Rebuilding Faith Ch. 03

Bill lugged his overnight bag and two suitcases down the short hallway and into the bedroom. Rumpled sheets on the bed and bath towels strewn on the floor greeted the tired and grubby guest.

"Bev must be a little behind schedule today."

A search of the premises turned up nothing resembling clean linen, so he decided to at least change clothes before lunch. Sweatpants and a sweatshirt, worn under a fleece pullover, were barely sufficient to obstruct the brisk wind and dropping temperature as he walked down the gravel path towards the farmhouse. The ominous clouds, once a distant threat, had nearly blotted out the blue sky.

'Feels like snow,' he thought, walking head down and hands in pockets. 'I'm heading south tomorrow.'

Coming to a fork in the road, and being someone who liked to peek down the road not taken, he lifted his head and saw new construction. 'Must be the bunkhouse.' Curious, he turned to check the progress.

The long, two-story exterior was covered with a white vapor barrier and closed in except for a few missing doors and windows. Entering the structure, he walked around, performing a cursory inspection, making sure all the joist hangers were nailed completely, the fire stops were in place and checking for other frequently overlooked details.

Everything met with his critical approval, until he climbed to the second floor. A section of insulation had fallen away from a stud, revealing a 6-inch deep pocket partially filled by a 2-inch thick layer of fiberglass, stapled flush to hide the unfilled gap. He began pulling the insulation out from random spaces and found only a few were filled with 6-inch thick batting.

"Faith is getting screwed."

Walking over to the interior studs, he touched the damp, greenish wood. Pressing his thumbnail in, pinesap oozed out. Eyeing down the length of the wall, he could already see where the fresh lumber had twisted and bowed as it dried. There were no lumberyard markings to indicate that the 2 x 4's were ever dried, inspected or graded.

'They bought this right from a sawmill.'

Nail pops and cracked sheetrock were in the building's future.

"These studs have more knots than a sailor into bondage. This place is going to be a disaster."

He left to speak with the owner.

A brown Labrador retriever -- tail wagging and a red ball clutched in its mouth -- greeted Bill as he stopped to examine a newly arrived truckload of substandard material.

"Hi, pup," he said, holding his hand out for a let's-get-acquainted sniff. "What's that for? You wanna play?"

The dog dropped the ball and barked.

Bill gave dog's head a scratch. Kneeling down, and after a cursory gender check, he petted it, and asked, "What's your name, girl?"

He lifted the tags on the collar. "Hershey?"

Her ears perked up at the sound of her name.

Bill smiled. "Your owner has a sense of humor, huh girl."

He picked up the ball, yelled, "Hershey, fetch!" and threw it, which sent the dog racing to recapture the errant toy.

Climbing the porch stairs, Bill spotted a clipboard on the arm of the chair with a delivery invoice clamped to it. 'Since my money is invested in this project why not see where it's going?'

So he folded back Faith's personal check on top to read the details underneath. "You've got to be kidding!"

Every piece of lumber on the invoice was identified as Select Structural -- the most expensive grade lumber, sold at an exorbitant price.

"This is bullshit," he muttered angrily, and stepped to the front door.

About to ring the doorbell, he heard a painful scream from inside, followed by a man yelling, "You bitch!"

This seemed to necessitate an unannounced entry, so Bill crossed the threshold and listened. Scuffling sounds came from behind a door, straight ahead. He moved through it and into a kitchen. Immediately, he spotted Faith with her back against the counter, facing a man bent over at the waist apparently suffering from a groin injury. The bright white brazier drew Bill's attention to Faith's ripped shirt.

As the man straightened up and cocked his hand to strike, Bill shouted, "Hey! Knock it off, Asshole!"

Suddenly, Hershey charged by, barking ferociously in defense of his owner. The man turned, and held up a defensive arm.

"Hershey, no!" Bill yelled, and to everyone's surprise the dog stopped, sat down and growled menacingly. "Good girl." He patted her head.

Regaining composure, the angry man snapped, "Who the fuck are you?"

Faith pushed past Butch and walked towards her guest. "This is my friend, Bill Holder. He's come to stay a few days." Her arms encircled his waist and she pressed against him in a warm embrace, resting her head on his chest. "And, as you can see, he's white. So, for your information, Butch, it isn't the color of a man's skin I'm attracted to, it's his heart." Her voice cracked as she finished with, "An organ you seem to be missing."

