Home to Walnut Ridge (3 page)

Still, watching his easy gait and that
swinging ponytail, Tracey had to admit it was good to see him happy
again. She looked forward to a long chat on the way home to find
out where all these changes had come from.

And that way we keep the
conversation on him, not me. Perfect.

Tracey switched her leather bag to the
other shoulder. “Dad, where’s the car?”

He whipped around, his face lit up.
“That’s the surprise!”

“
What do you
mean?”

He took a few steps to the right, put
her bags down, and posed like Vanna White‌—‌at a huge motorcycle.
“Ta da! Tracey Jo, meet Stella. Stella, meet Tracey Jo!”

“
You have GOT to be
kidding.”

“
Ain’t she a beauty?!
She’s a 2007 Harley-Davidson Touring Road King Classic. Paid extra
for the Pacific Blue Pearl color. Worth every penny. Check out
those white wall tires. Sweet, huh?”

“
Dad, this isn’t funny. In
the least.”

His face fell. “Ah, sweetie, don’t
spoil my fun! I could hardly wait for Stella to meet
you!”

“
There’s no way I’m riding
a motorcycle forty-five miles to Jacobs Mill.”

“
But I’ve‌—‍”

“
No. I said no. I meant
no.” She snatched the handle of her rolling bag and tried to grab
the one off his shoulder.

He held it tight, pulling
away from her. “Tracey Jo,
please.
It’ll be fun! Look, I even borrowed this Sport
Trailer for us to stash your bags.” He unlocked the fancy
three-wheeled trailer and started loading her things. “See? Worlds
of room. And here’s your helmet.”

“
Dad, I
don’t‌—‍”

He put it on her head, oblivious to
her protests, explaining the proper way to strap it on. “We can
even talk! Here’s your built-in microphone. Just keep that turned
on, and we can jabber all the way home. Cool, huh?”

Tracey stared at him, uncomfortable
with the helmet pressing against the tortoiseshell barrette holding
her long brown hair up off her shoulders. She pulled the helmet off
her head. Her father sighed wearily, visibly disappointed, then
reached out to take the helmet from her hands.

She held tight, refusing to give it
up. He looked up at her. Narrowing her eyes, she cocked her head to
one side. “Patience . . .” she scolded. Then,
tucking the helmet under her arm, she reached up and unclipped the
barrette, releasing her hair. She pulled the helmet back
on.

“
There. That’s better.
What are we waiting for?”

Chapter
2

Exiting the airport, Tracey could hear
her screams grow louder as the Harley gained speed up the entrance
ramp to I40. She clung to him, her eyes squeezed shut behind the
protective sunglasses, and her arms in a grip lock around his
ribcage.

“
Tracey Jo! I can’t
breathe! Ease up on that grip, will ya?”

“
I CAN’T! I’LL FALL
OFF!”

She heard the sound of his laughter
over the roar of the engine. He raised his voice just enough for
her to hear him. “You’re not gonna fall off. But we’re heading into
some heavy traffic, so I’m gonna need a little oxygen to get us
through it, okay?”

She tried to relax her
grip.

“
Yeah, that’s better, but
a little more, sweetie. C’mon, you can do it.”

Visibly shaking, she consciously made
the effort to stop squeezing his middle.

“
Atta girl. Now sit back
and enjoy the ride!” The Harley roared to life as they blended in
with six lanes heading into Nashville.

She cracked open one eye, peeking just
long enough to see the mass of cars, trucks, and tractor-trailers
crowded around them. “DAD! CAN’T YOU TAKE A BACK ROAD AND GET US
OFF THE INTERSTATE?”

“
First of all, you don’t
have to shout. You are right in my ear. I can hear you just fine.
Second, you just need to take a nice deep breath and trust me.
We’ll be out of the thick of it in just a few minutes. We’ll hop on
I65 and head south to home. The traffic will ease up. You’ll
see.”

