by Dana Mentink
God, if there’s any part of this mess that can be salvaged, give me the words. But why would He? Rhett had spent hours staring at the wall of the trailer, and he’d come to the conclusion that he was a hijacker. Instead of letting God lead the way, he’d taken the divine urge he’d felt and used it as an excuse to fashion a set of marching orders and enact his own set of meticulous plans.
Not one of which had remotely worked out.
Humbled. It was a sensation Rhett Hastings did not enjoy and never had. It left him with a slightly sick feeling, and a sense of anxiety which he was not sure how to salve. His fingers closed around the phone in his pocket. One call to Don, and he could fit his life back together again.
Sweetness dashed out of the tall grass where he’d been nosing and barked at Rhett.
“I don’t speak dog. Haven’t we covered that?”
Sweetness barked again, pranced away a few steps, and then came back.
“All right,” Rhett said. “But if this is another rescue, I’m not in the mood.” Nonetheless, he followed Sweetness, swishing through the shin-high carpet until he came upon an oval nest of grasses lined with downy gray fur. Rabbits, most likely, though the nest was unoccupied.
“That’s very interesting, Sweetness. Thanks for sharing.”
The dog gave him what could only be described as a look reserved for idiots and barked at a spot a few feet away. Rhett dutifully followed and found a baby rabbit, its eyes closed, its tiny ears tucked back against its body. The creature was not even as big as his palm.
“I guess someone got left behind,” he said, leaning close to confirm that the fragile ribs were rising and falling. “It’s best to leave it here, Sweetness. It will get eaten by a snake or something and be part of the food chain.”
Sweetness licked the bunny from tiny tail to quivering nose.
“It’s not going to live anyway, probably. Circle of life stuff.”
Now a bark.
“Look, dog. We can’t be rescuing half dead creatures everywhere we go. It’s just not practical. This thing is weak, and it’s not going to survive. It was a miracle that Panny did. Face the facts, why don’t you? Some things you can’t change.”
Another bark and a madly wiggling rump.
“Oh, knock it off.”
The dog fired off several more barks.
“I’m not a nice man, Sweetness. Haven’t you got that yet? I’m the kind who swallows up businesses and orders people around and takes my own way instead of God’s way.” And calls women hypocrites. One-of-a-kind women who do not deserve such treatment.
Sweetness cocked his head, his brown eyes guileless. What did a dog know of human failure? He just kept looking at you without bringing up your past or expecting you to do the right thing. The optimism for those who so richly did not deserve it astounded him. What did a dog know?
“I’m not the man you think I am,” he said, turning and walking away. He looked behind him one more time. Sweetness sat heavily on the grass.
“I’ve got to fuel the truck and make a phone call.”
And then he walked away.
Twenty-Two
Stephanie waited under the shade of a sprawling buckeye for Jack Wershing to show up. He did at precisely one thirty. She calculated the timing as she climbed onto the front seat, Sweetness sandwiched next to her. According to Google, they would arrive at Agnes Wharton’s just before eight p.m. She would not expect Jack to wait for her to conclude her business. Somehow, she would arrange a way to an airport with her precious manuscript in hand. That should be easy because she would no longer have Sweetness. She forced her clenched stomach muscles to relax.
The dog was anxious, whining and trying to get a good look at Karen and Panny. Karen and Stephanie had decided together that the old dog should stay on at the orchard. Panny still needed too much care. They couldn’t ask Agnes to provide that. She cranked the window down.
Karen handed over Sweetness’s spatula, which he accepted with a whimper of pleasure. Jack raised an eyebrow but stoically kept his gaze directed out the front window.
“Thank you for everything, Karen.” Stephanie clasped the woman’s hand. “I know you’re going to make a success of Dappled Acres.”
“Yes, I will. And I’ll take good care of Panny. You are invited to come back and visit anytime you have a break in your agent duties.”
Stephanie scanned the orchard. There was still no sign of Rhett.
