A Stranger's Wish (19 page)

I smiled. “I don’t think my high-tops would go with a caped dress, Mom.”

She sighed with relief.

“Then why?” Dad asked. “Explain it so we can understand, Kristina, because right now it seems like one of your more foolish actions.”

Like giving up the law for putting colored water on paper.

I hesitated. After Todd’s reaction when I tried to explain my reasons, ones that seemed eminently sound and sensible to me, I was wary. “I wanted to soak up the atmosphere. I wanted to experience the ambiance. I wanted to
paint
.”

Dad looked at Mom. “Atmosphere. Ambiance.”

She nodded. “Paint.”

All at once I was angry. I thought the Amish community was wrong to deny someone like Mary the opportunity to use the talent God had given her, but she chose to put herself under their oversight and accept their ruling. However, I wasn’t Amish. I was an independent woman free to make my own choices, and I wasn’t going to let my parents make me feel the way the church made Mary feel.

I jumped off the desk and stood facing them, feet planted and hands on hips.

“Enough,” I said. “Enough! So you wouldn’t choose to live on an Amish farm—”

“You’ve got that right,” my father muttered.

“—but I do. It is neither wrong nor illegal. It’s neither immoral nor unethical. It’s merely a choice. So you wouldn’t live here. Fine. Am I mocking you because you think differently than I? No, I am not. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mock me.” I felt tears gather in my eyes and blinked furiously. “Just accept I’m your friendly, loving cuckoo and let your dreams and your wishes for me
go
.”

Mom started to protest, but I held up my hand to stop her.

“I hate that I was afraid to tell you what I was doing. I knew you’d think me an idiot. I knew you’d roll your eyes and look at each other with that poor-child look. I knew I’d end up feeling sick to my stomach because I’d failed you
again
. And all because I just want to be the me God made me!”

Mom and Dad stared, aghast at my outburst. I was pretty aghast myself. This was so unlike me. I let my hands fall to my sides and took a deep breath. Silence ricocheted about the room, deafening us all.

I walked to the window and stared blindly out while I tried to gather myself. I had no idea what to say, and for once Mom and Dad seemed struck as dumb as I.

I loved my parents. I respected them. They loved me. I didn’t doubt that. I did doubt their respect, and I knew there was little understanding. So what should I do? Yell every time I saw them? Fracture our relationship further? I cleared my throat self-consciously and turned.

“Come on. Let’s go get some lunch, and then I’ll take you to the farmers’ market.”

“Right, right,” Dad said, standing.

“Wonderful,” Mom said with a strained smile.

And we all clomped down the stairs, happy to leave my strong words behind.

Our lunch was polite and genial…but when they left to go home, nothing was resolved. No surprise there. In their minds I would be forever their little cuckoo.

13

C
larke walked down to pick me up just as he’d said. He looked great in jeans and a long-sleeved deep green T-shirt. I’d traded my walking shorts for jeans, but I had on my Chucks, not just because he’d asked me to wear them, but because they matched my top. Or so I told myself.

We walked up the road, enjoying the golden glow of the October evening. The first subtle signs of autumn were evident in the wild bittersweet berries beginning to pop their golden jackets to reveal their orange undershirts and in the crimson leaves now dressing the dogwood and the fire bushes. We stopped by a patch of jewelweed, the yellow flowers cheery and the seedpods fat and ready to burst. We touched the seedpods with gentle fingers and, laughing, watched them explode, curling on themselves and shooting seeds everywhere.

Somehow, by the time we got to Aunt Betty Lou’s, we were holding hands. I found his touch to be unexpectedly intoxicating. It was all I could do not to burst into song.

Dinner was delicious, the company more than pleasant, and Clarke attentive. Not look-at-my-girl-isn’t-she-wonderful attentive, but still enough to make the evening a delight.

When we left to walk back to the Zooks’, I discovered another not-too-subtle sign of fall. It was chilly, and I had neglected to bring a sweater. When I shivered, Clarke couldn’t help but notice.

“Let’s get you a jacket,” he said and led the way to the garage.

“You’ve got a jacket in your car?”

He shook his head and pointed. “My apartment’s over the garage.”

We climbed the outside stairs and he held the door for me. I looked with interest around his living room as he went to get something for me to slip on.

Neat but beige-bland. A man’s apartment.

Until I turned and my breath was taken away.

Clarke, coming into the room with a navy fleece jacket in his hands, heard my audible gasp and came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders.

“I thought that seemed like the best place for it. Do you think it looks okay hanging over the sofa?”

It was my painting, the one bright splash of color in the monochromatic room. In it the Victorian front porch held several fat white planters with geraniums and ivy tumbling from them. A pair of black-and-white cats lay sleeping on a wicker chair and a third, a fat, fluffy gray, sat on the top step grooming himself. A red door with a large brass knocker blazed in the otherwise subtle background.

I couldn’t contain my delight. “I can’t believe it! You shouldn’t have! But I’m so glad you did!”

“We said we’d each help the other along by buying the other’s work. I only kept our bargain. After all, you already had my book.”

“Well, sure. And I bought another one. But I know how much this picture cost! There’s no comparison.”

He shrugged. “You can always go buy lots more of the book and even us out. I certainly won’t stop you.”

I spun around and hugged him. “Thank you so much! You don’t know what a wonderful gift you’ve given me.”

“Will you hug me like this every time I give you a present?” he asked as he hugged me back. “Or is this only for paintings?”

Anytime, I wanted to say. Anytime at all, gift or no gift.

Instead I unwrapped my arms and turned back to look at the painting. It was just too comfortable with my cheek against his chest. Too intimate. But he kept his arms around me, and I leaned back against him, liking very much the sturdy feel of him behind me.

