A Knight to Remember

by Yvonne Lehman

  He’d pop in after breakfast and say, “Now which one is number five and which is number six? He was in the framing stage and wanted to keep them in order. After the second day, when he stuck his head in the door, she held out a sheet of paper with the paintings listed in the order he had them in the notebook.

  “How can I ever repay you?” he said.

  “You can’t. I’m a volunteer.” She squinted and shot him a mean look. “But I want you to know I gave up the Turkey Trot for this.”

  “Gloria, no. I don’t want you giving up anything.”

  “You don’t want me to give up gobbling all day and running like a turkey, mainly away from Greg?”

  Maybe he did, aware of how appealing she looked with that color appearing in her cheeks, but before he thought of how to answer she said, “Seriously though, the church has plenty of runners. They’ll raise a lot of money without me. And there will be plenty of girls to run with Greg. He’s quit pursuing me anyway.”

  “Well, thanks for the list. I have framing to do.”

  He finished the day before Thanksgiving except for setting up the display and including the notebook. On Thanksgiving he helped the church, along with Jim, Clara, Gloria, and many volunteers, serve Thanksgiving dinner to the center residents, area homeless, and anyone wanting or needing a meal. They served from noon until after dinnertime.

  All the eaters were happily stuffed and the volunteers happily filled and exhausted. Gloria took many pictures that would continue to keep awareness of the needy before the public.

  When the clean-up crew took over, Thomas walked out with Gloria, Jim, and Clara who said it was time to get a Christmas tree now that Thanksgiving was over.

  “We need one for the center,” Jim said. “You want to take my truck and get two about yea big?” He lifted his hand above his head.

  Thomas nodded. “I could use a yea big one in the hotel living room and one about four feet taller in the dining room. Go with me, Gloria? You don’t work tomorrow, do you?”

  “No, but I’m watching Bobby tomorrow morning. Heather and Caleb have an appointment with a psychologist. They’re hoping to be back together by Christmas.”

  “Caleb’s doing well at the center,” Jim said. “Taking classes, helping out. No nightmares.”

  “Heather’s mother is being supportive now,” Clara said. “She’s realizing Caleb’s problem isn’t alcohol but the traumatic experiences.”

  Thomas had an idea. “Bobby would probably like going. Bring him along.”

  Gloria glanced at Jim. “That little seat behind the driver safe for him?”

  “Oh yes,” Jim said.

  “You don’t want to pick out your tree, Clara?” Gloria asked.

  “No. Jim does that. I do the decorating.”

  “But I don’t do it if somebody else does it for me,” Jim said.

  “Sounds like fun,” Gloria said. “My roommate and I always had a little rinky-dink artificial one. But,” she added, “Heather talked about their getting one. They might want to do it as a family.”

  Thomas nodded. “Bobby could pick out some he likes and tell them about them.”

  That settled it, and early the next morning they bundled in their jeans, jackets, scarves, and hooded jackets in case it turned colder or wet. By mid-morning it was mildly cold with a sky that threatened rain or snow.

  Thomas took them to a lot right outside Silver City where his family always got their trees. They’d gone down a couple rows and Bobby was favoring the huge ones.

  They stepped to the side when a woman approached pushing a baby buggy. She started to pass; then her eyes got big and she stopped to cry out, “Thom. . .aaaas?”

  “Libby?” He stared a moment, then glanced at Gloria and back again at the attractive brunette.

  “Is that you under there?” she asked, her gaze sweeping over his beard.

  “Almost. Right now I’m incognito. This is Gloria. Bobby. Libby.” He looked down at the baby carriage where an infant was bundled up tightly and sound asleep. “That’s. . .yours?”

  “Afraid so. And to my surprise, I love being a mom.” The baby stirred and opened its eyes and fussed. She moved the carriage back and forth, and the baby closed its eyes again. “Meet Teddy Morton II.”

