The Widow of Saunders Creek (27 page)

Read The Widow of Saunders Creek Online

Authors: Tracey Bateman

BOOK: The Widow of Saunders Creek
12.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“Want me to call Joe and tell him to wait a couple of hours?”

“What excuse will you give him?” I knew Lola’s feelings for Joe were growing, and I hated for her to lie on my account.

“That you’re going to have company.”

She set a cup in front of me and shoved the sugar bowl and a spoon next to it.

“My phone’s upstairs in my room,” she said. “I’ll go call him and be right back.”

I stared out the window to where the porch was half-bricked. I missed my morning time in my swing, but I was the one who had thought a brick porch would look nice with the farmhouse, so I had to suck it up and be patient.

Lola was back in ten minutes. She grabbed another cup of coffee and sat, leveling her gaze at me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Drink coffee?” I knew what she was asking and intentionally evaded the question.

A scowl twisted her face. “Funny.”

I spooned an inordinate amount of sugar into my cup and stirred. “I’m sure, Lola. What did Joe say?”

She gave a little wave. “He said it’s fine. He’ll come after lunch. Whatever. Are you a little scared? I mean, considering how we were raised?”

I sipped my ultrasweet coffee and tried to pretend a confidence I was fast losing.

At eight fifteen, a knock at the back door interrupted a light breakfast of bagels and strawberries. “Are they forty-five minutes early?” Lola asked.

“Beats me.” I glanced out the window. Sam’s car was parked in my
gravel drive. My stomach dropped. Guilt hit me as I hurried down the hallway to the back door, though I wasn’t sure why it mattered to me what anyone thought about what I was about to do.

“I’m sorry to stop by so early,” she said.

“Don’t be. Come in. Is everything okay?” My voice sounded phony, and I cringed as I pushed open the door.

She shook her head. “I can’t stay. They’re bringing my new air conditioner today.”

For the first time I realized she had something in her hand. “I don’t know if you have one of these,” she said, handing me a Bible. “But everything I said yesterday is written in here. I marked some scriptures for you.”

I took the Bible. It felt heavy in my hands, and I was reminded of the unfamiliar feeling I had experienced when I picked up my first paintbrush in almost eight years the other night. “I had a Bible when I was a kid, but I haven’t really been to church since I was a teenager.”

“This one belonged to my husband,” she said, her eyes suddenly soft and misty. “You’ll find notes of his written on the edges of some of the pages.” She smiled. “I consider them little nuggets of wisdom and truth.”

I still couldn’t bring myself to get rid of anything that had been Jarrod’s, so I could only imagine what something as special as this had cost her.

“I don’t know what to say,” I said. I held it out to her. “But I can’t take this from you. It must be special.”

She shook her head. “It’s only special when the words inside are read and taken to heart. I want you to have it, and he would have as well.”

I could see she wasn’t going to be deterred, so I held the book and smiled. I wanted to ask her if she would like coffee, but Aunt Trudy and her team would arrive in forty minutes, and I didn’t want to chance her still being here.

“Well,” she said. “I best go.”

“Thank you for this,” I said.

“You’re welcome, Corrie. Just read it, and let Jesus reveal Himself to you. He wants you to know Him as well as He knows you.”

“I will. I promise.” And I found that I meant it.

She turned to go but hesitated and turned back, concern on her face. “I know Aunt Trudy is bringing Ava and Tonia Lancaster here for a reading today.”

I hadn’t known Ava had been invited, but it didn’t surprise me as much as the fact that Sam knew I had asked them to come. I dropped my gaze, unable to meet hers. “Yes. I want to know what he has to say.”

“I can’t tell you how to live your life, hon, but remember that if you’re afraid or if something doesn’t feel right, you only have to say one name.”

“I’ll remember.”

I walked with her to the back door and waited for her to get down the steep deck steps and disappear around the side of the house before I closed the door. I turned to go back in the kitchen and stopped short. The painting wasn’t there. I went back to the kitchen, frowning.

Lola whistled. “That was intense.”

“Yeah.” I sat back down in my chair and took a sip of my coffee. “Hey, why’d you move my painting? I was going to put it up today.”

“What do you mean?”

“The one I bought in town? I unwrapped it when I was in the studio this morning. I left it in the living room.”

“I haven’t seen it. Are you sure you brought it down?”

“Yes, Lola.”

