Gran'py

His name was Tom, but he was called ‘Jingle’. Well, none of his sons never had the nickname—not to stick to ’em—till it come to my Gran’py; instead of calling him ‘Jingle’, it got to ‘Jinkey’; […]

Becky looked at his lame leg, thinking how sad it was for him that he couldn’t dance in the sword dance as his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had danced it. / He saw her look and understood her thought and put his hand on her shoulder. “My Gran’py,” he went on, “will play the fiddle, seeing he’s too old to dance now.[…]”

I can say what I've done till now – meeting with Claude, the banker; proposed pairing needs with volunteers, and Squirrel gave it a name, forming a granny/gran'py group for immediate help; must still talk with the corporate rep. Then, we need money, food-stuffs and jobs for which I have no idea how to conjure…