Down from the Cross (4 page)

Jane felt a flush of warmth rush to her cheeks, and she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Keene Moray, the man whose voice echoed through her apartment nearly every night, was standing in front of her. The man she’d admired since she had been old enough to buy her own CDs. Most of her friends had laughed at her when she told them her favorite artist was an opera singer instead of a country music vocalist. Even Karen had laughed, but once she had visited Jane’s apartment, ridden in her car, and listened to his rich voice and elegant phrasing, she, too, had become hooked on the music of Keene Moray. When he’d recorded his
Love
album, featuring the most romantic songs of all time, both she and Karen bought two copies—one to play and one to save. She had dreamed about attending one of his operas or concerts someday, when she could afford it, seated in the front row, close enough to see his handsome face and watch his expressions. Now here he was—offering her not only a ride home but also a job! A real job! Though only a temporary one.

“I’d like to, but—”

“But you never accept rides from strangers, is that it? Even if they’ve demolished your car and put you in the hospital with a broken leg and a banged-up head?”

“I–I have to admit I do feel a bit strange about it.” She felt her blush intensify. What a fool he must think her. And she certainly didn’t want him, the famous Keene Moray, to see the dingy, low-income apartment she lived in. “I–I hope you understand. I don’t mean to offend you.”

He gave her a compassionate grin that made her feel a bit better. “Okay. Let’s strike a deal. If you refuse to let me take you home, at least let me pay for your taxi. Remember, it’s because of me and my carelessness that you’re not able to drive your car.”

He was right about that. His carelessness had put her in this quandary. She was glad he acknowledged that fact. “Okay. I guess.”

“Your taxi is here,” the receptionist said, gesturing toward the double glass doors.

Jane allowed Mr. Moray and the orderly to help her through the doors, out of the wheelchair, and into the waiting taxi. She watched from the backseat as he spoke a few words to the driver and paid the man with a bill that would do far more than cover her trip across town. Waving at him through the window, she mouthed the words “thank you” and then settled back for her ride home, resting her injured leg on the cab’s leather seat. Good thing she’d worn a dress that day, instead of her good slacks or jeans; otherwise, they would have had to split them up the sides, and she certainly couldn’t afford to buy a new pair.

When the car moved forward, she suddenly realized she had not even given him her phone number, and she had no idea how to call him. How could she go to work for him if neither one knew how to reach the other? Then she remembered he had taken care of her hospital bill. Perhaps he had written down the information from that.

When they reached the exit from the parking lot, the driver pulled to one side and waited, holding his microphone and relaying the address she had given him to the dispatcher. Assuming he was waiting for a response, she was not surprised when he continued to wait before pulling out onto the street. After a few minutes, he nodded into the rearview mirror and pulled out into the line of traffic. Curious, she turned and glanced out the rear window.

There, not more than twenty feet behind them, sat a dark blue BMW convertible, bearing a dent in its fender and hood, a broken headlamp, and a few scratches to its bumper, with Keene Moray at the wheel. He was following them! Surely, he would be turning off soon. He wouldn’t follow them all the way to her home, would he?
Please, Lord. No! Even though I am thankful to have a roof over my head, I do not want him seeing where I live!

Stealing a glance every so often, she kept close watch on the BMW, hoping the next time she looked it would be gone. It didn’t happen. Each time the taxi changed lanes or made a turn, the BMW did, too.

“This it?” The driver pulled the taxi up in front of one of Providence’s low-cost housing development apartment buildings.

With a final backward glance, she pointed to the group of apartments at the far end of the development. “There, just beyond the playground equipment, where the lady is standing beside the wheelchair.”

He pulled up to the curb and waited while the friend Karen had called from the hospital helped her into the chair. After making sure the door was closed, the driver nodded and drove off, leaving her sitting at the curb with her friend when the BMW pulled up beside her.

She watched, her heart pounding, as the handsome singer flashed her a smile that set her head reeling. He was even better looking in person than he was on the TV shows she had seen. “I–I didn’t know you were going to follow us,” she stammered, feeling utterly ridiculous.

“Of course I followed you. That man was a stranger. You’d never ridden with him before.” The glint in his eye made her blush again. “I wanted to make sure you arrived home safely.”

“This is my friend and neighbor, Ethel Cawkins,” she told him, gesturing toward the frail, white-haired woman standing beside her. “My friend called her before I left the hospital. She was kind enough to loan me her wheelchair now that she no longer needs it.”

He gave the woman a pleasant nod. “How nice of you, Mrs. Cawkins.” Then, turning back to Jane and grasping the chair’s handles, he said, “I’ll help you to your door.”

Panic set in. If he left that BMW convertible parked there with its top down for even five minutes, someone would no doubt remove the CD player and strip off the hubcaps, maybe even take more items. She had seen it happen before. “No, you can’t!”

However, he was already pushing her toward the door with Mrs. Cawkins trailing behind. “Oh, but I must. A true gentleman always sees a lady to her door. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“But…”

Ignoring her protest, he rolled her right up to the door. “Through here?”

She stood her ground. “Wait! You don’t know what happens to fancy cars like yours. The hoodlums who live here can trash a car quicker than you can imagine. I can’t let that happen to you.”

“But we have things to talk about.” He grabbed the door handle. “I need to know when you can come to work for me, a phone number where I can reach you, that sort of thing. And I want to make sure your car is taken care of properly and in a timely fashion. Until you have it back, or one to replace it, I am going to be your chauffeur! Take you wherever you want to go.”

