Home to Walnut Ridge

by Diane Moody

  “He’s a widower?”

  “That’s usually what they call a man who loses his wife,” Alex said.

  “I know, but‌—‌well, how did she die? Cancer?”

  Alex stood back up and arched her back. “No, she was killed in some kind of accident.”

  “That’s so sad,” Tracey said. “I mean, he’s so young.”

  Alex blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I know. It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? He still struggles, from time to time. He disappears now and then, and not just when he’s on tour with those musicians. He’ll just take off on his bike, and we won’t see him for a week or two.”

  “Where do you think he goes?”

  “No idea. I’m guessing he just gets on the road and goes. Maybe it helps clear his thoughts. Who knows. But he’s come a long, long way since Dad more or less took him under his wing. They’re really close, as you probably noticed.”

  “Which explains why he’s living in your cottage.”

  “When I moved back to the house to help Dad, it just seemed like I was supposed to stay. So I stayed. Left most of my things down at the cottage, in case I ever change my mind. But it was stupid to have it sitting there empty when Noah didn’t have a place to hang his hat.”

  Tracey picked a piece of straw off her sister’s shirt. “So, tell me. How well have you gotten to know him? He seems really comfortable around you.”

  Alex clumsily scratched her ear with the oversized glove on her hand. “What do you mean? The guy eats dinner with us occasionally, he does odd jobs around the house, helps Dad with his ministry projects, and they bike together now and then. Yeah, I know him a little more than the others, but why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I was just hoping maybe you and he‍—‍”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Trace,” Alex whispered hoarsely. “If you’re asking if I have a crush on him—”

  “No! I just thought maybe you and he might have gone out for dinner or a movie or something.”

  Alex laughed. “Who are you, Cupid?” Then, after glancing through the back door to make sure no one was listening, she said, “No, little sister, I do not have a crush on him, and we have not been out on a date together. He’s a wonderful guy who’s survived an unspeakable tragedy. Sometimes a guy like that just needs a sense of security and friendship. The last thing he needs is romance.”

  “Oh no,” Tracey croaked, grabbing her arm. “Look out front.”

  Deacon Stone was making his way up the front steps, his signature mustache and aviator sunglasses in place.

  “Quick, Trace! Lock the door!”

  “I would but there’s no lock. Want me to body-slam it shut?”

  The town’s self-appointed unofficial boss man stepped inside the smokehouse, took off his sunglasses, and looked around the room. “Ladies, ladies, what have we here?”

  “Gee, Deacon, I don’t recall asking you to stop by,” Alex said, brushing her bangs aside then planting her hand on her hip. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  He tucked the glasses in his shirt pocket, taking his time as he nosed around the large room. “Oh, you know, just stopping by to say hello, Miss Collins.”

  His saccharine tone irritated Tracey, but she tamped down a burning desire to spit on his fancy leather boots. She’d never liked his Tom Selleck mustache, especially since everyone had long told him he resembled the older actor. Tracey didn’t see it, forever distracted by a rather large mole just below his left nostril. Plus, Deacon’s personality certainly didn’t match that of the famous actor. She let out a huff. “What do you want?”

  “I heard you were back in town, Tracey Jo.” He chuckled, still glancing around. “I’ve always found it amusing how our national politicians vote themselves big fat salaries, then find every excuse they can to take a vacation. Not just our elected officials like your boss, Morgan Thompson. But staff like you as well. Must be nice.”

  “Tracey asked you a question,” Alex said, stepping closer to him. “What do you want?”

  “Well then, I’ll get right to it. I couldn’t help but notice all the commotion around this old building. You’re obviously not tearing it down. Looks to me like you’re into some kind of renovation or such?”

