Lois Richer - North Country Family

“You were supposed to tell me if you were going somewhere, Noah.”

Rick immediately understood that the harshness he heard in her voice came from the fear still lingering in her eyes. A mental image of her—younger, without the worry, carefree and happy—flashed through his head.

Where did that come from?

“S-sorry, Mom,” Noah muttered. He didn’t sound sorry.

“Noah didn’t want to wake you so he moved over here. We’ve been chatting to pass the time.” He thrust out a hand. “I’m Rick Salinger.”

Instantly a barrier went up in her cocoa-toned eyes. After several moments’ hesitation she slid her small hand into his for about half a second then immediately pulled it away.

“Cassie Crockett,” she said with her chin thrust forward. “I’m sorry Noah bothered you.”

“He didn’t— Just the opposite, actually. Did you know your son is a cardshark?” Rick was certain he’d never met anyone named Cassie Crockett so he couldn’t possibly know her, and yet that face...

Rick regrouped and grinned at Noah. “He beat me in six straight games of hearts.”

“I’ve been there.” A smile flickered at the corner of her lips. “Humbling, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Rick agreed, wanting to see what a real smile looked like on Cassie Crockett. “But I was glad to have someone to talk to. Seventeen hours from Thompson to Churchill makes for a long ride, even if this part of northern Canada is the best of God’s creation.” He paused then asked, “Have we met before?”

“No.” Short and succinct, her answer flew out almost before he’d finished asking the question.

“I don’t mean to push it, but you seem very familiar to me,” he said.

“I assure you, I have never seen you before.” She held his gaze, dark brown sparks in her eyes defiant.

“I’m h-hungry, Mom.” Noah looked at Rick, and seemed to sense an ally. “I b-bet Pastor Rick is hungry, t-too. We want b-breakfast.”

“Pastor?” Cassie’s voice squeaked. Her heart-shaped face paled as her eyes narrowed.

“H-he’s a minister in C-Churchill.” Noah seemed either unaware of or unconcerned about his mother’s reaction.

“I am.” Rick sensed that a change of subject would be helpful. “They serve a passable breakfast on board, Mrs. Crockett.” He smiled again, hoping to allay whatever fears made her tense. “I could show you the way.”

“That’s okay,” she said, her voice colder than before. “We’re not ready yet.”

“I’m r-ready, Mom,” Noah contradicted.

“We have to clean up first.” Cassie’s brow furrowed as she studied her son. “Your hair needs combing.”

“Then c-can we have breakfast with P-pastor Rick?”

Noah’s blue eyes begged her, but Cassie seemed to be searching for an excuse not to join him, so Rick gave her an out.

“Maybe I’ll see you there.” He grinned at Noah. “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the card game.”

“It was n-nice m-meeting you, too,” Noah responded. “T-thanks for telling m-me about Churchill. If we g-go to a r-restaurant, I’m g-going to order c-c-caribou.”

“Good. But if anyone offers you muktuk, make sure it’s fresh.” Rick hid his smile and waited for the inevitable question.

“Wh-why?”

“Whale skin and blubber are best eaten fresh.” Rick chuckled at Noah’s dismayed look. “It’s actually not bad when you get used to it.” Then he nodded at Cassie. “Excuse me.”

Apparently Cassie hadn’t realized she was blocking his way. Her cheeks flamed bright pink as she stepped out of the way and beckoned to Noah to follow.

Rick tried not to hear their discussion as he waited for another passenger to move out of the aisle, but it was difficult not to eavesdrop.

“Why d-didn’t we go with Pastor R-rick, Mom? I’m s-starving.” Noah’s stutter seemed to worsen with his temper. “I w-want to g-go n-now.”

“Noah, behave.” Cassie sounded irritated. “We’ll go for breakfast soon, but not if you’re going to make a fuss. That is not how a Crockett behaves,” she said softly, almost too softly for Rick to hear.

“Mrs. P-Perkins said all C-crocketts behave b-badly,” Noah muttered in a sullen tone.

“Mrs. Perkins was wrong.” Cassie sounded desperate to shush her son.

“Th-that’s what she said about y-you,” Noah retorted. “Sh-she said you m-made the b-b-biggest mistake of your l-life.”

Able to finally move forward to the dining car, Rick couldn’t hear Cassie’s response. Noah’s words had raised a thousand questions in his mind—but first and foremost was this: Why, when she’d learned his profession, had she shrunk away from him as if he had the plague?

That question was quickly followed by another: Why did her offended look bother him so much?

In the dining car, Ned Blenkins stood waiting to take his order.

“Nice to see you again, Preacher. Same as usual?” Ned asked with his cheery smile.

“Yes, please.” Rick accepted a cup of coffee.

“Won’t take a minute,” Ned promised.

Rick carried his steaming cup to the only empty table. Though most of the other passengers had finished their meals and now lingered over coffee, no one invited him to join them. He took a seat, reminding himself that eating alone didn’t bother him. He deserved a lot worse than a solitary breakfast, he thought with a pang of fresh guilt.

Rick had seen most of the other people in the dining car around Churchill, though not in his church. He knew each member of his small congregation personally, and he suspected they all knew about his ugly past. In a small town like Churchill there were few secrets.

He’d been very honest in telling the hiring committee how he’d lost every dime of his own and that of every client who’d trusted him. He’d also told them how he’d found God, and of his vow to serve Him in an effort to rectify the wrongs he’d done. Though none of his parishioners had ever confronted him about it, Rick figured it was the reason why he hadn’t attracted any new parishioners. Who wanted to attend the church of a man who’d caused such harm?

As he waited for his breakfast, Rick glanced at the paper his neighbor was reading. His heart took a nosedive when he saw the headline of a small piece in the bottom right corner—“Local couple loses bid to sue publisher for risky book on investing.”

“Not again,” his soul cried.

He grabbed the paper off his own table and read the entire section. The leaden weight in his stomach grew as he read about a young couple desperate to have children. They needed money for fertility procedures. Now they were homeless because they’d mortgaged their house and sold everything they owned to invest their money after they’d read a book called Untold Riches in the Stock Market. Rick had written the book under the same pseudonym the publisher had used for six other how-to books in the same series. It was doubtful his authorship would ever be made public because Rick had signed a confidentiality agreement. But that didn’t ease any of his guilt.

Almost five years later and there were still ramifications. Worse, he was powerless to stop it.

He read that the court ruled that though the book offered risky—perhaps even foolhardy—advice, the advice was not illegal and the lawsuit had been dismissed.

Oh Lord, he prayed silently. How can I ever atone for all the pain my greed has caused?

Overwhelmed by guilt, Rick had promised God that last day at the seminary that he’d give up his most precious dream—he’d clung to it all through the years he’d scrabbled to stay alive on the streets of Toronto—the dream of having a home and a family. Those two things were all he’d ever wanted—a place to call his own, and people who loved and cared for him.