Saturday Morning

by Lauraine Snelling

  Hope looked up at Celia, who shrugged. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “So you’re an organizer?” Hope held her breath.

  “Yes, you could say that. I used to be my husband’s—my first husband’s—office manager. I did everything: answered the phones, did the payroll, filed, did accounts payable and receivable.” She laughed. “Why, I even took shorthand and typed up letters. I used to be able to type one hundred and ten words per minute, but I don’t think I can do that anymore. I haven’t done that kind of typing in years.”

  “Do you know your way around a computer?” Hope’s brain was bursting with ideas.

  “I made myself learn the computer so I wouldn’t fall behind. I know Word, QuickBooks, and Excel, and I’m pretty good at Internet searches. Oh, and eBay. I’m really good on eBay, though I hate to admit it.”

  “Lord God, heavenly Father, we thank You, we praise Your name.” Hope knew her grin was going to crack her face. “Where would you like to start?”

  “What do you need done the most?”

  Hope nodded to Celia, who had yet to close her mouth. “Celia is our office manager. I’ll let her get you started.”

  “B-but, Miss Hope,” Celia stammered, “I don’t have time to show her.”

  Clarice stood up. “Let me start with filing. Just give me a stack of files that need to be put away, and show me where the filing cabinet is, or whatever it is you use. I won’t be any bother. I promise.”

  Celia looked from Clarice to Hope. “Okay, but you better not be pestered me with a bunch of questions that I ain’t got time to be answerin’.”

  The moment they left the room, Hope pumped one fist in the air. “Thank You, Father. Once again You have answered my prayers.” She paused. “Now, about the retrofitting.”

  A half hour later, a discreet knock, and Celia poked her head in. “Your ten o’clock is here.”

  “Julia?” At Celia’s nod, Hope said, “Send her in. Did you get that letter faxed to Peter?”

  “Sorry, the machine is down again.”

  Hope groaned. “Did you tell Roger?”

  “No. He’s on the phone.”

  “Slip him a note.”

  “Okay.”

  Hope signed one more paper as Julia entered the room. “Have a seat and tell me what I can do to help.”

  “I just wanted to fill you in. I’ve distributed a thousand fliers to people on the street, and so far no one has come forward to say they’ve seen her.”

  “That’s pretty typical.”

  “Your husband suggests that I might have better luck if I let some friends of his continue the search. He said they fit in better.” She glanced down at her finely creased slacks and slubbed silk blazer. “I could go buy some clothes at the Goodwill, but he thinks I’d be better off to sit tight and let his friends do the looking. I can’t just sit in a hotel room day in and day out, and I’ve already seen every movie worth seeing, so I thought maybe if I could keep busy … I’ve worked with young women before, coaching them in interview skills, preparing them for new jobs, self-image, that kind of thing. Is there anything I can do here to help out while I wait?” She leaned forward. “I can’t go back home until I learn something about Cyndy.”

  Hope felt lightheaded. Two offers of help in a half hour. This was almost as good as Dr. Cheong telling her the stick was blue. “Thank You, Lord, I cannot believe this.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just so delighted to have you offer. And yes. Yes! I would love to have you working with the girls. If you could give me a couple of your ideas and an outline, we could set up an impromptu class this evening. What would you need in the way of supplies?”

  “Pencils. Paper. Clipboards, maybe.”

  “You got it. I can think of three girls who will benefit immediately. Others are working now, but they need better jobs.” Hope stood up. “Julia, you are a godsend. Tell Celia what you need, and you can work anywhere you can find chair and table. You’ll be able to meet some of the girls at lunch.”

  With an effort Hope went back to work and, just before lunch, signed off the last of the overdue reports. If only she could spend more time and resources working with the girls rather than tangling with paperwork. But to get government assistance, especially grants, the reports were necessary. And to cover themselves in case of a lawsuit.