  “Ted?” He’d worked as bellboy at the hotel and had led Thomas into a rather wild life. Thomas caught himself before he said, “You mean the overweight teddy bear who was a cutup and barely got out of high school and never went to college but went to work at some air-conditioning plant?”

  His eyes must have asked it. She nodded. About that time, a lean, good-looking fellow walked up, stuck out his hand, and gushed, “Well, if it ain’t the long-lost, most-likely-to-succeed hometown boy come back. Heard you was around somewhere. How you doing, buddy?”

  “Not as well as you, apparently.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to get together and talk about it. I can always use another good hand.” He punched Thomas in the bicep. “Kidding, bro. Well, not really. Would you believe I’m a millionaire now?”

  “You mean. . .having Libby and Junior here?”

  He fluffed that off with a wave of his hand. “Ah, that goes without saying.” He gave Libby a grin, and she grinned back like it was true. “Is that one yours?” He looked at Bobby. “If he is, you work fast and grow ’em big.”

  Thomas introduced Gloria and Bobby as friends of his.

  Ted turned to Gloria and spoke to her as if she were the only one there. “After Thomas dumped Libby, I called her, found her, and told her I wanted to help her get over her broken heart.” He turned back to Thomas. “Wanted to do you a favor, bud. Anyway, started my own heating and air-conditioning business. Done a lot of crawling around in soot and ashes. But you know how people are, always too hot or too cold. I now have businesses in four counties and moving on.”

  One could never be sure when Ted was telling the truth. Thomas looked at Libby. She nodded and held out her left hand. On her ring finger sat an enormous diamond. Glancing back at her he saw her eyebrows wiggle. She was a happy woman.

  The baby fussed again. Ted reached over, nudged Libby’s hand away, and began rolling the carriage back and forth. “Well,” he said, “we better get Teddy Bear home before his little nose freezes to death. By the way, thanks for giving up the most beautiful, wonderful girl in the world.”

  Thomas didn’t think he should say it was his pleasure.

  Ted glanced at Gloria. “But I see you got another one. Don’t let her get away. By the way, I go to the same church as James. He’s a big dude there.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “I fix a lot of furnaces and air conditioners. Just a common laborer.”

  Thomas laughed and shook his head. “And taking their money.”

  “I work for it. At least, my crew does. Want a job?”

  “Afraid I’d be lost in that kind of work.”

  Ted nodded. “That’s okay. You white-collar people just keep lining my pockets. But I’m in the phone book. We’ll get together. You ever need anything, let me know.”

  Thomas knew he meant that. He had a thought. “I know somebody who might make you a good worker. Bobby’s dad.”

  “Send him over.”

  Thomas knew if there was any way, Caleb now had a job.

  They said their good-byes.

  “She’s. . .the one,” Gloria said, instead of asking, keeping her eyes on Bobby across the aisle examining the cones on a pine tree.

  “Yep. When Libby and I decided to part ways, she was planning to get her master’s degree and teach college courses. She may someday, but she seems pretty content being a wife and mom.”

  “I guess that happens when you fall in love and marry.”

  “Surprising in a way. They’re from two different worlds. But they sure seem to complement each other. But”—he shrugged—“he wasn’t one of my crowd when we met. He worked for us as a bellboy. I liked being around him, and we became friends. I’d like to renew tha
t friendship.” He thought a minute. “But that would involve Libby. Think that would be okay?”

  She shrugged. “A lot may depend on”—she cast him a sidelong look—“on what kind of kisses you two shared.”

  “Physical or love, huh? Well, it’s pretty obvious I pursued the paintbrush instead of Libby.”

  She nodded and walked over to Bobby.

  What might Gloria be thinking? He obviously still pursued the paintbrush over anything and anybody else.

  Seeing that little family and watching Gloria with Bobby made him think about having that kind of life for himself one of these days.

  He walked over to Gloria and Bobby. “Yes, when I broke up with Libby, my commitment was to my painting. But three years ago my commitment became to let that paintbrush be used by God for His glory, His purpose. That’s not the kind of commitment one backs away from. Not and have any kind of life at all.”

