“Okay, I’m listening.”
He smiled. He could picture her intent face with the pair of black ribbons falling across her shoulders. Was she wearing the light blue dress he liked so much? He closed his eyes to hold her image in his mind. “I’ve had the hardest time not thinking about Ronnie and kids like her. Kids who, like Elliott talked about, don’t have anybody who cares about them. I don’t know how they stand a chance of becoming happy adults or living good lives if nobody ever steps up to give them what they need. Brooke’s shelter will give them a place to go, but that’s not enough. They’ll still need…parents.” He paused and tilted his head, listening for any sign of shock or disapproval.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Elliott and I even talked about it earlier today. Well, kind of. We talked about God’s plan for Brooke and for him, but it made me think about God’s plan for me—for us. I’ve started wondering if God didn’t let us have children so we’d be available to take care of the ones He brings to us.”
Anthony’s eyes popped open. He pushed his feet against the floor and stilled the rocking chair. “Would you do it—be willing to take care of older kids? The ones nobody else seems to want?”
“I’m praying about it, seeking, the way I told Elliott to do. I’m asking God to give me peace—complete peace—so I’ll know for sure.”
He smiled so big his cheeks hurt. “I’m doing the same thing. I want to talk to the deacons about us taking in older foster kids. Before we do the classes or whatever else we have to do for the state to approve us, I want to make sure the kids would be welcomed into the fellowship.”
“So you mean bringing them into our home in Pine Hill?”
“Yes, in case…” Should he tell her everything he’d thought about? It might be too much for her to grasp with her focus on taking care of Brooke. Maybe he should wait. Something seemed to nudge him. He blurted, “If Brooke’s shelter opens, I’d like to stay there. To be a dad to the kids who come. But if it doesn’t, I still want to be a dad to kids who need one. And the older kids need one the most. Is that”—he gripped the phone so hard his fingers ached—“okay with you?”
A strange burbling sound trickled through the speaker and into his ear. He pulled the phone away, uncertain whether Marty was laughing or crying. He put the phone back to his mouth. “Are you laughing?”
“Yes!” He heard the amusement in her tone as clearly as if he were sitting right next to her.
“Why?”
“Because I want to be a mom to them.”
His mouth fell open. “You do? Even though they won’t really be ours?”
“They can be ours, Anthony. At least for a season.” She spoke so soft, he had to strain to hear her. “If this shelter happens, I want to stay and help. Help Brooke, help the kids, just…help.” A gulp sounded. “And if God closes the door on Brooke’s shelter, then I still want to keep our door open to kids who need us. As I said, I’m praying for complete peace. Because…” Now he knew she was crying. Her voice wavered and lowered in tone. “If I do this, I want to really love them. With a mother’s kind of love. I need to know for sure my heart can accept other people’s kids as fiercely as it holds the baby we lost.”
His throat went tight. “I miss our baby, too.” If they hadn’t lost their baby, they’d be the parents of a teenager now. “I’ll always love it. And I know we’ll meet him or her when we get to heaven. That’ll be a great reunion. But right now, we both have something to give. And there are kids in need. So doesn’t it seem like we would be a good match for them?”
“Yes. I—” Some muffled noises came through the line. Then Marty’s voice. “Anthony, Brooke needs another nausea pill. I have to go.”
“That’s okay. Take care of her. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow?”
“Yes. I love you.”
Even though she said it in a hurry and hung up right afterward, the declaration warmed Anthony like a ball of fire in the center of his chest. It was good to hear her say she loved him, because he sure loved her.
He sat for several minutes, caught in wonderment. After their years of holding each other at arm’s length, now they were coming together, drawn by a common desire. It wasn’t what he’d originally wanted. The idea of adopting a baby still rolled in the back of his mind. But only God could unite him and Marty in reaching out to older kids—them, who’d never raised a child or worked with teens in the past. He might not have experience, but he had something better. He had a call on his heart. If he answered the call, he knew God would give him what he needed to meet the challenges.
Now to discover where he’d welcome the kids—into his own home or at Brooke’s shelter.
Eagle Creek
Brooke
Brooke examined her reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the back of her bedroom door. Marty had done an excellent job tailoring the fuchsia suit to fit. She ran her finger down the trio of one-inch pearlescent buttons marching from the collar to the belted waist, her mind slipping backward in time to when she’d worn this suit last. In the bank meeting room, with Mr. Miller, when she’d finalized her purchase of the ghost town. What a difference six months could make.
She lifted her gaze from the buttons to her face. She grimaced. The cover-up under her eyes hid the dark circles, but she should scrub off the rouge and lipstick. The colors, the same pink tones she’d worn for years, looked garish against her pale skin. But without it, she’d have no color at all. Except for her green irises, which seemed bigger and darker now that no eyelashes or eyebrows helped balance them. She leaned closer to the mirror, squinting at herself. Maybe a little bit of eyeliner would help.
Someone tapped on the door, and Brooke opened it. Marty looked her up and down, a smile of satisfaction on her face.
