The Last Detail

by Lisa J. Lickel

  Merit slumped against a chair. “I think we’re all right. I don’t recall any breakables in that box.” His breath came in shallow gasps.

  “Could you do me a favor, and sit down before you keel over?” Amalia could not stop voicing her frustration with his continued attempt to work in his exhausted state, and stomped out to the kitchen to get him a glass of water.

  She thrust it in his hands when she returned. The outside light cast an exotic glow across his features, and Amalia held her breath while she stared, fascinated, as he drank.

  He set the glass down with a thump, which made her jump. “Why are you staring at me? Don’t tell me you watch your fiancé like that.”

  “Excuse me?” Amalia stopped his outburst. “I understand that we’re tired. At least, I am, and I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. And what do you mean, ‘my fiancé’? Who told you that? I only want to help you.”

  “Help me what? Look, you’ve been great, really good to me, so far. Let’s continue to be professional about this…relationship.”

  “Relationship? Is that what you think we’re having? I’ve known death all of my life, respected it. But, like you, I’ve always stood off, watching from a distance so nothing could touch me, hurt me.”

  “You don’t know anything about me. I have one focus. To serve God in any way he calls me. And I am not…standoffish.”

  “All right,” Amalia said. “I’m trying to tell you that…tonight…tonight for the first time in my life you made me realize that a world I know nothing about exists outside of my realm. And it isn’t scary. That I can make a difference. You made me ashamed for my pettiness, and if I’m attracted to…anything, it’s your life—”

  “There’s nothing attractive about the mud, poverty, disease…”

  Merit attempted to talk over Amalia, but she kept trying to make him understand. “—your experiences…your ability to give yourself to others.”

  When they stopped trying to drown each other out, she straightened and turned toward the door, casting a long, wavery shadow on the floorboards. She’d stepped way over the boundary of polite company, her manners apparently left in the gutter. How her mother would cringe if she knew. “I think I’d better leave.”

  NINE

  Merit caught Amalia’s hand and pulled her back toward him. What had he done? He didn’t recognize himself. “Wait. Please, don’t leave like this. Not…upset. I don’t…didn’t…” He needed to regain control; on a subconscious level he knew that. He dropped her hand and rose from the chair, knocking the glass over with a crash. “Amalia.” Her name came out in a whisper, a plea, a prayer. He’d drawn her too close. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils, like the first blossom of the berries that grew wild everywhere in the mountains of Nehrangestan.

  “Amalia.” With a groan he cupped her face and crushed her lips with his, dazed by her admission of how his chosen life of service affected hers. His chosen life. Gasping, he reeled back. Merit felt a rush, like flying in a car over a dip in the road. “I...I’m sorry. I don’t understand…what came…wait!”

  She ran outside and clattered down the wooden steps. Merit gathered his wits and gritted through the weakness of his ankle to shuffle to the door in time to see her drive away. The car he’d come to associate with Demarest followed closely. Merit returned to the living room, where he stood for a long time in the spot in which he betrayed himself and his mission. How on earth could he look Amalia in the face again, let alone pray for forgiveness for so easily succumbing to temptation?

  * * *

  For the next month the home mission and denomination office lined up a number of weekend speaking engagements which took Merit around the United States. He’d avoid Fox Falls for any reason right now; specifically church, where he might run into certain people he didn’t want to meet.

  Jet lag alone kept Merit off his feet much of the rest of the time. He stayed near the house and yard, forcing himself to mow the lawn and repair the rotting back porch when he felt up to it. He went twice a week to the little Community Medical Center, otherwise known as the hospital, where he dutifully contorted himself into unnatural positions to satisfy the physical therapist. The man did his job well. Merit soon recovered from the worst pain. The small hospital, which had a famed staff of five women doctors, was a comfortable reminder of his connections to the medical field. If not for the lingering ache in his shoulder, Merit could almost convince himself he felt physically well.

  His spirit, though, could use a boost. He kept the nightmares of mudslides and dying infants to himself, but more than once he woke in his borrowed bed covered in sweat, rubbing his palpitating chest and wondering if his heart had been affected by his wound. How long before he could return to the people who needed him and the medicine he brought?