  The intercom buzzed, Celia’s way of sending a distress call. “Uh-oh.” Hope pushed her chair back and stood up. She had learned that presenting a cool front won lots of battles, so before opening the door, she breathed her protection prayer. Oh, Lord, with Thy strong right hand, deliver us.

  Celia was talking to a young woman with a blackening egg-sized eye, a split lip, and a ripped blouse. On her hip she toted a toddler, and she clutched the hand of a little girl who looked like she needed the other hip.

  The mother glanced over her shoulder, fear widening her eyes.

  Hope walked forward, surrounded by a gauzy cloud of serenity. “Hey there, looks like you’ve come to the right place.”

  “He might be after us.”

  “Okay, follow me, and he’ll never know you’re here. How did you get here?”

  “I took a cab.”

  That was different. Hope showed her into her office. “Come in, and I’ll have someone get you an ice pack for your eye.” She nodded toward Celia, who nodded back in understanding.

  “Do you have any diapers? He’s wet.”

  “Sure.” Over her shoulder Hope said, “A diaper, too, Celia.”

  “I’m so sorry to be such a bother,” the young woman said, walking in front of Hope. She hadn’t been seated for more than a moment when Clarice came in bearing a tray with a diaper, a wet cloth, a blue ice pack from the freezer, two juice cartons from the fridge, and a cup of coffee for the mother.

  The aroma of the coffee made Hope salivate. Dear Big Dad, what I wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee.

  “I wanted to pack up some stuff, but I didn’t have a chance,” the mother said, putting the toddler down on the chair opposite her.

  “It doesn’t matter. We have everything you need here.” Hope sat down and let Clarice distribute her offerings. Smiling warmly, she set down the tray and handed the little girl the carton of juice.

  The little girl, eyes wide like the sad-eyed children in paintings, stared at the juice carton.

  “Do you want me to open that for you?” Clarice asked, her voice soft, grandmotherly.

  The child’s nod came slowly, as if fearful of reprisal.

  Clarice pinched the opening, pulled it wide, and stabbed the straw into it. “It’s okay, honey,” she said, “you’re safe now.”

  Clarice smiled and left the room.

  Hope was impressed. More than impressed.

  With the toddler and the little girl sucking on the straws, Hope turned her attention back to the distraught mother. Would this one be willing to go after the brute and press charges?

  Hope pulled the necessary paperwork out of her organizer. “What’s your name?”

  “Heather, and this is John Mark and Mary Ellen.”

  The children’s names told Hope that their father was possibly a southerner. A master at keeping her thoughts to herself, she smiled, giving her face an extra dose of confidence and compassion, an easy deed, since her heart broke for this little trio.

  “Don’t forget the ice pack,” Hope said as she wrote down their names.

  “Oh, right.” Heather angled the pack to cover both eye and lip, flinching as the cold penetrated the swollen tissue.

  “Do you need to be checked at the clinic?”

  Heather shook her head. “Pretty superficial this time.”

  “Meaning there have been other times?”

  “Yes. He’s beaten me before, but never the kids.”

  “Will you file charges?”

  “I don’t know. He might try to kill me then.”

  “He can’t if we keep you hidden.”

>   “You don’t know my husband.”

  “We deal with your type of situation all the time.” She smiled at the woman, hoping to reassure her. “I need to know more about you. Your clothes are better quality than I usually see here.”

  “You’re very observant.”

  “In this business I have to be. You want to tell me your story? Right now Celia is on the phone to the various women’s shelters to see who has a room for you. We will transfer you as soon as we can find a space.”

  Heather nodded and arrived at that expression that told Hope she trusted her. “This is the third time. I believed him the first time, when he said he’d never hit me again, that it was an accident. The second time he stayed with a friend for a week, then begged to come home. I insisted he get counseling, and he said he would. He said he would do everything he could to make sure this never happened again.”

  “Did you report him either time?”

  “The second rime, but I didn’t press charges.”

  “So there is a record?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long has he been verbally abusive?”

