Mammoth Secrets (10 page)

“Story goes, Mama was in a car on the way to the hospital to have us,” Lilah continued where Eden had trailed off. “She lost control—maybe wet road, or maybe another car. Anyway, she didn't make it. We did.”

Eden kept her gaze trained on the river.

“Nana got those signs posted and the bumps to rattle you awake. Kids still call it dead man's curve. She never did get the carnival to stop coming through.”

“Did her best to stop folks from going, though,” Lilah added.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Why focus on that?”

“It's the time of year. School's out. Kids get in trouble there.” Lilah shook her head. “Not that there's anything else for a kid in this town to do besides get into trouble.”

“So, Nana and Papaw raised us here on the river. The end.” Eden jangled ice, sipped lemonade.

“And your dad? He died, too?”

The women made brief eye contact but allowed the question to remain unanswered.

“We can go in now,” Eden said.

“Ready to finish making dinner?” Lilah hopped up to go into the kitchen.

He followed, a glance to Eden, still paging through a
Southern Living
. “You coming?”

“Nah. Lilah's the chef. I'm just gonna watch the river go by.”

Inside, Jake leaned against the counter and observed the master at work. Tawny curls escaped their restraint and framed her face with wayward strands. A dishrag apron tied at her waist, Lilah rolled out parchment paper, lined a soldier course of their trout filets over a baking sheet, sprinkled sea salt liberally. A maestro's hands, she drizzled golden olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, diced cubes of tomato and onion and set it to broiling. In no time, heavenly scents of caramelizing onions wafted through the house.

Cornmeal and an empty bowl of batter were on the counter. A basket of fried, round biscuits waited, draining on a cloth. “Those hush puppies?”

“It's a prerequisite for having fish in this house. Eden's one specialty. Plus, I scorched the garlic bread.” Lilah plucked a fried ball, blew it cool, and then popped it in her mouth with a crunch. She held the basket out to him, gave it a tempting shake. “Careful, you can't have just one.”

“I'll risk it.” Jake allowed himself an eyes-closed moment to savor the combination of flavors. Salty-sweet, a subtle hint of onion. He plucked another from the basket. All the while, he couldn't shake the description of their mother's tragic end. What must it be like for Naomi, for the girls, to live right across from that stretch of road.
Lord, how do I help, here?
“Is it very difficult for you?”

“Difficult.” Lilah chased her hush puppy with a long swallow of lemonade. “Is it difficult for you? Having lost your wife?”

“Uh—”

“How long has it been since she died?”

Skewered, his heart spiked with the unspoken truth, a sinking notion it was now a lie. “I-I don't—”

“No.” She stopped him with a word. “I'm sorry. That was cruel of me.” Hand whisking fast in the pan, she spoke again. “I'm sure you understand. It just is. It's my life. My normal.”

“What's normal?” Naomi shuttled into the kitchen and pecked Lilah on the cheek.

Lilah stood blinking as her grandmother moved to sink, rinsed remnants of the earlier fish fry. “Thanks for making dinner. Sorry, hon. You know your Papaw won't eat the fish unless I fry it.” Naomi turned to Jake, apology welling in her clear blue eyes. “Earl had a great day yesterday, even today up until sunset—or I wouldn't have offered you up.”

“I'm glad you did.” He assured her with an earnest smile. “I'm sure looking forward to seeing the whole Dale clan at church tomorrow.”

“Oh, Pastor Gibb!” That brought a bitter blast of laughter as she left the room for more dishes. “If you can get Lilah back to church, the angels'll sing the Hallelujah Chorus. I'll take the lead.”

Lilah stiffened, but said nothing as she stirred a creamy-looking sauce in a pan, balancing it over another pan of boiling water in her makeshift double boiler.

“You don't go to church anymore?” Jake stepped to her side, voice low.

“I'm undecided.”

“That's rich.” Eden clattered in with a tray of empty glasses. “Lilah's not been inside a church since she got married in that Las Vegas chapel.”

Lila's stirring hand screeching to a halt. “Of all the—”

“It's true.” Eden's look all but dared her to say otherwise.

