THE FOLDS
THE FOLDS
Clint Townsend
© 2019 Clint Townsend
The Folds
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Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the King James Version. Public domain.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Library Congress Control Number: 2019932554
ISBN 978-1-595559111 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-595559074 (eBook)
Information about External Hyperlinks in this ebook
Please note that footnotes in this ebook may contain hyperlinks to external websites as part of bibliographic citations. These hyperlinks have not been activated by the publisher, who cannot verify the accuracy of these links beyond the date of publication.
I would like to thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ
for breathing the life of this story into my heart.
For Mom, Dad, Kim, and Emilie,
to whom I thank for their unending support, love, and encouragement
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the following for their assistance and guidance during the writing process:
Maj. Stanley Clark; Texas Dept. of Public Safety, Dallas, Texas
Dr. Lee Brock – McKinney, Texas
Steven Brock – Austin, Texas
Kathy Quinonez – Tulsa, Oklahoma
Michelle Denham – Levelland, Texas
Mike and Tracey Brock – Dallas, Texas
Leon, Emily, and Brad Lacey – Blanchard, Oklahoma
Brett and Toni Brock – Garland, Texas
Jennifer Maya – El Paso, Texas
Pastor Raymond Simms – Blanchard, Oklahoma
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Game of Their Lives
The Lord’s Day
BBQ and Horseshoes
Monday Morning
100 Years at the VFW
Saturday, Superman, and Fishing
Wishes
Requiem
October
The Fold
‘Tis the Season
Fold #2
And So It Begins
1988
1993
1999
Just One of Many
The Catalyst
Secrets Revealed
A Personal Resurrection
A Not-So-Joyous Reunion
The Morning After
The Homecoming
Prove It to Me
A Prophecy Fulfilled
Digging Up the Past
An Unwelcome Visitor
Third Time’s a Charmer
Oil and Water
All Old Things are Made New
Another Door Closes
It’s Okay to Let Go
History Repeats Itself
Behind the Eight Ball
Testing the Hypothesis
Scars in the Heart
Ghosts from the Past
And All Flesh Shall Be Made New
THE GAME OF THEIR LIVES
Late summer. Texas, 1978. The early evening sun rested on the tops of the trees. Like a faded bulb on a weathered strand of Christmas lights, it shone through the branches, bathing all in a soft, red glow. While standing in line at the refreshment stand, Tommy could see the fresh popcorn flowing like a waterfall over the hopper edge and onto the perforated base. The white heat lamp made the salt crystals look like dancing snowflakes as a young girl shook a large blue canister of Morton’s, stirring the kernels with her spatula. Another woman took a small pan from an old stovetop in the corner and poured melted sweet butter over the tops of the bags of popcorn before handing them to the hungry spectators. Tommy hurriedly recited the snack order in his head while trying to watch the game from the back of the line. Danny Lee Albright, Tommy and Sarah’s boy, was third down in the lineup following Billy Williams and Daryl Wilke. As he slowly and impatiently inched his way to the counter of the snack bar, Tommy overlooked the three baseball fields, drew a deep breath, and reminisced about how good it used to feel when he and his friends played ball together in the thick, still summer air at this very same park. Now Tommy’s son Danny and the sons of all his friends played together.
Tommy hollered out his order as the lines of anxious customers voiced their objections for such a long list of food and taking so much time. He then walked slowly, cautiously, and overloaded toward the bleachers, looking all around as he crept so as to not have anyone enter his personal and unbalanced space.
“All right, all right, all right!” Tommy announced as he stepped slow and wide onto the first step of the aluminum bleachers. “Hot stuff! Coming through! Official police business! One side!” Like a waiter, he repeated the orders as he passed out the food, climbing one step at a time. “Jason, two hotdogs; Monica, Sugar Babies and Coke; Doc, Baby Ruth and Coke, and Miss Holly get da Big Hunk and DP. Case and Terri, popcorn and DPs; Miss Joellen and John, DPs and Reeses times two. Sarah?” He looked up, expecting to see his wife in the stands. Not seeing her or having his call answered, he called again. “Sarah?” Looking across to the visiting team bleachers, he saw Sarah Albright standing at the rail of the walkway, talking with a couple of friends. “Sarah!” he hollered, holding up her food. “I’m eatin’ three hot hotdogs in five seconds if ya ain’t over here in two!”
Sarah waved back in acknowledgement as Tommy squirted a dash of mustard into his mouth before cramming in one of the hotdogs.
Jason Arterberry leaned in as Tommy sat to join him. “How much we owe ya, Tommy?”
“Nuttin’. It was from Sarah’s purse,” he mumbled through his food. They then toasted each other with a chuckle.
They had always been together: Tommy, Ron, John, Jason, and Casey. They had lived there all of their lives and had remained the best of friends. Most children from small towns do. Sarah, with her brood of friends—Terri, Holly, Joey, and Monica—had done the same. All ten were friends from elementary school throughout junior high, enjoying 4-H, student council, sports, and church together. Slowly but surely, all ten friends had become couples by their freshmen and sophomore years of high school.
