Title: Eye of the Sparrow
Part One - A Runction at the Mill
Author: Debbie H.

Note: This story takes place sometime after "To Have and to Hold" (the
episode when Lundy accidentally shoots his father, Bird's-Eye, then runs
away), but before the final episode of the series.

Disclaimer:  The characters in this story were created by Catherine
Marshall in ther novel, Christy, the copyright of which is owned by the
LeSourd Family.  This story has been written for entertainment purposes
only.  Any additional characters were created by the author.

PART ONE - A RUNCTION AT THE MILL

        A lone figure approached Bob Allen's mill.  It was Bird's-Eye Taylor,
leading his mule loaded down with two large bushels of corn to be
ground.  Bob Allen knew him as soon as he spotted him - the tattered
coat and felt hat pulled low over his eyes were Bird's-Eye's trademark,
as was the old rifle he carried.  The miller braced himself for the
confrontation he knew was coming.
        "Got some corn t' be ground," Bird's-Eye said gruffly.  He wasn't one
for exchanging pleasantries, especially with an Allen.  If dealing with
Bob Allen weren't a necessity to his blockading, he surely wouldn't be
standing here now.  The Taylor-Allen feud was famous throughout
Tennessee and North Carolina.
        Bob took a deep breath and stood tall.  "Ye'll have to wait yer turn,
Bird's-Eye.  Jeb Spencer and Tom McHone both brung ther harvest in
yestidy.  And I ain't gonna let ye jump in line."  The moonshiner looked
at him with a cold stare and cocked his rifle.  Bob smirked.  "I hear
them Revenooers air a-closin' in on you, and I don't aim to be took down
with ye."
        Bird's-Eye looked at Bob in surprise.  "Revenooers?"                            
        "Shorely.  They know some of the routes ye're takin' and the men ye're
usin'.  They's jest a-waitin' to track ‘em back to the still.  Ain't
gonna be long till they clomp you in jail."
        Bird's-Eye spat a long stream of tobacco juice at Bob's feet.  "Waal,
you jest get to groundin' ma corn as fast as you see fit.  Them
Revenooers ain't got me yit."  He wordlessly unloaded his mule, then
turned on his heel.

******
        Bird's-Eye couldn't show it, but Bob's words troubled him.  He'd spent
twenty years building his blockade running business.  It takes a long
time to find men who are willing to break the law, yet can be trusted. 
It takes an even longer time to create ingenious routes and methods for
distributing the homemade liquor to the consumer.  Which routes had the
government agents discovered, and which of his men had "turncoated"?  As
Bird's-Eye trudged home with his mule, he pondered his predicament.  "If
they find the cave, it's all o'er," he muttered.  The thought of Revenue
agents uncovering the main artery of his intricate distribution system
sent a cold chill down his spine.  "Best lay off a spell," he concluded.

******
        Bird's-Eye got out of the rickety old rocking chair on his porch and
went into his cabin.    The cabin was little more than a shack in dire
need of maintenance.  There were only three steps of the original eight
leading up to the porch, which leaned heavily toward the ground on one
side.  Many shingles were missing from the roof, and the sole window
along the front wall had a broken pane and was boarded up.  This was the
home of Bird's-Eye Taylor, the most ruthless and feared blockade runner
in East Tennessee.
        The inside of the cabin was no better.  A thick layer of dust coated
almost everything.  Dirty dishes were piled in the washbasin.  What
little furniture there was had been crudely constructed, and was in
disrepair.  Only one of the kitchen chairs actually had all four legs. 
The table did have four legs, but one was so short, it caused the table
to totter at such an angle that anything placed on it would surely slide
off.  There was no bed, just a few tattered flour sacks stuffed with
straw.
        Bird's-Eye walked across the single room to a worn chest of drawers
standing against the back wall.  Instead of opening a drawer, he pushed
the chest over a few feet, revealing a small trap door in the floor.  He
pulled on a rope and opened the door, exposing a staircase that led to a
dark and musty cave.  Bird's-Eye descended the steps down into the
darkness.  Along one wall of the cave were shelves - row upon row.  The
shelves were lined with jugs of liquor - inventory awaiting
distribution.  He grunted in disgust at the thought of exactly one
hundred jugs sitting in his warehouse, not able to reach his customers. 
He grabbed one of the jugs, uncorked it, and took a long drink. 
Ninety-nine jugs now lined the shelves.
        
******
        Because Bird's-Eye was "laying low" in the moonshine business, he had a
lot of time to think.  The mountain man reflected back on his life, and
he did not like what he saw.  It was evening, and he was sitting on the
porch, swigging his liquor and thinking.  Lundy had been gone for over a
month.  Not a single soul in the Cove had even laid eyes on the boy.
        "My own boy don't even want nothin' to do with me," he said, then took
a long swallow from his jug.
        "Wal, why would he, ye torn-down woodscolt!" the sound of his own voice
surprised him.  "Ye ain't been nothin' but ornery and hateful to ‘im
since his maw left," he muttered.  "Ye're jest a-gettin' what ye
de-serve.  Shoot fire, them Revenooers may cotch you yit."  The
blockader took another drink, but the anesthesia that usually worked so
well would not take away the pain this time.  He was going to need more
than liquor to ease the pain that a lifetime of feuding, stilling and
hating had caused.

******
        Bird's-Eye awoke to the sun streaming through a hole in the roof right
into his eyes.  He grunted and rolled over, but he wasn't able to go
back to sleep.  His head felt like a whole team of coal miners had
exploded a crate of dynamite inside of it.  Groaning loudly, he sat up
and held his head.  After several minutes, the blockader slowly and with
great difficulty stood up.  His breath tasted foul - just like he felt.
Spotting his jug, he picked it up to take a drink and get rid of that
bad taste. Cursing under his breath, Bird's-Eye threw down the empty
jug.
        He stumbled over to the cooking area, searching for some food, but
there was none to be found.  The stiller had never felt so bad in all
his life.  He felt as though he were standing at the mouth of Hell
dressed in wool.  Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. 
Angrily, he snatched up his rifle, kicked a chair across the room and
stormed out of the cabin.
        In his semi-inebriated state, Bird's-Eye decided that a day of hunting
would make him feel better.  He staggered down the hill from his cabin,
scaring every wild creature within a quarter-mile radius.  It was
difficult to maneuver; he had a hard time deciding which of the two
identical trees in front of him was real and which one was an illusion.
        A rustling in the brush drew Bird's-Eye's attention.  He saw a racoon
crawl into the bushes.  "That'd make some good vittles," he thought to
himself as he raised his rifle.  The branches moved slightly, and the
hunter squeezed the trigger.
        "AAAAAHHHHH!" a young voice cried out in agony.

******
        Startled out of his drunken stupor, Bird's-Eye warily approached the
brush.  He pushed aside some branches and gasped.  Creed Allen lay
writhing on the ground, blood oozing from a shoulder wound.  The horror
of his action cut through Bird's-Eye like a knife.  Even feuding and
blockade running had a code of conduct.  And that code did not include
shooting the children of one's enemy.  He had crossed the line.         
        Creed opened his eyes and saw the hardened mountain man standing over
him with his rifle in his hand.  He whined, "Bird's-Eye, don't kill me,
Bird's-Eye.  Please!  I weren't doin' nothin'.  Honest!"  Bird's-Eye
stared at the boy with a face of stone.  The look silenced the
whimpering boy.  With determination, the blockader hit Creed with the
butt of his rifle, knocking him unconscious.   Then he picked the boy
up, threw him over his shoulder, and walked off.

PART TWO - THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
        
        The early morning sun rose above Lonesome Pine Ridge.  It awoke the
young man who was sleeping in a ditch, covered in leaves.  As he
stretched, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten in a
couple of days.  The blonde man sighed and stood up.  His beard was
almost full-grown; he had not shaved in several weeks.  His tattered
clothes hung loosely on his once-stocky frame. His bare feet were
calloused and stained with dirt.  
        Lundy Taylor walked to the nearby creek bed and knelt down.  He scooped
up some of the cool water with his hands and drank it thirstily.  As he
had learned lately, the water would fill his stomach and temporarily
stop its rumbling.  It was time to find some food.
        For the hundredth time, Lundy cursed himself for failing to bring his
rifle when he ran away.  Living off the land without a gun was
challenging, even for a highlander.  The traps he built occasionally
provided nourishment, usually in the form of a squirrel or rabbit.  Wild
berries and herbs allowed him to subsist when the traps were empty, but
Lundy could feel himself changing - hardening.  He was beginning to feel
wild, like one of the animals he was trying to trap.
        The teenager walked aimlessly through the woods.  His mind was dazed by
his hunger.  He found himself on the outskirts of the Spencer farm.  The
door to the cabin opened, and Zady Spencer emerged with something in her
hand.  Lundy quickly ducked behind some bushes and watched her through
the branches.
        Zady set the pan she was carrying on the fence post so she could help
her little sister Lulu bring two large buckets of water from the well. 
The sisters disappeared inside with the water.  Stealthily, Lundy crept
to the fence post and reached his hand into the pan.  The texture of
warm cornbread met his fingers.  He quickly grabbed a handful of the
bread and returned the pan to the fence post.  The cabin door opened,
and Lundy slipped back into the brush just before Zady stepped onto the
porch.
        The dark-headed girl walked across the yard.  She was supposed to take
the cornbread to Aunt Hattie, who was feeling ill.  When Zady picked up
the pan, it felt funny, somehow.  She lifted the calico napkin and
realized that a large chunk of cornbread was gone.  She looked around,
puzzled.  "Don't reckon no critter could'a done that," she mumbled.
        
        ******
        Before sunrise the next morning, Zady silently slipped from her bed. 
She carefully prepared a plate from last night's supper.  "Everwho's out
thar must be awful hongry," she thought as she ladled a generous helping
of applesauce onto the tin plate.  She cut a thick slice of ham, and
smiled as she added a large wedge of her mother's blueberry pie to the
meal.  "Mama's pie'd pearten up a dead man," she said to herself.  She
crept across the cabin.  Fortunately, her father's loud snoring covered
up the sound of squeaking floorboards.  

******
        Bird's-Eye carefully laid the unconscious boy he'd been carrying on the
ground behind a fallen tree.  He sat on a stump beside him and watched
the mission house.  Reverend Grantland departed with his tool belt,
heading for Granny Barclay's.  Miss Alice descended the mission house
steps, adjusted her hatpin, and mounted her horse.  It was time for her
week-long stay in Cataleechie.  
        The mountain man looked over at the boy.  The bleeding had finally
stopped.  Bird's-Eye had used the shirt off his back to bandage the
gunshot wound.  He stood up, pulling his coat tightly over his exposed
belly.  He walked resolutely to the mission house door.  He raised his
hand as if to knock, but then froze.  The moment he knocked on the door,
any chance of changing his mind would be gone.  He could leave Creed on
the porch, then disappear for a while.  "No," he said shaking his head
angrily.  "For onct, I'm a-gonna do the right thing."  
        Knowing that Bob Allen would probably kill him for hurting Creed,
Bird's-Eye took a deep breath and pounded on the door.  "Miz Christy!
Come quick!"
        "What is it, Mr. Taylor?" Christy opened the door with caution.  She
was all too aware of the fact that she was home alone.  Most mountain
men would never harm a woman, but with Bird's-Eye Taylor, one could
never be sure.
        Bird's-Eye removed his worn hat.  "Been a ax-ident, ma'am.  I was out
huntin'.... saw a coon...... wasn't feelin' so good this mornin' so my
aim was off...... shot Creed Allen."
        "You what!?!" an alarmed Christy cried.
        "Don't worry, ma'am.  He's all right.  Got ‘im hid over yonder.  Reckon
you could fotch on the doc?"
        Christy looked around.  "Ruby Mae! Ruby Mae!" she called.  The
red-headed girl came running from the schoolhouse.  "Ruby Mae, I want
you to go find Dr. MacNeill.  Tell him that Creed Allen's been shot. 
And hurry!"
        Ruby Mae scurried off on her errand, her mind racing.  What happened? 
Did Bird's-Eye shoot Creed?  She shivered at the thought of what might
happen if he did.
        "Where is he, Mr. Taylor?  We've got to get him inside."

******
        Christy was gently stroking the young boy's forehead when Dr. MacNeill
entered the mission house.  Bird's-Eye was standing in the corner, a
troubled look on his usually stony face.  "Wha' happened here?" the
doctor demanded as he opened his medical bag.
        Christy replied quickly, "Bird's-Eye shot Creed by mistake."
        Neil turned and studied the mountain man.  "Was it an accident, man?" 
The mountaineer in the corner slowly nodded his head.  "You'd best be
off, before Bob Allen hears aboot this."
        "But the young'un..."
        "Don' worry, we'll see to ‘im.  Now go!"

******
        Thinking that the Allens should know about Creed's situation, Ruby Mae
ran toward the mill after delivering her message to the doctor.  "Mr.
Allen!  Miz Allen!" she cried breathlessly as she neared the mill.
        "What're you carryin' on about, young'un?" Mr. Allen asked her.
        "It's Creed....... been shot......... Bird's-Eye Taylor......."
        "Bird's-Eye Taylor!  Why that low-down varmint!"  Bob Allen, generally
a mild-mannered man, grabbed his rifle and headed for the mission.  Ruby
Mae ran along behind him, trying to keep up.

