Five

“Dad, what’s that noise?” Timmy pressed his nose against the window.

“What noise?”

“That tick-tick-tick sound coming from the front of the car.”

“That’s just the engine,” T. J. said with as much confidence as he could muster. “It makes that sound when the engine is cooling.”

After a moment or two the engine quit ticking, and then there was only the sound of a nearby stream as it broke over water-polished rocks. The babble of the brook was augmented by the distant trill of a bird.

Several does slipped out of the nearby trees, looked around cautiously, then moved down to the stream.

“Children, look at the deer,” Madison said quietly.

“Oh, neat!” Christine exclaimed. She, too, was watching the world outside the car’s windows as if it were a TV show.

“What are we going to do for lunch?” Madison asked.

“We’ve got a while until lunchtime,” T. J. said. “Let’s not worry about it until then.”

They all grew quiet again. Madison and T. J. looked at each other, and each said a silent prayer.

“This is not good,” T. J. said after a while, his frustration evident. “I need to be in touch. If Evan is trying to get hold of me now, and can’t, it could mess everything up.”

“We’re sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, no food, no water, and, I might add, no way to keep warm if we have to spend the night—and you’re worried about business.” Madison stared at him, shaking her head.

“I can’t stop the world, Madison. Besides, the ball is in Evan’s court. There’s nothing I can do now but wait for HeartNet to make a decision.”

“T. J., you didn’t put me into the bargaining mix, did you?”

“Put you into the bargaining mix? What are you talking about? How would I do that?”

“By telling HeartNet you would guarantee that I would stay with them if they would do this.”

“Are you thinking about leaving HeartNet?” T. J. couldn’t contain his surprise. He knew that communication between them had dwindled, but he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t tell him something this important.

“I have received some tempting offers. You know that.”

“Yes, I know. But are you thinking of accepting one of them?”

“No, but—”

“Don’t worry, you have nothing to do with this deal,” T. J. said flatly.

“You’re sure you haven’t even intimated something like that?”

T. J. couldn’t keep his voice from rising a pitch. “This may come as a surprise to you, Madison Bain, but even before you became a TV star, I was negotiating deals.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— It’s just, well, it would make my position with the network very delicate.”

“I know it would,” he said. “That’s why I would never do anything like that.”

They had been waiting for almost forty-five minutes, and although the car was still warm, T. J. knew that if they had to stay here all day, it would get cold after the sun went down. He was just beginning to think about that possibility when Timmy spoke.

“Dad, somebody’s coming.”

“What? Where?”

“Up there.” Timmy pointed through the windshield.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“There! There it is,” Timmy said.

About a quarter of a mile up the road, just where it curved out of sight, T. J. saw something as well. “Yes, I see it now,” he said with a big smile. His smile faded, however, when he saw that the vehicle approaching them was a horse-drawn carriage. “What in the world . .. ?”

T. J. looked over toward Madison. “Amish, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug.

The family watched the carriage as it drew close enough for them to see the man and woman sitting in the front seat.

“No, I don’t think so,” Madison said. “Look at her dress.”

“It looks old-fashioned to me. So does his suit.”

“Yes, but the dress is bright lavender, and he’s not wearing a beard. Besides, that doesn’t look like any Amish carriage I’ve seen before.”

“You’re right. Well, whoever—or whatever—they are, at this point beggars can’t be choosers. I’m going to stop them. If they’ll stop.”

T. J. got out of the car and started up the road toward the approaching carriage. Smiling, he held up his hand.

The driver pulled back on the reins, then set the brake. “Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” T. J. replied. “Am I glad to see you.”

“Are you in distress?” the driver asked.

T. J. pointed to his car. “Yes, I’m broken down, and I can’t call AAA because I can’t get a signal on my cell,” he said. “I was wondering if you could help.”

“I will be glad to do what I can. But I’m afraid your conveyance may be too heavy for my horses to pull.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to pull us anywhere. But perhaps you could give us a lift to someplace where we can call for help.”

“A lift?”

“A ride,” T. J. said.

