Chapter 6: The Visitor in the Valley
In late October, when the Ozark sugar maples were blazing in brilliant shades of scarlet and amber against the limestone bluffs, an unfamiliar passenger bus stopped at the highway junction four miles from the reserve.
A lone figure walked down the winding gravel logging road, carrying a single canvas duffel bag.
It was Jonathan.
He had been released on supervised pre-trial probation under a mandatory community-restitution plea agreement. He wore a faded flannel work shirt, stiff denim trousers that were dusty at the cuffs, and worn leather work shoes. His styled hair was gone, trimmed into a short, practical buzz; his handsome face was thin, sunburned, and lined with the deep, exhausting humiliation of total public ruin.
He reached the timber split-rail fence marking the boundary of the Black Walnut Reserve.
Through the trees, the rhythmic, clear ring of steel spades and the laughing voices of young apprentices echoed into the crisp autumn air.
Standing near a newly terraced hillside was Ethan, holding a wooden planting bar, showing a nineteen-year-old apprentice how to mulch a young walnut sapling with straw.
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Jonathan stood at the gate, his hands clutching the rough cedar rail, his shoulders shaking with the sudden, crushing weight of everything he had lost.
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