Heyden went out as soon as the rain let up to see if he could feel around the engine block and discover anything that he might be able to repair. I was too neryous to prepare any dinner, and Uncle Linden had gone back to sleep. I decided to go out and see if there was anything I could do to help. Just as I stepped out of the coach, a pair of headlights washed its light over us, and a pickup truck appeared, slowed, and came to a stop. It was so dark, it was hard to see who had driven up beside us. I joined Heyden and waited as the door opened and shut. A very big African-American man in a pair of coveralls came around the front of the truck. He looked to be at least six feet seven or eight. I wouldn't have called him fat. but I was willing to bet anyone he was well over two hundred and fifty pounds.
"Y'all have troubles?" he asked. "Yes, sir, we do," Heyden said. "and we were foolish enough to leave home without a flashlight."
"I'm forgetting more and more myself these days." he said and reached into one of his deep coverall pockets to produce a flashlight. "I leave everything I can in these here coveralls so I don't forget stuff."
When he drew closer. I could see what hair he had was salt white. The stubble on his face was a mixture of salt and pepper. He had big features and the largest hands I had ever seen on a man.
"How's your battery?" he asked Heyden. "It wasn't showing any problem."
"Well, go on and give her a turn or two and let me listen in," he said.
"Right." Heyden started away and then paused and looked at me. I could see he was concerned about leaving me alone with a stranger.
"I'm all right," I said. "Go try it."
He nodded and hurried back into the cab. A moment later we heard the engine grind.
"Whoa!" the man cried. Heyden stopped and then came out "I know that sound. You deal with these things long enough, you learn what every tinkle means."
"What do you think it is?" Heyden asked.
"It sure sounds like you've blown a head gasket. I'm afraid."
"Is that a big thing?" I asked quickly.
"Big enough."
"Damn," Heyden said. "Expensive to fix. huh?"
"Somethin' like this. yeah. I imagine it ain't just one bail of cotton, as my daddy used to say."
"We're on sort of a budget." Heyden said shyly.
The big man glanced at the motor home and nodded. He probably thought, who else but someone on a budget would be driving something like this?
"I understand. Well," he said, dropping his flashlight back into his pants, "if I had the parts. I could fix it. This is an old engine in here. I recognize it. Done enough of them in my time."
"Could you really fix it?" Heyden asked.
"Sure. We get everything we need back at Casa de la Luna."
"Casa de la Luna?" I asked. "That means House of the Moon. What is it, a hotel?"
"Oh, it's just the old farm. Mrs. Lilliann Stanton named it that a while back and she gets awful mad if I don't call it that. It ain't but another half mile or so down the road. Y'all get in with me.
We'll use the phone and see if a friend of mine back in Anderson can help. He's in the car cemetery business."
"Car cemetery?" I asked,
"Fancy name for junkyard. miss. C'mon," he beckoned and turned to the pickup truck.
"It's not just us." Heyden said.
"Pardon?"
"My father is in the motor home," I said.
"Oh." He looked back at the cab.