Title: THE OUTLANDER
Author: Debbie H.

Part One: The Journey

        Ben Pentland studied the stranger.  The tall, trim yet sturdy man stood
in the doorway of the general store, rubbing his bearded chin
thoughtfully as he surveyed the cluttered shop.  Then, seeing Ben
watching him, he strode over to the pot-bellied stove.

        "I'm aimin' fer Cutter Gap.  Reckon you ken tell me how to get thar
from here?" the man asked in a voice so deep that it sounded as if it
were coming from his toes.

        "Why shorely.  Ain't much up that away, though.  What ye headed thar
for?"

        The stranger stood silently, a far away look in his grey-blue eyes. 
Finally he answered, "I got some old bizniz t' settle."  
        
        "Bizniz?  What kind o' bizniz?"  Ben eyed the stranger suspiciously. 
"‘Tain't fuedin' bizniz, is it?"

        "Jest bizniz.  So, are ye goin' to tell me how to get to Cutter Gap or
ain't ye?"

        Ben nodded and stood.  "Downright techious, ain't he?" he muttered as
he led the man onto the porch.  He pointed to a wide path north of
them.  "That thar path'll lead ye straight on up to the Cove.  That yer
wagon?" 

        "Aye," the stranger nodded at the ancient wooden vehicle.  Two chestnut
mares were harnessed to it, and a fat milk-cow was tethered to the
back.  A few chairs, a table, an old bedstead, a trunk and some farming
implements were piled on the wagon. 

        "Waaaal," Ben said, "if'n ye plan to travel with that load, ye'd best
be right careful-like.  Trail gets mighty narrow up along Black Oak
Ridge.  Even worse now that the rains come and washed a right good bit
of it clean away." 

        "Obliged," the stranger answered, tipping his worn felt hat.  Within
moments, he had climbed onto the wagon and was heading up the path
toward Cutter Gap, leaving a curious Ben Pentland staring after him.

******

        The path had indeed gotten narrow . . . and steep.  The horses were
tired.  Fortunately, a small stream ran alongside the trail.  "Whoa,"
the blonde man said.  He unhitched the horses and led them to the
stream.  As the animals drank, he studied the surrounding mountains,
trying to remember.  He searched for some peak, some ridge line,  an
outcropping of rock . . ., something, *anything* that was familiar.  But
these mountains looked no different than the many he had crossed in the
last several days.  Was he making a mistake by returning?

        "Too late now, Hack," he said aloud.  "Come on Lo-weeze, Anabelle."  He
took the horses' reigns and climbed up the bank of the stream.

        Yes, it was too late to turn back now.  Hack reached into his vest
pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.  He flipped through the bills
thoughtfully.  He'd given up everything to come here - his fifty acres
of farmland had been sold to his brothers; Billy Paul's farm bordered
his to the east, Bull's to the west.  Hack put the money back into his
pocket and looked up at the sun, sighing.  Late afternoon shadows lay
across the path ahead.  His brothers would probably be rounding up the
cows for their second milking right now. 

        "Howdy, thar, stranger!" a voice interrupted Hack's musing.  A
friendly-looking man with dark eyes and a jet-black beard waved his felt
hat in Hack's direction.  He carried a rusty rifle and had a dead rabbit
strung over his shoulder.  Hack gripped the pocket that held his life
savings and studied the man warily.

        "Don't reckon I ever seen you around these here parts," the man said as
he approached the wagon.  "You headin' up Cutter Gap way?"

        The man looked harmless enough, but Hack still had his suspicions. 
"Who wants to know?"

        "Name's John Holcombe.  I own a tobaccy farm nigh two mile from here. 
Goin' that way now."  The two men examined each other, guardedly
curious.  Finally, John cleared his throat.  "I'd be beholden if ye'd
let me set on the back of yer wagon here an' ride a spell."

        "Ain't much room back thar.  You jest climb up here with me," Hack
said, sliding across the seat.  He wanted to keep this fellow where he
could see him.  "Name's Hack," he added as he extended his hand to John,
who clambered onto the seat.

        "Ah!" John sighed.  "These feet are plumb wore out.  Been traipsin' two
days, an' all the vittles I come up with is this rabbit."  He held up
the animal by its ears.  "And it's a scrawny thing, ain't it?"

        "I've seen fatter ones shorely," Hack agreed.

        The two men rode in silence for several minutes.  John glanced at the
cargo behind him.  "That's a heap o' house plunder you got back thar.
You lookin' to settle in these mountains?"

        Hack shrugged, still suspicious.  "So how's the tobacco farmin' up
here?"

        "Waaal, it's a livin', I guess.  Not like the level lands, but I'd
never live nowhere else.  My daddy and his daddy before him was birthed
in the cabin whar I live now.  You farm the level lands?"       


        "Aye.  Had me a place past Lyleton . . ., mostly tobacco, but we had a 
herd o' milk cows, too.  Ain't nothin' like the feel of the earth
churning up under the plow,"  Hack added wistfully.  John grunted his
consent.  Hack quickly forgot his companion's presence as his thoughts
drifted and he lost himself in memories: the early morning dew on the
tobacco leaves and the gentle mooing of the cows before their milking, 
summer evenings spent on his parents' porch sipping lemonade and
relaxing after a long day's work. 

        Only three days had passed, but he was already homesick.  Hack loved
the land, and he loved his farm.  He loved being surrounded by his
family, but most of all he loved Anna.  Hack's heart warmed as he
recalled the image of his young wife standing in the kitchen, her hair
tucked under a kerchief, puffs of flour on her denim apron, and usually
a smudge or two on her cheeks or nose . . . her cute little pug nose . .
. preparing a batch of her special buttermilk biscuits.  She had a
secret recipe that she wouldn't share with anyone, not Billy Paul's wife
Cora (and the two of them were thick as thieves), or even Hack's mother,
who could intimidate almost anything out of anyone.  But never again
would he taste Anna's biscuits.  Her secret was lost forever, buried at
the Price family plot near White Pine Baptist Church.

        Why did she have to die?  She was so young, so eager to live life . . .
so eager to *give* life.  Her death was unexpected.  After giving birth
to their first child, a beautiful daughter, she began hemorrhaging. 
There was nothing Hack's mother or sisters-in-law could do.  By the time
Doc Andrews arrived, it was too late.  Anna was gone . . . and so were
Hack's dreams . . . shattered in the blink of an eye.

        "Reckon this is whar I get off."  John Holcombe's words were a blur
mixed with Hack's thoughts.  "Thank ye kindly," John added as he removed
the rabbit from his shoulder and laid it on the seat.  Hack nodded
absently, then flicked the reigns to start the horses moving again. 
John watched the outlander disappear over Black Oak Ridge, then turned
and climbed toward home.

        Sitting atop his wagon on the trail to Cutter Gap, his head bowed, Hack
relived the days and weeks since Anna's death.  The farm wouldn't run
itself; he had to keep working, but every day as he forced himself out
of bed, he questioned the meaning of it all.  How could he ever work
this land, live in this house, sleep in this bed with her gone? 
Everywhere he turned he was reminded of her - the calico curtains she
made that hung in the kitchen, the vase of roses, long-since dead, their
dried petals scattered on the night stand, and his tiny daughter who had
his mother's nose.  Numbly he performed his chores, but his life had
become void and meaningless.   

        Then, about a month after Anna's passing, Hack's heart began to yearn
for a place from his past.  It was only a distant memory, a mere ember;
yet after all these years, it had not been extinguished.  Softly,
quietly, it called to him . . . late at night as he lay in bed not
sleeping, bereft by the emptiness in the room and in his heart.  Slowly,
a plan began to form in his mind.  He would return to Cutter Gap.  He
had to know what had become of them all.  Surely he could settle there,
make a new start.    The day he walked into the kitchen and called for
Anna, only to be answered by the echoes of an empty house, he knew it
was time to leave; he could not bear another day in this house. 

        The decision to leave his month-old daughter Dorothy with Billy Paul
and Cora had been a difficult one, but his brother and sister-in-law had
been keeping her since Anna's death, while he tried to come to terms
with his grief.  He hated to leave his family and his home, but he knew
he had to get away before he could put his pain behind him.

        "I'll be back to get her as soon as I'm settled," Hack promised. 
"Reckon a month'll be plenty o' time."

        "Don't you worry, Hack," Cora said as she gave him a farewell hug. 
"Dottie will be safe and sound with us.  You jest take good care o'
yourself now, ye hear?"  She handed him the baby.  

        Awkwardly, Hack held the infant.  He gently put a calloused finger on
her pug nose and kissed her little forehead.  "You be sweet to Uncle
Billy an' Aunt Cora, now, little one.  I'll come fetch ye quicker ‘n the
shake of a lamb's tail."  He studied her miniature features, memorizing
each detail.  

        As he handed her back to Cora, he looked away.  His voice cracked as he
spoke.  "Best be shovin' off fer Lyleton.  Aim to be thar before
sundown." 

        Hack bowed his head.  The pain of leaving his daughter behind hurt
almost as much as losing Anna.  The horses plodded on.  

        Hack didn't feel the rear wagon wheel slip as it went over some loose
stones; nor did he hear the stones clatter down the mountainside.  As
the wagon passed by a section of the trail that had been washed away by
the rain, the rear wheel slid down into the deep trench abruptly,
throwing Hack from his seat.  He bounced and rolled twenty yards down
the steep ravine until he hit an oak tree with a thud.  The weight on
the rear of the wagon began pulling the vehicle over the edge. It hung
there precariously for a moment, before plummeting over the side. 
Panicked, the two horses unsuccessfully struggled to stay on the level
ground.  The cow mooed wildly as it was pulled behind the falling wagon.

******


Part Two: A Discovery

        "You shore they have ‘em in El Pano, Ruby Mae?" Zady asked her
red-haired companion as they trekked past the Big Mud Hole just after
dawn.

        "Course I am.  Miz Christy let me use that telly-phone contraption to
call down thar.  They said six crates of ‘em come in on the train jest
last night.  We better git down thar in a hip and a hurry if'n we want
some."  The two girls quickened their pace to an easy jog, the leaves
crunching under their feet.

        "And yer shore they'll work?"

        "I *know* they'll work.  Miss Sissell told me.  I been usin' ‘em for
nigh on two weeks now. Cain't ye see how they're a-fadin'?"  Ruby Mae
turned toward Zady and pulled her cheeks taut.

        The two girls stopped running, and Zady studied Ruby Mae's face. 
"Hmm." 

        "I heerd yore sweet on Will Beck," Ruby Mae teased her friend as she
skipped over a fallen log.  Zady giggled.  "I reckon that's why ye're
a-wantin' them oranges.  You ain't got freckles like mine, but you still
got ‘em."

