “Sorry Ma’am, I didn’t see you there. Now, can you let me get into this hole before those bas, er I mean men searching see me sitting here.”
“I’ve got a problem with that,” Chad said, keeping his voice soft and the rifle aimed directly at the man’s chest. “You see, I don’t know you from Adam, and maybe there’s a good reason you’re being hunted.”
The man sighed and said, “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve been away from home for too many years and trying to get back.”
Chad felt a twinge at the comment.
“ I don’t blame you for not taking my word on it, I sure as he . . . heck wouldn’t. But unlike me, those guys hunting me are murders and rapists. I only kill people who deserve it.”
“So I was stranded in Afghanistan doing Uncle Sam’s bidding when the world went to hell.” He didn’t censor himself and Chad let it slide. “It’s taken me years to get this far and I want to see home again. And judging by your accent, I’m guessing you come from somewhere close to my home. My family was in Wenatchee, Washington the last I knew and that’s where I’m going. But those guys looking for me are about as agreeable as the Taliban and don’t want me to make it home.”
Chad wanted to believe the man, but he had caution bred by countless encounters.
The man continued to talk, quieter, but stopped when brush rustled outside.
Chad searched the brush for the source and what he saw made his stomach clench; the blue armband on the shaved head man easing past a massive walnut tree. He’d seen the wearers of those arm bands before and knew the stranger was right. If they were found, if they lived, Carol’s life would become a living nightmare.
Very quietly he said, “It’s your turn to trust me. When I say ‘now’ you need to flatten. I’m going to put a bullet right through the space your head is occupying. And if you do anything wrong, the second bullet goes into your head.”
The man gave a slight nod and the shaved head man saw him. “Now” Chad snapped as the bald man’s rifle came up. Chad squeezed the trigger, heard the satisfying splat as the bullet slammed into flesh, and the man crumpled with a cry of pain. There was a time that splat would’ve made Chad instantly sick, but it was far in his past, far away in Idaho. He made a quick rifle change, watching the stranger.
Rather than face Chad, he’d spun and faced away. At further movement, he raised his own rifle and shot.
Several shots answered and Chad felt fire in his side. The man at the entrance made a sharp grunt and returned rapid fire. The shots died off and all Chad could hear over the ringing in his ears was busting brush and groans.
“We’ve rattled them and the rest are backing off. I think it’s time I take the fight to them while they’re confused,” he said and slipped out of the cave’s entrance.
Chad stared at the vacant opening to their shelter, and jumped when Carol touched him. “You’re hit,” she said. “Let me see.”
His heart pounded harder from her unexpected touch than from the brief exchange of gunfire. He caught his breath and said, “It’s too dark and we’re not restarting the fire now. What about you? Are you alright?”
“I’m good. They all passed over me,” she said.
Relief flooded him.
A shot rang out some distance from their refuge, and was followed by several more.
Chad and Carol sat quietly and waited. As the adrenaline left his system, he began to feel the burn in his side more. Maybe he should let Carol examine it. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked to take his mind off his own wound.
“Yes, I’m good,” she said.
They both froze as brush rustled.
“It’s me,” the man from Washington said. “Can I come in? We don’t have to worry about that bunch coming back.”
Darkness was rapidly approaching and Chad wanted to look the man over before they lost all light. “Stay where you are and lower your rifle,” he said.
He eased out of the small cave, watching the man, but also behind him.
“I just wanted to let you know you don’t need to worry about those guys coming back,” the stranger said. “Maybe tomorrow their pack mates might wonder about them and come looking, but I think you’ll be safe for tonight.”
Chad studied the man. A bandana was around his upper arm and blood soaked the jacket sleeve. And though the man was wounded, Chad didn’t think he’d be able to defend himself even with the rifle if the man planned harm. He had a look about him like Mat, only more intense; a tightly coiled spring, ready to unleash violence in an instant. But he didn’t have another look Chad had seen in men, the blue arm band group only the latest. Chad didn’t detect the familiar look of malice and evil in the man.
