ON TOP OF OLD SMOKY

(First verse) On top of old smoky; All covered with snow; I lost my true lover; By courtin’ too slow.

(Revised version) On top of old smoky; All covered in snow; I found my true lover; As the cold winds did blow.

On Top of Old Smoky

Eastern Kentucky Hills 1935

Melissa Merryman knew she was in trouble, perhaps deep, life-threatening, perilous trouble. Snowflakes had begun falling even before she’d left the train station. The old Model T Ford she’d bought was a sturdy, reliable vehicle, but M’lissy had never expected to be driving through an unpredicted, late-spring blizzard. She should have known better than to invoke the Lord’s wrath by traveling on Sunday. Here she was now with her ox literally stuck in a ditch!

Despite her hazardous predicament, M’lissy smiled and softly chuckled at the biblical irony. As a church orphanage survivor, this woman knew her bible frontward and backwards. She recalled the passage where Jesus said, “Which of you shall have an ass or an ox fallen into a pit, and Brax not straightaway pull him out on the Sabbath day?”

The smile faded from M’lissy’s face as the severe reality of her dilemma hit home. Sunlight was dimming as the golden orb of the sun rapidly raced toward the western horizon. The temperature was plummeting to below the freezing mark. Blowing snow was already drifting nearly a foot deep on the single-lane dirt road she’d been traveling on. This rutted, rugged, ridge-top lane was the only direct passageway into Red Bird Valley and the nursing outpost she was intent on reaching today. M’lissy was to be the valley’s youngest and newest nurse.

As a city girl, M’lissy had underestimated the harsh realities of traveling into the backwoods Appalachian Mountains. Here, there were no well-paved roads and no road crews to maintain them. Yet, memory reminded her of the fact that many of this country’s highways and byways were suffering from neglect due to the economic miseries gripping the nation. Newspapers were calling these times The Great Depression.

M’lissy shivered. Cold, fear, and uncertainty threatened to bring tears to her eyes. Yet, this woman was young, strong, resilient, and not easily cowered by adversity. She’d seen and lived through more than her fair share of misfortune in her twenty-two years of life.

Never one to give up without a fight, M’lissy once more climbed out of the car and turned the hand crank in an attempt to start the engine. Nothing happened. The engine didn’t spark to life and even if it did she knew her tires were hopelessly stuck in a deep ditch.

Stubbornly, M’lissy turned the crank again and again. While working diligently, she bowed her head and prayed, “Dear Lord, I would if I could but I can’t. Please help me get my ox out of the ditch!”

***
Braxton Williams was getting a late start home. Too many town folks had wanted to shake his hand and pump him for news and gossip about the goings-on up in Red Bird Valley. Ordinarily, a sheriff wouldn’t be one to participate in gossipin’ and carrying-on tales. Yet, in many ways, Brax wasn’t what one would call an ordinary man.

Born and raised in backwoods hills of Kentucky, Brax was called to the law in an unusual way. By falsifying his age, he was able to run away from home and join the Army. Unfortunately, the young soldier found himself embroiled in armed combat while his unit was stationed in the Philippines Islands. Becoming an expert marksman, many an enemy combatant fell at his hand.
Ribbons for valor and bravery soon adorned his chest. A wound finally slowed him down.

While recuperating at a veteran’s hospital, Brax’s rough-going nature and quick-witted humor made him a favorite with both patients and staff. He became especially adept at comforting and consoling sick and wounded comrades. When enemy insurgents attacked the clinic, Brax’s .45 caliber pistol and his Thompson’s machine gun saved dozens of his wounded friends. At the same time, the heavy slugs from his weapons ripped through enemy flesh and sent combative souls to Hell.

Brax made a full recovery from his wounds and found himself promoted to the rank of an officer and a gentleman. As a military policeman, Brax proved his leadership abilities by leading a company of men assigned to the protection of the base headquarters.

After his stint in the Army and a few years studying criminal justice at a university, Brax returned to the hills of home and assumed the duties of Sheriff in the Red Bird Valley community. For three years now, he’d faithfully served as the sole lawman in the valley. At the age of twenty-six, this hero lawman was beloved and respected by country folks and town folks alike.

Brax was finally able to pry himself from the grasps of well-wishers and exit the big Clay County general store. His truck was heavily laden with mail and supplies destined for Red Bird Valley. This trucking lawman stepped on the starter and the throaty roar of a powerful engine came to life. Without any muffler to dampen its sound, the muscular motor growled menacingly.

