Beneath a Southern Sky (12 page)

Twelve

T
he following Monday morning Cole hung around the clinic’s reception room drinking coffee and chatting with the staff, all the while keeping one eye on the parking lot, watching for Daria to drive up. He had thought about her all weekend, and he was anxious to see her again, to gauge how things would be between them now. He wanted to let her know that he thought she was something special and that he had no intention of letting her get away if he could possibly help it.

When he saw her little Toyota pull into the clinic’s parking lot, he cut Carla off midsentence with a quick wave and headed outside.

“Good morning,” he said, opening Daria’s car door for her.

“Good morning yourself,” she said, climbing from the front seat. Her smile assured him that her memories of the weekend were as fond as his own.

“Did you get your little girl back?”

“All in one piece. I hate to admit it, but I think she had a great time.”

“That’s good. Don’t be sorry.”

“Oh, I’m really not. I sure missed her though.”

“And that’s good too.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere. I just wanted to see you.”

She smiled as though she wasn’t sure how to take him.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about all the things we talked about the other night. I’m glad we could be honest.”

“I am too, Cole. I really am.”

He cringed inwardly. He hadn’t told her anything that wasn’t true, but as he realized how much he still had not revealed to her, he felt a twinge of guilt. But there would be time for that. He would make sure of it. “Want to talk some more?”

“Are you asking me out
again?
” she teased, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

He laughed. “And what if I were?”

“Well,” she sighed. “I suppose I’d be forced to go out with you, seeing as you’re my boss and all.”

“Yeah,” he played along, “if you want to keep your job, you’d probably better not turn me down. Besides, you never did get all the way through that list of ‘Things I Like About Colson Hunter.’”

She slugged him halfheartedly with her purse. “You’re not even funny.” But her eyes belied her words. How he loved those blue, blue eyes.

He fended off her playful attack and resisted the urge to take her arm possessively and escort her into the office in full view of Carla, Travis, and Doris Kline. Instead he opened the door for her and followed her in. He knew by the way they all suddenly went into a flurry of activity that his staff had been riveted to the front window. He wasn’t going to play games with any of them. They might as well get used to it, because if he had his way, he and Daria Camfield were going to be much more than friends.

He was amused to see that Daria was blushing as she hurried past the other employees to hang up her jacket and put her purse away. Cole ignored Carla’s raised eyebrows and the conspiratorial smile on Travis’s face and walked straight back to his office.

But later that morning, when he and Travis were alone in the barn, he couldn’t ignore the young vet’s comment. “Daria looked like the proverbial merry widow this morning,” he said with a smirk. “That must have been some date this weekend, you old devil you. Guess you made her one happy woman, huh?”

Cole threw down the feed bucket he’d just emptied and glared at his partner.

Travis drew back and threw up his hands in mock surrender, his face a mask of astonishment. “Hey, man, I’m kidding. Don’t get all bent out of—”

“Carruthers, don’t even talk that way! Don’t make this into something cheap.”

“Cole, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was only…”

Travis’s words trailed off feebly, and Cole sensed true contrition in his voice. Realizing that he’d overreacted, he put a hand on his partner’s arm. “I’m sorry, Trav. I was out of line. Just please don’t turn this into something crude. You know me better than that.”

Travis brushed him off, turning his back on Cole and walking to the other end of the barn. He was obviously taken aback by Cole’s harsh reaction. As he walked away, he muttered another apology, leaving Cole feeling guilty for being overly defensive.

The two men finished their work in the barn without speaking.

That afternoon they were forced to work together during an emergency surgery on a Saint Bernard pup that had been mangled in a freak encounter with a grain auger.

As they worked over the sedated puppy, Cole attempted to smooth things over.

“You want to ride with me to the high-school game Friday night?” he asked Travis.

“It’s over in Clayton this week, right?”

Cole nodded.

“Yeah, sure. Man, it’s shaping up to be quite a season, isn’t it? They hammered Hillsdale last week.”

“I’ll say! If I was a betting man, I’d wager we’re headed to the state play-offs.”

“You really think so?” Travis sounded doubtful.

“Well, it’s probably too soon to tell, but we’ve got the best defense in the league by a long shot.”

They bandied around play-off match-up possibilities and traded stories about their own prowess on the high-school gridiron. By the time they’d finished the surgery, things seemed to be back to normal between them.

