Rebecca sighed. Surreal was not what she needed. Some real would be great about now.
Pete walked in carrying the laden tea tray. “Why don’t you pour yourself a cuppa, love? Doreen will be finished in a minute, and then we need to talk to you.”
***
“We haven’t been completely honest with you.” Pete sat forward on the edge of his armchair, elbows resting on his knees, eyes intense. Rebecca’s heart skipped briefly. She looked from Pete to Doreen and back again. The firelight cast strange shadows across the old man’s face, highlighting wrinkles, making his nose seem too long for his face. His eyes, however, remained sincere and unclouded – focused on her. Meeting his gaze, Rebecca said nothing, merely nodded once for him to continue.
“We’re not your Mom and Dad; we’re not related to you at all. In fact, we’d never even met before the accident.” Rebecca felt the words wash over her. She nodded again, feeling a smile start to grow. Her heart recognized the truth in what they were saying, and a feeling of complete relief blossomed inside. She didn’t recognize anything because she’d never seen any of it before!
Pete and Doreen shared a puzzled look, unable to fathom her strange reaction to their confession. Pete continued, “It was well after dark. We were making our way home from visiting Marietjie in Randburg. Just past Jamestown, we rounded a bend and nearly drove straight into you. You were in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night – wearing your pyjamas. At that moment we decided that the best thing to do was get you to a hospital. We also felt strongly that the Lord wanted us to take you away from there. At least until we found out where you came from and why you were out in the cold in your nightclothes. The hospital wouldn’t release you to us if we weren’t related. So we allowed them to make their own assumptions, which they did.” Pete’s voice trailed off, and he shrugged, hands turned upward.
Doreen sat forward and took Rebecca’s hands. “I hope you’re not too disappointed in us for misleading you. We just want to make sure that you are safe, whatever happens. You are welcome to stay here with us for as long as it takes to remember. And once you’ve remembered, you can choose where you want to be.”
Pete chuckled, “Wonderful to have some young blood around here. Makes me feel half my age.”
Doreen rolled her eyes and patted his knee, “You already act half your age, half the time dear. I shudder to think what you’ll be getting up to, with a young lady around to impress.” She winked at Rebecca with a grin.
Rebecca’s heart leapt out to these dear people who had taken her into their hearts and home. It went against everything in her to freeload, and yet until she remembered where she came from, she really had no choice. “I’m so grateful for your love and kindness. I actually don’t know how to thank you.”
“Never mind about that.” Doreen started stacking empty teacups on the tray. “I think today has been quite long enough, don’t you?”
Pete gave his wife a peck on the cheek and took the tray from her. “I’ll do this, love. You go get Rebecca settled in.”
Rebecca followed Doreen up the wooden stairs, her mind feeling as if it was wrapped in fuzzy cotton wool.
Chapter 6 - A Princess, a King and the Saints
“Do have another piece of shortbread; it’s made with real butter. The only way to make true shortbread, you know. What did you say your name was again, young man?”
“Jason, Mrs. Schmidt.” Jason’s heart sank. This blue-rinsed twittery old bird could barely remember her own name. His hope of her remembering twenty years back, was that of a fool. Putting on a brave smile, he dutifully helped himself to another biscuit, surreptitiously checking the time. This visit was going nowhere.
23 Sweet Haven Village was a charming flat that was kept in a reasonably orderly fashion, with a faint smell of lavender pervading over all. The old lady had outdone herself for his visit, bringing out silverware and fine china, fresh flowers and, of course – the home baked shortbread.
“Mrs. Schmi—“
“Call me Isabel dear boy. It makes me feel a little younger.” Her dark eyes twinkled.
“Okay, Isabel.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I need to get to a lecture soon. Would you mind if I get to the point?”
“A lecture. Are you still in school then, Jasper?”
“Jason. The name’s Jason. No, I lecture at University. I teach History.”
“Fascinating. I used to work at a school too, you know. I was a Guidance Counselor at East Coast Secondary School. I actually felt useful back then.” Her eyes lost focus as her mind wandered through the past.
