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“Sounds nice,” murmured Thomasina.
“A regular second honeymoon.” He checked the tear coursing down his seamed cheek, and beckoned with a gnarled finger. “I want you to look up some addresses and write them down for tomorrow, Tommy Rose.”
Milt went on to give her a list of retirement facilities, plus a real estate agent he had contacted. Mary came in a while later and went over the whole thing again with Thomasina. Obviously they had given the decision a lot of thought. Thomasina listened without comment, except to say she’d help in whatever way she could. Mary thanked her for giving up her Saturday, sweet-talked Milt into taking a bath, then left herself to get ready for bed.
Silence settled over the house. The loss of Saturday would set Thomasina’s moving behind a bit. But she wasn’t pressed for time. Thomasina sat by Milt’s bed, thoughts flitting from pillar to post in an attempt to hold at bay the biggest thought of all. She thought about Trace inadvertently touching her shoulder, and Winny asking her if she was moving in with Trace. Out of the mouths of babes. Was her decision to move impulsive? Had she been in such a red-hot hurry, she hadn’t even prayed?
She prayed now. For Milt and Mary, too, making hard choices not only for the sake of their family and of each for the other, but because they trusted God with their future.
As did she. But she would not pray about the thought, the dream. She couldn’t. Not when Milt lay a foot away, relinquishing with pain and raw courage what had been his for a lifetime. It seemed callous, irreverent even, the line between dream-seeking and covetousness—a slim, slippery treacherous one. God’s will. God’s will. Even that seemed dangerously close to vindicating her right to prayerfully dream while he slept on his losses.
Thomasina rose and stretched and wandered the room on soundless feet. The lamp left burning in the living room shed shadowy light on photographs that affirmed lives built on Until death do us part.
Milt in a suit, broad brown hand slicking back a full head of black hair as he traded smiles with his white-veiled bride. Milt astride the tractor seat, a muscular arm snaked around a fair-haired toddler. Milt holding a framed diploma as he and Mary flanked their cap-and-gown-clad twin daughters. Milt clowning for the camera, giving Mary rabbit ears as they posed at their fiftieth wedding anniversary party.
The deep waters of a verse about times and seasons under God’s heavens soothed heart sores and guilty pangs. Thomasina thought on these things.
Later, Mary slipped into the room. “You go on and get some rest, Thomasina,” she whispered. “I don’t want you wilting on me while we’re house hunting tomorrow.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.” Mary took off her slippers and sat down on the bed. She looked at Thomasina with a spark of dismissal in her eyes. Thomasina took her paperback book and went out into the living room. When she tiptoed in later to check on Milt, Mary was tucked under his arm, next to his heart, fast asleep. They both seemed small and frail, yet enduring. Dear souls. Thomasina touched her fingers to her lips and blew them a misty kiss.
Trace got off work at two on Friday night and went right to bed. Recently he had signed papers on a small, run-down two-bedroom bungalow a block past Liberty Flats Community Church. It needed a lot of work, and he wanted to make the most of his Saturday.
He was awake before the alarm. It took him a moment to realize the sound of running water was coming from Thomasina’s side of the house. He’d heard her come in a couple of hours earlier, and knew she couldn’t have had much rest. Must be bent on getting an early start on the rest of her moving.
Trace showered and shaved and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before going downstairs to plug in the coffeepot. The sun was shining through the carpenter’s lace, making patterns on the freshly painted floor as he went out on the porch to retrieve the paper.
He scanned the headlines and was on his way inside again when Thomasina stepped out of her apartment into the shared foyer. She juggled a lidded cup, her pocketbook and an armload of empty boxes.
“Nice morning,” he said.
Thomasina jumped and fumbled her boxes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Trace stepped out of the line of fire as the lidded cup bounced after the boxes. “Burn you?”
“I don’t think so.” Her whole face disappeared beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat as she ducked her chin, checking her dress.
