Nobody Can Say It's You

62

Chandra could find her way to Button Dudley's with her eyes blindfolded. Good thing. It was blacker than the inside of a witch's hat tonight. 

She loved new moon nights. And she loved the cold, clean air of a winter's night in these hills. She was often heard to complain about her life, but the truth was, she loved this area. It was so enchantingly beautiful. There was no place else like this on Earth.

It wasn't the mountains she was tired of as much as the people who lived on them. So many were so narrow-minded. Maybe it was the inbreeding. Maybe it was the lack of ambition, education, or a thousand other things she could name. But most of the people she'd encountered really were just dumb hicks.

At least in her opinion.

Take Button Dudley. Button was dead and all his estate was tied up because Floyd Carlisle wanted to develop Button's property. Estill would never let that happen.

She couldn't help but giggle when she thought of how she'd met the old geezer that very first time. She'd been with Dougal. They were both bored stiff. It had been a hot summer day, but, thankfully, a shower had cooled things off.

"Let's stir up a little excitement," Dougal said.

"What do you have in mind?" Chandra asked. "We've made love twice already."

"Not that," said Dougal.

"Okay," said Chandra. "I'm in. What do you want to do?"

They'd been caught in the storm while out in the woods. It wasn't a particularly bad boomer, and it didn't last that long. They'd taken refuge in a cave, made love there, and waited out the rain.

The air was clean. The world around them felt pristine and fresh like a baby after a nice bath. Dougal's cap sat on his head at a cocky angle.

"I feel like trouble," he said.

They were walking down a dirt road. It was one of those winding back roads that seemed to lead nowhere, but Dougal and Chandra knew just where they were headed. Chandra followed Dougal as he took the fork leading to Button Dudley's.

***

Button had owned two trucks in his lifetime. The last one was an old Chevy. He'd traded for it many decades ago. Button kept his truck running, though he rarely used it anymore. 

If Mother Nature had an upset stomach and let loose her fierce lightning, his mountain might catch fire one day. Hellfire judgments. That how Button viewed a wildfire that could so quickly spread and eat up everything in its path. 

There'd been one horrendous fire like that when Button was a boy. His family barely escaped with their lives. To this day, Button was haunted by that awful day, and so, he always made sure his old truck had enough gas in it, and the tires weren't too bald.

It was also the reason that he always left the key sitting right where it belonged – in the ignition.

***

Button wasn't the best housekeeper in the world. He wasn't opposed to eating out of a dirty dish or two, and two dishes were all he owned. He always made sure that a few feral cats were thrown enough scraps to hang around, too. Cats kept the rats out of the house, for the most part. And they made a pretty good stew in a pinch.

The rats, not the cats.

Button had seen fierce winters on his side of the mountain. There were times when the snow was so deep he thought his roof might cave in. 

Food was always scarce. He had a small garden, so he had vegetables in the summer, but he wasn't always careful about putting up the excess. Most of his efforts in canning had ended up as spoiled slop thrown out for the buzzards.

He hunted and dried his jerky over an open flame. Near his cabin was a large stone wall. Button would start a fire in his pit. After the flames died down, Button arranged sticks in the ground and over the coals to form a rack to hang his small strips of deer meat on. Over the coals of this open fire, he smoked his meat.

Snakes and small game were roasted or dried this way.

From spring to fall, he foraged for plants and wild berries. Occasionally, he drove into town to buy dry staples such as flour, sugar, and salt. But for the most part, he avoided town. Too much bother and fuss. Button Dudley was a born hermit, and he truly believed his own company was better than anybody else's.

"Look, Chan," Dougal said, spying Button's truck. "I wonder if the old thing runs."

"I dunno," said Chandra. "It's so old, how do you know the wheels won't fall off."

"That's what makes it int'restin'," said Dougal.

Dougal opened the door.

"Hey!" he said. "The key is in it!"

Dougal hopped into the driver's seat.

"Get in, Bonnie," said Dougal. "My name is Clyde Chestnut Barrow. We got us some banks to rob!"

"You're crazy," Chandra said.

They taught you driver's ed in school, but nobody taught you that if you had no job or if you lived with an old granny witch in the hills, your chance of owning your own car was about as good as winning the lottery. A girl needed wheels. It might be nice to have a seat that wasn't shredded wheat, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

And darned if the old goat hadn't caught them that first time.

They were so engrossed in their make-believe game that they failed to see the old man sneaking up on them with his shotgun.

"Gosh, Doog," Chandra said, "it looks like the chickens use this seat as their favorite roost. I think I just sat in chicken poop."

"Gotta eat a peck before you die, Chan," Dougal said.

"That's disgusting," Chandra said.

"Get outta my truck!" Button yelled.

Dougal and Chandra turned as white as a sheet. Chandra almost wet her pants. It was the first time she'd been caught, let alone stared down the barrel of a real gun.

"What's yer name, young fella?" Button screeched.

"Willie," Dougal said. "Willie Buchanan Good."

"Willie B. Good," said Button. "Your maw name you that as a joke er on purpose."

"On purpose, I guess," said Dougal.

"I bet you think 'cause I ain't got me no tell-e-phone, I cain't call no law on ye. Old Bett's the law 'round here," Button said, patting his shotgun.

"Sir," said Chandra.

"Don't ya be sirrin' me. Stealin' my truck. You ain't got the manners Gawd give a cockaroach. But me 'n' old Bett's aimin' to learn ya a few."

With old Bett pointed right at them, Chandra and Dougal were made to clean out an old barn, clean up Button's small cabin, and weed his garden. They were bone tired by the end of the day.

"Now, Mr. Will Be Good," Button said, "I want to see you here furst thang tamarrah mawnin'. Bright 'n' early. That missy of yours needs to wear somthin' more decent, too. Them breeches she's wearin' is way too short. Y'all come back then. This old truck's yours for the mawnin'. My blessin'. All's I ask is that whatever gasoline ya run out, ya replace.

"Key's always in it.

"Treat 'er like she's yours. Don't brung 'er back awl busted up. I'll let ya teke 'er ever onc't in awhile, jes to keep her runnin'. A good machine needs to run onc't in awhile, ya know. Too many cobwebs 'n' rust'll kill 'er."

Dougal and Chandra thanked the old man.

"Can you believe that?"

Chandra only smiled and rubbed the string necklace she always wore with her lucky quartz crystal woven tightly with small beads.

"Yes," Chandra said. "I can."