He adjusted his glasses and slowly read the scrawled handwriting. Then he looked at Amy and smiled. “This is very interesting.”
Amy reached over and took the letter back. “I’d be happy to let you have a copy of this, but I will be holding on to the original.”
He chuckled. “You’re quite an impressive young lady.”
“So if you could print an article that will set the public straight,” continued Amy, “we would be most appreciative.”
He actually laughed now. “Please, accept my sincere apologies,” he told her. “I will do all I can to retract the impression of that other article.” He leaned forward. “Would you like to tell me a little about Miss Viola McPhearson? Why she has ignored the city attorney’s letter? Or why she isn’t involved in the restoration of her own park? Is she helping out financially?”
“Miss McPhearson is a very private person,” said Amy. “That’s all I can say about that.”
He nodded. “Fine. I can respect that.”
“I look forward to reading the newspaper on Saturday,” said Amy, standing.
“How about a copy of that letter?” asked Mr. Simpson.
“No problem,” said Amy.
“I’ll ask Mrs. Flynn to make one,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
The copy was made, and the girls left the newspaper office. After walking about a block and a half, all three of them burst into giggles.
“Amy Ngo!” exclaimed Morgan. “You were cooler than a cucumber in there.”
“I thought you’d turned, like, thirty years old when you were talking to him,” gasped Emily between giggles.
Amy laughed. “I just wanted to be sure he took me seriously.”
“I think he did,” said Morgan.
“You don’t think he was laughing at me?” asked Amy.
“Not at all. I think he was totally impressed,” said Emily. “I know I was.”
Amy felt like she had wings on her feet as they walked home. She couldn’t remember when she’d been so happy.
chapter nine
Amy got up early on Saturday morning. It was the day of their big fund-raising events. She had spent the past two afternoons making cookies for the bake sale, and now they were neatly sealed in plastic bags, stacked in a cardboard box, and ready to be sold. She hurried to dress, then went outside to get the newspaper, dodging between raindrops as she hurried back into the house. She opened the slightly damp paper, hoping to see the article promised to her by the editor, but it wasn’t on the front page. And, as she searched through the whole thing, it wasn’t on any page. So she went to the editorial section, looking for Carlie’s letter, the one Emily helped her to write last week. But it wasn’t there either. However, there were a couple of letters in support of the parking lot and “continued development in Boscoe Bay.” She closed the newspaper and growled. Mr. Simpson had tricked her!
She was still angry when she met her friends at Morgan’s house. The girls hovered together under Morgan’s carport, watching as rain poured so hard that it overflowed the gutters and splashed onto the ground all around them.
“Not a very good day for a car wash,” said Carlie with a frown.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” said Amy sadly. “Did you guys see today’s paper?”
“I did,” said Morgan. “No article about Miss McPhearson’s letter.”
“I know.” Amy scowled. “And I didn’t see any announcement about our fund-raising events in the What’s Happening section.”
“Me neither.”
“This is totally unfair,” said Carlie. “How can we do these things if the newspaper won’t even cooperate?”
Morgan pointed to the rain. “Even the weather’s not cooperating.”
“I thought God was supposed to listen to our prayers,” said Amy.
“He listens,” said Morgan. “But his answers don’t always come just as we’d like them to.”
“Sometimes we have to wait,” said Emily.
“Like my mom says,” offered Carlie, “when God closes a door, sometimes he opens a window.”
“Who needs an open window on a day like this?” said Amy.
They laughed.
“So what should we do?” asked Morgan. “My grandma is still willing to drive us to town. My youth pastor will bring the car wash stuff for us.”
“Chelsea already put up the flyers,” said Carlie. “They looked really good too.”
“They’re probably soggy by now,” said Emily.
“I think we should go for it,” said Amy suddenly.
“Okay,” said Morgan.
So Morgan’s grandma drove them through the rain to town. “You sure you girls will be okay?” she asked as she pulled into the back of McDonald’s where some hoses and things were already set up and ready to go.
“We’ve got our raincoats,” said Morgan.
“And umbrellas,” said Amy.
“Well, be sure and call if you need a ride home,” she told them as they all climbed out of the car.
Because of the weather, they decided to keep their fund-raising efforts together in one place. They would wash whatever cars happened to show up and sell cookies and the few beaded bracelets they’d had time to make. But as they stood behind McDonald’s, out there in the drenching rain, Amy felt more and more humiliated. The other girls were in good spirits as they joked and laughed at how ridiculous they must appear.
But as the minutes on the clock slowly ticked by, it seemed that hardly anyone was coming — why would they? The rain kept falling, and Amy felt certain their entire day was just a big waste of time. By noon the girls were soaked to the skin, and even the free cocoa from McDonald’s wasn’t helping. They had washed two cars and sold a couple of packets of cookies and one beaded bracelet for a grand total of $17.25.
“This is crazy,” said Chelsea as she shook the water off her raincoat. “I’m ready to call it a day.”
“Me too,” admitted Morgan. “Washing cars on a rainy day is nuts.”
“And my cookies are starting to get soggy,” admitted Amy. “I think we should pack it up.”
“Maybe we can try again next week,” said Carlie.
