A Place Called Home (A Place Called Home 1)

by Lori Wick

  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.”

  Mark took a breath and decided to jump in with both feet. “I’d like her to come and work for you.”

  Emily Cameron stiffened and opened her mouth to tell her grandson exactly what she thought of the idea, but his raised hand stopped the words in her throat.

  “You will hear me out.” His voice was so stern and commanding she could do nothing but comply.

  Over an hour later Mark was walking back to his office. Grandma Em had balked at the idea of a strange young woman coming not only to work for her but to live with her

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  as well. Mark reminded her of hauling wood in November when her arthritis was giving her fits, of going out in the snow to feed the handful of livestock she stubbornly refused to sell, of a horse that was older than Mark was, of a useless goat who needed his vocal chords removed, of four laying hens now too tough to eat, and of two huge white pigs.

  Before the conversation ended she had admitted she was feeling a bit tired. Grandma Em even went so far as to confess that when she had dusted the parlor yesterday, she had knocked the portrait of the grandchildren onto the floor and shattered the glass. She had then put the picture away in the closet until she could order more glass.

  As Mark entered his office, he felt sure the job would work out between the two. Christine, having lived with her grandfather, would certainly know how to be helpful in a tactful way.

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  Two days later Mark walked beside a silent Christine toward his grandmother’s house. He carried a small case belonging to Susanne that held the dresses and such that Julia had sent over for Christine. Mark looked down at Christine’s face and saw a mixture of determination and fear. He was on the verge of reassuring her when she spoke.

  “Did you talk to the sheriff about my being stabbed?”

  “Yes, and I also told him briefly of your situation.” Christine looked troubled at this, so Mark spoke again. “He had to know, Christine. If there should be any stranger asking around, the sheriff would need to know why.

  “But no one knows I’m in Baxter.”

  “That’s true, but the fact still remains that someone did stab you, and although the sheriff agreed with me that it was probably not related to your home situation, there is no reason we should take chances.”

  The feelings of safety which Christine had harbored at being so far from Spooner and Vince Jeffers now evaporated. But Mark and Christine were already walking up the wide steps to the large porch and front door of Grandma Em’s house. The fact that this house was going to be Christine’s new home for an indefinite period of time banished all other thoughts from her mind.

  Christine followed Mark into a lovely parlor and sat as he directed. Mark disappeared but returned shortly, preceded by a woman of medium height whose steps belied her 70 years. Her hair was a silvery white and in close curls around her head. Her face was liberally seamed and the expression in her light blue eyes was hesitant. It occurred to Christine at this moment the woman was not very happy about the idea of her working here. This thought put Christine on the defensive, and her eyes went to Mark’s face.

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  After Grandma Em had seated herself across from Christine, Mark made introductions. “Gram, this is Christine Bennett. Christine, this is Emily Cameron-“Grandma Em” to her friends, old and new alike.”

  The women exchanged hesitant smiles and nods. Each measured the other with different thoughts flying through her head.

  Emily knew she was fighting God’s will as she sat there hating herself for getting old and hoping to find something about this girl she didn’t like to ease her conscience when she told Mark that it would not work out. She feared this girl would come in and take over. Life as she had always known it would be changed forever and she had always struggled with change.

  Christine, with her own thoughts, wondered if this woman was kind or unreasonably set in her ways-ways that did not include another woman in the house. Needing this job desperately if she were going to get her life back in control, Christine decided to be sweet and congenial.

  Grandma Em broke the silence. “How old are you, Christine?”

  “Nineteen, ma’am.”

  “And you’re familiar with work around the home and yard?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Hall, my grandfather’s housekeeper, taught me everything she knew about running a home.”

  “Well, you understand, of course, that I will be running this house and you would be helping me.” Emily’s voice was sharper than she had intended.

  Christine only nodded, afraid to say more lest it be the wrong thing.

  “Have you ever stolen anything?” Emily asked abruptly.

  All ideas of sweetness and congeniality flew out the window. Christine stood up so quickly that the chair nearly tipped over. Her eyes flashing with anger and pain, she turned accusingly to Mark. “I don’t have to sit here and take this. How dare she ask me such a thing!” Too upset to say

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  more, she turned and nearly ran out of the room. Mark caught her at the front door.

  Emily sat frozen in the front room, her hand pressed tightly to her mouth, listening to the furious whispers at the front door. She prayed fervently that Mark would bring Christine back so she could ask her forgiveness. Why had she said such a thing? A woman her age should be beyond such foolishness.

  Mark escorted a sober-faced Christine back to her chair, eyes wide and suspiciously wet. Mark sat near his grandmother, knowing she would do the right thing.

