The Long Ride Home (4 page)

A
n hour later, and every hour thereafter until bedtime, Skye called the number for Jacy Nicholson Number One. When no one answered, she went to bed disappointed.

All day Saturday while she taught riding lessons and helped with a hayride, she called the number every hour on the hour with the same result.

Sunday after church, the Chambers’ family said their teary farewells at the ranch and set their sights on Gatlinburg. Again, all afternoon and into the night, Skye had no success with the phone. “This guy has got to be on a vacation or something,” she groaned in the truck cab and flipped the cell phone shut after her last try around 9 p.m. For a while, Skye’s mouth ran nonstop about trying to find her father, but soon pure exhaustion wooed her into a sound sleep. Her dreams flitted from her father to horse shows to the kids she had just left behind to Chad and then back to her missing dad again…
Jacy Nicholson
…
What if he doesn’t want to see me
…
Does he have other kids now?
…
Which Jacy is it?
…
Maybe it’s none of them…

Close to midnight, the Chambers family pulled into a KOA campground on the outskirts of Pigeon Forge. After Mr. Chambers registered at the office, he, Mrs. Chambers, and Skye bedded down the horses in a small pole barn, then they and Morgan crashed in the bunks in the log cabin and were asleep in seconds.

At seven o’clock the next morning while Mr. and Mrs. Chambers prepared breakfast at a small brick fireplace and camper’s table in front of the cabin, Skye hurried to the camp office with one goal in mind: to find a phone book.

“Mom! Dad!” Skye yelled as she charged back to camp. Mr. Chambers was stirring his trademark scrambled eggs in a pan on the fire while Mrs. Chambers buttered biscuits at the table. The table hosted a mishmash of paper plates and cups, plastic utensils, and a quart container of orange juice. Morgan sat by the fire holding a marshmallow on a stick over the low flame.

“Sounds like you have some good news.” Morgan’s glance darted from the marshmallow to Skye then back.

“There are two Jacy Nicholsons in the phone book,” Skye said. “One number is the same as what I found online. Can I call them both now? Can I?”

“Skye, I hate to keep saying this,” Mrs. Chambers said, smiling, “but you’ll have to hold your horses again.” She glanced at her watch and went back to her buttering job. “It’s not even 7:15 yet.”

Mr. Chambers lifted the frying pan and shifted to the table where he scraped the eggs into a large plastic serving dish. He then set the pan on the ground beside the fireplace. “Skye, we have to think this through. If those guys are up and about at this hour on a Monday morning, they’re probably getting ready for work or whatever.”

Skye flopped on a canvas chair near the table. “If, and that’s a big if, Jacy Nicholson Number One is even around here. Maybe he moved.”

Mrs. Chambers poured four glasses of orange juice. “Skye, I’m sure that sooner or later you’re going to get through to one of these men.”

“At this hour of the day, they’d probably think it’s a prank call and slam the phone down quicker than you could say, ‘Dada,’” Morgan said. She wheeled her Jazzy to the one side of the table, plopped her gooey burnt mess onto a paper plate, and giggled. “Scrambled eggs and marshmallows. What a treat.”

“Only a teenager would come up with such a gross combination,” Mr. Chambers kidded.

“Skye, honey,” Mrs. Chambers said, “You need to put yourself in those men’s shoes. Even if one of them is your dad, you should try to be careful what you say and how you say it.”

Skye’s mind churned out her next plan while she gazed at two local phone numbers scribbled on a small piece of paper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that,” she said. “I’ll try to let him know kind of slow and easy that he’s talking to his daughter.”

“It’s going to be quite a shock, no matter how careful you are,” Mrs. Chambers said.

Mr. and Mrs. Chambers settled at the table and Mr. Chambers prayed. Then the four dug into their campfire breakfast. “I would suggest waiting until around ten o’clock or so before you call,” Mr. Chambers said. “If either of those men is your father, we can make plans to meet him as soon as he’s able to do so.”

“That’s
if either
of them answers the phone,” Morgan said. “They’re probably working. Of course, they could be on later shifts, too. That’s a possibility.”

“Skye, you do have one big plus in your favor.” Mrs. Chambers placed a scoopful of eggs on her plate then took a bite. “Your aunt said that your dad loved you dearly. It’s my guess that he is longing to see you, and he’ll be ecstatic when you find him.”

Mr. Chambers scooped some eggs and held the spoon in front of Morgan. “Ready for the best eggs in the world?”

“Yep,” she said, “dump them right on top of my marshmallow, please.”