“Just because something's true, doesn't mean you have to shout it to God and everyone. Especially your little gossip partners.”

“Prayer chain!”

“If the shoe fits!” Lilah sniffed and fast whisked her congealing sauce. “Now I've gone and done it.”

“Is it broken?” Eden stepped forward, stared down at the separating sauce.

“I can fix it. Maybe.” She scowled. “Get the lemon juice. Another egg.”

Side by side, the sisters worked the congealing hollandaise. Eden added in more egg yolk, a drizzle of lemon at Lilah's command, unflinching at her sister's drill sergeant tone. To them, there was no one else in the room, as if one mind moved four hands.

He hazarded a glance to Naomi, watching with equal awe, and then she drew him out to the dining room. They sat at the table and waited while the girls worked in the kitchen.

“Are they always like that?”

“Always have been.” Naomi tilted her head toward Lilah, a look of pride on her face. “Lilah's the leader. Eden wants to be. She was a bit lost out here without her sister. But, Eden's also why Lilah came home.”

Another train passed going in the opposite direction.

Naomi twirled a napkin ring. “We raised them for Rebecca. Did the best we could.”

“And their father?”

“There's no father.” Naomi shrugged her slight shoulders, though her ice blue eyes went hard. “Never was.”

“Biology would say otherwise...”

“None that we knew.” Her tone was dismissive.

A cheer interrupted. A victory dance was taking place in the kitchen.

“You are healed!” Lilah pronounced over the sauce in a televangelist voice.

Riotous laughter erupted, followed by immediate silence, and two identical sets of eyes peeked at them from around the corner. With laughter and hugs, any disagreement between the sisters was gone.

Jake caught the slight, sad curl of Naomi Dale's smile, and wondered what she wasn't telling him.

 

 

 

 

 

13

 

Sunday morning, Lilah skipped rocks on the river in the chapel of her own making. She walked the shoreline, hunkered down at the lapping water's edge, and selected a river-smoothed wafer of white quartz. Its surface warmed in her grip as she shook it into the sweet spot between her fingers and let it fly. One. Two. Three. Four skips! A scattering of rings bloomed as the river accepted her gift.

Cherokee Spring falls deafened in an endless watery curtain. But wasn't that the point of being here? This eternal thunder, the mist and scattering of rainbows—this she could understand. Better than the raging words of a brimstone preacher. Perhaps God Himself roared and raged at all of her misdeeds, or perhaps He was just smoothing her like a rough chunk of quartz.

Somewhere, people worried about what style of shoes would be inappropriate at church or wondered if the new pastor would notice the patch on their son's best Sunday britches. Somewhere, people had things to worry about other than getting divorced or whether or not your husband would come after you with murder in his eyes, or if he'd just sign the blasted documents that would set you free.

A blue heron drifted out of the oak trees, broad wings floating it to the ideal place to fish. It dipped toes and long stilts into the water, made a few careful steps with a ducking head, its slender neck cocked, as if daring her to throw another stone.

The soft skid of running shoes sounded before she saw him.

Jake was jogging, sweat beading on his muscular arms darkening the neck and folds of his faded gray t-shirt.

“You're gonna be late for church, Pastor.” She chucked another stone.

The heron floated up, away.

“Whoops. Sorry, big bird.”

It landed farther down the river.

“Just wanted to ask you to come. As a favor.”

“To you? Or to God?” She chucked another. Six skips this time, and the small stone nearly reached the other side. “Some say that nature is the best church of all. Look here, for example. It's almost impossible not to worship Him when you're standing at the base of these falls—amidst His creation. Nana told you I don't go to church? I say, I come to it every day.”

“Just this once, Lilah. Please.”

Hearing her name on his lips sent her stomach to butterflies on the breeze.

He prepared to skip a rock of his own. It sank with a heavy
sploosh.
“Out of practice.” He picked up another stone, held onto it. “I could use a friendly face when I say my piece today.”

