P.S. The character in this section will have a name change before the final publication. I just have decided on the name I want for her yet.
Eliana couldn’t stop thinking about the day her healing had come. Cleaning flour from the bowl, preparing to cook a meal for her sister’s family after so long, tears were warm on her face.
The morning she had been healed she had sat in the room of the home she’d been confined to for so long, weak, her heart heavy with loneliness and despair, the same as almost every morning for 12 years. Her husband Josiah had divorced her years before, declaring her unclean and unfit to bear him children. She watched him with his new wife from a distance, watched their children grow and felt the ache in her own womb for a child of her own.
“He will come with healing in his wings,” she whispered the morning she had been healed, remembering the prophecy of Malachi.
His wings. She wasn’t sure what that meant but she thought of what she had heard – that John the Baptizer had spoken, saying that a man who came to him for baptism was the one they’d been waiting for, the prophesied messiah. This man was a rabbi, a teacher, but whispers said he was so much more. Healings at his hands. Blind men seeing, crippled walking, souls rejoicing. She closed her eyes, pictured the man and what he might look like. What he might be wearing. She pictured his prayer garment and thought of how the corner of it, the tzitziyot, was called the wings of the garment.
The wings of the garment.
The wings.
With wings.
She felt it first in the pit of her stomach, a hard, hopeful knot. From all she had heard this man was indeed the one who would come to heal, not only her, but all mankind.
He had been easy to find. She had simply followed the crowd that pushed against him. She walked with her head covered, the covering pulled across her face with her hands that she clutched before her face, her head bowed.
Even though Eliana felt that this man called Yeshua was the messiah and knew touching his garment could heal her, she was fearful as she approached him. She was impure and she knew that if she touched him – this pure man – he would also become impure. He paused to speak with a man and someone in the crowd bumped her and she stumbled forward. He was so close. So close. She lowered herself to the ground as he stood, slowing reaching out. If she could just touch — Her hand trembled and she clutched her fingers into a fist, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes, hesitating.
“Adonai, Adonai. . .” she whispered, her lips dry.
She opened her eyes, drew a breath slow into her lungs, and stretched out her hand again, a sob gurling deep in her chest as her fingertips brushed the twisted wool at the edge his prayer shawl. Comfort and warmth flowed through her immediately and the pain she had suffered under for so long was gone. It was gone. She couldn’t feel the crunching agony within her womb. She couldn’t feel anything but peace.
The blood she had felt drip slowly down her leg, off and on, so many days for the last 12 years suddenly stopped. She felt dry where she had wet for so long. Eliana stood abruptly and turned to leave, to go home, get away from the crowds, think about what had happened, about what her future might hold now.
“Who touched my clothes?”
The voice of Yeshua startled Eliana and she looked back to see him looking around him, searching the crowd for the person who had touched him. A lightening bolt of fear coursed through her. She had been careful only to touch the tzitziyot, not him. How had he known? Even one of Yeshua’ followers expressed disbelief that he wanted to know who had touched him and pointed out that people were all around him. Anyone of them could have touched him.
“I felt power go out from me.”
Eliana trembled in fear, her breathing shallow. She clutched her hands together to try to stop the shaking. He knew someone had reached out for his healing. He knew.
How could he know?
How could he know unless. . .?
She watched him and fell instantly to her knees.
The words spilled out of her
“It was me, teacher.”
She felt, rather than saw him turn to her. Her eyes were on the ground, trembles shivering through her. “I have been bleeding, unclean for 12 years. I have been to every doctor. I have tried everything. I was shunned by my family, my community. But when I heard about you – when I heard of those you had healed, I knew – I knew you could take it all away and heal me. I knew you were the one who has been prophesied.”
He kneeled to her level, cupped her chin in his hand. She lifted her eyes slowly, to eyes soft with compassion.
“Your trust has healed you,” he said softly, so soft she could barely hear him. Then he spoke again, louder. “Your trust, daughter, has healed you. Go in peace and be healed of your disease.”
Her sister’s voice yanked Eliana from her memories of the day.
“Eliana! Have you finished the bread?”
“Yes, Ledah, I have.”
“Well, bring it. We are ready for dinner.”
Sunlight poured in through the window of the family home and across the table lined with food. Ledah’s family sat on the floor, children with big brown eyes looking kindly and expectedly at Eliana as she handed her sister the bread mixture. Her sister immediately started cooking the bread over the small fire pit just outside the door.
“We shall celebrate today,” Ledah said with a smile at Eliana as she placed the bread in the bowl. “Jeremiah has slaughtered our best lamb to celebrate your healing. It still makes no sense, but I don’t care. It is a wonderful day!”
Eliana smiled and shrugged. “I don’t understand it either. All I know is when I touched his garment, I was healed. I can’t explain it. I can’t tell you more than that. But I no longer suffer the way I did.”
Ledah shook her head. “It makes no sense, Eliana. A mere man can not heal you by you touching his garment.”
“Then he is not a mere man, is he?”
“Eliana, we have all heard these stories before. Supposed messiahs come to rescue the Jews. Yet here we sit under Roman rule. Don’t start believing all that nonsense now.”
“I don’t know what to believe, yet, but I know what happened to me and I know I am healed, Ledah. I know I have a lightness I have not known for 12 years. This is a gift I can not take lightly.”
Ledah took her older sister’s hand, squeezed it and smiled. “And that’s all that matters. That you are back with us and soon you will live life again among your people.”
Live life again? Eliana didn’t even know what that meant. After so many year alone, watching her husband remarry and have children from afar, she didn’t even know how to enter life again.
She couldn’t imagine any man wanting to marry her, not after she’d been cast aside by her husband. Her chance of having children was gone.
Yet, she had her health again and that in itself opened up hope to her.
And hope? Well, hope meant anything was possible now.
The idea for this book and scenes from it have been swirling in my mind and on the page for probably about a year now. I know a lot of what I share on my blog is going to be edited, tightened, maybe even rewritten. There are two scenes, so far, that I have two different versions written for and I haven’t yet decided which version I’m going to choose to propel the story forward.
The one scene is pivotal for one of my characters and while I’ve been considering changing my initial idea for how her story would play out, I don’t think I’m going to be able to and still move her story where I want it to go in a future book of the series.
I’m cringing at what needs to happen for this character’s story to move forward, but there is no way around it. It has to happen and I’m hoping it comes out the way I want it to.
This writing thing is both a blessing and a curse for an over thinker. I find myself thinking about my characters way more than I should. Every time I share a chapter on here I know that I’ll be heavily editing each chapter in the future and maybe even changing the course of my character’s lives because I change my mind so often. Muhahaha…what power!
Anyhow, enjoy Chapter 10. Catch up with the rest of the story HERE. Find links to the rest of my fiction at the top of the blog.
The sun was high in the sky when Molly carried her lunch to the picnic table her dad had set up outside the barn a few years ago. Her back and legs ached from cleaning out the cow stalls and she knew she’d need a break before she headed to the farm store for her afternoon shift.
She straddled one of the benches and watched Alex sit down across from her, pulling a sub, chips and two sodas from a paper bag.
“Brought your own lunch this time, huh?” she asked.
Alex shrugged. “Nah. Stole Jason’s.”
“Really?” Molly watched him bite into the sub.
He grinned as he chewed. “No. I actually picked up lunch for me and Jason yesterday at Ivy’s Deli. You think I’d come between your brother and a meal? No way. I learned my lesson the hard way in college.”
He pushed a soda toward her. “I’ve got an extra. Want one?”
Molly had promised Liz the night before that she’d cut back on sodas to try to start eating better. She shook her head. “Thanks. I’ll stick to water with lemon.”
She placed her container with a salad with chicken, light Italian dressing and half of an avocado on the table.
Alex scrunched his nose up in disgust. “You’ve got to stop hanging around Liz. All her health food weirdness is rubbing off on you.”
Molly laughed. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. It won’t hurt me to eat a little healthier. Maybe I can even get you to do it.”
Alex talked around a mouthful of chips. “Nope. Not gonna happen, lady.”
Molly watched her dad walking the fence line across the field as she sipped her water.
Alex followed her gaze. He knew Molly was worried about how hard Robert had been working lately. He also knew she didn’t know about the loan payment that was late and he wasn’t about to tell her. Robert and Walt had given him and Jason the heads up a couple of weeks ago, assuring them that the women in the family would be told as soon as the brothers met with the loan officer. Alex knew Molly would be even more worried if she knew about the loan. He would let Robert tell her and he would when the time was right.
He took the opportunity when she didn’t know he was looking at her to study her. He studied her short nose and her reddish-brown hair that she’d pulled back in a ponytail, the curl that had fallen out and was curving around her ear. He studied her eyes, green with flecks of gold and her lips, perfectly kissable if he could ever bring himself to make that move.
He wondered what she would say if she knew he’d heard the conversation between her and Liz; how she didn’t think she was his type and how she totally was his type. He knew he was eventually going to have to let her know how much his type she was.
“Worried about your dad?” he asked.
“Yeah. He works too hard.”
“He does,” Alex shrugged. “but I don’t think he’d know what to do if he wasn’t working. At least he manages to spend time with you and your brother while he works. My dad’s business was his only focus during my childhood and it still is.”
He laughed softly. “Well, that and his latest mistress.”
Molly and Alex had talked about his dad before and every time Molly felt a twinge of sadness for him. She knew his jokes about his dad were a cover for the hurt still there. She moved her gaze from her dad to look at Alex, tilting her head, thinking what to say next. She stabbed a chunk of lettuce with her fork and decided to take a chance on saying something she knew might alienate him.
“You know, Alex, God can be a father to the fatherless.”
Alex licked mustard off his thumb and looked at Molly through narrowed eyes, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah? How is that possible when I can’t even see God. Is he going to throw the celestial ball around with me in the clouds or something?”
Molly laughed. “No, but we can talk to God when we’re feeling down or confused or disappointed in someone who should have been there for us.”
“Hmmmm…yeah. I guess I’m not really into that whole talking to someone I can’t see thing.”
Molly wasn’t deterred. “You can’t see the wind, but you can see the affects of the wind. You can see the wind blowing those tree limbs over there so is the wind real?”
Alex shook his head, laughing softly. “Molly Tanner, you like to screw with people’s minds, don’t you?”
“No. I’m just saying that sometimes we need to think about God differently. Maybe he isn’t just someone up there in the clouds, maybe he’s all around us and affecting our lives more than we think. I don’t know, Alex. I don’t have this all figured out either. I have doubts and —”
“You? You have doubts?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m not perfect. I’m not some angel.”
