Trouble's Brewing (22 page)
I’ll Take “early Church History” for 100
Clay wondered if the locals over at Higher Grounds or Apple’s would wonder what had happened to their most frequent customer. He’d hardly appeared at all since he’d purchased the photo album the day before.
Sure, he’d gone to work, and certainly, he’d had lunch at Higher Grounds the day before. But, for the most part, he’d stayed shut up in his room, working diligently on the photo album.
First, he’d had to get the photos in some sort of chronological order. Then he had to separate the pictures viewed side to side versus the ones viewed up and down. He didn’t want Donna spinning the book around like a top as she relived the years they’d already spent together.
Clay frowned. He was beginning to feel like a stalker, and of course he wasn’t. He was just a nice guy, a friend, a man who felt shaken to the core by a wisp of a girl.
When he came upon a copy of the photo taken of their Sunday school class—the one Vonnie Westbrook had taught—he stared at it in wonder.
When did I stop going to church?
he asked himself.
The quick answer: when he’d gone off to college.
Why hadn’t he gone back after his return?
He didn’t have the answer to that one. Maybe because he wasn’t so sure about the whole religion thing anymore. Wasn’t it Josephus who said, “Everyone ought to worship God according to his own inclinations, and not to be constrained by force”? Seemed to Clay he remembered something along those lines.
He slid the photograph carefully into the sleeve.
The problem was that he hadn’t actually worshipped God according to any inclination. Not even privately.
Then again, he surmised, Donna had done a pretty good job of worshipping publicly, yet he was sure that was about as deep as it went.
From where he sat, they made a pretty good pair.
Two nights ago, it had been my own Mandy who had tried to comfort me when Fred Westbrook slammed the door in my face, just after I handed him an entire platter of fresh cinnamon rolls. “You would think my rolls would’ve counted for something,” I said as we sat down at the kitchen table with fruitcake cookies and a cup of coffee.
It really was too close to dinnertime to bring out the sweets, but my feelings had been hurt. I needed a cookie.
Mandy, who was still in her red and black maternity pj’s with the words “Bad Hair Day” printed across the front, took a bite and thought for a moment. She said, “I’m sorry my suggestion of a peace offering turned out so badly.”
I flopped my chin into my hands. “I’m always so underappreciated. I just can’t understand it.”
Mandy had patted my arm. “Fitting into a new community is tough, Mom. But don’t give up. You’ll get your breakthrough.”
Thursday morning I picked up my pink and silver watering can and watered the ivy in my kitchen window, thinking about the wise words my daughter had shared with me.
She was right. All I needed was a breakthrough.
However, with all the fighting among the members of the Potluck, I was even wondering if the girls would rally in time for Mandy’s baby shower on Saturday. It would be such a shame if the cold shoulder I was getting was turned against my precious daughter.
To tell you the truth, I was worried about her. As she and Ray had originally planned, Ray had left for Houston on Monday, since he had to get back to work. Mandy hadn’t planned to follow him home until the following Monday, giving me time to host a baby shower for her and time for us to shop the outlets in Dillon. But I’m afraid Mandy wasn’t taking the forced separation with Ray well, at least judging from the dark circles under her eyes.
When I tried to talk to her about it, she pushed me away. “You just don’t understand how I feel, Mom.”
I did. Of course I did. It was just that I wanted her to see the good in her situation. Even before Ray left, Mandy’s situation had inspired me to replace my original column with brand-new words of inspiration. Clay had been more than gracious to help slip it into the
Gold Rush News
in time for this week’s edition. He had dropped by the shop on Sunday night to pick it up, seen Donna’s Bronco, and hightailed it across the street.
I had to trust God that this little column of mine would help Mandy see her situation wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed.
Speaking of bad situations, if only I could come up with an idea to get me back in everyone’s good graces back at the Potluck.
I refilled my watering can and walked over to my ferns by the sliding glass door overlooking my snow-covered patio. They weren’t as vibrant as they had been in Houston’s muggy air, but they helped remind me of home.
Now, think,
I told myself.
When I’ve been at odds with my girlfriends in the past, it helped to bring out not only the cinnamon rolls but juicy news that my friends could share with their friends.
It had been my experience that folks were always glad to hear from people “in the know.” So the question was, what could I come up with now? Evie’s engagement? Donna and Clay’s hug? Those tidbits would both do nicely.
Earlier today, after I had decorated the foyer Christmas tree till it danced with snowmen, I had tried my idea with a quick phone call to Lizzie before she left for work. “Just imagine that,” I’d said. “Evie’s engaged to Bob Burnett.”
