Gone to Green (19 page)

“Will do, sister. Will do.”

As my visit wound down, I debated whether to go into the
Post
newsroom. “Most of the people who matter to me were at your party,” I told Marti. “But I might work there again one day and need to stay connected.”

“Go with your gut,” she said.

In the end, the pull was too great. I stopped by late in the morning, right before people headed to lunch and before things got too hectic. I signed in at the front counter and stepped in the door to the sound of ringing phones and the police radio. One of the many TV sets blared. A scorched smell immediately told me the coffee pot was empty but no one had bothered to turn it off. The commotion momentarily overcame me.

The first person I saw was managing editor Diane, sitting in Ed's office. She jumped up and ran out to shake my hand. “Lois, how in the world are you? How's life down South?”

“Hey, Diane, good to see you. Things are good. How about with you?”

“Oh, busy as always. You know the drill. When you coming back to straighten out that city desk?”

A pang of regret ran straight through me. I could be sitting in her office. I could be running this newsroom. I pasted a smile on my face.

“Not sure, but don’t forget about me,” I said, wandering off while she was still talking.

Just when I was about to scoot out, Zach caught my eye and asked me if I had time for him to buy me a bite to eat. “I heard you were in town, and I need to talk to you.”

I almost turned him down, but was curious and still had a little of that feeling that he was the boss. “You buying? Then, sure I have time for lunch,” I said, wondering why I had come by the paper at all.

Predictably, we walked down the street to Buddy's and had a plate lunch. I did not feel nearly as nostalgic as I expected, and, after living in North Louisiana for nearly a year, the food didn’t taste as good either. Near the end of the meal, Zach laid his napkin on the table and leaned over toward me, propped up on his elbows. “So, you’ve just about done your time down in
Lose
-iana, haven’t you?” he asked, emphasizing the first syllable, as though making a joke.

“Yep, can’t believe it. Been there almost a year. Time has gone so fast.”

“You ready to come back to a real newspaper?”

“Well, last time I checked, my staff thought
The News-Item
was a real newspaper,” I said, the veins in my forehead feeling as though they might explode. “It's actually a very real newspaper, and we’re making money, too.” Immediately I wished I did not sound so defensive.

He put up his hands, as though holding me back. “No offense intended. I’m sure it's a great little paper. But the company has a job they want you to consider, the top editor's job down in Asheville. The guy who's there is being promoted, and they’re hoping you’re ready to come back into the fold.”

I was caught totally off guard. Asheville was a great city, and the
Asheville Advertiser
had done terrific work in the past couple of years, including being named one of the best small dailies in the country. This was one of those jobs that people who played the corporate-move game always put on their lists.

“I thought you were mad at me for leaving,” I said. My move to Green had not pleased the powers that be.

Ed used to joke that this was a company that did not like breakups. “They can be ready to fire you,” he said, “and they’re still mad if you leave.” I focused my attention back on Zach.

“Oh, we all hated to see you go,” he said, “but everyone knew that Ed had left you in a real pickle. What were you going to do? But now the year's almost over, and we want you back. This is a good job, Lois, a great opportunity.”

I could not immediately say no to this, any more than I could turn Zach down for lunch. “Let me think about it,” I said. “What kind of timetable are we looking at?”

“They want to get someone in there within the next sixty days or so,” he said. “Let's get you down there for an interview.”

We walked back to the paper, talking logistics, and shook hands. Somehow our conversation had moved from my saying I would think about the job to planning to call Zach before I left Dayton to give him possible interview dates.

“I’ll set things in motion,” he said, “and get the publisher in Asheville to call you, follow up with a corporate call, get you some copies of the paper. You know the drill.”

Maybe this was the sign I needed. My time in Green was wrapping up, and this would be a good job, a place that clearly said I was moving up in the chain. Marti and I had visited Asheville on vacation several years ago, and it was a beautiful town in a booming area. People bought vacation homes there, for heaven's sake, so it must be a good place to live. Things were falling into place. I would know the next step in my life when I left Green.

Marti, though, wasn’t as excited about the job as I thought she would be. “It would be a good place to live,” she said, “and the paper's good. But you know how corporate works. Do you really want that?”

“Marti, you know I have to do something. Plus, I’m getting tired of a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. You know we’d have fun if I were in North Carolina.”

My preliminary talk with the publisher the next day went well. “I’ll overnight you some papers and get my secretary to get you some flight options. I look forward to sitting down face-to-face,” he said. “We know you’ve been running your own show down there in Louisiana. We’ll keep that in mind as we work up your compensation package.”

Marti and I both cried when I headed back to Green.

“You think long and hard before you jump back into this world,” she said. “You seem happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. Something is going on with you. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something's definitely happening.”

“Oh, you’ve been hanging out with the preacher too much,” I said, trying to make light of the moment. We gave each other another long, hard hug, and I headed back to Green.

Everyone was so happy to see me when I returned that I felt ashamed.

“Welcome home,” they all said, most giving me the standard hug. “We sure missed you. How were things up north?” Tammy asked.

