Mammoth Secrets (5 page)

Jake obviously had no intention of leaving.

“Uh, you want a cup of coffee or something?”

“That's mighty neighborly of you.”

She pointed toward the downward slope of lawn and the river below. “Deck's got a great view. I'll join you in a minute.”

Inside, Lilah would never get used to the bright red painted walls, the white slip-covered couch barely visible under throw pillows in a rainbow of chartreuse, ginger, and electric blue. Equally colorful framed photographs of red barns and other scenes were clumped together on the trunk serving as a coffee table, and atop the enormous antique steamer that contained dog-eared romance novels. Eden had become quite the photographer.

It didn't dawn on her until this moment that there wasn't a single person in any picture. Lilah frowned at a shot of mist over the river. A blue heron fished by a downed tree. Pretty. Eden should sell these to tourists at the register in a postcard rack. She straightened the shot of Big Bird, the heron, balanced on one leg. Satisfied with the now level picture, Lilah opened Nana's old double-door pie safe, which Eden now used as a china cabinet. The rooster clock above the kitchen back door chirped six a.m. Startled, she juggled two ceramic mugs to the counter.

“You're up early.” Eden spoke through her yawn as Lilah filled cups.

“Couldn't sleep.”

“Me, either. Wanna go yard sale-ing today?” She unpinned her curls, shoving the ties into her robe pocket as each platinum spiral curl stuck out in a new direction. “Emma's having one. Should be some fun bric-a-brac and whatnots. I'm gonna try to convince her to sell me her sewing machine. She needs a new one, with all the home goods she's been making. What is it about getting pregnant that makes a woman want to sew?”

“Wrong person to ask.” Lilah gave a quick prayer for strength to deal with Eden as she talked about praying for Emma's baby, just discovered to be breech. “Course, Emma's a pro in the delivery room. Five babies. Can you imagine? Mmm. Coffee.” Eden's pink slippers shushed across the kitchen floor. “Thanks.”

Lilah gave it to Eden and went for another mug.

“You got company?”

“Just, um, well–” She thumbed toward the porch where Jake sat, waiting. “Yeah.”

“The preacher!” Eden hooted a laugh. “Well, well, look at little Miss Divorcée.”

“Not divorced yet, remember?” Lilah spat. “Might have been if you hadn't decided to help me.”

“That hurts.” She stared at her coffee, took the cream and stirred it. “My guess, we wouldn't have had this problem with the last'n.”

“Nice, Eden.” Lilah shook her head at her sister's offhand slur. “Real nice.”

“What?” Eden blinked.

Lilah trayed two steaming mugs, pitcher of milk, and negotiated her way through the screen door. Maybe she'd lived in California too long.

Twin dragonflies zipped along the grassy slope by the deck, sailing along through shafts of sunlight to light on the river. Papaw and Nana's home up on the hill cast a long shadow over Eden's backyard. A light winked on in Nana's kitchen.

Below, river music played over rocks, its rhythm a steady blend of rushing water and bird calls. The warm humidity promised a pretty first of May.

Jake smiled, took the offered mug, and inhaled French roast. He drank deep, a rumble of pleasure in his throat. “So, wanna talk? Or shall we just watch the river go by?”

Lilah sipped as she sat beside him, gaze trained on the river's dance over the rocks. “Down a bit for this time of year.” She hoped he'd get the message. No amount of chitchat would excuse the prayer chain for their spread of gossip. Or what he knew about her by now.

“Tell me about Mammoth.” He leaned forward, cup in hands.

“How much time've you got?” She took a long drink, and considered his hopeful gaze. Might as well tell it like it is. “Seriously? It's fading. Shops are closed, most people leave, a few stay. It's a place people drive past, you know? On their way to somewhere else.”

“Well, not everyone.” He glanced to his church across the street. The rooftop, missing a few shingles, could just be seen. “I'm here. And you. You came back.”

“You've heard my story by now, I'm sure.”

“Actually, no.” He leaned back in the metal rocker. “Is it a comedy? Or a cautionary tale?”

