by Diane Moody
Alex dipped her brush in the pale mustard-yellow paint and started brushing quick, efficient strokes on the coffee table. “I had the same thought a while back. Let’s face it. Mom hit menopause and decided to fly to the moon. Or Hollywood, I guess. They’re basically the same.”
“Poor Daddy.”
“Oh, Trace, stop with the poor Daddy stuff. He’s fine.”
“You honestly think so? I keep wondering if he’s really as okay as he wants us to believe. Maybe beneath that ponytail, earring, and his proclaimed love for Stella, there’s actually a broken heart that still beats for Mom. Maybe he’s just hoping if he gives her enough time, she’ll come back to him.”
Alex glared at her. “I totally disagree. In fact, I’ve never seen him happier. Especially now that you’re home. His little princess has returned to the castle.”
Tracey grabbed a paint brush, dipped it in Alex’s paint, and dashed the tip of her sister’s nose with it.
“Well, aren’t you the clown this morning?” Alex twisted around, attempting to return the favor just as Tracey jerked her head away. A long yellow streak reached from her nose to her ear. “Ah! Perfect! I always knew mustard was in your color wheel, and now we have proof!”
Tracey shrieked, her laughter bouncing against the rafters of the old barn.
“Settle down, girl. Don’t make me paint you from head to toe.”
“Ha! As if you could.” Tracey grabbed a rag and peeked into the antique mirror they’d hung on the wall. Still snickering, she gently wiped the paint from her face.
“Okay, enough with the horse play. Get to work.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“Am too.”
“Are not.”
“Am too.” Alex raised a hand in surrender. “Okay, okay! I give up.”
“Good. Because I’ve got work to do, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t keep distracting me.”
“Ah, my little seeester, it’s so good to have you home.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, did you see the finish I put on my little step stool?”
“Yes, and it’s perfect. Your first official baby. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, thank you.” Tracey bowed, then held up the small stool admiring her work. The unusual bowed legs on the short white stepping stool had been a challenge. She assumed it had been left out in the rain at some point, all warped and beat up. It was the first thing she’d picked up at the estate sale, and for a dollar, she couldn’t refuse it.
With Alex’s help, she’d cleaned it, giving the strange little legs extra attention. Tracey used a coat of a near-black shade of gray called Typewriter on the legs. Then, using a true rich red shade called Tricycle, she painted the top of the stool to give it an interesting contrast. Once it had thoroughly dried, she distressed it, exposing some of the dark undercoat. The look had amazed her.
“And what have you named your first baby?”
“Oh. I completely forgot. Silly me.” Tracey smiled. “Let’s see. It’s definitely a he and not a she.”
“Absolutely.”
“How about Stanley? A homage to his cute little legs.”
“Hey, it’s your call. Stanley sounds perfect.”
“Stanley it is. Now what shall I work on next?”
“Wanna help me finish Fredo here? He needs another coat of Boxwood.”
“Ah, Fredo-the-Coffee Table.” She pulled on her work smock. “Put me to work.”
Tracey settled in next to her sister. “So, do you have favorites? Which of your babies did you like best?”
“I love them all, so I can’t choose favorites. But there was a chest of drawers with a curved front that I absolutely adored. It took several days, waiting for it to speak to me and tell me what it wanted to be, what color, that sort of thing. But I was patient. Then one day I knew. She said her name was Beatrice, and she wanted a pale shade called Linen on top and a rich blue called French Enamel below. And that’s what she got. I distressed her more than I usually do, but she loved it, and so did I. Then she let me know in no uncertain terms that she wanted glass knobs and pulls. And she was so right. Oh Sis, she was just beautiful.
“And here’s the best part. I haven’t mentioned this before, but I pray for each of these babies while I restore them.”
“You pray for them? Okay . . .”