Having seen and heard enough to understand he'd been cast as the leading man in an impromptu drama, Bill decided to play the part. "Are you all right, Honey?" he asked, lifting Faiths chin to look into her swimming eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm all right."

Moving her aside, Bill took a step towards Butch, saying, "I ought to kick your ass until you have to shit out your nose."

Butch backed up three steps.

"What kinda game are you running here, Butch?" Bill spat the name as if it was rancid meat. "You're overcharging her for your shitty carpentry work and trying to get in her pants at the same time? How many ways are you trying to screw her?"

The stunned expression on Butch's face revealed the deceitful truth before he recovered enough to deny it. "Now wait a minute..."

"What?" Faith said, stepping beside Bill.

As evidence, Bill waved the clipboard still in his hand. "Faith, he's been ripping you off. He's not using enough insulation in the walls. The lumber on the truck and some he's already used in the bunkhouse is so green it was probably cut and milled less than a month ago. The sheetrock is going to look like hell when the wood dries. And he's charging you for Select grade lumber at inflated prices."

"Hold on. That's good quality..."

"Shut up," yelled Bill, pulling Faith's check from the clipboard and ripping it up. "Consider yourself paid in full. Now get your sorry ass out of here before I take you into the woods and beat you to a pulp."

"Faith, he doesn't know what he's talking..."

"Then I'll call the police and have you charged with attempted rape."

"Just get out." Faith's voice shook with emotion.

Shoving the clipboard into Butch's stomach, Bill forced him out the front door and then waited with arms folded.

When the truck engine roared to life and he'd shifted into drive, Butch yelled at the house, "Faith, he's not going to be here forever. You call me when you want me to come back. And, if you're really nice to me, maybe I will. You can't take care of this place by yourself!" With a flip of his finger at Bill, he left.

Faith was quietly laying out plates on the kitchen table when Bill returned -- the blank expression hinted she was in a state of shock. The torn shirt fell open from time to time, exposing her undergarment and red welts. Hershey curled up on a blanket, watching her master run through the lunchtime routine.

"Faith, why don't you go upstairs and change."

Hearing his voice seemed to bring Faith to her senses. She stopped and clutched the shirt closed with both hands. Without looking at him, she said, "Yes, you're right," and moved quickly toward the door. "Make yourself at home. The fridge is full."

***

Faith ran up the stairs two at a time and locked the bedroom door behind her. After stripping off her clothes, she scrubbed herself pink in the steaming shower, trying to feel clean again. Thirty minutes later, she lay naked on her bed, with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

"Why God? Why won't You let me do this? I'm only trying to help children."

When no answer came, she curled up under the covers, and hoped for peaceful sleep. Slowly the grief ebbed away. She tried to put everything in perspective and wondered if this was the end of her dream. Occasionally the sound of Mr. Holder, rummaging around below, made its way up through the oak floor. She found comfort in the homey noise. It conjured up childhood memories of her father cooking the Sunday meal. She felt safe.

'He seems like a nice man. A little rough maybe, but kind.'

The feel of his body when she hugged him rekindled a forgotten pleasure -- the strengthening power of a good man.

'He certainly thinks fast on his feet.' How swiftly he took on the role of her visiting friend, how convincing his performance, and how heroic.

'He's only been here an hour and he's already uncovered Butch's fraud and saved me from'...she shuddered, thinking about the assault. 'I must be stupid not to have seen that coming.'

Bill's protection reminded Faith of her deceased husband, Lou. He'd had a 'defender of the weak' mindset, which made him an exceptional police officer, and a devoted husband and father.

She remembered Bill's concerned eyes. What did he say? 'Are you all right, Honey,' he'd asked, with an easy sincerity. Her body tingled, recalling the moment. 'What does he think of me' she wondered, 'after using him to make such a suggestive point about not caring what color skin a man has?'

The aroma of sizzling bacon filtered in under the bedroom door. A rumble from her stomach reminded her it hadn't been fed. She lay inhaling the soothing smell, until a soft knock on the door startled her.

"I'm awake," she answered, a bit nervous even with a locked door between him and her nude body.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you. But I was wondering if you'd like something to eat. You have all this great breakfast food, so I made a late breakfast... brunch, I guess." He sounded unsure of what to say next, "I've made plenty, so I'm leaving a tray by your door. There are hash browns, toast, bacon and scrambled eggs. I was going to ask what kind of eggs you like, but I've never been good at cracking eggshells without breaking the yokes... And there's some orange juice."

