Twenty-three

“Art Wilson. In my office now.” E. K. Fine’s voice roared across the room.

Art looked up. Charlie gave him a pointed look. Art shrugged. Stan just smirked at him. If he knew what this was about but wasn’t telling, Art might have to shake the belligerence out of him regardless of the fifty pounds Stan had on him. Speed and youth had to count for something.

Trailing E.K. to his office, Art kept his eyes and ears open for any information that would be helpful in the meeting.

E.K. barged through his door and headed to his desk. Art stopped as if he’d run into a wall when he entered. Grandfather sat in a chair in front of the desk. Art’s spine stiffened, and his senses went on alert.

Would Grandfather allow E.K. to fire him? Art didn’t want to think so, but Grandfather had been clear he had high expectations for Art to meet.

“Sit down, Wilson.” E.K.’s voice punctured Art’s thoughts. Grandfather arched an eyebrow but kept his gaze focused on his steepled fingers.

Only two chairs sat in front of E.K.’s desk. Art sank into the corner of the one opposite Grandfather. Silence settled over the room. Art determined not to fidget but felt like a kid called into the principal’s office.

E.K. joined Grandfather in staring at him. Art refused to break the stony silence. They’d called the meeting. They’d have to start it.

E.K. finally cleared his throat. “You’re aware I’ve been concerned about your performance for a while—given you many opportunities to correct deficiencies.”

Art clamped his mouth shut until he ground his teeth.

“Mr. Wilson, here, has a proposal he wants to discuss with you. Against my advice, I might add.” E.K. stood and huffed out of the room.

Art stared at E.K.’s chair as if the man hadn’t left. He could feel Grandfather’s gaze. Art turned and met his eyes.

“Well, now.” Grandfather leaned forward on the edge of his chair. “Son, I have a proposal for you. I want you to move to Dayton.”

“Back to Dayton? Why?” Where was this headed?

“I think you’re ready to be brought into the company. Groomed for a position.”

Art gawked at him, then spoke with deliberation. “You want me to move my wife again and leave this company?”

Grandfather waved a hand in the air. “As if your wife wouldn’t love to move back home. Don’t be pigheaded. Come into the business. Learn the ropes. Do well, and you may even become an owner.”

Art shook his head. “I can do all that here.”

“True, but I’d like a more active hand in developing your career.” Grandfather lifted a hand and stopped the refusal that wanted to explode from Art. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. However, I will need an answer by Friday.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“So it is.” Grandfather grabbed his Tyrolean hat and cane from the edge of the desk and walked out of the office.

Words escaped Art. It seemed even his thoughts had abandoned him. He stumbled to his feet, then headed to his office.

Charlie watched him as he grabbed his lunch bag, hat, and coat. “Everything all right?”

Art jangled the change in his pocket as he tried to find his voice. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll pray.”

Art knew he should respond, but he felt numb, detached from his body. He liked his life well-ordered. It had drawn him to accounting. Work with the numbers long enough, and they made sense. There was a rhythm and pattern to them. One that was often missing when dealing with people.

He didn’t know what to think as he walked toward home, the sky dark and heavy above him.

❧

That evening after Cassandra had settled into bed, Josie and Art huddled over the kitchen table. Art held her hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. Move back to Dayton? The possibility of moving home excited her. “What do you want to do?”

Art studied her face as if he wanted to search the depths of her soul before answering. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Part of me wants to take Grandfather up on his offer. But another part wants to make it on our own. And I know you’d like to move back.” His words trailed off.

“What do you want, Art?”

“I don’t know.”

“If we weren’t married and you could do anything in the world?”

“Then I wouldn’t work.” The hint of tease in his eyes kept her from smacking him.

“I’m serious.”

“It doesn’t matter, because I am married to the perfect woman.” She began to melt inside at his words. “I’m unsure how to interpret Grandfather’s offer. Did he buy the company to watch me work? I can think of easier and cheaper ways to do that.”

“It seems like a good opportunity.”

“I know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s pray.”

Josie relaxed. That’s what she loved about this man. He was far from perfect, but he knew where to turn. He held her hands and she listened as his rich voice petitioned God for wisdom and direction. Surely it would come.

❧

Soft snow fell from the sky. From the third-floor apartment it looked beautiful. Peaceful. Serene. At street level, it had brought the city to a halt. Art stumbled outside, intending to walk to work, but the drifted snow left the streets and sidewalks impassable. He wasn’t disappointed. The snow gave him time to ponder his answer for Grandfather since Art couldn’t get to work.

Art sat at the kitchen table, relaxed with a cup of coffee and the paper. He’d let Josie sleep. No need to wake her since they couldn’t go anywhere. Maybe once the snow stopped, they could take Cassandra out to romp in it. Maybe sled down the street.

He sipped his coffee, surprised he’d slept so well. Had to be the result of turning his concerns over to God. But in the light of day, he already felt the struggle to pick that burden right back up.

Lord, help me.

Three small words, but they were all he needed. They might be a never-ending mantra through the day, but that was all right.

“Give it up.”

The whisper ricocheted through him. Give what up? He cocked his head, heard nothing else, and went back to the paper.

“The bitterness, your pride. Give it to Me.”

Art wanted to pretend he didn’t understand. He’d made up the voice. The words came from his mind. But he knew it was a directive. One he needed to heed.

The bitterness and pride froze him in place. He didn’t like feeling that Grandfather had manipulated him. Yet he knew that wasn’t Grandfather’s intent. He’d made a good offer that made sense on most fronts. So why wouldn’t his grandson jump at the opportunity? Art needed to have his head examined.

