Travelers Rest (25 page)

Jane glanced at Truman in the passenger seat beside her. He wore freshly pressed gray slacks, a long-sleeved shirt, and a tie. The shirt was pale blue; the tie a paisley pattern of blue and brown. The expression on his face was an odd mix of anticipation and apprehension. He had brought his walking cane along. The rubber tip poked at a point between his feet, while his hands, one on top of the other, rested on the curved handle. His fingers flexed and twitched. His eyes darted from the road ahead to the blur of trees off to his right and back again. He cleared his throat, inched himself up in the seat, wiggled his fingers again.

“You all right, Truman?” Jane finally asked.

He looked straight ahead as he nodded. “I haven’t been home in forty-four years, you know.”

“You still think of Travelers Rest as home?”

He smiled faintly. “Oh yes. It’ll always be that. I just didn’t realize how much I’ve missed it.”

“Then I’m glad we’re going back.”

“I am too.”

“By the way, what’s the story behind the name of the town?”

Truman rubbed his brow before saying, “There’s no story, really. The town was just named for what it was—a place for travelers to rest. Back a couple hundred years, drovers from Tennessee and Kentucky used to herd horses, sheep, pigs, all kinds of livestock down the mountain trails toward the marketplaces in the South Carolina low country. It was a long journey and a hard one. Along the way they needed a place to stop and rest for the night. So inns sprang up and stores and taverns. The smartest innkeepers had livestock pens available, so the drovers could know their livestock was safe during the night while they slept. That’s how the town got its name.”

Jane nodded thoughtfully. “It seems nice to have a place to rest.”

“Yes, it does, Jane. It sure does. Seems like I could have used such a place many times in my life, especially early on, when I always seemed to be running.”

“I feel like I could use a resting place right now,” Jane said.

“No doubt you do.” Truman looked at her, gave a nod of understanding. “No doubt you do,” he said again.

Several miles rolled by in silence. Just beyond Hendersonville, Jane picked up I-25, the road that would take them to Travelers Rest.

Once she had regained a comfortable speed, she asked, “Do you remember the inn, the one Laney owns now?”

“Oh yes, I remember it well. It’s the largest inn, and the oldest, in Travelers Rest. I believe it was built somewhere around 1850. Of course, it was built by a white man and owned by a succession of white men. But just imagine, Maggie’s daughter owns it now.” He smiled. “Things really have changed some, haven’t they?”

“For the better, thank heavens.”

“Oh yes. That’s not to say there’s not a long way to go, but at least things are moving in the right direction.”

“Do you suppose anyone in Dr. Coleman’s family still lives in Travelers Rest?”

Truman thought a moment before lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “I would think so. Probably even old Tommy Lee himself still lives there . . . if he lives anywhere. He’d be pretty old by now.”

“I bet he’d only be about your age, wouldn’t he?”

“Hmm. I guess he’s not so old, then.” One corner of his mouth drew back in an amused grin.

“You wouldn’t be in any danger, would you? I mean, if he found out you were in town?”

“No, I don’t think so. But if he still wants to string me up, so be it. All I want now is just to see Maggie’s daughter. Then I’ll be ready to go.”

Jane gave him an exaggerated frown and shook her head. “Well, listen, Truman, you’re not going anywhere except back to Asheville with me at the end of the week.”

“All right.” A small grin. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Jane lifted a hand from the wheel and pointed to a sign by the roadside. “Look, Truman, we’re crossing into South Carolina now.”

“Well, I’ll be . . .” He kept his eyes on the sign until they’d passed it.

“So we’ll be there in another twenty minutes or so.”

Truman flexed his fingers and took a deep breath.

“It won’t make you sad, will it?” Jane asked. “To go back, I mean?”

“Probably.”

“Then . . .”

“But I want to go. Maybe by meeting Laney, I can finally put Maggie to rest.”

“I hope so, Truman.”

“I hope so too.”

With that, Jane left Truman to his thoughts while her own wandered—from Seth, to Laney, to her mother, father, grandmother, and back to Seth again. Just knowing she was about to see Laney brought back a tangle of memories and emotions . . . some sweet, some laughable, some bitter. Maybe, like Truman, she too could put some of them to rest.