******
        Bird's-Eye ran blindly away from the mission house.  He didn't know
where he was going or what he was doing.  He just knew he had to get
away.  Up the mountain he ran, his lungs bursting from the effort, but
he welcomed the pain.  On and on he ran, until his legs would go no
further.  Gasping for air, Bird's-Eye collapsed.
        When his breathing slowed down, he sat up and looked around.  He was on
God's Fist, the summit overlooking the Cove.  The troubled man walked to
the edge of the rock protruding over the ridge.  In utter anguish, he
let out a howl.  How did his life ever become so hopeless?  He stood at
the edge, pondering whether to jump, and put himself out of his misery.
        He thought about Lundy, and wondered where he was, what he was doing. 
It was hard for him to admit, but he missed his son.  Would he ever see
the boy again?  Maybe he was dead.  The thought hit him like a punch in
the stomach.  He never had been able to let his son know that he cared
for him, and now it might be too late.
        He never let his wife know he cared about her either.  She disappeared
one summer night almost twelve years ago.  Bird's-Eye had taken young
Lundy fishing, and when they came home, she was gone, along with all
their money and her mother's antique broach.  It hurt him when she left,
but he had to be strong for his boy.  In all those years, he had never
once given voice to the pain of her leaving.  Standing on the mountain
top, he released his torment with a shout.
        Then he remembered his father, the man who inspired fear with a single
glance.  More than once, Bird's-Eye had been beaten by his father in a
drunken rage as his mother watched helplessly, bruised and broken
herself.  At fourteen, he had enough, and ran away from home.  Living on
stolen chickens and wild berries, the teenager grew up fast and mean. 
It was the only way to survive.
        The memories swirled around in Bird's-Eye's lowered head.  He realized
that each time he had been beaten or ridiculed, a small piece of him
died.  In order to protect himself, he had built a wall of cold hatred
around himself.  If no one could scale that wall and come inside, no one
could hurt him.  With sudden insight, he also realized that no one could
love him, either.  
        No one would care if he jumped off this rock.  The folks in the Cove
would probably be relieved, he thought.  But that wasn't true.  Opal and
Miz Christy saw the goodness in him, although it was buried so deep, he
himself did not know if it still existed.  But if it did.........
Bird's-Eye looked out over the horizon, a glimmer of hope in his eye.
PART THREE - WILL THE CIRCLE BE UNBROKEN?

        When Zady went outside to fetch the tin plate she'd left on the fence
post early that morning, she was not surprised to find every morsel
gone.  However, she was surprised to find a small bunch of wild flowers
lying on the empty plate.  "So it really weren't no critter!" she mused,
looking around for clues about her mysterious visitor, but finding none.
        For several days, Zady rose before dawn, filling a plate with whatever
she could.  She even used some of her own dinner from the night before,
which she hid in her pocket so that her mother would not notice the food
missing from the cupboard.  Each afternoon, when she retrieved the tin,
a small gift would be in it - an arrowhead, a sprig of mint, a smooth
stone from the creek.  The young woman was intrigued.  Who was the poor
hungry soul she was feeding?

******
        Bob Allen arrived at the mission house in record time.  "Whar is that
mangy dog?" he demanded as he burst into the parlor, cocking his rifle.
        Dr. MacNeill looked up from his patient.  "Don' yu want tu know how
your son is doing, Bob?" 
        The miller's shoulders drooped and he released a long sigh.  "How's he
farin', Doc?  He gonna make it?"
        "He's going tu be just fine.  The bullet hit ‘im in the left shoulder,
no' a life-threatening wound, but he did lose a lot o' blood.  Miss
Huddleston and I are almost done patching him up."
        "Why don't you sit down, Mr. Allen?" Christy added, gently leading the
distraught father to a chair.  "It's a good thing Bird's-Eye brought
Creed right over after the accident."  
        Upon hearing the name of his enemy, Bob sat up in his chair. 
"Ax-ident? Hmph!"
        "He was very upset, Mr. Allen.  I've never seen him that way.  I truly
do believe that he did not intentionally shoot Creed."
        "You say what you want, Miss, but Bird's-Eye Taylor only hits what he's
aimin' fer.  You know why they call ‘im Bird's-Eye?"  Christy shook her
head.  "Cuz he ken shoot the eye out'n a bird as fur as he ken see it. 
A feller like that don't spill blood by mistake."  Bob was getting
angry.
        Dr. MacNeill could see that the discussion was going nowhere.  "Miss
Huddleston, I need your help here, please."  The two of them completed
Creed's surgery in silence.

******
        Sitting behind a tree stump, Lundy finished the meal Zady left him. He
grunted contentedly as he stabbed the last bite of apple pie with his
hunting knife.  Fried chicken, beans, applesauce, and a large piece of
apple pie were all things he had not eaten in a very long time. 
Sauerkraut and cornbread were the standard when he was living with his
father, and wild berries with an occasional squirrel were his diet as he
wandered the hills.                     
        The much-needed nourishment stimulated Lundy's mind.  He realized with
sudden clarity that he was standing at a crossroad.  A decision had to
be made.  Lundy could continue roaming the wilderness, becoming wilder
until he was no longer human...... or he could take control of his life
and return to humanity.  Tenderly, he placed a small wooden item in the
tin and crept to the Spencer's fence post.  

******
        Zady looked forward to discovering what surprise would be waiting for
her each afternoon when she retrieved the tin plate.  The small tokens
of appreciation warmed her heart.  She knew she was helping a needy
soul.  The young girl was amazed one day, however, to find a carefully
carved wooden fox waiting for her.  Someone had spent a great deal of
time making this.  She clutched the figure close to her, and again
looked for any sign of her visitor.     
        The next day, Zady was disappointed to find that her plate was
untouched.  "Please watch over him, Lord, wherever he is," she
whispered.  Sadly, Zady walked back to the cabin.  Somehow she knew that
the fox had been a farewell gift, but she did not lose hope.  For the
next week, she continued her vigil, putting a meal out every morning,
but her unidentified guest had disappeared.
  
******
        Dr. MacNeill and Bob Allen were having an earnest discussion as they
waited for Creed to awaken from the anesthesia.  Christy had gone to the
Allens' to let Mary know that everything was all right.
        "Ah saw ‘im maself, Bob," the doctor said quietly.  "He looked like ‘e
was aboot to cry..... and yu know Bird's-Eye Taylor does na cry......  I
could smell the liquor on ‘is breath.  Even Bird's-Eye does na shoot
straight if he's had enough moonshine to still be drunk the next
mornin'.  Ah have to agree with Miss Huddleston.  It was an accident."
        Bob shook his head in confusion.  "I hear what ye're a-sayin', doc, but
when a Taylor shoots a Allen, it ain't no ax-ident.  I don't keer what
ye say."
        "Well, then why did he bring Creed to the mission?" Neil countered. 
"If he had wanted to kill him, he would have left him where he shot
him."
        "I reckon he weren't tryin' to kill ‘im.  Jest make a point," Bob
answered.  "Look-a-here, we had a runction t' other day, ‘bout groundin'
his corn.  I told ‘im the Revenooers was after ‘im.  He didn't take to
that real good."
        "Ah see," the doctor said, running his hand through his unruly hair. 
The smouldering embers of the Taylor-Allen feud were on the verge of
being rekindled into a full-blown forest fire, and he could not think of
a way to stop it.  Too many times, he had seen it - an uneasy truce
broken by unintended actions, and the highlanders' pride unwilling to
forgive.  "How can I make Bob understand?" he thought desperately.
        "Listen to me, Bob.  If you start gunnin' for Bird's-Eye, his clan will
have tu come after yu.  Bird's-Eye and Nathan O'Teale are cousins, yu
know.  An' wi' Nathan's itchy trigger finger..... you'll be dead in a
week.  Who'll take care o' your family then?  ‘Tis a nevair-ending cycle
of revenge.  Someone's got tu stop it, Bob....... and tha' someone is
yu."  The doctor jabbed his finger into his friend's chest.
        "Why me?" Bob shouted angrily.  "Why do I have to forgive that
torn-down scoundrel fer a-shootin' my boy?"
        "For the sake of your children," the doctor answered quietly.  "This
feud was a burden your grandfathers passed on tu your fathers, who
passed it on t' yu.  ‘Tis a heavy burden t' bear, Bob, yu know it's
true.  You've been bearing it yerself for years.  An' yu want t' pass it
on tu Rob, Creed 'n Li'l Burl?" he asked incredulously.
        The weary father shook his head and sighed.  The thought of his
children being drawn into the fight struck a nerve.  "Naw.  I don't aim
to pass it to my young'uns....."  The room was silent, except for the
sound of Creed's steady breathing, as Bob struggled with his conscience
and his upbringing.  "I reckon that means the feudin' stops with
me.................. right here, right now."

PART FOUR - STARTING OVER

        Franklin Thompson was sweeping the walkway in front of his Knoxville
shop when he noticed a grizzled young man walking slowly down the
street.  "Hey there, mister!" the young man called, jogging over to
him.  "I'm a-lookin' fer a job.  You got some work?"
        The carpenter studied the blonde man.  On closer inspection, he
realized that he was just a boy - a boy turned rugged and hard by God
only knows what circumstances.  "So you want a job, son?"  The boy
nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.  "Where you from?"
        "Don't reckon that matters none," he replied with a scowl.  Then in the
tone of a trader willing to make a bargain, the young man continued,
"Listen, here, mister.  I'm a good hand to work, I ken really make the
fur fly.  And ye ken see plain as day I need a job.  So will ye gi' me
one?"
        Franklin crossed his arms and sighed.  The boy looked like trouble - a
desperate man in a desperate situation.  Common sense told him to turn
the young man away; but a quiet voice deep down inside of him spoke
otherwise.  It reminded him of a time when he was a desperate runaway,
searching for a chance at a new life.  An old man had taken him in,
taught him his trade, and given him the chance he needed to be a
productive member of society.
        "Aye," he nodded.  "I've got one for you.  You know anything about
carpentry, boy?"
        "Naw.  But I ken larn."  The young man stood up straight and said with
a note of pride, "Had me a year a schoolin' ‘fore I left."
        "Good.  I'm Franklin Thompson," the carpenter said, holding out his
hand.
        The young man shook it. "Name's Lundy," he said, "Amos Lundy."

******
        Christy was lost in thought as she hiked up the mountain to her
favorite spot.  It was a small clearing near Beaver Creek, where the
wild flowers bloomed in all their glory while the creek gurgled
happily.  This was a peaceful place where she often came to clear her
head when the trials of life overwhelmed her.  She sat down on a large
rock and sighed.  This business between Bird's-Eye and Bob Allen was
trouble.  Somehow the feuding had to be stopped, but what could she do
to stop it?
        A twig snapped nearby, pulling Christy from her reverie.  She turned
her head, and there stood Bird's-Eye Taylor.  At least, she thought it
was him; but there was something different about him.  She couldn't
quite say what.  His eyes seemed........... well, softer somehow.    
        "Miz Christy," the highlander began.  "I'm a needin' to talk to ye,
if'n you've a mind to hit."  There was a humility about him that the
school teacher had never seen.
        "Of course we can talk, Bird's-Eye," Christy responded encouragingly.
        The mountain man sat down wearily on a fallen log.  He took off his hat
and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.  "Look-a-here, Miz
Christy.  It's like this.  I've momicked my life up real good.  Don't
know if'n there be any way to fix it now."
        "There's always a way," answered Christy gently.
        "Like Lundy.  That leather-headed boy been gone nigh on a month and a
half.  Nobody seen hide nor hair of ‘im.  Reckon he never woulda run off
if'n I'd a treated ‘im better."
        "You don't know that for sure."
        Bird's-Eye nodded his head.  "Got good reason for thinkin' it. 
Sometimes, when I got likkered up good, I'd whup the tar out'n him, just
to be whuppin'.  Shoot fire, my paw done the same thing t' me, an' I run
off, too."
        "I'm sorry, Bird's-Eye.  I didn't know."
        "That thar boy's the onliest thing I got left in this here world.  And
I done runned ‘im off."  Bird's-Eye shook his head sadly.  "Then thar's
that Creed Allen.  I shorely didn't aim t' shoot ‘im.  As shore as I'm
a-settin' here now, I could ‘a swore I saw a coon.  I've shot plenty o'
coons in my day, a few blockaders, too," he laughed drily, "but I ain't
never shot a young'un.  I done sunk as low as a body ken go."
        Christy patted his shoulder.  "It was an accident.  I know that; Dr.
MacNeill knows it; and deep down inside, I think Bob Allen knows it,
too."
        "Ax-ident or not, I done it."  He lowered his head in defeat.  "Miz
Christy, I'm a-tired of all this.  Tired o' feudin', tired o' runnin'
moonshine, tired o' livin' alone, and jest plain tired o' bein' a
low-down varmint."
        Looking Bird's-Eye straight in the eye, Christy told him, "But you can
change all that."
        "How?" he asked, scratching his head.  "Ain't I a-too far gone?"
        "No one is ever too far gone," she assured him.  "With God's help, even
the lowliest sinner can become righteous."
        "Well, if I ain't the lowliest sinner, I'm right close to it. 
What'n'all I got t' do?"
        "Listen to me, Bird's-Eye. God loves you."
        "God cain't love me, Miz Christy.  I done sunk too low," he protested. 
        "He does love you - very much - because He created you.  You're one of
His children.  In fact, all human beings are His children.  But we're
all sinners, every one of us, and sin separates us from God because He
is perfect, and He cannot tolerate sin.  
        "God didn't just turn His back on us sinners, though.  He loves us all
so much that He gave us another chance.  He sent His Son, in the form of
a man, to be a living sacrifice for all of us.  All you have to do is
accept the sacrifice He made for you.  All you have to do is thank God
for His forgiveness through His Son.  Let Him live in your heart; let
His love flow through you; be obedient to His word."
        Bird's-Eye fumbled with the hat he held in his hands, pondering
Christy's words.  She could see the conflict within him.  Finally, he
stood.  "Reckon you give me somethin' to think on."  With that, he put
his hat back on his head and strode away, leaving Christy watching after
him.
        
