A Tale Of True Love



  The Light In The Darkness Series ~ Book 4

 

  A Tale Of True Love

 

  Alexa Stewart

 

  Bryne Press

 

  © 2014 by Alexa Stewart. All rights reserved.

  First Edition

  Bryne Press is solely responsible for cover design and layout, along with support for publishing. As such, the ultimate design, editing, content, editorial accuracy, and views expressed or implied in this work are those of the author. No royalties/fees will be provided by Bryne Press at any time.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the prior permission of the copyright holder, except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This publication is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.

  Unless otherwise noted, all Scriptures are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4675-3470-3

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2014944704

 

  Dedicated to my mother, Roberta, who shows great love, forbearance, gentleness, kindness, goodness and self-control to us all, but especially and foremost, has taught us self-sacrifice ~ which is True Love, God’s kind of love.

 

  Contents

  Brandon Creek

  The Old Parsonage

  Members Only

  Love Affected

  Gift Of The Givers

  Hidden Pain

  Finding Henry

  Fire

  Going Back

  Risking It All

  Together At Last

  Annual Hunt

  Hunting Elk

  The Encounter

  Missing

  Seeking The Truth

  Exposure And Loss

  Moving On

  Author’s Note

  Other Books

 

  Brandon Creek

  WHAT MAKES A family uproot their lives and leave everything they know to serve God? Is it love, devotion, faith? Most likely all of these things and more. It must be, to venture out into the unknown and to live only on trust, while gaining eternal treasures from the Lord.

  Tom and Marty Madison, with their two young boys, Tyler and Samuel were doing just that. They were moving to the wilderness, to the small and insignificant town of Brandon Creek, Idaho, far from their family, friends and in a place where they knew no one.

  Hours from the nearest town, in a high mountain valley across the state line from the Grand Teton National Park, in Wyoming. This small settlement of roughly 700 souls resided among the tall trees of the forests, in God’s country.

  It was now early June and as their SUV towed a small trailer, with all their worldly belongings, from Idaho State Highway 26 onto Elk Run, a cloud of dust rose from the graveled county road, revealing their progression through the countryside.

  Marty studied her map as Tom followed her instructions. The two had grown up together, married out of high school, and were now blessed with two wonderful and active sons.

  Tyler age seven, fair haired and blue eyed like his father, was named after Tom’s father. Samuel age five, was the spitting image of Matthew, Marty’s little brother who had died at the age of three - so young and so long ago.

  Even before their married life, the young couple had dreams of serving the Lord as missionaries somewhere in the world. And shortly after their union, the Lord lead them to the organization of Village Missions, a group of devout Christians whose sole purpose was to glorify Jesus Christ by developing spiritually vital churches in the rural areas of North America.

  This young couple was appalled to learn that this region registered no spiritual growth at all, and that these small communities were becoming the most ignored mission field in the world.

  For every church that opened their doors, three were closing. Tom and Marty desired to see this trend change and felt God’s calling to do so.

  The young couple, after extensive testing and interviews, was accepted into the Village Missions community, and worked hard to be prepared for service anywhere God would lead them.

  Soon, His call came for Brandon Creek. To an old Methodist church that had changed hands more than once, since the town’s founding in 1806. Sixteen families were currently using the building for Sunday service, with volunteers preaching each Sabbath.

  Since the loss of their last pastor, ten years ago, the congregation had been seeking God for a new one. But their funds were insufficient to hire one. They sorely missed and needed a Man Of God - to baptize, marry, bury, and preside over their spiritual needs, to guide them by God’s grace, and to encourage them in their daily living.

  Then they discovered Village Missions. They found this ministry would pay the pastor’s wages from tithes given by the organization’s sustainable churches and donations from devoted Christians all over the world. One of the few stipulations was that Village Missions (VM) would choose who to send, after much prayer and discussion.

  Requesting an interview, most of the small congregation was satisfied with the answers given by the VM district representative. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a unanimous decision. A few prominent members objected to not being able to choose for themselves their own pastor. They argued that the church should be able to choose someone that fit their needs. But what they really wanted was someone to control and direct, a man that was willing to be led, instead of leading. They had deemed themselves the spiritual leaders of the church, and not the man appointed by God to be the shepherd.

