Finding Floyd (14 page)

From, Reelfoot Legacy, by
Melinda Peters

"Now here's a real interesting story, Missy."
Jeremiah was seated in his favorite cushioned rocker, regaling
Vicky with tails from the past as she typed rapidly on her laptop,
endeavoring to keep up with the old man. "I recollect my granddaddy
telling me this a good many years ago, just as was told him by Old
Jeremiah his self. Was about how he and some others joined up in
1814 with Andrew Jackson to fight the British at New Orleans. This
one you ought to write down." He shot Vicky a quizzical glance.
"Thought you said you was going to write these old tales as I told
them, sweet thing."

"Oh, I am, Mr. Evans," said Vicky, pointing
to her laptop.

"On that thing there?" he asked skeptically
eyeing the computer.

"That's right. See," she said, turning the
screen towards him.

"Huh?" He grunted, leaned over the arm of his
rocking chair, and squinted at the text on the screen. "I dunno.
Seems like it would be a damn sight easier to use pencil and paper,
but suit yourself." He eased himself back in the chair, hitched up
his overalls and made himself comfortable.

"Now then, what was I saying?"

"You were about to tell us about Jeremiah,
Andrew Jackson, and New Orleans," responded Vicky.

"I don't believe I've heard this story, Mr.
Evans," said Preston Hardwick, who leaned on the porch rail
listening. He and his wife, Sarah, had stopped by on their way home
from church.

Turning to Preston, Jeremiah said, "You
probably never heard it, on account of, I don't think I've thought
to tell of it for a good number of years, young feller. Maybe was
even before you were born."

"Go ahead Mr. Evans," urged Vicky, hands
poised over her keyboard.

"Well now, Jeremiah became an important
feller here, back in the day. He bought a considerable piece of
prime land along The Little River. Times was hard back then and
cash money was scarce, so folks always wondered how he was able to
do that. Fact was, as my granddaddy told it, Jeremiah come back
from New Orleans with treasure in his pocket." The old man paused
and looked at Vicky and Preston in turn for effect.

"So, did your granddad tell you what the
treasure was?" asked Preston.

"That he did, that he did indeed." He looked
at them to watch their reaction as he announced, "It was a sack
full of gold coins. That's how Jeremiah bought the land, with them
gold coins. Best part though, was how he come to have that there
gold."

Reaching for his mason jar, he looked down to
where he's kept it the day before, and sighed. "Today being Sunday,
I left my jar at home."

Vicky looked at him quizzically, puzzled at
his habit of drinking from a mason jar. "Oh, are you thirsty?"

"You reckon them gals in there have some
sweet tea? I am a little dry."

"Sure thing Mr. Evans," said Preston. "Hold
on just a minute. Don't tell the story 'til I come back."

Jack was impressed when Kyle revealed the
variety of fishing gear neatly stored on one wall of the garage.
"This is great! I'd love to get some fishing in while we're here.
You do much hunting? We saw a fair number of deer, when we were
driving around."

"Sure," said Kyle. "Deer and other critters.
This time of year it's legal to hunt wild turkey. Come back in
October and you can hunt for bear."

"Bear, really? Are there a lot of them around
here?"

"You see a black bear from time to time."
Kyle shrugged. "Ain't seen one recently, but we did see some tracks
up by our place the other day."

"Really!"

"Now, there's a real nice pond full of hungry
trout on the property over that way." Kyle pointed. "Lots of folks
that stay here like to fish. You want to try our luck for a
while?"

"Isn't it a little late in the day for
trout?"

Kyle shrugged, "There's a shady spot on the
far side that I like. We'll do fine there."

Jack grinned. "I can't argue with that. Just
let me text my wife before I disappear."

Moments later, the men emerged carrying poles
and tackle boxes. As they started across the yard, a metallic-blue
Cadillac rolled slowly into the driveway and parked in front of the
garage.

The window on the driver's side hummed open
and an enormous bald head appeared. "Hey, Jack! Is this the Red
Shutters B & B? Am I in the right place?"

"Ralph, you made it! This is the place all
right," called Jack.

The big, barrel-chested man unfolded from his
seat, stretched elaborately, and grinned. Taking a deep breath of
the fresh, clean air of the Blue Ridge, he glanced about him.

