“If it’s still there, I might be able to, I don’t know, help them financially? I should use some of the money I will inherit for good, shouldn’t I? And if Palmer House is still there, maybe someone can tell me more about Rose and Joy and the others.”
“Just trying to be the objective friend here, Kari, but you sound a little obsessed.”
“I know. And I might be! But so what? I’d really like to find out, you know? And that’s the thing Clover keeps drilling into me.”
Kari lowered her voice in her best Clover imitation drawl: “Miss Kari, he says, you have money. Plenty of money. You need to learn to use it. Do some things you’ve always wanted to do. Enjoy yourself a little. Of course he also says, Now don’t go overboard; be moderate and responsible, hear? But do have some fun.”
“Well, yes, I suppose he’s right, but couldn’t you just hire Anthony or Owen Washington to do the searching? I mean, Owen is the investigator who works for Brunell & Brunell, isn’t he? Didn’t he find you?”
“Yes, he is, but no. No, I want to go there myself. Rose said that Martha Palmer and her husband built that house, so there has to be a property record to match it. If there is, you know I will find it. I wasn’t a librarian all those years for nothing! And, I think, from Rose’s description of the house, that I will recognize it when I see it. If it’s still standing, of course.”
“Hmm.” Ruth thought for a moment. “When are you thinking of doing this?”
“Well, it’s almost July now, and let me tell you: Summer in NOLA is hot and humid. Ech! I’m used to summer in Albuquerque. You know—‘it’s a dry heat’ and all that. This humidity is killer.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. Maybe I could spend the Fourth with you? Or right after? Then I could head on up I-25 to the Mile-High City.”
“Albuquerque is higher than Denver,” Ruth muttered.
“Yeah, by a bit, but Mile-High City was already taken.”
“Whatever.”
They both laughed, and Kari sipped on the last of her tea, finally diving in. “Ruth, do you remember the question I asked you earlier today? We never did talk about it.”
“Ah. About whether your brain was keeping a traumatic memory from you?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I’ll be honest, Kari. I’ve wondered that since we met. Sometimes, when children experience something horrific, they protect themselves by blocking it out. Unfortunately, whatever was blocked usually finds a way to seep through in one way or another. Often, the blocked trauma is sexual in nature. It’s why I asked you, for example, if any of your stepmother’s boyfriends had molested you.”
“That can’t be it, though, can it? I mean Nell didn’t allow the men she brought home near me.”
“Right; we’ve established that. So it could be something else. And here’s where Ruth cautiously floats another spiritual truth out there, Kari—in case you want to ready yourself to tell me to go fly a kite.”
Kari cringed as she remembered the disrespect she’d shown Ruth in the past and recalled the nudge she’d received—from God? from her conscience?—for her scoffing remarks.
“No. No, I won’t be doing that, Ruth. Please tell me.”
On the other end of the phone Ruth’s brows went up. “Really?”
“Yes. I’ll try to listen with an open mind. Heart. Whatever.”
Again, on the other end, Ruth was surprised. “Thank you, Kari. Well . . . what I was going to say is that when people are born-again and made new—like Jesus talked about—many times The Lord will begin to heal their emotional wounds. Whether that healing happens immediately or as they grow in their relationship with Christ, they can ask for and believe that God will heal them of every wound, even a broken heart.”
Kari covered her mouth with her hand. What was it Rose had written? ‘Lord Jesus, I am so glad that you came to heal the brokenhearted’?
Kari swallowed back unexpected tears. There has to be something to this, she admitted. Too many coincidences. Too many “random” occurrences that could not possibly be random. Could they?
~~**~~
Chapter 13
Kari parked the Caddy in front of Brunell & Brunell and tripped up the wide steps to the front entrance. She turned and grinned at the sight of her convertible sparkling in the afternoon sun. Then she swung open the heavy door and walked inside.
The air conditioning was heavenly. Kari stopped, smiled, and let it swirl around her. When she opened her eyes the receptionist was staring at her.
