Not Without My Father: One Woman's 444-Mile Walk of the Natchez Trace

by Watkins, Andra

  I hoped the Trace seared us into its soul. When people traveled it in a thousand years, maybe a few of them would hear my parents and me. In fallen leaves and birdsong. In the echo of their own footsteps. In a field of daffodils winking in the breeze.

  I stood next to the Natchez Trace Parkway sign, flanked by my parents. When I smiled into the camera, with one arm around each of them, I made one final addendum.

  I wanted to recall every molecule of our adventure. The sound of my father’s laugh. How my mother said my name. Through tears, I hugged my parents and branded them into the corridors of my brain.

  Because when someone remembers us, we live forever.

  EPILOGUE

  MAKE A MEMORY

  Bon Jovi

  Who matters to you? Maybe you’re like me, with aging parents who are still somewhat healthy. Or perhaps this story finds you near Life’s end, with adult children and grandchildren.

  We can all name people we take for granted, because everybody’s swamped. Overwhelmed. Harried. We mean to make memories with people who matter, but often, we put it off for someday. And someday morphs into never, as Life’s unpredictability claims the people we love.

  I wrote Not Without My Father to inspire others to make a memory. Now. Today. To grab someone and turn “I wish I had” into “I’m glad I did.”

  If you enjoyed this story, the best tribute you can pay lies in making a memory of your own. You don’t have to spend five weeks. Take an hour. Or an afternoon. A day or several.

  Make a Memory is a MOVEMENT.

  Help start it by making your own memory.

  Post a picture or video online.

  Include your name, where you live, and who you’re inviting to make a memory.

  Show the memory you want to make with a photo, a map, a gif or a video. Be creative. Make everyone who sees it want to Make this Memory with you.

  Tag the person you’re inviting to Make a Memory so they can respond.

  Hashtag your post with #NWMFMakeaMemory.

  We’ll collect your Make a Memory submissions and showcase them on andrawatkins.com.

  This isn’t a contest to impress everyone with your grand travel aspirations or lofty goals. It’s a sincere plea to spend time with someone who matters, to be able to say “I’m glad I did.” If you need ideas, go to andrawatkins.com/makeamemory.

  Your Make a Memory entry could change your life.

  But your participation will help make enough memories to change the world.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Books come to life because of the people who care about them. Not Without My Father is a tour de force of caring. I have a village of people to thank.

  Michael T Maher, you are the most supportive husband on the planet. You believe in me when belief fails me. I couldn’t do anything without you.

  Alice Guess, you signed up for this craziness early, and you never wavered. You got me through my first week of walking, and you messaged me every day when you left. I never would’ve made it to the end without you. Thanks to Gordon and Cayleigh for sharing you with me.

  Lisa Kramer and Tori Nelson, you made two days on the Trace hilarious. Tori, thanks to you, Tom and Thomas for putting us up for four days at the end of my walk.

  Kristen and Cooper Cronin, I love you both. Thank you for making memories with me.

  Jessie Powell and Scott Merriman, thank you for making the trek to Tennessee to meet me.

  Cindy Duryea and Katy Duryea, thank you for surprising me at the Nashville finish line with Kitty Windham (Cindy’s mom and Katy’s grandmother). We lost Kitty on November 1, 2014. She died peacefully, driving and doing and going until her last day. I’m even more grateful Cindy chose to make this memory.

  Mary Howard and Stephen King of Tupelo, Mississippi, thank you for taking in a complete stranger for dinner. I loved spending an evening with you. And thanks to Stephen’s sister Angie King Keesee for making the connection.

  Numerous women texted and emailed words of encouragement during my trek. Thanks to Mary Giese, Linda Washington, Nancy Teixeira, Lisa Kennedy, and especially Laurence King, whose messages often found me at my worst moments.

  Randy Fought at Natchez Trace Travel, thank you for your patience with numerous questions and last-minute changes. I never could’ve planned accommodations on my own. You took care of everything. Whenever I need a place to stay on the Natchez Trace, I won’t look anywhere else.

