Katie grinned. With the baby's mother and four other women hovering over him, he would be one spoiled kid. Ruth and Janet had dug into their meager funds to buy diapers and gowns. Ruth had embroidered bibs, and Janet had wrapped them in Christmas paper. Tottie was crocheting a baby afghan of soft yellow and white. A baby was a promise of new life, a beginning. Special.
Winter shadows layered the parking garage when Katie emerged from the mall. Store traffic had been reasonably tolerable today, one week before Christmas. An air of expectation, a barely controlled excitement conquered people who were taking advantage of last-minute gift buying. The mall was ablaze in the glow of Christmas. Decorations filled store windows and hung from the streetlights.
Katie hauled packages to the jeep and stored them, climbed into the cab, and then climbed out again. She rummaged through sacks for the chocolate Godiva bar she'd purchased, then returned to the driver's seat and noted the time. Nearly five o'clock.
On the drive home, a muffled pop grabbed her attention. The jeep veered, and she gripped the wheel and pulled the vehicle back onto the road. Now what? She braked, coming to a halt, and slowly lowered the window on the driver's side, listening. Nothing. Her eyes searched the darkness.
Katie sat frozen in place, staring through the fogged window on the passenger side. The jeep sagged on the left side rear tire. A flat?
A quick check of the spare tire showed that it was flat too. When had she looked at it last? Great. She slumped against the rear fender well and let the tears come.
God, are you mad
at me? Can't something work out right for me just once in a
while? Don't you care that my life is falling apart?
Katie fumbled in her coat pocket for a tissue. Of course he cared. She was the careless one. She'd just spent money on Christmas presents when she knew the jeep was running on bald tires. Now she had to buy tires.
Instead of standing here
feeling sorry for yourself, why not use the wits the good Lord gave
you and do something?
She wiped her eyes and dialed Warren.
“You're where?” he asked.
“On the stretch of road between Little Bush and the shelter. I've had a blowout, and the spare is flat.”
He sighed.
She waited.
“Okay, I'll be there. Sit tight.”
She clicked off, and then called Tottie to let her know what happened. Warren arrived within minutes. When he stepped out of his pickup and advanced in the glare of headlights, Katie rushed into his arms, and to her chagrin, immediately burst into tears. He held her close, soothing her like he would a child until she calmed down.
“It's okay. I'm here.” He turned her in the direction of the pickup, and she stopped. “Wait. My packages.”
He waited while she retrieved her purchases, and then helped her carry them to the pickup. “Been shopping?”
“Christmas. I bought a few things for the women at the shelter.”
“You
have money to spend on things like that?”
“They didn't cost much, and it is Christmas.” She heard the defensive note creep into her voice, and she waited for him to reprimand her. But he didn't. Gifts. She hadn't bought anything for him. Would he expect something? Did he have a present for her? She'd find something for him in Little Bush. Something small but significant.
Warren slid behind the wheel and turned the truck around. “I left a roast cooking in the oven. When you called, I dropped everything and came. I'll fix the flat and the spare tomorrow. Have you had dinner?”
“No.” She huddled close to the rush of warm air coming from the heater. “Well,” she amended, “I had a Godiva bar.”
By now they'd reached Warren's house, and she followed him inside. Warmth washed over her as she entered the home. Katie moved to the fireplace, letting the heat eat away the chill that had crept into her bones. Rusty, Warren's Australian shepherd, lay a short distance from the hearth, sleeping. He cracked one eye open when Katie joined him, and then closed it.
Warren was rattling around in the kitchen, and she could hear him opening the oven door. A minute later the tantalizing fragrance of roast beef reminded her that she was hungry. She left the fire and wandered into the kitchen to find him taking plates from the cabinet.
“As long as you're here, why don't we eat before I take you home?”
“Okay. I'll phone Tottie.”
“Phone's on the hall table.” He took the roast out of the oven and set it on the stove. “After the day you've had, you need to relax and let me wait on you.”