  “Could be,” Alex said. “But I sure don’t see how that concerns you, so if you don’t mind‍—‍”

  “Actually it does concern me. As a member of the City Council, I don’t recall seeing any kind of paperwork about this particular building. I inquired of our City Manager as to whether you’d applied for a building permit. Faye said she’s seen nothing of the kind. So I suppose you could say I’m here on official city business. Because if you’ve got any plans whatsoever for this ol’ shack, you’d best stop right now. Nothing happens in Jacobs Mill without approval of our City Council.” He plastered a smile on his face and waited for a response. “It would be wise to remember that.”

  Tracey saw anger smoldering in her sister’s eyes. Not tears‌—‌more like Vesuvius on the brink of eruption. She stepped between them. “Deacon, why don’t you just cart yourself down to Faye’s office and have you a nice little pow wow. We’re busy here.”

  His gaze moved slowly to hers. Another fake smile. “Did your sister here tell you the School Board had to ask for her resignation? She flagrantly broke school rules and wasn’t the least bit shy about it. She’d been warned about it before. She knew she was in violation of‍—‍”

  “Are you done?” Tracey snapped.

  Alex pushed Tracey out of the way. “Deacon, so help me, if you don’t get out of here this minute‍—‍”

  “What? What exactly are you going to do, Miss Collins?” He stretched himself to his full height, a good four or five inches taller than Alex. “Hmm?”

  Alex inhaled and slowly let it out, trying to control her temper. “I mean it, Deacon. GET. OUT.”

  He laughed. Tracey couldn’t believe it. The man actually threw his head back and laughed.

  Tracey blocked Alex just as she reached out to shove him.

  They turned at the sound of footsteps behind them. Noah, Gristle, Stump, Lester the quiet one, and even Hank the redhead gathered slowly around them. Tracey noted the glint in Noah’s eyes, but he didn’t say a word.

  “Well, well,” Deacon said, his tone once again laced with sweetness. “I see we have us a party here.”

  None of the Elders said a word. They just stared at him, their message unmistakable.

  “I see then, well, I’ll be on my way,” Deacon said, turning to leave. “Miss Collins, you just let me know if there’s any way we can be of service‍—‍” He stopped as he opened the door, glancing over his shoulder “‍—‍With whatever it is you all are up to here.” His mustached smile didn’t quite reach the disdain in his eyes. He turned and made his way out the door and down the steps.

  Alex let out a long, graveled groan. “I mean to tell you, if that man‍—‍”

  “Alex, what’s going on?” Noah asked.

  Tracey answered before Alex could. “Just an old bully flexing his muscles. Nothing new about that.”

  Alex let her head drop back, her eyes closed. “I can’t tell you how badly I wanted to smack that fat gnarly mole right off his face.”

  A snort sounded behind them. They all turned to find Lester snickering with a crooked smile. A split-second later they all broke into laughter.

  Everyone except Alex. “No, I can’t laugh. I won’t. There’s nothing funny about that jerk. Nothing.”

  As their laughter settled, Tracey put her arm around her sister. “Oh, c’mon, Sis. You can’t let him get to you. That’s exactly what he wants. But you know what?”

  Alex huffed and tossed her a glare. “What?”

  “I think he just met his match,” she said, nodding her head at the guys around them.

  They looked at each other as if considering the idea.

  “You want me to go slash his tires, Miss Alex?” Stump asked, completely serious.

  “N
o, how ‘bout I go teach him a thang or two about manners?” Gristle gestured with great flair. “That dude think he all that. And I’m tellin’ you right now, he ain’t.”

  Tracey looked at Alex. “Y’know, I have to agree. Don’t you?”

  They all laughed, then Noah planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. “That may be, guys, but you don’t want to cross him.”

  “Ah, c’mon, now!” Gristle cried. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Noah’s right.” Stump folded his arms across his massive chest. “You can’t let him scare ya away, but you sure don’t wanna get him all hot ‘n bothered. Just let it go so as he’ll leave you alone, Miss Alex.”

  “Easier said than done, Stump. I’ve still got battle scars from that one.”

  He stepped closer to her, rested his hand on her shoulder as an easy expression warmed his bearded face. “Well, don’t you worry yourself none. We gotcha covered.”

