Retribution (8 page)

Trina's face morphed into mock horror. “You're our guest! You can't work!”

“I don't like being waited on.”

As Trina handed her a hot cup of coffee, Lillian forced herself to glance at the woman's belly—the bump that had sent her spinning out of control the night before. She swallowed hard. “When is your baby due?”

Trina patted her stomach. “Not for three more months. January 17
th
actually.”

“My birthday,” Bill mumbled, a hint of a smile cracking his taciturn expression.

“Do you know if it's a boy or girl?”

“Yes, it's a boy or a girl,” Ted said, grinning.

“That's Ted's favorite reply when someone asks,” Trina said. “We decided we didn't want to know until the birth.”

“You two decided,” Bill said. “No one asked my opinion.”

“It's
our
baby, Dad,” Trina placed a tile trivet decorated with a strutting rooster in the center of the table.

Bill stared at his coffee cup. “One day you may find that envelope missing.”

Trina turned to Lillian. “Our doctor wrote the gender of the baby on a piece of paper and sealed it in an envelope in case we changed our minds. Ted taped it to the mirror in our bedroom.”

“And now I have to stare at it every day.” Bill drained his cup. “You could at least have hidden the thing.”

“And just how many times in a day are you in my bedroom?” Trina scrunched her face in thought. “Hmm…none!”

Ted glanced at the timer on the stove. “I hope you're not in a hurry.”

“I don't have to be at the university until 9:00.”

Trina giggled. “I love the sound of your Ohio voice.”

“I was just thinking the same about you.” Lillian gazed at the pregnant woman who radiated warmth and acceptance. Under different circumstances, they could have been friends.

“We've only been in the south seven months, so we still sound northern,” Trina continued, “but wait until you hear Sandra's accent! She's a native, and our landlady. We're renting the house and running the bed and breakfast. Actually, the house partially belongs to us, but it's a long story.” Trina was definitely a morning person.

The timer buzzed.

Ted untangled his legs and grabbed the strawberry-patterned pot holders. “Mmm. Smells good.”

Trina placed wrapped sandwiches into a brown paper bag and moved the bag to the end of the counter before sitting beside her husband. “I love starting our day together,” she said, taking Ted's hand and reaching across the table for her father's. “These men are my whole life, and soon there will be the baby.”

“Let's pray,” Bill said.

Ted held out a hand to Lillian and Bill took the other. Not one to rely on emotions to get through a day, she wasn't sure what to do with this sudden immersion in warm-fuzzy. She had just met these people, and yet the goodwill they shared was feeding a hunger she didn't realize she had. A praying family. Just what she needed. Except…

Confusion swirled like a dust storm in her head. What was happening here? It went beyond forgiveness, but she couldn't define it. Trina and Ted seemed to care about her, and they didn't know her family lineage, her income, or her social position. She felt puny, having resented Trina for the blessing she carried in her womb.
God, please forgive me, but give me strength.

“Lord, bless this food, and the day before us. Help us to use our talents to honor You…and be with our guest. In Jesus's name, amen.”

Ted shoveled a hot bite of egg, potato, and sausage casserole into his mouth. “I love it when you fix this for breakfast.”

“I know, but you had better learn to make it.” She patted her protruding belly.

Bill, forking in mouthfuls of casserole, glanced at Trina. “I told you I'd take over kitchen duties for awhile after the baby's born.”

“Actually I was joking; neither of you have to cook. Sandra's already offered to help out.”

Who was this Sandra and why the covert looks? Maybe Bill disliked Sandra, too, or maybe he had an issue with women in general. Lillian sighed. It really didn't matter since this would be her last breakfast at the house.

“Sandra's going to be here a lot after the baby's born,” Trina mumbled behind a mouthful of egg.

“She practically lives here now,” Bill retorted.

“She does not,” Trina said, laughing. “Besides, you like it when she's here.”

Bill carried his dishes to the sink. “I've got to get to work. Rowdy students wait for no man. Welcome, Ms. Hunter. Have a good first day of work.”

