For the Least of These

by Charlotte Carter

  “Seems a little heavy for lunch.” Paul quickly scanned down the menu. “Kate keeps reminding me to watch what I eat.”

  “That’s the thing about wives, isn’t it? They keep after you until you’re eating healthy whether you like it or not.”

  Paul chuckled. “Probably means she wants me to stick around for a while.”

  Sam looked up when LuAnne, a longtime waitress at the diner, arrived with two glasses of water.

  “Afternoon, Sam. Pastor Hanlon.” LuAnne’s hair was a shade of red that could only have come from a bottle, but it fit perfectly with her outgoing personality. “What’ll you have this fine day?”

  Paul closed his menu and pushed it aside. “I guess I’ll try the tuna sandwich on rye and some of Loretta’s fine coleslaw.” The sweet-potato fries tempted him, but Paul knew Kate would disapprove.

  “I’ll go with the meatball sandwich and a slice of that cherry pie I saw.” The fact that Sam was a bit overweight and had mild heart problems hadn’t dampened his enjoyment of desserts a bit. “And coffee, if you will.”

  “Make that two coffees,” Paul added, knowing full well that Loretta’s coffee was strong enough to strip wallpaper.

  LuAnne jotted down their orders on her pad. “You got it. I’ll be back with your coffee in a sec.”

  While waiting for their coffee, Sam talked about his fishing exploits, promising to take Paul to a new fishing hole he’d recently discovered outside town.

  LuAnne returned with two mugs of coffee and put them on the table along with a handful of tiny cream containers. “Loretta’s a little behind on orders, but it shouldn’t be too long.”

  “No hurry,” Sam said.

  Paul blew on his coffee to cool it. “So, how’s business these days, Sam?”

  “Same as usual, I guess. But somebody got into the Dumpster behind the Mercantile last night. Probably some kids got bored and decided to cause mischief. At my expense.” He poured two creams into his coffee and added some sugar. “They dragged stuff out of the Dumpster and halfway down the alley. Took me an hour to clean up the mess first thing this morning.”

  The Mercantile that Sam owned was more than a grocery store. He carried almost anything folks might need, including camping supplies, knitting needles, and clothing for everyone in the family. He’d even special-order merchandise if he didn’t carry what a person wanted.

  “You have to wonder what gets into kids sometimes,” Paul commented.

  “I’d say lack of parental supervision is the problem.”

  Paul suspected that was at least part of the problem, and he counted his blessings that his own children had grown up with a minimal amount of fuss. He gave Kate most of the credit for that. And the Lord.

  AFTER LUNCH, Paul called on a sick parishioner, then he dropped by the church to see if he had any messages and to work on his sermon for the next day. By the time he got home, it was almost dinnertime.

  As he stepped into the living room, he glanced out the sliding-glass door to see how Kate’s gardening project was coming along. Kate’s helpers had apparently left for the day, but he smiled at the progress they’d made, noting the freshly installed plants along the back fence.

  He found Kate working at the layout table in her studio, her tools and bits of stained glass all around her. It continually amazed him how she could transform sheets of colored glass into an intricate, artistic design. He certainly didn’t have that kind of talent.

  “The yard’s looking good.” He bent to kiss her hello.

  She lifted her head to him and smiled. “It’s a beginning.”

  “Were the kids all right? They seemed so eager, I didn’t have the heart to send them away this morning. Did they run out of energy?”

  “No, I did.” She leaned back in her chair and brushed a wayward strand of hair back from her forehead. “I felt like I’d had enough for the day, and I knew the children were tired. Those youngsters should be playing, not working. I’m worried about them.”

  “Oh? In what way?”

  “Their father is apparently in prison. I’m not entirely sure about their mother. The children tell me she’s sick, but I think it may be more than that.” Arranging three colored bits of glass in the form she’d laid out, Kate shook her head. “I feel like those children are being neglected, and they certainly act as though they’re not being well fed.”

  “Do you want to alert the authorities?”

  “I hate to do that unless I’m sure the children are at risk.”

