As Doves Fly in the Wind

By Mary Lou Cheatham

Jessica Boudreaux Hays, a retired music professor, has recently moved to Rousseauville to open a bed and breakfast in her grandparents house. An attractive and talented fifty-five-year-old widow, Jessica loves to cook, entertain, and play the piano. Her life is filled with problems. Emmie, her younger sister who lives with her, cannot be left alone. The sisters recently lost their parents in an automobile accident. The residents of the village are charitable but superstitious. For some mysterious reason, they refuse to go near her or the bed and breakfast. Another frustration in Jessicas life is her cyber romance with a mysterious stranger.

Dale Bonnier, a fifty-five-year-old widower, pastors two small churches in rural south Louisiana. He inspires the people in Rousseauville with his compelling sermons. He is considerate and approachable but at times disorganized and impetuous. His parishioners, especially Jessica, find his preaching inspiring.

Dale has a recurring problem with his past. In the 1980s, when he was an intense young man, he destroyed his home and family as he sought to satisfy his cravings for illicit drugs. Thirty years have passed. God has forgiven him, but the past has left indelible scars. Can Dale forgive himself? He cannot turn his past around, but he hopes it will be used to influence and inspire others.

Jessica tries to start over in Rousseauville, but she encounters unpredicted stormy times. Can she find acceptance? Will she ever find a man she can love and trust?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781973604419

Mary Lou Cheatham

Mary Lou Cheatham (Mary Cooke) spent her childhood on a farm in south Mississippi between Taylorsville and Hot Coffee. Now she lives in Shreveport, Louisiana, with her husband, two talking cats, and three chiming antique clocks. Long ago she taught English, and not so long ago, she retired from her career as a registered nurse. She loves to write fiction.

Book preview

Chapter 1

DALE

A weekday, 1980’s…

Dale’s face twitched. He must have drunk a pot of coffee since daylight. No, they were out of coffee.

The diapers stunk. Or was that the cat? They didn’t have a cat. That old tomcat hung around, lived under the trailer. Sally’s vanilla flavor. Ammonia. Was he the only one who smelled it?

His face kept twitching.

She needed to wake up. People on the night shift didn’t need to sleep no more than four hours a day. They could get up and spend some time with their family. See about the baby. Give him some sugar. Sorry. Stupid. Lazy. She didn’t want to be around him.

Get up, honey, and give me some kisses.

She didn’t wake up. Sally wouldn’t take nothing to help keep her awake.

Did you leave the eggs out on the counter all week? He slung the egg carton against the cabinets. I don’t care. Let it stink in here.

He tripped over pop bottles, window cleaner, and carburetor cleaners. They had some camping stove fluid somewhere.

He knew what he was doing, but his hands wouldn’t be still. Why did they put cold medicine in blister packs? He jabbed them open with scissors.

Cut his finger, but it didn’t matter. Mixed the blood in with it. WHOOEE.

Paint thinner, fingernail polish remover, drain cleaner, battery acid. It was going to be good stuff.

Hear that?

The baby was bawling. When he got through cooking the stuff, he’d see if she had a bottle in the fridge.

Shut up. I can’t take it.

Spots in front of his eyes.

Oh, come on. I can’t see how to mix this up.

They were out to get him. WHOOP!

Hear them calling me?

Dale. A voice came from somewhere.

Who’s calling me?

Dale, check on Alice. Sally’s voice came through the window. If she was awake, she could check on the baby.

I can’t right now. Can’t leave the stove.

It was hard to get his breath. His heart clicked like a run-away alarm clock. Blood poured from his nose.

Unexpectedly the stove blew up. From down on the floor, he saw pretty flames. He loved a big fire. Didn’t everybody?

It smelled like steak grilling. His arms must have been on fire.

He crawled out of the kitchen to the hall. Flames were everywhere. It all happened so fast. He didn’t know what was going on. The trailer popped like a tornado hit it.

He had to get to the baby’s room. Sally was in the back. The heater blew up in the hall by the main bedroom door. He couldn’t get back there.

