“Well, I’m sitting there, and in my little girl brain, all I can say is, ‘Jesus, help me help me help me. I don’t know what to do.’ Sometimes we’re like little children, and our prayers are, like, just this cry. All we can do is cry. And God doesn’t mind.” She swallowed hard and had to compose herself. “Sorry, you guys.” She looked over to Mrs. Chongrak, who made a gesture as if to indicate: Only if you feel you can finish . . .
“So we’re sitting there, and this man buys me a milkshake. But I’m so scared I just sit there. And all at once, this nice lady comes by and she says to me, ‘Oh, honey, I know you!’”
“What!”
“That’s right. I’m something like fifty . . . kilometers from my house. But here at this restaurant, a lady comes to me and says, ‘I know who you are. You and other children from your church came to sing for us. I remember you.’ And then she points to the bad man and says, ‘Well, this must be your daddy.’ And all at once, having this lady be my friend helped me to find my own voice again. And I went, ‘He’s not my daddy! I don’t know who he is!’ And started crying. And the man went, like, ‘Uh, I’m her . . . uncle. That’s what. Her uncle. And I . . . I . . . I need to go get her toy from the car.’ And he ran out to the parking lot and drove away.”
Several of the girls close to the front were nearly in tears. “Missie Stone, oh my God!”
“I know. But this lady figured out how to call my parents and soon I was home. Later they caught that man and he went to prison. Which was a good ending to the story. But see, if anybody says to me, ‘Well, I don’t know if God exists or if he answers prayer,’ I want to say: for me, he is real. God is absolutely real. Because there in that restaurant, I needed a strong God to come and save me, and he sure did.” Rachel Marie lifted a hand to her heart. “But that’s me.”
The closing bell rang, almost a reluctant and reverential interruption, and the high school girls spontaneously burst into applause. Several came up and offered Rachel Marie hugs, and Marilyn came up behind them. “Miss Stone, you’re too much. I don’t know how you found the strength to tell us that story, but I think this last fifteen minutes just redeemed some very nice young ladies for heaven.”
The next afternoon, Marilyn sought her out in the student cafeteria again, and with the hubbub of scurrying kids all about them, they gossiped about men and love. “Well, we’d love to have you back for next year. So you’ve got my vote. And of course, I know Khemkaeng has his heart set on your return in August. You guys together are an amazing force for good. Way more than we ever dreamed. Yesterday . . . that was a heart-stopping testimony, Rachel Marie.”
“Thanks.” She took a healthy bite of her fried rice, deep in thought. “But speaking of Khemkaeng, trying to figure out our future together is just a whole lot more than I bargained for when I signed up for all this. In a good way, but it’s still got me emotionally bouncing around.”
“I know, dear.” Marilyn put a matronly hand on her arm and gave a little pat. “John and I have been praying for the two of you.”
“Well, I look at it this way. God seems to have used our friendship to, you know, help him make a decision to be a Christian. Plus, now, all the influence we’ve got together.”
“Uh huh.” Marilyn lowered her voice. “And I must say that his is one conversion story nobody questions.”
It was an odd remark. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes mission folks out here have an expression: ‘rice Christian.’”
“Huh. What’s that mean?”
“It’s somebody who decides to become a Christian with some ulterior motive. You know, to maybe get a job with a rich Christian outfit. Or because it benefits them politically. I guess in your case, a cynic would say, to get a pretty wife.”
“Okay. But why do they say ‘rice Christian’?”
“Well, if someone fakes a conversion so that they can hang onto a job–and feed their family–there’s the ‘rice’ aspect of it.” Marilyn laughed. “I guess the expression must have come right out of Bangkok, then.”
Sitting at her desk later while her students struggled with their final vocabulary test of the year, Rachel Marie considered the cynical colloquialism. Was it possible someone as decent and caring as her Khemkaeng could be playing a game with her? Feigning an interest in Christianity simply to get a ring on her finger? She dismissed the thought out of hand. His witness before hundreds of students, his faithful attendance with her at church, his many heartfelt questions, his Bible studying, were all genuine. She would stake everything she had on it.
