The Gathering Place Page 3

  Lillian ladled gravy on her meat, then studied Luke once more. “So, tell me, Mr. McAllister, do you find any truth to the notion that our sea air can restore a melancholy disposition?”

  “I do believe that for some it definitely does the trick,” he replied, with a thoughtful expression. “Of course, others might spend an entire lifetime here, and it wouldn’t do a thing.”

  His expression was serious, yet Emily noticed his gray eyes lit by a mischievous twinkle.

  Lillian’s eyes widened with surprise. She was silent for a moment, and Emily feared her reply.

  “Touché, Mr. McAllister,” she said at last, with the slightest hint of a grin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “MORE TURKEY, HONEY?” CAROLYN LEWIS HELD OUT THE platter to her daughter, Rachel Anderson.

  “There’s a drumstick left,” Reverend Ben pointed out. “Your favorite,” he coaxed.

  “Thanks, but I couldn’t manage another bite.” Rachel sat back from the table and patted her large pregnant stomach. “The baby is so big now, I can’t eat that much at one time.”

  “Which is not to say that she isn’t making up for it by eating about twenty little meals a day,” Rachel’s husband, Jack, teased. “Including strange cravings for chili dogs at two in the morning.”

  “You found one for me, too. That was sweet.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “You’re a good husband, Jack. I don’t know if Ben would have gone to all that trouble when I was expecting.”

  “Why, Carolyn, don’t you remember? When you were pregnant with Mark you woke up at three A.M., madly craving fresh tomatoes. Sounded as if you were going to die if you didn’t have some. I went out in my bathrobe and raided the neighbor’s vegetable garden.”

  Carolyn laughed and touched Ben’s arm. “Oh yes, I remember now. They had a scruffy old dog who started barking his head off, then he chased you around the yard and tore a piece off your pajamas.”

  “Really?” Jack said, laughing.

  “Daddy! You didn’t!” Rachel exclaimed.

  “Did indeed, I must confess. The neighbors were generous folks. Told me to come around any time and take whatever we liked from their garden. Though I imagine they didn’t think I’d be taking them up on that offer in the middle of the night,” he said, smiling at her.

  “I don’t think I ever heard that story,” Rachel said, still looking surprised. “Did you have any cravings with me, Mom?”

  Carolyn shook her head. “Not that I remember. Just with Mark.” The quiet, sobering tone she used in mentioning her son’s name instantly dampened the high spirits. A few years younger than Rachel, Mark had abruptly left college his junior year. For the last two years he had roamed the country, taking odd jobs, searching for something that he couldn’t seem to define. For reasons Ben could only guess, Mark had kept his contact with the family to a minimum.

  “How is he? Have you heard from him lately?” Jack asked.

  “Just that letter we showed you from Montana,” Ben replied.

  “It would be great if he could come home for Christmas, in time for the baby.” Rachel looked down and rested a hand on her belly. “I guess there’s little chance of that now, though.”

  Ben saw the sadness in her eyes. She, too, felt abandoned by her brother, whom she loved and had always been quite close to. It seemed unfair, he thought. The rift was no fault of hers.

  “Well, we’ve asked him, dear. Several times,” Ben stated quietly.

  “There’s still time for him to change his mind. It’s nearly a month till Christmas,” Carolyn added on a hopeful note.

  “Yes, but it’s hard to get a flight if you don’t plan ahead, especially around the holidays,” Rachel said. “And you know Mark. He always leaves everything for the last minute.”

  Jack patted Rachel’s hand but didn’t say anything. Nor did Ben, who couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t spread false hope.

  “Can we call him?” Rachel said suddenly. “I’ll ask him myself to come. I’d love to talk to him anyway.”

  Ben felt surprised at the simple solution. “No harm trying, I suppose,” he said slowly. “I have his address somewhere . . . but not the phone number. Maybe we can get it from information.”

  “We should at least try. I’m sure he’d love to hear from us today. He must be at least a little bit homesick by now,” Rachel said, her mood instantly brighter.

