Orchard of Hope

by Ann H. Gabhart

  Of course even if he did beat her into the office, he probably wouldn’t mess around her desk, but then you never knew. And there were things she didn’t want him to see. She’d stuck the letter under her typewriter pad. It wasn’t in plain sight or anything. Still, that would be the first place Zella would look if she was searching for something at somebody else’s desk.

  Not that she would poke around somebody else’s desk. Except for David’s. If she didn’t check his piles of stuff every little bit, some bill would go missing and then they might not get their newsprint on time or the electric company would turn off their lights. And she always put back anything of a personal nature in the exact same spot she found it. The first time she’d found Leigh’s name and telephone number on a scrap of paper slid halfway under David’s phone, Zella had wanted to shout. It just made her feel so good when things turned out the way they should, and if a person had to prod a little here and there to get things to go the way they should, then there surely wasn’t anything so wrong with that.

  That’s all she was doing with Wesley. Making things turn out the way they should. A man needed family, and Jocelyn saying she was family didn’t count. Blood family was what was important. Relatives had to see to you when you needed help. Just like Vera Louise, Zella’s niece, might have to someday see to Zella’s needs whether she wanted to or not. It would be her obligation since Zella didn’t have any children of her own to take care of her when she got old.

  She unlocked the front door of the Banner and went inside. No sign of Wesley or David. She went straight to her desk, stuffed her purse in the bottom drawer, and took a pink tissue out of the box on top of the desk to dab the sweat off her forehead. If another shower hadn’t come before evening to cool things off, that pressroom was going to be hot as blue blazes when they had to start folding the papers. She sat down and lifted the cover off her typewriter. Then she lifted up the pad and pulled the letter out.

  It had come in the mail last week. She’d made sure she was the first to go through the mail ever since she’d written to the address she got from the friendly clerk up in Pelphrey, Ohio. Zella hadn’t told the woman the whole truth, but she hadn’t exactly lied. She just said there might be an inheritance, and that was true enough. Wesley had been at the point of death for a while, and Zella supposed a motorcycle and a bunch of books might constitute an estate. Besides, for all she knew Wesley could have a sock full of money hidden away somewhere. Just because she herself hadn’t found it when she was up there in his apartment didn’t mean it wasn’t there. She hadn’t looked everywhere.

  She slipped the letter out of the envelope, then sat still and listened to make sure she was still alone in the offices. No sound from the back. In fact, she could hear Wesley clomping around on his crutches over her head. She supposed she’d have to tell Wesley about the letter sooner or later. But she was waiting for the right time. There wasn’t any hurry. The boy who’d written wouldn’t show up on anybody’s doorstep until she wrote back to him, and she hadn’t done that yet.

  Zella unfolded the letter and looked at the neat handwriting there. Wesley had neat handwriting too. A person wouldn’t think it from looking at him, with his hair that sprangled out in a dozen directions and printing ink stains or grease spots on his shirts all the time. But he wrote notes in small precise letters. Not exactly like this boy’s, but a person could see a likeness if she looked for it.

  Dear Mrs. Curtsinger, . . .

  Everybody always assumed a woman was married, as if being unmarried was some kind of unnatural state. Zella shook away her irritation and went on reading.

  I was very excited to receive your letter regarding Wesley Green. I think he may be my grandfather. He left here over twenty years ago and my father has always told me that he must be dead. So your letter was a surprise. My father is still not sure that this Wesley Green is his father and would like to have more information. The name, Wesley Green, is not that unusual, and before any of us make a trip to your area, we would like to be sure this man is really our father and grandfather. If he has recovered enough from his injuries, please show him this letter and ask him to write us.

  As far as your question about my grandfather perhaps having some sort of legal problems, my father is unaware of anything of that sort. We couldn’t be completely sure since he has been gone so long, but no one has ever contacted us looking for him until we received your letter. My father feels my grandfather’s grief over the tragic loss of his wife and daughter in an automobile accident may have led to my grandfather leaving home.

