paper—it was only one sheet long in those days—wasn’t delivered the way it was on most Fridays.”
Pappy paused. “They say it happened again, not long after that, too, back in 1806.”
“I heard a train came through. They’d built the tracks by then,” said Marsh. “But it didn’t leave the station for a week, and the conductor would never say why.”
“And in 1865, right?” added Jeb, his voice quickening. “That’s what Gib—uh, Miss Gibbet—told me and Marsh.”
“Yeah,” agreed Marsh. “She said it was during the Civil War. The North was coming one way, and the South was coming another—”
“But both sides laid down their weapons,” continued Jeb.
“And no one knows why,” Pappy finished.
Jeb nodded. “Miss Gibbet said the war picked right back up, though.”
“And then she said that in 1943—” began Marsh.
“When the munitions factory was here—”
“It didn’t deliver orders for guns,” said Jeb. “There was a blackout, too. And no phone service. Planes flew overhead, and pilots said, from the air, the town looked totally dark.”
“Now, if all that was true,” said Pappy with a soft chuckle, “you’d think the U.S. government would get involved. Still, according to statistics, they do say a lot of babies have been conceived during those lost weeks. In fact, my mama got pregnant with me during the blackout of forty-four, if you must know.”
Jeb said, “No way!”
Pappy crossed a finger over his heart. “So I’m told. There’s no pattern to when the town…well, goes silent. But they do say it happens when the weather’s like this.”
Marsh guffawed. “Wish it would happen week after next, after the Harvest Festival.”
“Fat chance,” Jeb said, trying not to think of the festival, and his last chance to get closer to Michelle. “That’s when school starts.”
“A blackout the first week of school. You two should be so lucky.”
Lucky. Warmth flooded Jeb’s cheeks. He sure wished he could get lucky with Michelle. Leaning, he lifted his canteen, unscrewed the cap, then took a deep swig. One thing was certain—the springwater that was purified in the reservoir then pumped into local homes was the best stuff Jeb had ever tasted. It had none of the aftertaste Jeb had tasted in city water—not the hints of metal, nor the soapy texture he couldn’t stand. Nope. Despite the heat that came mysteriously from its hidden source, Spice Spring always stayed as crisp as a winter morning, and the water seemed to bubble when it hit your tongue. No doubt, the spring delivered the champagne of water. Jeb took another deep draft, and just as he did, he imagined spending a lost week in Bliss with Michelle McNulty.
“Earth to Jeb,” said Pappy.
“Ditto that,” said Marsh.
But Jeb was gone, lost in Michelle McNulty’s open arms.
Peru
A WORLD AWAY, Angus Lyons gathered the strands of his shoulder-length silver hair into a ponytail, then he lifted the receiver of a field phone and stared through the open canvas flaps of his tent door, wondering who was bothering to call him in the rain forest. “Yeah?”
“Where are you? Sounds like you’re a hundred feet under water that’s been electrified with static.”
“That’s about right,” Angus admitted, fingering his thick silver beard and wondering if he should trim it, in deference to the heat. Gazing into a spray of morning mist, he took in vaulting curtains of green leaves and mammoth trunks of trees untouched by civilization. And never would be, if Angus had his way. As he considered the losing battle to preserve places such as this, Angus wished he was younger. At sixty, his time wasn’t exactly running out, but he didn’t have his whole life in front of him, either, and there was no one to carry on his mission. Since his wife Linda’s death two years ago, he’d felt like a buoy cut loose on the open sea.
“Aren’t you even going to ask who this is?”
Angus laughed. “Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Jack Hayes. News director at WCBK TV in Pittsburgh.”
“Pittsburgh?” He didn’t know anyone in—
“We went to school—”
Now it came to him. “Harvard, class of sixty-five. Hell, I haven’t seen you since the last reunion, Jack. What can I do for you?”
“Well…I’ve got an employee named Ariel Anderson, who’s from Bliss, West Virginia. She’s keen to do a human-interest story about her hometown, and we gave her the go-ahead. But in the pitch, she mentioned your name, and the possibility of including information about your involvement with—”
“The Core Coal Company buyout in the late seventies,” Angus muttered. “Attempted buyout,” he corrected.
“I was surprised,” Jack continued. “I always think of you as involved in nonprofit. And…well, aren’t you out there saving the rain forests, or some such?”
“Trying,” said Angus noncommittally, even though right now, his business associations, nonprofit or otherwise, were the furthest thing from his mind. He was remembering a long-ago summer and a pretty, young, small-town girl with strawberry hair, a great body and a smile to die for. Even now, he could still see her swimming in springwater so clear and deep that he’d felt he was looking into the core of the earth whenever he’d stared into the depths. Suddenly, with a stab of guilt, Angus thought of his deceased wife, Linda.
“I thought I’d better call,” Jack continued. “I told Ariel to keep the town’s business history out of the story since the piece isn’t supposed to be a coal-industry exposé….”
“You wanted to see if dredging up past history would cause me any trouble,” Angus guessed. Before Jack could answer, he continued, “I appreciate it. And yeah, I’d prefer to keep my name out of any story about Core Coal and Bliss. I did have some involvement down there.” And now, when he thought of the place, his heart ached. It was the only place he’d ever seen that was as lush and green with vegetation as the rain forests he’d come to tend and love. “You say the woman’s name is Ariel Anderson?”
“Uh…yeah. Why?”
“No reason. Just curious.”
“I don’t know much about her,” Jack offered, “except that she came from Bliss and wound up at the University of Pittsburgh. After grad school, she came onboard at WCBK, and she’s been here three years. So, she’s still young. Thirty, tops. A tough cookie. Ambitious. One of those people who’s out to prove herself.”
Angus knew the type. He’d been well into adulthood before he’d realized that the phantoms from which he’d been running had only existed in his own imagination. “And she’s from Bliss?” he said, soliciting a chuckle from Jack.
“A town that’s aptly named, I’d imagine. I don’t know why, but most women I’ve ever met who’ve come from those West Virginia hills are gorgeous, and she’s no exception. Tall and blond, with incredible skin and a smile that stops every man in his tracks.” Jack laughed. “Not that she bothers to use it. A yuppie with a heart of steel, with a Southern twang wrapped in a throaty voice that sounds just like Kathleen Turner’s. I think her boss, a guy by the name of Ryan Vermere, has got a hopeless crush on her.”
“If I ever meet her,” Angus said, “I’ll keep all that in mind.”
“No chance, Angus. This one’s made for glass and concrete. Two-martini lunches. The kind of girl for whom nothing’s ever going to be enough. Definitely, she’s not the type to stop and smell flowers, so I doubt you’d ever bump into her in a rain forest.”
That