03_A Family To Call Her Own (2 page)

Zach thought back to the last time he’d seen Josef. It had been almost eight years since his friend brought his delicate wife, Katrina, to St. Louis for the birth of their daughter. During their six-week stay with Zach, the two men had spent hours talking, debating, sharing. It had been an energizing, invigorating, renewing experience for Zach. Josef, with his serious nature, deep convictions and passionate feelings had always been an inspiration.

Zach recalled one of their last conversations, when he’d asked Josef how he coped with discouragement.

“But, Zachary, I don’t get discouraged,” his friend replied, clearly taken aback by the question.

Zach looked at him skeptically. “How can you not? Are conditions any better in your country now than when you started? Have you seen any progress?”

“I have not seen much visible evidence of progress, no,” Josef admitted. “But we are making inroads,” he stated with conviction.

“How do you know?” Zach persisted.

“Faith,” Josef replied simply. “In your country, you expect things to get better like this,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Patience is not a virtue in America. But in my country, we are used to waiting.”

“But for how long?” Zach asked.

Josef shrugged. “Change is slow. But more and more people are on our side, Zachary, and one day there will be freedom for all. Maybe not in my lifetime. But still, I must do my part. Because, my friend, I believe that everything we do does make a difference. It is just that sometimes we do not see the result right away. But no good work is ever lost.”

For a long time after Josef and Katrina returned home, Zach recalled that conversation whenever he became discouraged. It always inspired him. But not tonight. Josef was wrong, Zach thought tiredly, lifting his hand from the wheel long enough to wearily massage his forehead. All his years of personal sacrifice while questing for truth and right hadn’t made one bit of difference in the human condition. If anything, crime was worse now than it had been when he was an eager cub reporter, determined to change the world. And that acknowledgment left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Would he feel any different if there had been someone to share his life with, to buoy him up on bad days? he wondered. But his passion had always been directed to his writing, leaving little for anything—or anyone—else. The few relationships he’d indulged in had been brief and sporadic. Either he broke them off when he realized the woman was getting serious, or she did when she realized he wasn’t.

As a result there was no one who cared if he ate dinner when he came home late—or even if he came home at all. His family in Kansas City was too far away to keep tabs on his daily life, and his only regular companion for the past ten years—a cat—eventually had her fill of his bizarre hours and crazy schedule. One night she went out and never came back.

But Josef had found time for love, despite the demands of his work and his precarious existence, Zach admitted. Political conditions were extremely unsettled in his country, and from what Josef said, they were becoming more volatile each day. But he was a man of deep faith, who truly put his trust in the Lord and was at peace with his destiny. With his faith as a foundation, he had the courage to create a family in the midst of chaos, to share his life with the people he loved. While Zach had always looked upon a family as a distraction, Josef looked upon it as an anchor, a source of strength.

And maybe that’s why he hadn’t burned out, why he still had the energy to carry on the fight for his principles, Zach speculated. His family sustained him, and in the atmosphere of love and goodness and faith that pervaded his home, Josef found strength and hope and inspiration. Maybe the lack of those support mechanisms in his own life was the reason Zach now felt so emotionally and spiritually depleted.

In a way he envied Josef’s deep faith. Living with the seedy side of life for so long had shaken Zach’s belief in a loving, caring God. Yet without that foundation of faith, he felt oddly adrift. And as for a wife and family—it wasn’t that Zach
never
wanted those things. It was just that he always told himself there would be plenty of time later. But at thirty-seven, “later” was now, he suddenly realized.

A sign for St. Genevieve loomed out of the mist to his right, abruptly interrupting his reverie, and Zach slowed down. This pea soup would do San Francisco proud, he thought grimly, as he cautiously made his way down the ramp and carefully turned left at the bottom.

As he drove along the two-lane road, visibility was so limited that he actually began to feel somewhat disoriented. It was almost like something in one of those old “Twilight Zone” episodes, he thought. He had the weird sensation that he was the last living thing on earth.

