The Sixth William

© 2012 John Neely Davis. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   2/16/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4030-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4029-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4028-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011917431

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Anchorage 1986

Juno 1981

Memphis 1956

Juno 1981

Anchorage 1984

Anchorage 1986

In Flight 1986

The Findhorn River 1956

Cedergren 1986

The Findhorn 1956

Cedergren 1986

Red Hawk Valley

Cedergren

The Beginning of the End

The Escape

Christian Springs 1996

Infinity

Dedication

For Jayne, the woman whom I loved even before she was born.

Acknowledgements

The gestation period of a human is nine months, a whale more than a year, and an elephant just under two years. Conceived in the spring warmth of southern Arizona and after a gestation period of five years, The Sixth William was born on a winter night in Tennessee. A number of people acted as midwives, and I will be grateful to them forever. Jerry and Gayle Henderson cheerfully offered their eagle-eyed grammatical and syntax skills, and I still managed to scatter errors throughout the book. My sister Karen loaned her considerable business acumen and gave me access to professionals in the literary world. My family and friends gently prodded.

Behind, they say, every good man is a good woman. My wife Jayne read and reread dozens of drafts, pointed out errors, frequently disagreed with my rambling mind but always laughed and cried in the appropriate places – time and time again.

Anchorage 1986

The Prospector was cool and dark, with only a couple of regular customers and Willie, the bartender, watching the flickering TV. I sat down, and when Willie didn’t turn, growled in my best Humphrey Bogart voice, What does a poor, thirsty brush pilot have to do to get some service around this dirty joint? Willie turned, held an index finger across his lips and pointed to the TV.

The picture was a mountain stream contained by high bluffs. A tanned newscaster decked out in a yellow polo shirt pointed at an outcrop on the cliff about a hundred feet up from the riverbed.

… and it was at this point where, late yesterday afternoon, three kayakers paddling down the Findhorn River discovered the body. Sheriff Roy Ruby Fox said the dead man had been identified, and the identity will be made public after the next of kin is notified. The body was taken into Cedergren. The cause of death has not yet been determined. Sources tell us the dead man may have been scalped. He wore an amulet of plaited leather and willow bark which we understand contained a small gold figure that resembled a bird in flight.

The cute, young woman sitting at the anchor desk was wide-eyed. Jeff, isn’t this the same area where another body was found earlier this year?

Yes, Jackie, it is the same area, and that man was wearing a similar amulet. The camera panned away from the reporter and showed churning rapids. The cause of that death is still being investigated also. One other fact adds to the mystery. Reportedly, an ancient stone fort is atop the escarpment very near where the dead men were found. The fort may have no significance but it does thicken the mystery.

An aerial photograph of a wooded plateau almost surrounded by a river flashed briefly on the screen.

You can see the isolation of the area from the photograph. The Roman Company owns this plateau as well as thousands of acres of woodland in this mountainous part of Tennessee. Locals have named the area The Arn because the plateau is shaped like an old fashion iron – the kind used by rural people before they got electricity.

Thank you, Jeff, for that report. She grinned, By the way, do you plan to spend the night along the river?

Jeff removed his sunglasses, Are you kidding me? He smiled and said, "This is Jeff Boozer in the Findhorn River canyon near Cedergren, Tennessee.

Willie slid a mug of beer to me. Well, hillbilly boy, ain’t you from there? Ain’t I heard you talk about the Arn, Roman Company, Cedergren, and the Findhorn River?

Son of a bitch, I muttered. No contact, nothing for more than half of my life. I am thousands of miles and thirty years away, and damned if it’s not as if it was yesterday, the river, the purple mountains, and the Arn – always the Arn.

I looked down at my frosted beer mug and watched the ice loosen and slide onto the wooden bar top, leaving an irregular wetness. Like images on film, the past started to loop through my mind. I had no more control of my thoughts than the blood coursing through my veins.

*****

Like many Alaskans, I am not a native. We folks that chose to move here are a mixed group. Some came here simply for the adventure, others seeking a different life style, and others running from their own personal demons; I was one of the latter.

