Another Homecoming (22 page)

The nurse started forward. “Doctor, is anything—?”

“No,” he said, his eyes not leaving Kyle’s face. “Leave us a moment, will you, Miss Grant?”

“Doctor, I’m not supposed . . .”

“It’s fine.” The doctor tore his gaze away from Kyle long enough to say as reassuringly as he could manage, “It’s all right, Miss Grant. I won’t be long.”

The nurse paused long enough to give Kyle a final hard look, then left. When the door had closed behind her, the doctor turned back and said quietly, “How did you find me?”

20
 

Weakness flooded through Kyle
in a sudden shocking wave.
It’s really happening
.

“Hang on,” Dr. Austin said, reaching out with alacrity. “Okay, steady now, just come on over here, that’s it.”

Kyle felt gentle arms guide her over to the examining table and settle her down. The doctor turned away and came back with a cup of water. Gratefully she accepted it and sipped. He watched her with a startled, kindly gaze. “Now, feel like maybe telling me how you got here?”

In bits and pieces she explained how she had come to be in his office. The doctor’s amiable questions drew her further and further, until she was revealing more than she had ever expected. About her father’s death, and the trust, and how she had found out about the adoption. Even bringing Kenneth into the discussion, and what a help he had been.

Finally the doctor was satisfied, at least enough to step back and regard her with a bemused expression. At length he said, “If you had come in here a year ago, I would have clammed up and sent you on your way. What’s done is done—that would have been my reaction. No use in digging up the past.”

She found herself tensing once more. So close. But there was no way she could rush things. “And now?”

“Now, well,” Dr. Austin let out a noisy sigh. “I’m beginning to find the Lord’s hand at work in more and more things these days. Do you have any idea what I mean?”

“Yes,” she said, and her answer made her look deep inside and find it was true. “Yes, I think I do.”

“Well, it’s all still a big mystery to me. But these days the strangest things just seem to be worked out before my eyes.” He offered her a small smile. “I still don’t understand much of anything. Once I would have dismissed it as mumbo-jumbo. Now I’m not sure
what
is touched by God.”

She tried to answer his smile with one of her own, but it was hard. “Can . . . can you tell me something about them? My family, I mean.” It sounded so strange, saying those words. Her
family
.

“I’m not sure,” he replied slowly. “To tell the truth, I don’t exactly know what my role in all this should be.”

She gripped the starched sheet covering the table’s padding. But she remained silent. Something told her now was not the time to press.

He rubbed one hand up and down his cheek, pondering a moment longer. Then he lifted his gaze and said quietly, “I need some time to sort this through. Could you come back tomorrow and—”

“I . . . I . . .” Kyle started to agree, then stammered quickly, “No, I . . . I can’t.”

He seemed taken aback by her response. “Why not?”

“Because,” she replied slowly, “I broke rules to come today. Bertrand brought me. Mother would be furious if she ever found out. I can’t take that risk again, not so soon. It could cost him and his wife their jobs.”

He nodded his head thoughtfully, then reached for his prescription pad. “Tell you what. Give me a while to think this over. Call me at home this evening. That’s my number.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the paper with numb fingers.

Dr. Austin hesitated a long moment, then looked down at his hands and said, “It so happens that I do know your parents. They have not forgotten you. The sorrow of losing you nearly ruined their lives. I’m just not sure that bringing you back into their lives is the right thing to do.”

There was an awful instant when she felt certain he was going to refuse her then and there. Instead, he remained as he was, his head bowed so that she stared at his bald spot, and murmured more to himself than to her, “Then again, they sure could use some good news right now, what with Joel . . .”

When his voice trailed off and it appeared that he would not go on, she quietly pressed, “Who?”

He raised his gaze and shook his head at her question. “I promise to give it careful thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t do too much harm, after all.” He offered her his hand. “Nice to know you’ve grown up and turned out so well.”

She walked back down the hall and reentered the waiting room. She did not feel as though she had turned out well at all. She felt lost and utterly alone. Suddenly she was filled with an overpowering need to contact Kenneth, feel his strength, and hear his wisdom make sense of the tumult in her mind and heart. She turned to where the nurse was regarding her from behind the receptionist’s counter. “May I use your phone, please?”

“I suppose so.” Her tone was disapproving.

“Thank you.” Kyle dialed the office, then asked for Kenneth’s secretary. When the woman came on the line, she said, “This is Kyle Rothmore. Do you happen to have a number where I can reach Mr. Adams?”

“Miss Kyle, why, yes, hello.” The woman seemed tremendously flustered. “I was just trying to reach you at the dorm.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” The alarm in her voice brought the nurse back around.

“Nothing, that is . . . Mr. Adams is back here. He’s in with Mr. Crawley.” There was a moment’s hesitation, then, “And Mrs. Rothmore has just arrived.”