The man smiled mysteriously. “A ride, yes, of course I will. My wife and I are going to a Christmas celebration. We would be happy to have you join us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on your Christmas celebration, but, as you can see, we are in a bit of a fix here.” He turned and motioned for the others to come. Madison, Timmy, and Christine swiftly exited the car, slamming the doors behind them.

“What sort of conveyance do you call that?” the carriage driver said.

“It’s a Mercedes. You’d think it would be more dependable.”

“Mercedes?” The driver seemed baffled. “Well, I have no name for my carriage, but the horses are Rhoda and Harry. And, noble steeds that they are, they have never let me down.”

“Your horses’ names are Rhoda and Harry?” Christine asked.

“Yes indeed. And who would you be?” the driver of the carriage asked.

“I’m Christine.”

“Oh, forgive me,” T. J. said. “I haven’t introduced myself, or my family. My daughter, Christine, you just met. That’s my son, Timmy, and this is my wife, Madison. I’m T. J. Carmichael.”

“It is good to meet you, Mr. Carmichael. I’m Angus MacLeod, and this is my wife, Cora.”

“Why are you dressed like that?” Timmy asked.

“Timmy!” Madison blurted.

Angus laughed. “Don’t scold the lad, Mrs. Carmichael. I expect it is rather strange to see us in Sunday clothes on a working day. We’re dressed like this because we’re going to celebrate Christmas at Gracehall.”

“Gracehall?” T. J. said with a mixture of surprise and relief. “Wait a minute. You’re going to Gracehall?”

“Yes.”

T. J. smiled broadly. “Oh, well, that explains the clothes and the carriage then, doesn’t it? We are scheduled to celebrate Christmas at Gracehall as well.”

“Quite a happy coincidence, I would say,” MacLeod said. “Isn’t it a good thing we came along?”

“I had no idea we were so close. How far is it?”

MacLeod pulled a watch from his pocket, opened the cover, and examined it. “We’ll be there in time for lunch.”

“Did you hear that? You don’t need to worry about lunch. We’ll be there in time.”

“Are we going to ride in the wagon?” Christine asked.

“Yes,” T. J. said. “But it’s not a wagon; it’s a carriage. And, I’ll say this for you, Mr. MacLeod, you are certainly going all-out for this Christmas Past thing. I’m very impressed with your carriage.”

“Thank you, I’m very proud of it. It was not in such good condition when I purchased it, but my father-in-law helped me restore it. Like our Lord, he is a carpenter, and very good.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” T. J. ran his hands along the dashboard of the carriage. “You and your father-in-law did a remarkably good job. It’s about the most authentic-looking carriage I have ever seen.”

“Have you any luggage?”

“Yes, just a minute and I’ll get it.”

“I’ll help you retrieve it.”

“Thank you, but my son can help. Come on, Timmy.”

“Okay, Dad.”

T. J. pointed his key ring toward the car and clicked it to open the trunk. Nothing happened. “That’s dumb of me. If everything else is down, then the remote won’t work either.” He used the key to open the trunk and then, after taking out the luggage, found that the only way he could secure the car was to lock every door manually.

“That’s it,” he said as he and Timmy put the two large and two small suitcases into the rear of the carriage. “As soon as we get back to Nashville, I’m trading that car.”

“You just bought it. I thought you were so proud of it,” Madison said.

“Well, I was until all this happened. It’s turned into a worthless . . .expensive, but worthless .. . pile of junk.”

With the luggage secure, T. J., Madison, Timmy, and Christine climbed into the backseat.

“Are you ready?” MacLeod asked.

“All set,” T. J. answered.

MacLeod slapped the reins against his team. “Giddyup, there!” The horses lurched forward. The carriage was well-sprung and rode much more comfortably than T. J. had expected.

MacLeod’s carriage had approached them from the front, which meant that once they got under way they were retracing the same route they had just covered in the car. They were on the road for about forty minutes, when Madison made an observation.

