Mammoth Secrets

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  Someday.

  If he stayed.

  Decide.

  With the boxed lunch out on his desk, he rattled ice in the cup and sipped. Jake dragged out a phone book, note pad, and pen and set to work.

  8

  By the time the deacons arrived for their weekly meeting, Jake had more questions for them than answers. How did anyone get anything done here in this trough of a valley? Businesses didn’t answer their phones, and the ones that did weren’t interested. As far as he could tell, Tom’s assessment that he was the only contractor within two hundred miles wasn’t far from the truth.

  Another car parked. Out the window, a trio of “Hey” and “How do” in that Ozarkian twang had him smiling. The slow speech matched the snail’s pace lifestyle he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. He stepped out of the office and into the main meeting room.

  Metal folding chairs were set up across the tile floor. Someone dusted off the podium. A table had cookies and brownie bars, next to a perking industrial coffee dispenser, and Emma Thompson arranged paper cups and napkins. Pregnant belly tenting the dress she wore, she nodded to her tall, lanky husband. “That’ll set you up, Scottie. Evenin’, Pastor Jake.”

  They said how d’ya dos and nibbled her homemade cookies. He lasered attention on her sweet, twanging tone. Most certainly, she’d left one or more of those anonymous prayer requests about Lilah.

  “This’n can’t get here soon enough.” She rubbed a protective circle over her broad belly. “I got hands to help, with my eldest daughter, but she’s got high school midterms and college scholarships to apply for. She don’t need to end up mothering four kids before she’s thirty. No offense, Scottie.”

  “None taken, doll.” He kissed the top of her head and smiled. “Go rescue Charla before the little ones tear her project to shreds.” Love shining in his gaze, Scott watched his wife leave then turned to Jake as the door closed. “We got married right out of high school. Never had much. She worked as a grocery checker until I got my teaching degree.”

  “You’ve got a beautiful family.”

  “The Lord just gave us a hefty blessing in that area.”

  That brought a handful of laughs from around the room.

  Scott clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Go meet the others. This here ministry’s mine and Emma’s.”

  Jake caught the slightest tinge of concern in Scott’s eyes. The look vanished as quickly as it arrived, but no one else seemed to take note. He was quite sure no one noticed Scott at all, aside from a back slap and a ribbing on yet another Emerson family impending arrival.

  The rest of the men arrived. More chairs were hauled in from the storage shed. It seemed every deacon, elder, and male parishioner had come to the weekly meeting to check out the new pastor.

  Jake’s hand repeatedly pumped in greeting. He memorized names, faces, and listened to veiled concerns.

  The men cycled around one subject. The carnival. Each had their own thoughts of how to stop, confront, or tell folks to avoid it.

  Jake did his best to listen, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the previous exchange at Scott’s expense, that still haunted the man’s eyes. Regret, maybe? Not for his wife, or his children; his love for them shone. Something else, buried deeper and laying heavy. He’d catch up with him later and get him to talk when they didn’t have an audience.

  Jake went to the podium. He led them in a quick but powerful prayer, and then gazed around the room after the “Amen!”

  He gave a silent plea for strength to get through what was sure to be a difficult meeting. “Thanks, everyone, for turning out tonight and for the warm welcome.”

  They applauded and settled into a respectful silence as he explained the announcement from Tom about the new roof and the budgetary concerns for the renovations.

  Mumbling went through the crowd, and Tom stood to explain the costs and materials, but no one seemed focused on his report. There were nervous stares and the folding and unfolding of the meeting’s agenda pamphlets. Everyone, it seemed, was concentrating on the next discussion point.

  “Thanks, Tom.” Jake resumed his place. “I guess you know we’re here to talk about plans for the month. The Revival—”

  The doors opened with a flourish and all heads turned. Naomi led Earl Dale into the room with shuffling steps. “Forgive me, everyone. Earl here’s having a good night. I thought maybe he’d enjoy listening to your meeting. If you don’t mind, Pastor Gibb.” Her gaze was a cold stare daring him to say no.

