Southern Sympathies

by Boeshaar, Andrea

Leafing through the newspaper, Alec scanned the headlines until one in particular caught his attention. Local Pastor to Face Extortion Charges. Interested, he read on, nearly choking on the first sentence. Gerald Boswick, pastor of Southern Pride Community Church, is likely to be formally charged with extortion later this week, according to the district attorney’s office.

  Alec let out a long, slow whistle, casting another glance next door. Perhaps that was why it had been so quiet over there.

  As soon as he’d completed the thought, a silver Lincoln Continental pulled into Lydia’s driveway. Alec watched curiously as a short, stocky man with dark brown, woolly hair climbed out of the driver’s side and walked up to the front door. Within moments, Lydia emerged from the house, wearing a black silk dress with burgundy trim and a matching jacket. Her chestnut brown hair was swept up, regally, emphasizing her delicate features and, even from his distance, Alec noticed her wide, but nicely shaped lips, painted the same color as the trim of her dress.

  Alec felt his jaw drop in awe, but quickly snapped it shut. But there was no doubt about it: Lydia Boswick was gorgeous! Was she going on a date with that fuzzy little elf in the navy pinstriped suit?

  Good thing she’s got better taste in homes than in men, Alec thought dryly, or else I’d be living next door to a major eyesore!

  Watching her gracefully stroll toward the Lincoln, Alec folded his newspaper, catching her attention. Lydia smiled a brief greeting, but something in her gaze told him she wasn’t very happy. Either the nasty business surrounding her father-in-law troubled her, or she wasn’t very excited about going on this date, he decided. And as the car backed out of the Boswicks’ driveway, Alec found himself wishing the latter were the cause of her discontent.

  Knucklehead, he chided himself, reopening the newspaper. There could be a million reasons why Lydia doesn’t seem happy. Maybe she’s not even going on a date. Maybe she’s going to a funeral. That’d make anyone look somber!

  In any case, Alec found himself having a difficult time dismissing his pretty neighbor from his thoughts.

  ❧

  Alec dozed, only to awaken suddenly to the sound of a car door slamming. Then another. He roused himself, feeling a stiffness in his back and, lifting his feet from the wide brick porch rail, he wriggled his toes, trying to get the circulation back into them. He’d fallen asleep right there in the lawn chair! At that very moment Lydia and her date walked up the driveway.

  “How about I come in for a while and make us both some cappuccino?” her escort suggested. “Chocolate? French vanilla?”

  Lydia stopped short. “Not tonight. I’m very tired.”

  Alec grinned. Yeah, he’d heard that excuse before.

  He sat very still in the darkness, waiting for Lydia to move again so he could get up and go into the house undetected. As it was, he felt as though he were watching a play since the spotlight from Lydia’s porch streamed down on her and the fuzzy-haired guy trying to persuade her not to end their date. But Alec didn’t want to appear the spying neighbor and if he stood right then, they’d know he’d been there and likely be embarrassed—and so would he.

  “Well, then, how about a good-night kiss, Lydia?”

  Alec groaned inwardly. This was getting worse by the moment.

  “Why, Sim,” Lydia drawled politely, “I’m flattered you asked, but I never kiss on the first date.”

  Alec held his breath, trying not to laugh out loud. Sim? What kind of name was that for a human being? And get a load of that expression; he obviously didn’t appreciate being turned down.

  Lydia turned to climb the steps of her porch, but Sim caught her arm.

  “Just a little kiss? Please?”

  She jerked out of his grasp, looking surprised. “No.”

  “But I’ve waited all night to kiss you. I’ve waited months to kiss you. . .years, even!”

  “Sim!” She stepped backwards, and he grabbed her shoulders.

  “Just one kiss. . .”

  “No! Stop it!”

  Although her voice wasn’t loud, Alec could hear the note of desperation and something inside him snapped into action. He stood and found himself over on Lydia’s driveway before he even realized what he was doing there. Taking hold of the elf by the back of his shirt collar, Alec yanked him away from Lydia.

  “I believe the lady wants you to back off.”

