June (20 page)

"And you don't want to?"

"Ow, it's not that I don't love me country; it's just I've grown to love the children. Feel like me own, they do. Would break me 'eart if they had to go to foster homes."

"Yes, I can see that."

"June, when we first came here, we believed God wanted us here. But when we first came, we thought we'd be doing somethin' entirely different than what we're doin' now. Does that mean God was wrong?"

June's eyes softened. "I've wondered the same thing myself, at times. But I do believe that God is never wrong, Sam. He doesn't make mistakes."

Sam took a sip of coffee. "If that be true, then you think he'll make all this trouble and woe work for his glory?"

"I have to believe that. And if Reverend Inman has temporarily lost his way, God will make him aware of it. In his own time."

"I certainly hope so, lovey-I certainly hope so."

Thirty minutes later June stepped out the back door and into a hubbub. The children danced around in the yard, playing spirited games. Men crawled over the orphanage like bees on a honeycomb. It wasn't quite noon yet, and they'd already torn off half the old roof.

"Dinner's ready," June called.

"Good thing," Parker yelled back.

She shaded her eyes against the sun, looking up to where he stood on the tallest roof peak.

His silhouette was clear against the sky, and June's heart skipped a beat. He was incredibly big and strong. They might not see eye to eye on Reverend Inman or the tabernacle, but there was a lot of good in Parker. As hard as he tried to hide it, it was there. It would be so very easy to fall in love with this man-She caught her errant thoughts as Aunt Angeline appeared and slowly made her way to a chair sitting beneath a tree in the backyard, where she could oversee the younger children.

"Are you all right, Auntie?" June called.

The old woman waved, covering her lap with a light blanket.

"She's so frail," Sam fretted as June returned to the kitchen. "But she wants to 'elp."

"I worry about her."

"You shouldn't, love. She's 'ad a good life, and she's lookin' forward to meetin' the Lord. I try to make 'er rest-lately she's been more willing. I think she's just plain wearin' out."

The men washed up and took their places at the large table set up in the backyard. They dug in, filling their plates with roast beef, chicken swimming in rich broth with dumplings, peas, corn, turnips, mashed potatoes, and loaves of fresh-baked bread.

"You're going to make us all fat," Parker teased, shoving back from his plate a while later. June smiled, pleased that he'd eaten four servings of everything.

The men visited for a while to let their food digest. Parker finally stretched, then said, "I guess the work won't get done with us sitting here."

June sprang up. "Don't go yet!" She gave Mary Jane the prearranged signal. Shortly before, three of the older girls had disappeared to the kitchen to slice wedges of chocolate cake with thick fudge icing.

They now carried trays of dessert out to the makeshift tables in the yard.

"What's this?" Simon exclaimed.

"Happy birthday, Parker!" Sam shouted.

Parker looked genuinely stunned and a little embarrassed. His eyes fastened on June. "How did you know?"

"Simon looked it up in the camp records." She blushed. "I hope you don't mind. I always like to know a person's birthday."

He took in the cake and the festive icing as if he still couldn't believe it. "I haven't had a birthday cake since, well, I don't remember when." He dipped a large spoon into the icing and closed his eyes to savor the taste. "This is good." He opened his eyes, grinning. "Really good."

After dessert the men settled on the porch to rest before climbing back onto the roof. The weather was mild, and some shed their shirts. Some of the boys joined them, and June was appalled when a spitting match began.

Although she didn't want to encourage their antics, she couldn't help but see how the little ones gravitated to the men. After a while the older boys took out the pocketknives they had received as Christmas gifts and attempted to carve toys for the younger children. Parker and Simon knelt on the ground, showing them how to carve whistles.

Before long the air resonated with the shrill sounds.

"I hope this doesn't get to be a habit," Sam complained, wincing as another screech split the air.

June laughed. "Isn't it wonderful to see the children having such a good time?"

