by Janet Spaeth
Ric smiled. “I may be stepping into dangerous waters here, but how do you like Wildwood so far? At least as much as you’ve seen of it?”
“I haven’t seen much,” she acknowledged. “Just basically the church, my new home here, and Pizza Wonderama, but I’m enjoying all three of them.” A thought occurred to her that made her chuckle, and she shared it with Ric. “Of course, for Todd that pretty well covers his basic needs. Church, home, and pizza.”
“He’s a neat kid,” Ric said.
They settled into a companionable silence, listening to the leaves rustle overhead, the far-off sound of children’s voices raised in late play, the faint sounds of someone’s radio.
“I like Wildwood,” Ric said at last. “It’s the kind of place a guy can settle into, buy a house, raise a family. There’s not much crime here either.”
“I wonder why there seems to be so much crime in big cities and not much in small towns,” she mused. “Do you suppose it’s just a matter of population? That per capita, it’s the same?”
“I don’t know. Could be. People are people wherever you go, that’s for sure. I suppose your chance of meeting a bad apple is just greater in a bigger barrel.”
Well, Lily thought, if there’s a bad apple in this barrel, I’ll manage to come across him. Although her logical side reminded her that simply because she’d had the miserable luck to become involved with an apple that was rotten to the core in Chicago didn’t mean she was a bad-apple magnet. It was an unfortunate set of circumstances, that was all.
But she summed it all up in a single noncommittal word: “Maybe.”
“Are you planning to go back to Chicago eventually?” Ric asked.
“No!” The word shot out with more vehemence than she intended. “I mean, I doubt it. For a while, anyway. Todd and I are enjoying not living in the rat race.”
He seemed to accept her unresponsive answer. She decided to snoop a bit into his life. “So tell me, are you from Wildwood? I get the feeling this isn’t your original home.”
“It isn’t. I came to Wildwood about a year and a half ago.”
“Really? Where were you before that?” Maybe she was a snoop at heart, but Lily loved to hear people’s life stories. And her instincts told her this would be a very interesting story.
“Central America,” he said. “And—”
The cellular phone attached to his belt buzzed into action, and after a short conversation with the caller, Ric clipped it back into place and turned to her apologetically. “That was a call from the hospital. Since Pastor Mike’s not here, I’d better go.”
“Not bad news, I hope.” She slid to the edge of her chair.
“No, not at all.” He smiled. “Joy and Linus Alfson have just given birth to two healthy baby boys. I call that very good news indeed.”
He stood up and stretched. “It’s a beautiful evening. Look! A firefly!”
It was all she could do not to clap her hands in wonder. She hadn’t seen a firefly since she was a child.
Ric paused and watched it flit around in the advancing darkness under the shelter of the trees, its light blinking off and on. “You know,” he said at last, “when I was a child, I believed that fireflies were angels.”
Lily laughed. “I can understand that. They’re so incredible that having them be angels is the only good explanation.”
“I’d also wonder what they were doing. After all, an angel is supposed to have a message, I thought, and it occurred to me one evening that if I could just discover what they were up to, I’d have it all figured out. Break their code and all that.”
“Did it work?” She couldn’t resist asking him the question.
“Only partially.”
“Really? Partially? What did you learn?”
“That fireflies talk to fireflies and not to Ric Jensen. It was a massive letdown at the time, but I lived through it.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t become a scientist,” Lily commented.
“I did in a way, I guess. Only now I look at the universe and marvel at it openly.” He flashed a grin at her. “Don’t get me started on snowflakes, or I’ll talk your ears clean off your body.”
“I’ll remember that when winter comes.”
“Speaking of snow, Wildwood in winter is beautiful. I hope you’ll still be here then,” he said, sounding almost bashful.
“We’ll see when winter comes,” she said, but she had to admit that if there were a place for her to put down roots and build a future for Todd, this was probably as close to the perfect spot as anything she’d ever find. She’d only been in Wildwood a day and already it was home.
“Come winter, you’ll have plenty of snow,” he said. “But I’d better not say any more for fear of scaring you away.”
“I’m from North Dakota, you know,” she answered. “I grew up in Mandan, and my mother still lives there.”
“Mandan, huh? Right next to Bismarck.”
“They’re both wonderful places. And both quite snowy in the winter.”
“That’s true. Well, I need to visit the Alfson twins. There’s nothing like holding a baby to make a day end well. Two babies, actually. The only bad part is, I have to give them back.”
“You don’t have children, I gather.” She pulled a blade of grass from the ground at her feet and twisted it into a knot.
“No, I don’t. No wife, no children. Not even a goldfish. Someday the Lord will lead me to them, but I suspect He might start with the goldfish.”
He left, but Lily made no motion to go inside. It was so pleasant to sit out here and let the breeze play across her face.
She shut her eyes and thought about what lay ahead of her. What she’d seen in the files was enough to galvanize her into action.
Day care seemed to be at the basis of so many lives, especially now. People couldn’t work if they couldn’t leave their children in reliable hands, and without work there was no income.
