Home to Walnut Ridge

by Diane Moody

  A half-hour later he’d dashed from the court house in the pouring rain and flagged down a cab. He was soaked by the time one stopped. As soon as he settled into the back seat, he dialed her repeatedly but couldn’t reach her.

  “Traffic was at a standstill,” he’d told Buddy. “I was about to crawl out of my skin, and I remember yelling at the cab driver to turn at the next light and take a different way. He yelled back, but I couldn’t understand a single word . . . I remember shouting at him, telling him if he was gonna live and work in the U.S., he should learn the blasted language.”

  Noah looked up at Buddy. “Though in a somewhat more colorful choice of words.”

  Buddy smiled.

  “I finally gave up, threw some money at him and decided to make a run for it. And that’s when . . . that’s when . . . I saw her . . .”

  Buddy waited several moments, then quietly asked, “You saw her?”

  Noah shook his head. “Not her. Her car.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Or what was left of it.”

  “Oh no,” Buddy groaned.

  Noah attempted a smile. “She’d always loved Volkswagen Beetles. I’d given it to her two years earlier on her birthday. It was bright red. I ordered a vanity plate‌—‌My Lil’ Bug. And Melissa, she always kept a bunch of daisies in the little vase on the dash. She loved daisies. And she really loved that car.” He swallowed hard. “So I knew immediately it was hers. The driver’s side had been broadsided by a delivery truck that ran a red light. The truck driver, a bicycle courier, and Melissa were all killed.”

  Lost in the fog of those memories, Noah startled as his ringing cell phone pulled him back to the present. Alex’s number appeared on the phone’s small screen. Noah almost answered, then stopped. Instead, he silenced the ring without connecting the call. She and Buddy had invited him up to the house for dinner as they often did. He’d actually intended to go. But the lingering trace of melancholy drifting through him gave him pause.

  He tapped the phone against his forehead and closed his eyes. He couldn’t put it in words, this sadness that sometimes washed over him. Sometimes he could almost visualize it‌—‌like thick ribbons of fog seeping through a crack in his armor, or drifting like a mighty wave through an open door. Eerie, dark, snaking through him until it reached fingers around his heart and squeezed‌—‌tighter and tighter until he could hardly breathe. He’d learned to fight it, mentally slamming the door on the despair before it overwhelmed him and left him drained and despondent. Again.

  Noah opened his eyes and slowly exhaled. He hated these moments and knew the easiest way to keep them at bay was by doing something else, going somewhere, escaping. It was why he loved his Harley. He raked his fingers through his hair and got up, tossing the half-eaten apple into the trash. He retrieved his phone and listened to Alex’s message.

  “Hey, Noah, it’s Alex. I wasn’t sure if you were coming up to dinner or not, but just wanted you to know we’re having fried catfish tonight. Hope you’ll come. We’ll eat about seven. Bye.”

  He felt a smile tugging at his face. Buddy and Alex always seemed to be there when he needed them. Even on voicemail. Alex knew how much he loved catfish. He sent her a text, then hopped in the shower, hoping to wash away the dust and filth from the smokehouse.

  And if he was lucky, maybe some of the fog in his heart while he was at it.

  “Noah, c’mon in!” Buddy chimed as he walked through the back door into the kitchen. “We were about to give up on you.”

  Tracey slid the last biscuit into the basket and looked up as their guest arrived. His eyes met hers, but before she could say hello, she couldn’t help noticing how handsome he looked. He wore a blue chambray shirt beneath a navy cable knit sweater. The blues brought out the green in his eyes. She smiled. “Hello, Noah.”

  “Hi, Tracey. I hope I didn’t hold up dinner. I figured the least I could do was clean up after crawling under the smokehouse half the day.”

  “And you don’t clean up half bad for a Yankee,” Buddy teased, carrying a dish of pan fries. “Grab that bowl of fried okra. I’m starving!”

  Alex walked in from the dining room. “Noah! I’m glad you came. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Iced tea would be great.”

