Spring Raine

by Delia Latham

  “But—but—”

  Skye shook her head. “Our parents haven’t always made the wisest of decisions either, have they? But I know now that they loved me…in their own way. And they adore you, Raine. Even if they didn’t plan to have you, they welcomed you. So did I. If they really believe I didn’t, then…well, they’re wrong. You kept me sane when our parents’ Plan would have driven me over the edge long before it finally did.” She fixed Raine under a gaze so compelling it would have been impossible to look away. “You are to stop believing the lie Satan planted in your mind.”

  Raine shook her head. She’d been convinced for so long that her older sister resented her and that that resentment had led to her death. Could she let go of such a deeply ingrained belief?

  Skye cupped a hand, and the butterfly returned, alighting on her palm. “Remember the butterfly, Rainebird?”

  And suddenly, she did, for the first time in years.

  The night before her sister left home, she’d come to Raine’s room, as she always did, to kiss her good night. “I brought you something.” She held out a hand, from which a small butterfly pendant swung gracefully back and forth. Translucent bright blue wings seemed almost capable of moving and allowing the little porcelain creature to fly around the dimly lit room.

  “It’s so pretty!” A starry-eyed, six-year-old Raine fixed her gaze on her older sister as she shook her head back and forth. “But it’s not my birthday, sissy.”

  Skye smiled. “I know that, silly Rainedrop. It’s an I-love-you gift.”

  “Ooohhh.” Raine fingered the delicate butterfly. “Thank you. I love you too.” She sat up. “Will you put it on me?”

  Skye fastened the chain around her neck. Raine lay back against her pillow and her sister bent to drop a soft kiss on her cheek.

  “Someday you’ll want to spread your wings and fly, just like a butterfly.”

  Raine giggled. “I don’t have wings, sissy.”

  Her sister’s smile made her want to cry, though she was far too young to understand why.

  “Yes, you do, little Rainecloud. You just can’t see them. And someday you’ll want to fly far, far away. When that happens, remember what I’m telling you now.”

  Raine frowned. “What are you telling me?”

  “To fly away. Don’t let anyone keep you from it when the time comes.”

  She shook her head and shrugged her little shoulders. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know.” Skye pushed a strand of hair off Raine’s face. “But someday you will.” She brushed another soft kiss on the tip of Raine’s nose. “I love you, Raineshine.”

  “You’re remembering.” The white-robed Skye in Raine’s dream touched her cheek again, pulling her out of the vivid memory.

  “How could I have forgotten?”

  “You were so young. Of course you forgot. Do you still have the necklace?”

  “I—I think so, somewhere.” She dropped her gaze, ashamed. “You’d been gone a long time, and I refused to take it off, even when I showered. Mother finally made me give it to her. I think she put it away somewhere.”

  Skye sighed. “Poor Mother. She and Father seek happiness in all the wrong places. You’ve found the right source, Rainebird. Now you must find your wings.”

  “Skye?” Desperation edged Raine’s voice as her sister’s form began to waver and fade. “Please don’t go!”

  “You know I can’t stay.” Skye’s smile shone through the haze. She gave Raine’s hands a gentle squeeze, then released them and stepped back. “Fly, little sister. It’s time to fly.”

  “Skye! I love you!”

  “I love you too, Raineshine.” The lovely voice floated back through the thickening mist that swallowed Skye’s form.

  Raine watched, unable to stop the tears. She hitched in a painful breath…

  …and jerked awake, sitting upright in her bed.

  Sunlight streamed through the window. A quick glance at the clock told her she’d not only slept well, she’d overslept, and Miss Angie and Tara were waiting at Chrysalis. She swung off the bed, but stopped when a bright sunbeam glanced off a small object on her nightstand.

  Raine stared at it, transfixed, while her heart raced…and then slowed. Finally, she reached out a trembling hand to touch the small bright blue porcelain butterfly. The chain swung from her hand, setting the pendant swaying back and forth. She hadn’t seen this necklace in seventeen years, and she certainly hadn’t brought it along on this trip.

