The First Ladies Club Box Set

by J B Hawker

  As she drove, Hope found herself recalling the conversations and thinking of what she might ask these new friends about her own new married life.

  All her reluctance to joining the group was gone and she looked forward to the next meeting.

  “I guess I’m a real First Lady, now,” she said aloud. “Who woulda thunk it?”

  …

  Across town, students were streaming out of the local high school building, some being picked up by parents, others maneuvering their cars out of the school parking lot, or on foot clogging the sidewalks leading away from campus.

  TyVon Mitchell ambled along the pavement, weighed down under his overloaded backpack.

  “Yo! TyVon!” a large, rough-looking boy called, stepping out of an alley between two empty storefronts and waylaying TyVon a few blocks from the school.

  “Whaddya want, Biggie?” Ty asked, pausing and looking around as if uncomfortable to be alone with the older boy.

  “I don’t want nothing, bro. I got something for ya,” Biggie said, thrusting a paper bag at TyVon.

  Biggie was an imposing figure, six feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds. He’d dropped out of school at sixteen, over two years before, but he still hung around campus, swaggering and boasting of his life of ease since escaping the “system.”

  “I don’t want it, whatever it is,” TyVon said, beginning to walk away.

  Biggie blocked the younger boy’s path and held the bag up to his face.

  “You’d want this if you had the guts to try it. Go on, look inside, man,” he said.

  TyVon shrugged and peered into the bag. Seeing an assortment of pills, capsules, and small packets of white powder, he jerked his head back.

  “I don’t want none of that stuff!” he cried, pushing his way past the bigger boy and hurrying away.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing! This is primo, man!” Biggie called after him.

  “What a loser,” he grumbled.

  TyVon turned a corner, getting out of sight of the older boy before slowing his pace.

  He jumped when a car pulled up beside him and beeped its horn. He whipped around to see who honked and was almost pulled off balance by his heavy pack.

  “Hi, TyVon!” Hope called, leaning over to open the passenger door of her Jeep. “Want a ride?”

  Relieved, TyVon smiled, heaved his book bag into the back seat, and climbed in.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Hopkins,” he said, buckling up.

  “You looked like you had the burdens of the world on your shoulders. How heavy is that pack, anyway?” she asked, pulling back onto the road.

  “Only about fifty pounds today. I left my biology text in my locker,” TyVon grinned.

  “It’s a wonder all you kids aren’t hunchbacked,” Hope commented.

  “Didn’t you carry a pack in the military?” TyVon asked.

  “Sure. Lots heavier than yours, too, but it was balanced and designed to keep us soldiers upright and uninjured. You kids wear your heavy packs any which way and that can do some serious damage. You should shorten the shoulder straps on yours, you know.”

  “Why? Everyone wears their backpacks like this,” TyVon said.

  “You need the weight evenly distributed on your shoulders and upper back, not hanging on your hips. Try it and I’m pretty sure you will find out it’s loads more comfortable. When we have our camping trip, I’m going to make sure you kids all have your packs on right. No one’s getting crippled on my watch,” Hope said, pulling into the Mitchell’s driveway.

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks for the ride, Mrs. H.,” he said, getting out of the car.

  Poking his head back in to retrieve his pack he added, “And thanks for agreeing to be our camp leader.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Ty. It’s going to be fun whipping you city kids into shape,” Hope teased before driving off.

  “City kids, huh!” TyVon said, smiling. No one could ever call Bannoch a city.

  The smile vanished when he remembered his recent meeting with Biggie. He felt a flicker of fear at this evidence of the encroachment of gangs and drugs into his tiny, peaceful hometown.

  ...

  Hope swung by the church after dropping Ty off. Entering through the back door, she found Gideon in the Pastor’s Study.

  “Hi, am I interrupting anything?” she asked, opening the door. “Cookie wasn’t at her desk.”

  “She only works mornings on Thursdays. Come on in. I was just hoping you’d drop by for a quick cuddle,” Gideon said, getting up from his desk and taking Hope into his arms.

