Marty chuckled. She couldn’t wait to tell Anthony what Brooke had nicknamed him. He’d probably puff up in pride. “Initially he’d intended to take Elliott to Pine Hill with us, but that was before Elliott started the stained-glass art classes. Now Elliott wants to stay here and use the weekend to put together a work area in one of the old buildings. So he’ll be our protector if we need one.”
“Yes…” Brooke’s gaze went glassy, and she stared across the room as if she’d forgotten Marty was there. “That’s a good idea. A work area…”
Marty waited a few seconds, but Brooke remained lost in thought. Marty cleared her throat.
Brooke jumped. Her gaze jerked to Marty’s and she grinned. “Would you lay out some clothes for me? I’m working on a letter template”—she flapped her hand at the computer—“that I can modify to send to different bureaus and organizations, but when I finish I want to walk over to the worksite. Even though I’m pretty comfortable, I shouldn’t go in my robe.”
Marty pushed off from the stool. “I’d be glad to, but if you plan on making that walk, you should take a nap beforehand.”
Brooke bent over the computer and positioned her fingers on the keyboard.
Marty tapped her shoulder. “Did you hear me?”
Brooke peeked at Marty from the corners of her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
So Anthony was Mr. Fix-It and she was Mother. Marty shook her head, chuckling, and set off for Brooke’s bedroom. What did Brooke have up her sleeve now? Whatever it was, it would probably be a brilliant idea. She paused and glanced back at her friend. The purple circles under Brooke’s eyes seemed so much darker against her pale skin. Her collarbones stuck out, evidence of how much weight she’d lost. The cancer and chemo had weakened Brooke so much, and she still had more treatments to go.
A silent prayer winged from her heart. Please let this plan of hers succeed, and…oh, dear Father, please…let her live to see it all fall into place.
38
Kansas City
Brooke
“Here’s a pink one. Size two. Would that fit?”
Brooke glanced from the circular rack she’d been browsing to Marty, who held up a two-piece suit in a dusty salmon. The style was nice—pencil skirt, single-button jacket with a feminine peplum that dipped lower in the back. But…She wrinkled her nose. “The size might be right, but the pink is totally off.”
Marty sighed, hooked the hanger over the silver rod, and rounded the clothes rack. “Maybe you should wait until spring. You’re more likely to find something closer to Easter.”
Brooke didn’t have the luxury of waiting until spring. She intended to have a sit-down with the investors for the Spalding Resort in early December. Asking for their benevolence during the season of peace and goodwill toward men seemed perfect timing. She wanted a suit in her signature color so she could feel like herself when she addressed them.
She sighed and turned away from the display of earth-toned separates. “I wish I’d brought one of my fuchsia suits in with me. The alteration department in the store does a good job.”
Marty tipped her head and gave Brooke an “Are you kidding?” look. “I could alter a suit for you. All you need to do is ask.”
Brooke groaned. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Because she’d used up her brain power figuring out the details for the shelter, that’s why. She looped arms with Marty and aimed them for the store’s front door. “In that case, let’s go back to the stained-glass gallery. Elliott’s class won’t be over for another hour yet, but it’s a fun place to browse. We can look at the pattern books and get ideas for Elliott.”
After exploring the townsite again both Thursday and Friday, Brooke had assigned new purposes for each of the stone buildings. She could picture it all in her mind’s eye. The general store would still have a kitchen and dining room on the main floor, with sleeping rooms above, but instead of being used as a restaurant and hotel, it would be where the residents shared cooking duties and gathered for family-style meals. She’d designated the upstairs rooms for boys’ lodging. According to her research, more girls than boys ran away from home or ended up in sex trafficking, but she wanted a spot for any boys who needed a place of sanctuary.
