Rescued by the Firefighter

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  A short drive and she spotted the inn, white stucco crowned with brown gingerbread siding. As they pulled into the parking lot, she noticed a tower with people gathering below. “What’s happening?” She pointed to the crowd.

  “I’m the king of distraction. We timed it perfectly.” He hurried around to the passenger door, opened it and slipped his hand into hers as he guided her into the gathering crowd. “It’s a glockenspiel and it tells the story of the Pied Piper.”

  As they settled, the tower came to life; doors opened and the story began with carved characters. She zippered her jacket to chase away the chill and watched the Pied Piper lead the children out of town. They never returned. The evil in the story caught her, and visions of the men who came and went in her life turned her stomach.

  She spotted Clint’s grin as he watched the glockenspiel’s mythical story and forced the thoughts from her mind. Clint brought her sunshine and flowers even in autumn. His influence helped her see that life could be beautiful. Now she wished she’d finished telling him about her messed-up life. He needed to know the full story. Maybe not now.

  When the glockenspiel silenced, the story ended. Clint wove his fingers between hers and led her inside. They saw a woman in a traditional dirndl dress, white puffy short sleeves with embroidery around the square neckline and a navy corset threaded with colors matching the print skirt covered by a white apron embroidered with the same flowers. She smiled and led them to one of the dining rooms within the inn filled with German ambience.

  While perusing the menu, Paula shifted her eyes to Clint, who seemed unimpressed with the vast menu of German foods, but the choices overwhelmed her, and she folded the menu closed and set it on the table. “You can pick something for me. I have no idea what these dishes are.”

  His grin spread warmth up her arms. “Let’s get a combination.” He pointed to the choice.

  She studied the variety of dishes, never having heard of rouladen and sauerbraten. The only thing she recognized was their famous fried chicken. That was one food she enjoyed. He ordered, and within minutes food appeared on the table, an abundance of salads and breads, and before she could sample those, the waitress arrived with bread stuffing, potatoes and finally the meats. Her head spinning, she tried samples of each food.

  “Disappointed?” Clint’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  “Not one bit. I wish I had more room to enjoy it, but I’m about filled up to here.” She raised her hand above her eyebrows.

  “I see another inch there. Don’t stop now.”

  “Do we have time to pick up some of that fruity bread at the bakery? Imagine it as French toast.”

  “It’s stollen bread. We have plenty of time, but could we pay for it?”

  It took a moment to understand his silliness. “I suppose we should.” She grinned, feeling his lighthearted spirit spread through her. He made it easier to push her should-haves away. For now she’d enjoy his mood. Outside she would tell him the rest of her story.

  After coffee and a piece of strudel they shared, Clint paid the bill, reminding her again this was their first real date. He rose and took her hand as she stood. A sense of God she’d never known overtook her, and a lump gathered in her throat, feeling the gentle touch of the strong firefighter who saved lives more often than she could imagine.

  Without trying, he’d been saving hers.

  A quick trip to the bakery resulted in more than the stollen bread. A jar of preserves and some of their homemade noodles ended up in her bag. Outside, the late afternoon sun sent a rosy glow on Zehnder’s Restaurant across the street. With the look of a plantation, the restaurant appeared as busy as the inn. She eyed the glockenspiel tower overhead, quiet now.

  Clint slowed to a stop. “Would you like to walk around town or over that way?” He pointed past the parking lot. “It’s a covered bridge, all wood. About 240 feet long.”

  The delicious food lay like a lump in her stomach. She sensed it was time to tell him more. “Let’s walk across the bridge.”

  He slipped his hand in hers, and they followed the sidewalks and paths to the covered bridge. Watching for traffic, they crossed to the pedestrian walkway on the far side. For a busy day, few cars headed across the bridge and in the shadows of the setting sun, they meandered along the wooden planks, their footsteps making a thud on the boards.

  He hesitated near the middle and leaned against the railing. “This is the Cass River.” He slipped his arm around her back, his body warming her against the cooler air. When she gazed at him, she saw questions in his eyes.

  “You’re wondering why I’m quiet.”

  His grin flickered. “Now who’s reading whose mind?”

  “I sensed it.” She drew in a deep breath. “Clint, it’s not all the truth about my mother’s men friends—”

  “You mean it’s not true?” His voice rang with surprise. “I’m glad it’s not, but why—”

  “No. It’s true.” Though she’d begun her admission, ruining the lovely afternoon wasn’t what she’d wanted. “I shouldn’t have stopped when I did. There’s more to it.”

  “More?”

  The lump in her throat grew, and she swallowed. “One time when I was about ten, one of her men pulled me to him and kissed me. His mouth was wet, disgusting, and he smelled like cigarette smoke and alcohol. At first it turned my stomach. His hand groped along my body, and I was so frightened I could only scream inside.”

  “Oh, Paula.” His voice shook, and his body tensed. “No.”

  “My mother walked into the room before anything worse happened, and she sent me to the neighbors’. She must have called them, because Mrs. Johnson was at the door when I arrived, as if waiting for me. When my mother called to have her send me home, he was gone. I never saw him again.”

