by Carol James
She walked into the cafeteria where several small clusters of other early-rising adults were huddled around tables, their conversations hushed, as if not wanting to wake a baby who’d been up all night and just fallen asleep.
Thankfully, chicken biscuits donated by a local fast food restaurant and coffee were set out for the “morning people.” She placed the books on a tray, accessorized them with a cup of coffee and a foil-wrapped biscuit, and headed through the double glass doors at the back of the cinderblock room into a courtyard. She set her tray on a concrete table and eased down onto one of the benches facing the football field.
Painting the landscape before her in copper, the sun was rising over the building behind her. She opened her Bible to today’s passage and began reading the words she’d read so many times. Yet today, one verse sprang off the page as never before. “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.”
God was able to do far more than anyone could ever ask for or imagine. As the first bite of chicken biscuit hung in her throat, she struggled to swallow it down. Did she really believe that? She knew the verse. She’d probably read it hundreds of times over the years, even memorized it when she was in elementary school. But knowing and believing were two different things.
Did she believe this verse was true? And not just this verse but that other one about asking and receiving, seeking and finding.
She’d asked and sought—specifically—for her One over the years, and until very recently, she’d trusted he would come. So, if God was able, why hadn’t He?
She crossed her arms over the open Bible and rested her head on them. As she tried to pray, exhaustion overtook her. This was only the first day of the trip, and already she was just plain worn out—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
~*~
As Sam left the auditorium and headed toward the cafeteria, he shoved the roster for his team, the Black Crew, back into the manila envelope. What else could possibly happen to make this week any tougher?
Brad had told him the crew he’d supervise would be made up of students from all the youth groups attending, and he’d probably not have any kids from Crescent Bluff Church in his group. The idea was for everyone to start out on equal footing and make new relationships. No problem. Splendid concept.
And Brad had been right. Sam hadn’t recognized any of the kids’ names. But the female chaperone—that was a different story. It was as though God was playing some cruel trick. He and Katherine were working on the same crew. The Black Crew. How appropriate.
When he’d asked about making changes to the roster after the crew chiefs’ meeting, they’d told him no. The assignments had already been handed out, and changing them would be too much of a hassle. Unless, of course, there was some overwhelmingly compelling reason—such as sickness or death. As far as he was concerned, his reason was every bit as valid as either of those, but he hadn’t been about to share what it was.
For the sake of the success of the mission trip and the people they were helping, he’d make it work. Besides, it was only for a week. Not even that, really—just five days. But he ached for Katherine. His confession had wounded her deeply, and he didn’t want her to be hurt anymore.
His stomach growled as the aroma of coffee and bacon grew stronger with each step. He was definitely headed in the right direction. As he stepped through the doorway into the cafeteria, his stomach groaned in disappointment. The line went all the way around the room.
Brad stood up at one of the tables and motioned him over. “I managed to get an extra tray for you. What took so long?”
“I had some questions, but they straightened everything out for me.”
Several of the chaperones from their group, including Josh, were seated around the table. But no Katherine. Maybe she’d already eaten, maybe she’d be coming soon, or maybe she didn’t normally eat breakfast, although she’d always seemed grateful when he’d brought bagels or something. But they’d never spent any nights together, so he had no way of knowing what her morning habits were.
“Questions?”
Sam took one more quick assessment of the group around the table. He barely knew all their names, so he certainly wasn’t about to divulge his and Katherine’s personal situation. “I’ll explain later.”
~*~
A warm hand gently squeezed her shoulder. “Katherine?”
She jerked up, shaking away the fog of sleep. “Jen.” Childhood memories of Mom and Jen sharing cups of coffee around Mom’s kitchen island warmed her heart.
Jen set a cup of coffee down on her table. “I thought it was you. Mind if I sit down for a sec?”
Katherine shook her head. “Please do.” Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she squinted until the numbers came into focus. Seven fifty-two. She’d been asleep for over an hour.
“Rough night, huh?”
“Yeah.” Katherine nodded in agreement.
“It was in my room, too. Don’t worry, though. You’ll be working so hard the rest of the week, even a bomb won’t wake you once your head hits the pillow.” As Jen’s infectious laugh filled the courtyard, Katherine couldn’t have kept from smiling even if she’d tried.
“Katherine, I’m really glad we’re getting to work together on this trip. Your mother was so proud of you, and I know she’d be happy you’re taking her place. She was a special woman.”
Taking her place. Once again, the simple, stock phrase wrung her heart. She would never be the woman her mother had been. If only she could rewind life, if only she’d realized their time together would be so short, she would have been different. She would have made sure she’d argued less and cherished more.
Jen’s words pushed into her consciousness. She’d been talking, but Katherine had missed everything she’d said. “Excuse me?”
“We probably ought to head on down to the gym.” Standing, Jen took a sip of her coffee.
Katherine choked down one last bite of cold biscuit as she headed toward the trashcan.
After walking through the glass doors back into the cafeteria, they set out down the hall to the gym.
“Katherine, have you ever been on a trip like this before?”
