Sweet Scent of Forgiveness

by Delia Latham

  He seemed to relax a little, if his state of mind could be judged by the fact that he smiled. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve told you I was comin’.”

  As if a note that says “Time’s up” wouldn’t give me a clue?

  “That would’ve been nice. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to wait on your stew.”

  “Aww, that’s all right. It was good stew, Norah. You always was a good cook.”

  Get out of this room.

  She gave her head a tiny jerk. What was that? And how could she get out of the room? Chandler wouldn’t let her go far.

  Get out!

  Oooh-kay. Lord, I sure hope this is You. Otherwise this could be a bad, bad move.

  “Thank you. You know, I didn’t give you a slice of that pie. Would you like me to bring it to you now?”

  He grinned. “You ever known me to turn down a good dessert?”

  “No, I don’t think I have. You’ve always enjoyed your sweet treats.” Norah forced a smile as she stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  “If there’s any coffee left in the pot, I’ll take another cup with that pie.”

  “Sure. I think there’s enough left for at least one more cup.” She headed for the kitchen—not quite at a run, but maybe a fast trot. The more she recalled the urgency in that near-audible warning, the more determined she was to get away from the man in her living room.

  She made deliberate noises as she got the pie and coffee together. Dessert plates clanked as she removed one from the cabinet. The pie server clattered against the dish. The coffee mug bumped against the counter with a clunk. If Chandler could hear her, maybe he wouldn’t feel the need to follow her into the kitchen.

  How was Donovan doing upstairs, all alone? Please stay where you are, sweet boy. Whatever you do, don’t come down here.

  Outside, a siren broke the quiet afternoon and car doors slammed.

  “Norah, what did you do?” Chandler yelled.

  When he didn’t immediately appear in the kitchen, she edged down the hall and peeked into the living room. He stood next to the window, peering out through a crack he’d created in the curtains.

  Norah backed away. The voice in her head had told her to get out of the room. She wanted to run upstairs, but feared Chandler would come looking for her and find Donovan. Somehow she knew he’d hurt her son if he got his hands on him.

  She returned to the kitchen, her mind racing. Could they get in to help her? Had she locked the door when she and Donovan came home? She couldn’t remember, but it seemed unlikely, considering they’d planned to change clothes and leave right away. Still, she could have, through force of habit.

  An amplified voice broke through her reverie. She cried out, and then covered her mouth with both hands.

  “Chandler Dunn, we know you’re in there. Come out now, and it’ll go a lot easier for you.”

  “Norah! Get in here!”

  She backed against the refrigerator and slid to the floor. Resting her arms on bent knees, she buried her head in them. Between short, panting breaths, she called out to the only One who could get her and her son out of this situation without someone getting hurt.

  “Norah!” His voice thundered through the house.

  Hoping against hope that Donovan would get in the blanket box like she’d told him, Norah screamed, loud and shrill. She silently called on her Protector. Please, God, keep my little boy safe!

  From the megaphone. “Chandler. If you don’t come out, we will come in. You won’t enjoy that, I promise. Work with us. Make it easier on yourself.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You wanna take me out of my house, you’ll have to come in and get me!” Chandler yelled an answer they couldn’t hear. A steady stream of expletives spewed from his lips.

  With each vile profanity from the other room, Norah’s fear spiked higher. Didn’t they know they couldn’t deal with an unbalanced man by reasoning with him? His powers of rational thinking were skewed to the point of non-existence.

  Someone tapped on the kitchen window. Norah shot a terrified glance toward the door into the hall. If Chandler had heard…

  But he continued to curse and—judging by the sound of his footsteps on her hardwood floors—pace.

  She stood and eased her way to the sink. Marcus’ stood with his hands around his face, peering through the glass. The mere sight of him brought on tears she’d fought back ever since Chandler walked into her kitchen.

  “Norah! Thank God! Are you all right? Donovan?” Marcus addressed her, but his green eyes flicked from side to side behind her, obviously watching for Chandler.

