The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Fifteen year-old Matt Benson moves with Robert, his widowed father, to Boaz, Alabama for one year as Robert conducts research on Southern Baptist Fundamentalism. Robert, a professor of Bible History and new Testament Theology at the University of Chicago’s Divinity School enlists Matt to assist him as an undercover agent at First Baptist Church of Christ. Matt’s job is to befriend the most active young person in the Church’s youth group and learn the heart and mind of teenagers growing up as fundamentalist Southern Baptists.
Olivia Tillman is the fourteen year old daughter of Betty and Walter Tillman. He is the pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ. Robert and Matt move to Boaz in June 1970, and before high school begins in mid-August, Matt and Olivia become fast friends. Olivia’s life is centered around her faith, her family, and her friends. She is struck with Matt and his doubts and vows to win him to Christ. Over the next year, Matt and Olivia’s relationship blossoms into more than a teenage romance, despite their different religious beliefs.
June 1971 and Matt’s return to Chicago comes too quickly, but the two teenagers vow to never lose what they have, even promising to reunite at college in three years after Olivia graduates from Boaz High School.
The Boaz Secrets is told from the perspective of past and present. The story alternates between 1970-1971, and 2017-2018. After Matt left Boaz in June 1971, life happened and Olivia and Matt’s plans fell apart. However, in December 2017, their lives crossed again, almost miraculously, and they have a month in Boaz to catch up on forty-six years of being apart. They attempt to discover whether their teenage love can be rekindled and transformed into an adult romance even though Matt is 63 and Olivia is 61.
In 2017, Olivia and Matt are quick to learn they are vastly different people than they were as fifteen and sixteen year old teenagers– especially, when it comes to religion and faith. Will these religious differences unite them? The real issue is the secret Olivia has kept. Will Matt’s discovery destroy any chance he and Olivia have of rekindling their teenage relationship?
Chapter 28
December 28, 2017
The Auburn beanbag chair had performed exceptionally well. The late-night hours after Olivia had left were seemingly productive. It may have been the combination of the three-brick heater and the body-fitting contour of the chair. Whatever it was, my mind was alert and fed me enough ideas to drive my investigation to hopefully find the answer to my newly refined question, ‘who is the father of Paul Cummins?’
At first, I thought it crazy and a waste of time to attempt to obtain Robert Miller’s DNA. Someway my mind had seen a connection before I had, certainly before I realized that it made sense. Was it plausible to consider that Brother Randy’s suspicious death had something to do with Olivia’s pregnancy. I had recalled a couple of times during the youth group, after all the other kids had left, that I had lingered behind hoping to talk with Olivia. When I was young I hadn’t thought much about it, but now, looking back, it seemed to fit. Brother Randy had some type of special interest in Olivia. Could it have been a sexual interest? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time such a scandal had occurred in a Southern Baptist church, but usually it didn’t involve a minor. I had set aside this pursuit when I recalled that Jerry’s Christmas week schedule was unpredictable at best. He had told me to make sure I had carefully tracked any sample I sent him since he was going to be in and out of his office and lab all week.
As soon as my mind closed the door on this idea another one arose. My mind was drawn back to an earlier thought I had. One, which at the time, seemed so out of place. It dealt with Franklin Ericson and whether he might be the father of John Cummins. It seemed my mind was truly acting as a computer, allowing garbage that had been fed in to create and allow garbage to flow out. I almost got up to stretch my legs and walk out to the porch. The fire stopped me. It was as though I could see red hair blowing forth from the middle of the glowing heater, but it wasn’t burning up. This is where and how the idea of Reba Ericson came to me. I settled back into the beanbag’s present contour and two memories sprouted. The first one was about Reba, Franklin’s wife and John’s mother. She always sat with Betty Tillman during the worship hour at church. The second was from Spring Break during April of my eleventh grade. I had visited Olivia three or four times at her home during that week, usually in the evenings after we had returned from Aurora Lake. Betty had seemed happy, the happiest I had ever seen her. Looking back, it may have been that with both their husbands far out of town, they had more freedom than they were used to handling.
Late morning I had dropped by the Boaz Post Office on a hunch. Freda would likely know where I could find Reba Ericson. She was busy with a long line of folks who obviously had procrastinated too long to ship Christmas packages. When it finally came my turn, I walked up to her counter, she smiled, and blurted out, “Hey Matt, you got any more DNA samples to mail?” I was taken aback. How did she know what I had been overnighting? She apparently caught my confused look and said, “I’m always curious. I read up on you and your work. I’d really like to meet Jerry Coyne.” I was glad she was pressed for time. I returned her smile and whispered, “I’m looking to visit an old friend. One I haven’t seen or heard from in nearly half a century. Can you give me the address for Reba Ericson?” Freda quickly responded that she could not give out this type information. I thought that odd, but I thanked her and was nearly to the exit when I heard her calling out. I looked back and saw her motioning me to return. I did. She handed me a folded sheet of paper and said, “Sorry I’m late, but Merry Christmas Matt.”
