Following a familiar route down the Shenandoah Valley, Davy enjoyed his journey back to Tennessee. He was almost fourteen now, and he felt he had in fact grown an inch or two and put on a couple of pounds. His father would hesitate to beat him now. Each night Davy joined a different group of men around their campfires and regaled them with stories of his adventures. Jefferson’s gratitude for his advice became deeper. His skills at shooting and his confidence under pressure grew. Adam Meyers became meaner and more violent. Captain Stasney became more evil and morally corrupt. Davy’s tales always warranted a free supper and a blanket near the fire. Sometimes he even garnered enough sympathy to have a few coins tossed his way. Davy did not have enough money, however, to take him all the way home. Just south of Roanoke in Montgomery County as he tromped up Big Stony Mountain, Davy heard a voice call out.
“Hey! Boy! Help me over here!
Davy looked over to see a slender man with a crow bar lodged under an immense boulder in the middle of a field half-way plowed. A chance to earn money, Davy thought, and he ran to throw his weight on the bar. After a few grunts and tugs they loosened the rock from its place and rolled it down the slope and out of the field.
“You’re a strong youngin’,” the man said, huffing a bit, “and smart too. I didn’t have to tell you what to do. You jest did it.”
“Thank you, sir.” He flashed his ready grin.
“Name’s James Caldwell.” He extended his sweaty palm. “My cabin is up the side of the hill. My wife usually helps me, but she’s havin’ our first baby any day now. I could use you to finish plowin’ the next few days.”
Davy threw himself into the plowing which he had mastered while living with John Gray in Gerardstown. He appreciatively gobbled Mrs. Caldwell’s cooking while asking if she wanted a boy or girl. With a big grin he assured her he could tell her husband would make a good father. Two weeks later the fields were plowed and the corn planted, and a baby boy was born. With five dollars in his pocket, Davy walked down the mountain, heading to the nearby town of Christiansburg.
In his mind he made a list of items he wanted to buy—a nice bedroll and a water bladder—to make the rest of his journey home easier. Strolling down the main street he looked in the shop windows, smiling with pride that he had money to spend. The smile disappeared, however, when he saw a blonde-haired girl sitting under a large pine on the edge of town. Tears rolled down her pink cheeks. She was about his age, Davy decided, and very pretty even though the crying turned her eyes red and made her nose run. He inched his way toward her.
“Excuse me,” he asked, “are you all right?”
She looked up, and the intense blue of her eyes made him hold his breath as she wiped the tears away. Licking her thin lips, she shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she replied in a whisper.
“You don’t look fine.” Davy sat beside her under the tree. “Did your pa beat you?”
“Oh no.” She glanced at him and shook her head. “He’s never laid a hand on me. I don’t think he’s ever laid a hand on anyone.”
“Don’t you have no money?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “You ask a caboodle of questions for a stranger.”
“My name’s Davy Crockett from Morristown, Tennessee.” He stuck his hand out. “My pa used to beat me all the time. And I don’t have no money. But I want to go home ‘cause I miss my ma.”
She studied his face before breaking out into a smile and shaking his hand. “My name’s Harriet Griffith, and my father is a hatter. His apprentice ran away last night.” She paused. “I miss my mother too. She died last year.”
“I’m sorry.” Davy decided Harriet Griffith was the prettiest girl he had ever seen or ever would want to see. “Why did the boy run away?”
“Father scared him,” she said. “Father is the sweetest man in the world but his only fault is that he expects everyone else to be as nice as he is. When they’re not, he yells at them.”
“Oh.”
“He hasn’t always yelled.” Harriet wiped her eyes again. “Mostly since mother died. He’s scared off a bunch of apprentices. He feels so bad when it happens. I get sad for him and cry.”
Before he knew what he was doing or saying, Davy squeezed her hand, looked deep into her blue eyes and whispered, “Maybe I can help out, at least for a while.”

