A Place Called Home (A Place Called Home)

by Lori Wick

  "Christine, you were stabbed in the alley Was it someone you knew? Did you have something someone wanted?"

  "I didn't know the man in the alley. He said he needed a drink and wanted my bag. He got it too-I mean, I think he did. You didn't find it in the alley, did you?"

  "No, I'm afraid not."

  She looked so young and vulnerable. Mark's heart went out to her. He decided to try one more time. "Talk to me, Christine. Let me help you."

  To her utter horror and embarrassment her eyes filled with tears, and in an effort to keep from crying she began to talk. This man, stranger that he was, was so compassionate. She could not stem the flow of her words as the entire story came spilling out.

  Outside of a question here and there, or a word of encouragement, Mark said nothing. His mind raced as he tried to sort through all the facts she was telling him. He agreed that she had no choice but to leave Spooner. He reassured her when she began to fret about the money in the bag, telling her everything was going to work out.

  Once through talking, she was exhausted from the strain and terror of remembering. He helped her with another drink, this one mixed with a sedative she never noticed. She whispered a thank you as her eyes closed in sleep.

  Not until Christine's breathing had evened out in deep sleep did Mark turn his attention to the third occupant of the room, whom Christine hadn't noticed. Susanne sat quietly near the door, where she had been during the entire exchange. Mark was sure the concern and sympathy he saw in his wife's eyes mirrored his own.

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  Having left Christine in Maggie's capable hands, Mark and Susanne checked on their own sleeping daughter and retired to the bedroom. As they prepared for bed, Susanne spoke for the first time. "I'm sure you realize she never intended to tell you a thing."

  "I'm sure you're right." He paused and then added, "I can't help but think of Emily as a young woman, possibly alone. I would want someone to help her." His voice was heavy with despair.

  "Oh, Mark, you know God would take care of her-just as I'm sure God put Christine in our lives because she needs

  us."

  They were in bed now. Susanne lay on her side so Mark could rub the small of her back. She had done the wash today and ached all over. She was relaxed and near sleep when Mark spoke again.

  "I'd like to see her up on her feet tomorrow, but I think she'll be embarrassed in front of me after tonight."

  "You're probably right. Maggie and I can go in and get her up and dressed if she's ready for it."

  "Since she is healing well, that will be fine. Thanks for handling it. Good night, Sue." He pulled her close and kissed her, and they both fell asleep with prayers in their hearts for Christine Bennett.

  Back in Spooner, once again in the ornate but dimly lit study, sat a man behind his desk in another late-night interview with the small, scruffy man who did his dirty work.

  "Are you all set to get in tonight?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Remember, if you get caught you're on your own."

  "Me and the boys never get caught."

  "Go alone!"

  "What?"

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  "I said go alone. The three of you will wake the entire house if you search her room together. You go alone and quietly search through her clothes, drawers, everything. You mustn't leave a thing disturbed or that busybody Mrs. Hall will have the sheriff out again."

  "Do you want I should get rid of her?"

  "Of course not!" the man behind the desk snapped.

  "Will that be all, Mr. Jeffers?"

  "Yes, just as long as you continue to keep an eye on my partner and report to me regularly."

  "Yes, sir, I'll do that."

  "You may go, then."

  As always, the little man was more than anxious to get away. He knew he wasn't much, but he didn't smile in a person's face and then pull a knife when his back was turned. Two-faced! There was no other way to describe Vince Jeffers, and he didn't trust him. Drawing deeply of the night air, he stepped out the rear of the house. The house, he thought, smelled evil, if that were possible. As he moved along in the shadows to do his night's work, he decided that when this entire episode with the Bennett girl was over he would take his share of the money and move on. He was getting too old for this type of work. His new resolve made him quicken his pace in an effort to get the job done and be gone.

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  Morning found Maggie, Susanne, and Christine all standing in Christine's room staring at each other. The two older women had entered the room and found Christine up, wrapped in a quilt, and looking out the window. Some minutes went by before Susanne broke the silence. She spoke as she transferred a bundle of clothes from her arms to the bed.

