THE next morning the camp returned to its normal work schedule. Some men were rested and some were hungover and some a bit of both. Serena went out with a crew working on Indian Ridge. She was pregnant, though none in the camp other than Pemberton knew it. When he'd asked if she should risk riding a horse, she'd smiled and told him any child of theirs could stand a little jostling.

Harris called the office in the early afternoon. He'd been out of state for two weeks and returned to find a telegram from Albright chastising Harris and the Pembertons for pursuing the Townsend tract, especially since the park was inevitable, as was eminent domain for those unwilling to sell.

"He's given up being a diplomat," Harris seethed. "Thinks if he bares his teeth we'll roll over and show our belly the same way Champion did. Luckadoo at the Savings and Loan had a message for me too. He said Webb and Kephart have been over there inquiring about that Jackson County tract you like. God knows what that's about, but it can't be good."

After Harris hung up, Pemberton went to the stable and rode east toward Indian Ridge. As he rode through the camp, Pemberton saw a few wreaths yet adorned the stringhouses. Some of the highlanders considered the true Christmas to be on January fourteenth. Old Christmas, they called it, believing it was the day the magi visited the Christ child. Another tidbit Buchanan had written in his notebook. Remembering the notebook brought with it a memory of the man, but only for a few moments before Pemberton turned his thoughts to Serena and the life she held within her.

He found her with a crew helping to build a new spur line, the four of them contemplating a massive white oak that blocked the rail path. Serena made a final suggestion and rode over to Pemberton. Pemberton told her about the telegram.

"If the park's inevitable, Albright wouldn't bother," Serena said. "Townsend's tract must be more valuable to them than they want us to know, probably because of those virgin hardwoods. They'll use them to sway the public the same way Muir used his redwoods in Yosemite. Let them keep blustering and we'll keep cutting."

A momentary silence fell over the nearby woods as the lead cutter finished his notching and stepped away. The two sawyers kneeled on the frozen ground where yesterday's snow lingered, between them the twelve-foot cross-cut saw used only on the biggest trees. As they lifted the saw to slide into the notching, the afternoon sun fell full upon the polished blade, and it appeared the steel was being forged anew to confront the white oak. Serena and Pemberton watched as the men gained their rhythm after a few slips and catches. The crew foreman raised his hand and signaled to Serena that whatever problem had confounded the crew had been surmounted.

"Webb and Kephart came by the Savings and Loan," Pemberton said. "Luckadoo told Harris they were inquiring about the Jackson County tract. For more park land, Harris thinks. Harris said they're starting to believe they can do anything."

Serena had been watching the sawyers, but she turned to Pemberton now.

"But that makes no sense when all the other park land's at least twenty miles away."

"Let them do what they like over there," Pemberton said. "Campbell claims Townsend's land is the better buy for us. Anyway, Harris is so flummoxed about this park that he may be completely wrong about Webb and Kephart's inquiry."

"But they are growing more confident," Serena said, watching the cross-cut's blade work its way into the heartwood. "Harris is right about that."

ON THE FIRST SUNDAY OF THE NEW YEAR, THE Pembertons and Harris drove east toward Jackson County to look at the land Waynesville Savings and Loan had repossessed six months before, land Harris suddenly insisted on seeing before committing to the Townsend tract. Harris sat in the backseat, using a wool overcoat and a flask of whiskey to keep himself warm. Sleet had fallen the day before, and though now only drizzle smudged the windshield, scabs of ice lingered on bridges and curves where cliff hangs shaded the blacktop. Pemberton drove cautiously, staying in the road's center whenever possible, all the while wishing Serena hadn't insisted on coming.

Harris leaned forward and offered the flask but the Pembertons declined. Harris slipped the flask back into his pocket and took out the Wednesday edition of the Asheville Citizen, began to read aloud.

"While our attention to the creation of a national park is crucial to our region's future, we must also act as a state to secure our own immense but threatened natural beauty. The recent foreclosure on 9,000 acres of farmland in the Caney Creek region of Jackson County, while tragic for those who owned that land, offers a rare opportunity to buy a tract as pristine as any in our region and at a very reasonable price. This hidden jewel is rich in hardwoods and sparkling streams, as well as a profusion of plant and animal life. Mr. Horace Kephart, our region's leading authority on these matters, believes the acreage is as rich in natural resources as any he's seen in southern Appalachia. Nevertheless, Mr. Kephart argues that the time to act is now. Because of the land's proximity to Franklin, the property is beginning to receive interest from speculators who have no concern for western North Carolina other than lining their own pocketbooks. Since North Carolina, like the rest of this country, has its monetary resources stretched to the limit, now is the time for our state's wealthier inhabitants to take the lead and contribute to a legacy not only for themselves but for all North Carolinians."

Harris folded the paper and slapped it against the seat.

"I knew those bastards were up to something like this. Webb and Kephart came back to the Savings and Loan Friday. They were being damn coy about it, but Luckadoo thinks someone around here is interested in helping them, someone with a lot of money."

"Who could that be?" Pemberton asked.

"I think it's Cornelia Vanderbilt and that English fop husband of hers Cecil," Harris said. "Her fool mother gave 5,000 acres for that Pisgah Forest, so this kind of silliness runs in the family. Plus, they're friends with Rockefeller."

Harris paused long enough to sip from the flask, his ire mounting.

"It's got to be them," he fumed. "No one else has that kind of money. Why can't they just play king and queen in their goddamn castle and keep out of other people's business. All of them, from Webb to Rockefeller, they're nothing but Bolsheviks. They won't be satisfied until the government owns every acre in these mountains."

"When people finally realize it comes down to jobs or a pretty view, they'll come around," Pemberton said.

"Jobs or a pretty view," Harris said. "I like that. We can suggest that as a caption for Webb's next editorial. I assume you saw his so-called open letter to Colonel Townsend?"

"We saw it," Serena said, "but Townsend's a smart enough businessman not to be swayed by Webb's doggerel or Albright's threats."

"I should have stopped this park nonsense in 1926 when it started," Harris said. "If I didn't have so much money tied up in new machinery, I'd buy both of these tracts, just to spite all of them."

"Despite Webb's flowery description, I doubt this land can beat Townsend's," Pemberton said.

"Perhaps," Harris said, "but it's worth a couple of hours to check it, especially if some folks in Franklin are nosing around. They tend to have little interest in anything this far north."

Harris sipped again from the flask and stuffed it back in his coat pocket. The sun broke through the low clouds. Only for a little while, Pemberton suspected, but maybe enough to melt some of the ice on the blacktop, make the return trip easier. After a while, they came to a crossroads. Pemberton braked and checked a hand-drawn map Luckadoo had given him months before. He gave the map to Serena and turned right. The road made a wide curve, and soon the Tuckaseegee River appeared on the left. The water looked smooth and slow moving, as if the cold made the river sluggish. The river began to bend toward the road, and a metal one-lane bridge appeared before them. Another automobile came toward the bridge from the opposite direction. As they got closer, Pemberton saw the car was a Pierce-Arrow.