“Yeah,” said Amy, but she was thinking that if they had to wait until next week to raise money, they would only have one weekend left to do the remaining work on the park. Still, they couldn’t very well work on the park without money to purchase the things they needed. She didn’t want to admit it, but everything about this project was looking too big and too impossible. As they loaded their stuff back into Morgan’s grandma’s car, she was on the verge of tears, but being the chairperson of this group, she knew she had to hold it in. And so she silently prayed.
“Let’s meet at the clubhouse later,” said Morgan cheerfully. “After everyone has had a chance to dry off and get some lunch. How about two o’clock?”
They agreed and took off to their separate homes. No one was at Amy’s house, which wasn’t unusual. Amy was accustomed to having her parents gone most of the time. The restaurant really was their second home. In fact — as Amy had been told dozens of times — her family used to actually live in the small apartment above the restaurant. Now it was used for storage. But that happened long before she was born. And according to her mother, Amy had been born “after life got easy.” Probably another reason her mother thought she was spoiled. But today, Amy wasn’t sure she agreed with her mother’s definition of “easy.”
Amy showered and changed and warmed up some leftover fried rice and chicken, eating it while standing and looking out the window, just staring at the never-ending rain. “Why did it have to rain today, God?” she asked between bites. “Couldn’t you have given us sunshine instead?”
Then she finished up and headed over to the bus. Morgan was the only one there so far, and she was already busily beading. But Amy was glad to go inside and flop down on the couch, and before long the other girls joined them. Even Chelsea had begge
d her mom to drive her back over and drop her off. And for the rest of the day they just hung together, making beaded necklaces and bracelets and eating some of Amy’s cookies. They listened to old vinyl records and the sound of the rain steadily beating on the roof of the bus, but no one spoke about the city park or the unfinished project. In some ways the atmosphere reminded Amy of a funeral. Not that she’d been to many. But it felt as if something had died today … maybe just her dream.
On Sunday afternoon, Chelsea’s mom gave them a ride up to Viola McPhearson’s house. “I wish I could see it too,” she said as she dropped them off in the driveway and looked up at the tall dark house.
“Sorry, Mom,” said Chelsea. “But we’re the only ones invited.”
Her mom laughed. “Well, you girls have fun, and call me when you need a ride home.”
The girls slowly walked up to the front door. Amy couldn’t help but think this was a total waste of time. Especially since the editor hadn’t even used Miss McPhearson’s letter in the paper yesterday. Right now, Amy held very little hope that they would be able to finish the park renovation on time. Maybe she should just be up front with Miss McPhearson — simply explain that things weren’t going so well and apologize for failing.
“This place is really spooky,” said Morgan as Amy rang the doorbell.
“I think it’s mysterious,” said Emily with a sly grin. “I could write a great short story about a place like this.”
“I think it’s cool,” said Carlie as she looked at a gangly rosebush. “But the Dragon Lady needs to hire someone to tend her yard. It’s really overgrown.”
“Remember not to call her that,” Amy warned.
Just then Cara opened the door and ushered them in. But instead of going to the library, Cara took them to a different room. Maybe it was a parlor. Amy wasn’t sure. But unlike the dark library, this room was a bit lighter, and the heavy velvet drapes were fully open to reveal what would be a stunning view of the ocean if it wasn’t all gray and dreary out there.
“Sit down,” said Cara. “Miss McPhearson will come soon.”
“This looks like the set of a movie,” said Chelsea as she sat in a chair covered with faded tapestry. “All this old stuff.”
“Can’t you just imagine a stack of dead bodies down in the basement?” whispered Emily. “Old bones with chains shackled around them and —”
“Emily!” Morgan used a warning tone. “I’ve already got the creeps, thank you very much.”
Emily giggled. “Sorry.”
Just then Miss McPhearson came into the room. Once again, she had on the same gray skirt, but her cardigan was pale pink today, and she’d taken the time to tie a scarf around her neck.
“Hello, ladies,” she said in her low, gruff voice. “I see that you’ve made yourselves comfortable.” She looked at Amy. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends, Amy Ngo?”
Amy stood and formally introduced her friends to Miss McPhearson.
“You are quite a mixed bag, aren’t you?” said Miss McPhearson as she sat down in a big red armchair. “Not that I’m a bigot. I’m not. I am a very open-minded woman.”
Amy frowned at her.
“Oh, have I offended Amy Ngo?” asked Miss McPhearson. “And here I thought you were a woman who liked to speak her mind too?”
Amy looked directly at Miss McPhearson now. “You’re right, I do like to speak my mind. But I know as well as anyone that my words can be offensive if I’m not careful.”
“That’s true,” said Morgan, winking at her. “Amy has offended me a few times.”
“Me too,” said Emily.
“So perhaps Amy Ngo and I have a similar problem,” said Miss McPhearson with a slightly wicked-looking smile.
“You have a lovely home,” said Carlie.
“Really?” Miss McPhearson peered at her through her big, thick glasses. “You like it?”
Carlie nodded. “Yes. But I think you should hire a landscaper.”
“You could hire Carlie,” suggested Emily. “She’s an excellent gardener.”
