girl with the golden hair

My pappy always said, ‘can’t live with it, can’t live without it’. Returning home from the war in France Pa was a broken man. One of General John Pershing’s dough boys. He fought at ground zero in an area known as ‘no man’s land’. It was crisscrossed with trenches, pockmarked with craters, and littered with tree stumps, barbed wire, dead bodies and debris. Dangerous and deadly, offering little or no protection. Poisonous gas slithered atop the ground seeking out the living, delighting in the dead. Often the wounded were left to die, as no rescue was possible. Pa was one of those. Laying motionless during the day, he would inch his way at night under the cover of darkness. Like Hugh Glass, he was left to die. This time there were no maggots. No morsels of meat and bread. Depleted of strength he would whisper his name, rank, and serial number, hopin’ he wouldn’t be shot while haply crawlin’ in the right direction. Finally, a couple of friendlies tag teamed and pulled him to safety. Barely recognizable as a man he had stared Ole Scratch right in the eye, and was still breathin’. He would live but never never be the same again. Gas seared his lungs and multiple injuries left him hobbled. Shrapnel could not be safely removed lodged in his spine and neck.

Returning home, not a conquering hero, but a mere shadow of the handsome man who left, who along with all the other boys was willing and ready to ride the tide to glorious victory, sacrificing all for God and country. If he talked about the war at all it was never about killing German’s, but about the faces and plea’s of the boys left to die as he agonizingly crept his way to safety. ‘There are some things’, he would say, ‘you jest cain’t unsee’. Grabbing their hand with a gentle squeeze he said an encouraging word, offered a short prayer, and Insured them help was comin’. He lied.

Now, it was either a spittin’ contest for the girls, or a pissin’ contest for the boys claimin’ the prize of the poest folk in the land. In the end most normally it was between West Virginie and that Appalacia ragtag with a penchant for huffin’ coal dust, then Mississippi. Now the spellin’ of such causes me to shake my head, seeing double, and talkin’ to myself. Then thar was us. We was the big hawg at the trough, the beginnin’ of the deep south and the hillbilly capital of the world…..Arkansas. Back in the woods, thar ain’t nuthin’ these ole boys cain’t do. Most everone had a still or kin that ran one. Not yer sister’s cousin. This is Arkansas folks. We’s talkin’ shine not saws. It’s a family tradition ya know.

Now the Ozark Mountains ain’t. They’s only wetlands out west. But there is dense forests, a lotta watta, and con-teurs. Helps make livin’ here passible. Mostly we’s known for growin’ one thing….rocks. Now we got it better than most, cause we live on greasy bottom where thar’s actually some soil between the rocks. We raise chickens, hawgs, and get milk from our favor-ite dairy queen, Mable. Pa does his best to plow ground with Henry our mellow mule for corn and barley growin’, while us chillin’s go behind plantin’ seed. Ma does her best to garden, providin’ mustard and collard greens, okre, taters, and maters.

Now Pa would set back what he could of the barley and corn for his night job, baggin’ what was possible before leavin’ fer the woods. Didn’t really speak of it, not wantin’ to draw trouble to the family. He would struggle at times to find his way back home after samplin’ the sippin’s. He never drank inside the house, and if he did drank he used a straw mattress out in the barn. Ever penny he made he gave to Ma. Along with sellin’ xtree eggs, mebbee a little milk, butter or garden greens, and a small stipend from the government we made do. Wahl, me might not have shoes or new clothes, but we was surely loved and never went hungry.

Now these were the days of the Arkansas Alcohol Fight, bootleggers, Baptists, and ballots. In 1915 the statewide prohibition Newberry act forbade the makin’, drinkin’, and distrebution of alcohol. Flew flags at half mast they did. It was repealed in 1935 with the Thorn Likker Law. Counties could make up their own mind. ‘Oh Theobold I say, do you want your martini wet or dry’? ‘Two fingers of bourbon, you say. Do you want those two fingers vertical or horizontal ole chap’? Even today the highway in dry counties are littered with likker bottles and cans, whatever yer flavor. And Friday night at the county line package store you can tell who is the Methodist or Presbyterian. Cause the Presbyterian will smile and call out yer name, while the Methodist tries to hide behind the full size sultry woman Vodka promo.

With government, It is always about control and confiscation. There was simply too much money slipping through their fingers untaxed, and the regime needs revenue. Thus prohibition. Once under their control, walla, likker is safe and legal again unless you knew key influential men. Then you was able to keep yer distillery doors open during prohibition fulfilling prescription needs as ‘Drug’ stores experienced unprecedented growth and doctors ordered dozens of backup boxes of prescription pads.

