Home to Walnut Ridge

by Diane Moody

  “When the news came out, Deacon was furious. He stormed into Dad’s office and accused him of undermining Deacon’s role as a father, of telling his kid to go against his father’s wishes‌—‌all that stuff. Apparently, it was pretty ugly because Dad refused to tell us what Deacon said to him that day. And ever since then, Deacon’s had it out for Dad.”

  “The man sure knows how to hold a grudge,” Noah said.

  “It’s more than that, really,” Tracey continued. “He’s so shady in all his real estate dealings. It’s no secret, but everyone’s afraid of him, so nobody’s ever blown the whistle on him.”

  “Every town has its bully, I guess.”

  “I guess so. What really irks me is how he takes advantage of so many of our older folks. He’s been quietly buying up property for years. All of it’s legal, or so they say. But it’s completely unethical. He approaches senior adults when they’re either in some kind of grief over losing a spouse, or facing some kind of medical or financial bind. He ‘buys’ their house from them for pennies on the dollar, then lets them live in their own homes rent-free until they die.”

  “What a guy. He’s all heart, isn’t he?”

  “He makes me sick. He’s conned so many widows in this area, it’s obscene. But so far nobody’s been able to prosecute him. He stays just within the law, like I said. But he’s knowingly taking advantage of these people. Dad’s tried for years to put an end to it, but Deacon always finds a way out. He really is a snake. I hate the guy for all the grief he’s given Dad over the years. I just wish he’d drop dead and give the whole town some peace for a change.”

  “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? Wishing him dead?”

  “Probably. But still . . .”

  They rode in silence for a while. An hour into their trip, they turned onto the Natchez Trace Parkway. The historic, winding, two-lane road stretched 444 miles from Nashville, cutting through the northwest corner of Alabama, and ending at Natchez, Mississippi. With the autumn leaves at their peak, the drive was breathtaking. Here and there they’d spot deer grazing in wide, open fields. Now and then, Noah pointed out chicken hawks in flight, and once they even saw a bald eagle.

  Tracey closed her eyes, breathing in the crisp, cool air as it rushed past her. She tried to remember what it was like working in the pressure cooker that was Washington D.C. She smiled broadly when she realized it had been several days since she’d given her life there more than a passing thought. How quickly I’ve grown accustomed to this life, she thought. And I love it. I honestly love it. This is where I belong.

  She opened her eyes again, realizing how much Noah was a part of those feelings. Tracey tried to keep her emotions in check‌—‌at least until she knew it was safe to let go of her heart and love him the way she wanted to. Give him time, she reminded herself. Give him time.

  “What’re you smiling at back there?” he asked, breaking her thoughts.

  Thankful for the sunglasses that hid her eyes, she quipped, “None of your business.”

  She could see his face in the rearview mirror and watched him smile. She reached up, placing her hand at his waist, deciding to leave it there a while. As if reading her mind, he placed his gloved hand over hers, apparently deciding to leave it there a while too.

  Not a bad way to spend an autumn day . . .

  Chapter 18

  Tracey was surprised how quickly the miles flew beneath them. They’d stopped only once at an overlook for a rest break before continuing their ride to Tupelo. She and Noah talked at times, but for the most part they’d ridden along listening to a random assortment of tunes over the Harley’s radio piped through their headsets.

  They stopped for lunch, taking a short detour on Highway 20 to Florence, Alabama. There, they feasted on platters of fried catfish, shrimp, slaw, and hush puppies, while sipping sweet tea. Afterward, they headed back to the Parkway and once again enjoyed the bright blue skies above as they traveled.

  Tracey closed her eyes and felt herself drifting off to sleep. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  “Me neither,” Noah teased. “Wake me up when we get there.”

  Her eyes flew open. “No! Don’t even talk like that!”

  “Just kidding. Remember, I usually ride solo, so I’m used to long distances without interruption. You go ahead and fall asleep. I’ll wake you if you start to fall off, deal?”