Jason swallowed his last bite of shortbread, emptied his teacup and got ready to make tracks. Talk about drawing a blank. There was no chance Isabel Schmidt would remember anything at all, much less anything useful.
In an instant, her eyes sharpened and she fixed her gaze on Jason, head tilted in a bird-like fashion, “Why did you need to see me Jason?”
Shocked at the lucidity of her question, Jason quickly asked, “Do you remember Stanton and Catherine?”
“Yes I do. What a sad story that was.”
Amazed at his luck, Jason floundered, not sure what to ask first. “Can you tell me about them? Why did they use your post box?”
Isabel took a deep breath, “They were meant for each other, like few couples truly are. The moment they laid eyes on each other, there was a very real, very permanent connection. He was eighteen, a Senior. She was sixteen, Grade Ten.”
Isabel sipped her tea, “From there on it became a little Shakespeare-ish. Her family was very wealthy; he came from a less affluent home. Her parents would not allow them to pursue the relationship. Out of pride, his family would also not hear of it. When it became obvious they wouldn’t stay away from each other, her parents sent her to a boarding school in Pretoria. In desperation they got together the night before she was to leave and—”
“She fell pregnant.” Jason completed the sentence.
“Was that a guess? How did you know?” Isabel studied him briefly, “Never mind. I was Stanton’s Guidance counsellor and I became his confidant. I allowed them to use my post box, because neither of their families would have passed on any of the letters otherwise.” Her countenance softened, “I’m just an old romantic at heart. I couldn’t bear to see such pure, true love destroyed through meanness and pride.”
A small silk handkerchief edged in fine lilac lace appeared from her cuff, and she delicately dabbed the end of her nose.
Her face took on a pained expression, as if what she was about to say had happened to her personally. “In the following year, she gave birth to a beautiful little girl. They remained true to each other for the next four years. Constantly writing, yet never able to actually see one another in person.” Isabel’s voice was thick with emotion, “How he loved her. He would come and tell me every milestone with sparkling eyes. ‘She’s sitting now, Aunt Isabel. Isn’t my little girl just the cleverest in the world?’ The way he carried on, you would never have imagined that he’d never yet laid eyes on her.” She bit back tears to continue. “Then the letters just stopped coming. Poor Stanton would come around every night after work, hoping there’d be some news. It broke my heart it did, to tell him there was no mail. To this day we don’t know why she stopped writing. I think she found someone else, not that Stanton would hear of it.” The hanky dabbed furiously. “It took six months of hoping before something inside him died. I could see it in his eyes. The light went out and something inside of him shut down for good.” Tears rolled freely down lined cheeks. “He never saw Catherine again, and he never saw his little daughter even once.”
“How awful.” Jason’s struggle to remain composed in the face of the old lady’s raw emotion was beginning to unravel.
Tears still wet on her lashes, Isabel turned to him smiling brightly, “Would you like some shortbread, young man? It’s made with real butter, you know. What was your name again?”
Jason smiled sadly, and took the
proffered cookie. Some things were just too painful to examine for too long. His heart went out to this frail person, with her great heart so full of rare kindness. Appetite non-existent, he set the shortbread aside. There must be a way to make her feel better.
Spontaneously, he sank on one knee before the little lady. Taking her hand gently in his, he kissed it as if she were a queen. “You are a rare gem of kindness and grace, Princess Isabel.”
Laughing with delight, she cupped his cheek in her lavender-scented palm, “And you, young man, have the heart of a king! Bless you!”
***
Putting the last few supper dishes away, Gabby hung up the drying cloth with a stretch and a yawn. “Just you and me again, Napoleon.” She bent down to scratch behind the old Retriever’s ears. Her long ginger plait swung forward and tickled the dog’s nose. The dog sneezed and Gabby dodged, laughing. “Nice try, Old Boy.”
Crossing the entrance hall to the communal lounge, Gabby went through the motions of closing up for the night.