Katie sat at Warren's table as he dished up roast, carrots, potatoes, and onions, all swimming in rich brown roast gravy. He added sliced French bread brushed with butter and warmed in the oven. The man was a Wall Street genius and an admirable chef. His home was immaculate. Katie felt like crying. This was what she wanted: a home with someone to love, someone to have babies with and grow old with. She wanted Warren, yet she didn't know why she was so dead set on getting him. Just because some old woman once predicted that she would marry a man who'd been in her life all along didn't mean that God had hand delivered Warren back to Little Bush.
She knew this.
So why did she try so hard to make it come true?
He was smart, bright, and on occasion, fun to be with. But a hundred other men had the same qualifications.
What was it about Warren that filled a deep need inside her?
Was it his compassion? No, though he could be compassionate, like now, pouring her tea and adding dressing to her salad. She shook her head, trying to make sense of her jumbled and somewhat faulty analysis. If she cared about Warren and really wanted to deepen the relationship, why did she have this sudden longing to see Ben?
Warren filled his plate and sat down. “Eat up. You'll feel better with something hot in your stomach.”
Accustomed to saying grace before a meal, Katie waited, but when Warren reached for a slice of bread and began eating, she did the same. She had been so sure she could win Warren over, restore his faith in women and mankind â and given enough time she might, but not by force. That was the problem. She had to initiate every step, orchestrate every effort to make her dream come true.
Maybe â just maybe, her dream wasn't Warren's dream no matter how hard she prayed for his transformation.
After the meal, Warren refused her offer to clean up. “No, I need to get you home. You've had a rough day, and Tottie is probably wondering where you are.”
“I called her. Meg's due anytime â I try to stay close by.”
He gathered up plates and forks. “Maybe I need to get those tires fixed tonight.”
“No, we have the old farm truck for emergencies. I hope we don't have to use it, but it's there if we need it. Or I can call someone to help.”
He chuckled. “Well, don't call me, at least not for that kind of trip.”
Why didn't his comment surprise her? She wouldn't call him; she'd call Ben. Her conflicted thoughts only puzzled her. She stood up, suddenly homesick. “I am a little tired. Would you care to run me home?”
She stopped by the hall table while he brought their coats. Neat, like the rest of his life. The only items on the table were a bronze statue of a rider on a bucking horse and the phone.
Neat and tidy. Just like Warren. Inanimate objects with no feeling.
Late that night, Katie propped her elbows on a stall and studied the horses. Like the shelter, they'd soon be gone. The animals were healthy enough to be moved now. The infection had cleared up on the stallion. After the holidays, they would be on their way to California. Had it only been a couple months since she acquired the livestock that began a chain of events that Katie couldn't fathom? Warren unexpectedly reentered her life. Clara Townsend, who appeared to be a curse, could possibly turn out to be a blessing in disguise if she got the bill through the Senate.
Tottie's voice interrupted her musings. “It is late. Why are you still up?”
“I couldn't sleep.” Katie stared at the horses. “Everyone will miss them. They're good therapy for the women.”
“The owner wants them back, and they're an expense we don't need.” Tottie huddled deeper into a sheepskin-lined coat. “You have to admit, California would be nice this time of year.”
Nice. And expensive. Tottie had a distant cousin in Southern California. She'd visited there once, and Katie still recalled Tottie's wistful tone when she relayed her adventure. Warm winds, white surf.
But instead of California, Tottie had been stuck helping Grandpops and Grandmoms raise Katie. By then she'd fallen in love with Katie and could hardly walk away, especially since Grandpops wasn't in the best of health. She
could
have then and years later. But she'd stayed on, saying that Katie was her family now, Katie, who kept her tied to a battered women's shelter, danger, and failing finances.
The older woman turned from the railing. “Come on, you need your rest, and it's very cold.”
“Am I doing the right thing, Tottie?”
“I don't know, Katie. Only God knows the future. We have prayed, and we have our answer.”