That made her laugh. Her elbow jostled and coffee splashed her thigh. She blotted it with the cloth he handed her. “Thanks. Sure the prayer chain hasn't left you a list of my latest debacles?”

He frowned into the dark brew. “They mean well—”

“It's just a way to use God to gossip,” she said, blowing the heat from her drink.

“It can be.” Jake nodded, his clear gaze reflecting the hurt that dogged her soul.

They sat in silence while a kingfisher dive-bombed the water and sailed up to its nest, a thrashing trout in its beak.

Jake launched into a story about a similar issue at the church he'd just left.

She drained her coffee, glanced at the house, longing for another.

He smoothed it over with his pastor's story, drawing her in, leading her down a path where she could consider the prayer chain's well-meaning intentions. After a pause, he added. “Try not to be so hard on them.”

“Is that why you stopped by?” She set the mug on the metal table. “To mend my proverbial fences?”

“Actually, I did have a reason. I was thinking about Mammoth's single population.”

“Singles?” Her stomach dropped. “You looking to meet some?”

“Funny.” He leaned back, the springy chair creaked in response. “I was just thinking there's not much to do, for teens or single…newly single adults. Might be nice to offer something at the church, a movie night, or games. Something.”

She collected her mug to have something to hold. He hadn't been asking about her, just brainstorming, so why was her stomach jumping?

“Might be nice. Keep kids out of trouble. Anyway, you should talk to Eden. I've only been back a couple of months. And I'm not in that ‘newly single' category yet.” She scrubbed her bare ring finger, a wide gulf between her and the future.

Below, the heron swooped down to land behind the reeds.

Jake watched the bird stilt its way through the fishing grounds. “You know, you don't have to persecute yourself forever.”

“Just a few more weeks.” She snorted a laugh. “Hopefully.”

His mouth drew into a lazy smile. “So, friends?”

She considered, a heaviness washing behind her eyes. At last, she nodded. Friends it would have to be. “I don't know why you've decided to make me your focus group, Pastor Jake.”

“Let's just say I'm a sucker for hard luck cases.”

She laughed. If only he knew the whole truth.

“I think we're being watched.” He sipped his coffee, tipping his head toward Eden's kitchen window.

She caught sight of white lace curtains flicking back into place.

“Not getting the wrong idea, I hope.”

Nana would be standing at the back door, white hair pinned, brows raised, housecoat zipped to the neck, a disapproving scowl on her pinched lips.

“No. Of course not.” Lilah angled a glance back, considering the cozy scene they must have made. “Not Eden, anyway.”

But Nana was another story altogether.

 

 

 

 

7

 

Jake held the white sign in place, allowing the cement to fix around its base as he thought on that morning's coffee with Lilah. Sweat dampened his brow and he wished he could shake thoughts of the troubled, beautiful Lilah Dale. No, wait. Simpson. Her last name was Simpson. Better remember that for now. Whatever, her in-process divorce was the source of small town scandal that rivaled the ousting of the last pastor, based on the prayer request messages that flashed daily on his machine.

Pray for Lilah, for healing of her marriage.

Please pray for Lilah, that God forgive her for leaving her husband, even if he was a two-timing loser
.

And please, pray for Lilah, that she get her name back. It's all she really wants. After all, that man took everything from her.

He'd kept his distance, but that merely sharpened his hunger to know more about her. Lilah challenged him, first delivering on a promised excellent meal, then sparkling morning conversation. But nothing had startled him more than his instant focus on her. His burning need to find out what made her tick and why she put up with the whispers that circled every time she entered a room. They had so much more in common than she knew.

He could wait until she was free, but would she want to date a small town pastor with small time aspirations? Distant, melancholy, intent on keeping him at arm's distance, but not pushing him away. So why did that make him want to break down her barriers? He'd never felt like that about his ex-wife. Margaret simply was perfect pastor's wife material. Nothing he did ever surprised her, not even when he confronted her about her emotional affair with his more upwardly mobile best friend. She'd just serenely suggested they seek counseling. Never once considering the fact he'd end their marriage. But wasn't that what she'd done? Murdered their chances of happily ever after? At the memory of discovering her trail of texts, all that came after, his hands wrapped tight around the wooden stake.

