“No,” Ms. Burris replied with a wave of her hand. “But I like him. He’s a good man.”
“Then how did you know?”
“I saw you asleep with your head on a stone and Jacob’s ladder reaching up to heaven. The interpretation seemed clear enough to me.”
Stunned, Amy didn’t know what to say. Ms. Burris sat on the love seat and blinked her eyes. The old woman didn’t seem in a hurry to help her.
“When did you see me?” Amy asked.
“One afternoon while your husband was here. I wasn’t sure what to do about the vision, but when he asked if you could come over to talk to me about a job, I knew it wasn’t just so I could show you around the house. We needed to meet. Would you be kind enough to tell me a little bit about your dreams? When did they start?”
Ms. Burris’s tone of voice was the same as if she were asking Amy to share tips about growing roses. Opening up to Natalie had been a huge step, but she was Amy’s closest friend. Amy had been talking on a personal level with Ms. Burris for only five minutes.
“I’m not sure,” Amy began. “I’ve had dreams since I was a little girl, but I’m not comfortable—” She stopped.
“I totally understand. We’ve just met.” Ms. Burris held up her hand. “I’ve not been blessed in the same way as you, but the older I get, the smaller the gap seems between this world and the next. I’m beginning to understand why the apostle Paul said he longed to depart this life for what lies ahead. I want to go, too, but not because I’m sick. My health is good. But the glimpses I’ve had of what awaits us are so wonderful that it’s almost more than my heart can bear. That’s exciting, isn’t it?”
Amy couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Did you think you’re the only person who walks with the Lord?” Ms. Burris continued.
“No, ma’am,” Amy responded quickly, then added, “But I’ve lived as if I were. Part of it has been self-protection because of the way people reacted to my dreams when I was a child. I didn’t want anyone to think I was crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, but you can’t deny you’re different.”
It was a simple, sobering truth that Amy had never directly faced. The words went straight into her heart.
Ms. Burris smiled, and Amy realized she might have bigger problems with fear and pride than her reluctance to clean a stranger’s bathrooms.
“The gifts of the Lord are like fruit trees,” Ms. Burris said after a few moments passed. “Branches grow in new directions and fresh fruit is produced. We don’t control the process. Our job is to remain connected to the trunk and share the fruit with those in need.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
Ms. Burris leaned forward slightly. “Chapter 15 of the gospel of John isn’t just a metaphor about a vine with branches. It’s a true description of the spiritual life. Your gift is growing in a new dimension, isn’t it?”
Amy immediately thought about Noah, Natalie’s flowers, and Crystal.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve started receiving glimpses of the future in my dreams, and I don’t like it. I just want to enjoy the Lord’s presence and let him love me.”
“I understand. I’d feel the same way.”
The look in the old woman’s eyes convinced Amy that Ms. Burris really did understand.
“But there’s a bright side to glimpsing what lies around the corner,” Ms. Burris said cheerfully. “Because of the vision I saw, we’re having a nice talk today. Would you like a cup of coffee or hot tea? It was rude of me not to offer something when you arrived, but I was so excited to meet you.”
“I don’t drink coffee in the afternoon, but tea would be nice.”
Amy followed the older woman to the kitchen. It, too, had been modernized with new appliances and updated cabinets. A large island covered with decorative tiles was in the center of the room. There was a sunroom at the rear of the house. After the tea brewed, they went to the sunroom and sat in wicker chairs with comfortable, green-striped cushions. Colorful birds swooped in to eat at decorative feeders that were outside the sunroom windows.
They talked for more than an hour about Amy’s life and family. When Natalie’s name came up, Ms. Burris wanted to know all about her and suggested the three of them get together for lunch. The older woman deflected Amy’s questions to her about herself. Then they prayed together. After Ms. Burris said, “Amen,” Amy couldn’t remember when she’d felt so refreshed and encouraged. Standing at the front door about to leave, she turned around.
“Ms. Burris, if you’ll let me, I’d really love to come to work for you.”
eight
Amy wouldn’t tell Jeff the details of her visit with Ms. Burris until after supper, when both children were upstairs in their rooms doing homework. She checked the stairwell to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Why all the mystery?” Jeff asked when they were seated on the couch in the family room. “You’re either going to work for her or not.”
“No,” Amy replied. “It was so much more than that. Five minutes into our conversation I was on the verge of telling her my deepest, darkest secrets.”
“Deep, dark secrets? What have you done that I don’t know about?”
“Nothing,” Amy replied. “But you know how hard it is for me to trust other people with private information.”
While Amy talked, Jeff’s normally impassive face revealed an unusually complex range of reactions.
“Did she say anything about me?” he asked.
“Nothing except you were a good man. But I already knew that.”
“I’m glad she didn’t have a vision of me with horns or something.”
“She’s not like that. When the Lord gives her insight into a person or situation, her response is to pray in secret or use the information to help in a practical way. That’s what she was doing with me. She wasn’t freaked out by the fact that I have dreams. She wants to help me.”
“Did she give you a tour of the house?”
“Just the downstairs. We ended up in the sunroom.”
“That’s a neat place. The kitchen is first-class, too.”
