Finding Boaz

  "The one's on the new boat, will they be this big?"

  "Abby." He gently pulled her to her feet. "Look, I like you, but I think if we are ever going to mean anything to each other, we have to go slow. There are things about me you don't know, and I barely know you."

  "Isn't that the truth."

  "I want to know you better, just slowly." He brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. Abby felt his current pulling her to him. She stepped away.

  "Are we done here?" Her voice sounded too abrupt to her ears.

  "How'd he do last night?" A gravelly voice came from behind them as they stood by the railing.

  "First place."

  "I knew he'd do it."

  Like ripples in a smooth pond, the man's face wrinkled in waves to a near toothless grin. He wore a dark blue work jumper dotted with white paint. His wispy, white hair danced in the breeze.

  "I'll tell him you said so, Jack." Then Duncan turned to Abby. "My brother races sailboats."

  "Who's the pretty girl?" Abby smiled and offered her hand to the old man.

  "This is Abby. She's going to organize our new cruises."

  "That's a big job, Missy. Can ya do it?"

  "Yes, sir." Abby smiled at Jack.

  "Abby organized the Old Thyme Festival last year, Jack."

  "I was there. Ya need more sea songs at that thing. It was good, though."

  "Do you know any?"

  "Course I do." He patted the harmonica in his front pocket. "Well, I gotta get back. I can't stand round here all day."

  "I'd like to hear you play sometime." Abby tossed out as he walked away. He nodded over his shoulder and shuffled away.

  Duncan showed her around the rest of the ferry without any further fanfare. She took in what she could, knowing she could return if necessary. She spent the rest of the afternoon getting acquainted with the rest of the place.

  Abby pulled onto the concrete pad that served as her driveway amid the squeals of Chloe.

  "Momma! Momma!" Chloe yelled as she ran the short distance to the car.

  Abby nearly rolled out onto the ground in her speed to get out of the car to grab her little girl on bended knee.

  "Hello, punkin'." The little body next to her heart was joy. Stress melted into laughter.

  "Let's go out," Helen announced, emerging from the back door.

  "She seems to be better. Is she up to it?"

  "Absolutely. She had a little bit of lunch. But she's been asking for supper since three."

  "I don't know, Mom. I don't want to run into Brad."

  "Why would we?"

  "I don't know—I just have a feeling, you know?"

  "Don't be silly. We'll be fine." She dropped her hand from her wrist. "It'll be good to get out for a while. I'll run in and get my purse."

  "Yeah," Abby said, but she wasn't sure. She really felt like she should stay home and have a can of soup. After all, she'd been out all day. But Mom's the expert, she reasoned. If she says Chloe's OK then it's probably all right. If that nagging doubt would just go away, then she'd feel better about it.

  Chloe pulled at her back pocket. Blue eyes, big smile.

  "Let's go Sammy's!"

  "OK, punkin'." Helen came out with a small diaper bag and her purse. They all piled into Helen's car.

  "I don't know why this feeling won't go away. He didn't even like Sammy's. He thought the whole buffet thing was gross. I used to go to a Sammy's with my good friend Suzie."

  The two laughed and Helen drove them to Sammy's.

  It was early for dinner when they arrived at the restaurant. Before they walked in, they could see Sharmagne standing behind the counter.

  "Hey, y'all." Sharmagne's face broke into a big wide grin.

  "Hey, Sharmagne."

  "Y'all want to sit by the windows?" She grabbed a couple of menus.

  "We missed you on Sunday. Is everything OK?" Abby asked.

  "Yeah. I was working my other job. But you know, the good Lord, He knows that I gotta do what I gotta do to take care of my babies."

  "Yeah, He does."

  "You let me know if you need anything, hear?"

  "Sure will."

  Abby faced the view of the parking lot, Helen faced the inside of the room and Chloe sat in a high chair at the end between them. Abby and Helen took turns at the salad bar. Chloe was happy with cubes of ham and cheese and wedges of tomato. When they were settled back at the table with plates full Helen dove in.

  "So how was it?"

  "It's only been one day. I didn't do much." Except my boss is made of electricity.

