Who Is My Shelter? (13 page)

“Don't worry about it, Will,” Philip growled. “I can take a taxi.”

Josh butted in, “My dad can take him home. They go up that way. Nice to meet you, Will. Maybe I'll see you around on campus.”

Several people joined in, saying it was nice to meet him and good luck finding Great-Aunt Cindy. Good grief, did everybody know Will and his grandmother were doggedly pursuing their cold case for a person missing sixty-plus years? Well, at least one uninvited guest was out the door, one to go. I walked Will out to the foyer and held the door open. “Hope everything goes well with your grandmother, Will.” I shook his hand. “Best wishes.”

The young man gave a quick grin, then ran down the steps toward his car.

“Hey!” yelled a raspy voice from down the sidewalk. “Hold that door.”

I turned my head to see a familiar dumpy figure pulling a wire cart and jerking on a leather leash. At the end of the leash, a yellow dog was stopping to sniff at every tree along the sidewalk. For the first time that evening, a happy grin bubbled up from my spirit and spread out on my face.

“Hey there, Lucy. I see you got wind of my invitation!”

So many people started to arrive that I finally parked myself by the foyer door to welcome them and guide them into my apartment, where we were going to start before moving on to bless the other apartments. Lee arrived with a clump of other people, including Mabel Turner and her nephew, Jermaine, and she acted as if it was perfectly natural that I'd invited the Legal Aid lawyer who'd often done work for the shelter . . . though the bouquet of flowers he handed me felt a little awkward. He'd dressed for the occasion, trading in his signature jeans for khaki slacks and a nice pullover sweater.

“Thanks for coming, Lee.” I gave him a warm smile, took the flowers without comment, and turned to the two couples just arriving. “Welcome to the House of Hope, Peter and Avis. Hey, thanks for agreeing to emcee on short notice . . . Hi, Denny! Hi, Jodi! What's this?” Jodi was carrying a large basket filled with breads fresh from the bakery. “You weren't supposed to bring gifts!”

“House blessing, house warming—why not?” Jodi gave me a quick hug and whispered in my ear, “Did you think we'd ever see this day? Seems like forever ago when we talked about it while driving Moby Van to North Dakota last summer!” She laughed and joined the growing crowd in my living room.

The Baxters weren't the only ones to arrive bearing gifts, so Lee's flowers just became part of the “blessings” people had brought. Breathing a sigh of relief, I finally slipped inside the apartment and whispered to Peter Douglass, “Guess we're all here.”

The chairman of the Manna House board called for everyone's attention and the room quieted. Peter presented a dignified picture of a middle-aged African American businessman—close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, neatly pressed pants, sport coat over an open-necked dress shirt. “Most everyone here probably knows the history of the House of Hope—”

“Pretty short history,” Precious cracked, sparking chuckles around the room.

“—but I'm going to ask Gabby Fairbanks, our program director at Manna House, to give us a brief review. Gabby?”

I could feel my face turning red as heads turned my direction. And I suddenly remembered that Philip was still here! How could I tell the history of the House of Hope without telling how my own experience of finding myself homeless and unable to have my children with me helped me understand how desperately homeless moms needed a place to call home? Tearing up, I shook my head and croaked, “Sorry. Can't. Mabel?”

My boss, bless her, gave a brief “Manna House version” of how I'd come to her with the idea for second-stage housing, which had seemed rather grandiose at first, but with a lot of prayer God had brought all the pieces together. He'd provided a building and the means to buy it, rent support from the Chicago Low Income Housing Trust Fund, and Manna House to supply social services to the women who would live here. “But we have Gabby to thank for her vision and her persistence in believing this was God's idea and God's timing . . . and here we are today, to ask God's blessing on the House of Hope.”

“Hallelujah for God and Gabby!” Precious cheered, and the room erupted in a hearty round of clapping. Now my face really was burning and tears threatened to open a floodgate. Jodi slipped me some tissues, but not before I saw Lee across the room giving me a private smile as he joined the clapping. I couldn't see Philip . . . had he left after all? That, or he was sitting down someplace behind folks who were standing.

