High Plains Hearts

by Janet Spaeth

  “Still, he shouldn’t have run the story without checking it out. And he never asked me anything,” she said proudly.

  She picked up the paper again and reread the article, forcing herself to go through it slowly. “I guess we can’t sue him for slander or libel or anything like that since it’s all sort of true in a basic sense. Besides it’s not a signed article. It’s just in that Shop Talk column, which is really no better than some tabloid coverage of the town’s merchants.”

  “I could easily find out who wrote it,” Jake said, “but I’m debating that. My mom always told me, ‘Least said, soonest healed,’ or something like that. I might just leave it alone and see if it blows over.” He tried to smile. “So, kiddo, do you still want me as a neighbor? I’m probably persona non grata in my own neighborhood. They’d no doubt be glad to see me go now.”

  She dropped the paper and hugged him. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

  He hugged her back, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m a member of the Community and Business Organization in the End. This was a terrible way to let them know I was thinking about leaving them, having to read it in the paper, especially in a column like this.”

  “You’re starting to back down now, aren’t you?” she asked quietly, holding his hand in hers.

  He looked miserable. “I’ve always prided myself on being civic-minded and a good boss and a caring person. Think how many people feel betrayed this morning, reading this in the paper. I feel lower than a snake’s belly.”

  He stood up and walked over to the window, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So Reverend Barnes wants us to prioritize what we want this week, does he? Why didn’t he add the warning: ‘Be careful what you wish for—you might get it’?”

  She didn’t know what to say, if in fact there was anything she could say. With all her being, she wanted to take his pain away, but right now it seemed beyond her power. She felt limp and weak as her helplessness overwhelmed her.

  She started in the only way she knew. Silently she began to pray: Dear Lord, help us pass through this time of trial. Guide us and heal his hurting soul. Take us through this valley of—

  “Are you praying?” His words rang out sharply. “Is that what you’re doing? Praying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, don’t bother.”

  She stared as his sudden burst of anger contorted his face. “Don’t you get this, Tess? This isn’t about anything God can help with. He can’t take those words off that newspaper page. He can’t take them out of the minds of the folks who have read the article. It’s done. It’s all over. Every bit of it. And don’t tell me prayer will help anything. It can’t.”

  He snatched up his coat. “Because if there is a God, He sure has it in for me. How can I believe in a God who doesn’t believe in me?”

  With a slam of the door he was gone. And with him he took her heart.

  She proceeded through the day numbly, smiling mechanically at her customers as she rang up their sales. Her sales didn’t seem to have dropped, and she couldn’t see any difference in the way people acted today from the way they’d acted all week long.

  No one seemed to have noticed the article, and she took courage from that.

  That is, until late in the day when the door swung open and Mayor Lindstrom strode into Angel’s Roost.

  She was wearing her trademark bright yellow wool coat and brilliant red boots, a burst of sunlight in the white of winter. At the commission meetings she had often said she was going to visit Angel’s Roost, but this was her first time in the store. Somehow Tess didn’t think she was there Christmas shopping.

  At first Tess thought her worries were for naught as the mayor commented favorably on the store and the inventory. But then she launched into a discussion of the mayor’s commission.

  “I’ve appreciated everything you’ve done for us. You’ve been a tireless worker and a valuable asset to the commission. But we’re looking at restructuring the committee now.” Mayor Lindstrom straightened a rack of bookmarks cut out in the shape of angels, with Bible verses printed on the wings.

  “You want me to leave,” Tess said flatly.

  “No. I don’t. And that’s why I’m here.” The mayor was known and admired—or hated—for her way of speaking directly. “But the question of your way of operating is going to come up.” She picked up a ceramic birth angel and studied it casually. “Pretty. You saw the paper, I gather. Did you influence him?”

