Eden Hill

By Bill Higgs

Nothing seems to change in Eden Hill, Kentucky, and that’s just fine with Virgil T. Osgood. He’s been content to raise his family and run the only service station in town. But when a new station is set to open right across the road from Virgil’s pumps, he suddenly faces obstacles in his career, his marriage, and his self-worth that he’s never even dreamed of.

Cornelius Alexander wants his new Zipco station to succeed and help establish a strong foundation for his growing family. As long as he follows the Zipco guide, he’s sure to be a success—and prove his father wrong.

Reverend Caudill wants to be a conduit for grace in his town, but that grace is challenged by the changes sweeping through in the early 1960s. For the sake of this small town, Virgil and Cornelius must learn to get along, but how do you love your neighbor when his very presence threatens to upend everything you hold dear?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
• Release date: Jul 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781496414595

Book preview

1

Eden Hill, Kentucky, November 1962

Something was wrong. Definitely wrong. Even he knew it.

Virgil T. Osgood had just poured his coffee from the familiar speckled enamel percolator and said good morning to his wife, Mavine. Rather than a broad smile and her usual Good morning, Virgil, he got nothing. Instead, she sat quietly at their little Formica dinette wrapped in her blue chenille housecoat, her reading glasses perched on her nose, perusing a small magazine. Very odd. Mavine was usually hovering over the stove, banging pots and pans around, and was generally eager to engage in some lively conversation.

And even beyond Mavine’s silence, the kitchen was far too quiet. The radio on the counter was usually tuned in to WNTC for the 4-H report, which came on just after The Star-Spangled Banner and the early morning farm news. This morning, the old Philco sat dark and silent, sandwiched between the flour and the cornflakes.

The only sounds were the ticking of the red apple clock over the stove, along with an occasional noise from Vee Junior’s room upstairs.

Morning, Mavine? Maybe she was engrossed in her reading and hadn’t heard him. Okay, what is it?

She peered at him over the top of her eyeglasses, unsmiling. Why don’t you feed the hens and bring in some eggs. A command, not a question. And certainly not an answer.

Good idea. Was she sad? Angry? Upset with him? Mavine, gentle woman that she was, would occasionally become frustrated and flustered, but quiet?

And Virgil. The chicken coop needs painting.

Yes, Mavine. I’ll paint it.

So it was going to be a guessing game. Virgil pulled on his poplin jacket against the chilly morning, scooped out a tin bucket of chicken feed from the bag on the back porch, and stepped outside. Clearly he’d gotten himself into some kind of trouble, and he could use chore time to think it through.

Forgotten her birthday? No, that wasn’t until February. Couldn’t be their anniversary. They’d married on the second of May—he wasn’t about to miss that one again. Last year he’d overlooked it somehow, and it had cost him a new washing machine to get back into her good graces. The poker game at Grover’s hadn’t run that late, and had been over a week ago, so he’d have heard about it long before now. For all his pondering, he had few answers. Well, he’d find out soon enough. Whenever Mavine was ready, she’d tell him. He’d just have to wait it out.

He tossed handfuls of meal into the trough until the pail was empty, and then collected several nice fresh eggs. Quickly. The brisk air cut right through his flannel pajamas, sending shivers down both legs.

A full plate of buttermilk biscuits and a jar of Mavine’s strawberry preserves sat on the table when he returned, and the radio had warmed up and the sports report was on. Bacon sizzled and crackled in Mavine’s cast-iron skillet, its smoky scent seasoning the room. Without a word, she took the bucket from his hands and cracked the eggs into a clear glass mixing bowl. Vee Junior had finally found his way downstairs and was reading a Fantastic Four comic book as he waited for his breakfast.

Maybe Mavine was just in a quiet mood. He could hope, anyway.

Morning, Vee. He studied his son, a younger and smaller version of himself. Their son did not return his gaze. Where’s your Sunday school quarterly? You promised Mrs. Prewitt you’d read your lesson before school.

Dunno. Maybe left it in the car.

