Then Simon cleared his throat and waved his proposal. “Miss Blosser, could you get me another copy of this. I’ll be needing one for Sherie. As general manager of assisted living, she’s been seeking some kind of promotion. This is perfect. I’m putting her in charge. She’s the key to making Little Steps a success.
Every Little Bit Helps, Carly mentally corrected, her world crashing down around her. Simon’s betrayal felt worse than if the board had rejected the idea entirely. She stared at him, realizing where Dale had gotten his betrayal genes. Or was this revenge? She felt a hand on her shoulder and cringed from her neck injury.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t see that coming, did you?” Mrs. Nissley whispered.
“No, ma’am.”
Simon glanced at his watch. “Perfect timing. Your shift begins in five minutes, Carly. Thanks again for coming.”
She snatched her bag, took one more look at the board, understanding then that Mr. Moseman and Simon had their backup plan prearranged. Blinking back tears, she slapped her copy of the proposal on Simon’s desk. “For Sherie.”
As she started from the room, Mr. Coblentz stuck out his hand. She took it, and he clasped it between both his a bit too firmly, but she appreciated his silent support as she fought back tears and fled the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After work Carly iced her aching neck, then took Cocoa to Aunt Fannie’s for a preplanned celebration/commiseration dinner. The new tire and rim worked perfectly per Rocco’s expertise, and the ride worked off some of the anger she’d stuffed in order to fulfill her shift at the assisted-living facility. Thankfully, Sherie wasn’t at work. It would have been her undoing.
Jimmy saw her arrive and swung open the door. “Aunt Fannie’s making fried mush.”
Carly lowered Cocoa to the floor. “Thought you were going on the road today.”
“Not until tomorrow.”
She followed her nose to the kitchen and kissed Auntie on the cheek. “Thanks for making my favorite.”
“Ach. It’s so messy, splattering my countertop and making everything greasy.”
The heavy smell of frying filled the kitchen—mush was one of those foods like broccoli that tasted great but smelled bad—and Jimmy moved to crank open the window.
“I brought Cocoa. Are the bedroom doors all closed?”
“Jah. And the litter box is ready.”
Feeling at home in her aunt’s kitchen, Carly opened a pantry door and snatched an apron. “Want me to fry the eggs?”
“Jah, and Jimmy you can do the toast.”
When they’d first arrived to live with Aunt Fannie—after their parents were killed in a car crash—she’d put them to work. Over time Carly discovered it helped with the grief. Aunt Fannie would know, because she’d also lost a husband and son to an accident. Working together bonded them into a family unit.
Since Auntie didn’t have a farm for Jimmy to work, she provided him with chores most men in their congregation considered women’s work. Now her brother had the skills he needed to live a bachelor’s life.
The Old Holley Conservative Mennonite Fellowship was more conservative when Fannie first arrived with her late husband. As it progressed from Beachy-Amish to the more liberal Conservative Mennonite, Aunt Fannie clung to the old ways, such as wearing her stringed prayer covering. Carly found no problem following Auntie’s plainer style of dress. Anyway, the cap helped control her bushy hair.
Now Aunt Fannie wielded her spatula, slipping the crisp brown strips of fried mush onto a platter. “Bring everything into the dining room where I cleared off the table”—she shot Carly an accusing look—“so it would be special for tonight.”
A renewed sense of failure sagged Carly’s shoulders as she carried a platter of fried eggs into the dining room. The table was dusted and set with Fannie’s best dishes, increasing her humiliation. Jimmy prayed and they passed the food before Fannie posed the questions which would steal Carly’s appetite. “What happened at the meeting today? You don’t look so good. And why are you rubbing your neck?”
Fiddling with her fork, she explained, “They liked my idea. Vote was three in favor and two opposed.”
Fannie appeared startled. “Ach! That’s good. I suppose Simon voted no.”
“Jah. And the man he has in his pocket.”
“What! Surely not.”
“No, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just angry.”
“Spill the beans, girl.”
“This Mr. Moseman added a stipulation to the proposal before the vote. It put Simon in charge of the program.”