“Afghanistan you said?” Chad said simply. He’d let the man talk and see if his story meshed at all with what Mat had told him. Of course Mat had made it home long before the pandemic and That Day.
“Yeah. I don’t know what you know about it there at the end, but as things were falling apart everywhere, pretty much everyone was pulled back to Bagram to evacuate back home. We got some intel on where Ayman al-Zawahiri was supposed to be, so a group of us went after him. We figured if we were leaving, we might as well take him out first.”
The man continued to talk, and it seemed legit to Chad.
“So anyway, we got the bast . . . him,” the man said, changing his words after a glance from Chad to the cave entrance. “On the same day Bagram went up in a mushroom cloud. So we had to make our way back to the States in a disintegrating world. There were only three of us left when we docked in Florida, and we split up soon after. My name’s Larry Cooper, by the way. And you are?”
Chad decided to trust the man. “Chad Smoke, and you were right, what you said earlier, about where we are from, although I don’t have an accent. Everyone else does. We’re from Idaho. So you’re sure we won’t have any trouble from those guys tonight?”
“Dead certain, if you know what I mean,” Larry Cooper said. “What brings you so far from home?”
Chad studied him a bit more and shrugged noncommittedly. He turned to the dark hole in the limestone wall. “Go ahead and start the fire, Carol. Mister Cooper was shot. We’ll need to be able to see it.”
“No Mister, call me Coop. But you don’t need to worry about me. I only wanted you to know you don’t need to be concerned about those goons. And to thank you. I appreciate you taking that maggot out that was behind me. Now I’ll go find a place of my own for the night. Besides, it looks like you’ve got your own wound that needs tending.”
“I insist Coop. Let us do what we can for your wound and share our supper with you at least,” Chad said.
It took more talking but eventually Coop gave in. “You don’t know how good it is to hear someone talking like they’re from home,” he said.
Chad winced with longing.
#
So we’re staying at a compound that sits on top of a plateau. It offers a good view all around and seems pretty safe. Luckily, well, foresight by the head guy Tom, the compound has a good well with a manual pump. But it’s a lot deeper than anything back home.
Tom, is a no nonsense guy. You do your share; you receive a share. Pretty simple. It’s not so bad, although Carol can’t do as much as she’d like.
I didn’t mention it yet, but by the time this letter reaches you, you should be grandparents. That’s why we’re staying in one place for a while. After showing we aren’t afraid of work, Tom said we can stay on until the baby is born and Carol is well enough to travel. What a relief. I was so afraid of something happening while we were on the move. Plus, he likes having our new friend Larry around.
Besides, it’s fall here. The weather isn’t too different than our old home, although it sounds like the snow doesn’t stay around as long and it doesn’t get as cold. Still, I didn’t want Carol traveling in it. It will be good to wait until spring or summer before moving on.
There are good Christian people here, with quite a few multi-generational families. But like everywhere, some real lowlifes live in the woods. These hills are pretty secluded, and there were lots of pot and meth production in the past. It’s funny, the soil is thin and needs a lot of nutrients and compost to grow a good garden, and there are rocks everywhere, some as big as bowling balls, but the pot growers always managed.
We’re always on the lookout for those guys. Apparently they liked the power they had and banded together in the absence of law and order. So the respectable people are also banding together and formed a sort of militia they call the “Bald Knobbers”.
# “Even before things went to pieces, there were areas good people didn’t go,” Tom explained to Chad and Coop. “There were unnamed gravel roads leading into the hills, often ending at a cluster of old houses and trailers. We didn’t have a large population so they could be quite well hidden. All too often the people who lived there cooked meth and grew pot and weren’t too keen on strangers showing up.
“After the world went to hell, they didn’t like giving up such a lucrative trade, even though cash was worthless. What did hold value was food, women, and laborers. They mine the old cities for chemicals and have come up with some new dope. It’s more addictive and deadly than meth ever was. They steal women and make them sex slaves. They like to wear blue bands on their arms as insignia for the other low lifes. That’s why I grilled you so much when you showed up here,” Tom said.