Where would she start? Where could she start?
Lord, I need Your help again. Please guide me through these uncharted waters.
She didn’t want to let these wounded people down. They were relying on her, and she had to see it through to the end.
Her prayer came to an end. She couldn’t put words around the idea. But He would know, wouldn’t He, what was in her heart?
She opened her eyes, and as she stood to go into the mobile home and try to get some sleep, she looked down.
There, on her dress over her heart, was a firefly twinkling out a message.
Maybe she wasn’t a scientist, but she knew what the message was.
Prayer heard.
Lily watched the firefly as it paused a moment longer before taking flight. As it flew higher and higher into the trees, she smiled.
God was probably glad that she was trying to help His friends. Todd was right about that.
Her soul felt much lighter as she got ready for bed, and in those moments before sleep overtakes wakefulness entirely, one last thought floated through, uncensored.
What would it take to convince Ric that she didn’t have cooties?
Ric leaned against the elevator as it took him from the maternity floor to the lobby. He was tired beyond belief—but the babies were beautiful, and the parents were glowing with happiness.
There was something about babies that sang of possibility and hope. It was the promise of the future, the golden cord that pulled them through each day into the next.
One day he’d be guiding these two children through confirmation classes, taking them on mission trips, and praying them through the first tentative steps of adolescence.
His heart spoke to him, delivering a message he’d been suppressing for months—no, for years. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but in this moment of exhaustion, the unspoken words poured through, undeniable, unstoppable.
He wanted a child. He wanted to be a father.
But first things came first. That was the way it was. The first thing was to find a woman, fall in love, a
nd get married. Or was that three things? His mind was so blurred that he couldn’t make sense of it.
It had begun with the last mission trip he’d taken before coming to Wildwood. A Central American orphanage, where poverty, hunger, and need were reflected in the luminous eyes of the children, had etched itself firmly into his heart.
He’d committed himself to not letting those faces leave his soul.
One day, he’d promised himself, he would give one of those children a home where want wasn’t on the menu every day. One day … one day.
Fast-forward from the orphanage to a woman kneeling in the parking lot, a small boy at her side, and holding a ladybug on her fingertip so it could fly away home—the image came to him and would not leave.
For the moment, the youth of Resurrection had to be his major concern, his only concern.
He rubbed his hands over his face. He needed sleep. But could anything protect him from his dreams?
“Is your afternoon free?” Marnie asked Lily.
Lily flipped her appointment calendar open. She had been in Wildwood almost a week, and each of those days had been satisfyingly busy.
“At this point, it sure is. Just paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork,” she answered cheerfully. “Why? What’s up?”
“Victoria Campbell will be in later today.” Marnie’s demeanor had changed somehow, but Lily couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. “Can you possibly see her?”
“I suppose I can,” Lily replied. “Who is Victoria Campbell?”
Marnie’s posture told her this was important, so Lily closed the file and gave the older woman her full attention.
“Victoria Campbell owns Wedding Belles,” Marnie said, fairly bristling now with disapproval.
Lily nodded. “I’m sorry. You’ve got me at a disadvantage here. What is Wedding Belles?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Marnie came into the room and perched on the edge of Lily’s desk. “Wedding Belles is where everybody who’s anybody goes when they’re fixing to get married. It’s very hoity-toity, very posh.”
“In other words, very expensive?” Lily asked.
“Oh, yes indeedy.” Marnie’s face began to redden with indignation. “I can’t believe she’d come here and ask for our help. Her, of all people.”
“What kind of help?”
“Day care. Her little darling, Edgar, needs a place to go while Victoria redoes her suite.”
“Redoes?” Lily felt like a duck pouncing on a June bug. “What do you mean? Did she have flood damage?”
“Well, I’m sure she did. We all did. There isn’t a house or business in this town, except those way out on that new northeast side development, that didn’t take water.”
“So what’s the problem, Marnie? What am I not seeing here?” She spoke slowly and carefully. From what she’d seen of Marnie, she wasn’t the kind of person to go off on a wild whim. No, there was some reason under all this that was making Marnie upset.
Marnie straightened her back. “It borders on gossip, Lily. I’m not sure what I should tell you about what she did to us here.”
“Does it have anything to do with the day care?” Lily asked.
Marnie shook her head with determination. “No. Absolutely not.”
Lily rubbed her forehead. This was not an auspicious start. “Perhaps this is one time when I should be left in the dark.”
The church secretary seemed to weigh Lily’s words, and at last she nodded. “That makes sense. If you do decide you need some gaps filled in, though, I’ll help you.” She stopped and bit her lip before continuing. “I will say this, however. There’s no love lost between that woman and me, not after the shenanigans she pulled here, so don’t be surprised if I’m not her biggest cheerleader.”
Lily patted the woman’s hand. “I understand. I’ve known people like that. But if I’m going to make this day care succeed in the spirit we intend for it to, I need to not let those kinds of things bother me.”