  Mudslides…he hadn’t thought of Paul’s family for a long time. Talking to Amalia about it must have brought it on. Well, the nightmare reminded him to stay single so he would not have to suffer a loss of his own like that. And staying single definitely meant avoiding certain…women. A particular woman whose navy blue eyes glistened in bright sun, whose hair descended in waves over her shoulders, and whose mouth….stop.

  Not surprisingly, his occupation of Uncle Bruce’s former home renewed interest in prospective house hunters. People were probably nosier than they were in interested in purchasing, for no firm offers came their way. He’d picked up and vacated three times for Werner before the deal with the broker came to a close. Merit called to ask Pru to tell The Last Detail to forget about the rest of the contract, that he’d put the house up for sale himself if it meant not having to talk to Amalia. Prudence did not appreciate the request when he telephoned her early in June.

  “What do you mean, you want me to cancel Amalia’s contract? Isn’t she doing her job? If you want to hire someone else, you’ll have to tell her. You live right there.” Prudence sounded downright huffy.

  Merit held the phone away and looked at it, as if he could see his sister’s reaction in the small screen. He frowned and put it back against his ear. “Pru, you’re the one who contracted with The Last Detail to begin with.”

  “What’s gotten into you, Merit? I’ve never known you to—ah, lover’s spat?”

  “Prudence!”

  “Well, last time we talked you told me you had feelings for her.”

  “I did not. Sis, will you just do this?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll arrange a meeting when I bring the kids for a visit.”

  “Pru…”

  “After school’s out. I promised them we’d visit Uncle Merit in Illinois for two weeks. We’ll have a good time, visit Chicago and do all sorts of fun things with you. Gotta go. Love ya, bye.”

  Merit groaned. Pru matchmaking—not a good thing. Then he imagined Hudson Demarest gleefully picking out an urn for him. He shuddered. No, no, no.

  Set goals. Make a list. Get more—organized. Number one: talk to Amalia before Prudence arrived. Sometime. When he happened to run into her. Which, since he wasn’t in town much, might not be for a while. A friend of Pete’s had loaned him a vehicle to use while he was in town so he could get around, an older Jeep that looked much like the ATV at his mountain clinic and worked fitfully most of the time.

  Cherie called to ask him to come for supper when he came in after his last trip. “Just informal, Merit. To catch up on some of your travels. We don’t see you enough, and you’re right here. And I want to make sure you’re eating properly.”

  Merit chuckled. “In that case, I accept. Thanks, Cherie.”

  When he arrived at the Thompson’s ranch house, he stepped out of the way as Cherie ran past, offering a smiling welcome and a “Go on in,” as she chased after three-year-old Joey with a washcloth.

  “We fed the kids,” Pete told him when he went through the door. Merit noted the table in the dining alcove set for four. Pete offered a glass of water and a seat in the living room while he paced from the window to the door and back again. “We have a fa
vor to ask you, Merit, if you can squeeze us into your schedule.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve been traveling a lot. I know, for the mission board and all.”

  “What do you need?’

  “Cherie and I have vacation planned, the first two weeks of July. Could you preach for me? Most of the other duties are dealt with. If there’s an emergency, you can call Gordon Wakefield over at Abundant Living.”

  “I’m honored, Pete.” Merit enjoyed putting a sermon together. He welcomed the intimate time spent in God’s company, and this was a small way to repay some of the kindness of the people.

  Pete stopped his fidgeting. “Thanks, old man. Mike Hargrove, council president, will call you, then, with the details. I think they send out some kind of letter with the information you’ll need.”

  Jennifer, Pete and Cherie’s six-year-old, wandered in from the kitchen.

  “Did Mom catch Joey?” Pete asked her.

  Jennifer regarded Merit with wide brown eyes while twirling a lock of her waist-length hair. “Mmhmm. She took Gregory out of the highchair.”

  “You remember Mr. Campbell, don’t you, honey? Say hello.”

  “Hello. When’s Amalia coming?”

