Authors: Catherine Palmer
“I hope you don’t mind that I came with Sam,” Ana said after the two had exchanged small talk about their church. “I’m writing an article on Haven’s lead paint problem, and it occurred to me that this would be a great opportunity for both of us to talk to you.”
“You want to interview me?” He glanced at Sam. “Ana, I don’t think we should bring Haven’s problems to light in the newspaper.”
“Too late,” Sam said, seeing his hopes of a pledge fading before his eyes. “She’s been hounding us.”
“You know me,” Ana said with a laugh. “Come on, Jim, I only need a quote or two.”
“I don’t see that I could contribute anything. Sam can tell you about the paint issue.”
“Wait a second.” Ana held up a hand to stop the conversation. Her mouth fell open, as she studied the facade of the brick mansion. “Oh, my goodness, I can’t believe this your home, Jim. It’s just now sinking in. This is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Jim said, his focus following hers. “I’m proud of the place myself. It’s rather large, but I needed space for the children.”
“So, your adoption agency is here, too?”
“I run the business out of my home. I have a network of outstanding foster parents who look after our children until the adoptions are finalized. But our little ones are in and out a lot, of course.”
Ana stepped up onto the stone entryway just outside the front door, and Sam followed with grudging admiration. The woman was incredible. She could con her way into anything she wanted.
“Your marble floor is amazing,” she was saying as she stepped toward the foyer. “When I was a teenager, we moved into a large house in Brownsville—did I tell you about it that Sunday when we worked in the church nursery together? I thought our place was wonderful, but it couldn’t compare to this.”
As Jim Slater moved back to allow Ana inside, Sam’s deeply ingrained reconnaissance training led him to scan the man quickly, memorizing details. Today Jim wore the kind of polo shirt Sam had seen him in often—this one in peach and blue horizontal stripes. Creased gray slacks and leather sandals completed his outfit. Every hair had been carefully combed into place, his jaw clean-shaven, and his eyebrows trimmed.
As he followed the older man into the house, Sam spoke up. “Thanks, Jim. I appreciate your time.”
Jim glanced at him in resignation. “I’d like to welcome you both to the headquarters of Young Blessings Adoption Services.”
“It’s great,” Sam said, genuinely impressed.
“When I moved to St. Louis, this was the best house I could find for the money. It needed a lot of work when I bought it, but remodeling is a hobby of mine.”
“You once owned a construction company, didn’t you?” Ana asked.
“That’s right. In Aspen.”
She shot Sam a look of victory. “Thought so.”
“Did you do your own decorating?” Sam asked, brushing past her to examine a wall lined with oil paintings.
“I brought most of the furnishings from Colorado.”
“Sam thinks your cherubs ought to be holding flaming swords,” Ana confided.
“A little frightening, don’t you think?” Jim led them down a short hallway and into a large, carpeted sitting room. “My wife loved angels, God bless her. She couldn’t get enough. We had glass display cases full of them. I brought the garden statues with me when I moved here. Couldn’t bear to part with everything.”
“Of course not. That must have been difficult for you. Losing your wife and then moving so far away.”
Ana’s voice was soft and sympathetic. Sam felt bad for criticizing the statues. Poor guy must be lonely in this huge house surrounded by reminders of his wife.
“Jim, would you be willing to give us a tour?” Ana was asking. “I’ve considered adopting a child someday. Even though research says kids do better with two parents, I think being a single mom would be all right. I’d love to see your offices.”
“I would, too,” Sam said. “You’ve been a great support to Haven, Jim, and I’d like to learn about your ministry.”
“Well, I…I had planned to chat in the living room.” He rubbed his hands together for a moment. “I actually have a couple of children here at the moment. They’re in the playroom, which is next to my office. You see, Young Blessings provides respite care for our foster parents. Once a week or so, kids can come here for a couple of hours so their caregivers have time to tend to personal business—even see a movie or go out to eat. Looking after these children can be stressful. Most of our adoptees come from orphanages in South America, and they’ve been through a lot. I don’t like to surprise them with unexpected visitors.”
“Oh, but it would mean a lot to me, Jim.” Ana’s brown eyes pleaded. “We don’t have to disturb the children.”
“I suppose that’s right.”
“Great,” Ana said, taking a notebook from her purse. “Before we take the tour, though—how did you get the idea to start an adoption agency?”
As Jim told her about a mission trip to the Caribbean and the orphans he had seen there, Sam studied a marble figurine on a table near the door—a sweet little girl seated on a tree stump, her hands on her knees and a flower stem threaded through her fingers.