  Raine touched her lips to the trinket, and then tucked it into her pocket. Grabbing her keys as she passed the dining table, she hurried out the door. Miss Angie and Tara would be worried about her. They’d also be exhausted and ready to come home.

  As she backed out of the carport and drove down the winding lane to the main road, she smiled and touched the tiny bulge in her pocket. How her sister’s gift from nearly twenty years ago had shown up here in Cambria, she could not fathom, but here it was. God had given it back to her, along with that precious, priceless visit with Skye. Had it really been just a dream?

  Maybe she was being far too naïve, but she didn’t care. She chose to believe God had allowed her a moment with Skye, and her heart felt lighter than it had in years. The guilt she’d subconsciously borne for far too long was being replaced with a deep, abiding peace—like a spiritual transfusion, the effects of which were almost tangible. Somehow she knew this day, this experience, would be forever printed on the pages of her heart.

  And it would change her life.

  As she drove into town, Raine found herself singing. Where in the world had she heard a song called “Like Butterflies A-Dancin’”?

  Almost giddy from the spiritual “procedure” she was undergoing, she giggled, because she had no idea where she’d heard the tune, but she liked it. “Like Butterflies A-Dancin’.” She crooned the only line that came to mind. “Like butterflies a-dancin’. Like butterflies a-dancin’ like sunlight on my skin.”

  ****

  Declan laid aside the rubber mallet in favor of a spoon gouge and took a moment to wipe an arm across his sweaty face. He hadn’t been able to get his mind off Raine since he’d left her at her door the previous afternoon.

  She hadn’t said a whole lot more about her family after that shocking outburst about Skye’s death being her fault, but the bits of information she’d shared had given him a picture just clear enough to set off his anger and keep it at a low simmer. What kind of parent let a child believe her sister’s death was her fault?

  And yet Raine seemed to love her parents—and they loved her, despite the damage their faulty reasoning had done to her on an emotional level. They’d cared enough about her to call ahead and arrange a “ghost guard,” hadn’t they?

  A twinge of unease squirmed in his conscience…again. He’d become increasingly uncomfortable playing that role.

  She wouldn’t be happy to know her parents had someone watching over her, and even less pleased to know it was him.

  Still, although their action defined overbearing, considering Raine was a fully functioning, intelligent adult, something about what they’d done told him they loved their daughter. They seemed caring and even overprotective on the one hand, cruel and tyrannical on the other.

  They’d definitely made serious mistakes with both of their girls. And after Skye’s death, Raine bore the full brunt of their dictatorial parenting style, right down to accepting the blame for the loss of her sister, when in truth, the older girl had been trying to escape her parents’ rules.

  No, not rules. “The Plan.” The way Raine used those two words, as if everyone should understand what they meant, curdled Dec’s stomach and kindled an angry fire in his mind. The Plan apparently had been an everyday part of her existence.

  That her folks had transferred their idealistic goals to their younger daughter when Skye didn’t deliver seemed obvious. Did Raine really not understand that living under an immense, smothering shadow of parental hopes and dreams was not norma
l?

  And yet perhaps his reaction was a bit harsh. What’s so wrong with planning? It’s a good thing, isn’t it?

  Dec huffed out a frustrated breath. His parents never forced a plan of any kind on Brie and him. His mother had always bent to his dad’s wishes and dreams. Surely she’d had a dream or two of her own…didn’t everyone? But Declan had never heard her express them, right up until the day she died.

  Dad, on the other hand, had a million different dreams and just as many “big ideas” to make them happen. But he’d never had enough drive to finish anything. Ken Keller was a good, kind man, but his family suffered years of poverty and want because of his lack of goal-setting and determination. When a “big idea” suddenly felt too big, or too hard, or too impossible—or required too much planning—he’d throw it aside and launch into the next one.

  As a result, Declan possessed a deep respect for goal-setting. He’d determined early on to always have a realistic plan and a well-structured goal in place to help his dreams become realities.

  But he’d never allowed any of those things to drive his entire life, and the thought of Raine and her sister being forced into a “Plan” that neither of them understood, much less wanted, made his heart hurt and his blood boil.

