Patch Town: Up From The Ashes

By Robert Parlante

Someone is trying to harm Martin Gilmore. First a white jalopy with a missing tailgate tries to run him down. He encounters road rage involving a dark blue van. Then an oversized black truck stalks him for the final kill. As Martin follows clues leading to the suspected killer, he receives startling news. His young daughter Ruthie faces a diagnosis of breast cancer. Martin’s world collapses, having lost his wife three years earlier to cancer. And now will Ruthie face a similar nightmare? Employed by a real estate development company, Martin is drawn into a web of corporate deceit as Ruthie’s illness overwhelms him, and the killer zeroes in on him. Martin must confront hard choices: be a supportive dad to Ruthie, try to live as an ethical believer, and deal with his feelings for his friend Linda. In the end, Martin faces an inferno of hatred where his life hangs in balance and his trust in God is challenged.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ambassador International
• Release date: Nov 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781620204665

Robert Parlante

Robert "Bob" Parlante is a minister married to Angela, and they live in Matthews, North Carolina. They have three children and nine grandkids. His favorite pastimes usually involve books, gardening and spending time with family. "The Reflection in the Mirror" is Bob's third book in the "Patch Town" series.

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Patch Town

Up From The Ashes

© 2015 by Robert Parlante

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-62020-536-5

eISBN: 978-1-62020-466-5

Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures are taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Cover Design and Page Layout by Hannah Nichols

eBook Conversion by Anna Riebe Raats

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And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.

—Hebrews 10:24, NIV

Patch Town: Up From the Ashes is dedicated to my wife, our three children and their spouses, and our nine grandkids. May we all be an inspiration to each other. And may the Lord continue to spur us all toward love and good deeds.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Information

Dedication

Chapter 1: Time to Sing the Song Again

Chapter 2: Repast and the Future

Chapter 3: Take Heart!

Chapter 4: Choosing Sides

Chapter 5: Petersenpicks.com

Chapter 6: Standing Back-to-Back

Chapter 7: A Family Journey

Chapter 8: The Moment of Truth

Chapter 9: Strike Three

Chapter 10: Up From the Ashes

Chapter 11: Christmas Eve at the Lake House

Contact Information

CHAPTER 1

TIME TO SING THE SONG AGAIN

For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands.

~ 2 Corinthians 5:1-2, NLT

Martin pulled his Buick Regal into an empty parking spot in front of Abney’s Hardware, located across the street from Nettie’s Floral Shoppe. He saw Rueben Abney sweeping the sidewalk in front of his hardware store and then repositioning a bushel of curved-neck autumn gourds and decorative corn closer to the front door. Thanksgiving was days away, and it looked like Rueben was trying to encourage as much impulse buying as possible. Martin waved at the hardware store owner, who was wearing denim coveralls. All Rueben needed was a pitchfork to complete the vintage scene out of American Gothic.

Rueben’s mercantile establishment made customers feel like they were browsing through a historical artifact museum. The store still sold hard-to-find items. You could buy every bolt and screw, doodad and thingamajig, or tool imaginable, as well as find every type of gardening or animal care product. And if Rueben did not stock the item, he would do his best to find it somewhere else.

Over a century old, the store still retained reminders of its past with a well-worn wood floor and a big-bellied stove, that when burning was a welcome place to sit and exchange stories on cold blustery days. Even a 1920s-era cash register was still being used for all transactions.

Rueben was the fourth generation Abney to run the hardware store started by his great-grandfather in 1911, the same year Rueben’s grandfather was born. Like previous Abney generations, Rueben was dedicated to serving and preserving his community. Most recently, he was voted to the Village Council, whose five members voted among them to designate Rueben as presiding officer, the equivalent of Village Supervisor.

If they’re not gone by Thanksgiving I’m going to have to dump them! People are using those dang plastic ones from China these days. Fake pumpkins too! It’s a shame. Nothin’ beats the real thing, Rueben said.

Martin had more important things on his mind right now with the death of Elizabeth Wingate. This Saturday was the memorial service for her in Shanks Patch, and he still had to call the rector at St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church in Bloomsburg to review the final arrangements.

The real ones look great on the table for Thanksgiving. I’ll give you a deal, Rueben continued.

Martin was already crossing the street when he said, We’re going to our son Luke’s place. He and his wife Carol are taking care of everything.

As he looked back to Nettie’s place, he saw a rusty white jalopy with mud splattered across the windshield careening down Main Street well over the 25-mph limit. The vehicle’s horn blasted its warning to get out of its way. Even though Martin tried to move, he still felt an angry gush of wind swirl about him as the truck came within inches of him. Martin spun back, almost losing his balance.

Slow down, he yelled into the ruckus of noise and exhaust fumes lingering in the wake of the vehicle. He saw it was a pickup truck with a missing tailgate.

Ain’t never seen that truck here before, Rueben called out from across the street. You okay? Tried to get the license plate number. Too fast for my brain.

I’m fine, Martin said, but he still felt his heart beating swiftly. He walked into Nettie’s shop and the brass bell at the top of the front door noisily announced his arrival. He drew in the delicate floral scent of the shop. It was soothing and helped dissipate the remnants of any thought of truck exhaust fumes. The comforting fragrance of flowers was reminiscent of previous days as a young boy when Martin would come home after exploring the coal region countryside, and he would be greeted by his favorite meal of macaroni and cheese being baked. The aroma was like a reassuring hug calming every childhood mishap Martin may have encountered that day.