  Tess decided to answer as honestly as she could. “Jake and I have known each other for a very short time. He asked what I thought about whether he should move Panda’s downtown, and I admit I was encouraging. But I was not the one to suggest it, nor did I in any way bribe or finagle him into this decision. As a matter of fact, it was a total surprise to me. I learned it by reading it in the paper this morning.”

  “Tess, it’s not quite as simple as it might appear. The End is part of the city, too, and if Panda’s moves, that’ll have an impact on the End’s economy just as it will on downtown’s.” The tension in the mayor’s voice was sharp enough to snap.

  “I never thought of that,” Tess said. She felt like a schoolgirl being called on the carpet by the principal.

  Mayor Lindstrom examined a wind chime made of shells carved into the shapes of angels. “The worst part of this situation is that reading about it in the morning paper is a rotten way to let people know. I’ve had phone calls from the End’s CBO members, from Panda’s regular customers, from the families of Jake Cameron’s employees. It’s not as simple as it seems.”

  Tess agreed with her, and the mayor turned to face her straight-on.

  “Then why did he choose that way to let us all know? Why didn’t he tell us first?”

  “He didn’t have any control over the story.”

  “Balderdash,” the mayor said bluntly. “He talked to the reporter, didn’t he?”

  “Actually, no, he didn’t.” Tess began the explanation, detailing what Jake had told her earlier. When Tess had finished, Mayor Lindstrom was clearly angry. Her face had grown pale with a bright spot of red on each cheek.

  When she spoke, each word shot out as if it had been bitten off. “I’ve never liked that business column to begin with. The use of unsubstantiated rumor and insinuation is irresponsible at best, but this is it. I’ve reached the end of my patience with that column.”

  As the mayor swung out of the store, Tess was certain she saw sparks flying from her heels.

  Chapter 12

  Tess watched the mayor stride down the front walk of Angel’s Roost and step into her car.

  She certainly didn’t want to be the editor of the paper when Mayor Lindstrom arrived, although the snoopy part of her would have loved to be a fly on the wall.

  The newspaper was only a few blocks from Angel’s Roost, not time enough for the mayor to cool down if she headed straight there from the store. And Tess thought she probably would.

  Tess knew the editor would get a piece of the mayor’s mind when she arrived. As much as Tess was a nonconfrontational person and dreaded conflict, she was glad Mayor Lindstrom had stepped in. There were lines in ethics that needed to be drawn, and the mayor was the person to do it.

  She picked up the phone and called Panda’s. When she asked for Jake, the young woman on the other end said, “Um, he’s, um, like not here—I don’t think. He’s, um, in a meeting … or something. I could, um, like, take a message if you want.”

  It did Tess’s heart good to hear someone who was so obviously ill at ease with lying.

  “He’s there, isn’t he?” she asked gently.

  “Um, I, um, no, not really.” The young woman’s hedging was getting worse.

  “Would you please tell him Tess called and that it’s very important I speak with him?”

  “Sure. Um, wait a sec, okay?”

  The woman must have put her hand over the speaker part of the receiver because the background noise became muted. She could hear some m
umbled conversation; then Jake came on the phone.

  “Tess, I’m really busy.” He sounded tired again and harassed.

  “Is your staff fielding your calls?” Tess asked.

  “Yes. It was their idea, but I gave in. It’s easier this way.”

  “Phone’s been ringing off the hook, huh?”

  “Endlessly. People congratulating me on making a good decision. People ready to kill me. People wanting to know who this woman is who influenced me. People suggesting I do all sorts of interesting things I have no inclination for, nor are any of them physically possible—thank you very much.”

  “Then screening your calls is a good idea,” she said.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Has there been a lot of backlash at you?”

  “I must not be as high profile as you,” she said ruefully, “because I don’t think anyone recognized who I am. Oh, wait. One person did. Mayor Lindstrom.”

  “Whaaat?” he asked in astonishment. She had his complete attention.

