Central Park Rendezvous

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  With sighs, her brothers and sister followed her example. Within minutes, the bowls were empty. Helen gathered the spoons and bowls. “Go dress in your Sunday clothes now. And bundle yourselves well. The wind howled all night, so it’s likely to be chilly this morning.”

  “Wonder if it rained, too.” Carl screeched his chair from the table and bounded toward the door. He swung it wide and stuck his head out, looking left and right. “Nope. It’s not wet, but—hey!”

  Helen’s hands stilled in their task at her brother’s excited exclamation. “What is it?”

  Carl darted onto the porch, letting the screen door slam behind him. Moments later, he clomped back inside with a large basket in his arms. “Look what I found on the porch!”

  Lois and Henry bustled forward to meet him, and Helen followed, curiosity filling her. She reached past Lois to lift the checked cloth covering several lumps within the basket. When she revealed the contents, she gasped.

  “Lookit all this!” Carl’s face glowed with wonder. “Sliced ham, deviled eggs, sweet and dill pickles…”

  Lois reached into the basket and withdrew a fat jar. She squealed. “Spiced peaches! My favorite!” She hugged the jar to her skinny chest, beaming.

  Henry pushed items around, continuing the recitation. “A whole loaf of bread, white cheese, two packets of cookies—looks like Snickerdoodles and oatmeal raisin. Mmm.”

  Helen’s heart began to pound. Spiced peaches for Lois, Snickerdoodles for Carl, deviled eggs for Henry, and oatmeal raisin cookies for her. All of their favorites were nestled in the basket, wrapped in wax paper and cushioned with checked napkins. Only one person besides Mom and Dad could have put this basket together with each of their favorite items. The person who’d often joined her family for summer picnics in years past. Richard…

  Dashing past her clustered siblings, who continued to gaze into the basket and ooh and aah in delight, she clattered onto the porch and searched the street. Her heart thudded almost painfully against her ribs. When she’d broken off their engagement, Richard had vowed to make her change her mind. An entire year had slipped by without any contact from him, and she’d given up hope of reconciliation. But now, this basket of treats both she and the children loved ignited a flame of emotion that couldn’t be quelled.

  She hugged herself, seeking any sign of Richard, both hopeful and apprehensive. Was he back? And more importantly, did she want him back?

  Chapter 5

  Bernie could hardly wait for Henry to arrive after school on Monday. It had taken some doing to gather the food items he recalled Henry mentioning as family favorites, but putting that basket together had brought more pleasure than anything he could remember in quite a while. After Helen had left his shop, he’d prayed for a way to show God’s caring to her. Feeding her physical body seemed a good place to start. Would she recognize the gesture as evidence of God wanting to meet her needs?

  Henry sent the bell above the door clanging at 3:45 p.m., prompt as always, and darted directly for an apron and the broom. “Lots of leaves out front. I’ll get to sweeping, and when that’s all done, I’ll—”

  “Hold up.” Bernie caught Henry’s jacket sleeve. In the past weeks, Henry’d grown even taller, and at least three inches of his arms stuck out from the bottom of the sleeves. His current jacket wouldn’t last him through the winter. Bernie led Henry behind the counter then held up a brown corduroy jacket with a sturdy zipper and pockets that buttoned shut. “Can you make use of this?”

  Henry took the jacket and held it up in front of him.

  Bernie said, “It isn’t new. It’s a trade-in, but it looks to be your size. If it fits, you can have it.”

  Henry removed his old jacket and slipped on the brown one. He wriggled his shoulders, as if testing the fit, then stuck his arms out. The cuffs reached halfway to his knobby knuckles. Bernie nodded in satisfaction. Plenty of growing room remained, which was good since a boy of Henry’s age would probably keep adding to his height for a while yet. The heavy corduroy with its wool lining should keep Henry warm.

  “So what do you think? You like it?” Bernie examined Henry’s face, seeking signs of approval.

  Henry sighed, rubbing his hands up and down the chest of the jacket. “I like it plenty, Mr. O’Day, but I can’t keep it.” He removed it and offered it to Bernie.