Snow had started falling and Brax knew what this would mean for the journey ahead. He pulled over at the LAST CHANCE service station, filled his two gas tanks to the brim, and let two friends help him put chains on all four wheels. Like its driver, this truck had no ordinary life. Born with the capabilities of four-wheel-drive, this ex-military vehicle could go where other automobiles would fear to tread. Brax had affectionately named the truck The Ridge Runner.

After pulling out onto Red Bird Road, Brax saw the tracks of a car that had left town not long before he did. He silently prayed for the safety of its occupants. He knew they would certainly need heaven’s help if this weather worsened.

***
The weather was worsening. M’lissy felt the threatening, cold bite of bitter wind gusts coming in from the north. She snuggled deeper into the heavy, woolen Navy pee-coat she was wearing. Her arm turned the starter crank one more time. She prayed.

So attuned to her task and her prayer, was she, that a distant rumbling sound went unnoticed. Yet, deep in the subconscious recesses of her worried mind, a silent voice begged her to open her ears and listen. At last, she heard the unfamiliar noise.

M’lissy’s legs trembled as the sound came closer and the threatening tone intensified. She’d heard stories told about the mysterious people and animals inhabiting the hills and hollers of this place called the Great Smoky Mountains. Which stories were true and which were not, she didn’t know. Her city-girl fear and curiosity questioned aloud, “Was this some form of mountainous monster which preyed on unwary wayfarers? Is it coming for me?”

By its ominous sound, the beast was near enough to pounce and hungrily devour its prey. Through a foggy haze of blowing snow, M’lissy’s eyes peered warily. Clarity of consciousness hit the young woman as sharply as the dinging dong of a gong striking a church bell on Sunday. She screamed elatedly, “Why, it’s a car!”

M’lissy’s fears were immediately expelled. She leapt to her feet, ran out into the road, and began waving her arms frantically. Words of praise and thanksgiving were blurted aloud, “Thanks for the blessings of answered prayer. I’m so thankful for sending this rescuer to me!”

Rescuer…? Perhaps so, or was this vehicle sent to send her soul straight to its heavenly home? The advancing automobile was not stopping. Why, it was not even slowing down!

Fear returned. M’lissy’s legs were rooted in place. She couldn’t flee. To no avail, she begged her mind to allow her to jump out of the middle of the roadway. Her eyes closed tightly and her body steeled itself for the inevitable impact of hardened metal striking defenseless human flesh.

***
Brax Williams’s peering eyes strained to see through the misty blur of wind-blown snow clouding his windshield. He was not driving fast, but he was determinedly forging ahead on the treacherous road. Snow or not, the man knew this ridge-road’s path and needed no markers or maps to guide him.

A faint, waving movement just ahead captured Brax’s attention. Almost too late, his bewildered mind recognized a figure standing smack-dab in the middle of the ridge-top roadway!

An instinctive response propelled his actions. His booted foot hit the brakes and his gloved hands jerked the steering wheel around. The heavy- laden truck skidded and scooted sideways in the road.

Evasive action had been taken to avoid hitting the unexpected pedestrian, but a sickening thud let the driver know his efforts had not been successful. The skidding truck had struck the person!

A startling jolt brought the unmanageable vehicle to a sudden halt. Brax had braced himself as the truck impacted a tall, thick-trunked, mountain pine tree. The majestic evergreen had saved his life.

Brax’s eyes focused at the sight just beyond the tree. Here, the roadway traversed a sheer drop-off which led to a cavernous canyon below. If not for the sturdy, forested obstacle, the truck and its passenger would have plunged head-over-heels into the abyss. As it was, the vehicle sat precariously close to the edge of the chasm.

Putting the gearbox in reverse, Brax slowly backed the truck away from its dangerous perch. He prayed that his vehicle would not run over the person he’d hit, but he knew it would do neither of them any good if he did not regain a more-stable footing on the hilltop road.

Brax Williams was a roughhewn, hot-tempered man. He could count the number of occasions when his temper had been inflamed to ire with the fingers on one hand multiplied scores of times over. Now, he was going to have to count using the fingers on the other. His fearful encounter with the possibility of sudden death had passed. In its place, an unreasonable fury arose.

This man cursed. He’d heard cursing aplenty when he was a military man. He opened the door to his truck, jumped out, and strode to the prone figure lying in the snow. Without meaning for his words to be spoken out loud, he irately said, “What kind of dang-fool stands in the middle of the road just waiting to get run over?”

Surprisingly, the snow-clad figure turned over and sat erect. Melissa Merryman’s own ire had been awakened. With a tinge of unbridled indignation in her voice, she answered, “Mister, I’m no more of a dang-fool than a man who would speed along a mountainous road unmindful of stranded wayfarers waiting for help!”

