Jaybird bought his Mom a new car. He thought his dad could use it too, but he wanted it to be something for his Mom. It was a classy Duesenberg roadster, with two white-walled spare tires flanking the engine hood on both sides; a car fit for a queen. Uncle George took the wheel with Jaybird and Phil next to him in the front seat, and Rin in back enjoying the wind blowing in his face. He pointed the majestic vehicle south, and headed for Giessow's Cottage Farm. It was early in the evening with perhaps three hours of light remaining before sunset. They rolled down Gravois Road, crossed a railroad track, and stopped briefly to watch through an opening in the trees as buffalo and deer grazed peacefully along the rail fence at Grant's Farm. The old log cabin where Ullysses S. Grant had once lived could be seen sitting on a small hill several hundred yards back from the fence.
Moving on, they passed a series of five signs posted on the side of the road at 50-yard intervals.
SAID FARMER JONES WHO'S BALD ON TOP I WISH I COULD ROTATE THE CROP BURMA SHAVE
"Those signs must have been made for me," said Uncle George, rubbing his baldhead.
"Ah won't be needin' any Burma Shave for a while," said Phil, rubbing his chin. "Now that ah don't have to be Chief Hogsett, ah can get back to bein' Crazy Dan ... or Phil, dependin' how ah feel."
George slammed on the brakes as the concrete road abruptly ended with a six-inch drop to where the gravel road began. The end of the concrete road marked the St. Louis Jefferson County line. From here until they reached Cottage Farm the roads went downhill from gravel, to dirt, over rickety bridges, through creek bottoms, to rock strewn paths. When it rained hard the roads were impassable. But today the roads were dry, and after easing the big Duesenberg down off the concrete shelf Uncle George paused to enjoy the view. In the late afternoon sunshine, shafts of light penetrated the foothills of the Ozark Mountains. The ancient land blanketed with oak and maple, cedar and pine; dimpled with misty valleys and soaring hills, spread out before them as far as their eyes could see. Uncle George always stopped to take it in ... to him this vista, changing with the seasons as it did, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen ... if anything could be more than beautiful, this would have been it. He gazed out at the immenseness, it fired his imagination, it was as though his soul was committed to the hills. And so was Phil's.
Jaybird sat between his uncle and his friend, in the front t seat of the open roadster, looking from one to the other, wondering at the far-away expressions on both their faces. What were they thinking? He could never understand grown-ups. "What is it?" he asked.
"It's America," said Uncle George.
"It's the Ozarks," said Phil.
"It's just trees and hills," said Jaybird.
Uncle George and Phil knew that it was more. They knew that beneath the scenery lay the brutal reality of life in the hill country. The agony, pain, and rejection of the hill people fighting the frustrations of the elements and the rocky soil of the ridge farms. The bitter disappointment and perpetual fear of the lowland farmers that floods would wipe out a season's crop in a flash. They also knew about the dogged persistence. Like the sparrow that rebuilds a nest in the same downspout, no matter how often it is destroyed, the crop would be replanted time after time after pitiless time.
"It's more than that, Jaybird," said Phil.
"Someday you'll understand, Jaybird," said Uncle George.
Grown-ups are hopeless thought Jaybird. Even Phil.
They moved on down the hill to cross the rattling 200-foot long bridge over the Meramec River. The Big River flowed into the Meramec only a few miles upstream from here, and the Meramec emptied into the Mississippi a few miles downstream, some 15 miles south of St. Louis. The water was crystal clear, filled with catfish, blue gills, crappie, and bass. It was a favorite spot for weekend outings of St Louisans who either didn't know about Cottage Farm or were happy to stop at the first river they found. The Meramec featured many holes with good currents that swirled in and out causing treacherous under tows that claimed more drowning deaths than the Mississippi from St. Louis all the way to New Orleans. Just over the bridge was the bustling little town of Fenton. Along the main street were numerous stores and restaurants that served the weekend visitors. Side by side were a blacksmith shop looking back, and an auto repair shop looking forward. Marking time for the present was an icehouse. There were no gasoline stations that would be familiar to modern travelers, but several stores had hand-operated gasoline pumps out front. The gas was pumped into a clear glass container, which held up to 10 gallons ... the number of gallons was marked on the side of the container. When you had the amount you wanted, you stopped pumping and siphoned the gas into the car's gas tank, went inside and told the clerk how much you owed. The price was 12 to 15 cents a gallon. Oil was 15 to 20 cents a quart.
