Whispered Southern Secrets (Magnolia Grove #11)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

J.D.

I have to blink several times to make sure I’m seeing correctly. You’ve got to be kidding me. My first Sunday leading the service and a ghost from my past is sitting in the pew. Not sure why “H,” the woman from my dreams, is here, and situated closely to Mrs. Minnie Montgomery. Then it clicks. Of course. She’s the Montgomery’s granddaughter, Honey. Real name is Harper Beaumont. She would spend her summers in Magnolia Grove. When she wasn’t with her grandparents she’d be glued to Olivia Duprey’s side. But I don’t recall her ever looking so beautiful that it stops you in your tract, even if she did only visit summers and holidays. She was quite possibly the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen. Her features have matured. She carried herself with grace yet still maintained that free-spirited laugh and smile she had even as a child. But I don’t ever remember being hypnotized by that dazzling smile.

Then again, I was always looking for a way out of town. I didn’t even graduate from high school. I dropped out at seventeen, passed the GED exam, and enrolled in the military. I was itching to get out of Magnolia Grove.

The whole thing devastated Mama. She didn’t want to see me in the Air Force. The more she tried to convince me I was meant to be in front of a congregation and using my gift of music and charisma for the church, the more I wanted to distance myself. My father is the most noble and genuinely caring man I know. That’s not me. Who am I to lead people? Protecting people is more of my specialty. I was a total shithead to my parents, yet they never once gave up on me. They continued to encourage me in any profession I chose. Mama did worry about me being in the military, and I know it killed her having me so far away.

Five years ago, she suffered a stroke and took a hard fall. I never prayed a lot. Crazy, since I’m a preacher’s kid. For years I prayed while I was away in the Air Force that she’d be okay. Her recovery was slow. Barely any progress. I was finally allowed a short leave to visit. It seemed like seeing me gave her renewed energy; her speech became clearer, a drastic improvement. She brought up again the idea of me going into ministry. I told her if she’d do her physical therapy, allow her nurses to help, get better for me, I’d do it. That night, I prayed the hardest I’d ever prayed, and again, making all kinds of promises. When I left, I needed to clear my head. I was only planning on throwing back a beer and singing a few songs.

That’s the night I met her. There was no denying she was a pretty girl, but I saw in her eyes and heard in her voice the same emotions I was feeling. Broken. Lost. Hopeful. Finding comfort in music. My soul called out to hers in a way I’ll never be able to explain. Her auburn hair, light dusting of freckles, and sun kissed skin was temptation, but her raspy, soft voice was all promises. The passion she exuded while singing had me dying to know if she was that way in everything she did.

I’d never exactly been a role model. Never saw the point in even trying when everyone already held me to an unrealistic standard. “You’re the preacher’s son,” was said to me at least once every single day growing up. It’s like everyone loved to remind me. My own parents never put that pressure on me, but growing up in a small town, everyone felt it was their place to hold me accountable. I wanted to scream that I was the son of a man and not the Messiah.

However the little voice in my head would also remind me. Despite getting into a little mischief here and there, I never did anything too scandalous. I’d never had a one-night stand. Dated around, yes. Had a few reoccurring hook ups, yes. Of course not with anyone around Magnolia Grove. And never with a stranger.

She was different.

I’d never believed in much in my life but in that moment I was convinced love at first sight was real. I wanted to sin and be pure all at once. She made me want to pray, worship, and weep. Her voice was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. I’d never felt so alive hearing her. The connection when I looked into her stunning golden brown eyes made my chest ache. I had to touch her, and when I felt how soft and delicate she was under my hands, I knew I’d do anything to be with her. At least for one night. But first I wanted to be honest with her. I had enough on my place and there was no room for romance, plus I knew I didn’t deserve her. I wouldn’t be able to be a devoted boyfriend between the military and my mom’s health. She wouldn’t be a priority in my life. When she almost jumped with glee that I’d vanish, that sealed the deal. We shared the night together, and then she was the one to vanish.

When I made it back to base and called Mama, I promised, again, I would do whatever she wanted if she focused on getting better. We prayed together over the phone. Then a miracle happened. Mama began improving. Divine intervention or her stubbornness and strong will for me to come back home and be part of the church, but she was on the verge of almost a full recovery. I changed my position in the Air Force from engineer to work in ministry; and when it came time to reenlist, I instead went to a university close to home to pursue a master’s in divinity. I actually finished everything quickly and became one of the younger ministers around here. It’s all worth it to have my mama smiling at me from behind the piano. The mobility in Mama’s fingers didn’t fully recover and they still bother her from time to time. I thought for sure she’d be devastated, but she only smiled and said, “The only thing I enjoy more than playing is listening to you play.”

And there it is. Guilt and a compliment all wrapped into one sentence. And play I do. Whenever her fingers won’t allow her to, I step in and play during church services and when they need me funeral services.

