Lovely Strings
Copyright 2012
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and actions are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to anyone living or dead, businesses, events or location is entirely coincidental.
For Mom
One of the main characters in this book is named after my mother, Patricia Stokes. However, my mother could have taught the fictional Patricia a tremendous amount about being a loving and giving person and I am very grateful to God for the precious woman He has allowed me to call, "Mom."
Chapter 1
Bethany stared out at the lake. It looks like rain, she thought, as she surveyed the chalky, dull-white sky—one of those times when you couldn’t see a cloud but you knew when the rain started it would stay for a long, long time. It would be a good day to go to sleep forever, she thought. She could take the pills and when the rains started they could sing her to sleep.
But there was that letter on her desk she had replied to last week before making the plan to check out—last week—when she was still giving life the good ole’ college try. Why should I go to some cabin, she questioned herself. There’s no amount of money that can end this nightmare. The letter had said that she would not inherit if she weren’t there. Well, let it all go to someone else.
Still, there was a tiny spark of curiosity in the back of her mind. What did another day matter? At least she would be away from here—away from the ghosts that kept appearing to remind her that her husband, William, the minister, had left town with the church’s secretary and a chunk of the church’s funds.
The men on the board had decided not to prosecute in the attempt to sweep the matter under the rug as quickly as possible. Her presence there was just an unhappy reminder to some of the congregation now. What was left for her? She was no longer the minister’s wife. Her divorce had been granted in absentia on the grounds that he had abandoned her.
There were no duties for her at the church anymore and almost no friends. Tasha Sigmond was the exception but what kind of friend could she be to Tasha now that many in the church looked on her with suspicion, as if she had pocketed some of their money too?
She only had one child and no grandchildren. Her son, Sam, was grown and living in California with another man—a source of pain and shame also. The shame she felt was for the way her husband had treated their son—as though he were just an embarrassment instead of the son he had fathered and should love unconditionally. The pain she felt was the pain of regret—regret for the way she let herself be manipulated into not being the mother she should have been. She was ashamed she let herself be beaten down by the overbearing and controlling stance her husband demanded.
The day Sam had told them about his homosexuality, she had sat frozen in her chair at first while her husband handled their only offspring with condemnation and threats. Bethany had been so shocked by Sam's words she didn't know how to react until Bill actually went towards him as though he were going to be physically violent. Bethany had jumped up from her chair in time to wedge herself in between them—agonizing for the anger and hurt she saw in the two men she loved. Sam was storming out of the front door before her mind even had time to grasp the situation in all of its complexities.
She hoped Sam would forgive her someday for not immediately going to stand beside him. Although she disagreed with his choice, he would always be her son and she would always love him. She had berated herself a thousand times for not handling the situation better.
She had argued with Bill. "How can you win anyone to Christ if you alienate them?" she asked as she reminded him of the verse in Proverbs which stated, "A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city."
Bill had only replied that Sam was his son, not a brother and though she told him he was picking at the literal rather than the heart of the verse, he had discounted her view as though it was beneath his.
After all, he was the preacher, called by God, schooled in the Word, appointed by the elders of the church and elected by the church body. That's what it always came down to when there was a disagreement between them. How could she argue with that?
So, she had decided to wait and pray. Maybe Sam would come back. Maybe Bill would have a change of heart. However, if there had been a change of heart, it was not the change she hoped for. Only a few weeks later Bill left with a woman she once considered a friend. He had a change alright she thought bitterly—just not the kind she expected.
She had no one to turn to. The only relative she was close to was an aunt, her mother's sister, Darla. Darla was a kind woman but she was busy with her own family and lived in Florida. Bethany knew her own demise would hurt Darla but felt she could not live just to please someone else. She had done enough of that already.
So there it was, Bethany thought. Her life was in disrepair and she didn't feel as if there was anything of worth left for her to accomplish. She could accomplish death though. That was one thing she could still do right, she thought. Okay, she’d meet them all at the cabin. Maybe she would even see someone there she wanted to give whatever she inherited to—someone who still had some enthusiasm left for living—someone who could do something for a good purpose.
Bethany refused to think about God and what Jesus had meant to her. She had given her all and was done.
She had prayed countless hours for many members of the congregation. She had prayed with them for their sick children, their teenagers when they were in car accidents and their loved ones on their death beds. She had gone to their pot-lucks and their funerals and where was she now? Alone.
