The Widow's Choice (7 page)

“Don’t be foolish. That’s what friends are for.”

Alona had often wondered how a man could listen to other people’s problems day after day. “You probably hear every hard luck story in town, Brother Charles.”

“Yes, I suppose I hear my share. Not like a psychologist, though, or a Catholic priest. It makes me shudder to think what those fellows have to go through.”

“I’m sure you hear enough. I really shouldn’t complain. The Lord’s been good to the boys and me. Except for Carl’s ear infections, we’ve all been well.”

“How’s it going on the job?”

“That’s why I stopped by. Harry is selling the Elite Café, and the new owner’s wife is going to do the cooking. That means I’m out of a job.”

Hodges straightened up in his chair. “I heard about Harry selling the place, but I thought maybe you could stay on.”

“No, that’s going to be impossible, so I’ve got to find something else. I just wondered if you had any ideas. You know I’ll take any kind of work I can do.”

“As a matter of fact, I do know of something that might interest you, Alona. My friend Reverend Byron Sandifer is pastor of the First Baptist Church in Jonesboro. He’s a very fine man. He was telling me about a job that was available, and I think you’d qualify for it.”

“What sort of job is it?”

“It’s a job assembling parts at a small factory that makes radios. It pays twenty dollars a week. It isn’t much, but—”

“It’s more than I’ve been making.”

“And Brother Byron said that if there was someone who really needed help, he knew of a house that could be had rent free. It belongs to one of his church members—an elderly lady who doesn’t want to rent it out but prefers to help somebody in need.”

“In need! Well, I guess that’s me. But I don’t know anything about radios.”

“Brother Sandifer said it’s fairly simple. They would train you, of course. The worst thing about it is it’s over in Jonesboro.”

“I hate to move. I love the church so much, and we know people here. We wouldn’t know anyone there.”

“I hate it too, Alona. Why don’t you let me look around town, see if I hear of anything else.”

She shook her head sadly. “I doubt if you’d find anything. I need a job in a hurry, Pastor. Would you call and find out when I could go over to apply? And I hate to ask this, but I don’t have any way to get there.”

“Yes you do.” He smiled. “You’ve got a broken-down Baptist preacher with a broken-down Ford, but I think we can make it. Let me call Brother Byron right now.” He picked up the phone, and when the connection was made, he said, “Byron, has that job we were talking about been filled yet? . . . Good. I’ve got just the lady for it. Would you see if you could set up an appointment, and I’ll bring her over for an interview? . . . Thanks, Byron. This means a lot to me, and if she gets the job, you’ll be getting a fine family too. You won’t find any better people in the world than Alona Jennings and her three boys. . . . Right. Call me when you set it up.”

He put the phone down and nodded. “He said he’d try to set it up for tomorrow morning if that’ll suit you.”

“That’ll be fine, Pastor.”

“Let’s pray before you leave that this will work out.” They bowed their heads, and Hodges prayed a simple prayer. When it was over, he said, “I’m going to miss you, Alona, and those boys too.”

“I’ll miss you too, Pastor, but it’s something I have to do.”

****

Raymond Atwood was a big man in his late forties. He had a bulging stomach, was balding, and had a gruff manner. Pastor Hodges had given Alona a ride to Jonesboro and was catching up with some reading in the library at his friend’s church until Alona was done with the interview. Reverend Sandifer had then driven Alona to the factory and told her he would wait in the car until the interview was over.

“So you lost your husband and you’ve got three boys?” the man asked from the other side of the desk.

“That’s right, Mr. Atwood. I need a job. But the truth is I don’t know anything about the inside of a radio.”

Atwood waved his hand, and she noticed his hands were dirty and his fingernails were bitten down to the quick. “Aw, that don’t matter. If you got any ability at all, you can be trained. I guess the pastor told you the pay. It’s twenty a week to begin. Of course, you’ll get a raise if you work out.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Atwood. I’d like to start at once if possible.”

“The preacher tells me you’re gonna live in old lady Cunningham’s house.”

“I haven’t seen it yet, but Pastor Sandifer said there is a fine lady who was making it available.”

“Not a bad old house. How you gonna get moved?”

“My pastor will get some of the men from the church. One of them has a truck.”

