by Gloria Repp
The bell jingled, announcing another customer. Nathan. He crossed the floor with his long stride. “How’s the sick girl today?”
“Much better,” she said. “Ate a good breakfast. Then she went outside and replaced the rotor someone stole from my car.”
Both men looked mystified, and she gave them the few details she knew. She glanced at Timothy. “That’s why I couldn’t drive myself last night.”
“Does our girl wonder have a name?” Nathan asked.
“Tara. Said her uncle’s name is Marrick. But she’s afraid I’ll tell the police, and she says she has no parents.”
“Sid Marrick comes in here,” Timothy said. “You remember—tall, red hair?”
That was Tara’s uncle?
Nathan glanced at Timothy. “What were you two looking so serious about?”
Her shoulder blades knitted themselves taut. Did she have to tell him, this soon? She wasn’t ready.
Timothy said, “You should tell him. Use my office.”
She preceded Nathan to the office, but as they stepped inside, he took her elbow and guided her down to the end of the room.
He moved his hand to her shoulder, hesitantly, as if he thought she might pull away. “I wanted so much to come back yesterday.”
She hurried past the distraction. “I found out something,” she said. “It could get me into trouble.”
“I might have to rescue you.”
“You might, at that.” She looked up at him. “I went out to supper with Kent on Tuesday night.” The gray eyes sharpened, and she said quickly, “I suspected that he was running a scam with Paula’s decoys, and I had to ask him about it. I didn’t want to talk at the Manor.”
He seemed to understand her reasoning, and something in her shoulders relaxed. She told him about Kent’s warning, how she’d prayed and come to a decision, and how it seemed that Dan’l had been threatened.
His face grew thoughtful. “The problem is, it’ll be hard to pin the guy down. He’s smooth, and we’re not talking about a large sum of money.”
“Timothy said Paula’s reputation will be damaged.”
“And he’s counting on that, of course.” He frowned. “How did he treat you?”
She’d left out that part. “All right until we drove back.”
“He made a pass at you?”
“He was furious because I wouldn’t go with him to some Apple Pie place.” How could she describe it? “He seemed to turn into a monster.”
She shuddered at the memory. “I ran for the house, and Mac was waiting on the porch so I grabbed him up and he scared Kent off.”
Nathan’s eyes had gone dark. He put both hands on her shoulders.
“But Nathan,” she said, “here’s something I just realized. Even when he was angry, when I knew what was going to happen, I could still think. I didn’t freeze up.”
“That’s important, isn’t it?” He searched her face, as if he wished he could see inside her head.
“It’s a start. If he ever touched me, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“He never will, if I can help it.” His mouth set in a grim line. “I have a friend who’s a police detective. I’ll talk to him.”
He drew her a little closer. “I’m going to Philadelphia for a couple of days. Have to give a speech.”
Her stomach fluttered, but she kept her voice calm. “What’s it about?”
“Alcohol use in the Alaska Native community.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“I’ll use the research from my chapter, and a few of the better lines. Speechifying is easier for me than writing.”
He didn’t say any more, or that he’d miss her, or even when he’d get back, but that was fine. A little distance might give perspective, for both of them.
She left the store with a smile that seemed to be lipsticked on, as if it belonged to a clown. Too much emotion lately. She was supposed to be working on strong-and-independent. Remember that.
In the afternoon, Tara helped her patch holes in the dining room, watched as Madeleine started on supper, and then chose a cake—German Chocolate—for them to make together.
She must have decided that she could trust Madeleine, because she began to talk about herself. Her parents had died several years ago and she’d been sent to live with her father’s twin brother, Sid, and his wife. The man owned a junkyard, was a genius at fixing cars, and spent his spare time rebuilding one for himself.
Madeleine put the cake into the oven and did dishes while Tara chopped nuts for the frosting.
Tara worked for a minute then looked up. “Things got to where I knew I had to get out of there.” Fear crossed her face. “I knew I had an aunt down here somewhere—my mother’s sister—so I figured I’d just hike down the Batona Trail and find her.”
She chopped another few nuts and paused to stare at the knife in her hand. “So stupid of me to cut my leg like that. I’ve used my hatchet a hundred times. I still can’t figure out how it slipped.”
. . . for a reason . . .
“I think God sent you here, Tara.”
The girl looked away. “My aunt’s name is Minna Sooy. Do you know where she lives?”
“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Timothy, the man who owns the store, might know.”
Tara glanced at the clock. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going to phone him.”
She flipped her hair back and stood tall. “Do you think, if I clean up good and talk nice, she’ll let me stay with her?”
“I’d think so.” Madeleine glanced at the clock too. Was it so late? SING would be starting soon.
“I’m going out tonight,” she said. “A bunch of us—teens and kids and everyone—get together to sing. Would you like to come?”
“Nah. I don’t feel very social right now. Can we frost the cake when you get back? Where’s Mac?”
Maybe she was expecting too much, too soon. “Mac’s probably outside,” Madeleine said. “He likes to prowl around, and then he comes back to wait for me on the porch. I’ll see you later.”
With Nathan gone, Remi did his best on the guitar, and Howard’s voice was loud enough, but SING seemed to drag.
