The Prodigal Son: The Long Way Home

By H. Eugene Bagwell-Pettus

The Prodigal Son: The Long Way Home reveals lustthe lust for life, lust of the flesh, lust for money, lust for position, the pride of life, hidden family secrets, deception, and deceit is never satisfied.

Through all of lifes ups and downs, I realize Im exactly where God wants me to be. The characters in his book have separate lives seemingly on different paths; however, all of them return home where their lives began.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512712247

H. Eugene Bagwell-Pettus

Pastor H. Eugene Bagwell-Pettus grew up in Middle Tennessee and was raised from birth by his grandparents. Within months of graduating high school he joined the Air Force from which he retired after serving twenty-four years. He has six children and eleven grandchildren. Traveling over at least half of the world, Howard served in many capacities within the church. He states he’s served God from being the usher at the door to the pastor in the pulpit. After going through a divorce, he discovered his talent for writing. Believing that he was being divinely inspired, he asked God to give him poetry of psalms. He believes the words he writes are divinely inspired to help not only him but also others that need a word from the Lord. He wrote The Prodigal Son: The Long Way Home in ten days. Howard is co-pastor of his local church, an entrepreneur at heart, author, caricature artist, singer, an avid cook, and teacher. He and his wife love speaking to people about how God has blessed them with a perfect marriage after divorce. Howard believes we all have a talent. We are here to be used by God to profit the kingdom and to be a light to this sin-sick, dying world.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 H. Eugene Bagwell-Pettus.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, places, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1223-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1232-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1224-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015914876

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/02/2015

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Dedication

To my sweetie Dianne: the first word I wrote, the first notes I sang, were inspired by you. Your words are still fresh in my mind, Just write and let the Lord use you. Having someone to believe in you generates uncommon mental and emotional strength. Scripture is alive in our lives. I know now that I can do all things through Christ. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for believing in me. To God all praise, honor, and glory. Sweetie, this book was inspired by God and supported by you. Thank you.

Acknowledgements

To my late grandmother, Armintha (Min) Bagwell, you helped everyone God placed in your path and still had time to raise me. Thank you.

Jessica Ferguson, I believe your writers’ classes were just for me. Your advice and friendship are worth their weight in gold.

To my children, I know these last few years have been very trying for you. Through it all we have survived and your love is truly a blessing. This book is to let you know we all have hidden talents waiting to be blessed by God. Find yours and watch God bless you.

To my newfound family, you completed the portion of my life I thought I’d never know. Very special thanks to Jo; Jo (JoAnn Pettus-Mayes), without you I’d still be searching. Your love of family and the help of our mutual friend Katie Langford-Glover brought us together. Katie, I can’t thank you enough. Joan and Donna, my sisters, we have so much in common. I’m blessed to have all of you in my life.

Chapter 1

Hilton County, Tennessee, 1966

TONY STAGGERED UP THE DUSTY gravel road that led to the sprawling, dimly lit farmhouse. The only light he could see was the kitchen light. It was always on until the last family member came in; it was that person’s responsibility to turn it off. That person was usually him, and the light stayed on most nights.

He could hear the familiar sounds of the creatures of the night: owls hooting, frogs croaking, and the chirping of crickets making music with their legs. Why are they so loud tonight? he asked no one in particular.

A voice spoke to him out of nowhere. Boy, that was some kind of going-away party Allen had. The music was right on. Everyone was in the groove. The girls were loving, the food abundant, the booze plentiful, and the pot never-ending.

I think that was the best party yet. Come to think of it, that’s the last going-away party planned for the summer, and you’re still here. When are you going to act like the man you are? You’re eighteen. It’s time for you to get out on your own. Go to California, get a job in the ‘land of opportunity,’ and with the money you make, every day can be a party.

