Home to Walnut Ridge

by Diane Moody

  “Oh, yes. I’ve got them . . .” She fell silent, staring at the note.

  “What is it?” Alex asked.

  Sadie looked up, still dazed. A moment passed then two. “I know who put these in the wall . . .” Suddenly she blinked, looking back and forth between them. “And I think I know how he came to have them!”

  Chapter 9

  It was well after one in the afternoon before Tracey and Alex climbed into their father’s pickup truck and drove to the estate sale west of town. They chatted like magpies, discussing everything Sadie had shared with them, much of it conjecture on their part. Finally, Alex had enough.

  “Okay, I think we should table any further discussion until we can talk to Dad and Noah tonight at dinner.”

  “I’m sorry we’re late getting to the sale. We should have left Sadie to search through all those papers.”

  “Are you kidding? She was so excited, I thought we were going to have to put the dear soul on oxygen. If we’d left and she passed out, we’d never forgive ourselves.”

  “I know, but didn’t you tell me you like to get to these sales early so you can have first pick?” The old Chevy pickup hit a bump in the road and sent them bouncing. “Good grief! When was the last time you had the shocks on this thing checked?”

  “I think Lincoln was still in the White House,” Alex quipped. “No, Sis, it’s okay. We would’ve been completely distracted if we’d come here before going to the library. And the way I see it, no matter when I get there, if one or two sweethearts are meant to be mine, they’ll still be there waiting for me. You’ll see.”

  “By ‘sweethearts’ are you referring to the stuff you buy at these sales?”

  Without taking her eyes off the road, Alex batted at her. “Bite your tongue, Tracey Jolene Collins! I’ll have you know I do not buy stuff. I take in orphans. They may be battered and abused and showing a lot of wear and tear, but that’s just because they need a little TLC.”

  Tracey smiled. “I’ve got to hand it to you. You’ve put your heart and soul into this, haven’t you?”

  Alex laughed heartily. “You have no idea. I’ve never had so much fun in all my life. It’s positively addicting. I bring home these pitiful little souls, clean them up, pamper them, give them a fresh coat of paint, and just love on ‘em. I can’t wait to show you how much fun it is.”

  Tracey grew silent, contemplating her sister’s burst of enthusiasm. Alex pinched her arm. “Ouch! Why’d you do that!”

  “You got so quiet. What are you thinking? Did I say something wrong?”

  Tracey rubbed her arm. “Geez, Alex, that hurt.” For as long as she could remember, Alex had always pinched her to get her attention. It was a wonder she could ever go sleeveless after a lifetime of such abuse.

  “Spit it out.”

  Tracey rolled her eyes. “Fine. It just occurred to me that the way you were describing the furniture you find at these sales as your ‘sweethearts’ is exactly how you used to talk about your students. And that made me wonder again what happened. You loved teaching. It was your passion. How could you let Deacon and the School Board let you go?”

  Alex stared straight ahead. “First off, they didn’t let me go. They fired me.”

  “But why? What did they accuse you of doing?”

  “They accused me of proselytizing my kids. Which, of course, I did. They had warned me repeatedly; someone called the ACLU, and when I refused to stop, they axed me. End of story.”

  “So what exactly were you doing? How were you proselytizing?”

  “Oh, the same thing I’ve always done. I started my class each day with prayer. I read them Bible stories every morning. I taught them about the real meaning of Easter, and I let them dress up and act out the story of the Nativity. Y’know‌—‌the usual hardcore proselytizing.”

  Tracey snickered. “Yeah, hardcore. I’m sure you ruined them for life.”

  “Likewise, I refused to spend a full week guilting them for ‘ruining the planet’ during Earth Week, opting instead to let them explore the wonders of nature and God’s miraculous creation. That one got the tree huggers all hot and bothered.”

  “You have students who are tree huggers?”

  “No, silly, their parents. Actually, it only takes one. They freak out when they hear little Susie might learn something truly horrific like . . . like how God made the woodpecker’s tongue so long, it wraps around its skull when not in use. Better I should teach her how cow flatulation is destroying the ozone.”

