Beloved Outcaste

One

Spring 1896

David chewed his lower lip. At age seven he knew little about India, his homeland, but watching its shoreline shrink, then disappear behind the morning haze stirred a deep ache in his heart. He closed his lids against memories of his father’s last days. Eyes sunken, cheeks hollow, his father had looked like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. David couldn’t recall his mother’s face, but sometimes if he tried really hard, he could imagine himself curled in her arms and hear her soft voice singing.

Pain clutched his throat. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.

The grip on his hand tightened. Come along, son, a deep voice said, let’s find our stateroom.

David’s gaze darted to warm, brown eyes smiling down at him. Aye, Papa. Head bowed, he felt disapproving stares as his new father, Ian Andersen, a tall Scotsman, towed him through the bustling crowd. The other passengers, mostly British, had also boarded the steamer at Madras. David glanced over his shoulder to make sure his new mother, Katie, and her cousin’s granddaughter, Maggie, had tagged along. When he caught Katie’s eye, her playful wink banished threatening tears.

Once inside the stateroom, Ian settled his long frame into an easy chair, pulling David onto his lap. We might as well talk while the women unpack.

David stroked Ian’s snow-white beard. How long will it take us to get to Scotland?

Four to five weeks.

Why so long?

We’ll be aboard ship almost two weeks. After docking in Nice, we will spend a few days there with friends, then take the train through France, cross the English Channel and visit our family in London before heading north to Scotland.

Will your family like me? He couldn’t understand why the British didn’t like Indian people. Hadn’t God made them all?

They’ll love you just as Katie and I do. They’re your family as much as mine.

How can that be?

They’re actually Katie’s family—her children and grandchildren. When Katie and I married almost two years ago, they adopted me as their father and grandfather.

David grinned. As I did with you?

A smile deepened creases on Ian’s face. Aye, lad, exactly.

Features bathed in contentment, David snuggled against Ian’s broad chest, savoring the scent that calmed his fears. Ian understood how the lad felt, leaving someone he loved buried in the cold, damp ground. Ian’s first wife and their only son had been killed by evil men.

I’m proud of you, son. You’ve done well these past few days, meeting new people, going to strange places. Quite a change from living in a hut and then a cave.

As images of carriages, noisy city streets and fancy British homes paraded through the lad’s mind, David nodded his head against Ian’s chest.

When you’re older, we’ll come back for a visit. Would you like that?

I want to go to the cave where we buried Papa. Do you know where Amma’s grave is? Though David spoke English as well as his native tongue, he still used the Tamil word amma for mother.

No, but perhaps we can find it.

I’m glad they’re living in God’s hut now. David couldn’t imagine how big God’s hut must be. I hope God lets them look down once in a while to see where I am and what I’m doing. Can God see Scotland from heaven?

Ian nuzzled his chin in David’s thick, black hair. Aye, lad, we’re never out of God’s sight.

Dressed for dinner, David eyed his new family. Katie’s ice-blue dress, a distinct change from the saris she had worn in India, shimmered like moonlight on a pond. Its full sleeves, low neckline, tight-fitting waist and sweeping skirt fascinated him. Bright red hair, streaked with white, puffed and swirled around her head. Two white stripes, one starting at each temple, snaked through the thick braid forming a crown atop her head. David had never seen Queen Victoria, Empress of India, but he doubted she could be more beautiful than his new mother.

Ian seemed to agree as he drew Katie’s arm through his and whispered something in her ear. A warm glow tinged her cheeks. Aye, m’laird.

When David first addressed Ian as sahib, he had said, I’m not laird or master to you or anyone else. Later when David asked Ian why he let Katie call him laird, he had smiled. Laird and lady are terms of affection we use in lighthearted moments.

Maggie grasped David’s hand, jolting his thoughts back to the present. Copper hair piled high on her head, she wore a gown the color of grass after the monsoons. Fourteen years older than David’s seven, Maggie had begged her parents to let her travel to Scotland with her great-aunt and -uncle. Her final argument, I’ll be David’s nanny while we’re traveling, had finally won them over. David liked Maggie and thought she was very pretty.

