One Mountain Away by Emilie Richards Page A

to our house, knowing Hearty Hale will be the one waiting there.
    A few other mourners are closing in to mouth their condolences, and I must speak quickly.
    “You’re very kind, but I made other plans.” I hesitate, then lower my voice. “I’m going to Asheville. Bill Johnston’s taking me. He’s got flowerpots to deliver this afternoon, and I guess you could say he’s delivering me right along with them.”
    “Asheville?” Mrs. Pittman sounds puzzled. “Do you have family there? Friends?”
    “I have some money Gran saved for me. I’ll find a job. I just can’t live here no—anymore.”
    Mrs. Pittman clears her throat. “Are you afraid to be alone with your father?”
    I know what she’s worried about, but I shake my head. “Not like what you mean.”
    “Then don’t you think you ought to wait until you have something lined up? Maybe we could help find you—”
    “I can’t stay another minute,” I say. “I already packed, and my stuff is in Bill’s truck. He picked up my suitcase when he took me to the church. There’s nothing keeping me here. It’s time to move on with my life.”
    “Your father—”
    “Is a worthless no-good, even when he’s sober. And there’s nothing I can do to change him, but he’ll drag me down if I stay. Gran warned me he would, and she was right.”
    Mrs. Pittman doesn’t argue, because what is there to say, even for a preacher’s wife? “What about the farm?”
    “I guess he’s welcome to it.” The people waiting impatiently on the sidelines begin to move in.
    “Does he know?”
    “He’ll find out soon enough.”
    Soon enough comes sooner than I expect. When just about everyone else has gone, after Preacher Pittman has silently pressed two twenty-dollar bills into my palm along with his phone number, I turn and see Bill Johnston pull his pickup around so he’s headed down our driveway. I know Bill hoped to get an earlier start into the city, and the time has come to leave—and quickly. But before I can get in the front, I see my father staring into the bed of Bill’s pickup, squinting at the small suitcase that once belonged to my mother, one he clearly recognizes.
    “What’s that doing there?” Hearty claps a hand on my shoulder as I try to pass.
    I had hoped to simply tell him that Bill Johnston was taking me to a friend’s, but I can’t think of any lie that involves the suitcase, too. I decide the time has come for the truth.
    “Mr. Johnston’s taking me down to Asheville.” I shrug off Hearty’s hand. “I’m leaving.”
    “Leaving?” He seems unable to comprehend the word.
    “That’s right. I’m going to start a new life.”
    “With what?”
    I ponder that a moment. I’m leaving home, setting out for an uncertain future, and Hearty has only zeroed in on what for him is the crucial question. How have I gotten enough money to make this escape, and how can he get it away from me?
    “I’ll miss you, too, Hearty,” I say, leaning close. “Thanks for the good times and good wishes.”
    His eyes narrow. “Where’d you get the money to leave?”
    “Gran left me just enough to get away from you. She did the best she could.”
    “How much?”
    I shake my head. “Don’t matter. You aren’t getting a cent of it.”
    “Who’s going to take care of things?”
    The switch is so sudden, it takes me a moment to catch up. “Things?”
    “The farm? Get me dinner when I’m home? Take care of things!”
    “I have no idea. Maybe you’ll figure that out.”
    “You aren’t going anywhere.”
    “Try and stop me.” I hear Bill’s door slam and his footsteps as he rounds the cab.
    “It’s your job to stay and take care of…things!”
    I see Bill come up behind my father. “Can we leave now?” I ask.
    Bill is a substantial man, outweighing Hearty by fifty pounds and topping him by at least four inches. Right now I’m glad for all the years and pounds of his wife’s deep-fried country cooking.
    “You can’t take her,” Hearty