No Place Like Home

by Lisa Prysock

  The second merit being, maybe she could prove to herself once and for all she wasn’t klutzy. She didn’t mind being a country girl from a small town in Wyoming, but the reputation she’d earned for being a klutz was becoming internally annoying, to say the least. For some reason lately, she tended to do goofy, klutzy things. Maybe she had a penchant for not thinking things through, or maybe she was merely distracted or just plain stressed out since her dad, Henry Johnson—everyone had called him Hank— had passed on to heaven during her sophomore year in college. Maybe she had a touch of post-traumatic stress disorder, or what her mom called mild PTSD anxiety and grief behaviors. Mom had said her grief, stress, and anxiety were “manifesting in slightly klutzy behaviors outwardly.” She’d stepped in paint pans, managed to become tangled up in a war on the front porch with five rolls of designer fabric, and somehow accidentally wrapped herself in sheets of wet, sticky wallpaper.

  Then too, there’d been the day she’d collided with a pitcher of cherry lemonade and Stephanie. More recently, she had dropped a slippery bowl of macaroni salad in the kitchen and her brother, Ryan, had skidded on noodles from the dining room entrance all the way to the sink. Since then, Tory had attempted to steer clear of the kitchen.

  Her mom, Abby Johnson, thought spending a month on The Sweetwater Ranch, participating in the Miss Lander Beauty Pageant, would be a wonderful change of pace for her eldest—leaving her no excuses to offer Harper.

  “You’ve done so much for my interior decorating business since you’ve graduated from college, darling,” her mother had said. “Go and enjoy the opportunity. I’ll manage things on the home front.”

  “Are you sure?” Tory had been reluctant. She and Harper had purposely kept secret the hope of winning to give Mom the prize money. Abby didn’t know they’d overheard her worries about the property taxes.

  “I’m sure. Harper and Stephanie can help me out here and there. We’ll be fine. The client I’m working for now pays well and is patient. The timing couldn’t be any better.” Those had been Abby Johnson’s final words on the matter. Harper had looked both hopeful and triumphant at that point, so Tory had surrendered as her sisters eagerly chose outfits for her to wear in the various phases of competition.

  She took a deep breath and intrepidly climbed out of her vehicle, and with mild irritation, she slammed the car door shut to her restored, vintage, 1930 Ford, a Model A 55B. Her father had put a new engine in the Tudor four-door Sedan and painted it a shiny dark plum color with tan and black trim. The antique automobile had been a high school graduation gift from her parents. She doubted she’d ever be able to part with it since it came with so many beloved memories of her Dad working on it in their detached garage. She’d named the gorgeous car Corinthia 13—a nod to the love chapter in the book of Corinthians—reminding her to do everything in love, the one thing preserving Harper’s life in her mind at present.

  “Wait, don’t move!” A handsome, dark-haired cowboy wearing a black cowboy hat, cowboy boots, jeans, a plaid shirt, and a healthy summer tan hollered out to Tory. She found herself a little alarmed as he approached where she stood admiring the main barn-shaped house for the sprawling dude ranch. She could see he’d just finished helping a group of Girl Scouts unload their luggage as they’d poured out of a charter bus parked near the main entrance.

  Confused, she did as he had instructed and stood perfectly still, wondering what she’d done wrong. She hadn’t even taken a single step forward after exiting the vehicle. The beautiful, enormous, barn house had captured her attention before she could move.

  He let out a whistle as he walked toward her parking spot. When he reached her side, he breathed, “What a beauty!”

  She was accustomed to the occasional whistle or remark about her vintage automobile, another reason to remind her she didn’t have any business entering a beauty pageant. Guys tended to whistle at her car, not her. For her Mom’s sake, she’d just have to grin and bear it. Besides, she’d promised Dad she’d do her part to take care of Mom. If that meant stepping in paint pans and getting rolled up in sticky wallpaper, so be it. She loved interior decorating as much as her mom.

  “Allow me, Miss, uh?” He gave her a charmingly, handsome smile, effectively rendering her speechless. She forgot about the car and where she was, though he added, “Beautiful Ford.”