Tommy was the eldest of the five boys and, as they grew, naturally assumed the role of leader at an early age. Now at thirty-five years, he stood six-foot-four, weighed in at two hundred and forty pounds, and cut quite an imposing figure to both friend and foe, whether in or out of uniform. But with slightly curly blond hair, blue eyes, tanned smooth skin, a great smile, and more than an adequate amount of muscle, Tommy was also easy on the eyes and hearts of the local women.
Just as Danny Lee’s team took position in the “on deck” and batter’s box for the bottom of the first inning, Sarah quickly made her way from the visiting team bleachers to the home team stands to join her husband and friends.
“Where is he?” Sarah asked, not looking at Tommy as she, too, crammed a hotdog in her mouth, squirting mustard in afterward. “Is he up?
”
“Nah, he’s third down behind Billy and Daryl.” Tommy pointed him out as pieces of hotdog flew from his mouth. He took a drink of Sarah’s Dr. Pepper and turned to address the group of men. “Now if y’all come over next Saturday around 5 a.m.,” he said, “technically, we should be able to load everything in the boats and fit everyone in the Jeep and Jimmy. I’m thinking we should be at Texoma ‘round noon.”
Before anyone in the group could respond, Terri and Casey Williams stood and screamed for their eight-year-old boy. Billy Williams strolled out to the batter’s box, awkwardly swinging a bat that, if stood on end, was sure to be as tall—if not taller—than he. “C’mon, Billy! Get a hit! Easy stuff! Take your time!” the proud duo hollered.
Billy, the youngest and smallest of the boys, with bright, strawberry-red hair and freckles, wore a uniform whose pants, hat, and shirt literally swallowed him. He glanced toward the stands where his mom and dad were standing and waved excitedly. Casey clenched his fists to his son in confidence.
“Get up!” Terri commanded, frogging Tommy in the back of the shoulder. “C’mon!” she demanded while motioning for the others to get up and show their support.
Tommy, Sarah, and the other husbands and wives slowly stood to clap and cheer for the ever-hopeful runt.
“C’mon! Get a hit, son! Jus’ like at home!” Casey could be heard from all over the park as he shouted.
Billy lifted the gargantuan bat, letting it rest it on his shoulder as he looked for the batting signal from his third base coach, Pastor Mike Cregan.
“I hope he hits it!” Terri squeaked under her breath, grabbing Casey’s arm.
“He will, he will,” Casey replied, patting her hand. “We’ve been practicing every night this week!”
At the bottom half of the first inning, on the opening pitch, Billy closed his eyes, stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and took a big swing. He made contact and lightly lobbed the ball over the third baseman’s head. Billy stood shocked for a moment as both Terri and Casey jumped up and ecstatically screamed, “Run! Run!”
Billy looked to Pastor Mike, who leapt for joy and motioned for him to run to first base. Lost in the amazement of actually getting a hit, he unknowingly took the bat with him on his mad, unbalanced dash to first base. He barely reached the bag before the throw from the shallows of left field was caught. Billy dropped the bat just outside the baseline and thrust his fists in the air. The small boy’s excited, wide-eyed jubilance amused the spectators from both sides of the field as they all laughed and applauded enthusiastically.
As the others sat down and adjusted themselves, Terri and Casey remained standing, clapping, cheering, and yelling. Billy stood on first base, pulling up his oversized pants while waving wildly to his mom and dad.
All eyes then turned to home plate as Daryl Wilke stepped into the batter’s box. Daryl was second only to Danny Lee in age and size. John and Joey Wilke clapped and whistled for their boy as he swung his bat a few times.
Tommy turned to his father Johnny Lee and asked, “Daddy, you wan’ come out to th’ lake next Saturday w’ me and the boys? Be just like old times!”
John joined in on the plead. “C’mon, Johnny Lee! Doc says he can outfish you any day.”
Ron Hall, with a self-titled nickname of “Doctor Fish,” was supposedly the master of bass fishing and catfish frying. He also claimed that he could “pull ’em out of the water and just keep on a’ pulling.” Upon overhearing John’s comment, Ron stood for all to see and began performing an energetic charade of casting his line. Immediately pretending to catch a “big one,” he leaned back and put on a show complete with grunts, whoops, and sound effects of a reel zipping with the weight of his prize-winning imaginary catch. Doc played his part quite convincingly.
As the friends clapped and laughed at the performance in the stands, Johnny Lee shook his head at Ron. He then informed John, “You know he brags just to hear himself talk!”
Ron, with arms outstretched as if he were holding a “whopper of a fish,” leaned back and proclaimed, “It ain’t bragging when it’s the truth! All I gotta do is yell, ‘Doc’s here!’ and they just jump outta the water!” He leaned over and shook hands with Johnny Lee as all had a good laugh.
Holly Hall, with a not-so-amazed look on her face, commented to her husband, “You do know you’re pathetic, right?” Then she kissed him.
Daryl got a base hit that flew between first and second base. Billy scurried to second base, struggling to keep a hand on his pants and beat the throw from right field as Daryl easily reached first. Both boys were safe. John and Joey clapped and hugged each other as John reached down between the bleachers to pull a cold bottle of Shiner beer from his cooler.
