Steve stared at his wife. He felt like she’d stabbed him through the gut with an icicle. Did he deserve this kind of disrespect? this contempt? What had he done but work hard and give her everything she could want? Now she was sitting on the porch swing feeding a bushy-haired stranger and treating her own husband like a pesky gnat buzzing around her head.
“Where do you live, Cody?” Steve barked out. “Do you have a house around here?”
Cody spoke through a bite of turkey sandwich. “My daddy told me it’s time to make my way. ‘Make your way, Cody.’ That’s what he told me.”
“Where’s your daddy now?”
The young man hung his head. “Well…it’s time to make my way.”
“Cody’s not sure where his father is,” Brenda explained, her voice gentler toward Steve for the first time in days. “I think he’s been wandering around for a while. He told me his daddy used to make him shave, but they haven’t been together lately. Judging by his beard, I’d say it’s been a long time since Cody last saw his father.”
The whole time she talked, Brenda looked at Cody instead of at her husband. Steve felt invisible. “I’ve put a few blankets and a pillow in a backpack for Cody,” she continued. “I told him he’s welcome to sleep here on the porch swing if he wants, or he can go camp somewhere. At least he’ll be warm.”
With that, she stood and patted the young man on the shoulder. “Good night, Cody. I hope you sleep well.”
“Thank you.” Cody stood up. “What’s your name? I forgot again.”
“Brenda.”
“Thank you, Brenda. You’re forty-five years old.”
“That’s exactly right.” She smiled. “And how old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” he blurted out, as if surprised to hear it himself. “My daddy said, ‘You’re twenty-one, Cody. Time to make your way.’ ”
“Well, what do you know?” Brenda said. She glanced at Steve as she passed him. “Cody is twenty-one years old.”
The front door shut behind her, and Steve stifled an impulse to throw the bum off his porch. A decent family couldn’t have a vagrant lolling around all night. Maybe Cody was slow, but he was an adult, and he needed to go to a homeless shelter or something. Steve didn’t have to put up with this. He ought to just run the guy off and get back to his evening routine.
“Wow,” Cody said from the porch swing. “This is the best soup I ever ate in all my life. And look! Chocolate cake too. Brenda is a Christian, because she gave it to me. I love chocolate cake.”
Disgusted with himself, Brenda, and even Cody, Steve turned on his heel and stomped back into the house. He shut and locked the door. This was great. Steve could just hear Charlie Moore chatting with the neighbors as he made the rounds on his golf cart: “There’s a bum sleeping on the Hansens’ front porch. He’s there every night. Brenda feeds him, and Steve puts up with it. Can you believe that?”
Nobody in Deepwater Cove would want a simpleminded bum loitering around. People felt safe in their little neighborhood. They enjoyed being able to leave their doors unlocked by day and their windows open at night. The low crime rate at Lake of the Ozarks was part of what drew so many people to buy second homes there. Million-dollar homes. You just couldn’t have a hairy, unwashed nut job wandering around the place.
“Brenda?” Steve walked into the bedroom. She was in the adjoining bathroom. He knocked on the door. “Brenda? I want to talk to you right this minute.”
She threw open the door, stepped out, and stalked to the bed. “I’m tired,” she announced over her shoulder. “Good night.”
“Tired? Tired from what?” In disbelief, Steve watched her pull back the comforter and slide into bed. “What have you done today besides make soup and sandwiches for a bum?”
Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “The only bum I know is standing in my bedroom.”
“What? Now you’re calling me a bum? How many bums do you know who can buy a house like this…put kids through college…and leave you at home to do as you please?”
