Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One

by David B. Smith

  “Yeh.” Benjamin was a pudgy guy with scraggly, uneven sideburns and a knotted necktie that never quite made it to the top. The shorter piece poked stubbornly to the side and she noticed with a smile that a leftover bit of his lunch was quivering on the cheap fabric. “But they’re good kids.” He put a whistle to his lips and gave a sharp blast. “Tuitt! You guys share! Let someone else shoot the basketball every now and again.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Oh, my. I’m launching into me third year at this lunatic asylum.” A short laugh. “Me mum thinks I’m daft to toss my life away here in Bangkok.” He pronounced the capital city by accenting the second syllable, and she filed away the idiosyncratic habit. “But these are good people here, and I get on well with the lot.”

  “You mean you’re not . . .” She wasn’t quite sure how to finish the question but he anticipated her query.

  “You mean am I part of your Jesus brigade? Heavens, no!” Another laugh and a scratch of his mustache. “Dearie, I’m what you folks call an expat. Expatriate. I was touring here in Asia a few years ago, got robbed, then got sick for two months. By the time I recovered, I had a big hospital bill to deal with and me charter group had flown off to London without me.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Yeh. So I scrounged around for a bit, and one day found this very dear bloke who said, ‘Well, laddie, if you can at least show respect for our faith and all, come teach chemistry for us here at BCS.’ So I thought, rather than starve to death, I’ll give it a go.” He snickered, not disrespectfully. “I reckon I can memorize the words to your ‘Jesus Loves Me’ tune and keep me face straight.”

  “Are you a homeroom teacher?” She didn’t want to pry, but the idea of a colorful agnostic like Benjamin faking prayers and smirking his way irreverently through Bible stories with a classroom full of innocent freshmen gave her a funny feeling. If John and Marilyn were trying to assemble a team of superstar Christians, Mr. Cey was definitely a benchwarmer at best.

  He roared with laughter. “Not in a long century, lovey. Mr. Garvey knows better than to make me the padre of a parish here.” The pair turned to pace back the other way, and she peeked at her watch to make sure they still had a bit of time. “No, I just teach three sections of high school chem, plus an AP section, and also one of world history. A bit of fakery there, but no one’s caught on yet that old Mr. Cey is an imposter.” He winked. “Chemistry, though, I know me way around that topic. Got me masters and the lot back in Liverpool a whole decade back. So haven’t blown all of Bangkok into the sea just yet.”

  He pulled a handkerchief out and mopped at his forehead, which was beaded with sweat despite the indoor air conditioning. “You and your cherubs are ready to head back in to the dungeons?”

  “Yes, please.” She was amused at his colorful flamboyance, and felt a sense of relief that, despite his irreligious ways, he appeared to be a forthright gentleman.

  He tweeted his whistle and hollered. “All right, ladies and gents. Chemistry Three is in seventeen seconds. And you lovely Thai angels who live in Miss Stone’s universe, your happy time is over as well. Off with all of ya, now.”

  Protesting, her own kids dashed up to her. “Please, Missie Stone, it’s not time! Five more minutes!”

  “No, you heard Mr. Cey,” she teased. “He’s a big strong man and he says we must go in.”

  “No! Missie Stone, he don’t boss us. You do. Please!” Three of the girls tugged at her hand, mock pleading in their eyes. They all laughed

  “If you’re up in your seats and quiet by the time I count to ten, then I’ll read you a story.”

  “Yes! Yes!” Vuthisit, the brightest girl in the room, and with a stunningly pretty face, gathered the girls around her in a conspiratorial circle. “But count to ten slow, Missie Stone. And count in Thai!”

  “No!” A look of mock horror crossed Rachel Marie’s face. “If I speak Thai, Mr. Garvey will fine me twenty baht.” It was the standard penalty for any unguarded lapses into the native language, but very casually enforced among the younger grades.

  “No, he don’t punish you, Missie! You are favorite teacher here! You do in Thai.”