All he could do was jump out the hall door. There wasn’t any steps there. He’d been meaning to make some.

Flames were flying. He didn’t know how, but baby Alice was in his arms. They fell into the mud, sliding. Pieces of the trailer shot like bullets all over the place.

He needed to go back in there and get Sally, but there wasn’t no in there. Nothing but fire.

Chapter 2

JESSICA

Sunday Morning, 2018…

Jessica listened to every word of the sermon. The fact that Reverend Bonnier was handsome didn’t cross her mind. She liked the way he presented the gospel. His tone of voice put her in mind of what the arch angel Michael would sound like.

On her way out the door she smiled as he shook her hand.

Good sermon, Pastor. Thank you for sharing with us.

She tapped her exercise monitor as she and Emmie walked across the parking lot. His unique sermon on Samson and Delilah gave her something new to contemplate.

Sissy, I think Pastor Dale likes you. Emmie held Jessica’s hand.

Shh. He’ll hear you.

Enclosed in the Lexus, Emmie resumed. Pastor Dale is cute. You know he likes you.

Oh, really? Jessica glanced at Emmie.

Yeah, a lot. Emmie nodded knowingly.

I don’t know that he does. Why do you keep saying that?

It’s because he keeps holding onto your hand when he shakes it.

What would you like for lunch, Emmie?

Jessica was too busy to concern herself with whether the preacher liked her. The last thing she wanted in life was another disappointment.

When they reached the side of the house, Emmie popped out of the car before Jessica braked it to a stop. Don’t do that. Wait till I stop the car. Then undo your seat belt and get out.

I’m in a hurry. Emmie ran toward the porch. Wasps swarmed around the screened door. Her noisy running excited them. She slung her purse and swatted them with her Sunday school book. Go on. Leave me alone.

Gasping, Emmie slammed the door and reached the safety of the screened porch. I got to run. Hurry up and unlock the door. Emmie danced back and forth. Come on.

Calm down. As soon as Jessica unlocked the door, Emmie ran upstairs.

Jessica walked up to her room and changed to shorts and a T-shirt. She descended to the first floor. Before preparing lunch, she applied Zsa Zsa’s electronic collar so the dog could run free.

Emmie made demands. I can’t live around all them wasps by the side door. Call Pastor Dale.

For what?

Tell him to come look for the wasp nest.

I’ll look. Jessica inserted a casserole into the oven.

Go on. Emmie could be pushy.

All around the side vent above the screened porch, wasps swarmed. Or were they coming from the bushes? Maybe both?

Emmie, come out here. I think I see where the trouble is.

No.

Come on back inside, Zsa Zsa. Jessica returned to the kitchen. Tomorrow, I’ll call pest control and get it taken care of.

Call the preacher. I can’t live around them wasps.

When we go to church this evening, I’ll back the car to the front yard. You can come out the front door.

Okay.

Before church Jessica and Emmie sat in a pew on the right side near the front. The few people who attended night church were socializing. They milled around hugging each other, talking, and sniffing one another’s cologne.

Jessica looked around. It was time for her to become acquainted with these people. She needed friends. It would have been good if everybody wore nametags. Jessica knew Sid and Marie DesBouliettes. Sid was a classic south Louisiana man. Marie was so thin she needed to sew sinkers in her hems so she wouldn’t blow away in a strong wind.

Pastor Dale showed up. He legged from one row to another through the sparse night church crowd and shook the men’s hands like he was pumping an old-fashioned water well. He lightly touched the women’s arms in a preacher hug and tousled the children’s hair. He must have grown weary of widening his lips and flashing his white teeth.

Pastor Dale, we got wasps. Emmie talked too loud, as she said what Jessica hoped she wouldn’t.

Oh really?

Yes. Big ones. I can’t even go through the side door for ’em. Jessica can’t get ’em. They’re up too high.

You mean above the second floor? He tousled her hair.

No, not there. Emmie grabbed him in a full-body hug. In that low part over the side porch.

