Covered Bridge Charm (7 page)

“Mine, too. We’ll change the sign to read F
ATHER AND
S
ON
.”

Adam thought about the Lapp’s Tree Farm sign at the farm’s entrance. Happiness burgeoned within to think that all the world could see Dad’s trust in him. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. There’s just a couple of stipulations. You know this is our busy time and how hard it is to get away. So let’s wait till after Christmas to do the official paperwork.”

“Sure.” Adam nodded. “A birthday and Christmas gift rolled into one.”

“Great.” His dad pounded his back with shared enthusiasm. Adam’s eyes burned, and his chest expanded at his dad’s touch. “Let’s finish up here so we can go tell your mom.”

He hoisted another table and helped shove it onto the truck’s bed. Never had Dad seemed so cordial. Life had turned a corner.

“And the other stipulation,” Dad said as they grabbed the last table. “Quit chasing that Blosser woman. I don’t want her doing anything to upset our family business. Surely you understand that now.
Father and Son.
It’s gonna be great.”

A
bsentmindedly, Carly watered a tiny basil herb and set the clay pot back on the window sill. In the early dawn, a rufous hummingbird danced in the spray of neighbor Imogene’s hose, then darted to her zinnias, causing Carly to do a double take. She’d thought they’d all have migrated south by now.

Cocoa, having received his fresh alfalfa hay, sprinted from the hall to the kitchen and back. All around her, nature awakened, but Carly felt like crawling back beneath her yellow quilt, weary from staying up late to finish her proposal for the Sweet Life board. She topped her coffee, turned away from the window, and shuffled across the wood floor to the kitchen table.

It held one potted purple moth orchid, one granola bar wrapper topped with an apple core, an empty raisin box, and six copies of her proposal neatly stapled and stacked. Taking a deep draught of coffee, she imagined herself standing in front of the four-man, one-woman board and reciting her spiel.

Handwritten in neat strokes, the proposal outlined everything Sweet Life would need to start and operate a volunteer program. But she’d worked into the wee hours trying to create a working title and a slogan. And gotten nothing. She’d have to pen Aunt Fannie’s suggestion of “Volunteers Make Each Day Brighter.” Only her gut told her it wasn’t right.

The board held meetings on Monday evenings, but a conflict had shifted this one to early morning. She’d gotten the call Sunday afternoon while weeding her coneflowers. A task she’d hoped would stimulate her creative-writing juices. At first, she’d thought Simon had changed the time purposefully to shorten her preparation or in hopes she’d arrive late. But the theme of Sunday’s sermon had popped into her mind: Turn the other cheek. Bishop Abe Kauffman preached Matthew 5 at least twice a year to remind his flock they were peacemakers. For Carly’s sake, it should be more frequent.

Cocoa followed her into the bathroom and nestled between her feet. It was their morning ritual of rabbit-human affection. Normally it was the perfect send-off to start her day. But one glance in the mirror, and she forgot about Cocoa altogether. Of all mornings to look like a wild woman. Meticulously she smoothed every hair. Auntie Fannie always said every little bit helped, and she needed a lot of help this morning…
every little bit she could muster,
she thought poking bobby pins here and there. Then it hit her.

Bolting, Carly fled for the kitchen, causing Cocoa to squeak in terror. “Sorry, Sweetie.” She plopped into a chair and picked up her pen.
Everybody can do one little thing to stamp out loneliness.
The perfect slogan. It wasn’t trite or derogatory. Didn’t allude to anything that would make Simon look bad in front of his board members. It spoke what was on her heart. It was the goal of her campaign.

She tapped her pen, looking at the proposal’s blank title space, then neatly penned,
Every Little Bit Helps: Recruiting Volunteers.
It was so simple. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?

Sooner! She glanced at the clock, scooped everything into a bag, kissed Cocoa, and hurried outside to her bike rack.

“Morning, Imogene.”

The older woman waved from her white plastic lawn chair. “Morning. You’re off early. Want me to water for you?”

“Oh, could you? I’m in a rush.”

“I can see. But aren’t you forgetting something?”

Carly checked. She had her proposal, her sweater, and her purse. “I don’t think so. Why?”

Imogene tapped her head.

Following suit, Carly tentatively touched her own head, always careful not to displace her head covering. Only, her head was bare! “Oh, thank you!” With time slipping away, she darted back into the cottage.

Carly would be late unless she took the shortcut through Sankey Park across Weddle Bridge. But Long Street would be busy with early morning traffic, so she’d have to keep to the sidewalk, which could be treacherous with its bumps and cracks. Grabbing a stick for the dog and waving at Imogene, she peddled decorously down Hawthorne Street. But as soon as she was out of Imogene’s sight, she hit the hill and picked up speed. Too much speed. A car was turning into Sankey Park, blocking the road.

Whipping the handlebars and skidding her tires, she had no choice but to head for the deep ditch with the wild blackberry bushes. Again. “Oh, no!” She held tight, but her wheels slid out from under her and she landed in a thorny tangle. “Ouch.”

A man jumped out of the car and ran to the ditch. “You all right?”

“Jah, I think so.”

“Wait there.”

He ran to his car for gloves and returned to help her out of the ditch. He set the bike upright. “Don’t you have any brakes?”

Ouch. She brushed at her skirt. “I was late and didn’t see you until it was too late.”

“I wasn’t paying attention, either. Can I take you someplace?”

“No. Thanks. I just live up the hill.”

