Tenacity and Spirit: The Story of Rebekah

By Terry Overton and James K. Stewart

Beth, having been given one last chance to keep her job, is transferred to a small town where she is taken under the wing of Rose, the local mystic. An older woman, Rose is believed to have the power to change lives through her biblical storytelling. Each evening, over the course of weeks, Rose prepares a light supper for Beth, which is followed by the telling of a chapter in the life of the matriarch Rebekah. Beth's will slowly changes as her personality is transformed. Workmates befriend her; she finds a place and prospective husband in Rose's church; and her dedication and production at work puts her up as a candidate for employee of the year. Finally, Beth finds the courage to reconcile her past differences with her mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Jan 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781666794779

Terry Overton

Terry Overton is a retired university professor of educational and school psychology. She has an EdD in special education and a PhD in psychology. Her professional experience includes teaching public school, teaching at the university level, and being a college dean. She has two children and seven grandchildren. Before retirement, she had a record of research and publications in the fields of education, school psychology, and educational psychology. She seeks to answer God's call to write from a Christian worldview, share the good news, and grow the church by writing Christian books and devotionals. She is the author of a Christian novel: Both Sides of the Border. Her recent release, America of We the People, was independently published and is a current conservative view of America dedicated to those who fought to defend the United States in wars and against terrorism. Her children's Christmas book, Oddball Ornaments: The Story of Christmas, was released in November 2021.

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Tenacity and Spirit

The Story of Rebekah

Terry Overton &
James K. Stewart

tenacity and spirit

The Story of Rebekah

Copyright © 2022 Terry Overton and James K. Stewart. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

Resource Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

Eugene, OR 97401

www.wipfandstock.com

paperback isbn: 978-1-6667-9476-2

hardcover isbn: 978-1-6667-9475-5

ebook isbn: 978-1-6667-9477-9

January 31, 2022 10:28 AM

Table of Contents

Title Page

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

This book is dedicated to those who have struggled with self-will and overcome with the help of our Lord.

Chapter 1

The stories Beth heard about the older woman who lives near the end of Reckoner Street challenged all logic. No one person could have the ability to do the legendary things Rose Maddington was reported to have done. After all, anyone can spin a yarn ten miles long. One full of mystical nonsensical twists and turns designed to capture the imagination of the average listener. According to local gossip, Rose did more than tell tales. She changed lives. Beth didn't understand how the verbal accounts related by this sexagenarian could change the fate of anyone who took the time to hear her tales. The townspeople swore to it; the stories Rose delivered had a life-changing effect on those who listened. Beth Chase didn't believe a word. How did she do it? Was Rose Maddington a counselor? A mentor? A hypnotist? Or simply, an odd woman in a typical little town.

Three months earlier, Beth had been transferred to Sageville. Five years before that, she had begun what was to be an exciting new career in the insurance industry. As it turned out, those five years in Brookville had been the longest she’d ever held a job. Five years was certainly enough time for anyone to settle in, grow roots, and develop friendships. Settling down, growing roots, and especially developing friendships was not something Beth had ever found easy or natural. After three months in Sageville, Beth could tell this place wasn't going to be any different than Brookville. Same small town low-paying jobs, same small-town social climate, but she didn’t have a choice. Truth be told, the only distinction between Beth's former town and Sageville was the rumored capabilities of mysterious Rose Maddington.

Walking along Reckoner Street on her way to work, her mother's words stormed through her mind. Beth Chase, will you ever find what you are looking for; do you even know what it is you’re looking for? Always moving from town-to-town, why can't you settle down? Find someone. You're just as hard-headed as your father.

Never that close, her mother, a very traditional woman, always found it challenging to deal with independent and stubborn people. Beth and her mother were like oil and water. With tension mounting in her neck and shoulders, Beth muttered, Yes, Mother, I'm still looking. Reflecting on how her headstrong attitude brought her to Sageville, she felt a tiny bit of regret in going over the boss’s head with a proposal. This act of disobedience was what he’d been looking for. It was the perfect opportunity to fire an employee whose business sense made him feel inferior. Ironically, Christian compassion and a touch of business acumen caused the Regional Manager to transfer Beth to an office that needed someone who was naturally detailed and meticulous.