  She kissed him, then dropped onto the visitor’s chair while Gideon returned to his desk.

  “Well, once again, you were right!” she said when they were settled.

  “Oh good. What about?” he asked, grinning.

  “I went to the preachers’ wives’ group this afternoon and it was an eye-opener,” she replied.

  “In what way?” Gideon asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his desk.

  “You tried to tell me that being married to a minister didn’t mean I needed to be a clone of the women I’d been reading about in those self-help books, and you couldn’t have been more right. At least, if these women in Bannoch are any example. Their personalities and styles are as divergent as the denominations they serve.”

  “How do they get along, then?” Gideon asked. “Were there a lot of theological battles over the teacups and cookies?”

  “I know you’re teasing, but, actually, the women stay clear away from that sort of thing. They concentrate on what they have in common and make a real effort to support each other, and the community, as well. I was impressed,” Hope said.

  “Well, well! I know you don’t impress easily, being a hard-boiled ex-Marine and all,” he said with a loving smile, reaching for her hand.

  “Yeah, right,” she snorted. “Anyway, I liked these women and I’m looking forward to learning a lot from them. I already feel so much better about just being myself, again.”

  “Have you been trying to be someone else? I can’t imagine anyone being an improvement on the original Hope. Not for me, anyway,” he said. “That’s what I’ve been telling you all along, right?”

  “Yes, but you are prejudiced in my favor... that whole ‘being in love with me’ business, remember?”

  “There is that,” he agreed, stroking her arm.

  “Anyway, I just stopped by to give you an update and ask when you’ll want dinner tonight.”

  “I’ve got what I hope will be a very brief Deacons’ meeting at five-thirty, so I shouldn’t be too late,” he replied.

  “Okay. I’ll plan dinner for sevenish. Pork chops sound okay?”

  “Perfect. How did I ever luck out to get a strong, beautiful wife who can also cook and even admits when I’m right? I am a blessed man.”

  Gideon walked Hope to the door where he kissed her lightly before pulling her close and kissing her more deeply.

  She pushed away with a smile, saying, “Later. Some blessings must be delayed to be enjoyed. Bye!”

  …

  “Thank you for your report, Pastor,” Morris Thurber, lead deacon, stood up as Gideon returned to his seat following his monthly report of pastoral activities to the Board of Deacons.

  “That dispenses with old business and reports. Is there any new business, or can we get home to our dinner?” Morris asked, looking at his watch.

  Morris, a slight, tidy man in his fifties, with a full mustache and gleaming ebony bald head, had opened his hardware store, as usual, at seven o’clock that morning, and he was tired. His wife had promised to fix his favorite, pot roast, for dinner, and he was beginning to imagine he could smell the aroma of well-seasoned roast beef wafting into the board room, calling to his salivary glands. His wife, Mabel, sometimes resented how her husband could stay so slim with his love of food and his healthy appetite, while she merely looked at a tasty treat and gained five pounds.

  “I think we need to talk about what’s g
oing on in town,” Melody Clarkson, a middle school teacher, said.

  “What would that be?” Morris asked.

  “I’ve been hearing things at school,” she said. “There’s a lot of talk among the kids about some of them getting a hold of drugs. We’ve never had that at the middle school in all my years of teaching.”

  “What do you want us to do about it, Mel?” George Witherspoon, sitting on her left, said. “It’s hardly a church problem.”

  “But, it’s everybody’s problem!” Melody whipped around to confront George. “We can’t just sit idly by and let druggies take over our town and poison our children.”

  “Well, now, I hear what you’re saying, both of you. I’m not sure we’re in much of a position to do anything, though,” Morris said.

  “If drugs are coming into our community, it’s a serious business. How about if we form a fact-finding committee to check with the local law enforcement folks and find out the extent of the problem? It could just be kids boasting. Once we know the real situation, we can begin to look into what we might do to help,” Gideon offered.

  “The pastor suggests the formation of a fact-finding committee. Do I have a motion?” Morris asked, hoping to cut short any unproductive discussion.

