Plan (12 page)

Rachel watched as the work crew threw the damaged shingles onto the growing heap. Just a couple of weeks ago a wrecking ball was stationed right at this spot. Now, a group of men were struggling to repair the damage done by the tornado and by time. It was like watching a resurrection take place, something new out of the old. She was standing on the threshold of a new era in her life. What was she going to do? She released a deep sigh. Maybe she was meant to work in full-time service in-
stead of getting married. In the Bible, Paul said that sin
gle people could devote more of their time to the Lord.

Walking back to her car, Rachel pondered the thought. With a hesitant heart, she looked up beyond the fluffy clouds and made a decision.

“Lord, I want to do your will, and if that means not getting married, then that's what I want,” she whispered sincerely.

She felt the wind against her face, and it was almost as if a hand brushed the fear away. She could feel God's presence in this place. She belonged here, not at the university. Here she could make a difference in someone's life. At the university, she was just another teacher, and not a very good one, at that. She hated grading papers and making tests. What she loved was working with these women and children and giving them not just the skills they needed, but the encouragement as well. This was home. Here she would never really be alone.

She got into her car and headed for her apartment, but something drew her to Emily's house. “What, Lord? What do you want me to do?” she prayed.

“Just go.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“I'll give you the words.”

“I'm afraid.”

“I'll give you strength.”

“I'll try, Father.”

“That's all I ask.”

She pulled into the Stanford driveway and parked in what was becoming her usual space. This time when the butler answered, he just motioned toward the library and disappeared. Rachel waited with her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. She rapped lightly on the paneled door and heard a quiet, “Come in.” Emily was sitting on the couch holding the picture of Tommy in his uniform.

“I hope I'm not intruding,” Rachel began.

“No, not at all,” Emily said, trying to regain her composure. The red, puffy eyes told that she had been crying, though her ramrod-straight back dared anyone to argue with her. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I came to ask what I could do for you,
Emily.”

She looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“I just had a feeling that I should come to see you today, that you needed to talk to someone.”

“I can't imagine why you would think that.” She pulled the picture closer to her chest.

“To tell the truth, Emily, God told me to come here today.”

“God.” Rachel heard the sarcasm in her voice. “What does God care about me?”

“He cares very much for you, Emily. He always has.” Rachel saw the bitterness finally boiling toward the surface—it was making Emily's life miserable. Rachel prayed for the right words to help.

“He has a funny way of showing it.” She stood abruptly and faced the fireplace. The grate was empty because of the warm weather, but ashes remained from something recently burned. “As a child, I was faithful to church and Sunday school. I did what was right according to the Bible, even when it wasn't popular. I prayed and read my Bible every day. What did I get for my trouble? This!”

Rachel could see it was a faded telegram. Though Rachel couldn't read it, she knew it must be the notice of Tommy's death. Emily clutched the telegram tightly in her hand and shook it up into the air.

“This is what I got in return. If God loved me so much, why did he let my Tommy die? I prayed every night that he would come home safe to me. He wasn't even in the
front lines. Why did this have to happen? Why?”

“I don't know why, Emily. Bad things happen every day, but it's not God's choice. People make choices that affect other people.”

“He could have stopped it.”

“Yes, He has the power to stop it, but in His love for us, He gave us free will.” Rachel crossed the room and laid a hand on Emily's arm. “I don't know why Tommy died, but I do know that He let you live. There's a reason for that, Emily.”

“Why?” Emily asked. The tears began to stream
down
her cheeks, and a sob rose from somewhere deep
within. “Why? Why am I still alive? What purpose is there for an old spinster like me?”

Rachel could see the pain and loneliness in her eyes. She put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “That's between you and God, Emily. But, I know if we pray about it, God will answer.”

“How can you be sure?” Emily asked hesitantly.

“Because He is faithful, Emily, even when we aren't. Whenever I ask, He always answers. Not always in the way that I want Him to, but He always answers.” Rachel took Emily's hands in hers. “Let's pray. You tell God all your pain and fears, and ask Him for His help.”

Emily nodded her head, too broken to answer. They bowed their heads and prayed. A little while later, Rachel left a more peaceful Emily alone with her God.

Rachel's step was lighter than it had been in months. She skipped her way up the sidewalk and into the apartment. Finals started tomorrow and then school would be out for the summer, but she would be out for good. Somewhere between the Center and Emily's, Rachel had decided to quit her job at the university. The time she had spent with Emily just confirmed her suspicions that she was meant to work at the Center full time. She wasn't sure what that would mean financially, but God would take care of the details. This was His plan, not hers.

