The Last Detail

by Lisa J. Lickel

  “But, a baby? Do you know where Merit is now?”

  Cherie’s sympathetic expression accompanied the negative shake. She lifted her sleepy little guy and patted his back.

  Amalia unfolded herself from the couch and stood. “Merit told me that he wanted to fix up the house. He asked me to help him.” She looked around at the boxes. “I want to help you, too, Cherie. You know that. I’ll watch the kids. Help pack. Not that I want you to leave, of course. That’s not what I meant.”

  Cherie flapped her hand, a tremulous smile budging the corner of her mouth. “I know.”

  “Call me. And thank you. Thank you for everything. For being my friend, and for listening in a way no one else can.”

  “You’re welcome. And it goes both ways, you know. I’ll miss you, too. But now, go. You look like you need a think break.”

  “I should talk to Merit, anyway. About…that business arrangement we had been discussing. Before Hudson’s heart attack.”

  “I’ll be praying.”

  Once out of the door, Amalia considering pulling a dandelion and plucking the yellow petals for an answer about how to approach Merit. Go, call, wait. Yes, no, later. Should she telephone or just show up on his doorstep? What if he wasn’t home—like before? Merit’s comment when he first came to her house, about what people would think about an unmarried couple alone together, would never have given her pause if not for Hudson’s attitude. But, if Merit seriously considered accepting a call to be New Life’s pastor, her going to his house alone wouldn’t look good for him, either.

  She sighed. Hudson had a point about one thing: the importance of reputation. Merit hadn’t become her pastor, yet. Not that she would ask him for counseling, or anything.

  A thought hit her hard. In all the turmoil of the move, had Pete and Cherie told Merit about his brother? Or the refugees’ move? He should know about that. But she could also call him. That wouldn’t be as intrusive as going to his house.

  * * *

  At home in her little cottage, Amalia paced from the living room to the kitchen and back. She felt unreasonably nervous, as if she were making a particularly difficult business call on behalf of a client. But she had good news to share, not sad. Merit would be excited to know that there might be a chance that the Justice Campbell, the housing director, could be his missing brother.

  But would he be happy to hear it from her? Nighttime memories of Merit’s lips, soft and close enough to kiss, warred with the daytime cold reality of the results of her rash words to Hudson. She had spoken “I will” in haste to calm him down when he begged her to marry him. What if Merit heard and thought she would say anything to anyone? Worse—a liar who couldn’t be trusted? A woman who crumpled under duress? She needed to prove her strength. She bit the inside of her cheek. And dignity.

  Before she could convince herself otherwise, Amalia punched in Merit’s number.

  Three rings. Merit’s professional voice invited her to leave a message.

  Amalia took a quick breath. “Merit, it’s—me, Amalia. Kennedy. I wanted to tell you that I ran into an unusual name at the campus the last time I visited the refugees. The housing director has the same name…that is, his name is Justice Campbell. I don’t know if you were aware of that. I’m not trying to pry into your personal affairs or anything, I wanted to let you know that it seemed like more than a coincidence. You can call Marianne Friese and ask her about it if you’re interested.”

  Interested? Oh, goodness. How long could she talk?

  “The refugees are moving. I’m sure you know that. Oh, and I still want to help with your house. If you still want me. To help, that is. Cherie told me about—about church. I hope—”

  Beep.

  “You’ll stay, Merit. Stay, and be happy,” Amalia finished in a whisper to her buzzing receiver, and hung up.

  FIFTEEN

  Merit put a hand over his eyes when Amalia’s soft voice terminated at the beep. He’d heard the phone ring too late to pick it up before the voicemail kicked in. When he dialed in to get the message and recognized her voice, he didn’t immediately hit the recall button.

  Her message cut off. What would she have said she hoped for? That he would go or stay? Or something else? The fact that she had not even tried to contact him since that disastrous night led him to believe she had, indeed, returned to Demarest. She had meant what he overheard her agree to in the hospital. Cherie must have been mistaken.

  And, Justice…thinking about Justice hurt more than Amalia’s decampment.

  She might have had a reason to leave him, but his brother? What would make him leave the only family he had left, and then stay away? That man at the campus couldn’t be him. No matter what had happened in the past, Justice should have believed that his siblings loved him and would understand anything. They needed each other. Justice died, or he would have come back. If he were that easy to find, the police would have known about it long ago and closed the case. But it would be easy enough to make a telephone call. When he had time.

  Merit turned back to the computerized application for the call as Minister of the Word, the first one he had filled out since he finished seminary. Very different from the call of God to serve with Worth in Nehrangestan. Merit had seen that call through, even though Worth died before they could work together. He had prayed constantly since Pete and Cherie made their surprising declaration. The Lord spoke through others, too. Merit needed to trust.

  When he reached the question asking him to describe his previous background in the ministry, Merit set aside the keyboard and prayed. “Lord, Lord, my heart hurts. My mind is swirling. I loved listening for your direction, preaching from New Life’s pulpit in the summer and meeting many members of the congregation. I want to serve your people wherever they are, either here at New Life, or in Chicago for the mission, or maybe a hospital, or anywhere else you call. I am willing to go where you send me. Help me listen to you.”

