“Oh, my goodness. Mildred, it’s just accelerating out of control. We’ll be portrayed as the worst of the worst—Scrooges, even. But,” I went on, taking a deep breath in spite of the pain in my chest, “we’ve always known that Madge has a way with words, and she’s able to move people to act while she stands aside to watch the fallout.”
—
After that unsettling conversation, I had to force myself to do something besides cover my head and curl up in a corner. So Madge had maneuvered a way to lay blame for opposition to her plans onto me, and I’d gotten the brunt—if that’s what you wanted to call it—on my library floor.
With a heavy heart and in an effort to carry on as I normally would, I took my Christmas list upstairs to Lloyd’s room to use his computer. Yes, I was ordering a lot of my gifts online, feeling guilty as I did so for not patronizing local merchants. I did it not necessarily to save money, but to save wear and tear on knees and feet. To have to park blocks away, then tromp up and down Main Street, going in and out of shops, carrying packages as I went, just seemed beyond my declining physical ability. I have mentioned, haven’t I, that age is creeping up on me? Looking for shortcuts and ease of getting things done seemed the obvious way to proceed.
There were a few things, however, that I intended to purchase in town, the thought of which helped assuage my guilty feelings. Sam would help with those errands. He might even do them by himself, but that was my tired, defeated feelings coming into play. If I wasn’t careful, I would let Madge and her wayward plans overshadow my entire Christmas.
To forestall that, I forced myself to go to the telephone and call LuAnne. As she usually called me with a suggestion, I thought it time that I return the favor.
“Let’s go to lunch,” I said when she answered.
There was a long pause before she responded. “Oh, well, I don’t think I can. I mean, I know I can’t. I’m on my way to the church for a meeting.”
“This late in the morning? It’s close to lunchtime.”
“I know, but everybody’s so busy these days, it’s always catch-as-catch-can. You know how it is.” Then, in a rush, she said, “It’ll be a short meeting, just to hand out lists of names to be called. But then we’re supposed to start calling right away. This afternoon, in fact.”
“Oh, well,” I said, disappointed that I wouldn’t have LuAnne to distract me over lunch, “we’ll do it another time. But what’s the church calling everybody about?”
“Pledges, Julia,” LuAnne said in an exasperated tone. “We’ll be calling the members who haven’t returned their pledge cards. I don’t know how people expect the church to operate if it doesn’t have a budget, and to have a budget, it has to know how much will be coming in.”
Well, I thought, that was another can of worms to open—does one support a church that supports lawbreakers?
Promising each other that we’d get together soon, we hung up, and my conscience had something else to struggle with. And to pray about.
Chapter 33
“I caught up with Binkie this afternoon,” Sam told me as we sat in the Febreze-scented air of the restored library after supper that evening. “And you don’t have to worry. She’s well prepared to argue against a variance.”
“So that means,” I asked, lowering the newspaper, “that Madge and company are definitely applying for one?”
“That’s the way it looks—nothing’s on the agenda yet, but the commissioners are expecting it. Binkie says that the petitions you and Hazel Marie collected from the neighbors are a great help. She had copies made to send to each commissioner. Half are up for reelection next year, so they’ll pay attention.”
“Oh, I don’t know that they will. They’ll figure that everybody will have learned to live with the Homes for Teens by that time.”
Sam shook his head. “Maybe not. If the commissioners allow the variance, they know it’ll strike fear in the hearts of all the town’s citizens. If one neighborhood isn’t protected by the zoning laws, who’s to say anybody else’s is? At least, that’s the main point of Binkie’s argument. She knows what she’s doing, Julia. You can depend on her.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I was beginning to have my doubts, although Binkie has never failed me before. It’s also a relief to know that I won’t have to speak at a public hearing.”
“Don’t be too relieved. I expect Binkie will want several of us to go to the microphone and speak against the variance. Just, as you should expect, the other side will have their own speakers.”
“Yes, and every one of them will tug at the heartstrings of the commissioners and probably cry a little, as if the Cochran house is the only possible answer for homeless teens in all of Abbot County.”
“Well,” Sam said, reaching over to pat my knee, “the next commissioners’ meeting is still a couple of weeks away. We have plenty of time to get our ducks in a row. Why don’t you write out what you’d like to say, and I’ll write mine to support your points?”
“I’d really rather,” I said, with an almost unforced smile, “that you write both of them.”
Laughing, he agreed, and I was comforted by having his strong presence and orderly mind to rely on.
—
“Sam?” I asked, after several minutes of listening to the news, which seemed to be much the same every night. “What are your thoughts about pledging this year?”
His eyebrows went up. “To what?”
“To the church, Sam. You know—so the deacons will know how much they can spend.”
“I guess I haven’t given it much thought,” Sam said vaguely. “We’ve always pledged something, so I expect we’ll do it this year, too.”
“You’ve probably not thought of it because the pledge cards came while you were away.
