Central Park Rendezvous

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “But I don’t need somebody full-time.”

  The elation died. “Oh.”

  “And I happen to agree with your sister that you should be in school.”

  Henry crunched his lips in a tight line.

  Bernie stifled a chortle. “But if you’re willing to work after school and all day on Saturdays, I’m thinking maybe we can find a compromise that’ll help your family and also satisfy your sister. What do you think?”

  Henry bounded to his feet. He stuck out his hand. “I think we got a deal!”

  Chapter 3

  Although Bernie had hired Henry out of sympathy, thinking he was doing the boy a favor, it took less than a week for him to change his attitude. Henry became an unexpected blessing, providing not only assistance but a level of companionship Bernie hadn’t even realized he needed. After working side by side with Pop from the time he was knee-high, he’d missed his father’s presence in the shop. Busyness had held the loneliness at bay, but now that Henry came in every day, Bernie discovered the pleasure of having someone around to talk to, laugh with, and teach the trade.

  As Henry’d said, he was a quick learner, and by the end of the boy’s third week in the shop, Bernie felt secure enough to leave Henry in charge for brief periods of time so he could go next door and sip a cup of coffee or fetch a newspaper from the stand on the corner. He enjoyed the new sense of freedom having an employee offered, and he wondered how he’d managed so long on his own.

  Bernie started out giving Henry a fifty-cent piece at the end of each school day and two silver dollars at closing on Saturday. As a boy, he’d always liked the larger coins, and he figured Henry would, too. So it surprised him when he held out the round half-dollar the third Friday of October and Henry sheepishly asked to receive his pay in dimes and nickels.

  Bernie coughed a laugh, dropping the coin back into his cash box and fishing out four slim dimes and two nickels. “You wantin’ some rattlin'-around money in your pocket?”

  Henry shrugged into his jacket. “No, sir. I don’t carry it long—just hand it over to Helen. But my little brother, Carl, has been doing my chores since I’m here in the afternoons. I figured it might be nice to give him a little something now and then—a dime or nickel—so he could go see a picture show or buy a candy bar as a treat.”

  Carl nodded in approval. “That’s a right good idea.” He tipped his head, giving the boy a serious look. “It’ll also make it easier to tithe.” Henry had indicated he and his brother and sisters attended Faith Chapel each Sunday. “You’re givin’ a portion of your earnings to the Lord, aren’t you?”

  Henry hung his head. “To be honest, Mr. O’Day, I haven’t been. I know Dad tithed. Saw him drop money in the offering plate after every payday. But since he and Mom died…” He scratched his head, making his newly cropped hair stand on end. Those curls, even short, were untamable. “Just never seems as though there’s enough to give to the church.”

  “You know, Henry, it’s always been my experience that when we give God a portion of what He’s given us, He makes the rest stretch to meet our needs. Not that we give to get, understand—we give because we love Him and want to honor Him. But I think you’d find a real blessing in giving God a portion of your earnings.”

  Henry examined Bernie’s face, his brow puckered thoughtfully. “I’ll do some considering on that, Mr. O’Day. And talk to Helen about it, too.”

  The mention of Helen sent Bernie’s pulse racing. Although he hadn’t seen her since that day over six weeks ago when she came in to sell her grandfather’s gold coin, she’d often crept through his thoughts. Having Henry in the store each day talking about his sister contributed to Bernie’s fascination with the young woman. He’d had no more than a few minutes of time with her, yet he felt as though he knew her from Henry’s description of her hardworking attitude, her willingness to care for her siblings, and her desire to keep the family together. He found he admired this woman, whose sweet face and beguiling curls haunted his dreams.

  “You do that,” Bernie said, “and tell her if she has questions about tithing to come see me. I’d be glad to share some scripture with her.”

  Henry plopped on his hat and turned toward the door. “I’ll tell her, but don’t count on her asking. Ever since our folks died and Richard ran off, she hasn’t been too interested in talking about God. I think she believes God let her down, and even though she takes us to church ‘cause Mom and Dad went, she doesn’t really want anything to do with Him anymore.” The boy waved on his way out the door, unaware that he’d just thrown icy water over Bernie’s heart. “See you tomorrow, Mr. O’Day.”

