When Steve woke up in Marty’s extra bedroom, he looked out the large window over the bed to see that it was a beautiful day. Summer was in its full color, and the sky was brazenly blue. He decided to go up to Stuart Mountain for a nice long hike. After he took a shower, got dressed, and packed his backpack, he walked to the kitchen for some breakfast. True to the Larson tradition of Saturday morning breakfast after a night of drunken debauchery, Steve discovered Marty, Mary, Keith, and Sarah seated around a massive pile of breakfast.
“Dang y’all,” Steve chuckled. “Can I get in on some of this action?”
“Sure Baby,” Mary replied and began to get up. “I’ll get y’ a…”
“You just sit down and enjoy your breakfast Ms. Mary,” Steve insisted as he headed for the kitchen cabinet. “I’ll get my own plate. Just tell me what we got.”
“We got us a spread’s what we got!” Marty exclaimed from his chair at the round table. “Me and Mary put a hurtin’ on some aiggs, bacon, country ham, grits, biscuits, and I made some red-eye gravy ‘specially for you, Baby Brother.”
“Ah yeah,” Steve replied as he sat down beside Sarah with a large plate, a small bowl, and a coffee cup. “I ain’t had red-eye gravy in ages. Thanks Marty.”
“See,” Keith laughed, “You’re as country as any of us Larson Boys.”
“I don’t deny it,” Steve replied as he loaded his plate. “I’m a little citified, but I ain’t a slicker right yet.”
“You can take th’ boy outta th’ country, but never th’ country outta th’ boy, they say,”
Mary said with a grin. “Where you headed today, Country Boy?”
“Hiking,” Steve answered as he threw a couple pats of butter on top of his grits. He looked around the table and asked, “Anybody care to join me?”
“Got cab’nets t’ work on,” Marty grumbled.
“Gotta work,” Keith added through a bite of bacon.
“Gotta get Olivia from Mama Larson’s,” Mary contributed.
“Don’t wanna,” Sarah stated. “Got no excuse. Just don’t wanna.”
Steve laughed and replied, “Well, reckon I’m on my own then.”
“You goin’ to see Mama?” Marty asked severely.
“Yeah,” Steve answered. “I was planning on visitin’ her after my hike.” Steve paused in thought and took a bite of country ham to help process the thought. He chewed, swallowed then looked to Marty. “You reckon I ought to tell her about all the spells I’m having?”
Marty considered this for a moment as he let a biscuit soak in his bowl of red-eye gravy. “Well Stevie, I dunno. That there’s a good question. Don’t wanna scare her, but don’t wanna leave her outta the loop neither.”
“You’d best tell her, Little Brother,” Keith said after he swallowed a sip of coffee. “If you don’t, I bet ol’ Dr. Wardlaw will.”
Marty chuckled and agreed, “Yeah, Keith’s got a point, Stevie. That Emory doctor a yourn can be a ball-buster sometimes.”
“That he can,” Steve answered with a roll of his eyes. “But he don’t know about this most recent bout of ‘em. I don’t see him again ‘til next Thursday. I’m gonna get an earful, let me tell y’.”
“Don’t tell ‘im I fed you country ham an’ red-eye gravy,” Marty warned. “He’ll be callin’ me up an’ givin’ me a earful too.”
Steve laughed and promised, “I won’t Brother Marty, I swear.”
Steve belonged to a study being conducted at Emory Hospital in Atlanta that tracked the physical and psychological challenges presented by Long Q-T Syndrome and other potentially fatal diseases that strike their victims fairly early in life. It was sometimes a pain, but Steve hadn’t paid a cent toward medical bills since he was 17. Needless to say, Steve didn’t dare complain too much: even if Dr. Wardlaw had a habit of cornering friends, relatives and girlfriends with stern instructions to watch Steve carefully and not to encourage “unhealthful” behavior.
“Which trail you takin’ Stevie?” Sarah asked.
Steve swallowed a spoonful of grits before he answered, “Figured I’d take on the short version of the waterfall trail.”
