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Authors: Jane Myers Perrine
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Then the two exited, leaving Adam to wonder what in the world he could do. There were things in ministry he was inexperienced in and unprepared for. Counseling scared him. What did he have to say that would help anyone?
He hated to use the Kowalskis’ marriage as a learning experience. He should probably study up, read a little. He moved toward the bookcase and perused his books until he finally found one on marital counseling in a stack behind the desk. His sermon could wait.
* * *
Adam encouraged his ancient car toward the thrift shop. Although it threatened to die on him at the only major intersection in town, he did get there. The vehicle putted and jumped as he pulled into a parking space. He’d need to call Rex.
No better mechanic in the state than Rex. Only one who had been able to keep the old car going consistently, and he charged Adam only for parts. As a good Catholic, Rex felt God expected him to help the preacher and that old car was part of his witness, his true mission. Adam kept his number on speed dial.
Turning the engine off—although it still chugged and sputtered for a few more seconds with the key out of the ignition—he got out of the car, flipped open the trunk to pick up the few boxes remaining from his move, and walked inside the shop.
The thrift shop was always closed on the Friday before the quarterly Saturday sale. He expected Miss Birdie to be there. He never knew what days she took off from the diner and probably never would. Once when he’d asked her about her schedule, she’d let him know that although she was a poor workingwoman, she didn’t waitress 24/7. He never asked again, simply accepted that if there was work to be done, the pillar appeared.
“When you find a shirt that is too worn for anyone to wear, chunk it in the trash.” Mercedes pointed toward a barrel as he got to work.
“ Chunk ?” Adam asked. “Do you mean chuck ?”
“She said what she meant, Preacher.” Miss Birdie glanced up from her sorting. “Chunk, you know, throw it.”
Another word for his Texas vocabulary. “Okay, what do I do after I chunk the worn shirts?”
“Put the nice ones back on the shelf and the in-betweens in a box for the sale,” Winnie said.
After fifteen minutes of packing and chunking and chatting, they heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.
“Is that Blossom? I told her to be here at nine.” The pillar glared at Adam as if the late arrival were his fault.
“Looks like her big car,” Mercedes said.
“Expensive and probably eats up the gasoline,” Birdie complained.
“Probably pretty fuel-efficient,” Mercedes said. “The new cars are.”
“Hrmph.” Miss Birdie glared at her friend. “You don’t always have to correct everyone.”
“I told Blossom to bring cleaning supplies.” Winnie leaped in to stop the disagreement. “Hope she brought a mop because the floor in that back room really needs a good scrubbing.”
The front door opened and a pudgy, middle-aged woman entered toting a bucket and mop. “Where should I put these?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she dropped the stuff, moved back a few steps, and held the door open.
“We’re always happy to have a new volunteer.” Adam hurried to welcome her. “I’m Adam Jordan, minister at the Christian Church and these are…”
“I know who you are and I’m not a volunteer. I’m Miss Blossom’s housekeeper. She made me come. What should I do?”
The four blinked.
“She made you come? Blossom made you come?” Adam struggled to understand the comment.
“Where is she now?” Miss Birdie sounded oddly mystified, an emotion he rarely saw from her.
“She’s in the car, getting the food out.” The woman held the door open.
“The food?” Winnie echoed.
“Hello, hello!” Blossom sang as she entered the door holding a huge basket. “Coffee and pastry for all.” Not even noticing the expressions on the faces of the Widows, which ranged from amazement to horror, she put
He hated to use the Kowalskis’ marriage as a learning experience. He should probably study up, read a little. He moved toward the bookcase and perused his books until he finally found one on marital counseling in a stack behind the desk. His sermon could wait.
* * *
Adam encouraged his ancient car toward the thrift shop. Although it threatened to die on him at the only major intersection in town, he did get there. The vehicle putted and jumped as he pulled into a parking space. He’d need to call Rex.
No better mechanic in the state than Rex. Only one who had been able to keep the old car going consistently, and he charged Adam only for parts. As a good Catholic, Rex felt God expected him to help the preacher and that old car was part of his witness, his true mission. Adam kept his number on speed dial.
Turning the engine off—although it still chugged and sputtered for a few more seconds with the key out of the ignition—he got out of the car, flipped open the trunk to pick up the few boxes remaining from his move, and walked inside the shop.
The thrift shop was always closed on the Friday before the quarterly Saturday sale. He expected Miss Birdie to be there. He never knew what days she took off from the diner and probably never would. Once when he’d asked her about her schedule, she’d let him know that although she was a poor workingwoman, she didn’t waitress 24/7. He never asked again, simply accepted that if there was work to be done, the pillar appeared.
“When you find a shirt that is too worn for anyone to wear, chunk it in the trash.” Mercedes pointed toward a barrel as he got to work.
“ Chunk ?” Adam asked. “Do you mean chuck ?”
“She said what she meant, Preacher.” Miss Birdie glanced up from her sorting. “Chunk, you know, throw it.”
Another word for his Texas vocabulary. “Okay, what do I do after I chunk the worn shirts?”
“Put the nice ones back on the shelf and the in-betweens in a box for the sale,” Winnie said.
After fifteen minutes of packing and chunking and chatting, they heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.
“Is that Blossom? I told her to be here at nine.” The pillar glared at Adam as if the late arrival were his fault.
“Looks like her big car,” Mercedes said.
“Expensive and probably eats up the gasoline,” Birdie complained.
“Probably pretty fuel-efficient,” Mercedes said. “The new cars are.”
“Hrmph.” Miss Birdie glared at her friend. “You don’t always have to correct everyone.”
“I told Blossom to bring cleaning supplies.” Winnie leaped in to stop the disagreement. “Hope she brought a mop because the floor in that back room really needs a good scrubbing.”
The front door opened and a pudgy, middle-aged woman entered toting a bucket and mop. “Where should I put these?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she dropped the stuff, moved back a few steps, and held the door open.
“We’re always happy to have a new volunteer.” Adam hurried to welcome her. “I’m Adam Jordan, minister at the Christian Church and these are…”
“I know who you are and I’m not a volunteer. I’m Miss Blossom’s housekeeper. She made me come. What should I do?”
The four blinked.
“She made you come? Blossom made you come?” Adam struggled to understand the comment.
“Where is she now?” Miss Birdie sounded oddly mystified, an emotion he rarely saw from her.
“She’s in the car, getting the food out.” The woman held the door open.
“The food?” Winnie echoed.
“Hello, hello!” Blossom sang as she entered the door holding a huge basket. “Coffee and pastry for all.” Not even noticing the expressions on the faces of the Widows, which ranged from amazement to horror, she put
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