The Forever Stone

by Gloria Repp

  On Monday, her aunt left for another trip to New York, saying that she and her partner were going to interview someone to manage their marketing. She would stay overnight at her condo and drive back Wednesday evening. Bria and Jude came to help at the Manor, and the day went quickly.

  Tuesday morning, she studied for the test that marked the end of this module and made a blueberry pie for Timothy. She took it over after lunch, intending to stay and work on her course.

  Kent intercepted her at the store, asked who the pie was for, and said, “I want to take you out for supper tonight. It’s a great place, famous for good food. How’s that sound?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got a project to finish.”

  Why did she have to make excuses? Couldn’t she just say ‘No’?

  “You could at least give me a smile.” His voice hardened. “You never smile at me.” He shot her a dark look and marched out of the store.

  She put the pie down and hung onto the counter, conscious of a trembling in her bones. The look on his face . . . why did this man frighten her?

  If Dad were here, he’d take it seriously. “Listen to your gut,” he had told her, again and again. “Your intuition will give you a sense of danger that you’d better not ignore.”

  Timothy came out of his office, talking on the portable phone, went to check a display, and answered someone’s question. After he’d hung up, he looked at the pie and smiled his thanks. “That looks downright delectable.”

  She eased her grip on the counter. “I’m going to take the test,” she said. “Want to watch?”

  He gave her a thumbs-up. “Leave it on my desk. I’ll send it in today.”

  His office seemed a quiet haven, and a cup of strong coffee settled her. She printed out the test, finished it, and began downloading videos for the next module. The printer started up again, on its own it seemed, but a few moments later, Nathan came in and gathered up the sheets.

  He brought them to her. “It’s done. Want to read it one last time?”

  “I certainly would.”

  He’d made a dozen improvements, and the ending fit well. The editor-friend should be delighted.

  She handed them back, smiling up at him. “This is excellent. Are you happy with it?”

  “I’m happy when you look at me like that.”

  She bent her head. Don’t start—please, don’t.

  He gazed down at her for a minute. “Thank you, Mollie,” he said, and put a hand under her chin.

  She flinched, and he pulled his hand back.

  Shouldn’t have done that . . . his hand was so gentle.

  “What is it?” His voice was gentle too.

  She shook her head, turning it away. She could never tell him.

  “Well,” he said, his voice brisk, “I’ll get this in the mail first thing tomorrow.”

  She nodded, wanting only for him to go, and he did.

  She packed up her laptop, washed out her mug, and left the office. The red-haired man she’d seen the other day staggered past the counter, on his way outside. He was mumbling to himself with his head hanging low.

  She paused, diverted. This must be Sid. Just as well she hadn’t called him about her car. “Poor guy,” she said to Timothy. “He’s upset about something.”

  Timothy knit his brows. “He is. He asked whether I’d seen his girl around. But he’s also had too much to drink. I never know when to take him seriously.”

  She left the store with Timothy’s words swirling through her mind. They curdled into a warning she wished she could post:

  Don’t take me seriously, Nathan. Don’t think about me. Don’t care about me. You can’t imagine the risk.

  CHAPTER 14

  I hate to even think about this,

  but I get the shivers

  whenever Kent is around.

  What’s my intuition trying to tell me?

  ~Journal

  The next day when Bria and Jude came over, Jude worked diligently until they’d finished. Then he asked, “Is there any cooking to do?”

  He sounded as if it would be a privilege, and she took him up on his offer. They made the cinnamon-walnut muffins he suggested, plus a chicken-and-rice casserole, tripling the recipe so there’d be enough to stock the freezer.

  As she filled several small casserole dishes, Jude watched her with eager attention. Was he hungry?

  “If you’d like a snack,” she said, “there’s cookies in the pantry. Help yourself. And get a drink of milk too.”

  “Yum!” He came out of the pantry eating a cookie, and one of his pockets bulged.

