Entertaining Angels (8 page)

Craig figured he probably ought to pay attention to the conversation, yet he found himself drawn to the people in the room.

“Do you mind if I spend some time introducing myself to our guests?” he asked the senior minister.

“Not at all. That’s a very good idea. Go right ahead.”

Craig made his way to the gray-haired gentleman with the VFW cap. Ever since he’d lost his father in Operation Desert Storm and the local American Legion had reached out to him and his mom, he’d held a soft spot for veterans.

Each Memorial Day, they used to hold a special event for kids who’d lost a parent in the war. And while it was tough
being fatherless, he’d appreciated the legionaries who’d been so understanding, so supportive of his mom.

“Do you guys mind if I interrupt you for a minute?” Craig asked the three men.

The tall, lanky fellow with the VFW cap smiled. “Not at all. Have a seat.”

Craig sat next to a short, heavy set man wearing a pair of blue coveralls. “My name is Craig Houston, and I’m the new associate minister here. I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your service to our country.”

They seemed to light up at his comment, and the one wearing the cap stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Ward O’Sullivan. A veteran of Korea.”

Ward went on to introduce his buddies, Jacob Porter, a marine who’d fought in Vietnam, and Harold Schlictning, a medic who’d served in Europe during World War II.

They talked a few minutes, then Craig excused himself and strode toward the two elderly women who were seated together. When they looked up, he introduced himself.

Kathryn Ellings shared that she was on a fixed income, and that the soup kitchen had been a real blessing to her. Her friend, Ellie Rucker, whose hair was matted in back as if she hadn’t used a comb in a while, didn’t say much.

Craig chatted with them for a moment, then excused himself to speak to the only one he had yet to meet—a teenager, he suspected. But by the time he started toward her, she’d cleaned her paper plate and was carrying it to the trash can.

He watched as she scanned the buffet line, where a woman wearing a red plaid apron had just added an insulated carafe next to a pitcher of lemonade.

“There’s more coffee,” the woman announced, before returning to the kitchen.

The girl, who’d been standing next to the buffet line, snatched a couple of rolls and shoved them under the ribbed hem of her sweat shirt, causing her belly to pooch out.

Stocking up for dinner? he wondered.

When she turned toward him, her hands holding the hem of her bulky shirt against her stomach to hold the bread inside, he averted his eyes so she wouldn’t know that he’d seen what she’d done.

As she drew closer, he allowed himself to look at her and smile. “Thanks for coming.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, as though her conscience might be at some sort of impasse, then returned his smile. “Thanks for having me.”

“I’m Pastor Craig,” he added. “And you’re …?”

“Renee Delaney.”

He didn’t even consider offering a handshake. No need to embarrass her if those rolls fell out. Instead, he said, “It’s nice to meet you. I hope to see you back here again sometime. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yeah, maybe. The food was really good, so you probably will. Unless I get a job.”

“You’re looking for work?” he asked.

“Yeah. I can do just about anything. So if you know anyone who’s hiring …?”

If Craig had a home of his own, if he’d managed to stockpile a couple of paychecks already, he’d offer her some kind of employment, even if it was just to mow the yard or wash windows.

“I’ll keep you in mind,” he said. “Do you have a phone number? In case I need to get ahold of you?”

She bit her bottom lip again. “No, not yet. I just moved here.”

“Me, too.” He offered her another smile.

Her feet seemed to do a little shuffle, and she nodded toward the door. “Well, I guess I’d better go. I’ll see ya around.”

“Okay.” He watched as she strode out of the soup kitchen, her head up, yet her shoulders slumped.

Poor kid.

“Pastor?”

Craig turned to see George heading toward him. He had a woman with him, the middle-aged brunette who was wearing the red plaid apron.

“This is Dawn Randolph,” George said. “Our soup kitchen would have shut down months ago if she hadn’t single-handedly stepped in and volunteered to do all the grocery shopping and cooking.”

Dawn had a scatter of freckles across her nose, making her look younger than she probably was. As she reached out to greet Craig, a smile lit her brown eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I guess we’ll be working together,” he said.