There was no blaming God. There was just—nothing. Well—there was one thing she loved—her cigarettes. She had started smoking again. It connected her to her past—her past before she had attended college—before she had started to convince herself she could have a meaningful existence despite the great obstacles she had faced in her short life.
Now, it was only the cigarette that pleased her—the long draw from the filter that pulled that lovely tasting nicotine to the back of her throat and into her lungs—the decadence of being able to enjoy them because there was no one to worry about influencing. And even the knowledge she wasn’t going to be around to suffer the consequences of the "coffin nails," (as Bill called them) —even that was something pleasing to her—as though she was able to escape death by rushing into its arms. Yes, that's what pleased her now—not any God thing she had held on to from the past. At least that's what she told herself.
Gone—she thought—all of them—everyone I have loved—and the hurt would gather up inside of her chest and send real pangs of pain shooting through her, even to her fingertips.
The rain began in earnest—big, smacking drops that quickly blurred her view. Bethany sighed as she watched the smoke from her cigarette float away from her as it disintegrated. My life in a nutshell, she thought. Everything I love disintegrates into nothing.
She finished her cigarette and checked her purse to make sure she had put an extra pack inside, put on her raincoat and stepped quickly through the rain.
Bethany almost fell into her car in her hurry to escape the drenching the heavens were determined to send. She took the directions she had copied out of her purse and read through them once more as her car was warming up. She shivered and pulled out of her driveway slowly.
She had a long trip ahead of her and was supposed to be there by noon. Immediately her thoughts began to go to Bill. She wondered what he was doing right at that moment.
Bethany hated the fact that every time she was driving the car anywhere her mind began to replay the events of the last few months like a bad movie she couldn’t escape. Little by little she had given up trying to make the movie stop. She just sat in her seat and let the film roll.
Sometimes, one of the scriptures she had once loved would dart into her mind but she dismissed them in a determined manner that William would have labeled cold-hearted. Bethany knew that wasn’t true though. She didn’t have a cold heart; she just had a broken one that didn’t work anymore.
The road before her was almost indiscernible but Debra McTurner drove on. It didn’t matter to her that the rain was pelting the roof of her car relentlessly and that visibility was only a few feet in front of her windshield. She had so much on her mind that the turmoil going on all around her was no competition for her own inner chaos.
Toby Ranklin was no longer hers and that thought repeated itself over and over in her heart like a mantra she couldn’t forget. It was all she could think about. It seemed to Debra as though it would be impossible for Toby to be with anyone else. She thought their connection was too solid to ever be severed but the evidence had proved different.
She really was trying to let him go. Though the scent of his skin was still as familiar to her as her own perfume, she told herself that he was no longer hers.
Yet there were the memories that were hers: recalling how he looked when he stepped out of the shower, wet-headed and odd with his hair plastered down around his face except for a few stray wisps that stuck out comically, how he would chase her around trying to kiss her with his “fish lips” as he called them when he stuck them out in a exaggerated pucker, or how he staggered with his hand over his heart when he saw her wearing that black dress he liked so much. And the goofy smile he would don because he knew it made her laugh—all the memories kept flashing back to haunt her even though she was trying not to remember them.
Then, there was the brooding fervor his eyes seemed to hold sometimes—like they did when she had opened the door of her apartment just a few days ago to see him standing there—the memory still smoldered in her mind like a fire that would never go out. Was it possible to ever actually not love him? Debra didn’t think so.
She wiped at another tear and as she did, the bridge in front of her became visible. Debra stepped on her brakes. Alarm caused tingles of fear to spread out through her chest and her knees weakened but her car came to a full stop on the gravel road. Water was cascading over the bridge ahead of her. She could only tell that a bridge should be there by the way the road on the other side emerged out of the depth of the violent water some thirty feet ahead. She could not see the road going across it at all.
How many times had she heard that she should never try to cross a flooded bridge—that the mass of water could easily push her car over its sides? Debra applied pressure to the gas pedal anyway and approached the angry looking water slowly. She figured if she kept the car moving she would be able to get over the bridge and after a long, scary moment, she had indeed cleared it.
