The Last Detail Read online

  EIGHT

  Amalia smacked Hudson between the shoulder blades with more force than she intended. Gasping and grabbing his throat, he staggered. Merit kept him from tripping by grabbing his elbow, an action which Hudson shrugged off. Amalia heaved an exaggerated sigh and promised herself to explain later that Hudson disliked being touched. Hudson held up his hand and swallowed a couple of times.

  “Are you all right? If you’re through here, would you mind…” She jerked her head toward his car and took a deep breath. “I need to talk to my client for a few minutes.”

  Hudson’s taut lips and flashing eyes warned her of a lecture to come. Amalia tapped a toe. Let him try. After the way he grabbed her, and in public, she almost told him off right then and there. But for Merit, she would have. No way would she display her dirty linen in front of him. She watched dispassionately as Hudson took his leave and drove away.

  Biting her bottom lip, she said, “Merit, please understand.”

  “It’s none of my business, Miss Kennedy. And I’m fine for the time being. I’m grateful for all you’ve done to make this temporary stay possible, as well as comfortable, for me.”

  Amalia shifted her feet in the irritating pumps she’d stood in for most of the last hour while she spoke at the late afternoon Chamber meeting. She glanced in the direction of Hudson’s departed car, praying hard to find the right thing to say so as not to blurt out how much Merit’s “none of my business” comment hurt her. On top of apparently no longer being on first-name basis.

  She stared at the fresh-clipped lawn and grasped her elbows. There was nothing to prove here. Nothing about her mundane little life would change by admitting her attraction to Merit Campbell…except he made her feel like more than a guppy minding its own business, swimming around in a great big ocean filled with opportunities she no longer wanted to let pass by. And he said it himself: he planned to leave as soon as he could. Be thankful in all things. The dying sun behind the house temporarily blinded her. She didn’t need him to direct her path toward doing something bigger with her life. Amalia didn’t need anyone. But she might as well say something. At least she could tell him what the Chamber decided at the meeting. “The Chamber of Commerce wants to help with your presentation next week. About the mission? In fact, a number of local organizations want the opportunity to share in your work.”

  “That’s generous. New Life is a partner in the mission, as Pete reminds me constantly. In the past I’ve spoken during the worship service, but since I’m stu…staying here for the time being, Pete and Cherie think more than just the church members might be interested in learning about Nehrangestan. That’s the reason for the presentation.”

  Stuck here. That’s the second time he’d said that. What could he have against Fox Falls? Or maybe he had left someone behind in Nehrangestan. A romantic interest in the field would explain a lot. Despite saying he wanted no entanglements, maybe he’d left someone special back at the mission. “I understand you’re returning to Missouri briefly.”

  “To my sister’s. That’s where my things are.”

  Amalia fiddled with the button on her jacket. “You must miss Nehrangestan.”

  “Yes. It’s been my home, almost more than anywhere else.”

  “You probably made a lot of friends there, too.” Lord, forgive her for fishing that hard. She turned to leave before her shocking nosiness made her look foolish. “I’ll let you get back to your evening.”

  * * *

  The week flew by. Amalia took care of another estate, settled up an auction at the request of the family, and steppd in to encourage a generous charitable donation to a mission with local ties when their sibling squabble turned nasty.

  She clutched a few posters for the upcoming Nehrangestan mission program as she got in her car for a drive downtown. Her friend, Angus Craig, at The Print Shop had been happy to donate two hundred copies of the colorful brochure to go along with the posters. She heard gathering excitement about the program from patrons in the businesses where she dropped off the advertisements. Even Mayor Walters considered a resolution to make the Asian capital, Charderani, a sister city to Fox Falls. She would loop back to Jordyn’s, then they would have lunch.

  Amalia’s cell phone chirped. She put the car in park in front of Naomi’s Diner before she answered. Cherie’s number glowed on the caller ID.

