Pick Your Poison

Dedicated to the spirit

of strong women everywhere who must

make courageous decisions (picking their poison)

in difficult situations

Table of Contents

Dedication

Preface (Nod to Reality)

Acknowledgments

End of Summer

Grapes and Retirement

Beach Pastor

Change

Singing on the Pier

Lindside Living

Beach Life

Winter

Here Comes the Pipeline

Beauty of the Land

Back to the Beach – Sea View Nursing Home

Follow the Money

Pondering the Pipeline

Tales of the Pipeline

Naomi’s Romance

Prepping for MTP

J. W.

Here’s the Deal

Federal Court

Decision from the Judge

Springtime in the South

Hope of Love

Pipeline and Trees

Tree-Sitting Eve

Tree-sitting

First Skirmish

Another Day in the Trees

And Then There was One

Security and Deputies

I Never Saw a Moor

About Ready to Sing

Naomi & Margaret

Down Time

Sleepover Preparations

Vacation Time

Ritz Number Five

Packing

Amazing Atlantic

Take Me Home

Stella Sees Him

Lost and Found

Country Roads, Take Me Home

Fishing

Tractor Lesson

After the Boom

Identification

Epilogue

About the Author

Praise for Pick Your Poison

Preface (Nod to Reality)

This story progressed as our West Virginia property was taken by eminent domain to build a huge natural gas pipeline. Our real-life experiences cast a shadow over my writing as far as court cases and tree-sitting and pipeline construction go.

Another reality was the death of my dog during the writing of this book. Buddy (2007-2018) succumbed on May 17, likely from a heart attack. He was a good dog and his death left a hole in my heart.

The places are all real, South to North from Charleston and Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, to Fancy Gap, Virginia, to Lindside and Pence Springs and Charleston, West Virginia.

All the people depicted and their actions are pure fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely coincidental. Frankly, this book is all a big fantasy, happily created in my imagination.

Becky Hatcher Crabtree

September 2018

Acknowledgments

The residents of Monroe County, West Virginia know great stories and I need to thank them all for sharing, especially Betty and John Spangler and their son, Johnny.

Sheldon Brown complained loudly about Timmy Lee being left out in the cold in the last book. His griping got me writing again.

My dear friend, Mr. Harold M. Linkous is a resident at Springfield Center, a nursing home in the mountains of West Virginia. He was kind enough to explain experiences there when I visited.

I am ever indebted to Katie Adkins and Pam Agee Jackson who edited the roughest of manuscripts.

Merri Hess and Jay St. Vincent, as always, encouraged me to keep writing. Merri showed me the sights of downtown Charleston, South Carolina last spring. The unbelievably delicious coconut cake there found its way into the story along with other icons from the area.

Publisher Connie Taylor has worked her magic again. Her patience, knowledge, and experience pull the best from my attempts at writing.

During the past year, we have met some marvelously courageous environmentalists, activists, and journalists around the pipeline. I am very grateful that their paths have crossed mine. Their choices and professionalism have influenced my life more than they will ever know.

Becky Hatcher Crabtree

September 2018

Chapter 1

End of Summer

By September of the next year, Stella barely remembered to lock the door and had quit braking when she saw a flash of movement in the woods lining the back roads. Memories of the horrors Timmy Lee had created came to life less and less often. Late at night, Stella and Jonas sometimes speculated about Timmy Lee’s status.

Maybe he got hurt when he killed that guy and died … Stella often pondered.

Haven’t seen any buzzards circling since he left. If he died, it wasn’t around here. Jonas was as practical as his wife.

Stella would almost always follow up by stating, My brother is too mean to die. He’ll live to be a hundred, out there somewhere. He may be done with us. Lordy, I hope so, but he is working his evil somewhere on someone else.

She’d go through the pieces of the puzzle that was Timmy Lee: The dead man in the barn worked at the Mildred Mitchell- Bateman Hospital where Timmy Lee had been committed. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how they were connected, but Lord knows they were. She was usually talking to herself by that point.

Jonas would stir in his almost sleep and throw his strong arm over her, as if he knew she was in a dark place. She would relax and cuddle up to his warm body and feel safe, thanking God that Jonas had come into her life over 30 years ago and had loved her for nearly that long. The worry caused by Timmy Lee was relegated to concrete thinking during waking hours. They slept the deep, hard sleep born of hard work, prayer, and a clear conscience.

When she awoke, her back pressed against Jonas’s chest, Stella whispered her daily prayer, Thank you for sending Jonas to me. Please keep him safe and help me to do right. Try to help Timmy Lee, Lord, but if you can’t, please keep him away from me. Then she would twist herself out of the sheets and get up gradually, sitting on the side of the bed before she ventured down the hall to the bathroom.

The cats and dogs and chickens were waiting to be fed and the sheep and goats needed to be let out of the barn. Coyotes had gotten three lambs in the spring so Stella was vigilant about keeping the sheep locked up at night.

