Home to Walnut Ridge (6 page)

“
Because she’s gone
bye-bye. Okay, Tracey, I’m jamming up your voicemail. Well, have
fun, okay? I’m already missing you! Love you! Bye.”

Tracey clicked off her phone and
dropped it on the covers. “Oh Amanda . . . I hate
this. Hate. It.”

“
HEY!” her dad yelled from
down the hall. “Are you gonna sleep all day?”

“
I just might. Who wants
to know?”

“
Nobody. Go back to sleep.
But if you miss us, come on down to the smokehouse. The Elders are
here. I left the coffee pot on. Grab a cup and come on
down.”

“
We’ll see.”

At the sound of his footsteps going
down the long staircase, Tracey decided to get up and take a
shower. Fifteen minutes later, with her wet hair piled up on her
head with a clip, she threw on a pair of worn jeans and a plaid
flannel shirt she found in her closet. She made her way downstairs
thinking she might make some toast before she went down the
hill.

“
Hello.”

She jumped, missed the last step, and
grabbed the banister to keep from falling.

“
I’m so sorry!” he said,
reaching for her elbow. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“
No, it’s okay‌—‌I just
didn’t know‍—‍”

She looked up at the man
behind the voice and found herself staring into the face
of . . .
an angel?
Backlit with sunlight from the open side door, a
bright aura seemed to surround him. For a moment, she wondered if
she’d actually fallen, cracked her head open, died, and this was
the angel Gabriel escorting her through the pearly
gates.

“
Are you all right?” he
asked, kneeling beside her.

“
I,
uh . . . I think so. Who
are
you?”

“
I’m Noah Bennett, a
friend of Buddy’s.”

She blinked. “Do I know
you?”

“
No, we’ve never met. But
I’m guessing you’re Tracey.”

“
Yeah, that’s me.” She
tried to stand and he rose with her, his hand supporting her
arm.

“
Listen, I’m sorry. We’re
kind of used to coming and going around here. Buddy’s always told
us to make ourselves at home.”

“
That definitely sounds
like my dad.” She stopped and turned to face him as she connected
the dots. “Oh, you must be one of the Elders.”

His smile spread into deep
dimples beneath a day’s growth of dark whiskers. His messy hair,
the color of dark chocolate, wasn’t particularly long. His eyes
were clear, somewhere between a green and light brown.
Hazel?

“
That’s what he likes to
call us. Which I’ve always thought was a bit strange
considering‌—‍” he paused, his brows lifting. “Well, that whole
church thing and all.” The angel’s face colored as he looked
away.

Tracey couldn’t help snickering.
“Yeah, you’ve gotta love ‘that whole church thing.’ But please
don’t be embarrassed on my account.” She rounded the corner heading
into the kitchen. “It’s ancient history. Besides, Grace Church had
deacons, not elders. I’m sure it’s some kind of personal joke that
he dubs you all his Elders.”

“
Here, allow me.” He
opened the cabinet and reached for two mugs, then filled them both
from the large urn.

She made her way to the refrigerator
for cream. “What happened to Mr. Coffee and his pot?”

He handed her a mug. “It was forever
running out, so Buddy bought the urn. Said it was the kind they had
at the church.”

She poured cream into her coffee and
offered him the carton, which he waved off. She put it back in the
refrigerator. “You and the guys come here a lot?”

He chuckled softly. “You could say
that. We try to be respectful and not abuse his generosity.
Especially for Alex’s sake.”

“
Good to know. I’m sure
she appreciates that.” She could just imagine her sister playing
hostess to a house full of ragamuffins. Although, she noted, the
tall man leaning against the counter could never be called a
ragamuffin. An angel? Definitely.

Suddenly, she realized he was staring
at her over his mug as he took a sip. “Yes, well,” she said, “I was
about to head down to the smokehouse, so if you’ll excuse
me.”

“
I’ll join you. I was on
my way there when Buddy sent me up here for coffee. After you,” he
said, holding his hand out like a perfect gentleman. He followed
her through the hall then stepped ahead to open the screen door for
her.