Afterwards, over cookies that tasted like cardboard, she asked Charlotte about her clients. Charlotte laughed, saying that the last delivery had been a butter birth, with only six hours of labor. Madeleine smiled to herself. That’s what Arlene would have called it too.
She told Charlotte how her interest in birthing had started at a friend’s home birth, with Arlene as the doula. During the birth, she had helped Arlene as well as she could, and after that, Arlene let her assist from time to time.
She didn’t mention that when Brenn found out, he’d given her that cold look and said, “Birth and death belong in the hospital.” After he died—not in the hospital, come to think of it—she’d started assisting Arlene again. Something about the birth process was more satisfying than anything she’d ever experienced.
Charlotte’s eyes gleamed. “I know what you mean,” she said, taking a drink of her lemonade. “We get quite a few home births around here. Folks don’t have insurance. The last doc we had was a druggie and made mistakes. Now we’ve got people who’d rather shoot a doctor than ask him for anything.”
She smiled. “Dr. Parnell is my backup. What a difference! He’s so good with births.”
And he was good with injured cats, runaway girls, and panic-stricken women.
Madeleine drank down the rest of her lemonade. Time to get back and see how Tara was doing. Maybe she’d open up a little more while they frosted that cake.
CHAPTER 19
Tara has been here longer than I expected.
I hope she can find her aunt—
Aunt Lin might not be very pleased
with this situation.
~Journal
Next morning, Tara phoned Timothy to ask about her aunt. When she hung up the phone, she had the staring look on her face again. “Gone away. No one knows where.” Und
er her breath she added, “Probably dead too.”
Tara helped when Bria and Jude came to work, but the dull, hopeless expression in her eyes did not change.
After they left, Madeleine sent her back to the sofa for a nap. As for her, she was going to put barbequed chicken into the slow cooker and research Schnecken, the German cinnamon rolls. What was Nathan doing this afternoon?
She and Tara ate supper together on Madeleine’s bed, and Tara fed Mac bits of her chicken while she looked around the room. Her gaze rested on Madeleine’s paperweight. “I love that, with the calico flowers inside.” She picked it up and turned it over. “What’s on the back? PS7326?”
Madeleine smiled. “That refers to a verse in the Bible. My dad put it there.”
“Why?”
“To remind me that God will make me strong.”
“How come?”
“Because He loves me.”
“You kidding?”
“I’m not. The Bible talks a lot about God and His love. Forever-love, I call it.” She wanted to explain that she didn’t deserve God’s love, but Tara had dropped the paperweight onto the bed and turned away.
“Pink calico is my favorite,” the girl said. “You’re lucky. I wish I had a forever stone.” She started feeding the rest of her chicken to Mac.
Madeleine watched her, praying for wisdom. What wheels were turning inside that pretty little head? Was even one of her thoughts drifting toward God?
When Tara’s plate was empty, she curled into the pillows and stared at the ceiling. After a long moment, she said, “I can’t go home. She’ll kill me.”
“Who?”
“Dixie. My aunt. I don’t mind so much when she hits me, but I hate it when she gets drunk.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Sometimes I feel sorry for Sid. I get scared too, when she pulls out that little pistol of hers. Even after she shot my cat, I guess I would have stuck it out for a while longer, but . . .”
She stroked Mac’s tawny back until he began to purr. “But that one night . . .”
Her voice quavered as she described how Sid had been drinking with his buddies and afterward had come into the kitchen and grabbed her. She squirmed away, but Dixie had seen it and she had been furious.
Tara pushed a hand through her hair. “Blamed me for it. She hit me with that pistol of hers—said she’d kill me if I told anyone. And now I’ve told you.”
“But she doesn’t know,” Madeleine said. “She’s not God.”
“She’s the devil.” Tara pulled the cat into her arms, and he stayed there. She scratched between his ears. “I pray to God sometimes. I know He’s busy, and I’ve done a lot of bad stuff. Wish I could buy a truckload of that forever-love.”
“You don’t have to buy it.”
“Uh-huh.” She bent her head. “I’ve got to make some plans. That night I was sure He told me to run away. But now I don’t know what to do.”
Madeleine watched her, at a loss, and finally said, “God knows what you need.”
“Sure, but that doesn’t put beer in my glass.”
“He wouldn’t tell you to run away and then forget about you.”
The girl’s eyes fastened on her with a mixture of cunning and hope. “Maybe He wants you to help me.”
“He loves you, Tara.”
“That’s a hoot. After all the stuff He’s dished out to me—”
“It says so in the Bible.”
“Mom read the Bible a lot when she was sick, but I’ve heard it’s just a bunch of stories.”
“Sounds like your mom didn’t think so.”
Tara stretched, yawning. “The big question is: can I hang out here for a while?”
She threw a glance at Madeleine, jumped off the bed, and started out the door.
“I’ll talk to my aunt,” Madeleine said, following her down the hall. “Don’t worry about it tonight. Get some sleep and get strong.”
“Yes,” Tara said. “I’ve been feeling like a wimp, and I don’t like that.”
Madeleine watched as she slid under the blankets with the cat. “You know what, Tara? My forever-God can be your God too.”