  Trace innkeepers were my salvation. You washed clothes, accommodated Dad’s food requests, ran errands and saw to our every need. Here’s to a stellar group of people: Ethel Banta at Hope Farm in Natchez, Mississippi; Bobbye and Phil Pinnix at Isabella Bed and Breakfast in Port Gibson, Mississippi; Brenda and Charles Davis at Mamie’s Cottage in Raymond, Mississippi; Larry Routt at Maple Terrace Inn in Kosciusko, Mississippi; Summer Poche at French Camp Bed and Breakfast in French Camp, Mississippi; Carol Koutroulis at Bridges Hall Manor in Houston, Mississippi; Pat and Ron Deaton at Belmont Hotel in Belmont, Mississippi; Linda and David Rochelle at Coast to Coast Store in Collinwood, Tennessee; Donna Branch at Buffalo River Farm Bed and Breakfast in Summertown, Tennessee; and Misty Montgomery at Creekview Farm Bed and Breakfast in Fly, Tennessee. If any reader would like to replicate our journey, our rooms are listed in the appendix.

  Culinary surprises were among the biggest delights of my walk. Because I couldn’t mention them all in the book, I share them here. I ended my first day at The Malt Shop in Natchez, Mississippi with the best chocolate malt I’ve ever had. Mister D at Old Country Store in Lorman, Mississippi, you really do make heavenly fried chicken, and you sing like a dream. Mary Bell and the crew at Gibbes Old Country Store in Learned, Mississippi, I still drool when I think of your steaks, and your Comeback sauce was the best of the trip. After Dad grumbled about eating at the Mayflower Cafe in Jackson, Mississippi, I couldn’t drag him out. The folks at the Council House Cafe in French Camp, Mississippi fed me several sandwiches, and their Mississippi Mud Pie was heaven. Costa Oaxaquena in Belmont, Mississippi, your shrimp quesadillas were addictive pillows of goodness. Red Bay, Alabama’s Cardinal Drive-in supplied my birthday milkshake. For three days, we ate every meal at Chad’s Family Restaurant in Collinwood, Tennessee. I was willing to make the drive to Mt Pleasant Grille in Mt Pleasant, Tennessee again and again. Finally, thanks to Nashville’s City House for introducing us to Paul, our server with Lewis and Clark tattoos, a gift that made our celebration meal surreal.

  Thanks to everyone who gave me song ideas, especially Dina Honour (Walkin’ After Midnight), Beth Kennedy (Learning to Fly), Kate Pitt (Holiday Road), Lou Mello (Walk On By), Lisa Kramer (I’m Gonna Be and A Million Miles Away), Rob Ross (Personal Jesus), Andrea Boccucci (Walk), Robert S Johnson (Cross Road Blues and Road to Nowhere), Kirsten Piccini (Love Walks In), Linda Washington (I Walk the Line), Penny O’Neill (Hit the Road Jack), Kenneth Andrews (Go Walking Down There), Alice Guess (Walking to You), Nancy Teixeira (These Boots Were Made for Walkin’), Debbie Hennessy (Walking on Broken Glass), Cheryl Smithem (Roam), Debra Fetterly (Walk on the Wild Side), Helena Hann-Basquiat (Walk Like an Egyptian) and Lisa Spiral Besnett (Walking on Sunshine).

  To the women and men who work for the National Park Service and the National Forest Service, you are unsung heroes. Thank you for everything you do to protect our assets, often with very limited means. Your sacrifices are not celebrated enough.

  Thanks to the people at the Kosciusko Star-Herald, Nashville’s News Channel 4, The Tennessean and The Post and Courier for covering parts of my walk.

  Amber Deutsch, you continue to make my books better by reading them first. Your tireless commentary and quirky insights are priceless, as is your friendship.

  Rowe Copeland, your edits made Not Without My Father readable. Thank you.

  Two authors deserve thanks for inspiring my walk of the Natchez Trace. Keel Hunt’s book Coup: The Day the Democrats Ousted Their Governor, Put Republican Lamar Alexander in Office Early, and Stopped a Pardon Scandal gave me the ide
a to walk the Trace. James Crutchfield’s Natchez Trace: A Pictorial History was a valuable planning tool.

  Tamie and Sam Herin, thank you for loaning me your house in Montreat, North Carolina. Every version of this book was written on Mississippi Road, an irony that isn’t lost on me. Be Still is a place of perfect peace.

  Ed Smith, thank you for giving us a place to sleep on yet another Trace visit.

  Ruth Sykora and Stephen Khouri, you massaged and adjusted my middle-aged body into a machine. Thank you for your touch.

  Joyce Maher, you know what you did. Thank you for being the world’s best mother-in-law.

