Stranger's Gift (29 page)

“Actually, we are Mennonites, but you are right,” he said, and the driver's grin widened as he once again reached for Rosalyn.

Samuel pressed her closer to his side as he smiled at the man and at the same time looked him directly in the eye without blinking. “So here is my suggestion,” he said quietly. “You and your friends leave now, and my friend and I will not report the matter.”

“Yeah. Right. Do I look like a complete fool?”

Actually, yes
, Samuel thought, but he forced an expression of contrition. “You seem to know something of our ways, and therefore you probably know that when a man of my faith gives his word then you can count on it.”

From the corner of his eye he saw that one of the group who'd been sitting in the backseat had moved to the front, into the driver's seat. “Come on, Robbie,” he called. “We got places to go and beer to drink. Time's not on our side.”

Samuel stepped back, creating more distance between the drunken young man and Rosalyn. He nodded to the man behind the wheel. “You okay to drive?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I've only had one. Sorry about that.” He nodded toward Rosalyn. “Is she okay?”

“She'll be fine,” Samuel assured him as he watched Rosalyn's attacker sway slightly as he made his decision. Finally, he climbed into the backseat and slumped down. Samuel felt his fist clench and wondered at the power of his instinct to rip the guy to shreds. He closed his eyes and silently prayed for the strength he needed to see this through. “Just go,” he said quietly, and to his relief he heard the last car door slam and the car roared away.

Rosalyn slumped against him and broke down sobbing.

“Come on, now. It's all over,” he said, gently leading her to a streetlamp so he could assess the extent of her injury. “It doesn't seem to be that bad.”

“It's fine,” she said, accepting the handkerchief he offered her and pressing it to her forehead. “It was just that I was so scared, and if you hadn't come along, and what if …”

“Shhh …”

Samuel pulled her into his arms and held her, rocking her gently from side to side as they stood together under the amber glow of the old-fashioned streetlamp. “I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere,” he promised, and he knew in that moment that where Rosalyn was concerned—and Hester—he had made his decision.

By the time Amy had her baby, both her parents and Grady's had arrived to greet their first grandchild. The waiting room had become a beehive of activity as other family members were called with the good news. Amy had delivered a seven-pound boy at 4:12 in the morning. Both mother and child were doing fine.

“We're naming him Harley,” Grady announced, his eyes sparkling with new-dad wonder in spite of his exhaustion.

Hester congratulated him as well as each set of grandparents and then realized that John was no longer in the room. While everyone else headed in to see Amy and Harley, Hester went into the hallway and found it empty. She checked at the nurses' station, and a weary night nurse pointed down a connecting hall. “I saw him head to the nursery,” she said.

And there he was standing outside the nursery window, his hands twisting the rolled magazine as he stared at a row of newborns tucked into their bassinets.

Hester stood next to him, gazing at the new babies. She couldn't help wondering if she would ever know the special joy of motherhood. “John?”

“You have to wonder,” he said without preamble, “how it will all turn out for them. I mean, I sure never thought …” He shook his head and turned to her. “Ready to go?”

“We came in Grady's car,” she reminded him.

“Right. Well, let's give him the keys, and then if you're up to it we can walk back to Pinecraft.”

“That's pretty far out of your way.”

He shrugged and then smiled. “I thought you might be in the mood to celebrate.”

Hester must have looked at him as if he had suddenly grown another head, because he explained, “The truth is, I'm famished, and breakfast at Yoder's sounds pretty good to me right now.”

“But first a five-mile hike,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

“Unless you've got another idea of how we might get there.”

She was beyond tired but knew that the fresh air would do them both good, and at this hour of the morning it was unlikely to be as hot as it would become later in the day. “Okay. Just let me give Grady his keys and say good-bye.”

John was waiting by the stairway when Hester left Amy's room. She was smiling, but he sensed it was a private smile, not meant for him. He expected it had to do with the baby. It occurred to him that she would make a good mother, and he tried to imagine the kids she and Samuel Brubaker might have someday. It surprised him that not only could he not imagine such a thing, but he also really didn't like imagining her having a family with Samuel.

Whoa!
he thought as she came toward him, her eyes still with that dreamy dazed look women tended to get after being exposed to babies.
You barely know this woman
. But he wanted to know her. He didn't know when his attitude toward her had changed, but it had. He wanted to know everything about her.