Amy paused. “Why do you think an older woman like Ms. Burris has gone to all the trouble to remodel her entire house?”
“She never told me.”
“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Amy said and shrugged. “We spent at least an hour talking in the sunroom, and then we prayed together. It was a sweet time.”
“Did you talk about the job?”
“Not much, but before I left I told her I’d love to work for her. She smiled, wrinkled her eyes, and told me she’d call me.”
“Do you think she’ll hire you?”
“Probably. But mainly because she wants us to spend time together. Scrubbing the floors would be a secondary reason. And after meeting her, I’m sure she’d let me set up my schedule so that I could do what I need to for the kids.”
“Sounds good. I hope she calls soon.”
The house phone in the kitchen rang. Both Jeff and Amy jumped.
“Do you think?” Jeff asked as Amy shot up from the couch and went into the kitchen.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar local number.
“Hello,” Amy said.
“Is this Mrs. Amy Clarke?” a male voice asked.
“Yes.”
Jeff came to the opening between the kitchen and the family room.
“This is Neil Branch. I’m running for the school board in the special election to replace a member who moved away and had to resign. I see that you have two children currently in the system.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’d appreciate your support on December 4. Turnout is expected to be low, so every vote will be important.”
Jeff was making gestures in an effort to get Amy to let him know what was going on.
“It’s nothing,” she said to him.
“I’m sorry,” Branch said. “What did you ask me?”
“I was talkin
g to my husband. Thanks for your willingness to serve. I’ll mention to my husband that you called.”
Amy hung up the phone.
“That was a man named Neil Branch. He’s running for the school board.”
“I know Neil. He works for the insurance agency that wrote the policy for our house and cars. I’d vote for him.”
The following morning Amy and Natalie met at the coffee shop. Amy couldn’t wait to tell her about Ms. Burris.
“It sounds like the two of you were cut from the same piece of cloth,” Natalie said after Amy told her about the visit.
“There are differences. She’s not a dreamer, but there is a lot I can learn from her about the way she responds to what the Lord shows her. For the first time in my life, I met someone I can really open up with—” Amy stopped. “That didn’t come out right.”
“I know what you mean,” Natalie reassured her. “There are things you and I can discuss because we both have young children. With Ms. Burris, you can share spiritual experiences.”
“But I want to talk to you, too. It felt good to finally tell you about the living room the other day. It wasn’t healthy for me to keep everything bottled up inside.”
“Did you tell Ms. Burris about the verse from 1 Peter, the one about the flowers of the field?”
“No, it didn’t come up.”
“I’ve thought about it a lot. Do you still believe it might have something to do with your next novel?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I think The Flowers of the Field would be a neat title for a book. Maybe I could do a painting for the cover.”
“That would be awesome!” Amy responded. “Of course, the publisher would have to approve it, but it would be fun for us to do something creative together. Oh, and I forgot to mention one of the most important parts of my meeting with Ms. Burris. I told her about you, and she wants the two of us to come to her house for lunch.”
“I’m not sure it would be safe for me to be in the same room with you and Ms. Burris.”
“Why not?”
“You’d talk about my secret sins as if they were printed in a newspaper.”
Amy anxiously awaited Ms. Burris’s call. One day, two days, a week passed by. Several times Amy picked up the phone but didn’t have the confidence to enter the number. The next step was up to Ms. Burris, and for whatever reason, the older woman wasn’t ready to take it.
One Saturday evening a week and a half before Christmas, Jeff, Amy, and Ian went to the local theater playhouse for Megan’s Christmas dance recital.
“How long will this last?” Ian asked.
“A couple of hours,” Amy replied.
“Why does Megan have to be one of the last people to dance?”
“Because the more advanced students perform at the end.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. They ought to have the best dancers at the beginning before everyone gets bored to death.”
“Good point,” Jeff said.
“The little girls go first,” Amy said, cutting her eyes at Jeff.
“Are you going to make Megan come to my football games when I’m in middle school?” Ian asked.
It was a tough question. Jeff glanced at Amy and raised his eyebrows to let her know he wasn’t going to answer it.
“If she doesn’t have another school commitment, we’ll encourage her to come,” Amy said.
“I had another commitment tonight,” Ian replied. “Bobby wanted me to spend the night and play video games.”
“That’s not school-related.”
Ian gave up and stared out the window. It was a ten-minute drive to the playhouse theater, which was located in a building that formerly housed an Italian restaurant. The parking lot was filling up by the time they arrived. Inside, the beginning dancers scampered around in white and pink leotards. Ms. Carlton used the older girls to help teach the younger students, and Amy knew some of the little girls were in a group led by Megan.
“There’s Tiffany Cline,” Amy said, pointing to a petite blonde who was holding her mother’s hand. “She’s one of Megan’s girls.”
They sat on folding chairs toward the back of the room. Ian sat between Amy and Jeff so his fidgeting wouldn’t bother anyone else. After the younger girls danced the crowd would thin out, and they could move closer to the stage if they wanted to.
