“Have you ever heard of Darjeeling?” she asked Jim suddenly.
“I’ve got a box of it up in my kitchen cupboard with the Earl Grey and the chamomile. Never drink the stuff, but my wife used to love it, and I haven’t gotten around to throwing it out. She told me Darjeeling was flowery tasting, and I said, who wants to drink flower-flavored tea anyhow?”
“I’m not talking about the tea, Jim. Darjeeling is a place. It’s in India.”
“Is Beth going to India now? Pretty soon they’ll have her flying off to Timbuktu.”
“Timbuktu is a real city, you know. It’s in Mali, which is in West Africa.”
“No kidding? Timbuktu is real?” Jim wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Did your daughter tell you that, too?”
“It’s just one of those things I know. Like Borneo.”
“Well, Timbuktu, Borneo and Darjeeling can carry on without me. My wife and I went to Canada one time. That was foreign enough for me, and we weren’t even in the French part. We drove to Saskatchewan. It’s all a big prairie up there, as far as you can see. You’d think it wouldn’t be so different from Texas, them speaking English and all. But it was. They have strange customs, and food and things like that. You’re supposed to take your shoes off when you go into a house. The people eat an odd kind of dumplings. But at night…that’s when you can see the Northern Lights. Strangest, most beautiful thing in the world. Colored lights just coming and going, streaking across the sky in waves, flashing in and out like nothing you ever saw. You ought to go up there sometime. You’d like it.”
Jan set down her spoon and studied the man across the table from her. They were just alike, weren’t they? Beth had noticed it first, and now even Jan could see it. Each had lost a spouse. Each had children they loved who rarely came to visit. Each had chosen Lake Palestine for retirement at the end of their lives. Only Jan wasn’t anywhere close to the end of her life. At least, she didn’t think so.
“If you liked things about Canada,” she said, “what makes you think you wouldn’t like Botswana?”
“I told you. Mambas.”
“Isn’t there anything dangerous in Canada? Grizzly bears, maybe?”
“I reckon there’s something dangerous no matter where you go.”
“Then maybe you’d like Botswana.”
He focused on her, his eyes narrowing. “Are you thinking of going to Africa?”
For a moment, Jan hesitated. And that slight pause scared her silly. Of course she wasn’t thinking about going to Africa. But why couldn’t she just up and say it? Why did the denial hang on her tongue like one of those old-fashioned stamps when you licked it too long?
“I’m not thinking of going anywhere,” she told him. “But I am thinking.”
He leaned back in his chair. “What about?”
“My daughter says Christians are supposed to keep busy—like we’re in a race. Heading for the finish line.”
“Well, I can set your mind at ease, honey—the finish line is not in Botswana.”
Honey. He had called her honey. Jan stiffened. Did she want to be Jim Blevins’s honey? Did she want any man to address her with endearments ever again? Surely not. And yet, the comfort and ease with which he had said the word made her feel strangely peaceful. It was almost as though she and John were sitting together in their little kitchen in Tyler.
“The Apostle Paul talked about running the race,” Jim was saying. He had his eye on the refrigerator, and Jan knew he was wondering whether it would be rude to ask for more cobbler. “The Christian life is a race, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave Lake Palestine to run it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Jesus commanded His followers to make disciples in Jerusalem, and Judea and the uttermost parts of the earth. He didn’t mean we all have to go to the ends of the earth. That’s what missionaries are for. Some of us need to stay here and proclaim the Gospel at home.”
“Do you do that?”
“Me?” He glanced up with a sheepish look on his face. “Sometimes. I used to leave Christian pamphlets in gas station bathrooms.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“I was a seed salesman, and I traveled all over Texas for the better part of my adult life. That’s a lot of gas station restrooms, let me tell you.”
“I never even did that much.”
“I bet you did. Didn’t you teach Sunday school or Vacation Bible School?”
“Sure.”
“There you go. See, we’re missionaries here in America. Nothing wrong with that.”
