Where There's a Will

by Amy K Rognlie

  “Hope.”

  I jumped. I had been so absorbed in my own thoughts that I hadn’t noticed Harry, Aunt Dot’s almost-eighty-three-year-old beau, come in. And Annie hadn’t alerted me, because she was too busy doing running circles around his legs.

  “The white one stands for hope.” He grinned at me.

  I smiled back at him. “Oh, it does, does it?” I liked Harry. I liked his booming voice, his well-groomed silver mustache, and the scent of his cologne. I especially liked his Texas drawl.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pushed up the brim of his “everyday” cowboy hat and squinted through his glasses at me. “Least that’s what I’m goin’ to tell your aunt, bless her heart.”

  I snickered. “Harry. Are you in the doghouse?” It hadn’t sounded like Harry’s voice on the phone, but I had taken the order during all the hullaballoo with Karen’s twins.

  “Calendula Erickson. When have you ever known me to do anything that would land me in trouble with Dot? I am a model of chivalry.” His outraged tone belied the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

  I winced at his use of my full name. Not even my parents called me Calendula. “So what did you do?”

  “Really. I didn’t do anything.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and jingled the change. His gaze gentled. “She’s just…sad. She’s takin’ Erma’s death real hard.”

  “I know it.” I had never seen Aunt Dot so low as she had been since her beloved friend passed away. “She’s always been so strong.”

  She, who had mentored me in the discipline of living joyfully with gratitude in the midst of pain and grief.

  Don’t let pain or fear take you captive, Callie. You are a prisoner of hope. Wasn’t that a paradox?

  I wrapped the flowers and sealed them with the gold “C. Willikers” label.

  A prisoner of hope? That might seem a paradox to an unbelieving world. But the longer I lived with God, the more I understood that everything we see with our physical eyes is upside-down…counterintuitive…a mere shadow of reality in God’s kingdom. It made me think of the characters at the end of C. S. Lewis’ Last Battle, who once they finally arrived in Aslan’s country, viewed the land of Narnia through completely different eyes.

  “Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope; today I declare that I will restore to you double.” I quoted the verse from Zechariah 9:12 that Aunt Dot had reminded me of so many times over the past few years.

  “Amen.” He pulled out his wallet. “She taught you well. She just needs to be takin’ some of her own medicine right now.”

  “You’re very sweet to buy her red roses. Do you know what they symbolize?” I asked innocently.

  He winked at me. “Luv, darlin’. L-U-V. Luv.”

  I laughed. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

  “No, ma’am.” He handed me a couple of twenties. “When’s that young feller of yours goin’ to pop the question?”

  Nothing subtle about Harry Parsons. “I guess you’d have to ask him.” I pinched a straggling stem off the wandering Jew plant.

  Harry headed toward the door. “I will, if I ever see him again. Haven’t laid eyes on him since the last Hope House meeting.”

  “Speaking of which, how are the drawings coming?” I called after him. We had hoped to renovate the old Ferriss building here in Short Creek, but with preliminary figures in, it looked like building from scratch would be more cost effective, so now we were hoping and praying our bid on the acreage would be accepted. Harry’s old partner in his architecture firm was drawing up the plans for the Hope House building.

  He turned, bumping an illustrated version of The Wind in the Willows off the bookshelf by the front door. “Haven’t heard.” He stooped to pick up the book and set it on the shelf. “Sorry about—Callie, where did you get this?”

  “What?” I walked toward him.

  He waved the mysterious postcard. “Where did you get this?”

  “It came in the mail a while ago. Did you know the Janosics?”

  Chapter Five

  Harry blinked his eyes a couple of times, then cleared his throat. “Jim is my cousin.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t think of anything to say. Why hadn’t Mona told me that part of the story?

  “My younger cousin—about thirty years younger. He was a good man. Such a shame.” Harry tapped the postcard on his hand, then scrutinized it again. “You say this just came a few days ago? It’s dated more than two months ago.”

  “I know. It’s very strange. I meant to ask Sylvia about it, but with everything that’s happened with Sister Erma, and I haven’t taken the time to investigate it further. Plus, Sylvia isn’t exactly the friendliest person in the world.”

  “You won’t believe this. I don’t believe it.” Harry walked slowly back toward me and laid the postcard on the counter between us. “I’ve been praying—” He coughed.

  I waited while he gathered himself.

  He traced the outline of the postcard with his finger. “Jim and Marianne have been gone a long time. We—their family, I mean—haven’t been the same since they disappeared.”

  I nodded.

  “Last summer, we had a big ol’ family reunion over in Rogers, ’cause that’s where most of my kin still live. Aunts, uncles, first cousins, second cousins, friends of cousins.” He waved his hand.

  I’d attended a couple of those kinds of events with Todd since I’d moved here. I’d never seen anything like it.

  “Anyway, every year we talk about Jim and Marianne and how much we miss them. This year, those of us who are believers decided that we were going to pray daily for Jim and Marianne and the kids until they were found.” He met my gaze. “We’ve been praying for almost two years.”

  I nodded again.

  “I hate to admit this, but I’d started to wonder…” He tapped the postcard. “In twenty years, this is the first clue we’ve had that they may still be alive somewhere.”