******
        Zady sat on the porch steps, mindlessly digging a stick into the dirt. 
"What's ailin' you, Zady?" Fairlight asked as she sat down beside her
daughter.  
        "Nothin's ailin' me, Mama," Zady replied, but Fairlight wasn't the
least bit convinced.
        "Come on now, Zady.  You've been sulled up all week.  What's wrong?  Is
it a boy?" she joked, leaning against her.
        "No, Mama.  Leave me be."  Zady moved away from her mother.
        Fairlight wouldn't quit.  "I know you better than that.  Who is it? 
Has Will Beck been a-tryin' to court you?"
        "It ain't Will Beck," the girl poked the stick into the ground.  
        "Who then, Zady?" her mother asked.  Sometimes getting her oldest
daughter to talk was like trying to plow up the side of a mountain.
        "I don't know who it is, Mama," Zady said sadly.
        "You mean to tell me ye're a-pinin' fer a fella you don't even know?"
Fairlight questioned incredulously.
        The girl looked at her mother.  "It ain't like what ye're thinkin'.  I
never even saw ‘im, but he was here; and he needed my holp, and I gave
it to ‘im."
        "What are you carryin' on about, young'un?"
        Zady told her mother the story about the mysterious stranger who had
eaten the meals she left daily for about a week.  "So that's whar all
them vittles been goin'!" Fairlight exclaimed.  "And how air you
a-knowin' it's a fella?"
        The girl answered, "Wal, one day, I found this."  She pulled the wooden
fox from her pocket, and carefully handed it to the woman sitting beside
her.  Fairlight held it up, examining it.  She could easily see the
great care someone had taken in carving the small figure.  "I don't know
no gal-woman who can carve like that, nor one what ken eat as much."
        "Wal, what air ye pinin' for?  Let's try an' cotch him," Fairlight
suggested, her curiosity piqued.
        "Ain't no use," Zady muttered.  "The last day he come was the day he
left my fox.  Been leavin' the vittles out thar regular, but he's gone. 
Lit a rag for somewhares, I reckon.  Hope nothin' happened to ‘im
though."
        "That was a right nice thing you done fer ‘im, Zady.  Ye're a good
girl," Fairlight said, hugging her daughter tightly.  "And don't you
worry ‘bout that feller.  He seems like one to manage jest fine."
        "I hope so, Mama," Zady replied wistfully.  "I hope so."

******
        Lundy studied his new employer carefully.  Franklin Thompson was a
large, muscular man, but his calloused hands were gentle.  Lundy noticed
how he seemed to almost caress the wood as he carefully measured its
dimensions.
        "Hand me the level, Amos," Franklin requested, but the boy continued
sawing a two-by-two into sections.  "Amos!  Boy, hand me the level."
        Lundy jumped.  It wasn't easy remembering to answer to his new name. 
He quickly set down the saw and took the level from a shelf on the wall.
He handed it to the carpenter.  
        "See here, son.  When you make a table, it's got to be level."  He
placed the level on the table and squinted at it.  "No one wants to eat
dinner off of a tilted table now, do they?"  Lundy shook his head and
grinned.  He thought about the horribly lopsided table in his father's
cabin.  No, no one wants to eat off of a tilted table.  
        The apprentice and his mentor spent the afternoon sanding the table and
coating it with varnish.  The young man was finding his carpentry
lessons more interesting than he expected, and he enjoyed the company of
Mr. Thompson.  His employer patiently explained what he was doing and
why, then let Lundy try it.  He never cursed at him or hit him when he
made a mistake, just told him how to do it properly and asked him to try
it again.
PART FIVE - SERMON ON THE MOUNTAIN

        Reverend Grantland stood at the pulpit, looking at his congregation. 
He was the shepherd, and these were his sheep.  Could he preach the
message he felt called to preach?  Would they listen and act on his
words, or would they grow angry and harden their hearts?  He took a deep
breath.  There was only one way to find out.
        He began, "During a lesson one day, Jesus' disciple Peter asked Him
‘Lord, how many times shall my brother sin against me and I forgive
him?'  Feeling very generous, Peter added, ‘As many as seven times?'
        "Jesus chuckled and said, ‘No, Peter.  Not seven times, but seventy
times seven.'  Peter gasped.  Why, that was a huge number!  How could
anyone forgive someone for hurting him that many times?  
        "Then Jesus told a story - a story about a king who was settling his
accounts with his servants.  There was one servant who owed the king a
tremendous sum of money.  The servant could not pay the debt, and the
king commanded that the servant and his family be sold to pay it back. 
The servant fell at his master's feet and begged for mercy.
        "The king felt compassion for the servant, set him free and forgave him
of the debt.  But the exhilaration that the servant felt upon his
release from bondage was short-lived.  As he walked through the busy
marketplace, he saw a fellow servant who owed him a very small debt.  He
grabbed the man by the collar, shook him and said, ‘Where's the money
you owe me?  Pay me back now!'
        "The man pleaded with the servant, begging for mercy.  But the servant
would not relent.  He had the man thrown in jail until the debt could be
repaid.  
        "Some of the other servants saw what happened, and told the king.  The
king brought the servant before him and said, ‘I forgave you that huge
debt you owed me because you asked me to.'  With great difficulty, the
king controlled his anger.  ‘Should you not also have had mercy on your
fellow servant, even as I have had mercy on you?'  With that, the king
demanded that the servant be thrown in jail until the full debt was
repaid.
        The pastor studied his congregation, trying to gauge the reaction to
his sermon thus far.  "Our heavenly Father is like the king in Jesus'
story," David continued.  "He has forgiven each and every one of us an
incredible debt.  And it isn't a debt of money, but something more.  It
is a debt of sin and grief that we have laid upon our God.  Each time we
sin, we hurt Him.  He created us because He wanted fellowship with us. 
When we sin, we are saying to God, ‘I don't want to fellowship with
You.' 
        "God is our Master, and we are His servants.  He could throw us into
the pits of hell until our debt of sin is repaid.  And our debt never
would be repaid.  It is too huge.  
        "But God did not cast us down into the pits of hell.  Instead He
forgave our debt, even though we hurt Him deeply.  He gave us a chance
to start again, with a clean slate.
        "It is so easy to forget how precariously we were balancing on the
precipice after we are back on solid ground; but as Christian men and
women who have been forgiven, we all must strive to follow our Master's
example.  We must learn to forgive our brother who has wronged us, not
seven times, but seventy times seven times."  David looked intently at
Bob Allen.  "Jesus Christ Himself has commanded it."
        The future of not only Bob and Bird's-Eye, but all the generations
after them rested on the hope that Bob could replace the cycle of
revenge with a cycle of forgiveness.  The miller looked down at his
hands.  He felt as though God had spoken directly to him, but a lifetime
of prejudice and hatred fought viciously to retain their hold on Bob's
soul.
        David nodded to Jeb Spencer, who started the closing hymn.  The
congregation joined in:

        I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore;
        Very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more;
        But the Master of the sea heard my despairing cry;
        From the waters lifted me, now safe am I.

        Love lifted me! Love lifted me.
        When nothing else could help, love lifted me.
        Love lifted me! Love lifted me.
        When nothing else could help, love lifted me.

        Souls in danger look above; Jesus completely saves;
        He will lift you by His love out of the angry waves;
        He's the Master of the sea, billows His will obey;
        He your Savior wants to be; Be saved today!

        A humble figure in a tattered coat and a hat pulled low over his brow
walked slowly down the aisle.  No one noticed him at first, but as he
neared the altar, the singing stopped.  There stood Bird's-Eye Taylor,
the most hardened, hateful sinner in East Tennessee, in front of the
altar on a Sunday morning with tears streaming down his dirty face.  The
look on the pastor's face was one of utter amazement.  He had dared to
preach the sermon, and God had blessed it in a way that he had never
imagined possible.  
        David took a step toward Bird's-Eye, but the mountain man turned to
face the congregation.  He looked directly at Bob Allen.  Creed huddled
up close against his father.  "Bob," Bird's-Eye started, his voice
shaking with emotion, "I never meant to shoot yer boy.  You an' me,
waal, we may have our ax t' grind, but I shore didn't aim to hurt
‘im........  Thought he was a coon."  He shifted his feet
uncomfortably.  "I'm a-standin' here now, Bob.......... askin' yer
forgiveness..........., a-beggin' yer mercy."
        Bob stared in disbelief at the man standing before him.  Proud
Bird's-Eye Taylor humbly asking forgiveness........ begging for mercy? 
Surely he would wake up any moment and find this all to be a dream.  But
the minutes passed, and he didn't wake up.  Bird's-Eye looked at him
expectantly and said, "You reckon hit's time fer us'n to bury the
hatchet?"
        An overwhelming feeling of relief washed over Bob Allen.  All he had to
do was hold out his hand to Bird's-Eye, and the burden of a
three-generation feud would be laid to rest.  "But he's a Taylor!" an
angry voice inside him screamed.  "You cain't forgive no Taylor!"
        "Why not?" Bob asked the voice.
        "Because........ because he's a Taylor!" the voice of Bob's dead father
shouted at him. 
        "Is that the only reason?" he asked.
        "Shorely.  Ain't that reason enough?" the voice exclaimed.
        "No," Bob shook his head.  "No, it ain't."  He turned to Bird's-Eye and
held out his hand.  "Aye, Bird's-Eye hit's long past time to bury that
hatchet."
PART SIX - UNIDENTIFIED LONGINGS
        
        Lundy awoke to the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.  It reminded
him of Jeb Spencer's fiddle, but the melancholy melody wrapped around
his heart and pulled on its strings.  He had to find out what it was. 
In a trance, he pulled on his trousers and followed the sound down the
hallway and into the living room of the small apartment over the
carpentry shop.  To his amazement, Mr. Thompson was carefully stroking a
bow over the strings of a fiddle!
        Never in his life had Lundy heard such music come from such an
instrument.  In Cutter Gap, a fiddle was used for celebration and
"jollification;" but the sounds that came from this one told a story of
loves lost, hopes forgotten, dreams abandoned.  He felt as though Mr.
Thompson were telling the story of Lundy's own life.  The yearning he
had buried deep in his heart was pulled to the surface as the tune
played on.  Lundy did not know how long he'd been standing there when
Mr. Thompson ended the final note with a flourish.
        "You got to larn me how to do that, Mr. Thompson," Lundy said as the
note drifted across the room and faded.  "I ain't never heerd onything
like hit."
        The carpenter smiled faintly.  "You like the violin, Amos?" he asked.
        "That thing thar?" Lundy questioned, pointing at the instrument. "Why
that thar's a fiddle."
        Franklin Thompson chuckled.  Only Amos would say that the greatest
piece of music ever written was played on a fiddle!  "So you want to
learn to play, Amos?"
        "More'n onything else in the world."
        "Are you sure?" the man queried.  Lundy nodded anxiously. "It requires
hours of practice, and it will be a long time before it sounds good."
        The young man held his head up proudly.  "I larned the carpentry
bizness, didn't I?  And them readin' lessons you been givin' me?  And
them Bible verses?  Shorely I ken larn t' play the fid- I mean, the
vi-o- what'd you call it?"
        "It's a violin.  And yes, I do believe you can play it." The big man
put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Shall we begin our first lesson
after breakfast?"

******  
        Zady and Clara Spencer sat on the front porch of their cabin husking
corn.  It was a tedious job, but the two sisters enjoyed the chance to
talk and giggle.  After all, they were only two years apart in age.  The
conversation this afternoon was inspired by rumors that the preacher had
proposed to Miss Christy.
        "What do you reckon it's like bein' married, Zady?" Clara asked her
wise older sister.
        "Guess hits a lot like Mama and Paw," responded Zady thoughtfully. 
"You find a feller that you like more'n onybody, and one what likes you
the same way."
        "Have you got a feller you like more'n onybody?"
        Zady considered the question carefully, then sadly shook her head. 
"No, Clara, I ain't found ‘im yit."  She turned and smiled at her
sister.  "How ‘bout you?"
        Clara shook her head and sighed.  "You think we'll ever find one? 
Bessie's got John, Ruby Mae's jest about got Rob Allen.  Ain't all that
many boys left in the Cove, and them that's left shorely don't take no
notice o' me."
        Zady put down the piece of corn she was working on and patted Clara's
shoulder.  "Don't worry, Clara.  Remember what Miz Christy's always
a-sayin' - that God'll take care of us.  And I reckon He will yit."
        A young man's voice was heard calling up the hill. "Halloooo!  Onybody
home?" Moments later, the girls spotted Will Beck entering the Spencer's
yard.  Will was sixteen, and already had the build of a grown man.  He'd
been working the rocky soil of his family's farm since he was old enough
to walk.  Will wasn't able to attend the mission school very often; it
took all the effort of every Beck to wrest a meager existence from the
barren land atop Deer Mountain.  Despite his difficult life, Will was a
good natured boy who almost always had a smile on his face.
        "Howdy, Zady!" Will called out with a grin.  He was glad to see that
the girl with the big brown eyes was home.
        "Howdy," Zady replied dully.  Will had been visiting the Spencer cabin
regularly for a couple of months now.  It seemed like maybe he was
trying to court her, but Zady just wasn't interested.  Sure, he was
handsome with his black hair and his dimples, and he was always very
polite, but she couldn't get thoughts of the mysterious stranger out of
her head.
        "Hey there, Will Beck!" Clara shouted eagerly.  Clara had thought
highly of Will ever since she was eight years old, when he rescued her
pet rabbit from a fox on the prowl. 
        Will held up the basket he was carrying.  "Thought ye mought like t' go
on a picnic with me, Zady.  Maw made fried chicken an' blackberry pie,"
he offered hopefully.  "And the meadow near our place has got flowers
jest bustin' out with colors.  They ain't as purty as you, but....."
        Zady tried desperately to think of an excuse, but could find none.  "I
reckon I ken go," she answered flatly.  She heard her mother call her
from inside the cabin.  "Mama's callin' me.  Clara, you talk to Will,"
she said as she stood and went to the cabin door.  Zady could hear her
sister talking gaily to the young man when she went inside.
        "Zady," Fairlight said to her daughter sternly.  "You be nice to that
boy.  He's sweet on ye, sure as the world.  And there ain't that many
boys yer age left in the Cove."
        "I know Mama.  I jest cain't holp it."
        "Are you still pinin' over that other feller?  The one what give ye
that fox?" Fairlight's question hung in the air.  "You are, ain't ye? 
Well, Zady, let me tell you somethin'.  I ain't sayin' it to be mean,
I'm a-sayin' it because I love you and I want ye to be happy."  She
gently put her hand under her daughter's chin.  "That feller thar, he's
gone.  He was jest a-passin' through.  He ain't a-comin' back.  Now
don't you be throwin' away a real chance at happiness pinin' away fer
somethin' that ain't meant to be."
        "How do you know it ain't meant to be, Mama?" 
        "I've lived in this here world long enough, Zady.  Shorely, it would be
plenty fine fer that feller that ye never even saw t' come ridin' back
to Cutter Gap on a handsome steed an' ask yer paw if'n he ken marry ye. 
But what if'n he don't come back?  How long air ye gonna wait for ‘im? 
And what fellers here are gonna be left when ye stop?  Life in these
here mountains is well nigh impossible without a man-person.  Jest
remember that, Zady Spencer."
        Fairlight could see the despair in her daughter's expressive brown
eyes, but it was time for her to hear the truth.  Following a foolish
dream could mean the difference between life and death in the Cove. 
Fairlight wanted her children to be happy, but she also wanted them to
survive.  She smiled at Zady, and pinched her cheek.  "Now, run on out
yonder ‘n go on a nice picnic with a nice boy.  Try t' have fun, won't
ye, Zady?"  Zady nodded obediently.  "And take Clara, why don't ye."


