The Pastor’s Son
The Mountaingirl Tales Book 1
Rebecca Joanne
Contents
Chapter One: Adam
Chapter Two: Kendall
Chapter Three: Adam
Chapter Four: Kendall
Chapter Five: Adam
Chapter Six: Kendall
Chapter Seven: Adam
Chapter Eight: Kendall
Chapter Nine: Adam
Chapter Ten: Kendall
Chapter Eleven: Adam
Chapter Twelve: Kendall
Chapter Thirteen: Adam
Chapter Fourteen: Kendall
Chapter Fifteen: Adam
Chapter Sixteen: Kendall
Chapter Seventeen: Adam
Chapter Eighteen: Kendall
Chapter Nineteen: Adam
Chapter Twenty: Kendall
Chapter Twenty One: Adam
Chapter Twenty Two: Kendall
Chapter Twenty Three: Adam
Epilogue: Kendall - One Week Later
Copyright © April 2020 by Rebecca Joanne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or capacity at any time without explicit permission from the publisher via written or certified electronic consent. The only exception is the use of brief quotations for the strict purpose of providing a book review. To request permission beyond that, contact the publisher using the email address below:
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My first full-length story for the first female inspiration in my life. I love you, Mom. If I do this journey right, I’ll be paying for all of our dinners together. You know, because I totally don’t already, ya moocher.
Just kidding. I love you, MA-HM!
R.J.
Chapter One: Adam
“My God, why have You forgotten me!?”
I lifted my hands to the sky as tears rolled down my cheeks. The bitter winter wind wrapped around me, holding me back from tumbling into the lake. It was as if God Himself had a grip on me, trying His best to pull me away from the frigid water’s edge.
I didn’t want His grip, though.
I wanted His answers.
“Why have you done this to me?”
I put my face in my hands and cried. I curled into myself, feeling my tough outer exterior crack and shatter into a million pieces. The dark clouds rolling overhead muted the sunlight beating against my back. The whole earth seemed to darken as my tears met their end in my palms. My father always preached from the pulpit that God cried alongside us whenever we cried. That He grieved whenever we grieved. And as darkness fell around me, the truth of those words slammed against my heart.
But, they didn’t bring my father back.
I drew in a broken breath. “Why did you take him? Why now?”
Newtham Slopes had been my father’s favorite place. He loved the hiking trails and the snow he could encounter year-round. He loved it so much that he wanted to build his new church at the base of the slopes. Right there, on the corner of the one road that wound up this massive, gray protrusion from the earth. My father always talked about how, one day, Newtham Slopes would be the view from his office instead of a wish off in the distance.
And now, my father would never see that come to fruition.
“Why did he have to die?” I whispered with choked sobs.
I felt my forehead touching the snow as I continued to bend. Continued to hide. Continued to curl into myself, as if wanting to disappear. I cried so much it hurt. It felt as if the earth were splitting into two, attempting to swallow me whole. The grief was exponential. Like a nail piercing straight through my heart. My soul hurt. My mind hurt. My knees hurt.
Everything hurt.
Everything ached.
Everything seemed dark.
What do I do now?
The list kept mounting. With every hour that passed by, more things needed to be done. I had a funeral to plan. A eulogy to write. I had to bury my father next to my mother, and I had no idea where to even begin finding a casket. Rankin, Nevada, was so small. We didn’t even have services like that. No one ran a funeral home in that area.
I sniffled. “God, where are you?”
I knew He wouldn’t answer, but it was worth a shot. Still, I didn’t know how I’d make it through the grief. I didn't know how I’d keep putting one foot in front of the other. After finding my father face down in the driveway that very morning, my world faded into nothingness. It was apparently a heart attack, and it all felt so surreal. It was as if my steps weren’t my own. As if my voice wasn’t my own. The only thing that felt like my own was my grief.
The bile crept up the back of my throat.
The tears, seemingly endless, soaked my neck.
My mind, swiftly being broken as I tried to find my way back home.
“Why have you left me behind?”
My sobs kicked back up again. The wind whipped harder around me. I felt it pushing me toward the icy waters, only to pull me back. Swaying me, back and forth. Taunting me with sweet darkness, only to pull me back as if to say, ‘get up.’
I didn’t want to get up, though.
I felt something cold against the nape up my neck, and my hands fell from my face. I wiped at my numb cheeks as I felt my nose quickly grow cold. Even with my watery eyes, I saw the sight before me. The snow, pouring down in buckets as it melted and disappeared into the darkness of the lake. I felt the powdery substance clinging to my hair falling down my sweater. It built up around my knees as I continued to kneel.
As I continued to spit in the face of God Himself.
“I’m not leaving,” I choked out.
I stood onto my shaky feet as the snow came down faster.
“I’m not leaving here without answers!” I roared.
The snow started coming down so hard I almost couldn't see the lake. My stare dropped to my feet, and they were already covered in white. I had to get out of there. I had to head back home. I’d get trapped up there and freeze to death if I didn’t leave.