The biggest surprise through all this is it feels natural. While I was working to become a Chaplain in the Air Force, I really felt a connection while helping and talking with people. Praying over people. It came so easily and I do enjoy helping others. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Except for that one night.

That one night that has come back to taunt me.

I wasn’t pursuing ministry at the time, but the people of Magnolia Grove are not thrilled about my father wanting to retire and have me take his place. If they hear that before I became a preacher I’d had spent a night that would have the devil blushing… It’d be over. Everyone knows I wasn’t exactly a saint growing up. I was a mean little shit as a kid. Constantly pulling pranks as a teenager. That they can overlook. But a one-night stand…with a woman I didn’t even know at the time.

If Paul can go from persecuting Christians to being one of Jesus’s disciples, surely this sinner can find his place at the table. Somehow I don’t think I’ll be able to sway this crowd. The worst part is I don’t want them to lose faith in their pastor. It’s easy to forget that preachers are people with needs and flaws too. At the end of the day I’m nothing more than a man who wants to help people and spread my love for Jesus. I’m still a sinner. I still fall short every single day. I know I’m unworthy. My image with Magnolia Grove is fragile. If anyone learns about my one night with Honey three years ago, I don’t think the congregation’s shock will ever recover.

I somehow manage to get through the service. Honey doesn’t waste any time darting out of the church. I guess that means she recognizes me. Good to know she hasn’t forgotten our night either. Everyone is gracious as they tell me how much they enjoyed the service. All I want to do is chase after her, but it’s okay. I can be patient. Unlike last time, now I know who she is and exactly how to find her.

Mimi’s Gasoline Grove sounds phenomenal for tomorrow’s lunch. After all, they have catfish, sweet tea, and Honey.

The next day I spend the morning helping my father around the church. As we walk through the lawn, we chat with Wade and praise him again for the amazing work he does. Then as we pass through to Dad’s office, he stops to speak with the church’s security, Mrs. Betty Gail Fuller. After she’s told us—in detail—about her husband’s colonoscopy, she hands my dad a list of messages she’d already taken for him. He’s always been busy doing the Lord’s work but I severely underestimated how much he does. We thank Mrs. Betty Gail, promise to pray for her husband, and step into my father’s office. It’s a decent size room that’s filled with Bibles, Bibles in various translations, history and inspirational books, and family photos are everywhere. The room always smells of fresh pine. Dad sits in his favorite worn leather chair behind the simple wooden desk. I sit in a chair across from him that has seen better days. It creaks under my weight, and I worry it’s going to collapse.

“Coffee?” Mrs. Betty Gail calls out.

“Yes, ma’am. That would be wonderful, Mrs. Betty Gail.” Dad calls out in his ever cheerful voice.

Dad picks up the church bulletin with the prayer list, along with his own notes he’d jotted down. He begins discussing each person with such care and devotion, and then he begins thinking of others to add.

“I can go by the sheriff’s department to visit with Declan Parker. See what families he may know of who might need some help. Some folks are too proud to ask.”

“Dad, what do you do if they don’t want your help?”

“Eh. I can usually guess who isn’t going to want to accept it. Those people I give to anonymously. Then they feel no obligation to me or the church.”

I can’t help but laugh. “If they don’t know who it came from, how are they supposed to know that we’re the ones helping.”

“The point is to give without praise or recognition. Is the reward that you made someone happy or that you get all the attention for doing something good?”

I scratch my chin. “I see your point, but don’t we want them to know the church did it and we’re here to help?”

“They’ll know they received a blessing. Maybe that’ll make their lives a little easier, fuller, happier. They might even pay it forward someday. Hopefully, they’ll give thanks to God and that will lead them through the doors of any of His houses. That is all we can hope for, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few more people pop into his head. The list is already long, but Dad doesn’t want to leave anyone out. I take his lead and think of the school kids. Adults have their problems but kids live in a confusing world and navigating through all the changes in your body and life is a struggle we sometimes forget or downplay. “I can reach out to the principal, Lemon. Any kids needing prayers. Teachers too. Might even reach out to Coach Turner.”

My dad smiles. “Coach Turner retired. But I’m sure he’d still love a visit. That’s a great idea about our youth.” He reads back down the list from our Sunday bulletin. “Doctor Lincoln and I are going to visit some of his patients. What do you say to us going to the nursing home before dinner and singing a few hymns?” I nod, and then he continues. “Lucy from Simply southern Wedding has some dates for weddings we need to go over. The Holly Jolly Jubilee is coming up. Miss Laney is the new chairperson. Lots of prayers and support to her. I already told her we’re here ready to help in any way. We have a church committee meeting tomorrow to discuss how we can give more back to the community and the local charities.”

Give more? I’m overwhelmed as it is. My father, on the other hand, seems energized and ready to tackle the world. Bring joy and comfort to every single person in Magnolia Grove. No wonder everyone wants him to remain as the pastor. They respect and trust him. Plus, how can I ever be half the man and preacher he is?

