Sanctuary (26 page)

“Yes, she’s just become a Christian. Yesterday evening, in fact.”

They talked briefly about how to include Mellie in their church and community events. Yet Lela never once divulged the circumstances by which Melissa had come to Lancaster County. Neither did she say how the fancy Englischer’s staying on might actually put Paul’s hopes and plans on hold.

  
Chapter Thirty-One
  

RYAN TURNED HIS VEHICLE into the parking area of the small motel, located several miles west of New London, and pulled to a stop in front of room #12. The place was a flat concrete structure with the typical neon sign out front and a number of cars parked nearby. Not a trash motel, by any means, yet a second-rate meeting place, to be sure.

He sat for a moment, then grabbed the satchel containing his digital financial files and got out of the car. Quickly, he knocked on the door. It opened slowly, revealing a tall, musclebound man wearing a solemn expression. Behind him, two other men sat at a small table, their suit coats bulging from hidden shoulder holsters.

At the back of the musty room, another man emerged from the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. It was obvious to Ryan who was in charge. The man approached him with a smile, extending his hand. Nodding, he shook hands. Pleasantries seemed pointless now.

The man introduced himself as
McGuire
. “You know, like the baseball player,” he said with a wink. He clasped his big hands together, as though eager to get started, gesturing to the table. “Have a seat.”

One of the men locked the door, crossed his arms, and stood in front of it, legs spread, like a sentinel guard. The other guy sat on the bed, across from them. Ryan eyed them nervously.
You’ve seen one too many gangster flicks, pal
, he thought.

“Well … Mr. James,” McGuire said once they were seated, the tone in his voice suddenly somber. “Where shall we begin?”

One of the many facets of morning, Melissa had realized in the past few days, was her ability to cling to that delicate interval of time between sleep and awakening. One could appeal to the memory, relive a past precious moment at will. This day, she longed to experience again the Christmases spent with Daddy at the Brownings’ home in faraway Colorado. Through the mist of preawakening, the scenes burst into her brain like sleet skipping against the pavement….

Christmas was the smell of gingerbread cookies baking in the Brownings’ kitchen, the tempting aroma of bacon, eggs, and sausage. Nearly every December twenty-fifth morning, Mellie and her father were invited to share a mouth-watering brunch with their neighbors. And what a spread it was. The tangy smell of freshly peeled tangerines filled the house, even as Mellie entered the Brownings’ home, hand in hand with Daddy.

They walked the snowy sidewalk that led from their house to their neighbors’, only a short block away. Before ringing the doorbell and being greeted with “Merry Christmas!” Mellie liked to look for the lights in the front window. Mrs. Browning loved to decorate in a rather big way, putting up a small tree in each room of the house. All except the living room, where a tall spruce often dominated one corner.

This tree captured Mellie’s attention first and foremost. Taller than Daddy, and most beautiful, it was decorated with ornaments illustrating Clement C. Moore’s poem “The Night Before Christmas.” Dancer, Prancer, a sleigh, and even tiny mice embellished the tree, nestled inside a large red drum.

Mr. Browning pointed out the fact that each ornament was hand painted, and Mellie went over to inspect them, seeing if she might someday mimic such pretty things for her own tree. After she’d married her Prince Charming and had her own little house, of course.

But the large bouquet of white roses, sent over each year by the florist from Daddy, was most often the topic of conversation—just before time to dive into the presents piled beneath the tree. Mrs. Browning always made a big to-do about thanking Daddy for his “generous and handsome gift.” Mr. Browning did, too.

Daddy winked at Mellie and pushed his nose into one of the elegant blossoms, breathing deeply of what he called “the perfect perfume.” Mellie frequently followed suit, having to be boosted up to the table to smell the sweetness. “Anyone remember what white roses stand for?” Daddy said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Secrets!” Mellie clapped her hands, eager to see what wonderful gifts lay in store.

Each year her father repeated the same ritual. Mellie enjoyed the solid traditions, but given the chance, she would’ve chosen a bouquet of velvety
red
roses at Christmastime, or double red-and-white amaryllis blooms. Flowers with color made better sense on the Big Day. Yet Daddy insisted on the white roses, his favorite.