“No wings,” he commented, turning to face Jim.
The man shrugged. “Not all of them are angels.”
“Let’s see your offices.” Ana had finished quizzing Jim for the moment, and she was eager to move on. “Where are the two in the playroom from? Somewhere in Latin America?”
“Honduras.” Jim gestured toward a door at the far end of the parlor. As they walked down a hallway, Jim explained to Ana how hard it was to cut through the red tape in the foreign countries where he found children in need of adoption. His story would make a terrific feature article, Ana realized, scribbling notes as she walked. The drama alone was enough to draw readers, and the sympathy factor would be huge.
She sensed Jim Slater was a man of great integrity. It must take an enormous amount of determination and dedication to surmount the legal obstacles to local and international adoptions. The fact that he was willing to take on such a challenge on behalf of needy children bore testimony to the genuine quality of his Christian faith.
Sam was cut from a similar cloth. The type who put his words into action. No doubt he had climbed countless barriers in his effort to navigate the minefield of St. Louis city and county building ordinances. Though he annoyed her at every turn—even now he was lagging behind in the hall, examining pictures and peeking through doors—she couldn’t deny that Haven appeared to be powerful evidence of Sam’s commitment to obey God.
“Here’s our playroom.” Jim lowered his voice as they approached a pair of closed doors in the hallway. He ushered Ana and Sam into a small room furnished with four blue velvet-upholstered chairs. A large window on one wall, Ana realized, was actually a one-way mirror.
“This is where I bring clients seeking adoption,” Jim murmured, motioning his guests to be seated. “I like to let them have a look at the children before the initial meeting, just in case.”
“In case of what?” Ana asked, taking one of the chairs. “I’d think the parents would be dying to meet their new child.”
Sam chose to stand, taking a position behind her left shoulder. Through the silvered glass, Ana could see two young girls watching television in the adjoining room. They appeared to be about eight and ten years old, with black hair and bronze skin. One wore bright pink shorts and a matching top. The other had on similar play clothes, only hers were purple. The outfits looked new. Both girls had on spotless white sneakers.
Around the room hung shelves lined with books and toys of every kind imaginable. Plastic slides, playhouses, dolls, trucks, and balls in all shades of the rainbow lay scattered across the soft gray carpet. Despite all this, the girls sat cross-legged with their backs to the window and stared at a large, flat TV screen where cartoon characters zipped around and bopped each other on the head.
“Our adoptive parents have been provided with photographs, of course,” Jim informed Ana. “But we’ve learned—much to our dismay—that sometimes the child isn’t exactly what they were wanting.”
“Really?”
“It’s something I take a lot of care with—making perfect matches. We want our clients to be happy.”
“So the children will be happy.”
“Well, of course.” He leaned toward the mirror. “These two haven’t been in the States long, and they don’t understand English. Still, their foster parents have had little trouble communicating. We’ve found that cartoons seem to be a universal language.”
“Ana knows Spanish,” Sam spoke up.
“That’s right,” she confirmed. “Hey, Jim, I could talk to the girls for you. I’d be happy to interpret.”
“Thank you, but as I said, I try not to disturb them.” Jim turned to Sam. “This is my own version of Haven. It’s a place where children can come and feel safe. These two will move in with their adoptive parents in a couple of days. In addition to life in an orphanage, they’ve been through quite an ordeal—departure from their country of origin, a long trip by airplane, adjustment to foster parents. When they’re here for a visit, I keep things very quiet.”
“Makes sense to me,” Ana said.
Sam nodded. “But I’d think they might get attached to this playroom.”
“It’s certainly a wonderful area,” Ana agreed. “I’ve never seen so many toys.”
“Nothing but the best for our little ones.” Jim smiled as he observed the girls. “I collect toys, you know, Ana. Sometime you’ll have to come over for a longer visit, and I’ll take you down to the basement where I keep my collection. The toy hobby started with my own kids—the wife and I bought baby dolls and such for our daughters. Linda said I enjoyed indulging the girls because I grew up with so few playthings of my own. Anyway, I continued to purchase toys even after our three were grown and gone.”
“Do you collect anything in particular?” Ana asked.
“Dolls, as a matter of fact—and Sam, don’t give me that look. It’s not as odd as it sounds. It’s quite a lucrative pastime, and there are a number of male collectors in the field. My focus is the Mattel company, and the Chatty Cathy in particular. I’ve got Chatty Cathy dolls from the 1959 unpatented original to versions produced throughout the sixties. And that’s not to mention the Chatty Cathy games, dress patterns, accessories, outfits, shoes, the whole nine yards.”
