IMPULSE CREEK

     Deep in a gulch in the heart of Appalachia lies the tiny community of Magreb. Like most mountain hamlets, isolation breeds stories, and Magreb is no exception. With deep, tangled roots, such stories go back for generations. Starting out as the telling of simple happenings in the area, over time the more interesting ones were reshaped and embellished. No matter how many versions of the same tale existed, each was, to the teller, the honest-to-God truth – “iv'ry jot and tittle.” To the story teller they aren’t legends as much as events of time past-- as true today as the day they happened.

     For Mageb, the central character for lots of these “events” is Impulse Creek, a creek flowing down the mountain, traveling by the village on its way to the Reasey River. Normally docile and even pretty, every so often a rush of water plummets down the creek. Folks can hear the rumble coming from upstream. It can be mistaken for thunder unless your ears are tuned for it. Before you know it, a torrent causes this gentle brook to rise up in anger. Children playing in the creek, people fishing, women washing clothes, they all scurry away up to safety. After a few minutes, the torrent peters out and the creek returns to its normal self. There seemed no rhyme or reason to when the creek might “git angry,” as folks say but that’s the way it’s been for as far back as folks can recall.

     Reuben Stookey enjoyed walking up and down the creek and through the woods. Tall and gangly, he was strong, but more bone than muscle. Reuben had, as they all said, been “whipped with the ugly stick.” Even though he was a bit odd and a bit reclusive, he still dreamed of getting the attention of one of the girls in the area. He knew his looks wouldn’t attract anyone, at least anyone he might consider. He had no talents to speak of. To get the girls to notice him, he’d perform daredevil stunts. When he’d sense that Impulse Creek was about to erupt, he’d grab an innertube and run up the ridge. He’d jump right into the deluge on the tube and race down while waving his cap. The girls only laughed. “One of these days,” the kept thinking to himself, “one of those girls is not going to laugh. She’s going to smile at me. I’ll be her hero.”

     Rumor spread that Lucy Britton and her husband Caleb were expecting a visitor. Miss Lucy’s niece was coming from Radford, Virginia. Her name was also Lucy – Lucy Britten. Britten with an “e” and not an “o.” She had been named for her aunt as Miss Lucy and Caleb never had children and Lucy’s sister wanted her to have a namesake. This was Lucy Britten’s first visit to Magreb.

For weeks prior prior to the niece’s visit, Miss Lucy and Caleb cleaned and repaired their cabin. Caleb was quite ill, but did what he could. Miss Lucy bore the brunt of the effort.

The day the niece was to arrive, the weather took a nasty turn. Cold, hard, heavy rain fell. The wind whipped the trees until branches broke. It seemed like the worst of winter in the peak of spring. A bus deposited Lucy Britten on the side of the highway. A rough hand-drawn sign, not one made by prisoners in the penitentiary, said “Magreb.” There was an arrow pointing down toward a dirt and gravel road with a steep incline.

     Oh yes, this event first took place during the Great Depression. Folks in Magreb saw no difference between those times and any others. Nature created moments of little and moments of more, but never moments of much. All people seemed to do – the outsiders anyway – was take. Folks were used to stooping.

     Clad in a heavy raincoat with a hood, but wearing city shoes – pumps deemed sensible for paved sidewalks but of no use on a muddy, rocky road with a steep incline – Lucy lugged her suitcase down and down further. A branch hit her in the face and she lost her footing.

Even in the cold and rain, Reuben never failed to take his daily walks. He was walking up “Magreb Incline” as it was called when he heard a yell. “Damn!” It was a woman’s voice, and genteel. The word “Damn” coming from such a voice startled Reuben more than the yell itself. He ran up the road and saw Lucy leaning against a tree. Rain was pelting her and she was caked in mud.

     Reuben could see beyond the mud and the heavy raincoat and hood. There was a pretty woman there. He saw a pretty face behind the mud and water. He determined a pretty figure was hidden under the bulky raincoat. Shiny hair glistened under the hood. With all the mud, water and bulky clothes, she was the prettiest woman Reuben had ever seen.

