Endless Chain (12 page)

“How old is that one?”

“Mid-eighties. It was the last metal lunch box, a real collector’s item. Kids started using them as weapons; there were lawsuits, so the manufacturers went to plastic. A great choice for a minister, don’t you think?”

“Very macho. I don’t remember seeing any pink lunch boxes at your house.”

“Cabbage Patch and Barbie haven’t found their way into my collection.”

“That could be fixed.”

“The whole thing is humiliating enough, thanks.”

He shoved the lunch box under his arm and joined her for the walk to
La Casa,
feeling better than he had all morning.

Since the day he had told her of his fall from grace, they had begun spending more time together. Coffee breaks, planning meetings, obscure errands on the grounds together. One afternoon he had taken her to see a patch of lady-slipper orchids at the edge of the property and asked her to put up a sign so the plants wouldn’t be disturbed. Another day he had taken her out to the compost pile to show her where coffee grounds and tea bags should be taken each week. Nothing too intimate by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew the episodes for what they were: a chance to be close to her.

“So are you going to give me a hint?” he asked as they neared the old house. “Since you don’t look distressed, I’m assuming you didn’t find rats or bats or asbestos?”

“I thought I’d found termites, but it’s something entirely different.”

His curiosity was piqued, but he was in no hurry to get to the house. He liked walking in the sunshine with her, the current of attraction crackling between them. At home alone he would be thinking of something else and a picture of Elisa would suddenly form in his mind. No matter how hard he tried to ignore his own reaction, willpower was no match for desire.

He had progressed in his thinking, or perhaps it was the opposite. Either way, he had decided that ignoring Elisa was counterproductive. The less he saw of her, the more he thought of her. Perhaps if a simple friendship flourished, everything else would die a natural death.

“It’s early yet, but if you look closely you can see some of the leaves are starting to change,” he said. “Autumn in the valley is beautiful. The tourists will start to descend when the colors change in earnest. Attendance picks up at church, because everybody comes back home to visit.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing them.”

“What was fall like in Mexico?”

“Hotter. But we looked forward to cooler weather, so it was always appreciated.”

“Do you miss home?”

“Yes and no.”

He wondered if it was possible to be more vague. “How are Adoncia and her children?”

“She’s wearing an engagement ring.” Elisa glanced at him, as if to read his expression. “Diego wants to be married right away, but Adoncia’s not sure. He wants a family, but she wants to wait until her two are a little older before she has another.”

“I can understand that.”

“Not every man is so thoughtful. Diego is hungry for family.”

“I can understand that, too.”

“Because you want children?”

The question was as personal as any she had asked him. He saw from her expression she was sorry.

“I absolutely want kids,” he said. “I love kids.” Christine claimed to want them, too, although he wondered. Even though she worked with children, it was their parents who interested Chrissy most.

“How about you?” he countered. “Do you want children?”

“I did. Once. But it’s not a problem I need to think about now.”

“There’s no man on the horizon?”

“Not as far as the eye can see.”

They reached the house. He paused on the porch. “Lunch first? Or the big revelation?”

“How hungry are you?”

“I’m always hungry.”

“The big revelation will keep. It’s definitely not going anywhere.”

They perched on the top step, and Elisa set about unscrewing the tops of two water bottles Sam had taken from the refrigerator before leaving. Sam opened the lunch box and spread out his bounty. Two sandwiches, apples, a banana, cake and several candy bars.

Elisa leaned over and examined the food. She was close enough that he could smell lemons and a whiff of pine, most likely from cleaning products she had used that morning, but crisp and pleasant nonetheless.

“Sam, you eat this stuff?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Her braid fell over one shoulder and glistened against her cheek as she pried open the first sandwich. “Ummm…What is this?”

He took the sandwich from her hand and separated the slices of bread, since he couldn’t remember. “Leftover chicken, a fried egg, ketchup and some extra hash browns I didn’t have time to eat for breakfast. Oh, and a slice of American cheese.” He looked up. “Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound good. You have no idea how much I yearned for a lunch like this when I was eating prison food.”

She looked faintly ill. “And the other’s the same?”

“I pride myself on diversity.” He lifted the top slice of bread on the second sandwich. “Broccoli, hummus, blue cheese—I love the stuff—and some ham the book discussion group gave me from yesterday’s luncheon. The cake was last week’s contribution, but it’s not very stale.”

“This contest you told me about, the strange lunch contest? Are you practicing?”

“I have fruit, I have cake, I have candy.” He shrugged. “Strange?”

“The apples have worm holes. The banana was perfect last month. The candy? I’ve never seen such tiny candy bars.”

