by Anna Schmidt
Now as she waited for the mail to come she paced the side of the narrow country road as she tried to think of anything she could do to make things easier for Justin.
“Here you go,” the postal worker called out as he leaned out the side of his vehicle and handed her a small stack of envelopes. “Have a good one, now,” he added as he pulled away.
“And you,” she called after him.
As she slowly walked back up the lane toward the house, she shuffled through the mail and paused when she reached a letter addressed to her—a letter from Florida.
She stopped walking and slid her thumbnail under the flap of the blue envelope. Inside she found a sympathy card and letter from her college friend Hester Steiner—a voice from her past that she found far more comforting than any of the voices surrounding her at the farm.
Dear Rachel,
Greetings from sunny Florida!
I have just heard the news of James’s death. I am so sorry that I was not there with you during this terrible time. I know we lost touch over the last several years, but I think of you so often. Oh, how I miss you and our talks so much.
She wrote of her marriage and her work helping to manage a nonprofit co-operative that employed homeless people to distribute fresh fruit and homemade jams to food pantries. Hester sounded so very happy that Rachel could not help but feel a twinge of envy.
It took Rachel more than a week to write back. In her letter she talked of the troubling aspects of her life in the same lighthearted way the two friends had shared when they were roommates. She made jokes about being banned from the kitchen, and rightly so, since Hester would recall that Rachel was not much of a cook.
Hester’s reply came within days. She had seen through Rachel’s poor attempts at humor and addressed the deep-seated unhappiness that lay beneath. And true to form she had a solution.
Come to Florida, she wrote as if it were as simple as that. Rachel snorted a wry laugh, remembering Hester always seemed to think everything was possible.
There’s an opening at a local hospital in the spiritual care department. You’d be perfect for it. I’ve enclosed an application form and the name and address of the senior chaplain. He and his wife volunteer at the co-op, and we’ve become friends. I’ve told him all about you and he’s waiting for your application so don’t disappoint him—or me.
This too, was so like Hester, dishing out orders, expecting Rachel would do her bidding simply because to her it was the perfect solution to the problem at hand. Never mind that Rachel’s training was in nursing, not counseling.
Rachel put Hester’s letter including the application in a drawer of her bureau, and for the next three nights just before she knelt next to her single bed for her nightly prayers, she read through the form, mentally filling in each blank. Each night she prayed for guidance, and on the fourth night she sat down and completed the application. The following morning she waited by the mailbox and personally handed the completed form to the mail carrier.
“Where is that boy?”
Justin cringed when his uncle Luke stormed into the kitchen. His aunt Rose murmured something. Aunt Rose always kind of whispered when she spoke to Uncle Luke, like she was afraid of him.
He was beginning to understand that fear because Uncle Luke seemed to be mad a lot about one thing or other. He wasn’t anything like Justin’s dad had been. But then nothing about his life now was like it had been before his dad got killed by a drunk driver.
At first it had seemed like things might get better. His grandpa had been sort of like his dad in those weeks right after the accident. His mom had started her job and his grandma had done what she’d always done—cooking, baking pies for a local store that he delivered with her after school and on weekends. His mom helped his grandma with the cleaning and cooking when she wasn’t working. The way things went during that time, it had sometimes been easy to forget his dad was really never coming back. It had been almost normal, like Dad was just out planting a field or something.
But then Grandpa had had his stroke and after that it was like he was suddenly a whole lot older and weaker, and Gramma as well. It wasn’t long after Grandpa got home from the hospital that Justin’s uncles had this family meeting and decided that Uncle Luke and Aunt Rose should take over running the farm while his grandparents moved back out to the smaller cottage that Justin had helped his dad build for them in back of the main house.
His best buddy Harlan’s grandparents lived in a house like theirs while Harlan and his parents and brothers and sisters lived in the main farmhouse. It was the way things were done in their world, although he’d met some kids who were not Mennonite who thought it was pretty weird the way Mennonite families all stayed together in one place. Well, Justin was pretty sure he wouldn’t like living the way those kids did with their grandparents in some whole other state. He figured that those kids would be even lonelier than he was if their dad died.
“Justin!”
His uncle stood in the doorway of the small bedroom that Justin now shared with two of his cousins.
“Coming,” he said automatically, although he had no idea if that was what his uncle wanted him to do.
“Don’t give me that attitude,” Luke said, his teeth and fists both clenched. “There’s work to be done, boy. Now get to it.”
Uncle Luke turned and walked back downstairs.
Justin wondered for a minute what his uncle might do if just this once Justin refused to follow his orders. But he already knew the answer to that one. Luke would take a willow switch to the backs of his bare legs, and his mom wouldn’t be able to stop him. His dad could have because he was the eldest and as such Luke would have had to listen to him. But his dad was dead and his mom had no real power—none at all.
