“Shall we?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Rebekka saw no sign of Damon as they left, and she couldn’t help wishing he could see her all dressed up. Not that it was the same thing she would wear if she were with him. No, she would have chosen something more sedate, more classic. This outfit was more like something she would have worn dancing with the fun-loving Marc.
The sharp feeling of longing came so unexpectedly that tears sprang to her eyes. Would her love for Marc ever dim? I will not cry for him. She had said the words so many times that they had an almost palliative effect on her. The tears stopped and the pain slipped away.
Being with Samuel was fun and incredibly exciting. Rebekka had never felt so utterly appreciated, even desired. They didn’t talk about Damon, or Marc, or work, but about world events and politics, places they had visited, people they had met. When she was with him, she didn’t think of the future, only the present. Nothing life-altering, no tough decisions—just good, clean fun.
She did share experiences from her mission, and while he seemed interested in them, he showed no interest in learning more about her faith. By his own admission, he was not interested in attending any particular denomination, but in espousing values he felt were universal to all good people. Rebekka was familiar with the idea, as her father had voiced the same thoughts to her many times. But it wasn’t enough for her. It’s a lucky thing Samuel and I are only friends, she thought. Unlike her mother, she didn’t plan to spend her life with a nonmember.
Samuel was a complete gentleman, and the more time they spent together, the more she liked him. While he was a great conversationalist, he was an even better dancer, and she enjoyed the evening thoroughly. Thoughts of Damon were far from her mind, and only once or twice did she remember Marc.
When they returned to Alpine, Samuel walked her to her bedroom door. Her hand went out to the knob, but his hand closed over hers. “I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said, his green eyes smouldering with feeling. He was so close that Rebekka imagined she could hear his heart beat. She thought he might kiss her, worried that he would. As pleasant as she believed the experience would be, she didn’t want to lead him on. She still had to resolve her relationship with Damon, and besides, there was the matter of their differing faiths. She moved her head back slightly, and he released her hand, as though understanding her signal.
She spoke softly. “I had a good time, too.”
“I’ll be gone in the morning, but I’ll call you from Cincinnati.”
“Okay.”
He shook his head, looking bemused. “Ah, Rebekka with two Ks, little did I know that when I got on that plane, I’d meet you.”
She grinned. “You just needed a translator.”
“Looks like I found what I needed, even if you are only working for me in a roundabout way.”
“Do you always get what you want?” She didn’t know what made her ask.
“Always. At least so far.” His eyes spoke more, but she opened her door, turning purposefully away before she could be tempted further by his nearness.
“Good night, Samuel.”
He bent swiftly and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Rebekka.” She watched him walk to the suite of rooms next to her own.
“You’re back.” The voice from the stairway took her by surprise.
“Hello, Damon.” How long had he been there?
He approached slowly, taking in her appearance. “You look beautiful. Did you have fun?”
Rebekka suddenly felt guilty for enjoying herself when he had been dealing with the difficult Belle. “Yes. Samuel’s very nice.” She didn’t offer an explanation as to where she had been, and he didn’t ask. “How’s Belle?”
“She’s all right. I haven’t decided on a punishment yet. I don’t even know where to start, but I learned something tonight. About why she’s been giving you trouble.” He leaned against the wall across from her. “She said something about you leaving. I think she’s worried about saying goodbye and getting another nanny. Her entire life, she’s had nannies—Char was too ill to care for her at all since the cancer came back at the end of her pregnancy. And all the nannies eventually had to leave. Or we left them, like the last one.”
A tender feeling entered Rebekka’s heart. “Poor little thing. And she’s right. You are looking for another nanny.”
He sighed. “What she needs is a mother.” He straightened up suddenly, as though realizing what he had said. “Look, I am interested in pursuing our relationship, but I honestly don’t know that it will work. I have to admit that I’m scared of Belle’s reaction, and also of forcing a ready-made family on you.”
She lifted her chin. “I make my own decisions.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated. I mean, if someone comes along who sweeps you off your feet—”
What I want is for you to sweep me off my feet! But she couldn’t admit that aloud. “You mean Samuel.”
Damon glanced down the hall. “Him or someone else.” He sighed. “I really don’t know what I’m saying. Belle needs a mother, but I can’t expect to race through a courtship because of that. I know it takes time. Meanwhile, with you living here in the same house . . .” He paused. “Maybe we should find an alternative. Maybe then Belle won’t feel so threatened.”
“I can stay with Brionney.” She felt relief at the suggestion. “But first we’ll have to find someone to take my place here in the mornings and afternoons. Frankly, I can’t see Mrs. Mertz filling in for that time.”
Damon grimaced. “Me either. I still haven’t found anyone, though I’ve thought about it a lot—especially if you’re going to keep working for the company.”
“I’d like to. I’m really enjoying it.”
“I’ll talk to Bri. She’s good at arranging things.” He smiled at her in the dim light, sending happiness winging through her body. “And I like the things she arranges.”
Rebekka smiled, glad she hadn’t allowed Samuel to kiss her. “Then our date is still on?”
