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 30
December 29 & 30, 2017
My own natural curiosity and skepticism weren’t satisfied with John’s story. In a way it made sense, Brother Randy had complete access to Olivia, virtually any time he wanted to be alone with her. I guessed that Pastor Walter had been blind to the possibility. He gave the youth pastor unhindered permission to mold his younger daughter into an obedient and submissive servant of Christ. My bent towards science and its ability to provide answers no doubt spurred my discontent, silently gnawing at the edges of my mind and urging me to take one final step.
For some crazy reason Pastor Warren and the Church had cancelled the normal Wednesday night service and rescheduled it to Friday night, including the 6:00 meal. Since public schools were out for the holidays, most of the youth group were taking a respite from Brother Robert’s concentric circles. Early this afternoon Olivia had driven to Talladega to visit Wade and to pick up her father, who somehow had been granted bail. I supposed it had to do with his health and the fact the trials had been delayed, some were saying it would probably be summer at the earliest before their fate would be determined.
Brother Robert had already been through the serving line and was sitting alone at a table at the back of the Hall. After I placed a glass of tea on my food tray I noticed he was motioning me over. I offered no resistance since this perfectly fit my overall mission, to obtain a DNA sample from the grandson of the late Randy Miller. It would likely be a fork, maybe his glass. Maybe I could pull it off without being charged with stealing. I could overnight the DNA sample to Jerry and hope that he hadn’t decided to start his New Year’s Eve celebration and vacation a few days early.
Brother Robert looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His hair was uncombed. With his overall disheveled appearance and the faint smell of body odor, I concluded he probably hadn’t showered in a few days. This may have been why he was sitting alone.
I wasn’t one to insult someone but the look in his eyes and his overall appearance seemed to beg me to figuratively shock him enough to point him back towards his normal world. “Brother Robert, thanks for inviting me over. Are you okay? I have to admit you look like you’ve had a bad day.” My statement was polite enough but maybe made him aware of how others might perceive him.
“Thanks for noticing but I’ve really had a good day. It’s strange that I would say that, but I do this every year. I spend a whole week as a homeless man. I convinced my former church a few years ago to allow me to conduct some research. At first, the benevolence committee thought I was crazy, ‘they’re no homeless people around here’ was their response. I had done my homework. After one week, undercover I guess you would call it, I came back with stories to share, ones that had broken my heart. Homelessness, of some sort, is a nationwide problem. Small towns aren’t exempt at all.” I was impressed with Brother Robert. His behavior was something new to me. He was trying to help people with real problems. He was doing more than praying and talking from the middle of his concentric circles. I wanted to know how he would involve the youth group and how the faces of the homeless would affect them, but I also was hoping he could tell me more about Brother Randy.
“Brother Robert, I hope I don’t offend you with my question. I have to tell you I have concluded that you are a truly genuine person and one who doesn’t run from the facts.”
“Just ask me. Right after I eat I’m heading home to shower. As you can see with our empty table, Christian love has its limits.” He said laughing and devouring what looked like a double portion of lima beans, cornbread, country fried steak, and scalloped potatoes.
“You know I was a member of your grandfather’s youth group back in 1970 and 1971, during the one year I lived here in Boaz?”
“You and Olivia told me that last Wednesday.” Robert said, with a mouth full of food and not slowing down.
“I always admired Brother Randy. I was impressed with him, his dedication to what he believed. I never saw anything that caused me any type alarm. My question, did you ever hear about him having an improper relationship with Olivia, or any other teenage girl as far as that goes?” I said, not believing I had really said something so surprising and probably so offensive.
“All I know is what I’ve been told. Granddad died his horrible death in the late eighties, a few years before I was born. I was a young teenager before I knew anything about it. My family, including my Nan, what I called Granddad’s wife, and my Dad and Mom, kept all this pretty close to their vests. You might expect they defended Granddad, denying that he had done anything wrong. I know I don’t have any personal knowledge to confirm any of this, but my family said Pastor Walter and a few of his friends were responsible for Granddad’s death. Dad told me. You may not know but he died rather suddenly a couple of years ago. Dad told me on his death bed that when a very scathing letter was circulating around town about Granddad that he had told him all he had ever done was look after Olivia and that he was uncomfortable with her home life.”
“I appreciate you telling me what you know. I’m still concerned about Olivia.” I said more as something to fill an awkward moment than as a cry for help.
“I’ve gathered that you and Olivia were close as teenagers and maybe are in process of rekindling a long-lost love, something of that nature. Right?” Almost in mid-sentence Brother Robert downed the last of his tea and stood up. “I need to go, I’m itching, probably with something moving. Maybe we can talk more later. See you Matt.”
