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“No.”
She gave up the pretense. “We have an apartment they need. It’s standing there empty. They’re cold and tired and hungry. They have no place else to go.”
“I’m not the one you’ll need to convince.”
She smiled. “You know, once upon a time I had a really great job. I got to dress up every day and stand in front of a camera and tell stories. I’m trying to remember why I gave that up.”
“You still get dressed up and tell stories, only different ones. And sometimes those stories change people’s lives forever.”
“Every single day I tell myself it’s the process in ministry that’s important, the way we reach decisions and learn better ways to communicate with each other and with God. And really, I believe that most of the time. Things don’t always have to go my way, just as long as everybody’s learning something.”
“This will be different.”
She nodded. “It will. Because the Church of the Covenant will never recover if things go wrong here. We can never again pretend we’re a true religious community with anything important to say if we toss these people out on their ear.”
chapter five (#ulink_5abdeeac-f81f-594f-bfc7-255090de9721)
THEY WERE FINALLY GONE. The woman Ana and the man Ethan. Shiloh hadn’t paid much attention to last names, considering that the best she had hoped for was that these strangers wouldn’t call the police. She hadn’t expected that she would need to remember anything about them.
Ana was pretty, with hair so dark it might even be black, and blue eyes so pale they were kind of startling. The man was older, but Shiloh wasn’t good at guessing people’s ages. His hair was turning gray, and Ana’s wasn’t—at least she wasn’t letting it—but he had a kind face that was easy to look at. He and Ana weren’t married. Neither wore a wedding ring.
Whoever they were, whatever their last names, they had turned over this apartment to her family as if it meant nothing. Just like that, like Cinderella’s fairy godmother helping her get ready for the ball. All in a day’s work.
And yet, as strange as everything was, now the Fowlers had a home for the night. A kitchen. A bathroom with a shower and a tub. Real beds, even if there were no sheets, but who cared? She had used her sleeping bag for so long that it felt like home to her. No matter where they had to sleep, she could crawl into her bag or, on a bad night if they were forced to sleep in the car, she could cover herself with it and pretend she was in her own bed.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Dougie stopped chewing long enough to direct his question to her. He was working on his second turkey sandwich. Shiloh was glad Ana had brought up a loaf of bread along with everything else. It was easier to portion out the turkey that way. Otherwise Dougie might have eaten it all, although if Belle had been feeling better, she would have been sure to take her own share.
“I ate,” Shiloh said, and she had. A turkey sandwich, some dressing, a dab of cranberry sauce, green beans. Everything had tasted so good, the way food had tasted in Ohio when it was cooked in a kitchen with lots of pans and plenty of time to make sure everything came out the way it was supposed to.
“Daddy ate, too, but Mama doesn’t want anything.”
Shiloh had noticed, and she knew what that meant. Belle was happiest when there was food in her mouth. If she wasn’t eating when so much good food was available, it meant she really was sick. Shiloh tried hard to find good things about her mother, but one she didn’t have to make up was that Belle rarely complained.
“Maybe she’ll feel hungrier after she takes a shower.” Shiloh could hear the water running in the bathroom. Man was helping Belle because coughing made her weak, and once she had just fainted dead away. Nobody wanted her to drown.
Dougie pointed. “I could eat another slice of that pie.”
“No, you can’t, because I’m not going to let you. We’re saving that for breakfast.”
Dougie was as used to eating strange things at the wrong time of day as she was, and he didn’t argue.
“I would like to live here,” he said through the final bite of his sandwich.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Who cares? It’s not full all that often, is it?”
“We can’t live here, so don’t get used to it.”
“Maybe they’ll let us if we clean it up real nice.”
“They said this was just for tonight, and tomorrow they’re going to help us find another place.”
“I liked camping under that bridge.”
“It’s getting too cold to camp.” Shiloh was sorry they had to talk about this, but Dougie was irrepressible. If she told him to stop, he would talk louder and longer.
“We could buy more blankets.”
“With what?”
That shut him up for a while, then he brightened. “I could get a job delivering newspapers.”
“You have to live somewhere to get a job like that.”
“We could pretend to live somewhere.”
“And when they sent you your check, the people who lived at that address would get it, not you.”
“I would stand by their mailbox and wait for the mailman.”
She gave up. “Carrier. Mail carrier. Women can deliver mail, too.”
“Then why don’t you get a job delivering mail, and you can make sure I get my check!”
She had to smile. Dougie had a funny little mind. He couldn’t sit still long enough to read a book or even a paragraph, but he was always working out solutions to problems. That was probably some kind of smart, but not the kind that would get him through school. Of all of them Dougie was the least affected by their life on the road. He didn’t like being cooped up in a car, but once he was outside, nothing made him happier than exploring new surroundings.
“When Mama gets out of the bathroom, you need to take a shower, brush your teeth and change for bed.”
“Who made you the boss?”
God. But it had been so long since Dougie had been to a church—unless they’d been forced to go by some preacher to get a free meal—she wasn’t sure he remembered or understood the concept.
