Stranger's Gift (37 page)

“Hester?”

She'd been so lost in thought that she'd failed to pay attention as her father talked on. Now Arlen was holding a sheet of yellow paper ripped from a pad and folded several times.

“Read it, and see what you think. You know John as well as any of us.”

She dried her hands and unfolded the paper.

Hester felt a smile tug at her mouth. This was so like him. Blunt and to the point and yet leaving the reader somewhat mystified. She could almost see him struggling over the choice of each word.

“What do you think it means?” Arlen asked.

“Well, it seems pretty clear that John is finally ready to accept the help you've offered,” she said as she carefully folded the letter and handed it back to him. “On the other hand, he's determined to maintain control of the process.”

“But why now?” Arlen scratched his head. “We have made numerous offers and all have been rejected. Samuel tells me that Grady also made attempts to provide assistance and was turned away. And just what does he mean about ‘discussing terms'? What terms?”

Hester shrugged. “Samuel did mention that John was thinking of selling the place. Perhaps he's come to accept that he'll have more success with that if the property is fully repaired, especially the house.”

“It's certainly prime real estate,” Arlen agreed. “And now that the hurricane has ruined the soil for growing anything, I suppose the most likely buyer might be some developer. But a developer wouldn't care about the house, and with the economy still uncertain …”

“Will you help him?”

Arlen was clearly surprised by her question. “Of course we'll help him. We judge not, Hester. You know that.”

And yet in a way he had judged John, she thought. When he had asked her to promise to stay away at a time when the man clearly needed every friend he could turn to, wasn't that the same as judging him?

“I don't think you can just show up there with a crew, Dad,” she said as she dried and put away the last pot. “He asked for a meeting.”

Arlen unfolded the letter and read through it again. “I could send word by Samuel on Monday. In the meantime, after church tomorrow, I'll speak with some of our volunteers and see when they might be available.”

“You could drive out there after church,” Hester suggested. “That would give you time to see exactly what the work might be before you put a crew together.”

“That's a good idea,” Arlen said, kissing her lightly on her temple. He headed for his study, where he would spend the rest of the evening going over his sermon for the following day. “And, Hester? If you have no other plans, perhaps you could ride along? It occurs to me that you, as well as John, have had some major changes in your life's journey these last days. Perhaps it would help him to talk to you, and vice versa.”

She tried without success to quell the sudden leap of pleasure she felt at his invitation. “That would be fine,” she said, turning away so that he would not see that she was smiling.

S
unday morning held all of the promise of a day that would yield many blessings. A blue sky sprinkled with marshmallow clouds greeted those arriving for services at the Palm Bay Mennonite Church. There was an aura of excitement. In the Mennonite tradition, this was the day Arlen would announce the planned nuptials for four happy couples, among them Samuel and Rosalyn. Even Olive Crowder was smiling, at least until she spotted Hester outside the church.

“I understand that you have abandoned your duties as our representative to MCC,” she said.

“I would hardly say abandoned,” Hester replied, trying to smile through gritted teeth. “I have asked Rosalyn to assume those responsibilities while I—”

Olive sighed and raised her eyes to the blue skies above as if praying for patience. “Ja. Ja. We have heard of your new
project
. And I would ask you how the gathering of fruit from the yards of outsiders can possibly measure up to the work you have performed for MCC since your dear mother's death. Work that you took on in order to honor Sarah.”

“My mother,” Hester began and then found she had to gulp in a deep breath of fresh air before continuing. “I believe that my mother would be proud of all the work I do for others. She made no distinction between helping those outside the community and those within.”

Olive pursed her lips, and Hester could see that she was considering her next words very carefully. Just then her sister Agnes came rushing over. “Oh, Hester, so glad to catch you before the service. I wanted to tell you that yesterday at our quilting session, everyone was just buzzing about your plan to collect fruit and rebuild the shelter. Oh, there are a few who cannot yet see the brilliance of your idea….” She paused for a breath and cast a sidelong glance at Olive, who huffed and left to find her seat. Then Agnes squeezed Hester's arm. “May God bless this wonderful work you are undertaking to help those less fortunate, Hester.”

“Danke, Agnes.”

“Whatever I can do to help, you just let me know,” she pledged and hurried off after her sister.

Inside the small frame church building, the women sat apart from the men on wooden pews. Several ladies fanned themselves with cardboard fans mounted on sticks. The building was not air conditioned, and although the weather outside was mild, inside the packed church, the air was close. Hester slid in next to her grandmother, Nelly, and a minute later, Emma and her daughter, Sadie, squeezed in next to them as Rosalyn took the seat on the aisle.

“Exciting day,” Emma whispered to Rosalyn.

“Ja,” Rosalyn replied as she cast an adoring glance at Samuel, who had just entered the building. “Ja,” she repeated, folding her hands and closing her eyes tightly as she bowed her head in what Hester guessed was a prayer of thanksgiving.

As everyone settled in and grew still, Emma Keller's husband, Lars, stepped to the front of the crowded room to deliver the call to worship.

For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in
.

