Saturday Morning (46 page)

“Fine.”

“I am calling a meeting of all those parties still interested in purchasing Casa de Jesús.” She paused. “Okay, back up and change ‘still interested’ to ‘who have shown interest.’”

Clarice nodded.

Peter was nodding by the time Hope had composed her idea for the letter. “This is far out, but what I’ve noticed is that God works way outside the box, and perhaps He has given you an outside-the-box idea. Let me see if I have this clear. The potential buyers are to bring any properties they have access to that might work for your new place to the table along with their offers on this place?” She nodded as he continued. “And be prepared to be creative.”

“Yes, that last is most important.”

“Do you have a date in mind?”

“Yes, but before I tell you, do you think that if this deal goes through, the building department will allow us to stay here until we can complete the transfer?”

“All we can do is try.”

“You’re looking a bit shell-shocked, my friend.” Roger leaned back in his chair, arms across his chest, but the grin said he was enjoying Peter’s confusion. “Now you know how I’ve felt all day.”

“If you two are done commiserating, I say we do this thing in two weeks. I want it all done before Christmas.”

“Two weeks!” Roger and Peter wore the same looks of astonishment and snapped out the same words.

Hope shook her head. “You know Big Dad delights in last-minute answers. Far as I can see, we are about down to last-minute. I do not want to see a Condemned sign on the barred door. So the meeting is scheduled for the fifteenth. You want it here or at your office?”

“My office.”

“You are still shaking your head. See now, all you have to do is pretty that letter up with all your legalese and send it out.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“You want me to type this up?” Clarice held up her pad.

“Yes, please. I’ll take it with me.”

“Hard copy and disc?”

“Yes.” When Clarice left, Peter turned to Hope. “You have a real jewel there.”

“And the beauty of it, she wants to stay on.”

A short time later, after Peter left with the promise to have this in the hands of the potential buyers by the morning, Hope drank half a glass of water without stopping. “I’m calling the Girl Squad for another prayer session. You have anything you want covered?”

“Just the usual. I’ll be ready in about ten minutes for a drive to look at other areas.” Roger slapped his thigh. “Come on Adolph, let’s get you a quick run.”

Hope dialed Peter’s number. “Give Peter a message for me, please, Wendy. Tell him to add a P.S. to the letter. ‘Be prepared to finalize a deal at that time.’” Wendy repeated back what Hope had said. “That’s right, thanks.”

“Hey, Clarice, do you know how to send out group messages to our e-mail group? I need to ask them all to pray for us for the next two weeks, that Big Dad will have His way.”

“That’s all you want to say?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re not going to tell them what’s going on?’

“Nope. Tell Julia we’ll be back in time for the training session tonight. I don’t have anything else on the calendar, do I?”

“No, nothing written down.”

“I’m going to clue Celia in, and then we’re out of here. Oh, and call Andy and Julia to see if they can meet here tomorrow morning.”

“I will.”

“So what do you think?” Hope asked Celia after explaining what had gone on.

“I think Big Dad come through on this one. And when He does, I don’t never doubt again.”

Hope puffed out her cheeks on an exhale. “Me either. Pray hard.”

Andy stared at the calendar she’d just flipped over. December 1. What a difference a week could make. Martin’s entire attitude had changed, all because he’d stopped taking the pain pills. Well, that probably wasn’t the only reason. It might have had a little something to do with changes she’d made as well—changes she hadn’t been capable of making until the Girl Squad had prayed for her.

First, she stopped feeling sorry for herself. So what that it had been a lousy Thanksgiving? Thanksgiving was just a day. Martin was her life.

The physical therapist had come the day after Thanksgiving and started Martin on an exercise program.

Friday, Andy called Martin’s doctor, told him he’d stopped taking the pain pills, and asked if he could attend church on Sunday. Because of the physical therapist’s report, he agreed.

Just getting out of the house had given Andy a much-needed lift. Having Martin by her side boosted her even higher.

Outside J House, before the service, Martin shook hands and personally thanked Hope, Roger, Clarice, and Julia for the help and support they’d given him and Andy these last three weeks. On the way in, he discreetly put a check in the donation box, then led her to seats near the front and sat down next to Celia.

Andy introduced him to Celia, and before the service started, she overheard Martin ask Celia about her long fingernails. How could she function with them? Celia laughed and said, “All the better to scratch yourself with,” and demonstrated by poking a nail into her neon-blue hair and scratching her scalp. Andy gently elbowed Martin. She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or glad he’d struck up a conversation with a stranger. Celia didn’t seem the least bit offended, but Andy knew Celia had seen and heard it all. Besides, anyone who dressed like Celia was just begging for attention. And Martin had given it to her.

Andy was glad to see Hope come to the lectern. Not for the first time, she thought Hope didn’t look like any pastor she’d ever seen before with her orangy hair, her slightly exotic features, and now her protruding belly. Hope reminded the congregation that fear was not of God, that worry was not of God, and … Andy couldn’t remember the third point, but the main point had been, “Our loving duty is to praise Him for everything. The good, the bad, everything.”

