Prelude: Prequel to The Lewis Legacy Series (8 page)

Sarah focused on the creek, watching as a squirrel scampered nearby. “I hope that doesn’t sound like too much to ask or self-important on my part.”

“Not at all. It’s very selfless and admirable.” His tone was quiet, respectful.

“I just can’t imagine what it feels like to know the life is slowly draining out of your body. But I sure as anything know it’s got to be a whole lot easier when you know where you’ll be spending eternity. How do people live without that assurance?”

He blew out a breath. “I met guys like that all the time. As difficult as you might find it to believe, some people have never heard about Jesus. Then you have the ones who’ve heard the gospel message at one point or another, but they’ve rejected it. That’s the toughest thing of all to accept. And the saddest.”

Surprising her, Sam reached for her hand. “What you said about why you want to be a nurse sounds like what I imagine a missionary nurse might say.”

“It’s a possibility.” Sarah slowly pulled her hand away from his. Not that she was uncomfortable, but more because she liked it. “I’d love to travel the world. I’ve never even been in a plane, but I know you’ve probably flown hundreds of missions. What’s it like to fly?”

“The most unbelievable feeling in the world.” His voice took on a faraway tone. “If you want the truth, I’m thankful we weren’t involved in active combat. As much as I love to fly, I couldn’t knowingly destroy innocent lives. Just so you know, my role overseas was more of an advisory capacity, but I flew relief and medical aid missions. Wherever they needed me, I’d go.”

His words reminded her of what she’d told him about nursing school. Whatever it takes. “In other words, you put your faith in action.”

Sam locked gazes with her. “Yes, you could say that. I tried, anyway.”

“That’s all any of us can do. I’m sure you did your best. From what I’ve seen, you always do.” Sarah tossed another pebble his way. “Your turn. Tell me why you like banking.”

Again, his chuckle stirred something inside her. “Call me weird, but I really like numbers. I like how they operate independently and how they fit together.”

“You’re right,” Sarah scoffed. “That
is
weird.”

“It’s more than numbers. I’m sure your beloved astronauts know a thing or two about numbers. They couldn’t go into space without a working knowledge of how to read those complicated controls and instruments or how to make scientific calculations.”

“I know that. I’m only teasing you.” She tossed a tuft of grass at him, a totally ineffective move.

“Take my interactions with our bank customers,” he said. “They’re not just account numbers. Charlotte Simms, for example. Did you know she trained for the Olympics in ice skating?”

Sarah almost choked on her incredulity. The woman was getting up in years and was nearly as round as she was tall. “She
what
?”

Sam yanked a few blades of grass from the ground and she watched as they filtered through his fingers. “Charlotte grew up in Minneapolis and trained six hours a day from the age of six. She passed the first few qualifying rounds but then fell off a horse and broke her ankle. End of Olympic dreams.”

“That’s sad.” Sarah crossed her arms beneath her head. This was nice, spending time with Sam. No pressures, no time constraints. Sharing their thoughts and ideas.

“In a way, yes,” Sam said. “But here’s where it gets good. She ended up marrying the doctor who set her broken ankle.”

Sarah gaped at him. “No kidding?”

“True story. She was sixteen when they met, he was twenty-two, and they married when she was of legal age in Minnesota.”

Six years between them, same as the age difference between her and Sam. “So, Charlotte freely volunteered this information to you?” Sarah shook her head. “I’ve known her my whole life and didn’t even know that. And don’t you dare say
you didn’t ask
. You can be very smug sometimes, you know.”

“Hey, cut me a break. I didn’t say a word.” He raised both hands in a gesture of innocence and those smile lines surfaced again. They could quickly become addictive, and she felt the irrational urge to trace them with her fingers. Sam was close enough for her to do that very thing, but it would be highly inappropriate.

You’re just friends. Sam doesn’t look at you that
way.

Jumping to her feet, Sarah brushed the pebbles and grass off her shorts and sleeveless blouse. “It’s getting late, and I need to get home.”

“Let me walk with you.”

Sarah hesitated. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t. People might talk.” At first she suspected he might challenge her, but then he nodded.

“You’re one of the most independent, confident girls I know. Besides the fact that you were born and raised in Rockbridge and everyone here adores you, do you honestly care what people might say?”

She raised her chin. “You think you have me all figured out, do you?”

“I’m not sure anyone could ever completely figure you out, Sarah, but I’m willing to try. Like it or not, I’ll be fifty yards behind you. All the way home.”

