When Alec hung up, Lydia tried not to feel hurt by his abruptness. No doubt he was smarting, too. Was love really supposed to hurt this much? She reflected on her relationship with Michael. They’d had their lovers’ quarrels, but at least she’d always felt secure about her future with him.
For the rest of the evening she fell into her usual Saturday night routine, supervising her children’s baths, tucking them in, and preparing her lesson for Sunday morning. Oddly, the subject was joy.
Great, she thought on a cynical note. I’ll be a first-rate hypocrite teaching this topic in the mood I’m in. After further speculation, the Lord changed her heart. She realized her happiness couldn’t be dependent on another individual. People weren’t perfect. They’d always disappoint her, and they’d always let her down. But God never would. And even though she’d known that fact all along, she’d never put it into practice. She built her whole world around Michael and, after the kids were born, she’d made her family the very reason for her being. When he died, she transferred her dependence to Gerald—and now, having met Alec, she was slowly beginning to rely on him to supply her joy. But that wasn’t right, either.
Heavenly Father, forgive me, she silently pleaded. My joy needs to come from You.
She stayed in prayer a few more minutes and then, turning her attention back to her lesson, she felt much more prepared to teach her class.
❧
“Now, while I’m away,” Gerald was saying the following afternoon as they dined together at Lydia’s house, “I’ve instructed Sim to check on you.”
“I don’t need checking,” Lydia insisted, more than a touch miffed as she refilled her father-in-law’s coffee cup. “I’ll be fine.”
“But I’m going to be gone at least two weeks, and—”
“Gerald, I can manage on my own. If anything comes up, I’ll phone you in Florida.”
He didn’t reply, but thanked her as he reached for his cup. “In addition to making sure my wife is in good spirits, I hope to convince Mary and her husband to move back to Woodruff,” he stated, changing the subject which, to Lydia, meant he had no intention of heeding her request.
Setting down the coffeepot, she almost groaned aloud, thinking of having to deal with Sim Crenshaw for the next couple of weeks. But at least she’d be free to see Sherry!
“I’m convinced my dear daughter and her husband are attending a weak church,” Gerald continued. “Sounds lukewarm, and Mary has adopted some very liberal ideas.”
“Like what?” Tyler wanted to know, sitting across from Lydia with Brooke on his right side.
“Young man,” Gerald reprimanded, “this is an adult conversation. Children should be seen and not heard. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy glanced at his mother before looking down at his plate.
“This is what I mean, Lydia. Tyler needs a father.”
“Mr. Alec would make a good one,” Tyler piped in. But at Gerald’s menacing gaze, he immediately quieted and resumed eating.
Her father-in-law never prohibited her children from voicing their opinions or asking questions before. He must be under a tremendous amount of pressure, Lydia thought. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to allow him to coerce her into an unwanted relationship with Sim or any other man.
“Gerald,” she began, “I’m praying about it—about a father for my children, a husband for me, except I’d like God to do the choosing, not you. Please don’t be offended,” Lydia quickly added. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. But the fact is, I do not like Simeon Crenshaw and I want you to stop pushing him on me.”
“Grampa?” Brooke asked sweetly.
“What is it, dear?”
“Mama’s gonna marry Mr. Alec. Me ’n’ Ty already ’cided that.”
“That’s a fun game, but in real life children can’t decide anything. That’s why they have a mother and a father.” With a raised brow, Gerald branded Lydia with a scalding glare before turning his attention back to Brooke. “But your mother can’t marry Mr. Alec. He is a bad man.”
“Gerald!” Lydia’s tone sounded sharp to her own ears.
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not!” Tyler spouted angrily.
“This is getting out of hand,” Lydia said, trying to curb the sudden tension. “We’re not going to discuss Mr. Alec anymore.”
Ignoring her, Gerald continued, “Tyler, Brooke, a trusted friend of mine looked into all the things Mr. Alec has ever done and they are very, very bad.”
