by Lyn Cote
“Well, let’s get started.” Vickie Earnest, the local hairstylist with the plainest haircut in the room, opened a small black notebook.
“Are you the self-appointed chair of this committee?” Mrs. Chiverton inquired in that insincere sweet tone that always grated on Thea’s nerves.
“No, I just want to get this started and over. We only have a few minutes before church,” Vickie replied.
“That’s why I suggested the meeting be held now,” Mrs. Magill said in her gruff voice. “It will prevent long, wandering discussions.”
“Fine, but we still need to elect a chairwoman.” Mrs. Chiverton looked grim.
“That’s not difficult,” Nan said. “There’s only one person here qualified to be chair—Thea.”
Thea nearly bolted from her seat. “Me? No!”
“Your grandmother chaired this committee the last time it was formed fifteen years ago.” Mrs. Chiverton smiled at Thea conspiratorially.
“B-but…” Thea sputtered trying to think of a way out.
“You’re the church organist.” Nan smiled encouragingly at Thea as she played patty-cake with her son. “You know more about organs than all of us put together.”
“I couldn’t.” Thea held up her hand like a drowning woman. “I’m just here to give technical advice.”
“You’re the one who’s going to have to play the organ, so you should be the chair,” Vickie said.
“That settles it.” Mrs. Magill finally lowered her bulk into the spindly kitchen chair.
Mrs. Chiverton nodded, her dangling pearl earrings jiggling just beneath her Sunday platinum blond wig. “It’s time you followed in your grandmother’s formidable footsteps in this church.”
“But I’m not like my grandmother,” Thea said desperately.
“Your grandmother always did a lovely job,” Mrs. Chiverton cooed. “She was such a leader.”
Thea caught the glances that passed between the two younger women. Mrs. Chiverton was about the only one in town who had enjoyed Grandmother’s high-handed ways. “I really don’t think—”
“All those in favor of Thea as chair raise your right hand.” Mrs. Magill raised her man-size hand.
The two younger women and Mrs. Chiverton followed suit.
“Majority rules. Thea, start the meeting,” Mrs. Magill ordered.
Thea sat, stunned. She’d barely adjusted to being on a committee and now she was expected to chair it?
“Thea, how would you like to start the meeting?” Vickie glanced in her direction with a smile.
“With prayer?” Nan suggested.
“Would you, please?” Thea murmured, feeling trampled and railroaded.
Folding her hands in front of her little boy, Nan started, “Dear Father.”
Thea closed her eyes and folded her hands.
Nan continued, “Please be with us as this committee meets. We want to do Your will in deciding how to be good stewards of the money the church has for the organ. Thank you. Amen.”
At the prayer’s end, within herself Thea prayed simply, “Help me, Lord. How do I do this?” She looked up.
All the ladies gazed back at her expectantly.
“Thank you, Nan.” Thea cleared her throat. “I hadn’t anticipated chairing this committee.” Or any committee. I might as well admit my incompetence right away. “Does anyone have a suggestion for how to begin?”
“I think someone should discover what our options are,” Vickie said.
Thea nodded.
“What options?” Mrs. Chiverton whined. “We have a perfectly good pipe organ. We just need to have it refurbished again. You young women just don’t remember the Depression.”
“This meeting has gone on long enough.” Mrs. Magill stood up. “I’ll look into the price of new pipe organs.”
Thea knew she should object to this abrupt ending, but if Mrs. Magill wanted to look into the prices for new pipe organs, why should she complain? And Thea was needed upstairs at the organ now.
“I’ll look into the price of electronic organs.” Nan stood up and settled her son on her hip.
Fine. Thea nodded with relief.
“Thea, why don’t you look into the cost of repairs for our present organ?” Vickie asked, gathering her purse and Bible.
“That makes sense.” Thea nodded again.
Soon only she and Mrs. Chiverton sat in the kitchen.
“Well!” Mrs. Chiverton stood up and pinned Thea with a withering glance. “Your grandmother would never have handled—or should I say mishandled—a meeting like that! She always ran a tight ship.”