Stutterheim saw few visitors this time of year, barely enough to keep the small Bed and Breakfast running. Gabby shook her head as the memories came flooding back.
This had been their dream. Their car had broken down on a day trip to Gubu Dam. Walking to find help, they’d stumbled on this place almost by accident. In hindsight it had seemed more by Divine Providence. Tucked away on the edge of the forest, it seemed a haven of peace. They had instantly known they were home. Chris had left his high-powered career in the city, where it belonged. They’d moved out here to start their little business, aptly named Comewhile B&B, short for ‘Come-apart-and-rest-a-while’.
Two years of bliss, then the accident. Now it was just her and Napoleon, barely making ends meet.
As she flicked the lamp off, Napoleon’s hair stood on end and he started growling; low and menacing. Puzzled, and feeling a little shaky, Gabby crossed the hall to the front door. As her fingers touched the handle, somebody banged loudly on the other side. Her knees nearly gave way.
Heart racing, she told herself to calm down and checked the chain was in place. Opened the door a fraction, she peered out into the blackness. Napoleon growled even louder, teeth showing as his lips drew back.
“Who’s there? Can I help you?” Even to her own ears she sounded rattled.
“I’m looking for accommodation.” It was a man’s voice, low and impatient.
If there’d been a little more food in the freezer, Gabby would have declined and sent him elsewhere. Necessity overruling gut-feel, she undid the chain and let the man in. His tall, gaunt frame was wrapped in casual clothes of fine fabric. There was an understated air about the man that reeked of wealth. He looked younger than she expected, yet his face carried the markings of one driven and tormented. Red ringed eyes never met hers, but constantly darted as if seeking for something.
Patting Napoleon to stop the growling, she pushed her misgivings aside, introduced herself and led the way to Reception. “How long will you be staying, Mr.—?”
“Rochester, Claude Rochester. I have some business here. I’ll be leaving once it’s taken care of.” Without a pause he wrote out and handed over a check, sufficient to pay for two months. “See to it that nobody knows I’m here. Do we understand one another?” His tone was velvet-coated steel. Not bothering to wait for her assent, he took the cottage keys and left.
Badly shaken by the arrival of her strange guest, Gabby sunk to the floor and threw her arms around Napoleon. The check she held in her hand was more money than she’d seen in a long time, yet it brought no joy. “Napoleon, old boy, why do I feel as if I’ve made a deal with the devil?”
***
The Stutterheim Community Church ran a small Bible Study group that met in the Goodwood’s lounge every Tuesday night. The regulars were filing in, greeting one-another with hugs and smiles.
Rebecca sat in a corner, feeling small and wishing she could hide in her room upstairs. Her face and shoulder ached, constant reminders that she looked like a boxer that had lost her bout. Self-consciousness aside, she also felt like a hypocrite amongst all these devout folk, when she couldn’t recall whether she believed in anything, much less God.
Pete and Doreen had invited her, saying it would do her good. They hadn’t forced her to be there at all, but Rebecca knew in her heart they would be disappointed if she didn’t attend. So there she sat—feeling like corn in a tomato patch.
Soon the small lounge was crammed to bursting. Oldies crammed in next to teens, moms and dads sat where they could find a gap. Amidst the happy banter, one lady in particular caught her eye. In spite of sitting jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of them, she wore an air of loneliness that tickled Rebecca’s curiosity. Her hair was a fiery ginger, with the pale complexion and freckles to match. Rebecca would have bet her left arm that the woman’s downcast eyes were a vivid shade of sea green. A deeply rooted weariness lurked behind the façade of all’s well.
The woman looked up just then, as if sensing Rebecca’s scrutiny. Brushing her long plait over her shoulder, her gaze travelled the group. Rebecca quickly looked away, feeling smug. Her sea-green guess was spot on.
A tall, lean man with wavy brown hair, greying at the temples and thinning on top, stood up and clapped his hands. Everyone found a place. His countenance simply shone as if his insides burned with an all-consuming fire. Doreen squashed herself in next to Rebecca. She motioned to the man, now the only one standing, and whispered, “That’s Elliot Forbes. He’s our Pastor.”