Maybe death would be a welcome vacation.
The temperature plummeted around me, and my feet grew an opinion of their own. I felt myself walking back toward my car, though it didn’t feel as if I were moving of my own volition. Snow had already coated the top and concealed the windshield, and I knew that didn't bode well for my trip back down the mountain. I wasn’t sure where I’d go, though. I couldn’t go back to the house. Not after everything that had conspired that day. Not after finding Dad in the driveway like that.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
I slammed my hands against the hood of my rickety car. I raked my arms across its cold surface, pushing all of the snow to the ground. I yelled and growled. I ran my arms along the car, pushing every inch of white off its frame. I had no more tears to cry. I had no more grief to unfold. I had no more curses for a God who hadn’t had mercy on me in years, and I sure didn’t have any sanity left.
“Why. Do. You. Hate. Me?”
The reality of my situation dawned on me as I ripped my car door open. My childhood home was empty at that point. Eventually, I’d have to sift through it. I’d have to go through my father’s things, like him and I had to go through my mother’s things all those years ago. I flopped into the driver’s seat and banged my hands against the steering wheel over and over and over again. I slammed them down until the pain overrode how numb they felt from the piercing cold that seemed to make the earth creek and groan with its movements.
Are people expecting me to preach on Sunday?
Out of all the thoughts I could have had, that was the only one that dawned on me. In five days, the church would be open. Its doors would be unlocked. And there would be no pastor to
serve the congregation. My father wouldn’t be in that pulpit preaching the Good Word. My father wouldn't be running Sunday School or checking on the handful of kids that went to youth group. My father wouldn't be shaking anyone’s hands after the service or organizing a lunch outing with some of the members or announcing the upcoming service ventures the church was planning.
Did they expect me to do that?
To just… take his place like nothing had happened?
“I don’t have the strength to do that,” I said breathlessly.
I sniffled hard and wiped at my swollen eyes. My cheeks hurt, but not from the cold. My chest hurt, but not from breathing in all of that icy air. My lungs burned, but not from the snow I had inhaled. No, that kind of pain was deeper. It was more ingrained as if tattooing itself across my trembling soul.
I can’t do that so soon. I won’t.
I didn’t even know if the pulpit was my calling in the first place.
I forced all thoughts away from my mind before I jammed my keys into the ignition. I had to get off that mountain. Everything else could come after, once I was back home.
Do I really want to go home, though?
I cranked the engine, and the car sputtered. It coughed, and it wheezed before all sounds ceased. I turned the key back to me before trying to crank it again. Only that time, it didn’t even make a sound.
I grunted. “Come on, you worthless piece of--.”
Language, son.
My father’s voice echoed off the corners of my mind, and it made my hand tremble. No. I couldn't stay up there. I’d drive myself crazy, being up there all alone, with no one to talk to or help me sort through any of it, or simply listen to me.
Not like you have anyone down there, either.
“Come on,” I growled.
I tried cranking the engine again, but it only clicked. It clicked, and it clicked, and despite the many times I yelled at it, the only thing it continued to do was click.
Great. Absolutely great.
My circumstance was simply perfect. My car wouldn't start. My father’s body was barely cold in the morgue. I was trapped on a mountain with no way down. And, I was alone.
What a recipe for disaster.
“Can’t you just send me some peace!?” I exclaimed.
Then, a knock came at my car window.
It scared me so badly I almost peed myself.
Chapter Two: Kendall
“My God, why have you forgotten me!?”
I wrinkled my nose as my head fell off to the side. I stood on the porch of my cabin, staring off toward the lake. Such a gorgeous view from my porch swing. And yet, it brought more confusion as I gazed upon it as I watched some weird guy yell up at the sky.
“Why have you done this to me, please?”
I chewed on the inside of my lip as my mug of coffee warmed my hands. I’d been watching that strange man for well over an hour. With his hands lifted to the sky and his booming voice blanketing my property, I wondered if he knew how crazy he looked. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to turn on the television and figure out about the massive snowstorm coming our way. They’d been forecasting it for days. One of the biggest storms Rankin’s seen in well over three decades.
I winced as the man fell to his knees. Man, that had to be cold. I settled back against my porch swing, feeling it warm against my thighs. The heating blanket was the best gift my brother ever got for me. A house-warming gift after I built this place. His card said, ‘for the woman who won’t spend much time here at all. Don’t catch hypothermia.’
The memory made me smile.
There was something in the crazy man’s voice, though, that gave me pause. There was an ache in his voice. An ache that stirred even more memories within me. I didn’t want to think about those, though. As I turned my eyes toward the sky, I watched their dark gray expanse roll in front of the sun. Moving quickly. Deftly. Sinking low to the ground. It was like the clouds wanted to feel the prickly tops of the trees.
The man’s voice pulled me from my trance. “Why are you doing this to me?”
The first few snowflakes fell as I wrinkled my face further. My coffee mug grew cold against my palms while the wind started to whip. Trees began to bow to the invisible force. I heard their branches crying out for mercy. And as I watched the man off in the distance, I shook my head. Did that man not know the storm that was coming? Did he not understand the vulnerable position he was in?