Virgil leaned across the table. Vee, you’re ten years old now. It’s time you showed some responsibility and took on a few chores of your own. Like feeding the hens and fetching the eggs. He hung his jacket back on the hook and took his own chair. I’ll think of a few things you can get started on this Saturday.

But I’ve got homework to do.

On the weekend?

Maybe. The boy turned back to his questionable reading—hunting down Dr. Doom, from the looks of the cover. At least Vee seemed his usual self this morning.

Vee, put that thing down. You know how your mother is about those comic books. We’ll talk about this later.

Nothing on the radio gave Virgil a clue to Mavine’s unusual demeanor, just a news report about something going on in Cuba—wherever that was—and a weather report about the current cold snap. Community Calendar included a story about the university, as well as something about the new interstate highway being planned.

Monday morning blues, maybe? He hoped so.

Mavine selected clean dishes from the drainer and served them each their breakfast. She waited while Virgil said grace and then filled a plate for herself. They ate quickly with little in the way of conversation. The radio was still playing when he finished the last biscuit, and the announcer gave the time at the station break.

Six thirty, Vee. Isn’t it time for you to catch the school bus? Virgil nodded toward the road.

Yeah. The boy did not move.

So?

He mumbled something before stuffing the comic into his book satchel and starting for the door.

Vee! Your lunch! Mavine handed him a small tin box adorned with a picture of Zorro, his sword pointed high in the air. And don’t you dare trade your cheese sandwich for Twinkies again! Vee grabbed his forgotten meal, muttered something else, and started out.

And leave that comic book here!

Aw, Mom. Vee sighed, tossed the comic onto the couch, and left.

Mavine collected the plates and glasses from the table and refilled Virgil’s mug with the last of the coffee. With a deliberate twist, she silenced the radio and returned to her seat across from her husband.

Then Mavine, his beloved wife, looked straight at him. She’d been crying. How had he missed that?

Virgil, do you still love me?

Do I . . . what? This had nothing to do with Cuba, Vee’s lunch, Dr. Doom, or anything else from the morning’s conversation. Whatever he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. He was mulling this over when she repeated herself.

Virgil, do you still love me? We’ve been married fourteen years now, and . . . She leaned forward and looked deep into his eyes. Well, do you?

Virgil T. Osgood, husband and father, raised an eyebrow and scratched at his chin. The question—was it a question?—was baffling, and he was about to say so when some deep wisdom stopped him, and he considered things for a moment. He needed time, and he needed clues. Anything. He knew the answer, but he wasn’t sure that it was the one she needed to hear.

Why in the world would you ask such a thing as that? Certainly not the right response, he realized immediately.

She hesitated a moment. Because I need to know. When I was at the beauty shop last week . . .

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place like the letters in the Sunday crossword. Every other Friday was Mavine’s beauty parlor day, when she would visit Gladys’s Glamour Nook on Front Street. She would return with a restyled hairdo and fresh gossip, especially if Gladys had learned a new and juicy tidbit. And these tidbits usually had a romantic angle to them one way or another.

Come to think of it, she’d been acting strangely all weekend, especially during Reverend Caudill’s sermon yesterday. The pastor was in the middle of a sermon series called Godly Marriage—straight out of the book of Ephesians—and all the married folk in the congregation were a bundle of nerves. ‘Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands,’ the preacher had intoned, and all the women looked at the ceiling. ‘Husbands, love your wives,’ he’d continued. Women were nodding—including Mavine—and most of the men were looking at their shoelaces. He should have seen something coming.

She pulled the magazine from the pocket of her housecoat and placed it in the spot where her plate had been. "I was reading an article in Pageant about married men losing their love for their wives after they—the married men, that is—turn forty. Some even look— she blushed and hesitated—elsewhere. She slid the small periodical across the table. Gladys let me bring it home. I took the quiz on page forty-six."

