Southern Sympathies

by Boeshaar, Andrea

  “Intimidation won’t work on him. He’ll keep coming back for more. I know his type. And this whole ordeal has already gotten out of control. Such a shame. I almost had Lydia in the palm of my hand. We removed her nosy mother, but managed to keep her funds—that was a plus. You did a splendid job, altering those financial documents.”

  “Thank you.” Sim took a little bow.

  “Next we sent those meddlesome Smiths packing. Lydia trusted me. Believed in me. I know I could have convinced her to marry you.” He swung a look of contempt Sim’s way. “But you blew it. And when Lydia finds out about her trust account, she’ll never speak to me again and I’ll be denied the privilege of seeing my grandchildren.”

  “She’s not going to find out. Sit down, Gerry,” Sim said loosely. “I’ve got it all planned. You’re still going to be the most acclaimed preacher in the United States—perhaps even the world. When we’re through, Billy Graham won’t be able to hold a candle to you. Your legacy will last for generations to come.”

  A satisfied warmth coursed through Gerald’s veins as he lowered himself into an armchair. He allowed his gaze to wander around Sim’s posh, high-rise apartment near downtown Charlotte. Yes, Gerald preferred riches to rags any day. “I gave my life to Christ, sacrificed in those early years, but what has God ever done for me in return? Nothing. He even took my son! Everything I possess now, I’ve acquired on my own.”

  “God helps those who help themselves,” Sim said. “And after we pull off this little caper, you’ll be rich enough to obtain the power you’ve longed for—worked for.” He smiled, a sinister light flickering in his eyes. “And after two years of watching and waiting, I’ll finally have half a million dollars. . . and Lydia.”

  Twenty

  Lydia threw open the drapes and peered outside as the Monday morning sunshine flooded her bedroom. “Tyler, Brooke. . .time to wake up,” she called, walking into the hallway.

  Soon nothing short of mayhem broke loose as Brooke tried to find her favorite dress to wear to school and Tyler searched for his gym shoes. Lydia directed their steps from the kitchen while preparing breakfast, then rushed to get herself ready. At last they were all dressed and on their way.

  After depositing her children in their respective classrooms, Lydia entered the church offices. To her relief, Gerald behaved as though nothing were amiss and it was business as usual for most of the day. Around two in the afternoon, Lydia managed to discretely place a call to Michael’s one-time partner and attorney. His secretary stated that Brian was out of town, but she penciled Lydia in for an appointment late Friday at four o’clock. With that taken care of, Lydia sat back and continued working until Tyler and Brooke were dismissed from school. But, later, as she pulled into her driveway and spotted Alec’s truck next door, she had an inkling something was wrong. Alec never got home early on Monday.

  As soon as she could, she phoned him, only to hear him knocking on her back door. With an amused grin, she answered it. “Great minds think alike,” she greeted. “I was just trying to get a hold of you.”

  Alec stepped into the house, a dour expression clouding his face. “I lost my job today,” he stated abruptly.

  Lydia inhaled sharply. “Oh no. . .I wondered what was up when I saw you were home.”

  “Greg Nivens wouldn’t come out and admit I was getting canned because you and I are still seeing each other,” Alec continued as he shut the back door behind him. “He just kept saying the quality in my work hasn’t been up to company standards and that’s a bald-faced lie. But I have a call in to the company’s national headquarters, and I E-mailed my old supervisor. I’m planning to appeal.”

  Lydia didn’t know what to say.

  “Did you buy any pop yet?” Alec asked, entering the kitchen.

  “I’m afraid not,” she replied weakly. “I haven’t had a chance to go to the grocery store.”

  “That’s a downer.”

  She followed him in and watched as he collapsed his large frame into a chair near the table. She felt so incredibly responsible for Alec losing his job that hot tears sprang into her eyes. “Oh, Alec, I’m so sorry.”

  “Forget it. I really didn’t want a soft drink anyhow.”

  “No, not that. . .your job.”