  She nodded, then reached into the sink for the paring knife she’d used to pop the hideous balloon. Holding it up to show Marcus, she jerked a thumb behind her, then dropped the knife and spread her hands ten inches apart. Would he understand?

  His eyes widened. “He has a big knife?”

  Her chin dipped once before her blood turned to ice. Chandler’s hand landed on her shoulder and he brought his face close to hers. His right hand appeared around her head, the knife gripped in white-knuckled fingers. He placed the blade against Norah’s neck.

  “Yeah, man. A big one. You like it?” With the opposite hand, he took hold of Norah’s hair and pulled her head back, revealing the length of her throat. “Tell the boys in blue to back off, you hear? If I hear the knob on a single door turn, there’ll be nothing left to save.”

  He turned Norah around and guided her back into the living room, where he shoved her onto the sofa. “Don’t be afraid. You know I’d never hurt you, but I can’t let them take you away from me.” Chandler crossed the room and laid the knife on top of the television.

  All at once, he stiffened and grabbed his head with both hands. “No, Dad! No! Don’t say that.”

  “Ch—Chandler?”

  He glared. “Shut up! This is between me and my old man.” He grabbed a handful of hair in each hand and pulled. “I can do better. I can, Dad. I can, I promise!”

  Oh, God, please help!

  Chandler dropped to the floor and buried his face in his hands. “Norah, would you…do you have any pain medication?”

  “Just over-the-counter stuff. I can get you a couple of aspirin.”

  “Please.” He glanced up, his eyes red-rimmed and dazed. “Thank you.”

  As she left the room, he moaned into his hands. “It hurts so bad.”

  Norah fled the room, her heart aching for him despite the situation. She reached the medicine cabinet, and that’s when several things happened in rapid succession.

  Chandler cried out, “I can’t breathe! Norah…Norah…help me, please!”

  Her ultra-sensitive nerves reacted to a tiny movement. She whirled toward the door, where a police officer stood motionless, one finger held to his lips. Behind him, a stream of his comrades flowed past, silent and focused, headed toward the living room.

  From somewhere, Donovan screamed, “Mommeeeee!”

  She stood rooted to the floor for five seconds. Ten. Then she flew to her son’s room and scanned the area. The child was nowhere in sight. Good. He’d hidden himself as she instructed.

  “Donovan, I’m here.” Norah jerked the lid up on the blanket chest and stared into the empty interior, her heart pounding so hard and fast she had to grab onto the corner of the bed to steady the dizziness. Her stomach churned and she drew in a deep breath, determined not to be sick. Not now.

  “Donovan!” she screamed. “Where are you?”

  * * * *

  “Right here, Norah. I’ve got him.” Marcus spoke from the doorway. He held Norah’s trembling little boy in one arm, and Juliet by the hand. “This little soldier saved the day. He sure is a brave boy.”

  Norah pulled her son free of his arms and into her own. “How—what? I don’t understand.”

  “Daddy used my iPad to chat with Donovan,” Juliet explained. “He told him to open the back door so the police could come in and save you. Donovan said the back door was in the kitchen and Daddy got all frown
y and told him not to go in there.” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know why.”

  Marcus glanced at Norah, whose beautiful eyes held a world of emotion. She’d paled at the mention of Donovan going into the kitchen…closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath when Juliet relieved her of the need to envision all the horrible possibilities had he done so.

  He longed to wrap her in his arms and vow to never let anything hurt her or her son. Not ever.

  “So what did you do, sweet boy?

  “Mr. Conley said could I open my window, and I said ’course I can.” He grinned and puffed out his little chest. “So that’s what I did. I got on the big shelf outside and Mr. Conley climbed up a ladder and took me down to the ground. I gave him the key you taped in my backpack.” He paused, and then turned a clearly concerned gaze on his mother. “You told me not to give it to nobody, but Mr. Conley said you wouldn’t be mad this time, ’cause I was savin’ you. Are you mad, Mommy?”

  “Oh, Donovan, no! I’m so proud of you!” She kissed the top of his head.