"You know that guy?" asked Kyle. "Who is
he?"

"Ralph Spangenberg. He's just about the best
cook on the East Coast. I pretty much lived at his restaurant
before I met Victoria. I'll bet that before too long, we'll be
eating something very tasty." He strode toward the older man with
an outstretched hand, Kyle in his wake.

"Ralph, it's great to see you," he said
grasping the big man's hand. "How was Florida?"

The burly shoulders shrugged. "Florida
was...sticky. Real humid and the bugs are something awful. Some
people seem to like it, but it's not for me, know what I'm saying?
I gotta look for some place different."

"You can always come back to Pippin's Grove,"
said Jack.

"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind." Ralph pounded
a beefy fist into his arm. "So, Jack. How's married life?"

"It's great, just great. Victoria's out on
the back porch. I know she'd love to see you."

"Good, good. It'll be great to see
everyone."

"This is Kyle Evans. He lives right up the
road there." Jack pointed toward the gravel road that wound past
the house into the trees.

"Pleased to meet you," rumbled Ralph as
Kyle's smaller hand disappeared, enfolded in his big hairy paw. You
two look like you're going fishing."

"Kyle says there's a great trout pond here.
You know me, Ralph. Always ready to take time to bait a hook and
relax at the water's edge."

"Yeah, I remember. Tell you what. You catch
anything, clean it and I'll cook it for you," said Ralph.

"God, it's good to see you again. You're
looking fit and you've got a nice Florida tan. Did you lose some
weight?"

"With nobody to cook for, I've been eating
less and doing a lot of walking," said Ralph.

"Well, I miss your cooking. Don't get me
wrong. Victoria's a great cook, but what are my chances of getting
some of your famous chili? Or your onion rings? Wait a minute,
Yankee pot roast!"

Ralph laughed, "Hold on. I'll see what you
got here and decide. Tomorrow I'll send you to the store. Now give
me a hand with my gear."

Ralph studied the contents of the spacious
pantry before investigating the large chest freezer against one
wall. He felt a little funny rifling through a stranger's food
supplies, but Vicky had assured him that it was fine with Diane,
who was off somewhere. He shrugged off his reservations and lifted
the freezer's lid, considering the possibilities. Deciding that
chicken would be the quickest for the big group, he extracted
several packages. Carrying them into the kitchen, he tumbled them
onto a sheet pan to thaw and then noticed he wasn't alone.

A beautiful woman was tying an apron around
her waist and smiling his way. Younger than himself, she was very
attractive with shoulder length blond hair and twinkling blue eyes
set in a heart shaped face. Her peaches and cream complexion
glowed, and for the briefest instant, Ralph felt a little like a
tongue-tied teenager. He recovered quickly enough, cleared his
throat and introduced himself.

"Ralph Spangenberg. Just visiting. I'm a
friend of Diane's. You know Diane. She's looking after the place
here while the owner is on vacation."

"Yes, Mr. Spangenberg. I'm pleased to meet
you." She reached for his hand and pressed it. I'm Julia Blake.
Diane and I met yesterday. She's a lovely person."

Julia had none of the southern drawl he'd
expected to hear. "Call me Ralph, everybody does. I take it you're
not from around here?" He smiled and gestured toward the frozen
chicken. "I was going to fix a little dinner for everyone."

"How nice of you! Do you cook often? And no,
I'm originally from Ohio," she said.

"I've done some cooking in my day," he
grinned at her.

Her eyes twinkled. "Ralph, I imagine you know
your way around a kitchen."

"Well yeah, I do enjoy a little cooking now
and again," he admitted.

"That's wonderful! My Donald was absolutely
helpless in the kitchen. He was in the Navy, and didn't get to
spend much time at home."

"I spent a few years at sea myself. That's
where I learned to cook. For twenty years I fixed meals for hungry
sailors on shipboard." He gestured to the table and pulled out a
chair for her. "Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee or something
cold to drink?"

She laughed as she sank into the chair.
Looking up at him she gave him her sweet smile and told him,
"Actually, I work for Sandy, the owner of the B & B, on sort of
a part-time basis. I came over to lend a hand."

Ralph did a little fishing of his own,
asking, "And your husband doesn't mind you leaving him to fend for
himself?"

