advertising handmade quilts and furniture. I hit the turn signal. There was a turnout just big enough for our rig, and as we slowed for oncoming traffic I saw steam swirling from under the hood. When we finally rolled to a stop an assortment of sputtering, ticking and growling sounds continued from the engine compartment. They sounded huge in the sudden silence. My heart was somewhere down in my shoes. A billow of steam enveloped me as I lifted the hood. After it cleared it didn’t take long to spot the problem. One of the radiator hoses had burst and still was softly belching steam. There was no telling how much damage had been done. I banged on the door of the shop. There was a sign in the window, and the words “Closed Sunday” jumped out at me. I walked around the building looking for a faucet or a pump but saw nothing except trash and a row of empty chicken coops. Kudzu vines covered every tree in sight and gave the place an eerie feeling of desolation. I kicked an old tire and recoiled in horror as a huge black snake slid from inside, over my shoe and sped away like a thing possessed. The hair on my neck was still standing up when Valerie walked around the corner of the building with a glass of water in her hand. I was speechless. “You look like you seen a ghost. Here, I thought you might be thirsty.” She handed me the water. “Where did that come from?” I stared at the cold glass in my hand. “There’s a spring across the road. You don’t have to be afraid; the glass is from my trailer.” I took a sip. “I’m not afraid.” Val looked like she was about to giggle, but she didn’t. “You really ought to have more faith, Bwana.” “In what?” I asked. “Obviously not in yourself,” she said, and then burst out laughing.
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Valerie had several plastic jugs in her trailer that we used to fill the radiator from
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