Tapestry of Trust

by Mary Annslee Urban

  “Yes it does.” Aunt Myra agreed, draining the rest of her coffee.

  “Absolut—” Isabelle began.

  “Yes.” Sharon cut in smoothly. “Time waits for no one. It seems like only yesterday you left Denton for parts unknown.” She turned slightly, settling her chilly glare on Isabelle. “Moved on with your life, as we expected.”

  Expected? Nothing like beating around the bush. Isabelle nodded, every hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. It was as if she were eighteen again.

  “Isabelle has moved on.” Aunt Myra piped up. “She’s graduated from college and lives in Austin where she teaches second grade.”

  “Austin.” Sharon wagged her head and propped a hand on her hip. “Not far enough, I’m afraid.”

  Isabelle shifted in her chair. Tension gripped her shoulders. She traded a glance with her aunt who looked as confused as she was. Amazing how Sharon managed in less than five minutes to reduce her to a bundle of nerves. Isabelle didn’t even have that effect on her cat.

  “I moved to Austin to teach school.” Isabelle coughed into her hand, wishing the remark back. She had no reason to defend herself.

  “Teach school. Ha!” Sharon leaned in, her shoulders hunched. “That’s not all you’re doing in Austin.” She pitched her voice lower, but her tone matched her grimacing face.

  Isabelle’s mind spun.

  “What are you insinuating Sharon?” Aunt Myra spoke up before she could catch a thought.

  Good question. Isabelle balled her hands in her lap and tried to maintain her composure.

  Sharon held her stance and her glare. “I’ve spoken with Charlie and his friend Erica about you. I know what’s going on.”

  “Charlie?” Aunt Myra’s glance flew to Isabelle’s face.

  Fighting not to jump up from her seat, Isabelle straightened her spine and crossed her arms. “Since you know what’s going on, Mrs. Hamilton, why don’t you fill me in?”

  A laugh escaped Sharon. “Don’t be coy with me, Isabelle. You’re trying to steal Charlie from Erica. And that won’t happen if I can help it.”

  “I―I.” Isabelle’s gaze traveled from Sharon to her aunt’s gaping face. “I’ve seen Charlie a few times, but I have no interest in pursuing anything with him.”

  “Isabelle.” Her aunt’s eyes widened. “So this is why all the talk about Charlie.”

  Frustration ripped through Isabelle. She plunked her fisted hands on the table. “I have no interest in Charlie. I just want to understand what happened between us six years ago.”

  “You tried to trap him and it failed.” Sharon snarled.

  Surging to her feet, Isabelle gripped the table’s edge and looked into Sharon’s face. “Our lapse in judgment was mutual. What wasn’t mutual was Charlie taking responsibility for it.”

  Sharon leaned closer. Practically nose to nose with Isabelle. “Why would you expect Charlie to be responsible for such a short-lived mistake?”

  Short lived mistake! It was a child! Their son. Isabelle’s stomach dropped and she drew back. “Far from short lived, Sharon. I carried the baby twenty-nine weeks.” Her voice went low, but remained steady. “His lungs weren’t developed enough and―”

  Sharon’s mouth fell open, her eyes sharpening. “Isabelle, you’re talking crazy.”

  Every cell in Isabelle’s body froze. She paused and looked at Aunt Myra for support. Her aunt stayed quiet, her lips tightened.

  Isabelle’s heart shattered further. Gasping for air, she grabbed her pocketbook and took off across the room, past the staring faces, and pushed through the double wooden doors.

  Once outside, she bent over, hands on her knees, her purse dangling from her shoulder. She inhaled and blew the air out slowly, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating. Lord, help me.

  15

  Charlie rummaged in his desk drawer, pulled out a file and opened it. He ran his gaze over the advertising sketches, forcing himself to concentrate on his upcoming presentation. Tomorrow would be here before he knew it.

  Minutes chugged by. He shifted in his chair, blinked to sharpen his focus. Still, nothing he read seemed to sink in. He dropped his pen and fell against his seat. Just great. He couldn’t concentrate. Well, on anything other than Isabelle…and their son.