        The chatter continued as the pair made their way down the winding path
to El Pano.

        Zady cocked her head in concentration.  "Ruby Mae, you hear somethin'?" 

        "Naw, I don't hear nothin'."  At that moment, a muffled whinney came
from somewhere below them.  "And it looks like sumpthin's been swept off
the mountain.  Looky there!"  Ruby Mae pointed to a disturbed area in
the path ahead.  The girls ran to the spot and peered over the edge.  A
twisted heap of wood, horse, metal and cow lay about twenty yards down
the hill.  Debris was scattered everywhere.
        
        The two teens ran and slid down the incline, never feeling the twigs
that scraped their arms and legs.  "Lordy!  Lordy!  Wonder everwhat
happened!"  Ruby Mae crept to one of the fallen mares.  It was pinned
under the axle of the wrecked wagon.  She gently patted the horse's
neck.  "It's OK, girl.  Everything's goin' to be all right."  She turned
to Zady, who stood frozen, a look of horror on her face.  "Zady?"

        Zady pointed toward the large oak tree, which appeared to have caught
the tangled mass as it fell.  "What is it Zady?"  Ruby Mae asked, not
sure she wanted to know.

        "There."

        Ruby Mae walked to Zady and followed her outstretched finger with her
eye.  "Land sakes!  We got to get Doc MacNeill . . ., and *fast*!  You
run back to the mission house an' fetch Miss Alice.  Set the preacher
after Doc.  I'll stay here and see what I ken do."  The girls' eyes met,
and in that moment, a silent vow was sealed between them.  Somehow, they
were going to save that man.  Zady turned and raced up the hill.
        
******
        
        At the Holcombe cabin, Alice Henderson made preparations for the
arrival of the injured man.  A large pot of water was boiling, and the
long, plank table was cleared, neatly folded white bandages stacked on
the corner.  The only things missing were the patient and Dr. MacNeill.  

        "I wonder what's keeping them," she mused as she glanced out the
window, anxiously searching the trail from Black Oak Ridge.  Then she
saw a movement in the trees.  A group of men surrounded Neil MacNeill's
horse, which carried a man slumped across the saddle.  

        "Careful, men! Careful!" Dr. MacNeill cried as the men lifted the limp
body from its mount.  "I'm certain he's broken some ribs, so we've got
to be very gentle . . . no jarring."  He turned to Alice, who had
hurried down the trail.  "Multiple contusions, lacerations, a
concussion, several cracked ribs, broken left femur, and I fear his lung
may have collapsed."

        The group carried the man into the dimly lit cabin and laid him on the
table.  The doctor leaned close to Alice as he reached into his
saddlebags.  "Found this in his vest pocket," he whispered as he
fingered the large roll of cash inside.  "I'm entrusting it to you."
Then in a loud voice he added, "Sterilize these instruments please, Miss
Henderson."  He removed his stethoscope and handed the bag to her.  A
multitude of questions were in her eyes, but Neil could only shrug his
shoulders.

        While Alice boiled the surgical instruments, Neil assessed the
condition of his patient.  He checked the man's pulse, then opened his
eyelids and studied the vacant eyes.  He gently placed the stethoscope
on his chest.  "Heartbeat is strong, breathing labored, but no sign of
collapsed lung."  Neil turned to Alice, relief showing plainly on his
face.  "I don't believe surgery will be necessary.  His gravest danger
rests with the blow he took to the head.  While he's unconscious, we'll
bind his ribs and splint his leg.  After that, all we can do is wait."

        "And pray," Alice added softly.  

******          

        As the hours passed without the strange man gaining consciousness, the
group of men gathered outside the Holcombe cabin grew restless.  "Nary
did see sech a sight," Uncle Bogg McHone said to his son, Tom. 
"Animals, tools, wheels and what-not a-goin' every which way."

        "Don't rightly know how that feller's livin' and breathin'," added Kyle
Coburn.

        "It's all my doin's," a voice said quietly.  John Holcombe sat on the
porch steps, shaking his head.  

        The other men looked at him in surprise.  He continued, "Feller gave me
a ride up the mountain.  Don't recollect his name.  ‘Twas somethin'
peculiar-like . . . Huck, Heck . . ., I disremember exactly.  Left me
off right down yonder, didn't seem to want no hospitality, so I didn't
ask him to stop and rest a spell.  If'n I had, maybe he wouldn't a' rode
off the ridge.  As it was, he jest tipped his hat and aimed them horses
toward Cutter Gap."

        "So who is he and what's he a-doin' here?" Uncle Bogg asked as the men
moved closer.

        "Don't know.  Didn't say much.  Said something about a farm near
Lyleton.   Looked to me like he was leavin' it fer good.  Had a heap o'
house plunder."
        
        "Yeah, we saw it strung all over the Ridge."

        Uncle Bogg pulled the knit cap from his balding head and scratched
absently.  "Reckon we'uns could save what we can.  This ‘un'll have a
bad enough time without losing all his worldly belongin's.  I say we go
back thar."  Amidst a chorus of agreement, the men set off.  "An' maybe
we ken find out who he is."

******

        Kyle Coburn shook his head in amazement when he reached the accident
scene.  "Still don't see how he made it."

        "Shame we had to put that mare down.  She was a fine-lookin' gal."

        "Leastways the old cow made it," Tom McHone said.  "Look-a-here, she's
still tied to that tree whar we left ‘er."

        The mountain men sorted through the debris, putting the items into one
of two piles: the scrap heap or the salvage pile.  No one spoke much;
the destruction around them left the men pensive.
                                                                
        Suddenly, John let out a shout.  He stood up from behind a thicket,
holding a wooden box.  As the mountain men gathered around, he carefully
opened the lid and reached inside.  A bronze pocket-watch, a pouch of
chewing tobacco, a pink hair ribbon and a small wooden soldier: these
were the items in the stranger's treasure chest.  John picked up the
watch and opened it, hoping to see an inscription.  Nothing but a watch
face stared back at him.  He fingered the ribbon and sniffed the tobacco
pouch.  Absently, he held the soldier up to examine it.  The
craftsmanship was excellent, all the way down to the intricate facial
details.  Turning it over, he saw "AA ‘94" carved on the bottom. 
"Hmph," John sighed.  These were interesting items, but none of them
revealed the identity of the man who lay in the Holcombe cabin.

******

        The man remained unconscious all day and into the evening.  By that
time, the curious highlanders had returned unsatisfied to their homes. 
The fire crackled as Neil MacNeill sat and quietly studied his patient. 
The man had a thin, aristocratic nose and high cheekbones.  His features
were fine, yet there was a masculinity to his tanned, leathery face. 
Although the stranger's face was weathered, Neil could see youth in its
fullness.  He estimated that his patient was in his mid-twenties.  His
eyes were an unusual grey-blue, but Neil did not know whether that was
their true color, or if the man's unconscious state had made them look
so other-worldly.

        The younger Holcombe children played quietly in the corner, while the
older ones sat with their parents and discussed the day's events in
hushed whispers.  Lizette, the Holcombes' oldest daughter, approached
the doctor tentatively.

        "Anythin' I ken do for this poor feller, Doc?"

        "Well, Lizette, let's see..." Neil said, rubbing the stubble on his
chin.  He hadn't been home in several days.  "Why don't you cool him off
with this cloth?  He's running a fever."

        "Awright, Doc."  The sixteen year-old took the cloth and gently dabbed
the strange man's face.  For several minutes Neil and Lizette sat in
silence.

        "Wonder everwhat he was doin' all the way back in the Cove," Lizette
mused.  "He's a fancy-fine lookin' gent, ain't he?"

        Neil chuckled.  "And he looks like a hard working farmer, too," he
said, noting the stranger's calloused hands.  "Well, when he wakes up,
he can answer all of our questions.  I must admit, I'm as curious as
everyone else." 

        The evening wore on uneventfully.  One by one, the Holcombes crept into
bed until only Dr. MacNeill remained by the stranger's side.  He dozed
fitfully in the straight-backed wooden chair.  In the dead of night, he
was startled awake by the sound of a child crying.  For a moment, he
didn't know where he was.  Then the crying resumed beside him.  It was
the outlander.  The fever had made him delirious.

        The doctor lit a kerosene lamp and studied the whimpering form.  "I
lost my mama!"  The little voice whined.  The sobbing continued for
several minutes, then abruptly stopped.  "Who are you?. . . Waaal, I
ain't got no Maw and Paw.  They're gone. . . three days now. . . an' I'm
cold. . . an' hongry. . ."      

        The unconscious man sniffled as the sorrowful expression on his face
turned into one of relief.  "I'd be obleeged, Mr. Price.  Land sakes! 
This here city is a right dizzyfyin' place.  Whar are we anyhow?. . .
Lyleton!  Well I'll be!"

        Silence again filled the cabin as the stranger fell back into deep
slumber.  Neil MacNeill, however, was wide awake.  He was recalling
every word the man had spoken.  If he never regained consciousness, his
family would have to be notified.  Price family, Lyleton.  This dream
could be just an inconsequential memory. . . or it could represent a 
significant event from his past.  Either way, Neil was going to gather
as much information as he could. 

        Over the next few days, he would have the opportunity to do just that. 
Alice Henderson spent the day watching over the patient, and Neil
relieved her every evening.  Constant supervision was required, for he
could awaken any moment, without warning.  The doctor was hesitant to
move him, so the Holcombe cabin became the outlander's temporary
residence.

        Neil spent those lonely nights pondering this man's past and waiting
for any utterances that might escape his lips.  They seemed to come
always in the deepest blackness of the night.

        "Hey, Bull, you see that gal, yon?  You ever seen her afore?  She's a
peart lookin' ‘un, ain't she?   Reckon I'll go see if she'd have a
notion to dance with me."

        "Fifty acres, Paw! Land sakes!. . .  A farm of my own. . . I knowed you
sold land to Bull and Billy Paul on their 20th birthday, but I ain't
blood kin."  The stranger's voice cracked.  "Well, you're jest like a
flesh an' blood paw to me, too, Paw."

        "Anna?. . . Anna?. . . Uh, well, I been a-courtin' you for some time
now.  And. . . and we'uns get along real good. . . And, well, I was
thinkin'. . . now's I got a farm of my own and all. . . I talked to yer
paw, and he said it'd be awright. . . Um, you reckon you'd like it if we
was to get ourselves hitched?"

        Doctor MacNeill smiled as he remembered his own proposal, and noted the
uncertainty that every man must feel in asking that life-changing
question.  His own heart had caught in his throat while he waited an
eternity for Margaret's response.

        "You would?!  You ain't pullin' my leg now, are ye? You really will be
my wife?  A farmer boy like me?  You're shore now?"  The outlander fell
into a contented sleep, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his
mouth.  

