Her Hometown Heart.

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Think of all the things you could do with the investments Hal left you.” Mom’s gaze met Amie’s. “Why, if you sold that old gas station, you could treat yourself to a much needed vacation.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mom, but it isn’t as if I’m making a rash decision. I’ve thought about this...prayed about this.”

  Saying nothing, Mom raised the glass to her lips. Disapproval glimmered in her cobalt-blue eyes.

  Amie ignored it and turned to Dad. “Hey, how’s Stephen doing? Does he still like college?”

  “Loves it.” Dad swirled his drink around the frosted class. “He got an A on his first biology quiz.”

  “Good for him.”

  “He’s always done well in school.” Mom smiled proudly. “In fact, when Stephen was in first grade, he—”

  Dottie burst through the back door, cutting off Mom’s sentence and capturing their attention.

  When her eyes lit on Amie, she skidded to a halt. “Are you on drugs or something? Dad told me you’re building a hotel in Tigerton. Of all the places in the world, why you’d choose that town is beyond me!”

  “Lemonade, Dottie?” Mom asked.

  “Yes, please.” Dottie marched over and stood beside Amie. “You ought to have your head examined. And when can I pick up my furniture?”

  “I still say you should sell Hal’s gas station and go on a cruise during the winter months like your father and I do.” Mom walked around the counter and handed the beverage to Dottie.

  “Oh, for sure, Amie.” Dottie took a swallow of her lemonade. “A cruise sounds great. And you need a hotel like a hole in your head.”

  Amie released a ragged breath. She picked at her fraying blue jeans. So much for a peaceful evening with the folks at home.

  7

  When Amie returned to her condo later that night, she felt somewhat discouraged. Mom and Dottie had messed with her mind big time. Now she wondered if she had, indeed, made a mistake in attempting to build a hotel. Only Dad seemed enthusiastic, but she quickly reminded herself that’s the way it usually was within her family. Seldom did Mom and Dottie agree with her decisions and for some odd reason their lack of support outweighed Dad’s encouragement.

  Dropping her purse on a nearby chair, Amie walked into the spare bedroom which served as her home office. She opened her laptop and began to check her email messages, feeling pleasantly surprised to see one from Tom.

  Hi, Amie. Hope you had a nice weekend. Here’s the update so far. I got most of Hal’s junk cleared out of the two buildings. A lot of it was trash, but the majority of it can be salvaged. I had to rent a storage unit in Shawano. Herb Mahlberg’s shed was too small. (By the way, I set aside more furniture for your sister.) I should be moved out by the end of August. Pastor Jake said I could move into the church basement temporarily. The Tigerton town council meets once a month. If the vote goes through, the property should be ready for demolition sometime in October. I talked to a couple of construction companies and both said they would be willing to start building in the spring, provided the plans have been approved by the State. Guess we’d better get the plans together...

  The news proved more comfort than even chocolate. Smiling, Amie immediately typed a reply, informing Tom of the structural designs her father’s friend had drawn up. She promised to mail him copies and described the layout she liked best. Nice work, Tom, she wrote. You’re a fast mover! What would I do without you?

  She clicked SEND and sat back in her chair. Her limbs tingled. Once again excitement over this endeavor lit her spirit.

  ~*~

  Tom stood across the highway as the last of the golden leaves on the elm trees rustled overhead. The temperature was in the mid-fifties and the gusty wind had a nip to it. He glanced at his booted feet, covered in dried vegetation. Autumn had arrived. Everything was dying off. Even the October sunshine had grown distant.

  At the sound of roaring machinery, he returned his gaze back to the gas station and garage where he’d worked for the past thirteen years of his life. The huge gasoline tanks had been dug out last week and now the final razing of the buildings would occur.

  Memories haunted him, but Tom didn’t fight the demons of his past. Ironically, he forced himself to remember. That’s why he’d come here today—to watch and reminisce. One last time, then never again. At last the ghouls of long ago would go down with the demolition.

  He caught his breath as the bulldozer slammed into one of the apartment/laundromat’s walls. It seemed like a million years ago since he’d walked into Hal’s office and asked for employment...

