Mammoth Secrets

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  “Difficult.” Lilah chased her hush puppy with a long swallow of lemonade. “Is it difficult for you? Having lost your wife?”

  “Uh—”

  “How long has it been since she died?”

  Skewered, his heart spiked with the unspoken truth, a sinking notion it was now a lie. “I-I don’t—”

  “No.” She stopped him with a word. “I’m sorry. That was cruel of me.” Hand whisking fast in the pan, she spoke again. “I’m sure you understand. It just is. It’s my life. My normal.”

  “What’s normal?” Naomi shuttled into the kitchen and pecked Lilah on the cheek.

  Lilah stood blinking as her grandmother moved to sink, rinsed remnants of the earlier fish fry. “Thanks for making dinner. Sorry, hon. You know your Papaw won’t eat the fish unless I fry it.” Naomi turned to Jake, apology welling in her clear blue eyes. “Earl had a great day yesterday, even today up until sunset—or I wouldn’t have offered you up.”

  “I’m glad you did.” He assured her with an earnest smile. “I’m sure looking forward to seeing the whole Dale clan at church tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Pastor Gibb!” That brought a bitter blast of laughter as she left the room for more dishes. “If you can get Lilah back to church, the angels’ll sing the Hallelujah Chorus. I’ll take the lead.”

  Lilah stiffened, but said nothing as she stirred a creamy-looking sauce in a pan, balancing it over another pan of boiling water in her makeshift double boiler.

  “You don’t go to church anymore?” Jake stepped to her side, voice low.

  “I’m undecided.”

  “That’s rich.” Eden clattered in with a tray of empty glasses. “Lilah’s not been inside a church since she got married in that Las Vegas chapel.”

  Lila’s stirring hand screeching to a halt. “Of all the—”

  “It’s true.” Eden’s look all but dared her to say otherwise.

  “Just because something’s true, doesn’t mean you have to shout it to God and everyone. Especially your little gossip partners.”

  “Prayer chain!”

  “If the shoe fits!” Lilah sniffed and fast whisked her congealing sauce. “Now I’ve gone and done it.”

  “Is it broken?” Eden stepped forward, stared down at the separating sauce.

  “I can fix it. Maybe.” She scowled. “Get the lemon juice. Another egg.”

  Side by side, the sisters worked the congealing hollandaise. Eden added in more egg yolk, a drizzle of lemon at Lilah’s command, unflinching at her sister’s drill sergeant tone. To them, there was no one else in the room, as if one mind moved four hands.

  He hazarded a glance to Naomi, watching with equal awe, and then she drew him out to the dining room. They sat at the table and waited while the girls worked in the kitchen.

  “Are they always like that?”

  “Always have been.” Naomi tilted her head toward Lilah, a look of pride on her face. “Lilah’s the leader. Eden wants to be. She was a bit lost out here without her sister. But, Eden’s also why Lilah came home.”

  Another train passed going in the opposite direction.

  Naomi twirled a napkin ring. “We raised them for Rebecca. Did the best we could.”

  “And their father?”

  “There’s no father.” Naomi shrugged her slight shoulders, though her ice blue eyes went hard. “Never was.”

  “Biology would say otherwise...”

  “None that we knew.” Her tone was dismissive.

  A cheer interrupted. A victory dance was taking place in the kitchen.

  “You are healed!” Lilah pronounced over the sauce in a televangelist voice.

  Riotous laughter erupted, followed by immediate silence, and two identical sets of eyes peeked at them from around the corner. With laughter and hugs, any disagreement between the sisters was gone.

  Jake caught the slight, sad curl of Naomi Dale’s smile, and wondered what she wasn’t telling him.

  13

  Sunday morning, Lilah skipped rocks on the river in the chapel of her own making. She walked the shoreline, hunkered down at the lapping water’s edge, and selected a river-smoothed wafer of white quartz. Its surface warmed in her grip as she shook it into the sweet spot between her fingers and let it fly. One. Two. Three. Four skips! A scattering of rings bloomed as the river accepted her gift.

