This is a guest post by my friend Harvey Hughett. You can follow him on Facebook at Musing Appalachia
This story is about a man who lived in a holler close to Papaw’s place in the backwoods near Mohawk, East Tennessee. He was married to Miz Kitty. Everybody called him “Squint.” His real name was Commodore Ledbedder.
Squint was just a nickname, but he hated to be called Commodore because it was the same name as Commodore Hughett and he didn’t want to be confused with him. Commodore Hughett was known to git hog-nosed on Nathan Gulley’s moonshine ever so often and do things Squint didn’t approve of. Squint got his nickname from the funny way he held his eyes when he was about to get upset with somebody. He’d squint his eyes a certain way, and when he did that you knew you’d better get your butt out of his way. He got his left eye messed up when his first wife shot him in the face for messin’ around. She left him for another man, and Squint joined the army, went to World War II, and fought in France against the Krauts.
He was a big man, about six foot tall, and had big arms and a gruff voice from when he once drank some really bad hootch. There was a time when he served some time in prison for killing a man, but they let him loose because he got a mean lawyer, and they couldn’t make the charge stick.
However, all that was behind Squint. He quit drinkin’, quit carousing, and got religion. However, he didn’t attend my Papaw’s church very often except when there were homecomings and lots of food and activities with the boys in the parking lot. I write in detail about that in my book, Musing Appalachia (You can buy it on Amazon.com. Just search Musing Appalachia by Harvey Hughett).
For the most part, Squint was a loner and made spending money by trapping muskrats in Bent Creek, digging ginseng roots and selling ’em to the hardware store in Morristown. He wasn’t getting rich, but he and Miz Kitty made out good. And he treated her like a queen. Whatever she wanted, he tried to get it for her. Miz Kitty was French by birth. Squint brought two things back with him from the war: a 1901 Springfield rifle and a young French bride.
Squint was descended from strong Scotch and Irish people, and they say, along with his size, that made him a good soldier. His hero was another Tennessean, Sargent Alvin York. You can read about Alvin in Volume One of my book too.
Squint wasn’t without his strange habits. Other than being a loner, he didn’t like anybody coming around his place in the holler or, especially, gittin’ near his woman, Miz Kitty. She was easy on the eyes and had a quaint accent that everybody liked. Her language wasn’t like what the flatlanders talked.
Mamaw used to trade eggs to Miz Kitty and she’d send me over there to deliver them. As a young boy, I was a little afraid but I did what I was supposed to. Papaw always warned me, “Be careful and don’t you make him mad. He killed a man onest.” The first time I saw Squint was when I was fishing on Lick Creek and ran into him. He was busy tending his trapline and I slipped away before he could see me. I went on fishing downstream.
A few days later, I was at Miz Kitty’s house delivering eggs and Squint was there. He squinted his eyes at me and said, “Boy, don’t you dare tell nobody where my traps is, you unnerstand?” I quickly replied, “Yes Sir. You bet, Sir. I ain’t gonna tell nobody.”
He squinted at me a little harder and then said, “Do you know they say that I killed a man? I answered, “Yes Sir.”
He said, “Well, that’s not all true. I wiped out a bunch in the war, and they tried to blame a killin’ on me after I got home. But the fact is, that man needed killin’. He was beatin’ his woman and kids.” Squint never admitted to killin’ his neighbor but people figured that since he was used to doing that kind of thing in the war, and suffered from shell shock in battle, he most likely did.
The facts are that he was a neighbor to the dead man and, being a loner and of a mean disposition, everybody suspected him of the murder. What got him in trouble was when they took him in for questioning and he said, “That scoundrel deserved ever thang he got!”
To clinch a solid confession out of Squint, the mountain sheriff did something that almost always got a man to fess up: he took him to the funeral home in Bulls Gap and left him alone in a room with the body for an hour. That usually unnerved superstitious mountain folk and they soon talked.
After an hour, Squint just said, “That man there is way better off dead than he was alive.”
Pretty sure that was almost a confession; the sheriff then threatened to leave him in the small room with the body all night, with the casket open and with no lights on. Squint, in his matter-of-fact way, just said, “I warn’t never skeered o that sorry bastard when he wuz alive and you can bet yore best coon dog, I shore in Hell ain’t now!” That pretty well sealed it and he was locked up until a smart lawyer got him off the hook.
I wonder if he squinted at the jury?
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The train that was going to Knoxville wouldn’t pass by for several hours, so Berthy wandered around the carnival, curious and sometimes repulsed by what she saw. She was uncomfortable because her daddy had told her that carnivals were Satan’s playhouse. She again saw girls wearing short shorts and was tempted to call them to repentance, but the last time she’d done that, there were severe repercussions that took three years out of her life. As she passed the hoochie-coochie tent, she clutched her crystal hard, put a hex on a dime, and gave it to the scantily dressed woman taking tickets. Berthy smiled.
