The Last Detail

by Lisa J. Lickel

  He paced in front of Pete’s desktop computer. The sermon topic continued to dance out of reach. What kind of message would they expect?

  No, no. That’s not the way to think. Merit continued a jerky path. Used to working out simple messages in Nehrangesi, Merit had trouble stilling his mind and heart to listen to what the Lord wanted him to say to these people. Maybe he would hear God’s voice better outside. He paused at Mrs. Field’s desk.

  “Mrs. Field, I’ll be outside if anyone calls. I just need to—”

  “Go outside?” She smiled. “I understand completely.”

  Thick sod surrounding the red-brick building muffled his steps. Merit considered his options. Peter’s congregation didn’t need to listen to any sophisticated sermon from him. In his talks with other partners in mission, he often taught them some simple Nehrangesi phrases and even sang a hymn. Merit literally stopped to sniff appreciatively at the white tea roses rioting along the west wall.

  What could be more beautiful than the gospel message itself? God shares a deep abiding love for all, whether we live in the mountains or on the banks of the Illinois River. Then next week, he would talk about how to respond to that love by carrying out his will.

  In fact, he could read some of the translated Scripture. He would finish the Gospel of John and the letter to the Romans in the New Testament soon.

  He went back inside, eager to capture and refine his thoughts. “I’m back,” he said as he passed Mrs. Field.

  “I knew you’d get some inspiration out there, Pastor.”

  * * *

  On Sunday, Merit appreciated his family’s presence as they worshiped in New Life’s beautiful sanctuary, decorated with angled, dark wood slats lining the walls and thick stone tile aisles. Carpet had been laid under the pews fanning in a half circle around the altar. Merit felt as though he were inside Noah’s ark. Despite his nerves for this first Sunday as the fill-in pastor, his attention constantly strayed to the woman in the fourth row. Amalia Kennedy kept her dark shining eyes fixed upon him, feeding him encouragement. Often he felt as though he spoke directly to her, as she tilted her chin ever so slightly and smiled.

  Ready to introduce the hymn he had prepared, Merit cued the young man in charge of the sound system. Merit had never been all that confident of his own singing voice, but he had a lot of practice over the past few years. Haunting Nehrangesi pipes filtered through the speakers. The familiar tune caused smiles of recognition in the congregation, but the words were a surprise. He directed them to the overhead screen and began to sing the English transliteration of the native words. “How great thou art” gave the same message in any language. He faltered in astonishment when a sweet soprano rose out of the mumbling from the pews to join his on the chorus. Amalia. He met and held her gaze, blending their voices.

  * * *

  Ready to leave Fox Falls, Prudence stood at the open door of her minivan with Lawrence and Portia in the middle seats. Tom had already started out for home in his truck. “Thank you for putting up with us.”

  “You know I love you all. You’re always welcome. And thanks for letting me have these couple of months in Bruce’s house. I didn’t stop to think about whether or not you needed the money from the sale.”

  “Don’t be silly. Well, an inheritance would be nice, but…I’m kidding. No, we’re fine, Merit. There wasn’t any action on the house, anyway, so no lost money. However—”

  “Pru.”

  She carried on, unperturbed by his interruption and glare. “However, I detected serious action on the heartstrings of a certain sibling of mine.” With a check on Tricia to see that she got herself buckled in, Pru took a step closer to whisper, “I love you, little brother. I always believe you know what you’re doing, and I admire your resolve, your fortitude to do what’s necessary to get the job done. Listen, as a woman, I know these things. It’s not right for you to be alone. I’m not canceling the contract. Amalia can handle things until you’re ready for a change. She has feelings for you. I know it.”

  “Thanks, Prudence. I appreciate all you’ve said. Amalia shouldn’t risk her future with someone like me, even if I could convince her otherwise. I guess I panicked when I…well, never mind. I don’t think Hudson Demarest would let go that easily, even if you’re right.”

  TEN

  The Thompsons returned from their vacation mid-July. Amalia took some flowers from her garden to welcome them back.