“Ach my,” Auntie said.
“But Simon wouldn’t want the responsibility if he doesn’t support the program. Would he?” Jimmy asked.
Carly steepled her hands. “At that point in the meeting, I was thinking the same thing. But I knew something wasn’t right.”
Fannie waved her hand. “Well, what happened?”
“He congratulated me.”
“That’s hard to believe. So why so glum?” Fannie frowned. “Did you fall off your bike again?”
“Jah. But back to my story. I was admiring Simon for it until he asked me to make a copy of my proposal for Sherie. Said he was putting her in charge of the entire program. He bumped me out.”
Fannie slammed her fist on the table so hard it rattled the china passed down from her mother. “That rat!”
“That does it!” Jimmy pushed back his chair. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”
“No!” Carly grabbed his arm and flinched at the sudden pain that shot through her neck. “He knows how I feel. I slapped my proposal on his desk so hard it rattled his teeth and told him to give it to Sherie.”
She dropped her hand. “I’ve thought about this all day. It was preplanned that Moseman would add that stipulation. And everything was legal. I could tell some of the committee didn’t like it.” She thought about Mr. Coblentz’s firm handshake and Mrs. Nissley’s attempts to help her. “But they didn’t call him on it. It hurts that he doesn’t think I’m capable.” Her voice broke. “Sometimes I think he hates me.” She didn’t add what they were probably all thinking, because of Dale.
Jimmy pulled her up into the embrace she’d needed all day. She dug her fists into his shirt until her sobs subsided. When she pulled away, she feigned a smile, “Watch the neck.”
“Sorry.”
“The rat,” Fannie mumbled.
Carly sat back down and started to cut her mush into bite-sized pieces. “I’m fine now. But I don’t understand why he doesn’t just fire me.”
Fannie puffed with indignation. “Because you’re the best caregiver he has.”
Jimmy gripped the back of his chair. “I still think I should talk to him.”
Fannie argued, “Even though I think he’s a rat, it wouldn’t do a bit of good. Sit down, Jimmy. Let’s think this through.”
But he moved behind Carly’s chair and gently massaged her shoulders. “You’re the best caregiver there. He doesn’t deserve you. But the residents do.”
“That’s right.” Fannie wrung her hands. “Jimmy. Get my Bible from my bedroom. And be sure to close the door and check on that rabbit.”
“You just told me to sit down.”
Carly giggled in spite of the situation and felt her appetite returning. “I’m sorry you went to so much trouble when—”
“Shush now.”
Jimmy returned. “Cocoa was on his belly, sleeping with his legs stretched out behind and in front. What a life. Now he’s chewing on his toy.”
Fannie thumbed through the Good Book and cleared her throat. “Here it is. And it ain’t pretty. Proverbs 25:21–22. ‘If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.’”
“Sounds like we should’ve invited Simon to dinner,” Jimmy stated sarcastically.
Carly considered the verses. “I guess if he hates me, he is the enemy?”
Auntie
nodded. “And the best way to embarrass your enemy is to treat him with grace and respect. Even if he isn’t shamed into repentance, others’ll see who is right, and the Lord will bless your desire to help the residents.”
Carly grew thoughtful. “I suppose I could show him more respect.”
Jimmy shook his head with disgust. “I’m still mad. Why should Carly take the blame?”
“Because it’s our way. It’s God’s way, and I’ve seen it change people. Nothing Carly has done up to this point has changed Simon’s attitude.”
“She’s right, Jimmy. I only want the best for the residents. And I got the program approved. It’s just my pride hurting that I can’t administer it. Maybe my job is done.”
“Maybe,” Auntie replied. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll try to be kind to Simon and Sherie.” Carly cringed. “But I’m not ready to apologize to Simon.”
Auntie nodded as if the matter were resolved. “Ach! The food’s getting cold. And we’re here to celebrate the best caregiver at Sweet Life. Everybody eat up.”
