Eden Hill by Bill Higgs Read Free Book Online Page B

he was thankful for, he’d drawn a blank. Certainly he was grateful for her, he’d said, which made her smile. He’d also mentioned Zipco and his business education. Maybe even his family; he couldn’t remember. Their little broken-down home at the tourist court, such as it was . . .
    Home?
    “JoAnn, get your coat. We’re going house hunting!”
    “Not until we’ve had lunch. We’ve got leftovers in the refrigerator, and I’m eating for two now. Remember?”
    “But we just had breakfast!”
    “Neil, that was three hours ago. You’ve spent the entire morning going over all those papers and haven’t spoken a word   —at least not to me.”
    He sighed. Perhaps he had lost himself in this project. How could he have known how much it would cost to build a Zipco Super Service station? “I’m sorry, JoAnn. Lunch, then we go for a drive.”
    JoAnn ate two platefuls, and he ate more than he expected, given the morning’s discouraging progress. Afterward, they bundled up and climbed in the Chevy, drove across the railroad tracks, and pulled into a small lot behind the cold storage plant. He smiled. “Well, here we are.”
    “Neil, this is a trailer park.”
    “It’s a manufactured housing dealership. I talked with the manager a couple of days ago, and he’s got a fabulous deal on a slightly used unit.”
    “Then it’s where trailer parks come from. Surely you’re not thinking . . .”
    “Come take a look. It’s in great shape, and we could be in our own home within days instead of weeks or months! And we would only live there until we build your dream house.”
    She simply glared at him.
    “JoAnn, we’ll soon have a growing family and will need somewhere larger than a room at the Sleepy Head Tourist Court.”
    “You keep swinging for these pitches, Neil. Someday you’re going to strike out.”
    The manager, a likable fellow, was indeed offering for sale a slightly used mobile home. “Only four years old, traded in for a new model. The furniture store repossessed the couch, but the dinette and curtains go with it.”
    JoAnn sighed, and agreed to look at the pink-and-white house on wheels. “It’s ugly. But it does have the necessities and comes with a screen door and two bedrooms, which is twice the number we have now.”
    “So?”
    “Well, I suppose it’ll have to do.” Without a further word, she turned on her heels and walked deliberately to the car.
    Within five minutes, Cornelius had signed the papers and returned to the Chevy, doing his best to keep smiling. “Great news, JoAnn. He’ll be able to deliver it as soon as the excavator can level a spot and we have the electrical and plumbing ready. With luck, we’ll be in our new home in Eden Hill by Christmas.”
    She brightened a bit and dabbed at her red eyes with a tissue. “By Christmas?”
    “Well, that’s only four weeks away. But I think it might be possible.”

    Nervous or excited, which was it? Reverend Caudill climbed the steps to his pulpit on Sunday morning. His sermon was well prepared   —and honestly, one of the best he’d everwritten   —but instead of the thunder and lightning his congregation was used to, it was more like a light and nourishing spring rain. He’d opted for the gentler approach that his Bible college professor had modeled for him, thought-provoking rather than incendiary. But would it keep his people’s attention? More importantly, would he bring honor to his calling and the gospel? Still, amid his prayers for this message, he was somehow assured that these were the words they needed to hear. After all, these were the words he needed to hear himself.
    After Toler led a dirgelike rendition of “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come,” and one of the deacons gave a rather anemic reading of the text, he stepped behind the pulpit and faced a flock sagging in their seats. Not a good way to begin a sermon. But Reverend Caudill took a deep breath and began.
    “Through the apostle Paul, the Lord has