A House Divided

by Sydell Voeller

  No, of course not! Mark’s right. These people deserve to live like anyone else. They can heal—and are healing.

  Her frenzied thoughts quieted. She inhaled deeply, then released a cleansing breath. Lolling her head against the headrest again, she felt her eyelids grow heavy. In no time, sleep enveloped her like a warm, cozy cocoon.

  The woman, eyes wild, nostrils flared, lunged at her. She wielded a knife—a butcher’s knife, judging by the size of it. It was aimed at Rebecca’s heart. Any moment now it would slice right through her, burning like fire, and snuff out her life.

  Rebecca opened her mouth to scream, but before she did, she narrowed her gaze onto the woman’s face. Yes, it was that woman all right. The crazy woman. The one who had killed August, just as the woman was about to kill her.

  A scream pierced Rebecca’s consciousness, jerking her back from her frenzied dream, but her thoughts remained fuzzy. She heard the sound of the car door jerking opening on the passenger side. Cold sweat enveloped her.

  “Rebecca, hon, what is the matter?” Mark’s voice penetrated her haze.

  Blinking, she felt him gently shaking her. She sat up straighter, burst into sobs, and buried her head in her hands. “Oh . . . oh . . . Mark. I . . . I had a dream. A horrible dream. I must’ve fallen asleep. I didn’t expect to . . . it was just . . . just that the car felt so comfortable, and I nodded off for a few minutes.”

  “Ah, Rebecca. I’m sorry I took so long. Hold on.” He circled the front of the car to the driver’s side, got in, and gathered her into his arms as her tears continued to flow. “Everything’s fine now,” he said huskily. “It’s okay. And it’s okay to cry. It’ll help.”

  She pressed her face into his chest, muffling her sobs against the crisp, fabric of his shirt. He smelled like sunshine and fresh air. He embodied everything good and wholesome and sustaining. “But the dream was so awful,” she insisted. “So real . . . ”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No . . . I can’t.” She could hear his heart beating against her ear as he laced his fingers through her hair.

  “Poor Rebecca,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

  She stopped crying, but stayed nestled against him. Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his chest.

  “No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she insisted. “I didn’t mean to ruin our afternoon together.”

  “You haven’t. Just go ahead and talk.”

  Once she’d started, the words gushed forth like water rushing over a waterfall. “The first night we moved to Fremont, Wendy had one of her typical, horrible nightmares, and it took some doing on my part to comfort her. Now I understand what she must’ve felt like.” She couldn’t tell him the details of her daughter’s dream. The similarities to her own dream were much too uncanny.

  “She’s been through a lot. So have you.”

  “Yes, but now . . . now, here I am, acting like another eight-year-old. My emotions are all over the landscape, and I don’t like it. I’m the grown-up, after all. I . . . I have to be strong for Wendy. I can’t let myself give in to bad dreams . . . or emotional outbursts like this.”

  “You are strong, Rebecca. You’re a wonderful mother to your little girl. But cut yourself some slack, okay? Last night you were the one to tell me not to feel so guilty about my mom, and you were right.” His voice softened. “Turn about’s fair play, you know.”

  She heaved a sigh. “That might be true, Mark, but I still feel like such a fool. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I’m not sure why, but . . . but I think seeing those barred windows—” She gestured vaguely “—must’ve triggered something in my mind. The woman who shot August wound up in a mental hospital, you know.”

  “Yes.” A long pause followed. “What can I do to help make you feel better?” he asked, stroking her hair. He placed a kiss on the top of her head.

  Her heart twisted with love for him. She was falling hard for Mark. Yes, she no longer just stood on the brink of it. She was about to topple over.

  She pulled back and straightened a little. “Let’s just go.” She averted her gaze, knowing she must seem self-centered and selfish. “Getting away from here should help.”

  “Go where?”

  “Anywhere other than here.”

  “Okay. I understand.” His expression was even as he turned the key in the ignition and backed the car out of the parking slip. “I’ll skip picking up my mail at the office. I’ll get it Monday instead.”

