Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series) Read online

  STICKS AND STONES BY SHELLIE ARNOLD

  Published by Firefly Southern Fiction

  an imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas

  2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC, 27614

  ISBN: 978-1-938499-60-9

  Copyright © 2016 by Shellie Arnold

  Cover design by Elaina Lee

  Interior design by AtriTeX Technologies P Ltd

  Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at:

  www.lighthousepublishingofthecarolinas.com.

  For more information on this book and the author visit: www.shelliearnold.com.

  All rights reserved. Non-commercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, provided the text does not exceed 500 words.

  When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “Sticks and Stones by Shellie Arnold published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Used by permission.”

  Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.

  Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Brought to you by the creative team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas:

  Eva Marie Everson, Jessica R. Everson, Jan Powell, and Jennifer Slattery.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Arnold, Shellie

  Sticks and Stones / Shellie Arnold 1st ed.

  Printed in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions for Sticks and Stones

  PRAISE FOR STICKS AND STONES

  Shellie Arnold has done it again! I would recommend anything and everything Shellie writes ... and here’s why: she understands people and what it takes to make a marriage work. She also is tenderhearted toward the Lord. Adhering to the biblical principle, “Speak the truth in love,” Shellie cuts through the typical sugar-coated advice and gets to the heart of the matter.

  I love the way Shellie puts solid marriage counseling into a story. The story she tells in Sticks and Stones is no exception. The struggles Rick and Julie Matthews go through clearly demonstrate the power our words hold--spoken and unspoken. But words don’t merely hit the intended target. Collateral damage, in this case their children, is equally devastating. Healing is possible, but not typically achieved without intentionality.

  As a pastor, I intend to purchase this series to have in our church library to use as follow up for the marital counseling I do.

  ~Tina M. Hunt, Pastor

  Ashland First Church of the Brethren

  Sticks and Stones offers readers an intimate peek behind the closed doors of the Matthews family and their pain—both past and present. This book has a something vital to convey to every reader, no matter their circumstance in life. In a transparent and powerful way, author Shellie Arnold reminds us that it is both the things we say and the things left unsaid that matter most.

  ~Clint and Penny A. Bragg

  Authors of Marriage on the Mend—Healing

  Your Marriage After Crisis, Separation, or Divorce

  In Sticks and Stones, Shellie Arnold does a remarkable job of telling a captivating story that penetrates to the heart and soul of common marital blind spots and the roles we unintentionally adopt to deal with stress and conflict. Although merely fiction, the truths it brings to light about the complex destructive patterns found in many marriages are amazingly accurate. As a marriage mentor, I see these patterns all too frequently in marriages on the verge of collapse, and I’m thrilled to see a story that not only shows in meticulous detail how they develop, but also how couples can find resolution and reconciliation.

  ~ Linda Rooks

  Author of Broken Heart on Hold, Surviving Separation

  “Shellie Arnold’s Sticks and Stones is an exquisite portrayal of lost dreams. It’s the heart-wrenching story of a fractured family finding their way back and learning to forgive. I wanted to sneak in a chapter during lunch and couldn’t stop reading until I finished it.”

  ~Ane Mulligan

  Bestselling author of Chapel Springs Revival

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Afew days after God dropped this story idea into my heart, I had two prominent thoughts:

  1) I don’t think it’s possible to write this book, and

  2) I don’t want to write this book.

  I didn’t think it could be written, because after asking several accomplished authors how I could make the storyline work, I was told I couldn’t make it work. Having a main character who couldn’t speak would kill the storyline. One prolific author shook her head, shrugged, and said, “Shellie, keep in touch with me. If you pull this off, I want to know about it.”

  So, my first thank you is to Loyd Boldman, to whom this book is dedicated. Loyd, you made me believe I could successfully write this book.

  As far as concern number two mentioned above, I didn’t want to write this book, because I didn’t like the idea of sharing glimpses of a particular road I’ve been walking with God for many, many years. Being married, being a parent, and realizing you didn’t learn a very important life skill is unnerving in itself. Being in a position to repeatedly repent to your family, then change and grow in front of them—baby step by baby step—that’s even tougher.

  So my next thank you is to my husband, who’s lived in the fallout, benefited from the fruit, and loved me during God’s work in this area of my life. Your eyes are my home.

  Thank you to my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray. Your willingness to stick with me for round two shows your true bravery and character.

  To the entire team at LPC, I’m only beginning to understand the tiniest bit of all you do and the dedication with which you do it. I count myself blessed to be associated with you all.