  Astonishment flashed across the shorter man’s face, but it quickly turned to contempt. “Who are you? Mind your own business!”

  Alec didn’t reply, but turned to Lydia as he released the man from his grasp. She appeared shaken, but unharmed. “You’re free to go inside if you like,” he said calmly.

  She nodded and, after tossing the other man a look of mild disdain, she hurried up the steps to the porch, unlocked her front door, and disappeared into the house.

  When Alec glanced back at Sim, he was already heading toward his Lincoln, muttering under his breath. He got in, closed the door, and pealed out of the driveway.

  “Hey, little man,” Alec said as if the guy could hear him, “you’re doing it all wrong. You’ve got to sweet talk a woman into a good-night kiss, not act like an ogre.”

  Shaking his head, Alec watched the car take off down the dimly lit street, wondering if he’d be able to get a goodnight kiss out of Lydia Boswick on a first date.

  Except, there ain’t gonna be a first date, he mused resolutely. I’m through with dating and goodnight kisses forever!

  “Thank you, Mr. Corbett,” he heard Lydia say as her airy Southern voice wafted down from her porch.

  He pivoted, facing her. “Alec, remember? My friends call me Alec.”

  “That’s right.” She smiled. “Thanks again, Alec.”

  “Don’t mention it. Only next time I’ll remember my cape.”

  She momentarily frowned, obviously not understanding the joke. But suddenly she got it and burst into laughter so light-sounding and contagious it caused Alec to grin broadly.

  “All right, Superman,” she quipped.

  He chuckled and then couldn’t resist asking the question on his mind ever since he saw the Lincoln pull into her driveway.

  “Tell me something,” he began, slowly striding toward her. “Why would a woman like you go out with a guy like. . .Sim?”

  “A woman like me?” A puzzled frown marred her nicely shaped brows.

  “Yeah. You seem like you’re reasonably intelligent.”

  “Oh, thank you very much,” she replied sarcastically.

  Alec laughed at her reaction.

  “If you must know, I went out with Simeon Crenshaw as a favor to my father-in-law. It was not of my own doing.”

  “Ah. I knew there had to be an explanation.” He eyed her speculatively. “Can I ask you something else?”

  Lydia nodded, albeit hesitantly.

  “Speaking of your father-in-law, I read about him in tonight’s newspaper. Is he really facing extortion charges?”

  She sighed wearily. “I’m afraid so. This morning a reporter came to the office asking all sorts of questions and I really didn’t get a chance to talk to Gerald about the whole situation until he came here tonight to pick up the children. That’s when he told me about the district attorney’s office threatening him with this awful business.”

  “Any truth to it?”

  “Of course not. And my father-in-law has his attorneys working on the case already. In fact, Sim is one of his lawyers.”

  Alec mulled over the information, then smirked. “Well, he seems pushy enough to be a lawyer. Maybe he’ll get your father-in-law off the hook.”

  “I have my doubts. And not all lawyers have to be ‘pushy’ to be successful. My late husband, Michael, for instance, was an attorney and he’d been thoughtful, caring, and respectful—nothing like Sim! In fact, I wish Gerald would consult with the firm my husband had worked for, but he refuses.”

  “Hmm. . .” Alec observed that it was the second time she’d brought up her deceased husband in conversation, c
ausing him to question his husband-seeker theory about her again. “Well, Lydia—is it okay if I call you Lydia?”

  “Yes,” she said demurely.

  “Well, Lydia,” he began again, “I think I’ll call it a night.”

  “Me, too.”

  After a parting smile, she reentered her house and Alec, feeling more curious than ever about his neighbor, made his way back home.

  ❧

  Tyler stood on the fence the next day after supper and watched Mr. Alec play basketball. “Now y’all let me do the talking, Brooke, you hear?”

  She lifted her little nose as if to say she wouldn’t listen.

  “Brooke,” he said in warning, “you’d better. . .else I’ll tell Mama you threw away your green beans tonight when she wasn’t looking.”

  “Okay,” she replied with a pout.

