Ben eyed Andrew with suspicion before entering the room. “This is for us?”
“Yes. We thought you’d all like to share the same room. If that’s all right.”
The boy grunted but a little of the tension seemed to leave his slight shoulders.
“The bathroom’s right across the hall.”
Helen passed Francine into Andrew’s arms, then led Louisa to her bed. “Can I help you put on your new dress?”
Louisa shook her head, then seemed to think again, and nodded.
“I thought this blue would match the color of your eyes. I was right.” Helen sat on the bed and began to unbutton the dress Louisa wore.
“Ben, why don’t you let me show you the place? The little ones can check it out later, but you ought to see it first, being the oldest.”
“Didja bring us here to work for you?” Suspicion returned to his eyes. “I heard that’s what you’d want. Labor for nothin’.”
“No, we brought you into our home to be part of our family. Everybody does their part, of course.”
“Yeah, right.”
Nine years old with an enormous chip on his shoulder. But Andrew couldn’t blame the kid. Ben had carried lots more than a chip on those narrow shoulders for the past ten months or so.
“Come with me. You don’t have to do anything but watch and listen.” Andrew looked at Helen. “You okay with these two and the baby?”
She nodded, so he laid Francine on the bed near her hip.
A short while later, Andrew and Ben entered the barn. Andrew showed him the gelding that was in the stall, then told the boy what he was doing as he treated the animal’s wound. From there he showed Ben the other horses as well as the cows, hog, and chickens. After that, they walked to the edge of the fields. A slight dusting of snow covered the ground.
“Hard to tell, but come spring this will all be green with alfalfa.”
“What’s that?”
“Hay. It’s used to feed cattle. We sell it to farmers and ranchers.”
“How come you don’t grow stuff you can eat?”
“We’ve got a good-sized garden on the other side of the house. We don’t go hungry on the farm.” He looked at Ben. “What did your father do?”
Ben seemed to debate whether or not to answer but at last said, “He worked in a factory ’til it closed down.”
“Where?”
“Seattle.”
Andrew knew this already, but he hoped it would help the boy to talk about it. “What brought you to Boise?”
“Dad hoped for work. Didn’t happen. Then he got sick.”
Andrew knew the family had lived in a tent near the river all through the last winter. A hard, bitter cold one. No wonder the father had taken ill. “So you’ve never lived on a farm before now.”
“Nah.”
“I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance.”
“I doubt it.”
“I doubted I wanted to live here too. Except I grew up on a farm and knew what it was like. I wanted to get away. I wanted to live in the city and wear a suit to work.” He shrugged. “Things didn’t work out that way. I had to come back to the farm. Turns out I’m not sorry. God knew what was best for me and my family.”
Ben grunted.
Andrew put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Give us a chance. Give the farm a chance too. I promise it’ll be better than going hungry, trying to get by on your wits, or living in an orphanage.”
“We wouldn’t’ve been in the orphanage if we’d never gone to that soup kitchen. Not if you hadn’t seen us.”
“I guess not, but that was for your own good.”
“We was doin’ all right.”
“Your brother and sister were hungry, even if you weren’t.”
Ben scowled, refusing to admit that he’d been hungry too.
“They needed a decent place to sleep and a way to keep warm and dry. The nights were turning way too cold again.”
“Nobody’s gonna separate us.” The boy’s hands fisted at his sides, and he stuck out his chin in defiance. “I promised Mom we’d stay together always.”
“Nobody will separate you, Ben.” He spoke gently, hoping the boy could hear honesty in his words. “I promise. That’s one reason you are here with us. So the three of you can stay together. Always.”
Chapter 22
Jessica worked in her studio that day, but she chose her tasks well. It was repetitive work that required little concentration. A good thing, for her thoughts weren’t on the details. She hummed music that she and Ridley had danced to. She paused frequently and remembered the feel of his arms around her. She heard the sound of his laughter echoing in her memory. Sometimes she thought she could still feel his breath upon her skin. It was all quite heavenly, and with the memories, the question about Ridley and her baby that she had pondered earlier was answered in her heart. She would trust God with it. She would allow Him to guide her into the future.
In early afternoon, she put away her art supplies, turned off her computer and the lights in her studio, and went to the kitchen, where she made herself a late lunch—half a tuna fish sandwich, a bowl of mixed fruit, and a glass of milk. As she drank the last of the milk, she found herself wishing for a chocolate-chip cookie. Then she wondered if Ridley liked chocolate-chip cookies.
There was one sure way to find out.
An hour later, she carried a plate of still warm cookies across the field to his house. Kris announced her before she could rap on the jamb of the open door.
“Kris, knock it off,” came Ridley’s voice from inside. But when he stepped into view and saw her, he grinned. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “I baked cookies. Would you like some?” She held the plate a little higher. “Chocolate chip.”
“My favorite.” He came to her, taking the plate while keeping his gaze on her, his smile still in place as he gently drew her into the kitchen. “How’s your day been?”
