The Carpenter's Daughter (4 page)

And then came the clothing.

I wore jeans. And old T-shirts from my basketball days. Or from my dad’s closet. They were baggy enough to move in, and dirty and worn, so I didn’t feel bad when they ended up ruined. Because they got ruined all the time.

“Let’s start in Von Maur.” Darcy slammed her Buick door shut and stepped toward the mall.

“Who?” I double-timed it to catch up.

She laughed. “Not who. Von Maur is a store.”

I looked at her, feeling a scowl pinch my face.

“Okay, maybe not.” She grinned again and looped her arm through mine.

We didn’t go to Von whoever. I peeked through the giant glass doors as we passed. Any store that had a grand piano centered under an enormous crystal chandelier as its focal point was not a store I belonged in.

After several smaller shops, I left with three new pairs of jeans and a few shirts that were several steps above my gnarly gym tees. Darcy said they were all casual wear.

Casual
was rather subjective.

“We need to find you some work clothes, and a dress.”

I snickered. Work clothes and a dress. Two nouns that didn’t belong in the same sentence. “I don’t wear dresses.”

“Haven’t.” Darcy tossed her long dark hair as she passed me an ornery grin. “You haven’t worn a dress. Yet. That doesn’t mean that you don’t.”

I eyed her, sending the silent but definite
no
look.

“Every woman needs at least one dress. And a pair of heels.”

Heels? I clumped around in work boots or worn-out tennis shoes. My feet didn’t belong in any heeled slipper. Ever.

Darcy ignored my obvious aversion. “So, we’ll venture into a store with dresses and then—”

“Not Von Rich.”

She laughed. “Okay. Not Von Maur. After we find you a dress”—she gave me that motherly
this is not a discussion
look—“we’ll go over to the Goodwill. I’m sure we’ll find feminine work clothes there, and you won’t feel bad about putting them over your sweaty body for a good day up on a roof. Or whatever.”

I didn’t like the idea of a dress—but not because I didn’t like the idea of wearing one. I didn’t know
how
to wear one. What if the wind blew the skirt up? How was I supposed to sit?

What if I looked like a total fraud?

Look—there’s that butch woman, trying to hide the fact that she’s butch.

Why did that word repeat in my head like that crazy “It’s a Small World After All” song? Never ending. What did it mean, anyway? Butch, I meant. Well, actually, that song too.

The dream flashed through my mind—faint laughter building in a distant corner of my subconscious and making my skin prickle. I set my determination. No matter what Darcy said, we were not putting anything pink on this body. I couldn’t endure a bubblegum nightmare come to life in a dressing room.

What on earth was I doing? Shopping for dresses? I should have been swinging a hammer somewhere. Measuring, cutting, creating…not chasing down some ridiculous image of a self I didn’t know.

“Here we are.” Darcy steered me into another medium-sized shop. The kind with good-looking young adults plastered all over the advertising posters, looking confident and fresh and…sexy.

Whoa. We just stepped onto Jupiter. No, wait, I don’t think you can do that, actually—isn’t it a gaseous planet? See, I didn’t belong in a mall. I couldn’t think straight.

“We’ll find something perfect. A summer dress, I think. You can wear it to church tomorrow.”

Wait, what? Did I say I was staying long enough to go to church? I’d never been to church. My Omaha trips usually ended bright and early on Sunday morning. Why did Darcy assume I’d be going to church?

“Adam’s getting baptized tomorrow.” Darcy chattered on, assuming my head was still with her. “I know he wants you to come. You’ll stay, right?”

I failed to see why that would matter to me. Except it seemed to matter to Darcy.

“Okay.” Guess I was staying.

So, we got the dress. A light-bluish thing—Darcy called it teal. I stuck with primary colors, so it was blue. Ish. Maybe green? Whatever. It strapped around my shoulders and left my back bare. I felt naked. She said I looked gorgeous. Hmm, I did look different. That couldn’t be a bad thing.

The heeled shoes were like walking on cobbled torture. Why did women wear them? Darcy snagged a pair of
ballet flats
. I had no idea what they were, but she knelt on the carpet in the shoe store and slid them over my troll feet. Plain black, they didn’t wobble when I stood to walk, so I agreed. Couldn’t wear my work boots to church, could I? The flat deals were way better than the foot-torture-on-a-spike shoe.

