by Anna Schmidt
“Go ahead and park at their house,” Rachel said as they approached the turn that would take them to the cottage. “I can walk from there.”
He did as she suggested, and she did not wait for him to come around to open her car door. “Thank you for the ride, Ben.” She started walking on the path that ran through the gardens connecting the main house to the cottage.
“Thanks,” he called out. When she glanced back at him, he added, “For … just thanks, okay?”
He looked so lost, standing there alone, the light from the empty house washing over him. She almost retraced her steps. Her instinct was to go to him, hold him as she had longed for someone—man or woman—to hold her after James had died. But Sally hadn’t died. There was still the possibility that she would be all right. Rachel thought about the woman she had ministered to earlier and understood that the entire night had been too full of emotional valleys.
Ben would be all right once he received an update on Sally’s condition and conferred with his colleagues in Tampa about her treatment. The best thing she could do right now was to go home, hug Justin, and thank God for their many blessings.
Chapter 17
It was almost midnight by the time Ben had found the items Sharon had asked him to bring her; then he turned off the lights and made sure the house was secure—alarm set, garage door that Sharon and Malcolm had left open in their rush to get to the hospital closed. Restless and knowing he would get little sleep tonight, Ben walked around to the back of the house and checked the doors that led into the lanai and the pool. They were locked.
The night was still as beautiful as it had been earlier when they had been out on the bay. Had that only been a few hours ago? It seemed ages. There was a full moon—“Harvest moon,” Rachel had called it as they cruised into the marina to return the boat to its slip.
The trip had been something of a disaster with Justin sullen and ornery and Sally withdrawn and depressed. And yet Rachel had found the one thing of beauty to focus on—the moon rising, a large golden ball that put the rest of the Sarasota skyline to shame. She was like that, he realized, always focusing on the good in people, the wonder of her surroundings. Whenever Ben was around her he felt such a sense of peace, as if no matter what happened, in the end everything would be all right.
He looked toward the cottage and saw a single light burning in the kitchen. He was halfway down the path before he realized that he needed a good strong dose of Rachel’s composure—the quality that she wore on the inside the way she wore that silly little hat on the outside.
Sitting at the small kitchen table surrounded by books and papers, she was writing something on a yellow legal pad. She was still dressed in her traditional garb, and Ben suddenly found himself wondering what she might look like with her hair down.
Not wanting to startle her, he made noise as he walked, clearing his throat and scuffling his feet along the crushed-shell path. He tapped at the open screen door, calling her name at the same time. “Rachel? Sorry to bother you,” he added when she looked up without the slightest hint of alarm.
“Not at all. Come in. I was going to make some tea. Will you have some?” She busied herself preparing the tea while he took the only other chair at the table. “Is everything all right at the house?”
“It’s fine. I just saw your light and …” He shrugged, unable to form more words as he fought the combination of exhaustion and fear for Sally that threatened to overwhelm him.
“I know. Sometimes as my minister says, ‘The world is too much with us.’ ”
She set mugs and spoons for each of them and brought sugar and sliced lemon to the table while she waited for the kettle to boil.
Ben considered her white prayer covering and remembered how she had explained to Sally that she wore it all the time because she never knew when she might need to turn to God in prayer. “That works for you?” He pointed to her kapp. “The religion thing?”
She reached for the whistling kettle at the same time she glanced at him over her shoulder. “It works for everyone who has faith,” she said quietly. She filled a china teapot with the boiling water and carried it to the table. “Do you not have faith, Ben?”
It was a fair question, especially coming from her. After all he’d been the one to bring the whole thing up. “I’ve kind of let things slide in that department,” he said with a half smile and realized that it was the truth. There had been a time….
“Sharon relies heavily on the comforts of prayer and scripture,” she said. “More than once I have seen her sitting in the garden, her Bible open next to her.”
“Our father was a minister, of the fire and brimstone variety. I struggled with that, and he struggled with me. In the end it was pretty much a standoff. Maybe if we had been able to talk calmly about things but it was his way or the highway.” He took a sip of the tea she’d poured for him then added, “I chose the highway and went off to med school. I got distracted with studies, and well, it’s been a while since I darkened the door of a church.”
The confession made him suddenly shy with her. To this woman a strong faith was everything. He turned his attention to the papers and books spread across the table. “What’s all this?”
He knew she was watching him over the rim of her mug. If she had wanted to preach to him, she apparently thought better of it and set her tea on the table. “I have a paper due Tuesday for my certification.” She reached for the yellow legal pad. “It’s nearly finished—except of course, for the typing of it into the computer.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I am not very good at that.”
“Ah, but I am.” Ben took the pad and flipped through the pages. “Ever since medical documentation went electronic I have become one super typist.” He grinned at her. “I’d be happy to type it up for you.”
“I could not ask such a thing of you, Ben.”
“Why not?”
“You are so busy.”
“And you aren’t? Let’s consider busy. You have your work….”
“As do you,” she reminded him.
