Love Finds a Way

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

In the past four years of cutting customers’ hair, Wendy Campbell had listened to more ridiculous jokes and boring stories than she cared to admit. Clyde Baxter sat in her antique barber’s chair, and she was quite certain she was about to hear another joke or two from him. Barbering was her chosen profession, and as long as it wasn’t an off-color joke, she would play along.

  “Why’s that, Clyde?” Wendy prompted, knowing if she didn’t make some kind of response, the elderly man would probably tell her anyway.

  “Well, darlin’, my mother, God rest her soul, was a bit nearsighted. So the poor woman kept on diaperin’ the wrong end!”

  Wendy’s muffled groan did nothing to deter the amicable man, and with no further encouragement, he continued. “Now, I don’t want to say I was an ugly baby or anything, but I hear tell that the doctor who brought me into this ol’ world took one look at my homely mug and promptly made a citizen’s arrest on my daddy!” At this remark, Clyde roared with laughter.

  Wendy grimaced. The joke was respectable enough, but thanks to Clyde’s interruptions by moving around each time he laughed, this haircut was taking much longer than it should. It was only ten o’clock, and she still had several more clients scheduled in the next two hours—including four-year-old Benny Jensen, the kid who hated haircuts and liked to kick and scream. That didn’t take into account any walk-ins who might happen by either.

  Wendy could hardly wait for lunchtime when she could run home, grab a quick bite to eat, and check up on her father. At least Dad had sense enough not to tell a bunch of lame wisecracks and off-color stories. Wendy didn’t mind cutting hair, and now that Dad couldn’t work, she certainly needed the money. There were days like today though, when she wondered if a woman working in a predominately man’s world was really such a good idea.

  “Why, I’ll never forget the day I graduated from grammar school,” Clyde continued, with a silly grin plastered on his seventy-year-old, weathered face. “I tell you, I was so nervous I could hardly shave!” The old man laughed so hard this time that his whole body shook, and he had tears running down his wrinkled cheeks.

  Wendy rolled her eyes toward the plastered ceiling and feigned a smile. “You’d better quit laughing and hold still, Clyde. If you don’t, it might be your ear that comes off and not those sideburns you’ve finally decided to part with.”

  Clyde slapped his knee and let out another loud guffaw, ending it on a definite pig snort. “Tell ya what, honey, you could probably take my ear clean off, and it wouldn’t make much never mind to me. I can only hear outa one ear anyways, and I ain’t rightly sure which one that is!”

  Without making any reply, Wendy took a few more snips and followed them with a quick once-over on the back of Clyde’s stubbly neck with her clippers. She dusted him off with a soft-bristled brush and announced, “There you go, Clyde. That ought to hold you for at least another month.”

  Wendy was already moving toward her antiquated cash register, which had to be manually opened by the use of a handle on one side. Due to the hour, she sincerely hoped her joke-telling client would take the hint and move on.

  Clyde finally stood up and ambled slowly over to where she stood, smiling through clenched teeth and waiting impatiently for him to pay. “You sure ain’t much for fun today, are you, little lady?”

  Before Wendy could think of an intelligent reply, Clyde added, “Nothin’ like your old man, that’s for sure. Why, good old Wayne used to tease like crazy all of the time. He could tell some jokes that just kept ya in stitches, too!”

  Clyde appeared thoughtful, with a faraway look clouding his aging eyes. “I sure do miss that guy. It’s been two years now since he took a razor to my chin or shortened my ears a few inches with them clippers of his. Such a downright shame that your daddy can’t cut hair no more.”

  Wendy nodded, causing her short, blond curls to bounce. “Dad’s been battling arthritis a long time. After two knee replacements and even having the joints in his fingers surgically repaired, I’m afraid the disease has finally gotten the best of him. He hardly gets out of the house anymore, unless it’s to go to the hospital for his regular physical therapy appointments. Once in a while, he still stops by here, if the weather is good enough and he’s not in too much pain. He likes to sit right there and reminisce.” She pointed with the tip of her scissors to her dad’s old barbering chair in the corner of her early American shop and swallowed the impulse to shed a few tears.

