Chapter One
“Daddy!”
“Daddy!”
The double echoes of his four-year-old daughters ringing through New York’s JFK airport came as music to Zac Calhoun’s ears. Though the bandages on his eyes prevented him from seeing his beloved girls, his heart sang with joy.
How could a mere three weeks of separation feel like a year?
One afternoon Zac had waved the twins off to a friend’s sleepover. Less than an hour later, rebels had attacked his Mali mission compound, tossing explosive devices that blew apart buildings and filled the air with cinders and shrapnel. He’d watched with horror as friends and coworkers fell before his eyes until a blast directly in front of him had ripped apart the hospital. Oxygen tanks exploded, knocking him backward and directing fiery debris right at him, scorching his face and stabbing his eyes, blinding him with excruciating pain. Mercifully, something had struck his head, knocking him out. He’d woken in the hospital to learn that his life’s work was gone and he was unable to see. Worst of all, he’d feared for his daughters’ safety.
“Daddy, we missed you!” Chubby arms now encircled Zac’s neck as two wiggling little girls jumped into his lap and dragged his head down for soft kisses against his cheek.
“I missed you, too, my darlings.” Zac clutched them close, inhaling their sweet fragrance, reveling in the velvet brush of their lips against his skin. “Missed you so much. Are you all right, my sweethearts?”
“Of course we are, Daddy.” That was Zoe, always direct. “Abby looked after us.”
“Yeah, Abby looked after us.” Never to be outdone by her twin, even if she only repeated her sister’s words, Mia hugged him again. Then he felt her lean back, probably to study him. “Abby said your eyes got hurted, Daddy.”
“Yes, they did. But they’re getting better.” At least that was Zac’s hope. Though the pain was mostly gone, the horror lingered. He’d been serving God so why had He let this happen? He struggled to his feet, loath to release his precious twin cargo.
He finally set the girls down because he wanted to meet the amazing woman who had taken in his daughters. In the hospital, Zac had heard numerous tales lauding Abigail Armstrong’s reputation and the orphanage where she cared for displaced children as if they were her own.
But Abby had done so much more. Since Zac couldn’t see to travel and feared leading the rebels to the twins, Abby had arranged travel documents for the girls. She hadn’t, however, been able to sidestep a government order that the girls must travel directly to New York to meet their father and so she had arranged to bring them here herself. Zac wanted to be certain this lady heard his heartfelt gratitude for her unselfishness.
“Where is your Abby?”
“I’m here.” The melodic voice was calm, quiet, with just a hint of amusement coloring it. “Abigail Armstrong. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Calhoun.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too. How can I ever thank you enough for taking care of my daughters?” Zac had the sense that this woman was tall, probably up to his shoulders. The hand that slid into his outstretched one felt soft yet strong as she gave him a firm, welcoming handshake. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully express my gratitude, Miss Armstrong.”
“It’s Mrs., but call me Abby, and there’s no need to thank me.” Funny how he missed the warmth of her hand when she withdrew it. “Having the twins was a pleasure—girls, careful,” she said when one of the twins bumped into him. “Are you all right, Doctor?”
“It’s tough to get a grip on the whole balance thing when I can’t see. Sometimes I wobble,” Zac admitted, feeling awkward yet grateful for her steadying touch on his arm. “And no, I’m not all right. But I will be,” he affirmed stoutly, unwilling to voice the gut-wrenching fear that he’d lost his eyesight forever. “Especially now that I have my girls back.”
“John Lawannie had a difficult time getting them to me, but he prevailed.” The sympathy in her voice forced his next question.
“How difficult?” Zac feared the answer.
“He was attacked before he collected the twins. After he arrived at my home, he collapsed.” She sounded sad. “A friend of mine, a doctor, came to examine him and arranged for his care.” Her voice dropped, probably so the twins wouldn’t hear. “I checked on John before we flew out. He was in a coma. The prognosis isn’t good. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you for helping him.” John’s hurt because of me, because I wouldn’t leave the mission when he told me to. “Did you know John previously?”
