The "Creek Path" wasn't a path in the way people in Millersville would understand it. It wasn't groomed or paved, and if you followed it for more than twenty yards, you’d likely end up with a boot full of mud and a face full of spiderwebs. It was a winding, stubborn trail that hugged the water where the willow trees leaned so low they looked like they were trying to drink the creek dry. Folks said the Creek Path was the original "Main Street" of Walnut Bend, back before the gravel road was cut and before Earl’s grandfather built the store. It was where the women did the washing and the men traded pelts. Now, it was just a place where the kids went to hide from their chores and where the shadows seemed to stay a little longer than they did anywhere else. One humid Tuesday, when the air felt like a wet wool blanket, I found myself in the back of Earl’s store. Earl had asked me to help him move some of those heavy bread crates because his "bad hip was acti...
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