“Your friend is wrong!” Tyler yelled, pitching his fork. It clanged against his glass of milk, and Brooke gasped. “You’re wrong, too, Grampa! Wrong!” He shot up off his chair and ran from the dining room, pounding his feet up the stairs where, at last, he slammed his bedroom door. The echo reverberated through the house.
“That boy needs a firm hand,” Gerald muttered through a clenched jaw. “Sim could modify his attitude in a minute.”
“Who’s Sim?” Brooke wanted to know, looking confused.
“He’s someone I went to dinner with when you slept over at Gramma and Grampa’s house,” Lydia explained. “And you met him. He stopped by one evening—the same day the Smiths moved away. He’s got dark hair that’s sort of bushy. . .”
“Oh, him,” Brooke said, wrinkling her little nose. “He gotsalotta perfume on!”
Lydia tried not to chuckle at her daughter’s remark, but it was true; Sim wore far too much cologne. The night she’d gone out with him, she’d ended up with a terrible headache. That was the night Alec had come to her rescue.
Glancing at her father-in-law, she realized he found nothing amusing about the turn in conversation. He irritably tossed his napkin onto his plate. “I see you’ve succeeded in brainwashing my grandchildren.” He stood.
Lydia did likewise, shocked by the accusation. “I’ve done no such thing. I’ve never said a negative word about Sim in front of Tyler or Brooke.”
He took a deep breath and his voice softened. “What’s happened to you? You’ve never been an argumentative woman.”
“That was always Michael’s department, wasn’t it?” she stated as tears gathered in the backs of her eyes. She wished Michael were here to handle Tyler and Gerald, but, of course, he wasn’t. Then suddenly a vision of Alec, her knight in shining armor, replaced the memory of her late husband. She had no doubt that he would defend her against Gerald’s tyranny, and he’d have managed Ty’s outburst as well. But the very idea caused her heart to ache all the more since it seemed she’d lost Alec, too.
My joy is in the Lord Jesus, she reminded herself, closing her eyes. He’ll take care of me.
“I’m leaving,” Gerald announced. “See you tonight at church.”
“ ’Bye, Grampa,” Brooke called.
No reply.
❧
“He’s not a bad man,” Tyler grumbled, gazing out his bedroom window at Mr. Alec’s house. He folded his arms tightly and clenched his jaw.
Suddenly he saw Mr. Alec’s truck roll into the driveway. He watched him climb out, look over toward the back door, and for a minute, Tyler wondered if Mr. Alec was going to come over for a visit. He brightened at the thought, but resumed scowling when his new friend just walked into his house instead.
Then he got an idea. He could go ask Mr. Alec about what Grampa said. Yeah! He’d prove Grampa wrong.
Leaving his room, he heard his mother clearing the dining room table. As quietly as he could, he crept downstairs.
“Eat your peas, Brooke,” he heard Mama say.
“Tyler didn’t eat his peas,” she complained.
“Tyler’s going to get a spanking for talking back to Grampa. You want one of those, too?”
“No, ma’am, I’ll be eating my peas right up. See? I’m eating ’em.”
What a little goodie-goodie, Tyler thought with a frown. He’d better make his getaway quick or else!
He inched his way to the kitchen and watched as his mother set a stack of dishes in the s
ink. He waited impatiently until she walked back into the dining room. Then, sneaking to the back door, he made his escape. Outside, he stayed close to the house, feeling like a spy in a movie he and Matt watched on TV. When he reached the front, he ran fast across the lawn and up the cement steps to Mr. Alec’s front porch. Ringing the bell, he plastered his body flat against the house in case his mother should happen to glance out the window.
The door creaked open.
“Pssst. Mr. Alec. Over here.”
Tyler peered around the corner frame of the screen door.
“Tyler, what are you doing? Hiding?”
“Uh-huh. I can’t let my mama see me.”
“How come?” Frowning, Mr. Alec came out and sat down on the brick porch rail, blocking the view between his house and Tyler’s.
“ ’Cause I’m supposed to be getting a lickin’ about now.”
“Oh, yeah?” Tyler heard the smile in Mr. Alec’s voice. “What did you do?”
“Sassed my grampa.”