“Well, sor-ry.”

We were both on edge over what was coming, so I didn’t hold her snarky response against her.

We had finished eating and cleaning up our mess by the time we heard a knock.

My stomach knotted, and Lola and I exchanged a glance. She stepped closer to me. “Last chance,” she said. “We can tell them thanks but no thanks.”

“I’m going through with it, Lola,” I said, bolstered by renewed irritation at my nervous sister. I opened the back door. The three women stood on the deck. Aunt Trudy held a huge bag and smiled her toothless grin.

I opened the door wider. “Good morning,” I said. “Come in.” My voice sounded stronger than I felt. For that I was grateful.

They stepped into the mud room. Ava smiled tentatively. “Do you mind that I tagged along?”

“If it’s okay with Aunt Trudy, it’s okay with me.”

“Well, I’m not much of a medium. I’m mostly here for moral support.” She turned to the other woman, whom I assumed must be Mrs. Lancaster. “Mom, you haven’t met Corrie yet, have you?”

The woman smiled at me and extended her hand. As I took it, I couldn’t help but note the resemblance between her and Ava. Even with graying hair and a few wrinkles here and there, it would be hard to deny
that she was beautiful. “Call me Tonia,” she said in a warm tone. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

I was a little surprised that Aunt Trudy had recruited Mrs. Lancaster. I knew they weren’t exactly friends.

As if reading my mind, she inclined her head toward the other woman. “She has a gift for sensing the nature of a spirit.”

Lola stepped out of the kitchen as we walked down the hall. “Nice to see you again, Miss Trudy.”

“You can only stay if you don’t bring negative energy,” Aunt Trudy answered, her tone abrupt as she dispensed with niceties.

“I’m not leaving.” Lola’s tone was firm, and I knew better than to get in the middle of the power struggle.

“Then make sure you clear your mind of negativity and open up to the spirits, or we may as well go home.”

She shrugged. “I’m an open book.”

I rolled my eyes and was this close to kicking her out to preempt any disruption to Aunt Trudy’s juju, but I needed her there.

“She’s staying, Aunt Trudy.”

She shrugged. “Have it your way.”

“Okay, then. How do we do this?” I asked.

“You stay here for now,” she said. “Tonia and I will go into each room separately and try to see where the energy is the strongest. When we are finished, we’ll discuss which room is the most active, and that’s where we’ll hold vigil.”

“Vigil?”

“She means something like a séance,” Ava said.

“Thank you, Ava,” Aunt Trudy snapped. “I can speak for myself.”

Ava averted her gaze. “Sorry.”

“Should I lead you to the upstairs rooms?” I asked.

Aunt Trudy scowled at me. “Where do you think I grew up?”

My face warmed. “I forgot.”

“I’m going to open myself to the spirits now and start my walk-through. Tonia?”

Tonia nodded.

They closed their eyes, and each breathed in deeply. A sense of unease swept through me.

What was I letting myself in for?

The walk-through took close to twenty minutes. Lola, Ava, and I remained in the living room while the two mediums did their thing. Lola seemed to have relaxed a bit. I thought maybe she hoped they wouldn’t sense anything at all and we’d be off scot-free.

Instead, Mrs. Lancaster came down alone. “Trudy says you should come to the master bedroom. That’s where the energy is the strongest.”

We climbed the steps, wary. Lola held on to my hand tightly. The temperature seemed to drop by a good ten degrees when we stepped from the hallway into my bedroom. I might have made a
Ghostbusters
comment myself if not for the knot in my throat that choked off my ability to push out words.

“This is the room where we each sensed the strongest concentration of energy, and we believe it is where we should attempt our spirit communication.”

Odd, I thought, since I never slept in here. Why would this be the room Jarrod chose to communicate with me?

But I kept my mouth shut and accepted their expertise. Tonia spoke. “I’m sensing a human spirit wanting to speak with you, Corrie.”

Why was I suddenly so uneasy? This is what I had wanted all along. To hear Jarrod say something. Ignoring the twinge of fear, I nodded. “Okay.”

“First, he wants you to know how much he loves you and that he’s sorry he had to leave you.”

Lola snorted. I knew she was thinking that anyone would say that about a husband who died. I squeezed her hand hard. Aunt Trudy glared at her, and she straightened up.

“He wants to say something to prove to you that he’s here.”