  Ben thought her assumptions were debatable. His son did not seem the least bit homesick. Why hadn’t Mark called today? He could guess they would all be here. But Ben didn’t contradict his daughter.

  “Let me see if I can find that letter. I think it’s in my desk,” he said, rising from the table.

  Carolyn rose, too. “I guess I’ll clear up, and we can take a break before dessert.”

  “I can help,” Rachel said. But when she stood up, she suddenly gasped. With a startled look, she grabbed her stomach.

  “Oh, dear, are you all right?” Carolyn asked in alarm. Jack turned toward his wife, as well, with a questioning look.

  Rachel took a few deep breaths, then smiled at them. “I’m okay,” she insisted, straightening up to her full height. “The baby just kicked me or something.”

  “Wow, don’t scare me like that. I thought that was it,” Jack said.

  “Me, too,” Carolyn added, with a shaky smile.

  “I’m not due for at least four more weeks. And first babies are sometimes late,” Rachel reminded them.

  Carolyn started gathering the dirty dishes. “I just hope the baby is healthy and everything goes easily for you, honey.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Reverend Ben smiled, then left the room, heading for his study.

  They were fussing over Rachel like clucking hens lately. It was only natural; this was the first grandchild in the family, and they were all swept up in a mood of happy anticipation.

  Thank the good Lord above for all our blessings. Ben sent up a silent prayer of thanks for this wonderful time in their lives. He thought of them as they had been just a few minutes ago, gathered around the table, enjoying Carolyn’s wonderful holiday dinner—a perfect family portrait of contentment.

  The only thing missing in the picture was Mark.

  Ben found the letter in his top desk drawer. The return address on the envelope read, Double Bar T Ranch, Deep River, Montana. Staring down at the address, Ben hesitated. Why hadn’t he and Carolyn called Mark sooner? He hadn’t sent any phone number, so they assumed he didn’t want them to call. Other reasons, too. They were scared to intrude on his privacy, to stir up the pot. They treated Mark with kid gloves. Maybe too carefully, Ben reflected, though he knew Carolyn disagreed with him on that point.

  He dialed information, and the operator found the number quickly. Ben jotted it on a notepad. Still, he paused before joining the others. Would this call do more harm than good? he worried. Please Lord, let us have a good talk with Mark, he silently prayed.

  He found the rest of the family in the kitchen, helping Carolyn clean up. “Information had a number for the ranch. I’ll give it a try.” He picked up the kitchen phone and dialed.

  Rachel wiped her hands on a towel and drew closer, but Carolyn stayed at the sink, her back turned.

  The phone on the other end rang several times. Ben was about to give up when someone suddenly came on the line—a woman who spoke with a western accent right out of the movies.

  “I’m trying to reach Mark Lewis. This is his father calling,” Ben explained.

  “Mark? He’s ’round. I’ll see if I can find him for you.”

  Ben waited, feeling his stomach knot around his Thanksgiving dinner. He hated feeling so much anxiety just because he was about to speak with his son. It wasn’t right, he thought. It wasn’t right.

  “Dad?” Mark suddenly came on the line. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine, son. We just wanted to say hello. How are you doing? Enjoying the ranching life?”

  “So
far it’s been great. I’m still not used to the hard work,” he admitted. “Montana is awesome, though.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that.” Ben suddenly felt a lump in his throat the size of a football. He had tears in his eyes, as well. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, forcing a bright voice. “We just called to say hello. There’s someone here who really wants to talk to you.”

  He quickly handed the phone to Rachel, then took out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

  “Mark? It’s me, Rachel. How are you?” she said, hugging the phone to her cheek. “What in the world are you doing in Montana?”

  While Rachel chatted happily, Ben glanced at Carolyn. She had turned around to face him but still stood across the room.

  He could tell she felt as he did—almost too overwhelmed to speak casually to Mark, to adopt a calm, relaxed tone that wouldn’t emotionally crowd him.

  Trying to get his son to come home was like coaxing a frightened cat down from a tree, Ben thought. He suddenly felt frustrated and resentful, and he sent up a quick prayer, asking the Lord for patience and the right attitude.