“No? Now I’m interested,” a broad grin crossed his face as he sat the soda on the table. “Tell me, Molly Tanner, what have you done that would prove to me that you’re no angel.”
Molly cleared her throat and pulled her eyes from his intense gaze, his sly smile. Her cheeks grew warm as he watched her.
“I’ve made mistakes. I’ve had thoughts I shouldn’t have.” Like right now. About how good you look in those jeans and how amazing it would probably be to kiss that mouth. “I’ve said bad things about people. This morning I even cursed when I pinched my finger in the barn door.”
“What did you say? ‘Oh shoot’? ‘My lands’?” Alex laughed.
“Actually, no, it was worse,” Molly answered with a smile of her own. “I’ll just leave it at that.”
“Compared to me, Molly, you are an angel.”
“You’re not so bad that God can’t forgive you and that he can’t still love you. I believe he does. He loves us both, despite our failures and our shortcomings and the ways we think we don’t measure up to his standards.”
Alex sucked down the rest of his soda and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “It’s a nice thought, Molly-belle but I don’t know if I buy it. Life seems pretty random and unplanned to me and I like it that way. I don’t like the idea of being a puppet for some higher being in the sky.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “We’re not his puppets. We’re his children and he wants the best for us.”
Alex swung his leg over the picnic table bench and stood up. “OK, little lady. Enough church for today. I’ve got some work to finish up in the barn. See you there?”
Molly drank more of her water. “Not today. I have the afternoon shift at the store and then I told Ginny Jefferies I’d go to an art class with her.”
“Okay. Well, enjoy your art class.”
Alex shook his head when he reached his truck, laughing softly to himself. How had he fallen for a girl like Molly? A girl so pristine and proper in her thoughts she made Mother Theresa look mean. Sure, she claimed she had inappropriate thoughts, but he highly doubted it. Someone who talked and thought that much about a mystical being in the sky didn’t have time for thoughts that weren’t in line with what her parents had taught her.
He tossed what remained of his lunch in his truck and headed toward the barn, still pondering what inappropriate thoughts Molly Tanner might have had.
***
Ned stared at Franny from a faded black and white photograph. The photograph didn’t have to be in color for her to remember his bright green eyes or sandy blond hair he swept off to one side. And how handsome he had looked in his uniform that day he’d signed up for the Army. She’d never imagined that a couple of years later that uniform would take him on a ship, far away from her, to war. But when he came back, he’d dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him. She couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough.
She remembered the tender kisses, the soft caresses, oh, yes, she did. Her children and grandchildren probably thought she was too old to remember what it felt like to be in love, to be kissed for the first time by the man you were in love with, but she wasn’t. She remembered it all like it was yesterday.
There was a chill in the air that night and she’d worn her favorite white sweater with the pink flowers for their walk around the town square. He’d been so shy, finally reaching over and taking her hand in his as they circled the gazebo for the third time. He’d stopped in front of the gazebo, under the street lamp, turned toward her and cupped her face in his hands. Her heart had been pounding and when his mouth covered her’s she felt like her insides evaporated into a fine mist. She was floating on air.
He smiled and laughed sheepishly when he pulled back, looking down at her.
“I can’t believe it took me so long to kiss you,” he’d whispered.
She couldn’t believe it hadn’t taken him so long either.
She set the picture back on the top of her dresser, wiping a tear from her cheek. It all seemed like yesterday, but it hadn’t been yesterday. It had been 56 years ago and now here she was, alone in this house, without the man who had made it a home for her.
He’d come home from the war, married her and she’d moved to the farm to become a farmer’s wife. At first, they had lived with his parents and then a new house had been built up the road. It was a tough few years, that’s for sure. Walter was born first, then Hannah, then Robert, back-to-back. Money had been tight, but Ned had worked hard with his father to keep the farm going. Producing the best milk in the region was Ned’s goal and he met that goal year after year until the early 60s when a test on the milk came back saying their milk was unsafe.
Ned was beside himself with worry and sank into a deep depression. It was the first time Franny couldn’t seem to soothe him and not even prayer seemed to help. For two weeks Ned paced and wrung his hands. His milk had to be tested again and until then their milk couldn’t be sold. They’d sold vegetables from the fields at a roadside booth to try to make ends meet until the milk was tested again.
“Sorry, Mr. Tanner,” the inspector had said after the second test, stretching his hand out. “It looks like our test was wrong last time. There’s not a thing wrong with your supply. I hope this hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience.”
Franny had thought Ned might bite clear through his tongue and bottom lip the way he clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together. She knew he was literally biting his tongue.
“Not at all,” he said finally, his grip tight on the inspector’s hand.
Things had run smoother after that, but of course there were always the droughts, the flooding, the occasional years when bugs or frost destroyed entire crops or one disease or another spread through the herd. Still, no matter what life through at them, Ned and Franny had been in it together.
Them and God.
A cord of three strands was not easily broken and they had not been broken, despite it all. That was until Ned’s diagnosis when Franny had felt more broken than she’d ever felt before. She’d overcome two miscarriages, the loss of her parents and one brother, but somehow, she felt like she might never overcome the loss of Ned.
She sighed, catching sight of her Bible on the bedside table. It had a thick layer of dust on it and she knew she should wipe it off and open it, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was mad at God. Plain and simple. She couldn’t deny it to herself or anyone else, and she knew God already knew. She was mad at him for taking Ned from her when they’d had so many plans together.
Maybe that’s why she’d been so annoyed with the visit by the pastor. There he stood representing the naivety of the Church as a whole. Millions believing what she now struggled to believe — that God was for her and not against her; that he wanted to prosper her and not harm her. Hadn’t the loss of Ned harmed her? What greater purpose had it served to pull him from the earth when he’d finally had the time to relax and enjoy life; to enjoy life with her?
She hadn’t set foot in the church since the day of Ned’s funeral. She couldn’t even bring herself to attend the retirement gathering for Pastor Larson who had officiated not only Ned’s funeral but all three of her children’s weddings. He’d pastored Calvary Church for 45 years and counseled Franny more times than she could even remember. But she couldn’t bring herself to stand under the roof of a building built as God’s house. She didn’t want God to have the chance to even try to talk to her. While her Christian upbringing had taught her that he could talk to her whenever and wherever he wanted, she felt walking herself right into the lion’s den might give him even more opportunity to try to reach her again, when she didn’t want to be reached.
And then there were all those sad looking parishioners waiting for her there. All those people looking at her in pity, treating her like she wasn’t just plain old Franny anymore.
She scoffed, flicking a dead fly off the window sill. She guessed in some ways she wasn’t the same Franny anymore, the more she thought about it. She had definitely changed. Death did that to a person. She was a widow now. Her heart was broken.
Worst of all, she’d lost a piece of herself and maybe even all of who she used to be, and she had no idea how to find herself again.
She hated that she’d taken her anger with God out on young Pastor Fields. He didn’t deserve it. He’d only been trying to reach out, to offer her comfort in her time of need. Maybe she would find a way to apologize to him. Hopefully at the bake sale. If she could bring herself to go and face all the sad eyes and pushed out bottom lips, the tilting heads and the voices that spoke to her as if she was child.
As if she’d lost all her facilities simply because she’d lost her husband.
“Oh, Mrs. Tanner, so good to see you. How are you, hon’?”
“Let me do that for you, Mrs. Tanner.”
Heads cocked to one side with pity-filled expressions as they said things like, “Ned was a good man.” Or, “We sure do miss him.” Or, “It must be lonely up there in that house with Ned gone.”
She knew they all meant well, but she could only smile and nod and thank them so often before she wanted to scream and run away. Even if her old legs would let her run away, she knew her eyesight wouldn’t. She was having more and more trouble seeing. She was running into the corners of tables, tripping over shoes she’d forgot to put on the shoe rack, losing her glasses and maybe even her mind. Wouldn’t that just be her luck? Losing her husband, her eyesight, and her mental facilities in less than two years.
Lately it seemed that if she didn’t have bad luck, she wouldn’t have any luck at all.
In April I shared Quarantined, a short story based on current events. This week I had an idea for a second short story jumping off from the characters I mentioned in Quarantined. This is the first part. You can find links to my other fiction serials I’m sharing on the blog at the top of the page under “Fully Alive” and “The Farmer’s Daughter.” Links to my books for sale are also available under the link at Books for Sale at the top of the page.
Matthew Grant’s conversation with his brother Liam had made him uncomfortable.
Liam’s marriage was in shambles, but Matthew knew Liam still loved his wife Maddie and Maddie still loved Liam. If they didn’t still love each other they wouldn’t be struggling so much with the idea of divorce. It couldn’t be easy being quarantined together during a pandemic with all the issues they had with each other but Matthew was glad they were. Maybe they’d work out some of those issues and save what had been a great union at one time. As it was, their divorce proceedings had been delayed because of the pandemic. As Matthew saw it, this was a way for them to buy more time and truly be sure the divorce was what they wanted.
What made Matthew uncomfortable wasn’t only that he could hear pain mixed with longing in his brother’s voice when they had talked on the video call. It was also that he wondered, worried even, if similar marital trials might one day pull at his own marriage. Maybe it already was happening and he had been too wrapped up in himself to realize it.
Matthew and Cassie hadn’t had a lot of time alone lately. Their life had been a runaway train since the election two years ago. In Washington he faced daily drama and conflict whether he wanted to or not. Becoming the youngest head of the Intel Committee hadn’t helped slow things down any either.
Then there was this crazy never-before-seen virus that seemed to come out of nowhere a few weeks ago and now had him at home with his family, waiting to see if he developed any symptoms after being exposed to it more than a week ago. He was convinced if he had the virus he would have developed symptoms by now, but he stayed home to make sure things looked good to the press and his constituents. Making sure things “looked good and right” to others seemed to be 90 percent of his job anymore, leaving little room for him to actually accomplish the things he’d been elected to do.
All the drama in the House of Representatives left him little time to focus on Cassie or the kids and he regretted that. He regretted it even more when his brother’s march toward divorce had become a growing reality. He’d never pictured Liam and Maddie divorced. They were the perfect couple. They’d weathered some hard storms, including the miscarriages, but Matthew had been sure the challenges would bring them closer together. In fact, he thought it had but maybe he’d been too wrapped up in the campaign to pay attention.
