One Golden Ray Upon the Rock

Copyright © 2005 by Josif Grezlovski

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Contents

Acknowledgements

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C H A P T E R 5

C H A P T E R 6

C H A P T E R 7

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 17

C H A P T E R 18

C H A P T E R 19

C H A P T E R 20

C H A P T E R 21

C H A P T E R 22

C H A P T E R 23

C H A P T E R 24

C H A P T E R 25

C H A P T E R 26

C H A P T E R 27

C H A P T E R 28

About the Author

Acknowledgements

My thanks and gratitude to my colleague and friend professor Marjorie Yake for her studious time and effort spent in editing the manuscript. To doctor Robert Hearn for his stories about Virginia and to Michael Hall whose timely corrections about Kentucky were sincerely appreciated. I am indebted to my (2004) 6th period AP Biology class for their input and suggestions about Allison’s fate. (Notice, I did not kill her).

Finally this book, with love, is dedicated to Ben, Janet and Vicky.

C H A P T E R 1

Luke on the Road

As soon as he climbed the hill overlooking his town, Luke Allen Chesterfield, immersed in heavy nostalgic thought, opened the door of his Chevy truck and cast his blood-shot eyes on the valley that was lying prostrate under the hills. There, in the middle of the mist-covered grayness, he saw the rooftops of his neighborhood piercing the autumnal evening calmness. He knew that this would be, perhaps, the last time he would have this chance to enjoy the scenery; which for so long had been a part of his youth, filled with adventures and happiness. Here, among the sweet-smelling, gold-crested flowers, and under the watchful eye of the yellow warbler and the ruby-throated Virginian hummingbird, he recalled the evenings spent with his sweetheart, Allison Rose Plunkett.

Oh, how beautiful it was, he thought, walking away from the truck and stepping nearer to the edge of the rock. Here, they would sit for hours until the evening sun setting behind the mountains in the west, left the valley covered with its golden hue and melted tapestry of colors. On his left, as the hills sharply ascended into the rugged mountains, he could see shadows creeping upward; while on the east side, to his right, the forest was dressed in a brilliant tinge of yellowish-brown—a collage of carpeted softness still absorbing the sun’s last golden rays. Straight in front of him, as if made by some divine creator to suit even the greatest skeptics, lay a softly sloping corridor of beauty. Allison, his sweet-beautiful girl, would be humming bluegrass ballads while the wind gently blew her burnt-chestnut hair into Luke’s face. He would not mind it at all—as a matter of fact—he loved it.

He would wait for a stronger gust of wind to uncover Allison’s well rounded shoulder, and he would lean down and kiss her . Her skin, tanned golden-brown, was as soft and smooth as silk. He could never have enough of her magnetic presence, and the time they spent together flew like geese heading south before the first grip of winter. She would look up, seeking the warm depth of his gentle glance, and with her lips as soft as the song she hummed, would seal her kiss on him. She felt secure in his arms, as if she was melting her softness and pouring it tenderly under his wide open shirt upon his muscular chest. There, glistening in the sun, hung the silver cross chain she had given him for his eighteenth birthday. Every touch and every kiss brought up waves of unrelenting, whimpering pleasure.

Oh, man, those were the good-old days, he said to himself with deep sadness, looking at the cross. All those wonderful evenings spent together waiting for the last of the sun’s rays to fall upon the rock, zoomed through his mind like lightning through lead-colored clouds. I will always remember the rock, she would say, with a voice bristling with loveliness and warmth, looking at the distant sun as it was gently sliding behind the mountain. I’ve got to catch the last golden ray upon the rock, she had said softly, and would gently put her head on Luke’s shoulder. In her beautiful hazel eyes he saw fire that burned with a controlled excitement and luminous contentment. She seemed like someone who had the master plan tailored all to herself, and she was in control. She was a talented musician—nobody could surpass her on the fiddle—smart as a whip and socially cultured, but most of all, she was a beautiful girl altogether. A gentle spirit radiated from her and a delightful warmth of pleasantness would fill the space wherever she went. With her presence, she unwittingly requested attention, and with her beauty she commanded respect. Having her beside him, Luke knew that he had struck gold, and that is precisely how he felt. Allison was the girl of his dreams.

God willing, he thought as he sought divine guidance. Engulfed by a numbing calm, he looked around himself as if he wanted to find reassuring thoughts among the trees that swayed under the cool evening breeze.

With His guidance, I will be back, Luke assured himself silently. Searching the silent, grief-covered crevasses of his tormented mind, he sensed an impetus to continue forward and believe in his plans. As he climbed into the truck, he noticed the handmade, ‘A-L’ inscribed, beaded leather strap beer-opener hanging from the front mirror. Allison had given it to him on his graduation from high school and again his soul was filled with warm images ofher familiar smiling face.