“Fair enough, but it makes a girl a bit uncomfortable knowing a man’s. . .” Sarah bit her lip and lowered her gaze. Could she dig the hole for herself any deeper? “Never mind.” Talk about inarticulate. Her backside wasn’t her best view, and she hated knowing he’d be right behind her. Why was she even thinking this way? Why should it matter?

Sam leaned close. “Strictly for protection if that makes you feel any better.”

She grunted. “Fine. Whatever you do, don’t pat my head like I’m a little girl. I hardly think the Big Bad Wolf is lurking around Thornton’s Creek today. I’m sure it’s safe enough.”

“Suit yourself, Squirt.” When he reached out his hand, she ducked. She’d led herself right into that one.

“Want me to go first?” Crouching down like a runner about to begin the race, Sam prepared to launch.

“Oh, come on.” Getting a head start, Sarah sprinted as fast as she could with the rich sound of Sam’s laughter following her all the way home. She couldn’t help but smile.

I could get used to this.

Chapter 10
♥

Two Weeks Later

“Mr. Lewis, can you please come over here?”

Sam glanced up from where he stood beside Merle. Since his dad was in a meeting, he knew his assistant’s call was meant for him. With a nod, he raised his hand to indicate he’d be with her momentarily. Looking across the bank lobby to where Gina talked with an older gentleman, his gaze met the wounded eyes of Martin Benson.

Sam turned back to Merle. “Merle, if you could finish washing the windows and then take a look at the fan in my dad’s office, that should do it for today.”

“I appreciate you giving me a job, Captain Lewis.” Merle shuffled his feet. “Means a lot that you’d show that kind of faith in me. I didn’t ever properly thank you, and I’m going to do a good job for you.”

Sam nodded. “You’re welcome. Let me know if you have any questions or need anything.” Merle nodded and turned back to his work.

“Mr. Benson.” Sam strode across the bank lobby and extended his hand to the other man. “How are you today, sir?”

“Captain Lewis.” Removing his hat, he clasped it against his chest and shook Sam’s hand with his free hand. “I’ve come on a personal business matter, and”—he nodded to Gina—“the receptionist said you’d be the one I need to see.”

“Of course. Miss Armstrong, if Larry Grainger calls or comes by, tell him I can meet with him in an hour.”

“Certainly, Mr. Lewis.”

Sam motioned to Mr. Benson. “Why don’t you come into my office? We can talk privately there.” He stepped aside and waited as Martin walked into the office. “What brings you here today?”

“First off,” Martin said, taking the chair opposite the desk, “I feel a little strange with the awkwardness between us.” He lowered his gaze and shifted in the chair.

“It doesn’t need to be awkward, Mr. Benson. I’m glad you’ve come to us for whatever you need to discuss.” Sensing he should say something more, Sam tried to capture the man’s direct eye contact. “Marty was a good man, and I’m very sorry for your loss.” Why hadn’t he ever said those words to this man or his wife face-to-face? Fresh regret sliced through him.

A full-time fireman, Marty had perished while rescuing an older man from his burning home a couple of years ago. Mr. Benson’s only child—his son and namesake—had been in Sam’s graduating class, all twenty of them, at Rockbridge High. Their families attended the same church, and he’d played football with Marty. Martin, Sr. and Doris were good, God-fearing people who’d been dealt perhaps the worst blow parents could ever endure. Marty had been a bit of a rebel, but he’d loved the Lord. No parents should ever bury their child, but Sam hoped this man and his wife took comfort in knowing their son was with the Lord.

“Marty was as brave of a man as I’ve ever known. He died a hero,” Sam said. “You have every reason to be very proud of him. Your son brought great honor to your family and this town.”

Moisture glistened in Martin’s dark eyes. “Those are kind words, son. I don’t think Audrey will ever get over the loss. Our boy was everything to her. When he died, her dream of becoming a grandma died, too. She’d hoped and prayed for grandbabies to spoil someday.”

Sam hesitated, at a momentary loss for words. He hadn’t thought of that angle, but the possibility of never having grandbabies to spoil and love would be a huge loss to his own mother.

Lord, give me your words.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we lost my younger sister, Rachel, in a car accident. Shortly before we moved to Rockbridge from San Antonio. My parents and I can understand your deep pain, Mr. Benson.” He made a mental note to mention this conversation to his father later.

Martin held his gaze as he slowly nodded. “I’d heard something about that. I’m sorry.”

