Bad Heiress Day

by Allie Pleiter

  “I know that must have been a jolt to hear.” Glynnis put the clever rooster-themed tissue holder—goodness, the woman even decorated her Kleenex boxes to match—back on the counter. She poured more ice tea.

  “I…I wasn’t crazy up there on those church steps, was I? I mean, it felt so real, so…important…I was so sure. Sure of something I’d never think of…I just don’t think of that sort of thing in my life, despite Dad’s faith. It was…I don’t know…so unignorable.” Darcy looked at Glynnis. “Is that even a word?”

  Glynnis smiled. “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not. But Glynnis, if I was so sure, how come everything went to pieces? Within hours? God doesn’t get to pull stunts like that.” She winced a bit at her own presumptions. “Does He?”

  Glynnis chuckled. “God is God, hon. Which means He pretty much gets to do what He wants whether we like it or not. And no, I don’t think you’re bonkers. I believe you felt everything you said you did yesterday afternoon. God’s not in the habit of dialing wrong numbers, Darcy. He got your attention because He wanted your attention.”

  “Then why’d it all go so wrong?”

  Glynnis took a long swig of tea. She thought for a moment. “Well, now, who’s to say it’s all gone wrong?”

  “What do you mean? If Jack was against The Restoration Project before, he’s twice as opposed now.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t argue with you there. But getting a nudge from God isn’t the same thing as having the way swept clean before you.” She looked at Darcy, her brown eyes shimmering. It was amazing; the woman could hug you with her eyes. “Plenty of folks have had huge, enormous obstacles thrown in the path God called them to take. Lots of hurdles bigger than Jack Nightengale.”

  “Why?” Darcy felt she was practically whining like Paula. She did feel like stamping her foot and throwing a good old preschool-style tantrum.

  “Try to look at it this way. If it were easy, everybody’d do it.”

  Darcy shot Glynnis a nice-try look.

  “Okay, try this, then. Maybe the part about it seeming impossible is one of the important parts. That’s why they call it ‘faith,’ Darcy, instead of ‘agreement.’ If it made sense, if you could plot your way from point A to point B with ease, there wouldn’t be much faith in it, would there?”

  “I suppose.”

  “No supposing about it. God seems to have big plans for you, Darcy Nightengale, and that means you’re gonna have to get some big-plan faith.” Glynnis poked Darcy in the arm. “Would it help you to know that I was in the middle of gardening yesterday afternoon—pulling the last of the mulch out over the beds—and God stopped me right in the middle of the vegetable patch to pray for you? Told me clear and simple to stop right then and there and get down on my knees for you? I’m no spring chicken. I don’t haul this body down on my knees for just nothing. Fact of the matter is, I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised you called me this morning. I was going to call you anyway, to ask you what in heavens name you were doing at 2:10 yesterday afternoon.” Glynnis planted her hands on her hips. “How do you like them apples?”

  Darcy hadn’t heard someone say “How do you like them apples?” since her great-grandmother. She simply sniffed, unable to respond.

  “Well?”

  “Well…”

  “Well, what were you doing at 2:10 yesterday afternoon?”

  “Eating a Cheese Coney with mustard and onions.”

  “And…”

  “And sitting on the Immaculata Church steps.”

  “And…”

  “And deciding that the Restoration Project was something I was supposed to do.”

  “And…”

  “And…thinking I was feeling that…that God wanted me to do it.”

  Glynnis sat back in her chair, having successfully excavated the answer she was seeking. “If you’re looking for a burning bush, that’s already been done. Near as I can tell, you’ve got all the evidence you need. What you need now is a little bit of faith.”

  Like a mustard seed. Hadn’t she thought that herself, coming down off the hillside?

  “I guess.”

  “No guessing. It’s the most sure thing in life there is. Now, you finish the last of that ice tea, I’ll whip us up some sandwiches, and you can give me all the details about this little project of yours. You want ham and cheese with that revelation, or just ham?”

