Finding Boaz

  Abby was overcome with frustration. How long was an old person supposed to wait for her only income to arrive? Didn't those people realize that it was all she had to live on?

  "How about changing your address—get a P.O. box?" Duncan said, thoughtfully rubbing his hand over his mouth and chin.

  "Yeah, that'll keep her away from it," said Mrs. Bennett.

  Mrs. Young's problem seemed very black and white to Abby. Tell the daughter to get out. Get her some help maybe, but not at home. But who was she to tell the older saint what to do? She still couldn't figure out what to do with Brad. Abby was tired of trying to forgive Brad and tired of feeling guilty for not forgiving him.

  "Isn't Christianity supposed to have some teeth?" Abby shot out onto the table. "Doesn't it say that when a brother continues to walk disorderly that we are to evict him from the assembly? Look at Jesus and the money changers in the temple. I think he must have been huge."

  Heads bobbed up and down in agreement. The pages in Mrs. Petersen's Bible sounded like rain on the windowsill as she flipped around trying to find the passage Abby referred to.

  "It does say that," answered Duncan, "but you are not allowed to have resentment towards that person."

  "Well, I'm not talking about that. If someone, like Mrs. Young's daughter, hurts you and threatens you with harm, I think that even as Christians we have a right to stand up for ourselves."

  Mrs. Young looked up.

  "Of course, Jesus never said we had to be door mats." Duncan smiled at her.

  Abby's heart yanked itself into overdrive.

  "I don't think money changers have anything to do with it. I think you have to be very careful about this. Don't forget the other cheek," Lars threw in.

  "We aren't talking about 'other cheek' kind of situations," Duncan countered.

  The loud ringing of the Sunday school bell brought to a close the discussion. They ended with prayer and they filed out to meld into the larger group pooling in the kitchen and trickling out the various exits. Abby watched Duncan catch up with Mrs. Young as she walked past the kitchen on her way toward the hallway to Chloe's classroom.

  "Momma! Momma!" Chloe shouted and ran to Abby's waist.

  "Hello, punkin'. You ready?"

  Abby gathered Chloe's papers and thanked Debbie. Duncan was leaning against the wall when she came out. Their eyes met. He followed her outside into the bright March day.

  She blinked rapidly in the brilliant sunlight. The dampness of the morning had burned off, but the ground was still soggy. Abby kept her heels carefully on the pavement.

  "Would you like to go to Sammy's?" Duncan asked.

  The last place in the world she wanted to eat was Sammy's.

  "No, thanks. Chloe and I are going home to eat." He looked disappointed. Her heart warmed toward him. She couldn't help but smile. "What do you think of grilled cheese?" she asked.

  "It's been a long time since I had one." He smiled back and her heart skipped a beat. Dangerously handsome was right.

  "You’re welcome to eat with us if you like."

  "All right. I'll follow you," he replied

  Abby was not usually embarrassed of her home, but today was different. As she turned onto Parkview Avenue, she felt like she should have agreed to go anywhere with him but home. He had to be used to much better. Her apartment with its orange carpet was a tenement compared to the mansion he probably lived in.

  At least it's clean.

  "Can't help what you can afford. Can help how clean it is." Her grandmother's words whispered in her memory. She hadn't thought about that in years.

  To make matters worse, when she pulled into the driveway Helen's car was sitting there. Her mom had a key to her apartment and must be waiting inside. Abby parked the car, took a deep breath, and got out. Chloe hopped out and ran to the duplex yelling,

  "Gramma! Gramma!"

  The call brought a smile to Abby's face. She turned that smile up to Duncan who smiled back.

  "She does that a lot," he said.

  "Yeah, she does. It's a joy. Do you have any children?"

  Duncan's eyes widened.

  "I have never been married," he replied.

  "Well, that doesn't seem to mean much anymore." She cast her eyes down to walk through the spongy ground.

  "True," he said as they headed across the grass toward the apartment.

  "Listen, before we go in... My mom is here. I didn't know she would be here."