“Oh, yes. As a police officer he’d visited my orphanage in a search for a missing child.” She changed the subject. “The twins are delighted to be reunited with you, Dr. Calhoun.”
“Call me Zac,” he insisted.
“Okay.” After a slight hesitation she added, “It would be nice to sit and get acquainted, Zac, but it took so long for us to get through security that I’m afraid our flight to Montana is now ready to board. We must go. Girls, pick up your backpacks.”
Zac heard the sound of scurrying feet as his daughters obeyed. Clearly Abigail Armstrong was in control. Good that someone was because he certainly wasn’t. He couldn’t see an inch in front of him with these bandages.
Maybe I won’t be able to see without them, either?
He pushed back the dark thoughts as Abby’s words sunk in.
“Wait a minute. Our flight? Where’s Arthur?” Zac twisted his head, trying to discern some sound to indicate that the emissary from the mission’s society who’d funded his work and accompanied him to New York was standing nearby. “Arthur?” A lack of response and the inability to see why roused disquiet in him. “There was a man here...”
“Arthur Strong. Yes, I met him a moment ago. He received an urgent text while the girls were hugging you. I said I’d tell you he had to leave.” Abigail didn’t sound worried by that, but Zac was.
“Leave?” Zac swallowed. “But—?”
“Arthur found a seat on a flight back to Africa, which is fantastic because he hopes to retrieve his own family. They were in an accident the day he left,” Abby explained, adding in a soft, sad tone, “Poor worried fellow.”
“So you’re coming with us to Montana?” Zac asked, half bemused, half relieved.
“And to your ranch. I hope that’s all right.” Abby sounded as if she feared he’d reject her help. Fat chance.
“I can’t imagine how this impacts your plans, but we are very happy to have you. Do you know Montana?” he asked curiously.
“Not at all. I’ve lived in Africa for many years. Moving to America will be a good change for me,” Abby said without the slightest hesitation. “I agreed to accompany you and the girls to your family’s ranch and see you settled in. Then I’ll figure out my future.”
“Oh.” Zac wasn’t sure what to say. He was grateful that someone would help them, but his eyes would need rinsing soon...
“Don’t worry.” The sound of a smile was back in her voice. “I’m a nurse, Dr. Calhoun. I can manage your treatment.”
“It’s Zac,” he repeated, and then nodded. “Thank you. Again.”
“No problem. I’ve allowed a couple of months to get you all settled. By then I’m sure you’ll be well and I’ll get on with rebuilding my life.” She paused, then her voice altered, became more urgent. “You may ask me all the questions you like later, Dr.—er, Zac. But we must board now or wait until tomorrow for the next direct flight. You do want to get home?”
Hanging Hearts Ranch hadn’t been his home for many years and Zac didn’t have his own home anymore. It had been destroyed. Returning to the ranch with his girls—that sounded pretty good right now.
“Let’s go.” He’d no sooner said it than her fingers curled into his elbow, guiding him with just a few words of instruction to the girls to walk in front, hand in hand.
Zac found the going easy thanks to Abby’s quiet commentary as she accompanied him and the twins through check-in and then along the jetway. They were a few steps inside the aircraft when she stopped him by putting his hand on a chair arm.
“You can sit here,” she said. “It’s tucked in so no one will bump you. Mia will sit beside you. All right?”
“First class,” he mused as he sank into the wide, supple leather seat. “Missionaries don’t usually travel first class.”
“I felt you and your daughters required the extra room and a bit of luxury after traveling for so long,” Abigail explained, though she didn’t mention how she’d managed to acquire the prized seats. She directed the twins where to sit but they immediately objected.
“I wanna sit by Zoe,” Mia insisted. “We’re makin’ pictures about the mission for Grandpa and Grandma.”
Abby waited for Zac’s agreement before settling the girls in their places across the aisle and repeating instructions she’d obviously given before. Finally she sat down next to Zac.
