Читать книгу A Family For Andi - Eileen Berger - Страница 10

The door was closed, so turning on the light wouldn’t waken Mrs. McHenry. That helped some, and Andi started those slow, deep breaths that the therapist had recommended.

Her panic gradually lessened and Andi got out of bed to walk around the room, barefoot, looking at pictures on the wall. She forced herself to examine minute details, to concentrate on realities, on the substance of her surroundings.

It might help to get a drink of water—but she stopped, hand on the knob, then leaned back against the door. This was a bed-and-breakfast, but would it make the owner nervous to have someone walk around in the middle of the night?

And it was the middle—2:28. With many hours yet to get through! But—and this was the good part— she’d slept several hours, without pills! She’d been trying so hard to get off all that medication.

She looked at the worn volume beside her bed. It wasn’t boring, but was not terribly exciting, either— not like the books she usually read. She’d brought novels by top mystery writers, hoping they’d lure her into a plot in which she could lose herself—yet it had been the old-fashioned Daddy-Long-Legs that accomplished that.

She carried the book to the dainty little ladies’ rocker which, low and comfortable, seemed perfect for this room, and read several more short chapters before moving back to bed. Her leg bothered her, so she rubbed that while continuing to find out more about the orphan girl who was given a college education by an anonymous benefactor, and thus thrust into an entirely different environment from that in the foundling home where she’d spent her life.

The viewpoint character’s reactions to people and events are delightful, Andi thought, and her little sketches add poignancy—but how little similarity there is between her college experiences and mine!

She turned pages until, at 3:17, she heard the blast of sirens and recalled Gram’s speaking of the volunteer fire company. Before long, emergency vehicles and equipment were rushing by on the previously quiet street.

Going to one of the windows, she saw ladder trucks, pumpers, an ambulance, and other equipment she had no names for, all with flashing lights. She hoped no one would get hurt and that the fire would be extinguished quickly.

Eventually she became drowsy, put the book aside, turned off the light…and slept.

Setting the alarm had seemed unnecessary when getting ready for bed, but she had to hurry to get downstairs by 8:13—three minutes before Keith came in the front door and sauntered through the hallway into the kitchen. He kissed Gram and greeted Andi, “Good morning. You look like you got a good rest.”

“So do you,” she responded. He’d been goodlooking in coveralls, but was downright gorgeous with the white, short-sleeved cotton shirt emphasizing the musculature of his tanned arms. And the lightweight, gray, sharply creased slacks made those legs look even longer.

“I’m afraid that’s another case of appearances being deceiving.” He grinned before turning to Gram. “I was on that fire call last night, out at Alf Harner’s place—the trailer he set up for his daughter, back of their house.”

Andi started to say that she’d seen the vehicles go by, but he continued. “Nobody hurt, thank God, but a lot of damage. I don’t know why Marjie was doing laundry at that time of night, but apparently lint in the gas dryer caught fire.”

They talked more about that before Gram asked about last evening’s date. Apparently amused, Keith glanced toward Andi, his brown eyes sparkling. “Everything went well, my dear grandmother. And how was your evening?”

Her response was just as breezy. “Very good. We watched TV and visited, and the time passed quickly.”

Andi felt a bit uncomfortable about having shared that with Gram, so she changed the subject. “Do you live in town?”

“Sure do—down the street a block.”

She didn’t think that she should ask about a family, but on this block the houses appeared to be too large and old for a single young man. She brought herself up short as she looked around the kitchen in this beautiful old home; some might think this too big for Gram, too, yet Andi couldn’t imagine her living in a two- or three-room apartment

“How are you coming with that staircase?” Gram asked.

“Slo-o-owly. Very slowly. But I am making progress, and that’s what’s important”

He’d been pouring orange juice as Gram turned the French toast in a heavy, cast-iron skillet. Instead of setting Andi’s glass on the table, he handed it to her. “What are you doing with your…staircase?” she asked.

“Long before I bought the house at auction two years ago, some idiot painted all the wood in the house white—even the hand-turned spindles on the banisters, which are as elaborate as those in this house. I checked and found that everything’s made of chestnut, if you can believe that!”

She was evidently supposed to be impressed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why that’s special.”

