Page 116 of The Roads We Follow

The beautiful end-of-summer décor and fresh flowers Hattie used to transform today’s intimate back-patio brunch at the Davenport house into a feast suited for royalty were nearly as jaw-dropping as the stunning vision she brought to life inside Camp Selkirk’s chapel yesterday afternoon. Equally as spectacular was the menu Adele curated for our special guests this morning: sweet and savory crepes, made-to-order omelets, a customized juice bar, and yogurt parfaits worthy of their own Instagram feed. The entire weekend has been as fairy-tale-like as my sisters promised it would be. With one exception: I’ve barely had a minute alone with either of them since they arrived in Idaho seventy-two hours ago.

And no matter how many times Micah has hinted at his own desire for some alone time with me, I know I can’t leave here without saying a proper good-bye to Adele and Hattie. Not after everything they’ve done for me this weekend, and certainly not after everythingthe three of us experienced together this year. As much as I long to start a new chapter with the man I love, I want to close out the last one with the same grace and love they’ve shown me in the last thirteen months, which is why the second Micah’s brother, Garrett, challenges him to a celebratory basketball game, I use the distraction to locate my sisters.

Where on earth are they? I glance down at the text from Mama again, asking me to meet her in the garden. Perhaps my sisters are with her?

I pass through Frank’s open, farm-style kitchen and thank the incredible camp staff employees for all their help this weekend—as well as for their graciousness in navigating the media circus upon Mama’s arrival. It didn’t take long for this sweet Idaho town to fall hard for Luella Farrow. Anybody who had reservations about the big country music star from Nashville purchasing their favorite summer campground came around after the grand opening this past June, when Micah’s vision caught like wildfire. Local and national sponsors have donated and committed to advertising for teens and hurting families of all kinds to find the support they need at Camp Selkirk.

As I weave across the manicured portion of the Davenport acreage, I hear Garrett egging his big brother on while my two nieces, Cheyenne and Annabelle, act as their cheerleaders. By the sound of their engaging and humorous chants, it seems my nephew, Aiden, along with my editor, Chip—who arrived at the weekend festivities shortly after Cheyenne’s best friend, Allie Spencer—have been added to the spontaneous pick-up game. If not for the case of my missing sisters, I’d be out there rooting for my favorite player.

The early September breeze lifts my hair from my shoulders and flows through my white eyelet sundress as I walk toward Chickee’s old prayer garden, the same one I read about in Lynn’s journals. It’s hard to believe an entire year has passed since I opened those early entries that started a stone’s throw away from here. I hope Lynn can see all the improvements her son has implemented at thecampground she loved. Though she’s not here to tell either of her boys how proud she is of their accomplishments on earth, I often think their character speaks of her love, support, and even her pride as a mother. As does the last letter she wrote for Micah to read after she passed, explaining her decision and asking for his understanding and forgiveness.

As I approach the entrance to the garden, I spot my mother waiting inside the fenced perimeter. She’s alone, seated on a bench.

Though I never had the opportunity to meet Lynn Hershel Davenport in the flesh, this is the place I imagine her whenever she comes to mind now. Maybe that’s because of the interviews I conducted with each of the Davenport men while drafting Mama’s memoir and the memories they shared of her here. Or perhaps it’s because of the framed photograph hanging outside Franklin’s room of her sitting on this very bench at sunrise, her Bible open on her lap and her eyelids closed. Whatever the case, every time I venture inside, I feel a similar sacred influence as when I put pen to page. Her journey was different from my own, and yet my story will forever be intertwined with hers.

Mama’s bright and contagious grin fills her face as she takes my hand and pulls me inside the special space. “You looked so happy at brunch this morning, sweetheart.”

“I am happy,” I say easily.

She angles her neck and studies my face. “And yet something’s bothering you.” She purses her lips. “Does it have to do with your trip? Or perhaps with all the see-you-laters you’ll be hearing when you go?”

An unexpected lump rises in my throat as I imagine pulling out of Frank’s driveway with Micah in the blue Bronco I drove here from Nashville three months ago for the camp’s grand opening. It’s strange how long a person can anticipate a special milestone in their life and still feel the bittersweet tug of change clinging to their coattails. Good-byes are hard, even when they’re framed in asee-you-later. “I’ll miss you and the girls so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. And we’ll miss you, too. But we’re only aflight away—or a week-long road trip, depending on the traveler.” Mama winks, then peers steadily into my eyes. “I was just praying for your safe and happy travels on the road. I know it will be special.”