“It’s snowing outside. In March,” she added, surprise in her words.
“Happens sometimes,” Zac assured her. “You don’t remember the unpredictability of winter in North America?”
“I guess not. Seeing snow makes me feel chilly,” Abby mused. He heard the zip of a garment. “I don’t think it will delay our takeoff though. Are you warm enough?”
“I’d like my sweater—oh, no. I forgot my carry-on.” Zac began unbuckling his seat belt. “I’ll have to go back—”
“I brought it.” Abby set his hand on the handle of his battered case. As he dug through it for his sweater she said, “I’ll see if the girls would like their jackets.”
She returned a few minutes later, seating herself quickly as other passengers began to board.
“First-class seats are expensive,” he worried out loud, suddenly wishing he hadn’t left all the travel arrangements to someone else. He couldn’t afford—
“Don’t worry,” Abby reassured him. “Someone donated these for you and your daughters. Be at rest.”
Be at rest? Zac almost laughed.
Burning ash and bits of shrapnel meant he couldn’t see a thing now, and in fact might never regain his eyesight. He was returning to his adopted family, at their ranch, as a widower, with his ministry destroyed and no clue about what his future held. Worse, he hadn’t kept his promise to Maria to make their mission, their dream, something to be envied and modeled around the world. He’d lost it all.
How could he possibly be at rest?
“You seem upset. Are you in pain?” Abby paused. Zac had a sense she was checking her watch. “I was told you wouldn’t need the eye wash treatment for another hour, but given all the time changes, perhaps that was incorrect?”
“No, that sounds about right.” With no way to tell time, he had to trust that Abby’s instructions were correct. “No pain. I’m just restless, I guess,” Zac added when she seemed to be waiting for a response. “Tell me about yourself. You lived in Africa for how long?”
“Since I was thirteen. Half my life.” Abby sounded surprised by that. “My parents were missionaries.”
“Thirteen. Tough age to be uprooted,” Zac mused.
“Very,” she admitted, though he heard a smile in her voice. “I was furious with them for about a week. Until I saw my first lion in the wild.”
“Game changer.” Zac chuckled. “What was your parents’ ministry?”
“My dad was a doctor, like you. He’s the reason I trained as a nurse.” Her voice grew more introspective. “My mom was a physiotherapist, but her real love was children. I think she always hoped she’d have a bunch but—” Abby’s shoulder brushed his, probably in a shrug. “It never happened. So she devoted herself to me and every needy kid she came across.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused you to rehash sad memories,” Zac said.
“They’re not sad,” Abby said, a smile in her tone. “I often remember Mom’s laugh, a lot more since Mia and Zoe came to stay. They have the same from-the-belly kind of bubbling laugh that sweeps you right into whatever they’re enjoying.”
“Do you see your parents often?” As soon as he asked, Zac knew it was a mistake. She stiffened. There was a pregnant pause, closely followed by a swift hiss of air. “I’m sorry—”
“Mom and Dad died three years ago.” The words seemed to spill out of Abby. “It was a difficult time.”
“I’m sure,” he agreed, thinking that was an understatement. “Did you come back home then?”
“To the US? No,” Abby said quickly. She must have shaken her head because a swath of silky hair brushed his neck, filling his nostrils with a light floral scent that made Zac think of mountain wildflowers and warm summer afternoons on the ranch.
“Why not?”
“Because Africa was my home,” she said. “There was nothing and no one for me in America. Mom and Dad were only children. Their parents were gone before they left this country.”
“I was told you run an orphanage.” He liked talking to Abby. She didn’t flirt with him or gush about the twins, both of which he’d endured after Maria died.
“Ran. It wasn’t really an orphanage,” Abby demurred. “Just a safe place for children to stay for a while. I loved being able to feed and clothe them, to help them find new perspectives, often after life-shattering experiences.”
