Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One

by David B. Smith

  Without speaking, Khemkaeng reached over and took Rachel Marie’s hand, his shoulders suddenly quivering with emotion.

  “Yeah.” John reached for a handkerchief and dabbed at his own eyes. “That’s how I feel too, brother.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Now this will sting as we pull the needle out. But just hang on . . .”

  Dr. Pradchaphet undid the heavy tape and carefully withdrew the IV apparatus. Rachel Marie sucked in her breath, wincing as the thick metal needle popped free.

  “Hurt?”

  “A teeny bit,” she lied.

  “I know. But you can take regular nutrients now, and we can give you pain medication using pills instead.” The Thai physician gave her a friendly smile. “And you will feel much better without having to be attached to this bag all the time.”

  “I know.”

  He examined her bruised ribs and nodded approvingly. “Much better already. And the black-and-blue of your face right here”–he carefully touched her cheekbone–“is nearly well.”

  Rachel Marie forced a smile. “Thanks so much for all that you’ve done.” She glanced down at her right arm, still heavily bandaged. “How much longer will I . . .”

  Dr. Pradchaphet made some notes on the patient chart and clipped it to the foot of her bed again. “It looks like your friend Khemkaeng may be able to take you home tomorrow. And before you go, I will make the bandage much smaller. We still need to wait at least a week before the stitches can be taken out.”

  “But by then I’ll be in America.”

  “No problem.” He paused at the foot of her bed. “Any doctor can remove the sutures. I can make a copy of your entire case history to take home.” He put his pen into the breast pocket of his white coat. “Where in the U.S. do you live?”

  Rachel Marie hesitated. Her plane ticket was a return stub going through Seattle and then continuing three days later to Los Angeles. But am I even going on to California? What for? “My family lives in Washington State.”

  “Very good.” He waved goodbye. “You are healing well, Miss Stone. We thank God for your progress.”

  Aroon came in moments later. “Hello, Rachel. The doctor says you may check out tomorrow. Such good news.”

  “I know.”

  He held out a white bag. “This hospital food is okay. But I think you must have special treat.”

  She peeked inside. It was a small cup of frozen gelato, mango-flavored with tiny flecks of the delicious Thai fruit. “Oh, that looks good!”

  “Please enjoy.” He set a second bag on the table next to her bed. “I also purchased magazine with news of America, et cetera.”

  She could see just the top of Time’s international edition peeking out. “Oh, Aroon.” She motioned him close and offered a cautious hug. “I just . . . you and your wife are so good to me.”

  “Please.” He gave a dismissive wave, indicating it was nothing. “We are so happy to be here and help. And to know you are getting healed.”

  He stayed with her for nearly an hour, visiting and asking questions about her year of teaching at Bangkok Christian School. “This is very nice for me,” he said softly. “To get to know the beloved friend of my son. But now perhaps you should rest.”

  He came over and traced his hand awkwardly along her forehead. “It is a wonderful honor,” he added, “to have you almost in our family.”

  She smiled, managing a feeble wave as he went down the hallway, looking back fondly over his shoulder at her.

  It was almost bedtime when the family returned. “You have two important visitors,” Khemkaeng told her, a broad smile wreathing his face.

  Wearing a royal blue evening dress twinkling with sequins was the high school senior who sang at the Week of Spiritual Focus months earlier. “I forget your name,” Rachel Marie admitted. “But I know who you are.”

  “Ratana,” Khemkaeng reminded.

  Despite the lingering ache in her arm and ribcage, she couldn’t help smiling as she remembered. “You sure can sing.”

  “Thank you.” The pretty girl reached out and pulled a boy into the hospital room. He was wearing a tuxedo shirt with cufflinks, tiny black studs, and a velvet bow tie.

  “Wait a minute! Tonight was graduation! For Matthayom Six! Did both of you just . . .”

  Khemkaeng nodded. “This is why we were late. Mr. Garvey and I finished awarding the diplomas tonight. And I know Ratana and Somchai are attending a big party at the Sheraton Hotel. But they were willing to come here for just a moment.”