Jan let out a breath. “Oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Jim. The more I think about my daughter, the worse I feel. Not about her. About me. She’s so driven, and I’ve always been content to be a homebody.”
“Nothing wrong with that in my book.”
“But what about God’s book? I stopped being a daily Bible reader a long time ago. Now that I’ve started up again, it feels like I’m seeing the words with new eyes. Did you know that on one of Saint Paul’s journeys, he was bitten by a snake? The ship he’d been sailing in had wrecked, and he swam to shore with the other survivors. He was building a fire on the beach when a snake slithered out of the woodpile and sank its fangs into him. What I’m saying is…Saint Paul wasn’t afraid of mambas.”
“Well, I’m no saint, and I never said I was. I’m just a man doing the best he can. I had a family to feed and provide for, and I did that. I raised my kids up right, took them to church, stayed faithful to my wife—”
“And put pamphlets in gas station restrooms.”
Jim heaved a deep sigh. “A man’s got to make a living, Jan. We can’t all be missionaries and head off to Timbuktu to preach to the natives. Some of us have to stay home and take care of our families right here in Texas.”
She hung her head. “I know. It’s just been bothering me…how I’ve spent my life…how I was so focused on myself and my own family’s needs…how I never even bothered to try to find out what God wanted from me.”
“God wanted a good mother, a loving wife, a hardworking schoolteacher and a baker of the best blueberry cobbler in the world.” Jim reached over and laid a hand on her arm. “And that’s exactly what He got.”
Jan lifted her head and smiled. “Thanks. That’s so sweet of you.”
He swallowed. “Listen, Jan, I—”
“Oh, my goodness!” she cut in, glancing at the kitchen clock and slipping her arm out from under his hand as she got to her feet. “Look how late it is. It’s nearly midnight! You’d better go, Jim. I hate to be so blunt, but it’s really not a good idea for you to come over here at night. I don’t want the neighbors to get the wrong idea about us when we’re just good friends.”
Without waiting to see the reaction on Jim’s face, Jan hurried into the living room. She pulled the front door open and was reaching for the porch light switch when she spotted the flashing red dot on her answering machine. Without thinking, she reached over and pressed the button.
Beth’s voice filled the living room. She sounded strangely childlike and frightened. Alarm coursed down Jan’s spine as her daughter spoke. “…I don’t know where you could be at this hour. I hope you’re okay. I had planned to talk to you, but anyway, I’ll just leave this message to let you know I’m in London.”
“London!” Jan exclaimed.
“…I decided to look up Miles, after all,” Beth went on. “And I also need to tell you that…well, he and I are going to India.”
“Oh, no!” Jan gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Not India!”
But Beth went on speaking, delivering the awful message. “…I wanted to tell you that I will be meeting him…my birth father…Thomas Wood…and I hope you’re not upset about that, because I definitely don’t want to hurt—”
The beep silenced Beth’s voice, but Jan continued staring at the machine as if she could make her daughter keep talking and somehow deny the words just spoken. It couldn’t be true. This must be
some kind of prank. Hadn’t she and Beth discussed this very thing? Hadn’t Jan explained in detail the importance of stability and reason and choosing wisely? They had chatted right outside in the rose garden, and Beth had nodded at every sage word that came from her mother’s mouth. Then she ran off and did this!
“Are you all right?” Jim asked hesitantly. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Go away,” Jan sobbed out, fighting tears. “Please, Jim, just go home.”
He knew. Jim Blevins now knew about Thomas Wood and everything! He knew Jan’s most intimate secret, and she could never look him in the face again. He would probably tell the whole neighborhood.
“Sounds like your daughter is hatching some more of her far-flung schemes.” Jim spoke gently as he took Jan’s shoulders, turned her around and pressed her down onto the sofa. “Listen here, honey. I don’t know anything about London or India or Darjeeling or any of that. But I think I understand what’s got you upset. Beth isn’t John’s daughter?”
Jan shook her head. “He knew, though. He wanted her.”