Soon the sounds of hammers filled the air. The men nailed new shingles on the half of the roof they'd exposed that morning. June helped Sam settle the younger children for naps, though she seriously doubted that sleep was possible with all the racket.

Angeline, though, seemed to have no problem sleeping through the noise.

It was late afternoon when the men came off the roof and settled in the grass to eat sandwiches made from roast beef and bread left over from lunch.

"It's been a good day of work," one of the loggers commented, looking up at the new shingles.

"It's been a very good day of work," Sam agreed. "I wish I could think of some way to thank you for all you've done."

Parker was sitting on the grass, a sandwich in one hand, a glass of cold well water in the other. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, and he wiped it away with his forearm. June watched, thinking he'd never looked more handsome. He finished the food, stretched, and pushed himself up. He said a few words to the men, smiled June's way, and started toward the front yard.

Groaning, Simon and the other men got to their feet and headed toward the wagons. Sam ran to catch up with Simon.

June quickly ducked into the house, exiting the front door as Parker rounded the corner.

"Parker?"

When he turned, the setting sun washed his face in golden color, defining his rugged features. June inhaled sharply. How handsome he was! "Happy birthday."

"Thank you for the cake," he said. "I don't know when ..." He paused. "Well, my birthdays come and go with no fuss. In fact, I'd forgotten the date myself."

"How old are you?" she teased. The records said he was twenty-nine.

"Too old for birthday cake," he said dryly.

"Nobody's ever too old for birthday cake." June wished the butterflies fluttering in her stomach would settle down. "I made something for you."

"More surprises?"

She handed him the package and waited while he opened it. He held the quilted squares up to the light, examining them. Her heart sank. Why didn't he say something? Didn't he know what they were? Or did he know and just not like the idea of her giving him a gift?

"They're ... hand warmers." She stepped closer, aware of his masculine scent, all warm and musky. "See? There's a round stone for each finger. You warm the stones on the rail around the stove, then when you go outside, you slip them inside your gloves. Or when you come inside, you hold the stones for a few minutes to warm your hands-"

He looked up, and she could swear there was a strange mist in his eyes. "I-no one has ever made me a gift."

June smiled. "No one? Ever?"

"No one. Ever. I've been on my own since I was fourteen, June. And even when Ma and Pa were alive ... well, there were a lot of kids at home." He looked at the hand warmers. "This is ... the warmers will come in handy come fall and winter. Thank you."

"Happy birthday."

He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. She realized she'd like that, very much. But then he turned on his heel and strode quickly toward the wagon.

Think of me, Parker, every time you see those hand warmers, every time you hold them.

She returned to the house to finish cleaning up the kitchen, wondering what kind of childhood Parker had endured. If he'd never been given a gift, if birthday surprises were foreign to him, no wonder he was so touched by the orphans' plight.

No wonder he found a tabernacle a poor substitute for caring for God's children.

"Parker Sentell, if you belonged to me, you'd have gifts every day of the week," she whispered as she poured boiling water into the sudsy dishpan. "And I'd bake chocolate cakes and apple pies until they were coming out your ears. We'd worship in an open field every Sunday morning, if that suited you."

She washed a cup and set it aside to drain dry. "God loves you; Eli loved you, Parker Sentell. And I could love you too, if you'd let me."

Chapter Twelve

Nomatter how bad things are, they can always get worse.

Until yesterday June hadn't thought much about Aunt Thalia's old adage, but today it was back to haunt her.

Standing beneath an umbrella, she listened to Reverend Inman recite Psalm 23 to the small group of assembled mourners. Overnight, things had gotten worse. Much worse.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul...."

The fiery man of God's Word seemed uncharacteristically subdued this morning as Reverend Inman finalized Angeline's simple graveside service with a heartfelt whispered "Amen and amen."

June drew Sam into the comfort of her arms while the young girl sobbed quietly into a frayed hankie. Rain clouds hovered overhead, and the mourners sank deeper into the lining of their coats. A cold rain began to fall.

June focused on the mourners gathered to eulogize Angeline Ferriman, the woman known to many as "that poor soul responsible for all those children."