***

Early the next morning after breakfast with his family, David mounted his chestnut horse and rode to the Kimery store. Old man Kimery who built it about twenty years ago died last winter. David did not know the new owner, but he knew the man’s name, Thomas Tyson. The store owner was all Matilda could talk about at breakfast. David wondered how a young man could afford to buy a mercantile building. A real go-getter, she said, his modesty being most attractive. David’s mind tried to figure out what this man looked like.
David tied his horse to the hitching post in from of the split log building sitting in the middle of a small meadow along a gravel road. He breathed deeply and walked in the door which rattled when he shut it. Two neat rows of tables held bolts of cloth, tools, baking goods and other vital items to life in rough west Tennessee. David nodded in approval of Tyson’s business practice. Matilda would be well matched with the storekeeper, he decided. Before he left for Texas David wanted to see his little girl taken care of. As he looked over the selection of iron traps he heard a mellow baritone, a pitch lower than his own voice, behind him.
“May I help you?”
When he turned around David found himself at a loss for words. He saw a tall, thin man somewhere in his early thirties. His thin blond hair was fast receding. His beard was wispy with fingerprints-sized smooth gaps as though God touched his face and pronounced no hair shall grow there. His piercing blue eyes were covered with thick lens glasses perched on his nose’s boney ridge. A tight lipped smile stretched across his pale face.
“Oh.” At first that was all David could think to say. Because Matilda was fourteen years old he expected the man to catch her fancy would be someone may be as much as ten years older but not a man old enough to be her father. He extended his hand and smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Thomas. I’m—“
“I know who you are, Mr. Crockett,” Tyson said. His cold blue eyes went to the traps on which David’s fingers tapped with apprehension. “Are you interested in traps, sir?”
“Yes, the boy put one down by the creek last spring, and it got rusted up bad.”
“I know Robert well. I admire him very much for helping his mother run her farm.” Tyson looked down at the traps. “Sometimes they rust just from rain. We had a full spring of rain.”
“I suppose it did rain several weeks last spring. I guess you’re right. So I’ll take this one.” He handed it to Tyson and smiled. “My li’l girl thinks the world of you.”
“I think very highly of her, too.”
“If you don’t mind me askin’, how old are you?”
“Thirty-six.” He paused. “And that’ll be a quarter for the trap.”
“Never been married?” David held his breath.
“For twelve happy years,” Tyson replied. “Clarice died two years ago after getting malaria.” He handed the trap back to David. “And, no, we didn’t have any children. The Lord only knows why He didn’t bless us with any.”
His tone told David not to pursue the subject. With trap in hand, he left the store, mounted his horse and rode home. Coming over the ridge he saw Matilda walking toward the house from the orchard. She looked up and waved when he rode up and dismounted his chestnut.
“Oh, Papa, you’ve got to convince mama that it’s too late in the fall for apple picking. They’re all mushy and worms are comin’ out all over the place.” She pecked him on the cheek. “Where have you been all mornin’?”
“Bought a trap at Kimery store.”
“Oh.” Her eyes lit.
“Thomas Tyson said he felt very highly of you.”
“Oh, how sweet of him to say so.”
“Is there anythin’ you want to talk over with me?”
Matilda blinked, stepped back and put the bucket of apples on the ground. “Papa, I love him.”
“Does your ma know?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me first, Matilda? You always tell me everythin’ first.”
“No, Papa.” Her eyes glanced away. “I never tell you anythin’ first.”

***
Dave felt drained on the ride back home from the cemetery. Vince was stretched out on the sofa when he and Lonnie walked in. Putting his coat on the back of a dining chair Lonnie walked to the kitchen.
“You boys ready for lunch? You got to help me eat up all that food you bought.”
“I’ve got to go,” Dave announced.
“Why do you have to run off? This food’ll rot before I can eat it all.”
“I’ve got to get home.” The urge to escape made Dave fidget. “Tiffany’s expecting me.”
“Tympani?” Lonnie scrunched his face. “Who’s that?”
“His wife.” Vince sat up.
“Oh.” Lonnie’s lips pouted. “That li’l gal you married.”
“Yeah. I’ve got to get home.”
“But who’s going to pay my bills for me?”
“Let Vince do it.”
“Pop doesn’t want me.” Vince stood, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. “He wants you.”
“I’m not going to fight over it,” Dave said.
“No more fights,” Vince replied. “Last night I was hurt and jealous. Hell, I was drunk.”
“You drank in my house again?” Lonnie’s voice rose in anger. “I told you no more damn liquor in this house.”
“Yeah.” Vince sounded like a contrite child.
“See?” Lonnie looked at Dave and pointed at Vince. “He can’t be trusted even at his own brother’s funeral. You have to take care of my business, Puppy.”
“Don’t take it out on pop because you’re mad at me.” Vince said. “I mean, there ain’t nothing as important as family.”
“You didn’t think that when Allan was alive.”
“He wasn’t normal,” Vince replied sullenly.
“Hell, nobody’s normal,” Lonnie said. “I guess we’re all crazy one way or another. Just don’t think about it.”
“Okay, Pop. You’re right.” He looked at Dave. “Pop’s right, Puppy.”
“I don’t know.”
“At least help me get the Social Security,” Lonnie said, beginning to show impatience with Dave.
“You don’t get Social Security?” Vince looked surprised.
Dave quickly filled him in about how Lonnie had never filed for Social Security because he knew he could not find his birth certificate, and how the only way he could prove his age was through the family Bible which now was missing. And, he concluded, Allan probably stole it to finance his adventures in Dallas. Vince’s teeth bit down on his tongue, a sure sign he was trying to contain his temper.
“That damn bastard,” Vince said, muttering.
“It won’t help getting mad at him,” Dave replied calmly. “He’s dead. It won’t do any good to cuss him out now. We got to figure out what he did with the Bible.”
“Oh hell, how could you ever figure out what that boy did?” Lonnie sank into a dining room chair.
“Okay. It’s safe to say he wanted money.” Dave walked over to the table and sat next to his father.
“You got that right,” Vince said. “He was always slipping bills out of my wallet.”
“It’s worth a lot of money. It has Davy Crockett’s signature in it. The best place to sell it is at one of those antique shops on Turtle Creek Boulevard in Dallas.”
“You think so, Puppy?” Lonnie raised an eyebrow.
“He’s right, Pop.” Vince sat on the sofa. “It makes sense.”
“So what are you going to do?” Lonnie asked in exasperation. “Go to every store in Dallas?”
“If I have to, yes.”