  She had no idea what he was asking her, but maybe he was offering to help her carry her luggage or maybe he wanted to test drive her car. Only, she didn’t want to unload her luggage yet. She needed to find her cabin first, attend the pageant welcome meeting, and meet some of the other contestants—a daunting prospect. However, this cowboy was so handsome she would’ve said yes to almost anything he asked. She found herself mesmerized by his eyes and that gorgeous smile.

  He had warm, friendly hazel eyes and when he smiled, his whole demeanor made her feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. Was he at least five inches taller than she? Tory melted looking up at his strongly chiseled face. The confident, attractive wrangler reminded her of a good-looking television actor. Then she realized he was pointing to her floral linen summer scarf, caught in the car door. Understanding registered on her face and she let an, “Oh, thank you,” escape from her mouth.

  He opened the door slowly after she stepped aside a few inches, retrieved the scarf, and carefully closed the door. “Here you are, Miss.”

  “M-miss Johnson,” she stammered in reply, accepting the end of the scarf and then rearranging it so it didn’t drag so low. She tossed it over her shoulder and finding her tongue, added, “Tory.” She noticed he wasn’t clean shaven, which in his case, served only to make his strong jaw and rugged appearance look all the more appealing.

  “Miss Tory Johnson,” he repeated slowly. He’d finally noticed her and not the car, she decided. He was looking deeply into her big, brown eyes—or had she imagined that? She looked down at the ground shyly, a few of her brown wavy curls hiding her heart-shaped face from view as her cheeks turned a light shade of crimson. “A girl as pretty as you are must be one of the Miss Lander Beauty Pageant queens.”

  “Thank you, I had no idea my scarf was caught.” She wasn’t sure how to respond to his gallant rescue or the lavish complement. She wasn’t a beauty queen yet, but apparently this cowboy was taken with her looks, considered all entrants in beauty contests as queens, or he was on the outrageously flirtatious side.

  She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt since he’d rescued her from being pulled back by the long scarf wrapped around her neck in loose attractive layers. The ends of the scarf still fell far below her waist even after she’d rearranged it, one end in front and the other draped gracefully down her back over her short-sleeved pink blouse. Her floral skirt matched the scarf, and with her white summer sandals and brunette curls, she hoped she looked ready to meet the pageant coordinator and face her competitors. Tory possessed a daring and eclectic fashion style at times, but hopefully it would serve her well in the weeks ahead.

  “Thanks again for helping me,” she managed, leaning back on the Ford, intrigued by the handsome Sweetwater wrangler. They waited patiently while traffic cleared as a few more cars pulled into the parking lot. There was no rush. Terrified to be late for this particular event, she was early for the meeting.

  “No problem, Tory. I’m Bronson. Bronson Edwards.” He held out his hand to shake hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He tipped his hat in her direction.

  “Likewise,” she smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “Thank you so much for rescuing me, er, my scarf, from disaster. Can you tell me where the library is? I’ve a meeting there.”

  “Sure, in fact, I’d consider it a privilege to escort you, if you’ll follow me.” The handsome cowboy began leading the way toward the main barn house and she followed as he chatted, growing more intrigued by the minute with her new acquaintance. “Yep, I happen to know that’s the pageant introductions meetin’ going on there. I’m sure you’ll be great, so good luck. There’s qu
ite a bunch of girls in there, but wait ‘til they see you! You’ll be amazing!”

  Laughing softly and unaccustomed to such high praise, his words boosted her confidence and she found herself standing up straighter and tilting her chin. Tory grinned shyly and looked away as she continued to follow him onto the front porch and then through a set of double doors into the enormous house. It might be a long shot, but maybe she did have a chance of winning—or at least placing—in this pageant, after all.

  Chapter 3

  “Crankiness is at the essence of all comedy. My wife and I were discussing the different types of cranky. There's entertaining cranky, annoying cranky, angry cranky.”

  —Jerry Seinfeld

  “CAN YOU BELIEVE WE’RE finally in Ireland on the most exciting part of our honeymoon?” Jill clasped Logan’s hand as they took in a view of the magnificent, five-mile stretch of the famous Cliffs of Moher along the western Atlantic coast of County Clare.

