Acknowledgments Chapter 1 Georgia Belle Fact #027: In the South, we greet one another with bits of juicy gossip, not some ol'' boring Yankee-like salutation. I was idling on the corner of Blossom Street and Orchard, when the words came sailing through my open car window. "My word! Is that Nola Mae Harper I see?" I snapped my head and squinted to the sidewalk where I spied the Crawford sisters sauntering along. I hadn''t heard my full name, let alone that drawl I''d taken for granted in childhood, for a long time. I shot them a quick smile and waggled my fingers before moving down the road. As I continued, I noticed more than just a few of the locals rubbernecked as I passed, the sight of me eliciting curious stares and sudden whispers. I could imagine the return of the Harper family black sheep was going to crank the village''s local rumor mill into full gear. Gee, it was good to be back.
They may have dubbed Georgia as the "Peach State," but what they weren''t saying was my hometown of Cays Mill was the pit. I should know; I was born and raised in this two-stoplight town and had spent most of my adult life trying to shake its loamy soil from my boots. That''s why I surprised myself when home was the first place I thought of when my work situation took a turn for the worse. Then I really surprised myself when I agreed to spend time at home watching over the family''s one hundred-plus acres of peach farm while Mama and Daddy took their dream trip. But I guess I did owe them. Or so I''d been told--or had it implied in Mama''s southern sweet talk--often enough. Truth be known, they had been the world''s best parents; and I, well . I hadn''t always been the best daughter.
At least that was what my older sister, Ida Jean, kept telling me. Of course, maybe she had a point. She''d stuck around Cays Mill, married the banker''s son and was busy adding little twigs to the Harper family tree, a set of twins so far and another baby on the way. I, on the other hand, headed north of the Piedmont the first chance I got, took a job with a humanitarian organization and had been traipsing from one country to another for the last fifteen years or so, seeing the world or, perhaps more accurately, escaping from my own world. Heaven knows, if I hadn''t left Cays Mill when I did, hard telling what type of shame I''d have brought to the Harper family name. Anyhow, it''d been almost three years since I was home last and it looked like not much had changed in town. The city building, still the most formidable structure in the area, occupied most of the town green and acted as an unsurpassable anchor for Cays Mill''s business section. Not that there were many businesses around these days.
Like many small towns, the recession had hit our village hard. As I drove about the square, I saw more than a few vacant buildings, their empty windows only partially obscured under the bright awnings that served to protect the storefronts from the scorching Georgia heat. However, I was happy to see Red''s Diner was still going strong. A line was formed outside the door, probably the after-church crowd, heading in for Red''s famous breakfast hash, served with grits and a side of toast with--what else?--peach preserves. At the next stoplight I stole a quick glance in the rearview mirror and swiped a short piece of cropped hair from my forehead, before gripping the wheel and turning off the square. I traveled southeast, winding my way a mile or so out of town, heading for the family farm. If I had to describe Georgia, I''d say it was like a handmade quilt, tossed out all lumpy-like over the bed. The northern part of the state would be the biggest bumps, where the Appalachian hills offered a beautiful blue hue and the winding rivers ran through like errant stitching.
Then came the Piedmont, with big cities like Atlanta and Columbus acting as the nubby knots holding the fabric and the batting in place. Next, the Fall Line, where the rivers made a showy descent like colorful fabric bargellos, cascading over rocks and flowing to the smooth coastal planes where scenic towns like Savannah provided a decorative binding, sealing the quilt''s overall beauty. My family''s little block of the fabric was located on the Fall Line, where the northern rivers dumped their sandy deposits, making soil conditions just right for growing peaches, which my family had done for as many generations as I could count. Heading down the road out of town plunged me into the orchard area, where the sullenness of the weathered town stood in sharp contrast to the peach trees, standing row on row, like sturdy soldiers, their green uniforms shining in the Georgia sun, holding guard over this community. Even the late-August sun couldn''t extinguish the bristling green of the leaves, whispering their welcome to me in the light breeze. Even though I''d all but had my fill of peaches during my youth, I had to admit my heart kicked up a beat in anticipation as I neared home. It''d been so long since I''d been back, and I was craving a little time at home with my family. So much so that by the time I passed under the gate that marked the entrance to Harper Peach Farm, I was practically giddy with excitement.
