JC. Amalia frowned. Could that have anything to do with the “jaycee” she heard about from her Nehrangese friends? She thought they’d been speaking about Jesus. But what if JC were the initials of a breathing person?
Of course “Campbell” would catch her eye, as Merit shared the same last name. The memo mentioned something about a cleaning crew. Amalia stirred the paper, seeing more letters underneath. With a quick glance at the others in the lobby, she casually brushed the top note aside. There—on the letterhead. Justice Campbell. Amalia picked up the letter.
“Oh, I see you’re checking on the paperwork,” Marianne’s cheerful voice came from near Amalia’s shoulder. Amalia jumped and let the paper fall.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Honey, I never would have dreamed that. Those are messages from the campus housing director, anyway. Nothing personal. Mr. Campbell’s been wonderful and gracious.”
“Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes. His given name’s Justice, in case you were wondering about the letterhead. He’s not a judge or anything.”
“You’ve met him?”
“A couple of times. Very nice young man.” Marianne smiled and plucked several pencils from the counter.
Amalia walked back out into the main lobby then found Bunty to thank him for his help with the books and to say good-bye for now.
She drove west out of the city, then south back to Fox Falls, thinking furiously the whole time. She wondered whether Merit knew anything about this, since he and Marianne were in close contact. Should she say anything? Like, what? And without sounding super-nosey. She had not spoken to Merit for many days. Where would she even run into him in order to make a casual comment like, “I see you’ve found your long-lost brother. It must be nice to have the family together again. Prudence must be so happy.”
Absolutely idiotic.
What would be the point of telling him she thought his long-lost brother hadn’t died, but lived in Chicago right under their noses all along? He probably already thought of her as some kind of two-timing fiancé. Why make it worse?
On the other hand, what if he didn’t know? Surely, he wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark about information like that. Maybe Marianne didn’t know the whole story about the Campbell family. Why would she? There were a lot of Campbells.
Amalia decided to drop in on Merit on her way home to tell him about the new living arrangements for the refugees. At least, she could pretend he might not know that bit of news and casually drop the name of the campus housing director.
She stopped at Merit’s house. There weren’t any lights on inside. Trembling with nerves, she rang the bell. Then knocked. He wouldn’t ignore her. He couldn’t be home. The house sounded emptier than usual, almost as if no one lived there. She strolled around the side of the house to peek in the garage. No sign of the Jeep. She went home. Maybe Cherie would know something.
Cherie’s telephone voice sounded hesitant after Amalia’s comment that she’d driven by Merit’s abandoned house. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Amalia. Merit flew to Florida this morning to talk to the mission partners. The church seemed very interested in helping Merit with the training and providing a place down there.”
THIRTEEN
Merit gripped the hand rests on either side of his seat long after the plane leveled out. Closing his eyes never seemed to blot out Amalia’s face. Her words, “I will, Hudson, I will,” haunted his every moment, even though it had been a month ago.
“Sir? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Merit opened his eyes to a concerned-looking flight attendant. He released his hold on the armrests and offered her a sober smile. “Thank you. I’m not a nervous traveler. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
The young lady, blonde as Amalia was dark-haired, leaned back into the narrow aisle and smiled. He nodded at her, then turned to look out the window where clouds as ephemeral as his thoughts made a lacy veil over the ground below.
* * *
After his speeches and sermon at the Florida church, Merit got ready for bed, exhaustion calling for peace in every joint. His ankle was particularly tender. Probably from the flight. There were not many questions after church, for which he’d been thankful. The associate pastor asked him to talk during the Sunday school hour, too. Merit smiled, recalling the excitement of several kids who tried the pipes he brought. Two classes agreed to support a Nehrangesi family’s education expenses. They had learned of the possibility of establishing a training facility for missionaries from the denomination. The congregation had taken over an old YMCA building with room to spare, and they were eager to put it to good use. Perhaps that would be better than trying to update Bruce’s house. Florida certainly had a sweeter climate.