“They’re left over from Halloween. I only had a couple of trick or treaters last year. I’ve been working on the bags ever since.”

“Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you don’t eat with anything else? Say, no lima beans on a grilled cheese sandwich?”

“I’m surprised your food preferences are so narrow.”

“I’m surprised you’re alive and well and able to put one foot in front of the other.”

They were smiling at each other, and for a long moment neither spoke. There were too many of these moments, he knew, just as he knew he was powerless to put an end to them.

“What will you eat?” he asked at last.

“I’ll take my chances with the worms.”

“They’re perfectly good apples, I promise.”

They worked on his lunch in companionable silence. She spoke when both apples had disappeared with no further complaint. “What do you know about the origins of this house, Sam? That first day you told me it’s pre-Civil War. Do you know anything more?”

“A Miller family settled the land. They arrived from Pennsylvania, I think. A lot of the valley settlers did. Many were of German origin, but some of them were Mennonites, or what they called Dunkards back then and we call the Church of the Brethren now. Those are peace churches, and the members refuse to fight. You can imagine that makes for tension when the country’s at war.”

“So they didn’t fight in the Civil War? That was fought right here, wasn’t it?”

“They say this part of the valley never had a lot of slaves, but there were people on both sides of the slavery issue, fighting for opposing armies when war broke out. Brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor. Some people who were against slavery in principle still fought for the South. The capital of the Confederacy was just down the road in Richmond, after all.”

“So the Millers might have been right in the middle of things.”

“Probably were. I don’t know much more than that. I do know they held on to the land until the beginning of the twentieth century. At some point it was passed down through a female Miller—I can’t remember her married name—and eventually sold and divided. But apparently it was still called the Miller Place when the church bought this parcel at auction. The whole area had fallen on hard times by then. The Depression took a toll. There’s a rumor a lot of farmers sold the local white lightning to get themselves through the toughest times. Who could blame them?”

He balled up his trash and crammed it back in the Rambo lunch box. “So, what’s my surprise?”

“Well, I think the Millers might have had a secret life. Or at least somebody who lived here did.”

He followed her inside and into the kitchen. She pulled the chain on the pantry light, and he saw that some of the shelves had been removed. Then he saw the hole.

“After you,” she said, stepping out of the pantry to let him inside.

“What’s this?”

“I think a storage area of some kind. I was cleaning, and I fell. I tried to catch myself, and I hit the wall back there—or at least what I thought was a wall. It turned out to be a door.”

He stepped up closer and peered into complete darkness. “You’re okay? You weren’t hurt?”

“Just a scratch and wounded pride. Don’t go any farther, Sam.”

“I’m assuming there’s no light in here?”

“No, but I found a flashlight in the emergency kit in the hallway. Here.” She handed him a high beam flashlight.

Sam aimed the light into the darkness and saw a room, or, more accurately, a cave. There were steps down, four of them—which was obviously the reason Elisa hadn’t wanted him to go farther—and the room seemed to be carved out of the hillside behind it. As many times as he had been in this house, there had never been an indication this room existed. It was about six by eight feet, perhaps six feet high, with a dirt floor and stone walls lined with empty cobwebbed shelves.

He stepped back into the kitchen. “That’s a surprise.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

“If it’s a root cellar, it’s the only one I’ve ever seen that was hidden away. Generally Grandmother’s canned peaches don’t warrant a secret room. Besides, there’s a root cellar with an outside entrance beyond this one.”

Elisa turned off the pantry light. “Maybe the Millers used this room to hide supplies during the war. Wasn’t looting a problem when troops came through? Maybe this is where they put their valuables.”

“Or maybe it’s more recent. Maybe some resident really did traffic in corn liquor during the Depression, and that’s where he stored it.”

“Maybe it’s both.”

He wondered how they might find out. Elisa beat him to the most logical answer. “Do you think Martha Wisner might know?”

“How much does she remember about anything?” he asked.

“Her long-term memory is relatively unimpaired. Her short-term?” She shrugged.

“So it’s possible if she ever knew about the room she might remember now?”

“It’s possible. I work tomorrow tonight. I could ask her.”

“Why not? Unless it upsets her.”

“Are you going to tell people?”

That was a harder question. Something told him that wouldn’t be a good idea, at least not yet.
La Casa
was about to open its doors for the first time, and he didn’t want sightseers trooping through to see the hidden room. Until they could discover more about its purpose, he thought it might be wise to keep this discovery secret.

He told her as much, and she nodded in agreement. “I’ll put things back the way they were. But it’s a very clever arrangement of shelves. The door is positioned between vertical studs and horizontal shelves. There’s no question someone wanted that room to be invisible.”

