Leah's Triplet Mates (8 page)

His problem was that he wanted to like everyone, and not all people lived up to his expectation that they were trustworthy.

The Breakfast Bite was melt-in-the-mouth delicious. Leah couldn’t remember the last time she’d had fresh-baked bread still warm from the oven. It was such a simple thing, yet totally mouth-watering. She bent her head to her plate and scooped up her egg, eating it slowly and savoring the spices her mother had added to it, which gave a simple egg more flavor and zest.

“These are great, thank you,” said Bram, smiling at her mom.

“No, thank you. The bread is amazing.”

Her father looked up at them, grinning. “I can remember at one of the places we stayed, there was a bread maker and you cooked us some wonderful different types of bread.”

Her mom nodded to him. “That’s right.”

“Arizona?” suggested her dad.

“No, the girls were too young then. Texas maybe.”

That was where the shape-shifters had been, and here she had met shape-shifters once again. Leah tried to remember her mom making fresh bread, but likely she’d been too young to notice. At eight or nine, she hadn’t been interested in cooking.

And then her mom made the same mental leap she’d just made, and Leah’s heart thumped so hard she had to swallow her food and stop eating.

“We were working with a church that makes me think of you men. There were several sets of identical twins, although I don’t think there were any triplets. Are triplets common among your friends?”

Ah shit! Mom knows.

Leah kept her head bent but peeked upward to watch Saxon’s response. She knew he would be the one who answered.

“It’s interesting you mention that. We do have some friends who are also triplets. They’re a year older than us, and we’ve known them all our lives,” said Saxon.

Her father laid down his fork, threw a searching glance at her mom, and then asked, “Do you and your community live near here?”

“We were born on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula but have lived here in Richmond, Ohio for three years now.”

Bram and Hardy both nodded. “This is more central for the company’s business. The commute was getting to be a bit of a drag from up north,” said Hardy.

“What does your company do?” asked Leah.

She and her sisters had been silent until now, but if Saxon had already told her father what their job was, she hadn’t heard. Besides, she was almost certain that when she’d been in the trunk of the car one of the men had said they were unemployed.

Her face creased with the effort of remembering. Then she understood. Now she could recognize the slight differences in the words and phrases they used and their intonation so she knew it was Bram who’d said it.

They all looked the same. Well, of course they did. They were identical triplets. But there were differences in personality and other things as well. It was just that they weren’t nearly as obvious as changes in hair color, eye color, or build might have been.

“The company we work for buys and sells collectible items,” said Saxon smoothly.

“What sort of collectibles? Furniture, ceramics, art?” asked her mother.

“Not large pieces of furniture, but sometimes old vases or urns or small portraits and paintings. We don’t work with enormous items that would require a large gallery to display them,” said Hardy.

“What a shame Dad didn’t meet you before he sold his stamp albums,” said Zoe with a bland, innocent look.

Leah jumped straight in. “Oh, I didn’t get around to telling you. I found out yesterday that Mr. Lutterworth didn’t want Dad’s stamps after all. I was going to ask Maia about a dealer she’s heard of in Detroit.”

“I think we need to accept that they’re just a boy’s hobby and not of any value at all to adults,” said her father a little sadly.

Leah’s heart ached for her dad. He loved those stamps and cherished the memories they held. He’d accepted selling them to raise money for his ministry, his life’s work, but to sell them for such a small amount of money that would not even pay their bills obviously hurt him a lot.

Damn. I wish I could earn us some money.
But she couldn’t. Zoe’s brief stint in the workforce had left Leah and Maia completely exhausted trying to run the ministries without their sister.

Her father stood up. “Thank you for the scrumptious meal. I need to get the church hall ready for lunch. Yesterday afternoon we ran a games program for the young children who come with their mothers, so we had to move all the furniture. Usually, we leave it set up from Monday to Friday and only rearrange it for Sundays.”

Hardy, Bram, and Saxon all rose immediately. “Can we help you?” asked Bram.

“I’d be most grateful. The old wooden pews are quite difficult for one person alone to lift.”

Leah was pleased the men had offered to help. Of course, an hour spent shifting the heavy old furniture might mean she never saw them again, but it was still extremely kind of them to volunteer.

She wasn’t sure whether she hoped they’d come back into her life or whether she’d prefer they left. She was very tired and hadn’t had five minutes alone to process her capture, the sex, and the retrieval of the stamp albums. Right now, she longed to go to bed for several hours. Instead, she straightened her shoulders. That wasn’t going to happen. She had much more important things to do.

However, she did slip out of the kitchen. She had a pair of panties that had been cut in two crammed into her pocket, and she absolutely needed to hide them away where no one would see them. And then she needed to change into clean clothing. Maybe a cold shower would refresh her as much as a nap would have done.

* * * *

Hardy hadn’t worked so hard for a hell of a long time. And he’d never worked such a heavy day on no sleep, not even when he was a lusty young party-going teenager.

A handful of older women who apparently belonged to this church arrived with rubber gloves, aprons—he hadn’t seen a woman wear an apron since he was in elementary school!—and one lone husband. They scrubbed the church kitchen and began cooking the food Leah’s sisters brought over from the house.

They all called Leah’s father “pastor” in respectful tones.

The homeless people began arriving, some of them carrying shopping bags crammed with their possessions, a few pushing supermarket carts, and one man with his things in a wheelbarrow.

All the possessions were left in the charge of the male volunteer, who called each person by name and promised to let no one else touch their property. Leah took the women two at a time across to the house, and when they returned, it was obvious they’d all taken a shower. Some were wearing clean clothes, and two small children were clutching a soft toy in their arms.