  Over sandwiches on—of course—rooster plates, Darcy told Glynnis every last detail about The Restoration Project. Everything from the magical moment in the middle of a pedicure to Kate’s willing partnership to Angie and even Mr. Torture Man. Most of it for the second time, Darcy realized by the time she’d finished. It didn’t really surprise Darcy that Glynnis was a good listener. She asked a few poignant questions, smiled in all the right places, but mostly just let Darcy spill it out. Best of all, Glynnis’s face showed only wonder and support—not skeptical analysis or that certain look Darcy had come to recognize as someone questioning her current emotional stability. Darcy didn’t need anyone thinking she was losing her grip on reality—she was pondering that just fine on her own.

  “So that’s when Jack told me they’d had the hiring freeze. Then he said that there’d be no raise next month. And we really needed that raise.” Darcy looked down to see that while Glynnis had finished her entire sandwich, Darcy had managed only one bite of hers. How long had she been talking? Darcy guessed she’d broken a dozen social rules in monopolizing the conversation like this, yet it was clear Glynnis didn’t mind. No, in fact, Darcy could swear the look on the woman’s face was one of pure enjoyment. As if she got a kick out of doing this sort of thing.

  What sort of thing was this exactly?

  “It’s amazing,” pronounced Glynnis when Darcy had finally finished her monologue. “I’m just so excited for you, child.”

  “Excited? How can you be excited? I’m terrified. I feel stupid. Irresponsible. It’s like I’m trying to defy gravity or something—I just don’t see how this can work.”

  “The Restoration Project is a good idea, Darcy. Don’t ever doubt that. You’ve had an experience—an intense, life-changing experience—in taking care of your dad. Not many people have the kind of perspective you now have. You, best of all, know what it is that people going through that sort of thing need—and you know that it is something most people wouldn’t even think of. Or wouldn’t think is important. They’re all busy bringing casseroles or sending greeting cards. I can’t agree more with what you have in mind.”

  “You’d be better at it than me. Maybe you should do it. I mean, you’ve already got the money—I can’t believe I said that. How rude.”

  Glynnis just laughed. “Not rude at all. Yes, I have money. It’s nothing I don’t already know, hon. And I’m rather glad you said it—everyone thinks it’s some kind of intimate subject you can never talk about.” She examined the last crust of her sandwich before popping it in her mouth. “And you’re right—I could do The Restoration Project, and I doubt Bid would have a single word to say against it. But there’s one big problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “God didn’t ask me. He asked you. Your dad asked you to find a place to give the money away. Like I said, God doesn’t get wrong numbers. This, Darcy Nightengale, is your baby.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Now you need to stop saying that. Stop saying ‘I suppose.’ Say yes. Clearly and with conviction.”

  “Yes,” Darcy managed to agree.

  Glynnis eyed her with mock analysis. “Weak, but it will do for starters.”

  Darcy took a big bite of her sandwich, mostly because she thought it might keep Glynnis from making her say yes again.

  “And another thing—you’d better start praying about this a lot right away.”

  Darcy stopped chewing. Even when Dad was at his worst, she wasn’t exactly the praying type. Exactly how big a spiritual overhaul was God planning here?

  “What am I saying?” Glynnis continued, “
I mean we’d better start praying about this. Finish your sandwich, hon, there’s no time like the present.”

  “Now?” Darcy said, before she realized her mouth was still full.

  “Of course now. Did you think you needed an appointment?”

  Darcy quickly swallowed. “I…um…don’t do this sort of thing well. Actually, I’ve not done this sort of thing at all.”

  “Paul Hartwell was your father and you don’t know how to pray?”

  Darcy backpedaled. “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s not that I don’t know how. I mean everyone knows how. I just don’t do it in…groups. Out loud.”

  Glynnis swept her hand around her henhouse of a kitchen. “Do you see anyone here but us chickens?”

  Darcy knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was cornered.

  “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll do most of the talking. You can do most of the agreeing. But you’re not getting off the hook completely. I’ll hold you to at least two complete sentences, and ‘Yes, Lords’ do not count.”

  There, at the counter in Glynnis Bidwell’s kitchen, feeling like she’d rather be anywhere else but there right now, Darcy bowed her head and let Glynnis take both of her hands in hers.

  I don’t think I can do this.