Uncle George filled the tank and took off down Route 30 headed for High Ridge, House Springs, and Cedar Hill. At Cedar Hill they turned off the main highway and got their first view of the Big River. Like the Meramec, the water was so clear you could see six feet or more, straight to the sandy bottom. There was a small dam at Cedar Hill, built to turn the wheels of a gristmill. Below the dam were signs of the river's violence following Spring rains ... a huge pile of limbs, wooden crates, barrels, and whatever else got in the way. But today it was tranquil, and the travelers passed over the rickety bridge without incident and headed for Morse Mill, 8 miles away down a narrow gravel road bordered on both sides by corn fields. The Big River, of course, also flowed through Morse Mill where there was another dam and another mill.
"It won't be long now," said Uncle George after they had transited the bridge at Morse Mill. The sun was setting behind clouds the west. The entrance to Cottage Farm was about five miles down the road, but halfway there they had to cross Dry Creek.
Dry Creek was as good as its name as they approached, but the long Duesenberg was not built to negotiate four-foot creek banks. Uncle George stopped at the edge to assess the situation. They all got out of the car to have a better look. Rin jumped out of the rear, and ran to a pool of water for a drink.
"Ah don't know, Uncle George," said Phil, "this here car is kinda low slung."
Uncle George agreed. "It sure is, Phil," he said, "and that bank is steep, we could get hung up."
Jaybird asked, "Is there any other way to get to Cottage Farm from here?"
Uncle George nodded. "We could go back to Cedar Hill and take the road to Hillsboro. From Hillsboro to DeSoto to Ware, and then to Cottage Farm, but that's probably about 25 miles out of the way. Cottage Farm is only about three miles down the road from here."
Phil said, " If you got up a good head of steam you might could clear that there bank."
Uncle George agreed. "I think you're right, Phil," he said. " Why don't you and Jaybird just go stand on the other bank. I'll back off and give it a try."
And try he did. He cleared the bank in a furious rush and landed with a loud crunch in the middle of Dry Creek, gravel almost reaching his hubcaps. He was stuck. Jaybird and Phil hurried to lend a push as Uncle George gunned the motor trying to break free. It was no use, the harder he tried the deeper he sank. Finally he gave up, and sat gripping the wheel in helpless frustration.
Phil and Jaybird came to stand next to the driver's side of the car watching Uncle George's emotions boil. Uncle George was normally a model of calm deportment, but he was being severely tested. Phil had an idea. "Easy now Uncle George," he said, "ah think they's a way out of this. Ah saw a farm house up on a hill back aways, ah'll go see if ah can borrow a shovel and maybe a couple of boards ... we gonna be okay."
But Phil never had a chance to test his idea. The words were no sooner out of his mouth before they all became aware of an unusual sound that quickly accelerated into a loud roar. They looked up to see a six foot wall of foaming, tumbling water rushing toward them down the bed of the no longer dry creek.
"Come on Jaybird," shouted Phil, "let's get out of here." Rin was way ahead of them. Along with Uncle George they sprinted to the near bank, reaching the edge just as the water smashed into the heavy Duesenberg and sent it spinning downstream like a toy in the boiling, roiling water.
They backed away from the bank as water swirled around their ankles. "There goes yer mom's car, Jaybird, " said Phil. He paused, "... and there goes yer money, too, mah pack was in the back seat."
They walked a short distance and sat on a small rise of ground watching the raging water. After a long silence Uncle George spoke. "Jaybird, did you know it would take your dad almost 20 years to earn that much money?"
