A smiling teenager stood behind the check-in counter, waiting to fill out the forms and hand us our keys. Dee Dee palmed them and was asking for the nearest facilities when the keys flew from her hand as a large man in an all-fired hurry plowed past, knocking her into me. Cane sailing from my hand, we smacked into the hardwood floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

“Get off me,” I moaned.

Dee Dee, a woman who had not seen the petite section of the dress store for several years, struggled to get up. I tried to help, pushing at her without much success.

“Can’t you see my friend uses a cane,” she yelled at the retreating giant. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going you feather-brained lummox!”

He kept walking.

“You could at least apologize,” Dee Dee shouted at his back. She helped me to my feet while several slacked-jawed onlookers stared. “Trix, are you all right? If I see him again…well I don’t know what I might do.”

A wide-eyed lady, with mouth agape, offered assistance. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are either of you hurt? Can I help you?” She stuck out a shaking hand. “I’m Joyce, by the way. I’m the owner of this inn.”

I realized she was the lady who had made our reservations. She was much older than her phone voice had led me to believe. A petite woman, she wore a bright red pantsuit. Her gray hair was cut in a stylish bob.

I took a quick physical assessment for any damage. “I think I’ll survive. How about you Dee Dee?”

She huffed and did a hasty check. Though her body parts remained intact, I sensed her dignity had taken quite a hit.

“Well, I guess I’ll live. That man was so rude. Maybe it was an accident, but he could have at least stopped to help.” She adjusted her elastic waistband back into position and turned to Joyce. “Did you see him? He kept right on going.” Dee Dee placed her hands on her ample hips.

I glanced at her bright orange pants and wondered how anyone could have missed her standing there. Her eyes still flashed with anger at the indignity that had been pressed upon us.

Joyce nodded. “Yes dear, I saw the whole thing. That’s John Tatum. His family owns most of the property in Dahlonega. He eats at the inn quite often.” Her words rushed out, then she paused, gazing after him. “He must have been upset about something, the way he kept going.”

She retrieved my cane and handed it to me. Ever since my fall from Grace, a palomino with a short fuse, I’d been struggling with a bum knee. Despite therapy, there had been little improvement during the past four years.

The girl behind the desk summoned Joyce. She offered her apologies and left to handle the situation.

“Come on, Trixie.” Dee Dee slung my purse on her shoulder while I steadied myself. “Let’s go find some lunch.”

“Sure, but don’t you want to eat at the inn’s buffet? I’ve heard it’s to die for.” Tasty smells filled the lobby. No wonder Mr. Tatum ate here often.

Dee Dee smoothed her clothes. “I need some fresh air.”

We walked over to the town square. Dahlonega had done an excellent job of preserving its downtown and leaving its natural beauty unspoiled. The storefronts remained untouched by what some people would call progress. Old wood-front buildings displayed images of horses being tethered to a hitching post in front of the stores. In the distance, the Appalachian foothills faded away in a purple haze.

We found the cutest restaurant located on the second story, offering dining on an outside porch overlooking the town.

“After we finish eating, I need to head on over to the gold museum,” I mentioned. “You know that ole’ saying, ‘work before fun.’ Want to come with me?”

“Why don’t you go ahead? I think I’ll browse for a while. I don’t plan on going home empty-handed. I promised Sarah I’d find some goodies for the store.” Dee Dee owned an antique store, “Antiques Galore,” in Vans Valley, and her octogenarian assistant, Sarah, would be thrilled.

I knew my friend; she’d keep her word. Eclectic boutiques, artisan stands, and even an old-fashioned candy shop lined the square, and they were calling her name. Cash registers rang as people bustled in and out of busy stores with full shopping bags. Before we parted ways, we agreed on a meeting place between four and five o’clock.

Dee Dee walked with me as far as the Dahlonega Gold Museum so she could carry my bag loaded with my laptop, camera and tape recorder. I ascended stairs to the grassy knoll where the museum stood like a sentinel watching over the town.

Inside the door, a middle-aged woman, dressed in crisp khaki pants and matching shirt, eyeballed visitors. She stood ramrod straight with her hands behind her back.

“Teresa Duncan,” I said out loud as I read her name tag, and scrunched a smirk at the term “Ranger,” lettered below her name.

“How may I help you?”

I explained I was researching an article for Georgia By the Way.

She displayed her first smile and told me Harv had called ahead, and that she’d be glad to help in any way she could.

Teresa spoke into a walkie-talkie, and within minutes a couple of young people appeared. They were dressed just like Teresa. “Trixie, let me introduce you to Tony Bowen and Rebecca Smith. They’re rangers, too.”

We shook hands, and I asked them a few questions.

“How about I take you on a tour?” Teresa asked.

“Do you mind if I take pictures while we talk?” I reached to get my all-important digital camera.

“Feel free to take as many as you want. This here’s our mining exhibit. It explains three of the earliest methods of mining.” She gestured in the direction of the room.

“Wow, look at all of these old tools on the wall.” I snapped pictures of pickaxes, rock hammers, and old lanterns in rapid succession. As we walked through the building, I photographed dozens of dioramas, all devoted to gold mining.

“This was originally the courthouse for Lumpkin County,” Teresa said. “It was built in 1836 and is the oldest courthouse in Georgia. It became a branch of the United States Mint in 1838. It remained so until 1861, after the Gold Rush.” She pointed to a glass showcase housing original memorandums of gold bullion deposits and original deeds to property won in the land lottery.

I wrote as fast as I could. I also recorded our conversation so I wouldn’t miss anything. Harv was a stickler when it came to details, and Teresa was a living, breathing, history book.

After the tour, Teresa excused herself to help other visitors while I walked outside and shot more photos of the building and surrounding area. The late afternoon sun arced as tourists mingled on the grassy lawn. A family of four posed for their picture under the Gold Rush Days sign, while a group of school children skipped toward a long yellow bus. These would make great shots to show the popularity of Gold Rush Days. One thing I’d learned about photography: a person usually had to take many shots to produce one good picture.

Back inside, Teresa offered to show me a film explaining the history of mining. Though I had researched a little online I didn’t have enough material for my article. This would be a great opportunity to learn more about the mining process.

I checked my watch and saw it was closing in on a quarter ‘til five. “My friend should be here any minute.” I scanned the room to see if I could spot Dee Dee. “Could we wait for her?”

“Sure. We close at five o’clock, but I planned to stay late anyway, so y’all can watch the movie while I finish up my work.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I placed my camera back in its case.

“If you need anything, ask Tony or Rebecca, and they’ll help you,” Teresa offered. After she escorted me to a bench where I could sit and wait, she left to find one of her assistants to run the projector.

I wiggled on the hard bench. We were upstairs where the film room was located. I hadn’t seen this part of the museum yet, so I took advantage of the time. Getting up, I walked over and studied some of the old mining claims incased in glass. Outside onto the balcony, I could see the General Store across the way. I couldn’t wait to explore the shops. But work came first, and I needed this article to shine.