“On top of that?” he said in mock disbelief. “Girl, you must have a cast iron stomach.”

“Oh, Tom, just give the girl her eggs.” Mrs. Chambers chuckled. “If Morgan’s going to be a chef, she’ll want to try different foods.”

“Yeah,” Morgan said. “Someday I’ll have a restaurant and feature entrees for ‘The Foolish and the Brave.’”

“You’ve got a good start right here,” Mr. Chambers said.

Skye had tuned herself in and out of the present conversation while she planned what to say on the phone. Finally, she said, “I think I know exactly what I’m going to say and how I’m going to say it.”

“Let’s hear it, and we’ll all take a vote,” Morgan said.

“Dad,” Skye said, “will you pretend to be the voice on the other end of the phone? Let’s practice.”

“Sure.” Mr. Chambers chuckled with a mouthful of eggs. “Wait until I get the egg off my face.”

The next few hours dragged on like a turtle strolling through molasses. After Skye helped clean up the breakfast mess, she went to the pole barn and fed the horses, mucked the stalls, and cleaned their hooves. She also gave each horse a quick once-over with currycomb and brush, but when she got to Champ, she pampered him like a mare with a newborn foal. As usual, she spilled her guts to him while he chomped on his grain and listened with twitching ears and a series of nickers.

“Champ,” she said, combing the horse’s mane, “I just don’t know what I’m going to do if I find my real dad. What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

Champ nickered and nibbled at his bucket of oats.

“And I don’t want to hurt Mom and Dad Chambers. Ever. They’re just being so super about all of this. But what about Morgan? Something’s been bugging her, and I’ve got to find out what. She’s just—just different lately. I think what I need to do is pray more about this whole Jacy business. What do you think?”

Nicker, nicker.

“You’re right. Now would be a good time.” Skye laid the grooming tools on the ground, leaned her arms on Champ’s back, and folded her hands. “Dear Jesus,” she prayed, “first of all, I’d like to ask you to forgive me for lousing up, which I seem to do a lot sometimes. Next, I need your help to find my parents. Please help me to know what to say when I do find them. Lord, I ask that you help me to be brave and love them no matter what happens. And if they don’t know about you, please help me to tell them what you’ve done in my life. Now about Morgan, I ask that you help her with whatever’s bothering her, and help me to understand what she’s going through. Thanks for such great foster parents and thanks for everything else you’ve given me at Keystone Stables, especially Champ. Oh, and please bless Chad, too. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”

Nicker, nicker.

At ten o’clock sharp, Skye sat on her bunk and tried to call both Jacy Nicholsons. Her foster parents and Morgan encircled Skye, giving her moral support. Again, the one number rang and rang-and rang—with no answer; the other number clicked on a voice mail recording, so Skye shut off the cell phone without leaving any message. “Now what?” she grumbled.

“Skye,” Mrs. Chambers said, “I know you don’t want to hear about being patient again, but we have no choice. It seems like the one man might be away. The other one might be working. I suggest you call around noon. If there’s still no answer, you can try every few hours.”

“Couldn’t we just go and find their homes?” Skye rattled off. “We have their addresses. Then there’s the third man who doesn’t have a phone number. We don’t have any way of contacting him except by going to his house. His address is 690 Sassafras Street.”

“I think it’s best if you try to contact the two by phone first,” Mr. Chambers said. “If one of them is your dad, he’ll need some time to grasp hold of the whole situation.”

Morgan flipped her long red hair back. “Yeah, he might feel like fainting or dropping his teeth or something, and he wouldn’t want to do that in front of perfect strangers.”

“I’ll tell you what we can do.” Mrs. Chambers’ eyes sparkled with excitement. “Let’s go into Pigeon Forge for a few hours. We can’t sit around here twiddling our thumbs. There are plenty of tourist attractions to keep us busy. Skye, you can try those numbers again at noon no matter where we are.”

Mr. Chambers smoothed his mustache and squared his tan Stetson. “And later today we need to pretty the horses and polish the tack for the horse show tomorrow. We need to be there at 9 a.m. sharp for Skye’s first entry.”

“I hope I can concentrate,” Skye said. “No need to worry, though. Champ knows the Western Pleasure routine like he invented it. I’m sure he’ll pull me through.”

“Skye,” Mrs. Chamber said, “don’t put yourself under any undue pressure. The horse show is just a little something extra for all of us to enjoy while we’re here.”

“That’s right.” Mr. Chambers poked back his hat. “Winning is all fine and dandy, but it’s not the most important thing. Just have a good time.”