  His son—died without his father. Grief clogged Charlie’s throat. He tightened his jaw, teeth gritted. If only he had known the truth, he would have pushed harder to locate Isabelle. Badgered her aunt more, knocked on every door in Denton County…in the state. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids. Why hadn’t Isabelle tried to contact him again? Why hadn’t she let him know?

  He forced his jaw to loosen, blew a short breath through his lips. He just didn’t get it.

  No, that wasn’t true. He knew all too well why Isabelle reacted the way she did. She didn’t trust him. And why would she? He’d let her down, just like her mother and her father had. Charlie sighed. Yes, he did the one thing he promised her he’d never do.

  But if given the chance, I’ll never let her down again.

  Although, he knew it was a pretty slim chance. Isabelle wasn’t the same girl he’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Life had hurt her. He had hurt her.

  If only she could see the good in him. To see God in him. To…

  Charlie stopped, drew in a deep breath. The scent of coffee filled his nostrils. Rubbing his nose, he shook off his self-pity. Enough wasted time. Time to get to work. Right after a cup of caffeine.

  He climbed to his feet and stretched, working the kinks from his back. Guilt still jabbed at his conscience, but, he pushed through it.

  “Howdy, boss man.” Swinging an empty mug in her hand, Brenda met him at the door of the break room. “You’re in luck. The brew just finished. Pumpkin spice. Yummy. The perfect flavor to get you into the Thanksgiving spirit.”

  “It’s only May, Brenda.” Charlie snaked around her and grabbed a cup.

  Sometimes he wished he lived in his own little world like his secretary. Where reality was anything he wanted it to be.

  “Never too early to be thankful,” she countered.

  Ah, he should have expected that. “You’re right.” Charlie added powdered cream and a packet of sugar. Of course, she was right. He’d give her that. But some days, like today, being thankful wasn’t so easy. He stirred the coffee until the lumps dissolved then took a sip. Not too bad. Lowering his cup, he turned to Brenda. “When I finish revising the Schuster proposal, I’d like you to glance over it, and let me know what you think.”

  Brenda choked on a laugh, almost overfilling her mug. “You, the advertising guru, are asking me to proof your proposal?” She gestured with the pot, the dark brew sloshing against the glass. “Are you sick or something?”

  Charlie cringed as Brenda’s goofy grin grew wider. What was he thinking, asking her anyway? He needed to grow up, get serious, and knock the job out. “Never mind. I have everything under control.” With a brisk stride, he left the room and retraced his path to his office.

  Brenda dogged his steps. “What’s got you so frazzled? Job worries? Or Isabelle?”

  “All of the above.” Charlie growled in a low voice, hoping Brenda couldn’t hear. Still, he wasn’t frazzled. Preoccupied. Confused. Even a little tired. But who wouldn’t be with all the nonsense obstructing his brain? He paused at his office door and surveyed the stack of documents waiting for his review. OK, he felt lousy. But, frazzled? No way.

  Charlie stepped into the room then wheeled around to his secretary rambling in his wake. “Brenda, thanks for the concern, but, I’m fine.” A moment passed. Brenda didn’t budge. With a quick flick of his thumb, he aimed at the overflowing piles on his desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She folded her arms and tightened her stance.

  “What? You don’t believe I have work to do?”

  “Of course, I believe you have work to do.” She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips. “I don’t
believe you’re OK.”

  “Oh, that.” Charlie circled the desk and dropped into the seat. “I thought you’d established that fact long ago.”

  “This is different.” Following his example, she plunked down into the wing-back chair opposite him.

  Great. Now he’d never finish his work. “Brenda—”

  “No.” She held up a hand. “My turn.” She paused long enough to whip a pink nail file from her blouse pocket and point it at him. “So, tell me, do you have money in the bank?”

  “Money?” He lowered the cup of coffee he’d raised without taking a drink. “Yeah, I mean, I have savings. I’m not rich, but I’ve been frugal. Why?”

  “That’s what I thought.” Brenda raked the file across her nails, sending puffs of acrylic dust floating into the air. Charlie coughed, hoping the stuff wasn’t toxic.

  “Because,” Brenda pushed on, “you might want to consider finding another job. You know, to get away from Miss Erica. And since you have savings, you won’t starve in the meantime.”