“Do you know, I’ve never seen my work on anyone’s wall unless I’ve given the thing as a gift,” I said.

“You will. Just give it time. I’m not an art expert by any means—”

“But you know what you like?” I finished.

He laughed. “Well, I do, but I was going to say that you have a very fine sense of color and composition. People will find your work easy to live with.”

I sighed with pleasure, and he kissed the top of my head.

He gave me the navy jacket to slip on for the walk home. It fit somewhat—after we rolled the sleeves up a few times.

“You’re a skinny little thing,” he said as he pulled on his own jacket.

“Is that good or bad? Not that I can do much about it either way.”

His look from under those dark brows made my breath catch in my throat. “I think you’re wonderful just the way you are, skinny, colorful, and charming. I can’t imagine you being any more lovely.”

Wow!

“So,” I said, his shoulder bumping mine as we walked, “how did you come to be involved in counseling?”

“It was no great moment of calling, of God’s voice in my ear. It was more a matter of getting a sense of what the Word of God can do for a person and wanting others to find the same help there I did. Look.” He pointed skyward. “There’s the Big Dipper and Orion.”

Not to be outdone, I nodded and said, “And there’s the Pleiades, the seven sisters, though you can only see six stars. The seventh seems to have disappeared. The seven daughters of Atlas, put there by Zeus.”

Clarke stopped and looked at me.

I grinned. “Don’t be impressed. I’ve just blown all my knowledge of things astronomical. I had to do a report once in high school on the constellation Taurus, which the Pleiades are part of.”

“Whew,” he said as we resumed walking. “You had me worried. I thought you might be an astronomer as well as an artist.”

I laughed at the absurdity of the idea of me and anything scientific.

“Tell me more about how you became a counselor,” I said. “I want to know what made you find such help in the Bible that it led to your life’s calling.”

He glanced at the sky again. “I already told you about the two years Mom and Dad spent in South America.”

I nodded.

“What I didn’t mention was how betrayed I felt when they decided to go. It was my junior and senior years in high school, and I took the move as a personal affront and a deliberate decision to make me miserable. I saw them as ruining my life, and I wasn’t the least bit hesitant in telling them.” He looked at me. “It’s still embarrassing to realize how selfish and petty I was.”

I shrugged. “It’s the age. So what happened?”

“I refused to go with them, threatening to run away or join the army, both of which would take me away from home if I’d thought about it, which I didn’t. I even went by the army recruiting office and collected information, which I left lying around so they could see how serious I was.”

I tried to imagine him at sixteen or seventeen, those dark brows in a perpetual frown. At the same age I was Little Miss Compliant, only half living in my desire to please Mom and Dad. Sometimes it was definitely better to meet someone when you and he were older and some of the worst wrinkles had been ironed from sin-crumpled personalities.

“Obviously, my parents wouldn’t leave me in Los Angeles alone, though I was convinced I could take care of myself—as long as they gave me a good-sized allowance, of course. Instead they gave me the option of living with Aunt Betty Lou and Uncle Bud, something I hardly saw as an improvement over Brazil. I chose here because at least I knew the language.”

I thought of atmosphere, ambience, and painting, my rationale for choosing here. “Language sounds reasonable to me.”

He brushed at a stray mosquito and continued. “At first I was so mad at God I must have been a festering thorn in everyone’s side, but my aunt and uncle were gracious. I found myself going to church and youth group regularly because in their house there wasn’t a choice. Gradually, God and His love broke through my hurt, and I committed my life to Him. After all, who else cared about me?”

Probably every girl in his class. “You poor boy.”

“I know. Like I said, selfish. When I thought about Mom and Dad, it was, ‘Well, God, at least
You
love me.’ Then one morning I was reading my Bible and found the verse where Paul says he has learned to be content whatever the circumstances. In one of those ‘aha’ moments I realized I had to choose. I could stay mad at my father, who in my mind put a career move before me, and my mother, who supported that move, or I could learn to be content in quiet, provincial Bird-in-Hand, hardly the exciting place Los Angeles had been.” He grinned at me. “I decided to stop fighting things and try to learn to be content. It didn’t happen right away, but by my senior year, I was happy here in Bird-in-Hand.”

“And that change happened from reading the Bible?”

“It’s full of practical advice that, when taken seriously, makes a huge difference. That’s what I want to show people.”

We climbed the front stairs at the Zooks’ and turned to face each other.

“So you’re more like an engineer, big on application, than a scientist, who’s big on theory,” I said as I slipped out of his jacket and handed it to him.

He laughed. “I never heard anyone put it that way before, but that’s about it. A theological engineer.”

Then he cupped the side of my face. “Good night, Kristie. I couldn’t have asked for a better evening.”

I floated upstairs.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized Clarke hadn’t said anything about a repeat date.
Well, rats.
That brought me down to earth fast enough and filled me with regret. And the two weeks that passed without a call or a visit tempered my disappointment with a needed dash of reality. One evening did not a deathless romance make.

Well, if I wasn’t seeing the man, I could at least read his book. Somehow that made me feel closer to him, especially when I read things that sounded like a continuation of our conversation.

Learning contentment is often coming to the realization that some circumstances are changeable and some aren’t. Contentment is partially found in learning to tell the difference.

I laughed as I read his account of his parents going to Brazil and his anger and eventual learning of contentment.

Part of what allowed me to be happy was realizing that I had two choices. I could go to Brazil or I could stay in Bird-in-Hand. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t stay in Los Angeles. I was not given that option. Of course, I could have run away or joined the army, but that’s called cutting off your nose to spite your face. I might have been young and foolish, but I knew neither was a true choice for me.