  On the comfortable deck, they sat together in the sunshine and watched the kids play while catching up on news.

  “The thing is, Cherie, Merit really got to me in his sermons.” That had not been the only time he had “gotten to her,” but Amalia believed what she said to Hudson. She’d rather end up alone than hurt Merit by telling him she thought they should try out a romantic relationship, see if sparks flew. Plenty of sparks flew at that kiss.

  “Apparently Merit gave the congregation food for thought while we were gone,” Cherie observed to her husband.

  “Yeah, I had a lot of messages. Something about the Super Seniors wanting to get involved with the free soup program, and the Ladies Aid having a quilt raffle for postage—I have no idea what they meant by that. Then a council member calls to say sorry about the misunderstanding at the last deacon’s meeting, so he made a healthy donation to the deacon’s fund. Mrs., uh, Somebody left me an e-mail saying she planned to return the church’s silver platter that she accidentally borrowed last Thanksgiving and forgot to return.”

  Amalia and Cherie laughed so hard, Amalia had to wipe her eyes. Cherie, after jiggling the baby awake, patted his back to settle him down.

  “I guess we’d better listen to the taped sermons.” Pete grinned.

  Amalia sobered. “There’s something more. I bought a Chicago newspaper last weekend, and I read about a mission group downtown that’s working with displaced Nehrangese and others from that region. The native refugee camps set up after that horrible earthquake have been under attack by looters and a rebel breakaway government faction. The government can no longer protect families. The US allowed a number of emergency relocation settlements until other countries can help. They said Canada is willing to take refugees, too.” Her voice trailed. “I wondered, can we go?”

  Pete stopped in mid-reach for another cookie. “You want to visit refugee camps? In Canada?”

  “Not there. Chicago. Go as a church. Take supplies and things for the people. If they had to leave their homes, they probably need—oh, anything. I thought we could maybe get a bus.”

  “You want to get a bus.” He traded glances with Cherie again. Cherie shrugged.

  Amalia sat up. “But back to my request. Can New Life find some way to get involved with the mission? The people in the camps need us. And when Merit goes back to Nehrangestan, we can ship all kinds of things to help him. Couldn’t we contact them?”

  * * *

  Amalia, Pete, and Merit met in Pete’s office later to discuss Amalia’s idea. The government set up the refugee camp in a dormitory building provided for the summer on one of the many private college campuses north of downtown Chicago.

  “I knew about the temporary refugee camp,” Merit said. “It’s not that I didn’t think of it earlier.”

  Amalia frowned at him.

  “I guess I didn’t want to put anyone on display. You know, like, ‘look, here are the people I’ve been talking about. Now do you believe me?’”

  “We always believed you,” Amalia said. “We just want to help in more ways. Now that you’ve put a face and voice to the mission, this seems like the perfect opportunity. Those poor people, being thrust into a strange country with nothing.”

  “But put yourself in their place. How would you feel, being transported to a foreign country in terror for your life and your children’s lives, only to be stared at with pity by well-meaning strangers and given leftovers?”

  Pete held up his hands. “Okay, Merit, we understand. Do you think there’s anything we can do, as a body of Christ, to he
lp? Without the staring part?”

  Amalia pressed her lips together. “Or the leftovers? We’re not giving them rags to wear or moldy food.”

  Merit sighed and picked up the phone. “I didn’t say that. It’s that…well, you should see some of the junk that gets shipped over. All in the name of Christian charity. Of course there is always a need for supplies. I’ll make a call. I’m sure they’d welcome a load of clothing and food for now.”

  Well-meaning strangers. That stung. She hadn’t realized that one person’s charity could also mean another person’s junk. Amalia stopped Merit, mid-dial. “Can we do more than send it? Can we take it in person? If it’s like you say, that people might send junk, I want to sort it out, make sure there isn’t anything that would embarrass us or them.” She looked away and pursed her lips, then turned back. “And I want to meet them, encourage them if I can, let them know I’m sorry about all the bad things that have happened. Maybe get to know some of them a little. That helps, doesn’t it? Showing them we care? Making real connections?”