  Tracey covered the biscuits and turned toward the dining room just as Noah turned to do the same. “Whoa! Sorry‍—‍” she said, jostling their cargo. A few pieces of okra spilled from Noah’s dish onto the floor. She leaned down. “I’ll get them.”

  “No, let me,” he said, squatting. “I’m such a klutz‍—‍” At that precise moment, they bumped foreheads. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” He reached out to steady her.

  Tracey laughed, rubbing her forehead and trying to ignore his hand on her elbow. “I think so. Though I’m beginning to wonder about—well, you know‌—‌this morning, when we‍—‍”

  “Oh, yeah. That.” He chuckled as his face reddened. “I suppose I should have warned you that I’ve never been good at introductions.”

  “No problem.” She threw the fallen okra into the trash. “I have quite a history of falling down stairs, if that makes you feel good.”

  “Well, now that you mention it‍—‍”

  “Will you two stop with the chatter and get the food on the table?” Alex squawked. “I’d like us to eat before it all gets cold.”

  They gathered around the dining room table, placing the remaining dishes in the center of the cloth-covered table.

  “Where are all the others?” Noah asked.

  Buddy held out Alex’s chair before taking his seat at the head of the table. “Tonight’s their bowling league in town.”

  “Ah, I forgot,” Noah said, pulling Tracey’s chair out for her.

  “Thank you.”

  As Noah took his seat across from her, Buddy reached out his hands and they followed, holding hands around the table. “Father, for Your incomparable goodness and blessings, we thank You. Bless my daughters for the meal they’ve prepared. It’s in Your name we pray, Lord.”

  “Amen,” they said in unison.

  Over dinner, they discussed the day’s accomplishments, making a few more suggestions along the way. Tracey watched Alex bubbling over with ideas, pleased to find her sister so animated and excited about the prospects of her new business. It saddened her to think she’d walked away from teaching because of the town bully. Deacon Stone had always been a pain, but she was tired of him hurting the people she loved. First Dad, now Alex. Not to mention the countless others in town he’d squashed like so many bugs beneath his big fat thumb.

  She looked up and caught Noah watching her. She smiled before taking a sip of tea, curious about the two little lines between his eyebrows. Frown lines? Worry lines? And yet, his was a kind face. Alex said something amusing which caught his attention. He smiled but didn’t laugh.

  Tracey forked a piece of the steaming catfish and gazed at her sister as she took a bite. That moment, something slowly occurred to her. She’d often wondered why no one had ever swept Alex off her feet and married her. She was so full of life and funny, so thoughtful, and the hardest working person she’d ever known. As she let her eyes drift back toward Noah, she wondered if there might be something there? She hadn’t had a chance to ask Alex about Noah‌—‌to find out what brought him to Jacobs Mill, how long he’d been around, and if he had a wife or family. She noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring. And obviously, if he had a home, he’d be having dinner there now, not here. She tore off a piece of biscuit and made a mental note to talk to Alex after dinner.

  Nothing would make her happier than to see her big sister fall in love and marry.

  “So what do you think, Tracey?”

  She glanced up to find them all looking at her. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  “Pay attention, Sis!” Alex said. “Noah asked what you thought of extending the front porch of the smokehouse a couple feet wider and building an awning over it. That would give it a covered porch wh
ere we could have some rocking chairs, hang some ferns‌—‌make it a really inviting entrance where people could also sit and visit.”

  “Great idea,” Tracey answered. “And that would make it so easy to decorate for the seasons. You know, hay bales and pumpkins and cornstalks in the fall, Christmas lights and fresh garlands strung with lights‍—‍”

  “Oh, Trace, that’s a GREAT idea!” Alex cried. “Noah, we’ve got to get this done! I’m so excited!”

  “Sweetheart, let the man finish his dinner first, okay?” Buddy said. “You worked him all day, I think he deserves a little peace and quiet while he eats. Isn’t that right, Noah?”

  “Buddy, I’ve been around Walnut Ridge long enough to know‌—‌there’s never ‘a little peace and quiet’ when the Collins get together.”

