6

Amie and Tom spent the remainder of Saturday going through the laundromat, sifting through everything Hal had collected over the years. They quickly agreed they were off to a good start in gathering merchandise for their antique shop.

But the gas station and laundromat had to be razed and the furniture moved.

“I know a farmer who’ll let me rent part of his shed for storage.” Tom’s gaze flitted around at all the pieces of furniture. “He won’t charge much. I’ll start hauling stuff over next week. Obviously, I’ll have to empty the buildings before we can get a demolition crew out here.”

Amie set her fists on her hips, wondering what she’d ever do without Tom helping her out and offering to be a partner. Besides the financial aspect, her career wouldn’t afford her the time to haul and sort. But since he lived here, Tom could do it.

Later, after a picnic sandwich supper—Tom playing the gourmet cook and slapping together the best bologna sandwich Amie had ever eaten—he allowed her to go up to the apartment alone and box up her uncle’s personal belongings.

Entering Hal’s bedroom, Amie’s gaze immediately fell to the framed photographs on the dresser. One depicted her glowing face at her college graduation. Beside it stood a photo of Tom, his hair much shorter. He wore an outdated suit and, stood next to a younger man in a graduation robe. Both sported broad smiles.

Setting down the frame, Amie inspected the other snapshots. A woman’s black and white portrait, probably Hal’s wife. Amie recalled hearing the tragic story of the young woman’s drowning while on their honeymoon. It wasn’t something her uncle ever discussed and, as a little girl, she’d often wondered about the incident.

Amie emptied the dresser drawers and removed all the clothing from Hal’s wardrobe. She’d donate the garments to a homeless shelter. Glancing around the room she determined the oak bedroom set which Tom had sanded and varnished would go to Dottie since she’d been coveting some of the furniture. Tom already said he didn’t care. Anything in this room was hers to do with as she pleased.

The packing of books on the wooden shelf became Amie’s next task. Boxing them up, she noticed the three hard-bound journals. She held one reverently in her hands. Uncle Hal had kept diaries. He’d never seemed like a man who’d record his thoughts on paper.

She ran her left hand across the volume’s smooth red surface then leafed through it. She’d read all three of the memoirs when she had a free evening or weekend—whenever that might be.

Placing the books into the box of items she intended to keep, she finished loading other stuff into boxes for her siblings and donation.

Once the task was completed, she stood and wiped her dusty hands on her colorful broomstick skirt. She surveyed the room one last time. Sorrow weighed down her heart. Much of Uncle Hal’s life had just been packed into three large boxes.

 

~*~

 

Sunday dawned another glorious summer day. Tom invited Amie to attend worship service in a tiny country church in Morris, an outlying, rural community. Amie remembered it well. It was the church in which her uncle’s funeral had been held.

She slid into the pew, captivated once more by the charm of the sanctuary, from its polished planked floors to the antiquated pipe organ in the far-right corner. The simplicity of her surroundings roused in her an inexplicable sense of inner peace.

Moments later, the youthful-looking pastor began the service with prayer, after which the congregation stood, opened their hymnals and sang.

Although she’d sung this hymn dozens of times, today the words touched a tender chord deep inside of her.

The pastor returned to the pulpit and delivered an enlightening message. When the service ended, Tom introduced Amie to the minister, Jake Warren, his wife Katie, and their four darling little girls, Emma, Carol, Ellen, and Lucy.

“I’m sorry you have to go back to Chicago so soon,” Katie said. Her light-brown hair hung in waves that swept softly against the tops of her shoulders. “I hope you’ll visit us again sometime.”

Amie smiled. “I’ll probably be back in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh? Is there more to do in settling your uncle’s affairs?”

“Yes, quite a lot more, actually.” She stared up into the face of her new business partner. He smiled easily. “Tom and I are...well...” Amie didn’t want to say too much about their hotel endeavor at this point. There were still the legalities to straighten out. “We’re investing in our future, and I’m not exactly sure where we need to start.” She turned to Tom again. “Probably the Village Hall, don’t you think? We’ll need some kind of permit.”