PART SEVEN - DOWN BY THE RIVER

        Bird's-Eye was pondering a dilemma as he cut some boards to replace the
ones missing from his porch steps.  He was cleaning up his life - inside
and out, but he hadn't figured out what to do with the ninety-nine
gallons of whiskey still sitting in the cave below his cabin.  He
certainly had no desire to drink the fiery liquid that he used to
crave.  The reformed blockader thought about distributing this last
stock of inventory, then closing down the still for good.  The idea was
tempting, but Bird's-Eye was disgusted with himself for even thinking
about it. God, the people of the Cove, and even Bob Allen had given him
a second chance, and he wasn't about to throw it away by continuing his
old trade.   
        He considered pouring the illegal brew into the river.  That was
probably the best option, but his business partner, Nathan O'Teale would
not be pleased.  So far, Bird's-Eye's excuse about stopping distribution
while the federal agents were in hot pursuit had worked, but eventually
Nathan would be ready to resume operations in full force.  That was a
problem for which he had no solution.  He did not have any intention of
angering his cousin, who was second only to his former self as the
meanest, most unforgiving blockader in the region.  
        Unable to resolve the problem, Bird's-Eye let his thoughts wander as he
repaired the steps.  The image of Lundy cowering at his feet came to his
mind.  It seemed that Lundy was always cowering before him.  It was
strange because Lundy was a strong, stocky young man who could have
easily defended himself had he ever chosen to.  A sudden wave of regret
and loneliness swept over Bird's-Eye.  Why did he take out his anger at
the world on the one thing he loved - his son?  He stopped hammering and
leaned heavily on the railing.  He felt as though someone were wringing
his heart, trying to tear it in two.  After a moment, he stood and
looked out over the mountains.  "Where you at, boy?" he whispered sadly.

******
        Franklin Thompson cringed as the loud squeaks and squeals cried
ceaselessly from Amos' bedroom.  Although he was pleased about the boy's
interest in learning to play the violin, his nerves were frazzled.  Amos
was spending every moment outside the carpentry shop practicing.  He had
improved, but the violin is a difficult instrument to master.
        Franklin, unable to bear another screeching note, knocked on the young
man's door.  "Aren't you about ready for dinner, Amos?" he called,
hoping for a few moments of peace and quiet.
        "Just a minute, sir!" Lundy called through the door.  "I aim to try
this here piece one more time."
        "All right then," Franklin replied.  "Just don't forget that it's your
turn to set the table."  He shook his head and laughed as the awful
noises resumed, deciding that the best way to keep his sanity was to
take a walk outside.
        He had only gone a short distance when he met Sam Sumter, his next door
neighbor and the owner of the general store.  "How long you think that
boy's gonna keep up that racket, Thompson?" the shopkeeper called out in
greeting.  A distorted version of "Three Blind Mice" could be heard
wafting down Main Street.
        The carpenter chuckled.  "That's why I'm out here.  You've got to
admit, though, Sam, the boy does have determination."
        Sam rolled his eyes as he exclaimed, "That's a fact!  Say, did you ever
find out where he came from or why he's here?"
        "No, he never says much about his past, only that he's ready to make a
new start.  From his accent, though, I'd have to say he's from back in
the mountains somewhere.  Must not have any family to speak of..... 
I've never seen him send or receive any letters."  The big man shrugged
his shoulders.  "I guess when he's ready to tell me, I'll know."
        "He seems like a nice enough fellow," Sam commented.  "How is he doing
with carpentry?  Better than he's doing with the violin, I hope!"
        Franklin couldn't resist a laugh.  "He's got a knack for it -
carpentry, I mean.  It will be a good trade for him.  He can earn a
decent living, and maybe one day forget whatever it is that he's running
from."
        
******
        "Preacher, I reckon hit's time you done bap-tized me."  David looked up
from the sermon he was working on.  Bird's-Eye Taylor was standing in
front of the mission house.  His beard  was shaved; his clothes were
clean; the usual layer of dirt had been scrubbed from his face.
        David grinned.  "Why, I'd be happy to baptize you, Bird's-Eye.  How
does tomorrow sound..... during the Sunday service?"
        "Waal, now," Bird's-Eye began, "if'n we do hit then, are ye jest gonna
put a couple o' drops o' water on my haid?"
        "Yes, that's the usual way of doing it."
        The reformed sinner shook his head.  "Nope.  I want a genu-wine
baptizin' in the river....., jest the way Jesus done hit.  Can ye do hit
fer me, Preacher?"
        "Of course, if that's what you want."  He thought for a moment.  "We'll
need a witness.  Let me get Miss Alice."  David stood up and disappeared
inside the mission house.  He returned quickly with the missionary, who
was smiling broadly.  
        Alice shook Bird's-Eye's hand and said warmly, "I'm glad thee has made
this decision, brother."  Together the threesome made their way to
river.  David waded out into the center of the rushing water, which came
midway up his thigh.  He secured his footing, then motioned for the
mountain man to join him.
        Neil MacNeill had been enjoying a relaxing afternoon of fishing when he
saw David Grantland march right out into the middle of the river about a
hundred yards downstream, with no fishing pole in sight.  Curious about
the pastor's strange behavior, he turned to watch.  Much to his
surprise, Bird's-Eye Taylor sloshed out into the river behind him.  The
doctor was puzzled.  
        "What is your given name, Bird's-Eye?"  David asked, wondering if the
man would even remember it; he'd been known as Bird's-Eye around the
Cove for as long as anyone could recall.
        "Christian name's Paul, Rev'rend," he answered seriously.
        David cleared his throat.  In his deep preaching voice, he intoned,
"Jesus told His disciples ‘Go therefore and make disciples of all
nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the
Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo,
I am with you always, even to the end of the age.'  Paul Taylor, you
have heard the Holy Spirit call you, and you have accepted the eternal
gift of salvation through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Therefore, I baptize
you now in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."  As he
said this, he gently pushed Bird's-Eye below the river's surface. 
"Amen."
        "Amen," Miss Alice whispered from her post on the riverbank.  Then she
noticed a lone figure standing upstream, fishing pole frozen in
mid-cast, watching the ceremony intently.  She silently prayed for the
day when her son-in-law would make the same decision that Bird's-Eye had
just made.  

******
        "Miz Christy, I hear tell that Will Beck's sweet on Zady Spencer," Ruby
Mae proudly shared her recently acquired gossip as the two young women
were hanging laundry.
        "Ruby Mae, you know that you shouldn't gossip.  If Will's courting
Zady, that's their business," Christy answered sternly.
        "But, Miz Christy, that ain't all.  Folks say...."
        "Ruby Mae....." There was no mistaking the tone of her teacher's
voice.  The red haired girl shut her mouth.  Then her eyes grew wide in
amazement when she saw three figures walking up the road toward the
mission house.  
        "What in tarnation?  Looky there, Miz Christy."
        Christy turned her head to see Miss Alice accompanied by a soaking wet
David Grantland and..... who was the other man?  As the trio came
closer, she recognized Bird's-Eye Taylor.  "What happened?" she called
out in alarm.
        "We've had a baptism," Miss Alice answered cheerfully.
        "Lordy, Lordy!" exclaimed Ruby Mae.
        Christy's response was more subdued.  "Congratulations, Mr. Taylor. 
Welcome to the fold."  The mountain man smiled.
        David nodded his head toward the bunkhouse.  "Come on Bird's-Eye.  I've
got some dry clothes you can change into, then we'll get started."
        "Aye,' came the reply and the two dripping men walked across the yard.
        "What're them two up to, Miz Alice?" a very puzzled Ruby Mae asked the
missionary.  
******
        Christy was grading papers on the porch when Bird's-Eye approached her,
wearing a new set of clothes from the barrels sent by Christy's church
in Asheville.  He and the pastor were taking a break from repairing
several leaks in the mission house roof.
        "I sure am glad you two are fixing those leaks, Bird's-Eye.  We have to
use every last pot in the mission house when it rains," Christy joked.
        "Glad to holp out.  I'm obleeged to you'uns..... fer all ye done.  But
I got a favor to ask of ye, Miz Christy...." he shifted his feet
uncomfortably.  It wasn't the mountain man's way to ask for anything,
let alone anything from a woman.
        "Yes?"
        "Waaal, I've a notion I mought like to larn t' read.  Reckon you could
larn me how?"
        "I'd be delighted," Christy smiled at the prospect of a new student. 
"When would you like to start?"
        "Soon's we get that roof patched."
        "I'll be waiting, Bird's-Eye."
        "All right then," the man replied as he put his old felt hat back on
his head and climbed the ladder to the roof.
        As the men worked, Christy contemplated the best approach for teaching
her new student.  Although she had taught other adults to read, namely
Fairlight Spencer and Opal McHone, she had never taught one of the men,
and she had certainly never taught a blockader.  How could she reach
him?  What kind of books would he be interested in?  The primers she
used in her school room would insult his intelligence.  The teacher
chewed the end of her pencil in thought.  
        "I need a good story......" she mumbled.  In her mind's eye, she
scanned the titles on the spines of the books in her father's library. 
"Treasure Island?" she asked herself.  "Maybe.  Les Miserables?  An
excellent story, but a little tedious......"  Christy continued to
ponder.  Suddenly she had an idea.  "Why not the Bible?  There are
plenty of good stories in it.  And you could teach him about God while
you teach him to read."
        Enthusiastically, Christy stood and disappeared into the mission
house.  She searched through her trunk until she found a heavy leather
volume, an old family heirloom she'd been saving for just such an
occasion.  The brown-eyed woman smiled with anticipation.  She was
looking forward to teaching her new pupil.


PART EIGHT - RESTLESS SPIRITS

        The bell over the carpentry shop door rang as a middle-aged coupled
entered.  "Hello there, Adam, Elise," Franklin called out, coming from
the workshop into the showroom.  He wiped the dust from his hands on his
apron and shook the man's hand.
        "Hey, Franklin."
        "How are the children?" the shopkeeper asked congenially.       
        "Quite well.  Richard got married last month, to Melanie James, you
know.  With the last of the children grown and moved out, we've been
thinking about buying some dining room furniture," Adam answered.  He
smiled at his wife.  "I promised Elise when we got married that some day
we'd have some fine furniture, and finally, after twenty-four years, I'm
going to keep that promise."
        Franklin smiled.  "Well, you've come to the right place.  Please make
yourselves at home.  We have several fine pieces to choose from, or I
can custom-design something for you."
        As the two men spoke, the woman had been sauntering around the cramped
shop.  Nothing in particular had caught her attention, but as she turned
to rejoin her husband, she spotted a mahogany table in the corner.  She
walked toward it, admiring its deep finish.  As she bent closer, she
noticed the intricate carving on the table legs.  The workmanship was
unlike anything she had ever seen.  Carefully, she examined the
accompanying chairs.  They, too, had the same delicate carving.  "Adam,"
she called.
        "I think I hear the cash register ringing," the man joked to Franklin
as he joined his wife.  "What is it, dear?"
        "This is the one.  Just look at it, Adam.  Isn't it beautiful?"
        Franklin smiled when he saw the piece the couple was admiring.  He
walked to the workshop.  "Amos, come here a moment please."
        "Sure, Mr. Thompson."  The young man stopped sanding the bedpost he was
working on and wiped his brow.  "What is it?"  The older man motioned
toward the shopping couple.  Lundy smiled broadly when he realized which
furniture they were examining.  It was the very first dining room suite
he had made entirely by himself.  He had spent hours meticulously
working on each piece, and now someone might actually want to buy them! 
The mere thought made his heart swell with pride. 
        "Franklin, this is absolutely beautiful!  I've never seen anything like
it," Elise exclaimed.
        The carpenter put his hand on Lundy's shoulder, and the two men
approached the eager customers.  "Glad you like it, Elise.  I'd like you
to meet the man who created it.  Adam and Elise Baggett, this is Amos
Lundy.  He's been helping me out, learning the trade."  He smiled fondly
at the young man.  "It seems that he could be teaching me a thing or
two."
        The apprentice's face colored slightly at the praise.  He cleared his
throat and extended his hand to the gentleman.  "Pleased t' meet ye, Mr.
Baggett, Miz Baggett."

******
        "Paw'd shore be proud o' me now!" Lundy exclaimed between mouthfuls of
roast and mashed potatoes.  Mr. Thompson and he were at Granny Smith's
Dining House celebrating his first sale.
        "Where *is* your pa, Amos?" Franklin asked quietly.  He'd been curious
about his apprentice's background ever since the day the young man asked
him for a job, looking haggard and worn.
        Lundy's expression was pained.  "Back up in the mountains.  You ever
heerd o' a town called El Pano?"  The carpenter shook his head.  "Waal,
I come from a place called Cutter Gap, ‘bout seven mile up from El
Pano."
        "Why did you leave?"
        The young man thought before answering the question.  He had spent the
last seven months trying to forget who he was and where he came from,
but with sudden clarity, he realized that he never would, never could
forget.  He sighed.  "After Mama left, me an' Paw, waaal, we never got
along too good.  My Paw, he's a mite techious.  I tried, tried awful
hard t' please ‘im... somehow, never could, though.  Reckon he never did
care a lick fer me nohow."  Just moments ago, he had been happily eating
the green beans on his plate, but now all he could do was push them
around with his fork.               
        Franklin put a hand on the young man's shoulder.  "I'm sorry, son."  He
playfully punched Lundy's muscled biceps as banter entered his voice. 
"So how's it feel to be a professional carpenter?"

