Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  A faint blush tinged Tia’s cheeks.

  “You don’t mind my saying that, do you?” Leo asked.

  Tia picked up a paper napkin. “Your prayer was beautiful.”

  Jill’s breath caught in her throat. Maybe her coming to Windtop had been less about her finding peace from her grief and more about Tia’s need. If so, she was satisfied. Though she still wished for the answers to her questions and prayed that Clay would find his way back to God.

  Both seemed impossible.

  Shortly after their picnic lunch, the McGees and Tia left while Clay’s grandmother waved a blue-veined hand and called out to them, “We’ll see you at the park after the parade.”

  Clay gathered up three lawn chairs and set them up at the curb in front of the house. “Grandma, sit right here in the middle.” He helped her before settling in the chair to her left.

  Already, a crowd had lined the street on both sides in anticipation of the parade. Nearly everything and everyone was decked out in red, white, and blue. Flags fluttered from porches, and the hum of happy conversation filled the air. Out of sight on another street, marching bands tuned up. Their disjointed practice notes had already stirred the crowd’s anticipation by the time Jill finally arrived.

  “The kitchen is clean, Amelia,” she said, resting in the remaining lawn chair. “We’re all set to leave for the park when the parade is over.”

  He couldn’t help it. Her smile captivated him. He looked away, hoping to distract himself with all the activity around them. Why couldn’t he stop wondering what life might be like with her? Sadly enough, he’d never know.

  It didn’t help that here he was, alone with his grandmother and Jill again. That is, if you didn’t count the crowd several rows deep lining the parade route on both sides of the street as far as you could see.

  While her presence tortured him, he also found it as refreshing as clean summer air. But why crave what would never be his?

  Jill tried to enjoy the parade with Amelia. Her few glances at Clay revealed how uncomfortable he was. Could it be because she had joined them?

  She forced herself to focus on the smartly dressed marching bands filling the air with tunes that made her toes tap on the grass. Colorful clowns gave balloons to the children along the route who wiggled like puppies from the attention. Political figures waved from fancy cars while passengers in the business trucks tossed wrapped candy to the children. They scrambled to fill their bags just as she had when she was a child.

  A ripple of laughter drew her curiosity as a huge, shiny milk truck lumbered by. Hastily slapped on its back end with duct tape, a sign with a big black arrow pointed to the crumpled metal dent. It all but shouted a deer committed suicide here!

  The crowd laughed, but Jill blinked rapidly. Suicide.

  Even at a parade and in the midst of celebration, she couldn’t avoid reminders of her mother’s death.

  A thin hand grasped hers, and she offered Amelia a weak smile as Clay leaned forward to look her way. His gray eyes softened just as an icy blast of water hit her square in the chest. She gasped and leapt to her feet.

  From a long flatbed float crowded with alumni seated on folding chairs, Carver grinned and waved. He flicked his hand off his forehead in a salute and, just as quickly, joined his classmates to surprise other unsuspecting parade watchers.

  Amelia chuckled and pointed down the street. “I think he and his classmates are about to get a dose of their own medicine.”

  Barely visible, a water hose hung in a tree. As Carver and his classmates opened fire again, the hose drenched them from above. They sputtered and laughed along with the crowd.

  Jill shook her shirt. The summer heat had already begun to dry the wet spot, evidence of the most attention in fun Carver had paid her in a long time.

  Clay clenched his teeth. For two cents, he’d knock Carver’s block off for shocking Jill like that. He scanned the park for any sign of Jill’s cousin while she and the McGees helped Amelia with potential shoppers at the quilt and craft tent. Within three hours, his grandmother had placed the last of the quilt money in the cash box and locked it.

  She grinned at him, a twinkle in her eyes, and he knew she was up to something again. “You and Jill might as well take advantage of the free ice cream bars and enjoy some of the other activities,” she said. “I’m going to visit Ruth at the nursing home for a couple of hours.”

  When he attempted to help her, she shooed him away. “I can walk that half-block myself,” she insisted. He doubted she was right, but she did appear to manage just fine.

  He shook his head and turned to Jill. “That grandmother of mine sure is something else. It looks as if she’s thrown us together. For her sake, should we make the best of it?”

  Jill appeared uncertain, but he had no intention of leaving her on her own. He scanned the park again. Something didn’t feel right. “Are you interested in that free ice cream?”

  She smiled and his stomach flip-flopped. He was probably just hungry.

  Less than ten minutes later, he had polished off the last of the cold, creamy treat and pitched the stick in a refuse can. While he pretty much wolfed his down, Jill had a delightfully demure way of consuming hers.

  She had barely finished when the wail of a siren pierced the park in waves. Like something out of a science fiction movie, everyone around them stopped what they were doing and moved in unison toward the center of town.

  Jill’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s go, Clay.”

  “Sure.” He fell into step with her eager pace and, not for the first time today, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He scanned the crowd for anything suspicious. As they walked to the top of the hill, he couldn’t shake the creepy notion that someone was watching them.

  Two red fire engines rounded the corner. Children chosen to ride on the tops of the trucks waved excitedly to family and friends below. As soon as the vehicles parked near the post office, the children scrambled down to join their families.

