by Lois Richer
“Guiding? What does that mean?” She pulled on the gloves and bent her fingers experimentally, as if she expected the gloves’ thickness to impede movement.
“Guiding tourists to see the local sights,” he explained. “The northern lights, whale watching in a Zodiac, ATV treks into the wilderness or jaunts to see the polar bears—we did it all.” Bitterness oozed between his words, rendering his tone brittle and harsh, but even though he heard it, Kyle found it impossible to suppress his sense of utter loss.
“Polar bears.” Sara’s eyes were huge. She peeked over her shoulder as if expecting one to pounce from the bedroom.
“Churchill is famous for its polar bears. But it’s late in the season. When the ice goes out they leave to hunt seals. This year it’s very early but the ice is almost gone. Global warming, I suppose.” Kyle hated the fear pinching her pretty face. He rushed to reassure her. “But even if some bears are still hanging around, you don’t have to worry. There’s a town patrol that does a good job of keeping tabs on the bears’ whereabouts. Sometimes you’ll hear gunshots—pops,” he modified when her eyes expanded even more. “The noises deter the bears. I didn’t hear any on the way here yesterday or so far this morning, so it should be okay.”
“Uh-huh.” Sara inhaled and thrust back her shoulders as if she were about to venture into battle.
“Listen, Sara.” Kyle leaned forward. “Before we go outside I want to tell you something.”
“Okay.” It looked like she was holding her breath.
“Churchill is very safe.” He grabbed his jacket off the hook near the door. “But we tell this to everyone who comes here to prepare them. Just in case.”
“In case.” She gulped. “Right.”
“It might seem counterintuitive to you, but if you do happen upon a bear, do not turn your back on him and do not run.” Gently. Don’t terrorize her, Kyle. “Either of those actions will make you look like prey to him.”
“Which I will be,” she pointed out in a whisper, her face now devoid of all color.
“Well, yes.” He had to smile. “But what you want is to look like his adversary. Make yourself as tall as possible. Put your arms in the air and wave them. Yell as loud as you can. But do not run.” Why did he suddenly feel he had to protect her? “Bears love the chase.”
“Okay.” She trembled, her alarm visible.
Kyle had wanted Sara to be cautious. Instead he’d alarmed her.
Her eyes lost their silver sheen and darkened. She looked petrified.
Way to go, Kyle.
“I’d offer to drive you back, but I don’t think I could drive, even if Dad’s old truck was running. He cracked it up just before—” He swallowed, forced himself to continue. “Anyway, I don’t have transport.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Sara didn’t look fine. She looked like someone who had dredged up her last ounce of courage to face the lion’s den.
“Yes, you will be,” Kyle agreed. “Now let’s go take a look at Mom’s greenhouse.” He rose, ignored the twinge of pain in his hip and followed her outside, embarrassed by his slow progress down the stairs and Sara’s obvious attempt to ignore it.
Kyle didn’t intend to be in Churchill long, but by the time he reached the bottom step he’d made up his mind to hire someone to build a ramp. Dragging himself up and down these stairs sucked the energy out of him, not to mention that it made him feel like some kind of spectacle.
“Okay?” Sara opened the gate to his backyard.
“Just dandy.” He chose his steps over the uneven ground carefully. What a fool he’d been to wear these soft leather slippers and risk injuring himself again.
“The structure looks good,” Sara said, her head tilted to one side like a curious bird as she peered at the glass roof. “Of course, I don’t really know anything about greenhouses.”
“A friend wrote that he’d check on things till I could get home. It looks like he’s made sure everything is still solid.” Kyle pressed against the metal frame. Nothing swayed. “I brought the key. Let me check inside.”
The door swung to with a loud creak. Inside, the glass was dingy with years of dust. Debris covered parts of the floor.
“Oh, my.” Sara stared like a deer caught in headlights.
“After Mom passed away, Dad and I never used this for anything much but storage. I should have cleaned it out.” Kyle pulled away the cobwebs. “It’s filthy.”