  “Yes, indeedy. The mayor finally found the time to stop by Angel’s Roost.” She was unable to resist voicing what had bothered her since the mayor’s visit—that she hadn’t found the time to stop by Angel’s Roost until there was trouble. She knew the mayor was busy, but Tess didn’t like hollow promises.

  “And did she buy anything?” he inquired.

  “Are you checking into the mayor’s purchasing habits, or do you want to know what happened?” An edge of testiness crept into her words, and Tess fought to keep the snappishness away.

  “I want to know what happened. Can you tell me?” His voice filled with anxiety and a sprig of hope that seemed to bloom in the winter.

  “Not on the phone. I’ll tell you tonight,” she said.

  “Tonight? I can’t wait that long. Please tell me now,” he pleaded.

  “Can’t. Won’t. Actually I don’t know myself that anything happened. You know the mayor. She doesn’t abide foolishness, at least not with her town.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, thoroughly confused now.

  She grinned into the telephone receiver. “Come by around five. By then it may all be old news. And, by the way, bring food.” She hung up before he could say more.

  She turned to Cora, who had been watching the telephone cord dangle, apparently trying to decide if it was worth her while to get up, cross the room, and try to catch it. Idleness must have won out because the cat hadn’t moved at all.

  “I hope I’m not getting him over here under false pretenses,” she said to Cora, who yawned. “But I’ve been so concerned about him this week. First he’s so tired, almost to the point of exhaustion, and now this. Body and soul can bear only so much, sweet pea, and I’m worried. Really worried.”

  She felt that she needed to be there for him, but what words could she say that would bring comfort, let alone advice? What kind of wisdom did she have, or could she call upon, that would lead her into the right way to address the situations he was facing?

  The shop was empty of customers, so she left Cora guarding the store while she popped into the back of the house.

  One place she could count on for finding an answer. It was a book that had been her guide for many years now, and it had never let her down.

  Just holding her grandmother’s Bible brought her an immediate sense of calm. Tess brought it close to her heart and let it soothe her more.

  She took it to the store and sat on the chair behind the counter. As she did so, something fluttered to the ground.

  It was a thin sheet of paper. The handwriting on it was familiar; she’d seen it a hundred times when her grandmother was alive. She’d never seen this paper, though, and she read it eagerly. It was a list of Bible verses appropriate to certain needs, and her eyes focused on one in particular: “For speaking wisely, read Colossians 4:6.”

  Quickly she turned to the verse: “Let your speech be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man.”

  A snapshot memory of her grandmother appeared in her mind: She was standing by the old stove in the kitchen, stirring something warm and spicy and listening to Tess’s tearful confession about a teenage spat. Tess had said something about one of her friends, words that had come back to haunt her, and her grandmother had advised her on that long-ago day, “Tess, make sure your words are seasoned with salt, as you may have to eat them.” At the time it had seemed a curiously old-fashioned thing to say, but now it made sense. How like her grandmother to turn to the Bible for wisdom!

  She read it again, just the verse, and then in context. How she wished she could have met Paul! “Walk in wisdom,” he said in a nearby line. That was her goal.

  She recalled Reverend Barnes’s words. She needed to start making her wish list. At the top of it would be those words: “Walk in wisdom.”

  Jake burst through the door, balancing three take-out trays, a plastic bowl covered with foil, and a drink carrier. “I’m here,” he announced breathlessly. “I know I’m early. So shoot me. Have I got news for you.”

  She flipped the sign on the front door to CLOSED and motioned him toward the back. Cora roused herself from her slumber and, at the sight of the take-out cartons, came to life with amazing alacrity.

  The three of them marched into Tess’s small dining room. Tess pushed aside the week’s accumulation of mail she would get to, someday, and cleared a spot for them to eat.

  Cora wound herself in and out of Jake’s legs in a frantic figure eight, punctuating her movement with plaintive meows.

