Never Ending Spring Read online

  Never Ending Spring

  Darrell Case

  Proverbs 11:30

  Leaning Tree Christian Publishers

  Post Office Box 6124

  Terre Haute, IN 47802

  Praise for Darrell’s first novel

  Out of Darkness

  The ring of truth and familiarity of the heart this book exhibits is so compelling that one cannot help but read the entire book without stopping. Indeed, it was impossible for me to even put it aside for more than just a few moments.

  Dr Wesley Rose

  Out of Darkness was spellbinding to me. I could hardly leave it alone until I finished it. I am looking forward to his next novel.

  Judy Fager

  A suspenseful read.

  Darrell Case does a good job heating up the intrigue and mystery.

  Teena Marie Stewart

  Please, read this book and you will enjoy every page you read. I can't wait for Darrell Case to write his next book.

  MaryAnn

  This book is one I can whole heartedly recommend without reservation and I say with a grateful heart, thank you Darrell for sending me a copy to review!

  Audrey Grant

  Never Ending Spring

  Other books

  By

  Darrell Case

  Live Life to the Fullest

  Out of Darkness

  Sluagh

  River of Fire

  Miracle at Coffeeville

  Deadly Justice

  Never Ending Spring

  Copyright © 2012 by Darrell Case

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1481054478

  All quotations are from the King James Bible

  Learn more information at:

  www.darrellcase.com

  .

  Dedicated to

  The Lord who loves me and

  shed His blood for me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks go to those who helped put this book together. To my wife who urged me to keep going when I wanted to quit. To Justin Davis of Davis Designs for creating the wonderful book cover. Special thanks to Ariana Kelsheimer for modeling the cover. To Tim Woodward who did as excellent job of editing. To my Lord who guided me through the process of writing and publication. And of course to you the reader, without whom there would not be a reason to write. Never Ending Spring is completed. Let’s pray God will use this book for His glory.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 ……………………………Page. 7

  Chapter 2 ………………………… Page 24

  Chapter 3 ………………………… Page 29

  Chapter 4 ………………………… Page 38

  Chapter 5 ……………………………Page 45

  Chapter 6 …………………...……. Page 54

  Chapter 7 ……………...…………. Page 60

  Chapter 8 ………...………………. Page 66

  Chapter 9 …...……………………. Page 71

  Chapter 10 …………………………. Page 77

  Chapter 11 …………………………. Page 83

  Chapter 12 ………………………… Page 90

  Chapter 13 ………………………… Page 97

  Chapter 14 …………………………. Page 105

  Chapter 15 …………………………. Page 109

  Chapter 16 …………………………. Page 116

  Chapter 17 ………………………… Page 124

  Chapter 18 …………………………. Page 130

  Chapter 19 …………………………. Page 136

  Chapter 20 …………………………. Page 142

  Chapter 21 ……………………….... Page 150

  Chapter 22 ………………………… Page 156

  Chapter 23 ………………………… Page 163

  Chapter 24………………………….. Page 170

  Chapter 25 …………………………..Page 176

  Chapter26 ………...…………………Page 185

  Chapter27………………...………….Page191

  Chapter 28………………………...…Page197

  Dear Reader …………...…………. .. Page 211

  Never Ending Spring

  Prologue

  May 17, 1949

  Pulling the patrol car off Mill Creek Road into the weed-infested driveway, Sheriff Bob Curry said a silent prayer. "Lord, they don't need this right now. You know the Browns have enough trouble." He sighed and switched off the engine.

  Someone was watching; the curtains moved in the front window. Normally such an action would make him wary, but not today. The Browns were harmless. He hated death notices, especially this one. He felt like it was his fault their son Dennis was dead. He was the one who had suggested old man Miller press charges.

  "You know, Sheriff, that fence ain't worth much. A little paint might do it some good." Miller said.

  "Well, with the words the young scalawag put on there, it's gonna have to be painted." Curry said, wagging his head. "Tell you what. I know the Browns can't afford the paint so I'll see if the county can spring for it and we'll let Dennis cool his heels in jail for a couple of days while he paints your fence."

  So the deal had been struck and now Dennis was dead.

  The front door opened and Katy Brown stepped out on the rickety porch. She clutched her threadbare robe to herself with one hand and held onto the peeling railing with the other. Her mothers eyes searched the interior of the car. Opening the door, Bob walked across the unmowed lawn.

  "Morning, Mrs. Brown." he said, squinting up at the gray haired woman.

  "Where's Denny? I thought you said he finished the fence yesterday."

  "Well, yes ma'am, he did."

  "Then why ain't he with ye, you said you'd bring him by in time for school and its nigh onto 10 o'clock."

