Listen to Your Heart

by Irene Brand

  She swallowed with difficulty and hesitantly answered. “Hello?”

  Her apprehension increased when no one answered her greeting. She knew someone was on the line because she heard uneven breathing. She almost dropped the phone when a pleasant, tenor voice started singing the words of an old song.

  “I looked over Jordan, and what did I see

  Coming for to carry me home?

  A band of angels coming after me,

  Coming for to carry me home.”

  After a significant pause, the man said, “Be ready, Laurel, we’re coming after you.”

  Laurel dropped the phone receiver on the floor, and reached out a trembling finger to sever the connection. She childishly pinched her arm to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  She ran to the bathroom, sick to her stomach, and retched. Laurel rinsed her mouth, gulped a glass of water and staggered back to bed.

  She was sorry now that she hadn’t stayed on the phone. She replaced the phone in its cradle and lay awake the rest of the night. Was there any way she could trace the call?

  After she’d squirmed in the bed for several hours, Laurel got up, dressed in an ankle-length floral skirt and a soft, white cotton blouse, and quietly went downstairs. Because of the isolation of the house, she had two dusk-to-dawn security lights, which kept the grounds and the house partially illuminated all night long. Creeping along in the muted light, Laurel entered the kitchen and closed the door so she wouldn’t wake Debbie. She filled the teakettle with water and, while she waited for it to boil, placed a tea bag in her favorite mug.

  Once made, Laurel wrapped her hands around the steaming cup and went to the screened back porch, where she’d encountered Micah yesterday. The front gallery contained only antique rocking chairs, but after she’d taken over ownership of the house, Laurel had made the back porch into a cozy, relaxing area.

  Laurel sat on a padded lounge chair and sipped the tea as she contemplated what to do. If she’d had caller ID, she might have determined the identity of her caller, but with her limited income, she cut corners when she could, and the latest technology wasn’t high on her priority list.

  When daylight dispelled the darkness, Laurel became aware of movement at her side. Remembering the threatening phone call, the cup tottered in her hand. Micah Davidson walked across the lawn. He halted when he saw her, and momentarily she wondered if he’d been the caller.

  “Good morning,” he said. “You’re up early.”

  “Earlier than usual,” she answered. “Couldn’t you sleep?”

  “I don’t usually sleep more than six hours, and I went to bed early. I had breakfast while I waited for enough daylight to look around. You don’t mind if I explore your property, do you?”

  “Of course not. There’s a cleared path to the river if you want to go that way.”

  “That’s where I was heading. Would you have time to walk with me? I could use a guide.”

  “Yes, I’d like a walk,” she said eagerly. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but it might be a good idea to learn more about Micah Davidson. She swung her feet off the lounge, kicked off the soft scuffs she wore and reached under the chair for a pair of walking shoes. She quickly pulled on the socks she’d stored in the toes of the shoes, and in a few minutes had joined Micah.

  Pointing to the left, Laurel said, “The best path is through the orchard.”

  The lawn was neatly mowed until they reached the orchard, then weeds grew profusely in the path. Laurel’s long skirt was soon wet from the abundant dew on the grass.

  “In your research of Southern homes, you’ve probably heard many stories about keepsakes the Confederates buried before the invaders came. I mentioned Oaklawn’s story to you last night. Supposedly a Cooper ancestor buried gold and silver in this orchard, but the cache was never found.”

  “Not even after the war?”

  “No,” Laurel said, and her eyes sparkled, temporarily replacing the pain Micah had noticed. “My father-in-law said that when he was a boy, he and his brother dug from one end of that field to the other and didn’t find any money. But the cultivation did give them a bumper crop of fruit for a few years.”

  Micah gazed appreciatively at the grainfields and the lush pastureland along the river.

