A Dream To Share. Irene Hannon

she’d called them to his attention, the dozen or so framed letters on the walls registered. Turning, he scanned the one over his shoulder, noting in his peripheral vision a photo of a dark-haired minister on a tiny table in the corner. Forcing himself to focus on the letter, he realized that it was a thank-you note of some sort.

      “That letter is from a man we featured in a story about prescription drug costs and government assistance. You can do a story like that and just quote statistics. A lot of papers do. But we put a face on the numbers.” Abby’s voice rang with passion and conviction. “Jon Borcic is seventy-six years old. He was eligible for state assistance with prescriptions, but when his request got bogged down in red tape he went without food to buy his wife medicine. Thanks to that article, the agency cleaned up its act. And people like Jon don’t have to go hungry anymore in order to care for the ones they love.”

      Her voice choked, and she stopped long enough to take a deep breath. “So, no, Mark, this isn’t just a job. That’s why I do everything I can to keep the paper going. Including passing up a paycheck once in a while.”

      Once again, Mark found himself speechless in the presence of the petite dynamo across from him. And thinking how unfair it was that Abby had to carry the full weight of such a burden on her slight shoulders. He’d made a few discreet inquiries and he knew she wasn’t married. But the minister in the photo he’d just noticed must be important to her. Why didn’t he help? His gaze flickered to the framed image.

      “My brother. And ministry pays even less than journalism.”

      As she answered his unspoken question, he shifted his attention back to her. Now he could add mind reading to her many talents.