He held the door for her, and she started down the stairs ahead of him, never once questioning why they hadn't used the elevator. Outside, they walked along without speaking, the noisy traffic whizzing past them on the busy four-lane road, until they crossed onto Bahia Vista and started walking toward Pinecraft.

“You were an only child, right?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She didn't seem inclined to pursue the matter, and John was relieved to let the subject drop.

“You're still carrying that magazine,” she said when they'd walked half a block in silence.

He hesitated and glanced back toward the main street. “I forgot. I should return it….”

“I can do it when I go to visit Amy and the baby later today.”

“You're going back? Today?”
Do you ever sleep?

“Well, she'll probably go home tomorrow, and they live some distance away, so, yes, today would be best. I made a crib quilt for the baby.” She held out her hand for the magazine, and he gave it to her.

“Thanks. I expect it won't be missed, but still …”

“As Zeke would say, ‘No worries.' ” They passed the local branch of the YMCA, where childlike chalk pictures decorated the running track that surrounded the main building. “You know what you said before about wondering how they'll all turn out? Those newborns?”

“Yeah.”

“I think about that sometimes myself. I mean, how did I get this far in life without really having a plan?”

“You? Seems to me you've always had a plan. You went to nursing school. You took care of your mother while she was so ill. You take care of others now.” He avoided mentioning the possibility that within the coming year she would probably marry Samuel.
Would not saying it aloud help to keep it from happening?
he wondered. And more to the point, why shouldn't it happen? She deserved to be happy, after all. “I'd say you not only found your calling, but you've followed it to the letter.”

“I certainly didn't plan to spend five years caring for a terminally ill parent,” she said in a tone that was so filled with sadness that John felt guilty for having brought up the subject at all.

“I expect that Grady and his wife will make good parents,” he said, trying to find some other path for their conversation. It worked. When he looked over at her, she was smiling.

“They are so excited and the baby is beautiful. Harley Forrest is one fortunate child.”

They waited for a light to change even though there was no traffic on the cross street. The green seemed to signal yet another shift in conversation.

“I like your aunt,” Hester said. “She's not at all what I would have expected a politician to be like, or anyone related to you,” she added with a teasing smile.

“Meaning?”

“I don't know. You strike me as someone who is constantly carrying around a heavy burden, one that you refuse to allow others to help you lighten.”

Her guess was closer to the truth than John would have expected, and he was tempted to confide in her. He was so tired of the exhausting weight of his past. But would a woman who had tenderly nursed her mother for five long years and fought every day to bring joy and beauty to a life that was surely slipping away understand a son who had been the cause of his mother's death?

Hester waited for some response, but John said nothing. They had reached the restaurant, and he held the door for her without comment.

The restaurant was already busy with locals who made a habit of starting their day there. The counter was completely occupied. The patrons there barely glanced up as the hostess led John and Hester to a booth and placed menus in front of them. “Coffee?”

“Please,” they chorused as each of them opened the menu—one Hester practically knew by heart—and studied the list of breakfast items.

“How's the garden coming?” John asked, setting his menu aside and adding cream to the coffee the waitress had brought.

So they were going back to safer topics of conversation. “I haven't had much time to work on it,” she said.

“I have some ferns you can have. They might work in the shady spots under the arbor.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “They'll just end up trampled now that I'm ready to paint the packinghouse.”

Hester sighed. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Turn a nice gesture into something else—like I'd be the one doing you a favor.”

“Well, you would and it's our way, yours as well.”

She shook her head. “No. This is different. It's like you don't think you deserve the gratitude of others. I noticed it last night when Grady tried to thank you for coming to the hospital.”

“I—”

“And then there was that day we went searching for Zeke's friends. You didn't have to do that, and yet you were as concerned for them as I was, but when they tried to thank you—especially Danny—”

The waitress appeared at their booth and hesitated. “Should I come back?”

“No. Two eggs over easy on whole wheat toast with a side of fruit,” Hester said.

“Pancakes—triple stack,” John muttered.

“Well?” Hester said when the waitress had left them alone again. “I mean, what is it with you, John Steiner?” She knew that her exhaustion only added to her exasperation with the man. “Ignore that,” she added before he could respond. “I'm just tired. I'll come out and dig the ferns next week if that's all right.”

“Fine.”

If Hester had learned one thing about John, it was that he was anything but fine. She rearranged the condiments on the table and refrained from starting any further conversation.

A few minutes later, the waitress set their plates in front of them, steam rising from both, as Hester folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.