“It looks good. How does it feel?”
Brooke struck a pose and fluttered her eyelids. “It feels mahvelous, dahling.”
Marty laughed. “You’ve been watching late-night movies again.” She fingered Brooke’s collar, pulled a loose thread, and then lifted her gaze to Brooke’s head. “Would you like me to help with a scarf? Or did you plan to wear a hat?”
Brooke moved to the dresser and put on the simple pearl teardrop earrings she’d chosen. “I’ll wear a stocking cap until I get there. Gotta keep warm, you know.” Only three weeks now until Christmas, and the wind made the temps feel twenty degrees colder than the thermometer showed. “But when I get to the meeting, I’m going au naturel.”
Marty’s eyes widened. “You mean…bald?”
Brooke nodded. “Yep. Gonna let them see me as I am these days. Bald as a billiard ball but”—she chuckled—“still feisty.” She sat on the end of the bed and put on her ivory heels. She’d worn flat shoes for months. She hoped she hadn’t forgotten how to walk in high heels.
Marty wrung her hands, her brow set in a scowl. “I wish you’d let Anthony or me go with you.”
“Elliott’s going. He’s doing part of the presentation.” Who better to express the hardships of living unattended on the streets than one who’d been there? “He’s very dependable, as you well know.”
“Yes, I know, but…”
Brooke held out both hands. Marty took hold, and Brooke pulled herself upright. She kept hold of Marty’s hands until she’d caught her balance, then let go and smoothed the front of her jacket. “Listen, I know you’re worried, and I love you for caring so much. But really, Mother, you have to let this baby bird fly the nest.” She smiled so Marty would know she was teasing.
Marty’s frown didn’t fade. “But—”
“Shhh.” Brooke gave Marty a quick hug and then stepped back, keeping her hands on Marty’s shoulders. “I have to do this myself. Elliott being there makes sense. He’s sharing his story, putting a face to the statistics I intend to throw at the investors. But you or Anthony would be there only as my crutches. It would give
the silent message that I’m not capable of making decisions on my own. The investors won’t be able to help but notice how different I look. I need these men to realize that the underneath part of me is just as savvy and strong as it was when we met to draw up paperwork for the gambling resort. I certainly didn’t need anyone holding me up then. Do you understand?”
Marty chewed the inside of her lip and stared into Brooke’s eyes for several seconds while indecision played in her expression. Finally she sighed. “All right. I understand. You directed this whole thing. You need to be the one to redirect it.”
“That’s exactly right. And now that I have a Navigator, I’ll be pointing this project in the right direction.” Brooke squeezed Marty’s shoulders and let go. “If you and Anthony want to help, then pray for the men to be receptive to these new plans and to leave their funding in place. Instead of a return on their investments, they’ll basically be getting a major tax write-off. That might not be enough motivation for some of them.”
“What happens if they refuse?”
Brooke’s stomach turned a flip. “I’ll have to give them their invested money back.”
“Then what will happen here?”
“Everything here will come to a halt until I can raise funding.” Which would probably have to wait until she’d finished all her chemotherapy. She wouldn’t have the energy to organize a fund-raising campaign until she got her strength back. But why was she worrying? This project wasn’t hers anymore. It belonged to the One who’d planted the idea in her head. If it was meant to happen, it would, and on His timetable.
That morning, a radio preacher had shared a verse from the fifteenth chapter of Romans, and Brooke had underlined it in her Bible. She’d left the crisp new book lying open on the nightstand, and she crossed to it. “Marty, do you know Romans 15:13?”
Marty quoted without a moment’s pause. “ ‘Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.’ ”
Brooke smiled. “Yes. I’ve got peace about this, Marty. Whatever happens, I trust that it’s exactly what God wants for Eagle Creek. I won’t stand in front of the investors today on my own, because the Holy Spirit is with me. We’ve got this. Right?”
Marty’s lips quivered. She nodded hard, making her black ribbons bounce.
“All right, then.” Brooke moved toward the door and stuck out her elbow. “Escort me to the front room, huh? I honestly don’t know how I ever walked in these crazy shoes.”
41
Kansas City
Brooke
During the first half hour of the meeting, Brooke’s investors partook of the catered buffet she’d ordered from a local restaurant. The array of crab-filled deviled eggs, smoked salmon on sesame crackers, goat-cheese-stuffed apricots, bacon-wrapped dates, and miniature artichoke turnovers—not to mention the choice of three different imported French wines—put the dozen men in a jolly mood suitable for the season.
When they’d sated their appetites, she asked them to join her around the meeting table. She spent another half hour showing photos on her laptop of the progress made at the ghost town. The men seemed impressed, nodding, smiling, occasionally asking for clarification. While the pictures were still clear in their minds, she laid out her new plans for each building, described the programs she wanted to implement and the staff she intended to hire, and shared the statistics gathered from governmental and social service sources about the genuine need for a safe haven where young people could be rehabilitated and educated.
The expressions of approval changed to frowns of confusion, and some of the men began to murmur. Before a full-blown argument erupted, she opened the door and invited Elliott, who’d been waiting in the hallway, to join them.