Marty stopped in the middle of a sip of coffee to cock an eyebrow at Steve. “The Selu Falls trail?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah.”
“Stevie, I dunno if you remember right, but…”
“I remember all too well,” Steve answered firmly. He understood Marty’s concern, but forced himself not to think about it. He hadn’t taken that trail since he was 19, but he felt a need to conquer it – and to face some memories along with a few fears.
“Stevie, the short version ain’t all that short, and I…” Marty began.
“Bubba,” Mary interrupted gently. She laid a hand over her husband’s and continued, “I think Stevie knows what he’s doing.” She flashed a smile at Sarah, who grinned wickedly. Mary turned back to Steve and winked. “You’ll be okay, won’t y’ Sugar?”
“Yeah,” Steve answered slowly and warily.
Marty didn’t give him a chance to press Mary about her little exchange with Sarah.
“But Stevie, I know…”
“Marty, I know you mean well, but it’s something I’ve had to do for a long time. Ain’t no trail, ain’t no nothin’ gonna whip me.”
Marty sighed and conceded defeat. “You just keep smart, Baby Brother. Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t, Brother Marty.” Steve flashed his eldest brother a reassuring half-grin before he returned to his biscuits and red-eye gravy.
After breakfast, Steve headed up Neilson Pike Road toward Stuart Mountain: the jewel in Kinney’s crown of hills and mountains. It was also a place that had always held a very large and very dear place in his heart – for many reasons. As he negotiated the ever-tightening curves toward the large state park, Steve considered his conversation with Marty. Marty’s (and frankly Steve’s) anxiety toward the Selu Falls Trail stemmed from Steve’s first spell. One day, when he was 17, Steve had been merrily hiking along the trail when he had felt the now-familiar sensation of his chest being forced inside out; followed by a clutching, agonizing call from his thundering heart; then the faintness and an introduction to his own mortality. He had collapsed at the hitching post the rangers and visitors used to tie off their ponies at the halfway point. He couldn’t remember much after that. All he recalled now was that he had clung to the post, wondering if he was about to die. He was pretty sure he had just given in to the thought that it would be nice to die on the mountain when Lynn Stuart had found him there. Afterward, Steve refused to ever take the trail again. That wasn’t good enough for Lynn. She insisted that he go up there on horseback with her a year after her parents died. She wanted to say goodbye to them and she wanted Steve to say goodbye to the falls. The local Cherokee community had a legend that named the falls as the birthplace of Selu, the corn goddess and Cherokee equivalent to Eve. Lynn’s sadness and the draw of the falls’ legend had tugged at Steve’s compassion and Cherokee chromosomes, so he had given in easily.
In retrospect, Steve was glad that he had agreed to it. Now, as he parked at the head of the trail, he remembered that Lynn had convinced him that it wasn’t the trail’s fault that he had a dysfunctional heart. He stopped hating the trail, but he never could go back for the memories and fear that still haunted him.
But now, nearly ten years later, Steve wasn’t content to excuse his fear and apprehension. These past several months (with Lena, the too-frequent spells, his last conversation with Dr. Wardlaw, his changing view on life, his growing success) had aged him and made him realize that there was the constant possibility that his life may be shorter than most. Time to start fighting the battles that would leave him with a clear conscience and no regrets.
So Steve marched straight onto the trail with conviction and every intention of leaving it feeling renewed and purged. For three miles, he hiked the trail. He stopped occasionally to write a thought in his memo pad, examine some change in the scenery, or take in a grand view from a cliff. He remembered why he loved to hike this trail. It was secluded and peaceful. The trees and vegetation were dense and thriving. There was the constant pleasant trickle of the creek that grew to feed the falls, which fed the Selu River. The day was perfect for the trail. The heat of summer hadn’t touched the mountains yet, and all was lush and green. Everything was in boom: thick bunches of mountain laurel, neat little trilliums, delicate lady slippers, perfumed honeysuckle, and stately jack-in-the-pulpits. Steve inhaled Stuart Mountain’s unique fragrance and allowed himself a content little smile. It was certainly a feast for the senses.