  Relying on their faith in themselves and not trusting God, they resisted the change. Though they argued and postured, this time their influence did not prevail. And before long the young family from Village Missions was making their way into the Idaho wilderness.

  Tom knew he was ready to preach. He had felt the hand of God and His voice guiding him all of his life. He knew this was his destiny and God would see him through whatever was to come, although he couldn’t help feeling anxious with the newness and responsibility of it all.

  Their vehicle rumbled on, traveling past fields of wildflowers, wetlands full of shimmering water with beaver dams, and woodlands full of birch, willow and cotton wood. Time lingered and eventually Tom turned their car onto Forest Canyon Road.

  The vehicle left the low lands and climbed into a cool, clean, majestic forest – fragrant with pine. The razor sharp peaks of the mountains drew ever closer, while the trail of dust behind continued to rise into the summer sky.

  Thundering over a wooden bridge they crossed Mad Dog Creek, then traveled by a cattle ranch with the name Wade Ranch carved into a sign spanning the entrance to a dirt road that vanished into the rough country beyond.

  The road narrowed, climbed, turned left, then right in a gentle switchback up the ridge, eventually crossing a stoic wooden structure over the deep gully of Black Bear Creek, which fell in white water rapids and waterfalls into the valley below.

  The travelers eventually emerged from the edge of the forest and entered a vast valley, wide and long. On their left the car passed an old farm house and barn, weathered, gray, empty, and crumbling into ruin from years of neglect as it sat back in a field of wild grass and shrubbery at the base of Elk Horn Ridge. On the other side of the valley rose Eagle’s Crest, stabbing its craggy, granite fingers into the summer
sky.

  Several columns of smoke rose lazily among the forested ridges, possibly from campfires or cabin chimneys. Passing a few more farms, ranches and an isolated house or two, they finally came to Brandon Creek itself.

  This small town was spread out thinly among the trees and fields at the end of the long valley and nestled at the base of Mount Hope, a lofty, unconquerable edifice of cliffs and crumbling stone that rose above everything around it.

  Tom pulled into the gas station with a faded sign of a flying red horse over an old weathered building of peeling paint and dirty windows.

  Stretching as he got out of the car, he noticed a handwritten note on the pump Pay Inside First.

  He smiled and walked toward the front door of the old building. There was a sign taped to the window with duct tape stating that this was Hitch’s Chevron.

  Next door he noted Petrie’s Auto Repair on an old sign over a faded red building, with a rusty metal roof in need of patching.

  The smell of oil, gas and dust mingled with the age of the building and met him as he walked through the door, the light from the summer sun trying to create sunbeams through the grimy windows. The floor creaked as he walked in the direction of a tall, lanky, man in his forties, lounging behind the counter.

  “Need gas?” asked the gangly proprietor with dirty teeth and a warm smile.

  “Yes. Fill it up, please.”

  “Sure. Just visit’n?” Fred Hitch asked curiously as he stood and walked outside with Tom.

  “No. I’m the new pastor at the old Methodist church,” Tom replied with a warm smile.

  “No kidding? Ya gonna try living here then, huh?” the tall man asked with a smirk. “It’s a hard place to stay in, with all the bad weather and notin’ to do around here.”

  As they neared the car, Fred looked inside friendly like and exclaimed, “Two little’ns huh. Guess they’ll be goin’ ta school down the road. Got about thirty kids in there, most times. Couple more shouldn’t hurt. Gonna be hard during the winter months, though. Ya might wanna stay in Idaho Falls ‘til the snows melts in the spring,” he snickered.

  “My wife’s planning on home schooling the boys,” Tom informed him, not fazed by his sarcasm, “ …and any other children that might like to come.”

  “No foolin’? Gee, that’d be great for Molly. She’s the only school teacher we got, an she could sure use a few less kids in there. Some of the kids around here don’t even bother goin’, unless the authorities start pokin’.”

  “Well, we’d be happy to talk it over with anyone who’s interested,” Tom informed him.