Randy found Susan totally by accident. He walked into The Magnolia so lost in thought that he almost ran over her.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, moving past her toward his table.

“Hey, aren't you Randy Harris? From the English department?”

“Yes. Do I know you?” Randy asked.

“Not exactly. My name's Susan Peterson. I'm a friend of Rachel Grant's. Do you happen to know where I can find Rachel?” Susan asked.

“I know she's already left for the day. Is there a problem?”

“No. I just thought she might like to have a cup of tea with me.” She looked disappointed, even concerned.

“I was just about to have a cup myself. Would you like to join me?” Randy offered her his arm. She took it as they walked to his favorite spot. The spot he'd first sat at with Rachel. He took a deep breath and then plunged in.

“I'm afraid I've asked you to tea with a hidden agenda. I need to ask you something which you may tell me is none of my business.” Randy stopped to clear his throat. He was starting to ramble. He could tell by her bemused expression. “I mean, that is to say. . .”

“Spit it out, Dr. Harris.”

“Is Rachel really in love with Kyle?” he blurted out. Susan's mouth dropped open. “Never mind. It's really none of my business.” He started to stand up and make a hasty exit, but she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into his chair with a thud.

“Are you in love with Rachel?” When he refused to answer, he could tell she knew the truth. “You are. This is great!” She clapped her hands in delight.

“What do you mean great? It's a mess.” She looked puzzled.

“What are you talking about? It's perfect.”

“How can it be perfect when she's engaged to Kyle?” he asked.

“Engaged to Kyle? Where did you hear that?” Susan looked stunned.

“From Kyle.”

“When did he tell you that?” Susan asked.

“The week after the tornado. He came by looking for her and said they were engaged.”

“They were never engaged. She dumped him like a hot potato weeks ago,” Susan cried. “The jerk. I can't believe he said that.”

Randy stared at her for several moments. “You mean they only dated a few times?”

“Yes. She found out what a real jerk he was and told him off.” Susan sat up straight in her chair. “Is that why you suddenly decided to move south?” Randy nodded.

“I'm not going anymore, though. The project was cancelled. I got the news yesterday.”

“That's great.” Susan grasped his arm. “Not because you didn't get the promotion, but great that you're staying.”

“I understand, but now what do I do?” Randy patted her arm.

“You go talk to her.”

“Easier said than done.” They finished their tea, punctuated by playful slaps from Susan. She was chattering happily about the good news, but he wasn't listening too closely.

He left Susan at the door of The Magnolia and headed for home. He needed time to think this through. He didn't want to make any more stupid mistakes. Once inside the house, he went to his special place, a window seat that overlooked the backyard. He bowed his head and quieted his heart.

Lord, what should I do?

“Go to her.”

What do I say?

“Tell her the truth.”

What if she doesn't want me?

He prayed for a few more moments, but he knew what he had to do. He had to find out for himself. He had to be willing to take the risk of rejection. Randy prayed for guidance, for the right words, as he never had before. At last a gentle peace flooded his soul. He looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set, and tomorrow was a new day.

The rest of the week went by in a blur of finals and grading, but on Friday morning Rachel turned in her grades and her resignation. She was in her classroom, sorting through what belonged to the university and what belonged to her when Randy stopped by.

“What's going on? Spring cleaning?” Randy asked, eyebrows raised. She was going to miss that expression. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“More like cleaning out. I just turned in my resignation.” Rachel could see the shock in his eyes.

“Why?” He looked puzzled, even hurt. She couldn't imagine why. He would be leaving soon as well.

“I'm the new director of the community center,
re
member? It's going to be a full-time job. Emily and I
have a lot of plans for the place.”

“Emily? You mean Ms. Stanford?” He really looked confused now.

“Yes. We've become good friends over the last week or so. Sort of kindred spirits. Besides, I really prefer the work at the Center to teaching at the university. There's a lot more freedom there.”

“Oh.” He seemed to be struggling to say something.

“Was there something you wanted?” Rachel questioned.

“Yes. Oh yeah.” Randy stuttered. “I wanted you to come to my house for dinner tonight. I finally finished remodeling the house and I wanted you to see it.”

“Oh, I'd love to see it.” Rachel tried to control her enthusiasm. He probably just wanted to show the house to someone. That's all. “What time?”

“About six o'clock?”

“Sounds fine to me. I'll see you then.”

Randy nodded and gave a little wave as he rounded the corner. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Steady, girl. He has a job down south, and you have a job at the Center. It could never work out. Just calm down. With a sigh, she threw herself into cleaning.