        More than ever, Neil wanted this man to survive.  Somewhere out there,
a young wife was waiting for her husband.  But where was this Anna, and
why did it appear that the man was hauling his possessions to Cutter
Gap?  It just didn't make sense.

        Neil hoped the stranger would wake up soon.  He was tired of wondering
about him and his past.  No, he was just plain tired.  With that
thought, he stretched his stiff muscles and leaned back in the chair
that had almost become a part of him.  In moments he was sound asleep.

******

Part Three: The Awakening

        He awoke to a searing pain in his thigh.  He sat up to look at it, and
a pain in his ribs stabbed through his chest.  He fell back on the straw
mattress.  Tarnation!  For several minutes, he lied very still, eyes
closed.  Finally the throbbing in his leg and chest dulled to a
tolerable ache.

        He opened his eyes.  It took several seconds for his vision to clear,
but when it did, he found himself in unfamiliar surroundings.  He was in
a very modest cabin.  The whitewashed walls were greying, and some
makeshift flour-sack curtains hung over the single window.  The head of
a huge, twelve-point buck was mounted on the wall directly over the bed
where he lay.  Where in the world was he?

        As he puzzled over his whereabouts, a young woman entered the cabin
carrying an armload of firewood.  Her long, black hair fell all the way
to her waist.  She placed the wood on the floor near the fireplace and
glanced at him.

        "Lordy! Yore awake!"

        He stared at the young woman.  Who was she?  What was he doing in this
strange cabin? And why did his leg hurt so much?

        "Where am I?" he croaked.

        "Why, yore in Cutter Gap, mister."

        "Cutter Gap?  Never heard of it.  What happened?" 

        "Don't ye remember?  You drove yer wagon off Black Oak Ridge.  Paw an'
Doc MacNeill brung ye here to our place.  Been sleepin' ever since." 
The girl twirled a strand of her thick hair around her finger.  "Nigh on
four days."

        He sat up in surprise, grunting as his broken ribs reminded him of
their condition.  "Four days!"

        "Say, what's yer name, anyway?  I'm Lizette Holcombe."

        "How-do, Lizette.  I'm. . .  I'm. . ." he wrinkled his brow.  Who *was*
he?   

        "What's the matter, mister?" Lizette asked, rushing to his side.

        "I. . . don't know.  I. . . can't remember my name."  He shook his
head, hoping to clear the fog in his brain.  He smiled at the young
woman with a confidence he did not feel.  "Well, it'll come to me."  An
awful panic rose from his stomach.  He didn't know who he was, and it
terrified him.  He fought the urge to vomit.  

        "Reckon yore hongry," she said turning toward the fireplace.  "Maw
cooked up a heap o' tater soup.  Bet you could eat a bite."  She ladled
a hearty helping into a wooden bowl and handed it to him.  "Here.  Now I
best go fetch on the doc."  With that, Lizette was gone.

        The smell of soup was more than he could bear.  He wretched into the
bowl.  A thin string of mucous was the feeble result of his effort.  He
heaved again to no avail.  His head was pounding, pounding.  The bowl
slid to the floor as he fell back and passed out.

******

        He slept soundly until Lizette returned, a stocky fellow with wavy red
hair by her side.    The man set down his saddlebags and pulled a chair
close to the bed.  "Hello, son.  Name's Neil MacNeill.  I'm the doctor
in these parts."  The doctor offered his calloused hand.  His grip was
firm.  "Glad to see you're awake.  You had a nasty accident."

        "So I heard."

        "How's the leg feeling?  I wanted to wait until you were awake to cast
it."

        "Hurts like the dickens.  Don't see why I need any old cast, though."

        The doctor chuckled.  "You try to walk on that leg, and you'll see
why.  You broke your femur, your thigh bone.  It's the largest bone in
your body, and it bears a lot of weight.  The cast will lend support and
keep it from moving.  It took four men to set that bone.  Would hate to
have to do it again - especially with you conscious."  

        Dr. MacNeill held a light up to his face and looked into his eyes.  "In
addition to the broken leg, you've also got a few cracked ribs, several
cuts and bruises, and a pump knot on your head.  All in all, though, I'd
say you were one lucky fellow."  The doctor's fingers pressed his wrist
while his eyes focused on the watch he had pulled from his pocket. 
"Lizette says you don't remember anything about the accident."

        He winced and shook his head.  He opened his mouth to speak, but no
sound escaped.  A suffocating fear overtook him.  He didn't know who he
was, and it terrified him.  He was nothing; his past was a void.  He was
a nameless being.  A flood of unanswerable questions washed over him. 
Was he a good man?  Where did he come from?  Did he have family?  What
did he do for a living?  What was his favorite color, his favorite time
of year, his favorite meal?  Why, he didn't even know how old he was!

        The doctor patted him gently on the arm.  "It's all right.  You have
what's called amnesia.  It's often caused by a blow to the head, and
you've definitely had one of those."

        "How long will I be this way, Doc?"

        "Hard to say.  The brain is a very mysterious organ.  Even with all the
medical advances mankind has made over the centuries, we still don't
know very much about the brain or how it works.  

        "You may have a temporary memory loss," the doctor continued.  "One
day, in an instant, everything may come back to you.  Or the loss may be
permanent.  There's no way to know.  We'll just have to wait and see." 
The doctor knelt down and pulled something from under the bed.  "This
look familiar?" 

        He took the wooden box from the physician's hands and ran his fingers
over the smooth oak.  When he opened it, he saw several objects.  Each
one he studied carefully, then shook his head.  "Don't recognize none of
it."

        "Does the name Anna sound familiar?  How about Price?" 

        He knit his brow in concentration. . .  Nothing.  The names meant
nothing to him.

        "Do you know where you're from?"

        Again, his mind was a void.

        "Lyleton, maybe?  Do you know why you came to Cutter Gap?"

        "I don't know, Doc!  I jest don't know!" As he turned away from his
inquisitor, he grunted in pain.

        "I think we've had enough for today.  I'm sorry, truly I am," the
doctor said as he stood and quietly left the room.  

        He studied the wall in front of him, angry and frightened at the same
time. Why couldn't he remember anything?  What was going to happen to
him?  

        His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of male voices coming from
the porch.  He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he knew what
they were talking about - him.  The outlander.  The man who drove his
wagon off a mountain and doesn't even know his own name.                 
        Minutes later, a man dressed in worn overalls and carrying a rifle
entered the cabin.  He leaned the gun against the wall and stuck out his
hand.  "Name's John Holcombe.  You give me a ride up the mountain afore
yer axi-dent."

        "How do," he responded gruffly, shaking John's hand.

        John motioned toward the door, and a woman and several children peeked
shyly around it.  "This here's ‘Lizbeth my wife.  Yon's my oldest,
Arrowood.  An' you done met Lizette." He thought he saw Lizette's face
color.  "Thar's John - we call him Junior - an' Sam Houston."

        He struggled to be polite.  Although he was angry about his situation,
it wasn't their fault.  "You-all have been right kind, keepin' me here. 
I'm obliged."

        "Doc says it'll be a coupla weeks yet afore he ken move ye to the
mission house," John said.  "An' if'n you're to be stayin' here, we've
gotta know what to call ye.  Doc says you disremember yer name and where
ye come from.  Waal, when you took me up the mountain, you said yer name
was Heck or Huck, something along them lines."

        "I. . .  don't know!" he snapped.  "Look-a-here, Mr. Holcombe you've
been right kind a-lettin' me stay at yer place.  I don't aim to be
techious, but I don't know who I am. And all the askin' in the world
ain't gonna fix that."

******

        By the next day, he had gotten over his anger.  The pain in his leg
subsided after Dr. MacNeill replaced the splint with a plaster cast and
gave him some medicine.  And John had a point; if his memory didn't
return, he *would* need a name.  As the Holcombe family ate dinner that
night, he spoke up.  "Hey, thar, Mr. Holcombe," he called from his bed. 

        The chatter at the table ceased.  Every face turned to look at him.

        "Yassir?" John asked.

        "Yesterday you asked what to call me.  Reckon you do need to call me
somethin'.  Sam, Sam Houston, what do you think my name should be?"

        The boy stared at him with eyes as wide a saucers.

        "Lizette, you know me as good as anybody.  What say ye?"

        The girl stood up and walked to his bedside.  "Waal, Paw said yer name
was Huck.  You recollect that?"

        "Naw.  That don't sound right."

        "Heck?"  John suggested.  Again, he shook his head.

        "Chuck?" 

        John answered Arrowood.  "That ain't it.  I done told you already it
started with a ‘huh' sound."    

        Mrs. Holcombe cleared her throat.  "Henry?" 

        "I got it!" shouted Sam Houston.  "His name is Hezekiah, sure as the
world!"

        Everyone in the cabin chuckled.  "No, it's Horatio," cried Junior, who
was received with peals of laughter.  The names got wilder with each
suggestion: Hosea, Habakkuk, Haggai. . .

        Finally John stood up and hushed his family.  "Now we've had some
jollification, but this feller here, he still ain't got a name."

        Lizette looked at the floor as she spoke.  "It's *his* name, why don't
we let *him* decide?"  Every Holcombe looked at him expectantly.

        "So, as best as you ken remember, Mr. Holcombe, ye say my name was
Huck?"  The mountain man nodded.  "Well, . . . Huck it is, then."

        With that simple statement, Huck felt tremendous relief.  He was a
person again.  He had a name.  The rest would come in time.  An
irrepressible laugh spilled from his mouth.  "My name is Huck. . .  Huck
what?"

        "Guess everybody needs a back name," Junior said.  Silence filled the
cabin as the family pondered a last name.

        "Seein' as how you survived that axi-dent an' all, I'd say yer name
ought to be Huck Luckysonuva-"

        "John Nathaniel Holcombe!" Elizabeth scolded her husband, who looked at
her sheepishly.

        "Didn't Doc MacNeill say he thought you was a farmer?" asked Sam
Houston.  "I think Farmer sounds like a right fine back name."

        "Huck Farmer. . . Huck Farmer," Huck said, testing his new name.  He
nodded his approval, and grinned.

******

Part Four

        "Ruby Mae, I declare!  This is the finest meal thee has prepared to
date," Alice Henderson exclaimed.

        The teenager beamed at the praise.  "Miz Spencer's been larnin' me
how.  She's a right good teacher, too, she is . . .  But none's as good
as you, Miz Christy," she added hastily.

        Reverend Grantland set down his fork and leaned his chair back onto its
rear legs.  "Those chicken and dumplings sure did hit the spot."

        "David, you're going to land on your head sitting like that," Christy
scolded.