While strolling to the dining room, he let his gaze run over his own clothing. Gray linen like Ian’s, his coat and waistcoat matched tight-fitting trousers. These met black stockings at the knee, a far cry from the faded cast-offs and bare feet he preferred. Life would have been much simpler had he stayed at the mission compound. Ian had warned David that living among the British wouldn’t be easy. Given a choice, why had he insisted on coming? His eyes swerved to the two tall figures walking ahead of him. He loved them and they loved him. It was that simple.

Inside the dining room, David heard a stiff voice say, A table for three, sir?

No, there are four of us.

David peered around Ian’s long legs, catching the headwaiter’s eye.

Back straight as a board, chin held high, the man arched one brow. I’m sorry, sir, but servant boys aren’t allowed in the first-class dining room.

Unruffled, Ian smiled. I’m aware of that, but this lad is our son. Our adopted son, he added when the man’s jaw unhinged.

I see, well, uh… With a quick jerk of his head, he motioned them aside. Wait here, please.

David watched as the headwaiter took hurried but deliberate steps to an important-looking gentleman and whispered in his ear. Wearing a uniform unfamiliar to the lad, the older man rose and strode forward, the headwaiter at his heels.

Dr. Andersen. Smiling, the gentleman gave Ian’s hand a hearty shake. How good to see you and your lovely wife again. I’m deeply grateful for the excellent care you and your colleagues gave our passengers a few months ago. I don’t know how we would have managed the unfortunate situation without you. His brow creased. Was that in November or December?

The last of November, Captain Spence. Now that the other doctors are settled at the mission compounds, my work there is done.

The captain cast a quick glance at David, then gave Ian an uneasy smile. Well now, Doctor, what seems to be the problem?

There is no problem that I can see. I booked first-class passage for a party of four, expecting to dine here.

Captain Spence flicked a glance at David. Well, yes, but, uh, the boy…

This boy, Ian said, irritation edging his voice, happens to be our son. He reached into his coat pocket, withdrew papers and handed them to the captain. These are the adoption papers. He pointed to the first signature. Alexander Ingram, a respected magistrate in Madras, is my wife’s cousin. Perhaps you recognize the second signature, Colonel John Henderson, who has distinguished himself in the service of her majesty, Queen Victoria. Married to my wife’s other cousin, he’s the grandfather of this young lady traveling with us.

Yes, yes, of course, both of these men are well-known to me. The captain fidgeted under Ian’s piercing gaze. Well, you’re right, Dr. Andersen, there is no problem here, no problem at all.

Turning, he spoke in low tones to the headwaiter who in turn gave Ian a stiff nod. Follow me, please.

Let me know if I can do anything else for you, Dr. Andersen. Smile less enthusiastic, the captain nodded to Ian, then to Katie.

The corner of Ian’s lips curved upward. Thank you, Captain Spence. I don’t anticipate any problems whatsoever.

After the waiter had taken their orders, Katie’s mouth tilted to one side. I enjoy dining at the most secluded table in the room, don’t you? And so near the door, too. Do you suppose they’ll let us reserve this table for all our meals?

Ian chuckled. I imagine that’s already been arranged.

Their cheerfulness failed to lift David’s spirits. If he kept causing trouble for them, would they still want him?

After Katie and Ian listened to David’s prayers and kissed him good night, they took a stroll on deck. Whispery clouds skittered across a sliver of new moon while unseen waves pulsated against the ship. Wrapped in silence, the handsome couple ambled to the railing.

Palms flat against his chest, Katie lifted her gaze to meet his. Her fingertips traced the rugged planes of his face, then ran along the short-cropped beard accenting his strong jawline. David is blessed to have you for a father, m’laird. Have you noticed how he mimics everything you say and do?

That’s why exposing him to children his own age is so important. Having lived with eight men for the past three years, he acts more like a grown-up than a child. Learning how to be a child and to play with other children are two of many challenges facing him in Scotland.

Katie sighed. Poor lad. I hope we’ve made the right decision. For his sake.

Becoming a parent again at age sixty presents quite a challenge. Chuckling, Ian cradled her face in his hands. Of course, you won’t know what that is for two more years.

David’s enormous eyes widened further as the steamer approached Nice. They had docked at other ports, but none as impressive as this.