He stepped on the pedal and the screech pierced the calm mountain air, while dirt and rough gravel flew behind the wheels, spraying the yellow-brown leaves on the ground. From the depth of the forest, he could hear the cries of frightened birds whose pre-nightly quiet was suddenly disturbed, and through the open window, he felt the breath of the roadside grass covered with the evening dew. Behind him, he left a place that for so long represented a warm, hidden harbor of fervent and profound love, a place to which all of his beautiful memories were connected. He felt as if cold, mud-filled water was invading his lungs and depriving him of oxygen, and as if someone with a rust-incrusted razor blade had cut and removed the area where treasured mementoes were kept. Emotionally empty, he was left alone with no shelter in sight.

In a very short time, he left the calmness of the thickly wooded forest and found himself driving 65mph on highway 21 heading up the creek towards the Kentucky border. The motor was purring with a deep rumbling sound as the wind hissed past the cracked window on the passenger side.

I’ve got a long road ahead of me, he said to himself. With this thought, he opened the flood-gates to heavy, cumbersome feelings loaded with suffocating unpleasantness and expectations, so that he felt like a menacing storm of vast unknowns had descended into his cabin. Cold damp fear, like a wet woolen blanket, enclosed his soul and took over his mind. A profound silence permeated the inside of the truck. For a brief stretch of time he wrestled with an intruding, bleak sense of ineptness; while thoughts of desperation and fear, intertwined with a strong dose of guilt flooded his weakened mind to a point of total collapse. A gruesome sensation of cold fear rippled through his mind. The ideas that made sense and sounded promising until a very few minutes ago, now seemed grim, distant, and alien. What seemed achievable before, was strangely foreign and insurmountable now. He felt as if he had fallen into a dark abyss and huge precipitous walls prevented his escape. With every passing minute, he felt his strength leaving his body and it seemed there was nothing he could do to stop it. As if the evening air was filled with dense, toxic impurities, his lungs labored through the heavy sludge and he felt the need to loosen his collar.

I’ve got no other choice, he reassured himself, what awaits me is not a pleasant thing, but I must focus on what is ahead of me. J.T.Hall was right. It’s all gonna pass in no time.

He had his gaze fixed on the fast-approaching blacktop, and did not notice the truck to the left that pulled even with him. The distant sound of a compact burst of the horn brought him back. The driver was talking to him, and Luke rolled down the window.

Howdy, boy, he said.

Where’re you headed to?

Heading up the road to Detroit, said Luke, happy to have a conversation with a fellow trucker.

Oh, responded the older driver with his eyebrows raised.

Must be looking for a job eh?

As a matter of fact yes! said Luke, sounding less surprised than he was.

That’s good, that’s real good. I hope you find it, but listen up son, leaning closer to the window and holding to the door, the fatherly type farmer said, You’ve got a long road ahead of you, and if you aim not to stop to sleep somewhere, at least stop and get yourself some strong black coffee, will ‘ya?

Luke nodded his head approvingly.

You were driving between lanes, said the old man with a smile and almost apologetically.

Got’ ya, thanks, replied Luke and waved at him.

Instantly, he slowed down and tried to compose himself. As the old man sped ahead ofhim, Luke’s eyes caught a glimpse of the West Virginia license plates on the blue truck. Almost unexpectedly, he felt a warm sensation fill his heart and he found himself positively inspired. The old man looked familiar and neighborly, as if Luke knew him from someplace. His pleasant voice and fatherly advice was magical at the moment and reminded him of the things J.T. Hall used to say. It sounded like he knew why Luke was going to Detroit and what awaited him there. At least he felt reassured that this unpredictable journey might, after all, have a positive ending, and that things would eventually return to normal. Here, his thoughts returned to his lovely girl, Allison Rose Plunkett; whose gorgeous statuesque figure, lovely burnt-chestnut hair and disarming smile that shone like sunshine, engulfed him with a tranquil invigorating sensation. He knew that J.T. Hall would explain everything to her and that she would understand the situation. He wished he had done the explaining himself, but he also knew that the risks were too great ifhe stayed behind another day. What bothered him the most was the mess he put his father into; he knew that the Yeardleys would not remain quiet, and they would look for any excuse to exact some pain on his family. That much he was sure of, but he didn’t know to what extent the damage would be done. Jacob T. Yeardley got what he deserved, he said to himself. Luke did not regret any of it, and he would do it again if the situation called for it.

Who in his right mind would take such an insult? But, what is more important, why should one be forced to take such a verbal barrage of indignations? Feeling encouraged he did the right thing, he pressed forward.

A man has to defend the honor of his family, thought Luke, and one must stand up for what is right. What Jacob T. Yeardley did was wrong. He caused the trouble, and he is the one to blame and I am not going to feel bad about it. People knew that Luke was not the person to start a fight. He would have avoided it at any cost, but the shame and insults from Jacob were unbearably stinging and he had to fight. He felt sorry for his father, who was getting old and unable to tend to his farm like before, and that thought weighed heavily on his conscience. He knew that his father would miss his strength and dependability, but if things work out, he calculated, like with many other people who have gone to Detroit to work in the car factories, I will succeed and prosper, and in no time I will return back to Whitesville to help my dad.