Carly felt Cocoa snuggle in-between her feet, and the love of her family overwhelmed her. They’d provided a plan. They always stuck by her. They’d helped her get through the rumors buzzing around church after she’d split up with Dale. Rumors he’d spread. And now she had to forgive his dad. Given her temperament, the plan wasn’t going to be easy to implement.
Carly placed her bike in the stand and greeted Rocco as she passed the maintenance building. Her cheery countenance masked conflicting emotions, dreading her first encounters with Sherie and Simon. She punched numbers into a keypad, and sliding-glass doors opened to admit her into Sweet Life’s assisted-living facility.
“Hello! Hello!” Magnificent the cockatiel pruned its feathers from its cage. The lobby resembled a living room filled with second-hand sofas and out-of-date armchairs. It sported a round recreational table and television, though not a flat screen. Some shelves contained books and hideous knickknacks. Next to a stone fireplace was a wooden cradle filled with dolls and stuffed animals, which the senile residents could hold and rock.
Light bathed the lobby from its double doors and a side door that led to a walled-in flower garden with patio and benches. There a circuit sidewalk provided exercise for the residents. Carly glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. Her shift was 7:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Monday through Friday with an occasional Saturday. She headed to the receptionist’s desk, noting several residents were finishing breakfast. Klepto, their wanderer, turned her back to Carly, trying to hide the fact she was fiddling with the staffroom’s door handle.
Since Miranda had come to Sweet Life, the residents were dubbed with nicknames. Names solely used by the caregivers. It wasn’t malicious. Miranda had a hard time remembering names, and when needing to quickly identify a resident, descriptive nicknames flew out of her mouth. They’d stuck. The staff didn’t mean to demean anybody. It just happened.
For instance, Nines—the woman who always dressed to the nines for dinner and who used impeccable manners—could often be found sitting in the lobby with an outdated hat and purse in her lap as if waiting to go someplace. Since she wasn’t at the moment, it meant she was in her apartment with Teacup—her cat.
Carly stuffed her purse in a bin behind the receptionist counter and glanced down a long, carpeted corridor. Hall Patroller was working the wheels of her chair, headed to her room for her morning television shows. Television was the only thing that kept her out of the hall.
The hall. It was a real showcase, decorated with a mishmash of welcome plaques, photos, wreaths, and nameplates that identified studio apartments. Carly removed her keys from a hook and attached them to her clothing. While some of the residents kept their doors open, others were closed and locked. She had the master key. Each room was a mini version of the resident’s former homes. And each resident had unique daily routines and interests.
Miranda popped out of Dot’s room and approached with a glint in her eye. Carly waited for the inevitable. A Mennonite Voluntary Service worker from Goshen, Indiana, Miranda was on a one-year stint. While working at Sweet Life, she lived in a V. S. apartment in nearby Albany. Her wages went directly into the V. S. unit, and they reimbursed her a tiny salary, enough for necessities that the unit didn’t supply. Although Miranda was cheery and kind to the residents, she had a man-tracked mind. And she was younger than Carly.
Stepping behind the counter, Miranda pulled out a chart. Her focus, however, remained on Carly. “So we never got to talk about what I saw the other day.”
“Is Kelly room-picking again?” Klepto often invaded others’ properties, and the staff would find stolen items hidden in her drawers.
Miranda shrugged with irritation. “I don’t know about that. I’m talking about you and Adam coming out from behind the building. Are you two seeing each other?”
“You know he’s my brother’s best friend, right?”
“No-o!” Miranda’s eyes lit with excitement. “I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he single? If he is, maybe he’d like to go hiking with the V. S. unit sometime.”
Carly grinned. If anything, Miranda was consistent. She tried to imagine Jimmy hiking with Miranda. He’d probably be attracted to the stunning Spanish woman with black bobbed hair. Thin figure. Red lipstick. But when she latched onto him with those painted nails, he’d bolt and never stop running.
Carly chuckled. “Jimmy’s a confirmed bachelor with a hunger for adventure. I don’t think he’ll ever settle down.”
“Our V. S. group’s adventurous. Ask him if he likes hiking. Or bring him around. I’ll ask.”
