To Walk In Sunshine

by Sally Laity

  Low clouds earlier in the week had brought more showers to the valley, but three days of sunshine quickly dried the landscape. Ken had already finished his weekend chores, so his thoughts quickly turned to climbing the hills. He threw a lunch together, tucked a small New Testament into his pocket, and exited the house.

  Having been cooped up for two weeks because of the rain, he had a lot of hiking to catch up on. Out of the infinite number of Indian trails dissecting the woods, he chose one of the most familiar, breathing deeply as he strode along.

  The humid air was fragrant with the fresh scent of moss and other growing things occasionally mixing with the sweet breath of wildflowers growing at various clearings and swampy places.

  Coming to a fork in the trail, Ken nearly took the branch that led to a rocky ledge overlooking a good part of the city of Wilkes-Barre in the distance. But at the last second he changed his mind and remained on the original route. He’d go to his haven and read for awhile.

  The lush ferns and underbrush along the way seemed thicker since the rains, lending a refreshing coolness to the trail even in the sunny places. A teasing breeze gently stirred through the trees, and a red-hooded woodpecker pecking for his lunch seemed undisturbed by a pair of goldfinches playing tag among the swaying treetops. Ken enjoyed watching their antics for a few seconds.

  With his personal thicket just ahead, he resumed walking, lengthening his stride. How great it would feel to sit down on the spongy ground and rest his tired legs for awhile. His gaze assessed the leaves along the base of the fallen tree on his approach, and to his delight, they appeared dry. At least he wouldn’t have to sit on the hard rough surface of the log.

  Lowering himself, he braced a hand on the wood for leverage.

  His fingers brushed the silken petals of a daisy. The flower was a bit shriveled, as if it had been there for several days. Maybe the wind. . . No, he thought, glancing around. There wasn’t another daisy anywhere in sight.

  Then a slow smile spread across his lips.

  Rosalind must have come by one day and left the flower in greeting. Despite being hesitant about spending time with him, she had still left a token of friendship.

  For some reason, Ken found it hard to concentrate after that. Trying for the third time to read the passage on the page before his eyes, he finally gave up and closed the small Bible.

  In the distance, he detected a faint rustling in the brush. The sound came gradually closer, until a scruffy-looking dog bounded into the clearing.

  Ken jumped to his feet in reflex, quickly assessing possible branches within his reach that he might use to fend off the beast, should that be necessary.

  The animal’s hackles went up, its ears flattened, and strong canine teeth bared with a low growl.

  “Maloof. No,” Rosalind panted, out of breath after running to catch up to him. She leaned to stroke the furry head with her palm. “It is okay,” she crooned. “He is a friend.”

  Ken watched with no little relief as the animal immediately calmed and nonchalantly loped off into the bushes without so much as a backward glance.

  Rosa met Ken’s gaze, two bright spots of heightened color cresting her cheekbones. “I am sorry if Maloof startled you.”

  “For a minute there, I thought I was a goner,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

  Her shining curls danced as she shook her head. “He would not hurt anyone unless I was in danger.”

  “You’ll never be in danger from me, Rosalind,” Ken said gently, drinking in the alluring sight of her, unable to decide which hue in her multicolored skirt suited her best. He was elated that she had actually showed up. “Would you like some lunch? I have plenty.”

  She offered a shy smile. “I have brought dessert. Grandmother made baklava this morning. Honey pastry. It is good.” Removing her tote from her shoulder, she reached inside and withdrew a cloth-wrapped package.

  “Swell.” Motioning for Rosa to be seated, he waited until she was settled, then reclaimed his place a slight distance away. “I didn’t expect to see you today,” he said, offering her some cheddar cheese and a thick slice of bread.

  She shrugged a slender shoulder, her olive skin rich against the whiteness of her blouse. “I did not think I would come.”

  “I’m glad you did,” he heard himself say.

  “I am also.” She lowered her lashes and went to bite into the cheese but paused and glanced up at Ken, waiting expectantly.