“He’s gone to town. He said to tell you he’d be back in an hour to take you.”
“It’s better this way.”
Karen’s mouth twitched. “Is it?”
She stared until Stephanie felt herself flushing. “Rhett and I have different plans.”
“He doesn’t know what his real plans are and he’s scared, so he’s defaulting to what’s comfortable. Business, winning, profit—things like that.”
Stephanie understood. Rhett, I hope you find what you’re looking for.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Rhett since we left Bethany’s house. I was so angry with him for such a long time.”
“You had your reasons.”
“I did. How ironic that I couldn’t remember what they were until he reminded me.” She stroked Panny. “He didn’t have to tell me, and before, he probably wouldn’t have, but he’s changed. God’s giving him new marching orders, and he’s struggling with that.”
“He needs time.”
“I agree. Stay here for a while. You’re good for him. You can help him figure it out.”
“I’m not the person to do that, Karen. God and I are barely on speaking terms.”
“Come on, Stephanie. He’s a guy who googles grace and is scared to set foot in a church because he might have to sing in public and eat Jell-O salad at potlucks. This is a man who needs all the help he can get.”
Stephanie giggled, but Karen did not join in. Her eyes were troubled, so like her brother’s.
“I think I’ve gotten some sort of perspective on life, after the U-turn and losing Paulo. I’ve decided I’m going to say what’s on my mind and heart, even if it’s unpopular.”
Stephanie grimaced. “Should I brace myself?”
She shrugged. “All I’m going to say is that you two are so busy writing your own stories, you can’t see that God put you together for a reason.”
Stephanie blinked and shook her head. She wanted to roll up the window against that stream of honesty. What reason could there be for her zany adventure with Rhett? What plan? God wasn’t in that. And if He was, she certainly hadn’t asked Him to be, so He could jolly well butt out again. “I have a job to finish.”
Karen cocked her head. “What would happen if you didn’t finish it?”
For a second she thought about what it would be like to let go of her name on the door of Klein and Gregory, to back away from that desire that had turned into her sole focus. Would it be freeing? Would she feel a new joy fill her spirit? But that was the way of letting go of many things—Ian’s dream, her distrust of God. Something deep inside her quivered with longing and with fear. She wobbled for an instant between two worlds, poised on a knife blade of uncertainty.
The seconds stretched between them. Then, “I have to go, Karen. I’m sorry. I really am.”
Karen nodded sadly. “Okay. I wish you well, Stephanie. I’m going to pray for you.”
She thought suddenly of Mrs. Granato at the beginning of the zany adventure, the sweet lady who was no doubt praying for Stephanie as well. Mrs. Granato, Karen, the ladies at the Chain Gang. All part of her story, all praying not for the swift completion of her job, but that she, Stephanie Pink, might live the life that God meant for her.
She gripped the door handle. This was the final moment when Stephanie Pink could change her destiny and cancel the plans made so long ago. She thought about Rhett and the curls of his hair, the sincere way he was trying to learn to be nice, the incredible courage it must have taken to walk away from his business and trust the God he did not fully
know, one she didn’t either.
Sweetness stuck his head out the window and licked Panny, who nuzzled him back. She remembered the triumph on Rhett’s face when the ruined dog had stood for the first time, and her heart ached.
Fear, excitement, and love whirled together. “I’m sorry, Karen,” she murmured again. “Take good care of Panny.”
Karen smiled. Sweetness whined again, his paws pressed into her lap as he tried to exit the truck, knocking loose the slobbery spatula. “It’s okay, Sweetness. You’ll come back here someday.”
It was a lie even she did not believe. She handed Sweetness his chewed spatula, and he took it solemnly in his mouth as she rolled up the window, shutting out the smells of the orchard, the soft coo of the chickens, and the cool wind of change.
“Ready?” Jack said.
“Ready,” she answered.
