Maybe Someday Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Contact Information

  Maybe Someday

  a novel by Ede Clarke

  © 2010 Ede Clarke

  All rights reserved

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-935507-17-8

  eISBN: 978-1-62020-590-7

  Cover Design & Page Layout by David Siglin of A&E Media

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  The colophon is a trademark of Ambassador

  Dedication

  To the women trapped in slavery in Hunan who I pray will someday soon know freedom in Christ.

  Acknowledgments

  To the Hunanese men and women I labor with daily who will never read this acknowledgment page or this book, I must thank you anyway to testify to the awesomeness of our God—His power in each of you helps grow my faith and teaches me more and more who God really is. Without knowing you and witnessing your light in darkness, this book would be different—I would be different. Thank you for changing me and challenging me. And may I remember to pray for each of you with faith.

  To a remarkable and anonymous group of co-laborers, I know God sees my weaknesses and sent you all to me to hold me up, correct me, laugh and cry with me, worship God with me, struggle in the work with me, feed me salt, find me a chair when I need to sit, and eat chocolate with me. And thank you to Scott for coaching this printing into being.

  To the countless brothers and sisters who pray for me, many of whom don’t even know me personally, but have been called to pray for the work Father has placed me in, I will never be able to adequately thank you. Just please know that I pray for you as well and know how precious our partnership is in the war we wage.

  To the English Literature teachers during my attendance era at the University of Houston, I thank you for teaching me much more than the syllabuses indicate. To Patricia Yongue: Thank you for trying to help me understand the reality of a woman’s place in the world today (even though I wouldn’t agree with you at the time I SO do now). And for incorporating movement, Mustangs and cats whenever possible, you taught me well. To Linda Westervelt: Thank you for telling me I was a bad writer, and then helping me improve. To Leslie Richardson: Thank you for being so much more than a poetry teacher. You taught me the man of my dreams is probably not found in the gym 24/7; the best way to get an A is to write for God; and that even when it’s bad writing it’s still just great to write.

  To Sam, Tim, David and the team at Ambassador, thank you for investing in an unknown.

  To my Father, thank you for telling me I couldn’t stay on Thoreau’s island. To my Mother, thank you for believing in mental health days and fudge.

  And to the Creator of my heart: I know you do not make mistakes and I trust You.

  Chapter One

  Put down my keys. My purse. Threw my jacket so it almost made it onto the back of the recliner. “Jackie, can you please pick up my jacket and hang it up for me in the bedroom closet? I’ll start dinner. Anyone hungry?” Five mouths from all points in the house quickly, and with their own distinct attitudes, replied in the affirmative. “Well, then. I must get to it. Who’s timing me tonight? How long will you give me?”

  Little Lizzie came whispering in with her crocheted baby doll under her right arm, and an anemic pad of paper with only two pages left pressed by a long pencil with a fuzzy top cradled in her left hand. “Is thirty minutes enough?” She sheepishly wondered, chin to her chest, peering through her lashes.

  “Oh yes, plenty. Thank you, my dear. Why don’t you have a seat.”

  “Who was the last one out of bed this morning?” No answer. All mouths full of breakfast. Good excuse so I waited a few minutes before asking again.

  Beth piped up immediately after a big swallow, “Not me.”

  Right. Waited a bit longer. Longer. “One.” Longer. “Two.” Longer.

  “Me,” admitted Clara.

  “I see. Well, that is just fine. There has to be one every day. Nothing wrong with it. Just a fact. Right?”

  We all shook our heads to make Clara feel better. She shook her head along with us without looking up. “Everyone scrape your plates real good so it doesn’t take her too long to wash.” Head nods from most, the others already up and doing it on their way out the door. “Crow like a rooster if you already put your lunch in your bag,” I said to a fine sounding bunch of roosters indeed. “Fabulous. I don’t have to remind you all of anything, do I?” Kisses around and then I excused Clara before she was entirely finished so she had enough time to walk to the bus without having to run or even walk uncomfortably fast.

  “Thank you,” she told me over her shoulder as she gingerly stepped outside.

  “He’s the new manager,” Toura told me as I threw on my apron and stuck in the last hair pin just to the left of where I was aiming.

  “Is that so?” I replied, half-listening. After all, I had ten minutes to get the front open and hadn’t even begun to bring in the pies. “Can you grab the door for me while I roll these out? Oh, and could you please write up an “86 Rhubarb” and post it on the prep door and by the mirror? Thanks, Toura.”

  “What . . . Kenny forgot again that Mary doesn’t have Rhubarb on Mondays. So then he didn’t get over to Karen’s in time for today’s prep?”

  “Why don’t I reassign you to be Kenny’s assistant brain?”

  We both laughed, knowing that Kenny is as quick as a whip. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been funny to either of us. Maybe to Marie, but not to us.

  “Good morning, Marie,” I said at half past eight, about thirty-five minutes after we sold out of the cinnamon twist bread. “The twist was the hit again this morning,” I told her with an encouraging smile.

