Spencer's Mill: Mysteries by N.W.Boyer, #1

By N.W. Boyer

Spencer's Mill is a mystery set in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  It is an exciting drama with an understanding of the closing of the mills in the North Carolina and Virginia areas.  The characters will keep the reading guessing as to what will happen as the story unfolds. Fiction but filled with details concerning people and real places that make it a great place to visit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.W. Boyer
• Release date: Apr 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386041177

Book preview

DEDICATION

This book, Spencer's Mill , is dedicated to the hard-working women, past and present, who give their lives and labor to family, faith, business and community. They have enriched the lives of those around them and have made the small towns, like those in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a better place to live.

N.W.  Boyer

THE ENCOUNTER

Her teeth were the first thing that I saw as she approached me just beyond my shopping cart. They were rotten and worn. As I think about it,she looked worn all over.

Do you think you could help me out? I'm trying to get a meal, she began.

Her hair looked unwashed and it was plain to see that she had been through the wash and hung out to dry as my husband had a way of speaking about those who had lived a rough life.

It is difficult for me to refuse those who have finally lowered themselves to begging. That is unless I clearly see cigarettes, that cost a fortune, or alcohol breath that tells me that my dollars will only perpetuate the problem. "Where do you live? I asked.

Oh, I really come from Spencer's Mountain...you know, up on the Blue Ridge.

Where do you live now? I continued to ask, but she never gave me an answer. I assumed she was on the street or being sent to the Mt. Airy shopping center by someone who would pick her up later. She told me her name was Nancy and I exchanged a smile with her for my name was also Nancy.

As I reached in my billfold to get her some money, I looked deep into her eyes, hoping to see something about her soul that could convince me that this woman was not playing a game with those of us out in the world more fortunate than she. It really didn't matter though. She was a pitiful soul and except by the Grace of God...go I.

I've never heard of Spencer's Mountain. Tell me more about it.

Oh, my Pappy had a mill there. It was called Spencer's Mill, but it is no longer there. It got sold off after my Pa died.

She took the money from my hand; thanked me and wiped her face.

Think I'll go over there and sit. Get out of this hot sun, you know. I watched her go.

My husband and I had planned to eat at the Thai Restaurant just across the way. The entire meal I could not get her out of my mind. In fact, as I talked about her, I got that emotional feeling that does not come to me often. I wondered if she was still sitting on the bench in front of the grocery store.

Waitress, would you mind putting some of this food into a soup container? Also, I need plastic spoons and a fork. My husband gave me a wondering look and I explained that I would be back in a few minutes. She was gone. Probably picked up. Still, Spencer's Mountain and Spencer's Mill rang in my ears. Exactly where was this place on the Blue Ridge?

The next day I did some investigating and found out that it was just off the Blue Ridge Parkway not far for Meadows of Dan, Virginia. The Old Mill had once stood there and even a street sign read Spencer's Mill. Why this intrigued me so it is hard to say. Turning up the Spencer's Mill Road, I saw a small, rundown shack. The yard was a disaster from every point of view. Old, rusty things lay strewn around the yard that looked to have been there for years. A dirty, Confederate flag hung on the front of the house. An old black truck stood in the yard. A small, bare

light bulb could be seen hanging through the front window. I didn't think anyone there would want to talk about Spencer Mill. Perhaps I was prejudging and was wrong.

I rode on down the road about a mile and found a man stacking his firewood and I asked him if he could tell me anything about the old Spencer mill that used to be in this area.

The Mill made clothes and things for babies...like booties...is all I know. Lots of people worked there till they took it off to some foreign place.

Did the owners have a daughter named Nancy Spencer? He stroked his long beard as if to pull something from deep in his mind.

Shor...we knowd Nancy. My wife took care of her when she was a kid.

You have any idea where she is now? I asked. I think I may have run into her down the mountain in Carolina. Come on in the house. My Old Lady will know about her if there's anything to know.

We walked into the house which was truly an old southern, farm home. The wood burning stove sat in the kitchen and a red checked tablecloth was on the table. A dipper hung on the porch with a water bucket under it. That dipper took me back to my Grandfather Ellis in North Carolina who kept one hanging almost like this one.

A little lady bent over with some scoliosis looked up at me with that smile of welcome that only the mountain people can give to a complete stranger. After exchanging some polite talk, we got down to what I had come to ask. I have found that mountain people don't start off right away with

the business at hand. One has to chat a while in order to be polite. I think they use that time to size up a stranger.

We is glad you come to see us. I'm hisun' wife...for goin on bout fifty years now. My name is Aunt Sally...at least that is what everyone calls me.