  He reached down and absently patted her head with his hand, but it had nothing in it to eat. Cora’s massive disappointment was clear. Fortunately Tess saw the look and captured Cora’s attention with Meow Meals before the cat could snack on Jake’s fingers. She’d seen that expression before and knew exactly what it meant. It did not bode well for him.

  As she was saving his hand from certain attack, she noticed he seemed almost chipper. The more she watched him, the surer she was. He must have good news.

  The take-out containers held a variety of sandwiches and salads, and the bowl was filled with wild rice and cheese soup. Her mouth began to water as she helped him set the food on plates.

  The drinks were Italian sodas, and she poured them into clear glass tumblers so they could enjoy the bright colors.

  Before he took a bite, she covered his hand with hers. “I’ve always done this silently, so maybe you don’t know I do it, but I say grace before each meal. May I say it aloud this time?”

  She dared not breathe as she awaited his answer. He had been so angry at God before, so opposed to her praying, at least for his plight. She had been hoping it was a temporary snap of anger with God and not a revelation of his true feelings. How would Jake react now? Would he let her pray?

  “Tess, I must apologize for my angry outburst. There is no excuse for it. I wouldn’t blame you if you could not forgive me.” He looked down in misery.

  “Not forgive you?” She gripped his hand. “How could I not forgive you? Think what Jesus forgave. They killed Him, Jake, and He forgave them. How could I hold this against you? Is your sin worse? No, it isn’t. It is up to Him to forgive you, and I think He already has.”

  “Thank you, Tess.” He looked up and smiled shyly at her. “I needed to hear that. And there’s more I need to hear. I need to hear you pray. Yes, please, offer grace.” He bowed his head in reverence.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, and then she began.

  “Heavenly Lord, bless this food which You have given us. We ask so much of You, and in return You provide. Thank You, dearest Lord, in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, who is indeed the greatest gift of Christmas. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Jake joined with her in response.

  Their eyes met, and for a moment Tess saw the oneness she had been seeking.

  The mood was shattered as Cora meowed loudly, indicating it was dinnertime.

  “What’s your news?” Tess asked Jake as she
passed him the plate of sandwiches.

  “What’s yours?” he countered.

  “I don’t want to get into one of those who-goes-first battles,” she said, “so I’ll start since mine is first in line chronologically.”

  She told him about Mayor Lindstrom’s visit, and when she ended her narrative, he leaned back and nodded thoughtfully.

  “That goes a long way to explaining my news,” he said at last. “I had a call from the editor of the paper, apologizing. The entire situation is bizarre. Here’s the story.

  “The writer of Shop Talk had written the story before checking with me because his wife was due for a heart transplant, and he was working ahead to be ready. He had written the copy but hadn’t intended it to go in yet, pending verification of the story. He’d heard about it from someone who’d heard about it from someone who’d heard about it—one of those long, convoluted stories you can never get to the bottom of.

  “Then his wife got the call—there was a donor heart—so they packed up quickly and left for Rochester, where the transplant is being done. Unfortunately he left the copy on his desk as a way to remind him to call me and check out the story when he got back. And his replacement saw it, thought it indicated he wanted the story to run, and used it.”

  “Oh, wow,” she breathed. “What an incredible story! Who ever would have thought it would be something like that? How’s his wife?”

  He stood and hugged her. “Only you, Tess Mahoney, would ask that question right off the bat. You really do care about other people, don’t you?”

  “Well, how is she?” she persisted. “Heart transplants are more common now, but a grave element of danger is still involved. Is she doing okay?”

  He nodded. “So far, so good. She just underwent surgery, so it’s early yet. But she’s a fighter, they say.”

  She sent a quick silent prayer heavenward for the woman’s safety.

  “You know,” she commented, “it tells me a lot that you knew the answer. That means you must have inquired about her health.”

  “I can’t imagine,” he said softly, “how it feels to know you must risk your life in order to live. And what those around you who love you must go through at the same time. How can they deal with the uncertainty, the not knowing?”