I can help with that. He extricated his body from her grasp. Do you have a ladder, Jessica?

Yes, but I’ll call the pest control people in the morning. Jessica hoped she didn’t sound snobbish. You’re too busy to bother with that.

I’ll be glad to help you. Is eight o’clock all right?

We’ll be up and going by then. Emmie answered before Jessica could speak, although it was Jessica’s house.

Jessica didn’t hear Reverend Bonnier’s sermon, because she was considering ways to rein in Emmie’s aggressive behavior. Jessica wanted her younger sister to live with her, and she wanted both of them to be happy.

After more embarrassing exchanges between the pastor and the baby sister, Jessica and Emmie went home and to bed. Unable to think of anything to say to her that would come out right, Jessica didn’t talk.

She must think I’m pouting.

At four a.m. Monday morning, Jessica closed her cookbooks, turned out the lamp, and drifted into a deep sleep.

The six o’clock alarm jolted her.

At eight the preacher knocked on the front door. Zsa Zsa wiggled her champagne colored powder puff of a tail while she barked to the top of her lungs.

Here’s some spray. It’s good for twenty-five feet. He pulled a can from a paper bag. We may not need a ladder.

How much? She tried not to sound haughty.

He turned up his palms and scrooched his lips.

I want to pay you.

How about a good cup of coffee? He winked at Jessica.

With scrambled eggs, bacon, and grits? She loved to feed everybody, even the obnoxious preacher.

And jelly on buttered toast. He hit the sweet spot of her soul.

Or if you prefer homemade biscuits with molasses.

I’d prefer all that. The minister pontificated, Wooeee, this is my blessed day.

Emmie likes biscuits, but I need to start counting her calories. Jessica pointed toward the kitchen.

Pastor Bonnier encouraged the standard poodle to smell the back of his hand.

Come on back to the kitchen. I have already cooked bacon. In one of my freezers I keep a supply of angel biscuits.

Yes ma’am.

She turned on the oven, placed the biscuits on a cookie sheet, and popped them onto the rack.

He was out of control, pouring the coffee. Mighty fine coffee.

This is my house.

Got any cream?

Here you go. She started a pot of water and dropped in a teaspoon of bacon grease with shakes of salt, black pepper, and red pepper. Next came quick-cooking grits. Just before they finished she added small blocks of cheddar. It’s time to scramble the eggs.

Lady, you are stirring up some smells that are going to make a preacher sin.

How’s that?

Gluttony…and pride.

Pride?

Proud to have a church member who can turn out a breakfast like this. He slathered butter onto a biscuit and a pile of cheese grits, poured molasses onto a biscuit. Then he proceeded with the appetite of an overworked roughneck.

Emmie came into the kitchen. I’ve done eat my breakfast.

Come have a hot biscuit. He motioned for Emmie to sit.

If it isn’t Emmie, it’s the preacher taking charge of my house.

No, thanks. She was holding her needlepoint.

Your show is on. Jessica reminded her.

Emmie showed Dale her work. See? I’m putting in the background thread around this flower. In the center of the needlepoint was a pre-stitched purple iris.

Dale took a minute from eating. I won’t touch it because my hands are sticky. Hold it up.

Emmie beamed.

That’s very nice, Emmie.

The little sister settled in the television room. As soon as her show started, she began laughing like a hyena.

Turn it down a little. Why did Jessica always have to remind her not to play the TV so loud?

Jessica sat and drank more coffee. This was her first opportunity to scrutinize Dale Bonnier from a close distance.

When she heard him preach, she didn’t look up to study him. From where she sat he was a blur. She used special glasses to read music and four pairs of readers in different colors and styles for other close work and reading. Her far vision was good the last time the optometrist checked her eyes, but lately things in the distance were blurred. Besides, she spent her time in church taking notes. Despite his undesirable personality, Armand Dale Bonnier, who was anointed by the Lord, brought fresh insights into familiar passages of scripture.

