man who can fish never needs be hungry. Tell you what, let’s go on down to the café, get a bite to eat and talk about some possibilities. This is no Fresno, but if we could find you something to do, do you think you could be persuaded to stay on awhile?”
Conrad’s face lit up. “Here? Hell, this here town’s way better than Fresno. Fresno’s an armpit. You ever been there?”
“Can’t say as I have.” Sam laughed.
“This town’s a whole lot better than Fresno. Way prettier. And the people are nicer, too.”
“People tend to be real nice in Grace Valley,” Sam confirmed. He dropped an arm around the kid’sshoulders and began to pull him down the street toward the café. “Come on, let’s get a bite. George rarely messes up breakfast, and he has the best coffee in a hundred miles.”
Conrad seemed to pull back. “Sir, my load, sir. Can I just park her in the garage?”
“Don’t you worry about that load. Not in Grace Valley. I personally guarantee it’s safe.”
Conrad’s expression became wistful. “Sure would like to raise my kids in a place safe as that,” he said quietly.
“You never know,” Sam said. “Maybe that’ll work out.”
Harry Shipton sat at his desk in the parsonage, awash in a sea of papers with his checkbook register and calculator in the middle. He kept figuring, futilely. The answer was always the same. He was overdrawn. Again.
His hand reached for the phone out of habit and he snatched it away before he placed the call to his ex-wife, Brianna. It was humiliating for her to always be right—he was a dunce with money. His priorities were elsewhere. He was great with people, with spiritual encouragement, even with counseling. It had always made Brianna laugh, that he could so successfully counsel couples in trouble while his own marriage disintegrated before his very eyes, almost without him seeing it.
Well, at least they didn’t have children.
At least? He had wanted children. Brianna had wanted children. But the children hadn’t come.
His phone rang. “Pastor Shipton,” he answered. The woman on the other end of the line told him that her elderly father had been taken to the hospital early in the morning. It was very likely a stroke. The old man was only semiconscious. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry to hear that. Is he in Valley Hospital? I’ll go there this afternoon and sit with him for a while. But meanwhile, is there anything I can do for you?” Prayers, the woman requested. Other than that, she couldn’t think of a thing. “I’ll activate our prayer tree immediately. Now, don’t you worry, your father is a good man and the Lord will take good care of him. And you.”
“What would we do without you, Harry,” the woman said.
“What would I do without you? ” he replied. “If anything changes, call me at once.”
They said their goodbyes and Harry got right on the phone. He first called Leah Craven, then Betty Lou Granger, explaining that he needed the prayer tree activated for their fellow parishioner. Next he called George at the café and asked if he had a frozen meal he’d be willing to donate to the family, as their time was consumed with hospital sitting and they probably couldn’t take the time to prepare a decent meal. Next he called Philana Toopeek, Tom’s mother, and asked if she might wish to throw some of her wonderful baked bread into the mix. She promised tohave her husband take it over to the family in need before the dinner hour. And then Harry took a moment, clasped his hands together atop a disastrous pile of bills and beseeched the Lord to care for their friend and brother in the hospital. The warmth of community love spread through him like a glow and he opened his eyes from prayer feeling stronger. As always.
But it only lasted for as long as it took him to remember that he was overdrawn at the bank and owed for cash advances on three credit cards.
This inability to manage his meager salary as a preacher had cost