Samantha's Gift (13 page)

“You hated it?” A muted smile gave away the fact he was teasing again.

“Worst kiss I ever had,” she replied.

“Liar. There goes your halo again.”

Rachel made a derisive noise and scrunched one corner of her mouth into an exaggerated jeer. “Halo? Ha! As long as I hang around you, I'll probably never even come close to earning one.”

“And you blame me for that? Oh, great. Now I suppose I'm responsible for keeping you out of heaven, too?”

“It doesn't work like that.” She paused to give him an encouraging pat on the arm, leaving her hand there just a fraction too long before she came to her senses and jerked it away. “I don't believe people can ever be good enough to earn their way into Paradise. I know I certainly couldn't. That's where Jesus comes in.”

“He has your admission ticket, you mean?”

Rachel smiled sweetly and said, “Yes. He's got everybody's. Even yours. Bought and paid for.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“I know you do. That's too bad.”

“Why? Because you can't talk me into buying your belief system?”

“No, because I like you, Sean. I don't want to see you miss out on all the blessings the Lord has waiting for you.”

“Yeah, well, my folks went to church all the time
and it never did them much good that I could see. The only time I ever heard my dad mention God was when he was drunk as a skunk and cursing at the top of his lungs.”

Once again she laid her hand on his arm, this time with more tenderness, greater courage. “Try not to look at the worst examples. Even good Christians have bad days. We all make mistakes we regret later. The point is, we may be far from faultless but we're learning how to live better lives all the time. That's why I go to church. Think of it as God's School.”

“I'd probably flunk out.”

“Why? Because your father did?” She ignored the disgusted glance he gave her and went on. “Have you ever asked yourself what he might have been like without his faith?”

Sean huffed. “Don't even go there.”

“Why not?”

“Because, thanks to my brothers, I already know. I've watched Paul and Ian all my life. It hasn't been pretty.”

“That doesn't mean you're the same kind of person they are,” Rachel insisted.

“Doesn't it? Tell that to a geneticist and see what he says.”

“I'd rather trust the Lord than rely on scientists. Oh, they have their place. I'm not saying they don't. But they can claim to have all the right answers one day, then turn around and contradict themselves the
next. The more they learn, the more they realize they don't really know.”

Pausing, she began to smile in spite of the seriousness of their discussion. “The same thing happens to me when I begin to study the Bible. I know I'll never understand everything about it. Fortunately, a person doesn't have to be well educated to become a Christian. Faith isn't reasoned. It's more basic than that.”

“How so?”

Rachel laughed at herself and shook her head. “I wish I could explain. All I know is what happened to me after my father got sick.”

Sean was studying her expression. Empathetic, he reached for her hand. “Go on.”

“I was barely a teenager at the time. Daddy and I were very close. I didn't see how I could live the rest of my life without him if he died. Thoughts of suicide kept popping into my head. That really scared me. Finally, when I thought I was at the end of my rope, I called out to Jesus. I don't know why I did it. I just know that at that moment, everything changed for me.”

Gently squeezing her fingers, Sean said, “I'm glad your parents gave you a faith to call on when you needed it.”

“Did they?” Rachel raised misty eyes to him and blinked back tears. “When I went to them and tried to explain how happy and relieved I felt, they didn't seem to understand what I was trying to say. It wasn't
until just before Daddy died that he told me he'd turned to Jesus the same way I had.”

“What about your mother?”

“Martha Woodward is already as perfect as any Christian can get. Ask her. She'll be more than happy to tell you.”

“So you're still worried about her?”

“Yes. And no. I did all I could when I told her about my conversion. I can't coerce her into believing, any more than I can convince you to give God a chance. If you choose not to open your mind to the spiritual possibilities all around you, then that's your choice. It always will be.”

R
achel didn't have to try to get away from Sean after she spoke so boldly. He seemed more than happy to part company with her.