“Do you see anybody else asking for the job?” she said.
Dougie was nine, not stupid. He had seen the way Man and Belle had slowly closed themselves off as the months went by, rallying when they absolutely had to and ignoring problems when they didn’t. Shiloh was the one who kept things moving, and as much as Dougie disliked that, she thought deep down he was glad somebody did.
They would never be a normal family again. She had come to terms with that months ago. The balance of power had changed, just like it did between countries after a crisis like a war or famine or an influx of refugees. She remembered that from one of her classes when she’d still gone to school. She had loved history and government, any kind of social studies. She tried to stay current with world events even now, picking up papers in trash cans to scour the headlines. But all her reading had only led to one conclusion.
After big changes, nothing was ever the same again. New leaders arose. New systems were set into place. Life went on, but it wasn’t always better. Sometimes it was much, much worse.
Belle and Man emerged, Man helping Shiloh’s mother into their bedroom. She was wearing the same nightgown she’d worn for weeks, but at least it was clean. A few days ago they had crammed everything into a Laundromat washer.
“You go next.” Shiloh pointed to the bathroom door. “You know it may be a long time before it’s easy to take a shower again. Don’t forget your pajamas.”
Dougie grumbled, but he was basically good-natured and went along with most things. She had already put his bathroom stuff in there, and after he grabbed pajamas out of his suitcase he slammed the bathroom door behind him. She was glad Belle wasn’t yet asleep.
“Your mom’s tired tonight. She’s going to nod right off,” Man said as he came out to the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.
“Dougie’s taking his shower.”
“How ’bout you?”
“I already brushed my teeth, and I washed up at the church. But I’ll take a real shower first thing in the morning. Why don’t you go next?”
He looked too exhausted to go through the motions, but he nodded.
“I’m going to change and get some sleep.” She stood and went to him, kissing his cheek. “You’ll find a job next week, Daddy.”
“You bet.”
She wanted to cry. Those were Man’s favorite words, but if she had to bet, she wouldn’t bet on good fortune. Things were only going to get worse.
In the room she and Dougie would share she changed quickly so she would be ready for bed by the time he came in. Privacy was a luxury, and by now she knew how to take advantage of it.
She left the light on because Dougie would turn it on anyway. She sat on her open sleeping bag, pulled her legs inside it and began to zip it closed around her. Satisfied, she adjusted and readjusted her pillow until she was comfortable. The bed sagged, but not nearly as much as the one she’d shared with a cousin in South Carolina.
Dougie came back sooner than she’d expected, which probably meant he hadn’t brushed his teeth very well. She had heard the shower, though, so that was something. She reminded him to turn off the light, and he grumbled but finally did after it was clear there was nothing else to do but sleep.
As hyperactive as he was during the day, her brother always fell asleep quickly. After he tried and failed to make her talk to him, he turned over, and before long she could hear his breathing slow and deepen.
Shiloh finally let herself relax. The room wasn’t completely dark. Man had left a lamp on in the living room, and light seeped under their door. She hated waking up in a panic because she couldn’t remember where she was. Man knew that, and she was pretty sure he would leave the light on all night.
She crossed her arms under her head and stared at the ceiling. Her room at home had been a bit larger than this one, but she hadn’t had to share it with Dougie. Every night before she went to sleep she pictured that room in her mind. Remembering made her feel normal, like somebody who was just on a long vacation but would return home eventually.
Belle loved pink, so when Shiloh was a baby she painted the walls of her daughter’s room a deep rose and decorated it with a fluffy pink rug, and later a vinyl chair with pink-and-lavender flowers. Belle was so proud of her accomplishment that Shiloh never found the courage to tell her she would prefer a deep soothing green. Her gymnastics friends had made fun of her for the girlie decor, but while Shiloh often criticized her mother, on that point she had remained silent.
After all Belle, who often let the world drift by without notice, had done that just for her.
When she turned twelve Shiloh bought posters to put on the walls to cover the paint. A mobile she’d created in an art class, butterflies floating on the breeze, hung by her window. She’d had an argument with her teacher, who insisted that glittering black butterflies with menacing eyes and teeth existed nowhere in nature. Shiloh had known better than to explain that they were really vampire butterflies, inspired by Twilight and vampire Edward Cullen, whom she had fallen in love with at first read.
She remembered the sounds at night. Sometimes she’d heard an owl hooting near the shed where her father kept a beat-up lawn tractor. It didn’t matter how outdated equipment might be, Man knew how to keep it running. He could fix anything, and when he finished it was better than new.
A neighbor kept cows, just close enough to the Fowler house that when night deepened Shiloh could sometimes hear them mooing. For a while, when she was Dougie’s age, she’d thought she had discovered their secret language.
She smiled now at how silly she had been at nine.
Before she’d fallen asleep in Ohio she’d often heard Belle rustling around in the kitchen, getting the coffeepot ready for the next morning. Sometimes Shiloh’s mother had hummed to herself as she worked. That comforting sound had always been followed by the quiet thump of the screen door as Belle went outside to have her final cigarette before bed.
