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“I have to admit that I’d never heard of anything like the Shawl Ministry before,” Andrea said, genuinely intrigued by the idea of women gathering together to pray and knit a shawl for someone suffering from anything, whether a devastating illness or simply old age, sudden tragedy or merely loneliness.
“It is taking a little longer to get it started then we imagined,” Madge reported, “but we all think it’s something we have to do. We have the community center. We have the need, and Eleanor has been doing her best as the coordinator. Unfortunately, we just haven’t been able to get enough women to join, so we came up with some good ideas about publicizing the ministry more.”
Andrea nodded and checked her watch. She did not bother to remind Madge, yet again, that some women, Andrea, in particular, did not have the luxury of spending their days doing volunteer work. Not when they had to earn a living. “It’s after two. I’m showing the Campbell house at three. Call me later, and we’ll work out the calendar for my appointments,” she suggested.
Madge’s eyes widened. “I forgot! We were supposed to go over your chemo schedule so I could put it on my calendar.”
“I’ve got to run,” Andrea said, taking some bills from her wallet to pick up the lunch tab.
Madge snatched the check away. “This is my treat. Go ahead.”
“Love you. Thanks!” Andrea was in a rush to get back to her office for a file she needed. If she was lucky, Madge would be so involved with her latest volunteer activity, she’d forget to call, and Andrea could drive herself to her chemotherapy appointments but that was probably too much to hope for. Standing at the curb, waiting for the light to change, Andrea mulled over the idea of the Shawl Ministry, and an image flashed through her mind of the bags and bags of yarn and knitting needles she’d seen yesterday piled next to Jane Huxbaugh’s rocker. Andrea was far too busy and too preoccupied with her health to even think about getting involved with the Shawl Ministry, but getting Jane involved was another matter…although perhaps a little like thinking you could lead a horse to water and make it drink. Getting other people to welcome Jane Huxbaugh into a ministry presented another problem, and inspired such a clear image of horses stampeding in the other direction that Andrea dismissed the idea completely.
Green light. She stepped off the curb. For one moment, she was fully upright. In the next, she felt a thud and was airborne. Then she hit the street. Hard.
Chapter Eight
T he ambulance ride was a blur. The stay in the emergency room at Tipton Medical Center lasted until nearly eleven o’clock that night. The final diagnosis of Andrea’s injuries was a relief: no broken bones. Still, a bruised left shoulder and a badly sprained left ankle were proof enough that the left side of her body had borne the brunt of her fall.
Exhausted but comfortable, thanks to pain medication, Andrea was propped in bed with a pillow behind her as yet another emergency-room physician arrived to review her chart and her test results one last time before releasing her. He was young enough to be her son, too, just like all the other professionals she had encountered at the hospital during her visit. Didn’t anyone over the age of fifty work in hospitals anymore?
The young doctor stopped reading her chart for a moment, lifted a brow and shook his head. “A skateboard accident? Next time you’d be better off wearing protective gear,” he admonished.
She sighed. “I was hit by a skateboarder. I was simply trying to cross the avenue on foot. I wasn’t skateboarding.”
He had the decency to blush. “Sorry. That makes more sense.”
She tightened her jaw. She was annoyed that the skater had actually struck her, but she was more annoyed she had not seen or heard him approaching. “I’m just grateful I didn’t break any bones,” she admitted.
“You might not be,” he warned. “Your ankle is severely strained. You’re lucky you didn’t tear a ligament. It’s going to be a good six to eight weeks before you’ll be able to put any pressure on that ankle and try walking again. If you’d broken it, you’d have been able to get a walking cast and had an easier time of it.”
He wrote out a prescription, handed it to her with a set of preprinted instructions and signed her release. “Make sure you take the pain medication with food and follow those directions. Have you got any questions before I turn you over to your family?”
She swallowed hard. “How long before I can drive? I have to work, and I’m a real estate agent. I need to be able to drive. My car is an automatic,” she offered as an afterthought.
He paused. “Rest up for a week. By then your shoulder won’t give you any trouble, and you’ll be able to maneuver about on crutches. You can try driving then, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
She clenched her jaw. “Crutches. For six or eight weeks?”
He shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. Don’t forget to keep that ankle elevated. It’s important. I’ll send your sisters back again now. They’ve got a pair of crutches for you to take home, but it won’t be easy going for a few days.” He shook her hand. “Good luck. And watch out for skateboarders,” he cautioned before he left.
Andrea tapped her fingers on the mattress. A week at home. Six to eight weeks on crutches. Five weekly chemo treatments. And no driving. How in glory could she manage all that and still run a business?