But that was all before the incident with Elizabeth Wingate, his eighth-grade teacher. His parents’ indifference to Martin’s troubling experience with her made him feel like he had almost lost his sense of smells that hearten one’s spirit. Today, it felt good to smell the musky fragrance of flowers. Forgiving Elizabeth Wingate was the right thing to do. That decision made him feel like he could breathe calmly again.

Nettie Flowers emerged from behind tall, white buckets filled to capacity with long-stem gladiola flowers and greenery. Martin always thought it was funny that a person with a surname of Flowers would open a floral shop. He wondered if one’s surname determined a person’s life purpose. If so, he figured he was in trouble because he once read that people with the name Gilmore were inclined to be scholars and teachers who are quiet and introspective. Obviously, something went wrong somewhere along the way as Martin was nothing like that. He was a high school dropout. He could not hold a steady job. And he had a tendency to always argue some point, no matter how trivial.

Everyone in the village of Lake Windermere did their best to be fond of Nettie’s unique personality. No amount of hardship, like losing her husband in a tragic auto accident, the same year Martin lost his wife Sarah to breast cancer, could dampen Nettie’s commitment to view life as positively as possible. That was the appealing part. What villagers wished she would change was her knack of knowing just about everything going on in the town. Little escaped her. The floral shop was located smack in the middle of the business section and from that viewpoint could look up or down Main Street with equal ease. Nettie did not miss much of what was going on in Lake Windermere, and people considered her the village busybody.

Who was in that truck? she asked immediately. Nettie was wearing a green apron and she had a pair of floral scissors on a cord hanging around her neck. Almost got his license plate number! Nettie said as she adjusted her large plastic-rimmed glasses that were in style during the 80s. Alexander’s Ragtime Band . . . That’s how I remember things . . . ARB. All I got was three letters. But I’m not sure where they were in the sequence.

Amazing, Martin thought as he shrugged his shoulders and said, Never saw the driver. The incident lasted seconds and Nettie almost got the plate number. Incredible! That has to be a gift from above.

What can I do for you? she asked, looking over the top of her glasses. Any more bouquets for someone special?

Martin knew exactly what she was doing. She was trying to find out who received the bouquet he had bought a few weeks ago when he went to dinner at his friend Linda’s place. But was Linda more than a friend since he had already kissed her? Martin was still trying to figure out the next step with her.

Not exactly, he answered, reserving that question for another time. Had a death in the family and I need to have some flowers sent to the church for the memorial service.

So sorry to hear that, Nettie responded. What family member was that?

Actually it wasn’t family per se. It was my old eighth-grade teacher.

She lowered her voice and said, Maybe just a sympathy card would suffice. Cheaper than flowers.

No, I want to go with flowers . . . Nettie, he began, "do you remember in the Wizard of Oz movie . . . What type of flower caused Dorothy to fall asleep just outside the gate of the Emerald City?"

As I recall they were poppies. Or maybe they were sunflowers. Not sure.

"Either way, please include some poppies and sunflowers in the flower arrangement. This has to get to Shanks Patch by Saturday."

Never heard of the place. What’s it near?

I would say Bloomsburg is closest . . . Maybe forty minutes away.

I’ll need to use FTD to get them there. There’s a charge for that, she warned.

I’m looking for something about seventy-five dollars. Is that doable?

Once again she peered over her glasses and said, For an eighth-grade teacher?

Martin ignored her cynical comment and said, I’d like the card to say simply ‘Your Family.’ The name of the church is St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church in Shanks Patch. I’ll call you later with the address. I left that info at home.

I’ll need a phone number and a contact person.

Be careful with the address. There’s a church in Bloomsburg with the same name. Actually they’re sister churches.

Martin was outside under the green awning in front of Nettie’s shop when he saw Police Chief Joe Stabler across the street talking to Rueben Abney. When Joe saw Martin he called out, Martin, got a minute?

Martin checked the traffic up and down Main Street before he walked across the thoroughfare, not wanting a repeat of another crazy driver.

Rueben tells me someone in a truck tried to run you down, Joe said.

Not sure I’d go that far. The driver came close but I don’t think it was intentional.

I beg to differ, Rueben said to Joe. When Martin tried to move out of the way, I saw the truck change course and head for him! That sure as heck did not look like a coincidence.

Martin glanced across the street and saw Nettie through the plate glass storefront window looking directly at them. It seemed like her eyes were fixed on them, and Martin knew by the afternoon the truck incident would be fodder for chitchat throughout the village. Martin wondered if Nettie was blessed with telescopic hearing as well. He hoped not, as that would only embellish the likely story. Martin already envisioned the newspaper headlines. Direct Hit! Someone’s Out To Get Martin! Maimed For Life!

Martin, I will be preparing a full report, the chief said. Can you come to the station and provide us with the details as you saw them?

Well, I can, but it seems like an overreaction. A rusty white truck with a missing tailgate. Never saw the driver. He paused. That’s it! Oh yeah, Nettie said there were three letters on the plate . . . ARB.

Better safe than sorry, Joe said as he headed for his patrol car parked next to Martin’s Buick. "Once we have the report we can then tell other police jurisdictions to be alert to a speeding white truck with a missing tailgate. Believe me Martin, this is the best thing to do. I already dispatched our Deputy Steve Barth . . . He’s driving around