     “Can I help you, Miss?”

     “I’m sure you CAN, sir. The proper expression is ‘May’ or “Might’ I help you, Miss.”

“Excuse me, Miss. Gentility and all the proper grammar don’t count for much ‘round here. If you can’t skin a rabbit or a squirrel, you’re not much use – girl or boy.” Reuben backed up and gave Lucy a courtly bow. “Might I help you, miss?”

      A smile broke through Lucy’s mud-caked face.This was the smile Reuben had been looking for, dreaming about, for years. He gently helped her to her feet. Taking her suitcase in one hand, he offered to let Lucy place her arm in his as he guided her down to Magreb. Once at the Britton’s house, Reuben left her on the porch with her suitcase and vanished before Miss Lucy or Caleb – more likely Miss Lucy – could open the door.

     All the folks in Magreb were curious to meet Miss Lucy’s niece, especially the menfolk. The men were divided as to how she’d look. On one side were the men who thought she’d probably be as homely as a week old piece of apple pie left out in the sun and rain. On the other were the men who saw a movie star -- all the way from Radford, Virginia! -- come to town. The women also wanted to size her up and were planning a welcoming party to see if she put on airs or not. Miss Lucy had insisted no fuss be made but finally agreed to one “fuss.” The rain, cold, and wind lasted for several more days beyond Lucy’s arrival. All the cleaning and repairing that needed to happen in town put the end to any plans for a “fuss.” The niece stayed inside all the time.

     When the weather improved, all the men came by the Britton house to see if they could help Caleb. Of course, their real intent was to get a gaze at the niece. Miss Lucy kept her namesake under wraps.

Reuben didn’t stop by. He did his gazing from afar. Once, he thought he might have seen younger Lucy looking out a window, but her view of the outside was a mere glance.

     After a week of being pent up, younger Lucy ventured out. She went down to Impulse Creek and found a flat rock to sit on while soaking up some sun and embracing nature. Reuben was taking one of his many daily walks when he spotted her.

     “Might I sit here?”

     Lucy recognized the voice. “Yes, you may.” She pointed to another rock about six feet away. “Thank you for helping me the other day. That was very gentlemanly.”

     “T’weren’t nothin’, ma’am. Don’t pay it no nevermind.”

     Lucy knew exactly what Reuben was up to. She laughed, not at him but with him.

     Reuben loved the way younger Lucy shaped her words. She was precise and correct but also warm and wistful. She didn’t put on airs, as the women thought she might.

     “I can’t tell you how nice it is to get out of that cabin. I love my aunt and uncle and it’s great seeing them, but cabin fever is cabin fever, even if you’re with folks you love.”

     “I know what you’re saying. I get out and walk every day, not matter the weather. If I hadn’t done that the other day, you might have been left out in the cold and rain to suffer for hours, perhaps even days.” He didn’t mention that he lived by himself as his parents had died years earlier.

     They laughed again.

     “I think I could have managed. I’ve been in rainstorms before. But I still appreciate your kindness.”

     “LOO-SEE!” The unmistakable voice of Miss Lucy rang out. Her voice was as sharp and piercing as the younger Lucy’s was soft and gentle. Reuben would never forget the first word her heard her speak. It was that strong but genteel, “Damn!”

     “LOO-SEE!”

     “I know she sees me. After all, I can look up and see her.”

     “She sees me, too. But she’s pretending not to see either one of us.”

     “Goodbye ...”

     “Reuben. Reuben Stookey” He bowed his head as she walked up to her aunt’s house.

     Reuben wondered what sort of talking to Miss Lucy gave her niece but also plotted to see her again. The next day, he hid behind some rocks near where the younger Lucy had been sitting, hoping she’d return.

     She did. As she once more soaked up the morning sun, listened to the birds chirp and insects buzz, and watched the water flowing down Impulse Creek, she heard something.

     “Might I say, you’re looking lovely today?”

     Lucy kept staring ahead, knowing full well where the voice was coming from. “You’ve already said it. And I won’t demand a retraction.”

