Dust covered the furniture in Paige’s small cabin. Her housework had been long neglected, but today she’d get her home in order.

The first three weeks of the season had been a success with field trips from local schools every day. Good for the farm, but the extra guests kept her busy to where she hadn’t had a social life, or even time to herself since they’d opened the first weekend in October.

Once Halloween came, the pace would slow down until Thanksgiving. The farm would still open on weekends for their fall festival, but November only saw a fraction of the business October did. It gave her family a small breather to prepare for the Christmas rush. Little would change activity wise, except their visitors would come for trees instead of pumpkins. Most of the other offerings of the farm remained the same, except with a Christmas theme rather than autumn.

Motivated to get the house clean, she set her favorite worship station to stream and got busy. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and tied a bandana around her head. Once she started moving and was kept warm by her actions, she turned down the heat.

After she’d mopped the floors and vacuumed the area rugs, she grabbed the furniture polish and a rag. She sprayed the oak TV stand and wiped it down, rubbing in circles until no dust remained and the varnish shined.

Two hours later, the cabin was spotless from top to bottom. Only a small pile of laundry remained left to do, along with making her bed once the sheets finished drying. She collapsed onto her sofa and sprawled her arms over the top.

She stole a glimpse of the time on the outdated satellite box. 12:09. An entire afternoon and evening ahead of her with nothing pressing to do. Free time was a foreign concept in the fall. What to do, what to do?

Deciding on Bible journaling, she went to the hall closet and brought down the tote of supplies from the top shelf. She wasn’t an artistic person, but Missy had dragged her to a Bible journaling workshop last summer, and Paige discovered she enjoyed it. Her pages didn’t look anything like the ones she saw online, but that didn’t matter to her. It gave her a creative outlet while deepening her walk with God.

She’d been working through the book of First Timothy, but she hadn’t journaled in over a month. Before she started on the next passage, she reviewed what she’d already done. Her block lettering had improved, but her drawings made her laugh. Still, she could glance at the columns and her notes and know what the verses had said.

Before she could start any new work, her phone rang from the kitchen counter. The temptation to ignore the call pressed hard. She let it go to voicemail, reasoning if it were important, whoever the caller was would leave a message. Today was her day, a chance to relax and catch up on me-time.

A minute passed, and Paige didn’t hear her voicemail alert beep. She picked up a purple marker and began writing SERVANT in script lettering. After exchanging the marker for a pen, she summarized the first lines of chapter four in her own words. She’d only written two lines when someone knocked on the door.

“Are you home?” her mom called.

“Yes. Coming.” Setting down her pen, she pushed back from the table. If she had to be interrupted, she was glad it was from her mom—she and Missy were welcome to visit anytime.

She opened the door and greeted Mom. “What brings you over the river and through the woods?”

The saying had become a joke among the family since Paige’s cabin sat nestled in a grove of trees just past a stream.

“I have a huge favor to ask. I tried calling, but when you didn’t answer, I figured you had your music turned up and couldn’t hear so I dropped by instead.”

“What do you need?” Don’t let it be anything time consuming, please.

Her mom wrung her hands. “I know this is your first day off in weeks, but is there any way you could run into town for me and deliver several pies?”

That could take an hour. Or three. “Where to?”

“Mrs. Bryant from church. Her civic group is having a bake sale tomorrow, and I volunteered several pies.” Mom pressed her lips against each other, pleading with her eyes for help. “I’d planned on taking them myself, but Dad wants me to go with him to the equipment auction in Henderson.”

“What time do they have to be there?”

“Any time after two.” Her mom flashed an apologetic smile. “And Dad wants to leave here no later than a quarter after one.”

“That’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? I hate asking you on your day off.”

“Completely sure. I’m always up for a visit with Mrs. Bryant.”

Mom clasped her shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

***

Paige rang the doorbell at Mrs. Bryant’s house at four o’clock. She’d planned to be there right at two, but the kitchen staff hadn’t finished all the pies yet. Come to find out, when her mom had said the farm was donating several pies, she’d meant thirty—all pumpkin—which gave her twenty minutes of aromatic bliss on her way to town as she inhaled the cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg.

She waited, but when no one came to the door, she pressed the doorbell a second time. Mrs. Bryant’s car was parked in the garage, so she had to be home or visiting a neighbor.

The voice of a young child came from inside, followed by laughter.

“Don’t you dare open that door, Myla,” Mrs. Bryant instructed in her firm but compassionate tone. “We’ve been through this twice today.”

Seconds later, the door opened, and Mrs. Bryant appeared. “Paige, what a surprise. I was expecting your mom.”