  “Christine,” Emily hesitated, but Christine caught the different tone in her voice-gentle, subdued. “Christine, please forgive me. I don’t know why I said such a thing.” Again she hesitated. “Well, the truth is, I do know. I didn’t want it to work between us. You see, I’m old and set in my ways and very afraid of change. Mark tells me you’re alone, and I think maybe we need each other.” Emily’s voice became quieter as she spoke, showing Christine that in this area she was as vulnerable as she was. Emily’s voice was just above a whisper when she asked, “Will you stay, Christine?” This woman’s honesty went straight to Christine’s heart. She felt a sting behind her eyes and a tightness in her throat, enabling her to only nod and smile.

  Mark’s laugh of relief brought all three to their feet. He hugged Grandma Em and then surprised Christine by hugging her also. She had also felt surprised that morning when, after thanking Susanne and Maggie for everything, they had grabbed her and hugged her too. Spontaneous displays of affection were foreign to Christine, but she was beginning to like it.

  Mark took his leave after Grandma Em served coffee. The two women spent the remainder of the day working in the garden, sharing companionable conversation, listening and learning with no doubt in either heart that they had found something special.

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  Christine snuggled down into the covers of the big oak bed. Her bed! The thought felt wonderful. She realized as she lay there that she and Grandma Em had spent so much time outdoors that the only rooms she had really seen were the parlor and kitchen and her own room. Her own bedroom! A feeling of contentment washed over her. Drifting o
ff to sleep with her mind becoming foggy, she would have been hard-pressed to tell you if she had a single care in the world.

  “Are you sure no one saw you?”

  “No, Mr. Jeffers, no one saw me.”

  “You went alone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where did you say you found this?” Vince Jeffers held out a small piece of paper.

  “In the closet, in the pocket of a skirt.”

  “Did you read it?”

  “No, sir, I never learned.” The small man stared at the carpet as he mumbled this. He looked up as he heard paper rustling and found Vince Jeffers reading the note. He watched as the man’s jaw clenched and then threw the paper to the desk.

  “The note is from Carl Maxwell.” The small man’s eyes widened at this information. “He told her to go to a friend of his in Fall Creek-a Mr. Franklin, it says.” Vince Jeffers’ voice became very calm as he continued. “Let’s call around and visit Carl Maxwell, shall we? We’ll ask him about this Mr. Franklin in Fall Creek. It’s nearly midnight, but I’m sure we can convince him to talk with us.”

  The small man followed as Vince led the way out of the room. Once outside Vince spoke again, softly and more to himself than to the man behind him.

  “Fall Creek. I wonder why he sent her to Fall Creek. Well,

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  it doesn’t matter. Even if she’s not there, wherever she is I’ll find her, and when I do”-he paused, a cold smile playing over his thin lips-“when I do, everything will be mine.”

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  At 9:30 a.m. Mrs Hall opened the door to admit the sheriff.

  “Thank you for coming so soon. I just had to see you.” Mrs. Hall’s voice was anxious.

  “Of course, Mrs. Hall. The stable boy said you had news.”

  “Yes. Well, you see, I remembered the day before Christine disappeared”-Mrs. Hall’s voice shook and she stopped to take a breath. “The day before Christine disappeared, Carl Maxwell was here. He didn’t stay to see Christine, but he left a note for her. I delivered it to her myself.”

  “Did you read the note?”

  “No, of course not.” Mrs. Hall’s voice was indignant.

  “Do you have the note now?”

  “Well, no. When I remembered this morning, I went up and looked in her room but found nothing.”

  “I’ll have a look myself.” The sheriff moved toward the stairs and Mrs. Hall followed. “Describe this note to me-size, color…”

  Less than an hour later Mrs. Hall was seeing the sheriff to the door. “I’m going to see Carl Maxwell. Hopefully he’ll be able to explain the note.”

  “Maybe she took it with her.” Mrs. Hall suggested.

  “That’s possible.”

  “Please, sheriff, please keep me informed. My little Christie is out there, away from home. She’s never been away from home, and I fear she needs me.” The sheriff watched the old woman’s eyes fill with tears. He patted her shoulder awkwardly before moving away with a frown on his face, wishing with all his heart he knew where Christine Bennett was.

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  Sunshine crept over the windowsill and into Christine’s eyes, waking her into confusion. This was not her bedroom at home, or at Doc Cameron’s. Where was she? Grandma Em’s! The thought brought her instantly awake. Sitting upright in bed, a smile played across her sleep-flushed face.

  She sat and surveyed her room from the bed. A soft blend of greens and peaches greeted her eyes. Everything had looked much darker in the lamplight the night before. The greens ranged from a very dark green rug to a pastel green ruffle around the bed. The wallpaper was in peach and yellow flowers with lots of green leaves and vines. The round table by the bed was covered in the same fabric as the bed ruffle. Lacy curtains in soft peach allowed the sunlight to flood in. In one corner was an oak desk and chair. Opposite the desk was a built-in closet. Below the window sat a low oak chest. Christine sat on it and looked out into the garden that Grandma Em had tended yesterday. Further back was a small barn, the sight of which reminded Christine that she would “meet” the animals today.

  Having washed, dressed, and descended the stairs, Christine stood in the parlor, where she had met Grandma Em yesterday. Christine noticed for the first time the very ornate and beautifully carved pieces of furniture. The tables and legs of each chair were all intricately carved and matched.