  Clyde clicked his tongue noisily. “Wayne sure could cut hair.”

  Wendy brushed some of Clyde’s prickly gray hair off the front of her blue cotton smock. “Yes, he was a great partner. Even when all Dad could do was sit and give me instructions, he taught me a whole lot that I never learned in barber’s school.”

  The old man gave Wendy a quick wink. “Don’t get me wrong, little lady. I wasn’t tryin’ to say you can’t cut hair. For a little whip of a gal, you’re a real whiz at scissor snippin’.”

  “Thanks—I think,” Wendy said with a grin as Clyde handed her eight dollars for his haircut. She pulled sharply on the handle of the cash register, dropped the bills inside, then snapped the drawer shut. Wendy moved toward the front door, assuming Clyde would follow.

  “You know what a little gal like yourself really needs?” Clyde asked, obviously not in much of a hurry to leave.

  Wendy drew in a deep breath then let it out in a rush. “No, Clyde, what do I need?”

  Playfully, the old man poked her on the arm and laughed. “You need a man in your life—that’s what you need. Maybe someone like that good-looking fellow Gabe Hunter.”

  Wendy bit down firmly on her bottom lip. She was trying so hard to be patient with Clyde, but if he didn’t head for home soon, there was a good chance she might say something she would probably regret. Clyde didn’t understand what it was like for her. No one did, really. She had a deep hurt from the past that affected her response to men. Having so many guys at the shop trying to make a play for her only made things worse.

  “Dad is the only man I need,” she affirmed, opening the front door and letting in a blast of chilly air. “I have all I can do just to take care of him and keep this little barbershop running.”

  Clyde shrugged and slipped into the heavy jacket he’d hung on one of the wooden wall pegs near the door. “Suit yourself, girlie, but I think a little romance might be just the ticket.”

  With that, he crammed his hands into his pockets and strolled out of the shop.

  After Wendy swept the floor clean of hair one more time and said good-bye to her final customer of the morning, she leaned heavily against the door and let out a low moan. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and a feeling of weariness settled over her like a heavy blanket of fog. She licked her lips in anticipation of going home, where she could have something to eat, prop her feet up for a while, and get in a short visit with the only man in her life. Dad always seemed so eager to hear what was going on at the barbershop, often plying her with questions about who came in today, what they said or did, and whether Wendy was sure she could handle things on her own. Her father seemed to pride himself on being in total control. He’d run a barbershop for more than twenty years and sent her to barber’s school so she could be his partner in this small Northwest town.

  However, there were at least two things Wendy knew he hadn’t been able to control. First, he’d had no control over his wife’s untimely death, when she was killed by a drunk driver nearly ten years ago. That terrible accident had left him a widower with a young daughter to care for. Yet in all these years, she’d never heard him complain. Nor had her fifty-year-old father been able to control the doctor’s diagnosis of severe rheumatoid arthritis many years ago. Wendy knew it had been a terrible blow, especially when he’d tried so hard to keep on working. Eventually, he had to turn the shop over to her and retire his barbering shears.

  “Why did it have to happen? Sometimes life seems so unfair,” Wendy lamented as she reached for her coat. As she closed the door, a chilling wi
nd blew against Wendy’s face, stinging her eyes and causing her nose to run. “I’ll be so glad when spring finally comes,” she murmured. “At least then Dad will feel more like getting out.”

  Wendy’s house was just a block from Campbell’s Barbershop, so she always walked to and from work. The exercise did her good, and it only took a few minutes to get there. As usual, Wendy found the front door of their modest, brick-faced home unlocked. In a town as small as Plumers, everyone knew each other. The crime rate was almost nonexistent. Leaving doors and windows unlocked was one of the fringe benefits of small-town living.

  Dad sat in his vibrating, heat-activated recliner, staring out the living room window. He offered Wendy a warm smile when she came though the door. Tipping his head, the dark hair now thinning and streaked with gray, he asked the proverbial question. “How’s business?”

  “About the same as usual, Dad,” Wendy answered. “How was your morning?”

