Saturday Morning (45 page)

“Homemade rolls for Thanksgiving at J House. This gets out, and we’ll have to lock the doors on the hordes of guests.” Hope snitched a bit of the dough and headed back out the door laughing. “We’re near to setup out here.” She led the team that set and decorated all the tables.

“Okay, Clarice, let’s go. I found another sucker to finish the potatoes.” Roger announced a few minutes later.

She nodded to her two helpers. “You can finish?”

“Go on, he waitin’.”

She stopped at Fawna’s side. “The rolls need to rise double in size, then bake for fifteen to twenty minutes at 350 degrees. I used to take
a cube of cold butter and use it like a crayon to butter the tops of the baked rolls while still hot.”

“Okay, and they need to cool on racks like cookies?” the chef-intraining smiled.

“That’s right. And you might threaten anyone who snatches one with no dinner.” She leaned closer to whisper. “There are two more bags of rolls in the closet in the office. I baked them the other day.”

Fawna snorted. “I wondered where they went.”

Roger and Clarice found Annie right in her normal spot, her trash bags of belongings surrounding her.

Clarice, wearing her fur coat against the cold wind, got out of the car and crossed the sidewalk. “Annie?”

“Yeah, who’s askin’?”

“You probably don’t remember me, but one night you told me to flag down a cop … ”

“Yeah, I remember. You so dumb you wearing that same coat?”

“Only one I have.”

“Someone gonna knife you for that coat.”

“No, they won’t. I live and work at J House. I’m not living on the streets, thanks to you.”

“Ah.”

“We are serving Thanksgiving dinner, and I want to invite you to come with Roger”—she motioned to the car with the door open—“and me to have dinner at J House. I can offer you a shower and clean clothes too, if you’d like.”

“I leave and someone steal my spot.”

“Come on, Annie, no one would dare to steal your spot,” Roger called from the car.

“No, no.” She shook her head and shrank back into her heap of ragged blankets and canvas. “You can’t make me.”

“I’m not trying to force you. I just want to repay you for saving my life.”

“No, no, go’ way.” Her voice rose as if someone were beating her.

“Easy.” Clarice stepped back and shot Roger a pleading look.

He shrugged. He had warned her.

Clarice nodded. “All right, then I’ll be back later with food for you and perhaps some of your friends.”

The man on the next spot of sidewalk guffawed. “A-Annie don’t got no friends.”

Clarice drew herself up a good three inches. “Her name is Angel Annie, and she does have friends.” She pointed to the car. “Roger and me and lots of others. I’ll be back.”

“Bring a bottle with you, honey.” The man pulled a piece of plastic tarp closer around him.

Clarice sighed. At least she’d tried. But this wasn’t the end of it. If there was a way to get through to Annie, she’d find it.

And if not, she’d done her best. Maybe Annie didn’t realize she was an angel. She’d been called by that other obscenity for so long, she probably believed it.

When Roger and Clarice got back, the aromas of roasting turkey and baking rolls, all overlaid with laughter and the hum of busy people, floated out from J House like a welcome beacon. A line had already begun to form outside the front door.

“Let me check and see if you can wait inside,” Roger told the gathering.

The crowd had tripled or more by the time the serving lines were set up, those serving the food wearing hair nets and clear plastic gloves, per the health department regulations.

“Okay, everyone. Can I have your attention?” Roger raised his voice and said it all again, waving his arms to get their attention.

Celia shook her head, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled loud enough to dim a police whistle. Instant silence. She nodded toward Roger, her grin daring him to beat that.

“Thank you, Miss Celia. Let’s bow our heads and thank our heavenly Father for all the good He has given us.” He waited a moment. “Father God, we thank You for this warm place, all the food You have provided, and those who have come to serve. Thank You for our guests and those who live here, as we all learn of You and Your love. Thank You for Your Word and for Your Son, in whose precious name of Jesus we pray. Amen.”

“Dinner is served.” Hope stood at the beginning of the serving line. “Line starts here. There’s plenty of food, so no rush.”

Two hours later the food was gone, but for what Clarice set aside for Annie and friends. While some people had left, others were sitting around the tables visiting—street people, residents, former residents, family, friends, volunteers, it didn’t matter. Raving about the dinner, complaining about the government, catching up on old news. Children played in the play area; several checkerboards came out; two old men played dominoes and taught some younger folks the intricacies of the game.

“This is what J House is all about.” Roger slipped his arms around his wife’s waist.

“If only we could keep it this way.” Hope leaned back into the protection of his arms.

“I know.” He kissed the back of her neck. “I’m taking Julia and Clarice down to feed Annie et al.”

“They’re not ‘et al.’” She dug an elbow into his ribs with only enough force to make her point.

They listened to the phone ring, started toward it, and knew someone had already picked up the receiver. A few moments later a shocked-looking Julia came out of the office.

“That was Cyndy. She said she almost came to the dinner, but then something scared her.” Tears trickled down Julia’s face. “I talked with my granddaughter. On Thanksgiving. She said not to worry. Ha. But at least I heard her voice.” She stepped into the circle of arms, and the three of them hugged.

In a bit she blew out one breath and then another, shaking her head in wonderment. “Well, let’s go feed Angel Annie.”

“You know what her real street name is?”

“I do, but I’m not going to push that one on Clarice. If she thinks Annie is an angel, so do I.”