Had I been smarter, I would have known that you can’t hide forever and eventually your demons will find you. Or you might become a demon yourself.

Juno 1981

I’d come up here with Ken Bishop and his family. He moved up through the bureaucracy of the Forest Service and became a big shot there at the end. He towed me like a trailer through the ranks of the Service and across the western half of the Lower-48. At some point, the employee-employer relationship changed to that of a family member. I never called Mrs. Bishop, Mama, but I would have been comfortable using those words. The Bishops only had one child, Josh. I was seventeen years older than Josh and he was the brother I never had. I taught him how to fish, canoe, hunt, and run trap lines. If folks didn’t know different, they usually thought we were blood related.

Mr. Bishop constantly encouraged me to enroll in college. You don’t have to get a degree, just take some courses – English, history, economics, some math – I don’t want you to walk around sounding ignorant all your life. You might have to apply for a real job someday. He usually laughed when he said that.

Living in Alaska was not always easy. Sadness invaded my long nights. Nightmares were frequent overnight guest. Sometimes alcohol helped, sometimes it didn’t, and when it didn’t they could turn real nasty.

Melancholia, the doctor said. It’ll go away when spring comes. Probably I was not the first patient he misdiagnosed.

I had a few girlfriends. The ones I wanted to marry didn’t want to marry me. The ones that wanted to marry me, I wouldn’t have. One wanted to move in. See how it works, she said. But I thought of Mrs. Bishop and knew she would disapprove.

I watched Mr. and Mrs. Bishop age. Gray crept into their hair, and wrinkles grew around their eyes. Age is not selective. As the Bishop family grew older, so did I and developed my own wrinkles and expanded waistline.

Twenty-five years after I first met Mr. Bishop, he called me into his office. He was riffling through papers on his desk, dropping some in a briefcase and others in a wastepaper can. He looked up. Without enthusiasm, he said, I wanted you to be the first to know. I’m hanging it up. I’ve worked 35 years for this outfit, and it’s not the same as it was when I came. It’s being run by a bunch of political dumb asses, folks that don’t know a bitter weed from a pine tree. I have accomplished more than I ever thought I would, and old friend you have been a great part of my success. You’ve been like a son, never disappointed me, never let me down, ever.

I stood at the window, looked out at the tall fir trees nodding in the wind, and did my best to keep my voice from breaking. What are you going to do?

We’re going to move down to Florida. I’m going to sit in the sun and enjoy being an old man. Try to put some polish on this life, you might say. Josh has accepted a job in Atlanta, just about a day’s drive from where we’ll be living. By the time I get my fill of sunshine and the ocean, I hope to spend some time rocking grandbabies. Hopefully, Josh and his new wife will get in gear on this baby business.

Mr. Bishop started taking pictures off the wall. He handed me a black and white photograph of men unloading a bulldozer. I want you to have this one. I want you to remember how young I looked once upon a time. Look at the young man sitting on the dozer. See how skinny he is? Look at how he’s reaching for the throttle. That’s you. I’ve never known you to do anything but reach for the throttle your whole life, always moving forward. We’ve both changed. A lot of water has run under our bridges.

I couldn’t look at his face.

He put his arm around my shoulder. I want to tell you about a book I’ve been reading. A chapter that tells about a young man that kinda got on the outs with his daddy. The young man left home and after awhile, when he’d sown his wild oats, he wanted to go back and be with his family. He was worried about how they’d take to him. His daddy saw him coming and ran to meet him. They had a big celebration. I haven’t finished the whole book, but I think they’re going to live happy ever after.

I nodded, Yes sir. I know that story.

Creight, I may be an old man but I didn’t ride into town on the last wagon load of turnips. Years ago, when we were living in Colorado, a Tennessee sheriff and a detective came by questioning me about a young man. Said the man’s name was William Creighton Roane.

William Creighton Roane?

Memphis 1956

Filled with a mixture of hurt and misery, I turned west out of Cedergren. I had no idea where I was going and I didn’t care. I was just going.

