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Authors: Lynne Gentry
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cucumbers. Would you mind making room, Maddie?”
Where did this guy get off thinking she’d want dibs on his attention? “Of course not.” Tamping her irritation, Maddie nudged Cotton and they slid over a couple of chairs. “It’s not every day a person gets to see a real live extension agent in action.”
Parker seemed to ignore the sarcastic edge in her voice. “Prepare to be amazed.” He jumped up, repositioned the abandoned seats in a semicircle around him, then situated his troubled clients on either side. “If we happen to get a big snow cover, and end up with a warm spring, we’ll have to take aggressive action.”
Nola Gay and Etta May leaned in close, their serious faces awaiting the plan.
“So, I figure we’ll put cheesecloth tents over the new shoots, then plant several rows of corn on the windward side of your patch.”
The sisters frowned, obviously skeptical of the elaborate plan.
Undeterred by their expressions of doubt, Parker continued, “I promise, those thieving scoundrels will be so distracted they’ll forget all about your cucumbers.”
Nola Gay thought a minute, and then her eyes began to gleam as one plotting evil. “Outsmart the little buggers.”
“Beat them at their own game.” Etta May glowed, rubbing her hands together.
Maddie watched Parker pick up his spoon and polish off his pudding under the admiring gaze of the Storys. The guy must be secretly nipping on the fertilizer because somewhere along the line, Mt. Hope’s extension agent’s unflappable way with the ladies had blossomed tenfold, no question about it.
Chapter Seven
David sat on the front pew in the empty sanctuary listening to the hum of the baptistry heater kick on and off. Leaves that had fallen from the plethora of funeral wreaths lay scattered over the worn carpet spanning the space between the preacher’s son and the large wooden pulpit towering over him.
In the glow of the afternoon light, David studied the sparkle of the golden rays shooting out from behind a stained-glass ruby cross. The hopeful scene reminded him of the sun rising over the private pond he and Dad fished in the spring when the bass took to their spawning beds.
But upon closer examination of the glass depiction, David realized he took issue with the jeweled path that started wide at the base, curved around, then disappeared into a tiny point beneath the cross. It didn’t take a scholar to figure out that in real life, the road to redemption was much longer and not nearly as inviting. He slumped forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Your step is still there.”
David jumped. “Cotton. You scared me to death.”
“Sorry.” The janitor squatted, his knees creaking. Piece by piece, he picked up the curling foliage. “Came in to set the thermostats. Can’t afford to heat an empty room.”
“Momma go home?”
“I saw her loadin’ dirty tablecloths into your grandmother’s limo trunk.”
“The woman took home the laundry?” The urge to hit somebody balled David’s hand into a tight fist. How could church members, people who claimed to be her friends, be so inconsiderate? A better question was, why did his mother continue to let them take advantage of her? Didn’t she know she owed these ingrates nothing? “I’m surprised the funeral food committee didn’t ask her to make a green bean casserole and a couple of desserts for her husband’s funeral as well.”
“Your momma is a strong woman.”
David shuddered, visions of his mother’s disappointed face in the lunch line haunting his thoughts. “I hope you’re right.”
Cotton’s X-ray vision cut clean through the wall David had built around his secrets. The old man could smell guilt as surely as he smelled cigarette smoke behind the parsonage when the preacher’s son was twelve.
“Talk to her, boy.”
The faint odor of chlorine emanated from the pool of salvation’s waters swirling behind the stage. David dropped his head into his hands, too
Where did this guy get off thinking she’d want dibs on his attention? “Of course not.” Tamping her irritation, Maddie nudged Cotton and they slid over a couple of chairs. “It’s not every day a person gets to see a real live extension agent in action.”
Parker seemed to ignore the sarcastic edge in her voice. “Prepare to be amazed.” He jumped up, repositioned the abandoned seats in a semicircle around him, then situated his troubled clients on either side. “If we happen to get a big snow cover, and end up with a warm spring, we’ll have to take aggressive action.”
Nola Gay and Etta May leaned in close, their serious faces awaiting the plan.
“So, I figure we’ll put cheesecloth tents over the new shoots, then plant several rows of corn on the windward side of your patch.”
The sisters frowned, obviously skeptical of the elaborate plan.
Undeterred by their expressions of doubt, Parker continued, “I promise, those thieving scoundrels will be so distracted they’ll forget all about your cucumbers.”
Nola Gay thought a minute, and then her eyes began to gleam as one plotting evil. “Outsmart the little buggers.”
“Beat them at their own game.” Etta May glowed, rubbing her hands together.
Maddie watched Parker pick up his spoon and polish off his pudding under the admiring gaze of the Storys. The guy must be secretly nipping on the fertilizer because somewhere along the line, Mt. Hope’s extension agent’s unflappable way with the ladies had blossomed tenfold, no question about it.
Chapter Seven
David sat on the front pew in the empty sanctuary listening to the hum of the baptistry heater kick on and off. Leaves that had fallen from the plethora of funeral wreaths lay scattered over the worn carpet spanning the space between the preacher’s son and the large wooden pulpit towering over him.
In the glow of the afternoon light, David studied the sparkle of the golden rays shooting out from behind a stained-glass ruby cross. The hopeful scene reminded him of the sun rising over the private pond he and Dad fished in the spring when the bass took to their spawning beds.
But upon closer examination of the glass depiction, David realized he took issue with the jeweled path that started wide at the base, curved around, then disappeared into a tiny point beneath the cross. It didn’t take a scholar to figure out that in real life, the road to redemption was much longer and not nearly as inviting. He slumped forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Your step is still there.”
David jumped. “Cotton. You scared me to death.”
“Sorry.” The janitor squatted, his knees creaking. Piece by piece, he picked up the curling foliage. “Came in to set the thermostats. Can’t afford to heat an empty room.”
“Momma go home?”
“I saw her loadin’ dirty tablecloths into your grandmother’s limo trunk.”
“The woman took home the laundry?” The urge to hit somebody balled David’s hand into a tight fist. How could church members, people who claimed to be her friends, be so inconsiderate? A better question was, why did his mother continue to let them take advantage of her? Didn’t she know she owed these ingrates nothing? “I’m surprised the funeral food committee didn’t ask her to make a green bean casserole and a couple of desserts for her husband’s funeral as well.”
“Your momma is a strong woman.”
David shuddered, visions of his mother’s disappointed face in the lunch line haunting his thoughts. “I hope you’re right.”
Cotton’s X-ray vision cut clean through the wall David had built around his secrets. The old man could smell guilt as surely as he smelled cigarette smoke behind the parsonage when the preacher’s son was twelve.
“Talk to her, boy.”
The faint odor of chlorine emanated from the pool of salvation’s waters swirling behind the stage. David dropped his head into his hands, too
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