Raven 2 Read online

  RAVEN II

  D.M. BARRETT

  Copyright © 2019 by D. M. Barrett

  First Printing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means--electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning or other--without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in 2019 by Amazon Printing.

  Cover design by: Mat Yan Cover Designs

  Library of Congress Cataloguing

  ISBN: 978-1-674-18259-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my loving parents, Charles B. and Betty J. Barrett. They survived the Great Depression and thrived the rest of their lives.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1.Huddling Spiders & Wooly Worms

  2.The Blizzard

  3.Lost Boys

  4.The Goat Man

  5.Pestilence

  6.The Foundling

  7.Anathema Maranatha

  8.Legends

  9.Gypsies

  10.Mountain Justice

  11.Progress

  12.Family

  13.Harvest Moon

  14.Get Thee Behind Me

  15.Hobo Jungle

  16.Wedding Bell Blues

  17.Evergreen

  1.

  Huddling Spiders & Wooly Worms

  Jack Wright opened the back door of Discount Grocery, turned on the electric lights, and began to stoke the pot-bellied wood stove and added a couple of sticks of dry firewood. He heard several distinctive knocks on the front door of the store.

  “I’m coming!” Jack Wright exclaimed as he unlocked the front door.

  “It’s 24 degrees and you’re dragging ass,” Clayton Martin said with a chuckle.

  “Dragging ass? I’m here a half-hour before opening time. It’s barely 6:30 am and the sun isn’t up,” the storekeeper explained.

  “I think you’ve gotten grumpier as you have aged,” Clayton Martin said.

  “Clayton, you’ve been talking to that preacher! I know he was on Brotherton Mountain with Nurse Bilbrey visiting you,” Jack Wright announced.

  “He was visiting SheMammy not Clayton,” he replied.

  “Clayton Martin is SheMammy. I don’t understand what you mean?” Jack Wright asked with a puzzled look.

  “SheMammy dresses in women’s clothing. Clayton always wears men’s clothing. Today I’ve got to be Clayton Martin,” he explained.

  “Why are you Clayton Martin today?” Jack Wright inquired.

  “I’m making official deliveries and then I’m driving to Lebanon to meet with Henry Wooden and a lingerie buyer from Woolworth’s. Clayton may be more palatable than SheMammy for a first meeting,” Mr. Martin explained.

  “I hope you packed a bag and brought a suitcase,” Jack Wright replied.

  “Why do you say that?” he responded.

  “In September, I read an article in The Mountain Gazette written by Louis Barrett about a young girl from Crab Orchard that is very accurate about predicting winter weather,” Jack Wright announced.

  “Who is that girl? What’s her name? What’s she saying?” Clayton asked.

  “Her name is Helen Louise Sherrill. She’s engaged to that Lane boy from Crossville. She’s predicting six large snows in January and February and terrible cold for those months,” Jack Wright responded.

  “What’s the basis for her saying that?” Nurse Bilbrey asked as she entered the store through the front door.

  “According to the newspaper, she said that spiders were huddling on the ground, that the wooly worms had much thicker coats, the ears of corn had much more husks than normal, and that the farm animals coats were much thicker than normal,” Jack Wright explained.

  “How does she account for the number of snows and the depth?” Clayton Martin queried.

  “She explained that it has to do with the number of fogs and their thicknesses in September,” the storekeeper responded.

  “Well, I’m gonna be like Columbus and take a chance. I can definitely use that Woolworth’s business,” Mr. Martin said.

  “Are you selling out to big business, SheMammy?” Nurse Bilbrey asked with a chuckle.

  “He’s not SheMammy. He’s Clayton Martin,” the merchant announced.

  “I’ve been around SheMammy for years. In fact, he takes no offense to being called SheMammy,” Nurse Bilbrey responded.

  “He’s saying that because I’m wearing men’s clothes to meet with Henry Wooden and the Woolworth’s lingerie buyer for lunch,” Mr. Martin replied.