In early August, Rachel was hanging laundry on the line outside the kitchen of the main house when her mother-in-law called for her to come answer the telephone in the cottage. “Long distance,” she added. Surely a long-distance call in the middle of the day meant bad news.
Rose came out onto the back porch of the main house, her lips pursed with curiosity.
Inside the cottage, where they kept the phone just in case Earl took a turn for the worse, Grace handed her the receiver before quietly returning to the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Kaufmann?”
“Yes?” Rachel’s hand was shaking as she gripped the receiver of the old rotary dial telephone.
“This is Pastor Paul Cox, senior chaplain for Gulf Coast Medical Center.”
“Oh, hello. How are you?” This was about the job—the Florida job. Her hand began to sweat, and her heart was beating so hard she thought that Pastor Cox must be able to hear it.
“I’m very well, thank you for asking. I have your application here. I am with our hospital administrator, Darcy Meekins, as well as a member of our board of directors, Malcolm Shepherd. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Yes sir.” Her reply was automatic. Her mind was busy trying to quell the hope she felt rising in her chest.
“Excellent. Let me put you on speakerphone.” Rachel heard a rustling and crackling, and then Pastor Cox was back on the line, his voice now sounding amplified as if speaking from far away—which of course, he was. “Our time for filling this position is quite short, Mrs. Kaufmann. The hospital is set to open next week, and the truth is we had almost decided on another candidate when we received your application.”
Rachel’s heart sank. Then, why call at all?
As if she had spoken aloud, she heard a different male voice answer. “Mrs. Kaufmann? Malcolm Shepherd here. You see, this is a brand-new medical center. We’re located a mile east of the Amish and Mennonite neighborhood here in Sarasota. We hope to serve the residents of that community as well as the growing communities that have sprung up over the years east of downtown Sarasota. One of our goals for the medical center is to offer a diversity of staffing in all departments. With that in mind we were understandably pleased to receive your
application.”
Malcolm Shepherd’s calm explanation of the situation eased her concern that they had only called as a courtesy to say that her application had come too late. In her letters, Hester had mentioned the businessman who was also a large financial supporter of the fruit co-operative Hester and her husband had founded in Sarasota. Hester really admired him and the work he and his wife did in the community. Just hearing him on the phone, Rachel thought she understood why. He had a way of putting people at ease—at least he did that for her.
“Therefore,” he continued, “we decided to extend the timeline in order to at least have the opportunity to interview you.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, her heart sinking once again. “But I cannot come to Florida for an interview.”
“Rachel?” a clipped female voice interrupted. “Darcy Meekins, hospital administrator here. Assuming this time works for you, we are interviewing you now.”
Rachel could not help being reminded of her brother-in-law when she heard the woman’s clipped tone. Like Luke, Darcy Meekins seemed more inclined to giving orders than to being part of a general discussion. Rachel also could not help noticing that the woman had called her by her given name while both men had been more formal in addressing her. What did this mean? Was she supposed to call the woman Darcy?
“Is this a good time?” The woman sounded impatient.
“Yes, Miss Meekins. This is fine.”
“I prefer Ms. Meekins.”
Rachel barely heard the correction as Rose and three of her children entered the cottage. Rose shooed the children toward the kitchen. “Gramma has cookies,” she promised in a whisper, and then she stood by the front door, her arms folded across the bibbed front of her dress, her eyebrows raised in question. “Is everything all right?” she mouthed.
Rachel nodded and covered the receiver with her palm. “It’s … I’ll tell you all about it after I get off.” She met her sister-in-law’s stare until Rose finally got the message and headed for the kitchen.
“Mrs. Kaufmann, are you still there?” Pastor Cox asked.
“Yes. I apologize. This is a family telephone and—”
“I see that you attended nursing school,” the hospital administrator interrupted. “Please explain why you believe you are qualified to serve in our spiritual care department?”
“Well, I do have my degree in nursing, and as I mentioned on my application, I have additional course work in social work, plus certification in a special counseling program for victims of violent crimes and their offenders. I am a woman of deep faith and I believe I can …”
“The counseling needed here is hardly a match,” Rachel heard the administrator say in a low voice obviously not intended for her ears. “I see that you are not currently employed. Why did you leave your last position?” Darcy continued.
Rachel’s hand began to perspire as she clutched the receiver. All of a sudden she wanted this job and the opportunity it represented for her to start fresh, the possibility that she could provide for Justin. “The position was eliminated due to budget cuts,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice calm and professional. “As I noted toward the back of the application, you may certainly contact my former employer for a reference.”
One of the two men at the other end of the call cleared his throat, and then she heard Pastor Cox say, “Why don’t I tell you a little more about the position?”
“I would appreciate that,” Rachel said.
“We have a large children’s wing here at Gulf Coast. You would be working primarily with children. Are you comfortable with that?”
Rachel could not control the smile that spread across her face and carried through to her voice. “That would be truly wonderful, Pastor. I love children.”
