“Mmm.” He pulled back, still smiling. “Let me get this car put away, and we can continue in the house.”
With a giggle, she slipped into the backseat then accompanied him as he walked across the yard to the back door. Once inside, he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head to meet her lips. They enjoyed a lengthy welcome-home kiss before he finally pulled back, sighed, and said, “Wow, I’m hungry.”
Beth created a mock scowl. “That’s all you have to say?”
He tipped his head, his eyes teasing. “I’m hungry, darling?”
She laughed. “Okay. Supper first.” She turned toward the refrigerator. “I have some leftover goulash, which I can heat up, or there’s a bagged salad, or I can fix you a sandwich. Which sounds the best?” Her hand on the fridge door, she peeked at him over her shoulder.
He sat at the table, one elbow propped on its edge with his chin in his hand. He grinned. “Come here.” He patted his knee.
Without hesitation, she sat. He buried his face against her hair and sighed. “I hate these days apart.”
Beth coiled her arms around his neck, holding back the comment that the days apart were his choice, not hers. He could draw blueprints from here and let his father travel to the different areas to present the plans, but instead, he packed his bags and headed out at least once every other week. She wondered sometimes if he did it just to escape to places where he didn’t feel as odd as a licorice whip in a jar of jelly beans. He’d never completely adjusted to Sommerfeld.
She kissed his ear and pushed off his lap, crossing to the refrigerator to remove the tub of goulash. Dumping the macaroni and ground beef into a bowl, she asked, “Did the meeting go well?”
He nodded, yawning. “Oh yeah. And if they sign, it’ll mean more stained-glass work. Just across the front, but four windows at least.”
Beth nodded, popping the saucer into the microwave. Just before hitting On, she remembered to throw a napkin over the bowl. She leaned against the counter while the microwave zapped Sean’s supper. “When will you know?”
“They want me to make an adjustment in the dimensions of the Sunday school classroom wing. I had made the classrooms all of comparable sizes, but they want the children’s rooms larger than those for adults, so I’ll need to move a few walls around. Once they get that in hand, they should make a decision.” He yawned again. “And they want to see the final drawings by the end of next week.”
The microwave dinged, and Beth carried the bowl to Sean. She waited while he offered his silent prayer. When he grabbed a fork from the cup in the center of the table, she said, “So you’ll probably be using the computer quite a bit in the next couple of days.”
“No doubt.” He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Why? Do you need it?”
Beth sank into the chair across from him and shrugged. “I can use the laptop. I just want to make sure there’s one available for Trina to do her schoolwork.”
Sean, his head lowered over his bowl, peered at her with a thoughtful expression.
“What are you thinking?”
He set down the fork for a moment. “I just wondered how long Trina will continue to make use of our computer. It isn’t terribly convenient.”
Beth blustered, “Well, what do you want me to do? She doesn’t have any other way of completing her assignments.”
Sean shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “My combatant, Beth. Must you always jump to conclusions?”
“But you made it sound like you want to take our computer away from Trina.”
A grin twitched his cheek, and he smoothed his fingers over his mustache, removing the smirk. “I do.”
Beth started to jump up, but Sean’s hand around her wrist kept her in place.
“Stay put, my bristling beauty.” His chuckle did little to alleviate Beth’s frustration. “Let me finish eating, and then I’ll propose a compromise I think you, Trina, and I can all accept.”
Beth folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “I’ll listen, but it better be good.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Trina?”
Trina jumped, clanking together the clean test tubes cradled in her apron. She spun around from the surgery’s wash sink. “Y–yes, Dr. Royer?” His very presence made her stomach quake. Even after nearly a month of working with the man, she still found him intimidating. His height, his superior manner of looking down his nose when he addressed her, and his enviable knowledge—proven by the certificates that now hung on the wall of the reception area above Dr. Groening’s— left her feeling very young, very backward, and hopelessly ignorant.
“Would you please explain the condition of the poodle in exam room one?”
