Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One

by David B. Smith

  Bucky smiled with a sudden rush of comprehension. “And you think he said to the lady, ‘Shhh. Quietly take a thousand off and I’ll leave it under a seat cushion’?”

  “Or something like that.” Rachel Marie misted up considering even the possibility. “I really think he saw the prices, felt bad for me, and came up with that as a way of sparing me.” She sighed dramatically. “He’s so awesome.”

  “Are you going to ask him? Ever?” Lisa was moved by the romantic tale.

  “No. ‘Course not.” She hesitated. “Well, maybe on our fifth wedding anniversary. If that’s how things go. But isn’t that a story?”

  * * *

  The trio spent a delightful afternoon with Khemkaeng, who wheeled them all around the exotic city, especially San Kamphaeng, the long street where artisans boasted their wares. They gawked at paintings, ornate umbrellas, silver jewelry, lacquer ware, and finally a vast silkworm farm and makeshift factory where young girls were still weaving cloth with foot-operated looms. In an abrupt shift in ambience, right next door was an elegant outlet store where the most stunning silk outfits were on display.

  “This stuff is crushingly expensive,” Lisa moaned. “But that dress right there is too sinfully gorgeous to pass up.” She slipped an arm around Bucky’s waist and gave him a pleading look. “Please? Oh please? I love you just lots. I’ll be really good for months and months.”

  “I’ve heard that one before,” he laughed, resolutely holding the credit card out of reach.

  “Hmmm.” Rachel Marie sidled closer to Khemkaeng. “I’m watching to see what a girl needs to do to get fancy presents from her boyfriend.”

  His eyes widened. “Is there something here you wish?”

  She gave his arm a gentle slap. “I’m only kidding, mister.”

  The foursome spent nearly an hour, agog, meandering through Chiang Mai’s most prestigious jewelry outlet. “The craftsmen here are, as we say, world-class,” Khemkaeng informed them. “Beautiful emeralds and diamonds. The finest in all of Asia.”

  His phone buzzed, and he squinted. “John said he might have to call.” A grin. “He promised–only one time.” He turned to Bucky. “I will talk outside. In five minutes, we can go.”

  Rachel Marie peered into one of the glass cases where a pristine row of engagement rings was on display. “Now don’t go getting any ideas,” her brother teased.

  “Shush. I’m just looking.”

  “See anything you like?”

  She pointed to a ring, a bit smaller than the others. “I think that one’s absolutely perfect.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know.” The ring, simple with a polished gold band, had three tiny diamonds embedded in the front.

  “Yeah. That is pretty.”

  She stared at it for another long moment. “It kind of reminds me of how, at weddings, the bride and groom light a unity candle. You know? ‘Husband and wife . . . and God.’”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Those three diamonds there make me think of that. Kind of cool.”

  It was close to sunset when Khemkaeng drove them up a winding mountain road to a monastery high in the hills overlooking Chiang Mai. “This is the most important tourist site in our city,” he boasted as they parked the car.

  “What is it?” Rachel Marie took his hand as they walked over to a massive row of steps. “Oh, wow, look at that.”

  Tandem stone serpents hundreds of feet long lined the arduous staircase leading to the top of the mountain. “We can take a tram if you wish.” Khemkaeng pointed to a small ticket window. “It is more than three hundred steps going up.”

  “Nah. We can do it.” Bucky stuck out his chest in a show of male bravado, and they all laughed.

  As they puffed their way toward the top Khemkaeng described the complex of temples at the peak. “We call this ‘Doi Suthep.’ More than six hundred years old, and considered very sacred for all Buddhist people.”

  It took Lisa a few moments to catch her breath when they finally got to the main courtyard. “Sorry, you guys. I’m toting an extra little bundle here.”

  Doffing their shoes in the traditional show of reverence, they wandered through the immaculately kept ancient grounds, admiring the original chedi, or golden mound, which towered above the peaceful site. Over at the far edge of the vast compound, they gazed out at the city far below, where an airplane was just touching down.