A nice young couple whose names he had trouble remembering had agreed to house him and take him to the airport the next morning. They had no children, and were quiet in the evening. They did not seem put out when he excused himself early to the comfortable guest room with its own bath.
He flicked off the television when none of the programs he saw captured his interest. He must have dozed then, and startled awake at some noise. He rubbed his face and tried to blink away visions of Bruce’s abandoned house falling down while he lived in Florida, training missionaries There had to be other people better equipped to train missionaries than he. The pull of Illinois wouldn’t leave him alone. Florida would never feel like home. Not like Fox Falls. He’d make his report to the mission board next week. Florida could have the training center without him as the trainer.
But what would he do if he had to go on alone? Get a real job?
He set the alarm clock and surprisingly slept deeply and dreamlessly.
* * *
Pete came to the airport in Peoria. He lunged to grab Merit’s overnight bag and hustled it to his car. “How’d the trip go?”
Merit told him about the Florida church partner’s reaction of continued pledge of support and sympathy over the current conflict in Nehrangestan and concern about the clinic and school. “They have the perfect set-up for a training center. But I decided not to get involved.”
Pete either interrupted with questions about something Merit had already explained—yes, the flight had been smooth, sure, the weather nice, yes, your pastor friend said hello—or not talking at all, and drove as erratically as usual. He skidded to a stop in front of Merit’s house and jumped out before Merit could unbuckle the safety belt.
“Let me help you with your bag.”
Merit shook his head at his friend’s nervous energy. Pete let the duffel bag fall on a chair while Merit hung his suit bag more carefully over the stair rail. Pete paced a tight circle around the braided rug in the living room, making Merit dizzy. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Pete stopped and folded his arms. He took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you. And something to ask you, since you think you’ll be staying in Illinois. I thought I wanted Cherie here for this, but now I’m not so sure.”
Merit sank into a chair, puzzled and tired. “Okay. We can wait. Is she coming? Or what?”
“No, no. That’s not it. I mean, she wanted to be there. Well, anyway, you have to promise me you’ll think about it, pray over this, before you say no.”
Merit frowned, a little suspicion about being set up prickled on the back of his neck. “If you think I’ll say no, why bother asking?”
Pete took three steps away from Merit. He cleared his throat. “I just…I’m not sure how to put this.”
Merit’s patience oozed away. “Try. And this better not have anything to do with either Amalia Kennedy or Hudson Demarest.”
“Demarest? Whatever…no, no, nothing like that. Promise. Okay. It’s …Cherie and I…Cherie’s always wanted…well—”
“Another baby? Or is it—oh, boy. Congratulations. What a surprise.” At the perplexed look on his friend’s face, Merit changed his mind. “Not your marriage? I never would have suspected anything w
rong between you and Cherie. What happened? What can I do, man? You know I love you both like—”
“No. That’s not it. We’re fine. I mean, our marriage is fine. Great. And Gregory is enough. At least, for now. It’s that, um…well, you know Cherie’s family is back in Oregon. Salem. When we were there on vacation, we—that is, I—we—well…”
“Pete. Come on. You can tell me.” Merit stood and grasped Pete’s shoulder. “What happened?”
“We interviewed. At a church near Cherie’s home. And yesterday…well, um…we accepted the call. We’re leaving Illinois, Merit.”
Oh. Merit stepped back.
“And we want to recommend you to the church board to consider taking our place at New Life.”
Pete’s announcement echoed as if from an empty well.
* * *
Trying in vain to sleep, Merit tossed his pillow and tussled with the blankets. Not an option this night, apparently. In the morning, he felt as if he’d been wrestling, his shoulders and thighs aching. This feeling matched nothing of the pain from the bullet.
Merit got breakfast, thinking that, in a way, he had been wrestling—with his faith. As he sat at the table to eat, he pored over his Bible. Genesis called him—the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel. “Give me your blessing,” Jacob had told the angel. “I won’t let go until you give me a blessing.”
