CHAPTER 43
Rebecca
Buck McCafferty called Rebecca’s cell phone early Saturday morning. She took the call on the back porch, looking out at Granny’s neat rows of tomato plants, which had managed to survive the storm.
“I’m guessing a call on a Saturday morning isn’t going to bode well,” she told the newspaper owner as she took a seat at the patio table.
Granny was already up and gone, prepping the lunch at church for the storm cleanup crew.
Rebecca planned to join them at ten after a quick visit to the Bryants to see Devon.
Buck sighed. “Rebecca, the numbers just aren’t there. We’re still a few months shy of the deadline we gave you, but Stuart and I think it’s time to start talking more realistically, considering ways to gracefully close the newspaper, maybe even merge with a paper nearby.”
“I imagine you’ve been talking with W Media.”
“Them, yes, and the Charlotte paper is very interested—and they’re willing to pay big bucks, even keep you all on as staff.”
That was news. “Only I’m guessing they want a cookie cutter version of their own paper, but with a Dahlia stamp on it.”
Buck was quiet a moment. “That’s about the long and short of it.”
Rebecca pursed her lips. “If our readers didn’t like the hard news I was bringing them, they’re certainly not going to like what the Charlotte paper serves.”
“Well, W Media only wants you, which means the rest of the staff would be out of a job, plus they’re not offering enough.”
She pressed her lips together. Tiff would be fine, and Dinah could find work in sales about anywhere. But Millie? Rebecca shook her head.
“They both sound like lose-lose situations if you ask me.” She stretched her legs, gazed out at the garden. “Buck, I don’t get it—numbers are decent. Both circulation and advertising. Granted, only five percent, but that’s still a gain. We’re making money. Why are you so quick to bail out?”
“Truth?” Buck huffed out a breath. “Stuart doesn’t have a heart for this anymore, and I don’t have the capital to go it alone. That, and with my new grandbabies, I don’t want to spend the best of my golden years slaving over a dying newspaper. Not to put too fine a point on it.”
She thought a moment, the idea beginning to build. “What if you had a different partner?”
“Meaning?”
It had come to her in a dream last night, more like a vision where she saw herself and Buck in the newsroom, Millie and Dinah and Tiff before them, all smiling.
Devon had ridden by in the dream on his bike, a brand new blue one, ringing his little bike bell.
It was a wild idea, and risky. But maybe. Just maybe.
“Meaning, if I found you a new partner, an equal partner, a committed publisher/co-owner who’d front not only the money but the lion’s share of the time, do you think Stuart would consider selling out his share and you’d stay on as partial owner?”
“You?” She could almost hear the wheels begin to turn in his head. “That’s not a bad possibility.”
She had a bit of money set aside, investments she’d let sit during the recession that were now beginning to turn around. She was still young enough that she could afford to gamble it all and still build a nice nest egg for the future if everything were lost.
It was a huge leap of faith, but suddenly, it made perfect sense. And after what had happened with Devon, it didn’t feel like so much of a leap but rather a step in the right direction.
A step toward faith.
She sat straighter now, smiled confidently. “Talk numbers to me, Buck. What do you think Stuart might take to sell out his share, and how long might you commit as a co-owner?”
Buck gave her a number. She found a pen, scrawled the figure on her palm.
“And as for me, I’d say one year.” His words were slow and measured, like he was thinking as he talked.
But beneath the words, she could sense he, too, was excited about the idea.
“I’d commit to a full year of wait-and-see, with the caveat that I could pull out if the numbers nosedive.
But I’m gonna need to pray on this, talk to my wife. ”
“Let me do some talking and praying on my end, too, see what I can come up with.”
They hung up, and Rebecca found that her hands were shaking. This might be the craziest and best idea she’d ever had.
◆◆◆
“Wait—you’d own the paper with Buck? No more Stuart?” Millie’s eyes were wide as she and the other staff gathered in their rolling chairs around Rebecca Monday morning.
Dinah eyed Tiff nervously, but Tiff just stared at her boss.
Rebecca gazed back at them. Since Saturday, she’d done a lot of praying, had a lot of honest talks with herself and with God.
For the first time since she’d moved to Dahlia, she’d avoided talking to Granny about it.
She wanted the choice to be all hers, was afraid that confiding in anyone, even Granny, would cloud her decision.
Now, as she spoke to her staff, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt. She felt in her bones that God wanted her to do this, that this was her next step. And she planned to do everything in her power to make it happen. No more holding back.
She was giving it all—to Dahlia, to its people, to God.