        The pastor leaned the chair back several inches further.  "Women have
been warning men for centuries, but I've yet to hear of a man who-"

        "What have women been warning men about for centuries?" a male voice
asked from the living room.  Suddenly, Dr. MacNeill appeared in the
doorway.

        "Well, I was just-" Christy began.

        "Oh, Doc!" Ruby Mae ran to the doctor, tugging at his sleeve.  "I heerd
ye went to see the outlander.  I heerd he woke up jest this afternoon. 
An' that he cain't remember nothin' and he don't know who he is or where
he comes from.  An' Lizette says he's a dandy-lookin' gent.  ‘Course
when I seen him, he was beat up somethin' fierce, didn't look so
fancy-fine then, he didn't.  So, Doc, how's he a-doin'?" 

        "He's fine, Ruby Mae.  His injuries are healing nicely, including the
bruises to his princely face."  He sat down in the empty chair beside
Miss Alice and sighed.

        "Why don't you take these dishes into the kitchen, Ruby Mae?" Alice
suggested.

        "But Miss Al-i-i-i-ice!" The young woman looked at Christy for help.

        "You did such a fine job with the meal, why don't you complete the
process by clearing the table?"  Christy's response was not what Ruby
Mae hoped for.  

        She sighed and gathered up several plates.  "Folks ‘round here still
think I'm a young'un.  Even after that humdinger of a dinner I fixed. 
If that ain't proof I'm a growed  woman, reckon I'll never know what is.
. ." her voice drifted into the kitchen.

        "Well?" David asked.

        "His physical injuries are healing without complications, but it's his
emotional state I'm concerned about.  He has completely lost his
identity.  He's frustrated and frightened.  If his memory doesn't return
in a few days, I may go down to Lyleton.  See what I can find out about
him; try to locate his kin."

        "Lyleton?  What makes you think you'll find out anything in Lyleton?"

        "When he was feverish, he talked some in his delirium.  He mentioned
Lyleton," Neil said as he leaned forward, his voice low, "and I've
reason to believe that he may have a wife there."

        "A wife!" Christy cried.  

        Neil cleared his throat as Ruby Mae re-entered the dining room.  "So I
may be a away for a few days.  His family needs to know what's
happened."

******

        Several days passed, but Huck's memory did not return.  After bidding
his farewell at the mission house, Neil stopped by the Holcombe cabin
one more time.  Huck's past was still a mystery.

        "Wisht I was goin' with ye, Doc."

        "Don't worry, Huck," the doctor said, clapping the young man on the
shoulder.  "I'll telephone the mission house as soon as I find out
anything."  He looked sternly at his patient. "You stay off that leg. 
When I get back, I don't want to hear any stories about you traipsing
all over the Cove." 


        As Neil rode down the mountain, he breathed in the cool mountain air. 
He loved the fall.  It meant the summer heat was behind him, and the
harsh winter was still a few months away.

        If only the Cove could have a fall, just one, without a typhoid
outbreak!  But he doubted it would be this year.  The abandoned O'Teale
cabin posed a serious health threat.  When Swannie and the children
moved to Knoxville after Nathan's disappearance, they didn't take much. 
The cabin was overrun with rodents and insects feasting on a pot of
rotting stew and a few rabbit carcasses.  Even the filth of the O'Teales
themselves couldn't compare to the mess the cabin's current inhabitants
had made.  He and the preacher would have to do something about that
place.

        Neil sighed.  When would he have the time to clean it up?  His hands
were going to be full enough with that Huck fellow.  Injuries like his
don't just heal overnight.  And not only did he have physical injuries
to deal with; he also had a past to discover.  Neil hoped this trip
would provide some answers.

******

        Huck was getting restless.  He'd been awake for a week now; and
although Lizette spent a fair amount of time keeping him company, he
wanted to get up.  He was tired of lying in bed,  and he was very tired
of using a bedpan.  Nature was calling, and Huck was ready for a change
of scenery.

        He looked around the room for something he could use as a crutch.  Just
as he was about to give up, he spotted Mrs. Holcombe's broom in the
corner right beside him.  Perfect!  The broom was just within his
reach.  Broom in hand, he sat up and placed his uninjured foot on the
floor.  But the other leg wouldn't budge.  That cast weighed a ton, and
his leg was weak.

        He tried pushing it with his hand, but the effort made his ribs ache. 
"Lessin' ye want to pee in that dang bedpan again, ye'd best move that
leg."  With a final effort he nudged it to the edge of the bed.  He was
bracing himself to push it over the side when Lizette came in.

        "Land sakes, Huck!  What ye think you're a-doin'?"

        Huck's grin was lopsided.  This was embarrassing.  "Waal, I was jest
wantin' to get out for a bit."  Boy, he really had to go.  "Reckon you
could give me a hand?"

        Lizette looked at him uncertainly.  "Doc said you ain't sposed to get
out o' that bed ‘til he gits back."

        "Aw, Lizette.  It won't hurt nothin', I swear.  Please?"

        "I don't know. . .  Waaal, all right."  She gently lowered Huck's
broken leg to the ground.  "You jest lean on me now."

        Huck put his left arm around her shoulder and gripped the broomstick
with his right.  He noticed Lizzette's silky hair as it brushed his
cheek.  Huck's heart thumped in his chest as he stood.  She sure was a
pretty gal, nice too, make a fellow a good wife one day –

        "Ouch!" a terrible pain shot up his leg.

        "Don't put no weight on that leg, Huck.  You ken lean on me.  I'm
strong.  I ken take it."

        She looked up at Huck with large brown eyes.  He forgot about the pain
in his leg.

        "Paw's got the best rockin' chair in the Cove out on the porch, yon. 
Tain't far."

        "Sounds downright nice, Lizette."

        The pair shuffled to the door.  By the time they reached it, Huck was
exhausted, and he still had to use the privy.  He leaned against the
doorframe to rest, his arm still around Lizette. 

        "You ready?" the girl beside him asked after a few moments.

        Huck nodded, and the two continued their journey.  "Uh, Lizette?"

        She looked up at him, ready to heed his every wish.

        "Reckon you could help me to the. . .  the. . . outhouse?"  He could
feel the heat in his face.  Lizette's ears turned a bright shade of
pink.  She looked away as she nodded.  Oh, how Huck hated to ask her,
but what choice did he have?  The situation was getting more urgent by
the minute.

        The outhouse was only about twenty-five yards from the cabin, although
it seemed like a mile.  The trip back uphill to the cabin was a
challenge, but Huck had a sturdy and devoted young woman to help him. 
Her whispered words of encouragement spurred him on.  When they reached
the porch, Huck was drenched in sweat.  With relief, he sank into the
chair.  

        Reluctantly, he started to let go of his helper.  His words of thanks
stuck in his throat when he saw the longing in her eyes.  Several
moments passed with their eyes locked.  Huck couldn't think about
anything except how her gentle touch had warmed his spirit.

        "Lizette, you come holp me with the washin'" Mrs. Holcombe's voice
broke the spell.

        "Comin', Maw!" Lizette replied.  She started down the porch steps, then
turned to look back at him.  "Glad yore feelin' better, Huck."  He
watched her scurry down the steps and around the corner of the cabin,
but the warmth of her presence still hung in the air.

******


Part Five: Detective MacNeill
        
        It had been a month since Neil had last made the twelve-mile trip to
Lyleton for Granny Barclay's trachoma  operation.   He far preferred
performing the delicate surgery in Dr. Macon's office with the
assistance of two nurses and the latest equipment.  The procedure had
been fairly successful, and Neil was able to handle the post-operative
treatments back in the Cove.

        Lyleton was not a large city; in fact it wasn't a city at all. It was
more of a town, but even so, its main thoroughfare teemed with activity
when compared to the trails of Cutter Gap.  Neil surveyed the buildings
on Main Street.  First National Bank, Kennedy General Store, Thompson
Fine Furniture, Byron's Feed and Seed. . .  He absently tugged at the
hair behind his ear.  A feed store - now that sounded like a good place
to start his investigation.

        A tiny bell tinkled as he entered the shop.  A group of men in overalls
was gathered near the cash register.  Neil could hear one of them, a
very large man with a tattered straw hat and a booming voice.  "Told me
he wouldn't pay that much fer a horse, no matter what kind o' bloodlines
it had.  An' I told him. . ."

        Neil cleared his throat.  "Excuse me, gentlemen."  Every pair of eyes
turned to him.  

        "Hey, I know you," the man who'd been speaking said.  "See you ‘round
town ever' now and again." 

        "Name's Neil MacNeill, from Cutter Gap.  I'm trying to locate a family
by the name of Price.  Do you know anyone by that name?" 

        The farmer lifted his straw hat and scratched his head.  "Don't reckon
I do, but why're ye askin'?  You a law man?"

        "No, just a doctor.  I'm looking for the Prices because I believe one
of their kinsmen has been in an accident back up in the Cove.  Thought
it might be a good idea to locate his family."

        "He ain't dead is he?" one of the men asked.

        "No, but the blow he took to the head seems to have had an effect on
his memory.  He doesn't remember anything about himself, but I have a
few clues that I'm trying to piece together."  Neil scanned the faces in
the group before him.  "So none of you knows a Price?"

        The men shrugged at Neil.  "Thank you for your time.  I'm obliged," he
said taking a step toward the door.

        An old man with a red nose who had been sitting behind the cash
register stood up.  "Hold on there, son."

        Neil turned sharply.  He wasn't expecting to make any significant
discoveries so quickly, but maybe, just maybe this man could help.

        Me, now," the old man began, "I don't know no Prices ma-self, but I
hear tell that there's a whole pack of ‘em ‘bout thirty mile south. 
Little town called Sevier.  Come to sell their crops t' end of the
season.  Ye mought try a-lookin' thar."

        "South you say?  Sevier?"  The old man nodded.  

        "Thank you kindly, sir," Neil said, tipping his hat and turning to
leave.

        "Hope ye find ‘em!"

        "So do I."  The bell tinkled as he left the store.

******

        After several hours of inquiring, Neil had made no further progress. 
He was hungry for answers, not to mention lunch.  He tethered Charlie in
front of the Town Hall Tavern.  The smell of beef stew met his nose as
he entered.  He breathed deeply, and his stomach growled in response.

        He sat down at a small table in the corner.  From his seat, he observed
the activity in the dimly lit room.  Most of the patrons appeared to be
simple folk, stopping in for their noonday meal, but a couple of them
leaning against the bar looked like they'd been there a while.  Every
few minutes the air would be filled with their raucous laughter. Neil
could hold his own in a fist fight, but those two didn't look like the
kind of fellows one would want to cross.  One had a long scar running
down the side of his face, obviously a knife wound.  Neil certainly had
stitched up enough of those in his career to recognize one when he saw
it.

