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 10

December 9, 2017

At 2:15 Saturday, Olivia and I were at Cracker Barrel Restaurant off Highway 77 in Gadsden.  After I picked her up, we had decided to go out of Boaz.  She Googled restaurants in Gadsden and found what she described as her favorite place in Chapel Hill.  “I was hoping there was one around here.  I love their turnip greens and cornbread.”

“That fits.  I always thought of you as Ellie Mae Clampett.”

“Not a chance.  She would have been intimidated by my bust-line.”  Olivia said looking over at me with a faint smile.  I was the one intimidated.  She was, as always, so open, but never about anything sexual.  She was the most modest girl I had ever met.  But now, had she changed?  Was she flirting with me?  Coming on to me? 

Last Thursday morning, I had driven to Brandi Ridgeway’s house and asked if I could rent 118 College Avenue for a month.  She had reluctantly agreed.  I had the utilities turned on, bought a sleeping bag and two large pillows, and moved in.  The only appliance in the house was what looked like the same old stove that was there in 1970.  I doubted that to be true.  I had purchased a coffee maker and coffee but nothing else.  I had been eating every meal at a little cafe called Rooster’s downtown where the Sand Mountain Bank was when Dad and I lived in Boaz nearly half a century ago.

I was surprised to learn that Olivia did love turnip greens and cornbread.  She had them and country-fried steak and the biggest slice of coconut pie I had ever seen.  Everything was coming back to me.  It’s weird how everything that we have ever experienced is buried somewhere in our heads.  I recalled the appetite Olivia had as a teenager.  Now, as then, I couldn’t figure out how she maintained almost a perfect figure.  In the past, she was never one to exercise formally, although by the end of mine and Dad’s time in Alabama, Olivia was my regular companion on the running trails.  I wonder if she was now a workout freak to rank her perfect 10.  I thought it inappropriate to ask her.

“Are you going to eat the rest of your pancakes?”  Olivia eyed my plate.  I had ordered breakfast after seeing the older couple at the table across the aisle from us eating pancakes, bacon, and sausage.  It was the best smelling bacon ever.

“No.  Do you want them?”

“I’d like to try the pancakes.  I usually eat dinner at our Cracker Barrel in Chapel Hill but Sissy, my new research assistant, has been trying to get me to go one Saturday morning with her.  She says they are divine.”

“Here, help yourself.  I’m sure they will taste great after that coconut pie.”

The next ten minutes were almost surreal.  Olivia ravaged my pancakes and then we simply sat silently.  We both had taken the first minute or so to investigate our surroundings.  When our waitress came by to refill our drinks, Olivia had asked her if there was a private place we could meet.  “I’ll check but I bet it’s okay for you to sit in our smallest banquet room.  The big one is occupied with a birthday party.”  The older woman said with the best Southern drawl I think I have ever heard.

After our move had been approved, Olivia and I sat at a long oak table, one along the far-right side of a room that would hold probably thirty people.  Within a few seconds after sitting down, I noticed Olivia was staring at me.  I didn’t linger at first, but quickly came back for a peek.  She was still staring and the mood on her face had grown almost pale, with a tinge of sadness given how she was not smiling and the pupils in her eyes were on alert, even attempting to penetrate my mind.

“Matt, I have something I must tell you.  I’ve put it off for way too long.  This isn’t a good time to do this, but I have to take this opportunity.”  I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.

“Okay, you have my permission.  But, you don’t have to be so frightened.  You know we decided early on that we would be completely open and honest with each other.  I suspect that’s the main reason I didn’t fall apart when you ditched me.  It was weird, but I trusted you and your decision.  I knew you had done what you thought was best for both of us.”

“Matt, I have lied to you.  I broke my promise to you, the promise you just mentioned.  I did promise you to be completely open and honest.  But, I wasn’t.  This is going to hurt you Matt, but it’s the truth. You deserve to know.”

“Just tell me.  You’re killing me with all this suspense.”  I said trying to imagine what could be so terrible that she had born such a burden for so long and now was about to crawl out of her skin.

“When you left Boaz in 1971, I was pregnant.”  She finally said it.  Then, she just sat there.

“Olivia, we had sex the first time, and the only time, the night before Dad and I moved back to Chicago.  It, the sex, took place June 9, 1971.”  The date was etched in my mind.  Forever.

“Do you have to call it sex?  It was the most wonderful and beautiful thing I have ever experienced.  That night, in your room, in your bed on College Avenue, we made love.”

“I agree.  My point is, and this sounds cold.  Had you been having sex with someone else?  How did you know you were pregnant?”  I said.

“No, no, no.  Matt, you must know that I was a virgin before you.  I’m confusing things.  That night, I didn’t know that I was pregnant.  I found out three months later.  Until I married Jack in 1988, you were the only man, boy, whatever, I had ever slept with.”

“Then, how could you, you of all people, have ditched me.  You were carrying my baby when you abandoned me?  No, that wouldn’t have been right.  That took place nearly 18 months later.  What happened to our child Olivia?”

“John and Paul, twins, were born March 9, 1972, nine months to the day after our one and only sexual encounter.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to ask every follow-up question since you seem to not want to give me, at one time, the full narrative.  What happened to John and Paul?  Tillman, was that their last name?”

“Matt, I had no choice, really.  My father, the fundamentalist of fundamentalist preachers, the hard-liner Walter Tillman made me promise to never tell you about the babies.  I suspect you can fathom his power over me.  Once mother found out I was pregnant and told Dad, he insisted I drop out of school.  I became an absolute shut-in for the next six months.  He convinced the community that I was sick and couldn’t have visitors.  I was an involuntary recluse during that entire time.  It was awful.”

“But, you kept me on the line.  It seemed to me, for at least the first year after I left, that we were fine, that our plans for you to finish high school and join me were right on track.”  I said.

“I did too Matt.  Dad’s only condition, at the time, was that I couldn’t tell you about the babies.  He convinced me that if I truly loved you that I shouldn’t tell you, and it was in your best interest.  I was such a fool.  Please know that it was an absolute shock to me that after I delivered, in Birmingham mind you, the babies were taken away.  I never got to hold the only children I ever had.”

“I take it, they were put up for adoption.  Right?”

“All I was ever told was that Dad had a friend in Texas, another pastor.  He and his wife were in Birmingham when I gave birth.  I never saw them.  Two days later they left with John and Paul.  I didn’t get to name my two precious boys.”

“And, you have never had any contact with them?”  I asked.

“Here’s what, I suppose, prompted me now, at least in part, to come clean.  Matt, you must know that if I hadn’t seen you, in the flesh, here in Boaz, I don’t know if I ever would have told you the truth.  That makes me so sad, and angry at myself.  But, when I saw you in the Church’s basement, the moment our eyes met, my first thought was ‘Matt has someway found out and has come looking for me.  I must deal with my secrecy and lying.’  Of course, you hadn’t found out.  But, I still knew I had to tell you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.  “Have you ever had any contact with John and Paul?”  I said, feeling anger build up in my gut.  Anger was so foreign to me.  I sometimes wondered if I was human.

“A few days ago, before I left Chapel Hill, I received a call at my office, at the School.  It was John, John Cummins.  The conversation was most awkward, but some way he had found me.  I think it was because I had gone back to being Olivia Tillman when I moved to Chapel Hill from Dallas.  The real clue that had started his intensive search was some documents he and Paul had found going through their parent’s things after they died.  The boys, from an early age, had known they were adopted, but they hadn’t been told the truth.  They had been told their parents had gone through an adoption agency, one long-defunct.  John and Paul literally knew nothing about where they came from.  Included in the documents they found was a type of journal entry their mother had written.  It gave the entire story, including my name and where I was from.  With modern technology, it was easy to find me.  If John and Paul hadn’t found those documents, I suspect they might never have known the truth.”

