Bertha's Resolve: Love's Journey in Sugarcreek, Book 4

by Serena B. Miller

  “I’m okay.” Bobby pulled away, a stern look of determination on his face. “I’m going to grow up big and strong, and then I’m going to learn how to be a policeman, and then I’m going to protect you and daddy and Holly, and Aunt Lydia, and Aunt Bertha, and Aunt Anna, and my friends and everybody else. I’m going to keep everybody safe.”

  Rachel saw his lips tremble as he said this, and her heart broke for her brave little boy because she knew he wasn’t okay. No child Bobby’s age should feel so much responsibility. But she understood his emotion. Most of her life, she had felt a need to protect everyone she cared about, as well.

  She loved her job and was good at it, but if she had harbored any doubts about giving it up, they had evaporated as of this instant. She had some repair work to do. Bobby might, indeed, become a cop. But right now, protecting everyone he loved was not Bobby’s job to do. It was hers.

  She was going to start right now by taking him home, putting him to bed, hearing his prayers, and reading him a bedtime story. In the coming days and weeks, she was going to do everything possible to make things feel normal, and help him feel safe.

  It was time to get very, very serious about finding someone to replace her.

  Chapter 54

  “Hey, Rachel,” Ed glanced up from his lunch, a sandwich obviously brought from home. Tuna from the smell. “You aren’t on duty for a few more hours. What’s up?”

  Rachel knew he was not by nature a frugal man, but he was saving up for another fishing trip to Canada.

  “What have you found out about our prisoner?”

  He took one last bite and used a paper napkin to wipe his fingers while he chewed and swallowed. “He’s in the county jail. Shot the last person he tried to rob. You were lucky a customer was able to help.”

  She sat down in a seat across from him. “How is the search for my replacement coming?”

  “Not well.” Ed pulled a stack of papers out of a drawer and tossed them onto his desk. “These are the resumes I’ve received so far.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “What’s wrong with them? They aren’t you!” Ed said with frustration. “Are you sure you can’t just get a babysitter.”

  “I’m sure,” Rachel said.

  She grabbed the stack of applicants and began to shuffle through them. “Anyone look good?”

  “No,” Ed said. “Sugarcreek’s a special place. You know that. Not just any Tom, Dick, and Harry can waltz in and start dealing with these folks. The wrong move with one of the patriarchs of a large Amish family, and they would shut us out for good. You know how hard it’s been to build trust with them.”

  “I have an idea I’d like to explore,” she said.

  “What?” Ed peered over his glasses at her.

  “I have a hunch.”

  “Uh, oh.” Ed tossed the sandwich wrapper into the trashcan beside his desk. “The last guy you had a hunch about was Joe, and you ended up married to him. What was it you told me about Joe the first time you met him? Something about him looking suspicious?”

  “I’d like to forget that conversation, Ed.”

  “Nope, I plan to tease you about it for a few more years,” Ed said. “So, what’s your hunch?”

  “I just had a nice visit with Lydia.”

  “Oh?” Ed said. “Lydia’s hiding a cop we need to hire?”

  “No, but she may have fed him breakfast. It turns out that Alex—the guy who helped me out at the restaurant--worked as a cop in Chicago before he became a hostage negotiator.”

  Ed leaned forward, both elbows on his desk. “Tell me more.”

  “That’s pretty much it,” Rachel said. “The only other thing she knows is that something happened in Chicago that messed him up. He’s not working as a cop or a hostage negotiator anymore.”

  “I wonder why?”

  “So do I.”

  “Worth looking into, I guess,” Ed said. “I’ll make some calls. Shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”

  Chapter 55

  Bertha always tried to be punctual, if not early. She was completely ready and nervously waiting on the front porch when Dr. Gwen came to pick her up.

  She was far from an expert in cars, but even she could tell the vehicle that pulled into the driveway, although an older model, was expensive and well-cared-for.

  She began to walk toward the car when a gray-haired man unfolded himself from the driver’s side. This was definitely not Dr. Gwen.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Dr. Anthony Lawrence said. “It’s been a long time.”

  Bertha couldn’t move. It took a moment to absorb the fact that Anthony was standing right there in front of her—the man she had spent a lifetime trying to forget.

  He was still tall and lanky, but there was a bit more stoop to his back. It was probably from carrying so many people and their illnesses around on his shoulders all these years. How well she knew how much care he had devoted to others.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come tonight,” Dr. Lawrence said, breaking the silence.

  Bertha shook off the momentary paralysis that seeing him again had created.

  “I was so sorry to read that Charlotte had passed,” Bertha said. “She was a good friend to me.”

  “There are times when all one can do is view death as the ultimate healing,” Anthony said. “That was how it was with Charlotte in the end.”

  The worry lines etched upon Anthony’s face were deeper now, more pronounced, but he still looked very much like the man she had once known.

  “You will see Charlotte again,” Bertha said.

  “And that is the knowledge that helps me get up and face the day each morning,” Anthony said. “I’m grateful you are here, Bertha. It will be a joy to get to talk with you about those days when the three of us were young and trying so desperately to save the world.”