“I’ll find out,” Tom moistened his lips and looked at the pastor. “There’s, um, something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Oh, yeah?” Pastor Warren’s auburn brows shot up in surprise. “Why, Tom, you little sneak!” He chuckled while his gaze moved between the two of them. “Hal’s niece, huh?” He whacked Tom on the back affectionately. “I sure was fond of your uncle,” he said to Amie. “He spoke of you often. And now you’re marrying our Tom. I think Hal would have been pleased by the match.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nervous flutters filled Amie’s insides. She fixed her gaze on Tom, but his hazel eyes were as wide as saucers.

“No, Jake,” he quickly tried to explain, “you’ve got it all wrong. We’re not getting married. Not yet. I mean, not to each other...we’re not.” He swallowed hard and Amie fought the urge to giggle at his flushed face. “We’re building a hotel. Amie and I are partners. Business partners. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. You know...to get godly counsel.”

“Ah, right. I get it.”

Amie pressed her lips together and glanced at the tips of her high-end sandals, but she looked up in time to see the disappointment breeze across the pastor’s freckled face.

“Oh, I’m sure you two’ll end up getting married someday,” Katie stated sweetly. Seconds later her features fell. Roses bloomed in her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it that way. Not to each other necessarily.” She cleared her throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “I meant I’m sure that someday you’ll get married to whomever God has chosen for you.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Despite her confidence, Amie’s heart dropped like a paperweight. Was there a decent Christian man alive who’d want to marry her? Most guys at church had taken the purity pledge and searched for like-minded females.

Pure females.

Folding her arms tightly, Amie let her gaze wonder around the small sanctuary. “This is such a pretty little church.” She longed for a change of subject.

“We love it here.” Katie sounded as grateful for a new topic as Amie.

“Well, Tom,” Pastor Warren began, “drop by anytime and we’ll discuss whatever is on your mind.”

“Thanks.” He and the pastor shook hands. Tom turned to leave.

Amie followed.

Halfway down the aisle, a plump, elderly lady with tightly coiled gray hair approached them. “Did you say you’re getting married, Tom?” She clasped her hands and grinned. “How wonderful!” Turning to Amie, she added, “Tom is such a nice young man. It’s a pity he’s had such a hard life. I’m so glad he’s finally found a pretty girl to settle down with.”

Amie smiled politely.

“We are not getting married, Mrs. Jensen,” Tom hollered into the poor woman’s left ear. “She’s hard of hearing,” he explained with a quick glance at Amie.

“Oh.”

“This is Hal’s niece, Amie Potter,” he continued loudly. “She’s here for the weekend...on business.”

Mrs. Jensen’s eyebrows knit together. “You’re not getting married? Only moments ago, Bette Jo Christensen said she overheard Pastor Warren say you were.”

“Good grief.” Tom lifted his gaze to the vaulted ceiling.

Amie had to laugh. After all, it was rather amusing how the rumor had spread faster than the speed of sound.

Tom shook his head and then hugged the old lady around the shoulders. “A misunderstanding, Mrs. Jensen. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, Tom.” She pouted slightly. “I just wish you were getting married.” With one final glance at Amie, she added, “He really is a nice young fellow.”

“Yes, I know he is.” Amie gave Tom a sympathetic smile and swallowed another peal of laughter.

The elderly woman began talking to another parishioner.

Amie followed Tom down the rest of the short aisle to the front doors.

When they reached the gravel parking area, Amie nudged Tom with her elbow. “Contrary to what you told me on Friday, about the whole town’s lack of respect for you and your family, I noticed that Mrs. Jensen doesn’t have a low opinion of you. And she’s not the only one.”

“Mrs. Jensen was my kindergarten teacher. She still thinks I’m the best finger-painter in all of northern Wisconsin and up until last year, she called me Tommy.” He shook his head. “I just can’t believe she thought we were getting married.”

Amie tucked away any lingering amusement. She’d gotten a taste of what Tom dealt with on a daily basis. She’d feel frustrated over the continual hearsay too.