“Noted, although I seem to see you at the hospital almost as often as I’m there, and you have your course work to earn the required certification.”
“That will be finished soon.”
“You have Justin.”
The shadow that dulled her always clear violet eyes was brief but unmistakable. She sighed. “He was sorry to learn of the return of Sally’s illness especially after he had behaved so badly on the boat tonight.”
“You’re worried about him.”
“Ja.” She drank her tea, lowering her eyes so that all he could see was the thick fan of black lashes that touched her cheeks. And then he realized that her lashes were wet.
“Rachel?” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
“May I ask you a question?” She looked up at him.
“Of course.”
“When you were a boy and you and your father were having your differences, how did you find your way?”
“It’s not the same thing, Rachel. Justin’s father died. You moved here. Justin had no choice but to start over. I had choices with my dad. It’s not the same thing at all.”
“I know, but …” She shook off the thought. “You did not come here to listen to my worries. Will it help to talk about Sally?”
“It will help if you tell me why you are so worried about Justin. At least I might be able to make some small suggestion for that. I certainly have no power to help Sally.”
Rachel smiled and pulled her hand free of his to refill their mugs. “And so we are back to our previous discussion on faith, or rather, your lack of it when it comes to God’s power to heal Sally.”
Ben lifted his mug in a mock toast. “Touché.” He took a swallow and let the warm liquid soothe him. “Talk about Justin. I’m a good listener.” He grinned. “Part of the job description of being a doctor.”
When she described the call from Justin’s teacher, Ben was tempted to shrug it off as bo
ys will be boys. But it was clear to him that she was deeply troubled by the very idea that her son might do anything dishonest—even unknowingly, which Ben very much doubted was the case.
“It’s times like these when I miss his father so very much,” she admitted. “James would know what to say to Justin—and to the teacher. I have no clue how best to handle this with either of them.”
Ben leaned back in his chair. “What do you think is really going on here?”
“I don’t know. I have not met any of Justin’s new friends, and it’s evident to me that Sally doesn’t care for them. Oh, she hasn’t said anything directly, but on the one occasion when I did mention this Derek boy, it was clear that she had serious reservations about him.”
“Is this kid Justin’s only friend? I mean, what about other boys he’s met, perhaps at church?”
“The population of Pinecraft—at least the population of families that are Old Order like us—is aging, Ben. There are only a few young people living here year-round. Hester Steiner assures me that this will change over the winter, but those children who come to vacation with their parents will be temporary. And then there is the problem of distance. Living here means it is not easy for Justin to spend time with those few children who live in Pinecraft.”
In many ways his heart went out to Justin. He well remembered the bullying he’d had to endure when he was around the same age—both at school and at home. Ben could hardly blame the boy for doing whatever it took to avoid that, even if it meant doing another kid’s math homework.
“Here’s my best advice,” he said. “Until you know otherwise I would assume that Justin has helped this other boy because he genuinely thought it was the right thing to do for a friend. When you meet with his teacher I would ask the teacher to relieve Justin of the burden he has taken on to tutor this boy by either tutoring the kid himself or finding some older student to do that.”
“You think so?” she said.
“Definitely.”
Her smile was so radiant that Ben felt as if he had given her a wonderful gift. “But what do I know?” he said. “Going on instinct here.”
“It’s the perfect solution,” she said. “I stand with Justin without either of us abandoning Derek. Thank you, Ben. I was so worried and I had prayed so hard for some solution and then you stopped by—”
“Whoa.” Ben laughed. “Way too much credit here, and I’ve never been accused of being the answer to anyone’s prayers.”
“Oh, but you are,” she insisted without a glimmer of humor. “At the hospital you are always helping others find their way through their illness—that boy in the shark attack? And Hester told me how very kind you were to Sadie Keller, the girl who accidentally killed her cousin? You must not take your gift for healing others physically and emotionally for granted, Ben.”
Uncomfortable with her praise, Ben stood and picked up the yellow pad. “If you’re done with this, I’ll type it up for you over the weekend and e-mail the file to your work computer on Monday.”
“I cannot …”
Instinctively Ben placed his forefinger over her lips. “Yes, you can,” he said. “What are friends for?” Reluctantly he pulled his finger away.
“And what can I do for you?” she asked as she walked with him to the porch.
“Be here for me—for us,” he whispered huskily as he looked up toward his sister’s house and Sally’s upstairs bedroom. “It’s possible that Sally is facing another long battle—one we may not know the true outcome of for years.”
She touched his shoulder, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from turning to her and finding solace in her embrace. “I’ll pray for all of you,” she replied. “Good night, Ben. Get some rest.”
He did not look back as he retraced his steps along the garden path. But he sat in his car for several moments before driving away. He was thinking about Rachel, and he was not seeing her as a coworker or this nice woman who rented his sister’s guesthouse. He was thinking about her as a woman that he could be attracted to, a woman he could see spending time with, a beautiful woman.
