The Forever Stone

by Gloria Repp

  “I’ve never seen one like it.” The tail was a mere stub, tipped with a black stripe and a white tuft. This was no ordinary house cat.

  They gave it a little more to drink, and it opened its eyes.

  “Look!” Jude said. “Let’s try some milk with honey.”

  The cat accepted a dozen or so drops of milk, struggled into a sitting position, then sank back down again.

  “You know what?” Jude said. “Doc didn’t sound very hopeful, but I’m going to pray for this cat.” He spoke with confidence. “Do you ever pray?”

  She tucked the rags around it more securely. “Sometimes.”

  “Timothy says that a person who is a child of God can pray to His heavenly Father any time, any place.”

  He gave her a hesitant glance. “Are you a child of God?”

  Perhaps realizing that he had asked a personal question, he hurried on, “I am. Because of Christ—the Lord Jesus Christ.” He said the name as if he were announcing an eastern potentate.

  He glanced out the window and the glow on his face vanished. “What’s Kent coming here for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Smithereens!” Madeleine expected him to make some excuse about leaving, but he didn’t. He waited, watching the Bronco park, his face set in lines that were much too grim for a fourteen-year-old.

  Madeleine opened the back door, thinking to get rid of their visitor quickly, but Kent brushed past her into the hall. “Hey, little elf! I’m glad I caught you.” He flourished an envelope. “I brought these over.”

  He took a stride into the kitchen and halted. “What’re you doing here?”

  Jude lifted his chin, his dark eyes challenging the man who towered over him. “I am helping Mrs. Burke with our cat.”

  “Your cat?” Kent stepped to the side of the box. “Looks half-dead to me.” The cat, scrawny and bloodstained, huddled into a corner of the box.

  “He’s in bad shape,” Madeleine said, “but he’ll make it, I think. What did you want?”

  Kent looked at Jude. “Mrs. Burke and I have some personal matters to discuss. You can leave now. I’ll help her with the cat.”

  Jude stiffened at the man’s rudeness, but before he could answer, Madeleine said, “No. Jude will stay.”

  She put a hand on the cat’s chest to check its breathing. “He’s better now. I think we’re making progress, Jude.”

  “I’ve got photos from Widow Bentley's Attic, the ones you wanted.” Kent sounded sulky. “But since you’re so busy, perhaps I should come another time.”

  “Yes.” Why had she ever thought this man was charming?

  She gave him a dismissive glance. “Jude and I have to get quite a bit done before Aunt Lin comes back.”

  Too mousy. Why did she put up with this?

  He started for the door, and she followed him out onto the porch.

  (Do you ever pray?) Lord, please help me.

  She felt the muscles of her throat move in a convulsive swallow. “Kent!”

  He turned, and at the look on his face, she wanted to shrink back against the railing. But she said, “I don’t like it when you drop in on me. Please phone the next time, or I will not open the door.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you say, elfin princess. You’re sure cute when you get mad.” He laughed and marched off to the car, swinging his arms .

  Jude was bending over the box, feeding the cat again. He looked up with a lopsided grin. “I prayed for you. I hope you told him off.”

  She tried to laugh. “Sort of. But it didn’t seem to faze him.”

  Jude nodded. “He’s after you.”

  “Don’t say that.” She opened a cupboard door at random. “How would you like to do some baking before you go? Something to welcome my aunt back tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Did she like our carrot cake?”

  “She loved it.”

  The cat stirred, and he continued with the feeding. “Maybe chocolate this time?”

  “Good idea,” Madeleine said. “We could make a torte.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A rich chocolate cake. You cut it into thin layers and put nuts and butter-cream frosting in between.”

  He grinned. “Go for it!”

  Dusk had fallen by the time Jude left for home with half of the torte. Madeleine fed the cat again and carried his box into her bedroom.

  He’d slept off and on during the last few hours, and now he could sit up by himself. He licked at his injured leg, taking a long time at it, and when he was finished, he fixed his yellow eyes upon her.

