Road to Nowhere (14 page)
Jeremy Coates. Of course. The walk-in last month. “That’s the son?”
“That’s Roland’s son. All in line to take over, just like Roland did from his father. But Jeremy wanted to go ahead and make his own changes without waiting, and Roland just didn’t see it, and they quarreled. Roland’s dad died young, so Roland didn’t have that chance to get impatient waiting to take over, and I suppose he just doesn’t understand the situation from Jeremy’s side. So I think Roland’s sort of decided that Jeremy doesn’t want the business anymore, and now Roland himself’s just wanting to be done with it.”
“Right. I’ve met him.”
“Roland? Or Jeremy?”
“Jeremy. He was up at the sales office a few weeks ago.”
“Looking to buy something, you mean?” Randy asked.
“I don’t think so. He said he was curious about Gold Valley, and then he told me how much he hated Gold River Highway.”
The sun was shining and it was warm and pleasant beside the river. Sound of rapids in the distance. He could make himself take a nap.
“Let me ask you a question,” Wade said. “No politics. Do you really think Gold River Highway will mess up Wardsville that much?”
“It’d change a lot of things, and that’s not usually good, from all that I’ve ever seen. Now take Mountain View, for example. You’ve been through it, haven’t you? You’d have to admit there’s going to be more traffic. So either they widen Hemlock and tear up everything on it, or else they don’t and it stays a little two-lane road with that many more cars. You see my point, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. But do you see what it’d do for Gold Valley? And from where I come from, change and growth are good. And Wards-ville would get a lot of new development, too.”
“I can see that, Wade, from your point of view. But now, I’m looking down this river right now, and at all its trouble and confusion you’ve talked me into going through. And it’s maybe like this road. You’re looking forward to it, and I’m not particularly, maybe like the way we each live our lives, where I like to stay away from problems and you seem to run right at them. Well, maybe one of us is right and one isn’t about this road, or about how we live our lives, or maybe there isn’t a right, anyway, and all we can do is just each of us try to take care of ourselves. I guess you’d say we were each on our own road.”
“Roads are supposed to go somewhere.”
“I wonder if many people know where they’re going,” Randy said.
If there was an answer to that, it wasn’t obvious. At least Wade didn’t feel like looking for it, except that it was the first conversation with Randy that had ever made sense.
“Are you ready for dinner?” Rose asked.
“Still some patching on the toolshed.” Winter was hard on the older buildings. “Take maybe an hour.”
“It’s the roast from Sunday. It’ll keep till you’re ready for it.”
It was a long day and Joe was about ready to be done. “Might just leave the rest for tomorrow.” Then the telephone rang.
“It’s Marty Brannin,” Rose said. “He says he calling from Raleigh.”
It wasn’t a welcome call, not at the end of the day and before he’d eaten his supper. And as much as he could hope for it, he doubted it would in any way set his mind at rest.
“This is Joe Esterhouse.”
“Hi there, Joe. I’m finally getting back to you again.”
“Good of you to do that.”
“It’s been a busy few weeks. But I just heard from my spy in the Department of Transportation. Joe, looks like you’ve got yourself a new road.”
That was that. “Is that so.”
“Yes. Sixty-seven counties applied and you got it. The whole thing. Twenty-five million dollars for a beautiful new highway right over the mountain.”
“That’s real interesting.”
“And you don’t sound surprised.”
“I guess I’m not,” Joe said.
“You know, I’m not, either. Listen to this: Every other application was disqualified. Your project was the only one that met all the requirements.”
“I’d have been surprised if there was another project in the state that did.”
“Right. Exactly. Clever way to get a specific road funded without anyone knowing it. Anyway, don’t you tell anybody, since it’s not announced. You’ll get your letter, and then you have to wait till your official board meeting.”
“I’m not in a hurry.”
“Good. And there won’t be an announcement in Raleigh. That’s another quirk. The counties that win will make the announcements, and that’s it.”
“Not too many big city reporters at the Jefferson County board meetings.”