He was intrigued by the mystery. But he also realized he was even more intrigued that he and Elisa shared this secret. Now there was another excuse for conversation, for spending time in each other’s company.

He had hoped that being together more often would put his attraction to her in perspective. Now he realized there were no easy answers. He was in way over his head already.

E
lisa had been too busy her entire life to spend significant time flirting or even thinking about men. Some had interested her, of course, and some had gotten past her defenses. There had been one man, perhaps the most unlikely of all, who had settled into her life and heart. Gabrio Santos had been twenty years her senior. She thanked God every day that she had not let his age sway her. She would never look back on the years of their marriage with anything like regret. Their love had not been romantic, but it had been no less powerful or profound.

Now, faced with something else entirely, an attraction that touched not only her heart but her senses, she was at a loss to know what to do. She was afraid she was falling in love with Sam Kinkade, and a more dangerous and inappropriate emotion could not be imagined.

Risking her heart was impossible. There was no room in her life for anyone else, no hope that anyone could be trusted to understand who she was and what drove her. Not Sam,
particularly
not Sam, whose ideals had already cost him too much, who still suffered the effects of his months in prison. Sam whose desire for air, light, color and space finally made sense to her.

Sam, who could not be trusted to abandon her when he learned the truth.

Even if he weren’t already in love with another woman, there was no hope she and Sam could surmount the obstacles in their lives. Unfortunately, despite all this, the moments they spent together were fast becoming the moments that made everything else worthwhile, the work, the lies and secrets, the endless, fruitless search that had brought her to Toms Brook.

The night after their lunch together at
La Casa,
Elisa’s sleep had suffered. Now it was the next evening and she was at the nursing home, where she was paying the price. So far she had checked the day logs, done the crossover and checked the residents in nearly every room. But she was moving in slow motion. She prayed there would not be a crisis tonight requiring quick thinking and laser-sharp reflexes.

Having saved Martha Wisner’s room for last, she fortified herself with the dregs of a large coffee from the break room and started down the hall. Both Sam and the secret room were taking up too much of her thoughts. She hoped that she would at least be able to put questions about the room to rest tonight.

The moon was a waning crescent, and so far the night had been quiet. She was thankful the moon wasn’t full, since invariably that meant more problems. Once she had assumed that was superstition, but experience had taught her better.

Martha’s door was cracked, and she pushed it open, peeking inside to see whether the old woman was sleeping. The day shift had noted that Martha had slept most of the afternoon, missing lunch despite every effort to keep her awake and active. Just as Elisa suspected, Martha was up and standing at the window, gazing out at the parking lot. She turned when she heard Elisa approach.

“Why are the lights on out there?”

“It’s late at night. Past midnight. The lights are on for security.”

“It doesn’t feel like midnight.”

Elisa was relieved Martha wasn’t going to argue about the time. Some residents did, convinced they were correct despite all visual signals to the contrary. Some, of course, weren’t coherent enough to argue, but they were combative.

“You slept a lot of the afternoon,” Elisa told her. “You’re turned around today. If you can sleep a bit more now, maybe tomorrow you can stay awake in the afternoon.”

Martha frowned, as if working to make sense of that. Then she sighed. “I can’t sleep now. I feel rested. And hungry. Is there something I can eat?”

“I’ll get you something. Would you like some ice cream? Or a sandwich?”

“Both.” Martha smiled like a little girl hoping to wheedle a week’s allowance. “Chocolate?”

“I have to check your chart and the fridge, but I think that’s an option.”

“Oh, good.”

Elisa returned a few minutes later with a tray. She liked making the residents happy if she could. Their pleasures were fleeting, particularly those in the worst health or facing worsening dementia. Martha had seated herself in an armchair and was waiting patiently. Elisa set the tray on the table beside her.

“Turkey sandwich,” she said. “I brought mayonnaise and tomato in case you’d like to add them. And chocolate ice cream, just like you ordered.”

“I remember eating dinner.” Martha looked up. “I think.”

“Broiled fish, a green salad, scalloped potatoes and corn bread.”

Martha clapped her hands. “I do remember.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The fish wasn’t very good.”

Elisa laughed. “It’s not what the kitchen does best.”

“You’ve eaten it?”

“I’m afraid there’s a plate in the break room fridge with my name on it.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Martha sounded sincerely sympathetic. “But the potatoes are excellent.”

“I have to go, but I’ll be back for the tray. If you need anything in the meantime, you can use the call button.”

“I’m going to be busy with my sandwich.”

