Home to Heal

by Lois Richer

Though she hadn’t known the former missionary long, Abby felt Zac was trying to avoid meeting with this Miss Partridge. She couldn’t help but wonder why.

  Ella began telling knock-knock jokes and the atmosphere lightened considerably. When they had finished their meal, including Bonnie’s sumptuous pie, everyone sat around talking until Abby noticed Zac drooping. Poor man; he was worn out. She rose.

  “That was so delicious, Bonnie. Thank you. I’ll help with cleanup.” She began collecting dishes until Mandy stopped her.

  “Drew and I will load the dishwasher,” she said. “Bonnie wants to show you your room. I’m sure you’d like to get settled in.”

  “I would, thank you. But I’d rather we get Zac and the girls settled first, if that’s okay?” Abby saw surprise fill Bonnie and Ben’s faces, as if they hadn’t expected her to take charge so soon.

  “Of course,” Bonnie murmured as she rose. “I keep forgetting how far you’ve all traveled.”

  “If Dad will help Mandy clean up, I’ll get your luggage into the house, Zac.” Drew turned away, then stopped. “Do you want a ride to the log cabin?”

  “No, thanks. We’ll walk over.” Zac snickered. “I know you’re trying to find a way out of dishes. You always did.”

  “You should talk,” Drew snorted. “As I recall, you disappeared after every meal. Come on, Ella, girls. You can help carry stuff.”

  “I’ll help, too,” Bonnie declared.

  “Mom, your burns—” Zac stopped short, obviously wondering how much he should refer to the fire and their injuries from it.

  “Are healing,” Bonnie said firmly. “I’ll wear my gloves. They’ll protect my skin.”

  “Let’s go,” Zac muttered to Abby.

  He seemed in a hurry and she wasn’t certain why, until they were walking toward his new home.

  “What did Mom’s hands look like?” he asked very quietly.

  “You can see places where they’ve grafted, but they look to be healing well,” Abby told him.

  “I can hear her catching up to us,” he whispered. “Make sure she doesn’t lift anything heavy, will you?”

  “Of course.” Abby liked this protective side of Zac. Liked it a lot. It spoke volumes about the kind of man he was. But then he stumbled and she reminded herself to keep her focus on her job and off the handsome doctor.

  “We had the place cleaned from top to bottom,” Bonnie said, now walking beside them. “I don’t remember how things were arranged when you were last here—what? Four years ago?”

  “That long?” Zac frowned, then nodded. “Maybe it was. The girls were babies, I remember.”

  “Anyway, it’s a little less cluttered so it should be easy for you to find your way around, honey.” Bonnie studied her son, concern darkening her eyes.

  “It’s great. Thanks, Mom.” Zac stopped and lifted his head when Abby told him they were at the bottom of the steps. “Can you give me the lay of the land? I need to orient myself, mentally organize what’s changed around here.”

  “Sure.” Bonnie described the open area to the left where Zac remembered climbing a tree and falling, breaking his wrist. “There’s a playset there now.”

  “Beyond that is a paddock, I think. Beside it is a ring for Mandy to teach her riding classes, if I remember from your emails.” Zac nodded, then said to Abby, “Mom used to teach there, too. I don’t know if she still does.”

  “Occasionally,” Bonnie said with a smile. “Behind that is Peace Meadow, where your youth group used to play Capture the Flag. We’ve pretty much left it as is. Of course, the barns are still in the same place, though most of our animals stay out now that it’s getting warmer.”

  “Your petting zoo is—let me guess.” Zac tipped his head to one side as if he were listening to the faint whinny of nearby horses. “To the far left of the main house?”

  “Actually, I think it’s nearer the gate we arrived through, but you’re not far off,” Abby said, impressed with his ability to discern directions. “There’s another kind of ring over there, though...”

  “That’s where Mandy teaches equestrian teams.” Bonnie touched his arm. “You’ll soon see it all for yourself, son. God will care for you and your eyes. Just be patient.”