Hope leaped in her breast. Was he asking her opinion? She licked her dry lips and formed an answer. “He hurt his leg—cut it on something. It was quite jagged in appearance and obviously requires stitches.”
She waited for him to affirm her assessment, but the man folded his arms across his chest, his expression severe. “I am well aware of the injury and its required treatment, Trina. My question concerns the bandage on his leg. A bandage, his owner tells me, you applied.”
Her heart pounded like a bass drum as trepidation made her knees go weak. “Yes, I—I applied a bandage. You were busy in another room, and the dog was bleeding badly. His owner was very upset. So I cleaned the wound with an antibacterial wash and bandaged it in readiness for your attention.” She swallowed, fear rising as he continued to glare at her. Had she injured the dog somehow? Her hands pressed to her heart, she rasped, “The dog. . .did I do something wrong?”
Dr. Royer took a step forward. His great height coupled with his look of fury made Trina shrink backward. “Yes, you did something wrong. You have no business providing medical attention to any animal.”
Trina opened her mouth to explain she had performed a similar treatment for numerous animals in Sommerfeld, but Dr. Royer forged on in a scathing tone.
“You crossed the line, Trina, and I won’t tolerate it. You are not a veterinarian or even a certified assistant. I will not be held liable for your rash actions. You are never—I repeat, never—to put your hands on an animal in this clinic for the purpose of providing medical care.”
“But I only wanted to help the little dog,” Trina protested weakly.
“Help all the dogs you want to in your neighborhood at home, if people are willing to bring their pets to you.” He pointed his finger at her, his brows low. “But at the clinic, you will leave the care of the animals to me. Do you understand?”
Too stunned to do anything else, Trina nodded.
“Good.” He took a step back, his gaze sweeping the operating room. “Finish your cleaning in here, and then shelve the shipment of pet food that arrived this morning. As soon as I’ve stitched the poodle’s leg, I’m going in to Hillsboro. Mrs. Penner knows to contact Dr. Groening if there is an emergency.” His voice rose, carrying, she was sure, to the examination room where the lady and her poodle awaited his attention. “Should someone come in requiring attention, you are not to try to handle it.”
“A–all right,” she replied, blinking back tears of humiliation.
He strode out of the small laboratory on long legs that covered twice the distance in half the time as those of most people Trina knew. She sank against the sink’s edge, her chest aching with the desire to cry. How Dr. Royer’s attack stung. She’d only wanted to help. Dr. Groening never would have spoken to her so harshly, even if it was deserved. But since his decision to sell the clinic to Dr. Royer, the elderly vet had spent less time at the clinic.
Unwilling to suffer another rebuke, she focused on completing her assigned tasks to the best of her ability. When the last bag of cat food was neatly on the shelf, she wandered to the reception area and leaned her elbows on the counter, peering over its top to Mrs. Penner. “What is Dr. Royer doing in Hillsboro?” She supposed it wasn’t her business, yet she couldn’t deny being curious.
“I’m not sure. He doesn’t t
ell me things the way Dr. Groening always has.”
Trina wondered if that bothered the receptionist. It must be different for her to work for this new young doctor after spending so many years with the gentle, laid-back Dr. Groening.
Mrs. Penner tapped her lips with one finger, looking hard at Trina. “You don’t like him much, do you?”
Trina jerked upright. “Who?”
“Dr. Royer.”
Heat filled Trina’s face. “What—what makes you say that?”
The older woman laughed softly. “How much do you think you hide with those big eyes of yours?”
Trina hid her cheeks with her hands. “I’m so sorry. . .”
Mrs. Penner offered a flippant wave. “Oh, honey, don’t apologize. He hasn’t given you much reason to like him, has he? Waltzes in, takes over, talks to you as if you don’t have a brain in your head. . .and the way he hollered at you today. . .” She shook her head, sympathy in her eyes. “You have every reason to dislike him.”
Trina stared in silence at the older woman.
