“That’s right.”
“Okay. Well, tell Pru good night for me. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good night.” Merit closed the door behind her, but watched until she got into her car and drove off. Lord, Lord, what are you trying to tell me? What should I do next? Can I love her? Maybe she simply wants to help with the refugees.
In fact, Merit’s friend, Paul Dal’Chindri, had already contacted him about help with the refugee families, especially the ones who did not plan to assimilate into American culture and would be returning as soon as they could. Six of the families had gone to Canada after they left the campus dorm. They needed someone like Amalia to help them with details about the move.
But would Paul know anything about where Justice had gone?
* * *
Looking for his brother and deciding if he should talk to Amalia more about his feelings had to wait. His application to New Life resulted in a round of interviews. Over the following two weeks he participated in several discussion groups consisting of both congregation members and the church board. Amalia had been at one of them, asking quiet questions about how his experience at the mission would translate to Illinois. He’d been honest in his answer that he hoped they would all learn together.
A few days later, Merit answered the phone.
Board president, Stan Simmons, cleared his throat after identifying himself.
Merit’s heart sank while he waited.
“Reverend Campbell, we’d like to extend our call to you to serve as our pastor here at New Life.”
Merit had felt comfortable at the interviews and discussion groups, but his nerves at the phone call seemed to buzz in his ears. Had he heard right?
“I apologize for my nervousness,” Simmons tried to sound lighter-hearted. He cleared his throat again.
“Pastor Pete’s endorsement was the blessing we all needed,” Simmons said.
Ah, Pete, Pete…how Merit would miss him.
“Reverend?” Simmons’s voice raised an octave. “Do you need time? Are you there?”
Merit realized he hadn’t said a word to the poor man, and had, in fact, been holding his breath. He gripped the phone with both hands and sank onto a chair. “President Simmons, I apologize. No, no, I don’t need any time. I’ve prayed over this for weeks, and would be pleased, blessed…so happy, yes, happy, to accept this call. Thank you, thank you.”
A few more details and Merit hung up. The poor man had been jittery, that’s all. As Merit had been when he realized what the call was about. When he finally stopped feeling as if he were on the elevator drop ride at an amusement park, he wanted to tell Amalia first. He didn’t hesitate over this phone call to her, as he had weeks earlier.
“I’ve accepted the call to be New Life’s pastor, Amalia.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, Merit—Pastor. The discussion groups must have gone well. I’m glad Pete encouraged you.”
“Mr. Simmons said Pete had sent an endorsement as well. Now all we need is the signed paperwork.”
“The people will love you. I’m glad Pete and Cherie got away in time for Jenny to start school this fall in Oregon, even though I’ll miss them.”
Merit swallowed hard when he heard Amalia say the “L” word in his ear. Go slow, man. Don’t scare her. He managed to choke out, “Yes, so’m I. Labor Day weekend is pretty wired, I’m told. I’m preaching here in the morning, and then covering the prayer meeting on the square later.”
“Busy already, are you?”
“Looks that way. I’m told there will be an installation service. Could I beg your help with all the details that go along with it? I understand that’s your specialty.”
“I’d be honored. Just tell me when.”
Maybe, once he settled into his new life, he could take the next dizzying leap of faith and show Amalia she could trust that he really could be the kind of person who she could talk to, trust, and count on as a life partner.
SIXTEEN
Business had been good for the Last Detail over the summer months. With fall around the corner, Amalia perched on the edge of her desk chair to total her accounts with satisfaction. Adding the new moving assistance and estate liquidation service had been a great idea. Mason Harriman, the local auctioneer, had been thrilled to work with her. He told her it helped him feel like less of a ghoul when he tried to connect with families who might need help, especially after a loved one’s death. Amalia felt the same.
“It’s all in the details,” Amalia murmured. She flipped through her calendar to make sure she remembered to record the next appointment with her latest clients. After their matriarch’s passing, a whole family decided to sign up with the Last Detail to plan for their future. Amalia leaned back, remembering the family visit.
Jerome Abernathy, son of the deceased, thanked Amalia for her service to his mother’s estate and the family. “I never realized how much work there is in tying up a person’s life.” With a long arm around his friendly, plump wife, Mr. Abernathy declared that he would never subject her to the ordeal that had been involved with probate, buying a grave at the last minute and planning a funeral while being upset over the loss. “Now, I know once a person is gone, he or she doesn’t care what the rest of the family decides. But after all this, I can’t imagine leaving Estelle with a mess like Mother’s.”
Amalia appreciated his concern and provided him with information on various types of trusts and other business arrangements to ensure that their wishes would be carried out. Afterward, she made an appointment for the couple to look at different funeral plans with Hudson. Would she ever have anyone in her life to care for her like Mr. Abernathy cared for his wife?
Amalia longed for a family where everyone looked out for the others. She got up from her chair and went to look out the window. The neighbor boys raced their tricycles up and down the street. Bee balm and daisies nodded their heads where they bloomed around her curbside newspaper box. She thought of Hudson’s first botched proposal, of how he wanted a son. Even though he’d insulted her on one level by telling her that her prime child-bearing age passed her up, maybe it could work in her favor. If only he would consent to her plan. How could she put forth her idea so that he would not reject it out of hand? He owed her, big time, for all she had done for him, besides all that stress of trying to coerce her into marriage.