  “Yeah.” His mother’s words seemed to douse whatever enthusiasm Zac had shown. He reached out with one hand. “Abby? Can we go inside?”

  Though her heart ached for him and the uncertainty he faced, Abby said nothing as she slid her arm under his hand. She’d help him however she could. But she had to stop letting her emotions affect her. She was here to do a job for Zac. That was all. Then she’d leave.

  “Three steps up to the veranda,” she said softly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” His voice dropped. “So not the triumphant homecoming I’d imagined having.” Obviously hearing his mother’s footsteps behind them, he muttered, “Better get used to it, huh?”

  Abby didn’t contradict him. She believed God had a plan, but nothing in her life had gone the way she thought it would and she guessed Zac was having the same experience. For once, she couldn’t find words of reassurance. Because no one knew what his future held.

  Nor hers.

  Chapter Four

  After three days of familiarizing himself with the inside of the log house, Zac’s restlessness finally drove him out onto the deck, nearer the twins. He felt better when he was close to them. From the sound of their giggles they were below him, playing with their beloved dolls.

  “Decided to join us?” Abby’s cheerful voice chased away his gloomy thoughts.

  “Maybe not exactly join.” He grimaced, visualizing himself with a doll in each hand.

  “You’re here,” Abby said brightly. “That’s joining.” The steps creaked. She must have moved onto the deck because her next words sounded much closer. “A lovely woman stopped by while you were snoozing. She’ll be back after her riding lesson.”

  “Oh.” Zac’s stomach sank. “Did you catch a name?”

  “Miss Partridge.” Abby paused, then asked, “Isn’t she the lady Drew mentioned? The former librarian?”

  “Yes.” Oh, boy. Zac swallowed hard.

  “She seemed very nice, but perhaps a bit lonely,” Abby mused. “Maybe she’ll talk to you about it.”

  “Me?” he repeated, shocked by the thought.

  “Yes, you. People talk to pastors or missionaries about lots of things, don’t they? After all, your job in Africa was to offer people help in a confusing world, right? By talking to them?” She paused before adding, “Also, upstairs by my room there’s a picture of you being awarded a counseling degree. Today Miss Partridge mentioned you used to counsel on some sort of help lines?”

  “I did that as my practicum for my counseling degree. I got that degree as a way into medical school.” Zac frowned, uneasy with the idea of Abby and Miss Partridge talking about him.

  “I didn’t chat with her long, but I found Miss Partridge very interesting. She’s certainly knowledgeable about people around here.” Her voice faded to a murmur. “It was like speaking to my own grandmother. If I had one.”

  “Did she mention why she wanted to see me?” he asked.

  Abby chuckled. “You can ask her yourself because here she comes.” She sounded pleased by the prospect.

  Zac wasn’t, but he forced his lips into a smile, anyway. Bonnie’s lessons on hospitality had been drummed into his head years ago, and it wasn’t easy to ignore them.

  “Good morning, Zachary,” the familiar voice from his youth rang out. “How are you? I do hope I’m not interrupting you, or Abigail or the children in some family moment?”

  “No, we’re just sitting here, having coffee. Please join us. Black, right?” Good manners cost you nothing and are always in style, Bonnie’s voice reminded him. “How are you, Miss Partridge?”

  “I’m fine as frog’s
hair, dear. And very happy you’ve come home. But no, I won’t have coffee, thank you.” Miss Partridge cleared her throat. “I have a matter to discuss with you, sir.”

  Uh-oh. Zac’s shoulders tensed. What now?

  “Girls, why don’t we go get a drink?” Abby said. “You’ve been playing here for a while and you must be thirsty.”

  “I’m no—” Mia stopped in the middle of her protest.

  Zac was pretty sure his daughter’s sudden silence had something to do with Abby. He waited until the three had gone inside and silence reigned before he asked, “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  “Abby is a stunningly beautiful woman, young man. You’re blessed to have her helping you.”

  “I agree.” He waited, hoping she’d get to the point.

