Rachel's Dream Page 3

  He laughed. “Can’t say that I have. Unless you include horses and dogs.”

  Rachel giggled. A light breeze coming in through the doors blew some loose straw across the concrete floor. “If you could name your first child, girl or boy, what name would you pick?”

  He stopped what he was doing and darted her an uncertain glance. Several heartbeats later, he spoke. “Let me think on it, Rachel.”

  “Okay. Hannah wants everyone’s input before deciding.”

  “I’m sure she does. Deciding your firstborn’s name …” He let out a low whistle. “That’s a big thing.”

  As he finished and began zipping up his medical case, she recalled why he was here. Her joy over the baby news competed with the sadness about her suffering horse.

  “I wish there was some improvement. Even a little.” She pretended to measure with her thumb and pointer finger.

  He patted the horse while holding Rachel’s gaze. “Upper respiratory viruses are tough. Unfortunately, there’s no magic bullet to cure them. But from my experience, improvement can strike all at once. And I’m praying hard for a recovery.”

  The statement prompted her to step closer to him. “You are a true friend, Doctor.”

  The expression in his eyes reflected surprise.

  “Thank you for that, Rachel. It means a lot. This guy here …” He glanced at the gelding. “He’s my favorite patient.” A frustrated sigh escaped his throat. “I watched him barely survive, and it broke my heart. Now I ache for him again. It’s just not fair.”

  The way he said the words prompted Rachel to look harder at the man who seemed incredibly dedicated to getting Cinnamon well.

  She cleared her throat. When she continued, her voice cracked with emotion. “Thank you for all you’re doing.”

  The expression in his eyes became more haunted than before. Their gazes locked while she tried to guess his thoughts. The turbulence in his eyes grew. At that moment, she was certain something haunted him. She couldn’t help but wonder what it was.

  When he didn’t respond, she gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders. “I appreciate you.”

  “I’m glad to be of assistance.” He paused. “And it’s all my pleasure to help such a lovely lady.”

  Her heart fluttered. She’d never had anyone say that about her, let alone a man that she admired so much. Members of her church focused on a person’s inside more than the outside. All the same, what he’d said made her pulse jump to a happier pace.

  For an awkward moment, she continued to look at him. Finally, for something to do, she threw her hands in the air and smiled a little. “Thank you for the compliment, Doctor.”

  He paused and brushed some straw off the front of his jeans. “Rachel, I want to clarify that I was referring to your heart. I always learned in church that beauty comes from within, but with you, beauty is inside and out.”

  Warmth flooded her face and she looked down at the ground to hide the color she knew was in her cheeks.

  To her relief, he changed the subject. “I’m praying for Cinnamon’s recovery.” He glanced at the horse. “For Cinnamon.” Then he lowered his chin and pointed at her. “And for you.”

  Not only was he trying to get her horse well, but he cared so much.

  “I can tell by Daddy’s lack of interest that he’s already written Cinnamon off. I love my father with all of my heart, but I have never been able to make him believe that Cinnamon is part of our family.”

  She raised her palms to the ceiling in a gesture of helplessness. “Daddy only considers horses a means of transportation. And that’s frustrating.”

  Finally the doctor offered a nod of recognition. “It’ll be okay, Rachel. Nothing’s ever perfect. Not for you, and certainly not for me. We’re only human.”

  She immediately wondered if his statement was in any way related to his lack of reaction to her compliment about his folks a few days ago.

  He looked down and smiled sadly. When he glanced up at her, he said softly, “You caught me off guard the other day when you commented about being raised in a loving home.” He shrugged. “I’ve given your comment a lot of thought. Fortunately, I was brought up with unconditional love, but I wish my parents had cared enough about me to raise me.”

  Her heart nearly stopped as she digested his statement and the sad tone of his voice as he’d said it. “I’m sorry.”

  He offered a slow shake of his head. “No apology necessary. My mom and dad sent me off to distant relatives here in the area when I was only four.” He shrugged disappointedly. “And the truth is, Rachel, that I haven’t seen or spoken to my mother and father since. They’re in Ohio.”