“
Thanks.”

“
You’re most welcome. It’s
a beautiful morning, isn’t it? I’ve always loved fall.”

“
Me too. In fact, it’s my
favorite time of year at Walnut Ridge. Well, except maybe for
winter when it snows.”

“
Ah, true. You can’t beat
a Tennessee snowfall.”

She pushed a renegade strand of hair
out of her eyes and looked at him. “You don’t sound much like a
Tennessean.”

“
That’s because I’m from
Virginia.”

“
Oh?”

“
And Connecticut, North
Carolina, and New York. Pretty much in that order.”

“
You move around a
lot.”

“
Used to. Not so much
anymore.”

She pulled a bright yellow leaf from
an American elm tree and twirled its short stem in her hand. “What
brought you to Tennessee?”

He looked away. “Oh, this and that.
Needed a change of scenery, I suppose.”

“
Lot of that going
around.” She smiled briefly then took a sip of coffee. “So do you
just hang out here with the guys? Or do you have a job?
Family
?”

“
Actually, I do have a
job. I’m a roadie, but I’m between gigs right now.”

“
A roadie? Like with
musicians?”

“
Right. Tour buses and a
different town every night. That pretty much sums it
up.”

“
Wow, that’s got to be
exciting, huh?”

“
Sometimes. It’s nice to
see different parts of the world. But it can be rough at times. A
drag, y’know? Same thing day after day, night after
night.”

“
Then why do you do
it?”

“
Because it’s what I
do.”

Wondering what that meant, she turned
to face him. He smiled back at her, but it was the kind of smile a
guy slaps on his face when he’s said all he’s going to
say.

“
Noah!” Buddy shouted. “I
was wondering what happened to you. I see you met my
daughter.”

As they approached the back of the old
building, Noah finished the rest of his coffee, then said, “I had
the pleasure, yes. Though I’m afraid I gave her a bit of a
start.”

Tracey stepped into her father’s
outstretched arms. “Morning, Daddy.”

“
Morning, sweetheart.” He
held her close, then kissed the top of her head. “Y’all come in and
take a look. Alex is so excited, she’s like a kid in a candy shop.
Except there’s no candy. Just a lot of dust and ancient
cobwebs.”

They followed him through the rustic
back door. She could already smell the familiar smoky scent.
“Daddy, how long’s it been since they stopped curing meat in
here?”

“
Ah, this old shack hasn’t
been used for smoking meat since the fifties, I guess. Long before
you were born.”

“
Maybe so, but I sure
remember the smell. Always makes me think of Granddaddy’s
barbecues. Like he used to say, ‘that was some good
eatin’.”

Alex came through the front door with
several guys. She brushed her hands on her jeans. “Tracey! What do
you think? Isn’t it perfect?”

“
Yeah, I mean, it needs a
lot of work, but I can see some possibilities.”

“
Where are my manners?”
she said. “Have you met the Elders yet?”

“
She met Noah up at the
house,” Buddy said. “Let me introduce you to the rest of my guys.
This half-pint here is Earl Givens, but we call him
Stump.”

Tracey shook hands as her eyes trailed
the long way up to the face of a gentle giant. He had to be at
least six-eight, maybe six-ten, with the breadth to support every
inch. “Well, hello up there. I’m Tracey. Nice to meet you, Earl.”
He pulled his hat off which had covered a mass of thick,
black-brown hair. His beard covered most of his face and reached
somewhere near mid-chest.

“
Pleasure’s all mine, Miss
Tracey. It’s okay if you wanna call me Stump. It don’t matter none
to me.”

“
Good to know.”

“
And this good man here is
Greg Sells. He goes by Gristle.”

“
Gristle?” Tracey asked as
she shook hands with the young African-American.

“
My mama called me that
ev’ since I was just a lil’ snot-nosed kid. Said I was always tough
like that chewy stuff you sometimes get on a steak. Not that
we
ever ate no steak.
Mamma just liked ev’body
thinkin’
we dined on t-bones and rib-eyes. Name just
stuck.”

