“Oh, honey, you don’t do that.”
The garage door opened and closed. Pete joined them, brushing a kiss on the cheeks of his wife and youngest son. “Do what?”
“There are bigger issues out there than who gets Aunt Millie’s pearl earrings,” Amalia said earnestly to Pete.
He gave Cherie a quizzical look and reached for the cookie plate she had set between them when Amalia arrived. “What’s she talking about? Or is an overdose of chocolate involved?”
“I want to do something besides write checks to the missions New Life supports,” Amalia said.
Pete shook his head, popping a vanilla cookie in his mouth. “Like what?”
“That’s just it.” Amalia threw up her arms. “I don’t know.”
“What does Hudson think?” Pete asked.
Amalia clunked her glass on the deck. “Hudson? What does he have to do with anything?”
“As your future husband, I should think he’d want to know your dreams, maybe even participate.”
Cherie coughed politely.
Amalia gave her friend “the eye” before addressing Pete. “I’m not marrying Hudson. I told him so.”
“Are you sure? Amalia, everyone assumed—”
“Why? Why should people think they know me or my situation? My parents made some absurd agreement during my infancy. In fact, we don’t do arranged marriages in this country, don’t you know? Hudson could have had any woman he wanted all these years. He could have even asked me, but he didn’t. Until now, and I told him no. All he wants is a womb to bear his seed.” She snorted and folded her arms, then watched dispassionately while Pete choked mid-crunch.
He gulped his wife’s drink to wash down the offending crumbs. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what he said to me—that he wants a son to carry on, and soon I’ll be too old to have a baby so we should get married now.”
Amalia had not told Cherie that part. Cherie gasped. “Oh, Amalia. Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand him?”
Amalia rolled her eyes. “Huh. It’s pretty hard to misunderstand being called an old maid of nearly thirty in the midst of a marriage proposal. In public, no less. Right on the floor of Frederick’s. Honestly, at least four other couples must have heard him. Or witnessed Hudson Demarest on his knees.” She took a deep breath and twisted her lips in annoyance at her friends’ mutual mirth. She blew out the breath. “Maybe I’m not supposed to get married at all. There are lots of independent single women. I don’t need a husband controlling my life. The planet has plenty of people so I don’t need to contribute to famine and devastation with more mouths to feed.”
“Amalia.” Pete and Cherie chorused her name.
She stared at them defiantly. “Well?”
Pete winked at Cherie. “Do I really control your life?”
“Not exactly,” Cherie said. “Look, girlfriend, I’m not sure where you got your ideas about marriage or what that has to do with feeding people, but I’m here to tell you there are plenty of benefits to marriage.”
“As there are to being single. When I go home at night, I don’t have to worry about anyone else. If I want or need to work, I don’t have to bother with childcare, homework, or dinner for everyone else. Having a house is a responsibility, but I can leave it all day, or even for months, and it won’t starve to death or die from neglect or even get sick. No diapers, no middle of the night feedings, no extra laundry, no PTA. Any exhaustion is my own fault.”
Pete grinned wickedly. “When would you ever leave Fox Falls that long?” He snapped his fingers. “I have it!”
“What?” Amalia and Cherie chorused.
“Your next project. It’s almost time for a visit from one of our missionaries. You reminded me. I’ll invite one of them to give a talk, and you, Miss Last Detail, can organize it.”
* * *
Merit chafed at his banishment to the United States while he underwent the necessary treatment and physical therapy after his injuries. He felt like a stranger in a strange land, although he missed Pru and Tom and their kids when he was away in Nehrangestan. He had some speaking engagement requests to respond to, part of the deal with his home assignment from the missionary board. He was still easily tired fifteen weeks after being wounded, but walking was getting better and his shoulder twinged once in a great while. Finally getting rid of the walking boot had been a party day. After that, Pru had encouraged him to celebrate his freedom by going to visit friends, like Pete Thompson, who lived in Fox Falls. “Uncle Bruce’s house hasn’t sold yet. You can visit it.”