  She smiled at her mother. "It's gonna be like a bed and breakfast on the water. I have to plan menus and all that kind of stuff. Have you ever been to Tangier Island?"

  "Isn't that where they still talk like the old English settlers?"

  "I think so."

  "I have heard about it, but I've never been there. Is that where you'll be going?"

  "Yep."

  Brad's green truck pulled into the parking lot and took the space across from where Abby was sitting. She held her fork suspended as she glanced from Brad to Suzie. Betrayal is a cold zephyr: it blows through the body from the nape of the neck outward. Her spine shivered in its wake. Brad turned away from her to get out of the truck.

  She left him, did she?

  Before Abby could collect her thoughts, he was standing at her side, holding hands with Suzie.

  "I thought she was sick." He smirked.

  "She was. My mom stayed with her today. She's better now."

  "Good. I'll be able to see her in the next couple of days then."

  "Hi, Suz'. Nice to see you," Helen pitched in. Abby had to lean forward to see Suzie still holding hands and hiding behind Brad. Suzie raised an eyebrow in response.

  "Would you all like to sit together?" Sharmagne addressed Brad.

  "Ah, no. That's OK."

  "Well, if you would follow me, I'll show you to your table."

  "I'll call you," he said, and they left. Sharmagne sat them in a booth close to the entrance. Abby would have to walk by the two of them when they left. Great.

  "I knew we shouldn't have come," Abby said when he was out of earshot. "I don't think I can eat now."

  "How could we know that we'd run into him here? Even you said he doesn't like the place." Helen picked up her fork and continued with her meal.

  "I know, Mom. It's not your fault." I should have just listened, she said to herself, not for the first time.

  Abby pushed her plate away. Chloe pushed her plate away, too. She seemed to be done. Abby pulled out a baby wipe and cleaned her fingers and face. By the time she was done cleaning Chloe, Helen was ready to go. Helen picked up the check and they headed down the gauntlet. Brad was facing them as they walked toward the checkout near the entrance.

  "Hi, Da—" Chunks flew before she could finish. Little pieces of ham dressed in pungent, frothy, yellow gunk landed on Brad's pants, and all over the floor. Chloe started to cry.

  "My pants!" He took a paper napkin and swiped at the mess.

  "Gross!" Suzie said.

  Sharmagne appeared at Abby's elbow and said, "It's all right, honey. You just take care of that baby. I'll take care of this mess."

  Abby picked up the crying Chloe, and carried her to the bathroom. She sat her child on the edge of the sink and cleaned her up. After Chloe calmed down, they left without another glance at Brad and Suzie.

  "I think you had better call Social Services and get them to intervene. She obviously isn't taking care of Chloe. What kind of a mother takes a sick kid out to a restaurant to eat?"

  "You're right."

  Chapter 15

  The next two days ticked by a notch at a time. Abby contained her anger by rattling around in her apartment. She cleaned until her hands were red. What had Brad meant by asking her to reconcile? Tears of frustration burned her eyes when she wasn't banging her knuckles on some fixture she was scrubbing. Suzie had been in the background the whole time. Had she known?
Maybe. Why did Brad think he could use me that way?

  What if I had said yes?

  And Duncan? She wasn't ready. She couldn't trust anyone. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  By Friday, Chloe was better, and Abby returned to work. She found that she had been given the only empty desk to be found. It was in Debbie's office. Later that morning, Angus dropped off a stack full of catalogues and a book on boating safety from the Coast Guard. She spent the rest of the day going through catalogues and becoming more acquainted with her friend Debbie and her office mate, Kay.

  Debbie and Abby had been church friends. Because of their small children, neither of them had the time to devote to friendships other than the casual kind that develop in groups where people see each other repeatedly in settings where little talk is possible. Lunchtime became a time of fellowship.

  Abby put down the last catalogue in time for lunch. The women preferred to eat outside on the picnic table that was provided for that purpose. Abby sat across from Debbie and Kay. Kay was a small, blonde woman with pearly white teeth and a loose tongue.

  "I think I know why we have not heard or seen Mr. Duncan MacLeod since Tuesday," Kay declared while pinching a dainty morsel off the corner of her sandwich and placing it on her tongue. "I think he's hiding from us."