“I think my mother still has her old Chatty Cathy,” Ana said, recalling the doll’s matted blond hair and missing teeth. “I used to play with her sometimes. By then, though, you couldn’t understand the words when she talked.”
“That’s the problem with Chatty Cathy. The voice box malfunctions too easily. But I own quite a few that still work—say the original phrases and all that. I can see Sam is skeptical of my hobby.”
“I’ve heard of adults collecting Matchbox cars and Happy Meal toys.” He paused. “You said you have three children?”
“Daughters, yes. We adopted them. Linda and I.” He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to photographs of the dark-haired children, each in pigtails, ribbons and lacy dresses. “Here they are. Michelle, Penny and Jill.”
Ana craned to see. “So, that’s another reason you became interested in adoption?”
“Another reason?”
“Other than that trip you went on. The one where you first saw the orphans.”
“Oh, exactly. Yes, Linda and I had adopted these three, and then on my trip I learned there were many children available in the poorer countries, particularly Central and South America. I thought, well, why not facilitate the process for others?”
“It must have been hard to give up your real estate business,” Sam said.
“To some degree.”
“Jim was in construction,” Ana spoke up, unable to disguise the annoyance in her voice. Why did Sam have to be so obstinate about this?
“Which was it again?” Sam laid his hand on her chair. “You once told me you’d sold land.”
“Did I now?” Jim chuckled. “Well, actually I did a little of both. If I found a good lot for a fair price, I snapped it up, built a spec house on it and sold it. I even developed a small subdivision. We named it Loma Linda, after my wife.”
“That’s so sweet,” Ana said.
“Your work in Colorado must have been profitable.”
“Much of the time.” Jim set his hands on his knees and stood. “Well, you two didn’t come here to listen to my life story. Let’s pop into my office for a quick look-see, and then we’ll go back to the front room and talk business. I believe our agenda is Haven’s lead paint problem.”
As they left the room, Ana took a last look at the two little girls. They were watching Mickey Mouse now, and holding hands.
T
he house gave Sam the creeps, and he wasn’t sure why. A far cry from the run-down Wyoming mobile home where he had grown up with his father and younger brothers, Jim Slater’s Ladue mansion nevertheless impressed him more as a hotel than as a home. Sam’s own current living situation in a couple of rooms above Haven couldn’t be further from this luxury and extravagance, but he preferred it.
Everything in Jim’s place was perfect, no doubt about that. The man must have a household staff. The gray carpets had been vacuumed recently—Sam could tell by the absence of footprints marring the groomed surface. The ornate gilt picture frames were dust free. Every lightbulb in every chandelier worked. Curtains matched sofas and pillows. Books lined shelves. Candlewicks had never been lit. Pristine.
Maybe it was the smell that bothered him. Sam followed Ana and Jim around a corner and down another hall, lagging a little behind as was his custom in a new place. He often had trouble identifying scents, but this one was obvious. Roses. Some kind of potpourri, no doubt, or a plug-in room deodorizer. Sam never thought of things like that—as evidenced by the pile of mildewed towels in the front office at Haven.
He knew he had no right to find fault with Jim for the way his house smelled. The man obviously cared about children. After all, he had started an adoption agency, he regularly worked in the church nursery and his generous gifts had covered the entire cost of new bathroom tile at Haven. If Jim wanted to fill his house with the scent of roses, why should Sam begrudge him? Still, the fragrance made him a little queasy.
As they neared the sitting room, Ana asked Jim how he would feel about her writing a feature article on his adoption agency. “It would be great PR for you,” she said. “Think how much attention it would draw to the wonderful things you’re doing for children.”
“I’m sorry, Ana, but it’s against my policy to comment on the agency,” he told her. “I don’t promote my work in any public venue. It’s all done through word of mouth.”
“But you might find more local parents looking to adopt. It would make such a heartwarming story, Jim. The international aspect is fascinating, and the way your wife and three daughters inspired you would make great reading.”
“Afraid not. I have more clients than I can handle. I’m not interested in any publicity.” His voice softened. “Listen, Ana, I don’t mean to be difficult. I simply try to follow biblical teaching about doing things for the glory of God and not for the honor of men.”
Without waiting for her response, he brushed past her and headed for the living room. Ana hurried behind, her long legs eating up the carpet and her voice echoing along the cherrywood paneled corridor. She hadn’t switched gears, Sam noted. Ana still pressed for a feature article, though now she suggested it could combine both the adoption agency and Jim’s support of the recreation center. Sam dawdled, admiring both the woman’s aggressive style and Jim’s stubborn adherence to his rules. The three of them made quite a trio.
