by Judy Duarte
“Actually, it used to be located in Encinitas. At the turn of the last century, it was divided into pieces and brought to Fairbrook by horse and wagon.”
“No kidding?” Craig studied both the structure and the interior of the sanctuary a little closer, trying to get a feel for the history.
“Come with me,” George said. “I’ll show you the fellowship hall.”
Craig followed him to a large room, where about fifteen to twenty women had gathered to sew.
“They’re stitching quilts together,” George said from the doorway. “When they’re finished, we’ll raffle them off at the community bazaar in July. The proceeds will help fund the soup kitchen.”
After introducing Craig to the ladies, each of whom smiled warmly, George motioned for him to head out the door first. Then he followed him outside.
“We also offer the fellowship hall for community events,” George said. “In fact, the Boy Scouts will be meeting here this afternoon. And there’s an A.A. meeting tonight.”
Craig was glad to know that the church reached out to others who weren’t members of the congregation.
“Come on,” George said, “let me show you the grounds.”
Once outside, Craig scanned the property, noting the numerous trees that provided shade and a retreat-like setting.
George pointed across the street. “That’s Mulberry Park. Each December we host a community event called Christmas Under the Stars. It’s always a huge hit. We provide hot cocoa, tea, coffee, and homemade cookies and other goodies. We sing carols, and there’s a reading of the Christmas story. Next year, we plan to add a live nativity scene.”
“How many people attend?” Craig asked.
“Hundreds. And we seem to get more and more each year.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It is. And during vacation Bible school in the summer, we take the kids over to the playground and have outdoor activities on the lawn. There’s also a men’s softball league, which reminds me. Are you interested in playing?”
“We’ll see.” Craig offered a smile, but the fact was, he’d rather play another kind of game—fast ball, hard hitting, competitive. College level or beyond …
“Last but not least,” George said, “I’ll take you to the soup kitchen, which is another thing you’ll be in charge of. I’d like to introduce you to the Randolphs.”
Craig followed George to a modular building that had been placed at the edge of the parking lot.
“The kitchen has an advisory board,” George said, “which includes Dawn and Joe Randolph, the couple who are in charge of the day-to-day operations. Dawn and Joe are a real blessing. I don’t know what we’d do without them.”
George opened the door, then waited for Craig to step into the room, where rectangular tables stretched end to end. Only a few of the chairs were occupied.
“We serve meals between eleven and two,” George said, “so people will be coming and going until then.”
A tall man in his late forties, who’d just walked out of the back room, grinned when he spotted George, and strode toward them. He wore a navy blue T-shirt with white block letters that said Fairbrook Fire Department.
“Joe,” George said. “Let me introduce you to Craig Houston. He’s the new associate minister and will be working with you and Dawn.”
When the big man reached out, Craig shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Joe.”
“Likewise. My wife and I are looking forward to working with you. I hope you’ll be an active part of the soup kitchen.”
“I’m sure I will be,” Craig said.
“Joe is a paramedic with the fire department,” George added, “and whenever he’s off duty, he helps out. But Dawn is here every day.”
“Speaking of Dawn,” Joe said, “she’s been eager to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Before you do,” George said, “how are things going?”
Joe crossed his arms and scanned the room. “It’s business as usual. The big rush usually comes around one.”
“Did that electrical short ever get fixed?” George asked.
“Yes, but now we’ve got another problem.” Joe placed a hand on the senior pastor’s shoulder. “I heard a rumor that there’s a group of homeowners planning to attend the city council meeting next Tuesday night. They’d like our soup kitchen moved.”
“Where to?”
“It doesn’t seem to matter, just as long as it’s outside city limits.”
“What good will that do? Most of the people we’re trying to feed don’t have transportation or the means to drive back and forth across town each day.”
“Apparently, there’s a group that’s complaining about the bad element we draw to the church. And since we’re so close to the park, a place where families with small children often gather, they’re worried about safety issues.”
George shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes we even feed entire families. The parents, whether single or married, are often between jobs or on temporary disability. They can bring their kids here for a warm, nutritious meal. And afterward, they’re able to take them to the playground for a while, which is what Dawn usually suggests. That way, for a couple of hours, they get a chance to enjoy themselves and forget their troubles.”
“I tried to explain that to Ralph Gleason when he complained about the bad element,” Joe said. “But some people can get awfully hardheaded when they think they’re right.”
George’s gaze locked on Craig’s. “I suppose you’d better plan to be at that meeting and represent the church. Hopefully, Joe and Dawn can go with you. But if not, they can fill you in on some of the politics we’ll have to face.”
Craig nodded, realizing his job just got a bit more important.
To be honest, he didn’t mind overseeing the soup kitchen. Whenever his parents had taken him to visit his grandfather in India, he’d seen how poor some of those people had been, how helpful the church had been in providing for more than their spiritual needs.
He’d only been six on his first visit, so it had been awkward for him at first, trying to connect with kids who had been raised in a different culture. But he’d learned that they had a lot in common at playtime.