Nice lies on a narrow, fertile plain, Ian said. The Mediterranean borders it on the south and a few miles north of the city, hills rise to high elevations. The peaks are called the Maritime Alps. During the wintertime, they block cold winds from the north and hold warmth coming from the sea. Thousands of people spend the winter here. Most are wealthy, including royal families across the continent from Russia to Great Britain. Queen Victoria, a regular visitor, extended her stay last year. Many sick people come to Nice, hoping to find a cure, while others work, serving the needs of visitors.

Though David did not understand all the details in Ian’s explanations, they helped new experiences seem less frightening besides letting him know that Ian cared. David’s Indian father had also given his son a lot of attention. As long as we have no choice but to live under British rule, his father had said, you’ll need to learn all you can to better yourself as an Indian. Along with speaking English as well as Tamil at home, his father had taught David to recognize and write the letters of the alphabet, read and compose simple sentences and work with numbers. David had treasured those hours with his father. The time Ian spent with his new son helped fill the void left by his father’s death. In his small world of experience, David assumed all fathers were like his natural and adoptive fathers.

A carriage provided by Ian and Katie’s friends, the Bernards, stood waiting near the dock. Once inside, David and Maggie craned their necks as the carriage skirted Old City, crossed the Paillon River and proceeded west on Rue de France.

Where are the beggars? The sightless stares and deformed bodies David had seen in India still haunted him.

Nice’s poor live in Old City, Ian said, "but you won’t find beggars living on the streets here as you did in Madras.

Wonderstruck, David gaped at white villas roofed with red tile. Ian told him they were made from ragged stones quarried from nearby mountains and covered with plaster. Immersed in color-splashed gardens and orchards, these dwellings surpassed anything David had seen at the British compound near Madras where Katie’s cousins lived. When the carriage eased to a stop, David’s gaze traveled over a three-story villa. Is this where your friends live?

Aye, and David, since my son called our friends Uncle Henri and Aunt Marie, I’m sure they’d like you to do the same.

Uncle Henri and Aunt Marie, David said, implanting their names in his mind.

Two figures, sitting on a porch swing, waved at the new arrivals. A silver-haired man of medium height and build stood and helped his short, plump companion to her feet, offering his arm as she hobbled forward. While Ian helped Maggie and David alight the carriage, Katie glided up the porch steps. Marie, what have you done to yourself?

The Frenchwoman’s jolly laughter rippled on the soft breeze. I twisted my ankle. Just call me ‘graceful Marie.’ She laughed again. This is why we didn’t meet you at the dock. I hope you’ll forgive us.

We’ll have to think about that. Katie hugged Marie, then Henri. He smiled at David as Marie slipped stubby arms around Ian’s waist. After embracing Henri, Ian introduced Maggie and beckoned to David. He had hung back from the others, unsure of what was expected.

Hands clasped over her heart, Marie spoke first. This fine-looking young man must be Master David.

Oh no, mem. David’s response came quick and decisive. The only master we have is Jesus.

Astonished silence claimed the others as his ebony eyes shot from one to the other. A lump sprang to his throat. Had he hurt Aunt Marie’s feelings? Embarrassed his new papa and amma? Horrified, he stared as Marie lunged forward and grabbed him in her arms, smothering him in her massive bosom. He strained to hear her words.

Dear child, you dear, dear child.

Had he heard correctly? Eyes still closed, David felt hands cup his face, lips touch his forehead and tears spill onto his cheeks.

Come, come, my dear, Henri’s gentle voice said, you’ll scare the poor lad out of his wits.

Marie released David and, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, tucked a strand of gray hair into her bun. Head reeling, David staggered to the welcome sound of laughter.

In case you haven’t guessed, Katie said, whispering in his ear, Marie likes you very much.

He ventured a half-smile. I like her, too. I think.

While David and Maggie roamed the beach with Ian and Henri, their wives lounged on a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean. Though Katie had only met the Bernards in November, she left for India feeling she’d known them forever. Their lasting friendship with Ian, love for him and his first family and warm hospitality spanning over thirty years explained his deep affection for them. In November when Henri and Marie saw the healing Katie’s love and support had brought to their friend, they joyfully accepted Katie into their hearts, and now David was filling the void left when Stephen, Ian’s son, was killed.

