“Almost. Okay? Almost.”
“Anna doesn’t want you to avoid them,” Bob put in, finally joining the conversation. “She wouldn’t bring them here otherwise.”
“She’s probably stuck,” Emily said. “Probably her own mother can’t take care of the kids, otherwise she’d bring them there.”
Charlotte had to smile at Emily’s astute observation. “Nonetheless, like your grandfather said, I’m sure Aunty Anna doesn’t expect you to avoid them.”
“What was wrong with Pete?” Bob asked.
“He was grumpy.” Christopher scraped the last of the casserole off his plate, shoved it in his mouth, and handed his empty plate to Charlotte. “Can I please have some more?”
Christopher’s casual overview of his uncle’s actions created a heavy disappointment in Charlotte.
Talking to Pete about changing his plans was out of the question. Her influence on him had been minimal ever since he turned fourteen.
The same age as Emily was now.
Don’t think that. Don’t go there. Please Lord, help me to raise these children properly, she prayed. Bob and I can’t do this on our own.
Her prayer was spontaneous and heartfelt. It seemed that as she found herself with less time to spend each morning on her daily devotions, her prayers had become scattered instances of communication with God, like sprinklings of water on parched ground.
“Why does he need to go out at all hours?” Bob grumped. “He just wastes his time and then he’s no good the next day.”
“He doesn’t seem to think it’s a waste of time,” Sam said. “Great supper, Grandma. And amazing napkin folding, sis.”
Sam was about to get up from the table, then glanced at his grandfather, who was reaching up behind him for the devotions book they had started after Christmas.
“Sorry, Grandpa,” he said, catching himself as he sat down again.
The simple action and his sincere apology eased Charlotte’s concern about Pete’s influence on the children.
And as Bob started reading, she was pleased to see that Sam, Emily and Christopher were paying attention.
Chapter Two
Charlotte wrapped her worn corduroy chore coat tighter as she stopped at the old garage, snow swirling around her. In the early-morning light, two golden rectangles of light shone from the floor of Pete’s apartment in the second floor of the garage. The note he had left her last night, asking her to do his chores this morning, left her with the impression that he planned to sleep in.
But it seemed he was awake already.
Toby stopped beside her, looking up, her head cocked to one side.
“Emily, why don’t you give Christopher the eggs, and you can take the milk to the house for me?” Charlotte handed Emily the steaming pail and gave her puzzled granddaughter a reassuring smile. “Take Toby with you. I want to talk to Uncle Pete,” she explained.
“What about breakfast? I thought we were late.” Emily’s puzzlement didn’t ease, but Charlotte wasn’t about to tell her granddaughter what she wanted to do.
“We can just have toast this morning,” Charlotte said. “You can make sure the bread is sliced and get the table set.”
“I helped you with breakfast yesterday,” Emily complained in typical teenage fashion, shivering as a blast of wind tossed snow around them and carried the sound of the tractor through the crisp morning air.
“Sam is bedding the cows so he won’t have time to help.”
“Why can’t you talk to Pete when we’re gone?” Emily put out one last appeal, but Charlotte could see she was simply going through the motions. It wouldn’t do for her to give in too quickly. She did have her teenage pride, after all.
“Is Uncle Pete in trouble ’cause he stayed out late?” Christopher asked, his innocent question surprising Charlotte.
“He’s too old to get into trouble with me, but yes, I do want to talk to him about that,” Charlotte admitted.
“Maybe you can ask him about Miss Simons too.” Emily’s pique turned to a mischievous grin.
“Maybe I can, but I probably won’t.” That would be pushing the boundaries of their relationship too far. “You run along now. I won’t be far behind you.”
Charlotte waited until the kids were walking toward the house, Toby following along with them. She took a breath, sent up yet another prayer, and trudged up the stairs to Pete’s apartment.
Though she and the children had spent a lot of time in Pete’s apartment last fall, borrowing his kitchen to make pies, she knew she needed to respect Pete’s boundaries. So she knocked on the door and waited for him to ask her in.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming,” she heard from the other side of the door. A few minutes later, Pete opened the door, his hair sticking up in all directions and his T-shirt on backwards.
Don’t look inside, Charlotte reminded herself. You don’t need to know about his housekeeping.
“I’d like to have a word with you Pete, if I may?” Charlotte asked, crossing her arms over her chore coat, giving him a reassuring smile.
“Yeah. Okay.” Pete stepped aside to let her in, and Charlotte steeled herself for a mess.
A shirt draped across the back of one chair, a few magazines lay stacked on the floor, but to her surprise, the apartment was neat and tidy.
“Take that stunned look off your face, Ma. I’m not a total slob.”
“I can see that you aren’t,” she said, her concession to the state of his apartment.
“You got my note asking you to milk the cow?”
“I’m surprised I didn’t hear you come into the house,” Charlotte said, remembering the piece of paper she found propped up against the bowl of bananas she had on the kitchen table.
“You want some tea or something?” he asked, tugging his T-shirt straight and smoothing his unruly hair.