  "I'm sorry Mrs. Brown. I've got some bad news for you. Can I come and talk to you and Don?"

  "Now, Sheriff you know wells I do that fight weren't Denny's fault. Them big boys at the jail goaded him into takin' the first swing. You ain't gonna hold him because of that, are ye?" She stood to the side to let him enter. Taking off his hat, Bob ducked his head and stepped into the shabby living room. Don Brown set on the couch, his face lined with pain.

  "How's the back this morning, Don?" Bob asked.

  "Not good, I didn't get much sleep last night with it a painin me."

  Taking a deep breath, Curry said "Well folks, there's no easy way to say it, Dennis hung himself last night. The night man found him about five o'clock this morning. We tried to bring him back, but it was too late."

  "You're a funnen us." Don said, tears misting his eyes.

  "You're wrong, it's gotta be some other boy. Denny wouldn't do that. Not over some rickety old fence." Katy Brown said.

  "I'm sorry. There's no mistake. It's Dennis alright." Bob said, turning his hat by the brim.

  "NO, NO, NO!" Katie screamed. "Not my baby! No!" She collapsed on the couch with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Don raised his cane and pointed it shakily at the sheriff. "You mark my words, somebody killed my boy. If'n I was half the man I used to be, I'd be down at that jail and I'd find out who they is."

  They laid Denny out in the living room in a pine box made by his Uncle Jimmy. Uncomfortable going to the home again, Bob waited on the road while they loaded the casket into an old station wagon. When the
y pulled out of the yard, he turned on the bubble and led the small procession down the mile and a half to the small cemetery where Denny's granddaddy and grandma lay.

  After they put Denny in the ground, Jimmy came to him. They had known each other for a long time, Curry on one side of the law and Jimmy on the other. As much as he tried, Jimmy could not overcome the alcohol.

  "What are you doing here, Sheriff?" Jimmy said, bringing his face inches from Bob's. The smell of cheap beer was overpowering.

  "I came to pay my respects."

  "If'n you had respect, Denny wouldn't be in that box." Jimmy took a step closer, his nose almost touching the sheriff's face.

  "Go home, Jimmy. I don't want to have to arrest you today." Turning away, Bob opened the door to his patrol car.

  "This ain't over sheriff. No sir, this ain't over by a long shot."

  Jimmy stared at the patrol car until it disappeared over the hill.

  Chapter 1

  The man glanced at his watch and cursed softly. If he didn't leave soon, he would be trapped. This was the latest he had waited. The preacher always came to his office in the church before daybreak, letting his wife and daughter sleep while he studied the Bible. Yet for the last two days, his murderer had waited. In another twenty minutes, the sun would be up. Gray light streaked through the cathedralstyle windows, casting shadows from the old wood pews onto the floor, causing snakes to appear in the man's mind.

  "This place is creepy. I'll be glad to be out of here." he whispered. Even his voice seemed out of place.

  In the parsonage, a lone light burned. The sweet sense of roses wafted in the open windows to mix with the odor of fresh brewed coffee. The light of a gorgeous sunrise was becoming stronger. The man paced the aisles, pausing every few minutes to stare at the little house across the churchyard.

  One painful memory kept recurring in his mind, causing him to shiver. As a small child, he would hide in his secret place. Barely moving, waiting for hours trying to avoid a beating from his father. To pass the time, he would play games in his mind. He did that now, running over again and again the killing of Denny Brown. Yet this was the third night in a row he had waited in the darkness. With each passing moment, the danger of being discovered became greater.

  What if that stupid preacher talked? If Jim told someone, they would arrest him.

  Even if by some miracle he didn't go to prison, his life would be ruined.

  If only he hadn't been drinking that night... if only he'd kept his mouth shut. The death of Dennis Brown weighed on his mind; he felt like he had to tell somebody and pastors were supposed to keep everything you said to themselves in confidence. He tried to explain to the preacher that it was an accident. He never meant to kill Dennis. Mays gave him an ultimatum: go to the Sheriff or else he would.

  Well, it was too late for that now. Last Monday, he saw Pastor Jim sneaking around the jail talking to Curry. He tried to weasel it out of the sheriff but Curry just smiled and said it had something to do with the church. They could try to fool him, but he knew, yes sir he knew. The voices began in his head again. He was tempted to answer them, but that would just start an argument. There was only one way to handle the problem. He rose and stretched his cramped muscles. He paced the aisle, always staying in the shadows. That is where he had been his whole life, living in the shadows.

  In the parsonage, Kristie Mays poured herself a second cup of coffee. Adding sugar and cream, she smiled at her husband.

  "Which way should we go?" she asked, looking over Jim's right shoulder.