“How did the two of you leave things, after that phone call?”  I asked, absolutely blown away by what I was hearing.

“I know it is natural for a mother to want to see and hold her children.  I suspect most of them feel the same about their parents.  I sensed from the tone of their voices they were excited about talking and with me and were serious about taking the next logical step.  We three agreed we had to meet.”

“This is rather selfish of me, but did John say anything, ask anything, about his father?”  I had to ask.

“He did, he asked, ‘Who is my father and where can I find him?’  “I told him that I would tell them the entire story and try to help them find you.  Matt, like you, I intentionally stopped keeping up with you after we broke up.”

“Do the three of you have a plan to meet?”

“We do.  They will be in Boaz next Thursday.  Is it too much to ask for you to be with me when we meet?”  Olivia said, unable to even look me in the eye.

“One question.  I’m sorry but I must give you one more chance to be honest if you have not been.  Is there any way that I am not the father of John and Paul Cummins, the twin boys you gave birth to?”

“Matt, you are their father.  But, I must tell you something else.  I would hope, someway, you would know this.  I have loved you forever, almost since the first time I saw you.  I love reading romance novels and they are filled with stories of how beautiful it is for the adage, ‘love at first sight,’ to be real.  Novels are fiction.  Our story is not.  Even though I cared for Jack, loved him deeply, it was nothing like what I felt for you.  Matt, you are my once-in-life love.  That will never change.  Please forgive me for what I have done.”  I looked closely at Olivia as she talked.  I would have bet my life that she was laying open her soul to me.  She wasn’t lying.

“I’m sorry Olivia that I was not someway there for you.  I love you too.  I hope you know that if I had been told the truth, I would have abandoned my life in Chicago and, if I had to, walk the 700 miles back to Boaz.  Maybe we could have worked things out, eloped or something, raised our boys and spent the last near-fifty years enjoying each other’s company.  I would have liked that.”

“Thank you Matt for being you.  You are exactly the man I fell in love with.  You are too good for me.”  Olivia said, now looking at me so sweetly.

“Don’t even go there.  Would it be alright with you if we got out of here and went for a drive?”

“I’d love that.”

Olivia and I did go on a five-hour journey with multiple stops including a hike at Noccalula Falls Park, a photo session in downtown Chattanooga, and a milkshake detour at a Sonic’s in Fort Payne.  We returned to Boaz at 9:30 p.m. and sat on my front porch swing, just like we had sat together, here on this same porch, nearly a half-century ago.  At midnight, I walked Olivia the three blocks back to Warren and Tiffany’s house.

“I’ll call you tomorrow if that’s okay.”  I said, still holding Olivia’s left hand, facing her outside the parsonage’s front door.

“Early, okay?”  Olivia said with a quick, out of the blue kiss to my lips.

With that she went inside, and I stood spellbound.  I didn’t sleep much that night.

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 9

July 1970

I spent the next 65 or so hours thinking of nothing but Olivia and her question.  If all I had to do was fulfill my promise to Dad, gather information for his research project, my work would be a piece of cake.  Things were radically different now.  Somewhere along the way, ever since Dad and I arrived in Boaz and I met Associate Pastor Grantham, the mystical and mysterious Olivia had invaded my mind and heart.  I think it was the three weeks it took to meet her.  This gave the double M’s enough time to sprout, root, and evolve into a life-force that saddled up against my initial promise and equally competed for my time and attention.  Not to say my heart.  My twin mission now was to fulfill my commitment to Dad while at the same time win the heart of the most beautiful and captivating girl I had ever met.

On Thursday, I had pretty much convinced myself to lie to Olivia, to answer her ‘have you been saved?’ question with a resounding yes.  I had anticipated that this approach would avoid a mountain of interrogation and allow me to focus on my mission to become Olivia’s boyfriend.  I was confident I could pull this off.  I probably knew more about the Bible than anyone, well, maybe except Olivia, but I could act the part of a dedicated Christian.  I was excited about my decision and my plan.  Then, Mother showed up.  I could never do this, the lying, to her.  She, with her Catholic teachings, had instilled in me the importance of truth, of always being honest with myself and others. 

On Friday, my mind had settled on answering no.  I would say, “I’m not sure what being ‘saved’ means.  Can you help me?”  Oh man, this was it.  Olivia would think God Himself had given her the best blessing of all.  A lost young man who was open to hearing the Gospel of Christ.  By the time Dad and I returned from the Dairy Queen, now, our Friday night tradition, I knew I was on the right path.  ‘Can you help me?’  It was brilliant.  And, I wouldn’t make it easy on her.  This could take a while.  She would be determined to answer every question I had no matter how long it took.  A year?  No problem.  During this time, I could reveal to her that I was not only a gentleman, one her mother would pick out of a ‘potential boyfriend’ lineup, I was also a prince.  I would become Olivia’s protector.  That would surely win the hearts and minds of her parents.  I knew that was imperative.  Once again, Mother showed up, reprimanding me for being hellbent (not her words) on lying.

By Saturday morning, I was hopeless.  All I had left, something remotely akin to a strategy to use when, no doubt, Olivia popped out what I suspected was her favorite question. ‘Are you saved?’   I would simply be honest with her.  I would answer ‘no.’  And, if she continued her interrogation by asking me what I believed, I would tell her that I didn’t believe there was a God.  This wouldn’t be lying.  It seemed Mother had been a little vague about this strategy.  She, at least according to my interpretation, had allowed me to rationalize that not telling Olivia about my promise to Dad, about me being an undercover agent of sorts, wasn’t directly relevant to Olivia’s question.  I could just as easily, and honestly, be a writer, falling in love with his character while at the same time taking notes of her every word and action.

It was 2:05 p.m. before I left the house.  I had already timed my bike ride to the Lighthouse.  I would be there easily by 2:10 or 11.  I didn’t want to be early or on time.  It was better for Olivia to not think I was overly eager to please her.  I hated a suck-up.

The Lighthouse was on the south end and west side of Main Street.  It was next door to the First State Bank of Boaz.  The building, like all along Main Street, was old.  It was easy to tell this one hadn’t been well cared for over the past several years.  The ceiling carried the obvious signs of multiple long-term leaks.  The walls were cracking plaster that appeared to have had some recent patch work.  The recently applied blue paint helped.  The lingering smell didn’t.  The front part of the building was crowded with odd chairs, couches, and bean-bags.  Two girls, maybe thirteen years old, sat on a couch to my left and smiled and said as I entered, “Welcome stranger, welcome to the house of light.”  I wanted to tip my hat, but I wasn’t wearing one.  To the right, at the center and along the outer wall was a small stage.  Three guys with guitars were playing and singing “Amazing Grace.”  On the left wall, about midway to the rear of the building, was a half-circle wooden bar that looked like something I had constructed.  I suspected all the renovation had been performed by the youth group, with little adult supervision.  There were two guys sitting on bar stools, both about my age.  Olivia was behind the counter.  It looked like the three of them were playing cards.  She looked up and said, “Hey Matt, come join us.”  As I walked forward I could see the back half of the building was filled with multiple rows of chairs and a podium facing me from the back wall.  I suspected this was the nerve-center of the Lighthouse, where real Christians, both adults and teenagers, shared the gospel of Christ to anyone who would sit and listen.

Olivia introduced me to Ben and Danny from Sardis, and instructed them to ‘man the bar’ while she talked with me.  She motioned for me to follow her to the back towards the podium.  I guess she had a lecture planned for me.  “I’m glad you came.”  Olivia said as she pulled us two chairs from the front row, positioned them facing each other, and moved the podium back out of the way.