As the clapping died down, Avis Douglass opened her Bible. “As we bless this house, I want to read a scripture from Hebrews that has the House of Hope written all over it. ‘Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.' Chapter thirteen, verse two.”

“Did she say
angels
gonna live here?” Sammy piped up. More laughter.

Tanya clamped a hand over her son's mouth. “She didn't mean
you
, pipsqueak.”

“Oh, but I did.” Avis smiled at the third grader. “Each mother and child who will live in the House of Hope may be a stranger before they walk in the door, but some may be God's angels disguised as the homeless to bless this house.”

“Sí, sí!
Amen! Right, Gracie?” Edesa nuzzled the little girl in her arms, making her laugh.

Peter Douglass cleared his throat. “Well said. Why don't we pray a blessing over this apartment, then do the same in the other apartments—”

“I got a prayer,” Lucy announced.

Everyone stared as the old woman pushed her way into the middle of the room. Dandy started to follow, probably thinking his new mistress was getting ready to leave, but Paul pulled the dog back and made him stay.

It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping. Lucy wanted to
pray
?

chapter 12

Without further ado, Lucy clasped her big-knuckled hands together, squeezed her eyes shut, and boomed in her raspy voice, “Bless this house, oh Lord, we pray. Make it safe by night an' day. Bless these walls, so firm and stout, keepin' want and trouble out . . .”

I smiled to myself. The prayer was obviously a poem of some sort she'd memorized.

“. . . Bless the roof and chimney tall, let Thy peace lie over all. Bless the door that it may prove, ever open to joy and love. Bless these windows, shinin' bright, lettin' in God's heavenly light. Bless the folks who dwell within, keep them pure and free from sin. Bless us that we'll dwell one day, oh Lord with Thee.” Lucy opened her eyes and grinned. “Amen. The end.”

Murmurs of appreciation circled the room. “Where'd you get that prayer, Lucy?” Estelle asked.

Lucy shrugged. “Dunno. Learned it as a kid. My mama used to pray it ever' time we moved to new digs—which was ever' couple months, seems like. Followin' the crops, ya know. Seemed like it fit this here new House of Hope.”

My ears perked up. Lucy rarely, if
ever
, shared information about her former life.

“Sí, mi amiga
,” Edesa said warmly. “And I want you to pray it again when we get up to our apartment, okay? Shall we go?”

“Our apartment first!” Tanya said. “Sammy, go open the door.”

I glanced at Peter Douglass. He'd been usurped. But the unflappable businessman gave me a wink and nodded. “Let the Spirit move,” he murmured as he followed the crowd across the hall and into apartment 1A.

I waited until the room cleared and approached Philip, who had been sitting on the window seat in the sunroom, his broken arm resting on a stack of throw pillows. “You go on,” he said. “I don't do stairs too well.”

“Do you want me to call a taxi?”

“Just . . . go, Gabby. I'm sure they're waiting for you.”

Fine
. I left the apartment, but the only person waiting for me in the hall was Lee. He was frowning.

“What's he doing here, Gabby? Have you two patched it up?”

I felt a flicker of annoyance. After our confrontation at the hospital, Lee didn't exactly have any claim on what I did or didn't do as far as Philip was concerned. At the same time, I wanted him to understand. “I didn't invite him, if that's what you mean. He brought Paul home, and Paul begged me to let him stay. That's all.”

Lee's face softened. He nodded and glanced at his watch. “Wish I could stay, but I've got some research to do for a case I'm arguing Monday. But this house warming—”

“House
blessing
,” I corrected.

“Right. House blessing. Anyway, it was very nice. I'm . . .” He reached out a hand and gently touched my cheek. “I'm proud of you, Gabby. What you've done here. You're quite a woman.”

“Now can we serve your brownies?” I asked Estelle as our little throng returned to the first floor after blessing the other two apartments. I'd noticed that Avis had also quietly anointed the doors of the three apartments still occupied by other tenants.