“Yeah,” he said with obvious relief. “Maybe if Belle sees you as a friend instead of a nanny, she can start to loosen up a bit.”
“I hope so.”
Damon reached out and touched her hand softly. Then, like Samuel, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. For one clear instant, Rebekka recalled the passion and depth of their previous kiss and was tempted to repeat the experience. Yet she hesitated to evoke the fiery emotions that both frightened and thrilled her. Not now. Not until she knew where they were headed.
She smiled at her thoughts. Maybe she was learning something in America after all.
Damon took her smile as his dismissal and retreated toward his wing of the house. Doubtless, he would check on Belle. She wished she could go herself but didn’t feel she had the right. She wasn’t even the nanny any longer, not really. Besides, Belle wouldn’t welcome her presence.
Inside her room, she changed into a long silk nightgown the color of midnight and went to her laptop to check her e-mail. There was one from Raoul and another from Marc. Her heart started thumping the loud, uneven beat that signaled another onslaught of painful emotions.
She deliberately read the one from her brother first.
Dear Rebekka,
I am confused. Desirée has decided not to be baptized. She still wants to marry me. I love her so desperately that I can’t stand to be without her. But I see the unhappiness that Mother has endured because of Father, and I don’t want that for myself. Life once seemed so easy, but now I don’t know what to do. Do yourself a favor and don’t put yourself in such a dilemma. Oh, that I had listened to André before I began to love her! But how can I gaze into her beautiful eyes and wish that? Eternity seems very far away at that moment, but then I look at Mother . . .
Sorry to be so depressing. I want to make the right decision, but I don’t know what that is. Life without Desirée seems too bleak to consider. Yet Mother and Father love each other so much, but cannot share everything. Is t
hat my future? Your advice would be greatly appreciated.
Love from your older but not wiser brother,
Raoul
His words instantly spanned the miles between them. Her dear, dear brother. He was such a romantic and felt things so deeply. Rebekka couldn’t bear to see him hurt. At the same time she hesitated to give him advice. What if he made the wrong decision and lost a love that would sustain him throughout his entire life? She knew that at one time, she would have given anything to be with Marc, including her church membership. The realization pained her, but she had to admit the truth to herself. She had loved Marc much more than God. Much more.
And now?
Rebekka sighed as she began to type. She was glad Raoul’s choice was not hers.
Dearest Raoul,
I don’t know how to answer you. I really don’t. But I have just now asked myself whether or not the Lord comes first in my life, even before the man I love. Should it be so? Would being with him lead me to true happiness? Or by putting the man first, would I give up something even more precious than true love? The thought is enough to tear my heart in two, but perhaps it will help you. I am weak and cannot make such a decision, but you have always been stronger.
I should count myself lucky that I’m not in love—at least not with a man within my reach—but I confess I almost long for your dilemma.
My prayers are with you,
Rebekka
She read Marc’s e-mail next, longing too much for his news to care about the pain it would bring.
Rebekka,
The doctor told me two days ago that nothing’s wrong with me, except a slightly lower red blood cell count. That could mean a decline in kidney function, but for now I’m okay. I think it was a temporary thing, due to a cold or whatever. I’ll have more tests in a few months, but just as a precaution. Louis-Géralde has assured me that he will give me one of his kidneys should I ever need it, but I don’t relish going through another surgery, or having my little brother suffer such a thing for me.
The real reason I’m writing is to say that at our last family dinner on Monday, my mother mentioned that she missed having you and Raoul over, particularly you. I thought you’d like to know.
I miss you, too, but I’m sure you are much too busy there to miss or think about me. So are you engaged yet? Maybe I should come and meet him before things go any further.
Be good.
Love, Marc
Acting the big brother again, Rebekka thought acidly. She wanted to write a scathing retort, but made herself count to ten before beginning. Perhaps a more subtle approach would serve her purposes better.
Hello Marc,
Tonight I went dancing. I love dancing and had a great time. Do you remember when we would go dancing? In fact, wasn’t it you who taught me how? My date is taller than you, but we were good together anyhow. The music was divine. You would have enjoyed it.
As for coming to check out Damon, come on! We have enough room for you. If I get married, maybe you can be our best man.
I’m glad you’re not sick. Thank you for telling me. Let your mom know that I miss her, too. Perhaps as much as my own mother.
Big hugs,
Rebekka
She sent the messages and shut the computer down, feeling strangely unsatisfied. Falling to her knees, she said a prayer, remembering to include her brother. At the end she added, “And please help Belle to get what she needs.”
Feeling considerably better, Rebekka snuggled under the covers, wondering if Marc would respond to her e-mail soon or wait another week as he had the last time. She wondered what he would feel when he read her words.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mickelle had no answer from the Wolfe residence all weekend. The lack of response was irritating, but she refused to lose hope that they would come through with the money to pay for her car. They had to pay.
On Sunday, she arose early and readied herself for church. Jeremy looked surprised. “You coming, Mom?”