  “No, do what you have to. Please don’t change your plans because of me.”

  He shook his head. “The mail can wait. You’re more important.”

  His words warmed her, made her melt inside.

  “How about if we stop somewhere for take-out food,” he continued, “and find a quiet place to talk? It’s another great reason for going to the beach, and there’s an especially good one not far from here.”

  “Sure,” she said with lead in her voice. “The beach would be perfect.” Somehow she had to shake off her dark mood. Mark was giving her a chance to redeem herself and she’d best take advantage of that.

  Still, as they drove away from the hospital, new thoughts swamped Rebecca’s mind, conflicting thoughts that were riddled with confusion. All the good feelings she’d felt after having heard the patients’ talks had been suddenly shattered, and she felt powerless to change that now. She longed to support Mark fully, to rip through the walls that alienated them once again, and allow the love she felt for him to unfold wholly. But how could she anymore now that she’d just taken this giant step backwards?

  She had to get a grip. Get back on track again. The only question was, how?

  * * *

  Hand in hand, they strolled down the long stretch of shoreline. After first arriving, they’d sat on a log facing the ocean and munched on the salami and cheese submarine sandwiches they’d picked up in Coves Junction—complete with sweet, plump grapes and bottled water. Then they’d decided to go for a walk. It was low tide, and the sand that edged the upper portion of the beach was compact and smooth, perfect for a leisurely stroll.

  The sand glistened in the sunlight and waves of heat shimmered before them. Clam diggers in knee-high black boots dotted the beach with shovels and buckets in hand. Several dug furiously, tossing damp sand in every direction, while others meandered about searching, heads down.

  “Great day for clamming,” Mark said, watching them.

  “Are they digging razor clams?”

  “Most likely.” He squared his jaw. “It’s been ages since I’ve done that. I used to enjoy it.”

  “Me too.” She smiled at the memory. “When Missey and I were growing up, our parents took us clamming often, especially when we camped up on the Washington coast.” She laughed. “Dad said his secret recipe was the best in the Northwest, and he’d guarded it with his life. He wouldn’t give it out to anyone.”

  Mark’s laugher joined hers. “I bet it was worth guarding, too.” He hesitated. “Want to try it sometime? Clam digging, I mean? I’ll make a point of picking up a tide schedule at the bait house in Freemont and we can look it over together. Let’s plan on taking Wendy with us, too.”

  “Oh, yes, I’d love that! So would she.”

  His eyes twinkled down at her. “Let’s aim for an early morning tide. That’ll give us the entire day to clean the clams and cook them.”

  “And don’t forget eating them! I bet if I try hard enough, I can come close to duplicating Dad’s chowder.”

  “I bet you can too.”

  Her heart sang as her former doubts about Mark and their possible future together began to pale. Maybe there was still a chance for them. Maybe they could find a way to make things work after all.

  “Chilly?” he asked, turning to meet her gaze. “I have an extra jacket back in the car if you need it.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t go back.” She pulled up the collar of her sweater a bit more snugly. “Yes, the breeze is a bit brisk today,” she ad
ded. “I like it this way, though. It’s invigorating.”

  “True enough.”

  The wind lifted Rebecca’s hair, tossing a few strands across her eyes. She brushed them back and smiled up at Mark again. He smiled back at her and squeezed her hand. The corners of his eyes creased as his smile grew wider. His hand felt so strong wrapped around hers. She wanted to capture the moment forever. She felt blissfully happy, so alive.

  They approached a small tidal pool and paused to watch a hermit crab skitter across it and disappear beneath a barnacle-topped black rock. A spiny sherbet-colored starfish lay off to one side, motionless, but unmistakably alive. Broken shells and pebbles of all sizes and colors lay scattered about.

  They started walking again and drew closer to an old shipwreck farther down the beach. Its remains appeared a mere rusted skeleton silhouetted against the horizon.

  “That old sailing vessel dates back to 1906, I believe,” Mark said. “Every time I see it, it never ceases to amaze me how it’s lasted all these years.”

