Authors: Brenda Minton
“Why do you have so many ski clothes anyway?” he asked. “I can't imagine that snow skiing is a big pastime around Baton Rouge.” But then, she had done most of her undergraduate work in Colorado. He wondered if she would own up to it. She did and more.
“It is possible to travel outside of Louisiana, you know,” she told him haughtily, “but as a matter of fact, I used to work on the ski slopes in Colorado. That's where I met my husband.”
“Your husband!” Morgan yelped the words, feeling pricked and, oddly enough, betrayed.
She went pale as a sheet. “My ex-husband,” she hurriedly amended, “or whatever you call him when the marriage is annulled.”
Annulled! Morgan didn't think he'd ever heard of an annulled marriage in this day and age. The woman was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery inside of an enigma. She put trembling hands to her head and sighed.
“Oh, now look what you've gone and done.” Dropping her hands, she stared at him accusingly. “There was no reason anyone had to know about that.”
“There's nothing saying anyone does,” he told her. Anyone
else,
that was. Folding his arms, he prepared to wait the rest of the day for the story, if necessary.
Recognizing his resolve, Simone stamped a foot. He thought for a moment that she would explode, but she glanced at the open doorâa house policy, and a wise oneâand instead sighed, throwing herself down to sit on the edge of the narrow bed. Morgan pulled out the desk chair and straddled it, folding his arms across the top edge of the back.
She made a face and said, “He's an only child from a wealthy family, used to getting his way, frankly, and...well, we had fun, so when he asked me to elope with him, I agreed. He told me up front that his parents, who were older, wouldn't approve but that they'd change their minds when we presented them with their first grandchild.” She looked away, adding, “I actually thought I might be pregnant right away, but a routine physical exam turned up something else altogether.”
“Cancer,” Morgan surmised.
She nodded. “The doctors worked to save as much as they could, but...” She stilled herself and very calmly said, “I'll never have children.”
The bravery behind that simple statement stabbed him to the heart, but he did his best not to show it.
“So, no hope of changing his parents' minds, then,” he said lightly.
She sent him a wry, sad smile. “I'm not sure he even tried,” she whispered huskily.
“Simone, I'm sorry,” he told her, reaching out a hand. To his surprise, after only a brief hesitation, she warily slipped her hand into his. He squeezed her fingers, feeling the same flash of warmth that had taken him by surprise at the breakfast table. “I thank God that you eloped with him,” he heard himself say.
She glanced up in obvious surprise. “Come again?”
“What he did was despicable,” Morgan pointed out, “casting you off because of an illness, but if you hadn't married him, you might not have discovered the cancer until it was too late.”
Her eyes widened, and her jaw slowly descended. “I never thought of it that way.” Her gaze seemed to turn inward as she considered. “You're right, though. I had ignored certain symptoms for a long time, and I'd have gone right on ignoring them if I hadn't wanted to have a baby. I didn't see them as symptoms. They were normal to me.”
“In a way, he did you a favor.”
“Two, actually,” she said drily. “First he married me. Then he unmarried me.”
Morgan laughed. “I won't argue with that.”
“The annulment was his parents' idea, of course.”
“So he could avoid a settlement, no doubt.”
“Oh, no, they were willing to pay handsomely to be rid of me. They paid for my schooling, every bit of it, past loans, current and future tuition.”
“Ah.” Morgan nodded. Now he understood that unusual tuition arrangement.
“Plus, they paid my hospital bills,” Simone added. “In all honesty, I cannot fault their generosity.”
“Only their sensitivity.”
“Well, yes. I was served the annulment papers while I was still in the hospital after my last surgery.”
