Mountain of Healing

Suddenly, I remembered a quarrel between Hattie and Amelia. Amelia had told Hattie that she was afraid to do some mechanical chore about the farm. Hattie had blasted the shriveling girl. “Skeered o’ what! God dun give you wits an’ yer better be usin’ ‘em, girl! You drove that car when I busted it and broke my leg! You jest los’ yer nerve now ‘cause you think you don’ hafta’ t’ do it! Well, we gotta’ do a lotta’ things we don’ wanna do! You gotta’ quit whinin’ and use yer wits, girl! Now git to it!”

The terrorized girl had vanished, leaving Hattie to bear Grace’s admonition to kinder words. Now, even in my terror, I smiled. Amelia could be seen driving tractors and even repositioning the huge combine, now. I had realized at that moment that Amelia had driven for the first time in her life on the night we careened our way down the mountain to the emergency room in the valley. My mind had staggered with the terrifying possibilities and sent a prayer of thanks. The quiet thought that God’s protection was near, even when we did not know we needed it, slipped into the secret place of my mind and heart.

As my breathing became more manageable, I trembled uncontrollably. Oh, no! Not now. Not a panic attack. Without even realizing what I was doing, I lost the stance I held and dropped to my knees and prayed. “Father, I am so lost. I am scared. I do not know what to do. I feel alone and abandoned. I know you hear me. Please help me, God! Help me find my way out of this place to safety…and…”

My thoughts were interrupted by a low, gravelly voice. “This ain’t exactly the place fer a prayer meetin’, Lady!”

I opened my eyes and saw the dark figure of a man holding a powerful flashlight. I felt a flood of relief but thought irreverently, ‘well, I’m not dead. God would not need a flashlight.’ I shook my head to try to clear some of the chemical fog that comes after such moments of stress.

I stood and said with a shaky voice, “Am I ever glad to see you!”

The burly man moved closer and said, “What do you think you are doing out here? This property is posted. People go to jail for trespassin’.”

I stammered, “I’m lost. There was a lion. It got dark.” I realized that I was babbling and suddenly felt the ache of the cold temperature. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

My involuntary rescuer removed his camouflage coat and put it around my shoulders. He produced a bottle of water and put it firmly into my hands. “Don’t try to talk. Drink!” he ordered brusquely.

I felt very embarrassed as I said, “I can’t. I have to go to the bathroom.”

In the dark I imagined the man rolling his eyes as he said, “Of COURSE you do. Well, there happens to be a powder room right over there, my lady. Just make yourself right at home!” His tone was decidedly disgusted as he set the flashlight on the ground. He walked into the darkness a fair distance in the opposite direction from the small clearing in the glare of the light.

More humiliated than ever, I jerked up the flashlight and quickly shone the beam on the ground in the area I was headed toward. I turned the light off and took care of my screaming bladder. When I was sure my jeans were secure, I searched my back pocket and found the alcohol swab I had absent mindedly stashed when I’d left the farm that morning. I quickly ran it over my hands, replaced it in its package and put it back into my pocket. I flicked the light back on and moved toward the dark silhouette. He turned and handed me the bottle of water, and took the flashlight.

“Thank you,” I said sullenly. I took a long drink and another sip overcoming the irrational urge to smash the plastic bottle and splash the water at my rescuer. “I understand that you are very annoyed, but I didn’t exactly plan to spend the night trespassing on posted property. Can you just point me in the right direction, uh toward the Miles farm? I do appreciate the water.”

The man was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, it was more of a guttural growl than a conversation. “I didn’t give you my coat. It’s just a loan. Come on.” With that, he began to move slowly and purposefully away from me.

I knew that more words from me would only make him more arrogant. Inside I fumed with the thought of my situation. I was being treated like a youngster with no dignity. Well, if he was choosing silence as punishment, it was certainly a welcome one!

I couldn’t see the woods around us, but there seemed to be less pressing undergrowth than I had previously come through. My muscles ached, but I refused to slow down. I grudgingly acknowledged that the man was moving slower than his normal stride would have taken him. He was walking slowly so I could keep up. I decided to give it another try.

“Uh, sir, I really do appreciate your help. My name is Angela. I am…”

He interrupted my speech to say, “Yeah, I know who you are. Save yer breath. I’m not the one who’ll press charges!”

If I’d had a doubt about the absolute cocky arrogance of the Neanderthal that was walking ahead of me it disappeared. It was quite obvious from his speaking manner that the man was not from the mountain, or at least had been away from it for a long while.