by Patti Berg
“Need some help with any of it?” James asked, getting more and more antsy by the minute. He wasn’t sure how to break the news, but he wasn’t going to wait. Nelson needed to know tonight—not a few days from now.
“I’ve got it all under control,” Fern said, “but I’ll let you say grace.”
“I’ll say it as long as we still have plates left to eat on,” James said, listening to the clattering and clanging of dishes, silverware and knives being set on the table. “Gideon and Nelson seem to be vying for the ‘who can make the most noise’ award.”
Fern chuckled. “Gideon couldn’t hit a basket to save his life during practice this afternoon and Nelson got a B– on his algebra test. Neither one of them is happy, but I’m sure they’ll give you the lowdown over dinner.”
Great. He had been hoping for peace and quiet or a few laughs before he spilled the beans, but he guessed he’d have to listen to grumbling first.
It was one of the special things that came with fatherhood.
James laughed to himself as he put the basket of rolls on the table, asked Nelson to pour milk and asked Gideon to help his mom with the meat and potatoes. Gideon moaned; Nelson’s complaints were more of a whine. Nothing new.
Yet.
At long last they were all gathered around the table. James reached for Fern’s hand and squeezed it, knowing that she’d done the cooking for him, so he could have a few extra hours a week for himself, or to spend with the boys. But it had been good for her too, and that made everyone happy.
“Your dad’s going to say grace tonight,” Fern announced, resting her folded hands on the table.
“Oh, good.” Gideon took his baseball cap off and dropped it on the floor next to his chair. “It was supposed to be my night and I’ve spent the last couple of hours trying to think of something clever, since there wasn’t much to be thankful for at basketball practice.”
“I heard,” James said. “Not even one single basket?”
Gideon shook his head. “It’s pretty darn lousy when the best slam dunker and the best shooter can’t hit the basket to save his life.”
“After you and Nelson do the dishes—”
“I had to do the dishes all by myself last night,” Nelson whined. “Why do I have to help tonight?”
“Because the sooner you get them done the sooner Gideon and I can go outside and shoot hoops.”
“What’s in it for me?” Nelson asked. “Sitting around while you help me understand distributive, associative and commutative properties so I get a better grade on my next algebra test doesn’t sound all that exciting.”
James cleared his throat. “Couldn’t we stop grumbling for a bit and thank God for the dinner your mom made?”
Nelson rolled his eyes. Gideon was already eyeing the brisket. Fern was ready to burst out laughing.
James bent his head and folded his hands. “Heavenly Father, thank You for the bounty before us. Thank You for our health and for the doctors and therapists who are helping Fern become stronger. And thank You for taking an overwhelming burden off my shoulders, allowing me to realize just how much I want to be Nelson’s new scoutmaster, so I can take him camping out in the woods with bears and spiders and things that go bump in the night. Help me to be the best scoutmaster I can be, and thank You for giving me a family that I dearly love.”
James cracked open one eye to see the huge grin on Nelson’s face.
“Amen.”
Anabelle walked into one of the private rooms in the Birthing Unit where Ainslee had been for the past half hour, being checked out by Dr. Carpenter and Candace. They’d planned to go to the ER, but when Candace ran into them in the parking lot, after she’d finished teaching one of her birthing classes—which met on Tuesdays in November because of Thanksgiving—she insisted they go up to Labor and Delivery.
“Everything okay?” Anabelle asked.
“Perfect.” Ainslee smiled.
“But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea for you to bring her in,” Dr. Carpenter said. Except for wearing a white lab coat that had Dr. Frances Carpenter embroidered over the pocket, no one would picture her as a doctor, not with her corkscrew black hair sticking out wildly about her head. But she was a great obstetrician, and Anabelle was glad she was the one who’d examined Ainslee.