  “Yes,” Bertha said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She meant it. Seeing Anthony again was bringing back the feelings of the great friendship they once had shared.

  He walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. She climbed in and fumbled for her seatbelt, and then they were off.

  “You’ve been well?” Anthony asked.

  “Very well,” Bertha said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Anthony said. “You were truly blessed with good health most of your time with us in Haiti, except for that bout you had with malaria.”

  Bertha remembered being filled with energy, while poor Charlotte wilted in the hot sun and often apologetically took to her bed with migraines.

  As though reading her mind, Anthony said. “One of my biggest regrets is that I was not more considerate of her. She suffered much as I dragged her from one place to the next. Somehow she always made a home for us wherever we were. The day she died, she told me that she was looking forward to finally being able to rest and be pain-free.”

  His voice broke on the last sentence as he wheeled the car into the driveway of a pretty, two-story house.

  “Is this where Charlotte grew up?” Bertha asked. “The house her grandparents built?”

  “It is,” Anthony parked the car and opened Bertha’s door.

  “The house is what people around here refer to as ‘Old Florida,’” he said, as she got out. “It was built before air conditioning was invented, so it was designed to be as cool as possible without it.”

  Bertha thought the design was charming. A rambling two-story with a deep porch. Some sort of blossoming vine trailed bright pink blossoms over the white clapboards of the house. Comfortable-looking wicker furniture with bright-colored cushions hospitably invited guests to relax.

  No wonder Charlotte had loved it so and often longingly described it to Bertha.

  “This is where Charlotte brought the boys to ride out Hurricane Flora?”

  “It is,” Anthony said. “One thing I’ve never regretted was getting them out of Haiti before the hurricane hit.”

  “Charlotte didn’t
want to go.”

  “No,” he said. “She didn’t, but I needed her to leave. Besides wanting to make sure my family was safe, I knew that if the storm was as bad as I feared, I would be hampered in my work by trying to look after her and the boys. I didn’t want to have to choose.”

  “It was a terrible time,” Bertha said.

  “And that is quite an understatement.” Anthony led her up the walkway. “On so many different levels.”

  She was grateful he was in front of her, so he couldn’t see the quick flush she felt bloom upon her face. Apparently the evening was going to be as difficult as she had feared.

  Chapter 56

  Gwen greeted her warmly as Anthony led the way into his cool, quiet home.

  “It is going to be so good to visit with someone who worked closely with Mother and Father during their years in Haiti,” Gwen said. “I was born after they left. I can’t wait to hear the stories.”

  “I remember how much Charlotte longed for a daughter,” Bertha said. “I’m sure she was thrilled when you were born.”

  “I would love to hear your memories about her while we have dinner,” Gwen said. “Dad already had most of the preparations made when I got home. I finished up because he insisted on being the one to go get you.”

  “Shall I tell you about the first day I met her?” Bertha asked as they sat down to dinner. “It was not a great time for your mom to have three nurses from the states show up to be fed and spend the night, but she was so gracious.”

  “If I remember right,” Anthony said. “Much of our furniture had not arrived yet, and the three of you had to sit on the floor. You looked like three lost waifs sitting there.”

  “And you sat on the kitchen table and swung your legs while the boys came home and put away their school things.”

  “The three of you were a godsend,” Anthony said. “Even Darlene, although I had my doubts about her that first night.”

  “As did I!” Bertha said.

  The meal they had was simple and delicious. Fresh melon and cheese. An interesting-looking salad with greens that Bertha did not often see. Grilled pork chops and rice pilaf. The conversation was an easy sharing back and forth. She liked Gwen very much, which was no surprise. She had loved Charlotte, and Gwen was so much like her mother.

  The sun slowly began to dim as she and Anthony shared memories of the work in Haiti, with his daughter hungry to hear every word.

  “Under the circumstances, what the three of you managed to accomplish was truly extraordinary,” Gwen said. “You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “Extraordinary?” Anthony said. “How?”

  “The primitive work and living conditions. The political unrest. The difficulty of getting medical supplies. Living through Hurricane Flora. The lives you saved. It was heroic.”

  Bertha and Anthony glanced at one another. Neither had thought of their time there as particularly heroic. For the most part, it had always seemed like something best forgotten.

  “It’s cooling down outside,” Gwen said. “Why don’t the two of you go out on the porch and visit while I wash up?”

  “Oh, no,” Bertha said. “I’ll help you with the dishes.”

  “You will not,” Gwen said. “Dad doesn’t often get a chance to talk with old friends. At least not anymore. There are so few of them left.”

  “It’s true, Bertha,” Anthony said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve managed to outlive so many of our peers.”

  Bertha was not at all sure that she wanted to share private memories with Anthony. Those last few hours together were so painful that they still haunted her, but to turn down Gwen’s kind invitation would be rude. She and Anthony went out onto the long porch that faced the water.

  At home in Ohio, it would be winter and freezing cold. Here the air was balmy and soft. The house was built near the ocean with a long lawn leading down to the beach. The night sky was filled with stars, and the ocean, quiet tonight, reflected the starlight. It was a magical place. She could understand how hard it must have been for Charlotte to leave it, and yet she had and made a home in Haiti for her husband’s sake.