  I will look forward to hearing from you or from my grandfather if he is indeed the right Wesley Green. I am a college student majoring in science education, but if this man is my grandfather I would like to come see him at my first opportunity and perhaps write to him prior to that.

  Thank you so much for contacting us.

  Sincerely yours,

  Robert Wesley Green, Jr.

  So much for being from Jupiter, Zella thought. She folded the letter and carefully stuck it all the way in the back behind a pile of envelopes in her top desk drawer as she heard Wesley stepping out of his door up above her head. She would tell Wesley in time. Just as soon as she figured out how.

  34

  By the time Jocie’s father dropped her off in front of the high school on Tuesday morning, the sun had already burned off every trace of the rain from the night before and the heat had returned in force. The weatherman was saying it might be the hottest day of the year with the chance of more thunderstorms in the evening.

  Jocie didn’t usually pay much attention to what the weatherman said was going to happen other than to try to figure out whether to wear long sleeves or short sleeves. No sleeves suited best now with the heat. And shorts, but of course the school didn’t allow shorts even if the school building was like an oven by lunchtime. But now with everybody praying for rain, Jocie listened to the weather forecasts and tried to remember to say her rain prayer at least three times a day.

  Without rain, the farmers’ crops would dry up in the fields, and the cows wouldn’t have any grass to eat and would stop giving milk. Then the farmers wouldn’t have any money to come to Hollyhill and buy things. They wouldn’t have money to put in the collection plates at church. They might even quit buying the Banner to find out the news.

  Zella kept saying they might do that anyway because of Noah. Sometimes Zella could come up with the craziest things to worry about. Noah was working out great at the paper. He didn’t mind Jocie telling him how to do things, and he was learning fast. Best of all, he and Wes had hit it off fine. Since Wes had been sort of down in the dumps a lot lately, Jocie had been a little worried he might think Noah was trying to take his place at the paper, but he’d not been a bit bothered. He just watched Noah tossing the bundles of newsprint around like they were cotton balls and said it was about time her father hired some young muscle. Said he’d had muscles like that back when he lived on Jupiter.

  It was great having Wes back to keep the press clicking along smoothly as they ran the inside pages of the Banner. And he’d been almost like his old self, talking about Jupiter and cajoling the press as if it was a reluctant girlfriend. He even had Noah laughing when he called the press Betsy Lou.

  Of course, that was before Noah’s mother sat down at the counter at the Grill and the men in their white robes came stomping up Main Street. Wes had missed all that excitement. He’d already made his way up the stairs to his rooms to prop his leg up and sit in front of his fan. Unless he’d been looking out his window, he probably wouldn’t know anything about what had gone on until her father told him this morning. Jocie wished she could be there to hear them talk about it. Maybe they’d say something to take away the bad feelings she had about the men staring at them through the door of the Grill.

  Jocie had even dreamed about them staring at her. Only it wasn’t just the two men, but all the men surrounding her and linking their arms together so she couldn’t get away. Then when s
he’d taken pictures of them, they just laughed. Horrid loud laughs that made her drop her camera and hold her hands over her ears. That’s when she had jerked awake.

  She had lain there in the dark and wished Wes was still in the living room so she could creep in there by his cot and let him put his hand on her head and tell her it was just some kind of Neptunian nightmare. Her father would have told her the same thing without the Neptunian part, but she didn’t want to wake him up. Wes would have already been awake.

  But Wes was gone, so she had just stared at the stars in the sky outside the windows and let her hand fall down to touch Zeb’s head beside her bed. Aunt Love was always saying it was better to pray and count your blessings instead of sheep when a person couldn’t sleep, so Jocie whispered a prayer into the night.

