Fay Robinson - Christmas On Snowbird Mountain

“You come, too.”

“You can do it by yourself.”

Her frightened little face almost made him cave in.

“Will you try, sweetheart?”

She nodded.

He walked her to the front door and gave her money, enough to buy some gum and a pad of paper.

“Stay inside. Don’t leave the building for any reason. I’ll come for you in a few minutes. I promise everything will be okay.”

He said a silent prayer as she let go of his hand and went into the store alone.

SUSANNAH PARKED the truck at the pumps, filled the tank and checked the tires. This area here was beautiful, like a Christmas card scene. Snow frosted the branches of the trees and a blue mist veiled the mountains in the distance, making them seem painted.

Despite the beauty, driving the winding roads in icy conditions had made her tense. She was tired and hungry and her thermos was empty. A cup of hot coffee and a sandwich would be heaven. She also needed to get directions to see how far she was from Sitting Dog and the studio of the artist she wanted to talk to. She hoped he gave lessons. If he’d work with her, she might be able to mark another item off her list.

First, though, she had to find a place to stay for the night. When possible, and to save money, she stopped at RV parks and slept on the truck seat or used her sleeping bag in the back, under the camper. Tonight would be too cold for that. She’d have to squeeze money out of her tight budget for a motel room.

Well, at least she’d be able to take a hot shower. That alone was worth the extra expense.

Sleeping in a real bed and being able to go online to update her Web site were other pluses of a night indoors. Her travel diary, or “Web log” as the people on the Internet preferred to call it, was getting more than a hundred thousand hits a month from visitors signing on to read about her adventures.

Cranking the truck, she pulled away from the pumps so others could use them. She found a parking space in front of the store.

The warmth of the store was welcome. The building, much larger than it looked from outside, had three parts. The entry room held groceries, clothing and household items. At the back were two doorways. Through one was a self-service laundry. The other appeared to be a small restaurant.

Four old men sat near a gas heater playing a game with rectangular blocks. Cherokee, she guessed they were. Full-blooded or close to it.

She’d seen photographs of Native Americans, but had met very few in person. She hadn’t imagined them to be so beautiful or their faces to hold so much expression.

Her fingers itched to get her art pad out of the truck and sketch them, but as a stranger in this isolated place she was already the center of attention. Everyone had turned to look at her as she walked in. They continued to stare as she picked up toothpaste and deodorant and walked to the cash register.

“Hello,” she said brightly to the men. She gave them her warmest smile.

A man in a brown shirt threw up his hand in response and smiled back. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” After paying for the gas and toiletries, she went to the rest room to freshen up and wandered over to the restaurant to have a look at what they offered. She took a seat at the counter, where one large woman seemed to be both taking orders and fixing meals. Bitsy, as one of the other patrons called her, had to weigh three hundred pounds.

“What would you like?” she asked.

“I’d love a cup of coffee. And do you have soup or sandwiches?”

“Both. I have ham, turkey, barbecued pork or venison sandwiches. Pumpkin soup, walnut, tomato or chicken noodle, all homemade. If you want a hot dinner, your choices are vegetables, hamburger steak or chicken gizzards.” She handed her a small chalk-board that listed the vegetables; many were traditional and some—like ramps—Susannah had never heard of.

She wavered between being adventurous and satisfying her hunger.

“I’d like to try something exotic, but I’m also starving and don’t want to order and then not like what you bring. Any suggestions for something unique, but that I’ll probably enjoy?”

“What are you leaning toward?”

“Well, definitely not the gizzards, but the venison sounds intriguing. And the pumpkin soup. And the walnut soup. But, then again, ham I know I like. Maybe I should play it safe.”

“I can make you a half ham, half deer meat sandwich and put the two kinds of soup in small cups instead of bowls so you can have a taste of both for the same price. And I make a nice bean bread that goes well with soup.”

“Oh, sounds perfect.”

“It’ll be right up.”

“Can you also tell me how far it is to Sitting Dog?”

“You’re here.”

“But where’s the town?”

“You’re smack-dab in the middle of it. If you want a town, then Robbinsville, fifteen or twenty miles to the northeast, is the place to head. They’ve got, oh, maybe seven hundred folks.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a town.”

“Sugar, you’re in Graham County. We’ve got plenty of mountains, creeks and trees, but we’re way short on people. Only about eight thousand of us are crazy enough to live here.”

“In the whole county?”

“Yep. The land’s mostly government-owned national forest. We’re the only county in North Carolina that doesn’t even have a four-lane road.”

“I passed through some of the forest land. I went nearly fifty miles without seeing another car.”

“Which way did you come in?”

“From Tellico Plains, Tennessee, over the Cherohala Skyway.”

“Lord, girl! You took a chance in this weather. That’s a desolate trip this time of the year, and this early snow must’ve made the going even tougher. Some of those curves never get enough sun to melt the ice.”

“The scenery was worth it. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

“It is pretty.”

“Is there a motel close by?”

“No, sorry. We don’t get many tourists this late in the year. In warm weather we attract nature lovers who hike the back country, but they mostly camp out.”

“I imagine with this fresh snowfall everyone’s farther upstate at the ski resorts.”

“Probably. We don’t normally get our first snowfall for a couple more weeks, so I’m sure the skiers have headed up to Maggie Valley. But they’re missing a treat. These mountains are the place to be in winter, especially during the holidays.” She refilled the coffee of a man two seats down. “You only passing through?” she asked Susannah.

“I’m not sure yet. Do you have a bed-and-breakfast? Even a boardinghouse would do.”

“A couple B-and-Bs. And there’s a lodge, but they’re probably closed for the season and won’t open up again until late March or mid-April. When you’ve finished eating, you can borrow my phone book and call around. Maybe someone around here is open.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Several people sat down to order and the woman got busy filling orders. The venison she brought Susannah a few minutes later was delicious, the pumpkin and walnut soups interesting. The best part was the bread—simply out of this world. Susannah was glad she’d taken a chance on something different.

She was finishing her coffee when she felt a presence. She glanced to her side and found a young girl with huge brown eyes staring up at her.

“Hi,” Susannah said.

“Si yo,” the girl answered. Her front teeth on the top and bottom were missing, making her whistle slightly when she talked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t speak your language.”

“I said hello.”

“Oh, well, then si yo to you, too.”

The girl pointed to the cast that protruded from the left sleeve of Susannah’s sweater. “Did you hurt your arm?”