  “I need a favor, Zac.” He heard the creak of a chair and guessed the lady was getting more comfortable. “There’s a man in our church,” Miss Partridge began, then paused.

  “Um, I’m not—”

  “Please, hear me out.” A sternness in the familiar voice made Zac stop protesting. There was no point, anyway, because they both knew he’d listen to whatever she had to say.

  He swallowed his frustration, wishing he could see and thereby read expressions. He needed that advantage with Miss P., his private name for her.

  “This man’s name is Leo. He and his wife recently lost their unborn child.” Miss P.’s voice grew soft, almost tender, something Zac hadn’t heard before.

  “Go on.” He leaned forward, curious in spite of himself.

  “Leo is now questioning everything. His grief is so deep he can’t seem to find a way out. He’s distanced himself from his wife, and of course she’s grieving, too.” Miss P.’s voice faltered. “You can imagine how he must feel, I’m sure, with two daughters of your own.”

  “You mean if Maria and I had lost either Mia or Zoe.” Zac shook his head. “Horrible, naturally. But grief is very deep and very personal. Usually you have to work your own way through it. Talking about it—well, it sometimes makes it feel worse.”

  “Nonsense,” she proclaimed. “Talking about things with others helps us clarify, gain a new perspective from hearing someone else’s point of view and hopefully learn how to channel our feelings and emotions into productive outlets.”

  The words were out before Zac could stop them. “Did you read that somewhere, Miss Partridge?”

  “Why, yes. And it’s also what you once told me,” she shot back. “Isn’t it true?”

  “It can be,” he agreed, choosing his words carefully. “But there’s more to grief than that. It’s not a matter of finding the right method to heal grief. There is no one way or one thing that can fix heartache. Grief is a process. You have to work through it.”

  “Talking to folks, helping them work through it, that is what you did.” She sounded irritated.

  “It is,” he admitted. “But that was long ago, to complete a counseling degree as a prelude to med school. You already know all this,” Zac reminded her. “Because you were the one who facilitated my studies.”

  “You had a bright mind and you needed stimulating,” she said in flat, no-nonsense tone. “Psychology helped you think about others. You did good work when your father’s friend mentored you in his psychological practice.”

  “Way back when,” he agreed, determined to stick to his refusal. “Doesn’t matter now.”

  The sound of a chair hitching forward on the wooden deck told Zac she’d moved closer. She’d always done that as a kind of pressure tactic, but before he could say a word, she resumed her argument.

  “It does matter because you have both a counseling degree and a medical degree, Zachary.” Starch laced her words. “Also, you’re a missionary who has no doubt spoken to countless people about loss and death and other struggles.”

  Exactly what Abby had said.

  “But I’m not a missionary anymore.”

  “I’m sure that losing your wife and then your mission is forcing you to deal with your own grief.” Her words sounded softer now. “So surely you can empathize with Leo?”

  “Miss Partridge.” Zac thrust out his chin belligerently. He would not let her continue poking at his personal feelings.

  “Please hear me out.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. He had the strange thought that she had tears in her eyes. “You’re a child of God. You know that He is with you, that He will lead you through the dark spots. That’s what you told those you led to Him, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “It must also be what you’re telling yourself regarding your eyesight.” Her warm hand slid atop his.

  He sucked in his breath. Apparently there was no topic the lady wouldn’t broach.

  “And?” he demanded while his brain ordered, Don’t let her bully you!

  “I’m simply asking you to share a little bit of the light God’s placed in your heart with this man who is in such deep pain.”

  “Why do you want so badly to help this Leo?” Her sensitivity confused Zac. He’d never thought of Miss P. as particularly compassionate.

  “Because Leo’s a fellow human being. Because he’s hurting and because I think you have the words that could help him.” She stopped, then spoke again more quickly. “Also because I said something to him that I shouldn’t have and I’d like to make it up to him.”

  “I’m not sure you can do that.” Who among us hasn’t spoken when we shouldn’t have? Zac felt his irritation melting. He was as guilty as anyone of misspeaking and then trying to fix the damage. But... “Leo needs to find his own way through.”

