by Nancy Moser
Claire mentally scanned her old acquaintances. “I wish I had some music connection who could help Jered get a shot, but I don’t—”
“I don’t either. I can only listen when he dreams, which is more than his father does.”
Claire found herself without words. The people around her had so many problems, yet she had no clue how to help them.
Merry patted the table. “Let’s order.”
Claire had never had to worry if she had enough money to pay for her own meal. Until tonight. She’d accepted Merry’s offer of dinner without a second thought. She was used to eating out many times a week, and restaurants as fine as Bon Vivant were her normal fare. In fact, she was used to picking up the tab. Budgeting her money was a new experience. She could pay for her meal tonight, but she’d have to eat cold cuts and peanut butter to compensate for the splurge.
Claire turned the bill in her direction, mentally divvying it up. “Mine is twenty-six—”
Merry interrupted. “Uh-uh. I’m picking up the tab tonight.”
Claire tried not to show her relief. “You don’t have to—”
“Shush. Consider it a welcome-to-Steadfast dinner.”
After Merry paid, they moved to the parking lot. Claire immediately realized the situation was awkward. Merry had her car. She had none. Merry thought she was staying at the motel, which was the opposite direction of the library. Claire was tired. It was dark. She wanted to get to bed, yet she had to play out her lie. “Night, Merry. Thanks for the nice—”
Then came the words she’d dreaded. “Claire, let me drop you off at the motel.”
“No thanks. I could use the walk after that delicious dinner.”
“Nonsense. It’s nearly ten. I’m not going to let you walk a mile in the dark alone. Not even in Steadfast.” She opened the passenger’s door and waited for Claire to get in.
Claire had no choice. They headed toward the motel.
“How do you like the luxuries at the Sleepy Time?”
Claire assumed Merry was being sarcastic. She’d never even seen the place, but she could make an assumption based on the size of Steadfast and the name of the motel that its luxuries did not go beyond a plastic drinking glass and a box of scratchy tissues. “It’s nice. Simple, but nice.”
“What room are you in?”
“Uh…105.” She hoped it was a safe guess. Every motel had to have a first floor, didn’t it?
“You mean Five?”
“Yeah. Five.” She clenched her teeth.
Merry turned a corner, and the motel came into view. It was typical small-town fare with eight units and an office on one end. There was a car in front of Unit Five. The light was on.
“You sure you’re in Five?”
Claire thought fast. “Sim must be up.”
“Oh, that’s right. Sim. We’ve been talking about other things this evening. Horrible me, I temporarily forgot about her.”
Me too! Claire’s gut swelled with panic. Poor Sim was probably frantic with worry back in the attic, wondering why she was so late. After their argument about the girl staying out late…
As soon as Merry came to a stop, Claire was out the door. She had to restrain herself from running back to the library. She leaned down to peer in the car. “Thanks for the ride, Merry—and the dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night.” Merry put the car in drive, then put it back into park. “I’ll wait to see you safely inside.”
Claire spotted a pop machine. “Don’t bother. I’m going to get Sim a Dr. Pepper—a peace offering for being late.”
Merry nodded and finally pulled away. Claire wasted no time. She ran back the way they had come.
That was close. Too close. Her sigh was heavy with relief, yet edged with the weight of her continuing and broadening deceit. It was costing a great deal to weave this intricate web of lies, and she knew the Father’s heart must be pained over her deception.
She paused behind a lilac bush, grabbing a breath and a prayer. Lord, please help me find a way out of the lies. I want to live in truth, yet thinking about my secret coming out also makes me nervous. Handle it, please.
As she resumed her jog she added, Because I can’t. I can’t.
Merry pulled into the driveway of her home and shut off the car. When she was collecting her purse she noticed Claire’s purse on the floor of the passenger side. She could run it back to the motel or bring it to the library in the morning.
I’ll call.
She went inside, looked up the phone number for the Sleepy Time, and dialed. She recognized the owner’s voice. “Hey, Oscar, Merry Cavanaugh here.”
“Long time no see, Merry. How you doin’?”
“Fine, fine. I know it’s late, but I needed to speak to one of your guests. Claire Adams? She’s in Unit Five.”
A moment of silence.
“No Claire Adams here, Merry.”
“Maybe I got the room number wrong.”
“The number don’t matter. I don’t have any Claire Adams checked in, period.”
Merry’s stomach clenched. “Are you sure?”
“I only have eight rooms. I may be getting old, but I can still keep track of eight rooms. Besides, only three are filled.”
Merry mumbled a good-bye and hung up. What was going on? Why would Claire lie about where she was staying?
Merry grabbed her keys.
When one had to comb the streets, Steadfast was the place to do it.
Merry backtracked to the Sleepy Time, then drove toward Bon Vivant. She tried to think of every place she’d ever seen Claire. The choices were slim: the grocery store, Bailey’s restaurant, and the library. With each block traveled, her anger grew. Why would Claire lie to her?
Merry turned onto the square. The grocery was closed. So was the libr—
She stopped the car in the middle of the street. Was that Claire running through the drive-through of the bank? There was nothing in that direction except—
The back of the library.