  “Okay, but I’ll do it softly so we don’t all get in trouble.” Grinning, she stage-whispered: Nueng . . . song . . . sahm . . . see . . . hah. Squealing delightedly, the girls stampeded up the stairs.

  Even after the closing bell that afternoon and their farewell prayer, she was still suppressing a grin. Jesus, thank you for these kids. I’ve never had such a good time. Even Siroj, the wanna-be rebel on the back row, had a keen mind and couldn’t hide his interest in her worship stories.

  There was a rap on her open door, and she looked up. “Oh, hi, Khemkaeng.” Rachel Marie straightened up. “How are things?”

  He made a harried gesture. “So busy in the office still,” he sighed. “Five new students yesterday and today, so it is much work to process everyone. But we are thankful for extra tuition. And they all come from good families.”

  “Well, don’t try to squeeze any of them in here,” she laughed. “We’re all full up.”

  He slid into the one adult-size chair in the room and pulled it closer. “However, our annual budget may be saved after all. I hear that you possibly owe this school twenty baht, Miss Stone.”

  She gave him an unrepentant look. “I did count to ten in Thai just because it would take longer that way.”

  Khemkaeng grinned. “Well, I will have to fill out a forgiveness form so the penalty can be waived.” He shook his head gravely. “More work for me, Rachel Marie.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  He glanced approvingly around the room, noting the feminine touches and the beautiful potted plant she had brought in and placed by the window. “Are you enjoying this so far?”

  Rachel Marie sighed happily. “You have no idea. I really love it.”

  “I am so glad. John and I feel great fortune that you were the one we found. We hoped for a new teacher with great talent, and here you are.”

  She bent over and logged off the school’s computer grading system. “I do have a question.”

  “All right.”

  She gave a typical female flounce of exasperation. “I need to know where to go shopping for clothes. I didn’t really come out here with very much and . . .”

  He laughed. “I carried one of your suitcases up all the stairs, and it seemed to be very full with something.”

  “Yeah. But only about four outfits,” she remonstrated. “No, seriously, where is it good to go shopping? I guess I could just ask Ellen or someone.”

  “No.” His rejoinder was quick. “Bangkok is the finest place in the world to shop for a . . .” He strained for the word. “Wardrobe?”

  “Really?” She remembered the large mall they had passed in the tuk tuk two weeks earlier. “What stores do you recommend?”

  “The best thing is to go to a tailor. They make whatever you want. The style–perfect. The pattern–whatever is your preference. Any color. And very cheap.”

  It was a novel thought. She remembered reading elegant tales where the rich and famous enjoyed the luxury of tailor-fitted clothes from the storied Savile Row in London. “What do you mean?”

  “Thailand is filled with many crafts people. To come to our country and order clothes from a tailor is the purpose why many tourists visit.”

  “Oh.”

  He hesitated as if weighing something, then decided. Pointing to his own elegant coat sleeve, he asked: “Do you like this suit? It is okay?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” she assured him. “That’s the first thing I saw when I got here. Every day you have on the most professional-looking clothes.” She felt a bit of scarlet creep into her cheeks.

  Khemkaeng glanced at his watch. “Here is my idea. Work here a bit longer. At five I can be finished in the office. I will take you to the tailor I use. His prices are excellent: always twenty percent discount because his sister has two boys here. You can shop with
him and perhaps order some good dresses.”

  It was an intriguing idea, and she couldn’t dismiss the stray thought that some time with her pleasant Thai friend would be a nice break from the bustle of the classroom and her tiny apartment. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  * * *

  Traffic was clogged as he motored carefully down Sukhumvit Road. “You see here Benjasiri Park.” He reached across her to point to the left, where soccer players jostled for position on three broad fields. One by one, four luxury hotels loomed into view as the elegant Sky Train rumbled past them on the right.

  “Down here.” Waiting for an overloaded bus to pull away from the curb, he parked in a small lot next to a series of shops. “This is, I think, one of the best tailor shops in Bangkok.”