  “Yes, and it’s become quite a tourist attraction. One of our brochures at the Chamber tells all about the ship’s history. It’s fascinating, really.”

  They fell silent while they continued to gaze at it. A handful of the clam diggers they’d seen earlier were clustered nearby the shipwreck, but it was apparent they weren’t looking at it, too. Intent on their task, they kept digging.

  “Feeling better about your dream now?” Mark asked. He squeezed her hand again.

  “Yes. Very much. Thank you.” She sighed. “I guess the fresh salt air and sunshine are just what I needed. It’s good that you brought me here.”

  “It was the least I could do.” Gently he turned her to him. His arms encircled her, one resting in the small of her back. Their mouths met in a kiss, tentative at first, but it soon deepened.

  “Rebecca,” he whispered in her ear after they’d broken the contact. “I feel so good whenever I’m with you.”

  Joy flooded her soul. She knew now she could go with Mark to the depths of the earth and back, walk through fire, and be wondrously blissful. Mark was all she needed.

  She touched his cheek. “I feel that way, too, Mark. I feel as if I’ve wakened, finally, after a long, long sleep. Truth is . . . I . . . I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  Anguish filled his eyes as he drew her to him again. He just held her. Held her and said nothing. His voice was ragged when he finally spoke. “Please don’t say that, hon.”

  “But it’s true.”

  He pulled back looked at her squarely. Again his eyes filled with pain. “I care for you deeply, Rebecca. You and Wendy both. But . . . but I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about my engagement to Marcella and how that caused so many hurt feelings. The bottom line is, I still feel the same way as I did then about marriage and raising a family. I’m not ready to make a lasting commitment. I may never be.”

  She flicked her gaze away. “All right, Mark. I appreciate your honesty.” She swallowed against the growing knot in her throat. “At least I know where I stand with you.” Hadn’t she realized all along that Mark wasn’t the marrying type? Hadn’t he given her fair warning? Why had she allowed her emotions to get the best of her, allowed his kisses to enchant her so, giving her such false expectations?

  The drive back home was tense, the silence deafening. But when they’d finally arrived and Rebecca rushed inside the apartment, all she could do was weep.

  * * *

  Rebecca rapped on the door of room number 65 at the motel, clutching the bag of doughnuts she’d picked up on the way over. It was eleven, and she’d talked to Benny on the phone a little over an hour ago. She’d promised to bring doughnuts and freshly brewed coffee from the coffee shop on Main and Lilac, and he’d promised to be ready. The day had dawned warm and sunny again. They’d agreed that it would be a perfect opportunity to chat over coffee and doughnuts. And while she didn’t expect that talking with Benny would do much to pick up her spirits, at least it would serve as a distraction.

  Nevertheless, to Rebecca’s relief, Benny had sounded less distraught that morning. He’d assured her that he’d slept well, fixed himself a heaping plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns in the kitchenette inside his unit, and read the Sunday newspaper from cover to cover.

  She knocked again now. Tilting her head, she listened for Benny’s footsteps on the other side of the door. Silence. Maybe he had to go out for a few moments, she decided, but then quickly wondered if that were the case why he hadn’t left a note.

  “Benny?” She called. She waited a few minutes more. No Benny.

  Turning, she followed the narrow walkway to the office. She passed by a planter brimming with red-and-white geraniums mixed with trailing blue lobelia, and remembered how geraniums were Benny’s favorite. He’d grown them from seed on his rooftop apartment in L.A., and had taken great pride in eventually coaxing them into full bloom.

  Inside the office, Rebecca forced a smile. “Is Benny Rardin in number sixty-five still checked-in here?” she asked the receptionist at the front desk.

  The woman was buxom with smooth, coffee colored skin.

  She bit her lip in concentration as she peered at her computer monitor. “Let’s see. Oh yeah, here it is. It says he checked out about a half an hour ago.”

  No, Rebecca thought. That can’t be right. That has to be a mistake.