As they moved along the two-lane highway, they passed numerous roadside stands offering strawberries, fresh tomatoes, hot boiled peanuts. They passed scattered cabins and single-wide trailers, small antique shops and barbeque restaurants, a mobile home park called the Foothill Estates, and a novelty shop flying several Confederate flags. Jane glanced over at Truman. He must have seen the flags, those reminders of a slave-owning South, but he pretended not to notice. Then, on the right, two large estates, gated and set back from the road, as though their aloofness said they were not really a part of the town that Jane and Truman had just entered. There was no sign to welcome them, not from this direction anyway. Just the sudden appearance of motels, gas stations, a Dunkin’ Donuts shop, and finally, as though to remove all doubt, the Travelers Rest Bank, the Travelers Rest Community Services building, the Travelers Rest Fire Department.

“We’re here,” Jane said.

Truman nodded as he looked from side to side. “If I didn’t know this was Travelers Rest, I wouldn’t recognize it. Everything’s different. So much is new.”

“You don’t recognize anything?”

“Some of the buildings.” Truman squinted. “Some were here. My, how the place has grown.”

“It has? If this is big, what was here before?”

Truman laughed loudly. “Not much. It was always just a little bit of a town. Never had many people here. Most people who say they come from Travelers Rest live between here and Greenville somewhere, like my family did. Still, we claimed this little town as home rather than the larger city of Greenville.”

“Well, do you think you recognize enough to tell me how to get to the inn?”

Truman looked around. Then he pointed straight ahead. “Sure. Just follow this road and turn left. We can’t miss it.”

Jane did as she was told. In another moment, she saw what had to be the inn. It was a large two-story clapboard structure with a wide front porch and gingerbread trim. A pebbled circular drive cut through a lush green lawn dotted with dogwood and evergreen trees. The inn itself looked well kept and as though it had recently been wrapped up in a new coat of white paint. Black shutters accentuated the cream-colored drapes in the windows. Six hanging baskets of red, white, and pink begonias hung in neat precision above the porch railing, while the same number of wicker rocking chairs waited for takers there in the shade. “I’m assuming that’s it,” Jane said.

“That’s it, all right,” Truman acknowledged, not taking his eyes off the inn.

Jane pulled the Honda into the circular drive, put the car in park, and cut the engine. “Well, Truman, you ready?”

Truman nodded once and reached for the door.

37

T
hey met in front of the car and headed up a flagstone walkway toward the porch. Even before they reached the steps, the front door of the inn opened and a woman stepped out.

“Janie Morrow,” she said, holding out her arms. “Come here and let me look at you.”

Jane climbed the steps and moved into the warm embrace of Laney Jackson. After a moment Laney pulled back and cupped Jane’s face in both her hands. “Uh-huh,” she said, “I can see you in there, Janie. But you’re all grown up and more beautiful than ever.”

Jane laughed and brushed aside the compliment. “And you haven’t changed at all, Laney. It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, honey. I’ve thought about you so much over the years, wondering what had become of you. Your grandmother never included much news about you in her Christmas cards.”

“It’s my fault, Laney. I should have written once in a while instead of falling out of touch.”

“Well, never mind. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

They shared a smile as Jane studied Laney’s face. It wasn’t true that she hadn’t changed. She had, but only slightly. A few wrinkles, some streaks of gray in the dark hair that she wore twisted into a bun at the back of her head. But the eyes were the same—sweet, gentle, twinkling with an unmistakable joy.

Only after a moment did Jane remember Truman, who stood waiting at the bottom of the steps. He leaned on his cane with stacked palms, and Jane realized he’d probably brought it with him so he always had something to do with his hands. “Laney,” Jane said, waving an arm toward Truman, “I want you to meet my friend, Truman Rockaway. Truman, this is Laney Jackson.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Truman stood immobile on the walkway, looking up at the woman on the porch. The noonday sun caught the glint of tears in his eyes, and his jaw worked, as though he was trying hard not to let them spill over.

Finally Laney held out a hand and said, “Welcome, Dr. Rockaway. I’m very happy to meet you.”

