Samantha's Gift (6 page)

“We all made mistakes,” Rachel said kindly. “How are you feeling today?”

“Much better, thanks.” She swiped at her damp brow. “It's gonna be another hot one, though.”

“I know. I've been leaving the air conditioner on at home so my poor animals don't cook while I'm gone.”

“You still got that cute little wiener dog?”

“Schatzy? Yes. It's been two years since I brought him home, and Muffin is still sulking. I don't think she'll ever get over having a dog living under the same roof.”

“Reminds me of some of the kids I've looked after over the years.” Hannah glanced toward Samantha. “This one's sweeter than most, but she's got some strange ideas, that's a fact.”

“Oh? Like what?” Stepping closer for privacy Rachel cocked an ear toward the veteran foster mother. Hannah's instincts had been honed over the years and whatever observations she made were bound to be useful.

“She sees things that ain't there,” the older woman whispered. “I can't tell whether she's just got a good imagination or if she really believes it.”

“Like what?”

“She says she can see guardian angels.”

Angels? Again?
“I know,” Rachel said. “She told one of the other kids there were angels in the classroom. His mother got mad at me because she thought I was teaching spiritual ideology. Anything else?”

“Not that I know of. She's only been at my place for a few days. If I figure out any more, I'll let you know.”

“I appreciate that. And if I learn anything that I think will help you, I'll do the same.”

Hannah patted Rachel on the shoulder. “You're a good girl. I knew from the time you was little you'd make a wonderful teacher. Always readin' to the other kids and makin' sure they could write their names. Like it came natural to you.”

“I guess it did.” She surveyed her busy classroom with a blissful smile. “There's nothing I'd rather do. No place I'd rather be than here.”

“I can tell. Well, I'd best be goin'. Now that I know what size our little darlin' wears, I can pick her up a few new outfits on my way home. Just happened to have that blue one she's wearin' in a box of extra clothes. I try to keep nice things on hand. You never know when a new kid'll show up or how long they'll stay, and I can't always get out to go shopping.” She chuckled under her breath. “Had to throw those old shorts of hers into the wash machine to get her to stop wearin' 'em. She said her mama gave 'em to her. I
didn't think I was ever goin' to get her out of 'em. Not even to sleep.”

“Well, one step at a time,” Rachel said as Hannah started for the door. “Will you be coming to get her this afternoon, or shall I put her on the bus?”

The older woman held up one hand, fingers splayed. “The bus. Number
five.
”

Laughing, Rachel nodded. “I don't think I'll ever forget that. I imagine I'll be having flashbacks about yesterday afternoon for years to come!”

Hannah paused at the open door and gestured with a jerk of her head. “Speak of the devil. Look who's here.”

It wasn't necessary for Rachel to be told that Sean was nearby. Her thudding pulse had informed her of his presence the moment she'd heard him call a greeting to someone else on the playground. That, coupled with the judgmental expression on Hannah's face, was plenty of forewarning.

“He works here,” Rachel alibied, fighting to keep her tone even. “I'd expect him to be on campus.”

“More's the pity. Well, take care. Tell your mama hello for me when you see her, y'hear.”

“Of course.”

Though Rachel was bidding the foster mother goodbye, her attention was riveted on Sean. He seemed especially chipper today. There was a spring in his step, a twinkle in his eyes. He looked happy. Too happy. It was disconcerting.

When he got closer and his focus narrowed on Rachel, she chanced a cautious smile. “Good morning.”

“It certainly is,” Sean said brightly. “I saw Mrs. Brody bringing Samantha. Is everything okay?”

“Fine. She's fine. None the worse for yesterday's trauma.”

“Who? Samantha or Mrs. Brody?”

Rachel laughed. “Actually, both of them. Hannah'd been having some trouble with her health but she's better today. And Samantha is wearing a pretty new dress, so I'm sure she feels better, too.”

“That's great. Well, guess I'd better get to work.” Sean turned to go, then paused. “Oh, by the way, I stopped at Slocum's to gas up my car this morning and had a nice, informative talk with your friend, Craig. You'll be glad to hear he's not going to murder me, after all.”

No, but I may.
“What
kind
of nice talk?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just assured him I wasn't dating you. He seemed pretty relieved. The guy's still nuts about you. Maybe you should give him another chance.”

Watching her expression harden, her lips press into a thin line, Sean was beginning to get the idea she was anything but pleased he'd made peace with Craig. He leaned to one side as if studying her pearl earrings.

“Oops.”

“Oops, what?” Rachel absently fingered each stud and found nothing amiss.

“I think I see steam coming out of your ears.”