Alarm bells jangled along every inch of her body. “Slip him a note,” she said, not trying to hide her apprehension. “Tell him I’m coming. Tell him I’m hurrying just as fast as I can.”

The journey downtown seemed to last forever but in truth took less than an hour. Bertrand took the wheel himself and expertly maneuvered the big car through the city traffic. His normal caution was cast aside in answer to her urgent pleadings for speed.

At the Rothmore building, Kyle was out of the car before Bertrand even had his door open. Barely controlling her impatience up the elevator to the executive floor, she flew down the hallway and flung back the door to her father’s former office. She took one look at Kenneth’s face and exclaimed, “Don’t let them do it!”

“Really, Kyle,” her mother said peevishly. “What on earth are you thinking? Rushing in here and spouting off nonsense. Honestly, it’s just too much.”

Kyle glanced at her mother. It was the first time they had seen each other since the start of the school term. She turned back to Kenneth and pleaded, “Don’t let them push you into anything.”

He turned to her, the entreaty clear in his eyes. “They say they’ll keep my entire staff in place, if I—”

She could not let him say the words. “No! I will not allow it.”

“Oh, stop it. Stop it right now!” Her mother slapped the arm of her chair. “Sit down and behave yourself.”

Kenneth kept his gaze upon her. “That’s almost two hundred jobs we’re talking about, Kyle.”

“Really, Kyle. This is nothing you need concern yourself with.” Randolf Crawley was at his most polished. He moved swiftly around the desk, walked over, took her arm, and said, “Here, why don’t you—”

She pulled her arm free. To Kenneth she pleaded, “There must be something we can do to stop them!”

“Oh, do be quiet,” her mother snapped. “I won’t allow you to interfere in something you know absolutely nothing about, do you hear me? I forbid it!”

“I suppose we could challenge the act in court,” Kenneth mused aloud. “After all, I am still a trustee.”

“But a secondary one,” Randolf said, not returning to his seat. His poise slipped a notch. “Really, I must warn you—”

“Please,” Kyle said to Kenneth, “please do that. I’ll help any way I can.”

“
You’ll
help?” Abigail gave a shrill laugh. “Oh, this is just too much.”

Kenneth turned his attention to Abigail. “Kyle is less than six months from coming into her full inheritance. This includes, as you know, voting rights for over sixty percent of the stock. I would imagine the least we could do is have a holding order placed upon such a decision until she reaches her majority.”

Abigail stiffened as though slapped. She glared at Kyle. “You wouldn’t
dare
.”

Kyle forced herself to remain fully erect. “There’s a lot I’ve been daring to do, Mother.”

“Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve just come from Riverdale,” Kyle replied. “Where I met with Dr. Howard Austin.”

Her mother’s face turned absolutely white. “I’ll not have you inherit my company just to turn around and hand it over to a family of
peasants
.”

“It is not your company, Mother,” Kyle said, glad that her voice did not betray her turmoil. “It was Daddy’s, and as far as I’m concerned, it still is.” She paused, then said, “What do you know about my birth parents, Mother?”

“Nothing.” Her voice was a lash. “I had no interest whatsoever in knowing anything at all. Why should I mix with rabble?”

“I am that rabble,” Kyle said softly.

“All that is behind you,” Randolf said, heading off Abigail’s retort. But his soothing tone was marred by nervousness. “Really, Kyle, don’t you think we would all be better off if you trusted us to look after your best interests?”

Firmly Kyle shook her head. “I think it’s time I started trusting myself.”

Abigail leaped to her feet. She snapped at Randolf, “I
knew
it was a mistake to try your roundabout maneuvers. I’ve had all of this I can stand.” She wheeled around to face Kyle. “Young lady, I am
ordering
you to stop this nonsense
immediately
.”

Kyle stood with shoulders squared. She felt as though an immense distance was separating them, at the same time hurting her but also sheltering her. “I’m sorry, Mother. But I can’t do that.”

“Then I will have the courts declare you incompetent,” Abigail ground out. She spun away and started for the door. “Come along, Randolf. We have work to do.”

When they were alone, Kyle felt her strength and resolve drain away. She sank into a chair.

“I think they are going to find that very hard going,” Kenneth mused aloud. “The first time they contested the will and the trust, the courts rebuked them for even trying. Not only that, you’re attending college and doing well in your studies. You are six months from your majority, you have been spending time here in . . .” He noticed her expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I feel ill.” Standing up to her mother had drained the energy from every fiber of her body.

“Do you want something?”

“A glass of water, please.” Gratefully she accepted the glass, took a sip, and felt slightly better. “That was dreadful.”

“I hate arguments,” he agreed. “But you handled it very well.”

“Do you think so?”

“I was so proud of you,” he said quietly.

She reached over, took his hand, and said, “I could not have done it without you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You were here. That was the most important thing.” She felt strength flow through his grasp, up her arm, and warm her chest. “Don’t ever leave, Kenneth. Not ever.”

