Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,66

After all the excitement in town this morning, I could use a nice, peaceful afternoon sipping a fine cup of tea.”

“What sort of excitement?” Jeannette smoothed out a crease in the linen tablecloth, mentally organizing her to-do list for tomorrow’s tea—including a quick run to Coos Bay after the early service at Grace Christian to buy more sugar cubes. Somehow her supply had run low. And she also— “. . . had a fire. Thank goodness no one was hurt.”

She tuned back in to the end of Eleanor’s reply.

There’d been a fire in town?

Where?

But how could she ask without it being obvious she’d zoned out for most of Eleanor’s explanation?

As if sensing her dilemma, Luis stepped in. “House fires are always frightening, but in an apartment building the danger is much higher. At least only two units were damaged. It is a shame, though, that our Syrian family has suffered yet another challenge after all they have been through.”

There’d been a fire in the Shabos’ apartment?

A jolt of shock ricocheted through her.

“What happened?”

“There was an electrical fire in an adjacent unit. Both units will have to be vacated for repairs.”

As a paramedic with contacts in the emergency community, Luis would know the details of the fire—but was he privy to information about the Shabos’ status?

“Where are they staying?”

Eleanor rejoined the conversation. “Anna Williams is giving them her annex for a week. It’s booked after that, but hopefully they’ll be back in their apartment by then. You know Anna, don’t you, my dear?”

An image of an older woman materialized in her mind. “I think we’ve met. She’s involved with the Harbor Point cranberry nut cake business, isn’t she?”

“She’s more than involved. She runs it. I don’t know what Tracy would do without her. The farm is more than enough to keep that young woman busy.” Eleanor touched her arm. “I understand you’ve taken on the task of teaching our adopted family English. God bless you, my dear.”

“I will second that.” Luis laid his napkin in his lap. “It is hard to be in a new country and not know the language.”

“I was happy to do my part. So many people had already pitched in to help.”

“And now Anna is filling the latest need. What a blessing it is to live in a town where people care about each other.”

“Amen to that.” Luis lifted his empty china teacup.

Eleanor hoisted her cup too. “Let’s just hope the apartment is ready for the Shabos before Anna’s paying guests arrive. Otherwise, our wonderful clerics will be scrambling to find them new accommodations.”

“I’m sure it will all work out.” Jeannette forced up the corners of her mouth. “Now let me get your tea brewing.”

She retreated to the prep area and went about filling the tea orders—but the rote task left her mind free to mull over the conversation with Eleanor and Luis.

At this point, the Shabos must be feeling like Job had in the midst of his trials.

She could relate—although the breadth of their losses was even more immense than hers had been.

And they didn’t need any more challenges or disruptions in their life—or their living quarters.

You could offer them a place to stay if they end up homeless again, Jeannette.

Her stomach knotted.

Yes, she could. There was a futon in her otherwise empty spare bedroom, and her couch had a hide-a-bed. Her home wasn’t set up to welcome visitors—but she could accommodate two adults and a child in an emergency.

Except she didn’t want anyone invading her house—or her heart.

She stuck another china teapot under the spigot on the hot water dispenser, flipped the switch . . . and took a deep breath.

There was no reason to get anxious about this situation yet. The Shabos’ unit might be ready for occupancy sooner than anyone expected.

So why not put this dilemma on the back burner, see what happened over the next week? This whole thing could blow over.

And if it didn’t?

She’d deal with it then.

The boiling water splashed, burning her hand, and she jerked the teapot back as she flipped off the spigot.

An omen for what might happen if she continued to get involved in other people’s lives, perhaps?

No.

Those kinds of superstitions were foolish.

Yet the warning did seem providential.

These past few weeks had thrown her a series of curves. Disrupted her placid existence. Awakened longings she thought she’d long ago put to rest.

And she didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

She set the pot down and picked up another one to fill.

For three years, she’d kept to herself—and she had