“I really can’t fathom that,” Lizzie had replied, dumbstruck. “How do you know this is true?”
“Bob Burnett dropped by my shop and told me himself.”
“I’ve got to call Evie to see what’s going on,” Lizzie said before hanging up.
I’d put the phone back in its cradle, pleased that this piece of news had opened a door between Lizzie and myself. I was proud of myself too, because I’d kept the juiciest bits of the story to myself. I didn’t want Lizzie, who was so prim and proper, to accuse me of gossip.
The parts I’d left out? Well, when Bob had dropped by my boutique to sample some of my pecan cookies, he’d said, “Looks like Evie and I will be in need of your services in the coming weeks.”
That got my attention. “Did you propose?”
“I did, just after she proposed to me.”
My eyebrows made for my hairline. “You don’t say?”
“After she popped the question, it was only fair that I ask her in return. The gentlemanly thing to do.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” I said with a smile. “Just how did she pop the question?”
Bob leaned back with a warm smile and a faraway look in his eyes. “She said, ‘I don’t need a cup of tea, Bob Burnett. I need an answer. Yes or no. Do you want to marry me or not?’”
“She didn’t!”
He nodded. “She sure did.”
“And what did you say?”
“Yeah, I want to marry you. If you’re game to marry an old man like me, then I guess I’m game to marry an old, ah …”
My hand went flat against my breast. “Then it must be love, if you called her an ‘old’ … and she still said yes.”
“You bet. It was the kiss that followed that was the best part of the deal. She was all steamed up and ready to pucker.” Despite Bob’s gaiety over the whole affair, I sensed something was wrong. So in fairness to Evie, I decided to ask her about it myself. Confirmation was what I needed. I simply couldn’t share the rest before I had confirmation. Besides, who would believe it?
It was already Thursday, and I had a lot to do to get ready for Saturday. I put my watering can in the sink, then picked up the new copy of the
Gold Rush News
. I opened it to my column and left it on the table. I couldn’t wait till Mandy read it. After all, she was the inspiration.
That deed done, I decided it was more than high time to call Miss Evie, to not only remind her of the baby shower but also to start on our plans for the Christmas Tea as well as to check my facts.
I dialed her number. Her voice sounded a bit glum. “Evie, it’s Lisa Leann. Just wanted to remind you of Mandy’s baby shower Saturday morning at 10:00, at my house.”
“Oh, I think I’m busy.”
I heard Mandy walk into the kitchen behind me. I turned and smiled at her as she helped herself to another glass of milk and an apple. She was dressed in a blue pair of pj’s covered with the phrase “Cat’s Meow.”
I pointed at the
Gold Rush News
on the table and mouthed, “Read it.”
She reached for it, and I turned my back.
“Going to Denver to pick out an engagement ring?” I now asked Evie.
“How do you know about my engagement?”
“Everybody knows. Bob Burnett’s telling everyone he sees. He especially likes to describe that hot kiss that sealed the deal.”
I couldn’t see Evie’s face over the phone, but it was as if I could hear her blush. “What’s wrong, Evie?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t seem like an excited bride-to-be. Is everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I hate to see you break up with the sheriff. Some of the gang at Higher Grounds said something about you coming in the tavern to see him, then making a fuss about a barmaid, just before you dropped by Burnett’s office. Is that story true? I didn’t believe it, and I didn’t pass the story along, either.”
The silence on the other end of the line was all the confirmation I needed. So, it was true.
“Well, Evie, about that kiss between you and Bob. Let me tell you what my mama always said: ‘Never let a fool kiss you or a kiss fool you.’ Evie, it’s not that I want to talk you out of using my wedding services. But I consider you a friend. And if I were you, I’d take my mama’s advice to heart.”
When I was met by more silence, I finally said, “Well, we’re going to miss you Saturday. The girls and I have it all worked out to plan the Christmas Tea after the shower.”
Suddenly, Evie found her voice. “Ah. On second thought, I think I can make it after all. Though, I do have a request.”
“Anything, Evie.”
I could hear the angst in her voice as she said, “Let’s make this shower a do-over for our last Potluck meeting. It should serve a dual purpose, agreed?”
“Why, Evie, I like the way you think. I don’t know what we ladies are going to do if we don’t get a little more prayer support into our lives. Trouble seems to be brewing at every turn.”
Evie sighed. “I find it difficult to believe that I agree with you, but in this incidence, I do.”