Charlotte shook her head, looking her son directly in the eye, praying once again for wisdom. “I may as well get to the point. I’m putting on my mother hat right now and I need to tell you that I’m disappointed that you felt you had to stay out so late last night.”
“I’m a big boy, Ma.”
“That’s not the problem, and you know it.”
“So what is?”
Charlotte floundered as she tried to find exactly the right words to articulate her feelings in front of her grown son. To try to show him that his every action was watched by three impressionable young children.
“It doesn’t look good—”
“To who? The community? The people who go to church with you?” Pete dropped his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed.
“Well, that’s part of it—” she said as she tried to gather her thoughts. She expected him to put her off with a joke, maybe even get a bit defensive, but his sudden anger threw her off kilter.
“I’ve been out late before, so why do you care?”
“It’s not that so much as how it looks—” She stopped there, wishing she had taken a bit more time before she came here to talk to him.
“How it looks.” Pete pushed his hand through his wayward hair, then laughed. “Why do you care so much what people think? Why does that matter so much to you?”
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” she said, trying to find her footing in this new territory. Pete and she had had their disagreements in their lives, but his anger made her lose her train of thought. “Of course it matters what people think.”
“No, it doesn’t. That’s the trouble with this community. Everyone’s supposed to be so caring and Christian, but all they’re doing is keeping an eye on each other, making sure everyone is toeing the same righteous line they are.”
“That’s not true,” Charlotte protested. “The people of Bedford care about each other.”
“The people of Bedford care what the rest of the people of Bedford think.” Pete made a show of looking at the clock behind him. “Sorry to interrupt this scintillating conversation, Ma, but I’ve got an appointment in town and I’m late.”
She waited a moment, as if hoping she might find a chance to talk to him more, but his indignation pushed her away.
So she closed the door behind her and walked down the stairs. She knew she would have another opportunity to talk to Pete about his actions, though she was confused about his responses to her questions. Pete was not usually a volatile person, and she wondered where his unexpected and surprising comments came from.
By the time she came back to the house, Bob was straining the milk into a pail on the kitchen counter. The table was set and the early-morning scent of bread toasting reassured Charlotte that Emily had indeed done what she asked.
Upstairs, she heard Sam banging on the bathroom door, yelling at Emily.
Plink-plink sounds were coming from the living room where Christopher was playing on the computer, taking advantage of Charlotte’s momentary absence to try and beat his high score in the latest computer game.
“Grandma, tell Emily to hurry up,” Sam called down. He punctuated his request with another knock on the bathroom door. “C’mon, Em. You’re not the only one that has to get ready for school.”
And with that, her duties shifted from mother to grandmother and referee.
“Shouldn’t you take care of those two?” Bob asked as he put the fresh milk into the refrigerator.
“I usually give them a few minutes to sort it out themselves,” Charlotte said, walking over to where Christopher sat. “Time to shut down, mister,” she said, waiting for Christopher, face intent on the computer screen, to acknowledge her request.
“I’m almost done with this level,” he said, the flickering images reflected on his face.
“You’re not supposed to be playing on the computer in the morning.”
Christopher sighed, then exited the program and shut down the computer. “I was getting real close to beating my high score,” he said, the disappointment in his voice showing exactly how important this was to him.
“Then you’ll just have to do it when it’s your turn on the computer later.”
“I suppose.” Christopher sighed and pushed himself away from the desk.
“You’re not wearing that shirt you found the other day,” Charlotte said.
“Sam said it looked dumb.” Christopher looked down at the blue-and-grey-striped sweater he wore, as if imagining the purple and pink neon-colored shirt there instead. “He said his friends would laugh.”
Charlotte knew better than to go against her oldest grandson’s pronouncement on Christopher’s fashion sense. If Sam said it was dumb, then dumb it was. And no amount of encouraging on Charlotte’s part could change Christopher’s mind.
Bob was buttering the toast and as Christopher dove in, Charlotte glanced at the clock. The battle above still raged, so she trudged upstairs to intervene yet again in the ongoing struggle between Emily and Sam for bathroom time.
Fifteen minutes later, with breakfast dishes still sitting on the table, she stood at the bottom of the stairs calling Sam’s name as Emily and Christopher ran out the door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Sam called back.
“The bus is already here, Sam.” Charlotte hurried down the hallway in time to see the red lights on the top of the bus stop flashing and hear a familiar but heart-sinking beeping as it reversed out of the yard.
“Hurry. You might just make it.” Charlotte ran to the porch, grabbed her coat, and yanked open the door. Sixty-some years of age, and she was still chasing down the school bus, she thought as she stuffed her arms in her sleeves, thankful that Sam had shoveled the sidewalk this morning.
Sam joined her just in time to see the taillights of the bus flickering through the swirling snow thrown up by its tires, Toby charging after it as if to make sure it left.
“Oh great. I have to take an English test today.” Sam dropped his knapsack, slipped his heavy winter coat on, and jammed his stocking cap over his ears. “Can I borrow your car, Grandma?” Sam asked as Toby came trotting back, the only one happy with the bus’s departure. “I don’t have snow tires on my car yet.”
“I thought you were saving up for them.”