No, he needed to obey.

The thought of forgiving, turning his back on his pride—he could hardly stomach it. But he had to. “Does this mean I have to work for the man?”

“Grandfather?” Josie startled him. He hoped his collar hid the heat climbing his neck.

“Yeah.”

Josie smiled, and it went straight to his heart. “Probably.”

❧

Several weeks later, boxes lined the living-room floor in the corner Josie had envisioned holding the Christmas tree. Even with Cassandra, they’d decided to forgo the decorations while they packed.

Josie stared around the small room, her heart beating erratically. Annabelle had called to say she was on the way. Looking at the piles of household items scattered across the floor, she decided she couldn’t feel less prepared. Father, calm my heart. Help me focus on Cassandra and what’s best for her.

The door opened, and Cassandra and Art stumbled through the door. Cassandra’s laugh rang with sweet innocence, and her cheeks were a rosy red kissed by the cold air. Snowflakes clung to her face, probably remnants of a well-aimed snowball. Considering the snow clinging to Art’s hair, they’d engaged in a wild snowball fight. Cassandra and Art performed a dance at the door as they knocked trace amounts of snow off shoes and dropped their coats, scarves, and mittens at the door.

“Did you have fun, Cassandra?”

Art didn’t look much older than nine himself as he grinned at Josie over Cassandra’s head. “Of course she did.” He moved as if to tickle her. “She knows she’ll be tickle-tortured if she doesn’t agree.”

Cassandra squealed and turned to run, but Art grabbed her before she could take two steps and threw her over his shoulder. Josie felt a rush of joy as she watched.

“Go get changed, Cassandra. I have a surprise for you when you’re dry and warm.”

Cassandra perked up. “A letter from home?”

“Maybe.” Josie smiled as Cassandra flew to her room and slammed the door. If only that could be motivation every day.

When Annabelle arrived, Cassandra sat covered in a blanket on the davenport, rereading the letter. Josie expected the letter to rip under the girl’s intense gaze.

“Would you like some tea? I also have warm milk for Cassandra’s hot chocolate.”

“I’m fine.” Annabelle eyed the boxes. “So it’s final. You’ve decided to move.”

Art had grown excited at the prospect of working for his grandfather. Josie couldn’t wait to be back in Dayton near family. But she’d realized through the preparations that Dayton wasn’t really home anymore. No, that was wherever Art lived.

“Yes, we’ll move in a few days at the school break.”

“You’re sure that will work for Cassandra?” Annabelle arched an eyebrow.

Josie watched Cassandra read the letter another time. “She’ll be fine. She’s excited about getting to spend time with our families, too. We can’t imagine not having her with us for the duration. We made a promise to her family that we’ll keep.” Just like she’d made a promise to Art to love him through all circumstances for the rest of her life.

Annabelle nodded, then walked over and joined Cassandra. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Cassandra looked up from her letter and grinned. All was well in her world. “Ma’am.”

“Are you willing to move with the Wilsons to Dayton? It will mean a new school and home for you.”

“Oh, that’s fine. My family will still know where I am. And I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

Josie hoped the new school would give Cassie a chance to start with a clean slate. And Cassandra and Ruth could stay friends through letters, maybe even visits.

As Annabelle prepared to leave, she seemed settled with the idea. She stopped at the door. “You know how to reach me if there are any problems.”

“Yes. Thanks for your assistance.” Josie smiled at Annabelle. “You’ve been such a help with Cassandra.”

Annabelle nodded. “It’s the part of my job I enjoy the most. Don’t forget to keep me posted on how things are going. And I’ll still stop by periodically.” Annabelle chucked Cassandra under the chin. “You’ve got a great home, kid.”

Cassandra’s face-splitting grin agreed. Josie showed Annabelle to the door, then turned to Cassandra. Now if she could just get the child to put down the letter and help with the packing.

❧

Art closed up his briefcase. It somehow latched around the pile of items he’d shoved in it. His desk cleared, Art turned to Charlie. “Thanks for everything.”

Stan leaned against his desk, arms crossed. “I know you ain’t saying that to me.”

Art chuckled. “You weren’t so bad. Kept me on my toes.”

“Here to serve.”

Charlie guffawed. “You’ve got the better assignment, you know. I’m stuck with this guy.”

“You can handle him.”

Stan rolled his eyes.

The future stretched in front of Art, largely unknown. Had he made a good decision? He honestly didn’t know. All he knew was he’d followed God’s leading to the best of his ability. And it was too late to change his mind. His replacement had already started, and the house was packed.

He had a feeling Josie wouldn’t be too happy if he suddenly decided they were staying.

Grabbing his briefcase, he shook hands with Charlie and Stan. “Good-bye.”

His steps were slow as he walked through Eden Park. It might be December, but he didn’t want to rush. No, he wanted to carefully consider everything that had occurred in the past months. There had been joy and sorrow with Josie’s pregnancy. The uncertainty with his job. The joy of watching Cassandra gain her footing.

God, You are so good.

Those words cycled through his mind, a meditation of praise.

He walked through the door, surprised to find some order to the chaos. Looked like Josie had at least kicked the boxes to the walls. He might walk through without knocking his shins against a dozen boxes.

Josie hurried to him. “Welcome home.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, then deepened it. A year, and he still couldn’t fathom God’s goodness in entrusting her to him. “Any regrets?”

She eyed him carefully, questions replaced by certainty. “Not one. It’s been an adventure, Mr. Wilson. One I plan to enjoy for the rest of my life.”

As he stood circling her waist with his arms, he believed her. She was a gift from God, and he would treasure her, too. Their promise was one he’d keep.