Brax staggered back when he heard the ferocity of the feminine voice. Feminine voice…? Why yes, the voice was undeniably that of a female girl or a woman! The voice was the only indication of her gender. Her body was covered head-to-toe in heavy, woolen winter wear.

In the next two seconds, Brax’s eyes absorbed the sights before him. Despite the windblown snow, he saw the car in a ditch. There was no evidence of any other passengers. Curiosity compelled him to question, “Are you the driver of that old Tin Lizzie stuck in the ditch? Why, females don’t drive cars! Where’s your man?”

M’lissy’s mother had been Irish. From her mother, this young woman had inherited red hair along with a fiery temper. Temperamental outbursts could be inflamed with a single innocent spark. A deliberate insult would most certainly offer sufficient fire to ignite an explosive eruption. Infuriated words burst from this offended woman’s mouth, “Mister, women most certainly do drive cars! Why, I’m a woman and I’ve been driving for years! And Sir, I don’t have a man, I don’t need a man, and I don’t want a man!”

Before Brax could defend himself, M’lissy’s tirade continued, “Sir, if I were a man who had just ran down a stranger with a vehicle, I believe I might inquire as to whether or not the person might have sustained an injury!”

Properly chastised and berated, Brax took no offense. Instead, his natural, rough-natured humor asserted itself. A chuckled turned into a fit of laughter. This woman had spunk. He liked this quality in a woman. Taking charge of his untamed merriment, he belatedly inquired, “Alright Miss, I’ll ask. Are you hurt? I won’t admit fault because you were standing in the road, but I surely do hope you’re not injured badly!”

Instead of immediately answering, M’lissy bounded to her feet and began to briskly brush snow from her clothing. Her efforts were becoming an exercise in futility. As quickly as the snow was removed, it was replaced by a pristine layer of new-fallen white, flaky precipitation. Finally, she gave up, looked up, and answered, “I don’t think I’m hurt very much. The wind was knocked out of me. What bothers me most is that I’m freezing to death! If I don’t get out of this cold pretty soon, I’m going to become an icicle!”

Brax’s protective instincts took charge. He spoke in a no-nonsense voice which demanded unchallenged obedience, “Get what you need from your car and come climb into my truck. I’ll take you down to Red Bird Valley.”

Without hesitation, M’lissy ran and grabbed her suitcases and medical kits. Brax had not expected the woman to have such a big load, but he made room for it in the cargo bed of his truck.

M’lissy’s eyes took one last look at her vehicle in the ditch. Without stopping to pick and choose her words, she blurted out, “What about my ox…I mean my car? I can’t go off and just leave it stuck here in the ditch! I prayed for God to help me get it out.”

With his obedience challenged, Brax’s words came out firmly, “Forget about your ox in the ditch! I believe God is more concerned with protecting your life than saving your ox! Now, do as I said and get in my truck!”

Despite M’lissy’s heavy clothing, she was shaking and shivering from the cold. Brax had seen people with the chilblains before and he knew this woman was approaching the first stages of this condition. The unseasonably cold weather bore the brunt of the responsibility for her predicament. The frigid wind had picked up in strength. The temperature was well below the freezing mark. Snow was blowing more fiercely.

Brax opened up the driver’s door to his truck. He took the woman’s hand to help her step in. Yet, that first step was a tall one. This vehicle was built for work not comfort. She was not a tall lady. In fact, she was short and petite with legs not long enough to reach the step. She struggled. While she took a handhold on the steering wheel, Brax put both his hands on her backside and pushed her up.

It was not her back his hands actually touched. His hands found a hold at a location a little lower on a female’s anatomy. In spite of the multiple layers of clothing, a shapely, rounded derriere had presented itself. Normally, this was a place strictly reserved only for the touch of a female’s husband.

Brax had no idea as whether this woman was married or not. It would not have made a difference. Shapely derrieres don’t fall into his hands every day. Knowing that what he was about to do was highly inappropriate; he did it anyway. While holding this young woman’s ass in his hands, he squeezed, he pinched, and he massaged.

Bitter cold and a protesting woman ended the impropriates. Finally, the female was thrust up into the truck seat. Brax was tired of standing in the cold blustery wind and snow. He’d done what was necessary to get his passenger into the truck. He did have one simple, silent thought, “God forgive me, but to the Devil with the proprieties!”

His passenger and he had quite a difference of opinion about proprieties. M’lissy’s Irish temper burst into flame and fire danced in her eyes. As the man settled into his seat and closed the door, she assaulted him with virulent words, “How dare you put your hands on me like that!