In that instant she had forgotten Toby and she exhaled with relief when she found her car continuing on the gravel road again. But a question, one she didn’t want to entertain, pushed its way into her mind. Why had she immediately went ahead and crossed the bridge when there was a real and apparent danger? It was almost as if she didn’t care, she thought, and the realization scared her. No man was worth that—not even Toby.
Maybe, she told herself, it was because of the letter that she had made the effort. She looked at the seat beside her where the letter laid. It was open, its pages accordion-like, spread out haphazardly as though its contents were not necessarily important.
Debra brought her car to a stop to give her nerves time to calm themselves. She reached for the letter and read it again.
"Dear Ms. McTurner,
My client, who will remain anonymous until all participants are present (time and place to be agreed to posthumously by all involved) has prescribed you, Debra McTurner, to be one of the inheritors in their Last Will and Testament.
The last Will and Testament of _________ ________ will be read and all parties involved will immediately become heirs upon the reading of the will provided they are present at the aforementioned meeting.
As a beneficiary of a bequest, it is to your advantage to contact our office at your earliest possible convenience regarding the time and location of the reading of the will. This will enable our office to co-ordinate the meeting to an hour all parties agree upon.
Sincerely, Rafters and Hughes
Attorneys at Law
Attached to the letter was a business card that provided a phone number.
Debra was not a gullible woman—if anything she tended to be suspicious. She looked up the law offices listed on the letterhead on the computer at the library and double checked the phone number in the phone book too before calling. Determining the letter to be authentic, she called the law office of Rafters and Hughes and was given directions to a private residence in the country where the reading would take place. After informing the secretary she would be able to be there at noon the following Friday, Debra hung up the phone and let her mouth go slack with surprise. Someone had put her in their will and she didn't even know who.
Letters of consequence had made their way into her hands twice last week. Monday, she had been surprised by the mysterious letter from a law office she had never heard of only to find one similarly mysterious (but for different reasons) in a jacket Toby had left at her apartment.
She recalled everything—the innocent moment when she realized Toby had left his jacket at her apartment and how she had picked it up from the chair it was draped over and carried it to the coat tree by her door to hang it up. She remembered the one, small shake she had given it that had caused something bright colored to fall to the floor. She remembered how the piece of pink stationary was folded and without even thinking about it being private, she opened it and let her eyes travel to the bottom of the page until they came to the signature that read: With all my love, Brianna.
Debra knew Brianna. She lived in the same neighborhood Toby did and Debra knew the two had an on-and-off again romantic relationship since their high-school days. Without even considering not reading the letter, Debra did. She could tell immediately Brianna wanted Toby back. But there was one line from it that stuck in her memory: Last night was so special that I am beginning to think we are meant to be together after all.
Debra called Toby's cell phone but he didn't answer. She grabbed her keys and purse and ran out of her apartment—the need to know too powerful to resist.
A few reckless moments later she was there. She saw Toby's blue pick-up truck parked in the driveway of the small duplex where he and his friend, Taylor lived. She noticed an older model, white Camry she had never seen before parked next to Taylor's black Honda. Debra took a deep breath before knocking. Taylor answered the door, his dismay at seeing her standing there, white-faced and serious, was apparent.
"Where's Toby?" she demanded. Taylor fumbled for something to say as Debra impatiently pushed her way past him. She heard a woman's voice coming from Toby's bedroom. Her heart filled with dread at what she would find when she opened the door.
Brianna was wearing nothing but a pink, silky push-up bra and a pair of matching panties. Toby was stretched out on the bed beside her in his briefs. Brianna stopped talking in mid-sentence and Toby's hand froze. He had been winding a lock of Brianna's long, dark hair around one of his fingers.
For the space of a few rapid heartbeats, Debra considered Toby—his body, the strangeness of seeing it undressed next to someone else and the fact of his undeniable betrayal.
Toby looked shocked but she detected something else in the expression on the face she knew so well. Was it relief? Suddenly, there were screaming accusations, flying curse words and embarrassing tears—all coming from her. Toby kept saying he was sorry but Debra did not believe him—not when it caused everything to end advantageously for him. Yes, it was messy but it was short, to the point and over with—out with the new and in with the old. Or maybe the old was the new again. She didn't know. All she knew for sure was that it was over between them.
