So
he was left alone, Mary rushing back to fry some sweet potato slices. She prepared ham and cabbage that night – she
recounted it for years – cornbread, field peas and sweet potatoes. Twenty minutes later Nell showed up and Mary
asked her to fetch in John.
Nell
found the backyard empty. She moped back
into the kitchen, plaiting her hair at the side of her breast. "He ain't out there," she
announced. Mary stepped to the
door. She surveyed the yard. Spotting the open gate, she let out a shriek
that stiffened little Nell's body.
"Git
your daddy, Nell, John's done wandered off up the mount'n."
Stuart
Aubrey and his eldest, Lamar, were just home from the quarry, washing
themselves at the well spigot when Nell came running. She had not spoken a word before they heard
Mary calling for John. They took note
of the fear in her voice, trotting around back.
Martin and Kate showed up about that time, too. The whole family spread out, searching the
fenced yard and the cleared land.
Calling out for John Farris Aubrey.
Stuart
ventured a short way up the path that led to the mountaintop. The deeper into the woods, the darker grew
the path. He studied the sun over his
left shoulder. It was wallowing between
the west hills, near to treetop level.
He let out a whistle that brought his wife and children running.
"Looks
like he went up the mount'n."
"Oh,
Lordy," said Mary Aubrey.
"Lamar, git the Tuckers. Martin, you git Horace Stringfeller. Mamie, too, if she'll come," said Stuart. "Tell 'em to bring some lanterns," he called out behind them. "We got to find him soon. It'll be down aroun' freezin' tonight."
"Lamar, git the Tuckers. Martin, you git Horace Stringfeller. Mamie, too, if she'll come," said Stuart. "Tell 'em to bring some lanterns," he called out behind them. "We got to find him soon. It'll be down aroun' freezin' tonight."
"How
could he've gotten out?" Mary asked.
"I checked the latch – "
Stuart’s
look cut Mary short. Nell grabbed her
mother around her knees and began to whine.
"Shush,
little Nell,” Stuart told her. “Don't
worry. We'll find John. You go in the house with your mama."
Mary
met Stuart's eyes. "I got to help
look."
"Put
away supper. Make us some coffee. When Lamar comes back, tell him to go to Miss
Wimberley's an' borrow her telephone.
Tell him to call the doctor.
Lewis an' Jimmy, too."
"Stuart
– "
"You'll
git your turn. None of us can stay out
all night ... if it comes to that."
The
three families of Bennett Holler showed up to search for John. Runt Tucker and Ivy with two of their boys;
Horace and Mamie Stringfellow, the black family who lived just across the
vale. Mamie was the midwife who had
delivered John the night the bridge washed out, stranding Doctor Peterson on
the far side of Stone River. Ivy Tucker
and Mamie took over Mary's kitchen work so she could join the search. The rest of the folks took up into the woods,
scouring the hillsides, lanterns held high, voices echoing across the hollow.
The night was clear, but it was close to a new moon and the woods were thick and black. From the Aubrey's back porch, Nell could see the lanterns above her flickering among the hardwoods and dense pines. The voices hollering out, coming down unanswered, were chilling to the spirit as the night stretched out cold and bitter. Searchers trooped down every so often for coffee and biscuits. Some asked for a coat or an extra shirt. Stuart couldn‘t make himself put on a coat, knowing little John was somewhere on the mountain in his shirtsleeves.
More people arrived the early morning hours. Sheriff Hall rousted out the Bertram Volunteer Fire Department. Doctor Peterson, too old to search, waited on the ready. He had the women keep the fire stoked high, blankets warmed, water hot on the stove. Close to sunrise, the searchers gathered on the back porch, faces exhausted, eyes narrow and fearful. Some of the women were close to tears. The feed store thermometer on the Aubrey back porch read 25 degrees.
The searchers took an account of themselves and found only Horace Stringfellow still on the hillside. Mary collapsed on the steps and they carried her into her bedroom. They sat Stuart down in a chair. Preacher Mayfield prayed for John, down on one knee, his hand clamped on Stuart's forearm. Lewis Aubrey talked to his brother about going inside to lie down. Sheriff Hall and some others discussed the situation in hushed tones among themselves, trying to agree on a plan of action.
The searchers took an account of themselves and found only Horace Stringfellow still on the hillside. Mary collapsed on the steps and they carried her into her bedroom. They sat Stuart down in a chair. Preacher Mayfield prayed for John, down on one knee, his hand clamped on Stuart's forearm. Lewis Aubrey talked to his brother about going inside to lie down. Sheriff Hall and some others discussed the situation in hushed tones among themselves, trying to agree on a plan of action.
It
was at that moment that Horace Stringfellow, low on the hillside and toward the
east, let out a howl that penetrated the heart of every person gathered at that
farmhouse. They strained to hear a
second call.... It came. No one could make it out, the words nor the
import of it. There came another cry,
sounding closer than before. Red
Phelps, at the back gate and partially up the slope, was the one that heard it
first. "He fount 'im!" Red
shouted. "God Al'mighty, he fount
'im."
A
cry was torn from every throat, but cut short by another call from the
hillside. Deathly quiet prevailed. "What's 'at?" asked Red aloud. "I cain't make it out." Again Horace called in the distance.
"He
said, he's alive!" shouted Lamar Aubrey who had run farther up the
slope. He hustled up the path, followed
by the hardiest of the searchers. Most
folks were rooted where they stood. They
heard a shout from Lamar, then others and Horace came into view, fairly leaping
down the mountain path, all smiles, little John in his arms, peeking out
curiously at the gathering below.
Everyone clustered at the back gate where Horace handed John straight
into his father's arms. The crowd parted
to let Stuart through to the porch. Mary
had just come out the back door and she grabbed up her son, squeezing him to
her breast, yielding her hold only at the insistence of Doctor Peterson who
brought the boy into the warm kitchen.
His large, gnarled hands expertly examined him. John sat quietly, wondrous at all the
commotion. The doctor pronounced to the
crowd: "Healthy as a
horse." A cheer went up and the
celebration commenced, hugs and handshakes, claps on the back, folks laughing
themselves into tears.
The
doctor took Stuart to one side. His
voice was level and calm: "Sump'm'
strange here, Stuart. That boy spent
twelve frozen hours up there on the mount'n.
An' come out like he'd been for a stroll through the peach grove."
Stuart
eyed his son, wrapped in his mother's arms.
"What you thinkin'?"
"Damned
if I know," said the doctor.
"See if you can git a story from him. I'd like to know what he tells you."
They
never got much from John. Nothing that
made sense. As a rule, John was a
talkative child, but asked about that night on the mountain, he drew up
silent. He seemed somewhat confused
about it. Why he didn't answer when the
folks were calling him? John would shrug
his shoulders. He answered Mr.
Horace. Had he been scared? Nope. Cold? He'd
shake his head. You were
lost all night, John. He said
no. He wasn’t lost. I wasn’t gone but
just a minute, he said. He'd been with
Mister Horace, up on the hill".
The
story grew with the telling until it became not only a part of the Aubrey lore,
but part of those hills and hollows, a part of Marlow County, a story told in
various forms all through North Georgia about a boy named John Aubrey who was
lost, then miraculously found, surviving a night on the mountain among the
foxes and bears, without a scratch or scrape, without fever or chill. Most people told the story straight – just to
marvel at the child's providence. Of
course, there were others who never heard a story they couldn't make more
daring and marvelous. The name John
Aubrey settled into the depths of many a folk's mind, a name perhaps forgotten
with time but still familiar and somehow faintly wondrous.