Fighting for Farmington: Destruction is Inevitable (Harmony Series Book 2)

by JR Thompson

  It was during one of those phone calls Brock found out he was going to have his work cut out for him. Another fire had broken out the night before — an elderly widow’s house had gone up in flames. She had managed to get herself out of the house, but not her parrot. Peanut had been roasted by the fire.

  With no family in the area, she was void of a place to go. The worst part was, upon investigation it was believed her house had been intentionally set ablaze. It was an act of arson.

  “There have been a few mysterious fires in the past, but they almost invariably find a way to justify them. Either the house had faulty wiring or someone had left the oven turned on. This time, they aren’t saying what they found. Just that it appears to be the work of an arsonist,” the man suggested.

  Brock was flustered. He was calling to find help… not to increase his workload. He tried not to show his frustration. “We will provide aid as promptly as we can, but I’m experiencing complications in finding laborers. Can you assist me with the project we’ve undertaken?” Brock asked.

  “I’d love to,” the man replied, “but I threw my back out a couple of days ago and I can’t even go to work. I’ll pray for you.”

  11: A Dark Secret

  For three weeks Brock and his teenage crew exhausted themselves building a house for Rachel Byrd and her offspring. After getting the sill plate installed, they put in a band joist, the floor joists, added the bridging, and installed the subfloor.

  They were in the process of framing up the wall one afternoon when an older mini-van pulled up. “Could you use some help?” a lady asked.

  “We’ll receive all of the assistance we’re offered,” Brock told her.

  “$15 an hour sound okay with you?”

  “$15 an hour? No, I’m apologetic, ma’am. We’re a ministry comprised of volunteers.”

  “A person can’t pay her bills by volunteering,” the lady retorted, speeding off.

  Brock bowed his head and called upon the Lord, “Dear God, please grant us assistance! It’s going to take us forever at this rate of progression. When that lady stopped, I had elevated anticipations that she might be able—.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” a man uttered, tapping him on the shoulder and carelessly interrupting his prayer. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to see your building permit.”

  My building permit? Brock worried. O’Malley didn’t deliver me the building permit. I sure hope he has one. Hesitantly, Brock answered with, “I don’t have it in my possession, sir.”

  The man chuckled, “Hi, the name’s Edward. You’ve left me a couple of voicemails now. I got in touch with Pastor O’Malley, and he supplied me with this address. How can I help?”

  God had done it again! He had answered another petition — and had done so while Brock was still lifting it up.

  Titus gave Scottie a persnickety raise of the eyebrow. “Let me guess; you suppose that was another coincidence, right?”

  “Could be, Cord Cutter.”

  “That’s substantial, guys. Back to work,” Brock snapped.

  Edward appeared to be peering clear through Brock as he spoke, “I was hesitant about helping out on any more projects. I’m sorry about that.”

  Brock shifted his feet. “For what purpose were you hesitant?”

  “I guess the rumors were gettin’ to me. I’m smart enough to know better than to listen to gossip, but sometimes I tend to let things get to me.”

  A questioning expression surfaced on Brock’s face. “I’ve only resided in Farmington for a couple of months. I am unaware of the rumors you are referencing.”

  Edward looked around him before speaking in a quieter tone, “Well, I don’t like to spread things around, but since you’re going to learn about it eventually, you might as well hear it from me.”

  Supposedly, someone associated with Laborers for God had a dark secret. No one knew who it was, but everyone recognized it was happening. Someone affiliated with the ministry had a blazing passion for burning houses down. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason. Some of the homes were occupied by singles, others by couples, others by families — some were vacant.

  Brock wasn’t the only one listening intently to the rumors Edward didn’t like to share. All three boys had their ears tuned in as well; they couldn’t believe what was falling out of the man’s loose lips.

  “How would somebody keep avoiding repercussions with something like that?” Brock asked.