He hiked cheerfully until he came upon that damned hitching post: exactly where he remembered it. He stood in the middle of the trail and forced himself to remember the scene. He had been in a state of panic as his vision blurred. Lynn Stuart had knelt beside him, begging him to let her help. And then…wait…then…Steve blanched at the memory resurfacing – something he had forgotten until now. Lynn had begged him to let her help, and help she did. She all but carried him to the nearest Ranger’s station. The trees and the ground had blurred and he had stumbled along half-blind and barely conscious, asking Lynn if she thought he was going to die. He remembered now. The memory was unclear, but he knew he certainly couldn’t have walked unassisted. Lynn wasn’t about to leave him in that condition. No sir. Not Lynn Stuart. She may have even said so. She had put his arm around her shoulders, heaved him up, and supported almost every ounce of his weight all the way to the Ranger’s outpost…how far away?
Steve shot down the trail, driven to remember how far she had dragged him. He felt waves of guilt wash over him as he trotted down the dirt and gravel trail. He hadn’t seen, emailed, called, or even really thought about Lynn Stuart in over six years. They had tried to stay in touch that first year of college, but Steve had been at UGA, and Lynn at Berry in Rome. Both had gotten busy and lost touch after that first summer when they both said good-bye to their respective ghosts. He had forgotten that she saved his life. The doctors said that Steve may have died in his panicked condition had Lynn not stumbled across him. Lynn had gotten him the help and the calm that he needed. And he had forgotten.
Steve stopped in front of the small cabin that had always served as a ranger outpost. He looked back the way he came and estimated that he was at least a mile from the hitching post. He looked back at the log cabin and shook his head. He could only imagine what that ranger saw that day so many years ago: pudgy little 5’1” Lynn bearing all 180 pounds and six feet of Steve.
Steve dropped onto a large rock and stared at the ranger station, reaming himself. He’d make it a point to ask around, maybe get a phone number. What was she up to these days? Was she still the same deep-rooted, down home, hilarious and crazy earth mother she had been all those years ago? Was she still keeping an eye on “her mountain?” Steve smiled with that thought. Lynn’s love for Stuart Mountain had always been deep. It was named for her ancestors who owned most of the mountain for God knows how many generations. Her great, great grandfather finally sold all but about ten acres of his land on the condition that the state would declare most of it a State Park – which they did after the town fathers lynched the coal magnate who wanted it. Lynn always called the mountain her “real home.” She knew every acre, every cave, every creek, every waterfall, every crag and fissure. She swore her ancestors still lived there and watched after her. Steve believed her, and he was pretty sure he had a few Cherokee ancestors living in the mountain’s forests as well. But Lynn had a way with the mountain and all its nuances that Steve would never understand. She could find her way around in the dead of night, and had been called upon on more than one occasion to redirect a lost ranger. Steve couldn’t count how many times she had chastised park employees she didn’t feel were “protecting her mountain.” Steve laughed out loud with this thought. Lord, but she was a fiery little redhead. He hoped she hadn’t changed.
Steve sighed and closed his eyes. He let a breeze blow over his face before he pulled out his memo pad again and wrote two pages worth of notes on his rediscovered memory. He put the pad away, and felt he was able to truly enjoy the beauty of the cloudless day. He sat for a few minutes, drawing the mountain air slowly in and out of his lungs, before he felt he could walk away from the ranger outpost with a sense of closure. He continued down the remaining three miles to Selu Falls at an easy pace, his feet lighter and his head clearer.
When Steve rounded the final bend in the trail, he had to stop for a moment. He had forgotten how breathtaking the falls were. It was like the curtain had just opened on a magnificent stage show. He inhaled deeply, and understood why his ancestors felt this was where the first woman was born. The falls weren’t a grand magnificent curtain of water. They were actually quite small even by Northeast Georgia standards: not quite two stories high and maybe 20 feet wide. But something made the water sparkle as it fell. If he recalled correctly, it twinkled brightly enough at night to compete with the lightning bugs. The rush of descending water was flanked on both sides by an equally beautiful fall of mountain laurel, hemlock, and various other stubborn plants that refused to let the rocks stunt their growth. The result was indeed like a theater – the curtain of water, green wings, and a stone stage. The juxtaposition of all these elements gave the falls a supernatural sort of grace that forced a thinking man to reverence the genius of nature.
