Finders Keepers (8 page)

“Boompah, are you going to die?” Nick asked, taking his gnarled hand. “Are you going to get put into a box and buried in the dirt like Grace?”

“Nick!” Elizabeth whirled on her son. “That is not polite, and you—”

“Yes, Nikolai, I am,” Boompah said. “I’m going to die one day, just like everybody else. But maybe not right away. I hope Cleo Mueller’s medicine will help me live a little longer.”

“I don’t want you to die, Boompah. I would miss you.”

“I would miss you, too, Nikolai. But I’ll tell you a little secret. Come here.”

He motioned for the boy to move closer, and then he whispered in his ear. Elizabeth watched the two, her heart aching. Nick had insisted on putting Boompah on his family tree in the grandfather’s spot. He’d added Grace for the grandmother. Nothing his mother had said to explain the reality of his family situation would deter him from creating a lineage of his own desire.

The father’s spot, of course, had been filled by Zachary Chalmers. Elizabeth had told Nick that Zachary was not his father, and he never would be. The man himself was away on his vacation, thank heaven, and neither she nor Nick had seen him since the evening on the porch swing five days ago. She would give just about anything if Zachary Chalmers hadn’t stepped into her peaceful life, and she wished her son would get the man out of his fantasies.

But the boy had sketched a round face, a smile with fifty teeth, a pair of green eyes, and a thatch of black hair to match his own right in the “father” spot on the family tree. Then he had labeled it,
Zakry Chamers, my dad.

The assignment had distressed Elizabeth so much that she’d made an appointment with Nick’s teacher, a wonderfully caring woman. Unfortunately, the discussion turned quickly to the usual concerns that Nick was failing to work at grade level, he talked too much in class, and he jumped out of his chair every two or three minutes. The principal had scheduled a meeting for Nick’s special-education team, and the matter of the family tree went by the wayside.

“Really?” the boy exclaimed. “Each gate of heaven will be made out of one pearl? They must be really small gates.”

“Or really big pearls. I can hardly wait to see them.”

Nick pulled up his shirt and scratched his stomach as he pondered. “But will there be volcanoes in heaven? Will they interrupt?”

“Erupt,”
Elizabeth corrected. “Boompah doesn’t know about volcanoes in heaven, and I want you to let him rest. His back is hurting.”

“Not so much now, thanks to the pills of Cleo Mueller.” He shut his eyes. “Elizabeth, I am thinking of Ruby McCann and her groceries. How will she cook her dinner if the Corner Market is closed?”

“Folks are just going to have to drive over to Russellville for their groceries, and you need to stop worrying about it. I’ll check on Mrs. McCann. She can shop with me the next time I go.”

“But she likes only the freshest ingredients. Each morning she comes to the market for her milk. She buys every single day from me, Elizabeth. And if the produce is not just so, she gets very unhappy.”

“She’ll adjust.” Elizabeth laid her hand on the old man’s frail chest. It worried her that the doctor could find no specific cause for Boompah’s immobilizing aches and pains. “We all need to put our faith in God about this. He’ll help us through, if we just ask him.”

“I will pray,” Nick announced, and before his mother could react, he began. “Dear God, please fix Boompah’s sore back right away. Even though heaven has pearl gates, we don’t want Boompah to go there yet. We aren’t finished with him here. Mrs. McCann needs her groshies, and we need Boompah because we love him. Thy kingdom kong, thy will be done, amen.”

Nick bent over and gave the old man a loud smacking kiss on the cheek. “OK, Boompah,” he said firmly, “you don’t have to worry anymore. God is the boss. Come on, Mom, it’s time to go home.”

Elizabeth sent her son to the kitchen to fetch a glass of fresh water for the bedside table. “Boompah,” she said softly, “I think Nick is right. We need to trust God with our worries. He can care for Mrs. McCann, and he’ll watch over you.”

“And you too, Elizabeth. I believe God has a good plan for you, if you can let him take your life.”

“He has my life, Boompah.”

“Does he?” The old man’s eyes slid open, and one thin eyebrow lifted. “And you are letting God be the boss? I hear you are having a big fight with that Chalmers boy about Grace’s house.”

