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CHAPTER
ONE
Those
eyes.
For
one… two… three heartbeats Julia Reed’s world went still. Never
had she seen such vital, expressive eyes as those in the tanned,
rugged face turned toward her.
The
sounds of after work traffic whirred in the background, punctuated by
the jarring jangle of bells from the door of the minimarket a few
feet away and she sat behind the wheel of her parked car and stared.
Not a sexy call-me-maybe kind of staring. No. A big ol’ dorky ‘may
start drooling any second because it’s been so long since I even
thought of a guy like that’ kind of stare. Cool,
Julia, cool.
She
forced herself to scan the cigarette prices, beer ads and lottery
banners covering the windows of the store. But she could not keep her
gaze from wandering back to the man with the softly curling golden
hair, leaning against the side of the building, with a rainbow
touching his broad left shoulder.
It
Could All be Yours
the poster for the Lucky Lotto Big Pot’O’Gold Game behind him
enticed.
And then those
eyes found her like a beacon of light in the dimming of the late
winter day.
Her
breath caught in the back of her throat.
He
tucked his hand into the pocket of his faded jeans, pushing up the
hem of his creamy Irish-knit sweater. He looked for all the world to
her like the very pot of gold at the rainbow’s end.
A
wordless tune began rambling through her mind.
She
pressed her lips together, realizing that she had instinctively
parted them to speak to the stranger through her open window.
“Let’s
get cruising. I have a life, you know. Big plans for tonight.” The
passenger door creaked open and the car dipped as her assistant,
Craig, threw his lanky form into the seat. He settled a white
plastic bag in the foot well behind her seat. “Got everything on
your grocery list.”
Julia
shut her eyes, not sure if she were grateful for his dragging her
back to reality or if she wanted to shove him out of her car and go
back to dreaming about kind eyes and golden hair and…
“After
this week, I decided you deserved a little decadence. Got you a
candy bar.” Craig grinned, probably because he knew she’d get
caught up in her work and forget the candy and he’d get it to eat
it. Like the kid (a ‘kid’ who was probably only a few years
younger than Julia, old soul that she was) needed more energy. He
shifted in his seat as if trying to get a stubborn horse to get a
move on then frowned her way. “Are you okay? You look kind of, um,
dazed or something.”
“I
was just thinking.” Her long hair snagged on the tattered
upholstery as she twisted her head to steal another glimpse of the
man with the twinkling green eyes and the faint quirk of a smile.
He
was gone.
She
was just thinking, she finished in silence, that she would have liked
to have said something to him, to have seen if his voice matched the
compelling image of masculine strength and boyish mischief she saw
conveyed in his intense gaze. That’s all.
Of
course, that was not
all. But she was hardly ready to admit that to herself, much less her
assistant.
She
sighed. “Never mind.”
She
cranked the key in the ignition. Her twelve year old car coughed to
life, then lurched backwards out of the parking space. She drove off,
humming through her involuntary smile the song that had popped into
her head.
By
the time she they were rolling along the streets of Cincinnati toward
Craig’s apartment building she had begun to sing softly. “When
Irish eyes are smilin’…”
It
Could All Be Yours. The
glittering rainbow arched against the gray Ohio late winter sky,
stilling the song on Julia’s lips. She guided her old clunker of a
car into the exit lane that passed directly alongside the glaring
billboard promising riches.
Turn
one dollar into millions!
The golden coins brimming over the lip of a fat black pot on the sign
seemed to wink at her, beckoning. The change from her twenty, two
crisp dollar bills that Craig had tossed in the cup holder between
them ruffled in the breeze from the car window that hadn’t rolled
all the way up for months now.
Quiet
thunder shook the sky.
“This
is the voice of your conscience speaking.” Craig beamed a teasing
grin at her, poked his wire-rimmed glasses up onto the bridge of his
nose, then placed his curled fingers to his lips like the mouthpiece
of a trumpet. “Weee-ooo. Weee-ooo. Temptation alert! Temptation
alert! Woman in sector five considering spending her last few dollars
on lottery tickets.”
“I
am not,” she snapped, then backpedaled. “Well, not exactly.”
“C’mon,
Julia, you can’t fool me. Whatever goes through your head shines
right out those big baby blues of yours. You cannot tell a lie.”
She
edged her car into the sluggish line of traffic creeping up to the
expressway. The sign loomed nearer. “I wasn’t seriously
considering it, just daydreaming. You know, playing “what if?’”