“All right, then. I guess you’ve got the job, and you can start after you get moved and settled in.” He leaned forward across his desk and gave her a grin that didn’t quite seem sincere. “You’re gonna like it around here, Mrs. Jennings.”

She thought she saw him wink but quickly dismissed it as a tick. “I hope so, Mr. Atwood. I thank you for giving me a chance.” He walked her to the door. “Come in as soon as you get settled.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Alona left the factory and found Reverend Sandifer waiting for her. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a manner that Alona had liked at once. “Did it go all right?” he asked as she got into the car.

“He said I could start as soon as I get moved.”

“That’s great. Charlie Hodges says he’s going to get the men of the church to move you when you’re ready.”

“Yes. They all pitched in the last time I moved too.”

“That’s what church folk are for. We’ll be glad to have you here. We’ve got a good church, and you’ll like my wife, Hazel. And I’ve got two boys. Mike’s ten and Roger’s twelve. The same ages as your older boys. I hope they’ll be good friends.”

“My boys will need some friends. They’ve lived in one town all their life and gone to one church.”

As the pastor pulled out of the parking lot, Alona asked, “Is Mr. Atwood a member of your church?”

“No. Actually, I don’t think he’s a member of any church.”

“Is he married?”

“Yes. I believe his wife goes to the Methodist church on occasions.”

Alona wanted to ask more about her new employer but wasn’t quite sure what to say. The man had made her feel uncomfortable, but there was not much she could do about that now.

“What do you say we go by my house and get Hazel?” Reverend Sandifer asked. “You can meet her, and then we’ll show you Mrs. Cunningham’s house. I told her yesterday that we might have a new tenant for her today.”

“I’ll be taking up a lot of your time, Reverend.”

“Hey, you know I’ve never felt comfortable being called
reverend.
I know it’s a title a lot of preachers use. My dad
was a preacher. Everybody just called him Brother Sandifer, or real close folks by his first name, Ed. Most of the folks in our church call me Brother Byron.”

“All right. And I’d really like to see the house.”

“Why, this is a fine old place!” Alona exclaimed, walking through the frame house that sat back about fifty feet from the street. It was dwarfed by towering walnut trees and had been well cared for. “And it’s got three bedrooms!” She opened the door to yet another room. “An indoor bathroom. We were almost getting used to having one outside.”

“Oh, my dear, this will be heaven, won’t it!” Hazel Sandifer said. “Byron, you make sure that the hot water heater is working.”

“Mrs. Cunningham told me everything’s working, but I’ll check it to be sure.” He grinned. “Do you need any furniture?”

“We’ll make out, Brother Byron.”

“You let me know if you need a bed or something. People always have extra stuff. We’ve got a garage full ourselves.”

“The ladies and I will come in and give the house a good cleaning before you move in,” Hazel said. “Then, when you get here, all you’ll need to do is unload and set up housekeeping.”

“That would be so wonderful, Mrs. Sandifer.”

“Oh, please call me Hazel.” The pastor’s wife was an attractive woman with a good figure, blond hair, and blue eyes. She and her husband made a striking couple.

“Brother Charles told me you and your family are real special people so we’d better treat you right,” Byron said with a grin and a wink. “So I guess I’ll have to do that.”

“He’s been so patient to wait back at the church for me all this time,” Alona said. “We’d better head back so he can get home.”

“I’m ready if you are,” Byron said. “Don’t worry about the house, and don’t worry about anything else. We’ll look forward to seeing you at church as soon as you’re moved.”

“Thank you, Brother Byron, Hazel. You’ve both been more than kind.”

****

Alona was pleasantly surprised at how easily the boys adjusted to a new town, a new church, and a new school. They had moved less than a week after her interview, and the boys did the standard complaining at first, but by mid-September, when they had been in school for two weeks, they appeared perfectly satisfied.

As for Alona, it was a huge relief to live in a house that was decent and easy to clean. The indoor plumbing was enough to make her feel rich. After his third bath in the indoor bathroom, Carl had complained, “We’re gonna wash all our skin off if you keep makin’ us take so many baths!”

Alona laughed. “I guess we did without a tub for so long I’m trying to catch up.”

