Chapter 3
“I will not go!” Willa Rose declared.
She had failed to talk her father out of moving to Spanish Fort.
He was already packed and ready to go, and tonight he was hosting one last Monday-night card game with his buddies—the ones that were left of them.
When she left the house, they were telling Hank that retirement wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and how much they wished they had an opportunity like the one that had landed in Hank’s lap.
“Who am I trying to convince?” she whispered.
Dead leaves crunched under her boots on the two-block walk to the cemetery.
She hunched her shoulders and sent out a puff of steam every time she exhaled.
She was on a mission, and nothing would keep her from tattling to her mother.
She trudged on past several tombstones marking past generations of the Thomas family.
When she reached her mother’s gray granite tombstone, she sat down on the cold ground in front of it.
“Mama, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want Daddy to be up there by himself.
What if he had a heart attack? It would take at least three hours for me to get to him.
But, on the other hand, I don’t want to go and leave you. ”
A bright-red cardinal landed on a low limb of a big oak tree and began to sing. Her mama had often told her when they were visiting the cemetery that such a bird meant someone who had passed on was thinking about her. In a few minutes the bird finished singing and flew off to the north.
“I’m not going, no matter what sign you are sending me,” Willa Rose said.
Her mother’s last words came back to haunt her. When I am gone, don’t make a shrine to me. Move on and live your life.
“I can do that,” Willa Rose muttered, “right here in Poetry.”
She closed her eyes and waited for her mother’s voice to pop into her head.
But nothing happened. She squeezed her eyelids even tighter.
Still nothing. She heard a bird chirping and opened her eyes wide, expecting to see another cardinal, but it was a house sparrow that had lit on a nearby tombstone.
Evidently, Vada Walsh Thomas was not going to give Willa Rose a bit of help.
Before they left the house on her first day of kindergarten, her mother had stooped down so she was on Willa Rose’s level and told her that she was strong, she was independent, and she was not to cry when Vada left her at the school.
The last thing her mother told her before she slipped into a coma was that Willa Rose was strong and independent, and she was not to cry.
“You are to relive all the good times and enjoy the memories we have made,” her mama said and then she closed her eyes. Ten hours later she was gone.
“I didn’t cry then, but I would now if I left. My mind is made up, and I got that from you. You never sat on a fence about anything, including how you wanted your funeral to be done.”
She stood up, laid her hand on the tombstone, and walked away, but she hadn’t accomplished a thing by going to visit her mama that evening.
Her heart was still heavy, and there was no peace in her soul.
Until she found something faintly resembling a calm spirit, she was not going back to her father’s house or to her own.
Not even if she froze to death sitting in the pavilion right outside the cemetery.
She shivered and pulled her stocking hat down tighter over her ears.
The cold concrete seeped up through the fabric in her jeans and reminded her that this was winter, not spring.
She stood up, walked across the road, and crossed several yards on the way to one of the few two-story houses in Poetry.
When she opened the wrought-iron gate to her parents’ property, she nodded.
“Okay, if I go with Daddy and put an antique shop in that old building…” She paused and waited, but nothing happened.
“Let’s try it this way. I’ll go with Daddy and give it a try for a year.
That will be long enough to get him settled or decide to come back home.
It will also give the new preacher and his family who is interested in renting Mama’s house time to build or find another place to live. ”
She could hear the men inside her father’s house laughing and talking when she sat down on the porch swing. A whole flock of cardinals settled on the bare limbs of the mimosa tree.
“Okay, okay, I’ll go with him,” she huffed.
Surprisingly, calm filled her heart.
***
She awoke on Wednesday morning and could hardly believe that they had gotten so much accomplished in such a short time.
But all Hank had to do was make one phone call and his trucker friends had rallied and moved heaven and earth to get things loaded out of Willa Rose’s small two-bedroom house.
Everything had been packed and Cooter, a big burly guy who still drove an eighteen-wheeler, had volunteered to drive up to Spanish Fort, unload her stuff, and then go on to Oklahoma City to pick up his next load.
“This is all happening so soon, Daddy. Are we doing the right thing?” she asked as she handed her keys off to a neighbor.
“Yes, it is coming about really soon, and yes, we are doing the right thing. I saw your mama in a dream last night for the first time since she passed. She had long dark hair again, and she looked like she did before she got sick. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me that she could truly rest in peace, and then she was gone. Don’t you think that means she approves? ”
“Probably so, but that doesn’t mean I have to like leaving her like this.”
Hank patted her on the back. “I know, Baby Girl, but even though it hurt, remember what she told you about not making anything into a shrine for her. She would be so proud for you to follow her dream and start up an antique shop, and honey, if we keep your mama in our hearts, she’s never really gone from us. ”
“You are right, but it’s still easier said than done,” Willa Rose said with a sigh. “I’m not sure that I won’t cry like a baby when I sell the first item, or that I’m going to like living in Spanish Fort.”
“When someone carries out a teapot, or even a big piece of furniture, you should think about the day that you and Vada found that piece, and how much fun you had coming home and telling me all about it,” Hank suggested, “and the sweet memory will help you not to be sad.”
Willa Rose nodded in agreement and hoped that her father was right. “Okay, then, we’re burnin’ daylight. Let’s get on the road to the new adventure.”
“That sounded just like your mama,” Hank said.
Willa Rose looped her arm in his and together they walked out of the house. “That’s the best compliment I’ve had in weeks, so thank you.”
She held back the tears until she was behind the steering wheel and bringing up the rear of the caravan.
Cooter drove the eighteen-wheeler about half-full with her furniture and what she needed to live in the old parsonage.
Hank’s fifteen-year-old pickup truck, that was more like his friend than a vehicle, was behind the big truck, and she brought up the rear in her SUV.