  “Oh, you guys.” Rachel Marie felt her heart melt at the overly generous gesture. “That’s so awesome.”

  The Thai boy had set a guitar case just outside the room and he went to retrieve it. Khemkaeng said something in Thai to his parents, and the three of them settled into chairs and looked up eagerly. “We will enjoy a small concert,” he beamed.

  It was an acoustical moment as Somchai strummed a few chords, the sweet notes filling the room with a holy aura, a God presence almost visible to the small gathering. Ratana, sitting in the chair next to the patient, took Rachel Marie’s hand as she sang. Amazing love, how can it be, That you, my King, should die for me.

  To hear the same haunting song, now in the place where hurt and healing had collided, where resentments and false fences of separation had been torn away by grace itself, was almost too sweet to describe. Rachel Marie closed her eyes, clutching each note, each second of this heavenly miracle to her heart. Jesus, don’t let this ever end.

  The final lyrics faded into sacred silence: You are my King. Jesus, you are my King. Outside the door, Rachel Marie could see several of the nurses gathered near, their youthful faces awed and transformed. Chaplain Lopes, his frame towering above them, shook his head, pleased. “Nice.”

  “That was the most beautiful thing I ever heard,” Rachel Marie managed, looking at the pair. “Thank you, Ratana. And . . . what was your name again?”

  The boy grinned bashfully. “Somchai.”

  A sudden amused understanding spread across the teacher’s face. “Are you guys . . . maybe special friends?”

  Ratana went over and took Somchai’s hand. “A little bit, yes.” She giggled. “My parents say it is okay.”

  “Very nice.” Rachel Marie looked over at Khemkaeng. “I think we both have very handsome boyfriends.” They all laughed.

  Ratana hesitated, looking over at Khemkaeng. “Somchai and I . . . we had a long talk today. After the final day of school and graduation.” The girl’s beautiful eyes were sober now. “After Mr. Chaisurivirat became a Christian last year, many students in Matthayom Six thought to ourselves, ‘Perhaps this is the best decision. He studied very much and then chose Jesus to be his Savior.’ So it gave us also a feeling of, ‘We should make a similar choice.’” She squeezed her boyfriend’s hand and he blushed.

  “So . . .” Rachel Marie leaned forward, anticipating.

  “Today we decided. We are now both Christians. And we told our parents and they said it is okay.”

  In the corner, Rachel Marie could see Aroon and Pakpao both nodding, proud smiles of understanding on their faces. The mother glanced over at her son.

  “That is unbelievably good news,” Rachel Marie murmured, a wonderful lump of emotion in her throat. “I mean, amazing. Like your song.” She looked at the young couple, so innocent in these virgin moments of their first love. “I hope all the love you ever have is amazing like tonight. For each other and for Jesus.”

  “Thank you, Missie Stone,” Ratana said softly. “And we hope you get well very quickly.”

  The Adventist chaplain came in and gave both students big hugs. “Dee mahk! This makes me so happy. Congratulations!” The group gathered around Rachel Marie’s bed and he said a short prayer, praising God for such a rich blessing.

  Moments later, Khemkaeng and the graduation party eased down the hallway toward the elevators. Rachel Marie saw Aroon slip three hundred-baht bills into Somchai’s hand. “For taxi to party,” he murmured.
“Thank you for beautiful song.”

  She lay alone, later, in the filtered moonlight, treasuring each passing minute in such a hallowed place. Despite the abrasions and deep wounds left by this world’s brokenness, she was at peace in the presence of her Lord. She had never had a year where Jesus had so revealed his presence to her as here in this beleaguered but beautiful city of Bangkok.

  The thrum of activity and the sirens of ER retreated to a whisper now as midnight approached. Drowsy but still conscious, she thought with relieved joy about how God had unfolded each moment of providence in his own time and perfect way.

  Bangkok and this incredible group of twenty-eight children had been his plan–and here she was. And from the moment she first laid eyes on Khemkaeng Chaisurivirat at the airport on a hot August afternoon, this miraculous relationship had been a slowly unveiled gift. She realized with a rush of clarity that Khemkaeng was it. He was the one she wanted. He was the man God had led her to meet and to befriend and now to love. There could be no other.