Trace was checking it, too, though with a different view in mind. A womanly dress, as opposed to those loose-fitting shapeless things that seemed to be all the rage. Eggshell white. Sleeveless with a modest neckline and a fitted bodice. The hem brushed shapely calves, with a slit to the knee for an unencumbered stride.
“It takes a full cup before I get my equilibrium,” she offered by way of explanation.
“You better lay off the coffee. You’re awful jumpy,” he countered.
“Me?” She tipped her face. It glowed a pearly pink in the straw hat frame. “Couldn’t have a thing to do with you slipping up behind me in your sock feet?”
“Just getting the paper.”
“Honk next time, and I promise not to throw boxes at you.”
“Deal.”
She returned his grin with a upsweep of lashes and a chocolate-eyed twinkle, then stooped to pick up the cup just as he was leaning down to do it for her. Her face disappeared under the hat again as his hand closed on the cup the same moment as hers. He let go with a studied nonchalance, and gathered her boxes for her.
“Thank you. I’ll take them now,” she said.
“Let me. You’ll get your dress dirty.” Trace angled her a sidelong glance. “Who’s helping you move, anyway, the queen of England?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“The tea party hat. The dress. Couldn’t help noticing you’re…”
“Overdressed?” She smiled. “Moving is on hold for the day. Mary and I are going to town.”
“Milt’s Mary?”
Thomasina nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Before he could pursue it, she asked, “What about you? You’re not thinking about chopping down the cherry tree, are you, George?”
It took him half a second to realize she was chiding him about the oak tree out at Milt’s. “No, ma’am.” He played along. “You’ve scared me off that project. I’m pulling a porch off an old house instead.”
“Here in town?”
He nodded. “On Church Street just down from Liberty Flats Church. Stop by and I’ll show you around. Not that there’s much to see. It’s kind of an eyesore right now.”
“But with potential?” asked Thomasina, as they neared her car.
“Something like that.” He waited while she unlocked the door.
“Just throw the boxes in the back seat,” she said, and thanked him.
The Penn children raced across the yard as he ambled back to the porch. Trace was about to duck out of sight when he realized Thomasina was the attraction. Thinking they were too late, Winny and Pauly stopped short, disappointment lining their faces.
If it’d been him, he would have pulled away without a second look. But Thomasina rolled down the window and beckoned to them. Trace took his paper inside, poured a cup of coffee, drank half of it and wandered to the front of the house just as Thomasina was pulling away. The children stood on the curb, waving to her. She tooted her horn and returned the gesture.
A regular glutton for punishment. Trace wagged his head, and went back for a refill.
Chapter Seven
Thomasina admired the composure with which Mary conducted herself throughout a morning of nest hunting which took them to more houses and apartment buildings than she cared to count. They took a break for brunch at a teahouse, then visited retirement complexes until midafternoon. Seeing Mary’s strength waning, Thomasina suggested pie and coffee before starting home.
While they were waiting for their order, Will Chambers strolled past their table. A square-jawed fellow with neatly clipped red-gold hair and his mother’s blue eyes and Nordic good looks, he gave Thomasina a passing glance and would have walked on by except that Mary reached out and caught his hand.
“Hello there, William. Aren’t you speaking today?”
“Mom!” A smile leapt to Will Chamber’s eyes. “I was just on my way out to the farm. What’re you doing here?”
“We’ve been out and about all day. We’re yielding to temptation before we start home,” said Mary. “You remember Thomasina, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Thomasina traded smiles and pleasantries. Mary beamed at him with a mother’s pride. “Have you eaten, Will? Then have a piece of pie with us, won’t you?”
Will accepted, and took a seat beside his mother. To Thomasina’s relief, the conversation was general with no mention of the decisions Mary and Milt were in the throes of making. When they had finished their dessert, Will offered to drive his mother home.
“That would be nice,” said Mary, with no outward indication of concern over the bombshell awaiting Will at the farm.