Although no clear thought formed, a vague suspicion caused Merry to pull over and shut off the car. She got out and walked toward the back of the library. She hesitated at the corner, peeking around. She caught a glimpse of Claire turning into the alcove that held the back door.
What is she doing?
Merry hugged the wall and edged closer. The door was just clicking shut when she reached it. How did Claire get in? The door should be locked.
She put her ear to the door. Faint footsteps. She cracked it open. The storeroom was dark. Claire was walking around in the dark?
Merry had had enough. She threw open the door. It banged against some boxes. She flipped on the lights, spotting Claire on the stairway leading to the attic. Claire froze like a deer caught in headlights.
Merry didn’t even try to hide her anger. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Claire had to remind herself to breathe.
“Hi, Merry.”
Merry slid inside and let the door close. She crossed her arms. She lifted an eyebrow.
Claire glanced upward to the attic, then to the main library. If Sim was back, she didn’t want to give her away. One of them caught was enough. If only she could keep Merry right here in the storeroom. “Care to hear an interesting story?”
“Absolutely. Let’s go.” Merry headed to the main library.
“But—”
Merry was already at the door. Oh dear. Ready or not, here we come.
Either Sim was not around, or she was a good hider. They sat in the reading area where Sim usually slept, Claire on one vinyl chair, Merry on another. Claire told Merry how she’d ended up in the library attic, about giving up her fortune. She mentioned that she’d had her own business but left out the details of her profession and her fame.
Merry’s laugh was bitter. “You felt strong enough direction to give up the fabric of your entire life on the basis of a few verses and the fact that you liked a painting? On a whim?”
“Not a whim. God told me to do i
t.”
“No, that lady, Michelle Jofsky, told you to do it.”
“What about the old man in McDonald’s? Or the hymn that said, ‘Go, labor on’?”
“So you give up your life because of two strangers and an old hymn?” Merry shook her head. “That’s crazy.”
“I am not crazy!”
Merry raised her hands, fending off the outburst. “You seem like a nice lady, but nobody—nobody—does what you did.”
“But they should.”
Merry laughed. “Oh, that would be productive. What would happen if the entire world roamed around aimlessly, waiting for the skies to open up so God’s voice could filter down?”
Claire blinked back tears. She liked Merry. She wanted her to understand and support her. “You’re bitter and confused about your family’s deaths. I understand that. But God does direct people’s lives. I know it.”
Merry shrugged. “Oh, I do too. Pawns on a chessboard, that’s what we are. Knock us down, move us out without a second thought.”
“I am not God’s pawn.”
Merry raised an eyebrow. “You act like one. This is not the fifteenth century, where people become monks and roam the Italian countryside like St. Francis of Assisi. You don’t see people stripping naked in the town square to show they reject the trappings of the world.”
“I don’t need your approval for what I’ve done.”
“Don’t you? Isn’t that why you told me your story?”
Merry’s question stabbed. Claire moved behind a chair. “I told you because you asked for an explanation as to why I’m living in the library attic.”
“Freeloading in the library attic.”
“Fine! I’ll leave in the morn—”
“Stop it, both of you!”
They turned to see Sim emerge from the stacks.
Merry extended a hand in her direction but talked to Claire. “We haven’t even talked about you dragging your niece through all—”
“I’m not her niece.”
Merry’s eyes widened. Claire moved to Sim’s side and touched her shoulder. “Sim, don’t—”
Sim shucked off her touch. There was a crease between her eyebrows, and her jaw was set for a fight. She looked to Merry. “Claire and I are not related.”
“So who are you?”
“I’m a runaway. I ended up in Steadfast, and Claire was already here. There’s no connection. No matter what she tries to tell you, God did not send her here to help me.”
Merry snickered and arched a brow at Claire. “You’ve tried to brainwash the girl into believing your God scenario?”
“It’s not a scenario. It’s the truth.”
“So you’re both staying in the attic?”
“Not me.” Sim eyed Merry. “You’re sitting on my bed. I move three of the chairs together. The attic is Claire’s home, not mine.”
“The chairs can’t be comfortable.”
Sim shrugged. “They’re better than the floor. At least Claire’s got a bed.”
“I offered it to—”
“There’s a bed in the attic?” Merry’s eyes flitted, and she changed her question to a statement. “There’s a bed in the attic. I remember seeing it when I first came here. The attic was the librarian’s apartment in the thirties. The one who died. The library ghost.”
“What?” Claire stared at Merry.
The other woman flipped the question away and turned to Sim. “Why did you run away from home?”
Sim’s jaw tightened. “My parents are dead.”
Merry’s face showed her shock. “Your…?”
Sim pulled the third chair around and straddled it, going eye-to-eye with Merry. “You lost your husband and son in a plane crash. I lost my parents in a car crash, last Christmas.”
Merry reached across the space between them and touched her arm. Sim did not pull away. “I’m so sorry. I know exactly what you’re going through.”