She cocked her head to one side, as though listening. Then she nodded. “He says to tell you he knows you were angry he died but that drinking is never the answer, and he’s glad you haven’t done it again since the first night you spent on the swing.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. The words she was saying were supposed to prove that the things I’d been feeling were Jarrod. But it was all too much. Too personal. He should have known I didn’t want anyone to know about that night.

I glanced around the room, looking for something. My mind was beginning to play tricks on me. I saw shadows everywhere. Shadows that moved across the walls. I focused on an object leaning against the wall next to my closet. Something tapped my shoulder, and I jerked my head to the left, but no one was there. My gaze went back to the wall. The painting of my house stared back at me ominously.

“Corrie.” Lola squeezed my hand. “Are you okay?”

“The painting I took downstairs this morning. It’s up here.”

“I didn’t move it.”

I knew that. I knew it instinctively, as I know that the moon is always in the sky, even during the brightness of a sunny day. I couldn’t explain why, but I knew. As I stared at the image of the shadow in the attic, it seemed to come out of the painting and waft toward me as a gray cloud.

Maybe it was from my lack of sleep, but I suddenly felt lightheaded. My breathing came harder and harder, and my chest felt like something was pressing hard against me, trying to shove out my very life. “I … can’t …” I reached for Lola.

“I’m getting you out of here,” she said. “You’re having a panic attack.”

Ava followed us down the stairs and to the back deck. I dropped into a chair, and Lola shoved my head between my knees. “Deep breaths. You’ll be okay.”

“Should I tell those two you’re not coming back?” Ava asked.

“What do you think?” Lola said. It was uncharacteristically harsh, especially considering Ava was a stranger.

To her credit, Ava seemed to understand. “Okay, I’ll tell them.”

“Think you could have been a little meaner?” I said, sitting up. My breathing was returning to normal. “I think you owe her an apology.”

She pursed her lips. “Probably.” She turned to me. “Do you think it was him?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” I couldn’t give voice to what I had experienced in that room. The overwhelming sense of dread as that shadow moved toward me.

I expected to feel love, joy at the confirmation of his presence. All I’d felt was fear.

Eli

Two days after my talk with Terry, I showed up to work at the camp with new perspective. I realized I had to surrender my jealousy of Jarrod and pretty much just get over it. As I went about the morning, actively choosing forgiveness, I felt there was hope that I might stop feeling I had to compete with him, even in death. My feelings for Corrie were just as strong as they had been, and I missed seeing her for the past two days, but I didn’t want to impose, and I wanted to be able to go to her free of the weight I’d been carrying around for some time.

At noon Terry called to invite me to a men’s retreat at a lodge in Branson for a day and a half, ending after a service Sunday morning. I started to refuse because I had a ton of work to do and a sermon to prepare for a ten o’clock Sunday service that I couldn’t cancel with this little notice.

Terry interrupted me before I had the chance to offer my excuses. “I know there’s still work to be done at the camp, but I’ve rounded up a few of my friends, and we’re coming out next Saturday. I think the retreat would do you good. I also know you would have to leave early to preach your own service, and that’ll be just fine.” He continued on without giving me a chance to say no before he offered every reason to say yes. “Everyone needs to take time away for some R and R. We’re going to do some fishing and praying and Bible study. What do you say?”

I was blown away by his generosity, and I didn’t see how I could
refuse the retreat. “First, I say thank you for getting the workday together. And second, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Great. I’ll e-mail you the directions. Oh, and bring your bow. We’re planning a manly target contest.”

We hung up, and I decided to work for another hour before going home to shower and pack a bag. I was starting to look forward to the retreat.

Sweat poured from me as the sun beat down overhead. Mid nineties was a heat wave in southwest Missouri this early in the year. Just as I was locking the mower in the barn and knocking off for the day, I glanced up and saw a horse and rider coming toward me.

My gut clenched as I recognized Ava, but I had to forgive her too. Friends quarreled and got over it. I was hoping we could too.

Other books

Crazy Woman Creek by Welch, Virginia
Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring by Palmer, Catherine, Chapman, Gary
Shadow Seed 1: The Misbegotten by Richard M. Heredia
Two Cowboys for Cady by Kit Tunstall
Animal Kingdom by Stephen Sewell
Napoleón en Chamartín by Benito Pérez Galdós
Needle and Thread by Ann M. Martin