“
Well, Gristle, if it’s
good enough for your mama, it’s fine by me. Nice to meet
you.”

“
You ev’ bit as pretty as
they says you was.”

“
Now, don’t you start
charmin’ my girl like that, Gristle,” Buddy said. “And certainly
not while I’m standing right here.”

“
Trace, you’ll have to
watch out for Gristle,” Alex chimed in. “He could charm the trunk
off an elephant.”

“
Ah, go on. Y’all know I’m
just playin’ w’cha.”

Buddy tossed Gristle a pair of work
gloves then glanced back at Tracey. “You’ll never find a man more
gifted with a saw. Puts on his tunes and I mean, he tears it up.”
Buddy turned to the last one, a stocky young man with a shock of
wild red hair. “And this is Hank Biddle.”

He reminded her of the troll dolls
they sold at flea markets. Tracey took his outstretched hand.
“Wait‌—‌let me guess. They call you Red, right?”

“
No ma’am,” he said,
looking somewhat bewildered. “Folks just call me Hank
Biddle.”

“
Well. Okay then, Hank
Biddle, nice to make your acquaintance.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared at her
like she’d sprouted a third eye on her forehead.

“
Hank’s your man if you
need any sweeping,” Buddy added, patting the redhead on his
shoulder. “He’s got a real knack for knowing how to clean things up
in a jiffy. We couldn’t manage without him.”

“
I was head of maintenance
at State,” he announced.

“
Really? I had lots of
friends who went to State,” Tracey said.

His brows drew close together, but he
said nothing.

“
Ah, she means Tennessee
State University,” Gristle said. “Nah, Miss Tracey, he wadn’t at no
college. He was at‍—‍”

“
Never mind that,
Gristle,” Buddy interrupted. “How about you and Stump go take a
look outside and see which limbs need to be trimmed off that big
elm tree.”

“
Sho’nuff, Buddy. We on
it.”

“
Noah, come tell us what
you think,” Alex said. “Any ideas for turning this decrepit old
building into a quaint little shop with a workroom toward the
back?”

For the next hour, they tossed around
ideas, brainstorming how to best use the space available. Tracey
remembered her grandfather once telling her that the original
smokehouse, a stone’s throw from the kitchen wing at Walnut Ridge,
was used only for the family. The “new” larger smokehouse where
they now stood, was added a few years later when the plantation had
begun to flourish. By that time, the family had sold off part of
Walnut Ridge to a friend in need. As a result, the spacious
smokehouse sat on the county road that bordered the east property
line. Then, almost a century later during the depression, Hiram
Collins doubled the size of the building. With so many of the
townspeople and those in neighboring counties in need, he wanted a
place where folks could stop by and pick up a slab of bacon or some
ground beef or stew meat.

Tracey loved the story, picturing her
great, great grandfather graciously providing for those who had
little or nothing. “God doesn’t bless us to spoil us,” he was known
for saying. “He blesses us so that we might bless others.” Looking
at the men around her, it seemed Buddy Collins was carrying on the
family legacy. Tracey felt a lump in her throat, so filled with
love for her father and the incredible miracle that had taken place
in his own life. Here, decades later, Buddy blessed his Elders and
by doing so, showed them how to bless others.

“
Those are some great
ideas, Noah,” Alex said, interrupting Tracey’s thoughts. “When do
you think y’all might get started?”

He scratched his head for a moment.
“How about this afternoon?”

Chapter
5

Noah let himself in the
back door of the cottage and tossed his keys on the kitchen table.
He grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter and took a bite as
he kicked off his boots. The face of Buddy’s younger daughter
drifted into mind. Funny, he’d never given much thought to the one
called Tracey Jo who worked in Washington. He wasn’t sure why he’d
assumed she was the nerdy type, all caught up in politics. He
realized she was
anything
but nerdy. Still, she was just home for a week or
two. He doubted he’d see much more of her.