In life Angeline hadn't cultivated many close friendships; in death, neighbors and community members gathered to pay homage to the slightly eccentric woman who had run the local orphanage. Heads bowed, dressed in Sunday best and spit-shined shoes, they stood before the simple casket and prayed.

Where had they been when Aunt Angie was alive and in desperate need of their help? June wondered.

`Judge not, that ye be not judged. " Jesus' words shamed her thoughts, and she banished them, wondering instead how Sam would keep the children together now that Angeline was gone.

01' Joe stood next to June, dressed in a thin coat that afforded little protection from the chilly wind. The children huddled in a group on his right side, bracing themselves against the driving rain.

It seemed to June the person who'd known Aunt Angie the least was taking her passing the hardest. Tears rolled down Ben Wilson's face as he stared at the casket.

Death had come swiftly for Angeline. Though everyone suspected she had been failing for some time, her passing came as a shock. Perhaps it always does, June thought.

Angeline had asked to be buried at the edge of her property, beneath a large Douglas fir she'd planted herself, forty-two springs ago.

Pallbearers, some who had been with Reverend Inman's crusade in the earlier days when he traveled, others from Pine Ridge Logging Camp, gently lowered the plain pine coffin into the muddy ground.

June was painfully aware of the children's tear-streaked faces. Though Aunt Angeline had taught them about the Good Book, the joys of Christianity, death, and heaven, most were too young to comprehend.

The older ones understood enough to know that Aunt Angie was never coming back. June wondered about the anguish, the multitude of questions and fears that must be playing through their minds.

When the last prayer was issued, Simon stepped forward and led a weeping Sam from the gravesite.

June was surprised and grateful when Parker took her arm, and they fell into step behind the young couple.

"Terrible day for a funeral," he observed quietly.

"Sam's taking her aunt's death awfully hard."

"Well, she's here in a strange community, her family overseas. I imagine she's scared."

"She'd grown very close to Angeline."

"There must be something more I can do to help," Parker said.

June paused, turning to look at him. He constantly surprised her with his compassion. "If you truly mean that, I'm sure there is."

"You need only to let me know what's needed." He reached for her hand, and his eyes softened as he clasped it tightly in his. "I'll do what's possible to keep the children together. Simon and I have already discussed it."

June's stomach felt all knotted and strange, a feeling she often had in Parker's presence these days.

She squeezed his hand, thankful for his comforting presence.

The townspeople provided food for the bereaved. The orphanage's huge oak table held more food than the children had ever seen at one time, yet the children didn't seem eager to eat. They sat or stood staring, seemingly unaware it was dinnertime.

Reaching for an apron, June tied it around her waist and approached Mary. "What can I do to help?"

Mary paused, then resumed cutting squares of piping hot corn bread. Brushing a lock of hair off her forehead, she pointed the tip of the knife at a pile of plates. "You can get the children started."

"That sounds like a job I can handle."

June turned to see Parker filling the doorway, looking very big, and very out of place in a kitchen. She smiled. "You want to start with the smallest ones first?"

Parker picked up a plate, studying the heaping bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, turnips, carrots, fried apples, sweet potatoes, and a myriad of other dishes lining the table.

"Fill their plates as you would your own." June handed him a heaping platter of golden brown fried chicken. "But remember, they don't eat as much as you."

Parker grinned. "Nobody eats as much as I do."

When the plates were ready, June and Parker corralled the children to a corner table. The kids began to eat, methodically swallowing as if they barely tasted the food. June noticed the younger ones' eyes occasionally searching the room. How they would miss Angeline.

Simon insisted on feeding the youngest child, who was delighted to have the honor of sitting on the big logger's lap.

Once the children were settled, June drew Sam aside. It might be too soon to discuss the matter, but it weighed on her mind. Steering her friend into the kitchen, June threaded Sam to the far end of the pantry, where they could talk in private. "Sam, is Joe going to stay on and help with the children?"