Now, Debra was a woman on a mission. She wanted to find out what she had inherited and if it was money and enough of it, she wanted to leave Welder's Village and never return—never return to see her drunken mother again—never return to her dead end job working for the pasty-faced, bossy Margaret Grissom. She wanted to be someplace where she could start over without having to face Toby the rest of her life.
Debra’s fingers gripped the wheel tighter as she began to navigate her vehicle through the downpour. The memories that flooded her mind fueled her anger and sharpened her pain. It seemed to Debra as though the storm was appropriately matching her mood in intensity. She drove on.
A few moments later, Kaitlyn Mahoney came to the bridge Debra had passed over. She examined the rushing waters carefully and decided to step out of her vehicle and get a closer look. She pulled her hood over her head and ducked into the rain. “Dear Lord!” she exclaimed as the rain pelted her. She got back into her jeep and decided to advance slowly.
Her heart quickened as she drove over the bridge but just as she breathed a sigh of relief she was shocked by a huge cracking sound behind her. In her rearview mirror, Kaitlyn saw a massive tree lying across the bridge she had just passed over, branches were entangled in the rails and she knew the gigantic obstacle was solidly blocking the way of any other traffic.
Thankful that she was still in one piece, Kaitlyn continued on even though her knees felt weak and her heart was pounding. According to the map included with the directions she had received, the cabin was still about a mile away. A green sign on the road ahead announced that she had just entered Stokes County.
She picked up her cell phone and looked to see if she still had a signal. None. She had never been in this part of the country before and even though she was fond of exploring in her Jeep, she was so far away from home she felt uncomfortable. Kaitlyn tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel nervously. She had been traveling for over three hours but there was so much on her mind, she hadn't been aware of the time.
Her thoughts returned to the earlier events of the day and she went over them again—pulling into the nursing home parking lot—walking towards the building her mother had lived in for the past year—her footsteps on the white, antiseptic floor—the door opening—her mother's face.
She could still see the blank look her mother gave her as she entered her room and knew that for the first time there was not even a glimmer of recognition. Her mother had left her maybe never to return, probably only sporadically, as the doctors warned a year ago when she was forced to turn the care of her mother over to a nursing home.
Kaitlyn had fought to keep her mother herself but after several instances of hysterics and escapes, she faced the fact she could no longer do it. A tear slid down Kaitlyn's cheek. Though she knew the time was coming, she still wasn't able to prepare for the horrible reality of it.
Kaitlyn continued driving until several moments later she spotted a large, two-story cabin with a wrap around porch. Five cars were parked in the big, circular gravel driveway and there was a glimmer of light coming from the inside. This must be it, she thought as she turned in slowly.
She picked up the letter and folded it before putting it inside her purse. Her hoodie was still wet from her brief excursion near the bridge and she removed it and the raincoat and put on her favorite jacket. It was made of Italian leather, soft and black. Though faded with age, Kaitlyn treasured it. It had been her father's who had died five years earlier.
It would be little protection against the driving rain and she did not want to get it wet but protection from the weather was not the point of her beloved jacket. She draped her raincoat over herself and opened the car door.
Kaitlyn scurried through the rain and as soon as she stepped onto the porch, the front door opened. A young woman, who had an unnatural looking head of hair, black with red streaks—stood at the entrance. Kaitlyn could hear voices in the background. “Here’s another one,” the girl with the streaked hair called back over her shoulder as if announcing someone else foolish enough to venture out in such weather. Kaitlyn saw a tattoo of a bird in flight on the girl's neck as she turned.
“Hi,” she said as she opened the door further and stepped back to let Kaitlyn enter. “Welcome.”
Kaitlyn stepped into a large room and her eyes went immediately to the fire blazing in the fireplace. She wanted to gravitate toward its warmth as quick as possible.
“Come on in,” one of the women called. “You can hang your raincoat over there." She pointed to the brass hooks next to the door where several other coats already hung.
Kaitlyn’s throat felt dry and she swallowed. “U-hhh, I just want to make sure I’m in the right place,” she announced.
“There’s no other place around here for miles and this is a dead end road so you must be,” said another woman whose friendly smile made her feel welcome.
Kaitlyn guessed the attractive woman with the bouffant, white hair circling her face like a halo to be in her forties. There was a look of intelligence in her kind, hazel eyes lending an expression to her face that reminded her of her own mother—well, the way her mother used to be.