  “Earl’s always welcome, Mrs. Dale.” Jake strode across and took him by the elbow. Someone vacated chair, and Jake directed him to sit. “I’ll get him home after, unless of course, you’d rather stay?”

  Naomi’s brows shot up.

  A slight gasp went through at what was obviously an unwritten rule: Men Only.

  “We’ll help him get back over,” Tom spoke up. “Never you mind yourself, ma’am.”

  Naomi departed.

  Earl settled. “Thanks, boys. That woman hovers about me like a mother hummingbird.”

  “Always has, Earl.” A portly man in a red checked shirt clapped his shoulder.

  “Always will, I reckon.” Earl chuckled. He sipped coffee that someone brought. “Mmm. That’s a good cup o’ joe. What’re we talkin’ bout tonight?”

  “Revival Meeting,” they answered in a chorus.

  Jake exhaled, shuffled papers. “I was about to discuss plans for location.”

  “We can get two hundred souls in tents in the back,” the owl-eyed fellow offered. “If we go with that rental company from Thayer again.”

  Mumbles of approval rattled through, along with budget and traffic concerns.

  Jake drummed his thumbs on the table. He didn’t hear one question that stemmed from the real purpose for having a revival. He held up a hand, but no one seemed to notice.

  “Knock off the racket!” Earl spoke up and the room fell silent. “Our pastor’s got something to say.” He frowned then turned to Jake. “Go ahead, son.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Dale.” Jake held his hands out. “Now, it’s all well and good to talk rental companies, tents, and traffic control. But I’ve got an idea that you should take under consideration.”

  They sat in rapt attention.

  “The Reunion Carnival’s scheduled for the same weekend as the Revival. I’m sure that’s not a coincidence.”

  “Been that way long as I can remember,” Scott spoke up.

  “Longer than that,” Earl acknowledged.

  “We’ve got to combat the elements that those travelin’ folk bring to the valley.” Tom wagged a finger.

  “And how are we going to do that, exactly?” Jake’s voice quelled the rabble.

  The crowd sat in silence.

  “How, indeed?” He continued, “Unless we host His Revival where folks happen by. Maybe they’ll come in from the Reunion.”

  Their instant disapproval soaked him in a wave.

  “Drunken revelry” and “Heathens!” followed by “Trouble-makers, all of ’em!”

  “That may be...but what good is it, re-saving ourselves every Sunday? We need to throw out life rafts to those in need. And where better, than across the fairgrounds from the carnival?”

  More disapproval. Owl-eyes stood to leave, crumpling his pamphlet for effect.

  Earl Dale struggled to his feet and walked up to the front in unsure steps.

  The crowd hushed.

  Jake grasped the elderly man’s elbow, then stepped back to let Earl have his say.

  “When I was a boy, I hunted those woods every day rather than go to school. That old school house is still out there, you know. It’s a monument, I guess, or some crazy thing.”

  “Yes.” Tom spoke up, impatient. “My company renovated it last year. They have weddings out there, family picnics.”

  “I know Naomi thinks otherwise...” Earl grinned. “But I was saved out there on that plot of land, in that very school house, at the first of Cherokee Spring’s revivals
. Back when I was just a boy...”

  Jake stared toward the back at a trio of stained glass windows. Glowing with the bright farm lights from the Dale property, he saw scenes of pastures, rolling hills, baskets of fish, and crowds on a hillside. A simpler time, maybe the one that Earl saw in his mind’s eye as he stared off.

  Someone cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

  “All in favor of moving the Revival location to the park, above the carnival grounds?” Jake offered, and then added. “If we can make arrangements with the city?”

  “Aye!” Earl shouted, and laughed until a coughing spell overtook him.

  “Ayes” salted the crowd, along with slowly raised right hands.

  Tom begrudgingly raised his own, his scowl showing his true heart.

  “Nays?”

  Silence. No one dared speak opposition.

  “We’ll see to permits and discuss further plans next week.” Jake adjourned the meeting, leaving the crowd to mumble at his back. He darted through milling men, their previously hopeful and expectant faces now full of doubt, concern, and worry. No doubt, he’d be getting a call tomorrow from the church elders, demanding explanation.

