by Arlene James
Come to think of it, his cousins Kaylie and Reeves had also met their spouses while one or the other of them lived here, a fact which must surely have influenced his starry-eyed little sister to seek shelter for the Monroes in this place. Was Dallas trying to get Kent and Odelia together? And was Ellen also a part of that?
If so, shame on them.
Until a person had been disappointed in love, that person could not understand the depth of pain that accompanied such disappointment. Dallas and Ellie were still too young for that kind of experience.
Feeling sadly world-weary to the point of, well, old, Asher could have used a bit of Ellie Monroe’s youthful naïveté and enthusiasm just then. Instead, he smiled and brought the conversation to an abrupt end.
“Have a good evening, Ellie.”
He left her there, looking like the little girl she had been not so long ago, the little girl whom he, on some level that he definitely did not wish to examine too closely, needed her still to be. He pushed the image of her lovely violet eyes aside. He had no interest in romance. His one spectacular failure in that area had cured him permanently of any desire to meet, or date—let alone marry again.
Ellie sighed as the door closed behind Asher Chatam’s back. She had always sighed upon first seeing him, and today had been no exception. For as long as she’d known his sister Dallas, some six or so years now, Ellie had thought the tall, lean attorney the finest-looking man she’d ever seen. Slim-hipped and broad-shouldered, with the build of an athlete, he seemed the very epitome of the successful barrister. She had always imagined him as a champion of the downtrodden and wrongly accused, but she knew little about his business. She adored the distinguished streaks of off-white at his temples, the warm amber of his eyes and the cleft in his strong chin.
Unfortunately, when he was around, she couldn’t seem to think as clearly as usual. He made her nervous, and when she was nervous she blurted out things better left unsaid, interrupted others and often embarrassed herself. She had no reason to worry, though. He had never seemed to notice. Sadly, so far as she could tell, the man barely realized that she was alive. She was just his little sister’s best friend, after all, a kindergarten teacher of limited experience. He, no doubt, fended off much more sophisticated women on a daily basis.
Nevertheless, Ellie found this turn of events intriguing. A dedicated attorney such as Ash Chatam would pay close attention to his clients, and she yearned for him to play close attention to her. But, she reminded herself, close attention could be disastrous. She had actually pleaded with the Chatam triplets not to impose on their nephew, but her entreaties had gone unheeded. In fact, the more she’d begged them not to involve Ash, the more determined they had seemed to do so, until finally they had dispatched Chester to enlist Asher’s aid.
“He’s definitely taking the case then?”
Ellie turned to find Dallas lounging against the staircase banister. Her friend’s nonchalant pose and tone did not fool Ellie. Dallas was as concerned as Ellie herself. “Did you think he wouldn’t?”
A small sigh escaped Dallas before she made a dramatic shrug. “I told you, if the aunties ask it, you might as well consider it done.”
Ellie took a seat on the third step, smoothing her skirt neatly about her thighs. “Tell me again why you don’t want Ash involved in this,” she suggested as mildly as she could manage.
“You know perfectly well why,” Dallas said, dropping down beside Ellie so she could pitch her voice low. “He’ll have you and your grandfather out of Chatam House in no time, and the longer you’re here, the more likely it is that your grandfather and Aunt Odelia will get back together.”
“And that’s the only reason?” Ellie pressed softly.
Dallas shifted her gaze away, springing to her feet. “Of course. What other reason could there be?” Dallas could never sit still, but Ellie suspected her restlessness had less to do with habit and more with…something else just now.
Ellie looked down at the marble floor.
“Gotta go, kiddo,” Dallas said abruptly. She patted Ellie’s shoulder and whirled away to poke her head into the parlor and call out a farewell before setting off.
Ellie watched her go with a heavy heart. Frankly, she missed her friend. The two of them usually spent hours a day talking or just hanging out, but since the fire a distance had grown between them. The fire had left so many questions in Ellie’s mind, questions for which Ash Chatam would surely demand answers.