As Sam followed the other two, he reflected on the little girls in the playroom. Peering through a one-way mirror at the children had reminded Sam of gazing into an aquarium in a pet shop. He had always felt sorry for the fish as they swam in circles, taken from their natural habitat and oblivious to the future that awaited them. Personal experience told him fish usually lasted a few days and then ended their short lives floating belly-up at the top of their tank. Thank God, the children who were placed in adoptive homes by Young Blessings could look forward to a far better destiny.
Though he knew Jim meant well with the adoption agency’s pristine, silent environment, Sam preferred messy, smelly, loud Haven. Even a child as withdrawn as Flora took some comfort in the bouncing balls and screeching whistles that resounded through the building. Or would she be happier watching cartoons in Jim Slater’s fishbowl?
Ana had finally given up the fight to draw a lengthy interview out of Jim. Sam could see it in her posture as he entered the living room. He wasn’t surprised that Jim had been reluctant to talk—only that Ana had actually accepted defeat.
Nice try, Miss Burns, Sam thought. I just hope your pushiness hasn’t jeopardized Haven’s future.
She folded down onto a sofa now, looking like an umbrella closing up after a rain, useless and slightly bedraggled. He felt a little sorry for her, but it was time to focus on the business at hand.
“Lead paint,” he began, taking the chair across from Jim. “Seems like that’s all I’m hearing these days. I’m on the phone constantly, making visits, talking to everyone I can. Frankly, since I spoke to you the other day, Jim, I haven’t been able to drum up much support.”
“How much will it cost to take care of the problem?” Jim asked. “Do you have any figures for me?”
Ana began scribbling again, her face brightening a little.
“We’re looking at twenty thousand, minimum.”
Jim whistled. “That much would have built a nice fence and gotten you started on your outdoor recreation area, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure would. Let me tell you, I’d love to spend the money that way. But we have no choice except to follow government regulations on the paint removal if we intend to let children under age six into the building—and we do. Running an adoption agency, you know how important it is to start kids off on the right foot as early as possible. In fact, Terell and I have already put some great activities in place for the preschool age group. Finger-painting, crocheting, dance and music, tools—my volunteers are outstanding.”
“I’ve seen them at work,” Jim said. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Sam nodded, heartened. “There are several areas in the building where we can legally paint over the old walls. But most of the original paint is crumbling and peeling. To scrape that off requires professionals with specialized equipment. We looked into covering it up—new wallboard, dropped ceilings, all that. Any direction we went, we came up with similar figures. Even with our volunteers providing labor, we can’t bring down the cost.”
“How much of the twenty thousand have you found, Sam?”
“A church gave us two. The owner of a dry cleaning business in the area came up with another thousand.”
“Dry cleaning?” Ana put in.
Sam shot her a look. “Yes, dry cleaning. And Granny gave us a hundred dollars.”
“Who’s Granny?” Jim asked.
“She’s an elderly woman who teaches the crochet class at Haven,” he explained. “Evidently, she has a little something put away. She comes up with a donation for us every now and then. We’ve tried to encourage her to use it on herself—she needs a hearing aid and new glasses. But she says it’s the Lord’s money, and she won’t touch it.”
“So, thirty-one hundred dollars. And you need twenty thousand?”
“I have nearly two weeks left to work on it before the county steps in. I need to show them that I’ve got the money. Then they’ll give us more time to clean the rooms and put in new walls. I’m not giving up.”
“I didn’t think so. Well, you can put me down for five thousand, Sam. It’s the best I can do right now.”
“Five thousand? That’s great, Jim, thank you.”
“You’re still a long way off, my friend.”
“Yeah, but that puts us over eight thousand—almost halfway. We’re in firing range.” He got to his feet and grabbed Jim’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I promise you, that money will make an enormous difference in the lives of my kids.”
“That’s all the thanks I need. I’ll bring you a check in a few days.” Jim stood. “Ana, will I see you in church Sunday?”
“Sure. And I’d like to take a look at your toy collection someday.”
“Of course. We’ll schedule a lunch one day when there aren’t any children visiting.”
“Thanks again, Jim.” Sam pumped his hand another time. “You’ve encouraged me.”
As Jim shut the door behind them, Sam slung his arm around Ana’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Five thousand bucks! Did you hear that? Terell’s gonna freak!”