“Dad teaches at the Darlington Career Center,” Trina explained as Bill grabbed the bulging sack off the counter and headed out the back door.

“I need to get busy too.” Ted kissed his wife on the cheek and cleared his part of the table. “I'll be in the workshop if you need me. And Miss Hunter, welcome to our Bed and Breakfast. I hope you'll be comfortable here.”

“Actually, I—” The back door slammed a second time, cutting off her words. She stared at the closed door. “Do they always leave like that?”

“Umm.” Trina wiped a piece of cheese from her lip. “Dad seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, but usually mornings move fast around here.”

Lillian picked at her casserole, knowing she had to share her intent to leave, and yet, for some reason, not feeling ready to sever the unexpected welcome.

“Would you like some orange juice?”

“I'm fine, thank you.”

“I hope you like the casserole.” Trina eyed the half-eaten serving on Lillian's plate. “I can fix muffins if you prefer. There's still time before you have to leave. The men, they like a heartier breakfast, but I often make something different for our guests. And since you're our only guest right now…”

“I'm generally not much of a breakfast eater, but this casserole is wonderful.” She placed another forkful into her mouth.

“So you start work today?” Trina shifted her body in the chair. “Too bad you couldn't have a day or two to get settled first.”

“I really don't have much to settle, and I won't be—”

“Dad noticed.”

The words hit Lillian like a fisted punch. Bill had been scrutinizing her, but what had he noticed? She tried to reconstruct their conversations, both last night and at the breakfast table. What had they talked about? The way he had looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching had made her nervous. But he had been pleasant enough.

She had made the right decision to move on.

“He was surprised that you only had one suitcase. Most of our guests come with enough stuff to last a year.”

That was all? Her suitcase?

Trina placed her hands on the table and pushed off the chair. “Want more coffee?”

“No, thank you. But I need to tell you that—“

“Have we met before?” The young woman stood in the middle of the kitchen, coffee apparently forgotten.

“No, why?”

“I just thought, well, you know, you were surprised last night when you saw me, and I thought maybe…”

Trina didn't realize that it was her pregnancy, not the woman herself that had sent her running from the porch.

Taking a long slow breath, her jaw tightening, Lillian planned her words. “I really am sorry about last night. I know I shouldn't offer excuses, but it had been a very long day, then to be led into town with a police escort—”

“That Paul, always trying to help, and most of the time he makes things worse.” Trina's face brightened as she sat in Ted's vacated chair. “He really is the nicest guy you'll ever meet, but he has this thing about men-folk being responsible for women-folk. Sometimes it drives me nuts.”

As Trina talked, the fabric on the woman's shirt moved, and memories resurrected from a time when life had grown within her, too. And holding Susan for the first time with Craig snuggled close beside her. Baby baths and smoothing lotion on tender skin. Watching as Susan took her first steps, the first time she used the potty…a small casket beside a larger one.

The smell of smoke everywhere. Numbness. Meaningless platitudes from well-meaning friends. And before the pain could settle, the police investigation started. There had been no time to grieve.

She stared at the face across the table and felt an acceptance that had been missing in her life for two years. Before she could stop them, the words flowed. “I lost my child.” Tears blurred her vision. “She was two years old.”

Trina's eyes grew round as she clutched her hands to her chest. “That must have been awful. I can't even imagine.”

Lillian felt Trina's hand clutch hers and she became rigid. Hesitantly, she wrapped her fingers around the other woman's, feeling strength bind them in a strange union.

“You don't need to say another word. It would be hard for me to look at a pregnant woman if I lost my unborn baby, but to lose a child…will you be OK staying here, or do you want me to help you find another place?” Trina's eyes became hazel pools of compassion.

This was her way out as well as the smart thing to do, not only because of the pregnancy, but also because of Bill's strange reaction to her. Trina had just provided the opportunity to gracefully escape.

