One Shenandoah Winter Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mountain.
    That was its real name, though it wasn’t much in the way of a real mountain. There had once been a time when the early Wilkes settlers had held claim to much of the valley. They had been among the first pioneers to track this far down the Shenandoah Valley and had set claim to a long stretch of river-bottom farmland and as much of the surrounding hills as they could walk in three days. But hard times and spendthrift generations had reduced the holdings to scrubland and hillside that was of little use to anyone else.
    The track rose like a country roller coaster, growing steadily steeper until they were pressed as much back as down into the old squeaking seats. Connie ground into first gear and floored the accelerator. The motor roared in welcome to its home for nigh on a quarter of a century. The truck had climbed this mile-long track in every kind of weather, and seemed to find its own way over the dips and ruts and rain-washed stones.
    They swooped over a ridge invisible from the road below and entered an eighty-acre saddle-back. At the far end, nestled among the aspen and highland firs, stood a log cabin. Three tumbledown corrals sectioned off much of this highland meadow, evidence of a time when Poppa Joe used to herd some cattle. A finger of smoke rose from a chimney made of creek-bed stones. It was the same welcome-home signal Connie had known since her parents had died in a traffic accident two days before her sixteenth birthday.
    But the tall mountain man did not appear on the porch to greet them. Poppa Joe Wilkes liked to say that he could hear somebody coming a good ten minutes before he saw them, and this from a man who could shoot a flipped coin from the air at thirty paces. Connie had seen him do it.
    â€œMaybe he’s asleep,” Dawn said doubtfully.
    â€œPoppa Joe lie down while the sun’s up?” Hattie squinted through the front windshield. “Not unless he’s laid out by the man in black.”
    â€œMomma, hush your talk.” But Dawn was worried too. “You think maybe he’s off fishing?”
    â€œNot with a fire going. Maybe . . .” Connie was silenced by man stepping out of the porch shadows. He wore a brown uniform and a broad brown hat.
    Hattie moaned. “Oh, no. Not again.”
    But Dawn was delighted. “Oh, I hope it’s turkey. I was thinking about roasted wild turkey all morning.”
    Connie said nothing. She pressed down harder on the accelerator. The old truck scooted and jounced over the roughshod track, tossing them around. Connie did not slow until they entered the dusty front yard. She scattered gravel and chickens as she came to a shuddering halt. The motor coughed and rattled and died, satisfied to be back where it belonged.

Double page spread of
Poppa Joe’s cabin

Double page spread of
Poppa Joe’s cabin

Then all three spotted the second thread of smoke, this one rising from the half-buried little house set up inside the first line of trees.
    â€œOh, Poppa Joe, don’t tell me,” Connie moaned.
    â€œCome on, Dawn, let’s go inside the cabin, honey,” Hattie said, climbing from the truck.
    For once her daughter did not respond with sass. They slipped by the officer as he descended the sagging front steps, and disappeared into the shadows.
    Slowly Connie approached the ranger. The man was unknown to her, which made it even worse. “Afternoon, officer.”
    â€œMa’am.” He touched the tip of his hat. “Are you a relation of Mr. Joseph Wilkes?”
    â€œIt’s pronounced Wilkies ,” she corrected. “We’ve held to the old English way. Call it mule-headed stubbornness.” She offered a tentative smile. When the young ranger remained stony-faced, she gave an inward sigh. She knew this kind of forest ranger all too well. “Yessir. Poppa Joe is my uncle.”
    â€œMa’am, your uncle has been hunting deer out of season.”
    She crossed her arms in