Thomasina parted company with them on the street, and returned home to change her clothes and pack some more boxes. It was close to four o’clock when she trudged down the stifling staircase for the last time that day, carrying the roof to her dollhouse.
Sixteen-year-old Ricky Spignalo was bouncing a handball against the brick wall out front as Thomasina came out the lobby door. Six-two in his purple sneakers, baggy shorts and T-shirt with its cut-out sleeves, he leapt to catch a ricocheting rebound angling toward her car.
“Phone’s ringing, Miz Rose.”
“Answer it, would you?” asked Thomasina, keys dangling from her little finger.
Ricky unlocked her car door and reached in. “Yes, ma’am. No, she ain’t busy. She’s right here.” His glance darted to Thomasina. “Ricky. I’m her neighbor. Yes, ma’am. Nice talkin’ to you, too.” He held out the phone. “Miz Baxter. Says if you’re not too busy…”
Thomasina gave Ricky the dollhouse roof. “Back seat, would you please?”
“Shore, Miz Rose. It’s going to be a pushin’ match, gettin’ it in.”
“Careful, it’s my prize possession!” warned Thomasina as she took the phone. “Flo! What a nice surprise.”
“I’ve been trying for three days to get you, sweetheart,” said Flo. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry, Flo. I’m in the process of moving. I should have called.”
“Moving?”
“Yes, to a beautiful old house in Liberty Flats.”
“Oh, Thomasina! How exciting. Nathan will be thrilled. Ever the financier, you know. He thinks paying rent when you’ve got the resources to buy is money down a rat hole.”
Thomasina was about to correct Flo’s assumption she was buying the house when she looked up in the rearview mirror to see a car pull up behind her. The hard-bitten expressions of the driver and passenger made her uneasy. Seeing them motion to Ricky, she said, “Hold on a sec, would you Flo?” Thomasina reached out the yawning car door and caught Ricky’s arm.
“Ricky? I could use some help moving. Think it’d be all right with your mom if I borrowed you for a few hours?”
“She ain’t here,” said Ricky, turning away from his tough-looking peers. “She’s workin’ over at the dry cleaner’s.”
“Climb in and we’ll buzz by.” Thomasina took the passenger’s seat while Ricky slid behind the wheel. “Buckle up, okay?” she said, and grabbed the phone again. “Flo? You still there?”
“Trouble?” asked Flo, as astute as ever.
“You know what they say about three-day fish.” Thomasina put it in code.
“Stinks like bad company?” Flo picked up on it immediately, for it was she who had recoined the phrase while guiding Thomasina away from a fast crowd in her teen years. “Young Ricky keeping rough company, is he?”
“Not yet At least I don’t think so,” said Thomasina, breathing a little easier as the two young men sped away in their car.
“You can’t save the whole world,” said Flo gently. “You know that, don’t you, baby?”
“That never kept you from trying,” countered Thomasina with a smile in her voice.
“God sent you to us,” said Flo. “He knew I had more mothering in me.”
“You certainly did, and am I ever grateful! I love you, Flo.”
“I know, honey, and we love you. Listen, about this house you’re buying—you’re not taking out a loan, surely? You know all you have to do is say the word and Nathan will liquidate some of your stocks. The timing couldn’t be better. Nathan was saying just this morning…”
“I’m not buying, Flo,” she inserted quickly. “I’m just renting.”
“Oh! Well. Nevertheless.” Flo dropped single-word sentences the way she always did when shifting mental gears. “You need to study up on your…”
“Not the stocks and bonds thing again?” Thomasina forestalled her, crowding out the familiar guilt rush that always came at the mention of the investments Nathan had made on her behalf over the years. “You know I haven’t a clue about that stuff.”
“Nonsense! You have a good mind,” said Flo.
“Flo…”
“No, let me finish,” Flo said gently. “Nathan misses the number crunching now that he’s retired. You know how unassuming he is. He isn’t going to bore you with knowledge you don’t want. But your interest would buoy him up tremendously, Thomasina. Truly.”