So that was it. Virgil felt a chill, the memory of his fortieth birthday two months ago still fresh in his mind. A paper clip pointed to an article called, Has Your Husband’s Boiler Run Out of Steam? by Betty LaMour, PhD. A small but fetching photograph of Dr. LaMour was featured with a caption describing her as a famous marriage counselor in New York City. Virgil stared at the photo and turned the page, holding his place with his thumb. He flipped through the rest of the issue, which included full-page ads for Glamour Stretchers and Swedish bust developers. It didn’t take long to figure it out: more was better, according to Pageant. But more what? None of this made any sense.

This is foolishness. He closed the magazine and pushed it across the table. You’re getting all worked up for no good reason, Mavine. They write this stuff just so they can sell magazines. Besides, don’t I take good care of you and Vee?

Yes, you do, Virgil, but women want more than that. We need our husbands to be heroic. She placed the Pageant right back in his hands. Dr. LaMour says that a good husband is romantic, and— she squirmed—he also pays, how shall I say it, closer attention to his wife.

Something welled up within Virgil that he didn’t quite understand, a mixture of sorrow, regret, and anger. Clearly he’d disappointed his wife, and he was sorry for that, but what could he do that he wasn’t doing? Had he failed as a husband, or had this sensational magazine misled his wife?

He’d done all he knew to do in life. His schooling ended after the eighth grade because he needed to help support his family, but he’d served his country during the war. With honor, and he had the discharge to prove it. With a veteran’s loan and his father’s help, he’d built Osgood’s, the service station that proudly bore his name. He and his father had built it by hand, one concrete block at a time. His business was stable and secure as well, for the most part. And while it wasn’t going to make them rich, he’d never ended a month in the red. He was married to his childhood sweetheart, and they had a wonderful son, Virgil T. Osgood Jr. And a good marriage, as far as he could tell. Even Reverend Caudill couldn’t fault him that.

All that ought to make him a hero. Vee Junior thought so, anyway. But it looked like Mavine didn’t see it quite the same way.

Mavine, you shouldn’t be looking at this kind of thing. Not a word of truth in it. He started to return the Pageant again, but she held up her hand.

How do you know? You haven’t even read it. She crossed her arms and gave him a look that suggested he’d better keep it this time. He did.

Dr. Betty LaMour, with her feather boa and low-cut blouse, was hard for Virgil to take seriously. A PhD was a kind of doctor thing, and a woman who had one ought to look like Eleanor Roosevelt or Margaret Mead. Dr. LaMour looked more like Marilyn Monroe. The ads in the back for basketball-size radishes were outrageous, and the photo of the couple on a sailboat looking dreamily at each other while the sun went down behind them made little sense to him. Try as he might, he couldn’t see where any of this applied to Virgil and Mavine Osgood.

He also couldn’t see any way that he was going to win this argument, so he went for a draw.

Okay, Mavine. I have to get ready for work, but I’ll read it. I promise.

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Ticky wagged her tail and brushed up against Virgil’s khakis. Insightful pondering wasn’t part of Virgil’s toolbox, but he was doing his best as he and his bluetick coonhound walked the short path toward Osgood’s. As promised, he paused to read the Pageant article. The light was still dim, so he regretted not having his reading glasses. The task was made more difficult by the chilly breeze, and by the big words he didn’t recognize. Terms like interlude didn’t turn up often in Popular Mechanics, and amorous wasn’t one that Mrs. Wardlow taught in the eighth grade. After a couple of pages, he had the gist of it. Somehow, he didn’t measure up.

Fourteen years. It had been a good marriage, hadn’t it? He tried hard, but he was beginning to understand that Mavine might want more. Ticky nudged his leg, just as he came to the questions on page forty-six.

Question One: Has your husband been working long hours at a boring career? Mavine had placed a check mark by this one. Boring career? He ran a simple but good service station. Of course the hours were long—Mrs. Crutcher’s Buick had needed a full ring job and seals to boot. Welby, his mechanic, had worked with him on the engine, but he’d not made it home until after nine several nights running. Virgil let his finger fall to the line at the bottom where she had kept score. The question was a big one, worth twenty-five points for the right answer. Mavine’s answer scored a mere five.