“Things
will work out for the shelter, Julia, you’ll see.” He angled his
narrow shoulders toward her and settled his frame into the worn seat.
“I
wish I had your positive outlook,” she told her assistant. The
car’s engine growled as her foot pressed heavily on the gas pedal.
She pulled the steering wheel sharply to the right, following the
sloping curve to the expressway. As they pulled parallel to the
billboard, she couldn’t resist taking one last, wistful peek.
What
she saw made her swerve the car onto the gravel shoulder of the exit
ramp, stopping dead-even with the huge sign, which was actually two
billboards back-to-back.
Her
cluttered keychain jangled as she turned the car off. The engine
sputtered and coughed, then finally slumped into silence.
“What
are you doing?” Craig demanded.
She
pointed to a thin ribbon of smoke spiraling upward between the
billboards’ twin support posts with the other hand. Below the sign
the green-black glimmer of wind-battered garbage bags covered the
space between the posts. “Looks like someone is trying to set up
housekeeping without a house.”
She
opened her door and swung her long legs out.
Craig
lunged across the seat as if to snatch her back inside by her belt
loops if he had to. “You can’t save them all, Julia.”
Her
feet hit the ground, and she slipped out of the car. “No, but maybe
I can save this one.”
She
braced herself against the hood of the car, the engine’s warmth
seeping into her flattened palms. She narrowed her eyes to size up
the situation under the billboard. Satisfied that it was not overtly
dangerous, she peeked inside the car again. “It looks pretty
typical. Care to join me in extending the hand of welcome?”
Craig
set his lips in a thin line and glowered at her.
She
shoved up her sweater sleeves and shot him a look that said ‘this
is happening, your only choice is whether it happens now or ten
minutes from now after I’ve worn you down with my stubbornness’.
Craig
huffed and rolled his eyes. The passenger door clanked as he popped
it open.
“Oh,
and bring that bag of groceries, will you? If whoever is under that
sign won’t go to the shelter, at least we can leave those.”
Craig
snagged the plastic bag and wrangled it out of the car. “This is
your food, Julia,” he protested. “If you give it away, what are
you going to eat?”
“I’ll
be fine, Craig.” She waved away his very real concern. “It’s
not like I can’t stand to lose a few pounds.”
“Maybe
you should start by unloading the weight of the world you try to
carry on your shoulders,” he called out as she strode away from
him.
Julia
pretended she didn’t hear. She tugged at her shapeless sweater then
stepped lightly up the gentle embankment toward the billboard. Her
tattered loafers sank into the muck of the soggy spring ground, the
moisture seeping through where the stitches had broken in the sole.
She wiggled her chilled toes in her damp socks and tossed back the
long tangles of wavy black hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
The
chances were that she was about to try to help someone who would be
as thrilled with her offer as her assistant was to tag along behind
her. Julia trudged on. Even if this unseen person did accept the
warmth and safety of the shelter for the night, that was not a
long-range solution.
And
as temporary solutions went, Julia thought glumly as she scaled the
hillside, her foundering shelter seemed more temporary than most.
Unless something changed very soon, St. Patrick’s Homeless Shelter
would shut down in six short weeks.
Still,
she could provide a hot meal and dry place to sleep tonight—and
that beat camping out under a billboard.
“Excuse
me,” she called out. “I don’t mean you any trouble, but I
noticed your campsite.”
No
answer.
She
glanced at Craig.
He
shrugged and cast a longing look back at the car waiting for them.
“Um,
I’m the director of St. Patrick’s Homeless Shelter and this is my
assistant. We just wanted to let you know we can find you a place to
sleep tonight, if you’d like.”
“Be
off with you.”
The
Irish brogue in the voice coming from beneath the billboard hit Julia
like a smack in the face. Was her fascination with the man at the
market making her hear things? The firm tone held no hint of threat,
just an obvious desire to be left alone, so she decided to press the
matter a bit.
“Look,
I’m not going to drag you out of there or anything. If you’re an
adult, capable of making your own decisions about where you spend the
night, it’s not my place to force you into a shelter,” she said
in a soothing, yet no-nonsense voice.
The
wind whipped her hair across her face and she tossed her head to
clear her view. “But it looks like a real storm brewing
tonight, and I just wanted you to know there’s a warm bed and hot
meal available if you want to get out of the elements for a night.”