  “The furniture was my mother’s.” Emily’s voice came from the kitchen doorway.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “The chairs and sofa have been recovered.” She ran her hand over a chair upholstered in a deep burgundy velvet. Curtains in the same material made things a bit dark for Christine’s taste, but lovely nonetheless.

  “After my father died, Joseph, my late husband and I, lived with my mother. We moved to Baxter from New York when Joseph Jr.-that was Mark’s father-was ten. My

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  mother decided to move in with her sister and gave us most of her furniture. The oak bed in your room was mine as a little girl. Well, we had best get to the barn. If you would let me, I’d reminisce all day.”

  Once they were in the barn, Christine watched Grandma Em fork hay to a horse who looked too old to be standing. His back swayed to an impossible depth and his nose was as gray as hoarfrost. However, his eyes looked gentle, and he turned like an old friend at the sound of Emily’s voice. His name was Caesar.

  The quiet bleating that had begun when Grandma Em and Christine entered the barn raised to a sound of desperation by the time Caesar was fed. Chester, Christine was informed, did not like to be kept waiting. Chester turned out to be a goat. He, like Caesar, looked old, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his voice. Christine’s eyes widened in surprise at how fast the noise stopped as Grandma Em poured a scoop of grain before him.

  Christine was still staring at the silent goat when Grandma Em threw a handful of corn to the hens and moved to sit on a bench near the door. Grandma Em pulled on an old pair of men’s work boots, picked up a large pail, and beckoned to Christine to follow her out the door.

  Christine caught up with her just as she stopped in front of a pen holding two of the biggest pigs Christine had ever seen. Christine’s mouth dropped open in surprise as Grandma Em opened the gate, picked up her skirts, and entered the pen. The pigs ignored the open gate. Pushing and grunting with obvious delight at seeing her, they rushed toward Grandma Em. She laughed and spoke to them in quiet tones as she tipped the pail into their trough.

  Emily then made her way back out to Christine and laughed at the look of disbelief on her lovely face.

  “My grandchildren feel just as you do about Belle and Betsy. They are forever after me to sell all my animals. They just don’t realize how attached I’ve become.” Emily patted

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  Christine’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear, the animals will get used to you and love it when you feed them.”

  Emily turned away then and did not see the fresh look of dismay that crossed Christine’s face. Christine shook her head in disbelief at what she had gotten herself into.

  The women worked well together. They prepared and ate a quiet breakfast. Christine rose afterward, intending to clean up the dishes, but Grandma Em waved her back to her seat “This is part of my morning routine, Christine.” Christine watched her reach for a large black Bible. She opened the book and began to read aloud, giving Christine no time to be embarrassed or to comment.

  ” ‘Give ear to my words, 0 Lord; consider my meditation. Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my King and my God, for unto thee will I pray. My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, 0 Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.’ Psalm 5:1-3.”

  Grandma Em closed the book and bowed her head. “Dear heavenly Father, I praise and thank You for the beautiful day You have given us and the blessings You daily give us. May we be mindful of You and ever in Your service.” Grandma Em continued to pray, but Christine opened her eyes to see if anyone else was in the room. The only
people she had ever heard pray were the preachers at her parents’ funeral and later at her grandfather’s. But neither one had sounded like this. Grandma Em made it so personal, as though God were right in the room with them. With another quick look around, Christine closed her eyes again. “And Father, I thank You for Christine. She is already so precious to me. Having her here has brought added sunshine to my life. Please bless and keep her and give us a special day together. In Christ’s name 1 pray, Amen.”

  Christine, having never had a person pray for her, did not know what to say. To her surprise, no words were necessary. Speaking as if nothing were out of the ordinary, Grandma Em reached for the coffeepot and told Christine what she wanted to do that day. Quickly doing the dishes so

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  they could walk to town before it got too hot, Christine wondered again about Grandma Em and the other people she had met in Baxter. They were not like any people she had known before.

  On the walk to town, Grandma Em and Christine’s conversation moved to family.

  Christine asked, “Grandma Em, you talk as though Dr. Mark’s father was dead. Is his mother alive?”

  “No, she died when Paul-that’s Mark’s youngest brother-was only nine.”

  “How many brothers does Dr. Mark have?”

  “Three-Luke, Silas, and Paul-plus one sister who is married and has two little boys of her own. Paul is at school in Chicago and Luke is there on a buying trip. You’ll meet everyone else on Sunday, when we all go to church together and then back to my house for dinner.”

  Grandma Em stopped walking and turned abruptly to face Christine. “Christine, it hadn’t occurred to me to ask you if you wanted to go to church with us. I just assumed you would. You will come with us, won’t you?” Grandma Em’s face was anxious.

  Christine could see this was important to Grandma Em. She wouldn’t think of refusing her. It gave her a warm feeling to be included as though she were a member of the family. Her answer was simple: “I’d love to come.”