The girl slid deeper into the blankets. “Hey, how ’bout the way this Mac purrs? He runs smooth as a Jaguar.”
Madeleine put a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Good night. We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.”
She’d go to bed early herself. Trust God to work in Tara’s heart.
She dragged herself back to the bedroom. Just tired, probably.
Was her phone ringing?
His voice had the warmth of sunlight. “Mollie, I’m standing here thinking about you.”
Happiness bubbled up into a laugh. “Where in the world are you standing?”
“A used bookstore. They’ve got a whole section on British literature and another one on cooking. I’ve got to bring you here.” He paused. “If you’d like.”
“I love those stores, especially the crowded old dusty ones.”
“Have you ever heard of M.F.K. Fisher?”
“Yes! How to Cook a Wolf. That’s one of her books. No one writes like she does.”
“Just wondering. How are you? How’s Tara?”
She couldn’t admit how much the sound of his voice had brightened her world, but she told him what she’d learned from Tara, and he told her about his speech and the conference. Finally he said that the store was closing, so he’d better go.
The next morning they all worked on the dining room, giving it fresh paint and a frieze of stenciled pinecones created by Bria.
While they were eating a late lunch, Aunt Lin phoned to say that she was on her way back, and would it be okay for Kent and Remi to come over for supper that night.
Not okay, but Madeleine didn’t want to say anything over the phone. “If you’d like.”
“Good.” Her aunt seemed to be in a rush. “We’ll talk when I get there. See you soon.”
Aunt Lin admired the new appearance of the dining room and thanked both girls for their help. She didn’t seem particularly upset about Tara. She asked, privately, for as much information as Madeleine could give, and agreed that the girl could stay for a few more days.
The dining room looked presentable, supper turned out well, and Kent spent most of the meal talking about his book and related subjects.
Just get through the night without making a scene, Madeleine told herself. No point in signaling her intentions.
What, by the way, were her intentions? It was all very well to talk about scuttling boats.
She cut up the cake and served it, still thinking. She’d grab the first chance that came along, but it was hard to wait.
Remi seemed subdued this evening and didn’t say much, even when Madeleine tried to draw him into conversation.
Tara had disappeared as soon as the Bronco showed up in the driveway. If she’d been at the table, she would have fired up the conversation, and considering how pretty she was, Remi might have been more alert. But perhaps it was just as well.
“Madeleine, are you off in dreamland again?” Kent put a proprietary hand on her shoulder and she jerked away, almost knocking over her glass.
She stood to her feet and picked up the water pitcher, wishing she could dump it over him. Instead, she took it into the kitchen, refilled it, and returned.
He said, “I asked about the runaway girl you’ve been harboring. Does she have a name?”
“I imagine she does. Would anyone like more ice cream? I’ll get the coffee.” How had he found out?
“Coffee for me, please,” her aunt said. “Let’s see, you told me her name. Tara, isn’t it? What’s her last name?”
He’d find out eventually, and it probably wasn’t important. She took her time bringing in the coffee pot and filling Aunt Lin’s cup. “I’m not sure. Her uncle’s name is Marrick.”
Kent held out his cup and she filled it too, watching the frown gather on his face. “Where from?”
“Some place up near Mt. Misery, I thin
k.”
“What’s the uncle’s first name?”
What was he after?
“Why? Do you know any Marricks?”
“Depends,” he said. “There’s plenty of them around, common as maggots on a dead rabbit.”
He fussed with his coffee, adding a spoonful of ice water, tasting it again, and his frown deepened. Finally he said, “That whole Marrick tribe is a bunch of trouble.”
“So you do know them,” she said.
“Went to school with some of their kids.” His lip curled. “One problem after another.” His voice sharpened. “That girl’s going to cause trouble, I can tell you. Runaway kid! Send her back as soon as you can.”
Remi straightened in his chair, watching Kent. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes glittered black fire. He picked up a teaspoon and twirled it in his fingers.
Madeleine poured herself some coffee she didn’t want. “I have no right to send her back. And I wouldn’t if I could. She’s afraid for her life.”
Kent grunted. “Of course she is. That’s what they all say. I’m tired of these kids who run off because they can’t watch their favorite TV show.”
He rested a hand on the knife on his belt. “The trouble with you, Madeleine, is that you want to adopt every stray that comes along. First it’s that pathetic family. Then it’s that wildcat, and now it’s this girl.”
Remi held the spoon lightly between the forefinger of each hand and slowly bent it in half.
She let her contempt show in her voice. “We’re not talking about animals here. This is a person, a human being, with feelings and hopes and fears just like we have. A needy human being.”
“If she’s a Marrick, she’s trouble,” he said. “Get rid of her. So, are we going to play Monopoly or not?”
Aunt Lin spoke up. “We’re not. I have a headache coming on, and I think you’re part of it, Kent.”
“Now that’s a shame.” He put on his genial air. “We’ll get out of your hair. Thank you, ladies, for another fine meal.” He strode into the kitchen.
Remi paused beside Madeleine. “If you need some help fixing up this house, leave a message at Timothy’s, okay? I can do just about anything, and I work for peanuts.”