  Tossing aside the gouging tool, he stomped off toward the house. If he didn’t get a handle on his emotions, he’d never be able to get through the upcoming art show. Between the hours he spent at Chrysalis, all the drama and upset with Raine, and the stress of making everything perfect for the Santa Barbara event, he was stretched thinner than he liked to be, and it was showing in his temperament.

  He needed a break, and Raine could probably use one too. Was there any place left around Cambria that he hadn’t already shown her? The answer came in a flash, and he hurried inside to make some phone calls.

  17

  “Come on, give me a hint. Where are we going?” She tugged at Dec’s arm as they sped toward West Village. He’d told her to dress comfortably, but with a touch of class, and that’s the only clue he provided, despite Raine’s persistent pleas.

  He’d seemed determined to keep her occupied all day.

  Earlier this afternoon, they’d toured the interior of Nitt Witt Ridge.

  Raine’s reaction to Arthur Beal’s off-the-wall décor and unexpected uses of sundry items had wavered between amusement and something akin to sorrow. Despite all the years the determined gentleman had invested in his home, his living conditions upon completion remained primitive at best.

  Dec had prepared her for the lack of a proper sewage system. Even now, when the house had stood empty for many years, a less-than-pleasant odor tainted the air.

  Most of the roughly plastered interior walls had never been painted, and many lacked symmetry. Some of the floors canted to one side or another.

  And yet Beal had displayed a certain barebones ingenuity at making use of found items, inside and out. Old toilet seats hung on the walls, promoted to the role of picture frames. In fact, bathroom fixtures and appliances must have been easily obtained, as Beal used them generously inside and out. Toilets and sinks, bathtubs, faucets…they became everything from planters to fence elements to yard décor. A number of large seashells found new life as ash trays, candy dishes, and decorative features on the facings of exterior steps. Open spaces topped with rods made of plumbing pipe or wood served as closets. Pipes of various lengths and diameters also came into play as handrails on the stairs.

  From one room to another, Raine spotted surprisingly repurposed items. She said little as they walked through the place.

  The tour guide filled the time with plenty of humor and an admirable knowledge of the home’s history, as well as its architect, builder, and owner—Arthur Harold Beal. He even played a couple of videos, including an interview with “Captain Nitwit” from many years past.

  Raine enjoyed seeing the old guy’s face, hearing in his raspy, wheezy voice the depth of pride in what he’d accomplished. She also noted a keen, off-the-wall sense of humor. Perhaps that part of Beal’s multifaceted personality had prompted the odd, vaguely cartoonish home he’d created.

  Once they were in Dec’s car and pulling away, Raine met his curious gaze, knowing he wanted her reaction.

  “OK, yes, a part of me is in shock.” She hesitated, trying to formulate the right words. “But I’m glad I got to see inside, and I still think the old guy had more ‘stick-to-it-iveness’ than anyone else I’ve heard of. He knew what he wanted, and he made it happen, even though he didn’t have the wherewithal to do it on a grand scale. Not that I think things have to be done on a grand scale every time.” She hurried to make herself clear. “I don’t. But still…it’s a little sad, isn’t it? He worked so long and so hard toward his goal, and the result of all that labor elicits more ridicule than admiration.”

  Dec nodded. “I agree…in many ways it is sad. But I always remind myself that not everyone marches to the same old drum. You know? I truly believe what you see at Nitt Witt Ridge—inside and out—is exactly what old Beal wanted. He had to have found many truly nice, usable items that would have been considered ‘normal’ to build into a home, right?” Dec didn’t wait for an answer. “He must have. People throw away a lot of good merchandise—things most of us wouldn’t hesitate to use. But for the most part, that’s not what Beal chose to bring home. He wanted the offbeat and unusual. He wanted different…and that’s what he got.”

  Raine nodded. That summation kind of confirmed her suspicion that Beal’s sense of humor had been behind a lot of what made Nitt Witt Ridge a historical landmark and convinced the community to keep it standing long years after his death.

