It had been a long day, and Avis’s feet hurt. After the morning training session for STEP, she had visited five more local businesses, trying to expand her list of sponsors. Only two of the five had promised to donate actual money, but one of the pizza places on Sheridan had promised to send over two large cheese pizzas each Friday as an alternative to the daily bag lunch. Well, every little bit helped.
Now, sprawled on the couch with her feet up, Avis had just clicked off the news and started thinking about supper when Peter came in the door. “You’re home early,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He tossed his briefcase on a chair and loosened his tie. “Now that Carl’s back, I get to leave at a decent hour. Uh, say . . . I just saw a police car pull away from the front of the building. Any idea what that was about?”
She shook her head. “Didn’t hear anything. Maybe someone else on the block called them and they just parked here. Happens.”
“Yeah. Probably. Ahhhh . . .” Peter sank into the leather recliner. “Feels good to get off my feet. Can you toss me the remote?”
Avis waggled the remote in her hand. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Like, ‘How was your training day for the summer program, sweetie? Do you have enough volunteers? Getting enough sponsors?’ ”
Peter grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. How was your training day for the summer program, sweetheart? Do you have enough volunteers?”
Avis swung her feet off the couch and tossed the remote into his lap as she got up. “Getting there. We could use a few more men . . .” She started down the hall toward the bedroom, then poked her head back into the living room. “Oh. Forgot to tell you that Kathryn Davies from downstairs stopped by the school office on Friday to pick up an application. And she showed up for training today. I hope it works out. Her work schedule might be a problem. She’s enthusiastic at least.” Heading down the hall again, she called back, “I’m going to change out of these clothes and get into something comfy. Got any suggestions for supper?”
But he’d already turned the TV on and probably didn’t hear her.
Mm, the bed looked inviting. She was tempted to crawl under the duvet and forget about supper . . . but instead she reached around to the back of her neck, unclasped the silver and turquoise necklace she’d worn with the white embroidered cotton tunic and black slacks she’d worn that day, and opened her jewelry box to put it away. Absently straightening the framed picture of her and Peter on their honeymoon, she noticed something behind it keeping the frame from sitting back in its place. What’s this?
Moving the photo, she picked up a small package wrapped in brown paper—like grocery bag paper—and a red ribbon. No name, no tag—but it must be for her since it was on her dresser. Sitting down on the bed, she slid the ribbon off, unwrapped the brown paper, and looked at the box. White, square. She lifted the lid . . . and stared.
Ruby earrings.
Avis’s lips parted. Where did . . . Oh, of course. Peter had said if they didn’t find the earrings, he’d replace them. But these were exactly like the ones he’d given her before. Was that possible? It had been a month and a half since she’d discovered they were missing. He must have waited until he found the exact same earrings again.
Sweet of him.
Well. She was not going to get out that fancy red dress and put it on just to show off these earrings. But she could put them on long enough to thank him. Quickly shedding her work clothes, she pulled on a pair of white capris, toe sandals, and a light pink top and then carefully slid the ruby earrings into the holes in her ears.
But looking at herself in the mirror, Avis had to blink back tears. The ruby earrings were beautiful—but did she even want to wear them? They reminded her of that awful night she’d last worn them . . . Rochelle showing up, crying, desperate, saying she’d been evicted, wanting them to take her in. Peter refusing. Taking her and Conny to the shelter the next day, and then . . . nothing. Weeks of silence. Never returning phone calls. And then on their anniversary, discovering that the ruby earrings were missing . . .
Practically ripping the earrings out of her ears, Avis put them back in the box. She was tempted to just put the box back, pretend she hadn’t found it. Obviously Peter had wanted to surprise her, hiding the box, but just barely, wanting her to find it. The earrings had been his wedding gift to her in the first place. And now he was “gifting” her again.
All right, Avis, suck it up and give your husband some sugar for thinking of you.
Blotting the wetness from her cheeks and touching up her lipstick, Avis took a big breath, picked up the box, and walked back out to the living room. Leaning over the recliner, she kissed him on the mouth and smiled into his eyes. “Thank you, honey. I found your surprise.”
Peter leaned around her, trying to watch whatever he’d been watching on the TV. “Surprise?”