  Fallout from this decision would be legendary. There’d be plenty of time to hear complaints after church on Sunday, for the weeks leading up to the event, and to his email, newly posted on the sign out front. He hot-footed it after Earl Dale, and placed a hand to steady his gait, to see he made it safely back home.

  He’d avoided discussing the ousting of his predecessor, the prayer chain, and his own history, but the Lord worked in his own way. In Jake’s experience, it was never the way anyone planned.

  9

  By six AM the diner’s kitchen hummed with prep for Saturday’s morning special. Lilah dumped the colander of washed potatoes on the cutting board already littered with onions, rosemary, and bright red, gold, and orange peppers, her knife rat-a-tatting against wood.

  Raymond swept up the remnants that fell to the linoleum. “You know they’re gonna complain, right?”

  “I know.” She tossed a red potato up, caught it, and added it to the veggie victims. She cleared the surface into a large steel bowl and handed the knife to Ray. “Like that. Only lots more.”

  Knife tip down, he mimicked her movements, and then smiled. “Hey, that’s kind of fun!”

  Lilah turned back to the bowl, drizzled olive oil, dashed sea salt, and tossed the mixture. She added a generous heap of Parmesan cheese, poured the seasoned contents into a parchment-lined baking sheet and set the industrial oven to broil. “There. Shake it around in ten, with a handful more parm. Add the next batch.”

  She washed her hands, and knowing Raymond would do her bidding, wiped off last night’s advertised corned beef dinner special—unsold and untouched. With a quick scrawl, Lilah penned the morning’s special: corned beef hash, poached eggs, and home fries. Maybe she’d actually get someone to eat it.

  The bell rang, and Jake came in, shaggy hair damp from a shower. “Too early?”

  “Why, hey, Pastor!” Eden hopped around the counter to give him a friendly hug and pat on the cheek. “I just flipped the sign.”

  “I was heading to the market, but I saw you were open.”

  “You sit anywhere you like. I’ll bring you some coffee.” Eden went to the coffeemaker near Lilah. “It’s like God knew we needed a new, single man in Mammoth. He could use a haircut. You’re good with scissors, ain’t ya?” Voice low, Eden elbowed Lilah.

  Jake settled at the bar.

  Eden went to him and poured a generous splash of coffee into a fresh mug. “Here you go, Pastor.”

  “Thanks.” He did his thing with the creamer and slow stirred, his gaze fixed on Lilah as she lifted the board. “Need a hand?”

  “No, I got it.” She smiled and propped the day’s specials above the drink machine.

  Bright blue, red, and white lights swirled—a paramedics vehicle—pulling his attention away from her sign. The siren burred once and then went silent.

  “Someone call for an ambulance?”

  “Nah.” Lilah poured a cup of coffee and leaned on the counter. “That’s just Jeremy and Luke. The B shift, come by to drool over my sister.”

  The bell jingled again, and Eden welcomed the paramedic team.

  After nodding a friendly hello, Jake absorbed himself in the menu.

  Conversation settled into a comfortable hum.

  Raymond announced his chopping task done.

  Scents of fresh brewed coffee wafted around the roasting potatoes and peppers.

  “Smells like heaven.” Jake observed the Specials board. “What’d you do to spice that up?”

  “How d’ya mean?” Lilah dialed the radio and landed on a ministry station tuning in to Pastor Bill Gibson’s rich, welcoming tones of forgiveness and hope. With a smirk to Jake, she decided on country.

  “Leave it!” Eden shouted out.

  Lilah grabbed a bag of napkins and assembly-line jammed them into a waiting row of silver dispensers. She pointed to the board. “I’ve learned that’s where you put your best stuff. Not that they’d know this.”

  “So, all those peppers and potatoes?”

  “They’re in there.” She raised her eyebrows, daring.

  “I’ll have the special. Please.” He slid the menu back into the rack. “I don’t think I’ll ever read this again.”

  “What an honor.” She kept her tone light. “It’ll be up in five.” She went to the cooler, dragged out ingredients, and commenced to shred, mince, prepare, and set it sizzling on the griddle. The salty aroma mingled with the vinegar-steam and roasting veggies. His comment unnerved her. Cooking her special for the handsome pastor shouldn’t get under her skin. She had no right to anticipate anything.