This fall morning, after her morning chores, Stella fixed breakfast for her husband in their spotless farm kitchen, surrounded by sterilized Mason jars sparkling on the counters. Stella was not her usual cheery self. She moped around, going through the motions of an activity that she normally loved, preparing to put up food for winter. Jonas watched from the breakfast table, eating the last crumbs of bacon he’d pressed against the last bite of a biscuit. He sensed that his wife was hurting and that fear might be intruding. Supporting his massive frame on the table as he stood up, he took a step to the sink where she was working. Stella turned to face him and he put his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met, his dark and unwavering and hers blue and watery, a study in contrasts. Baby, you gotta let go of Timmy Lee, all the aggravation … and the fear. He’s gone, probably for good. Then he smiled with one corner of his mouth and she glowered, the mood broken.

What’s so funny?

Well, seems like you missed two good chances to shoot him, guess now we have to put up with him. Jonas knew the way to reach Stella was to make her mad and then make up. Maybe you need more target practice with the Pink Lady?

She pulled free and stamped her foot.

Oh, you! My gun didn’t fire the first time and it was in the church so just as well. I missed the second time because I couldn’t see him in the dark. That little red dot didn’t help my aim a bit, because I just couldn’t see where to put it.

She lowered her head. But … as bad as he is, stealing from the church and my friend Anna, and as much trouble as he’s caused for me, I’m sorta glad I didn’t hit him. Even if he did terrorize me and break into my house. Sometimes I wonder what he would have done to me if I hadn’t shot at him.

Jonas took her in his arms. Me, too, Babe, real glad you missed. He’ll get his. Living well is the best revenge. And you are nothing if not a survivor. Stella wiped a stray drop of water from her cheek with a dish towel; she’d never admit to a tear.

She looked around the kitchen. You could come and help me pick grapes. Juice and jelly are the plan for today.

Jonas looked at his watch. I have to be at work in 45 minutes and it takes 30 to get there.

So, be late for once in your life. She was thoughtful. Or better yet, retire. I promise I’ll keep you busy around here. She arched an eyebrow and Jonas chuckled.

"I can’t retire just yet, but I can be back by mid-afternoon.

Wait for me and I’ll pick all the grapes for you."

Waving an arm at the empty jars, she spoke, By the time you get home, these will be full of purple goodness.

"Someday, I’ll be able to stay home and help, Baby.

Someday."

He tried to get another hug but Stella turned away to grab a basket for the grapes, muttering, Huh, someday soon would suit me.

C’mere. Jonas faced off again with his wife. How about this? I’ll get the paperwork from HR and ask about a pension estimate and we can start planning.

Stella hugged him, a full-frontal embrace. Sounds like a start. She was smiling a lot more on the inside than her face showed when Jonas left for work, the wooden screen door slamming behind him.

The grape arbor, built by Jonas and tended by Stella, was on the other side of the garden. It was hanging full of purple clouds of grapes at the peak of ripeness. They were firm now, deep purple (but not musical) and nearly bursting with juice. Stella had been watching them closely and figured in another day or two they’d start to shrivel. Today was the day to pick.

She gathered her garden shears and basket, ready to work while the grass was still dewy and the morning air felt cool in the shadow of Peters Mountain. A choir of birds watched from the power line, singing their complaints about her intrusion into the arbor. Stella’s low spirits flew as she fussed aloud to them, It’s my turn in the grapes, you guys have had them all to yourselves, time to share with me. She hummed with them as she worked, clipping the clusters with her right hand and cradling them gently in her left before placing them carefully in the basket, then she turned to stretch and spoke to the birds again, I won’t pick them all, you greedy things, you can have what I leave. She waved her arm at the line of birds and many of them went silent and flew away.

Her elderly dog, Buddy, settled in the grass beside her and, done with the birds, Stella started talking to him. The vines are mighty full this year, I am pretty impressed. She started trying to remember Biblical references to grapes and explain them to the dog. Noah grew grapes, must’ve been one of the first. She picked a few more clusters. Seems like he was the first one to get drunk off of wine, too, but we don’t hear much preaching on that. She chuckled. In the Bible, grapes are used as symbols of fertility, too, or maybe prosperity. Buddy didn’t seem interested, so she hummed some more and snipped dozens more bunches of grapes before she spoke again.

Old Mrs. McDaniel called them ‘the queen of fruit’ and showed me how to make grape juice the easy way, and grape jelly, and grape pie. She said grapes cured cancer of the innards and helped keep wrinkles and joint pain away. Buddy, maybe you should have a few, with that arthritis in your hip. She bent over to stroke Buddy’s back and he groaned little contented groans. I never believed any of that stuff, but I sure am glad she taught me how to use the things that grow here. What would I have done without her?

