Home to Heal

by Lois Richer

  “I’m so sorry, Abby.” Zac reached out, found her arm and slid his hand down it to give her fingers a squeeze.

  “Thank you. It’s been difficult, but God’s will prevails.”

  Meaning? Zac’s curiosity about that statement consumed him until they were at cruising altitude. When the flight attendants offered a variety of beverages, he smiled at Mia’s choice of pineapple juice and Zoe’s slower decision to have mango. His daughters certainly were children of the tropics. A few minutes later their voices changed, grew excited.

  “What’s happened?” he asked Abby.

  “Mia and Zoe just received the cutest drinks with tropical umbrellas,” Abby told him, a smile in her voice. “They’re pretending to be ladies at a tea party. You have very sweet children, Zac.”

  “Thank you.” He wanted to ask if she had other children, but figured that if she had, she wouldn’t have left them in Africa and come here alone. Zac wasn’t sure why he was so certain Abby had been a great mother, he just knew that was the case.

  Why didn’t she have her orphanage anymore? He’d ask her later.

  “Daddy, we look just like those pictures of Mommy!” Zoe’s loud voice made most of the first-class passengers chuckle.

  “The girls talk a lot about their mother,” Abby said. “You’ve done a very good job of keeping her memory alive for them.”

  “I’ve done my best. There are so many things I don’t want them to forget.” Zac shrugged. “Maria was better than I am at recording the important stuff.”

  “Oh.”

  He felt Abby’s sudden jerk and quickly asked, “What’s wrong?” thinking his daughters must have spilled their drinks.

  “Maria and Zac. Mia and Zoe. How clever.” Abby chuckled to herself.

  “That was Maria’s doing. Once we found out we were having twins, she spent the last three months of her pregnancy whittling down appropriate names.”

  “I didn’t mean to remind you...” Abby stopped.

  “I’m always reminded of Maria. But it’s not as painful as it was at first. You must know that,” Zac said, thinking of her husband and son. “The sharpness of loss gradually recedes with time, though you’ll always miss them.”

  “How did Maria die?” Abby added cream to his coffee at his request.

  “Brain aneurism. It was very fast. No lingering goodbyes or chances to say all the things I thought of later.” Zac half smiled as the memories cascaded. “But Maria knew how much I loved her, just as I know how much she loved me.”

  “How wonderful to have that to cling to,” Abby said in a tone so soft Zac almost didn’t hear.

  He was about to remind her that she must have the same tender memories, but he checked the impulse. Abby had offered no details about her husband or her marriage. Zac knew not all couples were happy together...

  He heard a soft sniff.

  “Excuse me.” The clang of her seat belt and a rush of cool air told him Abby had left her seat.

  Puzzled, Zac savored his coffee, replaying the few words she’d shared. He couldn’t find any clue in them as to exactly who Abby Armstrong was. All he knew was that she was an excellent caregiver for his daughters.

  He needed to format some kind of plan for his future, generate possibilities, figure out what he should focus on first. He needed to establish a goal. That was the way Zac worked best.

  But Abby’s fragrance, the most haunting perfume he’d ever breathed, kept drawing his thoughts back to her, reminding him that all his hopes and dreams for his mission, for his life, were gone.

  * * *

  Abby peered at herself in the tiny mirror and dabbed at her eyes. How stupid to get so maudlin over the past. Except it wasn’t the past that had caused that burst of emotion. It was Zac’s tender words about loving Maria and she him that had touched a raw spot in her heart.

  Oh, to be loved like that.

  “Stop it,” she ordered her reflection. “It’s finished. Ken’s gone. You’re free to do what you will, when you want. Free to come and go as you please, free to find a home for yourself or take up jogging. Whatever. No one can take your freedom away from you again.”

  If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. John 8:36

  Abby repeated the verse several times, letting the familiar words erase the sorrow and longing in her heart. She was in a new country, starting over. Once Zac and his daughters were settled on the family ranch she would leave. She’d spend time exploring this second chance God had given. Why waste thoughts on a past she couldn’t change?

