The Scarlet Thread (61 page)

years before being blown off a transport. He landed in a field

hospital where he spent another three months before he was

shipped stateside.

“While I was away, Freda had our son and managed a

part-time job. When my father got sick with cancer, she quit and

stepped into his shoes to help my mother run the family grocery

store. My Freda was a home-front soldier.” His expression softened in memory, his eyes glistening with tears. “So I called her

‘Trooper,’ and it stuck.”

“We have to close down, Dynah!” Sally said from behind the

counter. She said it loudly enough so that poor Mr. Packard

would hear. Dynah looked at his face and wanted to weep.

Taking the hint, the old man got up. “Everybody’s in a hurry

these days,” he said with a glance toward the kitchen. Then his

eyes came to rest on her again.“Good night, Dynah. You be careful out there tonight.”

“I will, sir,” she said with a fond smile, touching his shoulder as

he passed. “Try not to worry.”

Juan Garcia began putting chairs upside down on the tables.

Gathering Mr. Packard’s spoon, cup, and saucer, Dynah

watched the old man walk stiffly across the room. His arthritis

was troubling him again.

“I didn’t mean to break up your little chat,” Sally said as

Dynah put the things into the big industrial dishwasher and

pulled the door down. “Some of these old people could talk until

your hair turned gray.” She took her sweater from the hook on

the wall. “They’ve got no place to go and nothing to do.”

“He misses his wife,” Dynah said and thought about following

Mr. Packard’s suggestion and asking Sally for a ride.

“I know. I miss my husband. I miss my kids. You miss your

handsome fiancé.” She dumped her shoulder bag onto the counter and shrugged into her sweater and parka. “And as Scarlett

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O’Hara always said, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’” Picking up

her bag, she said a brisk good-night and headed for the back

door.

Sally seemed in such a hurry, Dynah didn’t want to impose

upon her. Besides, it wasn’t that far to the bus stop, and there

were plenty of streetlights along the way. Getting her backpack

from the storage room, Dynah slipped off her rubber-soled

white shoes and pulled on her snow boots. Zipping the shoes into

the backpack, she said good night to Juan. Crossing the dining

room, she went into the lobby that opened out onto the back

parking lot. Sally had already turned the lights down for the

night. There was only the soft glow of security lights and the

bright lights behind Dynah where Juan was getting ready to

wash and wax the floors.

Pulling on her parka, Dynah went to the back door.

The idea that she needed to be concerned hadn’t ever crossed

her mind before. The Manor wasn’t exactly a center of crime.

The worst thing that had happened was someone’s spray painting graffiti on the walls three months ago. The manager had

painted over the bubble letters and numbers by the next afternoon, and the police increased the number of times they drove by

each evening. The vandals hadn’t returned.

Pushing the door open, Dynah stepped outside. The air was

crisp; the snow from last week’s fall was packed hard and dingy.

Her breath puffed white in the stillness. She heard the lock click

behind her and shivered slightly. She zipped her parka up to her

neck and looked around. Maybe it was Mr. Packard’s warning

that made her edgy. There was nothing else to bother her. It was

an evening like any other, no darker, no colder.

There were shadows all around, but nothing unfamiliar or

threatening as she walked down the wheelchair ramp. She took

her usual path through the back parking lot to Maple Street. It

was only a few blocks down to Main, another eight to Sycamore,

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took fifteen minutes to reach her stop at Henderson. From there

it was seven blocks to the dorm.

Dynah glanced at her wristwatch. Nine-thirty. Janet Wells,

her roommate, would be in the library studying late tonight.

Janet always left things till the last minute and then aced every

exam. Dynah smiled to herself, wishing she were that fortunate.

She had to study all term long to pull grades high enough to keep

her scholarship.

Relaxing as she walked, Dynah enjoyed the clear night. She

had always liked this street with its turn-of-the-century houses.

She could imagine people sitting on their front porches in the

summertime, sipping lemonade just the way Mr. Packard remembered. Like something out of a movie. It was a life far removed from the way she had grown up on Ocean Avenue in San

Francisco—and yet similar as well.

Looking back, she realized how she had been protected by her

parents and cloistered in home schooling. In many ways, she had

led an idyllic life with few bumps and twists in the road. Of

course, there had been times when she had been curious to know

what lay beyond the hedges her parents had planted around her.

When she asked, they explained, and she complied. She loved

and respected them too much to do otherwise.

Her mom and dad had been Christians forever. She couldn’t

remember a time when they hadn’t been involved in the church

or some community service project. Her mother sang in the choir

and led Sunday morning Bible studies. Dynah had grown up

surrounded by love, protected and guided every step of the way,

right up to the doors of New Life College. And now it seemed her

life would continue that way, with Ethan Goodson Turner at the

reins.

