The old Mercedes
tooled along the nearly empty highway at a moderate speed, rounding curves
solidly, slowing down occasionally as the driver glanced around here and there
to examine the countryside. She’d left
the interstate thirty minutes ago, traveling on the two-lane highway that led
her closer to the village of Barton. It
had been many years since Judge Penelope “Baby” Godbold had been in the remote
foothills of the Great Smokey Mountains.
She and Dan had gone to a concert at the University of the South–how
long ago had it been? At least fifteen
years. And now she was making this trip,
fulfilling some need that had been building since Dan’s death almost two years
ago. Funny how even her job had paled
without him to discuss legal points and their respective cases. With his practice in civil defense litigation
and her work in Chancery, they ran into many of the same issues. It was mainly because of the bleakness that
now overhung her life, the emptiness that yawned before her, that she’d decided
to retire much earlier than she’d planned.
Life must hold more for her, and she was determined to seek out new
adventures. Thus, this trip to the
hinterlands of Tennessee. And she
couldn’t have picked a more beautiful time for a trip to Barton.
The early April
weather was always changeable in this part of the country, as if teasing the
locals into believing spring had arrived.
But even though the day had been mild when she left Nashville, and March
had gone out like a lamb, spring was not necessarily around the corner,
especially in the hill country. Of
course, many of the trees had begun to sprout leaves, showing off their
delicious new green colors, and some of the flowering ones like the dogwood and
redbud were starting to bud out, giving the roadside a more decorative
look. Backing the smaller trees were the
conifers, huge and dense, and beyond them were what seemed to be virgin
forest. But that wasn’t possible. Baby knew the land had been settled and, if
not developed around tiny hamlets, was owned by timber companies with the trees
routinely harvested and the strips, obviously, replanted.
The swelling hills
she traveled over were like stepping stones across the deep gorges that cut
into the land, a wild and wooly landscape to her eyes. She was more accustomed to the gentler slopes
of the Nashville basin where the land undulated with the geosynclines that swept
across middle Tennessee. These were
formed during the subsidence of the inland sea from an earlier geologic era and
had become rich farmland. Still, Baby
appreciated the ever-changing landscape of this very different, rougher
country. She suspected the people would
be different, too, from what she was used to, as she believed the land played a
role in developing the character of its inhabitants. She was curious to know how Guy and Marnie
were adjusting to living in Barton. Dan
would have been amused to think his citified nephew had actually taken up
residence in a rather remote village, commuting to his law practice in
Chattanooga. Unquestionably, this was a
very strange sort of place for the both of them!
After passing the
mountaintop hamlet of Monteagle, the road straightened out and before her lay
the ribbon of highway, rising and sinking here and there but not a curve in
sight for miles. She speeded up without
thinking, even having to press rather hard on the stiff accelerator to jump the
big motor into more revolutions. It
settled into a cruising speed that seemed as easy and comfortable as riding in
the gondola of a Ferris wheel. Then from
behind a clump of trees in a lane, she glimpsed from the corner of her eye the
distinctive outlines of a patrol car.
The term “crouching” came to mind, but she braked swiftly. In the rear view mirror a light flashed and
she heard the bleep of a siren.
She drove the car
onto the narrow shoulder, came to a stop, and turned off the motor. She began to rummage in her capacious purse for
her billfold and then rolled down the window, smiling at the young highway
patrolman who seemed to be looking sternly at her from behind his dark glasses.
“Hello, ma’am, did
you know you were going eight miles over the speed limit?”
“No, officer, I
didn’t. The road was clear, the day is
lovely, and I suppose I felt like flying.
I’m terribly sorry to have gotten carried away.” She handed him her license.
“Well, even though
there’s not much traffic–ah, are you by any chance Judge Godbold?” He bent toward her and gave her a sharp
look. When she assented, he smiled at
her. “I guess you hadn’t checked your
speedometer, and with these big cars and the straightaway, it’s easy to speed a
little.” He handed her back the
license. “Where are you bound for, Judge?”
She told him about
going to visit relatives in Barton for the first time, and he nodded. “You’re only about five miles from the
turnoff. Let me escort you so you won’t
miss it. Watch the speed limit in these
parts, y’hear? We don’t want anything to
happen to the famous Judge Godbold.” He
saluted her briefly by touching his cap, turned and went back to his
cruiser. Baby sighed and watched in the
rear view mirror until a couple of trucks passed by and then the officer’s car
pulled around her. She followed him as
they proceeded down the highway at a stately pace, turning at a well-marked
road toward the town of Barton. The sign
invited visitors to the “Historic Barton Restorations. Houses and Lots For Sale.” It might prove to be an interesting place to check
out, she speculated, but she could only hope she’d not be subjected to yawning
boredom.
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