I have recently run across a topic which is quite interesting. If I were younger you would be on my bucket list. Much of Appalachia’s history was passed down from person to person through hundreds of years, in stories. Stories of tragedy, faith, loss, and community. I know this story is true, because Dorothy was my friend.
Dorothy’s daddy was a mean drunk. When he was sober he was nice as can be, but when he got drunk, it didn’t matter what he drunk, he got mean. He always said she weren’t his. Many a night I would sleep in the woods to stay away from daddy, but one night I had had had enough. I packed all of my possessions that I could, took my brother’s horse and away I went.
Dorothy traveled for 3 days, until she was well into Tennessee. After waking up from her camp on the 4th night she happened to see there was an empty cabin above her. It had the appearance of not being used for quite some time. She stayed in the cabin and in the coming days made it as comfortable as possible. The next day she discovered there was a town down in the valley. She had very little food but she had taken her father’s pocket watch, and going down to the village she was able to sell it for a bit of food.
A month of barely surviving, now she was completely out of food, and at the end of her rope. She had always held the Lord dear, but she hadn’t prayed in a long time. She did the only thing she knew to do, she got down on her knees and pleaded with God. As the tears fell and she pleaded there was a knock at the door. As she peeked out she could see two men that caused her to fear. Since there was no back door, she thought the best thing was to scream and run as fast as she could. Maybe she could get away.
As she passed the men, one grabbed her and held her, but he tried to reassure her that they were not there to cause her harm. The old man was named Isaiah, and he was the preacher at the little church. The young man was Tom and he lived in the valley. His wife had passed a couple of years ago. They said this was the old Pence place, you must be a Pence. She lied and said she was, and asked the Lord to forgive her in the same breath. John Pence was like kin to us, we’ll take care of you. They asked her if she needed anything, and she said a bit of flour, a bit of grease, and some cornmeal. They told her they would be back before nightfall and they brought these items plus many more things the village people had given them.
Thomas began escorting her to church, and life was beginning to look up. One night she heard voices outside, and one of them was the voice of her daddy. There were five men with torches. Again she was in a panic. “Come on out and take your beating. We’re taking you home.” There were five men with torches. Again Dorothy knelt and cried out to God. She prayed so hard she could hardly breathe.
“We know that horse, come on out or we’re coming in to get you. Let’s get back home.” Everything went silent, and she peeked out she could see Isaiah, Thomas, and the entire community standing out front confronting the five men. Isaiah said he’s the local minister, and Dorothy’s dad said, “Then you won’t hurt me.” Thomas immediately stepped up, “Yes, but I’m not.”
Another gentleman stepped forward and said, “I’m John Pollard, and I sold her this cabin a week ago.” Dorothy’s dad and the men reluctantly left and some of the towns people followed them for a day to make sure they were well out of town. Dorothy and Tom married and had six kids, of whom my dad was the fourth.
Dorothy only went back to see her parents one time. This time she had several of her dad’s grandchildren with her. Her dad was very repentant, but the scars still remained. This is just one of the stories grandma used to sit on the porch and tell me about. Seems like they had many stories and they were very happy to tell them.
—James Neuhouser
