The Atonement Child (28 page)

Joe stayed for two hours, Hannah sitting beside him, showing him albums of Dynah, from newborn to young womanhood. “These were taken at Pigeon Point. . . . These were taken at Dillon Beach. . . . These were taken at Mendocino. . . . That was at Fort Bragg. . . .” Page after page he turned, seeing Dynah’s face, seeing her grow, his heart aching for her.

God, protect her. Keep her in the palm of Your hand. Put a hedge around her. Send Your angels to watch over her.

“This one was taken last summer,” Hannah said.

Joe looked down at Dynah standing with Ethan, his arm around her shoulders. He looked proud and proprietary.

The perfect couple.

Until real life got in the way.

It hadn’t taken Ethan long to find another picture-perfect girl. Mary looked a lot like Dynah—tall, slender, blonde, blue-eyed. Not as pretty, but she was a virgin and proud of it.

Joe had been torn between anger and relief when Ethan introduced him to Mary at the student union. Though Ethan had only taken her out twice at the time, the writing on the wall was plain. Block letters, boldfaced.
Matrimony.
Ethan was ripe, and Mary was ready.

“God’s timing is so perfect,” Ethan had said, and Joe had wanted to hit him.

It was nothing against Mary. She was a beautiful girl and a committed Christian, but Joe couldn’t help wondering how deep Ethan’s love went and how quickly the flame would die at the first hint of trouble. Maybe the two of them would be lucky and live in a church all their lives, doors locked, stained glass over all the windows. They’d better not have many parishioners. Real people disappoint and disillusion.

Joe had done the only thing he could do. He wished them both well, packed up, and headed west.

“And Christmas,” Hannah said, breaking into his grim thoughts. He gazed down at a picture of Dynah setting the table, another of her decorating the tree with two friends from church. She was laughing, happy, eyes bright, so beautiful it hurt.

Where would she go, Lord? God, You helped me find her once. Help me find her again.

He remembered something Dynah had said at the prairie reserve.

“Mind if I look at those albums again?”

“Of course not.” Hannah handed him three albums from the coffee table.

Joe paged through each one slowly, studying the scenes around Dynah this time.

And he knew where he was going to start looking.

Dynah awakened in the run-down motel on Highway 1, north of Fort Bragg. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning, wondering what she was going to do about a job. The area was depressed, with 17 percent unemployment. People with more qualifications than she had were out pounding the pavement. She didn’t qualify for unemployment benefits. The clerk said she was sorry, but there were no jobs available. Those that opened up would go to locals receiving unemployment checks. The lady suggested she apply for welfare, but Dynah was too ashamed to follow through on that idea. She had spent her life listening to her father talking about people who had no pride and took advantage of the system. She didn’t want to be someone “sucking up the hard-earned dollars of those who worked for a living.” Her father said that was why California was in such a financial mess. He said there were always jobs to be had somewhere if one wanted one.

Where, Daddy? I’ve been looking for two weeks. I’ve talked to every business owner in Mendocino, including at all the bed-and-breakfasts.

She could make beds and clean houses, but most people said they were having to handle it themselves to save costs. She had been pounding the pavement in Fort Bragg for the past few days and was having no better luck.

Now she found herself down to her last few dollars, and her car was running on fumes.

At least she had paid for this room through Friday. Two more days.

Lord, I need Your help. I’ve been asking and asking. Do You want me to go home? You know what’s waiting for me there if I do. What am I going to do?

The baby moved. She put her hands lightly over her swollen abdomen, her heart leaping with an odd mingling of joy and terror. Realization struck. She took her hands away quickly and sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. She wouldn’t be in all this trouble if not for the baby she was carrying.

Guilt gripped her as she stood and went into the bathroom.

She stood in the shower for a long time, letting the warm water wash over her. It couldn’t wash away her fear or despair.

I’ve just enough money to fill up my car. I could drive south toward Jenner and go right off that high cliff into the ocean. It would look like an accident. No one would feel to blame.

Turning the water up hotter, she tried to ward off the chill. Her skin was pink when she finally stepped out of the tub and dried herself. She caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror on the door and stopped. Frowning, she lowered the towel and looked at her body. In another month, she wouldn’t be able to hide her condition at all.

Who was going to hire an unwed girl in the advanced stages of pregnancy?

Dressing in an ankle-length flowered skirt and pale-yellow tunic sweater, Dynah sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her Bible. She had been reading the Psalms, taking what comfort she could in David’s anguish and frustration. More than half the songs were written when he was depressed or running from enemies or suffering from the sin he had allowed to come into his own life.

Oh, Lord, sometimes I know how David feels. Where are You when I need You? Why do You seem so far away? Why are You so silent? I can count my blessings from morning to night. I can remember all the things You’ve done for me from the time I was a little child. I remember and I cry out to You, and You’re nowhere to be found.

I have lost my joy.

The only hope I have is the salvation You’ve given me through Jesus.

And the only way I can be with You is to die.

She remembered Joe again. How would he feel if she drove off that cliff a few miles north of Jenner? Would he think it was an accident? No. Would her parents believe it? Never.

Weary, she put her Bible back on the nightstand, put on her socks and shoes, and went out to try to find work again.

Deciding it would be more economical to walk, she parked her car on the north end of Fort Bragg. She would have breakfast at Maryann’s Cafe. It looked inexpensive. Then she would knock on every door and ask for work until she reached the bridge at the far end of town. Then she’d come back up the other side doing the same thing. She had already applied at the larger stores and businesses and would pass by them.

She opened the door of the café. A bell jangled just above her head, announcing her entrance. Small, empty tables lined the front windows. One old man sat at the counter. The place smelled of Chinese food.