Sam nodded. “Rachel was killed within a mile of our home, and the site where she died proved too much for my mom to see every day. Dad felt she needed a change of scenery to help her heal. Living in Rockbridge has been good for us in many ways.”

His throat clogged as Sam recalled Rachel’s pretty face. She’d been such a sweet, loving kid. The mental image of his little sister made Sam smile, a reminder of how God in His mercy also brought blessings and joy to replace the once overwhelming sadness. “I remember Marty as a guy who helped anyone who needed it. I saw him walking around town a lot with Harold Raines.”

Martin sat up straighter and visibly brightened. “They walked every day so Harold could get out of the house and exercise. His bad hip was always acting up and walking was good to help ease out the kinks. Marty made Harold laugh, and vice versa. They shared a love of old movies and could talk for hours over a chess game.”

Sam’s smile grew wider, thankful he could remind the other man of fond memories. “As I recall, Marty’s the person who introduced Harold to Betty.” He’d seen the lovebirds around town, holding hands and sharing food across a table at Perry’s Diner. Both in their late sixties, Harold and Betty had married the year before his return to Rockbridge.

Martin raised his chin. “You’re a good man like your father. When you first came back, I wasn’t at the parade. To make it worse, I haven’t said anything to you since. I should have taken the opportunity to thank you for your service to our country, Captain Lewis. That’s why I thought it might be awkward between us. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I didn’t support you. I’m glad you’re home safe, and I know your mama and dad are proud of you, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand and cheer. Don’t take it personal. Like it was for your mother going by the place where your sister died, I imagine. I didn’t know if I could take seeing you because it reminded me of. . .”—he hesitated—“well, it reminded me all over again of what—of the boy—I’d lost.”

What a humbling yet admirable admission. The pain in the older man’s eyes, the lines etched around his eyes and mouth, made Sam’s stomach clench. Coming to the bank was intimidating to a lot of people, especially in a town the size of Rockbridge where everyone seemed to know their neighbors’ business.

“I understand.” Sam cleared his throat. “Now, why don’t you tell me how I can help you?”

Sam sat back in his chair, prepared to listen. If financially feasible, he intended to help this man.

♥

“You’ll never guess who’s working at Rockbridge Savings & Loan.”

Sarah quirked a brow as she put Debbie’s chocolate shake on the counter. “I have no idea.” She held her breath, hoping she wouldn’t hear the name Kathy Parker, Sylvie Foster or any number of pretty girls vying for Sam’s attention. She wasn’t blind, and she’d noticed the way the girls made fools of themselves around him. You’d think they’d never seen a handsome man up close and personal before. Okay, so maybe she was jealous.

“Try Merle Smithers and you’d be right.” Debbie circled the pink striped straw in her shake a few times. “You ask me, your friend Sam had a lot of to do with Merle getting the job.”

Sarah’s brows rose. “Really? That’s wonderful. What’s he doing at the bank, do you know?”

“Maintenance and odd jobs, I think. I was in the bank making a deposit the other day and saw him. Merle’s not half bad-looking when he’s cleaned up. I mean, he had on some kind of ugly dark jumpsuit or uniform, but his hair was combed and he seemed to be in full possession of his faculties.”

“Meaning he was sober,” Sarah said. She glanced at the front door when she heard the bell. A young colored couple—she estimated both to be no older than their early-to-mid twenties—stood inside the front door. Conversations ceased and the clink of dishes and silverware halted with an almost shocking abruptness. They didn’t see many minorities in Rockbridge apart from a few Hispanic couples who’d settled on the outskirts of town.

Without a second thought, Sarah stepped forward with a welcoming smile. She hoped everyone would behave, resume eating, and mind their own business.

“Please come in and have a seat,” she said. “Would you like a booth or a table?”

“A table by the window, if that’s okay.” The man had removed his hat and now held it between his hands. The woman gave Sarah a tremulous smile but avoided meeting her gaze. Sarah noted their plain, narrow wedding bands.

“Of course.” She ushered them to a table halfway down the aisle next to the window. “Is this okay?”

“It will be fine. Thank you, miss,” he said.

“I’m Sarah. I’ll go get your menus. Would you like something to drink?”

“Coffee for me, please.” He looked across the table. “You too, honey?” The woman—not more than a girl, really—silently nodded. Poor girl appeared intimidated and sat romrod straight in her chair, holding onto her purse like it was an anchor, probably wishing she could disappear. Sarah sensed the stares from other patrons boring into her back. She wished she could give them all a tongue lashing like the grade school principal, Mrs. Darden, used to do whenever the kids were disrespectful or unruly.