“I’m May,” she announced pleasantly before asking, “I suppose you got a letter too?”
Kaitlyn nodded and reached for her purse to get it. “That’s alright,” another one of the women spoke up. “You wouldn’t have come all the way out here in this weather if you didn’t have a letter.” The woman that spoke looked to be in her forties or so also. Like the woman who had introduced herself as May, she had a kind face.
“We all got the same letter,” the girl who had answered the door told her matter-of-factly. Come on in and warm yourself up."
The other women welcomed her with friendly faces and nods. She hung up her raincoat and joined the circle of women by the fire as she picked a large rocker to sit in.
The couch and the rocking chairs on each side faced the fire in a semi-circle and there were two cinnamon colored, wing-backed chairs, one on each side of the fire place too. One of the chairs was occupied by an intense-looking, thin woman with long, brown hair and the other chair was empty. A young girl with smooth, brown skin and large, dark eyes was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She glanced up at her and smiled before turning her attention back to the fireplace.
Kaitlyn counted six women not including her.
“I don’t suppose you know who the law firm that wrote us is representing, do you?” the girl who had opened the door for her asked.
Kaitlyn shook her head. “I have no idea,” she answered. “I didn’t even know anyone I knew died.”
The two women sitting on the couch looked at one another before turning their attention back to her. “Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news,” a pretty woman in a blue sweater announced in a friendly manner. “Which do you want first?”
The young lady sitting in the floor smiled up at her. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not that bad.”
“Okay, tell me the bad news,” she answered since she always preferred getting it over with first.
“The electric is out,” the woman in the blue sweater said. “But the good news is that there’s a fire and a note from the caretaker saying there's wood in the basement and some snack food in the cabinets,” she added. "Do you by any chance have a flashlight?"
Kaitlyn shook her head. "Sorry."
The blonde-headed lady wearing the expensive looking boots shrugged. "Well, we've found plenty of candles we can use if we need them.” Kaitlyn noticed the flash of diamond rings on her fingers as she waved her hand towards the rest of the house. “We don’t even know whose cabin this is. Do you have any information that can help us figure it out?”
“No,” Kaitlyn answered as she realized she had stepped into a situation that reminded her of a mystery book she had read a long time ago. At least they had a fire and it was warm—even toasty in the room.
“I don’t suppose we’ll know until the lawyer gets here,” the lady conjectured. “And who knows when that will be in this weather?”
“Well, if the lawyer isn’t here yet, he or she may not be coming,” Kaitlyn supplied.
Debra raised her eyebrows in concern. “Because of the water on the bridge?”
“More than that. A tree fell across the bridge right after I crossed it and until it's moved no one will be able to get through unless there’s another way in."
May spoke up. "I don't think there's another way in here so I guess we won't be having any company for a while.”
“Thank God it didn’t land on you,” the woman in the blue sweater commented. Her forehead creased with concern. “My son will probably call me this evening to find out how the meeting went and he'll be worried if I don't answer. None of our cell phones are working out here either. Did you check yours?”
“Yes, I already did,” Kaitlyn told her. I wasn’t getting a signal after I crossed the bridge but I’ll check it again.” She reached into her purse and got her cell phone out. “No,” she muttered after a moment. “Still no signal.”
The blonde lady wearing the diamond rings chuckled good-naturedly. “I just got back from vacation and then I had to come out here to the boonies. I’m starting to feel like God's purposefully separating me from the rest of the world and making me rest."
“Yeah. Maybe He's trying to give us all a little vacation,” May said with a smile as she leaned back in her rocking chair. "I could sure use one."
Bethany didn't like to hear the name of God mentioned even in a vague reference. She twisted in an attempt to get comfortable in one of the wing-back chairs by the fireplace.
Maybe the rain followed me, she thought. Maybe there’s some kind of cloud over my life now since Bill left but she knew that wasn't true. They had not been happy as a couple for a long time. She began looking in her purse for her brush.
She felt her eyes moisten and almost wished she had already taken the pills that would bring the oblivion she desired. Her hand touched and then caressed the small plastic cylinder that contained the powerful depressants. They were still there in her purse—her safety net—like a spy’s secret cyanide pill that would allow him escape from torture, she thought. There was something empowering in the knowledge that she truly didn’t have to take it anymore—any of it—if she so chose.