  Her heart-shaped face glowed with excitement. Smoothing the crinkled map, Jim replied, "I would like to take the scenic route through Illinois, then across the river at Hudsonville and go south but it'll cut out several miles if we go on Hwy 41. I need to be back by seven to put the finishing touches on my sermon."

  "Honey, you work too hard. Please try to slow down this summer," Kristie said, massaging his back and shoulders.

  "I'll try. sweetheart," Jim said. turning to take her in his arms. "If you promise to do the same."

  "Hey I asked you first!" Kristie said, smiling. She pushed herself back and her fingers danced across Jim's ribs.

  Jim dropped the map he was folding and made a grab for her, his hands closing on empty air.

  It took five times through the house to catch her, but when he did, Jim was unmerciful. He tickled until she was screaming. Kristie tried unsuccessfully to defend herself.

  "I give, I give," she cried between tears and laughter, their signal she had had enough.

  Pulling Kristie to her feet, Jim wrapped his arms around her.

  "Oh honey, I'm so glad I married you. I love you so much," she said, burying her head in his chest.

  "I'm glad you did too, sweetheart," Jim whispered, kissing her lightly. "I love you."

  "Last night was wonderful, the dinner was magnificent, the moonlight walk. How do think Emily will react when the baby comes in December?"

  "She'll love him, like she does everybody."

  "Hey, how do you know it's going to be a boy?"

  "Because I asked God for a son," Jim said grinning, patting Kristy's abdomen. "My own little preacher boy."

  The man cringed at the laughter in the parsonage. He hated it when people laughed. He knew he was the butt of their jokes.

  He rose and stretched his cramped muscles. He would be back tonight. Maybe the preacher would work late. He wished there was some other way but he had already committed one murder. What was one more?

  He was about to sneak out of the church when he heard the parsonage screen door slam.

  Diving deeper into the shadows, he looked out the side window at the parsonage. Yes, there came Jim strolling across the adjoining lawns, whistling a tune the man recognized from his childhood.

  He snorted.

  "'Amazing Grace,' yea, you're gonna need amazing grace this morning," he said to himself as he eased the hunting knife out of its sheath.

  Reverend James Mays, "Pastor Jim" to his congregation, loved pastoring Elm Grove Community Church. The county people were so kind and hard working yet they always had time for the Lord. Jim's blonde hair and blue eyes were a perfect match for his wife Kristie, and six year old daughter, Emily. Some of his people jokingly said they "look like an advertisement for a popular brand of hair coloring". His patient gentle manner made him a perfect match for the laid-back country church.

  Jim smiled, what a great day to be alive. The warm rising sun felt good on his face. The light filtered through the tall oak trees behind the church. With their daughter staying with her grandparents last night, he and Kristy had been able to spend a rare night alone. His dear little wife went all out creating a superb meal. His favorite: pork chops, corn, baked potato, green beans and apple pie. Afterwards they strolled hand in hand down the road in the light of a full moon. As they passed her parents house, they heard Emily singing.

  Jesus loves me, this I know

  For the Bible tells me so

  Little ones to Him belong

  They are weak but He is strong.

  Yes, Jesus loves me

  Yes, Jesus loves me

  Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.

  Husband and wife, mother and father listened quietly, smiling in the moonlight. And before the end of the year he would be a father again. What a great Christmas gift.

  As Jim reached for the doorknob, Kristie called, "Hon, don't forget the cooler. It's in the closet of your Sunday School room."

  "Okay, dear." Turning, Jim saw a flash in the sun and felt a sharp agonizing pain in his chest.

  "Ahhhhhhhh!" he screamed. In shock and disbelief, he saw his murderer withdraw back into the church.

  Looking out the kitchen window, Kristie saw her husband fall to the ground.

  She dropped the plate she was washing and it shattered on the floor. 'Heart attack.' The thought ripped through her mind. Tearing out of the kitchen, she screamed. "Jim, Jim, oh, dear Lord help him." Running to his side, s
he dropped to her knees and cradled her dying husband in her arms. Noticing the blood flowing from his chest, she screamed in horror. She never saw the man step from the church, nor did she see him raise the hunting knife. He brought it down, stabbing Kristie again and again in the back. She fell across her husband, their blood mingling.

  ****

  "How much longer will they be, Gram?" six-year-old Emily asked for the third time in as many minutes. Her eager blue eyes shone up at her grandmother. She hugged the doll close to herself.

  "Soon, honey, soon," Ruth Johnson said absent-mindedly as she washed the breakfast dishes. She kept her face turned away, trying hide her worried expression from the little girl. From where she stood, she could see the spire of the Elm Grove Community Church rising over the sea of corn.