Brenda switched off the light beside her bed. Turning away from him, she drew the comforter up to her neck. “Good night, bum.” “Brenda, listen…I don’t know what’s going on with you, but things had better start changing around here.” He crossed to her side of the bed and switched her light back on. “You can’t just shut me out like this. There’s a stranger on our front porch, and if you think you can—”
“The only stranger around here is you, Steve Hansen,” she said, sitting up in bed. Her eyes glittered with an ice-cold green light. “I never see you. I don’t even know who you are anymore. And if you want something to change, well, your wish is about to come true. You know what’s changing? Me. I called a carpenter, and he’s coming over next week to give me a bid on remodeling the basement. I’m feeding a poor, cold, hungry man who doesn’t know where he is, and I plan to keep on feeding him until someone shows up to claim him or he figures out what to do with himself. I got my hair cut today, and I washed the cat, and I finished painting the dining-room chairs. And guess what else is different? I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone or anything. I’m fine by myself, so just leave me alone, and don’t you dare touch me. This discussion is over.”
With that, she snapped off the light again. Steve stood in the darkness and stared down at the lumpy shape that used to be his wife.
CHAPTER THREE
At the salon a few days later, Patsy Pringle was putting the finishing touches on a beautiful manicure. Young Ashley Hanes had the prettiest hands in Deepwater Cove, and she enjoyed drawing attention to her new wedding ring. Patsy couldn’t imagine how Brad Hanes had paid for that glittering one-carat rock on his wife’s finger, but maybe the construction business was more profitable than a person might think. Summer was on its way, and new houses would be going up left and right. With Ashley working as a waitress at one of the country clubs and Brad on the building crew for a big home just the other side of Tranquility, they might be pulling in a fair amount of cash.
“What did you call this color?” Ashley asked, gazing at her hands. “Rose something-or-other?”
“Tea rose.” Patsy leaned back and admired her work. “It’s a pretty shade on you. Flattering.”
“Brad loves my long nails,” Ashley said. She gave a shy giggle. “He thinks they’re hot.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. But if Brad likes something, then you better take good care of it.”
“Were you ever married, Patsy?” Ashley asked suddenly.
For a split second, Patsy considered retorting that such a thing was no one’s business but her own. Then she thought about the ladies chatting over in the tea area, the stylists primping and cooing along with their clients, and the Christian music playing softly in the salon. At Just As I Am, no one could claim privacy. If a subject came up that was a matter of interest to others in the cozy little salon, you simply had to talk.
“Never have found a husband,” Patsy replied with a sigh. “I guess I still could—I’m still this side of forty—but Mr. Right hasn’t come through the door yet. When I was closer to the marrying age, I was busy taking care of my mother and her Alzheimer’s disease. I was going to cosmetology college and working long hours over in Osage Beach. Even if a man had been interested in me, I didn’t have time to date, much less get serious with anyone.”
“I wish you could have found a guy like Brad,” Ashley said. Her brown eyes reminded Patsy of pots of melted chocolate. “He is awesome. It’s like being married to my best friend. Every morning I wake up next to him, and I’m just so shocked, you know? Brad Hanes is really my husband! I actually married him! And when his truck pulls up to the house at night, I practically shiver. I never thought marriage would be this wonderful. Brad is the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”
Patsy smiled. “I’m glad you’re so happy, sweetheart. I remember you coming into the salon with your mother when you were a little girl, and I thought to myself, that child deserves a good life.”
Beaming, Ashley held her nails under the dryer. “Brad and I are talking about having a baby,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t tell.”
“My lips are sealed,” Patsy assured her. She studied Ashley for a moment, feeling a warm glow radiating from the young beauty with her auburn hair and lovely smile and graceful hands. It was like watching a rose bloom. Or an exquisite fern leaf uncurl.
Brad Hanes had come into the salon a few days earlier for his once-a-month haircut, and Patsy sensed she was in the presence of a young buck in the springtime. Brad was just full of himself—face tanned from working outdoors, shoulders broad and strong, blue eyes glowing. He acted as though marrying Ashley had crowned him king of the world. Every time her name came up in conversation, he smiled slyly, as if he were the only man in the universe to discover the joys of marital bliss.
The young couple was talking about remodeling their little house on the second tier at Deepwater Cove, Brad had confided to Patsy. He said Ashley wanted to take some college classes and become a kindergarten teacher. Brad had bought himself a new truck. And now they were hoping for children.
“You just enjoy that husband of yours,” Patsy said, giving Ashley’s shoulder a pat. “Brad is a good man, and he’s going to make you a very happy woman.”