“You’ve been a nurse long enough to know that most falls like Ainslee took can’t hurt the baby. She knows that too. And you both know that the womb is pretty shock resistant, and the baby is cradled in the amniotic fluid and muscles and fat, which is designed to keep the baby safe. But”—she faced Ainslee—“for peace of mind, it never hurts to have an exam, at least to check the baby’s heartbeat. And your baby sounds absolutely fine.”
Ainslee and Anabelle both sighed with relief.
“I have another patient to check on, but call me—or your regular obstetrician—if you experience anything out of the ordinary in the next few days.”
The doctor shook both their hands, and Anabelle was more than ready to get out of the hospital and head back to Genna Hamilton’s home to see if the photographer was still there. But Candace didn’t move. Instead, she stared down at Ainslee’s shoes.
“Those ballerina flats are lovely,” Candace said, “but don’t ever again skip in them. Low heels are great, but you might consider getting some that aren’t slippery on the bottom. And no more high heels.”
Ainslee looked indignant. “You’re sounding like my mother.”
“I’ve learned a lot from your mother.” Candace winked. “You might try listening to her a little more. Moms really do know best.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
ELENA WARMED HER HANDS AROUND THE PAPER coffee cup, filled to the brim with Cuppa Coffee’s best steaming cocoa, topped with a dollop of whipped cream and shaved dark chocolate. It was decadent and very much a necessity this morning. The last few weeks had been a bear, and things weren’t going to calm down until after the Harvest Festival.
Candace sat across from Elena, taking a sip of mocha latte. “I’m sure Anabelle will tell you this later, but Ainslee fell down the stairs at Genna Hamilton’s last night.”
Elena felt a cold shiver run up her spine. “Please tell me she’s okay.”
Candace nodded. “Dr. Carpenter examined her and, thank heavens, she’s fine. It was a much better outcome than Ginger’s scare last week.”
Elena sighed. “I wish I knew she was going to be okay. After three miscarriages, Ginger’s baby has to be healthy.”
“She came to my birthing class last night with Steve, her husband,” Candace stated. “She said she was feeling good and she’d been to the doctor and everything was looking fine.”
Elena frowned. “You say that as if there should be a ‘but’ attached to the end.”
“She’s taking it easy. No stress. Staying in bed most of the day. Not sitting at the sewing machine.” Candace took another drink of coffee. “I’m still praying for her. I won’t stop until the baby’s born.”
“Our Bible study group has taken meals to her so she doesn’t have to fix anything. And if you knew my Bible study group, you’d know that a lot of praying has been going on.”
“Which reminds me,” Candace said, “Megan, a friend of mine, said she’d meet us here this morning, since she couldn’t make it Friday. Hope that won’t interfere with what you wanted to talk about.”
The front door of Cuppa Coffee blew open, and James and Anabelle came in together, both bundled up good and warm.
“Six o’clock right on the nose.” James stripped out of his coat and threw it over the back of a chair. “Punctuality is one of the top ten qualifications of a good scoutmaster.”
Anabelle stiffened. “You didn’t.”
“I most certainly did,” James said, slinging his arm around Anabelle’s shoulders. “You’re looking at the new scoutmaster of Deerford’s one and only and most esteemed Boy Scout troop.”
“Congratulations,” Elena and Candace said.
“I suppose
this calls for a cup of coffee on me to celebrate your new status.” Anabelle tossed James a quick grin. “In truth, I’m just glad you finally made up your mind. Your pacing was starting to drive me crazy.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to do it.” James pulled an extra chair over to the table and sat down. “With work, helping out in surgery every once in a while, worrying about Fern and trying so hard to take care of her, I think I got overwhelmed at the thought of one more big responsibility being added to my plate.”
Anabelle set a cup of plain black coffee in front of James and sat down without taking off her coat and immediately blew on her own coffee to cool it off a bit before taking a sip.
“Now that you’re all here,” Elena started, catching everyone’s immediate attention, “you should know that I spoke with Albert Varner yesterday. Anabelle was right. He was fired for arguing with the board about the hatchet job on the PICU and children’s ward.” She filled them in on the rest of the discussion she’d had with Mr. Varner.
