Unmending the Veil

by Lisa Heaton

  Unmending the Veil

  Lisa Heaton

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and themes are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Published by: Faith Forward Press

  P.O. Box 1603

  Mt. Juliet, TN 37121-1603

  Copyright © 2012 Lisa Heaton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 1-4812-9030-4

  ISBN: 13: 9781481290302

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-63003-662-1

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.

  King James Version, SLIMLINE™ REFERENCE EDITION.Nashville:Thomas Nelson, Inc., 1989

  Dedication

  “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace to me was not without effect.” 1 Corinthians 15:10

  For Jesus ~ The Author and Perfecter of my faith ~ I am no longer a mess because of You.

  Teresa, without you this novel would be collecting dust. Thank you for encouraging me, pushing me, believing in me, and singing prayers of faith for me. Always, you show me Jesus. God knew what He was doing when He gave me you. I could have no better bff.

  For Kelly and Zack, thanks for your patience as I disappeared for hours on end. Thank you for encouraging me. Thanks for loving me. Kelly, your hard work allows me to do what I love most, writing.

  For Adam, as you work on your testimony, know that I love you unconditionally.

  For my mom, Nancy, if anyone has ever loved me and believed I could do great things, it’s you!

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Prologue

  ~The Dream~

  Robin knelt in the thick mud, trembling, listening for Mike. Crouching under a row of dense brush, she feared she was still exposed. It was after midnight, a time she should have been hidden by darkness, but the moon was full, casting a telling glow across her. If her white gown contrasting against the dark foliage did not give her away, then the sounds of her raspy breathing surely would. Every labored breath burned deep into her lungs; a piercing sensation ripped through her right side. Likely, her ribs were broken again. Robin knew the feeling of it. Hearing Mike in the not-so-far-off distance, sloshing through the mud, she covered her mouth with her hand hoping to muffle the sound. As he drew nearer, she stopped breathing altogether. He came to stop just a few feet from where she hid. Through the openings of the spindly brush, she could see his ankles. With no escape route open, she watched helplessly as he took those final steps toward her.

  “I told you not to run,” Mike snarled. Grabbing her by the arms, he lifted her off the ground, causing her muddy, bare feet to dangle in mid-air.

  His breath reeked of whiskey, and as it usually did, the smell of it nauseated her. In the past year she had come to equate the smell of alcohol with fear and sometimes punishment. Staggering and swaying in his drunkenness, Mike could barely keep himself upright. Robin searched his eyes, hoping for some sign of recognition, something to indicate he even knew who she was. This night, he was a stranger and treated her as if he never loved her at all. Sobbing, pleading with him, she whispered, “Mike, you love me. Please stop this.”

  As if holding a rag doll, he lifted her higher into the air and slung her roughly to the ground. At first sliding through the mud, Robin skidded to an abrupt halt as her face collided with a large protruding tree root. Tasting a peculiar mixture of blood and dirt in her mouth, she grabbed wildly at the ground, at the tree, anything, trying to crawl away from his reach. When she glanced behind her, she could see he was doubled over with his hands on his knees for support, heaving. Often the sickness would be the end of the violence, but unsure this night, she pulled herself up onto her knees and began to try to crawl away.

  When she felt his hands wrap firmly around her ankles, she began to kick, but easily enough, Mike flipped her over and reached down to pick her up. He was angry still, but crying at this point. “I won’t let you leave me.” Tossing her over his shoulder, he stomped back through the mud the way they had come.

  1

  Sitting atop the steep stone steps, a painstakingly crafted stairway embedded into the earth over a century before, Robin watched as small fishing boats began to appear out of the mist that often blanketed the lake. Though June, when days were warmer and sunny in New Hampshire, early morning at sunrise was still cool and crisp. Crisp enough, in fact, that when she breathed in, the air stung her nose a bit. While refreshing for the most part, there was something about it that took her back, made her remember running and the sting of chilly air burning her nose and lungs. She had run the night before, though not in actuality, but in her sleep. Running and crying, she sought a place to hide.

  The word dream was not one she used to describe what occurred in her mind at night, as a dream to her brought with it connotations of good things, daydreams, or dreams of a future and such. Nor would she use the term nightmare, since a nightmare was usually something fictitious or made up. What she experienced some nights, more frequently in the past weeks than had happened in many years, was the reliving of the end of things. It was the night that put an end to who she was and where she belonged. In the wake of it she became what she had come to call “a misplaced object.”

  Burning off the mist almost entirely, the sun rose higher still. A boater waved. She waved in return, thankful to see signs of life and summer as Lake Winnipesaukee exploded with color, and vacationers flooded the area inns, cabins, and summer homes. It was her favorite time of year. Peering behind her, looking up at the charming old mansion, she marveled. The big white house was her home year-round, and she had long since determined if you must be misplaced, there was no lovelier place to be. While others had to wait for summer vacation to enjoy the scenery, she lived out her life with breathtaking views in her backyard. If there was a possibility of being near to God, it was here.