  When the casseroles had baked, he bent over them with such intensity that she could guess what he was thinking.

  “Why don’t you take one of these home with you,” she said. “And some of your muffins. Tell your mother she needs to taste them because you’re going to be a famous chef someday.”

  He grinned, and something about him relaxed. “Thank you.”

  Bria looked up from her work at the sink, and a glance passed between them that Madeleine couldn’t decode.

  “Mother’s feeling better,” Bria said. “Would you like to come over tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that,” she said. At last.

  The two of them certainly had a secret, or, considering the look on Jude’s face today, a whole string of secrets. Would they ever trust her enough to confide?

  That evening at SING, Charlotte smiled a welcome. “I can’t tell you how thrilled my girls are about the canoe trip. They’ve been talking about it all week.”

  Madeleine picked up the stack of song sheets, thinking that she really should go on that trip. Maybe she wouldn’t have to interact with the doctor, except in a superficial way.

  She asked Charlotte about the client whose baby had been born on Sunday and told her about her friend Arlene, who was a doula and had taught her to help at births.

  Howard looked as if he wanted to start the singing, so she finished passing out the song sheets and sat among the teens with Bonnie. The girl had a good ear, and soon she could join Madeleine in the alto parts. Nathan was there at the keyboard, and Remi played his guitar, as before

  To keep her mind off Nathan, she watched Remi. If Remi wasn’t a believer, what did he think about these songs? Some, he didn’t play at all, like “Before the Throne.” He shook his head and handed the guitar to Nathan. Others, like ‘‘Your Mercy Flows,” he played with a thoughtful look on his face.

  On the last song, Bonnie picked up the harmony right away, and they smiled at each other as they sang.

  Afterward, she gathered up the song sheets, returned them to their cupboard, and paged through one of the song books she found there.

  “Mollie?”

  Her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. She’d been careful to avoid eye contact with him. He was probably offended at the way she’d reacted, and she couldn’t blame him.

  She put the book back and turned. Get it over with.

  “About yesterday,” he said. “Do I owe you an apology?” His tone was polite, almost formal.

  She looked up at him. His eyes were dark as granite, and wary, as if he weren’t sure what to expect from this conversation. She wasn’t sure either, and she kept her voice equally polite. “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Still friends?”

  That was safe. “Friends.”

  “I wanted to make sure. Have you decided about the canoe trip?”

  “I’ll come.”

  His eyes grew bright. “You could recant, but the noise from the Martinera girls would be deafening. Before I finalize the plans, let’s talk. Any suggestions?”

  “Just to warn you, the girls want their own canoe.”

  He frowned. “What do you think?”

  “They probably won’t last the trip in the same canoe,” she said. “They’ll self-destruct and then we can rearrange them. Remi wants me to go with him, but later on, you can put one of them with him, and one with me.”

  “Good
plan,” he said. “Jude asked for some pointers on steering, so I’ll share a canoe with him. Pumper and Fritz work well together; I don’t want to split them up.”

  “What about food?”

  “Everyone brings his own lunch.” He paused. “Do you have any stale cookies lying around?”

  He was being cautious with her. If he thought he had to tiptoe, it was her fault. Maybe she could make up for that.

  She gave him a teasing smile. “I see we’ve got Choco-Creams tonight. How about All-Chips?”

  “Your cookies.”

  “What kind?” Good thing she’d brought her recipes.

  He grinned. “Cheesecake petits-fours are not necessary. Chocolate chip? With nuts?”

  “Yes.”

  “The best kind.” Whether he was referring to her answer or the cookies, she couldn’t tell. He added, “I’m bringing the drinks. You seem to like birch beer.”

  “Please. And lots of water?”

  He gathered the teens and outlined the plans for Saturday. They’d meet at the store, and Howard Martinera would take them and the canoes to the drop-off point. Then he’d return to pick them up around four o’clock.

  Nathan’s voice wasn’t half as loud as Howard’s, but they listened.