  Alex exhaled, relieved, and looked up at him. “Good to know. Thanks, Stump.”

  Tracey looked at him, this tall, tall man, and decided beneath all that hair and height and breadth was a big soft heart. The thought eased her own tension.

  “Okay, show’s over, let’s get back to work,” Alex said, clapping her hands.

  The men stood there, not moving.

  “What?”

  “Nothin’, Miss Alex, ’ceptin’ we only came in fo’ a cup of coffee,” Gristle mumbled. “That okay wid’ you?”

  Chapter 7

  While Buddy and Noah rigged up additional temporary lighting, the girls told him about Deacon’s visit. He assured them he would handle the permits and Deacon Stone. Tracey could see the immediate relief in her sister’s face. She reminded herself to ask Alex sometime about the whole sordid story of her retirement‌—‌which clearly wasn’t.

  The day had been exhausting, but productive. The Elders took off at four-thirty when Alex thanked them and sent them on their way. Alex had told Tracey they all had their own places and liked their privacy, which was why she didn’t offer them dinner every night of the week. Just on occasion.

  The three of them ate a quiet dinner together, then both Dad and Alex called it an early night. Tracey was tired, but rarely ever went to bed early. Her D.C. hours had left an indelible mark on her sleep patterns.

  Besides, there was something she wanted to do. She made herself a hot cup of tea, slipped her laptop under her arm, and headed for the back porch. As much as she loved the grand front porch at Walnut Ridge, the large screened-in back porch was her haven. Cozy and intimate for its size, it was the perfect spot to get lost in a good book or stretch out on the cushioned sofa for an afternoon nap. Several years ago, Buddy added a stone fireplace on the east side of the porch, making it even more inviting on nights like this.

  Tracey built a small fire like her father had taught her years ago. Satisfied, she trekked back inside for one more thing, then returned, placing the fragile, wrapped items on the wicker coffee table. She unwrapped them, first the cup then the saucer, and turned on the small lamp on the table beside her. All day, thoughts of their unexpected discovery had needled her.

  Carefully holding each piece up to the light, she studied the design. Basically, both pieces had a white background edged in gold and a deep, dark shade of red‌—‌no, now that she looked at it in the light, more like a dark maroon or magenta. A white twisted rope pattern set inside the gold band rimmed both cup and saucer. Below that, a quarter-inch band of the dark maroon with a single row of tiny gold dots circled the pieces.

  And on the face of the cup, an eagle with its wings outstretched, its head turned to the left with the faintest wash of yellow behind it‌—‌almost as if the sun glowed behind it. What looked to be an olive branch was gripped in the eagle’s talons atop a shield of sorts with muted red and white vertical stripes below, topped by a horizontal band of navy blue. How odd that the shield leans to the left just ever so slightly, she thought. Protruding from the upper right edge of the shield were four or five arrows.

  She wondered if it were some kind of colonial design. Something about it seemed familiar, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. The eagle, the red, white, and blue shield, the olive branch—

  “Good evening, Tracey.”

  “Ah!” She caught herself, juggling the cup but saving it. “Noah! You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that. I almost dropped the cup we found today.”

  As she set it down, he came around to the back entrance of the screened-in porch and opened the door. “I’m so sorry‌—‌really. I promise I’m not trying to spook you.”

  “I know, but‌—‌maybe I should give you bells to wear around your neck so I’ll hear you coming.”

  He smiled. “I hope not. Never been one for wearing dog collars.”

  “Well, never say never,” she said, pushing her hair back out of her face. “Was there something you needed?”

  As he approached the sitting area, Tracey noticed he’d changed into an olive-green sweater and a clean pair of jeans, his hair still damp from a shower.

  “Please, have a seat. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I saw the light back here and decided to take my chances and see if anyone was up.”

  “Oh? Did you need Dad or Alex? I doubt they’re asleep yet.”