Matthew and Liam’s parents had provided for them the perfect example of a stable, loving marriage. Married 54 years, Bert and Phyllis Grant made it clear each day how much they loved each other. Sure, they had argued, even in front of their children, but those arguments had been resolved usually before the sun had gone down and with a fair amount of ‘making up’. Matthew and Liam, and his sister Lana had been grateful the majority of that making up had gone on behind closed doors.
Standing from the couch to stretch, Matthew looked out the window at his own three children playing ball in the backyard and felt a twinge of guilt. Getting pregnant and carrying three babies to term had been easy for him and Cassie. They’d never had to face the heartbreak of not being able to get pregnant or of a miscarriage. Matthew felt like he’d take it all for granted.
He looked around his living room, well decorated with expensive furniture and commissioned paintings, and thought about how much of his life he had taken for granted, especially lately. He’d taken for granted the newer model car he drove, the highly rated bed he slept on, the full refrigerator and even fuller bank account.
He rubbed his hand along his chin and turned toward the kitchen where Cassie was making a late lunch for him and the kids. Her dark brown hair fell to her waist in a tight braid, the bottom of it grazing the top of the waist band of a pair of red workout shorts. Her favorite tshirt, featuring Johnny Cash wearing a cowboy hat, fit her medium build well, hugging all the areas it should, especially for the benefit of her husband admiring the view that he hadn’t admired for a long time. He watched her stirring the taco meat in the skillet and his gaze traveled down her legs and back up again, thinking about the first time they’d met in an English lecture at college.
“Pst.”
He’d leaned over the desk to try to get her attention but she was intently focused on the professor. He had tried again.
“Pst.”
She glared over her shoulder at him.
“Do you have an extra pen?” he whispered.
She rolled her eyes, ignored him, tapping the end of her own pen against her cheek gently as she kept her eyes focused forward.
“It’s just,” he leaned a little closer so he didn’t interrupt the other students. “I left my pen back in my dorm room and I want to make sure I’m taking notes.”
He was glad he had leaned a little closer. She smelled amazing. What was that perfume? He had no idea but it was intoxicating. Maybe it was her shampoo. The fluorescent light from the lecture hall was reflecting off her luxurious black strands of hair and he pondered what it would feel like to reach out and touch it. But he didn’t reach out and touch it. That would be weird. Even a 19-year old college freshman like himself knew that.
A year later, though, he was touching that soft dark hair while he kissed Cassie for the first time outside her dorm after their third date. And over the years he’d sank his hands in that hair in moments of tenderness and moments of passion. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched his wife and thought about a few of those moments, including that time in the back of his new car after he’d landed that job at the law firm outside of Boston.
He could deny it. It wasn’t only the material things of his life that he had taken for granted. He had also been taking Cassie for granted. For far too long.
We are on Chapter 9 already of The Farmer’s Daughter and I will tell you I’m not sure what’s coming after Chapter 11 because I haven’t hit a writer’s block but I have hit a challenge of where I want to put certain chapters or events and how I want to write a couple of them. I also worry about the chapters I share on the blog being too long, but well, if they are too long for you, just don’t read them. *wink*
Let me know in the comments if you’re falling in love with the characters as much as I am and what direction you hope to see the story take.
If you’re interested in other fiction pieces I’ve written you can find them here on the blog (links at the top of the page), or on Amazon and B&N.
If you want to follow the rest of The Farmer’s Daughter, from the beginning, click HERE.
Alex cracked open a soda and leaned back against the porch railing of the old farmhouse, looking out over the recently harvested fields and breathing in deep the smell of freshly cut hay. He missed his normal beer, but alcohol had become too much of a crutch for him these last few years. He was doing his best to drink less beer and more water and soda.
He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin and jawline, pondering if he should shave it off before he headed back to the barn after lunch. He’d been clean shaven when he first arrived at the Tanner’s farm, five years ago. He couldn’t even believe that next week would make it five years exactly. So much had changed for him since that day.
“Hey, Dad, this is Alex. He needs a job,” Jason had said a few moments after they had walked in the Tanner’s farmhouse, two years after their college graduation. He was grinning while Alex’s face flushed red with embarrassment. He felt like a loser whose friend had to find a job for him because he was too inept to find one himself.
Robert, sitting at the kitchen table, peered around the newspaper he was reading and looked Alex up and down, a somber look on his face.
“Know anything about farming?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Alex said honestly, shoving his hands down in his jean pockets nervously. “But I’m willing to learn.”
Robert laid the paper down, leaned back in his chair and frowned. He tapped his fingers on the table and then a smile slowly tilted his mouth upward.
“It’s a good thing Jason already mentioned you might be coming home with him. We need a hired hand to help around the farm. My wife’s parents’ home will be able to move into by the end of the week since they’re moving to a condo in town.”
Robert stood and reached his hand out toward Alex. Alex took it, shaking it firmly.
“Glad to have you on board,” Robert said.
In the next year, Alex worked hard, wanting to please the man he saw care for his family, day in and day out, rarely taking a break, on constant call with farm work, first with his father and brother and then when the elder Tanner passed away, his brother and son. He’d watched Robert try hard to help his fellow farmers, buying their land when they could no longer farm, offering them jobs on his farm or at the family’s farm store. He’d been there when Robert’s father had disappeared further into dementia, then passed away, and he’d watched the family’s farm store expand from selling organic meats and dairy, eggs and vegetables to now offering flowers, plants, and even farming and gardening equipment.
Over those years, Robert had become like a father to Alex, teaching him how to work hard, how to run a business, and more importantly, how to care for a family. So far, though, Alex wasn’t anywhere near starting a family, or ready to care for one on his own. There were days he wasn’t even sure this was what he wanted for his future – to work on a small family farm in the middle of nowhere.
But there were other days, when he looked back on a day filled with accomplishments, when he could sit back and smell the freshly harvested field, that he could imagine himself living his whole life growing food in the soil, caring for the cows that gave the nation its’ dairy, and helping a family support themselves through the work of their hands.
Annie had become the mother he’d never had in his own – caring, nurturing, and understanding. After six months of living in the home Annie had grown up in and working for her husband, he’d found himself sick with a cold and alternating between shivering and burning up as he cleaned out the stalls.
“Alex, you need to come inside and let me make you some tea and honey,” Annie said, standing in the barn doorway, dressed in brown overalls and a thick winter coat.
“I’m okay, Mrs. Tanner, but th – “
“Don’t argue, young man,” Annie said. “You’ll be no good to anyone if that junk gets into your lungs. Get on in here. Robert can do without you for a few hours. You’ll have some tea and lay down in the spare room. No use arguing.”
She turned quickly and began walking toward the house.
Robert stood up from where he’d been inspecting the underside of a cow and jerked his head toward his retreating wife.
“You’d better listen to her. When she gets something into her head, she won’t let it go. Besides, Henry is coming in at 10 and I know he can help us while you rest.”
Inside the house, Annie set a cup of steaming hot tea in front of him at the table.
“Try leaning over that and breathing it in. It will help your nose loosen up.”
Alex nodded and did as he was told.
“Did your mom do this to you when you were young? I bet she did. All my bossing around is probably making you feel like a little boy again.”
Alex stared at the steam swirling up toward him and thought about his mom, how she’d almost never been maternal, though he was sure she had loved him and his brother. When he and Sam were sick, she had sent them to their rooms and set toast and juice in front of them and turned on a cartoon. She never felt foreheads or took temperatures, but sometimes took them to the doctor if the illness hit them hard enough.
“My mom wasn’t really – uh- maternal,” he said with a shrug. “She loved me and Sam. She just didn’t know how to be . . . comforting, I guess you would say.”
Annie turned from the stove and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m sorry to hear that. That must have been hard for you and your brother.”
Alex shrugged again. “In some ways. But we turned out okay. I always considered us lucky. We were well fed, had whatever we wanted, except the attention of our parents, of course. They didn’t beat us, so there’s that at least.”
Annie sighed and held her hand against Alex’s forehead.
“But a little love shown shouldn’t have been too much to ask. You’re burning up. I’ll get that spare room set up for you. I want you to sip that tea and then I’ll give you a dose of elderberry syrup and pull out the Vapo rub and put it by the bed. I’ll make chicken soup for lunch.”
Alex shook his head as she walked toward the stairs, amazed at her kindness, especially toward someone who wasn’t even a member of her family. It wasn’t long, though, that Alex began to feel like a member of the family. Jason had already been like another brother. Robert became his surrogate father, Annie his surrogate mother. Even Franny and Ned treated him like he was one of their own, or at least Ned did before he forgot who almost everyone was.
And then there was Molly.
Beautiful, sweet Molly.
He let out a deep breath, clutched at his hair and lowered his head into his hands, trying to shake the image of her shapely figure backlit by the setting sun, standing across from him in the barn. He remembered clearly the day he’d first noticed how beautiful she’d become, how grown up she was looking. It had been three years ago and they had been talking about their favorite music, where they saw themselves in ten years, and what the future held for small family farms, a topic Alex never imagined he’d be concerned with.
“I guess I figured I would be writing for a major magazine or newspaper by now,” Molly said, leaning back against a hay bale, sliding her arms behind her head. “Maybe that’s just not what God has planned for me or maybe I messed up his plans by not finishing my degree. I don’t know. Do you think we can mess up God’s plans?”
Alex felt uneasy but tried not to show it.
“Not sure,” he said casually, leaning on the rake handle. “I’ve never thought much about God, let alone if He, She, or They, has ever directed my path in life. If a higher power is up there, it would have been nicer if he’d directed my life in a few different directions over the years.”
The sunlight pouring in from the window high in the top of the barn hit Molly’s hair and highlighted her red-blond curls. Her skin was smooth, her eyes bright, her shirt pulled tightly against her full, shapely figure. His pulse quickened and he quickly looked away from the curve of her throat, knowing his gaze would keep slipping lower if he let it. He mentally scolded himself, feeling like a dirty old man until he remembered they were still both in their 20s at the time, him only four years older. It wasn’t as if he was old enough to be her father.
Molly looked over at him, moving her arms from behind her head and leaning on her elbow against the hay bale.
He saw compassion in her eyes as she spoke. “But, don’t you think that one of the greatest gifts God could have given us is our own free will? We make our own decisions and sometimes we make the wrong ones because we don’t listen to what God is telling us so maybe it isn’t that he didn’t direct our life but we didn’t follow his directions.”