Steve drew in a deep breath and again produced his memo pad and pen from the back pocket of his shorts. He sat down on one of the smaller boulders that fringed the bank of the fall pond to jot down some more notes until a quiet rumbling of protest from his stomach reminded him that he was hungry.
Steve let his mind wander while he ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A warm rush of that Cherokee DNA rose from his blood as he continued to admire the falls and the landscape surrounding it. He felt at home. Deep in his soul, he knew he really was home, but reality kept that kernel of knowledge buried. He knew he was where he belonged in Atlanta. He knew where his life needed to go. He was just happy that he could take these weekends in Kinney to remember where he came from.
Steve was so absorbed in his thoughts and finishing his sandwich that he was oblivious to anything else. Suddenly, a persistent snort broke his reverie. He whirled around in his confusion to stare into the face of a rust-colored mare who promptly whinnied another “howdy.”
Startled, Steve fell backward off his rock and narrowly avoided a dive into the fall water. Peals or hearty, womanly laughter followed. “Ezra Steven Larson!”
Steve scrambled back onto the boulder and looked up at the redhead mounted on the mare. The sun shone too brightly in his eyes to make out any of her features. Confused and feeling like an idiot, Steve thickly answered, “Yes.”
“It ain’t been that long, has it?” the low-pitched, sharp-tinted voice asked. She dismounted with the grace of a little ballerina and stepped into the shade of a nearby hickory tree. She grinned at Steve’s clumsy maneuvers to stand upright. “Lord boy, you’re still good-lookin’.” She laughed harder when Steve’s mouth flopped open in disbelief.
“Lynn?!” Steve could not believe that this auburn-haired beauty was his best childhood friend. Surely not. This woman was not at all pudgy, but slender and curved to perfection. Her nose and cheeks were not overtaken by freckles, but enhanced by them in a way that produced a natural, internal glow. Her hair was not a carrot orange French braid, but a glistening auburn ponytail that tapped her elbow in the mountain breeze. Her eyes though…those he recognized. A warm lapis blue in a constant state of laughter.
The laughter again spread from her eyes to include her face. “Best lookin’ of all the Larson Boys, I always said.”
“I thought that was Marty,” Steve replied through a smile. He shook his head. “Is it really you?”
“Who the hell else, Genius,” she chuckled. “I’m the only girl in town thinks you’re better lookin’ than Marty.”
“God, you look great, Lynn,” Steve commented. He followed her with his eyes as she retrieved something from the saddlebag slung over her horse’s haunches. He couldn’t think of anything else to say as he took her in with masculine appreciation.
“Turns out it really was baby fat,” Lynn chuckled. She sat down on the boulder and Steve followed suit. “Mind if I join you?” she asked as she indicated her foil-wrapped sandwich and bottle of water. “Been out all morning,” she continued. “I’m starved.”
“Been out?”
“Patrolling,” Lynn answered. “Keepin’ you rowdy hikers in line.”
“No way!” Steve exclaimed. He only then realized that she was wearing a drab green state uniform. “You’re a ranger?”
“THE ranger,” she answered proudly. “The boss lady.”
Steve smiled warmly at the woman who had replaced his girl. “Protecting your mountain as usual.”
“It is my mountain,” she answered. She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Somebody’s gotta do it. Might as well be the last of the Stuarts.”
“No little Stuarts to corrupt?”
“Not yet.”
“No Mr. Stuart to help out?”
“Not yet.”
“You’re too much woman, anyway.”
Lynn laughed. “Some of our regulars think so.” She took a bite of her sandwich and sighed. Steve watched, unaware of the smile on his face. He was so glad she was still in town and guarding her mountain. So glad he’d finally bumped into her. Then something occurred to him.