******
        Jeb Spencer knotted the pieces of rope tied tightly around his ankles. 
He pulled heavy gloves onto his hands.  The steady hum of the bees was
comforting to him as he prepared to harvest their honey.  Jeb was about
to pull a thin veil over his face when he saw a young man climbing the
ridge toward him.  "Hey, there, Will!" he called out. Will Beck was
becoming a familiar face around the Spencer cabin.
        The stocky young man waved.  "Howdy, Mr. Spencer.  Them bees makin'
good honey these days?"
        "Bought like common," Jeb replied.  No one in the Cove liked his
sourwood honey better than Will.  "Won't ye take a jar home fer yer
mama?" he asked.  Will smacked his lips and nodded eagerly.  "You ever
see how we collect the honey?"
        "Naw, don't reckon so," Will said scratching his head.
        "Waal, first ye got to get cleaned up real good, got t' scrub down like
hit's Easter Sundy.  Then put on clean clothes straight off'n the
clothesline....." the young man had been listening intently to Jeb's
lecture, but a movement caused his eyes to stray toward the dark-haired
girl carrying a basket of laundry.  Jeb turned his head and followed
Will's eyes.  A knowing grin spread across his face.  "Reckon ye didn't
climb all this a-way to hear me jabber ‘bout honey.  Why don't ye go say
howdy t' Zady?"
        "Much obleeged, Mister Spencer," the young man answered, never taking
his eyes off of the girl who had captured his heart.
        
******
        Zady and Will sauntered along the creek bed.  "Right purty day, ain't
it, Will?"  Zady was trying her best to be pleasant.  The handsome
teenager beside her didn't make her heart skip a beat, but he was gentle
and kind; and anyone with eyes could see that he was very fond of her. 
The words of her mother rang in her ears, "Life in these here mountains
is well nigh impossible without a man-person.  Jest remember that, Zady
Spencer." 
        Will's words broke into her thoughts. "Shore and sartain, it is.  The
trees are springin' green, the birds are a-singin', and I'm a-traipsin'
with the purtiest gal-woman in the Cove."  Nervously he looked over at
his companion.  She smiled her melancholy smile at him.  He stopped
walking and looked Zady in the eye.  She calmly met his gaze, causing
Will to look away.  "See that ridge yan?"  he asked, pointing into the
distance.  "Aim to build me a cabin thar one day.  Plant some corn,
mebbe a veg'table garden, get married ‘n raise a fam'ly up thar."  He
shifted his feet, gathering the courage to ask her the question that
burned through his heart.  "Reckon someday ye'd want to live thar wi'
me, Zady?"
        He held his breath and studied her shyly from the corner of his eye. 
"Don't rightly know, Will.  Have to study on hit considerable," the
young woman replied earnestly.
        "We'uns is young yit," Will stated, encouraged that she had not flatly
refused.  "Ain't no use thinkin' on them things now.  Thar's time to
think on ‘em later.  Meanstwhile would you have a mind t' be my ev'ryday
gal?"
        Zady sighed, struggling with herself.  "You're a right nice boy, Will
Beck.  Any gal'd be pleased as all get out t' be yore gal.  But I got t'
tell you straight.  I'm needin' some time t' think on hit.  Ye're too
fine a feller for me butter-mouth ye."
        Will swallowed and nodded his head.  How could he make her care for
him?  He'd tried everything he could think of, but Zady remained
distant.  Would he ever be able to win her heart?       The uncomfortable
silence was broken when Clara called out to the couple.  "Zady, Will!"
she hollered breathlessly as she approached them.  "Been lookin' all
over fer you'uns.  Mama's fixin' up some fried ham, sass, ‘n' sweet
tater pie....  Will ye be a-joinin' us fer supper, Will?"
        The suitor looked questioningly at Zady, who smiled ever-so-slightly at
him.  Will nodded his head.  "Now thar's an offer a feller cain't pass
up - yore mama's sweet tater pie.  I'd be obleeged."  The threesome
began walking back to the Spencer cabin, with Clara skipping along and
chattering gaily.  Zady took advantage of the opportunity to ponder her
predicament, and Will, ever the gentleman, spoke kindly to Clara as his
thoughts drifted to the quiet girl walking beside him.


PART NINE - THE CAVE

        Bird's-Eye sat in his cabin, crouched near the fireplace, with a large
leather book in his lap.  Slowly his finger moved across the page of the
ancient book as he mouthed the words he was reading.  "N-n-n-o-o-o 
w-u-u-n  c-c-a-n-n, can s-s-e-r... ser-v, serve t-two m-m-mas, mast,
masters," He sighed with the effort. "No one can serve two masters.  No
one can serve two masters........"  The mountain man thought about what
he had just read.  Did it mean that as long as the devil's brew sat in
the cave below him, he would be unable to serve his new master?  He
wanted to serve his new master, but how was he going to dispose of the
liquor, and what was he going to tell Nathan?  
        "God, my head's done frazzled a-tryin' to figger a way out'n this ‘un. 
I'm plumb wore out from studyin' on hit.  Don't reckon there's no way. 
I'm a-countin' on ye to see me through it, God.  Ye're the onliest hope
I got left."  Without realizing it, Bird's-Eye prayed to his Lord for a
miracle, and God responded that very night in a most unusual way.

******
        Two rough-looking men sat in a corner of the El Pano Teahouse.  "Ain't
heerd nothin' from ‘im in a coon's age," commented the dark-haired man
with a salt-and-pepper beard.
        "Naw.  Me either.  Reckon we ought to climb up thar and see what's
what?" his shifty eyed companion asked.
        "Waaaal, don't know ‘bout that.  Remember, he done tole us not to never
go up thar lessen he sent fer us."
        "Mebbe so, but my feet's got the itch to move.  If'n he ain't a-gonna
work us, I got to move on."  The shorter, stockier man quickly downed
the remaining liquid from his tea cup and stood.  "I aim t' see
what'n'all's a-goin' on."
        The tall man slid from his chair and followed his friend out.  Neither
of them noticed the tall, thin man loitering on the porch, who watched
them walk away, then silently slipped behind them in dark night.        
        United States Marshal Gentry Long signaled his men with a soft owl
call.  Five marshals 
crept from various hiding places under the porch and behind trees. 
Together, they trailed the two mountain men.  Marshal Long was surprised
to see them heading down the mountain, away from Cutter Gap.  He was
beginning to feel like they were following a bad lead.  He'd already
been chastised for wasting valuable time and money tracking the Cutter
Gap blockaders; and having six agents spend the night stalking two
aimlessly wandering drunken hillbillies would not help his case.  He was
on the verge of stopping the trail when the two men ducked into the
entrance of a cave.
        The marshals waited, their ears straining for any indication of what
was happening inside.  After a few moments, they could hear the men's
footsteps fading.  Quickly, and with guns poised, they crept into the
cave.  They followed the sound of the men's voices.  It seemed they were
having a disagreement.
        "I don't like this..... don't like hit one bit," the marshals could
hear one of them say.
        "Jest shet yer trap," the other hissed.  "If'n ye don't want t' come,
then don't.  But I'm a-tired of lollygaggin' ‘round in El Pano."
        "Reckon ye're right.  But I still don't like hit.  That Bird's-Eye can
be right techious."
        Upon hearing the name Bird's-Eye, Marshal Long grinned.  Bull's eye! 
Trailing these two men might prove to be the key to breaking the case
wide open.  It sounded like they were on their way to see the notorious
stiller now!  The federal agent smiled as he pictured himself leading a
manacled Bird's-Eye Taylor into the Lyleton jail.  The smile faded as he
reminded himself to concentrate on the job at hand.  They were still a
long way from apprehending their suspect, and these mountain men had a
reputation for being slippery.

******
        For three hours, the marshals followed the men through the cave. 
Occasionally they
could see the flicker of the blockaders' torches up ahead.  "Hope we'll
be able to find our way out of here," one of agents joked quietly.  
        The pursuers were moving more slowly than their prey because they had
to feel their way through the blackness.  To light a torch would remove
any element of surprise, and the marshal had no intention of alerting
them of his presence until they had reached Bird's-Eye Taylor. 
        "Shhh!" he commanded, and all of the agents froze.
        "Look-a-here, how much whiskey you say he's got jest a settin' here?" 
Long crawled behind a rock and cautiously peered around it.  The stocky
fellow picked up a jug from one of the shelves and blew a cloud of dust
from it.  "Been settin' a while too."  He uncorked the jug and took a
long swallow, then smacked his lips appreciatively.
        "You reckon the Big Law got ‘im?" the bearded man asked.
        "Naw.  We'd a heerd if'n that'd happent."
        "But Nathan tole me we was layin' low cuz them revenooers was hot on
our tails.  Mebbe them fellers caught up with ole Bird's-Eye, and that's
why we ain't heerd nothin'. You shore we shouldn't jest hoof it on back
t' El Pano?"
        "I declare!" the stiller said to his companion.  "If you ain't the
mealy-mouthedest, yeller-belliedest chickin I ever did see.  Jest shet
up an' let's go find ‘im."  The two men climbed a staircase carved from
the wall of the cave.  They pushed on a small trap door in the ceiling
at the top of the stairs to no avail.
        "Consarned fool!  I pure forgot he keeps that dag-blasted chest o'er
the door!" 
        "So what're we gonna do now, Jake?" the bearded man whined.
        "Hesh up and let me think."  
        The bearded man began pounding on the door.  "Hallooo!  Hey thar,
Bird's-Eye!"  His companion grabbed him by the collar.
        "I said hesh up!  You want ‘im to open that door wi' a rifle-gun in yer
face?"  The two men heard a scraping sound above them.  "Now ye've gone
and done it."  A beam of light illuminated the cave as the trap door
opened.
        "What're you'uns doin' here?" Bird's-Eye asked.  "Thought I done tole
you fellers we're a-layin' off a spell."  The men ascended into the
cabin above.  The agents could hear their muffled voices, but couldn't
make out what they were saying.  In amazement, they looked around the
cave.  One wall of the cave contained shelves - row upon row - full of
whiskey.  A very large still sat in a corner.  The floor of the tunnel
where they were standing that led into the cavern was worn by years of
traffic.
        "Brilliant!  Absolutely brilliant!" Long muttered.  "No wonder we
haven't been able to catch him," he whispered in awe to one of his men. 
"His distribution routes aren't down the river or through the woods, but
underground!  Why, I'll bet he's got a network of caves snaking all the
way to Knoxville!"  Long could feel the blood racing through his veins. 
They were on the verge of capturing one of the cleverest moonshiners in
Tennessee history.  In a whispered consultation, the agents planned
their attack.
        
******
        Bart, the bearded blockader, looked around the dimly lit cabin as
Bird's-Eye and Jake argued in hushed voices.  Something was different
about the place, he thought, but he couldn't quite say what.  Then he
realized that it wasn't what was new to the room that made it different;
instead it was what was missing.  The pile of dirty dishes in washbasin
was gone, and the dishes were stacked neatly on shelves along the
walls.  The thick layer of dust that usually caused him to sneeze the
minute he entered the cabin and the "slut's wool" that gathered under
the table were nowhere to be found.
        "I'm a-tellin' ye, Jake, them Revenooers is a-comin'.  One o' the boys
musta turncoated," Bird's-Eye told the stocky man.  "If'n we keep a
runnin' the whiskey they'll clomp us in jail fer shore."
        "Who you reckon it is?" Jake asked.     
        "All right, Bird's-Eye.  Whar is she?" the bearded man interrupted.
        "Who?" a puzzled Bird's-Eye queried in surprise.
        "Yore new gal-woman."
        Bird's-Eye scratched his head.  "New gal-woman?  I ain't got no new
gal-woman."
        "You got t' be a-joshin' me.  Look-a-here.  This whole place is lookin'
cleaner than my mama's kitchen.  An' yore a-tellin' me thar ain't no
gal-woman?"
        There was no time for Bird's-Eye to respond because, at that instant,
the trap door flew open and six U.S. Marshals leapt into the room.  Jake
reached for his rifle, but Bird's-Eye put his hand on the gun.  "Ain't
no use, Jake.  They got us, two t'one."  He calmly turned to Gentry
Long.  "Reckon you come fer me."  Slowly he walked toward the marshal. 
The agents cocked their guns; mountain men were known for their
unpredictability.  Bird's-Eye held his hands out.  "Waal, here I am."  A
startled Agent Long snapped a pair of handcuffs on the blockader.  

******
        Under a full moon, the solemn procession snaked down the mountain
toward Lyleton.  As Gentry Long escorted his prisoner, he was puzzled. 
Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that the notorious Bird's-Eye
Taylor would go down without a fight.  Yet here he was, walking manacled
beside him, without a single bullet fired.  The marshal concluded that
the swift attack by his men had so surprised and intimidated the
stillers that they had no time to react; however, Bird's-Eye knew
otherwise.
        As the group marched, the mountain man thought about what would have
happened if the raid had occurred even a few months ago.  Rifles would
have been drawn, shots fired.  Poor, slow, whiney Bart would probably be
dead, along with at least a few of the marshals.  Bird's-Eye and Jake
might have gotten away, but they would have had to hide out deep in the
mountains for several months.  It was strange how Bird's-Eye would have
done anything to retain his freedom then, but just this evening, he had
calmly allowed the lawmen to arrest him.  Previously, the fact that he
might spend months in jail would have chilled him to the bone, but now
an incomprehensible peace filled him.  Somehow he knew that this was
God's answer to his prayer.

******
        The gavel sounded like thunder as the judge pronounced his sentence -
"six months for the illegal brewing and distribution of corn liquor, to
be carried out in the Lyleton jail."  Jake spat a soft curse.  Bart's
lower lip quivered.  Bird's-Eye's face was an impenetrable mask as the
deputy led the three men to their cell.