Not that this was the same thing, but it did give him an opportunity to practice some of what he’d learned in his missiology classes.
“How’s Dawn holding up?” George asked Joe.
“She’s doing okay. Losing her mother unexpectedly was tough, but she’s got a lot of faith.”
“I know,” George said. “It seems as though she’s had more than her share of disappointments over the years.”
As the two men chatted, Craig found himself surveying the room, noting the various people who’d gathered to eat. Two elderly women sat nearest him. He wondered if they were homeless, or if they were just living on a limited budget.
Either way, he could see that the church-sponsored meals could certainly help senior citizens stretch their social security checks.
He made a mental note to keep that in mind when he addressed the city council.
A couple of men, one of whom wore a Veterans of Foreign Wars cap, sat a few tables away. He’d gotten rather animated as he talked to the men next to him.
One young woman sat alone. She was bent over her plate, her long, stringy hair falling forward and hiding much of her face. Her elbows were on the table, and her arms were circled around her plate, as though she was trying to protect her meal, as though someone might snatch it away before she was finished eating.
He watched for a while, as she practically shoveled in her food.
Meatloaf and baked potatoes, he noted. Green beans. A scoop of … peach cobbler? It all looked pretty tasty, and he figured they had Dawn Randolph to thank for that.
“We’ll need to make another run to Costco,” Joe told George. “We’re running out of paper plates again.”
Craig figured he probably ought to pay attention to the conversa
tion, yet he found himself drawn to the people in the room.
“Do you mind if I spend some time introducing myself to our guests?” he asked the senior minister.
“Not at all. That’s a very good idea. Go right ahead.”
Craig made his way to the gray-haired gentleman with the VFW cap. Ever since he’d lost his father in Operation Desert Storm and the local American Legion had reached out to him and his mom, he’d held a soft spot for veterans.
Each Memorial Day, they used to hold a special event for kids who’d lost a parent in the war. And while it was tough being fatherless, he’d appreciated the legionaries who’d been so understanding, so supportive of his mom.
“Do you guys mind if I interrupt you for a minute?” Craig asked the three men.
The tall, lanky fellow with the VFW cap smiled. “Not at all. Have a seat.”
Craig sat next to a short, heavy set man wearing a pair of blue coveralls. “My name is Craig Houston, and I’m the new associate minister here. I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your service to our country.”
They seemed to light up at his comment, and the one wearing the cap stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Ward O’Sullivan. A veteran of Korea.”
Ward went on to introduce his buddies, Jacob Porter, a marine who’d fought in Vietnam, and Harold Schlictning, a medic who’d served in Europe during World War II.
They talked a few minutes, then Craig excused himself and strode toward the two elderly women who were seated together. When they looked up, he introduced himself.
Kathryn Ellings shared that she was on a fixed income, and that the soup kitchen had been a real blessing to her. Her friend, Ellie Rucker, whose hair was matted in back as if she hadn’t used a comb in a while, didn’t say much.
Craig chatted with them for a moment, then excused himself to speak to the only one he had yet to meet—a teenager, he suspected. But by the time he started toward her, she’d cleaned her paper plate and was carrying it to the trash can.
He watched as she scanned the buffet line, where a woman wearing a red plaid apron had just added an insulated carafe next to a pitcher of lemonade.
“There’s more coffee,” the woman announced, before returning to the kitchen.
The girl, who’d been standing next to the buffet line, snatched a couple of rolls and shoved them under the ribbed hem of her sweat shirt, causing her belly to pooch out.
Stocking up for dinner? he wondered.
When she turned toward him, her hands holding the hem of her bulky shirt against her stomach to hold the bread inside, he averted his eyes so she wouldn’t know that he’d seen what she’d done.
As she drew closer, he allowed himself to look at her and smile. “Thanks for coming.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, as though her conscience might be at some sort of impasse, then returned his smile. “Thanks for having me.”
“I’m Pastor Craig,” he added. “And you’re …?”
“Renee Delaney.”
He didn’t even consider offering a handshake. No need to embarrass her if those rolls fell out. Instead, he said, “It’s nice to meet you. I hope to see you back here again sometime. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Yeah, maybe. The food was really good, so you probably will. Unless I get a job.”
“You’re looking for work?” he asked.
“Yeah. I can do just about anything. So if you know anyone who’s hiring …?”
If Craig had a home of his own, if he’d managed to stockpile a couple of paychecks already, he’d offer her some kind of employment, even if it was just to mow the yard or wash windows.
“I’ll keep you in mind,” he said. “Do you have a phone number? In case I need to get ahold of you?”
She bit her bottom lip again. “No, not yet. I just moved here.”
“Me, too.” He offered her another smile.
Her feet seemed to do a little shuffle, and she nodded toward the door. “Well, I guess I’d better go. I’ll see ya around.”