Tony began to take inventory in his mind. Gone was the Class of 66. Gone were his best friends, Daniel, Vince, Mitch, Noel, Philip, the twins Peter and Paul, and the Corrigan brothers. They were all somewhere in South Vietnam. Murray, John, Ray, and Russell, the sharecroppers’ sons, all had their notices to report for their physicals next month. Guess they would be gone next.

Gone were the late-night parties with food, booze, pot, and girls. Gone were his girlfriends, Suzy, Belinda, Anita, and Tina; they had gone off to college in Nashville. Even Baa Baa, the school’s football mascot, was gone. Someone had stolen the sheep on graduation night. Old Mr. Stevens, his favorite PE teacher, was also gone—gone to the old folks home in Dalton.

Thank God his chance to avoid the draft to Vietnam was not gone. His father, Daniel Joseph Akins, was not only one of the wealthiest landowners in Hilton County, but he was also chairman of the draft board.

The moon and the oak and hickory trees that lined the winding, gravel road absorbed the sound of the eighteen-year-old’s voice as he shouted, I wish I were gone, too!

Tony entered the farmhouse through the front door. He looked at the trail of dust that he was leaving on the shiny, waxed living room floor. He thought of Maggie, the family’s longtime housekeeper. Oh well, Maggie won’t mind. She mops the floors every day anyway.

Walking toward the stairs, Tony made no effort to turn off the kitchen light. The kitchen was clear across the room. He needed all the strength he could muster just to get up the twelve steps of the curved staircase into bed. Many nights the stairs seemed insurmountable, so he slept on the couch in the den.

Holding on to the handrail, Tony remembered to skip over the third step from the top as he stumbled to his bedroom. That step always squeaked, but it seemed to squeak louder when you were trying to sneak up the stairs. He didn’t want to wake anyone. Not tonight. Oh no, not tonight, he thought.

As he entered his bedroom, he made sure that the light dimmer was turned down as low as it would go. Too many nights when he flipped the switch, the bright light seemed to blind him.

Tony made his way through a maze of clothes, books, shoes, and mystery piles that littered his floor, and pushed another pile off his king-size bed. I sleep alone, so why bother with a bath or pajamas, he thought. He managed to undress, and the final thing Tony remembered was falling onto his bed.

Tony awakened to the sound of his dad’s voice; he hoped it was only a dream. Many times in the early morning, his dad’s voice was what woke Tony, though at times the ringing in his head almost drowned it out.

Son, when I was your age… his dad would begin, as he looked down at his sleepy son.

Yeah, yeah, get on with it, Dad, Tony usually thought, as he tuned his dad out. He knew that he was about to hear either the We had to do chores from sunup until sundown with no break in between story, or the one about how his dad and Uncle Cain had to walk two miles to school in five inches of snow, or how Great-Grandpa Tony fought off Indians to stake a claim in Hilton County—or was it Great-Grandma Birdie who fought off the Indians? Tony almost laughed out loud.

Then he realized he wasn’t dreaming; his dad really was standing over him. He tried to focus on his dad’s request. He was saying something about Tony helping out in the store as soon as he got up and had breakfast.

Is it Saturday already? Tony wondered.

Sure, Dad, Tony mumbled sleepily. As soon as I get up, I’ll go to the store.

Tony felt anger rise in his gut. The store! The store! All he worries about is the store. He lets those sharecroppers charge everything, then when it’s time to pay up, he lets them talk their way out of it with whatever excuse they come up with.

Tony watched his dad leave the bedroom. He almost fell as his right foot tangled in a pair of jeans that lay in one of the many piles on the floor. I wonder if Tony knows what’s in these piles. I doubt it. Slowly shaking his head, he gently closed the bedroom door.

As far as Tony was concerned, the only things that should be up at five o’clock any morning were the crop in the fields and chickens. He fell back to sleep even before his dad closed the door.

Tony awoke to the sound of his alarm clock. As he hit the snooze button for the third time, he groaned, Man, is it ten o’clock already? Did I promise to help Mr. Fields in the store today? No, I must have been dreaming. He shut the alarm off and continued to dream of nights filled with neon lights, wine, women, and parties.