“Time,” Dad had said. Time and space would heal that wound.

“We'll see.” Jake spoke to the sign. Rubbed the painted office hours. His shortened name, itself a lie.

Was it possible for anyone in the modern era to start over? He doubted it, gave the sign a solid jiggle, and judged it safe to not topple.

Lilah was more likely too wrapped up to care, and that was better for both of them.

Placing the balancing level on top, he pushed and righted the thing, adjusting until the bubble rested in between the black lines.

“Looking good, Pastor Gibb!” Tom's voice called down from the rooftop.

“My sign? Or the roof?”

His contractor hustled down the ladder with ease. Tom thumbed toward the roof. “Unfortunately for the parish, I was talking 'bout your sign.”

Jake straightened. “I think it looks all right—”

“No. Not that.” Tom clapped a work-worn hand on Jake's shoulder. “It's the roof. It needs re-shingling before storms come through. Tornado did a number last year, and that joker—your predecessor—never did have a mind to fix it up right.”

“How much?” Jake thought of the coffers, already low from declining membership.

“Enough.” Tom wiped a bandana across his forehead. “We'll work it out. Fundraisin'll improve after this year's Revival.”

“Revival.” Jake hooked thumbs to belt loops. He'd read up on previous years' turnouts.

“I wanted to talk to you about that...” Tom scratched behind his ear and gave him a wary look, as if unsure of what Jake stood for. “Not really my place to ask, Pastor, but I gotta do it.”

“Go ahead.” Jake fought to keep his smile even and waited.

Tom cleared his throat, turned toward the river. “Mammoth's been through some ups and downs with our little church here.”

Jake nodded, mind scrambling.

“I'm speaking out for the deacons, mind you.” Tom drew a well-worn handkerchief out of his back pocket and rubbed his nose. “We just don't want to cast our lots in the wrong basket, if you're just passing through.”

“I'll stay as long as you'll have me, friend,” Jake said. “No pressing engagements elsewhere.”

“Not exactly a jumping off point for a career.”

True. This man, a small town contractor, hit the nail on the head. Jake studied the post, gave it a pat. “I'm just looking to start my life somewhere that matters. The center of the map seemed a good place to do it.”

Satisfied, Tom nodded. “We sure need it this year, with the Reunion Carnival back in full swing for the first time in a decade. You've seen the trucks. The RVs pulling in? We'll be battling the devil at our door, I promise you.” Tom strode to his work truck. “See you at the deacon's meeting tonight, then.”

Tom Steadman, the only contractor within two hundred miles, buzzed on his merry way down the hill. Toward Earl's Kitchen, Jake gathered. Maybe Lilah was there, slinging burgers, or maybe she'd dreamed up another succulent fish sandwich. The thought of her homemade potato chips set his mouth to watering. Or was it the thought of her slightly crooked grin? The way she cocked her head, looked into his eyes, and really listened to him. Movement across the street caught his attention.

An older woman in pink walking shorts rounded the corner of the chapel, wire-framed glasses and a grin on her crinkle-lined, slender face.

He'd seen Naomi Dale, but had yet to become acquainted with her.

“Well, hey there, Pastor Gibb.”

“Hello.”

“You've met the rest of my family.” She beamed, waited a beat. “I'm Naomi Dale. Earl's wife, Edie and Lilah's grandma.”

“Right.” He clasped her outstretched hand, along with a cloud of plaster dust. His hands were grimy, and he wiped them on his jeans. “Sorry. Working today.”

“Hard work's good for the soul.” She handed him the container. “Brought you a bite of lunch. Eden figured you'd be wantin' something about now.”

“Be sure and thank her for me.” He opened the container to a fully loaded cheeseburger and kettle-cooked chips, surprised at the sudden longing for Lilah's fresh fish sandwich. He closed the box and looked up at the woman who measured him so openly. “Incidentally, how is Lilah adjusting to coming back home?”

“She's still suffering from a case of bad marriage. Until that divorce finalizes.” Mrs. Dale's pale blue, rock hard eyes studied him like a bug to swat. Or step on.

“Those things take time.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “Even when they're fixing a wrong thing.”