Make Haste Slowly

by Amy K Rognlie

  She stood and hugged me, completely missing my pun as usual. “You can watch the show on PBS tonight where they shoot fireworks off in Washington, D. C. You know, where the National Guard sings and they have all kinds of other famous singers come?”

  I was fairly certain the National Guard would not be singing at the annual Independence Day event in D.C, but I let it go. I walked with her to the door. “I think I’ll wait for next year.”

  After Mona left, I lay down on the couch for a while, but I’m not much of a nap person, even though I knew I should be resting. I puttered around the house, watered my indoor plants, did a load of laundry. All the while, I was puzzling over an aspect of this whole thing that I hadn’t even had time to think about until now: the envelope that Mona had seen on Aunt Dot’s nightstand.

  Mona had sent me the picture she had taken that day, and though the envelope was partially covered by the one on top, it sure looked like it could be the same symbol. And likely, then, that it was drawn by the same person.

  I mean, really. How many people even knew about Latin symbols? So... what did that mean? The person who had given me The Gift also had a connection to Aunt Dot? I didn’t like that thought one bit. Had the symbol been drawn on the letter before Aunt Dot received it? Or had someone drawn it on there after she had received it? If so, why? And who? Would that person have been in her room? I wish I had asked her about it the day Mona and I had been there, but I was already so disconcerted, I guess it hadn’t occurred to me then.  I thought about calling her, but then I decided maybe it would be better to approach it more casually the next time I saw her instead of calling to ask her. I know she would say that she doesn’t worry, but still.

  And what about the series of numbers and letters written under the symbol? What if…hmm. I suddenly got a crazy idea. What if the person who sent me the symbol hadn’t meant for it to be the festina lente symbol? Maybe he didn’t even know it was a Latin symbol.

  What if I was supposed to be thinking of nautical things? Dolphins, anchors, ships, oceans, letters and numbers. Wait a minute. Didn’t all boats have to be registered? I thought about the handful of times I’d been at the marina at nearby Belton Lake with Aunt Dot and Uncle Garth. All the boats had some sort of numbers on them. Proof of registration, I guessed. I didn’t know much about such things, but—

   “What do you think, girls?” I asked the pugs. They both lifted their heads to stare at me, their wrinkles bunching around their black, half-mushroom noses.  I stared back at them thoughtfully. Maybe I was supposed to be finding a certain boat? Or a certain place on the ocean? With dolphins? That could be about a million different places in the world. And was the same person who clobbered me with the rock the same person who gave me The Gift? And did the symbol have anything to do with the “Give it back” message?

  Make haste slowly...give it back… I struggled to make any logical connection between the contents of the gift bag, the Latin maxim, and the rock-throwing incident. If there had been something valuable in that gift bag, I could understand someone wanting his or her stuff back. But all of it looked like, as Houston had said, somebody’s garage-sale leftovers.

  My doorbell chimed, and I opened it to find Houston himself standing on my front step, holding a stuffed pug.

  “Mona told me what happened yesterday, Callie.” He handed me the fuzzy toy. “I would have wrapped it but I thought you’d gotten enough mysterious packages lately.”

  “That’s for sure.” I took the animal from him without quite meeting his eyes. Why did this feel so awkward? “Oohhh, it’s so cute, Houston. Thank you.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. I’m guessing he didn't usually make home deliveries of stuffed animals to everyone who was sick. Or maybe he did. The man was incredibly dedicated to his job, from what I had observed.

  I stepped out on the porch with him and shut the door behind me to contain the pugs. “It’s not quite as hot out today.”

  That was lame.

  Houston backed off the porch, then stopped. He stared past me for a moment as if to gather his thoughts, then focused on me again.

  I sucked in my breath at the look on his face. His eyes seemed to almost be pleading with me. But why?

  Surely I had imagined it. I clutched the stuffed animal. “Houston—”

  He cleared his throat and the moment was gone. “Well, I wanted you to know I’m thinking of you and praying for you. Call me any time.”