“Who told you that?”

“Ach. There are no secrets in Ambleside.”

“I’m just trying to do what I think Grace would have wanted, Boompah. Surely you don’t think I should give up and let that self-centered Zachary Chalmers tear down the mansion. Why would God want that?”

“We don’t understand the ways of God. When I was a little Gypsy boy living with my parents, do you think I could understand why a man like Adolph Hitler came to kill all the Roma? It seemed wrong.”

“It
was
wrong!”

“Ja, but God can make good come out of what seems very bad. His ways are not our ways. His plans are the best for us, and we should look always to his path and not our own.”

“You think I should just give up?”

“Never give up, Elizabeth.” Boompah rested a moment before speaking again. “But I believe that Chalmers boy is not an evil fellow. He thinks his plan is good, and you think your plan is good. Maybe you can pray together to see what is the plan of God.”

Elizabeth took the glass from Nick and set it near Boompah’s bed. Pray with Zachary Chalmers? That would be like asking Churchill to sit down and pray with Hitler. Hardly possible.

“We’ll come see you tomorrow, Boompah,” Nick said. “You’ll be better.”

“I hope so, Nikolai,” the old man said. “Thank you for coming.”

As Elizabeth and her son made their way down the front porch steps of Boompah’s rickety clapboard house, they watched a car pull into the driveway. Someone arriving with a meal, no doubt. She was thankful that Boompah hadn’t been forgotten during his time of need. He was always so good to take groceries to the sick or to fill baskets for the hungry at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

“Yoo-hoo!” Pearlene Fox waved as she got out of her car. “Hey there, Liz! How’s Mr. Jungemeyer this evening?”

“About the same.”

“I brought him one of my tuna casseroles.” Balancing on high heels, she crossed the gravel drive. “You know how Phil is always bragging on my cooking. I thought Mr. Jungemeyer could eat what he wanted tonight and freeze the rest. It ought to keep real good. Phil’s in the car. Go by and say hello.”

Elizabeth’s spirits sank as she took Nick’s hand and approached the idling automobile. “Hey, Phil,” she said through the window. “Nice night.”

“You and Zachary Chalmers ever get your problems ironed out?”

“Zachary is going to be my father,” Nick piped up.

“Nikolai!”

Phil laughed. “I hear the two of you nearly came to blows the other night. Well, I’ll tell you what, Liz. I like that young man. He’s a fine fellow. Got a good head on his shoulders. He’s volunteered to work with me on the plans for the town.”

“What plans?”

“Why, you know, making sure Ambleside goes in the right direction.”

“Ambleside is fine just the way it is.”

“Sure it is. One old man gets sick, and nobody can even buy a sack of groceries. The whole Corner Market shuts down, and we all have to troop over to Russellville just to keep from starving to death. I’ll tell you what, if that don’t beat all.”

“Mom, are we starving to deaf?” Nick asked.

“We’ll all manage just fine until Boompah gets better,” Elizabeth told her son. She tried to keep her voice even. “Ambleside doesn’t need another grocery store. The Corner Market carries everything a person could want.”

“Unless it’s closed.” Phil smirked as he ran his fingers through his beard. “You’ve got to admit, Liz, this town is about as efficient as one of them old butter churns you sell. Looks pretty enough, if you like antiques, but it doesn’t function all that well.”

Elizabeth felt sure he could see the steam rising from her ears. “I moved to Ambleside because I like antiques. My customers drive all the way here from the East Coast because they like antiques. If you and Zachary Chalmers change this town, I could be out of business, and so could half the stores on the square.”

“Now, that’s plumb wrong—”

“Good night, Phil. And tell Zachary Chalmers he can just rot.” Grabbing Nick’s hand, she pushed past the forsythia bush that grazed the side of the car. “Doesn’t function all that well,” she muttered. “This town is more than a hundred years old, and it’s functioning just fine. Ambleside ought to keep its character. Tear down the mansion, and then what’s next?”

“I will talk to Zachary,” Nick said as they set off down the sidewalk toward the square. “I will tell him not to make you mad.”