Reckoner Street ran directly into the old downtown business district. This peaceful narrow street was adorned with neatly trimmed shrubs and flowers, strategically placed in the front yards of historic, oversized, Victorian homes. Single families lived in most of the old houses, except the one Beth had rented. The owner of this large home had recently converted it into three small apartments, now occupied by one older retired gentleman, a middle-aged widow, and Beth. Each remained in their own space and seldom exchanged words; other than a polite greeting. This arrangement suited Beth just fine.

Balmy spring days helped make the short walk to work refreshing and enjoyable. Lately, on passing Rose Maddington's two-story house, the tales she’d heard at work began causing Beth’s anxiety to increase with the temperature. Unable to put her finger on it, there was just something about that picture-perfect house that caused her mind to race. Twice each day, Beth fantasized about this mysterious older woman whom the townspeople rumored was gifted with supernatural skill. The floral wonderland evinced Rose as an avid gardener. Beth knew one had to work hard to maintain those picturesque front yard flower beds. Transferred in the late fall, the wintery walk to work did not provide the opportunity for Beth to get a look at the legendary Rose Maddington. With winter past and spring in the air, Rose finally appeared like a blooming Hosta, albeit not in green. Orange, yellow, mauve, black, vintage Jamaican print dress, with beige work slacks beneath, made it impossible not to notice Rose in her garden of green. This older woman had an air of youth with shoulder-length auburn hair as she moved her gardening implements into the front yard. Unable to take her eyes from this sexagenarian, Beth’s pace slowed.

She thought to herself, She looks normal enough.

Making it past the house without being noticed, or so she thought, Beth, used her break time in the office to research the name Rose Maddington on the internet. Disappointed that multiple searches revealed no record of anything other than the standard information, name, address, and such, Beth searched for the meaning and the history of the name – Maddington. Even that came up empty. Pondering rumors powerful enough to influence an individual’s life and hearing the fantastic stories, it just seemed odd that there was nothing written about her? With the daily routine of organizing the files of the agent she’d replaced, Beth felt it was time to increase interaction with her two workmates, Joyce McGilvery and George Engel. Beth had kept to herself for more than three months, but now it would soon be time to start organizing their files and contracts. Everyone knew Joyce and George were salt of the earth people, but not that meticulous in the detail work required in the insurance industry.

Another dull Friday of answering phones and organizing paperwork over, it was time for Beth to walk by the big old white two-story house. There she was, on her knees, digging in the front flower bed. Hopes of not being seen soon faded as Rose Maddington stood up, dusted the dirt from her pants, and looked over the white picket fence to Beth. Turning away, not wanting Rose to catch her eye, her pace quickened, but alas, it was too late.

Rose caught her glancing and called out a warm, Hello.

Not knowing what to do, Beth feigned a squeaky Hello, and kept walking.

Again, the sweet voice beckoned, I was about to have lemonade on the porch. It's quite warm today. Would you like a glass?

Caught, Beth was stuck. Not being a person who naturally befriended strangers, Beth didn't want to engage in anything, let alone a conversation with Rose. With an empty apartment waiting and laundry the only activity planned for the weekend, Beth was unable to think of a reason to say, No. Mustering the courage to meet this locally famous woman, Beth reluctantly uttered a quiet, Okay.

The sweet voice was calming, Come on up. It will just take me a second.

Timidly opening the garden gate, she entered the yard and took what was to be her first short walk to the porch. Ascending three steps, the fragrance of Jasmine and Gardenia invaded her senses. Scanning the white wicker furniture, Beth chose a chair with a floral-patterned cushion and seated herself. The squeaking screen door announced Rose's return, carrying a tray of lemonade and cookies. Rose placed the tray on the small table between them and sat down with a gracious ladylike genuflect. Knowing the purported powers of Rose Maddington could not possibly hold her spellbound while enjoying a glass of lemonade, she was nevertheless fearful of the words Rose would direct her way.

Rose began, You know, I've seen you walk by all winter and wanted to have you over. I'm Rose Maddington.