More of Hank’s friends would arrive the day after Thanksgiving to pack up the two-story house and bring it all to the general store in Spanish Fort.
“Even though I believe every word Daddy said, I still feel like I’m abandoning you, Mama,” she whispered as she left Poetry behind in her rearview mirror.
“We should have thought about delaying this kind of radical move until the end of the year at the very least. This is our first holiday season without you, and it should be in our home, with your things all around us.”
Her mother’s voice did not pop into her head.
But all Willa Rose had to do was glance over at the passenger’s seat to know that Vada would say: “This is like ripping the Band-Aid off a cut. Do it fast and don’t even stop to think.
It will smart for a few seconds, but then the hurt goes away, and everything heals up. ”
“Buy it, and let’s go,” Vada often said when Willa Rose was agonizing over whether to buy an antique piece or not.
“I hear you, Mama, but I still don’t like it.”
For some strange reason, a vision of Aunt Bernie popped into her head. “If that old red-haired woman thinks for one minute that she is going to play matchmaker with me, she’s dead wrong.”
***
“Hey, it’s time!” Knox yelled through the open door. “Mary Jane just sent a text and said the caravan has passed by the Paradise, so it should be at the old parsonage by the time we get there. Remy and Joe Clay are on the way to help unload. Parker and Endora are already there.”
Tripp fastened a custom-made leather buckle to the belt he had just finished lacing and laid it to the side. “I’ll grab my coat and be right with you.”
“So, how does it feel to be able to close up shop in the middle of the afternoon rather than working until midnight?” Knox asked as Tripp got into the passenger seat.
“I couldn’t have done it if Hank wasn’t coming to work for me on Monday morning,” Tripp answered. “Who would have thought that a simple visit up here to see Parker could net me an employee?”
Knox started up the engine, backed out onto the road, and headed west. “Or that Hank would have a daughter who will bring another business to Spanish Fort? The idea of putting an antique shop into the old store never entered my mind. That will help bring folks to this area, and they might even stop at Luna and Shane’s convenience store for gas or to get something cold to drink. ”
“Or at Tertia and Noah’s café for lunch, or Ophelia and Jake’s to check out their wine selection,” Tripp added. “Maybe someday, we’ll even have a hotel here, and this place will become a tourist attraction.”
“That’s dreaming big, but then who would have thought we’d drive up here and find an organic farm for sale?” Knox parked behind a whole row of vehicles. “Look at that. Brodie and Audrey are here too. If we just sit here a few minutes, they’ll have everything unloaded.”
Tripp opened the passenger door. “Your conscience wouldn’t let you do that. Mama’s probably sitting on your shoulder right now fussing at you for even thinking such a thing.”
“Yep, she is, and Mary Jane is on the other one,” Knox admitted. “Let’s get to it, and then we can help Hank get settled into the apartment.”
“Aunt Bernie is coming around the end of the house,” Tripp groaned. “She must have parked out back. Did I tell you that she tried to fix me up with a woman who bought a belt for her father’s birthday? And that if I read her right last Sunday, she doesn’t want me to like Willa Rose?”
“That woman scares me,” Knox said with a mock shiver.
“I thought nothing in this world could terrify you except snakes.”
“I’ve added redheaded women to the list. If you haven’t noticed what color Aunt Bernie’s hair is, then open your eyes,” Knox whispered.
“I knew that you were afraid of snakes, but redheaded women?” Knox asked.
“They terrify me,” Knox admitted. “You can bet the farm that they’ve got secret powers. Believe me, if a gorgeous redhead shows up in Spanish Fort, I will move out to the Panhandle.”
“And I’ll be right behind you,” Tripp said.
“Well, Brother, now that you have hired some help and can’t use the excuse that you have to work sixteen hours a day, what are you going to say when she tries again?” Knox asked.
“I’ll figure out something,” Tripp answered.
“You better have an answer ready. Remember how many times she sent poor old Brodie on blind dates. He was about to run out of excuses by the time he and Audrey finally admitted that they had feelings for each other.”
Tripp stopped in his tracks and cocked his head to one side.
“Yep, and then Aunt Bernie took the credit when Brodie and Audrey got together last summer. You could help me out and ask her to set you up on a blind date. Who knows? From that twinkle in her eyes when she stared at Willa Rose, she might have you in mind, not me.”
“Oh, no!” Knox shook his head. “Not even for a million bucks. When she finally gets you married off, I’m going to find a fake girlfriend.
Maybe one who lives in Oklahoma or out in West Texas.
Every now and then, I’ll go visit some of my old friends down around Austin or Dallas and tell her that I’m going to see the love of my life.
That should move her on to greener pastures. ”
“I swear she has magical powers. She will see right through a lie,” Tripp warned him. “You and Brodie have both always liked brunettes. And Willa Rose is easy on the eyes, so what’s the issue if Aunt Bernie tries to fix you up with her?”
“No sparks. No vibes. Not even a hint of electricity between us, so my answer is simply not interested,” Knox said.
Tripp thought of the chemistry he had felt at the Sunday dinner table. “You’ve never seen a pretty brunette who you wouldn’t at least flirt with a little bit. What’s the problem?”
“Why should I waste time and money on dates with a woman who won’t stay in Spanish Fort? I’ll wait until the next gorgeous brunette comes along. I’m thinking of that song from a few years ago about turnip greens.”
“So, you’re going to sit out by the road, sell produce and hope a pretty lady comes along and asks for directions?” Tripp asked.
“It worked in Billy Currington’s song, so who says it won’t work for me?” Knox countered.
“I’ll believe you when you start planting a garden,” Tripp said with a rare smile.