“I pray for the people who adopt them. But it was hard to let Beatrice go. Then one day my friend Gigi stopped by. She teaches with me at school. She and her husband were expecting their first child—a little boy—and she wanted some decorating ideas for her nursery. Trace, the split second she laid eyes on Beatrice, it was love at first sight! They had just painted the nursery walls a pastel shade of blue that matched the French Enamel just perfectly. And so it was that my Beatrice went home to care for Gigi’s baby—”
“Alex, are those tears in your eyes?”
Alex put her brush down and wiped her face. “Oh, sure. I can’t help it! Here I’d been praying for Beatrice, having no idea she would go home with my friend Gigi and be a part of her new baby’s room! I love when things like that happen.”
Tracey shook her head. “Who but my sister would see furniture restoration as a ministry? I love that about you, Sis.”
Alex finished wiping her tears and picked up her brush, dipping it into the olive-gray-green Boxwood paint. “Think about it—why would God give us a passion for something unless we could somehow use it for His glory? But the whole idea of restoring something old and worn out into something new and useful didn’t originate with me—God’s been in the restoration business from the beginning of time.”
Tracey thought for a moment. “You’re right. Just look at Dad. And the rest of the Elders, for that matter.”
“Speaking of which, tell me about last night. Did you have a nice time with Noah?”
Tracey couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Really nice.”
“Evidently. He stayed long enough.”
“Well, we took a ride first, so he wasn’t technically ‘here’ the whole time. We went out to the river bluff. My first time there, I might add.”
Alex turned, her paint brush in mid-air. “Oh? Isn’t that where all the kids used to go to make out?”
Tracey focused on her paint strokes. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Anyway, we just talked up there for a long time, then—”
“Did he kiss you?”
“What? You’re awfully nosy this morning.”
“Ah, so he did kiss you!”
“What is this, the inquisition? I’m not in high school anymore, y’know.”
Alex busied herself painting again. “You like him?”
Tracey didn’t answer at first. Hearing her sister’s questions—well, it just felt weird. Tracey wasn’t sure she was ready to let her mind go down that line of thinking, let alone discuss it with her sister.
Alex sat up again and looked at her. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh-dear what?”
She returned to her work. “Nothing. Don’t mind me.”
Tracey felt her heart flutter and wondered why. Then, as she continued painting, she remembered Noah and the bluff and his first kiss . . .
And she smiled.
Chapter 13
Noah had just returned from another trip to the home improvement store when Buddy approached him on the porch of the smokehouse.
“Noah, I’m glad you’re back. We just got word Mrs. Oglesby needs some help. That big ol’ black walnut tree in her back yard finally keeled over. Made quite a mess of her garage.”
“How can I help?”
“I’d like to leave most of the guys here to finish dry-walling, but I thought I’d get Gristle and Stump to bring their chainsaws and take care of the tree. You up for some minor roof repairs? I thought we could patch it up from the inside and get some shingles back on there before another storm rolls through.”
“Works for m
e. When do you want to head over?”
“Soon as we can. Let’s grab some of those shingles we had left over from the Farley’s roof. I think they’re in the barn if I’m not mistaken.”
Noah felt a catch of apprehension knowing Tracey was probably at the barn working with Alex. He hadn’t seen her since last night—well, this morning. He couldn’t believe they’d stayed up half the night. He hadn’t slept much when he finally got to bed, unable to get her off his mind. Over and over, he wished he hadn’t reacted the way he did when she asked about Melissa. He thought he’d finally started living again, that the worst was all behind him—right up until Tracey asked him about the wife he’d lost. He could only hope she understood. She seemed to handle it okay last night.
He only wished he had handled it as well. Instead, the images of his wife, the wreck, and all those dark months he’d lost to grief played over and over like a slideshow through his mind . . . and sprinkled among them, flashes of Tracey’s smile and the memory of how good she felt in his arms. He tried to shake it off before seeing her again. Especially in front of Buddy and Alex.
A few minutes later, Buddy backed the pickup to the barn door and they got out.
Buddy stepped into the barn. “How’s it going, sweetheart?”