“Would it be a sin to wring my pastor’s neck?” A sarcastic note edged Tom’s voice as they strolled toward their vehicles. The ninety-degree temperature made the air stifling.

“Most definitely a sin.”

“I hope you don’t find this funny.” Tom turned so quickly that Amie skidded and nearly lost her balance. He caught her arm and easily held her upright. “Do you understand now what I mean about gossip starting and spreading around here like the bubonic plague?”

“I understand completely, Tom, and if I were in your place I wouldn’t find it funny either.”

“This will come back and bite us big time. Mark my words.”

It couldn’t be that bad. Amie released a sigh. “Maybe you ought to lighten up, Tom. In the end, the truth prevails.”

“Not in Tigerton.”

“And stop disrespecting your town. It’s a special place. A haven of rest.”

He snorted.

“Loose the cynicism. I mean, think of what the Apostle Paul said about being happy in any condition we find ourselves. The Holy Spirit makes everything all right.”

Tom’s features still looked tight.

She touched his forearm. “You and I haven’t done anything to bring gossip down upon our heads. This is harmless. A comedy of errors. And it’ll get straightened out soon enough.”

“So says the woman who is leaving town.”

Amie gave up and they walked in silence the rest of the way to her car. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in a couple weeks,” she said, opening her purse and pulling out her keys. “I’m sorry I can’t get up here sooner. I’m so busy at work right now.”

“No problem. I’ve got your email, home address, and cell phone number and you’ve got mine.”

A couple of boys, obviously junior-high age, peeked around the van parked next to Amie’s car and made smooching noises.

Tom’s face resembled a ripe tomato.

“Relax. They’re kids. Boys.” She stared at the kids. “Baby boys.”

They frowned and disappeared behind the side of the van.

She gave Tom a winning smile. “I have experience with boys and their antics, thanks to my younger brother and his dopey friends.” She disengaged her alarm system then opened the door. An oven-like blast of heat hit her in the face. She started the car so the air conditioning would kick in. “Take a breath, Tom. It’s not as bad as you think.”

“Easy for you to say, Miss Chicago. I’m the one left here to deal with this mess.”

“You’re referring to the one at the gas station?” She climbed behind the steering wheel.

“That one, too.”

She held up a hand. “See you later.”

He replied with a nod.

Amie backed out of the parking space and made her way down the little dirt road, heading out to the highway. It occurred to her that not even Tom Anderson, a man who thought of himself as a loser, would want a woman like her for a wife.

Chaste and virtuous, that’s what single Christian men were looking for in a woman—at least that was the talk in the singles group at church. Several of the guys there admitted to “making mistakes” in the past, but went on to tout their forgiveness, like Jasper Rattenberg.

Three years ago, Amie had been stupid enough to sit and listen to music in his dorm room—a dorm at a local Christian university. Jasper had closed and locked the door and then…

Amie gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Deep breaths. Claim your Scripture verse. Be anxious for nothing…

Amie’s breathing slowed, but seconds later her anxiety turned to anger when their last meeting came to mind. Last year Jasper and his pastor had appeared at her apartment doorway, pleading to speak with her. Trusting the pastor was who he said he was, she’d let them in. As it happened, Jasper had repented of his “mistake” and wanted Amie’s forgiveness.

She had trouble giving it because Jasper spoke of the “mistake” so lightly. In truth, he’d hurt her, not only physically, but emotionally, and she was still a train wreck to this day. All because of him.

At her silence, the pastor broke into a sermon on sexual sin. He probably meant well, but at the time, he made Amie feel as though she’d propagated the attack by tempting Jasper with her “short skirt and tight shirt.”

She’d tempted him? What a lie! Her outfit had been as modest as any females on campus.

After the shock and humiliation wore off, Amie lost her temper and ordered the men to leave. A spiritual giant she hadn’t been that Saturday morning. But at least Jasper could go to the mission field with a clean conscience.

The toad!

No, wait. Why insult toads?