Uh-huh. Playing dumb. “Yes, surprise.” She snatched the remote from his hand and hit the Off button. “This surprise.” She held out the box, minus its brown paper wrapping and red ribbon.
“Hey, I was watching the news about that earthquake in China . . . What’s that?”
Okay, she’d play along. She teased him with the box and then opened the lid. “Thank you, Peter. You didn’t have to replace them, but . . . it’s very sweet.”
Peter’s eyebrows went up. Reaching out a finger, he touched the earrings and then looked up at her. “The ruby earrings? But, Avis, I didn’t replace them.”
Avis just stared at him. Her lips suddenly went dry. “You—you didn’t? Then—” The enormity of what Peter had just said began to sink in. “Then how did . . . ? Who . . . ?”
Slowly Avis sank down onto the ottoman. Peter let down the footrest and leaned forward in the recliner. “Well, now we know they weren’t just misplaced or lost. Whoever took them has returned them.”
“Rochelle,” Avis whispered. She licked her dry lips. “She’s been here. She put them on my dresser. But how did she get in? And . . . what does it mean?”
She had Peter’s attention now. “Something good, I think,” he said. “She’s reaching out—”
A rapid knock on the front door startled them both. Then an urgent voice. “Mr. Douglass? Mrs. Douglass? Are you home? Something’s happened. Please, we need to talk with you.”
“That’s Nick,” Peter said, launching himself out of the recliner and striding quickly to the door. He pulled it open. “Nick! Come in. What’s happened?”
“It’s Livie . . . Someone snatched her purse at the Morse Avenue El Station and made her fall down the stairs. She got pretty banged up.”
“Oh no,” Avis murmured, joining her husband.
Nick paced back and forth, nervously running one hand over his short hair. “The police brought her home. She didn’t want to go to the ER, mostly scrapes and bruises—but she won’t stop crying. Her purse had her ID, her checkbook, everything. We . . . Would you come down and speak with her? We really don’t know what to do.”
“Of course. Just give me a minute.” Avis walked quickly back to their bedroom, put the box with the earrings on the dresser, picked up her Bible from the bedside table, and returned. She nodded at Peter. “We should both go.”
Poor thing, Avis thought as they followed Nick down the stairs. Timid Olivia, of all people. But purse snatchers sensed these things, picked on the vulnerable, the nervous ones.
Just as Nick said, Olivia was curled up on the couch, weeping in Brygitta’s arms. Her blond bangs had been pushed back, and Avis could see an angry lump swelling on the young woman’s forehead. Raw scrapes raked across her nose and cheeks, and she had a couple of bloody scrapes on her knees that looked as if they’d been washed and covered with some kind of ointment. The girl cradled one hand in her lap as if it hurt her. Kathryn sat on the floor nearby, shaking her head.
Avis had a sudden pang of compassion for all of them. Babes in the woods—or babes on the streets, as it were. “Come,” she said, beckoning to Peter and Nick, both of whom looked uncomfortable with all this female weeping. Pulling up a hassock, she encouraged all five of them to lay hands—gently—on Olivia. “Oh God,” she prayed, “Your daughter Olivia needs the comforting presence of Your Holy Spirit right now. She’s been frightened, taken advantage of, and physically hurt. The Enemy wants to keep her afraid, but we are asking for a peace only You can give to fill Olivia’s heart and mind right now. She’s safe now, her wounds will heal. We thank You, Jesus, that it was only her purse that was taken, and not her life. We give You praise and glory for protecting Olivia from anything worse! Thank You, mighty God, thank You!”
Olivia was still weeping.
Leafing through her Bible, Avis stopped at Psalm 56 and then continued her prayer, using the scripture. “Be merciful to Olivia, O God, for an unknown assailant pursued and attacked her. This purse thief attacked her in his pride, thinking he could do this and get away with it, leaving her frightened and hurt. She is afraid—but help her to remember she can trust in You. We praise You, O God, for the promises in Your Word. In You we trust, so we do not need to be afraid! What can mere man do to us? Yes, hurt, steal, frighten—but You are a God of justice and compassion. Stop whoever did this and bring him to justice. And pour out Your compassion on Your precious daughter Olivia . . .”