  “About the same as usual.” He chuckled. “Except for one thing.”

  She draped her coat over the back of the couch and took a seat. “Oh, and what was that?”

  “Clyde Baxter phoned. We had quite a talk.”

  Wendy leaned her head back against the cushions. “Clyde was in the shop this morning. Of course, I’m sure he told you.”

  He lifted himself from the recliner and reached for his walking cane. “Clyde didn’t tell any of his off-color jokes, I hope. I’ll have a talk with him about that, if it’s still a problem.”

  Wendy shook her head. “He was a perfect gentleman today. Just told a few clean jokes.” She propped her feet on the coffee table and sighed deeply, choosing not to mention the fact that the elderly man’s stories were repeats from other times he’d been in the shop. “So what else did Clyde have to say to you, Dad?”

  “He thinks you need a man in your life,” he said, grunting as he sat down beside her.

  Wendy gritted her teeth. “Clyde doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Dad reached out to lay a gnarled hand on her jean-clad knee. “You do spend most of your time running the barbershop and taking care of me. A young woman needs a social life. She needs—”

  “You’re all I need, Dad,” Wendy interrupted. She gave his hand a few gentle pats, then abruptly stood. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What would you like for lunch?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not all that hungry. I thought we could talk awhile.”

  “If it’s about me finding a man, you can forget it.” Wendy started for the kitchen but turned back just before she reached the adjoining door. “Dad, I know you have another physical therapy appointment this afternoon. Would you like me to close the shop and drive you over to the hospital in Grangely?”

  Dad shook his head. “I’ve already called People for People, and they’re sending a van out around one thirty.”

  Wendy nodded. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. At least she had managed to successfully change the subject. She headed for the kitchen, wondering, Now why does everyone suddenly think I need a man?

  Paramedic Kyle Rogers and his partner, Steve, had just brought an elderly woman to the hospital. She’d been doing some laundry and slipped going down the basement steps. The physicians determined a possible broken hip. Kyle left the woman in the emergency room and was heading to the cafeteria. Steve was parking their vehicle and planned to join him for a much-needed lunch after he checked their supplies.

  I sure hope we don’t get any more calls for a while, Kyle thought. It’s only three o’clock, but I’m completely beat! The morning hours had been full, with several 911 calls coming from the three smaller towns surrounding Grangely. This afternoon they’d already had two local emergencies. Kyle would be the first to admit that the life of a paramedic was often grueling. A few good men and women burned out even before they reached their midthirties. Some became harsh and callous from witnessing so many maladies, too.

  One of the worst tragedies Kyle had ever seen was a young college student who’d committed suicide by jumping out his dorm room window. The mere image of the distorted man made him cringe. Kyle knew he would never be able to handle such abhorrent things without Christ supporting him.

  As he entered the cafeteria, Kyle saw a middle-aged man using a cane with one hand, trying to balance a tray filled with a cup of coffee and a donut with the other. It looked as if the poor fellow was about to lose the whole thing, as it tipped precariously this way and that. Before Kyle could respond, the cup tilted slightly, spilling some of the hot coffee onto the tray.

  “Here, let me help you,” he said to the red-faced man. “Where do you plan to sit? I’ll set the tray on the table.”

  The man nodded toward the closest table. “Right there’s fine.”

  Kyle put the tray down and pulled out a chair. “Here you go, sir.”

  The man’s hand trembled as he reached it toward Kyle. “The name’s Wayne Campbell, and I sure do appreciate your help, young man.”

  Kyle smiled warmly, and being careful not to apply too much pressure, he shook the arthritic hand briefly. “I’m Kyle Rogers, and I’m just glad I happened to be in the right place at the right time.” Unconsciously, he reached up to place one finger against the small WWJD button he wore on his shirt pocket. Just thinking about the man’s gnarled hands filled him with compassion. I bet those hands used to be hardworking. Probably cradled a baby at one time, or maybe stroked a wife’s cheeks with ease. The poor man has lost so much normal function that he couldn’t even balance a tray with one hand.

  “Are all paramedics this helpful?” Wayne questioned, breaking into Kyle’s thoughts.

