Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A bel dug in his pockets. "I have $2.17. Maybe if we pool our money, we can get a room for the night. We can't call our Englisch neighbors at three in the morning."

That plan made sense. They each pulled out what they had left. Between them, they had $17.28. Not nearly enough to pay for a room.

The other desk clerk, a sweet-faced Mennonite woman, beckoned Mark over and held out a piece of paper. "Here's the address of the STAR Center. In the building next door, they house people who want to get off the streets. It's free."

"Sounds good," Jerry said. "Let's go."

None of them wanted to venture out into the bitter cold again, but the tiny thread of hope for a warm bed kept them going. When they reached the STAR Center, the neon B E A S TAR sign taunted Mark.

"We already are stars," he mumbled. "Or at least we were." Would they ever be stars again?

They filed into the building beside it, which looked like an old warehouse. To their surprise, the inside appeared clean and bright. A hulk of a man with tattooed forearms sat at a desk, dozing. He snapped to attention when they walked in.

"Can I help you?" His eyebrows rose as he took in their Amish clothing. "First time we ever got an Amish gang in here."

"Gang?" Mark was taken aback.

"We usually house young adults trying to get out of gangs."

The band edged backward toward the door. "Maybe we came to the wrong address."

"I was just kidding about you being a gang. Everyone's welcome here."

Still wary, Mark shrugged. "Someone told us we could sleep here tonight, but I think she misdirected us."

"Naw, she didn't. Usually, we have room. Unfortunately, our beds fill up fast this time of year. We don't have any left."

Jerry groaned. "We walked all this way for nothing?"

The guy smiled. "Actually, Mrs. Vandenberg, the owner, must have been expecting you. She had five cots and bedding delivered yesterday. If you don't mind cots, you're welcome to them."

"Right now, a cot sounds wunderbar ." Sam swayed on his feet.

"Welcome, then. I'm Victor Rivera. Let's get you settled."

They helped Victor set up the cots, then tumbled onto them gratefully. When they woke the next morning, he directed them to the showers and free breakfast.

Mark didn't like taking things for free, so after they'd eaten, he asked if they could do chores to pay for their lodging. Surely a place as large as this could use help cleaning, washing dishes, sweeping, whatever. A kitchen worker suggested they check with one of the offices upstairs. The band trooped up there, and Mark tapped on the office door marked M RS . V ANDENBERG .

"Come in, come in," a slightly wavering voice called out.

Mark pushed open the door to find an ancient woman seated behind an enormous mahogany desk. "Happy Thanksgiving," she chirped.

Thanksgiving? Mark had almost forgotten it was today. For the past four years, Thanksgiving and Christmas had meant a much-needed day off. At the word Christmas , old memories flashed through his brain. Mark always avoided thinking of those painful holidays of the past.

She beamed at him. "Well, this should be the start of many happier Thanksgivings and Christmases for you from now on."

Mark fidgeted. She didn't just say Thanksgiving , she'd also added Christmas , as if she read his mind. Impossible. She knew nothing about him or his life. She'd probably figured out the band was down on their luck, and she hoped to cheer them up.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said to Mark. "I've been waiting for you."

She must have mistaken him for someone else. He shifted uncomfortably. As he struggled to explain who he was and that he wanted to work, she held up a hand.

"First, let's take care of your friends here. I'm sure they'd like to go home and spend Thanksgiving with their relatives."

In short order, she'd arranged for a car to take them all home. Wistfully, he wished them goodbye, happy they could return to make peace with their families, even though he had no hope of reconciling with his parents. Even if he gave up his music, which deep in his heart, Mark knew he couldn't ever do, his daed would never forgive him.

Once again, the elderly woman surprised him. "Your family might be ready to forgive and forget too, maybe even sooner than you think."

Mark shook his head. She had no idea how stubborn his daed could be, but how had she known what was bothering him?

Mrs. Vandenberg rose from her chair. "I know you want to work, and I have the perfect place for you, but let me introduce you to the CEOs first." She led him a short way down the hall to another office and tapped on the door.

When someone called for them to come in, Mark was astonished. He couldn't believe these people were working on Thanksgiving Day.

"We don't usually work on holidays." Mrs. Vandenberg turned the knob and motioned for Mark to enter first. "But I knew you'd be coming today."

Dumbfounded, Mark stared at her. "How?"

A secretive smile lifted the corners of her lips. "God gives me nudges from time to time."

A man inside the room laughed. "Make that all the time."

As Mark walked through the open doorway, a man and woman sat at side-by-side desks. In an open area nearby, a beautiful Amish girl played with several young children. Mark's heart flipped over. He was pretty sure she was the Amish girl who'd attended their concerts four years ago. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and he wondered if any of the children were hers.

He barely heard the introductions to Nettie and Stephen Lapp. Although Mark tried not to gawk, his gaze kept straying to the maedel . Was it possible?

"We need somebody to teach music to beginners," Stephen said.

At the word music , Mark's head snapped back to the man behind the desk.

"What?" He must have misheard.