Within a half hour, the Chambers family loaded up in their truck and headed into Pigeon Forge. All day and into early evening they enjoyed the area’s most popular attraction, the Dollywood theme park. Although Skye loved theme parks, her mind was constantly on who and where her real dad was. At twelve o’clock, four, and six,
Skye called the phone numbers with no response. Finally, on the family’s way back to the campground at eight o’clock, Skye called the first number and got a response:

“Hello, Jacy Nicholson speaking.”

Skye froze.

“Hello?” the man repeated. “Nicholson residence.”

“Ah—Mr. Nicholson?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Skye Nicholson. My birthday is on January 15
^th
and I’m thirteen years old. I’m a foster child from central Pennsylvania, and I’m looking for my real father, Jacy Nicholson. Would that be you?”

After a short pause, Skye heard, “I’m sorry, young lady. That wouldn’t be me. I’m sixty-five years old. I’m married and my wife and I have three grown sons, but no missing daughter. I hope you find your dad. Good-bye now.”

“Wait!” Skye said. “Would you happen to know who the other Jacy Nicholson is in the phone book?” She read him the number.

“Why, yes,” Mr. Nicholson said. “That’s my son. He’s in his forties. He’s married but he has two sons. He’s never had a daughter either.”

Skye took a deep breath before asking her next question. “Sir, do you know the other Jacy Nicholson who lives in this area?”

“Hmm,” Mr. Nicholson said. “I wasn’t even aware that another man by that name lives around here. My son and I are the only ones listed in the phone book. Are you sure there’s a third Jacy in this area? That’s incredible.”

“Yep, I found his name and address on the Internet,” Skye said.

“Well, young lady,” Mr. Nicholson said, “I wish you the best in finding your father. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. Good luck.”

Skye’s eyes burned like fire as they flooded with tears. “Th-thank you, Mr. Nicholson,” she said, yearning in
the depths of her soul that she were talking with her dad. “Goodbye.” Skye flipped the phone shut and slumped back in the seat of the truck like she had lost her best friend.

“That didn’t sound too good,” Mrs. Chambers said from the front of the cab.

“He’s not my dad,” Skye groaned. “And the other man is his son, and he never had a daughter either.”

“Well,” Mr. Chambers said. “The first thing we’ll do tomorrow after the horse show is go find Mr. Jacy Nicholson Number Three.”

Skye nudged Morgan with her elbow. “Tomorrow’s another day, Sis, and I just might hit the jackpot.”

“Just might,” Morgan said without looking in Skye’s direction.

S
kye chewed her lip as she sat on Champ outside the AQHA show ring. She had her hair drawn back into a bun, adorned by a dark brown suede cowboy hat complete with hawk feather and leather braid, leveled on her head to her eyebrows. She wore a red-checkered shirt and a leather-fringed vest with the number “8” pinned on the back, a blue necktie, cowhide gloves, chaps, and brown leather-cut boots. Skye looked like the perfect match for her mount. Champ had on his polished bridle with blue brow band and a leather-cut saddle that highlighted his glistening coat and silky mane and tail. Both sparkled in the already sizzling Tennessee morning sun, and although Skye’s thoughts drifted constantly to Jacy Nicholson Number Three, she was raring to show her pride and joy.

In the southern humidity and heat, the smell of sweating horses and manure permeated the hazy air. Skye wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and scanned the horse trailers parked outside of the ring. Her glance shifted to the bleachers with a few avid horse fans, the announcer’s stand blaring incessant noise, and the handful of judges
busy comparing notes on their clipboards. At the long end of the large oval corral, Skye rode Champ to join five other entries in her class. They were huddled on the outside of the gate, tightening cinch straps, adjusting stirrups, checking bits in their horses’ mouths, and sliding their hat strings tighter to their chins. Her gaze drifted back to the other end of the corral where Mr. and Mrs. Chambers stood with Morgan on her mount, Blaze. All were watching with great interest.

As Skye waited to enter the ring, her mind wandered again to the first time she had ever ridden Champ in a horse show, just a few months after she had moved into Keystone Stables. Her life had changed so much since then! God had transformed her from a wild juvenile delinquent foster kid to a Christian young lady with purpose in life. He had saved her from a life of sin and heartache and had placed her in the best foster home any kid could ever hope to have. “And to top it all off, I have the most beautiful horse in the whole world,” she said, reaching down and petting Champ’s smooth sorrel neck.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” the loud speaker echoed, “the Intermediate Western Pleasure Class is now entering the gate.”