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
“I came to Steadfast because Blanche is a good friend of my mom’s. She told me about the job opening.” Merry shrugged. “I wanted to start fresh.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. I was handed off to an aunt and uncle who don’t want me. And I don’t want them. So I ran away.”
“Things must have been bad to make you do that, to prefer staying in a library with a stranger.”
“Like I said, I’m not with Claire. We’re here separately.”
Claire felt like a smudge on a clean cloth.
Merry’s face lit up. “You can stay with me. At my house.”
“I can?”
“Sure. I have an extra room that has an old couch in it. The room’s crammed with boxes I haven’t unpacked yet, but a couch has got to be better than three chairs pushed together.”
Sim backtracked into the stacks, coming back with her pack. “I’m ready.”
Claire’s thoughts crashed. What was happening? “But she has to stay here. With me.”
Sim stared her down. “I was never with you, Claire. You’ve got the attic, and that’s great. But frankly, I’m tired of sleeping on chairs. I know a good offer when I hear it.” She turned to Merry. “Can we go now? I’ve had a hard night. I’m beat.”
Merry stood. “Sure.”
Claire knew her mouth was open but she had trouble closing it. “What about me?”
Merry and Sim stopped at the front door. “For the time being you can stay in the attic, Claire. You’re not hurting anything. But I wouldn’t tell anyone else. They may not approve of a city building being used as a boarding house.”
“After all, you can’t turn down what God provided, can you?” Sim’s smile was nasty.
Merry hesitated. “If there was more room at my place, I’d ask you to stay too.”
Sim opened the front door and was gone into the darkness. Merry got her key ready to lock the door behind her. “See you tomorrow. Turn off the lights.”
Claire stared at the locked door. What had just happened?
Claire flipped off the lights of the library. She stood in the foyer and looked out over the darkened room. The shadowy recesses mirrored her thoughts. Nothing was clear. Nothing was lit by understanding. All was vague and dark and uncertain.
It wasn’t fair. Not fair at all. She’d done everything God had asked of her. She’d been open to His guidance. Then why weren’t things working out? Why was her charge this independent, arrogant, unappreciative kid? Why didn’t He give her a child who was moldable, teachable, lovable?
With her next breath another thought entered. Was it possible Sim wasn’t a part of her journey after all? Had Claire projected an agenda of her own, missing God’s entirely?
She noticed the mural on her right. Either way, she was living a joke. Claire Adams, the great mosaic artist brought to a library in need of her services. Yet she couldn’t help. Shouldn’t help. Like it or not, the mural was being handled by someone else.
The situation was laughable. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. And she wasn’t going to be a part of it anymore.
She strode toward the swinging doors leading to the attic. She’d pack up her things and be at the bus stop when the bus arrived at one in the morning. She’d go back to Kansas City, crash at Darla’s, and see what could be salvaged of her studio. Her life. She’d plead temporary insanity, take the I-told-you-sos that would surely come, and start over.
She pushed open the door, then let it bounce against her hand.
No. She couldn’t give up this soon, this hastily. God had never promised it would be easy.
But there was something she could do to feel better…
She looked over her shoulder, her eyes pegging the phone on Merry’s desk. Yes, that I can do.
She sat in Merry’s chair and dialed a number she’d purposely memorized. Darla answered after the second ring, her voice groggy from sleep. “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?”
“Claire?”
“Hi.”
“Hi?” S
he sounded wide-awake now. “Where are you? How are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She found herself crying. “Really. I’m just a little homesick.”
“Then come home.”
She doesn’t know how close I’ve come. “I can’t. I think I need to stay awhile longer.”
“Uh-uh. Forget that. You’re needed here. I’ve been half-crazed trying to figure out how to get ahold of you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right. Too right. Regina from the gallery called and said you’ve been offered a commission.”
Claire rubbed the space above her eyes. “From whom?”
“St. Michael’s is building a new church—a campus, really—out south of town, and they want you to create a mosaic mural that would wrap around the entire front of the sanctuary. We’re talking twenty-five feet high by a hundred wide.”
Claire let her mouth drop open. Most of her murals averaged eight by sixteen or twenty. To have one that was two—no, more than fifteen times as large was beyond her ken.
“They saw that one religious piece you did at that Nazarene college and said they could tell your faith is…what words did Regina use? On track? Something like that. They said they can tell you’re a godly woman. Regina said they’d give you free rein as to content.”
The commission of a lifetime.
“Claire? Are you still there?”
Her throat tightened. Oh yeah, she was there all right—if there meant Steadfast, Kansas.
“Claire!”
“I’m here.”
“They said you could practically name your price. They’ve had a donor stipulate that his or her donation be toward a Claire Adams mural.”
“Someone asked for me by name?”
“You bet. Whether you run away to who-knows-where or not, your name is still known. Your art is still in demand. And this would be a way to get you beyond the work you do for the movie-star set, right? It would be doing something big—huge—for the Big Guy in the sky.”
“I am doing something for God. Here.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
Claire twisted the telephone cord around her finger. A commission for a church. Surely God would approve of that?
“Why don’t you give me a phone number, and I’ll have the man from the church call—”