PART TEN - THE OLD LEATHER BOOK

        Alice Henderson, Christy and David sat in the parlor.  "As I understand
it, the marshals
confiscated almost a hundred gallons of the stuff in a cave under
Bird's-Eye's cabin."  David shook his head in disgust.  "I honestly
thought he had changed, Miss Alice.  His whole attitude seemed
different.... and to think, it was all a ploy to lull us into thinking
he had quit the moonshine business, all the while running it right under
our very noses!"
        "Now, David, sometimes there is more to a story than meets the eye,"
Alice responded kindly.  "In his report, Agent Long stated that the
still had not been producing for several weeks."  She patted the
pastor's hand.  "Have faith, child, Bird's-Eye may surprise thee."
        "Or he may have us all playing the part of a fool," he answered
angrily.
        Christy stood up, resolution written plainly on her face.  "I think we
should pay Bird's-Eye a visit tomorrow.  I'm sure some encouragement
wouldn't hurt him right now."  She snapped her fingers.  "In fact, I'm
going up to his cabin first thing in the morning and get something I
know he'll appreciate."
        "What's that, Christy?" David asked dully.
        "An old family Bible I'd given him to use for our reading lessons."  
        The pastor looked at Christy in surprise.  "What good is a Bible going
to do a man locked up in jail?"
        Alice smiled.  "The temptation to slip into his old habits and
attitudes is going to be tremendous.  I think giving him your Bible is
an excellent idea, Christy."
        No one had noticed Dr. MacNeill enter the room.  He laughed cynically. 
"Gi' a Bible tu Bird's-Eye Taylor?  An' how much faith do yu think 'e'll
‘ave afteer spendin' six munths locked up wi' men as wicked an' ‘ateful
as ‘imself?"
        It was Alice's turn to speak. She stood, and taking Christy's arm said,
"‘Therefore, if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old
things have passed away; behold new things have come.'  I will gladly
accompany thee to the Lyleton jail tomorrow, Miss Huddleston."
        The two men looked at each other in confusion and shrugged.  Would
either of them ever understand the strange workings of a woman's mind?

******
        "You've got some visitors, Taylor," the warden called out as he led the
two women to the cell shared by the three blockaders.  Bird's-Eye stood
to greet them.  Miss Alice reached through the bars to shake his hand.
        "How are your accomodations, Bird's-Eye?" she asked politely.
        "‘Bout like I de-serve, I reckon," came the reply.
        Christy reached into the large totebag she was carrying.  "We brought
you something," she said, pulling the old leather Bible from the bag. 
"Thought this might help you pass the time."
        Bird's-Eye reached through the bars and took the book.  "I could spend
ever' wakin' minit a-readin' that thar book, and still wouldn't finish
hit in six months' time.  Aye, hit'll shorely holp."
        Jake humphed.  "Since when you larn t' read, Taylor?"
        "Since ‘bout a month ago.  Miz Christy here done larned me how."
        Jake, grizzled and hollow-eyed, sat up on his bunk and addressed the
school teacher.  "An' yore a-thinkin' that larnin' ole Bird's-Eye t'
read is gonna change ‘im somehow?"
        "Yes, I do," Christy answered plainly.  "In fact, if he will read this
book I'm giving him, I have no doubt that it will change him."
        "What book you got thar?" Bart asked.
        "Hit's a Bible," Bird's-Eye responded, watching Jake's response
carefully.
        "What're ye doin' goin' an' readin' a Bible for?  That religion, hit's
fer wimmin-folk and young'uns.  Us blockaders ain't got no use fer it." 
Jake said defensively.  "You turn into a gal-woman, Bird's-Eye?"
        Bird's-Eye walked slowly to the cot where Jake sat.  Jake's body tensed
in preparation for the blow he knew was coming.  To his surprise,
Bird's-Eye sat down beside him.  "I use t' think the way ye do, Jake. 
An' all it ever done fer me is bring misery.  Lost m' wife a-thinkin'
that away, lost m' boy, too."  Gently, he placed his hand on the leather
volume.  "But this here book, hit showed me a better way fer livin'.  I
use t' think that believin' in God meant a-givin' up my freedom, but
what I larned is that ye ain't got no freedom until ye are believin' in
‘im."
        "If that ain't the biggest heap o' woman-talk I ever heerd," Jake
grumbled.  He laid down on the cot and pushed Bird's-Eye off with his
feet.  "Now I got t' spend six months clomped in jail with a gal-woman
a-preachin' at me.  Wisht they'd a sent me t' the gallows, shore
enough."
         Bird's-Eye shook his head in frustration as he walked back to his
visitors.  "Some folks is jest leather-headed, guess."
        Miss Alice laughed.  "Give him time.  You were no quick sale yourself. 
Miss Huddleston and I just wanted you to know that we're thinking about
you and praying for you.  Your time here in jail will not be easy,
Bird's-Eye, but stand firm in your faith, and our Heavenly Father will
see thee through it."   
        "Much obleeged, Miz Alice, Miz Christy.  The kindness you done me, I
won't be forgettin' hit."  The two women turned to leave.  "Any word on
Lundy?" his voice shook as he asked the question.
        Christy could see the pain in the father's eyes.  Sadly, she shook her
head.  "No one's seen him.  I'm sorry," she whispered.  "He's a strong,
smart, young man, though.  I'm sure he's doing just fine.  And if we
hear anything, we'll let you know at once."
        "Good day, Mr. Taylor,..... gentlemen," Alice called out as they
retreated down the corridor.

******  
        Franklin Thompson sighed as he pulled the old leather book from its
place on the shelf.  He could sense a growing restlessness in his young
apprentice, and he wondered how long it would be before Amos left.
        The carpenter reflected on the journey Amos had taken since that day
when he asked for a job.  An angry, frightened teenager had grown into a
confident, independent man.  During his stay, he had learned a trade,
improved his reading skills, studied the violin, and discovered that
life did not have to be a terrifying, unhappy experience.  Knowing that
the young man could take what he had learned and make his own way in the
world brought a sad smile to Franklin's lips.  He was going to miss his
friend.
        The soft notes of a violin drifted past his ears.  Amos was a true
musician.  No longer were the sounds emitted by the instrument
reminiscent of a dying animal; they were soulful, heart wrenching sounds
that touched the listener to the very core of his being.  
        Franklin leafed through the volume he was holding.  He wanted to find
just the right lesson tonight, for he didn't know how many more they
would have.  The stocky man sat down in the wing-backed chair near the
fireplace.  "Ah!  This is just what I want!" he exclaimed as his eyes
scanned the pages.
        The music ceased and Lundy appeared in the doorway, holding the antique
violin in one hand and the bow in the other.  "Reckon yore tired o'
hearin' me rassle wi' that vi-o-lin."   
        Mr. Thompson smiled, "Not at all, Amos.  You're getting better every
day.  Sometimes it's so..... so...... beautiful that I'm truly amazed. 
You're a natural born musician, son."
        Lundy was pleased by the compliment.  "Waal, some say us mountain folks
got music in our blood.  Never thought thar was any in mine, but mebbe
thar is."
        "I should say there is!" The carpenter motioned to the chair beside
him.  "If you're finished practicing, why don't we have our reading
lesson?"  Lundy gently laid the instrument on the coffee table and sat
down next to his mentor.
        "What're we gonna read ‘bout today, Mr. Thompson?"
        "Well, Amos, today's lesson will help prepare you for living on your
own," Franklin responded.
        "Livin' on my own?" Lundy looked at his mentor suspiciously.  "You
tryin' t' outen me?"
        "Not at all, son!" he answered in surprise.  "I just want to make sure
you're ready to face the world when the time comes."
        "You shore?" the young man scowled at Franklin.
        "Of course I'm sure.  I like having you here.  But I know that a fine
young buck like you will be wanting to take a wife one day and start a
family.  You would like to get married someday, wouldn't you?"
        Lundy looked at the floor.  "Reckon so."  Mr. Thompson saw his ears
turn red.
        "Have you got a special girl back home, Amos?" he teased.
        The apprentice shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  "Waaal....... naw. 
There's a right special gal, but she ain't *my* gal.  She's fancy-fine,
wouldn't never have nothin' to do with no Taylo-......." Lundy coughed,
"uh, I mean Lundy."
        "Why, you're a fine young man.... why wouldn't she like you?"
        A cynical laugh escaped Lundy's lips.  "You know how yore fam'ly bizniz
is car-pentry?" Franklin nodded.  "Waaal, my fam'ly bizniz
is.........waal, makin' moonshine.  And my paw an' his cuzin Nathan air
known fer spillin' mortal gorm.  Ain't no way Zady's pap'd let her go
sparkin' wi' me."
        Franklin twisted the end of his moustache in thought, his brow
furrowed.  "You've told me why your father couldn't court her, but you
haven't told me why you can't court her."
        "Hit's plain as the crack of day, Mr. Thompson.  I'm jest a shagnasty;
the Taylors and the O'Teales air the lowest bred scoundrels in the
Cove.  If I was her pap, I wouldn't let her use around wi' me neither."
        Franklin scratched his head.  "What if you showed her pap that you're
not like the rest of your family?  You've got a lot to offer, Amos. 
You're hard-working, considerate, smart.  I don't know too many fathers
who wouldn't want their daughters marrying a fellow like that."
        A ray of hope sparked in Lundy's eye.  "You really think so?"
        "Of course I do.  Now it may take a while for him to come around, but I
believe you have the determination to convince him."
        The young man carefully considered what his mentor said.  A faraway
look crept into his eyes as he remembered the kindness that Zady had
done for him.  He imagined her looking up at him with affection.  Could
his dream actually come true?  A grin slowly spread across his face. 
"Reckon hits worth tryin'." 
        "I'm sure it is.  In fact, what we're going to read tonight may help. 
Here," Franklin said, handing the old leather Bible to Lundy and
pointing to a place on the page, "read this."  He settled back in his
chair and closed his eyes.
        Lundy cleared his throat and began reading, "Therefore, take up the
full armor of God, that you may be able to resist in the evil day. 
Stand firm therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having
put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with
the preparation of the gospel of peace; in addition to all, taking up
the shield of faith with which you will be able to extinguish all the
flaming missiles of the evil one.  And take the helmet of salvation, and
the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."  Lundy looked up
from the page, puzzled.  "Land sakes! What in tarnation?"
        The carpenter chuckled.  Amos' speech was always so colorful.  "Just
stop and think about it a minute, son.  Read it again; think about each
sentence before you read the next one.  What do you think it's trying to
tell you?"
        "Lemme see, now........ the armor of God....... armor.... like we ken
get God to protect us, if'n we'll put on his armor."
        "Good, Amos.  Now what is God's armor?" 
        "Waal, hit says here t' gird yer loins with truth and put on the
breastplate of righteousness.  Guess that means we orter be honest, an'
always do right.  Having shod yer feet with the gospel of peace and
taken up the shield of faith?...........  Cain't edzactly make hit out,
sir."
         "Read it again, and think about it."
        The young man's lips moved as he silently read the verse again. 
"Reckon we got to have faith, faith that God's done took care of us'n
already and that he'll keep a-doin' it."
        "And what's the helmet of salvation?"
        "Salvation, that's when ye know that God sacrificed his own young'un
so's we'uns wouldn't all hafta go t' hell."  He paused.  "If'n God loved
us enough to do that, I don't reckon he'd run out on us now."
        "No, I don't believe he would," Franklin commented.  "Believing that
He'll stay with us, even in the worst of times, that's trust.  Without
trust, there can be no faith and no salvation.  You've got to trust
God."
        "So what yore a-tryin' to tell me is that if I live right, be honest,
trust God, and know that He saved me, I won't fall t' evil.  But what's
the sword of the Spirit?"
        Franklin leaned forward.  "The sword of the Spirit, which is the word
of God, is the Bible.  You may have times in your life when you feel
stronger or weaker in your faith.  Reading your Bible will defend you
when your faith is weak; it will help you build your faith so that you
can withstand the temptations which come your way."
        Lundy hesitated, and the carpenter could see the thoughts forming in
his pupil's mind.  "I'm a-seein' what ye're sayin' here, but what's it
got to do wi' Zady's pap lettin' me court ‘er?"
        "I don't know a father on this earth that wouldn't want his daughter to
marry an upright, honest, trustworthy, God-following man.  And even if
her father doesn't take to you, if you're faithful to God, He will help
you lead a fulfilling life.  With your character, your faith, and this
book right here, you've got everything you need to make your way in the
world." 
        The thought of being an independent man made Lundy smile.  He had
enjoyed his time with Mr. Thompson, and he'd certainly learned a lot,
but maybe it was time to go home.

PART ELEVEN - THE PICNIC 
        A small group sat on the quilt spread out in the meadow.  Clara
excitedly unpacked the basket her mother had made like she'd just
discovered a buried treasure chest.  "Here's the cornbread, Least'un. 
Lulu, you take the blueberries.  Mmmm!  Looky here, Will, mama's fried
chicken."
        Will gladly took the plate of chicken from the animated girl.  He
lifted the napkin covering it to sneak a drumstick.  "Will Beck, you
keep outen thar ‘til we're all ready!" Clara scolded good-naturedly. 
While Clara was distracted, Least'un took the opportunity to stuff a
handful of blueberries into his mouth.  Meanwhile, Zady spooned hearty
helpings of her mother's special applesauce onto everyone's plate.
        Will smacked his lips expectantly.  "I de-clare!  Don't recollect ever
seein' this much food in all m' born days."
        When all the plates were heaped high, Zady turned to Will.  "Will ye
wait th' table fer us?"
        "Shorely," the young man replied.  He bowed his head, and the others
followed.  "Lord, we thank ye fer a-watchin' o'er us'n.  Bless this here
bounty.  Amen." 
        The younger children and Will eagerly began eating.  Zady smiled as
Will tried to cajole Least'un out of his cornbread.  He was a good man,
and he'd make a good daddy one day.  "‘Spose I could larn to love ‘im,"
she told herself.  Just last week, Will had asked her father for her
hand.  Her father was pleased by the proposal, and had granted his
permission for the two to marry.  Now it was time for Zady to make her
decision.