One day sum revemanuers came a callin’. Asked for Pa. ‘Whose askin’ Ma said. Pullin’ out their badges they was guvment men, assembly line factory made Melvin Purvis look-a-likes, wearin’ Humphrey Bogart pinstripes, hat on the decline, and polished shoes you could see yer face in. That is until they got out of their car and stepped in fresh cow turds and an array of other barnyard muckle before reachin’ our porch. It was a hot day. The muckle stuck to their brogues and britches. Said it was for the safety of the families that the stills and moonshine operations needed to be shut down. ‘Humpt’ Ma said. ‘We think your husband is involved and you don’t want to be an accessory’. ‘Whoa’ Ma said puttin’ up her hand to halt the conversatin. Pausing she then asked, ‘you boys serve in the war to end all wars’? ‘Well, actually we did not, uh ma’am’. ‘Where ya from? Yer accent’ Mom said twirling her hand. ‘Ah, Boston and New York’ they answered not sure where this jawin’ was a goin’. ‘Ever been to the backwoods of Arkansas afore’? she asked as she worked this conversatin. Shaking their heads no she then asked, ‘How fir can ya see through those closest trees’ pointin’ to the nearby woods. ‘Ah, not far….ma’am’ they answered. ‘Be easy to git lost wouldn’t it’? noddin’ yes. ‘Lost and never found’ as she bored into their eyes. ‘I hear their cries at night’ Ma said with a hauntin’ far off look in her face, ‘their screams carried by the wind’. ‘Whose screams ma’am’? ‘Poltergeist. Ghostly ghouls. The disembodied spirits of them who went into the forest, but cain’t never cum out’.

Now I knowed that Ma was spreadin’ it so thick you’id hafta to turn that peanut butter samich upside down to keep it from stickin’. It was awl pure hokum and hawg swill. Still, I stood with my jaw unhinged and my eyes a buggin’. Added to the authenticity I suppose. Now these two green as grass, faces smooth as a baby’s ass, buffalo biscuit tin soldiers was gittin’ mighty fidgety. Noticed they was a workin’ the brim of their hats held with both of their hands mighty hard. ‘If yer so concerned about our welfare’ Ma said, ‘come pull up sum dirt and sit on the earth that fashions our floor. I’ll feed you sum gruel leftover from breakfast, just be sure to pick out the we-evils that infest the grain. I’d offer coffee but what’s left is a little old, comin’ from well water behind the outhouse. Now you be careful walkin’ in the high grass and in the woods. Thars lots of no seeum’s, pisonous snakes, and critters of the forest. They all bite’. Then an artic cold look froze Mama’s face. ‘You want my husband? Go find him. Ain’t much of him left after yer damn war’! We’ll have sumone from town cum out and git yer car.

‘Now git out’ I seethed grabbing the twelve gage sittin’ close by as Max our German Shepherd hummed a guttural growl. ‘This is Arkansas you bastards’ I yelled. ‘Don’t ever show yer asses here again’. Runnin’ to their car with Max nippin’ at their nates, I noticed the dark stain creeping up the back of their trousers. Lookin’ at Ma we both grinned. ‘That felt good’!

Two days past since Pa left last, and Ma was mighty fretful. ‘Sumthins’ wrong’ she said. I felt it too. Now Ma surely loved Pa, and Pa surely loved Ma. Us kids, me Julia age twelve, Sammy age eight, and Carli Joe all of three, basked in the radiance of their love feelin’ safe, secure, and surrounded. Mid afternoon our neighbor, the man of the mountain we called Preacher rolled up with a wagon. Gettin’ down with a Christmas ain’t a comin’, yer dog just died, eye saggin’ sad look, he motioned for Ma to come. ‘Wait here kids’ she spoke, and tentatively made her way to Preacher and the wagon. ‘Found him’, Preacher said, ‘not a quarter mile out lying face down on the ground. Thinkin’ his heart gave out’. Handin’ her a small linen bag he said, ‘This is fer you. It was his last sacrifice’. Ma began to fold as Preacher grabbed her and held her tight. He then motioned for us kids and we came a runnin’ huggin’ on Ma. ‘I got a shovel’ he said. ‘Best be buryin’ the dead’.