  “It’s so peaceful up here.” Rachel Marie glanced over at Khemkaeng. He was clearly in his comfort zone, back in his childhood hometown and also cocooned within the very core of Buddhist life and thinking. She gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

  * * *

  Fragments of Thai pop music, the sound muted, accompanied the short drive over to Khemkaeng’s parents’ home. “This is not where I grew up,” he confessed. “My parents began a small business selling cookies, which has now grown into quite a success. They operate a factory here which sells kanom to stores and restaurants throughout Thailand. So they moved to a better house while I was in Michigan.”

  “Where did you grow up?” Bucky leaned forward to ask.

  “Here in town. My father worked in a restaurant when we were all young children. But he quickly became the assistant to the manager and then decided to begin a business of his own.”

  “Not bad.”

  Khemkaeng pointed out various landmarks, now barely visible in the last vestiges of December light. “This was my school.” A large soccer field and several two-story buildings came into view. “And our new home is just past this supermarket.”

  He turned right and drove down a small road, which finally turned into a dirt lane. Rachel Marie gulped. Would this trail finally just run into a swamp or a tree house?

  “Here it is.” He nosed the car into a large open courtyard and parked next to a dark green Mercedes. A modest-sized home with porch lights glowing was elevated on a split-level design. Neatly manicured shrubs lined the walkway and then opened up to ring the front and sides of the house.

  “Ready?” Khemkaeng squeezed Rachel Marie’s hand. “I am glad you and your family are here to visit us.” He led them up the stairs to the porch and carefully pulled the door open. “We are here,” he called out.

  Aroon stepped into the living room, hand-in-hand with a young girl who appeared to be about seventeen. She was still clad in the standard navy skirt and light blue blouse required of all Thai high school students. “This is Nattaporn,” he said. “My youngest daughter.”

  Bucky and Lisa both put their hands together in the expected wai, and she reciprocated with a shy smile. After a moment, Rachel Marie did the same. “What year are you in school?” she asked carefully. Then she caught herself. Oops. How much English does she speak?

  “I am soon to complete Matthayom Six.”

  “Wow. So you’re almost done.” Rachel Marie turned to her brother. “That’s like being a senior in high school.”

  “My older daughter arrived home just a few moments ago, and is changing clothes,” Aroon explained. “Tiang is enrolled at Chiang Mai University, and has chosen the dentistry program.”

  The eight of them sat down to a festive meal at a long table made of polished teakwood. “This style of furniture is part of Thailand’s manufacturing strength,” Khemkaeng told his guests. “Quite expensive even here in Chiang Mai, and prohibitive to ship to the U.S. Because of the weight–teak is very heavy.”

  “It’s such incredible quality though.” Lisa ran a hand over the dark glossy wood with its subdued grain.

  The hardwood floor was cool on their bare feet, and a picture window opened up to reveal plants and mango trees in the back yard, now faint silhouettes in the mid-evening darkness. In the corner was an intricate wood carving of the fabled ruins of ancient Ayutthaya, which Khemkaeng took a moment to describe.

  He then reached out and took Rachel Marie’s hand before turning to his father. “It is our custom now to always say a prayer of thanksgiving each time we eat.” He paused, we
ighing his words. “It is okay?”

  “Of course.” Khemkaeng’s parents seemed to share their son’s soft-spoken diplomatic ways. “We wish for you to continue with your usual plan, surely.”

  They sat without comment as the four Christians bowed their heads. Khemkaeng murmured a short prayer, thanking God for the safe trip and for the blessing of having visitors. “And also for this excellent meal with my family,” he added. “In the name of Christ we pray, Amen.”

  An awkward but not stifling pause lingered before the father stood up and lifted a plate heaping with fried rice. “We have kow paht for you to try. And also mangoes and sticky rice.”

  The visiting Americans beamed. “Man, you can’t get too much of that,” Bucky declared. “I’ve been waiting fifteen years for some more of that sticky rice.”

  “You have had this before?”

  He briefly explained about the mission trip back during his high school days. “Yes, I am familiar with that school,” Aroon said. “They have quite a fine reputation, I hear. Many young people from the hill tribes of northern Thailand attend at Maetang, and then come to Chiang Mai and enroll at trade schools.”