“I hope you’re not disappointed.” She winked, followed it with a grin. “Mom went somewhere with dad and sent me in her place.”

“It’s always a pleasure to see my favorite former Sunday school student.” Mrs. Bryant pulled her into an embrace. “I’ll help you unload the pies in a second. I’m babysitting for a family friend, and the little girl is sweet as molasses but just as precocious. Let me find something to keep her occupied for a few minutes, so she doesn’t run out while we bring them in.”

Paige laughed. She didn’t have any children of her own but was around them enough to know how they could be. “Don’t worry about it. I can get them all, but wanted to make sure you were ready for them.”

“You’re such a dear.” The elderly woman darted a glance inside her house. “I’ll take you up on that. I hear her in my sewing cabinets again, and there are pins and needles in there that could hurt her.”

“No problem.” Paige returned to her car and loaded all the pies she could safely carry in one trip. She successfully got them all into Mrs. Bryant’s kitchen in only five trips.

“Can you stay for a few minutes? Enjoy a slice of cake and a cup of coffee?” Mrs. Bryant began pouring coffee before Paige could answer.

“I’d hoped you would ask.” She observed the stacks of baked goods filling the kitchen and dining room. “What can I do to help?”

Mrs. Bryant handed her a ceramic mug with violets painted on the side. “Nothing, but sit and relax. We’ll go into the living room where there’s more space, and I’ll put a movie on for Myla.”

Paige cast a doubtful eye at the chaos but didn’t press. Mrs. Bryant wasn’t shy about asking for help when she needed it, so she must have it under control. “Who’s Myla?”

“My daughter grew up with her grandmother who I consider a second daughter.” Mrs. Bryant patted a hand over her heart. “Goodness, that makes me feel old. Anyway, Myla’s mom is going through a few things, and her uncle has custody of her. He had to work tonight, so I offered to watch her.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

A broad grin spread across Mrs. Bryant’s mouth. “I have ulterior motives—having a young one around keeps me moving and feeling young.”

“I don’t think you know the meaning of being still,” Paige teased. “Even when you taught the junior high kids at church, you moved around the classroom constantly.”

“You know what the Bible says about idle hands.” Mrs. Bryant lifted the lid off a cake pan. “Do you still like spice cake? This one stuck to the pan so I couldn’t use it for tomorrow’s sale, but it’s still plenty good to eat.”

“One of my favorites.” She leaned over the counter to see the sweet treat. “Especially when it has cream cheese icing.”

“I’ll cut you a large slice off the corner.”

“Thank you.” That Mrs. Bryant remembered small details about her, like how she enjoyed corner pieces, always made her feel special. She had the special knack for putting everyone in her presence at ease.

“Myla, darling, would you like a piece of cake?” Mrs. Bryant propped her elbows on the counter with a conspiring gleam in her eyes. “Don’t tell her uncle I gave her dessert before dinner.”

Paige pressed her index finger to her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

A little girl ran into the room. “Yes!”

It couldn’t be. Paige observed her closely. But it was. Myla was the girl with Wes Caldwell at the farm.

Once they took their refreshments into the living room and Myla had her eyes glued to a princess movie, Paige dared ask the question burning on her mind. “Myla’s uncle that has custody—by any chance is his name Wes Caldwell?”

“Yes, it is.” Mrs. Bryant’s eyes lit up. “Do you know him? He’s such a nice young man.”

The snort barreled out before she could stop it. “I’ve run into him before.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t care for him?”

Everything spilled out, from the initial meeting to his awkward apology. “I admit, I could have been friendlier and more receptive to his apology, but I truly was busy and that morning had been a headache.”

Mrs. Bryant clucked her tongue. “That just doesn’t sound like the Wes I know. His manners are impeccable.”

“They weren’t that day. His phone was his top priority.”

“Something had to have distracted him.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Mrs. Bryant tapped her free hand on the armchair’s edge. “When did you say that happened?”

“The week before the fall festival at the farm opened.” She calculated backward to find the exact date. “September twenty-third. I remember thinking I had to wait longer than normal to have my caramel apple cider from the coffee shop. It’s my annual tradition that I wait until the first chilly day of the year to get one.”

Mrs. Bryant scrolled through her home phone and nodded. “That would explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“Hmm.” A cloud hovered over Mrs. Bryant. “I don’t generally care to share anyone else’s business, but in this case, I think you should know. For the sake of Wes’s reputation.”

“The day we saw each other at the farm, and he tried to apologize, he seemed intent on giving me an explanation.”

Mrs. Bryant glanced at Myla who was engrossed in the movie, then turned her attention back to Paige. “Let’s move to the kitchen.”