“You sure didn’t seem surprised to see me,” he said suspiciously.
“Busted,” Lynn answered after she swallowed a sip of water. She grinned at him and confessed, “I heard you were in town.”
“Nothing’s changed ‘round here,” Steve sighed. “Word still travels fast.”
“You know me, Ezra. I got spies all over the place.”
“Then how come this is the first time I’ve seen you?” Steve asked. “I come back pretty regular nowadays.”
“I just recently got this post,” Lynn explained. “I had to pay my dues, you know. I spent a year right after graduation over in Calhoun at New Echota then I ended up in Vogel for a while. I reckon I kicked enough butt over there to convince ‘em to give me my mountain back.”
Steve chuckled and looked around. “Well, you’re doin’ a fine job, Miss Lynn. I never seen it so clean up here.”
“Thank y’,” she answered. “Nobody messes with my mountain.”
“I’d think not.”
“How ‘bout you, Baby-Doll?” Lynn asked. “How’s Atlanta treatin’ you?”
Steve averted his eyes to study the bed of clover at his feet as he answered, “It’s good, Miss Lynn. I’m starting to make a name for myself finally.”
Lynn watched Steve fiddle with the ball of aluminum foil that had contained his sandwich. Her lips cocked into a dubious half-smile as she asked, “How’s your heart?”
Steve finally looked Lynn in the eye. He opened his mouth to tell her it was fine, but ended up sighing instead. He knew better than to lie to Lynn. Even after six years of absence from her, lying to Lynn was like lying to his mother. He sighed again and dropped his eyes back to the clover. He grunted, “Not good. Two spells in three weeks. Damned weak heart keeps me down. I’m starting to get really worried.”
“You ain’t the only one, Honey,” Lynn replied with a subtle expression of uneasiness. “I know you keep hearing this, Steve, but for God’s sake, Darlin’ slow down. I know how you are. You’re probably near killin’ yourself.”
Steve only snorted.
Lynn suddenly took a handful of his hair and turned his face to hers, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Ezra, do you remember what I told you the last time I dragged you up here to the falls?”
“Part of it,” Steve answered submissively, unable to dispute Lynn’s tough love tactics.
“The part you need to remember is that your heart’s sick, Honey, but the thing that keeps it going is strong. Stronger than this disease you have. You gotta learn how to conquer it without killing it.”
“How do y’ reckon I accomplish that?”
“I don’t know, Honey,” Lynn answered. “But I know it’s in you. You probably even know how to do it already. But y’ idiot bull head keeps ignoring it. I’m just afraid of what it’ll take for you to wake the hell up.” Her eyes wandered to his white streak. “You got a reminder of what kind of damage you can do to yourself staring right back at you in the mirror. But remember that the people who love you can see it all the time.” She kissed his forehead and released his hair. She stood and sighed. A deep worry touched her face. “Anyway, Ezra, I gotta get goin’.”
“Already?”
“I’m on the clock, Darlin’,” Lynn answered.
“I’d really like to talk to you some more. It’s been six years. We got a lot of catching up to do.”
Lynn smiled and nodded. “Yes we do. Why don’t you meet me at Lip of the Valley tonight? About seven. You can buy me supper.”
“I’ll pick you up,” Steve countered as he stood.
“Nah, you don’t…”
“I insist. Where do you live now?”
“You remember that great old farmhouse I lived in when we were in high school?”
“Out on Jackson Mill Road? With the mile-long driveway?”
Lynn chuckled and nodded. “That’s the one. I loved that house, so I bought it.”
“Not surprising.” Steve took her into a firm hug. He was unable to let her go for a full minute before he realized that he enjoyed it rather more than he expected. He immediately released her and backed away a little. “I’ll see you at seven. Now get your booty back to work Ranger Stuart.”
“Yes sir,” Lynn answered before she mounted her mare. “And you go see your Mama.” She grinned, winked, and prodded her horse into an easy saunter back down the trail.
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Submission Name: The Art of Calm (Submission Possibility 3)