Exhausted, we left the cursed mall—why were there so many of those?—and drove to a quiet diner thing. Bistro, that was what Darcy called it. It was a far cry from the truck stops and Grandma Jones’s diner where Dad and I usually ended up eating. She ordered a chicken salad, and since I didn’t know what I was doing, I did the same.

It was good. I’d have to Google a recipe. Because I cooked so much. Me in the kitchen? Well, it happened, because we couldn’t eat at the diner every night. But my cooking went from the freezer to the microwave and onto the table in about ten minutes.

I remembered that home I was supposed to be dreaming of. The one like Rick and Darcy’s. Who was I kidding? That kind of life didn’t happen. Not to my kind of people.

Jesse

First day back on the job. Mark it in the books.

I arched my spine backward, the stretch pulling the muscles all the way down to the back of my knees. The dull ache felt good after being bent forward on a roof all day.

Mack slapped my shoulder. “You’re gonna age that body long before your time if you keep up this pace, Chapman.”

I grinned. “Didn’t harm you much, old man.”

“Oh, I’m as rickety as the Tin Man.” Mack started toward his truck, unfastening his leather tool belt as he moved. “Better not tell anyone.”

I walked beside him, my roofing gun still hanging from my right hand. “They’d never believe me anyway.”

“Good.” Mack tossed his tools into the steel box in his truck bed. “And as long as you’re the one scrambling up and down those ladders, I’ll be able to avoid that knee surgery the doctor keeps pestering me about.”

Chuckling, I put my attention to coiling the air hose.

“Seriously, Jess.” Mack touched my shoulder again, and I paused. “It’s good to have you back. Every spring, I think,
He’s not coming this year. Can’t keep hoping he’ll keep his life on pause forever
, and then you call, telling me you’ll be up in a week or so. It means something to me.”

“Means a lot to me.” I made a brief connection with the leathery old man’s eyes. The tough world of construction often made for crass men. But even with a gruff, hard exterior, Mack wasn’t one of them. Which would explain why Homes For Hope board members retained him as their regional building coordinator. He had the uncommon combination of know-how and heart for the job.

“Your parents would be proud.” Mack made a fist and gave me a small pound on the side of my arm.

I hoped they would be, and it propelled me daily. Emotion knocked on the front door of my heart. I let it go unanswered. We had things to do—a job to clean up and another day of work tomorrow.

“You going to Avery’s tonight?” Mack moved on. Thank you very much.

“Yep.” I nodded, though I walked toward my own truck as I spoke. “Wouldn’t miss her chicken fried steak.” My phone chirped as I set my gun and air hose in the bed.

Mack nodded and lifted a hand. “See you there.”

I returned the wave as Mack climbed in his truck, and then answered my phone. “Hey, Shane. What’s happening?”

“You always ask me that.” Shane’s voice seemed to smile. “And the answer’s always the same. Nothing.”

“Well, you call me all the time. I’m always hoping there’s some kind of action going on so I don’t feel like a teenage boy you’re keeping tabs on.”

Shane chuckled. “You need it. Plus, I promised your dad. How are you?”

“Dirty. Tired.” I closed my toolbox. “Good.”

“Standard answer. Have plans tonight?”

“Yep.” I knew exactly what Shane was fishing for. Didn’t know why. That pond didn’t seem to have any life. “Going to Avery’s for dinner.”

“Yeah?” Shane’s grin traveled clear over the phone. “Who’s Avery?”

I hopped into the cab and pulled the door shut. “I told you about Avery.” I slid the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it. “She’s about sixty years old and adopts the crew, whoever shows up, every season. She makes a good chicken fried steak.”

“Oh.” Shane’s voice dropped flat. “That one. What’s with you and all the old women?”

“They love me.” I laughed. “Kind of a lost-dog syndrome, I think. But hey, it works. I get some good home-cooked meals.”

Shane grunted. “What ever happened with you and what’s her name? Mia’s friend.”

“Angela?”

“Yeah. She was nice. And closer to your age.”

