A Stranger's Gift (Women of Pinecraft)

by Anna Schmidt

  “Now what?” John said aloud to himself as he looked around for some idea of how he might get back to his place.

  “How are you feeling, Herr Steiner?”

  John turned to find Hester standing next to him. She shielded herself from the steady drizzle with an umbrella, so it was hard to see her features. Still, he could not help but take note of the fact that she was tall enough to meet him nearly eye-to-eye. Memory told him those eyes were blue, although he had no idea why that detail had registered with him. Certainly with everything else he’d had to deal with, the color of a plain woman’s eyes should be the least of his concerns. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered and turned his attention back to his surroundings as he tried to figure out his next move.

  “I thought you might want to call your aunt in Washington.” Hester lifted the umbrella higher to cover both of them and handed him a cell phone. “Or I could do it for you if you like. I mean, I appreciate that your people …”

  “Look, let’s get one thing straight. I am no longer Amish, okay?”

  “You may have chosen to leave the community, Herr Steiner, but …”

  “I did not choose anything, starting with being born into an Amish community. That was my mother’s choice.”

  “And your father’s,” she said, clearly unruffled by his attitude. “I’ll leave you to make your call, then.” She crossed the street and slipped under the canopy that protected the tables where the other women were working.

  “Hold on a minute.” John hated asking anyone for anything, especially a woman, especially this woman.

  She tilted the umbrella to one side and waited for him to catch up to her. But just before he reached her, he faltered and for one awful moment feared once again that he might pass out. “Let me get you something to drink,” she said, steadying him by placing her arm around his shoulders and shielding him with the umbrella. “When was the last time you ate an actual meal?”

  “Yesterday sometime. Maybe the day before,” he admitted, trying to remember the meal. Supper, he thought. He recalled a plate of cheese and fruit. Last night. It seemed like forever ago.

  “Come with me,” Hester said and steered him across the shopping center’s parking lot. A few yards away she pointed to an empty rocking chair in a row of similar Amish-made bentwood rockers that lined the porch of a restaurant touting HOMEMADE PIE on the large sign that was now listing to one side. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

  She handed him a bottle of water and went inside the restaurant. John guzzled and once it was gone wished he had more. His hand started to shake uncontrollably, and he felt suddenly light-headed.

  “Here.”

  She was back and handing him a paper plate stacked with bread, slices of sandwich meat, cheese, a banana, and chips. “Start with the banana,” she urged, even as John crammed chips into his mouth. She pulled a bottled sports drink from the ever-present cloth satchel. “Drink this. You need the potassium, and I expect your system needs some electrolytes as well.”

  “Arlen mentioned that you’re a nurse. What kind?”

  “A trained one,” she snapped, then seemed to mentally count to ten, softened her voice, and added, “Although there are some things you just pick up along the way.” She handed him the sports drink, then sank down in the chair next to him. “As soon as you’ve eaten, if you could make that call…I need to return the phone.”

  “To?”

  She nodded toward a man in a T-shirt and jeans and a battered Boston Red Sox baseball cap. “That’s Grady Forrest. He’s with the county and pretty much the main man throughout the entire region when stuff like this happens.”

  “Stuff like this being a mere category-four hurricane?”

  “Amazingly, it didn’t quite hit a four—made a good effort though.” She pushed the rocker into motion with one foot.

  “Felt like it when I was clinging to that cypress beam.” He took a swallow of the sports drink. He couldn’t help noticing that her canvas shoes were still soaked and caked with mud.

  “Which allows me to politely raise the obvious question,” she said softly.

  He arched an eyebrow and waited.

  “Why were you clinging to a beam that might just as easily have crushed you as saved your life? Why didn’t you leave when you were warned—repeatedly, from what Margery told me—to do so?”

  John shrugged. “I don’t like other people deciding what I should and should not do.” He noticed that she had stopped rocking and was gripping the arms of the chair.

  “You know something?” She got to her feet and glared down at him.

  “What?”

  She bit her lower lip and shook her head as if shaking off whatever it was that she’d been about to say. “I’d appreciate it if you could return the phone to Grady as soon as possible. I have to go.” She looked both ways, checking for traffic on the street, which was congested with people and bicycles, and then headed left.

  “Hey,” he called.

  She stopped walking but did not come back. He wondered if she had any idea what it was costing him to be dependent on her, a woman.

  “When can I go back to my place?”

  “Check with Grady,” she called, and then she was gone, lost among the hordes of women similarly dressed in plain cotton dresses, their heads now covered by umbrellas or hoods extinguishing the telltale prayer coverings.

