enough to cut through the noise. “Such a proposal has come to my attention. The purchase price of the timber is enough to keep the free clinic open for another year and to rehire three of the five teachers we had to let go due to the current budget crisis. This is something I must consider seriously.”
Dusty sat in stunned silence.
“Why weren’t we told that the clinic is closing?” Dick asked. “It’s part of the community college. Nursing students get most of their clinic hours required for graduation there. All the people who have lost jobs and, therefore, their health insurance depend upon that clinic.”
“The college provides less than half the funds required to keep the clinic open,” Mayor Seth said with a sneer. “I was told last week that the state budget can no longer fund the rest. Our area is growing. We aren’t an isolated community anymore. Other hospitals and clinics are within easy commuting distance and along mass transit lines. That is enough on the subject. This meeting is adjourned.” He pounded the gavel once more, rose slowly, took up his three-legged cane, and stumped out of the room.
Twenty-one
PHELMA JO NELSON READ THE NOTE that Haywood placed in her hands, not on her desk.
“Free clinic closing January 1 or before.”
Interesting. Haywood had been back and forth between the office and City Hall half a dozen times today. This was the first tidbit of news to intrigue her. Especially since the receptionist from the free clinic sat in front of her.
She schooled her face to make it look like she listened intently while her mind wandered to daydreams of the look on Dusty Carrick’s face when her precious fund-raising Ball was ruined.
“As you can see, we need donations from the entire community.” Janet Boland finally finished her shpiel.
“Donations look good on a resume,” Haywood whispered to Phelma Jo, finally settling behind her left shoulder. “The elderly in this town represent a strong voting contingent come November,” he added so quietly Phelma Jo had to strain to hear him.
She glanced at the note again and read the second line of handwritten text. A bigger idea popped into Phelma Jo’s head.
“You need more than just a few donations now, Ms. Boland. You need a nonprofit corporation with a continuing stream of donations.”
“You are right, Phelma Jo,” Ms. Boland said. “The problem of seniors needing a little extra help will continue and get severe again with the first cold snap and snowstorm. But this is a new project. We only have the resources to start small and temporary. It all came about because of Mrs. Spencer’s collapse-you do remember Mrs. Spencer from fourth grade, don’t you?-and that new girl, Thistle Down. She needs a job and this is something she can do. Actually it’s something she’s good at. She saved Mrs. Spencer’s life. Her intervention might very well save several other valuable voters.” So she had heard Haywood’s comment.
Beside her, Phelma Jo felt Haywood stiffen. Hastily, he wrote a note and passed it to her, keeping his hands below the desk level. “Remind this lady that the clinic is closing, and she’d make a better employee than Thistle.”
Phelma Jo already had that in hand.
“Ms. Boland, I have the staff and resources to set this up. Leave it in my hands.” Phelma Jo smiled her dismissal.
“We need donations now, not six months from now when the paperwork for incorporation clears,” Janet insisted.
“So you do.” Phelma Jo retrieved her personal checkbook in its oxblood leather cover from the desk drawer and scrawled numbers and a signature.
Haywood fidgeted nervously. What was with the man today? One of the reasons she’d hired him was his calm reassurance.
As she put the final flourish on her signature, Phelma Jo’s field of vision seemed to narrow. Darkness encroached from the sides.
She raised her head a moment in alarm. Sparkles replaced the darkness, pretty sparkles in wonderful autumnal colors of gold and green and russet.
“Since the clinic will be closing soon, I suggest we set this corporation up so that you will take the job of checking on the seniors, Ms. Boland. You are much more qualified than Thistle Down. Much easier to obtain a bond on your honesty and integrity. Especially since she has a criminal record under another name. Something to do with gang violence and vandalism.”
“The clinic is closing?” Janet seemed to wilt. Her mouth gaped in stunned astonishment. She might not have heard the second statement after the shock of the first. “They can’t do that to the community. Why weren’t the employees told first?”
“Not my decision. I just heard about it. But if I were you, I’d start checking my options. In this town there aren’t many.” Phelma Jo ripped the check off the pad and handed it to the woman with great satisfaction. “There, that should get things rolling.”
Janet Boland took the paper without even looking at it as she stumbled out of the office.
“Haywood, get on that nonprofit setup.”
“Certainly, Phelma Jo. I’ll make sure you are listed as primary trustee and registered agent. You can list this charity at the top of your good works in the mayoral campaign literature. It will look as if the whole thing was your idea.”
“And put Ms. Boland’s name as the sole employee.”
“Already done. The Carricks will get no credit for this, and Thistle Down will be unemployed, homeless, and probably in jail by nightfall.”
“When did you learn to read, Thistle?” Dick asked when they left the City Council meeting together.
Dusty and Chase wandered off together in animated conversation.
Several things today were hanging at in Dick’s mind. He addressed the first of them to the woman walking beside him.
“I’ve always been able to read some. Just not well,” she said, looking away with a blush.
“The Pixie I knew as a child couldn’t read, had no need to.” Was that disappointment, suspicion, or anger rising up to nearly choke him?
“It’s something we all have to learn eventually,” she said, still not looking directly at him. “Dusty taught me a lot more than street signs could. She had nothing better to do with her time while she was sick. And she was so lonely being homeschooled that teaching me basic reading and numbers helped her pass the time. Kept her mind active when she was too tired to do her own schoolwork.”
“Oh… I thought… I don’t know what to think.”
“I truly am a Pixie in exile. I am, Dick. You were the first to believe me. Why don’t you now?” Then she turned those fabulous purple eyes up to him. Moisture made bright drops on her lashes that caught the overhead lights and turned to sparkling crystals.
He stumbled on the smooth marble floor. He wanted to fall deeply into those eyes, allow his soul to merge with hers. He wanted all the hopes and promises she held out to him.
“You told me that Pixies can’t read.”
“I was young then. I hadn’t ventured much beyond The Ten Acre Wood. But later, when I did, Alder showed me street signs and how to puzzle out the symbols so they meant something. I knew all the streets and the stop signs, and even when to cross on a green light.” She nibbled on her lip. “Then Dusty taught me more. I know that her museum is the Skene County Historical Museum, and that I landed in Memorial Fountain-named because it’s