The gate swung outward, and horses and riders entered the ring, walking single-file along the perimeter of the fence.

Skye took a deep breath, squared her hat, and squeezed Champ with her legs. She straightened her back and smiled, focusing on her horse’s moves as he brought up the end of the line and entered the ring.

For the next few minutes, Skye and Champ put on an outstanding performance, one that won them a second place red ribbon and enough prize money to pay for their KOA cabin rental. Skye was ecstatic, giving most of the credit where credit was due. “Champ outdid himself,” she told Mr. and Mrs. Chambers. “He is some horse.”

By three o’clock that same day, the Chambers’ clan was loading four horses, five ribbons, and $375 prize money into their transport. Despite the excitement of the day, Skye’s thoughts were never far from her missing dad.

“Skye, I’ll tell you what we can do now,” Mr. Chambers said as he scooped up Morgan from her wheelchair and placed her in the truck cab. “We’ll take the horses back to the campground, make a quick clothes change, then go on a Jacy hunt.”

By four o’clock, the Chambers family was hot on the trail of Jacy Nicholson Number Three, Gatlinburg, Tennessee. After a stop for directions at a mini-mart, Mr. Chambers parked the truck in front of 690 Sassafras Street, a beige stucco bungalow with a small manicured yard on the outskirts of town.

Skye and Mrs. Chambers walked to the front door, and Skye, with a trembling hand, rang the doorbell.

A long minute later, the door opened.

“Yes?” a woman said with an apprehensive smile.

The woman in her mid-thirties, Skye guessed, had a short, slim frame. Her kinky brown hair rested gently on her shoulders, and friendly hazel eyes accented a tan face with a hint of make-up. She wore a pink pullover sport shirt, navy blue capris, and brown sandals.

“Is Mr. Jacy Nicholson here?” Skye returned the apprehensive smile.

“Who should I say is asking?” the woman said.

“I’m Skye Nicholson,” Skye said.

“And I’m her foster mother, Eileen Chambers,” Mrs. Chambers said. “We live in central Pennsylvania.”

“I’d—I’d like to ask Mr. Nicholson a question,” Skye said.

The woman’s pretty face portrayed an expression that Skye couldn’t read.

Could she be my real mother?
Skye pondered.
Maybe they got back together.

“Hon,” the woman yelled back inside. “There’s someone here who wants to meet you.”

Skye grabbed her foster mother’s hand and said a quick prayer.
Dear God, please let this be him.

In seconds, a lanky man in his mid-thirties with thinning dark brown hair combed straight back and brown eyes came to the door. He had on a gray T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and black sneakers. “What is it, Ruth?” he said, focusing on Skye and Mrs. Chambers.

Ruth? Not my mother,
Skye thought.

“This young lady says her name is Skye Nicholson, and she’s asking if you know her.”

“Skye?” the man asked. “Skye Nicholson?”

Mr. Nicholson stared at Skye like she had just appeared out of thin air. His mouth hung open, but no words came out.

Ruth nudged the man while she focused on Skye. “Jacy, what’s the matter? Say something.”

Skye stared back at the man and found herself mirroring his reaction. Finally, she found her courage and spoke. “Mr. Nicholson,” her voice quivered, “I—I’m a foster kid from central Pennsylvania, and I’m looking for my parents. This is my foster mother, Eileen Chambers.”

“Hello.” Mrs. Chambers nodded.

“Nice to know you,” Ruth said.

Mr. Nicholson just stared.

Skye punched her thumb over her shoulder. “My foster dad and foster sister are out in the truck. I’m thirteen years old, and I was born on January 15
^th
in Pittsburgh. I’m looking for my father. Are—are you my father?”

The man’s face drained of all its color as his eyes grew red and moist. “Skye? You’re…my daughter, Skye?” he stammered.

Skye felt the air rush from her lungs in a single, unplanned gust. “It appears that maybe I am,” she said, her lips trembling slightly as she tried to smile.

Ruth’s face beamed with obvious delight, slipping her arm around Jacy’s. “Oh, my, this is too wonderful for words. He’s told me over and over that he’s been searching for you for years.” She nudged the man again. “Jacy, for heaven’s sake, say something. You do want them to come in, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” His stare riveted on Skye, Mr. Nicholson stepped back and swept his hand in a gesture of welcome. “Please come in. And tell the others to come in too.”

Mrs. Chambers turned toward the truck and waved. “Come on in!” she yelled to Mr. Chambers and Morgan.