“She is?” Miss McPhearson looked from one to the next. “I’m starting to think you are some extraordinary young ladies.” Her gaze stopped on Amy. “Just what makes you all so special, I’d like to know?”
Amy considered this. “Maybe it’s because we’re friends.”
“Friends,” said Miss McPhearson. “Harrumph.”
Emily giggled.
“You think I’m funny?”
“No,” said Emily quickly. “I just get the giggles sometimes. Usually when I’m nervous.”
“Well, tell me, Emily Adams, what is special about you?”
Emily stared blankly back at her.
“I’ll tell you what’s special about Emily,” said Morgan. “She writes poetry and short stories, she solved a big mystery, and she’s an excellent friend.”
Miss McPhearson nodded, looking at Morgan now. “So, what is special about you, Morgan Evans? What sets you apart?”
“She’s a designer,” said Carlie quickly. “She designs jewelry and clothes, and she made our bus look totally cool.”
“Your bus?” Miss McPhearson frowned. “You girls aren’t old enough to drive a bus.”
So Amy explained the bus clubhouse. The other girls contributed some information, and then Cara brought the tea things in. It became very quiet as the girls drank tea and ate cookies. And finally Miss McPhearson stood up. “That will be all,” she said. “I am worn out and need my rest.”
Amy blinked, but remembered her manners and thanked her for inviting them to tea. The other girls thanked her too. And then Miss McPhearson left.
“Guess I better call my mom,” said Chelsea.
“I told you,” said Amy, “she’s kind of different.”
“I like her,” said Emily. “I think she’s interesting. And I think she has some tragic story for why she lives all alone like this. I think perhaps she had a true love who went off to war and never came home.”
“Maybe his name was Dan Watterson,” teased Morgan.
“Who’s that?” asked Chelsea.
“Mr. Greeley’s son. The one who died in the Gulf War,” said Emily. “And no, it wouldn’t be him. He’d have been half her age. Her true love would’ve died in a different war.”
“Like maybe the Civil War,” teased Carlie.
The girls all chattered as Chelsea’s mom drove them back into town, telling her about all the antiques and how the staircase went up several stories and how strange the Dragon Lady was, but that she also seemed interesting. Everyone talked except for Amy.
Amy just wanted to think. Although she wasn’t quite sure what to think — about anything. She had meant to tell Miss McPhearson about their disappointing fund-raising efforts yesterday, to prepare the old woman for the possibility that they might not succeed at their project — to warn her that in a couple of weeks there could be city bulldozers turning the McPhearson Park into an ugly parking lot. Of course, Amy hated to admit failure at anything. In fact, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had actually failed. Still, there seemed no way to make this thing work out right. She might as well accept it.
She did wonder how God fit into this picture. How could it be that she had prayed — they all had prayed — and things still didn’t seem to be turning out right? But here was the really strange part — she didn’t feel totally bummed by this. Oh, sure, she was humiliated and didn’t like admitting failure, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it was because God was changing something inside her. Or maybe it was because she’d gone to church with An this morning, and everyone there had been so warm and welcoming to her. But whatever it was, she knew something was different, and it was a good kind of different. And despite this total sense of failure, she knew she was going to be okay.
chapter ten
It rained for a solid week. So much so that standing water made it impossible to do anything in the park on Saturday. Not that the girls could do much since they
had no money. And it was too wet to drive up the muddy logging roads into the woods to get plants.
“It looks totally hopeless,” said Amy as the girls met on Saturday afternoon. “I think it’s time to give up on Save Our Park.”
“The park looked like a great big lake when we drove through town just now,” said Chelsea. “My mom thinks it might be just as well.”
“My parents are happy too,” said Amy sadly. “My mother is already counting how many cars can fit into the new parking lot.”
“Well, at least the editor ran an apology to Amy today,” said Morgan. “Did you guys see the paper?”
“Yeah,” said Chelsea, “a little late, don’t you think?”
“He said it was a slipup,” said Amy.
“Whatever …”
“It was a nice article,” said Emily. “It actually sounded as if he was sorry.”
“It was still too late,” said Chelsea.
“My dad said the weather is supposed to change tomorrow,” said Carlie. “It’s supposed to be sunny all week.”
“Great,” said Amy. “The park will probably be nice and dry just in time for the bulldozers to move in and flatten the whole thing.”
“My dad said he could take us to the woods on Monday,” continued Carlie, the only one who still seemed to be holding on to hope. “It’s Columbus Day, you know, no school. We could dig up some things to transplant into the park.”
“What good would that do?” asked Chelsea.
“I don’t know …” Carlie frowned. “But it might be fun.”
“Our last-ditch effort,” said Morgan with a sigh.
“Let’s do it!” said Amy suddenly. “Sure, it might be a waste of time, but let’s do it. One last effort.”
“We’ll go down fighting,” said Chelsea, catching her enthusiasm.
“That’s the spirit,” said Carlie. “And I was looking at that spot where the park sign used to be and thought we could put it back into place and plant some things around it. And I have some flowers I can transplant from my own garden. I mean, I know it’s a small thing, but maybe people would see it and get the idea that it could be a pretty place again.”
Take Charge Page 16