He had wrapped Pa in a blanket allowing us to look on his face one more time. He looked strangely peaceful, and that brought comfort. Preacher then lowered him carefully into the grave as we all sought a refuge for our tears. ‘Oh Pa’, I spoke, ‘why did you have to go. I know you gave us your best. It’s just that we love you so’. After brief words from the others, Preacher prayed and we all had our turn throwin’ dirt on the dead. Didn’t like that much. Nope, not at all.

As preacher was leavin’, he turned to me and said, ‘I’ll see ya in the forest. Then pointing in the direction he wanted me to go, he said, ‘it’s not far, over by the lake’. Puzzled I thought. I ain’t never seen a lake over thar before. Two days later as I was accustomed I went walkin’ in the forest, this time in the direction Preacher had pointed. I was never afraid. Me and the critters had us a truce. Sorta mutual respect you see. I then came upon a scene I cain’t explain. First, thar was this beautiful lake nestled agin a sheer rock granite face sittin’ in a daypression with beautiful clear watta. I sat back in the trees and pondered. This was never here afore. Then as I watched, Preacher came to the edge of the lake dressed in a linen gown down to his knees. He looked up like he was starin’ at someone on the lake and then praceeded to walk on the top of the watta before diving below the surface. After a cupple of minutes I began to surely fret fer his safety. Musta past fifteen minutes when he startled me poppin’ to the surface and this time swimmin’ the short distance to shore. Seemin’ ta look straight at me hidden from view, he placed a small pouch in the cleft of a rock. Motionin’ fer me to come down and get it he disappeared into the forest. Waitin’ a bit, I walked down and retrieved a pouch. Lookin’ inside I found twenty gold coins. My eyes struggled to stay in my head as I turned excitedly and began the walk home. Glancing over my shoulder thar was no lake. Just the granite face and a bowl shaped area between two hills. Jaw slacked with a cow stupid look, I ran the rest of the way home.

Ma was a sittin’ the porch when I came runnin’ up callin’ her name. ‘What is it child’ she asked’? I handed her the pouch with a big grin, as she looked at me curiously. Opening it she gasped and then emptied the pouch into her hand. Lifting her head she looked into my face. ‘They’s jest like the two I found in Pa’s pouch after he died. All he ever brought home afore was sum silver coin. I still got em, not knowin’ what to think. ‘How did you come by em’ she asked? I then told her the curious story about Preacher and the lake that I called Lost Lake on account of it disappearin’.

The next day we dressed our best, hitched Henry to the wagon and rode to town and the banker, Hooter. Had a last name it took longer to read than it did to forget. So Hooter it was. We was parked on a side street and hitched Henry to a rail. Ma got down and then reached in her purse and handed each of us a dime. You cannot know our shock and astonishment. We jest stood thar starin’ at the dime in our hands. You kids go over to Clarence’s and get yerself a treat. Ice cream, sarsasparilli, or candy. Be sure and spend every penny. You chillin’s certainly deserve it. ‘Are you sure Ma’ I asked? ‘A whole dime’! Pattin’ her purse she said, ‘I’ve got a good feelin’ about this. ‘Now you youngin’s go and find a seat in front of Clarence’s until I return. I’ve got sum business to do’.

Ma was escorted into Hooter’s domain where he offered sincere condolences. Harley, our Pa, was a life long friend. Before gittin’ down to the business at hand Hooter reminded her of the moratorium on taxes. Still owed them but payment was delayed cause folks jest couldn’t pay, due to the war, prohibition, and soon the great depression. Hill folks were so poor they were almost down to eatin’ corral-crackers, stayin’ jest above snakes. ‘It ain’t about that Hooter’ Ma spoke, ‘it’s about this, slippin’ a gold coin across the desk. ‘Ya shoulda seen his eyes and his startled expression’ Ma said afterwards. ‘Where did you get this Esther’? he asked his curiosity peaked. Ma was prepared to be evasive. ‘From an old friend hearin’ about Harley’s passin’. ‘This has sum very unique marking’s’, Hooter said, ‘never seen the like’. ‘It sure as the look, weight, and feel of gold’, as he held the coin to his mouth and bit down. ‘Yep’. ‘We need to get this assayed. Jacolby over at the drugstore can do that in his back room. Come back tomorrow about noon for the results’. ‘I’ll take it over personally so you remain anonymous’ Hooter said. ‘Thankyou. I’ll see ya tomarrie’ Ma said, turned and walked away.

Next day after chores we hitched Henry once again. He didn’t seem to mind. He was an agreeable mule, not like his other kind. Of course he enjoyed a little lovin’, a carrot. and maybe an Arkansas Black. Before leavin’ Ma spent a little xtra time over a talkin’ to Pa. Walkin’ back she had a smile on her face. It was surely good to see. Arrivin’ to town Ma handed us each a nickel this time. ‘Get somethin’ to suck on and sit the bench. I’ll be back in a bit, hopefully with a surprise’.