     Once a day, for over two weeks, the younger Lucy and Reuben met this way. They had no idea if Miss Lucy knew of their get togethers. They talked for a spell, meaning as long as they could before hearing the cry, “LOO-SEE!” They’d stay for the second cry but never tempted a third.

     Reuben talked with Lucy about how beautiful she was and how he couldn’t understand how she could spend time with such an ugly, gawky man as he. She referred to him as her “Abe,” after Abraham Lincoln, and as her hero. He’d bring her flowers he’d picked, which she’d tell her aunt Lucy she’d picked. He even whittled what he called a “love whistle” for her. “Just play that whistle and know I love you.” The sound of the whistle was soft and strong. It reminded Reuben of younger Lucy’s voice.

     “I want to walk in the creek, Reuben.”

     “I don’t know, Lucy. We all go barefoot around here a lot and our feet are toughened up. I reckon your feet are soft and might not tolerate the stones.”

     

     “I’ve been practicing.” Younger Lucy removed her shoes and showed Reuben the callouses she was beginning to develop. This woman amazed Reuben more and more every day.

     She moved off the rock and waded into the creek. Reuben watched her for a few minutes. She grimaced every now and then. Her city feet were not callused enough for creek walking. He didn’t dare join her for fear Miss Lucy would see them. After a few days, younger Lucy motioned for Reuben to join her. She even pretended to fall so that her “hero” could come to her rescue. He knew all along she needed no hero and no one to rescue her.

    “Let’s go downstream a bit,” she said. “I want to examine the cliffs on each side of the stream down there.” Reuben finally broke down and joined younger Lucy. He also kept half an eye out for Miss Lucy swooping down with a broom or a shotgun. Reuben hoped younger Lucy was as hungry for some privacy as he was. She led the way as they walked further and further downstream.

     As the water of Impulse Creek washed over their feet and lower legs, Reuben and Lucy simply held hands. He wanted to kiss her but knew it better to wait.

     He turned toward her and said, “Lucy?”

     “Yes, Reuben.”

“We’ve only known each other a couple of months and I don’t know much about city girls thoughts on ...”

     Lucy bowed her head before looking up at Reuben. “First of all, Radford is not a city. It’s a town. It’s a nice town. I’m a small town girl. I’m thirty and never had a boy friend. I guess I’m pretty, but, well, my Aunt Lucy was pretty. She still is. She’s had a hard life and it shows on her. My Uncle Caleb was a handsome man. He had his pick. He chose my aunt. He never let her forget it. I don’t know what I’m going on and on about. I love you, Reuben. And it has nothing to do with how you look.”

     He was still reluctant kiss her. At thirty, he’d never kissed a girl. One girl kissed him and then laughed at him afterwards. He picked up her hand and rubbed it gently. “Might you consider marrying me?”

     Do you mean, “Will I consider marrying you?”

     “I was just going for “might.”

     They were both so caught up in their private world they failed to hear the rumble coming from upstream. They didn’t even notice the gradual increase in the rush of water at their feet and on their legs. Reuben noticed it first. The mighty torrent or Impulse Creek was heading toward them. hey grabbed hold of each other and tried to make it to a bank where they could clamber out, but the water was getting too high and intense. Still clinging to each other, the mad rush of water knocked them over. A broken branch hit them and younger Lucy was hit so hard she fell away from Reuben. He swam after her. She blew the whistle he’d given her that she’d placed on the end of a leather necklace. A final surge and she was gone from his sight.

     True to its nature, the creek settled down as quickly as it had exploded. Reuben walked downstream and saw younger Lucy. Her head was bloody from having hit a rock outcropping. Her body was limp. He crouched down and held her. All he could cry out was, “Your hero failed you” and “Why, why, why?”

     A group of townsfolk soon made it down to where Reuben and younger Lucy were. Even some of the girls who’d laughed and poked fun at Reuben were sobbing. A couple of the men managed to coax him away from Lucy. As they picked up her body to return her to the bank of Impulse Creek, Reuben cried out. “No! I need to carry her. I need to!”