But after Travis had gone out to check the large animals in the barn, and Cole was left alone to put the final sutures in the dog’s cuts and gashes, his thoughts turned again to his confrontation with Travis that morning. Why had he lashed out at his friend like that?

Inexplicably Bridgette’s face flashed before him, and he vividly remembered when he was just beginning to fall in love with her. Bridgette had been the first woman he had ever loved. The only woman. Talking with Daria about her had brought those memories to the foreground. He realized that the speed with which Daria’s and his friendship had turned into something obviously romantic echoed his and Bridgette’s whirlwind courtship. He struggled futilely against the comparisons.

It hurt him to call his marriage a mistake, but he had begun to face the truth that it probably was. Bridgette had too many emotional issues in her life to be able to give much to a marriage relationship. Looking back he could see that the signs had been there all along if he hadn’t been so blinded by love. Now he asked himself, was he blind to Daria’s wounds? She’d certainly suffered her share. And yet, Daria seemed whole and at peace. Was he missing something? Something told him to slow down, to back off a bit. And yet his longing for love and companionship, his loneliness, and their undeniable chemistry all shouted, “Grab her before someone else does!”

He wished he’d had the courage to tell Daria the whole story surrounding Bridgette’s death. It would have been a relief to get it off his chest, to relieve the burden of the secrets he carried. But it seemed too much to put on her—on any woman—on a first date. He didn’t want to scare her off, and yet already they had become so close that he felt like an impostor for not having told her everything.

Until Daria Camfield, he hadn’t found anyone he felt was worth the risk of laying himself open. There was something exhilarating and hopeful about finally having met a woman to whom he was willing to reveal his true self. But if things were going to become serious between them, as he so desperately desired, she needed to know the whole truth—before she’d invested her love in him and it was too late to turn back.

He went through the rest of the day like a robot, performing his duties perfunctorily and keeping to himself as much as he could. But as he drove home that evening, his thoughts ran wild. He knew that, though he must give Daria a chance to know the real Colson Hunter before he could expect her to love him, for him it was too late. He had already fallen in love with her. And the joy of that realization caused him to quash the whispered voice of caution he had thought to heed just hours ago.

Thirteen

O
h, Cole, look at this. Isn’t it gorgeous?” Daria knelt on the floor of the gift shop in front of a tiny ceramic village. The window of each little house and store in the display glowed from within, casting yellow patches of light on the sparkling “snow” that surrounded the village. The shop was draped in greenery and lights, smelled of cinnamon and apple cider, and the effect was magical.

But the magic for Cole Hunter was simply in being with this woman. Every morning during the past weeks, as their friendship had deepened and romance had blossomed between them, he awakened feeling as though his life had been returned to him. Daria had brought something back into existence that he hadn’t dared to hope for. With a full heart, he put his hands on her shoulders and bent to look at the tiny cottage she was cooing over.

“It’s very pretty, Daria.”

She looked up at him and then gave the display one last longing glance. “Oh, why does everything have to be so expensive?” she moaned.

He drew his lips into a pout, imitating her. “Poor baby.” But then he pulled her up beside him and placed a hand tenderly on her cheek. “Well, save your pennies.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what I like about you, Dr. Hunter. You’re so sympathetic.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I was almost positive that I was told we were shopping for
Natalie
Camfield today.”

“Hey, a girl can look, can’t she?” She smiled.

She moved on to the next aisle and he followed, her obedient puppy. Their little shopping trip had turned into more of an ordeal than he’d bargained for. When she’d asked him to go with her to Wichita to pick out Natalie’s gift, he’d pictured a quick run to Toys “R” Us, maybe a nice lunch together, and back to Bristol by three. It was two o’clock now, and not only had they not found the elusive “perfect” gift for Natalie, neither had they had lunch. And they had yet to set foot in the toy store.

His stomach motivating him now, he spotted a shelf overflowing with stuffed animals. “What about these?” he asked her, steering her to the display. “She really likes teddy bears.”

Daria inspected the stuffed animals, but he could tell she was only being polite. Soon they were on to the next store and, by the time she finally found a little dollhouse for Natalie, he was beyond famished. Fortunately one didn’t have to wait long for a table at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon.