  Tracey laughed. “And who doesn’t love a good cow flatulation story now and then?”

  “Exactly! So someone called the ACLU. The ACLU called Deacon, who got his boxers all in a wad over it. Demanded I comply with public school dictates on the subject, and then voila‌—‌pink slip.”

  Tracey adjusted her seatbelt so she could turn and face her sister. “But that’s what I don’t understand. You’ve never let them railroad you like that before. Why didn’t you fight it?”

  Alex made a sharp left turn onto a country road, bouncing them hard. “Ah, there it is just up ahead.”

  “C’mon, Alex. Answer me. Why didn’t you fight them?”

  She slowed the truck to a stop on the side of the road and shifted into park. “Because, little sister, they have the law on their side. Of course I knew what I was doing was against school policy. I’d always known it would happen someday, but in my heart of hearts, I just wanted my kids to know Jesus loves them. And I couldn’t not tell them, if that makes sense.”

  Tracey reached out and gently squeezed her sister’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Alex. They’ve lost the best teacher they ever had.”

  Alex patted her hand. “Well, somehow I doubt that, but I appreciate you saying it. But enough of that. We have babies waiting for us!”

  An hour later, they loaded the last of their treasures into the back of the pickup and headed home. There, Alex and Tracey unloaded their purchases into the back part of the old barn at Walnut Ridge.

  “So this is where you work,” Tracey said, looking around the cluttered room. “Oh, Alex! All these pieces‌—‌I had no idea! No wonder you need a showroom for them.”

  Alex set a side table in the corner with some other unfinished pieces. “I told you it’s a bit of an addiction on my part. Though, I prefer to think of it as my ministry. Check this one out,” she said, moving a rocker out of the way to get to an usual table against the wall.

  “Wait, how come there are only three legs?”

  “I’m guessing it had four originally, and who knows why the other leg is M.I.A. I’m thinking about using it as a display table in the shop, so we’d just bolt it to the wall to make it stable. But look at the scroll work on these legs! It will be stunning by the time I get done with it.” She looked up at Tracey with a smile. “When we get done with it.”

  “I don’t know, Sis. I think you may be giving me too much credit too soon. I don’t know the first thing about all this.”

  “Not a problem. You’ll pick it up as we go along. Oh, and look at this hall tree I found at a garage sale.”

  “Hey, what is this?” Tracey picked up a wooden box the size of a cigar box. “This is beautiful.”

  “You like that? You should have seen it before. Hold on, I keep before and after pictures.” She crossed the room and opened the top drawer of an old refinished filing cabinet. She fingered across the top of several folders. “Ah, here it is. See how scuffed up it was?” she said, pointing to a photo.

  “Did you fix all that or just paint over it?”

  Alex glanced at her over her glasses. “That’s why I use a milk paint called Miss Mustard Seed. You don’t have to prime, you don’t have to sand, you just clean it then paint. Then, like I told you before, the paint just does its thing. It flakes off into what I call ‘chippy goodness’‌—‌sometimes a lot, sometimes just a little. Then after it dries, you can use your fingers to help remove as much flaking as you like and let some of the original finish show through. I love it b
ecause each piece is truly unique.”

  “And that’s all there is to it?”

  “That’s it, except for the top coat. I use either furniture wax or hemp oil to seal it. Gives it a really rich but soft look. Now, open it and look inside,” she said, opening the lid. “I found these vintage postcards at an estate sale and thought they were the perfect contrast to the black finish. So I Mod Podged them, and‍—‍”

  “What is Modge‍—‍”

  “Mod Podge. It’s a creamy white liquid that seals whatever you’re working on then dries clear. It’s like a watery Elmer’s glue that spreads really well. Comes in different kinds of finishes. I used a matte finish on this one.”

  “Kind of like we used to decoupage when we were kids?”

  “Smart girl!”

  In the bottom of the box, three long black velvet trays, each slit down the middle lengthwise, were nestled side by side. Tracey rubbed her fingers along them. “Where’d you get these ring displays? I could keep all my rings in this.”

