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around.”
    Fleeta waves a spoon. “Otto, you need to get over here. I only got so many soup beans and so much corn bread.”
    “See there? Bossing me around already.” Otto smiles.
             
    FLEETA’S SOUP BEANS AND CORN BREAD
    Serves 2 hungry mountain men or 4 regular people
             
    SOUP BEANS
1 pound pinto or mixed beans

1 / 3
cup corn oil

Salt

    Soak beans in water overnight. Wash beans and bring to a boil in a fresh pot of water, stirring occasionally. Season with corn oil. Salt to taste. Lower heat; add more water if necessary. Cook slowly until beans are done and soup is thick.
             
    CORN BREAD
2 cups self-rising cornmeal

1¼
to 1
½
cup buttermilk

1 egg
    Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Grease a heavy 8- to 10-inch skillet or 8-by-8-inch baking pan. Mix all ingredients and pour into skillet or pan. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until golden-brown.
             
    Over the years, more and more of my working day is spent in the Jeep, making deliveries. When I started working in the Pharmacy, I had two or three drop-offs a day. Now that folks are older and less mobile, there are well over ten deliveries each day. We have to compete with the big chains, and they have no problem driving pills forty miles to make a sale. It’s not possible for me to drive those distances and still fill prescriptions in the Pharmacy, so I limit my deliveries to town and the hollers just above Big Stone Gap.
    I don’t know if the changes in these hills come from the outside world pushing through, or just the aging process, but we’ve become a bedroom community. Most of the stores on Main Street have closed, though we still have the Tri-State Carpet Rug & Books, Ball’s TV & Record Shop, Sue’s Hallmark, and Horton’s Florist. Seems most of the businesses that remain cater to getting married or buried. Or to history. The Southwest Virginia Museum gets lots of visitors, so it spawned tours at local points of interest like the John Fox, Jr., House. Over at the Outdoor Drama, the Tolliver House is open to the public year-round. Besides tours of the theater, there’s a school memorabilia room spearheaded by Garnett Gilliam, and a gift shop that sells a collection of antique quilts, fine art, and sundries—a real plus for any tourists who come through.
    As I drive through Cracker’s Neck Holler at twilight and pass the school, I remember picking Etta up from band practice on nights like this. I’d swing by after work, and there she’d be on the school steps, waiting for me. She’d climb in and start with the news of the day. That was our time, and I remember wishing the ride up the mountain would never end.
    Tonight the Murky Murk has lifted; our house is bathed in the last pale orange beams of daylight, before the sun disappears behind the mountain. Jack beat me home. The first thing he does, before he looks at the mail, is light the fire in the hearth. I can see the tufts of smoke from the chimney.
    There is an unfamiliar truck parked outside the house, as well as that of Jack’s partner, Mousey. I wasn’t expecting company, but it’s not unusual for Jack to have the guys in for a beer after work. I climb the steps with a foil package of corn bread from Fleeta, hoping there’s enough if Jack invites his guests to stay for supper. I have mastered many dishes over the years, but I can’t top Fleeta’s corn bread, so I don’t even try (the secret is in the buttermilk and the iron skillet she inherited from her mamaw). I hear voices as I push the screen door open and enter the house.
    My husband stands next to the mantel listening carefully to a man in a suit, a man I’ve never seen before. He’s in his mid-thirties and doesn’t look like he’s from around here. His pin-striped suit is fine wool, and his tie, bright blue silk, seems expensive.
    “Ave Maria.” My husband looks up and smiles. “I’d like you to meet Tyler Hutchinson from Pittsburgh.”
    I extend my hand to the