  "I'm Susanne, Mark's wife." She paused, uncertain. This was not going at all as she had planned. "I brought you some clothes, but I don't think they're going to fit. I mean, you're welcome to them... they're mine, but..." She shrugged helplessly.

  A smile broke across Christine's face at Susanne's attempt at tactfulness. She topped both of these women by a good six inches. Christine was still smiling when she spoke. "I appreciate your kindness and effort. It's hard to judge a person's height when she is in bed."

  Both women returned her smile with great relief, and the tension in the room evaporated.

  "Well, now," Maggie spoke in her no-nonsense way. "We'll have to look for something else while you get your bath and have breakfast. Maggie handed the clothes back to Susanne and stripped the bed. "Now, my dear, you sit back on the bed and I'll be back up in a minute with your bath." Both women moved out the door.

  Christine was seated on the bed when Susanne stepped back into the room. "You must think me terribly rude, Christine. I didn't even ask how you felt."

  Christine responded to the genuine concern she heard in Susanne's voice. "I'm a little stiff, but I guess that is to be expected." The women exchanged smiles and Susanne moved out the door again.

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  Christine knew a moment's embarrassment as Maggie assisted with washing her hair. The only person who had ever helped her was Mrs. Hall. But Maggie's efficient way soon had Christine at ease.

  Christine had just finished breakfast and was seated on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a sheet, when Susanne returned. She handed Christine some undergarments.

  "Put these on and I'll help you with your hair."

  Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Susanne had already turned away to hang the dress and move the chair in front of the mirror.

  Christine sat in silence, feeling a bit strange at having this woman, really a stranger, do her hair. But if the truth were known, her shoulder and arm were not up to it. So she was grateful.

  Susanne worked in silence except for an occasional comment on how thick Christine's hair was or what a lovely color. Susanne would have laughed to know Christine was admiring the shining blonde curls on her own head with a bit of envy. As Susanne moved to Christine's side, Christine's eyes fell to her swollen stomach. She had made an effort not to stare, but she had been around so few women with babies that she was fascinated. Her cheeks burned as she raised her eyes and met Susanne's, knowing she had been caught staring.

  "Do you like children?" Susanne asked quietly.

  "Yes." The reply was just as quiet.

  The only sound for a time was that of the brush moving through Christine's hair.

  "Maggie may have told you that this is our second child. We have a little girl, Emily, who is with her Grandma Em today. Mark has never said, but I'm sure he hopes for a boy. I guess most men want a son. But either way we'll love and cherish this one too. Children are a special gift from the Lord."

  Christine was quiet for awhile, digesting Susanne's last statement. Susanne left her to her thoughts.

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  "How old is Emily?"

  "She'll be four before the baby is born."

  "When is the baby due?"

  "About seven weeks," Susanne answered as she set the brush down. "But at this
point it feels like seven years."

  Susanne turned and brought the dress over for Christine. "Here, try this for size."

  It was a beautiful dress, plum-colored with small white flowers running through it. Christine looked down at herself and then in the mirror. It wasn't too short in the sleeves or the hem, and she was amazed. Her feelings must have shown because Susanne laughed and said, "Mark has a sister about your height."

  The words were sobering for Christine, her pride reminding her that she did not even have money for clothes. The thought saddened her. Susanne didn't seem to notice. "Put your shoes on and I'll show you the house."

  Susanne led the way out and next door to Emily's room. All thoughts of sadness disappeared at the sight of this little girl's room. Everything was in pinks, delightfully feminine. Frilly curtains and bed ruffle perfectly matched a flowered quilt and wallpaper. In one corner was a doll's cradle with several doll babies sleeping peacefully. In another corner stood a tiny rocking horse, and a stack of books was resting neatly.