  Tension eased from his body, but his breath rattled in his throat. “Thank the Lord your mother came home before anything worse happened.” He clasped her arms as he faced her. “That wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for—”

  She pressed her finger against his lips to stop him. “But there’s more—”

  “No more. You don’t have to relive those memories.” He drew her into his arms. “No child should endure any of that, Paula. You can’t carry the weight of the man’s sin...nor your mother’s.”

  He tightened his hold on her and tilted her chin upward. “You worry because I’m a believer and you don’t know what I’ll think of you, and then you worry I’ll hold your past against you.” He searched her face. “Here’s what I think. You were a child, living in a world that no child should have to face. You were innocent. How can anyone blame you since this has nothing to do with blame? It has to do with the sin of adults who didn’t know Jesus. You were even cheated out of having a relationship with the Lord.”

  He rested his cheek against her hair. “You are pure and innocent. All you need is to know it and believe it.”

  She shuddered, tears dripping on his hand. “I’ve spent my life wanting a fairy-tale love. They’re not realistic. Life isn’t easy, and neither is love.”

  “Love can be easy, Paula.” He drew her chin upward again, his eyes probing hers. “But you have to love the right things—the right people—and we have to be ready to forgive. That’s part of love. Loving your enemies is hard, but forgiveness makes it easier. True love is a gift, freely given. Look at God’s love for His children.” He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “You and I are His children.”

  She’d heard people say those things, but she didn’t understand how to love that way.

  Footsteps sounded on the planks, and she looked in that direction and saw a family, smiles on their faces, heading their way.

  Clint shifted and stepped away from the wall. “I suppose we need to move along.”

  Though filled with questions, she joined him again head
ing to the far end of the bridge. Today had opened and closed a door she’d kept hidden from everyone. Releasing it, she realized that her great condemnation came from herself, her shame and guilt. But Clint had called her pure and innocent. She wished it were the truth. He hadn’t let her finish her story.

  * * *

  “How’d it go?”

  Clint shifted away from the kitchen counter to face Devon and wagged his head. He’d never known a man to be so preoccupied with playing cupid. “How did what go?”

  Devon’s grin grew. “The date.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You went to Frankenmuth, right?”

  “Her mother’s place first.” Devon’s questioning look didn’t flinch.

  “I know, Clint, but then you went—”

  “You must have talked to your wife.”

  “We do talk occasionally.” Devon chuckled, and Clint knew he might as well say something his friend wanted to hear.

  “Okay, pal. We had a nice time. Food was excellent. She loved Bronner’s with all the Christmas displays. We walked across the wooden bridge.” He didn’t plan to tell him anything about their conversation or the kiss.

  “And?”

  “And she bought stollen bread to make French toast.”

  Devon’s grin became a guffaw. “Okay, I get it.” Giving him a thumbs-up, Devon strutted away, his laughter following him.

  Alone again, Clint leaned his back against the counter while his thoughts sailed to the day with Paula. He’d learned so much about her—things that disturbed him. At least knowing the truth, he sensed relief, and each time he saw her he wanted to see her more.

  Their visits were inconsistent, and it was partly his fault, he supposed. At times she seemed to tune him out, and he pictured her telling him to hit the road. When those moments occurred, he understood it was her way of handling problems, but the problem was she ran away. That left him wondering if she chased away those who encouraged her to be open.

  He’d never challenged her, but he’d tried to suggest methods in dealing with life that could make a difference. Since learning about her mother’s male relationships, he couldn’t help but wonder how he fit into the picture. Instead of taking chances, he’d begun to tiptoe around her, but one thing she’d said had given him hope. When he’d playfully mentioned he’d find something to distract her, she’d suggested he was enough. But was that true?

  He recognized distraction. She’d become his, so they were on the same path. Maybe the time had come to be open about it and to find out where he stood in her life. For him, the answer became easier even with her confession. He wanted to be confident in a deeper relationship. It was what she wished for, was ready for, and it was what he wished for, what he was ready for.

  Grasping the large soup pot, he dried it and slid it into the cabinet. Today he faced kitchen duty. Definitely not his favorite. Give him kids’ tours every day. He loved it. He dried the last two pots and a skillet, then wiped down the counter and hung the towel to dry.

  With the evening meal finished, he had some free time. He pulled out his cell phone and eyed his contacts. Paula’s number rolled past, and he paused. He missed her. Facts were facts. Nothing had preoccupied him as she did recently. Her past sat between them, almost poisoning her present. If she could let it go, she could begin to live again.

  As the image slogged through his mind, his own emotional garbage heap lingered in his life. He’d allowed something he had no control over to contaminate his present, causing him to doubt himself and his ability to love right. What was loving right? He thought he had done that, but had he misjudged himself? People thought of him as strong. Even he accepted his strength saving lives and property, so why had he let the weight of Elise’s rejection grow?

  One day he prayed he could let it all go, the same as he hoped for Paula.

