The Last Detail Page 5

  Her practical and emotional sides argued.

  Should she reconsider his awkward proposal? Be fair, Amalia. You’ve kept him dangling all this time.

  But have I really? Just because he’s never gone out with other women isn’t my fault.

  He assumed.

  Assumed what? Assumption is a terrible way to live.

  But she never gave him reason to doubt her intentions before.

  What intentions? His mother and my mother arranging our marriage when I was a baby? You’re kidding, right?

  She let him believe. She used him so she could say “no” to everyone else.

  He’s never asked me to marry him. All those years. Until he thought I was getting too old.

  He loved her.

  He hasn’t said it.

  He acted it out.

  I could move away. Get rid of everything, start over if I wanted to. No one to tell me no.

  Where did that thought come from? She’d never leave Fox Falls, her friends, her house, her work. As long as she had no mortgage, Dad’s annuity and a healthy savings account, being taken care of didn’t even make the top ten list of reasons to get married.

  While Amalia prepared for bed, she let her mind wander back to the Campbells, to Merit’s work, and how he was wounded. Why would anyone want to travel in dangerous places where they could get caught in the middle of a war? Yes, much better to stay home.

  During his lifetime, Bruce Campbell donated the bulk of his estate to charitable organizations which had dealings all over the world. Amalia’s parents had made many of those arrangements with him, and Amalia inherited the elderly Mr. Campbell as a client. She wondered again if the Campbell house could be sold. He pledged a portion of the money to Piney Haven. The only outstanding irregularity might come from the disclosure that Bruce Campbell’s youngest great-nephew, at seventeen years of age, had vanished. Not even Prudence knew if he still lived.

  Amalia rolled over and pulled the covers to her chin. Well, if Pete Thompson called Merit Campbell a special friend, Amalia would accept him, too. He wasn’t going to stay long.

  She rolled over again, unable to get Merit’s soft eyes out of her mind. She decided some warm milk and nutmeg would help relax her. While she prepared her drink in the kitchen, Amalia counted her blessings: she had her house and business, good friends, and lived in a nice town. Someone wanted to marry her. A lot of people got married. Being married didn’t always have to do with being madly in love, or convenience, or anything besides two people agreeing to share their lives. She and Hudson shared some interests. They knew each other inside and out. Hudson meant safety and predictability.

  Could she seriously live with him forever? What would that mean? She leaned against the stove, looking around her cozy kitchen. Hudson had a housekeeper who cleaned daily and also did his laundry. He’d never let her do those chores. They occasionally cooked, but he preferred to eat out. He might not even let her bring many of her own things from home. She sighed. What was she afraid of?

  She went back to bed, the drink warm in her stomach, and thoughts still tumbling. Her friend Jordyn firmly believed in the theory that for every woman, a perfect mate would show up. Amalia fluffed her pillow and plopped down again. Nothing’s for sure.

  But what if she’d already met him and didn’t know it? No one can predict where that special someone would show up. Right?

  SIX

  Amalia’s doorbell chimed at ten minutes to five. She had left the front door open to the late afternoon sun. Hudson knew enough to come in. She frowned at her reflection in her dresser mirror. She expected Hudson’s excruciating promptness for the Funeral Director’s Banquet, but this early pushed the limits of her patience. Another evening of thrills with the dead set could have waited a little longer. When she heard nothing, she called, “Come in.” Still nothing. Exasperated, she emerged from her room, stocking-footed and in the act of sliding the back onto Hudson’s last Christmas gift, an amethyst earring.

  The man who stood in her living room looked nothing like Hudson. How had he found her? “Oh. Hello.”

  “Excuse me. You’re obviously busy.” Merit Campbell immediately turned and put a hand on the doorknob.

  “Wait. Mr. Campbell—”

  “Merit.”

  “Merit. Yes, I have a business dinner this evening, but not for a few minutes yet. How can I help you?”