  I stood staring after him as he meandered down my driveway to his truck. Houston Gregory was a nice man. And not only that, he was a man of the cloth. At some point in my life, I had felt absolutely certain I would grow up one day and marry a preacher. In fact, my mother had assured me that the years of piano lessons I endured were practically a guarantee of it. Piano-playing ability was an unwritten requirement for success in ministry, according to Mom, at least.

  Unfortunately for my mother’s theory, my meager piano-playing skills had not snagged me a clergyman husband. Not that I would be opposed to the idea, exactly, I thought now as I watched him swing his long frame up into the pickup.

  What? Where had that come from?

  Ignoring Sherm, who had come out to observe the action, I sank down on the porch steps and waved at Houston as he backed out of my driveway.

  That rock must have scrambled my brain more than I thought it had. Would I be willing to enter into another relationship with a man? I had been so disappointed in Kevin...as a man, and as a husband. I hadn’t expected him to be perfect, but when I married him, I had thought he was as passionate about serving God as I was. After only a few months, it became painfully clear that though he professed to be a believer, he had either lost that passion, or had perhaps faked it for my benefit.  Things had gone downhill after that, for various reasons.

  I sighed. I couldn’t live in regret about that anymore. It was what it was. And since I was still alive, I knew God had a plan for me. I wasn’t sure what that was, but in these last couple of months I was beginning to gain an inkling of God’s leading in some new directions, and I was excited to see where that was headed.

  Hours later, I pushed myself off the couch from where I had, indeed, succumbed to watching the PBS Fourth of July festivities on television. The U.S. Army Band performed an inspiring rendition of "Stars and Stripes Forever." And on the less inspiring side of things, Smokey Robinson and Kenny Loggins looked the same as they had twenty years ago. Scary.

  I let the dogs out of the back door, and stood listening to the booms and cheers coming from the high school football field a couple of blocks away while I watched the pugs amble around the darkened yard. They didn’t seem to be upset by the fireworks, but I attributed this not to their bravery, but to their somewhat low intelligence. Pugs were lovey, but they were not the sharpest nails in the box, by any stretch of the imagination. Still, they were sweet little dogs and I loved them dearly.

    They were taking their time, so I sank down in the wicker rocking chair I had placed outside for that purpose. I wished I had a back porch. Maybe someday I’d build one. It might not look like it would if my dad built it, but that would be okay because then it would fit right in with all of the other unusual features of my cozy cottage. I don’t know who had designed this house way back when, but it was a little quirky. The attic steps looked like they had been on the outside of the house at some point, but Uncle Garth had enclosed them, so now there was a little mudroom kind of entrance from the backyard and the stairs went up from there. At least there was a door in between the living room and the mudroom/stairs.

  The mudroom made a great space to confine the dogs if I needed to. They had a comfy rug in there, and though Intarsia, especially, did not like to spend much time in there, it was nice to have the option if I had guests who were not dog people.

  The pugs had wandered back to my feet, but it was nice out here tonight. Humid as usual, of course, but with a
gentle breeze that at least gave the illusion of coolness. The fireworks show must have ended, since all I could hear was the owl that lived in the thicket behind the house, and once in a while the donkeys that lived at the Okie Dokie Donkey place just across the backfield. Texans liked miniature donkeys, I had found out. All in all, I loved my life here in sleepy Short Creek—so far. I could feel God healing my heart while I waited on Him to unfold my new life.

  I gazed at the sky, marveling as always at how many stars I could see way out here in the country. I had never known there were so many. I traced the outline of the Northern Cross with my eyes and had moved on to searching for the dim constellation of Draco when I heard Sherm’s back door scrape open. Light spilled out over a dark-haired young woman before she closed the door behind her and disappeared into the dark yard.