  Helen awakened early on Saturday, teased from sleep by a recurring dream that pricked her conscience—a dream in which Bernie O’Day, attired in fine clothing including a top hat that glistened as if covered in sequins, offered her his elbow and invited her to attend the opera with him. Why couldn’t she set that dream aside?

  Bernie had been exceedingly kind to her family. Besides purchasing the coin, his putting Henry to work after school and paying him a fair wage had eased their financial burdens significantly. Henry’s pay covered their weekly groceries, allowing her to put extra toward the hospital bill that had seemed insurmountable after Mom and Dad’s accident followed by Lois’s lengthy illness. In another few months, the bill would be paid in full, and then she’d be able to put money into the bank to save up for—

  No! She needed to stop thinking about the Conservatory. That time was past. She had to focus on the children—getting them raised, putting them through school, seeing to their needs. Lois was only nine. Helen would be far too old for the Conservatory by the time Lois grew up enough to be on her own. Helen resolutely pushed aside the sting of regret. The children were more important than some silly aspiration about singing on a stage.

  So why did she continually dream about being taken to the opera by Bernie O’Day?

  She sat up, careful not to bounce the bed and awaken Lois, who slept on the other half. On tiptoe, she crept out of the room and down the hallway, past the room Henry and Carl shared, and on to the closed doorway behind which Mom and Dad’s bedroom remained undisturbed. She rarely entered their room because it brought back too many painful memories, but on this morning she discovered a need to visit it. To visit them and the days before they’d left her.

  Almost feeling like a burglar, she creaked the doorknob and stepped into the room. A musty odor tickled her nose. Sheets covered the bed and bureau, protecting the furniture, but she stirred dust with her feet as she crossed the wood floor to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. She closed her eyes, allowing memories to surface. The first one to rise from the dark corners of her mind was a Sunday-morning memory—Mom and Dad in their church clothes, Bibles held in the crook of their arms, leading her and the children down a sunshine-splashed sidewalk toward the chapel.

  Helen tried to push the memory aside to focus on something else, but it persisted. The memory collided with her dream, and Henry’s comments at supper last night rang through her mind: “Mr. O’Day says God can make what’s left over meet all our needs when we bless Him with our tithe.” And she finally understood why the dream and memory were so closely intertwined. They both pertained to God.

  Longing filled Helen’s breast—a longing to return to the carefree days when she truly believed God cared about her, heard her prayers, and met her needs. Mom and Dad had believed it, and they’d taught her to believe it. But first Mom and Dad died from injuries in the awful trolley accident, and Richard said he didn’t want to be responsible for three snot-nosed kids and deserted her when she needed him most, and then Lois fell ill and came so close to slipping away. And somehow in the midst of all that heartache, Helen had lost her belief in a caring God.

  But Bernie O’Day believed in Him and now encouraged Henry to believe. Would Henry one day suffer the same deep disappointment that plagued Helen by placing his trust in a God who kept His distance? She couldn’t allow that to happen
. As much as they needed the money Henry made at the O’Day Pawn Shop, she’d have to tell Henry to stay away from there if Bernie was going to fill his head with unrealistic notions.

  A scuffling sound in the hallway intruded on her thoughts, and moments later Henry poked his head in the room. He scowled across the shadows at Helen. “What’re you doin’ in here?” He stayed in the hallway, not even the loose toes of his socks crossed the threshold.

  “Thinking.” Helen pushed off from the bed, the creak of the springs discordant in the quiet morning hour. She stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her and sealing away her parents’ room the way she wanted to seal away the troubling thoughts that plagued her. “Henry, when you go to work today, I want you to turn in your notice.”

  Henry gawked at her. “What? But why?”

  “We’re caught up on bills now.” Her conscience pricked. They weren’t caught up, but the more time Henry spent with Bernie O’Day, the greater the chances for his heart to be broken. “We don’t need the money.”

  “Oh yes we do.” Henry folded his arms over his chest. He’d grown so tall in the past year—he now peered down his nose at his older sister. “And I’m not quitting.”

  “Henry…”

  “No, Helen. It’s a good job, and I can still go to school, just like you wanted.” Henry inched backward toward his bedroom. “Both of us working is better than only one of us, and I’m going to do my part to take care of the family. I’m keeping my job.” He stepped into the bedroom and clicked the door closed behind him.