On the other hand, could there have been a trace of concocted testimony in Adrian’s birthday call? It would be ironic, she mused, if the “rice” in this story was on the California side.
The low buzz of the bell brought a collective sigh of relief as kids began noisily piling homework on their desks and writing hasty names on tests.
“Gumjorn, would you pick up all the papers, please?”
“Yes, Missie Stone.” He was a slight lad with a lisp and a nearly shaved head, a few longer hairs right in front drooping comically over his forehead. Pleased at the attention, he slipped from one row to the next, collecting the pile.
“Who wants to say closing prayer?”
Vuthisit raised her hand. “I can.”
“Okay. Good deal. Eyes closed, kids.”
There were footsteps in the hallway and Rachel Marie was startled to see Benjamin Cey approaching her classroom doorway with the splendid Nigel Blaine. A clammy blanket of uncertainty enveloped her, and she jerked a surreptitious hand motion in their general direction. “Go ahead, Vuthisit.”
“Dear Jesus, thank you for blessings of life. Thank you for all of friendships we can have at school, and for love of God.” There was a pause as the pretty girl searched for another palatable thought. “Please help us to know of Jesus’ goodness and teachings always, and to love our families in way that God teach us. Amen.”
“Awesome.” Rachel Marie had a forced smile on her face even though her heart was dangerously skipping beats. “You guys have really grown up into young men and women this year, and your nice prayers make me hugely proud. God is very pleased with our special family.”
“Thank you, Missie Stone.” The girls sang out the familiar farewell as they paraded past the two male visitors. The boys followed behind, playing the usual game of catch with a stray eraser.
“May we trouble you for a moment?” Benjie edged into the room and his partner followed suit.
“Sure.” Rachel Marie sat down behind her desk and hoped her voice wouldn’t betray her. It had been months since they’d spent time together, but the sight of Nigel still created an involuntary tingle in her. I love Khemkaeng, though. I’m committed to him and that’s a fixed choice. This is just two old friends I know, stopping by to say hi.
The disheveled high school teacher plopped down in the nearest chair and Nigel leaned cautiously against the whiteboard. He looked dashing even just in his designer jeans and an expensive tan T-shirt. “We popped by to see if I might persuade you to do me a decent-size favor.” He said it without any of the familiar teasing, the flirtatious body English.
“What is it?” She was determined to stand her ground and remain in control. This was her Christian classroom, her world, and she had made important and lasting decisions which ought to stand her in good stead on a risky battlefield like this. “If I can . . .”
Nigel fished a photo from his pocket and handed it to her. “Take a look.”
She unfolded a digital shot of nearly fifty beauty contestants on a beach in all their curvaceous glory. “Uh . . . okay. So what is this?”
The tall Brit explained. “It’s the Miss Pacific pageant. Started just this morning down in Phuket, so there’s cameras and crews and the lot all heading down to the island. Not as big as Miss Universe, but still a big do on this side of the globe.”
“Yeah, I think I saw something about that on the news this morning.” She had gotten into the habit
of flipping on the TV during her abbreviated breakfasts, hoping to pick up a Thai phrase or two before getting on the bus. “But are you anchoring some story or something?”
“That’s just it. I got an assignment from the States, you see. The odd thing is that some of the locals here in Thailand don’t like having beauty shows and all here in their country.”
“How come?”
He shrugged easily. “You know, it’s an indefinable thing. I mean, Phuket is nothing but beaches and pretty women and . . . bikinis and the lot. It’s a tourist heaven.”
“Yeh.” Benjie couldn’t stifle a manly grin, his mustache quivering with unfulfilled macho enthusiasm.
“So it’s a story of ironies, actually. Here’s a land which feasts on tourist dollars. They advertise their beaches and their casual, anything-goes attitudes. They have go-go bars where the outfits”–he lowered his voice discreetly–“well, let’s just say it all puts this photo to shame.”