The masculine voice confessing something so mundane touched a wistful place in her soul. Padding barefoot to the door, she rested her forehead against the wood, and said, "Thank you... that's very kind." Closing her eyes, she placed her palms flat on the cool surface.

"I couldn't help reading the note from Bev. You seem to be having a streak of bad luck." After a pause, he asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

'You could hold me in your arms and tell me everything will be all right,' she thought, but said aloud, "Thank you, Mr. Holder, you've been very nice. I'll be fine. I just need some time to think."

"All right, I'm going back to my cabin. Would you tell me where I could find some clean sheets and towels?"

Guilt bloomed, and she said, "No, I'll be over to clean up. You're my guest--"

"It's okay. I can take care of myself. Just tell me where they are. You have... more important things to do."

Without further argument, she said, "Down the hall on the right you'll find the linen closet."

A few minutes later she heard the front door open and close. Standing behind the curtain, she watched him disappear, head bowed into the swirling snow.

Slipping into a flannel nightshirt, Faith went out into the hall and found Hershey lying next to an upside-down cardboard box, held secure by a sizeable log from the hearth. Laughing, she retrieved the food tray from underneath and sat down on the bed to satisfy at least one of her basic needs. Hershey sat nearby, hoping for a handout.

***

A hot shower felt wonderful after trudging through the frigid wind.

Bill wiped the steam from the bathroom window to see how much snow had fallen. A three-inch layer already covered the ground. The pine branches sagged under the weight. The scenery looked closer to December than March.

Extracting the car rental agreement from his bag, Bill picked up the phone and prepared to dial the toll free help line. The only problem, the line was dead.

"Oh Lord, I'm stuck in Lodi again," he half sang, while sliding into bed to hibernate for a while.

Once again, Bill's sleep was troubled, although when he bolted upright, he couldn't remember what he'd dreamed about. Faintly, he heard a dog barking playfully in the distance. The clock radio glowed 3:35. Bill put on his sneakers and jacket, and stepped out onto the porch to see why Hershey was so excited. Over by the farmhouse, he saw the dog bouncing around Faith, as she struggled to roll one large snowball on top of another. She almost had it in position, and then it slipped off sideways. She flopped down onto her bottom, gave a frustrated shriek, and then kicked the misbehaving sphere.

"Hey, Faith! That's no way to treat Frosty!"

Her face brightened at his comment, and she gave him a beckoning wave. "Holder, get over here and help me build my last snowman."

The wind had died and the snow fell vertically. As he approached the seated woman, Bill didn't feel the cold. The sight of Faith sitting with her legs outstretched, a knit hat and scarf dappled with white and her cheeks a damp rose, was delightfully heartwarming.

Her heavy breathing puffed out in clouds of steam. "I think I made him too fat." Her face grew serious. "But I want him to last awhile, before he leaves."

Squatting on the other side of the abdominal ball, Bill picked up some snow and flicked it at her grim expression. "Let's get to work then."

Returning the smile, she picked up a handful and tossed it back at him, saying, "Don't start something you can't win, Holder."

They positioned themselves to lift. Their grinning faces only inches apart over the ball -- her breath scented with alcohol.

Bill thought, 'She's been self-medicating.' Then he asked, "Are you ready?"

"Ready."

"Okay, lift on the count of three. One... two... two and a half..."

Anticipating "three", Faith began lifting without him, and laughed.

"...two and three quarters... THREE!"

They successfully plopped the middle section into place.

"Oh, you're gonna be trouble. I can tell." She said, punching his arm. "Come on inside and try on my son's coat and boots. You look about the same size."

The fit was a little snug, but close enough. "Here's some mittens... and a hat that suits you,' she said, handing him a knit cap of wild colors and tassels fit for a court jester.

"Thanks. I didn't come prepared to build snowmen on this trip."

"Would you like a beer?" Meeting his eyes, she added, "Don't let me drink alone. I don't want to be that pathetic."

"Sure, whatever you're having is fine."

As Faith walked into the kitchen, she asked, "Did you call your wife and let her know you're safe?"

"I couldn't call anyone. The line was dead."

The sound of the phone being lifted and racked was audible through the door. "Still is!"

She came back into the room carrying one beer and one carrot. "She'll be worried about you."

"I'm not married -- been divorced a long time."