  Cherokee Spring falls deafened in an endless watery curtain. But wasn’t that the point of being here? This eternal thunder, the mist and scattering of rainbows—this she could understand. Better than the raging words of a brimstone preacher. Perhaps God Himself roared and raged at all of her misdeeds, or perhaps He was just smoothing her like a rough chunk of quartz.

  Somewhere, people worried about what style of shoes would be inappropriate at church or wondered if the new pastor would notice the patch on their son’s best Sunday britches. Somewhere, people had things to worry about other than getting divorced or whether or not your husband would come after you with murder in his eyes, or if he’d just sign the blasted documents that would set you free.

  A blue heron drifted out of the oak trees, broad wings floating it to the ideal place to fish. It dipped toes and long stilts into the water, made a few careful steps with a ducking head, its slender neck cocked, as if daring her to throw another stone.

  The soft skid of running shoes sounded before she saw him.

  Jake was jogging, sweat beading on his muscular arms darkening the neck and folds of his faded gray t-shirt.

  “You’re gonna be late for church, Pastor.” She chucked another stone.

  The heron floated up, away.

  “Whoops. Sorry, big bird.”

  It landed farther down the river.

  “Just wanted to ask you to come. As a favor.”

  “To you? Or to God?” She chucked another. Six skips this time, and the small stone nearly reached the other side. “Some say that nature is the best church of all. Look here, for example. It’s almost impossible not to worship Him when you’re standing at the base of these falls—amidst His creation. Nana told you I don’t go to church? I say, I come to it every day.”

  “Just this once, Lilah. Please.”

  Hearing her name on his lips sent her stomach to butterflies on the breeze.

  He prepared to skip a rock of his own. It sank with a heavy sploosh. “Out of practice.” He picked up another stone, held onto it. “I could use a friendly face when I say my piece today.”

  “You don’t need me there, Pastor Gibb. Eden always smiles at speakers, especially the cute, widower ones. She says it makes them more comfortable.” Lilah skipped another. Five hops, nearly bank to bank. “’Course, the last one never smiled back. She knew he was gay long before anyone else.”

  “Actually,” He cleared his throat and continued, “I do need you there. People’ve got a wrong idea in their head about me. I’m gonna set them straight today. Please come.”

  “Wrong idea about what?”

  “Just come.” Not waiting for an answer, he plodded toward the little church.

  The heron perched himself on a rock in a batch of reeds. Poised, serene, and waiting for the perfect strike, he plunged, drew out a good-sized, wriggling trout and swallowed it whole.

  No reason not to see what Jake planned on preaching. He’d looked so worried. So sad. Why he decided to latch onto her for friendship and support, she’d never understand.

  The river swept by, gurgling, chuckling as if mocking her. If it knew the reason, the waters weren’t telling.

  ~*~

  The church filled from the vestibule door. The stained glass window cast disjointed, multi-hued morning light over the pews. Thick ruby carpet still held its new-chemical tang, mixing with equally pungent fresh white paint, even though the women’s auxiliary had aired out the sanctuary the entire day before and lined the altar with vases of the sweet-smelling roses Jake had ordered clipped from the chapel garden the day before.

  While the choir sang about building a cabin on the river, he wat
ched Naomi Dale flinch, and turn to him with an acidic glare.

  No, he hadn’t noticed the dedication at the entrance to the Rebecca Dale Memorial Rose Garden until that very morning.

  The doors opened and another family stumbled inside, found their seat. No sign of Lilah.

  He drummed his fingers on the doorframe and considered their chance meeting that morning. Starving for his alone time with the Lord at his side, jogging always cleared his head. Sometimes, he even came up with a last minute sermon idea or answer to a long, drawn-out problem, like when he’d awoken in a cold sweat with no idea what to preach this morning.

  Every note sent to him by his parishioners, though with the kindest of intentions, rang empty and God-less. Not that they weren’t written with the Lord in mind, but none rang with the truth the Lord placed on his heart.

  Last night, Jake returned home alone, as expected, but lonelier than he’d been since his first night in the hotel after leaving Margaret.