  He frowned curiously. “It’s not your fault the axe fell today.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Alec shook his head. “No, it isn’t. And, like I said, I plan to fight this thing. In the meantime, there are plenty of other jobs around. I’m not worried. Besides, I’ve been employed with Heritage Craft Furniture for a long time. If I don’t find employment right away, I’ll get some compensation until a hearing takes place.”

  Lydia didn’t feel assuaged in the least.

  “Listen,” he said finally, standing and walking toward her, “I’m angry. I’ll admit it. But not with you. You mean more to me than a lousy job.” He shrugged. “I’ll get another one. No big deal.”

  She swallowed a sob. It certainly was a “big deal” and to think Gerald was the motivation behind it all caused her an enormous amount of grief.

  Alec put his hands on her shoulders, regarding her intently. “But whatever you do, don’t let your father-in-law know my getting fired has upset you. That’s what he wants, except we’ve got God on our side. What can Gerald or anyone else do to us?”

  ❧

  It was a challenge for Lydia to keep quiet the next couple of days—especially when she sensed that her father-in-law enjoyed goading her.

  “How’s Alec?” he asked on Wednesday afternoon as he thumbed through the mail that had been deposited on her desk.

  “He’s fine,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant even though her nerves were utterly jangled.

  “You know, Elberta has been talking about doing some remodeling, maybe Alec, would like to give me an estimate—since he is a carpenter. I’m sure he’d appreciate the extra money. After all, carpenters don’t exactly make a fortune.”

  Lydia forced a subtle shrug, while inside she was seething with indignation. “You’d have to ask him,” she replied offhandedly.

  Hours later she left work, still fuming.

  But that evening, she attended Berean Baptist’s midweek service with Alec, and Pastor Spencer’s message lifted her spirits. Afterward, she chatted for several minutes with Debbie and Judy before Alec reintroduced her to the pastor and his wife. Lydia couldn’t recall a nicer exchange, and she decided there was something very quaint, personal, even intimate about worshiping the Lord with a smaller body of believers.

  “So what did you think?” Alec asked as they walked through the parking lot.

  “I liked Children’s Church with Mrs. Spencer,” Tyler piped in. “Grampa doesn’t have anything like that at SPCC cuz he says us kids should sit still and be quiet in regular church.”

  “It wasn’t quiet in Children’s Church tonight,” Brooke said, shaking her head. “We played a game, sang songs, learned a Bible verse, and even heard a story.”

  “It’s kind of a neat ministry,” Alec explained to Lydia. “Some students from the local Christian college volunteer their time and help Mrs. Spencer.” Placing a hand under her elbow, he assisted her into his truck.

  “Mama,” Tyler asked once Alec closed the door and began walking around to the other side, “is Grampa gonna be mad that we came here tonight?”

  “Probably,” Lydia replied carefully. “But, even so, he’d never be angry with either you or Brooke.”

  A sudden burst of cold March wind blew into the truck as Alec opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “Who wants ice cream?”

  Cheers hailed from the backseat while Lydia shook her head in amazement. “It’s winter and y’all want ice cream?”

  “Ice cream’s good any time,” Tyler said and his little sister quickly agreed.

  “You’re outnumbered, Lydia,” Alec told her as he started up the truck. “Ice cream it is.”

  It was nearly ten o’clock when Alec finally headed for home. F
rom the silence filling the backseat, Lydia could tell her children were tired. She glanced at them and found that both sat staring dazedly out the window, watching streetlights go by.

  “Want to hear my latest wild idea?”

  Turning her attention to Alec, Lydia smiled. “Sure.”

  He paused, turning a corner. “I think I want to start my own business.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Really think so?”

  “Certainly. I think working for yourself is much better than doling out weeks, months, and years to a company that doesn’t appreciate you.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Listen to the name I thought up. Yankee Doodle Dandy’s Carpentry.”

  Lydia burst out laughing. “In Woodruff, North Carolina? I don’t think so.”

  “No?”

  “No!”

  Alec chuckled. “I was just kidding anyway.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.”