“I’m sure he did. We’ve all done things. Wrong things. Stupid things. And good things, too. To me, you’re one of the best. You always will be.”
Jan pressed her fingertips against her eyes in a vain attempt to prevent the flood. “I’m sorry, Jim.”
“You didn’t do anything to me. I’m glad I was here.” He stood. “But I guess Trixie will be wanting out. She’s always got to have that last walk of the day. I’ll head for home now.”
As he stepped outside, Jan bent over and wept into her hands.
Chapter Thirteen
“I warned you.” Malcolm Wilson shook a finger at Beth, who sat across the table from him. Then he turned to his brother. “Miles, did I not warn Miss Lowell about you? I distinctly recall urging her to be extremely cautious.”
“You did, Malcolm, but as you can see, she succumbed to my charms at last.”
As hard as she might try, Beth could not take offense at the bantering between the two men. Wilson House was grander and much more opulent than she had imagined, and she was put up for the night in a magnificent guest bedroom with an attached bath. After a luxuriating soak, she had fallen deeply asleep for several hours. A shy maid woke her with a tray of tea at four that afternoon, and at six the limo arrived with Miles and Malcolm. Now sharing a booth in a rather seedy-looking restaurant, the three were digging into plates of greasy batter-fried fish and equally greasy wedges of fried potatoes. Delicious, but definitely not on Jan Lowell’s fruit-and-cereal diet.
Beth couldn’t help thinking of her mother as she sat across from Miles Wilson—the man Beth would like to blame for everything but couldn’t. No doubt the phone message she had left at the lake house had been a shock and a huge disappointment to her mom. Beth would give anything to take it back, but it was too late. After dreading the call for days, she had impulsively made it, and now she couldn’t undo anything.
“She is regretting it,” Malcolm said. “I can see the truth clearly written on her face. She knows she was wrong ever to see you again, but the deed is done.”
“I contacted Miles because I need to see my birth father,” Beth told Malcolm, “but you’re right. I am regretting it.”
“What gives you pause?” Miles protested, a look of innocent dismay on his face. “Did I not collect you at the airport? Ensconce you at my ancestral family residence? Arrange for you to have a truly British meal?”
“You have been kind,” Beth conceded. “But I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation to travel to India. First of all, I hardly know you.”
“Too true,” Malcolm pointed out. “Miles is a rogue.”
“Nonsense. I’m a gentleman in every sense of the word. Shut up, Malcolm, before I pinch your ear.” He focused his attention on Beth. “You and I know each other well enough to fly to India in one another’s company. After all, we’ve traveled half the continent of Africa together, haven’t we? When we’re back in England again, we shall declare to my doubting brother that we are great friends, and all his warnings were in vain.”
“Friends,” Malcolm scoffed.
“Yes, friends. Beth does not yoke herself with just anyone.”
“You make the poor lady sound as if she were an ox!”
Beth spoke up. “Miles is referring to a passage from the Bible.”
“Beth is very religious.” Miles bent over and reached into his briefcase. “As am I. Or nearly so, anyway. Look, Malcolm, this is my new Bible, and I must tell you that if you bothered to read it, you would find it enlightening.”
“Religious? You?” Malcolm snickered as his brother set a leather-bound volume on the table. Beth noticed that the Bible was nearly identical to her own. Malcolm ignored it. “Now I know you’ll do anything to steal a lady’s heart, Miles. Pay this man no heed, Beth. He’s wicked. You’d do better to turn your attentions to a steadier, more honorable sort of man.”
Miles barked out a derisive laugh. “Like you, I suppose?”
“And why not?”
“Because you’re boring.”
“I like Malcolm,” Beth declared. “You’re exactly the kind of man my mother would choose for me.”
“I’m not certain that should be taken as a compliment,” he returned.
“But it is. She chose a wonderful husband. My father was as steady and honorable as they come. She was wise to marry him.”