Alex laughed and shook his head. “I’m not the one you want to have a deep theological discussion with.” He tapped his temple with his finger. “There’s nothing deep in here.”
Molly smiled and his stomach quivered in a way he’d never felt before. “I highly doubt that, Alex Stone. I have a feeling there’s a lot more to you than you let on.”
She tossed a handful of straw at him and skipped past him on the way to the house. He’d watched her walk away, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure before he took a deep breath and softly exhaled a curse word.
“Dang, Molly Tanner, how’d you get so beautiful?” he’d asked himself out loud, maybe a bit too loud. He’d looked around quickly to make sure Jason or Robert weren’t somewhere behind him.
For two years now he had tried to ignore the way she was starting to affect him – the pounding heart, the rush of excitement that rumbled through his veins when he heard her voice or saw her walking across the yard toward the barn.
Why couldn’t he just make a move on her already? He’d never felt afraid to tell, even show a girl how he’d felt – until he met Molly. Molly was different, but he couldn’t really explain how. Maybe it was because he’d developed a friendship with Molly before he’d started feeling a strong attraction to her. Before meeting Molly, he’d always acted on instinct, moving into a physical relationship even if he hadn’t spent time getting to know the woman.
He knew it wasn’t only a fear of rejection stopping him from telling Molly how he felt. He worried how Robert, Annie and Jason would react. Would they see him as someone who had taken advantage of their kindness simply to get close to their beautiful daughter and sister? He couldn’t imagine losing their respect and love, yet he also couldn’t imagine his future without telling Molly how he felt.
Rejection and fear of the reactions of others, including Molly’s, wasn’t Alex’s only concern, though. He’d had a fear of attempting longtime commitment for years, always afraid he’d end up like his parents – in a loveless marriage of convenience. What if he told Molly how he felt, only to pull away from her in fear, refusing to open himself up to her fully and hurting her in the process? Could he even open himself to her? He couldn’t deny he was afraid to try. He’d never been able to do open himself up with any other woman. When they’d tried to go deeper than surface level, he’d broken it off and walked away from them, ignoring their calls or visits.
At one point he’d even considered leaving the farm, going back to Maryland, looking for work in computers, so he didn’t have to face his feelings for Molly. His attraction to her had always been stronger than the fear, though, and he’d stayed on, happy simply to be near her.
Now, though, he wanted to be more than near her, more than simply a co-worker. He wanted to be her confidant and her to be his. And he wanted to hold her, to show her he felt a tenderness for her he’d never felt for anyone else. More than simply wanting a relationship with her, he somehow felt he needed it.
***
Mavis Porter was already busy giving orders in the church basement when Molly arrived with the Tanner’s contributions of chocolate and carrot cakes two days before the sale.
“We’ll need someone to man the purse and the shoe areas,” Mavis said, clipboard in hand, her blue-gray hair piled on her head in a tight bun, her face long and mouth pursed together.
“I’m available,” Dixie West said, though Molly noticed the reluctance in her voice.
Mavis scribbled on the clipboard.
“Dixie in purses and shoes,” she said, focused on the clipboard. “Perfect.” She spoke to Molly without even looking up.
“Molly, are those the cakes from you and your mom?”
Molly opened her mouth to answer.
“Good,” Mavis said before Molly could answer, her eyes still focused on the clipboard. “Put them over in the kitchen with the others. I have you down to watch the table from 8:30 to noon on Saturday. Will that do?”
Molly opened her mouth to answer.
“Good,” Mavis said, again before Molly could answer. “Make sure you’re on time this year, please.”
Mavis swung around and marched across the basement floor, never looking up from her precious clipboard.
Molly sighed and carried the box with the cakes to the kitchen. One day she was going to find a way to stand up to Mavis Porter, but today was apparently not that day.
“On bake sale duty again?” Maddie Simpson asked, unloading her own cakes onto the counter in the kitchen.
“Of course,” Molly said. “At least she only put me on for four hours this time, unlike last year when I had to sit there all day.”
“I’m on kids clothes again this year,” Maddie said with an eye roll. “I have the morning shift.”
Molly winced. “That might be worse than the baked goods table.”
“All those moms ripping apart the table, looking for the cutest clothes in the just the right sizes,” Maddie said, shaking her head. “And then the pushing and the shoving when two moms grab the same outfit. Last year I thought we were going to have to call Reggie to break them apart.”
Molly laughed, thinking of Chief Reggie Stanton pushing his way between two battling moms, his large belly a barrier between them. Reggie led a small police force of five police officers, including himself. The small town of Spencer was lucky not to have a high crime rate, but the Spencer Police Department was there to break up fist fights, respond to car accidents and fires, and answer the call if someone locked themselves out of their car or a cat got stuck up a tree.
The chief was there to oversee it all and sometimes he even managed to do something. It wasn’t unusual to see Reggie standing to one side shouting orders to one of his officers.
“That’s right, Sgt. McGee. Get him down and you can cuff him while I read him his rights.”
“Don’t be afraid to stand up to, ‘im, Billy. He’s not that much bigger than you.”
“If you keep running that mouth of yours, I’ll have Officer Wilson here take you outside and read you your rights, you understand?”
Reggie even managed to yell orders for the driver to stop when Officer John Vanfleet was dragged down Route 220 at 25 mph while trying to open the car door of a suspected drunk driver.
“Stop! If you don’t stop, I’ll have you up on charges of attempted murder!” he yelled, not even bothering to try to chase the car.
It took two other officers to jump into the passenger side window and rip the car into neutral, finally stopping it.
For all his moments of laziness, though, Reggie was still the glue that held the force together, always willing to go to bat for his officers at the borough council meeting, asking for better healthcare or raises or even new uniforms or equipment.
Alice Bouse walked into the kitchen and sat a box of pies on the counter.
“What duty did you get this year?” she asked Molly.
“Manning the bake sale, like every year,” Molly said
“She’s nothing if not predictable,” Alice said with a heavy sigh. “I’m stuck on the register for the first half of the morning. I hate that job. That’s where people try to haggle us down in our prices. Every year I have to remind people ‘this is for charity.’ It really gets old after a while.”
“We’re all old,” Helen Maynard said slinging her box onto the counter and pulling out bags of homemade cookies, already labeled for sale.
“No, I said, the price haggling gets old,” Alice said.
“That too,” Helen said.
Emily Fields, Pastor Joe’s wife entered the kitchen with a box of pies.
“Is this where I should put the baked goods?” she asked softly.
“This is the place,” Molly said with a smile and a lavish gesture toward the counter.
“So glad you are contributing, Mrs. Fields,” Helen said. “Your pies are fantastic. That blueberry one you made for the potluck supper for the graduates at church was outstanding.”
Emily’s straight auburn hair pushed back off her face with a dark blue head band, highlighted her pale skin and bright green eyes.
She laughed and her cheeks flushed red, making her skin even more iridescent. “Oh, thank you. Pies seem to be the only thing I can bake. I have the innate talent of ruining even boxed cakes and burning all cookies. And please call me Emily. Mrs. Fields makes me feel so old.”
“You’re definitely not old,” Maddie laughed. “You’re one of the youngest pastor’s wives we’ve had at this church since I first started attending as a child.”
Alice started stacking Emily’s pies next to hers. “But you know who is old? Millie Baker. Did you all hear about what she did?”
Molly and the others shook their head.
“Well, she thought she was hitting the brake in her car this morning outside the Dollar General but instead she hit the accelerator and drove right into the side of the building.”
“No!” Maddie said. “Is she okay?”
“Yep, but the store isn’t,” Helen said. “Lew Derry was behind the counter and Lanny Wheeler said it was the fastest he’d ever seen him move, considering he’s usually high on that weed he smokes.”
“My goodness,” Alice said, shaking her head. “Someone is going to have to tell Millie she can’t drive anymore. She’s not safe on the road. That Dollar Store could have been the playground and that brick wall could have been a child.”
Helen shook her head. “Well, I’m not telling her. She’ll probably hit me with that cane of hers. Make her daughter do it.”
Molly laughed. “I should have my Aunt Hannah do it. She’s the one who told my grandmother she shouldn’t be driving anymore when she drove into the back of that garbage truck.”
“How did she take it?” Maddie asked.
“Not well,” Molly said. “We caught her behind the wheel last week.”
“So maybe Hannah isn’t the best person to talk to Millie,” Alice laughed.
“It’s not Aunt Hannah’s fault. Grandma is terribly stubborn.”
Helen took a chocolate chip cookie out of one of her bags and bit into it.
“How’s your grandma been doing anyhow?” she asked. “Besides driving into the back of garbage trucks. Since your grandpa passed, I mean.”
Molly took out the last of her cakes and sighed. “She’s struggling, to be honest, but she wouldn’t want me to share that with anyone else so I probably shouldn’t be. . .”
Emily laid her hand against Molly’s arm. “We’ll be praying for her.”
“Thank you,” Molly said. “I’d appreciate that. Losing Grandpa was hard enough but now having to admit she doesn’t see as well as she used to — it’s just been hard on her.”
Joe huffed into the kitchen carrying a cardboard box filled to the top with pies.
“Are those more of Emily’s pies?” Alice asked.
“Sure are,” Joe said. “Best blueberry pie around.”
“Oh wow!” Maddie said. “You must have been baking for days! These look great. I am definitely going to be picking up one.”
Across the room Mavis gestured, showing Jeffrey Staples where to move the tables and chairs for the sale.
Pastor Joe glanced through the open window as he unloaded the pies. “So, I see Mavis’ organization skills come in handy for this rummage sale. What a blessing to have someone with that gift in our church.”
“I didn’t realize that being bossy was a God-given gift,” Maddie said with a snort.
Pastor Joe laughed. “Well, I think maybe it can be. Even if we don’t always see it that way. Those with that gift often keep us on track.”
Molly smiled as she helped the pastor stack the pies. “They also keep us closer to God while we pray for him to give us strength to deal with them.”
The other ladies laughed and nodded their heads in agreement while Pastor Joe just smiled and shook his head, deciding he would keep his comments to himself.
“What do you think you’ll do, Yeshua? Save a girl who is already dead?”
The men laughed.
“What a fool!”
“Who does he think he is?”
“Oh, don’t you remember? He is the son of God.”
More laughter.
“If you hadn’t stopped to talk to that unclean woman, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“Go, we don’t need you here! She’s gone!”
“Clear this house so only your family is here.”