  Merit should have known. His stomach rippled with cold chills, and his appetite fled. The only person he’d spoken to about his indiscretion had been Pete, before this last trip. Pete had nodded and glossed it over. What had Merit expected, anyway? Absolution? Now Pete cast him an apologetic look. “Cherie asked her this morning. Demarest’s away at some conference. I didn’t find out until this afternoon.”

  Merit forced himself to smile. “Sure. I wanted to talk to her, anyway.” In private, of course, but perhaps he would find a way afterward. Maybe when they were walking out to their cars to go to their separate homes. When the doorbell rang, his heart skipped a beat before it began to thump again with painful irregularity. A bead of sweat grew at his hairline, and he wiped at it before standing to greet Pete and Cherie’s other guest.

  Amalia nodded in his direction. “Hello, Merit. It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

  He wasn’t sure what he said through numb lips in reply, or even what language he had used, and felt light-headed when Jennifer, who’d attached herself to Amalia’s hand, took her to the kitchen to show her something. He sank back into his chair. Pete cleared his throat but remained silent.

  “Did I hear the bell?” Cherie came from the direction of the bedrooms, carrying Gregory. A faint whiff of talcum powder swirled around her.

  “Amalia’s here. She’s out there with Jenny.” Pete jerked his head toward the kitchen and took the baby to jiggle on his lap, causing little Gregory to coo and laugh.

  “You want to hold him?” Pete asked Merit.

  Tempted, Merit shook his head. “I don’t trust the strength of my shoulder and arm yet, my friend. I don’t want to take a chance in accidentally dropping him.” He did lean forward, however, to let Gregory grab hold of his thumb and wave it. He tore himself away when Amalia returned. Her eyes appeared very dark tonight. She wore slacks, the first time he saw her dressed so informally since their hike at Starved Rock. Her long hair cascaded down her back in a glossy ponytail, reflecting highlights when she turned her head.

  Cherie seated herself on the arm of her husband’s chair, leaning over to chuck the baby under the chin. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you tell us where you’ve been traveling, Merit?’

  By not staring at Amalia, Merit found he could speak naturally. “Feels like coast to coast. Washington State, Texas…” He shared a few anecdotes from the various families who hosted him, and some of the odder questions. One bespectacled little girl asked in all seriousness whether or not he tamed a musk ox.

  “They must have been learning about them in school.” Cherie laughed.

  During dinner Merit managed to address Amalia directly. “I wanted to apologize again for making it sound as if I don’t need anything at all for the mission. Your offer to do some fundraising is very welcome, as a matter of fact. I’m sorry that I’ve been so busy that we haven’t been able to talk about your ideas.”

  He had wanted desperately to apologize for the kiss, too, but not in front of Pete and Cherie. And that adorable baby who kept bouncing and reaching for Pete’s spoon. Amalia eventually took Gregory on her lap so Pete could finish his dinner in peace. Merit wondered what kind of child she and Demarest would produce.

  Amalia spoke from under Gregory’s exploration of her nose. “The Farmer’s Market Association wants to hold a bake sale for you—for the mission.” Her voice sounded nasal from Gregory’s squeezes. “Instead of only offering fresh produce, Leah Johnson, the president, said if anyone wanted to offer baked goods for a special sale, along with their vegetables, we could give you the proceeds.”

  “The mission, you mean. Not me, personally. I’m always scrounging for supplies for the clinic. Shipping is outrageously expensive. That’s very generous. I’d be glad to come on some of the days, too, answer questions and that sort of thing.”

  Cherie stood and came around to take Gregory back. The baby yawned. “So, it sounds like you’re staying put for a while, Merit.”

  “I don’t have anything scheduled out of state until the end of July now. In fact, my sister is bringing her kids to visit after school’s out.”

  “Prudence is coming?” Amalia asked. “We can give you all kinds of advice about what to do when they’re here.”

  “I think she has a list, but thank you. She’ll adore the farmer’s market. She likes that kind of thing. And with the preaching, I should be busy enough.”

  “Preaching?”

  Cherie handed the sleepy baby to Pete. “Oh, good, you asked him. I’ll get dessert if you go put him down.”

