Mother's Promise Read online

  “Sally Shepherd,” she whispered as if he might not have heard Mr. Mortimer call out each and every name.

  “Got it,” he muttered, mortified to realize that this was the girl his mom and Hester kept going on and on about. He saw Derek Piper glance his way and roll his eyes. “Sally Shepherd,” Derek mimicked with an exaggerated grimace.

  Justin couldn’t hide his smile. Derek’s antics were so over the top. Justin felt flattered that for whatever reason Derek had decided to include him in his group.

  “Ah Mr. Piper,” the teacher said in a voice that sounded a little like the pastor’s voice at church. “So nice to have you back again this year.”

  Piper sat up to his full height—a good three or four inches taller than any other boy in the class—and grinned at Mr. Mortimer. “It was like I couldn’t stay away,” he said.

  “Do try to move on with the rest of your class this year, won’t you, Mr. Piper? I would not want to deny any one of the secondary institutions in the community the pleasure of teaching you next year.”

  “But Mr. Mortimer, I kind of like it here.”

  “And I would like to live in Hawaii, sir. Sadly, we cannot always have our way.” Mr. Mortimer clapped his hands together, effectively ending the conversation, and instructed the class to open their textbooks.

  Halfway through the class, the girl called Sally started to cough.

  “Here we go again,” Justin heard Derek mutter.

  Mr. Mortimer stopped writing on the whiteboard and came down the aisle to stand next to the girl’s desk. “Are you all right, Sally?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded but continued to cough.

  “Perhaps some water,” she said.

  To Justin’s surprise, Derek was immediately on his feet. “I’ll get it.” He was out the door in a flash. Mr. Mortimer sighed and glanced around, his gaze falling on Justin.

  “Mr. Kaufmann, would you be so kind as to take a paper cup from the stack on my desk and get Miss Shepherd some water?”

  “But …” Justin glanced toward the door.

  “Please do as I ask,” the teacher said.

  In the hallway, Justin saw Derek duck out a side door and take off across the schoolyard. He was actually leaving school in the middle of class.

  “Mr. Kaufmann?” his teacher called.

  Justin filled the paper cup and returned to the classroom, debating whether or not to tell Mr. Mortimer what he’d seen.

  But there was no need. As he entered the room, one of the boys he’d seen hanging out with Derek at his locker glanced out the window. He pointed, and soon the entire class was straining to watch as Derek loped across the ball field. On his way he turned and made rude signs to the students watching him. Mr. Mortimer clapped his hands to get their attention.

  “Desks, now, people,” he announced and returned to the front of the classroom.

  Behind him, Justin heard Sally Shepherd clear her throat. “Thanks for the water,” she whispered.

  Justin saw one of Derek’s friends silently mimic her as he looked straight at Justin. Not knowing what else to do, Justin ignored Sally completely. The boy grinned, and for the second time that morning Justin felt like he might have connected with some of the other boys.

  As the day went along, Justin realized that unlike his little Mennonite school in Ohio where he and his friends worked pretty much on their own and at their own speed, here he was going to be expected to deliver assignments daily and actively participate in class. Three times Mr. Mortimer called on him for answers. But that wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as when the social studies teacher had him read a passage from their history book aloud and then asked, “And what do you think, Mr. Kaufmann?”

  “About what?” Justin replied as he heard a rustle of giggles around him.

  “About what you just read.”

  “I don’t know,” Justin hedged, trying to come up with the right answer.

  “Was it right for America to go to war in this case?”

  Justin breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this. He’d learned it from his parents and his pastors. “War is never the answer,” he said, quoting them.

  But the way the teacher’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, Justin knew he’d gotten himself into a deeper hole.

  “Why?”

  “Because …” Justin prayed for deliverance. Please. It’s my first day. Please.

  The bell rang and immediately the other students were clamoring to leave the room. He was saved.

  “We’ll pick up here tomorrow,” the teacher shouted above the noise. “Chapters one and two for tomorrow if you please—and be prepared for a pop quiz.”

  At the end of the day, Justin headed for his locker to pack his backpack before he went to the hospital where he would meet his mom. Sally Shepherd was waiting for him.

  “I realized who you are,” she said. “You’re Justin Kaufmann—you and your mom are going to live with us in our guesthouse.” She actually said this as if it were something that Justin should be really excited about. “Your mom is really nice. I like the way—”

  “I gotta go,” Justin said as he spotted Derek’s friends watching him. He grabbed his backpack and ran down the hall and out the side door that he’d seen Derek use earlier.

  Rachel first learned of the car accident involving the teens when she was making her morning rounds, visiting patients on the children’s wing at Gulf Coast. Toward the end of her rounds, she stopped by a room where a mother was sitting alone watching the television mounted on one wall. The reporter was standing in front of another hospital.

  “The girl died,” the woman announced without preamble when Rachel knocked at the door and then entered the room. She must have noticed Rachel’s confusion because she gestured toward the television before continuing, “Terrible thing. They were cousins—the girl driving and the one that died. First day of school. Can you imagine? My son goes to school with those kids. Maybe if they’d brought them here instead of to Memorial …” She shook her head and turned her attention back to the television.

