Covered Bridge Charm
Read Covered Bridge Charm Online
Authors: Dianne; Christner
© 2016 by Dianne Christner
Print ISBN 978-1-63058-897-7
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63058-901-1
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63058-900-4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
For more information about Dianne Christner, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address:
www.diannechristner.net
The author is represented by and this book is published in association with the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd.,
www.wordserveliterary.com
.
Cover design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,
www.shilohrunpress.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Table of Contents
Sweet Home, Oregon
C
arly Blosser’s curvaceous body lifted and sailed airborne for a full two seconds. She whipped the handlebars in both directions, causing her tires to crunch against asphalt and her round rump to smack the bike’s pink seat.
The ribbons of her prayer cap streamed, and her skirt flapped, revealing too much black stocking as she picked up speed going downhill from her small cottage on Hawthorne to the back entrance of Sankey Park. Taking a shortcut across Ames Creek and Sweet Home’s Weddle Bridge, the washboard turf of the historic covered bridge jarred her humming where Dot’s lyrics had hitched an unwelcome ride.
Poor demented Dot. Eighty-two and stuck on lamb nursery rhymes that unintentionally drove a cruel spike into Carly’s heart because she felt like she was a black sheep in her Conservative Mennonite flock.
With years of practice, she pushed back her regrets and loneliness. Today her thoughts fixed on something more crucial. She churned her legs and picked up speed on Long Street where, in spite of an errant blond curl, a shadow caught her vision. She leaned over the handlebars and groped inside her basket as the shadow materialized into a black dog, snarling and baring its fangs.
Her tires skidded and met flat surface. A practiced whip to the left straightened them. Just in the nick of time, she hurled the dog’s decoy.
It sank its teeth into the flying object. A glance over her shoulder caught the animal limping away with its prize, and she turned her gaze back to the road’s shoulder.
The first time, she’d been caught unawares and tossed the attacker her entire sack lunch. After that, they’d come to terms—a fat stick from a woodpile her brother kept stocked behind her cottage. The dog had grown old now, and that’s exactly why she humored it.
Honk! Honk!
She acknowledged the truck’s horn with a wave. Adam Lapp, a godsend and burr rolled into one masculine package, and probably the only Lapp who didn’t hold a grudge against her for spurning one of their relatives. Too bad his uncle Simon wasn’t more like him.
Simon Lapp was director of the Sweet Life Retirement Center where Carly worked as a caregiver. The center was owned and operated by Mennonites of varying sects. Members of the Old Holley Conservative Mennonite Fellowship Church, which Carly attended, drove plain cars and used electricity and some modern conveniences. The women wore white head coverings. About six of the women wore strings on their coverings, and Carly was one of them.
Simon’s wife didn’t wear a head covering because he attended a more liberal Mennonite church, and they didn’t wear plain clothing either. But doctrinal issues hadn’t caused the wedge between Simon and Carly. Her very presence reminded him of his lost son and his personal shortcomings. As a result, he instinctively put the kibosh on her ideas. But it didn’t stop her from voicing her opinions.
Carly met Simon’s gaze with earnest appeal. “As the residents age, they need more care.”
He blinked jaded brown eyes. “These things run in cycles. Right now our average resident is nearing ninety. But when the older ones pass on, a younger bunch moves in. Evens out in the end.”
Indignation stiffened Carly’s shoulders. These were lives, not to be replaced like farmed trout. She clutched her armrests to keep from swatting his patronizing smile.
“Now I’ve offended you. Look Carly, the elderly decline. That’s life. We try to afford them their dignity, but there’s only so much we can do. According to state requirements, we’re well within the normal range of caregivers.”
After careful research, she was also informed. “Two is a bare minimum. Did you know Dot Miller fell yesterday?”
He tapped some paperwork. “Yes, I have the report. But remember, this is an assisted-living facility, not a nursing home. There’ll be some accidents.” He raised a condescending brow. “Why, I heard you even took a spill the other day.”
She ignored the disparaging remark, long past defending her lifestyle. The residents’ welfare was the issue at hand. “That’s my point. Volunteers could fill the gap. They’d provide more hands and eyes to prevent accidents.”
“I agree. And we’ve already implemented that idea with our two V. S. workers.”
Carly frowned at his reference to the Mennonite Voluntary Service women who served as regular caregivers, not additional help. “I work with Miranda. She’s a hard worker.” She wasn’t as familiar with the woman who worked the night shift. “But that’s not the kind of volunteers I mean.”
“And there’s Adam in woodworking and Betty in exercise.”
“Yes, but they’re in independent living. What about assisted living?”
“There’s the bingo lady.” His finger whipped the air. “And what’s her name, who delivers snacks?”
Loneliness was a silent killer that stalked many of the elderly. Carly identified with loneliness, and it made her more determined. “I picture volunteers who read and write letters.” Her voice cracked, “Hold their hands. And the more hands—”
“I get the concept,” he said, his voice hardened with impatience. “Realistically, families need to pick up the slack. It’s more important for me to focus on keeping the electricity running. Hiring a new dietician.” He glanced at the wall clock. “Not to mention we need a new roof, and there’s a leak in the laundry room—”
A scratch at the door stole their attention.
It creaked open a few inches, and a hairbrush poked through the crack. Next an arm appeared, and soon a head popped into view. Carly bit back a smile at the intruder’s cockeyed hairdo, partly bound in curlers with a tangle of purple clips.
The aged face lit up. “Am I late for my appointment?”
Si buzzed the receptionist. “Get somebody from the hair salon over here pronto.” Meanwhile, he ushered the intruder to an adjoining waiting room and returned.
“Who was that?” Carly asked.
“Don’t worry. She’s not an escapee. The salon started taking outside customers.” He scooted his chair into place. “Now where were we?”
She looked away from his amused expression and lifted her gaze over his peppered hair to the ’80s popcorn ceiling. “It won’t cost you anything. And you won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll recruit all the volunteers.”
His eyes widened in terror. “Whoa.” He shook his head. “Hold off on that idea. You’d need the board’s approval.”
Her hope burgeoned. “When can I meet them? I have other ideas, too.”
He pointed at the clock. “Which must wait since I have to prepare for a meeting.”
With no intention of leaving without his support, Carly watched him shift his attention to an open file. She tucked a strand of hair beneath her prayer cap and cleared her throat. “When is the next board meeting?”
Si slapped it closed. “Complaints and wispy dreams won’t stop the aging process. You need to let this go.” For the first time, she felt a spark of sympathy for him. Something in his tone hinted at a purposefully hardened heart, one that hadn’t always been that way. She studied him carefully, surprised when he finally relented. “Next time, at least bring a detailed, viable plan.”
She rose, with lips itching to thank his cheek. “When’s next time?”
Doing his name justice, he exhaled deeply. “Next Monday. But don’t put the buggy in front of the horse.”
“I won’t.”
He spun his chair away and punched the buttons on his cell phone. His rude dismissal didn’t matter. With her toe in, the door would soon be dangling by its hinges because the safety and well being of Sweet Life’s elderly depended on her success. She had one shot, with only a week to prepare.