  "It's OK. I would like to meet your mom."

  That's nice, Abby thought, but I don't want her to meet you. Her mother didn't even know about him.

  Chapter 18

  To Duncan the dim room was like stepping into a closet to find a lost shoe.

  Details came into focus slowly as his eyes adjusted. It was sparsely decorated. One round table with four chairs in what could only be described as a kitchen/dining room combo, a bamboo and wicker love seat, and one chair in the living room. There was a small television with a video machine. The windows were ordinary except for the white metal bars that encased them. Despite their plainness the rooms were warm and inviting. He felt at home and comfortable at once.

  "Please have a seat." Abby directed him to a chair on the far side of the round table that dominated the kitchen/dining room combo.

  "My mom is helping Chloe change. They'll be out in a minute." Abby offered him iced tea, which he accepted.

  When she turned her back to him to prepare salad. He stood up and went to stand next to her. He picked up a carrot slice and munched.

  "So how long have you lived here?"

  "About a year now." Abby blushed that attractive pink. Her back stiffened.

  "It's nice."

  "It's not. But it's what I can afford, and I keep it clean." She kept her face to her work.

  "Well, I like it."

  "Surely you are used to much better." She cast him a sideways glance.

  "In the Army? You gotta be kiddin'. Our barracks at Ft. McCall were covered in tar paper."

  "Now you're kidding." She pointed a carrot at him and gave him a direct look that he interpreted to mean “you better tell me the truth or else.” But she began to relax; the lines of her body became fluid once more.

  Then, a short, trim woman wearing purple hospital scrubs came out of the back of the apartment holding Chloe's hand. Her hair was short and brown like her granddaughter's. She wore silver rings on three fingers of each of her hands. Her eyes were challenging. He could tell she was not the type of person who gave anyone the benefit of the doubt.

  "Hi, I'm Duncan MacLeod." He extended his hand. The woman stepped forward to clasp his hand. Chloe broke free and returned to the back of the house. He assumed she'd gone back to her bedroom.

  "Helen Roberts." She shook hands like a man.

  "I met Duncan at church, Mom. He's gonna have lunch with us."

  Helen smiled at him. Coffee had stained her teeth. Helen poured herself a cup and sat down at the table.

  "Whatcha makin'?" she hollered to Abby.

  "Grilled cheese and salad."

  "Do you work at the hospital?" Duncan asked as he sat down across from her. He was prepared for the challenge in Helen's eyes.

  "Yes. What do you do?"

  "I own a family business. As a matter of fact, Abby has just started to work for me. MacLeod Tours."

  "So you're that Duncan MacLeod."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "I knew your father." Recognition glowed from Helen's eyes.

  "How did you know him?" Duncan wished with all his heart that the pain he felt when anyone mentioned Lachlan would ease.

  "I was with him that last night in the ER. I am so sorry he's gone. How's your mom doing? She was pretty bad that night." Concern mellowed the fierceness he had encountered on her entry. "She was so calm. I thought the quietness would break her back."

  "She's doing all right. They were very close."

  "I could see that. She stayed with him all night that night. I don't think I saw he
r sit down even once."

  Abby served up the sandwiches. Duncan waited for grace. Helen took a bite of her sandwich. Duncan looked to Abby. She was holding hands with Chloe. They closed their eyes together in silent prayer.

  "So, Abby tells me you're buying a new boat to go to Tangier," said Helen as if she hadn't noticed the prayer.

  Duncan spent the rest of lunch telling them about the boat he had chosen and why. Chloe watched him with big eyes through the entire meal. He was reluctant to leave, but after the meal was over, he could think of nothing more to discuss with Helen and Abby. If Abby had been on her own, he imagined they could have gone for a walk and talked about nothing much for hours.

  After walking him to his car, Abby went back to the house with a warm glow deep down. Why had she been so concerned about Helen? Helen worked with people who were in need all the time. And she was good at her job. Abby knew people all over Ocean View who loved her mom. Everything had gone so well.