“Which mission supports your work?” Zac asked. When there was no answer, he grimaced in self-reproach. “Sorry, that’s nosy. Forget I asked.”
“It’s okay. I, um, wasn’t supported by a mission.” Abby’s voice changed, seemed to harden as she added, “I—we—I guess people would say that my husband was my only supporter.”
“Was?” Zac couldn’t have stopped himself from asking if he’d wanted to and he didn’t want to. His curiosity about this quiet, competent lady grew stronger with every minute, which was odd because curiosity about a woman hadn’t occurred once in the two and a half years since Maria had passed away.
“Ken, my husband, died two years ago. He was a pilot. His plane crashed. Our son, Levi, died with him. I came out of it with just a few bruises.” The words seemed to spurt out in short, staccato sentences in a flat, unemotional manner. Because she’d steeled herself against the pain?
“I’m so sorry, Abby.” Zac reached out, found her arm and slid his hand down it to give her fingers a squeeze.
“Thank you. It’s been difficult, but God’s will prevails.”
Meaning? Zac’s curiosity about that statement consumed him until they were at cruising altitude. When the flight attendants offered a variety of beverages, he smiled at Mia’s choice of pineapple juice and Zoe’s slower decision to have mango. His daughters certainly were children of the tropics. A few minutes later their voices changed, grew excited.
“What’s happened?” he asked Abby.
“Mia and Zoe just received the cutest drinks with tropical umbrellas,” Abby told him, a smile in her voice. “They’re pretending to be ladies at a tea party. You have very sweet children, Zac.”
“Thank you.” He wanted to ask if she had other children, but figured that if she had, she wouldn’t have left them in Africa and come here alone. Zac wasn’t sure why he was so certain Abby had been a great mother, he just knew that was the case.
Why didn’t she have her orphanage anymore? He’d ask her later.
“Daddy, we look just like those pictures of Mommy!” Zoe’s loud voice made most of the first-class passengers chuckle.
“The girls talk a lot about their mother,” Abby said. “You’ve done a very good job of keeping her memory alive for them.”
“I’ve done my best. There are so many things I don’t want them to forget.” Zac shrugged. “Maria was better than I am at recording the important stuff.”
“Oh.”
He felt Abby’s sudden jerk and quickly asked, “What’s wrong?” thinking his daughters must have spilled their drinks.
“Maria and Zac. Mia and Zoe. How clever.” Abby chuckled to herself.
“That was Maria’s doing. Once we found out we were having twins, she spent the last three months of her pregnancy whittling down appropriate names.”
“I didn’t mean to remind you...” Abby stopped.
“I’m always reminded of Maria. But it’s not as painful as it was at first. You must know that,” Zac said, thinking of her husband and son. “The sharpness of loss gradually recedes with time, though you’ll always miss them.”
“How did Maria die?” Abby added cream to his coffee at his request.
“Brain aneurism. It was very fast. No lingering goodbyes or chances to say all the things I thought of later.” Zac half smiled as the memories cascaded. “But Maria knew how much I loved her, just as I know how much she loved me.”
“How wonderful to have that to cling to,” Abby said in a tone so soft Zac almost didn’t hear.
He was about to remind her that she must have the same tender memories, but he checked the impulse. Abby had offered no details about her husband or her marriage. Zac knew not all couples were happy together...
He heard a soft sniff.
“Excuse me.” The clang of her seat belt and a rush of cool air told him Abby had left her seat.
Puzzled, Zac savored his coffee, replaying the few words she’d shared. He couldn’t find any clue in them as to exactly who Abby Armstrong was. All he knew was that she was an excellent caregiver for his daughters.
He needed to format some kind of plan for his future, generate possibilities, figure out what he should focus on first. He needed to establish a goal. That was the way Zac worked best.
But Abby’s fragrance, the most haunting perfume he’d ever breathed, kept drawing his thoughts back to her, reminding him that all his hopes and dreams for his mission, for his life, were gone.