  “Took almost a full tank, it did,” Fred informed the new pastor.

  Tom looked surprised at the price. “Sure is expensive up here,” he commented as he handed over his credit card.

  “Yep… It’s hard gett’n the gas company to haul it all the way out here. Gone through so many carriers, we keep changing the name on the sign in the window every few years or so. Hope we can keep it up, though. If this station goes, the whole town would probably just fold up and die. But, so far they’re still comin’,” Fred informed him beaming.

  As Tom thanked him, he looked up and noticed Mitzy’s Café across the street in a wide one story building with a wooden walkway in front. It looked like it had a tavern on the left side of the eatery. Neon signs were lit and blinking, advertising the different types of beer available. Next to the building a dirt road took off, running up into the mountains somewhere. On the other side of the building was Suzie’s Antique Emporium.

  Fred noticed Tom’s gaze and teased, “Good place to eat, cuz’ it’s the only place to eat for miles, unless ya can afford the new lodge up on Grizzly Bluff.”

  With a thoughtful look, the gas station owner added philosophically, “And the bars around here serve a good sandwich, now and again. But I guess that’s no place for kids. But, maybe you and the missus can pick something up, if ya can get waited on. They’s always hoppin’, especially on the weekends, when the men comes in from the fields and forests and the hard life they live around here - can’t worry about money when ya kin forget it with booze.”

  “Then there’s the hunters coming through here all the time - always lookin’ for a trophy and the like. Some of them shoot anything that’s not nailed down. Bad when they mix boozin’ with shootin’ too. Not a good combination. Kinda combustible, if ya ask me. Someone’s always gettin’ hurt - even a few dead once in a while, dumb suckers,” he said expressively.

  “That’s too bad,” Tom responded, thinking what a hard life it must be around here, trying to make a living in the middle of nowhere. “Do you know the way to Jed Conner’s house? I’ve got directions, but they seem a little vague and I don’t see any street signs.”

  “No need for signs around here. Anyone can tell ya where somebody is. For Jed, ya go on down this lovely dirt road here, past the school house and take the next dirt road to your left. That’s supposed to be Conner’s Lane, but the sign got knocked down some winters back and it’s never been put back up. Jed’s house is the second on your left. Can’t miss it. It’s the big, old, two-story, white thing, built by his granddad - one of the founders of this here great town,” Fred smiled happily.

  Abruptly, a shocked look came over the tall man’s face, “You ain’t gonna stay with the Conners?”

  “No,” Tom smiled at the comical look on the man’s face. “He’s got the key to the parsonage.”

  “The parsonage huh? Thought that old place wouldn’t be fit for a dog. It’s been fallin’ apart for years… got a leaky roof, some broken windows, and been boarded up for… let’s see now, yeah, it’d be about ten years now. Ever since that pastor disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Tom asked, startled.

  “Yeah, big scandal in those days. Some say he got killed and is buried in the cellar. Others say he ran off with Braxton Conner’s wife. Sad affair either way, if you ask me. Not scared of ghosts, are ya?” he snickered.

  “Of course not,” Tom smiled weakly, not sure he liked the insinuations he was hearing about the previous pastor.

  “Well, ya gotta live somewheres, now don’t ya,” he smiled cheerfully. “Ya watch out for Jed Conner, though… not exactly the most friendliest person in town. He took it hard when his sister-in-law left the same day as that preacher. I won’t be surprised if he holds a grudge against the poor man. In fact, the whole family’s got a sore tooth about it. But, I suppose if you don’t mention it, you’d be okay.”

  “Thanks for the gas,” Tom said, not commenting on the situation and got back into the car.

  Swell, Tom thought in frustration, nothing like walking into the history of a predecessor that’s tainted.

  They pulled out of the station and drove slowly down the dusty road looking at the quaint old town that was to be their new home. The buildings were of an ancient age, most in need of paint, some repair, and in want of lawns and flower gardens. Homes were sparsely spread out in fields and plots of land, while patches of pine trees grew in the vicinity, and the land rose to meet the mountains nearby. Tom was unable to see any real plan or design for the town.