        "So what ken I get you?" a woman in a plain brown frock, her blonde
hair pulled back under a kerchief, asked him.

        "Well, the beef stew smells delicious.  Does it taste as good as it
smells?"

        The woman nodded.  "Made it myself jest this mornin'.  Fresh beef -
Angus kilt our best cow fer my niece Louise's wedding.  Had a heap left
over.  Then thar's sweet corn, peas, carrots, and taters, too.  Special
recipe from my granny."

        "Sounds excellent," Neil said.  "I'll take your largest bowl."  He
grinned as he watched her disappear into the kitchen.  He had a feeling
he would know her whole life's history before his meal was over.  Maybe
she would know if any Prices lived nearby.

        The woman returned with a large, steaming bowl, a small loaf of bread
and a glass of water.  "Reckon this'll keep ye?"

        Neil grinned.  "I should hope so."  He picked up his spoon eagerly and
scooped up a spoonful of the stew.  He closed his eyes and savored the
flavor, then grunted his approval.  

        "Ma'am, do you mind if I ask you a question?" he asked between bites.

        "Not a-tall.  What kind o' question?" she asked.

        "Well, you seem to be a friendly sort, the kind of woman who knows a
lot of people," Neil started.

        "And what's that supposed to mean?" she said putting her hands on her
hips.

        "No, no!  It's meant as a compliment. . . sincerely.  You see, I'm
looking for someone - actually a family - a family by the name of
Price.  Do you know anyone by that name?"

        "They your kin?"

        "No, but they're kin to a friend of mine.  He's in no condition for
traveling right now, so I'm trying to find them for him," Neil
responded.

        "There's a passel o' Prices south of here-"

        "In Sevier?"

        "That's right.  How'd ye know?"

        "A fellow down at the feed and seed told me."

        "Musta been Old Harvey," the woman said.  "Now I could tell you some
stories ‘bout that feller!  He holds his liquor pretty good, but one
night, a man come in from Charleston - Butler I think his name was -
pert near drank Old Harvey clean under the table!"  The woman laughed at
the memory.  "Onliest time I ever seen anybody out-drink Old Harvey." 
Neil smiled.  "But that ain't what you was wantin' to know now was it? 
I'll tell ye somethin' else though.  Thar's a small clan o' Prices east,
too, in a little bitty town called White Pine.  They don't come ‘round
this way much, but I seen ‘em ever' now and agin.  They keep to
theirselves mostly."

        "Do you know if they have a son, an adopted son, I think, named Huck?"

        The woman scratched her head.  "Not too sure about that now.  If I was
you, I'd try my luck over Sevier-ville way.  I'd say there's a good
dozen families called Price yon.  White Pine's just got the one, best as
I recall.  Chances are, the one ye're after's in Sevier.  Let me git ye
some butter for yer bread," she added and bustled off to the kitchen.

                Neil dug into the stew with enthusiasm, hardly stopping for breath
between bites.  This woman knew how to cook.  She returned with a dollop
of homemade butter on a small plate.    
        "There now.  Anything else for ye?"

        "No thank you," Neil said as he set down his spoon.  He leaned back and
rubbed his protruding belly. "This meal was. . .," he searched in vain
for the appropriate word.  "I've not eaten like that in a very long
time."

        "What?  You mean to say that a gent like you ain't married?  Now that
plumb don't make no sense."
        
        "It's a long story - one I haven't got time to tell today.  Thanks
again. . . for everything."

******

Part Six: A New Life

        Huck sat on the Holcombe porch, absently latching and unlatching the
pocket watch in his hand.  It was a clue to his past, but what could it
tell him?  He opened the watch and studied the it.  "Who am I?" 

        "Hey, Huck!  Whatcha doin'?" Sam Houston called from the bottom of the
hill.  He held a worn-out book in one hand and a slingshot in the other.

        "Howdy, thar, Sam Houston.  How was school today?  You get yerself some
good book larnin'?"

        "Reckon so.  Larned ‘bout poetry. ‘What light through yonder winder
breaks; it is the east and Juliet is the sun. . .'" The boy wrinkled his
nose with a disgusted grimace.  "Ick.  Don't that jest make ye sick to
yer stommick?  But them gals liked it; I could tell.  Ole Ruby Mae had
this funny look on ‘er face, and her eyes was a starin' off yon.  Why is
it gals like all that fancy talk?"

        "Wisht I knew, Sam," Huck replied. "If I ever figger it out, I'll let
ye know."

        The cabin door squeaked on its hinges.  Sam Houston leaned close. 
"Don't look now, but Lizette's a-comin'.  She's sweet on you."

        "She is?  Everwhat makes ye think so?"

        "I seen the way she watches ye when you ain't looking.  An' she gets
that poetry look on ‘er face.  She's been whisperin' and a-gigglin' with
them silly gal friends of hers - you know, Zady Spencer and Ruby Mae
Morrison.  She's sweet on ye, sure as the world."

        Huck looked at the boy in surprise.  He couldn't think of a single
response; his mind was paralyzed with joy at this new information, and
with sheer panic as the object of his affection approached.

        "Howdy!" she called.  "Sam, Maw said fer you an' me to be shuckin' this
here corn." She  set a large basket on the top step.

        "Not me!" Sam Houston said.  "Shucking corn is wimmin's work." 

        "But Maw said!"

        "I ain't no gal-woman.  No way.  Me an' Creed's goin' fishin' anyhow." 
He set down his school book and reached for his fishing pole, which was
leaning against the wall.  "Guess I'll be lettin' you two lovebirds
alone," Sam Houston sniggered.  Huck gave him a playful but solid whack
as he passed on his way down the steps.  As he tromped across the yard
the boy muttered, "Never will understand why gals be a-thinkin' that
they gotta have a feller. . ." 

        Huck resumed latching and unlatching his watch.  He could not think of
a single word to say to the young woman standing in front of him.

        "Hey, Huck," Lizette began.

        "Hey."  His voice cracked when he said the word.

        "Mind if I set here an' do this corn?"

        "Not a-tall.  Be right nice comp'ny.  An' if ye won't be telling Sam
Houston, I'll even holp ye."

        Lizette smiled.  "You ain't got to do that.  Huskin' corn is wimmin's
work."

        "Waaal, I got nothin' better to do.  Goin' plumb crazy jest settin' all
day.  Come on, Lizette, hand me an ear of that thar corn."

        "You'll jest love our corn, Huck," she said as she sat down on the step
and picked up an ear.  She took a deep breath and spoke rapidly.  "Why,
it's the sweetest corn in the county.  Bird's-Eye Taylor's always after
Paw to sell ‘im some of it for his whiskey, but Paw won't do it.  Says
he ain't gonna have nothin' to do with no moonshine.  Says moonshine
don't bring nothin' but trouble, trouble an' heartache. 

        "And yore old milk-cow," Lizette continued, "she's been eatin' it, the
corn I mean, like she ain't ate nothin' all her life.  She's a fine cow
you got there.  Everwhere'd ye get ‘er?"

        "Uh. . ." 

        "Sorry.  I disremembered."  She looked up at him, tears pooling in her
large, brown eyes threatened to spill onto her cheeks.  "You ain't mad,
are ye, Huck?"

        "No, I ain't mad; jest plain stupid."

        The porch was silent except for the creaking of husks being pulled away
from the corn.

        "Huck, I–"

        "Lizette–"

        Huck laughed.  "You go ahead."

        "No you go."

        "Really, Lizette.  What were you gonna to tell me?"

        She picked carefully at the tiny silk strands on the piece of corn in
her hand.  "I–"

        Mrs. Holcombe stepped out of the cabin. "Lizette, whar's yore brother? 
He's supposed to be holpin ye.  If he's off fishin', I'll tan his hide
good."

        Huck couldn't help but notice the relief on Lizette's face.  Whatever
she had to say would have to wait until they were alone again. 

        "Ken I watch while he gets his whuppin' Maw?"

        "Lizette Holcombe!  You're almost a growed woman.  Why're ye a-wantin'
see your own flesh an' blood get a beatin'?"

        "Cause I had to do his work's why.  Hit's only fair, ain't it?"

        Huck cleared his throat.  "They hear from Doc MacNeill yet over at the
mission?"

        Lizette shook her head.  "Miz Christy said that telly-phone ain't rung
since them moonshiners got loose from the Lyleton jail.  That was nigh
on six months.  Reckon he'll be callin' any day now, though.  Maybe he's
jest a-waitin' till he finds yer maw and paw."

        "Think he'll tote ‘em up here when he finds ‘em?"

        "Shore would be nice.  I'm wonderin' what they're like."

        "Me too," Huck replied.  "Me too."
        
******


Part Seven: Sevier, TN

        Neil had never been to Sevier.  It was over forty miles from Cutter
Gap, and hardly a popular destination.  He studied the large barn-like
structure ahead as Charlie plodded down the center of the dirt road.  A
sign hung over the tall double doors.  The paint was chipping, but he
could still read the carefully lettered words: SEVIER GENERAL STORE &
POST OFFICE. So this was it - clearly a one-horse town.  No, a
one-building town, Neil thought with a chuckle.  

        Surely he could make his inquiries of every citizen by mid-afternoon. 
He'd been gone three days now.  He could spend two days here; then with
a steady ride home, he could be back to the Cove within another two
days, maybe less if the weather were fair.  Money was running a bit low,
and he'd spent as much time as he could spare away from his patients
already.  

        He wondered how Iris McHone was faring after her bought with the
croup.  Surely Opal and Tom would let Dan care for her in his absence. 
He felt confident leaving the Cove in Dan's hands, but the mountain folk
still had not learned to trust the dark man. 

        Neil whistled Charlie to a stop and hitched the animal near the door of
the single building.  The horse drank deeply from the water trough in
front of him.  The big barn door creaked on its hinges as Neil opened
it.  "Hallooo?" he called, looking around as his eyes adjusted to the
dimness.  "Halooo?  Anyboody here?"

        An elderly man came from a back room.  He was thin and bent, and he was
taking his time shuffling to the newcomer, so Neil met him halfway. 
"Who are you?" he shouted.

        "Name's MacNeill."

        "Eh?" the old man asked, cupping a wrinkled hand to his ear.

        "Name's MacNeill!"

        The man blinked at him with incomprehension.
                                                
        "MACNEILL!!!" Neil bellowed pointing a thumb at his own chest.

        "Ah!  Ye've come fer a meal.  Sorry, laddie.  Ain't got no vittles
‘ere.  This here's the gen'ral store."

        "NO!  I'M NOT HUNGRY!"

        "Not hongry?  Wal, why'd ye say you're wanting a meal?"

        "I DIDN'T.  I'M LOOKING FOR SOMEONE."

        "Try again there, boy, my ears ain't what they onct was."