I drove through the darkness and stopped at daylight in a patch of woods near a creek where I made coffee, eggs and toast on a Coleman stove. Without even thinking about sleep, I got back on the road and pointed the nose of my wreck of a pickup toward Memphis. I had never been there, but I knew it was a big town. I could get some kind of job – I hoped.

I crossed the Cumberland River at Nashville and wondered if the Mississippi was bigger. Later crossing the Duck and the Buffalo Rivers, I thought their sluggish and muddy waters were ugly compared to the rapid and clear Findhorn. The Tennessee River was much larger than the Cumberland, and I decided the rivers got bigger the further west.

Darkness approached and an hour east of Memphis I ran into a tremendous downpour - my homefolks would have said it was raining bullfrogs and bull yearlings. Muddy water had filled the ditches and then overflowed and covered the highway. Traffic slowed to a crawl as the cars inched carefully forward through the driving rainstorm.

Ahead, the taillights of a car blinked rapidly. The car veered to the right and swerved onto the shoulder of the road. In almost slow motion, the car tilted over into the rain-swollen ditch. It floated on its side for a few seconds, rolled over onto its top, and then was swept away.

Ahead, the ditch emptied into a small river. Spinning wildly as it reached the swifter flowing water, the car came to rest against a bridge.

I stopped, jumped out, and ran to the bridge. Two men wearing raincoats were leaning over the metal banister of the rusty bridge looking down at the car.

I yelled to them through the driving rain, There’s somebody in that car!

Brush and other debris washed against the car on the upstream side. With enough buildup, the car would either sink or roll over and wash under the bridge.

I shouted at the men again. A reply came back through the rain, We can’t swim.

I struggled down the limestone riprap to the edge of the river and crawled out onto a drift of debris. The car was filling with water. A woman clawed against the driver’s side window, her face twisted in panic and terror. I kicked the window with my heavy lumberman’s boots and it gave way in large pieces. I reached inside, grabbed the woman’s blouse, and pulled her outside and onto the drift.

With the window gone, muddy water flowed into the car and it started to sink.

The woman screamed, My baby’s in there!

I shoved her toward the bank, turned, and reached inside the car again. The baby was in a small basket just out of reach. I pulled myself inside the car, grabbed the basket, and started back through the broken window. The woman had not gone to the riverbank but was clutching the side of the drift and reaching out toward the basket. I shoved it toward her. She grabbed it and fell back onto the drift just as the car filled with water and sank.

The car tumbled along the bottom of the river. Disoriented, I thrashed around trying to find the broken window. The car lodged between the bank and a tree. Rolling over on my back, I kicked against the windshield. Running out of air, I gave one last kick.

The windshield collapsed, and I was sucked out into the muddy stream. Gasping for air, I washed against the bank and clutched the limbs of a willow. Blood was flowing from cuts on my hands and arms. Too exhausted to pull myself up on the muddy riverbank, I hung on to the willows, gasping and sucking damp, night air into my oxygen-starved lungs.

I was vaguely aware of sirens, flashing lights, and men with flashlights running along the bank. Retching and throwing up muddy water, I heard a man shout, Here he is, over here! More dancing lights along the bank and then with muddy water exploding from my stomach once again, the lights faded, and everything went fuzzy.

*****

It’s time for you to wake up now. You’re going to sleep the whole day away. For a while, we thought we were going to lose you.

I opened my eyes and stared up into the face of a nurse who was not much older than I. Liquid was dripping from a large bottle through a plastic tubing, then into my arm.

Things were a long way from being clear in my head, What happened?

The nurse brushed a wisp of red hair from her face, Well, this is what I was told. I wasn’t here right in the beginning, but I came on the floor at the shift change. The ambulance people were just bringing you in. They said you almost drowned in the Loosahatchie. Said somebody ran off into the river and you were trying to help. You were washed away. You were cut up some and had drunk a whole lot of that old muddy Loosahatchie, so we pumped you out and sewed you up. As soon as we can get some food in you, you’ll be bout good as new. She paused for breath then said, Whatever that is.