  “Gregory has a fever. I’m sure it’s nothing, only a reaction to the latest vaccination, but I hate to expose Merit to anything. His bus is due in at three fifteen. Would you mind picking him up?”

  “Of course I will. And give Gregory a big hug for me.”

  Amalia called Jordyn to make a rain date for lunch. Afterward, she drove to the bus station, tingly with anticipation.

  Merit tightened his lips at the sight of her. She wasn’t sure how to read him…disappointment? Tough luck, buddy. Not only are you stuck in the States, you’re stuck with me, too. She put her company smile on, determined to shove aside her insane spark of magnetism. “Hi, Merit. Cherie called me. The baby’s sick. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He let her take one of his bags. “Hello. Of course I don’t mind. I’m perpetually apologizing for asking favors. So, I apologize for interrupting your day.”

  “I have plenty of time to help you, Merit.”

  The driver stacked two crates nearby. Merit shook the man’s hand.

  Amalia eyed the boxes. “These are yours, too?”

  “Yes, the items I want to show about my life in Nehrangestan.”

  “I think they’ll fit in my back seat.” She looked around the station. “Maybe we can find a dolly….” And winced when she turned back to see Merit’s high color.

  “They’re not that heavy,” he said. “If you could get closer to the entrance, I can carry them out.”

  “Of course.” Amalia hurried away as quickly as she could without running. My goodness, would she ever figure out the right thing to say? Had she really believed him too weak to carry some boxes? The edge of anticipation changed to roiling tension. She’d get him home, leave him there, and get back to work. End of story. Relax.

  Amalia stopped beside the brick sidewalk and pulled the handle to open her trunk. Hudson always expected her to do her share when they carried their display materials. She shook her head slightly. Why did he come to mind now? Hudson managed to combine suaveness and need. Merit expressed neither. In fact, he seemed to purposefully keep others at arm’s length. When he neared her car with the first of the crates, Amalia reached to help him maneuver the box into the back seat. As he told her, they were not heavy. Merit straightened, breathing deeply. He wiped his neck.

  “Are you….” Amalia changed the course of her question from the state of his health when he turned impatient eyes on her. “Ready for your talk?” She accompanied him back into the ancient depot. “I’ll show you the posters we put up around town. There’s been an enormous amount of excitement. I’m looking forward to it, too.” Amalia bit her lip after her bout of nervous chatter.

  This time Merit handed her a roughed up leather backpack and another small bag while he grabbed the second crate. “Thank you. Pete mentioned that you’d gone to a great deal of effort.” He smiled at her, the same kind of impersonal gesture she’d given him earlier. Now she knew how it felt to be on the receiving end. But even if they weren’t going to be best friends, did he have to make her feel like a deerfly?

  After settling the rest of Merit’s bags, Amalia got under way. “Do you need to make any stops? You probably don’t have any fresh food.”

  “No stops, thank you. Just back to Uncle Bruce’s house. And I’m grateful for your help.”

  Amalia attempted to engage him in generic conversation on the five-minute drive home. Yes, he’d replied in a mechanical voice, the trip went well, and his sister and her family were all fine. Sure, he picked up what he needed and looked forward to the presentation. An hour was all he needed tomorrow to set up in the auditorium.

  She set his bags on the wide
porch at his direction.

  Amalia left him, feeling like she had been a hindrance more than a courteous assistant. If he wanted to be independent and left alone, she could stay away. He was pricklier than Miss Priss with her scruff ruffled. Amalia couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him in sympathy at his obviously wounded pride or hit him for acting like a self-absorbed…man.

  * * *

  A few days later, Amalia sat back in her blue plush Community House seat after the theater lights lowered. Merit took stage left to click through a multimedia show of pictures and sounds of Nehrangestan, the mission and the people, speaking beautifully, occasionally mixing in a native word or phrase so that the audience could get a taste of the other culture. He shared personal stories and names as the pictures came up on the screen. The need of a group of people, displaced by governments perpetually at odds over border disputes, created a communal sense of urgency, the desire for the listeners to work together to solve their plight.

