Travelers Rest (31 page)

But no time to think of that now. There was a celebration to prepare for, and the guests would be arriving in less than an hour. Laney was in the kitchen, frantically working up trays of hors d’oeuvres. She and Clapper had invited nearly a hundred guests to join them in marking their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Jane had come early, along with a few other volunteers and the three Jackson kids, to help cook and clean and set up and decorate. They’d been at it for hours, but they were almost ready. Jane glanced around the front room and decided the only thing missing was the food and the guests.

Some were still on the road, coming from long distances. Her grandmother and father were on their way from Troy; they should be showing up any minute. Though they still owned and lived in the Rayburn Bed & Breakfast, Gram was no longer involved in the day-to-day running of it. She had finally decided to retire to her gardening and her books and her music, and so she had hired a young couple to work alongside Peter Morrow. From what Dad said, David and Olivia Ballantine were doing a great job publicizing the place, bringing in new guests, and making sure each and every visitor was happy and comfortable during their stay.

Jane smiled at the thought of Seth’s brother running the old B&B. David wouldn’t appreciate the woodwork the way Seth had, but he no doubt appreciated the job in the midst of the current economic downturn. He was, after all, a family man now, his wanderlust having been permanently excised by the former Olivia Springman. He had run into her, his old high school flame, when he came back from Alaska for Seth’s funeral. Some months later, in a there’s-no-place-like-home kind of moment, he married her and once again planted his roots in the same Carolina soil he had formerly shaken off his feet. David and Olivia were expecting their first child in the fall. Sid and Jewel Ballantine were ecstatic. Dad said Olivia wasn’t even showing when David started handing out cigars.

Jane was just turning away from the fireplace when Bess walked into the room, holding a cheese tray in front of her with both hands. She was in her party dress of yellow eyelet, and even from a distance Jane could smell her perfume. Bess smiled at Jane with lips painted a deep shiny red. “Can you tell me where I ought to be putting this, Jane honey?” she said.

Jane pointed to one of the tables covered in white linen. “Cheese trays go right there next to the punch bowl.”

Bess nodded and placed the tray on the table. “Call it a miracle, but it looks like everything’s going to be ready on time.”

“That’s good,” said Jane, “though I think we’re all going to be exhausted by the time the party starts.”

“Speak for yourself, young lady. I’m ready to cut a rug till the wee hours.”

Jane laughed. “Does Truman know about this?”

“He knows he best keep up with me, or I’ll leave him in the dust.”

“So where is that husband of yours now?”

“In the kitchen begging scraps,” Bess said, her voice feisty. “Where else would you expect Truman to be?”

“What? You don’t feed him enough?”

“Honey,” Bess said, drawing herself up to her full five-foot height and putting her hands on her hips, “you know I feed that man plenty. He claims he’s still making up for the years of what he calls his old retired veterans food. You’d think they were feeding him C-rations instead of hot meals, but I know better. Maggie always said he had the appetite of a horse, and now I know it’s true.”

Jane shrugged nonchalantly. “The only thing I ever thought he liked was chocolate milk.”

Bess threw her hands up. “He drinks that stuff like there’s no tomorrow. He drinks it for breakfast, for lunch, for supper, and every hour in between. Sometimes he even brings a glass of it to bed. I have to tell him, ‘Truman, baby, you be careful now. You spill that chocolate milk in this bed and you’re on the couch tonight!’”

Bess’s comment was followed by hearty laughter from Truman as he walked into the room carrying a tray of finger foods. “Now, Bess,” he said, “we’re two years married and you’ve never once put me in the doghouse.”

“Yeah?” Bess shot back. “So far you haven’t spilled any milk. Just wait and see what happens when you do.”

“Hmm.” Truman nodded. He set the finger foods down by the cheese tray. “That’s settled, then,” he said.

“What’s settled, Truman?” Bess asked, frowning slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“No more chocolate milk in bed.” Truman smiled and shrugged. “I don’t want to spend a night away from you. Not a night and not a day. Not ever.”

Bess clasped both hands over her heart and laughed merrily. “Truman Rockaway! You’re a hopeless romantic. That’s what you are!”

Truman winked, bent down, and kissed his wife. “That’s right, Mrs. Rockaway. Nothing’s going to come between me and my bride.”

Jane watched as they kissed again, Truman leaning far down to reach the lips of his tiny wife. They’d been married in this very room, the front room of the Travelers Rest Inn, and had honeymooned in Charleston before setting up housekeeping together in Bess’s home just a few miles from the inn.

To Jane, the wedding seemed like yesterday. It had been one of the happiest days of her life. She smiled now as she watched Bess and Truman move arm in arm toward the door. Before they stepped into the hall, Bess stopped and said over her shoulder, “Speaking of hopeless romantics, Jane, where’s that young man of
yours
?”

“I think he’s still upstairs with Maggie.”

“Well, you best tell him to get dressed and get on down here. Guests will start showing up soon.”

Jane looked at her watch and nodded. “I’ll tell him to get a move on.”

While Truman and Bess disappeared down the hall, Jane headed up the broad staircase to the second floor. When she came to the guest room that was hers for the weekend, she paused in the doorway and looked inside. She could see just the back of her husband’s head above the rim of the padded rocking chair by the window. He was humming quietly while he rocked.

Gram had been thrilled when she learned Jane was marrying a lawyer and moving to Asheville. Initially, the fact that the young man was blind gave her pause, but once she met him her concerns largely disappeared. “He seems quite capable of a normal life,” she’d told Jane.

“Oh, Gram, of course he is. And I’m not marrying him because he’s a lawyer. All that doesn’t matter.”

“Well, dear, at least I know he’ll be able to give you a comfortable life.”

