All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7)

by Vikki Kestell

  We are never ready to lose someone we love, Ruth had murmured.

  As Laynie had wept, she had wondered, too.

  Why, I haven’t cried in years, she had acknowledged. Not in years!

  What will I do if Sammie dies?

  Then she had glanced into the older woman’s face and glimpsed something . . . Kindness. Caring. Comfort.

  And they had talked more. They had conversed easily. Freely.

  How long has it been since I had a normal, unguarded conversation?

  The train arrived at the right station. Laynie shoved her way onto the platform and sprinted toward her gate.

  But time was not on her side.

  —

  JUST BEFORE THEIR FLIGHT WAS READY TO PUSH AWAY from the gate, Ruth heard a small commotion from the doorway, the steward welcoming a late arriving passenger onto the flight. The late passenger hurried down the aisle and slid into the seat next to Ruth.

  Ruth’s mouth dropped open. “Laynie?”

  Laynie gaped back. “Ruth! Wow. What are the odds?”

  “Yes, er, wow! But what happened?”

  Laynie’s brows knit into a crease. “We came in from New York ten minutes late—and of all the bad luck, I had to change terminals. My direct flight to Seattle was already on the runway when I got to the gate.”

  She sighed. “They rebooked my tickets and sent me here—and I still barely made it. So, instead of nonstop to Seattle, I’ll fly into Denver and catch the next flight to SeaTac. I may arrive three hours late, but that’s better than the nine it could have been.”

  “When did your day start?”

  Laynie snorted. “My day? I’ve been traveling for fifteen hours already. I’m not sure what day it is. And I couldn’t sleep the night before I left.”

  “Goodness! Where did you fly in from?”

  “I live and work in Stockholm. I started there.”

  “Stockholm? Sweden?” Ruth smacked her forehead. “Duh! Well, of course, Sweden. But what a long way to come when time is so precious.”

  Laynie’s face fell in on itself. “I forgot . . . the horror of it all for a moment. It’s like I’m hearing it again for the first time.”

  Ruth nodded. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, dear? We have close to two hours’ flight time before us.” She held out a tiny airline pillow to Laynie.

  “Thank you, Ruth. I’ll try.”

  Laynie put her seat back, rolled her head to one side, and tucked the pillow between the seat and her cheek. She slept deeply and only woke when a stewardess gently shook her.

  “Miss? I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re beginning our descent into Denver now. Please return your seat to its full upright position and fasten your seatbelt.”

  Laynie blinked sleep from her eyes and did as requested. When she looked at Ruth, the older woman was smiling.

  “I think you needed that, Laynie.”

  “Must have.”

  They were companionably quiet as the flight dropped into Denver. Then they were on the ground, taxiing to their gate.

  “Ruth, thank you again for your kindnesses to me.”

  “Don’t mention it, Cookie.”

  Laynie shrugged. “I’m still kind of amazed that we had seats together twice. What a coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Ruth said softly. “When the airline assigned you the seat next to mine—not once, but twice—I figured God had put us together. I promise that I will be praying for you.”

  Laynie stared at Ruth, something flickering behind her soft blue eyes. “I think God gave up on me a long time ago, Ruth, but thank you for caring. It meant a lot to unburden my heart.”

  Ruth looked back at Laynie, a quizzical expression on her face, and Laynie felt suddenly exposed. Her guard clicked into place. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. You kind of remind me of someone but I can’t think who.”

  The rest of the passengers had deplaned, leaving Ruth and Laynie as they finished their conversation. Laynie picked up her handbag and started to rise.

  A tiny itch persisted in Ruth’s mind.

  “Laynie—may I trouble you for your card?”

  The woman’s milky blue eyes pooled into blankness. “My card?”

  “Your business card. So that I remember to pray for you by name.” Ruth conceded to herself how lame her explanation must sound, but the prompting of the Holy Spirit was not to be ignored.

  Laynie opened her handbag and fished a silver card carrier from it. She withdrew a card and handed it to Ruth. “Thank you again.”

