Читать книгу Walls of Jericho - Lynn Bulock - Страница 11

Claire was almost glad Ben didn’t come home in time for supper that night. The dinner table was no place to argue. And she knew that given the chance tonight, she’d argue. It was easier to put together sub sandwiches and get the guys fed early, then get them to their respective activities.

Kyle was getting ready for Scout camp. He was old enough now that he went to Boy Scout camp without a parent, and he was excited about it. Claire was thankful that he’d reached the age of going with the Boy Scouts instead of the Cubs, because there was no way Ben’s schedule could have accommodated a week of camping. When had they all gotten so busy?

Trent was just going over to a friend’s house with his street hockey equipment for a quick game. It stayed light so long at this time of year, they could play for hours. Once both boys were dropped off, Claire could escape to the relative peace of her women’s fellowship at church. When Ben came home he’d find her note telling him where everybody was, and a sandwich in the refrigerator, so everything was taken care of.

After a weekend of activity, and seeing so much of her sisters, it was fun to be in the company of her church friends again. Many of them had been at her dad’s wedding, and had some comment about the flowers or the music. It was nice to remember her happy weekend instead of her aggravating day.

Finally Debi Baker, the head of the fellowship group, got everyone to settle down so she could get the evening’s program started. The woman she introduced looked so polished and put together that Claire felt a twinge of envy.

Granted, anybody presenting a program to a group wanted to look her best. But how long had it been since Claire had come to fellowship in something other than a denim skirt, or maybe a pair of khakis and a cotton shirt, if she’d gotten to the ironing? Her household priorities, and picking up the slack for Ben as often as not, made her own appearance last on the list quite often. This woman looked as if she’d just stepped out of a corporate meeting.

Debi introduced her, and the woman smiled at their welcoming applause. “Thank you. I feel like part of the group already. And that’s good, because I want to lay something on your hearts this evening. It’s June. Traditionally the season for graduations. And weddings. Who could tell me what they were doing in June, say, four or five years ago?”

A few hands went up. Claire could have told the lovely speaker what she was doing any June in the last fifteen years. And none of it involved the kind of glamour she was sure that this young woman had seen in life.

“As Ms. Baker told you before, I’m Nessa Hart, and I’m the regional director of The Caring Closet. And five years ago this June, I was a single mom with two small children, collecting public assistance while watching them grow up in a St. Louis housing project.”

There was a murmur through the group. Claire found herself backing up in her chair. This woman? Collecting welfare? It didn’t add up with her polished appearance and self-confidence. When Nessa Hart began to explain how the changes in her life had come about in five years, Claire felt a thrill go through her. Talk about dramatic change.

“Once I knew Jesus, my whole life changed. But it was harder to match the changes on the inside with changes on the outside, where people could see them,” Nessa told them. “I could change my life and become a different person. But that person needed schooling to do a job, and clothes to go to interviews and get that job. That’s where The Caring Closet came in. Obviously, I’m a believer in what they do.” Nessa was smiling as she spoke. “I passed up a promotion at another job to come and work for them. And I’ve never had any doubts that this was the right decision for me. It was the only thing I could do to give back, to launch somebody else on the same path I followed.”

While Nessa went on explaining The Caring Closet’s mission in outfitting women for the work world, a persistent thought began whispering over and over through Claire’s mind. You could do this. You could really do this. It wasn’t the sort of thing she had had in mind when she asked Laurel to pray for change. But maybe it was even better. She could hardly wait to get home and talk to Ben. She didn’t even stay for cookies after fellowship—and they were chocolate chip with pecans, her favorite.

Every light was on in the house when she got to the driveway. Ben’s car was parked, and Claire could hear the commotion of the guys in the kitchen as she got out of the truck and headed for the back door.

Trent’s hockey equipment nearly tripped her just inside. Kyle was digging into the closet in the mudroom, holding a piece of pizza in one hand. “Hi, Mom,” she heard him say from halfway in the closet. “Do you know where the rest of the tent stakes are?”

