Chapter Thirty-One

I wasn’t able to keep the seed of doubt dormant for long. By Saturday—the day of the craft fair and silent auction—it had blossomed into a deceptive flowering plant akin to the sweet clover growing in Ansel’s pasture. Sure, the yellow blossoms were pleasant, but if they went a little moldy, they could poison the herd. Maybe I leaned toward the melodramatic, but I saw no reason to push my luck and risk being seen with Dodd.

Momma was working at the diner, so I decided to skip the parade.

I opened a book and curled up on the couch as the high school band marched down Main Street. I could hear an occasional air horn and lots of yelling. Dodd would wonder where I was. Even though we hadn’t planned to walk around together, we had discussed spying on each other throughout the day. His easy smile had become a tonic to me, dulling my problems like an anesthetic, but his words from our Christmas-light adventure still stung. I can’t picture Neil Blaylock hurting your family … He’s a strong Christian man.

Yes, I wanted to see Dodd, but at the same time … I didn’t.

Resting my head on the back of the couch, I hugged my book against my chest. JohnScott would also wonder about me. I told him I would meet him at the post office before the parade, and I didn’t often go back on my word. I closed my eyes. Neither of them truly understood me.

I wasn’t even sure I understood myself.

A loud knock at the door jerked me upright, and I stumbled to my feet.

“We know you’re in there, little cousin.” JohnScott’s face pressed against the diamond window.

His voice made me smile, but when I realized Dodd was with him, every muscle in my body tightened. Holy cow. The preacher was standing on my front porch in front of God and everybody.

I yanked the door open and pulled the two men inside.

“Good to see you, too,” Dodd said, his eyes dancing around the living room inquisitively.

Crossing my arms to ward off my panic, I ignored him. “Sorry I didn’t meet up with you, JohnScott, but I figured you’d manage without me.”

“I managed just fine, little cousin, but it’s time for you to vacate the cave.”

I tied my tennis shoes ferociously, anxious to get Dodd out of my house. Even though Momma was safely away at work, I feared her walking in unannounced. That would be just my luck. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.” I hurried to the door.

JohnScott grinned as he stepped onto the porch. “I get the impression you want us out of here.”

Dodd took my hand and pulled me back into the house. “Relax.”

“I don’t want people to see us together, Dodd.” I gritted my teeth. “I can’t do that to Momma. Not yet.”

“I know.” He kissed my cheek. “This afternoon I’ll admire you from a distance, but will you meet me tonight after the fireworks show?”

He looked into my eyes and waited until I finally softened. “Of course. Now go away, you twit.”

“I’m parked down from the high school parking. Meet me there,” Dodd called over his shoulder, then took off at a brisk trot in the opposite direction from JohnScott and me.

Soon we jostled from booth to booth in the crowded downtown area. Banners flapped overhead, meat sizzled on grills, and Christmas songs rang out from a public-address system. We spent hours creeping up and down the streets, browsing the craft items, and eating nonstop. I made a few Christmas purchases, and JohnScott sampled tamales, turkey legs, funnel cakes, and hot wassail.

Occasionally Dodd would pass by, nonchalantly bumping me in the crowd, and several times I caught him reading my lips from a distance, and I took the opportunity to say things to embarrass him.

By evening my cousin had gained five pounds, and I had a stomachache. We waddled through the fire-department garage, perusing the silent-auction bid sheets to see how the prices had climbed throughout the day. The two of us had offered a gift certificate for an afternoon of Christmas-light installation, Velma contributed a cookie jar shaped like the Pillsbury Doughboy, and Ansel donated several bags of feed.

As I pulled cotton candy with sticky fingers, I became aware of someone standing next to me. I ignored him but couldn’t help smiling.

“Excuse me.”

The deep voice didn’t belong to Dodd, and I glanced up to discover Clyde Felton at my elbow.

My skin prickled.

When JohnScott took a step toward me, I relaxed and looked more closely at the convict. His eyes weren’t bloodshot, and he didn’t reek of alcohol, but his movements weren’t natural. He shuffled his worn Adidas in the sawdust, then thrust his hands in and out of his pockets.

“Hey, Ruth Ann.”

I raised an eyebrow. Apparently he thought he could call me Ruth Ann, since he knew Momma.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I don’t blame you.” He fingered a set of crocheted pot holders on the table next to him and took a half step toward me.

I shifted an equal distance away.