The air was filled with music, laughter, and the tempting smells of carnival food. She was hungry and bought a hot dog with chili but no onions. She hated onions and was suspicious of people who ate them. Up in the mountains, her brothers ate wild ramps they’d find in the woods. They were ten times worse than onions.
She was starting to relax and enjoy the less sinful sights of the carnival. As she was finishing up the hot dog, an overconfident man who obviously thought himself to be God’s gift to women approached her and said, “Hey there, pretty lady. How about you and me take a stroll around the carnival?”
Berthy, cautious, said, “Excuse me? I don’t think so, Mister.”
The man: “Aw, come on now. Don’t be like that. I bet we could have a real good time. I’ll pay for all the rides, food, and sideshows.”
Berthy: (firmly) “I said no. And I mean it. I don’t run around with men I don’t know.”
The man (reaching out and grabbing her arm) “Don’t be so uptight, sweetheart.”
Berthy: (swiftly) “That’s it! How many times do I have to say no?” Without thinking, she stabbed him in the eyes with her fingers, grabbed him by the neck, and knocked him to the ground. A swift and really hard kick to his crotch with her boot settled him down for the evening. Her brother, who’d been in the Army, taught her those tricks. He said the secret was to catch ‘em by surprise before they could react. He warned her that crotch kicks sometimes just enraged men and didn’t always work, so it was essential to have a Plan B. The man: (clutching his groin and groaning) “Hey, why did you do that?”
Berthy: (calmly) “For not taking no for an answer. Now, git outta here a’fore I put my other boot to yore noggin. Hit’s beggin’ for a rearranging, and I think I could move yore face to the backside of yore head. From now on, you remember to treat womenfolk with respect, and you’ll be fine.”
Having had enough of the carnival, Berthy started making her way back to the railroad tracks to wait for the next train. As she did so, she was stopped by a gypsy woman with a colorful scarf and piercing eyes. “Let me tell your fortune,” the gypsy asked, holding out her hand. Curious, Berthy hesitated and nodded OK.
The gypsy took her hand, traced her fingers across the palm, closed her eyes, and murmured softly. After a moment, she looked up, her expression serious. “You will change lives on your journey. Your cats will be safe during your absence from home. Do not be discouraged by the obstacles you face, for there will be many. A higher power guides your path, and you will have an important dream that will help guide you.” Bertha wasn’t impressed and discounted the fortune but was intrigued that the gypsy knew that she had cats.
Berthy thanked the gypsy and continued to the tracks, pondering the fortune. She found an isolated boxcar parked on a sidetrack and hopped in. It was empty, and she found herself alone. She was tired and lay down for a quick nap. She soon fell into a deep sleep and had a strange dream.
In the dream, she saw herself standing on a narrow path on a bank above a raging river. On the other side, she could see a bunch of houses and a church house, all with lights twinkling like stars. The people were laughing and appeared to be happy. She was attracted to the lights, but the river seemed impossible to cross. Between her and the river, there was a barbed wire fence. A lot of people were crawling through the fence, trying to get to the river. Many were getting cut by the barbs and bleeding. Others went on down to the water and tried swimming across. Many people made it across, but others were washed away in the current. Berthy was tempted to climb over the fence but backed off when she realized how wild the river was. And she was filled with doubt. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer that she’d be protected.
Then, the river’s water began to calm, parting to reveal a narrow path of steppingstones. Filled with wonder, Berthy climbed the fence and started walking across the river. As she did so, several monsters jumped from the water and attempted to knock her off the rocks she was on, but she was able to fight them off. When she recognized that people who had reached the other side were not really happy and were scantily dressed and making lewd gestures, she turned around and climbed back up to the path. On the path were angels, and she followed them to a beautiful home where people welcomed her warmly and offered her food and shelter.
Berthy awoke from the dream with a start, the images still vivid in her mind. She felt that she had been forewarned that her journey to Chattanooga would be filled with temptations and challenges, but she felt a renewed sense of purpose and confidence. And she was determined not to wander from the path. She would be protected as long as she had faith and determination. … The train from Morristown to Knoxville was on schedule. She easily found the track it was on, leaped aboard, and found herself in a boxcar by herself. When she arrived in Knoxville, it was late. She jumped off, headed to an area where some empty boxcars were parked on a sidetrack, and climbed into one. The train to Chattanooga didn’t leave until 5 a.m. the following morning, so she took the blanket from her backpack, set her alarm clock, and fell asleep in the corner.