  Bernie didn’t take it. “Why not?”

  “Helen’d have a fit.” Henry laid the jacket on the counter and stood gazing at it, longing on his face. “She’s got a lot of pride. Wants to take care of us herself. She’d feel like she’d failed if I brought this jacket home.”

  “Helen won’t let you accept a gift?” Bernie wondered what she’d done with that basket of food. He sure hoped she hadn’t tossed it out!

  “Well…” Henry scratched his head. “Don’t really know what she’d think if I called it a gift.” He looked at Bernie, his brow puckered. “Are you giving it to me outright, or am I earning it? ‘Cause if I did something extra for you—something beyond what I usually do around here—then I could say I earned it.”

  “And then Helen would let you keep it?”

  Henry nodded.

  Bernie’s thoughts bounced around erratically. He’d wanted the jacket to be a gift—a sign of God meeting her family’s needs. But he didn’t want to insult Helen. That would distance her even more. Distancing her was the last thing he hoped to do. But only to draw her to God, of course. He nearly laughed. He wasn’t fooling himself any more than he could fool God. Sure, he wanted to draw Helen back to God, but he wanted to draw her to himself, too.

  But getting her focused on God was most important. Therefore, he couldn’t ask anything in return for that coat or it would destroy the message that God cared enough to meet her needs.

  Bernie put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Henry, this coat is a gift, pure and simple. God laid it on my heart that you needed a new coat, and this coat—a coat just the right size for a boy like you—showed up in my shop. It would be wrong of me to take payment for it, because it really came from God, not me. Does that make sense?”

  Henry crunched his face into a scowl of indecision. “It kind of makes sense to me, but I don’t know how I’m gonna explain it to Helen.”

  Bernie scooped up the coat and pressed it into Henry’s arms. “You just tell Helen your loving heavenly Father wanted you to be warm this winter and leave it at that.”

  Henry pushed his arms into the sleeves and closed the zipper all the way to his throat. He smoothed his hands over the sleeves, noting how they reached beyond his wrists. He sighed. “Thanks, Mr. O’Day.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Bernie said. “Thank God.”

  Henry gave a solemn nod.

  Over the next weeks, as Thanksgiving approached, Bernie spent a significant amount of his prayer time lifting up Helen Wolfe and her siblings. He’d learned from Henry that their parents died in the horrific trolley accident that claimed more than a dozen lives two years ago. It gave him a start to realize he and Pop had prayed together for the accident victims’ families, unknowingly praying for the Wolfe siblings even before he met them. It connected him more firmly to Helen, Henry, Carl, and Lois, and made him all the more determined to reawaken the faith their parents had lived.

  Henry seemed to enjoy talking to Bernie, and Bernie filed away everything the boy said about his sisters and brother. He learned Helen loved to sing but now rarely lifted her voice in song, too busy working and caring for a household. He learned Carl was a good baseball player, and that Lois hoped to learn to play piano someday. He also discovered Henry had a head for business and possessed a number sense that exceeded Bernie’s. Henry could add in his head faster than most people did on paper. A boy like that should think about college, and Bernie began praying for a way to make sure Henry had the chance to further his education after he graduated twelfth grade.

  Learning bits and pieces of the Wolfe siblings’ lives offered lots of ways for Bernie to reach out to the family. He began a
practice of leaving packages on the porch of the Wolfe home. Never anything elaborate, fearful Helen would reject items of great monetary value, but little things he knew they needed or that would bring one of the family members some pleasure. Baseball cards for Carl, new gloves for Lois, paper tablets for Henry. And song sheets for Helen—vocal arrangements for a mezzo soprano. According to Henry, she had a rare gift, and her parents had encouraged her to use it. Apparently, her song died when she buried her parents. Bernie hoped holding those song sheets would entice her to sing once again. And he prayed raising her voice in song—using her God-given talent—would help her open her heart to God again.

  The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Henry arrived early since school let out at noon. As soon as he donned his apron, he offered an apology. “I hope it’s all right, but I can’t stay clear till closing today. Helen asked me to stop by the grocer and get everything we’d need for our Thanksgiving dinner.” He flapped a sheet of paper, covered on one side with neat lines of script. “She’s been saving up so we could have a good dinner. If I wait too late to choose our sweet potatoes and roasting hen, all the good ones’ll be picked over.”