  “This is amazing!” Logan looked down at his bride and pulled her closer into his arms, in awe of her and the view before them as they walked for several miles along the flat grassy area above the cliffs, high as four-hundred feet in most places. They stood still for a while, enjoying the afternoon sunlight dancing on the ocean below them, taking in the natural beauty of the scene. It felt good to be out of the plane after the long flight and out of the rental car.

  Walking along the cliffs, they eventually encountered another couple several decades older, leaving the area. Their names were Bonnie and Herbert. Herbert—Herb as Bonnie called him—walked with a cane similar to the one Logan had left in the car. He had thinning white hair slicked flat, and wore a grumpy look on his face. He also wore dark brown suspenders over a white, short-sleeved button-up shirt with a collar, white undershirt, and pants in a shade of mustard-gold. Bonnie had probably ironed and starched his shirt for him as it still looked crisp. She wore practical brown suede walking shoes, navy slacks with a powder-blue and pink floral blouse, and had a head of white hair, perfectly coiffed. She carried a brown leather handbag to match her shoes in the crook of her elbow. Jill and Logan—dressed in jeans, tee-shirts, and cowboy boots—were a modern, younger version of the couple, minus a few idiosyncrasies. They’d paused to chat.

  “We’re from Nashville, Tennessee,” Herb announced. “Our first trip to Ireland.” He did not crack even a hint of a smile.

  “Ours, too.” Jill smiled, hoping to coax a smile out of the crochety fellow.

  “We’re from Lander, Wyoming.” Logan put his arm around Jill’s shoulders and shook hands with Herb at the same time. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

  “Isn’t that sweet, Herb?” Bonnie raised her voice slightly to be sure her husband could hear, repeating everything they said. They soon realized Herbert wore a hearing aid. “They’re on honeymoon, from Wyoming.”

  Herb nodded with a humpf and touched his ear. “I heard them,” he snapped at Bonnie and seemed to add a scowl to emphasize his displeasure. “They’re on honeymoon.” He paused, then looking annoyed, raised his voice with some effort, adding, “From Lander, Wyoming. Yellowstone’s there.”

  “That’s right,” Logan nodded. He smiled a little at the way the elderly couple communicated with each other, but Jill had a troubled look on her face. She didn’t like Herb’s attitude at all, but Logan ignored his gruff manner. “Yellowstone is to the north of us.”

  “We visited Wyoming back in 1963, in the station wagon.” Herb looked up at Logan as he talked, but he barely glanced at Jill or Bonnie, as though it might be difficult for him to turn his neck to the right or left.

  Bonnie chuckled. “Our boys were young, just teenagers back then. They’re all married and grown with children of their own. It wasn’t 1963, but it might have been ‘77 or ‘80.”

  “Sure it was 1963,” Herb insisted.

  “No, Herb, that’s when our Joey was born.” Bonnie shook her head with a slight smile as she gently corrected her husband in the most loving way possible, softening her tone as she spoke. “A mother never forgets when her children were born. Joseph would have been about seventeen when we took the boys to Yellowstone because I remember; he graduated from high school the very next year. Yellowstone was our last family vacation together before our boys had families of their own.”

  Jill thought surely he wouldn’t dare tango with a mother’s child birthing memories, and then she observed Bonnie had chosen a wise approach when Herb scratched his head and relented. “Chad would’ve been fifteen.”

  “That’s right, and our Noah, fourteen. Timothy would’ve been thirteen.” Bonnie chuckled. “We barely fit in the station wagon with all our camping gear, fishing poles, sleeping bags, and four boys.”

  “We didn’t camp. We stayed in a lodge.” Herb insisted.

  “Wow, you raised four boys!” Jill’s mouth dropped open, hoping to change the subject before Herb started World War 3.

  “Yes, we did!” Herb finally looked Jill directly in the eyes. He still looked grumpy, but she detected a proud glimmer of a twinkle behind his blue-gray eyes.

