Twinkle Fiddles

Chapter Twenty

Julie stopped abruptly in the hotel hallway, as the exercise room door quickly swung open. Bill apologized before realizing it was Julie standing there with her luggage. "Whoa, sorry. Didn't know you were there. You're out of here early, aren't you?"

She felt strange seeing a senior vice president in a tight, white, compression shirt, and navy blue, mesh shorts. A white towel with a blue line down the middle was hung across his shoulders. It was obviously a hotel issued sweat rag. His hair was unkempt. Without his normal starched dress shirt, and accompanying suit jacket, he was in better physical shape than she had suspected.

"The Jones invited me back to the farm to show me something today. Thought I'd get it in early before heading back to Charlotte."

"No, absolutely," Bill confirmed. "The more time you can spend with Jeff and his family, the better. I think they want that comfort level with our people. They're much more likely respond to our suggestions if they trust us. Great opportunity. Have fun."

"You too," she nodded as Bill made the turn to the breakfast area.

"Safe travels," he added.

Darkness was lifting as she left the hotel parking lot. During the night a harsh reminder of winter's grip fell upon the Eastern North Carolina landscape. It was much colder than the day prior. Julie turned up the heat in her Jeep for the short drive through Kinston. Through the air vents, she could smell the smoke drifting across the countryside, from the many farmhouse chimneys. It reminded her of home, both Calgary and Boone.

She passed a hand-painted sign on ply-board. It leaned back but was still held in the ground with 4 x 4 support posts. It read, "Troy's Trees." An arrow pointed the way down a side dirt road. Julie smiled as the area was becoming more familiar to her.

She pulled her dark green Jeep next to the back porch. The yard had been cleaned from the party. She was drawn to the trumpets of daffodils in random placements around the farmhouse. The yellow clusters blended well with the cascading forsythia, which she also didn't take notice from the afternoon prior.

What was bustling a few hours earlier, now seemed peaceful.

The doors to the kitchen were closed, but she could hear the commotion inside the house. Rather than knock, she rang the large, iron, black bell that hung close to the door. "Knock, knock," she said opening the door, not waiting on an answer.

The assortment of scents was a country accompaniment that candle companies could never recreate. There was the fireplace ashy smoke that hung heavy, both from the outdoor hog pit and inside the house. Sausage casserole was steaming on the counter, in a rectangular, glass presentation. Mason jars with handwritten stickers named the various homemade jellies. She remembered the scuppernong paste from the night before; that'd be hard to beat. Nancy pulled a tray of hot biscuits from the oven, while the cheesy scrambled eggs bubbled on the stove top.

Jeff was nowhere to be seen, but Stacey was laying forks and knives, at place-settings, along a long gray table, still inside the kitchen proper.

The patterns on the plates were the same desert rose print Julie's grandmother had brought in boxes, when she moved in with her family. The plates of the morning were empty, except for a helping of grits that had already been served at each setting. Julie wasn't sure if she had gone back in time, or if this was a part of America she had never experienced. Either way she welcomed the Southern comfort food of a large wholesome breakfast.

"Everything smells so wonderful," Julie remarked.

"Oh, thank you, dear. Glad you could join us." Nancy welcomed her. "Jeff's already down pasture. Stacey will take you there after a while. Dean's come and gone too. Looks like just us girls this morning."