She closed her eyes and tilted back her head. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Lord, and I truly am thankful that my injuries aren’t very serious, but wasn’t having my cancer come back again enough of a cross? Aren’t I worried enough, wondering if I’ll be able to keep working as usual throughout my treatments? Did I really need this, too?” she whispered.
All the fears and frustrations of the past few weeks rose up within her. And today’s harrowing accident added enough pressure to overwhelm her. Suddenly, tears streamed down Andrea’s cheeks. She brushed them away quickly, only moments before Madge and Jenny entered the cubicle.
Madge was carrying a pair of old wooden crutches, with some sort of stuffed gray critter on top of each armrest. Fortunately, the critters were not purple. “I had my neighbor bring these down for you. She broke her foot a few years back. Look!” Madge tugged on one of the critters. “They’re squirrels. Aren’t they cute? They’ll help pad the crutches so your underarms don’t get sore.”
Andrea managed a smile while Jenny steered a wheel-chair next to Andrea’s bed and helped her from the bed to the chair. “Michael’s waiting outside with your car to take you home. Madge and I will follow behind in her car. Ready to get out of here?”
Andrea gripped the arms of the chair. Despite being well bandaged, her ankle throbbed unmercifully, until Jenny raised the footrest and elevated Andrea’s leg. She let out a sigh. “More than ready.”
It did not take very long to reach the car, get strapped in and situated, but Andrea did not relish the prospect of reversing the process when she got home.
Michael eased her car forward. “I’ll take it slow,” he promised. “How are you doing so far?”
She grimaced. “Great. I’m sorry to be such a bother. Who’s minding the girls?”
He hesitated. “Cindy Martin.”
“But she’s only eleven or twelve.”
“She’s twelve. Katy and Hannah have been asleep for hours, and Cindy’s mom is right next door, in case there’s a problem. They both wanted to do something to help. They’re pretty shook up.”
As they rounded a corner, Andrea braced herself by holding on to the dashboard with her right hand. “I suppose I made for quite a lot of gossip today, but I don’t really know the Martins all that well. At least not well enough to think they would be that upset,” she said.
Michael glanced at her quickly, then turned his attention back to the road. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“The skateboarder who hit you.”
“I can’t remember him because I never even saw him. If I had—”
“It was Jamie Martin.”
“Oh.” Suddenly it all made sense, and Andrea sighed. At fifteen, Jamie Martin was the daredevil of all daredevils, the reigning king of the skateboard world in Welleswood. The fact that he ranked first in his class, served as a junior advisor in his church youth group and was on a fast track toward becoming an Eagle scout rankled most adults more than a little. “Is he…was he hurt?”
“A few minor scrapes,” Michael reported. “Jamie’s always careful to make sure he’s wearing protective gear.”
Andrea snorted. “I wish he was as careful to avoid pedestrians.”
“He’s pretty upset about what happened,” Michael said softly.
“So am I,” she snapped. Her churlish words echoed in the car, and she shook her head. “The kids need a place to skate, a safe place,” she murmured. “I thought the commissioners had been looking into that. What happened?” She shifted her aching ankle and saw her house down the block. She was almost home.
Michael chuckled. “They’ve been looking even harder since this afternoon. The mayor called an emergency meeting for seven o’clock tonight. Your accident apparently inspired renewed interest in that matter.”
“Great,” she muttered. As visible as she was in the community, she deliberately avoided politics and local controversies of any kind, although her role in Welleswood’s renaissance had required that she participate in both for a while. Her name, no doubt, had been invoked more than once tonight, and her accident put her square in the center of the never-ending battle between the critics of skateboarding and the advocates.
As Michael turned into her driveway, she checked the clock on the dashboard. Eleven forty-five. Good. This horrendous day was almost over. She leaned back in her seat and relaxed. Nothing could happen in the next fifteen minutes to make the day any worse.
Ten minutes later, with her three “girls” nestled alongside her on the couch and Madge in the kitchen, Andrea learned how very wrong she could be. No wonder Jenny left with Michael without even coming inside. Anyone who had known Andrea for more than twenty-four hours would have known better than to do what Madge had done.
Andrea clenched both hands into fists and counted backward from ten to zero before she allowed herself to call out to Madge, who was in the kitchen tagging the casseroles that friends had dropped off for Andrea’s freezer. “Let me get this straight. This afternoon, while I was being treated at the emergency room, you left and showed the Campbell house for me at three o’clock, even though you don’t have a real estate license, which means, of course, that if anyone finds out, I could lose my license!”