Assuming Mrs. Bryant didn’t want to chance Myla overhearing their conversation, Paige obliged and carried her plate and mug to the kitchen counter and sat down on a stool. She waited for Mrs. Bryant to resume the conversation.

Standing, the older lady ate a forkful of cake before sharing the story. “Jenna, Myla’s mom, and Wes’s sister, fell into the wrong crowd after high school. Drugs and alcohol became her life, but when she got pregnant we all prayed she’d turn her life around.”

Sorrow fell upon Paige. The beginning of the story sounded similar to an old friend’s, but that one didn’t have a happy ending. “It’s a hard life to escape.”

“Sadly so.” Mrs. Bryant set down her plate. “Jenna stayed clean for a year, but when Myla turned six months, something snapped in Jenna, and she went back to her old friends.”

“What happened with Myla?”

“The family tried to intervene, but Jenna put on quite the show for child services and was deemed a fit mother.”

“That’s terrible.” Righteous anger ignited in Paige. A child shouldn’t have to live in that environment. “What if something had happened to Myla?”

“By God’s grace, Myla made it through.” Sitting down on the stool next to her, Mrs. Bryant sighed. “I admit, I had to ask the Lord’s forgiveness many times for my thoughts on child services not protecting Myla, then I realized many times their hands are tied. I spoke with a lady who was heartbroken because she knew a child in one of her cases should be removed from the parents, but her supervisor wouldn’t sign off on it because there was nowhere for the child to go and deemed the removal non-essential.”

Paige contemplated her words. “I suppose there are no easy solutions in situations like these.”

“No, there isn’t.” Creases formed on Mrs. Bryant’s forehead. “For years, family and friends prayed for Jenna. Then several weeks ago, Mary—Jenna’s mom—went to the house and found Jenna passed out on the floor. She’d overdosed and had a blood alcohol content three times the legal limit.”

Her chest tightened. “What happened?”

“Mary called an ambulance and Jenna was rushed to the hospital. Only a miracle can explain why she’s still with us today.” Closing the gap between them, Mrs. Bryant wrapped her aged fingers around Paige’s hand. “From what I understand, Wes had been out running when he got the call about Jenna and immediately rushed to the house.”

An ache formed in her heart. She’d been so absorbed in her own grievances, she hadn’t given him a chance to defend himself. Had that happened to one of her siblings, she easily could have acted the same way as Wes. “He must have been terrified for her.”

“Wes and Jenna were very close as children and teens, so all of this has hit him hard. He hasn’t said as much, but I get the sense he feels responsible like he should have been able to protect her.”

“She’s an adult and makes her own decisions.” Unexpected tears welled in her eyes. “Remember Jessica Franklin?”

Mrs. Bryant frowned and nodded. “She was such a sweet girl to get caught up in such a mess. I still have a card she made for me when she was around Myla’s age.”

“We were best friends in middle school, then she went her own way in high school. By the time the drugs killed her, we weren’t friends, but I remember struggling with guilt. I would tell myself if I had made more of an effort to reach out to her, maybe I could have prevented her death.” She wiped a tear from her cheek before it fell to the counter. “It took several years for me to accept that Jessica was responsible for her own actions and that I shouldn’t hold myself guilty. I didn’t give her the drugs or encourage her. The few times we did talk, I pleaded with her to stop.”

“It’s difficult to see someone we love going down a path we know is destructive.”

Paige brought her emotions under control. “How is Jenna now?”

“Doing good from what I hear. She is in a year-long Christian treatment program, and she didn’t want to go at first, but Mary told me her attitude has changed in the last week.”

“I’ll keep her in my prayers. It’s a long road ahead for her, but nothing is impossible with God.”

Mrs. Bryant smiled. “You’ve got that right.”

She squirmed in her seat as a nagging thought swirled in her mind. “Do you think Wes would mind if you give me his number? After what you’ve told me, I feel like I should call and speak to him, apologize for being so short.”

“I don’t think he’d mind at all.” Mrs. Bryant left the stool and withdrew a notepad and pen from a drawer. After she scribbled down numbers, she handed Paige the paper. “That’s his cell number. I know you young folks hardly use your home phones anymore, if you even have them.”

“Thank you.” She folded the slip of paper and tucked it safely in her pocket. It might take a day or two to work up the nerve to call him, but she would. Her attitude toward him had been less than gracious, and she believed in doing the right thing, which in this case was apologizing and offering her best wishes for Jenna.

And to think, she’d been upset about her new boots being ruined. In light of all that Mrs. Bryant had shared with her, the spotted footwear was a petty grievance compared to what Wes’s family faced.

Perspective changed everything.