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“For the time being we have most of the basics covered,” he said.
His hoarse voice tripped over her weary nerves the way she imagined a thumb would strum over the taut strings of a guitar, leaving them vibrating. The news churned up a sudden clash of emotions, leaving her feeling raw.
“This is not something that will be a quick or easy fix.” He shifted his weight. Tugged at his collar. Cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the media attention. Still, he understood how important it was to get the message out, to speak for the people and the town he so loved. “We have a lot of damage, the full extent of which we still don’t know. We have a fund set up through a local bank for contributions. So to anyone who wants to help that way, we’d appreciate it.”
“Done,” Heather said softly even as Mary Kate lunged for a pen and paper to jot down the information scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
“Should I write a request for a check from the board or send something from the floating fund?” Mary Kate asked above the scratching of her pen on the pad.
“Neither,” Heather said. “I’ll make a personal donation and solicit others on their behalf.”
It was her calling to do for other people the things she had never been able to do for her own parents—give them a chance to heal their differences, to stay together and be a real family.
“And, of course, we could use your prayers,” Michael concluded.
“Also done.” Heather pressed her lips together, drew in a deep breath and finally looked away.
That was all she could do right now. Her father was ill; she couldn’t leave town. Helping Hands Christian Charity was not designed, nor was it equipped, to rush in and give aid in emergency situations like this. She had an obligation to the people who donated to the organization to adhere to their mission. Still, she would do all she could personally to help the town she still loved, even if it had not seemed to love her back.
“Is there anything else you’d like to say?” the reporter pressed on. “Anything more people can do to make a difference?”
For a second there was only silence.
Heather took the slip of paper from Mary Kate and did not look up. She did not need to see the man to know he was stroking his hand back through his hair, rubbing his chin and generally stalling for time. It was a habit he’d had since Little League. Always wanting to be sure he did and said the right thing, wanting to be conscious of other people’s feelings. That was why, when he had completely disregarded her feelings on the biggest day of her life, it had wounded her so deeply.
She would send money to the town and certainly pray for all of them, but that was all she would do. All she could do.
“There is one more thing,” Michael finally spoke up. “There are some tourist cottages by the river, a whole row of them.”
Heather tensed.
“I, uh, I used to know the owner,” Mike went on. “Well, uh, the owner’s daughter, actually.”
A shiver went down her spine.
“These cottages survived in pretty good shape. They aren’t luxury accommodations by any means, but for families who have nowhere else to turn, who want to stay together in High Plains, they could become a real, if temporary, home.”
“Home,” she whispered again. She spun around and searched first the background of High Plains behind Michael, then the man’s face. He had practically just spelled out Heather’s personal mission statement. She fought back the tears for the second time tonight.
“If anyone knows how to get in touch with any member of the Waters family, or if any of them hear this interview…”
She could not go to High Plains herself right now. She could not send money from her charity without going through a time-consuming process. But she could do this. She could answer Michael Garrison’s plea to help keep the families of High Plains together. She could grant permission on her father’s behalf for the use of the cottages.
Doing so would mean that, at some point, she’d have to go back to that town to deal with the cottages in person. She shut her eyes. Would it really be so bad? She needed to check on her father and could easily let him know what she had done. He might not be happy with her acting on his behalf, but he hadn’t been feeling well for some time. Nothing had been done with those cottages for so long, he would likely be glad to pass their responsibility on to her.
“Heather, will you help us out if you can?” Michael finally asked outright.
“Is he talking to you?” Mary Kate’s eyes grew wide.
“Yes.” He was talking to her. As an old friend. As a man of God. Perhaps even as a nudge from God. “Mary Kate, make the call and tell Michael Garrison they can use the cottages. I’ll get it cleared through my father.”
“What if he asks to speak to you?” Mary Kate had already picked up the handset, her hand hovering above the keypad on the phone.
“He had his chance to speak to me ten years ago and he kept quiet,” she said softly.
“What? You really want me to tell him that?”
Heather blinked and came back to the present. “No. No, of course not. Tell him…” She looked out at her car next to Mary Kate’s in the dark and otherwise empty parking lot. “Tell him I have a lot of personal and work-related issues colliding right now, but I will come to High Plains as soon as I can, to do whatever I can.”
“When?” Mary Kate wanted to know.
Heather rubbed her eyes. They felt as though she had been in a sandstorm, tired, burning, as if they could use a good cry. She exhaled. Crying didn’t accomplish anything. Action did. “Just tell him I’ll be in High Plains when the dust settles. He’ll understand.”