A young woman came out from the back room. She was young, thin, had short black hair, and was dressed in faded Levi’s and a T-shirt that said
Hard Rock Cafe San Francisco
. She took a menu from one of the counter racks and swept her hand about the empty room. “Take your pick.”

Dynah hesitated, wishing she had chosen another place to eat. Maybe people in Fort Bragg knew something about this place that she didn’t. Maybe the health department had just been here and threatened to shut them down. Maybe the last people who had eaten here were suffering from food poisoning. Chinese food for breakfast?

“It’s good food,” the waitress said. “I can swear by it. And it’s cheap.”

Too embarrassed to turn around and leave, Dynah gave her a tentative smile and chose a seat by one of the front windows so she could watch the cars go by.

The waitress put the menu down in front of her. “The American breakfast includes two eggs, sausage or bacon, hash browns, and toast for $2.99. Includes coffee and juice, orange or tomato.”

“That sounds fine,” Dynah said, not bothering to look at the menu. “Orange, please.”

“Cream with your coffee?”

“Please. Do you have decaf?”

“I can brew a pot.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself.”

“No trouble.” She glanced down over Dynah. “Caffeine isn’t good for you.”

As the waitress walked away, Dynah glanced at the board with the day’s luncheon specials, blushing and hoping the old man at the counter hadn’t overheard the remark. He was looking at her. When he lost interest, she glanced around again, noting a chalkboard with luncheon selections. Mongolian beef, sweet-and-sour pork, and fried rice for $3.49. Other selections included broccoli and beef, egg drop soup, chow mein, and cashew chicken. The last item on the board was an American hamburger with french fries and coleslaw for $4.99.

She could hear two men behind the partition to the kitchen arguing in Chinese.

The waitress brought a tray back to Dynah. She set down a tumbler of ice water, a glass of orange juice, and a small pitcher of cream. “Fresh. The cow’s out back. Just kidding. Coffee will be ready in two minutes.”

Dynah could hear the hiss of something hitting the grill as the two men continued arguing.

Oh, Lord, what made me choose this place? Why didn’t I walk a few more blocks and find one that had cars around it and people inside?

The coffee was good. Better than good.

When breakfast arrived, Dynah was amazed. Everything was fresh and delicious and prepared perfectly. The waitress kept her mug full and offered her a second glass of juice, no charge. “Everything fine?”

“Everything’s wonderful,” Dynah said, unable to understand why the place wasn’t packed. She finally decided to ask.

“Because it’s Maryann’s.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Dynah shook her head.

“Well, Maryann owned this place for thirty years. Everybody in Fort Bragg knows and loves her. Well, she retired. No family to take over the business. Nobody around here had money enough to buy it. So, along comes my boss. A boat person. Not the sort out of Noyo Harbor, you know. I don’t mean a fisherman. I mean one of those Vietnamese who came to the United States. He’s a good guy. Not that anybody’s given him much of a chance. A
gook
. That’s what some people call him. Won’t do business with a gook, you know. A lot of angry vets up here, out of work and looking for someone to blame. Charlie makes a good target.”

“Charlie?”

She smiled slightly. “He Americanized his name. It hasn’t helped, but at least I don’t have to try to pronounce his Vietnamese one.” She laughed. “He’s cool. Worked hard for ten years to save enough to buy this little dump, and it looks like it’s going to go bust. It’s not fair.” She shrugged, looking disheartened. “But that’s the way the cookie crumbles, you know?”

“I guess.”

“Bad part is I’m leaving for San Francisco today. My husband got a job down there. First job he’s had in a year of looking. He found us a place. Charlie’s in a fit back there with Ho Chi Minh. His brother. That’s not his name. Just what I call him sometimes. Really bugs him. But he can get his dander up. Listen to him. Criminy! He notified the unemployment office two weeks ago when I gave my notice, and not one person has bothered to apply. He’s royally ticked and ready to go declare war. Lotta good it’ll do him.”

Dynah blinked. “I need a job.”

“You don’t say! Really?”

“Yes.
Really
.”

“Well, I’ll warn you, the pay’s not great. Minimum wage. Hardly any tips. Gotta have customers to get tips, right?” She jerked her head toward the old man at the counter. “Harvey will leave you a quarter. He’s a nice old man. A quarter for the coffee and a quarter tip. Every morning of the week. Comes in at eight. You can set your clock by him.”

“I’ve been looking for work for two weeks. I’d just about given up hope.”

“When would you like to start?”

Dynah gave a soft laugh. “How about right now?”

The waitress turned around. “Hey, Charlie. I’ve got a live one!” She grinned at Dynah. “He won’t know what that means. He’s still working on his English. You sit tight. I’ll go tell him. My name’s Susan, by the way.”

“I’m Dynah. Dynah Carey.”

Susan left the coffeepot on the table. Charlie came out thirty seconds after Susan went back. A small, wiry man with black hair and a gold-capped tooth in front, he shook her hand. The man behind the partition called out something, and Charlie called something back. It sounded like the cook was running a spoon back and forth on some pots and pans.

Susan rolled her eyes. “They get a little excited, you know? You’ll get used to them.”

Dynah was feeling good, really good for the first time in weeks. Minimum wage wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep body and soul together.

“You come at right time, Dynah Carey,” Charlie said. “If you not come today, tomorrow
I
be waiting tables, and then nobody come. Not even Harvey.”

Harvey laughed. Unabashed, he turned on his stool and looked straight at them. He didn’t care if they knew he was listening. “She’s pretty enough to bring you some customers, Charlie.”