        Neil's hand gestures were futile as he repeated his request. "I'M
LOOKING FOR ANNA PRICE."

        "Eh?"

        "AN-NA PR-ICE!"

        "Oh!  Anna Price!" the man grinned with understanding.  "Who is she?"

        "DON'T YOU KNOW HER?"

        "How should I know ‘er?  She's yer friend, ain't she?"

        Neil clapped his mouth shut before the curse that was on his tongue
escaped.  Maybe this would take longer than he thought.  He could feel
his frustration boiling just below the surface.  He breathed deeply and
opened his mouth to make another attempt at communicating with the old
codger.

        "Pop?" a male voice called from the front door.

        Neil sighed with relief.  He turned to face a man in his forties, a big
man with thick forearms and tree trunks for legs - a farmer no doubt. 
"Name's Neil MacNeill," he said extending his hand.

        "Jim Jessup," the man answered.  "Hey, I know of a doctor named
MacNeill, up Cutter Gap way."

        "Aye, we're one and the same."

        "You took a bullet out of ma cousin's leg after a huntin' axi-dent up
thar ‘bout two years ago - Samuel Hodges."

        Neil wrinkled his brow.  "Hodges. . . yes, I recall; the bullet had
perforated the subcutaneous tissue and lodged in the quadricep."

        "Whatever you say, doc.  So, what're ye doing in Sevier?"

        "Well, I was trying to ask your father if he knows an Anna Price."

        "Reckon ye waren't havin' no luck.  Pop's deaf as a post."

        "Yes, I had discovered that.  Do you know her, Mr. Jessup?"

        "Half o' this town's named Price," Jim said, rubbing his grizzled
chin.  "Come to think of it, Eddie Price married a gal named Annie from
over Chatt-nooga-way nigh on three years."

        Neil shook his head.  "No, this one would be married to a fellow named
Huck or Heck. . . Hector maybe?"

        "Naw. . ."

        "Well, do you know if any of the families have a son by one of those
names?  He's blonde, not too big, in his mid-twenties.  Oh, and he's got
strange grey-blue eyes."

        "Most Prices in these parts're dark - dark hair, dark eyes.  But if ye
be wanting to see fer yoreself, I'll take ye ‘round."

        "I'd be obliged if you would."

        "POP, WE'RE LEAVIN'.  SEE YE AT HOME FER DINNER."

        The old man nodded knowingly.  "I know, son.  Tell that preacher-parson
I already knowed I'm a sinner."

        Neil caught Jesssup's eye and the two men grinned.

        "RIGHT, POP."

******

        The old wagon bumped and jolted along the narrow road.  They were
heading out into the country, the rolling foothills of the Appalachians.

        "We're headed out to Abner Price's place.  He's the oldest Price in
this neck o' the woods.  If'n anybody in Sevier knows yer gal, it'd be
Abner.  Say, what're ye after her for?"

        Neil repeated his story.  He'd told it so many times these last few
days, he'd perfected it down to every pause and inflection.

        "Naw, we ain't had no young bucks leave town. . . ‘cept fer the Stewart
brothers.  Went off an in-listed in the U-Nited States Navy.  Said they
reckon thar's bound to be a war one o' these days, and they aim to be a
part of it.  Always were the brawlin' sort."

        Neil felt his hopes dwindling, but he was determined to give his best
effort before returning to Cutter Gap empty handed.  When he left the
Cove, he'd felt confident that he had all the information he would need
to find Huck's family.  He had foolishly believed that the investigation
would merely take hours, not the days it had already consumed.  

        The visit with the Abner Price clan, followed by stops at the Benjamin
Price dairy farm, the William Price tobacco farm and the Tom Price sheep
farm, was fruitless.  By late afternoon, Neil felt like an expert on the
Sevier Price family, yet he had not obtained the one nugget of the
information he sought.  Not one of them had ever heard of a Huck or
Hector Price, or an Anna other than the dear Annie who married Eddie.

        Neil thanked Jim for his help as the wagon rocked up to the general
store.  "Do you have a telephone inside the store?" he asked.

        "Nope.  Ain't got one of them things.  Do have a telegraph, though. 
You know, part of the post office."

        "Fine.  I'd like to send a telegram."

        The two men went inside the old barn.  Jim rummaged through an old
desk, finally producing a crumpled slip of paper and a pencil.  "Jest
write yer message, an' I'll send it along," he said, then slipped into
the back room.

        Neil frowned, trying to find the right words.  How could he tell Huck
that he hadn't found his family?  That his past was still as mysterious
as ever?  And to do it concisely enough to afford the cost was
impossible!  He wadded the paper into a ball.

        "I've reconsidered," he said as Jim stepped back into the room.

        "Well, then, why don't ye stay at our place tonight, doc?  Ye won't be
goin' far this late in the day."

******

Part Eight:

        Neil took a deep breath as he approached the Holcombe cabin. 
Unfortunately, the Holcombes lived just off the trail up to the Cove. 
He couldn't return home without passing it.  He'd spent the last day and
a half thinking about what he would say to Huck, and in that time he'd
come up with nothing - absolutely nothing.

        The outline of the cabin appeared on the horizon, and as Neil came
closer he could see the silvery-grey of the unpainted structure.  Huck
was seated on the steps, hammering a loose board into place.  As soon as
he saw the doctor, he hopped onto his good leg and grabbed a crutch that
had been leaning against the porch.  Neil thought it looked like the one
Jeb had made for Zady several months ago; yes, it was a bit short for
Huck.

        The young man hopped and skittered down the slope, his momentum
carrying him until he bumped into Neil's horse.  "Any news, Doc?"

        The hope in his eyes pierced Neil's heart.  He put what he hoped was a
neutral expression on his face and climbed off Charlie.  "How's the leg,
son?"

        "Better.  Getting stronger every day.  What about my kin?"

        "Yes, I can see you've been taking my advice, staying in bed," Neil
scolded.

        "Yeah, well, I been cooped up here long enough.  Reckoned it was time I
started earning my keep.  I'm beholden to the Holcombes enough as it
is."

        "Maybe so, but if you put weight on that leg too soon, you could cause
another setback, and the results could be permanent.  A young buck like
you mustn't find himself crippled from sheer long-headedness."
        
        "I know it."  Huck nodded patronizingly, shifting his weight on the
crutch.  "But tell me, Doc, did you find my kin?"

        Neil put a hand on Huck's shoulder.  "I'm sorry, Huck.  I inquired
throughout Lyleton.  Several folks told me about the Prices living in
Sevier.  I visited them all, every household and farm, but none of them
were your clansmen."

        Huck worked his jaw: open, closed, open, closed.  He blinked, and Neil
could see the tears gathering in his unusual blue eyes.  His look
suddenly changed to a scowl.  He turned and began struggling up the
hill.  "Thanks fer trying," he flung over his shoulder.  "Guess I ain't
meant to know who I was.  Maybe it's for the best.  Maybe I'm just a
low-down scoundrel, and my axi-dent was God's way of givin' me another
chance."  Huck stopped; his head drooped and his shoulders sagged.  "But
dad-blame it!  I want to know who I am!  Is that too much to ask?"  He
turned to Neil.  "Is it?"
        
******

        Huck missed dinner that night.  He knew the Holcombes must be worried
about him, but he didn't care.  How could he sit at their table and
pretend that everything was fine?  Everything wasn't fine!  His one
chance for uncovering his past was gone.  

        He tossed a pebble into the river.  "What, God, what am I supposed to
do now?  Huh?"

        Huck waited in the silence.  All he heard was the flowing of the river
and the chirping of crickets in the brush.  Well, what was he expecting.
. . a voice from the heavens?  He sighed and threw another stone.

        "Huck!  Huck!"  Someone was calling him.  Huck turned to see Junior
Holcombe walking toward him.  "Where ye been, Huck?"

        Huck shrugged.

        "We all were awful worried about ye.  Lizette feared ye'd gone and
fallen off a ridge somewheres."

        "Already done that."

        "Come on, then.  Maw's been holding yore supper."  

        The two young men made their way home.  

        Huck was thoughtful for the next several days.  He was silent during
meals, hardly touching his plate, even when Mrs. Holcombe served Huck's
favorite: flapjacks with Jeb Spencer's prized sourwood honey.  He spent
the days slowly traipsing through the Cove, searching for answers.  Even
the blaze of the vibrant fall foliage could not penetrate the deep
thoughts in the young man's mind.  As his disappointment about his
unknown past slowly began to fade, Huck wrestled with an unknown future.

        Should he stay in Cutter Gap, or should he go elsewhere and make a new
start?  Would he ever feel whole again, or would his empty past haunt
him forever?  Huck swung his crutch at a rock on the path in front of
him, sending it clattering into the brush.  Absently, his eyes followed
it.  Something in Huck's peripheral vision caught his attention.  It was
a cabin, a dilapidated, clearly abandoned cabin.  And to his left, he
saw a small shack, like the kind used to dry harvested tobacco. . .

        Huck's heart beat faster.  He was standing on a tobacco farm!  Suddenly
his future rose before him with perfect clarity.  Huck would buy this
farm.  He would buy this farm and grow tobacco - right here in Cutter
Gap, the only home he could remember.  After all, he'd been helping the
Holcombes with their farm for some time now, and he had a knack for it
that he couldn't quite explain.  A confident grin spread across his face
as he hobbled purposefully across the grounds.

        Yes, things were a bit overgrown, but the field could be tilled and the
fence could be mended.  He approached the sagging cabin.  Now this would
need some work.  Carefully he climbed the old steps, testing each board
before putting his full weight on it.  An unidentifiable animal pelt
hung on the outside wall, and several skulls were mounted over the
door.  Most were deer, but Huck thought he recognized one of them as a
black bear.  Whoever lived here before was a fairly accomplished
hunter.  Killing a bear was no small feat; the hunter could easily have
become the prey.

        The old door squeaked as Huck pushed it open.  Argh!  He stumbled back
onto the porch.  What an awful smell!  Something had died and was
rotting in there.  Well, the place needed some fixing up, but Huck knew
he could make that farm work.  He backed away from the cabin, drinking
in the picture with his eyes.  The orange and gold of the leaves shone
brilliantly, perfectly framing his vision of his future home.

        His mind was a whirl as he began the long trek back to the Holcombes'. 
The afternoon sun was making its way across the sky.  Where had the day
gone?

        "Why, hello there!" a woman's voice broke into his thoughts.

        Huck was surprised to see a young woman with large eyes waving to him
from the yard in front of a huge structure.  It looked like two, even
three cabins piled right on top of each other.

        "You must be Huck Farmer," the woman wiped her hands on her apron as
she approached him.  She held out a confident hand.  "My name is Christy
Huddleston.  I teach here at the mission school.  I've been meaning to
visit you, but the school term started right after your accident. . ."