  His smile widened as he turned the truck onto their street until a horrific sight greeted them. Red lights glowed from several fire engines, voices echoed from two-way radios, and adding to the pandemonium were shouts from firemen and neighbors.

  “Wow! What’s happening?” Tyler asked.

  Alec pulled the truck to a halt where a policeman had barricaded the entrance to the street. “Major house fire near the end of the block,” he said as Lydia’s insides did a nervous flip. Was it her place? Had an appliance been left on and ignited somehow? She strained her vision, trying to see.

  Alec seemed to be doing the same thing. “That’s my house,” he finally said. All at once, he killed the engine, climbed out of the truck, and began jogging toward all the commotion.

  “Oh, dear Lord, no. . .please don’t let it be true.” But even as Lydia sent up the plea, a heavy dread settled over her.

  “Mama, is Mr. Alec’s house really on fire?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Maybe it’s really Mrs. Cavendish’s. She’s old and smokes a pipe on her back porch all the time. Matt said so. . .”

  Slowly, Lydia climbed from the truck. She began shivering, not so much from the cold, but from the realization that Alec’s house was indeed on fire!

  ❧

  Alec picked his way through the rubble of what had once been his home, thinking he might have believed last night was a nightmare if, when the first pinks of dawn streaked the eastern sky, he’d awakened. But he hadn’t, largely because he’d been up all night. And all day.

  Despite a valiant effort by firefighters, his house was a total loss.

  Neighbors claimed they heard some sort of blast before flames could be seen jutting from the windows. Many had feared he perished in the blaze until he showed up. Their concern had touched him despite the tumult in his heart.

  “Lydia’s house has some damage,” Larry remarked, crossing the driveway. “But nothing major. . .hey, is she still at her mother’s place? She seemed pretty upset last night.”

  “She wasn’t the only one.” Alec darted a gaze at his friend, glad he had thought to call Larry on the cellular phone. Larry had been a great source of encouragement. “But, in answer to your question, yeah, Lydia’s still at her mom’s. . .as far as I know.” He hesitated briefly. “Thanks for dropping her and the kids off last night.”

  “No problem. She was in no condition to drive—even if she’d been able to access her van back there in the garage.”

  Alec blew out a long breath, turning his gaze to the burned-out remains of the chimney.

  “Are you thinking it’s arson?” Larry asked, stepping over the charred wreckage and coming to stand beside him.

  “It has to be—and that guy from the insurance company who was here earlier seemed to agree. Of course, no one’s going to know for sure until the police do their own investigation. But I have a feeling they’ll never find the person who’s responsible.” He faced Larry again. “You know, if I would have come home right after church, I could very easily be dead now—or worse.”

  “Man, that’s God’s hand of protection for you!”

  “Sure is.” Alec swung around and, again, surveyed the incredible scene before him, praising the Lord for sparing his life. Even so, he’d lost everything he owned, except for some of his tools over in the garage. It had suffered minimal damage, but would hardly provide him adequate shelter. Worse, he didn’t even have a change of clothes.

  “Listen, Alec, you’re welcome to stay at my place for as long as you want.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered, discouragement quickly settling in. “I appreciate the offer and everything else you’ve done. But I think I’ll leave town instead.”

  “What? Why?”

  Pivoting, Alec considered his buddy. “He won. Don’t you get it? Pastor Boswick got what he wanted—he destroyed me. I mean, I’ve got two hundred bucks in the bank, fifty dollars in my wallet, along with some credit cards that are almost maxed out. The only clothes I own are on my back. I’ve got no job, no house. . .even after the insurance comes through—if they come through, considering it could be arson—it’s going to take me years to gain back my losses. What can I possibly offer Lydia now?”

  Larry chuckled lightly and shrugged. “I have a feeling she’d take you as is.”

  Alec shook his head. “I’d never ask her to.”

  “Aw, c’mon, don’t give up now. God will work it out. In the meantime, I think you’d better stay at my place. Take a shower, get some sleep. . .” Larry glanced at his watch. “I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got to get to work. My boss stuck me on second shift for the next two weeks. Here are the keys. I’ll see y’all later.”