  “I rode the firetrucks one year,” Jill said, her face aglow.

  Didn’t she feel anything amiss? He glanced through the crowd and almost put an arm around her to keep her near.

  Firemen in shorts and t-shirts donned their yellow hats and slickers. After pulling on their black boots, they rolled out heavy fire hoses at each end of the short city block.

  Clay had seen the annual water fight a couple of summers as a kid. It was about to begin. He edged Jill into the crowd lining the block where he could get a good view while the firefighters divided into teams and positioned themselves.

  Alternating with training powerful hoses on each other’s team, the men waved them overhead, raining a refreshing spray on the crowd who squealed with delight.

  Jill smiled up at him.

  For a long moment, he stared into the depths of her eyes. He not only enjoyed it but realized that he would like to get used to the privilege. Yet one day soon, she would no longer smile at him.

  He tore his gaze away, and it stopped by chance across the street, down about a half block, and set him on instant alert. His shoulder muscles bunched as he grasped Jill’s nearest hand. He pulled it through the crook of his arm and covered it with his other hand. In his peripheral vision, he caught her looking up at him and sensed her confusion, but he continued to stare grimly into the crowd across the way.

  She swiveled in that direction. In that split second, did she catch three men looking at them? One pointed behind a thick veil of spray.

  He nodded his head in their direction. “Do you know them?”

  “Well … maybe. No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  The men disappeared before he could get a good look at them. But he could have sworn they had been studying them. He didn’t like it.

  The water fight ended and the firemen began gathering up their gear.

  “It’s almost supper time,” he said. “Let’s go on back. Are you hungry?”

  As they waited in line at the American Legion booth to order t
heir food, Jill couldn’t help but wonder why Clay was so worried. The uneasy feeling she experienced earlier crept back. She shook it off, determined to enjoy what was left of the celebration and the warmth of her hand in his. She might never get another chance.

  Spicy hot dogs and nose-tickling sodas added a certain ambiance as they witnessed first, the pie-eating contest and later, the chainsaw artist turning chunks of tree trunks into squirrels, rabbits, and hawks. She leaned into Clay, relishing the quiet comfort of his presence. For a while, she wouldn’t think of Janice, of what his murdered fiancée meant to him.

  Music throbbed through the park as they strolled near the bay’s edge and came to a quiet wooded area where others rested in the shade. They paused on a wooden bridge arching over a narrow creek that trickled to the bay. Clay leaned on its railing.

  Their being together seemed so right that it hurt. She sighed. Better to content herself with whatever fleeting hours the Lord allowed.

  “It’s been a good day,” he said, his gaze on the creek’s flow. He reached over and covered her hand on the railing beside his.

  Jill’s pulse raced. Oh, Lord, if only he loved you more than what’s troubling him. If only he would come back to you. She might be long gone from his life before that ever happened.

  She forced her thoughts to safer ground. “Tia and Leo were so funny competing in the pie eating contest. I’ve never seen two faces covered with so much blueberry.”

  “Or cherry,” Clay added.

  “And I’ve never seen Tia laugh as much.”

  His mood quieted. “I guess Leo makes the difference.”

  “I think it’s more than that, Clay.”

  “How so?”

  His gaze mesmerized her. She longed to stay lost in the bright gray depths of his eyes. How would he take her news? “Tia invited Jesus into her life last night.”

  Tearing his gaze away, he checked his watch and tensed. “Oh! I’ll be late.”

  “For what?”

  “My ballgame,” he said. “I have to drive Grandma home first.”

  “I could do that,” Jill said.

  “You would, wouldn’t you?” he said as if it were something special.

  “I don’t think she’d mind. So if you don’t …”

  He trailed his fingers over her cheek and gazed so deeply into her eyes that every nerve in her body came alive.

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t,” he said. He squeezed her hand affectionately. “Let’s go.”

  Racing up a grassy slope through the trees, they gained the nursing home parking lot where Clay unlocked his truck and pulled out his sports bag. He placed his keys in her hand and curled her fingers gently around them. “Thanks.”

  “I could drop you off at the ballpark first.”

  Clay shook his head. “I’ll make it all right on foot.” He backed away at a fast trot. “See you at the game. Park in the lot above the marina where we picked it up this morning.” He turned to run.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze away until he was out of sight. A part of him might always love Janice, Lord, but he also cares for me. If only his love for her were stronger than whatever trapped him in the past. Whatever it was had to be deeper than his issues regarding Janice.

  The plate glass door of the brick nursing home opened and Amelia gestured for her to come quickly.

  “I’ve stumbled on news about your mother, Jill. Something I think you’ll want to hear firsthand.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Their discordant footsteps echoed on the tile floor as Jill followed Amelia down the nursing home’s wide, empty hall.

  Her heart beat against her ribcage. What information could Amelia have found in a place like this? Her mother hadn’t known anyone here in years.

  Her stomach swam with anxiety as they entered a resident’s room and approached the single bed near a large window with a bayside view of Grand Island. A white-haired woman lay there, her thin body barely visible beneath the white cotton blanket draped over her.

  This frail woman knew something about her mother?