By five-thirty she had convinced herself not to expect anything special tonight. But she couldn't help trying to look her best. Her room looked like the day after a tornado. She had been through every outfit she owned, twice. She settled on a navy pantsuit, not too dressy, but not too casual either. People said the color set off her eyes and hair. With one last look in the mirror, she tucked a stray hair into the French twist and grabbed her car keys. She arrived at Randy's house at a quarter to six. Better early than late. She rang the doorbell and heard a clatter in the background. It was several minutes before Randy appeared. His hair was still damp from the shower.

“You're early,” he gasped.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine.” He had a distracted air about him.

“Aren't you going to invite me in?”

“Hmm. No. I can't.”

“What?” Rachel asked. What was going on here?

“You can't come in until six o'clock.” Randy's tall frame filled the doorway so that she couldn't see around him. He was not going to budge.

“Then what do you expect me to do?” Rachel asked, hands on hips. “Sit on the porch?”

“Yes. That's a wonderful idea.” He smiled and shut the door. She heard the deadbolt click into place. She stared at the door for several minutes, but he didn't return to let her in. She looked around and spied a swing at the corner of the porch. It hadn't been there the last time she was here. She tested it before she sat down. The faint squeaking soothed her ragged nerves until she relaxed against the swing, reveling in the gentle breeze. At six o'clock on the dot, Randy reappeared at the door.

“Hi, Rachel, glad you could come. Why don't you come in and sit down?” He was pretending as though nothing had happened before. She didn't know what he was up to, but two could play this game.

“I'd love to. Thanks for inviting me.”

She followed him into the parlor, but couldn't get past the threshold. Not only had he finished the wallpapering, he had also decorated the room in a rich wine. Beautiful drapes with real lace sheers graced the double window. The Queen Anne couches were covered in the same material with matching wing chairs scattered in clusters around the room.

“Would you care to sit down?” he asked.

She took a seat at the couch, bewildered by his sudden formality. Something was definitely up. He joined her on the couch and motioned toward a tray of spinach dip and vegetables. She took a bite.

“This is my favorite dip,” she exclaimed. “How did you know?”

“I didn't know it was your favorite. Small world.” He smiled a little too brightly. She noticed his hair was dry and lying in waves over his head. She buried the urge to run her fingers through it and took another bite to cover her nervousness.

“I thought you promised me a tour of the house.”

“After dinner. I don't want the food to get cold. Let's go to the dining room.” He motioned for her to go first. When she headed for the kitchen, he led her gently in the other direction. “I thought we would eat in the dining room for a change.”

“I didn't think you had a table.”

“I do now.” That was an understatement. A beautiful rosewood table was surrounded by matching chairs covered in a cream brocade. The hardwood floor was covered with a beautiful area rug. The set was completed by a matching buffet and hutch.

“It's beautiful,” Rachel gasped.

“I'm glad you like it.” He seemed very pleased by her compliment.

“The table setting is beautiful too.”

The table was set with matching cream linens and the centerpiece was a vase of cream-colored roses mixed with deeper wine roses. There were lit candles on both ends of the table, but the places were set at the head of the table. Randy held one of the chairs for her.

“I'll be right back.” He went into the kitchen, making sure he closed the swinging door behind him. A few moments later he returned with the salad.

“Let's pray.” He blessed the food and they made it through the first course and the main course without a hitch. Randy kept up the small talk about finals and his renovations, but Rachel could tell that there was something he wasn't saying.

“I'll get dessert.” He stood and placed the folded napkin next to his plate.

“Let me help you.” Rachel pushed her chair back to stand up.

“No!” he shouted. Then he lowered his voice. “I mean, I can take care of it. You're my guest.” He gave a little bow and a sheepish smile and backed into the kitchen. A loud crash and the sound of breaking glass sent Rachel scurrying into the kitchen.

“Are you all right?” She pushed open the door to find Randy surrounded by take-out boxes from their favorite Italian restaurant and a tempting chocolate mousse lying at his feet.

“I'm fine, just a case of butterfingers. Just go back and sit down and I'll take care of everything.” He waved her toward the dining room, but she ignored him.

“I will not. You stay right where you are. You'll only make it worse. Where are your cleaning supplies?”

“In the closet under the stairs.” He looked like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She tried to hide the smile that jerked at the corners of her mouth.

“I'll be right back. Don't move,” she warned, pointing her finger at him until he nodded in agreement. She found everything she needed and entered the kitchen from the hall.

“Here, let me.” He held out his hand for the dustpan and broom, but she moved them out of his reach.