  Did filling out this application put him back on square one of selfishness, weighing the odds, seeing who would answer first, keeping a backup plan ready and not trusting? Search my heart, Lord. See if there be any wicked way in me.

  Merit heard the response clearly. I know the plans I have for you.

  Where had that verse come from? Ah, yes, Jeremiah. Merit pulled his Bible toward him and flipped the pages. Chapter twenty-nine. He read them out loud. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”

  Great. Exiled to Fox Falls or Nehrangestan? “I really am grateful that you have plans for me, Lord. Whenever you’re ready, would you mind sharing them with me?”

  He looked at the answering machine, which dinged every five minutes reminding him that he had a message. “Okay, Lord, I’m counting on you not to harm me as I try to follow your will. Amalia first.”

  The return call had not been as awkward as Merit anticipated. After their cautious greetings, Merit thanked her for her concern about Justice and the refugees. Before she could say anything about checking on her information, he jumped right into the matter of the house.

  “Do I understand you correctly, that you’re willing to help get this house into shape? For me to live in, maybe?”

  “Of course, Merit. I said I would, and I meant it. But, maybe I can help you look for—”

  “Pru’s coming. My sister? She’ll be here next weekend to sign papers and all that. Maybe…maybe we can all get together then and make some lists of things to do?”

  “Okay, that sounds good to me. But—”

  “Great. Thank you. I’ll have her call yo
u then. Listen, Amalia, I really appreciate the offer.”

  “You’re welcome, Merit. When—”

  “Good—”

  “Have you decided anything about pastoring our church?”

  Merit squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ve prayed. I’m filling out some paperwork. Just in case. Sometimes the Lord’s call is loud and clear. Sometimes the whisper is so quiet I need to go off somewhere quiet to really listen.”

  “I’m glad that you’re taking the first steps. It’s not easy, figuring out which way to jump when everyone is shouting different answers at you from all directions. Listening to God doesn’t always mean it’s easy to carry through with what he wants.”

  “That’s what it feels like, Amalia. Thank you for understanding.”

  “I’ll pray for you, too.”

  He swallowed past the dryness of his throat. “That means more to me than anything.”

  * * *

  Merit talked to the mission board again, to explain about the possibility of serving the New Life community. He’d decided he wanted to use the house for mission, and thought it would be good for missionary respite, even though he wouldn’t use it as a training facility. He had been grateful for the places he had been invited to during the times he had been back on home assignment.

  Pru burst into Merit’s life again the next weekend, a miniature whirlwind of enthusiasm that infected Merit in spite of his confusion over his future. The kids immediately took over the backyard with Portia and some blankets for a makeshift tent over the clothesline.

  Prudence started badgering as soon as the kids left. What’s the long face about? Had he finished the application yet? When were they meeting with the bank and realtor? How soon were they getting together with Amalia?

  Merit stared at her, dazed.

  Pru laughed and took his arm, dragging him into his kitchen. “It’s good to be with you. Come on, let’s get me a drink of water, then go for a walk with everyone. I’ve been cooped up in a minivan with children and a dog for the past six hours.”

  Merit reached for a couple of glasses from the cupboard while debating whether to say anything to his sister about Amalia’s suspicions about their brother. He had yet to call Marianne or the college to ask. Never had he shied away from so simple a task as a phone call. What did he fear? He’d lived all these years as though Justice had died, like Mom and Dad. Nothing could hurt worse.

  Merit sighed while Pru chatted on. If he and Amalia were going to work together, she would certainly say something about Justice. How mad would Pru be, once she discovered he had kept this news from her? Nothing had been this complicated back in Nehrangestan. He poured water for Pru and the kids and followed them around the neighborhood.

  The next morning while Pru insisted on clearing away breakfast, Merit decided to make the call from the privacy of his room. Since he didn’t want to get Pru’s hopes up for nothing, so he decided to keep quiet until he had definitive news. Grimacing, he dialed information for the campus main office.

  * * *

  A few hours later at the bank, Merit and Pru signed the papers that made Merit the owner of Uncle Bruce’s house. Merit had tried to give his sister half of the cash left in their great-uncle’s savings account, but she had refused.

  “I’ll help you spend it, though,” she told him, grinning. “Amalia and I have a list.”

  Amalia.

  He and Pru walked out of the State Bank in Fox Falls and down the street to meet her at the office of a church member who specialized in home remodeling. No matter what happened with Merit’s future, even if he were called to be the pastor at New Life, he would need a place to live. The church did not own a parsonage, Pete reminded him as he put his and Cherie’s house on the market. Pru had sketched a rough outline of the first and second floors when he told her about letting missionary families stay there during home assignment. They had walked through the house, Pru scribbling madly on a blank sheet of paper. She had so many ideas and plans Merit felt both dizzy and elated that somebody could help make his dream a reality.

  “Save something for Amalia to do,” he’d told her.

  “Don’t worry,” Pru had replied, making him wonder how much they’d talked before Pru’s visit.