“He drives a truck and is gone most of this week.”
Miranda closed the file she’d been using and opened a drawer, letting it drop. “Back to Adam… So you don’t care if I flirt with him?”
Carly placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “You’re asking me this now?”
Miranda’s dark expressive eyes looked repentant. “I know. I’m obvious. But I don’t want to move in on your territory, that’s all.”
“Thanks. To answer your question”—Carly shrugged—“sure, I like Adam.” Let her stew over that one. Meanwhile she’d try to figure it out herself. “Anything I should know?”
Frustrated, Miranda replied, “Yeah, Sherie’s in the staff room and wants to see you.”
Dread fell over Carly. “Thanks.” Let’s get it over with. Act nice. She opened the door Klepto had finally abandoned. The assisted-living manager was typing at a computer.
“You asked for me?”
Sherie spun her chair and smiled. “I did. Please, sit down.”
Carly took an armchair situated next to a mini refrigerator topped with a droopy artificial plant and attempted some small talk about Sherie’s extended weekend.
Crossing long shapely legs, Sherie leaned back in her chair. “Congratulations on getting the board to pass your proposal.”
Heat rushed up Carly’s neck and face. She’s not my enemy. “Thank you.”
“You never cease to amaze me. This isn’t a job to you. It’s your life.”
“Jah. It is.”
“I understand.”
Carly searched Sherie’s blue eyes and saw approval.
“We’re alike.” The forty-something woman from Simon’s church wore a knee-length pencil skirt and scoop-necked sweater. A long necklace hung from her neck. She ran a hand through her short, perky hairstyle. They were nothing alike. “I’ve got my eye on a seat on the board. Mrs. Nissley leaves in six months, and I’ve talked to Simon about it. Your… uh… volunteer program—”
“Every Little Bit Helps,” Carly interjected.
“Yes, exactly. Your Every Little Bit Helps will help me to obtain that chair.”
“And stamp out loneliness.”
“What?”
“That’s the slogan, Everybody can do one little thing to stamp out loneliness.”
“Oh. Don’t worry, I understand the goal. I’m just trying to
explain why heading this program is so important to me. I know you had your heart set on running it. I can only imagine your disappointment. But I think Simon made the right choice. You’re still young. Your time will come. You’re valuable, and I need your support. Do I have it?”
Carly glanced at the floor, then back at Sherie. What kind of support? “I have to be honest. Yesterday you didn’t. But today, my focus is back. I only want what’s best for the residents.”
Sherie’s eyes widened with surprise. “I appreciate your candor.”
Carly knew her manager had hoped for more enthusiasm. She wished she could act as though she hadn’t been stabbed in the back. When she’d left home that morning, she’d had good intentions. But now kind words wouldn’t form. Guiltily, she remembered Aunt Fannie’s plan. If she couldn’t follow through with Sherie, how could she forgive Simon?
“Let me see. There was one other thing.” Sherie tapped her finger on her skirt. “Oh, yes. Martha’s daughter is planning a surprise birthday party for her in December. I told her about the dried flower cards you make, and she’d like to buy some to use for invitations.”
“I’d be happy to bring in some samples.”
“Great, thanks.”
“I’m glad she’s throwing a party for Martha.”
Sherie smiled. “Helen said Martha’s mentioned turning eighty-five about eighty-five times.”
Carly laughed. “Jah, or ninety.”
“So she’s decided to make it memorable. They’re pulling out all the stops. But in the meantime, Helen keeps brushing Martha off as if it’s no big deal. She thinks Martha’s getting offended, perhaps depressed. Have you noticed any depression?”
“Perhaps more irritable than usual.”
“Good description. She was grumbling at breakfast about nobody caring, so you might want to give her some extra attention.”
“How’s Dot doing?”
“Loves that bird. That was a good call. Especially since Crusher takes care of it.”
“Is that it then?” Carly stood.
“Yep. Just bring in card samples and leave them at the receptionist’s counter. Thanks.” Sherie spun back to the computer.
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