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Her burden rested inside a large cloth with a traditional African design, knotted over one shoulder. Wondering if this were some treasured family possession, he leaned closer. Two bright brown eyes peered at him over the edge of the fabric. Definitely a treasured possession. It was Tobias.
    “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Muraya,” Jeremiah said. He pushed his hands into his pockets to keep from touching the baby’s small head with its soft curls. “Dr. Crane, we have plenty of beds. I ordered a crib for Tobias. The furniture store was supposed to deliver it and set it up two days ago.”
    “I noticed that. Thank you.” Lara’s green eyes were soft. “But Peter and Tabitha told me they would prefer to use their own things. These two mattresses are all the furniture they own, and they’re concerned about keeping the house in good shape. We’ve moved your newer mattresses into the guest garage.”
    “But I’m renting the house furnished.” He couldn’t fathom it. Why take off good mattresses and replace them with junk? “I expect the beds and all the furniture to be used.”
    “These are not bad mattresses,” Peter said. “And you know, we have two small boys and a baby. Not to mention the dog, which my wife insisted must stay with us.”
    A look of uneasiness came over Tabitha’s face. She glanced away shyly. “The dog is not allowed to stand on the beds or the chairs, sir. I believe I can train him.”
    “But he is still a puppy, and he likes to chew things. Mr. Maddox, you have given us a good bargain on the rent for this house, and we are grateful. We believe that if we sleep on these mattresses, it will go well for us.”
    “No, please.” Jeremiah placed a hand on the thread-bare old bedding. “I’m serious now. You can put these in the garage and use the others. Please, I want you to do that. It won’t matter about the dog and the children. I know how rough they can be on things.”
    As he spoke, the puppy—a blur of wiry brown and gray hair—bounded through the open gate, tore across a swath of damp grass and leaped up on Jeremiah. Two streaks of mud followed the furry paws down his pant legs. Before he could react, the dog had moved to greet one adult after the other with a bounce and a kiss of wet pink tongue. Peter cried out in dismay at the brown smudges on their landlord’s trousers, and Tabitha gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth.
    “Hey, Dad!” Daniel caught his father’s attention just in time to drill the muddy football into Jeremiah’s arms. “Good catch! Oh, yeah—the Murayas needed to move in a day early. I forgot to tell you. Dr. Crane e-mailed me the other day.”
    Both boys came jogging over, followed closely by their smaller counterparts. Benjamin swung Justice onto his back as the puppy ran to meet them.
    “This is Mdogo, ” Daniel announced, scooping the dog up in his arms. “It means small. Cool, huh? They haven’t been here ten minutes, and I’m talking African.”
    “There is no language known as African, ” Peter Muraya said politely. “The national language of Kenya is Kiswahili. Sometimes we just say Swahili. Each country in Africa has a national language, and each tribe within the country has its own language. My family is of the Kikuyu tribe. So you see that Africans can have much trouble with communication.”
    “Yeah,” Benjamin said, “but at least you get to learn different languages. Schools around here keep cutting programs like that. In Missouri, about all we can talk is American.”
    “Pardon me, but you speak English, not American.” Peter smiled at the younger teen. “There is always much to learn, no matter where one lives.”
    “I can wash your suit,” a low voice spoke up beside Jeremiah. “I will remove the mud from your trousers.”
    He looked over to find Peter’s wife gazing up at him, her solemn expression mirrored in the eyes of the baby on her back. “It’s not a problem,” he told Tabitha. “Don’t worry about it.