  “Hey, Mr. Alec,” Tyler called across the yard, “can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Picking up his basketball and holding it against his hip with one arm, he walked to the fence. “What’s up, kid?”

  “Well,” he hedged, “I just wondered. . .well, my grampa Boswick is a preacher, you know. . . .”

  “Yeah, what about him?”

  “Well, he says folks are gonna go either to heaven or hell after they die and, see, me and Brooke know we’re goin’ to heaven cuz we asked Jesus to save us. I was six and a half and she was—”

  “Last summer,” Brooke interrupted proudly. “I was just four and a half.”

  Tyler elbowed her to keep quiet. This was important! Mama wouldn’t marry a man who wasn’t a Christian, so Mr. Alec had to get saved.

  “Anyway, me and Brooke want you to go to heaven after you die. Want to? I can tell you how to get born again. It’s easy.” Tyler nodded persuasively.

  “Just ask Jesus into your heart to live forever,” Brooke said. “But then you gotta read your Bible and pray every day so you grow, grow, grow.”

  Tyler gave his sister a scowl for reciting the words to that dumb song she learned in the kindergarten choir at church, but Mr. Alec started to laugh. Puzzled, he looked back at their neighbor.

  “You kids are too much,” he said, smiling. “But I appreciate the fact that you’re concerned about my soul. That’s good. Real good. Lots of people need the Lord, but I’m a Christian already. I got saved about five years ago.”

  Tyler widened his wondering gaze. “You did?”

  Mr. Alec nodded.

  “Awesome!”

  “But I didn’t see you at church on Sunday,” Brooke told him.

  “That’s because I attend a different church.”

  Tyler frowned. A different church? That could mean trouble. Grampa wouldn’t like it. He says other churches are “steeped in rebellion and pride.” And Mama wouldn’t leave SPCC. So Mr. Alec would have to make the switch. And maybe he would. . .once he and Mama got married. Oh, well, better leave that problem to the grown-ups, Tyler decided.

  Tipping his head, Tyler studied the man before him. He wore blue jeans and a green sweatshirt with yellow letters across the front that read Green Bay Packers.

  Mr. Alec caught him looking at it and grinned. “You like football, Ty?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “I don’t like football,” Brooke announced, shaking her blond head.

  “That’s cuz you’re just a dumb girl.”

  She gasped. “I’m tellin’ Mama!” She jumped off the fence and ran for the back door before Tyler could stop her.

  “I hate sisters,” he groused.

  “Aw, now, Jesus wouldn’t want you to hate her.” Mr. Alec tousled his hair and chuckled. “But I know how you feel. I grew up with two older sisters. See, things could be worse.”

  “Tyler,” Mama called from the back door. “Time to come in.”

  He sighed, knowing he was doomed. But he saw Mr. Alec wave in his mother’s direction—and Tyler noticed that he kind of smiled, too. He likes her! Tyler thought, brightening.

  “Tyler. . .right now, son.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he called back. He gazed up at his tall, strong-looking new friend. “See y’all later. . .I hope.”

  As Tyler walked slowly toward his awaiting mother, he heard Mr. Alec call, “Go easy on the kid, Lydia. He’s one man in a house full of women. Outnumbered. That’d be tough on any guy.”

  Mama gave him one of her looks—the one that meant she thought something was funny except she wasn’t going to laugh. But she smiled in a way that made her cheeks pink.

  She likes him, too. She does! She really does!

  The back door closed and Tyler swung around to face his mother. “Upstairs to your room, young man,” she commanded sternly. “And you may not use the computer tonight.”

  “But aren’t you gonna go easy on me like Mr. Alec said?”

  Mama’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Tyler knew the answer before she even voiced it. “No.”

  Shoulders slumped, he turned and marched upstairs. If Mr. Alec were my daddy, he mused grumpily, I’d be able to use my computer tonight. In his room, he lay down on top of his bed, hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. I gotta think of something. . . .

  He thought and thought, then suddenly he remembered a movie he’d seen at Matt’s house once. It was about twin girls who were trying to get their mother and father back together again. He grinned, recalling some of their antics, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to create a few of his own. Maybe if the sink got clogged again. . .or maybe. . .maybe. . .