  “How old were they?” Rachel asked, not knowing how else to respond.

  “Fifteen and sixteen. Mennonites from Pinecraft, according to the reports. My son’s coach is the father of the girl that died.”

  Rachel couldn’t help but wonder if she might have met them when she and Justin went to church with John and Hester that first Sunday. Her heart went out to these families, for she of all people knew at least some of the shock and grief they were facing right now. She closed her eyes and thought of that terrible night when James—

  In the corridor behind, her someone slammed a door, and Rachel startled back to the reality of the news of the day. She forced her attention to the television and saw that the reporters had moved on to another more lighthearted story. “Is there anything you need, Mrs. Baker?” she asked the woman.

  “No. Thank you for asking.” She seemed to focus on Rachel for the first time, taking in her plain dress and prayer covering. “You’re Amish?”

  “Mennonite,” Rachel said.

  Mrs. Baker’s eyes widened with sympathy. “Then you must know these poor people,” she said, indicating the television. It was not unusual for outsiders to assume that people of her faith must all know one another.

  “I’m new to this area,” Rachel explained, “but we must all pray for them. They have many difficult days ahead.”

  Mrs. Baker sighed and stood up to straighten the covers on the rumpled hospital bed. “Don’t I know it,” she murmured. Suddenly her entire body started to shake, and Rachel went to her, placing a comforting hand on the woman’s back. “It’s so hard,” Mrs. Baker sobbed.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Rachel asked.

  “I don’t want to trouble you. They should be bringing my son back soon.”

  “There’s time. How about a change of scenery? I can let the nurse know where you are so she can send for you the minute he comes back.” She gently guided the woman toward the door. “What�
��s your son’s name?” she asked.

  Mrs. Baker smiled. “Alan—he hates the name—prefers to go by the nickname his friends gave him.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Mrs. Baker actually giggled. “Bubba. Can you imagine? He prefers Bubba to Alan.”

  Rachel smiled and guided the woman toward the chapel. She nodded to the nurse keying in data at the nurses’ station and told her where Mrs. Baker would be.

  “It’ll be awhile yet. They’re pretty backed up downstairs,” the nurse assured her.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Baker said.

  They sat together for over an hour as Mrs. Baker poured out the story of her failed marriage, her three other children, her job that was in jeopardy because she was so preoccupied with her son’s care, and her worries over the bills.

  So engrossed was Rachel in listening to the woman that she barely noticed the time. Eileen had told her that Paul needed her to attend the weekly meeting for department heads—a working lunch, she had called it, her tone laced with sarcasm. “It never fails to amaze me how some folks assume that if there’s food involved it can’t really be called work.”

  Rachel was nearly half an hour late when she finally slipped into the single remaining chair surrounding the large conference table. Mark from Human Resources slid a box lunch over to her, and a woman she had not yet met poured her a glass of ice water.

  “As I was saying,”—Darcy said even as she pinned Rachel with a look of displeasure—“each department and every individual in that department must understand the mission of that department and its priorities.” She waited a beat for this to register and added, “So today I thought we would go around the table and have each department representative state the mission for your area.”

  There was a rustling of paper as others pulled out folders or notebooks.

  “Rachel, why don’t you lead the way?” Darcy said with a tight smile. “For those of you who have not had the pleasure—and since she did not arrive in time for our opening introductions—this is Rachel Kaufmann, Pastor Paul’s assistant.”

  “Chaplain,” Mark muttered under his breath.

  “Did you have something to add, Mark?”

  It was a little like being back in school, Rachel thought. She actually felt sorry for Mark as every eye focused on him. But he was undaunted.

  “Eileen Walls is Pastor Paul’s assistant. Ms. Kaufmann is his associate or child life specialist, to be exact.”

  “Ooh, my bad,” Darcy said sarcastically with that same tight smile. Everyone around the table exchanged nervous glances. “So, specialist Kaufmann, the mission for spiritual care services?”

  Rachel had studied the bookmark that Eileen had given her until she had memorized the words, so it wasn’t difficult to recall. She said softly, “The spiritual care services of Gulf Coast Medical Center provide comfort and support—”

  “If you could speak up for those of us at this end of the table,” Darcy interrupted.

  “I’m sorry.” Rachel stood and delivered the rest of the statement in a strong clear voice. “… comfort and support that respects the full diversity of spiritual values to our patients, the family and friends of those patients and to members of our staff twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year.”

  She sat down and took a sip of her water.

  “Thank you, Rachel.” Darcy turned to a large whiteboard and uncapped a marking pen. “So let’s pull out the key words here.”

  As each department representative stated their mission and Darcy led them in identifying the key words, Rachel saw that she was trying to lead them to come up with a universal mission statement for the entire hospital, one that would incorporate the goals of each department.

  “In the end,” Darcy said when the last report had been delivered, “we are all individual departments with our roles to play, but we are also a part of the whole.” She turned to the whiteboard, covered now with words in many colors. “Where do our missions intersect?”