Thea silently agreed with the woman who’d been her grandmother’s crony for as long as she could remember. Grandmother would have been appalled. “Everyone has a job but me!” The old woman huffed.
Thea thought quickly. “Why don’t you write up the notes of the meeting?”
“I suppose I’d have time to do that.” Mrs. Chiverton flounced out, her high heels tapping indignantly on the linoleum.
While Thea headed upstairs to begin playing the prelude, she tried to make sense of the so-called committee meeting. Without shirking her duty to help make the right decision about repairing or replacing the organ, how could she get out of chairing the committee gracefully? Sitting down at the organ, she said a prayer for guidance, then began the strains of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”
Later, near the end of the morning worship service, Thea sat still, prim and uneasy beside the church organ. From her viewpoint, she observed the pastor’s profile as he finished his sermon. After playing the church organ since she was in high school, she had become accustomed to her unobtrusive place beside the organ at the front of the church. But today she felt conspicuous.
Because Peter Della sat in the second pew on the center aisle. Dark, handsome wearing a fashionable gray herringbone suit.
Keeping her mind on her music this Sunday morning had been torture. Her eyes kept straying to the second pew, center aisle. To stop herself, she’d found herself staring at the pastor.
She knew the end of the service was near by the inflection in Pastor Carlson’s voice. He was just about to turn to her and signal the closing hymn.
“And finally I want to repeat James’s words, ‘My brothers, what good is it for someone to say he has faith if his actions do not prove it?’ That, dear friends, is my question. I know you have faith, but do you have enough to put that faith into action?”
Thea scooted forward, ready to rise at his nod.
But Pastor Carlson continued to face forward. “Today I want to introduce someone who can give you a chance to put your faith into action.”
Caught in midmove between chair and organ bench, Thea froze. Her peace shattered. Oh, no, he wouldn’t.
“Peter, will you come forward and explain your mission and its needs?”
Thea didn’t have to look. She pictured Peter’s handsome face beaming at everyone and she heard him bounding forward to the pulpit.
She sank back into her chair, but her eyes seemed of their own accord to turn to Peter. It was as though he’d been waiting for her to look at him. He gave her a brilliant smile. Feeling herself blush a hot red, she pressed her palms to her burning cheeks. What would the gossips make out of this reaction?
“Thank you, Ed.” The two men shook hands and the pastor sat down in his chair opposite Thea.
As though watching a train wreck about to happen, Thea looked helplessly at Peter’s profile.
He gazed over the congregation, gripping the sides of the pulpit. “Friends, no doubt you’ve heard I’ve bought Double L Boys’ Camp and I’m making a change. I’m going to run it as a nonprofit camp for highrisk boys from Milwaukee.”
The morning worship service always left her feeling refreshed, but now Thea felt jumpy. The mover and shaker is back at it again.
“A few local people have already expressed some concerns about this change. They’ve pointed out that these kinds of boys aren’t desired in your community.�
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Thea knotted her hands in her lap. Peter thought he was helping, but didn’t he understand? People here didn’t want someone from outside telling them what to do, to think.
“I’d like to direct your attention to the verses that come before the one your pastor quoted.” Peter picked up the open Bible and read, “‘You will be doing the right thing if you obey the law of the Kingdom, which is found in scripture: Love your neighbor as you love yourself. But if you treat people according to their outward appearance, you are guilty of sin.…’” He closed the Bible.
Thea’s mouth dropped open. She imagined the sounds of a milling lynch mob like the ones in an old Western movie forming outside of the church. How did he have the courage to stand up there and dare them all? His words bordered on the foolhardy.
“God provided me with the funds to buy this camp for my mission, but I still need operating cash. For hot dogs, marshmallows, a camp nurse and much more. I want to give the residents of Lake Lowell a chance to get in at the start of this exciting opportunity to put their faith into action.”
Thea’s body grew tense. She felt fear—fear for Peter, fear for his dream. The opposition would use every weapon at their disposal.