He chuckled. “Well, you can’t come over here seeking refuge.” Mr. Alec stood and got ready to go back inside.
“No. Wait. I gotta talk to you. That’s why I came over.”
Slowly, he sat back down. “Okay. What’s up, kid?”
Tyler swallowed. “My grampa says you’re a bad man, but I don’t believe him. I think you’re a good man.”
Mr. Alec looked a little mad, and Tyler wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have told him.
“You know what? I was a bad man,” Mr. Alec began. His face seemed much friendlier all of a sudden. “But it was a long time ago. Then I heard about what Jesus did on the cross, and I believe He died for all the rotten things I did. I became a Christian and didn’t want to be a bad man anymore—and I’m not. Except I’m not perfect, either.”
Tyler nodded. “We’re all bad till Jesus saves us.”
“Right.”
He frowned. “But how come Grampa said that stuff about you?”
Mr. Alec had to think about the question for a while. Finally, he said, “Sometimes we look at how bad a person used to be and forget to see how far Jesus has brought him. Take me, for instance. It seems like your grampa is only looking at all the sin that used to be in my life instead of giving me a chance to show him that God helped me change my ways. But don’t be angry at him, kid. He’s just trying to protect your mom, you, and Brooke.”
“Mama wouldn’t care if you sinned before—and I don’t, either.”
Mr. Alec grinned a little. “Yeah, I know.”
“And she can make real good chocolate cake. We were supposed to have it after lunch, but—”
“Hey, you don’t have to sell me on your mother, okay?”
“No, I don’t want to sell her.” Tyler couldn’t believe grown-ups could be so dumb. “I just want you to like her.”
Mr. Alec put his head back and laughed. “I do like her. I like her a lot. Now, you get yourself home and take your punishment like a man.”
“What’s that mean?” Tyler asked slowly, not liking the sound of this.
“A man takes his punishment without complaining, and he doesn’t cry.”
Tyler sighed. “Good thing I’m not a man, ’cause Mama’s spankings hurt real bad.” His rear end stung just thinking about it.
“Tyler? Tyler. . .” Mama’s voice came from the driveway right behind Mr. Alec.
“Uh-oh. Reckoning time.” Mr. Alec grinned as if he thought it was funny.
“Couldn’t you just talk to her for a while?” Ty whispered pleadingly. “She’ll forget about me if you talk to her.”
Mr. Alec scratched his jaw, and Tyler guessed he was thinking about it.
“Pleeeeze?” he begged.
“Tyler. . . ,” Mama called once more.
“He’s right here, Lydia,” Mr. Alec replied over his shoulder. Then he gave Tyler a wink.
Tyler sighed with relief.
Mama came up to the porch slowly. “What are you doing here?” she asked with one of those curiously annoyed expressions Tyler had seen plenty of times before.
“Just talkin’, Mama,” he said innocently.
He turned to their neighbor for help, but realized Mr. Alec was staring at Mama hard. . .like it hurt or something. Glancing at his mother, he saw she was staring right back. Was she going to cry?
It seemed like a whole hour before Mr. Alec cleared his throat. “You got any pop over at your house yet, Lydia?”
“What?” Mama seemed confused by the question.
“I thought maybe I could come over and we could talk. Actually, I wanted to share something that happened at the Bible study last night. Oh, by the way, the gang says, ‘hi.’ ”
A little smile tugged at the corners of Mama’s mouth. “Yes, I’d like to hear all about it. But you’ll have to bring your own soft drink. I didn’t get to the grocery store yesterday.”
“Okay.” Mr. Alec stood and walked toward the door.
“And give me a few minutes, would you, Alec?” Mama asked sweetly. “My son and I have unfinished business.”
Rats! She didn’t forget!
Mr. Alec gave Tyler a slug in the arm—the kind friends gave each other. “Sorry, kid, I tried.”
“Thanks,” Tyler answered glumly as he trudged home behind his mother.
Seventeen
Lydia wound her way through the Monday morning rush-hour traffic heading for Charlotte as she drove Gerald to the airport. Even more nerve-wracking than the bumper-to-bumper traffic jams was having to listen to him giving her instructions.
