There were times when Conrad and I would move, before I found cleaning services, that I did the cleaning, and right then, new to Magdalene, I’d been doing it at Cliff Blue and I liked it. I didn’t want to do it for eight hour days, five days a week, but it wasn’t terrible. And it felt nice to accomplish something.

No, it felt nice just to do something. Something needed. Something real.

And I’d never thought of senior citizens but I didn’t have an aversion to them. All my grandparents had loved me, so had Conrad’s. They’d really, really loved me. In fact, anytime we were together, I’d always end up sitting with them or off somewhere with them, talking, sharing, joking, laughing. I liked my grandparents and Conrad’s a whole lot better than my own parents (and, incidentally, Conrad’s) and I’d been devastated as, one by one, we’d lost them all.

Maybe that was something else I had a talent with.

Still, I said to the pastor’s wife, “To be honest, I would need to discuss what was needed of me but I can clean. I can cook. I can talk. I can tidy. I can organize. I can look after people. And I like doing all of that. So I’d like the opportunity to discuss it.”

Her eyes slightly narrowed, not in an unkind way, but in a speculative one when she said, “I wouldn’t like to introduce these people to a volunteer who isn’t interested in helping out how they need it, and just as importantly, for the long haul.”

“I would agree,” I replied. “That’s why I think I should know what I’m getting into so I can know if I can give them what they need. However, I do want to find something I enjoy doing, something that’s useful, and do it for the long haul.”

I drew in breath as I bought time to say the words I needed to say without lying in a house of God.

Then I said, “My children are older. They don’t need me as much anymore and my husband and I are divorced so I actually don’t have them all the time. I’ve never worked, but with an empty house, I need something to fill my life. I think I might like it filled with some elderly who are doing me a return favor by keeping me company.”

She studied me a moment before she said softly, “I like that you think of it that way.”

“I’m glad,” I replied then introduced myself. “I’m Amelia Hathaway.”

She lifted her hand and started to me, with me meeting her halfway. “Ruth Fletcher.”

We clasped hands and her hold was firm and warm. “Lovely meeting you, Ruth.”

“And you, Amelia,” she replied.

We let go and she motioned to the desk. “How about you give me your telephone number? I’ll call Dove House and we’ll set up a meeting with Dela Coleman.”

“Excellent,” I agreed, moving with her to the desk.