They sat across from each other in a cozy booth at the Olive Garden. She sipped her coffee and picked at her salad. He wolfed down his salad and half a basket of breadsticks before he said, “What’s taking them so long to bring my lasagna?”

Daria laughed at him. “I guess I should have warned you that shopping with me is
not
a lunch-at-noon kind of event.”

“So I’ve discovered,” he mumbled over a hot bite of bread.

Finally, the empty spot in his belly satisfied, he leaned back in his chair, watching her. She looked especially beautiful today, her face flushed with excitement and the effects of the biting autumn air. He didn’t deserve to be so blessed. Immediately a shadow fell over his thoughts, reminding him that he had promised himself that today he would tell Daria the rest of the story about Bridgette. He’d waited too long already.

As though she’d read his thoughts, she looked up. “What are you looking so serious about, Cole. Is everything all right?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just sitting here thinking how beautiful you are.” That part, at least, was true. “But—”

“Oh, Cole,” she interrupted, blushing at his compliment. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.” Her pleased smile faded. “I’m sorry. I interrupted you. What were you going to say?”

“Just that there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, her eyes intent on him. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“No, not here,” he said, looking around the restaurant.

A troubled look crossed her face, and he felt terrible for having caused it. “It’s nothing to worry about, Daria,” he told her. “I just don’t want to talk here.”

Now curiosity sparked in her eyes, and she looked eager, as though she assumed that what he had to tell her was a surprise for her. He was completely blowing this.

Their server appeared at the table with his food just then. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to be interrupted by a waiter.

Later, when they got out to the parking lot, a fine sleet was coming down. At the first stop sign on Rock Road, he realized that the roads were quickly becoming slick. It was already beginning to get dark, and Cole maneuvered the car carefully through traffic, worrying about what condition the interstate would be in by the time they got there. The highway wasn’t quite as bad as he’d feared, but they drove in silence, Daria clutching the dashboard and nervously watching traffic for him.

When they arrived back in Bristol, she had either forgotten that he’d wanted to talk to her or had decided that this was not a good time to try to have a conversation. Either way, he felt he’d been given a reprieve. Once again he pushed the nagging thoughts to the back of his mind. At least he’d tried to talk with her. Maybe his timing hadn’t been the best anyway. Why spoil a day of Christmas shopping with something that was ancient history. Yes, Daria needed to know everything about him, but it didn’t have to be today.

Daria sifted through the stack of mail strewn across the tiny table in the dining area. She heaved some catalogs and fliers toward the trash can in the kitchen. Preoccupied and smiling to herself, she tried to sort the bills and other mail that needed to be dealt with further.

Oh
, she thought,
I’ve got to remember to call Mom and see if she can baby-sit tomorrow night
. She and Cole had tickets to the symphony, and Jennifer had backed out at the last minute. Her coworker and favorite baby-sitter had started dating the star of the basketball team, and the Bearcats had made it to the playoffs of a big tournament. Daria could hardly blame Jennifer for canceling.
Love should win out over a baby-sitting job any day
.

Her smile grew as she thought of Cole. Their friendship had blossomed into something so deep and so precious that it almost scared her.

She pushed the mail aside and let out a sigh of satisfaction as she picked up the phone to call her mother.

“Mom? Hi, it’s me.”

She could hear the familiar whir of her mom’s old electric mixer in the background. “Hi, honey. What’s up?”

“I hate to ask on such short notice, but would you be able to keep Natalie tomorrow night? Cole got tickets to the symphony, and Jennifer backed out on me because of the tournament.”

The mixer died, and Daria could hear Margo licking batter from her fingers. “Hang on, let me ask your dad if he has any plans.”

She went back to sorting the last bit of mail while waiting for her mom. A small white envelope caught her attention. The address had obviously been typed on an ancient manual typewriter, but there was no return address. It was postmarked Kansas City, Missouri.

Daria slipped her thumb under the flap just as her mother came back on the line.

“Dad says he can’t think of anything he’d rather do than keep his favorite little girl. Why don’t you just bring her things and she can stay the night.”

“Great,” Daria said, distracted now by the letter. “Thanks a million, Mom. I’ll call you later about the time.”

