Covered Bridge Charm (9 page)

Carly placed her bike in the stand and greeted Rocco as she passed the maintenance building. Her cheery countenance masked conflicting emotions, dreading her first encounters with Sherie and Simon. She punched numbers into a keypad, and sliding-glass doors opened to admit her into Sweet Life’s assisted-living facility.

“Hello! Hello!” Magnificent the cockatiel pruned its feathers from its cage. The lobby resembled a living room filled with second-hand sofas and out-of-date armchairs. It sported a round recreational table and television, though not a flat screen. Some shelves contained books and hideous knickknacks. Next to a stone fireplace was a wooden cradle filled with dolls and stuffed animals, which the senile residents could hold and rock.

Light bathed the lobby from its double doors and a side door that led to a walled-in flower garden with patio and benches. There a circuit sidewalk provided exercise for the residents. Carly glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. Her shift was 7:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Monday through Friday with an occasional Saturday. She headed to the receptionist’s desk, noting several residents were finishing breakfast. Klepto, their wanderer, turned her back to Carly, trying to hide the fact she was fiddling with the staffroom’s door handle.

Since Miranda had come to Sweet Life, the residents were dubbed with nicknames. Names solely used by the caregivers. It wasn’t malicious. Miranda had a hard time remembering names, and when needing to quickly identify a resident, descriptive nicknames flew out of her mouth. They’d stuck. The staff didn’t mean to demean anybody. It just happened.

For instance, Nines—the woman who always dressed to the nines for dinner and who used impeccable manners—could often be found sitting in the lobby with an outdated hat and purse in her lap as if waiting to go someplace. Since she wasn’t at the moment, it meant she was in her apartment with Teacup—her cat.

Carly stuffed her purse in a bin behind the receptionist counter and glanced down a long, carpeted corridor. Hall Patroller was working the wheels of her chair, headed to her room for her morning television shows. Television was the only thing that kept her out of the hall.

The hall. It was a real showcase, decorated with a mishmash of welcome plaques, photos, wreaths, and nameplates that identified studio apartments. Carly removed her keys from a hook and attached them to her clothing. While some of the residents kept their doors open, others were closed and locked. She had the master key. Each room was a mini version of the resident’s former homes. And each resident had unique daily routines and interests.

Miranda popped out of Dot’s room and approached with a glint in her eye. Carly waited for the inevitable. A Mennonite Voluntary Service worker from Goshen, Indiana, Miranda was on a one-year stint. While working at Sweet Life, she lived in a V. S. apartment in nearby Albany. Her wages went directly into the V. S. unit, and they reimbursed her a tiny salary, enough for necessities that the unit didn’t supply. Although Miranda was cheery and kind to the residents, she had a man-tracked mind. And she was younger than Carly.

Stepping behind the counter, Miranda pulled out a chart. Her focus, however, remained on Carly. “So we never got to talk about what I saw the other day.”

“Is Kelly room-picking again?” Klepto often invaded others’ properties, and the staff would find stolen items hidden in her drawers.

Miranda shrugged with irritation. “I don’t know about that. I’m talking about you and Adam coming out from behind the building. Are you two seeing each other?”

“You know he’s my brother’s best friend, right?”

“No-o!” Miranda’s eyes lit with excitement. “I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he single? If he is, maybe he’d like to go hiking with the V. S. unit sometime.”

Carly grinned. If anything, Miranda was consistent. She tried to imagine Jimmy hiking with Miranda. He’d probably be attracted to the stunning Spanish woman with black bobbed hair. Thin figure. Red lipstick. But when she latched onto him with those painted nails, he’d bolt and never stop running.

Carly chuckled. “Jimmy’s a confirmed bachelor with a hunger for adventure. I don’t think he’ll ever settle down.”

“Our V. S. group’s adventurous. Ask him if he likes hiking. Or bring him around. I’ll ask.”

“He drives a truck and is gone most of this week.”

Miranda closed the file she’d been using and opened a drawer, letting it drop. “Back to Adam… So you don’t care if I flirt with him?”

Carly placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “You’re asking me this now?”

Miranda’s dark expressive eyes looked repentant. “I know. I’m obvious. But I don’t want to move in on your territory, that’s all.”

“Thanks. To answer your question”—Carly shrugged—“sure, I like Adam.” Let her stew over that one. Meanwhile she’d try to figure it out herself. “Anything I should know?”

Frustrated, Miranda replied, “Yeah, Sherie’s in the staff room and wants to see you.”

Dread fell over Carly. “Thanks.”
Let’s get it over with. Act nice.
She opened the door Klepto had finally abandoned. The assisted-living manager was typing at a computer.

“You asked for me?”

Sherie spun her chair and smiled. “I did. Please, sit down.”

Carly took an armchair situated next to a mini refrigerator topped with a droopy artificial plant and attempted some small talk about Sherie’s extended weekend.

Crossing long shapely legs, Sherie leaned back in her chair. “Congratulations on getting the board to pass your proposal.”

Heat rushed up Carly’s neck and face.
She’s not my enemy.
“Thank you.”

“You never cease to amaze me. This isn’t a job to you. It’s your life.”

“Jah. It is.”

“I understand.”

Carly searched Sherie’s blue eyes and saw approval.

“We’re alike.” The forty-something woman from Simon’s church wore a knee-length pencil skirt and scoop-necked sweater. A long necklace hung from her neck. She ran a hand through her short, perky hairstyle. They were nothing alike. “I’ve got my eye on a seat on the board. Mrs. Nissley leaves in six months, and I’ve talked to Simon about it. Your… uh… volunteer program—”

“Every Little Bit Helps,” Carly interjected.