  “Fascinating,” she said.

  “I’ll have to tell Kenny to take a look at the numbers for next week’s prep,” I suggested.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said as she unloaded her coat, scarf, and mug. “You met Kenny’s replacement yesterday. We’ll talk about it after morning rush.”

  I heard most of that through the usual mess of curls from the back of her head as she was speaking to me, but onto the next task, or person, or thought, or whatever. I turned toward the counter and lit up for the next customer, “Mrs. Jean. How are you this morning? Some rye bread for Jack maybe and what else can I get you?” Disturbing, really. Three years here and I still had no clue that Kenny would be leaving. You’d think I would have known something, even without it being said to me. “Yes we have cinnamon rolls, but you’re correct about the twist bread. Early bird gets that worm these days. But, don’t worry. Once the newness wears off, we won’t run out so quickly.”

  “Alright. I think you’ve all met Greg. He is the new manager. Kenny is gone. He’s still living in Kenfield, but not working here.” Marie took a big gulp of coffee before proceeding. “Everyone help him out and realize the learning curve will be there for a few weeks. Greg comes from a successful bakery in Chicago, but every place is a bit different. Let’s make him welcome a
nd help him as much as we can.” Another big swallow of coffee, her shortest curl almost sneaking into the mug but she bucked up her chin just in time to have a fuzz-free swig. “Greg, why don’t you introduce yourself and give some professional and personal background info so folks can get to know you better.” Marie sat down, instantaneously noisily flipping through inventory sheets as Greg began.

  “My oldest is just starting high school and is quite nervous about the change.”

  And, why is he better than Kenny I wonder. Actually, that isn’t really what I wonder. I really want to know what was wrong with Kenny. I don’t want to know anything about Greg until I know what happened to Kenny, and especially why.

  “After deciding to sell my small bakery I went to work for Logforth’s in Chicago so I could be at home more with Cindy and the kids.”

  Doesn’t she know this is completely unfair? He’s still in Kenfield. I can ring him up, I suppose. Or, should I ask her instead?

  “We’re thrilled to be in a smaller town where we feel our family will thrive and I can contribute to our little community here at Marie’s.”

  Awkward. Why didn’t Kenny tell me?

  Jackie was waiting by the recliner just hoping I would miss it so he could take the ultimate challenge of scooting the chair to my bedroom wardrobe, climbing up the chair with coat in hand, tip-toe reach all the way to the hanger, where he has to repeatedly hit its corner to use the momentum in the swing for it to fly off, then catch the hanger before it hits the floor (or then he’ll have to climb back on the chair with the coat and now a hanger too), and then hang the coat on the hanger and place it in the wardrobe, gripping the one end tightly while precisely thrusting the hanger hook toward the rod in success. Unless of course he thrusts it too heartily, resulting in the hanger swinging on the rod with the coat into a heap at the base of the wardrobe. In which case he gives up and knows it’s ok because he tried his best.

  “Jackie, you’re in the way, my dear. How on earth will I be able to make it with you standing directly in front? I suppose it’s a gift that your head doesn’t yet come to the height of the head rest.”

  I made it spot on. However, the satin lining was open-faced and offered no traction.

  “Almost,” his little smile squeaked out as he scampered into the other room, coat in hand, almost tripping over the waste tie.

  “Kenny . . . Hi . . . I . . . I . . . How are you? Is it too late to be calling?”

  “No, no, no. You’re fine. Really. Fine.”

  “I . . . I . . . am not sure what to say, really. Are you ok?”

  “Fine, now, just fine. Thank you. I . . .”

  “What happened, Kenny?”

  “Well, it was just time to quit, I guess.”

  “You quit?! Why?”

  “Because I found out Marie was looking for a replacement.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, so I figured I’d beat her to it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she give a reason? Did you give a reason?”

  “She wants someone with a ‘bigger vision’ she said. So she found a big city fello’ who has seen a lot more than me, you know?”

  “Yeah. ‘Spose he has, Kenny.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh.”

  “She’s right, though. I mean, my vision doesn’t go beyond Kenfield, really. I thought it was enough. I mean, it is enough for me anyway.”

  “Right. Sure.”

  “Marie wants more, and that’s okay.”

  “You’re already missed.”

  “Let’s not start that.”

  “Alright then . . . What’s next? Do you know? What does Bethy say?”

  “You know Bethy. She’s fine no matter what we do as long we’re together.”

  “So you’ll stay in Kenfield then, do you think?”

  “Of course we will. This is home, where family’s been buried and hearts have mended and grown. We of course miss Madeleine in Buffalo, but as you know that’s only a few hour’s drive away. And Pete at the paper offered me a chance at some ink and leading work, part time at first. And Gus sent over a note about bookkeeping at the orchard. I think it’ll be easy to find work, just maybe hard to replace a career, a love, a passion. But I don’t have many more working years left in me, so that’s all right.”