  No messages. Jake lay awake late into the night, trying not to care that his father hadn’t called to offer some encouragement. He and Dad were locked in another stalemate, for his stubbornness, for not working out a bad marriage with a woman who didn’t love him and maybe never had. With his father’s stubborn streak, there was no chance their deadlock would end soon.

  He fell asleep with no sermon ideas. Not until this very morning and the sight of Lilah at the river’s edge, tanned legs curled underneath her, her curling blonde ponytail golden in the dawn, skipping stones across the water.

  Lilah was alone and yet not lonely. She had a spine in the face of adversity, remained steadfast, an open book, while everyone around her tutted tongues over her sins while shielding their own.

  He looked around his church. Wood pews that could hold about two hundred souls. Did place make a difference? Wasn’t God everywhere? They’d skipped stones. Thrown them into the…

  The sermon knocked him back, as it always did when the pieces clicked into place. The threads of His message became clear. Jake thought of the exact passage he’d have them turn to in their Bibles.

  The hymn drew to an end, and Jake walked out past the altar. His palms slickened around the podium while the parishioners raised their voices in the Amen. He spied familiar faces, some he hadn’t yet met. The deacons scattered themselves around the sanctuary, though God’s house was far from full.

  By the time he finished today’s message, he knew next Sunday would be far different—they’d fill the place, if for no other reason than to run him out of town. When this group found out Jake was not a widower, but a divorcè—he was sure they’d find fault.

  Rita smiled from her seat, hair teased into a gunmetal gray helmet. She shot a slight wave from behind her program.

  The room silenced. All gazes turned to him as he read the day’s passage from the book of Matthew—the intervention at the stoning.

  Eden grinned her support, as predicted by her sister, sandwiched by her grandparents. With a loud creak, the back door opened.

  Heads swiveled to view Lilah Dale striding in, her head high, eyes daring, she scrunched in on the other side of her Papaw, carefully avoiding the quizzical gazes from Naomi and Eden.

  A rise of joy in his soul, he heard the murmurs even as he finished the verses.

  She settled in and raised a daring eyebrow to him while dragging a Bible from the pew rack, fluttering pages.

  “Good morning, Mammoth.” He un-pocketed and palmed a flat river stone to the podium’s surface, and as he’d hoped, drew questioning looks.

  “Why did ancient cultures partake in such a brutal punishment of those who broke God’s law? Did the Lord bless this Old Testament practice?”

  He looked everyone in the eye as he spoke, praying all the while for direction. He explained about stoning as punishment in ancient Judea, and how the Romans added it to their own methods of dealing with thieves, traitors, and liars. “Our Lord ended it, there on that day, when he asked the blameless to step forward. Not one among them could. A stone tossed in a pond, or a river, does nothing but make waves. Not one of us on this earth is without sin, without a past.”

  Gazes darted to Lilah, sitting stock-still.

  Here goes.

  “And that includes me.” His words evoked gasps and whispers from the audience.

  Tom Steadman shifted in his seat, while his wife fanned herself with the day’s announcement.

  “There’s a misconception about me that must be cleared up.”

  Whispers surged.

  “I am not a widower. My ex-wife is very much alive and still in southern California.” Murmurs and discontent rose in a wave as he held up hands for silence. “Now before you go gossiping, here’s what you need to know in accordance of our church leadership. We divorced for reasons that don’t concern anyone here, but as the Lord reminds—divorce shouldn’t burden anyone with an eternal shroud of shame.” But it did. And they will judge you, just as they did in California; just as they judged Lilah, now.

  His heart died a little at their stone-faced expressions. Still, he went on, “I want you to ask yourselves something before you go writing Hot Springs and asking for my replacement.” He stared back at each eye that remained trained on him. Many looked down, closed in prayer, or looked away. He allowed the silence to drag. “Who says divorce is a greater sin than lying or omission? Who would cast the first stone my way?” He clenched the rock in his fist and raised it, an offering. “It’s right there. And I’m guilty.”