"Oh, no. I lost Donald many years ago." Julia
twisted her hands tightly, then purposely relaxed them and sighed.
"It's just me now."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

She nodded, looked down at her lap then said
earnestly, "That's why I enjoy working here. I get out of the house
and meet so many nice people. Like yourself."

Ralph actually blushed and stammered, "What,
what sort of work do you do here, for Sandy?"

"Oh, I do all the baking for the weekend
breakfasts, and help out when she has guests. If she gets too busy
I'll do a bit of cleaning as well. Little of this and a little of
that."

"Does she have many guests? Is the place
usually busy?" he wanted to know.

"Well not nearly so many as when her parents
managed the inn. After Sandy's father passed and her mother left
for Florida, things were just too much for her to handle. Besides
the four guest rooms and the little guest cottage out back, they
used to be open for breakfast from the middle of March until the
end of October. All that baking kept me pretty busy," she said
wistfully.

"Baking!" he beamed. "That's great. Did you
bake that pie there?" He nodded toward a pie dish on the
counter.

"That Ralph, is my own Bourbon Pecan Pie,"
she said chuckling. "I thought it would be a nice dessert for you
all. I'll make some Bourbon whipped cream to top it with."

He grinned from ear to ear. "To be honest
with you, I used to own a tavern in upstate New York. Did most of
the cooking myself, and I kind of miss it. Maybe you'd like to give
me a hand with dinner"

The screen door slammed behind him, as
Preston emerged with a tall tumbler of tea for the old man.
Jeremiah grinned broadly, looking from Preston to Vicky and back.
He took the proffered tea.

"Thank you, young feller." He took a swig and
set the glass down. "I do miss my jar come Sunday's, but it's the
Lord's Day, and no denying that. Where was I? Oh yes. The Evans'
folks, they rebuilt their homes after the earthquakes and things
was pretty near back to normal.

Vicky typed rapidly and Preston came closer
to listen.

"Then the war come along and all the young
boys in Kentucky and Tennessee joined up with Andrew Jackson and
marched down to New Orleans." He paused and stopped to drink. After
a moment he cleared his throat and returned to his story. "That
Battle of New Orleans was something. Yes indeed. You know about
that young feller?" he asked Preston.

"Yes sir, I do some. Didn't Andrew Jackson
defeat the British?"

"Defeat them? Hell! Them Tennessee boys
whupped the bejesus out of them! Knocked those redcoats clear into
next week," he declared enthusiastically. "Well now, I'm getting a
tad too far from my story about Jeremiah. The way he told it, he
and a few others, including a friendly Choctaw Indian, stumbled
onto some of them British soldiers early one morning and several
got themselves shot. Way he always told the tale, they was out
scouting round in the swamps and there was a thick fog all round.
Of a sudden, them redcoats come out of the fog and everybody
commenced to shooting. When it was all over, some of them fellers
lay dead. The Choctaw, quick and easy as you please, lifted the
scalp from one of them English soldiers to keep as a souvenir."

Vicky looked up from her laptop and gasped,
"Oh dear! How awful!"

Jeremiah shrugged, "That's what them Indians
did. Some white fellers did a little scalp taking themselves back
then, truth be told." He paused, grinning at them both. "While that
Choctaw was at it, he picked the feller's pockets. Took his gold
watch and a leather purse filled with gold. This he give to a
feller named Willis, who was kin to Jeremiah. Them two shared the
gold coins equal, later on. After that was the big fight and Old
Hickory's boys won the battle and won the war. That's how Jeremiah
come to have some cash money when he reached Virginia. He met a gal
here, married her, and settled right here in the Blue Ridge. Never
did go back to Tennessee. That's it, just as granddaddy told it to
me. Far as I know, every word of it is the gospel truth. Matter of
fact, this here town of Floyd used to be called Jacksonville, after
Andrew Jackson, don't you know."

Vicky's fingers flew over her keyboard. Then
she took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. "Your story is
remarkable, Mr. Evans."

Jeremiah drank some tea and settled back into
the rocker. "Well, most people don't know about the big earthquakes
back then. Why, some folks don't know a darn about the Second War
of Independence away back two hundred years. These old stories have
been passed down through my family, so I'm honored to know you're
taking down what I tell you."