“You’re looking very pensive,” her grandfather noted, as he trundled through the parlor doorway and across the foyer.
“Am I? Well, it’s been a busy day.”
“Keep you hopping, do they, all those five-and six-year-olds?”
“Do they ever!”
“You adore them, every one,” he remarked.
Ellie smiled. “They’re such fun.”
“Have fun with what you’re doing—” Kent began.
“—and you’ll never want to do anything else,” Ellie finished for him.
Ruffling her curls as he had done since she’d had curls to ruffle, he started up the steps, but then he paused, his gaze going back toward the parlor. Bending, he quietly asked, “Have you noticed how subdued she is?”
Ellie didn’t have to ask which “she” he meant. “Um-hm. But I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
Sighing, he straightened and began the long climb, muttering to himself, “A subdued Odelia is not the real Odelia.”
Ellie pretended not to hear, her gaze on the bright yellow door that led out onto the front porch of the mansion, where Chatams had lived, according to Dallas, since the last brick had been laid. Even Asher had lived here for a short time long ago while his house was being built on the north side of town. She closed her eyes in dismay, once more seeking spiritual comfort.
Oh, if only the Chatam sisters had not called Ash into this mess!
It couldn’t end well for any of them, not for Dallas, not for her grandfather, not even for the Chatam sisters, who had been so very kind, and certainly not for herself.
Broken hearts, she very much feared, were soon going to be the rule rather than the exception—her own among them.
Chapter Two
Shifting in her customary seat on the antique settee, Odelia stifled a sigh. The room seemed strangely vacant now that Kent had excused himself. He’d stayed only long enough to be polite after Asher had gone, but then, Kent never lingered in her presence for a moment longer than necessary. She couldn’t blame him.
Who would have imagined that her former fiancé would one day take sanctuary here at Chatam House? Odelia certainly would not have, not after what she’d done to him. Perhaps time had diminished the hurt she’d dealt him, but she was only too glad to provide him a kindness now or anytime. When Dallas had first explained the situation nearly two weeks ago, the first reaction of Odelia’s sisters had been to gently refuse, but Odelia herself had argued fiercely that God had His reasons for bringing the Monroes to their doorstep, and she still believed that. She just hadn’t counted on how having Kent in the house would affect her.
How could it be that after all these years, some small vestige of her original feelings for the man would still be rattling around inside this old heart of hers? Now, she longed continually for his company and, though he avoided her, dreaded the day when the Monroes would move back into their house. Why, oh, why had Hypatia and Magnolia insisted on calling in Asher? Their nephew was bound to get to the bottom of things and come to terms with the insurance company in short order, and then, before she knew it, Kent would be gone again. Well, perhaps it was for the best at that.
Blanching, she looked down at her hands, ringed fingers twining together anxiously. Once, she had wanted very much to marry Kent Monroe, and had nearly done so. Only at the last moment had she realized that she could never be happy living apart from her dear sisters. But when she had suggested to Kent that they live with her family, he hadn’t taken it very well, claiming that a “real ma
n” would make his own home. She had understood that perfectly, but it had still hurt.
The aftermath of the breakup had been quite difficult for her, but she had never regretted her decision not to marry. Kent had truly been the only man who had ever tempted her to do so. When Kent had married Deirdre Billups, Odelia had put away her secret longings, and she had been more than content over the years. She had actually been quite happy and genuinely glad for Kent and Deirdre when, after years of marriage, their son had been born. Likewise, she had grieved for Kent and Deirdre when their son had died in an accident at the age of forty-one and then again, over a decade ago now, for Kent when Deirdre had succumbed to an aneurysm.
Since that time, she and Kent had gradually renewed their friendship, always keeping a polite distance. She had found that arrangement very satisfactory and had imagined that they would end their lives as casual friends with their shared past unremarked but unforgotten, at least between the two of them. Instead, in thirteen short days she had somehow reverted to her old foolish self, longing for the kind of relationship that she had long since determined was not for her. How could she, at her age, feel such nonsensical, girlish emotions? She was simply astounded.