My body language seemed to cause him to hesitate, but he gave a slight nod of acceptance. As though he didn’t deserve better. “That day at the school?” he said. “I was just curious about your momma.” His gaze bounced from the pot holders to my face, and then he turned to peer behind him.

I followed his gaze and noticed Dodd standing near the auction announcer, who droned details into a crackly microphone. Probably the preacher was reading our lips, and it comforted me to know he was there, keeping an eye on me. When Dodd gave me a thumbs-up, my nerves settled.

Clyde turned back to face me. “I just wanted to say I’m real sorry, Ruth Ann.”

The sincerity of his words surprised me, and his eyes held mine for a few seconds.

“Um … that’s okay.”

Clyde nodded, peering at me as though I might say something else, but when I didn’t, he slowly turned around. From the back, his shoulders seemed even broader, and I shivered as he walked away. He may have been Momma’s friend, but he still scared the life out of me. He picked his way around the tables, stepping cautiously to avoid the crowd, and then strode directly to Dodd who slapped him on the shoulder.

Needles of doubt prickled across my scalp.

“Well, that was unexpected,” JohnScott said.

I gawked at the two men across the garage, and when Dodd followed Clyde through the breezeway into darkness, I realized his thumbs-up hadn’t been intended for me. “What in the world?” I quizzed my cousin. “Did Dodd put him up to this?”

JohnScott squirmed. “I know he’s been talking to Clyde about straightening up his act.”

“His act?” I shoved my cotton candy back in its bag and squeezed it into a blob, my fingers sticking to the plastic.

“Laying off alcohol mainly, but Dodd’s also been reminding him there’s something worth living for.”

“You mean God.”

“Yep.”

I didn’t know what to think. Who would’ve dreamed Clyde Felton would apologize? A teeny part of me was irritated with Dodd for talking about me, but on the other hand, I was shocked. Not only because of Dodd’s willingness to befriend someone like Clyde but because of his undeniable influence on the ex-convict. And others.

I shook my head and muttered, “Let’s go to the stadium and find a good seat for the fireworks.”

As we walked through town, JohnScott seemed to sense my mood, and instead of heading toward the bleachers, he led me to the high school parking lot, where we climbed to the top of his truck, sitting with our feet dangling in front of the windshield. We’d be able to see perfectly and yet still have some privacy.

Simultaneously JohnScott nudged my shoulder and I popped his knee. We sat silently for half an hour, watching the crowd gather in the distance.

“Why do you suppose he apologized?” I finally asked. “He doesn’t seem like the type.”

“I get the impression Clyde’s not what he seems.”

I laced my fingers together and hooked them over my knee. “Why does he care?”

“I guess because he’s a Christian.”

My breath caught slightly. Clyde had told Momma he got religion in prison, but somehow I’d never attached the term Christian to my image of him. I figured got religion meant he went to the prison worship because he didn’t get any visitors otherwise. But now I began to wonder. Obviously he wasn’t a Trapp type of Christian, looking down on the rest of us, but he wasn’t the Cunninghams’ type of Christian either, goodness oozing out of their every action. It didn’t make sense, really. Clyde was an obvious sinner, tried and convicted. How could he be a Christian?

The fireworks burst over the stadium, illuminating the shadows in the parking lot. At first I squinted at the brightness, but as my eyes adjusted, I watched in fascination. The same fascination I felt every year, energized by the rumble of the detonations, the vibrating boom of the explosions, and the acrid scent of gunpowder hanging in the air. With each flash of color, applause rose, and the hardness in my soul softened.

“JohnScott …”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me about Jesus.”

JohnScott exhaled softly, relief seeming to seep out of his lungs. “It’s simple, really. He loves you, and He wants to take care of you.”

A few last explosions held my attention before I looked at my cousin. “I know He’s there and all that, but I think I’m okay.” I blinked at the smoke hanging in the air. “I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble, you know?”

“You mean the church?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He gave a tiny huff, and then smiled, trying to hide his impatience. “I won’t ever worship in Trapp either, but it’s not about them.”

JohnScott was wrong, but I didn’t expect him to understand. Even though he’d seen how the church treated me, he didn’t feel it. He didn’t know how it stung. I bumped my shoulder against his, ready to end the conversation. “I’m doing all right, JohnScott.”

“Are you?”

He whispered the words, yet they hung in the air as though he had shouted.