  “You have a really sick sense of humor, you know that?”

  As they rounded a curve in the road, the line of hand signals cautioned them to slow down and come to a stop.

  “What’s the matter?” Tracey asked, placing her hand on Noah’s shoulder.

  “Looks like there may be an accident up ahead.”

  As the bikers all came to a stop on the two-lane highway, they couldn’t see ahead because of an incline and bend in the road. All they could see were a dozen or more vehicles stopped in front of them.

  “Can you see anything?” Gristle called out from behind them.

  “Nothing,” Noah said as he and Tracey stepped off their bike. “I’ll go see what I can find out.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Gristle said, handing his helmet to Maleeka. “Now, you stay here and stay outta the road, you got that?”

  “Why? How come I can’t‍—‍”

  “I’ll keep you company,” Tracey said as the guys walked away. An uneasy feeling crept under her skin.

  “I don’t know about you, but I needed another break,” Maleeka said, twisting and turning. “How they do this‌—‌all these miles on these motorcycles? Least in a car you can move around now and then.”

  “Ah, but think how much more‍—‍”

  “Oh, this can’t be good,” Maleeka said, looking over Tracey’s shoulder. “Here comes an ambulance and a police car.”

  The emergency vehicles cut their sirens as they came closer, their lights still flashing. Shortly after passing them on the shoulder of the road, they came to a stop. They could hear other sirens in the distance. Tracey and Maleeka started walking toward the crash scene, forgetting their promise to stay behind. As they crested the hill, they could see three mangled and twisted vehicles sitting at odd angles, on and off the road. Shattered glass covered the road along with bent bumpers and broken tail lights. The biting smell of gasoline filled the air.

  “Oh good Lord, what a mess, what a MESS,” Maleeka said, taking the words out of Tracey’s mouth.

  People surrounded the vehicles, including most of Buddy’s Elders, distinctive in their black leather jackets. She shielded her eyes from the sun, looking for her father and Noah. They appeared to be speaking to someone in a small red car that had flipped upside down. Buddy turned and shouted to the paramedics, motioning for them to hurry.

  When she looked up, Noah was no longer in view. She assumed he was on the other side of the vehicle. Another ambulance arrived, its siren making short, loud chirps as though to say, get out of the way! Two more squad cars filed in behind it.

  As the emergency personnel rushed toward the accident, the policemen began corralling the onlookers, pushing them back to a safer distance.

  “Maleeka, do you see Noah?”

  “No, I see Gregory and Buddy and some of the other guys, but not Noah.”

  A fire truck arrived, its blaring siren filling her soul with dread. As it pulled into the grassy median alongside the wreckage, Tracey prayed silently. She watched in disbelief as the emergency personnel pulled a young child from inside the small red compact. Still inside, a woman screamed for her baby. Why aren’t they getting her out too?

  She felt Maleeka’s hand take her own, clasping it tight. “Oh, dear Jesus, help these people!” Tracey joined her in silent prayer, thankful to close her eyes to the scene below.

  Eternity seemed to pass before the crash victims were loaded into ambulances and driven away. Gradually, the Elders made their way back to their bikes, none of them speaking. Gristle took Maleeka in his arms as tears tracked down his face.

  “T
he mama, she didn’t make it. She gone,” he cried quietly.

  Tracey rushed past them, searching for Buddy and Noah. She finally spotted them off the side of the road. Noah sat on a guardrail, his head in his hands. Buddy stood over him, his hands on Noah’s shoulders. Dread washed over her again. Then, just as she neared them, Buddy held up his hand, shaking his head. The message was clear.

  She stopped in her tracks, nodding a silent response. Wrapping her arms around herself, she bowed her head and continued to pray. Oh God . . .

  Suddenly, she heard footsteps and looked up. “Noah?”

  He didn’t look at her, but briefly squeezed her shoulder as he walked by. She turned to follow him, then felt another strong hand stop her.