Marnie sighed. “I know. But it’s hard, this always trying to be like Jesus.” She stood up and walked out the door, pausing to grumble. “Though personally, I think if He’d known Victoria Campbell, even His patience might have been tried.”
Oh, Lily thought, it’s going to be an interesting day!
She turned back to the file and was soon immersed in the paper trail of objectives and permissions.
But soon something wonderful wafted toward her office and into her senses. Before she could form the idea of what exactly the source of the delicious smell was, Ric poked his head in the door.
“Hungry?”
He held in his hands a familiar red-and-white-striped bucket from which emanated the aroma of fried chicken. Her mouth immediately began watering, and she nodded.
“Then follow me,” Ric invited and led her back into the church office where Marnie had set up a folding table and laid out the plastic forks and paper napkins.
The three of them sat down, and Ric blessed the food with a familiar grace that Lily recognized as being the same one they’d used for dinners at Shiloh.
As they dug into the fried chicken, they discussed the morning’s events. Ric told of the twins he’d seen the night she’d arrived, and then again this morning. “Joy says the doctor says they’re perfectly healthy, even if they are a bit smaller than usual.”
“How much did they weigh?” Marnie asked, wiping her face with a napkin. “This is great chicken.”
“How much did the chicken weigh or the twins?” Ric teased. “Well, to be honest, she told me, but I don’t remember. But they’re little, about, oh, this size.” He held up his hands first six inches apart, then ten, then eight, and then gave up. “They’re little.”
Marnie shook her head. “Honestly, Ric.”
“Sorry,” he said, looking sheepish. “So, in an obvious attempt to change the subject, Lily, how’s it going?”
“I’m beginning to get a picture of the history of the day care,” Lily reported. “It looks like everything is in order, at least as near as I can tell at this point. I’ve got a call in to the fellow who’s overseeing this in Bismarck, and when he gets back to me, I can start to move along faster.”
“Sounds great!” Marnie said.
“How’s our enrollment?” Ric asked.
“Well, we’re at max,” the secretary reported. “And that’s looking to be a problem down the line. Very shortly down the line, as a matter of fact.”
Ric laid down the piece of chicken he was eating and looked at Marnie. “What do you mean?” he asked her. “What kind of problem?”
“People still need day care. Some need it on a part-time basis, some on a full-time basis. So far I’ve been juggling it, offering one person half a week and another person half a week, so at least they have something, but that’s always been a temporary fix. Folks need to get back to their jobs.” Marnie looked as if she might break into tears. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Why don’t you let me work with it?” Lily asked. “I can call Bismarck and see if we can get a temporary raise in the number of children we can tend.”
Ric turned and looked at her. She had his total attention. “Do you think they’ll let you do that? Can we take in more children?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’d like to say yes, but the fact is, they’re concerned about the children’s well-being and their safety, and that does mean a lower ratio of children to provider.”
“What if we could offer more providers?” He looked at Marnie. “We’ve got Eileen, but we probably could get some of the church members to help out.”
“Well,” Lily said, “possibly. But it keeps circling back to whether they think that would be in the children’s best interests. And in this case, maybe yes, maybe no. We’d just have to see.”
“How soon would you be able to find out?” he asked eagerly.
“I’m not sure who the person is that I’d talk to,” she said. “I suppose if I can talk to the right person, w
e could know this afternoon.”
Ric leaned back and smiled. “That would be utterly fantastic!”
“But”—she held up a warning finger—“that is just spoken permission. I’d like us to wait for the written okay unless the official gives the go-ahead to take more children without that.”
“And how long would that take?”
“A couple of days.”
“It’d better be soon,” Marnie said. “I don’t know how much longer Lily can wait on this.”
“Oh, surely a couple of days would be all right,” Ric said easily. “What harm could be in that?”
“What harm? What harm?” Marnie pushed her chair back with such vehemence that it screeched across the wooden floor. “Do you know who called this morning looking for day care? Do you know? You don’t know, do you! It’s that woman, that awful, awful woman.”
Ric shook his head in confusion. “Who are you talking about?”
A waft of aromatic and clearly expensive perfume joined that of the fried chicken. And from the door of the office a throaty voice answered, “I believe she’s talking about me.”
Chapter 5
The group of three froze for an instant and then whirled in unison to gape at the speaker who stood in the doorway to the office, her back erect and her chin held high with just a hint of haughtiness.
“Victoria, welcome,” Ric said, leaping to his feet and pulling out a folding chair. “Come join us.”
She managed a polite smile before shaking her head slightly. “I don’t believe so, but thank you for asking me.”
Lily tried not to stare at the woman. She was a vision in white and gold, two colors that had always appealed to Lily as the epitome of wealth, more so after Todd was born and anything white became a luxury.
Especially when the white was white linen. Lily had owned only one linen thing in her entire life—a tan A-line dress—and it had the most amazing property of wrinkling when she was standing still. If she were to sit in it, or even wear it while driving, the slightest wrinkle became a deep, abiding crease. She’d always felt as if she looked like she had just crawled out of a laundry bag when she wore it.