  Sherm’s granddaughter was still here. Hmm. It seemed she came and went, though sometimes she’d be gone for weeks or months at a time. What was her name? Natalie? Nina? I was pretty sure I remembered it started with an “N”.

  The meager light from the one streetlight out in front of the house didn’t reach this far, but I could see the glow of her phone, then the flare of a lighter somewhere near Sherm’s back porch. I wrinkled my nose when the cigarette smoke wafted over to me.

  “I can’t come back right now, Vic,” she whispered. “I need a few more days this time.”

  I froze. She didn’t know I was out here. Or maybe she didn’t want Sherm to hear her conversation. Of course, Sherm was so deaf he couldn’t have heard her anyway, even if she was right next to him.

  “No! I already told you. I need more time.”

  I heard a thump and she swore softly, the sounds carrying on the humid air along with another cloud of cigarette smoke.

  “Can’t you give me one more day? I’m trying to figure all of this out without my Gramps—what? No, of course he doesn’t know. I’m not that st—”

  I sneezed. Loudly.

  She swore again, and I could barely make out her profile as she turned toward me.

  “Hi there,” I called. “Happy Fourth of July!”

  She slammed the door.

  Well, then.

  I herded the girls into the house and locked both the inner and outer doors, noticing again how much hotter and stuffier it was in the mudroom where the air conditioning didn’t reach as well. There was a tiny window in the mudroom, but it was stuck fast, like all of the attic windows. And anyway, one does not open windows in July in Central Texas. The muggy night air was oppressive.

  Oppressive. Like the feeling in my spirit when I heard Nicole’s phone conversation. Something was going on, and it wasn’t good.

  Many hours later, I awoke to the pugs’ low growls. Rolling over to look at my phone, I groaned when I realized it was two o'clock in the morning. I squinted through the dark in the general direction of the pugs’ bed.

  “Go to sleep,” I murmured.

  Pugs aren’t exactly watchdogs, and sometimes they get overly upset about things they shouldn’t. They probably heard a pecan drop onto the roof and roll down.  Or maybe the squirrels were working overtime tonight.

  The dogs nestled back down together in a little furry knot. I lay in the dark and listened for several minutes, but didn’t hear anything besides the pugs’ snoring. What if they had heard something for real? What if someone was in the house? I wasn’t usually a scaredy-cat, but after the events of the last few days, I was a little on edge.

  I began to pray through Psalm 91, imagining angels hovering over my house, protecting me from harm. I loved to think about angels. I had even prayed before that God would let me see one sometime. I imagined huge, snowy wings. A sense of indescribable peace. Joy. A huge—

  I was almost asleep again when Purl’s bark nearly sent me through the roof. She rarely barked, and when she did, it was usually sort of a low “mwoof.” This was not her normal mwoof.

  “What is wrong with you two tonight?” I turned on the lamp.

  Purl barked again, a short, high bark, and Intarsia joined in, her black hair bristling. Big dogs trapped in small dog bodies. That’s what pugs are.

  “I don’t hear anything scary,” I grumbled as I slid out of bed. I might as well use the bathroom if I was awake again.

  I came back into my bedroom, where the dogs had settled back into their bed.

  “Is it okay now?” I asked.

  Two sets of chocolate brown eyes focused on me, and I stroked both of their silky little heads before I climbed into my bed.

  “It’s time to go to sleep now,” I whispered. “You can growl at the pecans and the squirrels more in the morning.”

  But there was far more to growl about than squirrels. When I opened the door from the living room into the mudroom in the morning, I was shocked to see the back door hanging wide open, the hot Texas sunlight streaming in. The dogs trip-tripped through the open door and out into the yard, while I sank into the rocking chair once again, my knees weak.

  I had dead-bolted that door from the inside. I knew I had. And there was no sign of forced entry.

  So that meant that...I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart hammering. Dear God. That meant that someone had been up in the attic when I locked the doors last night. And that someone had come down the stairs and snuck out while I was sleeping.