“I
do no’ wish it,” the voice barked. “And I don’t wish to be
having any callers. Now, away with you.”
Once
she overcame her shock at the accent, something else about the voice
disturbed her. She couldn’t decide what, though. As she tried to
pinpoint her misgivings, she realized she couldn’t even tell if it
was a man or woman speaking. The building howl of the wind and steady
whooshing of passing cars didn’t help.
She
squinted into the dimming light of the approaching evening and
concentrated, hoping the voice would speak again. When it didn’t,
she felt she had no choice but to do what she could and go on. “At
least let me leave these groceries for you.”
She
stretched her arm out to Craig to take the bag filled with the
staples she’d hoped would get her through the week.
“Groceries?”
Even through the thick accent, suspicion colored the word.
Julia
glanced at Craig and gave a confident nod. She’d piqued the
person’s interest.
“It
isn’t much.” She lifted the bag up. The white plastic rustled in
the swirling wind. “Just a few things I picked up on my way home
from work.”
“You’d
give me the food meant for your own table?” The hushed question in
the sweet, lilting brogue seemed to carry on the wind to her.
Julia
smiled. She’d made a connection.
She
lifted the bag higher. “I only wish it could be more.”
“Tis
a trick.”
“No,
really, it isn’t."
Her
top teeth scraped across her lower lip and she gave Craig an anxious
look.
Craig
shook his head.
Not
this one, Julia,
he seemed to be saying.
She
sighed. Even after all these years, it tugged at her heart not to be
able to reach someone. But Craig was right. The storm could break out
at any moment and they couldn’t stay any longer. She could only
leave the groceries and hope that tomorrow her outreach workers could
coax the person in.
“We’re
going now,” she told the voice. She set the bag down in the thick
grass at her feet and stepped back. “Why don’t you come get these
before they get rained on?”
“How
do I know you won’t snatch me once I come out? Or, for that matter,
that what you’ve got in that wee bag is worth the leaving of me
humble abode?”
“Humble
abode?” Craig whispered. “Who’s he kidding? If that abode were
any humbler it would be a hole in the ground.”
“You’re
better than this, Craig,” she said, smiling at the charm of the
phrase in this situation, “I know you can’t just walk away from a
fellow human being in need any more than I can. We must be—”
“Out
of our ever-lovin’ minds,” he concluded with good natured
resignation. He flipped the collar of his jacket up against a sudden
gust then directed his gaze toward the flapping garbage bags. “Look
here, pal, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s what the lady planned to
live on for a few days. Some bread and peanut butter—”
“And
jelly?” the voice asked.
“Sorry,
no jelly.” Julia said, craning her neck to see if she could spot
the speaker. “But there are three apples and a candy bar, and half
a gallon of milk.”
“Milk?
Did you say milk?”
The
mysterious loner had been hooked.
Julia
stepped back to show she meant no aggression and said, “Half a
gallon of cold, sweet milk.”
“All
right, then. Leave the bag and be on your way.”
“I’m
going.” She took another backward step. Sensing more than seeing
that Craig had done the same, she whispered to her assistant from the
side of her mouth, “At least now we know he won’t go hungry,”
“Yeah,
but you will.” Craig turned to hurry on down the hill to the car.
Julia
followed suit, but she couldn’t resist a quick glimpse over her
shoulder and she stopped cold.
No
matter how often she encountered it in her line of work, each time
she came across a child living in the streets— or in this case,
beside the expressway—it had a profound, chilling effect upon her.
No
way would she let this little redheaded imp slip back under that
billboard to spend another night on his own. Luckily for her, the
boy, clad in a green windbreaker and surprisingly clean jeans, had
stopped to rifle through the contents of the bag. Withdrawing the
milk, the boy ripped open the half-gallon carton and began swigging
down its contents.
Three
strides brought her almost on top of the child, who didn’t seem to
notice her until she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Gotcha.”
“You
said you wouldn’t be snatching me,” the child roared as he
thrashed from side to side in her grasp.
“I
said no such thing.” She tightened her hold, tipping her head up to
keep the churning headful of red curls from crashing into her chin.
“You
said you had no right to be forcing me into your shelter,” he
reminded her as droplets of milk from the open carton splashed in her
face.
“I
said I couldn’t force you if you were an adult—but you’re not.”
She thanked Craig with a nod when he strode up to take the carton.
“There is no way I’m going to leave you out here alone.”
