Prelude: Prequel to The Lewis Legacy Series (7 page)

Chapter 9
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The Next Afternoon

“Fletcher? You in there?” Not hearing a response, Sarah knocked on the door again. If she didn’t get an answer, she’d leave the container of chicken soup on the front doorstep and depart. Wouldn’t be the first time, and she only hoped he’d open the door and retrieve it before the unleashed dog next door got into it.

“Keep your cool! Hang on! I’m coming.” A minute later the door swung open. Fletcher Monroe gave her a lopsided smile. As usual, he leaned heavily on his crutches, his left pant leg swinging in the breeze created by a large floor fan in the middle of his living room. “Hey, Sarah. Whatever you got there sure smells good.”

“Some of Jimmy’s homemade chicken soup and Myrna made a fresh batch of her blueberry muffins, so I brought you some of those.”

“You’re an angel. Come on in.” Opening the door wider, he limped aside to allow her to enter the small dwelling. Sarah walked into the kitchen and set the containers on the counter. “Do you want the soup in the fridge or should I just leave it here?”

“I lost a leg, sweetheart. I’m not incapable of making decisions or putting soup away.”

She was used to the disabled truck driver saying such things, but Sarah wished he’d get out in the community more. Maybe it’d lessen his bitterness and make the man more agreeable. Help him see that people in town genuinely liked him and didn’t look at him as a cripple.

“I see you’re as crusty as ever today. Be sure and eat those muffins. A touch of sweetness might help that disposition of yours.” When he laughed, Sarah nodded. “Much better. How are you feeling?”

“About the same, I guess. My cold’s a little better. How are things with you and those big plans to go to nursing school?” He scratched his grizzled chin and dropped onto a nearby chair. “Have a seat.”

Leaving the soup on the counter, Sarah took the chair opposite him. “I can only stay a minute. Everything’s in place except for the remaining funds I need. I’m thinking now—with all the extra shifts I’m picking up at Perry’s—I might be able to enroll for the second term this coming year.”

He nodded, and his brown eyes met hers. His sandy blond hair was on the longish side and he could use a shave, but the dark circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced as they’d been last week. “I know you’re happy about that. The way you come out here to bring me soup and things, you’ll make a great nurse.”

“Thanks, Fletch. I appreciate that. Do you need anything else?” She snapped her fingers. “I picked up a new bed pillow for you on sale at Tucker’s the other day. The kind with real goose feathers that you told me you like, but I forgot it at the house. Sorry. I’ll be sure and bring it by in the next few days.”

“What do I owe you?” He started to dig into his back pocket.

She waved her hand. “Nothing. You should know that by now.”

“You’re never gonna get to that school if you keep doing things for everybody else and don’t take any payment, girl. I got bread. I got a good settlement from the trucking company, and I’m no charity case.” A familiar sadness shadowed his features. “Least not in the monetary sense.”

“I wish you’d let me talk with Doc Meriweather about measuring you for a prosthetic leg—”

“I already told you I don’t want no artificial leg.” He frowned. “That’s not about the money either.”

Sarah swallowed hard. Stubborn old coot. “I heard you the first time, and the second, and the fifteenth.” What could she say that might persuade him? A snippet of conversation she’d overheard at Johnson’s Market flittered through her mind. “I don’t know how you’re going to dance with Sally Barksdale at Quentin’s otherwise.” She cast a glance at the crutches resting on the side of his chair. “Kind of hard to sway to music on those things, I imagine.”

He scoffed. “You think Sally has any interest in me? Come on, Sarah. A girl like that wouldn’t have any interest in a washed-up guy like me. You’re charitable, but you’re not blind.”

“No, I’m not. Want to know what I see when I look at you?”

Fletcher’s smile faded. “Not sure. Knowing you, you’re gonna tell me anyhow.”

“You’re a very nice looking man under all that stubble on your face. You could stand a haircut, too. Not to mention that perpetual scowl. Fletch, you’re only crippled because you’re allowing yourself to act the part.” She drew in a quick breath, saying a silent prayer for guidance. She wanted to encourage this man, not wound him more by unintentially hurtful comments.