  “He didn’t want to come outside.” Marcus gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “He said his mommy told him to hide in the box…whatever that is. Getting him to do anything other than what you’d told him required every persuasive trick I’ve ever learned.”

  Juliet snorted. “You should’ve said the magic words first, Dad. Then you wouldn’t have had to say all the rest.”

  “The magic words?” Norah dropped onto the edge of the bed. She seemed to have a bit of a problem putting it all together.

  Marcus chuckled. The woman had a right to a case of ‘foggy brain,’ after what she’d endured today.

  He made a wry face. “Juliet’s right. All I had to say to make him listen was, ‘You have to save your mom, Donovan. It’s up to you.”

  Norah tucked her son closer against her. “You must’ve been so scared. I’m sorry you had to go through this whole, ugly afternoon.” Her tense smile wasn’t quite up to its usual dazzle. “Thank you for being my hero!”

  Donovan wasn’t ready to smile yet, but a tiny upward quirk of his lips eased the obvious stiffness in Norah’s posture.

  “You’re my mommy.” He shrugged shoulders far too small for the burden he’d carried this day. “I had to save you, ’cause Marcus and the cop guys couldn’t get inside without me.”

  Norah’s bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and she blinked several times. How much longer before she fell apart?

  Donovan’s little fingers touched her face. “Are you mad ’cause I got out of the box, Mommy?”

  “Oh, my sweet boy! No, baby, no. I’m not mad. I’m so proud of you!”

  “Well, I want to know about this box? What box?” Marcus spread both hands in a comical, I-don’t-get-it gesture.

  Norah sniffled, and then laughed softly. “Show him the box, Donovan.”

  Marcus took time to admire the wooden chest in which Donovan insisted he had spent “hours and hours” before climbing out to open the back door.

  Norah pointed at the clock on the boy’s wall. “Look at the time, Donovan. We only left the church two hours ago.”

  Donovan’s eyes rounded. “Wowww,” he breathed. “How did all that time get squeezed into two hours?”

  Marcus grinned. He loved the way kids thought.

  “Okay. Now Juliet, you and Donovan stay up here. Norah, you too. I’m going to see what’s happening downstairs.”

  “No way.” Norah was on her feet in an instant. “I’m going with you. Donovan, you and Juliet stay here. Lock the door and do not open it unless you hear my voice or Marcus’. Understand?”

  “We understand,” the kids chorused.

  They waited until the lock clicked behind them, and then headed for the lower level.

  “Daddy, please don’t hurt me again, please, please, please!” The words were those of a child. The voice belonged to a man. The effect sent a shudder through Marcus’ frame.

  “Wait.” Norah touched his arm. “Hold on.”

  She stepped into the kitchen, ran a glass of water and pulled a bottle of aspirin from her pocket.

  “Headache?”

  “No, they’re for him.” She shook three pills into her hand and handed Marcus the bottle.

  “Him…?” Marcus’ chin dropped. “That man in there? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Yes. That man in there is…sick, Marcus. I have to show him the love of Christ.”

  He stood for a moment, speechless, and then pulled her into his arms for a quick hug. “You’re something else, Norah Bradley. Come on then, let’s go feed the big, bad lion.”

  They stepped into the living room in time to see a couple of officers haul a white-haired, hand-cuffed man to his feet. The guy’s red-rimmed eyes caught their entry and turned toward them. His gaze fixed hungrily on Norah and then moved to Marcus.

  “You! You’ve been sniffin’ around my wife for a little too long. Get away from her, mister. Just step away, right now!”

  His wife?

  The officers jerked the frantic man’s arms and started for the door.

  “Wait!” Norah halted them and stepped closer. “I have your aspirin, Chandler. Open up.”

  She slipped the pills into the bound man’s mouth and held the glass to his lips.

  “Thank you, babe.”

  The man had held a knife to her throat such a short time ago, yet now his voice held nothing but love. Marcus gaped at the scene before him.

  “I knew you still loved me.”

  “No, Chandler. I don’t. I never did…and I need to apologize. I was wrong to marry you for any reason other than love. I’m—” She stopped, clearly struggling with some deep emotion. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me for that?”