“Good.” Her stomach tumbled.
“Get any work done?”
“Yes, some.” But I thought about you all the time. The gleam in his eyes made her wonder if he’d read her silent thought.
He set the plate on the counter. “I’ve been busy too. Come see.”
She followed him into the living room, and when he pointed, she followed the motion with her eyes. There, on a formerly bare wall, hung a large-screen television. In the nearby corners stood speakers on stands.
“Cable company comes next week to hook it all up. Internet too. When the folks come in August, my stepdad won’t be able to complain he has nothing to watch.”
“And you won’t mind having it either.”
He chuckled. “To be honest, yeah, I’ll like having TV and internet again. You know that I came up here to get away from it, but I’ve been thinking that my trouble was like a flash in the pan compared to what some people go through in the media.” There was a subtle change in his expression, as if he’d made a discovery.
“Knowing what happened to you, I pity the people it happens to, whoever they are. Even if they actually did something wrong.”
“Exactly.” He stressed the word and nodded, speaking to himself and not to her. “Exactly.” Then he drew a breath and focused his full attention on her again. “Now, how about I try out those cookies.”
She smiled at him. “Of course.”
For the second time in a matter of minutes, she followed him to the other room, watching as he pulled off the cellophane and picked up a cookie. He took a bite, closed his eyes, and tipped his head slightly back. After a long while, he released a soft, “Wow.”
A bit dramatic, but she loved him for it.
Loved him for it . . . A fluttering in her chest caused her breath to catch. Loved him for it? The words wouldn’t leave her head.
“That’s not from a plastic container you bought at the grocery store,” he said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
She shook her head
.
“Thanks for sharing with me.”
She released a nervous laugh. “I can’t afford to have too many sweets around the house.” She patted her belly. “I get cravings.”
He echoed her laugh before eating the remainder of the cookie and reaching for a second.
“Speaking of food . . .” she began.
He looked at her, waiting for her to go on.
“I’m expected to Sunday dinner at my parents’ house. Would you mind going with me?”
“I’m invited?”
She almost said yes, but honesty forced a longer reply. “I told Mom I don’t want to make the drive into Boise by myself at this stage in my pregnancy. She told me I could bring a friend.”
“Ah.”
“But you’re the friend I want to take.”
“I’ll be glad to go with you.”
The nervousness vanished, leaving only her happiness behind. “If we leave right after church, we’ll be there in plenty of time.”
“Sounds good. I’ll need to come home first to let Kris out. Sounds like it could be a long day.”
“We can bring her with us. The backyard at home is fenced, and Mom knows Kris. We always had dogs when my sister and I were kids. It’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then it sounds like we’re set for the day.”
Strange, wasn’t it, the way the mind worked. First, his own comment: that his troubles were like a flash in the pan compared to what some people went through in the media. It was as if his words had turned on a light in a once dark room. And then Jessica’s comment—that she pitied the people such things happened to, no matter who they were, even if guilty—had seemed to change a simple light into an intense spotlight. And just like that, God began to form the shapeless clay of his desire to help others into something concrete. Something he could see.
After Jessica went home, he sat at the kitchen table and scribbled in a notebook with a mechanical pencil, sometimes writing long paragraphs, sometimes drawing mind maps, sometimes jotting down bullet points.
What if there was a place people could go when their lives were falling to pieces? A place like Hope Springs had been for him. A sanctuary. A safe place to wait and heal. What if he could help provide peace and good counsel to people of all ages and all circumstances? News articles from the past flashed in his mind. Not about him. About others. A teenaged girl being bullied on social media until she took her own life. A CEO accused of wrongdoing who’d lost everything, including his family, before being proven innocent. News pieces that he’d read and then moved on from, like nearly everybody else except for those who kept churning out the stories. What if . . . ?
He reached for his phone and hit Chad’s number in his Favorites list.
“Hey, buddy,” Chad answered. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Selena called me again.”
Hearing his friend’s comment took some of the wind from his sails. “What did she want this time?”
“She’s still trying to find you. She told me to tell you, next time we talked, that she’s sorry and wants you back.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
He pictured Jessica, and a slow smile curved his mouth. “It’ll never happen.” Even if he didn’t care for Jessica, he wouldn’t have tried to pick things up with Selena again. She’d been all wrong for him. He’d begun to suspect it before the breakup, but Jessica had shown him what he wanted for his future. He wanted someone loving and kind. He wanted someone who would let a dog pounce on her while covered in shampoo and be able to laugh about it. He wanted someone whose friends would do everything they could to protect her. He wanted someone who would bake him chocolate-chip cookies for no other reason than to please him.
“Ridley? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“Anything you want me to tell her if she calls again?”
“Just tell her it’s over and I wish her well.”
“Got it.”