  Down the road on their left, they passed the one-room school house. “Looks like it used to be the grange hall,” Tom said as he detected Mountain Beaver Grange in old washed-out letters over the doorway, while a newer sign mounted next to the front steps read Brandon Creek School House.

  Across the street stood a large, old, gray, wooden building with the name Brandon Creek Mercantile on a large sign hanging from the roof. A US Post Office sign was mounted next to the double glass doors with “Founded in 1806” painted on the wall above it. A wooden sidewalk spanned the width of the building, just like Mitzy’s place. It reminded Tom of the buildings in the old western movies he loved so much as a kid, and smiled when he realized that is probably what this town was back then.

  Further down the road, out in a big field, stood a two-story log building with neon signs in the windows, surrounded by cars and pickups. T
he sign on the rooftop flashed Dead Moose Bar & Grill. Across the street on the left, a dirt road took off and disappeared into the forest beyond. They could see a large, two-story, white house near the corner.

  “I think that’s Jed Conner’s house,” Tom commented as he turned down the road and drove the car and trailer toward the house with the large wrap-around porch. “Be right back.”

  Climbing the stairs, he stood at the front door and knocked intermittently for a time. He was just about to give up and leave when Jed Conner opened the door. He seemed irritated and unfriendly. The man was in his forties, short and stocky. He had the look of the Welsh about him, or maybe American Indian with his olive skin, black hair and piercing eyes.

  “Come for the key have ya?” the man stated flatly, his manner unwelcoming.

  How’d he know who I am? We haven’t even said hello.

  “Yes,” Tom replied, surprised by the man’s attitude.

  Jed silently held it out.

  “Thank you,” Tom said as he took the key, trying to sound friendly.

  “The place isn’t fit to live in. Don’t blame anyone if you’re uncomfortable, and there certainly isn’t any money to fix the place up, so you’re on your own.”

  “I think we’ll be fine…” Tom started to say.

  “I’m late for work. Gotta go,” Jed interrupted coldly.

  “Thank you for the key, Mr. Conner. Will I see you Sunday?”

  “I’ll be there,” Jed threatened as he abruptly closed the door.

  Tom stood on the front porch for a second, dumbfounded by the brief encounter with one of his church members. The whole transaction couldn’t have taken more than a minute or so.

  Shaking his head, he descended the stairs and got back into the car.

  Maybe he’s just in a hurry to get to work, or he’s had a fight with someone. Let it go… Give it time.

  “Now, if we can get this rig turned around without getting stuck, we’ll try to find the house,” Tom stated, starting the car.

  Driving up the hill, he looked for a big enough space to accomplish the maneuver. Cottages and rustic log cabins, snuggled among the pines passed, some with porches of their own holding an old fashioned swing, or a chair or two for visiting during the cool of the summer evenings.

  Eventually they found themselves back down the hill and on the main road again. Looking ahead, they couldn’t miss Mount Hope, that majestic, mass of granite rising high into the heavens, with its peaks poking through the dense, dark forest that descended down into the edge of town, encroaching into the community and surrounding it before thinning out into the valley behind them.

  “The instructions say to turn right onto Valley Chapel Road, right next to this place,” Marty informed her driver, as she pointed to the Bar and Grill.

  The boys, being anxious to get out and explore their new home, were leaning out the windows, talking excitedly.

  “Sit down and put your seatbelts back on, immediately,” Marty scolded them.

  As they obeyed, they all watched as fields and pine tree clusters passed, while behind them the ever present dust followed.

  Nothing seemed to be out here, but God’s good earth and the summer sun.

  Presently, the church with its white steeple came into view, standing vibrant against the dark green of the forest beyond it, while the gray of the mountains rose to block the sky.

  Tom pulled onto the dirt shoulder, stopping to look at it from a distance.

  It was a fine looking one-story building with a foyer in front, the bell tower overhead, and a golden cross at the top. He could just see the left side of the building where three large sashed windows kept watch under a steep roof, with a large overhang - a real country church.

  It sat beautifully in this wilderness, with a grove of fruit trees in back. A picket fence surrounding a graveyard, with head stones and a gate giving access into the resting place of the dead was to the right, with a neat parking lot in-between. A church tended by loving hands, devoted servants, and the children of the Living God.