She finally convinced him to go but had no intentions of returning home. She kicked the tires and thought the bike would still get her to work. She pulled her skirt loose where it was pinned to her stockings.
Ouch!
Ignoring the pain in her palms, she placed her bike back on the path. Stickers pierced her back. Ugh! She was too old for this. With a groan, she retrieved the bag and stick and set off for the bridge. From past experience, she knew her tires would be flat before she reached Sweet Life if she didn’t work fast.

Today she’d sacrifice her rims, if need be. It took several tries before her skirt was situated so that her bottom didn’t feel like a pincushion. Commiserating that Martha would be on her case about her ruined stockings, she almost forgot to have her stick ready. The old dog ran too close, and she jerked the handlebars away and tossed the stick clumsily in the other direction. The dog loped off, snatched the stick, and looked back at her with satisfaction.

As she continued, a dull pain throbbed in her neck. One of her tires soon deflated and riding grew more difficult. By the time she’d reached the center, her neck was extremely painful. She parked outside the maintenance man’s shop and knocked on the door.

“Hey, Carly.”

“Morning, Rocco. I need your help.”

She felt his gaze, starting at her head and quickly assessing down to her black oxfords. Without condemnation, which is why she adored him, he knelt to examine the bike. “One tire and a rim. I have ’em in stock for you. Just don’t forget to replace ’em again.”

“I will. Thanks.” Good it was payday. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Today’s your big meeting with the high ups?”

She nodded, retrieving her bag and purse from the bike’s basket. “Are you a praying man?”

“Yep.” He pulled a chain with a crucifix out from beneath his shirt and kissed it.

“Then pray for me.” Rocco always gave her a listening ear.

“I will. Getting volunteers is a good idea. But we also need funds. This place is falling down, and one of these days I won’t be able to put it back together again.”

“If anybody can, though, it’s you. Every little bit helps. That’s my slogan.”

“I like it. But you’d better head to the lady’s room and fix yourself before your meeting.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ll try.”

Rubbing her neck, she was just coming out of the public bathroom when she saw Adam striding toward her.

“Hey, Carly. You’re in early.”

“Today’s the board meeting. What about you?”

“It is?” He sighed. “I was returning the tables and chairs we rented for the party. Since I was nearby, I wanted to see Uncle Si. But if he’s busy, it can wait till Thursday.”

She nodded and turned to go.

“Uh, Carly?”

She paused. “Jah?”

“Can you follow me?”

“Now?”

“Believe me, you’ll want to take the time.”

Curious, she followed him around the corner of the building.

His eyes held concern. “You fell again, didn’t you?”

She dropped her hand from her neck. “Jah, but I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. There’s grass in the back of your hair and stickers on the back of your dress.”

“Oh?”

His mouth twitched with amusement. “Turn around. Let me help.”

She couldn’t go into her meeting looking like she’d slept in a barn. “Fine.” She stood still as he fiddled with her hair and even replaced a bobby pin.

“You know what you’re doing?”

“I have six sisters. Okay, don’t take it personal, but I’m going after the stickers on your dress now. Just trying to help, you know. Clean up another one of your messes.”

Carly felt her cheeks burn yet appreciated his humorous attempt at distraction. She felt a couple pats and pressed her eyes closed in humiliation. “Hurry, please.”

“There. Good as new.”

“Thanks. I gotta go.”

“Good luck,” he called as she hurried away.

Not wanting to meet his gaze, she rounded the corner and almost ran into Miranda—the voluntary service caregiver, who’d taken the trash outside.

When Adam came around the corner right behind her, the other caregiver’s eyes widened.

“See you gals.” Adam winked at Carly.

She ignored him and hurried inside, meaning to take a shortcut through the assisted-living facility to Simon’s office. The wheeled garbage container rattled behind her, and she felt a tug on her arm.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Carly replied. “He was just helping me with something.”

“Are you guys a thing?” Miranda probed.

“No,” Carly said too quickly. “We’ll talk later.”

Simon’s secretary motioned Carly toward his office. Breathing a prayer, she opened the door and closed it behind her. They hadn’t started the meeting. Rather, they formed a semicircle around his desk, eating doughnuts and drinking coffee. Mrs. Nissley, the other female present, patted the chair next to her. With a grateful nod, Carly slipped into it, placing her bag on the floor beside her.

“We’re still trying to wake up,” Mrs. Nissley explained. “Have a doughnut and some coffee?”

“No coffee, but maybe a doughnut.” Carly met Simon’s smug gaze from across his desk as she placed a powdered doughnut on a napkin and returned to her seat. She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth was until she took a bite and choked. She coughed and tried to suppress it by snatching another napkin and pressing it to her mouth. Her eyes watered. Finally she shot up and darted from the room. She guessed the walls were paper thin because Simon’s secretary pressed a paper cup into her hand as she rushed to the bathroom across the hall.

“Oh, Lord,” she prayed. “Why is this so hard?” After several long minutes, she had the choking under control. Still fervently praying, she returned to Simon’s office.

“Are you all right, Miss Blosser?” Simon asked.

“Jah, fine.”

“Good. Let me introduce the board.”

She concentrated on each unfamiliar name and face—for they all attended Simon’s church. Mr. Coblentz, a heavy-set man wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, winked at her. Mr. Moseman, a more scholarly type, nodded his head and folded his hands. Frank Ebersole lifted a sugar-coated finger in acknowledgment.