“It won’t take long to clean.” Obviously recovered, Sara pressed the toe of her shoe against a stack of plastic bins. “What are these?”
“I don’t know. Dad must have packed them.” Kyle turned a pail upside down and sat on it. Then he opened the top bin. A bundle of bubble wrap lay inside. He lifted it out and slowly unwrapped it. A notebook fell out.
Instantly Kyle was a kid again, rushing home from school to find his mom in here, scribbling in her gardening journal while Dad teased her about her addiction to roses. Kyle gasped at the overwhelming pain.
“Kyle, what’s wrong?” Sara hunkered down in front of him. Her hand covered his. “Are you in pain?” she asked ever so gently.
“Yes.” For once he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. His heart ached so deeply he felt as if life had drained out of his body. He fought to be free, but the ache blemished his spirit like a scab on a scar.
“Can I help?”
“I’m okay.” Kyle inhaled, forced away the sadness. “This is my mom’s journal. I didn’t realize we still had it.” He flipped through the pages, chuckling at the funny drawings his mom had made. “She was always trying to produce a new breed of rose.”
“Under these conditions?” Sara lifted one eyebrow in surprise.
“Yes. Look.” He held up the book to show the sketch. “This was going to be her Oliver rose—named in memory of her high school friend. But the Oliver rose couldn’t take Churchill’s harshness. He was too weak.”
He was suddenly aware of Sara, crouched behind him, peering over his shoulder.
“I can’t read her writing.”
“No one could.” He cleared his throat. “Listen. ‘My dear Oliver is a wuss. One chilly night without the heater and he’s lost all his leaves. Pfui! A weakling. And a reminder of what God expects of us, a stiff backbone that weathers life’s challenges. I want a rose that will use the negatives of life to get tough and still bloom. I’ll wait and try again next year. But I fear my Oliver rose is finished.’” Kyle smiled. “She always spoke of her roses as if they were people.”
“It sounds like she had a sense of humor,” Sara said.
“A wicked one. Listen to this.” Kyle read her another passage about a yellow rosebush a friend had sent them. His laughter joined Sara’s. “I remember that bush. Coral Bells. It lasted year after year, no matter what adversity it encountered. My mother put Oliver next to it to give him some gumption. But it didn’t help.” He closed the book, suddenly loath to continue revealing these precious memories. “I wonder what else is in this box.”
To hide his emotions, Kyle tugged out layers of old newspaper, aware that Sara still crouched beside him, neatly folding each piece of paper he tossed on the ground. Below the paper lay trophies from school sports, local awards he and his father had won for their business, a book filled with clippings and letters from past customers—he kept pulling them out until finally the box was empty.
“Garbage.” Kyle refused to be swamped by memories again while Sara watched. “I should chuck them.” He set aside the plastic box and began working on the second bin. But it, too, was filled with childhood mementos that only served to remind him of things he could no longer do.
At the very bottom lay a series of Sunday-school awards and a big ribbon with top place printed on it in silver letters, from the championship quiz team he’d once led.
“More garbage.” Bitterness surged that God hadn’t been there when Kyle had needed Him, despite his faith and despite the many pleas he’d sent heavenward. “No need to keep any of this.”
But Sara was already rewrapping each item and laying it carefully back into the container.
“Looks like this is the last one Dad got around to packing.” Kyle paused, needing breathing space so he could face whatever came next without revealing to Sara how affected he was. “My father the pack rat must have needed room in the house.”
“I think he wanted to keep your special things safe for you,” Sara said, her voice firm yet soft. “So you wouldn’t forget your history.”
“Maybe.” He yanked off the last lid and tossed away the flat sheet of plain brown paper lying on top.
And stared at the contents.
Sara’s fingers curved around his shoulder.
He felt stupid, awkward and juvenile. But he could do nothing to stop the tears. They rolled down his hot cheeks and landed on his wrinkled shirt in a trickle that quickly became a river.
Kyle lifted out the familiar wooden box, letting the satin smoothness of the wood soak through to his hands, waiting for it to thaw his heart.