By then Man was already asleep because he rose before dawn and was out the door by six each weekday morning.
Shiloh remembered mornings, too, the sound of the shower down the hall, the quiet way her father moved, and the sounds he made filling the thermos with coffee and milk he heated in the microwave for his long day at the factory. Even when he had a steady income, Man tried to save money. As soon as his children were born he began a college fund, and he added money with every paycheck.
Of course that was all gone now.
She tried to remember more good things, the day-to-day life she had taken for granted. Belle’s hot breakfasts. The purring of their refrigerator filled with good food she could eat anytime she wanted it. Birds nesting outside her bedroom window and the squawking of hungry hatchlings. The smell of newly mown grass.
The day Man had proudly brought home the Ford Explorer that was now their transportation and their home, not a new model by any means but one her father had quickly put in prime working order.
They had been happy, and Shiloh hadn’t even realized it. She wondered if people were only given a brief period of happiness in their lives so that when they were unhappy, they would know all too well what they were missing. Was her happiness all used up?
She turned to her side and whispered the same prayer she said every night before falling asleep.
“Dear God, if You’re listening, please get us out of this mess. I don’t think we did anything to deserve it, but if we did, I’m really sorry.”
She didn’t listen for an answer. She thought about the way spring had smelled coming through her open window, her mobile dancing in the breeze, wild roses coming into bloom.
She fell asleep at last.
chapter six (#ulink_208b1525-27d3-538b-b04a-7f8dffea7bf4)
ANALIESE RATTLED AND rambled through the church parsonage in Asheville’s historic Kenilworth neighborhood. Ninety years ago the two-story Tudor Revival had been built for a minister with a large family, so even if by modern standards the bathroom and a half were woefully inadequate, the house, which had come with antiques in place, had four bedrooms, a sunroom off an efficient kitchen, and a large living room bordering a parlor that she used as her study. The formal dining room was presided over by a mahogany table and chairs for eight that were kept dust-free by her biweekly cleaning lady, not by constant use.
From the outside the house was a storybook fantasy, with a stucco and half-timbered facade, and a steeply pitched roof with an inset shed dormer and clipped cross gable. Ethan, in full architect mode, had once explained the history and design to her. The wife of the previous minister had been a gardener and, during their years here, intricate beds of perennials and annuals had snaked along the winding sidewalk. After one look at the parsonage Analiese had declined to be in charge of the garden. So four times a year a committee descended on the yard and pruned, plucked and planted, so that now it was filled with easy-care azaleas, rhododendrons and lacy evergreens. A lawn service took care of the mowing and edging, and Analiese planted petunias around the mailbox each spring.
The house was historic and picturesque, but as a single woman who often worked fifty-plus hours a week, she yearned for a compact condo right in the heart of downtown.
Tonight the house seemed larger than ever, each square foot a reminder that she used only a tiny portion every day while families slept in parks and deep in mountain forests.
And in an apartment in the Church of the Covenant parish house.
The grandfather clock in the gabled entryway struck nine o’clock.
“I know. I get it, so stop already.” She and the clock, which had kept an eye on parsonage occupants for more than a century, had regular conversations, and she could afford to be snippy.
In the kitchen she reheated the untouched coffee she’d made half an hour before, and then made her way into her study.
The council president was on speed dial, but she took several long sips and said a quick prayer for patience before she pressed the right button and waited for him to answer.
Garrett Whelan was an attractive man in his late forties. He owned a copy and print business, Presto Printing Press, which he’d franchised in six other cities in North Carolina. His financial acumen was an asset on the board, although he was so concerned with the bottom line that he sometimes forgot the human equation.
Tonight that was not a point in his favor.
From the beginning of his association with the church, Garrett had served the congregation in various ways, beginning as a devoted advisor to the youth fellowship. He’d held that position for three years until his personal life took a downward spiral and his wife departed, taking their two adolescent children and a large chunk of the couple’s resources. Since then he had served in administrative positions until he’d worked his way up to become the president of the council.
Garrett was in the second and final year of his term now, and seasoned in the ways of the congregation. Even though she was concerned about his reaction, Analiese knew he would understand all the ramifications of the problem she was about to dump in his lap.
After he answered and they exchanged pleasantries she launched right in. “Something’s come up that the council needs to know,” she began. She gave a short explanation of the way the situation with the Fowlers had transpired.
He listened, and despite every desire to keep the conversation short, Analiese forced herself to systematically explain what she had done and why. She didn’t want unanswered questions that quickly turned into rumors.
Once she’d finished Garrett gave a low whistle. “You were in a spot, weren’t you?”
She relaxed a bit, glad he understood. “Afraid so. I just couldn’t send them out into the night when we have an empty apartment. It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and they didn’t have a thing to be thankful for.”
“You took them up the side stairwell?”
During the creation of the apartment a committee had dutifully built a covered stairwell along the outside of the building as a private entrance to the third floor. But these days a few of the steps needed repair before they were completely safe.