  He had no idea what that conveyed to her, or if he’d meant for it to. But after a glance at him she said, “Ooops, there he goes.”

  They took off after Bobby who was jumping up and down. “This one’s gotta be it. Mom and Dad will love it.”

  “We’ll have the attendant put it aside for your parents to look at,” Thomas said. “But I agree. I think this one. . .is just right. What do you think, Gloria?”

  She gave him a quick glance. “I agree. Now we’d better find the right ones for the hotel.”

  “I’ve already seen one that looks perfect for the living room.”

  “Then we’d better grab it before somebody else does.”

  Yes, that could happen. With trees and. . .with people.

  twenty-six

  Early Saturday morning, Gloria drove through the cold rain to the hotel. Thomas said he had boxes of ornaments his family always used but had no idea how to decorate the trees. He’d thought decorations magically appeared on the trees, but the ornaments were family keepsakes.

  Her rinky-dink artificial tree had come with tiny, clear lights. She had, in the past, helped hang ornaments on trees a few times. On Friday evening she watched Jim and Clara decorate.

  She parked at the back of the hotel, hurried inside, and hung her jacket on one of the back door hooks. She found the dining room and was surprised at how big it looked. Maybe that’s because no patrons sat around at tables, the chandeliers remained off, and the open drapes presented only a rather dim gloom.

  They’d be decorating a tree in a cold room in an empty hotel. That thought saddened her. But after he got the lights on, moved the ladder, and began to read the notes that accompanied many of the ornaments, she realized the dining room wouldn’t be empty. It would be as full of memories as Thomas was as he talked about his family. His mom, dad, and grandmother. All gone from this world but alive in his heart and mind.

  He really didn’t need her help from the moment he said, “Maybe we should put the ribbon on before we attach the ornaments.” He asked her opinion at each turn or twist, but she saw his creative flair from the very first. Even before they started with the ornaments, the tree was looking as good as any fancy tree in a department store window.

  When they finished and turned the lights on, it was like the gray light and rain outside the windows hurried away in deference to the beauty that could light up a room like nothing else.

  They kept looking at it and each other, grinning and nodding.

  Finally he turned his head to glance around the room. “I wanted to brighten this room since I’ll be hanging my paintings on the walls and setting some around for my agent to view. Think this will do it?”

  She tried to push away the thought, The tree should be quite a contrast to paintings of homeless people.

  That fleck of rare insecurity touched his eyes for a moment. She quickly turned and walked over to the wall, looking at the paintings already hanging there. Some were landscapes around the Washington area, others depicted memorials, the White House, public buildings, the hotel, a cherry tree that could be one on the front lawn, and some places she didn’t recognize. Then she realized the creative scrawl in the corner of the paintings were all the same, and there seemed to be a definite K. “Did you paint these?”

  He didn’t sound thrilled at admitting that he had. She turned toward him. “I think they’re. . .wonderful.”

  He nodded and stepped over to a display rack near a corner and gave it a little spin. “That’s what Frank says. Good enough to be reproduced and sold to tourists. Like hundreds, thousands of other artists.” He shrugged. “But. . .” He smiled. “Thank you.”

  She stared at the lighted tree, hardly aware that Thomas was stacking boxes and taking them to a closet in the alcove beyond the fireplace. That little word, but, held a world of meaning. He didn’t want to be like thousands of others. He wanted the Lord to use his gift in a special way, to make a difference. All this gave her a different view of her parents. They made a commitment to follow the Lord’s leading to the mission field. She’d resented it at times. But now that seemed like such an immature, selfish way of viewing it. She couldn’t have had a better life with them than she had with Clara and Jim. She’d lacked nothing.

  “What’s on your mind?” Thomas said, going over to unplug the lights.

  “My parents.”

  “Shall we decorate the tree in the living room?”