  With regret, she stood and took one final look out at the smooth water. It was just after six, and within the hour, the grounds and water would come alive as more people began to stir about. The morning and the sunrise had worked its wonder though; just as it did most mornings, it helped to clear away the shadows from her mind, at least in part. Still though, the fog of a fitful night was heavy upon her. Her eyes burned from interrupted sleep and her mouth was dry, but the morning brought with it certainty that the ordeal was hushed at least for another day.

  Pushing through the swinging door, moving into the large sunny kitchen, Robin had to grin at the sight before her. Emma, the inn’s owner and her best friend, was standing there with a muffin h
anging from her mouth, stirring a large bowl of pancake batter. Having known her all of her life, it wasn’t often Emma’s loveliness struck her as it did at that moment. When someone new to the area saw Emma and was so obviously taken aback by her beauty, then Robin was again aware of it, but this morning, there was a fresh appreciation. In her early fifties, Emma was more stunning than any woman twenty years her junior, Robin included at only thirty.

  “Do you need any help?”

  “Not so much,” Emma drawled, her Southern accent even more pronounced than usual, “but you can get the sausage out.”

  Robin went to the refrigerator, stopping on the way to plant a kiss on Emma’s cheek and adjust her hair clip, a little butterfly glued to the end of a brown bobby pin. Emma liked all things winged and colorful, so most days her auburn hair was adorned with some sort of flying creature.

  Attempting to sound more chipper than she felt, Robin asked, “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a log. How ‘bout you?” Emma knew before asking but hoped to open the door for Robin to talk to her.

  “I’ve had better nights.”

  “Are you okay?” She had heard Robin calling out in her sleep, but learned years ago that it had to run its course.

  “I will be once you get breakfast ready. I am starving this morning.”

  Not surprisingly, Robin changed the subject. Emma had come to expect it. Rarely did she discuss her past life, and in truth, Emma could not blame her at all. “Give me a few minutes.”

  She watched Robin as she moved toward the large picture window facing lakeside. With such a faraway expression on her face, she looked eerily like her father. Many things about her reminded Emma of him. Robin’s hair was long with just a bit of wave to it, and just as his was, rich, dark brown, reminding Emma of a strong cup of coffee. No taller than five foot four, she had a determined, unwavering presence about her. Though Robin took on a quiet, distant air from time to time, she was always kind to everyone. Her father’s nature was very similar. And before her life took such an abrupt turn, she laughed often and easily, just as he did. Sadly though, that part of her was shrouded. As if blanketed by a funeral pall for years on end, Robin was no longer a part of the living. How familiar that trait was to a woman who had reacted precisely the same to death and loss. Two peas in empty pods – that was them, Emma determined.

  “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Yes,” then Robin added, “it shakes me up for a while, but by midday, it usually goes away.” That wasn’t exactly true. It never completely went away.

  Needing time alone to reel in her emotions, Robin suggested, “I should go down and check on the Willow. I know Becky cleaned it yesterday, but I want to look the cabin over for myself. That’s the one reserved for the summer, for the school teacher.”

  Glancing at the clock, Emma noted she was running behind schedule. Feeding an army took more stirring and flipping and much less talking. “Is anyone else up?”

  “Not yet.”

  Wanting to say more, something that might help ease Robin’s pain, Emma found nothing came to mind, so she settled for, “Okay, I’ll see you for breakfast.”

  Pushing through the screen door, Robin stepped out onto the covered porch. Standing for a moment, she inhaled deeply, beginning to feel more like herself again. The higher the sun rose, the more her spirits lifted along with it. The haze was subsiding. As many times as she tried to convince herself it was over and done, there was that small part of her that wondered if it would ever be finished. As if something large and looming teetered overhead, that was how she lived life, especially over the past few weeks. Somehow she sensed a storm was brewing, one she could never confront and survive. With every blink of the morning, she saw Mike’s face, not his angry face, but the one of shock, disbelief, and finally fear. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to force the scene from her mind, but her stomach began to churn at the unsettling recollection. Heaving slightly, she covered her mouth with her hand and moved the other to her stomach.

  In order to tackle the day ahead, she had to clear her mind and begin again. No matter how haunting her night terrors were, she simply had to choose to step away from them, if even for the day. Taking another deep breath, she scanned the scenery before her, hoping the serenity her eyes absorbed could somehow be drawn into her chest and fill her with peace. Something in the vicinity of peace touched her deep inside, not true peace, not the kind she knew as a girl, but more of a stillness that would at least carry her through another day without crumbling.