May surveyed the women and noted Bethany’s troubled countenance before she spoke again. “Well, we’ve got a warm, dry place to wait and we’re all okay. Thank God for that.” Several of the women voiced agreement with her statement.
Debra looked at the women around her and grimaced. What have I got myself into, she thought. Here I am holed up with a bunch of women I don't know and don't care to know—except maybe for the girl named Kaitlyn who just came in and the black girl sitting in front of the fire—those two seem pretty cool. She watched as Kaitlyn walked over to the hooks attached to the wall and took off her jacket to hang it up.
A couple of the women reminded Debra of people she had often referred to as, “those God-talking people,” when telling Toby some amusing incident that happened at work. I can’t even go out in the woods to get away from them, she thought.
Debra crossed her arms and frowned while she continued to rock back and forth. She felt out of place but since there was no way out, she might as well make the best of it.
There were a few moments of silence while the women contemplated the fact they were stranded and what it meant to them individually.
Kaitlyn sighed as she thought of her mother again. At least she wouldn’t be worried about her. She closed her eyes against the pain in her heart. She couldn’t remember a day in her life when her mother hadn’t been there for her. Yet she was gone from her mother’s memory as though she never existed. It seemed impossible.
The lady in the blue sweater stood up and stretched before walking over to the window and looking out. Someone in this cabin has got to know something about why we are here, she thought. She shook her head, marveling at the strength of the storm before going to sit back down. She decided to share her idea of how they could pass the time.
“I think we should all introduce ourselves and tell where we’re from—talk about ourselves a little. Surely if we share enough information, we’ll find out what we have in common and from that, we'll be able to figure out who made the will.”
“Good idea,” the lady with the diamond rings sitting beside her on the couch answered. “I don’t mind starting."
Debra wrinkled her forehead as she tried to recall how she knew the wealthy looking woman—even her scratchy voice seemed familiar. She watched as she leaned forward and introduced herself.
“My name is Edwina Kingston and I’m from Lincoln County. If you haven’t been there before, it’s about a hundred and fifty miles south from here in Tennessee.” She had blonde hair wound tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a gold cross that hung down low over her maroon colored blouse. Several of the women had already admired her slim figure and the way she looked in her Ralph Lauren slacks and leather boots.
“I used to live in Franklin though, so this part of the country is familiar to me,” she added. “And like the rest of you, I received a letter from the law firm of Rafters and Hughes. I never saw it though. I was on a vacation when it came and my secretary read it to me over the phone and confirmed it for me." Her eyes sparked with the excitement of sharing. "I just got back from a wonderful cruise with my family to Alaska."
"How many of you went?" May asked.
"Well, I'm married, so my husband Lee and our son, Timothy went—just us three." She put her hand to her lips as she thought before adding. "Sometimes people recognize me as the former news anchor from WNS, a station in Knoxville but that was a few years ago. I work behind the cameras now."
Debra nodded. So, that's why she looked familiar. Throughout the years, their small, local station often received news out of Knoxville. "I knew I'd seen you somewhere before," she told her. "I've seen you on our local news channel."
Edwina laughed. "Well, I know I've never seen you before, with your beautiful face and wild-colored hair, I would never have forgotten it."
Debra grinned as she touched her hair. "What's wild about my hair?"
A few of the women laughed.
The former newswoman nodded at Kaitlyn. “And like this young lady said, I've not heard anyone I knew died so I’m in the dark about who could be the benefactor.” She turned back to face Jenna seated next to her on the couch and nodded to her. “Do you want to go next?”
The lady in the blue sweater who had first made the suggestion they introduce themselves smiled back at her and then turned to look at the others. “Well, Edwina and I got here first and we had a while to talk before everyone else arrived. But we’ve not found anything in common yet that might point to who made us beneficiaries so I thought if all of us put our heads together, we would have to come up with something.”
“You didn’t tell us your name,” the lady named May in the rocking chair commented.
Jenna smiled showing her dimples. "I’m Jenna Turner and I’m from Franklin but I haven’t ever come into Stokes County from this direction before,” she began. "And I've never been on television like Edwina and I don't recognize anyone here." Jenna had shoulder length, dark brown hair that framed her face attractively before flipping up at the ends. She had been told before that she looked a little like Kathy Lee Gifford.