Madge poked her head into the living room. “I know that, silly. I didn’t go alone. Doris Blake went with me, but it was more like four o’clock by then. Doris has kept her license current, and she was happy to help. She promised to stop by to see you tomorrow and tell you all about it.” Madge grinned maddeningly and popped back into the kitchen.
Andrea’s heart took a quick leap and began to pound. Doris Blake was the woman who had called and left a message on Andrea’s answering machine about wanting part-time work. “I don’t believe this. You took Doris with you?”
Madge returned to the living room with a tray and set it on top of the coffee table. “You missed supper, so I fixed you some iced tea and a light snack. I bet they didn’t feed you at the hospital, did they?”
Andrea’s stomach growled. “As a matter of fact, they didn’t.” She nibbled on a cracker topped with cheese spread. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Why not? It always works for you.”
Andrea tightened her jaw and stared at her sister. “This is important. This isn’t a game. This is about my business. My livelihood.”
“Exactly,” Madge countered. “Which is why I asked Doris to be there today. I also know you can’t shut down your office for six to eight weeks, but unless you have someone undeniably reliable and qualified, you won’t give yourself the time you need to rest and recuperate from your spill today, either. Need I mention the fact that you have weekly chemo scheduled, too? That’s why I spoke to Doris, and she’s agreed to come work for you starting tomorrow. Well, actually, I guess, she really started today since she showed the house.”
Andrea gasped. “You’ve hired her to come work for me?”
Madge beamed. “I knew you’d be surprised. Pleased, too, aren’t you? And just a little amazed at how fast I can work? I might not have been in the business world like you’ve been all these years, but I’ve learned a lot, volunteering as much as I have. Besides,” she added as her eyes filled with pride. “I remembered what you said when I told you I wanted to help you, even before you had your little mishap today. I’ve got caretaker duty chauffeuring you to your doctor’s appointments. I’m handling your insurance paperwork and I’m going to weed your gardens. That’s all.”
She really could mimic Andrea’s tone of voice well. She knew it, too, judging by the glint in her eyes.
“So, since you won’t let me help you do anything else,” Madge continued pertly, “I know Doris can. And she’s qualified, too. Amazing how things all work out, isn’t it?”
Andrea shut her eyes. Amazing indeed. In a matter of weeks, her entire life, both personally and professionally, had come unraveled. Try as she might, she was utterly and completely helpless to stop it or to make any successful attempts to knit her life back together. Instinctively, she grabbed the only lifeline that had any chance of saving her from total destruction.
Prayer.
Lots and lots of prayer.
She even said one for Madge, hoping her sister might be sent a blessing that would turn her attention to something or someone other Andrea.
Chapter Nine
T he answer to one of Andrea’s prayers arrived at her home promptly at ten o’clock the following morning.
Doris Blake was a unique women who defied easy classification. Nothing about her was average, yet not a single feature was extraordinary. But she made quite a memorable impression. At sixty-something, she wore her years with quiet dignity, helped by subtle, artfully applied makeup only another woman would appreciate. Her green shirtwaist dress and matching crocheted sweater were simple, yet professional. She wore her pale gray hair pulled back into a chignon at the nape of her neck. On her, the style was elegant rather than old-fashioned. Her presence was both friendly and businesslike, just like her voice had sounded yesterday on Andrea’s answering machine.
Andrea liked and trusted her immediately. She knew her clients would, too.
With her foot elevated and resting on an ottoman in her living room, Andrea skimmed the portfolio that contained Doris’s résumé, a copy of her real-estate license and references from former employers and clients, both sellers and buyers. Andrea closed the portfolio and handed it back to Doris, who was sitting in an upholstered chair next to her. “You’ve had quite an impressive career.”
Doris smiled. “Thank you. I’ve been blessed. Not everyone gets to make a living helping other people find a special place to call home. But you must know what I mean. My sister, Betty, has told me what a wonderful difference you’ve made here in Welleswood.”
Andrea swallowed hard, remembering how close she came to introducing that scoundrel Bill Sanderson to the community. “Your sister still works at the county library, doesn’t she? Or has she retired?”
“She’s still there, and she’s as involved with the Welleswood Historical Society as ever.” Doris paused. “After my husband, Francis, died, I wanted a change. We’d lived in Barnegat for over forty years, and everywhere I went, I ran into memories. When I finally decided to sell our home last spring, I accepted Betty’s offer to live with her. I was looking forward to having her company and living somewhere new. Frankly, she’s gone from home so much, I’ve gotten a little lonely and a whole lot bored.”