  He let his hand fall from the door and turned slowly toward her. “I apologize for barging in. I didn’t even stop to consider how this would look to your neighbors. It’s been a while since I’ve had to worry about being alone with an unmarried woman.”

  What did he mean? Amalia cleared her throat. “Oh, that’s all right. My goodness, you must have been in a very restrictive community.” Oh, no. Had she inserted her other foot? She wasn’t normally given to such inanity as she found herself dishing out every time she talked to him.

  “It’s not all bad, you know. They don’t have the same crime rate—at least, not for the same serious crimes—as you do in America.” Merit bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I’m sure Fox Falls is very nice. Anyway, Pete Thompson gave me your card. I noticed your block while I got some exercise this afternoon. I’ll call your office. Set up an appointment some time.”

  Ah, Pete again. “This is my office. And we can certainly schedule time to talk now.” A wren’s song interrupted them. Merit blinked and looked around. Amalia chuckled. “That’s just my cell phone.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot. Everybody’s got one of those things now.” He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled one out. “Me, too. Although I don’t have the foggiest idea how to work it.” Merit frowned at the instrument while Amalia plucked hers out of her evening purse on her mom’s chair and answered.

  Hudson’s voice sounded rushed in her ear. “I’m sorry, ’Malia. I had a call. Emmajean Whorten passed, and I’m needed.”

  “I’m sorry, too. I don’t think I have a contact for the Whortens.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ll have to cancel the banquet. Call you tomorrow.”

  She closed her phone and shrugged. Stay home or go to the banquet alone? They were mostly Hudson’s acquaintances, not hers. As far as business partners went, she already had contacts with everyone in the area. But what to do to fill her evening? All dressed up, in uncomfortable clothes she’d change in an instant, with no place to go. She raised a brow in her guest’s direction.

  “Well, Merit. My plans have changed. Perhaps you’d like to talk now?”

  Merit stuffed his phone back in his pocket and met her question with a tentative one of his own. “What do you have in mind?”

  “How would you like to go for another walk?”

  * * *

  On the way to her other favorite state park, Starved Rock, Amalia pointed out a few details about Fox Falls. “We have a farmer’s market in the summer. It will start up soon. Here’s where the Fox and the Illinois River join. There used to be some falls, more like rapids, but not anymore.” Amalia felt like a tourist guide, happy and free of spending the evening in dreaded stilted conversation with Hudson’s friends. She forced herself to treat Merit as a client instead of a stranger, and sent her typical shyness packing. She hoped he would turn out to be a decent conversationalist instead of grunting monosyllables to her questions. After all, he had said he wanted to talk to her. So far, he held his own counsel admirably. Weren’t ministers supposed to be able to chat? She’d never known one who didn’t like to talk.

  Amalia drove into the nearly deserted parking lot at Starved Rock. She waved a hand at a huge darkened stone, timber, and glass building. “The visitor center is closed, but we can still walk around outside. The nature and hiking trails are open all year, as a matter of fact. This is the site of a legendary battle between the Illiniwek and the Potawatomi.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the story.” Merit looked around at newly budded trees and bright green grass. “This is beautiful. Very different from t
he mountains of Nehrangestan.”

  “I’d like to hear about it. The trail I like is this way.” Amalia led Merit up the steps, then past the center to the trailhead. The path led to the top of the rock. “We have enough daylight to get to the top and back, if you’re game. This is one of my favorite views. During the height of summer this place can get pretty crowded.”

  “I’m game. Tell me about the battle.”

  “Oh, right. Well, supposedly an Illiniwek chief killed Chief Pontiac of the Ottawa. In revenge, the Ottawa and Potawatomi people chased the guilty group up this rock, then waited until they died of starvation.”

  “I hate to say it, but things like that still go on in today’s world. People mistreat each other all the time.”