He’d looked at her through squinted eyes. “Why would I want to visit a house?”
She’d folded her arms and twitched her mouth. “I think it would be good for you to get around on your own a bit. Shake off the wobbles. I’ll get you a bus ticket. We need both cars, or I’d lend you one.”
“Get out from under, you mean?”
She’d grinned and ruffled his hair the way she knew he hated.
* * *
In Fox Falls a few days later, Merit woke up, still musing at his sister. Pru knew how to make things happen, not like the slow village life he’d grown used to. Tangra would still be discussing the benefits and pitfalls of such a trip.
“But the real question is,” Merit muttered at his reflection in the rusty motel bathroom mirror, “where is the money coming from for the new clinic?” His hair had grown long enough to get that annoying childish curl to it. He turned away from the mirror and wondered about the nearest barber.
Merit left the tiny old-fashioned motel complex in downtown Fox Falls to walk as briskly as he could the half block to the diner the desk clerk recommended. Therapy. Hah. He knew the mechanics of what he should do, but his doctor wouldn’t trust him and refused to sign his waiver until he had records proving he’d gone to a certified therapist. Smart man. Merit had a few more sessions to go.
He’d have to return to Pru soon, as his miniscule budget couldn’t stand the strain of motel rooms and meals out. But he agreed they’d both needed a break after a couple of months with his sister’s fussing and busy family life. Once he got on the speaking tour, his expenses would be covered by his mission partners.
The bell of Naomi’s Diner jangled at his arrival.
“Good morning,” a wiry woman behind the counter called. “Be right with you.”
Merit hooked the cane over the counter and straddled a stool. He greeted the men on either side of him. Both of his neighbors were heavily involved in various sections of the Fox Falls Gazette and only grunted in return. Naomi, the gray-haired woman’s name tag read, set a glass of water in front of him. “Just visiting? New in town? What can I get you?”
Merit grinned. “Yes, no, and…uh…what do you recommend?”
“You have the look of a Campbell about you, if I’m not mistaken.” Naomi cocked her head. “Your sister was here back when old Bruce passed. Nice man. I remember you kids. He’d bring you all here for a treat in the afternoon. You must be Justice.”
Once Merit’s heart would have curled at the name. No longer. “I’m Merit,” he said. “Justice is…was my youngest brother.”
Naomi righted the coffee cup in front of him and poured. “That’s right.” She shook her head. “Now I got it. You’re the missionary.”
“Right. I live in Nehrangestan, but I’m back in the States for a while.”
She pointed to the cane. “Trouble?”
“A bit. So, what’s good?”
Merit’s question got three different answers from his counter mates. In the end, Naomi brought out an over-easy egg and whole grain toast. Jelly, anything sugary for that matter, constituted a luxury in Nehrangestan, and he had lost his taste for American sweets. Naomi poured him more of their house blend, black coffee with a dash of nutmeg.
“Very good coffee. Thank you.”
She nodded and went to talk to her other customers along the counter.
Coffee, too, needed time to become an acquired taste, Merit
decided. No local teas quite matched the fragrance of the native plants in his mountain home, and he had reluctantly switched to coffee at Pru’s. Gradually Naomi eased the story of the attack and his injuries from him. She’d even found out about his education as both an ordained minister and a registered nurse so he could run the medical clinic. After they’d exhausted the topics of terrorism and war wounds, they’d moved onto a general discussion of aches and pains. He had to tell the gathered audience that he couldn’t diagnose any complaint unless they had recently been to Asia.
Merit finished his meal and left a tip. If he stayed much longer, Naomi’d find out his passport number and blood type. “Is there a taxi in town, or something? I don’t have far to go, but…” He waved the cane and grinned self-consciously.
Naomi frowned at Jerry, one of the men at the counter, and plucked the newspaper out of his hands. “You there, Jerry. You got nuthin’ else ta do. Give the Reverend here a ride. Hop to it.”