  Tears filled her eyes as she thanked heaven for the completion of her vision. For a pleasant and appropriate moment, she smiled as she thought of Adrian and that second woman, hidden from view, yet unidentified, who would become his partner in life. But for her, there could be no one but her beloved Khemkaeng.

  She turned her head on the pillow, its starched white fabric rustling as the second hand on the clock slipped over to the twelve. A new day was beginning in the city that was now her home. She suddenly longed to own this time zone and this kingdom and these people. She and this wonderful man would live here, must live here. She loved Thailand, but even more, she sensed how Khemkaeng was meant to be a Christian pillar to his own people.

  He studied very much and then chose Jesus to be his Savior. In Chiang Mai, and now again on this graduation night of new beginnings, his Thai appeal and his winsome influence would shape a whole generation. This was his calling, and now hers too.

  * * *

  There was a good kind of tingling in her right arm the following evening as Dr. Pradchaphet carefully snipped his way through the thick bandages. “Still very bruised,” he admitted. “But the stitches are healing nicely.”

  Rachel Marie carefully averted her gaze, not wanting to see the jagged evidence of her encounter with Bangkok’s fierce underbelly. “I guess it’ll be quite a scar.”

  “Yes. Long, but not very visible.” He smiled. “I think this gentleman who loves you so much will never notice.”

  As if on cue, Khemkaeng tapped on the door. “I am so glad to be able to take you home.” He set a large bag on the bed. “I brought something for you to put on. So that you do not have to leave wearing hospital night clothes.”

  Rachel Marie sat up in the bed and peeked inside. “Oh, you nut,” she scolded. It was the elegant black dress from Le Normandie. “I can’t wear that.”

  He came over and affectionately nuzzled her. “I thought perhaps, if you were willing, you could stop at BCS. Your students are graduating tonight.”

  Her mouth flew open. “Oh, no! I totally forgot that theirs was after the high school kids.”

  “Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “Your students said to tell you, ‘Please, Missie Stone, come to see us graduate.’”

  “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t think of missing it.” She glanced at her arm, now in a more modest bandage. “What do you think, doc?”

  The Thai physician grinned at the American colloquialism. “‘Doc?’”

  “Well, you know.”

  “You are released.” With a big smile and a bow, Dr. Pradchaphet motioned toward the door. As an afterthought, he hummed a bit of “Pomp and Circumstance” as if she were the prestigious recipient of an honorary doctoral degree.

  “I will get someone to help you.” Khemkaeng hurried out to the nursing station.

  “This dress so beautiful,” the nurse mused as she helped Rachel Marie slip into the evening gown. “And with long sleeves, bandage not show at all.”

  “I know.”

  The young woman zipped her up and gave her chestnut curls a nudge. “There. All good.”

  “Thanks.”

  An orderly appeared at the door. “We can take you in chair.”

  “Oh, no,” she protested. “I can walk.”

  “Is regulation,” he said simply. “Sorry.”

  Khemkaeng walked next to her as the aide wheeled her down to the hospital lobby, slowly emptying out as the clock ticked toward seven p.m. “This way.”

  To her surprise, they wound their way over to where the BCS van was parked. “Where’s your car?”

  Khemkaeng hesitated. “I . . . thought perhaps this would be more comfortable,” he said evasively.

  A flashback hit, just a minor tremor, and she looked soberly at him. “Is there still, like, blood on the seat?”

  He nodded.

  The orderly said something in Thai, and Khemkaeng agreed. “He says we can take the wheelchair with us. I can put it in the back. Then maybe bring it back tomorrow.”

  She was about to protest, but as he helped her into the passenger seat, realized how weak she actually was. “Okay,” she acquiesced meekly.

  * * *

  Her 6C students were just lining up, resplendent in tassels and graduation gowns as she walked toward them, clutching Khemkaeng’s arm. “Missie Stone! Missie Stone!” The girls gathered around, squealing, and he had to hold up a warning hand. “Be careful! She is still recovering!”