  “Pretty simple. All of the evidence gets destroyed in the fires. Kind of hard to convict somebody unless they’re seen in the act.”

  Edward went on to blab about how more and more volunteers and supporters of Laborers for God had been pulling away. They were scared not only of what might happen to them, but also that they might become the target of unfounded community speculation.

  Brock shifted his feet again, growing rather uncomfortable with the conversation at hand. “Why are people under the assumption it’s someone affiliated with the ministry who’s setting the fires? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “When suspicions first arose, people suspected it might be someone connected with the fire department. You know, some thrill-seeking young person who enjoyed battling the flames. But the fire chief does his homework before permitting anyone to join his crew. If he gets wind of any potential foul play, he won’t hesitate to kick a guy off of his squad in a heartbeat. When people started up rumors that it might be one of his men, he rechecked the character references of each volunteer. Not one of them received a single negative reference. It doesn’t seem likely.”

  Edward went on to say there were multiple possible motives for it being someone affiliated with Laborers for God. It could be a prideful individual who enjoyed bragging rights for their ministry’s accomplishments. Perhaps someone had found a way to embezzle funds from supporting churches. It could even be some sicko who enjoyed watching others in despair and as a part of the ministry, he would get a chance to meet many of the fire victims and hear them pour their hearts out. There were some twisted people in Farmington — anyone could be the culprit, but more than likely whoever was involved had some kind of a personal connection to the fires. If it wasn’t a firefighter, the only other possibility was Laborers for God. At least, that’s the only other option the townsfolk were willing to consider.

  Victoria would have been much more comfortable sitting atop a rat’s nest than listening to her husband repeating Edward’s suspicions.

  As he rambled, she pretended to listen while thinking, I am not willing to lose my husband again. If he starts taking this thing seriously, he might be tempted to flee. He could even join Collin in the paranoia stage. I will do everything I can to ensure our family remains together.

  Victoria was so deep in thought she hadn’t even heard Brock ask, “What assessment do you possess of the man’s theories?”

  Brock waved his hand in front of Victoria’s face. “Anybody present?... What do you surmise?”

  Victoria pretended she had been deeply considering his every word. “Sounds to me like the guy has watched a few too many movies. Or maybe he’s a drama king?”

  Brock chuckled. “You don’t buy into his tales then?”

  “I’m not worried about it at all. Things happen, Brock. Just because a lot of fires have broken out doesn’t mean an arsonist is involved. And even if there is, it’s probably just some kid playing with matches — not someone involved with Laborers for God.”

  Scottie knocked on the door to their bedroom. “YES,” Victoria called.

  “The toilet’s overflowing and I didn’t do it!”

  “Never a dull moment,” Victoria said as she sprang to her feet and jogged to the restroom.

  The toilet was overflowing alright. The floor was soaked and the sea was continuing to overflow its banks. Worse, a chocolate submarine was teetering on the edge. Wasting no time, Victoria uncapped the tank and lifted up on the toilet ball float to stop the overflow.

  Brock joined her and Scottie in t
he restroom just as she pulled up on the ball. “Can you hold this up while I try to plunge it?” she asked.

  Victoria and Brock exchanged places. Victoria plunged and plunged, but did nothing more than add to the mess already on the floor. “Okay, Scottie. Fess up. What did you put in the toilet?”

  “Poop. That’s all. I promise.”

  “Scottie. We’re going to find out what it is, so you might as well be honest.”

  Scottie looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “You didn’t mean to what, son?” Victoria asked.

  “I, uh… well.”

  “Well, what, Scottie?”

  With his face turning red, he said, “I thought I was just going to toot and… and…” He covered his face with both hands.

  “Scottie, you are thirteen! Tell me you didn’t have an accident at thirteen.”

  Scottie didn’t speak.

  “Answer your mother,” Brock said firmly.

  Still concealing his face, Scottie mumbled, “I was embarrassed and I didn’t want anybody to know, so I tried to flush my boxers.”