“M-Ms. Hillyer! G-Good afternoon. We weren’t expecting you.”
Kari removed her Sophia Loren sunglasses and let her new scarf, a sharp sky-blue-and-black print, slide off her head and pool around her neck. “No, I don’t have an appointment, but I understand Mr. Brunell—Clover—is in the office today. Would he be available for a short moment?”
“I-I will certainly check, ma’am.” The woman punched a few buttons and whispered into the phone.
Only moments later Kari heard the click of heels coming toward them. Miss Dawes, no doubt, Kari thought with a wry twist to the corner of her mouth.
“Ah, Ms. Hillyer! How nice to see you.” The woman’s dark eyes swept over Kari from head to toe and then back—startled and a little unsure. Once again she scrutinized Kari and, to Kari’s surprise, smiled approvingly. “You are looking quite smart, if I may say so, Ms. Hillyer.”
Kari was wearing one of the ensembles Lorene had helped her select and coordinate—a white, sleeveless linen sheath set off by a wide black belt cinching in her waist, the gorgeous blue and black scarf draped about her neck. Black pumps completed the look and showed off her long legs to perfection. Her hair was trimmed and styled, her nails perfect.
For a moment Kari didn’t know how to react to Miss Dawes. And she became conscious of the fact that the receptionist was regarding her with something akin to awe.
Well, I guess I’ve “improved” a bit, she admitted. So she squared her shoulders. “Thank you, Miss Dawes. You’re very kind. Can you tell me if Clover could spare a moment? If he is available, I would like a word with him.”
“For you? Certainly, Ms. Hillyer. Right this way.”
Kari couldn’t help but compare the first time she had nervously followed Miss Dawes across the expanse of the office area and down the long hall past the partners’ offices. She had glanced at the sea of faces and seen curiosity. Today she saw something different—admiration? Respect?
Clover stood to greet her when Miss Dawes showed Kari into his office. “Miss Kari! What a pleasure to see you again.” He looked her over. “Why, you are perfect, my dear. Quite perfect.”
Kari blushed. “Thank you.”
He took her by the elbow and showed her to a comfortable chair. “Well, what can I do for you this morning?” He sat down opposite her.
“I’ve come to ask if it would be a problem for me to be away for a short while.”
“A problem? You mean with the probate?”
“Yes; I guess that is my question.”
“No, it should present no problem. How long do you anticipate being gone?”
“I’m thinking . . . two weeks? I’m going to drive to Albuquerque to see friends and take care of some business.” Kari didn’t mention the primary reason for her road trip: Denver and the search for Rose Thoresen.
“You would drive there by yourself? I confess I am old-fashioned, but the thought of you alone on the highway all that distance . . .”
“I had thought to take only interstate roads and make a hotel reservation about halfway.”
“The problem, my dear Miss Kari, will be navigating the many parts of the interstate that are incomplete as yet. Just getting out of New Orleans can be difficult if one is not familiar with the city.”
Kari knew how protective Clover was of her and appreciated his concern. But she was not going to be talked out of the trip. She said nothing and waited.
He nodded at her silence and thought for a minute. “Per
haps you would allow us to plan your outbound itinerary?”
“I would be happy for your assistance,” Kari admitted, surprised at how relieved she was.
“Well, then, I shall make the arrangements. When would you like to leave?”
“I was thinking the Monday following the holiday?”
Clover went to his desk and thumbed through a desk calendar. “Ah, yes. July 8. We will draw up a route for you and I will have Miss Dawes make hotel reservations. If I were driving and wished to stay on the interstate network, I would take I-55 north to Jackson where it joins I-20 westbound to Shreveport and then Dallas.
“It will add some time to your trip, but will keep you on good, four-lane road. From Dallas I would take I-35 north to I-40 and I-40 west into Albuquerque. Three days of relatively easy driving—about six or seven hours a day with hotels in, say, Shreveport and Oklahoma City. How does that sound?”
“It sounds perfect, Clover. Thank you.”