“Now for the reason I called you.” Ridley lowered his eyes to the notebook open on the table before him. “I’ve got some ideas about what I want to do next. It’s for a kind of retreat center. Not retreat as in a vacation or a spiritual retreat like the men’s group at church does. More like retreat as in getting away from a crisis. A sanctuary of sorts. I’d like to bounce a few ideas off you. Have you got time to listen?”
“Sure thing. My time is yours.”
KUNA, IDAHO
Tuesday, July 4, 1933
At his March fourth inauguration as the nation’s thirty-second president, Franklin D. Roosevelt had said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Listening to the speech on the radio, Andrew had felt disinclined to agree with the man, no matter how stirring the words. There seemed an abundance of things to worry about or fear.
For one, bank holidays might have stopped another run on the financial institutions, but they’d done nothing to help the precarious nature of the times for ordinary men and women.
For another, while the country waited for enough states to approve the Twenty-first Amendment, allowing the return of legal beer and liquor, little attention was paid to the rise to power of Adolf Hitler in Germany, the wars in the Far East, or the disintegration of the League of Nations. Andrew had noticed all of those in passing when he read or heard about them in news reports. But, like others, he’d quickly forgotten them. They’d seemed too far away to disturb his little corner of the world.
On the Fourth of July, Andrew set aside his worries about the poor income from the first harvest of the season—the worst prices since the start of the depression—to celebrate Francine’s birthday. His darling daughter, whom everyone now called Frani, was a year old. All of the grandparents—Andrew’s mother and father and Mother Greyson—were present for the party. And of course Frani’s foster siblings Ben, Louisa, and Oscar were there. Along with Helen and Andrew, they all made for a merry band.
Helen had planned out every detail of the party. The table had been carried outside, along with chairs and a bench, and set in the shade of the willow tree. Paper hats awaited all participants at each place setting, and there was a three-layer cake with thick frosting and ice cream for dessert. They had to eat the ice cream very fast because of the intense summer heat, but no one complained about that.
Andrew took photos of the family with Frank’s old box camera. He didn’t know much about photography and could only hope he managed to take a few good pictures. He wouldn’t know the results until he took them into Kuna to be developed.
Sitting in her high chair, Frani seemed to enjoy being the focal point of the day. From the start, she’d been a good-natured baby, rarely crying or fussy. As a toddler, she bubbled over with joy, giggling over the smallest things. She had a special affection for Ben. Now that she was walking, if still a bit unsteadily, she tried to follow him everywhere. The boy pretended he didn’t return Frani’s feelings, but Andrew knew better. Ben had a soft spot for all of the younger kids. He took his role as big brother seriously and was protective, often bossy, but always loving.
Look at us, God. This family that’s been cobbled together. It wasn’t all that long ago that I didn’t think my marriage would survive, let alone that we could be happy again. That Helen and I would have a baby together. That we would be able to provide a home for three unhappy orphans in their time of need. Look what You’ve done with us, Lord. It’s a miracle, and I thank You for it all.
Chapter 23
“Are you comfortable?” Ridley asked as Jessica settled into the front seat of his car.
She offered a rueful smile. “It’s getting harder every day to answer yes to that question.” She tugged at the shoulder strap of the seatbelt, giving her abdomen a little more room.
Kris thrust her head between the driver and passenger seats, looking less than happy.
Now Jessica laughed. “
I take it she’s grown used to riding shotgun.”
“Yeah.” He closed the passenger door. “Bad habit too. I should make her ride in the back in a crate. It would be safer for her.”
Jessica stroked the dog’s head. “I’m sorry, girl, but this spot is mine for the day. I’ll make sure you get a treat when we get to Mom’s. Okay?”
Kris licked Jessica’s hand, then disappeared into the back seat.
Ridley grinned as he hurried around the front of the car and got behind the wheel. He was looking forward to spending the day with Jessica. He also looked forward to meeting her dad. He already liked her mom and hoped the woman liked him a little.
Funny, he’d never much cared for meeting his girlfriends’ parents or siblings. It felt like he was making some sort of commitment when that happened. But it was different this time. Maybe because he could imagine a future with Jessica, fuzzy though that image in his head was most of the time.
Ridley guided his automobile through Hope Springs and onto the winding two-lane highway that followed the south fork of the river. A playlist of Big Band standards played on the car stereo.
“You are even more eclectic in your music choices than you let on. Not just classical or Christian, huh?”
He glanced at Jessica, then looked back at the road. “Guilty. It was my grandfather who turned me on to this music. Glenn Miller was one of his all-time favorites. ‘Stardust.’ ‘Moonlight Serenade.’”
“‘In the Mood,’” she interjected.
He grinned. “Yeah.”
“My grandma loved music from that era too.”
“Maybe our grandparents were listening to their radios at the same time.”
“Maybe.”
“From things you’ve said, you were real close to your grandmother.”
“Yes. We were close.” Her voice softened. “If she’d lived, she would have turned eighty-seven years old on the Fourth of July. The other day I found a notation in her father’s Bible dated the day she was born. He wrote that she was his first little arrow and prayed that he would be worthy of that reward.”
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