“I know,” Ashley sighed. “Look at my ring. Can you believe he bought this for me? And we have our own home and the truck. We’re way ahead of most of my friends. But I’ll tell you something….” She leaned across the manicure table. “Brad’s not thrilled with the situation over at the Hansens’ house. That creepy guy, you know? With the beard?”
“I know,” Patsy said. Did she ever.
“They say he’s been sleeping on the Hansens’ porch. I heard that Steve wanted to call the sheriff, but Brenda wouldn’t let him. Brad told me he was walking down to the lake a couple of evenings ago, and he saw Steve and Brenda in their backyard so upset they were practically yelling at each other. Can you imagine that? I always thought they were the perfect couple. Their house is so pretty…all that work they’ve done on it. And the flowers, too. Did you know Brenda’s been feeding that homeless guy?”
“I suspect he’s hungry.”
“Brad doesn’t like having a stranger in the neighborhood. He won’t let me take my ring off when I’m doing dishes, and he locks the truck up tight every night, including the toolbox. We bolt all the doors, too.”
Patsy sensed the conversation had crossed the line from concerned discussion to outright gossip. “Charlie Moore told Esther the fellow was just simple in the head,” she assured Ashley. “I don’t think you and Brad have a thing to worry about.”
“Maybe not.” The young woman studied her nails again. “Tea rose. It’s a pretty color. I hope I can keep from banging them up. Being a waitress is not easy on a manicure; that’s for sure.”
Patsy began to clean up the nail station. She had a client coming in for a perm in a few minutes, and it was always hard to find time to keep the floor swept, the counters cleaned, and the windows washed. All that hair spray!
Working more than fifty hours a week left Patsy on the verge of exhaustion, but what choice did she have? To her, Just As I Am was more than a beauty salon. It was a ministry. She had labored long and hard to buy a place of her own and build a loyal clientele—and God had blessed her beyond measure.
As Patsy grabbed a broom and went to work on the floor, Ashley laid her manicure money on the front desk and sauntered over to the tea area. The young woman did most of her waitressing at night. That gave her time to relax and visit while she was at Just As I Am. A wave of gratitude welled up inside Patsy as she covertly studied the women sipping cups of Earl Grey tea and nibbling shortbread cookies. Never in her wildest dreams had Patsy imagined having a tearoom, but it had become one of the most profitable parts of her business.
The whole thing had started off with only a hot pot and a few tea bags. She didn’t charge, even though it meant doing a whole dishwasher load of mugs every night. Pretty soon, Patsy had noticed women carrying chairs into the glass-windowed alcove so they could hear each other over the hair dryers. She’d bought a little table and some pretty chairs for the sunroom. Then another table, and another. She hunted in antiques shops for china teacups and saucers. And then she got the idea to paint the walls between the windows a soft shade of lavender.
Before she knew it, women were arriving before their hair appointments and staying afterward to chat over cups of tea. Finally, Patsy had purchased a large stainless-steel urn that kept the water just at the edge of boiling. She started asking twenty-five cents for tea bags. Then she began baking goodies at home and selling them from an antique glass counter case she bought at an auction. Now she oversaw a regular cottage industry of local women who baked for the tearoom. They brought in banana bread, blueberry muffins, cinnamon rolls, you name it. Patsy charged a small commission and gave the women the rest of the money.
These days, the little Just As I Am tearoom was famous all over the lake area, and Patsy sold china cups, teapots, tablecloths, stationery, candles, and tea-themed gifts. She had raised her prices enough that she had been sure people would gripe, but they didn’t. If she ever lost her salon, Patsy thought she might be able to keep the tearoom open as a stand-alone business. But the two went together so perfectly, and the ladies loved it. Even some of her male customers had been known to drop an English Breakfast tea bag into a cup of hot water and sit around chewing the fat for a while after they’d gotten their haircuts.
As Patsy put away the broom, it occurred to her that over the years, the salon had become her own little garden—and the women were the flowers and trees and growing things she nurtured there. Ashley Hanes was a rose in bloom, a ripe strawberry, a bluebird’s song. Everything about that girl said springtime—excitement, joy, hope, trust, anticipation, and most of all, love. Ashley fairly glowed with awakening.