  “Ruth, this is Jill Shepherd.”

  Ruth blinked her faded brown eyes. Her smile radiated a peace that amazed Jill. “Thank you for those lovely flowers to brighten my room.” She gestured weakly toward the pot of russet mums on the window sill. Against pale ivory walls and drapes like sunshine, they made a spirited statement.

  Amelia took her friend’s frail hand. “Ruth wasn’t always confined to a bed. Were you, dear?” She patted her friend’s thin hand gently. “She traveled the world as a missionary nurse, going wherever God sent her. Ruth, tell Jill what you told me. You know, about her mother on the island.”

  The woman crinkled her forehead. “Oh, yes. You mean about a year ago when I still got around quite well.”

  Jill settled into a chair near the bed, her gaze never leaving the woman. She waited as Ruth corralled her memories.

  “I was praying that morning—actually it was my eightieth birthday—and the Lord told me …” She stopped as if undecided about going on with her story. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Some folks are bothered when I say, ‘The Lord told me.’ Does it bother you? I don’t mean to suggest that he talks to me out loud.”

  Jill tilted her head and smiled to encourage Ruth. “It doesn’t bother me. God has a way of letting me know what he wants me to understand too.”

  The frail woman nodded. “Exactly.”

  “I came back to Grand Island,” Jill said, “because I believed the Lord wanted me to.” But had she been right about God’s reasons?

  Ruth sat up, a momentary strength seeming to seize her. She gripped the white coverlet with both hands. “Don’t you doubt it. God did send you. He will accomplish much through you if you give him the chance. You have grave and dark days ahead, but don’t leave until you complete all the Lord has sent you to do.” She sank back against her pillows and closed her eyes. Her breathing came in shallow gasps.

  Alarmed at the woman’s weakened condition, Jill turned to Amelia, who put a finger to her lips. “Wait,” she whispered.

  Ruth’s breathing returned to normal. She opened her eyes and sought Jill’s. “Now where were we? Oh, yes, the day of my eightieth birthday. That’s the morning the Lord told me to go to the island and take my Bible along. Do you know Henry Lattern?”

  Jill shook her head, wishing Amelia’s friend wouldn’t take such a leisurely pace while telling her story.

  “Well, he drove me from Williams’ Landing as far as the gate of a big brick house with brown wood trim.”

  Something like electricity ran over Jill’s skin. She clasped her hands together and leaned forward.

  “‘You stay here,’ I told Henry. Then I walked along a tree-lined driveway. Just as I came to where the trees stopped, a woman with pretty blonde hair came out of the house.”

  “Mother?”

  Ruth nodded. “I waited in the shadows. When she looked around but didn’t see me, she came down from the porch with a pail and a gardening trowel.”

  “You’re sure she was my mother.”

  “Do you look like her?”

  “People say I do, but Mother rarely went outside and never without our housekeeper.”

  Ruth smiled broadly. “If that’s true—and I don’t doubt it—then you can be sure this was God’s doing. As soon as I saw your mother, I knew God had sent me to tell her how much he loved her and wanted her to be his child.”

  Jill’s heart pounded. Could this be true? It was almost more than she could hope for.

  “With her back to me, your mother worked in the dirt around that rosebush by the porch steps. Apparently, she didn’t hear me come up the drive and seemed quite content until she sensed me behind her. Then she jumped to her feet and backed away.

  “‘Missus,’ I said to her, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ but she scrambled up the steps and ran for the door. ‘Please don’t go,’ I called after her, but she slammed the door and locked it.”

  Jill closed he
r eyes and swallowed again. How could her mother come so close to news that would change her life, and yet miss it?

  Amelia reached for Jill’s hand.

  “I stood near the bottom porch step,” Ruth went on. “‘Lord,’ I prayed, ‘what have I done? You sent me to tell this dear woman you love her, and I frightened her away.’ Tears tumbled from these old eyes. I couldn’t stop them, so I just stood there and cried. Then the Lord told me to look up. There she was, observing me from the long window next to the door. Take the booklet from your Bible, the Lord said in my heart. Your mother watched as I put it on the porch near the rosebush and weighted it down with her trowel. I left, praying that God would use that booklet to help your mother understand how much he loved her.”

  “Did he?” Jill held her breath.

  Ruth sighed. “I don’t know. When I reached the trees, I looked back to see if she had come out of the house. As far as I know, she didn’t. I prayed for her all through the night. Three days later, I heard she had died.”

  Amelia patted Jill’s back. “At least you know God sent someone to tell your mother about the way to heaven.”

  Jill bowed her head. “Yes. At least she had a chance and I have hope.” She rose to go. “Thank you, Ruth. Thank you for going to see my mother when you did.”

  “I’ll be praying for you,” the frail woman promised. “Maybe you will find out what I could not tell you.”

  Ruth closed her eyes. Amelia motioned to Jill, and they left the room.

  “That was the last time Ruth was able to go out and tell anyone about Jesus,” Amelia confided. “That evening she fell sick, was taken to the hospital, and has been in this nursing home ever since. She often wondered what choice your mother made.”

  Jill did too. Had her mother read the little booklet or turned her back on it?