  Chandler drew in a deep, deep breath, and then looked straight into Norah’s eyes. For the first time since Marcus laid eyes on him, he seemed perfectly lucid. “There’s nothing to forgive. Love or not, you were the best part of my life.”

  “Thank you.” Tears overflowed her beautiful eyes and streaked her cheeks. “God loves you more than I ever could have. If you really want to experience a Father’s love, you should talk to Him. Will you do that?”

  The white-haired guy nodded. “Sure, Norah. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Do it for you.” She smiled through her tears. “Goodbye now. Be well, Chandler.”

  Then she crossed the room and stopped beside Marcus. They watched the man—apparently, at some point in time, Norah’s husband–being hauled outside, and then she looked up and into his eyes.

  “I guess I have some explaining to do.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Only if and when you’re ready.”

  “He’s not my husband. He was…when I was sixteen, for about three weeks. We never…” A little blush climbed up her cheeks and Marcus found himself fascinated with the delicate color. “You know…consummated. I left him when I discovered he was a violent drunk, and the marriage was annulled right away. Until today, I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.”

  He wanted to ask a hundred questions because her little speech hinted at an interesting story—one she could share with him later, when she and her son were less traumatized.

  “Marcus, when I was in the living room with Chandler…before I came to the kitchen and saw you in the window, something really odd happened. I heard a voice.” She nibbled at her lip and lifted a pleading gaze to his. “Please don’t think I’ve lost my mind! That voice sounded so real, so audible to me, but I know it wasn’t, because Chandler didn’t respond. He would have reacted, and it wouldn’t have been a good thing.” She paused, and Marcus read in her transparent expression a deep uncertainty.

  “All that matters right now is that you’re safe. I—Norah, I thought I was going to lose you before I got the chance to really know you. And I want to know you.” He trailed a finger down one soft cheek. His heart skipped a beat or two when she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “I want to take you on fancy dates—and simple d
ates. I’d like to buy you dinners…roses… chocolates. Diamonds, when the time is right. And then…well, I’d like to see where it goes from there.”

  “Marcus, I—I—”

  “Shhh. You’ve been through a lot today. I should’ve waited, but I had to let you know that I think you’re one special lady. We both have reasons—” he shot a look upstairs, “to take things slow, and not commit to any relationship in a hurry. But I’d like to get started on that journey, if you’re even remotely on the same page.”

  Norah stepped closer and leaned against his chest. “Page one, paragraph three of ‘The Story of Us.’ Sound right?”

  “Exactly right.” Marcus slid a thumb under her chin and eased it up just enough. He lowered his face and slid his lips against hers, testing the waters. When she returned the tentative gesture, he pulled her close and made it real. A genuine kiss.

  They drew apart and he blew out a breath. “Wow.”

  Norah laughed softly. “Wow is right. That was some first kiss, Mr. Conley.”

  He touched her lips and she kissed his fingertip. Marcus’ heart tumbled to her feet. “Maybe…almost certainly the first of a lifetime of them.”

  “Almost certainly,” she breathed.

  One more quick, sweet brush of clinging lips, and then he took her hand. Together, they climbed the stairs, only to find two wide-eyed children hanging over the landing rail. By their expressions, they’d taken in at least a portion of what had transpired between the adults.

  “D—Dad?” Juliet stammered.

  “Mom?” Donovan’s big blue eyes seemed bigger and bluer than ever.

  Norah raised a stricken gaze to Marcus’.

  He laughed. “Come on, kids. You’ll get used to it. But we still haven’t eaten lunch and I’m hungry.”

  The children looked at each other, burst into giggles and ran outside ahead of their parents.

  Norah and Marcus tested the locks on both back and front doors. Twice. And then, hand in hand, they stepped outside, and into a brand-new beginning.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed your journey through Norah’s life in Sweet Scent of Forgiveness, and that you were somehow blessed and uplifted in your own personal walk with the Lord. If so, would you consider leaving a short review on Amazon? Positive reviews and word-of-mouth recommendations honor an author while also helping other readers find quality fiction to read.