“I’m glad you invited me.  I was expecting more of a crowd.”  I said looking shyly into Olivia’s eyes.  I had to learn how to look at her.  Her eyes were like magnets.  If I kept staring, she would start to think I was obsessed.  She would be right.  Not all versions of obsession are sin.

“I forgot, there’s a preseason scrimmage tonight at the football field.  I think that’s today’s competition.  This afternoon there are flag football games, one for girls and one for guys.”  Olivia said.

“Matt, I’ve been looking forward to hearing your story.  You said Wednesday night that you would share with me your Christian experience.  It’s funny, but I’ve been trying to guess what you would tell me.  I’m sorry, but I even thought you might try to bamboozle me.”

“Why do you say that?”  I said, a little shocked how direct and quick Olivia was to jump right into the fire.

“I’ve heard about you Yankee types.  You’re rather slick and can dazzle a girl with bull.”

“I’ve heard it called bullshit.”  I said.

“Me too, but I don’t talk like that.”

“I’m going to surprise you.  I’m going to be honest in answering your question, your Wednesday night question.  You had asked me if I was saved.  The short answer is no.” 

“Thanks Matt.  I take back my insult.  You are not the typical Yankee.  Truthfully, I don’t know much about Northerners, just the typical southern rumors.  I appreciate your honesty.  Would you allow me, us, to talk about Christianity and how you become a Christian?”

“I’m all ears.”  Here we go.

“Jesus Christ is God’s only Son.  He came to make a way for every man and woman, boy and girl, to go to Heaven when they die.  He, like God, was perfect, sinless.  He was crucified on a cross and thereby paid the full punishment for your sin and mine.  Three days later He was resurrected, came back to life, reflecting His power over the greatest enemy of all, death.  Jesus now sits on the right hand of God in Heaven longing for everyone, including you Matt, to surrender to Him, and make Him Lord of your life.”  Obviously, Olivia had given this little speech before.

“Olivia, is it okay for me to ask a few questions?  I don’t have any intent on hurting your feelings or making you mad.”

“Oh gosh, you don’t even have to say that.  This is a conversation.  I doubt you could make me angry.”

“I’ve heard your story, the story you just told.  My Mother was Catholic, and my Dad is a Bible professor.  First, how do you know all this stuff?”

Olivia didn’t pause a second.  “I have always wondered when I’m going to hear a question that either I haven’t heard before or that is difficult and perplexing.  I’m still wondering, but don’t take that as an insult.”  I wasn’t insulted, but I was surprised.  Her response seemed unlike the goddess I had constructed in my mind.

“I don’t.  Now, back to my question.”  I replied.  Olivia was certainly a fireball.

“Oh, didn’t I answer it already?  I’ll repeat.  It’s the Bible.  I may have not said that directly, but I assumed even the son of a Catholic mother and a Bible professor father would know that I’ve been virtually quoting the Good News.  No problem, I’ll start from scratch.”

Olivia could have become a smartass without much more practice, I thought as her blue eyes were becoming distracting.

“The Bible is God’s word.  He wrote it for mankind, His children.  He didn’t physically write it, but men wrote it under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost.  Matt, the Bible is God’s story.  It contains everything we need to know to worship God.  That’s how I know all these things I shared with you.”

“How do you know the Bible is true?”  I began feeling a little nauseous. Not about my work for Dad.  In that regard, I was doing fine.  It concerned my other mission.  How on earth would I win the heart and mind of the sweet, gorgeous, and naive Olivia, by cross-examining her about the foundation of her life?

“It’s history.  The Bible has been around for centuries.  It was written by men who either knew Jesus or who had special revelations from God.  The Bible itself says it is God’s word.”  Olivia said.  I suspected she fully believed what she was saying but had never truly questioned her beliefs.

“Let me ask you.  Set aside the Bible for a moment.  How else do you know that your story about Jesus is true?”

“Several reasons there.  As I said, the Bible has been around a long time.  The New Testament for nearly two thousand years.  The Old Testament, probably four or more thousand years.  History is full of men and women who believed the Bible and lived their lives dedicated to its teachings, with many dying for the truth of the Bible.  Their testimonies cry out from history for the truth of God’s word.  If it weren’t true, don’t you think we would know that by now?  Also, my heart and mind tell me Jesus is real.  From a child, I have heard the powerful message of Jesus Christ.  When I was six years old, Jesus spoke to my heart and I was saved.  Since then, my faith has grown leaps and bounds.  I could tell you of tons and tons of prayers that I have seen answered.  Matt, you are lost without Christ, therefore you question Him.  It seems foolish to a lost man.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong.  Apart from the Bible, your belief in the truth of Jesus as savior is based on your personal experiences, not on any tangible, documented evidence?”  I said, realizing that I never wanted to become a lawyer.  I had too much sympathy for the witness.

“This is why I brought up the Bible to begin with.  Your question is not valid.  The Bible is the real evidence.  You can’t exclude it.  That would be like saying, prove the United States is a real place but you can’t use the land we live on, the land containing the 48 connecting states.”

“So, let me see if I get this.  The Bible itself is the evidence that the Bible is true?”  I said.

“Absolutely, it is God’s Word, and it has withstood the test of time.  I’m wrong.  Stupid me.  I’d go so far as to say that even if we didn’t have the Bible, I would know God exists.  Matt, all you must do is look at nature, flowers, animals, the stars, everything.  They all scream out that they were created.  It is only basic common sense to know that the earth, and the entire universe is designed.  That requires a creator.  That’s exactly what the Bible tells us.”  Olivia said standing up.  I couldn’t tell if she was getting frustrated with me or not.  She walked over and pulled the podium back to its spot.

“Would it be okay with you Olivia if we gave this a rest.  I’d like to have some water, maybe go listen to the band.  Those guys are pretty good.”  I felt compelled to change the subject.  I was not ready to continue my cross-examination.  It would surely be an attack on Olivia’s logic. 

“Sounds good.  But first, Matt.  Don’t you believe for one minute that I am finished with you.  You won’t get off this easy.  I like your attitude.  I’m thankful you are asking questions.  You realize you’re lost.  You are blessed by God to be seeking the truth.  Let’s go to the bar.  The youth group has dubbed it the water of life well.”

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 8

December 7, 2017

Thursday night in the basement for James’ prayer group I had acted like a love-struck dumb teenager.  I hoped Olivia hadn’t paid too much attention.  Although, it was glaringly obvious to me that I had stuttered on two or three sentences, and I nearly tripped as we took our seats.  Now, I had convinced myself that my being completely frozen when our eyes had first met had been matched by her own shock as her smile seemed to linger just past the time it took me to melt enough to speak.

Hopefully, for the both of us, the initial awkward moment we encountered and endured faded into memory and was replaced by a mutually rewarding conversation after the prayer service had ended.  When the group dismissed, Olivia had asked me to meet her on the front steps in ten minutes.  She had wanted first, to stay behind to speak with Randi Radford, Randall’s widow.

I had waited at the bottom of the stairs and was vividly reminded when she came out the front door of the old auditorium that her manner and movements were etched in my mind.  They almost unerringly matched that of Olivia the 14-year-old teenager I had stood here with after first meeting her, after the skit where she suggested her, and Ryan go to her house after the movie and play cards with her family instead of going parking.  Her simple descent down the stairs was (I hate the cliché), poetry in motion.  She had always, to me, defined, a woman of grace.

Now, back in my hotel room, I could recall every word that had been said.  “Thanks for waiting on me Matt.  I’m speechless.  I never imagined seeing you here.  Did you know that it has been over forty-six years since we have seen each other?  I have to say, that I still am so sorry for what I did to you.  It’s unforgivable.”