“As I told you, we eliminated one cluster of them,” Coop said. “But as I’m sure you know, more will fill in for them.”
“Don’t I know it. They’re like fleas on a hound. No matter how many you find, there are more to irritate the dog,” Tom said. “That’s why I want you two in the Bald Knobbers.”
“The what?” Chad asked.
“Bald Knobbers. It’s an old term we revived under the circumstances,” Tom said. “The originals were a vigilante group in the 1800’s who formed up to restore law and order. They gave wife beaters a taste of their own medicine, burned out thieves, and helped out widows and children. You know, hard willed hill people Robin Hoods. Sometimes they may have taken things too far, but now, with the blue bands, I think elimination is our only answer.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Chad said. “I’d rather not worry about those guys when we move on.”
Tom nodded and looked at Coop with a question in his eyes.
Coop answered with his own nod.
Chad would be glad to have Coop watching his back. He’d shuddered when Coop told more of his story and couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have with him. Well, maybe Mat. If everything Coop said was true, he was solid, a loyal American, and had left a trail of blood in Pakistan and Afghanistan.
“So in a few days, we’re taking the fight to them,” Tom said, “And I want both of you to go along. Now Chad, tell me about that rifle you have.”
Chad grinned and held the air rifle out for both to see. He could hear Mat explaining it to him all those years ago. Despite the grin, his eyes grew misty.
“Ah, this is my toy.” Mat held it out and admired it, and then handed it over to Chad. “You know boys and their toy guns. But as you found out, it’s not a toy, although some people would consider it frivolous. What you’re holding is a .50 caliber air rifle.”
“Chad, are you still with us?” Coop asked.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. So this is my brother’s toy,” he said. “You remember Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery, right?” He explained and dug into the ammunition bag he carried as Tom and Coop looked over the rifle. He fingered the clay mold, a tire weight, and a bullet.
“What are you doing?” Chad asked Mat at one point. Mat had a handful of the clay mud they were using, and was forming it into a block.
“Experimenting,” he said. When he was satisfied with the block, he cut a line deep into it, all the way around it. That done, he made a cone shaped hole in the top of it. When it was done to his satisfaction, he set it in the direct sunlight.
“Did you put something in there?” Chad asked.
“Yeah, one of the air rifle bullets. I saw the wheel weights on the pickup tires and got to wondering something. Suppose you were away from here with that rifle, ran out of bullets, and didn’t have the molds. Could you improvise and make your own? I think it’ll work with a little fine adjustment on the slugs when they come out. But we won’t know until we try,” Mat said.
Chad was shocked. “So what, are you planning to leave?” he asked.
“No, it’s just a “what if” thought. But then again, I didn’t plan on surviving a nuclear war when I had this place built, and you know how that turned out. So it’s one more thing to consider; could we make bullets for that rifle if we had to without the regular molds? I don’t know, but I’d bet in parts of the country, bullets are pretty scarce now,” Mat said.
“I think it’ll work,” Dan said. “Good thinking.”
“Well I don’t ever plan on finding out,” Chad stated. He had no way to know in the future, he’d be grateful to Mat for the idea.
Mat! Dad! Chad sniffed and brushed at his face as he was flooded with emotion. He looked at the house where Carol was and knew it would be a long time before he saw his family again. He’d read somewhere duty was heavier than a mountain. His shoulders slumped under the tremendous weight.
He showed the clay bullet mold and explained how he made his own bullets while wishing they weren’t needed.
#
But we’re safe here, and there is a very good midwife. So we’ll stay through winter. I have no idea when we’ll get back home.
We love and miss you all, Chad.
#
Chad tried to soak up the spots on the paper where his tears had fallen without smudging the writing. It wasn’t good, but it was better. And the last bit seemed so inadequate for what he felt. He folded the paper and put it in the envelope Tom had given him, sealed it and slipped it in his pocket. With luck, a lot of luck, someone would pass through going towards home, and the letter would eventually make it to its destination.
