Covered Bridge Charm (19 page)

“Hardly.” But she could solve one mystery right away. “Miranda asked me if you were off limits.”

“So? Am I?”

“You weren’t when she asked,” she replied softly, embarrassed by the hope that strained her voice.

“You don’t need to worry about her. Anyway, right now I’m too busy to think about anything but work. That’s one reason I stopped by. Simon’s postponing the woodworking classes until after Christmas.”

Her heart sank to think she wouldn’t be seeing him around the center, but it sang joyfully to hear him downplay Miranda. “At least you have Sundays off. Don’t most tree farms stay open on weekends?”

“Jah, but we make up the sales by our good name.”

“Everybody knows Mennonites are hard workers.” Amusingly, she referred to an old Mennonite saying.

“Jah, but I meant the Lapp name. Our farm’s been around for several generations. Our customers know we don’t sell diseased trees that prematurely shed needles. Like some farmers.”

“What do you do with the bad ones?”

“We don’t tag them and later toss them on a burn pile.”

“You roast hotdogs and have a party?”

“No, but that sounds fun.” He studied her carefully. “Dad offered me a partnership in the business. Said after Christmas, he’s even changing the sign out front.”

“Adam! That’s wonderful.”

“I know. If only he wasn’t using it to control… some other things.”

“Oh,” she said with sympathy. “You’ll work it out.”

His expression softened. “So if you need anything, there’s still Sundays.”

“I’m stuck regarding Martha’s old boyfriend. Did you talk to your cousin?”

“Jah. But he didn’t come up with any leads for us.”

Carly voiced a concern that had been troubling her. “How can somebody forget a boyfriend’s last name? Especially when she only had two boyfriends. James and John.”

“That you know of. Maybe she intentionally blocked him out after she married John.”

“Maybe. I guess we’re at a dead end. Now Dot has me worried, too.” She didn’t want to tell him about her own feverish nightmare.

“Maybe the volunteer program will help.”

She nodded and grew reflective.

After a moment, Adam stood. “I should go.”

She followed him to the door where he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Just keep being you, and everything will work out fine.”

“Thanks.”

“Remember to call if you need me.” He teased, “I can always send one of my sisters.”

She stood at the door and waved as he backed out of the drive.

Afterward, she found it hard to get back into her novel. Instead she rehashed their conversation. When she came to the part about the volunteers, she realized God was making it clear by verifying His will three times. First Auntie encouraged her to get involved in the program, then the sermon was on forgiveness. Now Adam brought up the volunteer program. Frustrated, Carly knew what she had to do.

The black dog bared his teeth but, instead of picking up momentum, seemed to be falling back. A thunder clap rent the air just as Carly sent the stick flying. It leapt and caught it midair, but when it landed, its hind legs collapsed and it sank to the ground panting. Skidding her bike to a stop, Carly stared at the dog. It wasn’t attempting to rise. Another thunder clap cracked. But the dog didn’t move. Oh, no. She saw something new in its eyes. Fear? Pain? Lowering her kickstand, she ventured a few steps closer. “Nice dog. Good doggie.” She needed to get it back on its feet.

He lay growling, but more of a warning growl than a vicious one. “This exercise is getting too strenuous for an old pup like you.” She went back to her bike and got her sandwich. Then she slowly advanced. It gave another warning growl, then sniffed the air. She stopped and lay it on the ground, hurrying back to her bike. She rode several yards then stopped to watch. It dropped the stick, wobbled to its feet and inhaled the meat in one swallow. Then it retrieved its stick, gave her a triumphant look and limped slowly back to its porch.

“You did good,” she called, then muttered, “Poor thing. At least it’s back to its porch with the storm coming.” Gazing at the black sky, she peddled harder and wondered if in the future she should poke the stick through some meat before she tossed it. But this fragile relationship had started with her tossing him her lunch. She’d be foolish to get back in that routine. Poor old dog. Still, it looked well fed even if she’d never seen any interaction between the dog and its master.

As she reached the center, it began to rain, and she walked her bike under a covered sidewalk past the maintenance room, stopping to chat with Rocco.

He grinned. “I brought two rain jackets today. One for me and one for you. I see you came unprepared.”

He was right. Her wool coat wasn’t waterproof. “Thanks. You’re a godsend.”

He tossed an unopened bag containing the raincoat into her bike basket. “I know how to take care of my girls.”

“How’s your wife and your daughter?”

“Very good. My Trish, she loves school this year. And Dana is happy with her housecleaning jobs. She cooks me a fine meal every night, and I’m happy.” Then his face turned stern. “Except not so much today. The laundry room’s leaking again. Something always leaks around here when it rains. I’ll be busy.”

“But not wet,” she joked. “That’s good to hear about your family. But this rain will probably affect the residents’ moods. I’d better go.”

“Make it a good day,” he called.

“You, too, Rocco.”

Placing her bike on the rack, she grabbed her lunch and rain jacket, punched the code in the double glass doors, and hurried inside.

Besides the usual “Hello! Hello!” a gravelly voice greeted her. “Wondered if you’d get caught in the rain.”

“Oh! You scared me. How’s Magnificent this morning?”