Jairus woke with a start. His memories of that day lingered in his mind as the fog of sleep faded.
It had been two years since Josefa had been raised from the dead. There were some parts of the story he wondered if he had imagined, yet he heard the voices in his dreams each night, seconds before he drifted off to sleep. Josefa often told him the same happened to her.
She wasn’t sure if her memories were dreams or her dreams were memories. She often asked Jairus about the day and what he remembered.
Sometimes Jairus answered, other times he waved her away, told her to go outside and play with her friends, be a child, enjoy life. There was only so many times he could talk about it, still unsure of what had happened and what he should believe.
He thought about the day at the temple. The day the man had reached up, asked Yeshua to heal his hand. Jairus could feel the anger coming off the other synagogue leaders, rabbis, and teachers.
“He would not dare to try his antics on Shabbat,” Rabbi Avigdor whispered bitterly, his face was twisted in disgust.
When Yeshua had told the man to step forward a hush settled over the leaders in the temple. Yeshua turned and looked at each man, as if searching for just one there who might have compassion on the man.
“You know healing is forbidden on Shabbat,” one of the leaders said curtly, as if to answer his gaze.
“Is it lawful on Shabbat to do good or to do evil, to save a life or to kill?”
The leaders pulled their gaze from Yeshua’s and looked at the stone floor, their sandals, anywhere but at the man they had allowed to speak within their walls and now seemed to be challenging them. They fell silent, unwilling to answer him.
Jairus could only watch in surprise. He saw anger mixed with sadness flicker in Yeshua’ eyes before Yeshua turned away from the other leaders to face the man.
“Stretch out your hand,” Yeshua said firmly.
Jairus could tell it pained the man to reveal the withered hand as he lifted it toward Yeshua.
Yeshua laid his hand over the man’s and when he withdrew it, the marks that had been there were gone. A murmur of shock rippled throughout the crowd of men who had been watching.
“Blasphemy!” Avigdor spat, his body visibly trembling with anger.
“I refuse to stand here and watch this man mock our laws and our traditions. Levi, Micha, Moshe, come with me.”
Jairus pondered in amazement at the man flexing his fingers, staring at his hand in shock and wonder.
“My hand!” the man’s face was wet with tears. He took Yeshua’ hand and kissed it. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“Jairus!” Avigdor shouted for him from the doorway.
Jairus looked away from Yeshua and the man as Avigdor jerk his head toward the front steps.
He followed the rabbi into the bright sunlight and heat of the day.
“Jairus, tell me you don’t believe the blasphemy of this man?” Avigdor snapped at him.
Rabbi Levi didn’t wait for Jairus to answer. He was incredulous. “Must we again listen to another self-proclaimed messiah?”
“We will not. But too many people – they are already following him,” Avigdor said sharply. “We can not let his man lead our people out of the will of God.”
Levi shook his head and put his hand behind his back.
“But what can we do? How can we stop him?”
Jairus stood outside of the group, tugging at his beard.
“I think we should wait – see what else he says. He may stumble eventually,” he offered finally.
“Wait for what? For him to lead a revolt against us or even worse cause more issues with the Romans?” Avigdor growled. “Jairus, don’t be foolish –“
“Maybe he’s right,” Rabbi Micha took his turn to speak, holding his hand up as if to pause their racing thoughts. “The people will eventually see that this Yeshua isn’t who they think he is. They’ll eventually see he brings them empty promises. If we leave him alone he will eventually stumble and make a fool of himself.”
“He already speaks blasphemy. He already mocks our ways,” Avigdor snapped. “What more should we wait for?”
Rabbi Levi put his hand gently on Avigdor’s shoulder. “Shabbat is almost over. Let us try to calm ourselves and pray. We won’t help matters yelling and screaming when we are so fired up. We will return to this topic after Shabbat, when we’ve had time to clear our heads.”
Levi was often the voice of reason and the one who could calm Avigdor, but this was one time Jairus wasn’t sure it would work.
Avigdor shook his head, looked at the ground for a moment and then looked at Levi.
“You are right, Levi. I will bring this up again after Sabbath,” he said, still with an edge to his voice, but now calmer than before. “But I can not promise you my opinion will not be the same.”
Jairus followed behind the men then paused and looked back at the door of the synagogue. Yeshua and the man he had healed were walking through the doorway.
“Rabbi, how can I ever thank you?” the man was asking, tears streaking his cheeks.
Yeshua stopped walking and turned toward the man.
“Honor your God each day. Have no other gods before him. Love others as you love yourself.”
The man kissed Yeshua’ hand, which was clasped in his own.
“I will do my best,” he told Yeshua.
“That is all God asks of you,” Yeshua said softly, a smile tilting his mouth upward.
He turned and as his followers came around him they all walked together into the crowd, which swallowed Yeshua from Jairus’ view.
“Josefa! Can you come to the stream to play?”
Her friend Caleb peered at her through the curtain of her sleeping quarters window.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“After chores, yes.”
The sun was high the sky when Josefa finally took off her sandals and placed her feet in the stream near the olive trees. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the cool water against her skin.
Caleb leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. “I heard another story about demons and Yeshua’ followers.”
“Caleb. Stop that. There is no such thing as demons.”
“There totally is! They said Yeshua’ follower named Matthew spoke to the man and said there was a demon in him. The man who told me said the man with the demon spoke funny and fell to the ground.”
“Like this!” Caleb fell on the ground and his face twisted up while he jerked around with his arms against his chest, flailing back and forth.
He jumped up and stuck his tongue out at Josefa and shook his head back and forth vigorously
Josefa put her hands up as if to push Caleb away from her as he continued to distort his face, bursting into laughter.
“Then the man yelled back at Matthew and told him he lived there now and he wasn’t leaving, but Matthew said ‘You have no place here, demon and in the name of the most high God I command you to leave.’”
Caleb pointed at an imaginary man and made a stern face to imitate Matthew.
“In the name of the —” He stepped closer to Josefa as he continued to point. He lifted his chin and looked sternly at her down his nose. “The most high Gawd! Be goooone!”
Josefa put her hand over her mouth and giggled until the sound of footsteps startled them both.
Caleb’s older brother, Enoch, scowled down at them.
“Who do these men think they are?” he snapped. Acting as if they have authority to mess with the possessed?”
Enoch knelt next to the stream to fill his wineskin, shaking his head.
“No one asked you, Enoch,” Caleb said, rolling his eyes.
Enock snorted. “These are the words of children. Stories. That’s all they are. Only a baby like you would believe them.”
Caleb stood, hands clenched into fists. “That’s not true! I heard them talking about it in the market. That man named Matthew called a demon out.”
Caleb made a weird face again and staggered toward Enoch. “’I am a servant of the devil!’ That’s what the man said.”
Enoch stepped away from his brother, turned his back to him and tied his bag closed.
“And, besides, Yeshua raised Josefa from the dead!” Caleb’s voice was loud and defiant.
Josefa’s cheeks flushed red.
“Caleb . . .”
“What?” Caleb said. “He did! You should tell more people! They should know the truth about Yeshua and his followers and who they really are.”
“You speak foolishness, Caleb,” Enoch said.
Enoch turned toward Josefa and she caught his gaze, his deep green eyes watching her. The palms of her hands were warm, moist and her heart pounded hard and fast in her chest.
Enoch smirked and stepped toward her. “Is this true, Josefa? Is it true what people are saying? Tell me, Josefa, daughter of Jairus, what did Yeshua really do?”
Her heart pounding in her ears almost drowned out his mocking words.
She kept her eyes down, looking at the olive branch in her hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why? Because it’s a lie, right? What your family said happened is a lie isn’t it?”
Josefa turned to look at Enoch, her face warm.
“He asked us not to speak of it —”
Enoch laughed. “Of course, he did.” His smile faded, he stepped toward her and towered above her. “Because nothing happened.”
Caleb was furious. “They were already holding a time of mourning for her, Enoch! You don’t know! You were out with the sheep. But it’s true! I was there! I was crying!”
Enoch shook his head and tied his wine skin to his belt and reached for his staff.
“She was probably just asleep. You cry over everything. You’re still a boy.”
“She wasn’t breathing. I saw her! I touched her!”
Josefa looked at Caleb. She hadn’t known he’d been with her.
“You were there?” she asked softly.
Caleb’s cheeks were red now.
“Yes. I came because I did not want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe you were gone. I was there when Yeshua came with those men and then he told us all to leave.”
Enoch’s haughty laugh interrupted their exchange.
“Of course, Yeshua wanted everyone to leave. So, he could pretend Josefa was really dead.” He ruffled Caleb’s hair, but Caleb slapped his hand way. “Okay, little one, I’m leaving you and your friend to your childish tales. Take care of mama while Joseph and I are gone to find the lost sheep.”
He paused and looked at Josefa, half turned away from her.
“Take care, Josefa. I don’t believe you were truly dead, but I am glad you are still alive.”
“Thank you, Enoch.”
Her voice softened to a whisper. “But I was dead.”
The sound of a passing cart drowned out her voice.
Enoch walked around the children and called out to his older brother.
“Joseph wait for me!”
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Caleb asked as Enoch and Joseph disappeared down the road.
“I don’t know. Yeshua said to tell no one. I wasn’t sure —”
“But so many already know, Josefa. They know the truth about what happened to you. If it was me, I wouldn’t be ashamed. I’d be excited to let everyone know that I had been dead but now was alive.”
Josefa flicked at the water with her fingers and stared at the pools rolling into each other.
Catch up on Molly’s story HERE. As always, this is a story in progress and there very well could be some typos, plot holes and errors.
An update on A New Beginning that I put up on Kindle this week. I have temporarily removed it to fix some errors and issues and hope to have it back up for sale on Monday. A Story to Tell, the first story about Blanche is currently available on Kindle Unlimited (free for members of Kindle Unlimited on Amazon) and will be on sale for $.99 next week for those who don’t have Kindle Unlimited.
“Hey, Molly, guess who I saw in town this morning.”
“No idea.”
“Ben Oliver.”
Molly’s muscles tensed at the name.
It was a name she didn’t like hearing and had hoped she’d never hear again.
She kneeled next to Daisy the cow and prepped her for a milking session. “Oh yeah? Where did you see him?”
“At the gym.”
“Ah. I see.”
Molly hoped Jason would drop the subject. She didn’t want to think about Ben, let alone talk about him, especially in front of Alex.
“Who’s Ben Oliver?” Alex asked, preparing another cow in the stall across from her.