She hung up and pulled a thin sheet of onionskin paper from the envelope. As she unfolded it, her eyes hurried to the wobbly signature at the bottom of the neatly typed page: Evangeline Magrit, the missionary who had first worked with the Timoné in Colombia. Daria hadn’t heard from the elderly woman—hadn’t even known for sure if she was still living—since her sympathy card had arrived shortly after Nathan’s memorial service.

She pushed her chair away from the table and skimmed the letter once. Then, pacing the length of the apartment, she read it again slowly.

Dear Daria
,

I’ve thought of you so often in these last months. My heart has gone out to you in your sorrow. I read in the Gospel Outreach newsletter that your little one arrived safely, and I was quite grateful to hear it. I suppose she is close to walking by now. They grow so quickly. Which brings me to the reason I am compelled to write to you
.

Though my physical heart will not allow it, my spiritual heart is still in Colombia with my beloved Timoné. You and your husband were an answer to a lifetime of prayer on my part and on the part of dear Anazu and his little family of believers. I’ve struggled, as I’m sure you must have as well, to understand why our Lord allowed such a tragedy as befell Nathan. And yet I am so grateful that you were spared. You have been heavily on my mind in these last weeks because I know that you, too, felt the strong call of the Lord to live and minister among my dear people
.

I pray the Lord has not revoked his calling on your life, and I know that your daughter must be old
enough now that she would adapt well to the changes of life in Colombia
.

I write to encourage you, and to tell you that I am praying that you might return to your ministry as quickly as you are able. I have been in contact with the mission board and, while they are as eager as I am to have you back in Timoné, they “don’t make a practice of soliciting” missionaries, as Dr. Bennett so succinctly put it in his correspondence with me. I, however, have no such policy, so I am boldly soliciting you, trusting that you are seeking the Lord as to his perfect will
.

I would cherish hearing from you, and I shall keep you ever in my prayers
.

Please know that the board assures me there are still funds available for your support, and I would consider it a blessing to finance your return trip personally
.

In his service,
Evangeline Magrit

Daria slumped into the chair and let the letter fall to the floor. She felt herself being wrenched back in time. As though it were yesterday, she remembered the sultry heat of an August night almost a decade ago, sitting with Nate outside his cabin at the youth camp where they had spent the summer as counselors. She had been a sophomore in college, still unsure what she wanted to do with her life. Nate was about to graduate from college and enter medical school.

The elderly missionary woman from Gospel Outreach had spoken at the rally that last night of camp. Evangeline Magrit was old and ill, and she believed that God was telling her that her time with the Timoné people of South America had come to an end. Though she spoke with passion, the teenage audience had been inattentive and boisterous, and Daria and Nate had spent most of the evening intercepting spit wads and confiscating firecrackers. And yet, somehow, the woman’s message pierced through the commotion straight to Nate’s heart.

Afterward Daria and Nate sat in the dark on the steps outside his cabin. Nate sat with his elbows on his knees, his head down, his thoughts seeming a million miles away.

“Hey, you. What are you so deep in thought about?” she asked, putting a hand on his knee.

He ran his hands through his hair, not looking at her. “I’m just thinking about what that missionary woman said tonight. It really hit home with me.”

A twinge of foreboding rose in her. “What do you mean?”

He turned to look at her, his gaze capturing hers. “I think maybe God is calling me to the mission field.”

“Well, sure, Nate. The medical field is a mission field—”

“No, I’m serious, Daria. I think maybe I’m supposed to go to Colombia.”

“South America?” She was incredulous. “You mean go there to live? Like a full-time missionary?”

“Yes. I can’t explain it except that I’ve never felt God’s presence so strongly. It’s almost as if he spoke out loud.”

Daria felt threatened. Was he talking about breaking up? Leaving her for some tribe in South America? This was not the dream they’d shared for their future, the dream they’d been talking about since they realized they were in love.

But then Nate told her, with awe in his voice, “I think God wants us to take Mrs. Magrit’s place, Daria.”

Us
. Of course. The call was for her as well. God had simply chosen to send his message through Nate. By the time she closed her eyes in her own cabin that night, she had begun to embrace the idea that she and Nathan were to take Evangeline Magrit’s place among a people who had rejected the gospel message for more than forty years. And as the days passed, her enthusiasm had grown in proportion to Nate’s. Through the four long years that Daria worked as a teacher’s aide and waitressed evenings to help him finish medical school, they kept their eyes steadily on their call.