Stranger's Gift (11 page)

“He left,” Jeannie finished her sentence. “But he went back. He'd left his guitar there, and …” Her huge hazel eyes filled with tears. “No one has seen him since,” she whispered.

Hester wrapped her arm around the smaller woman. “Now you know Zeke. He probably found some place to ride out the storm.”

“Geoff and I have already checked every place he usually hangs out,” Jeannie protested. “What if he got washed away? The surge that came with the back side of the storm was enormous, and the wind …” She shuddered. “I just…I pray he's all right, and I know you can't spare anyone to join a search party. But could you make sure all the volunteers know to keep an eye out for him?”

“I …” Hester understood that for Jeannie, Zeke would always be the brother she never had.
We made special arrangements for John Steiner
, she thought and smiled at Jeannie. “Sure. I'll tell them to be on the lookout. And you should talk to Grady so he can spread the word, okay?”

“Thank you.” Jeannie sucked in air and glanced at John as if seeing him for the first time. “Hello,” she said, her usual smile restored. She thrust out her hand. “I'm Jeannie Messner, and you are?”

“John Steiner,” he replied, accepting her handshake.

“Herr Steiner has suffered the loss of his home. His property was destroyed—with him inside—and as you can see, Jeannie, he's fine. Well, not fine but certainly well enough,” she stammered as she considered John's arm and the many cuts and bruises evident on his face and hands.

“Your friend probably just found higher ground until the hurricane passed,” John said. “He'll turn up eventually.” Hester couldn't help noticing that his words seemed to carry more weight in consoling Jeannie than hers had.

“You're staying with Hester?” Jeannie gave Hester a curious look.

“He's staying with my father, as is Margery Barker. I'll be working, and by tomorrow morning we'll all be packing up to move to a shelter in case the creek floods,” Hester said firmly. She stopped short of physically steering her friend down the lane.

“Nice meeting you,” Jeannie called as she waved at John.

“Well,” Hester said, turning her attention back to John, “do you have everything you need, John? If so, I'll just …”

“What's the connection?” he asked, returning Jeannie's wave halfheartedly.

“Jeannie and her sister and I have been friends since childhood, and—”

“I mean with the homeless guy.”

“Zeke? He and Jeannie have been friends for years. Zeke introduced her to her husband, Geoff. Then Zeke enlisted, and, well, after he returned from overseas, things weren't the same for him. He fell on hard times and started living on the beach. Jeannie is a social worker at heart. She and Geoff have tried everything to get Zeke to accept help from his family, but he refuses.”

“Zeke's not Amish or Mennonite, then?”

“No.”

“Maybe she ought to leave him alone,” John muttered.

“That's not in our nature,” Hester replied. “Now, then, I really must be going. My father should be back in an hour or so.”

“And my place?”

The man was like a dog with a bone.

She surveyed her mother's destroyed garden, giving herself a moment to gather strength. Then she took a long, steadying breath and raised her face to look directly at him. “Your property is not in imminent danger. Likewise, you are safe. You have shelter, food, and water. You even have dry clothing available. Do I really need to remind you that there are hundreds—perhaps thousands—of others who are not nearly so blessed?” She closed her eyes again and murmured, “Sorry.” Whether John heard this last as directed at him or some higher being she could not have said. She really didn't care. She knew that it was a prayer, not an apology.

“And what I need for you to understand is this. That property is my life. If I lose it, then I have lost everything.”

“And still God saw fit to let you walk away from the devastation of your property,” she reminded him softly. “Perhaps my father was right. Perhaps you are supposed to start over, take a different path.”

“I don't need sermons, Miss Detlef,” he growled. It started to rain harder, and the heat and humidity seemed as tangible as the rain.

“Look,” she said, forcing a bedside manner that she didn't feel.

“You look,” he snapped. “Just don't even think of going out there without me.”

“Believe me,
John
, nothing would make me happier than to get you back to tending your business so that I can tend to mine. I suggest you take advantage of the blessings before you,” she continued. “The water is still off, but I left you fresh water in the basin so you can wash yourself, put on dry clothing, and get some rest.” And with that she walked away from him, her spine rigid, her shoulders back, and her stride determined.

H
ester could practically feel John glaring at her retreating back. Well, they were even, because he definitely tried her patience, too. Still, she was not going to give in to the temptation to tell him what she really thought of his selfishness and arrogance. Let her father deal with him. There were people who needed her far more than John did, people who might actually appreciate what she could offer them in the way of comfort and assistance without asking for, no, without demanding more.

She spotted Jeannie pouring out her tale of Zeke's disappearance to Grady when she returned to the center. He listened intently and then patted Jeannie's shoulder, obviously assuring her that since Zeke was well known and liked, everyone would be looking for him. Hester knew that all Jeannie really needed was some guarantee that Zeke would be on their radar screen as they carried out the rescue efforts. Jeannie gave Grady a brilliant smile and then hurried off, calling out to Emma and then no doubt repeating her story to her sister. Hester couldn't help wondering if Jeannie's charm could soothe the ruffled feathers of John Steiner.

John Steiner is well taken care of
, she silently reminded herself.
Surely now I can concentrate on the work I have been led to do
.

“Grady,” she called out as he climbed into his Jeep and prepared to drive away.

Perhaps if she got Grady thinking about sending the team where they could do the most good, then by the time Samuel spoke to him, it would be too late to reassign them to the old Tucker place.
Now that just seems vindictive
, she chided herself. What was it about this man that brought out the worst in her?

Besides, if John's place hadn't even been cleared by search and rescue yet or by the gas and power crews and there were all those downed power lines on the main road leading past his place, an MDS crew could hardly go there. “Samuel tells me we can expect a crew from Georgia by suppertime.”