Eating as though he were starving, he sat across from her. His thick black hair had a glint of silver in it. A white ring went from his sideburns clear to the back of his head. She tried not to laugh at his skunk hair. She doubted he knew how it looked.

Something wrong? Dale asked.

No, everything’s fine.

The dimpled scar above his left eyebrow added to his attractiveness. He must not have thought so because he let his hair fall down on that side to cover it partially.

His thick hair, which he wore too long and shaggy, needed help. His barber should be charged for criminal activity—butchering a preacher’s hair. Or was it Dale’s fault for not going to the barber shop often enough? Hmm. Maybe his overly long hair grew unevenly, or perhaps Dale took his own scissors to it. At least he combed it neatly.

He had well-tanned olive skin except on his arms and hands, where the tan was uneven and the skin was tight. His clean short-sleeved blue polo shirt exposed gigantic muscles.

She needed to be careful. He wasn’t her type. Besides he got on her nerves. A primitively drawn black tattoo stuck out from the bottom of his left shirt sleeve when he moved his arm.

He savored every morsel, while she thought of something to say. Finally she said, We’re having quite a dry spell. I’ve been watering the grass close to the house and the potted plants.

He threw his napkin in his plate and stood. Show me the wasps.

Emmie, we’re going outside. They walked through the front foyer. You want to come out with us?

No, I’ll stay here. I don’t want to get stung.

Zsa Zsa, stay inside. They didn’t need her help.

Let’s see. Dale followed her to the place where the wasps resided. A French pussy willow planted too close to the house stood twenty-five feet high. There. He pointed. See that?

Yeah. A wasp nest as wide as her turkey platter, black with active wasps, hung close to the wall.

Go inside the screened porch. He shook the aerosol can. As soon as I spray the wasps, open the door for me.

The screened porch door was latched. She ran around to the front and came back to the porch.

Dale shot a stream, which reached all the way to the nest. As he darted toward the door, a dive-bomber attacked him just above his right eye.

Ouch.

He moved as quickly as possible. So did a half dozen of the crazed insect monsters. Swatting at the terrors, he bounded up the steps and into the screened door she held open.

Some of the attackers changed their course from Dale to Jessica. He picked up her flower-watering bucket, the only weapon available. To protect her from the onslaught, he slung the water onto her.

Yikes. Her wet hands slipped on the doorknob.

Dale pushed her hands aside.

Emmie, who had been watching through the kitchen window, ran to another room.

As soon as Dale and Jessica arrived inside, she grabbed a roll of paper towels.

I’m sorry, he said. I was trying to protect you. He held his hand against his forehead. Oh, that hurts. His eye was beginning to swell.

Jessica grabbed a zipped plastic bag from the drawer and filled it with ice. Then she wrapped it in a clean dishtowel. Put this ice over your eye.

Tears streamed down his cheeks.

She took him to an easy chair in the television room. I’ll get you some medication.

He flailed his hands.

After a few seconds, Jessica brought him the pills. He took the antihistamine and acetaminophen with a swig of water.

She dared not go upstairs and change to dry clothes. What if he had an anaphylactic reaction? She pulled a small chair close to him and sat.

His eyes were closed.

She took his hand in hers to see if he felt warm. Having read that a fast heartbeat could be a sign of a severe reaction, she tried to check his pulse. Inexperienced, she finally located it. Very fast, but he seemed all right. He smiled, and he felt warm.

The medication must have worked. He snored softly.

Feeling his pulse one more time, she found it normal.

Emmie came to him and touched his hand. What are we going to do about the preacher?

Jessica tiptoed out of the room, and Emmie followed. What we going to do with the preacher?

Let him sleep the medicine off. He’ll be okay. I’m going to change to some dry clothes. When I come back, I need you to help me wipe the cabinets.

An hour later he stumbled into the kitchen. His eye was swollen almost shut. I’m not used to taking antihistamines.

I gave you two twenty-five mg capsules. We’ll give you a ride to your house. She helped him into her car. Call me when you feel better. I’ll come get you so you can drive your pickup home.