“I went on church choir trips when I was in high school. We’d stop at churches and sing along the way to a city where we’d lead a Bible school for disadvantaged children, but I’ve never been on a trip like this where we’ll be doing construction.”
“I promise you, this week will be a life-changer. There’s nothing like helping people put their lives back together. I went for the first time three years ago, and now I’m hooked. I’m sure you will be, too.”
From Jen’s mouth to God’s ears. Katherine’s life could certainly stand a change. “Which crew are you on, Jen?”
“The Blue Crew. How about you?”
“The Black Crew.”
Jen’s laughter echoed down the hall. “Black and blue. Looks as if we’re destined to become friends, too.”
The roar of excited conversation confirmed they were headed in the right direction. Stopping in the gym doorway, they scanned the numerous huddles of people seated on the bleachers under various colored poster boards. A black rectangle had been taped to the bleachers in the back, left corner.
“There’s my group. See you at dinner.” Jen headed to the right side of the gym as Katherine began the diagonal trek across the wooden mirror beneath her feet. The floors were so heavily varnished, she could surely have counted her eyelashes in the reflection if she’d squatted down.
As she neared the Black team, all eyes turned in her direction, and the friendly banter dissolved into awkward silence at the arrival of an obvious outsider. “Good morning. I’m Katherine, the female chaperone.”
A number of polite, but less than enthusiastic, hellos and good mornings briefly sounded before the silence set back in. Katherine, the female chaperone. Really? She couldn’t have said something more interesting than that?
As she sat down onto the bottom row of the bleachers, a wave of applause and cheering flowed across the entire gym from the doorway to her corner. The crew chiefs were here, and the adventure was about to begin.
In the group of fifteen to twenty men, she saw only one. The chestnut stubble was doing its job. He looked older than his years. As the huddle advanced, men peeled off one or two at a time and headed toward the various colors of poster board. Surely the next group would be Sam’s. But no. The closer he came, the more her heart pounded until he was the last man left, theirs was the only group without a chief, and her heart was about to leap out of her chest.
An excited voice sounded behind her. “We got the soccer player.” Even here, in the middle of rural Oklahoma halfway around the world from England, Sam’s celebrity had preceded him.
He was introducing himself, and he was definitely saying more than, “Hi, I’m Sam, the male crew chief.” But his words were nonsensical. None of them broke through the wall of realization that the two of them would be working together this entire week.
Maybe she could get reassigned. Maybe there was another female chaperone who would be willing to change places with her. Jen. She could ask Jen. As soon as this little meeting was over, she’d find out who to talk to and get this straightened out.
But then, what reason would she give? This man’s a liar, I loved him, but he broke my heart. Even though it was true, that sounded so adolescent. She was an adult. She could act like an adult. She’d make sure her personal feelings in no way impacted their mission work. One week. That’s all it was. Five little days.
As the students climbed down the bleachers and exited toward the hall, Sam sat down beside her. “Morning.”
“Hi.” For the first time, she looked him straight in the eyes.
“I’m sorry about this. When I got the packet earlier, I tried to get one of us moved to a different crew, but when they asked why, what could I say? Personal reasons? That sounded lame, immature. I don’t want to ruin this experience for you.”
Just his acknowledgment, his concern for her feelings, brought peace. He was a compassionate man, and he loved her. Even though their relationship could no longer be anything outside of friendship, he truly cared for her. And she for him. “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate your saying that. We’ll make it work.”
His smile was soft, matching the tone of his voice. “My mom has always said things happen for a reason. Can’t say I’ve agreed with her, but we’ll have to see. Maybe she’s right.”
26
An awed silence crept through the bus until the only sound heard was the grinding of the engine.
The devastation surrounding them caused a quiet horror. Several of the kids were holding their breaths, eyes wide, no words spoken.
The landscape was unlike anything Katherine had ever seen—nothing but desolation from horizon to horizon. The handful of indigenous trees had been either uprooted or snapped off a few feet above the ground. The scene was the result of two tornadoes that had struck less than a month apart last year.
As the bus topped a small rise, the destruction continued, eerily dotted by havens where houses stood untouched. Some lived and some died. Some lost everything, and some lost nothing. The apparent randomness seemed so unfair.
The paths of the tornadoes must have changed as the road before them became some sort of asphalt dividing line. On the left the devastation continued. Occasional surviving concrete foundations were the only clues houses had ever existed on that side the road. The owners and tenants had moved on, either unable to afford to rebuild or unwilling to do so in this area.
The houses on the right side of the road were untouched by the tornadoes but had been attacked by another destructive force. Poverty. Although millions of dollars of aid had poured into this region after the storms, these residents didn’t qualify to receive any. This was the poorest section of town. In a larger city, this area would have been the slums. And while their group couldn’t help those who had lost what little they had to the storms, they could minister to the remaining residents. They’d come to help poverty’s forgotten victims.
Sam sat across the aisle from her, behind Pastor Josh, who’d volunteered to be their driver and assistant crew chief for their team. The conversation between the two men was now silenced by the scene surrounding them. She hadn’t been able to hear their earlier words over the excited banter of the students, but the warmth between the two was evident in their smiles and relaxed manners. Obviously, Sam hadn’t been transparent with Josh on the drive up here.