“Strange that we aren’t back up on the blacktop yet,” she said. “We didn’t make a turn anywhere, did we?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s just that we are going a lot slower now than when we were in the car. And we drove at least fifteen miles after we left the blacktop. We certainly haven’t came back that far since Mr. MacLeod picked us up.”

“I guess you’re right.”

They passed a small farm consisting of a house and a few outbuildings, including a barn. A man in the backyard was pumping water, and as they drove by, Angus waved and called out to him.

“Hello, Thomas! Will you and your family be coming to Gracehall for the Christmas party?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll be there before lunch,” Thomas called back.

Two children, a boy about twelve and a girl who looked to be about Timmy’s age, came out of the house to wave at the carriage. Timmy and Christine waved back.

“Look, Dad, they’re dressed up too,” Timmy said. “We should have dressed up.”

“The brochure said nothing about coming in period costume,” T. J. replied.

“I know, but we should have thought about it,” Madison said. “It would have been more fun.”

T. J. leaned forward to speak to MacLeod. “That man, Thomas, is he a friend of yours?”

“Yes, Thomas Duncan by name. Those children you saw were his grandchildren, come to spend Christmas with Thomas and his wife.”

“It’s nice that they can have their grandchildren visit them,” Madison said.

“There are no finer people in the whole state, if you ask me. Thomas is from the other side of Possum Hollow, but he went away to fight in the war when he was a young man, and come here to settle when he got back.”

“Were you in the war?”

“I was not, sir. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Carmichael, I couldn’t see that fighting that war was the right thing to do. A lot of folks hereabout didn’t take too kindly to me for me taking a stand against it, but I had to do what I thought was right. It’s been more’n thirty years now, and things have settled back down. But that was back in the sixties, and enough time has passed so that those who went, like Thomas, and those who stayed behind, like me, can be friends again.”

T. J. said, “Well, the sixties were pretty tumultuous, but I think now that as we look back on that period, people on both sides of the question are willing to respect a stand on conscience. Of course, that’s just my observation. I was too young either to go away and fight, or to stay behind and join the antiwar demonstrations. And to be honest with you, I don’t know which side I would have come down on. I’m just glad I didn’t have to make a decision.”

“Yes, sir. Well, I just pray to the Lord that such a thing never divides our nation again,” Angus said.

“Amen to that.”

Several minutes later they passed another house.

“Well, you see?” T. J. said. “We weren’t in as much trouble as we thought. There are farms and houses all over the place. Even if Mr. MacLeod hadn’t come along, it wouldn’t have taken us very long to walk to one of these places.”

“Yes, I see. It just seems strange to me that we didn’t see any of them when we drove by,” Madison commented.

“We just weren’t looking for them, that’s all. As you recall, we were a little discombobulated about being on a dirt road.”

After a few more minutes they turned off the road and started up an even smaller one, little more than a lane. A wooden sign alongside read “County Road 4.”

“Wait a minute. This is County Road 4?” T. J. asked.

“Yes, this is the road for Gracehall.”

T. J. turned and spoke to Madison. “I could’ve sworn we didn’t pass any turnoffs. Evidently we drove right past it.”

“Even if we had seen it, I doubt we would have known what it was,” Madison said. “This looks more like a driveway than a public throughway. I mean, you could barely get a car through here.”

“Yeah, well, county roads and farm-to-market roads are sometimes pretty primitive,” T. J. said. “But what bothers me is the fact that this is the address for Gracehall. A bed-and-breakfast on this kind of road? To tell you the truth, I’m beginning to wonder if we might not have made a mistake in coming. This could turn out to be a little more quaint than we counted on.”

“Let’s not pass judgment yet. After all, that was a pretty slick brochure. I don’t think anyone could put out something like that unless they were legitimate,” Madison said. “And besides, right now, what choice do we have?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Oh, look, there it is!” Madison pointed to a big white house at the end of the road. “Oh, T. J., it’s beautiful! It looks exactly like the picture on the cover.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Look at the waterwheel. Talk about quaint!”

The waterwheel was attached to the side of a small, unpainted structure, and it operated by an artificial waterfall, caused by damming the stream to form a large pond. The wheel turned slowly.