  Apparently she’d heard his grumbling. Charlie nodded. “True, I’ve considered that. But I like my job here. I’m an asset to the firm, and I’m not going to be run off by my ex-girlfriend.” He’d received an offer from a firm in the Dallas area. They'd seen and admired his work. Something he might consider pursuing once he got things square with Isabelle. Another big if in his life. He pulled at his shirt collar and loosened his tie a bit. “Besides, a job of this caliber would be hard to replace in Austin.”

  Brenda stopped shaping her nails and waved the file. “I see. So you don’t want to leave Isabelle behind.”

  Charlie snickered. “Guess not.” His secretary grew more perceptive every day.

  “I don’t blame you.” Brenda shook her head and started filing again. “As long as you aren’t worried about your reputation.”

  “Reputation?” Charlie muttered. It took a moment for him to grasp Brenda’s meaning. “As in the Hanson account?”

  “Yes, the Hanson account.” She lowered her nail file. “You know their little embezzlement issue.”

  Charlie’s mouth went dry. “I can’t believe Mr. Huss let that get out.”

  “Word gets around.” Brenda quirked a brow. “But I doubt it started with Mr. Huss.”

  “True. I’m sure it didn’t.” Charlie took a sip of coffee then lowered his cup. “About the embezzlement issue, I wasn’t involved, so I’m not worried. However, the investigation is another reason I wouldn’t consider leaving right now.”

  “Yep. Once you gave your notice, red flags would really start flapping.”

  Charlie shrugged. “So, for now, I’m committed to do my best in every aspect of my job here.”

  Brenda hooted. “If that includes being my boss, I’d like a raise.”

  Charlie forced a dry laugh and rocked back in his chair. “I’ll see what I can do. Until then, I better get back to work.”

  “Not yet.” Brenda pocketed her file and blew dust off her fingers. “We still have issue number two to deal with.”

  Charlie rocked forward. “Which is?”

  “Isabelle.” Brenda’s goofy grin returned.

  Charlie rubbed his forehead. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Date didn’t go well, huh?” Brenda shifted forward, clasping her hands like an over protective mother of an adolescent.

  Shaking his head, Charlie took another drink of coffee. He needed every drop of energy he could get. “Uh… no.”

  “What happened?” she demanded, her eyes wide as she leaned closer.

  He looked away and drew in a sharp breath, expelling it slowly. Even if he wanted to talk about it, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t know where to start.

  “Let me guess? Too many old emotions flaring between you.”

  He swept his glance back to Brenda. “Yeah, you might say that.” Along with a few new ones.

  “Give her some time. Call in a few days, and send more flowers.”

  Time? Hadn’t six years been long enough? Charlie crushed the Styrofoam in his palm. “I left messages and sent flowers.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” Charlie shrugged, tossing the crumpled cup into the wastebasket by his desk. Just thinking about it made his heart ache.

  “All righty, then.” Brenda scratched her jaw, her eyes rounded. “Ready to give up, are you?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Charlie flexed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I’ve still got a little fight left. However, I also have a ton of work to do.” He motioned to the pile on his desk. “So, if you would please—”

  “Understood.” Brenda pushed to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. “Has God told you to give up?” She muttered, somewhere between a groan and the sound of her knuckles cracking.

  Ah, the million-dollar question. One he was still trying to figure out. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “That’s what you need to pray about.” She turned suddenly and headed for the door. “If God wants you in the game, you’ll win. If not, move on.” The words drifted back over her shoulder as she stepped into the corridor.

  So simple. Yet the emotion clogging his heart pushed his energies toward winning the game, not moving on. Of course, he knew God’s plans probably differed from his own. He also knew he needed to stop fighting and start praying. The battle wasn’t his.

  Lord. Give me wisdom and direction. I want to be in Your will. Even if it means giving up Isabelle. He hated to think that would be the case, but he was willing to let go and not get in God’s way. Still he added, Lord, please let Isabelle be in Your will also. Just in case she wasn’t asking.

