Preacher John The Road Goes On: Part V-A

It was just over 2100 miles from the trial grounds in Canada to Trey Sutton’s farm in South Carolina.  Pulling the trailer with the two horses  really didn’t slow them down on the major highways as the dually ate up the miles and the diesel fuel.  The horses didn’t need to be let out, but they did need to be checked and watered on a regular basis and their hay nets refilled.  The crossing back into the U.S. was easy as there were other trialers ahead of them in line, and they had all their paperwork in order.  Trey and Bill Johnson thought about driving straight through but neither was on a tight schedule so they decided to spend a couple of nights on the road.

      During the long hours as they rolled down the road in the intimacy of the front seat of the truck from the border across North Dakota, through Minnesota and Wisconsin, into the traffic jam of Chicago, down to Indianapolis, Louisville and Knoxville, and finally over the Appalachians to the low country of South Carolina, Trey and Bill got to know each other’s stories.  Bill had made a small fortune developing high-end housing and commercial property in and around Atlanta, but the housing bust had just about put him out of business.  His personal exposure was fairly well protected, but his multiple layers of corporate protection had rapidly peeled away, causing him to lay off hundreds of people and default on a variety of loans and lines of credit.  He barely had enough people left to keep a couple of large house projects going. 

      As they got to know each other, Trey could see that Bill understood the housing market and he brought up the project that his brother-in-law wanted to develop.  There were many old farms and plantations that had been or were in the process of being developed as high-end retirement/second home communities.  Bill was familiar with that specific market and had been involved with one of the first ones in Georgia.  The buyers were mostly Northerners, many of whom had first moved to Florida and then wanted something a little more rural but with plenty of amenities.  Stables, riding trails, fishing ponds, a clubhouse with tennis courts, a gym, a pool, and a restaurant were all niceties that needed to be included.  Many featured high end shooting preserves with plenty of quail and bird dogs.  The developments where corners were cut to keep prices down didn’t seem to do as well as the places that offered more amenities and charged big association fees.  Bill explained that the beauty of this type of development was that it continued to generate substantial revenue even after it was built and sold out. 

      Trey made a number of calls to his brother-in-law as they traveled south getting details and answering Bill’s questions.  Trey’s biggest concern was the economy.  He was worried that this type of development might have lost its allure in light of the current economic situation.  Bill made the point that the real estate market has always been volatile.  The most important key to success was to be in position to catch the upward swings.  Even if they closed on the property tomorrow, which wasn’t going to happen, there would be three to five years of pre-development work before they could consider selling their first lot. By that time, even Trey was pretty confident that the economy would be in much better shape.  As they rolled into Trey’s farm a tentative plan had been struck where the three of them would meet and look over the property and come up with a possible development plan.  The fact that they would stress the sporting aspects of any property and could use it themselves for working dogs and raising quail in the interim was probably what sold Trey.  The fact that Bill was involved and had the expertise to temper his brother-in-law’s enthusiasm made it seem doable.

      In North Dakota, Bobby Pickett, Mack, and Preacher John fell back into the routine of working dogs on the prairies.  Although astronomically fall was still a few weeks away, the nights were getting colder and they rarely needed to stop working dogs in the middle of the day to escape the heat and avoid hurting the dogs.  The young broods of chickens and pheasants were also changing.  The birds on the lease had become more wary.  It became harder for the young dogs to work the birds – especially the pheasants.  They tried to stay in the parts of the lease where they were more likely to find sharptails but even those birds were more skittish.  It was as if they knew that in not too many days the dog trainers would be gone with their blank guns and the hunters would arrive with live ammo.  This was probably more credit than a creature with a real “bird brain” deserved, but Preacher John loved these birds and endowed them with more sense than they warranted.

      He still thought about Etta Mae and her death the previous March and the many years of his life he had devoted to and cared for her.  But the memory was changing.  The pain had subsided.  She had lived a long and full life and if he believed in her faith, she was in a better place watching over her family in Georgia and her husband as he followed dogs over the prairies they both had loved.

      The women of the church in town had wanted to do something in Etta Mae’s memory.  She had spent many summers among them and they thought of her as one of their own.   John had reluctantly agreed to attend a Saturday supper in the church basement where there would be a chance to share memories and honor Etta Mae.  He said he would be there.  He figured Bobby and Mack would use the time to do the week’s shopping and maybe spend some time in their favorite bar, really the only bar in town where often five or six dog trainers could be found on a Saturday night.  But no, they had both said they would come with John.

      They quit early that Saturday so they could get cleaned up.  They were surprised by the number of cars in the churchyard – more than were usually there on a Sunday when John regularly attended services.  It was an old fashioned church supper – casseroles, potato salad, coleslaw, Jello molds of various shapes and colors, a red punch spiked with nothing stronger than ginger ale, and a table loaded with everyone’s special desert.  After all had eaten their fill and then some, the young minister moved to the front of the room, “I didn’t have the privilege of knowing Etta Mae Smith but I’ve spoken to many of you who did, and one thing has stood out in every conversation I’ve had – and that is that Etta Mae was a true Christian lady in every sense of the word.”