“Should be in a zipper pouch with the tent, Kyle. And either look for tent stakes or eat pizza, but not both at the same time.”

“Okay.” The hand holding the pizza disappeared inside the closet with the rest of Kyle. That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant, but Claire decided to let it slide for now. She was so anxious to talk to Ben, she’d even let Kyle eat in the closet.

As she looked into the kitchen for him, an explosion rumbled from the table. It was the kind of noise that could only come from the gullet of a well-stuffed human male loaded with pizza and cola. “Ugh. What do you say, Trent?” she prompted.

“Nice resonance, Dad.” Her son’s reply brought Claire’s head up quickly.

“Benjamin Trent Jericho, you didn’t do that—did you?” His grin was all the answer she needed. “That’s terrible. What are you teaching these guys?”

“Nothing. At least, not on purpose. I’ve been on my feet for a good solid twelve hours, and I guess I ate dinner too fast. Sorry.”

Ben was pushed back from the kitchen table, tie loosened and shoes kicked off. His face showed signs of fatigue behind the grin. Claire came up behind him, not sure whether to stroke his dark hair or yank it out by the roots. The softness beneath her fingers convinced her not to pull.

“Okay, I guess I’ll let you off this once. But you didn’t have to bring home pizza. There was dinner in the refrigerator.”

Ben looked up into her face, seeming surprised. The motion pushed his head into her midsection, almost making her forget the exciting things she wanted to tell him about her fellowship meeting.

“Wow. You must want something. You don’t usually let me get away with anything that easy.” He quirked one eyebrow, questioning her.

The man knew her way too well. That was one of the downsides of marrying your high school sweetheart. Things got very predictable at times. “Maybe. Well, okay, yes. I do want something. Let me tell you about what I found out tonight.”

Ben held up a hand. “If it’s church gossip, I don’t want to know.”

Claire resisted the urge to really yank that beautiful wavy dark mane. “You know better than that. Do you want more of that soda to drink while you listen to this?”

Ben sighed. “Sure. But if you pour some for yourself, make it decaffeinated. You seem to have enough charge already this evening.”

Ben sat at the kitchen table, trying very hard to focus on what Claire was saying. It wasn’t easy. There was already so much other stuff bouncing around in his brain. And her enthusiasm made her glow. Both those things together made him want to scoop her up and take her upstairs, instead of having a serious discussion.

Claire really wanted this discussion, though, so he was going to have to put his thoughts on hold and pay attention. It was still hard for him to follow her train of thought.

“Now let me get this straight,” he said, when she paused for a moment. “This is something you really want to do on your own?” It just didn’t sound like Claire.

Claire nodded. “It really is. The women’s fellowship group is really excited about starting this community closet idea. And I could do it.”

“Sounds to me like a giant rummage sale with no profit.” At least it wasn’t going to cost him anything. Although knowing Claire, she’d find a way to make it cost him something.

Claire’s brow wrinkled. “Then you’re missing the point, or I’m not explaining things very clearly.”

“Must be me. We know you’re always crystal clear in your explanations.” That would probably get a coaster tossed at his head, but he couldn’t resist.

“Very funny. Let me try it again. Maybe I should start by asking what you don’t understand.”

“Why anybody would want to spend weeks, or maybe even months, sorting through a bunch of cast-off clothing, if you’re not going to either bale it up and send it someplace to a mission, or sell it to make a profit.”

Claire took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try to give you the short story that Nessa gave us. I did tell you about Nessa, didn’t I?”

Now it was Ben’s turn to nod. “And she must have really impressed you.”

“She did. And what she said was so simple, Ben. See, this program gathers good, gently used women’s business apparel. Then it recycles the clothing to people who need to go on job interviews, start an office job, whatever.”

Her eyes widened into dark pools again, bringing back Ben’s urge to hold her.