Nice to meet you; I'm Beth. Beth Chase came to the bold reply.

Nice to meet you, Beth. I like to meet all the new people who move to Sageville. It's a small town, and new residents, even visitors, well, they always get my attention. Motioning to the glass, Here you go. Fresh squeezed.

Taking the tall frosty glass, Beth offered a polite, Thank you.

Now, let's just take a moment to enjoy this cold drink. Then you can tell me where you are from, Beth Chase.

Taking a sip of her lemonade, Beth caught a small flash, a twinkle of the eye. Had Rose winked at her?

Couldn’t be, she thought and took another sip.

Placing her glass on the table, Beth tried to dispel her anxiety with, She seems nice enough.

Beth had always called this type of conversation The inquisition.

Then it began, So, tell me, Beth, what brought you to Sageville? Family?

Always cautious about disclosing personal information, she thought for a moment about how to answer. Not wanting to provide too much information and expose the meaningless life of a single woman, she made it appear as if she were contemplating. Instinctively, she knew where it was going. Beth didn’t need, didn’t want, help. Figuring things out on her own was an ability she prided herself on, or so she thought. Somehow, her answer needed to convey the fallacy that life was perfect and didn’t need any miracle story nor magical remedy.

Realizing she’d been silent for too long, I moved from Brookville to fill a position with the insurance company here in Sageville, blurted from her lips.

Rose nodded, took another bite of her cookie, and paused to let Beth know that was not near enough detail.

A moment later, I came here because of the job opening.

Quickly grabbing another cookie, and taking a huge bite, made sure Rose knew she would not be able to talk.

I see, was the suspicious reaction.

To ease Beth’s apparent tension, Rose passed on some personal information of her own. Short and to the point, I've lived here all of my life. My late husband and I lived in this house for forty-five years.

Thinking the topic of conversation had changed, Beth said to herself, Thank goodness, and then, feeling at ease, noted, It's a beautiful house.

Is your family in Brookville? directed the questioning right back to Beth. Beginning to feel penned in, she didn’t want to tell Rose the real reason for the transfer. Insubordinate was not how Beth wanted to be tagged, but that was the reason used to get her transferred.

No, I went there for my first insurance company job, was the short answer before quickly filling her mouth with another cookie.

Rose replied with an unsatisfactory, I see.

Usually brutally truthful, another twinge of anxiety crept into Beth's mind, as trying to be evasive meant not being honest. However, she did not want to be examined or cross-examined. Feeling pressured, all she wanted was to finish her lemonade and head for the safety of her quiet apartment. Then it happened.

Beth, is there something you want to ask me? inquired Rose.

Sensing growing anxiety and wanting to escape the intrusion, the reply was sheepish, No, not really. Why?

I've seen you walk by every day, and lately, it seems to me your slow pace indicates there is something on your mind, something you want to ask of me.

Sitting in silent contemplation for an uncomfortable moment, Rose looked Beth straight in the eye and calmly asked, Perhaps you've heard I’m a storyteller?

Beth hadn't given Rose any indication that the rumors, the bits, and pieces of the conversation between her workmates, had roused her curiosity. Nonetheless, she decided to provide a truthful but vague answer.

Yes. I've heard, came the timid response.

Did anyone suggest that you should ask me for a story?

Cemented to her seat, all Beth could do was answer with a relaxed and hesitant, No.

I see, replied Rose before sitting back.

A curious minute later, I wonder if anyone might have told you that my stories take several days to tell?

Now Beth was certain she didn't want to get involved with this older woman and tie up multiple days. A simple answer would have to suffice.

No, no one said that.

Rose took another sip of her lemonade, looked toward her flowers, and continued with a soft, warm, all-knowing voice, Stories are like flowers, you know. Each one takes time to fully blossom, but when they do, they are amazing.

Oh?

You see, dear, each story is different, purposely designed for a specific listener.

There it was again, the wink. Beth was sure of it.

Rose continued in a normal voice, The listener doesn't find a particular story; the story finds the listener. Take yourself. You need a story that will tell you all about being strong-spirited.

What makes you think I'm strong-spirited, was the snap reply?