  “Oh, Missie Stone, we miss you so much!” Daeng wailed, half-laughing and almost crying. “But we pray so many times that you are getting well.”

  “Well, I couldn’t miss this.” She went down the row, exchanging timid hugs with all the kids, even the boys. “You guys are so amazing. I thought of you a million times.”

  Right after the processional, John made a special announcement about how God had preserved the life of their very own Miss Stone, and the auditorium erupted into applause. After the brief ceremony, several parents came over and pressed envelopes and small gifts into her hands. “You are excellent teacher,” they murmured, one after the other. “Thank you for good service to children.”

  There was a gala reception in the cafeteria afterward, but after a small piece of cake, Rachel Marie began to feel herself getting wobbly. “I think I need rescuing, sir,” she whispered.

  “All right.” A look of concern came into Khemkaeng’s eyes. “Would you like me to get the wheelchair and bring it here?”

  She shook her head. “I can walk. But . . . you know.”

  “Of course.”

  It was a lovely May evening with stars filling the night sky above. The skyscrapers of Bangkok spread out before the couple, horizontal towers of glowing light, as he started the engine and wheeled out of the BCS parking lot. He drove wordlessly toward Orchid Garden Apartments, but suddenly rolled right past where she lived. “If you are strong enough, I would like to show you just one thing first. Is it okay?”

  Rachel Marie smiled, so in love with this wonderful person who made a difference in the lives of many people. “Sure. Only if there’s mango ice cream involved.”

  “Hmmm.” Relieved, he grinned at her, turning up the volume on the radio.

  He drove south and away from the jostling traffic of Bangkok’s main arteries. They passed an open field, and he navigated two right turns until they were suddenly in a construction area. “What’s all this?”

  It was late evening now, but street lights illuminated the quiet neighborhood, and she could see a row of nearly completed houses. They were framed in an American style, a bit small but with two stories and garages. Several were already landscaped with newly planted yards in the front and lush bougainvillea spreading out around the front doors.

  “Come,” he invited. “I want to show you this.” He came around and carefully helped her out. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, mystified. “Where is this?”

  A house halfway down the street had a manicured lawn and a sid
ewalk leading up to the front door. He helped her up the stairs and, to her surprise, pushed the front door open.

  “Khemkaeng,” she said reproachfully, “we can’t just walk into someone’s house.”

  He flipped a light switch and the living room suddenly glowed. It was empty except for a table and four chairs, but the floors were newly carpeted and the windows already had drapes installed. There was a small kitchen, downstairs bathroom, and stairs going to the second floor. He turned on additional lights and made a gesture as if to invite her inspection.

  “Pretty nice. But why are you showing me this?”

  Khemkaeng led her over to the table and pulled out a chair. “I have two things to give you,” he said slowly. “In a moment. But first I want to ask you something.”

  “Okay.”

  He took her hand. “Do you remember at the beach where we talked about how you might perhaps come back next year and teach at Bangkok Christian School?”

  “Of course.” She smiled.

  Khemkaeng held her hand for a long moment, saying nothing, weighing his thoughts and his future. Finally he looked into her eyes, and then to the surrounding four walls. “When you come back,” he offered, “this . . . could be your home. Our home.”

  The words hung in the air between them. “You mean . . .”

  He kissed her forehead. “We could live here. You and me. We could buy this house and make our life and our home together here.” He paused. “What do you think?”

  She grinned, excited. “That would be . . . awesome. Perfect. Wonderful.” She traced a finger along his hand. “I mean, if this is a bribe, it might just work.”

  He stiffened a bit, and she regretted the remark. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I said I had two things to give you. But they are small things. This house is not one of them.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Khemkaeng stood for a moment, a tall and strong tower above her. He went to the window and looked out over the city of his chosen life and ministry. A moment later he came back and sat next to her, leaning forward with an anxious look.

  “When we were at the beach, I spoke about my hope that we could perhaps be together someday. That you could be my wife and I could be your husband. And how beautiful that would be.”