“Okay.” Rachel Marie’s sense of cultural interest picked up despite her qualms about having Nigel on the BCS campus. “Yeah, that is kind of . . . odd. I mean, I can understand it though. You’ve got your beaches and you’ve got your Patpong Road stuff.” A quick spot of color appeared in both cheeks. “And maybe because that’s a familiar part of the usual landscape, people stop seeing it. But the outside beauty pageant, where a bunch of foreigners are making a fuss over it all, forces people to face up to the contradiction. So it’s kind of disquieting, then?”
“That’s it, Miss Stone.” Nigel grinned, carefully avoiding the romantic euphemisms, and Rachel Marie shot him a grateful smile.
“So you’re off to do the story?”
He hesitated. “That’s why we’re here.”
“What?”
He stood up and edged closer to her desk, careful to keep his stance nonthreatening. “I have this reporter’s instinct that when I do the story, it’d be real astute to use a female as co-reporter.”
Her eyes opened wide. “What? Me?”
Nigel nodded. “Look. These camera crews, especially from Australia and Europe, are mostly blokes. There’s a lot of bawdy humor and jokes and, you know, testosterone. Man stuff. But this business of the sensitivities of the Thai folk . . . I take it seriously. I don’t want to mock it. And I just have this idea that if you did a bit of the standup, and then the final wrap, we’d have us a very professional package.”
“Well . . . but . . . I don’t know a thing about stuff like that,” she remonstrated. “I’m not a reporter.”
“I’ll handle all that,” he said quickly. “I mean, Chalerm and I will get the footage, do the edits, and package the whole thing. But we’d write some on-air copy for you to do–like last time, remember–and then have you standing on a beach somewhere. I mean, like you. Nice and pretty and professional.” He said it respectfully without any trace of the familiar leer.
“I still don’t see why I should be the one . . .”
“Look, Rachel Marie. You already know I think you’re an attractive woman. You’d look good on camera. You handled that other job we did in about three minutes. I could run all over Bangkok and not find anyone I’d rather use. Plus,” he added, “I just think your spiritual side, your decency, would show through. And on a story like this, that can’t but help.”
“Yeh.” Benjie scooted his chair closer. “You’d be perfect, love.”
“Well, when is all this?”
Nigel grinned, his optimism growing. “We’d all head down right after school tomorrow. You folks are off the next day because of that end-of-year government inspection. So it’d be a quick one-hour flight down, one night there, work pretty hard all the next day, and catch our last camera shot with Rachel Marie Stone and the pretty sunset clouds right at quitting time.” His eyes twinkled. “Plus there’s five hundred dollars U.S. for my new on-camera partner.”
The mention of such a big cash bonus was an intriguing surprise. “Wow. How come?”
“That’s just what these video packages are worth. A thing like this, we get plane tickets, hotels, everything. I can bill out pretty much what I need in order to get the story.” Nigel wagged his head pleasantly. “Look. Once you go see for yourself and take in a Phuket sunset in May, trust me, an American network is going to want this story.”
Even with Rachel Marie’s guard up, and her conscience rigidly defending against such a combustible moment, it took some digesting before she slowly shook her head. “It sounds really fun,” she admitted. “But I’m going to say no.”
The refusal took Nigel by surprise. “How come?”
Rachel Marie gave Benjie an even look before returning to the visitor. “I can’t. I’m going with Khemkaeng now, and I’m . . . just not going to go flying off on some airplane ride with you.” She tried to add the last bit with a straight dose of Christian resolve.
Benjie nodded dourly. “See. I told you, mate. She and our Mr. Chaisurivirat have been a campus item now for quite a bit of time, actually.”
Nigel seemed unfazed. “Look, Rachel Marie. I knew about you and your new friend. And I’m thrilled for you. I’m sure he’s a gentleman, and he’s right with you in your Christianity and all. So cheers to both of you.”
She waited.
“And I guess Benjie here never mentioned, but I’ve gone off and found me a lady friend too. Been together since March. So we’re all just one jolly family again, eh? I mean, this is work. This is me knowing that you’ve got some talent you might as well polish and use. Nothing more.”