Question Two: How long has it been since you and your husband have had an intimate romantic dinner together? She had checked (c), six months or more. This didn’t make sense at all, because Mavine had cooked a full meal almost every night of their entire married life. Not counting last night’s chicken meat loaf disaster, it couldn’t have been more than two days. Three at the most. Five points.

Question Three: How long has it been since you and your husband have had marital relations? This was really puzzling. She’d checked (b), two weeks or more and then erased it and changed it to (c), one month or more. Her mother had spent most of last Sunday afternoon at their house—perhaps Mavine had forgotten. Besides, her other relations visited way too often. Or could the question be asking about . . . that?

The rest of the questions all had something to do with romantic encounters or expensive restaurants or the like, and Dr. LaMour’s reasoning became harder to follow. A trip to somewhere exotic? Zero. Celebrating an anniversary? Another zero. Mavine had checked off several more questions and come up with a score of thirty-five, which, according to Dr. LaMour, meant better stir the coals and check the pilot light. Whatever that meant. Pilot lights weren’t for coal fires, anyhow. Besides, this whole article came down to Dr. LaMour’s opinion, which said Mavine ought to be unhappy with him and who he was. He backed up a step and almost tripped over Ticky. Who does this Betty LaMour think she is, anyway? And what gives her the right to give my wife these kinds of ideas?

Virgil scratched his chin again. He and Mavine had both worked hard at making a life and a family, only to be told by some sleazy woman in a cheap magazine that it wasn’t enough. They had a solid marriage, a fine son, and a comfortable life, didn’t they? In Eden Hill, that meant far more than caviar and sailboats.

By now, his emotions had all boiled down to one: anger. Not at Mavine, but at Betty LaMour. Let this marriage counselor come here from New York City for a day or two, eat supper at their house, stay the night, and smell the wood smoke and country ham the next morning. Maybe even enjoy some of Mavine’s biscuits and bacon. Though she’d have to skip any of Mavine’s attempts at new recipes. Betty LaMour would see what life together was all about.

He was a good man, and this was a good place. He and Osgood’s took care of decent people, the salt of the earth. The grocery on the corner did the same, with Grover Stacy and his wife, Anna Belle, offering ample provisions to the folks of the community, together with ample supplies of cold-cut sandwiches, ice cream, overalls, and flypaper. There was Willett’s Dry Goods with clothing and fabric, and three churches. Three fine churches. Filled every Sunday with wonderful country people who’d give a person the high-bibs right off their backs. Farms and stores, tradesmen and everyday folks. Eden Hill may not be much, but it was everything that New York City could only dream about.

With that thought and another nudge from Ticky, Virgil tucked the Pageant into his coat pocket and returned to reality. He’d ask his mechanic, Welby, about it later. Welby and Alma had been married upwards of thirty years; surely he’d have some insight.

Virgil’s coffee mug was empty again, so he must have paused and pondered for longer than he thought. No matter, Welby would certainly have a fresh pot brewing when he arrived.

Let’s go, Ticky. He bent down to scratch the dog’s ears. Folks’ll be coming by to see us soon. The mid-November sun had now risen above the horizon, bathing the fields with twilight. Somewhere a tractor started with a rumble, and a truck stopped on Front Street, its brakes squeaking. Sounds of life—good life. He and Ticky walked the rest of the way down the hill to Osgood’s, and Virgil opened the side door just as the sun cleared the clouds and touched the porch of the old house behind him. Another day had begun in little Eden Hill. Farms needed tending, stock had to be fed, and cars and trucks would soon show up to purchase gasoline and service.

He’d get back to the Pageant tomorrow, or the day after that. He had work to do.

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Hello, Virgil! A man in faded khaki coveralls stood up awkwardly from the front tire of a little two-tone Nash Metropolitan, having put the last squeaky twist on a lug nut. How’s the boss today? A small but sturdy man of fifty-five, Welby, limping slightly, the result of a childhood bout with polio, crossed to greet Virgil.

Just fine! Virgil grinned. At least Welby, fifteen years his senior, seemed to be on his side this morning. The work may be hard, but here at the service station, Virgil always knew what to expect.