The house was a delight to her, but the job was more difficult than she had expected. She had a fair amount of manual dexterity, but it had been difficult learning how to assemble the radio parts. An older lady named Bess Johnson had trained her. She was an impatient woman, but Alona had gotten to know her and had discovered that her impatience came from many years of enduring a bad marriage.

Raymond Atwood had come by her station to speak to her almost every day. He had a way of putting his hand on her shoulder from time to time that made her feel uneasy. He made it seem innocent enough, but Alona always wanted to pull away. She had to keep the job, however, and she hoped she was making more of the gesture than was there.

The First Baptist Church of Jonesboro had received her and her boys with warmth and enthusiasm. The church was a short walk from the house—less than ten minutes. The boys had immediately taken to the pastor’s sons and were spending a fair amount of time together. When Paul Root, the music director, had discovered that Alona had a strong,
clear soprano voice and was an excellent sight reader, he had drafted her into the choir. She had protested, but he had teased, “I’ve got to have you, Mrs. Jennings. If you’ll come quietly, we won’t have any trouble.”

Alona had laughed at his imitation of a policeman and had become an enthusiastic member of the choir. Mr. Root was already pestering her about singing a solo.

On their fourth Sunday as members of the church, during the morning service, rolling thunder was followed by the drumming of rain upon the roof. After the service was over, those who had umbrellas took refuge under them; others ran holding purses over their heads, men pulling their hats down firmly.

Brother Byron was standing at the door watching the rain coming down in torrents, and when he turned and saw Alona and the boys coming, he exclaimed, “You can’t go home in this! You’ll get drenched.”

“We’ll just wait until it clears off, Brother Byron.”

“Well, according to my calculations, that will be a long wait. Stay here a minute. I’ll find you a ride.”

“Please don’t bother!”

“Yes, I think I’d better.” He went back into the church, leaving Alona and the boys waiting in the foyer. He came back in a few minutes with a rather short but powerfully built man with steel gray hair. “Mrs. Jennings, I’d like you to meet Oscar Moran. This is Mrs. Jennings and her boys.”

Moran smiled. “Yes, I know. I was there when she joined the church. I don’t believe you’ve missed a service, have you, Mrs. Jennings?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve enjoyed the good preaching.”

“Yes, I’d have to agree. The pastor says you need a ride home.”

“I hate to be a bother. It’s not very far.”

“No bother at all. The hardest part will be getting into the car without getting drowned. You wait here and I’ll bring the car right out in front.”

“I’ve got some umbrellas here. I’ll get them out, Mr. Moran.”

She got the umbrellas out of her bag and the boys immediately started using them as swords. “What does Mr. Moran do?” Alona asked as the man went to get the car.

“He owns the foundry. He’s a widower. His wife died about four years ago. She had two daughters by a previous marriage when he married her. They’re both grown now.”

“He never remarried, then?”

“No, but he’s had enough chances. Look, there he comes. Plenty of room for you in that big Oldsmobile he drives. See you later, boys—get under those umbrellas or you’ll drown.”

Alona and the boys ran to the car, and when the doors were slammed shut, Moran said, “All aboard. Tell me which way to go.”

“Go down here and turn left on Oak Street, and I’ll direct you from there.”

“This is a big car,” Zac said. “It’s an Oldsmobile.”

Oscar Moran turned around and grinned at the boy, who was leaning over the front seat staring at the dashboard. “That’s right. You know your cars, young man.”

“I bet it’s got a big engine in it. How big is it?”

“Zac, don’t bother Mr. Moran.”

“Let the boy ask questions, Mrs. Jennings. How’s he going to learn?”

“That’s right, Ma. I’m gonna get me a big car like this one day.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Zachary. But everybody calls me Zac.”

“Do you think you could drive this car, Zac?”

“Sure I could! My legs aren’t quite long enough yet, but I could do it.”

“And you fellows. What are your names?” Moran got their names and repeated them. “Well, you’ll all be driving cars like this one of these days.”

“I could drive this one,” Zac spoke up.

“Well, maybe you’ll get the chance some day. If you’re good boys, that is.”

“I’m
always
good,” Carl said.

“You are!” Moran was amused. “I don’t believe I ever met a boy that was always good.”