  His shocking words took her breath away. She was sure her eyes were as wide with surprise as the state of Texas.

  He continued to gather his things and carefully placed them into his brown medical pouch. She stepped closer to hear him.

  Rachel ached for him. Obviously, the turmoil behind his dark depths wasn’t her imagination. There was a deep reason for the haunted expression in his eyes. She had an inkling that there was a sad story around Cinnamon’s kind doctor and his mother and father. What had happened?

  *

  It was already the second week in June. Rachel’s pulse on her wrist pumped with renewed energy and hope as Jarred pulled away in his pickup. After waving good-bye, she stood for long, thoughtful moments, watching his silver Ford disappear around the corner. The dust at the end of the drive lingered like a foggy cloud before finally settling.

  The bright noon sun caressed her face, and she closed her lids to enjoy the warm, feathery sensation. When she opened her eyes, she placed her hands on her hips and turned.

  Between the barn and where she stood, the welcome breeze picked up enough speed to move the damp garments on the clothesline up and down. The green leaves on the cherry trees rustled, and vegetable plants in Daddy’s garden did a slight dip to the west. On both sides, farmers worked the fields. Rachel breathed in the fragrant aroma of Mamma’s homemade tomato soup that was carried on the breeze.

  Mamma’s voice startled her. Returning to reality, Rachel automatically held out her hand to accept the lined basket with a smile. With a wave, Mamma looked toward the healthy plants.

  “Tomatoes are ready. You should get a basket full. The Early Girls are lookin’ good. And while you’re in there,” she waved a hand at the garden, “you might come across some bell peppers, too. By the way, your daddy just picked up our voice messages, and Hannah’s doing great!”

  When Mamma stepped back toward the house, Rachel smiled at the good news while she proceeded to the large area of vegetables. Careful not to step on the vines, she slowly and cautiously edged her way between narrow rows and carefully pushed tall plants out of the way.

  The velvety leaves came higher than Rachel’s waist. The combination of moisture and warm weather had produced record crops in the fields. This fall’s harvest should be something to celebrate.

  As she set the basket on the ground, the pleasant, fresh scent from the nearby pumpkin blossoms filled her nostrils. She glanced at the half-closed yellow blooms that were ready for picking, too. But she’d wait till early morning, when they were full.

  With practiced care, she used both hands to pull the deep red tomatoes, holding the fragile stems to prevent the vines from snapping. Unable to resist the sweet cherry tomatoes, she rubbed a couple over her apron, slipped them into her mouth, and sighed with delight. They were her favorites. And she loved the juice she and her sisters would help Mamma can later in the summer.

  A buzzing noise interrupted her thoughts. She slapped at a mosquito that landed on her sleeve. From experience, she knew that her long dress wouldn’t prevent bites. Produce was wonderful, but fresh food didn’t come without pests.

  As she filled her basket, she considered Cinnamon’s doctor and the conversation they’d shared only a short while ago. To her surprise, despite their hour-long visit in the barn, she still didn’t know much about him, other than h
is special interest in healing. And that he’d named a lot of animals. Of course, the purpose of his visit hadn’t been personal.

  She bent to add two medium-sized Big Boys to her growing collection. Does he have brothers? Sisters? Why did his folks desert him?

  Before she’d even met him, she’d heard about his gentle, kind touch with animals. Everything from dogs to horses had made miraculous recoveries under his tender care. A huge sense of relief swept over her, and the tenseness at the back of her neck went away.

  She returned her basket to the dry earth at her feet and crossed her arms over her waist to briefly enjoy her surroundings. She was a self-proclaimed dreamer, and this beautiful ambience was conducive to thoughtfully drifting away.

  In the distance, she glimpsed Old Sam’s barn. As she took in the view, a story came to her about his horse, Ginger. Rachel tried to recall specifics. Ginger had once suffered a serious malady. In fact, the illness was so grave, Dr. Steven’s prognosis had looked hopeless.