He held up his hands and the hubbub simmered to a hush.
“Hello everyone. I hope you all did your reading homework.”
A good few yelled “Yes!” some said “No, sorry.” There was even one, “Oops, I forgot.”
“Never mind. We’ll read it again to recap. Before we do that, we have a visitor tonight.” And with that he turned his full attention on Rebecca. All eyes followed. Rebecca sank deeper into the chair and swallowed hard. So this is what a bug under the microscope feels like.
She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
Doreen rescued her, “Everyone, this is Rebecca. Rebecca, this is everyone.” To Rebecca, “Relax Love, we won’t be testing you on all their names tonight. We only do that on your second week.” Everyone laughed. To everyone, “Rebecca is visiting us to recuperate from a recent accident. She hasn’t decided for how long yet. So you’d better all be nice to her!”
A ripple of greetings erupted from the room, along with a hearty, “It’s wonderful to have you here!”
Rebecca smiled shyly, and didn’t know where to look. Doreen patted her arm and whispered, “You’re safe here, love.”
With that, Elliot Forbes sat down, opened his Bible and began reading.
“O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
You perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
You are familiar with all my ways—”
Elliot Forbes carried on reading, but the words struck Rebecca and she got stuck there. Her mind turned the phrase over and over. You are familiar with all my ways…
Is it possible that there is Someone who actually knows who I am?
You are familiar with all my ways… Hmmm, only one way to find out.
Feeling strange, Rebecca framed her thoughts and addressed them to the ‘You’ in the verse.
It seems that You know more about me, than I know about myself. That is, of course, assuming You are real. Rebecca winced—this was not going well. Okay, God, here’s the thing: I want to know who I am, and where I come from. You, apparently, know all about me. If You can give me what I want, I’ll know that You are real, and I’ll give You— Oh dear, there’s a fat hole in my plan. I don’t have anything of value to give you. In fact I don’t have anything at all. Heart sinking, Rebecca’s mind worked frantically; nothing at all. Then an idea—but You can have Me.
For what it’s worth, You can have Me.
Deep in the pit of her belly, she felt a Heavenly gavel falling… going… going… gone… It shall be so.
Rebecca roused from her internal exchange with a gasp. Elliot paused in his reading and lifted an eyebrow. “Do you want to add something Rebecca?”
Lost for words, Rebecca floundered, “You see… well, um. No. Nothing at all.” Feeling a bit silly, yet very aware of a tingle of excitement growing inside, Rebecca shook her head and grinned at the Pastor.
***
The rest of the evening flew past Rebecca in a blur. The group had done more reading, lots of discussing. They’d even prayed for Aunty Lily’s back that was giving trouble. Other than her strange mental dialogue with God, Rebecca remembered very little else about the meeting,
Doing his farewell rounds, Pastor Elliot—or rather just Elliot, he insisted—shook Rebecca’s hand warmly. “I felt strongly that tonight’s reading was meant particularly for you. The whole of Psalm 139 in fact. Spend some time reading and digesting it over the next week. I think God wants to say something specific to you.”
“Thank you Pas—uh, Elliot. I’ll definitely—” stopping mid-sentence, Rebecca chewed her lip, “—that is, I would if I could. I don’t have a Bible.”
Doreen jumped straight in, “We will lay our hands on one for you Dear. You can’t find your way through life without the divine Road Map!”
Elliot hugged the short woman fondly, “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Dory!”
People slowly took their leave, reluctant to break away from the warm fellowship. The ginger-plaited woman hung around until everyone else had finally left. “Pete, can I speak to you and Doreen for a moment?”
Sensing their need for privacy, Rebecca said goodnight and turned to make her way upstairs.
“Hold on a moment.” Doreen crossed to the bookshelf. Finding a spare Bible, she handed it over. “May you find your way in these pages.” Her tone was light, yet a very sincere thread ran through it.
Rebecca took the book with a smile, made no comment, and made her way upstairs.