A soft sigh stole over Marie’s lips. David is a darling boy. Will you and Ian be too tired tonight to tell us his story?

Katie chuckled. We couldn’t possibly wait until tomorrow. I’m sorry time didn’t allow for more than a wire before we set sail.

Marie’s dark brown eyes held Katie’s gaze. Did you visit Rachel’s and Stephen’s graves? Rachel had been Ian’s first wife.

Not until the morning we left for home. As I suspected, they were a short distance from where their bungalow had stood. Ian, David and I walked there first and picked flowers for the graves. At the gravesite I asked Ian what he was feeling. He said his heart was at peace, his pain and suffering over. God had restored the years the locusts had eaten. Katie reached across the table and clutched her friend’s hand. Marie, just think. God has brought Ian full circle. He left India four years ago alone, a broken man. This time he left… She couldn’t go on.

Smiling through quiet tears, Marie placed her other hand over Katie’s. This time he left content, health restored, with a lovely wife and a new son. May God be praised.

That evening the two couples met in Ian and Katie’s sitting room. The Bernards ensconced themselves in Turkish chairs while their guests snuggled on a pale yellow sofa. After a few minutes of reminiscing, Marie edged forward. Tell us about David. What happened to his mother? How did you happen to adopt him? When—

Whoa, Marie, Ian said, laughing. We can only answer one question at a time.

Marie laughed with him. Patience never has been one of my virtues.

Ian’s brow raised in mock surprise. You don’t say.

She snatched a pillow and hurled it at him. Katie, how do you ever put up with him?

Blue-green eyes twinkling, Katie laid her hand on Ian’s knee. He can be a trial at times, but one I’d not want to do without.

Ian kissed the tip of her nose. You’re a bonny lass, sweet wife o’ mine.

Now, now, you two. Marie clapped her hands. Save that until after we’re gone. A smile crinkling his face, Henri placed a calming hand on Marie’s arm.

Ian chuckled, his warm gaze still fixed on his wife’s face. You heard her, didn’t you? When in Marie’s house, we do as Marie says. He kissed her forehead. We’ll continue this later.

Ian. Marie blew out an exasperated sigh.

All right, all right. Ian loved to tease Marie but experience had taught him when to stop.

Casting Katie a wink, he withdrew his arm from around her shoulders and dangled clasped hands between his legs. We reached the final week of our stay without incident. Because the mission teacher needed Katie’s assistance, I rode into the village alone to see a patient Katie and I had tended to the day before. After checking on him, I mounted my pony and had just reined it toward the compound when I heard someone call my name. Turning in the saddle, I saw a small Indian lad galloping toward me.

David? Marie’s eyes shone with anticipation.

Aye, but he was Sardar then. He told me his father was ill and begged me to go with him. After sending word to Katie, I followed Sardar into the hills. The farther we rode, the more suspicious and uneasy I became. Though I had no doubt his father was ill, the lad acted nervous and refused to answer my questions. He made no secret of his hatred for the British, and his horse was too fine a steed for a poor Indian to own. Pulling on the reins, I demanded that he stop and give me some answers, but it was too late. Before I could turn my pony, several masked riders appeared from behind the brush and boulders. Sardar had led me into an ambush.

Marie grabbed her throat; Henri gasped, eyes wide.

After blindfolding me, the men led me farther into the hills. Inside a cave, they removed the blindfold. One glimpse of their leader, The Raja, told me he’d not last long. Cancer had ravaged his body. On closer examination, I recognized him as a man I’d known as Matthew. Intelligent, educated in mission schools, he had worked as a clerk for a village merchant. One evening while Matthew was working late, drunken British soldiers attacked his wife, Ruth, who was with child. Voice breaking, Ian rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. I had just examined her when Matthew charged into the clinic. I can still hear his screams of grief and rage when told that his wife and unborn child were dead. Glancing back at Ruth, I— Ian’s throat went dry, —I saw Rachel’s face instead. That’s when I collapsed. You know the rest. Katie’s cousin Anne nursed me in Madras until I could travel. I spent several months here with you and then went to Scotland.

Leaning back on the sofa, Ian closed his hand over Katie’s. That’s when I met you, my love. His words came in a hoarse whisper.