Early Thursday afternoon I had driven to Brookdale Senior Living in Albertville. I was surprised that Reba had agreed to see me. I was more surprised that she had remembered me and was eager to talk without any reservations. It hadn’t taken long for me to realize her and Franklin, her husband of nearly seventy years, were, to say the least, estranged. Someway I had forgotten that he, like Walter Tillman and the other three fathers of the Flaming Five, were in deep trouble, all facing criminal charges. Reba shared her disappointment that the federal trials had been postponed, continued. I hadn’t heard this. I wondered if Olivia knew. It was the very reason that the two of us had separately returned to Boaz. Reba said she would probably die before the trials took place. She seemed anxious for Franklin to go to prison.
After nearly an hour of nodding affirmatively to Reba’s statements, interjecting a simple question every time her paced seemed to slow, I finally decided to explain to her why I was there. I filled her in on selected portions of my little mystery, enough for her to know that I wanted to know about two children who were born to John and Olivia at about the same time but who were completely unrelated. To be nearly ninety years old Reba’s memory was remarkable. “That time was probably the darkest days of our lives. Darker, in a way, than what is going on now. John got Jessie Dawson pregnant. Walter had his own problem with Olivia’s pregnancy at the same time. At first it seemed John was responsible for that child also. That turned out to be false. Pastor Tillman quashed that rumor. I never knew who the father of Olivia’s baby was, but I do know that Walter and Franklin took care of things. Long story short. Jessie and Olivia both gave birth to healthy baby boys. I think after the girls arrived in Birmingham, labor was induced for both. The babies were given up for adoption. The poor girls never got to hold their babies one single time.”
The last question I had asked Reba concerned Randy Miller. She shared there was a letter that had circulated around town in the late eighties that alleged Brother Randy had fathered a baby with Olivia back in the early seventies. Reba said he had denied it and Pastor Walter had believed him. She said nobody will likely ever know the truth but there was another rumor that several members of First Baptist Church of Christ took justice in their own hands. They gave Brother Randy a flaming departure.
My investigation had stalled shortly after my visit with Reba Ericson. I put everything on hold until after Jerry’s vacation. Olivia and I had spent the past three days in our normal routine except for Saturday when we had gone Christmas shopping in Birmingham. I hadn’t bought Christmas gifts in years, probably not since Mother died when I was ten. I hated the whole idea of exchanging presents around a mythical story. Olivia was different. She said “You don’t have to believe in Christ’s birthday to enjoy the holidays. I love shopping and exchanging presents. We have good reason to celebrate this year since John and Paul are sharing themselves with us. It’s our first Christmas together as a family.”
I arrived at Warren and Tiffany’s at four p.m. She had asked me to drive to Gadsden to a bakery she loved for a huge Christmas cake. John and Paul, along with all of Warren’s family, including the eighty-eight-year-old Betty Tillman, and Olivia were already gathered around a huge tree in the great room when I arrived. Judith Ericson and Randi Radford were both in the kitchen when Tiffany directed my cake delivery. I wondered why Phyllis Billingsley, Fred’s widow, wasn’t also present. She, like Judith and Randi, had mysteriously lost their husbands over the past year.
Christmas carols were playing through the house’s P.A. system. It appeared to be a perfect time to spend with friends and family. I almost wished I hadn’t known a few select details of the underlying mystery.
After an uncomfortable thirty minutes of my passive involvement in the group’s attempt to sing, “Oh Holy Night,” we spent the next hour gathered around Tiffany’s huge dining room table with foods fit for a king. I hated clichés, but the thought seemed to fit my feelings. After gorging ourselves, half the group migrated towards the great room except for Olivia, John, Paul, and me. If as though by plan. Warren asked Olivia to check on the fire in the fireplace down in the basement. He also suggested that I take John and Paul down there to show them “what a real man-cave looks like.” I think Warren was simply trying to give the four of us a little privacy.
I couldn’t help but notice that Olivia and Paul paired off quickly. She asked him to go outside and help her bring in some firewood. After they tended the fire they gravitated to the large closet next to the big screen TV. The media closet, the one protecting Walter’s valuable music collection. John and I, almost by default, hung back and settled in. Him on a leather couch, me in a matching wingback chair. Both encircling a round oak coffee table.
John spent thirty minutes sharing with me what he and Paul had done after I left Ellijay. They seemingly had mustered up the strength and determination to hike nearly 150 miles in eight days while never leaving the trail to enjoy a bed and breakfast respite. Just as I was about to ask Olivia and Paul to join us she stood and asked, “Paul and I are going upstairs to see the shrine that used to be my high school bedroom. Anyone else want to go?” I had hoped to spend some time alone with John, so I quickly responded. “John and I will join you two in a bit. I need to hear more about the bear story. The bear he and Paul saw in North Carolina.”