She smiled. “Helping you at the agency is a real answer to my prayers, but I don’t want you to feel obligated in any way. Madge can be rather persuasive, but she’s also a bit impulsive. If you’d rather advertise for an agent to help you run your office while you recuperate, I understand, though I’m going to be completely honest and tell you I want the position very much.”
Andrea smiled. “You’re hired, but I have to be completely honest with you, too. The position is very short-term.” She paused, debated with herself whether or not to tell Doris about her upcoming chemo treatments, then decided to keep that news in the family for now. “Once I’m on my feet again—”
“I understand completely. I’m not even sure I want something long-term. Not at this stage of my life.”
“I don’t blame you. As a matter of fact, I’ve always worked alone. I’ve never had an employee before,” Andrea admitted.
“I’ll stay and work for as long or as short as you need me.”
Chuckling, Andrea shook her head. “It can’t be this easy.”
Doris smiled and shook her head. “I was thinking the same thing. I only left my message yesterday. I was hoping you’d call back, but to actually be hired within a day…”
Andrea cocked her head. “Have you got any other plans for today?”
“No, I kept the day open.”
“Good. Let’s go into the office together. I’m sure there are messages waiting. You can get familiar with the setup, though we’ll have to rearrange things a bit now that the two of us will be sharing the workspace. We’ll need to stop by Jenny’s on the way. Somehow she wound up with my briefcase, and I need to check my calendar to see about the appointments I had for today. We should be able to catch the clients before they leave. They have a wedding today.”
She pointed at the portfolio in Doris’s hands. “Bring that along, too.”
Doris stored the portfolio in her briefcase before she stood up. “Unless you have something here we can take so you can keep that foot elevated, we’ll need to stop at Betty’s, too. She’s got an old needlepoint footrest you can use.”
No argument from Doris about Andrea going to the office instead of resting at home.
No debate from Doris over the terms or length of her employment.
Only support and concern.
When He answered prayer, He could be…amazing.
Andrea could not wait to see what He had planned for the rest of the day.
By half-past noon, Andrea had a signed employment contract stored in the new folder with Doris’s name on it, along with a full copy of the portfolio and notes of conversations she had had with two of the references Doris had provided. Andrea had her foot elevated on an antique needlepoint footrest that was very old and exquisite, and she was actually quite comfortable sitting in one of the wing chairs in her office. Doris had just finished a virtual online tour of the agency’s listings after familiarizing herself with the office equipment.
“You can use my password online until you join the Tilton County Board of Realtors,” Andrea told her, “and you should see Tim Fallon on Monday to order business cards. He can take your photo, too, and use the template he made for my business cards. I’ll call him first thing to let him know you’re coming and tell him to charge it to my account as well.”
“You’re not obligated to do that,” Doris protested.
Andrea hesitated. “That may be, but it’s how we’re going to do it. Normally agents aren’t hired for a few weeks, either. Have you got a cell phone?”
Doris rolled her eyes. “A necessary evil in this business. I hate cell phones, and I love them. Yes, I’ve got one.”
“Good. You can pay for that.” Andrea glanced around the front office and sighed. “What we really need is a pair of strong arms to help rearrange the furniture. If we add one of the tables from one of the conference rooms, we can set up the work area to accommodate both of us.”
Literally, before her words could fade to an echo, her front door opened and Jamie Martin stepped inside. Through the picture window, she could see his father, Shawn, watching from across the street, but she directed her attention to the young man who approached her.
He walked with stiff determination and stopped a few feet away from her. All arms and legs, he topped six feet already. He had his mother’s dark hair and his father’s pale blue eyes—eyes that shimmered with remorse. “I came to apologize, Mrs. Hooper. I’m really, really sorry about running into you yesterday.” He glanced down at her foot and his cheeks flamed. “Is it broken?”
She drew in a deep breath. Here she was, feeling as bruised and battered as if she had been hit by a truck, and he apparently did not have more than a little scrape on his chin. But he wasn’t a truck. He wasn’t even an adult. He was just a kid. A good kid.
As much as she wanted to lash out at him and hurl every well-deserved criticism she could fathom, she did not have the heart. He looked scared. He looked penitent. He looked genuinely concerned about her well-being. “It’s a bad sprain, but the doctor said I might be better off if I had broken it. Apparently, it’s going to take a while to heal.”
Jamie swallowed so hard, Andrea could see his Adam’s apple move up and down. “I sprained my ankle once. Hurt like anything.”