“Well, yeah. But I haven’t been getting enough shifts at work to get the money quick enough. Tires are expensive.”
“Sorry. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” Charlotte bit her lip as she thought. “Your grandfather has to go to River Bend later this morning to meet with an old friend of his, but that would be too late to bring you.”
Sam swung his knapsack, his breath coming out in white puffs of annoyance. “I have to get to school, Grandma.”
Just as they stood contemplating the situation, Charlotte heard a truck start up. A truck that sounded suspiciously like Pete’s.
She thought he had left long ago for the appointment he had claimed he was late for.
Probably his way of getting rid of her, Charlotte realized. No matter. If Pete was leaving now, he could take Sam to school.
“I think your Uncle Pete can take you,” Charlotte said. “I hear his truck.”
“I’ll go over there.” Sam gave Charlotte a sheepish look. “Sorry I made you chase after the bus. But Emily was hogging the bathroom.”
“We’ll have to discuss bathroom allotment again,” Charlotte said.
“Or you could put in another bathroom,” Sam suggested helpfully.
“I don’t think so. The farmhouse has been renovated so many times, if we knocked one more wall out it could come tumbling down around us.” Charlotte shivered as she pulled her coat closer around her as Pete’s old green truck drew near.
Pete stopped and rolled down his window, exhaust from his truck roiling around them. “Checking up on me?” he asked.
“Actually, no. We were watching the bus disappear,” Charlotte said, once again puzzled at his defensive attitude. “I was hoping you could take Sam to school.”
“Yeah. Sure. Hop in,” Pete said to his nephew.
Sam waved good-bye, then jogged around the front of the truck. When he slammed the door shut, Pete took off, his tires spinning.
What had gotten into him? Charlotte wondered as she watched Pete’s truck leave.
Chapter Three
How do you miss a bus?” Pete teased as he spun the wheel of his truck. “The darn thing is about twenty feet long, ten feet high, and bright orange.”
“Not needing a play by play,” Sam groused, slouching down in the worn seat. “If I could afford winter tires for my car, I wouldn’t have to catch the cheese wagon at all.” He shivered. “Gosh, it’s cold out today.”
“Wouldn’t be so cold if you dressed for it.”
“And look like I’m ready to take on the Red Baron?” Sam gave his uncle’s leather hat with its earflaps a sardonic look. “Where do you find stuff like that?”
“Same place I find those LP’s you like to listen to on Grandpa’s old stereo. Garage sales.”
“You bought that hat in the summertime?”
“Best time to buy winter stuff. People forget how cold Nebraska winters can be when they’re walking around in shorts and flip-flops.”
“I’d have to be a lot colder than I am now before I consider wearing that thing.”
“Oh, listen to the fashionista,” Pete taunted. “Coming from California doesn’t give you an edge in the fashion department you know.”
“Never said it did,” Sam retorted, pulling the collar of his coat up higher. “I just know what I like and I don’t like your hat.”
“You’re pretty grumpy this morning,” Pete said, glancing at his nephew.
Sam knew he should be more grateful that Pete was willing to drive him to school, but he was getting frustrated with how long it took to save up for new tires for his car. He missed his freedom.
“You should talk abo
ut being grumpy,” Sam returned, deflecting Pete’s comment. “The way you were acting last night.”
Uncle Pete’s only reply was to stare straight ahead.
“What was your problem, anyway?” Sam continued.
“Not yours.” Pete’s hands clenched the steering wheel, and his mouth got all narrow and tight.
“Oka-a-a-y,” Sam said, drawing the word out. No one could accuse him of not being able to read body language. And Pete’s was saying the conversation was officially over.
Pete reached over and switched on the truck’s radio. Country music whined out of the speakers, and Sam cringed, wishing he had grabbed his MP3 player like he usually did when he had to ride the bus.
He just hadn’t had enough time. His sister had hogged the bathroom, and it took him longer than usual to get his hair to fall the right way. He needed a haircut, and when he was supposed to go to San Diego over Christmas, he had booked a cut with the lady who always did his hair back home.
But of course he’d ended up stuck here over the holidays, thanks to yet another Nebraska snowstorm. He sighed and stared out the window at the endless expanse of white, mentally comparing it to the palm trees and beaches back home.
His thoughts slipped from there to his father, wondering if the man ever thought of his kids. Wondering if he would ever be able to find them stuck out here in the hinterlands of Nebraska. Wondering if he would want to.
Pete made an unexpected turn onto a side road and Sam sat up, puzzled.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to pick up some stuff from Brad.”
“What? You didn’t spend enough time with him last night?”
“No smart remarks from the peanut gallery,” Pete snapped.
“Whoa. Bite my head off.” Sam held up his hands in defense.
“I can do better than that,” Pete said as he slowed down for a car that had turned onto the road ahead of them.
Sam watched the car as the taillights flashed on. “What is that driver doing?”
“Not what they should be. Jeepers, if he don’t watch it—” Pete’s voice trailed off as the car fishtailed, swerving back and forth across the road, taillights flashing on and off as if the driver wasn’t sure whether to brake or not.
An Abundance of Blessings Page 2
