A COUNTRY MILE

A Country Mile is the story of Katy, a forty-year-old divorcee, who has yearned for many years to return to her family home in Tennessee. The historic plantation served as a military hospital near the Civil War battle on Peach Orchard Hill. After worldwide success as a country western singer, Katy is disillusioned and hopes to recapture idyllic memories of her childhood on the horse farm where she was raised. This novel gives a fresh approach to that universal longing to return to roots, the family farm, the “old country.” The contemporary slant, combined with an intense love story, clarifies the message to all who wish to return to the past, The past is not entirely as memory depicts it, or hopes to rekindle. The farmhouse has fallen into disrepair. Katy employs Stefan, a Polish contractor from San Diego, to handle the renovation, not considering the differences in their ethnic backgrounds which uncovers problems in a strict southern society still adhering to a caste system which shuns outsiders. love develops between Katy and Stefan. She discovers that he is more important to her than a house; but her confidence that, once the farm is rebuilt, she will be surrounded by adoring friends and country club balls is challenged in additional ways. The local sub-contractor, hired to align the sagging floor, damages the house extensively. Stefan's insecurities and frustrations manifest themselves in a serious drinking problem; and tragedy mixes with magnolia blossoms as Katy recognizes the fact that her professional life in California is more real than her images of perfection in her childhood home. The story, at times tender, at times violent, is set against a background of local color and descriptions of Tennessee Mule Day, the Iroquois Steeplechase, the Hunt Ball and many humorous characters and anecdotes. The romance is vivid and the message reminds us of Thomas Wolfe's lament that one can never go home. Brief Segment #1 After three weeks the monotonous roar of the dozer engine and the bantering of the men served as a freakish sedative and Katy fell asleep at noon. Earthquakes are common in California but she didn't expect one in Tennessee. She awoke with the floor shaking and the bed lurching. The sound of stones rolling and wood splintering lifted her to her feet. She twisted and jerked the glass knob on the jammed door until finally it surrendered. “Stefan. Stefan, where are you?” she called. The living room was alive. Stones bigger than basketballs were rolling across the floor. The mantelpiece was broken in half and she felt as if her life were collapsing in one horrendous landslide. Without even stopping for shoes she ran, looking for Stefan. He had heard the rumble along with her screams and was looking in horror at the chimney which lay in disordered chunks on the green grass while Willie Joe the House Mover stood on his tractor, a knight on his chariot in defiance of his deed. The sight of the collapsed stone and masonry turned Katy's cold hands to burning daggers of courage. * * * “You're about beat, young lady. Why don't you go on back out there to California whur you been livin'?” Mr. Luke advised. Frustration flooded Katy as she watched Stefan stalk toward the house. Mr. Luke's pipe hung limply against his lips as he warned, “Never saw anybody git the best of Willie Joe and his boys. They looked like a pack o' hyenas, laughin' an' scratchin.'” Katy ran a tired hand through unbrushed hair. “They won't beat me, Mr. Luke. I won't let them. And, furthermore, Mr. Luke, I am home.” OR, Brief Segment #2 Biscuits and gravy is typical Tennessee breakfast fare. But Katy, remembering a California custom, unpacked the lone silver tray and placed tinned oysters and two crystal glasses on a lace doily. Gingerly she unwrapped a chilled bottle of champagne that she'd hidden in the back of the refrigerator for emergencies. Balancing the ice bucket and bottle, she added a tumbler of toothpicks, and returned with the tray. Stefan sat up straight and viewed the menu with effervescence even before he tasted the bubbles. She tipped the shutters to exclude unwanted glare, touched a drop of Givenchy to that little hollow below her neck, and fluffed up the lace edged pillow cases, then slipped under the sheets beside him. While he popped the cork and filled the long stems of the glasses, she disconnected the phone. "To you, oh great builder of my castles in the air." She smiled as she accepted the glass and touched her lips to the bubbles. "To you, Princess . . . and Peach Orchard Hill."