Tears trailing down her cheeks, Katie could only nod.

A heavy silence blanketed the room, then Henri cleared his throat. And what became of Matthew? he asked softly, bringing them back to David’s story.

He became the leader of a band called The Rajas. They sought revenge by robbing wealthy British families and using the money to better the conditions of his people. God knows they need it.

Ian stared at a stylized flower in the carpeting, his fingers loosely interlaced in his lap. Matthew knew my wife had died but nothing of the circumstances. Telling him about her and Stephen’s brutal murders gave me an opening to share the role forgiveness has played in my healing. Features more relaxed, Ian lifted his gaze to his friends. Matthew made peace with God before he died.

Marie dabbed her eyes. And where was Dav—Sardar all this time?

He never left his father’s side unless I insisted. When armed guards took me outside the cave each evening for some fresh air and exercise, I took Sardar with me. As his father slowly slipped away, Sardar became more attached to me, even to calling me Papa Ian. The memory brought a soft smile to Ian’s lips.

Weren’t you afraid for your life? Henri asked. Surely they didn’t intend to let you go free when you could possibly identify them and the location of their hideout.

The gang’s new leader threatened me more than once. I considered various escape plans. One was taking Sardar hostage long enough to get past the guards, but I couldn’t add to the lad’s grief. A crooked smile crossed Ian’s lips. I’d grown too fond of him by then.

But how did you live to tell about it?

When Matthew died, the men took Sardar and me deeper into the cave where they had dug not one but two graves. I presided over Matthew’s burial, wondering if it were also my own.

Marie bit her bottom lip. How awful for you.

The first time Sardar crawled into my lap, I received him in Jesus’ name, trusting God with the outcome. After that I had a sense of peace about my situation, until I saw that extra grave. As I led in prayer, God’s peace filled the chamber. I’m sure the men felt it, too. After the burial, the guard ordered everyone but me from the chamber. That’s when I learned the real motive for my capture. Matthew knew he was dying, but under the pretext of needing a doctor, he was testing my commitment to his son’s welfare. When I put it above my own, even after seeing the second grave—when again I considered taking Sardar hostage—the guard gave me a paper Matthew had drawn up, placing Sardar under my guardianship.

Henri shook his head. I trust your and Katie’s judgment explicitly, but I must say, as engaging as David is, I don’t envy you.

We have taken on a grave responsibility, but as my wife so wisely said, ‘Ultimately Sardar is God’s responsibility. Our loving Father will supply all we need to fulfill our part of his plan.’

Henri wrinkled his brow. What became of The Rajas?

They had a change of heart, too. When we left the cave, they disbanded and went back to their homes.

Marie brushed an errant wisp of hair from her face. Did you change Sardar’s name to David?

No, he did. Indian parents usually name their children after one of their village gods or goddesses. Choosing biblical names is a common practice among Indians who become Christians. Before Matthew died, he rejoiced at hearing his son ask Jesus to live in his heart. When David learned that Peter, an Indian doctor at the compound, had changed his name, David decided to do the same, picking the name of his Bible hero.

Marie’s eyes swerved to Katie. You must have been beside yourself with worry.

I was terrified. As she related her ordeal of waiting and wondering, Ian slipped his arm around her shoulder. When she finished, a contemplative quiet pervaded the room.

Henri lifted himself from his chair and offered a hand to his wife. His other hand restrained his friends from rising. Don’t get up. We know our way, and you look much too comfortable to move. Thank you for sharing your story.

Deo gratias, my friends, Marie said, tears streaking her cheeks. David is blessed to have you for parents. The two couples said good night with hugs and words of endearment. After Ian and Katie retired to their room, the future weighed heavy on his mind. He had already lived to an older age than his father and younger brother. How many years did he have left? Enough to see David grown and on his own? Your will, Father, your will be done.

Two

Invigorated by an afternoon at the beach, David and Maggie raced toward the villa. Breathless, he halted a few moments while she caught up with him. As the sea’s intense blue captured his gaze and salt air filled his nostrils, strains of music tickled his ears. What’s that?

Maggie sucked in a quick breath. Your mother is playing the piano.

What’s a piano?