  Over the next half hour the group worked together, and by meeting’s end they had constructed a mission statement for the hospital. Rachel was very impressed, and as everyone gathered up their things and headed back to work, she stayed a moment, clearing away the last of the lunch items and wiping the table clean with the leftover unused napkins.

  “We have a housekeeping department,” Darcy said. She had turned away to take a phone call and seemed surprised to find Rachel still there.

  “It’s no bother,” Rachel replied. “I wanted to apologize for being late. I was with—”

  “The work that you and Paul do is very important to the overall work of this institution, Rachel. However, you are going to have to learn to prioritize.”

  It was the second time she had directed that exact comment to Rachel. “I thought I was—that is, I thought that spending time with Mrs. Baker was—”

  “More important than this?” Darcy flung a hand toward the whiteboard. “Well, perhaps you have a point, but a hospital is a business, Rachel, and unless we are all on the same page all the time, then we have no chance if we are to make our mark against the more established hospitals in the area.” She began erasing the whiteboard with brisk slashing motions. “I know this may seem trivial to you, but …”

  “Not at all. I think it’s very important. You’re right. We must all work together.”

  But instead of calming Darcy, Rachel’s words seemed to only upset her more. “It’s more than that,” she said. Her tone was argumentative. She set the eraser on the narrow tray at the base of the board and dusted off her hands as if she’d been erasing chalk instead of dry marker. “I don’t expect you to appreciate the finer points of running a major business like this one, but make no mistake, our work here goes beyond simply ministering to our patients and their families. The board of trustees will expect results. There is a bottom line, and every department is expected to contribute to it.”

  Rachel studied the other woman’s frown, her failure to look directly at Rachel. “It’s obvious that you have been given a great deal of responsibility, but surely the board would not have chosen you as administrator if they did not have complete confidence in you.”

  Now Darcy looked directly at Rachel for a long moment. She did not smile or in any way acknowledge Rachel’s attempt to set her mind at ease. Instead, she picked up the pile of papers and folders she’d brought with her to the meeting and left the room.

  Rachel returned to her cubicle and spent the rest of the afternoon in another computer training session and then entering notes about her visits that day in preparation for filing the weekly report that Paul had requested. Meanwhile Eileen kept her up to date on the latest news about the car accident involving the two Mennonite teens.

  “They took them to Memorial of course,” she announced without preamble when she returned from her midafternoon break. “The younger one was in surgery for some time, but she didn’t make it. I wonder if Dr. Booker was there when it happened. He said something yesterday about being over there today.”

  Just then Rachel saw Justin coming across the hospital grounds toward the entrance. He trudged along under the weight of a bulging backpack, and Rachel felt glad to see him. She was anxious to hear about his first day at school. Paul Cox had agreed that Justin could come to the office and start on his homework while he waited for Rachel to finish her day.

  “It will only be until next week,” Rachel had assured him. “Once we move into the Shepherds’ guesthouse he can go straight home.”

  “Sally will take him in hand,” Paul had told her with a chuckle. “That little girl is going to be president of these United States one of these days right after she retires from playing professional baseball. Never saw a kid more self-confident or capable than that one. She can make your boy feel right at home and before you know it—do you folks play baseball?”

  Rachel had smiled. “We do.”

  But watching Justin now, she wasn’t so sure that things would go as smoothly as Paul and
Eileen promised. Her hopes for Justin had been so high as she’d watched him jump down from John’s truck and head into the school without a backward look. She had prayed that this day would be as good for him as her first day at the hospital had been for her. But now as she watched him cross the parking lot on his way into the hospital, she realized that everything about her son’s posture and stride shouted, Misery.

  Chapter 8

  I was thinking,” Rachel said later as she and Justin sat waiting for the bus. “Wouldn’t you like to see where we’re going to live? I already have the key, and the Shepherds said we should not stand on ceremony.”

  “What does that mean?” Justin mumbled, his eyes still focused on the ground as he sat on the edge of the park bench as if poised for flight.

  “Stand on ceremony? Oh, it’s an old saying. In this case it means that even though officially we aren’t moving to the guesthouse until Saturday, we can go there whenever we like.” She held up the key.

  Justin showed no interest.

  “I thought perhaps you’d like to see your room. I was going to make a list for shopping so that we would have everything we needed on Saturday when we move.”

  Justin shrugged. “Will they be there? The Shepherds?”

  “Maybe, but we are not going for a visit, Justin. If we see them, then of course you must be polite and introduce yourself, but—”

  “How far is this house from their house?”

  “Not so far. There’s the main house and then the swimming pool and the gardens. The guesthouse is at the back of the gardens. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  A city bus made the turn onto the circular driveway. “Do you want to go or not, Justin? If so, this is the bus we need.”

  Justin picked up his backpack and stood. He wore his unhappiness like a suit of heavy armor. Rachel had prayed for God’s guidance to help her see her son through these difficult times and on to the better days she could only hope would be in his future. But in all the time that had passed since James’s funeral, it seemed as if nothing she said or did gave her son any comfort. “Justin,” she said quietly as she waited alongside him for the exiting passengers to get off the bus, “it will work out.”