He carried maple syrup to the table, and sat down. “I don’t know about Illinois, but one of the major deciduous trees in Pennsylvania used to be a very large one—the chestnut. Many houses and barns around here were built of its lumber, as was much of the furniture. But then a blight came along and wiped out the American chestnut—”

“All of them? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“Just like that,” he replied. “All of them.”

Gram corrected him. “There are still a few, Keith.…”

“Not like they were, though. What have survived are runty little things, more like large bushes which live long enough to have a few crops of small nuts, then die.”

Gram placed the coffeepot on a trivet and joined them at the table. “Penn State’s forestry department, and other specialists, are working on resistant strains, but I don’t know how they’re making out. But it would be generations before we see chestnut lumber suitable for construction.”

“And so,” her grandson went on, taking Gram’s hand in his, “I want my chestnut exposed in all its glory.”

Andi hadn’t expected him to reach for her hand too, but willingly gave it, when he said, “Gram lets me offer the prayer when I come for breakfast”

That sounded fine until, looking deeply into her eyes, he suggested, “You may have that privilege if you’d like.”

“Oh, no!” Startled, she would have withdrawn her hand had he not been holding it firmly. “Thanks, any-way.”

This was the second time she’d been in this kitchen during prayers. Keith asked that those teaching and preaching would be blessed and that today’s services would go well and be meaningful for all who participated.

And then, quite conversationally, he prayed for Andi—thanking God that “Annie” had gotten here safely in spite of car trouble, and asking that her car could be fixed without too much difficulty.

She sneaked a look at him when he asked that her leg would soon get completely well. She’d said nothing to him about the accident nor her leg, and doubted that Gram had.

It was while eating her second piece of French toast covcred with syrup that Keith asked if she was joining them for church—and she realized she might like to. “Will your family be there?” That would be an additional incentive, she thought.

“Mom and Dad rarely miss. And my sister’s always there with her two kids.”

“How would I dress if I go with you?”

Gram’s open face showed pleasure. “You look fine as you are, Annie, with that lacy blouse, slacks and sandals.”

“Are pants okay?”

“Of course—though you have time to change into a skirt if you’d feel more comfortable.”

She hadn’t meant to glance toward Keith, but saw his nod. “I’m with Gram. You do look good, just as you are.”

Heat crept up into her face, and totally unnecessary words spilled out. “I’ve been wearing pants most of the time since the accident—because of the scars.…”

His glance flicked downward, then back to meet hers. “Are they really that bad?” he questioned softly.

“To me, they are.”

His even, white teeth gnawed his lower lip. “Are you…a competent judge of that?”

That ankle and foot tucked behind the left one and were pulled as far back as they’d go under her chair. Her chin tilted upward. “I am the judge of that.”

His gaze held hers for an uncomfortable moment before he looked toward Gram and asked her to pass the syrup.

Now I’ve blown it! she chastised herself. I shouldn’t be so supersensitive. But they’d asked her to go with them, and she would.

It had been years since she’d been in church except for weddings and funerals. She used to go with Mother when they still lived in Claremont, back before Dad quit working for someone else so he could try developing his ideas and patents into practical inventions.

That was when Mother went back to teaching, so there’d be a steady income. Things were tough financially, and though she’d tried, Andi hardly remembered Dad from those days when he routinely spent twelve to eighteen hours a day at work.

But she’d never forget Mother—always cheerful and supportive, always there for Brownies, then Scouts, and for swimming and flute lessons. Never missing a band or choir concert. Taking her to the library and the museum.

By the time Dad had his twentieth patent; by the time the plant was built in Chicago and things were going really well there, Mother’s health had begun to fail.

In spite of the cancer, she’d been able—at what cost to herself?—to furnish and decorate the new house and to serve as hostess for countless business dinners. When she went with Dad on trips to resort cities and other wonderful jaunts tied in with business, Andi was left at home. Mother would come back more exhausted than when she left, and gradually cut back on traveling. And on entertaining.

It had been fun having Mother around more, but Andi had not known the reason until six months before her death.

Why didn’t you tell me, Mother? Andi silently wondered. Why didn’t you let me know what you were going through? Oh, yes, I was busy with school and doing things with friends, but those weren’t important. I’d much rather have spent that time with you.…

They passed two churches—one stone, the other brick—as they walked to the vinyl-sided church on Maple and Second streets. Smaller than the others, it resembled those on Christmas cards: white, with a corner bell tower, and large old pin oak and maple trees along the front and side.

