An Unlikely Match. Arlene JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
Spreading her hands over the pages of her devotional book, she closed her eyes and began as she always did, whispering the words in her mind.
Holy Father, make me Your instrument this day. Help me to love and teach my students, to see and meet their needs as You would have me do. And, Lord, please show me how to deal with this mess I’ve gotten myself into. My grandfather deserves to be happy, really happy. He is the very soul of cheerful forbearance, as You know, and I know that Odelia would make him happy. I’m as convinced of it as Dallas is, only I would never have…
She bit her lip, unwilling even to put into words what she feared. It wasn’t as if she had any proof, after all. Besides, who was she to judge? And if Dallas had done something foolish to bring her aunt and Ellie’s grandfather together, well, what sense did it make to waste an opportunity like this? Just because she wouldn’t have done what she feared Dallas had done didn’t mean that God couldn’t use the situation for good. Did it?
If only the Chatam sisters hadn’t brought Asher into it! He could be a tad severe, and Dallas had always painted him as somewhat stodgy, but even she admitted that he was a very fine attorney, extremely intelligent and he could be trusted implicitly. Sadly, while Ellie admired those traits, they meant that he was bound to have the insurance company settling up in no time. Or worse yet, he might discover the truth of the fire—whatever that was—and then where would they be?
Would the insurance company even pay if the fire had been deliberately set? And what would happen to her dearest friend if… She turned off that line of thought, concentrating instead on her grandfather’s happiness.
Please, Lord, couldn’t You intercede here, just delay things a bit, maybe? I mean, Ash is bound to be busy. He has that prosperous look about him that busy attorneys who make lots of money often—
Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop. Money. That was the answer! All she had to do was tell Ash that she and her grandfather could not afford to pay him. Surely, that would put the brakes on things.
“Thank You,” she said brightly.
“For what?” asked a child’s voice.
Ellie’s eyes popped open. Her gently arched brows shot upward as she took in the two former pupils who stood with their bellies pressed to the front of her desk. Students often did that, especially when they wanted something. One of their mothers, a woman by the name of Ilene Riddle, stood behind them at a short distance.
“Hello,” Ellie said.
“Hello, Miss Monroe,” the two girls replied in sync.
“We didn’t want to disturb you,” put in the mother, moving forward a step. “You seemed to be meditating.”
An attractive platinum blonde with white-tipped nails and dark eye makeup, she had just been divorced for the second time when her daughter, Angie, had entered Ellie’s kindergarten class about a year ago now. Angie and Shawna, the second girl, had quickly become best friends and apparently still were. Ellie noticed that in contrast to her mother’s neat stylishness, Angie still looked as if she’d slept in her clothes, her short, dark blond hair sticking out at odd angles.
“I like to start my day with a prayer,” Ellie said, smiling. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“Please, Miss Monroe,” Shawna pleaded, tilting her dark, sleek head, “we don’t get a coach, and we ’membered that you can play.”
“You played with us all those times at recess,” Angie put in eagerly.
“Play?” Ellie echoed, puzzled. “Play what?”
“Soccer,” Ms. Riddle clarified. “The girls have signed up for the spring soccer season, but there aren’t enough coaches to go around. Unless we can find someone to help out, the girls won’t get to play.”
“Oh, dear,” Ellie said, rising to her feet, her hands still planted atop the book on her desk.
“I’ve volunteered as team mother,” Ilene went on, “but I know nothing at all about the sport. I mean, I can organize everything, but I just don’t have any of the skills needed to teach the kids about the game, and the commissioner is apparently pretty strict about who is allowed to coach. We thought—hoped—you might be willing to help us.”
Ellie stood speechless for a moment. She had never coached a sport in her life, but she did know the game, having played all through high school. Straightening, she folded her arms thoughtfully, one forefinger tapping her rounded chin.
“How many kids would I work with?”
“Nine is the minimum,” Ilene answered. “We actually have seven right now and could use a few more. Twelve is the max at this age.”
Twelve at most. Ellie looked around the room. She routinely corralled twenty-two in this small space and flattered herself that she actually taught them something worthwhile in the process. Twelve kids on an open field would be a piece of cake by comparison.
“How much time are we talking about?”
“It’s nine games and twenty practices in ten weeks, so roughly twenty-five hours.”
That was little more than a full day in total, spread out over more than two months. Besides, she’d always enjoyed soccer and could use the exercise. And hadn’t she just asked God to show her the needs of her pupils and how to meet them?
“Sounds like fun,” she decided. “Count me in.”
The girls hurrahed, bouncing up and down on their toes. Ilene Riddle reached past them to clasp Ellie’s hands with hers, silver bracelets jangling.
“Thank you so much. I’ll help every way I can, I promise. First practice is Wednesday afternoon at five-fifteen. Do you know where the field is?”
“I think so. Across the creek from the park, right?”
“Right. I’ll bring all the supplies. You just bring the expertise.”
“Deal,” Ellie said, smiling broadly.
As the trio took their leave, Ellie dropped down onto her desk chair once more. Well, it looked like she had her work cut out for her, starting tomorrow afternoon. She’d have to brush up on coaching tactics this evening. Thankfully, with all the information online, that shouldn’t be too difficult. She’d see to it tonight.
That left this afternoon to convince Asher Chatam to drop her grandfather’s case and turn his attention elsewhere.
Ellie smiled. Mondays really were her favorite day of the week.
Dropping the telephone receiver into its cradle, Asher stared at the leather-trimmed blotter on his desk. He hated Mondays. Just once, he wanted to get through a Monday without some unpleasant surprise. What, he wondered, had the aunties—and, by extension, he—gotten into? So much for settling this “routine” insurance matter and getting on with his life.
Unanswered questions about the fire at the Monroe house abounded, and Ellie Monroe had apparently done everything in her power to make certain that they remained that way. According to the adjuster, Ellie’s cell phone number was the only contact information that the company now had, and she’d come up with every excuse imaginable to prevent the adjuster from speaking with her grandfather. Most troubling of all, the Monroes had recently increased their coverage and moved their most precious belongings into storage. The adjuster had even hinted at a financial incentive. Something smelled, and it wasn’t smoke.
Asher was making notes on his computer when his secretary buzzed him. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he hit the intercom button.
“You heading home, Barb?” A fifty-something grandmother raising a grandson, Barbara was adamant about leaving the office by five.
“In a minute. There’s an Ellen Monroe here. She says it’s important that she see you but promises she’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
Asher