  But despite the grim prediction, Sam had never given up. Neither had Esther. Every day, they both prayed for Ginger’s recovery. In the meantime, they gave their best care. Eventually, God had rewarded their faith, and Ginger rebounded. Rachel recalled how their tense weeks of tremendous concern had quickly evaporated like steam from a teakettle.

  Look at the glass as half-full. She had no doubt that Cinnamon would follow suit. Rachel’s faith was strong. Her Lord and Savior wouldn’t take her beloved friend from her, not yet, anyway.

  In a silent prayer, she thanked God for Cinnamon and for the recovery she was certain would come. After a slight pause, she offered another prayer—for Dr. Zimmerman.

  The more she considered him, the more she yearned to learn everything about him. The soft-spoken healer who’d responded to Daddy’s call was obviously special, and his presence eased her worries about Cinnamon. But something from the doctor’s past saddened him.

  There was a reason behind his haunted expression. Still, whenever she was around him, she felt unusually happy. In fact, for some reason, just the mere thought of him prompted a wide smile. She barely knew him, yet she was sure she knew his heart. And that’s what mattered.

  She’d been taught to focus on the inside of a person, not the exterior. But his eyes intrigued her. The dark-blue gray reminded her of the deep lake where Daddy fished for bass. On the surface, the water looked calm and beautiful, but she’d always wondered what it looked like beneath it.

  Certainly, she was no expert at reading minds. She didn’t have a college degree. Not even a high school diploma like the English kids in town got. But she had Old Sam. She nodded in satisfaction. What she’d learned from him was more valuable than anything a textbook could teach her—of that she was sure.

  He had commented more than once that the eyes were the windows to a person’s soul, and she believed him. He knew everything. Of course, he had experienced a lot in his eightysomething years.

  A monarch butterfly landed on top of her pointer finger. As she watched the insect gracefully fly away, she recognized that she definitely considered Cinnamon’s doctor a special friend. She was glad she’d told him. She wanted him to know. Because … She wasn’t sure why.

  Letting out a deep breath, she knelt to reach a tomato nestled near the ground, close to the stem. For some reason, Jarred stayed on her mind. As she shoved a couple of Early Girls aside in the basket to make room for more, his kind, compassionate demeanor floated through her thoughts.

  She wondered why his parents had sent him away when he was young. Mamma had always said that children are a product of their mother and father. In the vet’s case, it couldn’t be true.

  She didn’t want to be nosy; at the same time, she yearned to help him because he was a godsend to Cinnamon. Several heartbeats later, she decided that there was more to it than that. Definitely, there was something very special about Dr. Jarred Zimmerman. But how could she help him if she didn’t know what was wrong?

  *

  Jarred had seen four other patients before he got home. Entering his house, he picked up two small feed bowls on his patio. Inside, he quickly filled them with food and water and stepped back outside to place them underneath the iron table.

  He wiped away a bead of sweat that had slipped down his forehead. Since the tomcat’s mysterious appearance a week ago, Jarred had maintained him with food and water to help him stay alive. He’d placed the small round table next to his back door for shade.

  Jarred frowned. Unfortunately, it was common for unwanted animals to be dumped in the country. His opposition to such cruel actions only made him more determined to rescue the abandoned.

  He smiled with satisfaction when the furry creature came closer. In the softest voice he could muster, Jarred said, “We’ll be friends, you and I. I know you have trust issues, and I understand why because I do, too. But in time, you’ll realize I’m your buddy. In the meantime, I’ll offer you nutrition and shade.”

  Jarred adjusted the heavy cloth he’d placed over the table. This year’s early June temps were unusually hot, and for now, this simple covering he’d cut out of material was the best he could do to protect the stray from the sun.

  Still keeping watch on the golden fur, Jarred went to his back door. Inside, he listened as he clicked the lock into place and proceeded to the window to the open blinds for a better view of the poor thing feasting on scraps.

