Stranded in Paradise

by Lori Copeland

  “Stella, what made you decide to take us in? There are all kinds of sickos walking around. You don’t know us—”

  “I know you well enough.” Stella smiled and nodded. “Yes, I know you well enough. It was meant that we meet.”

  Tess brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes and thought about Stella’s declaration: It was meant that we meet.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  Friday morning, the aroma of hot coffee filled the air when Tess emerged from the bedroom. The previous night she’d managed to launder her smoke-laden clothes and air out her luggage. She’d gone to bed around 11:00 but rising wind had kept her awake most of the night. She smiled at Carter, who was stretched out across a lounge chair, reading a newspaper.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Morning.” Yawning, she scratched her hair and thought maybe she should have combed it into some semblance of order. She wondered if her bald patch was noticeable. She hadn’t found any more hairs lately. Perhaps that malady was abating. She hoped. But then she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Her eyes moved surreptitiously to Carter, who didn’t seem to notice the train wreck—or if he did, he was kind enough not to comment. Len would have said something.

  Carter glanced up, his smile sending an odd shiver down her back.

  Stella’s lilting voice drifted from the kitchen. “Waffles and eggs benedict coming up! Are you hungry?”

  Not if you’re cooking with a cat around your neck, Tess thought with a smile.

  “Starved!” Carter said.

  Tess wandered into the sunny kitchen where a large, open window carried the scent of fresh ocean air.

  “Help yourself to the coffee, or there’s fruit juice on the counter,” Stella said in her sweet way. “Make yourself at home.” She turned from the stove, clasping her hands. “I’m so glad to have someone to eat with this morning. This is wonderful.”

  “You’re a godsend to us,” Carter said as he walked into the kitchen. “Thank you, Stella.” He stretched, then pressed his hand to the small of his back. “And my bad back thanks you. Just thinking about a night on the sand hurts.”

  Tess smiled. “Coward.”

  “When it comes to pain? You’re looking at the worst.” He winked.

  Well, at least he was honest, she thought. Clean cut, nails neatly trimmed, hair cut in classic style, freshly shaven and smelling faintly of Old Spice, and honest, to boot—she’d begun to think the breed had disappeared with the T Rex.

  “Oh, we’ll have such fun,” Stella crowed. “Now, you sit,” she directed to Carter. “I’ll take up the eggs.” The waffle iron beeped that it was done. “Tess, would you work on waffles, please?”

  Tess reached for a plate and the butter dish. “Sure.”

  “Here we go,” Stella sang out softly a few minutes later, setting plates of steaming eggs and waffles in front of Tess and Carter, and then setting a third on the floor for the cat. “There now,” she crooned, calling the cat from his spot by the window. “Eat up, Henry.”

  Henry. Tess glanced at Carter. The neck muff’s name was Henry. She picked up her fork and was about to take a bite when she froze as Carter asked if he could say grace.

  “Oh, would you?” Stella beamed.

  Stella closed her eyes, hands clasped with reverence.

  Carter bent his head and offered thanks: brief, but with such sincerity and sweetness of thought that Tess was afraid to look up. She’d never heard anyone speak to God like that before. It was as if God was his friend and not some distant deity who struck terror at will. When the amen sounded, she glanced up to see Carter unfolding his napkin, his eyes discreetly appreciating the mound of fluffy yellow.

  He picked up his fork. “Food looks great, Stella.”

  Stella got up to pour herself a cup of coffee before rejoining them at the table.

  “Aren’t you going to eat something?” Tess asked Stella as she spread strawberry jam on a piece of toast.

  “Oh, no,” Stella waved a hand in the air in what was now a familiar gesture. “I’ll eat later.”

  She felt uncomfortable with Stella watching but she managed to devour the meal in nothing flat.

  “So, you’re going home Monday?” Stella asked.

  Tess smiled. “I hope. I’m on standby. What about you, Carter?” She peered over the rim of her juice glass. “Are you going to try to get a flight out Monday?”

  Carter resalted his food. “I don’t think so— since I’m already here I thought I’d stick it out for a couple of weeks.”