Virgil worked his way through the smells of motor oil and Monkey Grip until he located the aroma of fresh coffee drifting from a large pot on the workbench. His thinking was still hazy, and his mug was empty. At least one of these situations could be easily remedied; Welby brewed ten cups at a time. Is Mr. Willett’s car about ready to go?

Yep. Just need to check the brakes. He’ll be coming by at lunchtime to pick it up.

That’ll be fine. Perhaps he and the world were indeed just fine. By now, Welby’s joyful demeanor and a full mug of steaming black java had lifted his spirits.

Welby, I’ve got a question for you. He’d just reached for the Pageant when a decrepit truck coughed into the front lot, rattling and squeaking its brakes.

Arlie? The sound of the ancient vehicle was distinctive and unmistakable.

Mornin’, folks. A disheveled but cheerful Arlie Prewitt met them at the front door. He wore a denim jacket over his union-made bib overalls, which looked as though they served as work pants, sportswear, and probably pajamas. No gas today, just some Nabs. Arlie selected a cellophane package from the Tom’s rack and dropped his quarter into the small can alongside with a noisy clang.

Where are you going, Arlie? Welby wiped his hands on a shop rag. He needn’t have asked. There was only one place the farmer would be going this early in the morning without a hog in the back of his truck: the lake.

Fishin’. Wanna go? Arlie had often said he’d rather fish than eat, and he enjoyed eating very much. Last good day of the year, probably. I got my boy Frank up early to feed the sows so I could go. Sure hope he doesn’t hit anything with the old John Deere.

Sorry, Arlie, but we’ve got too much work to do today. Virgil truly was sorry; he enjoyed fishing almost as much as his friend. Let us know what you catch.

I’ll bring it by and show you! By the way, did you fellows see the sign?

Sign? Virgil looked at Welby, who shook his head.

Across the road. Sun’s up, so you can see for yourself. Gotta go now, ’cause they won’t be bitin’ all day.

Well, have fun. And tell Lula Mae that Vee will definitely read his Sunday school lesson tonight.

I’ll do it. See ya. Without further explanation, Arlie stuffed the package into one of his many pockets and climbed into the truck, which spat forth dark black fumes, ground its gears, and rumbled into the already-smoky morning.

The two stared in silence for a long time as Arlie’s truck growled into the distance. Welby spoke first. I’ll be. What do you make of that?

The sign, new and freshly painted, stood in the vacant lot across the road from Osgood’s.

FOR SALE: 1.32 ACRE(S)—COMMERCIAL POTENTIAL—

150 FOOT FRONTAGE—

WELL WATER—

IDEAL FOR SERVICE STATION

OR STORE

Underneath were the name and telephone number of a real estate firm in nearby Quincy.

Virgil’s shaking hand lost what was left of its steadiness, sloshing coffee onto his shoes. Stable and secure had just flown out the window and headed for the treetops.

2

M

AVINE SAT

at the dinette for a long time, staring at the soiled dishes and silverware scattered about the counter. The morning hadn’t gone at all the way she’d hoped. Was Virgil right, and was the Pageant article just a lot of foolishness? Her husband had seemed bewildered by her question. After all, the man was nothing if not practical. Could the question be important to her, but wrong to ask Virgil?

Out of habit, she turned the radio back on. Town Talk had already started, with the county extension specialist giving tips on choosing the freshest turkey and someone from the Rotary Club talking about their rummage sale. Poultry and used clothing were the furthest things from her mind this morning. With a twist of a knob the Philco fell silent again, leaving the clock as her only distraction. She opened the hot water tap, found a clean dishrag, and shoved all the tableware into the sink with a clatter.

Dr. LaMour’s article had seemed to her both good and timely. The questions about romantic dinners and special evenings were a bit silly, she had to admit, but the part about working long hours had captured her interest. Virgil had been spending a lot of time down at Osgood’s lately. Sometimes he’d leave the house right after breakfast and not return until after supper. He’d always call, but working through lunch? And a few evenings last week, he’d gone back out after a quick TV dinner and not come home until nearly nine o’clock.