“It is, but time has a way of creating the forgiveness.  Otherwise, life is smothered.  I have to admit, it wasn’t easy, and it did take a very long time.”  I responded, having rehearsed this little speech forever.

“Thanks for being so respectful and kind.  Can I ask you what you are doing in Boaz?”  Olivia said setting her purse down and pulling on the jacket she had been holding.  The temperature was approaching freezing, but I wasn’t cold at all.  I could feel a bead of sweat forming on my upper lip.

“You can.  I am here for James Adams.  I guess the proper thing would be to include your father and brother too.  I know this must be very difficult on you.”  I said straightening the collar to her coat.

“It is the most awful thing I have ever encountered.  I can’t imagine what, especially Wade, is going through.  I will never believe he could have killed sweet Gina.  You remember Gina Culvert from school?  She was in your and Wade’s eleventh grade class.”

“Barely.  She was a cheerleader, right?”

“Yes.  Her and Wade married shortly after high school and, as far as I know, had a great marriage.”  Olivia said, obviously cold.  Her teeth were chattering.

“I assume you are married and have children?  Hope that’s not too personal a question to ask.”  Over the years I had intentionally avoided the urge to investigate Olivia.  I figured it wouldn’t take a private investigator to find her and to learn about her life after she ditched me.  But I hadn’t.  Now, standing in front of the woman who had broken my heart, I wanted to know everything about her.  I wanted her forty-six-year biography.

“I was married.  Jack, Jack Crowson, my husband, died of cancer in April 2008.  We never had children.  I was in my late thirties when we married.  He was over ten years older.  Children were just not in the cards for us.”

“Olivia, you are freezing.  I don’t want you to catch a cold out here.”  I said thinking and hoping Olivia might suggest we go to MacDonald’s or somewhere for a cup of coffee.  But, she didn’t.

“You’re right.  I think I’ll head on over to Warren and Tiffany’s.  They now live in the Church’s parsonage.  He was Associate Pastor for years but has been pastor since 2014, I believe.”

“Thanks Olivia for talking with me.  Would it be possible to find a time to share a cup of coffee?  I’d love to hear more of your story, if you wouldn’t mind.”  I was surprised at my courage.

“I’d love that.  I have an idea.  Let’s meet for lunch but for now, why don’t you call me in a couple of hours.  That’ll give me time to warm up and to visit with Warren and Tiffany.  By 10:00 p.m., I’ll be in my old room.  My cell number is 706-294-7319.”

“Let me write it down.”  I pulled a notepad out of my back pocket.  It was a habit I had developed during my undercover work.  I almost laughed out loud at my thought as I was writing down Olivia’s phone number.  “I’ll call you at ten o’clock sharp.”

I walked to my car and drove to MacDonald’s for a large coffee before heading to the Key West Inn on Highway 168.  I had checked in before coming to the prayer service.

I didn’t know why I had wanted coffee.  I never liked it when I was hot.  My encounter with Olivia had made me sweat.  It wasn’t about sexual desire.  I was simply nervous, extremely nervous.  And when I got caught in that state, I always broke out in a sweat.  By 10:00 p.m., I was back to normal.  Watching nearly three episodes of Seinfeld reruns probably helped.  If Kramer couldn’t make you laugh, no one could.

“Olivia, this is Matt.  Is now still a good time to talk?”

“Perfect.  I’m in my Crimson Tide bean-back chair.  Can you believe that Mom and Dad kept my room like a shrine?  It’s just like it was when I was a kid.  I would have thought that Warren and Tiffany would have dismantled it.  Seems like there’s plenty of bedrooms in this castle for my four grand-nephews and nieces.”

“I want to apologize.  Earlier, when you mentioned your husband dying in 2008, I didn’t respond.  I want to say that I am very sorry for your loss.  I know what it’s like to lose a spouse.”  I said, truly sorry, and in no way wanting Olivia to feel sorry for me or to prompt her to ask about Alicia.

“Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do.  I have always assumed you married.”

“Alicia and I married in 1984.  Dad had introduced me to a rising star in the Divinity School.  In a sense, she and I hit it off like the two of us, back in our day.”

“Children?”

“None.  It’s difficult talking about it.  Alicia was killed by a drunk driver.  I discovered from her journal that she was, that very night, going to tell me she was pregnant.  It was devastating to lose her.  She was a wonderful woman.  I guess I don’t have a very good record when it comes to long-term relationships.”

“Matt, that certainly wasn’t your fault.  I am so sorry for your loss, you’re double loss.”  Olivia said, thoughtful and clearly concerned.

“Let me ask you.  Do you feel this all very strange?”  I said.

“Are you referring to us?  What with our meeting today after forty-six years and now talking on the phone?”

“Exactly?”

“Maybe it’s God will that I do what I should have done way back in the day.”

“What do you mean?”  I said.

“To be professional about our relationship.  To be open, honest, and avoid as much hurt as possible.”

“From your statement I take it that you still believe God has a plan for everything?”  I had to say it.  This was no place to tip-toe around the issue that, to me, had destroyed our teenage love.

“This is going to blow your mind.  Are you sitting down?”

“I am.”

“Matt, I no longer believe.”  Olivia said it with a confidence that had me speechless. 

It took me a minute to respond.  “That’s not something to kid around about.”

“I’m not kidding.”  She went on to tell me a little about her journey concerning her loss of faith.  I didn’t find it unusual.  I had read and heard about this type thing.  What was surprising was that it had happened to Olivia.  The one person in the world that I would have bet my life that would have forever remained unalterably committed to Jesus, God, and Christianity.

“I don’t know what to say.  I won’t say ‘I told you so.’  That would be insensitive, even mean.  Maybe I’ll just say welcome to the family.”

“That’s the first sign I’ve noticed that you are still rather funny Matt Benson.”  Olivia said recalling how she used to call me by my full name after she had tried to persuade me of my need to be saved.

“Let me ask you, was it an interest in science that finally convinced you?”

“Actually, that came later.  Maybe I should say, it was Jack’s sickness, the cancer, that prompted my interest in reading more broadly than I ever had.  In seminary, it’s slanted you know.”  She tried to continue, but I interrupted her.

“Seminary?  You went to seminary?” 

“You really don’t know?”

“Olivia, all I know about you, other than what you have told me tonight, is what I learned back in 1970 and 1971.  To be frank, after you ditched me, I promised myself that I would never do anything that would enable me to discover what was going on in your life.”

“That’s cold, but I fully deserve it.  I not only attended Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Dallas, Texas, but I taught there for years, I resigned in 2010 and have been at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill since 2011.  I teach Bible related subjects there but simply from a historical and not a theological standpoint.”

From here, our conversation went deeper into Olivia’s story of how she walked away from her faith.  It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when the talk subsided, and our alertness faded.

“Matt, I’m about to crash.  Please know how much I have enjoyed our dialog, everything about seeing you tonight.  Is it too much to ask that we have lunch?  I really need to tell you what happened after you returned to Chicago in the summer of 1971.”

“Olivia, I’m going to be very direct with you.  These past few hours have been the best time for me in ages.  I would love to see you again.  I only have one request.”

“What’s that Mr. Benson?”

“That we be completely honest with each other.  At this stage of my life I need and want the truth.  I hate mind games.  I would love to know the inside story, what went on in your head and heart.  Please.  Is this too much to ask?”

“Not at all.  I promise to be totally open with you.”  Olivia said.

“So, when is this lunch you are talking about?”

“I have commitments tomorrow.  How about Saturday?  A late lunch?”

“That’s good with me.  I assume we couldn’t just go to the Lighthouse, could we?”