“Imagine it. You gather the skills to get your family off public assistance and finally be self-supporting. But when you go out to do interviews, nobody hires you because you don’t have a suit or nice shoes or a briefcase to carry your papers in.” Her eyes blazed. “Ben, that’s just not fair.”

“Of course it isn’t. Life in general doesn’t seem to be most of the time.” If Claire hadn’t figured that out by now, he must have been sheltering her even more than he thought.

“I know. But most things that aren’t fair, I can’t do much about. This I can.”

Claire pulled her long legs up in the chair with her, wrapping her arms around them. Then she started ticking off reasons on her fingers, while Ben tried to listen instead of just watching the dancing fingertips.

“I know how to organize things. I know who to get hold of to get the church a quality supply of gently used business clothes. And they’ve already got most of the space in the Sunday School building, so I wouldn’t even have to take up much room here.”

“Much room? We don’t have any room to run a thrift shop out of the house.”

There was that forehead wrinkle again.

“It’s not a thrift shop. I keep trying to tell you that. It’s a community service. And we wouldn’t do anything but sort a few things here, anyway.”

Ah, Claire and her enthusiasm. “Please, define a few of those terms. Like who ‘we’ would be, and what kind of ‘few things’ you would be sorting, whoever you are.”

She sighed. It was really more of a snort of impatience, but if he pointed that out she’d offer to deck him. Claire saw herself as more genteel than sixteen years of life with the guys had made her.

“I don’t know who everybody will be yet. Whoever else decides that this is the project of their hearts, I guess. And we’d sort things here until we got them in some sort of shape to take to church. And when I say here, I really mean Dad’s apartment. It’s vacant, and nobody needs it for anything.”

“So nice of you to consult me before deciding that.” Now Ben knew he was the one who sounded sharp.

“Well? Do you need it for anything?” Claire challenged.

“I might.” That sounded like the boys arguing. Maybe even less mature. “I guess it would have been nice to be asked before you made up your mind on all this. You didn’t tell them at church that you’d do it, did you?”

There was that snort again.

“I most certainly did not. Am I usually that impulsive?”

Ben shrugged. “Where good works are concerned, I have to say yes, sometimes you are.”

“Not on anything this big. This is a project that won’t be over in six weeks. Just setting it up will take that long or longer. And then whoever commits to leading the group will probably have to commit a year or more to the leadership.”

Ben whistled. “A year? As in twelve months, volunteer, just out of the goodness of your heart?”

“A year. Not full time or anything. Some weeks it would be only a few hours, some more like fifteen or twenty, depending on what stage of things we’re in. And yes, it would be all volunteer. This is a service, a ministry.” Her brow wrinkled again. “Besides, it’s not like anybody’s paying me now to do anything.”

“That’s true. But I thought that was the way you wanted things. The way we both wanted things.” This conversation was changing his whole opinion of his wife.

“It was. And it still is, for the most part. But I believe I can do this. More than that, I want to do this. It sounds like a really good fit for me. I just told Laurel to pray for change. I’m ready for a little change in my life.”

Great. So now this crazy scheme was the answer to a prayer. “So now if I protest I’m keeping you from doing what God wants you to.”

Claire bristled. “I didn’t say that. Is there something else you’d rather see me doing?” She looked so determined. And so appealing, eyes sparkling, lips in a decisive pout.

“Not really. It just seems like they’re taking advantage of your good nature in a big way. I mean, I wouldn’t volunteer to take on a project like this for anything. It would be stupid.”

Her mouth compressed. “Well, maybe that’s just the difference between us, then. I won’t make a decision tonight, anyway. I need to think on it, pray on it.”

“And sleep on it?” Ben tried not to sound suggestive. Claire knew how he felt, anyway. He was as hopeless in his admiration of her as he had been fifteen years ago. Why was he arguing against this crazy scheme? It would probably keep her from being interested in any changes he made at work in the near future. And that would be a very good thing.

“And sleep on it.” Funny, it sounded different when she said it. Like she actually intended to sleep. Ben tried not to sigh or look too wishful. That would just get her more stirred up than she already was.