“She got married. Last fall.”
Way to keep up, Cupid.

“What? Who’d she marry?”

“I dunno.” Didn’t care all that much either. She was a nice girl, but not my type. Why would Mia set me up with a girl who had
manicure
on her weekly schedule? “Some doctor, I think.”

“Ouch.”

“Nah.” Turning the key, I shook my head. The truck coughed itself to life. I pulled away from the job site and found my way back to Valentine’s main drag. “It’s fine.”

“How do you keep striking out? Mia says you’re a looker—which doesn’t thrill me, by the way. Do you tell them you’re living off a trust? Might help.”

“Good idea. I’ll just throw it out there that my parents left me a large amount of money and I’m set for life. That’s exactly why I want a woman interested in me.”

“Huh.” Shane cleared his throat. “I don’t understand it. You’re everyone’s favorite guy. What’s the hang-up?”

“Maybe my life.” I turned left at the highway and followed it until it bent south. The hotel came in sight, and I had a sudden urge for a hot shower. “Vagabonds aren’t real high on a nice girl’s wish list.”

“Could be. You know, you could stay here—”

“I know.” I turned into the lot. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

“Jess, it’s been five years. At some point you need to go through the house. You need to reach some closure.”

“I’ve got closure.” I put a cap on a surge of irritation. “That’s not why I don’t stay. They had a plan, a purpose for the money. I’m bound to that plan, and I happen to like it.”

“What about the house?”

Yes, the house. Dad’s craftsmanship shouldn’t have been neglected. And I hated to think about what had become of Mom’s gardens. But…

My boots hit the parking lot as I sighed. “I’ll do it this fall.”

Shane held quiet for a moment—long enough for me to reach the door to my room. And to wonder if he’d push harder.

“I’m not trying to run over you.”

“I know.” I found the remote to the old-school television, which took up the entire space on the dresser. “You were Dad’s right-hand guy. He’d appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Look, we’re here, Jesse. Whenever you’re ready to come home and to go through their house, we’ll help you.”

“Thanks.” I folded onto the bed, flipping the remote in my hand.

Shane was the closest to family that I had left. His girls even called me Uncle Jesse, which, I’m unashamed to admit, completely melted me. He worried about me like the older brother I didn’t have. But I wasn’t running from anything. He didn’t seem to believe that.

“I’m really okay, Shane. You do know that, right?”

“I think it, sometimes. Doubt it others.”

A squeal in the background stole my attention. He must have just walked in from work. The girls would be wrapping themselves around his ankles, their sweet, high-pitched voices saying “Daddy’s home!”

How could I explain what I was doing with my life to him? He couldn’t understand. I wasn’t running from the past.

Just looking for a future.

***

Avery’s house smelled like a good old southern kitchen. Like my grandma’s. Maybe that was why I loved landing at her place.

Avery wore Jesus like a prized coat. The Spirit of God dwelled in her home. I knew it from the first time I’d walked through her front door five years before. I was a grieving boy back then, traveling my parents’ circuit because I didn’t know what else to do. Avery touched my pierced soul with her gentle love, her hospitality, and her good food. Some people said you couldn’t share Jesus with cookies. I disagreed.

I kicked my boots off at the front door and followed my nose to the kitchen. Avery had an open-door policy. If she was expecting you for supper, you’d better just let yourself in. And if you dropped by for a chat, you didn’t stand in the doorway to do it. She’d have you sitting down in the vaulted dining room and settled with coffee and cookies before you could find out how she’d been.

She was gifted. Hospitality. I wasn’t sure if that was on the list of spiritual gifts, but either way, she had it.

“Jesse, my boy, I’m so glad you’re back.” Avery left her stove to wrap her thin arms around my waist. She felt small against me. Not frail, but small. “I’ve been praying something fierce for you these past few weeks. Spirit’s been pulling you to mind with urgency. Is there a reason?”

Mack, already seated at the big, wide-planked farm table, cleared his throat. He did that often when churchy things came up. Whenever I went back south in the fall—they called me the snowbird roofer because of it—I’d shake his hand and say, “I’ll be seeing you, Boss. Until then, I’m praying for you.” And then he’d clear his throat. “Drive safe.” And that would be that.