  Pakpao, a short, cheerful woman with slightly graying hair and thick glasses, frequently whispered requests for clarification. “So sorry that I speak English not as good as children.”

  “No, not at all.” Rachel Marie reached over and put a hand on her arm. “I think all of you do very well in English.” She laughed. “I think all the Thai I’ve learned isn’t much more than mai bhen rai and nit noi.”

  “I know that one!” Bucky straightened up so suddenly he almost spilled his glass of bottled water, and the table rippled with laughter. “Nit noi means ‘little bit.’ Right?”

  Aroon nodded approvingly. “You have a good memory to recall Thai words after such a long time away.”

  Tiang slipped into the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying a platter heaping with small chocolate candies and a smorgasbord of indigenous fruits. “Please have some treats,” she managed with a cautious smile.

  “Thanks.” Bucky picked carefully at a spherical fruit with a tight brown skin. “I remember having this, but I forget what it’s called.”

  Nattaporn, who seemed the more outgoing of the two girls, piped up. “We call lamyai. Oftentimes, farang will give it name of ‘dragon’s eye.’”

  “A little bit of a grape kind of taste,” he grinned, expertly digging a thumbnail into the skin and peeling it back. “Here you go, Rach. Try it.”

  The whitish, almost clear fruit had a gelatin texture and a mild taste. She chewed for a moment. “Not bad.” Then she laughed. “But nothing’s going to take the place of mangoes.”

  “Have you tried durian yet?” Khemkaeng’s father had a pleasant sense of humor and asked the loaded question with a knowing smile.

  “No way.” Rachel Marie shook her head and pinched her nose. “It’ll be at least a decade before I get up the courage. That’s the stinkiest stuff in all Asia.”

  “Yes, but the taste is as sweet as the odor is sour.”

  “Man, sour isn’t the word.” Bucky popped another chocolate into his mouth. “I’m sorry, but that stuff smells like something died and then got dug up again.” The family laughed, and even the mother smiled.

  They continued to chat comfortably as the candy dish kept getting passed around. There was cheerful discussion concerning the gender of Lisa’s baby and possible names, and both native girls blushed when Bucky suggested borrowing one of theirs. “I just think Thai names are so pretty.”

  “He had a Thai girlfriend once,” Lisa interjected, “when he was over here visiting. I was really mad at him back then, but now that I’m here and see how beautiful the women are, I guess I have to forgive him.”

  There was a pause, and Khemkaeng took the moment. “I have already told my family of my choice to be Christian.” He looked soberly at his sisters and then his mother. “And they have given their blessing.”

  The father bowed his head for a moment. “Our son is the center of our lives. Our daughters also, surely. But Khemkaeng has always been a fine son, and this news was, at first, difficult to hear. But we have a long talk on the telephone when he makes this choice, and now we say okay. If Christianity seems to be truth that he believes, then we trust that his decision is correct for him.”

  Both girls, their eyes averted, gave tiny nods and Rachel Marie smiled at them, feeling a rush of affection for this gentle family.

  “It is also clear to my family that Rachel Marie is much more than just my fellow educator,” Khemkaeng went on, taking her hand in his. “I now wish for my family to know that I love her very much. Since she came in August to our country, we have spent many good times together, and have found happiness with each other. So I hope that all of you”–he gestured toward the four Thais sitting at the one end of the table–“will soon feel that you can love her also.”

  Rachel Marie felt her heart pounding in her chest. Since the Week of Spiritual Focus and the romantic night at Le Normandie, Khemkaeng had never really said “I love you” to her. The eyes and the heart had sung rhapsodies, many times. But now his plain declaration hung in the Chiang Mai air, with its sobering and possibly shattering implications. Would these sweet but surprised people bolt from the table in startled horror?

  Tiang whispered something indistinguishable to her younger sister, and they both tittered behind their hands. But it was Khemkaeng’s mother who spoke first.

  “We already know of this friendship,” she managed in her elementary English. “Khemkaeng send us emails and speak often of Rachel Marie. How she is very special and fine lady in his friendship. So we are happy and with much honor to now meet. Also to have family come as well.”