  He sat between the two women as they chattered away to Mike Pierce and his wife, Rae. “She’s the brains of Faithful Renewal,” Mike said during introductions, “I’m the brawn.” He gave a big grin and a muscle pump. An hour later, the Pierces agreed to come to the house next week to draw up plans and cost estimates. They shook hands.

  Afterward, Merit accompanied Amalia and Pru to the paint store, where they picked up several color palettes and a few small tins of paint samples to try on the walls.

  “What about wallpaper?” Pru led him to another room filled with huge scrapbooks of designs.

  “I never thought of it,” he told her.

  “What’s your favorite color, Merit?” Amalia stood in the doorway, a couple of paint strip samples in either hand.

  The color of the first wood violets in the spring, the navy of your eyes, Merit wanted to say. He hesitated until he caught Prudence watching him with that speculative gleam that made him twitch. “I like blue,” he said.

  “For a kitchen? Well…” Amalia turned away and disappeared into the other room.

  “Stow it, Pru.”

  “Stowing.”

  * * *

  Back at the house, Pru taped the paint strips on his living room walls. “What do you think, Merit?”

  “Probably not blue in here. Something more neutral.”

  Merit watched Amalia trail her hand along the wood paneling encasing the lower half of the stairwell. “You’re not going to paint the woodwork, are you, Merit? It’s so beautiful.”

  “No, I hadn’t considered that.”

  “It’s scuffed, but some sanding and varnish should take care of that.”

  “Maybe some wallpaper above, then,” Pru said, her voice echoing. “Where the plaster is cracked. Did you get the fireplace checked out yet?”

  “The guy’s coming tomorrow.” Merit looked at Amalia. “You have a fireplace, don’t you, Amalia? Is it much work to keep up?”

  She frowned. “It depends on how much you use it. You should get it cleaned if you burn a lot of softer wood. They’re not necessarily efficient, you know. Especially older ones.”

  “But they are romantic,” Pru said. “I’m envious of all this space, Merit.”

  “You and Tom have a very nice house.”

  “I know. How about you, Amalia? Don’t you love the thought of filling this house with love and laughter again? It’s perfect for a big family.” Pru raised her eyebrows and grinned.

  Merit felt his face grow warm. Didn’t his nosy sister have a clue how she sounded?

  “I like my little house,” Amalia said. “It’s cozy and just right for me.”

  Merit took a breath. “Where will you and Hudson live? After—after the wedding?” Please, God, don’t let her ask me to perform the ceremony.

  Pru called again, “What about your bathroom, Merit? Come on, let’s go take a look. I think you can enlarge it into the pantry part of the kitchen, save room…”

  Her voice trailed as she walked away.

  “Hudson would never live anywhere else. And, no, I’m not marrying him. I’ll be going, now, Merit.” She waved her hand. “Appointments.”

  Not marrying him? That’s what Cherie said. Really? “But I heard you—”

  “You must have misunderstood.”

  The floor felt like quicksand. Merit wrapped his fist around a banister for something solid to anchor his feet. “But I heard you—”

  Amalia shook her head. “Not happening. I’m sorry, Merit. I have to go.”

  Merit squinted at her white face, sure his own looked similarly tense. What to do? What to do? Lord, Lord? Don’t let her leave. He had to stop her. “Wait. Amalia—thanks for your help. Just a sec, okay? Wait? I’ll be right back.” He bounded out to the kitchen to have
a word with Pru, then returned.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you and Hudson.”

  At her silence, he felt like an idiot. Changed the subject. “I appreciate all this help with the house, Amalia. Especially finding the Pierces.”

  “There are a lot of resourceful people right under your nose.” She hesitated at the door. “Did you call the campus about Justice?”

  He fingered the chain of the sliding lock on the front door, wanting to know more about Demarest, but followed her lead. In a low voice, he said, “I should have told you sooner, but I did call. This morning. Even though it felt like walking on hot coals, I wanted to be sure before I said anything to Pru. They told me he took another job after the refugees left. They gave me the name of the university where he said he took a position. I called them, but they never interviewed him. Told me he called to say he’d taken a different position somewhere else, but didn’t say where. Marianne Friese didn’t know anything about it, either.”

  “Are you certain that he’s your brother?”

  “They faxed me a brochure that had his picture on it. The picture looks like him. But I don’t know where to start looking, what to do from here.”

  “Don’t you think Pru should know?”

  “Of course I do. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “Can’t you call the police, or something?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s different, now. He’s no longer a seventeen-year-old kid.” Merit looked at Amalia, who stood there, staring back with so much trust and supplication, as if she had no doubt he could turn over a rock and discover Justice had been playing a joke on them. No—nothing like that at all now. Justice knew where to find them, if he wanted to. The real question still prickled. Why hadn’t he wanted to?

  “Don’t give up on him.”

  “I won’t.” He smiled. “I have some resourceful people at my call, too. Since Justice worked with the refugees, there’s a chance a friend of mine might have met him.”

  “Someone from Nehrangestan?”