  “Oaklawn isn’t as large as it was in the eighteenth century,” Laurel continued as they walked. “At one time, the Coopers owned a thousand acres, but they’ve had to sell parcels of land during hard times. The farm is only fifty acres now. Actually, I’m glad it’s no more than that, because I can’t even manage that much land. My neighbor, Pete Howe, rents the farmland, so I only care for the few acres around the house. I have a riding mower, so it isn’t difficult work, but it does keep me busy during the summer. Especially this year, when I want everything to look nice for the wedding.”

  Although she’d hoped walking would take her mind off the mysterious phone call, it didn’t, and she lapsed into silence, trying to figure out who had called her. The singer’s voice didn’t sound familiar at all.

  Micah walked slightly behind Laurel since the path was narrow, but he was aware of her downcast eyes. When she’d joined him for the walk, he’d noticed at once that she wasn’t the contented woman he’d talked with on the gallery the night before. Had something happened to disturb her, or did it take a while for her to get going in the morning?

  “I’d appreciate hearing anything you know about Oaklawn,” Micah said. “I want to feature the history of the homes, as well as the architecture.”

  Laurel wasn’t in the mood for visiting, but taking a deep breath and staring straight ahead as they walked, she said, “The Coopers moved here soon after the Revolutionary War. The place was a wilderness then. They lived in log cabins and had the usual troubles with the Native Americans that most settlers had. Eventually they prospered enough for Debbie’s great-great-grandfather to build the original brick house, but the Cooper wealth declined over the next century.”

  When they passed a knoll where the family cemetery was located, Micah commented, “I suppose your husband is buried here.”

  “No, he isn’t,” she said bluntly, because she didn’t like to think about Jason’s death.

  Micah couldn’t imagine why his question had annoyed her. They were both silent as they walked downhill to the northern bank of the shallow river. A wide beach of sand and gravel had formed at a sharp bend in the stream. Overhanging trees provided a secluded area. A few ramshackle lawn chairs and a wooden bench had been placed several feet from the water. Laurel walked to one of the sturdier chairs and sat down.

  “Do people go swimming or fishing here?”

  “Mostly fishing,” Laurel said shortly, her eyes on the river.

  Did his presence annoy her, or was she troubled about something else?

  After a pause, she continued, “But there is a deep pool midway in the stream. The local boys go to the other side of the river, swing on the vines and drop into the pool. It’s a dangerous practice. One boy was seriously hurt here last summer, but they continue to swim.”

  The gentle ripple of the water as it slid past them was quieting, and the peace of the place was soothing to Micah. After spending over a year in the jungle, the past three months in the States—mostly in cities—had frustrated him. The noise of traffic had grated on his nerves. Pleased to have this sojourn in a quiet place, Micah sat on the wooden bench facing upstream. In this position, he could watch Laurel without being obvious about it.

  Her present attitude didn’t compare to her quick flash of anger yesterday, which had disappeared as quickly as it had come. Her eyes brooded today, and there was a petulant droop to her full lips.

  Early sunlight peeked into the shaded glade, a fish flipped in the middle of the stream and birds gently began their morning songs.

  Without looking at him, her eyes staring across the river, Laurel said, “Mr. Davidson, I should apologize to you again. I had an unpleasant experience last night, or I wouldn’t have been so short-temp
ered. Let me give you a reasonable answer to your question about my husband’s burial. It’s always been a sore subject to me, but you wouldn’t have known that.”

  Chapter Three

  Several minutes passed before Laurel continued, and to spare her embarrassment, Micah kept his eyes on the river. A small flock of ducks drifted lazily with the current. Occasionally, one of them would tilt forward into the river for a morning snack.

  “Twenty years ago, Jason and a friend were sailing off the Atlantic coast of South America, and their boat capsized,” Laurel said quietly. “Their bodies were never recovered. He was an only child, and his parents never got over his death.”

  He noticed that she didn’t mention her own sorrow. If she’d been a widow for so long, perhaps the pain was gone. But why hadn’t she remarried? Judging by his own immediate attraction to her, she must have had plenty of suitors.

