by Anna Schmidt
Hester shrugged. “It’s so very hard, on all of them. Sadie has been arrested and taken to a detention center in Bradenton. Emma and Lars can only visit her for half an hour at a time and only on certain days.”
Justin seemed to be following this conversation with interest. “Sadie is the girl who was driving the car that struck the girl who died,” she explained.
“She’s in jail?”
“Sounds like it,” Margery said with a heavy sigh as she stood and headed for the door. “Well, got to go take care of my own business. Got two fishing charters going out today.” Margery glanced outside. “Good day for fishing and a good day for moving,” she announced. “See you folks later.”
“Margery’s right,” John said, wiping his mouth. “I’ll go get Zeke. And, Justin, you help your mother bring out the rest of your things.”
“We’re staying at the new place tonight?” Justin asked as if the idea had just struck him.
“Of course we are. We’re moving there.”
Her son glanced around the large kitchen. “But we’ll come back here—I mean for visits and stuff?”
John laughed and ruffled Justin’s sandy hair. “You’re not getting out of working here that easy. I’ve gotten used to having you around, and soon we’ll be getting into the busiest part of the season.”
“But how will we get back and forth? It’s a long way to the Shepherds’ house.”
“The boy’s right, John,” Hester said with a worried frown as she ran water over the dishes. “Wait a minute. What’s that Zeke is working on out there?”
John carried his dishes to the sink and looked out the window. “Well, will you look at that? It’s a bike,” he said. “He’s putting a bike together.”
“For?” Hester coached as Justin ran to the open door to see for himself.
“For … me?” Justin looked from Hester to John and back for confirmation.
“It’s a gift from your grandparents,” Rachel told him, happy beyond words to see him finally excited about something. “You can ride it to the park and even to the hospital and out here when you come for visits and to help at the packinghouse.”
“And to school?”
“You’ll take the bus to and from school.” She saw his disappointment, but Sharon Shepherd had advised, and she agreed, that riding the bus would provide more opportunities for Justin to make new friends. Besides, he had all those books to carry back and forth.
“Can I go help Zeke finish putting it together?”
Rachel nodded, and Justin bounded out of the kitchen, taking the porch steps in a single leap and running across the yard to where Zeke was working in the shade of the packinghouse.
Hester put her arm around Rachel’s waist. “A new bicycle for Justin and a new home for you both.”
“Well, good morning,” Sharon said when she saw her brother having coffee with Malcolm. “You might as well move in—you’re here more than at that mausoleum of a condo you bought. What’s all this?”
Ben gathered up the papers spread across the glass-topped table and stuffed them into a manila folder. “And good morning to you, sleepyhead.”
But Sharon was not to be pacified. “What’s going on?” She indicated the papers.
“I asked Ben to get us copies of Sally’s records from Memorial so when we transfer her care to Gulf Coast …”
“We haven’t decided that for sure yet,” Sharon reminded him.
“Just in case,” Malcolm replied.
Ben fished a second set of papers out of his briefcase and handed them to her.
Sharon accepted the stack of papers and flipped through it without really pausing to read any of it. “So many medical people,” she said.
“It takes a village,” Ben said.
She looked at him for a moment then dropped the papers onto the table and sank into a chaise lounge next to them. As she looked out toward the gardens, her eyes welled with tears. “I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that after everything we went through our Sally has come to a place where she can be in school instead of a hospital. Where she can go to the mall with her friends. That our lives can be normal again.”
Malcolm reached over and held her hand. “Believe it, honey,” he told her. “All the waiting for a donor, all the fear and sleepless nights, that’s all in the past.”
Sharon wove her fingers between his. A single tear leaked down her cheek. “I think about that girl killed in the car accident and her parents and what they must be going through. We’re so very blessed.”
The three of them sat quietly for several long minutes. What more was there to say? Getting Sally to the point where she was finally in remission—a remission that hopefully would last her the rest of her life—had been a journey riddled with medical land mines. Ben understood his sister’s hesitancy to put her faith in the idea that Sally might finally be on her way toward a future free of hospitals and medical procedures.
No more false hopes that the second round of chemotherapy would work better than the first induction therapy had. That Sharon or Malcolm would be a match for a transplant. That someone from their extended family would match when Sharon and Malcolm had not. No more if onlys—“If only we had had more children” being Sharon’s main regret.
“It’s over, sis,” Ben said. “Time to start living again.”
Sharon brushed her tears away. “You’re right. No more living in the past.” She stretched her arms over her head and sighed as she looked up at the cloudless sky. “We are so very blessed,” she repeated. Ben understood it for the prayer of gratitude that he knew it was.
From the front of the house they heard a vehicle turn onto the property, and a few seconds later the orange van from the co-op made its way past the garage and down the side lane to the guesthouse.
Sharon leaped to her feet. “It’s moving day. I almost forgot.” She bent and kissed Malcolm’s forehead. “I should take them some snacks and lemonade.” Then she pushed the papers Ben had shown her back across the table. “We don’t need to decide this today. There’s plenty of time.”
Ben watched his sister walk back into the house. She had aged—Sally’s illness had taken years off her life, and she was only in her midthirties.