They entered the sanctuary through the red front door, Keith carrying a tall pottery vase filled with Gram’s multicolored iris. Striding up the center aisle, between the rows of pews, he set the arrangement on a marble-topped table in front of the centrally placed pulpit.

He shook his head when Andi asked if the screening around the organ and choir, and the ornately carved pulpit and high-backed cushioned chairs on the platform, were made of chestnut. “I’m fairly sure they’re walnut.”

The sun shining through the stained-glass windows on her right gave an iridescent glow to everything, and she found herself whispering, “This is lovely.”

“We like it” The wrinkles radiating outward from the corners of Gram’s eyes deepened, and her voice showed pleasure. “Maybe partly because the Mc-Henrys and the Barkers—my side of the family—have come here for generations. It’s home.”

How odd, thinking of church as “home,” Andi thought.

“You have a choice,” Gram said. “I’d like to take you with me, of course, but Keith’s in the Builders’ Class—mostly young adults. You’d probably like that best”

“That sounds like a good idea.” But perhaps Keith wouldn’t like that. Turning, she asked, “Is that all right?” Perhaps she was putting him in a bad situation, what with his date last night.

If he had reservations, he didn’t express them. As they entered the hallway, he introduced her first to Patsy Harriman, the pastor’s wife, then to others as they went down broad steps to the area beneath the sanctuary. Nine men and women were seated in a large circle, while others stood around a table holding a large metal urn and tray of cookies.

“Tea or coffee, Annie?” he asked, and she chose the former. She wasn’t thirsty, but holding one of those foam cups would give her hands something to do. However, introduced as Gram’s friend, she found that she need not have worried about being accepted.

Karlyn Tinsman, Keith’s sister, was one of the last to arrive. It turned out that she was the teacher—a tall, outgoing, hazel-eyed woman in her mid-thirties, wearing her dark brown hair in a French twist.

She accepted being teased about her lateness—saying she’d lost track of time while preparing for a picnic—and proved to have a delightful sense of humor and an aptitude for getting input from students.

Even Andi contributed a thing or two—which she’d never have expected. Toward the end of this class on stewardship, Karlyn read something from the Bible about “talents,” which Andi gathered didn’t refer just to one’s abilities or skills, but also to the use of financial resources in a way pleasing to God, as well as to others.

“Congratulations!” Karlyn was beaming as though she really meant it. “You have just won the sweepstakes and are receiving ten million dollars, coming to you in a lump sum. I’d like you to take the next few minutes to make a list of what you’re going to do with your windfall.”

Cheers and laughter greeted this announcement, and the man to Andi’s right—Jeff-something—waved the blank sheet she’d just handed him. “Way to go, Karlyn, giving us paper from an extra-long legal pad!”

When someone complained about Uncle Sam getting his big cut first, Karlyn shrugged. “I’m feeling generous today. We’ll make that ten million after taxes.”

There were good-natured comments and joking, and Andi noted that most participants began doing what was requested. Several, however, seemed to have difficulty thinking of more than a couple of things, and one completely ignored the assignment.

If she really believed that God did this sort of thing, she’d wonder if He meant for her to be here this morning.

Keith, whose paper was being filled with remarkably neat writing, nudged her arm. “Come on, Annie, join in. Today you’re one of us.”

“I’m—not sure what to put down.…”

“You must have had times when you thought, ‘If I had enough money, I’d like to…whatever.’ Well, here’s your opportunity to spend a lot—quite painlessly.”

She tried to suppress the smile she felt coming. If you only knew, Cousin Keith—if you only knew!

Well, she and Dad had decided on large endowments to universities, so she wrote: “Schools and Education.” And “Red Cross” and “Salvation Army,” because Dad had seen, long ago while he was a marine, how well they’d helped those in need.

“Grants for Cancer Research,” because of Mother.

She’d just written, “Family and Friends,” when Karlyn said, “Now put 1, 2, and 3 by those you’d do first.”

Keith was giving frowning attention to “Contributions,” while Jeff was griping, “How does a guy prioritize taking his family on a round-the-world cruise or hiring the best golf pro in the world to improve his swing?”

A short, heavy man across the circle hooted, then assured Jeff that the latter would be a waste. “There’s no way you’ll ever get that swing of yours under control!”

Jeff stage-whispered, “Don’t judge our whole church, Annie, on the nastiness of one man.”

“I won’t.” She laughed. “I promise.”