“I know. I'm asking them to go check out Tucker Point.” Grady drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. Hester's heart sank.

“Surely …” she began, but Grady just shook his head and turned the key to start the engine. “Look, Hester, I have to go. Believe me, I know there are more urgent needs, and I have tried hard to make that clear, but you know how this works.”

Actually, she didn't, because in her world attending to those most in need took precedence over political considerations. On the one hand she felt sorry for Grady, because he was a good man and he truly wanted to do the right thing. But on the other, it made her so angry that some bureaucrat in Washington who had no idea of the situation could make decisions for them. She forced a smile. “Politics,” she murmured.

“You got that right,” Grady replied, and he finally looked directly at her. “I'm really sorry, Hester. But if we get the Steiner thing assessed once and for all, then we can focus on the real need.”

“All right, I see your point. And you're only talking about a small crew, right? Just to assess the damage and report back?”

“That's the plan.”

“Well then, I suppose there are enough volunteers to focus on the real need
and
address Mr. Steiner's problems.”

“That's my girl,” Grady said. “Thanks.”

“For?”

Grady grinned. “Relieving me of my guilt.” Then he sobered. “We've got a long road ahead of us, Hester.”

Hester nodded. They both knew that making it through a hurricane without massive physical injuries or deaths was only the first tiny step in the process of truly surviving such a disaster. At the moment everyone was driven by adrenaline and the sheer will to be sure people were accounted for, fed, and had shelter. The news would bring enough shock and awe with it that the media and help from around the country would arrive in droves, at least during those first couple of weeks. After that the residents would face the true test of survival—finding ways to keep going weeks and months from now after the media had turned their cameras to some other story and the relief money had dried up to a mere trickle. By then most of the volunteers would have gone home because they had families and jobs that needed their attention, leaving half-rebuilt homes and businesses under a sea of blue plastic tarps and the residents of the area to make it on their own.

She scanned the sky. The rain had fallen steadily all night and through the morning. Was it her imagination that it was getting worse?

“Wind's picking up,” she noted. “Maybe we need to step up the timeline for getting folks moved away from the creek here.” The weather reports had predicted steady rain for the foreseeable future, but there had been no mention of the rising winds. Anyone who had lived on the coast for any length of time knew that rain accompanied by high winds would push the already-deluged Philippi Creek over its banks even this far inland.

Grady nodded. “My best info tells me that we've still got at least until noon tomorrow. In the meantime there are other more pressing needs. For starters, we're going to need more cots, blankets, and food at all three shelters. They're already nearly full, and we need to stretch their capacity to handle the overflow.” He must have taken note of Hester's expression of doubt. “Hey, if you and Emma can have your people alert everyone to get ready to move tomorrow, that should be time enough to get everyone to a shelter.”

“Got it covered.” Hester paused as she and Grady watched a large eighteen-wheeler navigate the turn on its way to the donation center run by MCC. “That'll be another load of supplies from national,” Hester said. “See you later?”

“I'll be back tomorrow, got to check on some reports of tornado damage further east.” Grady shifted the vehicle into reverse and let it roll backward before making the turn out of the parking space. “With any luck at all I'll be able to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Give my best to Amy,” Hester called.

It was after midnight before Hester could be convinced to go home and get some rest. Throughout the long day and well into the night she had been on her feet, sorting through the massive volume of canned goods, bedding, clothing, and other supplies sent from national MCC headquarters in Pennsylvania as she organized everything for distribution to the shelters. She took a break around supper time to meet with her father and Emma and other volunteer leaders in Pinecraft. After that she had insisted that her father go home and get some rest. Once he agreed, she had put in another six hours working in the kitchen of one of the local restaurants that had offered their facility for volunteers to cook and box up meals. She was bone-weary, but her spirits were high. They always were after such a day, a day when people came together to do God's work.

As she walked down the lane, a light glowed in the front window of the small white house where Hester had lived all her life. She smiled. Her father always left a light on for her. He would have retired hours ago—both her parents had always been of the “early to bed and early to rise” persuasion. She opened the front door and was momentarily confused when she heard the low murmur of voices. Then she saw her father sitting at the kitchen table.

“Ah, here she is now,” he said, pushing himself away from the table and coming to the doorway.

“Dad? It's so late.”

“Is it? We got talking and I suppose we lost track of the hour. Did you eat?”

She nodded just as Margery Barker eased past Arlen and yawned audibly. “Way past my bedtime,” she said as she started down the hall toward the room she and Hester would share. “Don't worry about disturbing me when you come to bed, Hester. I'll be asleep before my head touches the pillow. I expect nothing will wake me for the next eight hours.”

Hester saw John rinsing out his cup at the kitchen sink before coming to stand next to her father. He was dressed in one of the outfits that her brothers kept in the house for their annual visits, his straight red-gold hair freshly washed. “You look plain,” she blurted without thinking.

Margery laughed. “I told him the same thing. But why shouldn't he? After all, our friend here was raised Amish.”

“Ja. So he was.” Hester half expected John to protest the label, but he said nothing.

“John is most anxious to return to his place,” Arlen reported as if this were news to any of them. “Margery told him that it would be unwise to return so soon. I agreed, but he's determined. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

“Actually, Grady is planning to send a crew there tomorrow.” Still addressing her comments to her father and avoiding any eye contact with John, she delivered the news of the volunteer team from Georgia that had gotten delayed and had finally arrived just before she'd left for home. “He'll take care of it, assuming there are no other more pressing emergencies.”

“Really? One of our RV teams.”

Hester nodded. She was glad to see doubt cloud her father's eyes. Apparently she wasn't the only one troubled by this preferential treatment.