  Susanne then led the way to the master bedroom across the landing from Emily's room. It was larger, with windows on two walls, and was dominated by a huge bed. Christine's eyes went briefly to Susanne's petite frame and thought she must feel lost in it. She had decorated the room in warm brown tones with a touch of rust and tan. Beautiful lace doilies donned the tables flanking the bed. Bookshelves near the windows were filled. Christine assumed they were medical journals. The room was warm and bright. Christine praised Susanne's decorating style.

  The last bedroom upstairs was the baby's, the smallest

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  of the four bedrooms and perfect for the expected infant. The cradle was filled with quilts and the walls were painted a soft yellow. Susanne opened a chest under the window and brought out a few tiny nightclothes. Christine fingered the soft material, thinking of the two women she had known with babies. They really had been more acquaintances than friends.

  *- Descending the stairs put them in the entry by the front door. To one side of the entryway Susanne showed her a door, explaining that at one time it had been the parlor but was now Mark's office.

  Opposite the office door and right off the entryway was the front door, but Susanne led them down a back hall that ran along the stairs and took them to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was bright and perky. The cupboards were painted white and appeared spotless. There was an alcove holding a table and four chairs. The curtains, tablecloth, and fabric covering the pantry shelves were all red gingham. Another door, Susanne said, opened to Maggie's bedroom. The massive stove and oven were shiny and clean, making Christine think that Susanne certainly had enough to keep her busy.

  Christine followed Susanne from the kitchen to the dining room. AH along one wall was a beautiful built-in sideboard and glass-fronted cupboards with lovely glassware and dishes. They walked past the dining table and chairs into the front room.

  The front room had a lived-in elegance about it. The couch and chairs were all covered in varying shades of blue, and all sat on a beautiful cream-colored rug. An upright piano sat near the stairs, music opened, looking ready to be played. The piano, bookshelves, and tables were all in a dark wood.

  When Susanne stopped, Christine told her how lovely she found the home. Susanne smiled in her quiet way and suggested that Christine sit and rest a bit before lunch.

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  More tired than she cared to admit, Christine simply thanked her and took a chair by the window. Susanne took her leave to the kitchen and Christine turned her attention to the street.

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  Christine noticed that things were fairly quiet out on the street. She noted that houses across the street were nicely painted and maintained. She watched two little boys walk by, and then a woman with a large basket. Christine sat absorbed with the activity in the street until she heard light footsteps on the carpet. Turning, she found a beautiful little blonde girl regarding her with big blue eyes.

  Christine smiled and said, "You must be Emily."

  Emily nodded.

  "My name is Christine."

  "Why are you wearing my Aunt Julia's dress?"

  The question took Christine by surprise. "Well, I didn't have a dress to wear and your aunt was kind enough to let me borrow hers."

  "Where are your dresses?"

  Unaccustomed to speaking with children, Christine was not quite sure how to answer. She opted for honesty. "I left my home in a hurry and my dresses were left behind."

  "Will you buy some here?"

  "Well, not right now, not until I have some money." (As Christine had been gazing out the window, she had decided to find work as soon as possible.)

  "But if you have no money, how will you pay my daddy for making you all better?"

  "Emily!" A deep, masculine voice spoke sharply from the edge of the room. Emily spun around to face her father, her small hand going to her mouth as she realized who had heard her.

  Mark advanced slowly and spoke quietly to Emily when he stopped before her. "You will apologize immediately and then you will go to the kitchen and help your mother with lunch." Emily turned slowly back to Christine and spoke quietly. "I'm sorry, very much."

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  Christine reached out a hand and gently touched the top of Emily's shiny blonde head. Unsure of what to say, she simply smiled her kindest smile so Emily would know all was forgiven.

  Emily smiled back with a hesitant look at her father to see if she had done all right. His nod was her reward, and she walked quickly from the room.

  Mark took a chair near Christine, intending to make his own apologies, but Christine spoke first.