Morgan flexed his shoulders, fighting an unfamiliar surge of anger. He didn't get angry. His was the cool head in the family. His older brother, Bayard, a banker, blustered and threw his considerable weight around as a matter of routine. His handsome younger brother, Chandler, had been a wild one, making his living in rodeo before his wife, Bethany, had tamed him. Morgan, the middle brother, had always been logical, laid-back and self-contained, channeling his baser emotions into the thrill of speed. He seldom felt more than irritation and never a sudden, almost blinding need to shake a certain someone until his teeth fell out. He tried to make sense of it.
“You'd think that at my age I wouldn't still be surprised by what goes on in this world.”
She tilted her head, scolding him with, “You're hardly Methuselah.”
It struck him just how old he'd begun to feel of late. And how he didn't feel that way with her. With other students, yes, but not with her. Just then he became aware of the scuffing of several feet in the doorway.
“Hey, Simone, where you been?” a male voice asked.
Only when she pulled free did Morgan realize that they still clasped hands. She sent a blinding smile to someone behind him.
“It turns out that I'm moving.”
“Aw, that's too bad.”
Aware suddenly of how this must look, Morgan rose and rolled the chair out of the way, saying, “Ms. Guilland requires a room more conducive to study. As her faculty adviser, I was able to help her find a place.” He turned, addressing those clumped together in the doorway. “How about some of you young guys carry down her boxes for her?”
They practically fell all over each other rushing to help. Even the girls hurried to fold bed linens and find boxes for what wasn't already packed. Morgan stood in the center of the chaos, trying to appear above it all, but painfully aware of the inquisitive, speculative glances that were tossed his way. And no wonder. BCBC had strict policies about faculty becoming involved romantically with students.
Of course, he and Simone were definitely
not
romantically involved, but just the appearance of such a thing was bad enough. What had possessed him to hold her hand like that? Even given all that she'd been throughâand God knew the
woman
had been through enoughâhe ought to have better sense than to hold her hand like that, especially after what had happened at breakfast.
What had happened at breakfast, anyway?
He shook his head, not at all certain that he really wanted to know. Better just to leave it alone. Better just to leave
her
alone. He'd deposit her at Chatam House, where he knew she would be well cared for, and thereafter keep his distance. He'd done his duty as her faculty adviser. His aunties and Brooks could do the rest.
If he felt as though he might be abandoning her, well, that was nonsense. He wasn't her husband, after all.
For a moment, Morgan's blood boiled as he thought of her spoiled, insensitive ex serving her with annulment papers while she was recovering in the hospital from surgery, as if her value as a wife, a human being, had been diminished by her cancer. As if her entire reason for existing had been to give his parents grandchildren, as if she was nothing without a womb. As if she had not suffered enough loss already.
He'd seen the pain behind the mask of her serenity when she'd told him that she'd never be able to have children. Seen it, felt it and, for an instant, shared it. Even now he wanted to wrap his arms around her and promise her that the pain would fade, that everything would be all right, that she had more than enough to offer. Which was exactly why he wouldn't do any such thing.
All but running from the room, he went down to open the car, glad he'd brought the luxury sedan and not the two-seater. As it was, they couldn't fit everything inside, but he decided he'd send someone else for the rest of her things. After all, he had a reputation to defend, a career to protect. He told himself that it wasn't the temptation he feared so much as the speculation, the appearance of the thing, which was plenty of reason to keep his distance.
He found a couple of grad students willing to do him a favor. Then, once he had her things unloaded at Chatam House, he told the aunts he had an appointment, which he did, and took off for an evening of unwinding at the racetrack.
Only as he blared around the oval on his motorcycle, a black-on-white blur, thanks to his protective, one-piece leather suit, did he recall that he still had to arrange a ministry assignment for her. Well, that shouldn't be too difficult, given his connections and her field of study. On the other hand, nothing had proven easy with Simone Guilland so far, nothing except looking at her, touching her...nothing except getting in over his head.
Chapter Five
F
or the third time that morning, Simone looked up to find Chester staring at her via the rearview mirror of the Chatam sisters' long sedan, or so it seemed. It could have been her imagination. He'd said nothing beyond a polite “Good morning” when he'd opened the car door for her at Chatam House earlier on that Thursday. As the elegant town car had moved over the gracefully shaded streets toward the college, however, he'd seemed to be keeping an eye on her.