“Oh, really, that’s not necessary.” Merit backed up. “I don’t want to put anyone out.”
Jerry clamped his John Deer cap on his grizzled head and stuck a toothpick in his mouth. “Naw. Glad to help out. Where to? New Life Church? Sure. I’m out in front.”
Merit turned back to a beaming Naomi. “Thanks.”
“You’re in good hands,” she said. “Come back this way, and I’ll spot you a lemonade.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that.”
Jerry drove Merit along the Fox River for the first three blocks. Merit watched swift spring wavelets splash along, carrying detritus from winter buildup. Nearly two decades had passed since his last visit to Fox Falls. Vague, but pleasant, feelings of déjà vu began to surface. The library should be over there…yes. He and his brother and sister had gone there when they waited for their parents after Justice’s accident on the staircase when they were kids. Pru had introduced him to HG Wells, and he had been hooked by the adventure bug.
Jerry dropped him off at the front door.
Pete’s secretary, Mrs. Field, sent Merit to knock at the church office door. Pete welcomed him. “Out and about this fine day?”
“Right.”
“So, what are you doing?” Pete asked when Merit perched on a chair in the office.
“I wondered if you could help me get to Uncle Bruce’s house.”
“Why don’t you let me drive you?” Pete said. “It’s a few blocks.”
“Oh. Uh, do we need to get permission from…somebody? And a key. To go inside? Should I call...uh…”
“Amalia? I think she’s busy helping set up the tulip festival, or something. You’re technically half-owner. But we can make this official business, too, you know. I have the date for your talk, by the way. As mission partners, the congregation likes to know where their money is going, and I think we should open up to the public. Have you do an evening presentation, or something. I already asked Amalia to handle it. Though that was months ago. Before you almost got killed.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Merit protested, wondering who Amalia was. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d quit dramatizing it.”
“Sure, buddy.” Pete made to punch his shoulder. Merit held his breath, determined not to flinch, when Pete backed off with a smirk. “Glad you’re all better.”
Pete told Mrs. Field he would be out for a while and grabbed his car keys. He drove a meandering path toward the side of Fox Falls where Bruce had lived, cheerfully giving Merit a quick tour of town. Merit tried to keep track of street names, but found Pete wasn’t much of a stickler for a straight path.
“Fox Falls is growing fast,” Pete rambled. “In fact—” He swerved the car into a left-turn lane and cut across the path of a blonde housewife in a plum-colored minivan. “We’ll need to build a new school in a couple of years.” He scooted up to a curb and put the car in park. “Here’s the real estate office. I’ll just pop in and get the key to the house,” Pete said.
Merit took a deep breath and tried to relax. He considered what he’d need for a public presentation while Pete sought the key, returned and drove on. By the time Pete turned the door handle of Uncle Bruce’s towering house, Merit had made up his mind what he’d bring back from Missouri next month for the talk. He’d show some of his medical kit and the few souvenirs he’d brought from the field.
“It was open.” Pete shook the keys.
“What?”
“The door wasn’t locked. Maybe I should call someone.”
Merit raised his brows and peered at the empty dusty rooms. “Any vandalism?”
Pete went inside, then turned back. “Don’t think so. Maybe whoever was here last forgot to lock up. Come on in.”
The huge staircase in the entry of Uncle Bruce’s house evoked instant memories. Merit and his brother, Worth, along with Prudence and little brother Justice, slid down that banister. Justice had broken his arm and ended their fun.
“Sure is a big house,” Pete muttered, staring at the realty flyer in his hands. “Werner here says there are six bedrooms upstairs. I came inside once, to help Bruce move some of his things to Piney Haven.”
“All this space for one old man.” Merit stepped through glass doors into a barren square room facing the street and watched dust motes sparkle as they reflected sunlight. “Nice wood floors. I like the window. And a fireplace.”