  It looks well cared for, he realized.

  Swinging his gaze to the left of the church, he spotted the parsonage set way back on a large parcel of land among the inevitable pines. It looked peaceful and homey until a closer look revealed the shabbiness and poor condition of the place.

  He could see the roof had been newly repaired, it’s tan color prominent on the old black surface and the house was in dire need of paint.

  Far behind the house he could see an old barbed wire fence built with various size posts, leaning this way and that, propped up in places, confining a large herd of cattle that grazed near the base of the mountain.

  Unexpectedly, images of the people who had once lived at the parsonage materialized. He could see them settling here, clearing the land, building their home, and the house of worship. He could imagine the hopes and dreams they might have had. He wondered about those who had come after them, and what events had transpired to bring this house into its present state of ruin.

  The missing pastor came to mind, and he couldn’t help wonder what type of legacy the man had left behind. Tom knew the man’s life had affected this house, the church, and the small town of Brandon Creek, but how much and to what extent, he couldn’t guess.

  For a decade this place had remained abandoned, leaving it a derelict, ravaged by time.

  Now they were here, ready to start again. What changes he’d be able to bring, he didn’t know. But he hoped his presence would make a good difference and bring honor to the God he loved.

  Tom realized Ghosts do indeed live here, of a sort. But to what extent does the past endure to taint the present? Will I be able to start fresh, or must I deal with the past? I guess I’ll know in time.

  “Looks like the house needs a lot of work,” he commented softly, then turned to his wife and asked, “Shall we go see our new home?”

  The boys excitedly agreed with their father’s suggestion, while Marty’s eyes glittered with her excitement and anticipation of the venture awaiting them, “Yes, let’s.”

  Tom pulled onto the road again, and presently turned left onto Parson’s Lane. Then he turned right, onto the old driveway that was littered with years of pine needles. Driving over the soft carpet, under the shade of the tall trees, they neared the old house.

  As they got closer, the home’s deplorable state alarmed him. The front porch sagged and the raw color of new wood on the old steps stuck out vividly among the gray of the aging stairs, while a few windows gleamed in the sun among the dirty ones, newly replaced. The back porch was collapsing and separating itself from the house, blackberry bushes encroached too close, and the yard was shabby and overrun. He wondered just what lay ahead for them in this place.

  Parking, they all got out. Marty stretching her stiff muscles after her long trip, while the boys started rushing to exploring the place.

  “Tyler! Sam! Come back here! I don’t want you running off right now. This place doesn’t look that safe,” Marty shouted at them. “Help me get our things into the house first. Then we’ll talk about your exploring.”

  The boys reluctantly returned. There were so many things to see, so many things to do. They couldn’t wait to explore.

  Tom walked up the steps to the front door, noticed some of the stairs were soft and spongy, while the boards creaked in protest to the weight of unaccustomed use.

  Putting the suitcases down, he fished into his pocket for the key and unlocked the door. As he pushed it wide, it creaked as it swung open.

  The first thing he noticed was the darkness of the old living room. Then the smell of a house that had been left unheated for a long time assailed him, with its musty aroma and the feeling of dampness in the air.

  Marty came up beside him and peered into the timeworn living room. An old couch and chair dressed in slipcovers, an end table with a reading lamp, and a large throw rug in the middle of the floor were the furnishings.

  Playfully rolling her eyes, she
sighed and entered the house. Going to the windows, she pulled back the curtains to allow the summer sun into the cheerless room. Then she tried to open the windows, one after another, but they wouldn’t budge.

  “Looks like there’s plenty of things for your ‘honey do list’,” she told him warmly.

  Tom smiled in agreement. He knew she would accept anything the Lord provided and never complain, but this place was going to provide everyone with the opportunity to acquire patience and thanksgiving. It was going to take a lot of elbow grease and heart to make this house into a home. But if anyone could do it, it was his best friend and wife.

  Soon, the family was exploring the house, opening doors, and inspecting the home that God had provided.

 

  The Old Parsonage