  Endless thanks to the professionals and others who assisted in my research: the emergency responders at Lakeland Fire Department Station 6; Dr
. Edward J. Meszaros, DMD; Eleanor Tracey; A.C. and J.C.; Kate Arnold, MA CCC-SLP (my daughter-in-love); Aaron Arnold (my firstborn and a terrific vocalist); Angie Brady; Mark Hancock.

  To my son, Adam. When you read portions of this book and find some of your story, know that you were never defective, are always loved, and will forever be a miracle. Daddy and I love you so much.

  As with the acknowledgments in The Spindle Chair, I must mention Larry Leech II and the “original” fiction group. You all helped me shape this story. I know we all miss Loyd.

  To Dianna Love and Mary Buckham, attending your Break Into Fiction seminar helped me see I could indeed write this story.

  To Dory Stewart and the Medina County Writers Club, you all rock!

  To Eva Marie Everson, every person or marriage touched by anything I write has you to thank.

  To my Biggest Fan, when I’ve fought discouragement, all I have to do is re-read your emails and cards.

  To Jennifer Slattery, what a tremendous blessing you are!

  To my children, who make me strive to be better. And again, to my husband, who loves me when I’m not.

  To my God, Who gave me back my voice. Thank You for saving my soul from darkness. Thank You for saving me from myself. Thank You for demanding both transparency and obedience. In the beginning, You know I feared them both. I had no idea they contained the answers to many of my deepest, most painful prayers. I had no idea they were the soil where joy grows.

  To Loyd Boldman

  who told me he “heard” Julie, even when she couldn’t speak.

  Loyd, I know you’re already singing in heaven, sometimes

  I think I can hear you.

  A Gift for You

  Thank you for investing in this book. As a thank you, LPC Books would love to offer you advance review Kindle copies of our forthcoming books. These Kindle ebooks will be delivered to your Kindle reader. We release around 40 books a year. You pick which ones you wish to receive. Visit the link below to sign up for our FREE Kindle ebook subscriber list:

  http://lighthousepublishingofthecarolinas.com/free-ebook/

  Prologue

  “I love being outside with you like this.” Julie Matthews stretched under the blanket.

  She slid a leg over her husband’s thigh, slipped an arm across his trim waist, and rested her cheek against his shoulder. She smiled, grateful to enjoy sunshine after being practically housebound while taking antibiotics for an infection. Despite the August heat, a grown–up picnic was a fabulous way to start the next season of her life.

  A balmy, south-Alabama breeze ruffled her hair, tickling her nose with the fresh pine scent of the woods behind them, and making the surrounding black-eyed Susans dance. Two dozen feet away from the old quilt she’d spread on the ground over an hour ago, two horses, his and hers, munched on tufts of clover. The creek nestled at the foot of the tiny floral hill trilled under the bright sun as if giggling with her.

  She kissed Rick’s damp skin. “You asleep?”

  He took one of his signature deep breaths; her arm, draped across him, rose and fell. He felt around for his black Stetson, and smiling, laid it over his face.

  “No one within a twelve-mile radius can sleep with you doing happy cartwheels in your head.” He patted her bare hip. “Dozing certainly has its advantages, although I will need some sweet tea and a couple of those sandwiches in a minute. Seems I worked up an appetite.”

  “Do you think Rachel’s okay?”

  “Rachel’s fine. She’ll handle the first day of first grade better than Sean did.” He waved a hand in the air. “And my cell’s here ... somewhere.”

  “She’s bigger than most of the other girls.” Like Julie herself had been. “She’s self-conscious.”

  “She probably will be for a while. Until she’s a teenager and the boys start catching up. Then I’ll handle the boys.” He lifted his hat, shading both their faces, and looked over at her. “There’s no blue like an Alabama sky, but I’d rather look into your pretty green eyes any moment of the day. They captured me when we were kids, but the way they shine when it’s just me and you ... I’d give you the world if I could.”

  She brushed her fingertips over his lips. “Shhh.” They’d just made love, her entire body still felt like it was covered with warm honey. “I don’t want the world; I have you. You have what you want—the stables. We made a family—one boy, one girl—exactly what we wanted. Now the next part begins.”

  “You haven’t been on stage since before Sean was born. Did you find a voice coach?”

  “I found a great one. If I do the books for the stables, I think we can handle the expense. But I might have to hire a sitter some afternoons for the kids.”

