Jan Mills watches the road ahead. In the back seat sits a week's worth of food -- cereal, peanut butter, jelly, Spaghetti O's, diapers, Kool Aid. Mills, the coordinator for social services with Sts. Joachim and Ann Care Service, drives toward the home of a woman she met a little more than a year ago.

Special treat

Photos by Kristen Hare

Tammy Porter holds her son Trentin, 17 months, as Jan Mills gives Brenden, 8, cupcakes for his recent birthday.

When Tammy Porter first called, she was in a shelter for abused women. She had three children. She was nine months pregnant. And she had no home.

"A lot of folks just don't realize that there's homeless around because they just don't see them," Mills says as she drives.

"They stay hidden. They don't make a big to-do about it. They don't stand out on the corner."

The same is true of many that the agency serves, Mills thinks. People assume St. Charles and nearby counties don't have poor residents, hungry kids or people teetering toward crises.

But Mills knows better.

In St. Charles, Lincoln and Warren counties, 17,441 people lived in poverty in 2000. In 2004, that number rose to 25,420, the group reports.

"I tell everyone, I say, it could be any one of us at any point in time," Mills says.

The minivan stops in front of a unit apartments. A little boy runs out.

"Hey big dude," Mills calls to Brenden, 8. "Come and say hi."

Inside Sts. Joachim and Ann

"We had 96 families at pantry this week," someone wrote in black marker on the white board in the food pantry at Sts. Joachim and Ann Care Service.

Upstairs, case workers and administrators answer calls and bustle around amidst crowded cubicles covered in paper.

Jan Mills, coordinator for social services, prepares a box of food to take to a family.

 The nonprofit corporation began in 1981 with two nurses, a teacher, a beautician and a homemaker. Today, it serves people in St. Charles, Lincoln and Warren counties with a staff of 12 paid employees and 250 regular volunteers. In 2006, the group served about 2,400 families, or 6,500 people, it reports. Services include emergency housing, a food pantry, mental health assessment and counseling, auto repairs, emergency transportation, community outreach for homeless children, school supplies, a job development career center and work clothing assistance.

"Most of the people we see are people that have lived here for generations," says Miriam Mahan, executive director and one of the original five.

Those people are mostly white, Mahan says, and often can't afford to live in St. Charles anymore. Common problems include little affordable housing, the inability to keep a job, high rent, low wages, the higher costs of food, gas, utility bills, health insurance and lack of transportation.

People come through referrals from hospitals, churches and schools, but by the time they show up, Mahan says, "it's like triaging."

The Glass half full

Behind her son, Porter walks toward the white minivan with Trentin, almost 17 months, cradled in her arms. His head flops back in the sunlight.

Inside her apartment, the walls are bare, a baby seat sits in front of a big screen TV her brother just gave her. Seated on the couch, Mills takes Trentin in her arms, runs her hand over one cheek as he watches her.

"So when are they starting your therapies?" she asks Porter.

Trentin weighs 16 pounds and was just in the hospital. He barely eats. Doctors have told Porter and Mills he has a mitochondrial disorder, but that's too broad, Mills thinks. She's working to find out what's really going on with him.

Each week, he has five different therapists visit the home. His mom works with him, too. But feeding is the biggest problem. Porter has quit two jobs after two day cares were unable to get him to eat.

She and Mills speak often, sometimes every day. When Porter can get a ride, she comes to Care Service for food. Sometimes, she needs help with utilities or rent.

But things are good for her now, she says.

"If you always look down, it's not gonna get any better."

growing pains

The poor in St. Charles County aren't living on the streets, says Denise Liebel, executive director with the Community Council of St. Charles County. "They are intentionally all as invisible as they can be because it's not necessarily accepted in this community to be without."

And their problems differ from those of people in the city, at least in a few ways.

There's little or no public transportation available, Mahan says.

And, Mills thinks, organizations in the city have better resources and more funding.

"But human-wise, their needs, their struggles ... I don't think it draws a county line."

Care Service works with about 70 area organizations and churches.

And without groups such as Care Service, Liebel says there's no way traditional social services could keep people in the community. They provide the services "that help people not just stabilize from a crisis, but regain their footing."

The group's projected budget for this year is $3.8 million. Of that, 90 percent will go directly into programs, they report. The rest covers administration.

Mahan and Liebel both say the community has been generous in giving, though as the economy has changed, Liebel doesn't know if people can keep up.

But Care Service is trying.

By July 2009, they plan on moving to a nearby church after a capital expansion campaign. The move would take them from 4,000 square feet to 25,000 square feet. They'll also expand to become Tri-County Outreach Center, touting themselves as a one-stop shop for social services.

Until then, "needless to say, " Mahan says, "we're out of room."

No time to smell the roses

Before heading out, Brenden, the 8-year-old, shows Mills his room, which he's straightened up. Clean clothes pile up in a bin by the wall, so Mills makes a note in her head that he needs a dresser. And sheets. The family has no sheets.

"All right, I will see you guys later," Mills says as she leaves.

"Thanks for the stuff, too," Porter says as Mills opens the door.

"Thanks for the stuff," Brenden chimes in.

Outside, Mills climbs back into the minivan. Soon, she's driving past the homes with blooming gardens, the businesses and churches, toward her office. She's feeling good, like things are going well for Porter and her children.

But there's little time to enjoy that feeling. Mills' cell phone rings.

"This is Janice," she answers. "Good morning, Miss Mona ... Where are you? ... Good. I'm gonna finish up here and then I'm headed out."

Before she makes it back to the office, the phone rings again.

Then again.