Wonder captured Maggie’s features. She never tired of answering his questions, but her face often registered surprise. A piano is a musical instrument. It has black and white keys that— She grabbed his hand. Come, see for yourself, but first we must change our clothes.

Once in his room, David peeled off his damp clothing, dressed for tea, then scampered down the hall and rapped on Maggie’s closed door. Maggie, I’m ready.

You go ahead, her muffled voice said. I won’t be long.

Bursting with excitement, David scrambled down the stairs and through the hallway. At the sitting room door he came to an abrupt stop and peeked around the doorjamb. He watched, enthralled, as Katie’s fingers flew over the black and white objects Maggie had called keys. As rich harmonies stirred the depths of his being, he closed his eyes. Never had he heard anything as beautiful. Drawn across the room, he could hardly breathe. Had his gaze not been fastened on Katie, he would have seen three faces smiling at him.

Steps quiet, David eased up behind her and peered over her right shoulder. Her fingers moved more slowly now, caressing the keys. As his gaze followed her hands, he made a discovery. The further they moved to the right, the higher the sound. The opposite was true on the left. Slower and softer she played, then raising both hands, she paused. David held his breath as her fingers fell on several keys at once, then lifted and fell again, staying on the keys until the tones faded into a hushed silence.

As if feeling his presence, Katie turned and smiled, encircling his small frame with her arm.

Amma, he said in a whisper, can I learn to play the piano?

Her blue-green eyes glittered. Are you willing to practice every day?

Aye, Amma, I want to make beautiful music, too.

Then you shall, my dear.

May I start now?

Katie chuckled. Give me your right hand. She placed his thumb over middle C. Press down with your thumb. That’s right. Now, press the next key with your index finger, the next with your middle finger, and keep going until you run out of fingers.

Brow pinched together, tongue between his teeth, David followed her instructions. When he touched the last key, she told him to reverse what he’d just done. That feat accomplished, he repeated the process again. The pleasure emanating from Katie’s face thrilled him almost as much as making the piano sing.

That’s very good, David. Now, do it again and don’t pay attention to what I’m doing.

As he played the five keys up and down, Katie added chords with her left hand. When they finished, he gasped. We made music together.

It’s called a duet.

A duet. Incredulous, David stared at his hand. Can we do it again?

David moved his fingers up and down, again and again, confidence growing. Stopping, he looked at his left hand, then at the keys. I could do it with this hand, too, couldn’t I? Not waiting for an answer, he rushed to Katie’s other side, placed his left thumb on middle C, played it, then went down four keys and up again. Can you play with me?

Smiling, Katie furnished an accompaniment.

What would happen if I played both hands together?

Try it and see. She slipped off the stool.

Still standing, David placed both thumbs on middle C. After playing the five notes in contrary motion, he experimented with simple melodies and combinations of notes.

That day learning to play the piano became David’s passion.

Molly sat erect, feet dangling above the floor. Her gaze rested on her father, Alistair MacLean, as he strode to the pulpit. A Presbyterian minister, he had pastored this village kirk in northeastern Scotland for as long as she could remember, and she was all of seven years old.

A ray of sunlight streaming through the stained glass window caught golden highlights in her father’s auburn hair and beard. Though Molly’s hair color matched her mother’s raven tresses, the lass’s eyes sparkled blue like her father’s. His gaze, full of love, lingered for a moment on his daughter, his wife, Joan, and their two sons, Martin and Michael. Alistair was slight in build, but to Molly he was a giant of a man, all that a daughter could want in a father.

Yesterday she had heard her parents discussing the sermon in hushed tones. Curious as to why it should cause them anxiety, she cast a quick glance at her mother. Closed lids and slight lip movements told Molly her mother was praying.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, Alistair said, his booming voice belying his frail stature, let us begin by reading from the Gospel according to St. Luke, chapter ten, verses twenty-five through thirty-seven. As her mother traced the text with her fingertip, Molly followed the parable of the Good Samaritan. When they finished, Molly wiggled back in the pew.