  He bowed his head. “Thank You, Lord, for this day, for the food You provided, and for the gift of friendship. May You bless them all. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  While they ate, Ken tried his best not to stare at Rosa and make her uneasy. “How’ve you been?” he finally asked.

  She stopped chewing and swallowed. “I am well.” Then her expression grew soft. “There is a new baby in our camp. He is as beautiful as my friend Sultana, his mother.”

  Ken doubted anyone could surpass Rosalind’s exquisite beauty, but he managed a detached smile. “Another of God’s gifts,” he said, “like everything else that comes into our lives.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” Rosa asked, puzzlement making her eyebrows dip toward each other.

  “Believe what?”

  “That God gives us all things.”

  “Yes, because He says so in the Bible. Oh, by the way. . .” He reached into his pocket and took out the New Testament, then handed it to her. “This is for you. I was going to leave it in the log if I didn’t see you today.”

  “It is for me?” Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Rosa looked up at him with a heart-stopping smile. “Thank you.”

  Touched by her sincere gratitude, Ken watched as she opened the cover and perused the inscription he’d written: To my friend, from yours. “A good place to start reading is the Book of John,” he said. “The ribbon marks its location.”

  “I will start reading this tonight,” Rosa told him. “I was not expecting a gift.”

  “It’s only fair, since you left one for me last time you were here.” Ken showed her the daisy he’d found in the log. Even in its wilted state, a fragile beauty remained.

  She blushed again and lowered her gaze. “You must have some baklava now.” Unwrapping the dessert she’d brought, she handed him a piece of the flaky layered pastry.

  Ken bit into it, and the golden sweetness melted in his mouth. “Mmm. This is delicious!”

  “I was hoping you would like it. Baklava is my favorite treat.” Smiling, she ate her portion.

  “I can see why. In my house, Ma bakes a great elderberry pie. She had my pa plant a bush out back so she wouldn’t have to go looking for the berries every summer.”

  “Grandmother makes wine from those berries,” Rosa replied. “Do you come from a large family?”

  He shook his head. “Since my pa and big brother died in the mines, that leaves four of us. Ma, my younger sister and brother, and me. It’s been. . .rough.”

  “I am sorry. . .about your loss.”

  With a grudging nod, Ken averted his gaze to watch a squirrel stand upright and peer around before scampering up a tree. “Someday I hope to find a different line of work. But that depends on whether we get out of debt before I meet the same fate.” He squelched the note of bitterness creeping into his tone. “Hardly a week goes by that there’s not some kind of accident. My next-door neighbor just lost an arm.”

  “Oh, how awful,” Rosa gasped. “Life is not always easy,” she added softly. “Even for people who do not work in the mines. As a woman, I may not have the freedom to choose my future, my husband. I must follow the wishes of my grandparents. It is our way.” Staring straight ahead, her eyes clouded over.

  The swiftness at which all pleasure faded from her expression made Ken wonder what distasteful fate Rosa’s guardians had in store for her. “Hey,” he said, recapturing her attention with a smile of encouragement. “At least I can pray for you, Rosalind. I’ll pray for us both, that God will bring about something good in our l
ives.”

  “Would He do that?”

  “Sure. He wants only the best for those who love and obey Him.”

  “But what about those who don’t even know Him?” she asked, her words barely audible. “Like me.”

  On impulse, Ken reached over and raised her chin with the edge of his index finger, turning her face so she could meet his gaze. “I think you will know Him soon enough, Rosa.”

  An eternal moment passed before she looked away. And when she did, her happier expression returned. She shook out the cloth that had wrapped the baklava and brushed crumbs from her skirt. “I must go now.”

  Ken nodded with reluctance and got up, offering a hand to assist her. His pulse increased as she placed tentative fingers in his. “Will I see you again sometime, Rosa?” he asked, drawing her easily to her feet.