“You stay away from that man, Nick. He’s nothing but a bloodsucking leech taking advantage of the kindness and goodness of his aunt. He’s going to suck every bit of charm and beauty right out of this town.”

As Elizabeth rounded the corner of the park, she stopped and gripped the crusted wrought-iron rail, as if she could somehow hold down the whole town against the winds of change. Why did she feel such a need to cling to the past? Why couldn’t she let in the new? What fears kept her bound to this town, to the fragile walls she had built around herself?

Maybe Boompah was right. Maybe she hadn’t given the controls of her life to Christ any better than Zachary Chalmers had. The architect had labeled her selfish. If he was right, she had no choice but to admit her own sinful self-centeredness and submit to God’s leading. And that might mean letting go of her battle to save the mansion.

Elizabeth flew across Walnut Street in hopes she hadn’t missed Pop’s daily mail collection from the blue box outside the courthouse. Pop Creighton was as faithful as the clock that chimed the hour in the cupola atop the courthouse, and if a person was a minute late in dropping off mail, well, too bad. It would just have to wait until tomorrow.

Breathless, Elizabeth spotted the man himself striding down the sidewalk toward the box, a grin as wide as the Missouri River across his face. “Gonna beat you!” he threatened.

She made a quick sprint to the box and stuffed in her collection of bills. “Ta-dahh!” she exclaimed, throwing up her arms in a victory cheer. “You’re too late, Pop. Better move faster next time.”

“Aw, rats. It’s those long legs of yours, Miss Hayes. You catch me every time.”

With a laugh and a wave, she headed back across the sidewalk. A glance at the Corner Market told her something was amiss. The green striped awning was rolled up as Boompah had left it—but the front door stood ajar, its brass bells jingling in the breeze. A fruit cart filled with fresh cherries brightened the sidewalk. The collection of daily newspapers by the front door had been taken inside. A hand-lettered sign in Boompah’s neat calligraphy fluttered from the door handle: OPEN.

“Boompah?” she breathed. He had been bedridden and achy the night before. How could the old man have bounced back so quickly? Though worry tugged at her heart, Elizabeth raced down the sidewalk, eager to greet her friend. He would need to take it slowly, and he shouldn’t be rolling his fruit cart outside all by himself, she thought.

He’d need help unrolling the awning. He could hardly reach the handle and— Her breath caught in her throat as Zachary Chalmers stepped outside the Corner Market and stuck a sign into the fruit cart: Farm Fresh Cherries, $1.20 lb. Spotting her, he lifted a hand, and that unexpected grin spread across his face.

“Morning!” he called. “Want some cherries? Better get them now. They’re going fast.”

Elizabeth hardly glanced at the slow-moving traffic as she crossed the street. “I thought you went on vacation.”

“Missed me, did you?”

“No, I—” She let out a breath. “What are you doing here? Where’s Boompah?”

“Home in bed. I stopped by to see him on my way out of town last week before I drove down to the lake. The whole time I was at my cabin trying to relax and catch a few crappie, I kept thinking about Boompah and the empty store. You know how Mrs. McCann is about her groceries. So, I came back and opened it for him.”

“You did?”

“I did.” He shrugged. “So?”

“How do you know about Mrs. McCann’s groceries?”

“I live here, don’t I?”

“Well, I … but I didn’t think …” She could hardly speak. “You’ll need to unroll the awning. It’ll keep the store cooler inside after the sun hits those windows. Boompah doesn’t believe in air-conditioning.”

He squinted into the sun and peered at the green-striped canvas. “I guess you turn that handle there?”

“First you have to push the thingie by the door.” She went over and moved the mechanism that released the latch. “Now you turn the handle over there. Boompah needs to get this repaired. One of these days he’s going to get clob—”

The awning suddenly unrolled like a Japanese fan, the metal ribs clattering open and the canvas giving a loud
foompf.
Zachary winced as he supported the frame on one shoulder while trying to straighten the tangle of canvas with his free hand. Elizabeth leapt to his aid, pushing up to bear some of the weight.