With that she dug her cell phone from her bag to call her father, only then seeing multiple missed calls all from the same unknown number.
“Michael?” she whispered. Her pulse thumped in her temples and her hand shook as she punched in the code to retrieve the first message. But it wasn’t Michael.
“Ms. Waters, this is Galichia Heart Hospital. Your father was brought in a half hour ago. He’s been asking us to get in touch with you. Please get back to us as soon as you can.”
Chapter One
Dust. The Holy Bible tells us God created human life out of dust and that in time we would all return to it.
Almost a full month after the tornado had ripped through his town, Michael Garrison felt as if everything he owned, wore or ate was still covered with the stuff. Whole neighborhoods now seemed like little more than dump heaps and sandlots. In so many places the storm had stripped away not only grass and trees but also much of the topsoil. Some of the old-timers likened it to a small-scale dust bowl.
His scuffed and battered tennis shoes kicked particles from the church’s maroon-colored carpet even as he pushed the vacuum cleaner back and forth. The aging machine whirred loudly, practically wheezing and gasping for breath.
“Hang in there just a little longer, baby. We can’t afford a new broom right now, much less a vacuum.” He dragged it back across a spot he’d gone over…and over…and over before. “If you stay with me until we’ve got some sense of normalcy around here again…”
The engine sputtered.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He kicked the off switch at the base of the old-fashioned upright to turn the thing off. “Normalcy may be asking for way too much these days.”
“You’re talking to the vacuum cleaner now?” His niece, dressed in a lavender shirt and overalls, her light brown hair in braids, poked her head in the door. At just five foot one and wearing the deceptively sweet and modest outfit that she had complained about all morning, she looked even younger than her fourteen years.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut and raised his head to call back to her, “Talking to inanimate objects gives me practice for talking to people who never listen. Like my niece, whom I asked to go to the store to get us sodas about three minutes ago.”
“I’m going, I’m going, all right? I just—”
“Whatever they have will be fine.” He cut her off before she could launch into another list of excuses why she shouldn’t have to go out in the heat. “Or if you want to stay here, you can vacuum and I’ll go get us something cold to drink.”
“Vacuum? With that antique?” She crinkled up her nose. “My mom never makes me do that stuff. I don’t even know how. Besides, I think that thing is actually making the carpet dirtier.”
“Don’t you listen to her, old girl.” He patted the bulging cloth bag on the old upright and was rewarded with a cloud of ultrafine powdery dust.
Avery laughed.
He liked hearing her laugh. She’d had a hard year and didn’t laugh nearly as much as he thought a kid her age should. So he played up the scene for her enjoyment, waving his hands, pretending to stagger around unable to see, coughing.
More girlish laughter.
Spinning around, he grinned to himself. Sunlight streamed in around him. The play of shadows and light against one another made a spotlight in which specks and dots sparkled.
“I’ll be back when the dust settles.” The message Heather Waters had sent echoed in his thoughts again, as it had many times in the last four weeks.
He watched the residue drip and drift and glitter in the sunbeam for a moment. He gritted his teeth to stave off the pangs of unresolved emotions twisting in his gut. If Heather held true to her word, he might never see her again.
Hadn’t he resigned himself to that fate ten years ago? He had kept his thoughts and feelings to himself, wanting only her happiness, when the only girl he had ever really loved wanted to marry John Parker. And then when that girl had fled from this church, hurt and humiliated by John leaving her at the altar, he had let her go because it was best for her and, in the long run, for him.
Now he had to do that again. He had too much work to do, too many people counting on him to allow himself the luxury of being distracted by something that could never be.
“Okay, how about I go for sodas and you do something else to pitch in around here?” He wasn’t letting the girl slip free of taking some responsibility for basic chores.
“I said I’d get the sodas.” She gave a huff.
Michael tugged free the hem of the well-worn multicolored T-shirt he had pulled from the pile of donated clothes. He’d tried to make sure Avery had clean laundry, but neglected to do the same for himself. He wiped his brow, then took a moment to look over the sanctuary.
It was a simple design. High, wooden ceilings with sturdy support beams arching upward. The style, he’d always been told, was meant to mimic the inside of a boat to remind them always that they were to be fishers of men.
He studied the long, tall, stained-glass windows, glowing in shades of red, blue, yellow and purple. Years ago their insurance company had required them to be encased in protective safety glass. That and the sturdy boat-bottom design had protected the sanctuary from all but cosmetic damage.