“Yes, exactly. Your Every Little Bit Helps will help
me
to obtain that chair.”

“And stamp out loneliness.”

“What?”

“That’s the slogan,
Everybody can do one little thing to stamp out loneliness
.”

“Oh. Don’t worry, I understand the goal. I’m just trying to explain why heading this program is so important to me. I know you had your heart set on running it. I can only imagine your disappointment. But I think Simon made the right choice. You’re still young. Your time will come. You’re valuable, and I need your support. Do I have it?”

Carly glanced at the floor, then back at Sherie.
What kind of support?
“I have to be honest. Yesterday you didn’t. But today, my focus is back. I only want what’s best for the residents.”

Sherie’s eyes widened with surprise. “I appreciate your candor.”

Carly knew her manager had hoped for more enthusiasm. She wished she could act as though she hadn’t been stabbed in the back. When she’d left home that morning, she’d had good intentions. But now
kind
words wouldn’t form. Guiltily, she remembered Aunt Fannie’s plan. If she couldn’t follow through with Sherie, how could she forgive Simon?

“Let me see. There was one other thing.” Sherie tapped her finger on her skirt. “Oh, yes. Martha’s daughter is planning a surprise birthday party for her in December. I told her about the dried flower cards you make, and she’d like to buy some to use for invitations.”

“I’d be happy to bring in some samples.”

“Great, thanks.”

“I’m glad she’s throwing a party for Martha.”

Sherie smiled. “Helen said Martha’s mentioned turning eighty-five about eighty-five times.”

Carly laughed. “Jah, or ninety.”

“So she’s decided to make it memorable. They’re pulling out all the stops. But in the meantime, Helen keeps brushing Martha off as if it’s no big deal. She thinks Martha’s getting offended, perhaps depressed. Have you noticed any depression?”

“Perhaps more irritable than usual.”

“Good description. She was grumbling at breakfast about nobody caring, so you might want to give her some extra attention.”

“How’s Dot doing?”

“Loves that bird. That was a good call. Especially since Crusher takes care of it.”

“Is that it then?” Carly stood.

“Yep. Just bring in card samples and leave them at the receptionist’s counter. Thanks.” Sherie spun back to the computer.

Carly left the room, her heart weighed down with resentment.

H
oping to cheer up Martha, Carly grabbed the newspaper, but Miranda intercepted her. “Harry lost his teeth again.”

“Oh, no. Did you check the trash?”

“His or everybody’s?”

Carly placed the
New Era
on the recreational table and glanced toward the hall. “I’d start with his room. Next Kelly’s room. Check her mouth. Then work your way down the hall searching all the trash cans. If they didn’t get tossed out, we may come across them before we have to call his son again.”

Martha had been eavesdropping. She interjected, “Harry’s son’s not going to be happy if he has to buy another pair. This will make the third time this year.”

Miranda nodded and left them. Unfolding the newspaper and giving one section to Martha, Carly skimmed for topics of interest. “Last weekend was the Covered Bridge Festival in Cottage Grove. Have you ever attended?”

“Oh sure. Who hasn’t? That town’s so quaint with all its murals.”

“I know. Says here it was held at Bohemia Park and there were fiddlers, Ukranian dancers, bluegrass music, a historic auto parade, a timber competition, postage stamp collection, wine tasting, a pumpkin catapult, and kids activities. Goodness, I think it must get bigger every year.”

“Pity’s sake. A pumpkin catapult? Can you imagine the mess that made? What are people thinking?”

Carly laughed. “Anything to draw a crowd.”

“In my opinion the best thing about covered bridges happens without a crowd.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. The kissing.”

Widow Martha slipped back in time to the summer she’d turned sixteen. Her heart beat rapidly as she remembered how she’d met her first love. She’d leaned over the bridge and dared to speak to the handsome Englísh boy flirting with her.

“No, I don’t want to bait your hook.”

His warm laughter compelled her to stay, even though she knew it was wrong.

“Wait. I’m coming up.” He laid aside the pole.

Her heart raced. She was crazy to wait for him but couldn’t make her feet move.

Panting, the tall blond leaned against the bridge and studied her. “You Amish?”

“No. Mennonite.”

“You got a boyfriend?”

John Struder’s image popped into her mind, but they weren’t really committed to each other. “No, why?”

“Wondering if I should bother to teach you to fish.”

Martha grinned. “Well I’m a quick learner.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the bank. She looked at the rugged path down the steep embankment.

He laughed that infectious laugh of his. “Don’t worry. I got you.”

His muscular build supported his words. She recalled the thrill of his hand.

“Martha?” Smoothing the article, Carly shook her head. “Doesn’t say anything about a kissing booth.”

Martha sighed with impatience. “I’m not talking about the festival. When I was young, it was a place to go with your sweetheart.”

Dropping the paper in her lap, Carly asked, “You ever do that?”

Quiet for a long, reflective moment, Martha nodded. “I sure did. I had a secret boyfriend. We used to meet there.”

“How old were you?”

Her voice carried a loose asthmatic-rattle as she replied, “Sixteen. Seems like forever and also like yesterday. I can still see him. Tall. Handsome. Blond.”

Leaning forward, Carly asked, “Why was he a secret boyfriend?”

She wheezed, “Because I was Mennonite and he wasn’t. It would’ve been forbidden.” Martha smiled. “He was my first love. We even carved our initials on the bridge.”