“She’s sad it’s raining. I came to cheer her.” Dot whispered, “She’s jealous since I got Birdie, so I visit her as much as I remember.” She looked contrite. “Sometimes I forget. What are you carrying?” Dot trailed after Carly as she took her supplies to the staff room. She placed her apple in the refrigerator and hung up her coat. “You missed it. We had gravy and biscuits this morning for breakfast.”

Knowing they hadn’t had breakfast yet, Carly smiled. “Bet that was yummy.”

Dot got a faraway look. “Yes, Crusher’s favorite. Where’d he go anyway? You seen him?” Holding up the packaged bag, Carly tried to divert her attention. “Rocco gave me this rain jacket. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Did you know I ride my bike to work? You’d like it. It’s pink with a wicker basket.”

Dot tried to assimilate all this new data. “I missed you.”

Carly loved the moments when Dot spoke with clarity. “I was sick.”

“I know. Martha and I prayed for you.”

Her eyes stung. “You did? I guess God answered, because here I am.”

Thunder shook the building, and Carly noticed the wary glances of those gathering for breakfast. Dot moved to the glass patio door and peered at the downpour. She started to sing in an eerie voice: “Water in the gutter. Water in the street. Water, water, water, wetting people’s feet.”

Carly sighed. It was better than “Baa Baa Black Sheep,” but she wished Dot sang Christian refrains instead and wondered why she didn’t.

She approached Sherie at the receptionist’s desk with a smile. “Good morning. Looks like everything’s back to normal.”

“Now that you’re here. How’s your arm?”

Involuntarily crossing her arms to touch them, she replied, “Oh fine. Healing nicely now.”

“Probably wasn’t smart to get all wet. Everybody worries about you. Some of the residents prayed for you at mealtime.”

She rubbed her wet sleeves and fought back her emotions. “I heard. That’s special.” She hesitated briefly, then said, “I’m ready to make those calls for Every Little Bit Helps.”

Sherie’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “That’s awesome.” She reached into a cubby and pulled out a list of names and numbers along with the script. “And here’s a list of duties and responsibilities. Would you mind looking it over? I started with your ideas and added some things.”

“Sure.” She glanced at the blackboard of events. “So today’s table games?” They usually played checkers and dominoes. Same old thing. “I can’t wait until we get those volunteers and get some fun events planned.”

“Me, too. Thanks for helping, Carly.”

“Jah. You’re welcome. I owe you an apology.”

“No, you don’t. I get it.”

Carly nodded with relief, feeling good inside and wishing it hadn’t taken so long to push aside her resentment.

Miranda came down the hall, breathless. She whispered, “Mr. Gadget fell. He’s back in his wheelchair, and I think he’s fine.”

Sherie replied, “I’ll call the nurse. After she checks him out, I’ll call the family. Meanwhile, Miranda, you can finish your rounds. And Carly, you can help the breakfast staff.”

Several thunderclaps drowned out further instructions. Placing the volunteer paperwork in her cubby and starting toward the kitchen, Carly knew it was going to be a long day. Behind her she heard Dot’s soft refrain: “Water in the gutter, water in the street. Water, water, water wetting people’s feet. See how it pours. I’m glad we’re indoors.”

After breakfast Carly took the newspaper to Martha’s room and found her sitting in her flowered recliner, reaching for her inhaler. High humidity always worsened her asthma. Normally all medications were locked in the residents’ drawers, but when Martha’s family admitted her, they made it clear that while the caregivers could monitor the preventative inhaler, Martha would administer her own emergency inhaler until either they or the staff thought she was unable to use it correctly. A special disclaimer clause had been written into her contract.

She went to the side table, which held an old-fashioned lamp, a tiny devotional book, a Bible, a political magazine, a tissue box, and a nebulizer.

“How about a breathing treatment instead?”

“Good.” Martha nodded.

Carly prepared the nebulizer and handed Martha the mask. Then she sat down beside her and started to read from the
New Era.
“‘The annual geranium giveaway was a success. Every year geraniums from the city’s median strip are pulled, and the geraniums are given to people who would like them from 1:00 to 3:00 p.m. while supplies last. All the geraniums were given away.’”

Martha pulled her breathing mask aside, “I did that once. They didn’t last long.”

Continuing, Carly read: “Pumpkin Festival—”

Martha waved her hand, to skip to something else. Then Carly got a sudden hunch. “Summer steelhead return from March through October with peaks of the run occurring during late spring and early February. There are tales of smallmouth bass lurking in the lower Calapooia, and largemouth can be found in ponds throughout the west end of the county.” She lay the paper on her lap and got up to turn off Martha’s sputtering nebulizer. “You like fishing?”

“Jah. John and I used to go below the dam at Foster Lake. He’d take the boys off the Pleasant Valley Bridge. Wonder if any of the boys will come home for my birthday.”

Trying to redirect the conversation, Carly asked, “Did your dad ever take you?”

“No,” Martha made a face. “I had too many brothers. Us girls had to stay home with Mom.”

“You lived close to the river, didn’t you?”

“Well, Jah.” Then her eyes lit with amusement. “James Irish tried to teach me to bait a hook. But I wasn’t having any part of that. But he did teach me how to fish.”