  “Dear Lord, thank you for the night. And the stars in the sky. Thank you for letting Daddy love me. Thank you for sending me Zeb. Thank you that Wes is better. Thank you that it’s almost time for Tabitha’s baby to be born. Thank you that Aunt Love hasn’t forgotten her Bible verses, because she wouldn’t be able to stand it if that happened. But of course, you already know that. Thank you for being here in the dark with me. Watch over Noah and his family. Please send us rain. And help me to go back to sleep so I can stay awake in civics class tomorrow. Amen.”

  Then Jocie had repeated Psalm 23 over in her head. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. She could remember saying it all the way through two times, but then she must have fallen asleep before she got to the surely goodness and mercy part the third time.

  Jocie thought maybe she should repeat it over again this morning as she went in the school and down the hall to her locker. There was just a funny feeling in the air as if what had happened on Main Street the day before had somehow carried over to the school. Nobody looked happy. Instead, everybody looked worried, like they were going to have a test in every class and they’d all forgotten to study.

  When Jocie got to her locker, Paulette was already there. And so was Ronnie Martin, leaning against the wall opposite the lockers. Jocie looked right past him as if he wasn’t there, but that was getting harder and harder to do. It seemed as if he was always around somewhere. At church, here at school. It was wearing on Jocie, like water dripping on rock, to keep making him invisible.

  Jocie looked over at Paulette as she twisted the combination on her locker. “How come he’s always hanging around here?”

  Paulette looked a little uncomfortable as she said, “Who?”

  “Who do you think?” Jocie jerked her head in the direction of Ronnie Martin. “Him.”

  Paulette looked even more uncomfortable. “Oh, you mean Ronnie. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Jocie. You know, Ronnie’s actually pretty cute. And he’s going to be sixteen next month.”

  Jocie’s hand froze on the English book she was reaching for in her locker. She looked over at Paulette. “So?”

  Paulette started talking faster. “So, I think you need to give Ronnie a break. I mean, I know he shouldn’t have said what he said to you. That was bad, but he told you he was sorry.”

  “He didn’t mean it.”

  “And you obviously didn’t mean it when you said you forgave him.” Paulette’s eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened as she stared at Jocie. “I mean, isn’t your father always preaching that we should forgive each other?”

  “I think that’s only if the other person’s really sorry.”

  Jocie couldn’t believe this. Her best friend, Paulette, taking up for Ronnie Martin. Her best friend, Paulette, thinking Ronnie Martin was cute. All at once Jocie remembered how Paulette had disappeared for a while after church let out the Sunday before last and then had come around from the cemetery behind the building with cheeks a little too red. She’d told Jocie she’d been running after some of the little kids, but now it appeared she’d been running after Ronnie Martin.

  “But he is now,” Paulette said, losing her mad look and using her best pleading voice. “Honest. He’s really sorry any of that ever happened.”

  “I guess he told you that so you’d kiss him or something,” Jocie said.

  “Don’t be mean, Jocie.”

  “Sorry. You’re right. That was mean, but so was Ronnie Martin. He was being mean to poor old Sallie that day and talking about Tabitha even before he started in on me.”

  “I know,” Paulette said. “But people can change. That’s why we go to church to learn how we ought to act, isn’t it? And he’s trying. So I think you should try too.”

  Jocie pulled in her breath and held it a minute before she let it out. She didn’t want to try to forgive Ronnie Martin. She wanted Ronnie Martin to disappear off the face of the earth. Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. Forgive and be forgiven. Paulette was right. Her father was always preaching on that. It was all over the place in the Bible. She and Wes had found a lot of those verses on Sunday afternoon. And it wasn’t as if Jocie thought she was perfect. She had plenty to be forgiven for.

  “Okay,” Jocie said finally. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just give Ronnie a chance. Talk to him.”

  “Now?” Jocie wanted to slam her locker shut and run the other way. Any way that got her away from Ronnie Martin. But Paulette was her friend, and she’d told her she’d try.