“Sanka or regular?”

“Regular is fine,” the man said.

“I’ll get it right away. The sugar shaker is on the table if you need it,” Sarah said, giving the woman what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Would you like cream for your coffee?”

“That’s not necessary, thank you.” Again, it was the man who’d spoken.

As she walked away from their table, Sarah made casual comments to some of the other customers to generate conversation. Making her way back to the counter, she mentally willed a couple of potential troublemakers to be on good behavior and not cause trouble.

“Well, if it ain’t Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King. Come here to spread equality in Rockbridge.” That growled comment came from old Wally Simms from a counter seat behind her as Sarah poured coffee into mugs for the couple.

Lord, help me.
Why did the color of someone’s skin have to be such a big deal?

Turning, Sarah narrowed her gaze. “What did you say, Wally? You’d better speak a little louder because I don’t think everyone in the diner heard you.”

Wally ran a hand over his unruly beard and eyed her with suspicion. Opening his mouth to speak, he then closed it. She bore her gaze into him, silently daring him. He remained silent. A momentary reprieve, most likely.

After delivering the coffee and menus to the couple, Sarah paused behind Wally, speaking for his ears only. “I’m going into the kitchen to get an order. If I hear anything unkind come out of your mouth, you will be asked to leave.”

Wally swung around on the counter seat to face her. “Who died and made you the boss, girl? Perry Sellers and I have known each other for years. You ain’t gonna tell me what to believe. Like it or not, it’s a free country. I got the right to think or say whatever I want, and I’m sayin’ their kind ain’t got no right to be in here.”

Moving between the counter seats, thankful no one was sitting close to Wally, Sarah leaned close. “Perry hasn’t owned the diner for years. Myrna does, and I know I speak for her. That young couple has every right to be in here, same as you, because it
is
a free country, and I intend to serve them the same as you, Perry, Harold and Betty, my parents, Donald Marcum, Joseph Lewis, Cora Blanton or anyone else who comes in here for a good meal.”

“They got the wrong color skin, or are you color blind?” Wally hissed. “They’ll cause trouble.”

Sarah bit back a sigh of frustration and sent up a silent prayer for words that wouldn’t come across as unkind but would convey how judgmental Wally was acting. The older man wasn’t all bad, but like now, he never hesitated to speak his mind.

“You know what, Wally?” She made sure to keep her voice low. “God doesn’t look at the outside of us as much as what’s on the inside. Maybe you should take a peek at what color
you
are inside. I’d venture to guess it might be a whole lot darker than the color of their skin.” Pulling out her order pad, she tore off Wally’s ticket, slapped it on the counter and pushed it toward him.

Myrna eyed her with a quirked brow after Sarah shoved the swinging door and walked into the kitchen. She raised her hand. “I know. Please don’t say anything.” Myrna had been nearby during the exchange with Wally. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be fired. Heaven knows, through the years, she’d given Myrna a few reasons to sack her, usually something to do with shooting off her mouth. Although she believed in defending those who wouldn’t—or couldn’t—defend themselves, she’d yet to learn the lesson that she couldn’t singlehandedly save the world. But she’d do her part if she died trying.

“Relax. I was just going to say good job,” Myrna said. The lines around her eyes crinkled, and she blew a strand of gray hair away from her face. “Wally’s an old coot. About time someone put him in his place. I’ve never known anyone—much less a lady—as fearless as you, Sarah. Well done.”

“Yep. If anyone can do it, it’s our Jelly Bean.” Jimmy nodded to her from the grill. “I’ve been wantin’ to tell Simms off for a couple of decades myself.” He placed a grilled cheese on one platter, a tuna melt on the other, and handed them both to Myrna.

Myrna laughed. “Maybe you should leave the kitchen every five years, Jimmy. And you,” she said to Sarah as she added fries, “have the face of an angel but the fierce conviction of one of those lawyers. You’re smart as a whip, state your case, and people listen.” Myrna handed the plates to Sarah. “No wonder you like that Atticus Finch character so much.”

She’d never thought about her fascination with the fictional lawyer in
To Kill A Mockingbird
from that angle before. Spearing pickles from the large jar on the counter, Sarah added three each to the platters. The Morrisons liked their pickles and considered them a food group all their own.