  “Bring your own lunch and a change of clothes,” he said. ”Pack everything in plastic, unless you like soggy sandwiches. We’ll leave at seven-thirty.”

  Connie groaned. “On a Saturday morning?” She looked at Madeleine. “Do we have to?”

  “We sure do,” she said. “That’s the prettiest time. Girls, I want to talk to you after this.”

  She told them to dress in layers, since it would be cooler in the morning. They should wear plenty of sunscreen and bring bug repellent. “And,” she said, “make sure you don’t complain about anything when the guys are around, or they’ll never let us come again. Let’s show them we’re just as tough as they are.”

  They both hugged her and went off grinning.

  Nathan caught her eye and grinned too.

  The next day at lunch, her aunt suggested that they take a research visit to the glass museum in Millville—perhaps tomorrow?—and set off with Kent, who wanted to show her the Pygmy Forest.

  Madeleine tried to organize her thoughts for the visit with Paula Castell. Jude would be here in a few minutes, but first, she wanted to check on something.

  She studied the four decoys lined up on her bureau. Each one had personality, but the mallard drake was the best, perhaps because of the calm, friendly look in its eyes. Was that expression characteristic of Bria’s work?

  She held the mallard under the lamp. Where had Bria hidden her initial? She found it on a wing: just a line and a squiggle to form a loose B. The letter blended perfectly into the gray and brown feathers.

  She looked over the list of questions, slipped Jude’s map into her notebook, and was ready when he knocked on the back door. What had he been up to? His face was powdered with dirt, and his jeans had brown kneecaps, as if he’d been digging.

  As they walked, she took out the map and tried to match it with their route. Jude added comments and explanations. He put a finger on the map, leaving a smudge. “There’s a really cool place over here. I’m making a den for the cat, in case your aunt won’t let him stay.”

  “I wish I could tell you for sure.” She described how the cat had almost attacked Kent, and Remi’s joking response.

  Jude grinned as he listened. “Hence, horrible shadow,” he said slowly. “Where’d Remi get that?”

  “It’s from a play written by Shakespeare.”

  “Which one?”

  “Macbeth. There’s this ghost, see, of someone who’s been murdered—”

  “Macbeth.” Jude’s face had a remembering look. “My dad read that to me. He taught Shakespeare in school.”

  “He was a school teacher?”

  “Yeah . . . Macbeth.” He seemed to be listening to the word, testing the way it sounded.

  They paused to jump over a stream, and he said, “I like that. Can we name the cat Macbeth?”

  “But he was a murderer!”

  “Doesn’t matter. Dad would like it. Call him Mac for short.”

  When they reached the Castells’ house, Jude didn’t look as worried as he had the last time. “Mother’s having a pretty good day,” he said.

  Maybe she could get a useful interview. Even more important, maybe she could pick up on Kent’s reasons for disliking this family.

  The flower-sprigged living room was empty, but the workroom was not. Bria raised a disproving eyebrow at the sight of Jude’s dirty face and jeans.

  “I know—I know,” he said. “I’ll get a shower.” He hurried off, and Bria motioned for Madeleine to come in.

  Paula Castell didn’t look up from where she sat on a stool, her long blue skirt falling around her in graceful folds. Madeleine opened her notebook and moved silently to stand behind her. Paula’s knife flashed in confident strokes, shaping the upper part of a duck’s head.

  Bria slid onto her stool and bent over the decoy she’d been painting. This one had a chocolate brown head and back.

  Madeleine took careful notes as Paula picked up a thin-bladed saw to work on the neck of her duck.

  After another few minutes, Paula put down the saw. “Hello,” she said. She smiled, although the smile didn’t touch the blue shadows in her eyes. “I’m glad you came back.”

  Paula spoke as if Madeleine had visited only the day before, but at least her gaze was focused. “Do you have questions?”

  She had to find out about the eyes. Each one of the finished decoys had the same look.