Ana’s back stiffened at his embrace, but she continued walking beside him down the deeply shadowed driveway. “You need a lot more.”
“I’ll get it.”
“Always so optimistic?”
“God doesn’t give you a job and then fail to deliver the tools. One way or another, that lead paint is
gone.
”
“I’m happy for you.”
He glanced at her. “What’s wrong? Upset Jim wouldn’t give you a good interview?”
“I got some quotes.” She fell silent again, her head down. Then she shrugged his arm off her shoulders. “It’s those poor little girls.”
“What about them?”
“They looked so small. So alone.”
“Alone? They had more toys than they could know what to do with.”
She sighed as they stepped through the steel gate that guarded Slater’s property. “Do you think the girls understand what’s happening to them?” Ana pressed a button on her key ring, and the doors to her car unlocked. “I wish Jim would have let me talk to them in Spanish. I’d have told them everything is going to be okay, and that they’re going to get new parents who will love them and take care of them. Are they sisters, do you suppose? And will they go to the same home? It bothers me.”
“I’ll tell you what gets me. Jim’s secret window for adoptive parents. Like they’re picking out a puppy.”
“His heart is in the right place, though.” Her voice was soft as she nursed the car through the evening traffic.
“True. Sounds like he runs a gauntlet every time he brings kids to the States.”
“He’s a wonderful man,” she said.
“And how ’bout that Chatty Cathy collection?”
Ana laughed as she pulled into a parking space near Haven. “Give poor Jim a break. He’s lonely. He lost his wife, and his daughters are grown and gone. Let him collect dolls if he wants to.”
“I’d feel better if he collected Tonka trucks.”
“Jim’s obviously a shrewd businessman. You don’t live in Ladue unless you know how to manage money. I have no doubt that dolls are a better investment than toy trucks.”
Sam let his focus rest on Ana as she put the car in Park. He knew their time together was over, and he needed to get back and help Terell shut down the center. But he couldn’t deny how good it felt to be near a woman again. And not just any woman.
Ana Burns made a great sparring partner. Sam found her ideas interesting and her personality more than a little intriguing. He hadn’t had time for a relationship when he was in the Marines, nor had he made time for one since. Now—in the midst of his battle to keep Haven open—he couldn’t let himself think in that direction.
“Sam, may I come back and interview the kids at Haven?” Ana asked. The streetlight bronzed her skin and lit her brown eyes with a golden glow. “I’d like to get some quotes from your volunteers, too. It would round out my series.”
“I’m not comfortable with this, Ana. You know that. Neither was Jim.”
“Please, Sam. Let me come back to the center. Maybe I can get more information out of Flora. If she starts to feel comfortable, you might get her to join in the activities.”
“Ana, I appreciate your concern for Flora and your interest in Haven,” he said. “But I don’t want the center by name in the newspaper. The less you say about us the better.”
Her lips tightened. “You don’t trust me to write a positive story. You’re afraid you’ll lose your donations, aren’t you? For you, this is all about money.”
“
Money?
What do you think Haven is, woman? It’s nothing like Jim Slater’s grand palace, that’s for sure. You didn’t have any problem praising him to high heaven, but you accuse me of moneygrubbing?” Angry now, he opened the car door. “I don’t have spare cash to spend on fat-winged babies and doll collections. I need to keep my donors happy if I want Haven’s doors to stay open. And that means
no
newspaper articles.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to write. Give me a little credit. I could slant this story in your favor. Trust me, Sam.”
“Trust a woman who accuses me of being in this for the money?” He climbed out of the car and slammed the door. “You want to know what I’m all about, Ana? Open your eyes. I’m here for these kids.”
As he strode down the sidewalk, Ana’s car kept pace. “I can come back to Haven if I want,” she called out to him. “I have the right to talk to anyone, Sam.”
“No, you don’t,” he shouted back. “Not at Haven. It’s my operation, and you’re not welcome.”
As her tires squealed down the street, Sam stepped up to the metal detector.
“Hoo-wee,” Raydell said, shaking his head as he eyed the vanishing car. “You got woman problems. Big-time.”
“Rod Davidson…how are you this morning, my friend?”
“Well, what can I tell you? Murders, suicides, drive-by shootings—the usual.”
He chuckled at the
Post-Dispatch
publisher’s greeting. “I don’t know how you do it day in and day out.”
“It never gets old. Keeps the adrenaline pumping anyway.” Davidson sounded cheerful. “Listen, I’ve got a meeting with my editorial board in a few minutes. What can I do for you today?”