Zach’s gaze momentarily flickered to the rearview mirror, confirming the absence of other cars or signs of life. While he might not be alone in the world, he certainly was alone on the ghostly road.

But not quite as alone as he’d thought, he realized, when his gaze returned once more to the pavement in front of him. A deer suddenly materialized from the mist and, startled by the headlights, bolted directly in his path. With a muttered exclamation, Zach instinctively jerked the wheel sharply.

The deer bounded off safely, but Zach wasn’t so lucky.

As his lightweight, compact car fish-tailed across the unforgiving fog-slicked asphalt, Zach struggled vainly for control. But the vehicle seemed to have a mind of its own, skidding crazily toward the shoulder. His last thought as the car careened off the edge of the road and plunged down an embankment was that he’d forgotten to buckle his seat belt.

Rebecca Matthews stifled a yawn and reached for the cup of coffee in the holder under the dashboard. She grimaced as the cold liquid sluiced down her throat, but she needed the caffeine. It had been a long day and she was bone weary. She glanced at her watch and groaned. Ten-thirty. Make that a
very
long day, she amended ruefully. Maybe she should have taken her brother up on his offer when he’d walked her to the car.

“I hate for you to drive home alone, Becka,” he’d said with a frown, looking down at her worriedly. “Why don’t you spend the night? We have plenty of room.”

“Oh, Brad, I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ve done this drive alone a hundred times.”

“I know. I just wish…” His voice trailed off, and he sighed. “I worry about you being by yourself,” he admitted quietly.

Rebecca swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced herself to smile brightly. “Worry should
not
be on your agenda today, dear brother,” she chided him gently, striving for a light tone. “You have too much to be thankful for. Anyway, save your worry for someone who needs it. I’m busy and happy. Honestly.”

He seemed about to say something else, but refrained, bending down instead to kiss her forehead. “Okay. But promise you’ll be careful.”

“I always am. Besides, you know I could make this drive with my eyes closed,” she kidded him with a smile.

And that’s about what she was doing, she thought grimly as she peered through the dense, swirling mist, brought on by a combination of damp ground and unseasonably warm weather. So much for her plan to just switch on autopilot for the familiar route from St. Louis to St. Genevieve. For the past twenty miles the weather had conspired against her, requiring every ounce of what little energy and concentration she had left just to stay on the road. And unfortunately tomorrow’s schedule wouldn’t bend to accommodate her late-night arrival home. She’d still have to be up no later than six to prepare for the Friday lunch and dinner crowd at her restaurant.

Still, the trip had been worth it, she consoled herself. When Brad called earlier in the day to say they were at the hospital, she’d whipped off her apron and left the restaurant in the capable hands of Rose and Frances. That was twelve hours ago. But if it had been a long day for Rebecca, it had been an even longer one for her sister-in-law, Samantha, who had endured a drawn-out, difficult labor, Rebecca thought sympathetically. And poor Brad had been a wreck. But at seven thirty-five, when Emily Matthews had at last deigned to make her entrance, her parents’ pain and concern had quickly been supplanted by joy.

Rebecca was happy for Sam and Brad. The tragic death of Brad’s first wife seven years before had left him bereft for months, despite his deep, abiding faith and his vocation as a minister. Not only had he lost his closest companion and friend, but Rachel’s death had seemingly destroyed his dreams for a family, as well.

Then Sam had come along, unexpectedly infusing his life with love and laughter and hope. And now they had a child. Tonight, as he’d held Emily tenderly in his arms, Brad had referred to her as “our miracle baby,” and they clearly regarded this new addition to their life as a gift from the Lord. Rebecca didn’t know the story behind that “miracle” reference, but there obviously was one. So it seemed especially appropriate that Emily had been born today, on Valentine’s Day. She truly was a product of Brad and Sam’s mutual devotion, and she would bring a new dimension to the love they shared as a couple and the love they would create as a family.