“Did you and Sharon ever think of trying again, having another child?” he asked and then shook off the question that he couldn’t believe he’d spoken aloud. “Don’t answer that,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just …”
Malcolm’s expression was that of a man trying hard to control his temper. “We could never replace Sally, Ben.” He stood up abruptly and followed his wife inside.
Having managed to upset his brother-in-law with his stupid question, Ben got up and wandered down the path that wound its way through the gardens. Through an arbor of wisteria vines he saw Justin pedaling a shiny new bike up and down the service road that ran behind the guesthouse. Ben paused to watch him for a moment, recalling the way he’d observed Sally on her bike a mere three months after her transplant, her head thrown back, her eyes closed and an aura of utter joy lighting her entire being in spite of the surgical mask that Sharon insisted she wear anytime she was outside the house. This boy rode with his head down, and his body tensed as if he could not possibly ride fast enough to escape whatever he imagined was chasing him.
Not wanting to startle the kid, Ben waited until he’d pedaled to the end of the drive and turned to come back before stepping out from the foliage of the garden and walking toward him. “Hey there,” he called.
The boy looked up, and the bike’s front wheel wobbled unsteadily for an instant. He squinted and held his position as if waiting for Ben’s next move.
“Remember me? Sally’s uncle?” Ben jerked his head in the general direction of the main house.
The boy continued to stare at him, offering nothing more than a slight nod.
“Is your mom here?”
Another nod. “She’s inside,” Justin said, his pubescent voice vacillating between the tenor of childhood
and something deeper.
“I thought maybe I could lend a hand,” Ben continued. “With the moving.”
The boy shrugged. “It’s mostly boxes and stuff.”
“Boxes can be heavy,” Ben said as he headed toward the open back of the van. “Give me a hand here, will you?”
“Mom wants us to wait. She wants to get things put away as she opens each box. There’s not that much.”
“So you’re kind of on call?”
“Ja.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes sir. Mr. Shepherd’s with her.”
“That would be Zeke Shepherd?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll go see if I can be of any help.” He paused as he passed by the boy still balancing his bike ready to take off again. “Maybe later if your mom says it’s okay you’d like to come with us to watch Sally’s baseball game over in the park?”
Justin stopped short of rolling his eyes, but Ben did not miss the expression of distaste the boy fought to control. Clearly Justin thought he was being asked to watch a girls’ game and no self-respecting twelve-year-old boy would be caught dead at such an event. He grinned. “Sally’s not playing today, but when she does she’s the only girl on the team,” he said and walked around the van toward the guesthouse. “I’ll check with you later,” he called and heard Justin take off on his bike in the opposite direction.
“ ’Bout time you showed up.” Zeke Shepherd greeted Ben with a grin. “Now that the work’s half done.” He was sitting at the bistro-style table in the small kitchen, sipping a cup of steaming coffee. The two men bumped fists in greeting.
“Yeah, I can see you’re really working hard,” Ben said. He glanced around. The place was small but had an open feeling to it with a high white-beamed ceiling and lots of windows that looked out onto the garden. Sharon had chosen the cast-off furnishings with care—a mishmash of pieces, some of which he recognized from their childhood home, blended with new pieces like the bistro table and chairs that served as dining space.
Sharon regularly visited their father, especially now that their mom had died. Ben always begged off going with her to the family home in Tennessee, but he knew that Sharon saw through his excuse that he had too much work to do.
“You and Dad are the two most stubborn men I have ever known,” she would say, but she never pressed him to do more.
Ben fingered the back of a rocking chair that he recognized as the one his mom used to sit in. From the end of the short hallway where he knew there were two small bedrooms and the cottage’s only bathroom, he heard drawers opening and closing and the muted sound of singing.
“She’s putting stuff away,” Zeke reported. “Coffee?” He indicated the half-filled pot on the counter.
Ben filled a mug and took the chair opposite Zeke. He glanced around the kitchen. “How’s she going to manage?” he asked. “I mean, electricity and telephone and all? Although the stove is gas. Can her people use gas for cooking?”
“Her people, as you so quaintly put it, use electricity, own cell phones, drive cars, even watch television. She’s Mennonite—you’re thinking Amish. No worries. It’s a common mistake.”
The two men drank their coffee in silence, each listening to the song coming from down the hall.
“Hester tells me that she’s been through a lot, and her boy …” Zeke shook his head. “Trying to find his place in all of this. I know how that is.”
Ben understood that Zeke was reflecting on his own life and the difficulties he’d had settling back into the routine he’d known before volunteering for the military. After each tour of duty it seemed as if he came back more lost than the time before and the only solution he saw was to sign up for yet another round of service. Ben didn’t understand how trying to stay alive in a combat zone could possibly be preferable to the life of comfort he could have enjoyed. But he gave Zeke credit for understanding what Rachel Kaufmann was going through better than he could. “It can’t be easy,” Ben said.
“You’ve got no idea,” Zeke replied and got up to refill his mug.
Rachel came down the hall and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Ben, but her smile told him it was a pleasant surprise.