She tried not to squirm, not to let her heart race with the fear of discovery, but she couldn't help wishing that Morgan had come to take her to her classes again, even though she'd vowed to keep her distance from the handsome professor. She hadn't seen him since Monday, except in the lecture hall on Wednesday. He'd come to class in a black leather jacket and jeans, carrying a motorcycle helmet, his hair looking rumpled and windblown. The girl next to Simone had whispered that Professor Chatam was hot. Simone had pretended not to hear her, but a tiny part of her wondered if she was playing second fiddle to a motorbike. Was she subjected to Chester's too-curious stares because Morgan preferred riding his motorcycle to giving her a lift?
It was a depressing thought and patently absurd. She had no claim on Morgan Chatam's attention. Even if having her uncle drive her to and from the campus was unnerving.
Pushing Morgan from her mind, she concentrated on what mattered most. If her full identity became known, her family might enter a state of shock for a time, but they'd quickly begin to ask questionsâand dislike the answers. Eventually, most likely sooner rather than later, they'd turn her out. She, after all, had abandoned them first, running away to live her own life, so sure that she knew best and could do better without them.
How she had resented them all! Her selfish, self-centered mother had blown apart their family with her quest for “fulfillment” and “appreciation.” Her unassuming, plodding father had stubbornly refused to be more, have more, provide more. After years of struggle, Alexandra, her mother, had wanted excitement and excess, while Marshall, her father, had wanted contentment and simplicity. They were each so entrenched in their positions that they had never even considered meeting somewhere in the middle. Worse, each had been determined to win their daughters to a particular viewpoint. Carissa had escaped into an early marriage, leaving her baby sister trapped between them in a tug-of-war that seemed both endless and pointless. Oh, how Simone had resented Carissa for that!
Well, she'd showed them. She'd gotten out of the middle, finallyâand into one rotten mess after another. Every time she'd told herself that she'd go home as soon as she fixed things, but something or someone always got in the way, and before she'd known it, she'd been too ashamed to show her face in Texas again. She'd tried to do better, to make something of herself. When she'd met Aaron Guilland, she'd thought he was her ticket back into the bosom of her family. She'd envisioned herself returning home, a well-dressed wife and mother, a member of the Baton Rouge upper echelon. She'd imagined that both of her parents and Carissa would be pleasantly surprised, and that eventually all of her sins would be forgiven. What largesse she had planned to shower on them! Instead, she'd spent eighteen months fighting cancer and making her peace with God while gathering the courage to return home alone, broken, humbled, a shadow of her former self. And too late.
Her father might have welcomed her, but he was gone. In all likelihood, her mother would only mock her. Her sister could only resent her. No, Simone told herself, she had nothing to offer but too much of the wrong kind of experience, a mountain of regret and a tale of woe. She looked away from her uncle's curious, unknowing gaze and stared blindly out the window.
“Would you like me to drop you at the administration building again today, miss?”
“That will be fine.”
Within moments, he had pulled the car to the curb. As she got out, her backpack slung over one shoulder, he asked, “What time would you like to be picked up?”
“I wouldn't,” she said automatically, quickly adding, “That is, it's not necessary.”
He twisted in his seat, his face puckered in concern. “Are you sure? The Chatams wouldn't like you to walk.”
“No, no, I won't.” She hoped. Surely she could find someone to give her a ride. She did have a few friends, and it wasn't far. She just didn't think she could bear another ride in the car with Chester today. If worst came to worst, she'd call a taxi. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, miss.”
She said a swift prayer as she walked to her first class, and by the end of the day, she'd arranged a ride home and transportation for Friday. She'd even agreed to join some friends for breakfast at the coffee shop on Saturday morning, which would give her a chance to pick up her last paycheck and get out of Chatam House on a day when she didn't have classes.