Mrs. Vandenberg laughed. "Thought that might get your attention."

Her peal of laughter attracted the girl's attention. She turned to stare, then gasped. "You're Mark Troyer, lead singer for the Amish Rebels." She appeared starstruck. "Where's your band? Are they with you?"

Stephen and Nettie, on the other hand, looked horrified.

"Joline," Stephen thundered, "how did you know that?"

She hung her head. "I, um . . ."

Mrs. Vandenberg interrupted. "Mark is an answer to prayer. Stephen, why don't you ask what instruments he can play?"

Too preoccupied staring at Joline to answer, Mark tried to form a coherent response to the question he'd soon be asked, but her sparkling eyes mesmerized him. She was the same girl, but now she wore a kapp and an Amish dress. He swallowed hard, remembering her hair flowing over her shoulders and her slinky dresses. If he had to choose, he'd say she looked even lovelier now.

Frowning, Stephen studied Mark. "You play instruments?"

Reluctantly, Mark dragged his eyes from Joline. "Piano, electric guitar, and drums."

"He's also the lead singer," Joline added. "He has the best voice." At her father's glare, she shrugged. "Well, he does."

He snapped, "Later, you can explain how you know that."

Nettie's gaze flew back and forth between Joline and Mark. "I don't know, Stephen. Maybe this isn't a good idea."

He shot her a grateful glance. "I think you're right."

Mrs. Vandenberg intervened and turned to Mark. "Would you be willing to teach piano classes?"

"Teach? I'm not sure . . ." He could play, but how would he explain his techniques to others?

"You can do it," Mrs. Vandenberg assured him. "The students will be beginners. Teach them what your piano teacher taught you."

Mark stared at her. It almost sounded as if she knew Mrs. Musselman. He could share his early lessons—doing that would be like sitting on the piano bench next to her when he was small. The idea flooded him with happy memories. Maybe instructing others could be a tribute to the woman who'd introduced him to music.

He wished he could visit her. Maybe after her family went home, she'd welcome him back, but first he needed to make money. He never wanted to stay at her house again unless he could pay his way. He owed her that.

As if Mrs. Vandenberg had tapped into his thoughts, she said, "Of course, we'll pay you." She named a figure that seemed way more than a piano teacher would ever make.

Mark shook his head. "I'm not worth that. Could I do it in exchange for room and board?"

"Room and board is included. I have a policy of paying people fairly. I find they do much better work when I do that."

"I can't accept pay too." He planned to re-form his band once he could line up some gigs. Most places would be booked until spring, so it might be a while. For now, though, he'd have a roof over his head and work to keep him busy.

Mrs. Vandenberg waved off his protest. "Now, what about your equipment? I could send a crew to pick it up and bring it here. You're welcome to set it up in one of the practice rooms."

"I can't let you do that."

Nettie laughed. "Telling Mrs. V no is pointless. She'll do what she thinks is best. The good thing is she always seems to be right."

"I have a better idea." Mrs. Vandenberg beamed. "What if you organize a Christmas concert here? Some of the former gang members used to play in bands. I'm sure I can get you some decent musicians."

"I could sing," Joline burst out. "I know the words to all your songs."

The rapturous look on her face took Mark's breath away. How did she know his songs?

From the expression on her daed 's face, he was wondering the same thing. His sharp " Joline " cut through her exhilaration.

Deflated, she turned away. "Sorry," she muttered. Shoulders slumped, she hurried over to separate two squabbling toddlers.

"I meant a sing-along with Christmas carols," Mrs. Vandenberg clarified.

Mark pulled his attention back to the chirpy elderly woman who was waiting for an answer. He had no idea how he'd pull together a concert in a few short weeks. "Could I use my band for this performance? They're all in the area." He hoped his friends would agree to play Christmas carols.

"What a marvelous idea! I'm sure that would draw a large audience—exactly the kind of kids we'd like to bring in to the center."

"I'm also happy to work with some of your residents to get them ready for a future show."

Mrs. Vandenberg's eyes twinkled. "What about for New Year's Eve? Maybe we could have the amateurs as the opening acts before your band."

When Mark nodded, she turned toward Joline's scowling father. "Isn't this wonderful, Stephen?"

"I don't think—"

Mrs. Vandenberg cut him off. "Exactly. Don't think, just pray." With that, she turned and exited. "Come along, Mark, let's get everything set up."

With one last curious glance in Joline's direction, Mark followed. Joline hadn't turned around since her daed 's rebuke, and Mark missed her eager eyes on him.

He'd followed Sid's advice and brushed off all the groupies. It hadn't been hard, because every time he looked at the women and girls flocking around him, all he could see was that Amish girl's innocent, but thrilled, eyes, and her hair flowing down around her shoulders in soft curls.

Now, she was right here in front of him, but judging from her dress, she shouldn't have anything to do with a wayward rebel like him. But from her expression, she just might be interested.

The only problem was her daed . Mark needed this job until he could get the band back together. He couldn't take a chance of getting fired. No matter how tempting Joline was, he intended to keep his distance.