Free Caught Redhanded by Gayle Roper Page B

quantities at wonderful prices at the various mills located down there. We use the sheets to make great curtains and bed hangings.”
    “What’s stored there?” I pointed to boxes stacked on the other shelf.
    “Wallpaper borders.”
    As we walked back to Tug’s office she described how she and a group of women with skills in interior design would go into a house that Good Hands was working on and redecorate if asked.
    “We always put a rocking chair in a baby’s room,” she said. “And we try to make the master bedroom as beautiful as possible, especially for the single moms who for financial reasons have to put themselves last. Freshly painted walls, a colorful border and new sheets with curtains that match can make such a difference to a woman.”
    My head was swimming with the scope of all Good Hands did as we reentered Tug’s office. Candy collected Bailey, who was sitting in an unhappy lump on my chair, pausing at the door to again remind Tug to tell me about Simon, the mailman.
    “Yes, dear.” He made himself sound put-upon, but it was obvious that the bond between Tug and Candy was deep and lively. Just like Curt and me, I thought—until I remembered North Carolina.
    Lord, please change his mind. Help him see how perfect going home will be.
    I watched as Tug walked Candy and Bailey to the office door, then stood there, his eyes sad as he watched them down the hall and outside.
    “I worry about her,” he said. “She’s so unhappy.”
    Bailey of the glorious fall of soft gold, Bailey who was very overweight and wore the ugliest clothes she could find, Bailey of the excess eye makeup, Bailey who wanted to be different but wasn’t rebellious enough to become fully goth.
    “It’s the age,” I offered. “She’ll probably slim down and wash away the black gunk in a year or two.”
    “From your lips to God’s ears. It’s just her older sister was so easy! Candy and I were spoiled.” He walked back to his desk and sat down. “Now let me tell you about our friend Simon, the mailman, who had the poorest mail route in Amhearst and found us our first clients. He told us which people we could trust to have legitimate needs and he told them that they could trust us not to rip them off.”
    By the time I returned to The News, I had more than enough information about Good Hands for an article, but I wanted more. I wanted that magic three points of view. Tug had given me names so that I could contact some of the nearly one thousand volunteers who gave up their Saturdays to help the many home owners—mostly widows, seniors and single moms—who were somehow scraping by but with no extra funds to hire someone to repair things and no time or knowledge to make the repairs themselves. I also wanted to interview some of the people Good Hands had helped and find out about the difference the assistance had made in their lives.
    “At first all we thought about were the houses,” Tug had said. “Then we started to notice the people and the serious problems they often faced. Our motto became Hope, Joy, Dignity, reflecting what we hoped to offer our clients.
    “Then we finally realized that often our clients had spiritual needs, too, so we’ve now incorporated spiritual goals into the program. We ask each client to have a ten-minute Bible study with us when we come. One or two of each team have volunteered to help this way and the clients seem to like being cared for and prayed for in this format.”
    I was feeling really good about the world and the way some people made positive differences until I walked through the door of The News and saw Mac, Jolene and Edie standing around my desk. Larry, the sports guy, was frowning at me from his desk across the room.
    I froze, every instinct telling me to turn and run. “What?”
    “Pittsburgh, Merry?” Jolene said.
    “ The Chronicle, Merry?” Mac said.
    Edie just looked at me with disappointment like an aura about her.
    I blinked. “How in the world?” I hadn’t