  “Why don’t we take this one step at a time?” Merit said as he finished punching numbers on the phone.

  One step she could do. She needed time to sort out her tangled emotions. Between telling Hudson she wouldn’t marry him and realizing Merit meant more to her than the face of the mission, she felt like the tennis ball at Wimbledon.

  Merit completed the call to the coordinator of the refugee program with encouraging results for their plan. Amalia couldn’t stop smiling even at Merit’s nonplussed reaction. Later that evening, after another brainstorm, Amalia called Pete.

  “Merit’s right. I want to do more than ask people to give up their out-grown clothes and chipped dishes. What if I asked people to come with us? And what if a requirement for the trip meant spending a day without food or shelter? To be able to sympathize with the refugees?”

  Pete clicked his tongue. “I’ve think you’ve hit on a good idea, Amalia. Let’s bring it up at the next ACA meeting.”

  * * *

  On Sunday, Amalia and Pete had no problem convincing the New Life Adults in their Community Action group to sponsor a twenty-four hour camp out, minus tents and food. They were intrigued with the idea of what it felt like being homeless and hungry, even if it was on the church lawn. Amalia called the editor of Fox Fall’s community newspaper, who agreed to send a photographer. Even the church youth groups decided to participate after she and Merit spoke at their weekly meeting.

  When the weekend of the event arrived, the pleasant weather let her down. How could they experience being exposed to the elements when they were safe and warm, and had soft grass to sit on? A few enterprising high schoolers snuck in simple games and someone got a fire going at dark. The River, LaSalle County’s radio station, set up a portable microphone and broadcast from the lawn.

  Amalia was hungry by dusk. Surely there were people around the community who lived hand to mouth.

  She did not hear anyone complaining, but grumbling stomachs vied with guitar-led choruses under the stars. By then, even the radio station’s van had departed. The giggling stopped about the same time a chill breeze made falling dew feel like ice. No one shushed the whimpering toddler huddled next to his parents, or made fun of the creaking portable potty door after three a.m.

  Amalia led a ragged bunch into worship the next morning. During the service, Pete encouraged a few from the group to share their experience.

  Merit joined Amalia for a welcome coffee afterward. “Perhaps they had a good wake-up call,” Merit said.

  Amalia nodded, watching the high-schoolers compete for donuts. “At least they had a chance to feel what it might be like to miss a meal and sleep on the ground. They’ll be a little more sympathetic.”

  When they finished this trip, Amalia made a mental commitment to find out about any homeless or needy people around Fox Falls. Because they weren’t visible didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  * * *

  A week later a yellow school bus loaded with donations transported twenty-seven people from New Life Church in Fox Falls to the peaceful, tree-filled Chicago college campus where eighteen Nehrangese families took refuge. During the trip, Amalia asked Merit to teach the bus-riders some useful phrases in Nehrangesi, which he did in good spirit.

  Upon arrival, Marianne Friese, the liaison to the refugee group’s camp, introduced herself. Pleasant-tempered and cheerful, the heavy-set brunette wandered from group to group greeting the visitors from New Life and translating here and there, as did Merit.

  Amalia thought she might be nervous, or even embarrass herself by crying at the sight of a camp full of hopeless people. But from the first scent of grilling onions and lamb, chattering shawl-draped women and solemn-eyed babies, she felt perfectly comfortable squatting with them on the lawn outside the dorm. She recognized several words of their language that Merit had used, and shared a laugh with the Nehrangesi women at her terrible phrasing.

  She heard over again how grateful the people were to “Jaycee” who brought them to safety in Chicago. Puzzled, she cornered Merit to ask who they were talking about. “Are they Christians? Talking about Jesus?”

  Merit shook his head. “I don’t know these families. They’re not from my area. I’ve never heard anything about a Jaycee, and there’s no polite way to ask.”