  “Do you and Bethy want to brave The Five next week and come over for dinner?”

  “Name the day and we’re there.”

  “Tuesday then.”

  “Tuesday it is.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  “Why are the pies already in the case, Toura?” I asked plainly before I had a chance to open my locker.

  “’Cause Greg is here and asked me to put them out. So I did.”

  “Good idea, then, my friend. Good idea,” I affirmed while stepping through the swing door and catching my first glimpse of the day of Greg. “Mornin’ to you,” I smiled.

  “Good morning, back,” was grinned.

  “Before I get started on the usual set up this morning, is there anything you’d like me to do that isn’t in the usual schedule. Please know I’m open for suggestions and flexible toward any improvement whatsoever,” I offered as I straightened my apron so the bottom point was exactly between my knees, with equal distance on either side of the point to each knee.

  “Well, now that you mention it, there is something,” he slowly threw back at me.

  “Anything,” I beamed.

  “This morning I asked Toura to put out the pies first thing instead of close to the end of the morning checklist and also pull the shades up directly after. My thought is that this might attract a few more customers than if the visual appeal isn’t available until immediately before we open the doors. It’s a long shot to say that many people are out browsing that early, but I don’t see how it could hurt. What do you think?”

  “Makes good sense to me, Greg. I noticed the pies first thing when I came in. So, if that’s any indication, maybe we’ll get a few more folks in.”

  We smiled at each other, I think both satisfied that we had given each other enough room and play to have a comfortable exchange.

  “Should I rework the morning checklist with this change and have it reprinted and up for tomorrow?” I asked as I was half through the swing door rolling the tarts and cookies to the front room.

  “If you have the time, that would be great. If today is too hectic, by the end of the week would be okya, too.”

  I nodded and joined Toura up front. “Genuine nice guy,” I offered and Toura nodded back in agreement.

  “It’s been so, so long since we had company. Why so long, why? It’s so fun. And we get to hear stories, and tell stories, and think up more stories, and get to eat for longer, and . . . ” Hector went on and on as he timed me, sitting at the table while I finished up the dinner preparations.

  “So what questions do you want to ask Uncle Kenny this time? Last time all your questions were about the war and planes.”

  “Maybe this time I could ask him about food. What did they eat?”

  “I don’t know, honey. I remember reading something about Hershey bars starting back then. You’ll have to ask him for sure. But, you know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to have a few questions for Aunt Bethy, too. Don’t want her to feel left out, now do you?” Oh no. How many spoonfuls of coffee was that? Every time! Will I ever learn that I can’t count and talk at the same time. “Yes, honey, that’s an excellent question to ask her.”

  “They’re here! They’re here!” came screams from the living room.

  “Everyone in the kitchen please,” I quickly slipped in. “Thank you all so much for all your help in preparation for tonight’s dinner. Now please have a wonderful time tonight and enjoy Uncle Kenny and Aunt Bethy. Tomorrow morning’s breakfast dishes are on me since you all helped so much last night with cleaning and tonight too. Now someone please open the door and greet our guests with a
big smile!”

  “How long have you worked at Marie’s, Uncle Kenny?” Hector asked as he passed the potatoes to Bethy.

  “Longer than you’ve been alive!” Bethy answered as she carefully took the bowl.

  “Alright. That’s enough,” Kenny winked at her and the kids. “No reason to start right in about how bloomin’ old I am.”

  “Yeah, but since you’re married to him that means you’re old, too,” Clara said to Bethy.

  “Gotcha, my love,” Kenny said with a sly smirk on his face.”

  “How long have you guys known Marie anyway,” I asked them.

  Bethy looked at Kenny to answer, “I’ve known her since my freshman year of high school. I knew her Daddy, too. He passed on the first year after graduation.”

  “So you two were in the same grade?” Jackie asked.

  “Not only that, Jackie,” answered Bethy, “but they dated for a bit.”

  “Oh, grooooss,” oozed Jackie.

  “I didn’t want to get into any of that stuff.”

  “But you’re all friends now, right?” asked Beth.

  “Oh, yeah,” Kenny quickly answered, “we went on only a few dates.”

  “It lasted maybe a month,” added Bethy.

  When I handed Kenny his hat after seeing Bethy out the door first, he leaned over and kissed my cheek and offered, “Marie goes to Hatfield park on Thursday afternoons to finish the weekly reports. Maybe you could bring her some coffee there this week if there’s no rain. No sense in spending that much time with someone if things aren’t right.”

  I smiled, embarrassed that he figured out I was mad because I didn’t know he was leaving. How silly of me, how insignificant in the greater sense of our lives. Who cares! “Thank you, Kenny,” I whispered back.

  While we walked to the bakery together one morning, suddenly Hector came out with, “We don’t ever go away do we? Why not? Because of school? Because of money?”

  “I suppose that is part of it, Hector. But I think the biggest reason is time.” We both stepped over a fallen branch laid across the sidewalk.