She released his hand to dig the journals from her purse. “I brought them with me, her journals, so you could read them.” She held them out, then slowly pulled them to her breasts, tears budding as she realized the chances of him ever accomplishing that feat. Not wanting to give in to the sadness, she struggled to think of something more cheerful to share with him.
“I wish you could’ve gone to Guthrie with me. It’s such a wonderful little town.” She sighed as her memories carried her back. “You can walk just about anywhere you want to go or there’s a trolley you can ride to see all the sights. The whole community is devoted to restoring the old buildings and landmarks and preserving Guthrie’s history. There’s a saloon and a hotel that’s been converted into a bed-and-breakfast and lots of good places to eat. Everyone is so friendly,” she added, thinking of Molly, Frank and Hank.
She dipped her head and bit at her lower lip as memories of her last confrontation with Judd surfaced. Sniffing back the tears, she lifted her chin determinedly and reached out to touch Papa’s hand. “I fell in love while I was there, and I know you’ll be disappointed,” she said, smiling through the tears, “but I won’t be marrying Stephen.” She knew if Papa were able he would hoot with laughter, for he’d always despised Stephen, referring to him as that “posturing peacock,” both to his face and behind his back.
But he would’ve liked Judd. In some ways they were very much alike. Both with gruff exteriors but with the tenderest of hearts buried beneath. And both as stubborn as mules.
“He’s the most wonderful man,” she said wistfully. “Good and kind and handsome. His family owns a building that once belonged to your mother. Some of her trunks were there, and he gave me her journals to read.” Reminded of the books, she opened one. “I want to read to you what she wrote about her journey to Oklahoma and your birth.” She squeezed his hand. “I hope somehow you can hear me and know how much she wanted you and loved you.”
Wanting Papa to know the truth about his mother and find peace, she read and reread each word, each page. As she read, she was reminded once more of the strength and spirit of the woman who’d written the words. Of all that she’d sacrificed for love, only to find that the man she’d entrusted with her heart was undeserving of such a prize. She relived the birth, grieved again with Lizzy at the loss of her son, and wondered anew about all the lost years. What would’ve happened if Papa had been raised by his mother? Would all their lives—hers included—have changed in any way? Would she have ever met Judd and fallen in love?
Love. She’d never really known the meaning of the word until she’d met Judd. She had no more doubts about the emotion, for as Miss Lizzy had promised in her dream, her heart had told her she was in love. The weight of it still pressed heavily against her chest even at the thought of Judd.
* * *
Throughout the next week, Callie never once left Papa’s side. She slept in the chair beside his bed and ate only enough to satisfy the concerns of the private nurse. She read, she talked, she soothed, but throughout her vigil, he never once moved or spoke, nor in any way acknowledged her presence.
Just after midnight on the eighth day of her vigil, she propped the journal against Papa’s hip, pillowed her chin in her hand and began to read, yet again. Within minutes, her eyes grew heavy and her head began to nod. Exhausted, she let her head drop to the mattress and she slept.
“Callie? Callie, come here, child.”
She heard the sound of the raspy voice and thought she was dreaming.
“Callie. Callie, wake up.”
She blinked open her eyes to find Papa looking at her, his hand outstretched.
Instantly awake, she grabbed for his hand. “Papa! Are you in pain? Shall I call the nurse?”
“No. No pain,” he whispered. He wet his parched lips, then squenched his eyes. “The light is so bright. Can you see it?”
Puzzled, Callie glanced around the dimly lit room. “No.”
Though feeble, he squeezed her fingers. “It’s okay. I saw her, Callie. My mother. She told me you would come. Promise me you’ll take me back to Oklahoma, Callie. Promise?” His eyes closed and his hand fell lax in her hand.
“Papa! Papa!”
The nurse heard Callie’s frightened call and rushed back into the room. She wedged herself between Callie and the bed, forcing Callie out of the way, then took his wrist between her fingers. After a moment, she placed her cheek close to his mouth. She straightened, then pulled the sheet up over his face. “He’s gone, Callie,” she said gently.