  She was glad to leave the dining room that had looked gloomy again with the tree lights off. The living room was entirely different. One could settle down in there, alone, and still love it. The fireplace was blazing, the room warm and cozy. He made hot cocoa, and their mood began to catch the spirit of the upcoming season as they talked and laughed about childhood memories of Christmases past.

  When he walked with her to the back door, his thoughts turned again to the meeting with Frank. She shrugged into the jacket he held as he said, “Will you sit in on the meeting with Frank?”

  She felt sure her shock showed. He said quickly, “Frank will need to see how the book complements the paintings. You’ve done all the work there.”

  “But it’s your work. All I’ve done is type and print.”

  “You took a mess of words and made sense of them. But I’ve imposed on you enough.”

  “We’re friends, Thomas.” Their gazes held for a moment before she looked down and decided to fasten her jacket just to keep from looking into his eyes like that. He needed her to be there? To be supportive? She thought she might be more afraid of what Frank might say than Thomas was. But he was right. She had typed the pages. “Sure. If you think it’s okay, I’ll be there. And even if Frank doesn’t like them, it’s not the end.”

  “No. But these past three years represent my best, my heart, my commitment to the Lord. If Frank thinks they won’t go, they won’t. I can still paint. I’ll accept my talent is limited and adjust. I’ll serve the Lord in whatever way He allows. His plan is best, even if I don’t understand it or like it.”

  She nodded. “Like me losing Raymond and my job and my security. I hated that. And although I didn’t really ask God about it, I just assumed it was right. I see that my plan may not have been best. Maybe Raymond and I could have made it. But, anymore, I don’t want to settle for just. . .making it.”

  “That’s how I feel about my painting. Like the biblical character said—Job, I think—I’ll serve him, ‘though he slay me.’ ” He laughed at that. “I think it would be easier if he’d just slay me.”

  “If Frank says no, you’ll be okay?”

  “Not really. But I will serve the Lord in whatever way He allows. His plan is best even if I don’t like it. All I have to do is look around and know how blessed I am. I learned three years ago how easy it is to feel that you have no one and nothing.”

  She needed to get out of there before she cried. This was hard, seeing someone’s life’s work, someone’s heart’s desire, and not knowing what would happen with it. She would go to the office and finish the book today. “The pages will be ready for you Monday morning.”

 
; She thought he might ask if she liked it. But that wouldn’t make any difference. Frank’s opinion would be the deciding factor. “It does need one more entry.” At his questioning eyes she said, “You.”

  “Oh no. It’s not about me. It’s about the homeless and the volunteers.”

  “It’s all about you, Thomas.” She opened the door and left him staring at her.

  He closed the door after she settled into the car, and she sat there a moment. In a few days this would end. She and Thomas had talked about what might happen if Frank rejected his work.

  Neither had mentioned what would happen if Frank accepted it.

  If he did, Thomas would fly off to Paris or wherever famous artists went, and she’d maybe take Raymond’s job offer.

  If Frank didn’t accept the project, then Thomas would live in an empty hotel and volunteer at the center, and she would have to take Raymond’s job offer.

  But she needed to get this project over with, one way or another, and keep her mind off someone whose commitment was to a paintbrush.

  Oh, what was she going to do?

  As quickly as she asked it, she started the engine and drove off. With a sense of trepidation, she knew exactly what she must do.

  twenty-seven

  Thomas wondered if he’d imposed on Gloria too much. On Wednesday he stopped by her office after breakfast. “Frank is coming at ten, but I see you’re working so that’s fine. Don’t—”

  “Thomas.” She punched a couple buttons on her computer. “Jim has already told me to go anytime. He’s as jittery about this as we are.”

  “I’m trying not to be.”

  “Go on,” she said. “I’ll be there soon.”

  Gloria arrived at 9:30, soon after he’d taken a quick shower and dressed in a turtleneck and jeans that were worn just enough to be stylish. His hair was still damp. She tapped on the dining room door. “Can I come in, or do you want Frank to look first?”