Heading for home, she tried to relive their conversation, hoping to assure herself she hadn't been too preachy. Not only were most of her brilliant comments beyond recall, she couldn't even be sure she was putting the parts she did remember into the proper sequence. For all she knew, she might have alienated him for good, when that was the opposite of what she wanted to do.

That's what I get for praying for the guy. Thanks, Father. But I didn't mean I wanted to be the one to talk to him. I wanted You to send somebody else. Anybody but me. Please?

No booming voice came out of the clouds to an
swer, nor did Rachel expect it to. She'd had enough experiences with what she viewed as God's sense of humor to recognize an ongoing satire, especially when she was such an integral part of it. The temptation to try to figure out the Good Lord's plans beforehand was strong, as usual. It was also foolhardy. The more she tried to help, the more likely it was that everything would get worse. Quickly.

So what am I supposed to be doing? she prayed. Just tell me and I'll do it, Father. I promise.

Sweet thoughts of Sean were joined by the image of Samantha the first time Rachel saw her. Such a pitiful little thing. So lost. So in need of love. However much time they had left to get to know her, it wouldn't be half long enough.

The idea of some shirttail relative claiming that dear little child made Rachel's temples throb. It wasn't right. The law shouldn't be allowed to interfere and move her. Not when Samantha was finally getting settled, finally acting more like a normal, happy child.

“So, what am I doing going home when I could be headed for Hannah's, instead?” Rachel asked herself aloud.

That was such a good question that she turned right instead of left on Highway 62 and started toward Squirrel Hill Road.

In her heart she knew she was doing the right thing.
The peace of mind that immediately soothed her when she made her decision was further proof she was finally on the right track.

 

The Brodys were at home when Rachel pulled up in front of their old farmhouse.

Drying her hands on her apron, Hannah came out onto the porch. “Well, hello there. You missed supper, but I think I can scare up a bit more if you're still hungry.”

“I don't want to be a bother. I can't stay. I was just on my way home and got this urge to stop by. Hope it's all right.”

“'Course it is. You come right on in.”

Climbing the front steps to the covered porch made Rachel feel as if she were returning to a beloved home. Hannah's house had been her refuge on more than one occasion, especially in the difficult months after her father's death. In retrospect, she supposed if she'd been older at the time she'd have been more tolerant of her mother's vacillating moods.

“Is Samantha busy?” Rachel asked.

“That child is always busy. Never sits still for more'n a minute or two.” She gave a satisfied sigh. “Right now, I suspect she's out in the chicken house collectin' eggs for the third or fourth time today. Poor hens can't stay ahead of her.”

Laughing softly, Rachel remembered doing the same chore for Hannah as a child. “That used to be
a favorite job of mine, too. I swore I could tell those hens apart. Even had names for them.”

“I know. You used to say they talked to you, too. Always did have a wonderful imagination. I 'spect that's why you cotton to kids the way you do.”

“Which reminds me,” Rachel said. “Sean got me a copy of the accident report about Samantha's parents. She was in the car with them when they wrecked, just like she said. According to the investigator, she was thrown clear.”

Thoughtful, Hannah nodded. “Could be.”

“Yes, it could, only she didn't have a scratch on her. The car was totaled. It rolled over and over, then landed upside down at the bottom of a ravine.”

“Maybe she fell out before it happened.”

“That was my first thought.” Rachel raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly as she explained further. “Samantha was found at the bottom of the cliff right next to the flattened car. If she did fall out, it wasn't until the major damage had already been done. So why wasn't she hurt?”

“You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?”

“That her guardian angel actually did rescue her?” Rachel shrugged. “I don't know. The report also said that it looked like her seat belt might have been cut to free her, which contradicts the theory that she was thrown clear. She's small. If she was wearing a belt and riding in the back seat, that might explain how she survived when the car was crushed, but it still
doesn't explain how she managed to free herself while she was hanging upside down, then wiggle out without getting cut on broken glass or jagged pieces of metal.”