"I'm a widow. My husband died eleven years ago and I have one son. His name is Dustin and he's probably playing basketball with his friends at the gym right now. I'm a Christian psychologist and I have my own practice.
Jenna knew her affirmation of Jesus Christ as Lord separated her from many in her field but she believed it also gave her a wider well-spring of knowledge to draw from. It wasn't that Jenna thought she was superior in any way to her colleagues. She just believed that mankind's foundation was shaken more by sin than anything else and her therapy sessions were geared by that reasoning giving her different insights than those not influenced by Christianity.
As Kaitlyn listened to the women introducing themselves, she watched Jenna particularly. The way the woman spoke reminded her of her mother before the early dementia she was diagnosed with had set in. She sighed.
Jenna continued. “And my son, Dustin—he's in college—but he still lives at home. He was planning to stay in a dorm on campus with one of his friends tonight though. They're having a big poker tournament and he was excited about it—man-cave stuff all night he told me—so I wasn't expecting him home. I just wish I had a way of getting a message out to him in case he calls so he won’t be worried about me.”
Debra pushed a lock of black and red hair behind her ear as she listened to Jenna speak. She wondered what kind of young man would call his mother from an all-night poker tournament and grimaced. She could not imagine it.
She guessed Jenna to be in her late 30's or early 40's. It was hard to tell with women nowadays, she thought. A lot of them are as pretty as their younger counterparts. Then, her glance fell on the woman sitting on the floor who kept staring into the fire as though removed from the events happening around her. She was wearing jeans and a red sweater and had short, black hair. She was the only African American among them. Debra wondered what her story was and why she was so quiet.
Then Debra turned her attention to May. She was wearing a black, jogging suit and tennis shoes and looked fit but curvaceous—not the typical, grandma-in-the-rocking-chair type, Debra decided.
Debra let her attention roam to the other women in the room while she considered the fact she felt out of place among them. Maybe it was because of her "wild hair" as Edwina had put it and her diamond studded nose but she felt like it was more than her physical appearance that separated her from the other women.
However, she acknowledged to herself, they all seemed friendly enough—though this definitely was not her usual kind of crowd. But what did she have to go back to, she asked herself, even if she could get out right now? Toby would not be waiting for her and her mother was probably holed up with some loser of a man who liked to stay as drunk as she did.
She turned her attention back to the lady speaking. Jenna was saying, “I hope we don't have any more tornado warnings."
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” May commented. “We’ve had a lot of storms so far this year.” It was late April and already Franklin and the counties surrounding it had experienced two tornado warnings.
“I think we should search some more to see if we can find a radio and some batteries just in case the weather does get worse,” she added. There was a murmur among the women as they agreed with May’s statement.
“And while I’ve got everyone’s attention, I’ll introduce myself,” she said agreeably—coming to a stop in her rocking chair as if to get a good look at each woman there. “I’m May Greenfield and I’m from Franklin originally too, although I have lived in Liberty for the past ten years.”
Though she was old enough to have two adult sons, May was still a very attractive woman. Her green eyes projected kindness and warmth and she had styled her all-white hair in gentle sweeps that framed her face while the ends of it were gathered into a small chignon in the back.
“Nobody’s expecting me home tonight because I live alone so I guess as long as one of my boys doesn’t call, no one will be worried about me.”
“I’m in my forties so I make it a point to run every morning—trying to stay in shape—but I guess I pushed myself a little too hard this morning. I ran three miles but I usually only do two and a half. I think I was trying to get the exercise in before the rain started,” she said. “I suspect we’re going to have to spend the night here. They’ll probably get the electric back on tomorrow and the lawyer will be able to make a way to get out here to us by then. After all, he knows we’re here.”
"That's right," Edwina concurred. There were nods and sighs as the women considered their predicament. "Who's next?"
Kaitlyn shrugged. "I guess I'll go next. “My name is Kaitlyn Mahoney and I’m in the dark about all this too.” She smiled sweetly and added, “I’m from a little town called Hugo. It's about an hour south of here near the Tennessee border.” She looked at the other women and decided she should share more. “My mother might have been able to help me figure why I've been summoned here but she’s suffering from early on-set dementia and doesn't know anyone anymore so if there’s some connection through her to all this, I couldn't even ask her about it.”