“Kyle?” Sara’s gentle voice bloomed with anxiety. But she said no more, waiting patiently until he finally pulled his emotions under control. “What is it?”
“A seed box,” he told her. His index finger traced the letters he’d carved on the lid years earlier. “It was a Christmas gift Dad helped me make for my mom when I was twelve.” He lifted open the top, slid out one of the drawers, brushed a fingertip against the velvet lining inside.
“It’s beautiful.” Sara leaned forward to examine the surface. “Is it rosewood?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised by her knowledge. “I had to order the wood specially. I thought we’d never get it done in time.” The laugh burst from him, harsh and painful. “Actually, I guess we didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Sara sounded slightly breathless.
“Mom had barely put her seeds in this when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. By planting time she was too sick to come out here anymore.” He snapped the lid closed and thrust the box inside the bin. “She was so sure God would heal her. She said over and over, ‘Trust in God, Kyle. He’ll never let you down.’” Fury burned inside, a white-hot rage that could not be doused. “Well, He did. He let me down twice. And I will never trust Him again.”
He rose and made his way to the door, not caring about his awkwardness. All he wanted was to get away, to hide out until he found a way to deal with his anger.
“Do whatever you want in here, Sara. You’re welcome to it. Just don’t ask me to help you.” With that, Kyle stepped outside. He stood there, eyes closed as he inhaled the fresh, crisp air into his lungs and blew out frustration.
You’re starting over, he reminded himself. Forget the past.
Behind him he heard Sara close the greenhouse door with a quiet click. Desperate to be alone, he headed for the stairs to the house. He almost cheered when behind him a horn tooted and broke the strained silence. Kyle glanced over one shoulder at Sara.
“It’s Laurel,” she said. One hand went to the zipper of the red coat.
“Keep it. You might need it.” He held her gaze, nodding when her eyes asked him if he was sure.
“Thank you.” She hesitated then lifted her chin. “And thank you for letting us use the greenhouse. Enjoy your cinnamon buns.”
“Thanks.” He watched her walk to Laurel’s van. She opened the door then turned to face him.
“God bless you, Kyle,” she said in the softest voice. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
“That’s not necess—” Kyle’s words fell on emptiness. Sara was gone, the van driving away.
Kyle stomped into the house, fuming. He didn’t want her here, checking on him, blessing him. He wanted to be alone, to become totally self-sufficient.
Yet as he sampled the sticky sweetness of the cinnamon buns, Kyle almost welcomed the thought of someone else, someone whose presence would stop him from being engulfed by bitterness at what he’d lost.
He stopped himself. His plan for the future did not include staying here or becoming dependent. It certainly could not include getting mesmerized by a pair of silvery-gray eyes. He would never allow himself to be that vulnerable again.
For now, Kyle was home. He’d take the rest of his life one step at a time.
But if Sara did come back, he’d try to find out more about her, like what had made her stare so longingly at his dad’s laptop when she’d seen it lying on the desk.
And why she seemed so certain God would bless him.
Chapter Four
“Have a wonderful day, Rod,” Sara said as the tall, quiet boy shuffled his backpack over his shoulders, the last of the six boys to leave. “Enjoy your first day of school. And don’t forget we’re going to the greenhouse this afternoon.”
Rod nodded, staring at her for several minutes. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
“Pretty sure.” She patted his shoulder at the sound of Laurel tooting the van’s horn. “You’d better go.”
He gave her another of those silent, soulful looks before he left.
“Arriving near the end of the year like this can’t be easy for him, for any of them,” she mused aloud. “But surely they’ll be okay, won’t they, Lord? Laurel said the school agreed to hold summer courses to get them up to speed and ready for a new term in the fall. Please help them all use this opportunity.”
Feeling a bit self-conscious about talking aloud, Sara refocused, wrinkling her nose at the stack of dishes.
“What a mess. I think I’ll leave cleanup until after I finish prepping for dinner.” Humming to herself, Sara retrieved a box of apples from the storeroom then realized there wasn’t enough counter space.