Of course she trusted him. They’d met in grade school, when Virgil was ten and she was eight. Because he had started school late and had repeated a year, they found themselves in the same class. He was handsome and kind, and by the time they were in the eighth grade, she was smitten. When war came and he’d joined the Army, he’d promised to write every week and return to Eden Hill and marry her. Promises he’d kept.

They had a fine son—the spitting image of his father—and they had never wanted for a place to live or food on the table.

But she also respected her friend Gladys. They’d been in the same class all through school, and while Gladys might exaggerate now and then, she knew a lot about marriage—make that marriages—and how wedded bliss could become wedded bust. Her kidding was good-natured, of course, but she’d sent the Pageant home with Mavine and mentioned she ought to show it to Virgil.

Things had definitely gone wrong for Gladys. Her first husband divorced her some years ago. All she would say was that things didn’t work out. Don’t let it happen to you, Gladys had said.

No, whatever might be going on, Virgil would never do anything like that. Mavine knew her husband. He’d never had a secret, and wouldn’t be able to keep one anyway.

She dried the last item, her blue Fiesta biscuit plate, and glanced again at the clock. The hands on the dial had moved much more than she had expected, and the sun was now pouring in the window over the sink. Monday was laundry day, and Vee’s blue jeans and Virgil’s work khakis were piled in the basket on the back porch. Clothes needed to be cleaned, and housework couldn’t wait any longer.

She started the water to fill the tub on the Maytag and picked up a pair of tan pants from the pile. As Virgil could be absentminded, she felt all the pockets for ballpoint pens and loose change. The texture was warm and familiar, gentle and well-worn. Yes, she could trust the man she’d married.

But Virgil did seem caught off his guard, defensive and irritated. Like a fox caught in the chicken coop.

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Reverend Eugene Caudill sat on the edge of his bed, still dressed in his pajamas and slippers. He’d slept in until almost seven and was getting a late start. Last night’s sermon on repentance had taken almost an hour, and followed the half-hour Sunday night hymn time that his song leader, Toler, had managed to drag out to forty-five minutes. After covering up the baptistery and turning down the furnace, he’d made it to bed sometime after

Reviews for Eden Hill

[jenniferrobb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was on the sale rack at the local library and I recognized the publisher as one that publishes Christian books, so I decided to give it a go. I didn't realize that the author is the husband of Liz Curtis Higgs whom I have heard of (and I think I've read one or two of her books).It's set in the 1960s in a small town in Kentucky where everybody seems to know everybody else and folks are neighborly. (Though I do wonder how the grocery stays in business with all they seem to give away, but that's not relevant to the book.) The town pretty much has one of every business--except churches of which it seems to have 3. This book focuses mainly on the Evangelical Baptist Church which is across the street from the service station that Virgil has run for many years.Somewhere along the way, the Baptist church bought land across from Virgil's station thinking to use it for overflow parking, only to realize that they don't need it. With the church in need of repair, the decision has been made to sell the land, and that changes Eden Hill, Kentucky.For the first time, Virgil faces competition for gas and auto repairs. He isn't sure how he should react. Should he be worried about the competition? Should he be a good Samaritan? To make things worse, his wife, Mavine, has started questioning whether they have a good marriage. Virgil seems to be a good guy who's just a bit clueless about how different women are than men in what they need from communication. He also seems to be hampered by a limited formal education (there are references to him not understanding the meaning of certain words and having some trouble with math). He tries though--even going so far as to book a "romantic" dinner at a restaurant that is his mechanic, Welby, 's favorite (though it is not as romantic as Mavine hopes), and I do think he really does love his wife and son.Cornelius (Neil) starts out seeming like a guy who will fall for most get-rich-quick pitches in an attempt to make something of himself. He seems like he wants to prove something to his wife and to her family--that he can be successful. The good news is that since the land is right next to the church, his wife convinces him to start attending. Eugene Caudill, the pastor, seems to feel he has to be responsible for Eden Hill's well-being. One of the discussion questions asks if this is something a pastor should take on. It also asks are there boundaries beyond which a pastor should not meddle. Somewhere along the way, a change occurs in Caudill and he makes a decision at the end which surprised me. As with most churches, there is at least one member who feels she has to voice her displeasure on a regular basis. In some cases it is a matter of morals and in others, I think she just wants to complain. We are called to be a voice of truth and a voice of change in a fallen world, but the trick is to do it in a less judgmental way than how most of us do it. In the end, she too makes a series of surprising decisions.The novel also delves a bit into race relations in the 1960s. I'm unsure whether Madeline was upset about African-Americans visiting the church or if it was only because her illegitimate son visited Caudill (at Caudill's invitation). I was glad to see that others in the church were open to a mixed congregation--and they got a chance to put this into practice one Sunday. Interestingly, several of the residents have some African-American blood in their genealogy--even the person who was most objecting to the mixed congregation. All in all, there are many thought provoking life lessons to explore in this novel should you want to.