The idea for making the mercantile a sweets shop and gift shop had morphed into classrooms on the main floor, where the kids would study to earn a GED—something she intended to require. In order to find employment, at least a high school education was a must. The upstairs, Anthony had assured her, was large enough for four studio apartments. Girls expecting babies or who arrived with small children in tow would need a more homelike setting, and the apartments would be perfect for them. Anthony suggested partitioning off a section of the downstairs for a day care, and Brooke loved the idea.
As for the old bank building, she wanted an efficiency apartment on the main floor for hired “parents,” and the rest of the building would be turned into dorm rooms to house the girls. She envisioned beds with colorful spreads in place of slot machines and blackjack tables. Not a place for people to gamble away their dollars, but a place where kids could find their way to an improved life. Such a better use for the stately old building.
How to use the row of shops where she’d planned to invite vendors to sell their goods was still a little fuzzy in her mind, but she was toying with the idea of turning them into workshops where the residents would craft items—such as stained-glass suncatchers, wooden shelves or jewelry boxes, small quilts—to sell to the public to help with expenses. They could contribute toward their stay with sweat equity. Wouldn’t that help build their self-esteem? She needed to give the workshops idea more thought, but she’d already decided to leave the smaller trailers for caretaker cottages. If they needed more rooms, the newest or the neediest residents could stay in the trailers close to the shelter’s managers, where they’d get extra attention.
It all painted such an ideal picture in her head, and she wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything. Even though it wouldn’t earn a penny. How much her goals had changed. The verse from one of the letters to the Corinthians—she had trouble recalling references—about becoming a new creation sure seemed accurate. Her old dream of accumulating wealth had been swept away on a fresh tide of ministry. She prayed that the investors would be willing to ride the waves with her.
Brooke parked her Lexus in the lot a block away from the stained-glass store, and she and Marty headed for the sidewalk. The weather was surprisingly mild for mid-November, with temperatures closer to typical early September, and even the Kansas wind had chosen to take a break, but Brooke shivered anyway. The slightest breeze tended to chill her these days, probably because she’d lost nearly every bit of padding she’d previously possessed. She crossed her arms, held them tight to her rib cage, and sped her steps with Marty scurrying along beside her.
They passed the alleyway between buildings, and Brooke couldn’t resist peeking into the shadowed space. Dumpsters, a stack of flattened cardboard boxes, paper scraps, a puddle of murky water…but no sign of Ronnie. Had the girl moved on to another spot? Had the men who’d taken advantage of her before found her again? Or had she decided on her own to return to the youth center or her home? Brooke prayed for the latter. Every time she thought about Ronnie, her heart ached. She wanted that sad, lonely, abused girl to be safe.
Brooke and Marty sat down at the table and leafed through a design book together. The beginning pages showed simplistic patterns similar to the tulip design Elliott made in his first class, but the farther into the book they went, the more elaborate the designs became. Although the drawings were in black and white, Brooke was able to use her imagination and add color. Marty pointed out several favorites, but they emitted identical gasps when Brooke turned the page and exposed an elaborate design of four delphiniums growing from thick green leaves.
“I love this,” they said in unison and then laughed.
; The store worker, Melanie, turned from dusting displays and hurried over, curiosity lighting her face. “What did you find?”
Brooke turned the book to face her. “This one. I bet it’s really pretty all done.”
She grinned. “It is. Wanna see?”
Brooke gawked at her. “Someone made it?”
Melanie nodded and quirked her fingers.
Brooke set the book aside, and she and Marty followed Melanie to the corner of the store, where a set of old folding doors created a nook.
“Some artisans sell pieces on consignment here, and an older man named Ernie Wedge has several available. He’s especially good at the mosaic designs. See?” Melanie held up her hand Vanna White–style to a stained-glass picture secured in a weathered frame that could have come from a fairy-tale cottage.
Brooke ran her finger along the bottom of the frame, feeling as if she were looking into a garden at a blooming delphinium bush. For some reason, her throat went tight and she battled the sting of tears. “It’s lovely.”