  Chapter Six

  I sighed as I pulled up to C. Willikers. I sat staring at the arbor, where the Eden roses were starting to cover it beautifully. They didn’t have much fragrance, but their huge flowers and delicate colors were breathtaking. A romantic old-rose type, their bunchy blossoms were a lovely cream color with delicate carmine-pink middles. The foliage was dark green and glossy. By this time next year, they would be stunning.

  The two enormous Boston ferns flourished in their hanging baskets on either side of the wrap-around porch, lending their own ambiance to the quintessential Southern-garden look I was aiming for. I was making this little store my own, where I was surrounded on a daily basis with the things I loved the best. I considered myself blessed to be able to find joy in the beauty of God’s creation, and to share that joy with others.

  But there were days when even that didn’t matter so much. Days like today, when I felt fragile; somehow more aware of my dependency upon God’s mercy and of my desperate, tenacious hold on His strength alone to see me through. Praying with my friends yesterday morning had helped.

  But on top of the troubling person-in-the-attic issue, I’d had a nightmare again last night. The first one since I moved down here. I guessed that yesterday’s traumatic events had stirred everything up again. And now my soul felt bruised.

  “Thank you, Father, that your mercies are new every morning,” I murmured out loud. I definitely needed new grace, new insight, new wisdom today. I felt like Jill Pole, one of C.S. Lewis’ characters in The Silver Chair. Unexpectedly finding herself alone and in a terrible situation, Jill burst into tears and cried and cried. But, once she had dried her tears, she still had to figure out what to do next.

  And if I had learned anything so far in life, I had learned that, at least. Oh, I had shed my share of tears, no doubt about it. But when morning dawned the day after Kev’s funeral, I was still alive on this earth. And so there was nothing to do for it, except to live. I still had to take a shower and brush my teeth. I still had to feed the dogs, water the plants and pay the bills. I still had to pray. I still had to put one foot in front of the other, no matter how dark the path. I still had to believe that God’s hand was upon me, even now. That He could see me. That He felt my pain. And that He had a plan for my life—for my future. If I didn’t believe that, what hope did I have?

  I will see the good of the Lord in the land of the living.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Come on, girls,” I said to the pugs. “Let’s get to work.” I lifted them out of the van one at a time, and they waddled quickly across the burning pavement to the small patch of grass in front of th
e shop. It was easily 85 degrees out, though only 8:30 in the morning.

  Rain would be nice. I purposely turned my mind from introspection. It could take over, if I let it.

  “Callie!”

  I glanced up to see Houston waving at me from across the church parking lot. I waved back. “Thanks again for stopping by yesterday,” I yelled.

  He ambled toward me, then stopped and reached for his phone. He listened for a minute, then waved at me. “Sorry, I need to run to the hospital. Can I call you later?”

  Could he call me?

  “Sure. I’ll probably still be puttering around the store.”

  Hmm. Houston and I had been friends for a while, but I’d never thought of him as more than that. But he gave me a stuffed animal…and now he wanted to call me?

  I unlocked the shop door to let the pugs into the air-conditioned building while I stayed outside to water the caladiums that thrived in the shade of the live oak. The forecasters were saying we’d have a pretty good chance for thunderstorms this weekend, but I couldn’t count on that.

  I had carefully planted the bulbs early this spring after drooling over the many varieties all winter. After an agony of indecision, I had finally settled on the White Christmas variety, with their large white leaves sporting a blush of red at the center and lovely, dark green veins. They contrasted nicely with the Florida Beauty variety that featured multi-toned olive green leaves decorated with pink or purple splotches and were still holding up surprisingly well in the mid-summer heat.

  This building had been neglected for a couple of years before I bought it, and I was slowly designing the garden to look like the gorgeous picture I envisioned in my mind’s eye. But I had discovered that down here in Central Texas, there is a set time frame for planting. And July and August are not it. Fall is the best time, to give the plants’ roots time to get established for several months before the unrelenting heat of summer was upon them.