  “No, please don’t disturb them.” He pointed to the rocker adjacent to the sofa. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea? Or I could make some coffee.”

  “No, I think I’ve had enough caffeine for one day.” He sat down and gently set the chair rocking, his glance moving to the cup and saucer on the table. “Apparently we’re both on the same wavelength. When I got back to the cottage, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Where they came from‍—‍”

  “‍—‍and who put them there?” Tracey added. “Me too. I was just about to go online to see what I could find out.”

  He chuckled softly. “Like minds. I did the same thing, but I’ve misplaced my charger and my laptop’s out of juice. I’m bad about that sort of thing. That’s why I came up to the house. I wanted to take a better look at the pieces.” He leaned forward, pointing at the cup. “Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all.”

  He lifted the cup then leaned back in the lamplight. “So what have you found out?”

  “Nothing, yet. I’m curious about that crest or whatever it is. What do you make of the symbols on it?”

  He held the face of the cup up to the light on the table between them. “I actually had a thought about that. I thought it looked like some kind of crest or coat of arms, but it occurred to me it might be something else. It almost looks as if it could be some kind of official china. I can imagine it in a place setting at the governor’s mansion for some kind of state dinner, can’t you?”

  “At the Tennessee governor’s mansion?” she quipped. “I doubt it. I’m sure those cups have some gaudy orange and white design. Go Vols and all that.”

  He smiled. “You’re probably right. But since you’re a Vandy grad, I doubt you’d approve. You’d expect something gold and black.”

  “Well, of course. Much more elegant for the governor’s mansion, in my opinion.” She reached for the saucer, inadvertently pulling the linen wrapping along with it. As she did so, something fluttered to the floor. “I wonder what that is?”

  “I’ll get it.” Noah set the cup on the table between them and reached for a torn piece of paper. “Whoa. Where did this come from?” He transferred it to his other hand, holding it in his palm. “Looks like parchment or something.”

  Tracey set the saucer down and leaned over for a closer look. “Has to be parchment. Can you make out what it says?”

  He moved it closer to the light. “Hard to read. The ink is really faded.” He looked up at her. “Do you have a magnifying glass handy?”

  “Dad keeps one in the kitchen. I’ll get it.”

  “I’ll come with you. I think we need better light.” He follo
wed her, blinking when Tracey flipped on the lights over the kitchen counter. “Much better. Let’s take a look.”

  They sat side by side on the tall bar stools. Noah carefully laid the small note on the counter and held the magnifying glass over it.

  “Wow, this must be really old,” Tracey whispered in awe, just before gasping. “Noah, look!” Leaning closer, she pointed at the last line of the note. “That’s a date‌—‌April 29, 1863. Can that be right?”

  “Whoa . . .”

  “What do the words say? There,” she pointed. “Is that an F or a P?

  “I think it’s a P,” he answered reverently. “I think it says, For safe‍—‍”

  “For safe-keeping?”

  “For safe-keeping . . . until the‍—‍”

  “‍—‍until the war is over! That has to be the Civil War!”

  He turned, their faces just inches apart. “Do you realize what that means?”

  She turned at his question, looking into his eyes. “What?” When he simply stared at her without answering, she asked again. “Do I realize what what means?”

  A moment more then he looked back at the small piece of parchment. “It means this note was written around 150 years ago.”

  Still watching him, she pressed. “You were going to say something else.”

  “I was?”

  “Noah?”

  He glanced briefly at her then back at the note. “Nothing. I guess I was just overly excited or something.”

  She wasn’t convinced.

  “I think these must be someone’s initials. And if I’m not mistaken, it’s CJC.”

  She leaned in closer, taking the magnifying glass from his hand. The capital letters were in script and rather swirly, but she had to agree. “CJC. Has to be one of my ancestors, wouldn’t you think? The last C most likely stands for Collins.”

  “Probably. No way to know for sure, but it’s a place to start.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Do you have some kind of record of family names?”