Stranger's Gift (21 page)

When John gave no sign of moving, she turned and called back to him. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Vanilla,” he replied after a moment.

“Figures,” Hester muttered to herself. As she waited in line to order their cones, she considered why she was prolonging her time with John Steiner. Didn't it make more sense to take him over to the distribution center and let Rosalyn help him find shoes and clothing there? But no, she had stopped for ice cream. Like they were on a date or something.

She shook off that thought and stepped up to order. The man behind the counter was a member of her father's congregation. By the time he had chatted with her about the storm, the cones he'd handed her were beginning to melt.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he placed two plastic sundae dishes under the cones so she could invert them into the cups. “A new invention,” he teased. “You've heard of upside-down cake? Well, these are upside-down cones.”

Hester couldn't help laughing, and by the time she returned to the car, her mood had lightened considerably. “Let's sit out here in the shade,” she invited, holding up the dishes and leading the way to a bench that was shaded by the eave of the building.

John joined her a moment later and accepted the dish she offered him.

“Earl is a talker,” she offered by way of explanation. “These started out as regular cones, but then …”

“It's fine,” John said, filling his spoon and then his mouth with the ice cream. “Thank you.”

“I had an ulterior motive,” Hester admitted.

John cocked one eyebrow but kept eating his ice cream.

“Look, we kind of got off on the wrong foot, you and me. It was my fault. I'd like to rectify that since it looks like we might be traveling in the same circles now and again.” She saw a hint of mistrust flitter across his face and sighed. “Whatever happened to you back in Indiana, John, I assure you that my father and I and Samuel and Margery and anyone else you might meet around here are exactly who and what we appear to be.”

“What you see is what you get?”

“Something like that.”

He scraped a spoonful of ice cream from the dish and then picked up the cone and took a bite.

“So what did happen back there?” Hester asked, her gaze fixed on the passing parade of cars and bicycles. It was none of her business, and she wasn't sure why she should care. The question had just popped out as if it had been lodged there in her throat for days.

To her surprise John did not rebuff her. Instead, he leaned back on the bench, propping his injured foot on top of his good foot as he licked ice cream.

“Did you ever read the book
Walden
by Henry David Thoreau?”

“A long time ago. My mother had a copy, and then it was on the required reading list in college. Why?”

“Tucker's Point is—was—my Walden.”

“It was your dream,” Hester murmured. She understood all about dreams, all about wanting things you weren't supposed to want but believing that—for you—they were the only path.

John nodded and took the last bite of his ice cream. He savored the taste of it. Hester had already finished hers, including the cone.

“But why here? Why not back in Indiana?”

“It started there actually, a few years ago. That's when I first read the book. It was at a time in my life when things were changing, and I was looking for some direction. I had prayed on the matter for weeks, but nothing seemed right to me. Thoreau wrote about men living lives of ‘quiet desperation.' That certainly was a fit way to describe how I was feeling at the time.”

“You were a grown man.”

John shrugged. “I had just turned thirty, but what's in an age? I had lived my whole life on that farm, in that community. Even when other teens went off to try their wings before being baptized, I stayed. My dad had died and Mom would have been alone. Maybe that's where the desire came from,” he mused, more to himself than to her.

“So you decided to leave everything and come here?”

“That may be oversimplifying it, but yeah.”

“You just picked up and left? Your family and friends? Your community? The woman you were to marry?”

He frowned at her, and his eyes narrowed as if what he was revealing about himself had just dawned on him. “I didn't desert anyone or anything, if that's what you think. If anything, that shoe was on the other foot.”

“Meaning they deserted you.”

“They weren't bad people,” he said defensively.

“I didn't say they were.” She waited until he had bitten into the last of the cone as if he were chomping down on something far tougher than a sugar cone.

“What about your family? Siblings?”

“I told you, my father died of a heart attack when I was thirteen. My parents never had other children.”

“I'm sorry for your loss. Your mother has never remarried?”

He was quiet for such a long moment that Hester thought perhaps he hadn't heard her question. And then very quietly he said, “My mother died the year I decided to come here. That was …”

Hester watched as an expression of abject sadness crossed his features. She was so taken aback by the pain and fragility she saw in that expression that she felt compelled to change the subject and spoke aloud the first thought that popped into her mind.

“Grady Forrest told me you had left your community,” she ventured, uncertain of what could possibly drive her to want to explore such a painful topic.

“I was banned,” he said quietly, his eyes daring her to pursue the topic any further. When she said no more, he stood up and threw the empty dish into a nearby trash bin. “Are we getting those shoes today or not?” He limped to the car and got in, slamming the car door like an exclamation point to his silent announcement that this conversation was over.

Meddling little do-gooder
, John thought as he waited for Hester to dispose of her ice cream dish and climb behind the wheel of the car. She had gotten to him, and he'd almost told her about his mother's tragic death, about his part in that tragedy. He'd almost trusted her.

“Sorry,” she said finally. “Look, I …” She sat for a moment with both hands in her lap, working the car keys like worry beads.

“Let's just go,” he said and fastened his gaze on a spot on the windshield where a small insect had met its end.

With a sigh, she turned the key and eased the sedan into traffic, pausing to let a three-wheeled bicycle pass and returning the rider's greeting with a prepackaged smile.