But the words remained fixed in the back of her throat, caught on a tonsil she didn't even have. All she could do was focus on their hands clutched together across the table.

One summer before fourth grade, she and her best friend, Karen, had each picked off a scab and rubbed the open wounds together, proclaiming them blood sisters. The sisterhood had lasted all summer, but once school started, and they ended up in different classes, the pact was forgotten. Neither thought about the bond they had cemented that June.

Whatever was happening now felt similar and yet different. Certainly, the connection had not been there when Lillian had walked down the stairs an hour ago. Earlier she had prayed for God's strength for the day. Was God even still there for her? If so, why had He guided her to South Carolina to live with a pregnant woman? Could this be His way of helping her heal? Staying at the McIverson Bed and Breakfast had seemed a matter of convenience, but now she wasn't sure. But she knew what she needed to do. “I want to stay.”

As soon as the words were spoken, thorns of doubt dug into her skin. She thought about Bill, and how he seemed to scrutinize her. What did she know about him, or this family? Maybe the room had been wearing its best garments, wooing her, waiting, needing her to stay for its own agenda. She tried to shake off the sense of “something else,” but the feeling of oppression remained. It made no sense, but it chilled her none the less.

She had to rely on being within God's will, but was she?

7

“Dr. Hunter, we are so happy that you can join the faculty on such short notice.”

Lillian accepted the outstretched hand of Dr. Gilbert Roman. “Unless it is protocol, please call me Lillian.” The man towered over her like a rugged lumberjack, whiskers, red hair and all.

“Lillian, it is. You'll meet the rest of the team this afternoon at the faculty meeting, but how about I give you a tour of the building and show you your office? I know President Carter wants to meet with you this morning, and we won't want you to be late for that!”

“The university isn't very old,” Lillian said, examining the carpeted hall and spacious classrooms, mostly filled with students.

“It was opened in the 1970s, and has grown tremendously since then. I think you will enjoy it here, if you like academics. Actually, this is one of the original buildings.” His brow puckered. “I know Hazel…”

“She was the professor who died?”

“Actually, she was found dead by one of the students.”

Her heart lurched in her chest. “That must have been awful for the student.”

“It wasn't too easy for the staff either. But lest I become morbid, let me show you the faculty lounge where you can make coffee or eat lunch, whatever.”

They toured all two levels and finally ended at what was to become her office. A placard with “Dr. Lillian Hunter” on the side of the door already identified the room as hers.

Dr. Roman opened the door and she grimaced as the smell of disinfectant burned her nose. Dr. Roman didn't seem to notice. One more thing to deal with, but the smell would lessen as soon as the room had a chance to air out. A long narrow window allowed in natural light. To the right sat a large desk with phone and computer, flanked by a filing cabinet. On the left wall, the floor-to-ceiling shelves were three quarters filled with books.

She ran her fingers along the spines.

“Hazel's family donated her books, so we left them here for you. If you decide you don't want them, they can be removed.”

“Thank you. I'm sure they will be useful.” She didn't bother to tell him she had come without a laptop, without a lecture note, and without a single book except her Bible.

After glancing at his watch, Dr. Roman moved toward the door. “I don't want to rush you, but here are the keys to the building and your office. Your appointment with Dr. Carter is in ten minutes. I'll walk you over.”

After meeting with Dr. Carter, she was guided to Personnel. From there she found her way to the book store and the cafeteria. Students filled most of the tables in the three large dining rooms. After finding an empty seat, she picked at her chicken and something the server had called “greens.” Students filtered in, some reading between bites, others catching up on last night's events. Had she ever been that young? That carefree? She glanced at her watch; she had just enough time to drop off her bookstore purchases before the faculty meeting at 1:00.

Outside, the quietness seemed profound after the clank of dishes and loud voices. Surrounded by shrubs, oak trees and loblolly pines and looking more park-like than a college campus, the path back to Founders Hall wound around quiet nooks, a few occupied by students deep in conversation, others talking on cell phones.