Читать книгу Christmas Town - Peggy Gilchrist - Страница 11

Joella looked once again at the too-brief memo in her lap, the one with Jordan Scoville’s bold signature across the bottom.

The signature was the only thing that really told her much. The signature said the author of the memo was self-assured and important and far too busy to waste much time on memos to the masses. All the memo said was that no decisions had been made about the future of Scoville Mill, although further discussions were planned.

Of course, Joella had done her best to make the memo sound more significant than it was, when she read it for the gathering in the church fellowship hall. No one had been fooled and the church was now empty, the grousing now only a disurbing memory. The only ones remaining were Hat Martin and Claire Denny, who was helping fold the chairs and stack them against the wall.

“I guess I’m no match for Jordan Scoville after all,” she said, stuffing the memo into her back jeans pocket.

“Let it be.” Claire picked up her coat as the last of the chairs found its place against the wall. “You’ve got enough to worry about. Let Fred Roseforte take on the Scovilles. He’ll enjoy the tussle.”

Joella was tempted, Her best friend, the only other single mother in Bethlehem, was right. Joella had her hands full just staying one step ahead of Nathan; how could she hope to keep up with Jordan Scoville, too? She looked at Hat Martin, who held out her corduroy parka so she could slip her arms into the sleeves. Her watch caught on the torn sleeve lining. She kept meaning to mend it, but there never seemed to be time. She supposed she’d have plenty of time soon.

She also supposed she’d look pretty shabby job-hunting in her old coat.

“Have you tried asking for help?” the minister asked as he switched off the lights and the three of them walked out into the nighttime chill. “A little assistance in softening Mr. Scoville’s heart?”

Claire chuckled. “That’s going to take more help than Joella’s going to find around here.”

Joella glanced at Hat, saw his gentle smile and knew exactly what he meant. Had she prayed about it, he wanted to know. Had she asked for a little help from above?

“I have to admit,” she said, “I’ve been thinking this is something I can do on my own.”

Hat nodded. “Ah. That so often gets me in trouble. I hope you have better luck than I when it comes to taking charge of things all by myself. I typically find myself woefully inadequate on my own.”

The three of them started down Main Street on foot. The street was quiet. The night was crisp and cool, the kind of perfect night that late autumn often brought to the South. The trees were already bare, the velvet blanket of the sky studded with stars. Joella left her parka open, let her bare hands swing at her side.

“It’s a shame everything can’t be as perfect as this night,” she said wistfully.

“Maybe it is,” Reverend Martin said. “Maybe God’s plan for us is as perfect as this beautiful night, but we just can’t see it as clearly.”

Joella tried to bite back the words that came to mind. But she’d known Hat Martin so long that she’d long ago given up keeping her thoughts to herself. “I know we’re supposed to have that kind of faith. But it sure would be easier if God could see fit to let me in on His plan.”

Claire rolled her eyes, but Hat Martin just chuckled.

“If it was all plain as day, Joella, they wouldn’t call it faith, now, would they?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe this is another opportunity for you to learn to leave things in God’s hands.”

“I learned that lesson a long time ago,” Joella protested. “But—”

“But we never get it perfect,” the minister said. “We always have a new opportunity to learn the lesson at a deeper level.”

Joella sighed. “You’re right. But I still say it’s one thing to have faith in God’s plan and another thing entirely to put any kind of faith in Jordan Scoville.”

Reverend Martin paused at the corner that would lead him to the parsonage. “No one is suggesting that you have faith in young Mr. Scoville.”

Joella nodded. “I’ll pray about it.”

“You do that,” the minister said. “Put Jordan Scoville in God’s hands, see what happens.”

The two women continued the three blocks to their little houses.

Claire shook her head, her golden curls lifting on a whiff of cool breeze. “I say leave Jordan Scoville in Fred Roseforte’s hands. That would serve him right.”

Joella laughed. “Nobody deserves that.”

“That’s always been your problem, Jo. You think everybody’s good at heart.”

Joella thought of the man who had fathered her son then walked out on them both, and knew that wasn’t true. She thought of the drunk driver who had robbed Claire and her two boys of their husband and father, and knew it wasn’t true.

“I think everybody could be good at heart,” she clarified for her friend. “We’re all God’s kids, after all.”

“Yeah, well, some of God’s kids ran away from home and don’t even call on holidays,” Claire said.

“I know.”

Was Jordan Scoville one of those? It certainly appeared so. The Reverend Martin was right, the only thing that had a chance of working was to leave the man in God’s hands and hope for a miracle.

“What are you going to do, Jo, when they shut down?”

Joella heard the hushed whisper of fear in her friend’s voice, mirroring what was in her own heart. The two of them had grown up in this town, spent virtually their entire lives here. What did they know but Bethlehem and Scoville Mill?

“My brother said I could stay with him.”

“I guess big brothers do come in handy from time to time.”

“He thinks I ought to go to the technical college.” J.T. had plenty of ideas about turning his younger sister’s life around. He always had. Get out of Bethlehem, he’d been saying for years. Make something of yourself. Maybe he was right. He had a good job at the cement factory in Spartanburg, a nice little house with a low-interest mortgage payment, a new pickup truck every couple of years. And what did Joella have?

“I was thinking of that, too,” Claire said. “I could get nurse’s training. What do you think about that?”

Joella thought it sounded scary, starting over. She wondered what Claire would do with her boys and how she would get by financially if she decided to go to school. How would she manage a new town with traffic and strangers and more living expenses? The same fears Joella had for herself. She remembered starting over, and she didn’t want to go through it again.

“That sounds exciting,” she said. But she knew she hadn’t managed to work much enthusiasm into her voice. A glum silence hung in the air for a moment. “And scary.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

They reached Claire’s house first. Claire paused before turning into her sidewalk. “It’s not always going to be this hard, is it? We’re not always going to be struggling just to get by, are we?”

“Of course not,” Joella said softly, remembering how she’d clung to her faith after Andy left her. And God had seen her through it. “Things will look up.”

“Right. And you’re going to whip Jordan Scoville into line.”

Joella grinned. “He’s quaking at the thought.”

Jordan replaced the phone in its cradle and looked across the desk at Venita. “Okay. It’s a done deal. They’ll be here in three weeks to start dismantling the Christmas decorations.”

The barest of creases marked her forehead, but her eyes were full of censure. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you not promise Joella Ratchford to inform her before you made any major decisions concerning the town?”