  With the committee approved, both Melody and George volunteered to do the research and report back to the board at its next regular meeting.

  Gideon led the closing prayer and the deacons disbursed.

  “I admire the way you run these meetings, Morris,” Gideon said as the two men walked out to the parking lot together. “You give everyone their due while keeping things moving. That’s not easily done.”

  “Thank you, Pastor. I’ve got to admit my motives aren’t always pure. Mabel’s got a pot roast calling to me tonight and I’m eager to get my sore feet under the dinner table. Otherwise, I may have let the discussions go on a bit longer.”

  Gideon chuckled, “Well, you might have had selfish purposes, but God used your impatience for good. See you later.”

  The two men got into their cars and drove out of the parking lot, each looking forward to home, a loving wife, and a good meal.

  Chapter FOUR

  TyVon Mitchell and his younger sister, Ty’Nisha, cleared away the supper dishes, their chatter and clatter drowning out the report of a recent drug bust in Portland coming from the living room where their parents were watching the news.

  “Careful, Ty!” Ty’Nisha cried, watching her brother trying to balance a tall column of drinking glasses on an already precarious stack of bowls and plates.

  “Watch this, Nishie! I can clear the table in only two trips... maybe one, if I stuff these utensils into the glasses. Think I can?” her brother said, reaching up with a handful of forks and spoons.

  The glasses tottered.

  TyVon clutched the sliding collection of dirty dishes to his chest and ran to the sink, splashing the whole mess into the sudsy water. Ty’Nisha jumped back as water surged onto the counter and floor.

  “Now look what you’ve done, you dork!” Ty’Nisha declared with satisfaction. “I told you so.”

  TyVon pulled off his sopping tee-shirt and began to wipe the floor with it. Ty’Nisha grabbed the wet shirt and pushed her brother out of the kitchen.

  “Put this shirt into the laundry and don’t make any more messes,” she said, taking a mop from the broom cupboard.

  TyVon stood in the doorway, grinning.

  “Sorry, Sis,” he said.

  “Say, has anyone been hassling you at school or on the way home, lately?” he asked.

  “No. Why?” she responded with a puzzled frown.

  “Oh, no reason. Only just, I’ve been hearing there’s been some bullying and things. I wanted to be sure no one was messing with you... or offering you stuff,” he said.

  “What kinda stuff?” she asked.

  “I mean, you know. Pills. Pot. Stuff like that.”

  “Not me. But my friend, Aleeshia, said that big fat loser who hangs around the high school tried to give her some powder. He tried to tell her it would be totally fantastic, turn her into Beyoncé, or something. He’s so stupid. Who’d believe stuff like that?”

  “I’m glad you and your friends are too smart for him. But let me know if he, or anyone else, ever tries something like that with you, okay?”

  “Sure,” Ty’Nisha said, shrugging as she mopped the floor.

  Her brother could be such a dork, sometimes, but he was all right, deep down.

  …

  “Talitha Joy! Please stop teasing Timmy,” Scott Davidson admonished his five-year-old daughter as she dangled a piece of dinner roll just out of her little brother’s reach.

  Naidenne distracted her toddler son by dropping a handful of Cheerios onto the tray of his highchair and the boy’s sobs instantly ceased as he chased the treats around with his chubby fingers and maneuvered them into his mouth.

  “How was your hen party?” Scott asked his wife, scooping another helping of herb-roasted potatoes onto his plate.

  “How very Neanderthal of you, dear. I don’t think our local feminists would appreciate your description of our club meeting,” Naidenne replied with a rueful shake of her head.

  “What’s ‘nandalal’ mean?” Talitha asked, looking up from the complicated patterns she’d been making with the food on her plate.

  “Oh, Mommy’s just teasing, sweetie,” Scott said. “I was using an old-fashioned expression, that’s all.”

  “It was a good meeting, actually. I was so happy to see Hope join us, at last,” Naidenne said. “I was beginning to wonder if she would ever come.”