“That’s what I heard. I’m looking forward to having your help.”

“Your husband mentioned that there’s a group of people trying to get the church to move the kitchen out of town,” he said.

She tucked a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes, when the problems in society are hidden, people don’t see the need to fix them.”

“Do you get a lot of homeless?” He wondered about Jesse, the man he’d met last night. Did he know there was a place he could get a hot meal each day?

“Yes, we do. And we try to do whatever we can to help them get back on their feet. The Ladies Aid has been gathering secondhand clothing. And when they find something that would be suitable for a job interview, like a suit and a matching shirt and tie, they have them dry-cleaned or one of the group launders and presses them. Then they place a coordinated ensemble in a plastic garment bag.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“We also provide the homeless with the church’s address and a phone number with voice mail in case they need to fill out a job application.”

Craig thought of the young woman who’d just walked out.

“There was a girl here earlier,” he said. “A young woman, I guess. She’s looking for work, but doesn’t have a phone number. If I’d known that, I would have passed the information along.”

“You mean the little blonde with straggly hair?” Dawn asked.

“You noticed her?”

“I notice all of them, especially the young ones.”

“How old do you think she was?” Craig asked.

“It’s hard to say. Sixteen maybe?”

“That’s what I thought. I wonder where her parents are.”

“Who knows? Hopefully, working. I try to be friendly and welcoming at first. I hate coming on too strong. Some people aren’t happy about needing charity, so I take a little time to get to know them. But my heart always goes out to the kids.”

Craig could understand that.

“I plan to get to know her better next time,” Dawn said. “That is, assuming she comes back.”

“She’ll be back. I have a feeling she isn’t used to getting regular meals.”

“For the most part, the majority of those we help are down-and-out adults. Some of our regulars are senior citizens trying to make ends meet during the last days of the month before their social security checks arrive. And then we get some people who are homeless and will probably stay that way for various reasons.”

“Drugs and alcoholism?” he asked.

“That certainly is a problem for some of them. And unless they’re willing to get help, it’s difficult to force it on them.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m afraid there are a few who will never get back on their feet. But that doesn’t make them any less hungry.”

“Does it ever get to you?” he asked. “Working with people who don’t always want to be helped?”

“Yes, but a lot of the people who utilize the soup kitchen
just need a foot up. A boost. A little love and compassion.” Dawn slipped her hands into the pockets of the apron she wore. “It’s really tough when I see families that have been uprooted. I try to do whatever I can to help. In the evenings at home, when Joe is on duty, I make stuffed animals and rag dolls. I keep them in a box in the kitchen, then pass them out to the occasional children who stop in for a meal with their parents.”

“Do you have any success stories?” he asked, thinking he might want a few of those to relate during that city council meeting.

“Quite a few of them, actually. And that helps us keep our perspective.”

The elderly women, who’d picked up after themselves, stopped by to say hello to Dawn.

“I loved that meatloaf,” Kathryn said. “It tasted almost as good as my mother used to make.”

Dawn smiled, yet her eyes grew watery. “It was my mom’s recipe, and today was her birthday. So I fixed it in her memory. I’m glad you liked it.”

The other woman, the one whose hair was matted in back, patted Dawn’s upper arm. “No baby yet?”

“I’m afraid not, Ellie.”

“Well, I’m still praying for you.”

Dawn offered the woman a warm but wistful smile. “Thanks. Prayers are always appreciated. But Joe and I have resigned ourselves to not having children.”

“That’s too bad,” Ellie said. “Everyone needs a family when they get older.”

Craig wondered if Ellie had a family. And if she did, whether they took time to visit, to invite her for home-cooked meals.

Dawn slipped an arm around the stooped woman and gave her a gentle squeeze. “You’re right about that, Ellie. But don’t worry about Joe and me. You and the others who come to eat here each day are our family.”

Craig scanned the tables, noting those who’d gathered for a free meal.

Would these people ever feel like family to him?