Impostor syndrome begins creeping back to the forefront of my mind. It never leaves me, but sometimes I can shove it back. Insecurity rushes through me, taking over my thoughts. I’m worried about my past. I feel like a fraud doing this. I grew up in a Christian household, but only recently have I truly felt God’s presence. Was it really Him? Or was it my mind trying to protect me from the reality of my mom and I needed something to cling to, to give me hope? How can I preach His word when I’m still trying to understand it myself? How can I tell others of sins, when I’ve lived a sinful life?

“Stop.” The warmth of my father’s hand on my shoulder breaks through the haze of anxiety clouding my mind. I didn’t even notice him get up from his seat. “Stop it, son. You know who your worst enemy is?”

“The devil?”

“You.”

“I wasn’t too far off.” I snicker at my own joke, but my father ignores me and continues.

“You’re your hardest critic.”

“Dad.” I sigh. “Look at me. I’m no preacher. I grew up with every opportunity to become half the man you are and I wasted it. I’ve done a couple of things I’m not proud of, but I don’t regret them either.”

My dad chuckles and moves to rest his hip against the desk. He crosses his arms and looks down at me. He’s tall but not built like I am. He’s much leaner and always had a clean cut appearance. “I have no regrets about your past either.”

“You don’t even know all of it.”

“Don’t have to. I know it brought you to sitting here in my office. That or your mama’s charm, but either way it was God’s plan.”

“Mama’s charm? More like her guilt.” Thinking better of my comment, I quickly add, “Sorry, sir.”

“Not arguing with you son but charm sounds more polite. She’s still your mother no matter how hard headed she is.” He pauses and then his smile widens. “Which is part of her charm.”

He walks back around to his chair and I say something that’s been on my mind for a while. “So you agree it might not have been a divine power that led me here, but rather a stubborn as a mule southern mother.”

“Can’t it be both?” He answers with no hesitation. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. And look at all the times in the Bible that sinners, and people who seemed of little concern and were barely mentioned were used by God to do marvelous things or to set something in motion. There’s only one in there who was without sin. One. Don’t flatter yourself, John David, you’re not the worst person to become a minister.”

“Now hold on, I didn’t say I was the worst.”

“You’re right where you need to be, son. Even though you don’t believe in yourself, I have enough faith for the both of us. Your mother has enough faith for the town.”

That she does. “Might want to add them to the prayer list,” I tell him.

He looks at me with furrowed brows. “Who?”

“The town. And anyone who tells Mama I’m not fit to be the next preacher.”

“Nobody in town is foolish enough to say it to her face.” We both laugh until finally Dad says, “And you know, the only one who thinks you’re not fit is you. Stop worrying about trying to prove to everyone else and start focusing on yourself and what God wants from you. It’ll all fall into place.”

“You make it seem so easy.”

His eyebrows rise and he chuckles again. “It’s never easy dealing with the public. But if after forty-five years I don’t have the hang of things in a town I’ve lived in all my life, than I really do need to step aside. Son, I grew up in this church and within this community. I went to school with these people, worked as an attorney before leaving and becoming a minister. I’ve officiated over half the weddings in this town, baptized the majority, and officiated even more funerals. You’ll get there. But it takes time to connect with the people. Once you do, you can form that bridge between them; and, then helping them form their own spiritual relationship. It’ll be the greatest reward of your life.”

I have goosebumps from the passion in my father’s speech. There’s one part I wasn’t quite sure I agreed with. “I thought I was the greatest reward of your life?”

Mrs. Betty Gail brings a tray with two cups of coffee and a bowl of sugar and little pitcher of milk, and places it on the desk between. “He better say Mrs. Jinny is if he wants to sleep inside tonight. I still remember the time he slept in the church office for making her mad.”

I laugh and give her a nod in appreciation. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She’s right. I recall the time my father teased Mama about Mrs. Minnie Montgomery having the best sweet tea. Now, everyone knows Mimi’s Gasoline Grove has the best sweet tea. But no man with a lick of sense in Magnolia Grove would say it’s better than their wife's’ sweet tea. Speaking of Mrs. Minnie and her sweet tea, I check the time. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous to see someone. I’m borderline desperate to see her again. Even though I know nothing can come of it. I can’t date right now. Not while I’m still trying to make a good impression and get the congregation to accept me. I still need to see her and clear the air; make sure we’re on the same page.

I still have a few hours before lunch. I tell my father I’m going to go get started on a few of the names on the prayer list. It’s time I step up. My father and I both grew up in Magnolia Grove, but the biggest difference is he took the time to get to know everyone. He is taking the time to go down a list to see what each person needs so he can pray for them, and if possible, personally help them to the best of his abilities. I want to help; I just have to do it.