“All right, then,” said Thomasina, wheels turning. “Ask him about a farm.”
“A farm?”
“Yes. Ask him if a farm is a good investment.”
“Are you serious? Whatever for?”
Thomasina glanced at Ricky, one hand on the wheel, the other getting familiar with the radio. His mother was trying hard to keep him in school and off the streets. Mrs. Spignalo worked two jobs and worried a lot over the daily dangers and enticements facing Ricky. There was a glut of single parents like her raising kids in precarious circumstances on their own limited strength outside the Lord.
“Just ask him, Flo. Tell him I’d like to turn it into a campground.”
“Campground?”
“Yes, a Christian children’s camp,” said Thomasina. The dream had words now. Spoken out loud, it could not be recalled. It was so heart-stopping a moment, the blood roared in her ears. “Listen, could I call you back this evening? I need your prayers, and advice. And Flo? Thank you for worrying about me. Thank Nathan, too. For… everything.”
Thank you. Far too small. The only meaningful way Thomasina knew to repay the debt owed was to be a vessel of their kindness, passing along to others the new life begun in her when they took her in and loved her into Christ.
Her throat was dry, her palms sweaty and her heart pounding so hard, she thought it would beat a hole in her chest. Was this what it was like to give birth to a dream?
I’m scared, Lord. Help me, help me do it right.
Trace had spent most of the day with sledgehammer and crowbar, knocking the two porches off the old house. The front one was in slightly better shape than the back had been, and stubborn about turning loose of its moorings. He did what he could with hand tools, then went back to the shop for the chain saw.
When he returned, cars were gathering in front of the church and down both sides of the street. There was no off-street parking. Paying little heed to slamming car doors, he climbed up on the roof, ripped the chord on the chain saw and made some critical cuts. The porch leaned drunkenly as he came down off the ladder. He pushed a severed column and jumped back. The porch came down like a house of cards.
Over the screech of rusty nails and the groan of splintering, crashing wood, someone called, “Timber!” Trace looked toward the street as the dust cleared. A petite, blondhaired woman closed the door on her late-model minivan.
“Will I be in the way if I park here?” she asked.
“You’re fine.” Trace was turning away when he noticed the plates on the minivan. Arizona. He pivoted, jaw dropping. “Deidre?”
“Trace?” Her blue eyes widened. “Trace Austin! I don’t believe my eyes!”
Her smile came out, and the years fell away in an adrenaline rush, a clenching gut and a shower of sparks. She was as golden as ever, flying across the grass with her halo of curls bouncing and her arms open wide. She smelled like cotton candy and burned like sun rays, showering sparks as her arms closed around him in a sisterly embrace. Trace listened hard to catch her silvery laugh over the buzz in his brain.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” cried Deidre. “Let me look at you! My goodness, Trace. You’re as handsome as ever. There now, I’ve made you blush. Or is it the heat? You’re dripping wet.” She laughed and stepped back to knock the dust off her loose-fitting denim dress.
“You’re looking great, Deidre,” Trace said, trying to shake off the numbness. “How have you been?”
“Terrific. And yourself?”
“No complaints.”
“As destructive as ever, I see,” she said, with a teasing gesture toward the collapsed porch.
“Got to tear down before you can build up.” Trace’s lips limbered up enough to return her smile.
“We could use a man like you at school. We’re suffering growing pains you wouldn’t believe. God’s blessed us with so many children, we don’t have room for them all. Say, I don’t suppose I could talk you into a packing up your pony and coming out our way?”
“I heard you were home, drumming up support.”
“And spending some time with my folks,” she said, nodding. “Are you coming to the soup supper tomorrow night?”
“Milt sold me a couple of tickets.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” she said, adopting that lilting tone he remembered so well.
“The thing is…”
“No, no, don’t disappoint me with excuses, I’ve heard them all,” Deidre talked right over his stammering attempt to come up with one. “If you don’t come, I’ll just have to give you the spiel one on one.”
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