Avis was aware that Olivia gradually stopped shaking, and her sobs quieted. When she finally said, “Amen,” the young woman gave her a teary smile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But . . . I don’t think I can go back to that job. I—I want to go home. I miss my sister . . . I sh-shouldn’t have left her alone this summer . . .” The sobs threatened to start up again.
“Shh, shh, it’s going to be all right,” Brygitta said, rocking her gently.
Nick beckoned to Avis and Peter. Kathryn followed them into the kitchen. “I can take her home,” the young man said in a low voice. “I actually think it’s a good idea. Livie wasn’t all that sure about staying here this summer anyway. Too bad about the nanny job, but . . . we need to do what’s best for Livie. Her younger sister’s staying with an aunt and uncle in Madison, Wisconsin. It’s not that far. I’ll check out bus or train schedules, and the three of us can chip in on a ticket—”
“Nonsense,” Peter said. “Take one of our cars. Madison’s only three hours or so from here, you can go and be back in the same day. We’ll manage.”
Nick’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, Mr. Douglass! That would be awesome, but . . . are you sure? I didn’t think about driving. Maybe we could rent a car—”
“No need. It’s done.” Peter reached out, putting a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Just let me know when the two of you are ready to go and we’ll get the car keys to you.”
“Whoa.” Nick shook his head. “I can’t believe it, but . . . thank you.”
Avis had kept her mouth shut, even though she was more than a little surprised that Peter—her Peter, who rarely let her drive his Lexus—would offer one of their cars to this young man, whom they barely knew. He probably meant her Toyota, but she couldn’t help an inner smile. If Peter was being generous, she knew better than to squelch it.
“It’s my fault, you know.”
Avis had almost forgotten Kathryn, but the young woman stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, staring at the floor.
“Oh, come on, Kat, it’s not your—”
“Yes, it is, Nick!” Kathryn’s head snapped up and her blue eyes flashed, a vivid contrast to the dark hair bunched on the back of her head with a clip. “I never should’ve pushed Livie to stay with us in Chicago. I thought the fact that her mom has this creepy boyfriend and her kid sister told Livie she was getting out of there was God saying she should come with us! But . . . we all knew Livie was anxious about living in the city, and we never did talk about whether she should’ve gone to her aunt’s to be with her sister. The kid’s still in high school, for crying out loud.”
“I know, Kat, but—”
But Kathryn was shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Everything’s just . . . wrong.” With that, she ran out of the kitchen.
Nick looked at Avis and Peter apologetically. “Sorry. Guess we’re all a little shaken. I better go talk to her.” He started after Kathryn.
Avis held up her hand to stop him. “You might wait a little while, Nick. If the Holy Spirit is trying to say something to Kathryn, don’t get in the way. She is a bit impetuous, you know. Maybe she needs some time to think . . . and pray.”
Nick hesitated. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.” He followed them to the door. “Thanks again.”
Peter seemed pensive the rest of the evening. Avis made a quick soup with some leftover chicken, adding chicken broth, rice, lime leaves, coconut milk, and red pepper flakes to spice it up, and served it up on the back porch to enjoy the mild evening. Both were quiet as they ate, Avis mulling over the mystery of the earrings. If Peter hadn’t bought her a new pair, then these had to be the ones Rochelle had taken—which now seemed the case. But the only reason Rochelle would have taken—stolen—them was because she was desperate for money. And yet . . . she’d returned them. But how? Avis knew Rochelle didn’t have a key to their apartment. No one else did either—well, the Baxters had a spare, in case theirs got lost or stolen. But Jodi wouldn’t give it out. Would she?
“Avis?”
Peter’s voice interrupted her musings. She looked up from her soup. He’d barely touched his.
“I’ve been thinking about Nick. I’m going to offer him a part-time job at Software Symphony for the summer.”
“You said that a week ago.”
“I know. Have to admit Wednesday night’s meeting knocked it off the radar for a couple of days. But we crunched numbers today, think we can do it.”
Avis nodded. “That’s good.”
“But that’s not all. He’s young and inexperienced, but I see the way he’s concerned about those girls, takes the initiative to take care of things. Yes, they’re all friends, but it’s more than that. He’s got a pastor’s heart. And I’ve been thinking . . .”