He grinned. “I look forward to meeting each and every one of you and if God leads you to offer help, I’ll accept it gladly. I’m ready and eager to include you in this mission for these boys—God’s kids.”
Thea closed her eyes. Lord, he doesn’t know what he’s in for.
Chapter Four
Later that Sunday evening, Thea parked in her garage, then lingered in the absolute stillness and neardarkness. What a day.
Peter Della’s announcement at the end of the church service had whipped up a variety of reactions. Thea felt as though she had been dropped into a blender and “whipped.” Those who opposed Peter’s camp and those who favored it had made themselves heard. Insistently. Repeatedly. Vocal discord disturbed Thea as much as poorly played music. With each comment, she’d retreated from both sides.
Unfortunately she had promised to play music at the retirement center that afternoon. While she played “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” and “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” for the elderly residents, the buzz of opinions competed with the piano. Her grandmother had railed against Peter and his camp. Before she had left, Thea had been forced to endure a stiff lecture from Grandmother Lowell—Thea must stay away from that Peter Della, a handsome flimflam man.
Thea gave a weary sigh, then wandered through the breezeway-laundry room to the kitchen where she slipped out of her heels. She stood a moment, letting her feet luxuriate in their freedom on the cool linoleum. Reaching up, she released the clip that had held up her hair all day. As the wave of hair flowed down around her shoulders, she kneaded her scalp with her free hand. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone here to massage my shoulders? Where did that idea come from!
Gray-striped Tomcat, appearing suddenly, began rubbing against Thea’s ankles and purring with the determination of a tiny buzz saw. “Miss me, Tom? Or just in the mood for your Sunday dinner?”
Tomcat’s “motor” revved more urgently.
“So much for my attraction.” Thea dropped her shoes on a kitchen chair and dutifully served Tomcat his once-a-week repast of “people” tuna in oil. “Where’s Molly?”
Tom didn’t flicker a whisker in response.
“I know. Dogs aren’t your business, but she should be here now begging for her Sunday dinner, too.”
Tom ignored her.
“What do you think? Molly’s just chasing some interesting critter and she’ll be home soon?” Thea glanced down at the oblivious cat. “It’s so nice to have someone to share my concerns with.”
Tom swished his tail as though telling Thea not to bother him. Thea picked up her shoes and padded on stocking feet to her bedroom. She undressed, carefully hanging up her Sunday outfit, then tugged on faded, navy sweats, thick socks and well-worn loafers. Home at last.
Back in the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and stared at the neat but unappetizing contents. Strident voices like out-of-tune violins had dampened her appetite at lunch. Now, though her stomach growled with hunger, she shook her head and closed the door. She glanced down at Tom who licked his paw, then brushed the paw over his mouth. “Why didn’t you thaw something for me and invite company?”
Tom eyed her benignly. The tuna had mellowed his mood.
Again she looked at the dog’s dish, sitting empty next to Tom’s licked-clean bowl. Molly should be here.
She walked to the door and leaned out. “Molly! Here, girl!”
No distant bark answered her. She locked the door. She considered going out to look for Molly, but the retriever could be almost anywhere around the lake. Thea absently fixed herself a cup of hot cocoa, hoping she’d hear Molly come through the dog door or some appetizing recipe would pop into her mind.
Sipping the warm drink and staring into the darkness outside the window, she noted the little sounds the house made—the furnace fan coming on, the refrigerator cooling, the ticking of the mantel clock. The disgruntled growly babble she’d endured all day contrasted with the silence. Thea hated angry voices. But now the empty quiet isolated her as though she’d been wrapped up in tissue paper and stored away.
A pounding on the back door exploded that peace.
Unnerved, Thea ran to the door and threw it wide. Peter rushed inside; Molly clutched in his arms.
Thea gasped.
Looking at Thea with sympathy, Peter nodded toward Molly’s left front paw. “She’s hurt herself. She whined and scratched outside my door. At first, I didn’t get what she wanted. I thought she wanted to shake, you know, because she kept offering me her paw. But then she showed me she was having trouble walking.”