Alistair’s gaze swept over the congregation. My friends, let’s suppose the thieves had not stripped this man of all his clothing, and though torn and blood-stained, the remnants were those of a priest, a Pharisee or a wealthy Jewish merchant. Would the priest and the Levite have offered assistance? Of course, they would. As it was, they had no way of knowing the man’s race, religion or status in society. Rather than risk aiding or even touching someone with whom they would, under normal circumstances, avoid contact—a Moslem or a Samaritan for instance—they passed by on the opposite side of the road. How interesting that Jesus chose a person despised by the Jews as the neighbor whom they were to love as themselves.

Alistair traced the Samaritans’ origin back to II Kings 17:24 where the king of Assyria sent colonists to resettle the land of Israel. He detailed the differences between them and the Israelites who returned during the reign of Cyrus, King of Persia. Molly didn’t understand all that her father said, but so far she saw no reason for his feeling anxious about the sermon.

And now, my friends, he said, hands gripping the side of the pulpit, allow me to bring this parable closer to home. Let’s imagine that while walking along the road south of our village, we come upon a man beaten beyond recognition. The only clue to his identity is a few shreds of cloth clinging to his bruised, broken body. If they speak of wealth, will we more readily come to his aid? How much will the hope of reward influence our decision? What if these shreds indicate a religion other than ours? Alistair paused, as was his custom before driving his point home. If the man’s skin is dark brown and he comes from India, what then? Will we as Christians follow our Lord’s teaching? Will we choose to be good neighbors, regardless of who he is? He paused again. Dear friends, next Sunday God will bring into our midst someone who will test our commitment to being good neighbors.

No one stirred.

Molly held her breath.

You know that our friends and neighbors, Ian and Katie Andersen, have spent the past few months in India. While there, one of Ian’s patients died, leaving his seven-year-old son an orphan. After considerable prayer and soul-searching, the Andersens decided to adopt the lad and bring him home to Scotland.

Heart thumping, Molly heard muted gasps behind her.

Their son’s name is David. Before his father’s death, he received Jesus into his heart. David is a son of God, our brother in Christ, and I trust we will treat him as such.

Alone in the kirk, Molly trailed behind her father as he made preparations for the evening service.

Well, Molly-lass, what do you think? Will my sermon make a difference in how people receive David?

It will for me, Papa.

Blue eyes smiling, Alistair dropped down on the front pew and cuddled Molly on his lap. And what has my Molly-lass decided?

I want to be David’s friend. Do you think he’ll want me for a friend?

Alistair rested his chin on his daughter’s head. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you for a friend. He hugged her tight. If everyone had a Molly-heart, this old world would be a far better place.

Molly nestled against his chest. I love you, Papa.

He sighed. I love you, too, Molly-lass.

Stretched prone, David blinked open heavy lids and looked around, trying to remember where he was. On the opposite seat, Katie leaned against Ian, her head bobbing on his shoulder. Both were fast asleep.

David pushed himself erect on the leather seat, dropping his feet over the edge. Outside, the carriage wound through rolling hills clad in lush green and dotted with early spring blooms. Muted sunlight seeped through misty swirls chasing one another across the morning sky. Rain in some form had been the Andersens’ companion on the rail trip from London to Aberdeen, but today’s skies showed promise of clearing.

Meadows, trees and low stone walls draped with moss blurred together as David’s thoughts wandered back over the past several days. To lessen his confusion in meeting his London family, Katie had suggested he call her sons and daughters his uncles and aunts and their children his cousins. Having children older than you call you their uncle might seem awkward for both you and them, she said and he agreed.

Most members of the Bell family towered over David except for Joshua. Though two years younger, Joshua matched his new cousin in height. The youngest of Katie’s eleven grandchildren, Joshua seemed to resent David. When he asked Katie about it, she told him that Joshua was jealous because he didn’t want to share Ian’s attention. Wise shuffling of the two lads between the adults and older cousins soon eased the situation. The cousins tried to interest David in various activities, but only in horseback riding did he fully participate and feel comfortable. His riding ability impressed his cousins, especially when he insisted on riding bareback.

Living with eight grown men had left David unprepared for the hustle and bustle of a large household. With so many new faces and names to learn, he concentrated on a few. Katie’s eldest son, James Bell, stood as tall as Ian but had a larger build. Never had David seen such a huge man, and when he wrestled with David and Joshua on the floor, David found that none of his uncle’s