When they reached the thrift shop and donation center where clothing and other goods were stored, Hester led the way inside. A young woman looked up from her sorting work and smiled. In spite of a face marred with burn scars, she had the most strikingly beautiful smile, and her eyes were so guileless that John felt his annoyance with Hester ease slightly.

“Rosalyn, this is John Steiner,” Hester said in a monotone. “He needs shoes and some clothing and a decent hat. I'll be in the office.” Without another word she stepped inside a small office and closed the door.

“Well, John Steiner,” Rosalyn said, sizing him up with a glance, “I would say you need some jeans for starters. Thirty-four waist, I'm guessing?”

“Right, but in this heat …”

“Aren't you the Amish guy living out there on Tucker's Point?”

“Right again, but …”

She took hold of his good arm and steered him toward a line of shelving. “Trust me, you want some long pants if you're tramping around out there among all those downed trees and weeds and such.” She pulled out three pairs of jeans and handed them to him. “Okay, moving on. Shirts.” She plucked three of those from the well-organized stock. “Oh, and how about these cargo shorts?”

“I thought you said …”

Rosalyn gave him an exasperated smile. “Well, not all the time. Now and again a pair of shorts comes in handy.” Then her eyes widened in horror and she grabbed the Hawaiian print shirts she'd handed him back. “I almost forgot. I mean about you being plain like us. The jeans will work, but …”

Gently he relieved her of the shirts. “These are fine,” he said. “Now how about those shoes?”

On their way down a second aisle, she tossed him an unopened package of tube socks and then nodded toward a second bin that held brand-new packages of underwear. “Help yourself,” she said. “Target's finest, bless them.” She gave the store's name a French pronunciation that made John smile. By the time he had rummaged through the bin and found a package in his size and followed her to the back of the storeroom, Rosalyn had pulled out three pairs of work boots for him to try.

“Sit,” she instructed as she worked the lace loose on one boot. “Socks?” she added, nodding toward the unopened package.

John took out a fresh pair and gathered one onto his good foot. Then Rosalyn handed him the boot. He pulled it on and tied the laces then stood up. “Feels fine,” he said.

Rosalyn smiled and uttered a soft, “And the kid does it again.” She boxed up the other shoe and then glanced around. “So, a hat—and then our work here is done.” She held out a traditional Mennonite straw hat with a stiff wide brim and black band. When he hesitated, she grinned at him. “I thought you were Amish,” she teased.

“He is…was,” Hester said softly. She turned her attention to John. “It's a hat,” she rationalized. “It's what we have in stock, and it will serve the purpose of protecting you from the sun while you work.”

John took the hat from Rosalyn and put it on.

“And once again, folks, we have a perfect fit,” Rosalyn said, her naturally vibrant spirit restored.

John couldn't help smiling, and when he glanced at Hester, he saw that the burn-scarred woman had disarmed not only him of his bad temper but Hester as well. “How do I look?” he asked, directing his question to both women.

“Ah, John Steiner, the sin of pride,” Hester warned, shaking a finger at him, but she was smiling. She had the loveliest smile. It was a pity she didn't use it more often.

The door opened at the far end of the storeroom, and a Mennonite man stood for a moment silhouetted in the entrance.

“Samuel Brubaker from Pennsylvania,” Rosalyn called out before either Hester or John recognized the carpenter.

Samuel hesitated. “
Guten tag,”
he said when he finally met them halfway up the aisle. “Hester, I saw your father's car, and I thought perhaps…Ah, John.”

“We went out to help Margery this morning,” Hester explained, “and John was already there. He needed medical attention, so …”

“You do not need to explain,” Samuel said gently. “Are you not well, John?”

“My ankle,” John replied, pointing to the boot. “And the cast on my wrist had to be replaced.”

Samuel examined the cast with interest. “I see they've given you more freedom for your fingers.
Das ist
gut.”

John did not miss the fact that the vivacious Rosalyn had turned uncustomarily quiet and that Samuel had yet to look at the young woman. “Then Hester decided I needed clothes.”

“You do,” Samuel agreed. “You have worn your own clothing to tatters.” He glanced up at John. “The hat is good.”

“It'll get the job done,” John replied.

The four of them fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“So, you were working, Samuel?” Hester said finally as she relieved John of the stack of clothing he'd collected and started up the aisle toward the front desk.

“Ja. In spite of the hurricane, your father had orders to fill. One cabinet needed to be stained and prepared for shipping by the end of the week.”

“But you've finished that?”

“Ja. I could come with you and John to help Margery.”

“Dad would appreciate that,” Hester said as she bagged the clothing.

John reached for his wallet, far thinner these days than it had once been. “How much?”

Hester thrust the last of the clothing into the bag with unnecessary vigor. He was mystified by her sudden change in attitude until Rosalyn helped him understand his mistake. “Now, John Steiner, you know very well we won't take your money. Mennonite or Amish, we are alike in this. Neighbor tends to neighbor. Put your wallet away.”

“Thank you,” he said as he stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and accepted the bag Hester held out to him. “Thank you all for…everything,” he added, taking Rosalyn and Samuel into the circle of his gratitude.

Samuel nodded. Rosalyn grinned. Hester looked down and then announced, “We should be getting back.”

At the car, Hester handed Samuel the keys. “I'll sit in back,” she said.

They rode along without a word passing between them for several minutes until John found he could not stand the silence a moment longer. Ironic, he knew, but it wasn't really lack of conversation that bothered him. It was more that the car was filled with things unspoken.