“I’m afraid that’s long gone.  Funny you bring that up.  I have wonderful memories of our Saturday afternoons.  That place was truly a beacon among the storms for a lot of people.”

“Do you want to meet somewhere Saturday?  Or, would you be okay if I came by and picked you up.  We could drive somewhere together.”  I again surprised myself with my boldness.

“This is sounding more like a date.  Is it?”

“Only if you want it to be.”  I said.

“Pick me up at 1:30 here at Warren’s.  Okay?”

“See you then.  Goodnight Olivia.”

“Goodnight, uh, no, good morning Matt.”

With that we ended our call.  I lay across the bed and reminisced for another hour before falling asleep.  If I dreamed, I don’t remember.

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 7

July 1970

It was my fourth Wednesday to be living in Boaz, and I still had not met the girl who was becoming more perfect and more mysterious in my mind as every day went by.  The first two Wednesdays she was in New Mexico on the Church’s missions trip.  The third kept her home.  According to Youth Pastor Miller, she was sick with a virus.  Last Sunday Dad made me go with him to First Baptist Albertville, so I missed a chance to at least see Olivia.  Hopefully, today would be the day I met the mysterious ninth-grader.

I spent half the morning at Boaz High School.  It was my second trip to register.  Last Monday, a week ago Monday, I had gone and a lady, a Ms. Gilbreath, in the office told me I needed my birth certificate and records from Woodlawn High School.  I had returned home and called Mrs. Beaumont to request she mail a copy of my ninth and tenth grade transcripts to Boaz High School.  I had also called Mrs. Gregg, our neighbor across the street.  She was watching our place while we were away.  Dad had given her a key.  He had also told me to bring my birth certificate, but I had forgotten.

When I walked in, Ms. Gilbreath saw me and smiled.  “Hi Matthew.”  No doubt she had received my records. 

“You can call me Matt.  It’s shorter.  Matthew sounds too, well, Bible.”

“Okay Matt.  Looks like we have us another scholar.  Congratulations on being a straight A student.”  She said walking to the counter where I was standing.  She was probably fifty or so years old.  Attractive, a little.  No make-up.  I would have bet my life that she was deeply religious.

“I’m pretty average at Woodlawn.  But, I do work hard and try to keep up.  I’ll do my best to do the same here at Boaz High.”

“We are all set to complete your registration.  I just need to know which electives you have chosen from the list I gave you last week.”

“I’ve decided on Poetry and Vocational Agriculture.”  I said.

“Mr. Johnson’s Poetry class is a mixed class.  Oh, that sounded weird.  What I meant is there will be all ages, from ninth-graders to seniors.  There are so few interested that we cannot limit registration to simply one grade.”

“That’s okay.  I don’t see a problem.  I’m used to mixed classes at Woodlawn, truly mixed.”  I said wanting to gauge how well my subtle humor would affect Mrs. Trudy Gilbreath.  I had just noticed her name tag.

“We don’t have that problem here.  Thank the Lord.”

“Yes, thank the Lord.”  To her, I wasn’t humorous at all.  I was deadly serious.

“I’ll register you for Poetry and Vocational Agriculture.  Oh, here.  I almost forgot.  Here’s the Pirate Practice.  It’s our guidebook.  Read it and know it inside and out.  It will keep you out of trouble.  The first day of school is Monday, August 10th.  We’ll see you then.” 

I rode my bicycle home.  I was as frugal as Dad, well, almost.  I tried to conserve my weekly advance.  For the next hour I sat out front in the swing and read through the Pirate Practice.  It seemed all standard.  I then took a long run all the way to the Boaz Country Club and back.  I returned and napped until Dad woke me a little before 5:00 p.m.

As usual, Dad and I walked to First Baptist for the Wednesday night fellowship meal and services.  No way was I going to miss my fourth opportunity to see, and maybe meet, Olivia.

I sat with James Adams, which had become my custom after the first week.  Two missionary couples had taken an interest in Dad and the five of them unintentionally pushed me away.  Tonight, Wade Tillman and Randall Radford, along with James and me, sat over in the corner by the back door.  As I listened, and the three basketball stars discussed their skills at passing, including making passes at lucky members of the opposite sex, I saw a group of girls sitting two tables over.  James and Randall were bantering back and forth about how the twins were already dating, even though neither of them had started the ninth grade.  Randall surprised me when he said he knew the two guys who had moved in on the two Boaz girls.  “That’s not going to work.  No Aggie is going to get first servings from either of these girls.  James, you agree?”

Even though I might at times have less than honorable thoughts, I would never have said such a filthy thing.  Girls were not food.  I couldn’t help but think of Mother, she had made sure that I had learned the importance of treating members of the opposite sex with honor and respect.  She had said that gentlemen never tried to take advantage of anyone, especially of a young girl.  Mother also taught me that even when I had a girlfriend and she appeared willing to explore and become a little loose, as she called it, a gentleman maintained control.  I didn’t have any personal experience in these things, so I believed Mother knew what she was talking about, and she believed I had the ability and power to become a true gentleman.

At 6:30 p.m. I was seated in the Church’s basement with about fifty other kids.  After the mission’s team had returned, Youth Pastor Miller had added another concentric circle to accommodate the growing youth group.  I tried to not be so conspicuous, but I was able to look all around me.  I again was disappointed that I could not see Olivia.  Or, maybe all the facts I had gathered about her were wrong.  Maybe, Olivia was that rather plump redhead sitting directly across from me.  The poor girl needs a Dermatologist.

Pastor Randy, as he instructed us to call him, again, just like last Wednesday night, stepped into the middle of the two circles and began his sermon.  It was nothing like what Pastor Tillman had done on Sunday mornings.  I guess the energetic youth minister knew that young people are wholly different than adults, with unique ways of learning.  Last week Pastor Randy had talked about freewill and how it was a blessing and a curse.  He had said, the decisions you make during your teenage years will go with you the rest of your life.  If they are good decisions, you will be rewarded.  If they are bad, well, you can fill in the blanks.  It will be like shooting blanks.  You won’t hit your target, your goals.”

It seemed last week’s talk beat us up.  He seemed to leave us with the thought that we had one chance to get it right, and if we got it wrong, we would be forever doomed.  Tonight, it was a radically different talk.  He called it redemption.  “Only God’s children get a second chance.  If you screw up, you may suffer some unpleasant consequences for a while, but you can start over.  No matter what you have done.”  He said walking the circle and engaging, it seemed, with every one of us.

I particularly liked how he interacted with our group.  He would be talking and then would call someone to the center with him.  Tonight, I thought it was absolutely fitting that he called Randall Radford out and said, “big double R, we all know you are a young man and you have the desires that all young men have, which is to pursue the girls.  If you don’t allow God to guide your mind, you will most likely make some mistakes.  Oh yes, sin is fun for a season, but it always comes at a price.  I’m not trying to embarrass Randall, but simply want each of you to know, whether you are a young man or a young woman, sexual desires are possibly the most difficult desires to conquer.  Hear me carefully, you cannot, by yourself, even come close to defending yourself, warding off the attacks.  Satan will use every one of his powers to seduce you into believing that it is okay to fool around, to go all the way.  Let me tell you the world will tell you, gosh, it is already telling you, do what you want, do what feels good.  Hear me carefully, that is a lie.  Be smarter than that.  Call on the power of Jesus to come walk beside you and let Him battle the Devil.”