  Except for Levi. She missed his toothy grin and infectious giggle. How her arms ached to hold her little son close, to nuzzle his neck and press kisses against his rounded belly. Why had Ken insisted on taking her and Levi flying that day? Because of their argument? Because she wouldn’t obey him and get rid of the kids she took in? Because she wouldn’t agree that he needed a newer, fancier airplane?

  She’d often wondered if Ken had been trying to punish her by doing those acrobatic flying stunts and if that had caused the motor malfunction leading to the accident. Had Levi’s death been her fault? The thought haunted Abby.

  Yes, she was free. She was also alone.

  Blocking out her sadness, Abby exhaled, straightened her shirt and swept a hand over her almost-black hair, smoothing it to give the orderly, confident look she needed to assuage her inner uncertainty. Then she stepped out of the tiny cubicle. The sound of a little girl weeping made her hurry to Mia and Zoe.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked after hugging Mia’s tearful face against her shoulder.

  “She pinched her finger in the seat belt,” Zoe explained. “Daddy told her not to undo it but she disobeyed. That’s why she got hurt.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Let me see.” Abby glanced at Zac, knowing he must be frustrated at not being able to watch what was happening. He was so handsome. Her heart picked up speed and she had to refocus. “It’s all right. It’s just a tiny pinprick. I have a plaster in my purse.” She retrieved it and returned.

  “What’s a plaster?” Zoe asked. “Oh, you mean a bandage.”

  “In the school I went to, our matron—principal,” she quickly substituted, “called them plasters. Let’s stick it on. There. All better?”

  Mia spent a few seconds examining Abby’s treatment before nodding.

  “Daddy always kisses owies better,” Zoe said.

  “Does he?” Abby bent and brushed her lips against the child’s bandaged finger. “Better now?”

  “Uh-huh.” Mia quickly added, “Thank you,” after her father cleared his throat.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie.” Abby spent a few more minutes reassuring them that their grandparents would love the drawing they were creating before she took her seat again. “After they’ve served lunch, I’d like to bathe your eyes,” she told Zac. “Will that suit?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He chuckled. “Will that suit? You sound a bit like an English schoolmarm.”

  “Sorry.” Zac’s playful grin knocked Abby off-kilter and she struggled to regain her businesslike composure. “I was just telling the twins that my schooling took place at a very proper English boarding school. I guess I picked up the English idioms there.”

  Abby hadn’t wanted to stare, but now she studied Zac more closely. His dark brown hair was cut short, but not short enough to prevent one wavy section from flopping down over his forehead almost to his eyebrows. He was tall, probably six feet, and very lean, although some of that may have to do with his recent ordeal.

  “Tell me about your orphanage, Abby. Please?”

  Because the trip would be long and because she felt sorry for Zac, who didn’t have the luxury of studying other travelers or reading a book to pass the time, she agreed. She would weave a story for him about the country she’d called home for so many years. But she’d choose her
words very carefully because, despite his lack of vision, she was beginning to realize that this doctor was keenly perceptive.

  “I fell in love with Africa’s animals first.” Perhaps she could divert discussion from the orphanage and its beginning.

  “I can well imagine. I’m sure my girls would love to hear you talk about them,” Zac said with a fond smile directed toward the chattering girls. “But I’m more interested in how your orphanage started. What prompted you to do such a thing?”

  “I was newly married. We lived in Botswana.” Abby ensured her tone was neutral so she gave nothing away. “I told you my husband was a pilot? Well, I often felt lonely. When Ken was home he mostly did the shopping, but one day he was away and I was hungry for some fruit. So I went to the market.”

  How she’d loved the times when she could go to that market on her own. Chattering in her broken Setswana, feeling the sun on her face, choosing her favorite fruits and vegetables without criticism about their price or how the sellers always gouged their customers...