  “I cannot say.” Her hand lingered a heartbeat within his grasp, until she looked down and gently slipped free. “No one knows I am here.”

  “Would your people hate me so much?” he asked, searching her face.

  A caustic smile curved her lips. “About as much as your people do mine.”

  He expelled a weary breath. “I see what you mean. But it’s not right, you know. We are all the same in God’s eyes.”

  “My grandfather once said that same thing to me,” Rosalind said, her eloquent eyes troubled. “Strange, is it not? That people can know something inside, yet not act that way.”

  “I think that will change one day.”

  “Perhaps. But I do not believe it will happen in our lifetime. We are from two different worlds.”

  Ken’s gaze captured hers and held it, and he fought the impulse to touch her soft cheek with the back of his fingers. “It has to start somewhere, Rosa. With two people. Like us.”

  Moisture pooled in her eyes, and she turned to leave. “I must go now. Thank you for the Bible. I will treasure it.” She gave a shrill whistle, and Maloof came running.

  Ken could not trust himself to speak as he watched the girl and her faithful dog walk away and disappear into the thick growth of trees.

  ❧

  Two people. Like us.

  It took all the determination Rosalind possessed to hold back the tears as she and Maloof left the thicket. Ken did not understand that things could not change so easily. She should never have gone there today.

  But as her fingers closed around the New Testament in her skirt pocket, she acknowledged how happy she was that she had.

  Was he right? Would the day come when individuals from two different cultures could meet openly? Actually be seen together without fear of what people might say or do? At this point, that dream seemed an utterly impossible one.

  Rosa tried to envision herself walking glibly up to Grandmother and Grandfather Azar with a smile. “I have met someone. A man. . .”

  No. The very thought was insane. As insane as meeting Ken Roberts again. Ever.

  Despite all her reservations to the contrary, Rosa found the young man incredibly fascinating. He was so different from anyone she had ever known. From earliest girlhood, she had grown up feeling inferior to men. Subservient, with no purpose other than to serve and obey a man’s every command. That had been Sultana’s fate, and it would be her own as well, should Grandfather give her to Nicholas Habib. If not worse. A shudder wracked her frame.

  Ken, on the other hand, treated her with utmost respect and reverence. . .as if he considered a woman a person of honor, one to be cherished and protected. Perhaps that was the reason she ignored the dangers involved in her clandestine meetings with him and continued to go into the forest to places where she knew he would be.

  It would be impossible now to turn back the clock and live as if she had never met him. And even if their friendship could exist only in secret, shady places, she could at least dream that one day they might be able to walk together in the sunshine, for all the world to see.

  He had made no overtures regarding anything more than friendship—and perhaps he never would. She had not really thought beyond that point herself. It was all so new. But Ken stirred feelings deep inside of her that she never knew existed. And even if those were all she could ever have, she wasn’t ready to give them up entirely.

  And she would die before becoming a wife for Nicholas Habib.

  The tears Rosalind had thought she’d banked a few minutes ago broke through her resolve, and she didn’t bother to hold them inside any longer.

  Six

  The trees rimming the encampment were throwing long shadows by the time Rosalind returned from the forest. The late afternoon breeze caught at her skirt with each step and whipped strands of hair in front of her face, annoying distractions in her present state of mind.

  Philip, sitting outside his parents’ home, looked up and saw her coming. He put aside the whistle he’d been carving and met her halfway.

  Rosa attempted a smile as he came to her side, but her cousin’s ebony eyes missed nothing. He knew her too well. “You have been crying.”

  “Only a little,” she lied.

  “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing!” Appalled at the sharp tone of her voice, she emitted a rush of breath. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken harshly to you.”

  But the young man continued to regard her, his concern maddeningly evident.

  The keen perusal made Rosa nervous. Her hand flew to her eyes. “I hoped no one would notice. I tripped over a root and bumped my head. It hurt. I did not want to be thought of as a baby, so when I finished crying, I washed my face in cold spring water. I am better now. That is all.”