  Amalia contemplated that thought while they began the walk. She halted after five minutes when she heard Merit breathing in gasps. Idiot. The poor guy had been shot, not to mention the broken ankle. She felt a little sick herself at her stupidity. She slowly turned to look in his direction, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I forgot about...that you were…we can go back.”

  He looked at her as he leaned against the wood rail along the path, his mouth twisted wryly. “I hate feeling so weak. Where I live in Nehrangestan, I never hesitate to walk any distance through the mountains. But if you’re willing to take it easy, I should be able to keep up.”

  Amalia took a deep breath. “You’re sure?”

  Merit nodded. “It’s very lovely. I’d rather keep going.”

  “Just tell me when you need to stop, then, please.”

  He waved and they started upward again. Along the trail Amalia pointed out mayflower and the shoots of jack-in-the-pulpit, hoping she wasn’t embarrassing herself by telling him something he knew very well already. A flash of brilliant blue ahead of them brought her to a halt. “I think that’s—”

  “Indigo bunting. I still remember a few names.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m a nature nut, or something.”

  “I happen to like nature nuts. I enjoy hearing you talk, Amalia.”

  A shiver went down her spine. The tiny trill he gave the “l” when he spoke her name must be a trait of the native language he spoke in Nehrangestan. Although delighted that he knew the name of the bird, Amalia realized that he probably knew every plant she had named, too. Hudson relied on her memory when they were out. She took Merit up another short flight of steps that were cut into the path.

  They walked some more before Amalia asked, “So, your parents named you Merit?” As soon as she heard how the words sounded out of her mouth, Amalia could have melted into the carpet of pine needles.

  Fortunately, Merit gave a great breathless laugh and stopped walking. “We got that a lot as kids. My brothers, sister, and I were teased about it. My parents liked the idea of names having meaning, like the Biblical names of old. They chose character traits. They called my oldest brother Worth and my sister Prudence. You met her, of course. Then there’s me, Merit, and…”

  His voice trailed. Amalia, who stood a couple of steps ahead of him, put a hand to his shoulder. “I love those names. And to know what they mean is a precious gift. Your sister told me about your youngest brother, Justice, how he disappeared one day, and no one knows what happened.”

  Merit turned away and bent down. Amalia let her hand fall to her side. He plucked a pebble from the path then straightened to examine it. She often used the same trick of distracting herself to get a grip on her emotions and let him have that moment of privacy.

  “And, Amalia? What kind of name is that?” Merit asked when he turned back to face her.

  “My father named me for one of his favorite great aunts. I think she lived in India for a while, or something. They called her eccentric, but she left enough money for them to start The Last Detail.”

  Merit smiled gently. After a moment she led the way to the top of the rock, eager to see her companion’s reaction to the view of the river. He passed her to lean his elbows on the fence in the exact place she usually chose and let the wind blow his hair. After a moment, Amalia joined him. Merit straightened and looked down at her, a grin curving his lips. “I can see why you like this place.”

  Amalia returned the grin. So close, she could see a few silver strands threaded amongst the golden brown curls of his hair. His eyes were deeply lined from the sun. Another couple strode up the path. “We shouldn’t stay long, or it’ll be too dark to see the way back,” she said, not really wanting to leave this mesmerizing place or his company.

  She led Merit along the edge of the great rock on a fenced-in trail that circled the top, which sported scrubby pines, newly green grass and persistent dandelions this time of year, staying in sight of the river. “Is there much water where you live in Nehrangestan?”

  “Oh, the usual mountain streams. There is no shortage of water. We have enough.”

  “When do you plan to return?”

  Amalia heard his frustrated sigh behind her. “That’s something I wish I knew for sure. When the doctor clears me, I assume. I had no one to replace me at the clinic. I can continue to do translation here, with the tapes I brought home, but who can my people trust to help them? The wife of the elder’s son had a difficult pregnancy. Then the outbreak of…”

  The two of them plunged through the trees, the path blurring in twilight. When Merit stopped speaking, Amalia turned around. “Are you all right? Is it too dark? This wasn’t one of my better ideas, dragging you up here.”