  Paul could understand that. When a parent was reported for child neglect, it was hard to stop the bureaucratic machine once it got rolling. A false accusation could destroy a family.

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

  “After tomorrow’s service, I think I’ll take the family a casserole from the Faith Freezer...and a pie I’ll make this evening. I’d like to talk to their mother. There’s something strange going on with that family.”

  “A new mystery for you to investigate?”

  “Could be.”

  “Do you know where they live?”

  “I know the general area. Smoky Mountain Hollow. With any luck, I’ll spot their mailbox or find someone to ask.”

  Paul suspected it might be harder to locate a specific family in the hollows than Kate anticipated, but he thought better of discouraging her. Once Kate decided that something needed investigating, there was no stopping her.

  She looked at the sun catcher she was working on. Nodding to herself, she stood up. “How did your meeting go this morning?”

  “Fine. The plans for Old Timer’s Day are coming along nicely.” Together they walked out of the room, which was actually a third bedroom Kate had converted into a studio to pursue her hobby. “Afterward, I had lunch with Sam. Apparently some vandals got into the Dumpster behind the store and made a mess last night. He wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t.”

  “He did give me an idea for tomorrow’s sermon, though.”

  “How we’re supposed to clean up our messes?” Kate teased.

  When they reached the kitchen, Paul stopped at the kitchen counter and leaned against it. Something cooking in the oven smelled delicious. He was hoping for pork-chop casserole and corn bread. After all, he’d restrained himself at lunch and skipped dessert.

  “Not quite,” he said. “Sam and I were talking about going fishing, so I thought I’d base my sermon on Genesis 1:28. God created man in his own image, then he admonished us to ‘be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground.’”

  “Which is the excuse you’re going to use when you take a day off to go fishing with Sam?”

  He gave her a look of mock innocence. “Of course not. I’m going to remind the congregation that not only does humankind rule over God’s creatures, but we have an obligation to protect them as well.”

  A grin spread across Kate’s lips. “Which means you and Sam are going fly-fishing and are going to catch and release whatever hapless fish you manage to hook.”

  “Ah, you know me too well, Katie. Much too well.” He grinned at her, then went to wash up for dinner.

  Chapter Four

  As the church bell pealed to welcome parishioners to Sunday service, Kate took her place with the choir. Although she didn’t view herself as having a particularly good voice, she usually managed to sing on key and did enjoy the camaraderie of the group. It was, she was sure, the only church choir that could claim a teacup Chihuahua as an unofficial member.

  When Sam Gorman struck the first notes of the prelude on the organ, the congregation rose, and Paul walked to the plain wooden pulpit. He held his arms outstretched and welcomed the worshippers as he had so many times over the past thirty-some years, first in San Antonio and now in Copper Mill. Each time Kate saw him in his preacher’s role, she was struck anew with his strong faith in the Lord. />
  The first hymn the congregation sang introduced Paul’s theme for the day: All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.

  Throughout the general announcements and offertory, Kate had trouble keeping her mind on the service. She kept thinking about the three Maddock children and wondering if they were all right. If they’d eaten a good breakfast and if their mother was taking care of them.

  Are they in danger? Please, Lord, watch over and care for them.

  She was so distracted that she missed the cue for the choir to stand for their final song, “Happy the Home When God Is There.”

  Livvy Jenner, who was sitting next to Kate, gave her a nudge with her elbow. Kate was so embarrassed by her lapse that she nearly dropped the choir book when she stood.

  Fortunately, Livvy was unflappable, and she had the solo part. All Kate had to do was sing along in harmony, which she managed despite the heat of a blush that no doubt colored her cheeks.

  When the service was over and the congregation had filed outside to visit in little groups, Livvy sought out Kate.

  “Where were you this morning?” Livvy asked.

  Livvy, a petite woman in her late forties, was Kate’s best friend in Copper Mill and the head librarian in town. She wore her auburn hair in a short, casual style, and her hazel eyes shone with innate intelligence.