  The woman rose from her seat and walked with stately grace down the aisle toward the exit.

  Ruth studied the card. The white cardstock was simple, the embossed letters elegant.

  Helena Portland

  Marstead International

  A telephone number with an international prefix followed.

  Helena Portland.

  No, not Helena, Helena.

  She put the accent on the second syllable, like “Laina,” but she called herself ‘Laynie.’

  Something nagged at Ruth, something tiny and “prickery,” as her grandkids called it.

  Prickery like a little sticker that wouldn’t stop bothering her.

  This must be important, Lord. Your Holy Spirit wouldn’t be so insistent if it weren’t. I just don’t know why it’s so all-fired important.

  “Ah, well. I’m sure you will tell me soon enough.”

  Ruth lifted her shoulders in resignation, but opened her purse, unzipped an inner compartment, and slid the card inside.

  She was on her flight from Denver to Albuquerque, dozing in her seat, when the threads came together.

  One moment she was dreaming of Kari’s last visit to Albuquerque. The next moment, she was wide awake.

  This Laynie woman reminds me of Kari. Not the eyes, exactly, but something else.

  Laynie.

  Laynie Portland.

  Portland?

  Why is “Portland” significant?

  Gooseflesh rippled down Ruth’s arms.

  “Portland? O Father! No, it couldn’t be! It couldn—

  “Wait. Could it?”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 26

  “ANTHONY, IT’S RUTH GRAFF. I need to see you right away.” Ruth kicked off her shoes and rubbed one tired foot while holding the phone. “It’s about Kari’s sister. I think I met her. On the plane coming back from New York.”

  She listened. “No, I’m not kidding. Please come right away.”

  —

  ANTHONY LISTENED TO RUTH’S RECITATION WITH A JAUNDICED EYE. And then Ruth handed him the woman’s business card. “Look at her name, Anthony.”

  “Helena Portland. So?”

  “No, not Helena Portland. Helena Portland. A long ‘a’ like ‘Lena’—as in Lena Horne.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And she calls herself Laynie Portland.”

  Anthony muttered some Spanish word under his breath. “Ruth, Ruth, Ruth. I’m hearing you, but I’m not following you.”

  “Kari’s sister’s name is Elaine. Sounds a lot like Helena and Laynie, yes? Laynie’s last name is Portland. So what was the one word written in Marge Showman’s ledger under the date Kari’s parents died?

  Anthony frowned and muttered, “Portland. It was Portland.”

  “See, now, those two coincidences wouldn’t impress me, Anthony, but the Holy Spirit kept at me. That woman had a look about her that reminded me of someone, and I couldn’t figure it out. Then I took a little nap on the airplane and had a dream—and you want to guess who figured in that dream? Kari! When I woke up, bingo! It all came together.”

  Anthony was still frowning. “Let me see that card again.”

  —

  AN HOUR LATER, THEY WERE ON A CONFERENCE CALL with a skeptical Owen Washington.

  “Let me recap, then. This woman’s name is Helena Portland. She calls herself Laynie. She bears a small resemblance to Kari. That’s it?”
<
br />   Ruth bristled. “No, that’s not it! The Holy Spirit is it.”

  Owen sighed. “This Helena Portland works in Europe but her brother lives in Seattle?”

  “Well, he must. Laynie said he and his wife were in a bad accident—and her sister-in-law died. She wouldn’t be flying from Europe to Seattle if her brother wasn’t in Seattle, now would she?”

  “All right, all right. Let me think.”

  Ruth looked at Anthony. When she raised her eyebrows in a question, he shrugged and mouthed, “I dunno.”

  They waited.

  Finally, Owen spoke again. “I can think of two things we can do to test this out. First, I’ll call my friend at the FBI office here in NOLA. Ask him to run a background check on Helena Portland and this Marstead International.

  “The second one I’ll give to you, Anthony: Call your contacts and the major newspapers in the Seattle area. Ask around about a car accident involving a couple named Portland.”

