Paint the Barn

by Donna Poole

Nancy leaned on her cane and watched the contractor walk around the barn shaking his head. He kicked at a rotten timber, and it crumbled. Nancy winced, lost her balance, and almost fell.

The young contractor leaped to her side and steadied her. “Hey, Miss Nancy! You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine, Ted.” She smiled when she saw the pencil tucked behind his ear. “You look too young to do things the old school way. I thought you’d probably use a tablet.”

He laughed. “I would, but my dad, who owns the company, still wants everything written on paper.” He pulled a notebook from the pocket of his brown Carhart’s then put it back.

“Aren’t you going to write down any figures so you can give me an estimate?”

He cleared his throat. “Miss Nancy, I hate to tell you, and I can send my dad out to give you his opinion, but I know he’ll say the same thing. This old barn is too far gone to save. Forget repairs. It would be cheaper to tear it down and build a new pole barn.”

She shook her head and her eyes filled with tears.

“This barn mean that much to you?” he asked sympathetically.

“It’s just that it’s been in the family over three-quarters of a century. My dad really loved it. Before he died, I promised him I’d do my best to take care of it, but time got away from me. It seems things get older faster than you expect them to.”

She wiped her eyes. “Do you think a coat of paint would help?”

He glanced again at the sun shining through gaps in the roof, at the rotting beams, and at the sagging rafters.

Nothing’s going to save this old thing. It’s outlived its usefulness and needs to be torn down, but if it makes her feel better….

He patted her shoulder. “You kinda remind me of my grandma, Miss Nancy. I’m going to give you the card of a painter I know. You tell him I said to give you my contractor’s discount.”

He handed her the painter’s card, and she convinced him to come in the house and stay for a cup of coffee and some chocolate chip cookies. She wrapped up a dozen for him to take home and share with his family.

“I don’t know why I make so many cookies. I don’t have any family left to cook for. It’s just me out here by myself. I love this place, but it does get lonely sometimes.”

Ted was in a hurry. He had five more estimates to give that day, but he knew his dad would understand. He talked to Miss Nancy for an hour.

As soon as Ted left Nancy called the painter and asked for an estimate. “I’d have to come look at your barn to give you an accurate figure,” the man said, “but even with Ted’s discount you’re looking at a ballpark amount of….”

Nancy’s eye’s widened when she heard the amount. She thanked him and said goodbye. There had to be some old paint around here somewhere. Dad wouldn’t approve; she could hear his voice warning her that there probably wasn’t enough old paint left, what there was would clump, that her hands were too shaky, and that old women had no business trying to paint old barns. But her mind was made up. She hadn’t taken care of the old barn the way she’d promised she would; the least she could do was try to spruce it up a bit. There might not be enough paint to cover the whole thing, but she’d at least paint the side that faced the road.

***

The next Sunday Nancy came home from church. She was tired. The sermon had been wonderful, but she didn’t feel part of anything anymore. Whenever she offered to help do something, someone said, “You’ve done your part, Nancy. It’s time for you to rest. Your job now is to pray for the rest of us.”

She did pray, but she wanted to do more. Sometimes she felt invisible.

Nancy took off her coat, looked at herself in the hall mirror, and laughed. There hadn’t been enough old paint left, and what there was had clumped.

“Well, Nancy,” she said out loud, “Maybe you are invisible. You tried painting the old barn and no one noticed, or if they did, they didn’t comment. Perhaps they were just too polite to say anything. You can’t afford new makeup, and you should know better than to use some that’s so old. It’s a wonder those clumps of mascara didn’t get into your eyes and blind you. And you only had enough blush for one cheek.”

She swiped at the few wisps of white hair she had left. She’d tried to arrange them to cover the bald spots, but it had been impossible. If only there was money to go to the beauty shop. She limped her way into the kitchen, thinking her legs were very much like rotting timbers.

“You and your crazy dreams, Nancy.” She chuckled. “Dreaming about a barn, contractor, and painter, probably because you sometimes feel like an old barn yourself.”

Sunday dinner would be coffee and chocolate chip cookies. Not healthy, she knew, but she had a fondness for baking cookies. She sat at the table munching cookies and thinking about inflation. Property taxes, food, gasoline—everything except her fixed income was higher every year.

And you felt sorry for yourself because you couldn’t buy makeup and get your hair done. Silly old woman, that’s the least of your worries.

 Nancy was so deep in thought she jumped when she heard someone knocking on the back door.

A young man stood there in brown Carhart’s a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said. “That your old barn over there?” He gestured across the road.

She shook her head. “That belongs to a man who used to live here, but he moved to town.”

“You happen to know his phone number?”

She nodded, and he pulled a notebook out of his pocket and jotted it down.

“What, no cell?” she teased. “You look too young to be old school with a pencil and notebook.”

He laughed. “My cell’s in my truck. And my dad owns our company. He’s the one who’s old school. He wants all the figures written down in notebooks. We buy old barn wood and make all kinds of things with it.”

Nancy stared at him. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Ted, would it?”

“You must know me from somewhere,” he said. “Sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“You wouldn’t. My name is Nancy. Do you happen to like chocolate chip cookies? I could wrap some up for you.”

He hesitated but just for a moment. “They’re my favorite!”

He waited near the door while she packaged them.

“Thanks!” he took a cookie out of the bag and munched one. “Wow, this is good. Do you like to bake?”

She sighed. “I love cooking and baking. I make too much food for one person to eat, though.”

“I’m glad I met you,” he said. “I don’t really believe in coincidence, do you? I think everything happens for a reason.”

She nodded. “Our pastor said the same thing at church this morning. God has his hand in more things than we realize.”

“I have to talk to my dad about this first, but I wonder if you’d be interested in a job?”

“You want to hire an eighty-year-old woman for a job?”

“Dad and I have been looking for someone. Mom’s been in heaven for a year, and Grandma lives with us. She’s younger than you, but she has rheumatoid arthritis and can’t cook. We don’t need anyone to clean; Dad and I can handle that, but Grandma is lonely. We’d like to hire someone to keep Grandma company and cook for us. Are you interested?”

“I think I am, but you need to talk to your dad about me, and I want to talk to God about this. Let’s talk again tomorrow, alright?” She started to close the door and whispered a prayer.

 “That sounds like a plan, Miss Nancy.”

She opened the door again. “Do you call all old ladies ‘Miss’?”

He laughed. “I’ve never called anyone ‘Miss’ in my life. I hope you aren’t offended. You just look like a Miss Nancy to me.”

“I’m not offended. You tell your dad to call me, or come see me, or whatever.”

“I thought you needed to pray about it?”

“I already did.”

Nancy watched the truck drive away then decided to take a nap. She pulled up her quilt and smiled.

Now I’ll have someone to talk to and cook for. I might even have enough money to buy new paint for this old barn. Even if I don’t, it doesn’t matter because it’s what’s inside the barn that counts. And inside this old barn is someone who still has a lot to give.

The End
***

These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

Please follow me on Facebook at Donna Poole, author