  “So, you want a job, eh?” Hal hadn’t even looked away from the oil change he worked on.

  “Yes, sir,” Tom replied, feeling more than a little intimidated. Everywhere he’d applied, he’d been turned down. A job with Halvor Holm was his last chance and it had taken him over an hour to get his courage up enough to walk in. Hal had reputation of being a harsh, no-nonsense guy. No one Tom was acquainted with had ever asked the man for a job. Nobody dared.

  However, Tom was desperate. He’d been rudely awakened to the fact that if he didn’t support his family, nobody else would. It was up to him. His youngest siblings were counting on him—particularly six-year-old Matthew.

  “Know anything about cars?”

  “Just that you gotta put gas in ’em.”

  “Gotta put oil in ’em too. And a few other things.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hal paused to consider Tom. His Norwegian blue eyes were almost startling in contrast to his tanned, weather-beaten face.

  And those same eyes scrutinized Tom so hard he’d squirmed.

  “Aren’t you one of those Anderson kids?”

  Reluctantly, he nodded. Once more, his reputation had preceded him. It appeared this job, like the others, was shot, too.

  “Your younger brother busted my window the other day. Pitched a rock clean through it.”

  Tom shifted and studied his worn-out shoes. “I had no idea. Must have been Phillip. I...I’ll see that he comes back and fixes it.”

  “You do that. And I suppose you’re not aware that your dad stole fifty dollars from me either. He took it right out of the till while I was fixing the pop machine out front. That guy’s got a lot of nerve, I’ll say.”

  “He stole your money?” A knot had formed in Tom’s chest. He’d wondered where the groceries came from. And the bottle of whiskey.

  “What’s that bruise under your eye? Were you in a fight? Are you one of those kids who uses his fists instead of his brains?”

  “No, sir.” At that point, Tom was sure any further hopes for a job had flown straight out the broken window. “Guess I’ll be going. Thanks anyway.”

  “Now, hold on a second.”

  Tom halted.

  “I asked you a question,” Hal said sternly, “and I expect an honest answer. Whether you knew about the broken window and the money doesn’t matter to me as long as you tell me the truth.”

  “I didn’t pick a fight. My pa hit me,” Tom blurted, staring Hal straight in the eyes. “But he didn’t mean it. He was drunk. He’s not a bad man, he’s just...well, he hasn’t been right since Mom died.” He swallowed his shame over what his family had become. “As for the window and the money, I didn’t know about those either...until now.”

  After a moment’s deliberation, Hal nodded. “OK. I believe you.” He rubbed his whiskered chin. “You still in school?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you drive?”

  “Legally?”

  A corner of Hal’s tight lips lifted. “Yeah, legally.”

  “I don’t have my license, but I can drive. Real good, too.”

  “Well, we’ll have to get you your license, son.”

  Tom’s brows shot up. “We will?”

  “Yep. I’ll need you to fetch parts once in a while.”

  A swell of hope had risen inside of him. Hope was such an odd sensation and seldom visited any Anderson. “You will?”
>
  Hal had wiped his hands off on the rag hanging from one of his belt loops. He extended his wide, oil-stained hand. “You got a job, kid, if you want one.”

  The bulldozer made another hard hit against the side of the apartment and laundromat building, pulling Tom’s thoughts to the present. The splintering of wood and the spray of shattered glass echoed in the chill of the autumn afternoon. They weren’t unfamiliar sounds. In fact, they brought back the memory of the time when his father hurled a kitchen chair across the room, destroying one of the few framed photographs that hung on the wall—but not before it struck Tom in the shoulder. Hal’s place had been a safe haven for him back then, a place where he went to lick his wounds. It was also where he’d come to realize his need for the Savior and a strong faith in his life. Under Hal’s fatherly and biblical counsel, Tom had learned to believe and eventually forgive. He’d also relearned how to laugh.