Alex dusted off her hands on her smock. “Hi, Dad. Hey, Noah. What are you two doing here?”
“Just stopped by to pick up some shingles.” As Buddy told her about Mrs. Oglesby’s roof problem, Noah noticed Tracey coming from the back of the cluttered barn. When she looked up and saw him, she smiled.
“Hi, Noah.”
“Hi, Tracey.”
He could almost feel the abrupt silence in the air as Buddy and Alex just stood there looking at them. By the grin on Alex’s face, he knew Tracey must have told her about their evening together. But how much had she told her?
Awkward.
“Well, then,” Tracey finally said, “what’s this about Mrs. Oglesby?”
Buddy explained the situation again and the plan to fix her roof. “We’ll just load up some of those shingles back here then be out of your way.”
“You’re not in our way,” Alex said. “In fact, take Tracey with you. She can help. Might be fun for her to see you and the Elders in action.”
Tracey turned to her sister with her back to Noah. By the tilt of her head, he could only imagine the look she was giving Alex. Just as quickly, she turned back around with an exaggerated smile plastered on her face. “I’d love to. Let me get some gloves, and I’ll meet you in the truck.”
“Good,” Noah said. He returned Alex’s smile. “Good.”
“You said that,” Alex said.
“I know. Well, bye for now.”
“Bye, Noah.”
An hour later, Gristle and Stump had most of the tree limbs off the roof and had started cutting them for firewood. After making the repairs inside the garage, Noah and Buddy helped Tracey up onto the roof, and the three of them set to work pulling off the damaged shingles. Once that was done, they started hammering the new shingles in place.
At first, conversation had been difficult with the chainsaws buzzing below. Eventually Gristle and Stump finished and started stacking the logs.
Tracey reached for another shingle. “How often do you all do this sort of thing, helping folks out when they have emergencies?”
“All the time,” Buddy answered. “When I started getting to know these guys on the bike trips, I kept feeling like I needed to do something.” He hammered a few times and continued. “It felt like God was telling me to reach out to them, but in a specific way. Problem was, I couldn’t figure out what that meant. So for the longest time I just kept praying, waiting for some kind of sign or direction from the Lord. Well, as you are well aware, my dear daughter,” he said with a smile, “sometimes I’m a little slow on the draw. It finally dawned on me that one of the things that had helped me so much after my world caved in was taking my eyes off my own troubles and looking for other folks who needed a hand. Best medicine on the planet.
“And that’s when I decided to give these guys a dose of that medicine. The Bible says that helping widows and orphans in their time of distress is one of the ‘purest forms of religion.’ So I made a few calls, mostly to the older residents here in Jacobs Mill asking them to let me know if they had any odd jobs or projects they needed help with. I started getting requests, so I made a simple offer to some of the guys asking if they could help out. And little by little we got a reputation for doing these jobs well and efficiently.” Buddy held up his hammer. “I kept thinking, with every nail we hit or tree we clear away, we’re demonstrating the love of Christ, pure and simple.” He tossed her a wink and banged his hammer down to prove his point.
Noah finished hammering a shingle and looked over at Tracey. “I wish you could have seen some of those little old ladies when we first rolled up their driveways on our Harleys.” He and Buddy laughed. “I guess they thought the Hells Angels had arrived. They’d peek out from behind their curtains, probably convinced we were there to trash the place.”
“Then after a while, they’d warm up to us,” Buddy added. “Course, they all knew me, and let me know right up front they wished I’d cut my hair and shave my beard.” He shook his head as he smiled. “But God love ‘em, every single one of them gave my guys a chance. Took a while, but they finally learned to look beyond the loud motorcycles and shaggy appearances and just accept them for who they are.”
Noah wiped his forehead with his bandana. “You should have seen the day Mrs. Peterson tiptoed out of her house carrying lemonade out to ‘her boys’ as she called us. You could tell she was still nervous about us by the way the ice in those glasses kept rattling—” Noah re-enacted the widow’s trembling hands carrying an imaginary tray. “I thought she might just die from fright then and there.”