        Huck smiled.  He'd heard stories from the Holcombe children about
Teacher - how she "didn't look no bigger ‘n a baby bird, but could tan
the hide o' the meanest bully."  

        "Yas ma'am.  I'm Huck.  Right pleased to meet ye.  Say, could you tell
me who owns the property yon?" he asked, sweeping his hand toward the
abandoned tobacco farm.

        "Why of course.  That's mission property.  The O'Teales used to live
there, but Mr. O'Teale disappeared during a blockade whiskey raid about
a year ago.  Swannie waited five months for his return, but he never
came.  The food was gone, and the children were starving.  They were so
proud.  Never would take any help from the mission.  The only way we
could convince them to take any money was to buy the place from them
when they moved to South Carolina to work in the cotton mills."

        "So you own it?"

        "Well, I don't, but the mission does.  Why are you asking?"

        "I aim to buy it."

        "You aren't serious!  It's a mess. . . and the smell!" the teacher
wrinkled her nose.

        "Them things can be fixed."

        "I suppose so.  And it sure would be nice to have a neighbor again. 
Reverend Grantland is paying some calls in Lufty Branch, but we're
expecting him home tomorrow afternoon.  If you'd like to talk with him
about it, why don't you stop by then?"

        "Reckon I mought do that," Huck said, tipping his felt hat.  He
whistled as he ambled away.  Maybe life wasn't so bad after all.

******


Part Nine

        Huck did buy the O'Teale property with the money that was found in his
pocket after the accident.  As soon as Dr. MacNeill removed his cast, he
began clearing the land.  The mountain men were eager to help the young
man, and a working was quickly organized.  In a day's time, a large
section of the overgrown field was cleared, and the dilapidated fence
was repaired. Only a few hardy women stayed long enough to help with the
cabin's interior, though.  After several repeated scrubbings from floor
to ceiling, the cabin was finally rid of its awful stench.  Huck easily
handled minor repairs inside - fixing broken window glass and replacing
loose boards.  The Farmer tobacco farm was ready for planting.

******

        A year passed quickly.  That fall, Huck's farm produced a decent crop,
and he had plans for a better one next year.  Things were going well for
him.  He didn't have much time to think about his unknown past; he had a
farm to run.  The farm and the work that went with it were good, but
that wasn't what made Huck so hopeful. 

        "Well, then, Mr. Holcombe, with yer permission, I'll speak with her
di-rectly," Huck said, standing tall on the Holcombe porch, hat in his
hands.

        "She'll be finished with her schoolin' in two weeks time.  Reckon
you-all ken wait that long?  Hate to see her work this hard an' not get
a proper edgy-cation."

        "Yes, sir.  I agree with you, sir.  Thank you, Mr. Holcombe!"  With
those words, the young man flopped his hat on his head and raced toward
home.  As soon as he was out of earshot, he let out a whoop.  He said
yes!  He said yes!  Just think, I might be married in just two short
weeks!

        Huck was still running, trying to resist the urge to leap over fallen
logs and kick up his heels, when he saw her.  She carried a book under
her arm and was humming a tune.  He ran to her.

        "Lizette, Lizette!"

        "Hey thar, Huck.  What's wrong?"

        "Wrong, why nothin's wrong.  This may jest be the best day of my whole
life."

        "Why?"  Lizette asked.

        "Well, I. . . I've jest been speakin' to yer paw. . ."

        "My paw?  Everwhat for?"

        "You know why, don't you, Lizette?"

        The young woman's eyes opened wide.  "You talked to Paw. . . about. . .
about. . ."

        "Gettin' married!  You do like me, don't you?  I've loved you ever
since that first time I seen ye carryin' that load o' firewood after my
ax-ident.  Please say you'll be my wife."

        Lizette blinked back her tears before throwing her arms around Huck. 
"Oh, Huck, I was hopin' someday you'd ask!"     Suddenly self-conscious
Lizette pulled away.  "Why don't we run home an' tell Maw?  She'll be
pleased as a pig come slop time!"  The young couple grabbed hands and
ran back the way Huck had just come.  The news was received gladly in
the Holcombe household; every member of the family had grown fond of the
young man during his stay in their home.

        "Oh, Maw!" Lizette said.  "There's so much to do - the infare to plan,
all my house plunder to pack up, and I was wanting to finish that quilt
afore I set up housekeepin', and I still got my graduation examination,
too.  Lordamercy, think we'll get it all done?"

        "Love will find a way, child," her mother answered.  "He's a good man,
and he'll make a good husband for ye, whether ye finish yer quilt or
not."

        "Reckon you two'd best go talk wi' the preacher," Mr. Holcombe
suggested.  "You'll be wantin' to plan the wedding when he's not off
preachin somewheres."

        "We've got time to run to the mission and back afore dark, ain't we,
Lizette?" Huck asked.

        "Shorely.  I feel like I could fly.  Won't take no time a-tall to get
to the mission house."

******
        
        "I hear somebody a-comin'!" Duggin Morrison whispered.

        The hushed conversation between the other two men standing near the
still behind the shack ceased abruptly.  All three men froze,
listening.  Branches snapped and leaves crunched, the sounds getting
louder as someone approached Morrison's shack on the western edge of the
cove - a hideout for the three wanted fugitives.  Whoever was coming was
not intending to surprise them.  

        Duggin peered around the corner of the shack while Bird's-Eye Taylor
tightened his grip on his trusty hog-rifle.

        "He's a big-un.  Looks to be all alone, though," Duggin reported.

        "I say we kill ‘im," Nathan O'Teale hissed.

        "He ain't got a gun.  Let's wait an' see whar he's headed."

        "Yeah, don't need no more blood on our hands than we already got,"
Bird's-Eye added, looking at Nathan, "if'n we can help it."

        The man who was climbing the trail toward the shack was an
exceptionally large man.  He had the shoulders of an ox and a ruddy,
sun-weathered complexion.  Closer and closer he came.  

        "Hello?  Anyone home?" he called.

        The three blockaders traded glances.  "Shhh!" Bird's-Eye said.  "Maybe
he'll up an' go if he thinks nobody's here."  Silently, they waited.

        "Hello?" the calls were less than thirty yards away now.  "Hello?"  The
men heard a pounding on the door.  "Anyone home?"  The leaves crunched
as the giant made his way around the cabin.

        "You stay here, Nathan," Duggin whispered.  "You're wanted for murder. 
Me an' Bird's-Eye's jest up for moonshinin'."

        "I still say we ought to kill ‘im why we got the chance."

        "Shut up.  And don't do nothing stupid," Bird's-Eye said.  "Me and
Duggin'll take care o' this."  Bird's-Eye set down his rifle and nodded
to Duggin.  "Come on."

        The men rounding the corner of the cabin just as the stranger was
coming around from the front.  "Hey, there.  I thought I might find
somebody home.  Saw the smoke from your fire out back."

        "What're ye wantin'?"

        "Well, I'm looking for someone," the stranger said.  

        Bird's-Eye narrowed his eyes.  "Who and what for?"

        "My brother.  He set out for Cutter Gap about a year ago.  Was supposed
to come back after a month or so, and we ain't heard a word from him."

        "There's been no outlanders ‘round here," Duggin said, "nigh on two
years.  Some feller come through, Harland, I think his name was.  But we
run him out faster than a hound dog atter a polecat."

        "Naw," Bird's-Eye said.  "Folks here in the Cove don't take much stock
in foreigners. Ye mought try Culver's Gap, though, jest over that ridge
yon.  Lots of folks pass through there on the way to Knox-ville.  Not
many come up this a-way, ‘cause Cutter Gap ain't on the way to nowhere."

        "You sure you ain't seen him?" the huge man asked.  "I'm thinkin' he
said he was going to Cutter Gap.  His name's Price - Hack Price.  If you
do see him, tell him his brother Bull's looking for him."

        "If he'd a come up here, we'd a knowed it," Duggin said.  The cabin,
perched precariously on the mountainside, provided a bird's-eye view of
the area, a perfect hideout for wanted men.

        "You're sure now?"

        "Aye."

        "Well, if I wanted to go all the way to Cutter Gap, which way would I
go from here?"

        Bird's-Eye and Duggin exchanged glances.  They couldn't risk this
stranger going to Cutter Gap and alerting that annoying preacher of
their whereabouts.  "The shortest way would be to cut acrost this
mountain here, cross the crik, an' go two mile, give or take, due west."

        "Thanks.  I'll be moving on, then," the stranger said, stepping in the
direction Duggin had pointed.

        "Hope ye find your brother!" Bird's-Eye called out after him.  The
stranger responded with a wave.

        "What the. . ." Nathan said, giving Bird's-Eye a shove.  "Hope ye find
your brother.  What kind a horse manure is that?"

        "Waaal," the blockader snickered, "I figgered since we sent him off the
wrong way, the least we could do was wish ‘im luck."

******


Part Ten

        Huck and Lizette chattered all the way to the mission house.  They had
a whole future to plan together.

        "This year's crop was good, but you just wait tell next year.  I aim to
clear that land other side of the crik.  We'll have tobacco as far as
the eye ken see," Huck said.

        "An livin' right there by the school, why if'n I get all my chores
done, maybe I ken help Miz Christy with the young'uns," Lizette added.

        Huck laughed.  "Till we got a cabin full of our own anyways."

        "Huck Farmer, you scoundrel!"  Lizette said, punching his arm.  "Hey,
thar's the mission house.  Come on!"

        The young couple ran to the big house, shouting their greetings. 
Reverend David Grantland opened the door.

        "What's all the commotion out here?"

        "Howdy, Preacher!"  Huck called.  "Me an' Lizette, we're a-needing to
talk with ye."

        "Certainly.  Please, come in," the minister said, motioning for them to
enter the parlor.  He sat down at a desk, where a Bible lay open next to
a notepad full of scribbling.  Huck and Lizette sat stiffly on the
sofa.  "Well, how can I help you?"

        "You see, Preacher, me and Lizette, we. . . I mean, I talked to her paw
an' he said it'd be alright. . ."

        "What are you talking about Huck?"  

        "What I'm meanin' to tell you is that me and Lizette aim to get
married.  And we'd be beholden if ye'd-"

        "Married!  Huck, are you telling me you want to get married?"

        "Why shorely," Huck answered.  He grinned at his sweetheart.  "It's
only natural for a man to want to marry a gal like Lizette."

        "Yes, but. . ."

        "But what, Preacher?"

        Reverend Grantland slowly crossed his long legs and furrowed his brow. 
He sighed a long, defeated sigh.  "Lizette, would you excuse us for a
moment?  I'd like a private word with Huck."