Or sick with nerves; I wasn''t sure which. I couldn''t believe I''d agreed to take over the family farm for three whole weeks. Even though the last of the peaches had been picked, packed and transported out, taking care of the farm was a huge responsibility. Still, it was going to be good to be home for a while. At least until I figured out what to do about my job. I''d been beside myself ever since my boss told me they were downsizing and I''d been allocated to a desk job in Atlanta. A desk job! After all these years of fieldwork, they expected me to be satisfied twiddling my thumbs behind a desk. Not this girl.
No way. "Nola Mae Harper!" I heard my daddy yell from the deep porch of our two-story farmhouse. Seconds later, the slamming of the screen storm door yielded a stream of ebullient Harpers. "Whoa! One at a time." I laughed, embracing them warmly until I got to my sister, Ida Jean. Her hug felt stiff compared to the others. "Hello, Ida. You''re looking good.
" I patted her expanding belly before turning to the oldest Harper child, my big brother, Raymond Junior--Ray to me, Bud to my parents and Raymond Harper II to his colleagues at the law firm. "I''ve missed you, Ray!" I buried my head in his chest, coming up for air to greet my sister''s twin girls, who danced about our legs. In true southern fashion, they were properly named Savannah and Charlotte. Although I could never tell which was which. In the three years since I''d seen them, with only occasional photos for reference, I was astounded by how big they''d grown. "Your hair sure is short," one of them said, gripping my legs, her eyes wide. I ran a hand through my dark cropped hair and chuckled. Both the girls were towheads--a combination of my brother-in-law''s blond hair and my sister''s light blue eyes.
Typical little belles, they sported long curls that suited their sleeveless butter yellow sundresses and white sandals. By contrast, my khaki-colored utility shorts and black tank top, walking boots and knee-high socks--which all served me well in jungle situations--seemed apparently exotic to my nieces as their sparkling eyes took it all in. They possessed equal amounts of devilish energy that would be expected from any six-year-old, the problem being that with twins, the trouble was always times two. Managing to break away, I headed straight for my parents, embracing Mama first. "Good to have you home, honey," she said against my shoulder. I swear, she''d shrunk another half inch. Although the whole county knew better than to let my mother''s petite stature fool them. Della Wilkes Harper may be tiny, but she was a force to reckon with.
On the other hand, there was nothing small about my father. Daddy always loomed larger than life. Right then, he was hanging back, watching us with a grin spread wide over his face. I turned to him and held out my arms. He skipped forward, scooping me off my feet into a giant bear hug. "I can''t believe you''re finally home, darlin''. Now the party can get started!" I peered over the top of his wide shoulders, ignoring the look of disgust on Ida''s face, and let my eyes roam the orchard line, where a white tent had been set up to accommodate at least two hundred guests. In my quick glance at the tent, it almost appeared as if miniature peach trees held up each corner, but before I could figure it out, Daddy had released me from his hug for a close-up look at my tanned face and short hair.
With a tousle of my hair he gave a laugh, loving me in his own way, always accepting of me, no matter what. I felt tears start to well and knew coming home had been the right choice. Besides, this trip was extra special. My parents were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary and this "dream trip" of theirs was really a second honeymoon, or first honeymoon, since they never got to go on a trip after their wedding. Anyway, this evening''s party was sure to be a wingding. The trip had actually been a prize Mama had won for her peach chutney recipe in the National Condiments Competition, with the timing for the cruise set by the competition. Because no way would they have left at this time of year otherwise--the Peach Harvest Festival was only a couple weeks away. Since our parents had never, ever missed a festival, Ida had decided to give their anniversary celebration a peach festival flair, so they were technically not missing this year''s festivities either.
I was anxious to see what she''d come up with. Knowing Ida, it''d be perfect. Speaking of whom, as soon as Daddy swung me around to head for the porch, Ida started in. "It''s just.