  Dec took Raine’s hand in his. “I wouldn’t waste much time feeling sorry for Arthur Beal, if that’s what you’re doing. I think the old dude achieved exactly what he set out to do.”

  Raine sat quietly for a moment, studying Dec’s handsome profile. Finally, a slow smile curved her lips. “How’d you get to be so smart, woodcarver? You can be pretty profound when you want to.”

  Dec laughed. “I don’t know about profound. But I’ve given a lot of thought to that rickety old place and its owner over the years.”

  “Well, I think you’re right on track.”

  And now, after a stroll through the gardens at Cambria Oaks and enjoying a leisurely dinner at Maddy’s, they were on track to another location—one Dec refused to share.

  Curiosity had Raine on tenterhooks. “Come on, Dec. You’ve been keeping it a secret all day. Will you really make me wait until we get there to know where we’re going?”

  “Yep.” He flashed her a mischievous grin and a wink.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered.

  Dec chuckled and tugged on a strand of her hair. “You look so cute when you pout.”

  “Grrr!” She growled low in her throat and wrinkled her nose, hoping she looked fierce. “I don’t feel cute. I feel…ferocious!”

  Now her escort howled, laughing hard and long. Finally, he quieted and shot her an amused glance. “Sounds like I’ve got a tiger by the tail. Who’da thunk?”

  “Hmph!” She tried to shrivel his hearty merriment with a glare, but wound up laughing along with him.

  Turning down a short, narrow street off Main, Dec parked in a small lot. “I almost hate to tell you—you’re so fun when you’re begging…but here we are.”

  Raine looked around and frowned. In front of her was the back side of a relatively small building. Nothing to indicate where they were.

  Dec helped her out of the car, still chuckling. “Come on, let’s go. I promise you’ll love this.”

  She held his arm as they rounded the old wood-framed structure.

  Dec turned her toward a large sign.

  “Purple Panther Playhouse.” Raine shook her head. “What is this place? It sounds like a nightclub, Dec!”

  “Hey! Would I make such a big deal about bringing you to a nightclub?” He gave her a frown and a disbelieving half-glare. “And y
ou called me ‘profound’ not two hours ago. Come on, take another look.”

  Puzzled, Raine studied the sign, and then allowed her gaze to travel across the front of the building, taking in the posters and other obvious clues. When she realized where they were, she gasped. “The community theatre? Dec, this is wonderful! I love stage performances.”

  “I do too. But I think you’ll particularly enjoy this one.”

  She hadn’t noticed what was currently playing, but as Dec held the door open and she passed into a small lobby, a large poster on an easel caught her eye. She tightened her grip on his arm. “No. Way.” She met his excited gaze with a shocked one of her own. “This is almost too much to believe.”

  “Yeah, I agree. I called to reserve our tickets and nearly dropped the phone when they told me what was playing.”

  They stopped at a ticket booth and Dec gave a confirmation number.

  The young clerk smiled, pulled out a couple of tickets, and handed both stubs to Dec, who gave one to Raine.

  She held the small square of printed cardstock between fingers that trembled slightly and read aloud the words printed on the front. “Butterflies Are Free.” She placed a hand on her chest, beneath which her heart pounded as if she’d run all the way into town. “God is crowning this whole beautiful vacation with a final, surreal confirmation. Dec…thank you so much!”

  He pulled her close to his side and brushed his lips against hers in a barely there kiss. “Hey, I just wanted to bring you to the Purple Panther. God arranged what was playing. My reaction was pretty much the same as yours.”

  “Well, I think it’s amazing and so sweet, how relentlessly God pursues us. I mean, seriously…can you believe He still had one more butterfly message lined up to boggle my mind?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure can. We have an amazing, unbelievable, unsurpassable, insurmountable heavenly Father.” He spouted off the string of adjectives, then smiled and pulled Raine through a door and down a narrow aisle, where he ushered her into their designated row. “Why is it so easy for us to forget that He’s there, and He cares?” A low whisper followed, close against Raine’s ear. “He wants you to fly free, honey. Don’t you think?”