Knoxville was a key stop on the Southern Railway network, serving both passenger and freight trains. She easily jumped onto a moving boxcar now that she was getting the hang of it. The train started with a noisy jerk and rattled into the night, its rhythmic clatter a soothing backdrop as Berthy rested in a corner of the boxcar. She had the space to herself, the cool night air drifting in through the open door. The events of the previous day played through her mind, from her unexpected reunion with Wanda to the gypsy’s cryptic fortune and the strange dream.
A figure swung into the boxcar as the train slowed down in a bend about twenty miles outside of Knoxville. The stranger moved with a quiet grace; his features obscured by the shadows. Berthy’s hand instinctively went to Hercules, ready to pull it out if needed.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing a tall man with high cheekbones, a neatly trimmed beard, and piercing blue eyes. He wore a black coat and carried a small, beat-up suitcase. He looked cunning and sinister, and Berthy was afraid.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice surprisingly smooth and deceptively calm. “Mind if I join you?”
Berthy eyed him warily but nodded. “Suit yourself. Just keep to yore side, and don’t you dare come near me. I don’t trust people I don’t know.”
The man smiled and settled down across from her. They rode in silence; the only sound was the steady clack of the train wheels. Finally, curiosity got the better of Berthy.
“Who are you, mister?” she asked.
“Call me Lucian,” he replied. “And you must be Berthy. I’ve heard about you.”
Berthy’s eyes narrowed. “Heard about me? From who?”
Lucian chuckled softly. “Word travels fast among those of us who run the rails. I was behind you at the carnival when you bought a hot dog. Where are you going? What’s your story?”
Berthy responded, “I’m going someplace interesting, and it’s none of your business. “And Stories are for friends. And we ain’t friends.”
Elias: “Fair enough. But you might want to watch your back. Not everyone you meet is as friendly as I am. I can take care of you.” There was a coldness in his voice that hinted at a darker nature. He was twirling a silver ring on his finger.
Berthy: “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the warning. But I can handle myself.”
Stranger: “We’ll see about that. Why don’t you share that blanket with me? If we sit close, there’s enough room for two, and we can stay warmer.”
Berthy remained cautious and guarded, thinking the man resembled someone she’d seen across the riverbank in the dream. The stranger continued talking, trying to probe and gain her trust. She was on high alert, and her instinct was to think quickly and stay one step ahead of what the stranger might try. As he stood up and started coming toward her, Berthy said, “Mister, stay where you’re at.”
Lucian acted like he didn’t hear and continued toward Berthy. As he reached his hands forward, she sensed that he was going to grab her, and she said, “I think it’s time for you to git off this train.” Then, she surprised him by leaping up, screaming in his face, and pushed him towards the open door of the moving train. He lost his balance, flailed his arms, and tried to grab onto something, but it was too late. He tumbled out, his face a mix of shock and anger. He hit the gravel by the side of the track and rolled…and the train continued speeding into the night. She threw his suitcase out the door and took a deep breath, knowing she had made the right decision to protect herself. The night got quiet again, but she remained vigilant, aware that danger could be anywhere.
She tried to go to sleep, but she couldn’t shake the look on the stranger’s face as he fell into the darkness. She wondered if he’d been hurt in the fall. She worried that he might still be able to find her somehow and harm her, but after a while, the rhythmic clatter of the train tracks soothed her nerves, and she dozed off. As the train neared the next stop, Berthy jumped off the train before the trainyard in case railroad bulls were inspecting the boxcars. Her eyes darted around, scrutinizing every angle. She kept her back to the wall, ensuring no one could sneak up on her. She wondered if the stranger might have gotten back on the train and could be looking for her. On high alert, she told herself, “Stay calm. Just keep moving.” Nothing happened, and the coast was clear. As the train started to move again, she hopped back into the boxcar. From that time forward, Berthy’s hyper-vigilance becomes a constant companion, a survival tool. She would trust no one and rely on her instincts to navigate the dangers lurking around every corner. The uncertainty of the stranger’s fate haunted her, but it also sharpened her resolve to stay one step ahead of all strangers. And react quickly before they could get near her. It was her or them.
Her hyper-vigilance and distance made her a solitary figure, driven by the need to not be caught by surprise. Yet, deep down, the loneliness gnawed at her, a silent reminder of the price one pays for their safety.
As the train continued, Berthy felt a renewed sense of purpose. Her vision might sometimes lead her astray, but with her instincts and Hercules, she could navigate whatever challenges lay ahead. God was protecting her. …… I hope you’ll follow and share my stories with your friends and follow me on Facebook. I have plenty more stories from the same place this one came from. I also have books for sale on Amazon (MUSING APPALACHIA BY HARVEY HUGHETT) I may have written other stories on a different topic that may interest you. If so, let me know and I’ll see what I can come up with but don’t ask how I know about hopping trains :)
It had been a hard winter, and cabin fever was starting to set in for Aint Berthy. It was weeks before the garden needed to be planted. And the chirping of the birds was so loud that it was starting to drive her crazy. Mockingbirds were the worst with their never-ending attempts to one-up the other birds. She was ripe for another road trip, but not on a bus this time. She had enough of bus stations.