  “Yard sales. You can’t believe what you can find.” Alex closed the lid and placed Tracey’s hand over it. “It’s yours.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Tracey, meet Olivia. Olivia, meet Tracey.”

  “You named it?”

  Alex rearranged some of the other pieces in the room. “I name all of them. I told you, Trace,” she said, looking over her shoulder, “they’re my children.” She danced her brows and pinned a wide smile on her face.

  Tracey clutched the beautiful ebony box to her chest and looked around. “Y’know, I think I’m gonna love this.”

  “Told you it’s contagious. Now let me introduce you to the rest of my babies.”

  Chapter 10

  Sadie Woolsey took a seat at the table where Buddy held out her chair. “What a treat to be invited for dinner tonight. I’m honored!”

  Alex placed the salad bowl on the table then sat down. “It was Tracey’s idea. We decided to wait to tell Dad and Noah what you told us about the cup and saucer this morning. Then she suggested we let you tell them since you’re the one who knows the story so well.”

  “Oh, it would be my pleasure,” she said, her face aglow with anticipation.

  “But first, let’s have a word of prayer,” Buddy said, encouraging them to hold hands around the table. He offered a brief thanks to the Lord before they began passing the dishes.

  Noah laughed as he forked a piece of roast. “I can’t wait another minute, Miss Woolsey‌—‌please, tell us your news.”

  “Noah, you must call me Sadie. I insist. But as for the news, let me begin at the beginning. When I saw the cup and saucer the girls brought over this morning, then learned it was from the Lincoln White House, why‌—‌I was astonished! Then they showed me the note they found signed with the initials CJC. And something starting fussing at the back of my mind. Then all of a sudden, I knew!”

  Buddy set his fork on his plate. “The suspense is killing me, Sadie. Out with it!”

  “Ah, but you must hear the story first.” She slowly took a sip of her hot tea then set the cup back on its saucer. “You see, back in the time when Lincoln became president, the protocol was for the president’s family to furnish the White House. Meaning, they supplied their own beds, tables, dinnerware, that sort of thing. The White House had very few possessions of its own because at that time, it was considered a public building. So people came and went all the time. Of course, this was long before they had any security measures like they do now. It is told that folks could be found wandering through the house any time of the day or night. Can you imagine?

  “So when a president left office, oftentimes the public would just help themselves to whatever they left behind. It’s told they’d even tear wallpaper from the walls and rip up pieces of carpet for souvenirs.”

  “Basically, they vandalized the White House?” Noah asked.

  “That’s precisely what they did. And that’s why in 1861 when Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln moved in, they found the house in complete disrepair. As you might imagine, Mary Todd Lincoln found this quite unacceptable. And among the improvements she took upon herself to oversee was to replace the fine china, silver, and glassware. The cup and saucer the girls showed me were indeed the same pattern she chose while on a shopping spree to New York.

  “The original design she found had a blue band around it. Preferring the more popular color known as solferino‌—‌a bright purplish-reddish shade similar to burgundy‌—‌she requested the change and placed her order which was produced by Haviland & Company in Limoges, France. Originally there were 666 pieces of this pattern which, by the way, was the first set of china used for state dinners chosen by a president’s wife.”

  “Now, tell them how the cup and saucer ended up here at Walnut Ridge,” Tracey urged.

  “Trace, let her eat!” Alex said. “She’s hardly had a bite. Go on, Miss Sadie. Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

  The librarian thanked her and took three tiny bites of the roasted vegetables. “Oh, this is simply delicious.”

  Buddy took a sip of his tea. “Am I right in remembering that Mary Todd Lincoln was a difficult person to get along with?”

  “I always heard she suffered from mental illness and headaches,” Noah added.

  “That was her reputation, I’m afraid,” Alex said. “She suffered from terrible migraines, even worse after a carriage accident. I also think her severe depression was responsible for much of her behavior. But who could blame her after losing two of her children?”