  His focus lowered to the cell phone in his hand. What was he delaying the inevitable for? He pressed his finger on the keypad and listened to it ring. When he heard Paula’s upbeat voice, a grin sprouted. “What’s up? Something good, I hope.”

  “You can tell from my voice, huh?”

  His smile broadened. “I sure can. What happened?”

  “Nothing positive but at least hopeful.”

  The hopeful comment reminded him of the joy she’d expressed in Frankenmuth, and he sensed his prayers had worked. “Lay it on me.”

  This time she chuckled. “Two things. First, I had a couple more job interviews, and I felt fairly positive with one of them.”

  “Great news.” His spirit sailed heavenward. “What kind of job?”

  “Part-time secretary, part-time accounting. I’ve worked with their software, and the duties sound like the same type of job I had in Roscommon before I had to quit.”

  “When will you know?”

  She drew in a breath. “He said he had two more interviews already set up, but that would be it. He’d let me know no later than Friday.”

  He loved hearing her sound positive. Her voice floated across the phone like music. Not wanting to topple her spirit, he ignored the second interview she’d mentioned. It was safer. “And what’s the second thing?”

  “The first part’s not so good. The people didn’t accept my offer on the house and didn’t counter offer, so that’s that.”

  A twinge of regret filtered through him, and though he had words of wisdom—he always seemed to have those—he let them go rather than put an edge on the situation.

  “But...”

  That caught his attention.

  “He has two more couples looking at it this week, and I’ve learned my lesson. I want to sell the house, so I really need to consider my response if they counter offer.”

  Relief replaced regret. “Good thinking. Winter’s coming on and that’s not a good time to sell, so it’s important to sell now, and my hope is they’ll see the value of the property as well as the house. It’s more than they’d get in the city.”

  “Right. I’m trying to think upbeat. I blame you for that.” Her voice sounded easier than it had.

  “I’ll willingly take the blame. I was wondering if you enjoyed your French toast.” He cringed at the blatant hint.

  “No, I saved it. Maybe one day when you’re off, you would like—”

  The fire alarm reverberated through the building cutting her off. “Paula.”

  “I hear it. Go do your job. Be safe.”

  He clicked off and slipped the cell into his pocket as he ran for his gear.

  Chapter Six

  Paula paced her bedroom, Clint filling her mind as he always did lately. But today was different. Devon had called to say Clint had been taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation. She’d gone numb, fearing the worst, and the lack of additional news from Devon made her increasingly irrational. Two hours had passed. She wanted to know something, and the longer she stared at the phone, the more upset she’d become.

  What did she expect? She’d played the “casual” game with Clint since she’d met him, hiding her real feelings as they grew, because she didn’t know what she felt or what would happen. Like a seesaw, one day she wanted a relationship, and the next, it seemed impossible. She had too much damage to be little more than a friend. Yet lately she dreamed of more.

  When her uncle went for a sandwich, she slipped into her room. Showing her upset in front of him meant being grilled. And lectured. He’d dropped hints more than once that Clint would be the perfect husband for any woman, making a point by giving her the are-you-listening eye. She remembered Clint’s wonderful attributes each time she grappled with her feelings.

  Being a nomad, hopping from one residence to another had been her life, depending on who influenced her at the time. She knew right from wrong, but she found it necessary to earn their love. She’d learned her error almost too late.

  No
w facing Clint’s accident, the truth settled in. She wanted more than friendship. He’d given her so much, and she’d offered so little. Yet she couldn’t let go of the fear that one day he would learn of her past and it would become a weapon to wound her. But as the possibility arose, it hovered only for a moment and then vanished. Most of her life she’d made bad decisions about men. She had no way to measure sincerity, and even then, her own hunger for love blinded her. But with Clint, life had become different. Her judgment had improved, and his integrity won out over any negative thoughts she had.

  When Vic had come along, she’d learned a lesson in love. It was not earned. It was given from the heart. Vic’s actions proved that for good. When he appeared in her life sitting beside her on a bar stool, she invited him to stay in her apartment. Since he was between jobs, she loaned him money, supported him, thinking that was it— waiting for the ring and the wedding bells as reality fell on her with a thud.

  A noise outside made her jump, and she snatched herself from the dark place. No more. She’d lived in that shadow too long. Her cousins and Clint had opened the windows and let in the light. She’d had enough darkness. She’d danced around her feelings for Clint long enough. She needed to tell him how she felt. Open up and be honest. He’d talked about trust and faith. They seemed to go hand in hand.

  She recalled hearing how Devon’s firefighter job nearly kept Ashley from letting herself fall in love. Though how her cousin could avoid becoming enamored, she had no comprehension. From the day she’d met him, Paula witnessed a tender, loving man who was worth the worry of a possible injury. So far, Ashley said his worst wound had been a sprained ankle. Paula shook her head. That was something even she could handle.

  She sank onto the bed, knowing she couldn’t hide out in her room forever. She pulled her phone from her nightstand, deciding who to call. Ashley? Devon? The hospital? She didn’t know which one.