“I’m
not—”
“Not
what?” Julia demanded. “You’re not going to try to tell me
you’re not a kid, are you?”
The
boy’s emerald green eyes flashed in panic as he shifted his gaze to
Craig, then Julia, then to their surroundings. He hunched his slender
shoulders.
“Th-that’s
right, lass, that’s just what I’ll be telling you." The lie
was neither well-planned nor well-presented. He ducked his head and
could not keep his gaze fixed to hers.
Julia
couldn’t help but wonder what he had been going to say—that he
was not alone? Could he be protecting someone? She scanned the area
but could not see anyone else in or near the makeshift campsite.
As
if he sensed her suspicions, the boy raised his shoulders and cocked
his head, his voice wavering but loud. “I’m telling you I’m no
more a kid than you are.”
To
emphasize this point he swung his legs back, trying to kick her
shins.
She
set his feet soundly on the ground and leaned in to speak clearly in
his ear. “Here’s a helpful hint: next time you try to convince
someone of your maturity, leave off the part where you throw a temper
tantrum.”
Craig
took one of the boy’s arms and she the other. He sulked along
between them all the way to the car.
“Listen,
son, don’t feel bad that you got caught. I’m an old hand at this
kind of thing,” Julia told him, trying to keep the lines of
communication open. “I’ve been a social worker for over a decade.
Six years in the Department of Child Welfare
and
the last four running a homeless shelter.”
She
helped him over the fence, keeping a firm but gentle grip on the
scruff of his neck. Her feet were nearly frozen now, and to add
insult to inconvenience, her struggle with the boy had caused milk to
spill down her leg and drip into one sorry excuse for a shoe.
Her
discomfort probably fueled her weary sarcasm as she prodded him
toward her car. “There isn’t a story you can concoct that I
haven’t heard, son—and in several languages, to boot. Nothing you
can say will make me leave a child to spend a single night on the
streets alone.”
“But
I tell you, I am no child,” the boy insisted.
“Let
me guess,” Craig strode forward and opened the back door of the
car. “If you’re not a kid, judging from that accent, flaming red
hair and green jacket, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes—you’re
a leprechaun.”
The
boy, whose movements had already stilled, went positively rigid. The
flash in his green eyes quieted, and he tipped his chin up at a proud
angle. “I am.”
“You
are what?” Craig crowned the bright red curls with his large palm
to try to urge the boy inside the car.
The
boy jerked his head away. “I am one of the little people of
Ireland—a leprechaun.”
A
stress-breaking bubble of laughter burst from Julia’s lips. As lies
went, this one was a whopper. But it was original, she had to give
the boy that. He had to be protecting something— or someone—pretty
important to try anything this creative to distract them.
“Well,
I have to admit, you’ve got me there, kiddo. That is one story I’ve
never heard,” she said. “But just because you’re a terrific
storyteller doesn’t change the fact that you’re a minor in need
of assistance.”
“I’m
no miner.” A resigned grin broke across his face, his green eyes
glinting in mischief. “Leprechauns don’t mine their gold, they
bury it. You must be thinking of dwarfs.”
“No,
I’m thinking of dinner, and how standing here listening to your
nonsense is keeping me from it.” Craig set Julia’s groceries
inside the car and motioned for the boy to get in as well.
“I
don’t suppose you want to tell us your name?” Julia asked through
the open driver’s door as the boy curled up in the back seat and
Craig plunked down in the passenger’s side.
“Oh,
no, you won’t be tricking that out of me.” He scowled up at her.
“Why
not? Is that some kind of leprechaun superstition?” She regretted
the bitter tinge of her words, but she was cold and tired. Tired, not
just from the grueling day-after-day struggle for the shelter’s
survival, but tired to the depths of her spirit over situations just
like this one. It sometimes seemed that every day, more and more
hands stretched out in need, and fewer and fewer reached back, ready
to help.
Craig
slammed his door shut. “Whatever we’re going to do, Julia, could
we get on with it?”
She
sighed and folded her hands on top of the car, scanning the thinning
traffic in the dim evening light. Darkness and stormy weather were
fast approaching, her car was on a ramp headed away from any
facilities that could take this child for the night, and Craig had
made it clear he had plans and would not welcome delay.
A
passing car flicked on its headlights. Thunder resonated from deep
inside the billowing gray clouds. If only she could find a police car
and wave it over—that would be ideal.