Molly inwardly groaned. Shut up, Alex.
“Molly’s old boyfriend.”
Shut up, Jason.
Alex’s head popped up over the back of a cow. “Boyfriend? Oh yeah?” He grinned. “Do share.”
Jason leaned against a beam, arms folded across his chest, grinning.
“Yep. They were pretty hot and heavy before he left for college in Boston or somewhere.”
Molly’s heart pounded faster. She was furious at Jason for teasing her about Ben, but how would Jason know how much Ben had hurt her the night he’d broke it off with her? Molly had a feeling if he had known not only would he not have been teasing her, but he probably would have punched Ben in the face.
She didn’t know if she would call anything about her and Ben’s relationship ‘hot and heavy.’ They’d only dated a couple of years as two young, inexperienced high school students. He’d been her first major crush, her first kiss and then her first heartbreak.
They’d broken things off when Ben had left for college. Actually, no. Ben had broken things off but if he hadn’t, Molly would have. Especially after what he’d said to his friends when he thought she wasn’t listening.
“He’s a lawyer now,” Jason told Alex. “I don’t know why he’s back here. He can’t be thinking of opening a law office here. There’s definitely less money here than in a big city.”
Alex shrugged. “You never know. There’s probably more legal possibilities in a small town like this than most of us realize. Real estate transactions, divorces, custody battles —”
“Maybe he can represent all those drunk drivers we read about in the Spencer Chronicle,” Jason said with a snort.
Jason stepped away from the beam and reached for a pitchfork. “I still say he’d make more money in a bigger city.”
Alex adjusted the milking machine on one of the cows. “Who knows, though. Maybe he didn’t come back for money.”
He looked at Molly and winked. She saw the wink out of the corner of her eye and ignored it. “Maybe he came back so he can win Molly back.”
Jason shoved the pitchfork into a pile of hay, lifted it and tossed some inside one of the cow’s stalls.
“Hear that, Molly?” he asked. “Maybe you’ll be the wife of a rich lawyer one day.”
Molly inwardly cringed. She finished hooking up the last of the cows and walked back toward the feed room. “Hey, Alex, keep an eye on the girls. I’m going to get some feed. I’ll be back.”
Alex sipped from a bottle of water as Molly walked past him, noticing the tension in her face. He tried to read the expression, wondering if it was anger, longing, or something else. He vaguely remembered hearing about this Ben guy before. That had been a couple of years ago. From what he’d gathered, Ben had been a high school boyfriend of Molly’s, but their relationship hadn’t been serious. Now he wondered what had happened between the two to make Molly so uncomfortable at the mention of his name.
“So, were they serious?” Alex asked when Molly was out of earshot as he grabbed another rag to wipe the next cow’s udder.
Jason tossed more hay into the stalls. “Who?”
Alex looked over the top of the cow. “What do you mean who? Molly and this Ben guy.”
Jason shrugged and stooped to lift another pitchfork full of hay. “Yeah. I think so. For a while anyhow. I can’t really remember why they stopped dating. I guess because Ben went so far away for college. I always felt bad they broke up. I thought they were a good fit, you know?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward the back of the barn. “Yeah. Uh-huh. I guess.”
He wondered how Molly and this Ben were a good fit. What made anyone a good fit anyhow? If they liked the same things, maybe. Had the same interests. Shared the same faith.
Did Ben and Molly share the same faith? Did Molly miss Ben and if she did then why had her expression been so vague and not more joyful at the mention of his name?
He mentally scolded himself for all the questions he was asking himself. He’d never asked so many questions in his life. Alex Stone, what are you doing right now? This is none of your business. You have no claim on Molly because you can’t even tell Molly how you feel about her, you coward.
Alex finished hooking up the cows in his row to the milking machine and stretched his arms out to the side, yawning.
“Out late again last night?” Jason asked. “I didn’t see you when I got back from Ellie’s.”
“Actually, no. I couldn’t sleep. Took a drive, sat and looked at the moon for a while and came home.”
Alex wasn’t about to tell Jason he’d sat and looked at the moon and thought about Molly part of that time. He’d also thought about his past, stupid decisions he’d made over the years, what his future might hold, and wondered what his dad was up to since he barely heard from him anymore.
He unhooked the machine from the first cow in his row, changing the topic. “So, when are you going to ask Ellie to marry you anyhow?
Jason rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mom.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know. I like how it is now. Things are good.”
“Yeah, but don’t you Christians believe in waiting until marriage?”
Jason looked at Alex and laughed. “Not all of our lives revolve around that, dude.”
Alex grinned. “Yeah, but still. Don’t you want to —”
“Hey,” Jason said, holding his hand up toward Alex. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so uptight sometimes. Maybe you would be less stressed if you and Ellie —”
Jason gently shoved Alex in the arm. “I said I’m not talking about that with you, got it?” He smiled and propped the pitchfork against a wall. “Seriously, though, I have considered proposing to Ellie. And not just for that reason. I really . . .”
Alex wanted to laugh at the red flushing along Jason’s cheeks but with Jason being twice his size he was afraid of ending up with a broken nose.
“I can see myself growing old with her.” Jason finished his sentence after he cleared his throat and looked away, clearly embarrassed by the tenderness he’d just revealed.
Alex patted him on the shoulder. “Then you’re going to have to pull that trigger soon, buddy. Ellie’s not going to wait forever, you know.”
Jason unhooked some more of the cows. “What about you?”
Alex frowned. “What about me?”
“You think you’ll ever settle down?”
Now it was Alex’s turn to flush red. He turned his face quickly away from his friend, bending down to unhook the milking equipment from Daisy, his favorite Jersey. “Eh, who knows. Not something I think about too much.”
Alex wasn’t lying. He really hadn’t thought about settling down. Not in the same way Jason was thinking about it anyhow. What Alex had been thinking about lately was how much he’d fallen in love with farming, with waking up each morning knowing he would be doing something that mattered; something that would provide food for families across the country. He rubbed Daisy’s ears and let her nuzzle his hand.
He’d fallen in love with the smell of fresh cut hay, of cows mooing in the distance, with barn cats, and even with the sweet smell of manure when it was spread in the spring.
As for finding a woman to marry, Alex wasn’t sure yet. He’d never thought about himself married but if he did ever marry he knew he wanted to marry someone just like Molly Tanner, the girl who wasn’t afraid to compete with him in a burping competition or make a hilarious fart joke like one of the guys. Molly was real and if he ever did marry that was what he wanted in a wife – authenticity, kindness and devotion. He had a good feeling he would find all those things in Molly because he already saw them in her.
He chuckled softly. What was he doing even thinking about Molly and marriage in the same vein? Alex Stone and marriage were two things that didn’t go together.
“What’s so funny?” Jason asked.
“Nothing,” Alex said quickly. “Nothing at all.”
***
Molly slammed the lever to the feed machine up hard and kicked a metal bucket across the barn floor. Why did Jason have to bring up Ben anyhow?
She still remembered well the night Ben broke up with her. They’d gone to the movies, had lunch at a café in town and he had driven her home and walked her to her front porch. She’d expected a kiss before he headed home to finish packing for college, but instead he’d motioned toward the porch swing.
“Hey, Mols, can I talk to you for a minute?”
There was a cool breeze blowing, golden sunlight was pouring across the fields, and a heifer mooed softly in the barn. One of the barn cats rubbed against her shin and she reached down and stroked its head and back.
“Sure.”
They sat next to each other, but Molly noticed Ben sat back slightly away from her, instead of pulling her close like he usually did. When he sighed, turning toward her, taking her hands in his, she knew something was wrong.
“This isn’t an easy thing for me to talk to you about, Mols,” he said softly. “But I’m — I mean, it’s just. . .”
He paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The rest of what he had to say came out quickly and abruptly.
“You know I’ve been working a lot with Angie at the ice cream shop on the weekends?”
Of course, she knew he’d been working with Angie. Angie Phillippi. Skinny. Blond. Long legs. Perfect. All the things Molly wasn’t.
She was starting to feel uneasy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, so, yeah. We — Angie and I — we’ve grown close this summer and, the thing is, I think we’ve fallen for each other.”
“Oh.”
Molly swallowed hard, a heavy lump forming in the center of her chest.
“Molly you know how much I care about you, but,” Ben shifted nervously on the swing. “I feel different when I am with Angie. I feel — I don’t know. I feel like she really gets me. We’re into the same things. We laugh at each other’s jokes. . .”
I laugh at your jokes, Molly thought.
“She’s . . . I don’t know. She’s someone I can’t imagine not being in my life and it’s not fair to you to keep stringing you along when I know I want to be with Angie.”
I can’t imagine you not being in my life, Molly thought.
Molly nodded slowly, pulling her hands from Ben’s grip. “Oh.”
She wished she could say more than “Oh,” but she seemed to be at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry, Molly. I really am.”
Molly forced a smile.
“It’s okay,” she finally managed to say, pushing the buzzing feeling in her chest – the one that signaled her emotions were about to override her brain – deep down because she was not, no, she was not going to cry in front of Ben Oliver, her first ever crush and boyfriend. “You can’t help how you feel.”
Her voice sounded far away, like someone else’s. What was she even saying? She didn’t believe any of the words flying out of her mouth, but she had to say them to hurry this conservation along, to end it quickly before she sobbed in Ben’s face and made a fool of herself.
Ben sat back slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “I am so relieved you understand. I never wanted to hurt you. I just knew I had to be honest with you, though, and with myself.”
He leaned forward and took her hands in his again. His dark brown eyes focused on hers. “I will always remember our time together, okay? And you’ll always be special to me.”
Molly suddenly felt like a first grader being talked to by their teacher.
“If I’m so special, then why are you breaking up with me?” she wanted to ask, but she didn’t, because she didn’t really want to hear the reason again.
Instead, she told him that she was okay, that she was happy for him, that this was for the best. She was glad he had told her now, instead of waiting until after he left for college, she assured him.
Of course, they’d still be friends.
Of course, she’d write him at college.
Of course, she’d always remember the good times.
Yes. Good luck at college.
She reassured him again she’d be fine and then he’d left with a gentle, brief kiss on her cheek. After he’d left, and she walked into the house, she answered her parents concerned expressions by telling them she and Ben were taking a break while he went to college and that was fine with her. Then she lied again, telling them she was relieved because she had felt herself drifting away from Ben for a few months now. He’d be away at college, going to law school, and she’d be at the community college, pursuing a degree in English, or writing, or something similar. There hadn’t been a future for them anyhow, right?