Does he not care?
The man had to be crazy. There was no denying it. I mean, what in the world did he think he was going to accomplish? Then again, anguish made people do strange things all the time. My brother and I weren’t strangers to that idea. To the concept of grief controlling us more than we wished.
Shoot, that’s why I had this cabin in the first place.
His voice pierced the wind. “Why. Do. You. Hate. Me!?”
I watched the man rip his car door open, and my heart ached for him. I didn’t know who he was or what had happened, but I understood how he felt. I ran away to the silence of the mountains when things got to be too much, while my brother--Phil--threw himself into work at that grocery store of his. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mountain. My cabin. My little slice of quiet paradise. I enjoyed the peace that came with the place and the beauty that constantly surrounded me. Especially with my busy and hectic work schedule.
Thank heavens, I don’t work during the winter.
The wind continued to carry the man’s sobs and pleas to my ears. And it got to a point where I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to tell that man to get out of there. All he was doing was sitting in his car as if nothing were happening around him. Like the clouds hadn’t opened up to dump their inches of snow all at once.
It started snowing so hard I almost couldn't see the lake any longer.
I have to go tell him.
That lake wasn’t going to give him any answers. It wouldn’t reveal any sort of magic he would use to make all his worries go away. I knew that more than anyone. Once upon a time, I’d knelt on those same shorelines with unanswered prayers to a God I stopped believing in a long time before. So, I stood from my porch swing and abandoned my heated blanket in favor of something more traditional.
A coat, some gloves, and some proper boots to shield my feet.
I unplugged the heated blanket and tossed it back through the front door. I quickly clothed myself, then started my journey toward the man’s car. The closer I got, the more the snow encapsulated me. It threw thicker against my calves. It clung to the branches of the naked trees around me. It covered bushes and forced animals to take cover. And don’t get me started on the wind. Every time it kicked up, it felt like someone had slapped me with an ice-cold frying pan.
Come on. Just a bit further.
Then, I heard it. That all-too-familiar clicking sound. No wonder the man hadn’t already gotten out of dodge. His battery was dead! Not that I had much faith in the pile of junk in the first place. The tires were practically bald. Rust marks were creeping up the side of the car. The vehicle looked like it was more prepared for a junkyard than an escape down the snowy roads of the mountain.
When I finally got to the car, I tapped my finger against the glass.
The man jumped so hard I thought he’d go flying through the roof. He whipped his head in my direction, and the first thing I noticed was his eyes. They were icy blue. Like the landscape around us. And they made me hold my breath. The redness of his bright orbs didn’t once taint how beautiful they were. Though, I saw their sorrow. Clear as day.
I choked back a knot forming in my throat so I could speak.
“Leave it here.”
The man furrowed his brow, but he didn’t say anything.
“Your car. Leave it here. You aren’t going to be able to get back down in all this.”
I watched him reach for something before he started to pump. And the more he pumped his arm, the more his window rolled down.
“Come on, I can get you--.”
He interrupted me. “You got a jump or something? I think my battery’s shot.”
Idiot. “You’re not getting off this mountain until the storm passes. Trust me.”
He snickered. “I’ve lived in this town all my life. I can handle some snow.”
“Yeah, well, so have I. And even these conditions would be treacherous for my truck. Come on.”
He paused. “Come on, where?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Come on with me. I’ve got a place you can--.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got too much to do. I have to get off this mountain.”
I shrugged. “Mother Nature has other plans, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure God wouldn't stick me out in the middle of nowhere when I’ve got my father’s funeral to plan. So, if you don’t mind.”
I sighed as I watched the man turn the key to his ignition again. After that telltale click, his forehead fell against the steering wheel.
“Might be your alternator, too. In this kind of cold, it can stick. My truck’s done that--.”
The man’s glare quickly found mine. “If you don’t mind, I’m having a small chat with--.”
I clicked my tongue. “God? Yeah, well, in my experience? He doesn’t give one shred of care about your plans. So, you can either sit here and freeze, or you can come with me and get something warm to drink at my place. Your choice.”
Then, I turned my back and followed my boot tracks in the snow. I did what I could. I offered what I had. I knew I’d made my father proud. The ball was in that strange man’s court.
Whether he wanted it to be or not.
Chapter Three: Adam
As the fiery blonde turned her back to me, I watched her walk away. Her words were harsh. Piercing. And I wondered about the kind of pain she’d been through to warrant such a tone of voice. Then again, she was also honest. It was much more than I could say for the people I’d grown up around. She had also given me a choice, and it was time for me to make a decision.
I should get out of here.
I tried cranking the engine again, but it didn’t even make a sound. The clicking that had once kept me company had silenced completely, leaving me feeling more alone than ever before. I tried to turn it over again. And again. Fighting with the pathetic piece of machinery. And after relegating myself to defeat, I stared back out my window.
The Pastor's Son Page 1