  “Shopping days were freedom days,” she murmured, suddenly homesick.

  “Freedom days?” Zac’s forehead pleated in a frown. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that you could buy anything at the market,” Abby substituted quickly in her breeziest tone. “Hats, a shawl, food, books. There was this one seller who sold the most amazing handmade baby clothes—”

  Memories swamped her. Levi’s first booties had come from that stall.

  “I don’t want to make you sad,” Zac murmured.

  “You haven’t. Just remembering.” She inhaled and started over. “Anyway, I was at the market when I spotted a little boy sitting by himself at the side of the road, crying. He’d fallen and, I believed, knocked himself unconscious for a while because he had a big bump on his head. He said his name was Abioye, which means son of royalty. He’d been hiding from what he called ‘the bad men’ for several days. He was dirty and scared and desperately hungry.”

  “Poor kid.” Zac’s empathy was so different from Ken’s disgust when she’d told him the story.

  “I cleaned up Abioye and bought him some food, which he devoured in seconds. Then I sat with him to wait. I naively thought his family would show up to fetch him. But the market shut down, people left and still no one came.” She remembered feeling as if they were shunning her. “I asked tons of people, but no one would take the boy. They wouldn’t explain, wouldn’t even talk to me. I couldn’t just leave him there alone, so I brought him home. He was the first one.”

  “You never found out about Abioye’s family?” Zac shifted so he was facing her. “Lost in the sickness that plagues Africa, perhaps?”

  “Actually, his father appeared at our door almost a month later,” she said, smiling at the memory of how that regal man had simply strolled into her yard one afternoon. “He’d sent Abioye to Botswana for safety, but the boy’s bodyguards were killed along the way. Abioye was pursued and got lost.” She sighed. “That father had been desperately searching for his son for so long. Their reunion was very moving. Such love.”

  Zac was silent for a moment. “So after Abioye, other kids started coming to you?”

  “Sort of.” Abby tried to condense the tale. “Afa, Abioye’s father, was the head of an underground organization working to stop guerilla fighters and instigators from causing strife in several African countries.” She licked her lips. “Afa was so delighted with Abioye’s care that he asked if he could send other children who needed to escape their homes, had lost their parents or needed protection. I would keep the kids for a while and when it was safe Afa would send someone to get them. I agreed. It was my way to help the helpless.”

  “But that could have been dangerous.” Zac frowned. “How involved was your husband?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t. Ken traveled constantly. It was up to me to care for the children,” she quickly assured him, unwilling to confess just how strongly Ken had objected.

  “Still, he couldn’t have liked you being placed at risk.” The doctor tilted his head as if waiting for her to respond.

  “No,” Abby admitted very quietly. “He did not.” Ken’s protests had been more about him being inconvenienced than her safety. “But I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I had to help. Especially because they were kids.”

  “So then...?”

  “I think perhaps I should change those dressings now,” she said quickly. “I’m worried we might be traveling through some turbulence later.”

  “Oh?” Zac lifted his head. It felt as if he could see through those bandages straight into her mind. “I guess that’s okay.”

  Abby didn’t want to talk about Ken anymore. She would help Zac and his daughters to the best of her ability, but she was never again going to let any man get close to her heart. Ken had ruined her past, but no one would get the opportunity to ruin her future.

  Chapter Two

  In all the treatments Zac had received since his injury, he’d known only one other medic with the same soft, soothing touch as Abby’s, and that woman had been a nurse for more than fifty years.

  “You’re good at your work,” he said when she’d finished rinsing his eyes, applied the ointment and once more secured his eye coverings. “Thank you.”

  “You’re an excellent patient, Zac. No yelling.” He heard the amusement in her voice and the click of her case as she stored her supplies. “Now, I’m thinking it might be a good idea for each of us to sit with a child while the meal is served.”