Merit didn’t know what his blessing should be. Life in general? He shook his head, contemplating the spoonful of flakes. Life in the United States? Serving God in a clinic? In a church? What about Nehrangestan and the missionary training program? He couldn’t forget that. He had been ordained, but he never expected an offer like this.
Merit heard the voice clearly. Expect the unexpected.
Unsure what to do next, he cleared his dishes then took a walk. His feet led him in the direction of the Thompson’s. He rang Cherie’s bell about nine thirty. She answered, looking slightly harassed. “Merit.”
He held up a hand. “I’m so sorry to disturb you like this, Cherie. I wondered…this will sound strange, but could I possibly borrow Gregory? I’ll take good care of him. I—we’ll go for a walk, or something. Would that be okay?”
She looked at him, head canted to one side. Merit laughed, nervously. “No, I haven’t exactly lost my mind. I will take good care of him, I promise.”
She beckoned him inside. “I’m not worried about that.” She pulled the stroller out of a corner, eyeing him curiously while she fiddled with it.
“Pete told me about your move. I’ll miss you both. All of you.”
She took a soft-sided bag from behind a chintz chair. “I suppose he mentioned our idea? We prayed, Merit. We both felt the same thing.”
Merit nodded. “I believe you. I need to feel it. Hear it, too.”
He took the stroller out to the sidewalk and unfolded it. Merit watched as Cherie strapped Gregory in. She shoved the bag underneath the seat. “You probably won’t need this. Diapers. Spit cloth. He’ll want to eat in about an hour.”
“We won’t be long.” At her continued speculative expression, Merit shrugged and said, “He makes a good sounding board.”
At that, Gregory’s mother smiled and waved them off.
Merit pushed the stroller toward the little neighborhood playground about three blocks away. An empty bench beckoned, and he stopped in front of it. Gregory appeared content, so Merit didn’t pull the baby out of the straps yet. Merit sat, leaning elbows on his thighs with his face in his hands in front of the stroller. Three children jumped on and off a set of swings, shrieking and cheering. Merit rubbed his jaw and sat back, watching them. Gregory began to wriggle.
“I brought you out here for a reason, buddy,” Merit addressed the baby. Gregory waved his chubby little hands in front of his nose. Merit held out a finger which the baby latched onto, trying to draw it to his mouth. “I have a huge dilemma. Although I suppose in the larger picture, it’s not that huge.”
Gregory cooed.
“Right. My issue is nothing like having no place to live or not knowing where my next meal is coming from.” Gregory regarded him with huge, navy-blue eyes. They reminded him of Amalia’s indigo irises—dark and fathomless, shining right into his soul. He felt her hand on his face when he tried to tell her he loved her. Right before he would have hauled her tight against him and kissed her senseless. Before…before Demarest.
“I don’t even know that New Life would accept me,” he said out loud. Gregory waved an excited fist. Merit smiled. “Oh, you don’t agree? We could probably work it out. Even though more churches seem to prefer a…a…family man. But we could work something out.”
A family man. Merit reached in and carefully unsnapped the stroller’s ties. He lifted the baby from his seat. Merit’s heart pinched at the sweet scent of Gregory, the solid heft of him, the fluffy hair on the baby’s head. Merit held the infant close to his heart for a moment. He had held many children, certainly delivered a number of babies in his role at the clinic in Nehrangestan. He managed to hold himself back from getting too close to them, from feeling…love. It hurt too much when he lost them.
Maybe Pete had been right. Merit treated his life, his work, in the mountains as a job, and perhaps he had cheated the Nehrangese. How could he think he had the ability to train other missionaries when he’d done little good himself? Certainly he had cheated God.
