Chapter Forty-Eight

The following weeks held so many changes, I didn’t recognize my little town, much less my life. Not only did the church formally apologize to Momma and me, but a few families, like the Sanders, invited us into their homes. While Momma muddled through her feelings for the church members, I muddled through my own. I thought I had forgiven most of them, but it would take me a while to forget about Neil Blaylock and the accusations he had slung against my family.

Two things still bothered me, but I accepted it might be years before Momma explained them. First, I couldn’t help but wonder about Clyde Felton. Whatever happened to his girlfriend and baby? Second—and this wasn’t nearly as pleasant—I found myself wondering about Momma and Neil dating back in high school. She never told me why he broke up with her. Thank God, he did. But why?

In spite of my questions, peace gradually settled over Momma and me like soft music. I had discovered so much about my past, I couldn’t handle any more for a while, so I ignored my doubts and embraced rest. Of course, the peace didn’t make a lick of sense, but I decided most things weren’t meant to make sense, and I was better off not forcing sense into them.

Like my feelings for Dodd. He had been gracious enough to back off for a while, but never so far I had to wonder about his intentions. He would wink whenever he came into the school office, or slip me a Butterfinger in the teachers’ lounge, or eavesdrop on my conversations across the gym. My feelings for him, though intense, were tangled up with my feelings for the church, and I had a dickens of a time sorting them out.

Even though Momma still begrudged Christians to a certain extent, I no longer worried about my actions hurting her. Maybe I’d cause her grief, and maybe I wouldn’t, but Momma had to tend to her own pain. We formed a nonverbal truce, allowing each other to befriend, or not befriend, whomever we wanted. So far I had bitten my tongue at her impatience with the church ladies, and she had done nothing more than hide in her bedroom if Fawn dropped by the house … which happened often.

Fawn and I weren’t as close as we had been when we were young, but every day, I found it more likely we would be. Ansel and Velma had welcomed her into their home for as long as she needed a place to stay, and I was beginning to view her presence as a blessing instead of an intrusion. Besides, the distance she kept from her father—and possibly her mother—seemed to gradually cleanse the spite from her heart. As she became a different person, I found my own heart overflowing with compassion for her, but I worried how she would manage. Without her parents’ support, she would have a terrible time making a life for herself and her child. I wanted to help her and yet had no idea how to go about it.

Emily Sanders also showed up at my house periodically. I assumed her mother still pushed her to befriend me, but I no longer minded. What once seemed manipulative, I now understood to be their bumbling way of reaching out in love. Sure, the whole Sanders family would always be what I called followers, but they no longer blindly followed the church crowd, so I couldn’t fault them. And neither could Momma. Whenever she saw Emily, she would roll her eyes, but at least she didn’t lock herself in her bedroom.

She tolerated both Fawn and Emily, but the ultimate test of her patience came when I invited Dodd to dinner. I knew it would make Momma uncomfortable, but I also knew I couldn’t keep him waiting indefinitely.

 

In preparation for dinner, I cleaned the house from top to bottom, cooked two chocolate sheath cakes, burning the first, and washed all my laundry in hopes of discovering something new to wear.

Momma, on the other hand, appeared indifferent. She brought takeout from Dixie’s Diner, then slipped into her house shoes.

Even though I was glad she returned to her job at the diner, I couldn’t help wishing for a home-cooked meal for Dodd. I frowned at the Styrofoam containers boasting The Best Dining Experience in Texas, but at least we had a homemade dessert.

“What?” Momma asked. “Your preacher man too good for takeout?”

I didn’t argue as I transferred the chicken-fried steak onto one of our own platters, but when I heard Dodd’s knock, my stomach knotted.

What if Momma pitched a fit? What if Dodd said something to set her off? What if my life never changed, and I remained trapped in the same scenario for another decade?

I opened the door and shrugged helplessly. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for asking.” The crinkles around Dodd’s eyes settled my nerves.

“She’s waiting for us,” I whispered.

When we stepped into the kitchen, Momma tossed three of our flowery plastic plates on the table without looking up.

