Ours for a Season

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  The two exchanged a glance, and the same man spoke again. “The fellow from the bistro called the cops on a girl about that age a couple days ago. They came and picked her up.”

  If the girl they’d seen was Ronnie and if police officers had picked her up, she was probably back at the juvenile detention center. Brooke thanked the men and hurried back to Marty.

  Elliott had arrived in her absence, and he greeted her with a puzzled look. “What were you doing?”

  “Righting a wrong.” She put her hands on her hips and pretended to scowl. “What took you so long? Did you get lost on your way to the car?”

  He shrugged. “You told me to look for Ronnie, so I did.”

  Brooke shook her head. “No need.” She repeated what the two homeless men had told her.

  Elliott frowned. “Let’s hope she stays there this time.”

  Brooke took hold of his arm. “We’ll do more than hope. We’ll pray.”

  His expression didn’t clear, but he nodded.

  She tugged his arm. “Come on.”

  He looked through the café’s windows. “Aren’t we going in there?”

  She’d rather buy vending machine sandwiches than reward the hard-hearted café owner with her business. “Nope. We’re going to have pimento-cheese spread on white bread. The kind of bread that sticks to the roof of your mouth and you have to scrape it off with a potato chip.” She raised the skin above her eyes in lieu of raising her eyebrows. “It’s likely not organic, but right now it’s exactly what I want to eat.”

  39

  Pine Hill

  Anthony

  On Thanksgiving Day, Anthony woke before dawn, walked out to the barn with his brother, and helped with the morning chores. Dumping pails of smelly leftovers mixed with chopped corncobs into the pigs’ trough and tossing forkfuls of hay into the cattle stalls reminded him of boyhood mornings, and he couldn’t resist sending one pitchfork of loose hay over Rex’s head for nostalgia’s sake. Rex laughed a lot more about it than he had when they were youngsters.

  When they’d finished seeing to the livestock, they ambled to the horse corral, leaned on the top rail, and watched the climbing sun change the sky from gray to pink and yellow. It’d been a long time since Anthony had seen a sunrise from start to finish. The houses around theirs in Pine Hill blocked it, and trees around the little town of Eagle Creek mostly hid it, too. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed witnessing the sun coming to life.

  “Sure wish Marty could’ve come with you.” Rex scraped the sole of his dirty boot on the lowest rail and sent a sidelong look at Anthony. “You sure it wasn’t a wouldn’t instead of a couldn’t?”

  Anthony frowned. “Of course I’m sure. Why would you ask something like that?”

  Rex dropped his foot to the ground. “It’s no secret she’s been unhappy since…” He glanced at Anthony, and his lips pulled into a grimace. “For a while now. Dawna sent at least three letters to her, and we haven’t gotten one back. Kind of makes us think she’s trying to forget about all of us.”

  “Well, that’s not true.” Defensiveness tightened Anthony’s throat and made his voice come out harder than he’d intended. “Sure, she’s been unhappy. Who could blame her? But she’s been busy. We both have. There’s a lot of work to be done at the ghost town.”

  “Then it seems like she’d want a break from it. A few days with family to relax.”

  Anthony huffed. “Listen, Rex, if you’d been around after one of Brooke’s cancer treatments, you’d understand how bad it is. There’s no way Brooke could stay alone, and she doesn’t have anybody except Marty to take care of her. Marty not coming doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you. She knows Brooke needs her there more than you need her here.”

  Rex clapped him on the shoulder. “All right, brother, I’m sorry. I wasn’t criticizing. She’s loving her neighbor as herself, the way we’re commanded.” He shifted his position, leaning a little harder on the rail. “We just miss you guys, that’s all.”

  “We miss you, too.”

  “But then, maybe it’s best she stayed behind.”

  Anthony turned sideways and fixed his gaze on his brother’s profile. “Why?”

  A grin climbed Rex’s cheek. He adjusted the bill of his cap and turned the grin in Anthony’s direction. “ ’Cause we have some news to share, and it’s got us pretty excited, but it might be hard on Marty’s heart, considering.”