“Matthew,
chapter 25
, verse 35,” Lars said and then took his seat as everyone found the first hymn and stood as one to sing. Their voices rose in the a cappella harmony that in their faith left no room for the organ or piano accompaniment common in churches of other faiths.

It always made Hester smile that those members of the congregation who seemed the most reserved outside the church were the very ones who sang out with the greatest enthusiasm and gusto. Agnes Crowder's powerful alto, for example, could be heard above all the rest of the women combined.

At the close of the hymn, her father stepped forward to lead them in prayer. Several years earlier he had persuaded the congregation that this opening prayer should be a silent one with each member of the congregation setting aside whatever joys and sorrows he or she might have carried to church with them that morning. “It is a time to open our hearts and minds to consider God's concerns and how you might best serve Him in addressing those concerns.”

From outside the open windows came the sounds of traffic, the occasional distant siren, voices of those on the street. But inside the crowded sanctuary, everything and everyone was absolutely still.

Next to Hester, Nelly put down her fan and took in a deep breath then silently moved her lips in prayer. On the other side of her, Emma folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. But Hester's mind was clogged with everything she had to do in the coming week. Even now, nearly two months after the hurricane, the work went on. And on top of everything else, the Rainbow House project was moving forward almost with a will of its own.

Jeannie had called a reporter she knew at the local Sarasota newspaper and provided him with information about the project. Since that article had appeared, Jeannie's telephone had been ringing constantly with people across the entire city offering to donate fruit that would be ready to pick in just a matter of weeks. Jeannie's daughter, Tessa, had come up with the idea of recruiting her friends and their grandmothers to prepare the jars and labels they would need for making the marmalade they would sell. Emma's daughter, Sadie, who was far more outgoing than her cousin, had gone from store to store on both Main Street and around St. Armand's Circle collecting cash donations. And Jeannie had persuaded the manager of the city's largest farmers' market to give them a space for the coming season at no charge. So whether Hester was ready or not, the Rainbow House project was on the march.

The problem was that they had no place to store and sort the fruit or make the marmalade. No means to distribute their goods. They had no viable building that they could say was the future location for the shelter. The homeless population was still out there, wandering the bay front and downtown, being harassed by local police if they stayed too long in any one place, eating their meals in the dwindling number of open shelters. Those shelters had been set up to provide a haven for victims of the hurricane. But with school in session and most of those affected by the storm having found other accommodations or moved back home, the need for such community resources had ended.

Be still and listen
, Hester could almost hear her father counseling her. Instead, Arlen began reciting the Lord's Prayer, the signal that the time for silent prayer had ended, and everyone joined in. Hester squeezed her eyes closed, knitted her fingers together, and prayed the familiar words, pleading with God to show her the way.

“…is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen.”

She opened her eyes and blinked against the light that followed the darkness. She glanced toward an open window. Just outside the church she saw John Steiner pacing back and forth, his hands clenched behind his back, his head bowed.

John had come into Pinecraft for two purposes. He was fairly certain that Arlen would take his change of heart about letting the MDS volunteers come out and help him rebuild the second story of the house as good news. He was not nearly so certain that Hester would be willing to listen as he explained his part in his mother's tragic death. For he had been the one to sever the fragile thread of friendship they had begun to forge all through the long night when they had waited together at the hospital.

The truth was that he felt a unique connection to Hester. He had seen a side of her that made him want to confide in her. On the other hand, he owed her an apology. As had become his habit, he'd run off that morning and holed up at his place, licking his wounds like an injured animal, waiting for her to come and find him. But she had made no effort to contact him, and why should she?

As a peace offering, he had brought her a wild orchid that he'd found growing along his lane. He had gone to the Detlef house and only realized that it was Sunday and she would be in church when he saw a cluster of bicycles gathered around a house across the street. Several Amish boys were standing around in the yard. John well remembered how he and his friends had lingered outside, always the last to go inside whatever home the service was being held in that week. The Amish held services in private homes, while the Mennonites had a separate church building—in Sarasota, John had learned, there were several of them.

He set the plant down among the ferns he had sent earlier, ferns that were still sitting in the bucket of water they'd arrived in, although they had clearly been tended with fresh water and kept out of direct sunlight. For reasons he didn't examine too closely, it was disturbing to him that she had not found the time to plant them in the garden that had been her solace after her mother died.

Unsure of his next move, he had wandered over to the restaurant where they had shared breakfast and then noticed the church on the opposite corner. Its plain white exterior gleamed in the morning sun, and through the open windows he heard voices raised in song. He moved closer and heard Arlen's familiar voice as he invited those in attendance to pray with him.

After a few minutes of silence, Arlen began reciting the Lord's Prayer and everyone joined in. Even John found himself mouthing the familiar words around the lump that had formed in his throat. Although he was dedicated in his routine of morning devotions and evening prayer and often read the Bible—especially these days when his future was so uncertain—he missed the ritual of the worship. He missed hearing scripture read by others and silent meditation shared and feeling the press of a neighbor's shoulder against his own. He missed what Margery had been telling him he needed for over two years now—he missed community, the comfort and commiseration that were part of living with others, sharing happy as well as sad times.