* * *
The funeral was a trying affair. The family all gathered, pretending affection for a man they’d detested most of their lives. Each tried to hide their glee to at last be rid of him behind a solemn face. But Callie saw through the cheap veneer of their grief to the greedy hearts that lay beneath.
At Papa’s request, and much to the outrage of his survivors, he was cremated. In his will, he requested that his ashes be scattered over his mother’s grave in Oklahoma. Everyone was shocked and appalled by this request. Everyone except Callie. To her it was a fitting end. When she asked for the honor of scattering his ashes, no one denied her her request.
So it was on a cold December afternoon that Callie found herself once again entering Guthrie, passing along Division Street, turning right on Noble, then left on Pine. As she passed familiar landmarks, she looked neither left or right. She wouldn’t let thoughts of Judd distract her from fulfilling Papa’s request.
Within minutes, she passed through the limestone pillars marking the entrance to Summit View Cemetery. She parked near the Bodean plot, gathered the urn in her hands and slowly, reverently, walked to the graveside of Mary Elizabeth Sawyer Bodean. Standing in front of the granite marker, she stared until tears blurred the name. “I’ve brought him home to you, Miss Lizzy,” she murmured softly. Taking the top from the container, she tipped the urn and slowly walked, letting the Oklahoma wind carry the ashes from Miss Lizzy’s grave to that of her son’s.
After replacing the urn’s top, Callie knelt at the flat granite marker which had started her quest so many weeks before. She traced the familiar name, William Leighton Sawyer, then moved her finger down to trace the date of birth, June 14, 1890. Below it, just as she had requested, the date of his death had been carved. December 16, 1994. Only four days since his death, but it seemed like a year.
“Callie?”
At the sound of the familiar voice, she dropped her chin to her chest. She’d feared that she would run into Judd before she left town, and wished fervently that it hadn’t been now, not when all her emotions seemed so close to the surface. “How did you know I was here?” she asked, keeping a neutral tone in her voice.
“Hank told me. He was at the gas station when you passed through town.” He stepped closer and hunkered down beside her. Scuffed boots, a short column of starched denim, the always present black duster and Stetson hat. Her heart cried out to him, but she kept her lips pressed firmly together, knowing that whatever was offered, would have to come from him. She watched him pick up a blade of dead grass from the ground and silently shred it.
He lifted his head and squinted at the sun. “I’m sorry about your great-grandfather.”
“Did Hank tell you about that, as well?”
“No. Henry, the mason who did the work on the stone for you, was in the Blue Bell last night. He told me.”
“Word travels fast.”
Judd shrugged. “Small town.” He opened his hand and let the wind have the shredded grass. “Will you be staying long?”
“Just for the day,” she said, knotting her hands into fists to keep from reaching out to him. “I have some business to take care of, then I’ll be going back home.”
“Oh.” He sat a moment, staring at the ground, then picked up another blade and rolled it between the tips of his fingers. “The Historical Society’s fund-raiser is tonight over at the Masonic Temple. If you decide to stick around, I could get you a ticket.”
Ca
llie turned to look at him, angered that he wouldn’t address the issue directly. “Are you asking me to stay?”
For the first time since he’d approached her, he turned his head and looked at her full in the face. He knew what she wanted. The fact that he couldn’t give her that cut him like nothing else had before. Impatiently, he tossed the grass blade to the ground, pushed his hands against his knees and rose. “I guess I better be going.”
Callie ducked her head and swallowed back her grief. “Yes, I guess you’d better,” she murmured.
* * *
“Molly?”
Startled, Molly whirled. A smile bloomed on her face as she hurried to the front door of the Harvey Olds House Museum. “Callie!” She grabbed Callie’s hands in hers, then dropped them to gather her in her arms. “Oh, my, but it’s good to see you.”
She stepped back, holding Callie at arm’s length, smiling like the sun had just come out after a long rain. “Have you seen Judd?”
Callie ducked her head to hide the trace of tears. “Yes, at the cemetery.”
“At the cemetery?” Molly asked in surprise.