Tony finally got up—in time for lunch. Maggie made him a ham and cheese sandwich, chips, a fruit bowl and, as was the family’s habit, two glasses of iced tea. After eating, he sprawled on one of the outdoor couches on the front porch. He was proud of himself; he had gotten the act of resting down to a science.

Glancing down at his 10-karat-gold graduation gift, he thought, This watch tells time in places I have always dreamed about visiting.

Tony ran his fingers through his short, curly, dark hair, then wiped a sweaty hand on his faded jeans as he mumbled, Man, it’s hot for late June. Graduation was a month ago, and Tony was bored.

It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon when he heard the roar and groan of a truck’s engine in the distance, struggling up the hills toward the farmhouse. Tony chuckled at the unmistakable grinding of second gear, as his dad downshifted to climb the next hill. Dad really knows how to ride that clutch, he laughed.

Finally, the truck came into view at the top of the hill. Dust and gravel flew everywhere as the truck pulled into the driveway with squealing brakes, halted, choked, and then lurched forward. Then it was quiet.

A cloud of red dust engulfed the truck like a blanket of fog rolling in off the Cumberland River. Tony’s dad, Daniel Joseph Akins—DJ—and Joe, Tony’s older brother, emerged from the thick cloud. The men coughed and wiped beads of sweat from their brows using farmers’ signature red and white bandannas. Brushing the dirt from their overalls, they walked toward the porch. The shade from the large oak and hickory trees that surrounded the farmhouse was a welcome sight to DJ and Joe after the hot, dusty ride.

Hi, Dad, how’s it going? Tony asked.

Everything’s okay, son, DJ said between coughs. One of the sheep and her lamb somehow got separated from the rest of the flock out in the south pasture. We had a time getting them back together. You can’t herd sheep; you have to lead them. Those two didn’t want to be herded or led anywhere. Man! It’s a scorcher.

The screened door opened and Maggie came out carrying a tray with four lemon-topped glasses of iced tea sweating cold droplets of water—two for each of the hot, thirsty men. DJ, would you and Joe like some iced tea? she offered cheerfully.

That would be mighty fine, Maggie. Thanks.

We knew that we could count on you, Maggie, Joe said with a smile.

You’re welcome. If you want more, just call. Maggie set the glasses of tea on the small table next to DJ’s favorite rocker, and paused to watch the two men gulp down their first glasses before she went quietly back to the kitchen.

Turning to Tony, Joe’s smile quickly faded. Tony, it looks as if you haven’t been to the store yet.

No, I haven’t. Dad told me to go as soon as I got up and had breakfast. Well, by the time I got up, it was time for lunch, so I decided it was too late.

Joe tried to conceal his anger as he turned to his dad.

Dad, Tony has been home all morning and apparently all he has done today is sleep and sit here cooling it while I ran sheep all over every hillside and hollow in the south pasture.

Joe reached for his second glass of iced tea, but Tony’s hand beat him to it. With a grin and a wink, Tony gulped the tea down as fast as he could.

The muscles in Joe’s jaw tensed as he gritted his teeth, but he didn’t say anything.

Between gulps, Tony looked at Joe and said, Nothing better than iced tea on a hot summer day.

Ahhh, that’s just what I needed. DJ finished his second glass of tea and set the glass on the tray, then turned, walked to the back of the house and into the kitchen. It was customary to enter the house through the kitchen; the front entry was reserved for company and the Reverend. Plus, he knew better than to track up Maggie’s clean floors.

DJ pulled his dirt and dung-covered boots off before stepping through the kitchen’s screen door. The hinges screeched before the spring that stretched taut when the screen door opened caused it to slam shut.

Oh well, DJ thought, at least it keeps the flies out. Farms always keep a lot of flies, he remembered his dad saying.

Noticing Maggie, DJ said, Maggie, I’ll have to oil those hinges one of these days.

