by Diana Palmer
“All of us have to learn about the world, Mary,” he said gently. “We’re not born knowing how hard life can be for unfortunate people. For instance, Sam there—” he nodded toward the elderly man “—was a decorated hero in Vietnam. He’s had a bad shake all the way around. His wife left him while he was overseas and took their daughter with her. They were both killed in a car wreck the week after Sam got home from the war. He remarried, and his second wife died of cancer. Now, his retirement’s gone with his thieving nephew, after he worked like a dog to become self-sufficient. The nephew was only related to him by marriage, which makes it even worse.” He shook his head. “Some people get a bad shake all around. And Sam’s a good man.”
“I noticed that,” she said. “He’s proud, too.”
“That’s the problem that keeps so many people out of the very social programs that would help them,” he said philosophically. “Pride. Some people are too proud to even ask for help. Those are the ones who fall into the cracks. People like Sam. He could get assistance, God knows he’d qualify. But he’s too proud to admit that he needs relief.”
She smoothed over a food package. “Is there any way we could help him?”
He grinned. “I’m working on something. Let you know when I have any good ideas, okay?”
She grinned back. “Okay.”
Sam returned with four more big containers of food. “Been talking about me behind my back, I guess?” he asked them.
“We don’t know that many interesting people, Sam,” Matt pointed out.
Sam shrugged, shook his head and went back inside with the packages.
Matt drove the truck, giving Mary a brief rest. It had been an especially long day, because one of her employers wanted to take down and wash and press all the heavy curtains in the house. It had been a backbreaking job, although the house certainly looked better afterward. Bob and Ann had stayed after school for their individual sports programs. The extracurricular activities were important to them and Mary was going to make sure that they had as normal a life as possible, even with all the complications of the moment.
“Where are the kids?” Matt asked, as if he’d sensed her thoughts.
“At sports and band practice,” she said. “I arranged rides for them back to the motel, and the manager’s promised to keep an eye on them.”
“And the youngest?”
She grinned. “My friend, Tammy, is keeping John tonight until we get through. I have to pick him up at her house.”
“I’ll drive you,” Matt offered. “Don’t argue, Mary,” he added gently. “I wouldn’t offer if it was going to be an imposition. Okay?”
Sam glanced at her. “I’d give in, if I were you. He’s the most persistent man I ever met.”
She laughed. “All right, then. Thank you,” she told Matt.
* * *
Their first stop was at the men’s mission. Mary had passed by the building many times in the past, and never paid it much attention. She’d had a vague idea of the sort of people who stayed there, and not a very flattering one.
But now she took time to look, to really look, at them. There were several sitting in the lobby watching a single television. Two were paraplegics. One was blind. Five were elderly. Two were amputees. She could understand without asking a single question why they were here.
“We brought you some food,” Mary told the shelter’s manager, a portly gentleman named Larry who had a beard and long hair.
“This is a treasure trove!” Larry exclaimed. “Where did you get this?”
“From restaurants in town,” Mary said simply as Matt and Sam started bringing in the parcels. “They have to throw away their leftovers, so I’ve asked for them. Now I’m finding more places to donate them.”
“You can put us on your list, and many thanks!” Larry exclaimed, lifting the lid on one of the plastic containers. “Good Lord, this is beef Stroganoff! I haven’t had it in six years!”
Mary grinned. “There’s a price,” she told him. “You have to wash the containers so that I can pick them up when I bring your next delivery. I thought maybe Monday, Wednesday and Friday?”
“That would be great,” Larry said enthusiastically. “Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Mary Crandall,” she said, shaking hands.
“I’m Larry Blake,” he said, “and I’m very happy to meet you. Thanks a million!”
One of the men, a paraplegic, wheeled over to ask what was going on. He took a sniff. “Is that lasagna?” he queried hopefully.
“It is,” Mary said. “And there’s tiramisu and cake and all sorts of pastries for dessert, too.”
“I think I have died and gone to heaven,” the man in the wheelchair said with a sad smile. “Thank you.”
She noticed that his wheelchair had no footrests and that it squeaked terribly. One of the tires was missing part of its rubber tread. She wished with all her heart she had a little extra money so that she could offer it to him for a newer chair.
He saw her sad glance and he smiled. “I can see what you’re thinking, but I don’t want a new chair. This is my lucky one. That sticky wheel kept me from going off the edge of a building when I got lost. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
She smiled. “So much for women’s intuition,” she said.
He chuckled. “Never you mind. Thanks for the food!”
“My pleasure,” she replied.
Their second stop was a small village of tents and boxes that moved from time to time when the authorities made half-hearted efforts to clear away the homeless people. It was a temporary measure at best, because the homeless had no place to go except shelters, and most of the people in the moveable village didn’t like being shut up inside.
“These are the real hard cases,” Matt said quietly as they stopped. “They don’t want to be subject to rules of any kind. Periodically the police are asked to break up these camps, but they just set up across town all over again.”
“Why are so many people homeless?” Mary asked absently.