  The woman pushed a few keys on her computer keyboard and nodded. “Yep, that’s it all right. He checked out and turned in his key.” The woman looked up again and met Rebecca’s troubled gaze. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It looks like you just missed him.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “So you didn’t get through to Benny at all?” Missey asked. The two sisters were sharing a walk together through Missey’s neighborhood while they waited for the girls to return from a mid-afternoon youth group meeting at church. It was Ross’s turn to carpool.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Rebecca answered, stepping around a piece of an old bicycle tire that lay on the sidewalk. The sun shone hot against her back, contrasting with the stone-cold feeling inside her soul. She still couldn’t believe her afternoon yesterday with Mark had ended on such a heart-breaking note. And she’d felt too crestfallen to talk to her sister about it yet. Although Missey had been subtle about her efforts in matchmaking, it was no secret she’d wanted Rebecca and Mark to fall in love—and stay in love.

  “I tried calling Benny at least a half dozen times,” Rebecca continued, “and I even left messages. It was so strange. I’d just talked to him before I’d left the house, and he said he’d be looking forward to seeing me.”

  Missey’s forehead creased in concentration. “Yes, that does seem strange, but I’m sure there was a good reason why he had to check out so unexpectedly. You’ll probably hear from him any time now.”

  “I certainly hope so. I have to admit, though,” she added, “this isn’t the first time he’s taken forever getting back to me. I guess he’s more easily distracted these days.”

  “Old age, undoubtedly,” Missey said with a laugh. “Happens to the best of us.” Her expression turned thoughtful again. “Maybe he received more news from the studio. “Maybe he had to rush off to get back there in short order.”

  “Could be.” Rebecca shoved her hand into her pocket. “But I have to admit, I’m worried about him. He was one of August’s best friends. And ever since I’ve been a widow, he’s tried to be like a brother to me.”

  As they came to the end of the block and took the left T in the road, a boy on a bicycle whizzed by. Shouts of children playing at the neighborhood park across the street grew louder.

  “I’m sure the news about Galaxy Productions is a blow to you, too,” Missey said. “I mean, I know it’s much worse for Benny, but you can’t help being affected by it too.”

  “It is. That was the last thing I expected to happen.”

  “At least you’ve got Mark.”

  “I’ve got Mark?” Even to herself, her vo
ice sounded flat.

  “Absolutely!” Missey laughed again. “Don’t tell me you’re getting absent-minded, too, like Benny!”

  Rebecca tried to smile back, but it felt as if her face would crack. She stopped walking and nodded towards the green painted park bench. “Let’s sit down over there, Missey. I’m afraid there’s something we need to talk about.”

  * * *

  Mark drove away from the church, lost in thought. The Sunday morning worship service had been enriching and Pastor Al’s message inspirational. Mark’s heart had swelled in adoration and worship when he’d joined in singing several of his favorite old hymns, hymns he’d remembered from childhood. Aunt Rose had played the organ at the church they’d attended, a little white steepled country church on the outskirts of town, and she had even taught him many of the lyrics at home. Unbeknown to him at the time, those wonderful words and phrases would bring comfort and encouragement in later years, too.

  So why, now, can’t I get Rebecca out of my mind? he asked himself over and over again. How could he forget how it had practically torn him in two to have to tell her he couldn’t return her love? The thought seared through him like a branding iron. He hadn’t slept well last night either. No, he had barely slept a wink.

  Still, there were many things to be thankful for, he reminded himself. He had to concentrate on the positive and keep his eyes fixed on the Lord. It was crucial he move forward with his plans. The coffee hour had indeed gone well, and everything had remained quiet on the home front. No more scare tactics. No hostile words or denunciations. No talk of petitions circulating about town.

  The only scene that had come close to erupting after the coffee hour was seeing Joan again. They still needed to talk about what had happened outside the guesthouse late Friday night, about her demands to speak with him, then her sudden disappearing act. But yesterday hadn’t been the right time or place, just as he’d told her.

  Unbidden, his thoughts turned again to Rebecca. Sweet, beautiful Rebecca. Her image sharpened in his mind as he pulled out of the church parking lot onto