She swallowed hard and talked herself
into opening both eyes this time. She darted her eyes to her right
hoping to see the skyline of Nashville, but a semi eclipsed her
view. Its side showed the façade of a Cracker Barrel restaurant,
complete with a row of rocking chairs out front. She’d always loved
the cozy restaurants and their familiar menu of good Southern
cooking. But at the moment, those rockers seemed much too close for
comfort. She looked the other way just as they started up the ramp
that arced high then banked them south.

I will not scream. I will
not scream . . .

When her breathing finally started
returning to normal, she tried to keep her mind off the vehicles
zooming past them. “Why do you call her Stella?”

“
It’s from that old Marlon
Brando movie. You know, the one where he stands outside her window
and yells, ‘STELLAAAAA!’”

“
Okay, but what’s that got
to do with a Harley?”

“
Absolutely nothing. I
just enjoy yelling, ‘STELLA!’ every time I see my girl.”

As Stella ate up the pavement beneath
them, her father chatted about sights they passed along the way.
Soon the congested traffic unknotted itself, giving them plenty of
room on the road. As the sprawling commercial areas gave way to
neighborhoods then farmland, she felt the tension slowly slipping
away. She let her eyes feast on the stunning fall palette coloring
the rolling hillsides beneath a perfect blue sky. Here and there
she’d see cattle grazing and flocks of birds flying in perfect
formation.

The wind sailing around her soothed
her soul and sent her mind down an unexpected path. How long had it
been since she stopped to notice the landscape around her?
Washington offered spectacular displays of the changing seasons,
but the frantic pace had somehow blinded her to it. That same
frantic pace had robbed her of a personal life, zapped her energy,
and sent her home exhausted every night. When had she lost that
initial zeal? What happened to the excitement that once propelled
her to work each morning? When had she lost that camaraderie she’d
always enjoyed with her friends at church and at the
office?

With each question floating through
her mind, she saw his face, and she knew. The disillusionment
hadn’t come from the projects she’d so passionately worked on or
the long days she put in. It was all because of him.

Tracey shook off the
stress that had trickled back in, instead taking another deep
breath, willing the fresh air to somehow repair what was damaged
inside her.
I’m gonna be okay. Right,
Lord? I didn’t just leave D.C.; I’m walking away from my life
there. I lost my way. Open my heart to something new. Show me what
You want me to do.

Tracey let her mind wander imagining
all kinds of possibilities ahead of her. Still she couldn’t imagine
anything that didn’t involve politics. She decided optimism would
surely come later. For now, she just wanted to go home.

Forty-five minutes later they rolled
into Jacobs Mill. The small town located just a few miles east of
I-65 seemed to welcome her with open arms. The row of Bradford Pear
trees on Neely’s Lane almost took her breath away, their deep
crimson leaves making quite a show this year. As they turned onto
Main Street, it seemed nothing much had changed, and that made her
smile. Barrows Hardware Store, the cozy log cabin library, Emma’s
Coffee Shop, Dorsey’s Barbershop, The Depot‌—‌the town’s only
pub‌—‌they all looked just as she remembered them.

Tracey leaned slightly to her right to
see around her dad. Here, the four blocks of Main Street came to a
three-way stop, but straight ahead‌—‌Walnut Ridge.

Home.

Tracey smiled again as she looked up
at their 190-year-old home sitting high above town on 45 of the
plantation’s original 500 acres. The two-story home had been in her
family since it was first built by her father’s ancestors. With its
two wings flanking the original structure, four white columns, six
working fireplaces, wide front porch, and seven outbuildings,
Walnut Ridge had been the hub of Jacobs Mill from its
beginning.

As they rolled up the long driveway,
Tracey felt her heart swell at the sight of the magnificent oak
tree that sheltered the front of her home. She hugged him hard,
this time from sheer joy. “Oh Daddy, it’s so good to be
home.”

They rolled to a stop at the bottom of
the porch steps, pulled off their helmets, and climbed off the
Harley.

“
If I hadn’t seen it with
my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it!”