“You came back.” Annie took the foam containers Clarice handed her.

“I told you I would.” Clarice returned to the car for a carton of hot coffee.

“Dint you bring nothin’ stronger?” The man next to her took his package with a gruff “Thanks.”

“Sorry, strongest we have.” Roger passed out two more boxes. “You ever decide you want off the streets, you can find me at J House, and I’ll see how I can help.”

“That’s for women.”

“On the inside, but you never know where help will come from anyway, or for whom.”

Clarice knelt in front of Annie. “I’ll see you again.”

“Don’t need to.” But even in the shadows, Clarice recognized the grimace for what it was—a smile.

“What a day.” Clarice leaned against the car seat as the three of them drove back to J House.

“Amen to that.”

“Did you call Andy?” Julia asked from the backseat.

“No, but we can do that when we get back.”

True to their decision, as soon as they got back to J House, Julia and Clarice grabbed Hope’s arm and pulled her into the office to use the speakerphone so they could all talk. “Happy Thanksgiving. We missed you,” they chorused when Andy answered the phone.

“Me too.” Her laugh wore a patina of tears.

“So what did you do to celebrate?”

“I read a book. That’s what I did most of the day. The fog kept my parents and the kids from coming, and Martin wanted to stay in bed and watch football on TV, so I turned on the fireplace and read. What a treat.”

“Did you have turkey and the trimmings?”

“Yep. How was it there?” Andy squealed when Julia said she’d talked with Cyndy. And laughed at some of their other stories. “Wish I could have come.”

“Next year.”

“Perhaps. And if the kids are here, they can come help too.”

“Tell Martin we’re praying for him.” They said their good-byes, and Clarice pressed the Disconnect button.

“I think she was pretty down today.” Julia leaned back in the office chair and rubbed her upper arms. “I think it’s time we work on Martin.”

Clarice held both thumbs up. The grin they all shared boded interesting times ahead for Martin Taylor.

“And J House.”

“I had a weird dream last night.”

“Must not have been bad, if you didn’t wake me.” Roger sat down on the edge of the bed, first cup of coffee for the day in his hands. The fragrance of it made her groan.

“Not
the
nightmare. I was at an auction and bidding on something. No idea what, but I woke up with an incredible idea.” Hope paused and patted back a yawn. “Do you believe that sometimes dreams give us instructions?”

“Well, they did so in the Bible, so that is good enough for me.” He shrugged and rotated his shoulders, tipping his head side to side to stretch his neck.

“Hurting?”

“Not bad. So what’s your great idea?”

“That we set up an auction for the property—for J House.”

“As in big crowd, auctioneer, that kind of thing?” He looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrows nearly meeting and his mouth sideways. “You’ve got to be kidding. That wouldn’t work. I’d bid a thousand.”

“No, you nut.” She thumped him on the shoulder nearest her.

“You’re gonna spill my coffee.”

“I’m thinking we invite a special group, all those people who’ve contacted us with possible offers.”

“You want them to duke it out?”

“No, I want us to all work together to see if we can help each other out.”

“At an auction? Honey, that dream must have scrambled your brains.”

“Knock it off, Hotshot, and help me think.”

“I can’t. I haven’t had breakfast yet. My brain doesn’t work when my stomach is empty.”

She gave him a gentle push. “Go eat while I shower. Big things ahead.” Her mind continued leapfrogging from idea to idea while she soaped and rinsed. How could this be a win-win situation for everyone? If she and Roger didn’t want to be in the Tenderloin, where did they want to be?
Right here, this is where I want to be.
The little voice popped up whenever she gave it a moment. Or it could steal a moment. First things first: make a brainstorming list, call and talk to Peter, go looking for other areas to move to, not specific buildings.
An auction. Big Dad, are You sure You want us to go this way?

As soon as she was dressed, she opened her Bible.
“I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you.”
In all their praying, there had not been any indication anywhere that He wanted them to close the shelter, but since He’d not sent a retrofit savior, the only alternative was to relocate. So He had to have a place in mind. But knowing the way He worked, He wouldn’t show it to them until the last minute. She liked the line,
God is slow, but He is never late.
That sure applied here. And what about the Saturday Market? Surely He had a plan for that too.

“Breakfast’s ready.”

“Thanks.” She took her pen and pad along with her. After grace she studied the lists. “You want to hear what’s at the top of the list?”

“Sure.” He passed her the buttered toast.

“Make lists of all I know or think about this auction.”

“Sounds good.” He nodded.

“Call Peter.”

“Yes.” He glanced at her plate. “Your eggs are getting cold.”

She ate a couple of bites. “Number three is look for an area where we might like to be. Other than right here. We probably should drive by that apartment building in the Tenderloin.”

He shuddered. “You won’t like it.”

“I’m trying to be grateful in all ways. Better any roof over our heads than closing the doors.”

“I stand rebuked. You’re handling this better than me.”

Hope sighed. “Oh, how I wish that were true. But if we can’t count on Big Dad now, when can we?”

“You want me to what?” Peter stared at her, only his one finger tapping on the pad of paper in front of him. “Why don’t you just dictate the letter to Clarice while I try to assimilate what I think you said.”

“Okay.” Hope slit her eyes, the better to think. “Dear Blank.” She nodded to Peter. “You have to fill in the blanks.”