  “What do you need?” she said.

  Her phone rang, and the cat stared at it, flattening his ears.

  It was Jude. “My family liked that torte,” he said, “especially Mom. There’s something about chocolate that’s good for her. She didn’t lock—” His voice jiggled, breaking off in mid-sentence as if someone had punched him on the shoulder. “How’s the cat doing?”

  “Mostly sleeping, but he took some more milk and even groomed himself a bit.”

  Jude’s voice was less sure now. “I’m going to church tomorrow, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

  Our little group that meets on Sunday mornings.

  “Mrs. Burke? I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, if you don’t want to go, that’s okay, I just thought . . .”

  “Thank you for asking, Jude. I’ve got the cat in my room. Do you think it would be all right to leave him?” (You’re stalling, Madeleine.)

  “Sure. Maybe shut your door.”

  Now she had no excuses left.

  “I could give you a ride if you want to come over here,” she said.

  “Thanks. Around 10:30.”

  Slowly she put down her phone. Just an hour to please a couple of friendly people. Couldn’t she manage that? She’d take Dad’s Bible.

  The cat was still watching her. How about a litter box? With all that sand outside, she could fix one easily.

  “There now.” She put the litter box in a corner of the room and lifted the cat into it. When he had finished scratching, she carried him back to his sleeping box and moved it onto the foot of her bed. “You’re doing very well, you know. I’m glad you didn’t hear what the doctor said. Are you ready for some real food?”

  She shredded canned chicken into a dish, mixed it with milk, and he nibbled at it. While she changed for bed, he licked his paws in a leisurely fashion and settled down to sleep. “Me too,” she told him, “soon as I finish my journal.”

  She was ready to turn out the light when her cell phone rang.

  Aunt Lin. She sounded tense. “Something has come up, or to be more exact, someone didn’t show up, and I’m going to have to stay. But I should be home Monday night. How are you getting along?”

  “Fine. Made some French bread. Bought books at a place called Widow Bentley's Attic.”

  “Good. How’d you happen to go there?”

  “Kent asked me to go with him and Remi.”

  Her aunt laughed. “So that’s why I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. He thinks he’s being so clever.” She paused. “What’s this he tells me about a dirty old cat you picked up?”

  So he’d retaliated. Of course—she’d hurt his pride.

  “It’s an abandoned pet,” she said. “A young one, and it’s not dirty any more.”

  “I hope not,” her aunt said. “We’ll talk about it when I get back. See you Monday.”

  After she hung up, Madeleine shook her head. “I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said to the cat. “Telling people off. Adopting vagrant cats.” She turned out the light and pulled the blankets up to her chin. “Even going to church.”

  During the night, she awoke to the sound of claws on cardboard. The blankets shifted as the cat stepped out of his box. He curled himself against the hump of her feet, and she smiled into the darkness. “Nathan Parnell, eat your gloomy words.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Aunt Lin . . .

  Sh
e’s smart about so many things—

  I wish I had her talents and her confidence.

  I hope she’s still glad I came.

  ~Journal

  The upstairs room at Timothy’s store was a large, white-painted rectangle with three windows, six or seven rows of folding metal chairs, and a wooden podium. It was the plainest church Madeleine had ever seen.

  By the time she and Jude walked in, many of the chairs were filled. “Let’s sit in the back,” she whispered. Before long, a plump blonde woman sat down beside her and smiled a greeting.

  Sitting around them were women she’d seen in the store, some with families, some alone. Six teenagers clustered near the front, and Timothy sat in the front row, with Remi beside him.

  At the piano, Nathan Parnell played a spirited prelude. Why should she be surprised? Even a doctor could be musical, couldn’t he?

  A beaming man who looked as if he spent his life outdoors opened the service with prayer and announced the first hymn. It was a favorite of hers: “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.” The man waved his arms with exuberance and his voice boomed.