  That brought a nervous chortle.

  “There was a time I’d have thrown it myself,” Jake went on, giving the rock a toss-catch. “So, I have another question for you...” Palms slick, he fought the urge to wipe them on his pants. He cocked the stone toward the stained glass window like a Cardinal’s pitcher and paused for effect.

  “No!” someone shouted.

  More gasps, he turned to show them the palmed chunk of Ozark chert. “What if Jesus Himself closed His hand over yours? What if He stopped you from flinging that stone just in the nick of time? Before you had to ask for His forgiveness?”

  Some of the teens blinked.

  Scott and Emma’s teenage daughter looked near tears.

  He sighed, continuing through his message, though his heart sank faster than that un-skipped stone at the river. They’d never allow him to stay now, so he segued into his plans. “God doesn’t want us standing around congratulating ourselves for being pure or forgiven. He wants to be there, to stand in front of the one being stoned.” Please, he prayed, and glanced around the room again.

  An almost imperceptible chuckle filtered through the crowd.

  Good. Still have them. “People are coming to Mammoth in a few short weeks. They want the joy of the roller coaster, the excitement of the tilt-a-whirls and shooting galleries. I say we give everyone the chance to experience eternal joy. Let’s move the Revival to the park, near the carnival. We can open those tents to everyone, just up the hill—catch the curious, like in the days when Earl Dale was a young man.”

  All eyes turned to the white-haired man nestled beside his wife and granddaughters.

  Nods and thoughtful tilts of the head indicated he’d caught their attention.

  Naomi Dale’s cheeks flashed a hot flush of red.

  Some of these fish had swum right past, pretended not to notice, but most were circling now. Soon, they’d bite, especially the younger crowd. Raymond, the dishwasher from Earl’s Kitchen, gave a fist pump as he nodded, mop of black hair falling into his eyes. There were more reasons for relocating the Revival to within stumbling distance of the Carnival Reunion than any of them realized.

  “We’re here to be the light. So, let’s go down there and shine. I filled out the paperwork with the city parks, and we’re just waiting for an answer.”

  “So give it to him, Mayor!” Someone he didn’t recognize elbowed the late fifties woman in the dark blue pantsuit, front pew, center.

  She surveyed the others, let out a laugh, and
nodded. “Is that what you all want?”

  Subtle mumbling at first, then murmurs.

  “If that’s what y’all want, that’s fine with the city council members?” Three nodded. The mayor stood up, giving her a head over the crowd, her voice strong and sure. “Mammoth’s fiftieth reunion will take place at the Cherokee Spring City Park.”

  Applause peppered the crowd, the atmosphere lightened. Their expressions were open, receptive to his idea. Including Lilah’s, lips pursed in silent wonder.

  Others sat, still as statues, as he called them back to silence, offered the benediction.

  But Naomi Dale’s challenging blue eyes chilled his blood like twin icicles.

  He’d wrangled a fair share of the crowd to his line of thinking, but not all.

  Not yet. And maybe, not ever.

  14

  Eden swept the floor on Monday afternoon, before the dinner rush began. The lunch crowd had cleared out, except Luke Traynor, who apparently decided this was a good spot to wait for someone to need emergency services.

  Kimmy was late with the mail today. The soda cup left a water ring on the counter and Eden wiped it away. If only all messes could be cleaned that easy.

  “What’s spinning around in that brain of yours, Eden Dale?” Luke asked.

  Same dopey look, buzzed blond hair, but for that stubble of gold on his face, he could be seventeen, prom night, in that ill-fitting tuxedo.

  “I’m wondering why you park that infernal thing right in front of my window every blasted afternoon.”

  “I didn’t know you minded.”

  “You’ve gotta park it somewhere, I s’pose.” She swept up a pile near his feet. “But why here? Why not in front of the furniture place, or over across from the hardware store?”

  Luke’s gaze bored into hers, his deep, resonant drawl thrummed as he spoke. “I park it there because I need to keep it close. And, because I like to come in here and talk with you for some reason, though you hardly ever look me in the eye anymore.”