My Brother's Keeper: A Feel-Good Story

By Thom Medford

My Brother's Keeper is a Christian mystery novel about a young man who has spent the last twelve years in prison for a crime he did not commit. His brother was the one that committed the crime, but there is no way he would allow his Down syndrome brother to go to a prison or any other place that would keep him confined. His brother would never have been able to understand what he was doing there, plus having other physical problems, his brother would have most likely died while he was in confinement.

Now that he has been released, he finds the world he knew before prison has changed, but he was changed in prison also. His entire family has died during the twelve years he was there, and he must now make it alone. His Christian faith is tested when a member of the family affected by his brother's crime tries to take their hatred out on him. This story is about love, family, and small-town living. The opportunity to be someone's keeper always presents itself if you are looking and seeing with your heart. If you ever truly wanted to know what being your brother's keeper means, this is the book for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886854220

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My Brother's Keeper

A Feel-Good Story

Thom Medford

ISBN 979-8-88685-421-3 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88685-422-0 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Thom Medford

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About the Author

Chapter 1

If you were going to wish for a perfect midsummer day in the country, you could not ask for a better day than this one. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and the distant snow-white clouds floated just above the mountaintops. The farmland stretched out before your eyes in shades of green and light brown. There has not been a lot of rain in the last few weeks, but that was standard for this time of year. This is countryside—American countryside—not many homes and the nearest small town was a good five miles away.

Joe Morgan's old used car made its way along this dusty gravel road and rumbled to a stop where the road widened a bit. The dust boiled along behind the vehicle and rushed past the car when it came to a complete stop. He opened the door and got out. Passing in front of his car, he stepped across the roadside ditch and stood, leaning on one post of a very tired and old barbwire fence. His eyes were fixed on the land and the old homeplace that stood in the center of this very rundown farm. One could barely see the house because of the overgrown brushes and the trees that stood near it. Not far away from the house were the barns, the stable, and some other outbuildings. They all were in ailing shape and had seen their best days long ago. Joe was thinking of years gone by, memories deep within his mind that pulled on the heartstrings of his soul. His thoughts were interrupted, and he was startled by another car coming to a stop behind his car. He looked around to see a county sheriff's car coming to a stop. The officer opened the car door and put on his hat as he stepped out on the gravel road. He slowly walked over to where Joe was standing.

I heard you might be coming by here, and I wanted to have a conversation with you face-to-face. You, son, are not welcome here in this countryside, this town, or in the entire county. We don't want your kind here. It would be best if you moved out of this county, if you know what I mean, the law officer said with a stubbornness in his voice.

Joe answered the officer, Sheriff, I don't have any other place to go. This is my home, and this is my land that lies before us here in the valley. My father worked it, as did his father before him. He left it to me when he passed about four years ago, and my plan is to make it a home again.

The officer spoke with a much sterner voice, I cannot make you leave, but I and all my officers will be watching you. If you make just one slip up, I will have your probation pulled, and it will be back to prison for you. That is where men like you belong, and we would be doing this county a big favor. If this rundown farm is yours, well best you sell it for whatever you can get for it and be on your way. Have I made myself clear?

He did not answer, and the officer made his way back to his patrol car and rushed off in the direction of the town of Beacon Hill. This small southern town is about five miles away. And when I say small, I mean small. There was only Main Street where the businesses were located and a few streets that crossed Maine Street where the townspeople lived. It was a small peaceful town with not even one traffic light. Main Street ran through the town to the river where an old steel Warren Truss bridge crossed the water. On the far side of the bridge, the town died out quickly. All that was there was a diner on the right side and the Easy Rest Motel on the left-hand side of the road. Oh yes, I couldn't forget the newest business on that side of the river was the gas station. It was so new that it looked a little out of place for this town. It had been there many years, but two years ago, it was sold, and the new owner built a more modern station with a small convenience store and a garage for simple car repairs.