  “Lord,” Glynnis started, “I know Darcy doesn’t think she can do this, but you and I both know she can.”

  Darcy hoped her gulp was too soft to hear.

  “Thank you, Lord, for calling Darcy. For showing yourself to her and for helping her through such a difficult time. You are a powerful God, a mighty fortress, and we are so thankful to be in Your care. We know we can trust Your plan for us, even when it seems impossible. For nothing is beyond Your power, Lord.

  “But Father, there seem to be a mountain of obstacles in Darcy’s path. Now we know that all things work together for good for those who are called according to Your will, but that’s hard to see from here. Help Darcy to trust in Your work, to see Your hand in how the details are playing out.” Glynnis squeezed Darcy’s hand, a silent cue for her to add something.

  Squinting her eyes shut hard, Darcy took a breath. “Help me…help me not to be so scared, so confused.”

  Glynnis’s hands wrapped themselves more tightly around Darcy’s—a silent encouragement. “There’s a lot to be scared and confused about, Lord. Work in her marriage. Move between her and Jack, and let there be peace and understanding between them. Protect Jack’s job, if that’s Your will, and ease his stress. Guide Darcy in how to be loving and supportive. And I ask, Lord, that you send huge portions of encouragement and peace to Darcy. Put people in her life who will help her along this path. Bless the partnership she has with Kate, and give them a clear vision of where to go from here. I’m going to ask, Lord, that you send them an unignorable—” Glynnis had a laugh in her voice as she quoted Darcy’s uncertain adjective “—sign of encouragement. Something Darcy will know, without a doubt, is You.

  “Keep Mike in Your care, Lord. Show him better ways to use the fine mind You’ve given him. Send a guide or a teacher into his life who can focus his attentions, and protect him from further trouble.” The cue of squeezing came again.

  Darcy didn’t have to take such a deep breath this time. “Watch over Mike.”

  “I thank you, Lord,” continued Glynnis, “for bringing Darcy into my life. Thank you for allowing me to be part of this marvelous thing You are doing in her life. Thank You for all You do for Bid and me, for all the blessings we enjoy. Keep Darcy and me safe in Your care until we can meet again, and clear the path for us to be together again soon. In Jesus’ precious name we pray, Amen.”

  “Amen,” Darcy added, with surprising ease. When Glynnis pulled her into a warm, long hug, the world seemed a tad brighter place.

  And so it was that Tuesday Morning Prayer in The Henhouse began.

  Chapter 11

  Taking Everythings Personally

  If Darcy was expecting God to come down from Mount Adams and give her life a makeover, it didn’t happen. In fact, hardly any of the external circumstances in Darcy’s life moved at all from that first hesitant prayer at Glynnis’s kitchen counter.

  For the most part, life had settled itself into a sort of abnormal normality—different, and yet still the same. The widespread panic of September had faded to a quiet state of alert, a background stress rather than front-page hysteria. Still, everyone had the collective sense that this holiday season would be different from any other they had known.

  It was true for Darcy as well. Things had not shown much improvement at Jack’s work, and the state of his office was taking its toll. He came home later each night, sometimes even bringing work home with him. More than once she had found him shooting baskets in the driveway very late at night. Jack found his solace underneath a basketball hoop. It had always been that way. When Jack needed to think, to work through a problem or to burn off a case of nerves, he did it with a ball in his hands. Jack’s best man had told Darcy he shot hoops for two hours the night before their wedding. That, Darcy supposed, was a far better coping strategy than to down a quart of ice cream, which is what she had done.

  “Lunch tomorrow?” Kate called out the car window as she dropped Paula off from soccer practice one Thursday afternoon.

  “Can’t.” Darcy winced. Kate had a talent lately for asking to go to lunch when Darcy had a lunch planned with Glynnis. They still met in The Henhouse every Tuesday, but more often than not, Darcy found herself needing Glynnis’s wise counsel again before the week was out. Like clockwork, Kate would ask to go to lunch that same day. It was pure coincidence, but Kate was starting to get miffed.