  “Boy, this is really nice of you.” She had to almost skip to keep up as they hurried toward the shade provided by the building.

  A man standing at the counter looked up and beamed as he saw the school leader. “Sawatdee.”

  The two men chatted in Thai for just a moment before switching to English. “This is our excellent new teacher from the U. S.” Khemkaeng boasted.

  “Yes, yes.” The proprietor gave Rachel Marie the traditional wai greeting, pressing both hands together by his chin and bowing. “All the students at school say, ‘Missie Stone is very good new arrival.’ All children want to be in Prathom Six now.”

  She laughed, hoping the flattery contained at least an element of truth. “Thank you. I feel like God has blessed me in letting me come to work here.”

  “Yes. This is true.” He gestured at the many bolts of fabric. “We have everything, madam. All beautiful fabrics. The finest quality only.”

  Rachel Marie gulped, realizing that she didn’t know one weave from another. “Khemkaeng, you better help me. Back home I just try something on and buy it. I don’t know what fabrics are good for here.”

  He laughed. “The best thing is for it to be cool and not wrinkle.” He said a few words in Thai, and the owner pointed them toward a row of nice prints. “These are the finest cloths for dresses. Also blouses,” he added hopefully.

  He went to the other room and called out. A moment later, a young Thai girl came in, greeting the two visitors with a wai.

  “Wandee will take measurements,” he explained. “Then you can select preferred styles, et cetera, et cetera.”

  Rachel Marie flashed back to the old et cetera movie scenes where the king of Siam, pleased with himself, parroted the English phrase over and over. The memory brought a smile, and she set her purse down. “Tell me what you need.”

  Khemkaeng discreetly stepped out of the store and busied himself on the phone while the young assistant draped a tape measure around her customer, calling out Thai numbers as the owner jotted them down on a chart.

  “You like loose here? Or not so much?” He peered up at her as they draped the tape around her waist.

  “Oh, about medium.” Rachel Marie laughed. “When I’m teaching, I have to move around a lot.”

  “Yes. You are right. We will go for a comfortable style, but also most attractive.” The man chortled, revealing several gold teeth. “In Thai language we say sooey mahk.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Sooey mahk mean very pretty.” He cocked his head, eyeing her. “You probably hear oftentimes in Thailand, madam.”

  “No, not really.” She flushed, though, at the nice words.

  Khemkaeng returned just as she was making her selections. “Did you find something you liked?”

  “Too many things!” she groaned. “I can’t possibly pick.”

  “Then get them all,” he advised. “Often the store can do four for almost the same price as three.” He chattered in Thai with the shop owner, then turned to her. “You buy these three here”–he pointed to the fabrics she had picked out–“and he can do the extra for only two hundred baht more. Six dollars U.S. Fabric only, so the making is almost free.”

  Rachel Marie threw up both hands in cheerful surrender. “I can’t beat that,” she conceded. “Sure, tell him yes.”

  The female assistant came back into the room carrying a tray with three glasses of soda. Rachel Marie sipped the cold liquid while Khemkaeng explained that she would have to return just once the following week for a trial fitting.

  “How do I get down here?” she asked, trying not to sound like she was hinting for another free ride.

  “Here.” He plucked a business card from a small plastic box next to the owner’s cash register. “Any taxi driver can bring you right here.” Turning it over, he scrawled something in Thai on the back. “And that is the name and address of your apartment. Maybe seventy baht each way, no problem.”

  “Okay.” Pleased, she put a grateful hand on his arm. “This is a huge favor, you know. Thanks so much.”

  “Yes, surely.”

  It was nearly dark as he opened the door to her passenger side of the little Nissan. He suddenly paused. “It is later than I realized,” he apologized. “You have not had any supper.”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay,” she stammered, feeling guilty for having taken up so much of his time already.

  “Look,” he pointed down the road. “Only a few minutes to drive there, and I know of a very nice Thai restaurant. Quiet, with good food. Why not?”