  Anthony already knew what Rex would say, but he stayed quiet and let his brother share it.

  “Dawna’s expecting.”

  A pressure weighted Anthony’s chest. A blend of joy for Rex and Dawna, and jealousy because he’d never get to make an announcement like that about Marty. He pushed the jealousy aside and curled his hand around Rex’s neck. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. We’re pretty excited.” Rex sighed and faced the sun again. “It’s a little sooner than we’d planned, but we figure God knows better than we do when another Hirschler should join the family.”

  Anthony swallowed the knot in his throat. Did God have some reason there shouldn’t be a little Hirschler born to him and Marty? “That’s great. I’m happy for you. I really am.”

  “Dawna says it’s gonna be another girl. Says she feels the same way she did when she was carrying Ava and Audrey. She’s already calling it Claire Olivia. So I guess we’ll see if she’s right. I’m gonna have a boy’s name ready, though, just in case.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Yeah.” Rex seemed to drift off in thought. “Maybe Mason. Mason Anthony.”

  Anthony gave a jolt. “Anthony? After me?”

  Rex angled his head and gave him a sheepish grin. “If that’s okay with you. Levi’s got my middle name—Bradley. And Jaxton’s middle name is for Dawna’s brother. If you’d rather we didn’t—if you wanted to keep that name for…your own boy—then I’ll pick something else.”

  Anthony shook his head. “Rex, you know Marty and me won’t have a boy of our own.” It still hurt to say it out loud. Even though Marty had seemed to finally accept it, it still hurt that he couldn’t give her a baby. He swallowed his sadness and forced a smile. “So if you want to give your son my name, I’d be honored.”

  “All right, then. If it’s a boy, Mason Anthony. I’ll let Dawna know.” He pushed off the rail. “I guess we should head in, get cleaned up for—”

  Anthony gathered his courage. “Rex?”

  Rex turned back. “Yeah?”

  “What would you think about Marty and me being foster parents?”

  His brother’s face lit. “You mean taking in a baby? I think that’d—”

  “Not a baby.” Neither of them would be able to let a baby go even if the courts said they had to. “Teenagers.”

  Rex’s eyebrows shot high. He yanked off his cap. “Why?”

  Anthony told Rex about Elliott, about Ronnie, about Brooke’s hope to make Eagle Creek a shelter for kids who needed a home, about how he couldn’t stop thinking about the kids nobody seemed to want. He gripped the railing with both hands and stared at the now-full, wavering ball of sunshine until his eyes watered and he had to squint them down to slits. “It seems like God put this idea in my head, and I can’t get rid of it.”

  “What does Marty think?”

  Anthony hung his head. Little dots of light danced in front of his eyes. “We haven’t really talked it all out. But after what she’s seen, after what she did—”

  Rex leaned in. “What’d she do?”

  Anthony straightened and faced his brother. “Broke up a sex-trafficking ring.”

  Rex bolted upright. “She what?”

  Anthony explained the situation, and the awe and admiration in his brother’s face made him proud of Marty all over again. “Since then, she’s talked a lot about how kids need somebody to take care of them. So I think she’d
be willing.”

  Rex stayed as still as a fence post, quiet, frowning. Then he huffed a breath. “Wow, Anthony, I don’t know. Babies are one thing. But teenagers? With all their bad worldly habits and…and…” He shook his head. “I’m not sure how the fellowship would react. We try to keep ourselves separate from the world, and you’d be bringing it right to our doorsteps.”

  “Yeah.” Anthony bit the inside of his lip.

  “Maybe you should talk to the deacons while you’re here. Find out what they think.”

  They’d told him to reach out with Christian love to those he encountered—to be a missionary. Would they see opening his home to kids who didn’t know what it meant to be loved and nurtured and taught to seek and serve God as ministering to the least of these, or would they see the kids’ presence as in intrusion? “Maybe.”

  Rex stared off again for a few seconds. “How much longer until you’ll be finished in Eagle Creek?”