Plumping her pillow, Melissa decided that this Christmas would be far different from those of the past.
This year
she would find her way to a church, where the organ played “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful,” and choirs sang “Joy to the World, the Lord is come!” This year, she knew the joy of such a heavenly coming. Embraced it totally. God had made himself real to her on the banks of the Conestoga River, with a little help from compassionate Lela. Yes, this year she would definitely commemorate the Holy Days in a new and different way. Although, perhaps in Daddy’s memory, she would present a bouquet of white roses to her dear new friend.

“Wait a minute,” she said to herself, throwing off the covers and getting out of bed. Until just this moment, she had never thought of her father’s gift of white flowers and the talk of their
meaning
as anything more than a mere game. A new thought, impossible to shake, nagged at her brain.

Searching her memory for additional clues, she decided to break her own rule. Risking her false identity no longer intimidated her into silence. She must make a phone call to Mrs. Browning. After all this time, the sweet lady would probably think she was truly hearing from the grave.

Immediately after breakfast, Melissa called for a taxi and had the driver take her to the nearest pay phone. “Please wait for me,” she told the cabbie. “I won’t be long.”

Dialing the familiar area code and phone number, she felt a resurgence of hope. If she could just figure out where the eighty million dollars were hidden, she could be free.

Free from the life of a fugitive….

The phone rang several times before she heard the soft voice say, “Browning residence.”

She gulped back the tears. “Please don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Browning. It’s Mellie.”

There was silence for a moment, as if the line had become disconnected. Then Mrs. Browning spoke. “Oh, my dear child, whatever happened to you? I’ve worried for so long!”

Melissa wasted little time filling the woman in on the past several years. She said how very sorry she was for not saying good-bye, for not contacting Mrs. Browning at all. “There was no way I could reveal my whereabouts,” she said.

“Are you safe now?” came the inevitable question.

“I’m all right, yes.”

“How I’ve missed you, Mellie, my little lamb.”

The choking sensation made speech impossible. At last she managed, “Someday, I promise, I’ll come visit you.”
When this nightmare is over
. “We’ll have a long visit, just the two of us.”

“Yes … yes, you do that.”

“Do you still live in the same house?” Melissa asked.

“The very same.”

“And your gardens … do you still grow roses?”

She heard the chuckle. “What would life be without flowers?”

“What about the white rosebushes? Is Daddy’s flower garden still… ?” Melissa couldn’t go on. Hard as she tried, her heart was in her throat.

“I shouldn’t think of doing away with your father’s favorite roses—never!”

Dare I say it?
she wondered. It was imperative now. She had to know. “Can you get someone to dig up that garden … today?”

“Why, dearie, whatever for?”

She was at a loss as to how to make the woman understand. Plunging in, she told Mrs. Browning her strong hunch that there might be something buried “under Daddy’s white roses.”

“And what might that be?” came the vague reply.

“I don’t know … something …”

“And … if I should find anything?”

“I’ll call you back in a few hours.”

“Whatever you say, Mellie.” Mrs. Browning was clearly confused. “I’m doing this for you … whatever it means… .”

“Thank you, Mrs. Browning. Thank you so much.”

Lela was certain that Melissa was up to something mighty important. The girl had sprung out of the house at first sight of the taxicab, nearly forgetting her pocketbook. For goodness’ sake, she was in a hurry!

In less than thirty minutes Melissa had returned, her face flushed. She had been crying. “I’ll be leaving the house in a few hours,” Melissa told her as she came inside.

“For good?” Lela asked, hoping not.

“No, to make another phone call.” Melissa explained that she didn’t want to take the risk of calling from Lela’s phone. “It could easily be tapped.”

That concerned Lela, but only a little. God was powerful enough to wipe out a phone tap if necessary, to protect them. She fully trusted in the Lord God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. “That’s all right,” she said. “You do what you must.”

Lela returned to her sewing room and cut out several more large pieces of fabric for additional pillow shams. All the while, she either sang or quoted Scripture. “My heavenly Father sees the tiniest sparrow… . ‘Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.’ ”

Melissa waited impatiently to leave the house again and get to a pay phone, but she wanted to give Mrs. Browning enough time to find or hire a neighbor to spade up the singular garden. It was past noon when she phoned for a taxi again. She was relieved to see that the driver was not the same man, and she played it safe and asked to be taken to a different pay phone, having inquired of Lela where another one might be.