Keith had crossed out several numbers and was still putting others before entries, when Karlyn announced, “Time’s up! Now, please share your first three with us.”

There was laughter and some groans, but no one volunteered. “Okay, how ‘bout the first one?”

Andi was surprised that it was Jeff who led off with a serious response. “I suspect most of us would do what I’d want to—pay off all debts. In my case, that includes mortgage, car and loans for college expenses.”

Some nodded, and he continued, as thoughtfully as before, “My second would be setting up trusts for the kids’ education—and I’d investigate the possibility of locking in at least one fully paid tuition at Penn State.”

“Very good! Anything else you’d like to share with us, Jeff?” When he shook his head, Karlyn asked, “And now, who’s our next brave soul?”

A young red-haired woman said that since they lived in a too-small rented house, she’d first of all buy a place big enough for all of them, preferably with land. And since she and her husband had been wishing the kids could attend Dalton Christian Academy, she’d use some for that. Three children were presently in public school, and the youngest would begin kindergarten in the fall.

“What about you, Keith?” his sister enquired. “You’ve been busily writing.”

“I still am. I’m not finished yet.”

Jeff reached across Andi to grab Keith’s almostfilled sheet, and held it up for all to see. “I can’t even write that fast, much less think about what I should put down!”

Keith patiently held out his hand for it. “My number-one priority has to be giving a tithe to the Lord— but I had trouble knowing in what form that should be. Some of my other expenditures could come from that million.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, things for the betterment of society or, under certain conditions, of individuals. What about a new pumper for the fire company, or gifts to a specific department of the hospital, or to the Pregnancy Center Project? Or perhaps to Habitat for Humanity? Should they be part of this tenth, or would they be in separate categories—perhaps numbers four, five, and seven?”

Several entered that discussion, and Andi paid avid attention. Keith, having brought up the topic, continued to be involved with it, and helped Karlyn encourage those hesitant about expressing opinions.

Two others stated they’d written “Tithe” as their first item, and Andi gathered that was the same as “one-tenth.” She knew that the many donations and endowments made by her father or in the name of the company would add up to more than that—and each was carefully noted for tax purposes.

She fleetingly wondered what her university or country club friends or co-workers would think of this conversation. What might they say if they were here?

Was it possible any would agree with this consensus? She doubted that, but it wasn’t the sort of thing they discussed. She couldn’t even say how Jon thought of money—his money. He had to have thought about it, didn’t he? Or had he just spent, wanting to be liked, needing…what?

She’d had wonderful times with him, and they’d talked of getting married—but she now faced the fact that during these last years she knew little of what went on inside. She’d tried to bring up deeper issues, but he’d quickly turn her away from them, sticking to fun things.

Had he been hiding from her? From himself?

She pulled herself back to the present. She shouldn’t be dwelling on this now, especially here.

Karlyn was tying things up. “…What’s important to you—important enough to top your list of ways to spend money? And what do you consider really worthy of your time? There are necessary things like sleeping, eating, doing essential shopping, and spending 40 hours at work for many of us, and/or with baby and child care for some.

“But we still have—though I know it often doesn’t seem like it—hours or minutes when we’re not required to do specific things. What about those? What are you doing with your free time?

“And how well are you controlling your thoughts? It’s true that anything can enter your mind, but what priorities have you set as to which ones remain, permitting them to take over? Just happy ones? Unhappy ones? Family-related? Service-oriented? Totally self-serving?”

She’d been at the chalkboard for the last few minutes, but now returned to her chair, part of the circle again. “We often don’t even try to control what we’re thinking. And thank God—literally!—that nobody knows what those thoughts are. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

Andi’s glance circled the group as she wondered how many had secrets that they, like she, wouldn’t want anyone else to know. Probably everyone.

“We often forget that God knows every one of our thoughts. These precede our moods, words and dealings with others—including what we do with what we have!”

Her eyes met those of each person. “It’s easier to consider how to spend money when you still have nine million or more left—but you do, right now, have money. So…what will you do with your paycheck or other sources of income?

“And you do have your life. What will you do with that? Settle for self-gratification or momentary pleasures? Or do you want it to count for something more…? Those are your decisions.”

Andi just sat there, not paying attention to the closing prayer, not really hearing it. What do I want from my life? she thought. From our money?

She had many questions; she did not know if they’d ever be answered.