Abby peered at herself in the tiny mirror and dabbed at her eyes. How stupid to get so maudlin over the past. Except it wasn’t the past that had caused that burst of emotion. It was Zac’s tender words about loving Maria and she him that had touched a raw spot in her heart.
Oh, to be loved like that.
“Stop it,” she ordered her reflection. “It’s finished. Ken’s gone. You’re free to do what you will, when you want. Free to come and go as you please, free to find a home for yourself or take up jogging. Whatever. No one can take your freedom away from you again.”
If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. John 8:36
Abby repeated the verse several times, letting the familiar words erase the sorrow and longing in her heart. She was in a new country, starting over. Once Zac and his daughters were settled on the family ranch she would leave. She’d spend time exploring this second chance God had given. Why waste thoughts on a past she couldn’t change?
Except for Levi. She missed his toothy grin and infectious giggle. How her arms ached to hold her little son close, to nuzzle his neck and press kisses against his rounded belly. Why had Ken insisted on taking her and Levi flying that day? Because of their argument? Because she wouldn’t obey him and get rid of the kids she took in? Because she wouldn’t agree that he needed a newer, fancier airplane?
She’d often wondered if Ken had been trying to punish her by doing those acrobatic flying stunts and if that had caused the motor malfunction leading to the accident. Had Levi’s death been her fault? The thought haunted Abby.
Yes, she was free. She was also alone.
Blocking out her sadness, Abby exhaled, straightened her shirt and swept a hand over her almost-black hair, smoothing it to give the orderly, confident look she needed to assuage her inner uncertainty. Then she stepped out of the tiny cubicle. The sound of a little girl weeping made her hurry to Mia and Zoe.
“What’s wrong?” she asked after hugging Mia’s tearful face against her shoulder.
“She pinched her finger in the seat belt,” Zoe explained. “Daddy told her not to undo it but she disobeyed. That’s why she got hurt.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Let me see.” Abby glanced at Zac, knowing he must be frustrated at not being able to watch what was happening. He was so handsome. Her heart picked up speed and she had to refocus. “It’s all right. It’s just a tiny pinprick. I have a plaster in my purse.” She retrieved it and returned.
“What’s a plaster?” Zoe asked. “Oh, you mean a bandage.”
“In the school I went to, our matron—principal,” she quickly substituted, “called them plasters. Let’s stick it on. There. All better?”
Mia spent a few seconds examining Abby’s treatment before nodding.
“Daddy always kisses owies better,” Zoe said.
“Does he?” Abby bent and brushed her lips against the child’s bandaged finger. “Better now?”
“Uh-huh.” Mia quickly added, “Thank you,” after her father cleared his throat.
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Abby spent a few more minutes reassuring them that their grandparents would love the drawing they were creating before she took her seat again. “After they’ve served lunch, I’d like to bathe your eyes,” she told Zac. “Will that suit?”
“Yes, thank you.” He chuckled. “Will that suit? You sound a bit like an English schoolmarm.”
“Sorry.” Zac’s playful grin knocked Abby off-kilter and she struggled to regain her businesslike composure. “I was just telling the twins that my schooling took place at a very proper English boarding school. I guess I picked up the English idioms there.”
Abby hadn’t wanted to stare, but now she studied Zac more closely. His dark brown hair was cut short, but not short enough to prevent one wavy section from flopping down over his forehead almost to his eyebrows. He was tall, probably six feet, and very lean, although some of that may have to do with his recent ordeal.
“Tell me about your orphanage, Abby. Please?”
Because the trip would be long and because she felt sorry for Zac, who didn’t have the luxury of studying other travelers or reading a book to pass the time, she agreed. She would weave a story for him about the country she’d called home for so many years. But she’d choose her words very carefully because, despite his lack of vision, she was beginning to realize that this doctor was keenly perceptive.
“I fell in love with Africa’s animals first.” Perhaps she could divert discussion from the orphanage and its beginning.