  Titus burst into a fit of hysterical laughter from behind them. “And you made fun of me for cutting a cord? At least I know the difference between a toilet and my undies.”

  12: Lessons Learned

  Sunday morning, Pastor O’Malley bragged about Brock as if he was the best thing to ever come to Farmington. “I’m telling you, folks, this man is a Godsend. I believe you will observe greater things happening through his efforts than you ever saw through mine. I’ve witnessed it, folks. Brock has the touch of God on his shoulders. If you haven’t seen it yet, I highly recommend you go over and examine the house he’s been building. I drove over this morning and it was spectacular! Keep up the outstanding work, Brock. You too, boys.”

  Scottie rolled his eyes. We do all of the hard work and Dad’s the one that gets praised? Pastor O’Malley doesn’t even know my name. He acts like Titus and I are equals — like we’re both Pearsons. I don’t even wanna work on that stupid house anymore. Nobody cares that I’m over there anyway.

  Pastor O’Malley dismissed everyone to their Sunday School classes. Yesss! Scottie thought. At least I can get away from everybody for a little while.

  A younger-appearing man approached Scottie as soon as everyone stood up. “What grade are you in?”

  “Seventh.”

  “That’s what I figured. You’ll be in my class.”

  Looks like a push-over, Scottie told himself as he stood to follow the man.

  As they began walking, his teacher said, “You can call me Brother Kyle.”

  Confusion manifested itself across Scottie’s face. “We’re not brothers.”

  The man grinned. “Are you saved?”

  After a brief moment of hesitation, Scottie asked, “From what?”

  “Are you a Christian?”

  “Yeah, of course. Why else would I be here?”

  “Okay. Sorry if I stepped on your toes a bit there, guy. You can call me Kyle if you’re more comfortable.”

  Scottie nodded but didn’t respond audibly. Together, they followed the crowd out of the sanctuary and down a flight of stairs. Scottie watched as young people began to filter into different rooms.

  “Our classroom is through the last door on the right,” Brother Kyle told him.

  Scottie tried to see, but his view was blocked by a group of older teens poking along in front of him. He still didn’t speak. Even though he wasn’t showing it, he was somewhat anxious about going to class — hoping to make some new friends who might live close by.

  When he got there, Scottie was shocked to find the door decorated somewhat like the head of a dinosaur. The entire thing was green. Giant dark brown eyes stared down at him, smoke was coming out of the beast’s nostrils, and he wore somewhat of a goofy grin on his face. That got Scottie’s attention like nothing else had. “What’s up with the dinosaur?”

  “That’s Leviathan,” Brother Kyle replied.

  “Levi..thi… who?”

  “Leviathan. He was a dragon who lived during Bible times.” Brother Kyle closed the door behind them and addressed the class. “Top of the morning everybody. Please take a seat.”

  The young man went on to ask the seventh and eighth graders to open their Bibles to the ninth verse of Psalm 119. He read the verse aloud, “Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed thereto according to thy word.” Then he posed a question, “Who wants to guess what that means?”

  Three students raised their hands. “Dori?” Brother Kyle called, motioning toward the rebellious-looking brunette.

  Dori grinned, “It’s saying boys need to straighten up their lives more than girls do. That’s why it mentioned young men instead of young ladies.”

  Brother Kyle laughed, “I should’ve known better than to call on you, shouldn’t I?” Turning, he offered a petite girl by the name of Lily the opportunity to provide a more accurate answer.

  “Isn’t it saying a person can get right with God if they obey the Bible?”

  “On the surface, yes,” Brother Kyle agreed. “How about any of the guys? Any of you want to take a stab at this?”

  Scottie raised his hand. Without waiting to be called on, he blurted out, “It’s saying if there’s an enormous pile of steaming dog poop in the path you’re about to stomp through, you should listen to your mom and dad and clean it up so you don’t track it in the house.”

  The room burst out into a hysterical fit of laughter.