      He went on to define his terms to knowing nods from many of the older parishioners.  Throughout the minister’s short talk, John kept watching a young woman, maybe in her late 30s or early 40s, it was hard to tell, who kept looking at him.  She seemed vaguely familiar but would have been just a child if he knew her from before.  When the minister finished his speech he turned to her and said, “We thought long and hard and said many prayers trying to decide how we would honor Etta Mae’s memory.  And then Lucinda was home for a weekend and made the suggestion that we all agreed upon.  I’ve asked her to tell us about it tonight.  Lucinda.”

      The woman John had been watching smiled at him and then stood up.  “You all know me, but I don’t think Mr. Smith probably remembers me.” And then he did.  She was the daughter of the rancher next door to the lease who had come over to play with John Jr. and the other kids.  She had often ridden her horse over and would come with them when they were working dogs.  “The summer I was 12, I hung around with his kids and loved to watch the dogs run the prairies.  I still do.  I was 12 and thought my parents didn’t know anything.  I am an only child and I think my dad expected me to stay and marry some nice boy that would run his ranch.  I told Miss Etta Mae about it and said I didn’t want to stay here in Hicksville.  She sat me down in the kitchen and poured me a glass of sweet tea.  She told me I was a smart girl and I could make of my life what I wanted to.  She told me that running a ranch was hard and noble work.  But it wasn’t for everyone.  I told her I wanted to be a veterinarian and care for horses and dogs.  She encouraged me.  And then she never came to prairies again.  When I was in high school I heard she had a stroke and decided that day that I didn’t want to be a vet anymore.  I wanted to be a doctor.  I didn’t know how hard that was going to be and there were many times when I wanted to quit.  Every time, I thought of Etta Mae, and kept going.  She was right, as you all know I’m a vascular specialist and work with stroke victims almost every day.  So, when I heard that the church was planning to do something in Etta Mae’s memory, I wanted to be a part of it.  My partners in Bismarck and I have made a donation to the church to be used to create the Etta Mae Smith Scholarship fund to help young people from the community attend college.”

      By the end of the story there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.  The minister had moved over beside John and motioned for him to stand and follow him to the front of the room where Dr. Lucinda Ford handed him a check to give to the church for a very substantial amount of money.  John wiped his eyes and gave Lucinda a hug, “I do remember you. And I know Etta Mae would be proud of what you’ve accomplished.  Thank you . . .”

      The minister handed him another check.  “We could not match the amount that Lucinda and her partners gave but the members of the church have all contributed in your wife’s memory.”

      “Thank you.  Thank you all.”

      Everyone in the room wanted to shake John’s hand or give him a hug.  Many shared memories they had of Etta Mae so many years ago.  By the end, John was emotionally drained and once again overcome by the sense of loss he felt about his wife.  At the same time, he felt a release.  The thought that Etta Mae had been held in the hearts of all these people so far away from her Georgia home made him proud that he had been her husband.  He had no regrets, but, at the same time, he was happy, yes he had to admit, happy to be once again riding the prairies following bold running dogs.

      At the end of the evening, John introduced Lucinda to Bobby and Mack.  To John’s surprise Bobby invited the woman out to the lease to ride any time she wanted.  Lucinda looked him up and down as she thought about it.  John was pretty sure that Bobby was starting to blush under the deep tan of his face acquired during a lifetime spent outdoors.  Lucinda came to a decision, “How about tomorrow after church?”

      Bobby practically stuttered, “I don’t usually go to . . . I do the shopping Sundays . . .” Lucinda just stood and waited.  John and Mack tried to hide their amusement at Bobby’s discomfort. He paused and then gave in, “After church. We’d be happy to have you join us.”

      Bobby didn’t mention that the last time he had been to Sunday service he had been around 12.  Nor did he mention that they didn’t run dogs on Sundays when they were at camp.  It was a day to take care of all the chores that never got done during the week when they were up before sunrise and often watched the sunset from the back of a horse as they rode in with the last brace of the day. 

      “Great. I’ll bring a change of clothes and just follow you out after the service.”

      Sunday morning Mack and Buster dropped John and Bobby at church and headed for Walmart with Bobby’s list for the week’s groceries.  Lucinda was at the front of the church with her parents and saw John and Bobby as they slipped into a pew near the back.  It was a typical service – the choir sang – the minister preached – the deacon read – everyone stood and sang – it ended.  No lightning bolts from heaven smote Bobby and he sighed in relief when it was over.  If truly pressed, he would probably admit to believing in a higher power.  There seemed to be just too many wonders in the world for random chance to be responsible.  But he was a loner, really living on the periphery of modern society – on the road more than not.  His life had the illusion of freedom that many seemed to envy.  To Bobby, it was just what he did.