Pastor Miller went on for a full forty-five minutes, keeping Randall Radford beside him the entire time.  I was feeling frustrated when the two of them walked outside the circle towards the refreshments table along the back wall beyond the ping-pong tables.  As everyone else got up and started following them I remained seated and pondered what I had just heard.  It all sounded pretty good.  Especially, if you believed that God and Jesus existed.  What I didn’t understand was the detailed mechanics of how it worked.  How would I ask Jesus to help me?  I figured it was by simply saying a prayer.  But then, did He always respond positively and invisibly go tie up the Devil and change my mind about those sexual desires Pastor Randy spoke of?  I was confused.

Standing in line for some lemonade I learned that at 7:45 we were to reassemble for a skit.  While all the youth were enjoying refreshments a group of adults had moved all the chairs to the other side of the basement.  I hadn’t paid any attention before to a stage with an open set of long curtains over behind a large row of boxes that seemed to divide the basement.

I sat with James and Wade on the front row.  James had encouraged me to follow him if I wanted to finally see Olivia.  The skit was in two scenes.  Both took place in a make-shift cardboard box car.  Someone had done an excellent job of creating a make-believe Bonneville.  I suddenly thought I should have persuaded Dad to buy the 1964 model David Adams had offered. 

The first scene opened with a boy and girl inside the car.  The sound of crickets and a background setting out along the edge of some woods, indicated the couple was alone, parking.  Without words, the two started making out, kissing.  Remember, it was a skit.  They didn’t kiss but it sure looked like they did.  After a few moments of intense kissing the boy said, “you wanna get in the back?”  The girl responded.  “I know we shouldn’t but okay if that’s what you want.”  The scene ended with the boy and girl crawling into the back seat and disappearing from the audience’s view.

The crowd was howling until Pastor Randy got up and said, “I hope you know that was what you are supposed NOT to do. Now, let’s watch another scene.”

In a few minutes the curtains reopened, and the setting had changed.  The car and the woodsy background had been moved to the right side of the stage.  In the center was what no doubt was a movie theater.  Another boy and girl sat with their faces away from us.  It hit me like a brick.  I could see this girl had silky straight blond hair.  I had no doubt this was Olivia.  I missed details from this skit I’m sure.  But, the gist of it was, as the two were exiting the theater walking back to his car, the boy asked her if she wanted to go parking.  I didn’t think that’s probably how it would happen, but I acknowledged time was of the essence in theater productions.  The girl said, “I don’t think that is a good idea.  Christians are to flee temptation.  Why don’t we instead, go play cards at my house.  My parents love playing cards.”

There were a few boos coming from the back of the audience.  Again, Pastor Randy stood up front and seemed disappointed.  “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s what I want you to become.  I pray you will take this seriously.  Olivia, in the second scene, was obedient.  She let Jesus help her avoid a dangerous situation.  David and Karen, in the first scene, were virtually doomed by their initial decision to go parking in the first place.  Take note of this example.  If you get inside the lion’s den, you stand a big chance of getting mauled.  You are safer on the outside.  The key to battling sex sin is to be smart, make wise decisions.  In other words, stay close to Jesus, listen to Him, allow Him and the Holy Spirit to control your every thought and action.  That’s it for tonight.  Take care and see you on Sunday.”

It didn’t take five minutes for everyone to leave.  Except me.  I couldn’t move.  I was still in a daze from seeing Olivia after she and Ryan had left the movie theater and she had faced the audience.  I was in no way disappointed.  She was more beautiful than I had let myself imagine.  She was tall, maybe as tall as me.  I couldn’t tell exactly since she was up on the stage.  Her straight blond hair came down to her shoulders.  It looked natural, not dyed.  She wore baggy clothes, so I couldn’t tell much about her figure, but she was not as slim as had been described to me by James. 

As I was contemplating what I would say to her the first opportunity I got, the basement lights went out.  I realized that whoever was the last to leave had not seen me.  I was on the stage side of the row of boxes and they would have blocked the view.  “Hey, I’m still here.”  I didn’t know what else to say.  I sure didn’t want to get locked down here.

“Whose there?”  It sounded like a mix between Pastor Randy’s voice and a young girl.

“Matt Benson.”  I said walking back towards the main door.

“Come on Matt or you’ll be stuck here until Sunday.”  Pastor Randy said.

As I rounded the row of boxes I saw Olivia standing beside the youth pastor.  She was smiling.  “Hey Matt, I’ve been hearing about you.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Olivia said walking towards me and reaching out her right hand.

I took her hand.  I almost held on too long.  That would not have been the right way to start off.

“Matt, this is Pastor Tillman’s daughter and she helps me manage a rowdy bunch of teenagers.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”  I said looking straight into Olivia’s eyes.  They were blue.  Oceanic.  I hated that word, but it popped into my head.  Olivia surely wasn’t a rising 8th grader.  She was too, well, mature looking.

“I hear you’re from Chicago.  I’d love to hear about the windy city.  I’ve always wanted to visit there.  Will you be at the Lighthouse this weekend?”

“Lighthouse?  I’m confused.”  I responded barely able to listen and respond while experiencing a shock, a feeling I had never had before.

“It’s a weekend hangout on South Main Street.  It’s run by none other than Pastor Randy and a group of adult volunteers.  That sounded funny, Randy is an adult too.”  Olivia giggled.

“Well, you are not an adult Ms. Olivia, and don’t you forget it.”  Randy said.  I wasn’t sure what his intent was.

“The Lighthouse was started last year to give local young people something to do, a Christian alternative from hanging out at the movie theater or the skating rink.  Too much temptation around those places.  There’s always plenty of good food, music, and fellowship.  I’m usually there on Saturdays.  Come if you want to.  Again, I’d love to hear about Chicago and your Christian experience.”  Olivia said.

I could tell Pastor Randy was ready to leave by the way he was looking back and forth.  Olivia apparently had concluded I was a Christian.  Boy, was she in for a surprise.

“Sorry, I assumed you are a Christian.  Matt, have you been saved?”  Olivia blurted out.  I couldn’t believe what she had just said.

“Uh, I need to get home.  I’m already late.  Dad will be worried.  I’ll try to come to the Lighthouse on Saturday afternoon.  We can talk about my Christian experience and Chicago if you want.”

By the time we were up the stairs and outside the church I was pouring sweat.  I was glad it was nighttime, and my discomfort wasn’t so apparent.  I said goodbye and started walking west on Sparks Avenue. 

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 6

December 4, 2017

Yesterday’s ten-hour drive from Chicago, along with the near half a century jaunt my mind had traveled, had left me exhausted, so much so that I had spent the night at the Hampton Inn in south Guntersville.  It was like a mighty wind kept me from ascending the mountain after crossing the last body of water before leaving the beautiful little town encircling the Tennessee River. 

I had slept until nearly noon, eaten the Hotel’s continental breakfast and now was within a mile of College Avenue in Boaz.  After looking at Google Maps, I had decided to take Highway 205 from the bottom of the mountain in Guntersville, through Albertville, and on into Boaz.  I passed the Downtown Mini-mart and turned right onto College Avenue.  At 1:15 I was sitting in the swing, what looked like the very same one Olivia and I had sat on the night before I left Boaz over 46 years ago. 

When I drove into the driveway of the now empty rental house I had not intended to get out of my car.  Was it the same force that kept me in Guntersville last night?  I had thought about this during my entire ride this morning.  If I didn’t know better, I would think I was being guided or prompted by some unseen hand.

I lay my head back and reminisced.  Soon, I was sitting at the dinner table of Walter and Betty Tillman.  Wade was there.  It was what we had called dating practice since Olivia had not been allowed to start dating until she was 15.  Olivia sat across from me, her parents careful to protect their young and inexperienced, somewhat naive daughter.  For some reason my subconscious had skipped over the first several weeks that I had tried to persuade Olivia to see me as more than an evangelical project.