The nurse had a way of ending all her sentences with a high note and a question mark. If I hadn’t been so sick, I might have found it irritating.

I raised my good arm, I know all that. What happened to the woman and the baby?

Oh, she exclaimed, waving her hands and smiling. Some men standing on the bridge got down into the water and saved them. Some folks say it was a miracle, cause if they weren’t there that woman and little baby would have died. They were angels. I tell you I have never been so excited in all my life. Newspaper folks were here last night, talking to the woman and making pictures.

Her smile became a scowl, "A sheriff’s deputy brought the two men here to see the woman, and she had a fit. The newspaper wanted to make a picture of them together. She must have been out of her head cause she screamed at them. Told them to go away and leave her alone.

"Then her husband got here. He was a really big man and was wearing some kind of green uniform and one of those Smoky Bear hats. He talked to her a while and got her calmed down some. They had to give her a shot. He slept all night in a chair beside her bed. The baby - it’s a little boy - is fine. Doctor Paul says babies are tougher than boot leather anyway, and if folks will just let them alone they will grow up fine on their own.

You just lay here right still and I’ll go and get you some dinner. We’re having fried chicken and creamed potatoes. You’ll just love them. It’s one of my favorites. She left, starched uniform making little crinkling sounds.

My ears were ringing from her chatter. I was glad to see her go. But I was glad to know the woman and baby were okay.

After I found a comfortable position, sleep or whatever was running from the bottle took me away.

*****

It was almost dark. A pale woman with blond hair and a large man were standing at the foot of my bed. The man was holding a baby against his chest with its head resting on his shoulder.

My name is Ken Bishop. This is my wife Margaret and my son Josh. These are the most precious things in my life, and you saved them. I thank you more than I can ever express. If you are a husband and a father, you will understand what I’m saying, and if you’re not, no way I…, his sentence trailed off.

I felt embarrassed. Anybody else would have done the same thing. The whole thing just kinda blew up when I kicked in the window and water started running into the car. Probably was a better way of getting your family out.

The man came around to the side of the bed, If you had not acted when you did … . He swallowed. Other people might have just stood by like those two men on the bridge. They certainly didn’t act, but they were glad to take credit. He smiled and went on, I guess you heard how Margaret straightened out the reporter and sent those two men packing.

Yes sir. The nurse told me.

What’s your name, son? They have got you registered as John Doe. You had no identification on you, and they have not even been able to find your vehicle.

What do you mean, find it?

Most of the road washed away, along with your truck. The whole shooting match just caved off into the river and left. They may never find it.

I felt the presence of a new horror entering my life.

You do remember your name, don’t you?

Yes sir. It’s uh, uh, William Creighton…folks call me Creight for short.

The man asked, Where are you from, Creight?

I stammered, Far eastern part of the state, northeast of Knoxville … in the mountains.

Well, Creight, that covers a pretty good area. What town?

Just a little mountain town. You probably never heard of it.

Mrs. Bishop gave her husband an elbow as he questioned, You’re not giving out much information. Is everything all right?

Sure. I’m kinda on my own right now.

Kinda on your own?

Yes sir. Kinda on my own.

His wife spoke for the first time, What is the matter with you, Ken? Don’t you understand? He’s on his own, just like he said.

The man nodded and gave the baby to his wife and said, Honey, why don’t you go back to your room and feed Josh his last bottle. I’ll be along in just a minute.

Margaret left, closing the door behind her. Mr. Bishop sat on my bed. I’ve made some big mistakes in my life but yesterday tops them all. I work with the U.S. Forest Service - been transferred from the Allegheny National Forest to Golden, Colorado. The movers have already taken our furniture. I wanted to have one of our vehicles shipped so we could travel up in one car, but I had to attend one final meeting here in Memphis. Margaret wanted to spend some more time with her mother in Nashville.

He took a pipe from a hand-tooled, leather holder attached to his belt, filled it, tamped the tobacco, and inspected his work. He took a worn Zippo lighter from his pocket, lit the tobacco, and sucked the smoke down into his lungs.