  “Stick it out? That doesn’t sound very vacationerish.”

  “The reason I’m here in the first place is to get rid of stress. I guess the Lord is holding me to my promise.”

  “The Lord does indeed hold us to our word.” Stella propped her chin on her hands. “By the way, did you two know that pesky hurricane’s turned directly toward the island?”

  10

  “You’re going to get an ulcer from all of this.” Carter sat on Stella’s worn sofa, thumbing through a worn copy of New York Times as Tess frantically dialed another number.

  “I have to get out of here—did you hear what Stella said?”

  Carter nodded. “A tropical storm has been upgraded to hurricane—but only an F-1 hurricane, Tess. It’s just a gale. With the proper precautions we’ll be fine.”

  “How do you know this?” She hadn’t allowed a forecast to register since leaving Denver.

  “I’m an air traffic controller at O’Hare. I know my storms.”

  The man was the Rock of Gibraltar. Didn’t he know that he and his “flight controller’s” attitude was about to be blown off the face of the map?

  She dialed the third charter flight number and met with the same results: no flights were leaving the island until the storm passed. Slamming the receiver back into the cradle, she dropped into a chair and crossed her arms.

  “Need a Tagamet?” Carter said, his gaze never leaving the magazine.

  “Very funny.” She turned to him. “Aren’t you the least concerned that we’re trapped?”

  “I’m concerned, but I’m smart enough to know that I’m not in charge of the situation.” He got up to look out of the windows. Wind lashed the tops of palms; a garbage can lid whipped by the window. “I called to find out where the nearest shelter is—if we need to go there we can.”

  “We’ll be safe,” Stella said. She sat on the sofa with the cat around her neck again, a pleasant demeanor on her face. The cat appeared to be sleeping placidly. “Henry and I have ridden out many a tropical storm and lived to tell about them. Remember ’92, Henry? Hurricane Iniki. It was September; the storm wasn’t predicted to have any effect on the island, but we woke to the sound of air-raid sirens. Iniki had decided to do a switchback overnight and was headed straight for us. I filled every pot and pan in the house with water—even filled the bathtubs. The radio said to put plywood on all the windows. I watched television until the announcer said the power would be turned off when the wind speed reached 45 knots, and that we should expect sustained winds to 165 miles per hour. Iniki had become a category five hurricane—the largest they get.” Stella reached up and ran a spider-veined hand along Henry’s side. “We did our share of visiting with the Lord that night, didn’t we, boy?”

  Tess got up and began pacing.

  “Relax,” Carter advised. “We’ll take whatever precautions are needed.” He glanced at Stella. “Do I need to do anything? Nail plywood, close the storm shutters?”

  Stella smiled. “Not yet. Let’s see what Ms. Alana does next. Often storms veer off and we just get the rain and wind.”

  Tess closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She felt a pressure in her head that she was certain would balloon into an aneurysm any moment. Why weren’t they doing something? Surely there was some precaution they could be taking other than this maddening sitting and waiting around for whatever came their way. This just wasn’t right!

  Seconds later, she felt the gentle pressure
of Carter’s hand on her right shoulder. She opened her eyes. “The NHC has issued a ‘Hurricane Watch’; this means the storm will make landfall normally within twenty-four hours—but the watch usually includes a fairly wide area. It’s late in the year for hurricanes. Like Stella says, could be we’ll only get gale-force winds, high water, and flash flood situations.”

  “And this doesn’t alarm you?” Where was the Tylenol?

  “All flights will be canceled until the storm abates,” Carter said, a sympathetic look on his face.

  “Come sit, dear.” Stella patted the seat next to her. “We’ll likely have a rough time of it, but nothing our Lord isn’t in charge of. We’ll be fine.”

  “The point is,” Carter added quietly, “we need to heed the warning and take precautions. But we’re here, Tess, under God’s grace and His protection.”

  Grace. God had never shown her any grace. Had He shown grace by letting Len fire her? Had He shown grace through Mona? Had He shown grace by putting her in a situation in which she had no control?