“No reason I can think of, Avery.” I squeezed her again. “But we never know about the things we can’t see, do we?”

She laughed. She sounded like Dolly Parton, which made me feel all the more at home.

She pushed away, patting my arm as she moved. “You know where the coffee is, and I know where your favorite spot is. So you grab a mug and find your place. We’ll eat in a bit.”

I filled a stone mug, my favorite at Avery’s, and stepped through the adjoining dining room and out the back sliding door. Her deck needed to be refinished, but it was still solid, and it hosted the best seat in the house, overlooking the river.

The Niobrara cut through northern Nebraska and created an ecosystem unique from the rest of the state. I eased into an Adirondack chair and looked over the forested ravine. Didn’t look a thing like the wide-open Sandhills that hid in the heart of Nebraska. The contrast amazed me. Miles and miles of treeless rolling hills dotted with spring-fed ponds and sand blowouts and covered with a mat of green grass. Then suddenly the landscape met the river, and the ecosystem changed. The waters cut deep into the land, and trees thrived in its life-sustaining ravine.

Avery’s house was perched on a pasture overlooking it all. From her deck I could see where the ecosystems collided. One so very different from the other, and independently, each with a unique beauty. But together—wow. The collision created a scene of spectacular magnificence.

Leaning against the slanted backrest, I breathed in the quiet eloquence. Not many see this tucked-away scene. Not many saw a lot of what I saw. I lived a unique life.

Sometimes it isolated me.

A tug, slightly painful and definitely startling, pulled inside my chest. Not like a heart attack—because it wasn’t really physical. Undefined emotion thickened in my throat.

Spirit’s been pulling you to mind with urgency. Is there a reason?
I looked over the river’s wandering. Was there a reason?

Something had shifted in that moment. I couldn’t identify what, but it was as certain as the cooling temperatures of the fading evening. A breeze set the trees in motion in the river valley below. Sitting up, I leaned my elbows against my knees, and casting my vision upward, I waited.

I’m listening.

Another small gust swirled through the gulch, building as it touched the river base, and then it climbed the steep cliffs. Swirling air rose above the treetops, rustling their leaves as it passed, and swept over the pasture grasses. I could see it travel, its invisible force made known by the movement of grass bending to its will.

When the force of air reached me, it blew on my face and pushed against the bill of my hat. I snagged it before it tore off my head, leaning down against the wind.

Do you trust Me?

The gust passed, and the land returned to stillness.

Sarah

I stayed for church—for Adam’s baptism, because Darcy talked me into it. Adam was nineteen years old—what was he doing getting baptized?

Dad was right. Religion was weird.

Yet there I sat in a cushy chair with cushy people who looked a whole lot like those women at Subway. Not a hair out of place. Perfectly applied makeup. Every fingernail scrubbed clean.

This had been a mistake.

“What possesses people to do the most unbelievable things?”

The question posed by the man up on the stage gripped my attention.

What was he talking about? Maybe he meant, why did people drag themselves out of bed on a Sunday morning to impress each other before some imaginary god? No, that couldn’t be what he was sermonizing about. I forced myself to ignore the sea of well-dressed people who definitely didn’t want to know a girl like me, and looked at the guy talking.

“For what cause did Paul endure shipwrecks, beatings, and imprisonment? Why did Peter forfeit his life? Why did any of the disciples of Christ suffer imprisonment and unnatural deaths?

“Nothing less than total enthrallment would send a boy to a bloody battlefield to face a giant. David was captivated by the glory of God, and that alone propelled his sling.

“Moses stood upon holy ground, and his eyes beheld the burning glory of God. The rest of his life was marked by this revelation, and God did through him more wonders than any other man recorded in the Word. His entire life was a compass pointing to the glory of God.

“Abraham left the known for a life uncharted. He believed the impossible promises of God and was credited righteous for that faith. The glory of God was more important, more substantial than the facts and realities of life.”

I held my breath, which didn’t make any sense. The question was not only new, but the stories completely unfamiliar. Who were all these people? I faded out as some kind of surreal wonder possessed me. They lost their lives? Stood up to armored men with rocks? Left home for something unknown?