ten

Sara gasped to see that her mother’s CD was in the player instead of her own contemporary Steven Curtis Chapman music. Oh well, at least it was catchy.

She rubbed down the furniture while rocking to the rhythm of Andy Griffith’s album of old hymns. Lost in the music, she sang along. “There’s a New Name Written Down in Glory” blared forth with a background of Scottish bagpipes. The hills echoed to refrains of “There’s Power in the Blood” and “I’ll Fly Away.”

The mid-morning sun began to produce sweat on her forehead by the time she finished rubbing. Her body and lungs felt like they’d had an invigorating aerobic workout. If she was going to do this every morning, she’d have to start wearing sunblock and a hat to protect her face. And a sleeveless shirt to prevent a farmer’s tan.

She stripped off the rubber gloves and shook her hands to dry them from the moisture that had accumulated. She went inside the house and heard a whirring sound upstairs. Good, the vent cleaners had known to go on up. Or perhaps the illusive Forrest had appeared to tell them. She’d been so absorbed in her work and music, she’d forgotten to listen for them.

After washing her hands and gloves in the kitchen sink, she heard a male voice singing, “Oh, glory, I’ll fly away.” Quite a nice resonant baritone. One of the workmen must have enjoyed her music. Then he stuck his head around the door casing. “Morning, Sara.”

No oaks and maples this time. She saw him clearly, filling the doorway. Tall, hairy, jeaned, and in a T-shirt that looked clean.

“Good morning, Forrest.” He had that twinkle in his eyes again, like he knew some secret about her. Well, she guessed he did. He knew she didn’t have a fabulous voice, but she sang anyway. He also knew she wasn’t too great a housekeeper.

But she reckoned she knew something about him too. Indications were that perhaps he’d broken the law. If so, what had he done? His family had plenty of money, so surely he hadn’t stolen. Drugs? Oh, she hoped not. She knew drugs fried the brain, and persons could have relapses and visions.

She shook away the unpleasant thoughts. “I assume the air-conditioning guys are here.”

“They are. One of the workmen is going to measure a grate for one of the broken vents.”

Sara tore off a paper towel from the upright porcelain holder. “I remember seeing a vent downstairs with no grate.”

“So that’s what gave Tina her upset stomach.”

“Not likely,” Sara said, although she smiled at the quip. It wasn’t too much of an exaggeration that Tina was big enough to swallow a grate, but she wasn’t quite tall enough for the missing one. “I’ll be downstairs if he wants me to show him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Forrest said. “And the guys and I will be out back in the flower beds. By the way, Mom said we’ll grill some steaks tonight instead of picking up fast food.” He shifted from one foot to another. “Join us, okay?”

Sara stared at him too long, then tore off another paper towel and began wiping the wet gloves. “No, I. . .no. I can’t intrude on your family like that.”

“Intrude?” He scoffed. “I just invited you.”

What did he mean? He couldn’t mean he invited her personally, like a date or something. Good grief, where did such a thought come from?

She didn’t know why he would ask her to stay for supper. He seemed to want to relate to her. Maybe he didn’t know exactly how. But she wasn’t like a career housekeeper. Frankly, she didn’t know what she was. Maybe the Paridy family’s reaction would define that for her when they arrived.

“Thanks, but I can’t stay.” She headed across the kitchen to put the gloves away. She remembered she did have an errand. “Your mother wanted me to take this box to. . .I forgot her name.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Nana?”

“My great-grandmother. One of my favorite persons in the whole wide world.”

Sara heard the affection in his voice and saw the warmth in his eyes.

“I love that woman,” he said. “Oh, she’d like your music. She watches those old Andy Griffith movies and has a recording of his, but I don’t think it’s that one.”

“This is the latest. My sister gave it to Dad on his birthday.”

“Tell Nana hello for me, will you?” He stepped back into the hallway. “I guess you won’t know what a great chef I am.” He tipped the rim of a make-believe hat with his fingers, grinned, and disappeared from the doorway.