  “How long does it take for a hurricane to pass?” she asked weakly.

  “The storm will be here in a few hours, most likely, and then runs its course in ten days or less,” Stella said.

  Ten days.

  And Tess couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

  Grace.

  She might as well wish for a million dollars.

  11

  Midafternoon, rain began as a faint pitter-patter, nothing to hint at the hulking monster it was destined to become. But soon heavy wind gusts battered the beach house’s windowpanes. Tess sat listening to the storm’s growing fury.

  After a while she got up to pace. Peering outside, she turned around to face Carter, who was listening to radio reports on the storm. “Shouldn’t we close the shutters?”

  Carter looked to Stella.

  She nodded. “You may close the shutters—but we’ll wait another hour or two before the plywood goes up. I keep enough in the garage for just such an event.”

  “What about moving to higher ground?” Tess thought about Kula—the town was high atop Maui.

  “Absolutely not!” Stella’s chin shot up. “I will not leave my home. We’ll wait—see if it’s upgraded. I’ve been through many a warning—some legitimate, some a waste of time and money. We’ll wait.” She absently stroked the purring cat’s neck.

  Tess could not understand Stella’s ability to just sit there. Neither Stella nor Carter seemed worried, although she had detected a faint light of concern in Carter’s eyes now that the wind had picked up. She wondered if Stella was truly of sound mind or if she and Carter should overrule her wishes and proceed with defensive measures. She looked over at Carter who said, “I’m going to check out that garage—see how well stocked we are. Just in case.” His gaze shifted to Stella. Tess breathed a quiet sigh of relief—at least someone was moving forward.

  “Do you need some help?” she whispered.

  “No,” he said. “You keep an eye on our hostess. I’ll see to things.” He quickly left, and she returned to her stool by the counter.

  “So, Stella,” she said. “What did you and Edgar do before you moved to Hawaii?”

  “Oh, we lived in Beverly Hills. That’s where all the movie people lived. Guess perhaps they still do—” Her voice drifted off.

  “Were you and your husband in the film business?”

  Stella laughed. “Oh, yes, I was but you wouldn’t remember. You’re far too young. And they don’t show my movies on the late, late, or even very late show anymore.” She chuckled.

  Tess turned. “You were a movie star?”

  “Oh, my yes. Starred with some of the biggest. Why I—have you seen Orphans of the Storm? No,” she mused, “I supposed you wouldn’t have—that was 1922.”

  1922? That made her what—over 100 years old? Tess was amazed at the woman’s memory.

  “What about Three on a Match—? No, I made that film in 1924.”

  “You were a silent film star?” Stella DeMuer suddenly fell into place in Tess’s mind. She could picture eccentric Stella in the old melodramatic films with heart-tugging plots.

  Stella’s bottom lip quivered. “Surely you’ve seen Casablanca?”

  Tess grinned. “You were in Casablanca? With Bogart and Bergman?”

  “Oh yes—and that lovely Paul Henreid. Paul was such a gentleman, you know. Of course, that was later, when speaking parts were in—and truthfully, I had a supporting role in that particular film. Edgar, my husband, was unhappy about the casting, but I seized the opportunity to work with Humphrey and Ingrid,” she confessed.

  Humphrey and Ingrid.

  “Then of course there was Anna Christie, with Greta—”

  “Garbo?”

  Stella blinked. “Why, yes—is there another Greta?”

  “No—there isn’t another Greta Garbo.” Tess chuckled.

  “The Girl from New York was my favorite, but then there was Moonbeam, Jacob and Esau—I played their conniving mother. I loved the part. Oh, there were a dozen others, names only those interested in movie history would recognize today.”

  “Why, you were a movie queen!” Tess said, amazed. She moved to the couch next to Stella and pulled a pillow onto her lap as she drew her feet underneath her. The wind beat against the panes. “I’ve seen The Girl from New York. It’s timeless. Was your husband an actor as well?”