Joe thought to himself, This is my land, my family's land, and it is free and clear of any debt. I will not move away, and the idea of selling it is out of the question. He stood there a long time and watched the steamy mist from the bottom land down near the stream commence to rise as the cool of the evening began. The night started to sneak its way across the land as it overcame the day. The day tried its best to stay in place, but the darkness was coming, and the day could only give way in its path. This reminded him of his life up until now, but he believed himself to be standing at the threshold of a new beginning. He returned to his car. Sitting there for a few minutes, he thought about what the sheriff had said, and it worried him. The one thing he wanted, now that he was out of prison, was to have some peace of mind and to help other people every chance he got. He slowly moved in the direction of Beacon Hill. Joe was tired; it had been a very long day. The state prison was a good four-hour drive from here, and finding a used car took most of the morning. His destination was the Easy Rest Motel where he had reservations for tonight. As he drove slowly through the town, he was reminded of his youth. This was where he grew up, and at that time, he knew most of the people who lived here. But it had been twelve years, and now he hoped that no one would even recognize him.

At the far end of town, he crossed over the river and pulled the car into the motel parking lot. He was leery of going into the office. What if the clerk recognized him and would not rent him a room? Where would he go? Taking a deep breath, he put his fears behind him and entered the motel office. A small bell above the door rang out to let the clerk know that someone had come in. A lady emerged from behind a door and asked if she could be of help. He told her his name, and she said, Oh, yes, you have reservations for tonight. We are so glad you have decided to stay with us, not that you have many choices in this town. They both laughed, and she handed him the key. He asked where he might get something to eat, and she pointed to the diner that was almost directly across the street.

Now there are more choices as to where to eat, but that one is as good as any of them, she said.

Joe paid her and went to his room. The room was small, just enough space for a bed, dresser, and a nightstand. But he did not require more, and he hoped to only be there one night. He had to fight the urge to just lie down across the bed and call it a day, but he closed the door, relocked it, and headed to the diner. There was no need to take the car, so he just ran across the street and entered the diner. This was your typical diner with a long bar, barstools, and at each end of the bar were booths. He seated himself at a booth on the window side of the diner. No one there seemed to recognize him, and while he was eating, most everyone in the place spoke to him. He had missed that while he had been gone. Only in American small towns do you get that friendly acceptance of everyone. He returned to the motel and began to go over, in his head, all that he must get done tomorrow, plus he was hoping to stay at the farmhouse tomorrow night if he could get enough done during the day to make it safe. The most important item for tomorrow would be to meet with his probation officer, Mr. Barton. Mr. Barton would only be in Beacon Hill one day because he covered a very large rural area of the state. That was one appointment that he could not miss or be late for. He also would need to spend time at the bank with Mr. Foster, the manager. All the money from his dad's insurance was in that bank, plus money he had made by leasing a large field to a neighbor farmer who also paid the lease payments to the bank. He turned out the light, and right away he realized he did not hear the sounds of the prison at night. He was free, and tonight he could only hear the sounds of freedom.

Tomorrow would have a way of turning into today very quickly, and the morning found him at the Bank of Beacon Hill, talking to Mr. Foster, the manager. He was able to set up for him a checking account and a credit card. He pointed out that the insurance company involved with his father's death had paid the policy in full, and the money was in a savings account. He also pointed out that the farmer, who had leased some of the property that Joe owned, had not missed a single payment and that money was in the same account. The business transactions completed, Mr. Foster leaned back in his chair and began to speak, I need to tell you that the sheriff has been by the bank and strongly suggested to me that I give you all your money and close your accounts. However, don't be concerned. That's not going to happen. To put it in pure business terms, this bank does not have many savings accounts with $81,000 in them, and we can't lose you as a customer. Good luck with the redoing of the homeplace.

He had spent more time at the bank than he had planned, and now he had to move quickly to meet with Mr. Barton, the probation officer. This meeting would take place at the old courthouse, the first building as you come into town. It was large but not too impressive. He arrived there with a few minutes to spare. Standing on the street in front of the building, he wondered how it would feel going into the