"Well someone must be worried about you," she said, looking him up and down, as if it were impossible not to be part of some larger collective.

The realization he was completely alone filled him with an old sadness. "At the moment, the only person that seems concerned about me is you," and holding her gaze, he asked, "Who worries about you?"

"Well... today it was you." She took a swig of beer and then handed him the bottle. "Come on, let's go finish Frosty."

They played like children -- laughing, and throwing snowballs -- while Hershey barked and danced around them.

One mistimed slush-bomb hit Bill in the head and he fell to his knees yelling, "My eye!"

"Oh my God!" She ran to him. "Are you all right?" She bent over to inspect the damage.

He grabbed her sleeves, flipped her onto her back and scooped snow down her neck. "Faith, you are too gullible."

Laughing and struggling, she finally broke free and dug out the cold war shrapnel from inside her collar. "Believe me. I know."

Immediately, Bill regretted the insensitive remark, and added, "But I think it's because you only want to believe the best in people."

Her cheeks became a brighter red. "Shut up, Holder." She began packing snow into Frosty's chinks. "For a quiet guy, you have a knack for saying too much."

When the iceman was complete -- down to the carrot nose, stony eyes and mouth -- they stood side by side admiring him.

Faith sighed. "I've made snowmen here all my life. It's hard to believe this is my last."

"This was your folks place?"

"Yup," she said, and then leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

Placing his arm around her back, Bill hugged her sideways.

The sun had set, the snowflakes floated like milkweed on the light breeze. They stood quietly, until Faith had enough nostalgia.

"C'mon Holder, I've got dinner in the Crock Pot."

"I'll be there in a minute. I want to put on some dry clothes."

On his way back to Faith's house, Bill decided he liked being called "Holder". The way she said it sounded like "hold her" and conjured up a pleasant image. The more time he spent with Faith the more attracted he felt.

'This is an attraction of opposites,' he thought. 'She's a free spirit, able to enjoy life despite its rough spots, and I'm the guy whose cup is always half empty,' and realizing her positive attitude renewed him, he began to care more than he wanted.

His knock on her door was answered by a "woof" and, "Come in."

Faith had changed into a pair of jeans and a fuzzy, oversized sweater. Her thick, shoulder length hair was held back in a ponytail by some kind of black elastic band. Leaning against the doorframe, Bill watched her move about the kitchen. She had a precise quickness that articulated self-assurance.

"We're going to eat in the dining room," she said, without a glance. "How are you at building fires?"

"Do you want a warm, slow burn or a blazing inferno?"

Stopping, she looked at him with a measured stare. He wondered if she felt the heat between them.

With a sultry tone, she responded, "Make it the long and warm kind. I'm in no hurry, are you?"

"No, not me."

Dinner preparations were completed in silence. A crackling fire burned in the living room -- visible from the dining room table. When they sat down to eat, Faith asked Bill to pray.

"Bless this food, Lord, and the hands that prepared it," was all that came to mind.

Hershey took up a midway position, scanning the floor hopefully.

After the initial, "Tastes great" compliments for the beef stew and small talk about the spring snow, they sat quietly with their own thoughts.

Bill looked down at Hershey, and she wagged her tail. Moving a square of beef to the edge of his plate, he flicked it and it never hit the floor.

At first, Faith giggled, but then placed her hands on her hips, tipped her head, and sternly said, "You're going to teach Hershey bad table manners."

On cue, the dog walked over and laid her head in his lap.

Faith's I-told-you-so look made Bill laugh. Using this opportunity for transition, he said, "Did Hershey have to be a chocolate Lab, or was it just a coincidence?"

From the way Faith picked at her food and the disconcerted glances, he knew the answer.

"You wouldn't get a black or a yellow Lab. She had to be chocolate."

"Well, I do have a family tradition to uphold," she said, a little defiant.

"I get the impression the people around here aren't very supportive of your family tradition."

Her backbone lost a little of its starch and she slumped over her plate, staring at the food. "It wasn't always this way. When I moved back home two years ago people were more tolerant of me, and the summer camp program. But when they found out a drug dealer burned down the bunkhouse," she paused, and thought a moment, "it was like I opened all the cell doors at Rikers Island and invited them to Woodhaven. Public opinion branded me a menace to society. And some people are working overtime behind the scenes to put me out of business. The first contractor I hired quit without notice. Butch was the only one around willing to work for me." She looked up with glistening eyes, "Now I know why."