“Well, never you mind,” the older woman said. “What's done is done. Don't matter to me if she crawled out or if the good Lord pitched her out a window. Our little angel was spared and that's all that counts.”

“True.”

The sound of an approaching car caught their attention, bringing an “Uh-oh” from Rachel and, “Well, well, well, looks like I got more company” from Hannah Brody.

“I'd better be going.” One quick look told Rachel the oncoming car was Sean's.

“Nonsense. You didn't drive clear out here just to tell me about the accident report, did ya? Don't you wanna see Sam, too?”

“Well, I did, but…”

“Then, don't go runnin' off just because
he's
here,” Hannah cautioned. “Hank and me'll protect you from him.”

Rachel huffed. “Who's going to protect me from myself?”

As she'd expected, her candid comment made Hannah laugh.

“I 'spect I will,” the older woman said. She opened the screen door and ushered Rachel inside.
“You go on out in the kitchen and make yourself at home. I'll send Mr. Bates to the chicken house to fetch Sam. That'll give you time to pull yourself together and act natural.”

“Okay.”

With a sigh of resignation Rachel made her way through the house to the old-fashioned farm kitchen. The room was the largest in the house, plenty big enough to cook for a slew of farmhands or set up a home-canning operation at harvesttime. Now that the need for that much extra space was long past, Hannah had replaced the wood cookstove with a modern range. The round stovepipe opening in the wall above it was capped but could still be seen, a reminder of the hard work previous generations of women had done on that very spot.

Finding the kitchen empty, Rachel gravitated to the rectangular table in one corner, took the same seat she'd often occupied as a child and unconsciously brushed her hands across the plastic tablecloth to smooth it. The lingering aroma of home cooking made the place seem even more appealing. Her stomach growled.

Hannah breezed in the back door with a broad smile. “Stay right where you are. I'm fixing to feed you.”

“That's really not necessary,” Rachel said. “I didn't come here to mooch a meal.”

“Nonsense. Where'd my Southern hospitality be if
I didn't offer? Besides, your Mr. Bates has agreed to eat a bite with us, too.”

“He's not
my
Mr. Bates!” Eyes wide, Rachel peered past Hannah to see if Sean had followed her inside. Thankfully, he hadn't. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Outside, talkin' to Hank and Sam.” Hannah began pulling plates and bowls of leftovers out of the refrigerator and placing them on the table. “You two sure coulda fooled me. Miz Slocum tells me her son's real upset over what's been goin' on.”

Rachel jumped to her feet. “Nothing's been going on!”

“Oh yeah? Then, why're you and Sean seein' so much of each other?”

“For Samantha's sake, of course.”

“Pooh.”

“Pooh, nothing. She's in my class and Sean's been assigned to counsel her. It's perfectly logical that he and I would want to compare notes—especially since you said there was a chance she'd be leaving here soon.”

Hannah reached out to pat Rachel's hand. “That's a fact. But don't you fret. There's lots 'o mixed-up kids these days. Once Sam's gone, I'm sure you can find another reason to keep seein' your new fella.”

“Ugh!” Rachel was beside herself with frustration. “I meant what I said. There is
nothing
between me
and Sean. Nothing. And I'm not fixin' to start anything. Okay?”

“Okay. Just remember, you aren't gettin' any younger. You'll have to settle down one day soon. Any man lucky enough to snag you will be the envy of every bachelor in town.”

“No, he won't.” Somber, Rachel shook her head for emphasis. “I don't care what lies Craig told his mother, he was glad to be rid of me. That's why I don't understand what made him haul off and hit Sean the way he did.”

“Jealousy.”

“That's impossible,” Rachel said. “Craig doesn't want me.”

“You sound like you think nobody does. So you had a problem with Craig. So what? He's not the only deer in the forest, you know. You'll find somebody else.”

