A Treasure of the Heart

Lillie was almost to the door when she heard Rosie add, “And I don’t like it. Man, I hate this job.”

The echo of her own career woes gave Lillie the shivers. Even paradise had its share of problems, didn’t it?

The engine of the massive motorcycle didn’t hum or buzz like those little imported bikes; it thumped in a galloping cadence reminiscent of the old single-cylinder gas engines that had once powered farm machinery and primitive factories from Maine to California.

Pastor James Warner often thought of the sound as the heartbeat of the beast he rode. Though he’d given in to the deacons’ urging that he wear a helmet, he was not about to give up the independence he’d found riding such a formidable machine. The Harley was the only thing he’d salvaged after his former life had fallen apart around him and he intended to hang on to it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had to drive a car in order to ferry family members. Except for God, he was essentially alone. And that was the way he liked it.

Snug in his black leather bomber jacket, he reveled in the sensation of the cool wind on his face, the unfettered freedom of movement, the way the motorcycle seemed to become an extension of his personality. Riding was more than an escape. It put him in tune with nature and that somehow brought him closer to God.

Funny, he thought. There had been times lately when he’d felt so blessed he’d wondered if he’d accidentally wandered into someone else’s life!

He began to grin. Members of his flock had made no secret of their worries that riding the bike would bring him face-to-face with his Maker before his time. He respectfully disagreed. Either he was in God’s hands all the time, or he never was. Psalm 139 said he was “fearfully and wonderfully made” and that God had known him even before he was born, so how could it be otherwise?

He shifted, banked and cornered, passing DD’s café. One of his recent disappointments was his inability to get through to Mrs. Howell. But he wasn’t going to give up. No, sir. Darla Sue Howell had once been a driving force in his church and she would be again. All he had to do was figure out how to inspire her and draw her back into the fold.

James grimaced. The last time he’d paid her a call he’d had to talk to her through a closed door. He knew she’d heard the Harley pull into her driveway because she’d slammed the front door practically in his face.

“It’s me, Mrs. Howell,” he’d called pleasantly, helmet in hand so she could see his face if she chose to peek out. “Brother James Warner.”

“I know who it is,” Darla Sue had shouted from inside the house. “Go away.”

“I’d have called first but your phone is out of order.”

“No, it’s not. I took it off the hook.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Right as rain,” she’d answered.

“We miss you at church. It’s not the same without you sitting in the front pew, keeping an eye on things.”

“Bah. Nobody misses me.”

“I do.”

“You’re supposed to miss me. It’s your job,” she’d snapped.

James had been at a temporary loss for words. She was right, yet there was much more to it than that. He did care. Deeply. It was one of the drawbacks of being a minister of the gospel. When the people in his congregation hurt, he hurt for them. Then again, when they were joyful he shared in that, too.

Sometimes, when he caught himself wishing there was more to be happy about, he’d recall the life he’d led before he’d come to Gumption. There was no comparison.

His only regret, at this point, was that it had taken him so long to find the right path and start to walk it. He had a lot of catching up to do and he was looking forward to meeting those challenges.

Chapter Two

Lillie’s grandparents’ home was one of those brick places that had started out as a simple rectangle and had grown into a sprawling megalith over the years. Darla Sue and Max had raised their own five children, seen them off to college or married or both, and then taken in Lillie, their only granddaughter. It had been clear at the time that Max had considered his child-rearing days completed. He had acted far from eager to welcome another youngster into the house but Gram had treated Lillie as if she were the only bright star in the sky.

Back then, Lillie had accepted that love as her due, but in retrospect she could see what a strain her presence must have placed on her grandparents and their marriage. To Darla Sue’s credit, she had never complained or said she wished she was free of the added responsibility of a child.

Max’s pickup truck wasn’t in the drive when Lillie arrived but Darla Sue’s car was. Parking next to a bed of nodding yellow daffodils, Lillie got out and climbed the wooden porch steps leading to the back door. Gram’s latest pair of tattered gardening sneakers had been kicked off and left beside the mat, just as they had been in years past. The familiar sight tugged at Lillie’s memories and transported her back to her childhood. What small feet Gram had. Funny how she’d never noticed that before.

Smiling and sighing, she knocked on the back screen door, got no answer and let herself in with a cheery “Hello? Gram? It’s me!”

The kitchen hadn’t changed in years, either. It was still typical of the 1950s, with homemade cabinets of cedar and a floor covered with worn linoleum instead of more modern vinyl. In one end of the kitchen sat the familiar chrome-and-red-plastic dinette set.

Darla Sue called out her answer from the other room as if Lillie hadn’t been away at all, let alone living in Illinois for years. “Hoo-whee! Lillie, honey. Come on in! You’re just in time. I was fixin’ to make your favorite, fried cherry pies.”

Uh-oh, she thought. Southern comfort food. The answer to any kind of stress. Run for your life Mr. Bathroom Scale, here comes the new, super-sized Lillie Delaney.

“Thanks, Gram. Sounds good,” she replied, vowing to limit her intake at all costs. After thirty she’d found that the slightest dab of extra food added to her hips, seemingly overnight, and a fried pie was considerably more than a dab. It was more like a semitruckload.

When Darla Sue appeared in the doorway from the living room, Lillie’s blue eyes widened in surprise. Most of Gram’s quirks were familiar to her. This latest one, however, was brand new. And it was such doozy she almost laughed out loud.

Although Darla Sue was fully dressed, her curly hair was tucked neatly beneath a pink bouffant shower cap.

“What?” The old woman scowled in response to Lillie’s evident amusement.

“I was just noticing your…um…hat.”

“What about it?”

Lillie struggled to keep a straight face and failed. “Did you forget to take it off after you showered?”

“Nope.”

“But, you’re wearing…”

“I know what I’m wearing, girl. I put it on, didn’t I?” She started into the kitchen. “It’s chilly today. I could use a cup of tea.”

“Okay. Let’s sit and talk a bit. I want to ask you why you haven’t been going to work.”

The disgusted look on her grandmother’s face made Lillie’s grin spread. Knowing this spry elderly enigma, she’d beat around the bush for a while, then eventually tell all. It was waiting for her to get to the point that was always the most frustrating.

The older woman displaced a snoozing yellow cat and settled herself in one of the chrome-and-red plastic dinette chairs. She watched quietly while Lillie filled the copper tea kettle, set it on the front burner and lit the antiquated stove with a match before she said, “It’s all that Wanda’s fault.”

“What is? The cap, or not going to work?”

“Both.” Darla Sue tapped the pink plastic cap for emphasis. “I couldn’t find my mama’s babushka. You used to play with it when you were little. Remember? It was paisley, with a brown border.”

“I do remember that old scarf. Whenever I’d put it on you used to say I looked just like the pictures of Great Great-Grandma Emily when she was an immigrant.”

“That’s the one. Anyhow, it’s missing.”

One of Lillie’s eyebrows arched. “Okay. What does that have to do with staying home from work?”

“Everything. And don’t look at me like that, girl. I’m not daft.”

“Hey, I never said you were. But you are confusing sometimes. Maybe we’d better concentrate on one problem at a time. Tell me about Wanda first.”