  Alec turned the house keys in his palm. “Thanks.”

  “You bet.” Larry gave him a parting salute before walking to the street and climbing into his car.

  Exhausted to the bone and utterly spent in spirit, Alec climbed into his truck and drove to Larry’s place, where he managed to sleep the afternoon away.

  Twenty-one

  Lydia hadn’t seen Alec since the fire Wednesday night and here it was Friday afternoon. She feared the worst—that Gerald had succeeded in dissuading Alec from ever wanting to see her again. Perhaps Alec had decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. The fact that she couldn’t reach Alec on his cell phone and that he hadn’t returned any of her voice mail messages only increased her anxiety. Did he blame her after all?

  On a long sigh, she glanced at the white contemporary-styled wall clock above the secretaries’ station of Josephson, Hamill, and Bosh Law Offices. Four o’clock exactly.

  “Lydia?”

  At the sound of a man’s deep voice, she stood and smiled a greeting. “Hello, Brian.”

  “How nice to see you again,” he said with a genuine inflection. “Come on back to my office and let’s talk.”

  She followed him down a narrow hallway and couldn’t help a glance to the left—where Michael’s office had been. A man she’d never seen before sat behind a large oak desk, talking on the phone.

  “Have a seat,” Brian said as she entered his office. “Make yourself comfortable.” He lowered himself into a chair across from hers. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good.” Lydia managed to smile in spite of the nastiness incurred by her father-in-law.

  “So, what can I do for you?” he asked, raking a hand through his professionally groomed short, brownish-blond hair.

  Lydia slowly began to explain. “I guess I was just in too much shock to really hear what you told me at the reading of Michael’s will. I wondered if you’d kindly explain things to me again.”

  “Sure, but your father-in-law is your agent, and he ought to be able to inform you as well as I can.”

  She hedged, expelling a weary breath. “There’s a bit of a problem between Gerald and me. . .unfortunately.”

  Brian didn’t seem surprised. “Forgive me, Lydia, but I never did trust that man. I often wondered why Michael didn’t attend church elsewhere since he obviously had very little faith in his own father
’s ethical stance. But Michael felt convinced he could make a difference with his dad—and perhaps for a time he did. But from what I’ve been hearing, Gerald Boswick has finally crossed the line.”

  Standing, Brian walked to his file cabinet and retrieved a folder. He opened it and scanned the terms of Lydia’s trust account before defining them for her one by one. When he was through, she stared back at Brian in mild shock.

  Suddenly everything made sense, sickening as it was.

  “A one million dollar trust?”

  Brian nodded. “Because you haven’t been eligible to draw from its principal yet, you’ve only received quarterly dividend checks, generated by the interest.”

  “And to be eligible, I have to. . .remarry?”

  “That’s right. Michael feared Southern Pride Community Church would somehow end up absorbing your bequest,” Brian stated more cynically than emphatically, “and he took great pains to be sure such a thing wouldn’t happen while ensuring that you were well taken care of in the meantime. He wanted there to be a two-year interim, which expired over six months ago, so now if you remarry, the money is yours in full.”

  That’s why Gerald wanted me to marry Sim, Lydia silently concluded. They’re in this together. Neither loves nor cares about me. They just want my money! Tears pooled in her eyes at the realization. “I feel so betrayed,” she murmured. “All this time, I trusted him.”

  Brian frowned. “Has something happened?”

  “Oh yes.” Lydia spilled the entire story—about Alec and how she loved him, but how Gerald forbade her to see him, pushing Sim on her instead. She detailed the break-in, Alec losing his job, and finally the fire that destroyed his house. By the time she finished, she was weeping openly, and Brian handed her a box of tissues.

  “Lydia,” he said solemnly, sitting forward with his elbows braced on his knees, “we’ve got to call the police. Right now. They need to hear everything you just told me.”

  He didn’t have to convince her. She readily agreed.