It felt good, after keeping to her room all Friday afternoon and evening, to go out with friends on Saturday morning and talk of nothing more pressing than assignments and projects. Simone felt older than the other single graduate students, two girls and a guy from the old boardinghouse, but she didn't let that stop her from hopping into a rattletrap car with them and heading down to the coffeehouse for muffins and lattes. Everyone was curious about her living arrangements, but she fobbed them off by saying that her arrangement with the Chatam sisters, who were well known for their support of Buffalo Creek Bible College, was only temporary.
As they drew near the door of the coffee shop, she noticed a green-and-white moped chained to a light pole out front. A big For Sale sign had been taped to the handlebars, and a neat little helmet had been parked upon the seat. When she stopped to look, so did her friends. A fellow sitting at one of the sidewalk tables noticed and came over to make a sales pitch. The moped had belonged to him and then his son, but the boy had recently bought his first car and was selling the “old 'ped” to raise money for new rims. Her guy friend knew more about such things than she did, and he asked some intelligent questions, eliciting useful information, including a cash price that seemed more than reasonable to Simone.
After a few minutes, their group wandered on inside to place their orders. Simone received her paycheck. The proprietor apologized because he couldn't hold Simone's job for her, but she was surprised and pleased to find that the check was more than she'd expectedâmore than enough, in fact, to buy that moped and possibly put an end to her transportation quandaries once and for all. She chewed her bottom lip, uncertain.
Motorbikes could be dangerous, but a moped wasn't a real motorcycle. The man had said that it had a top speed of thirty miles per hour. Yet it was perfectly legal to ride on city streets, the same as a bicycle. She'd need a permit, a license and insurance, of course, but he'd said all were easy and inexpensive to obtain, especially for an adult. Her friends could see that she was seriously considering it.
“Do you want to pray about it?” one of them asked.
Simone smiled. That was the great thing about attending a Christian college. No one would have dared ask her that question at her old school. “I would, yes.”
They all linked hands and bowed their heads. After a moment, Simone realized that they were waiting for her to speak the prayer.
She stumbled uncertainly through it, then looked up to find the gentleman with the moped coming through the door. He held a cell phone to his ear and was speaking to someone on the other end.
“I'll see,” he said, walking up next to her. “Miss,” he said, “if you're interested, we could come down on the price maybe twenty-five dollars and throw in the helmet and security chain with the deal.”
Simone blinked and smiled at her friends. “That sounds like confirmation to me.” She nodded at the man. “I'll take it.”
He spoke into the phone again. “Go ahead, son. Make the deal on the rims.” Pocketing the phone, he smiled at Simone and said, “You've just made a sixteen-year-old very happy.”
She laughed, and they agreed to meet at the local Department of Motor Vehicles office the following Tuesday morning to complete the deal.
On Tuesday afternoon, after easily acquiring her driving permit, she puttered onto campus on her moped a little saddened that God had made it possible for her to minimize contact with her aunt and uncle while living at Chatam House. Obviously, she was not meant to reveal herself to her family, at least not yet. Strangely, that did not bother her as much as had Morgan barely seeming to register her presence in class that week.
By the time the weekend rolled around, she was feeling almost invisible. Then the Chatams made it plain that they expected her to attend church on Sunday. She was nervous about going until one of them mentioned that their nephew Phillip, Carissa's husband, was the only local Chatam who did
not
attend the Downtown Bible Church. Instead, he and his family attended Buffalo Creek Christian Church with Chester and Hilda.
Relieved, Simone happily went along and enjoyed the service. Morgan, however, was not in attendance. She did meet his father, Hub, though, a sweet older gentleman. He said something about Morgan visiting his younger brother for the weekend.
“Just an excuse to ride his motorcycle on the open road, most likely,” said Morgan's brother-in-law, Stephen. Kaylie, Stephen's wife and Morgan's sister, made a face.