You moved to a new town by yourself, and more than once, it seems. You’re a single lonely working girl, right?

Not able to figure out how on earth this woman could describe her life to a tee in such a short time, Beth searched her mind for the words that would avoid commitment.

I have just the story for you, continued Rose, but can only be told if you are willing to listen.

Trapped, but now she was curious to know how some old story could expose her strong-spirited nature.

Hesitant to sit for several days to hear one of these designed stories, Beth began to evaluate, How on earth could Rose possibly know what I need? We’d only met a few minutes ago. In a feeble effort to escape, her skepticism surfaced, Rose, we just met. How could you possibly know the perfect story I need to hear after a five-minute conversation?

Rose went on to explain how Beth was wrong and how her ancient story had relevance for today. For three months, she’d watched Beth walk to and from work. On Saturday mornings, Rose watched Beth do her grocery shopping, oblivious to those around her. Sunday mornings were always the same; Beth, sitting on her balcony drinking coffee, and not even a book in hand. Beth had never noticed Rose walk by on her way to church.

Though their paths had crossed many times, Beth had not noticed Rose. Beth never noticed anyone.

Then came the observation, In fact, Beth Chase, I'm not convinced you even know yourself.

Unable to process Rose’s intuition, Beth reflected on the rumors she’d heard about Rose, especially the fact that Rose claimed to know her. They all defied reason. Maybe it was wishful thinking on Rose's part, but there was no way this odd old woman knew enough about Beth to make a difference in her life. Beth didn't believe that some lame old story could have any effect on her, and that's when she took the bait.

Never having suffered from a lack of courage, Beth’s strong spirit challenged Rose, I don't think you know me as well as you think you do, and to prove my point, I'll hear your story under one condition.

Just one?

Yes. At the end of the story, I get to tell you where you were wrong and why the story wasn't, as you say, designed just for me.

Rose smiled because Beth's response proved her point. She was a strong-willed, independent woman.

Knowing precisely what Beth needed to hear, her challenge was accepted.

All right then. I’ll tell you the story under your condition, but I have one of my own, replied Rose.

And that is? came Beth’s quick response.

"Afterward, you must tell me truthfully why the story was for you."

Sounds fair.

We’ll begin tomorrow, but you must understand one thing.

Still cautious, Beth asked, What is that?

You must understand that after you hear the story, your life will be different, forever changed.

Beth remembered hearing Joyce say this about Rose, that her stories changed lives. However, she doubted that it would change hers.

Okay, came the confident, challenging response.

You come by Monday, right after work. We’ll start then.

Once again, Rose’s quick wink set Beth’s mind spinning.

Beth had not intended to spend the weekend cleaning her apartment, but it was the only way she could get her mind off what Rose had said about changing her life. Finally, sitting to enjoy an afternoon tea, she admitted to herself, Well, maybe my life could use a little change.

***

Most Mondays at the office, Beth had more than enough to do. There were files to be updated, policies to review, and clients to call regarding conflicting information. Potential clients dropped in from time to time but never to see her. Today, however, was particularly slow. The lack of activity contributed to the dragging of the clock.

Nonetheless, the ticking second hand kept reminding her the dreaded storytime was creeping closer. Beth began to have second thoughts about committing to multiple afternoons listening to a tale that probably had nothing to do with her personal life. Imprisoned in her cubical, Beth began noticing the once quiet clock ticking noisily away. George’s cheerful voice speaking with clients dulled the ticking but did nothing for the knots forming in her stomach. In an attempt to snap herself out of the doldrums, she hatched an escape plan.

Tapping her lip, she thought, There’s nothing to say. I have to keep going if I don't like what I hear. Breathing a sigh of relief, she murmured, I'll just say the story has nothing to do with me and then not go back.

Breaking the trance, Joyce asked, Did you say something, Beth?

No, no, just thinking out loud, was the quick response.

The noise of Joyce and George closing their filing cabinets alerted Beth to the time, five o'clock. No excuses now; Rose would be expecting her. Filing the day’s work, Beth cleaned her desk and picked up her purse. With a quick goodbye to coworkers, she was on her way.