“Okay now,” Jason began, leaning in-between Johnny and Tommy. “We have Danny Lee, Tommy Lee, and Johnny Lee. What’s with the ‘Lee’?”
Tommy, without taking his eyes off the field, turned his head to Johnny Lee and asked, “You wanna get that one, Daddy?” He then stood as Danny Lee stepped into the batter’s box. Sarah joined Tommy and discovered that they were the only ones standing for the team. The score was two to zero in the bottom half of the first inning with Danny’s team down. Tommy clapped and hollered out, “C’mon, Superman! Here we go! Out of the park! Make him throw it to ya!”
As he approached the plate, Danny looked up at his grandfather Johnny Lee, who nodded and winked in confident approval.
Without taking his eyes off Danny, Johnny began his explanation to Jason. “Well, my great-granddad was the first of our family to come to Texas in the early 1860s. His name was Glenard Lee. He married a Cherokee girl, Mabel, and was registered in the Dawes Land Act of 1887.”
All stopped talking and watched intensely as Danny’s first pitch came in low and fast to the outside. Danny gave a mighty swing, but only made contact with the air.
Johnny continued to explain. “So to honor him, we made it a tradition to give every newborn the middle name of ‘Lee.’ Boy or girl, you’re gonna get ‘Lee’ for a middle name.”
Tommy continued standing, slowly rocking his hips back and forth in anticipation, clapping and calling out, “Good eye! Good eye! Take your time, Superman!”
A loud crack broke the still air, ringing throughout the park. Danny got a hit. A big hit. The ball went deep into left field, near the fence.
“HOO!” Tommy screamed, thrusting his fists in the air.
Both sections of bleachers stood to witness the spectacle. The bench in the dugout cleared as twelve prepubescent boys came to life and let loose with a high-pitched barrage of indiscernible cheers. All eyes watched intently as the new, white-leather Rawlings baseball fell just inside the baseline.
“That’s it! Go!” Tommy muttered to himself as he made his way down the stands through the crowd of friends and families. He yelled, “Go! Go! Danny, go! All the way. Don’t stop!”
Daryl caught up with Billy and his pants as they rounded third while Danny headed for second base. He paused at second to see where the ball was as Tommy yelled impatiently, “Don’t look at the ball. Listen to Mike!”
Pastor Cregan motioned for Danny to come to third because the ball had been wildly thrown over the second baseman’s head. “Go! Go! Go!” He leapt and shouted while frantically circling his arms.
“Fly, Superman! Fly!” Tommy blared, grabbing the chain-link fence behind home plate for stability as he jumped up and down. The first baseman caught the overthrow from left field and shot it to the third baseman. Danny dove hands and head first, sliding hard into the dirt.
The third baseman’s reach wasn’t quite long enough; the ball skipped out of the baseline once again and bounced off the chain-link fence toward left field. Billy struggled to stay clothed as he crossed home plate, coming close to being run over by Daryl as he, too, scored safely, then turned to watch the drama unfold.
Pastor Mike, Tommy, and the entire home team section of bleachers yelled out, “Run!” Danny scampered to his feet and dashe
d for home. Without missing a beat, the left fielder ran to the fence, bent down in mid-stride, and scooped up the ball with his right hand.
Like a slow-motion scene from a movie, he lunged out with his left leg and hurled the ball with all his might toward home plate. Danny slid safely into home with the catcher still standing above him, his glove empty.
Tommy jumped, screamed, clapped, whistled, and hollered as he knocked the bags of popcorn out of his friend’s hands. Danny’s teammates poured out of the dugout and dog-piled their conquering hero. Tommy and Sarah hugged each other as all the other parents clapped and cheered for the team.
There were few joyful noises emanating from the visiting team’s dugout or stands.
Danny and the boys made their way back into the dugout, jumping and squealing in front of their friends and family. As he strutted past the chain-link backstop, Danny searched the stands for his grandfather. His face beamed with pride as Johnny Lee again clenched his fist, winked, and nodded his approval.
Danny spied Jessica Renee Holder standing at the fence and paused for a moment to smile. She blushed, smiled broadly, and then ran to meet her parents who were waiting near the concession stand.
After the game, Tommy, Sarah, Johnny, and the other parents huddled by the bottom of the bleachers to enjoy their beers in the shadows. The boys, in their own huddle, each put a gloved hand in the middle of the circle and chanted, “Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate? Bears! Bears! Bears!”
The fifteen battle-weary warriors then darted past their cheering parents with blurts of, “Hi, Mom!” and, “Did you see me, Dad?” and raced to be first in line for their victory snow cones and sodas.
Pastor Mike approached the group of proud parents, who offered up a thunderous round of applause for his efforts. He bowed and waved and whispered an overly dramatic, “Thank you! Thank you!”
THE LORD’S DAY
Sunday morning. At ten o’clock they started arriving and went directly to “their seats” in the congregation, the same seats they had occupied for years. It was an unwritten seating chart, but everybody knew where everyone sat and respected that. The elders traditionally stood at both sides of the double doors leading into the sanctuary, greeting church members, and, while shaking hands, dispensed smiles and poorly copied news bulletins printed on pastel pink and yellow paper.
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