  Abby couldn't imagine Duncan MacLeod hiding from anyone. But then she didn't know him very well. They had only shared a kiss after all. As he had been quick to point out, that didn't mean you knew a person.

  "Why?" Abby asked. Debbie rolled her eyes—a gesture Abby was sure Debbie would have kept to herself if Kay could have seen it.

  "Because it's a disgrace that he is taking over this company from his brother. It rightfully belongs to Mr. Angus. It's just not fair that it was given to Duncan. He's ashamed to show his face, " she said and took a sip of her diet soda.

  "Why would he care what we think? It doesn't make sense."

  "We're like family to them. That's why." Debbie agreed with this by nodding her head.

  "What do you mean–like family?"

  "That part is true." Debbie took over. "The MacLeod's treat all their employees like family. When you were hired, didn't you think that they made you a generous offer?"

  Abby had not thought until this moment that Debbie would know about her financial arrangements. But of course she would. As the bookkeeper, Debbie would write her checks.

  "Yes, I did."

  "They treat everyone like that. They are generous with holidays, too. Of course it's handy that the important ones fall in the winter when we are nearly shut down anyway. But I don't think that Mr. Duncan is trying to stay away from us because he's afraid to show his face. I think he must have some kind of work to keep him busy outside of the office."

  Debbie's arguments sounded much more grounded than Kay's accusations.

  "Whatever you say, I still think that there'll be a falling out over this. Duncan had no right to come here and take over what Mr. Angus had earned by rights."

  They finished their lunch and went back to work. Abby had no time to reflect on Kay's comments until she drove home.

  Maneuvering her car through the narrow streets toward home, Abby dismissed the idea that her presence had kept him from coming to work. He was right after all: there was a lot she didn't know about him, and what she had heard wasn't promising. She felt now that some time had passed she would be able to deal with him in a friendly fashion without a hint of romance. After all, they had to work together, and she knew how to be professional—despite running out of the room during the interview. She had never done that kind of thing before. She still felt red faced every time it crossed her mind.

  As for a falling out with Angus, she hoped it wouldn't come to that. But even if it did, it wouldn't be her business. Abby patted the pocket of her jeans where her first paycheck lay folded. She said a prayer to thank God for the money and Duncan MacLeod for giving her the job. Maybe she would see him again on Sunday.

  Chapter 16

  Duncan spent Saturday driving home from Fort Bragg, North Carolina. It had taken three days to muster out of the Army. He was relieved it was over. He was now on his journey home. He thought of the quiet passing of the citizen soldier. How many had gone home just this way? He was driving, but many of them would have walked down dusty roads. How many of them had come home to no fanfare whatsoever? No ceremony to mark their passing. Just forms and paperwork and, "You're good to go, Soldier."

  He had never seen combat, yet he was proud of his career. Except for the accident, his career had been successful. He had stood watch in peacetime. He was satisfied. True, he did not have the farewell of generals. It was enough that he had done his duty and done it well.

  Now he was free to concentrate on the business at hand. Thoughts of home turned to his mother and father. Lachlan MacLeod had recorded his courtship of the beautiful Erin Dalrymple in the Chronicles.

  Lachlan's mother, Maureen O'Toole MacLeod, held a big party at Easter every year. She called it "Easter on the Lawn" and invited everyone she knew. It was she who persuaded Lachlan to invite the young Erin Dalrymple. Erin, the beatnik, had to be cajoled into coming. Full of stories about Jack Kerouac and the road, she would have nothing to do with convention.

  Maureen O'Toole MacLeod was a forthright woman, warm and affectionate. It didn't take her long to recognize her Lachlan's attachment to Erin. So she created an opportunity to tell the odd story of how she came to be a MacLeod.

  A big grin spread across Duncan's face. Mother was a beatnik. He snapped his fingers and laughed. He could just see her on bended knee in front of Lachlan. Back straight, she still wouldn't have come up much past his knee.

  "You would make me the happiest woman in the world," she had said to Lachlan, offering the ring, which he wore to the grave.

  Perhaps they needed to have another "Easter on the Lawn" this year, he thought fiendishly.

  Perhaps he would see Abby on Sunday.