  “ . . . big as a house. I’ve only got about four weeks left.” Rachel paused, listening, then replied, “I wish you could be around when the baby is born. Maybe you could come back for Christmas. It feels like it’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”

  For some reason, Rachel was able to say directly to her brother what they all felt, and Ben was glad that they had made the call. Maybe this is just what Mark needed to hear. Then he felt suddenly tense as he watched Rachel’s warm expression cloud over. He knew Mark’s answer had not been positive.

  “Really? I didn’t know that. . . . Well, keep in touch, okay? Listen, here’s Mom.” Rachel turned to her mother, who now stood nearby.

  Ben saw Carolyn stare at the phone for a moment, then take it from Rachel, her hand trembling slightly.

  “Hello, sweetheart. Happy Thanksgiving,” she said warmly. “Oh, we’re fine. How are you? Any snow there yet? . . . That much, my word! Do you have enough warm clothes?”

  She listened for a few moments and laughed, a forced sound, Ben thought. Her eyes were shining, as if she were holding back tears.

  “We missed you here today. There are so many leftovers. . . . Oh, you did. That was nice. . . . Well, take good care of yourself,” she urged him. “I will, dear. All right. . . . I understand. Bye now,” she said suddenly.

  She took a deep breath and hung up the phone. Nobody spoke for a long moment. When Carolyn turned again, Ben met her gaze. “Someone needed to use the phone,” she said, her voice carefully controlled. “He had to hang up.”

  “He said he didn’t think he could come home in time to see the baby born,” Rachel reported sadly. “Since he’s the low man in the group, he has to stay. They don’t have many men working on the ranch in the winter. He says he was lucky to get the job.”

  Ben nodded. “I see,” he said.

  Of course, if Mark really wanted to come home, he could simply pack up and quit. There were no ties holding him to some ranch in Montana.

  “He said he might come for the christening,” Rachel added. “I hope he will.”

  “I hope so, too,” Ben said. He did hope so, but he didn’t honestly believe Mark would return, even then. “I think it was good to call him,” he said finally. “We’ve shown Mark how much we all miss him and care about him.”

  “Let’s say a prayer about it, together,” Rachel suggested.

  Carolyn glanced at him. He knew she had been praying about this problem for years now. And so had he. But that didn’t mean they should stop praying about it—or doubt that the good Lord was listening to them and doing what was best for all of them.

  They made a small circle, joined hands, and bowed their heads. Ben spoke. “Dear God, please bless our son, Mark, and keep him safe. Please let him know how much we all love him and miss him. Please help him on his journey and let him soon find his way back home to us. Grant us patience and understanding while we wait. Amen.”

  God moves in his own time, not our time, Ben reminded himself. Mark would return in God’s own time and not a minute sooner.

  The phone’s shrill ring broke the silence. Was that Mark calling back, saying he’d changed his mind and would be home soon after all? If so, it was the fastest answer to a prayer Ben had ever experienced.

  He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Sorry to bother you, Reverend.” Ben instantly recognized the voice of Sam Morgan on the other end, and he felt alarmed at Sam’s serious tone. “Something’s happened.”

  “What’s wrong, Sam?”

  “It’s Digger. He took Grace’s dog out this morning, and he never came back. It’s been over eight hours. The police and some volunteers are looking for him.”

  “My word! How is Grace?” Ben asked, knowing that the elderly fisherman’s disappearance would be hardest on his daughter.

  “You know Grace. She’s not exactly the emotional type. But she’s shook up. Harry is here with her,” Sam added, referring to Harry Reilly, who owned a boatyard in town where Digger sometimes did odd jobs. “But he really wants to get out to help search. I’m going back myself in a few minutes.”

  A widower of many years and a loner by nature, Harry was not a particularly friendly man, but in the past months, he had grown close to the eccentric old fisherman and his middle-aged daughter. Tonight, Harry’s support would be important, Ben thought anxiously.

  “Yes, I understand. Tell Harry I’ll be over right away,” he said. He hung up the phone, feeling his pulse race.

  “What is it Ben? You’re as white as a sheet,” Carolyn said.