  “Give him a minute, Tracey Jo,” her father said, putting his arm over her shoulder.

  “Is he okay?” When her father said nothing, she turned to look in his eyes and found them moist. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

  They walked slowly back toward the other bikers. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but I think sudden triggers can evoke all kinds of memories and images that haunt our souls. The young woman in the car . . .”

  “Reminded him of Melissa?”

  “Yes.” He said nothing for a moment or two. “I assume he’s told you about her accident?”

  They stopped alongside Stella. “No, not yet. He promised to tell me at some point. Alex told me he’d lost his wife in an accident.”

  Buddy gathered her into his arms. “Yes, he did. And on that day, his wife was driving a small red car.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Be patient with him, sweetie. He just needs a little space right now.”

  Noah felt like a short bungee cord was wound tightly around his chest. He’d experienced the sensation before, but now was not the time for breathing exercises or stretching out until it passed. As Noah approached his Harley, he put one hand on the handlebar and one on the seat to steady himself. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to shut out the glassy stare of the young woman in the small red car. Her seat belt had tethered her to the driver’s seat, suspending her from the roof of the upside-down vehicle. She was pinned at an awkward angle, unable to move her head against the smashed-in car door.

  She had screamed for her child, unable to see the paramedics carefully unhooking the child seat where her little one was secured. As the toddler was safely removed from the back seat of the car, the mother’s screams had continued, begging to know if her daughter was okay. Buddy and Noah had tried to calm her as other paramedics worked to free her.

  As Buddy continued murmuring his reassurances, she suddenly fell silent. Noah had leaned in, pressing his fingers to her neck but finding no pulse there. He tried again and again. Nothing.

  After the paramedics asked him to step aside, they too were unable to find a pulse. Noah’s eyes had been riveted to the vacant eyes of the young woman, his own emotions crashing in on him. He’d turned away and rushed off to a nearby tree where he lost his lunch. Buddy had been at his side immediately.

  “You’ll be okay,” he’d said calmly, handing him his handkerchief. “Take some deep breaths, Noah. It will pass. Let it pass.”

  Buddy led him to the guard rail where he’d tried to breathe again, but nothing seemed to help. When Tracey had called out to him, he couldn’t think. The sun was too bright. Too many eyes were looking his way. I have to get out of here. Now. He’d hurried by her, knowing he couldn’t speak and thankful that Buddy was there for her.

  The roaring riptide of emotions threatened to roll over him and drag him under.

  He picked up the extra helmet, quickly stepped over to set it on Stella, then got on his own bike and cranked it up.

  Gristle reached over to pat him on the back. “Noah? You okay, bro?”

  Noah pulled away, holding his hands up, shaking his head.

  Suddenly, Tracey was there, Buddy right behind her. The look on her face pulled the imaginary bungee cord tighter around his chest.

  “Noah, where are you going?”

  “C’mon, Noah. Don’t leave,” Buddy said.

  “Back off!” Noah snapped, hating the sound of his voice.

  They froze, all staring at him.

  “Please don’t go,” Tracey pleaded with tears in her eyes.

  He pushed his sunglasses in place. “I’m . . . I have to . . . I’m sorry.” He turned his bike the way they’d come, and roared off as fast as he could, refusing to glance in his rearview mirror.

  Chapter 19

  A week passed. Noah hadn’t called. He wasn’t taking Buddy’s calls. Apparently, he wasn’t taking anyone’s calls. Tracey had stopped listening for the sound of his Harley and wondered if he’d ever return. She wasn’t angry that he left. Both Buddy and Alex had told her he often took off like this, sometimes for weeks at a time. They’d learned to give him his space. Tracey was trying, but the consuming worry seemed to eat at her day and night. She knew he could take care of himself, but it was the condition of his heart that concerned her most of all. He’d come so close to letting her in. But now? It all felt like a distant memory.

