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Her Reason to Smile: a 1950s sweet Southern romance

By Jo Huddleston

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Her Reason to Smile
Chapter 1

Tuesday, November 25, 1958

The two-lane U.S. highway 441 across The Great Smoky Mountains slithered like a snake, turning right, then left, then right again. Susan Lockwood had planned to get over the mountains before nightfall, but the weather hadn’t cooperated. The cold rain started soon after she left work, causing her to drive below the posted speed limit on Chapman Highway as she left the eastern city limits of Knoxville. She expected increased traffic two days before Thanksgiving, and the inclement weather added to her driving woes.

Her appointment for tomorrow morning’s job interview was at ten o’clock. She wouldn’t get a full night’s rest since her trip would take longer than expected. She had hoped to be settled into the hotel before dark, but instead, she now drove the most hazardous miles of her trip. Even at age thirty-two, Susan promised her parents she’d let them know when she arrived in Asheville. They’d be anxious by now, awaiting her call. But she had to conquer these mountains and check into the hotel before she could telephone them.

As she neared the top of the mountains, her car’s headlights illuminated fog crouched among the tree branches lining the highway. If the fog didn’t creep any lower, she’d be okay. Driving through Newfound Gap, indicated on her map as the highest elevation along U.S. 441, she wished she could visit the state line between Tennessee and North Carolina. That would have to wait for another time.

Just beyond Newfound Gap, a roadside sign marked the seven-mile turnoff for Clingdoms Dome, the Smokies’ highest peak. She’d soon descend the other side of the mountains and escape the reach of the fog’s outstretched fingers.

All the way up the mountains she’d driven a short distance of highway but then had to slow down when she approached another bend in the road. And the tractor-trailer truck following her didn’t help matters. When the road began its climb up the mountains, Susan pulled her car onto the intermittent paved pads provided for slower vehicles, hoping the big truck would go on ahead and get off her bumper.

The truck driver didn’t take advantage of her courtesy but continued to drive close behind her. At least he had his headlights on dim, and she didn’t have to fight the glare of bright lights in her rearview mirror. As her mother always said, everything could be worse.

Finally reaching the mountains’ crest, she began her descent. A similar highway pattern swung her white 1958 Chevrolet Impala hardtop from side-to-side as she drove. The road seemed to throw its loops at her windshield quicker as she descended the mountains. Susan hardly mastered one set of twisting road and relaxed on a straight stretch before she reached the next curve, requiring her to reduce her speed. She had her foot on the brake pedal more than on the accelerator. And still, the tractor-trailer followed her, although at a more considerate distance than before.

Susan gripped the steering wheel tighter and cringed at the possibility of the truck driver overtaking her car as one would step on an ant. Traveling down the mountains, she’d have no escape, no possibility of getting out of his way. She hoped his brakes held—his truck had more weight to stop than her car. God, please help me get safely off this mountain without that truck hitting me.

~

Perched high on the driver’s seat in the cab of the tractor-trailer, David Maxwell could easily see the outline of the car’s driver—a woman—who didn’t know this road well. She drove in spurts, accelerating on the short spans of regular road, then reducing her speed again for another twist in the highway. Although she definitely decreased her speed, her brake lights didn’t come on to alert anyone behind her that she slowed. The woman was fortunate he followed her and not some hot-headed driver who would quickly become frustrated with her driving.

Earlier on the other side of the mountains, when he’d first caught up with her, he soon detected her brake lights weren’t functioning. Even when she pulled off onto the pavement used by slower cars, he didn’t pass her but stayed a safe distance behind. He wanted to protect her from another car plowing into her without a warning from her brake lights.

He hoped and prayed the woman would pull over at the gas station at the bottom of the mountains. The place had a market inside that sold bread, milk, soft drinks, and a hodge-podge assortment of essentials. Almost everyone stopped there even if they didn’t need gas. After the wicked trip over the mountains, most drivers took advantage of a place to rest awhile.

David knew this mountain road like the back of his hand. He’d grown up in the area and began driving big rigs over this route in his early twenties. His father required him to learn every phase of the family’s trucking business—how else could David run the company if he didn’t? David Maxwell, Sr. passed away nine years ago—much too early—and David’s knowledge of the business served him well when he landed in the corner office of Maxwell Trucking Company.

Shortly after his father’s death, his mother replaced him as head of the company’s board of directors. His older sister had no desire to be active in the company’s day-to-day operations, but she sat on the board as did her husband who was also David’s executive vice president.

Yesterday, David had driven a load to Nashville to help out one of their drivers whose wife carried twins and had been put on bed rest. With that, plus Thanksgiving Day right around the corner, he was glad to pinch-hit for the driver. Now he drove this last leg of his return trip. At the gas station, he’d let this woman ahead of him know her brake lights didn’t work, introduce her to the guys there who could help her, then be on his way home.

Brightness from the gas station’s lights broke into his view, and sure enough, the woman parked her car near the front of the building. David steered his truck off the highway and pulled it to the west of the gas station as she exited her car. The hissing of his air brakes caught her attention, and she looked in his direction. He’d been correct, the driver was not only a woman but a young and attractive one.

He swung open the door of his cab and looked her way. She continued to hold onto her opened car door, staring at him. She appeared uncertain whether to run toward him or away from him. Finally, she slammed her car door shut, tightened her long camel-colored coat around her, and darted into the store out of the drizzle. David climbed down from his truck and hurried inside. He had to speak to her about her brake lights before she returned to her car and left.

The woman David saw enter the store stood at the self-serve coffee pot, putting a lid on her paper cup and looked up as he neared. The best he could determine with her long coat wrapped around her, she had a slim body, stood at least five feet six, with wisps of short blonde hair peeking from a toboggan pulled over her ears. She frowned at him...

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