  The inn was nestled into a massive hillside, with spectacular views of the lake. Stone steps led to a level lakeshore area of about fifty feet, then to a boat dock with a boathouse attached to the left of it. Emma owned two of the boats moored there, but the others belonged to guests at the inn. The inn had ten guest quarters, four rooms on the second level of the main house and six cabins overlooking the lake. The cabins were usually rented weekly, whereas the rooms in the main house were used for shorter getaways. So at most, there were ten families to care for during peak season, which finally seemed manageable.

  Recalling her first summer working at the inn, having put in fifteen hours a day, Robin still barely kept up. Now though, she had it down to a science. During the spring and summer months, they brought in extra help, so it was not quite as bad as that first year. The busy season was the best by far though, as it kept her tangled mind occupied and focused on things other than the reliving and rehashing of history. Unable yet to look forward, at least there was relief in not looking behind.

  Climbing the three wooden steps leading to the porch of the Willow, Robin turned back toward the water. As she watched the morning sun dance along the water, she knew she would never tire of such a sight. This was her favorite cabin, as it had the finest view at the inn. As a young girl, she stayed in that very cabin with her parents when they visited Emma during the summer. While Emma pled for them to stay in the main house, her father insisted he felt more comfortable having his own space. He liked the nearness to the lake. There were plenty of shade trees surrounding the small cabin, yet there was still a nice clearing leading directly to the lakeshore.

  Once inside, she scrutinized the kitchen area before walking into each of the two small bedrooms. It was not as if she doubted Becky’s ability, but she had always made it a point to check the cabins and rooms prior to each guest’s arrival. As she was leaving the second bedroom, the front door of the cabin swung abruptly open, and a man tossed a duffle bag through the doorway.

  Quickly, Chris stopped, stammering, “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong cabin.” He reached for the bag.

  “No, wait.” Moving to the door, she assured him, “You have the right cabin. I work here. I was just checking things out to make sure it was ready for you.”

  Stepping out onto the porch, she got a clearer look at him. For some reason, maybe familiarity with her own teachers, her expectation was that of a plainer, tie-wearing bald man with horn-rimmed glasses. This man was like no teacher she had in school. He was tall and lean, probably six feet or more. With thick sandy hair and striking blue eyes, she found him surprisingly handsome. He wore tattered jeans, an old t-shirt, and oddly, no shoes. Realizing she was staring at him, she laughed softly. “Well, everything is fine here. I’ll be going. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Chris Wheeler.” He dropped the bag again and held out his hand.

  Taking his hand, she acknowledged, “I know. I spoke with you on the phone.”

  Completely out of character, Chris was at a loss for words and bewildered as to why. He stood there for what became an awkward moment, until finally he stammered, “Well, I’ll run back to the car and get the rest of my gear.”

  Finding the silent moment amusing, she thought she caught a trace of embarrassment on his face. “Do you need any help?”

  “Sure, thanks.” He walked behind her as they moved toward the back of the cabin where he had parked his car. Realizing she never mentioned her name, he wondered if
it was intentional. It seemed to be. She was kind, yet somehow impersonal. Her voice was sweet though, and with her subtle accent, he supposed she was not originally from the region. Though he could not see them at the moment, what he first noticed was her eyes–they were dark, velvety brown and obviously had some power to cause a chemical meltdown in his brain. As soft and fluttery as they were, in that she blinked slowly and quite innocently, there was something about them that disturbed him. They seemed distant somehow; hollow maybe, as if she were looking through him and not at him.

  Leaning into his trunk, he grabbed the lightest of his bags and handed it to her. “I appreciate your help.”

  Grabbing another of the heavier bags, she smiled again. “No problem.”

  “Hey, that’s pretty heavy.” Then he watched as she picked the bag up effortlessly.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Wow, a real mountain woman.”

  Robin actually laughed out loud. Having always considered herself slightly on the girly side, she saw great humor in such a title. If he knew her better, he would take it back. Walking to his cabin, she decided she liked him. He didn’t seem to take himself so seriously. While some guests were more difficult than others, this man would be an easy one.

  Out of nowhere, as he had been nothing but kind, an unsettling tightness gripped her chest. As she approached the porch, she felt unusually inspired to make a dash for it, to run off to the main house and pretend she never met him. It was something about the look in his eyes, or the way he looked at her. Or maybe even, it was the dimples that appeared when he smiled. He was disturbingly handsome, and she found herself disturbed to be sure.

  When she dropped the bags inside the doorway, he noticed she intentionally did not enter the cabin again. Instead, she turned to go back to the car. “Hey, I can get the rest of that stuff later.”

  Stopping at the end of the porch, she shrugged. “If you’d like.” Turning to go, she said over her shoulder, “See ya around.”