“Dearest, are you all right?” Hypatia asked, calling Odelia from her reverie.
Odelia looked up, glancing from one sister to the other. Both watched her with concern etched upon their faces.
“Who, me?”
“Certainly she means you,” Magnolia said with a snort. “Who else? I certainly wasn’t engaged to Kent Monroe.”
Odelia forced herself to laugh brightly, hoping that it didn’t sound as stilted as she feared. “I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not our house that caught fire.”
“You just seem…not yourself lately,” Hypatia observed gently.
“Not yourself,” Magnolia agreed.
“If having Kent Monroe here is disturbing to you—” Hypatia began.
“It could be dyspepsia,” Magnolia pointed out brusquely. “You remember how Mother suffered with dyspepsia. It put her all out of sorts.”
“—we could always offer to put them up in a hotel,” Hypatia went on, sending Magnolia a speaking glance.
“I’m not dyspeptic!” Odelia insisted, turning on Magnolia. “I’ve never had digestive difficulties in my life.” As her waistline must surely demonstrate, she thought morosely.
“Well, of all of us, you’re most like Mother,” Magnolia argued defensively.
Plump, she means, Odelia thought. Perhaps she ought to pay a bit more attention to what she ate, she decided, mumbling, “My digestion is fine.”
“It’s certainly not unrequited love,” Magnolia commented, chuckling. “Not at our age.”
Odelia frowned and batted her eyelashes against a sudden welling of tears. She might be past the age of romance, but surely she should not be past the age of caring about her weight, if only as a matter of health. Abruptly, she wondered what Kent thought about her rounded figure. He had once declared her the very model of slender femininity, but what did he think now? Had age and indulgence robbed her of all appeal?
Closing her eyes, she told herself not to bring Kent into this, not even mentally. Obviously, to her shame, she needed to pray much more diligently about her personal lapses, and so she would. Meanwhile, she’d be boiled and peeled before she’d give in to this nonsensical emotional confusion.
Mentally centering herself, she heard Hypatia say, “I understand that new hotel out on the highway is quite comfortable and even offers kitchenettes. If we phrased it delicately and prepaid, say, a month’s rent, I doubt that either Kent or Ellie would take offense. We could always—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Hypatia!” Odelia snapped, popping open her eyes. “There is no polite way to turn someone out of your home when you have already offered them shelter and have more than ample accommodations for them.”
Horrified at this uncharacteristic harshness, Hypatia drew back, her eyes wide.
Beside Odelia on the settee, Magnolia drawled, “I think she should see a doctor.”
Embarrassed, Odelia considered placating her sisters by agreeing, but then she thought of Brooks Leland, the family physician, and knew that he was far too astute not to see that her problem was emotional and spiritual rather than physical.
Fighting for an even, melodic tone, she said, “I don’t need a doctor. I just need…” she looked to the windows at the front of the long, rectangular room “…sunshine.” Rising to her feet, she continued, “I need sunshine. And fresh air. Spring. I’m so very tired of winter. I need a dose of spring.” Making a beeline for the foyer, she decided that she would take an overcoat from the cloakroom and let herself out the sunroom door. “If you need me, I’ll be in the greenhouse,” she told her sisters. Praying, she added silently.
Perhaps then she could put aside these ridiculous longings and dreams, for such foolishness should be the purview of the young. What need had she of love at this late date, after all? It wasn’t as if they had time for children or growing old together. They were already old, she and Kent.
Too old.
Nothing promised such new possibilities as a Monday morning. At least, Ellie had always thought so. She loved the early-morning tranquility and neatness of her classroom, the moment of sublime peace before the children began to arrive, bringing their happy chaos with them, but Monday mornings were the best. As such, they always seemed ripe for prayer, but especially this particular Monday morning.