  “I don’t know what use I’ll be.” Zac shrugged off the helpless feelings that continually plagued him. “But you’re the boss, Abby.”

  It turned out, however, that the twins preferred to sit together and share the meals which someone had thoughtfully preordered especially for them. Mia liked the fruit chunks, Zoe snacked on the vegetables and both girls devoured their pasta in record time. When they’d munched their cookies and finished their milk, Zac reflected on how to counteract their increasing restlessness until Abby suggested the girls use the earpods she’d brought to listen to stories she’d already installed on her iPad.

  “You’re so organized,” he complimented her when Abby was seated again. “I’m very glad you’re here. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

  “I’ve looked after kids, remember?” He visualized her shrugging after that comment. “Now, I’ve revealed enough about myself.”

  Revealed? Zac frowned. Meaning she was hiding something?

  “I want to hear about your background and this ranch we’re going to,” she said.

  Since losing his sight, Zac had grown adept at hearing undercurrents. He figured Abby no longer wanted to talk about her work or her disapproving husband. He didn’t press because there were other things he wanted to learn about this woman.

  “What do you know about Montana, Abby?”

  “It’s cold. Colder than Africa,” she quickly added.

  “That’s true.” Zac chuckled as he mentally measured the intense African heat against lovely midsummer mountain breezes that kept Hanging Hearts Ranch in the temperate zone.

  Wait till she went through a mountain winter.

  Of course, Abby would be gone by then. The thought brought a wash of sadness.

  “Talk, Doc,” she ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He thought a moment. “Here’s the short story. Years ago my family was in a car accident. My parents didn’t survive it. We three Calhoun boys were adopted by Bonnie and Ben Halston, ranchers who run a beautiful spread that extends to the edge of Glacier National Park. It’s gorgeous land, picture-perfect and ideal for active boys to grow up on.”

  “So you’re coming home to be a rancher?” Abby’s curiosity was evident.

  “Doubtful, though I’ve always treasured the Double H—that’s short for Hanging Hearts Ranch,” he explained. “We Calhoun brothers found our refuge th
ere. We were deeply loved and cared for by the Halstons and encouraged to become the best we could be at anything we chose.”

  “But you didn’t become a rancher?” she asked.

  “I’m sure Bonnie and Ben would have loved that, but—” He hesitated, then decided to speak the truth. “I’ve wanted to be a doctor, like my birth dad was, since I was six years old,” he answered honestly. “Even now, I can’t comprehend doing anything else.”

  Hearing his own words, Zac suddenly realized that he might have to reconsider his career choice if he didn’t regain his sight.

  “The girls said your wife was a doctor, too.” Abby’s quiet prompt drew him out of his introspection.

  “Yes. Maria and I met in medical school. We shared a dream to build a clinic in Africa that was so well-equipped we could meet a host of needs. Maria was our primary fundraiser.” Zac felt the familiar tug of sadness at the loss of his wife and partner. “But to your point, even if I did want to stay on the Double H, what good is a rancher who can’t see?”

  “The doctor’s prognosis didn’t predict that.” Abby sounded—what? Sorry for him?

  The last thing Zac wanted was sympathy. But before he could reject it, Abby continued speaking.

  “If that is the Lord’s will, and I don’t believe it is,” she added gently, “there are still many things you could do.”

  “I’m not ready to go there yet.” Zac gulped, petrified by the thought of never seeing his daughters’ faces again, never watching them walk down the aisle in their wedding dresses, never seeing his grandchildren.

  “No, of course not,” she said soothingly, but that didn’t stifle the horror he kept reliving.

  “The attack—” He gulped, barely able to speak. “It was so senseless. An attack on the vulnerable in the most vicious way possible.” He shook his head, unable to force out the images. “The twins were at a sleepover outside our compound, thank God. I was blinded, by debris from the explosions, I think. Seconds later another blast knocked me out. At the hospital, police told me John had taken the children to a safe place. You.”