The Greatest of These (Sequel to Kansas Summer) -- Faith

June 4, 2004

--Jenna

        "Good morning, Jenna," Colin tells me as he rubs his face, rolling out of bed.  "You're up early," he notices.  

        "Mhmm," I nod cheerfully, taking off my socks on the bedroom floor.

        "Well," my husband groans, "better be getting out to feed the horses."

        "I don't think that's a good idea," I say.

        Colin turns and looks at me, now undoing the buttons on my shirt.  "Why not?" he asks.  "And you're already dressed, why are you taking off your clothes?"

        "Because," I confess, "I got up early and fed and milked the animals so that you and I could spend the morning together."

        "Well, thanks Jen, but I really have to clean up and..."

        "And," I add, "I'm coming with you."

        Colin shakes his head.  "No, no, no, Jen.  You don't need to be over there.  It'll be dusty and dirty and smell really bad.  You really don't want to be over there."

        "For better or for worse, my love," I remind him, rising, and walking over to where he stands, and giving him a peck on the lips.  "Let's go purify ourselves?"

        "What?" Colin stares down at me, a smile forming at the corner of his mouth, hand wandering down my side.

        "You know," I grin seductively, "cleanse ourselves with the washing of water."  I giggle at my own clever spin of a Bible verse.

        "Since when was flirting written in Ephesians?"

        I can offer no more than my giggles and a goofy smile as I drag him towards the shower.

.        .        .

        "Breakfast was good, Jen, as always.  Thank you for everything," my husband thanks me, taking me by the shoulders and looking me deep in my eyes.  "I really mean that with every being in me.  Thank you."

        I shrug and smile at him.  "Thank God, sweetheart."

        "Every day."  Colin walks over to the closet to get his boots.  I follow suit.  "Hey, wait a minute, Jen," Colin tries to stop me, "What are you doing?  You don't want to come with me--there's a lot of hard labor to do.  Besides, I really have to do this alone."

        "No can do, honey bunches," I tell him firmly, producing the truck keys in my hand.  "For better or for worse.  I'm coming with you.  That place--it isn't safe for you, and you know it.  At least let me come for support."  Colin acknowledges me, and I hand him the keys.

.        .        .

        Colin wasn't joking about the ruin.  What was left of the store was mostly black pieces of concrete that had caved in, leaving mangled rebar and cement littered all over the floor.  Colin stomps his way through the wreckage towards a shelf of some sort.  He picks up something big and long from the shelf and hands it to me: a sledgehammer.

        "Here," he adds, finding a pair of safety glasses on the ground and dusting them off on his t-shirt, "use these too.  We need to break down these pieces so we can fit them in the back of the truck and take them to the recycling center."  

        I grin, fitting the hammer comfortably in my grip, and then going at a piece of cement on the other side of the store.  Good ol' manual labor.

.        .        .

        We break for lunch at half past noon, bodies sweating and chests heaving from the exertion.  We've managed to fill two truckloads of concrete already, but there's still a lot to go, not to mention all of the shelving units, drywall, and other miscellaneous things scattered around.  We smell incredibly of smoke, but we've grown accustomed to it.

        Just as we are finishing up our paltry lunch of McDonald's, a shiny sports car drives up.  Colin's eyes furrow and he grunts as he gets up to meet the burly man getting out of it.  The man wears blue jeans and a plaid shirt and carries a cane.

        "I'm surprised that you didn't hire someone to help you take care of what's left of this place," he remarks.  My eyes narrow in annoyance.

        "What can I help you with, Mr. Compton?" Colin asks bluntly, wanting to know the real reason for his visit.

        The gentleman removes his hat.  "I'm really sorry for what's happened.  Accidents are--unfortunate.  However, I want to tell you that I want to help ease the blow a little.  I am interested in purchasing the plot of land that your store sits on as well as the remaining buildings.  I will take care of all of the restoration and cleanup as well."  Earl Compton clears his throat before he continues.  "I also want to make an offer for the land that your house sits on.  I'm willing to give you $500,000 for everything."  He twiddles his hands on his cane as he waits for our reply.  "You guys can talk it out, and I will give you two days to decide."

        I instinctively clutch Colin's arm, looking at him for an answer.  Now is his time.  He is the man, the decision maker.  "I will give you an answer tomorrow, Mr. Compton," Colin replies, stone-faced.

        "Okay, Mr. King, I will await your response.  Have a good day, you and your missus."

.        .        .

        "Look, Jen, I think it would be a great opportunity.  We are kind of out of options around here.  I mean, we have the farm, but we can't really make that into a full-scale operation.  There's not much around town either besides some minimum wage gigs, and we have to think about our children--"

        I set down my sledgehammer.  "We're going to have children?" I reply hostily, somewhat perturbed that Colin is considering leaving Goodland.

        "Well," Colin adds hopefully, "with this deal, we could afford your surgery, and we could have a family.  We could move to Denver or Wichita and I could get a better job and we could be able to put our children through college and--Jen, please, consider!"

        I take a deep breath and put my hands on my hips, setting down the hammer to rest against my thigh.  "How is leaving going to be a better opportunity than staying here?  What makes you so sure?"

        "Faith," my husband replies simply.