“Okay.” He watched as she strode out of the soup kitchen, her head up, yet her shoulders slumped.
Poor kid.
“Pastor?”
Craig turned to see George heading toward him. He had a woman with him, the middle-aged brunette who was wearing the red plaid apron.
“This is Dawn Randolph,” George said. “Our soup kitchen would have shut down months ago if she hadn’t single-handedly stepped in and volunteered to do all the grocery shopping and cooking.”
Dawn had a scatter of freckles across her nose, making her look younger than she probably was. As she reached out to greet Craig, a smile lit her brown eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I guess we’ll be working together,” he said.
“That’s what I heard. I’m looking forward to having your help.”
“Your husband mentioned that there’s a group of people trying to get the church to move the kitchen out of town,” he said.
She tucked a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes, when the problems in society are hidden, people don’t see the need to fix them.”
“Do you get a lot of homeless?” He wondered about Jesse, the man he’d met last night. Did he know there was a place he could get a hot meal each day?
“Yes, we do. And we try to do whatever we can to help them get back on their feet. The Ladies Aid has been gathering secondhand clothing. And when they find something that would be suitable for a job interview, like a suit and a matching shirt and tie, they have them dry-cleaned or one of the group launders and presses them. Then they place a coordinated ensemble in a plastic garment bag.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“We also provide the homeless with the church’s address and a phone number with voice mail in case they need to fill out a job application.”
Craig thought of the young woman who’d just walked out.
“There was a girl here earlier,” he said. “A young woman, I guess. She’s looking for work, but doesn’t have a phone number. If I’d known that, I would have passed the information along.”
“You mean the little blonde with straggly hair?” Dawn asked.
“You noticed her?”
“I notice all of them, especially the young ones.”
“How old do you think she was?” Craig asked.
“It’s hard to say. Sixteen maybe?”
“That’s what I thought. I wonder where her parents are.”
“Who knows? Hopefully, working. I try to be friendly and welcoming at first. I hate coming on too strong. Some people aren’t happy about needing charity, so I take a little time to get to know them. But my heart always goes out to the kids.”
Craig could understand that.
“I plan to get to know her better next time,” Dawn said. “That is, assuming she comes back.”
“She’ll be back. I have a feeling she isn’t used to getting regular meals.”
“For the most part, the majority of those we help are down-and-out adults. Some of our regulars are senior citizens trying to make ends meet during the last days of the month before their social security checks arrive. And then we get some people who are homeless and will probably stay that way for various reasons.”
“Drugs and alcoholism?” he asked.
“That certainly is a problem for some of them. And unless they’re willing to get help, it’s difficult to force it on them.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m afraid there are a few who will never get back on their feet. But that doesn’t make them any less hungry.”
“Does it ever get to you?” he asked. “Working with people who don’t always want to be helped?”
“Yes, but a lot of the people who utilize the soup kitchen just need a foot up. A boost. A little love and compassion.” Dawn slipped her hands into the pockets of the apron she wore. “It’s really tough when I see families that have been uprooted. I try to do whatever I can to help. In the evenings at home, when Joe is
on duty, I make stuffed animals and rag dolls. I keep them in a box in the kitchen, then pass them out to the occasional children who stop in for a meal with their parents.”
“Do you have any success stories?” he asked, thinking he might want a few of those to relate during that city council meeting.
“Quite a few of them, actually. And that helps us keep our perspective.”
The elderly women, who’d picked up after themselves, stopped by to say hello to Dawn.
“I loved that meatloaf,” Kathryn said. “It tasted almost as good as my mother used to make.”
Dawn smiled, yet her eyes grew watery. “It was my mom’s recipe, and today was her birthday. So I fixed it in her memory. I’m glad you liked it.”
The other woman, the one whose hair was matted in back, patted Dawn’s upper arm. “No baby yet?”
“I’m afraid not, Ellie.”
“Well, I’m still praying for you.”
Dawn offered the woman a warm but wistful smile. “Thanks. Prayers are always appreciated. But Joe and I have resigned ourselves to not having children.”
“That’s too bad,” Ellie said. “Everyone needs a family when they get older.”
Craig wondered if Ellie had a family. And if she did, whether they took time to visit, to invite her for home-cooked meals.
Dawn slipped an arm around the stooped woman and gave her a gentle squeeze. “You’re right about that, Ellie. But don’t worry about Joe and me. You and the others who come to eat here each day are our family.”
Craig scanned the tables, noting those who’d gathered for a free meal.
Would these people ever feel like family to him?
He looked forward to working with them and helping them any way he could, but he didn’t think he’d go so far as to claim them as friends and family.
Chapter 5
Paddy’s Pub was really hopping, which was typical for a Wednesday. The happy-hour patrons who had been gathering since about four o’clock were quenching their thirst and grazing on Irish potato wedges and Belfast buffalo wings.
Some of them were also morphing into jerks.
“Get me two house chardonnays and a Guinness,” Kristy told Randy, the bartender.