  The lilt of Merit’s voice and the beauty of his effortless prose made Amalia glad the lights were down so her neighbors would not notice her wet lashes. How had she let her world be so small? She had never dreamed of such beauty and simplicity and only understood vaguely about the needs of others beyond LaSalle County, but she never had an occasion to see them up close. What could she do to be part of this bigger world?

  “I’m here right now to share the stories of my friends with you,” Merit said, drawing his hour to a close. “We need your prayers and good will. I’m happy to stay and talk with you as long as you like afterward.”

  Pete Thompson came forward to thank Merit. Together, they fielded questions from the three-quarters-filled auditorium. Amalia snuck out of her seat and went to help serve refreshments. Hudson had not come, and even threatened to withdraw support at New Life when she asked him earlier if he planned to attend. Amalia kept her impatience with him channeled, although her growing unhappiness would have to be sorted out soon. She should do him the courtesy of letting him know she no longer needed him to keep such a paternal eye on her, and that she couldn’t consider marriage—even though he had never asked. What a mess.

  After an hour of mingling with strains of soothing Nehrangesi pipe music in the background, Amalia felt a tap on her shoulder. Pete pressed his lips together before imploring for her assistance.

  “Can we find a way to politely start wrapping things up? I have to go help Cherie with the kids, and, frankly, I think Merit’s holding on by a thread. Although I’m glad everyone’s having a good time.”

  Amalia looked to where Merit bowed his head toward a blue-haired woman in faux pearls. He held onto the back of a chair with both hands, and even from this distance, Amalia saw that his knuckles were white. “Sure, Pete. We’ll start with putting away the food. There’s not much left anyway. I think we’ve had a roaring success.” She signaled to Jordyn, who was managing the food table, and explained about wanting to bring the evening to a close. Bless her heart, Jordyn pitched right in, noisily removing depleted plates of cheese and fruit and straightening the chairs. When the music stopped, most of the remaining audience trickled out. Angus helped Merit stack the beautiful examples of textiles and pipes he had brought, and the copies of language translations he made so far. She closed her eyes for a moment to bring back the sound of Merit’s voice reading from the book of John in Nehrangesi.

  When she opened her eyes, Merit stood in front of her, frowning. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. You made it a wonderful evening. Thank you. We have offers of a number of fundraising events we’d like to discuss with you.”

  Merit turned away. “That’s not why I did this.”

  Amalia stiffened. They were tired. Surely she’d said the wrong thing or said it the wrong way, and he misunderstood. Heat crawled along her neck to her cheeks. He would leave soon enough, and she had no need to make things uncomfortable before then. Angus began shutting down the lights after folding up the screen. The three of them packed Amalia’s car with platters and Merit’s boxes.

  “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Merit said to Angus, shaking his hand. “I understand you donated the posters.”

  “That’s right. ’Twas a small thing.” Angus had not spoken much that evening, but then again, he rarely did. “The silent printer,” they dubbed him behind his back. He was less than a decade older than she, but Amalia knew him to have plenty of wisdom to share when needed. He didn’t blather. They had done a number of projects together on behalf of the Chamber and shared a comfortable friendship. Since he professed a profound indifference toward God, he surprised Amalia by showing up tonight. “Anything to help Amalia, here.” Angus crumpled her in an awkward hug before shaking hands with Merit and bidding them goodnight.

  “You have no shortage of admirers,” Merit said before turning to open her car door.

  Did his tone contain a tinge of ire? She said nothing on the ride to his house. When they arrived, Merit excused himself and headed quickly inside. Amalia followed slowly, steeped in his stories and the unleashed desire to step outside the box of Fox Falls. She set a carton on the front porch. Merit returned. “Forgive me. Another lousy complication of being out of shape. Out of sort. That and being grouchy and uncommonly rude. I beg your pardon for my earlier words.”