Sara smiled, listening to his footsteps fading as he walked across the ceramic floor. His voice melted into the distance along with his pretty good rendition of, “When I die, hallelujah, by-and-by, I’ll fly away.”

❧

Forrest walked out front and called up to the workers. “When you get a chance, would one of you come out back, please?”

Not that he didn’t trust the workmen, but he didn’t know them and didn’t want to chance Sara being in the house alone with them. He knew from association with the guys from the halfway house that even some from Christian homes had traveled down the wrong road and some had their bodies damaged from drugs. Their criminal acts had begun with a temptation or a thought, then progressed to an act. So who knew where an undisciplined or wayward person might strike next?

He believed he could trust Hal and Skip—otherwise they wouldn’t be here. They hadn’t planned to work with flowers, but they needed to know that being tough meant they could plant flowers without impairing their manhood.

“Okay, guys,” he said, going out onto the back patio now laden with plants in pots and white bags. “Let’s dig up these beds first.”

Sara called out, “Hi, Hal. Hi, Skip.”

Forrest looked up.

Something about the way she looked sort of took his breath away. Her forearms rested on the deck railing, and she bent toward them. He’d already observed her pretty face without layers of makeup. She looked natural. He liked that.

Her light hair moved in the breeze like a whisper of wind in the trees. A slight turn of the ends poofed out from the sides of her face, giving her the pert look that he felt matched her personality. From the distance of a second-floor deck, he couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but he knew them as warm brown.

They weren’t looking at him just now, but at Hal and Skip.

“You guys want to listen to my music?”

Hal and Skip looked at Forrest for his lead, so Forrest said, “Sure. Thanks.”

He saw a worker coming around the corner of the house. “Sara. One of the workers is coming around. He’ll be going in to see what needs to be repaired.”

“Okay,” she called. “I’ll meet him downstairs at the back door.”

She turned the CD player on, increased its volume, then went inside the house. That was generous of her. And selfless, thinking of them when she’d brought her own music, apparently for herself.

Had she done this for him, since he said he liked her music? On second thought, he hadn’t said he liked it. He’d said Nana would like it.

She’d turned down his invitation to supper. Did she not like him? Then why did she just come out on the deck and turn on the Griffith tape, then go back inside? For him? For the guys? Was she trying to witness to the guys since they were from a halfway house? Or had she thought he enjoyed the music and so wanted to share?

He did have the impression she was wary of him. Well, what had she seen of him? First impressions were important. He hadn’t made a good one on her. She’d thought he was a burglar. The halfway house guys wouldn’t have improved that impression. A representative of the Paridy family whose hair hadn’t been cut in a month, a face that hadn’t been shaved in a week, and whose clothes were torn and dirty wouldn’t impress her.

What would? A clean-cut man in a suit? A guy with a great future like his brothers? One who appeared to have it all together? Oh, he could play the part. He could come up with a suit, even a tux and black shiny shoes and a bow tie. He almost laughed aloud at that. It wasn’t him. To him, a monkey-suit was aptly named.

He didn’t know what would attract her, but he didn’t think she was really suited for summer-home living. What was her lifestyle? What did she like to do?

He wanted to know the deeper Sara Honeycutt. What kind of person was she? He’d known quite a few girls who seemed willing to do almost anything to get closer to a Paridy guy. He’d even let them. But Sara didn’t seem to want to get close to him.

He sang along with the CD. “Let us have a little talk with Jesus.”

Maybe he should have a little talk with Sheena. Find out a little more about Sara.

If he knew more about Sara, he’d be willing to ask her out on a date. Now how would his family feel about that? They weren’t snobs, but they’d made it plain that the Paridys were blessed with opportunities that made them all responsible to God for how they used their lives. He’d already disappointed his dad by asking for the inheritance his grandfather left him before his dad was ready to give it. How would he feel about Forrest dating the hired help?

Never before had he thought of taking a woman down to the acreage that his grandfather had always called “the back forty,” which meant it was the worst of the acreage in his opinion. The description had stuck. But Forrest felt it served his own purposes better than any of the other acres.

The question kept running through his mind. How would Sara react to what he was doing on the back forty?