She hadn’t told Jason because he’d been away at college, hanging out with Alex and earning a degree he’d use when he came back to the farm.
Her parents had said they understood, asked if she was going to be okay, and each gave her hugs.
“Yep. I’m good.”
She had smiled broadly and walked up the stairs to her room. Behind the closed door she blasted Garth Brooks from her stereo, sat at on her bed, laid there on her side for a few moments starring at the blank wall of her bedroom and then cried until her throat and chest burned.
As if Ben’s breaking up with her to date Angie hadn’t been enough, Molly was in the convenience store a week later when she heard Ben’s voice from another aisle.
“Yeah, I know it is weird,” he was saying. “But it was time. Molly’s a nice girl, but Angie. Dang. Angie. She’s hot. She’s got legs that go for miles. And she’s so slender she just fits against me perfectly, you know?”
One of Ben’s friends laughed a laugh Molly could only think to describe as a dirty laugh. “Fits against you? Dude, how far have things gone with Angie?”
Ben joined the laughter. “That’s personal, man. All I can say is she has way more experience than Molly Tanner ever did or ever will.”
Molly’s sob had caught in her throat as she sat the soda and chips she’d been holding onto the counter and darted outside. Tears streaked her face all the way back to the farm, her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel of her grandfather’s old pickup. At church the pastor always acted like God cared more about what a person looked like inside, but Molly knew that wasn’t what Ben cared about. Somehow, it seemed to matter more at that moment what Ben cared about.
As she drove, she vowed to never again let herself fall for someone like she had fallen for Ben. She’d never let those walls down again, let any man see the deepest parts of her. She was going to keep her distance from men from now on, keep herself from feeling the pain she felt now.
She vowed that one day she’d lose weight and make Ben Oliver regret he’d walked away from her all those years ago. Watching the feed fill the wheelbarrow, Molly felt self-focused anger rage through her. Ben wasn’t going to regret he’d left her if he saw her now. She’d never lost that weight and had maybe gained more. What she hadn’t gained was more experience at whatever she should have had experience at, at whatever experience Angie had had. She was still the same, fat Molly and there was no way Ben would ever regret he had broken up with her
This is a continuing serial, or a novella in progress. As always there could be typos, missing words, plot holes, etc., etc., which I will fix in rewrites, copy-editing and all that jazz. To read the other parts of the story you can follow along HERE or at the link at the top of the page.
The stench of death filled Atticus’ nostrils. Any other man would have gagged on vomit, but death was a smell Atticus was accustomed to. Before being stationed in Jerusalem he had been on the battlefields of Germania and before that he’d trained in Rome itself to one day become what his father had been — a Roman centurion.
He’d been 16 when he’d first started training. His legion leader had called him a wolf pup, wet behind the ears.
He still had a lot to learn but battle had burned the timid, cautious nature out of him. Sometimes he felt like he had aged more in the last three years than he had in his entire 22-years of life. Experience built a thick jaded wall around him.
Even with all the death he had witnessed in such a short time, he found it hard to get use to the sights and smells of corpses rotting under stones outside the city gates, or bodies half eaten by wild dogs. The Jews called the Romans cruel, but Atticus saw the ways they punished those in their community who had stepped outside the bounds of their laws as vicious and barbaric.
“What I don’t understand is why we’re moving their dead.” Theopholus spat saliva onto the ground and swiped a hand across his mouth. “They killed them they should dispose of them. Instead they leave them here to rot and we have to find somewhere to throw them.”
Atticus shook his head. “Me neither but we must follow orders.”
Theopholus lifted the other side of the cloth they had rolled the corpses into and they shuffled to one side before tipping the cloth and rolling the human remains into a large pit already partially filled with bodies and waste.
“Is that the last one?” Theopholus asked with a look of disgust.
Atticus looked across the field of blood-splattered stones. “It looks like it.”
Theopholus stepped back and leaned against the wall, opening his flask and taking a long swig. “Have you heard about his man in Judeah? This man they say is performing miracles?”
He handed the flask to Atticus and Atticus took it and drank from it. “Another healer, huh?”
Theopholus nodded. “The people think they have another Messiah.”
Atticus laughed and sneered. “Another one? Don’t we get a new one every few years? And yet they still are crap under our shoes.”
“This place will be crawling with them come Passover, you know,” Theopholus said. “They come here in droves to remember the day they say their God delivered them from Pharaoh. The streets smell of them and their food and drink. The only good thing about them is their women. They are worth a good —”
“That beggar is here again.”
Atticus changed the subject quickly. He didn’t want to hear about Theopholus’ sexual conquests today. He wasn’t in the mood, though he couldn’t say why. Maybe it was because he himself had not lain with a woman for more than a year now. It wasn’t for a lack of women that was for sure. Something about the harlots in Jerusalem left him with a sick feeling in his stomach. They were too willing, too eager, expecting he’d come to them quickly and willingly to burn off pent up energy from patrolling the streets all day.
But he didn’t want to release pent up energy as much as he once did. Instead he longed for someone to share his thoughts with not just someone who could meet his physical needs.
“I thought Aurelius told him to leave yesterday. You want me to take care of it?”
Atticus shook his head, still watching the man crouched in front of the wall near the city entrance.
“No. I’ll take care of him.”
“Okay. Then I’m going to the baths. Meet you there later?”
Atticus nodded, staring ahead, thinking about how much he hated this city. The land Atticus had come from, a few miles outside Rome, had been lusciously green, full of life and food. This city was dirty and barren, full of beggars and lepers and people looking for ways to take advantage of other people. It was full of these people called Jews who believed in one God and held strange rituals, though he had to admit their rituals were no stranger than those in his own world who slit the throats of young animals to sacrifice to many Gods, hoping one of them would take pity on them and answer their prayers for whatever their need was.
The Jews killed animals too but believed the blood of a young lamb would wipe out all of their misdeeds, which they called sins. He laughed ruefully to himself as he thought of all his misdeeds. If he ever tried to wipe all his sins away they’d need an entire herd of young sheep to slit the throats of.
He sighed and walked toward the beggar sitting crouched, his knees up, his back against the warm stones and his hand out with a small wooden cup.
“Find favor with God and give to the poor,” the man suggested in a frail, rasped voice as Atticus approached.
His face and clothes were smeared with dirt or at least Atticus hoped it was only dirt.
He sniffed.
It was not only dirt.
The beggar looked up as Atticus’ shadow fell over him, his held tilted back, his eyes obviously unseeing. He must have felt the warmth of the sun disappear from his skin.
Atticus considered the man for a moment, his thin figure, his dirty feet with shredded sandals, his matted hair and clouded eyes, his slightly gaped open mouth with missing teething. Every day he sat out here, asking for money to buy food to fill his belly. The Jews said someone in his family must have done something wrong because as far as any of them knew, he’d been born blind. Anyone born with a deformity was being punished by God, they said.
He had scoffed when he heard it, the absurdity of their god apparent. They called him loving yet believed he struck children down for the sins of their fathers? Each time he heard them speak of their god they grew more weak and pathetic in his mind.
Atticus tried not to feel pity for the beggar, but he did. He couldn’t imagine waking up every morning with your only goal being to sit in the middle of a city and beg for money so your belly wouldn’t ache with hunger when you went to bed that night. He didn’t want to chase him away, but he knew the prefect had told him to leave before and would soon use force to make sure he did.
“Who’s there?”
The man’s head tilted from side to side as he spoke, trying to hear what the person standing above him would say.
Atticus squatted next to the beggar so he could be heard over the merchants, animals, and carts passing by.
“You have been told before, old man, that you need to leave.”
The beggar’s expression faded from hopeful to deflated.
“I will not stay long, master. I need just a little bit for my second meal then I shall go.”
Atticus let out a long breath. “You know the rules.”
He wasn’t sure where the compassion he was beginning to feel for the man was coming from but he softened his tone as he spoke again. “Sir, if you don’t go, my concern is you will be forced to go. I think you know what I mean by that.”
The man nodded slowly, clutching the cup with both hands against his chest. “Yes, centurian.”
Atticus laughed softly. “I am a legionary, sir, but thank you for the promotion.”
The beggar shrugged his shoulders, a grin tugging at his chapped lips. “I can’t keep up with all of the rankings of your army. My apologies.”
Atticus placed a gentle hand under the man’s upper arm and helped him to his feet. He slid two fingers into the pouch on his belt and felt two coins there then dropped them both into the man’s cup.
“This should feed you for today. Go, eat and keep yourself safe from the prefect, okay?”
The beggar’s face showed his surprise. He grasped Atticus’ stronger, rough hands with a gnarled one. “Thank you, master. Thank you. Adonai will smile upon you for your kindness.
Atticus looked around nervously, pried the man’s hand from his and stepped back. “Just go,” he said softly. “I have no need for blessings from your god.”
He watched the beggar limp through the crowd until he couldn’t see him anymore then turned to head back toward the baths to clean the filth and smell of death off himself.
“You won’t ever advance in this army with such softness, soldier.”
The voice of the man towering above him on a stallion was harsh, sharp. Atticus looked up into narrowed blue eyes, a square jawline fixed tight and lips pressed into a colorless thin line. Atticus averted his eyes quickly to the ground, recognizing the actual centurion of his unit, Marcus.
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I never want to see you handle our subjects in such a manner again. A firm hand is all that is needed, something you’re well aware of.”
“Yes sir.”
Marcus leaned forward, propping his arms over the leather of the saddle strapped to the horse. “Maybe we need to find a way to toughen you up, young Atticus. Sirius has an opening in his unit. They carry the bodies away from the crucifixions. It might just be what someone like you needs to burn the softness away.”
Atticus’ chest constricted. He’d watched a crucifixion once. He didn’t relish the idea of having to take down the bodies of the dead, their bodies limp and drained of fluids, sometimes their eyes eaten out by the birds.“Whatever you think is best, sir.”
Marcus laughed loudly. “We’ll see, boy. Just don’t let me see you coddling the subjects again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, centurion.”
Atticus watched Marcus ride away before he turned and walked slowly toward the baths, anxious to wash the blood and dirt — and this day — from his body.
I guess I hit a high level of boredom because I published A New Beginning on Amazon and Barnes&Noble this weekend.
If you’re not familiar with the story, I have put up the first two chapters on this page and there is also a link to all of the chapters (if you want to click to each one) HERE for another week.