While Peter explained, he let Thea draw him with Molly to the kitchen sink. She switched on the light above it. Taking the injured paw in her hands, she examined it carefully.
In sympathy, Peter leaned close. He hated to think of Molly limping painfully to the nearest house for help. Thank God, he’d been home. “Do you think the vet could meet us at his office?”
“Wait. I need to see what the problem is.” Thea ran water and washed the dirt and dried blood from the paw. Molly whimpered. “Don’t worry, girl,” Thea murmured, as she examined the dog. “There it is. A thorn. Where’d you get that, girl?”
“That looks deep. I’ll drive!” He moved to go.
Thea checked him with a hand on his sleeve. “I’ll take care of it.”
He studied her. “Are you sure? Won’t she snap at you?”
“At me?” Thea blinked at him. “I’ve always taken care of her.”
“You think you can get it out without numbing the area?”
“It’s just a thorn.”
“You’re certain?” He returned Thea’s direct gaze.
She nodded and held out her arms to take Molly.
He swallowed and hugged Molly to him. Did Thea think he’d just leave her to deal with this alone? “Where do you want to do it?”
“You don’t have to help.” She reached out again.
He took a step back. Molly whined. He still wasn’t convinced, but Molly belonged to Thea. “I don’t mind helping. In fact, I insist.”
“Very well. Having someone hold her will help me and comfort Molly. Bring her into the spare bathroom.” Thea led him there and flapped down the commode lid. “Sit down.”
Holding Molly with care, he obeyed without demur. If she didn’t get the thorn out soon, he’d insist on driving her to the vet.
Thea opened the medicine chest and took out tweezers, a long needle, alcohol, cotton swabs and a tube of antibiotic cream. She laid them out in a neat row on the narrow counter. Then bending close, Thea cradled Molly’s chin in both her hands and gazed into the dog’s eyes. “Molly,” she said firmly, “Thea will take care of Molly. Okay? Thea will help Molly.” She stroked the dog’s ears.
Molly gave a soft “whoof.”
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nbsp; Thea fastened her long hair back with an elastic band, then washed her hands. “Okay, girl.”
Peter held the dog across his lap and watched as Thea swabbed the area around the deeply embedded thorn. He knew the alcohol must be stinging because Molly tensed. But the retriever didn’t flinch. “There, girl,” he whispered.
Thea lifted the paw and turned it into the light. Holding a long needle, she probed the area around the thorn. Molly let out a low plaintive howl, but did not move. Trying to distract the dog from the pain, Peter stroked her and murmured comforting phrases. The probing dragged on.
Just as Peter meant to intervene, Thea clamped her front teeth over her lower lip. She put down the needle and poised the tweezers over the paw, then dipped down and grasped the thorn down on its shaft, not at its brittle, broken point. He closed his eyes. A quick tug. Molly jerked in his arms and moaned.
“Got it,” Thea breathed.
Peter looked up. Thea held the nearly inch-long thorn.
“You got it” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.
“I’ve done this before. Molly didn’t doubt me. Did you, girl?” Thea tossed the thorn into the waste basket, then smoothed the antibiotic cream over the soft pad of the paw. “All done, girl. Peter, you can let her go now.”
Molly strained against him. He released her and she launched to the floor. “I can’t believe she let you do that without snapping or even growling.”
Thea put away the medical supplies and washed her hands. “Molly trusts me. She knows I’d never hurt her without a good reason.”
Molly barked from the kitchen.
Thea gave a gentle laugh. “Molly says supper’s late.”
Feeling the tension inside him ebb, Peter followed Thea into the kitchen. Opening a can of dog food, Thea filled Molly’s dish. The golden retriever emptied the dog dish with one noisy gulp.
Peter smiled. “Well, it didn’t affect her appetite.”
Standing by the sink, Thea turned toward him, her face friendly, amused. “I don’t think she’s been trau-matized.”