“Gentlemen, this is Elliott Kane, who is part of the work team at Eagle Creek. He has a story to share with you.”
She rolled her chair to the wall and listened while Elliott told the investors about his time on the streets, then living in a detention center, and finally aging out of the youth center without a home to return to. During his talk, she surreptitiously examined the men’s faces. They were listening, but were they moved by this blue-jeaned, flannel-shirt-wearing young man? Sitting there in their three-piece Armani suits, stomachs full of wine and hors d’oeuvres, smelling of hundred-dollar-an-ounce aftershave, these men had lived lives far removed from Elliott’s experiences. They wouldn’t be able to relate to him, but could they sympathize? Would they care?
Elliott finished his presentation, thanked the men for allowing him to talk to them, and traded places with Brooke. Except he stood against the wall and insisted she roll the chair back to the table. She appreciated his thoughtfulness. Exhaustion weighted her, and she prayed for strength as she settled in the chair and faced the circle of men again.
“I’m well aware that when you joined forces with me, it was for a different project. But you have all been in business long enough to realize not every project ends the way it was originally planned.”
Mr. Blackburn, who’d been the first one to toss his money into the investment pot, snorted. “I’ve never been involved in one that made such a significant U-turn. How can you even begin to pass this off as the project in which we invested? You’ve gone from money making to money spending without even the pretense of a return.”
Brooke nodded at the gray-haired man. “You’re right that there won’t be a monetary return, but there are greater things to gain than money.”
“Such as?” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.
“Personal satisfaction. A legacy of benevolence.” She stacked her forearms on the table and pinned the man with her gaze. “Consider living with the knowledge that you’ve positively impacted a human life. When you drop a pebble in a pond, countless circles grow from that small pebble. Each of those circles represents a life trajectory. If you send one person’s life in a better direction, then the generations that follow will also be improved.”
Mr. Blackburn pushed his chair away from the table and rose. “I’m not a pebble. Nor am I a minister or a charity. I am a businessman, and my personal goal is to increase my assets. If you don’t intend to hold up your end of the bargain, then I am under no obligation to contribute. In light of the holiday season, I won’t demand the interest I could have gained if my investment had remained in my stock portfolio.” He marched to the coatrack near the door, yanked his overcoat from the wooden hanger, and jammed his arms into the sleeves. “I’ll expect a check equal to my original investment in my mail by the end of January. Good evening, Ms. Spalding.”
As he flung the door open, Brooke said, very kindly and sincerely, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Blackburn.”
He froze for the length of two seconds, muttered something under his breath, and departed.
Brooke turned her attention to the remaining men. She let her gaze drift around the circle of faces, pausing to make eye contact with each of them. At least with those who would meet her gaze. When she’d looked into every unsmiling face, she stood and braced herself against the edge of the sturdy walnut table.
“Well, gentlemen, I suppose it’s decision time. Mr. Blackburn has made his choice. What about the rest of you? Are you in?” She held her hand toward the door. “Or out?”
Eagle Creek
Marty
Marty set her book aside and looked up at the wall clock. Was it running fast? She checked her wristwatch and scowled. Both showed a quarter to ten. So where were Brooke and Elliott? Brooke had estimated they’d be back by nine.
Anthony peeked at her over the top of his book. She could see only the top half of his face, but she knew he was smirking.
She gave him a frown. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Making fun of me.”
His eyebrows rose. “I’m not making fun of you.”
She huffed. “Yes, you are, but you shouldn’t, because I have every reason to be concerned. They should have been back by now.”
He laid his book on the end table and patted the sofa cushion beside him. “Come here, my little mother hen.”
Sighing, Marty stood and crossed the short expanse of carpet. She plopped onto the cushion and leaned against him. He slipped his arms around her and guided her head to his shoulder. She nestled, toying with a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. Secure within the circle of his arms, she managed a short chuckle at her own expense. “I guess it is a little silly to worry. After all, they’re grown adults, not children. But Brooke isn’t as strong physically as she pretends to be. What if the meeting was too much for her? What if the investors all started yelling at her?” Worry rose again. “I don’t know how she’d hold up against their fury.”
Anthony kissed her temple. “Marty, you’re borrowing trouble. Elliott’s there. He won’t let anyone hurt her.”
“I suppose.”
“And didn’t we pray together before they left? Haven’t we been praying for the last few weeks for God to work His will concerning Brooke’s hopes for Eagle Creek?”
Shamed, Marty shifted a little more firmly into his embrace. “I know. I’m sorry. But we’re not only talking about Brooke’s hopes. It’s our hopes, too.” A lump filled her throat. After longing for so many years to cradle a baby in her arms and having that longing change to a desire to nurture needy young people, she couldn’t bear the thought of having another dream shattered. “If the men pull their investment money, then—”
“Then God will find another way to let the shelter open, if it’s His will.”
She angled her head to peer into his eyes. “And if it isn’t His will?”
Ours for a Season Page 32