“That's highly possible.”

“Then, this must be my cue to exit. See ya!”

“Not if I see you first,” Rachel muttered. To her surprise and chagrin, Sean grinned back at her.

“I should warn you. I have excellent hearing,” he said.

Embarrassed, Rachel felt warmth infuse her cheeks. “Just as long as you can't read my thoughts.”

“Would I like what I learned if I could?”

“That would depend upon whether you'd minded your own business lately,” she told him. “As they say around here, ‘If it ain't broke, don't fix it.”'

Sean continued to grin at her. “Ah, another bit of folk wisdom for my files. I'll make a special note of it. Thanks.”

She would have loved to come up with a witty retort to put him in his place and give herself the last word. Unfortunately, no insightful gems popped into her head.

Slamming the classroom door she leaned her back against it and fought to steady her ragged breathing. What was it about that particular man that set her nerves on edge? He'd been nothing but pleasant to her—even helpful—yet half the time she found herself snapping at him as if they were sworn enemies. Life was too short, too precious, for that kind of at
titude toward anyone. Besides, it wasn't her nature to be shrewish. If anything, she was too easygoing, too accepting of those who marched to a different drummer.

Some of that attitude she'd learned by becoming involved in a local church that welcomed everyone equally, no matter what their social or financial status. And some had come directly from her late father. In Rachel's opinion, any man who could put up with Martha Woodward for over thirty years was a candidate for sainthood.

“I still miss you, Daddy,” she whispered, looking wistfully at the children milling around in the classroom.
And if I miss you, how much worse must it be for a child like Samantha? She lost both parents at once. No wonder she feels the need to imagine angels watching over her.

Rachel blinked back unshed tears of empathy. More than once she'd wished for a similarly comforting vision. Like the day her stalwart father had passed away unexpectedly when she was hardly more than a child herself.

Or the night Craig had informed her he wasn't going to marry any woman who couldn't promise to give him the sons he needed to carry on his family name.

C
ompleting that first week of the fall semester left Rachel so drained she almost didn't get up early enough on Sunday to make it to church. If she hadn't laid out a favorite jacketed sundress the night before, she might not have managed to pull herself together in time.

Sunday school was nearly over when she dashed through the door to the main sanctuary and plopped down in a rear pew to wait for the morning worship service to begin. She'd barely caught her breath when her mother joined her, accompanied by Hannah Brody.

“Mom! Hi.” Rachel gave Martha a brief hug, then glanced past her to speak to the other woman, too. “Good morning, Hannah. How are you?”

“Fair to middlin',” the heavy-set woman said.

“Did you bring Samantha with you?”

“Sure did. If there ever was a kid needed Sunday school teachin', it's that one. She's 'bout to drive me crazy.”

Rachel leaned closer and took care to speak very softly. “Is she still seeing things?”

“That, and more,” the foster mother said. “Now she's sayin' that you and that Bates fella are angels, too! I've never seen the like.”

“Me? An angel?” Rachel snickered. “Not hardly.”

Martha was smiling, too. “I can vouch for that.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime. Want me to have a talk with the little girl and tell her what a trial it's been to raise you?”

“I think we can skip that much frankness,” Rachel said with mock cynicism. “Teachers are supposed to set good examples. I wouldn't want you to destroy my positive image.”

“Of course not.” Martha reached over and patted her daughter's hand. “Hannah tells me that that poor baby has been through some heavy trials. I suppose it's natural for her to latch on to you. I'm glad you can be there for her.”

Martha's sentence had trailed off, leaving Rachel wondering what had remained unspoken. She prodded, “But…?”

Sighing, Martha stared off at the distant altar as if making a decision, then answered. “But, you need to
remember that you can't always be a part of her life the way you are now. It's not wise to let yourself get too attached to any of your students, honey. I've seen you do it before. Letting them go when the year is over is always a lot harder on you than it is on them.”

“If I didn't have compassion, I wouldn't be nearly as good at my job.”

“Maybe so. And maybe the opposite is true.” Martha took her daughter's hand. “You also need to be fair. Can you really do that if you're overly fond of one or two of your students?”

“I'm not overly fond of anybody,” Rachel argued. “My whole class is important to me. Teaching is my life. I wish I could make you understand that.”

“I do understand it,” Martha replied. “I felt the same way when I was your age. My job at the county clerk's office gave me a wonderful sense of accomplishment—and more money than I'd ever had growing up. Looking back, I'm still thankful I worked there, but not for those same reasons.”

“I know. That's where you met Dad.” Rachel had heard many versions of the story and they all led to the same conclusion.