Paul and Olivia left. It was a little awkward, but I knew I didn’t have a lot of time to waste. I asked John, “I hope you understand my need to know more about you and Paul. Olivia has had the advantage of knowing what happened all those many years ago. I haven’t. What can you share about your earliest memories and, if you don’t mind, how exactly did you learn about Olivia and make that connection?”
“Matt.” I noticed he didn’t address me as ‘Dad.’ “I think it is only natural for you to ask questions. I really feel bad for you. Not even knowing you had a child, children. That must have come as the shock of a lifetime.”
“It was. I’m still reeling, although, at the same time, feeling blessed to now have you and Paul in my life.”
“Can I ask you a personal favor?” John asked.
“Sure, anything I can do.”
“Would you mind, at least for now, keeping what I’m about to tell you a secret from Olivia?” I again noted John’s failure to call Olivia, ‘Mom,’ like he had done ever since our first meeting at the Birmingham Airport.
“You must think it rather important, something that might really bother her for you to ask me. I will honor your request.” I said shifting in my chair, clueless as to what John was about to say.
“I haven’t been exactly truthful with you and Olivia. I have shared only the summary version of how Paul and I learned that Olivia was our mother. Let me rephrase. How I learned that Olivia was Paul’s mother. Our adopted mother was no doubt obsessed with keeping a journal. After her death and while Paul and I were going through her private things we found several leather journals. At first, we didn’t give them much thought. After we discovered Olivia’s name, Paul didn’t seem too interested in journals, so I took them back home with me. A few days later I began to read them. This is what I need you to keep secret, for now. It seems, from the beginning, Mother knew that John and I were not twins. Her journal laid out the entire story.”
I had to ask. “Does Paul know that the two of you are not twins?”
“No, I haven’t had the courage or heart to tell him. Back to my story. Mother was clear about how they had come to adopt Paul and me. Walter Tillman knew the pastor in College Station, Texas, the home of Texas A & M. It seems he knew my mother and father and knew they could not have children, and were heartbroken by their failed attempts to adopt. Out of the blue one day, the Texas pastor called Mother and wanted to know if she and Dad would adopt two little baby boys from Alabama. The catch was they had to promise they would never tell the boys they weren’t twins. Mom and Dad were Christians and highly-principle people. They agreed only if they were told the complete truth about the babies, their backgrounds, and the need for such secrecy.”
I felt John was having trouble getting to the point he really wanted to make, as though he was delaying sending a poison arrow in Olivia’s direction. “John, I’m a grown man and feel I’m able to weather any shocking news you may have. Why don’t you deliver the bad news?”
“Matt, brace yourself.” John sat on the couch and looked out the glass windows that covered the entire outside wall, into the darkness, as though he regretted the posture our conversation had taken. “Randy Miller is Paul’s father.”
For a moment I thought I would faint. I wanted to say, ‘you’re joking, that’s sick, why would your mother write such a thing.’ I got up and walked over to the fireplace contemplating sticking my head into the flames and letting the roaring fire burn away every fiber of my thoughts and memories.
After a while, John joined me and put his arm around my shoulder. We didn’t talk for quite a while. When we did, he seemed to confirm some facts I had learned from Reba Ericson. John Ericson was his father, Jessie Dawson was his mother, biologically speaking. I recalled Reba saying, ‘I never knew who the father of Olivia’s baby was, but I do know that Walter and Franklin took care of things.’
The rest of the evening was divided between a visit to the second floor and Olivia’s bedroom, and another hour crowded around the huge Christmas tree in the great room exchanging presents. I was in a trance, one no doubt that Olivia noticed. I didn’t have much to say as the party disbanded and the four of us, Olivia, John, Paul, and me stood outside on Warren and Tiffany’s front porch. I exchanged our customary man-hugs and acted as best I could that I would miss my two boys. John was a better actor than me and was almost effusive with his goodbye words to Olivia, calling her ‘Mother’ more than once. As the Cummins boys drove away in their rental car, Olivia seemed to know I needed to be alone. She said she was tired and would see me in the morning. I have no doubt Olivia could read me like a book. She knew me inside and out. As I drove home I had a feeling she knew I was onto her forty-six-year-old secret.
Another sleepless night, another night in a beanbag chair. I didn’t care which one. I finally dosed off as the sun’s rays were coming through the half-closed blinds. One thing now I knew for sure, Olivia had lied to me. She knew the truth, that the loving and well-liked youth pastor, Brother Randy, had impregnated her. I couldn’t be mad at Olivia. Looking back, I would never in a million years have suspected that she was the victim of sexual abuse. My dear, my cherished Olivia, had been raped by the man she outwardly loved and respected, the man who not only had stolen her innocence but who had used his position of authority and a mythical story to close her mind. She had kept all this a secret from me, to protect herself no doubt, but mainly to preserve us, the two of us and our once in life love.
The Pencil-Driven Life 