  “How’d she like her introduction to the women who really run the local churches?” Scott asked. “Is she ready to take the reins at Mount Zion?”

  “She seemed to feel more relaxed as she got to meet everyone. I think at first, she was afraid we were all church-lady clones, or dragons of propriety, or something. By the end of the meeting she seemed to be feeling much more at home.”

  “Was Judy Falls there?” Scott asked. “Meeting her should put Hope’s mind at ease... that one is definitely nobody’s clone.”

  “Don’t you like her?” Naidenne asked, surprised.

  “Of course, I do. She’s adorable, but no one could ever accuse her of being a paragon of propriety, or whatever you said.”

  Naidenne chuckled, nodding.

  “I can’t argue with that,” she said. “How were things at the hospital today? You have the chaplaincy rotation this week, don’t you?”

  “That’s right, I do. I almost wish someone else had been on duty today, though. It was a tough one,” he said.

  “What happened?” Naidenne asked, concerned.

  “I’m full!” Talitha piped up. “Can I get down?”

  Naidenne looked at her daughter’s plate, decided that she had eaten enough, wiped the little girl’s hands, and excused her from the table.

  Seeing his sister set free, Timmy began to clamor to get down, too.

  “I’ll get the kids ready for bed while you clear away, and then I’ll tell you all about my day later, when we are alone,” Scott said, lifting his son from the chair and carrying him to the stairs. “My experience wouldn’t make a very good bedtime story for the kids, I’m afraid.”

  Naidenne frowned as she carried dishes into the kitchen. She wondered what sort of trouble Scott had encountered at the hospital.

  Most of his visits were simple times of encouragement and prayer, as well as providing a listening ear for the everyday grumbles of the staff and their patients.

  The worst days were when he was called upon to comfort non-believers who’d lost a loved one. Trying to console bereaved people who had no faith drained his spiritual resources. How do you provide comfort for someone without the hope of Eternity?

  Naidenne was proud of her husband and admired his tact and sensitivity. Even though he often teased her and made corny or politically incorrect jokes at home, no one else ever saw that side of him.
/>   She tried to follow his example when dealing with the clients of her property management business, considering their opinions and feelings, no matter how unreasonable some of them could be.

  The dishes were washed and the kitchen spotless by the time Scott came downstairs and joined his wife in the living room.

  “Your shirt’s all wet,” Naidenne noticed.

  “Bath night,” Scott said with a shrug. “It goes with the territory.”

  “Are the kids all settled? I’d better run up and tuck them in,” she said. “Shall I get you a dry shirt?”

  Scott forestalled her with a hand on her arm and sat beside her on the sofa.

  “Wait a minute. I want to tell you what happened today.”

  Naidenne turned towards him with a look of expectancy.

  Scott rubbed his face and slumped back.

  “A kid died today. I had to deal with his parents,” he said.

  “How awful for you!” Naidenne said. “How old?”

  “Only fifteen.”

  “So young. Was it a car accident?” she asked.

  “Worse, I’m afraid. A drug overdose.”

  “Overdose? You mean he got into his parent's pain killers or something?” she asked.

  “The doctor said it was cocaine. Cocaine cut with something toxic. They hadn’t identified the chemicals while I was there,” Scott said.

  “How in the world would a fifteen-year-old kid get his hands on something like that in Bannoch?” Naidenne asked. “We don’t have a drug problem here... do we?”

  “Seems like it isn’t the first time the docs have seen something like this here, just the first one to die,” Scott replied.

  Naidenne was stunned.

  Bannoch always seemed like such a safe community. Even though they occasionally had outsiders who caused trouble, including the time she was kidnapped by an escaped convict from California, Naidenne still felt that Bannoch was far removed from the horrors she saw in the national news.

  “Where are the drugs coming from?” she asked.

  “Who knows? I suppose the authorities are doing what they can to track them down, but it may take time to put an end to it,” Scott said. “In the meantime, we need to alert the parents and grandparents in the congregation to be aware of this danger to our kids.”