But not from dust and dirt and even trash that still blew through the streets and gathered like fallen leaves in corners and along curbs all over town.
“And I will get the sodas, if you want me to or whatever, but…” Avery launched into yet another excuse for her not having done as she was asked.
“No.” Michael sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “I’ll go. Why don’t you—”
“Why don’t you tell me why you didn’t go when I asked, Avery?” She spoke in a low voice, a booming imitation of him with one thumb hooked in the strap of her overalls.
In the next moment, she turned her shoulders, folded her hands in front of her and spoke in a soft, sweet voice. “I’m trying, Uncle Michael. Why won’t you listen to me?”
Back to the imitation of him, she blustered, “That’s because I’m a big grump like I’ve been all week, Avery. In fact, I’m so grumpy lately I’ve had to resort to talking to my cleaning supplies.”
“Says the girl talking to herself,” Michael muttered, even as he chuckled softly and began rolling the cord of the vacuum. “Guess we’re all on edge a little lately. Kind of in a transition period, not really sure what to do or what will happen next.”
“Well, maybe the person who’s looking around out here can help with that.” Avery pushed the door open and stood back.
“Heather?” Michael took a step forward.
“Wow. You do have dust in your eyes if you think…” Avery looked at him slyly. “Hey, that’s who you wish it was, isn’t it?”
“No, no. She wouldn’t…I don’t have any reason to…” He looked up at the altar and sighed. “Yes. Yes, I’ve sort of been keeping an eye out for her to come back.”
Avery rolled her eyes the way young girls do at someone old, in this case twenty-eight years old, like Michael. She clearly thought him totally inept when it came to relationships with members of the opposite sex. “Well, until she does—”
“Yeah, I know.” Michael put his hand up to forestall some cutting remark from the girl. His sister, Avery’s mom, had struggled with the girl always having a flip answer for everything. Michael hoped to defuse that a bit by taking the fun and shock value out of her smart comebacks by beating her to the punch line. “Until Heather comes back I can always talk to my vacuum cleaner.”
“I was going to say you should talk to this guy who’s been hanging around the lobby the last few minutes.”
“Oh. Uh…a guy, huh?” Michael cleared his throat. He really wished he had that cold drink right now. “Who is he? What does he want?”
“Reverend Garrison?” A man who looked like he saw the world through numbers on the other side of thick but new glasses, barged in past Avery.
Michael came down the aisle and shook his hand. “Michael Garrison.”
“Paisley,” he said.
Michael glanced down at his grubby shirt and jeans. “Tie-dyed, actually.”
“No, my name is Paisley. I’m here for the…the…” He reared back as if to give out with a great, whooshing sneeze.
Michael stepped back.
Nothing happened. The man cleared his throat and finished. “Temp job.”
“Temp?” Michael shook his head. “I don’t know who gave the idea that we’re hiring, even on a temp basis, but—”
“No, no. I’m an intake worker for a social service agency in Manhattan, and they are loaning me out for a few days. I was supposed to meet someone with a private organization looking for a place to set up a base of operations.”
“Not anyone from our church,” Michael assured him.
“Is it a lady someone?” Avery came into the sanctuary, took a seat in the last row, leaned both elbows on the pew in front of her and rested her chin in her hands.
“Yes, actually it is.” He squinted at Avery as if sizing her up. “I got to town early so I’ve been going around to places I thought she might go. It’s a Christian charity so I thought, you know, churches.” He sort of wrinkled his nose as he said it.
Michael didn’t know if the man was showing contempt or felt another sneeze coming on.
“Ask him,” Avery mouthed as she pointed to the man heading for the door.
Michael shook his head. Avery was trying to make more out of this than it merited. Besides, Michael didn’t want to know if Heather was in town or not. It didn’t matter either way. He had his work to do and she had hers.
Mr. Paisley reached the door, paused and looked up.
This time to emphasize the urgency of her silent demand, Avery stood and gestured with both hands. Michael replied with his own emphatic gesture, slashing his hand across his throat to tell her to cut it out. He shook his head again.
The door creaked open.
“Heather Waters,” Avery shouted just as the man crossed the threshold into the lobby.
“What?” He caught the door before it could swing shut and stared at the teen.
In a frantic, full-body gesture, Michael swung his arms out, brought them in across his body, then out again as though trying to signal an oncoming train to hit the brakes.
“The, um, someone you’re looking for?” Avery glanced Michael’s way, rolled her eyes and totally ignored his wishes. “Is her name Heather Waters?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Do either of you have any idea how I can find her here in town?”
Heather. In town.
