offered her his finger and Katie’s tiny hand wrapped around it.
A young woman, apparently a volunteer, stuck her head into the room. “A Mrs. Sherman is outside. She says she’s supposed to be your birthing partner.”
“That would be my mother,” Maryellen explained, smiling.
The volunteer smiled back. “I’ll send her in.”
A couple of minutes later, both her mother and Kelly were in the room. Maryellen was bombarded with questions. Before she was even aware of it, Jon had disappeared. She hadn’t had a chance to thank him.
While she waited for the city council meeting to start, Charlotte Jefferson dug out her knitting. It distressed her that more people in the community didn’t concern themselves with local government. But then, this was only her second meeting in seventy-five years. Until recently, she hadn’t paid much attention to civic affairs herself.
“Hello, Louie,” she said, nodding politely when the mayor walked in. She sat alone in the front row.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Louie Benson said as he strolled past her. The Bensons were an old Cedar Cove family. Louie’s younger brother, Otto, was a prominent attorney in town.
“Yes, I have a great-grandson,” she confirmed. “My first.”
“I understand Grace Sherman’s a grandmother now—for the second time, I think.”
“Just last week.” Grace was as proud of her first granddaughter, Maryellen’s baby, as she was of her grandson, Kelly and Paul’s little Tyler. Charlotte thought it had worked out nicely that her daughter, Olivia, and Olivia’s best friend could be grandmothers together. Those two had always been close and a blessing to each other.
“It’s unusual to see you at the council meetings,” the mayor said. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure.”
“I’m here for a reason.” Charlotte jerked fiercely on her yarn as she continued knitting.
“Anything I can do?” the mayor had the good sense to inquire.
Frankly Charlotte had hoped he’d ask. “I want to propose that this town open a health clinic. I think it’s shameful that we haven’t had one before now.” At a minimum, people had to drive ten or fifteen miles to the Bremerton area for medical attention, and it often meant waiting hours in the emergency room. A town the size of Cedar Cove could easily support a clinic. But Charlotte wanted a particular kind of health facility, a place for everyone in Cedar Cove.
“Now, Charlotte—”
“One that’ll take patients on a sliding fee scale,” she added, unwilling to listen to Louie’s objections. “I know Medicare and Medicaid patients would welcome the opportunity to avoid having to go all the way into Bremerton or Silverdale for their health needs.”
“I agree, but—”
“Too many of my friends are reluctant to see a physician for fear of what it’ll cost.”
“Yes, I realize that, but—”
“Louis Benson, you’re talking like a politician.”
“Now, Charlotte, you and I both know this is strictly a figurehead position. The town’s run by a hired manager. If you want to talk to Matthew Harper about setting up a low-cost health clinic, then go ahead, but I can tell you right now there’s no budget for it.”
Fine, if that was what it took, she’d discuss this with the manager. “I will.”
The mayor looked slightly uncomfortable and glanced over his shoulder. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice. “A bit of advice.”
“Anything you can tell me would be welcome,” she assured him, staring down at her knitting as if it demanded her full concentration.
“Get all your facts together before you see Matt Harper.”
“I will,” she assured him. Harper was reputed to be a tough bargainer, scrupulous about town budgets, but he’d met his match if he thought he could roadblock her efforts. If it was the last thing she did before she died, Charlotte fully intended to see that Cedar Cove got a health facility of its own.
The door opened, and the mayor quickly straightened. “How’s everyone at the Senior Center doing?” he asked, as if making polite conversation.
“Laura’s rheumatism is acting up,” Charlotte informed him. “She says it’s going to be a hard winter. Bess has had a cough all summer. I keep telling her she should see a doctor, but she’s afraid of what he might tell her so she refuses to go. If there was a clinic here in town, I’d make the appointment and drag her in myself. And Evelyn…” Charlotte paused when she realized Louie was no longer listening. His attention was focused elsewhere.
When he noticed she’d stopped talking, he patted her shoulder and said, “Good to chat with you, Charlotte. I’ll see what we can do about your suggestion.”
“You do that,” she said, but she already knew her words had gone in one ear and out the other. Louie Benson had given her a bit of helpful advice, however. She needed facts and figures.
Charlotte decided to leave as soon as she finished this purl row. No one wanted to listen to a cranky old woman. Least of all this roomful of men, each one struggling to appear more important than the next. The door at the back of the room creaked open, and assuming it was another councillor, Charlotte didn’t turn to look.
To her surprise, it was Ben Rhodes. He was a tall, distinguished man with a thick head of white hair. She might be seventy-five, but Charlotte had never been immune to a handsome man…and still wasn’t. Some of the ladies at the Senior Center thought of Ben as a Cesar Romero look-alike. He’d recently moved to the area and she didn’t know him well, but he was a popular figure at the center—for obvious reasons.
“Hello, Ben,” she said when he took a seat across the aisle from her.
He glanced in her direction; she could tell from the blank look in his eyes that he didn’t recognize her.
“I’m Charlotte Jefferson from the Henry M. Jackson Senior Center.”
A warm smile transformed Ben’s face as he crossed the aisle and sat one chair away from her. They hadn’t been formally introduced, but she’d seen him a number of times. Ben was at the Senior Center every Monday, the same as she, only he played bridge and pinochle and she was part of the ladies’ knitting group.
Ben always came alone and she’d wondered about his wife, but they’d never had an opportunity to talk. From the way the ladies fluttered around him like bees over a glass of lemonade, she guessed he was a widower.
She’d made a point of saying hello to him the afternoon Olivia was guest of honor at the once-a-month luncheons the center put on. But she’d spoken to so many people that day. It’d been glorious having her own daughter give such an impressive speech. Still, that was months ago now, and Charlotte wasn’t sure Ben even remembered that Olivia was her daughter.
“I didn’t know you were interested in politics,” Charlotte said, starting a fresh row despite her earlier decision to leave. There