Chapter 3

DALE

Friday Afternoon…

After Dale recovered from the effects of the wasp sting and the sedation caused by Jessica’s medications, he resumed his busy schedule. Friday he worked as a carpenter on his second church, the country church he pastored.

He ached from the heat lingering in his muscles. Resting on the New Joy Church portico in Oak View, he punched in the number 6-0-1……. Henrianne. It rang for a minute, but he didn’t get an answer. He tried again. No answer. A third time…

Hello. Henrianne’s voice blasted at him. Do not call again. He had no doubt. Henrianne didn’t want to talk to him.

Lord, please heal our relationship.

A day’s strenuous work behind him, he unbuttoned his long-sleeved blue chambray shirt. He pulled off his belt, no longer needed to keep his pants up since he’d stopped hammering. Not much relief. Off came the top shirt, shoes, and socks. He stripped down to ragged jeans topped off by a stained purple and gold T-shirt. His old ragged cowboy hat made a decent fan. He loved his hat with its LSU hatband.

If anybody came along, Dale planned to grab his top shirt. The fading cream was working on the tattoo on his left deltoid, but fading was a slow process. If only he could pay to have it excised by a plastic surgeon or removed by a dermatologist using a laser.

He punched the redial button one more time.

Hello. The voice blasted from his cellphone.

Could we talk a minute, Henrianne?

I said, ‘Do not call me again.’ You’re bothering me. I was talking to Phyllis when you interrupted. She doesn’t want you to call her either.

I just want…

No, we can’t forgive you. If you call again, I’ll…I’ll…do something. She was gone.

Lord, please help.

His right eye took three days to return to normal. Everybody looked at the dimpled scar over his left eye. A plastic surgeon could have made it look better, but the process would cost more money than he cared to spend. He must have looked a mess with one eye swollen and the other scarred Monday night when he walked to Jessica’s house to get his pickup.

People stared at his arms, but they didn’t ask about them. Both arms and the tops of his hands had irregular panels of thin tight skin, which appeared out of place because they didn’t tan as well as the rest of his arms. It didn’t matter what the church members thought about his arms, as long as they didn’t see his tattoo.

He leaned against one of the slim white columns supporting the roof where it hung over the high portico in the front of the new building. He wanted elegant thick columns, but the tiny flock couldn’t spend money for such frills. He dangled his legs off the side of the porch to relieve the aching of the tired muscles that surrounded his stiff knees. While kicking the air in rhythm, he prayed for the members of both his little churches as they passed like sheep before his vision.

The sound of wind slapping the sugar cane leaves against each other caused a lonesome whistle, but he was thankful for the breeze blowing over the cane field.

He uttered a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord for placing him in south Louisiana and for making him a freed sinner, freed by the grace of God.

I never thought I’d live to see a day as wonderful as this one, Lord. Thank you. A thousand times thank you. Thank you for making me as free as that bird across the road. Thank you for removing my chains.

A dove strutted with the grace of a tightrope walker on the telephone wire across the road. His distant-sounding cries proclaimed the presence of grain beneath him. Fumes from the hot asphalt road filled the air with the smell of petroleum.

The dove’s call for his mate was a forlorn cry. Lord, that bird is lonely, and so am I. So lonely. You’ve done a new work in my heart and given me new life. Please fix my loneliness.

A rusty fox with black ear tips and black legs hunched into a ball as it moused into the ditch from the cane rows. It posed as an inanimate lump until it charged at a prey Dale couldn’t see. Then it sped back into the cane field two rows down with his bushy white-tipped tail flowing as an adornment. That fox was meant to be alone. Always alone.

Just let me be about your will. In Christ’s name, amen.

No guidelines governed the height of first floor elevation of new construction in Oak View, even though the area was flooded two years ago as the result of a hurricane. Since Oak View was only five feet above sea level, the deacons instructed the architect to design a building one full story above the ground. Early in the process, Dale and the other workers mounted a set of stairs and a zigzagging ramp to comply