Rachel Marie pondered. Ever since the birthday conversation at Bangsaen Beach, she and Khemkaeng had felt something new and precious lingering between them. Their love was tender and still fragile. It was something to be jealously nurtured, in case God was going to give them a second season of love to bring the relationship to fruition. Why take a chance?
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head again. “It’s complicated, and I’m sure it would be okay and all. But it’s something I just don’t want to get into.” Rachel Marie glanced from one man to the other. “What I have with Khemkaeng is very important to me. I hope you guys understand.”
It was Benjie who spoke up first. “Look.” His face lit up with a hopeful grin. “Take him along. Hey?”
“What?” Nigel shot his mate a sharp look.
“They’re together now. A permanent item, what? So take the chap along. It’s one more plane ticket. What’s that, one twenty-five? Just bill it out. I mean, let these love birds walk on the beach and see the sights and all. Who knows? Our Kuhn Khemkaeng may know a bit of the local lore, and keep your story from blowing up in your face.”
It was a novel thought, and Nigel chewed on his lip, his handsome face a study as he adjusted his travel plans. “Would that sway you, lovey?” He blurted the casual endearment out of habit.
“I . . . I guess. I mean, if he wanted to go.” It all came out sounding rather lame, and she flushed, realizing a hidden part of her still craved Nigel’s admiration.
* * *
The Thai Airways flight was only half full the following afternoon, and Rachel Marie relaxed next to Khemkaeng. Nigel had wisely arranged to let the young couple have two secluded seats in the back, and he and Chalerm discussed possible camera shots, making cryptic notes on a big yellow pad.
“Thank you for coming,” she murmured, feeling the warmth of his hand. “It should be a fun trip.”
“Yes, Phuket is very beautiful. And I am sure Missie Stone is more beautiful than the fifty contestants we will meet.”
“That’s very funny.”
“No,” he asserted, taking off his glasses to wipe a smudge away. “The judges will no doubt say: ‘Find a gown for that television lady and give her the first prize. This contest has ended!’”
“You’re a silly man, Mr. Chaisurivirat.” She leaned back in her seat, contented, and thankful that she had told him all about the abbreviated fling months earlier. “And thanks again for not being, you know, unhappy about . . . what’s-his
-name up there.”
“Sure.” Khemkaeng turned a bit so he was facing her. “I thank God that we have this friendship of complete trust.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
A magnificent twilight was descending on the island paradise as the foursome drove out to the secluded beach in a rented van. “We’ll check in after dinner,” Nigel said. “Can you guys help us lug this kit over to where the ladies are?”
The initial round of judging evening gowns had just concluded, and contestants were milling around in the foyer, precarious hairdos still sprayed into place. A few splashed around in the shallow surf, squealing and hiking their expensive designer gowns up to their knees.
“Get some of that!” Nigel ordered with a grin, pointing and giving Chalerm a manly pat on the back.
“Yes, boss.” The Thai cameraman hoisted the heavy piece of equipment up onto his shoulder, and scurried around, capturing as many snippets of footage as he could in the dwindling daylight.
In the far distance, Rachel Marie and Khemkaeng noticed a weather-beaten knot of local women pressing up against the chain link fence surrounding the hotel, wearing the rough blue shirts and sarongs common among field laborers. One of them took off her heavy straw hat, taking in the superficial beauty of the constructed paradise. “Psst! Get that.” Nigel noticed the sullen row of workers, and nudged his associate. “Can you zoom in and get a bit?”
“I think so, boss.”
* * *
Later they all enjoyed a quiet meal of phat pahk ruam, which Rachel Marie discovered was stir-fried mixed vegetables. Khemkaeng listened politely as Nigel launched into a lengthy tale of the video magazine he was storyboarding about the infamous bridge over the Kwai River. “It’s one of the great stories from World War Two,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “And the Thai folk here have made it into a very clever tourist outing, with bombs and sound effects and the lot. Nearby museums and a cemetery and all. Should be a nice little piece, maybe a full hour when I’ve got it in the can.” He paused, taking in the glorious panorama, the blazing orange sky with purple clouds melting into the faraway islands. “Khemkaeng, what’s the name of the town there? Where the bridge is?”
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 25