Jaybird shook his head. "How could it happen?" he asked. "It didn't even rain here, how could it happen?"
Phil shrugged. "They maybe had a thunderstorm 10 miles upstream, Jaybird," he said. "... Maybe we can find the money tomorrow after the water goes down."
The sun had set and darkness was developing. Jaybird asked, "How long will it be before the water goes down?"
"Probably all night," said Uncle George, "and Cottage Farm is on the other side, I'm afraid we're stuck here for the night."
"Ah did see a farm house back there," said Phil.
Uncle George stood, and began to walk back along the road. "Let's go check it out," he said.
"I'm hungry," said Jaybird.
"Don't worry, Jaybird," said Phil, "country folk is friendly, they'll feed us."
But when the house finally came into view they knew they were not going to be fed because it was dark, empty, and abandoned. The only question that remained was if it was haunted.
"You reckon it's haunted?" asked Jaybird. They stood in total darkness inside the eerily quiet house.
Uncle George laughed. "Don't worry Jaybird, there's no such thing as ghosts," he said.
Phil was not so sure.
Neither was Jaybird. "Sometimes I still think Phil is a ghost," he said to Uncle George. "The first time I saw him down by the river, he told me he had died somewhere in France, I forget where it was."
"It was at Passchendaele," said Phil.
Rin growled.
"Did you hear something, Rin?" Jaybird ran his hand over Rin's smooth, furry head, stopping to scratch behind his ears.
"Let's go outside," suggested Uncle George. He might tell Jaybird there was no such thing as ghosts, but he recognized spooky when he felt it.
"Let me tell a ghost story," said Phil. Sheet lightning flashed across the western sky, thunder rumbled in the distance. Jaybird braced for a German bombardment.
Phil took note of a small grunt from Jaybird. "This ain't about Germans, Jaybird," he said, "It's about a real ghost ah once knew about."
They all sat on the ground with their backs against the side of the abandoned house. It was a dark and stormy night. The wind blew clouds in from the west.
"It happened over by Grubville, a long, long time ago," Phil began. "This old man, livin' by hisself out in the country, his name was Elmer somethin' or other, ah never did find out what his last name was, but anyway old Elmer just went ahead and cut off his own head by accident."
Jaybird slid down a bit and snuggled closer to Rin lying at his side.
Uncle George squirmed uncomfortably. He didn't believe in ghosts, but he knew the rules of ghost stories: no interruptions were allowed.
"He did it with a hand sickle he was usin' to trim a tree branch," continued Phil. "The only way they could figure was that old Elmer done took a swipe at that there branch, and plum missed it altogether, and come right around and whacked off his own head. It musta been a sorry sight, but they was no one there to see it. And that turned out to be the problem because, ya see, what happened was that old Elmer jist laid by that there tree until they was nothin' left but his bones, and one day some kids come along and found him, but instead of tellin' anybody, they jist ran off with old Elmer's skull and left the rest of them bones behind."
Uncle George couldn't resist. "And now, when the moon is full," he said, "you can see the bones of old Elmer riding around the countryside looking for his head."
"Have you seen him?" asked Phil.
Uncle George shook his head. "No," he answered, " have you?"
"Well, ah thought ah did, once," answered Phil.
Jaybird was quiet; he was asleep.
"His mom has been worried sick," said Uncle George.
"Ahm right sorry to hear that, Uncle George," said Phil, "you reckon it will help if she knows he was a bat boy for the St. Looie Browns?"
"I don't know about that," answered George, "but I'm pretty sure that $20,000 would go a long way to making her forget about her worries."
"We'll find it tomorrow," said Phil.
"Then there's his dad," said George.
"Jaybird did tell me he had a daddy," said Phil, "ah told him he should be thankful for that because not everbody has got a daddy... is Jaybird's daddy gonna be okay?"
Uncle George nodded. "I think so," he said, "he was knocked silly when that Hillbilly ran into him, but he's pretty tough."
A steady rain started to fall. "Maybe we should carry Jaybird into the house," said Phil.