John “Coon” Miller smiled as he mounted the chestnut drawn buggy bound for his homestead on the Bull Run Creek. He was finished spending the day at his tavern on the Cumberland Gap Road. Long ago, he had had the log structure constructed for the weary travelers who came from Knoxville on their treacherous journey to the Upper Cumberlands. It was now a popular overnight lodging for passersby and a great place to catch up on the local news. Today had been a long day and he was past ready to relax for the rest of the evening.
It was the spring of 1832, and the redbuds and dogwoods were in full bloom. It would be a good ride through the trail of wildflowers to the Miller settlement.
As he rode along, he recollected the battle that made his enormous farm possible. He could still recall his days at the Battle of King’s Mountain and the comradery with his distant neighbors Nicholas Gibbs, John Rice and Boston Sharp. However, his most vivid memory climbing up the mountain to fight was of his friend, Preston Goforth. Preston and Colonel Hampton had joined the march late, but they were just as eager to even things with the British. He could still see young Preston with his rifle ready to fire when his own brother fired from the top of the hill and instantly killed him. He would remember the sight as long as he lived. That’s the way it was in that battle, brother against brother.
John paused as he neared the clearing to the house and took in the aroma of the cookhouse which stood down the hill from the big house. The kitchen staff were busy preparing the evening meal and he was more than ready for Ruby’s excellent cooking.
After a fine meal of roasted pork and sweet potatoes, John was ready for some much-needed respite. He entered the main house and was preparing for his nightly routine. Although his bright sky-blue eyes still burned with intelligent taciturn, the scorching Tennessee weather had taken its toll on his 85-year-old six-foot-one-inch frame. The orange red hair of his youth had all turned gray.
The nine-foot-tall clock in the hallway of his two-story house country log home struck the hour of nine. Captain Miller’s manservant had already made his nightly visit to help him with his night clothes to empty the chamber pot. He could still hear Eva, his wife of many years, still going about the house with her nightly rituals so this gave him some time again to be lost in his thoughts.
The Captain had many thoughts as he had lived a very full and, at times, thrilling life. His thoughts tonight were of his brother Mathias who had died on the long voyage from England so long ago. He wondered what his life might have been had his brother lived. He wondered if he himself would have been different since he was the only male and heir to the Miller family. He had lost touch with all three of his sisters but he wondered now if he would ever see any of siblings again this side of heaven.
At his age, he could prepare for the inevitable and prepare his documents for his departure. He had long ago made his last will and testament for his family and he could rest in peace knowing that all was in order.