Rhett returned with a full tank of gas and an odd assortment of items, including goat’s milk, a medicine dropper, and some soft towels. On the way back he stopped in the dilapidated barn and cleaned out an old wooden crate he’d seen there, lining it with the soft towel before he went in search of the rabbit. He was surprised that Sweetness had not come out to help him and felt foolish that he wanted him to.
“You’re going soft in the head, Hastings.” Why had he changed his mind about saving the rabbit anyway? He didn’t know, but his heart seemed to beat a softer rhythm recently, his soul echoing with sweeter notes. Maybe it was the nostalgia of returning to Dappled Acres or the joy at having his sister in his life again. Or maybe it was born from spending time with Stephanie Pink, a woman who made him want to be better. With a start, he realized it was the thought of her and not bunnies that had made him return.
Stephanie’s words came back to him, a tender memory shared over bites of rubbery bologna. “I realized I was alone and my brother wasn’t coming back. I felt as if I would always be alone from then on, as if I’d been the one bird left in the nest after all the rest had flown away for the winter.”
The one bird left in the nest. He’d imagined it might be the same for this bunny. Opening its little black eyes to find it was the one left behind, too weak to follow, too scared to move.
Did Stephanie still feel like that? Left behind and too scared to find her own way?
“God?” he prayed, but couldn’t get any further. God…but how should he pray when he was not sure of his own way? His life was turning out to be so completely different than he’d ever dreamed. Shaking away the troubling thoughts, he retraced the path Sweetness had shown him.
It took a bit of searching until he found the bunny, still motionless and burrowed into the grass where he’d left it. Sinking down onto his knees, he cupped the tiny thing in his hands, marveling at the silkiness of the fur as he tucked the baby in the soft blanket liner and headed to the trailer. He wondered what crazy name Stephanie would come up with for the newest oddball member of the tribe.
She’s leaving.
He’d been repeating it to himself all morning.
She’s leaving.
Yet the reminders did not help him untangle her from his thoughts. Determined, he tucked the box under his arm, keeping an eye out for Sweetness and Stephanie. Back at the trailer, he opened the door to find Karen sitting with Panny and sipping a cup of coffee. He lifted up the blanket-wrapped rabbit and introduced it to Panny, who perked up instantly, her tail whipping.
“Are we nursing another patient?” Karen asked.
“Looks that way.”
Karen took the bunny and settled it next to Panny. Panny prodded and poked the animal, rolling it closer to herself until she snuggled it against her belly like a mother hen warming an egg.
“Do you think Panny realizes it’s not a dog?” Rhett said.
Karen shrugged. “She’s going to need something to replace Sweetness. She’s been moping since they left.”
Rhett jerked. “Left?”
“They’re gone,” Karen said. “Stephanie took Sweetness while you were in town. She called Jack to give her a ride to Agnes Wharton’s. She left you a note.”
He picked up a folded piece of paper from the table. Next to the note was a neat pile of bills and coins along with an itemized list written on a napkin.
Here’s what I owe you. I put in three extra dollars for the bologna because I know you aren’t going to eat it. Thank you for everything. Steph
The payment amounted to thirty-two dollars and seventeen cents. He stared at the stack of money and the messily scrawled note.
Thank you for everything.
What had he given her other than a delay that might cost her the manuscript? A hard time about her goal to be a literary agent? An attitude regarding bologna and white bread? Unkind remarks from an insensitive clod?
He was struck by a sudden thought. What if God meant for their two lives to be woven together?
Twin flames of wonder and disbelief burned through him as he realized he was opening his eyes, like a baby rabbit who had discovered he was alone in the nest, the others having hopped away.
Too weak to follow.
Too scared to move.
Stephanie Pink was meant to be in his life, nestled in his heart. God put her there, but Rhett had been too focused on his plans to notice.
Too late! his heart screamed. It’s too late.
In a blink of an eye, he was left with the comfort of thirty-two dollars and seventeen cents.
Just like that, Stephanie Pink and Sweetness were out of his life for good.