  “What gives a decoy the expression in its eyes?” she asked.

  “My grandfather taught me about that,” Paula said. “I like to give mine a deep eye groove—deeper than he did on his.”

  She scooped out the eye area with her knife, giving shape to the duck’s cheeks, and held the decoy so Madeleine could see what she’d done. “When Bria paints, she has her own way of using light and dark to get the expression she wants.”

  “And Jude? What does he do?”

  “He’s our cut man.” Paula gestured toward a square table in the corner that held tools. Curls of wood littered the table and the floor. Her brow puckered. “He’s not very tidy, but he does an acceptable job.”

  Paula began smoothing the duck’s neck with a small rasp, and a tapping sound came from over their heads.

  “Oh!” Bria sounded as if she’d been awakened.

  “It’s okay.” Jude, his dark hair slicked-down wet, spoke from the doorway. “I’ll get her dishes.”

  He touched Madeleine’s notebook. “Want to meet my grandmother?”

  Bria looked up again. “Do you think . . . ?”

  “Just for a minute. Gemma will like her.”

  He took her upstairs to a large bedroom at the front of the house. In the alcove formed by a dormer window, a small, white-haired woman sat with one foot propped on a stool. A knobby brown cane leaned against the wall. That would explain the thumping sound.

  The old lady put down her knitting as Jude bent to kiss her cheek, and her black eyes glinted with affection.

  “This is Mollie.” Jude pulled out chairs and motioned for her to sit down. “She’s the one who sent the cookies and your rocking chair.”

  His grandmother lifted a tiny wrinkled face to study Madeleine. “My thanks, indeed.” She spoke in a clear voice that was distinctly British.

  Jude said, “Why don’t you tell Gemma about the stuff you’ve discovered?”

  “Certainly.” Madeleine described the glassware, the china, the candlesticks, and the odd furniture, and the old lady seemed happy to listen.

  “We found some duck decoys upstairs,” Madeleine said. “That’s why I’m here. Timothy, over at the store, told me about the ones Paula makes, and I wanted to watch her work.”

  “How do you find Timothy?” Gemma asked.

  “An unusual person,” she said. “He�
�s been kind to me.”

  Gemma nodded. “He was my first friend when we moved here.”

  “He took me to visit Dan’l Forbes so I could ask him about decoys.”

  “Huh.”

  So that’s where Jude had picked up his favorite expression. Come to think of it, they had the same black eyes, except that hers were more shrewd.

  “I know that Dan’l,” Gemma said.

  Madeleine said, “Dan’l thought I was writing a book, like Kent Sanders. Do you like having an author for a cousin?”

  “No cousin of mine,” Gemma said. “Kent Sanders is a snake.” She gave a short, decisive nod and picked up her knitting.

  Jude collected her dishes. “We can’t stay,” he said. “Have a good nap, Gemma. I’ll bring you some tea later on.”

  “Thank you.” The busy hands paused, and Gemma gave Madeleine a sharp glance. “Come back,” she said, and resumed her work.

  On their way down the stairs, Jude was grinning. “She likes you. I knew she would. Otherwise she wouldn’t have said a word. You should see how she behaves when Kent tries to get her to talk.” He chuckled. “Disgraceful. He tries to charm her, and she hates that.”

  Paula was still at work, but Bria had finished, and Madeleine stopped to admire the new pintail decoy.

  “Will Timothy be selling it for you?” she asked.

  Paula looked up. “Maybe,” she said. “Our decoys are being sold in other stores too. Kent says they’re a good product and he’s helping us. He’s my—”

  She looked at Jude. “What did he call it?”

  “Distribution manager,” Jude said, biting his thumbnail.

  Madeleine closed her notebook, sensing that it was time to leave. She had picked up some details for her research, but nothing to account for Kent’s attitude.

  “Thank you again,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” Paula said, already immersed in her work.

  Jude walked with her out onto the porch. “Can you find your way back okay?”