******
        The jovial group packed up the remains of their feast.  "Don't reckon
I'll eat ag'in fer a month," Will said as he lifted the almost empty
picnic basket.  
        "Ye're jest biggin' an' biggin' it, Will Beck," Clara announced. 
"Shore as the sun-ball comes up in the mornin' ye'll be back tomorry fer
more."  The young man laughed at the truth to her words.  Clara turned
to her little sister.  "Come on, Lulu, let's race to the crik over
yonder."  The two girls ran off merrily.
        Will turned to Zady.  "You bin thinkin' ‘bout that question I ast ye,
Zady?"
        Zady nodded.  She mustered a bright smile for him and nodded.  "I been
studyin' on hit."
        "Waaal?" he asked; the suspense was unbearable.  She opened her mouth
to give him the answer he'd been waiting for.
        Suddenly they heard Clara cry out.  The couple hopped to their feet and
ran to the fallen girl.  "What happent, Clara?"  Zady called to her
sister as she ran.
        "Oooh, ouch!  Stepped in a critter hole.  Ouch!  My ankle!"  Clara was
holding her foot.
        "Air you all right?" Will asked.
        "Reckon so.  Jest twisted my ankle is all.  Shore does smart, though."
        Will scratched his head.  "Can ye walk on hit?"  He gently helped the
girl stand.  She gingerly put her weight on the injured foot.  
        "Ouch!"  Clara sat back down.  
        "Don't think ye'll be a-walkin' home today," Will commented.  He eyed
her thoughtfully.  "I mought be able t' carry ye, though.  Want to try
it?"  Clara shrugged.  The young man gathered her up in his arms.  "You
ain't no heavier than a rag doll.  This ought t' be easy."

******
        Twenty minutes and a half-mile later, Will wasn't so optimistic.  "I'm
need t' stop and set a spell, Clara," he said as set her down.  He was
exhausted, and they had a long way to go to reach the Spencer cabin.
        "Will, you cain't carry her all the way home.  It's a fur piece, yit,"
Zady observed.  "Why don't I run home an' fotch my paw.  He ken bring
th' mule fer Clara.  No use a-breakin' yer back."
        The tired teen nodded.  "That's a right fine idee.  I'm bo-daciously
tired out.  You take Least'un and Lulu, ‘n' I'll stay with Clara."
        Zady collected the smaller children, and set out for home.  "What a
plumb foolish thing to do!" Clara exclaimed.  "I'm sorry I spoilt the
day fer ye."
        "You didn't spoil hit, Clara.   Fact is, you make things fun.  Even
drudgery things like plowin' for yer paw ain't so bad when ye're
around."  He turned to face her.  "How come you always got that smile on
yer face?"
        Clara shrugged and nervously fumbled with a blade of grass.  "Don't
rightly know.  I'm jest happy, reckon."
        "You know, I turned my ankle onct like you done jest now."  Clara
settled herself comfortably.  She could sense a story coming.  Will
continued, "It was the very first time my paw carried me with ‘im ba'ar
huntin'.  We were a-creepin' ‘round the woods fer four days, trackin' a
she-ba'ar.  Stopped t' set when all of a sudden-like, our hound-dog, Ol'
Charley came a-runnin' through the bresh."
        "Well, now, I'd been thinkin' ‘bout nothin' but bears fer days, so when
Charley come up, I thought shorely hit was that mean ol' she-ba'ar. 
Jumped up and lit a rag fer the nearest tree."  Will chuckled as he
remembered.  "Waal, ‘fore I got thar, I tripped on a tree-stump,
a-twisted up my ankle and hit the ground like a sack o' taters."
        Clara giggled.  "Good thing it weren't nothin' but Charley!"
        "Waal, I jumped up thinkin' that she-ba'ar was atter me yit. 
Hippety-hopped o'er to th' tree ‘n scrambled up hit, lickety split. 
Don't think I ever moved s' fast........ before or since.  I was
a-hangin' on to a branch thar, when I heerd my paw jest a-hollerin' and
a-carryin' on.  Thought that ol' ba'ar was on ‘im fer shore.  Almost
fell outta the tree tryin' to get down.  When I hit the ground I saw
thar weren't no ba'ar, jest Ol' Charley."  Will let out a belly laugh. 
"An' Paw, he was a-layin' on the ground laughin' like nothin' so funny
ever happent in all his life."
        Clara joined in the laughter.  As it died down, she asked,  "So did
you'uns ever get that she-ba'ar?"
        "Naw, but Paw, he joked that I'd make good bait for ‘er.  A wounded,
helpless critter is mighty temptin' you know."  He paused, concerned
that his last remark might frighten her.  "But don't you worry, Clara. 
I ain't a-gonna let nothin' hurt ye."
        The young woman looked at Will with complete trust.  "I ain't worried,
Will.  Long as ye're here I know I'm safe."  He smiled fondly at her, as
he puzzled over the way she always seemed to make him feel like a better
man than he was.

PART TWELVE - HOMECOMING
        
        Lundy stood at the door of Franklin Thompson's carpentry shop.  A
duffle bag containing all of his worldly possessions sat at his feet. 
"I'm obleeged fer all you done fer me," Lundy said earnestly.
        "It's been a pleasure having you here with me, Amos," the older man
responded.  He shook his young friend's hand.  "You're a fine man,
and......" his voice quivered slightly, "I'm going to miss you, son."
        "I'll never ferget you, nor all them things you larned me," he looked
intently into his mentor's eyes, trying to convey the genuineness of his
remark.
        Franklin's eyes grew misty. Abruptly, he turned and walked to the sales
counter.  Carefully, he pulled a long, rectangular case out from under
it.  "Come here, Amos."  Lundy approached him.  "I've been working on
this.  I wanted to surprise you......" the carpenter opened the case.  A
freshly varnished, brand new violin rested there.  
        The teenager looked at Franklin in disbelief.  Lovingly he fingered the
delicate instrument. "You... you made this?  You made it fer me?"  Lundy
swallowed the lump in his throat.  No one had ever given him such a
gift.
        "You'll have to break it in now, lad, so I expect you to practice with
it every day."
        Lundy nodded seriously.  "Yessir, I will."  He looked around the shop
one last time, then turned to leave.
        "One more thing, son," Mr. Thompson called out.  "Amos Lundy isn't your
real name, is it?"  Lundy slowly shook his head.  "I'd like to write
you, but I'm afraid that any letters I send to Amos Lundy of Cutter Gap,
Tennessee will be returned to me.  Will you tell me your name, boy?"
        "Lundy....... Lundy Taylor." He hesitated.  "I'm awful sorry fer lyin'
to ye, Mr. Thompson, but when I came here, I was a-runnin' from my paw. 
Didn't rightly know if'n he'd be a-comin' atter me, so I figgered it
wouldn't hurt to use a made-up name.  You ain't mad at me, air ye?"
        The older man replied, "Of course not, Lundy.  I'm... just glad you
came."  An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.  It was an emotional
moment for both of them, but neither man knew the words to express his
feelings.  "Promise you'll write so I'll know you made it home."
        "I will, Mr. Thompson.  I'm beholden to ye......... I'll always be
beholden."  With those words, the muscular, blonde man gently closed the
violin case, picked up his duffel bag and left the shop.  The bell over
the door tinkled sadly.  Although the shop was filled with furniture, it
suddenly felt very empty to the old carpenter.
 
******
        Lundy stood nervously on the platform of the Knoxville train station. 
It was hard for him to believe that he was going home.  The year he
spent with Mr. Thompson seemed like only a week, but he had learned so
much.  He felt strong enough, mature enough now, to face his father.  He
actually missed him and looked forward to seeing him....... and Zady,
but Lundy wondered if either of them would be glad to see him.  He
sighed.  Well, he only knew of one way to find out.
The train pulled into the station, and the lone man gathered his
belongings.

******
        The rhythmic clicking of the wheels lulled Lundy into a light sleep,
one which was filled with strange dreams.  He was sitting by the creek
with Zady, holding her hand and looking deeply into her fathomless,
brown eyes.  Then he was on the Spencers' porch talking with Jeb.  Jeb
grew angry.  "I ain't goin' to let my Zady pile up with th' trash by
hitchin' up with a Taylor!"
        "But Mr. Spencer!" Lundy cried.  He tossed and turned in troubled
sleep.  
        Then the calm, steady voice of Franklin Thomson whispered in his ear.
"And even if her father doesn't take to you, if you're faithful and
obedient to God, He will help you lead a fulfilling life."  A shrill
whistle sounded, shaking Lundy from his uneasy sleep.
        "El Pano station!" the conductor called out.  Lundy stood and
stretched.  He was almost home.

******
        The hike up to Lonesome Pine Ridge was steeper than he remembered it. 
The year Lundy spent in the city had softened him.  He had grown
mentally and spiritually, but it had been a long time since he'd walked
any great distance through the hills.  Finally, he reached the summit. 
A breathtaking view greeted his thirsty eyes.  For a moment, Lundy stood
in wonder.  He'd forgotten the beauty of the Cove,........... or had he
ever really seen it?
        The blonde man deeply breathed the fresh, mountain air.  Yes, he had
made the right decision in coming home.  He bent down and opened the
case at his feet.  The violin that had been made especially for him was
lifted from its resting place.  For a few minutes, Lundy tuned the
instrument.  Then he began to play the melancholy music that coursed
through his veins and into his fingers.  The lyrics of the song ran
through his brain as he stroked the bow across the strings:

"There's a path back in the mountains
To that one room house where I was born
Even now the memories linger
My mama's smile so soft and warm.

Lonesome pine, I hear you calling
Calling me back to my home
Where the possum hounds, through the hills are roaming
Lonesome pine, calling me home.

It's been so long since I left that cabin
To find my way, become a man
Late at night, when I'm alone and lonely
I hear my pa call as I ran.

Someday soon, I'm gonna travel
Back to the land that I love best
In the stillness of the mountains
I will find sweet peace and rest.

Lonesome pine, I hear you calling
Calling me back to my home
Where the possum hounds, through the hills are roaming
Lonesome pine, calling me home."

(Adapted lyrics from "Lonesome Pine" sung by Blue Highway)      



******
        Zady was hanging the wash out to dry.  Will had come by earlier, but
oddly enough, had asked to see Clara.  Ever since the day of that
picnic, when Clara hurt her ankle, Will had been acting strange.  He
hadn't even mentioned his proposal to her again, and she was finally
willing to accept it.  "Oh well," Zady muttered to herself.  "Mama tried
to tell me, but I was jest too leather-headed."  She bent down to take
one of her father's shirts from the basket.
        A strange sound reached her ears.  It was so soft, so gentle, she
thought she'd imagined it.  Then she heard more.  A melody full of
longing drifted down from the clouds.  Zady absently put the shirt back
in the basket and tried to follow the sound.  It echoed off the walls of
the valley, and she couldn't find its source.  "Must be music from
Heav'n," she whispered in amazement.  She stood enthralled for several
minutes until the music faded.

PART THIRTEEN - REUNION
        
        Lundy called out as he approached the rickety cabin.  He was greeted by
silence.  He agilely hopped up the steps, not noticing that they had
been repaired.  "Paw?  Paw, hit's me, Lundy."  He pushed on the door,
and it creaked open.  He set his belongings down and stepped into the
room he had once called home.
        A thick layer of dust coated everything.  A fine spider web hung
precariously in the corner near the fireplace.  Clearly, no one had been
here in a very long time.  Lundy walked around the room, searching for
clues to what had happened.  
        He noticed the trap door was open, leaning against the chest of drawers
that usually concealed it.  The young man found a candle and some
matches, and warily made his way down the steps, not knowing what he
would encounter below.  The first thing he saw as he descended was the
still, smashed into a worthless heap.  Copper tubing was strewn about
the floor of the cave.  The shelves along the far wall were empty, and a
single jug lay shattered on the ground.
        By coming home, Lundy had hoped to find answers, but instead he was
only met by more questions.  Had the Revenue agents finally caught up
with his father?  Did a gunfight follow?  Where was his father now?  Was
he still alive?  He climbed the steps back into the cabin and looked out
the window at the sky.  It was mid-afternoon.  There was still time to
visit the mission house before dark.  Maybe Miss Christy could tell him
what happened.

******
        "Hallooo!  Miz Christy!  Miz Alice!  Preacher?  Anybody home?" Lundy
cried as he entered the yard to the mission house.  The front door
opened, and Christy Huddleston stood in the doorway.
        "Who is it?" she called.
        Lundy jogged to the steps.  "Hit's me, Miz Christy.  Lundy,.......
Lundy Taylor."
        In surprise, the teacher studied the teenager standing before her.  "I
declare!  Lundy Taylor!  Why I wouldn't have recognized you!  You've
grown up!"
        Lundy grinned.  "Yes, ma'am, I have."
        Christy stepped aside and motioned for her student to enter.  "Where
have you been, Lundy?  We've all been so worried about you, your father
especially."
        "Paw? Paw's been worried ‘bout me?" the young man asked with his
eyebrows raised.  "So he's alive then."
        "Of course he's alive."
        "Waal, whar is he?"
        Christy led Lundy to a chair in the parlor and gently put her hand on
his shoulder.  "Bird's-Eye was arrested, several months ago, for making
and selling whiskey.  He's been in the Lyleton jail........  But he
should be getting out soon."
        "I figgered the Revenooers got ‘im," Lundy stated.  "They busted up the
still back home.  Tellin' you straight, Miz Christy, I'm might nigh glad
they caught him.  That blockadin' is bad bizniz.  Don't nothin' good
ever come of hit."  He paused.  "You say he'll be a-gettin' out soon?"
        "That's right.  I believe his sentence is almost up.  I usually go with
Miss Alice on Saturdays to visit him.  We'll be going tomorrow.  Won't
you join us?"
        Lundy studied the floor.  "Waaal, don't know as he'll be a-wantin' t'
see me, seein' as how I run out on ‘im ‘n all."
        "I guarantee he'll want to see you," Christy said with a sparkle in her
eye.  "Every time we visit, he asks if anyone's heard anything about
you.  He misses you terribly, Lundy."
        "You shore ye're talkin' ‘bout *my* paw, Miz Christy?"
        "Of course I'm sure," she laughed.  "Why don't you stay here tonight,
and we'll leave first thing in the morning for Lyleton."