This is the sequel to A Story To Tell, which you can also find on Kindle and B&N.
Here on the blog you can red my short story Quarantined or follow along with The Farmer’s Daughter, which I am updating each Friday, or Fully Alive, which I’m updating, well, whenever at this point (but usually on Thursdays).
Catch up with the rest of The Farmer’s Daughter, a continuing story, at the link at the top of the page or HERE. You can also read my short romance story Quarantined about Liam and Maddie Grant, an estranged couple who get caught in quarantine together.
“I had to explain to the woman that CBD oil is not pot and she will not get high off of it,” Liz said, sliding her shoes off and sliding her legs under her on the couch. “I mean, what did she think, we were selling pot plants in the store? So, she said she’d think about buying the oil the next time she’s in. I don’t know, at least the conversation with this lady was way tamer than the one with that guy with the rash . . .”
Liz shuddered at the memory.
“I did not need that much detail about how fast his rash had spread, or where it had spread to.”
Molly handed Liz a glass of iced tea and sat next to her.
“You certainly have some interesting stories from that health food store,” Molly said, shaking her head. “I’m afraid my stories aren’t that exciting – unless you want to hear about the udder infection one of our cows had and how I had to apply udder cream on her every morning for two months.”
Liz’s face scrunched up in disgust.
“That’s right up there with the rash dude,” she said, grimacing.
“So, Liz, tell me – what’s up with you and Matt?”
Liz shrugged. “We’ve gone out twice now. He’s nice, I guess. Even if he is a friend of your dorky brother.”
“He is a little older than you and I’d hate to see you rush into anything,” Molly said. “It’s only been a couple of months since you —”
“I know,” Liz interrupted. “Since I told Gabe to get lost. Matt and I have just gone to a couple of movies and bowling. We’ve talked, hung out, but neither of us is really interested in anything serious.”
Molly sipped her tea, sitting next to Liz. “I don’t mean to be nagging, or too motherly. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“Oh, Molly, don’t worry about it. I know you are just trying to protect me. That’s what friends do.”
Gabe and Liz had dated since their senior year of high school. They’d taken a break while Liz attended a two-year business course at the local community college and Gabe had decided to attend a four-year college four hours away. The relationship picked up, gaining intensity when Gabe graduated and opened a physical therapy office in town. The relationship was tumultuous at its best, chaotic at its worst.
The day Liz called Molly, sobbing into the phone, Molly knew it was over. Liz had finally had enough of Gabe flirting with other women and was certain he had cheated on her after she’d agreed to move in with him.
“It’s not my bra,” she’d told Molly. “It’s someone else’s bra, in our apartment. How could I have been so dumb?”
“You’re not dumb, Liz,” Molly told her. “You may have ignored your intuition but you’re not dumb.”
Molly helped Liz move out of the apartment, back to her parents and had also helped her resist picking up her cell when Gabe tried to reach her. Liz had sunk into a deep depression for three weeks after the break-up, feeling as if she’d walked away from everything her parents had taught her and she’d learned at church when she moved in with Gabe. Molly reminded her there was forgiveness and healing from any shame she felt.
“You know, I don’t know how I would have made it without you,” Liz said, sitting her glass down on the end table by the couch. “I’d probably still be in that apartment listening to Gabe tell me that it would never happen again – for the twentieth time.”
“Not necessarily,” Molly said. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You would have finally had enough and cut him off, even without me.”
Liz placed her hands together on her lap and focused on Molly.
“Enough about me. It’s time to talk about you, Molly. It’s time to get you out and about a little bit. The annual summer benefit dance for the fire company is coming up in a few weeks. Let’s find you a date and go together. Maybe I’ll take Matt.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t go to dances.”
Liz laughed. “No one dances at that thing. Not really. It’s mainly for eating, talking and, for some people, an excuse to get drunk.”
Molly scooped her hair up in her hand and wrapped a scrunchy around it.
“I don’t even know who I’d go with. But I don’t mind tagging along with you for fun. Even if I do hate socializing with – well, anyone.”
Liz and Molly both laughed.
Liz’s eyebrows raised and Molly knew that meant Liz thought she had a brilliant idea. “Molly, why don’t you ask Alex to go with you?”
“Liz, no.” Molly shook her head, holding up her hands in front of her as if to stop that suggestion right in its tracks.
“Why not?”
“It’s just – I don’t know – he’s my brother’s friend and we work together and —”
“And that’s enough excuses,” Liz interrupted. “He’s good looking. He’s funny. It’s not like you’re asking him to get married. You’re just asking if he wants to go to the banquet with you.”
“He’s also older than me.”
“By like five or six years, not twenty,” Liz said. “You should just ask him.”
Molly drank the rest of her iced tea and walked toward the kitchen.
“I’ll think about it, but I don’t think so. He won’t want to take me. He hates dances as much as I do.”
Liz sat back against the arm of the couch and slid her feet up on the cushions, sighing.
“What we really need to talk about is what you brought up the other day at sewing club. About how you’re thinking of spreading your wings and branching out from the farm. What about asking Liam Finley at the Journal about some freelance work or writing a column? Or you could start a blog. That could be a way of branching out without making a drastic change.”
Molly’s face scrunched up in disgust at the mention of Liam Finley. In some ways, he was the stereotypical small-town newspaper editor – sleazy, unshaven, frequently intoxicated and a womanizer. He was not, however, balding, or fat. She also didn’t necessarily see the Spencer Journal as the highest form of journalistic integrity, but then again, it was better than some in an age of declining integrity overall for journalism.
“I never even finished my degree,” Molly said.
Liz shrugged. “I doubt Liam would care and you could raise the quality of that paper if you submitted a column.”
Molly didn’t like the idea of writing for the small newspaper in the town neighboring hers. She’d always imagined writing for larger publications, but everyone had to start somewhere she supposed.
“How do you know Liam anyhow?” Molly asked.
Liz rolled her eyes. “He was a friend of Gabe’s.”
Molly grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel any better about submitting any of my writing to him then.”
Liz shrugged again. “Eh. He’s okay. A little messed up but he’s more level headed than I’d expected. He and Gabe mainly went out drinking a lot together. And he only made a pass at me once. He’s good at what he does, though, and seems to be able to separate the personal from the professional.”
“Well, I’ll think about it,” Molly said. “Who knows. Maybe doing something different means leaving Spencer.”
Liz leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Molly Tanner. You are not seriously considering leaving me alone in this God-forsaken dump of a town, are you? Don’t you dare.”
Molly sighed and tipped her head back against the couch. “I don’t know, Liz. All I know is I feel so . . . stuck. So stagnant. So . . . I don’t even know what.”
Molly didn’t like the smirk on her friend’s face.
“Maybe you need a little excitement,” Liz said, raising her eyebrows. “And asking Alex to that dance certainly would be exciting.”
Molly playfully tossed a pillow at Liz, laughing. “Liz, stop it! Why don’t we just change the subject? Are you going to go with the ladies group with Tuesday?”
“You can change the subject, lady, but I’m going to keep on you until you ask Alex to take you to the banquet,” Liz said, sipping her tea. “And yeah, I think I’ll go this week. Jane cut the hours for the store back on the weekends now, so I don’t have to be there late anymore.”
“Good! It will be nice to have you there,” Molly said. “I’m not sure what we’re discussing this week, but it will be a good time for fellowship with other women.”
Liz grinned. “Molly, you sound so ‘holy’ anymore. Listen to you. ‘Fellowship with other women.’ Why don’t you just say, ‘We’re going to hang out with some other women.’?”
Molly laughed. “Yeah, I guess I am starting to use a lot of,” she made quote marks with her fingers. “Christianese these days. I’ll try not to do that anymore.”
“It’s okay,” Liz said. “As long as you don’t try to pray a demon out of me.”
Molly almost snorted tea out of her nose. “I don’t think there is any chance of me doing that.”
She leaned forward, reaching for the remote. “Hey, let’s take advantage of your day off and watch a movie.”
“As long as it isn’t anything with Russell Crowe, I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong with Russel Crowe?” Molly asked, looking through her brother’s old stack of DVDs.
Liz rolled her eyes. “He was Gabe’s favorite actor and we had to watch every movie he ever made. Now I can’t see a clip of Gladiator without thinking of Gabe.”
Molly slid a Harrison Ford movie in and sat back on the couch, but found herself unable to concentrate on the movie as she considered Liz’s suggestion about asking Alex to the banquet. Still struggling with how to interpret Alex’s recent change in behavior, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of sitting next to him at a banquet, trying to make small talk without making it obvious everyone else would think they were on an official date.
Of course, asking him to go with her to the banquet could clarify the matter and then she wouldn’t have to wonder anymore. Then again, it could also complicate the situation even further. If she was honest with herself, she was terrified to find out why Alex had been acting strange around her. What if he was simply toying with her to have a story to tell his friends at the bar? She knew he couldn’t be interested in her romantically. She definitely wasn’t his type. Her hips were three times the size of the women he usually dated. Molly glanced at her chest. Well, her chest might be about the same size. She shook her head, trying to focus on the movie again.
Maybe Alex wasn’t acting differently at all. Maybe her restlessness was distorting everything around her, including her friendship with Alex.
She pushed her thoughts of Alex away, forcing herself to figure out what Harrison Ford was telling his female costar. She needed to worry more about what direction her life was taking, or wasn’t taking, than Alex Stone. It would all work out eventually — when she figured out what direction she needed to take to help her feel less . . . Less what? Trapped? Yes. Trapped. That’s how she felt. Trapped in her stagnant, boring life.
So, trapped that she was starting to hallucinate and see things that weren’t even there – like a change in the way Alex looked at her and a change in the way she was seeing him. It must be stress causing her to notice his smile more, the way his eyes sparkled in the sunlight, his long fingers and strong hands, the way his jeans fit . . . She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, trying to stop her thoughts from spiraling out of control. What other explanation of her confused thoughts and feelings was there than stress? She couldn’t actually have feelings for goofy, obnoxious Alex.
“Harrison Ford still looks amazing for his age, doesn’t he?”
Liz’s comments broke into her thoughts.
“He certainly does,” Molly agreed. “I never thought I’d think a man in his 70s was attractive, but he has proven me wrong.”
With a small laugh to herself, she pushed the thoughts about Alex aside and instead joined Liz in commenting on the movie and admiring Harrison Ford. She could figure out how she felt about Alex and her life on the farm later.
