Read Online At Every Turn by Anne Mateer - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Mateer
Tags: FIC042000, FIC042040, FIC042030, Young women—Fiction, Automobile racing—Fiction, Charity—Fiction
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those needed to keep the car on the road. I prayed best after those drives. Heard best, too. The voice of God seemed so clear in those moments.
“If the Lord desires you to help His work in Africa, He’ll provide the means. You can be sure of that.”
I lifted my head. “But what do I do about the money I’ve already given away?”
The growl of Father’s Mercer sounded from the front of the house, drowning out Webster’s whistle. “You’ll have to make it up somehow. You told Mr. Morgan the money would go to the Gold Coast, and you must honor that.”
A familiar refrain. Enough of my own troubles for the moment. I rose to my knees, kissed Grandmother’s cheek, and lifted the worn Bible from the small table. Opening to the spot marked by a silk ribbon, I settled in my usual chair. “I think we ended yesterday in Isaiah.”
One hundred sixty-two dollars. I spread the bills out before me and counted again. I tucked the money in a drawer in my desk and prayed God would multiply it overnight, like those loaves and fishes of old.
After washing my hands and face, I donned my nightdress and climbed into bed. The hum of insect life outside my open window seemed to sing three thousand, three thousand, three thousand . What had I been thinking to promise such an exorbitant amount?
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling above my bed. I’d been thinking that Father would simply hand me the money, of course.
Maybe Father had been right not to give me the money. A good man had entrusted funds to me and I’d let them dribble out of my hands like creek water. I rubbed my forehead, trying to keep fingers of pain from compressing my scalp once more.
I considered again Mr. Trotter’s generous offer to safeguard what I’d collected. But that felt like the easy way out. I ought to be able to protect the funds myself. I was twenty-two years old, a college graduate.
Climbing from bed, I plodded back to my desk and transferred the bills to my purse. In spite of Mr. Trotter’s concerns, I’d march myself into Mr. White’s bank tomorrow morning and open an account. Mr. White would whisk my money to a place where I couldn’t touch it—at least not until the McConnells returned. And I’d earn a little interest in the process. Then I would transfer the entire sum into the hands of those worthy people for their noble cause and applaud my self-discipline in the process.
8
C larissa?” I swept down the main staircase just before noon, again wearing my most businesslike attire. “I can take you to your sister’s now.”
A clap of thunder rattled the glass above the double front doors as raindrops slapped against the tall arched windows in the drawing room and the parlor. Clarissa bustled into the foyer, her wide-brimmed straw hat obscuring her face. But I still recognized the tight mouth, the pinched expression of fear.
I pulled my duster from the coatrack before pressing my hand to her arm. “We’ll arrive in one piece. I promise.”
With a curt nod, she whirled around and marched out the door. I bit back a grin. The last time I’d driven her to town, she’d spent the entire trip crossing herself and praying that the Lord would preserve her life and sanity. But today I intended to drive like any other lady, slow and sedate. All the way to the bank.
And after I settled the money in Mr. White’s keeping, maybe I could persuade Webster to let me take the racing car out for a celebration.
We motored into town, the spit of rain dissipating before we reached Main Street. But dark clouds remained overhead. Clarissa climbed down from the Runabout with a hint of a smile on her face. “Thank you kindly, Miss Alyce.”
I resisted the urge to laugh at her obvious relief. She darted down the street and around the corner to spend her Thursday half day at her sister’s house, surrounded by nieces and nephews and noise. I wondered if such noise would sound as lovely to me as the purr of an engine.
I puttered through
“If the Lord desires you to help His work in Africa, He’ll provide the means. You can be sure of that.”
I lifted my head. “But what do I do about the money I’ve already given away?”
The growl of Father’s Mercer sounded from the front of the house, drowning out Webster’s whistle. “You’ll have to make it up somehow. You told Mr. Morgan the money would go to the Gold Coast, and you must honor that.”
A familiar refrain. Enough of my own troubles for the moment. I rose to my knees, kissed Grandmother’s cheek, and lifted the worn Bible from the small table. Opening to the spot marked by a silk ribbon, I settled in my usual chair. “I think we ended yesterday in Isaiah.”
One hundred sixty-two dollars. I spread the bills out before me and counted again. I tucked the money in a drawer in my desk and prayed God would multiply it overnight, like those loaves and fishes of old.
After washing my hands and face, I donned my nightdress and climbed into bed. The hum of insect life outside my open window seemed to sing three thousand, three thousand, three thousand . What had I been thinking to promise such an exorbitant amount?
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling above my bed. I’d been thinking that Father would simply hand me the money, of course.
Maybe Father had been right not to give me the money. A good man had entrusted funds to me and I’d let them dribble out of my hands like creek water. I rubbed my forehead, trying to keep fingers of pain from compressing my scalp once more.
I considered again Mr. Trotter’s generous offer to safeguard what I’d collected. But that felt like the easy way out. I ought to be able to protect the funds myself. I was twenty-two years old, a college graduate.
Climbing from bed, I plodded back to my desk and transferred the bills to my purse. In spite of Mr. Trotter’s concerns, I’d march myself into Mr. White’s bank tomorrow morning and open an account. Mr. White would whisk my money to a place where I couldn’t touch it—at least not until the McConnells returned. And I’d earn a little interest in the process. Then I would transfer the entire sum into the hands of those worthy people for their noble cause and applaud my self-discipline in the process.
8
C larissa?” I swept down the main staircase just before noon, again wearing my most businesslike attire. “I can take you to your sister’s now.”
A clap of thunder rattled the glass above the double front doors as raindrops slapped against the tall arched windows in the drawing room and the parlor. Clarissa bustled into the foyer, her wide-brimmed straw hat obscuring her face. But I still recognized the tight mouth, the pinched expression of fear.
I pulled my duster from the coatrack before pressing my hand to her arm. “We’ll arrive in one piece. I promise.”
With a curt nod, she whirled around and marched out the door. I bit back a grin. The last time I’d driven her to town, she’d spent the entire trip crossing herself and praying that the Lord would preserve her life and sanity. But today I intended to drive like any other lady, slow and sedate. All the way to the bank.
And after I settled the money in Mr. White’s keeping, maybe I could persuade Webster to let me take the racing car out for a celebration.
We motored into town, the spit of rain dissipating before we reached Main Street. But dark clouds remained overhead. Clarissa climbed down from the Runabout with a hint of a smile on her face. “Thank you kindly, Miss Alyce.”
I resisted the urge to laugh at her obvious relief. She darted down the street and around the corner to spend her Thursday half day at her sister’s house, surrounded by nieces and nephews and noise. I wondered if such noise would sound as lovely to me as the purr of an engine.
I puttered through
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