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Post by bretf on Dec 3, 2018 0:59:19 GMT
Thanks Bret, you've captured the environment and people well. Except the elderberries would have been gone by the time Autumn colors showed. Other than that, perfect. Especially the Bald Knobbers. Thanks Pony. I should have figured that outs, seeing as I was too late for all but a couple handfuls of berries when I went elk hunting. I've changed it in my word file, but didn't find an edit button in the post. "The foliage might be unfamiliar, but Chad welcomed the nut trees as he and Carol passed through. Always foraging as they traveled, they collected nuts the squirrels hadn’t found and stashed away. Along with the walnuts and acorns, elderberries were abundant; the bushes anyway. Chad would’ve liked to harvest and dry some, but unfortunately, they were too late in the season for the berries. Leery of plants he didn’t recognize, he hoped to spend time with someone native to the area to learn about other edible plants."
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Post by bretf on Jun 8, 2019 11:39:28 GMT
When I finished the original draft of “The Ashen Horse”, I was going to leave it that way, with the occasional letters as Chad and Carol wandered aimlessly from place to place. And then Chad started telling me he wanted to go home and have the story shared. Going back through everything, I found the letters needed redone to make their travels and major events in a more linear fashion. This letter resulted from my decision and will combine new material with material that was previously posted.
A Letter from Chad
Brooke Smoke let the bicycle drift to a stop in front of the Hamilton post office and barter center. She turned and stuck her tongue out at her twin sister Alison and their friend Brian Sparks. “I don’t know why we have to come here first. Angie won’t have anything new to trade that we don’t already have. I’d rather come here after we’ve seen Sue and Joe.”
“Don’t you mean “seen Joe”? Anyway, you do too know why we had to come here first. And you know we have to check in with the Camps next. Mom insisted and you know she’ll ask everyone when she gets the chance. If we don’t do it her way this time, we’ll be banished to the house until we’re thirty,” Alison said.
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Brian said.
Brooke raised her eyebrows and shook her head sadly saying, “Unfortunately, she’s right. You only see her good side. After Chad and Carol left, we were like prisoners for more than a year. You have no idea how long we had to talk to get her to let us come without Mat.”
“Yeah, and if she hears we did anything on this trip she didn’t give her express permission to do, we won’t be back again any time soon. We might not even get to go to your house,” Alison said.
“Then don’t mess up,” Brian said quickly. “And explain to me again why I’m the one puling your trailer.”
Both girls turned their beautiful smiles to him and batted their eyebrows. “Because you’re so sweet,” they said in unison. “And not a bad kisser either.” They cracked up when he turned red.
“Um hum,” he said, unable to get out anything else.
“Come on you,” the girls said, each taking a hand and leading him into the building.
Angie looked up and said, “Hi guys, you must’ve gotten my mental message.”
Ali and Brooke looked at each other in question before they said in unison “Hi Angie. It’s nice to see you.”
They switched to tag team talking. They’d been talking in that manner for so long it was usually simple to complete the other’s sentence. But without practice, they couldn’t talk in unison in spontaneous conversations.
Alison, “No, we brought some” Brooke, “Stuff from the garden.” Alison, “And Mom was hoping” Brooke, “We could get some” Alison, “Flour, sugar, and honey.” Brooke, “But what mental message” Alison, “Are you talking about?” Brooke, “I only get mental messages” “From her,” they said again in unison, pointing at the other.
Angie looked at them in amazement. Even Brian was impressed, and he’d witnessed them practicing together to fool people.
When she was over her shock Angie said, “A traveler dropped off an envelope the day before yesterday for you. I haven’t heard of anyone going up your way so I’ve still got it. I think it’s from your brother.”
“Why do you” “Think it’s from” “Chad. You didn’t” “Open it and read” “It, did you?”
Angie shook her head in reaction to the twins’ style of questions as well as the question. “Un, no, I didn’t,” she said. “I think it’s from him because his name is on it.”
The girls looked at each other for several moments and Brooke said, “Ali, no. I want to go the Sue and Joe’s first.”