[grammy57 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Eden Hill by Bill Higgs.This is a fiction book set in the early 1960s in rural Kentucky. The story centers around a small group of people that attend the same church and/or social groups.The story mostly focuses from the view point of a few people. These characters are fairly well developed, some more so than others. The other characters in the book are developed as well as need be as they are minor players. The editing was well done. Only a few errors caught my eye. Editing, in my opinion can ruin a perfectly good story. This story was well developed also. It was fairly clear that it was written by a man, as the focus was more from the male point of view, but this was a good thing. The story revolves mostly around a couple of gas stations. The story flowed very well. I read this in only a few days as it kept my interest and I was looking forward to the next thing to happen. It is also a story about love and forgiveness. These aspects were well presented and the love of God evident in this story. It was not a "preachy" story, but well presented. It showed problems we all face one way or another. It showed that we can find the answers in God's word.I recommend this book to anyone that enjoys fiction. This book was given to me in exchange for my honest review, and it is honest, by bookfun.org.

[nadinec.keels · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

"We're all the same, Welby. Neighbors. Just like in Reverend Caudill's sermon this morning. And sometimes we're even kin. We just need to learn to act like it."Husband and father Virgil T. Osgood is content with life in his town and the friendly, no-frills service station he operates. But the arrival of Cornelius Alexander and his new Zipco station across the street from Osgood's may cause trouble. Add in a handful of marriages on the rocks, a tense racial climate, and an untold number of dashed or uncertain dreams, and this town will have to learn afresh what it means to "love thy neighbor" in Eden Hill by author Bill Higgs.From beginning to end, I found this novel to be, well, thoroughly charming. Reading about this bunch of everyday folks in Eden Hill's 1960s setting was much like visiting the town and townsfolk of Mayberry from The Andy Griffith Show. This novel is a rather easy and feel-good read with a healthy helping of humor mixed in, but it also deals with serious issues concerning relationships, ambition, compassion, and faith.I felt the reading was slow at points where the story lingered a bit long over minor things, kind-of "marching in place" here and there. It also seemed a few later scenes basically just made the same points that were already made earlier in the book.Still, anyone looking for an ultimately pleasant and nostalgic piece of small-town historical fiction would do well to pick up this novel.______________Tyndale House provided me with a complimentary copy of this book for an honest review.

[anne_rightler-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Eden Hill is an extraordinary debut novel of Bill Higgs. Take a stroll down memory lane to a time and place that was slower paced and much more community focused and yet you will find the same heart issues that are seen in this day and age of instant everything. Eden Hill, small town Kentucky in the early 1960s, finds the characters in the story facing mid-life what-if questions, racial disputes and the struggles of making ends meet especially when a new business opens up in town. The author deals realistically with these life situations. Humor runs throughout the story with incidents of 10-year-olds putting a whoopee cushion on the church organist's bench during Sunday morning service and the ornery old parishioner who calls the pastor every day to let him know how he should be running things. A little romance is sweetly portrayed as Virgil does his best to give his wife, Mavine, an intimate, romantic dinner in an effort to show her he does really love her. The story flows quickly and keeps interest high, wondering what will happen next to upset this quiet little town. Characters are normal everyday people that readers will enjoy getting to know as they are in the process of learning who their neighbor is. As one character puts it, "You've been our neighbor for years. Only right we should be neighborly." Higgs portrays a solid faith in a God of forgiveness and second chances because these characters are coming to know that God's grace covers it all. I received a complimentary copy of this book from Book Club network. A favorable review was not required and opinions are my own.