Melanie nodded. “It isn’t exactly like the picture in the book. That’s the nature of mosaic designs. Glass isn’t going to break exactly the same each time. But Ernie has a real knack for getting the pieces fitted just right.” She laughed softly. “He told me one time that these projects are like life, with some days more broken than others, but when a master designer puts the pieces all together again, something of beauty emerges.”
Brooke nodded, blinking to clear her vision. “Yes, the Master Designer has a way of making beauty out of messes.”
Marty squeezed Brooke’s arm. “I think we need this picture, don’t you? Delphiniums…for remembrance. Yes?”
Brooke nodded.
Melanie unhooked the picture from the chains suspending it from the ceiling. She headed for the counter, glancing over her shoulder at Brooke and Marty. “Would you mind if I shared your names and addresses with Ernie? For some reason he likes to know where his pictures end up. I can guarantee he’s harmless—he won’t come pester you or anything. He’s just kind of…I dunno…curious.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Brooke pulled her wallet from her purse and handed Melanie her debit card. “Does he live in Kansas City?”
“Yes, in one of the retirement homes. I think it’s called Brookview.” Melanie poked keys on the computer and plugged the card into the chip reader. “He’s retired from the school system. I’m pretty sure he was a counselor for one of the districts. His wife died a couple years ago, and working on the stained-glass windows keeps him occupied. He’s really a nice guy with a great sense of humor. He even teaches some beginner classes here. Everyone seems to love him.” She returned the card to Brooke and smiled. “I’ll wrap this for safe transport. Give me a few minutes, huh?” She tucked the picture under her arm and disappeared behind a curtained doorway.
Marty leaned against the counter. “Mr. Wedge sounds like the perfect grandpa, doesn’t he?”
Brooke didn’t know anything about grandpas. She’d never had one. But Ernie Wedge sounded like someone with a big heart. She’d have to search for him online and send him a thank-you note. He’d probably appreciate it. People didn’t do that much these days.
Melanie returned from behind the curtain at the same time Elliott strode from the back room used for classes. He took the package and opened the door for Brooke and Marty. As Brooke passed him, his stomach growled and she laughed.
“There’s a sandwich shop across the street. Should we go grab something to eat before we drive back to Eagle Creek?”
Elliott put his hand against his stomach. “I can wait.”
Brooke shook her head. “Unless you’ve got a dragon in your stomach”—she used the explanation she and Marty used to giggle about when their stomachs growled during seventh grade math, which was their class before lunch break—“you’re hungry now. So let’s put the picture in the car and walk across the street.”
Marty touched Brooke’s elbow. “Are you sure you’re up to that much walking? You’ve already done quite a bit of running around.”
Before Brooke could answer, Elliott held out his hand. “How about you give me your keys? I’ll lock your package in the trunk and catch up to you. That way you won’t have so much walking to do.”
Brooke came close to arguing—her old, independent habits were dying hard. But she shouldn’t waste her energy. She dropped the keys into his hand. “All right. We’ll wait for you in the café.”
He trotted off in the direction of the parking lot, and Marty and Brooke walked to the corner. They waited for the walk signal, then crossed to the opposite side of the street and stepped up on the curb. The smell of french fries greeted them as they neared the little bistro-style café, and hunger stirred in Brooke’s stomach—a welcome reaction since few things appealed to her anymore, thanks to what she’d dubbed “chemo-flavor” lingering on her tongue all the time.
A menu board hung on the wall behind the cash register. Brooke chose a round table close to the front windows, where she could watch for Elliott and—admittedly—rest a bit while Marty went to check out the sandwich and soup options. Patrons in the café followed Marty with their gazes, probably staring at her cap and homemade dress, which were so different from anyone else’s attire. Marty had gotten similar looks at the women’s-clothing store and the stained-glass gallery. Marty didn’t seem to notice the stares. At least, she didn’t react to them. Brooke had gotten some curious looks herself, thanks to her scarf-wrapped head. She didn’t like it, but seeing how Marty took the gawkers in stride helped her not react negatively to people’s uninvited attention.