“You were?” Again, the temptation to cry surprises me. After all the emotions of the weekend, I would have sworn I had no tears left in me.

“Of course I was.” Mama pulls me into a hug and rubs my back with comforting circles. “It’s been one of my greatest joys watching you grow into such a capable, strong, creative, passionate woman, Raegan. Between your dedication to writing my memoir and your support at the camp alongside Micah and your sisters, it’s no wonder why that man of yours is so smitten with you. You’ve both worked hard at the pursuits and relationships God has given you, and now it’s time to put that same kind of focused energy and love into each other.”

I think of Micah then, recalling the way he smiled while tears trailed his cheeks at the sight of me in that chapel yesterday. And soon, my bottom lip begins to quiver. “I love him so, so much, Mama.”

“No one would ever doubt it.” She chuckles sweetly at that. “Your sisters adore him—and that’s high praise for Adele and Hattie.”

The truth of her statement hits me afresh as I think back on Micah’s proposal at Thanksgiving and the way they’d both played a part in his plan, all while knowing what a future with Micah would mean. Yet, a cross-country move is hardly the only challenge we Farrow sisters have faced since we parked Old Goldie in Nashville last summer. Not only did Hattie’s ex-husband get dumped by the Grecian goddess he claimed was his soulmate, but he’s currently facing allegations of fraud based on new evidence brought to light by the same Grecian goddess. Despite Peter’s legal battle for damage control, Hattie’s lawyer is convinced her hopes for full custody of Annabelle and Aiden will soon be realized.

The only moment in Hattie’s recent history that rivaled such good news was the evening Adele waltzed into Mama’s dining room forfamily dinner to announce that Hattie’s contractual obligations to Willow House Publishing had been terminated. When we pressed her for details on how exactly that had happened, she simply smiled and said, “Let’s just say my new motto of working smarter, not harder is paying off.” Turns out, when Adele decided to anonymously alert Peter’s legal team about a tell-all being written that would surely paint their client and his dealings with the Farrow family in a poor light, they weren’t thrilled about it.

As soon as they threatened to file a lawsuit against Willow House Publishing, Adele was right there, pushing for Willow House to release Hattie from her contract while allowing all of the negative press to be reflected on Peter San Marco. For a woman who barely had enough time to drink a protein shake between CEO meetings at Farrow Music, she now has enough time on her hands to bake on the weekends, go on empty-nester dates with Michael, and keep tabs on the retribution of her ex-brother-in-law. All thanks to the partnership with Sweet Home Records, the investor she and Mama signed with last September.

“Have you seen Adele and Hattie?” I ask Mama.

“I haven’t, but I’ll give them a call.”

She takes out her phone as I walk along the assortment of flower beds, studying the prayer stones in the garden Lynn inherited from her grandmother. Printed on each stone is a name, followed by a request—most often written as a single word or phrase, and accompanied by a date. It seems that depending on the answer, the date was either left open or closed by the addition of a second date. On my very first visit out to the garden last fall, I spotted the stone with my mama’s name on it. The date had been printed over a decade ago, but it had been closed by Frank just a few days before Lynn went to meet her Savior.

There has to be at least three or four hundred stones along these flower beds. The sight actually gave me the idea for the second book in my Birch Grove series. After the initial sales number came in for the launch of Mama’s memoir in May, Chip got the approval tocontract a three-book series set in Birch Grove with Fog Harbor Books. Our negotiations went splendidly, and as of right now, I’m on schedule to release one book a year for the next three years.The Sisters of Birch Grovewill release this coming January.

“Neither of your sisters are answering,” Mama says with a shrug, as if it’s normal to lose two grown women on a five-acre property. “And their location on the family app is turned off.”

“But Adele never turns her location off—”

Two familiar arms encircle me from behind, and I’m suddenly overcome by a scent even more intoxicating than the flowers in this garden. Micah kisses me on the neck and holds me in an embrace that causes my knees to weaken. And then I catch the sparkle of sunlight glinting off his wedding-ring finger and can’t help but swoon all the more.He’s mine. Forever andever.

“Hello, wife.” He turns me to face him, and what I find there makes me want to move in even closer. I wrap my arms around his waist, and he sets his hands on my shoulders. “I was starting to worry I’d have to go on our honeymoon without you.”

I feign offense. “Micah Franklin Davenport, you know as well as I do that you’d be bored out of your mind without me in the jump seat.”

He laughs and then lowers his voice to an alluring tenor. “That’s not the only place I’d be bored without you.”

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