  After the clothing distribution and a mid-day meal of spicy mutton and some kind of flat bread, the translated stories of gunfire and bloody skirmishes that forced many of them to flee for their lives from the temporary camps already in turmoil after the earthquakes disturbed Amalia. Far from acting hopeless, the people shared a communal peace and belief that eventually they would return.

  One curly-headed little boy dogged her heels like a new puppy. Even after a rebuke from an older girl, he stayed underfoot. Amalia almost tripped over him half a dozen times.

  Finally, after nearly kicking the child, Amalia pulled him out of the path of people coming and going and knelt. She pointed to herself. “Amalia.” The next thing she knew, she had an armful of squirming, warm child who tickled her nose with his dark springy hair.

  “Bunty,” she thought she heard in her ear.

  She leaned back to look at him. “Your name is Bunty?”

  He nodded vigorously, turned around and made himself at home on her lap. Amalia decided to accept her fate and relaxed.

  “Ah, I see you’ve made a friend.” Marianne Friese stopped and sat down on the grass beside them. “Poor child. Orphaned, we believe. Only a recently engaged young cousin to look out for him.”

  “What will happen to him?”

  Bunty tilted his face up at Amalia. A line creased his sweet creamy brow above his long-lashed brown eyes.

  “The agency will make sure he’s placed with relatives.”

  “Does he know what we’re saying?” Amalia asked Marianne.

  Marianne grinned and tickled the little boy’s cheek. “He’s a sprightly one. I think he gets more than he lets on, don’t you, young master?”

  “Yes. Yes. I can.” Bunty, wearing loose-fitting faded blue pants and a shirt, much too large, bounced on her thighs. Amalia winced.

  “I can. I help. Yes. No. Jaycee.”

  Amalia laughed and hugged him. “Sounds like you’ll know English in no time.”

  Bunty nodded again. “Thank you. Yes, yes, yes.”

  * * *

  On the way home that night, Amalia sat behind Merit. The others from New Life were quiet or talked softly among themselves. She overheard many impressions of the work needed, and the way people’s lives had been all but destroyed by both natural disaster and war, yet their hope inspired the church members.

  Merit had to have been exhausted after the long day, and she hated to bother him, but she had a question. “Merit?”

  He half-turned to face her, grasping the back of the seat for balance as the bus swayed along the freeway. Just as she thought—his eyelids drooped. Even smiling seemed a chore. “Yes?”

  “T
hose stories we heard of border skirmishes. Do you think the fighting will affect your return?” In the dim light of the interior of the bus, Amalia focused on his mouth as he answered.

  “No, I don’t think so. There’s always fighting somewhere. Our clinic is up in the mountains, away from all of that. They wouldn’t attack a medical facility, not directly. The mortar and fire last spring was an accident, Sennet said. He punished his men who misfired, he told us. Soldiers from both sides need the clinic and we don’t play favorites.”

  “The camps, innocent families, were attacked and forced to leave. After all they’d been through, already, losing their homes in an earthquake.”

  Merit set his hand over hers. His lips turned upward before he spoke. “We’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  “Thank you for today.”

  She felt his squeeze across her knuckles before he turned around again.

  His smile lingered in Amalia’s memory the rest of the journey home.

  * * *

  When Merit didn’t answer his phone the next day, Amalia grew worried and called the church office. “Hi, Pete. I wanted to thank Merit for setting us up yesterday, and uh, ask a question. He’s not answering his phone and I wondered if you knew where he might be…or anything?”

  Pete’s hesitation sparked across the airwaves. “I guess he didn’t tell you. I’m sorry, Amalia. Merit left for New York City early this morning. He went to petition the mission board for immediate return to Nehrangestan.”

  ELEVEN

  The new tan suit jacket Merit had received as a birthday gift from Prudence made him sweat in the New York City summer. He hadn’t thought about summer heat, he had been so filled with the longing to return to the clear mountain air of Nehrangestan.

  Merit wandered down Broadway toward Times Square. He stopped at the sight of street cars disgorging passengers. People jostled him on the sidewalk until he waded against the flow over to a café table with a bright yellow umbrella. He shed the jacket and sat heavily in an iron chair.