“Thanks for having me over, Lynda.”

Dodd put one arm around her shoulders briefly, but she only motioned toward the table with an ice tray. “Sit.”

I didn’t appreciate her attitude, but I understood it perfectly. Dodd and I had been studying the Bible together. At first I tried to hide it from Momma but soon realized she might as well get used to the idea because if I started hiding it now, I’d be hiding it the rest of my life. That’s how long I planned on reading the stinking book, because now that I’d begun listening to God, I didn’t know how I had done without Him for so long.

I poured iced tea into glasses, which Dodd helped me carry to the table. As we sat, he habitually lifted his palms to hold hands during the blessing, but when he noticed Momma had already put a bite in her mouth, he swept up his fork before she noticed. “This looks tasty, Lynda.”

She stopped chewing and glared at him suspiciously. “It came out of Styrofoam.”

“Not any old Styrofoam, though.” Dodd pointed with his knife. “Styrofoam from Dixie’s Diner, the best dining experience in Texas.” Momma scrutinized him, probably wondering if he was making fun, but he continued. “We get dinner from Dixie’s at least once a week. I’m not sure it’s the best food in Texas, but it’s good, just the same. The meat loaf is exceptional, and Mom loves the pork chops, but my favorite is the chicken-fried steak. I don’t think anyone could beat it, do you?” He placed a bite in his mouth.

“Well … I suppose not.” Momma pushed a dollop of mashed potatoes around her plate. “I do love Dixie’s chicken and dumplings.”

I blinked.

“How does she get them so perfect?” he asked. “Not too done, but not too soggy. And with all that gravy.” He leaned toward her as though he were sharing a special secret. “We may have to get some for dessert.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said automatically. “I made sheath cake.”

Dodd held his hand to the side of his mouth and spoke to Momma in a stage whisper. “Just go along with it. We don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Momma actually chuckled.

“What’s a sheath cake anyway?” he asked me.

“Only the best chocolate cake in the world. Gooey, with icing drizzled on top when it’s still warm.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So it’s actually better than Dixie’s chicken and dumplings?”

The knot around my stomach had gradually unwound, and now it did a gleeful cannonball into the deep end of my emotions, splashing my heart with something that felt an awful lot like love.

Dodd continued to carry the conversation, asking nonthreatening questions to get Momma to join in, and when he told her the lime and lemon Popsicle story, she almost spewed iced tea. Evidently the image of the preacher carrying on about wine and women got to her, and she was trying not to smile when she carried her plate to the sink.

Dodd followed with his own dishes. “Thanks again for the meal, Lynda.”

Her lips parted as though she had just thought of something funny to say, but then she turned away suddenly, mumbling, “Oh, sure.”

Evidently she had reached the limit of her hospitality, because she stalked to her bedroom and shut the door.

Dodd sighed. “Should I go?”

“Not yet.” I felt my expression changing into what JohnScott called my spoiled-brat face, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Okay, then,” Dodd said. “Should we do the dishes or sit on the couch and talk?”

“Couch, definitely.”

He reached for my wrist and pulled me into the living room, where I silently studied Momma’s bedroom door, closed like so many doors in my life. Closed doors, closed minds, closed hearts. But I was learning to make peace with the closed doors and climb through the windows.

He leaned back on the couch and slipped his arm around my shoulders, sending chills down to my elbows. When I smiled up at him, I was surprised by his grave expression, and a thin shadow fell across my happy mood.

“What’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Rubbed the back of his neck. “Ruthie, you need to register for classes at Tech this fall.” He sounded like a parent telling a third grader to brush his teeth.

“What? Why? I’m not sure it will work out with Momma.”

His eyebrows met in the middle. “It’s time for you to make it work out.”

I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“It’s only fair.” He ran a finger across the velour of the couch cushion. “You told me what to do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pulled my hand onto his knee and traced my fingers. “Remember that night at Old Man Guthrie’s ponderosa pine? Before Christmas?”

“What about it?”

“You told me to quit teaching and get an engineering degree.” He smiled. “Then you told me to obey you.”