“And I’ll get some snacks and sweet tea,” Ruth said and hurried out of the foyer.

Skye stepped inside, never looking away from Jacy Nicholson Number Three—her father!
What should I do? Should I give him a hug? Shake his hand? What should I say?
Though she had rehearsed exactly what she wanted to say and do, Skye’s emotions were exploding, forcing her to struggle to make sense of the wonderful, yet absolutely frightening, moment in which she found herself. With her entire body trembling, she took quick breaths to keep up with her racing heart. All she could do was stare with watery eyes.

Mr. Nicholson’s eyes flooded with tears as he made an obvious attempt to sort out his emotions as well. His face betrayed mixed emotions—utter shock and pure delight, and Skye noticed his lips quiver, as though he was trying to speak. But he could do nothing but stare back. “Can—can I give you a hug?” he finally managed to say, his glance darting from Skye to Mrs. Chambers and back.

Skye froze on the spot, everything around her in a complete blur but her father’s eyes. “Yes, sir,” she said, staring, searching.
This man is my father! My real father!
she kept thinking over and over, convincing herself that it really was true.

Mr. Nicholson carefully wrapped his arms around Skye like she was made of paper. He squeezed gently, Skye did the same, and then they both backed away. A pleasant after-shave aroma filled Skye’s nostrils and she smiled.
Canoe! That’s the same stuff I bought Dad
—
um, Dad Chambers
—
for Christmas last year,
Skye thought.

Skye felt stranger than she had ever felt in her entire life. She desperately wanted to love, and be loved by Jacy Nicholson, whom she now could call her father.
But how?
she pondered.
How do I love someone I don’t even know?

“Skye,” he sniffled, wiping streams of tears from his cheeks, “this is an answer to prayer. I’ve wondered all these years where you were. Please sit down and tell me all about yourself.”

He led Skye and Mrs. Chambers into a small living room. With natural wood paneling, modest beige furniture, and a brown oval rug nestled on hardwood floors, the tiny den’s coziness overpowered its confinement. Not a hint of dust or clutter made a statement anywhere.

Mr. Nicholson gestured toward a brown plaid sofa. “Please have a seat.”

Skye and Mrs. Chambers sat on cushions that almost enfolded them in softness. Skye leaned forward, clenched her sweaty hands, and rested her arms on her knees.

Mr. Nicholson sat in a fluffy cream-colored recliner and mirrored Skye’s posture. “Skye, I don’t know where to begin. I’ve rehearsed this moment in my mind for years, planning exactly what I’d say to you when I finally found you, and now—well—since you found me, I’m speechless. I guess the best thing I can do is let you ask questions.”

“Hello?” Mr. Chambers yelled in the opened front door.

“Come right in, folks,” Mr. Nicholson said.

“Thank you!” Mr. Chambers came in carrying Morgan. He walked into the room and placed Morgan next to Skye.

“Mr. Nicholson,” Mrs. Chambers said, “this is my husband, Tom, and our other foster daughter, Morgan Hendricks.”

“Hi,” Morgan said.

“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Nicholson said.

“We’re very pleased to meet you,” Mr. Chambers said as the men shook hands.

“Please sit down,” Mr. Nicholson offered.

“Thank you,” Mr. Chambers said, sitting in a chair next to the sofa.

Mrs. Nicholson came in carrying a tray with pretzels and six glasses of iced tea. She placed them on an end table next to Mr. Nicholson’s chair. “I’m sure you folks would love something cool,” she said as she handed out the drinks.

“Thank you,” they all said, taking the glasses.

“Ruth, slow down a minute so I can introduce you,” Mr. Nicholson said. “Folks, this is my wife, Ruth.”

Mr. Nicholson grabbed a glass and then passed the pretzels. “Help yourself,” he said, smiling.

Skye never took her stare away from the man.

“Thanks.” Mr. Chambers took the bowl, grabbed a pretzel and passed the bowl to his wife.

Mrs. Nicholson opened a folding chair, placing it next to her husband. She sat, sipped her tea, and gave a warm smile. Almost in unison, the Chambers family did the same.

“Now that we’re all settled,” Mr. Nicholson directed his attention toward his daughter, “go ahead. Ask all the questions you’d like.”

As the others sipped tea, Skye chewed on her lip. Desperately, she tried to sort out dozens of questions that had her brain tied up in one big knot, searching for the one question that meant more to her than anything else in the world. Finally, as though one determined question crowded its way to the front of a busy line, Skye took a quick breath. “Where’s my mother?”