Free Samantha's Gift by Valerie Hansen

didn’t get up early enough on Sunday to make it to church. If she hadn’t laid out a favorite jacketed sundress the night before, she might not have managed to pull herself together in time.
    Sunday school was nearly over when she dashed through the door to the main sanctuary and plopped down in a rear pew to wait for the morning worship service to begin. She’d barely caught her breath when her mother joined her, accompanied by Hannah Brody.
    â€œMom! Hi.” Rachel gave Martha a brief hug, then glanced past her to speak to the other woman, too. “Good morning, Hannah. How are you?”
    â€œFair to middlin’,” the heavy-set woman said.
    â€œDid you bring Samantha with you?”
    â€œSure did. If there ever was a kid needed Sunday school teachin’, it’s that one. She’s ’bout to drive me crazy.”
    Rachel leaned closer and took care to speak very softly. “Is she still seeing things?”
    â€œThat, and more,” the foster mother said. “Now she’s sayin’ that you and that Bates fella are angels, too! I’ve never seen the like.”
    â€œMe? An angel?” Rachel snickered. “Not hardly.”
    Martha was smiling, too. “I can vouch for that.”
    â€œThanks, Mom.”
    â€œAnytime. Want me to have a talk with the little girl and tell her what a trial it’s been to raise you?”
    â€œI think we can skip that much frankness,” Rachel said with mock cynicism. “Teachers are supposed to set good examples. I wouldn’t want you to destroy my positive image.”
    â€œOf course not.” Martha reached over and patted her daughter’s hand. “Hannah tells me that that poor baby has been through some heavy trials. I suppose it’s natural for her to latch on to you. I’m glad you can be there for her.”
    Martha’s sentence had trailed off, leaving Rachel wondering what had remained unspoken. She prodded, “But…?”
    Sighing, Martha stared off at the distant altar as if making a decision, then answered. “But, you need toremember that you can’t always be a part of her life the way you are now. It’s not wise to let yourself get too attached to any of your students, honey. I’ve seen you do it before. Letting them go when the year is over is always a lot harder on you than it is on them.”
    â€œIf I didn’t have compassion, I wouldn’t be nearly as good at my job.”
    â€œMaybe so. And maybe the opposite is true.” Martha took her daughter’s hand. “You also need to be fair. Can you really do that if you’re overly fond of one or two of your students?”
    â€œI’m not overly fond of anybody,” Rachel argued. “My whole class is important to me. Teaching is my life. I wish I could make you understand that.”
    â€œI do understand it,” Martha replied. “I felt the same way when I was your age. My job at the county clerk’s office gave me a wonderful sense of accomplishment—and more money than I’d ever had growing up. Looking back, I’m still thankful I worked there, but not for those same reasons.”
    â€œI know. That’s where you met Dad.” Rachel had heard many versions of the story and they all led to the same conclusion.
    â€œYes. But that isn’t what I’m trying to say this time. Things change. People change. Chances for added happiness come and go. If I hadn’t met your father, I wouldn’t have you.” She smiled wistfully. “And I wouldn’t give that up for anything. Untilyou’ve had children of your own, you’ll never understand how special you are to me.”
    Children, again. Rachel’s heart twisted. Buried disappointment gave her voice a sharper edge than she’d intended when she said, “If you wanted grandchildren, Mom, you should have let me have the brothers and sisters I kept asking for.” The