  “Charlotte was never strong,” Anthony said, as though reading Bertha’s thoughts. “She should have lived her life here in Sarasota. It was incredibly selfish of me to take her into the harsh realities of third-world mission work.”

  “Then, why did you?”

  He didn’t take offense at her question. Instead, he answered with such honesty that she knew he had asked himself the same question many times.

  “I was young and selfish,” he said simply. “I needed a wife, and Charlotte was a pretty girl and very much in love with me. I was so egotistical at the time I thought I deserved her.”

  “But you were not in love with her?” Bertha had always wondered.

  “How could I be,” Anthony said. “I was so in love with the image I had of myself as a great doctor and missionary, there wasn’t much love left for anyone else. Even for my long-suffering wife.”

  Had Charlotte been long-suffering? Bertha had never thought about it at the time. She’d been too busy being envious of Charlotte for having such a saint of a husband.

  “I do remember those headaches she used to have,” Bertha said.

  “You mean the agony she endured without complaint because of my impatience with her?” Anthony’s voice was bitter.

  Bertha thought about that. Had he been impatient? She hadn’t seen it at the time. She had been too enmeshed in her hero-worship to see any flaws in him. Besides, deep down, she had not given Charlotte’s headaches much thought. Her own health had always been so robust,

  Now, from the distance of many years, Bertha remembered Charlotte, pale and shaky, attempting to take care of her family before she had fully recovered from yet another vicious migraine. She had even come to help Bertha with the Haitian children whenever she could.

  Bertha stole a glance at Anthony. Age had not changed the underlying bone structure of that face. He had achieved the impossible—still attractive in his eighth decade.

  “Do your boys still favor you?” she asked.

  “Pretty much. It is Gwen who took after their mother.”

  “She does remind me so much of Charlotte.”

  “I’ve always thought so,” Anthony said. “Gwen’s divorce took a toll on her health. It was not what she wanted, and she grieved terribly for a while. After she moved in to help me with Charlotte’s last illness, she didn’t seem inclined to move out afterward. Selfishly, I’m very grateful she is here.”

  They lapsed into silence, listening to the soft lap of waves against the shore. Somehow, as they looked out over the ocean, the silence seemed appropriate.

  Then Anthony broke the spell by bringing up the one thing Bertha did not want to discuss.

  “Ever since Gwen told me you were coming tonight, I’ve been having flashbacks to that desperate time we endured during Hurricane Flora,” he said. “Do you remember?”

  “I remember it well,” she said carefully. “I wasn’t at all sure we would survive.”

  “I’ve often wondered how we did,” he said.

  She knew, and he knew that he wasn’t referring solely to the hurricane. Sitting beside him, watching the ocean, so many memories came rushing back.

  Hurricane Flora hit the coast of Haiti only six months after she first arrived. Not only did she and Anthony nearly lose their lives, but in the aftermath, they came close to losing their souls.

  Chapter 57

  “I won’t go,” Charlotte said. “That’s all there is to it.”

  Bertha had never seen her friend so resolute. In fact, she had never heard her have even a mild argument with Anthony. Charlotte usually simply agreed with everything he said as though Anthony’s words were inspired by God.

  But not this time.

  Bertha hesitated in the open doorway of the Lawrence’s small house. She didn’t know whether to go or stay. She had a small bag of apples with her. A gift. Charlo
tte had expressed a longing for fresh apples earlier in the month, and Bertha had just received some of the precious fruit from home.

  The Lawrences were too involved in their argument to notice her.

  “Yes, you will go,” Anthony thundered. “You will take the boys back to Florida. If the hurricane is as great a monster as they are saying it is, I want you safely out of here.”

  “No.”

  “Charlotte…” His jaw clenched.

  Bertha saw him visibly fight to stay calm. The information about the hurricane must indeed be dire.

  “I was raised in Florida, remember?” Charlotte faced off against him. “I am much more familiar with hurricanes than you. They do not always travel on the trajectory the meteorologists predict. Flora might pass right by Haiti and head for Sarasota for all anyone knows. You could be putting the boys and me in its direct path.”

  “And if the predictions are wrong, and if that does happen, you will sit out the storm inside your parents’ solid house,” Anthony said. “If there are medical emergencies, there will be dozens, maybe hundreds, of doctors and nurses on hand. In the states, there are people with resources to help. There are shelters to which you can run if necessary. If it makes landfall here in Haiti, there is no place to go. No place where you can effectively shelter. There will be only a handful of doctors and nurses to deal with the injuries afterward.”

  In Bertha’s eyes, his arguments were unanswerable, but Charlotte didn’t back down.

  “I don’t want to go, Anthony,” Charlotte said. “I don’t believe it is good for us, nor is it wise for our family. Please don’t make me.”

  “I cannot do my job if I have to worry about you and our children,” Anthony said. “Do not make me have to choose between taking care of you and helping the Haitian people. Take our sons to your parents’ home and keep them safe.”

  Charlotte hesitated, as though having not yet spent all her arguments.