Stranger's Gift (31 page)

She took his hand between both of hers. “I know. I know.”

Father and daughter sat that way for a long moment.

“I will go and speak with John,” Arlen said, finally getting down from his stool and turning to his workbench.

“No, Dad. Let me go. He almost told me this morning, and if Olive hadn't interrupted, I'm certain that he would have told me the entire story.”

“I think it best if you keep your distance for now. Give Olive a few days to calm herself.”

Hester glanced down at the tin of cookies. “She's in love with you, you know.”

Arlen shrugged. “I know. Your mother even suggested that if I remarried, Olive would be a good match.”

This was news that Hester had never imagined. “Mom said that?”

“Yep. Badgered me for a promise that I would do just that almost right up to the end. Even when she could no longer speak, it was there in her eyes every time Olive stopped by.”

“But you didn't. Why?”

“Because Olive may love me or think she does, but I don't love her.”

“But if you promised …”

“I promised only that I would find peace in God's will for Sarah and that I would move forward with my life. I have done that,” he said, gesturing to the shop, where partially completed pieces of hand-crafted furniture lined the walls.

“But if you didn't like it that Mom chose Olive as the most likely candidate, why would you do the same by bringing Samuel …”

“I know that you and Samuel have not yet found your way, but I am convinced that his coming here was God's will. You and Samuel are young, Hester, and with time all things are possible, even falling in love. Just give him a chance, all right?”

She wrestled with the double standard that lay behind his words. There was some truth to the idea that two young people just starting out might find love after years of companionship, but something about the idea did not seem right to Hester. “And what about John Steiner? I truly believe that he has begun to trust me, to reach out for help.”

Arlen sighed. “Ja. The man is in danger of becoming a lost soul. I can't order you to stay away from him, but I would prefer that you give me time to speak with him before you get involved with him any further.”

“And if he won't talk to you?”

“Then you must let this go, Hester. Clearly his community and church have dealt with the matter in their own way. It is out of our hands, and I am asking you to stay away from the man.”

“Are we to shun him as well, then?”

“Hester, can you not understand that my concern must be first for you? John Steiner—whatever his sins may or may not be—has made it clear that he does not seek or want our help. You said it yourself when Grady first asked you to go see the man—there are others in greater need who need you.”

“But he seems so lost.”

“Only God can find him and lead him back into the fold, child. You can do much good, but only God can truly rescue a soul in peril.”

Hester reluctantly agreed, but the saga of John Steiner still troubled her after she had stopped by to take Rosalyn some lunch. And then later as she pedaled her way across town to deliver the crib quilt she'd made to Amy and Grady, she silently prayed for guidance, for some sign that she was to either let the matter rest or pursue it. She believed God had given His answer when she entered Amy's hospital room and found John's aunt Liz cooing over the baby. Here was the one person who might tell her the whole story without her having to disrespect her father's wish that she stay away from John.

Samuel was deeply troubled. He had always thought of himself as an honorable man, and he was well aware that in coming to work for Arlen Detlef, he had not only agreed to apply his skills as a carpenter and furniture maker; he had also agreed to consider asking Hester to be his wife. Arlen had made little secret of his wish for that.

“I know that you can only do what God leads you to do,” Arlen had told him. “Only God can guide your heart, and Hester's, but I do pray that a union between you two will be His will.”

It couldn't get any plainer than that. Now that he'd gotten to know Hester and watched the interaction between her and her father, he had decided that Arlen probably had not been quite so direct with his only daughter. Hester had a strong will and a streak of independence. It was those two characteristics that made her the community leader whom she had become. It was also those two traits that had made Samuel question whether or not he could ever make her truly happy. And in the meantime, he had fallen deeply in love with Rosalyn.

After taking Rosalyn back to the doctor and then seeing her home to the small cottage he'd helped restore following the hurricane and flooding, he had gone to the park and walked along the banks of the creek, sorting through his feelings and trying to decide what to do. After an hour and with no real answers, he headed back to work. Arlen was bent over his workbench, carving the molding for a china cabinet.

“Is Rosalyn all right?” Arlen asked.

“She will be once she has a few days to rest and heal,” Samuel said as he hung his wide-brimmed straw hat on a hook near the door and put on a carpenter's apron.

“Hester stopped by.”

“Ah,” Samuel replied and gathered the tools he would need to attach the hinges for the cabinet doors that Arlen had finished staining.

“She was at the hospital overnight with the Forrest couple. They had a baby boy.”

“That's good news.” Samuel barely heard Arlen's conversation, his mind was so troubled.

“John Steiner was there as well.”

“Ah,” Samuel murmured as he measured once and then again and thought about the fact that he loved working here with Arlen.

“You may expect a visit from Olive Crowder,” Arlen added. “Apparently she saw Hester and John having breakfast after they'd stayed all night at the hospital with Grady and his wife. It upset her.” When Samuel said nothing, Arlen asked, “Does it not upset you?”

Samuel looked up from his work and saw that the older man had turned away from his workbench and was watching him closely. “Rosalyn says that Olive is often upset with Hester,” he replied evenly.

The shop was silent for a long moment. Samuel laid down his screwdriver and the hinge and turned to face Arlen. “I have something to discuss with you.”

Arlen folded his hands in front of him and waited.

“I do not think that Hester and I…I am in love with another woman.” There, it was said. Samuel pictured himself packing up his camper and heading back to Pennsylvania. Rosalyn would be loyal to Hester, he knew that—loyalty would win every time.