Ms. Carlton, a slender woman in her fifties, had run the studio so long that it had become a local institution. Mothers sent their daughters for dance lessons because it had been part of their own lives growing up. The instructor welcomed the crowd, and the show began. Amy and Jeff had been to enough Christmas programs that the routines were familiar. Some of the smaller girls came out and froze with stage fright.
“Why aren’t they moving?” Ian asked.
“They’re scared,” Amy replied.
“Then they ought to sit on a bench or something.”
Amy heard Jeff chuckle.
Halfway through the program there was a ten-minute intermission that gave the parents of younger children who’d already performed a graceful opportunity to leave. Amy gave Ian money for a snack. When he returned, they moved up to some open seats on the third row. To Amy’s left was a blond-haired young man in his early thirties.
The older girls performed both group and solo routines. Megan was part of an ensemble that reenacted the angels announcing the birth of Jesus to the shepherds. It was a graceful piece performed to contemporary Christian music. Megan brought feeling to the performance and, to Amy’s eye, danced flawlessly. After a quick change in the back, Megan came out for her three-minute solo. It was a free-flowing routine about a snowflake that falls from the sky, then melts in the winter sun.
“Did you approve that outfit?” Jeff whispered.
Amy stared straight ahead and shook her head. The costume was too low-cut for her taste, too. Amy was always nervous when Megan performed, but concern that Megan would turn the wrong way and accidentally reveal too much caused additional anxiety. Amy breathed a sigh of relief when Megan melted on the stage and the music ended. When the applause died down, Amy leaned over to Jeff.
“I’ll bring up the outfit issue with Ms. Carlton,” she said.
“If you don’t, I will.”
There were two more solo performances. Both of the girls wore costumes that Amy considered out of bounds for teenagers. It appeared an unfortunate trend was under way. When the show was over, Megan came bounding out, still wearing her snowflake outfit.
“You danced beautifully in both pieces,” Amy said, giving her a hug.
“Ms. Carlton let me help design the costume,” Megan said. “How do you like it?”
“Uh, it’s very realistic,” Amy answered as she gave Jeff a look to let him know it wasn’t a good time to criticize. “And you really sold the story.”
The blond-haired man who’d been sitting on their row stepped closer. Megan turned around.
“Mr. Ryan! I didn’t think you’d really come.”
Megan introduced the teacher to Amy and Jeff. Even in a North Carolina winter, he exuded an unmistakable West Coast vibe. He shook Jeff’s hand.
“I never would have guessed that a studio in a town like Cross Plains would have such a high-level program, especially for contemporary dance,” Ryan said.
“Ms. Carlton has been running the studio for years,” Amy said. “Have you been interested in dance for a long time?”
“Since I was a teenager. A girl I dated in high school dragged me to a dance class because she needed a male partner, and I was hooked. My buddies on the soccer team made fun of me, but it’s not bad being one of the few males in a world dominated by beautiful girls.”
“You don’t dance now, do you?”
“No. I blew out my right knee in a skiing accident, so all I can do now is watch and appreciate a good performance.”
Megan was hanging on the teacher’s every word.
“I’ve enjoyed having Megan in my World History class,” he said. “She’s
a great student.”
“She takes after her mother,” Jeff replied.
Ryan turned to Amy.
“And Megan tells me you’re a novelist. I like to write, but I’ve never had the discipline to finish anything longer than a short story, and nothing I’ve written has been published.”
“I’m just getting started.”
“Landing a book contract is a big deal. Congratulations.”
Amy could see how this good-looking male teacher would be popular with the students.
“What brought you to Cross Plains?” she asked. “Megan said you came from California.”
“She did?” Ryan looked at Megan.
“That’s what Bethany and I guessed,” Megan replied, blushing. “I think I told my mom you looked like you were from California, and I heard you talking to some of the boys about surfing.”
“Actually, I’m from Colorado, but I’ve spent time in the San Diego area, too,” Ryan replied. “When I was in college, I’d ski in the winter and go to California to surf in the summer. That life ended when I hurt my knee and had to start paying back student loans.”
“Can we go home now?” Ian asked, pulling on Amy’s arm.
“Don’t interrupt,” Amy said.
“I need to leave myself,” Ryan said. “Nice meeting you.”
Megan went to the dressing room to get the rest of her clothes. While they waited, Amy complimented Ms. Carlton on another good program but didn’t bring up Megan’s costume.
“I thought you were going to say something to her about Megan’s outfit,” Jeff said when the dance teacher moved on.
“It bothered me as much as you, but I’ll do it later when she’s not dealing with the stress of putting on a big program.”
“I can’t believe Mr. Ryan came to the recital,” Megan said when they were in the car. “Bethany will be sick with jealousy.”
“Why?” Jeff asked.
“All the girls have a secret crush on him. I mean, he’s like something from a magazine.”
“Remember what your dad and I mentioned the other day—”
“I know, I know,” Megan interrupted, then stared out the window.
They rode the rest of the way home in silence.
Three days before Christmas Amy was in the family room wrapping presents. Outside, the wind whistled through the leafless trees. Jeff was at work, and Megan and Ian were spending the afternoon with friends. The phone in the kitchen rang. Amy quickly finished tying a bow and ran to answer it.
The Living Room Page 8