“Don’t worry with your tray, I’ll take it with mine.”
“Thanks a bunch. See you later.” Robert said heading for the door at the back of the Hall.
I used clean napkins to separately wrap his fork and his spoon. I hadn’t noticed which he had eaten with. I wanted to be on the safe side. I stuffed them into the inside pocket of the sport coat I was wearing, anxious to read Jerry’s terse statement that would arrive in less than a week. I suspected it would read, ‘G, H and B, three peas in a pod.’ Even with what Brother Robert had told me I suspected he was relaying family loyalty. My logic pushed me to conclude, especially with what John had read in his adoptive mother’s journal, that Randy Miller had to be Paul Cummins’ father. There was simply no one else in Olivia’s teenage world who fit the profile that was clearly shaping in my mind.
Olivia and Walter didn’t make it to Warren’s until late afternoon on Saturday. After leaving the Federal prison in Talladega, Walter had asked Olivia to drive him to Atlanta. He said he needed a little time to prepare for his return to Boaz. They had spent the night with a pastor friend of Walter’s, one he said had supported him through many dark days, recent and past.
I didn’t have the courage or stomach to sit through another meal at Tiffany’s table. She was a fabulous cook but the dynamics of tonight’s family time, I knew, wouldn’t digest well with the steady mystery that had been gnawing at my gut almost since I arrived in Boaz less than a month ago.
Instead, Olivia and I went to the Cracker Barrel in Guntersville. “Thanks for rescuing me. I think I would have died to spend another hour with Walter Tillman.” She said, surprising me. I didn’t know her reasoning but I was glad she hadn’t insisted that I join the family reunion.
“I’ve missed you.” I said it because it was true. Driving us down Highway 431, through Albertville and over the railroad tracks at Mitchell Grocery, my mind involuntarily retrieved a poem from the little book of poetry I had given Olivia on her fifteenth birthday. I had grown to like the book’s name, Love Isn’t Always a Straight Line. After returning to Chicago in 1971 I had bought my own copy. Now, I was thinking of a poem, one that said true love didn’t exist until the line, the slightly curving line, intersected with trouble. The author, writing from her own experience, had discovered after she married her husband, and after he was stationed in Korea, that he had cheated on her shortly after they had become engaged. It was devastating. She had confronted him, via mail, and he had been truthful with her. The poem’s point was not what I had expected. It wasn’t that two people in love, if they will be honest, can forgive and get through the hard times. The point was that the hard times, meaning the very issue that was both a surprise and a shock, could be just what is needed to bend their love back toward the needed destination. This place is the same for all couples, all those who would dare describe their relationship as a once in life love. This place is holy ground, where two souls can not only forgive each other, but forget the bad thing every happened. For the poem writer, the past had to be buried and forgotten. The future bliss had already been prepared, it was waiting. All the couple had to do was, together, gently push the line away from the natural, towards the supernatural. Until now, I had never understood why I had connected with this poem. I didn’t at all believe in any form of supernatural, but I did believe in natural.
Cracker Barrel’s parking lot was nearly full. We had to park around to the side in the farthermost spot. As we walked toward the front door our hands touched. Her hand in mine was so natural. I had never had this with Alicia even though we were always kind, respectful, and loving in an almost ramped up brother-sister sort of way. There would never be another Olivia. She was in every cell of my being. It seemed to no longer matter that she had lied to me forty-six years ago and seemed to be willing to continue to keep me from the truth.
Our hands separated as I held open the front door for her to enter. And, for an older couple that was right behind us. When I caught up with Olivia I used my left hand to press against her back and lean her towards the back wall filled with candies and jellies, sweet things.
“We need to register. I’m hungry.” Olivia said, a little surprised that I had guided her here.
“I’m starving too. I just wanted to see how easy it was to bend the line.” I don’t think she had a clue what I was talking about. She looked at me, cocked her head to one side, as though to ask, ‘can you explain that?’ It was silly, my thoughts and my actions. In the world that I was looking for, it was as natural as tomorrow’s sunrise.
As we ate supper, Olivia once again enjoying turnip greens and cornbread, I felt as though we were nearing the peak of a mountain. It was no doubt a sharp peak, one with hardly any room to move. I looked at Olivia, her eyes occupied, gazing towards the fireplace behind me. All I needed, all I wanted, was to be on that mountaintop with Olivia. She was truly my once in life love. I was ecstatic about the possibilities but also dreadfully fearful about us falling down the other side of the peak, no doubt causing at a minimum, separation, and at most, the death of an extraordinary relationship, one I suspected, few ever experienced.
The Pencil Driven Life 