“Oh, as if you wouldn't jump at the chance if I'd let you.” She winked at Simone, adding, “Hockey isn't dangerous enough for him.” Patting her rounded middle, she confided, “I want my baby's father in one large piece, thank you very much.”
Simone smiled around the pain blossoming in her chest. Morgan hadn't mentioned that his sister and her husband were expecting, but then he wouldn't, knowing what he did about her. Obviously, he hadn't told anyone else about her problem, or at least not very many people. She had hoped he wouldn't. It was too personal a secret, too poignant a loss to share with just anyone.
Perhaps it was silly of her, but she couldn't help feeling a little glad that she could trust him with her secrets. He hadn't told the university about her cancer, after all, and he hadn't spread it around that she was half a woman, unable to bear children and so unfit for marriage that the man who had professed to love her, the man she'd thought to be her ticket back into her family's good graces, had annulled their marriage while she was still in the hospital recovering from the surgery that had taken any chance of motherhood from her.
Yes, it was nice to be able to trust Morgan with her secrets, some of them, anyway. It was nice everything seemed to be working out.
If only it didn't all hurt so much.
* * *
Mentally congratulating himself on his nonchalance, Morgan hailed Simone after class on the next to last Monday in September. He'd managed to keep away from her for nearly two whole weeks, though he had picked up the phone countless times, only to put it down again without dialing, and had talked himself out of dropping by Chatam House on a daily basis.
“Do you have a minute? I need to speak to you about a ministry assignment.”
She gave him a taut smile and spoke in that husky voice that seemed to dance across his nerve endings. “Of course.” Stepping out of the queue that filed through the door, she slipped her backpack from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
He parked himself on the corner of the desk in the lecture hall and took stock. She seemed none the worse for wear. She'd put on weight, her face had gained a bit of color and her hair had grown enough to lie down, framing her big gray eyes with delicate wisps and the faintest bit of curl. She looked achingly lovely. He couldn't help noticing that she had the most delicate ears he'd ever seen on a grown woman.
Clearing his throat, he glanced down at the pencil in his hand. “I've given it some thought, and considering your major and your interests, I wonder if you would like to work with my father in one of DBC's new ministries. Let me explain.”
He went on to detail the Downtown Bible Church program for youth and young adults that his father had spearheaded. Those involved ran the gamut from teens without adequate supervision and guidance to a few who literally lived on the street. The latter they mostly moved into the foster system or group homes as soon as they confirmed the situation. Some, however, were too old for foster care, so they were transitioned into adult homeless shelters.
“The ministry isn't licensed to house anyone, you understand, except on a short-term emergency basis, but it does try to match resources with needs, and it gives them a safe place to go for much of the day and some of the evening.”
“Sounds interesting,” Simone said. “Knowing your father, I assume that he's easy to work with.”
Surprised, Morgan grinned at her. “You know my dad?”
“I met Pastor Hub at church. Your aunts introduced us.”
“Of course.”
If he'd been there, he'd have known that, but he'd thought it best to keep out of her way by running off to visit his kid brother. Chandler and Bethany were doing very well on their horse ranch in Stephenville. Their little boy was still a toddler, but he was absolutely fearless on horseback, just like his dad. They were talking about having another child, but Morgan wouldn't share that bit of news with Simone for anything. He'd thought of her when the subject had come up, and his heart had ached for her.
He wondered suddenly if she'd met his sister, Kaylie. She and Stephen were expecting their first. His heart in his throat, he fixed his mind on the matter at hand.
“Well, should I tell Dad you're interested?”
“Yes, please.”
“Excellent. I'll fix it with him and drive you over there, say, tomorrow evening.”
“Oh, that won't be necessary,” she said, bending down to snag the straps of her backpack and haul it up into her arms. “I have transportation now. I'll be fine.” With that, she reached into the top of the pack and withdrew a simple little pot-style scooter helmet.