There was another long silence, then Evie said, “On another matter, don’t forget, you’re not in charge of the Christmas Tea, not by a long shot.”
“But the pastor said—”
“Pastor Kevin said that we are both in charge.”
“Right. Oh, and before you say good-bye. Now mind you, this may not be any of my business, and I probably shouldn’t say anything. But this does concern one of our girls.”
“Who?”
“Our own Donna Vesey. Now, I don’t mean to be starting any rumors, but is it true that she and Clay Whitefield are an item?”
“Donna and Clay? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, then can you explain why they were necking just across the street from my bridal boutique last Sunday night? I was there late, putting another coat of varnish on my new cabinet. I haven’t mentioned this to the other girls, but I thought it would be safe to ask you.”
“You mean they were kissing?”
“Hugging is more like it. Intimate like.”
“I can’t help you. I’m just not into gossip, especially when it concerns Donna or any member of her family.”
“Mom?” Mandy called from above the newspaper article.
I held up one finger to signal I was almost done. Then I said to Evie, “I understand. Well, got to go, my Mandy needs me.” I hung up the receiver and turned around.
“What is it, darlin’?”
I pulled up a chair and sat down across from her. I was surprised to see her lower lip trembling. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”
“Mom, your Aunt Ellen column, it’s unbelievable.”
I smiled proudly. “Thank you. I believe it’s some of my best work to date.” I picked it up and began to read it aloud to her.
Dear Aunt Ellen,
While I was skiing, I fell and broke my leg in three places. Now because of the doctor’s orders, I’m stuck here with my parents, 2,000 miles away from my home. As my husband had to go back to work, I’m very homesick. What should I do?
Signed,
Broken Up
I smiled up at my daughter, whose face had turned an interesting shade of gray. I continued to read.
Dear Broken Up,
What a lucky young lady you are. You have a family who loves you, and a mom and dad who have dropped their lives to take care of you. That is your silver lining in your ordeal. While you heal, concentrate on how blessed you are to spend time with your mother. She won’t be around forever, and you’ll want to cherish every moment you have together.
So, put on a smile and change your attitude. It will serve you well to create memories to last a lifetime.
Yours,
Aunt Ellen
I looked up, beaming. “Great advice, as usual, if I must say so—and I simply must.”
“Mom, ‘Broken Up’ is me! You wrote a letter about me and published it in the community’s newspaper. How could you?”
“No, no. That letter’s not about you.”
“Mother, is this what you did to your friends at the Potluck? Did you write thinly disguised letters about their personal lives so you could give them advice?”
“I wouldn’t use the terminology ‘thinly disguised,’ but I suppose my comments were meant to help one or two of them.”
“Could this be why Fred Westbrook slammed the door in your face?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“And Mom, I heard what you said to Evie about Donna. You were gossiping.”
“Well, I—”
She stood up and put her hands on her hips, or at the place where, before her pregnancy, her hips used to be. “Shame on you.”
I looked up at her. “What I said was harmless, both about Donna and in print to ‘Broken Up.’”
“Your words were not harmless. You hurt Donna by what you said to Evie, and you hurt me by putting my problems into print. Don’t you think people will know you were writing a letter to me? Of course they will.”
“But my advice, it was good, don’t you think?”
“That’s not the issue; you exposed me with words you can’t take back. As Grandma says, ‘You can’t unring a bell.’” She crossed her arms, allowing them to rest on her swollen belly. “Mom, you’ve got to break your bad habit of gossip. It’s hurt you your entire life.”
This time I stood up, ready to protect myself from Mandy, who was turning into a drama queen. I waved my arms for emphasis. “I don’t gossip. I check out the facts, go to the sources. I only repeat what I learn when it’s newsworthy. It’s what the TV networks do.”
“Well, here’s some news. You’re flat wrong. The trouble with you and gossip, Mother, is that you enjoy telling people about other’s faults and troubles. When you find pleasure in talking about the pain of others, something is wrong. It’s time for you to learn how to hold your tongue.”
Before I could protest, Mandy pushed her chair back and waddled out of the room. I think she was actually crying.
I picked up the article and looked at it again. I had really hurt her. The thought stunned me. I had hurt my own daughter.
I sat back down at the table. Had I hurt others this same way?
I felt my face grow hot.
Oh no.
It was as if I could hear a bell ringing, but this time it was ringing for me, reminding me of all the words I had spoken, words that I couldn’t take back.
Lisa Leann,
I admonished silently,
you have some fences to mend, girl.