  Tracey busied herself finishing pieces for the shop which was almost completed. Their upcoming grand opening gave her less than a week to go. The deadline enabled her to focus all her efforts and thoughts into getting the place ready. But late at night, after a long soak in the tub, the emptiness of Noah’s continued absence loomed all around her.

  On one such night, she padded downstairs to make herself some hot tea. She was surprised to find her father still up, reading in the den by the fire.

  “You’d think after all these years, I’d know the sound of my daughters’ footsteps,” he said, placing the bookmark between pages. “I thought for sure you were Alex.”

  “Sorry, Dad. What are you doing still up?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Came down for hot tea. There’s still some in the kitchen if you’d like it.”

  “You must’ve read my mind. I’ll be right back.”

  Tracey made her way to the kitchen, filled her mug with tea, then joined her father back in the den. She took a seat beside him on the sofa. “What are you reading?”

  “C. S. Lewis.”

  “Your favorite.”

  “True. I wish I possessed even one one-hundredth of his wisdom. Maybe then life would make more sense.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you do all right,” she said.

  He closed the book and turned toward her, quirking a smile. “Lewis once said, ‘You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.’ I’d have to agree. Wouldn’t you?”

  She nodded then blew on her tea.

  “So what’s got you up so late after a long day’s work?” he asked.

  Tracey took a sip then shrugged. “A little this, a little that. I’m excited about the store opening. It’s been good, having something to keep me busy.”

  “Alex says you have a real knack for restoring furniture.”

  Tracey smiled. “You know Alex. Always the encourager.”

  “Maybe so, but I can see for myself she’s right.”

  “Still, I just can’t . . . no matter how hard I try, I can’t‍—‍”

  “You can’t stop worrying about Noah?”

  She blew out a weary sigh. “I can’t stop worrying about Noah.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “He’ll be back. You’ll see.”

  “Dad, it’s not just that. I thought I’d been so careful not to let my feelings for him rush ahead of me. We both agreed to take it slow, one day at a time. And yet, there’s not one trace of doubt in my mind that I’m in love with him.” It seemed strange, hearing herself say those words out loud.

  His wide smile slowly deepened. “If you’re expecting to find shock on my face, don’t waste your time.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “I know. It’s not as if I’ve tried to hide my feelings. I’m just not quite sure what to do with them at this point.”

  Her f
ather rested his head back on the sofa. “I think you just keep doing what you’re doing, and try not to overanalyze it.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “True. But if I’ve learned anything these past few years, I’ve learned that worrying myself to death over this or that doesn’t help a thing.”

  “I still remember that sermon you preached on worry back when I was in high school,” Tracey began.

  “And here, all this time, I thought all you ever did in church was pass notes with your friends and giggle.”

  “Most of the time, but occasionally I listened.”

  Buddy tugged at a lock of her hair. “You were saying?”

  “I remember the analogy you gave, comparing worry to a rocking chair. ‘It keeps you moving but doesn’t get you anywhere.’ I never forgot that.”

  “A great word picture, isn’t it?”

  Tracey nodded. “Yes, and I feel as if I’ve put a million miles on that rocker since Noah took off.”

  Buddy took another sip of tea. “For what it’s worth, when I can’t seem to stop worrying, I always go back to one of my favorite scriptures. Philippians four, verses six and seven. ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.’ That’s a mighty powerful promise, if you ask me.”

  “I know, Dad. I just wish I could live that out, you know? It sounds like the perfect antidote for worry, but something inside me just can’t let go enough to really buy into it completely.”

  “It’s about trust, Tracey Jo.”

  “I know. But it’s amazing how often that particular word picture gets blurred.”

  “It’s a hard lesson to learn‌—‌trusting God completely. Especially when it comes to relationships with others.”

  “Speaking of which,” she said, turning to face him again. “Where do things stand with Deacon and the City Council on our permits? Is that what the meeting is about tomorrow night?”