  Merit stopped short of running into her, close enough for her to feel heat radiating from him. “No, no, I’m fine. Just annoyed with myself for complaining out loud. I have much to be thankful for. And it’s my own fault that I got shot in the first place. You shouldn’t have to listen to me whine about things no one can control.”

  Amalia peered at him uncertainly through the waning light. “I’m a good listener. You’re sure you’re all right?” Satisfied at his nod, she resumed the walk, wondering what he meant when he talked about not being in control. Most everything in life revolved around making choices, didn’t it? Having a choice meant being in control. Like choosing whether or not to talk to Hudson about their lack of a future together.

  But the passion in Merit’s voice when he said “my people” confused her. She decided on a less complicated, but perhaps more personal, question to ask. “What do you mean, you were at fault for getting shot?”

  He twitched his mouth and sighed. “The infighting amongst local tribes is a problem. I had gotten some of them talking again, even had Tangra’s granddaughter engaged to Senn—oh, you don’t care about that. That last skirmish was rough. I got in the way when I could have hung back. And here I am.”

  There was a lot more to the story, but any other questions about his life in Nehrangestan right now might seem more like prying than casual conversation. “Are you in much pain now?”

  “Enough to make me glad to be alive.”

  Amalia laughed. “I never heard it put like that before.” They neared the visitor center as the sun drooped behind the horizon. When she climbed into her car to drive home, the thought of going home to a dark house alone made her hesitate to put the key in the ignition. They had yet to talk business. “Would you like to go somewhere for supper?”

  Merit buckled his seatbelt, fumbling a bit with the latch, before answering without looking at her. “If you’ll let me treat.”

  Because of his profession, Amalia didn’t think he had much money, but the seriousness behind his tone told her she needed to accept his offer. “In that case, I know a great place.”

  She chose a local family dining chain, inexpensive and not too greasy. Once in the booth and their orders taken, Merit asked her about The Last Detail. “How did your parents get into a business like this? I never heard of it before, but it seems like a good idea.”

  “There’s a tragic story at the park. In 1960 three women who were vacationing together were murdered. My parents heard about it and knew the operator o
f the funeral home where their bodies were taken. During all the talk afterward, my parents wondered what happens to people who have no one left to take care of their last wishes. I know, the courts provide people to do this, but government…well, it’s not like a personal touch. Wouldn’t you rather know that someone who cared about your uncle took care of him and his house, instead of strangers?”

  “I can see that means a lot to you. So you were raised in the business, I take it.”

  Amalia nodded. “That’s right. I have a business degree, and I’m a CFP, as of a year ago.” At his blank look she clarified. “Certified financial planner.”

  “Oh. Where are your parents now?”

  “They weren’t young by the time I came along. Dad went first, five years ago, and Mom followed three years later.”

  “Now it’s my turn to express my condolences.”

  “Thank you.” She tried to think of something else to keep him talking while they waited. He seemed relaxed, leaning back in the seat and looking around. Paintings of local interest labeled with prices hung on the turquoise-splashed walls. “Could you tell me a little about what you do? I don’t know any other missionaries.”

  Merit’s whole face seemed to change expression, as if he had left her presence and traveled to some distant place. He spoke about the people he worked with, their living conditions and what he wanted to do to make life easier for them. “While sharing the love of Christ,” he finished, coming out of his reverie.

  Amalia could only wonder about the joy and the peace that seemed as much a part of him as his voice or hands or eyes.

  “There are easy things,” he said, “like teaching them about hygiene. We take so much for granted here in the States. Washing hands usually means turning on the faucet. There, water has to be carried up from the stream every day for everyone’s use.”

  “I’ve never been out of Illinois,” Amalia blurted, then hitched a breath in the heat of embarrassment and utter uselessness in the face of Merit’s abilities to make such a big difference in the lives of others.