  His mouth lifted in a wry grimace.

  “What?” she demanded, halting where she stood.

  “You have never been a baby, Rosa. You never cry when you fall—even the time you fell from my pony and broke your arm, you did not shed tears.”

  Rosalind averted her gaze to the ground.

  “And you always look at me when you speak,” he went on. “Look into my eyes and tell me again of this fall that made you cry. Show me where it hurts.”

  A warm flush climbed her neck, and she shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “Then what is it? You have always been able to confide in me. All our lives there is nothing we do not tell each other.”

  Rosa moistened her lips and met his gaze. “I cannot speak of this, even to you. I am sorry. But even you would not understand.”

  “Something has hurt you enough to cause tears—you, the person I love like a sister—and I would not understand? How can you say this?”

  The pain in his expression made her insides ache. Curly-haired Philip had been closer to her than any of her girlfriends had ever been. Their two families had sailed the ocean together, come to Pennsylvania together, lived next door to one another forever. She had trusted him with things she never told anyone. But this. How could she speak of this?

  Still, she longed to tell someone. . . . Did she dare reveal her secret to him? And if so, where and how to begin? She opened her mouth to speak.

  Grandfather Azar stepped outside just then on his way to the barn to tend the horses. Seeing her and Philip, he waved. “Good. You are home, Rosa. Your grandmother waits for you to help with supper.”

  A great sense of relief washed over her at the reprieve. She shrugged a shoulder at her cousin. “I. . .will talk to you soon, Philip.”

  Looking none too pleased at having been put off, he nevertheless stared at her in resignation. “I will hold you to that, you know.”

  She smiled thinly. “I know. Soon. I promise.”

  But Rosa had no idea when she would be ready for that.

  ❧

  Ken jabbed the walking stick he’d picked up along the way onto the ground every other stride, scarcely aware of his actions. He could still see the anguish in Rosalind’s eyes when she’d revealed her lack of control over her own fate, could still hear her melodious voice whispering across his heartstrings as she expressed the hope of one day coming to know the Lord. And he br
eathed a prayer that God would speak to her tonight as she read the New Testament he’d given her.

  Unlike many of the young women he knew, she was completely devoid of the silly feminine wiles he found so irritating. There was no batting of eyelashes with her, no forced laughter over every witticism he made, no sidling up to him as a few unattached gals at church tried to do at the various socials he’d attended over the years. On the contrary, Rosa seemed utterly sincere and real, and she possessed a fresh innocence—vulnerability, even—that made him want to protect her from harm. She was like Hannah in many ways, which also weighed heavily in her favor.

  Yet Rosalind was wise enough to discern that their friendship would stir up trouble—in both their families.

  Ken had no idea how his ma viewed the occupants of the Lebanese settlement. She did hold strong Christian beliefs and all his life had lectured him and his siblings about treating others with kindness and generosity. But so many folks looked down on and even feared the “gypsies” on Larksville Mountain. How about Ma?

  Maybe it was time to see how far her Christian love reached.

  Typical supper smells drifted from various houses along his street as Ken walked home. The Donatelli family would be having spaghetti, kielbasa at the Kryszkas’, stuffed cabbage for the Jessups. But nothing compared to the chicken and dumplings he detected at his own back door. His favorite dish. He grinned and went inside.

  “It’s about time!” Tim griped. “Hey, Ma! Ken’s home!”

  “Oh, good,” she said, untying her apron strings as she came into the kitchen. “Hannah, you can pour the drinks now, and we’ll eat.”

  Ken washed his hands at the sink while the others saw to last-minute details, then he joined them at the table. “Smells great, Ma. We celebrating or something?”

  “No, I just thought it might taste good for a change. Hannah made baked apples for dessert.”

  “Man, I think I died and went to heaven,” Ken said, his hand over his heart.

  “Could we cut the baloney and eat?” Tim chimed in. “I’m starved.”