  Singing was the best part of church, she’d always thought. They sang, “O Great God,” then “Immortal Invisible,” and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the music and enjoy the harmony.

  When the song service was over, Timothy, wearing a white shirt, limped up to the podium with his Bible open in one big hand. She had a quick memory of that hand smoothing the yellow fleece, and then he began to speak.

  “I was reading in Isaiah, chapter 40,” he said, “and at the end of verse 9, I found three little words that challenged me.”

  Pages rustled as everyone turned to the passage, although Jude had some trouble finding it and she, using her father’s Bible, was slow too.

  “This is a command.” Timothy read it aloud: “Behold your God.”

  The old man seemed to grow taller and straighter as he spoke. “Behold your God,” he repeated. “Each of us has a god. What’s your God like?”

  His gaze traveled across the small gathering, and if he saw Madeleine, he gave no indication. “Look at the next verse,” he said. “Isaiah’s God is mighty and powerful, and He cares for his people. Look at verse twenty-five: He’s the Holy One.”

  The Holy One?

  It had been a while since she’d even thought about God, never mind His holiness. He wouldn’t like what she’d become, not any more than she did.

  She gazed out the window at a female cardinal perched on a branch, its feathers fluffed against the cold, and let herself wonder where it had come from, how far it had flown over the millions of pine trees.

  Beside her, Jude, seemed to be listening intently. What was going on inside that dark head? He was a more complex person than she’d expected, and so was his family.

  Timothy was saying, “Take a look at your God this week. How well do you know Him? Is He the same as Isaiah’s God?”

  Madeleine closed the Bible. Mother had always insisted, “We’re a Christian family.” But mother’s god seemed to be herself, and Brenn’s god had been medical science. Aunt Lin? Hard to tell. Dad? Definitely Isaiah’s God.

  And Madeleine?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to think about it. She shouldn’t have come today.

  The cardinal flicked its wings and was gone. The congregation stirred, preparing to stand for the last hymn. Not a very long sermon.

  After the closing prayer, the woman beside her turned with a smile. “My name’s Charlotte Martinera,” she said. “I’m glad you could visit.”

  Madeleine smiled in return and recognized the name. Charlotte? This must be Timothy’s friend, the midwife.

  The woman said, “I couldn’t help noticing that you sing. You must come from a singing church.”

  “Yes.” At least, she used to, before her mother changed churches.

  Madeleine introduced herself, adding, “It sounds as if this group likes to sing—and you’ve got a great song leader.”

  Charlotte smiled, showing a pair of dimples. “That’s my husband, so I’m glad to hear it.”

  Jude leaned over. “Mrs. Martinera, tell her about SING.”

  “That’s a good idea!” Charlotte had a deep-toned voice that added warmth to everything she said. “On Wednesday nights we get together for an hour or so, just to sing. Jude comes, and a few of the teens and a couple of the adults. We’d love for you to join us.”

  Madeleine avoided Jude’s eager gaze. “Thank you. Maybe I will, sometime.”

  “Good! Seven o’clock if you can make it.” Charlotte smiled a farewell, and Madeleine turned toward the door with relief.

  Jude was quiet until they reached the car, and then he said, “SING is kind of fun. I like this church. Sometimes they have a potluck afterwards. They’d love your walnut torte.”

  “That’s a nice idea,” she said. “Do you want to take a look at the cat before you go home?”

  “Sure!”

  The cat was curled into a tawny ball, and he didn’t stir when they bent over him. “He’s looking better,” Jude said. “Maybe he’ll be a lot better by the time your aunt gets back.” His eyes shone with hope. “Then she’ll let him stay.”

  The next morning when Bria came to work, she said, “My brother gave me strict instructions to check on the cat.”

  The cat looked up at them, ears pricked forward. They were large ears, black-tipped with a white spot on the back of each one.

  “Pretty ears.” Bria put out a tentative hand, and the cat allowed himself to be stroked. He must have worked hard at grooming, because his fur was clean and smooth.