  Chapter 17

  The parish house of Bethel of the Bible Church was built of cinder block. Inside it was painted with white enamel like an elementary school. In the basement were several rooms and a kitchen. Abby's Sunday school class met in a corner room. Small rectangular windows studded the walls near the ceiling.

  It was a foggy, wet morning. Dampness had seeped into the room making it an ice box. Abby was glad she had her cardigan. Huddled around the large rectangular table were Mrs. Young, Mrs. Petersen, Mrs. Bennett, and Duncan. Abby was relieved to see Tammy was absent. Abby took an open seat across from Duncan.

  Lars sat at the head of the table and read out the usual list of announcements in a breathy, baritone with theatrical pauses between each.

  "Our Sunday school class is having a picnic next Sunday afternoon at my house for anyone who wishes to come." Lengthy pause for writing down essential points.

  "Anyone who can make it is welcome to help with a yard sale for the youth on Saturday morning at seven." Another lengthy pause. Then he prayed, and after a pause, he read from Matthew 18.

  "Seventy times seven," he breathed. "We are to forgive our brother seventy times seven.” He paused and looked around the table. "You know, I've been thinking about that, and it doesn't seem that hard to me to forgive people." He looked down, paused once more, and continued, "Perhaps it's what Christ has done for me. I don't know." He swiped his left hand, palm up in a gesture that said it was beyond him to fathom the reason. "Does anyone have anything to say about that?"

  This part was always awkward. Everyone waited to see who would be first. None of them wanted to appear over eager. Pairs of eyes scanned the others at the table and then looked down at whatever lay before them on the table, waiting to see who would take the plunge. Mrs. Young's large blue eyes were distant and rimmed in pink as if she'd had a cold or had been crying recently. Mrs. Bennett looked out at the table blankly. Mrs. Petersen kept her eyes down at her Bible reading ahead and behind the passage they were studying. Duncan sat across from Abby with his Bible open. br />
  Abby didn't mind starting usually, but this time guilt had short-circuited her brain. She condemned herself a hypocrite. Why did they have to talk about forgiveness of all things? Duncan piped in before Abby could come up with a valid point.

  "I think that it's always hard to forgive someone who's hurt you. But I do believe that before healing can take place, forgiveness must happen."

  Did Duncan mean to talk to her? Nah, he didn't even know about Brad.

  "Yes, I would agree with that," breathed Lars. "We are all so imperfect; we all need forgiveness."

  "I am having a hard time with this one," said Mrs. Young. There was an edge to her usually mild voice. "Last week my daughter left her husband and moved in with me. She will not talk about it with me. She won't talk to him." Mrs. Young paused, looked around at all of them, and continued, her eyes filling with tears.

  "On top of it all, my social security check went missing." She choked and her eyes brimmed over, the tears landing on tissue as she dabbed her eyes. “I'm afraid she took it." She paused to strengthen her voice. "I don't know what to do. I've never been in a situation like this." She looked back down at the table and dabbed her eyes once more, trying to calm herself.

  Again they waited, like people at a gravesite, not knowing what to say or how to say anything.

  Mrs. Young continued to look down.

  Abby looked from face to face.

  "Maybe it's drugs." Mrs. Young choked on the words.

  "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord," Mrs. Bennett offered.

  "That is so true. You know, I just read the oddest thing on the Internet." Mrs. Petersen looked up with her eyes open wide. "Voltaire went about the world telling people that the Bible was outdated and that by the end of his generation, no one would be reading it anymore. Of course not only were they still reading it, but a hundred years later, his own printing press was used to print Bibles." They all smiled awkwardly at the story.

  "Have you called the police?" Duncan asked Mrs. Young.

  "No, I tried to mention it to Ruth, but she didn't seem to know anything. But she didn't really answer; she doesn't want to talk to me. She's so sullen, and I hate to say it but ... rude." She stopped to adjust her tissue and dab her eyes again. "She's usually so sociable." Again she struggled for control. "I did call the Social Security people. They said that they have to wait to see if the check clears. And if it does, then they will compare the signatures. If they can tell it's not mine, then they will reissue a check. If it doesn't clear, then they will reissue a new check."