“Sir.”  At first, I thought someone was standing outside the Tillman’s window hollering to get the Pastor’s attention.  Suddenly my mind was jolted forward nearly half a century.  “Sir, may I help you?”  The young lady stood halfway down the sidewalk from the street.  She had on a painter’s smock and was holding a paint brush.

I almost tripped forward as I stood up.  “Hello.  I’m sorry.  I used to live here.”

“The house is for rent if you are interested.  I can go get the key if you want to see inside.” 

“Do you own the property?”  I asked for some strange reason.

“I inherited it and the one next door.  My grandmother left them to me when she died.  I live two doors down from here, in the bright yellow house.”

“Was your grandmother Clara Rollins?”  I asked.

“Yes, did you know her?”

“I sure did.  But, she didn’t own this house when my father and I rented it in 1970.  I think it was a Mr. Adams who owned these two houses.”

“He sold them to a Mr. Weathers.  My grandmother bought them from his estate after he died.  She then passed away in the early 90’s.  She was ninety -seven when she died.”  The woman by now had walked onto the porch steps and had laid her wet paint brush on a towel she had placed on the concrete ledge that encircled the porch.

“By the way, I’m Matt Benson.  May I ask your name?”

“I’m Brandi Ridgeway.  What brings you here?  I assume you don’t live around here anymore?”

I gave Brandi a brief, but thorough, accounting of my story, including the year that my father and I had spent in Boaz.  She responded with her own story.  It turned out that Clara Rollins was really Brandi’s great-grandmother and Belinda Rollins was her mother, now deceased.  After a Q & A between us I figured out that Belinda would have been a classmate of mine during my eleventh-grade year.  I apologized for not remembering her mother.  For some reason she brought up the pending criminal cases against several residents. 

“It’s rather funny to me that the largest church in town is holding a prayer meeting for two of its former pastors.”  Brandi said, now sitting directly across from me on a concrete ledge.  She had encouraged me to resume my seat in the swing.

“Would you be talking about Walter and Wade Tillman?”  I asked.

“Yes, every Thursday night at 6:30 First Baptist Church of Christ holds a prayer meeting in the old auditorium.”

“Are you referring to the Sparks Avenue location?”

“Yes, around the time Grannie Clara died the Church built a huge new facility, but they still use the old one for the Hispanic services and other stuff like these prayer meetings.”

“I think what has happened in this crazy town is ridiculous.  And now, ninety-nine percent of the locals believe that God can be talked into saving these men from what seems to me a certainty they will spend the rest of their lives in prison, and that assumes they don’t get the death penalty.”

“I take it you are not much of a fan of the Tillman’s.  What about James Adams?”

“To me, he’s no different.  Do you know James?”  Brandi asked.

“Yes, I knew him in high school.  It’s been years since I’ve seen or talked to him.  After I left Boaz we kept up with each other for years and years.  Even though we haven’t been close in probably twenty years I wanted to come, surprise him, and hopefully encourage him, just show my support.”

“I guess you have a right to support a murderer if you want.  You should fit right in with the big crowd that comes to the weekly prayer meeting.”

“I’m not much of a prayer warrior.”

“Me either.  Well, I’ve got to get back to my painting.  I started yesterday on the outside of the back porch.  It’s time to turn yellow into green.  Nice to meet you Matt.”

I stood.  “Nice to meet you too Brandi.  Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee while I’m in town. I’m planning on being here until New Year’s.  At least that’s what I’m thinking right now.”

“Thanks, but you are a little too old for me.  I don’t see older men.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  I guess in the South asking a woman to go have a cup of coffee is a come on, unlike in Chicago where all it means is, ‘I would enjoy talking with you.’  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it that way.  I simply meant I have enjoyed talking with you right here today and I just thought it would be nice to continue our talk.  I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No big deal.  Come to think of it, you are cute for an old man.  See you around Matt.”  With that, Brandi picked up her paint brush and towel and headed back toward her house.

I sat back down in the swing and laughed out loud.  Cute.  Old man.  I was 63.  I certainly didn’t think I was cute, but I’m a long way from being old.  Sixty-three was old when I was sixteen, but now it is, at most, middle aged.  I laughed some more.

At 6:30 p.m. Thursday night I slipped into the back of the old First Baptist Church of Christ auditorium.  Outside, I had almost turned back after I reached the landing at the top of the stairs.  I now realized that Brandi was right.  I was not only old, but I was crazy old.  Why else would I be here?  It made no sense at all.  I tried being quiet as I walked inside.  There was no one seated under the balcony.  As I turned the corner I could see a man at the front behind the podium with his head bowed.  Nearly every pew was occupied, most full of folks leaning forward, also with their heads reverently bowed.  I decided to turn right and take the stairs up to the balcony.  I would like nothing better than to become invisible.  Maybe no one was upstairs.

I was correct in one respect.  No one else was upstairs.  The problem was I was anything but invisible.  As soon as the man concluded his prayer he looked up at me and said.  “Sir, the balcony is not safe.  We are having it renovated.  I encourage you to come join the rest of us.”

It seemed every eye turned and looked at me.  I thought I heard someone right down below me say, “Can’t he read?  There’s a sign at the bottom of the stairs.”

I walked down and sat under the balcony.  I was relieved when dozens and dozens of questioning eyes turned back towards the man behind the podium.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that he was Warren Tillman, the current pastor, and the son of Wade Tillman and the grandson of Walter Tillman, both former pastors and now, presently, criminal defendants.  After a few other remarks he sat down, and another man took the stage behind the podium to lead the prayer service.  He referred everyone to their ‘prayer list.’  He instructed everyone to break up into their groups and go to their assigned areas.  A young girl, maybe six or seven, walked back to me, with the encouragement of what should be her grandmother, and handed me a sheet of paper, the ‘prayer list.’  I smiled and thanked her.

“If anyone doesn’t yet have a prayer group please choose one.  For example, if you have been led to pray for Walter Tillman, that group is meeting downstairs in the small auditorium.  The locations are listed on the back side of your ‘prayer list.’

I turned the sheet over and noticed that the James Adams prayer group was meeting in the basement.  This was all too real.  The basement had to be the same basement I had spent a year in with the youth group during 1970 and 1971.  I didn’t know how to pray, didn’t even believe in prayer, but I had to take this opportunity to see, once again, the place where I fell in love.  The basement at First Baptist Church of Christ is where I found my Olivia, my once in life love.

It didn’t take me but a few minutes to follow the path etched deeply in my mind.  When I exited the stairs I turned right, like I knew where I was going.  Directly to my spot in the huge circle of chairs that Youth Pastor Randy Miller always had setup and waiting for us on Wednesday night.  I looked in that direction and saw four or five people standing around a tall woman who was facing the other way.  One of the group, a woman, the grandmother of the young girl who had given me a copy of the ‘prayer list,’ looked towards me and said, “this is the James Adams prayer group.  Is that who you want to pray for?”

As soon as she started speaking, the woman in the center of the circle, the woman who was facing away from me, turned to look at who the grandmother was speaking to.  I nearly fainted.  The tall and drop-dead gorgeous woman was Olivia Tillman.  I would have recognized her anywhere and at any time, even a million years from now.  Although I was probably twenty feet away, her blue eyes penetrated my heart like we hadn’t been apart for nearly half a century.  I stood still.  Frozen.

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 5

June & July 1970

Three days had gone by since I had first met Associate Pastor Peter Grantham on the front porch steps of First Baptist Church of Christ, and I still hadn’t met Olivia Tillman.  That didn’t mean I hadn’t learned more about her.