“Somehow we have to get him rehired,” Elena continued. “I wanted to think that the petition and our letters to the board would do some good, but they won’t look at them. Not that they’re all bad people—”
“They’re businesspeople,” Anabelle stated. “The hospital has to make money to survive, to keep us working, which means they have to look at the big picture.”
“But are they looking at the whole picture?” James asked. “You have to wonder if they ever look outside the box.”
“Well, they’ve looked outside the hospital for the new CEO,” Elena said, again thinking how much Keith Bancroft disturbed her. “If you haven’t met him, you will. He and Frederick Innisk are making the rounds.”
“Tall guy? Handsome?” Candace asked, getting up from the table as she usually did to order a pastry for all of them to share.
“That could be me,” James teased, “but I’ve seen Innisk walking around with a guy fitting that description too. Fortunately they haven’t stopped by to say hello.”
“This is no time for silliness,” Anabelle said, putting on her motherly frown. “Do you know anything about him, Elena?”
“Not much. His name’s Keith Bancroft.”
It was James’s turn to frown. “That’s it?”
“No one wants to show me his résumé, and I found several Keith Bancrofts on the Internet, but none of them looked anything like the man I met. I do know, however, that there’s something about him that bothers me.”
“Using your female intuition?” James asked, grinning as usual.
“Wait until you meet him, and you’ll see what I mean. Of course, whether I like him or not wouldn’t mean a hill of beans to the board. And Frederick Innisk seems to like him. That counts for a lot at Hope Haven.”
Candace set one large cinnamon roll on the table between them along with five forks. “Don’t dig in yet. My friend Megan Gallagher is on her way in, and she’s going to join us, so be nice. She was really interested in the Harvest Festival when I told her about it.”
Megan Gallagher breezed in a few minutes later. She was tall and pretty, and with long blonde hair pulled back into an elegant French braid, she looked just about perfect. The rock half the size of Illinois on the ring finger of her left hand shouted wealth. She carried a handbag that must have cost a good four figures, definitely not something Elena would ever own, and her coat had the distinct look of cashmere. But she didn’t seem the least bit pretentious, Elena thought. She had a warm smile.
James pulled up a chair for Megan while Candace got her a tall cup of straight black coffee, the same thing James drank: dark Colombian, with two packets of sweetener.
They talked about next to nothing for the first couple of minutes, then Megan touched on something near and dear to Elena’s heart. “Candace tells me you’re coordinating a Harvest Festival for three churches, which seems like an unbelievable task to me.”
“I have a lot of volunteers,” Elena said.
“You can never have enough volunteers,” Megan stated, and Elena knew she was going to love this woman. “I have an attic full of harvest decorations that I’ve used in the past. They’re going to waste shoved away in boxes, so I’ll dig them out and see if you can use them.”
Elena laughed. “At this stage of the game, and because we’re trying to keep our expenses to a minimum, we’ll take any free decorations we can get. By the way, we’re having a last-minute planning meeting next Tuesday at four at the hospital. Any chance you could be there?”
“I’ll do anything to get out of the house, so sign me up for whatever you want,” Megan said. “Candace tells me you’re planning a cake walk, amongst other things.”
Elena nodded, hoping she’d just met Wonder Woman. “Cake walk, face painting—”
“I can do that with my eyes closed.” Megan pulled her wallet out of her million-dollar purse and opened it up to show off her pictures. “My son and daughter wanted face painters at all their birthday parties so I took a class to learn how to do it just right. I do balloon animals too. As for the cakes—running a cake walk isn’t my thing—”
“You mean there’s something you don’t do?” Anabelle asked. It might have sounded snippy coming from anyone else, and even though Anabelle could be a bit judgmental and straightforward, Elena knew that she didn’t mean anything the least bit negative.