Not that I am complaining, Lord. I am thankful, so thankful. You have

blessed me with the parents I have and the man I’m going to marry. Every-

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where I look, I see your blessings. The world is a beautiful place, up to the

very stars in the heavens.

Lord, would you please give poor old Mr. Packard a portion of the hope

and joy I feel? He needs you. And Sally, Lord. She’s always fretting about

something and always in a hurry. She has so little joy in her life. And

Juan said tonight one of his children is sick, Father. Pedro, the little one.

Juan can’t afford insurance and—

A car passed slowly.

Dynah noticed a Massachusetts plate before the vehicle sped

up. The red taillights were like a pair of red eyes staring back at

her as the station wagon went down the street, then squealed

onto Sycamore. Frowning slightly, she watched it disappear.

Odd.

Her thoughts wandered again as she walked more slowly past

her favorite house. It was two doors from Sycamore, a big Victorian with a porch around the front. The lights were on behind the

Nottingham lace curtains. The front door was heavy mahogany

with small leaded panes of glass and stained glass at the top. The

pattern was a sunburst of golds and yellows.

It would be nice to live on a shady street like this one, in a big

house, complete with a trimmed lawn, a flower garden in the

front, and a yard in the back with a swing and a sandbox for the

children. She smiled at her dreaming. Ethan would probably be

offered a church in a big city like Los Angeles or Chicago or New

York. A man with his talents for preaching wouldn’t end up in a

small college town in the Midwest.

She couldn’t believe a young man like Ethan would look twice

at her, let alone fall in love and ask her to marry him. He said he

knew the day he met her that God meant her to be his wife.

She wouldn’t have met him at all if her parents hadn’t insisted

she visit New Life College. She had already decided on a college

in California. When they mentioned NLC, she declined, convinced the cost and distance should eliminate it. They assured

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for her. They wanted her to become more independent, and attending college in Illinois was a good way to accomplish that. Besides, her grades were good enough that she could receive

scholarships.

Dynah smiled about it now. Her parents had never been subtle in what they wanted for her. Her mother had left pamphlets

of a dozen Christian colleges scattered about the house to tweak

her curiosity. Each had been opened to beautiful, idyllic places

with stretches of lawn lined with manicured gardens. NLC had a

quad with six majestic brick and white-columned buildings, two

to the east, two to the west, one on the north and a church to the

south. But what appealed most to Dynah were the wonderful

young, smiling faces of the students.

There had never been any question that she would end up at a

Christian college. Where better to learn how to serve the Lord

than in an environment centered on Christ? Yet, the Midwest

had seemed so far from home she had dismissed it.

While completing her final year of work for her high school diploma, she sent out a dozen applications and received as many

acceptance letters. She narrowed it down to four possibilities,

dismissing all those outside the state. Her father suggested she

and her mother take a trip to southern California and see the

three campuses that were there. After visiting one in San Jose,

she contacted the others and made appointments with the dean

of admissions to discuss programs and scholarships.

While she was gone, her father had contacted four colleges he

thought “good enough” for his daughter. One was in Pennsylvania, one in Indiana, and two in Illinois. One sent a video. Two

had students call and talk with her about the campus, activities,

and curriculum. The last was New Life College. They sent a catalog and an invitation to come and take a firsthand look at what

they had to offer.

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She thought it preposterous and a terrible waste of her parents’ money, but her father insisted she go. “You have to learn to

fly sometime.”

It was the first time she had gone anywhere without her parents or a church group. All the arrangements had been made by

the college beforehand, so she had the safety net of knowing she

wouldn’t be on her own long. A student would meet her at the

airport and bring her to the campus where she would spend two

days with a personal guide.

Dynah smiled as she remembered her reaction when she first

saw Ethan with a sign bearing her name. She thought he was the

most gorgeous young man she had ever seen. Her mother had

told her the college would probably send a nice young man to

meet her and drive her to the college. She hadn’t expected someone who looked like he belonged in the movies. She was completely flustered and tongue-tied, but by the time they were

halfway to the campus, he had put her so much at ease that she

had shared her Ocean Avenue life with him. By the end of the

trip, she knew Ethan didn’t just look good, he was good. He was

on fire for the Lord, ambitious for godly service, and filled with

ideas about ministry.

“My father’s a pastor, and his father before him,” he told her.

“My great-grandfather was a circuit rider for the gospel. I’m following in their footsteps.”

By the time they drove beneath the brick arch to the NLC

campus, she was convinced Ethan Goodson Turner would be

the next Billy Graham.

Upon their arrival at the women’s dorm, Ethan introduced her

to Charlotte Hale, a music major from Alabama. Charlotte was

vibrant and full of southern charm and hospitality. A senior

graduating in June, she had already made plans to go with a mission group to Mexico and present the gospel in music and drama.

Over the next two days, every minute was taken up seeing the

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