The brakes softly creaked as the bus inched to a stop before a small, one story, frame house that stood on the corner of the second block. Blue tarps, a flimsy but cost-effective barrier between the weather and the interior of the house, blanketed the roof. Stacks of plywood, shingles, and ladders hinted at the Black Crew’s job.
Her stomach rose up into her throat as clamminess covered her body. She could never climb a ladder up onto the roof. Mom, however, would have been all over this. Probably one of the first up and the last down. But the thought of the height made her dizzy. Just one more way the two of them were completely unalike.
Without being directed, the group of eager teenagers quietly exited the bus and formed a circle, waiting for instructions.
Sam began explaining their job for the week and covering safety rules, but the sound of fear coursing through her ears made it impossible to concentrate on his words.
The people on her right and left reached out and grasped her hands as Josh led them in a prayer. She’d look like such a wimp, but she couldn’t do this. Maybe there was a job she could do from the ground. Maybe handing up supplies and tools. There had to be something.
The prayer over, the small circle dissolved as Josh and the young people headed back to the bus to retrieve their supplies and unload the coolers filled with water.
As a warm, familiar hand rested on her shoulder, she fought every impulse to lay her head against it.
“Katherine, I have a favor to ask of you.”
When she turned to face Sam, he dropped his hand. Her shoulder ached with remembrance.
“I know this is probably not what you had envisioned, but the owner of the house is an elderly widow, and she’s asked if someone in our group would be willing to help her with some chores inside the house. Not very glamorous, I know, but—”
“Yes.” The breath she’d been holding suddenly rushed out of her lungs. “Yes, I’d be glad to help her.”
The warmth of his eyes drew her in. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate your help. I doubt if any of the high school girls would go for it.” A sad smile crossed his face. “But I had a feeling you just might.”
He remembered her fear that morning at Balcones Canyon. “Thanks, Sam.” She remembered their kiss, her unbounded love for him, the trust. Forever broken.
“Sure. So let’s you and I meet...” He paused as he glanced down at the stack of papers on his clipboard. “Naomi Martin.”
The small front porch was just large enough to hold two old, wooden ladder-back chairs, their white finishes dotted with gray blotches where the paint had flaked off over the years, now revealing the weathered wood underneath. The different intensities of color hinted at the varying lengths of time the individual spots had been exposed to the Oklahoma elements. The two had obviously been on the porch a long time.
Next to each chair was a terra cotta bowl, painted with brightly colored, glazed flowers. She’d seen similar examples in different sizes, shapes, and colors at the Mercado in San Antonio. Brittle brown sticks protruding from the dirt were the ghosts of the flowers that once bloomed there.
“Ready?”
She was positively ready. She could so do this. “Absolutely.”
As Sam glanced her way and smiled, he rapped on the doorframe.
The inner door slowly creaked open, revealing an elderly woman who might be five feet tall on a good day. As she pushed her walker forward into the light, her wh
ite hair shone luminescent like new-fallen snow electrified by the morning sun. Her onyx eyes were filled with the sparkle of life. Although no words had yet been exchanged, Katherine liked her immediately.
“Mrs. Martin? Hi, I’m Sam Tucker, and this is Katherine Herrington. We’re from Community Shalom.”
“Land’s sake, young man. I know who you are. I been waitin’ on y’all since they dropped off them shingles and stuff the other day.” A bright smile covered her face. “And don’t go startin’ off on my bad side. Call me Naomi. None of this Mrs. Martin business.”
“Yes, ma’am, Naomi.” Grinning, Sam inserted a little Texas twang into his response.
Naomi turned her direction. “And you, Miss Katherine, are you gonna be my helper?”
She nodded. “I certainly am, Naomi.”
“Well, come on in, sweetie. Let me get my list.”
As Naomi turned her walker and stepped back into the house, Katherine glanced over at Sam before following and smiled her gratitude.
He nodded. “Her list. Well, you two will get along just fine.”
~*~
How Naomi was sleeping through the incessant noise reverberating throughout the small frame structure was inconceivable. The roof overhead had been creaking with footfalls and vibrating with the syncopated pounding of hammers for the last three hours. Naomi had slipped into her recliner about nine thirty for her “mornin’ program” and hadn’t made a peep since then.
Katherine reviewed the list one last time. She’d completely straightened and cleaned every drawer and cabinet—inside and out—in the small kitchen. The cardboard box on the table was filled with the items Naomi had listed to be donated to charity—items she never used anymore, that her son and his wife did not want. Now, to clean the house.
Hopefully, Naomi had other lists for the rest of the week, or Katherine would need to downshift a gear or two. If she finished her job in here, she might have to work outside. The thought of having to go up onto the roof nauseated her. Anytime she’d glanced out of the windows this morning and Sam had been off the roof supervising or getting supplies, he’d never been unescorted. An entourage of teenage girls had been right by his side. Having to be in the middle of that might be worse than climbing a ladder up to the roof.