“That’s what I am now—and I had no plans to revisit my former life. But I understand the urgency of the situation. Unless you’ve already filled the job?”
“Not that I know of, but I haven’t spoken with Father Murphy since Sunday. Let me give him a call and one of us will get back to you ASAP.”
“No hurry on my end.”
“But a big one on ours. It must be dreadful to live in a place where you can’t communicate with the locals. Rectifying that situation is our top priority. Thank you, my dear, for your willingness to take this on. We’ll be back in touch—and God bless you.”
The line went dead, and Jeannette slid the cell back in her pocket as she headed for her workshop. She had plenty to do to get ready for the first farmer’s market on Friday, and sitting around thinking about her neighbor’s sacrifices or the Shabos’ plight wasn’t productive.
Several minutes later, as she set to work in the small structure that was imbued with the soothing scent of lavender, Father Murphy’s name popped up on the screen of her vibrating phone.
Reverend Baker had been serious about an ASAP response.
Either they’d already found someone, or the padre was anxious to sign her up before she changed her mind.
Based on the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, it was the latter.
His greeting confirmed that. “Jeannette! I just spoke with Reverend Baker. You are a godsend—and I mean that literally. I was beside myself trying to figure out where to find an English teacher when neither of our bulletins produced any volunteers. I was getting ready to widen the plea to neighboring parishes.”
“I’m glad I could help—but please understand, I haven’t done this sort of work in more than four years.”
“I’m confident your skills will come back once you dive in—like riding a bicycle. How soon can you begin?”
“Uh . . . later this week?” It would take her at least that long to organize a lesson plan—and psych herself up for the job.
“Wonderful! I’ll alert the Shabos. I know Susan will be happy to translate as you work out the details of a schedule. Let me give you her number, and I’ll pass yours on to her. Do you have a pen handy?”
“Yes.” She crossed to the counter, her pulse accelerating. This was happening much too fast. “Ready.” Or not.
He recited the number, and she jotted it down. “If you incur any expense, be sure to let us know. We have a fund for reimbursements.”
“There isn’t usually much cost involved with tutoring.”
“Well, your contribution of time and talent is sufficient. We don’t expect you to dip into your personal funds too.”
“If I incur any major expense, I’ll let you know.”
“Excellent. And I want you to know I’ll be saying a special prayer for you at all my Masses this week and asking God to bless your work.”
“I appreciate that.”
More than he’d ever know.
Because as they said their good-byes and the full impact of what she’d agreed to do sank in, a major case of the shakes assailed her.
For a woman who’d vowed to live a solitary life, this was a huge leap.
And a dangerous one.
Hard as she might try to keep the tutoring gig impersonal, the Shabos could end up infiltrating her heart—unless she stayed strong.
Straightening her spine, she fisted her hands.
She could manage this.
All she had to do was be pleasant and professional, help the family learn enough English to get by, and walk away once the job was over.
But in the meantime, she would take every single prayer Father Murphy was willing to say for her.
And add a few of her own.
Molly was crying.
Again.
Stomach twisting, Logan stared at the dark ceiling as her muffled sobs seeped through the wall between their bedrooms, then squinted at the digital clock on his nightstand.
Midnight.
He took a long, slow breath.
So much for the corner he’d thought they’d turned after the fiasco at the preschool yesterday. Even though she’d clammed up again on the ride home, she’d stuck close to him for the remainder of the day. She’d even let him hold her hand while he read her a bedtime story.
Today? Back to square one.
With him at least.
But the friendship she and Toby had forged continued to blossom.
Thanks to her admission yesterday at the preschool, however, he had a better grasp of why she was standoffish.
Fear could be a strong motivator.
And who wouldn’t be afraid after all the people you’d loved and trusted to take care of you disappeared? How could you have any confidence it wouldn’t happen again?
He totally got that.
Because the truth of the matter was, it could—not that he intended to leave the earthly realm behind anytime soon, but neither had his mom.
So how could he convince Molly it was okay to respond to his love and affection? To let herself love and trust again?
Another strangled sob ripped at his gut, and he swung his sweatpants-clad legs to the floor.
Enough.
He couldn’t lie here and listen to her misery without taking some action, even if she was unreceptive.
Pulling on the T-shirt he’d tossed onto his dresser last night, he padded into the hall.
Stopped.
What was he going to do once he entered her room? Nothing he’d tried so far to reach her had worked. Why should tonight be any different?
But if he didn’t break through soon, he was going to have to get serious about setting up some counseling for her.
Rubbing his damp palms together, he closed his eyes.
Lord, I know I haven’t been your most diligent disciple these past few years, and prayer hasn’t been high on my priority list, but if you could help me out here, I’d appreciate it. I can’t do this on my own. Please show me how to reach Molly, and give me words that will comfort her.
Flexing his fingers, he continued to her room and paused again.
Her sobs had stopped, but the dim light spilling in from the hall confirmed she hadn’t fallen asleep. Though her eyes were closed, the sheet was clenched in her fingers, her body was rigid, and her respiration was too rapid for slumber.
She’d sensed his presence and was trying to hold herself still, hoping he’d go away, as he had last night.
Not happening.
If neither of them were going to sleep, they might as well stay awake together.
He crossed to her bed and settled on the edge beside her. Smoothed back the hair from her damp cheeks. “It’s okay to be sad about Nana, sweetie.” He tried for a soothing, gentle tone. “And it’s okay to be scared about what could happen next. I’m sad and scared sometimes too.”
She didn’t speak, but a shuddering sigh quivered through her—and her eyelids flickered open.
He waited in silence, stroking her forehead, wrapping the fingers of his other hand around the tiny fist clamped on the bunched sheet.
Several minutes ticked by, the faint clatter of Toby’s paws on the kitchen tile the only sound in the house as the pup did one of his nocturnal circuits.
Slowly, in tiny increments, Molly’s body began to relax and her breathing evened out.
She was drifting off to sleep.
Logan waited a few minutes, then started to rise.