For a moment, both men fell silent, and Beth knew they were thinking of the man she was traveling to meet. Her birth father. So far, no one had broached the topic, and she hoped it would stay off-limits. Miles summoned the waitress for a refill of their soft drinks, while Malcolm suddenly busied himself flipping through his brother’s new Bible.
“Our parents were lovely people, too,” the older man said. “Well matched. Sadly, Mum wasn’t quite as certain of this fact as Miles and I, and she took herself off to live in Australia with the captain of our father’s polo team.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open. “Miles didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s not the sort of thing that makes for charming conversation. Our father was heartbroken, of course.”
“Yes,” Miles concurred. “The dissolution of his polo team was the saddest thing that ever happened to him. He never recovered from it.”
“Oh…” Beth was puzzling over this information when both brothers began chuckling.
“You can’t take such things too seriously,” Malcolm told her. “Their divorce wasn’t amusing to us at the time, but we’ve accepted it.”
“Nothing we could do about it anyway,” Miles said. “But, Malcolm, you’ve made it sound as if Dad died of a broken heart. It was leukemia, actually. He fought it as hard as he could, but he couldn’t win. Dreadful disease.”
“I’m very sorry.” Beth thought of her own father’s battle with ALS, and she wondered why Miles hadn’t mentioned the leukemia to her earlier. It was another experience they had in common, though not a topic as cheerful as their shared interest in globetrotting. Maybe, as Malcolm implied, Miles cared only about impressing and charming her. She was another fly for his spider web.
“If I’m the sort of man your mother would choose for you,” Malcolm asked Beth, “why are you winging off to India with my ne’er-do-well brother?”
“He offered.”
“There you have it,” Miles said. “I offered. On the other hand, I think there’s more to this. I believe Beth is sitting here this evening because schemes greater than either of ours have been at work. You see, I’ve been reading in my Bible—give me that, Mal, you tiresome devil.”
Wresting the book from his brother’s hands, Miles leafed through the pages. “Incredible amount of material to digest here,” he mumbled as he searched through it. “Too much, really. Shocking things. Murders, stonings, adulteries—even a lady who hammered a tent peg through a bloke’s head.”
“No. Can you mean it?” Malcolm said.
“Absolutely. One can hardly think where to be
gin and end in reading this book. The teachings of Christ are magnificent, and at the same time difficult to comprehend. The scope is vast. It would take a great mind to truly fathom it.”
“That lets you out,” Malcolm muttered.
“Now then, here we are,” Miles continued. “The back part of the book appears to be about Jesus and the beginnings of Christianity. The front part is all Jewish history. Quite confusing—kings and prophets and all that. I can’t make much of it.”
“You never will. You barely passed your A-Levels.”
“Pay him no mind,” Miles advised Beth. “He’s jealous because I was better in football.”
“Well, get on with it,” Malcolm prodded. “If you’re determined to preach at us, go to it.”
“I found this interesting bit in the chapter titled Romans, which I decided to read because it sounded as if Saint Paul were writing a letter to me.”
“Romans is a book, not a chapter,” Beth clarified. She realized she had been clutching the corner of the tablecloth ever since Miles had opened his Bible. He really had bought it—and not just to impress her. He was actually reading it.
“A book within a book,” Malcolm said. “I’ve seen that sort of thing before. I believe Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings is set up that way.”
“No, that’s three separate books,” Miles stated. “Honestly, Malcolm, how did you pass A-Levels? At any rate, here in this letter to the Romans, Saint Paul tells the Christians to think of God as a loving father, even when they suffer. He speaks of the Holy Spirit, who assists Christians in various ways, particularly by praying for them when they’re too miserable to pray for themselves.”
“Not a happy lot, I take it,” Malcolm observed.
“They do appear very content, oddly enough. Now listen to this. I found it underlined in Beth’s Bible, and I’ve underlined it in my own, as well. It’s remarkable.” He cleared his throat and began reading. “‘And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for their lives.’ There, what do you think of that?”
Leaves of Hope Page 17