  “And if he can’t?” Mis Partridge sighed. “I don’t suppose you or I can fix things for him. But at least we can be there if he needs us. Will you speak with him if he shows up here? Please?”

  Zac didn’t want to get involved in other people’s problems. He was worn out with his own. He wanted peace and quiet to think about his world, the changes and what his future held. He wanted time to ask God why, to demand answers.

  “Maybe if Leo can verbalize what he’s feeling...” Miss P.’s heavy sigh told him she wouldn’t give up easily.

  “I’m not up to date in the field,” Zac protested.

  “Now that’s not quite true,” Miss Partridge challenged. “Your mother told me a year ago that you’d contacted your former mentor and asked him to forward some medical journals and texts regarding current counseling methods. She said you’d been doing a lot more of it as part of your outreach to needy souls who came to your mission seeking more than simply medical help.”

  “Yes, I was,” he admitted. “But—”

  “You are still qualified, aren’t you?” she demanded.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Please think about it, Zac. And see what God has to say on the subject.” Miss Partridge touched his shoulder. “I’ve been praying for years for your family and your work in Africa. I know it wasn’t easy to serve there, and this most recent event has to be very hard. I can’t fathom how difficult it must be to wait for God to heal your sight.”

  No more, his heart begged. Please don’t go there.

  And yet... Miss Partridge had been one of Zac’s strongest supporters from the day he and Maria had left for Africa. She’d always sent a Christmas parcel with special items for each of them—the twins, Maria and him—carefully chosen to fit into the African culture, little things from home that he’d never mentioned missing but had. How thrilled they’d all been to receive her parcel that always arrived on time. She’d sent birthday cards and written newsy letters to inform about his parents and the ranch. Every year Miss Partridge had always spearheaded fundraising for the special projects he’d spoken about in his recorded presentations to his home church. Whether she knew it or not, Miss Partridge had been an integral part of the success of his and Maria’s work.

  Zac couldn’t
very well refuse this small request, no matter how little he wanted to do it.

  “Our God is faithful, Zac. He knows your struggles and He is there for you,” she was saying. What would she have to say if she knew how angry he was at God?

  “Okay, I’ll meet with Leo, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “That will be wonderful, dear. I’ll begin praying about it immediately.” She sounded thrilled. He wasn’t.

  “Shall I call Abby now?” he asked.

  “Oh, no need to bother her, dear.” He could tell Miss Partridge rose by the way chair legs rasped across the deck. “How did you, er, come to know Abigail, Zac?”

  And the lady was off again, prying into his private business. Could a person inhale patience?

  “I met Abby for the first time at the airport in New York. She looked after the girls while I was in the hospital. Since I wasn’t allowed to travel to get them, she brought them to meet me there,” he said, sounding chilly even to himself.

  “But that’s so romantic. Meeting a woman like that in an airport? What a wonderful tale the two of you will have in the years to come.” It sounded as if Miss P. wore boots as she thumped down the stairs. “Isn’t God simply incredible?” she called, her voice growing fainter.

  “Yeah.” Zac would have glared at her retreating back, if he could have seen it. “Incredible.” A woman like that? What was that supposed to mean? And the years to come? She made it sound like they’d be together permanently.

  “Are you okay?” Abby’s tentative question broke into his thoughts.

  “I’m never sure after a talk with Miss P. She leaves me...stunned,” he concluded after searching for the right word.

  “Daddy, we made cookies!” Mia sounded excited.

  “Homemade cookies? Wow.” He licked his lips in anticipation.

  “Want one?” Zoe asked.

  “Do crows fly?” He pushed his just-departed guest to the back of his mind. “I want more than one cookie.”

  “What kind of cookies are they, Abby?” Mia asked.

  “They’re a recipe my mom used to make. She called them treathearts. Here, try one.” Her soft fingers pressed a still-warm, napkin-wrapped bundle into Zac’s hand. “I brought fresh coffee to go with them.”