“My great-grandfather died. I brought his ashes to spread on Miss Lizzy’s grave.”
Molly drew Callie into her arms again. “I’m so sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”
Callie sniffed, and Molly pulled a tissue from her pocket and pressed it to her hand, then led her into the parlor.
After sitting down on the settee, Callie shrugged her purse from her shoulder and dug into its depths. “I have your key.” She passed the key to the whorehouse to Molly. “I want to thank you for allowing me to use the building.”
“My pleasure, dear.”
“And I was wondering...” Callie glanced up and her eyes filled with tears again. “If you don’t mind, could I have Miss Lizzy’s trunks that are stored up there?”
“Why, certainly! They’re yours for the taking.”
“I don’t have room in my car to take them home with me today, but—”
“Home? You mean you’re leaving so soon?”
“Yes. There’s no reason for me to stay.”
Molly shifted from the rocker to the sofa and drew Callie’s hand into hers. “Oh, Callie. I had so hoped.”
Callie nodded, blinded by tears. “Me, too.”
“He loves you. You know that.”
“Yes, I know. And I love him.”
Molly’s heart went out to Callie, for she knew how stubborn her son could be. “Why don’t you stay?” she suggested hopefully. “Just for the night. You can go to the concert and drive home tomorrow.”
Though tempted, Callie shook her head. “No. Really, I think it’s best if I go now.”
Molly pulled a strip of paper from her pocket and pressed it into Callie’s hand. Closing Callie’s fingers around it, she offered her a smile. “Here’s a ticket. Just in case you change your mind.”
* * *
By the time Callie left Guthrie, darkness had veiled the town in black velvet, the perfect backdrop for the red, green and white Christmas lights adorning the lampposts and lining the merchant’s windows. She rolled down her window just enough to let the carolers’ voices fill her car with the sounds of Christmas. Memories of her midnight buggy ride with Judd swept over her.
She knew he was somewhere near. Probably less than three blocks away at the Blue Bell. A part of her wanted to go to him, to talk to him, to try to persuade him to give their love a chance. The other part, the part that owned her pride, wouldn’t allow it.
It took every bit of strength she had to keep driving down Division Street toward the interstate that would take her back to Dallas...and away from Judd. Dulled by her sadness, she took the exit to I-35.
Gradually she became aware of the number of headlights streaking past her, headed in the opposite direction. It took her a minute to figure out that they were all headed for Guthrie and the Historical Society’s fund-raiser and an opportunity to see Casey Hibbard perform in person.
Tempted, she glanced at the ticket she’d tossed to the passenger seat, then tore her gaze away, tightening her hands on the steering wheel. No, she told herself. Seeing Judd again would only postpone and intensify the pain of letting go.
Ten
Judd didn’t have time to think about Callie leaving or what a fool he was for letting her go—or rather he didn’t allow himself the time. There was a stage to set up, equipment to move, a show to put on. There would be time enough for regrets later...a lifetime of it.
When he walked into the auditorium of the Masonic Temple, there were a few minutes of awkwardness as he’d expected. He knew all of Casey’s band members and most of her crew—having worked with them all on more than one occasion over the years. Although they were all friendly, they tiptoed around him. Not that he blamed them. He’d left Nashville without a word to anyone, and the stories that had floated around after his departure were anything but flattering. Everything from “he’d been committed to an insane asylum” to “he had skipped the country.” He hadn’t bothered to deny any of them.
Although the crew members talked and joked while they worked, no one mentioned his trial or his disappearance from Nashville and the music scene. At least no one did until Casey showed up.
But when she entered the auditorium and saw him up on the stage, she let out a whoop that stopped everyone dead in their tracks.
“Well, if it isn’t Judd Barker, alive and in person!” she yelled. “Heck, I thought you were either dead or locked up in some nuthouse.” She stood with the length of the auditorium between them as if poised for a fight.
There was a stretch of silence so tense a tightrope walker could’ve walked it while everyone waited for Judd’s reaction. His eyes narrowed in barely controlled anger as he was confronted with one more thing he’d lost...a friend.