Amalia’s idea involved the Nehrangese refugees whom she continued to visit. Their next move approached. She mourned the constant upheaval in their lives—especially for Bunty, who had completely snared her heart. He had no one, really, except for his older cousin who was going to marry into another family. Hudson just had to agree to help her.
Tonight, after dinner when he had mellowed with good food, she would tell him she wanted to adopt Bunty. She needed letters of reference, and Hudson knew her best. He simply could not deny her this one thing. She’d even write the letter for him.
* * *
That evening, after they returned to Hudson’s apartment and savored coffee, Amalia broached the subject.
“Hudson, I hope, I dream…there’s this little boy named Bunty. He’s so smart and good. One of the Nehrangesi orphans. I want to adopt him.”
“Adopt? That is not a light matter, Amalia. You don’t know what kind of background the child came from, or how he would turn out. I thought those people were going back to their own country.”
Amalia sat forward on the brocade chair. She needed him to understand how she felt. “Not all of them. Bunty has no one except a cousin who’s getting married. Maybe her husband’s family won’t accept him. But he’s turning out fine, with beautiful manners and thoughtful consideration of those around him. Perhaps if you came along on the next—”
“I don’t need to go outside of LaSalle County to look for more people to help. We have plenty of them right here.”
“Hudson, Bunty is all alone.”
“The government brought them here. Let it take care of them. Which I believe it is doing now.”
“
Bunty is only one little boy. I love him.”
“One boy who could easily become a juvenile delinquent. I won’t tolerate that kind of behavior.” Hudson crossed his legs and picked up his coffee cup as if he had announced his opinion of the weather and they had no further need to talk about it.
Amalia rose and picked up her handbag. “You don’t have to. I want to go through with adopting Bunty. I need letters of reference besides a home study, and since you know me better than anyone, I hoped you would help me.”
“You can’t be serious, my dear.”
“But I am. I need you to be on my side for this. And if you’re not, then I don’t know how you can be my friend, much less my business partner.” She headed for the door.
Hudson did not move. “I can see you’re distraught, but we’ll continue this conversation until we’re both satisfied.”
Amalia stopped and turned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight. Please, remember we have a family coming in tomorrow for services. It’s getting late and I’m tired.”
Hudson rose. “Darling, our relationship will always be both professional and personal. I won’t have you talk like that.”
Amalia stopped herself in time from stamping her foot. “Don’t call me ‘darling.’ Hudson, you have to start taking me seriously. I can’t even begin to imagine what would happen if I were your wife, asking for this.”
“Amalia, you’re not asking me for a new set of dishes or a vacuum cleaner. A decision like this changes your life forever. I had hoped you would have a child with me one day.”
“You don’t want me to have Bunty out of spite. That’s too cruel, Hudson.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re distraught,” he repeated. “Let me take you back to your little cottage, and you can have a good night’s rest.”
She looked back at him while she slung her purse over her shoulder. “I want to adopt a child, not be treated like one. I hoped you would be my friend, help me with this desire of my heart. Fortunately, there are other people who will give me letters. I wish I could say the same about you when you needed a friend.”
Amalia drove home, her heart wounded. She berated herself for her show of temper. Maybe she should call him, apologize. But if he still refused, did she have the courage to go through with it? What did she know about raising a child? Probably, with her temperament, she would not be a good parent. Maybe Hudson, who’d known her all his life, understood things about her she couldn’t see for herself.
* * *
The next evening, Amalia stood in the quiet lounge of Demarest’s, carefully watching the crowd to provide needed tissues or a glass of water for the family who came to pay their last respects. They had arranged a formal gathering and eulogy at the funeral home. The long-standing arrangement with The Last Detail and Demarest’s Funeral and Cremation Services meant she played hostess to the business. Amalia made sure the requested music played in the background and that memorial cards and programs were made according to the family’s wishes. She arranged for the catering and the countless little things that left Hudson more time for his own work.
Her cell phone buzzed gently in its clip against her waist. Glad for the excuse, Amalia pivoted, and moved away to answer it discretely. ID indicated Marianne Friese.
Amalia signaled Hudson that she needed to step out for a moment, then went into his office.
“Good evening, Marianne.”
“Bunty.” Marianne cleared her throat. “Oh, Amalia, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Bunty’s missing.”
“What happened?”
“We were all packed up, the trucks came. I wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t personally pay attention to every single body, could I? I thought his cousin had him.”
Amalia heard more voices in the background. A woman wailed. “I am to blame. My fault. Oh, where is he? I failed. He is loosened.”
“Marianne, did you call the police?”
“They’ll search, of course, but… These people are upset enough with moving again.”
“I’ll come up there right away, Marianne. I want to help.”
“Oh, honey, you don’t know this area. There’s nothing you can do. We wanted you to know. I’ll call as soon as we hear anything.”