Sittin’ with Hooter his whole face smiled. ‘That coin is 999.9% pure gold. Don’t go no better. The bank’s standard conversion fee is three percent and the assay fee was two dollars. With gold priced at $20.67 that’s $18.05 for you. How would you like’ stopping midsentence when Ma emptied a pouch with 21 additional gold coins. ‘Oh my’ Hooter said, with his hand to his mouth. It was then Ma leaned in with ice in her eyes. ‘You be signing an agreement of confidentiality. Don’t want no one to come a courtin’ the grieving widow or slinkin’ around like kye-yo-tees lookin’ fer chicken dinner’. ‘Of course’ Hooter said, ‘we pride ourselves in maintaining the absolute privacy of our customers’. ‘Not to Mildred neither’. ‘Yes, yes’ Hooter replied.

Ma paid off all the back taxes and brought the mortgage up to date. Keepin’ back $40 she left the remainder in the bank. Gettin’ up she spoke, shakin’ Hooters outstretched hand, ‘thar’s more a comin’, as Hooter rushed to open the door and thank her profusely for her business. Walkin’ to the children her mornin’ smile remained. ‘Ready fer yer surprise? ‘Oh yes’ we said in a chorus. ‘Well come on then, I’m takin’ us for dinner at Bobby Sues’. We all started jumpin’ up and down talkin’ excitedly the whole two blocks to the restaurant. Oh what fun. None of us kids had ever ett there afore. It was derlicious.

Arriving home Ma sat the porch that evenin’ and confided in me what she had done. ‘Take’s a big burden off. Pa would be so happy’. In the days to come I found myself drawn to the Lake. If thar was water I would sit quietly by and wait for Preacher. He always seemed to be expectin’ me. And evertime he handed me a pouch of gold coins. ‘Soon Golden Hair, the name he called me, I will share my secrets.

Our trips to town were more frequent. Ma told the younger children not to ever talk about our doin’s. If asked she said, jest shrug and tell them to talk to Ma. It ain’t possible, especially in a small town for folks not to do sum tongue waggin’ jest a wonderin’ about our new found wealth. After a while one day she said ‘what the ‘H’ walked into Clarence’s and totally outfitted us kids with new clothes, shoes, personals and anything we desired. Even bought new clothes fer herself. This was all done with a smile as big as the sun, matched by the delighted expression on Clarence’s face. Paying customers, fresh baked bread, and catfish fer dinner. Life was good! Ma always made the trip complete with a visit to Bobby Sues.

By the end of Summer we was debt free, with money in the bank, and the house rentovated includin’ runnin’ water. Now I ain’t talkin’ about the roof leakin’. They’s an indoor privy, bath and sink water, smooth wood floors instead of dirt, real beds, and an addition jest for me. At Ma’s insistence I opened an account of my own with almost $2,000. ‘This was all possible because of you girl’ she said. Soon there after one day as I walked to the lake I heard angry loud voices. Hiding I saw three men jest a cussin’ and throwin’ a frenzy, thar empty glass jars of snake head smashed against some rocks. ‘What the Hell’, one of em said. ‘Thar ain’t no lake, no gold, no nothin’. Nobody’s been here in a thousand years. It’s total bull crap’. Arguin’ and angry they walked away, never to come back again. Lookin’ ahead through the trees I caught a glimpse of the shimmering blue crystal clear waters of Lost Lake. This time Preacher sat and talked with me at length.

‘Thar are many mysteries hidden in the earth. Folks walk atop of them without ever knowin’. Thar is a labyrinth of passages, often inner connectin’. Thar’s whole civilizations dwelling underground with thar own suns. Jest like above the earth, thar are places of darkness and light beneath the earth. And there are riches to help alleviate the sufferin’ of simple folk like those here in the hills. Yer daddy certainly got the attention of heaven. Badly wounded in no man’s land he scratched and clawed his way back encouraging, touching, and prayin’ for others the whole way. It was you and yer Ma that brought him strength and consolation on his long journey of darkness of only 40 yards and four days. Never be angry that he sipped sum shine. His pain was so great, it helped him to endure so’s he could have just one more day with you’.