“Yes. But that isn't what I'm trying to say this time. Things change. People change. Chances for added happiness come and go. If I hadn't met your father, I wouldn't have you.” She smiled wistfully. “And I wouldn't give
that
up for anything. Until
you've had children of your own, you'll never understand how special you are to me.”

Children, again.
Rachel's heart twisted. Buried disappointment gave her voice a sharper edge than she'd intended when she said, “If you wanted grandchildren, Mom, you should have let me have the brothers and sisters I kept asking for.” The distressed look that suddenly came over Martha was a surprise.

Glancing beyond her mother, Rachel saw Hannah give a barely perceptible shake of unspoken warning.

Thoughtful, Rachel sat back in the pew, eyes forward and hands folded in her lap as if the service had already begun.
How odd.
In all the times she and Martha had argued the merits of motherhood, she'd never seen her get teary-eyed before. Was it possible she'd wanted more than one child?

Was it possible she'd been unable to conceive a second time? Or a first? Rachel's breath caught.
Was I adopted?

Her head snapped around and she stared at Martha. No, that wasn't the problem. It couldn't be. She and her mother looked enough alike to be sisters, taking into account their age difference. So why was her mom suddenly acting upset? Too bad this wasn't the right time or place to ask.

Resigned to wonder, at least for the present, Rachel glanced at her watch, then smiled at the women beside her. “It's getting late. I think I'll wander down the hall toward the Sunday school rooms and pick up
Samantha so she doesn't get lost in the rush. Be back in a flash.”

Rather than give anyone a chance to object, she quickly got to her feet. The sanctuary was filling up, as usual, and there was a hum of muted conversation as families milled around in the aisles, searching for enough unoccupied space so they could all sit together.

Being short, Rachel couldn't see past the nearest parishioners. She smiled, offered an all-inclusive “Excuse me,” and stepped out into the crowded center aisle.

Someone jostled her. Touched her arm from behind. Her first thought was that Sean Bates had changed his mind and come to church, after all! Excited in spite of herself, she turned and looked up with an expectant, jubilant smile.

The smile quickly faded. Standing there, grinning down at her like a sated cat with bird feathers still clinging to its whiskers, was Craig Slocum.

 

Rachel was deeply grateful that her concern for Samantha had provided a ready-made excuse to gracefully escape from Craig. His smug expression had instantly made her so furious she doubted she'd have been able to come up with anything else socially acceptable.

By the time she reached the kindergarten Sunday school room she'd pulled herself together. Most of
the children had already left. She peered in the open door. Samantha had stayed behind and was helping the teacher straighten the chairs.

“Hi,” Rachel said, smiling.

Samantha's eyes widened. She squealed, “Miss Rachel!” forgot everything else and raced across the room.

Rachel bent down to welcome the child and was immediately caught in a possessive embrace. Samantha's thin arms wound around her neck and she clung as if she planned never to let go.

“I'm glad to see you, too,” Rachel said. She straightened with the little girl in her arms and balanced the extra weight on one hip. “Did you like Sunday school?”

“Uh-huh. How come you're not my teacher?”

“I am. In regular school. Don't you want me to have a little time off?”

“I guess so.” Samantha's eyes remained bright and curious. “Is this where you live?”

“At church?” Rachel laughed softly, her tone gentle. She was used to having students ask her if she lived at the school because that was where she was every time they saw her, but she'd never been asked if she lived at the church. “No, honey. I live in a regular house. Why?”

“Just wondered.”

“Oh.” Remembering Hannah's earlier mention of Samantha's angel fixation, Rachel assumed that might
be the underlying reason for the question. Since angels were spiritual beings, they might live in a church—it was a logical conclusion for a five-year-old.

“Would you like Mrs. Brody to bring you to see my house someday? I have a dog, Schatzy, you could play with.”

“You have a dog? Really?”

“Yes. And a cat. Muffin. But she's pretty old so she isn't nearly as much fun. She gets kind of grumpy sometimes.”

“Mrs. Brody is old, too.”

Amused, Rachel followed the childish reasoning. “And grumpy?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, I know she doesn't mean to be.”

“I wish I could come live with you,” Samantha said. Her grasp on Rachel's neck tightened.

“I'm afraid that's impossible. If I took my whole class home with me, poor Schatzy would go crazy. Besides, you see me in school every day.”

“What if I have to move? I do that a lot, since…”

“I know, honey,” Rachel said, gently stroking her back to comfort her. “Don't worry, okay? Everything will be fine.”

“Promise?” There was a quaver in Samantha's voice.

“I promise.”