The phone blinked off as Marianne severed the connection.
Hudson stuck his head around the door. “Who called?”
“Marianne Friese from the refugee program.”
Hudson frowned and entered the room. “How many times have I told you—”
“Not now, Hudson.” She told him about Bunty.
“The police will do all they can to find him. I told you—”
“I’m going up there. Tonight. I told Marianne I would come and help. Everyone is so upset. She needs me. He needs me.” Amalia mumbled the last comment. She eyed a paperweight on his desk. If he said one derogatory word about Bunty, she couldn’t be held responsible for what she might do.
“Amalia, there are people trained to handle this. She does not need you to go up there and get in the way. I need you.”
She turned and faced him. “Everything is taken care of here. The evening’s almost over. I know the families always come first, and I’ve done what you hired me to do. She needs me. Bunty needs me, and I need to go to him.”
He frowned. “Of course the business and our client families are important. But so are you. You can’t drive to Chicago alone at night. Wait until the family is ready to depart, then I’ll take you.”
“I am going to call Merit. He should know what’s happened. Then I’m leaving right away. You don’t have to come. I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t see why our pastor has to be involved in this matter, or what he could do about it.”
“He has connections. And he knows those people better than anyone right now. I’m sure he’ll want to be informed. I’ll be a few more moments. Then I’ll take one last look around before I leave.”
Hudson sighed. “All right. I can’t take any more time away from the family right now. Pastor Campbell can go to Chicago. Not you. If it’s necessary. I’m sure the child will turn up.”
Through narrowed eyes Amalia watched him go back to the main room. Her shoes felt glued to the floor when she made an abortive attempt to follow him. He could take care of things here. No way would she take orders on personal matters from Hudson. She slipped out the side door and dialed Merit while she walked to her car.
“I’m sorry to bother you like this,” she said when he answered. “I thought you should know that…” Her voice broke.
“Amalia? What happened?”
Amalia swallowed. “Bunty is lost. In Chicago. Somehow, when they were moving. They were so used to seeing him around, everywhere and anywhere, that no one realized until too late that he’d gone missing. I could hear them, Merit, crying in the background. I told Marianne that I’d drive up and help.”
“Marianne called the police, I imagine. I don’t know what else we can do.” He paused. “I just remembered. Tom’s there. In Chicago. Firefighter’s convention, or something. I’ll check with Pru to make sure. Find out where he is. I’ll call you back. Wait, please? Before you do anything else?”
“Are you at church? I’ll stop in the office on my way home. That’s all I can promise for now.”
She loved the little boy as if he were already her own. Why couldn’t they understand that? No other parents would listen to other people talk about driving alone or letting someone else take care of their child. A real parent wouldn’t hesitate to search for a lost little boy. One who had a dimple right there for kissing, curly hair, and gaping hole where a permanent front tooth would soon grow.
Although frantic to speed up the freeway and start searching, she knew Merit would be a calming voice. She pulled into the darkened parking lot and let her car come to a rest at an angle. Hurrying down the hall toward the office, she determined not to leave until she knew he had talked to Pru and Marianne. In the doorway Amalia stopped and liste
ned to his side of the conversation with his sister, watched him make notes, then hang up and punch in another number. Marianne’s, apparently.
He listened intently, then spoke decisively, reassuring Marianne. Amalia felt some of her tension for Bunty ease, only to be replaced by another kind of tension—the kind she’d been trying to deal with ever since their last walk at the park. His hair had grown long enough to curl again. He brushed at it with a gesture she now recognized as barely concealed impatience. Merit had put on a few healthy pounds and looked fit. Not like Hudson, who still looked pasty after his heart attack.
She rapped to get his attention before she entered. “I want to get to Chicago right away. I assume Pru gave you Tom’s whereabouts.”
He sighed. “Yes. At a north side Radisson. But you’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“Not you, too. Look, Pastor Campbell, I’m driving to Chicago tonight no matter what anyone says.” Amalia turned on her heel. “Call Tom and tell him about this, okay? I’ll go right to Marianne after I go home and pack a couple of things.”
Boy, that felt good. She couldn’t fathom where the guts to give out orders like that came from, but she wasn’t taking them back.
She didn’t stop when she heard him come after her.
“Wait.” He clicked the lights off and locked the doors. “I’d better come, too. At least I can help translate. I’ll drive.”
He walked out to his car. “Tom might be able to organize the guys, maybe coordinate a search with the police.” He touched her arm when he opened the door for her. “Don’t worry, Amalia. We’ll find him.”
* * *
The drive to Chicago passed in a haze of anxiety. Amalia focused all of her prayers on finding Bunty, of keeping him safe and please, God, to not be afraid. Either of them.
Tom Dayton met them in the lobby of Ripe Harvest Ministries, the new home of the refugees, surrounded by at least a dozen action-pumped firefighters.
Marianne stood in the door to her temporary office, rubbing her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered when Amalia hugged her. “The police have started to search and gave the firefighters some grids. I should have been more careful.”
The Last Detail Page 16