  Helen stared at the closed door, her heart pounding. Should she go after him, insist on him quitting? Dad wouldn’t have allowed Henry’s backtalk, but she wasn’t Dad, and she had no real authority over Henry even if she was responsible for him. She buried her face in her hands, the longing rising to have someone else to help her with her brothers and sister. Someone on whom she could depend. She wished she could still rely on God.

  Lifting her face, she pressed her fists to her hips and scowled at the ceiling. She had no help anymore—not from her parents, from Richard, or from God—and she’d manage. If Henry wouldn’t quit that job, then she’d just have to make sure his boss understood what he could and couldn’t say to Henry. On her way home from work today, she’d stop by the O’Day Pawn Shop and have a firm talk with Bernie O’Day.

  Chapter 4

  Tired, footsore, and frustrated by her nearly empty pockets, Helen trudged down the street toward the O’Day Pawn Shop. Cleaning hotel rooms wasn’t beneath her—it was honest work, and she was grateful to have been hired—but her dependence on guests leaving a few coins behind as a thank-you for her service worried her. She never knew from week to week what she might be bringing home to pay bills. Even on a good week, the money barely stretched to cover their needs. And now Henry, thanks to Bernie O’Day’s prompting, wanted her to give some of her precious earnings to the church? The man obviously didn’t understand how much she needed the money she made!

  We also need the money Henry makes. The thought had plagued her all day as she planned exactly what she would say to Bernie O’Day. She wished so much she could say, “Henry doesn’t need a job, so please release him from your employment immediately.” But wishing didn’t change the facts. They did need Henry’s money. All of Henry’s money. So Mr. Bernie O’Day would simply have to understand he was Henry’s boss, not his preacher or father or even his friend. No more advice-giving.

  As she approached the shop, she saw the door open and Henry step out. He paused to wave at Bernie, a smile on his face, then he trotted down the street in the opposite direction, heading home. Helen slowed her footsteps to allow Henry to get well ahead of her. When he turned the corner at the end of the block, she hurried to the door, which now sported a CLOSED sign, and rapped on the glass.

  Moments later, Bernie O’Day appeared on the other side. A smile broke across his face when he spotted Helen, and he opened the door quickly. “Miss Wolfe! How good to see you. Please come in.”

  His cheerful greeting stung, considering the purpose of her visit. How she hated to see his bright smile fade. Just as she’d noted from her dreams, Bernie was a handsome man, with neatly combed sandy-colored hair and thick-lashed hazel eyes. If circumstances were different, she’d be drawn to him. But her intention was to push him away. Away from Henry, and consequently away from herself. She swallowed a lump of regret and forced herself to meet his friendly gaze.

  “Mr. O’Day, I must talk to you.”

  His smile faltered, but then he released a light chuckle. “From the sound of your voice, I’d say it’s serious. Should we have a seat?” He indicated a pair of cozy-looking rocking chairs nestled in the far corner of the store.

  Although her sore feet and tired body yearned for the comfort of one of those chairs, Helen shook her head. This wasn’t a social call, and she must remain brisk and impersonal. “I’ll only be here a short while. Mr. O’Day—”

  “Bernie, remember?”

  She pursed her lips. Would he stop being so kind? This task was growing more difficult with each second that ticked by. She cleared her throat. “Bernie, I’ve come to request that you do not speak about God with Henry. He holds a great deal of respect for you, and he likes you as well. Everything you say, he takes to heart. If you continue to speak of God, Henry could very well begin to accept your words as truth. And I know all too well that God is not the loving Father my parents believed Him to be.”

  Sadness clouded Bernie’s hazel eyes, bringing a rush of sorrow through Helen’s frame. He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and set his head at a thoughtful angle. “Exactly how’d you come to the conclusion that God isn’t a loving Father?”

  Helen nearly snorted. “A loving father gives good gifts. He doesn’t bestow hardship and trials on his children.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  Bernie’s genuine surprise took Helen by surprise. She blinked at him. “Well, of course he doesn’t!”

