Page 28 of The Roads We Follow

June 2, 1975

Dear Chickee,

I’m overwhelmed! I can hardly hold my pen without feeling faint from everything that happened at the chapel tonight. I wonder if youcould hear the singing from your porch? There were hundreds of people everywhere! All the inside seats were taken, and people were sitting outside on the dirt and grass. The speaker was so passionate! I’m not sure I can describe it all in words, but I never want to forget this night or this feeling. I didn’t know if I would ever believe what those preachers you listen to on the radio say ... but tonight I believe. We stayed in that chapel till after midnight. There was so much praying, crying, and singing that when the speaker finally asked if there was anyone who wanted to make a decision to follow Christ, I couldn’t wait to shoot my hand up. I know you’re probably in shock over that; I think I’m still in a bit of shock. But I wasn’t alone. Luella, one of my cabin mates, held her hand up, too. We prayed together, and then about thirty minutes later we were walking hand in hand to get baptized in the river under a full moon with dozens of our friends. I’ve never seen so many hippies in one place, and I couldn’t stop crying. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to top this moment. I don’t think I ever want to.

I know I’ve grumbled about you making me spend my summer at camp, but tonight I want to thank you. I think God might have prompted you to send me here. What do you think?

Starting tomorrow morning I’m going to start playing the guitar for Luella during the morning chapel. She has a beautiful voice, and she’s asked if I’d accompany her as she’s still learning how to play.

I love you,

Lynn

I pause for a long moment, so moved by the experience my mother recorded all those years ago, and yet saddened by the fact I never heard that story from her in person. Garrett and I have attended that same camp, sang inside that same chapel, and were even baptized in that same river, and yet I never knew my mother had led the way in all of it. I read several more entries, detailing the guitar lessons my mother was giving Luella in exchange for voice lessons. Apparently, Luella had dropped out of an elite musicprogram in Atlanta, much to her parents’ disapproval, and busked her way to her aunt’s house, located in a town about an hour from Camp Selkirk. Another fact I hadn’t known.

I continue reading until my eyes lose focus.

July 7, 1975

Dear Chickee,

For the last week, Luella and I have been leading the song service in the evenings. At first, my nerves were so bad I told Luella I was too afraid to harmonize with her for fear I might lose my dinner onstage. But she told me stage fright means I’m focusing too much on myself and not enough on who we’re singing to—God. So that shut me up right quick.

I haven’t told her everything about my life before coming to live with you yet, but I will. I trust her, and I think trust has a lot to do with what takes people from being average friends to best friends. I also think playing music together must do that, too.

Between you and me, I feel like each time we play and sing together something in me begins to change. Like maybe I can truly become someone else, someone with a different story, someone free. Luella talks a lot about wanting to fall in love. She can be a bit of a flirt around the guys, but I told her last night that I don’t care a thing about falling in love. All I care about is never losing this new peace I’ve found.

I’ve asked Luella what she’s planning to do after camp closes for the summer, but all she’ll say is that she hopes to follow the music.

I love you,

Lynn

August 4, 1975

Dear Chickee,

You made me promise I would write this all down after we spoke on the phone tonight, but I don’t feel much like writing. I don’t feel much like praying, either, which is the other thing you told me to do. I think I’m going to take a walk around the trails and then try again later.

I’m back. My head is a little clearer now although my heart still feels torn in half.

The longer version of the story: Luella met a man with a deep Southern accent (similar to hers but different) who came up to her after chapel last night. He said he drove all the way from Tennessee trying to find an original sound and that he felt God lead him to our camp. He also claims that Luella is exactly who he’s been searching the country for all summer long. He works for a recording label in Nashville and offered Luella a chance to meet his partners and see about making an album together in country music.

The short story: Luella told Russell Farrow the only way she’d go to Nashville in pursuit of a record deal is if he offered her a packaged deal: me and her, together. Russell said if she showed up in Nashville, he’d give her whatever deal she wanted.

The even shorter story: I don’t want to leave you.

The shortest story: you told me to go.

I love you,

Lynn

8

Raegan

The rocking motion I wake to is smooth enough not to be an earthquake but shocking enough for me to forget where I am for several heartbeats. The privacy curtain attached to my cubby is slit just enough near my feet to allow in a spear of light from inside the bus. It’s my only indication that life outside this dark cocoon exists.

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