  “Digger is missing. He left the house this morning with Grace’s dog and hasn’t been seen since,” he reported, as he ran to his study for his Bible. “I’m going to stay with Grace.”

  “Oh, no. How awful.” Carolyn shook her head.

  “Poor Grace,” Rachel said. “She must be beside herself.”

  Everyone knew how Grace watched over her father. Digger was all she had left. Still, the old seaman grew restless and couldn’t stand hanging around Grace’s antique store all day. He found work around town or rambled about, often evading his daughter’s watchful eye.

  “Should I come along?” Carolyn asked, as Ben looked around the kitchen for his car keys.

  “I’ll go now by myself. If this drags on though, maybe you could come later.”

  They all knew what he meant but wouldn’t say. If Digger was found dead, Grace would need all the support they could muster.

  “I’m just going to clean up a bit and put the food away. Then I’ll come right over,” Carolyn said. “Tell Grace we’ll be praying for him. And for her.”

  “Yes, I will, dear,” Ben said, as he pulled on his coat at the front door.

  While Grace was no longer a member of the church, Ben had the feeling she would welcome any and all prayers tonight. Her faith had faltered and lapsed altogether about seven years ago when she lost her daughter, Julie, and her marriage fell apart. Since then Ben had repeatedly reached out to her, but she’d remained stalwart in her anger at God. Digger, however, rarely missed a service, and whether Grace attended or not, Ben knew he wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t go to her now.

  “I’ll go, too,” Jack offered suddenly. “Maybe I can join the search party.”

  “Absolutely. Sounds like they can use as many volunteers as possible tonight.”

  Jack grabbed an extra sweater and some gloves. Then the two men kissed their wives good-bye and left the house. Night had nearly fallen, and the chilly, damp air warned of snow. Ben walked quickly to his car, afraid to consider the possibilities.

  Lord, please let us have good news tonight about Digger.

  LUKE FOLLOWED EMILY’S JEEP INTO THE LOT AT DURHAM POINT BEACH and parked beside her vehicle. The beachfront looked like the set from a suspense film. Police cars, an ambulance, and three fire trucks with huge spotlights on top were lined up side by side, the pow
erful lights mimicking the sweeping beam of the Durham Point Lighthouse, farther down the shoreline.

  Luke jumped out of his truck and slammed the door. The flickering searchlights illuminated the sandy dunes like a moonscape. The ocean waves slammed onto the shoreline with a booming sound, like the roar of a cannon.

  A chilling image entered Luke’s mind: Digger, already lost somewhere under the dark water, returning to the place he loved best in the world, the deep mysterious sea. He took a breath and pushed the thought aside.

  Emily stood nearby. The wind tossed her short hair as she surveyed the scene. The call from the police chief, Jim Sanborn, had shocked everyone at her mother’s house. Ezra wanted to come, too, at first but decided to stay with Lillian. Which was just as well, Luke thought. The doctor was hardy but no youngster.

  Luke had to hand it to Emily. She hadn’t hesitated a moment in coming out here, though the police chief had offered to keep her updated by phone. But Emily was not the type to sit idle, waiting for news, Luke knew. He saw her digging through her trunk then pulling out high rubber boots and a big flashlight.

  Luke came around his truck and joined her. “I see Jim Sanborn down there,” Emily said, pointing across the lot. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

  The police chief stood at the back of a flatbed truck, where a map of the area was spread out beneath a floodlight. He turned when he saw them and nodded.

  “Any news, Jim?” Emily asked hopefully.

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ve got most of our manpower down here, since Grace thinks he probably came this way. We’ve been searching Beach Road and other routes. But there’s no sign of Digger. Or the dog. The man could be anywhere,” he added grimly.

  Sanborn was clearly doing the best he could, but the situation seemed beyond him, Luke thought. And maybe beyond the resources of this small town.

  “How many people are out looking for him?” Emily asked.

  “About forty-some-odd. Harry Reilly’s been getting the word out. Volunteers are still coming to help. They’re checking in at the police station with Officer Tulley. He’s sending them out in pairs to different areas of the village.”