That afternoon Andy sat down at her computer and waited for the messages to download. As much as she’d enjoyed Hope’s sermon, she took issue with praising God for everything that came by. She could praise Him for healing Martin, but not for Martin’s getting sick. She could praise Him for giving her such wonderful children, but not for the fog and weather that had kept her kids away. She could praise Him for the abundance in her life, but not for Martin’s being a workaholic.

The end of the sermon echoed in her ears. “If you don’t know how to praise Him, you must learn.” A children’s song that she’d learned long ago danced through her head. She sang the words. “Praise Him, praise Him, all ye little children, God is love, God is love.” Maybe if she sang the words long enough, she would be able to accept them.

“Did you say something?” Martin called from the bottom of the stairs. He’d been in the living room all afternoon working on his computer,
trying to catch up. Earlier in the week, his secretary had brought over some paperwork for him to go through, and later today his boss would be making a visit.

“I was just singing,” she called back. Then in a whisper she added, “Thank You, Father, that Martin is feeling better.” It was easy to praise the positive things. “Do you need anything?”

“No. I’m just going to take Fluffy out for a walk. He really wants to see those parrots, and so do I.”

“Okay,” she called back, then in a whisper, “Thank You for giving us Fluffy.” At length, she opened her e-mail program. It wasn’t just any e-mail program. This one was a fancy one that let her add smiley faces, animal pictures, and almost any kind of clip art. But best of all, she could make her own e-mail stationery. Consequently, every e-mail she sent had a soft-focus background picture of Lavender Meadows or closeups of lavender stems or bouquets of lavender.

The first few e-mails were from her Medford friends, filling her in on their Thanksgivings. A couple were spam, which she blocked so they couldn’t e-mail her again. Like it would really do any good; for every one she blocked, two came in its place. She often thought she would like to meet the people who sent her those porno e-mails and give them a piece of her mind.

She clicked on an e-mail from her mom. There wasn’t any message, but the paperclip in the corner told her there was an attachment. She clicked on that and waited.

The attachment hadn’t even finished opening when the phone rang. Andy could see by the LED display that it was her mother.

“Hi, Mom. What a coincidence. I’m just this second downloading the picture you sent. What’s up?” The picture came onto the screen. It looked to be a plot of land. They talked in general about how Martin was, their Thanksgivings, and the kids. “What’s this picture?” she asked at the first conversation break.

“It’s the McCauley farm. They’re moving to Ohio to take care of their aging parents. Fred McCauley walked over this morning and told me that he wanted to check with us before he listed the farm with a Realtor. He thought we might be interested in buying it so we could expand.”

Andy nearly dropped the phone. Of course she’d thought about expanding Lavender Meadows, but not beyond the few unplanted acres they had left, since that was all they had. Just last week, however, Shari had put together some projections for Lavender Meadows’ growth. Andy hadn’t had time to study them yet, but she had printed them out and left them in her ever-growing pile of to-dos.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I’d call you.”

“How many acres is it?”

“Thirty.”

Andy was afraid to ask how much. She knew what property was going for in and around Lavender Meadows, so she knew approximately what the land was worth. “We don’t have any money to buy it, Mom. We’d have to take out a loan for the down and …

“No, we wouldn’t,” her mother interrupted. “He said he doesn’t need a down, that he’d be willing to carry the paper himself for fifteen years.”

“How much is he asking?”

“One hundred thousand.”

“That’s crazy. It’s worth a lot more than that.”

“Yes, it is, but he’s willing to sell it to you for that price, because most of the land isn’t buildable and because he doesn’t want anybody tearing down the old house. He remembers when you rallied to save the Jessop place and thought maybe you’d do the same for his old family home.” Alice rattled off the rest of the details, and when she
finished, she said, “I know that this isn’t the best time to lay this on you, honey, but I didn’t have any choice.”

Andy put her hand over her mouth and stared at the picture on her screen. The price and the terms were beyond belief. Surely, the property was worth two or three times that amount, even though they couldn’t use it for housing construction. She remembered the house. It had been built in the 1880s. It was a rare old gem, and it would indeed be tragic to lose it to some tract-house developer.

“Mom, do you know what having that thirty acres would mean? We could more than double our fields.”

“It would also mean we’d have to hire more people, not just to plant the lavender, but to care for it, to harvest it, and to ship the final products. One thing, though, that old house is real close to the main road. We could spruce it up a bit inside and outside and use it as a retail store.”

Andy gasped. Flashes of varying shades of lavender paint and white gingerbread trim danced like breeze-nodding blossoms through her head. “That’s a great idea. Mom, you’re a genius! Let me talk to Martin, and I’ll call you back.”

Andy dug Shari’s market projections out of her pile, sat down with a cup of tea, and studied them.

Martin and Fluffy came back, and both of them went to get a drink, Fluffy to his bowl and Martin to the small fridge she kept in her spare bedroom/office.

“What are you doing?” he asked between swallows.

It had been three weeks since she’d said anything about the business to Martin. And it had been three weeks since she’d seen any signs of jealousy. That his mind had been on other things—like staying alive—might have had something to do with it.

“I’m looking at the sales figures for the last quarter and the sales
projections for Lavender Meadows,” she said, ignoring the jolt of fear that hit her between the eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was put him in a bad mood.

“Who put them together for you?”