“I can well imagine. I’m sure my girls would love to hear you talk about them,” Zac said with a fond smile directed toward the chattering girls. “But I’m more interested in how your orphanage started. What prompted you to do such a thing?”
“I was newly married. We lived in Botswana.” Abby ensured her tone was neutral so she gave nothing away. “I told you my husband was a pilot? Well, I often felt lonely. When Ken was home he mostly did the shopping, but one day he was away and I was hungry for some fruit. So I went to the market.”
How she’d loved the times when she could go to that market on her own. Chattering in her broken Setswana, feeling the sun on her face, choosing her favorite fruits and vegetables without criticism about their price or how the sellers always gouged their customers...
“Shopping days were freedom days,” she murmured, suddenly homesick.
“Freedom days?” Zac’s forehead pleated in a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Just that you could buy anything at the market,” Abby substituted quickly in her breeziest tone. “Hats, a shawl, food, books. There was this one seller who sold the most amazing handmade baby clothes—”
Memories swamped her. Levi’s first booties had come from that stall.
“I don’t want to make you sad,” Zac murmured.
“You haven’t. Just remembering.” She inhaled and started over. “Anyway, I was at the market when I spotted a little boy sitting by himself at the side of the road, crying. He’d fallen and, I believed, knocked himself unconscious for a while because he had a big bump on his head. He said his name was Abioye, which means son of royalty. He’d been hiding from what he called ‘the bad men’ for several days. He was dirty and scared and desperately hungry.”
“Poor kid.” Zac’s empathy was so different from Ken’s disgust when she’d told him the story.
“I cleaned up Abioye and bought him some food, which he devoured in seconds. Then I sat with him to wait. I naively thought his family would show up to fetch him. But the market shut down, people left and still no one came.” She remembered feeling as if they were shunning her. “I asked tons of people, but no one would take the boy. They wouldn’t explain, wouldn’t even talk to me. I couldn’t just leave him there alone, so I brought him home. He was the first one.”
“You never found out about Abioye’s family?” Zac shifted so he was facing her. “Lost in the sickness that plagues Africa, perhaps?”
“Actually, his father appeared at our door almost a month later,” she said, smiling at the memory of how that regal man had simply strolled into her yard one afternoon. “He’d sent Abioye to Botswana for safety, but the boy’s bodyguards were killed along the way. Abioye was pursued and got lost.” She sighed. “That father had been desperately searching for his son for so long. Their reunion was very moving. Such love.”
Zac was silent for a moment. “So after Abioye, other kids started coming to you?”
“Sort of.” Abby tried to condense the tale. “Afa, Abioye’s father, was the head of an underground organization working to stop guerilla fighters and instigators from causing strife in several African countries.” She licked her lips. “Afa was so delighted with Abioye’s care that he asked if he could send other children who needed to escape their homes, had lost their parents or needed protection. I would keep the kids for a while and when it was safe Afa would send someone to get them. I agreed. It was my way to help the helpless.”
“But that could have been dangerous.” Zac frowned. “How involved was your husband?”
“Oh, he wasn’t. Ken traveled constantly. It was up to me to care for the children,” she quickly assured him, unwilling to confess just how strongly Ken had objected.
“Still, he couldn’t have liked you being placed at risk.” The doctor tilted his head as if waiting for her to respond.
“No,” Abby admitted very quietly. “He did not.” Ken’s protests had been more about him being inconvenienced than her safety. “But I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I had to help. Especially because they were kids.”
“So then...?”
“I think perhaps I should change those dressings now,” she said quickly. “I’m worried we might be traveling through some turbulence later.”
“Oh?” Zac lifted his head. It felt as if he could see through those bandages straight into her mind. “I guess that’s okay.”
Abby didn’t want to talk about Ken anymore. She would help Zac and his daughters to the best of her ability, but she was never again going to let any man get close to her heart. Ken had ruined her past, but no one would get the opportunity to ruin her future.
Copyright © 2020 by Lois M. Richer