at the camp, who does maintenance. He and his wife, Elizabeth, live there year-round. We beef up the paid staff a bit in the summer, but most of our counselors are volunteers. So we’re always looking for free help.” She paused as if considering the best next step. “I’ll tell you what. Let me have the president of the board give you a call to discuss your involvement. That’s really who you should talk to, since the board makes all the decisions, anyway. I’m just a worker bee,” the woman said with a laugh.
“That would be great. Let me give you my number.” As she did so, Clark, her boss, appeared at her door and began making urgent motions. “Um, look, I need to go. It seems some sort of crisis has arisen here.”
“Of course. We’ll be in touch. And thank you again. Good Shepherd Camp is a very worthwhile effort. Your time won’t be wasted.”
Morgan wasn’t sure she agreed. No matter how much or how little time she spent on Aunt Jo’s pet project, it was still time away from her job. And since she had her sights set on a top spot in the firm in the not-too-distant future, she couldn’t afford to let her focus waver.
But unfortunately, Aunt Jo had done her best to see that it did.
As Grant stared at the message from Mary Stanton, then read it again, a slow smile spread over his face. Morgan Williams must just love this, he thought with perverse enjoyment. Not only had Jo put a residency requirement in her bequest, she’d ordered her niece to help out at Good Shepherd. Morgan Williams didn’t strike him as the type of woman who liked to take orders. Which Jo must have known. So what was the older woman up to?
Grant didn’t have a clue. But it didn’t matter. Extra hands were always welcome at Good Shepherd, willing or not. As president of the board, he’d done his share of recruiting volunteers, and it wasn’t easy. People these days, even those who called themselves Christians, were too busy to take time out to help others. So he was glad Jo had recruited this “volunteer” for him. Morgan Williams might be reluctant, but they were in dire need of her expertise. The camp’s financial situation was precarious at best, and Grant was willing to do just about anything to shore up the coffers. Even conspiring with Jo’s workaholic niece.
The bell over the front door of the cabinet shop jangled, and Grant looked up to find his uncle juggling a large white bag, a tray of drinks and a stack of mail.
“I ran into Chuck at the sandwich shop and offered to take our mail off his hands,” Uncle Pete said, his usual ruddy face even redder, thanks to the biting wind.
“December’s a bear for the postal service. Figured I’d save him three stops. Where’s Andrew?”
“In the back.”
The older man peered at the slip of paper in Grant’s hand. “I see you got your message.”
“You could have let it roll to the answering machine.”
“Never did trust those things. Come on back. Let’s eat.”
Eying the bag, Grant shook his head, exasperation mingling with affection. “You don’t have to bring me lunch, Uncle Pete. I can take care of myself.”
“So what’re you going to eat today?”
“I’ll grab something on the way to Brunswick.”
The older man gave a skeptical snort. “I’ve heard that before. What’d you eat yesterday?”
Grant felt his neck grow warm. “I skipped lunch yesterday.”
“That’s what I figured. Come on back and eat. No more arguments.”
“How about a thank-you instead?”
“Not necessary,” Uncle Pete said, his voice gruff.
“Wish I could do more, in fact. You’ve had a tough time, still do, and if I want to help you out in little ways, let me. Come on back.”
Before Grant could respond, Uncle Pete headed for the back room. Grant took his time following. Thank you, Lord, for this loving family, he prayed, as he had so many times in the past two-and-a-half years. I couldn’t make it without them.
By the time Grant got to the worn pine table where the three men had shared so many lunches, his father had cleared off a spot and Uncle Pete was spreading out the food and sorting through the mail. He looked at the two men with affection as he moved a T-square and hand-drawn plans for a mahogany entertainment center off to the side. His bachelor uncle and his father had lived together ever since Grant had gone off to college. It had been a good arrangement, providing both men with much-needed companionship. They’d invited Grant to join them a couple of years ago, but for now he wanted to remain in the tiny bungalow where he’d known so much joy. Leaving it would somehow seem to signal a loss of hope.
Yet there were times when he was tempted to accept their offer. As much as he liked quiet, and as comfortable as he was with solitude, the loneliness…no, emptiness was a better word, he decided…sometimes got to him. Maybe someday he would move in with them, if… Grant cut off that thought. He wouldn’t let himself go there. He never did.
“Looks like your mother remembered your birthday,” Uncle Pete remarked, handing Grant a blue envelope with the logo of a well-known greeting card company on the back.
Grant took it without comment, laid it aside, and turned his attention to his turkey sandwich.
“It’s nice that she remembered,” his father commented.
“Yeah. Only a week late.” There was a bitter edge to Grant’s voice.
His father reached over and laid a work-worn hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Let it go, son. It’s ancient history now.”
“I can’t forget what she did, Dad. I don’t know how you can.”
“I haven’t forgotten. But I made my peace with it a long time ago. It’s time you did, too.”
Uncle Pete generally watched this exchange without a word. It had been replayed numerous times over the years—and always with the same result. But this time he spoke. “Andrew’s right, Grant. Give it to the Lord. Get on with your life.”
“What she did was wrong, Uncle Pete.”
“I’m not sayin’ it was right or wrong. Just that it’s over. Holdin’ on to anger don’t help nobody.”
Grant crumpled the paper that had held his sandwich, then tossed it into the bag. “I wish I could. You two put me to shame.”
“Hardly. What you’ve done these past two-and-a-half years would have finished me off,” his father said.
“I doubt that. I come from strong stock. Besides, people do what they have to do.”
“Not everybody,” Uncle Pete disagreed. “And you’ve never wavered all this time, either. You’re just as faithful now as you were at the beginning.”
Uncomfortable with the praise, Grant glanced at his watch. “Which reminds me. I need to run. I’ll be back by about two-thirty.”
“Take your time, son. And give her our best.”
“I