“Oh, poor Mrs. Peterson!” Tracey chuckled. “But how sweet of her to do that, even though you all must have terrified her.”
Buddy hooted. “Glory, by the time we finished painting her house, she was sending her boys home with pecan pies and watermelon and fried chicken—you never saw such a love fest.” He paused, slowly lowering his hammer. “But I’ll never forget the day Stump leaned waaaay down to give her a hug, then swept her right off her feet and twirled her around in a circle.”
Tracey laughed so hard, Noah was afraid she might fall off the roof. “Knowing Mrs. Peterson, I bet she shrieked with delight!”
“Oh, you should have seen that dear old soul,” Buddy said. “To this day, she has a standing invitation for Stump to come for Tuesday night dinner. Those two are a sight to behold.” He paused for a moment, looking down across the yard where Stump and Gristle were still piling the tree logs. “But Tracey . . .”
When he paused, both Noah and Tracey looked up at him. Noah could see the moisture in his eyes and the slight tremble of his lips.
“Tracey, what that woman has done for that big giant of a man—well, I can hardly find words for it. He came from such an awful background. No daddy. A mom who didn’t want him. Kicked around from one orphanage to another. And you can only imagine how all the other kids treated him, like he was some kind of freak. A horrible life from the day he was born. Stuff I won’t share because I consider it confidential as his friend and pastor, but also because it’s the stuff of nightmares.”
“When I first met him,” Noah began, “he scared me to death. Mean as a snake and every word out of his mouth was—well, ‘vulgar’ doesn’t even come close.”
“He kept everybody at a distance,” Buddy continued. “Nobody liked him and most of them hated when he’d show up for our rides. But y’know, after a while you’d catch him pretending not to listen when we’d talk about the Lord. And trust me, Tracey Jo, these conversations about the Lord were nothing like you’d hear at church. Oh, no sir, not even close.”
Noah reached for more nails. “Yeah, it could get pretty raunchy. Definitely not for the faint
of heart.”
“Then slowly but surely,” Buddy continued, “he just—I guess the best way to put it, he just started to melt. His walls started crumbling down. He still didn’t say much, but you could just tell he wasn’t so angry and ready to bite your head off every time you were around him.
“Not long after that, we had a big storm come through. Tornados hopping all over the county. The boys and I immediately jumped into action, helping at the homes that had suffered the worst damage. And lo and behold—there was Stump. Never said a word, just started working with us, side by side. And after that, he was just one of us.”
“You said Mrs. Peterson—”
“Oh, yeah. By the time we painted her house, Stump had come a long, long way. But he still held back. You could just tell. He and I had talked by then, and I’d told him how much God loved him, and how his past was all behind him if he’d let Jesus have his future. But he just couldn’t seem to believe it. But then that tiny little wisp of a woman started having him come to dinner once a week . . .”
Noah smiled at Tracey after they both noticed the tears spilling down Buddy’s cheeks.
“Go on, Daddy. Tell me what happened.”
He wiped his eyes and blew his nose then started again. “Never saw anything like it. She just loved on him. Cared for him. Mothered him.” Buddy stopped again, then just gave in to it and let the tears flow. “And Tracey, all that love just got up inside Stump’s heart and dissolved every last ounce of resistance he’d been holding onto. He and Mrs. Peterson got down on their knees—right there in her kitchen—and ol’ Stump gave his heart to Jesus. And he has never been the same. Oh, he’s still shaggy on the outside, but he’s just a big ol’ teddy bear in here.” Buddy tapped on his heart, laughing through his tears. “Lord! Look at me, blubbering like a kid who just lost his marbles. Which might be closer to the truth than we know.” He laughed again, wiping his eyes. “I just can’t help it when I start talking about all the miracles God’s been doing in the lives of my guys.”
“Dad, that may be the sweetest story I’ve heard in years. I love what you’ve done for your guys—your Elders.”