  So many memories were made and stored up at that rundown filling station and adjacent apartment building. Good memories, although built on an unstable foundation. The latter crumbled under the battering of the bulldozer. Yes, he would always miss Hal. He’d treasure the positive things Hal had instilled in his life and his fatherly advice. Yet, Tom couldn’t say he was completely grieved to see the decrepit structures knocked to the ground—because, with them, went the shadows of his fiendish past.

  There was only one thing left to do now. Rebuild.

  ~*~

  Amie climbed out of her car and gasped as she took in the flattened land which once accommodated her uncle’s filling station, Laundromat, and apartment buildings. The frosty November wind blew wisps of hair into her face and she pushed it back in vain. Why was she surprised to see it all gone? Tom, her faithful partner, had phoned her on the day of the demolition. Since then, he’d kept her up to date on everything from finances and town hall meetings to phone calls inquiring about the State’s approval of their hotel plans. Even so, a little part of her was sad to see her uncle’s place actually gone. Only a thin white layer of snow covering two mounds of brown dirt hinted that buildings had once stood on Uncle Hal’s property.

  But it was her property now. Hers and Tom’s.

  Glancing at her watch, Amie tensed. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for the Thanksgiving dinner at the Warren home. Climbing back into her car, she sped down County Highway J and on into the rural town of Morris. Barns rose proudly above gently rolling hills. Holsteins dotted the grasslands. Amie made a turn and then another, passing the little white country church. Finally, she reached the Warren driveway.

  Accelerating up the hill, she spotted Tom’s truck and hoped he wouldn’t be miffed by her tardiness. On several occasions, he’d accused her of living life in the proverbial fast lane and it was largely true. She seemed to rush everywhere she went and more often than not, she was late in getting there. But recently Amie began despising her hectic schedule. Only yesterday she’d imagined herself as a caged gerbil, spinning its wheels as her workload increased along with the mounds of paperwork on her desk. And last night, she’d promised Tom she wouldn’t be late today—but she was.

  Throwing the car into park, Amie grabbed her purse and coat then practically fell out of the leather driver’s seat in her haste. As she reached the front porch of the single-story ranch home, the door opened, and Katie Warren appeared, wearing a pumpkin-colored sweater and a welcoming smile.

  “Glad you could make it, Amie.”

  Amie’s face flamed, although she was certain the remark wasn’t sarcastic. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Oh, you’re not late. I just took the turkey out of the oven.”

  Delicious aromas wafted over Amie as she stepped into the house. Katie’s brunette ponytail swayed as she hung up Amie’s wool, full-length coat.

  She motioned Amie to follow her. “Let me introduce you to our guests.”

  Amie trailed Katie into the parsonage’s modestly decorated living room where two elderly, white-headed ladies sitting on the couch along with the bald, wrinkled man who was propped at the other end. To her right, a young, attractive, and very pregnant woman looked as though she’d sunk into the armchair.

  Amie’s gaze fell on the guy perched on the piano bench across the room. She blinked. Tom? He looked so different from the last time she’d seen him. The throwback from decades ago had updated his appearance. His shaggy chestnut hair of this past summer was now neatly combed back and banded in a short, thick queue. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw.

  “You’re late,” he silently mouthed.

  Her lips twitched, yearning to laugh at the fact that Tom had predicted her tardiness.

  “This is Mrs. Helen Baumgarten,” Katie began, “and Mrs Louise Gunderson and her husband, Harold. And over here,” she added, indicating the expectant mother, “is Mrs. Nancy Simonson, whose husband, Al, is deer hunting today. And you know Tom.”

  “Yes, I do.” Although he’d grown ten times handsomer than the last time she’d seen him.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me.” Katie’s voice drew Amie’s gaze from Tom. “I need to finish preparing dinner. Everything’s just about ready.”

  Katie left the room, and Amie smiled at faces staring at her. She strolled over to the piano bench and sat next to Tom which earned her a whiff of his very appealing, spicy cologne. His hands, unstained by dirty motor oil, rested on dark-blue jeans.