“It should be inspected before the sale.” Pete walked through the main level quickly, testing the single bathroom’s toilet’s flush and flipping light switches. “No one’s turned off the power. I think the broker keeps that on so they can show the place. Werner said there’d only been one unacceptable offer. He’s not planning to renew his contract with Amalia.”
“And this Amalia is…who, again?” Merit opened the back door to a small enclosed porch off the kitchen. The screen sagged in ragged swatches and the back door hung cock-eyed. He stood on the wide peeling floorboards and stared at gnarled flowering pear trees in the yard, thinking of his family. He did not have time for nostalgia in Nehrangestan. Worth and his parents were dead and gone, and Justice had simply…gone.
“Oh, didn’t you know? Prudence signed with her to take care of Bruce’s estate. The Last Detail.”
“Right. Yeah, Pru said something.” A lady with the funny-named business, like his old teacher...now he vaguely remembered the woozy conversation with Pru in Germany. A caved-in doghouse moldered in the corner of the yard, surrounded by bare ground. “I don’t remember Uncle Bruce having a dog,” Merit called to Pete, whom he could hear opening and closing cupboard doors in the kitchen. “What happens if this place doesn’t sell?”
Pete answered from inside the kitchen. “Amalia probably knows that. You can ask her. She’ll do anything you need to help out. She’s a really nice girl. Woman. She’s great at taking care of things. You’d like her.”
A creak from the upper floor effectively cut off Merit’s response.
FOUR
Her pen ran out of ink. Amalia shook it, hoping for another purple drop so she could finish writing dows after Caulk upstairs win—
There had been a pen on the windowsill by the kitchen door, she recalled. Maybe it would work so she could finish the to-do list on this spooky old house. If she had to go home to get another one, she might talk herself out of coming back…at least until the next bright sunny day. There’d been two showings and the one offer was contingent on tearing the house down. Pru had said no. Werner was about to give the house back to her to deal with unless she did something. Amalia had talked to Pru about making a few inexpensive updates to hopefully draw some new interest.
Amalia headed downstairs, imagining what it would have been like growing up in a great big house like this with lots of brothers and sisters chasing around, shouting for lost homework, or asking to borrow a favorite sweater. The long, smooth banister framing the staircase was definitely meant for sliding. She glided her hand along the polished oak, the fingerprints of generations soaking in.
As she headed through the dinin
g room, a shadow crossed the huge old kitchen. She held her breath in shock that she’d been so preoccupied she missed the intruder. She looked around for possible weapons besides her out-of-ink pen, or at least a good hiding place.
Firm fingers grasped her elbow. A very unlady-like squawk escaped her throat before she heard her captor’s laugh. “Pete! Warn a girl.”
“I didn’t know you were here, Amalia.”
“It was nice out. I walked.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Pete said. “I’d like you to meet a special friend of mine from seminary.”
So, probably not a customer. She should have realized her job of getting rid of the old place wouldn’t be that easy. Amalia blinked and let out the breath. She patted her shoulder to check for escaped wisps of hair from the smooth roll she’d put up that morning. She looked around the dusty rooms. Let’s see…how could she put a positive spin on the place?
She put on her professional work smile and turned to face the tall young man leaning on a cane beside her pastor. He didn’t look older than Pete, yet character lines etched his face with a story of life experiences she’d never know in her little corner of Illinois. She held out her hand. Other details blurred as his warm hand closed around hers with unexpected strength. His clothes hung on him, indicating a recent weight loss. Light brown eyes, gold-tanned skin, and curling sun-streaked burnished hair—his appearance blended foreign with familiar.
“Miss Amalia Kennedy, this is Merit Campbell, on leave from the denomination’s mission project in Nehrangestan,” Pete said in his pulpit voice.
Amalia frowned slightly at his use of “miss.” Pete rocked on his heels and grinned at her. She raised a brow and quirked her mouth.
“Welcome to Fox Falls.” Amalia said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She tore her gaze from his and turned to query Pete. “Campbell?”
The Last Detail Page 3