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and I asked, “Do we have any more double-A batteries?”
    “No, is there time enough to stop at the Wal-Mart in Harrisonburg?”
    “It’s Saturday—glaciers move faster than the traffic at that shopping center and it’s out of the way. Let’s hit Garber’s,” I said, referring to the combination grocery and general store on the main road in Remmelkemp Mill.
    “They cost twice as much there, but I suppose we’ll have to.”
    Once the crates were loaded, we secured Kitchener inside his large plastic pet crate and turned the television on. Our dog suffers from separation anxiety and he chews furniture and teddy bears when he gets upset—which is pretty much whenever we’re gone for more than five minutes. The crate is his safe haven and we’d discovered that the background noise from the TV seemed to further calm him. Most people would imagine he’d enjoy watching the 32
    John J. Lamb
    Animal Planet Network, but Kitch is actually a huge fan of QVC—especially when they’re selling New York–cut steaks.
    “Do you want to drive?” Ash asked as she locked the front door.
    “Thanks, I’d like that.”
    I drove down the driveway, made a right onto Cupp Road and after traveling about a quarter-mile arrived at the T intersection with Coggins Spring Road where we made another right turn. The fog had burned off entirely while we were in the house and it was a gorgeous and pleasantly warm autumn morning. We rolled down the windows and savored the fresh air.
    Emerging from the river valley, I slowed the truck to admire the breathtaking view. We live in a picture postcard and if the day ever comes when I cease being utterly spellbound by it, I sincerely hope Ash borrows my cane and smacks me right between the running lights. The land is composed of rolling hills carpeted with emerald grass and capped with oak, maple, and loblolly pine trees. Five miles to the west and towering above the verdant farmland is Massanutten Peak, the southernmost crest of a forest-covered mountain range that runs down the middle of the Shenandoah Valley for fifty miles. Up near the summit—where the nighttime weather was cooler—the foliage was beginning to show traces of crimson, yellow, and orange.
    I rounded a bend in the road, stepped on the brakes, and slowed the Nissan to a crawl. Just ahead, a column of about thirty musket-toting Confederate infantrymen was marching down the hill and into town. A horse-mounted officer and a billowing red Rebel battle flag led the troops. It was the Massanutten Rangers, a local Civil War reenactment group that often camped across the river in William Pouncey’s pasture. On Saturday mornings, they The Mournful Teddy
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    came into town to salute the monument honoring the skirmish at Remmelkemp Mill and afterwards load up on fresh bottles of hard liquor for the nighttime revelries around the campfire. I knew this because Ashleigh’s “baby”
    brother, Joshua, was the Rangers’ First Sergeant.
    Seeing the oncoming lane was clear in front of us, I pulled out and began to creep past the troops. “Want me to slow down so you can say hi?”
    “You know how he hates to be teased when he’s playing soldier.”
    “So, you want me to slow down.”
    “Of course.”
    Ashleigh is without question the sweetest human being I know and I don’t just say that because I adore her.
    She truly is kind, caring, and compassionate. That said, she and Josh have apparently always enjoyed deviling each other whenever they get the chance. Ash assures me that they really do love each other, but it seems to me they have a strange way of showing it.
    We drew abreast of a short and stern-faced soldier at the front of the column. His butternut-colored uniform coat bore the light blue chevrons of a sergeant. Ash called out sweetly, “Hey, Josh, isn’t it a little early for Halloween?”
    Joshua kept his eyes riveted on the road and growled,
    “Knock it off, Trashley.”
    “And you being so short, I thought mama was