Читать книгу Your Dream And Mine - Susan Kirby - Страница 14

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.”