  “You could have asked Nurse Bilbrey to model for you,” Jack Wright said with a smile.

  “She’s betrothed to the preacher. I don’t want to get sideways with him,” Clayton responded.

  “Speaking of the preacher, do you have my package?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.

  “I’ve got one for you and one for him in the car. I’ll go and get them,” Mr. Martin said.

  “Is it a wedding dress or some naughty wear for the wedding night?” Jack Wright asked.

  “Tom is right. He claims you’re an undercover reporter for The Mountain Gazette,” Nurse Bilbrey said accusingly.

  “I have to admit that I am inquisitive. But your engagement is big news in this area,” Jack Wright said.

  “It may the front-page of The Mountain Gazette next week. Louis Barrett got commentary from a dozen people for the story,” Nurse Bilbrey replied.

  SheMammy came through the front door with a large package and a smaller package in his arms. He carefully made his way to the store’s checkout counter.

  “Is that a wedding dress for Nurse Bilbrey in that large box, SheMammy?” Mr. Wright asked politely.

  “He is nosy just like that preacher said,” SheMammy said smiling at Nurse Bilbrey.

  “That’s not an answer SheMammy,” Jack Wright said.

  “SheMammy keeps his customer’s business confidential. So if you want some women’s lingerie, nobody will ever find out from me,” SheMammy replied.

  “Tell him what’s in the big box, SheMammy. He’ll worry us to death until he knows,” Nurse Bilbrey instructed.

  “The package is a surprise birthday present from Nurse Bilbrey to the preacher. It’s a shortwave radio that she bought from Jeremy Ford, that engineer boy with polio,” SheMammy explained.

  “Birthday? When is his birthday?” Jack Wright asked.

  “He’s been trying to keep it a secret. Gary ‘Whitehorse’ Simpkins, that Revenuer, slipped and told me. We’ve got a small gathering at the Bluebird at 7:00 o’clock at the Bluebird Café. You’re invited,” Nurse Bilbrey reported.

  “That’s exciting! I’ll be there with gift,” Jack Wright replied.

  “Mr. Martin, it goes without saying that you are invited, too,” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “He won’t be able to make it,” Jack Wright remarked.

  “Now why would you say that?” SheMammy asked.

  “It’s gonna snow more than six inches tonight. You’re staying at the Wooden mansion,” the merchant said.

  “I don’t believe in huddling spiders and wooly worms,” SheMammy responded.

  “Neither do I,” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “I hate to interrupt this meaningful conversation about spiders and wooly worms, but I need some gasoline,” Dr. Marcus Whitman said.

  “Fill it up?” the merchant asked.

  “All the old gal will hold,” Dr. Whitman said.

  Jack Wright made his way t
o the store’s front door and down the steps to the gas pump. SheMammy squinted his eyes when the merchant opened the door.

  “Sun’s up and there are snow flurries,” SheMammy remarked.

  “It’ll clear up before long,” the county nurse opined.

  “What’s in those two packages, Clayton?” Dr. Whitman asked.

  “The large box is a birthday present from Nurse Bilbrey to the preacher. Jeremy Ford said the small package is something the preacher had him build,” Mr. Martin explained.

  “SheMammy, are you being confidential, or you really don’t know?” Nurse Bilbrey inquired.

  “SheMammy has a don’t-ask-and-don’t-tell policy. Notwithstanding, I really don’t know. Jeremy just said take it to the preacher. I built it for him,” Mr. Martin replied.

  “Now that’s piqued my interest,” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “What time do the festivities begin tonight?” Dr. Whitman asked.

  “Promptly at 7:00 pm,” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “Why aren’t you having the party at Miss Rosie’s?” Mr. Martin queried.

  “Miss Rosie is closing the bed and breakfast early because of the article in The Mountain Gazette about the biggest snow of the winter,” Dr. Whitman said.