  As though she read his thoughts, Laurel said, “Debbie, who was only two at the time, was all his parents had left of Jason. As I mentioned last night, they insisted that I stay at Oaklawn and raise my child here. I was glad to stay, because I didn’t have any other place to go.”

  Many questions rose in Micah’s mind. Why was her husband’s death a sore point? She spoke as if she resented him, but it wasn’t any of his business. Laurel would tell him what she wanted him to know.

  “Although it’s been a labor of love to rear Debbie as a single parent, it hasn’t been easy for me. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve always resented Jason taking that trip and getting killed when he should have stayed home and looked after his family. Debbie has missed a lot by not having a father.”

  Micah silently thought that Debbie might have been better off without her father’s presence. Jason Cooper sounded like a selfish man.

  “His parents hoped almost to the end that Jason was still alive. When they at last conceded that he was dead, they didn’t live long. My mother-in-law survived her husband by two months. They wanted me to preserve the house for Debbie. I’m trying to do what they asked me to.”

  “It hasn’t been easy for you, I’m sure.”

  She nodded sadly. “Besides the work, it’s a financial burden. As soon as Debbie is married, I intend to find a job, even though I have no marketable work skills. She’ll be moving to Colorado, so I’ll have lots of time on my hands. I’ve been looking into possible employment, but I don’t have many job skills. I’m considering taking a two-year business course at the college. But these decisions are on hold until Debbie is married.”

  She stood up quickly. “And speaking of Debbie, we’re going into Knoxville this morning, so I have to go back to the house.”

  “I have an appointment to look over a home in Nashville today, so I want to get started, too.”

  They didn’t talk as they returned to the house, but Micah hummed in a monotone that grated on Laurel’s already distraught nerves. She tried to determine the tune, but if he had any particular song in mind, it was one she didn’t know.

  “Thanks for walking with me. I like to be outdoors early in the morning,” he said, giving her a sideways glance.

  “So do I. Take care while you’re traveling today,” she answered, and he favored her with a wide smile.

  “Mom, what is wrong with you?” Debbie asked in the midst of a disastrous breakfast. Laurel had burned the grits, upended a cup of coffee on the tablecloth and, instead of providing jelly for their toast, picked up a jar of mustard and slid it across the table. “I’ve never seen you so jumpy. Are you sick?”

  Sitting down and gripping her hands in her lap underneath the table, Laurel tried to calm her inner trembling.

  “I didn’t sleep much last night,” she said, unable to stifle the tremor in her voice. “I’ll be all right as soon as I’ve had a cup of coffee.”

  To prove her point, Laurel poured another cup. Coffee sloshed over the brim and into the saucer as she lifted the cup. Debbie cast another startled glance toward her.

  “Go back to bed, and forget the trip to Knoxville,” Debbie said, concern in her voice. “We can pick up the invitations tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no,” Laurel said, and forced a smile. “I want to go today.” She had to do something to keep her mind off of her nighttime caller.

  Sensing Debbie’s gaze upon her again, Laurel knew she was staring fixedly out the window. Determined to retain some sense of normalcy, she spread butter over the grits on her plate and ate them and the egg in front of her as if she had a good appetite.

  “If you want to fill the dishwasher, I’ll go upstairs and get ready.”

  “I’ll take care of everything, but I still think we should postpone our trip,” Debbie insisted.

  Laurel forced a laugh. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been tired when I’ve gotten out of bed. Let’s plan to leave in an hour.”

  While she luxuriated in the big bathtub and lathered vigorously with her lavender-scented bath gel, Laurel thought about Micah Davidson. Although she’d fleetingly wondered if Micah could have been the midnight caller, after she’d heard him humming this morning, she’d discounted that idea. Micah had a bass voice, and he couldn’t carry a tune. The man on the phone had a melodious tenor voice. Thinking about Micah lifted Laurel’s spirits, and she decided she wouldn’t allow last night’s incident to ruin her day with Debbie.