  Rachel Marie hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was to put her new boss in a position where he felt obligated to take care of a helpless American novice. “I really hate to waste your time.”

  “No, no,” he said reproachfully. “I took you on this errand that came into your supper hour. Please.”

  “All right,” she acquiesced. Then a laugh: “Actually, I am kind of starving. I guess that means my tummy’s on Thailand time for real now.”

  “Which is very good.” He started the engine and drove through a couple of back alleys until he came to a small outdoor restaurant in a courtyard surrounded by short palm trees. Strings of colored bulbs, much like American Christmas lights, ringed the perimeter, and there was the scent of incense in the air.

  “This restaurant has excellent Thai and U.S. food recipes.”

  “You’ll have to help me,” she said helplessly. “Again.”

  “Sure.”

  A waitress with pasted-on makeup and wearing a traditional Thai lacy blouse and long brocaded wrap-around skirt approached them. “Yindee dhon rahp,” she said warmly. “Welcome to restaurant.”

  “Thank you.” Rachel Marie gazed around, taking it all in. The woman showed them to an ornate wooden table away from the crowded entrance, gave a little bow, and left two menus with them.

  “What do you recommend?” Rachel Marie scanned the thick booklet of colorful photos. Thai and English descriptions were provided, and she noticed with relief that most items were less than two hundred baht.

  He glanced for just a moment before setting the menu aside. “When I come here with friends, I often get khao dhom kai.”

  She pretended to accept that. “Sure. Fine. Whatever that is.” They both laughed, enjoying themselves.

  “Khao dhom kai is rice soup with chicken. Very tasty.”

  “Is it spicy?”

  “We can request spicy or not so spicy.”

  “I better go with the not-so-spicy first time out.”

  “That is a good idea,” he nodded. “When you are out by yourself, you can just say: ‘mai pet.’ That means ‘not spicy.’”

  “‘Mai pet.’” She flashed a grateful smile. “Thanks. I’d better memorize that.”

  He motioned for the waitress. “Then also some rice noodles with vegetables? Very nice and delicious. We say: kuey dheow haeng.”

  “You’re in charge.” She gave him another helpless look.

  The waitress dutifully wrote down the twin orders. “And to drink, madam?”

  “I don’t know.” Rachel Marie looked at her protector. “What do you think, oh fearless leader?”

  He manage
d to cope with the Western teasing. “This restaurant has a very refreshing beverage. Pineapple slush drink. Cold and good. And also some bottled water, perhaps?”

  “Perfect.”

  They nibbled on complimentary cashews while waiting for the rice soup to arrive. “So you are learning the names of all your students?”

  She confessed her PowerPoint scheme to him, and his face crinkled into an approving smile. “I would not have thought of that. What a good plan.”

  “Well, it’s working, I guess. I still get a couple of the boys’ names mixed up, but I know all of my girls by now.”

  “Good for you.”

  The bowls of steaming broth arrived, and she hesitated. As a teenager, she and Bucky had made it an ironclad rule that they said grace over restaurant meals, no matter what the circumstances. But now . . .

  No compromising. Making up her mind, she set her spoon back down. “You know, it’s always a part of my faith that I thank God for meals. You know–prayer?”

  “Certainly,” he nodded, not offended. “I know this is the Christian way.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Never.”

  He bowed his head respectfully as she prayed. “Father, thank you for the great food we’re about to enjoy. And thank you for this very good day and the blessings you’re sending us at Bangkok Christian School. Thank you for guiding me here and for giving me these beautiful children to train and love. Please bless our whole teaching team, and especially John and Khemkaeng as they lead us. And please bless his family and my family back home. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  A reverent silence lingered between them. He looked at her, his face in awe. “That was so lovely, Rachel Marie,” he managed. “I am very glad to hear you pray such a prayer. And also for me and my family.”

  She was surprised that a person would react in any extraordinary way. “You’re my friend. It’s part of my faith to talk to Jesus about the people I care about.”