Twenty-Three
Stephanie stayed awake for most of the journey. The road unwound in looping spirals far into the mountains. She marveled at the rugged beauty of it for the first couple of hours. Then the sameness of it all, the miles of serenity, made her long for the honk of a taxi or the endless parade of feet on rain-soaked sidewalks. It will be good to get back to New York, she told herself.
She would tell her roommate, Sass, and the Chain Gang all about the madcap adventure, about Sweetness and Panny, and about the feral cat.
About Rhett. Her heart thudded painfully. Maybe not about him, not at first, until she had time to decide how many pages he would fill in her life story, the number of incredible scenes she would never in a trillion years forget.
Jack was not a talker. He was perfectly content to listen to soft country music on the radio, drumming his calloused fingers on the steering wheel.
She’d thanked him profusely several times, and each time he’d shrugged as if he was merely giving her a lift across town, so they’d settled upon a silence that made her tense.
What if she was making the arduous journey only to discover she was too late? That Laura had already scooped her and stolen the manuscript? Sweetness stirred next to her and she knew she would make the trip anyway. Though she’d grown to love the dog, if she were honest with herself, she knew Sweetness belonged heart and soul to someone else who missed him dearly.
Thanks, God, for loaning him to me. Her prayer surprised her. The enormous, ungainly animal had dragged her along through puddles of joy, patches of laughter, and moments of tenderness, and she was better for having known him. And Panny. And Karen and Rhett.
She squeezed her hands together to stop her mind from careening away again. Would you, for one pea-picking moment, focus on the job you’ve come three thousand miles to do?
God, she silently prayed. Stephanie Pink here. Uh, I know we haven’t spoken at length in a while—a very long while. But I need that novel, so, um, if You feel like it, I would appreciate Your helping me get this dog to Agnes Wharton. I am so close to having our plans turn out, mine and Ian’s. Rhett says I’m only doing this for Ian, but he doesn’t understand…
For one thunderstruck moment, she felt confused, as if she did not understand either, this dream she had clung to for so long.
She heard Rhett’s voice, saying the words softly, the words in which he’d put his trust. “I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to
harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
But her plan was better. Unless it wasn’t. God wanted the best for her? If she could only believe it. Her future, her hope, her name written upon some imaginary door, her own door, her own threshold. But she could still hear the echoes of that door slamming shut the day her brother died, closing against a God who allowed an unbearable hurt, an incurable wound.
Yet lately, had she not felt the stirrings of connection again? Spurred by Rhett? A man she probably could love if circumstances were completely different. Love him? Prickles erupted on her skin.
Still suspended in the middle of her prayer, she wanted to say more, but her thoughts trailed off into confusion. Best to stop. In novels as in prayers, it didn’t pay to clutter up the narrative. I guess that’s it for now, God, she said silently. Pink signing off.
As she got to the Amen, Sweetness sat up, sensing that Jack was slowing. There, on the narrow shoulder of the road, stood a woman with limp hair sticking out under a cloche hat. Stephanie went cold. Literary agent Laura Burns. She stood with one finger to her ear, a phone pressed against the other. Jack pulled to a stop.
“What are you doing?” Stephanie demanded.
He looked at her in surprise. “She needs help. No services around here for miles.”
Before Stephanie could say another word, Jack was out of the car.
Laura beamed a dazzling smile at him. “Thanks for stopping. I’m out of gas. This rental car sucks up fuel like a camel drinks water.”
Stephanie hopped out of the truck as well, and all her frustration flooded right past her internal filter. “Serves you right, trying to poach my manuscript.”
Laura’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “Pink. I thought I might have made a wrong turn, but I see now I’m headed right to victory.”
“Oh no, you’re not. Agnes Wharton is my client.”
Laura laughed. “This isn’t the good old days, honey. All’s fair in love and literature. Winner gets the spoils and all that.”
“We have a verbal agreement with Agnes Wharton.”