  Hester knew the answer to John’s question. It would likely be days, if not weeks, before he could return to his property for good. For certain that first look-and-leave visit would be in the company of some trained disaster volunteers who would help him retrieve whatever could be safely taken before bringing him back into town. Although her father had invited John to stay with them, she couldn’t help hoping that Grady would find him a place at one of the three shelters that had been set up in the area.

  “Surely Dad will understand that we have a lot of work to do and a lot of volunteers depending on us for guidance,” she muttered aloud as she made her way toward the church. “John Steiner will be perfectly fine at the shelter. In fact, a night spent sleeping on an old cot might be just what he needs.”

  “Are you talking to yourself or to God, Hester?” Samuel asked as he fell into step beside her and offered her the shared shelter of a rain slicker he’d picked up somewhere. She’d left John her umbrella, surely a sign that she made no distinction between caring for him and caring for anyone else who might need protection from the elements.

  “Myself,” she admitted. She was glad of Samuel’s company. He was a gifted craftsman and certainly a nice-looking and gentle man. Hester had little doubt that he would make a fine partner to spend the rest of her life with. He was mild-mannered enough that he might not even insist that she abandon her volunteer work in order to devote herself exclusively to keeping house and raising a family. But Hester wanted more from a marriage than a fine partnership. She had always fought against wanting more. It was her greatest failing, that longing for something beyond the norm. She loved her work with MCC, and it was that very idea of being expected to focus on her own household and raising a family to the exclusion of anything else that terrified her. Hester was well aware that her father had been pleased by her agreement to volunteer rather than seek a paid position in a hospital. But he’d made no bones about his preference that after her mother died, Hester should transfer her loyalties to the more conservative Christian Aid Ministries where Emma was the local leader. But neither Hester nor her mother believed that God distinguished between the work she did with MCC and the work that Emma did with CAM. Her mother had not only supported her decision to work with MCC but also encouraged it.

  Then Sarah’s illness had worsened. The end had not come quickly, and the suffering her mother had bravely endured had inspired Hester as she sat with her day after week after month. Hester’s guilt that perhaps her mother’s suffering was somehow her punishment for not more closely following the traditions of her faith had been staggering. And even in her pain, Sarah Detlef had
seen that. In spite of her loss of physical capacity, Sarah had found a way to communicate to her daughter that she had made the right choice in going for her degree and that she was very proud of her for her decision to come home to Pinecraft to serve others.

  After Sarah died, Hester had convinced herself that her volunteer work with MCC was her way of honoring her mother’s memory and Sarah’s own deep dedication to service. The greater truth was that she enjoyed the diversity and demands of the work involved in the variety of projects for which she could volunteer within the committee. Already she had traveled to Central America to help rebuild communities that had suffered the effects of a rebel uprising that had left thousands huddled in makeshift camps. She looked forward to more opportunities to serve overseas. Yes, this was her calling, and John Steiner was only an obstacle, testing her determination to stay on course and help those truly in need.

  “Hester?”

  She had been so lost in thought and there were such crowds of people about that she had nearly forgotten Samuel was walking alongside her.

  “Yes, Samuel?” She did not miss the way he glanced at her and then immediately looked down at his work boots, soaked now and heavy with mud. There had been many times since his arrival that Samuel had made awkward attempts at engaging her in conversation that she assumed was his way of trying to bring them closer.

  “I was thinking about John Steiner’s place.”

  Oh, the sin of pride, Hester Detlef. She had expected Samuel’s comment to be something more personal. Perhaps an expression of his concern for her working so hard and not eating properly. He was that kind of man, always thinking of others—in this case a complete stranger. “What about it?” she asked.

  “Perhaps it’s not nearly as bad as it appeared at first glance,” he said, his words coming in a rush. “If we could salvage the first level of the house, then Herr Steiner could move back there in a matter of days.”

  “And just how would you accomplish that?”

  “Arlen mentioned a volunteer crew that is expected to arrive later today from Georgia, experienced builders and even a plumber and electrician. If Grady agrees, I could go with that crew and an engineer from the county to assess Herr Steiner’s property.”

  “And you would do this because…?”

  Samuel smiled. “Because I overheard you and Grady talking, and, well, if helping him helps you and Grady attend to those who may be in more dire straits, then why not?”

  Hester stared at him as if truly seeing him for the first time. “You are a gut man, Samuel.”

  “Ja, I am,” he replied without the slightest trace of arrogance.

  “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but as each volunteer crew arrives, they must first go where the need is greatest. It’s only fair. Herr Steiner will be fine.”

  Samuel’s smile widened. “Nein. Herr Steiner would disagree.” He pointed to where the man himself was berating poor Grady.

  Hester couldn’t help it. In spite of the chaos all around her, she started to laugh. “I would say in addition to being a good man, Samuel Brubaker, you are an excellent judge of character.”