  Stepping from the tub, Laurel patted her body dry with a large towel. She applied body lotion, and for a moment her worries receded as the lotion soothed her body. Laurel habitually denied herself for others, but she did indulge herself with a fragrant bath.

  After dressing in a pair of striped capris and a white knit blouse, she sat in her grandmother’s rocking chair for her morning devotions. She felt close to her grandmother in this chair, since she was the one who had guided Laurel’s spiritual maturation. She turned to her grandmother’s favorite Scripture in the book of Philippians and read softly.

  “‘I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.’”

  Her grandmother hadn’t had an easy life, but she’d never doubted that God had sustained her through each problem. Laurel, too, had experienced enough sorrow since her marriage to make her bitter, but she’d kept a degree of contentment, in spite of the circumstances.

  Fortified by the words she’d read, Laurel left her room with less trepidation than she’d had since that mysterious phone call. As soon as she and Debbie drove away from Oaklawn, Laurel pushed the call to the back of her mind. They had a pleasant day as they picked up the wedding invitations, registered for more of Debbie’s gift preferences at two stores and enjoyed a lunch in their favorite Chinese restaurant.

  For the next two nights, knowing that she was taking the coward’s way out, Laurel disconnected the phone when she went to bed. Although her body tensed each time she heard the phone during the day, she had no mysterious messages. Occasionally, she wondered if the call had been a dream.

  Debbie worked on the evening shift at a fast-food restaurant in Knoxville. For the first three days after he’d moved into the apartment, Micah also left early and didn’t return until late, so Laurel was alone most of the time. On Saturday evening, as Laurel sat on the gallery, she heard a car approaching. When she saw that it was Micah, she waved to him. In a short time, she heard his steps on the graveled pathway.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Cooper,” he said.

  “You might as well call me Laurel. We’re not very formal in this neighborhood.”

  “I’m not formal at all,” he said, “So good evening, Laurel.”

  A dimple at the corner of her mouth deepened. “Hello, Micah. You’re home early.”

  “Yes. I’ve had a busy week, so I’m ready for some rest.”

  “Come and sit down,” she invited. “This is a good place to relax. It’s been a hectic week for me, too, and I had to take time to let my body catch up with my soul. I’m preparing m
yself for worship tomorrow. Will you go to church with us in the morning?”

  Settling down in the rocking chair beside her and stretching out his long legs, Micah said, “I haven’t been to church for so long, I wouldn’t know how to act.”

  With a smile, Laurel said, “I doubt things have changed much since you used to go to church. We have a small sanctuary and a simple order of worship. You wouldn’t have a problem.”

  “Fact is,” Micah said, “I’m not much interested in organized churches anymore. I’ve spent my adult life traveling, mostly in isolated places, where there aren’t any church buildings. I worship the God of Creation. I can have ‘church’ anywhere.”

  Disturbed by his comments, Laurel said, “I’m sure that’s true, but don’t you miss the fellowship of other Christians? I need the strength and support I receive on Sunday to deal with any problems I might have during the week.”

  Micah seemed to deliberate a few moments before he answered. “In my line of work, sometimes months pass without the opportunity to worship with a congregation. But when I see God’s handiwork in what He’s created—the skies, the trees, the animals—it’s easy for me to worship.”

  Laurel wasn’t normally argumentative about the Scriptures, but she had the feeling that Micah was missing the most important principle. “That’s all well and good,” she said, “as long as you acknowledge the place of Jesus, God’s Son, in the creation of the world.”

  Micah looked puzzled, and he said, “I remember something about that from my childhood when I went to Sunday School.”

  Laurel didn’t press her opinion at that time. She, too, could see God in the universe around her. And she believed it was only a short distance from acknowledging God, Who created the world, and believing that His Son, Jesus, was the Savior of mankind. She doubted that Micah had made that connection.