EPILOGUE

Lawyer Stern’s predictions came true. Folks were all over looking for land to build new houses. A real estate man visited me one morning and offered ten thousand dollars an acre for the farm. I could sell forty of the fifty acres; that much money should do me nicely for the future, so I decided to take it. Mr. Stern separated the deed and put the house and ten acres of land in Clemmy Stroud’s name. She cried when I carried her the title. “Clemmy, you don’t ever have to be beholden to anybody again.” It would never repay what I had done to her child, but it was something. A week later, Clemmy told Mr. Wilson to look after his own wife, and I helped her move in. We shared the house, some of the best days I ever spent; I could almost feel Grandma smiling. It felt good knowing Clemmy would be living so close to Lightning. Maybe his spirit would know she was there.

Fancy and I continued to exchange letters on and off over the next few years until the spring of 1974, when I received a large envelope from her. Inside were a big picture and a short note. The picture showed Fancy dressed in a long white gown, flowers in her hair, her face as beautiful as I could ever have imagined, and on the back she wrote: “To Junebug: On clear nights I still watch the sky.” The note said she had met someone and was getting married. I was happy for her, but have to admit it hurt a fair amount. The hardest thing to miss is love, and I missed it mighty bad.

The flashbacks still troubled me from time to time, so one day I piled Grady in the truck and decided we’d drive out to Texas, see if Snake had any of that cold beer he talked about. He had plenty, and we spent a couple of weeks reminiscing about our time in hell. He always did have a way of helping keep my head straight.

When we got back home, Grady and me bought a little cabin deep in the high mountains of North Carolina near the Cherokee Reservation. My ghosts will still come occasionally and I invite them in, but they never stay very long. I’ve been down that road of ruts and low shoulders, and know this is where I need to be. I feel safe here.

The only thing I kept from the old house was the cigar box. I pull it out once in a while, roll Grady’s collar in my hand, stare at Momma’s gum wrapper necklace, squeeze the little braided bracelet I never did give to Snake, and clean Grandma’s gold-rimmed glasses.

Sometimes folks camping along the Appalachian Trail will tell the forest rangers about seeing a dog sitting in the darkness and watching. They all swear there is a shadow of a man with him, but they can never be sure.