“I don't
want
to find anyone else. That's what I keep trying to tell my mother. I'm never getting married. Period.”

Confused, Hannah stopped bustling around the kitchen and paused to study her companion's expression. “Why on earth not?”

Rachel had long ago made up her mind that such a personal query deserved no answer. This time, however, she was too overwrought by all her conflicting emotions to listen to her own sensible warnings. Of all the people in her life, Hannah Brody was probably
the best choice as a confidante—and the one most likely to keep her secret.

Making a final decision, Rachel looked around to be certain they were still alone, took a deep breath and blurted, “I can't have children, okay?”

Hannah's eyes widened. “What? You sure?”

“Positive. Well, almost,” Rachel said. “I've been to three specialists and they all told me the same thing.” Sighing, she added, “Please keep this to yourself. I've accepted the idea but I know my mother won't.”

“Why not? You come by your problems naturally, Rachel. Martha was the same way. She'll probably be hoppin' mad at me for tellin' you, but it's time somebody did.”

“Is that why you gave me that hush-up look in church? Did Mom try to have more children besides me?”

“Never quit. Not till your daddy passed on. After that, I guess she started thinkin' more like a grandma. She's always loved children, probably as much as you do.”

“Then, why didn't they adopt a brother or sister for me?”

“You know why. Folks around here set a lot of store by kinship, by blood ties. Always have. Likely as not they always will. That's why I'm glad Sam's relatives are comin' for her, after all. I'll be sorry to
see her go, but it'll be for the best. Family should stick together.”

Though she disagreed, at least in Samantha's case, Rachel kept her opinions to herself. She understood the mind-set that had led to Hannah's conclusion. Everyone she knew had grown up believing that blood relationships were more important than anything else. That kind of thinking was part of their culture. In fairness to Craig, he wasn't acting any differently than most men would—than her own father and mother apparently had.

Which was all the more reason for her to remain single, Rachel reasoned. Clearly, Martha wanted a grandchild by birth, just as she'd wanted only a child who was born into the family—which did answer one nagging question.

“Then, there's no chance I'm adopted?” Rachel asked.

Hannah cackled. “Silly goose. 'Course not. Your mama would never of agreed to somethin' like that.”

The back door banged. Rachel's head snapped around. Sean! She'd gotten so caught up in the emotional discussion she'd temporarily forgotten he was nearby! She was thankful there was nothing in his expression to imply he'd overheard what she'd just told Hannah. Matter of fact, he wasn't even looking at either of them. Instead, he was focused on the pretty little girl he carried.

Samantha had one arm around Sean's neck. In her
other hand was an empty basket for gathering eggs. Giggling and talking a mile a minute, she was monopolizing him as only an enthusiastic child can. Sean was grinning, nodding and giving the little girl his rapt attention.

Rachel smiled. Seeing two people she loved, together like that, was such a beautiful, dear sight that it brought tears to her eyes. What a wonderful father Sean would make some day!

For an unguarded moment Rachel let herself imagine being the third party in the make-believe family portrait. More tears gathered, wetting her lashes and threatening to spill over. She had to admit the futility of a dream like that.

Not wanting anyone to notice how unhappy she was, she quickly looked away.

The last thing she glimpsed before she turned her head was an unspoken question in Sean's eyes.

 

With Hannah controlling most of the adult conversation during the impromptu meal, and Samantha so excited to have both her teacher and counselor there that she babbled incessantly, Rachel didn't have to participate often. When she did choose to speak, she kept it short and to the point. She didn't see how she could get into much trouble with “Please pass the gravy,” although the way her life had been stirred up lately, there was no telling.

To her consternation, Sean seemed to be taking the
whole encounter quite calmly, even when Hannah began to quiz him about his background. And, to the Brodys' credit, they didn't react negatively to his announcement that, yes, he was a Yankee. Amused, Rachel came to the conclusion that true Southern hospitality knew no bounds.
Well, almost none.