  “Yeah, Dad, you heard him. So Noah, how early can we get started in the morning? If I have breakfast ready at five, will that work for you?”

  “Five o’clock?” Tracey moaned. “Isn’t that awfully early?”

  “Okay, fine. We’ll make it six!”

  Chapter 6

  After an enormous Southern breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, grits, biscuits, and a piping hot urn full of strong coffee, the team headed down the hill to get started on the smokehouse makeover. Tracey insisted on cleaning up the kitchen so Alex could go with them. Her sister had been up bright and early, banging around pots and pans long before the sun came up. Rinsing off the breakfast dishes, Tracey smiled, finding her sister’s enthusiasm highly contagious. Much to her surprise, Tracey’s thoughts had been filled with visions of the new shop as she drifted off to sleep the night before.

  Her smile faded when she realized what a drastic change that was. How many nights had she lain awake consumed with the stress of her job? And yet, that was nothing compared to the angst that had hovered over her night and day as she contemplated how on earth to keep the job she loved while constantly having to fight off Morgan’s subtle nuances.

  As she dried the large cast iron skillet and stored it back in the cabinet, she silently thanked God for this new distraction. On her flight home, Tracey had wondered how she would get through the first few weeks away from D.C. She was certain the whole mess she’d left behind would constantly eat at her and drain away all her energy. Her conscious decision to check her cell for messages only once a day had worked wonders. What a relief to be untethered from it. From that life.

  Instead, here she was, anxious to get started in something she’d never even thought about before. To turn pieces of discarded junk into one-of-a-kind treasures. To work alongside Alex, filling the old smokehouse with these treasures, then open their door for business. She felt invigorated! She couldn’t begin to understand why she was so eager to do it. Then again, maybe she did know. It was new. It was different. It was an about-face to everything she’d ever done before. And it was all about making old things new.

  Tracey noted the symbolism, felt it touch deep in her heart.

  It was everywhere. Her father’s new life‌—‌so radically different from that of the small-town pastor he’d once been. His band of Elders, men whose lives had been transformed as a direct result of Buddy’s own metamorphosis. She was anxious to meet the rest of them, curious to hear all their stories and find out how their lives had changed. Noah’s face popped into her mind, and she wondered at his story most of all . . .

  And Alex. Dear Alex. At a time when anyone else would be filled with bitterness and spite at the hand that was dealt her, Alex dusted the whole situation off her shoulders and chose to look forward.

  A lesson I’d do well to learn. Thanks for raising the bar, Sis.

  Tracey filled a large thermos with coffee, grabbed a sleeve of Styrofoam cups, and headed outside. The brisk fresh air filled her lungs, making her grateful for the old Vanderbilt sweatshirt she’d thrown on over her blouse. Septembers in Tennessee had a mind of their own. Warm one day, chilly the next. She enjoyed the walk down the hill, hearing the breeze rustle through the leaves. How she’d loved growing up here, raking up mountains of leaves then flying into them from the swing Dad had hung from their oak tree’s massive branches. If she closed her eyes, she could probably still hear the little girl giggles as she and Alex took turns on that swing, like a soundtrack from her childhood. She could smell the intoxicating aroma of the leaves Dad always set to burn just over the hill. One of her all-time favorite scents.

  Yes, it’s good to be home.

  As she neared the smokehouse, she found the men hard at work clearing out rubble, pulling off rotted planks of wood, and lots of other dirty work.

  “Hey, guys,” she said, holding up the thermos. “I’ll have this inside if you need a cup. Just come on in, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Miss Tracey,” Gristle said, using his forearm to wipe some dirt from his chin. “That’s real nice. We thank you.”

  “No problem, Gristle. Looks like you’re making headway out here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we are,” Stump said as she passed by him. “Mighty fine breakfast you and Miss Alex served this morning.”

  “It was our pleasure, Stump. Nice having you join us.”