  What should she say? He seemed to be snide one moment, kind the next. She reminded herself not to say anything personal and compromised. “You went to a lot of work on the talk. People appreciated seeing and touching things from Nehrangestan. Thank you for bringing them.”

  He lowered himself to the top step. “Give me a second to catch my breath. I’ll get the rest.”

  Amalia hovered near the open car, while deciding whether to join him. Making up her mind, she approached to sit a step below him on the wooden riser. He had left the porch light on and she watched moths flutter against the yellow bulb. She let out a breath she’d been unconsciously holding when his soft voice washed over her.

  “I appreciate everything you and your friends did to help make this work tonight,” he said. “I’m sorry I got touchy about the fundraising efforts. Of course I’m delighted to accept new partners and would be happy to talk about it at your convenience.”

  “You’re welcome, Merit. You opened my eyes to something I never thought about before.” They were both silent before Amalia asked, “Won’t you tell me more about the people? Do you have any friends? Anyone you talk to, share your dreams with?”

  Peaceful anonymity in the dim glow of the porch light fed an intimacy she knew would be lost anywhere else. Still, she felt his hesitation.

  “My oldest brother went to work at the mission as soon as he could. That’s all I remember him talking about, all through high school. I said that tonight. I had to finish school and training so I couldn’t take over until a year after he died. There was an English doctor who worked at the clinic for a long time before I arrived. Roger Carstairs. Thick Manchester accent.” He flashed a tired smile at some memory. “You should have heard Nehrangesi the way he spoke it.”

  “You didn’t talk about him. What happened?”

  “He died. About four months after I arrived. Stupid, really. Old Tangra told us about the soldiers, how they’d set up landmines south a few miles, near a disputed border. But when the time came to go down to the capital for supplies, I guess we didn’t think.”

  “Old Tangra?”

  “One of the tribal elders. Roger worked hard for eleven years gaining the trust of some, persuading others that together they were stronger if they could form an alliance of sorts. He had been assigned to the area doing field medicine long before Worth built the school and petitioned for a regular medical clinic.”

  “How many tribes are there?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “How do you keep them all straight?”

  Merit laughed. “Yes, I used to wonder about that, too. Especially after Roger… After a while, you just…do. You get to know them, like your friends or famil
y, I suppose.”

  Amalia digested this. She still wondered if he had “someone special” in his life. “So, do you have anyone else, any Nehrangese, close to you? Or are you supposed to not form attachments in case of…favoritism or something?”

  Merit picked up a baby green oak leaf off the porch floor and studied it in the light. “I suppose that’s the way it is. I don’t feel superior, of course. They have sagacity, a dignity that’s beyond anything I’ll ever know. But, I guess, there’s Philemon, and Paul. When they’re baptized, the people take on a new name. Paul and Philemon are brothers. Philemon is younger. In fact, he’s about Justice’s age before my brother…left. Paul embraced Christianity before I came. He and Roger had a sort of friendship, I guess. They weren’t exactly close, but they worked together. Roger trained him at the clinic, but they fought constantly about how to teach the others even the simplest things like not spitting so much, at least, where other people walk.”

  “You’re friends, though? Does Paul have a family?”

  “His wife and three children died two springs ago in a mudslide. He’s been working this past year in international relations, and mediation counseling, trying to end the infighting, but also helping refugees find places to settle. Spends quite a bit of time in the States, actually. Yes, he’s probably my closest friend.” Merit tossed the leaf aside and stood.

  Amalia followed him to the car, wondering about all he hadn’t said. Nothing about a woman who might have been special, or how he felt after losing so many friends and his family. She couldn’t pry any deeper. He didn’t deserve that.

  They worked silently to unpack. Merit had yet to turn on more than the porch light, leaving the spartan living room full of shadows. When he swayed in front of Amalia with the last box, she thought he might trip. She reached for his elbow to steady him. His knee jerk reaction sent her scrambling to grab the box he let tumble.

  “I’m so sorry, Merit. I thought you were going to drop the box. I didn’t mean to startle you.”