“As you can see, we need donations from the entire community.” Janet Boland finally finished her shpiel.
“Donations look good on a resume,” Haywood whispered to Phelma Jo, finally settling behind her left shoulder. “The elderly in this town represent a strong voting contingent come November,” he added so quietly Phelma Jo had to strain to hear him.
She glanced at the note again and read the second line of handwritten text. A bigger idea popped into Phelma Jo’s head.
“You need more than just a few donations now, Ms. Boland. You need a nonprofit corporation with a continuing stream of donations.”
“You are right, Phelma Jo,” Ms. Boland said. “The problem of seniors needing a little extra help will continue and get severe again with the first cold snap and snowstorm. But this is a new project. We only have the resources to start small and temporary. It all came about because of Mrs. Spencer’s collapse-you do remember Mrs. Spencer from fourth grade, don’t you?-and that new girl, Thistle Down. She needs a job and this is something she can do. Actually it’s something she’s good at. She saved Mrs. Spencer’s life. Her intervention might very well save several other valuable voters.” So she had heard Haywood’s comment.
Beside her, Phelma Jo felt Haywood stiffen. Hastily, he wrote a note and passed it to her, keeping his hands below the desk level. “Remind this lady that the clinic is closing, and she’d make a better employee than Thistle.”
Phelma Jo already had that in hand.
“Ms. Boland, I have the staff and resources to set this up. Leave it in my hands.” Phelma Jo smiled her dismissal.
“We need donations now, not six months from now when the paperwork for incorporation clears,” Janet insisted.
“So you do.” Phelma Jo retrieved her personal checkbook in its oxblood leather cover from the desk drawer and scrawled numbers and a signature.
Haywood fidgeted nervously. What was with the man today? One of the reasons she’d hired him was his calm reassurance.
As she put the final flourish on her signature, Phelma Jo’s field of vision seemed to narrow. Darkness encroached from the sides.
She raised her head a moment in alarm. Sparkles replaced the darkness, pretty sparkles in wonderful autumnal colors of gold and green and russet.
“Since the clinic will be closing soon, I suggest we set this corporation up so that you will take the job of checking on the seniors, Ms. Boland. You are much more qualified than Thistle Down. Much easier to obtain a bond on your honesty and integrity. Especially since she has a criminal record under another name. Something to do with gang violence and vandalism.”
“The clinic is closing?” Janet seemed to wilt. Her mouth gaped in stunned astonishment. She might not have heard the second statement after the shock of the first. “They can’t do that to the community. Why weren’t the employees told first?”
“Not my decision. I just heard about it. But if I were you, I’d start checking my options. In this town there aren’t many.” Phelma Jo ripped the check off the pad and handed it to the woman with great satisfaction. “There, that should get things rolling.”
Janet Boland took the paper without even looking at it as she stumbled out of the office.
“Haywood, get on that nonprofit setup.”
“Certainly, Phelma Jo. I’ll make sure you are listed as primary trustee and registered agent. You can list this charity at the top of your good works in the mayoral campaign literature. It will look as if the whole thing was your idea.”
“And put Ms. Boland’s name as the sole employee.”
“Already done. The Carricks will get no credit for this, and Thistle Down will be unemployed, homeless, and probably in jail by nightfall.”
“When did you learn to read, Thistle?” Dick asked when they left the City Council meeting together.
Dusty and Chase wandered off together in animated conversation.
Several things today were hanging at in Dick’s mind. He addressed the first of them to the woman walking beside him.
“I’ve always been able to read some. Just not well,” she said, looking away with a blush.
“The Pixie I knew as a child couldn’t read, had no need to.” Was that disappointment, suspicion, or anger rising up to nearly choke him?
“It’s something we all have to learn eventually,” she said, still not looking directly at him. “Dusty taught me a lot more than street signs could. She had nothing better to do with her time while she was sick. And she was so lonely being homeschooled that teaching me basic reading and numbers helped her pass the time. Kept her mind active when she was too tired to do her own schoolwork.”
“Oh… I thought… I don’t know what to think.”
“I truly am a Pixie in exile. I am, Dick. You were the first to believe me. Why don’t you now?” Then she turned those fabulous purple eyes up to him. Moisture made bright drops on her lashes that caught the overhead lights and turned to sparkling crystals.
He stumbled on the smooth marble floor. He wanted to fall deeply into those eyes, allow his soul to merge with hers. He wanted all the hopes and promises she held out to him.
“You told me that Pixies can’t read.”
“I was young then. I hadn’t ventured much beyond The Ten Acre Wood. But later, when I did, Alder showed me street signs and how to puzzle out the symbols so they meant something. I knew all the streets and the stop signs, and even when to cross on a green light.” She nibbled on her lip. “Then Dusty taught me more. I know that her museum is the Skene County Historical Museum, and that I landed in Memorial Fountain-named because it’s dedicated to the men from Skene Falls who died during World War I. I know this because I read the signs and I understand them. Just as I read the paper you gave me last night. What did you think when you wrote out my statement? That Dusty would make me memorize it.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I thought you’d bring it to me and I’d help. But then the explosion happened, and I didn’t think anymore.” Hope blossomed inside Dick, soothing a bit of the irritation.
“Dusty found the paper on the computer desk when we got home. It had my name on it, so she gave it to me. I read it over and over and over until I knew it and could speak it without hesitation because you needed me to be strong and confident when I said it. Dusty helped me with some of the bigger words, but I read most of it by myself, because I needed to help you, be your friend.”
“I… um…” How did he express his doubts?
“You can’t sign that contract! You’ll ruin this town if you do,” a strange voice hissed around them; distant but still clear and precise. Obviously spoken loudly, with vehemence, muted by distance and mazes of walls and vents between them and the voice.
“I’ll be saving this town if I do.”
“Who said that?” Dick asked.
“Where did he say that?” Thistle added to his question.
They both looked around. The big room was empty, all the exit doors closed to keep the natural air-conditioning inside.
“If you were still a Pixie, how would you find the speakers?” Dick asked quietly, so that his words wouldn’t carry as clearly as the other man’s.
Thistle pointed to a small grate up near the ten-foothigh ceiling.
“Chase said this place was full of redundant ventilation shafts and whispering corners,” Dick mused.
“I think I can follow the sounds,” Thistle said.
“How? You’re too big to fit inside.”
“Because I’ve done it before. I know the path of that shaft. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and led him to the exit right under the grating.
The strength of her grip tingled all the way to his shoulder. A sense of well-being and purpose filled him. The muted light seemed to sparkle with life and energy.