  Just before she stepped up to the back door, she noticed an unfamiliar face. She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. Just gave her a nod. She tucked the bag of cups under her arm and extended her hand toward him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Tracey Collins.”

  He nodded again, brushed his gloved hand against his jeans, then shook her hand.

  “Miss Tracey, that’s Lester,” Stump said. “We don’t know what his last name is. He don’t talk much.”

  Tracey looked back at the scraggly beard and ruddy complexion of the man as he shook some dirt off his worn boots. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but she wondered if he might be younger with a lot of wear and tear from a rough life.

  “He’s harmless,” Gristle said. “Don’t mind him none, Miss Tracey.”

  She turned back toward Lester, surprised to find he’d walked off.

  “He just like that. Keeps to hisseff. He don’t mean no nuthin’ by it.”

  “Thanks, Gristle,” she said, stepping up to the building. “I was afraid I’d offended him somehow.”

  “He an odd one, but Buddy sees sumpin’ in him. He likes Buddy.”

  “Good to know,” she said then slipped inside. There, a bank of temporary light stands bathed the room in a surreal light.

  “Oh, Trace! You’re here!” Alex said. “Come here! I’ve got to show you something!”

  Tracey found a rough-hewn bench against one wall and set the thermos and bag of cups on it. “What is it?”

  Alex grabbed her sleeve and pulled her toward the front of the building. As they approached a section of an interior wall that had been partially ripped out, Noah stepped through the front door. “Did Alex show you what we found?”

  “She was just about to,” Tracey said. “You both look like you’re about to pop. What did you find, Jimmy Hoffa’s body?”

  “No, silly.” Alex squatted down and unwrapped some kind of old cloth. Tracey kneeled beside her. “Look at this.” Carefully, as if handling the Hope Diamond, Alex lifted an old teacup from the cloth. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Noah kneeled beside them. “We found it in the wall here. It was wrapped in this long piece of cloth, wound around and around. Obviously to protect it. Which worked, since it’s in perfect condition.”

  “And look, Trace,” Alex said in a near whisper. “The saucer was wrapped separately but just as carefully. Not a fracture or crack on it. They’re both perfect.”

  Tracey held the saucer in one hand, gently fingering it with the other. “So why would someone store their fine china in the wall of a smokehouse? I wonder who put it here?”

  Noah held one of the cloths in his hand. “I’m no expert, but that looks like some kind of crest.” He pointed to the design on the cup. “Much more regal than I would expect to find in most Tennessee homes.” He carefully turn
ed it over. “Unfortunately, there’s no stamp by the china company. That would help, at least to know where it came from originally.”

  “I still don’t understand why these were in the wall,” Tracey said.

  Alex carefully began rewrapping the cloth around the teacup. “I don’t either, but I bet we can Google it and find out. But it sure adds to the mystique of this place, doesn’t it? I’ve always wished the walls at Walnut Ridge could talk. Now maybe they will!”

  “In the meantime, I’d suggest taking these up to the house and storing them somewhere so they don’t get broken,” Noah said. “In fact, I promised Buddy I’d meet him there. He’s got another generator for these lights until we get an electrician to wire the place. If you’ll trust me with them, I’ll put them in your dining room hutch.”

  Alex helped him wrap the saucer. “Good idea. In fact, let’s put them in my backpack there so they’ll be easier to carry.”

  They placed the fragile dishes gently into the canvas bag and sent Noah on his way.

  “Okay, Sis. I brought some of Dad’s work gloves, so put me to work.”

  Side by side, Alex and Tracey pulled down cobwebs, swept the filthy floor, and continued prepping the interior for more serious work. Nasty work, but Tracey loved it.

  She leaned over to look out the back door before lowering her voice. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about Noah. He told me he met Dad on one of his biker weekends and that he’s a roadie of some kind, but not much else. What’s his story?”

  Alex didn’t even bother looking up from her work. “Well, there’s not a whole lot more to tell. He’s been in the area a year or so, give or take. From what Dad said, he used to be some big financial attorney in New York, but gave it all up after his wife died.”