        "I'll go see if I ken find Miz Christy.  I can't wait to tell her!" 
Lizette said, skipping from the room.

        "Preacher, what is it you're needing to tell me?"

        "I want to ask you a question, Huck.  What about Anna?"

        "Anna?"

        "Yes."  The pastor grimaced.  "Your *wife*."

        Huck stood.  He could feel the heat rising in his face.  "My wife!  I
an't got no wife!  And I never heard of nobody named Anna.  What the
dickens are you talkin' about?"

        "Sit down, Huck.  Listen, while you were unconscious after your
accident, Dr. MacNeill heard you talking.  You were delirious.  He heard
you propose to Anna."

        "Well a lot old Doc knows!  He told me that he heard me say my name was
Price, and that I was from Lyleton.  Did he find any Prices in Lyleton?.
. . No!  Did he find my family anywhere?. . . No!  So why in tarnation
should I be listenin' to him now?"  

        "Those suppositions of Dr. MacNeill's were tenuous, but he specifically
heard you propose to Anna, and based on your reaction, she accepted."

        "Well, maybe I dreamed it all."  He pulled at his hair.  "I just don't
remember!  I don't remember none of it - where I came from, who I was,
what I did for a living - nothing."  He sat down on the sofa, resting
his head in his hands.  "Don't you understand?  I. . . thought my past
was behind me.  I thought me an' Lizette could be happy.  And now you
tell me I'm married - married to a woman I don't know, a woman living I
don't know where, a woman married to a man I can't remember.  What did I
ever do to deserve this?"

        "You didn't do anything," Reverend Grantland said.  "We just need to
take some more time to sort this out.  Bigamy is against the law, and
it's a sin, Huck, a sin."

        "Ye better sort fast, Preacher, ‘cause I don't aim to break the heart
of the only woman I ever loved."  Huck glared at the minister, then
turned on his heel and stormed out of the house.  He brushed past
Lizette on the porch without a word.
        
******

        "Grantland, you're a fool!" Dr. MacNeill spat.  He was pacing in
pastor's bunkhouse, while David Grantland sat cooly by the fire.

        "They were asking my blessing, wanting me to perform the ceremony. 
What was I supposed to do?  I couldn't in good conscience give it to
them with the issue unresolved."

        "You and your God!  Tell me, how do your pious rules do anything for
Huck but give him more grief?  Hasn't he had enough?  All he wants is a
chance at happiness.  One finally comes his way, and men like you snatch
it from him."

        "You of all people should understand, Doctor.  Somewhere out there is a
woman, a woman named Anna, waiting for her husband to come home.  What
if we let them marry, then he suddenly regains his memory?  You think
he's in agony now. . ."

        Neil shook his head.  "I still don't see how-"

        "Think what would have happened if Margaret had waited another year to
return."  The words hit Neil like a slap.  What *would* have happened? 
Oh, the scandal if he'd married Christy, only for Margaret to reappear! 
"A different set of facts, but a similar situation, don't you agree,
doctor?"

        "We've no choice but to find her, then," he answered.  "I've two
critical cases of pneumonia in Raven Gap, so I can't go back to Lyleton
for a few days.  Can you go?"

        "I'll leave immediately after tomorrow's worship service," David said. 
"Now, tell me everything you know."

******

        Funny, Huck thought, how he could be so haunted by an empty past. 
Would he ever be able to get beyond it, or would the questions pursue
him until his dying day?  A man could go mad this way!

        Huck took the wooden box from a high shelf above the fireplace.  He
hadn't even thought about it for several months, yet his circumstances
would never let him forget it entirely.  He carried the box to the bed
and sat down.  One by one, he removed the items, hoping beyond hope that
this time he would find the clue that would unlock his hidden past.  The
bronze pocket-watch had not changed.  It still showed no inscription,
just a plain face with black Roman numerals.

        Next, he held the pink hair ribbon to his nose, then rubbed its soft
satin against his cheek.  He closed his eyes and tried to picture the
woman, maybe his wife, who might have worn it.  Anna, Anna Price, they
said her name was.  Anna. . . Anna. . .   Huck shook his head.  It was
no use.  He had no idea if this Anna was large or small, tall or short,
pretty or plain.

        With dwindling enthusiasm, Huck pulled the last item from the box: a
small wooden soldier.   Whoever had made this had gone to great
lengths.  The detailed expression on the soldier's face and the
intricately carved tiny musket he carried were proof of it.  Who had
made it, and why did Huck have it?  He had difficulty believing he could
ever have created such a piece.  He turned the tiny toy over in his
hand, knowing what he would find.  Yes, there it was - AA ‘94.  AA . . .
who is AA?

        Huck leaned his forearms against the mantel, turning the soldier
absently in his fingers.  I give up!  I'm tired of trying to use these
three little clues to piece my whole life together.  I just can't do
it.  He set the soldier on the mantel and stretched out on the bed.  It
wasn't long before he fell into a fitful slumber.
        
******



Part Eleven

        He rose before the sun the next morning, exhausted by the strange
dreams that haunted him.  No, he could never have peace until his
forgotten past was revealed.

        Huck was milking his cow when Mr. and Mrs. Spencer appeared in the
yard.  

        "Halloooo!" Jeb Spencer called, waving his hat.

        Wearily, the young farmer stood.  "Hey, thar, Spencers.  Y'all come on
in an' set a spell."  He lifted the bucket adding, "Got fresh milk here,
if ye're wantin' some."

        "Well, now," Jeb said, "we actually come to be givin' you somethin'. 
Fairlight here says you and Lizette plan to get married."

        "I reckon so."

        "You reckon so?" Fairlight asked.  

        Huck scowled.  "We're a-hopin' to be getting married, shorely, but the
preacher, he-"

        "You mean to tell me that Preacher ain't lettin' you'uns get hitched?" 

        "Right.  On account of my past. . . or lack of one.  Seems he took a
notion that somewhares out there I got a wife."

        "Well, do you?" Jeb asked.

        "If I knowed that, I wouldn't be in this mess.  I've done everything I
ken think of to try and recollect anything about my life afore I came to
Cutter Gap.  An' the earliest memory I got is waking up to an awful pain
in my leg."

        "Land sakes, Huck," said Jeb.  "Is there onything we'uns can do?"  

        "These beeswax candles we brung shore don't seem like they'll help
much," Fairlight added.

        "Don't be sayin' that, Miz Spencer.  It was right nice of ye to bring
‘em.  Me and Lizette's bound to get married one day.  It just ain't
gonna be as soon as we want.  Me and the preacher's going to Lyleton
tomorry after the church sarvice.  Maybe we'll find out somethin' Doc
missed when he went down thar."

        "Shorely hope so," Jeb commented.  "You and Lizette-"

        "What's that?" Fairlight asked pointing at the mantel.

        "What?" Huck and Jeb said in unison.

        "Over yonder.  That toy soldier."  Fairlight walked toward it, as if in
a trance.  "A long time ago, my father made a passel of soldiers like
that for. . ."  She turned and studied Huck.  "Charlie?" she whispered.

        "Law!" Jeb cried, slapping his thigh.  "I shoulda seen it from the
beginnin'.  Fairlight, that boy's a Allen if I ever seen one.  Jest look
at them eyes.  They're jest like yours, Fairlight, kinda funny colored
and always lookin' like they're somewhere far away.  And he's got your
nose, too."

        As Jeb spoke, a thousand vivid images filled Huck's head.  Suddenly he
*knew* who he was!  He was Charlie Allen - Fairlight, Bob and Ault's
youngest brother.  Yes, he remembered them all.  He recalled running
away from home as a young boy, taking with him two of his mother's green
apples and his favorite toy soldier.  After several days, he stumbled
into Lyleton, tired, afraid and hungry.  It was there that Mr. and Mrs.
Price, Bull and Billy Paul had found him and taken him home.  They'd
cared for him as if he were their own.  

        And when he married Anna. . .  Wait!  So he *did* have a wife named
Anna!  A terrible grief crushed him as he remembered her death.  She
died bearing him a daughter.  Lordamercy! Dorothy!

        "I. . . I've got to go," Charlie muttered as he gathered up his hat and
his rifle.

        "But, Charlie!"

        "Don't worry, Fairlight.  I'll come back home."  

        "What about Lizette?"

        "I promise I'll come back," he threw over his shoulder and disappeared.

******

        Yes, it was just as he remembered it.  There, among the rolling hills
of White Pine was the Price family land.  Charlie spurred his tired
horse into a gallop, past Bull's place, past the farm that had been his
own, straight to Billy Paul's.  His sister-in-law Cora was out front,
hanging laundry, a toddler at her feet.  She looked up when she heard
the thundering hoof beats.

        "Hack!"  She cried, dropping the laundry and picking up the child.  She
ran to the porch and rang the heavy bell repeatedly.  "Hack, you're
home!"

        Charlie jumped from the horse and ran to the woman and the child. 
"Dorothy?"

        "That's her.  She's a beautiful girl, don't you think?"  Cora turned to
the little girl.  "Dottie, this here's your daddy.  I told you he'd come
home."

        The toddler gurgled and held her arms out to the strange man. 
Awkwardly, Charlie held his daughter.  Yes, she did have her mother's
pug nose.  How could he ever have forgotten?  At that moment, Billy Paul
came running from the fields.

        "What is it, Cora?  I heard the bell."

        "Look, Billy, it's Hack!"

        Billy Paul's jaw dropped.  "Is it really you?"

        "Shore is," Charlie grinned.  

        "That was one long month, brother.  What happened?  Did ye find your
family?"

        "I did, but it's a long story I'd ruther tell jest once.  Say, where's
Bull?"

        "Didn't he find ye?" Cora asked.

        "Find me?  Naw, I-"

        Billy Paul rubbed his bearded chin.  "Hmm, he left here for Cutter Gap,
reckon almost a week ago.  You'd been gone over a year.  We was all
worried, so Bull figgered he'd just go on up thar and see what all
happened to ye."

        "You won't believe it when I tell ye," Charlie said as the group made
its way into the farmhouse.  

******  

        Two weeks later, after catching up with Bull in the wilderness several
miles west of Cutter Gap, Charlie and his adopted family trekked to the
Cove.  What a joyful reunion it was, and the wedding was an event that
would be remembered for years to come.

        Lizette had borrowed one of Miss Christy's embroidered shirtwaists and
a skirt.  Her smile spread quite literally from ear to ear.  Charlie
stood proudly beside her, surrounded by family - Fairlight Spencer and
the Allen clan, who'd known him as a mischievous boy; the Prices, who
had found that boy and made him into a man; the Holcombes, who had taken
him in during his darkest hour; and little Dorothy, his last link to
Anna.  

        Charlie had finally come home, and his past would haunt him no more.

THE END