  Thanks to the team at Nashville’s Parnassus Books for hosting a nobody-writer’s first book signing and end-of-walk party. You are a gem of an independent bookstore.

  Jeffrey Nelson, thank you for having your daughter Tori. I wish I could’ve met you.

  My mother, Linda Watkins, gave me three weeks of her life and probably felt like she was minding a four-year-old again. Thanks, Mom, for everything you did to feed, clothe, bathe, and generally comfort your crazy daughter. I love you.

  Without my father, Roy Lee Watkins Junior, this book wouldn’t be possible. Dad, you pushed yourself through whatever the Trace gave you, and you spread your unique brand of joy over three states. Thank you for saying yes to an adventure with me. Thank you for everything you did to make it memorable. Thank you for being the best book salesman of all time. But mostly, thank you for being my father. You are a gift to me. Every day. I love you.

  To readers everywhere, thank you for choosing this book. If you’ve read this far, you’re a diehard. We writers cannot create without people like you. In a world bursting with options, thank you for honoring me with your time.

  SUPPORT THE TRACE

  Want to know the best way to support the Natchez Trace Parkway?

  Visit!

  Plan a Trace vacation and explore a tunnel through Time. More visitors mean more voices. You can force our legislators to provide more money to maintain the Parkway.

  Randy Fought at Natchez Trace Travel can plan a trip to suit any interest. Contact him at natcheztracetravel.com/

  Want to sleep where we did? Here’s a cheat sheet of the rooms we occupied along the Trace.

  Hope Farm in Natchez, MS - Plantation Room

  Isabella Bed and Breakfast in Port Gibson, MS - Lucille’s Room in the main house (the room I wanted, not the one Dad picked elsewhere)

  Mamie’s Cottage Bed and Breakfast at the Dupree House in Raymond, MS - Pattie Dupree Suite

  Maple Terrace Inn in Kosciusko, MS - Silkwood and Mahogany Rooms

  French Camp Bed and Breakfast in French Camp, MS - B&B Junior Cabin

  Bridges Hall Manor in Houston, MS - Room 4

  Belmont Hotel in Belmont, MS - Rooms 7 and 9

  Coast to Coast Store in Collinwood, TN - Room 2

  Buffalo River Farm and Studio Bed and Breakfast in Summertown, TN - Robert E Lee and Abraham Lincoln Rooms

  Creekview Farm Retreat Bed and Breakfast in Fly, TN - both upstairs bedrooms

  Because of continued cuts in government funding, the Natchez Trace Parkway increasingly relies upon donations to fund its dwindling budget. You can help preserve a 10,000-year-old treasure. Your contributions could provide much-needed restroom facilities, refurbished parking areas, increased staffing for road maintenance and trash removal, more ranger patrols, and replacement signage, not to mention better facilities for the thousands of people who bicycle the Trace each year.

  Help the Trace retain its magic. To support the Natchez Trace Parkway, go to: http://www.nps.gov/natr/supportyourpark/donate.htm

  I have.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Andra Watkins lives in Charleston, South Carolina with her husband, Michael T Maher. A non-practicing CPA, she has a degree in accounting from Francis Marion University. She’s still mad at her mother for refusing to let her major in musical theater, because her mom was convinced she’d end up starring in porn films. Her acclaimed first novel To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis was published by Word Hermit Press on March 1, 2014. Read more about Andra at andrawatkins.com.

  Andra’s upcoming novels include Hard To Die, to be published in Spring 2015; Your True Love Lives, to be published in Summer 2015; and I Am Number 13, to be published in Fall 2015.

  Natchez Trace: Tracks in Time is a book of photographs taken by Andra on her 444-mile walk. It is a companion volume to Not Without My Father, and is available in print from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and everywhere books are sold.

  TO LIVE FOREVER:

  AN AFTERLIFE JOURNEY OF MERIWETHER LEWIS

  (The novel that launched a 444-Mile Hike)

  EMMALINE

  A New Orleans Courtroom

  Thursday

  March 24, 1977

  A drop of sweat hung from the end of my nose. I watched it build, cross-eyed, before I shook my head and made it fall. It left wet circles on the front of my dress.

  “Emmaline. Be still, Child.” Aunt Bertie fanned her face and neck with a paper fan, the one with the popsicle stick handle.

  A popsicle would be so good.

  The waiting room of the court in New Orleans was full. People were everywhere I looked.