“You don't need me there, Pastor Gibb. Eden always smiles at speakers, especially the cute, widower ones. She says it makes them more comfortable.” Lilah skipped another. Five hops, nearly bank to bank. “'Course, the last one never smiled back. She knew he was gay long before anyone else.”

“Actually,” He cleared his throat and continued, “I do need you there. People've got a wrong idea in their head about me. I'm gonna set them straight today. Please come.”

“Wrong idea about what?”

“Just come.” Not waiting for an answer, he plodded toward the little church.

The heron perched himself on a rock in a batch of reeds. Poised, serene, and waiting for the perfect strike, he plunged, drew out a good-sized, wriggling trout and swallowed it whole.

No reason not to see what Jake planned on preaching. He'd looked so worried. So sad. Why he decided to latch onto her for friendship and support, she'd never understand.

The river swept by, gurgling, chuckling as if mocking her. If it knew the reason, the waters weren't telling.

 

~*~

 

The church filled from the vestibule door. The stained glass window cast disjointed, multi-hued morning light over the pews. Thick ruby carpet still held its new-chemical tang, mixing with equally pungent fresh white paint, even though the women's auxiliary had aired out the sanctuary the entire day before and lined the altar with vases of the sweet-smelling roses Jake had ordered clipped from the chapel garden the day before.

While the choir sang about building a cabin on the river, he watched Naomi Dale flinch, and turn to him with an acidic glare.

No, he hadn't noticed the dedication at the entrance to the Rebecca Dale Memorial Rose Garden until that very morning.

The doors opened and another family stumbled inside, found their seat. No sign of Lilah.

He drummed his fingers on the doorframe and considered their chance meeting that morning. Starving for his alone time with the Lord at his side, jogging always cleared his head. Sometimes, he even came up with a last minute sermon idea or answer to a long, drawn-out problem, like when he'd awoken in a cold sweat with no idea what to preach this morning.

Every note sent to him by his parishioners, though with the kindest of intentions, rang empty and God-less. Not that they weren't written with the Lord in mind, but none rang with the truth the Lord placed on his heart.

Last night, Jake returned home alone, as expected, but lonelier than he'd been since his first night in the hotel after leaving Margaret.

No messages. Jake lay awake late into the night, trying not to care that his father hadn't called to offer some encouragement. He and Dad were locked in another stalemate, for his stubbornness, for not working out a bad marriage with a woman who didn't love him and maybe never had. With his father's stubborn streak, there was no chance their deadlock would end soon.

He fell asleep with no sermon ideas. Not until this very morning and the sight of Lilah at the river's edge, tanned legs curled underneath her, her curling blonde ponytail golden in the dawn, skipping stones across the water.

Lilah was alone and yet not lonely. She had a spine in the face of adversity, remained steadfast, an open book, while everyone around her tutted tongues over her sins while shielding their own.

He looked around his church. Wood pews that could hold about two hundred souls. Did place make a difference? Wasn't God everywhere? They'd skipped stones. Thrown them into the…

The sermon knocked him back, as it always did when the pieces clicked into place. The threads of His message became clear. Jake thought of the exact passage he'd have them turn to in their Bibles.

The hymn drew to an end, and Jake walked out past the altar. His palms slickened around the podium while the parishioners raised their voices in the Amen. He spied familiar faces, some he hadn't yet met. The deacons scattered themselves around the sanctuary, though God's house was far from full.

By the time he finished today's message, he knew next Sunday would be far different—they'd fill the place, if for no other reason than to run him out of town. When this group found out Jake was not a widower, but a divorcè—he was sure they'd find fault.

Rita smiled from her seat, hair teased into a gunmetal gray helmet. She shot a slight wave from behind her program.

The room silenced. All gazes turned to him as he read the day's passage from the book of Matthew—the intervention at the stoning.

Eden grinned her support, as predicted by her sister, sandwiched by her grandparents. With a loud creak, the back door opened.

Heads swiveled to view Lilah Dale striding in, her head high, eyes daring, she scrunched in on the other side of her Papaw, carefully avoiding the quizzical gazes from Naomi and Eden.