[jbarr5 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

EDEN HILL BY BILL HIGGSWhat I liked about this book was before I even got it the summary led me to believe the older established gas station owner would be helping out the new one. I do a lot of charity work and often am asked about a knitting pattern I developed and I post it to share with others. Whether they use it for personal gain or to make charity items is up to them. Nobody pays me for the patterns and I don't mind sharing.Book starts out with Virgil, the owner of the gas station/auto repair center and his family: wife and teen son. She's at odds with her upcoming 40th birthday and believes the things in ladies magazines about her love life.He's worked his whole life to provide for them to learn the lot next door was sold for a new gas station/convenience store to a young couple who put a pink mobile home on the lot while construction is underway. He's up to his head with debt after getting loans for their dreams. She delivers a baby...Other people in the community are followed as well-really rounding out the whole community. The pastor and all the work he does every everybody, makes sure events run smoothly while writing interesting sermons to keep everybody active and awake.What I liked about the book was the different ages of everyone and how they each dealt with stressful circumstances and leaned on God to help them through it all. Interesting to find they all related in one way or another.Not only different ages, different walks of life and different problems than others in the community. Amazing how a fishing trip can change all their minds...Discussion questions at the end.I received this book from The Book Club Network (bookfun.org) in exchange for my honest review.

[harley0326 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The story is set in the early 1960s in a small town called Eden Hill, Kentucky. I loved the description of the town as it made me think of Mayberry. People were nice, women went to get their hair done at the local beauty shop and the men loved to go fishing. There was one gas station in town owned by Virgil T. Osgood. He is very hard working and is diligent about providing for his family. I loved how the author showed the struggle Virgil had with making sure his wife was happy. He didn't realize she was unhappy and when he found out, he really did a great job showing her how important she is to him. Do we sometimes take people for granted? Sometimes small towns don't stay small and It looks like a new gas station is being built across the street from Virgil's. The gossip in the town has started as a new sign has been place at the land across from the only gas station in town. What gas company is coming to town? Will it put Virgil out if business? I really liked when a character said this; " give the customer what he desires and he will patronize your establishment." I especially liked Mavine who is Virgil's wife. She is a stay at home mom. I loved her sweet character and the way she cared for her family and their needs. The story has several characters that add a great depth to the community. Who are the couple that has moved in on the land across from Virgil's gas station? Will they be welcomed? It is an emotional, funny and exciting book. I have to mention the Reverend Eugene Caudill . He is a breath of fresh air and his faith and dedication to the town is very evident. But with most churches there is always that one person who seems to have to point out all the things the Reverend should and should not be doing. Madeline Crutcher tells him, "You must convict the sinner of their sin." His reply is priceless. " Convicting sinners isn't my job. Preaching the gospel and serving the Lord is my job." I wonder how many of us are guilty of telling our pastor what he should be doing? Have we been guilty of judging others? The story is well written and flows very smoothly. The town is small but they all seem to pull together when someone is in need. There is also an issue going on in town about race. It seems that some people have trouble accepting those with different colored skin. It's funny that in the sixties that was a big problem, yet today we are still no closer to accepting each other. I loved the story and felt like I was right there in the town visiting with neighbors, attending church and enjoying family meals. I would highly recommend this book to anyone looking for a great story of small town living with caring neighbors and faith that abounds throughout the town. "People aren't meant to be fixed; people are meant to be loved."I received a copy of this book from The BookClub Network and Tyndale Blogger Program for an honest review.