At Every Turn by Anne Mateer Read Free Book Online Page B

food into all of you.”
    “You don’t have to—”
    “I know I don’t. But I want to. Let me be the hand the Lord uses to provide for your family today. Please?”
    For a brief moment, tears stood in her eyes, on her lashes, but she blinked them back. “Bless you, Miss Benson.”
    I took both of her hands in mine. “We’re friends now, Lucinda. Call me Alyce.”
    She gave a tiny nod and a shy smile. My own grin stretched as far as my face would allow. Next Sunday I wouldn’t overlook her. I would even offer to help with the baby.
    Minutes later, I sat behind the wheel of my car and let out a satisfied sigh. “Thank you, Lord, for letting me be a part of Your work today.” I started the engine and chugged down the street, wishing my little Runabout would fly as fast as the race car—or at least Father’s Mercer.
    After rounding the corner, I eased to a stop in front of the pharmacy. The engine quieted, leaving me to sort out my thoughts. Mr. Morgan would likely frown on my giving his donation to his secretary. But that thought didn’t bother me as much as another: My Africa fund had gone from two hundred dollars to zero in less than five minutes.

 6 
    T wo hours later, with one hundred sixty-two dollars in my handbag, I rolled into the empty expanse between Father’s office and his factory. The Mercer wasn’t in its usual spot, but that didn’t matter. I preferred not to bump into Father anyway. It was Webster I hoped to see. Would he celebrate my success or scold my impulsive gift to Lucinda?
    I tiptoed around my car and in the direction of the factory. Bangs and clangs littered the air. I held my breath, listening. A tap on my shoulder. With a squeal, I spun around. “Mr. Trotter.” I breathed relief. “You frightened me.”
    His mustache lifted, fell, then lifted once more. “Did you come to see your father, Miss Benson?”
    “As a matter of fact, I did not. I came because I—” I glanced back at the factory. Did I need Webster when Mr. Trotter was here? I laid my hand on his arm and smiled up at him. “I tried to call, but you were out. I’m in need of assistance, Mr. Trotter. Could we speak in your office?”
    He grinned. “I’d be delighted.”

    Bare walls, a dingy window, and clutter on the desk defined his small space. He pulled out his handkerchief and swiped the dust from the seat of a straight-backed chair. I gathered up my skirt to keep the hem from brushing the floor as I sat.
    “I guess you know why I’ve come.”
    He blinked at me in obvious discomfort.
    “The Africans, Mr. Trotter. Mr. and Mrs. McConnell’s mission in the Gold Coast?” I pulled the photograph from my handbag, smoothing out a small crease on one corner.
    “Ah, yes. The money.” His hazel eyes seemed to take on a new sparkle.
    I nodded. “Father wouldn’t . . . that is . . .” I pulled back my shoulders, sat up straighter. “I’ve decided to raise the money on my own.”
    His eyebrows lifted. “Three thousand dollars?”
    I nodded again, more quickly this time, my head bobbing like tires rolling over bricked streets. “I’ve already begun canvassing businessmen in town.” I slid the list across his desk.
    He glanced at it and then back up at me. “And?”
    “A few paid me to drive them from one place to another. Usually not far enough to collect more than the fifty-cent minimum. Some, like Mr. Morgan at the law office, gave an outright donation.” I took a deep breath. “I collected a total of three hundred sixty-two dollars today—and I made known my willingness to drive for pay at any time.” My chin lifted. Ten more days like today and I’d have all the money I needed.
    “Quite impressive.” His gaze strayed to my handbag. “So how may I be of assistance?”
    “I need—” Staring into my lap, I wondered what I did need. Support? Advice? Help keeping the money I’d received? My head jerked up. “I’d be obliged if you could suggest a way for me to—hold on to the