  It hadn't occurred to her that Helen could have been there the night Lachlan MacLeod died. She wondered what kind of man he was. Maybe this one was going to turn out OK. He hadn't looked down on her apartment; he even said he liked it. That could be nothing but kindness. The screen door slapped shut behind her as she went back inside.

  "Be careful of that one." Fierceness was back with a vengeance in Helen's voice and eyes.

  "Why? He seems nice enough."

  "I was in the ER one night with him, too."

  "What happened? Was he hurt?"

  "I can't remember the details. Let me think about it. Just trust me on this one. Give him some distance."

  "Gosh, Mom, it's not like we're getting married tomorrow or anything."

  "Just listen to me. That one's trouble." Helen banged her hand, palm down, on the table for emphasis.

  "OK, OK," Abby agreed. She turned from Helen to the sink to clean up the dishes and hide the hot tears at the corners of her eyes. This was the honesty she had asked for; she didn't want any more mistakes. But Duncan had felt right to her in a way that Brad never had. And though she hadn't invested anything in their relationship, she knew her heart was definitely looking his way.

  Chapter 19

  “Everybody thinks that Angus should have gotten the place. You should see him sail. He wins every time at the Monday night boat races." Monday lunch at the picnic table. It was glorious outside. The sun was shining in the blue sky and the breeze was steady. Kay's rhetoric had not changed. Duncan shouldn't have inherited the business and on and on in praise of Angus MacLeod.

  "What're Monday night boat races?" Abby hoped to change the subject.

  "They're put on by the local yacht club, and Angus MacLeod always wins. I've heard some say that he should have tried for the America's Cup."

  "A guy from this little burg?" Debbie was incredulous.

  "He's won all the local stuff. The lighthouse race, the Monday night races—he's even won the bathtub race put on by the university."

  Duncan arrived out of nowhere carrying a paper bag and a sweating bottle of water.

  "Hi. Do you mind if I join you?" He smiled into Abby's eyes. Her pulse quickened. She smiled back.

  "Of course not. You sit here." Debbie shot Abby a conspiratorial look. She got up quickly and moved to Abby's side of the table. Abby slid over to make room. Kay stayed put, straightening her back just a little, and turned ever so slightly toward him. He sat down and pulled out a deli-sized sandwich on rye and a baggie of fig bars. He was still for a flash and then picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

  "So how do you find Ocean View on your return?" Kay's mistimed question resulted in a bobbing of his head and a hurried chew and swallow.

  "I like it." His response was directed at Abby.

  "Look at the time." Debbie pointed to her watch, and looking at Kay said, "Time to get back in."

  Abby gathered her wrappings, disappointed at the need to pull away from Duncan. She wanted to stay and learn more about him.

  "Abby, stay. I need to talk to you." Duncan supplied the excuse she needed.

  Her companions left for the office, and she sat back down. "What about?"

  Duncan looked past her. She glanced behind her to see her coworkers opening the door and stepping inside.

  "Mrs. Young." He took another bite of the sandwich.

  Abby watched him. His shirt stretched over work-made muscles. His arms ended in thick-fingered hands. His lips glistened as he took a drink of cold water. A tingly warmth spread through her as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers. She shifted on the bench seat and looked up into his eyes, which had caught her staring. She felt her face redden; he smiled.

  "I thought we should go and see her. I would like to help her out, but it's a little awkward."

  "Why? You're a member of the church. She's a widow."

  "She is a widow, but I am a stranger to her."

  You're not much more than that to me either, she thought to herself. At the same time, she felt she knew him better. That same inexplicable feeling of trust was still there.

  "Sure, I'll go with you."

  "Great, we'll go after lunch."

  "Are you sure? I'm supposed to be working."

  "Yes, I'm sure. There's nothing much for you to do yet. Angus told me he gave you every catalogue he could find and the book from the Coast Guard."

  "He did."

