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Authors: Dianne; Christner
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leadership sent a shiver down her spine.
“I second the motion and the stipulation,” Simon said, casting another smug look Carly’s way.
“Then let’s take the vote,” Mr. Coblentz said. “Two no’s and three in favor. I guess that means that Simon has a program to head.” He chuckled, “One he voted against.”
“Won’t be the first time,” Simon joked. “Congratulations, Carly.”
Breaking into a huge smile, Carly addressed the committee. “Thank you. For your time and for all you do for Sweet Life.”
Then Simon cleared his throat and waved his proposal. “Miss Blosser, could you get me another copy of this. I’ll be needing one for Sherie. As general manager of assisted living, she’s been seeking some kind of promotion. This is perfect. I’m putting her in charge. She’s the key to making Little Steps a success.
Every Little Bit Helps,
Carly mentally corrected, her world crashing down around her. Simon’s betrayal felt worse than if the board had rejected the idea entirely. She stared at him, realizing where Dale had gotten his betrayal genes. Or was this revenge? She felt a hand on her shoulder and cringed from her neck injury.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t see that coming, did you?” Mrs. Nissley whispered.
“No, ma’am.”
Simon glanced at his watch. “Perfect timing. Your shift begins in five minutes, Carly. Thanks again for coming.”
She snatched her bag, took one more look at the board, understanding then that Mr. Moseman and Simon had their backup plan prearranged. Blinking back tears, she slapped her copy of the proposal on Simon’s desk. “For Sherie.”
As she started from the room, Mr. Coblentz stuck out his hand. She took it, and he clasped it between both his a bit too firmly, but she appreciated his silent support as she fought back tears and fled the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A fter work Carly iced her aching neck, then took Cocoa to Aunt Fannie’s for a preplanned celebration/commiseration dinner. The new tire and rim worked perfectly per Rocco’s expertise, and the ride worked off some of the anger she’d stuffed in order to fulfill her shift at the assisted-living facility. Thankfully, Sherie wasn’t at work. It would have been her undoing.
Jimmy saw her arrive and swung open the door. “Aunt Fannie’s making fried mush.”
Carly lowered Cocoa to the floor. “Thought you were going on the road today.”
“Not until tomorrow.”
She followed her nose to the kitchen and kissed Auntie on the cheek. “Thanks for making my favorite.”
“Ach. It’s so messy, splattering my countertop and making everything greasy.”
The heavy smell of frying filled the kitchen—mush was one of those foods like broccoli that tasted great but smelled bad—and Jimmy moved to crank open the window.
“I brought Cocoa. Are the bedroom doors all closed?”
“Jah. And the litter box is ready.”
Feeling at home in her aunt’s kitchen, Carly opened a pantry door and snatched an apron. “Want me to fry the eggs?”
“Jah, and Jimmy you can do the toast.”
When they’d first arrived to live with Aunt Fannie—after their parents were killed in a car crash—she’d put them to work. Over time Carly discovered it helped with the grief. Aunt Fannie would know, because she’d also lost a husband and son to an accident. Working together bonded them into a family unit.
Since Auntie didn’t have a farm for Jimmy to work, she provided him with chores most men in their congregation considered women’s work. Now her brother had the skills he needed to live a bachelor’s life.
The Old Holley Conservative Mennonite Fellowship was more conservative when Fannie first arrived with her late husband. As it progressed from Beachy-Amish to the more liberal Conservative Mennonite, Aunt Fannie clung to the old ways, such as wearing her stringed prayer covering. Carly found no problem following Auntie’s plainer style of dress. Anyway, the cap helped control her bushy hair.
Now Aunt
“I second the motion and the stipulation,” Simon said, casting another smug look Carly’s way.
“Then let’s take the vote,” Mr. Coblentz said. “Two no’s and three in favor. I guess that means that Simon has a program to head.” He chuckled, “One he voted against.”
“Won’t be the first time,” Simon joked. “Congratulations, Carly.”
Breaking into a huge smile, Carly addressed the committee. “Thank you. For your time and for all you do for Sweet Life.”
Then Simon cleared his throat and waved his proposal. “Miss Blosser, could you get me another copy of this. I’ll be needing one for Sherie. As general manager of assisted living, she’s been seeking some kind of promotion. This is perfect. I’m putting her in charge. She’s the key to making Little Steps a success.
Every Little Bit Helps,
Carly mentally corrected, her world crashing down around her. Simon’s betrayal felt worse than if the board had rejected the idea entirely. She stared at him, realizing where Dale had gotten his betrayal genes. Or was this revenge? She felt a hand on her shoulder and cringed from her neck injury.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t see that coming, did you?” Mrs. Nissley whispered.
“No, ma’am.”
Simon glanced at his watch. “Perfect timing. Your shift begins in five minutes, Carly. Thanks again for coming.”
She snatched her bag, took one more look at the board, understanding then that Mr. Moseman and Simon had their backup plan prearranged. Blinking back tears, she slapped her copy of the proposal on Simon’s desk. “For Sherie.”
As she started from the room, Mr. Coblentz stuck out his hand. She took it, and he clasped it between both his a bit too firmly, but she appreciated his silent support as she fought back tears and fled the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A fter work Carly iced her aching neck, then took Cocoa to Aunt Fannie’s for a preplanned celebration/commiseration dinner. The new tire and rim worked perfectly per Rocco’s expertise, and the ride worked off some of the anger she’d stuffed in order to fulfill her shift at the assisted-living facility. Thankfully, Sherie wasn’t at work. It would have been her undoing.
Jimmy saw her arrive and swung open the door. “Aunt Fannie’s making fried mush.”
Carly lowered Cocoa to the floor. “Thought you were going on the road today.”
“Not until tomorrow.”
She followed her nose to the kitchen and kissed Auntie on the cheek. “Thanks for making my favorite.”
“Ach. It’s so messy, splattering my countertop and making everything greasy.”
The heavy smell of frying filled the kitchen—mush was one of those foods like broccoli that tasted great but smelled bad—and Jimmy moved to crank open the window.
“I brought Cocoa. Are the bedroom doors all closed?”
“Jah. And the litter box is ready.”
Feeling at home in her aunt’s kitchen, Carly opened a pantry door and snatched an apron. “Want me to fry the eggs?”
“Jah, and Jimmy you can do the toast.”
When they’d first arrived to live with Aunt Fannie—after their parents were killed in a car crash—she’d put them to work. Over time Carly discovered it helped with the grief. Aunt Fannie would know, because she’d also lost a husband and son to an accident. Working together bonded them into a family unit.
Since Auntie didn’t have a farm for Jimmy to work, she provided him with chores most men in their congregation considered women’s work. Now her brother had the skills he needed to live a bachelor’s life.
The Old Holley Conservative Mennonite Fellowship was more conservative when Fannie first arrived with her late husband. As it progressed from Beachy-Amish to the more liberal Conservative Mennonite, Aunt Fannie clung to the old ways, such as wearing her stringed prayer covering. Carly found no problem following Auntie’s plainer style of dress. Anyway, the cap helped control her bushy hair.
Now Aunt
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