  Blushing, the Stones murmured their thanks.

  “We always think, ‘Okay, son will find Thai wife and perhaps we have blessing of grandchildren here in Chiang Mai,’” Pakpao added. “But most important thing is happiness for Khemkaeng. In Bangkok . . . or anyplace where the God show him is place to live and find peace. And if he choose to have life with you, Rachel Marie . . .”

  The woman, her gaze gentle, stood and came over to the young American woman. Kneeling next to her, she reached out for Rachel Marie’s other hand. “If my son has love for you, then I also have love for you,” she said simply. “Is okay if you are . . .” The proper word failed to materialize and Khemkaeng came to the rescue.

  “Couple?”

  “Yes. Special friends together. Even perhaps lovers and husband and wife someday.”

  There. It was out. It won’t devastate them if I become Rachel Marie Chaisurivirat.

  Bucky was grinning. “Okay, then. A toast to Khemkaeng and his California girlfriend.” He held up his glass of fruit juice and there was nervous laughter from the group.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Even on the crowded two-lane road north of Chiang Mai, it was quiet in the luxury car. Khemkaeng guided the Mercedes through a busy intersection, tapping the horn to warn a minibus of his presence.

  “Are you sure you can find this place?” Bucky asked from the back seat.

  “Sure, no problem. My father went to the Internet and was able to find the address. It is only a few kilometers now.”

  There was a convenience store on the next corner, and after craning to spot a road sign, he turned left onto a smaller road without lane markings.

  “If anyone comes the other way, I hope it’s a skinnier car than you’ve got,” Rachel Marie teased him.

  The sign to the Christian school loomed on the right-hand side and they lurched up an uneven dirt road. “Do you recognize this place?” Khemkaeng asked.

  “Mostly. I think that classroom building is new. I don’t remember it, anyway. But just over there on the right is the girls’ dorm all of us built.”

  “Really? You guys did that one?” Lisa reached her head around her husband’s elbow to peek. “Not bad, honey.”

  “Yeah, that was maybe the hotte
st week of my life too. Fierce heat. But we got it done.”

  They watched, fascinated, as hundreds of young Thai students came streaming out of various classrooms and began to trek up the hill.

  “Where are they going?” Khemkaeng wondered.

  Bucky glanced at his watch. “Maybe they have some kind of assembly. Think they’d mind if we tagged along?”

  They parked the car in a small dirt lot next to the administration building and followed the wave of students. They were all clad in simple village-style outfits, with colorful cotton shirts that had string ties instead of buttons. An elegant Christian church stood at the brow of the hill, complete with beautiful tile, stained glass, and a modern baptistery. The four visitors slipped in and found seats in the back row.

  Rachel Marie was intrigued as several students with guitars stood up and led the capacity audience in praise songs. All the singing was in Thai, but she recognized two of the numbers as being fairly current even in America. “That’s amazing,” she murmured to Khemkaeng. “I wonder who translated the lyrics for these guys.” Large PowerPoint slides, with pictures of Calvary and using embedded Thai fonts, filled the front wall of the sanctuary.

  The school pastor stood and shared a brief devotional with the student body. Khemkaeng leaned close to Rachel Marie and whispered snippets of a translation. “It is a story told by Jesus. A farmer is planting seeds in the countryside. Some lands on the road . . . some other seed is in soil, not good because it is shallow. But”–he strained to follow the tale–“also much seed lands in good soil.” He paused as the young minister flipped through his Bible. “So the challenge for young people here in Thailand is to share the Christian gospel and find people willing to listen to the story of Jesus Christ. They are the good soil.”

  “Hmmm.” Rachel Marie leaned her head against his shoulder for just a moment. “Like a certain really nice guy I know.”

  At the conclusion, the Canadian school principal stood and accepted the microphone. “Young people,” he said, speaking in English and waiting to be translated, “it appears we have some guests today.” He peered over the heads of the younger children and looked at Rachel Marie and her friends. “We would love to meet you and hear where you’re from.”