So things just kinda got out of kilter and we ended up with two vehicles. I really wasn’t worried. Margaret’s a good driver and does a good job of taking care of herself. So I came on down to Memphis, and she was to meet me here. Damned near cost me my family.

He stood and smiled, Well, that’s the short and dirty. Guess I’d better check on the wife and baby. I’ll stop in tomorrow.

*****

I didn’t have a very good night, lots of things going through my head and none of them very comforting. Things like no money, no job, no place to go, no truck. But I was sure of one thing. I wasn’t going to call Daddy and ask for help.

At eight o’clock in the morning, the chatty, redheaded nurse took the IV from my arm and I drifted off to sleep. Just before noon, Mr. Bishop tapped on the door.

How’d you rest?

Oh, pretty well, I reckon.

Good, good. Stopped by the desk. They still have you listed as John Doe. They tell me you’re gonna be released today. After you pay your bill, you’ll be free to go.

Pay my bill?

Yep, these are good folks, but their services don’t come free or cheap, for that matter.

Things were going from bad to worse. Now on top of everything else, I had a hospital bill to pay.

Tell you what, Creight. Margaret and I talked about this some. It’s our fault you’re in this mess. If you want to leave this hospital known as John Doe, it’s none of anybody’s business.

Bishop searched his shirt pocket and found two sticks of peppermint. He peeled the paper from one and handed me the other. Look. Some things have come up in Colorado. It’s fire season and they need me now. If I had somebody to drive my truck, I could take Margaret and Josh, fly on up, and get started. I know you’ve probably got a lot of things to do, but if you could do this for me, I’ll give you the cash to pay the hospital bill and I’ll pay you for your time.

I was dumbfounded, Well, I don’t know but …

I know that it’s asking a lot, but you can’t ever tell. I’ll bet you just might like Colorado.

Juno 1981

Yeah. William Creighton Roane. You’d told me you were kinda on your own. I figured that you didn’t want to be found so I lied, a big black one. Told them I didn’t know anything about anybody with that name.

I couldn’t believe what he was telling me, Thank you for doing that.

In my line of business, I’ve conducted a lot of investigations; I’ve had the ability to reach way out. Dig deep. One time I dug into something that was none of my business.

He looked down at the floor and continued almost sheepishly, I know who you are. Where you came from. I’ve even kinda kept tabs on things around Cedergren. Your daddy’s lumber company, The Roman Company, is big. Biggest in the southeastern part of the U.S. I know some Forest Service men that have had dealings with him. They all say good things about him. Say he’s tough but fair. Creight, he’s an old man. I don’t know what went on between the two of you and it’s none of my damn business. But sometimes you have to let bygones be bygones and just suck it up.

I nodded in agreement.

I’m not preaching to you, just giving you some advice from an old gray-headed man. You don’t have to do like the boy in the story who wanted to go back to his family, but I think you should give it some thought.

Anchorage 1984

Even with the Bishops gone, Alaska was still my home. I loved traveling through the backcountry on a snowmobile, a tin dog the natives called it. Local rivers were great for canoeing and, after spending a lot of time upside down underwater, I became better than average in a kayak.

I enjoyed helping load the aerial tankers when they were going out to drop fire retardant and developed an interest in flying. After scraping together a little extra money, I started taking flying lessons. In a couple of years, I got my pilot’s license, then my commercial license. The freedom of flight, being up with the eagles, the solitude; it was enough to take your breath.

Seasonal workers made up a large part of the Forest Service work force. One of our seasonals, Jamiesie Cotterill, lived down the street from me. He was an Alaskan of the Aleut people. He was a good-looking fellow with the dark skin of the natives, and his hair had a startling auburn hue. We were here before the land bridge closed, he boasted. When not working with the Service, Jamiesie hung around the local airport, swapping odd jobs for flying lessons.

We were camping on the Inlet one night and had just finished eating supper when Jamiesie said, Tell me something about you, where you came from, about your people.