  “Ja, Ich bin,” Samuel replied, and he looked at her so intently that Hester stopped in her tracks and gave him her full attention. “I am also well aware that others have their ideas of why your father brought me into his business, Hester, and I know that those are not necessarily ideas that you agree with. But perhaps in time …”

  He smiled at her, then left the thought hanging as he walked away. Hester watched him go, wondering if she had misjudged him. It had never occurred to her that Samuel might have his own doubts about a future for the two of them. The thought gave her an unexpected sense of relief.

  “You should perhaps go,” Samuel called out over his shoulder. “Your friend Grady might need your help.”

  But Arlen was already there ahead of her. Seemingly from out of nowhere he appeared, stepped between Grady and John, and murmured a few quiet words that had the potential combatants eyeing each other warily and then shaking hands. Hester saw her father beam with his usual delight; then he took hold of John’s good arm and started across the parking lot, taking shelter under Hester’s umbrella. Little good it did either of them as the wind had started to pick up again and the rain seemed to come at them sideways.

  “Ah, Hester,” Arlen called out when he spotted his daughter. His hand remained on John’s elbow. “Our friend here has had quite an ordeal. Show him the way to our house so that he may shower and rest.”

  “I really need to …”

  Her father’s impressive white eyebrows shot up, and his blue eyes narrowed as he handed her the umbrella. Hester knew that look, and she knew it was useless to defy it. “But that can wait,” she amended. Her father’s gaze softened with approval. “Come along, Herr Steiner. It isn’t far.”

  Chapter 6

  In spite of her polite smile, everything about Hester Detlef told John that she would prefer to be anywhere other than escorting him down the lane bordered on either side by what just a day earlier had to have been pristine white cottages set in well-maintained yards. Now the streets and yards were pocked with pools of muddy water and littered with debris. Every house had some degree of damage from the storm.

  She stepped around a neatly stacked pile of flattened picket fencing and into a yard that held the remnants of what must have been a lush tropical garden. She bent and rescued an orchid plant and carefully hung it back in the sheltering branches of a tree.

  “I thought I had gotten them all,” she murmured more to herself than to him, and seeing that Hester and her father had suffered their own losses, John turned his attention to her.

  “It was obviously a lovely garden,” he said as he followed her, taking care not to step on any other plant that might have survived.

  “Danke.” She led the way up a shell-lined path through an obstacle course of puddles to a front porch that stretched across the width of the cottage. “Normally when a storm’s on the way, we move the orchids inside. I must have missed that one.”

  “Are you the gardener?” He was determined to somehow make a dent in that prim facade that she wore like armor.

  “My father and I take our turn,” she replied.

  He couldn’t help but notice that she simply turned the knob of the front door. The house was not locked. If they were on a farm in Indiana, he might not think anything of it. But Pinecraft was located right on the borders of Sarasota, a growing and changing city with its fair share of petty crime. More than once he’d had to chase would-be vandals from his property.

  She slipped off her shoes and stood aside to allow him to enter. The foyer, if one could call it that, was made darker by the absence of sunlight from outside. He took a minute to get his bearings. A cozy living room to his left furnished with a plain but comfortable-looking sofa and two upholstered chairs. Rag rugs brightened the polished hardwood floors. Next to one chair—hers he assumed—was a basket of sewing. A side table next to the other chair was loaded with books and papers. Both chairs faced the fireplace.

  Across the hall was a small room that must be Arlen’s study. An old-fashioned wooden desk took up most of the space. John caught a glimpse of a small television set and a telephone on a side table next to a leather recliner. He noticed a hallway that he assumed led to the bedrooms and a shorter hallway leading straight back from the front door, where he was certain that he would find the kitchen. He turned his attention back to the living room, where one wall was lined with bookcases, every shelf crammed with volumes of every size and description. He felt immediately at home. His mother had loved books.

  “If you’ll wait here,” Hester said, starting down the hall toward the bedrooms, “I’ll make up your bed and put out fresh towels for you. You can use my brothers’ room, and Margery will stay with me.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Four of them. All married with families of their own and living in Ohio now. We see them often; they come here or we go t
here. They have a better opportunity to build a good life for their families there. Work is limited here. Of course it’s not the same as being all together, but we make it work.” She paused briefly to deliver this bit of information.

  “Let me help you,” he said, starting down the hall after her.

  She stopped so suddenly that he almost ran into her. When she turned, her cheeks were flushed, and she seemed to focus on some point just past his left shoulder.

  “Or not,” he said, retreating back toward the foyer. “I’ll just …” He glanced around for a place to sit. “I’ll just wait here,” he said, indicating the living room.