  While the four-legged being that was barely more than skin and bones indulged, Jarred’s stomach growled. He washed his hands, pulled premade chicken Kiev from his fridge, placed the breasts onto a baking dish, and shoved it into the oven. He turned the timer to forty minutes. While his dinner baked, he sat at the small kitchen table and opened his mail.

  When the timer buzzed, he startled. He proceeded to the electric oven, removed the food, and pulled the foil. Admiring his efforts, Jarred smiled at the dish he’d taught himself to make when he’d first moved into this place.

  He scooped the golden-brown stuffed breasts onto a plate from his cupboard and sat down at the table. Before taking a bite, he folded his hands and bowed his head. “Dear Lord, thank you for this food.” He paused. “And I’m grateful for the chance to help Cinnamon. Please gift me the right knowledge to save him. Amen.”

  While he cut his dinner into pieces, he glanced out of the window in time to glimpse the stray finish the last bite and drink from the water bowl before rushed, timid steps took him away from the house.

  Jarred tested his dinner and gave a slight nod of approval. His thoughts were still on the feline. He spoke under his breath. “You and me, buddy, we’ve got a lot in common. Someday I’ll tell you my story.”

  Jarred focused on his all-time favorite dinner. With the help of the cookbook on top of the fridge, he’d taught himself to make a superb meal.

  As he savored the buttery taste, he drifted back to his childhood. Unfortunately, home-cooked meals had been few and far between. The Mennonite couple who’d raised him had frequented restaurants. Of course, he would have enjoyed homemade dinners, not only for the taste, but to enjoy the family-type atmosphere.

  He wasn’t complaining, that’s for sure. They had loved him like a son. They’d done their best to comfort him during the long adjustment that followed after his folks had sent him to them. Most importantly, they’d raised him in a Christian home. For that, he was most grateful.

  They’d both been taken in a car crash before his graduation from Purdue University. Every time he thought of the accident, his chest ached. He missed them. Wanted with everything he had to hug them and thank them for being there for him.

  He focused on a happier subject: Rachel. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth up. Her comment about being a true friend stuck in his mind. He pressed his lips together and cupped his chin with his hand. The unexpected statement prompted a strange combination of joy and dismay.

  Obviously, the honest remark flattered him. He didn’t know Rachel well, but his instincts were usually right on target
. His keen sense of reading people had kicked in at an early age. So had his lack of trust. By contrast, the Kauffman girl was unusually open and honest. Without a doubt, Rachel represented everything he’d yearned for growing up. When he was with her, an unprecedented sense of comfort and security filled his heart and soul.

  But he had reciprocated her sentiment. And to his surprise, he’d confessed to her that his parents hadn’t raised him. It was the first time he’d ever told anyone, but she was a good listener, and the sad story of growing up without his own mom and dad was something he’d carried on his shoulders for a long time.

  He stood and paced to the living room to glance at the picture of his brother. At that moment, he knew he had to stay realistic about this sudden adoration for the beautiful Amish girl. Although she was of the Christian faith, the Amish way of life differed greatly from his own, so any feelings he had could only lead to a dead-end street.

  *

  That evening, Rachel knew something was wrong. After dinner, she began helping two of her sisters, Mary and Doris, clear the table. Married, they lived nearby and often brought their families for dinner.

  To her surprise, her father interrupted them and motioned to her. Her siblings looked at each other and curiously raised their eyebrows as Rachel obediently followed him into the living room and claimed a seat on the couch.

  Her dad sat opposite her. The expression of uncertainty on his face prompted Rachel to stiffen. Her pulse picked up speed. She clutched her hands together on her lap. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a more sensitive tone. “Honey, I know how much you love Cinnamon.”

  Her gaze didn’t leave her father’s face. It wasn’t like him to talk to her as the table was being cleared. Her heart jumped with anxiety.

  “Rachel, Cinnamon’s very, very ill. And he’s not going to recover.”

  She jumped to her feet and cried, “Yes, he is, Daddy! Dr. Zimmerman believes it, too.”