“Thousands of reasons,” Matt told her. “Some are mentally ill and have no family and no place to go. Some are alcoholics. Some are drug users. A few have relatives who are trying to forget all about them. Society today is so mobile that extended families just don’t exist in one town anymore. This never happened a century ago, because families stayed put and were required by morality to take care of their own and be responsible for them. These days, morality is very widely interpreted.”
“In other words, everybody’s looking out for number one,” Sam murmured.
Matt nodded. “In a nutshell, yes.”
“I think the old way of taking care of one’s own was better,” Sam said with a sigh.
Several people from the camp came close, hesitantly, looking around suspiciously. “What do you want?” a man asked.
“We brought you some food,” Mary said, indicating the boxes in the bed of the pickup truck.
“That don’t look like cans,” the man commented.
“It isn’t.” Mary took down one of the bags, opened it, took out a plastic container and opened it. “Smell.”
The man sniffed, stood very still, then sniffed again. “That’s beef. That’s beef!”
“It is,” Mary said. “In fact, it’s beef Stroganoff, and you should eat it while it’s still warm. Do you have something to put it in?”
The man went running back to the others. They came back with a motley assortment of plates and cups and bent utensils. Mary and the men filled all the plates and cups to capacity, adding a bag of bread and another with containers of fruit and vegetables.
A ragged old woman came shyly up to Mary and took her hand. “’Ank oo,” she managed to say.
“That’s old Bess,” the man introduced the little woman, who took her plate and waddled away. “She’s deaf, so she don’t speak plain. She said thank you.”
Mary had to bite back tears. “She’s very welcome. All of you are. I’ll come back Friday with mor
e, about this same time.”
The man hesitated. “They’re making us move tomorrow,” he said dully. “We never get to stay noplace long.”
“Where will you go?” Mary asked.
He shrugged.
“When you have another place, get in touch with the shelter on Blair Street, can you do that? They’ll get word to me,” Mary said.
He nodded slowly, then smiled. “Thanks.”
She sighed. “We’re all victims of circumstance, in one way or another,” she told him. “We have to help each other.”
“Good!” An unshaven man with overlarge eyes was tugging on Mary’s sleeve. “Good, lady, good!” he said, pointing his spoon at the food in his cup. “Good!”
He turned away, eating hungrily.
“That’s Billy,” the man said. “He’s not quite right in the head. Nobody wanted him, so he lives with us. My name’s Art.”
“I’m Mary,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’ll get word to you,” he said after a minute, nodding politely at Matt and Sam. He went back with the others into the darkness of the camp.
The three companions were very quiet as they drove toward the nearby women’s mission.
“That hurts,” Sam spoke for all of them.
“Yes,” Mary agreed. “But we’re doing something to help.”
“And every little bit does help,” Matt added quietly. He glanced at Mary. “I’m glad I came tonight.”
“Me, too,” Sam said. “I’ll never feel sorry for myself again.”
Mary smiled tiredly. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
The women’s mission was very much like the men’s mission, but the women seemed a little livelier and more receptive to the visitors.
Three of them were doing handwork in the lobby, where an old movie was playing on a black-and-white television. Two others were filling out forms.
The mission was run by a Catholic nun, Sister Martha, who welcomed them, surprised by the food and its quality.
“I would never have thought of asking restaurants for leftover food!” she exclaimed, grinning at Mary. “How resourceful of you!”
Mary laughed. “It was a happy accident, the way it came about,” she said. “But I feel as if I have a new lease on life, just from learning how to give away food.”
“Giving is a gift in itself, isn’t it?” the sister asked with a secretive smile. “I’ve learned that myself. No matter how hard my life is, when I can help someone else, I feel as if I’ve helped myself, too.”
“That’s very true,” Mary said.
She introduced Sam and Matt, and they unloaded the last of the food. The women gathered around, impressed by the fancy food and anxious to taste it. When Mary and the men left, the women were already dishing it up in the small kitchen.
“That’s all I have tonight,” Mary said. “I’ll call some more restaurants, and maybe Bev can suggest another volunteer or two.”
“You know there’s a food bank around here, too,” Matt suggested. “They might like to have some of this restaurant chow.”
“Already got that covered,” Mary murmured. “I’m planning on giving them a call tomorrow.”
“If you’ll give me some names,” Matt said, “I’ll make some calls for you.”
“So will I,” Sam volunteered. “I’m sure Bev won’t mind letting me use the phone.”
“But how are we going to manage this?” Mary wondered aloud worriedly. “It’s taken us two hours to give away what we had, and that’s just from five restaurants. Besides that, the truck was full when we started.”
“We’ll need another truck,” Matt said. “Maybe a van.”
“Where are we going to get one?” Mary asked.
“I’ll make some arrangements,” Matt said.
She smiled at him. “You’re a wonder.”
“Oh, I’m in good company,” he replied, glancing from Mary to Sam with a grin.
When they dropped Sam off at the shelter, along with the truck, Matt put Mary into his sedan and drove her to Tammy’s house. Mary was uneasy until they were back in the car with John strapped in his car seat in the back of Matt’s car, and on their way out of the neighborhood.
As they passed Mary’s old house, she noticed that there were two cars in the driveway and that the For Rent sign had been removed.