“Okay, then. Cleaning it is.” As she got to work washing and scrubbing away the remains of breakfast, she sang a praise chorus she’d learned at the church she’d attended in Vancouver. She’d barely made a dent in the mess when a small, delicate hand covered hers.
“Oh!” She jerked away in surprise.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The very proper English voice came from a tiny woman dressed in trim jeans and a fitted white blouse. Her silver hair had been caught in a knot on the top of her head, revealing periwinkle-blue eyes that sparkled like stars when she smiled. “I’m Lucy Clow. And this is my husband, Hector.”
“It’s very nice to meet you.” Sara blinked. “I’m afraid Laurel is—”
“On her way to school with the boys.” Lucy nodded. “She knew we were coming.” She lifted the scraper from Sara’s fingers. “Let me do this. Hector and I are here to help.” The loving glance she gave the tall, bald man made Sara wish someone would look at her like that.
“I do have a few things planned for today,” Sara admitted. Including cleaning Kyle’s greenhouse this afternoon. Having met Rod, she was confident he would enjoy working there. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you start?”
When Hector cleared his throat, Lucy chuckled. “Hector’s hinting that he needs a good cup of coffee before he starts work on Laurel’s computer room.”
Computer room? Laurel hadn’t mentioned setting up a computer room.
The thought of it brought Sara a burst of anticipation. But she reminded herself that having a computer and being able to use one were two different things.
She’d wanted so badly to ask Kyle about teaching her when she’d been to his house the other morning. His computer had been sitting right there, but she’d hesitated because he’d been in such pain when she arrived. Besides, wasn’t asking for use of the greenhouse enough for one day?
“I’ve just made a fresh pot.” She poured two cups. “I thought Laurel would need it when she returns.”
“I can imagine.” Lucy laughed. “Those poor boys are probably nervous about their first day.” She sipped her coffee then set it down and got to work, her hands moving with lightning-quick speed as she rinsed and stacked plates.
Hector, too, seemed in a rush as he quickly drank his coffee.
“Please relax and enjoy your
coffee, both of you. And, Lucy, it’s very kind of you to help me while Hector’s working, but don’t feel you must. This is my job.”
“Laurel says you’re very good at it, too.” The blue eyes twinkled. “I am not good at cooking, as Hector will tell you. But I’m very good at cleaning.” Lucy stacked the dishwasher deftly. Sara had never used one before and she hadn’t quite mastered loading it properly. “I like cleaning, don’t you?”
“Not so much.” Sara began washing the apples. “I won’t refuse your help because I want to get going on these apples for pies.”
“Those boys will love homemade apple pie, won’t they, Hector?” Lucy’s husband nodded but said nothing.
“You live in Churchill?” Sara began paring the apples.
“We do now.” Lucy turned on the dishwasher then picked up a knife and joined Sara. “We used to be missionaries to the Inuit in a community much farther north than Churchill. We’re retired from that now, but we believe God can still use us.” She winked at Hector. “Since we don’t have children, folks in Churchill are our family. So that makes you our family, too—Sara, isn’t it?”
“I should have introduced myself. Yes, I’m Sara Kane.” She was dumbfounded by the enthusiastic welcome these strangers offered. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too. This project is so worthwhile,” Lucy said in a more serious tone. “Each of us is under construction throughout our lives as God works on us, but it’s doubly true for these young boys. What an appropriate name Laurel chose.”
“Yes.” Sara frowned. She hadn’t thought about her life as being under construction but Lucy was right. It was.
“Why don’t I finish peeling these apples while you start your pastry?”
Hector interrupted to thank Sara for the coffee then disappeared. Apparently he’d already received his instructions about Laurel’s computer room. Lucy continued to work, humming while her knife whizzed over the apples.
After lining five pie plates, Sara had a small amount of pastry dough left. An idea occurred. After searching the cupboards, she finally found an individual-size foil dish and spread dough in that, too.