  "Emily is right, you know. I haven't a dime to my name. I was, as a matter of fact, just sitting here thinking about a place to live and a job, hoping there would be something right here in town." She smiled a small smile. "I really feel I have traveled enough for the time being."

  Mark listened to her speak. As he had half expected, she was calm, self-assured, proud. Gone was the crying girl from last night. She did not take easily to a handout, he was sure of that. She was in a fix and planned to work her way out. Mark could easily pay her way home, but he felt this morning that God was leading him to keep her near for the moment. Christine's own words confirmed this thought. "I thought you might feel that way, Christine. Why don't I tell you of an idea I have during lunch?"

  "Oh, thank you, Dr. Cameron, that's very kind of you," Christine replied as she stood and moved toward the kitchen. She turned back to say she was going to lend a hand with lunch, but Mark stood also and Christine found herself staring speechlessly into his chin. Mark watched her eyes drop to his shoes and then her head tilt back as her eyes met his. He had to fight to keep from laughing as he watched her mouth drop open. She stared this way for some moments before Mark spoke.

  "My sister Julia is your height. Outside of her husband and her brothers, there are not many men she has to look up to. From the look on your face, it must be the same for you." His voice was full of amusement and Christine's

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  mouth shut with a snap. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she realized how she had been staring, her mouth hanging open like a codfish on a hook.

  Not knowing what to say, she mumbled something about helping with lunch and made a hasty exit, thinking as she did so that Baxter had held more embarrassing moments in less than a week's time than Spooner had in 19 years!

  Lunch went fine, Mark felt, as he walked toward his grandmother's house. Christine had been very receptive to his job idea. She was a sweet young woman who seemed to get along well with everyone. Now if he could convince Grandma Em that she and Christine needed each other, everything would be fine. He found himself wishing Luke were here. Luke had a certain way with Grandma Em. Maybe he would try a bit of Luke's firmness with her if it came to that.

  He knocked on the front door and entered. "Hello, anyone home?" His footsteps echoed loudly on the polished wood floor of the parlor before hitt
ing the rug. He passed through the parlor and into the kitchen, spying his grandmother through a window as he walked. She was out by her flower garden in the backyard. Her neighbor, Mr. Turley, was by her side. After kissing his grandmother, he turned to shake Mr. Turley's hand.

  "Hello, Mr. Turley, how are you today?"

  "Well, I'll tell you, Mark, if I were any better I wouldn't be able to stand myself."

  Mark laughed and Mr. Turley spoke again.

  "I saw that little Emmy of yours this morning." Emmy was his name for both the old and young Emily Camerons. "You've got yourself a real gem there."

  "Thank you, Mr. Turley. We think she's pretty special."

  "Well, Emmy, I've got work to do. I'll see you later. You too, Mark." He turned to go home.

  "So, what brings my favorite grandson over?" Mark smiled at his grandmother's familiar line.

  "I'm here on business today."

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  "Sounds serious. I best put on a pot of coffee."

  Mark walked back to the house at his grandmother's side and then watched her move around the kitchen preparing coffee and setting out cookies. He prayed again about her response to his idea. She could be very stubborn if she chose to be. For an instant he thought about the sparks that might fly if he put these two strong-willed women together. If his guess about Christine was right, she was more than a little independent.

  The tinkling sound of china cups broke into his thoughts as Grandma Em brought a tray laden with coffee, cups, and cookies to the table.

  They poured their coffee in silence. When Mark felt his grandmother watching him, he looked up and met her eyes squarely.

  "I'll start by telling you we have a young woman staying with us."

  "Emily said there was a sick lady in the room next to hers and you were going to make her all better."

  Mark smiled at his daughter's vote of confidence. "Her name is Christine Bennett, and healthwise she's doing fine. But there has been some trouble involving her, and I'm afraid I can't share it with you. I will tell you that she's not from around here and she has no one to call on for help. Christine told me she wants to find work. I could offer to pay her way home, but I'm sure I would be turned down. I doubt Christine takes kindly to a handout."