Elisa left to answer the calls of several residents, none of whom had serious problems. By the time she returned, Martha was finishing the last bites of her ice cream. Elisa got a warm washcloth so Martha could wipe her hands and face; then she removed the tray to the stand beside the door. “How was it?”

“Perfect. Were you here before?”

Elisa’s heart sank. “I brought it to you.”

Martha frowned; then her face brightened. “Oh, yes, you’re the one who has to eat the fish.” She leaned forward and searched Elisa’s face for a long moment. “I know you! You’re Sharon, aren’t you? I don’t know why I didn’t recognize you before.”

For a moment Elisa didn’t know what to say. She took Martha’s cloth, and went to the sink to rinse it and hang it to dry. “No, I’m Elisa.”

“Sharon is such a pretty name. Your mother named you for the Rose of Sharon in the Bible, but you were never a proper biblical heroine, were you, dear?”

Elisa lowered herself to the chair across from Martha’s own. “I think you have me mixed up with someone else.”

“Your father thought he could spank the sassiness out of you. I tried to stop him, you know. I used to hide you in my room when you were small if I thought he was in a bad mood. For a minister, he wasn’t always a very good person. I suppose I can say that, since he was my brother.”

Elisa couldn’t help herself. She was fascinated. “Wasn’t he? A good person?”

“I’m sure that’s why he was asked to leave the church. I don’t think he had a really successful ministry anywhere. He had a terrible temper. Your mother put up with it, but she shouldn’t have. She should have taken you and run away, but she was weak.”

Elisa waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. “Was this when you were living in the Community Church parsonage, Miss Wisner?” she prompted.

“Oh, just call me Aunt Martha, dear, the way you did when you were little.”

“You were living in the parsonage?”

“Yes, before your father was sent away. I stayed afterward, you know. I didn’t want to go with him, although, of course, I worried about you. But now you’re back. It all turned out so well, didn’t it?”

Elisa didn’t want to spoil what Martha saw as a triumph by reminding her once again that she was not Sharon. “I was at the parsonage today, cleaning.”

“Were you? That’s funny. How does it look to you after all these years?”

Elisa plugged on. “It’s been repainted and fixed up. It looks lovely. But I found something very strange in the pantry.”

Martha had been staring at the window and the security lights in the parking lot. Now she turned her gaze to Elisa. “Did you?”

Elisa was sure Martha knew exactly what she was talking about. She seemed particularly alert now, and a smile tugged at her lips. “There’s a door behind the shelves that leads to a hidden room,” Elisa said. “I showed it to the minister, too. He was as surprised as I was.”

Martha leaned forward. “I remember the room. Did you think I might not?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“I know I can’t remember some things, but I remember that as clearly as my own name.” She sat back.

“Do you know why it’s there? Was it added while you lived there?”

“Oh, no! It’s been there practically as long as the house. It started out as a fruit cellar, you know, but it was much more than that in its time.”

“There’s a real fruit cellar just to one side of it, with an outside entrance.”

“Yes, I know.” Martha smiled. “It was added later, to help disguise the secret room.”

“What else can you tell me?” Elisa asked. “This sounds like quite a story.”

“I suppose it’s all right to tell
you.
Your father didn’t even know. I was the only one who did. You see, when we moved into the parsonage, the wife of the former minister took me aside and told me. She showed me some papers and said I could be trusted with the story. The ministers had always kept it a secret. They didn’t want people treating the parsonage as a museum. I don’t think she liked your mother and father. I’m sorry.”

“Then you’re the only one who knows?”

“Oh, I was supposed to tell somebody before I moved away, I guess. I just, well, I just had other things to think about.”

Elisa didn’t know what to say, so she just smiled. It was enough to prompt Martha.

“Now I can tell
you.
Then it will be your secret to pass on someday.”

Elisa wasn’t sure that there was a real secret, or if there was, whether Martha would remember it from one sentence to the next, but she hoped for the best.

Someone buzzed her and frustrated, she gestured to the hall beyond. “Let me do a few things while you think about the story. Then I’ll be back and you can tell me.”

“Oh, do come back, dear. My memory isn’t getting any better.” Martha smiled to show she was teasing.

“You’re doing just fine tonight. And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“It’s a long story. I might not be able to tell all of it before I fall asleep.”

Elisa wondered if this was Martha’s way of assuring herself she would have some company on other nights, too. Elisa felt a wave of fondness for the old woman. “Whatever you can tell me. But let me guess. Does this have to do with bootleg whiskey?”

Martha chuckled.

“So it does?”

“No, dear. It has to do with a woman named Dorie Beaumont. You come back, and I’ll tell you what I can tonight. I promise you won’t find it boring.”