“A leg doesn’t represent who you are inside. I remember you used to be one of the fastest runners in school. I’m sure that desire to run is still inside you, and you
can
run again, so don’t go thinking you won’t. Just not as fast, but you know what? That’s okay. We all slow down a little once we hit our twenties. You
will
run again, if I have anything to say about it.”

“I like your confidence, girl.” Fletcher scratched his chin again. Why did men, especially those with beards, always do that? Probably for the same reason she sometimes twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Gave her something to do while she pondered someone’s words. That was probably a good reason she usually chose to wear her hair up most of the time, even when she wasn’t working. Silence settled between them for a few seconds, broken only by the soft whirring sound from the floor fan.

“So, do you know something about Sally?” When his gaze settled on her again—filled with what looked like renewed hope—Sarah bit her lower lip.

“I overheard something at Johnson’s Market the other day,” she said. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, mind you. A couple of ladies happened to mention Sally thinks you’re a handsome man underneath all of your rubble and stubble. Their words, not mine. They said that Sally, um”—Sarah lowered her gaze—“thinks you could be a stud if you weren’t so determined to be a hermit.”

He snorted and looked the other way. She waited, and a second later, Fletcher nodded. “Go ahead. You got my attention now. Are you sure ‘stud’ was the word you heard?”

“Positive since I don’t normally use that word. There might even have been a ‘groovy’ in there somewhere.” Sarah’s smile faded. “If you don’t want to try the prosthetic leg, I wish you’d call one of your friends and have them bring you to church sometime. Or bring you to the diner.” She wiped away a tear and hoped he wouldn’t tease her for the show of emotion. “I’d offer to treat you at Perry’s, but I know how you feel about that. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

He nodded slowly. “I think you’ve made yourself pretty clear. You want me to stop feeling sorry for myself. Want me to get off my sorry duff and get out among the townsfolk again.”

“You’re finally getting it. I remember how popular you were in high school. You hung out with Tess and her group and wouldn’t deign to socialize with the likes of me.”

“That’s not true, Sarah. Tell you one thing. There’s no one I’d rather socialize with right now than you.” He broke into a smile. “Except maybe Sally Barksdale. Don’t you go giving me false hope now.”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t think of it. Think about what I said. The invitation’s open if you decide to get out and about in Rockbridge society again.” After lifting out of the chair, Sarah helped Fletcher adjust his crutches. Was it her imagination or did he already seem to have a little more spirit in him?

“Thanks for coming by.”

“Welcome. You’d better eat that soup soon or it’s going to get cold. And don’t forget to eat a blueberry muffin.”

“Yeah, yeah. To sweeten me up. I’ll be sure and do that.”

“Bye, Fletch.” She put her hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. The muscle tone in his arms was still well-developed. Those crutches were good for something.

“Peace, sweetheart. You’re welcome to come by and boss me around anytime.”

“Count on it.”

♥
That Evening

“So, tell me why you want to be a nurse,” Sam said. After prayer meeting at the church, he sat on the creek bank beside her. “Last I’d heard, you wanted to be a space explorer.”

Sarah heard his quiet chuckle. “Do you find that funny?”

He nudged her shoulder. “Yes, but not for the reason you think. I was thinking the space program could use a few more prayer warriors like you. The way you prayed for Merle tonight in prayer meeting was cherry.”

“Cherry?”

“What? You’ve never heard that term?”

“No,” she said, nudging him back. “Must be something you kids are saying these days.”

“It’s all good, I assure you. Cherry means outstanding, excellent.”

She grinned. “I never considered you to be the type to use current slang.”

“You found me out.” Sam hung his head and stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated manner. “I’m trying to fit in around here. Talk the lingo. Be hip.”

“I thought you were more hip without doing those things. Stick with the man you are. He’s impressive enough on his own.”