Now he had me a bawlin’. He patiently waited whiles I collected myself. ‘There are many secrets all about us’ he continued. ‘When the veil is parted we can get a gander of what lies behind the curtain of this world that blocks our view into other dimensions. Like the lake. Sometimes ya see it, sometimes ya don’t. Most never see it. But it’s always there’. Then holding up a gown he said, ‘this’ll work’. Pointing he said, ‘go change over thar. You’ll find towels so’s you can dry off after yer return. ‘I’m goin’ in the watta’? I said alarmed but excited. ‘I’ll be goin’ with ya. Ain’t nuttin’ to fear. You’ll see’.

Approachin’ the edge I Iooked up and fir the first time noticed the angel on the water. Motionin’ for us to cum we walked on the surface, the angel takin’ my hand and plungin’ beneath it’s calm veneer. It was a breathtakingly glorious world. I breathed freely just like I would in the open air. I could not imagine such brilliant color. Fish, plants, sediment like coral but without a sharp edge. I giggled as schools of fish swam around me in an orchestrated dance. I could hear them poppin’ and clickin’ with an occasional chortle so excited to share this moment with me. Preacher delighted in pointing out things I would enjoy to see. Oh the wonder of it all. Then the angel took my hand and we passed through a door into a room on dry ground. Once again my eyes had to adjust to the splendor. All around was pure gold. I was humbled to be in the presence of this magnificence bespeaking the nature of God. Unable to fathom what I was seeing the angel instructed me, holding a bag, to take all I wanted or needed. ‘There is no diminishing’ the Angel spoke, ‘only a constant replenishing’.

Arriving with Preacher to the surface and then the shore we walked to our private spots taking off our soaked garments and drying off with a luxuriant towel. Dressin’ we met back on a log and sat watching the lake. He noticed I was still clinging to the towel and looked smiling at the sparkle that surrounded my face and hair. ‘Take the towel’ he said. ‘There will always be a fresh one to replace it’. Holding the pouch by my side, he asked, ‘how much ya got girl’? ‘I really don’t know’ I said ‘I never counted. It feels kinda heavy though’. Lifting it he said, ‘close to ten pounds’, about 150 ounces I reckon. ‘What just happened’, I asked? ‘Your eyes were opened to see, when so many remain closed. Now you have a taste of what awaits’. ‘Come whenever you are called. You now have gained access to a world that only a few know even exists. Gold in the fishes mouth, a few loafs to feed thousands. The blind see, the lepers leap, and the living receive their dead back again. This is the true world, not the man in no-mans land, not all the sickness and sorrow, and not the dirt poor, without hope, hearing their babies cry goin’ to bed hungry.

Standing and holding my hands he looked deeply into my eyes. ‘Yer goin’ ain’t ya’ I spoke, as tears flooded my cheeks. ‘Well, yes Missy. I gots to mosey along. I have other work to do. But I will never be far away, and you will always be in my heart and on my mind’. Then I hugged him tight as he stroked my hair. Parting he smiled saying, ‘now go out and do good, girl with the golden hair’.

Walkin’ home with my new towel and pouch of gold I turned to look for Preacher again. There was no Preacher and there was no lake. But upon my next return, Lost Lake and the angel of the water would be there to greet me again.

Many times over the years I would take that walk in the forest, and evertime I would return with a token of God’s promise. Ma now had multiple sets of downy plush towels. They jest never seemed to wear out. It was time and we moved closer to a small town and built a home with an a adjacent mother-in-law apartment. She was as cozy as a family of four on a full size mattress, not includin’ the dog. We could not share are experience. Who would believe such fantasy and fairy tale? But we did share our good fortune with many. True to his word Hooter protected our confidentiality and suggested ways to hide our wealth from prying eyes. Multiple times he made us aware of needy folks and anonymous ways we could help.

Now that you know our story it’s not a secret anymore. And bein’ a woman of extinction and a grandma I have to constantly field questions regarding the color of my hair. It seems evertime I would go bathin’ in the crystal clear waters of Lost Lake my skin and hair looked vibrant and my tresses a little more golden yet. So at my age it ain’t sirprisin’ other women will rattle their hocks and look with baleful suspicion on the color of my hair. ‘For God’s sake she’s a grandma, not a blond bimbo. Well, maybe only her hair dresser knows; Clairol, Garnier, or Balayage. For sure she’s not tellin’. Says she never put coloring on her hair or had a face lift for that matter’. But then, in all fairness I didn’t share that I do have a secret. It’s the water. If known there would be a run on Olympia beer. The Artesians would be exhausted trying to satisfy the demand for the agua in Tumwater.

As for me ever night I do check my brush and comb for a gray hair. If I find one……I’ll never share.