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This was not a promotion at all. This was . . . astounding.
After swiftly taking in the rest of the document, Helen looked up at her husband, stunned. “Will you agree?”
“If you say yes.”
Blinking, she looked back down at the paper, half expecting to discover that’d she’d misread it. Surely she wasn’t understanding it correctly . . . “We would keep half the property?”
“That’s the deal. And I would be foreman on the builds. The job comes with a significant pay raise. And the added benefit of experience, so that when it comes to our house—”
Her eyes grew wider. “Our house?”
Pure delight made his smile glow. “Yes. We would build new as well.”
Helen’s head swam. This couldn’t be real, could it? She looked back at the sum at the bottom—an offer for the ten acres of land across the creek, on the other side of the dirt road. “Why would he pay so much money for ten worthless acres?”
Their land wasn’t farmable. There weren’t trace mineral deposits to mine. That section didn’t even have the benefit of the running creek. It was mountainous, uneven land nobody wanted.
Except Mr. Glasco, the owner of the mill where Kevin worked, apparently wanted it.
“The county has allowed residential plotting on that side of the road.” Kevin reached for the papers Helen held in her hands and brought the back one she hadn’t yet looked at to the front. “They’ve reduced the requirements to build a house from ten acres to one in that zoning. So Mr. Glasco can subdivide that section ten times, build ten nice homes, and make a tidy profit. If we’re willing to sell to him.” He set aside the letter and loosely gripped Helen’s arms. “Mr. Glasco wants it to be a good deal for both of us, and I think it is. We don’t have the capital or the experience to subdivide and build, but he does. He doesn’t have the land, but we do. And the offer is more than fair. I checked, Helen. It’s a very good offer.”
“Who would buy those ten houses?”
The gleam in Kevin’s eyes only danced more, despite her clear doubt. “Glasco sees the tourist industry taking off in the near future. With the marina going in at Sugar Creek reservoir, he says it’s only a matter of time . . .”
Could that be right? Helen didn’t know, but either way, the bigger question was, could this be real?
The shock hadn’t worn off. Helen stood there gaping at her husband. “We would keep this side and build a new house?”
“A bigger house. Big enough forfivechildren.” Kevin winked again and moved to slip his hands at her waist. “Five beautiful Murphy children, which clearly we are very good at making.”
A giddy, uncontrollable giggle bubbled in her belly and wiggled out of her chest. “Kevin!”
He joined in her laughter and swept her into his arms. “Helen.” Then he twirled her around that tiny kitchen.
“I was moping! Telling God we couldn’t afford more babies, and what was He thinking? And all this time, He had things worked out.” Breathless from dancing and laughing and crying, Helen sagged against him.
Holding her steady, Kevin rubbed her back. “All this time, He’s had us covered.” Then he curled around her and kissed her neck. “So will you come away with me, my dove? My bride?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Helen turned to the last page in that aged album. In the middle, as the solitary photo, was an enlarged copy of the capstone of that year. The Murphy seven stood in front of the deck of a beautifully crafted, big new home. Kevin and Helen in the middle, his arms around her, and her arms holding a blanketed baby boy they’d named Tyler. Both were grinning wildly. Flanking them were four growing boys. Three with dark hair favoring their dad. One blond, who looked like her.
Sitting there, in that very house thirty-some years later, Helen still felt the wonder of it wash over her.
God had provided an unbelievable abundance. And he’d done it, as unlikely as it had seemed, through Kevin’s dad.
Closing the album, Helen let her eyes fall shut. “Thank you,” she whispered. To God. And to Tom Murphy.
Chapter Thirteen
(in which Kevin is mush)
“Hey,Dad.”Mattwalkedinto the basement family room, a mug in each hand. “What are you working on here?”
Comfortable in the plush recliner, a card table pushed up against it, Kevin looked up to his oldest son. Was there a touch of gray at Matt’s temple? How could that be?
Kevin brushed aside the sense that he was much older than he’d been a month ago, before the heart attack. Matt had been thirty-nine years old before Kevin had bypass surgery, and he was thirty-nine years old now. Time had not slipped that much.