Rachel knew she had no business promising hap
piness to anyone, let alone a child caught in the midst of life's trials. Yet she couldn't help herself. Not in this case. There was no way to make a five-year-old understand that sometimes bad things happened for good reasons. Convincing grown-ups of that concept was hard enough, even though it had a basis in scripture.

“Humph,” Rachel mumbled as she made her way back to the pew where her mother and Hannah waited.
Grown-ups is right. I believe that God is in charge of my life, yet half the time I don't understand why bad things have to happen, so how can I hope to explain it to anyone else, let alone a child?

She looked up. Her steps slowed.
Speaking of bad things…
Apparently, it wasn't even safe to come to church anymore. Not with her mother and Mrs. Brody in the same congregation.

Assessing the situation, Rachel stared. Martha and Hannah had scooted farther into the pew to make more room. The problem was, Craig was now sitting with them and the only empty space left was right next to him! Well, it was going to
stay
empty.

Continuing to hold Samantha, she approached the others. “I've decided to take my little friend to Children's Church.”

“You're coming back, aren't you?” Martha asked with a sidelong glance toward Craig.

“Probably not,” Rachel said. “You know me. I get along with kids better than I do with adults. I'll
probably stay to help whoever is running the program this morning.”

That said, she spun around and headed back down the aisle toward the haven beyond the official sanctuary. There was nothing wrong with worshiping the Lord in the company of children, she assured herself. After all, their faith was pure, not all cluttered up with ritual and hidden agendas the way many adults' was.

“Mine included,” she murmured.

Samantha noticed. “What?”

“Nothing, honey.” Rachel gave her a parting hug, bent to set her back on her feet, then released her and took her hand. “Come on. You and I are going to a special church service just for kids.”

“I know,” the child told her, looking up with innocent adoration. “Angels always do.”

 

By the time the main worship service concluded and Rachel rejoined her mother, Craig was nowhere to be seen. She couldn't help showing relief.

“Here's your purse and your Bible,” Martha said, holding them out. “You left them here when you ran off.”

“I didn't run anywhere,” Rachel said. “I walked.”

“There's more ways to run than with your feet,” her mother argued. “Well, no matter. Craig's long gone. You missed your chance.”

“Thank heavens for small favors.”

Martha sighed. She eyed the petite blond girl cling
ing to her daughter's hand and gazing up at her lovingly. “Speaking of small, how did you two like Children's Church?”

“We had a lovely time, didn't we, Samantha?”

The child nodded.

“Hannah and I were talking about going out for Sunday dinner at Linden's Buffet,” Martha said. “Would you like to join us?”

“What about Hank?” Rachel asked. She knew Hannah's husband well enough to be sure he wouldn't appreciate being left out of any meal, let alone an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Went fishin' out to the lake,” Hannah said. “Serves him right for leavin' me home alone. 'Sides, he took every bit o' the chicken I'd fried. Didn't even leave me a cold ole drumstick.”

“In that case, I think you definitely deserve a restaurant meal,” Rachel said, smiling. “I'd love to come along.” She felt the child's grip on her hand tighten. “We both would. Wouldn't we, Samantha?”

“Okay,” Hannah said. “But she rides with me. That's the rules. I been at this fostering business long enough to know better'n to break 'em.” She held out a hand. “Come on, Sam. Let's go.”

The little girl hesitated. Rachel looked down kindly. “She's right, honey. She's responsible for you. I'll meet you at the restaurant. I promise.”

Instead of arguing as she'd expected, Samantha went straight to Hannah.
She trusts me,
Rachel
thought.
Completely. And because of that she also trusts Hannah.
That was a new development, a very welcome one.

Rachel's eyes met the foster mother's, paused, then went to Martha's. Understanding flowed among them. Everyone knew what had just happened. Rachel rejoiced. What better place than in church to learn that her efforts were being rewarded.

And what better place to give thanks. She blinked slowly, reverently, silently grateful for the clear confirmation that she was doing the right thing in regard to the lonely child. No matter what anyone said, she knew she'd been meant to help Samantha. And that was exactly what she intended to continue doing.

 

Linden's Buffet was located in a strip mall in East Serenity, well away from the older part of town. On Sunday mornings the restaurant opened at eleven to accommodate the after-church crowd, then closed early. With such a brief window of opportunity, the buffet was always swamped, especially right after noon.

Martha rode over with Hannah and Samantha. Rachel thought it would be best to reinforce the foster mother's authority by driving separately. Slowed by the only traffic light in the entire town and unable to find a parking place on her first circuit through the Linden's lot, she entered a few minutes after the others. They'd already been seated. Samantha and Han
nah were on one side of the table. Martha was alone on the other.