When he’d left Nashville, he’d left behind more than just the reporters and a career. He’d left friends—people like Casey who’d shared his interests, his love for music. He couldn’t blame any of them for abandoning him in his hour of need, for they’d all tried to offer their support. He was the one who had never returned any of their calls or letters. He was the one who had shut them out of his life along with the memories.
Casey continued to stand in the narrow aisle, her hands fisted on a waist a man could span between the width of his hands. Her stubborn stance told Judd she wasn’t going to allow him to ignore her any longer.
A grin began to grow inside him. Leave it to Casey, he thought with a shake of his head, little bit of a woman that she was, to bring him to his knees.
“Judd Barker dead?” he responded lazily, crossing to the edge of the stage. “He’s too ornery to die. But crazy?” He hopped down from the stage and strolled up the aisle toward Casey. “Now, that’s still up for debate.”
He stopped in front of her, mirroring her posture—hands on hips, eyes narrowed, chin tilted at a defiant angle. The grin she’d spawned within him grew until it erupted, curving at his lips and sparkling in his eyes.
Casey tossed back her head and laughed, that mane of red hair of hers flying. The tension in the room eased as crew members breathed a collective sigh of relief, then one by one went back to their work, leaving Casey and Judd alone to talk about old times.
* * *
At the first strummed chord from the lead guitarist, the audience went wild. By the time the fiddler joined in, toes were tapping, hands clapping and hips moving to the country beat. Their enthusiasm pumped through Judd’s veins. He loved a good show, loved the music, the audience; even fed off them when it had been him up on the stage. His fingers knotted in the stage curtains. God, how he missed it.
But this is Casey’s show, he told himself, not mine. His job here was merely that of a member of the stage crew, making sure the lights, the sound system and the special effects for the show all worked without a glitch.
The band was doing their job, warming up the audience for Casey’s appearance. Judging by the crowd’
s response, they didn’t need much encouragement. Judd saw Casey weaving her way through the tangle of backstage crew and snakes of electrical cables. That trademark smile of hers flashed as she teased with the crew members, letting off a little of the nervous energy that every performer carried with them to the stage.
Judd felt a stab of envy, even a little regret, that it was her going on stage and not him. Shaking off the feelings, he held out the cordless microphone and forced a smile. “Ready?”
“You bet,” she replied, curling her fingers around the mike. “Sure you won’t join me?”
Judd shook his head. “Not this time.” He guided her to the back of the stage, clearing a way through the black drapes that were part of the set. After helping her up to the top of a platform, he shot her a wink. “Have a good time.”
“Always,” she murmured, her concentration already focused on the choreography and the music as she awaited her cue.
* * *
Callie sank into the empty front-row seat next to Judd’s mother, her breathing ragged, her heart thudding. She’d gotten as far as Norman, Oklahoma, before she’d convinced herself that Lizzy Bodean wasn’t the only member of the Sawyer family with courage enough to withstand a little opposition. When she’d decided that, she’d thrown her pride out the window and caution to the wind, and headed back for Guthrie and one more chance with Judd.
Seeing Callie, Molly immediately reached for her hand and pressed a shoulder to hers in a gesture of support. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. Before she could say more, the lights in the auditorium faded and the black curtain on the stage turned translucent to reveal the members of the band split by a staircase that climbed into the darkness. The music started softly, building in tempo and volume, while colored lights bled from one rich hue to the next. Smoke rose from the top of the stairs and lights pumped up until the silhouette of a woman appeared. A spotlight hit her and she lifted her head. Casey Hibbard. Callie fell under her spell.
* * *
With the performance drawing to an end, Judd edged his way to stand behind the backdrop of curtains. From his secluded position, he watched Casey move across the stage as she worked the audience, making sure that everyone felt a part of the show. He knew the energy required in putting on a concert like this and marveled at how easy Casey made it look. She was the ultimate entertainer, knowing how to work an audience, how to pull every bit of emotion from them. In return, she gave them one hell of a show.
Miss Lizzy's Legacy Page 16