  Bernie smiled. “That’s fine, Henry. In fact, I rarely get much business the day before Thanksgiving—people are too busy cooking. So why don’t you just take today off? Tomorrow I’m closed, too, so that’ll give you a nice break.”

  “Are you sure?” Henry fiddled with his apron ties. “I don’t wanna shirk my duties.”

  Bernie clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Henry, if there’s one thing I would never suspect you of doing, it would be shirking your duties.” He pointed to the hooks. “Hang up that apron and scoot on out of here. Pick your sister the biggest, freshest sweet potatoes you can find. But…” He stepped around the corner and grabbed the crate he’d put together that morning. “You won’t need to spend money on a roasting hen. There’s a fine turkey in here—enough to feed your family and then some.” Bernie had also packed in bags of flour and sugar, a dozen eggs, and two loaves of bread—one for slicing and eating, the other to chop into pieces for stuffing. The Wolfe siblings would have a veritable feast.

  Henry stared at the crate. “A–are you sure?”

  “Yep.” Bernie thumped the crate on the counter. He rested his elbow on the corner of the crate, peering at Henry over the slatted side. “Y’know, it’s not uncommon for employers to give their workers something at holidays. Your sister won’t fuss about this, will she?” Bernie hadn’t asked about Helen’s reaction to the gifts he’d been leaving. Partly because he feared Henry would say she resented them, and partly because he wanted to remain anonymous.

  Henry shrugged, zipping up his brown jacket. “I think she’ll appreciate it. Getting harder and harder to satisfy Carl’s appetite. He eats more than the rest of us put together.”

  Bernie snorted out a laugh.

  Henry balanced the crate against his belly. “I’ll let her know it’s from you, though, so she doesn’t think Richard gave it to us.”

  Richard… That name had come up before, and every time he heard it, Bernie prickled. He didn’t want to feel jealous of the man who’d once asked for Helen’s hand in marriage, but despite his best efforts, the emotion welled. His voice tight, Bernie said, “Why would she think it’s from Richard?”

  Henry waddled toward the door. “He’s been leavin’ stuff on the porch for us. Helen’s sure it’s him, ‘cause he leaves things somebody who’d have to know us pretty good would leave.”

  Bernie’s mouth went dry. Helen credited Richard for the gifts? But that meant she wasn’t seeing them as God-blessings. “She—she’s certain it’s Richard?”

  Henry shot Bernie a puzzled look. “Who else could it be?”

  Bernie clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t blurt out the truth. He swallowed. “Is she… happy… that Richard’s leaving her presents?”

  For a long moment, Henry stood silently, rubbing his lips together. Then he shrugged. “I dunno about happy, necessarily. It hurt her pretty bad when he broke off their engagement. But I know she’s lonely. I know she’d like to have somebody to help her out with the youngsters. So maybe she’s happy Richard’s back. I haven’t really asked.”

  Bernie shuffled past Henry and opened the door for him. “Well, I better not keep you. You’ve got some shopping to do.” He shifted out of the way so Henry could push through. It made a tight fit with the bulky crate in his arms. Once the boy was on the sidewalk, he said, “Have a good Thanksgiving, Henry.” He heard his sad undertone and forced his lips into a smile. No sense in worrying the boy.

  Henry angled his head to peer over his shoulder at Bernie. “Thanks. You, too.” He took one step then cried, “Oh!” Henry whirled around, nearly tipping the crate. “Mr. O’Day, what’re you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  Slowly, Bernie lifted his shoulders in a shrug. He had no plans. He’d just be here at the shop, probably going through unmarked inventory in the back room. Things tended to stack up back there. “Not much. Why?”

  Henry’s cheeks streaked with red. “Helen told me to ask you if you’d like to eat Thanksgiving dinner with us. A thank-you, she said, for giving me this job.”