He tickled my hand, and I had trouble focusing on the conversation. “And …”

“Well, you were right. So really, I should thank you.” He picked up my hand and ran his lips across the tips of my fingers. “So in light of your revelation, I decided not to renew my teaching contract for next year.”

I gasped. “You can’t do that. What about your mom and Grady? You need the income. You’ve got to consider the possibilities and not make a hasty decision.”

He laughed out loud. “This hasn’t been a hasty decision. I’ve been thinking about it since that night in December. Mom will still be at the middle school in the fall, so that will be a steady income for her. Grady will be at Tech”—he raised an eyebrow—“with you, and like you, most of his tuition will be covered with grants and loans. You won’t want the loans, but that works out because you can live here with your mom. Of course, you won’t mind evenings in Trapp because I’ll be here.” He rubbed his lips across my cheek, and an electric current spun down my neck, but he only grinned. “Any questions?”

“What was that you said about engineering?”

“This is the best part, Ruthie.” He chuckled. “I’m going back to school with you and Grady, to get my bachelor’s in engineering. Tech agreed to let me work part-time in the math department for now, and when I start my master’s, I can probably teach a few freshman-level courses.”

It was almost too much information to get my mind around. “Dodd, that’s … that’s amazing. I don’t know what to say.”

He laughed. “Say you’ll register.”

Momma remained shut up in her bedroom, bumping around in there noisily, and I stared at her door, searching for an answer.

“Hey,” Dodd said softly, “I listened to your advice. The least you can do is listen to mine.”

He was right. I could take college classes. I could study the Bible. I could date the preacher. I could do whatever I wanted. And suddenly I knew what I wanted to do. What I was ready to do. What I needed to do.

Placing my palm against his jaw, and ignoring the tears in my eyes, I said, “I want to go to church with you, Dodd.”

He melted. “All I asked for was a few college classes.”

“I know, and I’ll do that, too.”

He squinted his eyes softly, and I knew he was afraid to ask the next question. His voice was so light, I wouldn’t have heard him if I hadn’t been looking.

“Why?”

I leaned back against the couch cushions. “Well, it’s complicated. First of all, I love you, and because I love you, I want to experience life with you and make you happy. But that’s not the real reason.” I raised my hands slightly before letting them fall back to my lap. “It’s just that I love God, too, and He wants me there. He wants me at worship, even though the people are a faulty, ugly, sticky mess.” I sighed. “I have a feeling He thinks I’ll fit right in.”

Dodd stared at me, and in his crinkly blue eyes, I saw pride. And peace. He gently leaned in, wrapped his arms around me, and nestled my head against his shoulder.

And it felt so good.

He rubbed his hand up and down my back, then ran his fingers through my hair, and I didn’t care if he ever stopped. “What was that first thing you said again?”

I laughed out loud and popped him on the chest.

Neither of us heard Momma come out of her room, and we were startled when she dropped a small cardboard box on the coffee table in front of us. “I suppose I might as well get this out of storage now.” My heart raced from the hollow thump the box had made on the wooden table, and I wasn’t sure what to say to her.

She barely paused before hurrying to the kitchen. “Glad you came, Dodd.” She grabbed the dish detergent with urgency, and then spoke again without turning around. “You should come again.” She reached toward the windowsill and flipped on the CD player to drown out any further conversation.

Dodd and I watched her back as she ran dishwater into the sink. Momma had just made some kind of paradigm shift that we could feel but couldn’t quite touch. We looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously, and then I remembered the box.

It was old and worn, with a thin layer of dust on top. I pulled it toward me and opened the flaps. They gave way easily, as though they had been opened many times over the years. What I saw inside made me gasp.

It was my daddy’s old Bible.

Just as I remembered it. Large, with an ornately decorated Western cover and leather cording laced through holes on the edges.

“A rectangular saddle,” Dodd said.

He eased it out of the box and laid it across my lap, opening to the book of Genesis. He kissed my temple as I fingered the worn pages. Dodd knew. He understood as well as I did that Momma had just opened a door.

She was setting me free.