“Oh really?” Marty laughed. “I’d never have guessed that. Well, I think I’ll have a chance to get back to my detective work next week and find out where this road comes from. Talk to you later, Joe.”
“Thanks for your call, Marty.”
Rose had the table set for the two of them. She sat down beside him.
“That’s proof,” he said. Jefferson County had got the road over every other county in the state.
“I’m sorry, Joe.”
“So am I.” He was. It was just as black evil as it could be, and now there was no use hoping it wasn’t.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” There was no good thing to do. “Marty’ll find out who’s behind the road, and that’s where there’s evil. Then I need to find who’s against them, and there’s evil there, too. Then I’ll know what happened to Mort.”
“There are a lot of people on both sides.”
“Just fighting on either side’s not evil by itself. Or the road. It might or might not make sense, but it isn’t evil in itself. But there is evil.”
“There always will be, Joe. But there’s good, too.”
“Seems harder to find. I’ll wait for Marty to call again.”
April 3, Monday
The moment had come; the gavel fell.
“Come to order,” the heavy voice said, and the air itself became still and silent, waiting. “Go ahead, Patsy.”
The ancients had held their councils, in sacred groves, beneath holy mountains, gathered under each moon for each moon’s ritual. Still, in this different world, the rites were maintained.
In the past, powers were invoked. Today there were still spirits that presided and moved, unknown and unrealized but also undiminished, intervening as they always had in the decisions made. The words spoken were more than those speaking them knew.
“Mrs. Brown?”
There was a circle. Each one of them would be taken into it. Any tribal elder would have understood this prelude to the exercising of ritual power.
“Here.”
“Mr. Esterhouse?”
“Here.”
“Eliza?”
And now she herself was called.
“I am here.” Just the statement of presence, of existence, was as profound in itself as the ceremonial declarations used in other ages.
“Mr. Harris?”
“Here.”
“Mr. McCoy?”
“Right here.”
“Everyone’s present, Joe.” The acknowledgment was the closing of the circle.
“Thank you, Patsy. Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors is now in session.”
It was an act of creation. In this place, in this moment, a living thing was brought into existence. It was the merging of their will, their purposes, into a fire, alive in itself and beyond themselves. They were only the coals that were its fuel. The flame had power and authority, joined with the unseen powers that were gathered.
“Motion to accept last month’s minutes?”
“I’ll move that we accept last month’s minutes.”
“I’ll second that.”
“Motion and second,” Joe Esterhouse said. “Go ahead, Patsy.”
Eliza listened.
“Mrs. Brown?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Esterhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Eliza?”
No guidance. She still did not understand many of this councils’ rituals, but that would come. “I vote no.”
“Mr. Harris?”
“I vote yes.”
“Mr. McCoy?”
“Yes.”
“Four in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said.
“Motion carries,” Joe said. “Minutes are accepted.”
In times to come, she would be given words to speak.
“Next is receiving public comment,” Joe said. Eliza turned her thoughts outside the circle.
The doctor, the man of anger. No one else understood, not even him, but he was a spokesman. Eliza saw deep, that there was a fire in him, that he was speaking words given to him.
“Everett Colony, 712 Hemlock in Wardsville. I’m here, and all of us are here, because we thought there was supposed to be an announcement about the road. We were told the state funding decision would be made by April first. I’ve called the office here in Wardsville and I’ve called the Department of Transportation in Raleigh, and nobody can tell me anything. I think someone is trying to hide something—as they have been through this entire process. I would like to know two things. Why won’t anyone tell me anything, and has this road been funded or not?”
Joe Esterhouse, the leader, raised his hand. The single motion of authority silenced all others.
“I’ll discuss that,” Joe said.
He held in his hand a paper like fire itself. Eliza shrank from it.
“Received this today by special delivery, dated March thirty-first. Addressed to me as chairman.
“ ‘Mr. Esterhouse. The North Carolina Department of Transportation hereby informs the Jefferson County Board of Supervisors concerning project—’ bunch of project numbers and code sections and application numbers—‘that the funding for completion of Gold River Highway as described in application number—’ bunch more words, you can look at—‘has been approved.’ ”
“Approved?” The man facing them spoke and his fire lit the room. “What does that mean? I was told this board would vote before the road was approved. This is an outrage. Esterhouse, you’ve crossed the line here, and you’re not getting away with it.”