  “Yeah, why not? We’ve got to head to class. The bell’s going to be ringing any minute, but Ronnie’s class is down the same hall as ours.” Paulette smiled over at Ronnie, who pushed away from the wall and came over to them. “Come on, Ronnie. Walk us to class.”

  Jocie made herself look at him. He’d been nothing but mean to her ever since she’d started going to Mt. Pleasant Church. He’d made fun of her. He’d said those horrible things to her. He’d tried to destroy her very world.

  “Hello, Jocie,” he said. He looked the same, and yet he didn’t. He was still big with broad shoulders. The sleeves of his T-shirt were tight on his upper arms where he’d been lifting weights to get ready for football season. His face was red and not all from being out in the sun. And his smirk was more of a smile. Not exactly a smile, but closer to one.

  Jocie didn’t feel close to a smile at all. “Hi, Ronnie,” she made her mouth say.

  And then the first bell was ringing and they didn’t have time to do anything except run for class so they wouldn’t all end up in the principal’s office with tardy slips. Jocie had never been so thankful to hear a bell ringing.

  The reprieve didn’t last long. When Jocie came out of her second-period algebra class, Ronnie was there by the door waiting for her. She kept her eyes away from him, but he still fell into step beside her.

  “Hi, Jocie. You got a minute?”

  “I’ve got to go to class.” Jocie hugged her books up against her chest and still didn’t look at him. “Where’s Paulette?”

  “Her next class is upstairs.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Jocie didn’t know what else to say. As she walked down the hall with Ronnie beside her, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awkward. Heaven forbid that anybody would think they were a couple. She eased a couple of inches away from him.

  “Besides, I thought it might be easier if we talked without Paulette being around. That way we could say whatever we wanted to say without worrying about what Paulette wanted us to say.”

  “And what does Paulette want us to say?” Jocie kept her head down but peeked out of the side of her eyes at him.

  “Oh, you know Paulette. She wants everybody to get along, be buddies.”

  “I’m not sure we can be buddies.” Actually she was pretty sure they couldn’t, but she’d promised Paulette she’d try.

  “Yeah, well, maybe not, but how about a truce?”

  “I thought that was what we had already. A truce. No active hostilities,” Jocie said.

  “I don’t know about that. Your hostility still feels pretty active. If hostility means hate.”

  “Hate?” Jocie flinched a little at the word. “I don
’t hate you.”

  “You don’t like me either.”

  “No.”

  “And I guess I can’t blame you. I did pick on you when you first came to church and my daddy didn’t like your daddy, but he likes him better now. Says you might not be able to agree with everything Brother David says, but the man practices what he preaches.”

  Jocie was gripping her books so tight that her arms were going to be bruised. She debated which would be easier to do—sock him in the nose or stomp on his foot. She didn’t even like hearing him say her father’s name.

  “Mt. Pleasant is lucky to have my father as their preacher,” she said.

  “Yeah, most everybody out there thinks so. And I’ve been paying more attention in church lately and trying to remember to love my neighbor and that kind of stuff. You know, the stuff he’s always preaching about.”

  Jocie couldn’t believe she was hearing right. Ronnie Martin worried about loving his neighbor? She stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look squarely at him while the other kids gave them funny looks as they went around them.

  “Are you sure you aren’t just wanting to love your neighbor Paulette?”

  “That too,” Ronnie admitted. “But that’s not the only reason for all this.”

  “Oh? What is the reason then?” Jocie wished the bell would ring so she could make a run for her class.

  “All right, I’ll just be out with it. I know you didn’t believe me when I said I was sorry out at church that day, and maybe you were right. Maybe I wasn’t sorry enough. But I am now.”

  “Wes almost got killed,” Jocie said.

  “I know that, but you don’t have to act so all holier than thou.” Ronnie was frowning. “You don’t act like you think I can feel sorry or want to change. But maybe it’s you that can’t change. Maybe it’s you that doesn’t want to forgive your neighbor.”