Maggie laughed. That screen door has been squeaking like that since I lived here as a child.

DJ left the kitchen laughing.

Chapter 2

SITTING IN HIS SMALL, WELL-ORGANIZED office, DJ picked up some household receipts. Opening the ledger he used to record the household expenses, he paused and looked out of one of the many windows. The windows still had no curtains. He had made few changes since Caroline’s death.

Huh, DJ grunted to himself, where have all the years gone? I can see Dad in heaven now, telling St. Peter how to plant corn, Mom telling Mary how to make her favorite apple pie, and Caroline mothering all of the children she comes in contact with.

Familiar tears welled in his eyes as he remembered his beloved Caroline. The Bible says that He will not give you more than you can bear, but…

Caroline was the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Louis Stevenson. Dr. Stevenson was famous for helping to save and or extend the lives of heart patients around the world. But as fate would have it, he could do very little for his only child, Caroline. She was born with a congenital heart defect, and the only thing he could and his wife could do was do was pray for her happiness. Each day they were given with her was a present from God.

The Stevenson’s were DJ’s godparents. When his father died, and then he lost his mother three years later, Dr. and Mrs. Stevenson were there to help him during the transitional period.

DJ’s parents had left him and his brother Cain very well off. They inherited the general store and over three hundred acres of prime farmland. There were several hundred head of cattle and sheep, two hundred acres of tobacco, thirteen dedicated sharecroppers, five farmhands, and Maggie, the housekeeper.

There were orchards of apples, peaches, and pears. After the fruit was canned, any surplus was distributed to the needy. Most of the farmhands and sharecroppers had small gardens that supplemented the household so there was no need for a household vegetable garden. Some of the sharecroppers also planted cantaloupes, strawberries, and watermelons But Maggie still insisted on a small kitchen garden; she enjoyed watching the vegetables grow.

The general store provided additional income as well as being a service to local farmers and sharecroppers. Farmers were sold the seed needed to plant their tobacco beds. DJ also sold farm machinery upon request. Spare parts needed to repair or replace broken equipment were readily available. Customers did not have to go to town, in Clarksville, to shop for household goods either. Various cuts of meat, canned goods, sacks of flour and potatoes, sugar, and even fabric for garments and quilts, yarn for knitting and crocheting were all plentiful. And no good country store was complete without a pickle barrel and penny candy. Jawbreakers were always a big hit with the kids.

Akins General Store had a tradition of stocking all the items desired by customers. DJ’s father was known to say, If we don’t have an item that you want, and it exists, we will do our best to get it for you.

The sharecroppers had running accounts that were settled up when their tobacco crops were sold. The general practice for the farm owners was to get half of the profits made from the sale of the tobacco crops. The owners would then subtract the cost of fertilizer, seed, pesticides, and other incidentals associated with the crops. Most sharecroppers would end up with only thirty to forty percent of what the crop sold for. Out of this, they had to settle up the local general store’s bill with its modest carrying charges.

Sharecroppers had very little to look forward to; most of them were barely getting by. DJ continued his dad’s practice of doing what he could do to help the sharecroppers. He forgave some of their debts and gave them a fresh start each planting season. Because of their lack of education, some of them were caught in the vicious cycle of never-ending poverty. Still very proud, they lived vicariously through their children, praying they would not have easier lives.

At eighteen, DJ went off to the University of Tennessee. He wanted to be better prepared to help his parents manage the family businesses. He felt an added sense of responsibility since Cain, his older brother, had—without as much as a goodbye—left the farm and enlisted in the Army Air Corp a few years earlier. His parents did not want to discuss the reason with him. Their only explanation was, Some things are better left unsaid. We love your brother, but don’t ask us about him again. When the time is right all of your questions will be answered.

This might have stopped his questions, but it did not stop DJ’s prayers. He loved his brother and for years he prayed for Cain’s safety and safe return. Year after year, his prayers were not answered. But he did not give up hope because, as the Reverend said in one of his sermons,