He was hoping that J.T. Hall was right and that everything would calm down in no time. If only the damage is not that bad, he speculated, as if everything hinged on that sentence. He wanted to know how badly Jacob Yeardley was hurt. It was approaching midnight when, heading up the road for Detroit, Michigan, he passed Cincinnati on Hwy 75.

C H A P T E R 2

Plunketts

Sunday morning was winding down as James Earl Plunkett sipped tea on the circular porch ofhis house at 2731 Randolph Street in an affluent neighborhood ofWhitesville, West Virginia, when SheriffMalcolm Wayne Boone stopped his car in front of the house. His customary top of the morning, neighbor did not occur this time, as the sheriffheaded straight through the gate towards the porch. The expression on his round face indicated this was not to be a routine visit, as was his habit, but a serious matter to be addressed. He tipped his hat to Molly Sue Plunkett working in the garden and climbed the freshly cleaned steps to the porch. Molly gave him an approving look and continued minding her business, even though she was a bit too curious to know the nature of SheriffBoone’s visit with her husband. She knew not to poke her nose into her husband’s business, as she had been told, and yet Molly was more informed about this town’s affairs than her husband was willing to admit. After all, she had her women’s club at the church and there wasn’t the slightest happening in town that could pass by these women without their knowing about it. At times, it seemed that the women were running the show instead of their husbands, who, in turn, felt secure behind the veil of a woman’s exclusion pact policy. To them, it was enough to know who fought with whom, who threw the hardest punch, and who got knocked down, while the women had the fight dissected into the tiniest details, round by round. They not only knew who fought whom, they also knew why they fought, over what issue they fought, who said what to whom and who defended whose honor at the fight. They knew who lost the fight, how many teeth were lost, how much blood was spilled, and who mopped up after the fight.

Molly went into the house to bring the tray with bourbon as usual.

Morning J. P., said SheriffBoone as he sat on the chair pushed in front of him by James Earl Plunkett.

What’s the rush Malcolm? he gave the sheriff an inquisitive look, as he took the glass from Molly’s tray and poured the whiskey.

No, no, said Boone nervously shifting his hat with his short fat fingers.

I’m on duty, you know and I need... before he finished the sentence, James Earl pushed the overflowing glass towards him.

C’mon, it will calm your nerves, said J.P., as he pushed the glass even closer. The whiskey was about to spill over as Sheriff Malcolm grabbed the glass and the whiskey disappeared down his throat like water over dry desert sand. As his itty-bitty eyes swelled with redness and his eyebrows converged over the bridge of his wide, bell-pepper shaped nose, he held the glass with his chubby little fingers. Sheriff Malcolm, with a sound that hissed as it passed through his widely spaced yellowing teeth, said: I’ve got a few questions to ask young Ms Plunkett, he paused looking sheepishly at J. P., and almost humbly added: With your permission, J. P. of course.

What’s the matter? he asked nonchalantly.

It is about the feud that happened last night at J.T’s.

They were feuding at J.T’s?

Not at J.T’s but in the parking lot behind the place. You know, where young people hang out often.

I don’t think that she went out yesterday, as a matter of fact...hold on a second, said J. P. as he yelled out for his wife.

Molly Sue. Hey Molly, come over here for a second.

Wiping her hands with a towel, Molly came out on the porch looking a bit surprised.

More whiskey? she asked.

No, no we’ve got whiskey all right, but didn’t you and Allison go to a church meeting yesterday evening?

Yes we did, dear. What seems to be the matter?

Oh, nothing at all, I wanted to know if you went to the meeting, that’s all.

Hmm, with a palpable relief and an adoring smile on her face she added:

For a moment you had me worried J. P., as if something was really wrong. Turning her attention to Sheriff Boone, she asked: Is everything all right at home sheriff? Is Clara Bell ok?

Just fine, Molly just fine, thanks, responded the sheriff hurriedly.

Make sure you give her my love, said Molly, closing the screen door behind her.

Sure thing, yes for sure looking at the door as ifhe wanted to make sure that the door was properly shut so the conversation with J. P. could continue in secret, forgetting that the screen did not prevent the sound from being carried inside the house. Nevertheless, satisfied with the ongoing situation, he leaned closer to J .P. and almost in a whisper said:

It was a terrible feud that took place last night and I am afraid things are getting pretty nasty. Bacon T.Yeardley is furious and he’s threatening to sue the hell out of the Chesterfields for the injuries his son Jacob sustained.

You mean Luke Allen Chesterfield fought with Jacob?

Yes, Jacob and his buddies were attacked by Luke.

"Wait a minute Wayne, didn’t