  Setting his feet widespread, hands still tucked in pockets, Bernie gazed at Helen with twinkling eyes and chuckled. A low-in-his-throat chuckle like distant thunder that sent a tremor of pleasure down Helen’s spine. “Miss Wolfe, when you were growin’ up, did your father ever find it necessary to bestow a little pain on your… er, sittin'-down place?”

  Heat flooded Helen’s cheeks. She looked sharply away. “I suspect most fathers inflict the occasional rod of discipline. Mine was no exception.”

  The chuckle rumbled again. “And did that make you think he didn’t love you?”

  She jerked her face around to meet his grin. “Of course not! If he didn’t love me, he’d let me grow up without any sense of right and wrong.”

  Bernie nodded. “That’s exactly right. Your father—being the loving man he was—guided you with painful lessons every now and then, knowing there’d be a good result.” He shrugged slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “So why is it so hard to believe God wouldn’t do the same? Use painful lessons for a good result?”

  Helen couldn’t think of an answer. Which irritated her. She glared at Bernie.

  For long seconds they stood in silence, staring into each other’s eyes. Finally Bernie sighed. “I don’t wanna overstep any boundaries, Miss Wolfe. I like Henry. He’s a good boy, and I’d like to keep him employed here. But I can’t promise not to talk about God. You see, God and me… we’re pretty close. I can’t shut Him in a drawer and pretend He doesn’t exist when Henry’s around. So I’ll probably keep talking about Him.” He shrugged again. “I just can’t help myself, Miss Wolfe.”

  Helen suddenly realized she’d think less of him if he agreed to change. The thought confused her. Her tongue refused to form a retort.

  Then Bernie confounded her even more. “Miss Wolfe, do you and your brothers and sister enjoy picnics in Central Park?”

  Immediately, memories swept through Helen’s mind of the many summer picnics she’d shared with her parents and siblings when she was a girl. She gu
lped. “Y–yes. Yes, we do.”

  “Would you care to join me for a picnic after church tomorrow? My treat. Nothin’ fancy—just sandwiches and fruit. Maybe a jug of sweet tea. But I’d like to get to know you and Carl and Lois after hearing Henry talk about you all so much.”

  Helen shook her head. “Tomorrow? But… it’s late October. Not summertime.”

  He used his chuckle again to disarm her. “There some rule says you can only have picnics in the summertime? I happen to think October’s a fine time for a picnic. No leaves to hide the blue sky from view. Nice crisp breeze drifting from the lake. And no flies.”

  Helen’s lips twitched, fighting a giggle.

  “We can spread a blanket on the bridge at the pond and toss bread scraps to the ducks. What do you say?”

  Deep regret pierced Helen. She lowered her head so he wouldn’t see the desire to join him glimmering in her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s out of the question. My sister, Lois, is still recovering from a very serious illness. She shouldn’t breathe in the cool air.” She flicked a gaze upward and caught a disappointed frown on his face. “I appreciate the invitation, though.” She did appreciate it. No wonder Henry liked his boss so much. Bernie O’Day was a very kind man.

  Flustered, Helen turned toward the door. “I need to get home. My brothers and sister expect me.”

  He reached past her and opened the door. “Thanks for stopping by, Miss Wolfe, and thanks for letting Henry work for me. He’s a fine boy, and you should be proud of him.”

  Helen scurried out the door without answering. Not until she was halfway to her bungalow did she realize she’d completely failed in what she’d set out to do. And to her chagrin, she discovered it really didn’t matter.

  Sunday morning Lois pushed her barely touched bowl of oatmeal toward Helen and wrinkled her freckled nose. “This doesn’t taste right.”

  The milk had started to turn. Helen had hoped, mixed into the oatmeal with a tiny dash of cinnamon for flavoring, no one would notice. But the way Henry and Carl stirred their oatmeal rather than eating it, Helen knew she hadn’t managed to mask the slightly spoiled taste. Even so, they couldn’t waste food, so she assumed a brisk tone. “You’re probably just hungry for something else, so your taste buds are feeling fussy.” She sent a nod around the table. “It’s all we’re having for breakfast, so eat up or you’ll be awfully hungry by lunchtime.” She scooped a bite and resolutely swallowed, ignoring the little tang on the back of her tongue.