“Oh, goodness, I wish I’d known that,” I said, wondering what other little twists of the law I didn’t know. “It would’ve saved me a whole lot of worrying time. So,” I went on to be sure I fully understood the requirements, “as long as one neighbor withholds his approval, the commissioners can’t grant a variance?”
“Wel-l-l, we’ll see. If one entity—that holding company—owns everything on the block except the Pickens property, that might outweigh his disapproval. It could depend on what their intentions are. If they’re planning something that the commissioners see as a benefit to the town, who knows what they’ll do. It comes down to this, honey, how much money and how much time it would take to carry the fight through the courts, and it’d be Pickens who’d be left to do it by himself.”
“No, we’d help.”
“I know, but it could be a long, drawn-out process. It’s even possible that in the long run, we’d be glad Madge Taylor is so determined to stay there.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, thinking that I’d better sit myself down. “That means that Mr. Pickens and Madge would be on the same side—both fighting a takeover. He’d certainly have to change his tune if that’s the way it turns out. Sam, we have to find out who’s doing what. And why.”
“I think so, too. I should be able to find who the owner is online if the deed has been registered. Which it ought to have been by now. But, no, I’m going myself to the courthouse and see it in writing.”
“Well, while you’re there, find out who’s in that holding company, too.”
“That may take some time. The names will be registered with the North Carolina secretary of state, which may mean a trip to Raleigh—I’m not sure that’s accessible online.”
“Going to Raleigh—if that’s what it takes—may be worth it,” I said, wanting him to say that he didn’t mind going.
Instead, he shook his head. “Can’t for a couple of days at least. The Rotary Club has asked me to do a slide program of my trip on Thursday.”
“What a nice compliment to you, Sam. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful and most informative.” But I was disappointed. I badly wanted to find out who was behind the block takeover, and to find out as soon as possible.
But then a few lightbulbs began going off in my head. “Listen, Sam, whoever is doing this has really played their cards right. I’ve had the feeling all along that the commissioners would be hard-pressed to turn down a variance for something as worthy as a home for homeless children. I’m convinced that they’ll grant it because if they don’t, the members of those seven churches will rake them over the coals—and that’s a lot of voters to displease. Why, they might even protest in the streets, and how would that look?”
Sam grinned. “Not too good when they’re asking for votes. But,” he went on, “instead of granting a variance for that one house, the commissioners could know something that we don’t. Depending on who’s playing those cards you mentioned, they could simply rezone the entire block to permit not only a group home but who-knows-what-else.”
—
Well, that possibility certainly didn’t settle my nerves. Too antsy to even think of wrapping gifts, I tried to wait patiently for Sam to return with enlightening news of exactly who was behind the ruination of Hazel Marie’s happy home. I started to call her, just to have something to do, but decided not to. Anything I could tell her about our current suspicions would only add to her worries. Better to wait until we knew something definite.
So I wandered around the house, going in and out of the kitchen so many times that Lillian finally said, “You need to find yourself something to do.”
“I know it,” I said, coming to rest on a chair at the kitchen table. “My mother used to say, ‘Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,’ and I guess . . .” Interrrupted by the ringing of the phone, I jumped up to answer it, hoping Sam was calling with news too big to hold in.
Instead it was LuAnne, who at least gave me something else to think of.
“Julia?” she said, sounding just a little unsure of herself, or of me—I didn’t know which.
“Yes, of course it’s me. What’s going on, LuAnne? Is everything all right?”
“Oh,” she said, as if she suddenly realized she had something to say. “I’m sorry, I just have a lot on my mind. But I called to see if you’d be interested in joining a prayer group—you know, with Christmas approaching and all. I mean, it would be good for us to center our minds on what’s important at this time of the year. You know, so we won’t get bogged down with all the commercialization and so forth.”
“Well, I don’t know. There’s so much to do, and . . .”
“That’s exactly the wrong attitude,” LuAnne said, much more firmly. “What’s more important than taking a few minutes to engage in prayer?”
“I guess if you put it that way . . .”
“I certainly do. Now, listen, we’re going to meet at the church in the bride’s room next to the chapel. Just a few of us, and there’re comfortable chairs there, and it’s quiet and conducive. Nobody’ll bother us, so we’re going to meet at ten o’clock tomorrow for thirty minutes or so. No lessons or anything, just prayer requests and silent prayer, then somebody will give a closing prayer, and that’ll be it. But it’ll help us put first things first—which we tend to forget in all the rushing around getting ready for Christmas. I think it’ll make a