With only three more homes to pass before she would open the gate in the white picket fence; anxiety fueling superstition, her feet avoided every crack in the sidewalk until finally, trembling hand on garden gate caused a squeak which signaled Rose to a cheery welcome.

Hello, Beth Chase.

There she was, in all her colorful glory, waving from the porch. Perched like a southern belle waiting for her caller, it was clear that Rose had stopped gardening early to make preparations for this occasion. Wearing a bright red floral southern short-sleeved summer dress, trimmed in dainty lace around the traditional high scooped neck, she stood to welcome her special guest. A silver tray with finger sandwiches, sweet tea, and cookies, had been prepared in anticipation of Beth’s arrival. Feeling honored that someone had taken the time to prepare such a treat, her voice betrayed the surprise.

Oh my. You’ve prepared quite the spread.

I know your time is tight, what with working and all. I thought you might appreciate a light dinner on the days we meet.

O Rose, I don't want you to go to any trouble.

Nonsense! We do have to eat, after all. Help yourself; there are small plates and napkins on the table beside you.

Beth carefully lifted a little pimento cheese sandwich onto her floral-patterned crystal plate. The dishes, utensils, and food presentation were just like Rose. Dainty, southern, and charming.

How was work today? she asked.

Slow. I think it's always slow this time of year. You know, people on vacation.

"I hadn't thought about that. I suppose families making traveling plans don't

want to deal with personal insurance. My late husband, Albert, and I used to take a road trip every year."

Oh? Where was your favorite destination?

The Grand Canyon. It was a remarkable trip. Bursting with fond memories, Rose continued. We listened to old country classics on the car radio all the way there. You know, all the ballads about gunfights, broken hearts, and of course, for the girl left behind in Texas or Mexico. Laughing again. We had such good times.

Sounds like fun, replied Beth trying to imagine the scenery.

After finishing her second finger sandwich and lightly dabbing her napkin on her lips so she wouldn't smear her pink lipstick, Rose sat back in her seat and announced.

Now dear, to the business at hand.

More than satisfied with Rose’s delightful sandwiches, Beth sat back in anticipation of how this story was going to change her life.

Rose smoothed her dress over her knees and began, First, you need to understand something important. There are many parts to the story you are about to hear, and some of those parts are not documented anywhere. Having been passed down through the ages by word of mouth, this story was passed on to me long ago. Believe it or not, this story is over four-thousand-years old.

Shocked, Beth inquired, Wait, Rose. Just a minute. Why would a four-thousand-year-old story be important to me? How could I possibly have anything in common with the people of that time?

Rose answered matter-of-fact, "I am always surprised myself how events from so long ago have messages relevant for today. What’s important to remember is, people today are

the same as they were four-thousand-years ago."

Beth doubted this. There wasn’t any way people today are the same as people that long ago. Beth believed people back then had nothing, lived in an uncivilized world.

Making an effort to be polite, Beth challenged, I don't want to appear rude, but I find that hard to believe. It isn't possible.

Why? Rose responded calmly.

The people four-thousand-years ago were, well, crude and uncivilized.

You might think so, but they were not.

But Rose, they had no modern conveniences. No running water, electricity, no motorized transportation. They lived like, who even knows? Savages?

The inventions and progress of mankind are not the same as mind and spirit.

Rather than carry this discussion further, Beth decided to let Rose have her way. Allowing enough time to change the trajectory of the argument, she took a bite of one of the cookies and complimented. Um… so delicious.

Happy Beth had not put up a fight, Snickerdoodle to you, poodle. Tomorrow, I’ll make a special dessert, and then winked again.

Beth savored the taste of the cookie, wondering if she’d return for the second round of storytelling. She couldn't imagine what meaning an ancient story would hold for her, but she had agreed to listen. If the condition were not met, that would be the end. Beth settled in but could not resist asking one more time.

Rose, are you sure?

Sure, about what, dear?

That a story that old has anything to do with me?

Doubting already?

Rose refilled their glasses with tea from an intricately decorated glass pitcher. Stacking two small plates on the tray, she stood and paused for a moment.

Watching Beth chewing her