Tears clouded Amie’s vision. She blinked them away. Lord, isn’t there a special hell for guys like Jasper Rattenberg? Will I ever get justice?

She swatted at an errant tear and stomped on the accelerator. Tom was right. This rumor situation was not funny. Not funny at all.

 

~*~

 

The next week passed quickly for Amie. She barely had time to think, let alone make decisions about the impending hotel project. Her boss, Tim Daley, dumped two new accounts on her, forcing her to put in twelve hour days at the office and take work home at night. Finally, on Sunday afternoon, otherwise known as “family time” at her parents’ home, she was able to get her mind off Maxwell Brothers’ Marketing and Developing Company for a few hours.

“You look a bit peaked, dear,” Mom remarked, furrowing her silver brows in concern. Late summer sunshine streamed through the newly remodeled kitchen windows. “Are you eating enough?”

Sitting on a stool at the counter, Amie cracked a smile. “Are you kidding? I could live off my fat for months.”

“Nonsense.” Mom didn’t look up from the fresh lettuce she rinsed in the sink.

“She’ll eat tonight.” Dad rubbed his palms together. “I’m throwing steaks on the grill.”

“Oh, yum!” Amie perked up.

Dad winked. “Just for you, Princess. And after dinner, I’ll show you the sketches Bill Reeser drew up for your hotel.”

“Awesome!” Enthusiasm pumped through her veins. The yellow and white kitchen seemed to grow brighter—except for Mom’s dark frown.

“Sweetheart, your father told me all about your plans, and you know how he loves a challenge, but I wish you’d reconsider.” Mom gave the lettuce a good shake. Water droplets rained into the sink. “Property values are rapidly depreciating in Tigerton. The community is largely impoverished.”

“Then perhaps my hotel will help the local economy.” Amie refused to be discouraged—not yet, anyway.

Mom stepped back from the white porcelain sink and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “Or you could lose your investment, Amie. You’re taking quite a risk.”

Amie’s gaze found her father’s. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right Dad?”

“You bet, Princess.”

Mom’s lips formed a single flat line. She opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade. After removing three frosted glasses from the freezer, she poured some of the tart beverage into each.

Anticipation of tasting the sweet and sour drink caused Amie to salivate. She gladly accepted the offered glass. She allowed her gaze to remained fixed on Mom. Aging but capable thick fingers wrapped around another glass that handed lemonade to Dad. Amie knew from the start Mom wouldn’t be much of a cheerleader when it came to building her hotel. She’d even expected this conversation. But her mind was made up.

“Think of all the things you could do with the investments Hal left you.” Mom’s gaze met Amie’s. “Why, if you sold that old gas station, you could treat yourself to a much needed vacation.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mom, but it isn’t as if I’m making a rash decision. I’ve thought about this...prayed about this.”

Saying nothing, Mom raised the glass to her lips. Disapproval glimmered in her cobalt-blue eyes.

Amie ignored it and turned to Dad. “Hey, how’s Stephen doing? Does he still like college?”

“Loves it.” Dad swirled his drink around the frosted class. “He got an A on his first biology quiz.”

“Good for him.”

“He’s always done well in school.” Mom smiled proudly. “In fact, when Stephen was in first grade, he—”

Dottie burst through the back door, cutting off Mom’s sentence and capturing their attention.

When her eyes lit on Amie, she skidded to a halt. “Are you on drugs or something? Dad told me you’re building a hotel in Tigerton. Of all the places in the world, why you’d choose that town is beyond me!”

“Lemonade, Dottie?” Mom asked.

“Yes, please.” Dottie marched over and stood beside Amie. “You ought to have your head examined. And when can I pick up my furniture?”

“I still say you should sell Hal’s gas station and go on a cruise during the winter months like your father and I do.” Mom walked around the counter and handed the beverage to Dottie.

“Oh, for sure, Amie.” Dottie took a swallow of her lemonade. “A cruise sounds great. And you need a hotel like a hole in your head.”

Amie released a ragged breath. She picked at her fraying blue jeans. So much for a peaceful evening with the folks at home.