Plan

The Plan

Linda Lyle

© 1999 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

The snow fell in soft clusters onto the already saturated ground, but clumps of brown grass stuck out in odd intervals. Rachel used these like stepping stones, stretching
from one clump of brown to another in a vain attempt to
keep her new shoes clean. Despite of the mud, she hummed a little tune. There was nothing like snow to make even the worst day seem special.

She left the mud and snow behind as she climbed the crumbling stairs. The sign proclaiming “Myerstown Community Center” hung lopsided and creaked in the wind. Rachel gave one last shiver as another blast bit
through her wool coat. She had made a dash for the door
that clanged shut behind her, the echo following her down the hall. She hurried as fast as she could with her heavy bag to Room 102, and as she feared, her students were already assembled.

“Good morning. Sorry I'm late,” Rachel said between breaths.

“Good morning,” said Mrs. Lee. “Why are you breathing so hard?”

“I had to walk from the bus station.”

“Why were you riding the bus? Where's your car?” asked Mrs. Martinez.

“It's in the shop.”

“In the shop,” Mrs. Sato said, forming the words carefully. “What does that mean?”

“I'm sorry. I'm talking in slang again. That means my
car isn't working and I took it to a mechanic to be
repaired.”

Mrs. Sato's eyes lit in understanding and a wave of “ahs” passed through the room. “So a shop is a place for repairing things, yes?”

“That's right,” Rachel said as she pulled book after book from her bag. It was like Mary Poppins's magic carpetbag—there never seemed to be a bottom. “Let's work on chapter three. We will begin with vocabulary pronunciation. Repeat after me. Valuable.” There was a general murmur of incoherent sounds. “One more time. Val-u-a-ble.” Rachel continued down the list, stopping and repeating when they struggled.

They spent the next half hour doing substitution drills and sentence drills, using the new vocabulary. At the break, Rachel left them to their coffee and snacks and went down the hall to the office. Susan was not at her desk, so Rachel wound her way to the supply room at the back.

“Susan. . . .” A squeal stopped her in midsentence.

“You scared me half to death! Don't sneak up on me like that!”

“I'm sorry I scared you, but I wasn't sneaking. I walked across the room like any normal person.”

“I'm going to put a bell around your neck, so I'll know you're coming.” Susan walked backed to her desk, one hand still over her heart. She sat down at her desk, took a deep breath, and then turned back. “Now. What did you want?”

“I need some help. I've gotten a request to start a citizenship class, as well as another conversational English class.”

“I know. I know. I've been beating the bushes for more teachers, but all I got was splinters. Everybody is busy, or doesn't think they are qualified, or they just don't care.”

“Well, I'm busy and I teach and the only qualification is that I speak good English and care about people. As far as the last part, I can't help you with that.” Rachel shrugged and sank into the chair across from Susan. “What are we going to do?”

“The only option left is to pray,” Susan said.

“That should have been our first priority.”

“I know, but where are we going to find more teachers? Besides that, the stairs are crumbling, the leak is roofing. . .”

“Wait a minute,” Rachel interrupted, “you mean the roof is leaking.”

“No. There is definitely more leak than roof at this point.” They both laughed, but quickly sobered when they realized the truth in the statement. “We need a miracle.”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to pray for one,” Rachel said resolutely.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know God can do all things. You just have to have faith.”

“Easier said than done,” Susan replied. “Speaking of faith, how's your man?”

“He's not ‘my man' and he's as annoying as usual.” Rachel plucked imaginary fuzz off her skirt. She could feel the blood rushing to her face at just the mention of Kyle.

“Likely story.” Susan smiled.

Rachel knew that she couldn't hide it from Susan, but she wasn't going to admit it either. She felt like a fool as it was. She didn't need any extra help from Susan. As soon as she felt recovered, she looked up at her friend, head cocked. “I don't want to talk about him.”

“Fine, fine, but let's talk about somebody. You need to get out more. You're not getting any younger.”

“Here we go again. I'm not that old, and I don't appreciate your acting like I am. Twenty-nine is not that old.”

“I know, but at the rate you're going you'll never get married. You've got to quit waiting around for Kyle. You know he's not interested. He's made it clear in a hundred ways. Let me set you up with Jason. He's a great guy.”

“No thank you. I don't need your help to get a date. Besides, I've seen what you drag up.”

“That's not fair. Tommy was a nice guy. You didn't give him a chance.”