Again, Joe Esterhouse spoke. “I’m reading this letter and I’ll return to public comment when I’m finished. I’ll require quiet until then.”
Joe waited for the quiet to be complete. Next to her, Wade Harris wrote words on his papers, underlining them fiercely. Then Joe read again.
“ ‘The information in this letter is confidential and may be announced only at the next regularly scheduled meeting of the Board of Supervisors.’ Going on—‘Preliminary engineering plans will be provided for July meeting . . .’ Going on—‘Final acceptance will be contingent on vote of approval by your board by December 31.’ That’s the main points. Patsy, could you take this back to the office and make a dozen copies?”
“The copier takes a while to warm up, Joe.”
“Get it started then. And, Lyle, why don’t you wait on it back there so Patsy can be out here writing down the comments. We’ll resume the comments now, and anyone wants to see this letter complete before they speak, we’ll wait on them.”
The man facing them spoke again. “I don’t believe this.” The fire had subsided, down to hot coals. “This is incredible. I’ve never heard of any government department acting like this.”
Joe Esterhouse looked directly at the man. “Dr. Colony, I have to say I am in complete agreement with you on that.”
Those strange words were the beginning. The papers were brought from the offices; Eliza would not touch them.
But though there were many speakers, there was only one voice. And Eliza knew the voice.
There was also fear. They spoke of destruction and disturbance, though Eliza knew the one speaking through them had no fear.
Some spoke of justice, and injustice, and the burden they would carry unfairly. Some described the loss they would suffer. Always, with each word, Eliza was hearing more clearly a single voice, and one she knew well.
Do not desecrate, do not defile, do not violate.
It was the Warrior.
The Ancient One, far older than this people, even older than her own people, was speaking to her.
Do not desecrate, do not defile, do not violate.
She listened closely to the words of one man.
“I don’t even know who wants this road. Not Wardsville—it doesn’t go anywhere we want to go. And everyone says Gold Valley wants it, but I don’t know why. They don’t want to come here. It’s just going to be a road to nowhere.”
But deeper, beneath the man’s words, she heard the deeper voice,
Do not desecrate, do not defile, do not violate.
Another voice spoke, but the deeper words were still the same.
“I live just two blocks from Hemlock Street, and if you build this big road, how am I supposed to sleep at night with trucks at all hours and kids drag racing and all that highway noise? Who’ll be using this road, anyway? It won’t be the residents of Mountain View. But who’ll have the traffic and noise right in their front yards? The residents of Mountain View. We’ll be the ones picking up the trash that those cars leave behind, and we’ll be the ones hiding in our homes for fear of crime, and we’ll be the ones who can’t use our own front yards because of cars flying through.”
But the Warrior was saying,
Do not desecrate, do not defile, do not
violate.
“Wait a minute.”
A different voice. From beside her, Wade Harris was speaking.
“Who do you think is going to be on this road, anyway? For Pete’s sake, half the people in Gold Valley are retired. We’re talking grandparents here, driving into Wardsville to buy groceries. What do you mean they’ll be throwing trash in your yards?
“And maybe the reason no one ever goes from Wardsville to Gold Valley or the other way is that they can’t. You say it won’t go anywhere? Well, that’s what it does now.” Suddenly his words had their own great strength behind them. “I’m tired of living on a road to nowhere.”
Those words . . .
She felt power against them but also power behind them. Two strong powers, two mountains moving slowly against each other.
From his words, there was more anger, and discord.
To Wade, the truth was simple, and he didn’t understand why the anger against him was so strong. He didn’t know that he was opposing a much greater strength than he could see, or that he even knew of. But Eliza knew that the anger was great because it was against more than one man.
Just as the other speakers were giving voice to the Warrior, Eliza had heard a different voice speaking through Wade Harris. In his few words, Eliza had heard a faint whisper of that voice, a voice she didn’t know.