“I’ll
tell you what, my little lucky charmer, I could use some leprechaun
magic right now,” she muttered to the kid in the back of her car.
“What
is it you’d wish for, lass?” The child’s slight weight moved
the old car as he leaned forward to peer up at her from behind the
driver’s seat.
What
is it you’d wish for?
The question echoed through her being. She knew what she must work
for, even what she would hope for, but what would she wish
for? The distinction of the single word gave her a wistful feeling,
like a child with her pencil poised over a Christmas list.
“Days
like this, my friend, I think I’d wish—” She imagined enough
money to afford a hot meal out somewhere, nothing fancy but filling.
Decent shoes. The shelter full of volunteers, its bankrolls filled to
capacity, its occupancy at an all-time low. She sighed. “I guess
I’d just wish—for a little help.”
“Granted.”
The word rushed out like a breath of fresh Irish breeze.
Julia
stared down at the boy, who pressed his lips together the way a child
does before he imparts his deepest secret. But before he could utter
a single sound, the whoop of a police siren made her jump.
Whirls
of red light spun across the scene as an unmarked cruiser pulled up
behind her old car.
A
wave of relief washed over her, sweeping away the dim cast of her
mood. She glanced from the stopping police car to the boy and
grinned. “I suppose you’re going to try to claim this is all
courtesy of your benevolent blarney, Mr. Leprechaun.”
“No
need to thank me, lass. I’ll just be on my way”
“Oh,
no, you don’t.” Craig lurched after the boy, but the youngster
was too fast. He slipped away and out the car door.
“Hold
it right there.” Julia fell into her
I’ll-brook-no-argument-from-you voice with great ease. She snagged
the boy, who glanced toward the cruiser and the officer climbing out
of it with anxiety in his green eyes.
“I’m
telling you,” the boy said in a harsh whisper, “I’m a
leprechaun. I’ve granted your wish for help, now you have to
let me go.”
He
fought like a wildcat for release, but Julia held firm.
“Stop
that this instant,” she said, then let her tone soften to show the
real empathy she felt for the child. “Listen, sweetie, I know a kid
in your situation has a natural distrust of the police, but I promise
you, the officer is here to help you. This is really for the best. We
can’t leave you out here alone.”
“I’m
not...” he clamped his mouth shut.
Alone.
He didn’t have to say it for Julia to hear it. She glanced to the
billboard but saw no other sign of life there.
She
returned her gaze to meet the boy’s searching for the answers he
masked with a flash of defiance.
Beyond
them, she heard the swish of the policeman’s boots in the tall
roadside grass. “If someone else is out here, you’d better tell
me now.”
“What?
Do you think there are other leprechauns lurking about, Julia?”
Craig teased, his own mood obviously lightened. “You’ve already
caught your limit, and besides that, he hasn’t forked over his pot
of gold.”
The
boy went rigid beneath her restraining hand.
“Don’t
be silly, Craig,” she said, trying to keep everyone calm until the
policeman, who was scribbling down her license plate number, got to
them.
“It’s
not silly, Julia,” Craig protested, poking his glasses back on the
bridge of his nose. He sniffled in the damp air. “The legend goes,
if you catch a leprechaun, he has to surrender his pot
of
gold. Isn’t that right, Red?”
The
boy’s green eyes sparked. “Indeed it is. Now, if you’ll excuse
me, I’ll just be getting that gold...”
“What
seems to be the problem here, ma’am?” The tall, imposing officer
strolled up to their little tableau, his face partially obscured by
the brim of his dark brown hat.
“Hello,
sir. I’m Julia Reed, director of St. Patrick’s Homeless Shelter.”
She extended her right hand. “I am so glad you came along when you
did, Officer...?”
“Shaughnessy.”
He took her hand and gave it one jerking shake. “Michael
Shaughnessy.”
Was
it her imagination, Julia wondered, or did the man’s presence make
the child bristle more than it should?
“How
can I help you?” Officer Shaughnessy asked, his gaze fixed on the
boy.
The
gesture made Julia shiver, but she fought off any apprehensions
by concluding that perhaps the two had had run-ins before. Street
kids and cops did not mix well, at any rate, so even if there was
nothing personal between the two, they would respond as adversaries
out of habit.
“Um,
you can’t help me, exactly, Officer,” Julia said, caution
coloring her words. “It’s this fellow here.”