“Very good, Miss Kari. And now I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Sure, Clover. What?”
“Miss Kari, would you care to accompany Lorene and me to church on Sunday with brunch afterwards? Oskar and his wife will be joining us.”
Kari felt trapped. Am I ready for the church thing? Is this where it’s all headed?
Clover must have seen her reluctance. “Please don’t worry about hurting our feelings, Miss Kari. You come if you’d like or, if you’d prefer not to, we will understand.”
Kari fidgeted a moment longer then just blurted, “Yes.”
If he was surprised, he couldn’t have been any more surprised than she was.
Yes? I said ‘yes’?
What?
Where had that come from?
But Clover’s eyes had lit up and he was smiling and Kari could not—would not—say anything to dash his pleasure. He wrote the directions to their church on a card with the time of service and Kari found herself in the company of Miss Dawes being escorted to the front door.
Nicely done, Clover, she grumbled to herself. Then Kari realized she’d never been to church. Ever. Well, except for a few weddings. But church as in “church service”?
She’d rather have been tied to a chair and staked over a hill of red ants.
And yet, when Sunday arrived, Kari got up, showered, dressed, fixed herself a light breakfast, and pointed the Caddy toward the Brunell’s church. As she drove, a question occurred to her: Is this the same church Daddy went to?
The building was constructed of brick with white painted trim and a tall steeple. It was not, as Kari had expected, an ornate or wealthy-looking edifice. In fact, as she entered the church lobby, she found the inside to be as commonplace as the outside and the people as commonplace as she might find on the streets of NOLA or Albuquerque.
Lorene spotted her and nudged Clover who greeted her. “Miss Kari! We’re so glad you came.” He directed her to a pew and she nodded to Oskar and his wife.
Kari watched the people and the service with interest, no longer nervous as she had been for the past few days or even this morning. She stood when the congregation stood and sat when they sat, nothing making much of an impression on her until about the fourth song.
The haunting melody was taken up a capella, softly at first, and then rising, slow and majestic, climbing in fervor.
Our God . . . is an Awesome God . . . He reigns . . . in heaven above
Kari shivered and chills ran down her back as the power of praise built. Is God truly an awesome God? she wondered. What is it like to know a God who reigns in heaven above?
When the minister took his place behind the pulpit to bring the message, Kari was waiting expectantly. The minister began to read,
When Jesus came
to the region of Caesarea Philippi,
he asked his disciples,
“Who do people say the Son of Man is?”
They replied, “Some say John the Baptist;
others say Elijah; and still others,
Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
“But what about you?” he asked.
“Who do you say I am?”
Simon Peter answered,
“You are the Messiah,
the Son of the living God.”
The minister, a young man of possibly thirty or thirty-five, repeated the question: “Who do you say Jesus is?” he asked.
“In this passage, Jesus was making an important point. He was showing his disciples that it doesn’t matter what people say. For example, when people say ‘Jesus was only a good man’ or ‘Jesus was only a prophet’ or even ‘Jesus was a fraud and a liar,’ it is not their opinion that matters.”
His voice shook with conviction. “It does not matter because on the day each of us stand before God Almighty, he will not ask us who people say Jesus is. He will not ask who your parents say Jesus is. He will not ask who your spouse says Jesus is. He will not ask who your friends say Jesus is.
“No, on that day when you stand before God to give an account of your life, God Almighty will only ask you who you say Jesus is. When Jesus asked the disciples, But what about you? Who do you say I am? Peter answered, You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.
“And Jesus replied to Peter, Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven.”
The minister looked out over the congregation. “Today Jesus is asking each of us, Who do you say I am? And I am repeating Jesus’ question to you: Who do you say Jesus is?
“This is the question each of us must consider and give an answer to. If you are ready to confess that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God, if you are ready to make him the Lord of your life, I invite you to come forward, pray with me, and surrender your life to him.”