  “Wow. I wish I’d known. I’d have shown it to you right away.”

  “Whew.” He passed his hand over his eyes, then picked up the postcard. “If this isn’t proof that God is at work, then I don’t know what is. And for it to still be delivered here even though it’s not addressed to you. Did you notice that there is a little cross drawn down here in the corner?”

  “Yeah. Looks like someone was doodling on it. There’s another one kind of scribbled on the front.” I wrinkled my forehead. “But neither Jim nor Marianne wrote it, obviously. So why do you think it’s evidence that they might still be…around?”

  He smoothed his silvery mustache. “Up until today, there absolutely hasn’t been one shred of communication, not one detail, not one connection that the police or anyone else have found having to do with their whereabouts. Not one.”

  “That’s hard to believe. With all the sophisticated technology we have now, no one has any clues?”

  “You’ve got to remember that this took place twenty years ago, darlin’. Not as sophisticated then. And it’s gradually become a cold case. No one’s looked at it in years, I would guess.”

  “Hmm. So, you think that someone was in touch with them as recently as a few months ago?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “But it’s addressed only to Marianne.” I tapped my lips with my fingertips. “And why would the sender mail the postcard here, to their old address? Wouldn’t he or she be aware that the Janosics had left Short Creek?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question.” His eyes twinkled again. “But I happen to know someone who figured out a mystery no one else had been able to. I also just happen to be on close terms with someone who, I’m convinced, has a direct line to the Throne Room itself.”

  I laughed. He knew my aunt pretty well. “I told Mona we could write a book and call this one The Case of the Peculiar Postcard.”

  “Or how about The Legend of the Long Prayer?”

  “I like that.” I hated to, but I had to ask. “What about the rumors? That Jim committed a
robbery or some other crime? Do you not believe that?”

  His face darkened. “No. And I’ll be happy to tell you why some day. But suffice it to say—”

  The front door creaked open and someone pushed into the store carrying a tall stack of books. Most of her face was covered by the books, but I thought it was Sharlene. Annie went wagging to meet her.

  “Hi there,” I called. “You can set those right there on the counter. Are you wanting to trade them in?”

  “No. Donating.”

  “Great! I’ll be with you in a sec.”

  She hovered near the African violet case as if she couldn’t decide if she should wait or not. The pugs eyed her, and Purl managed a half-hearted welcome yip. Obviously, the dogs concluded that her entrance wasn’t worth the effort to disentangle themselves from their warm huddle.

  I turned back to Harry. “Do you want to take the postcard with you?”

  “I’d love to.”

  I had a sudden thought. “Do you mind if I make a photocopy of it first?”

  “Sure, why not? Think you’ll find some clues if you study it more, Nancy?”

  “One never knows.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “I’ll be right back.”

  I stepped into the miniscule back room and made a copy. I also used the scanner app on my phone to scan both sides, and then I emailed them to myself. Probably a big deal for something that wouldn’t amount to anything, but still. It would be terrible if something happened to it, when it meant so much to Harry.

  “Here you go.” I handed it back to him along with the bouquet of roses. “I’m so glad you stopped by.”

  “I think it was a divine appointment,” he said. “I can’t wait to tell Dot about it.”

  “Maybe it will cheer her up. Give her a hug for me.”

  “I will. Let me know if you think of anything.” He headed toward the door, stepping around Sharlene. “Or if you receive any more mysterious postcards.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Of course. And I’ll be praying.”

  Sharlene waited until Harry had exited before venturing closer to me. “Who was that guy?”

  I glanced out the window at Harry, then back at Sharlene. “Harry Parsons. He’s lived in Short Creek for a long time.”

  Why did her eyes widen like that?

  A second later, she flipped her thin ponytail over her shoulder and whatever I imagined I had glimpsed in her gaze had vanished.

  She pushed the books toward me. “I didn’t know what kind of books you liked.” She made it sound like the books were for me, personally. Why did this girl rub me the wrong way?

  Be kind, Callie. She could be a hurting soul God sent your way.

  “I carry Christian books of all types. I also carry classical literature and collectible children’s books, and anything else I think is interesting.” I pulled a well-loved copy of Elsie Dinsmore out of her stack, its maroon cover faded and frayed. “This is the first Martha Finley book I’ve seen come into the store since I’ve opened. Where did you get this?”

  Sharlene shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “It was in a box of stuff Miz Erma gave me. Is it valuable?”

  “It depends on how one defines ‘valuable,’ I guess.” I traced the worn, gold lettering, then opened the cover, instantly plunged back to my childhood summers spent here in Short Creek with Aunt Dot and Uncle Garth.

  “My aunt introduced me to the Elsie Dinsmore books when I was ten,” I said. “I read every single one of them that summer.” Mostly while sprawled out across a nearly-horizontal branch of the live oak tree in the far corner of Aunt Dot’s front yard. That tree still stood in the yard today, but it was my yard now. Maybe I should try reading in trees again. It might help me regain my carefree, child-like spirit. I smiled.

  Sharlene picked at her thumbnail. “I didn’t know it was a series.”