  “We did go to the lodge, but not until we woke up to a mama bear and her two cubs eating all of our provisions about four days into our Wyoming Yellowstone camping trip. Then we went to the nearest lodge and begged for two rooms.” Bonnie paused to laugh about the experience, and Herb’s head turned slightly in her direction as he appeared to lean toward his wife to hear her words. Jill could see his eyes dancing with recognition as he began to recall the camping trip and what must have been many happy memories in more detail.

  “Yeah, you do have to watch out for the bears when camping.” Logan chuckled and nodded. “Especially in certain parts of Wyoming.”

  “We learned that lesson, didn’t we, Herb?” Bonnie waited for her husband to reply.

  Herb let out another ‘hrmpf.’ Then he added, “The bears ate all our hotdogs and the cookies, too.”

  They all laughed then at Herb’s memory, picturing the family waking up to bears eating their food.

  “How do you like Ireland, so far?” Jill asked, directing her comment more toward Bonnie. She was afraid to test Herb’s patience.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful! These cliffs are stunning. We’ve really enjoyed exploring the countryside, too. A beautiful place for a honeymoon.” Bonnie held up her camera bag. “I’ve taken loads of pictures so far.”

  “It’s been nice talking to you spring chickens, but I’m hungry, so we’re going to get going. It’s getting close to our usual dinner time. Take care, now.” Herb shook hands with Logan and then nodded in Jill’s direction as he began heading towards the parking area.

  “I’d better get him to a place where we can have some supper. We tire quickly at our age and turn in pretty early these days.” Bonnie smiled good-naturedly. “So nice meeting other Americans. Enjoy your honeymoon. I’m coming, Herb! I’d better go now. As you can see, when he gets an idea, he takes after it just like that, especially where food is concerned.”

  “I think we saw an Irish pub named O’Connor’s Pub & Mill on our way here. It’s maybe about three miles back that way, to the south,” Logan offered, trying to be helpful. “Just stay on the main road when you leave this area. They’ve got a beautiful old mill off to one side of the pub where you can take some nice photos to share with your family when you return to America.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you. Sounds perfect for us,” Bonnie breathed, looking extremely thankful for Logan’s suggestion as she hurried away to catch up with her husband.

  Jill grew silent and lingered where they’d chatted with the couple. She pondered about them while observing Bonnie trailing Herb as the elderly couple began the walk of some distance back to the parking area.

  Logan noticed her silence and taking her hand, pulled her away. “C’mon lovely. What’s troubling you? Let’s walk a little further and enjoy the beauty all around us. You look both amused and concerned.”

  She allowed her husband to lead them along the cliffs, but at
a comfortable distance away from the edge. “Well, I am. I think the Holy Spirit is talking to me about forgiveness. I mean, Bonnie must have to forgive him a hundred times a day. He’s...he’s so...”

  “Argumentative?” Logan laughed, his wavy brown hair blowing in the breeze and blue eyes dancing with his own sort of amusement.

  “Yes, and grumpy!” She laughed too, looking up into her husband’s face, pulling him to a stop. “It must be exasperating. Did you see some of the looks on his face? Plus, he can’t hear very well, and on top of that, he’s got memory and physical issues. He may even be diabetic.”

  “That might explain why he ran off in such a hurry to eat.” He turned until he was directly in front of her and rested both of his hands on her shoulders. “Honey, there’s a ton of lessons in the story of Bonnie and Herbert from Nashville, Tennessee. For starters, the way she looks after him and sticks with him, that’s what I’d call true and deep, abiding love. She’s taking good care of him after all of the happy years he’s probably given her and their children. She’s not taking offense at real or perceived offenses, and she loves someone who’s maybe a bit rough on the edges at this stage in life. I don’t know, but maybe he was just having an off day, or perhaps he’s dealing with arthritis or some sort of back pain or something.”

  She nodded hesitantly. “I suppose you’re right. We can learn a lot from them. It just seems like a lot for her to deal with. I hope she has plenty of help. We need to pray for them, Logan.”

  “You’re right, my love. We will.” He reached in his jeans pocket and pulled out the little notebook and pen he usually carried around. He added their names to a list. “There, Bonnie and Herb from Nashville, Tennessee have been added to our prayer list.”