He leaned closer and said, “I want nothing more than to be here for you.”

21
 

Joel lay in the barn loft’s
snug room and listened to the noisy tumult of another dawn. Whoever thought living on a farm was quiet had never been near one. Dogs and roosters and cows and horses were all competing to make the most racket. He had never known a place as noisy as this—or as pleasant.

The Millers had offered him a place in the big house, but he had declined. He required so much sleep these days, he needed a place to come and shut the door on the family noise and the activity. His chest hurt almost all the time, a dull ache that had become as familiar to him as breathing. A constant reminder of what lay ahead.

Joel shifted restlessly, making the rusty springs of his ancient bed squeak and complain. The room had last belonged to a farmhand, brought in back when the Miller children had been too small to take on many of the chores. The little room’s dresser lacked the two middle drawers, the mirror was cracked and held together with masking tape, and the bed was twice his own age. Yet Joel had never felt as much at home as he did here. Which made his impending departure even harder to bear.

Two days a week, he did light chores around the Miller farm. It was the only payment the family would accept for his room and board. The rest of the time was spent working with a youth mission connected to a Lansdale church. Lansdale was the nearest thing to a city the Pennsylvanian Dutch region could boast. In recent years, it had gained a reputation as a stopping place for kids on the move. And there were so many of them these days. Runaways, college kids taking a semester off, or kids just roaming around. The Lansdale church work had given Joel an opportunity to give, to share, to love. He had never known such a feeling of completeness. Even when it made him so tired.

For some of the young people he was meeting, he represented their only chance of knowing love. Not the love of the streets, where they bartered their bodies for what they so desperately yearned to have—a sense of belonging. Joel had found he could reach to them on a deeper level, giving from the peace and joy in his own heart, and speak of One who would grant them unconditional love.
Real
love.

Joel had discovered an ability to share that love. He knew this was his gift, his calling, as clearly as he knew his own name. He could not explain why he had been chosen to serve in this manner. He did not understand how someone like him had been selected from a world of believers to have the glory of such a mission. Except for perhaps having come from circumstances with a similar lack of love and acceptance.

Joel heard the farmhouse door slam and took it as a signal to roll from his bed. Today was a chore day, and he had promised Ruthie to hitch up the buggy and take her to town. As he slipped into his clothes, he gave thanks anew for this gift of understanding, the gift of renewal, the gift of purpose.

If only there was some way he could give a little longer.

Normally Joel enjoyed urging the horse and buggy to a brisk pace. The animal was a trotter and loved to run. Joel usually gave him the freedom to do so, as he loved to feel the energy of a racing thoroughbred passing through the leather reins. But today he deliberately slowed him to a gentler gait. There was no need to hurry. They had not managed to leave the farm until late afternoon, what with one chore after another keeping them busy. Ruthie had delivered the cartons of eggs to the local merchant and purchased the few supplies from her list, and now they were headed home.

The afternoon drive seemed a perfect time for slowing life’s busy pace. A time for reflection. For enjoying a little leisure, a rare commodity for people who worked so steadily. Even the horse sensed it and settled into a slow, even trot, so different from his normal pull against the reins. Joel relaxed, his arms resting lightly on his knees. The cool breeze gently played with his uncovered hair. The day was warm for fall, and his dark cap lay on the seat beside him.

Ruthie, close at his side in the buggy’s confines, leaned back with a gentle smile playing about her lips. Clearly she meant to enjoy every moment of the rare respite from her household responsibilities.

On the road toward them moved another buggy, the horse traveling much faster than their own. Little puffs of dust lifted with each clip-clop of hoof and spin of buggy wheel. Joel pointed and spoke with a smile. “Someone’s in too much of a hurry for such a fine day.”

Ruthie peered ahead, then replied, “It’s the Enns’ black. He must be forgetting something up to town.”

Joel nodded. Just as some folks knew cars, Ruthie seemed to know every horse in the entire neighborhood. They continued to watch the distance close between their two buggies. There was no other traffic on this road, and the sound of the horses’ hoofs fell into a pleasant rhythm in the crisp autumn air.

Ruthie was right. It was indeed Henry Enns, a neighbor to the Millers. He nodded in their direction and called out with a broad grin, “Strange time of day to be courting out!”

Joel frowned. He knew the words were good-natured teasing, but he wondered if there was more to them than that. Yes. Henry likely meant his words. Joel stole a sideways look at Ruthie. What he saw made him stir with uneasiness.

He had grown to know her well over the months, and he could see that the girl’s thoughts were taking her in the same direction as Henry’s. She blushed and smiled, then shifted slightly on the leather seat. Her arm brushed up against Joel’s sleeve. He felt the color rise in his cheeks.