“I hate the answer.”
“No one knows the mind of God. Whatever happens, it will be for your best. You know that. Now come. I'll fix you a mug of warm chocolate to help you sleep better.”
Katie absently nodded. “I'll be in shortly.”
Tottie walked away. The horses would leave, and then Katie's personal stock would be liquidated. She caught sight of Sweet Tea's ears, visible in her stall. She'd have to keep her. She couldn't give riding lessons without a horse.
Resentment burned like a hot brand in her stomach. The pain had stayed with her since the moment she'd decided to close the shelter. Yes, it was the prudent thing to do, but no, she didn't have to be happy about it.
A remembered passage of Proverbs drifted through her mind, and she spoke it aloud. “In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord directs his steps.”
If that's so, Lord, where did I take the wrong path?
Faith is the substance of . . .
Faith had always been her strong point. So when had she started doubting? Doubting herself, but worse, doubting where God had put her?
It happened about the time Warren reentered her life. Katie turned from the barn lot and walked to the house. She had
a stack of work waiting to be typed, but her mind refused to abandon the subject.
Later she sat in front of the computer and stared at the blinking cursor. Finances had always been tough, especially after Grandpops lost his savings. Bills were late but always paid. They ate well. The stock was fed.
Katie focused on the small plaque hanging over the com-puter: I believe.
I believe.
She believed that God knew her circumstances and could change them in an instant, if he wanted. If he didn't want, then it meant for the time being she was where she should be.
So accept, and do what you have to do.
She glanced at the report waiting to be typed, and her fingers automatically set to work. Then she paused.
But if she was exactly where she should be in his plan for her life, then why should she change circumstances? Why should she close the shelter, cave to someone making her choose between her vocation and love? At that instant, sitting in Grandpops's old chair with his personal effects surrounding her â pen, pencils, a glass paperweight â she was never more sure of her purpose to serve others less fortunate. It was hard to imagine anyone with more problems than she faced, but she only had to look as far as the women taking shelter under her roof for comparison.
Having money didn't mean having fewer problems. Ask Janet. Her professor husband provided a good life and had community influence. Having power didn't make for a perfect life. Talk to Clara.
Katie shifted, biting down on the end of a pencil. Brains helped, but they didn't produce a euphoric life. Warren would tell you that.
Love. Maybe Ben would have a thought or two on unrequited love. Goodness knows she'd been rude to him at times, and she regretted her impulses. But nobody ever said you had to love somebody back.
Resentment fanned the coal pit in her stomach. If she were happy with her life, chaotic as it might be, then why change it because of a crisis of faith? Or Warren?
Katie slapped her hand on the desk, bouncing paper clips from their plastic holder.
Why
should she change what she perceived the Lord was telling her to do? If the shelter was God's plan, then he was capable of sustaining it in both good and bad times. How? She had no clue. Her troubles seemed insurmountable, but running away wasn't going to help. She'd pinch a penny harder. She'd scrimp. She'd stretch one cup of soup into two. They'd pile on more sweaters and cut more wood. The spring garden would be bigger, and she'd preserve more produce for next winter. She could and she would take on a second or third job, even work a night shift, wait tables, or clean bathrooms. Others did.
Her fingers flew over the keys. She could type twice the amount of work she now had.
Tottie could . . .
She stopped short.
Tottie.
She would have to agree to the plan. Katie couldn't lose her. She was the only family Katie had left.
Katie spit the pencil out of her mouth and went to ask Tot-tie's blessing immediately. She wouldn't sleep until she knew Tottie supported her decision to stay with the shelter.
Katie might not have answers to all the questions, but she only needed one to set her life back on a path of normalcy.
The right one.
Nine a.m. Katie glanced at the bank clock and realized she was the first customer of the day. Tottie had not only supported her decision, she'd sprung out of bed and hugged her. That was verification enough for Katie.
Across from her, a neatly dressed bank officer consulted the loan form. “You would need the loan for thirty-six months?”