“Sure, he's a nice guy, but he's not interested in church or anything that has to do with it. What would I do with a guy like that?” Rachel asked.

“Go out and have a good time, instead of sitting at home alone every weekend.”

“I happen to like a little quiet time. There's nothing wrong with staying home on Friday or Saturday night. You've been watching too much TV.”

“Come on, Rachel. Let me set you up with Jason. Give
him a chance. You never know what might happen.”

“I know. That's what I'm afraid of.” Susan made a face and threw a paper wad across the desk. Rachel caught
it and threw it right back. “I'll let God do the picking. I
trust His judgment.”

“Thanks for your support,” Susan said, rolling her eyes. “I'll remember that the next time you come crying to me for advice.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm so worried.” Rachel got up and moved toward the door.

“Well, you don't have to leave. I was only joking.”

“I know, but break time is over. Back to the trenches.”

By the time class was finished, Rachel felt like an almost empty coffeepot, drained and cloudy. She gathered up her papers, stuck them in the already overflowing bag, and heaved it onto her thin shoulder. Just as she swung it into place, a lock of her hair fell underneath the strap, giving her hair a good yank. She muttered as she struggled to free her hair from the weight, but she finally had to yank it loose. Dark strands of hair fell and attached themselves to her white sweater. As she plucked the hairs from her sweater, she noticed something shining in the light. She held it to the light, thinking it was a fiber from her sweater.

“Oh, no! It can't be!” she moaned. She ran to the mirror and looked again. Sure enough, she was holding her first gray hair in her hand. Not just gray. It was silver and shiny. Her face fell as Susan's words rang in her ears.

You're not getting any younger. You're not getting any younger. You're not getting any younger. . .

“Stop it,” Rachel squealed, stomping her feet.

“What?” Susan called from the hall.

“Nothing. I was talking to myself.”

“Great. The first thing to go is the mind. I was right. You're well on your way over that hill.” Susan smiled as she said it, but the words stung.

“Gee, thanks. With a friend like you who needs enemies?” The words came out a little sharper than she intended, so Rachel smiled to soften the blow. Susan only made a silly face and stuck out her tongue before continuing down the hall.

Rachel grabbed her bag and strode out into the crisp air, but the snow didn't lift her spirits this time. That silver hair had made more of an impact than she was willing to face right then. She tried to put it out of her mind as she headed toward the university. The bus ride was crowded and stifling. By the time she got off in front of Bowden Hall, she was ready for the stiff breeze. Each time she climbed the steps, she was struck by the inequality of it all. Here was this architectural masterpiece with its spacious halls and polished wood floors while across town the community center was quickly falling into decay. Both buildings were built before the turn of the century. Why was this one chosen to flourish and the other to crumble slowly into pieces? She shook her head at the injustice. Entering the building, she made her way to the third floor. It seemed she was destined to work on the third floor of buildings with no elevators. This one did have an elevator, but it was so small that she got claustrophobic every time she went near it. She would rather climb the three flights and be free to move, than ride in that deathtrap. She topped the last stair, gasping for breath, right outside
Dr. Harris's office. He stuck his head out, a dark wave
of hair falling across his forehead.

“Are you all right?” he asked. She held up her hands as she caught her breath. He smoothed the lock back into place with slender fingers. Watching his hands, Rachel was surprised that there was no ring. He seemed like the type to settle down. Someone so handsome and intelligent should have his pick of women. The touch of gray at his temples only added to his charm. She shook off the thought. It was really none of her business any
way. She took a deep breath before she answered him.

“I'm fine, Dr. Harris. I'm just out of shape. These
stairs will kill you,” she said with a half laugh, half gasp.

“Why don't you take the elevator?”

“I like breathing.”

“Obviously.” They both laughed. “Where are you off to today?”

“English 101, otherwise known as Freshman Torture.”

He chuckled. “I never heard it put exactly that way, but that's pretty good.”

“I guess I'd better move along while I'm still able. I'll see you around, Dr. Harris.”

“By the way, you don't have to call me Dr. Harris anymore. You're an instructor, too, now. Why don't you call me Randy?”

“It's a hard habit to break.” It was true. There was probably only a few years difference in their ages, but it was hard to imagine calling him by his first name. She moved the bag onto her hip. “I'd better get going or I'll be late.” She waved and walked on down the hall. Ten minutes later she was deep into her review of basic grammar and Dr. Harris was not even a memory.