******
        Fairlight sat in the rocking chair on the porch, admiring the starry
night.  "Mama?" Zady came onto the porch and sat on the top step.
        "What's on yer mind, Zady?  Ye were awful quiet at supper tonight."
        The girl sighed deeply.  "You know how ye see things sometimes?  Things
that nobody else does?" she asked tentatively.
        "You have a vision?" Fairlight asked with concern.  Her "second sight"
was a gift that she would never wish upon her daughter.  More often than
not, the visions were a blessing, but occasionally they would haunt her
with a dark message.
        "Naw.  ‘Tweren't somethin' I saw, but somethin' I heerd."  Her mother
gave her a quizzical look.  "When I was hangin' the wash, it was the
strangest thing.  I heerd music, a-comin' from the sky.  Didn't sound
like nothin' I ever heerd afore, kinda like Paw's fiddle but diff'rent,
a mite bit sad.  Sounded ‘most like the heav'nly host was a-playin' it
jest fer me.  What you reckon hit means, Mama?"
        Fairlight sat quietly in thought.  She absently stroked her daughter's
hair.  "Don't rightly know, honey.  Sometimes when them visions come, I
can't make out their meanin' either.  So I pray t' God fer Him to show
me what hit means."  Zady silently bowed her head.

******
        Early the next morning, Alice, Christy and Lundy mounted their horses
and started for Lyleton.  Ruby Mae slipped out after them to spread the
word of Lundy's return. "Thee hasn't told us where you've been, Lundy,"
Miss Alice stated kindly.
        "Been over Knoxville-way.  Worked fer a car-penter, feller named
Franklin Thompson.  He larned me the trade," he answered.
        Christy was excited.  "So you know carpentry, Lundy?"
        "Shorely do, Miz Christy.  Even sold a dinin' room table ‘n' chairs. 
You know how much them folks paid fer it?"  The two women shook their
heads.  "Twenty-five whole dollars!" he exclaimed, amazement in his
voice.  "A man-person could make a right fine livin' sellin' house
plunder fer cash-money like ‘at."
        "I should say so!" Christy added.  "So what brought you back home,
Lundy?"
        "Figgered it was time t' go out on m' own, build me a cabin.  Kinda
wondered what Paw was up to, decided to sot up house here in the Cove."
        "We're glad you decided to come home," Miss Alice said.  "I believe
your father will be, too."

******
        Bird's-Eye sat on his cot, an old book open on his lap.  Bart sat next
to him, leaning over the pages and trying to follow along as Bird's-Eye
read.  "Jesus said to Martha, ‘I am the res- resurr- resurrection and
the life; he who believes in Me shall live even if he dies, and everyone
who lives and believes in Me shall never die.  Do you believe this?'"
        Bart interrupted, "Aye!"  Bird's-Eye looked at his cell mate and
smiled.
        "Taylor, you got visitors!" the sheriff called out as he led Lundy and
the two missionaries down the corridor.  Bird's-Eye looked up from the
Bible, expecting to see Alice and Christy.  To his utter surprise, a
third guest was with them.  For several seconds, he just stared at the
young man on the other side of the bars.  He blinked his eyes and stood
up in a daze; Bart caught the book as it slipped from Bird's-Eye's lap.
"Lundy?" he whispered, his voice filled with hope.
        "Hit's me, Paw," the handsome young man answered.  Bird's-Eye grabbed
the bars to support himself.  A powerful feeling of joy and relief
flooded him.  His voice cracked with emotion.  "I thought I'd lost ye,
boy."  The two men's eyes met and held their gaze for a long moment. 
Then Bird's-Eye looked his son up and down, then smiled proudly, "Jest
look at ye.  Ye're a man-person now."  He punched his son fondly in the
arm.  "You got yoreself a woman?"
        "Naw," Lundy responded looking at the floor, "but I got my eyes set fer
one."  Alice dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief; Christy put an arm
around her mentor and smiled.  What an unexpected and joyful reunion it
was.

******
        Lundy stopped his hammering and mopped his brow.  His father was coming
home next week, and there was still a lot to do before his arrival. 
Bird's-Eye had asked his son if he could learn the trade, and they
agreed to work together.  The carpenter was setting up shop in the cave
below the cabin.  The pieces of the still had been swept up and piled in
the far corner.  Several sawhorses stood along the wall.  
        Now Lundy was building a workbench.  It had to be solid and sturdy. 
After all, good furniture started with a good workbench.  He climbed the
stairs to get a drink of water.  "Hallooo, hallooo!" a deep voice called
up the hill.
        Lundy walked to the door and saw Rob Allen and his father, Bob, hiking
toward him.  They seemed friendly enough, but what were two Allens doing
calling on a Taylor?
        "Howdy, Lundy!" Rob called, waving.  Lundy waved back, uncertainly. 
"We'uns heerd ye was back and that ye're a car-penter.  Thought we'd
lend ye a hand settin' up shop."
        Lundy's jaw dropped in surprise.  For a moment he was speechless. 
Then, realizing that the two men were waiting for a response, he said,
"Right neighborly of ye, Rob, Mister Allen.  You-all come on in."  
        The three men finished the work in record time.  As they sat on the
porch drinking large glasses of cool water from the nearby spring, Lundy
could reign in his curiosity no longer.  "Meanin' no dis-respect, now,
but what're you'uns doin' holpin' a Taylor?  Ain't we got a blood-feud?"
        Rob and his father looked at each other.  The elder Allen spoke. 
"Reckon the last ye knew of thar was a blood-feud.  But yer pap ‘n' me,
waal, we figgered things'd be best if'n we jest let bygones be bygones. 
And with Bird's-Eye outen the stillin' bizniz, thar ain't much t' be
fightin' over."
        "Me an' Pap was thinkin' with you makin' furniture an' all, why we'd
likely be workin' together a good bit.  Reckon ye'll be a-needing the
mill," Rob looked questioningly at Lundy, who nodded his agreement. 
"If'n we holp each other, we both orter be better off."

PART FOURTEEN - ZADY SPENCER

        With the carpentry shop ready for production, Lundy began working on
his first piece.  This would not be just any piece of furniture; it was
going to be a very special piece.    He and Rob Allen carefully selected
and cut a large oak tree, then took it to the mill to be cut into
lumber.  For days, Lundy worked from daybreak until late into the
night.          
        In the cool evening of the sixth day, Lundy finally stepped back to
admire his work.  A sturdy rocking chair sat invitingly on the floor of
the cave.  He sat in the chair, rocking slowly.  He shifted in the
chair, trying to be sure it would be comfortable.  Lovingly, he ran his
fingers over the intricate designs on the flat armrests.  Those had
taken the most time.  On one them was carved a view of the mountain
ranges, a lone buck stood atop a summit, its points standing out against
the sky.  On the other was the image of a cabin on a hill, a thin trail
of smoke rising from the chimney.  Pigs and chickens were meticulously
cut into the wood.  The figure of a girl stood in the yard, looking out
over the horizon.  Lundy studied the girl.  "Could you ever love me,
Zady Spencer?" he whispered to her softly.
        
******
        "I'm worried ‘bout her, Jeb," Fairlight whispered to her husband above
the steady chirping of crickets.  Jeb turned over in the dark to face
his wife of nineteen years.  "She said she heerd music a-comin' from the
sky.  Reckon hit's the truth?  She's been so quiet ever since, all
closed up and sad.  Kinda makes me recollect the way she was when that
stranger came through the Cove.  Took a mighty long time fer her t'
pearten up atter that.  Shore hope it ain't a-starting agin."
        "That gal always has been one fer broodin', alway's a-thinkin' she is. 
Don't know as I ken ever understand ‘er," Jeb responded softly to his
wife.
        "Reckon Doc MacNeill ought t' see ‘er?"  Fairlight asked. 
        "I don't know, Fairlight.  Why don't we call on the doc tomorry?"  The
worried woman nodded.  Jeb added, "now you jest lie right here ‘n go t'
sleep.  We'll send fer the doc at day-bust."  Fairlight nestled up
against her husband and rested her head on his chest.  Within minutes,
her steady breathing let Jeb know that she'd fallen asleep.
        
******
        The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, but Lundy had been awake
for some time.  He'd already had a bath in the creek, shaved the stubble
from his chin, and put on his least-worn pants and shirt.  He laced up
his heavy work boots and carried the chair and his violin case onto the
porch.  He sat on the top step of the porch and used a length of rope to
tie the rocking chair securely to his back.  He stood, leaning forward,
and picked up the case.  Today was the day.  He was going to call on
Zady.  Lundy took a deep breath and descended the steps.

******
        By the time he reached the Spencer cabin, the sun had finally risen. 
He saw Jeb Spencer exit the cabin, his old felt hat set resolutely on
his head.  "Hey, thar, Mister Spencer!" Lundy shouted.  Jeb stopped and
looked over at the blonde man.  Lundy was a strange sight, standing
nervously with an unusual case in his hand and a rocking chair tied to
his back.
        "Howdy," Jeb replied uncertainly.
        Lundy approached the mountain man.  He untied the rope around his chest
and set the  chair down.  "Zady home?" he asked hopefully.
        "Aye," Jeb answered still eying the stranger suspiciously.  "Who wants
t' know?"
        The young man laughed.  "Ye didn't recon-ize me?  Hit's Lundy Taylor,
Mister Spencer."
        The father stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "Lundy Taylor.  And ye're
a-wantin' t' see Zady?"
        "Yessir.  You see, afore I left the Cove, Zady......... she done me a
kindness," Lundy explained.  "Jest wanted t' call on ‘er t' thank ‘er."
        "Reckon that cain't hurt nothin'," Jeb said, almost to himself.  "I'll
fotch her.  Come on up t' the porch an' set," he added.  He disappeared
into the cabin, and a few moments later Zady appeared.
        "Heerd ye was back in the Cove," Zady said.  Lundy opened his mouth to
speak, but no sound would come out.  Zady's eyes were as large and brown
as he'd remembered them.  A man could get lost looking into them.  Zady
cleared her throat.  "Heerd ye went to Knoxville.........  Larned to
make house plunder."  Lundy nodded, still unable to speak.  For several
seconds, an uncomfortable silence filled the air.  Then Zady pointed to
the rocking chair.  "Did ye make that chair yon?"
        The young man finally found his voice.  "Aye.  I made hit.  Made it
special fer you, Zady."  He carried the chair up the steps and gestured
for her to sit down.
        "Fer me?" she asked in surprise as she sat.  "Everwhat ye do that for?"
        Lundy put his hands on his knees and looked directly into Zady's eyes. 
"Afore I left fer Knox-ville, you done me a kindness - a kindness I
won't be fergettin' - not now, not ever.  Reckon you saved m' life."
        Zady furrowed her brow.  She couldn't remember ever doing anything kind
for Lundy, let alone saving his life.  Maybe he was confused.  "When did
I e'er do you a kindness, Lundy Taylor?"
        "When I was hongry, you fed me," he said quietly.
        The young woman's eyes grew wide with understanding.  "Yore..........
yore the strainger!  Hit was you!"  Excitedly, she put her hand in her
pocket, fumbled for a moment, then held out a small wooden figure to
him.  "Remember this?" she asked, almost inaudibly.
        "‘Course I do," Lundy answered.  "I give ye that right afore I left. 
When you fed me, Zady, I didn't have nothin' in this here world but th'
shirt on my back an' my ol' huntin' knife.  I was on the aidge of
starvin'.  You gave me hope, made me think mebbe I could make somethin'
good outta that consarned life o' mine.  Figgered I could go t' the city
and start life o'er."  
        Zady ran her fingers over the ornate carving on the armrest.  She
marveled at the detail of it and at the realization that Lundy had made
it just for her.  She looked at the blonde man in front of her.  
        "And I did start o'er, Zady.  Larned from a right smart man.  He didn't
jest teach me wood-workin' neither.  Taught me how t' live life right,
how t' be a man, a man what ken stand straight ‘n' tall, and not be
ashamed o' who he is."  Lundy bent down and opened the strange case.
"An' he taught me music......  Would ye like me t' play fer ye?"  Lundy
asked as he lifted the violin to his shoulder.
        Zady nodded numbly.  She was still absorbing all that had happened. 
Lundy closed his eyes and placed the bow on the strings.  As "Amazing
Grace" moaned from the instrument, tears rolled down Zady's cheeks.  She
knew that sound; it was the music that had come to her from heaven.  The
sorrowful notes flew straight to her soul.
        Jeb stopped slopping the hogs to listen.  Fairlight stopped stirring
the oatmeal.  The Spencer children gathered at the door in wonder,
rubbing their sleepy eyes.  Tears continued to stream unchecked down
Zady's face.  As Lundy played the final note with a flourish, he opened
his eyes and looked at the brown-haired girl.
        A concerned expression clouded his features.  "Why're you a-puddlin'? 
Did I do somethin' to hurt ye?"
        Zady sniffled and wiped her tears with her sleeve.  "Naw.  Hit's
jest......." she sniffled again.  "Hit's jest......." she looked at
Lundy earnestly as new tears coursed down her cheek, "I been waitin' on
you............... fer an awful long time.  Cain't believe ye fin'ly
come."
        Tenderly he brushed the tears from her cheek.  "Th' devil hisself
couldn't keep me from ye, Zady."  Fairlight's eyes grew misty.  The
mysterious stranger *had* returned to his doney-gal. 
        "Reckon ye could stand to et a bite," Fairlight called from the
doorway, a slight quiver in her voice.  "Got oatmeal cookin' an' a heap
o' side meat....."
        Lundy tore his eyes from the face of his sweetheart and stood.  "That'd
be right nice, Miz Spencer.  Bin a coon's age since I ate yore cookin'. 
Thar ain't nothin' like hit in Knox-ville, shore and sartain."  He
gently took Zady's hand and escorted her into the cabin.
        "Reckon I won't be needin' to fotch on the doc," Jeb said to himself
with a smile as he walked toward the cabin.

AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER........

THE END!