She cut down trees, chopped her own firewood, and walked everywhere. She was in top physical shape. It was while walking to Bulls Gap to trade some free-range eggs for sugar that she stopped in the road to let a copperhead snake slither out of harm’s way and into the ditch. She liked snakes and didn’t bother them. She even had a five-year-old copperhead living under her back porch steps, and they never bothered each other. She named it Clyde after Sherriff Clyde Snowden over at Morristown because he’d once backed out on his word to her about getting rid of some prostitutes who’d moved into a house down the road from her and were attempting to set up shop. In the end, Berthy had to fix that problem herself. After that, she didn’t have much use for cops.
As she stopped to let “Clyde’s friend” pass, she happened to glance up and saw a barn with a sign painted on the roof that said, “SEE ROCK CITY.” She took that for a message of some kind. Berthy strongly believed in signs and omens. She’d never seen Rock City, but the snake and sign on the barn probably weren’t coincidences. She paused and pondered the possible meaning of what she’d just witnessed.
It was at that precise moment she remembered that Old Lady Gooch, who used to live up the road, still owed her some money from eight years ago. She’d moved to Chattanooga and lived near Rock City (Lookout Mountain). So, that was it! She was destined to go to Chattanooga and collect on the debt while experiencing new scenery and meeting interesting people!
While in Bulls Gap, she picked up a train schedule at the depot, went across the street to Gilley’s Hotel, and bought an ice cream cone. She loved to eat ice cream and watch the trains come through. She’d imagine what the lives of the passengers arriving and departing might be like. She loved traveling and dreamed about taking a trip by rail herself someday. As she sat on a bench and studied the train destinations and fares, she noticed that a ticket to and from Chattanooga cost $28.65. She was appalled at the ridiculously high price.
As she was leaving town, she met a hobo and walked with him for a bit. She asked him about hopping trains and getting free rides. He explained that freighthopping was dangerous and illegal, but he did it all the time and had traveled as far as San Francisco several times in a boxcar. He stressed safety, timing, and location. He told her to avoid busy areas where there were bulls (rail guards) and heavy security and to look for unguarded spots where the trains had to slow down or stop. He described a curve just before Whitesburg where trains slowed to less than 5 MPH and, if one were lucky, he (or she!) could just throw their bag into the boxcar and hop on for a free ride to the next stop.
He advised her to choose an enclosed boxcar so she could hide and stay out of bad weather. He also told her how she could use an old rail spike to wedge the door partially open so she wouldn’t be locked inside. Once, he’d been locked in a week before someone heard him banging on the door and let him out. And he cautioned her to respect other travelers. He said that hobos just peed out the open doors. He remarked that he wasn’t sure how a woman would manage that but suggested that she respect the property and not mess it up because he might want to ride in that same train car someday.
During the next few weeks, Berthy practiced jumping onto the bed of a horse-drawn freight wagon in the back pasture until she could easily do it with a full pack.
She pre-loaded a WWII military surplus backpack she’d picked up at a thrift store with a change of clothes, a blanket, her bedside alarm clock (she didn’t own a watch), pokes for cornbread and venison jerky (a deer made a mistake and got in her garden), a bottle of Percy Medicine, and a few other odds and ends like her special crystal, potions, candles, matches, and…Hercules, her reliable travel companion. It was a small Harrington & Richardson snub nose revolver in the unusual .44 Bull Dog caliber. Not many stores carried ammo for the old gun, but Hasson-Bryan Hardware Store in Morristown had it. It had to have the headstamp of .44 B.D. and not .44 Magnum. But it blew a hole the same size. Berthy knew all this stuff and was a good shot.
She carried Hercules and her valuables in special pouches she’d sewed into secret pockets in her petticoat. That way, she always knew where they were. Concerning money, she devised a system of tying bills, coins, and jewelry into little pouches and attaching them to the petticoat with short pieces of string. For example, suppose she needed seven dollars and thirty-three cents to buy something. In that case, she’d excuse herself to a private place where she could lift her dress and extract a five-dollar bill from the pouch with that denomination and another small sack with other bills or coin sizes. In a way, she was a walking cash register. It was an excellent way to keep close track of her valuables and still get relatively quick access. She had a special pocket on the outside of her dress where she carried a small military-size Bible her husband had brought back from the Army.
When around her daughter, Nova, or her cute grandchild, Jan, she’d just whip up her dress and count out the money. She felt safe walking around with her treasures safely hidden in her dress. They served as a secure place to hide her precious belongings. Being a guy, she was discreet, so I never saw her lift her dress.
(to be continued)
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