  “Sounds like she believes in huddling spiders and woollier wooly worms,” Jack Wright opined as he finished pumping the gas.

  “Will your wife be there tonight?” the county nurse asked.

  “Anna Mae is still visiting at her parents’ place in Knoxville. She’s a believer in that weather girl, Helen Sherrill,” Dr. Whitman said.

  “It’s time for me to leave. See that Preacher Mann gets that package from Jeremy Ford,” Clayton Martin said.

  “It’s time for me to make a few local rounds. I told Tom that he wouldn’t see me till around 7:00 pm for dinner. SheMammy can you put that large package in my county car?” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “I’ll grab it. Clayton needs to be on his way. He doesn’t need to get caught in that big snow when it hits,” Jack Wright said.

  “I’m getting breakfast at Miss Rosie’s. Anna Mae is the cook at our place. See all of you tonight at the Bluebird Café,” Dr. Whitman said.

  Jack Wright was left alone as the trio departed Discount Grocery. He decided to catch up on the news by reading the Friday edition of The Mountain Gazette. He knew the preacher wouldn’t finish his studies until at least 10:00 am, so he had to wait for the Preacher Mann or his paying next customer.

  * **

  Just like clockwork, the preacher walked through the door of Discount Grocery promptly at 10:00 am. He was bundled up like a Chicago businessman.

  “Are you cold, preacher?” Jack Wright inquired.

  “The obvious often escapes you, doesn’t it?” the preacher replied.

  “It’s gonna get worse. It’s down two degrees since sunrise and it’s spitting snow off and on,” Jack Wright opined.

  “I guess it’s time for your commentary on September fogs, corn husks, and thick animal fur,” Preacher Mann said as he rolled his eyes and gave a huge sigh.

  “Tell me what’s in that package from Jeremy Ford and I won’t mention that Louis Barrett’s article about that weather girl,” Jack Wright offered.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” the preacher suggested.

  “What do you mean?” the merchant asked.

  “Practicing your skills as a reporter or a busybody – one or the other,” the preacher replied.

  “It’s a legitimate question when something is exchanged in your place of business. I’ve got a duty for the safety of my customers. It might be some sort of a dangerous device you and Jeremy cooked up,” the storekeeper responded.

  “I’ll open it and prove that it’s not contraband. I may even let you sell these exclusively in Tennessee,” the preacher promised.

  Jack Wright quickly handed the small package to Preacher Mann he also handed him a somewhat dull, worn pair of scissors to cut through the cotton wrapping twine and brown paper.

  When the preacher removed the item from its box, Jack Wright’s eyes opened wider. It was a shiny, silver-colored cylinder about four inches in diameter and about ten inches long. It had an eight-foot electrical cord coming out of the bottom of the long can and terminated with a plug to connect it to an electrical outlet.

  “What is it?” the preacher asked with a smile.

  “Let me look,” Louis Barrett said as he walked in the door toward the store counter.

  “Take as long as you need,” the preacher replied.

  Louis Barrett held the item in his hand and carefully felt its weight. He looked at the end of the other end of the cylinder and noted that it contained holes about the diameter of a pencil and that they were configured like a salt shaker top.

  “Can you give me a hint, preacher?” the newspaper man asked.

  “There is a smaller, sealed second cylinder inside the first cylinder that is connected to the electrical cord,” the preacher explained further.

  “I don’t have a clue,” Louis Barrett replied.

  “What about you, cub reporter?” the preacher asked as he turned toward Jack Wright.

  “Why are you calling Mr. Wright a cub reporter?” Louis Barrett inquired.

  “He never knows anything, and he noses around trying to get something newsworthy every chance he gets,” the preacher opined.

  “I know that today is your birthday,” Jack Wright said.

  “Who told you that?” the preacher inquired.

  “I got it from two very reliable sources,” the storekeeper said.

  “I can go with that story. What else have you got, Mr. Wright?” Louis Barrett queried.