At the sound of her sister’s voice,
she ran up the steps. “Alex!”

“
Tracey, Tracey, Tracey!”
Alex cried, embracing her little sister. “I can’t believe you let
him drive you home on that thing!”

Buddy beamed. “Are you kidding? She
loved it! Didn’t you, Tracey Jo?”

“
Not so much at first, but
I have to say‌—‍”

“
You don’t have to say
another word,” he said, joining them at the top of the steps. “I
rest my case. Now c’mon, big family hug here.” He wrapped them both
in his strong arms and planted a noisy kiss on both their
cheeks.

“
I made us some tea,” Alex
said, pulling back. “Y’all have a seat, and I’ll be right
back.”

He squeezed her shoulder and hustled
back down the steps. “Thanks, honey, but I’ve got to
skedaddle.”

“
Dad, you just got
here!”

“
I know, but I’ve gotta
check on my Elders. They’re helping over at the city park. I’ll be
back in time for dinner.”

“
Elders?” Tracey
whispered.

“
Tell you later,” Alex
mumbled, tossing a wink as she turned to go back inside.

Buddy bounced back up the steps.
“Here’re your bags, Tracey Jo. You need me to run them up to your
room?”

“
No, I’ll take them later.
Thanks anyway.”

“
Good. See you tonight.”
He hooked his elbow around her neck and pulled her close enough for
another peck on the cheek. “Good to have you home,
sweetheart!”

A moment later, he brought the Harley
to life and took off down the long winding drive.

Alex backed out the front door then
let it slam shut, a wooden tray with two glasses, a pitcher of tea,
and a small basket of sugar cookies in her hands. “So Biker Buddy
took off, did he?”

Tracey grabbed a cookie
and took a seat on one of the cushioned wicker rockers. “Good
grief, Alex. You said he’d changed, but seriously‌—‌who
is
that guy with the
ponytail?”

Alex sat down and poured their glasses
of tea. “The ponytail, I’m used to. It’s the‍—‍”

“
Earring? I almost passed
out when I saw it! Buddy Collins got his
ear
pierced?!”

“
I’m sure he told you
where the diamond came from.” Alex took a sip of tea.

Tracey tucked one leg beneath the
other and leaned back. “With great pleasure, I might add. I’m sure
Mom could care less, but don’t you think it’s a bit juvenile on his
part?”

“
Oh, I don’t know. Though
I admit I was upset about it at first.”

“
How come you never told
me?”

“
Because I didn’t want to
bother you with it. To be honest, I thought it was just a phase he
was going through. First the Harley, then the hair and the
beard . . . I kept thinking one day he’d come
downstairs looking like the clean-cut Buddy Collins we’ve always
known.”

“
You mean like the
Pastor
Buddy Collins we
used to know?”

Alex stopped and slowly turned to face
her. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I kept hoping for.”

Tracey looked out across the sweeping
lawn as a breeze swirled some leaves down the hill. “That guy’s
never coming back, Sis.”

“
I know.”

Tracey studied her sister’s profile.
She had always envied Alex’s thick blonde hair, even her wispy
bangs. She had their father’s smile and compassionate eyes, though
Alex’s glistened a deep sable. The ever-present readers gave her a
sophisticated but somehow endearing look. Hers was a sister
everyone loved.

Alex had always been the Martha in
their family, always trying to stay a step ahead, anticipating
everyone else’s needs. Hers was the shoulder Tracey had cried on
when Randy Simmons broke her heart in sixth grade. It was Alex who
always baked the cake or cupcakes for her birthday parties. And
when she was older, Alex was the one who explained the facts of
life to her. For as long as she could remember, Alex had been more
of a mother to her than Mom ever was.

Which was good since their mom never
seemed to have much time for them when they were growing up. Or any
time, come to think of it.

“
And I have to say, I’m
not sure I
want
that guy to come back.”

Alex turned to look at her. “Why
not?”

“
Well, think about it. He
devoted his life to that church for twenty years. He was at their
beck and call, day in and day out.”