“Of course I’m coming.” She realized with guilt that she had only attended church four times since that fatal day in May. Examining her feelings, she decided that Sundays had become difficult because she couldn’t hide from all the caring embraces and well-meaning smiles. While at first they had been comforting, now they reminded her acutely of Riley’s death. She found it easier to stay at home.
Today she needed to go to church. She needed to do something to rid herself of the smoldering anger in her heart since the car accident. Perhaps in a strange way, the anger was good. At least it wouldn’t let her sink into her normal state of apathy.
The car continued to make the grinding noise, though it was considerably less noticeable since she had pried some of the metal loose with Riley’s old crowbar, and she could open the door from the inside by shoving her shoulder against it instead of her feet. At least that was something.
“We could get Uncle Jesse to look at it,” Jeremy said as they drove to the chapel. “I’ll ask him when we go over to Grandma’s for dinner today.”
At church, nothing seemed to have changed. Across from Mickelle, the Sunbergs still bounced their baby, no longer a newborn, but as colicky as ever. Sister Sunberg’s face was weary, but as she rocked and cuddled her daughter, Mickelle felt envious. She would give up all her nights of sleep and welcome aching arms if only . . . The painful thought was too hard to finish, even silently.
She tried instead to focus on Brother Chatham’s nodding head as his eyes drooped. If he could sleep, so could she.
One of the Reeves boys threw a wad of paper. It sailed through the air and hit Brother Chatham on the top of his balding head. He snorted and opened his eyes, and then smiled and waved at the boys, as though grateful they had awakened him in time for the passing of the sacrament.
Mickelle returned to watching the hypnotic up-and-down motion of the Sunberg baby. Her face held a beatific smile that vanished each time her parents stopped the bouncing. Mickelle continued to watch them with the baby and noticed that Sister Sunberg rocked out of habit, even when she wasn’t holding the child.
As Mickelle listened to the simple truths in church, she felt the anger drain from her heart and thankfulness take its place. She’d lost so much—her husband, her financial security, and now her car. But she had her children, an extended family who loved her, and the gospel of Jesus Christ.
She stared around at her friends and neighbors, amazed at the love surging through her. She understood the love came not only from them but from her God, her Father. In that moment, she understood how He suffered with her. How He had carried her through the difficult summer.
Thank you so much for everything You have done for me, she thought. I know You live and that Christ is my Savior. I know You love me.
She vowed that she would no longer let her life continue in shambles. She would make something of herself, of her children. She was a daughter of God! A beloved child! If she had been given this trial, it was because her Father knew she would rise to the occasion. And she would have help—His help. Why hadn’t she remembered that before? Whatever else she did in her life, she could not fail the Lord’s expectations. He knew her better than anyone. He knew that she had been hiding from life, and He had now given her a subtle reminder that it was time to change. She was worth that; she was His daughter.
With this renewed realization, Mickelle made a goal to begin again the scripture reading that she had so long neglected. She decided to study by topic, beginning with prayer. She had heard that prayer could work miracles, and she believed that to put her life back on the right path, a miracle was exactly what she needed.
* * * * *
The next morning, Mickelle went to UVU to pick up the latest class schedule and financial aid forms. She felt self-conscious as she climbed into the passenger side of the Snail and slid over but tried not to let it bother her. As yet, Mr. Wolfe had not returned her calls or made any move to settle her expenses.
She made a sudden decision. “I’ll
go over to that boy’s house tonight and confront his father about the damage. I will make him pay for it! He should be responsible for his son.”
That night they had an early dinner and family home evening. Bryan gave a lesson on donations to the church. It occurred to Mickelle that the only one in their family who really needed this lesson wasn’t around to hear it. Tithing had been a source of constant contention between her and Riley. He had never really believed in the concept.
After eating ice cream and cookies for dessert, the boys went with her in the Snail to search out the address on the sheet Officer Lowder had given her. As they drove toward Alpine, dark clouds gathered in the sky, making it appear much later than seven-thirty, and a heavy rain began suddenly, falling in sheets from the heavens. Mickelle could barely see the road, even with the wipers on high speed. The wiper blades were old and didn’t do a decent job of cleaning the windshield. Mickelle had asked Riley to replace them, but he had never gotten around to it. Since then, she hadn’t cared enough about anything to figure out how to change them herself.
She almost gave up and drove home, but knew she would only be putting off the inevitable. Eventually, she would have to deal with Mr. Wolfe. She pressed on, peering at the street signs through the dark and the rain.
It took them nearly half an hour to find their way to their destination. The Wolfe residence, situated regally at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway, took her by surprise. It was not a house, but a Victorian mansion, surrounded by bright flower beds, a very green lawn, and paper birch and black walnut trees that reached far into the darkening sky. There were large windows and a covered porch that wrapped around the right side of the house, giving it the circular feel of a castle. Another turret sprang from the top floor of the left side of the house, looking like the perfect place for a captive princess. So beautiful, yet the overall appearance was eerie and sinister in the darkness and rain. Mickelle blinked, too stunned to feel anything but amazement. This was where the people lived whose lives continued unaltered by the car accident, while each day she endured unimaginable turmoil.
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