  “At least a year.” Unless Brooke’s investors all pulled out and she had to abandon the project. If Brooke couldn’t pay him and his crew, they’d all have to come back early. He didn’t want to come back. He wanted to finish the job. To see the shelter be successful and—he admitted to himself, even though he wasn’t ready to admit it to Rex—be a part of its success in more than just bringing the buildings back to life. He wanted to have a hand in bringing those hurting, lost kids back to life.

  Rex slung his arm around Anthony’s shoulders. “That’ll give you time to think about it. Figure out what to do. I’ll pray about it with you, all right? That you’ll make the right decision.”

  Anthony nodded and headed to the house with Rex. But he’d already made his decision. He needed to pray for Marty to want the same thing.

  Eagle Creek

  Marty

  Marty stood outside Brooke’s bathroom door and listened to the sounds of retching. Her stomach ached in sympathy for her friend, and helplessness made her want to cry. Not even Zofran was keeping the nausea at bay this round. The Thanksgiving dinner she’d so lovingly prepared for Brooke and Elliott would have to be carried out of Brooke’s trailer because the smell of turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and green beans had made Brooke sick. Poor Elliott would have to eat dinner all by himself. Such a dismal way to spend a holiday.

  The toilet flushed, and then Marty heard the sound of water splashing against the sink—Brooke apparently washing her face and rinsing her mouth. Marty tapped gently on the door. “Do you need my help?”

  “No.” The word grated out on a sharp note, but Marty didn’t take offense. Brooke had good reason to be grumpy.

  Finally the door opened and Brooke stumbled into the hall. Her red-rimmed, watery gaze found Marty’s. “There can’t be anything left to come up. Please help me to bed.”

  Elliott glanced over from the eating bar, where the Thanksgiving food was laid out in readiness for dinner. “Need an extra hand?”

  Marty put her arm around Brooke’s waist. Brooke was so frail Marty feared she would snap her in half if she held her too tightly. “Thank you, but no. I’ve got it.” She guided Brooke to her bed. Brooke sat and then fell sideways against the pillows. Marty lifted her feet onto the mattress and tucked the covers around her. “I’ll get you a glass of ginger ale.” The sparkling soda sometimes stayed down.

  Brooke groaned. “No. Nothing. Let me sleep.”

  Marty feared that Brooke would get dehydrated if she didn’t try to drink something, but it seemed Brooke had already fallen asleep. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. Rest was good medicine, too. Marty turned off the lamp on the side table, tiptoed out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

  She entered the kitchen and crossed to the bar. “I’m so sorry, Elliott. This isn’t exactly the way I’d wanted your Thanksgiving to go.”

  The young man shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t guess it’s what you or Miss Spalding wanted, either.” He frowned, shifting his gaze to the short hallway that led to the single bedroom. “She’s really sick.”

  Marty nodded and slipped onto a barstool. “The second day after chemo is always the worst.”

  “So tomorrow will be better?”

  Such hope glowed in his eyes that Marty wished she could say yes. But the effects of the chemo seemed to take longer to leave Brooke’s body with every treatment. Brooke might very well be just as sick tomorrow. She sighed. “I pray so.”

  “Me, too.”

  Marty gave a start. Had Elliott committed to pray?

  He fiddled with the serving fork resting on the edge of the platter of turkey and lowered his head. “Do you think she’ll really be able to make this place a shelter for homeless kids? I mean, she’s so sick. Yeah, she’s got help—Mr. Hirschler and the rest of us—but when you’re all done here, you’ll leave and she’ll be on her own. Will she be strong enough to handle all of it after having cancer?”

  Marty rose and began covering the platters and bowls with aluminum foil. “I can’t say for sure. Only God knows the future. But I can tell you this. I’ve known Brooke since she was a little girl. She’s overcome a lot of hardship. She’s a fighter. God gave her an extra dose of determination because He knew she’d need it to become the successful businesswoman she is today. She isn’t going to quit trying just because she’s sick. So if I had to guess, I’d say Brooke will make it happen. She won’t give up.”

