Rumors Swirl As Sequatchie Crossing Imagines a Windfall for All – Muffins, Binoculars, Goats, and Maybe a Barbecue.

By Tom Seest

At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

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🎤 Audio Overview

It started with a drip.
Not the plumbing kind — although that would’ve been simpler — but a leak. The sort that slips out of a small-town attorney’s mouth when the coffee’s too strong, the air’s too gossipy, and the client list is a bit too interesting for anyone’s good.

That attorney, Lester “Loose Lips” Pennington, should have known better. He’d been the town’s legal counsel for everything from traffic tickets to divorces to whether a goat counted as an “emotional support lawnmower.” But on Tuesday morning at Miss Dotty’s Diner, over a plate of biscuits and a questionable side of “breakfast slaw,” Lester leaned in just a bit too far toward Mabel Dean Ashcroft and whispered the words that would ripple through Sequatchie Crossing like a squirrel in the church organ:

“Old Preston Bartholomew Whitford III is having his will rewritten.”

Mabel Dean, being a responsible citizen, did exactly what anyone else in town would do — she told three people in confidence, on the understanding that each of them also keep it “strictly confidential.” Within four hours, Boot Barnes heard it from the feed store clerk, Clovis Strickland got wind of it at the post office, and Sheriff Peeler was informed via an anonymous note slipped under the door of his cruiser. By sundown, the whole town knew.

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Meet the Benefactor

Preston Bartholomew Whitford III — known simply as “PB” to the locals — was Sequatchie Crossing’s richest neighbor. His fortune came from a peculiar combination of early investments in pecan futures and an accidental patent on the “Double-Dippin’ Nut Bowl,” a serving dish with a moat for hand sanitizer that briefly trended during the Great Peanut Scare of ’92.

PB’s estate, Whitford Hill, was a sprawling property with its own trout pond, a chicken coop shaped like Monticello, and an underground bunker rumored to store more than just canned goods. He was eccentric but generous — the kind of man who’d sponsor the high school band’s trip to Nationals but insist they perform “Free Bird” instead of the fight song.

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The Name That Stuck

According to Lester, PB’s instructions were clear:

“We’re calling it The Big, Beautiful, Will. Because it’s going to be big. And beautiful. And everybody’s gonna love it.”

The phrasing alone gave the gossip machine plenty of fuel. By Wednesday morning, townsfolk were imagining all sorts of bequests. “Everything, everyone, a few goats…” became the unofficial slogan. The goats in question? Likely his prize-winning Nubians, Cinnamon and Gerald, known for chewing through both fences and political yard signs without bias.

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The Rumored Inheritances

Theories about the will’s contents grew more elaborate by the hour. Among the more persistent:

1. Mabel Dean’s Muffin Expansion Grant – $50,000 to open “Mabel’s Muffins & More,” with the “more” being unregulated gossip hours from 7–10 a.m.

2. The Clovis Aerial Defense Fund – A grant to finally buy Clovis Strickland the “binoculars that can see Russia,” as he’s always claimed are necessary.

3. Goat College Scholarships – Full rides to any goat demonstrating exceptional lawn care ability and a willingness to attend correspondence school.

4. A New Town Slogan – $5,000 to the person who can replace “Sequatchie Crossing: We’re Here” with something that “at least makes folks curious.”

5. Boot Barnes’ Porch Preservation Trust – Funding to keep Boot’s porch in its “current state of characterful decay” for historical purposes.

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Suspicion & Strategy

Once the rumor spread, townsfolk started behaving strangely polite toward PB, who was seen twice in two days at The Bees Knees bar. Normally, he sat alone with his newspaper, but this week he was joined by an ever-changing rotation of “concerned citizens” offering to help carry his drink, tie his shoes, or explain how their great-aunt had once been “invaluable to the Whitford family legacy.”

Even the church choir, which had previously refused to perform PB’s request for a mashup of “How Great Thou Art” and “Disco Inferno,” relented and sang it at Wednesday night service — just in case.

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The Leak Becomes a Flood

Lester, realizing too late that his “drip” had become a town-wide flood, tried to backpedal by claiming PB was actually just updating his “Big, Beautiful Grill” warranty. Unfortunately, this only led to rumors about a massive barbecue being part of the inheritance.

By Friday, Clovis was holding “probate planning meetings” at the VFW hall, complete with maps of Whitford Hill, speculative seating charts for the reading of the will, and a sign-up sheet for anyone willing to “act surprised when they get something.”

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PB’s Response

On Saturday afternoon, PB himself addressed the rumors during the intermission of the Cornhole Championship at the fairgrounds.

Dressed in a seersucker suit and wearing a bolo tie shaped like a pecan, he took the microphone:

“Ladies, gentlemen… and Gerald,” he nodded toward his goat, “I can neither confirm nor deny the details of The Big, Beautiful, Will. But I will say this: I’ve made provisions for every citizen of Sequatchie Crossing — human, animal, and otherwise. If you’re breathing or bleating, you might just find yourself mentioned.”

The crowd erupted in applause, speculation, and one premature thank-you speech from Clovis that had to be cut short when his phone rang with an alert about “suspicious clouds over the soccer field.”

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Aftermath

For now, the contents of The Big, Beautiful, Will remain a mystery, but the town has shifted into what Sheriff Peeler calls “High Inheritance Alert.” People are suddenly volunteering at the animal shelter, fixing potholes without asking, and leaving baked goods on PB’s porch.

As Mabel Dean put it while dusting her muffin display,

“If we can keep this kind of behavior going until the will is read, Sequatchie Crossing might just turn into the kind of town you brag about — and if I end up with the muffin grant, well… that’s just the frosting.”

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Key Takeaways from This Episode:

• In Sequatchie Crossing, gossip is faster than the internet.

• A wealthy benefactor’s vague promises can temporarily improve civic behavior.

• Goats with inheritance potential get noticeably more polite treatment.

• “Big, Beautiful” as an adjective is dangerously effective branding.

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Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or deceased, or to actual events is purely coincidental. Sequatchie Crossing exists only in the imagination, where the gossip moves faster than the mail and the goats are always up to something.