  “He’s having dinner with Nurse Bilbrey at the Bluebird Café tonight,” Jack Wright continued.

  “Why aren’t they eating at Miss Rosie’s?” the newspaper editor asked.

  “Miss Rosie’s is closing early for the big snow,” Jack Wright stated.

  “You may be promoted from cub reporter to reporter if you keep this up. That’ll be good news for the gossip column,” Louis Barrett said with a chuckle.

  “I’ve got a better story for you,” the preacher offered.

  “I’m listening,” he replied.

  “It’s a story about a new invention by two Ferguson area residents. Every Tennessee household will be beating down the doors and jamming the phone line to get one,” the preacher boasted.

  “Ok, the gossip story is going in the trash,” Louis Barrett said.

  Looking directly at Jack Wright as he squinted his eyes, “If you want a Tennessee exclusive on this product you’ve got to stop gossiping, verbally or in print, about Nurse Bilbrey and my relationship.”

  “Never will another salacious tale of your torrid romance leave my lips,” Jack Wright said slightly sarcastically.

  “It’s a portable water heater. There are heating coils in the small cylinder. Water enters the larger cylinder and gets warm. After a few minutes the remaining water in the container gets to about 110 degrees before the heater shuts off,” Preacher Mann explained.

  Louis Barrett reached into his pocket for a notepad and pencil. Jack Wright started writing on the back of a brown paper bag.

  “How long does it take to heat the water?” Louis Barrett queried.

  “About two minutes for a gallon, and about ten minutes for a five-gallon bucket,” the preacher responded.

  “Can it heat larger amounts of water?” Jack Wright asked.

  “Not effectively. It takes too long and it’s really not effective in amounts over five-gallons,” the preacher replied.

  “Can it effectively heat a series of five-gallon buckets?” the newspaper man asked.

  “Yes,” the preacher said.

  “What does it cost, and what does it sell for?” Jack Wright asked excitedly.

  “I’ll let you and Jeremy Ford make that determination next week. However, Community Church gets ten percent royalty on each sale,” the preacher instructed.


  “How did you two come up with the idea?” Louis Barrett inquired.

  “I use a five-gallon bucket of well water daily for my shower. That water is about 55 degrees in the winter and never gets over about 65 degrees in the summer. From about November to March it’s quite refreshing,” the preacher said with a chuckle.

  “You can put it to use immediately. It’s to be near zero with lots of snow tomorrow,” Jack Wright opined.

  “I’m going to have to come up with something to deal with his editorializing,” the preacher mused.

  “I spent a day with Helen Sherrill and her father. I talked to the editor at the Crossville Chronicle as well as several serious-minded folks in Crab Orchard. I’m convinced that she’s the real deal,” the editor for The Mountain Gazette said.

  “Well, the girl’s going to be put to the test this week,” the preacher said.

  “What do you think, Preacher Mann?” Louis Barrett asked.

  “I think it’s time for me to buy some bar soap and washing powders from Discount Grocery. I could use one of those new five-gallon buckets, too,” the preacher replied.

  “The soap, powder, and buckets are like a shingle,” Jack Wright said.

  “What does that mean?” the preacher asked.

  “They’re on the house, partner,” Jack Wright said.

  “This story is going to be front-page on Tuesday’s edition. I’ll get with Jeremy and Mr. Wright to get more information on Monday,” Louis Barrett remarked.

  “Save room for news of the weekend blizzard,” Preacher Mann said as Louis Barrett made his way to the front door.

  The preacher packed the portable water heater in the box and headed for the door. He was quite pleased with Jeremy’s final product.

  “Where are you headed? I’ve got some ‘Possum Brand sardines and beans for lunch. You can wash it down with a cold root beer,” the merchant offered.

  “I’m going to take my chance at Miss Rosie’s. It’s meatloaf day,” Preacher Mann said as he headed out the front door.

  * **