Stella had run away from her home near Atlanta on the night of her high school graduation, ridden the bus to Bluefield, West Virginia, got a room in a rooming house run by Blanche Boswell, learned accounting at a business college and landed a job in Monroe County. She was to provide live-in care for the ailing, elderly Rachel McDaniel in return for her room and board and the deed to the family farmhouse and twenty acres upon Mrs. McDaniel’s death. It was more than a job. Their friendship bloomed and the old lady had taught her some priceless country lore, along with life skills of a different sort – how to live independently. Her son, Ben, was best friends with Jonas Akpik, and he’d sent Jonas up to check on the farmhouse one day. The rest was history. Bumping along, tragic history since Jonas thought he was still married to his teenaged bride. After learning his previous wife had passed away, the romance with Stella had finally evolved happily with their wedding the previous Christmas. Stella felt that she couldn’t be any happier, except of course, if Timmy Lee could be corralled and truly out of her life.

Buddy had wandered away and suddenly started yipping and lunging forward and backward at something in the grass. She ambled over and saw his source of annoyance. Nice one, Bud, biggest black snake I’ve seen this summer. He backed off, panting, still focused on the snake. There had been a time when Stella would’ve grabbed it by the tail and cracked it like a whip, but she knew she wasn’t as quick as she once was and it was at least seven feet long. She figured she wasn’t strong enough to crack it either. Shouldn’t kill something that doesn’t need to die, but it does need to relocate.

She found a hoe in a hollow tree near the garden where she kept long-handled tools and led the snake to wind around the business end. She carried it into the ravine nearby to set it free, Buddy supervising. She wiped her face, sweat starting to drip, and replaced the hoe in the old tree.

The sun had risen to nearly overhead and the morning dew had burned off. Stella was feeling her cool skin warming up and getting moist. Her hair was starting to frizz up, little springs of curls were falling out of her ponytail and she knew it was time to quit. Besides, her basket was overflowing, so she tucked away the shears in the hip pocket of her jeans and headed to the back door, a basket on one hip, and an old yellow lab trudging along behind her.

Chapter 2

Grapes and Retirement

Some hours later, when Jonas pulled open the back door, he was greeted with the sauna-like sight of a steam-filled, grape- flavored kitchen. The fragrance was so strong that he licked his lips to see if he could taste it. Through the fog, he could see half gallon jars of grape juice lined up near the sink and neat rows of smaller jars on the counter top all full of purple jelly. His eyes drifted around the room and found two lattice top pies on the table, grape pies, he assumed. Stella was struggling with the heavy lid of a pressure cooker, pressure valve still jiggling. He stepped toward her, Might give that thing a little more time, Ma’am, still a lot of pressure build-up. She dropped her arms and wiped her face with a purple-splotched towel.

You are probably right, she admitted, but I just have one more load and I was trying to get it all done before you got here.

Looks like you are on a mission to get scalded. Why don’t you let it cool off? We’ve got all evening.

Whew, lots of juice and jelly, but no dinner. Gonna be from the freezer tonight, I guess.

How about a piece of grape pie for an appetizer? Looks like it is calling my name. He reached in the cupboard for two plates. We have any vanilla ice cream? He was already at the freezer, looking high and low.

Look in the door. And grab that box of stir-fry dinner. Might as well get that cooking while the ‘appetizer’ is served. You’ve never minded dessert first as I recall.

They retired to the living room to have warm pie and ice cream while dinner cooked. Jonas smacked his lips as he scraped the plate with his fork. Just right. I like it when the crust is flaky and the filling is still warm.

A pie connoisseur, are you?

Yep. He gathered the plates to return to the kitchen. Stay put, I have some news.

Stella had pushed the recliner back and had her feet up. Hit me with your best shot. Night shift? Cutbacks? You’ve survived it all. What now?

Oh, I think you might like this news. Stella pushed the foot of the recliner back in with her heels and sat up.

What is it?

You told me to ask about retirement.

Yes, I did. Stella spoke slowly and cut her eyes at him as if she wasn’t going to believe what he said next.

Well, I didn’t. She fell back in the chair. Didn’t have to. She sat back up, all ears.

Jonas was clearly relishing the suspense. He took a seat beside her. Just today, Celanese offered a little retirement buy-out bonus for those who needed a nudge to retire by the end of the year.

Stella felt numb. Could this be the moment she had hoped for? How much? She asked the question without feeling in control of her own words or even caring what the answer was.

Jonas slapped his leg. Enough, Baby, enough. When?

December 31, if I live. Or, I can retire at the end of September, but my pension will be less. Think I’d like to stay and get loose ends knotted.

She giggled. Loose ends tied, Jonas, not knotted. Stella rolled her eyes when he confused the phrase as he often did with other sayings, but she soon forgot in the glow of the moment. Then we could travel or stay up late or …

"I had in mind some sleep-ins with my frisky wife, no alarms, and no emergencies at the plant that I have to get up in the night to see