Esther Moore, seated across from Ashley and talking the poor girl’s ear off, radiated contentment. She was a golden sunflower, a soft sweet peach, a chirping robin redbreast. When she walked into a room, it felt like summer had arrived. Patsy knew it was because Esther and Charlie were so comfortable together, so relaxed. While Ashley and Brad were so crazy in love they were just about to burst, Esther and Charlie had settled into a calm, unflappable unity.
Patsy loved her garden of women. Over in the far corner sat Kim Finley with her twins, Lydia and Luke. A dental hygienist, Kim sometimes got off work early enough to meet the school bus when it stopped at the strip mall in Tranquility. She and the kids would walk over to the salon for teatime before she drove them to their tidy gray house in Deepwater Cove to start on homework.
At a young age, Kim had weathered a rough divorce from the twins’ father, Joe Lockwood, and she had spent several years as a single mom. When Derek, a State Water Patrolman, entered her life three years ago, Kim had fallen deeply in love and married quickly. Patsy knew from cutting Kim’s hair so often through the years that Kim and Derek had experienced a few rocky patches too.
Kim wore a soft resignation on her face. She made Patsy think of autumn—beautiful, but a little tired. Kim was a windblown shock of wheat, a ripe apple hanging heavy on the tree, a mourning dove that gathered her little ones close about her and cooed in the wind.
The young women, the children, the widows, the jovial men…Patsy treasured them all. As she crossed to the desk to check that her stylists were caught up on all their appointments, the front door opened.
It was Brenda Hansen. Winter had arrived.
When Brenda walked into Just As I Am, she felt every eye in the salon fasten on her. And when Cody shuffled through the door behind her, she heard an audible gasp.
Well, so what? She didn’t care if people were scared of Cody or disliked having him in Deepwater Cove. The stranger who had showed up at her door during the power outage was the best thing that had happened to Brenda in a long time. Cody was a child—a sweet, slightly confused little boy who needed looking after. And Bre
nda had decided that God had given him to her as a mission.
“Hey, Patsy,” she said.
The salon’s owner hurried to the front desk as the pair approached. Look up the word nice in the dictionary, folks said, and you’d see Patsy Pringle’s picture. With her exaggerated hourglass shape, pretty face, and hair whose color changed on a whim, Patsy was a fixture at the lake, and everyone counted on her. If her shampoo, set, and style couldn’t lift a woman’s heart, her warm tearoom certainly would. More than once, Brenda had gone to the salon just to sit in a corner, sip tea, and read magazines. It sure beat pacing the floor waiting for Steve to come home.
“I didn’t expect you back here so soon,” Patsy told Brenda. “Your cut still looks great to me. In fact, I think that’s one of the best cuts I’ve ever given you. Let me look at the left side there. Oh yes, that’s perfect.” She focused on Brenda’s companion. “And who’s this?”
“Hi, I’m Cody!” The young man held out a dirty hand.
Patsy shook it firmly. “Welcome to Just As I Am. You must be the fellow who’s been sleeping on the Hansens’ porch.”
“Okay.” Cody nodded. “Because Brenda is my friend. She makes me chocolate soup cake.”
“Soup and chocolate cake,” Brenda said in a low voice. “Cody’s words sometimes get tangled up.”
“Oh, mine do too.” Patsy smiled. “Just last Sunday the deacons were trying to put my name on the kitchen committee, and I said, ‘Sorry, boys, but I don’t want to be on the commitchen kitty.’ Can you beat that? I thought those fellows would never stop laughing.”
Brenda chuckled, appreciating Patsy’s kind attitude even though Cody’s presence had obviously upset the regular flow and rhythm in the salon.
“I love my cut,” Brenda told her. “I was wondering if you could trim Cody up a little. Maybe give him a shave. He says he used to shave when he lived with his father. I think this beard is just too thick for him to manage right now.”
It Happens Every Spring Page 4