  “Okay, back to the cup and saucer and the note,” Buddy said. “Whose initials are those?”

  Tracey smiled. Her dad was a cut-to-the-chase guy who grew restless with long, drawn-out tales such as Sadie’s. “Dad, be patient. She’s getting there.”

  “Yes, well, where was I?” Sadie asked, gazing up at the ceiling. “Oh yes. Those initials. This is where the story gets truly interesting. As you know, Buddy, your father’s family has lived here at Walnut Ridge since the plantation was first built in the early 1800s by Jacob Elias Collins. And, as you know, the town and its mill were named for him. I should be able to tell you how many great-great-greats he was from you, but I’m drawing a blank at the moment. Now, Jacob had a son named Eli Andrew Collins. Of course there were many other siblings, but for our interests tonight, I’ll just stick to Jacob’s descendants. When Eli married Celeste Parsons, their first born was a son they named Craig Jacob Collins‍—‍”

  “CJC,” Noah added.

  Sadie’s eyes twinkled as she smiled. “Yes, CJC. And what an interesting boy he was. By the time Craig was around twenty, Walnut Ridge had grown into a thriving plantation growing tobacco and raising cattle. But Craig wanted no part of it. He was a rebellious child who preferred to go by Craggie, which actually suited him better. Craggie developed a terrible case of wanderlust, so one night he took off without telling a soul, and especially not his parents. Later, they would learn, he roamed the country for several years, always picking up odd jobs along the way until he had enough money to move on. Then, around 1861 he found himself in Washington D.C.”

  Tracey glanced around the table. She smiled, observing her father and Noah hanging on Sadie’s every word, totally mesmerized by her story. They hadn’t even noticed when Alex served dessert, though they’d both taken several bites of the apple chunk cake.

  Sadie continued. “By this time, Craggie had learned the ways of the world enough to know how to charm himself into any job he set his eyes on. And so it was, our own Craggie Collins found himself a butler in the Lincoln White House!”

  Buddy leaned back in his chair. “Well, for heaven’s sake. How on earth did he do it? I wouldn’t think you could just walk up and knock on the White House door and ask for a job.”

  “Dad, remember what Sadie said about folks coming and going in the White House day and night?” Tracey asked. “It’s not like they had guards out front and metal detectors at the door. Times were different then
.”

  Noah finished a bite of cake. “Who knows, maybe he met someone in a pub or a boarding house. And if that’s the case, then things really haven’t changed that much‌—‌it’s all in who you know.”

  “Of course, we have no way of knowing,” Sadie said. “The family archives had no such information on how he got the job. What we do know is that he was quite fascinated to be a part of the White House staff. By then, I’d like to think he’d matured and knew his manners. Still, with the states at war, Craggie found himself at odds with those who walked the halls of the White House.” She stopped and looked around. “Oh dear, where did I leave my valise?”

  “It’s probably with your coat,” Alex said. “I’ll get it for you.”

  “Yes, please, dear. Because there’s something I must show you. Do you suppose we could clear away some of these dishes?”

  “No problem,” Tracey said as she and Noah started gathering dishes. “By the way, your apple cake was delicious, Noah.”

  “Wish I could take credit for it, but the compliment goes to Publix.”

  “Can’t beat their bakery,” Alex added as she handed Sadie the thin leather case.

  Buddy leaned forward. “Tell us what you’ve got there, Sadie.”

  The librarian gently removed a folder and laid it on the table in front of her. She carefully opened the file and removed a page in a clear plastic sleeve. “This is a letter I found in your family’s archives, Buddy.” She turned it for them to see and slowly slid it across the table.

  They all stood up, their chairs scraping in unison against the oak floor as they crowded to take a look.

  “As you can see,” Sadie began, “this is a letter signed by Craggie Collins dated May 6, 1862. It was a letter he wrote to his father who had recently written to tell Craggie that his older brother Evan had been killed in the Battle of Shiloh in early April. Evan had been the one sibling Craggie got along with before he left home. Tracey, why don’t you read it for us since you and Alex had a chance to look it over with me this morning.”