Rebecca sighed. Love—at least the romantic variety—wasn’t something she knew much about personally, she reflected sadly. And she probably never would. Regrettably, Valentine’s Day had never been a holiday she celebrated. Since opening the restaurant three years ago, she’d had little time to indulge in self-pity or dwell on her loneliness, but Valentine’s Day always made her sad. And especially so today, when she’d viewed at such close proximity the circle of love shared by Brad, Sam and their new daughter. It had been very hard to hold back her tears as she cradled the tiny new life in her arms, knowing that it was unlikely she would ever repeat the experience with her own child as a loving husband stood by her side.

At thirty-three, Rebecca was still young enough to have the children she’d always wanted. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was finding a husband with enough patience to deal with her problem. But patience was a virtue that seemed to be in short supply these days. And any man who was remotely interested in her would have to possess an incredible amount of patience.

Rebecca sighed again. She hadn’t met a man yet who was willing to date her more than a couple of times without expecting some physical closeness. While Rebecca didn’t believe in casual intimacy, she realized that at some stage in a developing relationship kissing and touching were appropriate. And expected.

But Rebecca couldn’t handle that. Even if she liked a man, her only emotion when faced with physical contact was fear, not desire. And no man she’d ever met could deal with that. In fact, she’d stopped trying to find one who could. It was easier this way. Less humiliating. Less stressful. But certainly more lonely.

Yet seeing Brad and Sam together these past few months, and now watching them with their new daughter, made Rebecca yearn for the same things for herself. Surely there must be a man out there somewhere who could help her find a way to express the love she’d held captive for so long in her heart, she thought with a brief surge of hope. A man who could dispel her fear, patiently teach her how to respond, fan into life the flame of desire buried deep in her heart.

With sudden resolve she promised herself that if a man came along who seemed worth the effort, she would make one more attempt to explore a relationship. It wouldn’t be easy, she knew. But maybe, with the Lord’s help, she could find a way to overcome her fear and create her own circle of love. And if nothing else, it was a wonderful fantasy for Valentine’s Day, she thought wistfully.

But right now she’d better focus on reality, not fantasy, she reminded herself firmly. The fog actually seemed to be growing denser—and more dangerous. It might be better to get off the interstate at the first St. Genevieve exit and take the back road into town, she reasoned. At least there would be minimal traffic, and therefore less chance of an accident. She could barely see ten feet in front of her, and the thought that a tractor-trailer truck could be barreling along only a few feet away, unable to clearly see the lane markings and oblivious to the presence of her older-model compact car, was not comforting.

The exit sign loomed out of the mist unexpectedly, and Rebecca automatically flicked on her blinker, realizing the futility of the gesture even as she did so. She took the exit ramp slowly, with a bizarre sense that the world as she knew it had ceased to exist. Carefully she turned onto the deserted secondary road, her headlights barely piercing the gloom as she crept along. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a car, and as she drove through the swirling mist, an eerie feeling swept over her. She didn’t spook easily, but the overwhelming sense of isolation was almost palpable. She knew there were homes scattered along the road, but they weren’t visible tonight. She had no points of reference with which to mark her progress, and she felt disoriented and vulnerable. Worriedly she glanced at her gas tank, reassuring herself that she had plenty of fuel for the last leg of the trip home. This was definitely
not
the place to get stuck.

Rebecca’s gaze flickered back to the road and she gasped as her headlights suddenly illuminated a figure walking slowly along the road, almost directly in front of her car. She swerved sharply to avoid it, then glanced in the rearview mirror in time to catch one final glimpse of the apparition before it was swallowed up in the gloom.

Good heavens, what had she seen? she wondered in alarm, her heart pounding as adrenaline raced through her veins. Surely not a ghost! Of course not, she admonished herself sharply, stifling her overactive imagination. She didn’t believe in such nonsense. She forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths and eased back on the accelerator, frowning as she mentally tried to recreate the image that had briefly flashed across her field of vision.

It was a man, she realized, wearing a white dress shirt and a tie, and carrying a suit jacket. Had he been weaving slightly? Or was that just a trick of the swirling fog? she wondered. And why would he be walking along the road at this hour of the night in this weather? Her frown deepened and she lifted her foot off the accelerator even further, slowing the car to a crawl.