That night, Dad and I had walked over for the 6:00 p.m. Wednesday night fellowship meal.  He then had attended the 6:30 Prayer Meeting and I had, reluctantly, sat and listened to a Raymond Radford lead a handful of kids, most seemed younger than me, in a short Bible study taken from Genesis, centered on what made Eve eat the apple.  I later learned that Mr. Radford owned Radford Hardware and Building Supply Company in Boaz and his son, Randall, and about 40 other members of the ‘Explosion’ team, whatever that was, were in New Mexico on their annual summer missions trip.

Mr. Radford shared with us that six junior high aged kids had already been ‘saved’ during the Vacation Bible School the youth were holding at the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in southern New Mexico.  The youth were holding this two-week school while their adult chaperons were helping the Tribe complete three Sunday School rooms on the back of the church building they had been working on the past three summers.  I gathered that the team had left last Saturday morning and had arrived late Sunday night.  By lunch time Monday, all sixty adults and youth were busy working diligently to spread Christ’s gospel.

Dad dropped by the youth center down in the basement shortly after Mr. Radford had released us for what he referred to as ‘hang time.’  I told Dad to go on home, that I wanted to stay.  I whispered to him that I was on a mission.  He smiled and winked at me and walked away. 

Within a few minutes I was talking with the only other kid who looked older than 13.  He was sitting in the corner eating cookies and drinking Kool-Aid from a table I had noticed when Dad had left.  James Adams was the son of David Adams, the man who Dad had rented our house from.  I wasn’t hungry after the fellowship meal, but I did join him in the red bean bag chair sitting across from him.  We seemed to hit it off very quickly.  He was laid back and easy going.  He asked me where I was from, what had brought me to Boaz, and if I played basketball.  I gave him my pat answers to the first two questions and told him I liked basketball okay but had never played except in pickup games in our Chicago neighborhood.  He seemed to want to talk about nothing else, which didn’t interest me, so I finally asked him did he want to play ping-pong.  One of the two tables on the far side of the large room was unoccupied.

He easily beat me in five games.  I think it was his reach.  After he stood up, I noticed how tall he was, several inches taller than my five feet ten-inch frame. His arms appeared to be a foot longer than mine.  During the games, I learned he had been sick with a virus last Saturday when the missions team left for New Mexico.  He said he had planned on going but couldn’t leave the bathroom.  “It was coming from both ends.”  James, no doubt was an open book type of guy. 

I asked him about the youth group and what goes on when everybody is in town.  James said that the youth minister, Randy Miller, and Pastor Walter’s daughter, Olivia, were the heartbeat of the youth ministry.  “Randy is the thunder and Olivia is the lightning.  Even though she’ll only be a 9th grader this year she operates like she is in college.  She’s sold out for Christ.  Let me give you some advice.  Don’t think because you are the new cool guy in town that she will be fawning all over you.  I’m not sure Olivia has ever thought about having a boyfriend.  Now, that doesn’t mean she’s homely.  She’s drop-dead gorgeous, could easily pass for an A-Team cheerleader, that’s the varsity team.  Sometimes I think she’s not fully human.  She’s so dedicated to God, and her father’s work here at the church.”

James and I had talked for nearly two hours, an entire hour after Mr. Radford had ran everybody out and locked up the basement door.  James and I had sat outside on the Church’s front steps.  I had learned that he and Wade Tillman, Randall Radford, John Ericson, and Fred Billingsley were five guys known as the Flaming Five and they lived for the basketball court.  James invited me to start coming to the Boaz High School gym on Thursday nights to watch them scrimmage.  He also said that I was welcome to join them any time.  I quickly declined and told him I would just stick to running.  He said, “see there, you are a natural, all you would have to do is learn to dribble, shoot, and pass.”  I thanked him, told him I might come watch him and the other members of the Flaming Five, and walked the three blocks home.

For the next two weeks I had developed a routine.  Jog or ride my bike around town early every morning during the week.  Divide the rest of my day between watching TV and reading.  Thursday nights I hung out at the gym watching the Flaming Five devour every five-man team that challenged them, except last week when a group from Emma Samson High School came up from Gadsden.  This was a close game but, so far, it was the only time I saw James’ team suffer a loss.   Wednesday night and Sunday mornings, Dad and I went to First Baptist Church of Christ.  Last night, I had thought I would finally meet Olivia since the mission’s team had returned yesterday on my birthday.  I had, as usual, gone down to the basement after the fellowship meal and was astounded by the number of kids.  I could feel an electricity in the air that was clearly absent the other times I had attended.  I was disappointed to learn that Olivia couldn’t make it.  Seems like she had caught a bug like James’ on the return trip from New Mexico.  Word was, she was holed up next door in her bedroom at the Church’s parsonage where she lived with her parents, her brother Wade, and her sister Juanita.  I learned that Wade and Juanita were close to my age and would also be in the eleventh-grade.

Dad and I had spent nearly all day yesterday looking for me a car.  He had told David Adams at Adams Chevrolet, Buick & GMC that we would return today and make the final decision between a 1964 Pontiac Bonneville and a 1965 Chevrolet Corvair. I had instantly fell in love with a 1965 Chevelle Malibu SS396 hardtop coupe.  I knew that wasn’t going to happen.  Dad confirmed that when he said, “too much car, way too expensive.  You’d kill yourself with that much power.”  Dad was insanely particular, about most everything.  This certainly didn’t preclude him from wanting to test drive the Bonneville and the Corvair one more time.  I knew there was no use in trying to argue that nothing likely had changed since yesterday and that he already knew he was going to buy the Corvair.  Why?  It was cheaper on gas. 

After we returned to the dealership with the Corvair, and after Dad and David Adams spent another thirty minutes talking about the reliability of the rear-mounted air-cooled engine, we drove Dad’s truck to First State Bank of Boaz and met with Fritz Billingsley.  I quickly learned that Dad had, two days earlier, gone to visit Mr. Billingsley who had approved a $1,000 loan with Dad signing as co-signor and guarantor.  As a birthday present, Dad was paying the difference between the car’s cost and the money I was now borrowing.  I liked Mr. Billingsley.  He was personable and seemed interested in me.  He asked if I had met his son Fred.  I told him we had met at church and that I was enjoying watching him play basketball on Thursday nights along with the other four members of the Flaming Five.

After signing my life away, Mr. Billingsley gave me a $1,000 check made payable to me and Adams Chevrolet, Buick & GMC.  Dad and I returned to the dealership and signed a few more documents.  Dad was glad David Adams had someone on staff to bind the insurance coverage.  He handed me the keys and I quickly sat down in my very first car.  Dad made me take him for a long ride towards Attalla and back before he would let me drive all by myself.  Even though we had spent weeks in Chicago with Dad teaching me how to drive.  He even had borrowed cars from half of his fellow professors just to expose me to different vehicles.  As I drove down Main Street I let irrationality control my thoughts.  I was now a quasi-adult.  Cool.  Had bought my own car.  Owed a bank money.  I could feel the eyes of the three girls that crossed Highway 168 in front of me as I sat at the red light.  They were thinking, ‘I sure would like to meet that good-looking guy in that cool car.  I wonder if he has a girlfriend?’

By the time I got home, reality set in.  Having my own set of wheels now, not just bicycle wheels, but those of a real car, didn’t mean I wasn’t still a full-fledged kid.  My little car didn’t mean I was any smarter.  In fact, trying to go to sleep at midnight, all I could think about was how on earth I would ever be able to befriend Olivia Tillman.  It seemed from what James had said, she would never even notice me, certainly she wouldn’t become human enough to think I was cool with my new car.  My five-plus year-old car.  As my subconscious rose up to take me towards my dreams, I wished tomorrow was Wednesday and it would be the day I finally got to meet the gorgeous Olivia.  The dreams started with a question, ‘how had she become some sort of goddess to me?’