  Kate frowned. “What do you mean where was I?”

  “Well, you certainly weren’t in church. It looked to me like you were ten thousand miles away, and wherever you were, you were worried.”

  “Oh dear, I didn’t know it showed.”

  “So, what are you worried about?”

  Kate slipped her arm through Livvy’s and walked her away from the crowd to a shady spot near a flowering dogwood tree at the edge of the parking lot.

  “Do you know the Maddock family? They live in Smoky Mountain Hollow. Three children. The oldest is named Megan, and she’s in the seventh grade.”

  Slowly Livvy shook her head. “Not that I can recall. Most of the children around here have come to the library at one time or another, but I don’t know all their names. Why do you ask?”

  Briefly Kate told her how she’d met the children and about her concerns.

  “There are a lot of families living in the hollows that really struggle to eke out a living. Jobs are pretty hard to find around here, particularly if you don’t have a decent education or some skills.”

  Both Livvy and her husband, Danny, were native Tennesseans, had grown up in Copper Mill, and were now raising their two teenage boys here.

  “Then paying a call on the family and taking some food wouldn’t be out of line? I do want to make sure the children are all right.”

  “Some of the hill folks don’t like charity. They’ve got too much pride. But it’s still worth making the effort because of the children.”

  Kate was pleased that Livvy validated her instinct to check on the children’s situation.

  AFTER HER MIDDAY MEAL WITH PAUL, Kate packed up her Honda with a casserole and a cherry pie she’d baked. She took Smoky Mountain Road out of town. Soon, modern houses gave way to wooded areas. Small farm holdings and scattered homes were less well kept than those closer to town. To her dismay, she discovered the side roads weren’t all marked, and many of the rural mailboxes displayed only house numbers, not family names.

  At one point, a flock of wild turkeys—too skinny to grace a Thanksgiving table—strutted across the road, unconcerned by an approaching vehicle.

  Finally she saw some children playing on a makeshift swing that hung from the branch of an ancient oak tree. She asked them where she could find the Maddock family.

  When she pulled into the Maddocks’ rutted driveway, she realized she’d driven more than two miles from town. She knew that a bus picked up the children for school every day in these outlying areas, but Megan and her siblings had obviously walked to Kate’s house on Saturday and back home again. She’d had no idea how far they’d come to work in her garden with the hope of earning a little money.

  They had precious little to hope for in their lives, she thought as she looked out her window at the run-down trailer. About forty feet long, it was propped up on cement blocks with weeds growing up around them. On a clothesline strung between two trees, children’s shirts and jeans hung swinging in the breeze. An empty oil drum had been turned into a garbage can and was overflowing with trash, and a hodgepodge of power and phone lines crisscrossed between the trailer and a telephone pole.

  Kate spotted Beck playing on the wooden porch that tilted at an angle in front of the door.

  As she got out of the car, Beck hopped up and ran to the trailer’s screen door, yanking it open. “Meg! MizHanlon’s here!” he shouted.

  Kate grimaced. If their mother was ill, that abrupt announcement wouldn’t do much to improve Kate’s welcome.

  She had barely reached the steps to the porch with the casserole and pie in hand when Megan appeared along with Gwen. The clothes they wore were faded and showed a lot of hard wear. Neither girl was wearing a cap that afternoon, and their matching hair hung loosely past their shoulders.

  Beck, she noticed, had been playing with several characters made out of cornhusks. Not traditional cornhusk dolls, but husks fashioned into a couple of cowboys and their horses. There was even a cornhusk corral and barn. Someone had used little scraps of fabric for the cowboys’ hats and chaps. Very clever.

  “Hey, MizHanlon,” Megan said. The girls stepped out onto the porch, and Megan closed the screen door behind them. She looked at Kate with a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “Didn’t expect you to come by.”

  “I thought since your mother hasn’t been feeling well, she might enjoy not having to cook a meal. I brought you a casserole you only need to heat up and an extra cherry pie I thought you might like.” She handed the pie to Beck.