  ****

  The wind outside howled, shaking and rattling the old window panes. Isabelle rolled to her side and squinted, trying to make out the numbers on the clock on the dresser. Five-fifty. Groaning, she rolled back over, and covered her head with her pillow. She’d barely slept a wink, and would be leaving to drive back to Austin in a few hours.

  Drive back to Austin. She muffled a squeal. Still without answers.

  Isabelle jerked the pillow from her face and stuffed it behind her head. She laid there, eyes open, staring into the darkness. She pondered the events from the day before. Sharon’s comment, ‘a short lived mistake,’ further substantiated Charlie’s claim that he hadn’t known about the baby. Aunt Myra had to be the culprit.

  Unless…Sharon had feigned surprise to protect herself.

  Isabelle rubbed her left temple and blew out a breath. So many what ifs.

  Deep down she wanted to believe Aunt Myra hadn’t deceived anyone. But the way her aunt dodged questions about Charlie—slicker than any politician―kept Isabelle’s head reeling with doubts.

  It never occurred to her, when she had finagled the time off that she’d leave Denton the same way she arrived―full of questions.

  Exhaustingly, she pushed the thoughts away and chose instead to focus on the pleasantries of her visit. Waking up in her childhood room to the smell of Aunt Myra’s cooking. The squeak of the old hardwoods beneath her feet, the cozy clutter of antique furnishings in every room. Which was about to change soon.

  Fighting a sigh, Isabelle crimped her eyes shut and curled up, snuggling beneath the blanket. No need to ponder on any more changes in her life. As for now, she needed sleep.

  The room around her seemed to object. The air conditioner kicked into a low drone, and a loose shutter banged against the house. A branch snapped. Even the rhythmic drip of the faucet seemed to compete for her attention.

  I give up. Isabelle flung back the comforter, sat up, and flicked on the light. She grabbed her Bible, tucking it into the crumpled sheet between her raised knees. Since she couldn’t sleep, she might as well jumpstart her day with devotions. Lord, thank you for my time with Aunt Myra. No matter what, Isabelle would always love her aunt. And, Lord please, open my mind and heart to Your word.

  A moment later, her mind latched on to one of the verses. She couldn’t believe the words. Ask and it will
be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.

  Words so familiar, and yet today they leapt off the page and grabbed hold of her heart—tugging, squeezing—making it nearly impossible to breathe.

  Isabelle shook her head, forcing herself to inhale one slow breath. God had spoken to her―or maybe she finally listened. Nonetheless, she felt tingly all the way to her soul.

  She steeled herself against what the Lord had in store and studied the verse from Matthew 7:7 again.

  Lord, thank you for your promises. I pray that You’ll lead me to the truth. Amen.

  As she regarded the verse, an idea took flight. Not just any idea, but a brilliant, God inspired idea. Isabelle kicked off the sheets and sprung to her feet. One way or another she was going to find out the truth. God willing.

  Isabelle dug out a pair of shorts and a tee from her bag. She dressed quickly and slipped on her shoes. Too bad she hadn’t thought of this sooner. She’d wasted two days.

  She poked her head out the door to determine if the coast was clear. Two rooms down, Aunt Myra’s door stood open. She tipped her head, listening to her aunt’s rhythmic, gentle snore. Perfect. She held her breath, tiptoed into the hall and moved swiftly past her aunt’s room. She paused by the stairs that led to the attic.

  An attic, Isabelle recalled, filled with a bounty of treasures. Abandoned furniture, once fashionable clothing, mice nibbled school books, old bills and magazines…maybe even, letters. Odds and ends, cast off by her aunt, things most people wouldn’t bother to keep, but Aunt Myra never threw away anything.

  Isabelle shot a final look back down the hallway then made her way up the narrow, wooden stair. The soles of her shoes lightly tapped the treads. The air around her was still, until a creak on the seventh plank made her gasp.

  She stopped and stood motionless, listening for a sign that her aunt might have woken. Nothing. She waited half a minute, willing herself to breathe, then crept up the last few steps.

  This was it. She wet her lips and twisted the heavy knob. Darkness engulfed her along with second thoughts as she stepped into the room. She halted just beyond the doorway, considering her plan, until her fumbling hand hit the light switch, and a single light bulb flickered overhead.