“It appears to be working,” T. J. said.

“Yes, it is working,” said Angus from the front seat. “That’s where the judge grinds his corn into meal and his wheat into flour.”

“You mean he actually makes his own cornmeal and flour?” Madison asked, amazed.

“Not only his, but he is very generous with his neighbors,” Angus said. “The judge says that God put the stream there for everyone.”

“That’s very nice of him.”

“The judge truly is quality folk.”

Angus MacLeod pulled the team and carriage into a large curved driveway in front of the house. T. J. counted at least five more carriages parked there.

“Boy, the other folks are really going all-out for this reenactment thing, aren’t they? Who would’ve thought there would be this many carriages?”

“I imagine a lot of them are local,” Madison said. “This is probably something they do every year, and the carriages and costumes just add to the overall atmosphere.”

A dignified-looking man in a nineteenth-century blue frock coat and mustard-colored pants came out to meet the carriage. An attractive and much younger woman, also in nineteenth-century dress, stood by his side.

“Oh, here comes our host, Judge Ragsdale, and his wife,” MacLeod said.

“That’s his wife?” T. J. exclaimed before he could stop himself.

“She’s his second wife. His first wife died of the cholera some years back,” Angus explained.

“Cholera? In this day and age?”

“Even the best medicine sometimes cannot prevent—that is, when God calls .. . “

“I see.” But he didn’t. Looking at Madison, T. J. betrayed his confusion. Was this part of the “fiction” of Gracehall or the reality of life in the country?

“She’s been very good for him. She gave him what his first wife could not—a child.”

T. J. climbed down from the carriage, then turned to help Madison. Christine held up her arms and he lifted her down, but Timmy jumped.

“Good morning,” their host said, smiling broadly and extending his hand. “I’m Judge John Ragsdale, and this is my wife, Sylvia. Welcome to Gracehall.”

“Thank you,” T. J. said as he shook hands. “Uh, look, I apologize for our clothes. We didn’t know it would be in period costume.”

“Nonsense, your clothes are fine. I’m just glad you made it here.”

“Under the circumstances, we are too. Our car broke down, and if Mr. MacLeod hadn’t come along when he did, we would still be stranded. Maybe even for the night.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be good,” Judge Ragsdale affirmed. “It gets quite cold in the mountains at night, especially at this time of year. Please, come on in.”

“Thanks. Oh, could I borrow your telephone? I need to call someone about my car, and I can’t seem to get a signal on my cell.”

Judge Ragsdale laughed. “Oh, heavens, we don’t have one of Mr. Bell’s instruments out here,” he said.

“You don’t? How do you get by without a telephone?”

“Quite easily, actually. We have no need for such a thing. Why, whom would we talk to? I don’t know anyone else who has the telephone either. But don’t worry about your vehicle. There are none about who would disturb it.”

Sylvia Ragsdale looked at Timmy and Christine. “Children, we will be having lunch soon. And this afternoon, we shall decorate the Christmas tree. Then tomorrow, well, what is tomorrow?” she asked.

“Tomorrow is Christmas!” Christine said excitedly.

“Indeed it is,” Sylvia said. “Which means that we must decorate the tree today. Tomorrow we will have a taffy pull. I’m sure you will enjoy that.”

“What’s a taffy pull?” Timmy asked.

“Heavens! Do you mean to tell me you have never been to a taffy pull?”

“No, ma’am,” Timmy said.

“Me neither,” Christine added.

“Well, I’ll just have to get Emma to tell you all about it.”

“Who’s Emma?” Timmy asked.

“Emma is my daughter,” Sylvia explained. “She’s seven years old. I think the three of you will get on quite nicely. She is somewhere here about, with the other children. Why don’t we find her?” Sylvia extended her hand. Christine took it, and she and Timmy followed the judge’s wife into the house.

“And while Sylvia is looking after the children, I’ll show you to your room,” Judge Ragsdale said, lifting two of the suitcases.

“Thank you,” T. J. said and hefted the other two.