“No. I've got to get the mousse up before it starts to melt.” With a practiced twist she used what was left of the platter to scoop the soggy mess into the trash can. Then she carefully brushed the glass from his shoes and wiped up the remains of the mousse before trying to sweep up the broken shards.

“I can take it from here. Thanks.” She handed him the broom, but kept the dustpan.

“I'll hold while you sweep.” She looked up at him with a smile. His face was flushed and he merely nodded. She emptied the rest of the glass into the trash can and stood up. “You'll probably need to sweep again very carefully and then mop so that the mousse doesn't make the floor sticky.”

“I'll take care of that later. Why don't you go sit in the parlor and I'll bring the coffee.”

“Why don't I help you clean the table and the kitchen?” Rachel offered.

“No. I'll take care of it later.”

“It won't take long.” She walked into the dining room as she talked. “I can clear the table and you can start in the kitchen.”

He grabbed her arm. “No. I don't want you to help clean. You're a guest. Please have a seat in the parlor and I'll bring the coffee.” His face was still flushed, but she could tell he was getting agitated.

“Okay.” She shook her head. “I'll meet you in the parlor.”

He watched her walk out of the room, making sure she was really gone. As she took her place on the sofa, she wondered what was wrong with him tonight. Maybe he had decided that he needed to explain about the kiss, let her know he had a girlfriend. Her face warmed at the very thought. The last thing she needed was a “talk,” the old “let's just be friends” routine. She thought about leaving right now while he was still in the kitchen, but she knew that would be rude.

Randy returned with the silver service a few moments later and set it up on the coffee table. “Cream or sugar?”

“Both. I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar,” she quipped. He smiled and seemed to relax. “You know, this is the first time I've ever seen anyone use a coffee table for serving coffee.” He laughed.

“Me too, come to think about it.” He handed her a dainty cup and saucer. When he picked up his own, she was surprised at how easily he held the cup in his hands and yet he still looked so masculine. His large hands were well-worn from work, but they were gentle with the fragile china. She wondered what it would feel like in his arms, to have those hands holding hers. She shook the image away.

“Are you cold?” he asked, immediately concerned. “I can turn up the heat.”

“No. No, I'm fine. Just a shiver.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm positive,” she assured him. The last thing she needed was more heat right now. She could feel her face beginning to burn. She sipped her coffee, unsure what to say. He did the same. When she had finally swallowed the last drop, she put the cup down on the table.

“Would you like another cup?” he offered, reaching for the coffee.

“No. One cup is all I need this late.”

“Oh, of course. I should have made decaf.” He looked disappointed.

“I believe you were going to give me a tour of the rest of the house,” she said, relieved to have something to do besides sit and stare at her coffee cup. This was so unlike Randy.

“Yes, I was. Let me show you the rest of the downstairs.” He gave her a guided tour of the other rooms, noting what he had done. They were all as beautiful as the parlor. The den was void of furniture except a television and a recliner.

“What are you going to do in here?” Rachel asked.

“I'm going to buy some lived-in furniture for this
room. I consider this to be the place where the real living is done. A place for a family to gather and watch television or play games or just talk. What do you think?” He looked at her as though he were judging her answers very carefully.

“I think that's a great idea. You wouldn't want children climbing on those antiques in the parlor.”

“Exactly. This is a room for kids to play in or adults to put their feet up on.” He smiled in a way that made him seem very satisfied. She passed the test whatever it was. She tried not to imagine Kathryn and Randy curled up on a sofa in front of the couch. “Now, let me show you upstairs.”

He took her through all the rooms, most of them still devoid of furniture, except the one where he slept. It only had a bed frame and a dresser. He stopped in front of the master bedroom for a moment and then turned around.

“I saved this room for last because I took your advice about the colors and I wanted your opinion on the finished project.”

He opened the door and she gasped in surprise. The room was exactly as she had described it. He had even put up the window treatments she had suggested and a new comforter and sheet set were sitting on the ladder-back chair. The chair was the only piece of furniture in the room.

“Where's the bed?” she asked.

“Well, I think a bedroom suite is something a man and wife should pick out together. Don't you?” She could feel his eyes on her back, waiting for a reaction.

“Of course.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. He was asking for more advice. He probably still felt insecure in his relationship with Kathryn. “I'm sure Kathryn will love shopping for this room.”

“Why would I want Kathryn to pick out the furniture?” he asked. She turned around to look at Randy. He looked truly puzzled.

“When you get married, of course. She'll want to pick out the furniture.”