“The way I see it, we have a few options.” She ticked off the choices on her fingertips.
“Option one, we close down and become a branch of W Media, but you all are out of a job. They only need an editor. Option two, we get sold to the Charlotte folks, only we become the South Carolina regional branch of their operation, which doesn’t do terribly much for this town, and frankly, I think it’s a bad move from the town’s perspective.
Or three, we try it this way—I become co-owner, and we go all-out and see if we can make this ship sail like never before. ”
Rebecca paused to let the words sink in.
She added, “There’s a Rotary Club grant we can apply for to help, and some Chamber of Commerce funding, too, but beyond that, I’m putting everything I’ve got on the line here—everything. If we sink, I lose it all and I’m out of a job. And so are you.”
No one spoke.
Finally, Millie said, “Honestly, Rebecca, I think I’m overwhelmed. I expected you were waiting for the next ride out of here. Yet now here you are, offering to pony up gobs of money not only to save this paper but our jobs, too?”
Tiff and Dinah didn’t say anything, just looked at Rebecca.
Rebecca took a breath.
“Millie, you’re right. For a long time I was doing just that—waiting for the next job to come my way so I could get as far away as I could.
But I’ve done a lot of soul-searching. And I think the Dahlia Weekly doesn’t deserve to get shut down because it’s had a few editors, including me, who weren’t worthy.
I don’t think the town deserves a paper that doesn’t understand its readers, either.
I’m not exactly sure why, but I can’t seem to leave this place, can’t seem to move on until I’ve set things right.
If ever. So if you’re in, and only if you’re in, I want to do this thing. ”
Millie pursed her lips. “You’re probably crazy as a loon, but if you want to throw all your savings at this newspaper, you’ve got my support one hundred percent.” She got up, wrapped her arms around Rebecca. “I think you’re doing the right thing, and I’m proud to say I’m in.”
Tiff gave an excited bounce, began to clap.
“I’m in, too! I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell y’all this, but, well ...” Tiff’s voice began to rise, became even more high-pitched, and tears pooled. “Bobby Smathers proposed! And, well, I’d love nothing more than to stay on as assistant editor of our town’s paper.”
Dinah’s jaw dropped as the others began to talk all at once.
“Well,” Dinah finally said, “I guess Smathers Grocery is our next official full-page advertiser.”
Everyone giggled, and Millie, Rebecca, and Dinah gathered Tiff in a big hug.
“Congratulations, Tiff,” Rebecca told her, feeling a rush of genuine care and happiness for the young woman. It was a beautiful thing watching someone come into her own.
“Thanks.” Tiff blushed from ear to ear. “So, Boss, tell us what to do to help now. Can we canvas the streets, appeal to the Chamber or to Rotary on your behalf?”
“I think the first thing we can do is pray for God’s guidance and hand in all of this as we move forward.” Millie held out her arms. “Rebecca, may I lead?”
Rebecca nodded, smiling, and they all joined hands as Millie began to pray.
◆◆◆
“You’re really going to do this?”
Sitting at the kitchen table that afternoon, a bowl full of string beans between them, Granny’s mouth was open as she heard the whole plan from Rebecca.
Rebecca smiled at her, surprised at the peace she felt. Here she was, risking almost every penny she’d invested since she’d landed her first job, and money was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she was just hopeful she was good enough to do the job right.
“Granny, I am! And I’ve never been so excited in my life.”
Granny shook her head, two bright spots of color on her cheeks as she broke into a grin.
“Girl, I’m—I’m thrilled to death. I don’t know what to say. These last few months, with you here in the house, have meant more to me than you could ever have imagined.”
“It’s meant a great deal to me, too, Granny. In fact, it’s hit me that I’ve spent my entire life chasing a dream when I think maybe I had it all right here in Dahlia, all along.”
Granny’s grin widened, and she gripped Rebecca’s hand now.
“Your Gramps would be so proud. To think our baby girl is going to be part-owner of our town newspaper! You know, he was on the team that hired Ron Stone, back in the heyday.”
“I had no idea!”
“Back then, the paper was run by a volunteer board that reported to the town council. Only later did it become a for-profit operation.”
“So the town’s been involved from the start?”
“Honey, it was the town that started the paper to begin with—a conglomerate of the council, the Chamber, and the churches that all teamed up to grant the initial subsidy. In the fifties, the Rotary Club played a big role in its support.”
Rebecca nodded, a slow flutter filling her chest. “So they’d have an interest in funding things to keep it going.”
Granny grinned. “That’d be grant money well-spent, if you ask me.”