  He smiled broadly. Yeah, that’s it!

  Six

  Things were going from bad to worse—at least in Lydia’s estimation. Standing by the counter in her kitchen, she continued grating the cheddar cheese for tonight’s supper and rehashing the day’s events in her mind.

  Gerald had been charged with three counts of extortion. He’d been fingerprinted and photographed like a common criminal, and if all that weren’t bad enough, the media seemed delighted to broadcast the scandal. Reporters from both the local newspaper and television stations descended on the church that afternoon. It had gotten so hectic, the Christian day school let out early so the children wouldn’t be exposed to any of the malicious reports. Lydia had to admit that Sim Crenshaw handled the press with tact and dignity, promising “his client” would fight the slanderous lawsuit. But Lydia wondered if the damage to Gerald’s ministry hadn’t already been done.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the telephone, wondering if she should call her mother. Her own mother. . .one of Gerald’s accusers. Unthinkable. But hadn’t it been Mama’s new husband’s fault? Pete Jackson? He was the kind of man Gerald summed up from 2 Timothy 3: “For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.” It had been difficult for Lydia to accept, but she guessed Gerald was right. Her mother was one of those “silly women.”

  Nevertheless, Lydia missed her terribly.

  “Mama?” Brooke’s sweet, childish voice broke into her troubled thoughts. “Can Tyler and me have candles for supper?”

  “Candles?” Lydia grinned. “You mean candlelight while you eat?”

  Brooke nodded her blond head, wearing a wide smile.

  It was a game they played sometimes, eating at the “restaurant” with candlelight, and Lydia hoped it taught her children good manners for when they’d experience the real thing.

  “Sure, you can have candles for dinner,” Lydia said. “In fact that might be the very thing to cheer me up, too.”

  Brooke ran outside and, watching through the kitchen window, Lydia saw her tell Tyler the news. He smiled triumphantly, whispered back to his little sister, and suddenly Lydia suspected those two were up to something. She glanced into Alec’s backyard and didn’t see him. Good. At least they’re not pestering him. She shrugged it off, thinking her children were planning some kind of cute, little “surprise” as th
ey often did.

  Turning her attention back to making supper, Lydia sprinkled the grated cheese over the partially boiled macaroni, added butter, milk, mixed the ingredients well, and topped it off with bread crumbs. Finally, she slid the casserole into the oven.

  Then she proceeded to set the table for two. Lydia just wasn’t hungry tonight—she’d barely eaten all day, with all the commotion in her life. But she wanted to make the evening meal atmosphere pleasant and family-oriented tonight. They needed some semblance of normalcy in their lives. So she’d at least sit with Tyler and Brooke while they dined.

  With her immediate tasks completed, at least for the next half hour while the casserole baked, Lydia returned her thoughts to whether she should phone her mother. More than ever, she felt stuck in the ugly crossfire between church and family.

  “God wants us to be happy, Lydia,” her mother had said when they’d last spoken—just before she’d been excommunicated. “Pete makes me happy. He’s fun to be around, and he loves the Lord Jesus just as much as Gerald does. Why shouldn’t I marry him? God’s body of believers is not restricted to Southern Pride Community Church. I’ve realized what an ostrich I’ve been all these years. There are so many other Christians out there just as zealous and fervent as anyone at SPCC. Just remember that, Lydia. Remember that. . . .”

  She shook herself from her musings in time to see Alec in her driveway with his toolbox in hand, heading for her back door. She frowned, wondering at his visit.

  “Lydia?” he called through the screen before knocking loudly.

  She walked to the door. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “I’m here to fix your sink.” He opened the door and entered.

  She frowned in confusion. “My sink?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you send Tyler over to tell me that drain’s giving you problems again?”

  “No, I. . .” She watched him glance over at the table where two tapers stood in silver holders, awaiting a light. A Victorian rose-printed cloth covered the round table and places were set for two. Lydia felt herself blanch with embarrassment as the realization set in. “I think my son has outdone himself this time.”

  Alec looked back at her, a baffled expression on his face.