  All of Bernie’s sadness washed away in one swoop. A smile broke across his face. “I’d like that, Henry. I’d like that a lot.”

  “Good.” Henry flashed a quick grin. “See you tomorrow then, around six. Can’t eat earlier than that ‘cause Helen has to work.”

  “Six o’clock.” Bernie touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll be there.” He closed the door and danced a quick jig, excitement stirring in his middle. Helen had invited him to dinner! As a thank-you. But not for the gifts he’d sent. She didn’t know they’d come from him. Bernie’s feet paused mid-step. The joyful feeling faded and a lump of consternation settled in his stomach.

  Had Helen invited Richard, too? And if she had, how would he be able to sit at the same table with the man who’d so wronged this woman who’d sneaked her way into the center of his heart?

  Chapter 6

  Standing on the porch of the Wolfe family’s bungalow, Bernie adjusted his bow tie one last time. Nervousness, excitement, and apprehension created a flutter in his belly. He hadn’t been to a real family Thanksgiving since he was a boy, when his grandparents were still alive and the aunts, uncles, and cousins all gathered together. With Grandmother’s death, the family get-togethers ceased, and not until he’d received the invitation from Henry had he realized how much he missed being part of a family gathering.

  But today, thanks to the Wolfes’ kindness, he’d once again have the chance to sit at a noisy table. But exactly how noisy, he couldn’t help but wonder. Would Helen have invited the man named Richard as a thank-you, too? A thank-you he didn’t deserve?

  Pressing one palm to the buttons of his best blue suit coat, he raised his other hand and gave the doorjamb several brisk knocks. Within seconds the door creaked open, and a young girl with a thin, pale face and a tumble of shoulder-length sausage curls gazed up at him. Thick black lashes swept up and down with each blink of her bold blue eyes.

  Bernie found himself immediately smitten. “Hello there. You must be Lois.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bernie O’Day.”

  The child hunched her skinny shoulders and took his hand in a quick, embarrassed shake. “Hello, Mr. O’Day. Will you come in, please?”

  Wonderful aromas greeted Bernie’s nose as he stepped over the threshold. His stomach turned, but this time from eagerness rather than apprehension.

  Lois closed the door behind Bernie then fixed him with a serious look. “May I take your hat?”

  Her impeccable manners and formal speech belied her tender years. Bernie swallowed a grin and mimicked her courtly attitude. “Why, of course, miss. And thank you.”

  A tiny giggle found its way from the little girl’s throat. She placed his hat on a chair in the corner then gestured toward a wide doorway at the far side of the simple parlor. “This way, please.” She led him
through the doorway to a dining room where a long table covered in a crisp white cloth, flowered China plates, and gleaming silverware sat ready for Thanksgiving dinner. Bernie gawked in amazement. Helen had gone all out to make this dinner a festive affair. He quickly counted the chairs—six in all, but the one at the foot of the table had no place setting. Apparently he was the only guest. He nearly collapsed in relief.

  Lois gestured toward a chair on the left-hand side of the table. “Helen, Henry, and Carl are dishing up the food right now. We’ll be eating in a few minutes. You can sit down, an’ we’ll be out in a little bit.” She dashed through a doorway in the corner of the dining room, her voice trailing after her. “He’s here, Helen! We can eat now!”

  Bernie stood behind the chair, unwilling to sit until his hostess had taken her seat. Clanks, scuffles, and mumbled voices carried from beyond the doorway, painting a picture of busyness. He wished he could go in and offer his help, but he didn’t want to intrude. So he stood, gaze aimed at the doorway, alternately smoothing his hair into place with his palm and checking the buttons on his jacket while he counted down the seconds.

  In less than two minutes, his patience was rewarded by a small parade led by Lois, who carried a basket of sliced bread and a round dish of creamy butter. Henry came next, his hands filled with bowls of steaming mashed sweet potatoes and buttery green beans. A shorter version of Henry—Carl, no doubt—clomped behind Henry with some sort of green wobbly tower balanced on a plate. And finally Helen emerged, holding a platter containing a beautifully browned turkey and a mound of moist stuffing. Bernie barely noticed the bird, however; he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman.