Stranger's Gift (38 page)

He'd been thinking a lot about those newborns he'd seen in the hospital nursery. He'd thought about Grady Forrest being a father, about his own father, who in their too-short time together had taught John so much, and he thought about Samuel Brubaker, who was clearly looking forward to the day when he and Rosalyn would have a family of their own. He'd envied Samuel and Grady. He had thought that he would be the one raising a family by now.

The congregation had finished singing another hymn, and Arlen had opened the part of the service where any member of the congregation could stand up and share with the others. He heard a man announce that he and his wife would be leaving Florida to move back north where they could be closer to their children and grandchildren. He heard another man request prayers for the diagnosis he had received of diabetes. He heard a woman thanking the members who had been so kind in taking her in and bringing food and clothing after her home had flooded. And when the woman seemed inclined to ramble on, naming every person and how he or she had supported the family, John tuned her out.

Instead, he thought about the passage he'd stumbled across in Thoreau's book the night before. Once he was able to at least occupy the first floor of the house, he'd decided to build a bookcase in the living room and celebrate the addition to his meager furnishings by giving
Walden
a shelf all its own, at least until he could afford more books. Then as he'd positioned the book on the shelf, he'd noticed a piece of loose paper sticking up from the top. He'd turned to the page and read a passage he must have marked the first time he read the book.

“…things do not change; we change.”

“John?” Samuel Brubaker stood at the door of the church with an elderly man who had apparently been overcome by the closeness inside. Two women followed him and took charge of getting the man a drink of water and finding him a chair so that he could sit in the shade of the church vestibule and take advantage of the light breeze.

“Hello, Samuel.”

“Are you…? Would you like to come inside?”

And without hesitation John nodded and followed Samuel into the crowded church, removing his hat and clutching its stiff, sturdy brim like a lifeline. Samuel indicated the seat that he had vacated on the end of one pew and then went back outside to attend to the man. John was aware of a gentle flutter of whispered comments and the rustle of bodies shifting as people turned to look at him.

Arlen had begun his sermon and paused only a second to glance John's way before continuing. “We have made a covenant with God to love Him with all our hearts, minds, and beings. That is the first commandment. But how are we to do that? Ah, it's right there in the second commandment—we are to love our neighbor. But that raises a new question. What is the manifestation of such love?”

Arlen went on to mention four couples, including Samuel and Rosalyn, whose betrothals had been made known to the congregation during the period of announcements. He talked about other couples in the church who had been long married. He talked about parents loving children and sisters loving brothers and neighbors caring for neighbors. Then he broadened the scope to make it citywide and then statewide and national and international. He talked about love for the land and the sea and the heavens. He spoke of love for other creatures, animals domesticated and wild, and of love for all things growing on this planet that God had created. “And so we see that our love for God is made visible in our love for all humankind and all of God's creation.”

He was on a roll, and still he had not provided the answer to the question he had originally raised, a question that John had wrestled with in so many ways.

“Which brings us back to our original question: What is the manifestation of this love in all its forms?” Arlen repeated. “It is sacrifice. It is putting aside our personal comfort and wants and desires anytime we know that there is someone out there who is in need, even strangers we have never met. For they are our neighbors as much as the person who lives next door.”

John examined this under the light of his actions over the last several months. When had he put aside his needs for the greater good? Certainly not when he had foolishly insisted on remaining at Tucker's Point instead of going to a shelter. Not even that time when he had gone to help Margery, for he had not had to sacrifice anything for that. And most definitely not anywhere near the number of times that Hester had risked censure by others or put aside her own needs to tend to him or others.

“Brothers and sisters,” Arlen said, “I close with the words of the prophet Isaiah, chapter 58, verse 12: ‘And they that shall be of thee shall build the old waste places: thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations; and thou shalt be called, The repairer of the breach, The restorer of paths to dwell in.'

“Shall we pray?”

Every head bowed as Arlen beseeched God to hear those prayers, silent and spoken, that had come from this gathering. And as John prayed with him, he felt more certain than ever that God was leading him to take a new path and change his ways. His experiment had failed because he had thought only of himself. He had spent more than two long years feeling sorry for himself, wallowing in grief and guilt. And while he had opened himself to the friendship of Margery and Samuel and Zeke, he had continued to keep anyone else, including Hester and her father, who had tried to help him at arm's length.

“…things do not change; we change.”

Once the service ended, there was the usual crush of people at the door, some wanting to talk to Arlen at length and others just wanting to have their presence acknowledged before leaving. Hester deliberately hung back, visiting with Emma and Sadie for longer than usual until Emma caught Lars's eye. “My husband is ready to go,” she said. “I'll see you tomorrow for coffee?”

“Yes,” Hester said. Lately she and Emma had gotten into the habit of meeting for coffee every Monday morning. It was a good way to begin the week, and it had done wonders for reaffirming their friendship. “Bye, Sadie,” she said, but the girl was already halfway to the door, waving to a friend and chatting with two others.

“Hester, do you have a minute?”

She turned to find John standing in the row of pews behind her. He was dressed in the clothes he'd gotten from the distribution center weeks earlier and holding the Amish straw hat that Rosalyn had found for him. He was clutching it actually, and it surprised her to realize that he was nervous. “Hello, John,” she said. “How are you doing?” She kept her tone impersonal and just the slightest bit suspicious.

“Do you have time to take a walk with me? Maybe to the park?”

Hester was well aware that setting off after church with any man for a walk in the park would set tongues to wagging. Taking that walk with John would likely draw curiosity even from those who usually avoided gossip. “Why?”

He smiled. She had forgotten what that smile of his did to her. The way his eyes crinkled. The way his entire face seemed to soften. The way her heart suddenly beat in staccato rhythms.

“Direct and to the point as usual, I see,” he said. “Well, because the last time we talked I was rude, and I'd like to apologize. Would that be all right?”

“Apology accepted,” she said as she picked up her grandmother's forgotten fan and prepared to leave.

He stopped her by gently touching her arm. “And,” he added, his expression completely serious now, “I'd like to explain.”

“You've apologized,” she said breezily. “No explanations necessary. It was good to see you in church today, John. And I understand that you and my father—”

“Stop it,” he grumbled. “You know what I mean. Will you let me explain or not?”

She sighed. “Come home with Dad and me for Sunday dinner and you can tell both of us.”

John frowned. “I prefer—”

“Final offer, John. Take it or leave it.”

His frown deepened, but she stood her ground, cocking one eyebrow as she waited for his answer. And then he did the one thing she never would have expected. He fingered a dangling tie of her prayer kapp. “You drive a hard bargain, Hester.”

For one incredible moment Hester lost herself in the depths of his eyes. For one incredible moment she felt the kind of shared attraction she had only imagined as she watched her parents or Emma and Lars. And then she heard someone clearing her throat, reminding her that she and John were not alone, and looked over John's shoulder to find Olive Crowder scowling at them. The older woman turned on her heel and headed up the aisle to the exit.

John cleared his throat as well. “What's for dinner?”

“Chicken, potato salad, tomatoes, and my grandmother's chocolate cake.”

From the look on his face, Hester suspected that John was about as close to having his mouth water as anyone could come without actually drooling. She couldn't help herself—she laughed. “If you could see your face,” she said, pointing with one hand while she used the other to cover her laughter. “Come on. Dad looks like he's about ready to leave. Maybe the two of you can talk about how MDS can help you while we walk.”

It was unusual for Arlen and Hester to eat their Sunday dinner at home. Usually Arlen was invited to dine with one of the families that attended the church, and since her mother's death Hester was usually included in the invitation. If they did eat at home, her grandmother joined them. But on this Sunday, Arlen had made sure that Nelly had an invitation to eat with friends and that he had turned down any invitations he and Hester might receive.

“We'll have our dinner and then drive out to Tucker's Point,” he'd told her that morning at breakfast. “Or we could make it a picnic and include John.” He had seemed so pleased with the idea that Hester had fried several pieces of chicken and put potatoes on to boil for potato salad while her father was eating his breakfast. All she had left to do was to mix the potato salad and slice the tomatoes.

“Dad? John has agreed to join us for our dinner,” she said when her father had sent the last church member on his way.

“Excellent. We had planned to bring a picnic out to your place, John, so that you and I could talk about how MDS might be of service to you.”

“Now we can eat at home,” Hester said.

“No picnic? On a glorious day like this one?” Arlen faked a frown.

“A picnic would be nice,” John said politely. “I understand that it means more work for you, Hester, but I'd be glad to help.”

Her mouth dropped open and then closed again without a sound. Had this man—this Amish man of the women-have-their-place variety—just offered to help out in the kitchen?

“No. A picnic is fine. Besides, Dad, you wanted to see what progress John has already made before deciding how best to help, right?” She had carefully avoided eye contact with John since they'd joined her father for the walk home.

“So a picnic it is,” Arlen announced.

The phone was ringing when they reached the house, and Hester hurried ahead of the men to answer it. There was only one reason someone would disturb their Sunday, and that was if there had been some misfortune that required Arlen's help. Mentally Hester took stock of who had not been in church that morning as well as who in the community had recently been ill.

“Pastor Detlef's home,” she said.

“Oh good, Hester, it's you.” Jeannie Messner's normal voice was always so filled with excitement that it was hard to know why she might be calling, especially because Arlen was not her pastor.

“Is it Emma?” Hester asked, her mind racing with possibilities. Emma had mentioned that she and Lars and the children were having Sunday dinner at Jeannie's house. “Zeke Shepherd's brother, Malcolm, and his family will be there as well,” Emma had said and then smiled. “You know Jeannie. It has to be a party.” Of that guest list only Emma and her family were members of Arlen's church.

“Emma? She's fine.” Jeanne seemed momentarily mystified at the question. “Oh, you thought…I guess I shouldn't be calling on a Sunday, but this is such wonderful news that it can't wait.”

But Hester did have to wait while Jeannie turned from the phone. “Go ask your parents,” she said, her hand apparently muffling the sound. “I'll do it if they say it's okay.” There was a teenage moan, and then Jeannie's voice was clear once again. “Sorry about that. Sadie wants to get her learner's permit, and you know how Emma and Lars are.”

Arlen was standing in the doorway, obviously expecting the call to be for him.

“It's Jeannie Messner,” Hester mouthed. “Jeannie? Dad and I were just on our way to—”

“Okay, I'll make this quick,” Jeannie said. “Zeke's brother, Malcolm? He might be interested in setting up a foundation for the Rainbow House project.”

“Why are you whispering?” was all Hester could come up with as a response to such startling and admittedly thrilling news.