“We are talking about children of all ages,” Darcy cautioned. “Infants, toddlers, children in school, children with physical issues that have also, in some cases, exploded into serious emotional problems.”
“That was the case when I worked as a school nurse. Well, not the infants and toddlers of course, but children of all ages from kindergarten through high school, and from all backgrounds.”
“And faiths?” Darcy asked.
“Yes. All faiths. It was a county school system.”
She heard what sounded like a door opening and closing and the rustle of papers as a man’s muffled voice apologized for being late.
“Mrs. Kaufmann,” Pastor Cox said, “Dr. Ben Booker has just joined us.”
“Hello, Mrs. Kaufmann. I read your application. Impressive.” The doctor’s voice was kind, and she thought that he must’ve been very good at putting his patients at ease. She pictured a balding gray-haired man wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. The image made her smile.
“Thank you.”
“So, do you think you’re interested?”
Rachel hesitated. This doctor had just joined the interview, and this was his first question before he’d even asked one thing about her qualifications?
“I understand that there are other candidates,” she said, choosing each word with care. “I certainly appreciate that you would consider my application at all.”
There was a moment of such dead air that Rachel thought perhaps somehow they had been disconnected.
“That wasn’t the question,” the doctor said, breaking the silence.
“Yes. I would be very interested.”
“You do understand that you would need to earn your certification as a spiritual counselor per Florida state regulations?” Darcy Meekins asked. “And you would need to do your course work on top of the hours spent at the position, hours that will include some nights and weekends. There’s also some fieldwork included in the course.”
“Yes. That was clear on the application.”
“A formality,” Pastor Cox added. “You can do the required field work right here.”
“You would need to move here within a matter of a few weeks. Could you manage that should we offer you the position?” Ms. Meekins pressed.
“I could. Yes.” Rachel had never felt more certain of anything—other than her decision to marry James—in her life. She wanted this job.
“You don’t need time to consider?” the hospital administrator coached. “To speak with your family?” It was as if she was trying to remind Rachel of all the reasons why this was not a good idea.
“There’s really just me and my twelve-year-old son, Ms. Meekins. My husband passed away nearly two years ago. My son understands that I make all decisions based on what’s best for him.”
She heard the woman blow out a puff of air. “Well, we need some time,” she muttered, and Rachel realized that she had once again covered the receiver and said this to the others.
“Very well, then,” Pastor Cox boomed. “We had narrowed the field of candidates to two and now with you we have three. Give us a few days to mull over the pros and cons and we’ll be in touch. Is that all right?”
Rachel’s heart sank. There was no way they were going to hire someone from over a thousand miles away for the position if they had two other qualified candidates right there. “That would be fine,” Rachel said. “Is there anything else you need to know about me?” Now she just sounded desperate.
“As my brother might say, Mrs. Kaufmann,” Malcolm Shepherd said in a tone that Rachel could only describe as kind, “no worries. We have already received electronic letters of reference from the superintendent of schools in your district there in Ohio as well as letters from three teachers that worked with you. Hester Steiner has given a verbal recommendation.” He chuckled. “She’s certainly been persistent in making sure we consider your application.”
Rachel smiled. “Hester can be—”
“We’ll call you,” the hospital administrator interrupted. Rachel couldn’t help wondering if the woman was perpetually impatient or maybe she just had a lot on her schedule and was anxious to get this meeting over with.
“Thank you again for consideri
ng me at all,” Rachel said. “I’ll look forward to your call.”
“Three or four days,” Pastor Cox promised. “We’ll call either way. You enjoy your weekend now,” he added, and after murmured good-byes all around the line went dead.
But the very next day—Friday—she had once again been called to the telephone.
“Mrs. Kaufmann? Pastor Cox here.”
Her heart sank with disappointment. If they had made their choice so quickly then there was no chance that …
“How soon can you get here?”
Rachel was speechless. But that didn’t seem to faze the chaplain, who continued talking as if the question had been purely rhetorical.
“Assuming you still want the job, we’d like you to get started as soon as possible. Now let me just put Mark from Human Resources on the line and he can give you the details of the offer, okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The man from Human Resources took the phone and gave her information about salary, hours, benefits such as vacation and personal time, and insurance. “The search committee has approved a certification program for you so you’ll work and attend classes, but they’re available online so you fit it into your schedule however you like. All right?”
Her mind raced with the logistics of working and going to school even if it was online. And certainly there was the issue of being available for Justin as he got acclimated to his new surroundings. “Yes.”
“There will be a probationary period of four months,” Mark continued in a voice that told her this was hardly the first time he had delivered this information. “During that time others will be observing and assessing your work. If for any reason at the end of the probationary period, the members of the search committee—or you—decide this isn’t working, the appointment can be terminated. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“So how soon can you get here?” Mark’s tone changed from official to casual.