Mrs. Penner went on in a thoughtful tone. “I think because he’s newly graduated he feels pretty full of himself—conceited. He had a tendency toward that when he was a boy because he stood a good six inches taller than any of his classmates.” Her eyebrows flew high. “That’s not an excuse, mind you, but it’s a reason. In his mind, I suppose, ‘bigger’ equated with ‘better.’ ” With a rueful sigh, she added, “All that being said, don’t let him bother you, Trina. You’re a smart girl—Dr. Groening thinks so, and I do, too—and you do a good job. You keep doing that job. The people here appreciate you.”
Trina’s face still felt hot, but now pleasure rather than embarrassment created the warmth. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had complimented her so blatantly. She swallowed hard and managed to reply. “Thank you, Mrs. Penner. I—I appreciate your kind words.”
Another wave of her hand dismissed Trina’s words. Propping her chin in her hands, Mrs. Penner grinned up at Trina. “So. . .tell me about your wedding plans. How are you balancing preparing for a wedding with your work here and all your studying?”
Trina laughed. Mrs. Penner obviously didn’t know Mama. “I don’t have to do a thing in preparing for my wedding—my mother has it under control. The ceremony will be at the café since our house isn’t big enough to accommodate all of the guests. She already has one of my aunts sewing my dress, another aunt making and freezing cookies, and Mama will prepare the fine dinner for afterward.” She laughed, shaking her head. “She won’t let anyone else bring anything for the dinner—she says she’ll do it all herself.”
“What colors are you using?”
Trina blinked twice. “Colors?”
“Yes. Don’t you have a color theme, like lavender and mint, and particular flowers picked out to go with the theme?”
Trina remembered peeking in a bride’s magazine once in McPherson. Those pictures were nothing like a Mennonite service. With a shake of her head, she explained, “No, ma’am. Weddings are pretty simple affairs. People come dressed in their Sunday worship clothing, and only the bride has a special dress.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the moment she would stand beside Graham in her pale blue dress, holding a white Bible. Her heart picked up its tempo at the thought of Graham in his black suit and tie, his blue eyes shining with love for her.
“And why aren’t you getting married in the church?”
Trina popped her eyes open. “We only use the meetinghouse for worship, although I’ve heard some Mennonite groups elsewhere have begun holding weddings in their meetinghouse. But mostly weddings are in the bride’s home or a community building. Since Sommerfeld doesn’t have a community building, Mama says the café will do.”
“I see.” The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I guess I didn’t realize a Mennonite wedding would be different from those performed in my home church. Do you have bridal showers? A party where people bring you gifts?”
Trina shook her head, smiling. “That sounds nice, but no. But people will bring gifts for our new home to the wedding. Mama doesn’t know I know, but my cousins are working on a quilt for our. . .bed.” Heat flamed her cheeks again. She hurried on. “My cousin Andrew’s wife, Livvy, is especially talented with quilting, and she’s helping, so I’m eager to see it.”
“And where are you and Graham planning to live? Do you have a house in Sommerfeld all picked out?”
Guilt pricked Trina’s conscience. She still felt bad about Graham selling his house to Walt, yet she knew he wouldn’t have done it had he not prayed about it and believed it was the right thing to do. “No. We’ll live with Graham’s parents—until I go away to finish my college. While I finish up, I imagine we’ll rent an apartment near the campus, and Graham will find a job. Then we’ll probably live with his parents again until we can save enough money to pay for another house.” She realized she was sharing plans that would take her several years down the road. Drawing a deep breath, she admitted, “It’s all a little frightening but exciting, too.”
“Starting out always is,” Mrs. Penner agreed, sounding like Beth. “But you know something, Trina? You are a very blessed young lady. Just from listening to you now, I can tell you have family and friends who think a great deal of you and want to help you out. You have a young man willing to help you pursue an education beyond what I’ve heard the Mennonites usually allow. And you are going to have knowledge that will benefit you as well as give you an opportunity to bless the community wherever you and Graham decide to settle down. You have much for which to be thankful.”
