Chapter Six

The weekend passed in its usual manner. Paul added the finishing touches to his sermon on Saturday while Kate tidied the house and did some baking. On Sunday Paul mentioned a member of the church needing prayer “for health concerns.” Kate felt better knowing there were others carrying the burden of prayer for Marissa. Paul even went so far as to mention the need for people to add their names to the National Bone Marrow Registry.

“There are many people,” he said, “not just here in Tennessee, but across the nation, who need marrow donation, whose lives could be saved if we did our part.” His eyes searched the congregation. Kate felt pride and love welling within her for this man.

“Kate and I are going to be tested this week. It’s a simple swab of the cheek—that’s it. But if you’re a match, it could save someone’s life. Isn’t that a worthwhile thing to do this week?” He smiled, then glanced down at Kate.

She hoped people would take his words to heart and get tested—if not for Marissa, then for someone else.

SINCE PATRICIA HAD MADE it clear that she didn’t want Kate’s help anytime soon, Kate decided to spend the next week continuing the work on her stained-glass studio. So after she and Paul stopped at the hospital on Monday to have their cheeks swabbed, she drove to Pine Ridge and purchased a closet organizer with plenty of drawers and solid-surface shelves for the assorted supplies and tools her craft demanded. Then she labeled each drawer for easy identification. She had everything from foil to lead to jewels and nuggets, which were particularly pretty in lampshades, to caulk and the assorted chemicals she would need, as well as soldering supplies and leading tools, a stack of framing materials for window work, a small miter saw, a glass saw, her old grinder, soldering irons, and on it went.

When everything was in its allotted place and correctly labeled, she stood back in satisfaction. All she needed now was her light table, which was scheduled to arrive that week, and a large worktable that was essential in her craft. She wondered if Sam Gorman carried anything like that at the Mercantile, or at least if he had a catalog of such furniture. She liked the idea of supporting local businesses if at all possible, and she had discovered that if she ordered such a large item on the Internet, the cost of freight would be prohibitive.

So, on Tuesday afternoon she headed to the Mercantile. She parked on Main Street and entered the store’s cluttered interior. Sam Gorman’s warm smile met Kate as the bell above the door tinkled when she entered. Aisles in the store were narrow, and the shelving was tall, giving the place a claustrophobic yet cozy feel. Sam carried every item imaginable—from milk and food products to knitting supplies, camping items, jewelry, clothing for every member of the family...you name it. A few shoppers perused the shelves near the back of the store.

“How are you this fine day?” Sam asked. The church’s organist, he had become one of Paul’s best friends in the months since their arrival. He was in his late fifties, loved fishing, and was one of the nicest people Kate had ever met.

“Oh, not too bad,” Kate said as she set her purse on the counter.

“Anything in particular I can help you find?”

“Actually,” Kate began, “I’m looking for a large table.”

“Like a kitchen table?” He scratched his stubbled chin.

“No. More like a large craft table. Something square that I can lay my stained-glass projects out on, with a surface I don’t need to worry about scratching. Something I can drive a nail into without worrying.”

“So, a real craft table...” he said. “Hmm.” He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought, then said, “I think I have just the thing.”

He reached down beneath the cluttered counter and pulled out a voluminous binder that he laid open between them. “There’s some furniture like that in here, I think.” He paged to the back. “Ah, here we are.”

He turned the book so Kate could see it right side up. “Says here it’s thirty-one inches high, and the top is forty by eighty. That about right for you?”

“Do you have a tape measure?”

Sam nodded and retrieved the item, also beneath the counter. He held one end while Kate pulled the tape out to the correct length. “That’s a good-sized table,” she said. “What’s it going to run me?”

Sam reached for his calculator with the large buttons and punched in some numbers before looking up to give her the total.

“Let’s get it ordered,” Kate said.

Sam began copying down the details on the special-order pad alongside the cash register as Kate watched.

“Heard through the prayer chain that Marissa Harris has been sick,” Sam said as he wrote.

“Paul didn’t mention her name—”

Sam shook his head. “News like that is pretty hard to keep hushed in a town like Copper Mill,” he said. “Besides, Renee Lambert has been in.”

Kate nodded her understanding. “That poor child,” Kate said. “I wish there was more we could do to help.”

“I’ve heard several people say they’re going to be tested for the marrow-donation program.” He glanced back and forth between the catalog and his notes, as if to be certain he’d copied everything correctly.

“Really?” Kate said, amazed at the quick response to the plea for help. Sam raised his head.

“No one likes to see a young person suffer,” he added. “Especially that one.”

“You know Marissa?” Kate asked.

“I knew her dad. Nice guy. Good friend, and a great sailor. He used to take me on his boat on occasion. Played a mean cello, so we shared a love of music. Even played duets together in church a couple of times.”

“Patricia didn’t mention that Ray was a musician,” Kate said.

Sam closed the binder and placed it back in its spot beneath the counter, then straightened up again. “That woman keeps a lot to herself,” he said. “Ray was kind of her opposite when it came to that.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked.

Sam shrugged, and his ocean blue eyes twinkled. “Ray was just a very open guy. Wasn’t afraid to talk about things, like how much he adored that daughter of his. He wore his affection for her on his sleeve.” He shook his head. “It’s a crying shame he died so young. A crying shame.”

A moment of silence stretched and yawned.

“He always wanted a son. When he found out he couldn’t...well, that was a hard blow.”

“He couldn’t?” Kate said.

“Oh, they went through that whole barrage of tests the doctors have out there. It was a miracle he and Patricia had Marissa in the first place, I say. But he was heartbroken. I think that’s why he worked extra hard to make Patricia and Marissa feel loved. He felt to blame.”

“From everything I’ve heard, he sounded like a pretty extraordinary person,” Kate said.

“Oh, that he was,” Sam agreed. “He really cared. And it wasn’t just an act with him—he really did care. Went the extra mile, you know? He had these vivid blue eyes. I can still see them. They drew you in with their caring.” He took in a deep breath, then he cleared his throat and said, “Well, enough about that.”

Kate picked up her purse from the counter and said, “I appreciate your ordering that table for me. It sure will be a help.”

“It should be here in about a week. I’ll bring it out to the house.”