Fairly quickly I went to my desk and set up a meeting at the bank with Duke. By the end of the next afternoon, he had lined me up with Jim Mills, a business broker in Shreveport, a nice man with experience in media properties and eager to help.

“I handled the sale for the McCullers,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about your friend. I’m sure this has been a terrible strain on you this past year.”

His observation was wrong.

“Thanks, but it's worked out okay,” I said. “This year has strangely enough been a good one. Lots of nice people, some interesting situations. It's not a bad little town.”

I didn’t mention that I liked myself better than I had a year ago.

“How long do you think this sale might take?” I asked. ”Can we keep it super confidential?”

“No problem with keeping it quiet,” he said. “And it should come together quickly. No guarantees, of course, but this should be a strong property. Sit back and wait. Just sit back and wait.”

During the next few days, the Asheville job kept me tied up in knots. I knew
The News-Item
sale would work out. Some of Rose's optimism must have rubbed off on me. I was less sure about the path that lay beyond that.

A call from Marti brought it all pouring out. “The timing on all of this stinks,” I said. “I want a job precisely at the end of the year. But if I walk away from Asheville, I’ll probably be out of the company for good. Unless I’m willing to work night cops in Danville or Midland or something like that.”

“You’ll know,” Marti said. “You always do.”

When the package arrived with the copies of the
Advertiser
, I left early and took them home. As I looked through them, I found myself comparing what
The News-Item
had done, ideas we executed better than this much bigger staff. The paper was full of wire copy and did not give me a feel for the people who lived there. I knew I was looking for things to dislike, but I kept thinking, “This is one of the best little papers in the country?”

I went to wash the ink off my hands when I heard someone tapping lightly on my front door. “Lois, it's Jean, Jean Hours from the church up the road.”

Her visit surprised me. She had not dropped by once since I had moved in, and she apologized for doing so tonight.

“I know people hate preachers who come calling at all hours of the day and night, interrupting, acting pushy.” She laughed. “But I was headed into town to pick up some groceries, and I asked God to show me someone I could help … and you popped into my mind. I decided to drive down here and see if you were home.”

She fidgeted with her car keys. “Am I crazy or incredibly intuitive?”

I sat down slowly in an old oak rocker and laughed sheepishly.

“I would say you’ve probably got intuition covered at the moment. I am struggling with a big decision. I guess God knew I needed some help.”

“Neighbors out in the Pelican Place community are concerned
about a remodeling project on the south side of
town, converting the old Sears mail order center into Bud's
Beer Barn. I hope you’ll join me in complaining to Mr. Bud
and seeing if we can’t stop this before it goes too far.”

—The Green News-Item

K
aty was right.

Talking to Pastor Jean helped immensely.

“What next step feels best to you?” she asked. “What would you most like to do with your life?” She was a good listener, one of those people who let you finish a thought before they jump in. She didn’t throw out a lot of advice, but asked several questions that made me think in new ways. Mostly she encouraged me to believe in myself, to trust that I would make the right decision.

“It's tough sometimes to do what you’re supposed to do. I know it's tough.” She paused. “I’ll admit it was plenty hard to give up my life as a teacher and a good retirement plan and go to seminary. And coming here was a bit of a shock.”

“So,” I asked. “Why did you really do it? Why not just keep your comfortable life in Baton Rouge?”

“Well, I did cry some, I’ll admit. And I demanded that God tell me why he was leaving me out in the wilderness, apart from my husband. Sending me to this little country church where people often seemed more worried about getting out on time than about the sermon. But I knew that wherever I went, God would go with me. That's why I did it. God is with me.”

She took a Kleenex out of her pocket and wiped her nose. “I sometimes over-think things. It is very hard for me to trust God completely with my life. Too often I believe I know better than he does.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I have to tell you that I don’t trust God to help me know what to do. Ever since my mother died and then Ed, I figure I’m on my own—that I have to make decisions and be prepared for the consequences. I gave up on that whole faith thing—no offense—in my mid-twenties. Besides why would God be interested in my life when he's got the whole world to take care of? I’d say there are lots of things more important than my needy self.”

My speech was blunter than I intended, and I took a deep breath before continuing. “Oh, that's not a hundred percent true. I didn’t really throw my religion in God's face when my mother died. I let it shrivel from benign neglect. I was hurt and mad, and my life was busy. I kept looking in other directions, mostly work, and ignoring anything to do with God.”

I shrugged. “My faith got smaller and smaller until it disappeared from my daily routine. No prayer. No Bible study. No church.”

“Lois, I must tell you I believe God has great plans for your life, no matter how much doubt you have. I think God wants great things for you and that He plans for you to succeed.”

She smiled. “When I look at you, I see so many gifts just waiting to burst out—like those gorgeous blooms on the hydrangeas at the parsonage. I didn’t even know they were down in there, but they did. And when they shot out, they took my breath away. But, man, do those bushes take attention.

I nearly let them die this summer, till I realized they need a little drink of water every evening.”