  “Then…” Elliott had lifted his head and gazed at Marty intently while she spoke. He continued to look her squarely in the face now. “Do you think God will let it happen? You said He’s the only One who really knows.”

  In Elliott’s eyes, she saw the same longing and hopefulness she’d seen in Brooke’s eyes years ago when Brooke shared her dreams and aspirations for her life—a better life than the one her mother had demonstrated. Elliott needed assurance that his life could be better than it had been so far. Marty reached across the counter and put her hand over Elliott’s clenched fists.

  “Elliott, one of my favorite passages of Scripture is in the Old Testament, Jeremiah twenty-nine, verses eleven through thirteen. God speaking to the children of Israel.” She closed her eyes, envisioning the words on the page of her well-used Bible. “ ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you. And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.’ ”

  She opened her eyes and smiled through a sheen of tears. “God makes plans for His children that lead to good, not evil. We find those plans when we ask Him with sincerity of heart to guide us. Brooke has sought Him. She’s following where He leads. I don’t think this change of plans is something she came up with all on her own. I think God brought Ronnie and you into Brooke’s life to awaken her to God’s plan for this piece of property.”

  He drew back slightly, his mouth open. “God…used me…for His plans?”

  She couldn’t resist laughing lightly at his shock. “Is that so impossible to believe? God uses everything”—even her childless state—“to work His will for us. Because He loves us so much and wants the very best for us. He has plans for Brooke, and He has plans for you, too, Elliott. All you have to do is ask Him to reveal them to you and then go where He leads. That’s where you’ll find the peace Jeremiah 29:11 talks about.”

  He sat and stared at her for several seconds, astonishment still evident in his expression. Then he nodded and slipped his hands from beneath hers. “Thanks. I’ll give that some thought.”

  She picked up the platter. “You do that. And I’ll be praying for Him to speak to your heart.”

  His lips curved into a bashful smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Hirschler.”

  They took the entire Thanksgiving dinner to Elliott and Todd’s trailer. Mar
ty promised to stop in later, while Brooke slept, and have a plate of food with him. Then she hurried back to Brooke. As she went, she prayed the time alone would give Elliott a chance to do the seeking she’d mentioned. She was beginning to see pieces of a puzzle fall into place not only for Brooke but for Elliott, as well. She couldn’t wait to find out if her suppositions proved true.

  40

  Pine Hill

  Anthony

  The key-wound clock on Rex and Dawna’s sideboard chimed nine before the Thanksgiving festivities came to an end. Anthony waited until the children were all in bed, the neighbors had gone home, Dawna—finally satisfied that her kitchen was clean enough—trudged upstairs, and Rex headed to the barn to give the livestock a last check. Finally he had some time to himself.

  He settled into the antique rocker in the corner of the living room and used his cell phone to call Marty. She answered on the first ring, and when he heard her quiet voice, his pulse leaped into overdrive. “Hi, honey. How’s it going over there?”

  “Brooke’s had a really rough day.” Marty spoke so softly Anthony had to strain to hear her. But he wouldn’t ask her to speak up. She was probably trying not to disturb Brooke. “I fixed a turkey dinner for Elliott and me, and he seemed to enjoy it. Did you have a good dinner with your family?”

  “I did. It’s been a good day over here.” He dared to admit, “Except for missing you.”

  A sigh met his ear. “I miss you, too.”

  She couldn’t have said anything that would have pleased him more. Suddenly nervous, he rocked, making the runners squeak. “Listen, honey, do you have time for a serious talk?”

  “Brooke’s asleep and Elliott’s in his trailer. What’s wrong?” Worry came through in her voice.

  He wished he could hold her hand for this conversation, let her look into his eyes and see how much he wanted to do the right thing, but his tone would have to do the convincing. “Nothing’s wrong. There’s something I need to tell you—well, ask you, I guess is a better way of putting it. I need to know what you think before I try to meet with the deacons on Sunday after worship.”