“Yes. You know what will happen if we get home with a letter and she thinks we dawdled in town. It’ll be worse than not doing what she says and her finding out,” Alison said.
“Oh all right. You know, at times I hate it when you’re right. Come on Brian. We have to get the trailer unloaded,” Brooke said.
“Brooke,” Alison said as her sister reached the door. “Brian and I can do it and trade with Angie. But you better be back soon.”
Brooke smiled and said, “Sure thing.”
Ali shook her head, knowing she and Brian would have to go find her. Something was happening to them she didn’t understand. Although they could still complete each other’s sentences, they were growing different. Maybe it was because of Brian . . . and Joe. She smiled and decided that had to be it. Leave it to boys to mess up a perfect relationship.
#
The family and Brian sat in the living room and Heather held the envelope. Nick Robbins also sat grinning, waiting to hear what the letter had to say. The girls had sent Brian to tell him when they passed his family’s home, knowing he’d be put out if he found out about it later.
Heather studied the envelope and said, “Like the others, it has his name in the corner, and Smoke – Gomez, Indian Valley, Idaho for the address.”
She opened it carefully and withdrew the folded papers.
Dear everyone, I hope you are all doing well at home. We’re doing well, all THREE of us. Mom and Dad, I hope you’re sitting down, because you’re grandparents now. We have a beautiful son, named John, for Carol’s dad. Carol was worried that maybe the pox had done something to her, but he’s perfect! Sorry we can’t send pictures but check out the sketches on the other paper.
Heather looked at the second slip of paper in her hand, at the line sketch of a woman holding a baby. Whoever had drawn it had a great eye for detail. Carol was easily recognizable, although her features were those of a woman, not the girl any of them had last seen. She looked down at the bundle in her arms, enraptured. The baby had a puckered up face like he wanted his mother to turn him around and feed him rather than hold him for the sketch artist.
Lisa took the sketch, sniffed, and cooed, “Oh he’s gorgeous!”
Brooke and Alison looked over her shoulder at the drawing, turned to look at each other and shrugged. “It must be late summer where they are. That kid looks like he tried chokecherries for the first time,” Brooke said.
“Brooke, he’s beautiful,” Lisa admonished. She turned the paper over to see a sketch of John, peacefully sleeping. The image blurred as tears flooded her eyes. She held the paper out to Dan before she messed the paper up.
The paper was passed from person to person and Heather started reading again.
So having John sure makes things different, but we manage. We’re in Northern Texas now and wow, are parts of it flat. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it. We’ve been staying at a village for a few days, resting, stocking up, and figuring where we’ll go next. It’s funny, we perform for food and a place to sleep. I’ve been told there are a number of traveling musicians, minstrels they’re called around here. They go from village to village and trade music for food and lodging.
Wherever we go next, it won’t be east. There are interesting stories no one knows if they’re true or rumor. Anyway, it’s said President Morton and some government and military officials survived in hardened bunkers and are working to reestablish the country. Supposedly, they conscript pretty much every able bodied person they can (or don’t have killed). I’d like to see our country rise from the ashes, but I don’t want to leave Carol and John.
We don’t know when we’ll be home, but Carol is much more open to the idea now that we have John.
Love to you all, Chad, Carol, and John
As was their custom anytime they heard form Chad, Lisa and Dan left the house hand in hand. Lisa’s face was wet with tears as they headed for their spot to look down the valley.
Mat looked at the papers spread out on the table. They’d been designing a second house and cutting timbers, anticipating the day Chad and Carol returned. Alison and Brooke wanted the entire process to go faster. They anticipated having the new house to themselves until their brother returned.
“So what do you think, Hon?” he asked Heather. “Do we need to change anything now that they’re parents?”
Brooke looked at her sister and said, “Knowing our luck, it won’t be done when they get back and they’ll get our room. We’ll be relegated to the shed.”
Alison winked at her and said, “Easier for Brian to visit without Mom and Dad knowing. Or Joe.”
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