Trina nodded, her chest expanding with gratitude for each of the things Mrs. Penner had mentioned. “You’re right.” She needed to do a better job of thanking God for all of the doors He was making available to her, including working here at the clinic. Even if Dr. Royer was difficult, she could still learn from him if she set aside her personal antagonism toward the man. She made a private vow to give God His deserved appreciation the next time she prayed.
The crunch of tires on gravel intruded, and Trina dashed to the window to peek out. “There’s Graham! Five o’clock already.” She hurried to her time card and scribbled the time then flashed Mrs. Penner a smile. “I’ll see you on Monday. Have a good weekend.”
“You, too, Trina. Good-bye.”
Trina trotted out the door and down the steps to Graham’s car. The moment she slid into her seat, she leaned over and placed a kiss on Graham’s cheek.
He drew back in surprise, a smile on his face. “What was that for?”
“A thank-you kiss,” she said with a grin, “for being such a wonderful, supportive blessing in my life.”
He chuckled as he put the car in DRIVE and aimed it toward the highway. “Well, you must have had a good day.”
Trina thought about her encounter with Dr. Royer and how he made her feel inept. She wouldn’t call all of it a good day, but Mrs. Penner’s comments had changed her attitude. Her focus needed to be on the positive things happening rather than the negative. “It has been a good day. And the best part is right now because I’m with you.”
Graham reached his arm out to capture Trina’s shoulders and pull her close. He glanced down at her, smiling, and she smiled right back, tipping her chin upward to graze the underside of his jaw with her lips. He chuckled, and she shifted to rest her head on his shoulder. But when she looked forward, her heart leaped into her throat.
A truck, its driver appearing to dig under the dash for something, crossed the center line, the grill aiming directly at Graham’s car. Trina screamed, “Graham!”
Graham jerked his gaze forward, and his elbow slammed into Trina’s head as he flung his arm free to jam the heel of his hand against the horn. A discordant ho–o–onk!sounded. The other driver looked up, and Trina clearly saw his panicked face. But instead of turning away from them, the truck lurched directly into their path.
“God, help us!” Graham cried out. He yanked the whee
l to the right then threw himself across Trina. The impact of the truck slamming into the driver’s side brought Trina out of the seat. The sickening crunch of metal against metal echoed through her head, and she opened her mouth to scream again as the car spun around.
Trina’s stomach turned inside out as the car slid into the ditch then flipped onto its side. She felt herself being tossed like a tumbleweed as the car turned again, rolling to its top, and she closed her eyes, battling nausea. Another wild turn, and finally the car stopped, bouncing on its tires, with Trina crumpled onto the floorboard.
For a moment she simply lay, stunned, but then she realized Graham was no longer in the vehicle with her. She pushed to her knees, calling, “Graham! Graham!” She continued screaming his name as she banged her hands uselessly against the passenger’s door.
Frantic, she grabbed the dash and pulled herself upright, peering through the shattered windshield. A strong odor permeated the area, burning her throat. She buried her face against her shoulder for a moment and coughed. Then she forced her gaze back to the window. The shattered glass distorted her vision, turning the world into tiny pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle with its parts lined up but not connected. She squinted, her heart pounding, her dry throat rasping one word over and over: “Graham. . .Graham. . .”
And finally she spotted him—lying in a heap in the ditch just a few feet away from the car. “Graham!” She pounded her fists, desperate to get to him. “Graham! Graham! Graham!”
The world became a sickening, disjointed dream. Cars stopping. People running from every direction. Voices calling.
“Has anyone called 911?”
“There’s a girl in that car! We need to get her out in case the gas tank catches fire!”
“Is the man in the pickup okay?”
“Don’t try to move anybody—wait for an ambulance!”
Frantic, bustling activity everywhere. And Trina, her heart pounding, shut it all out. With her bleeding hands curled over the dash, she stared, grunting with displeasure when milling people temporarily blocked her vision. Trapped like a bug in a jar, she kept her gaze pinned to Graham, praying silently, Please, oh, please be all right.
Blessings Page 20