“Make sure the office supply company delivers the four new chairs for the meeting room.”
“I will.”
“And help Pastor Camden get the flyers created for our Easter program. It’ll be here before we know it.”
Lydia promised to do her best and then pulled alongside the curb at the terminal.
“Lastly, I want you to let Sim know your whereabouts at all times, what with that madman living next door to you. There’s no telling when he might strike.”
“Alec is not a madman,” Lydia said, desperately trying to keep her temper in check. “Please don’t call him that. I’m in love with him.”
“Spare me. I don’t have time for this now!”
Lydia clamped her mouth shut. How could she have been so wrong about Gerald? He didn’t care about her. How could he? He refused to lend a sympathetic ear.
“Stay away from him,” her father-in-law warned. He narrowed his dark gaze for emphasis.
Tightening her grip on the minivan’s steering wheel, Lydia gazed out the windshield and took a deep, calming breath. “I don’t want to stay away from him,” she confessed. “I love him and he loves me. Granted, we have a few things to work out, but—”
“Listen to me!” Gerald shouted, grabbing her arm roughly. Lydia gasped in surprise and pain. Suddenly, as if realizing what he’d done, her father-in-law released her. “Forgive me, dear. I have so much on my mind right now. The district attorney is threatening me with all kinds of nasty business—all of it unwarranted, of course. I can’t imagine how Sim convinced him to let me leave the state for the next ten days.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “In any event, I can’t handle any more problems. For your own good, take my advice.
Lydia didn’t answer. On one hand, she felt sorry for him and on the other, she was determined not to allow him to rule her life any longer. But for now, she didn’t argue further, fearing Gerald would change his mind and stay home. She had made wonderful plans with Sherry for the upcoming weekend and, having been invited, Alec agreed to go along. They’d had such a special time together yesterday afternoon, sharing things from the Bible and describing how God used His Word to shape their lives. If Lydia ever questioned Alec’s faith, she didn’t anymore. He loved the Lord with all his heart.
Now if only Gerald would see it.
“Be a good girl while I’m gone,” he told her in a voice he would have just as easily used with Brooke.
�
��Of course,” she replied tartly. “I’m always a good girl.”
After considering her for a long while, he hopped out of the van, and he hailed a porter to carry his luggage. “I mean it, Lydia,” he said finally, “don’t cross me.” With that, he slammed the door with more force than necessary.
She winced before pulling away from the curb, aware that she was destined for trouble. She fully intended to “cross” her father-in-law, and the consequences frightened her. Not only would she not have Gerald’s financial support, Lydia surmised she’d be church disciplined for her disobedience. Just like her mother.
Mama. Lydia now had much more compassion for her mother’s situation. And as she drove through Charlotte, she suddenly longed to see her. Lydia needed to ask her forgiveness—how could she have been so blind? Worse, she hadn’t even tried to get to know her stepfather. Lydia had a feeling he was probably a very nice man.
Heeding her heart’s desire, she stopped at a gas station and phoned for directions.
“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re coming by.” Her mother’s voice rang with happiness.
“I’ll be there shortly.” Hanging up the receiver of the pay phone, Lydia climbed back behind the wheel of the minivan and headed for her mother’s new house.
❧
By Thursday, Alec felt dead-dog tired. He’d put in forty-two hours the last three days. What was Greg Nivens’s problem, anyway? The guy was moody and short-tempered lately. Couldn’t be their latest project. Everything was running smoothly.
“Hey, Corbett, I need to talk to you!”
As Alec pulled out his cup of coffee from the machine in the back of the shop, he turned, hearing Greg’s voice. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“C’mon into my office.”
Grudgingly, Alec complied.
“Have a seat,” Greg said.
Alec lowered himself into one of the cracked leather chairs in front of his supervisor’s paper-strewn desk.
“I’ve got a message for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Stay away from Lydia Boswick.”
Alec couldn’t conceal his surprise. “Lydia? What’s she got to do with anything?”
“You’ve been over at her house every night this week.”
Southern Sympathies Page 13