Chapter 35 Happy Ending
“I hear I have some big shoes to fill,” said Dr. Bamba.
“Oh yes,” confirmed Georgia’s 2034 Realtor of the Year. Melody loved the chitchat. It was the best part of having her own real estate agency. Talking to folks from other places had given her a lot to think about over the years. “Dr. Chokshi was beloved round here. We sure hate to see him go. But we’re absolutely thrilled you’re taking over his practice.”
“Thank you. Where is Dr. Chokshi going, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Back to Queens—that’s in New York City, you know. His parents are getting older, and he wanted to be near them. But we did hold on to him for ten years. Sent him back with a nice Georgia girl, too.” Melody slowed the car and pulled to the curb. “Oh no,” she said when the doctor reached for her seat belt. “We’re not at the listing yet. I just wanted to point out a few of Troy’s highlights. That right over there is our new heritage museum. We’re real proud of it.”
“The big white mansion with the columns?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, Doctor. One of our finest citizens left the house to the town in her will. Now her great-granddaughter oversees the museum. It tells the story of all the peoples who built Troy and the Muscogee village that came before it. I thought I knew a lot about our history, but every time I go there, I learn something new. A lot of it’s tough for people to hear, but it’s important, you know? It’s like finding out you were born with a health condition. Maybe you didn’t do anything to deserve it. But if you ignore it, nothing’s going to get better. You gotta look at the problem before you can fix it.”
Melody took her foot off the brake and guided the car back onto the road.
“The mayor mentioned there’s an educational fund?”
“Yep, Bella oversees that as well. Her great-grandma, Wilma, was a wealthy woman. Before she died, Ms. Cummings established a fund that would help put all the kids round here through school. They get a bonus if they come back to Troy when they’re done. Oh, look over there. That’s our library.”
“That’s the town library?” A beautiful modern structure sat between a 1980s-era bank and the local post office. It looked less like civic architecture than a temple to books.
“Yes, well, we had an unfortunate incident a while back. I only bring it up so you won’t be surprised when you hear. There was a young man in town who got involved with some nefarious types. He was plotting a massacre when two local heroes stopped him. He ended up shooting himself.”
“Oh no!”
“Yes, it was a terrible time. He’d gotten a lot of bad ideas in his head. So, after that, we wanted to make sure people here always have access to the best information. The young man had inherited a fortune and he had no living kin. When the state eventually took the money, the governor directed it be used to help stop the spread of disinformation and hate. And that’s how the library got built.”
“Was that Governor Underwood?”
“Yes, we’re proud to say Beverly Underwood is one of our own. As is our congressional representative, Isaac Wright. He’s one of the youngest members of the House of Representatives. I personally think he’ll be president someday.”
Dr. Bamba watched the picturesque buildings on Main Street scroll by as Melody continued the tour.
“They’re relatives, are they not?” she asked. “I remember seeing an interview with the two of them.”
“Distant cousins,” said Melody. “But the Wright-Wainwright families are very close. They hold a big reunion in our town square every summer. People come from around the country, and everyone in Troy is invited. That’s where it takes place, right over there.”
“That’s a beautiful statue in the square.” Dr. Bamba gazed at the bronze image of a woman of African descent, clothed in a simple dress, her hair tucked beneath a scarf. In one hand she held a set of scales, in the other a sword. She appeared in motion, one foot in front of the other, her skirt rippling in the wind. Her face was a portrait of determination and courage. Her eyes were wide open and looking forward.
“We had a statue of a Confederate general standing there for a long time. He’s in the museum now. Part of the Hall of Shame, as some folks call it. Mitch Sweeney, the international movie star, personally paid for the statue to be removed and replaced.”
“Didn’t Sweeney win an Oscar for playing a Confederate general?”
“Same general. Augustus Wainwright. Mitch spared no expense when we chose the sculptor. We had a town vote to see who would replace the general. As I recall, there was one vote for Little Richard, one vote for Mitch Sweeney, and all the rest went to the lady right there in front of our courthouse.”
“Who is she?” Dr. Bamba asked.
“We don’t know her name. She was the start of the Wright family line, and the Wrights have tried everything they can to find out who she was. But we know it was her descendants who helped us all see the truth. So we just call her Justice.”
Melody continued a couple blocks before she slowed and pointed out the window at a building on Main Street.
“Look at that, they’ve got the sign up!”
“Healing Journeys?”
“Beverly Underwood’s daughter and her friend Ronnie Childers are opening a therapeutic-psilocybin clinic. They already have a bunch out west, but this will be the first one since Georgia legalized psychedelic mushrooms. We’re expecting the clinic to bring a lot of business to the town. Believe it or not, those little fungi can work wonders. Once my kids were off to college, I went out to Oregon and dealt with some terrible stuff I’d never been able to process.”
“Psilocybin can be very effective,” Dr. Bamba said. “I’m glad Georgia’s seen the light.”
“Amen to that,” said Melody Sykes.
The tour came to an end in front of a pretty house with a white picket fence. Melody pulled over and put the car in park.
“Alright now, here’s the property. As you can see, it’s very centrally located. And the exterior is one of the best examples of Victorian architecture in the South.”
“It’s gorgeous! I can’t believe it’s been on the market so long,” Dr. Bamba exclaimed. “And at such a reasonable price!”
“Well, when you get inside, you’ll see why. The interior isn’t to everyone’s liking. You ever heard of Moxie Laguerre?”
“Of course!” Dr. Bamba lit up. “I love her show. And her sister’s so talented.”
“Well, it’s their mama’s house, and let’s just say those apples didn’t fall too far from that tree. Lula’s living up in Atlanta with her children now. That’s why they’re selling the house. But the place is a little over the top, to say the least.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ve been looking forward to doing some interior decorating.”
“Well, who knows, this might just be the place for you! But there is one thing I need to mention. There’s something on the property that is very important to the town of Troy. If you buy the house, we’re willing to move it, but we’re real big on heritage and history here, and we’d be thrilled if the next owner allowed it to stay.”
“What is it?” the doctor asked.
“Come over here and I’ll show you,” Melody said.
“Lula’s Little Library?” Dr. Bamba read, and opened the door and trailed a finger across the spines until it came to a stop at a little book that appeared to be hand-bound. The title had faded, but she could decipher The Heroes of Troy, Georgia by Nahla Crump.
“Help yourself,” Melody told her. “You’ll be one of us soon.”