Kari stood with the congregation, struck by the pastor’s words and how similar they were to Ruth’s. Who is Jesus? she pondered. And surrender? What is this surrender to him? What does it mean?
As the service closed, a number of individuals went forward to pray with the pastor. Kari twisted in her seat to see what was happening up at the front of the sanctuary. She was curious as to what they were saying to the pastor and what he was saying to them.
Who do you say I am? That question stayed in her thoughts.
As a piano and organ began to play in the background, Kari honestly considered Jesus and his claims for the first time. Is he truly the Son of God? Is there actually a God who is a Father? Is Ruth right and anyone really can know Jesus and know his Father?
She felt as though something were tugging at her, nudging her to dig deeper. But then the congregation began to sing and their voices swelled sweetly in a haunting refrain. The only words of the song Kari could remember later were
Our God . . . is an Awesome God . . . He reigns . . . in heaven above . . .
The endless chorus tumbled through her veins for days after: Our God is an awesome God . . .
~~**~~
Chapter 14
July 1991
“Don’t worry ’bout a thing,” Azalea assured Kari as she set a plate on the little table in the breakfast nook. “We been takin’ care o’ this place ’long time now. You don’t need t’ worry ’bout a thing.”
“I know. I won’t fret, truly. Thank you—and thank you for getting up early to bake muffins!” Kari’s stomach growled in appreciative anticipation as she picked up a hearty honey-bran muffin and sliced it in half.
“Were nothin’. You need a good, hot meal afore you get on the road.” Azalea recharged Kari’s coffee cup and went back to the stove.
Thirty minutes later Toller put Kari’s luggage—a beautiful new Louis Vuitton suitcase and overnight bag—in the trunk of her Caddy, closed the lid, and made sure it was locked.
“Y’all got directions t’ get out of NOLA?” he asked. “This town is a mess o’ roads.”
“I have these directions Clover gave me,” Kari waved a sheet of paper, “and this map onc
e I clear the city.”
He plucked the paper from her hand and scanned it. “This is good. Keep th’ top on th’ Caddy up now, ’till you’re on the highway, hear?”
Toller had painted a bleak picture of some of the neighborhoods she would pass—and had reinforced Clover’s stern admonition, “Under no circumstance do you diverge from the directions I’ve given you. A woman alone and in a car like this one makes you a tempting target in some places.” He had lectured her on safe and unsafe driving practices before he was done.
Like I was a kid! Kari laughed. Then she smiled fondly. Like I was his kid.
Her smile grew. I actually rather like that idea.
At last Kari pulled away from the house, waving to Toller and Azalea and, with her first five turns burned into memory, started on her way. An hour later, when I-51 became I-55, Kari breathed easier. She exited at a large truck stop, used the facilities, and put the Coupe de Ville’s roof down.
“I am finally on my way,” she smiled. The warm, moist air first from Lake Pontchartrain and then Lake Maurepas flowed over her as she pointed her Caddy north toward Jacksonville, Mississippi.
Her stylish new handbag—more like a tote bag, given its size—rested on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Inside her handbag was the small cedar box and, nestled within it, was the cloth bag containing Rose’s journal and the unopened envelope addressed to Joy Michaels Thoresen.
Kari turned on the Caddy’s radio and twirled the dial looking for some music that “fit” her mood, something that was right for the drive. She hit a few rock stations. Maybe it was the time of day, but nothing seemed to suit her.
She’d moved the dial up and down the length of the station frequencies twice and was almost ready to quit looking when she heard that haunting melody:
Our God . . . is an Awesome God . . . He reigns . . . in heaven above . . .
Kari’s hand came off the knob. Was it just another coincidence?
When the song ended, Kari switched the radio off. “Great,” she grumbled. “Now I’ll have that song stuck in my head all day.”
By the time Kari rolled into Albuquerque on the third day of her drive, she was ready to be off the road, ready to rest her eyes and body somewhere familiar. She checked in at the downtown Marriott, delivering her luggage to a bellboy and her Caddy to the valet.
Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6) Page 15