  Stella blushed at the question. “He was a director in the mid-to late forties. We met on the set of Moonbeam. I was just twenty and he was twenty-five. I remember …” She paused and looked over at Tess with a faraway gaze in her eyes. “He was talking to the cameraman and, well, there was just something in his eyes. I can’t really explain it. He was such a good man. It wasn’t long before we were very much in love.”

  Tess felt a second twinge of envy. The love shimmering in Stella’s eyes when she spoke of her husband, even after so many years, was real. Magic.

  “We were married twenty years when he died.” Her features closed momentarily. “I still miss him so much sometimes it’s a physical ache.” She dipped her head and blushed and the smile returned.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever find a love like that,” Tess confessed.

  “You have to start with trust—if you don’t have that you don’t have anything.”

  “I haven’t been too successful in that arena—”

  Carter came back. Water dripped off his rain slicker. “It’s wet out there.” Stella pushed out of her seat. “Well, now, it’s getting to be our nap time. You two just make yourselves at home.

  We’ll keep a close eye on the storm.” She picked up Henry. “Come, my love. It’s nappies for us.”

  When the former movie queen reached the doorway, she suddenly turned. Her eyes softened. “Don’t be afraid of life, Tess. Put your trust in Someone who deserves it. God is good; He keeps His promises when no other will.” She turned and disappeared down the long hallway.

  Tess gazed at the spot where she had stood. Put your trust in Someone who deserves it? For some unknown reason, she wanted to do just that—she wanted to trust, to find someone worthy of trust.

  For a moment neither she nor Carter spoke. Then she said cautiously, “Do I look like someone who can’t trust? What’s with that remark?”

  Carter lifted an innocent brow. “A nap doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

  12

  “The NHC has now upgraded Alana to a category two storm.” The TV meteorologist waved his hand over the mass of white on the map behind him as he spoke. Carter sat watching, a warm cup of coffee in hand. “The eye of this dangerous storm is expected to make landfall in the early hours of Saturday morning, the 24th on the island of Oahu. Island residents should be making plans to move to nearby evacuation centers. Remember to take your Disaster Supply Kit. Do not forget to make plans for pets if you must evacuate. Alana is a treacherous category two hurricane with winds capable of 96–110 miles per hour.” Carter switched off the TV and clasped his hand
s together across his knees. Sheets of heavy rain pelted the windows. He needed to find a way to protect Tess and Stella, even if Stella refused to move to the storm shelter. He reached to pick up his Bible, looking for the true Source of wisdom he’d learned to rely on. Tess thought he wasn’t scared. Right. With a hurricane forming outside their window.

  Lord, if only I were spiritually mature enough to trust You totally in the face of danger. I ask Your shield for Tess and Stella. Grant me the wisdom to do all that I can to protect these two women.

  Could he help Tess? She needed more than shelter in a hurricane; she needed protection from a danger far greater, one all men were powerless against without God’s help. Yet she seemed unwilling to relinquish that control to anyone but herself. Was he “man” enough to step out of his comfort zone and offer a solution—with God’s Word to back it up? Face-to-face witnessing never came easy for him. He’d learned long ago that he couldn’t whip a person into submission; the need and desire had to be there to begin with.

  Instead, his witness was to build houses for orphaned children and tell them stories about God’s love, but the innocent eyes that had looked back at him then were childlike, trusting. Experience had hardened Tess’s eyes. Someone somewhere had instilled doubt in her, and he would bet the problem went back to an early age. It troubled him to see a young woman wrestling with life when relief was near and so obtainable. She had such potential, far beyond what she could accomplish at a job.

  Carter thought back on his own journey toward God. He had accepted the Lord as Savior after a chain of rebellious years. He’d hit bottom, and he’d hit hard— social drugs, drinking, and wild women. He’d thought life couldn’t get any better until he looked in the mirror one day and saw an empty shell of a man. He’d been missing work, losing friends. His life had become a cesspool so dank that he didn’t know how to climb his way out. That was when a next-door neighbor had invited him to attend a men’s retreat.

  At first Carter had laughed. Men’s retreat. At the time the event held the same attraction as a Barbie Doll convention.