Estelle smiled coyly. “As long as you stay out of the kitchen. Harry an' I've got it covered. Right, Harry?” I caught a wink passing between the two of them.
Hm
. What were those two up to?

“Don't anyone leave,” I announced. “We still have dessert and coffee.” I saw Denny Baxter in the sunroom talking to Philip. Probably offering to give him a ride back to the penthouse. Well, Philip and Lee had been here in the same room and the roof hadn't caved in. I started to relax for the first time that evening.
Thank You, God, for pouring Your peace over our house blessing
. I didn't think anyone had seen Lee touch my cheek out in the hall, even though I could still feel the exact spot on my skin.

After what seemed longer than necessary to set out a pan of brownies, Harry Bentley appeared in the doorway of the living room. “Dessert is served. This way, ladies and gentlemen.” He offered his arm to me. “May I escort you, Firecracker?”

“You're being so formal,” I teased. “Except for that ‘Firecracker' bit.”

We all forged our way down the long hall, past the boys' bedrooms and bathroom to the dining room at the rear of the apartment. To my surprise, the makeshift plywood table had been cleared of my everyday tablecloth and the potluck dishes, and it now boasted a white damask tablecloth and elegant silver candlesticks. Tall white candles flickered cheerfully. On one end sat a silver coffee service with a silver creamer and sugar bowl and, on the other, china dessert plates and silver forks. All this for brownies and coffee?

I groaned silently. I
really
needed to get a decent table.

“Come in, come in, make room for everybody . . .” Mr. B glanced over the faces bunching into the room, whispered something to Paul, and a minute later my youngest reappeared with his father.

“Is it my mom's birthday?” Paul asked, obviously as confused as the rest of us. “I thought it wasn't till next weekend.”

Oh no
. Harry and Estelle didn't go to all this trouble for—

“No, son. Matter of fact, didn't know your mom had a birthday comin' up.” Harry winked at me. “But it
is
an important occasion. Just wanted all you folks to know . . .” Harry reached for Estelle's right hand and pulled her close to him. “Show 'em, babe.”

Eyes shining, Estelle raised her left hand and turned it in the candlelight so we could all see the exquisite diamond ring sparkling on her third finger.

For a nanosecond, the whole room seemed to gasp . . . and then whoops, hollers, and “hallelujahs” broke out as if Harry Bentley had just scored the winning home run that gave the Cubs a pennant. Sensing
something
exciting was happening, even Dandy offered several joyous barks, and I was grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

“Yep!” Harry beamed. “Last weekend I asked Miss Estelle Williams to marry me—and she said yes.”

“ 'Bout time!” Precious snorted. Even moody Sabrina was smiling and clapping. The cheering hiked up another couple decibels when the ex-Chicago cop pulled his ladylove into a clinch and gave her a long, sensuous kiss.

And then we were all over both of them, giving them hugs, congratulations, and slaps on the back—well, the guys slapped Harry. “Oh, Mr. B,” I breathed into his ear when I finally got my turn for congratulations. “I am
so
happy for you. So . . . happy.” The lump in my throat cut off the rest of what I wanted to say, and I just hugged him hard.

Harry and Estelle insisted on serving the coffee and brownies to us all—“Estelle's Double-Rich Double-Fudge recipe,” Harry bragged—as everyone started begging for details. “Where'd he pop the question, Estelle?” . . . “Did you have to twist her arm, Harry?” . . . “Do you guys have a wedding date yet?”

As my teeth sank into a second piece of Estelle's brownies, I suddenly realized Harry said he'd asked Estelle to marry him
last weekend
—the same weekend he'd saved Philip from another serious attack by that terrible Fagan person. I started to ask Harry if he'd asked Estelle before or after that traumatic event, but held back because I saw Philip gingerly make his way through the crowded room and extend his good hand to Harry. “Congratulations, Bentley. Happy for you. And I hear I've got you to thank for saving my skin last Sunday. Don't know how you sent those cops to the right alley, but—thanks.”