“I don’t jog. I’m the world’s lousiest dancer. I can’t sing to save my life, but I’m a whiz at planning parties and charity balls.”
“She decorates cakes too,” Candace said. “In fact, I hope you don’t mind, Elena, but I’ve already told her about the baby shower for Ginger, and she’s going to make the cake.”
Elena was beginning to think she’d died and gone to heaven. She had just met someone who topped her in the energy department.
Thank You, Lord!
“I know you all have to get to work,” Megan said, “but I was wondering. If someone were to open a bakery here in Deerford, where would be the best place for it?”
“A bakery that does everything, like breads, pastries and cakes?” James asked. “Or what?”
“I’m thinking a bistro-type bakery,” Megan said. “Fresh quiche with fruit on the side. Muffins. Cookies. Brownies. That type of thing, with coffee service, quaint tables, open strictly for brunch and lunch. And then, of course, the cakes. That’s where my heart lies. After my husband died, I went into a decorating frenzy, buying how-to DVDs, making gum-paste flowers and experimenting with designs. I might as well put it all to good use.”
“I’ve heard one of the shops up the street might be closing,” Anabelle said.
“Demarest Hardware?” James asked.
Anabelle nodded. “There’s not all that much business in small hardware stores these days, not when you can walk into a big-box store and find pretty much anything you need, at a smaller price, so Demarest is sadly closing its doors.”
“That could be a pretty good location,” James added. “It’s got great windows looking out on the street and it’s close to the hospital.”
“It sounds perfect. I’ll check it out—” Megan’s sentence not only came to a sudden halt, but her eyes widened as she stared out the window. Elena turned around in her seat to see what Megan was gawking at.
“You don’t know him, do you?” Candace asked, as she, James and Anabelle glanced out the window at Keith Bancroft looking at the menu posted on the door.
“Oh, I know all about Keith Bancroft.”
Elena wasn’t too thrilled with the tone of Megan’s statement. “Mr. Bancroft is in the running for our hospital’s CEO position.”
Megan frowned. “Well, if he gets the job, you’d better look out.”
This was getting interesting. Elena needed ammunition for the battle she aimed to wage in order to get Albert Varner back. This just might be the thing.
“You’re saying he’s not the most upstanding man on the face of the earth?” Elena asked.
“Not exactly.�
� Megan shook her head. “I’ve known two companies that hired him to restructure their organization. Heads rolled at both places. Policies were stripped and rewritten. Both companies became top-heavy with lawyers and, well, let’s just say the whole thing was troublesome from the beginning.”
James frowned. “Are the companies still operating?”
Megan nodded. “Yes, but under new management and new ownership—mine.”
“Yours?” Candace looked like she might choke on her coffee.
“It was my husband who took them over. He’s the one who got rid of Bancroft. Then he rehired most of the original staff and executives and spent months going over policies with a fine-tooth comb while bringing in experts to revamp the revamped mess.”
“I think we need to keep this guy far away from Hope Haven. Of course, we’d need proof of his misadventures and”—Anabelle turned her gaze on Elena—“someone brave enough to go to the board with the information.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
WITH A FAIRLY USELESS PETITION IN HAND AND A little incriminating evidence in her pocket, Elena walked into Innisk Securities and asked to see Frederick Innisk. She should have made an appointment, but it was highly doubtful he would have allowed his secretary to put the Hope Haven Troublemaker on his calendar.
He might not want to see her now, either, but surprisingly enough, after his secretary lifted her phone, dialed a number and said, “There’s a Mrs. Elena Rodriguez here to see you,” a door opened and Frederick Innisk said, “Come in, Elena.”
Why did she feel like he was the spider and she was the fly?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Innisk. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”
He offered her the chair in front of his desk. For some reason she’d expected a straight-backed chair without any cushions, but she sank into plush, creamy leather. She’d also expected stark gray or white walls, but they were painted a pale blue with rich mahogany wainscoting.