  He raised to an elbow, donned his hat. “No reason they can’t stay with me at the stables.”

  “Remember when we snuck out here at night? Was it last April?”

  Rick grinned. “We spent time under a blanket then, too.”

  She grinned back. “Yes, we did. And I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

  “Seems like I remember that.”

  She gouged him in the ribs. “You better remember.”

  He chuckled.

  She sat up, knelt before him on the quilt as the blanket slid down, exposing her back to the sun’s warmth. She stared toward the babbling water, cleared her throat against tears.

  He linked his calloused fingers with hers. “I remember, too, what you told me that night.”

  “Do you?”

  Her heart pounded as if she stood at the edge of a cliff. Why did she feel so exposed? They’d been married eleven years and had loved each other like they were the only two people in the world. But talking about this? She couldn’t look him in the eye. How could she explain a childhood longing so deep she thought she’d drown in it?

  He kissed her knuckles. “You can tell me again if it makes you feel better.”

  “I always loved going to bed at night. Not like most children.” She shook her head. “Not like Rachel.”

  Rick chuckled again. “No.”

  “Regardless of what my mother said during the day about my aspirations, at night I could hide under the covers and dream about singing professionally. In my dreams, I was safe.”

  “You know, I’ve noticed you take naps when you’re stressed. Maybe that’s how you cope, you just go to sleep.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but you might be right.”

  “And the angels?”

  “The angels in heaven waited for me to fly up and sing to them. I’d fly up to a place so high and quiet, then sing a song I’d written for them. They smiled at me.” She took a breath. “I sang for God, and He smiled at me, too.”

  During those dreams she’d felt so accepted by God, so very loved.

  Rick sat up, drew her chin and eyes toward his. His patient, hazel eyes blinked slowly, then focused on hers.

  “Julie. Your voice, I’ve never heard anything like it. When you sang the National Anthem before our high school football games, no one in the stands spoke. Even the jocks with me on the field stood quiet and listened.” He paused. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about being good enough. You always have been, always will be.”

  He kissed her.

  She kissed him back. “Thank you for saying that,” she whispered.

  She hated being so uncertain, like a needy child desperate to be acknowledged.

  “I heard you singing to Rachel last night. The song from the contest, right?”

  “She loves that one.”

  “You won the scholarship; your mother should have let you go. It wouldn’t have cost her one dime of your dad’s death benefit.”

  Her father’s death in a commercial aircraft crash had made her mother an extremely wealthy woman when Julie was only three. “I wish I could remember him.”

  “I know you do. If she had let you go to New York, I would have followed you. You know that, don’t you? Ridden my horse right through Times Square.”

  She pictured h
im, her handsome, steady cowboy loping across lanes filled with irate drivers. She almost laughed.

  “I think I’ll start by rejoining the choir. It’s not that I resent being a wife. I don’t. Times like this with you are perfect.”

  “Baby.” He took a long breath. “The choir’s a good idea. You might decide that’s as far as you want to go.”

  She pressed her lips together and stymied the impatience rising within like a desperate animal clawing its way out of a pit. She needed more than his support. She needed him to understand.

  “We agreed before. After having children, it would be my turn.”

  He traced her throat with his rough fingers. “I know you can do it.”

  “Thank you.” She grinned. “Tomorrow I’ll call the voice coach and fire the accountant.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eight years later

  With her booted foot, Julie tapped a staccato beat on the scarred concrete outside her mare’s stall. Seventeen minutes.

  She rechecked her watch. Nope, make that eighteen.

  Eighteen minutes wasted. Waiting in this sweltering May heat—what little makeup she had applied this morning was definitely melting into oblivion—while the local country radio station Rick insisted on piping through the stables whined in the background.

  Who had time to write a song about setting a truck on fire? And furthermore, who would want to?

  She checked her cell phone for a message from Rick. No message. She texted him Where are you? as she paced up and down the long corridor in front of thirty-plus, wooden, sliding doors. Above her, sparrows darted from the indoor arena on her right, to the hayloft above the horses and back, stealing tidbits for their nests. Swirling dust and the green scent of alfalfa tickled her lungs.

  She coughed. A horse on the far end whinnied as if laughing at her discomfort, others down the line continued the heckling. She stopped again in front of Tempo’s stall, plucking at her dampening blouse, as a twanging guitar joined a tortured violin.

  “This is WCIK, where country is king! South Alabama’s number one station right here in Rowe City. It’s 4:22. Here’s another favorite to help you pass the time.”