Meanwhile, he and his brothers had helped Leah’s father shift a hell of a lot of heavy wooden pews from where they’d been stacked against the walls when he arrived to place them on either side of folding tables so people could sit to eat. The remaining pews were placed in conversation groups for people to sit on and talk while the meal was cooked.

Hardy noticed no men appeared to have showered and wondered whether it was because Leah was supervising it, not her father. Perhaps if her father hadn’t have had to move the furniture the men could have showered as well.

“Do you usually assist the men with showering, sir?” he asked.

“Call me pastor. Or father if you prefer. Many of these people relate more to a Catholic heritage than a Baptist one. In answer to your question, ladies shower Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, men on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. It would be nice if we could let everyone shower daily, but unfortunately, there isn’t enough time. There are two bathrooms in the parsonage though, which makes what we do possible. It’s such a blessing to have two bathrooms.”

The man beamed at him, and Hardy found himself smiling back, although many houses had two bathrooms or one and a half at least.

Bram and Saxon were given heavy yard brooms and sent out to sweep the parking lot and sidewalk. Hardy was handed a pair of rubber gloves and asked to wash dishes. He was surprised because no one had eaten yet. Then he saw the pile of dirty pots and cooking implements and remembered that this food didn’t come in a microwave box. Everything had been prepared from scratch. And this wasn’t even all of the preparation mess. Maia and Zoe had been chopping vegetables and doing who-knew-what-else to make the food ready in the house. Parsonage. Whatever the building was called.

At exactly noon, one of the older volunteers banged a metal soup ladle against a large cauldron, and the room was instantly silent. Everyone stood up, and those wearing caps or beanies bared their heads. The pastor stepped into the middle of the room and raised his arms in the air like an Alpha about to address his pack.

“Thank you, Lord, for the food you’ve provided for us today and for the good people who’ve donated it and those who prepared it for us to eat.”

“Amen,” chorused the people in the room.

Hardy looked around. There must have been close to one hundred people there now, including perhaps half a dozen small children, and all seemed completely sincere in their thanks. He guessed if he had no idea where his next meal was coming from he’d be pretty grateful for people like this as well.

The people formed a long line, encouraging the women with children to go first. Everyone took a plate from the stack on the end of the serving counter and then filed past the kitchen helpers, who gave everyone scoops of a thick meaty stew, savory rice, and a piece of bread.

There was hot coffee for the adults to drink and a small cup of milk for each child.

Once everyone had been served and was seated, all the volunteers also took a plate of food and joined the guests at the tables. Hardy wondered if the food ever ran out. He supposed the servers would keep watch on how many people arrived and give smaller portions if the crowd was too big or the donated food not adequate. He suddenly realized what a huge venture this was. The homeless people came in expectation of a meal. But what if none of the rich people had given any food or money that day? What would happen? He knew Leah’s family was invested in the lives of the people they helped. How would they manage if one day there was no food? It was a huge responsibility.

Dammit. I’ll have to follow up on those people Leah’s mom was going to ask to provide food. I don’t even know these people, and I’ve never been on the streets or starving, but I do want to help them. I wonder if some of them could be helped to find work? If they had supported accommodation, even a minimum wage job might help direct them to a better future.

The man sitting next to Hardy asked, “What’s your opinion of climate change?”

Of all the opening sentences Hardy might have expected from a homeless person, that wasn’t on the list, although he supposed the weather would impact their lives quite a lot.

“I think some of the politicians are using it as a football to kick around instead of investigating it thoroughly,” he replied, giving an honest answer.

In moments, the entire table was involved in a surprisingly knowledgeable conversation. Hardy sat back. These people weren’t mentally incompetent or drug or alcohol-affected idiots. They were all as sober as anyone else and engaged in a completely serious conversation. As he sat and mostly listened, asking a few rare questions, he came to learn more about them. One old man, Chuck, was a Vietnam veteran who hated loud noises and had driven a truck on long-distance routes for years. Another man, Gene, had lost his job after the management had learned he’d been involved in a radical political group as a young man.

“I grew out of that nonsense twenty years ago, but no one wants to give me a chance now,” he mourned.

Each one had a story. Some had been lazy, others stupid, but most were just unlucky. When something in their lives had gone wrong, they’d slid into homelessness and now couldn’t find their way out. One thing all of them said was that if it hadn’t been for this program they’d be dead or in jail for sure.

“What is the one thing you’d wish for now, above everything else?” he asked, wondering if they’d say housing or employment.

“To be acknowledged as a person, as me, as Chuck. Not just to be disregarded as a homeless bum pushing a shopping cart.”

* * * *

Saxon had enjoyed talking to the people at his table. They’d begun with a discussion about baseball but moved quite quickly from there to whether or not their soldiers should be sent overseas in peacekeeping roles. He’d had to scramble to keep his brain up with the speed of the conversation. Some of the people at his table were not just smart but damn good debaters as well.

At one thirty, people started leaving, and by two, he was handed the heavy broom again and set to sweeping the floor. Not that there was much mess. Some crumbs from the bread, a damp patch where some coffee had been spilled, but not a lot to clean up. These people had been hungry, and the food went in their mouths, not on the floor.

After that, the tables were washed down, the counter cleaned, and armloads of pots and plates tidied away.

He noticed both Bram and Hardy had been washing dishes and decided that sweeping floors was a better job.
I don’t know how they usually do it all without the three of us, though. It’s damn hard work. And six days a week. Sheesh.