  "Well, you must be done with that by now. And the Coast Guard book all by itself isn't enough. You'll have to take the class." He ate the last bite of his sandwich.

  Abby was relieved to hear it. She couldn't make up anything else to do, and Angus had no more assignments to give her. She had asked him that morning. So if Duncan was going to pay her to do God's work, then so be it.

  Besides, she had been worried about Mrs. Young, but she wasn't sure how she could help since she had no experience with drug addicts. Perhaps together they could at least find out if help was needed.

  Abby was sitting within kissing distance of Duncan MacLeod in the small pickup truck. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating out to her, enticing her to reach out and touch him. But she knew from their past encounters that her touch would not be welcome. He wanted to get to know her, he had said, and intellectually, she had to agree that going slowly was wise, but that didn't seem to slow the growth of her desire for him. She needed to think about something else.

  Why was he so interested in Mrs. Young? Did he know her daughter? Was she the reason that Duncan was in the emergency room ten years ago? Her thoughts drifted wildly from one thing to another. Perhaps it was a car accident? Perhaps an abortion went wrong? Dim light began to dawn in her brain. Perhaps he knew all about drug addicts. Was he a junkie gone straight?

  Her instincts told her that he was OK and that nothing so sinister lay hidden in his past, but her instincts were never right. She shouldn't even be here. She had promised her mother.

  "This looks like the place." Duncan parked in the driveway.

  Mrs. Young came to the door wearing a blue housecoat painted in large orange flowers. She smelled of baby powder. Abby was surprised to see her dressed in an outfit she had only seen on very large women.

  "Hello, Abby, Duncan—isn't it? Please come in."

  They stepped in onto a clear plastic runner in a yellow-beige room. It was a small, meticulously clean room. A faint smell of mint lingered in the humid air.

  Mrs. Young led them on the runner to the dining room table.

  "Would you care for tea?"

  Abby and Duncan looked at each other. Their stomachs were full, but both accepted her offer.

  "We'll need to be quiet. Ruth is sleeping."

  Abby forced her face not to react. Still sleeping at this hour? Duncan took an offered seat at the table. Behind the table were two windows overlooking the back yard. A huge vegetable garden was laid out: rows of turned up soil; new brown stakes with white tags fluttering on their tops; and little green shoots just peeking out of stems of fruit trees.

&nbs
p; "You've been working a good bit." Duncan pointed to the windows.

  "Yes." She smiled at the garden through the windows. "I got started gardening during the war, with my folks. A victory garden, you know. I just never stopped. There is nothing like a fresh cuke in the summer. Just wouldn't be summer without the fresh cukes."

  She turned to face them, her blue eyes full of sunlight.

  "Mr. Young used to make the best pickles you ever ate. I make them now, but I don't have his touch." She wrung her hands. She stepped into the kitchen to get the iced tea. She served them in golden glass tumblers. Duncan and Abby eyed each other. What were they going to do now? Abby, for some reason, had thought that they were going to walk in on a mess: a house mess, a life mess. Except for the sleeping woman, this was all very tidy.

  "So why did you want to see me?" Mrs. Young asked after they were settled.

  "We were worried about you. Are you all right?"

  "I am. I'm OK. I am still worried about my daughter."

  "That's why we came."

  "Let's go out back."

  Chapter 20

  Abby and Duncan followed Mrs. Young out the kitchen door and into the backyard. The windows had given an illusion of a minor estate. The reality was less than a third of an acre surrounded by a chain-link fence. She led them to a set of plastic hunter green stackable deck chairs. The yard was dry; the foliage had not yet opened to give it the misty cool of a flourishing garden.

  "Like I said before, I'm worried about my daughter. Homer and I raised her in the church, we did all the right things..." Her voice trailed off.

  Abby had met Ruth Young, now Abercrombie, twice a year on the holidays when Ruth and her dashing husband came to church with her mother. She was a regal beauty, cast in porcelain: creamy skin, dark curly hair, crystal blue eyes, the perfect adornment for the handsome and successful Charlie Abercrombie.