What brought that on?

Jamiesie folded his sleeping bag against a log, leaned back, and opened a beer. I just want to know what makes you tick. I know more about the mating habits of otters than I know about hillbillies. He laughed and held up his hands, Skip the mating habits of hillbillies and just tell me about your people.

All right. Tell me when you’ve had enough.

Watching the moon rising over the bay, I sorted through my memory. We’ve lived in the same place in the edge of the Smoky Mountains since before eighteen hundred. That’s when one of my distant granddaddies, William McCree Roane, and his brother Joseph came over the mountains from the Carolinas. A lot of other folks with names like McDholl, Kelly, McCall, Grainger, Person, Shannon, and Dwyre. The Grainger family, they were cousins of the Roanes. Don’t know why these folks chose to live in the mountains. Guess it might have reminded them of the highlands of Scotland.

Jamiesie leaned forward, So your folks were Scots?

Mostly, I reckon.

You one of those mountain folks that were always feuding?

Yeah, that was us. Guess you could say we were born with a chip on our shoulder. We were always waiting for something to be insulted about. Never forgot or forgave any kinda slight. Sociologists call it a warrior ethic.

Hatfields and McCoys! Jamiesie exclaimed, pretending to aim a rifle.

"No. Not like them. Hell, that’s up in Kentucky. Anyway, the Roane tribe must have liked the wooded plateaus along the mountain rivers. Sometime in the early 1800s, the Roane brothers built two log cabins and a barn near a place they named Christian Springs.

The Roane brothers married. William McCree married an Indian woman named Ella Blueleaf. Most of his descendants were dark and had dark hair. Joseph went back to North Carolina and brought back a wife, Herna McCamy. She was a contentious, freckled, redheaded woman, meaner than hell. Six months after she got to the mountains, two of her brothers, Hermes and Artemis, showed up with nothing more than the shirts on their back. Bad seeds, daddy called them. ’Somebody should have castrated all the males and spayed the females. Except seed ticks, they are the worst things in these mountains.’"

"Where did they get those names? Hermes, Herna, what in hell is that?

Greek mythology. One of the old McCamy women had a book on Greek mythology. She thought the Greek names would make them important.

Did it?

I grinned. What do you think? You ever heard of any of them?

Jamiesie shook his head.

Daddy said he had always heard William McCree was an easy-going man, just wanted to run a few cows and hogs, using the scattered balds on the plateau for pasture. Joseph didn’t like such hard work. He added a large room to his cabin and opened the Christian Springs Tavern.

I got a question, Jamiesie interrupted. You came from the side of William McCree Roane and the Indian woman?

I laughed. How did you guess?

It had started to get cool. Jamiesie turned the collar of his jacket up, Just didn’t want any associating with somebody with those weird McCamy names.

Our side was always pretty straightforward about names. They always named the first son William and gave him his mother’s maiden name for a middle name. Course pretty soon it became kinda confusing with so many of the men named William. So all those first sons started being called by their mothers’ maiden name. More in my family to worry about than weird names, I said.

You hillbillies are strange people, fighting each other all the time and really screwing up names.

Yeah, I’d talk if I was you. Your folks mostly got names that nobody without a double tongue can even start to pronounce. And they eat raw, fat meat and run around trying to poke sharp sticks into fish and seals.

Jamiesie’s white teeth flashed in the twilight, Okay, okay. Sorry. Go on with your history lesson.

"Joseph’s tavern business was pretty good cause the local men liked to come down out of the mountains, bend an elbow, and play cards. They would load up on the local moonshine and get into fights. Law enforcement didn’t even exist. Most of the men agreed that the last man standing was probably right in any argument.

Herna got tired of Joseph and announced she was moving west with a local blacksmith. The night before she was to leave, a barking dog spooked her mule. She was thrown headfirst into an oak tree, bashing her brains out. Herna was a good rider but that was Joseph’s story.

Jamiesie raised his hand like he was taking an oath, That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

You asked for all this.

Sorry, go on.

"Three