Sam cocked a brow. “You think so? I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome. To answer your question, I seriously doubt NASA’s ready for a female in their ranks yet since the program’s only four years old. When the Soviets launched Sputnik 1, it created the whole Pearl Harbor effect, and then the race was on.”

“Pearl Harbor effect?”

She couldn’t believe an Air Force man with a mechanical engineering degree wasn’t familiar with the term. “Heaven forbid any other nation should be more technologically advanced than the United States. I’m sure you heard about President Kennedy’s Apollo Project announcement, right? It was in late May, about a year ago.”

He frowned a little. “I haven’t been completely out of touch with the rest of the world, you know. As I recall, President Kennedy announced plans to send a man to the moon. An exciting pursuit if ever there was one.”

“Right, and then bring him home again to earth. That last part’s very important. An important qualifier, as you might say.” Sarah nudged him again and they shared a smile. “Proving our scientific and technological superiority over other nations. We’re on our way with Alan Shepard completing the Mercury space flight and John Glenn orbiting the earth. All steps to move us forward in space travel. We live in exciting times, my friend.”

Sam watched her but said nothing. “What?” His scrutiny unsettled her, but not in a bad way. “You’re staring at me.”

“Sorry. You surprise me, that’s all. I love your enthusiasm. Your eyes light up whenever you’re talking about something that excites you. Everyone should have a passion like that for something—or someone—in their life.”

“Agreed.” She nodded. “Whether it’s your job, faith, kids or whatever, everyone should have a reason to get up and face the day.”

“Yep, but the sad fact of the matter is, a lot of people don’t.” Sam tweaked her chin. “Count yourself among the blessed.”

“Oh, I do. Trust me.”

He stretched out on his back. “You sure you don’t want to apply for a position at NASA?”

She released an unladylike grunt. “Not likely. First, I need to complete my education. And, let’s face it, at the rate I’m going, that could be a while down the road. But who knows?” She shrugged. “I think an Air Force pilot would be a perfect candidate for the NASA astronaut program.”

Sam’s smile sobered. “Not this Air Force pilot, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Okay, then. It just seems like you’d already have one foot in the space capsule door, in a manner of speaking. I mean, you understand complicated controls, know how to pilot a craft”—she raised her hand in the air—“and we have liftoff.” Sarah slowly lowered her hand. From the way Sam’s jaws flexed, she could tell she’d touched a raw nerve.

She stretched out beside him. In some ways, Sam was quickly becoming her best friend. Debbie was always with Arnie, Tess with her friends, and most of the other girls in town either looked down on her for working at the diner or were busy planning their next social outing.

“If I ever get married, maybe I’ll have a son or daughter who becomes an astronaut and goes to the moon,” she said. “That’d be even more exciting. . .and a whole more frightening, I imagine.”

At least that sentiment made Sam smile again. “Yeah. That would be pretty awesome.”

She’d like to ask Sam about his passions, but the time wasn’t right. Side by side, stretched out on the bank of the creek, they were both quiet again until a small pebble hit Sarah in the middle of her stomach, making her jump.

“Dollar for your thoughts.”

She grinned. “Coming from a financier, it’s now a dollar instead of a penny, huh?”

“Fooled you. I’m no financier. I’m just a guy who tries his best to use the brain God gave me. I can tinker around with airplane engines and make them work, and I can also manage money.”

“Sometimes you sound like Pastor McDonald.” At least he didn’t sound irritated with her, and for that, she was relieved. “I used to think you might go into the ministry.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “My faith’s a big part of who I am, but ministry wasn’t anything I ever considered. Not to change the subject, but you still haven’t told me why you want to be a nurse.”

She didn’t need to think about her answer to that question. “I want to give my patients hope. Let them know—even if I’m not allowed to say the actual words—that I care, and that I’m praying for them. Of course, I want to do everything in my power to help my patients get well. Especially if I’m the last person someone sees before they die, I want my words to count for something.” She had Sam’s full attention now. “I want them to know they meant something to someone else. And, if they have no one else, I want to hold their hand so they’re not afraid.”