  “I think there were like twenty-five of them. This is the first one, and they just kept going, telling the story of her childhood, her marriage, her motherhood, her grandchildren, and on and on.”

  “Wow. It must be nice to know all of that about yourself.”

  What?

  “Well, it’s fictional, you know,” I said politely.

  “Yeah. Still.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t like to read, and I thought you could use them.”

  I would never understand people who didn’t like to read. I glanced through the top couple of books. There were a few I would probably donate to the thrift store or the library, but I could probably sell the rest of them. “I’d be happy to buy them from you, though I can’t pay much. Or I can offer you store credit.”

  She shook her head, wearily, I thought. “No, but I did have a favor to ask.”

  I remembered that she had started to ask me something the day the Blackmans marched into the store. I hadn’t seen her since, not even at church.

  “You know that I was working for Miz Erma.” She twisted her hands together. “I’ve looked and looked, and I can’t find any more work. Do you need—I mean, could I work here for you?”

  I didn’t need anyone else to work here. After two years, I was finally turning a small profit, but I certainly couldn’t afford to hire someone. And even if I was, it wouldn’t be Sharlene, that’s for sure. “I don’t think—”

  Say “yes.”

  The voice of the Holy Spirit was so clear that I snapped my mouth closed for a moment.

  Lord?

  Say “yes,” Beloved.

  Ack.

  I closed my eyes for a second, then looked at Sharlene, this time catching the flicker of desperation in her gaze. “Do you know anything about marketing?” I asked.

  Chapter Six

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” She stopped wringing her hands, pushing them into the pockets of her baggy hoodie. “I even took a couple of classes in marketing last year when—I mean, yes, I have had a little experience.”

  Hmm. “And are you a yarn person?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve always thought it would be fun to knit, but I didn’t have anyone to teach me. But I’ve planned some parties before.”

  I wasn’t sure Sharlene’s kind of parties were what my clients had in mind, but my wheels were turning. In the last six weeks alone, I’d turned down several larger jobs, telling my customers that I didn’t have time. Technically that was true, but the real problem was that I didn’t enjoy planning events or doing any of the other decorating besides the floral arrangements. Also, my heart and my time were being pulled more and more toward Hope House and the work that needed to be done there. My life had become a balancing act between my need to make a living and my desire to devote more time to ministry.

  But Sharlene was so…so timid. Would I even be able to leave her to tend the store by herself? She seemed the type that would fall to pieces the minute a problem arose. How could I—

  Callie.

  I squirmed. Clearly, I was not obeying the voice of the Holy Spirit. But—

  Callie.

  Okay, Lord. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at my own stubbornness. I should know by now not to argue.

  I managed a small smile in Sharlene’s direction. “I think we can work something out. Give me a little time to look at my schedule and my budget, and I’ll get back with you.”

  Her eyes glowed for a minute, erasing the tension from her delicate features. “Thank you so much. Will you call me?”

  “Yes. Give me a day or two.” My phone rang, and I glanced down at it. Unknown number. Sharlene wandered off down the row of children’s books while I answered. “Hello?”

  “Calendula Erickson?” I winced. “Yes, this is Callie. To whom am I speaking, please?”

  “Don’t trust the girl.”

  I caught my breath. “What? Who is this?”

  “Stay away from her or you’ll be sorry.”

  The call ended, and I groaned. Really? How did I always get myself mixed up in stuff like this?

  Annie rubbed against my leg, whining as Sharlene wa
lked out the door. I looked into her worried brown eyes as I rubbed her head. “We need to pray, girl. And then we need to talk to Todd.”

  She yipped at the mention of his name.

  I sat outside on the front step of my shop while I waited for Todd. Snow might still be piled on the ground in other areas of the country, but the end of February in Central Texas meant full-on spring. Annie and the pugs milled around on the greening lawn, then finally settled among the daffodils in the scant shade of the still-leafless pecan tree. I squinted up at the cloudless sky, the peaceful scene crazily surreal amid my inner turmoil.

  What was Sharlene mixed up with?

  Worse, what was I mixed up with?

  Annie jumped up, alerting me to Todd’s arrival. Thank God he was home from Dallas. I had told him everything on a long phone call, but it wasn’t the same as having him here with me.

  I followed her over to his pickup as he parked on the street in front of the shop.

  He slid out of the truck and pulled me into his arms.

  “Hey, there.” I breathed in his comforting scent, wishing life would stop for a minute so I could regain my equilibrium. He hugged me tighter, and I felt his gun holster press into my side. He always carried these days. I didn’t like it, but I guess I’d get used to it.

  “How do you manage to get in the middle of these things, Nancy?” He rested his chin on the top of my head.

  “I don’t know. But who would care that I was talking to Sharlene? Or who would even know?” I shook my head against his chest, then pulled away so I could see his face.

  “Are you sure ‘the girl’ was referring to Sharlene?” He pushed himself off from the truck to pace in front of me. “I can run a trace on your phone. Maybe we can find out who called you. If something crazy is going on, then we have to consider all of the possibilities.”

  “Like what?” And had the caller been warning me? Or threatening me?