“What is it?” Matt asked, sensing that something was wrong.
“I used to live there before I was evicted,” she commented sadly as they passed the old house. “Those must be the new tenants.”
“I don’t know how you’re handling all these changes,” he said with admiration. “You have three kids to support, a full-time profession and spending all your nights handing out food to people.” He shook his head. “You’re an inspiration.”
“I’m getting an education in the subject of people,” she told him. “It’s a very interesting subject, too.”
He smiled in the rearview mirror at the baby. “You have great kids,” he commented.
“Thanks,” she said shyly. “I think they’re pretty terrific. I could be prejudiced,” she added with a grin.
He laughed. “No, I don’t think so. Where are we going?” he added.
She realized that he didn’t know where they lived. “It’s that old motel next to the new Wal-Mart superstore,” she told him.
He glanced at her. “Al Smith’s motel?”
She laughed. “You know Mr. Smith?”
“Do I,” he laughed. “We were in the military together, back when the Marines were stationed in Lebanon and the barracks were car-bombed. Remember that, in the eighties?”
“Yes, I do,” she said.
“Two of my friends died in the explosion,” he said. “Smith was in my unit, too. He’s good people.”
“I noticed,” she said, and explained how kind he’d been to her family while they were adjusting to the new uncertainties of their lives.
“He’s that sort of person,” he agreed. “He’s done a lot of good with that motel, taking in people who had nowhere else to go and trusting them for the rent. I don’t know of one single person who’s skipped without paying, either.”
“He’s been great to us,” she said.
“So it would seem.”
He pulled up at the door of their room and got out, opening Mary’s door for her with an old-world sort of courtesy. He helped her get John out of his car, and carried the car seat into the room for her as well.
“Hi!” Bob called, bouncing off the bed to greet Matt. “Did you bring Mom home?”
“I did,” he told the boy with a smile. “We’ve been handing out food all over town. How was football practice?”
“Pretty good, if we could teach Pat Bartley how to tackle,” he said with a wistful smile. “He won’t wear his glasses and he can’t see two feet in front of him. But the coach is working on him.”
“Good for him. Who’s in band?”
“Me,” Ann said, grinning. “I play clarinet. I’m good, too.”
“I used to play trombone in band,” Matt volunteered.
“You did?” Ann exclaimed. “That’s neat!” She looked up at Matt curiously. “You look different when you aren’t wearing a uniform.”
“I’m shorter, right?” he teased.
She smiled shyly. “No. You look taller, really.”
“We’ve got leftover pizza. Want some?” Bob offered. “Mr. Smith brought it to us. It’s got pepperoni.”
“Thanks, but I had egg salad for supper. I’m sort of watching my weight.” His dark eyes twinkled at the boy. “New uniforms are expensive.”
“Tell me about it,” Mary sighed. “I’m trying to keep my own weight down so mine will fit.”
“You wear a uniform?” Matt asked.
“Just for one lady I work for,” she said. “She’s very rich and very old, and traditional. When I work for everybody else, I just wear jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Amazing,” he mused.
“Look, Mom, there’
s that movie Bob wants to see!” Ann enthused, pointing at the small television screen.
It was a promo for a fantasy film with elves and other fascinating creatures.
“I want to see that one, myself,” Matt commented. “Say, you don’t work Sunday, do you?” he asked Mary.
“Well, no, but there’s still food to pick up and deliver—”
“There are matinees,” he interrupted. “Suppose we all go?”
Mouths dropped open. None of them had been to a movie in years.
“I guess I could ask Tammy to keep John…” Mary thought out loud.
“Wowee!” Bob exclaimed. “That would be radical!”
“Sweet!” Ann echoed.
“I need a dictionary of modern slang,” Matt groaned.
“We mean, it would be very nice,” Ann translated. “We’d like very much to go, if it wouldn’t be an imposition.”
Matt glanced at her and then at Mary. “We don’t need a translator,” he pointed out.
They all laughed.
“Then, that’s settled. I’ll find out what time the matinee is and call Al and have him tell you when I’ll be here. Okay?”
“Okay,” Mary said breathlessly.
Matt winked at her and she felt suddenly lighter than air. Worse, she blushed.
“She likes him!” Bob said in a stage whisper.
“Think he likes her, too?” Ann whispered back, gleefully.
“Yes, he likes her, too,” Matt answered for them. “See you all Sunday.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Mary said quickly, with a warning look at her kids, who suddenly assumed angelic expressions.
On the sidewalk, Mary wrapped her arms around her chest. It was cold. “Matt, thanks so much, for everything. Especially tonight.”
He paused at the door of his car and looked back at her. “I like your kids,” he said. “I really like them. They’re smart and kindhearted and they’re real troopers. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were sad and miserable. But they’re so cheerful. Like you.”
She smiled. “We’ve been very lucky, the way things have worked out for us,” she explained. “But the kids have always been like this. They get depressed sometimes. Everybody does. But they’re mostly upbeat. I’m crazy about them.”
“I can see why.” He gave her a long, quiet look. “You’re one special lady.”