  “Sure. Merit’s agreed to take over while we’re on vacation in July,” Pete told Amalia before he took Gregory away to bed.

  When they were alone, Merit faced Amalia. “I need to talk to you, tell you how sorry I am, about…about the last time we were together.”

  Amalia, rosy-cheeked, returned his stare. “Please. It was my fault, anyway. I shouldn’t—”

  “Here we are.” Cherie brought in a tray of strawberry shortcakes. “We picked berries this morning.”

  * * *

  Prudence, kids, and a jumpy red setter named Portia arrived in the late afternoon on a Wednesday. “Tom’s coming for the Fourth of July. Is that okay?”

  Merit’s sister had chopped and lightened her hair. Every time he saw her, she had done something to change her appearance. The new hairstyle looked relatively mild compared to some of the wilder colors she had tried in the past.

  “Nice look, Sis.” Merit hugged her. Tricia, Prudence and Tom’s daughter, had turned eight years old. She had her mother’s leggy build and original thick, red-blonde hair. Insatiably curious, the young girl immediately attacked her uncle with numerous questions about the house and yard and when could they visit the waterfall in Fox Falls. Lawrence, not Larry, had celebrated his sixth birthday in May. He would go to first grade next fall, he told his uncle. After Lawrence and Merit examined the caved-in remains of the doghouse in the backyard, Lawrence solemnly promised to help Uncle Merit put on a new roof for Portia’s stay. Merit doubted Portia would care, but it would be a good project for the two of them.

  Prudence had a list of ideas and tickets to the huge amusement park on the north side of Chicago for two of the days, when they would stay away overnight. Merit thanked heaven and his sister for her thoughtfulness at not demanding his attention every moment of their visit. He loved them, of course. He simply wasn’t used to all the commotion.

  He grilled chicken and burgers as the kids helped Portia examine every inch of the backyard.

  “How come you don’t have any flowers, Uncle Merit?” Tricia asked.

  Pru raised a brow at him.

  “I haven’t had time to plant any,” he called back.

  “Where’s your g
arden, Uncle Merit?” Lawrence sing-songed.

  “I didn’t know I was going to stay here all summer.”

  “Isn’t this your house?” Lawrence asked.

  Merit took a turn, raising brows at Pru. She laughed. “Speaking of gardens, I bet a quaint little town like this has a farmer’s market.”

  Merit flipped a burger. “Yep. Tomorrow, as a matter of fact. We can all go. Amalia has this fundraiser deal going on with the Chamber…”

  * * *

  The next day, Merit accompanied Pru and the kids as she drove her van downtown. Local merchants and nearby gardeners set up tables and umbrellas on the riverfront common grounds. He put his shaky hands in his pockets as Amalia approached, all smiles and flutters with her greetings. No, wait—that was his heart fluttering. He took a deep breath and pursed his lips at little Tricia’s smirk.

  “I think this is a great idea,” Pru said when they got out and approached the church table.

  “Mrs. Maille, this is Reverend Campbell’s sister, Prudence,” Amalia said, introducing the chairman of the New Life Women’s Guild.

  “Please to meet you,” Pru said. “I’m going to suggest this at the Women’s Firefighters Auxiliary back home.”

  While Merit chatted with Ruth Abbott at the next table about her stunning strawberries, he happened to look up and catch Pru, Amalia, and Jordyn, the woman who owned some sort of sweet shop, huddled near another table featuring pints of raspberries. Every so often one of them cast a furtive glance at him.

  Thoughts of what they might be saying drove Merit to distraction. He had a hunch it didn’t have much to do with canceling Amalia’s contract, either. He grabbed Tricia and Lawrence by the hand. “C’mon, gang. Let’s go check out the river.”

  Lawrence skipped. “Yippee. Can we go fishing?”

  “Where’s the falls?” Tricia wanted to know.

  Even the never-ending questions were okay by him.

  * * *

  Merit went to the church office on Friday to escape the unusual sounds of family and dog at his house while he prepared for the first weekend’s preaching at New Life. Prudence’s husband Tom would arrive any time and Merit wanted to give them a private family reunion after a week apart.