“I see. And this other woman returns your feelings for her?”

“I believe she does, but I also believe that she would deny her feelings as I have—until now.”

“Have you spoken to Hester of this matter?”

“Not yet.”

Arlen closed his eyes, a habit that Samuel had noticed whenever the minister was faced with a dilemma. “How do you think my daughter will take this news?”

“I believe that she will be relieved,” Samuel replied without a moment's hesitation, and because he hadn't so much as considered the possibilities, he was certain that he had spoken the truth.

Arlen nodded. Then he opened his eyes and smiled. “You are probably right,” he said and turned back to his workbench and resumed carving a piece of trim for the cabinet.

“I will stay until the end of the week, if that's all right. We can finish the orders by then—”

The carving knife that Arlen was holding clattered into a pile of wood shavings that littered the floor around him. “You are leaving?” He clutched the now-ruined piece of wood.

“I thought that you would…I cannot marry your daughter, Arlen.”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other. We work well together, and …” Arlen fumbled for words. It was the closest that Samuel had ever seen his employer and friend come to being concerned for himself instead of others. “I am asking you to reconsider and stay on here with me as my partner. I'm hoping that one day this business will be yours.”

Samuel felt his heart swell with the possibilities Arlen had just offered. If Rosalyn would agree to marry him, they would have a secure future.

“I would like that,” he said, “but I cannot give you my answer until I've spoken with Hester. She has a right to be part of any decision I might make to stay on here.”

“Of course,” Arlen said. “She's gone to the hospital to visit the Forrests and their new baby. Perhaps this evening? Come for supper.”

“I'll stop by,” Samuel promised, and as he took the damaged molding from Arlen and went to find a matching piece, he couldn't seem to stop smiling.

W
ell, Johnny,” Margery said as she leaned the kitchen chair she'd carried out to John's porch back on two legs and braced her feet against the porch railing, “what are you going to do with this place? I mean, you've got the main floor here and the packinghouse pretty well back in shape, at least until the next storm comes by. But the grove there?” She shook her head. “That'll take years, if you can get anything to grow.”

John knew she was right. In fact, he'd been thinking the same thing before she'd stopped by with a cooler filled with her southern fried chicken, potato salad, and fresh sliced tomatoes. She'd been stopping by a couple of times a week ever since he'd helped out with the refurbishing of the marina. Sometimes she read his mood and simply left him the food and headed back to her place. Other times, like tonight, she seemed to instinctively understand that he would welcome her company. On those occasions, she did not hold back, but said whatever was on her mind.

“Maybe the experiment has run its course,” he said.

Margery snorted. “This is life, Johnny, not some lab research. Are you saying you're giving up after everything you've put into this place?”

“I'm open to suggestions.”

“Well, there's a first,” Margery muttered.

John ignored her sarcasm. “I don't want to give up, but what choice do I have?”

“What choice did you have when you packed up and left Indiana? What choice did I have when I walked down to the marina and found it in ruins? What choice did those folks over in Pinecraft have when the creek washed through their homes? Start over or give up. You've got your quirks, but I never figured you for a quitter, Johnny.”

“I could sell the place, I suppose.”

“And then what? What are you going to do with your life? You're neither here nor there—not Amish but not one of my world either. Who are you, John Steiner, and what are you planning to do—not just with this place but with the rest of your life?”

“I don't know—on either count,” he admitted.

Margery pushed herself to her feet and slapped at a mosquito on her arm. “Well, the clock's ticking, son.”

She could have been saying that it was getting late and time for her to head home, but he understood that she was issuing a warning. John walked with her down to her boat and helped her in.

“Careful there,” she said with a teasing grin. “You're coming mighty close to becoming a real gentleman. Next thing I know you'll be out courting the ladies.” She gave the pull cord on the motor a brisk yank and it fired to life. “Hester Detlef might be a good start since you two seem to be getting along so well these days,” she called out as she putt-putted her way back toward the mouth of Philippi Creek.

Instantly he regretted telling Margery about the previous night's reception and the trip to the hospital. He groaned. How many times over the course of the evening had he uttered the words “Hester and I,” or “Hester thinks,” or just plain “Hester.” Margery was a romantic and would take such things as a sign. But he could not deny that his opinion of Hester Detlef had changed. He stood on the shore where he had stood weeks earlier and watched her wade through the murky waters with her father and Samuel. He remembered how her manner had been brittle, but her touch when she tended to his cuts and other injuries was gentle, even tender. He also remembered how she had tried to reassure him. He wished she were here now. There was something about her, a unique combination of practicality mixed with just a pinch of the whimsical. Somehow it made him think that she would see possibilities for this place that he no longer could.

He started back toward his house, although he wasn't ready to settle in for the night. He was restless, his mind racing with the details of the work yet to be done and the costs still ahead of him. Costs he could not afford.

True, he wasn't homeless, and he was a far sight better off now than he had been right after the hurricane. Despite the dire predictions of others, he had been able to move back into his house and so far no one from the government had come around to ask if he'd filed the required paperwork. He hadn't and had no intention of doing so. This was his land, his home. He did his cooking—what little he did—over a camp stove that Zeke had rescued from a Dumpster; the two of them had managed to rig the stove to the propane gas line that ran to the house. He had water and a bathroom, although no shower or tub. Those were in the full bath on the second floor, or at least they had been. All in all he had what he needed. But he lived under a makeshift roof, and the second floor of the house was still a disaster.