  Reporters in stripey suits talked with some of Daddy’s musician friends. I loved to watch their fingers play imaginary guitars or pound out chords on their legs. Once or twice, Daddy’s band members came over to squeeze my arm or pat my head. “In spite of what they’s saying in that courtroom, we all love your daddy, Kid.”

  Everybody loved Daddy. Well, everybody except Mommy.

  My nose burned when I breathed, because the whole room stank like sweaty feet. My face was steamy when I touched it, and my lace tights scratched when I kicked my legs to push along the wooden bench. I left a puddle when I moved.

  I snuggled closer to the dark folds and softness of Aunt Bertie. She turned her black eyes down at me and sighed before pushing me away with her dimpled hand. “Too hot, Child. When this is done, I’ll hold you as long as you want.”

  I slid back to my wet spot on the bench. The wood made a hard pillow when I leaned my head against it and closed my eyes. Wishes still worked for nine-year-old girls, didn’t they?

  I thought and thought. If I wanted it enough, maybe I could shrink myself smaller. It was hard to be outside the courtroom, imagining what was going on inside. Behind the heavy doors, Mommy and Daddy probably shouted mean things at each other, like they used to at home. Both of them said they wanted me, if they had to fight until they were dead.

  I watched Mommy’s lady friends go into the courtroom: Miss Roberta in her drapey dress with flowers, Miss Chantelle all in white against the black of her skin, and Miss Emilie in a red skirt and coat that tied at her waist in a pretty bow. They all went in and came out, and they always looked at me. Miss Roberta even left a red lipstick kiss on my cheek, but I don’t like her, so I rubbed it off.

  Aunt Bertie took her turn inside the courtroom, leaving me to sit with a reporter. He watched me from behind thick black glasses, and he asked me all kinds of questions about Daddy and Mommy. I didn’t understand much. I knew Daddy was famous, at least in New Orleans, but I didn’t understand what the word “allegations” meant.

  My daddy was Lee Cagney. People called him “The Virtuoso of Dixieland Jazz.” He played the upright bass, and when he sang, his voice made women act silly in the middle of Bourbon Street. They cried and screamed. Some of them even tore their clothes.

  I understood why women loved Daddy. I adored him, too. But some grown women sure did act dumb.

  Anyway.

  None of the lawyers asked me who I wanted to be with.

  The Judge said I was too little to understand, and Mommy agreed. But if they asked me, I would shout it all the way to Heaven: I wanted to be with Daddy.

  When he sang Ragtime Lullaby, the sound of his voice put me to sleep. He always splashed in the fountain with me in front of the Cathedral and ga
ve me pennies to throw in the water. Thursday afternoons before his gigs, he sat with me at Café du Monde, sharing beignets with as much powdered sugar as I wanted. He didn’t even mind my sticky fingers when he held my hand. He wasn’t always there when I had nightmares, but he came to see me first thing in the morning.

  People around me whispered about Daddy’s “adulterous proclivities.” I didn’t understand what that meant, but it had something to do with his loving other women besides Mommy. No matter what they said, Daddy didn’t do anything wrong. When he wasn’t playing music, he was always with me.

  Wasn’t he?

  A skinny reporter held the courtroom door open. “The Judge’s ruling.” He whispered, but his voice was loud enough for everyone waiting to hear. He kept the door open, and I saw my chance.

  I struggled through all the legs to the door. Mommy’s red lips curled in a smile as the Judge addressed Daddy. The Judge’s face was loose, like the bulldog that lived in the house around the corner, and his voice boomed in my chest. When he stood and leaned over his desk, his hairy hands gripped the gavel.

  “In the case of Cagney v. Cagney, I am charged with finding the best outcome for a little girl. For rendering a verdict that will shape the whole of her life. The welfare of the child is paramount, regardless of how it will impact the adults involved.”

  The Judge stopped and cleared his throat. I held my breath when his baggy eyes fell on me. I counted ten heartbeats before he talked again. “Mr. Cagney, I simply cannot ignore the fact that you had carnal relations with your then-wife’s lady friends repeatedly, both under your shared roof and in broad daylight. The photographic evidence coupled with the testimonies of these poor women damns you, regardless of your expressed love for your daughter. From everything I’ve seen and heard in this courtroom, the evidence does not support your claim that you were set up. Justice demands that your nine-year-old daughter be delivered into the arms of the person who has demonstrated that she has the capability to be a responsible parent.”