Jane paused a moment, smiled. “It isn’t comfort that I care about, Gram.”

Gram had looked puzzled, but Jane didn’t explain. There was really only one reason she was marrying Jon-Paul Pearcy. She couldn’t help it. She loved him.

Jane felt a rush of that love now as she stood in the doorway to their room. He had been patient and understanding, allowing her time to finish grieving Seth before pursuing her. She’d gone back to Troy for that first year, and though they’d stayed in touch, he let that year go by before deciding he had waited long enough. Finally he’d called and asked her if she might consider going on a blind date. She’d laughed and said she’d be delighted. A few months later, shortly after Bess and Truman’s wedding, Jane and Jon-Paul too were married in the front room of the Travelers Rest Inn.

Jane started when Jon-Paul spoke, interrupting her thoughts. “I know you’re there, Mrs. Pearcy,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you come in? What are you doing?”

“Well, Mr. Pearcy,” Jane answered, “I’m just standing here thinking how happy I am.”

“Really? That’s funny.”

“What’s funny about it?”

“I was sitting here thinking exactly the same thing.”

Jane smiled. She walked to where her husband sat and gazed down at the baby in his lap. The baby’s eyes were closed and her moist pink lips had stopped sucking at the bottle in Jon-Paul’s hand.

“Maggie’s asleep,” Jane said in a low voice.

“I know.”

“Why don’t you put her in her crib?”

“Because there’s nothing better than having her in my arms.”

Jane gazed lovingly at Magdalene Meredith Pearcy, not quite six months old. “She’ll steal the show tonight, of course,” she said. “She’ll take all the attention away from Laney and Clapper.”

“And that’s to be expected,” Jon-Paul replied. “I’m sure Laney knows she’ll have to play second fiddle to the most beautiful baby in the world.”

Jane laughed lightly. Laney adored the baby, as did Truman and Bess, Maggie’s honorary grandparents. Everyone adored her, it seemed. Gram was spoiling her first great-grandchild terribly, with the cooperation of Peter Morrow, the proud grandfather. Peter’s whole countenance had changed when he first laid eyes on Maggie, then changed again when he learned the child’s middle name was Meredith. “Are you sure, Jane?” he had asked. “Your mother wasn’t much of a mother to you.”

“I’m sure, Dad,” Jane had told him. “I want Mom to have her name on something other than a bunch of old movies. She needs to be remembered for something more important than that.”

Jane lifted the bottle from Jon-Paul’s hand and set it on the dresser. “You’d better let me put her down for her nap,” she said. “You need to get dressed. The guests are going to start showing up any minute now.”

“All right. If you insist.”

“I’m afraid I do.”

Jon-Paul sighed even as he smiled. He lifted Maggie to his lips and kissed her cheek. Then he handed her over to Jane.

Just as when the baby was born, Jane wished momentarily that Jon-Paul could see Maggie clearly. She wished he could gaze unimpeded at her perfect round face and into her clear blue eyes, but the sight he had left wouldn’t allow it. And yet, she was the one who ached, not Jon-Paul. He was decidedly content. He knew exactly how beautiful she was. Some things, he said, didn’t have to be seen to be believed. Some things could be taken on faith.

Jane laid Maggie in her crib and turned on the baby monitor attached to the railing. Jon-Paul reached into the closet for a freshly ironed shirt. Outside, a car pulled up in front of the inn. The engine was cut and the driver’s side door opened and closed. Jane stepped to the window in time to see her father helping Gram out of the passenger seat.

“Ah, Peter and Grandmother are here,” Jon-Paul said.

Jane turned wide-eyed from the window. “How did you know it was Dad and Gram?”

“Easy,” Jon-Paul replied as he worked his way down the buttons of his shirt. “I heard you smile.”

Before Jane could respond, more cars rolled up the drive. Tires crunched on gravel. Doors opened and slammed shut. Chatter rose up and laughter rang out. Jane paused long enough to give her husband a kiss before hurrying off to welcome family and friends to the place called Travelers Rest.

Acknowledgments

A huge thank-you to each of the following who shared their lives and their expertise with me. This book wouldn’t have been possible without their help.

Tom Mattox
, PA-C, Spinal Cord Injury/Disease Clinic, Department of Veterans Affairs, Charles George VA Medical Center, Asheville, North Carolina

Dennis Mehring,
Public Affairs Officer, Department of Veterans Affairs, Charles George VA Medical Center, Asheville, North Carolina

Judy L. Davis
, Low Vision Technician, Low Vision Center, Mission Hospitals, Asheville, North Carolina

Preston R. Jones
, Area Rehabilitation Supervisor, Department of Health and Human Services, Services for the Blind, N.C. Division, Asheville, North Carolina

Bobbie Sue Resh,
RN, Spine Unit, Neuro Unit, Mission Hospital, Asheville, North Carolina

Jim and Claudia Blair Bulthuis
, The Blair House Bed & Breakfast, Troy, North Carolina

Chris Donaldson,
Owner, Chris’ Custom Carpentry, Asheville, North Carolina

Carrie Wagner,
author, photographer, and former missionary to Uganda with Habitat for Humanity, Asheville, North Carolina

Thanks also to the kind and helpful librarians at the Sargent Branch of the Greenville County Library in Travelers Rest, South Carolina.

About the Author

Ann Tatlock
is the author of the Christy Award–winning novel
All the Way Home.
She has also won the Midwest Independent Publishers Association “Book of the Year” in fiction for both
All the Way Home
and
I’ll Watch the Moon.
Ann lives with her husband, Bob, and their daughter, Laura, in Asheville, North Carolina.

Books by Ann Tatlock

Promises to Keep

The Returning

Travelers Rest