We met our main character in the first segment of Mountain Laurel last week. So far, all we know about him is that his name is Mr. Roberts and he’s obviously a country music star in Nashville. We also know he lost his father in a coal mining accident when he was a young boy. A reporter is trying his best to get an interview out of him and so far that isn’t going well. Let’s head back to the bar and see how he fares.
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I had a little brother, Timmy, seven years younger. Timmy had been born different. They said his brain never developed the way it should. He’d sit for hours and play with the dust that danced on the sunbeams through the windows, lost in his own little world. Oh, how Papa doted on him.
After that fateful day in the coal mines of Kentucky, the life we’d known as children of Robert Anderson was over. Mama fell into a deep depression and locked everyone out. If it hadn’t been for April, us Anderson kids might’ve starved to death.
My one solace was music. I’d often disappear for hours at a time, taking my guitar with me. A stream ran a few hundred yards from our miner’s shack on the side of the Cumberland Mountains. That’s where I’d go. I played my guitar and sang to the fish that jumped out of the water, turtles that sunned on a log and frogs that leaped from stone to stone.
The fat man cleared his throat loudly. “Mr. Roberts, I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said. Would you at least answer one question?”
Oh yeah, I’d forgotten all about the insistent reporter. I turned to look squarely at him. “What’s your name?”
“Lewis Washington, sir. What inspired you to write your hit song, Cumberland Mines?”
“It was a tribute…to my father.” I motioned to the bartender and returned to my thoughts.
Not too long after we lost Papa, the local welfare lady came. I hid under the porch and listened.
“Mrs. Anderson, we’re sorry for the loss of your husband, but it has come to our attention that your young son, Timmy, may need to be placed in an institution where he can get the kind of help he needs.”
I didn’t have to see Mama’s face to know she gave the lady a blank stare. That’s all she’d managed to give any of us for months.
The welfare lady droned on and on. By the time she drove her ’49 Ford down the dirt road that had brought her to our shack, I knew she’d be back to get Timmy. I crawled out from under the porch and kicked at the dust that settled under my feet.
Anger took over and I bounded up the porch steps and into the house. Brushing past April, I went straight to Mama. Nothing I said would make her look at me. She was gone.
The worst thing a boy can do is cry in front of his older sister. Once I’d said my piece, I grabbed my guitar and headed for the creek as I’d done a hundred times since Papa died. Oh, how I pounded on the guitar that day. The more I cried, the harder I hit the strings. But, by the time I dragged myself back to the house, I’d written my first song about a tragedy in a Cumberland Mountain coal mine.
“Ahem. I heard Andy Roberts ain’t your real name.” The reporter didn’t give up.
I glanced at his flushed face. “Nope.”
“What’s your real one?” The way he held the pencil over the paper reminded of me a bird about to dive for its prey.
“You’re getting awful personal,” I growled. For a long minute, I considered punching him in the face.
TO BE CONTINUED……
Writing and Music 
Very intense, Jan! You described the setting vividly too. I’ve had more than a few of those “long minutes” myself. LOL.
Looking forward to episode 3. Hugs!
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Thank you ever so much, Teagan!!
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Jan, you have such a great talent for keeping the pace smooth and dragging out the important scenes, making us care about your characters. Andy Roberts is one of your best. Love you, sister!
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Thank you SO much, sister. I think Andy is a relatable character with lots of flaws and yet we like him anyway. 🙂 I appreciate you stopping by and leaving a comment! I love you!
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I can picture everything he is saying so clearly. I can’t help but think the person is getting an indepth interview more than he realizes. I can feel the heart of this story…thoroughly enjoying this Jan:)
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Thank you, Denise! The only bad part for the reporter is that these thoughts are all running through his head and not out of his mouth. 🙂 Have a beautiful day!
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I’m feeling like it is coming out…fingers crossed.
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Fabulous ending. An excellent hook, Jan.
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Thank you, Staci!
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Awesome ending! But the line that stood out for me was this:
He’d sit for hours and play with the dust that danced on the sunbeams through the windows.
Wow! That’s pure gold, Jan. Loving this story!
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Thank you, Mae! I am thrilled that you are enjoying the story. I appreciate you!
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🙂
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Still intriguing. Can’t wait for the next segment.
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Yay!
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Another terrific episode, Jan. Well done.
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Thank you, John!
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😀
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Ready for more….. 🙂
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Music to my ears, Annette!!
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Oh, I did not know that about you, Gwen. I love learning deeper dimensions of my fellow authors. You are right about music and how it can express what words can’t. Thank you SO much for following the story and I’m happy you are enjoying it. Hugs and have a blessed day!
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This brought me back to my youth. I used to play piano and then guitar, lost in my own world. Music was a way for me to express what was inside and otherwise inexpressible. You’ve captured that dynamic beautifully, Jan. ♥
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Jan, your stories are so captivating. I’m very curious as to what’s about to happen. I can’t wait until next week to find out.
Have a beautiful week. I’ll be in Cripple Creek, Colorado next week. I can’t wait.. The mountains call to me like the ocean calls to Linda.
Love you Sweet Lady.
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What a wonderful place to take a vacation, Tonya! Wish I was packed away in your suitcase. 🙂 Thank you for stopping by and I’m happy the story has caught your interest. Have a blessed day! Love you too!
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