Chapter Twenty-Four

Dodd knew the Turners and Blaylocks had friction between them, but he never imagined anything so broad as to include the entire congregation. He desperately needed guidance, and he’d already put a call in to Charlie Mendoza, asking him to meet him at the church building before the Thanksgiving song service.

In the meantime, Grady was craving details as they hashed it out over the phone. “Tell me Coach Pickett’s exact words.”

“He only said Ruthie and her mother were kicked out of the church.”

“What did he mean by kicked out of the church?”

“I assume they were asked to leave, but he didn’t say that.” Dodd pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s possible the church is practicing First Corinthians, chapter five, by not speaking to Ruthie and her mother.”

“Wait a minute. There’s a Bible verse for ignoring people?”

“It’s meant to be a discipline for those who sin blatantly.”

“What’s that got to do with Ruthie and her mom?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m hoping Charlie can shed some light on the situation.”

Grady hummed. “I hate to say it, but Lynda Turner may have blown this out of proportion. From what I hear, that wouldn’t be surprising.”

A tap on his office door prompted Dodd to end the call as Charlie ducked through the doorway. He smiled warmly and gripped Dodd’s hand. “Hello there, brother.”

In Dodd’s mind, Charlie represented the typical Trapp resident—laid back, friendly, and honest to the core. He wore freshly starched Wranglers and a crisp plaid shirt, and Dodd could see the faint dent in his hair where his rancher’s cap had recently rested. His strong Old Spice aftershave battled to overpower the comfortable scent of the outdoors, and Dodd couldn’t keep from grinning. “Charlie, thank you for coming.”

The older man eased into a chair, which moaned as his weight distributed over the leather. “What can I do for you?”

Dodd straightened a stack of papers on his desk. There was no delicate way to broach the subject, so he went right to the crux of the problem. “It’s come to my attention that Lynda Turner was removed from the church several years ago.”

“Sure enough, she was,” Charlie said. “That’s been nigh on ten years back. Maybe more. Why do you ask?” His forthright acknowledgment pinched Dodd’s stomach. He had expected regret. Or possibly shame.

“Her nephew is a friend of mine. You know JohnScott Pickett?”

Charlie laughed deeply. “Sure, I know JohnScott. The boy sported diapers a few days ago, and now he fancies himself the head coach.”

Dodd wondered if the elder was taking the conversation seriously.

“Did you know he was baptized?”

“You don’t say.” Charlie frowned. “Now that’s a surprise to me.”

Dodd reached for a pen and doodled parallel lines in the corner of his Sunday sermon notes. “Do you suppose JohnScott would be welcome here? In spite of his aunt?”

“Well, now … I don’t see why he wouldn’t be. Is he thinking on visiting?”

“Not that I know of.” Dodd tossed the pen aside. “What caused the excommunication, anyway?”

“Goodness, Dodd. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it an ex­communication.”

“So what happened?”

Charlie rose from his chair, seeming to move in slow motion because of his height. He stepped to the window and gingerly rotated the rod to open the blinds. “Brother, there’s not much to tell. Gerald Blaylock handled that mess. Neil’s daddy? One of the wisest men I’ve been blessed to know. Pity when he passed. Anyhow, he felt it prudent to avoid gossip, so he took care of the details.” He peered at Dodd, hesitating before adding, “You’ve heard about Hoby and Lynda Turner’s separation?”

“Some.” Dodd massaged his tight neck muscles. “The church disfellowshipped the whole family?”

Charlie turned, and his eyes filled with compassion, concern, and something else … wisdom. It was then that Dodd knew the man was more than he seemed. “Now, Dodd, keep in mind a lot happened back then we don’t know about.”

“You’re right, and I’m trying to make sense of it. You said JohnScott would be welcome here … but would the Turners?”

Charlie’s expression grew distant as he gazed at the bookshelf. “There’s been a lot of water under the bridge.” He sat down, rubbing his chin with a knuckle before settling his sober eyes back on Dodd. “Some of the congregants are set in their ways, if you know what I mean.” He squinted. “Has Lynda indicated she’d like to come back to the church?”

Hopelessness pushed a sigh from deep in Dodd’s abdomen. “Not at all.”

“Well, you’ve got to consider the flock. Dredging up issues from the past could cause a passel of new problems.”

Charlie had valid concerns, and Dodd had no idea how to address them. “I don’t want to cause problems, but I don’t think it’s right to have friction between the congregation and the Turners.” Dodd ran his palms over his face. “Charlie, I’m frustrated. And confused.”