Slowly, Truman climbed the steps and clasped her hand. “Please forgive a sentimental old man,” he said quietly. “It’s just that you’re the spitting image of your mother. For a moment there I almost thought I was looking at Maggie again.”

“I take that as a compliment, Doctor,” she said, smiling kindly. “Mamma was a beautiful woman.”

“That she was. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jackson.”

“Please call me Laney.”

Truman bowed slightly as he withdrew his hand. “And please call me Truman.”

“Well, then.” Still smiling, Laney looked from one to the other. “Won’t you come in? Lunch is almost ready.”

Laney led them past a wide, polished staircase and down the hall to an expansive dining room, situated between a large front room and the kitchen at the back of the inn. The room was arrayed with six round tables, all covered in white cloths and set with painted china and linen napkins. At the far end was an antique corner cupboard filled with serving plates of all kinds and a serving buffet on which sat glass pitchers of ice water, sweet tea, and an eclectic collection of glasses, cups, and saucers. Overhead, three ceiling fans turned lazily, augmenting the air-conditioning by giving off the slightest hint of a breeze. Several guests of the inn were already seated at the tables, sipping iced tea from tall glasses. They glanced at the newcomers as Laney and her guests entered the room. Some nodded and exchanged polite greetings.

Laney waved Jane and Truman to a table set for five. “Clapper and Bess will be joining us in a minute,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll let them know you’re here.”

Jane watched Laney disappear into the kitchen before she pulled out a chair and sat down. “I don’t remember anyone named Bess,” she said. Absently, she unrolled her napkin and laid it across her lap.

Truman shook his head, two lines forming between his brows. “I don’t know who she is either, unless . . .”

His words trailed off, but Jane didn’t seem to notice. She gazed about the room, taking it all in. “It’s a lovely place, isn’t it? Have you ever seen the inside before?”

“Oh no. Back when I lived here . . . well, folks like me didn’t come to places like this. Unless, of course, we were employed here.”

Jane nodded her understanding. The other guests chattered and laughed casually. As Jane listened, she became aware of music coming from another room, something classical, matching the quiet dignity of the inn. Like the name of the town, the Travelers Rest Inn had an air of restfulness. “Are you glad we’re here, Truman?” she asked.

“Oh yes.” Truman drew in a deep breath and smiled contentedly. “I’m very glad. I have the sense that. . . how to explain? I’m finally in the right place at the right time. I guess that’s the only way to describe it.”

“I think I know what you mean. It’s almost as though this place drew us to itself, as though we’re supposed to be here.”

“Yes, it’s—”

Jane waited for him to go on, but his sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as his attention turned toward something across the room. In another moment he pushed himself away from the table, wincing slightly as he eased himself up to his full height. Jane followed his gaze and saw that Laney was returning to their table accompanied by an older woman. Dark and slender like Laney but much smaller, the woman wore a blue cotton dress and white shoes with buckled straps, the heels of which added a couple of inches to her diminutive height. A string of imitation pearls hung around her neck, their gleaming whiteness mirroring her large-toothed smile. Her red lipstick was color coordinated with the fiery nail polish that accentuated her tapered fingers. She had a pleasant face rimmed by a bob of wavy gray hair, though her flashing black eyes told Jane this woman had a feisty streak beneath her unruffled exterior.

“Jane, Truman, this is my Aunt Bess,” Laney said when she reached the table. “She’ll be having lunch with us.”

“Bess,” Truman said quietly, holding out a hand. “Of course. Maggie’s baby sister.”

Bess laughed amusedly as she took Truman’s hand in both of hers. “I wasn’t a baby when you knew me, Truman, and I’m certainly not one now. I’m a grandmother six times over, and the great-grandmother of one.”

“Impossible,” Truman said.

“Not at all,” Bess said. “It’s true. I have the photos to prove it, if you’d like to see them.”

“I certainly would.”

“Well, not right now,” Laney said, “or you’ll get lunch all over them. You can do the picture show later, Aunt Bess, after we eat.”

Truman pulled out the chair to his right and motioned toward it. Bess nodded her thanks and sat down.

Laney chose a seat too, saying, “Clapper will be joining us in a minute. He’s just wrapping up a few details in the office.”

“You don’t do the cooking here in addition to everything else, do you, Laney?” Jane asked.