  “Wow!” He took the pie as though it were made of pure gold. “We never get to eat cherry pie.”

  Kate smiled at him. “Well, today you do. If it’s all right with your mother,” Kate added. “Is she in?”

  “Ma’s sleepin’,” Megan said, almost too quickly.

  “Yeah, sleepin’,” Gwen confirmed.

  Beck’s gaze shot to his sisters, but he said nothing.

  “Okay. I just wanted to meet her and tell her what a good job you three have been doing for me.”

  “I’ll let Ma know you came by,” Megan said.

  “Yes, well...” At a loss for what she should do next, she focused on Beck’s cornhusk cowboys. “I love your cornhusk dolls, Beck.”

  “They’re not dolls. They’re cowboys, like I’m gonna be when I grow up.”

  “I see. Well, they’re very nice. Did someone make those for you?”

  He looked up at his big sister. “She did.”

  “Really? You’re very talented, Megan.”

  She shrugged. “I just do it when I get bored.”

  “She made me a whole family of dolls,” Gwen volunteered. “Ma and Pa and three kids.”

  “That’s impressive.” She remembered Megan had also won a poster-drawing contest. She was an artistic young lady.

  Kate felt foolish standing there with a casserole, talking about cornhusk dolls. Southern hospitality was generally more welcoming, but she decided to give the children and their ill mother a little slack.

  She handed the dish to Megan. “Tell your mother to bake it at three hundred and fifty degrees for a half hour or so. You can bring the dish back to me when you come by next week.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  Gwen whispered something in Megan’s ear.

  The older girl frowned. “Sometimes our oven don’t work too good. Can I cook this on top of the stove?”

  “Yes.” Kate hesitated. Once again, she had the feeling Megan was holding something back. A secret about her mother...or about the way the family lived?

  “Put however much you want for your meal i
n a regular pan and warm it over a low heat. You’ll have to stir it a couple of times so it won’t burn.”

  “’Kay,” Megan said. “Thanks.”

  Kate let a moment of silence go by, noticing that Beck had slipped his finger under the plastic wrap that covered the pie and dug out a cherry, which he’d popped into his mouth. From the red juice stuck to the corners of his lips, she suspected he’d sneaked more than one.

  “Well, I’d better go. Tell your mother I hope she feels better soon.”

  “Sure,” Megan responded noncommittally.

  “Tell her to come visit when she can.”

  “I better go check on Ma now.” Megan glanced over her shoulder past the screen door. “I hear her calling.”

  “Of course. You go ahead,” Kate said.

  Backing toward her car, Kate watched the three young faces stoically watching her. She turned to get into the Honda, and when she looked back at the porch, all she saw was the back of Beck as he followed his fleeing sisters into the trailer.

  Kate would have bet anything that the children were going to heat up the casserole that minute and probably consume the entire pie before they ate the chicken and noodles. Almost assuredly, Beck would eat his share of pie right off.

  Unless their mother intervened.

  Kate had the distinct impression that wouldn’t happen, and a shiver of unease traveled the length of her spine.

  At least, though their mother was ill, she was apparently at home. Kate wondered why that thought didn’t lessen her concern for the children.

  THAT EVENING when Kate slid into bed beside Paul, she took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

  “You’re still worried about those kids, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “More than ever. I can’t seem to get them out of my mind.”

  “Have you asked the Lord to help you out?”

  “I have. Several times.”

  “Then he will. Be patient.” Paul leaned over to kiss her good night.

  Her husband was right, as usual. But patience wasn’t one of Kate’s strong suits. Particularly when she sensed something needed fixing.

  Sighing, she lay on her back staring into the darkness. One of the big differences between San Antonio and Copper Mill was the absence of the light and noise Kate had grown accustomed to in the city. Gone were the streetlights, the sound of the neighbors coming and going, and the occasional flash of headlights past her windows. Whatever light that slipped in through the blinds at night came from the moon and stars. On moonless nights like this, with an overcast that hid the stars, the room was as dark as a West Virginia coal mine.