The
Keene Moray?
Her
chauffeur? The thought actually made her want to giggle. Moving quickly, she yanked the handle on the right wheel, spinning the chair around so it blocked the doorway. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, but I want to. Or, if you prefer, I’ll rent you a car.”

The latter offer had more appeal. She would not allow him to be her chauffeur, no matter how much he insisted.

“My, but you’re a stubborn little thing. I can see by your expression you would rather be independent. Well, I cannot say that I blame you, although I would be happy to chauffeur you anywhere, at any time. Since you will not accept my offer of being your chauffeur, I will phone my car dealer and have him deliver a nice rental car to you. Is that acceptable?”

This had to be the most thoughtful man she had ever met or ever hoped to meet. She did need a car to get around, and what he said was true. Through his carelessness, he had taken away her only means of transportation. “Yes, a rental car would be very nice, but you really don’t—”

“I want to. I cannot bear the idea of you being without transportation. Besides, you’ll need a car to get to my office.” That grin again, and she nearly wilted.

“This is far enough, Mr. Moray. Mrs. Cawkins will help me get into my apartment. Thank you for making sure I got home okay.”

He raised a brow. “Are you sure? I’ll be happy to see you safely inside.”

She shook her head. “No, this is fine.”

With a slight shrug, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad. “If you insist.” He scribbled something on it and handed it to her. “This is my address and phone number. I don’t want to pressure you, but I could really use your help. Give me a call when you feel up to going to work.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel up to it by next Monday. The doctor said I can begin walking on this leg in a few days, though I may need crutches or a walker for a while. Would Monday work for you?”

“Monday will be fine.”

He eyed the wheelchair.

She nodded toward her neighbor. “Mrs. Cawkins has been kind enough to loan me her walker, too. I’m sure I’ll be able to manage without help.”

“Good.” He seemed satisfied with her answer and backed away a step. “If you have any trouble, you give me a call. Why don’t you report for work about nine?”

Work. How good that word sounds. God works in mysterious ways. If it hadn’t been for the accident, with the scarcity of jobs for unskilled workers, I might have been without a job for weeks. What would Mom and I have done then? The few hundred dollars I’ve managed to save for a rainy day sure wouldn’t have gone far.

She gave him a broad smile. “Nine on Monday.”

“I can count on that?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

They bid one another a friendly good-bye, and then Jane and Mrs. Cawkins moved into the dimly lit hallway. Instead of heading toward her apartment, which happened to be on the ground floor, she positioned her chair in a shadowy area off to one side of the door. A chill ran through her when the BMW moved out of sight.
I am actually going to be working for Keene Moray!
Quickly, she bowed her head, promising God she would do her best to be a testimony for Him to this man who didn’t believe in Him.

The following Monday, with fear and trepidation and Karen at her side, Jane parked the rental car in the visitor parking lot of prestigious Kennewick Place and pulled out the walker Mrs. Cawkins had loaned her. She had tried to use a set of crutches another tenant offered, but they made her feel wobbly and hurt her armpits. She felt much more secure using the walker. She hobbled her way to the elegant entryway, questioning her sanity.
Whatever made me accept his generous of fer?

Despite its beautiful exterior, the elaborate building gave her the creeps. She had no business being in a place like this—for any reason—and she felt like an intruder. Kennewick Place reeked of opulence and wealth. With Karen’s help, she opened the door and moved inside. A brass-framed roster on the wall listed the names of the occupants, and she began to scan it for the name
Keene Moray.

“Wow, this is some place,” Karen said, surveying their beautiful surroundings. “I know you were afraid to come here alone your first time, before you had a chance to check things out, but are you sure he won’t be mad that I came with you?”

“I hope not.” Finally locating his name, she pressed the button beside it and they waited. After what seemed an eternity, his magnificent baritone voice boomed out at her from the speaker.

She identified herself, waited until the buzzer sounded, allowing the door’s lock to be released, then manipulated the walker carefully down the hallway and headed for his condo. She’d been leery about coming to a near stranger’s condo, but after he explained he was using it not only for a home but also as an office while he was in Providence, she’d felt much better about it.

“Look, Karen. It’s plain and simple,” she said, hoping to convince herself even more than her friend. “I need a job and he needs an assistant. This is nothing more than a business arrangement. One of my friends, a secretary, has worked for an attorney who has his business office in his home for a long time, and it’s worked out very well for both of them.”

Karen gave her hand an assuring pat. “I’m sure things will be just fine.”

Jane’s heart raced at the idea of facing Keene Moray again. She had been so out of it the last time she saw him. Probably even giddy since the doctor had given her something to mask the pain in both her leg and head. Now it was even hard to remember the conversation they’d had. Had she made sense? She doubted it. Having never taken pain medication before, there was no telling how it had affected her. She didn’t even want to think about it.

She closed her eyes and held her breath as each step took her closer to his condominium. What was she doing here anyway? She hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

“Well, you made it! Come in.”

Sucking in her fear, she looked up into Keene’s smiling face when he met her in the hallway. “Good… good morning, Mr. Moray,” she managed to mumble, nearly losing her balance manipulating the walker through the wide opening. “I asked Karen to come with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Hello again, Karen.” Turning his attention back to Jane, he said, “I hope that leg hasn’t caused you too much pain.” He gently took her arm and walked slowly beside her a few yards down the hall to an open door.

Causing me much pain? It has been nearly impossible to get comfortable.
“It hasn’t been too bad.”

“How’s the head doing?”

It’s really been hurting.
“Not too bad. The doctor is going to take the stitches out Wednesday.”