  “Kelly. Her sister-in-law’s name was Kelly.”

  “Okay. A fatality is always newsworthy. You could contact the ME’s office, too. Did this woman mention her brother’s name?”

  Ruth thought a moment. “I think she called him Sam. Sammie.”

  Anthony stared at Ruth. “Are you serious?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Owen, you caught it, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, man, I did. Kari’s brother’s name was Samuel.”

  —

  BETTINA PUT HER HEAD INTO KARI’S OFFICE. “You have some visitors, Miss Michaels.”

  Kari did not look up. “Who?”

  “Um, your friend, Ruth Graff.”

  “Ruth?” Kari did look up then. Bettina stepped away and Ruth walked in—followed by Anthony and Owen.

  The repressed excitement in their expressions made Kari’s mouth go dry. “What is it?”

  “Where can we go to talk?”

  Kari gestured to the small round table in the corner. “Right here.”

  Owen closed the door. Ruth gave Kari a long hug before they sat down together.

  In as few words as she could manage, Ruth told Kari about her flight home from New York. Kari’s mouth grew drier still as Ruth described the woman she called Laynie Portland. “Tall, dark blonde. Beautiful, milky blue eyes. A strong chin and manner. Her name is Helena, but she called herself ‘Laynie.’”

  Ruth did not mention the accident that drew Laynie to Seattle.

  “Portland? Her last name is Portland?” Kari grew lightheaded. “Are you suggesting that Portland wasn’t a city? It was a name?”

  “That’s what I thought, so I called Anthony as soon as my flight landed and I got home. We called Owen together.”

  Anthony spoke next. “For the past six days we have been following the leads Ruth gave us—the only new leads we’ve had in two years. We called the number on her business card first, and asked for Helena Portland.

  “The number was, as she told Ruth, a number in Sweden. The receptionist who answered would only say ‘Miss Portland is out on emergency leave and is unable to return our call.’”

  “That makes sense,” Kari muttered. “She’s here in America. But what emergency, I wonder.”

  Owen took over. “Um, see, then it gets a little crazy. Since I have friends who are agents assigned to the NOLA FBI office, I called in a favor and asked one of them to run background checks on this woman, Helena Portland, and her company, Marstead International. I asked this agent friend to find out what kind of company Marstead is, what they do.”

  “And?”

  “And my friend, rather than calling me back, took the time to cross town and pay me a visit. Highly unusual. So was what he told me.

  “He looked me in the eye and said, and I quote, ‘Owen, we’ve been friends a long time and I respect you. So I’m going to say this one time and one time only: Don’t ask about this woman or her company again. Leave it alone. I’m serious.’”

  Kari’s jaw went slack. “What? What does that mean?”

  Anthony and Owen exchanged troubled looks. “It means that the federal government doesn’t appreciate anyone digging into Helena Portland or Marstead International, Kari.”

  Kari was flummoxed. “I still don’t know what that means.”

  Anthony said softly, “I would take it to mean that Helena Portland is either WITSEC or something else.”

  “WITSEC?”

  “Witness Security Program, also known as Witness Protection.”

  Kari moved her head side to side. “But if she’s working openly in Europe . . .”

  “Right, so probably the ‘something else.’”

  Kari stared at Anthony.

  “We did our own—discreet—digging into Marstead International. Public records, newspapers and the like. So, Marstead is a big, high-tech aeronautics and technology acquisition firm with a large office in Stockholm.”

  “That agrees with what Helena—Laynie?—told Ruth.”

  “Stockholm is not far from St. Petersburg,” Owen added, “and Marstead has a large office there.”

  “In Russia?”

  He nodded. “St. Petersburg is a hive of Russian R&D. Lots of stuff going on in the new Russian economy—and Marstead is all about emerging technology.”

  “But, what does that mean? What ‘something else’?”

  “We think CIA or some shirttail cousin.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s . . . that’s so farfetched, so implausible.”