Charlie leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. He spoke low, his voice taking on a paternal tone. “I can tell you are, but let’s keep this in perspective. From your point of view, it’s a fresh wound, but remember, it happened a long time ago, and the Turners may not appreciate having the bandage ripped off.” He rose, and Dodd did the same. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to Neil and Lee Roy and see what they know about it. But I’ll tell you one thing for sure. No matter what, I’ll be praying for the Turners and JohnScott.”

Dodd clasped Charlie’s hand, partly in thanks and partly in desperation, but even though he hadn’t gotten many answers, Dodd felt more at peace with the situation knowing Charlie was praying about it too.

Twenty minutes later, church members began arriving for the song service, and since he had the evening off from preaching duties, Dodd chose to sit with his mother instead of at the front. While Milla leaned forward, listening to a conversation in the next pew between Neil Blaylock’s wife and Pamela Sanders, Dodd marveled at the normalcy of their conversation. Even though Ruthie’s pain invaded his thoughts so thoroughly that his vision blurred, idle chatter carried on as though nothing had happened.

“How are your plans for the fund-raiser?” Pamela asked.

“The silent auction will be amazing this year.” Neil’s wife held a small mirror in front of her face, moving it here and there to check her reflection from different angles. “The garage is already full of donations, and Neil gave me the front barn for overflow.”

Milla placed a hand on the back of the pew. “What’s this fundraiser for?”

“Volunteer fire department.” She snapped her mirror closed. “Every year in December, we make a day of it. There’s a parade, a silent auction, and all kinds of food and crafts.”

Pamela giggled. “Later that night, after they announce the amount of money raised, they’ll have fireworks at the stadium.”

Fireworks for the fire department? Irony drifted through Dodd’s clouded mind, but he pushed it away. Were these people so concerned with menial details, they couldn’t see the pain of those around them?

Emily plopped next to her mother even though she normally sat with the other teenagers. She glanced back at Dodd, and Pamela spoke to her in a loud whisper. “What a sweet girl to sit with your mother.”

A gentle slap on his back caused Dodd to look up. It was Neil. Dodd stood and shook hands as the elder leaned in to speak softly. “Did Charlie answer your questions about the Turners, son?”

“Yes …” Talking to Charlie had helped matters, but Dodd still had unanswered questions. “Can we sit down and discuss it sometime? I’d appreciate your perspective as well.”

Neil nodded briskly. “Yes, let’s do that. One day next week.” He took his seat next to his wife as Lee Roy Goodnight puttered to the front of the room to lead the opening prayer.

Neil’s reassurance brought additional peace to Dodd’s troubled nerves, but he still needed time to think. He studied the people in the pews around him. Every woman on the church roster had phone-called, visited, and casseroled him and his family, and he was beginning to feel like he knew their families—most of which were intermarried to the extent of confusion. As he surveyed the church, Dodd couldn’t see how the faithful Christians aligned with what JohnScott had told him.

Fawn sat a few rows up, alone tonight, since Tyler only came to Trapp on weekends. But Grady sat with her. Dodd had questioned Grady about the attention he gave Fawn, but his brother insisted his interest only went so far as friendship.

Dodd took a deep breath, exhaling as they rose to sing “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” The tension in his neck radiated down his spine until his lower back cramped from the stress. He needed a release. Maybe he would go for a jog later. A long one. So he could think about the Turners. And the congregation. And how to handle all of it. And frankly, he could use some advice regarding personal matters, which were woven through it all.

He hadn’t planned on getting attached to this tiny town, and he certainly hadn’t planned on getting attached to a woman, but the more he got to know Ruthie Turner, the more he was drawn to her. Granted, she had rough edges—How did Grady put it? Prickly—but she’d been through a lot with her parents, and from the sound of it, she’d been through a lot with the church.

Emily glanced back at him again with her usual bashful smile, but when she looked past him, her eyes widened. She jerked to the front with a tiny hiccup of a gasp. Curiosity tickled Dodd, but he didn’t look behind him. Instead, he kept an eye on Emily, waiting to see what she would do when she turned around again.

She never did. The song ended, and she perched on the pew as stiff as one of the towels his mother dried on the clothesline. But after a few verses of the next song, Emily’s shoulders relaxed, and she whispered to her mother. Pamela Sanders spun around and gaped toward the back of the room.

What in the world could be happening back there? Corky Ledbetter typically occupied the back row with her three little kids. Maybe one of them was causing mischief. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Neil must’ve been curious too, because he stretched his arm along the back of the pew and casually swiveled his head. He gave no reaction except to stop singing, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.

That did it. Dodd didn’t feel comfortable turning around after so many others, so he feigned a restroom break. Standing, he took one step up the aisle and almost shouted for joy.

Clyde Felton sat on the back pew, singing from a hymnal.