  Kyle shrugged and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. “I can’t speak for all paramedics, but I try to do whatever God asks of me.”

  Wayne nodded and took the offered seat. “You’re welcome to join me. In fact, I’d appreciate the company.”

  Kyle nodded. “Sure, why not? My partner’s meeting me here for a late lunch, so if you don’t mind sitting with a couple of tired paramedics, we’d be happy to share your table.”

  Wayne smiled in response. “No problem a’tall. I just finished with physical therapy and was planning to gulp down a cup of coffee and inhale a fattening donut before I head for home.”

  “I guess I’ll go get myself a sandwich,” Kyle said. “How about if I get you another cup of coffee?”

  Wayne reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve his wallet. “Here, let me give you some money, then.”

  Kyle waved the gesture aside. “Don’t worry about it.” He grinned and moved over to the snack bar before the older man had a chance to respond.

  A short time later, Kyle joined Wayne at the table, carrying a tray with one jelly donut, two cups of coffee, and a turkey club sandwich.

  “You said this was your lunch?” Wayne asked as Kyle took a seat at the small table.

  Kyle nodded. “We’ve been busy all day. There was no time to stop and eat at noon.”

  He bowed his head and offered a silent prayer of thanks for the food. When he opened his eyes and started to take a bite of sandwich, he noticed the arthritic man looking at him curiously.

  “You rescue guys sure do keep long hours, don’t you?” Wayne asked, slowly reaching for his cup of coffee.

  “Sometimes our days can go anywhere from eight to twenty-four hours,” Kyle admitted.

  “Wow! That must be pretty hard on your family life.”

  Kyle shrugged. “I’m single, and it’s probably a good thing, too. I don’t have to worry about unpredictable hours causing my wife to burn dinner.”

  With a trembling hand, Wayne set the coffee cup down, spilling some as he did so. Kyle reached across the table and mopped up the mess with a few napkins.

  Wayne frowned deeply. “Not only do I manage to nearly dump my whole tray, but I can’t even drink a cup of coffee without spilling it all over the place.” He shook his head and grumbled, “It’s not bad enoug
h that I’ve messed up my own life, but I’m afraid my only daughter will be strapped with me till the day I die.”

  Kyle glanced toward the cafeteria door. Still no Steve. He must have gotten sidetracked along the way. Probably ran into one of those cute little nurses he likes to flirt with. Well, Lord, maybe my mission for the moment is to let this poor man unload some of his woes. He gave Wayne Campbell his full attention. “What makes you think your daughter will be strapped with you?”

  Wayne bit down on his bottom lip. “I’m a widower. My daughter, Wendy, not only works full-time, but has had the added burden of taking care of me for the last few years.”

  Kyle rubbed his forehead, praying for the right words of encouragement. “Does she complain about her situation?”

  Wayne shrugged. “Not in so many words, but no matter how brave a front she puts on, I can tell she’s unhappy.” He bumped his hand against the edge of the table and winced. “Her attitude at home is fine, but at work—well, the last time I observed things, she seemed kind of testy.”

  Kyle patted Wayne’s arm gently. “Maybe all your daughter needs is more love and understanding.”

  Wayne nodded. “You know, you might be right about that, son. I think Wendy could use a little bit of romance.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Today was Tuesday, the first day of Wendy’s workweek. She’d just closed up shop for lunch and was heading down the street toward home when the piercing whine of a siren blared through the air. It was all Wendy could do to keep from covering her ears and screaming. Sirens reminded her of that fateful day when her mother was killed. Clare Campbell had always been a crusader, and keeping the roadside free of litter was one of her many campaigns. She’d been walking just outside of town, picking up garbage as she went.

  Wendy, only fifteen at the time, had been at the barbershop that Saturday morning, flirting with all the teenage boys who’d come in for a haircut and watching her father work. She heard the eerie sirens as they whizzed through Plumers, wondering what had happened. Sirens in their small town usually signaled some kind of serious mishap. A fire truck was sent from nearby Grangely for fires, and the paramedic vehicle came for accidents and serious ailments.