  “How did you … ?” Heather sighed, evidently reminding herself that Hope had seen and heard it all before. “You can’t understand how I hate to be part of a syndrome. I believed him when he’d say everything was my fault. Before I met John, I was an independent and successful woman.”

  “What kind of work did you do?”

  “I managed a small hotel, but we hadn’t been married long when John convinced me I should stay at home to raise our children. I’d always dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom.” Heather shook her head slowly, as if that took more energy than she owned.

  Hope heard the click of Celia’s spike heels before she knocked on the door.

  “We found a shelter, and Roger can take her right away.”

  “Good.” Celia closed the door, and Hope returned to her paperwork. “You didn’t give me your last name.”

  “It’s Gerritson. Mrs. John Gerritson.”

  Something clicked in Hope’s brain. “You don’t mean Councilman Gerritson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” She wrote down the information. “All we need you to do now is to file charges.”

  “It might ruin his career. I’d rather file for divorce, but … ” Heather closed her eyes and shook her head. “What would you do?”

  Hope put her pen down and sat back. “I can’t answer that question. All I know is that you have an obligation to your children to keep them safe, and to yourself to keep you safe.”

  “I’ll do anything,” she said.

  “Does he know you’re gone?”

  “Not yet. He was sleeping when I left.”

  “Do you have joint checking and savings?”

  “Yes, oh—” Understanding dawned.

  Hope didn’t usually make such ambiguous suggestions, but in this instance …

  “When he finds out I drained the accounts, he’ll go into a rage.”

  “So? You won’t be around to witness it. I’ll have my husband take you by your bank. Do they have a drive-through?” Heather nodded. “Good, then you won’t even have to go in.” She got up. “Call me if there is anything else I can do for you.” Hope patted Heather’s hand. “We’ll put our heads together here too and see if we can find some answers.”

  A few minutes later, she watched Roger escort his charges out the back door and into a van with shaded windows.

  Celia stood beside her. “Did she tell you her name?”

  Hope nodded. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Okay, then it’s back to business. The toilet in the front bathroom is stopped up. I think one of the kiddies put something down it. Julia says she’s got her outline finished, and Clarice has gone to her appointment. Lunch will be ready in a few, and DeeDee and Chelsea aren’t speaking. Which is better than a catfight.”

  Hope flinched and stretched her upper torso around.

  “What is it?”

  “Pulled muscle or something.” She rubbed her midsection. “I thought they said this was morning sickness.” She headed for the bathroom, remembered the clogged plumbing, and veered off toward the apartment. Please, Lord, let me make it.

  She should be out enjoying the lovely weather and the Saturday Market that everyone raved about, but Clarice felt like that fog that so often drifted in at night had taken up residence in her brain. And was not drifting on. She stared at the computer screen without seeing it.

  How had he gotten away with everything? How could she have been such a fool? She’d asked herself these questions every day in the week she’d been at J House. “Herbert, you must be so disappointed in me. Losing all that you worked so hard to earn, all because of a charming smile and enough compliments to paint a two-story building. Why didn’t I listen to Nadia?”

  If someone came upon her talking to herself, her explanation that she was talking to her dead husband wouldn’t do much to defend her case. Sometimes I think I am going round the bend. Mary, Holy Mother, I know you haven’t deserted me. Please, I need some saintly help right about now. Clarice stared at her rings, rings that she thought had been her saving grace. But when she took them in to be appraised, so she’d know she had some kind of money to start over with, she’d learned the final depth of Gregor’s perfidy. The diamonds were cubic zirconium. He must have had the excellent copies made of her rings when he so kindly took them in to be cleaned and their mountings checked. All three rings had a total value of about a thousand dollars, not the thirty to forty thousand they’d been worth several years ago. Her beloved fur coat was worth about three. She sniffed and dabbed at the tears that persisted, in spite of the good people who had taken her in. She’d sure proved out the adage that there is no fool like an old fool. No matter how much Roger tried to convince her that Gregor had been a master con artist and had fleeced other lambs as well, she beat herself blue and purple with blame—and shame.