She’d mulled the problem of Asher Chatam all weekend without finding a solution, and now, as she read over her morning’s devotional, she wondered why she had not simply taken the matter to God. As the author of the devotional reminded her, God knew everything to be known about the whole situation anyway, even more than she did. He was just waiting for her to ask Him for the solution. Really, she could be so foolish sometimes. It was a wonder, a testament to God’s patience, that He didn’t drop stones out of Heaven onto her head at such moments.
Spreading her hands over the pages of her devotional book, she closed her eyes and began as she always did, whispering the words in her mind.
Holy Father, make me Your instrument this day. Help me to love and teach my students, to see and meet their needs as You would have me do. And, Lord, please show me how to deal with this mess I’ve gotten myself into. My grandfather deserves to be happy, really happy. He is the very soul of cheerful forbearance, as You know, and I know that Odelia would make him happy. I’m as convinced of it as Dallas is, only I would never have…
She bit her lip, unwilling even to put into words what she feared. It wasn’t as if she had any proof, after all. Besides, who was she to judge? And if Dallas had done something foolish to bring her aunt and Ellie’s grandfather together, well, what sense did it make to waste an opportunity like this? Just because she wouldn’t have done what she feared Dallas had done didn’t mean that God couldn’t use the situation for good. Did it?
If only the Chatam sisters hadn’t brought Asher into it! He could be a tad severe, and Dallas had always painted him as somewhat stodgy, but even she admitted that he was a very fine attorney, extremely intelligent and he could be trusted implicitly. Sadly, while Ellie admired those traits, they meant that he was bound to have the insurance company settling up in no time. Or worse yet, he might discover the truth of the fire—whatever that was—and then where would they be?
Would the insurance company even pay if the fire had been deliberately set? And what would happen to her dearest friend if… She turned off that line of thought, concentrating instead on her grandfather’s happiness.
Please, Lord, couldn’t You intercede here, just delay things a bit, maybe? I mean, Ash is bound to be busy. He has that prosperous look about him that busy attorneys who make lots of money often—
Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop. Money. That was the answer! All she had to do was tell Ash that she and her grandfather could not afford to pay him. Surely, that would put the brakes on
things.
“Thank You,” she said brightly.
“For what?” asked a child’s voice.
Ellie’s eyes popped open. Her gently arched brows shot upward as she took in the two former pupils who stood with their bellies pressed to the front of her desk. Students often did that, especially when they wanted something. One of their mothers, a woman by the name of Ilene Riddle, stood behind them at a short distance.
“Hello,” Ellie said.
“Hello, Miss Monroe,” the two girls replied in sync.
“We didn’t want to disturb you,” put in the mother, moving forward a step. “You seemed to be meditating.”
An attractive platinum blonde with white-tipped nails and dark eye makeup, she had just been divorced for the second time when her daughter, Angie, had entered Ellie’s kindergarten class about a year ago now. Angie and Shawna, the second girl, had quickly become best friends and apparently still were. Ellie noticed that in contrast to her mother’s neat stylishness, Angie still looked as if she’d slept in her clothes, her short, dark blond hair sticking out at odd angles.
“I like to start my day with a prayer,” Ellie said, smiling. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“Please, Miss Monroe,” Shawna pleaded, tilting her dark, sleek head, “we don’t get a coach, and we ’membered that you can play.”
“You played with us all those times at recess,” Angie put in eagerly.
“Play?” Ellie echoed, puzzled. “Play what?”
“Soccer,” Ms. Riddle clarified. “The girls have signed up for the spring soccer season, but there aren’t enough coaches to go around. Unless we can find someone to help out, the girls won’t get to play.”
“Oh, dear,” Ellie said, rising to her feet, her hands still planted atop the book on her desk.
“I’ve volunteered as team mother,” Ilene went on, “but I know nothing at all about the sport. I mean, I can organize everything, but I just don’t have any of the skills needed to teach the kids about the game, and the commissioner is apparently pretty strict about who is allowed to coach. We thought—hoped—you might be willing to help us.”