A couple at a nearby table suddenly leaned close and whispered to each other. Brooke tensed, expecting them to glance her way, but they pointed to something outside. She turned to look. Two men in torn, dirty clothes with tangled hair and whiskered faces sank down on the bench outside the café’s doors. One held a small mixed-breed dog and the other cradled a battered backpack overflowing with what was most likely his worldly belongings. An aproned man charged past her and flung the front door open.
“You two go on. No loitering.” The man spoke so harshly Brooke cringed.
The men slowly rose and ambled off, their shoulders slumped and heads low. People in the café murmured and nodded. The couple who’d pointed out the pair congratulated the man as he passed their table. He smiled and said, “No problem. Can’t have that kind of riffraff hanging around.”
Brooke scowled. Certainly there were people who could be called riffraff. She wasn’t so naive as to believe that evil people didn’t exist. Such as the well-dressed man who carted away the girl at the mall. If he’d sat on the bench, no one would have sent him away, because he looked good on the outside. But Brooke knew his insides were rotten. Those two raggedy men hadn’t bothered a soul, but they’d been treated abominably.
Her hunger fled. She crossed to Marty and caught hold of her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Marty raised her brows. “Why? They have a good selection. Doesn’t anything appeal to you?”
Brooke sent a meaningful look across the counter at the man who’d sent the homeless pair away. “I don’t want to give my money to a place whose owner lacks compassion.” The man’s lips curled into a snarl, and he turned his back on her. She drew Marty toward the door. “Let’s go through a fast-food line on the way home.”
“Okay.” Marty still looked confused, but she followed Brooke to the sidewalk. “We’d better wait for Elliott, though.”
Brooke started to sit on the bench, but she glanced through the window of the shop next door, which was clearly a store that sold used books, based on the rows of shelves stuffed with paperbacks of all varieties. A few people sat in a grouping of faded stuffed chairs in the corner, and most of them had sodas or sandwiches. Brooke gestured to the bench. “Stay here, Marty. I’ll be right back.”
Sh
e entered the bookstore, scanned the area, and spotted a snack counter along the back wall. The sandwiches were the prepackaged kind used in vending machines, but she doubted that would matter if someone was hungry enough. She picked up the last chicken salad, two ham and cheese, and one pimento-cheese spread, then added half a dozen bags of chips, two candy bars, and two bottles of water to the pile.
The older man behind the counter chuckled. “You must have a big appetite.” His grin turned knowing. “Or you’ve got some hungry friends waiting.” He told her what she owed, and she offered her debit card. After he ran it, he tossed two more candy bars and a bag of unshelled peanuts into the sack. “On the house.”
She thanked him, and he replied with a wink. Outside again, Brooke bounced a grin at Marty and then took off in the direction she’d seen the two men with the dog go. She found them in a little parklike patch of dried grass on the corner, sitting together under a leafless tree. They eyed her suspiciously as she approached, but the little dog wiggled in its master’s arms, whining and wagging its tail. She hoped there was something in the bag the dog could eat. Without invading their space, she set the bag on the ground close enough for the men to reach, then smiled at each of them. Not a quick glance and smile but a lingering one. So they’d know she’d seen them. Really seen them.
Neither smiled back, but she didn’t hold it against them. When a person was beaten down, it wasn’t easy to find a reason to smile. She turned and headed for the sidewalk. When her foot met the concrete, a gruff voice called, “Thank you, lady. God bless you.”
Brooke froze for a moment, a lump filling her throat. She sent a smile over her shoulder. “You’re welcome. God bless you, too.” Then she whirled and faced the men. “Do you stay here”—she gestured to the surrounding area—“all the time?”
The one who’d held the dog was already digging in the bag, and the second one answered. “Lots of the time. Why?”
She took two steps onto the brown grass. “Have you ever noticed a young girl hanging around? About fifteen, long red-brown hair, probably wearing a pair of army boots.”
Ours for a Season Page 30