  “J.L.’s?” Darcy offered, feeling bad. J. L. Tanenbaums’s Tea and Spice Merchants was a favorite hangout of theirs, but it wasn’t lunch and they both knew it.

  “Sure.” Kate didn’t sound so happy.

  “Two okay?” She had an edge to her voice, as if she was asking Darcy to check her packed social calendar.

  “Fine. My treat.”

  The look in Kate’s eyes told Darcy that had been the exact wrong thing to say. Ugh, why were things so strained between them lately? Even the excitement of continued dreaming about The Restoration Project had a strange tension to it. It showed up in little things, like how Kate referred to the inheritance now as “your fortune.” She used to refer to it as “the fortune,” and always as a bit of a joke. It didn’t have that bit-of-a-joke sound to it anymore.

  Why did everything suddenly seem to have a monetary agenda? Was Darcy just oversensitive, or did it really sound like she was trying to buy off skipping lunch with Kate? Darcy shut the front door with a stronger slam than usual. Why was Kate suddenly taking everything so personally? She wasn’t blowing Kate off. It’s just that Glynnis had a perspective Darcy desperately needed right now.

  Kate had never gotten this way about all the time demands of taking care of Paul. Didn’t Kate understand how much was shifting in her life? How much she’d rather not be meeting with lawyers and insurance people and school counselors? She could barely balance her checkbook; now there were all kinds of forms, and people, and statements to organize.

  And then there was the family. Even the kids were picking up on the tension in the house. It had been simpler to explain the tension of Paul’s last days—they understood the concept of being very, very sick. How do you explain terror-based economics, probate court and the peculiar financial-legal predicament of Paul Hartwell’s Last Will and Letter to the Heiress, to kids?

  You’d have to understand it yourself first, of course.

  Great. No help there.

  Darcy used to think life “before”—while Paul was still alive—as so much harder. She would catch herself longing for the days—and feeling intensely guilty for it—when Paul’s fight would be over, he would rest in peace and life would return to normal.

  No normal to be had here, lady.

  Darcy sighed, picking Paula’s gear bag up off the foyer floor where she’d left it. She l
onged for another impulsive, girlfriendy spa day with Kate.

  Somehow, she was sure suggesting such a thing would only make things worse between them.

  Lord, fix this. Little prayers like that would shoot into her day lately. SOSes to God, Glynnis called them. Glynnis said that an honest three words were better than a mouthful of stuffy show-off prayers. Darcy hoped she was right.

  Glynnis hadn’t been nearly as much help over lunch as Darcy had hoped. Darcy parked her car in front of J.L.’s with a knot in her stomach. She wanted to get things back to where they were, but how? The only sliver of solace she had was that she had prayed over the tea date with Glynnis, and Glynnis had said she would pray starting at 2:00 p.m. With a prayer champion like Glynnis on her knees at this very moment, Darcy felt like maybe she had a chance.

  Ditto whatever Glynnis is saying, Darcy shot up to heaven as she hit the automatic door lock on her key chain and headed into the store.

  Kate had already bought her tea, even though Darcy had offered to buy. She was sitting at their favorite spot, the far window table. Darcy grunted. It never used to matter who bought before. Why did it matter now? The knot in her stomach tightened as she ordered ginger plum tea and two—no, four—shortbread cookies.

  She slid the cookies onto the table and sat down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do lunch today,” Darcy offered. And she was. She hoped it showed.

  “It’s okay,” Kate replied, but it was clear it wasn’t okay.

  Darcy set her purse down on the windowsill beside her. “Did Thad make the traveling soccer team?” Kate’s kids excelled at sports. Darcy’s kids participated, but every coach wanted one of the Owens kids on their team.

  “Yep.” Kate sat up a little straighter. “Center forward. Don’s practically strutting.”

  “I can imagine.” She imitated Don’s New Hampshire accent. “That boy’s got skills.” It got a chuckle from Kate. Good. They both sipped their tea to fill the gap in conversation. Darcy pushed the waxed paper with the four cookies on it to the center of the table. “You’re looking sugar deprived. As your best friend, I prescribe at least two of these, maybe even a third.” She picked up one of the cookies. “But this one’s mine, so don’t try anything sneaky.”