  “All right, old fool, forget your maudlin weeping and get the job done that you can do.”

  “Talking to yourself again, eh?” Roger propped a hip on the clean and bare credenza behind her. Gone too were the stacks on the desk.

  “I just can’t … ”

  Roger raised a hand, traffic cop style. “I thought we agreed that I would worry on Gregor and you would be kinder to Clarice.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” she mumbled to her now tapping fingers.

  “I’ll ignore that. Has Mr. Kent sent any response to that last letter we received from Blakely Associates?”

  “Not via e-mail. And Celia has been answering the phones. She’d have left a message on Hope’s desk.” Clarice turned so she could see him better. Roger looked rumpled, as though he’d just gotten out of bed. “Back’s bad again?”

  “Must be a change comin’ in the weather. Hard to believe I’m saying things like that. Always thought Peter’s complaint about his trick knee was all made up.”

  “You tried a chiropractor?”

  “Uh-huh. He helps keep me vertical. Some days are just bad.”

  “Couldn’t have anything to do with the hours you spent on the roof yesterday, could it?” Clarice pasted an innocent look on her face, or at least she hoped it was innocent.

  “Shouldn’t leak any longer, and when the winter rains hit, we’ll be real glad of that. Whole building is held together with bubble gum and duct tape.” He flinched as he pushed away from the wall. “If Julia comes by, tell her I’m in the laundry room.”

  “Washing?”

  “No, fixing the dryer. Need it to last another week at least.”

  Clarice already knew he meant six months to a year. A new dryer was one of the items on the donations list. Or else scheduled to be replaced after the next fund-raiser.

  Lord, I’d buy them a dryer if we could get back some of my money. A brand-new one, no hand-me-down that’d need fixing in a month or two.That thought alone was enough to clear the way for the doldrums to attack again. Har
d work had been her antidote up to now, and must be again. The more physical the better.

  A child burst through the front door. “I got to go.”

  Clarice pointed him in the direction of the bathroom. “And don’t forget to flush.”

  Shame we never had children, Herbert. I would have made a good grandma. But then perhaps that’s one of the reasons I am here. I can grandma some of these little ones.

  The door flew open again. Young Alphi, who had been living in the shelter with his mother for a month or more, raced to a skidding stop at her desk. “Where’s Hope?”

  From the look on his face, Clarice thought perhaps Roger might be of more use to him. “She’s out on the grounds somewhere, but Roger is in the laundry room. Go get him.” She pulled the walkie-talkie from the drawer. Now if only she could remember how to use it. Was it push to talk or push to listen? She pushed the button and spoke. “Hope, you’re needed in here.”

  Some static blasted her ear, then Hope’s voice. “Emergency?”

  “Alphi came racing in. I sent him for Roger.”

  “Be right there.”

  Roger and the boy rushed by her desk. “Call 911 and tell them we need a uniform or two.”

  Clarice had learned already that meant “No one hurt yet, but we need help.” She dialed 911 and at the answer said, “This is Clarice at J House, and we need a uniform or two. I take it no sirens.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know. The Market is still in full swing, and one of our children came rushing in, and he and Roger raced out. That’s all I know.”

  “Tell Roger or Hope the cars are on their way.”

  “Thanks.” Clarice hung up the phone. Lord, protect the innocent. Send peace to quell the violence.

  “What’s happening?” Hope had come in through the side door and now stood at the desk.

  “I don’t know, but Roger asked for backup, so I called 911.”

  “Good. Who … ?”

  “Alphi. That’s all I know.”

  “Hmm. I’ll call you if we need more help.” She touched the walkie-talkie clipped to her belt. Dressed in khaki shorts and a scoop-neck red T-shirt, she looked about as fierce as a Lhasa apso, but even sweet dogs have teeth.