     At that moment, a splash could be heard coming from up the creek. Miss Lucy was marching down the creek with her shotgun. “You took away my Lucy. You no good-for-nothing so and so. Damn you!”

     A good Christian woman, Reuben had never heard the word “Damn” come from Miss Lucy’s lips. It was not the soft, strong “Damn!” younger Lucy had cried out on the road those months ago. It was a hard, angry, bitter cry.

    
     With swollen, reddened eyes, Reuben stood up and faced Miss Lucy. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry. You’re right. Damn me! Damn me to Hell!”

     Miss Lucy looked straight into those troubled eyes. She threw her shotgun into the creek and gave Reuben a huge hug. They cried together for a spell. A spell, of course, can be ten minutes or ten hours. At times such as this, there is no time, and there was no “LOO-SEE!” to break it. They walked back up the creek to the place where the men had placed younger Lucy and sat down beside her. Miss Lucy let Reuben sit closer to her and rub her hand, just as he’d done moments before Impulse Creek let loose.

     Still crying, Miss Lucy said, “I seen it all. I seen it all, Reuben. I watched how Lucy got in the crick. I watched how she waved for you to come in. I could see your reluctance. You wanted to be a gentleman for her.” She rubbed her eyes with her wet apron. “I saw you follow her down stream. I climbed up the bank and saw you both hemmed in by the cliffs on each side. Like you. I didn’t hear the rumble coming from upstream. I knew you wanted to kiss her. I would have if I’d been you. You wanted to be a gentleman. I couldn’t make it out, but I heard you saying something to her.”

     “I asked her if she might consider marrying me.”

     “I figured as much. So different from when Caleb proposed. Then, the waters came. I saw you clinging to each other. I saw the branch hit my namesake. I saw her carried away from you. I saw you swim after her. I saw the waters go down. I saw you run downstream. I seen it all. I always carry my shotgun when I go out. I wasn’t going after you.” Miss Lucy paused and covered her mouth as she looked at younger Lucy. Lowering the wet apron from her mouth, she said, “I was just so broken apart. I had to lash out. Please forgive me, son.”

     “I understand, Miss Lucy.” Reuben leaned over and put an arm around her.

     “You know, Reuben. She talked about you back at the house. She didn’t call you by name but I knew who she was talking about. She called you “Abe.” A smile formed at the edges of her mouth. “When she came here to Magreb, she wasn’t happy. She told me about the nice man who’d helped her, been her companion coming down the road – a man who disappeared. She got happier and happier and I sure knew it wasn’t ‘cause of Caleb and me.” She patted Reuben’s bony hand. “She showed me the whistle you’d made for her. Well, I found it and then she said she found it on the road somewhere, just the same as all those flowers she’d picked. Horsefeathers! That whistle wasn’t much to look at, but I could hear her play it very softly in her room. It might as well have been the finest musical instrument ever made. I saw her blow that whistle while she was struggling in the crick.”

    

     “She was calling for me, and I couldn’t do nothing! I’m sorry, could do nothing.”

     “No, Reuben. She was telling you she loved you.”

     Reuben and Miss Lucy looked down at the peaceful but broken face of younger Lucy, as pretty and warm behind the caked blood and lacerated skin as it had been when it was caked in mud and grimy water.

     “Miss Lucy, you said you seen and heard everything.”

     “I know what you’re going to ask, Reuben. She said, ‘Yes, I ...’ She was overcome before she could finish, but I know in my heart of hearts she said. ‘Yes, I might and I will.’”

     Reuben Stookey looked in on Miss Lucy after Caleb died. The more he was around her, the more of younger Lucy he could see in her. The girls stopped laughing at him. They’d seen what true love was and knew it was something they’d probably never have. No longer a daredevil, Reuben helped others when he could but otherwise stayed to himself. At times, after Impulse Creek exploded, Reuben would go to the rocks where he’d first talked to younger Lucy as a “courtier.” He’d hide himself as he did back then and play the whistle he’d given her. He wanted it to be buried with her back in Radford. Miss Lucy kept it out and gave it to him after the funeral. After all, they were engaged and the whistle stood as their ring of betrothal.