“A plain woman,” he reminded himself firmly before he could carry that thought to the next level. “Get a grip, Booker.”
Rachel awoke the following morning to the memory of Ben’s light touch on her lips. She lay in her bed as the late-October sun washed over her as she recalled every detail of the time they had spent together the day before. The boat ride. Seeing him so distraught at the hospital. The ride home. The late-night visit. It was as if in a matter of a few hours they had traveled the path from knowing each other through his sister and people at the hospital to becoming truly connected as friends.
And that brought her thoughts back to Justin and his choice of friends. After several weeks in Sarasota she had made many new friends—Pastor Paul, Eileen, some of the others at the hospital, several of the women at church. She had chosen them all, drawn to them because they accepted her—prayer covering and all. So why was it so hard for her to understand that Justin had found similar acceptance with this Derek boy? What had she expected? She was always tied up with work or her courses. They spent practically every Saturday attending to chores. On Sundays they went to church and then spent the rest of the day at Hester’s. They needed to broaden their horizons, she decided, if Justin was going to find the right kind of friends.
“Justin?” she called as she got out of bed, twisted her hair into a knot, and padded barefoot to the kitchen to start breakfast. “Time to get up.”
“Did somebody come by last night?” Justin asked as he yawned and rubbed his eyes before setting places for each of them at the table.
“Dr. Booker. He needed to talk some.”
“About Sally?”
“Actually we talked about when he was a boy and then also about you.”
Justin looked at her, fully awake now.
“You told him about Mr. Mortimer calling?”
“I did. He helped me to understand that you have been trying to help a friend who is struggling. He also helped me see that perhaps you had gotten in over your head in trying to tutor Derek. So on Monday I am going to ask Mr. Mortimer to relieve you of that responsibility.”
“But Derek …”
Rachel sat across from her son and took hold of both of his hands. “Derek needs help, Justin, his teacher’s help. Not yours. If he is truly your friend he will understand and accept that.”
“But what am I going to tell him when we take the bus?”
“On Monday you will not take the bus. You will go with me early to school and meet with Mr. Mortimer. I will ask Mr. Mortimer to speak with Derek and explain the situation.”
Justin groaned. “You don’t understand, Mom.”
She squeezed his hands, forcing him to focus on what she was saying. “Justin, I am worried about you, not Derek. And what I understand is that Mr. Mortimer believes that you have cheated in his class. Such things—right or wrong—can follow you as you move forward in life. We need to resolve this now.”
Justin stared at her for a long moment then pulled his hands free of hers and took his breakfast dishes to the sink. “You promised it would be better here,” he said petulantly.
“I know, and I will keep that promise, Justin. But you have to give it time.”
Her phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. Hester was calling her. Almost always when Hester called it was good news—an invitation for Rachel and Justin to come out to their place for the day or to come with her to the shops in Pinecraft.
“Hi,” Rachel said, trying hard to keep her voice from revealing her stress—but failing.
“What’s wrong?” Hester asked immediately.
Rachel cleared her throat and forced a light laugh. “Nothing.” She would ask forgiveness for the lie as soon as the call ended. “Frog in my throat. How’s that?”
“Better.” But Hester’s tone told her she was still suspicious. “I’m calling to see if you might have time for coffee today.”
> “Today? Justin and I were going to go downtown to the farmers’ market.”
“Perfect. John and I will meet you, then Justin can come back here with him while we go for coffee. I have this friend that I think should meet you.”
Rachel noticed that Hester didn’t say “that I think you should meet.” And now she was the one with suspicions. “Why?”
Hester sighed. “The friend is Jeannie Messner—her daughter was the one killed in that horrible car accident last month. She’s really struggling and well, I remembered you telling me about that victim offender program that you and Justin went through after James died—vort or something?”
“VORP.”
Justin turned around and looked at her, his eyes curious.
“That’s it,” Hester was saying. “Well, I mean, when you and Justin went through it, the offender was a stranger. In Jeannie’s case it’s her niece, Sadie, and that girl is like a second daughter to her and her husband—or at least she was until this happened. Rachel, this thing is ripping these two families apart, and I want to do something to help them.”
“It’s not a simple solution,” Rachel warned. “Everyone has to agree to participate—the offender and in the case of a death, all of the victims impacted by that death including the family of the offender. Are you sure they are ready for this?”
“I don’t know,” Hester moaned. “But what I do know is that this would be a quadruple tragedy if Jeannie and Emma were never able to get past this—and Sadie. I can’t begin to imagine what that poor child is going through. She’s in jail, you know, or detention as they so eloquently like to call it when it’s a child locked up.”
“Hold on a minute.” Rachel covered the phone and turned to Justin. “How would you feel about—”
“I heard, Mom. Sure. That’ll be okay. Maybe John and I can do some fishing.”
Justin’s willingness to go along with the change in plans without question or protest gave Rachel enormous relief. “Thank you,” she mouthed and put the phone back to her ear. “All right. We will meet you at the market. Where?”