Gregory reached for Merit’s face, patting his nose and cheek. Merit had never allowed himself to develop more than a superficial relationship with anyone after Worth died. Even Pete. Even Paul, and his brother Philemon back at the clinic, were really colleagues. No, be fair—he used Philemon like a project, even though he loved Paul like a brother. A brother who might die someday, too. Merit took pride in his conversion to Christianity and used the boy’s name freely in his presentations and reports. What could he say to prospective missionaries who thought they would make a difference?
Amalia had wanted to visit the refugees in Chicago out of love and a sincere desire to help. She showed true mercy. He recalled her expression as she worked to master the simple greeting in Nehrangesi. He knew she had gone back to Chicago several times alone, not only taking supplies, but spending time with the families. She didn’t use them to assuage some guilt; she really wanted to know them and expand her own world as well. Multiply the love. He recalled that he once told her he had been selfish.
“That’s right, Gregory. I’ve withheld love instead of offering it. Your daddy knows me too well, buddy. I’m afraid God will take it away if he knows I have it. I don’t trust him at all. Maybe I never have. Amalia should be the missionary. She should be the one training others to share God’s love.”
The thing he thought he wanted most, to return to Nehrangestan, now became an anathema.
“I’m not disgusted by what I tried to do. Certainly I had Christ’s love for the people, Gregory. My own heart disturbs me. I hate to think I used the Nehrangese for my own gain, even if I thought I’d done the right thing.” Merit sighed and settled Gregory on his lap, watching older children perform cartwheels on the playground. He leaned over Gregory’s head. “So, what would it mean to stay here? Would I be hiding? Or would I be doing what I’m called to do? What do you think? What am I called to do?”
“If he answers, let me know.”
Merit looked up sheepishly as the owner of The Print Shop addressed him. “Angus. It’s good to see you.” Merit held out a hand to have it engulfed in one of the other man’s huge ones.
“I’m out for my mid-morning constitutional. Mind if I join you?’
“Not at all.”
“Isn’t that the New Life pastor’s youngest?”
“That’s right. Gregory and I have been having a serious chat.”
“Sounded like it. Amalia said you’d known the Thompsons some time.”
Merit shifted on the bench, gathering Gregory into a more comfortable position. “Pete and I were in seminary together. Do you attend church somewhere else? I don’t recall
seeing you there this summer.”
“Nah. No reason to go to church when you don’t believe in God.”
“I see.” Gregory began to fuss. Merit held him up so he could look the baby in the eye. He asked Angus, “Have you always felt like that?”
“Mostly.” Angus leaned back and lifted an ankle over his knee. “Now it’s your turn to try and convince me otherwise. Everyone else does.”
Merit didn’t particularly feel up to a challenge at that moment. Even as his own questions overwhelmed him, he surprised himself by his calm reaction to Angus’s revelation. Where once he would have grasped that blithe comment and turned it inside out, today—this moment—he felt adrift and useless. He could not have argued Gregory out of a wet diaper. Merit settled the baby in the crook of his arm. “If you’ve convinced yourself, man, what do you want from me?”
Angus roared a laugh that made Gregory wave his little arms. “I like you.” Angus slapped his knee. “I hope you’ll forgive my eavesdropping, but I heard you mention something about trying to decide whether to stay. Does that mean you’re not going back to that place you talked about earlier in the summer? Nehr—nehr—something?” He rolled the r’s with the burr of his native tongue.
“Nehrangestan. There’s some infighting going on near the mission so the mission board denied my request to return.”
“What would you do if you stayed here?”
Merit sighed. “You’ve probably heard the Thompsons are moving.”
Angus shrugged. “News travels fast in a little town like this. People here like you, but how will it look if you take their money and then stay?”
“The money all went to the mission, not me. Even if there’s fighting going on, other medical facilities still need supplies. The children might not be able to go to school at the moment, but they’ll return eventually. If I don’t return, someone else will take my place. They’re supporting the mission, not me, personally.”
“I hope you make them understand that.”
“How about you, Angus? You were at the talk a couple of months ago. Did you think I asked for money for myself? Did you feel I played the charlatan?”
The Last Detail Page 13