  It was only a few days since the overnight package should have arrived back at the lawyer. She shouldn’t be expecting anything save for trouble arriving once all parties were informed of her revised demands. Gooseflesh broke while she spooned frothy white poached eggs from simmering water. Not the time to think of that now. She glanced at the wall clock. Saturday at six-thirty, she had time for a quick bite and one for Eden, too. She made two plates and slid in beside Jake at the otherwise deserted bar.

  Raymond poured glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice for each then disappeared into the back.

  “Hope you don’t mind. I needed something before the rush comes in.” She shot a glance at Eden.

  Her twin set a hand to Luke’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The paramedic lit up like the neon “Open” sign in the window. Poor Luke gazed at Eden as if she were the only woman in the world.

  Irritation balled in her gut. “Eden!” Lilah called.

  “What?” Eden came over, frowning.

  “Don’t be short with me.” Lilah pointed at the artfully plated hash. “You need to try the special.”

  “Why?” Eden’s look darkened. She bookended Jake at the bar, speared a poached egg, and took a dainty bite.

  Lilah watched the two of them as they ate; the expressions on their faces as they each experienced the subtle explosion of flavors. Jake was just in from a morning run and in need of sustenance, while Eden was starving on a completely different level. From what Lilah could tell, her sister barely ate anything, intent on keeping herself the same size since high school. Lilah’s own frenetic energy had always been enough to keep her metabolism steady. Something her twin insisted was a constant battle.

  “Wow.” Jake mopped up the last drops of yolk with his sourdough toast.

  “Yeah.” Eden’s brows rose. “Wow, indeed.”

  “Now, you can recommend it.” Lilah dragged the plate back away from Eden’s searching fork, and took a bite herself.

  Eden set off to chat up an elderly couple and expound on the morning special.

  “My work here is done.” Lilah pushed off the stool. “Big plans today, Jake?”

  “Working on the church this morning, then I thought maybe later—”

 
“Two specials, Ray!” Eden swung the order on the rack. Frothing drinks into ice-filled cups, Eden caught Lilah’s attention. “I get it. Why it’s important to you.”

  “Thanks.” Lilah carried Jake’s plate to the sink. She waited for that flush of accomplishment, pride, and joy but her heart was hollowed out. None of them knew how much she’d sacrificed to return to Mammoth.

  Not even Eden.

  Nana and Papaw wandered in at seven.

  Eden wrapped her arms around them both and pecked her grandfather on the cheek.

  Nana held on an extra minute, as if Eden was her life raft.

  Lilah tossed more empty dishes into the sink, a bit harder than necessary. She loaded glasses into the trays. Seeing Nana and Eden hug like that shouldn’t bother her. She dragged the orders off the rack and set to work. Two specials. So far. She was sure to sell out by lunch. She showed Ray how she wanted it plated, then set the white platters to the window. “Order up!” she called and blinked at Jake still at his barstool.

  Her Papaw sat on Jake’s left, his time-worn fingers worried the sugar packets.

  Nana stilled him with a steady hand.

  Lilah poured them each a coffee and said her good mornings. No hugs. A hand squeeze for Papaw. A measured stare at Nana. She nodded, turned back to Jake. “You need something else?”

  “Just—“ He cleared his throat at her approach. “I was hoping maybe you’d show me where to catch a fish later. If you’re not too busy.”

  “Lilah’s the best fisherwoman on the river.” Papaw’s smile touched his clear, green eyes. “Knows just where to cast. And when. That’s the trick.”

  “I hope she’ll show me. I can cook up a mean trout.”

  “You want to cook trout. For me?”

  “Maybe.” Jake grinned. “Maybe I could teach you something about grilling fish.”

  “Pastor Jake...” Nana interrupted the repartee. “You should know something about our sweet, wayward Lilah here.”

  Lilah’s heart speared with her grandmother’s tone. “Really. It’s OK–”

  “No,” Nana interrupted, tone sweetened with southern drawl, but her meaning sharp as her stare. “I don’t believe it is.”