He looked forward to working with them and helping them any way he could, but he didn’t think he’d go so far as to claim them as friends and family.

Paddy’s Pub was really hopping, which was typical for a Wednesday. The happy-hour patrons who had been gathering since about four o’clock were quenching their thirst and grazing on Irish potato wedges and Belfast buffalo wings.

Some of them were also morphing into jerks.

“Get me two house chardonnays and a Guinness,” Kristy told Randy, the bartender.

“You got it.”

While she waited for her order, she slipped off her right shoe and rubbed her arch against the built-in footrest on the bar. She didn’t need to look at her watch to know it was time to clock out. But she wouldn’t get to for a while.

On days like this, she hated her job, hated the blisters on her feet, the ache in her back.

She’d only been working at Paddy’s since the grand reopening a few months back, and if the pay wasn’t better than the diner where she used to work, she would have quit by now.

At one time, Paddy’s was just a seedy bar, but a year or so ago, a couple of investors bought the place and remodeled by expanding the kitchen and adding a dining room. There’d been a few changes to the outside, too, but the biggest improvement had been within. The walls were now covered with mock white plaster and trimmed with dark timber beams.

The primary decorative focus was a rock wall that displayed a large, open fireplace, complete with grate, bellows and a suspended cast iron kettle. Next to it, wooden benches and settle seats provided the patrons a place to sit amidst the Gaelic ambiance.

When Kristy had learned the employees would be required to dress in period clothing, which was intended to add to the ambiance, she’d almost backed out of the job offer. But the new owners explained that they were providing lockers in the break room, where the hired help could keep their street clothes and personal belongings.

It would have been a pain to trek through town dressed as a seventeenth-century tavern wench.

Even though no one had said anything, Kristy suspected her red hair had been a real selling point when it came to landing the job, but that was okay with her, especially if it meant more tips. She needed the money to make ends meet.

Still, she preferred to work the dining room, which was easier and less stressful. She’d already put in more than eight hours serving food today, but when Sandra Billups had called in sick, Kristy had been asked to move over to the bar and cover until a replacement came in.

The tips were much better on this side, so she accepted the change without complaint. Still, she didn’t like dealing with drunks, no matter how much money they threw around, no matter how important their jobs were and how much stress had driven them to Paddy’s to unwind.

“Hey, baby,” a patron in the corner who’d grown increasingly annoying hollered. “Why don’t you put down that tray and come over here? I could sure use some company.”

The guy had been pretty quiet and uptight when he arrived. But he’d been downing Irish whiskey since before four, and his sobriety had been deteriorating steadily.

His discarded jacket, which he’d hung over his chair earlier, had slipped onto the floor. And his tie rested on the table in a pile of silk.

It was time to cut him off.

Where was Ian, the bouncer? Flexing his muscles and flirting with that busty blonde he’d sidled up to earlier, no doubt.

What a crowd this was.

The new owners might have done their best to cater to a higher-class patron, but the old pub regulars continued to show up night after night, hunkering down and digging in until closing time.

There seemed to be an imaginary line down the middle of the bar, giving it both a shady and a respectable side. But as far as Kristy was concerned, there wasn’t much difference between the two groups once they’d thrown back a couple of shooters or downed a few beers.

Every now and again, she would hear one of the old crowd complain about how uppity everyone had gotten now that they were putting on the ritz.

Still, to her, the new and improved Paddy’s Pub wasn’t
that
nice, and neither were some of the people who hung out here. Just working in the bar was enough to reinforce her vow to never touch a drop of alcohol again.

As she turned to take the tray of drinks to table seven, she nearly bumped into a dark-haired man clad in worn jeans and a white polo shirt.

She spouted out a blanket apology, while trying to balance her load. When their gazes finally met, she recognized an old friend.

Ramon Gonzales slid her a slow smile. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Kristy didn’t usually enjoy running into any of the people she’d gone to school with, but Ramon was one of the exceptions, and she returned his grin. “I usually work on the restaurant side, but they were shorthanded in here.”