  Awesome, Scottie smiled. Maybe I can make some friends here.

  “That’s pretty funny there, guy,” Brother Kyle told him. “Even though you were probably trying to be cute, you’re actually right!”

  The Sunday School teacher went on to explain how every man, woman, boy, and girl is prone to sin. That sin would get in the way of the abundant blessings God would like to award them. Brother Kyle shared a story with them regarding a time when his own sin of greed had hurt him greatly. At twenty-years-old, he had landed a job as a bookkeeping assistant.

  He was making good money — so much, as a matter of fact, he had been able to obtain a mortgage at an exceptionally early age. Hearing other people brag about stacking more papers than he was, he decided to seek other employment opportunities. He was awarded another position that paid another dollar on the hour — that wasn’t enough; he wanted more. Brother Kyle changed roles again and again. Eventually, he wound up with a job he hated. He and his boss fought like cats and dogs and he was let go under the pretenses of the company not being able to afford him. No reputable company would even consider him because he had developed a reputation of job-hopping. No one wanted to invest their time or money into training a known deserter.

  “My greed caused me to trade in a line of work I enjoyed for flipping hamburgers. You see, I had a bright path in front of me. But sin… like the pile of steamy dog poop Scottie was talking about, got in my path. I didn’t stop to clean it up. I paraded right through it and that sin trailed me like the repulsive odor of dog feces on the bottom of your shoe. Sin of any kind will do that to you. As young people, you can straighten up your lives by diving into the Bible, studying it, finding out what God’s will is for your life, and abiding in it.”

  Interesting lesson, Scottie said to himself. I’m glad I’m not greedy.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  After church, Victoria asked Scottie what he learned about in Sunday School.

  “That Brother Kyle’s a greedy person and he kept wanderin’ around with dog poop on his shoe, which cost him his job.”

  Victoria crinkled her nose. “Is that a fact?”

  “Yeah… What’d you learn about?”

  “Pastor O’Malley taught on how to resist temptations,” Victoria replied. “He explained how without fail God provides a way for us to escape our own evil intentions, but first we have to search for the way out.”

  “Cool,” Scottie mumbled, before turning to Titus. “What about you?”
>
  Titus grinned. “We were learning about forgiving immature little rascals like you.”

  “Titus, that’s enough of that,” Victoria scolded. “You’ve been giving him a hard time for weeks now.”

  “He started it,” Titus replied lightheartedly.

  “And I’m finishing it,” Brock contended. “Perform in your age bracket, buddy. You’re not thirteen.”

  “And even if you were,” Victoria added, “thirteen-year-olds have better social skills than insulting people like that.”

  13: Prowler Alert

  Three am was not the time for the doorbell. Brock tried to keep an optimistic attitude. I hope it’s someone volunteering to assist on the Byrd’s house, he told himself as he rolled out of bed and wrapped himself in his tan-colored robe.

  Rubbing his eyes and fumbling his way through the dark, he cautiously made his way to the front of the house. Flipping on the porch light, he was surprised to see Scottie perched on his tip-toes as a muscle-bound woman arrayed in a tattered purple bathrobe and with strands of silver hair hanging down over her face stretched his left ear while simultaneously giving him a chicken wing.

  As soon as the door opened she began nagging in the most high-pitched, irritating voice Brock had ever heard, “Your little demon here was sneaking around behind my house. My dogs were goin’ crazy. I asked him what he was up to and the little hoodlum told me to get a life.”

  “Ma’am, I’m—.”

  “I’m not finished yet; don’t interrupt me! I started to call the police on this young’un but then I came to a better conclusion. Cops’d probably just slap him on the wrist and let him go. If you’re anything like my dad, I’m confident you’ll teach him a thing or two.” Releasing Scottie, she added, “If I ever catch you around my house again, I’ll rip your arm off and beat you upside the head with the bloody end of it. And don’t you doubt me either!”