  “He’s eating well,” Madeleine said. “I need to buy cat food and a bunch of other groceries before Aunt Lin gets back. Would you like to come along?”

  “Yes.” Bria’s face grew more animated, and Madeleine wondered whether she had many opportunities for an outing. Perhaps she could get a little closer to the girl today.

  They talked about commonplace things on the way to Hammonton, but on the way back, Bria asked, “Do you think your aunt is going to let you keep the cat?”

  “I don’t know,” Madeleine said. “Are you sure he can’t stay at your house?”

  “My mother doesn’t like cats and besides, there’s Lockie.”

  “Lockie was your father’s dog?”

  Bria’s voice grew distant. “He and Jude and the dog did everything together. He even used to read them Shakespeare”

  “Lockie is an unusual name.”

  “One of my father’s favorite characters.” She gave a short, dry laugh. “Shylock. The guy says something like, I’m a dog, beware my fangs.”

  Madeleine nodded. The Merchant of Venice.

  “We used to make jokes about Lockie’s fangs.” Bria turned her face away.

  Madeleine kept her eyes on the sandy road, but her heart ached for the girl. Bria’s father must be dead.

  “I miss my father too,” she said softly.

  Bria looked at her. “Did he die?”

  “He was a policeman,” Madeleine said, the words tangling together in her throat. “Someone shot him.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “A couple of years ago, but I still . . .” She had to let the sentence hang unfinished.

  Just keep the car on the road, she told herself, and watch for the driveway.

  Bria knotted her hands together in her lap. “I wish I knew about my dad.”

  “He’s still alive?”

  “We don’t know. He just disappeared. It’s been three years.” Her voice began to shake. “People always ask, like they probably ask you, if I miss him. Yes, I miss him a lot. Probably more than he misses me.”

  Bria pressed her fist against her mouth, as if she’d said too much. As soon as Madeleine parked, the girl reached for an armload of groceries and hurried inside.

  The afternoon’s work was uneventful, except for finding a box marked POTTERY, and by then it was time for Bria to leave. Before Madeleine could take a look, he
r mother phoned, so it was late in the day when she finally opened it up.

  The box held gracefully curved terra-cotta vases, painted with black geometric designs. As she lifted one of them onto the dining room table, headlights gleamed through the trees.

  Aunt Lin. The cat! She hurried to shut her bedroom door and went outside to greet her aunt.

  After everything was carried in, Aunt Lin paused at her bedroom door to describe their latest feature idea and interrupted herself to ask, “What’s that wonderful smell?”

  “Chicken in the slow cooker,” Madeleine said. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

  “I’m starved.” Aunt Lin pulled off her jacket and threw it onto the bed. “But first, where’s the cat?”

  “In my room.” Madeleine opened the door, hoping he hadn’t jumped out of the box and shredded the curtains.

  He peered at them from the box, blinking sleepily.

  “Hmm,” Aunt Lin said. “You’ve got it cleaned up.” She studied the cat for a minute. “Looks like a bobcat mix. See the big ears with the tufts of hair? Short tail, right? The spots are typical.”

  She turned away. “Where’d it come from?”

  “Jude found it in the woods.”

  “Then why doesn’t he take it home?”

  “We talked about that. They’ve got a dog, and his mother isn’t well.”

  Her aunt nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard. I guess it’ll be okay here, especially if you keep it in your room. There’s enough to clean up in this house without a cat shedding all over everything.”

  Her smile was tired. “Let’s eat before I fall over. I love your cooking.”

  Madeleine sliced a baguette to go with the chicken, and they ate a quiet meal. Her aunt looked exhausted, so she didn’t bother her with small talk. At least for now, it seemed that Jude could stop worrying about the cat.

  She fed the cat some leftover chicken and scratched behind his ears. A vibration began deep inside him, a throbbing that swelled into a full-throated purr. A contented, comforting sound.