  Owen cleared his throat. “Not if I read my FBI friend right. Helena Portland may be this woman’s real name, but I’d bet a plate of beignets that she lives under another name in Europe.”

  “But then, if she’s . . . how would we . . . ” Kari’s voice trailed off.

  “How would we find her? We still had her American name, Helena Portland, and Portland was the notation in Marge Showman’s ledger. And Laynie was headed for Seattle. So, we went looking, and here is what we’ve uncovered in the last six days.”

  Kari leaned toward Owen, her heart racing.

  “In 1958, a couple by the name of Gene and Polly Portland adopted an infant boy and a three-year-old girl. After that, I had a friend in Olympia dig for the birth certificates of their adopted children. We found two—for Helena and Stephen Portland.”

  “Elaine? Samuel?”

  Anthony nodded. “Yes. So now, the word ‘Portland’ in Marge Showman’s ledger makes sense. We are certain that the children they adopted were Samuel and Elaine.”

  Kari was breathless. Giddy. “Were they . . . were the Portlands good people? Did they give Sammie and Elaine a good home? A real family?”

  “From what we’ve uncovered so far, yes. Gene and Polly Portland were a childless couple in their late thirties who paid well for what they believed was a legal, private adoption.”

  Anthony added, “The Portlands likely had no idea that the adoption was illegal, Kari. Marge Showman provided the broker with good documentation purportedly of a ‘closed adoption.’”

  Owen looked at Anthony, who nodded. Owen sighed. “There’s more, Kari. The reason Helena Portland was flying to Seattle.”

  Kari flinched when Owen hesitated. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry, Kari, but it is. We were able to locate the Portlands and conduct research into the adoptions only because we first found their names listed in a Seattle obituary.”

  Kari blinked and frowned. “Obituary? Who? Who died, Owen?”

  Owen’s voice dropped. “Kari, Stephen Portland and his wife Kelly were in a car crash on New Year’s Eve—ten days ago. Kelly passed away from her injuries on scene. It was her obituary we found. Her husband, Stephen, was critically injured, but lingered.”

  Owen looked away. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Kari, but Stephen Portland passed away two days ago.”

  Kari’s face crumpled. Her mouth worked silently until she was able to speak. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Kari kept b
linking as she processed Owen’s words. “Stephen Portland is Sammie. He died two days ago. I missed him by two days?”

  Anthony and Owen exchanged glances. Anthony touched Kari’s arm. “In the middle of this tragedy, there is still something good, Kari.”

  It took a moment for her eyes to lift to his. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “We might not have found them if not for the accident. Not ever.”

  Kari’s glazed eyes sharpened—as did her tone. “What good does finding them do if they are already dead?”

  Owen spoke up. “But all is not lost, Kari, don’t you see? Laynie. Laynie is not dead! She told Ruth she was returning home due to a family emergency.”

  Laynie.

  Elaine.

  “She was returning to Seattle because her sister-in-law had passed away. She said that her brother Sammie was still clinging to life at that time—that he needed her.”

  “She called him Sammie?”

  Ruth nodded. “I heard her.”

  Kari’s thoughts were racing. “When did . . . when did you say Sammie died?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Have they—”

  “His funeral is tomorrow, Kari. In Seattle.”

  “Tomorrow? Then-then if I can get there in time—”

  “Bettina has already booked your flight.”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “We don’t feel that you should go alone, Kari. It’s why we are here together. Ruth and Owen and I will accompany you.”

  Kari nodded.

  “We have taken care of all the details. Go home now and pack. Our flight leaves at 3:15. Ruth and I will meet you and Owen there.”

  Kari stood. “Thank you. I—” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Let me drive you home, Kari,” Owen suggested. “I will wait until you’ve packed and then we’ll go to the airport together. Scarlett or Bettina will make sure your Caddy gets home.”

  “Yes. All right.”

  All Kari could focus on was that Owen and Anthony had found her sister. She would be at Sammie’s funeral.