He had to do something. Say something. But what? What could he possibly say without hurting the one he had come to care for so much? He worked his dry mouth and tried to formulate some words. Nothing reasonable came to mind.

Ruthie stirred again. He heard a little sigh escape her lips. She seemed so totally at peace with herself and with their relationship. But maybe she was thinking that the relationship held more promises than Joel was prepared or able to make.

Again he fought for some way to broach the subject. At last he straightened and turned slightly. “Do they really think we’re courting?”

The smile on Ruthie’s face was a little embarrassed, but she nodded.

“Why is that?” The question sounded much too abrupt, he knew as soon as the words were out.

Her smile wavered, but her eyes did not fall before his. “Because, Joel, we are together much. And we enjoy our times together. This all can see.”

“Yes, but . . .” Joel could not deny the fact that he spent a good deal of time with the young girl. Nor would he have tried to deny the fact that he enjoyed her company. But to court her? His sigh seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. No. Courting was a privilege of young men with a future. Men with promise. He had nothing to offer Ruthie, not even time.

“What is it, Joel?”

“You know that . . . that I can’t . . .”

The girl’s eyes clouded. “You do not enjoy?” Ruthie asked frankly.

“You know I do. It’s just . . . you know my circumstances. I’m not well, Ruthie.” He glanced at her with painful appeal. “I don’t even know how long I have.”

Timidly Ruthie slipped a hand over his. Joel could feel her press close to his side. He dared not look at her again. “I know about your heart that makes you sick,” she said her voice clear, confident. “I know, and I pray.”

“But, Ruthie—”

“Wait, Joel. No one knows the time of parting. The hours, or the days, those are God’s to give. We are not to know. Just to live, and thanks to give to Him our Maker. To make good what we have.”

The words and the feelings began tumbling out. “But they wouldn’t be good, can’t you see that? At any time I could—be gone. I can’t promise you anything, Ruthie. Not even to live long enough to marry. To build a home. To raise children. I wouldn’t do that to you, Ruthie. I wouldn’t do that to anyone. I will not make promises that would only be broken.”

“Have I asked for promises yet?”

“No, but—”

“And I will not do. But we can dream and plan, Joel. Plans can change—without being broken. And if God wills . . .”

But Joel was shaking his head. The agitation that filled his whole body transferred down the reins he was holding. The horse threw up his head and quickened his gait. Joel had to give quick attention to his driving, but he welcomed the change of pace. Suddenly he wished to have the ride over. To be freed from his difficult position. He straightened and lifted his hands to control the horse that now had broken into a full run. Ruthie’s hand withdrew and joined the other in her lap.

“I cannot make plans,” Joel declared with a firmness that sounded almost cold. “I have no tomorrows to share. I will not unload this on anyone else.”

A quick glance showed him the tears in Ruthie’s eyes. Her chin was lifted, her jaw set. “You are a stubborn man, Joel Grimes. Do you not leave room still for love—or miracles?”

“No,” he said, and immediately realized he was proving her statement to be true. Maybe he was stubborn but he repeated, “No, I don’t expect miracles. And you’d be wise not to be looking for one either.”

Kyle’s heart soared and plunged a dozen times during her second drive back to Riverdale. What if they did not want to meet her? What if they did not like her at all? Why had they given her up for adoption in the first place? What if the reason was a bad one? Could she survive the news?

Finally Kenneth stopped on a street very much like others they had traversed and pointed to a house ahead of them. “Up there, the second on the right.”

Kyle’s breath came in quick little gasps. She looked up at the small home. “You’re sure this is it?”

“If the address the doctor gave you is right, it is.” He stared through the front windshield. “I don’t see anyone.”

“No.” She pressed a hand against her rib cage, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace. She looked up at the house, trying to gather a feeling for who lived there. The narrow yard fell in three grassy steps to the sidewalk. Shrubs colored by late autumn frosts formed a neat border. A picket fence held it all together. “I’m so scared.”

“I understand.” He reached over for her hand. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I think so.” She looked at him. She hesitated, then asked, “Would you . . . would you pray with me? Please?”

“You don’t know,” he said, still holding her hand, “how often I have dreamed you would say those words to me.”

She bowed her head and heard him say, “Heavenly Father, we are so grateful for this moment. Grateful that we are sharing it together, and sharing it with you. Be with Kyle, precious Lord, as she steps into this new part of her life. Guide her, shield her, comfort her. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

“Amen,” Kyle murmured and raised her head. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was a slight, dark-haired woman standing on the house’s front porch. The woman held the door with one hand, as though fearful to let it go and step away. She stared down at the car. Kyle whispered, “Oh, Kenneth.”

Suddenly her fingers were unable to work the door handle. Kenneth reached across her and pushed it open. “God will go with you, sweetheart.”

The words gave her strength to stand. At her appearance, the woman on the porch raised one hand to her mouth and started down the steps. Kyle took a tentative step forward.