“Looks like we’ve got an extra pair of hands,” Zeke said. Ben gave her a wave. She looked like she’d just stepped out of the shower. Her floral print dress—this one lavender—fell to well below her knees and was covered by a full apron. In place of her usual white starched prayer hat, she had covered her hair with a black scarf. She was wearing white tennis shoes that while still pristine had clearly seen miles of wear.
“How can I help?” Ben asked. “Perhaps with three strong men here you’d like to consider rearranging the furniture to better suit your style?”
“Three?” She blinked.
“Justin?” Ben nodded toward the window where the boy could be seen pedaling up and down the driveway with the same furious intent he’d demonstrated when Ben first arrived.
“Ja.” She watched her son until he was once again out of sight, a wistful expression clouding those beautiful violet eyes. “Justin.” It came out as a whisper, as if she had not intended to speak it aloud.
“So, what do you think?” Ben asked, moving to stand in the middle of the cottage’s main room. “Sofa here or facing the fireplace? How about this chair?”
“I couldn’t,” Rachel exclaimed, clearly realizing what he was suggesting. “These are not my things.”
“No worries,” Zeke said. “Sharon said to make yourself at home, and if that means moving a chair or two, then so be it.” He set down his mug and moved to the opposite end of the sofa from Ben. “Where do you want this?”
Still Rachel hesitated.
“It’s your home,” Ben reminded her. “Yours and Justin’s, at least for now.”
“Justin,” Rachel called with a smile. “Come help.”
An hour later, after Sharon had shown up with a pitcher of lemonade and a platter of fruit and cookies, they had completely transformed the space. The small flat-screened television that had been the focal point of the room, visible from everywhere including the kitchen, had been relocated to a corner. The sofa had been repositioned to take full advantage of the view of the gardens as well as a cozy fire on cool evenings. A handmade rag rug that Rachel told them had been a wedding present now covered the planks of the floor in front of the sofa.
“But your rug is lovely,” Rachel assured Sharon as they rolled up the threadbare Oriental that had been there. Zeke carried it outside.
“This is better,” Sharon said, her amateur designer’s eye taking in the changes. “Do you have a patchwork quilt or perhaps an afghan you brought along?”
“I do.”
“These beige slipcovers are so bland and now with the wonderful muted colors in your rug … shall we try it?”
Ben realized that his sister’s involvement with the decorating had rekindled a hint of the enthusiasm and high spirits with which she had approached every new day before Sally’s diagnosis. It occurred to him that Sharon and Rachel had a lot in common—they both had children they were concerned about. He watched as the two women draped a patchwork quilt first over the sofa and then moved it to the back of his mom’s wicker rocking chair.
“You two make a good team,” he said when they stood back to consider their handiwork.
“Oh, it’s going to be such fun having you here, Rachel,” Sharon gushed. “And, Justin,” she added, turning to include the boy. “You and Sally are going to have such good times together.”
Justin’s smile was polite but definitely forced.
“That reminds me,” Ben said. “I was telling Justin that Sally’s team has a ball game this afternoon, Rachel. I was thinking perhaps Justin could come along with us, meet some of the other kids in the neighborhood. It’s only a few blocks away in the park.”
“Works for me,” Zeke said before Rachel could reply. “Looks like everything’s pretty well settled here. Mind if I come along?”
&nbs
p; “Sounds like a plan,” Ben said. “That is, if it’s all right with Rachel.”
He watched as Rachel looked first at Justin and then at everyone else. “You are all so kind. Danke. Justin, do you wish to see this ball game?”
Justin shrugged and studied the toe of his shoe. “I guess.”
“Ah, the enthusiasm of youth,” Zeke said, and all of the adults chuckled. Justin’s cheeks flamed red. “Come on, sport,” Zeke said as he wrapped his arm around the boy. “Let’s you and me return the van and then we can bike back here for the game. Four o’clock, right?”
“See you there,” Sharon replied. “Come up to the house before you leave. I have some clothes of your brother’s that …”
Zeke rolled his eyes and grinned as he hugged Sharon and kissed the top of her head. “She fails to realize that my brother and I are not exactly the same size and that I travel light,” he explained to Rachel. “But her heart is in the right place and I love her for it.”
Sharon grimaced. “Traveling light for this one means a single change of clothing and his guitar. I will never understand that.” She looked up at him and brushed his shoulder-length black hair away from his face. “Do you know how handsome you would be with a simple haircut?”
Zeke laughed. “I’d have to beat the ladies off with a stick, and I really am not up to that in this heat.”
Ben heard a snicker and realized it had come from Justin. For the first time all morning the boy looked as if he might actually be enjoying himself. Maybe there was hope for him yet. Ben glanced at Rachel and saw by her smile that she was thinking exactly the same thing.
Chapter 10
Darcy had a plan. She knew that Ben attended his niece Sally’s baseball game every Saturday afternoon. Since she lived near the park and often ran there in her off-hours, she had decided to time her run to coincide with the game. Then she would stop by to say hello to Ben and his sister—perfectly normal—and she would remind Ben of that rain check for pizza she’d offered.