  Not only was Amie late, but she’d obviously overdressed in her black and white checked designer dress, matching jacket, and tall, black heels. She shifted her weight on the hard bench and bumped Tom’s arm, incased in a light-blue dress shirt that he wore un-tucked. His hazel eyes met her gaze and her heart skipped.

  She looked away, wrestling with her new attraction to Tom. She couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved with him. She and Tom were business partners. Besides, once Tom learned what happened to her he wouldn’t want her. He was, after all, a good Christian guy.

  “Lots of traffic on the road today?” His whispered voice, close to her neck, sent shivers running through her.

  When she didn’t reply, he gave her a nudge.

  “I slept through my alarm this morning, OK?”

  He slapped his knee. “I knew you would.” He leaned sideways, his shoulder touching hers. “Try hitting the snooze button next time.”

  She sent him a feigned scowl. “Yeah, whatever.”

  His soft chuckles reached her ears and the memory of their phone call filled her mind. Last night, when she’d telephoned to ask directions to the Warren house, Tom warned her not to stay up late, working on her newest account. He predicted she’d oversleep—and she did.

  “So...you two are getting married, huh?” The young pregnant woman’s light-brown gaze bounced between Tom and Amie.

  “Married?” Amie brought her chin back in surprise. “Is that silly rumor still floating around?”

  Tom threw her a dubious glance as his entire countenance reddened.

  “I take it that’s a ‘yes.’”

  He grinned wryly. “Yes.”

  “Yes, you guys are getting married?” Nancy asked again.

  “No, we’re not getting married.” Tom gave a subtle wag of his head. “Yes, the rumor is still floating around.”

  Nancy’s forehead rippled. “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re just business partners. We met after my Uncle Hall died and…” Amie sucked in her bottom lip so she wouldn’t start her incessant chattering.

  “And we both have a vision for building a hotel on Hal’s property,” Tom finished for her.

  “Oh, right.” Nancy’s hands covered her rounded belly. “The hotel. Yeah, I heard that, too.”

  “If you aren’t getting married, are you engaged to be married?” Mrs. Baumgarten, the sturdier of the two aging women, leaned forward. “Couples these days seem to have to think about it for a long time.” She turned to the frail-looking woman beside her. “Don’t they, Louise?”

  “Mercy, yes!” Her voice shook a
s her hands did. “Why I just read an article on that very subject. It was printed in that magazine I get for senior citizens.”

  “Well, don’t think about it too long, Tommy,” old Mr. Gunderson at the end of the couch piped in. “You might lose your sweetheart to another fella. Women don’t like to wait, you know. They want a commitment.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll remember that.” Tom wetted his bottom lip.

  Amie couldn’t refrain from a bit of teasing. “Commitment is good.” She winked at Tom.

  He narrowed his gaze and the only thing that kept Amie from laughing out loud was the peculiar glimmer in Nancy’s gaze. If Amie didn’t know better, she’d say the expectant mother was jealous.

  Of her? Didn’t she have a husband? Al—wasn’t that the guy’s name?

  And then it all came full circle.

  “I think I met your spouse.”

  “You did,” Tom cut in. “You met Al in Shawano. Remember? Big Al?”

  “Oh, right.” An image of the man came to mind. “I didn’t make the connection until just now.”

  Nancy slid forward. “When did you run into Al?”

  “It was last summer. Tom and I were in Shawano...on business,” Amie stated carefully. She already regretted teasing him before.

  “Al was there for a baseball tournament,” Tom explained. “He’d told me about it a couple of days before we saw him. Guess his team ended up winning, too.”

  “Of course.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “The baseball tournament.”

  “So, you’re from Chicago...Amie, isn’t that your name?” Mrs. Gunderson asked. “I knew an Amie once. She taught school in town.”

  “I think I might be named after her.”

  “Is your family from Chicago too?” The elderly woman asked.

  “Yes, all except my mom who grew up here in Tigerton.”

  “Amie’s folks went to Hawaii,” Tom informed them. “And her younger sister is celebrating Thanksgiving with her fiancé. Amie’s brother is away at college.” He glanced over at her. “Did I get the info correct?”