“I
see,” the officer said, his voice flat. “Well, you just leave him
to me. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”
The
boy glowered at the uniformed man.
The
situation didn’t feel right to Julia, but she had no reason for her
misgivings. Swallowing down the cold lump in her throat, she reached
in her back jeans pocket to find a business card.
“If
you need anything, son, please call.” She offered the card to the
boy. “Here’s how you can find me.”
He
turned his angry eyes to her and kept his arms at his sides.
The
police officer stepped up. His huge hand grasped the boy by the
jacket collar, throwing the child off balance for a moment.
Suddenly,
the boy shot away from the officer, straight into Julia.
The
force of the boy’s weight made her stagger backward a few steps,
but she quickly regained her footing. The boy moved around so he was
standing half behind her, and she automatically straightened up
in a defensive posture.
The
officer tensed and she wondered if she—or the boy— was in danger.
“Please,
lass, please.” The pure pleading nature of the boy’s voice tugged
at her heart, and she turned her head to meet his desperate gaze.
“Leave
the boy to me, ma’am,” Officer Shaughnessy barked.
“One
moment,” she responded, making it clear she wouldn't allow any
quibbling. She focused on the child, who was standing so close she
could feel his rabbit-paced heartbeat at her side.
Julia
placed one hand on the boy’s shoulder. She kept her voice low to
preclude Craig and the police officer from hearing. “What is it?
Don’t be afraid, you can tell me.”
The
green eyes shifted toward the rainbow-covered billboard and a
brightness seemed to pass over his features.
“By
rights, my pot o’ gold is yours, lass.” The lilting words barely
carried to her above the din of traffic and the grumble from the
skies above. “I can’t have it fallin’ into another’s hands.”
Officer
Shaughnessy tapped the toe of his boot against a stone jutting from
the wet grass. “Hurry it up, will ya?”
The
boy took a deep gulp. “Please, lass, you’ve got to be the one to
claim me treasure. Can I have your promise on that?”
She
looked steadily into the boy’s face, her heart as heavy as the
laden rain clouds hanging low over the skyline. The child had no home
and few possessions, she realized. The last thing he wanted was to
lose the belongings he had managed to squirrel away, those things
which he counted as precious as gold—his treasures. And he was
asking her for help.
“Just
tell me where to find it.”
“Now,
where are you supposin’ you’d be finding a pot o’ gold, lass?”
He wriggled his dark red eyebrows, his glance flicking toward the
Lucky Lottery Jackpot Billboard. Their voices blended in a hushed
conspiracy. “Under the rainbow.”
“Just
find the patch of shamrocks and dig straight down," the boy
whispered.
“Dig?
I have to dig?”
“Shh!”
The boy raised a finger to his lips. “Of course you have to dig for
the treasure. Don’t you know anything?”
She
smoothed her hand over his thick curls and shifted her weight
uneasily. “Actually, I’m beginning to think I don’t know
anything at all."
Lightning
ripped across the gray clouds, throwing over the boy’s anxious
features a mixture of yellow light and shadow.
“If
you don’t hurry this along, ma’am, we’re going to be standing
in a rain storm.” Officer Shaughnessy shuffled a step closer to
them.
“I’ll
be coming along with you...sir.” The boy turned and walked away
from Julia, his shoulders hunched, his feet kicking at the grass as
he went.
As
the patrol car drove away, Craig clapped his hands together. “Another
good deed done in record time. Now if we could just—”
“Not
yet.” Julia moved to the back of her car to unlock the trunk.
“If
you’re doing what I think you’re doing,” Craig warned her, “you
better realize I’m not going to be a party to it. I have…”
“You
have work to do,” she cut him off. Turning to rifle through the
piles of blankets and extra clothes, spare batteries, flashlights,
and first aid kits she finally found her sorry excuse for a shovel.
She thrust the splintered handle into Craig’s hand. “Faith can
move mountains, but sometimes it has to do it one shovelful of dirt
at a time. And somebody has to hold that shovel.” Julia trudged
back up toward the billboard, motioning for her assistant to follow.
“That shovel, my friend, is an instrument of faith in human kind in
action.”
“Pardon
me if I point out it’s also used to dig graves.” Craig hoisted it
onto his shoulder and slunk along behind her.
Julia
drew in the smell of the impending storm, let it refresh her then let
it out in a sigh. “Not today, my friend. Today, we’re digging for
treasure.”