On Wednesday morning Claire was still thinking and planning. She hadn’t given anybody an answer at church on whether she’d take over The Caring Closet, but she was pretty sure she would. It sounded like a lot of work, but interesting work.

In the long run it would be a project that helped so many people. Women who needed a way to improve their lives, and the lives of their children, would get help in a positive, encouraging way. And at the same time, a lot of people who had closets full of clothes they weren’t using could feel good about clearing those things out.

Claire thought about her own closet. There were several outfits that would be going to this ministry, whether she headed it up or not. That blue blazer she hadn’t worn since she stopped being president of the PTA. And there was that wool dress with the pleated skirt. Ben liked it on her, but she always felt like it made her hips look too wide. Besides, it was wool and it itched. She always felt like fidgeting or running her finger around the inside of her collar about halfway through Sunday School. Since she was always admonishing the boys not to wiggle, she couldn’t very well do the same thing.

She decided to get two things done at once: go through the closets for discards for church, and get a load of laundry done.

She thought best while doing things like that, anyway. Those dozens of little mindless tasks that had to be done around the house kept her hands busy, but not her mind. She could weigh the decision in front of her while she sorted laundry and matched socks.

Her side of the closet was easy. None of her dirty clothes ever got waylaid on the way to the hamper. She found the two things she wanted to set aside and laid them on the bed, then looked around the room.

There weren’t many of Ben’s clothes strewn around, for a change. If she had a nickel for every stray sock she’d picked up in sixteen years, she could probably buy a new washer. One pair of khakis was draped over the chair where he’d left them. Claire picked up the pants, looking them over for odd stains or rips. Ben was as hard on his clothes as were the boys.

The khakis seemed to be in one piece, and there were no obvious ugly stains like machine oil or paint or the other stuff he got into at the hardware store and then forgot to tell her about. Washing clothes was often an adventure around here.

As she put the pants over her arm to take to the basket in the hallway, Claire heard a rustle. She reached into the front pockets, checking for whatever Ben had left in there. There was a piece of paper, folded in quarters. It was nice business letterhead. There was a matching business card folded into the paper. Claire read it, wondering what it was all about. Going to the nightstand, she dialed the phone. Surprisingly enough, Ben answered himself.

“Hey. It’s me.” She balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear. “I’m doing laundry, and I found some papers in your pocket. Who’s Marcy McKinnon?”

“You remember her. From high school. Except she was Marcy Farley then.”

“Oh.” Marcy Farley McKinnon had been the prettiest blond cheerleader at Friedens High when Ben was a senior. She was the one people had always said Ben should have been dating instead of mousy, scholarly sophomore Claire Collins. Even Claire knew folks said that behind her back.

“Has she moved back to town, then?”

“No, still living in St. Louis. But she was my business appointment the other morning, when you ended up taking Laurel and Jeremy to the airport.”

“Oh.” She sounded like a broken record, but she felt stunned. “What kind of business were you discussing with Marcy McKinnon?”

There was a long pause on Ben’s end of the line. She could hear somebody ringing up a sale on the cash register, then the rattle of plastic bags as a purchase was handed over. It seemed like forever, and he still hadn’t answered.

Finally he cleared his throat. It was still a moment before he spoke. “I can’t tell you what I was discussing with her.”

“Not at all?”

She could almost feel him shaking his head in that slow, solid way he had.

“Not at all. Just put the papers on my desk in the living room, okay?”

Like a good little wife, his tone seemed to say. “I guess. Does this mean we’ll discuss this when you get home?”

She could tell that he was trying to sound light, but his voice sounded strained. “Afraid not. This isn’t something I can discuss with you. Not for the present, at least. But it isn’t anything to worry about. I’ll see you at dinner.”

With that the phone went dead. And Claire was standing in the middle of the bedroom holding a strange woman’s business card and feeling more confused than she had in years.