The poor girl looks as though she is ready to burst into tears at any moment, Jenna thought. She would see if she might want to talk later. Maybe she could help.
Debra considered her own mother's drunken tirades and sighed. She had seen her mother so "out of it" she didn’t know anyone either but that was something she brought on herself by her drinking. Unlike Kaitlyn, Debra had no pity for her mother.
Charlotte, who had been the quietest one of the group, addressed Kaitlyn. “I love that jacket you had on. Where did you get it?”
“It was my father’s.”
“Oh,” Charlotte replied sensing the deep feelings behind the short statement Kaitlyn made. Were both of her parents out of the picture? If so, how awful to have one parent dead and the other stricken with dementia at such an early age, she thought. “That jacket must mean a lot to you.”
Kaitlyn’s eyes were misty as she nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty special to me. My father died several years ago and it kinda' makes me feel close to him.” She sighed. "I guess I should tell you something more informative than my personal experience." She thought for a moment. "I love to go up in hot air balloons and I've been to Paris once and I want to go back." She shrugged. "I don't know. Does that link me to anyone here?"
Most of the women looked at each other and shook their heads. Edwina laughed and said, "Well, I've been to Paris and found the experience exceptional but I don't know if having that in common links us in any way."
Kaitlyn looked a little embarrassed.
"Oh, no," Edwina said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound condescending. I just think we need to look at different factors than what our favorite things to do are."
Kaitlyn shrugged good-naturedly. "You're right. I guess we need to look more at "who" we have in common than "what.""
Edwina smiled. "Yes. I believe you're right."
Kaitlyn looked around the room. "Who's next?"
The thin lady with the long hair stood up and stepped closer to the fireplace. Her hands were still cold and she held them palms out towards the fire. She glanced around nervously as she spoke. “I’m Bethany Hawn and I’m originally from Franklin too,” she said with an awkward little nod towards May.
"My divorce was final last weekend and I just took up smoking again. I used to be a pastor's wife and now...," she paused, "…I guess I don't know what I am now." She looked at Jenna. "I used to be a mother but I failed at that too." She rolled her eyes.
"I can't believe I said that," she admitted self-consciously. "You know what? I don't know anyone who's died and I don't want to spend the night here. But I guess there’s nothing I can do about that," she murmured as she sat back down and placed her hands on her knees. "I don't suppose anyone wants to."
Jenna was watching Bethany closely as several of the women shared ill at ease glances with each other. She wondered if Bethany had a child that died or if she had lost custody of her children. Whatever, she was certainly uncomfortable in her own skin.
To Debra, Bethany looked like a nervous cat ready to jump. That woman might as well relax, she thought. It looks like we're going to be here for a while. As she examined Bethany, she found herself judging her unkindly. I'll bet she was a bad mother and her child ran away, she thought before realizing she had probably unfairly projected her own feelings about her mother onto Bethany.
She surveyed the women around her again. Though they might dress differently from her, they seemed nice enough.
But several times she had noticed the woman named May staring at her with an odd look on her face. She had received that kind of reaction from people before and it had ceased to matter very much to her if they looked at her or not.
In fact, she thought, she might as well get the introductions over with. She shrugged her shoulders, took a deep breath and addressed the women.
“My name is Debra McTurner and I don’t have the least idea who wanted me to come to the reading of this will either. I’ve lived in Stokes County all my life and I come from Welder’s Village, about a half an hour from here. I'm a waitress and right now my life sucks.” She looked around at the other women in the room again before smiling awkwardly. “That’s about it.”
“This mystery beneficiary must come from this region but I don’t know why none of us has any idea who it is,” Bethany stated.
Charlotte tilted her head. She was still sitting in a cross-legged position on the floor in front of the fire. There was no reason for her to go into some of the details of her life that may or may not have anything to do with the reading of the will. “Maybe we don’t even know the person who died,” she suggested.
Debra nodded. “Yeah, that was my thought too," she said aloud, not bothering to add that if her mother had known anyone with money, she would have touted it every chance she got. She turned to look out of the large bay window facing the woods. It would get dark early tonight because of the rain, she thought.
Charlotte stood up and bent over to touch her toes. “Ah-h-h,” she sighed. “The fire feels great. I was chilled to the bone when I got here.” She looked around the room and smiled at everyone. “I guess I'll go next. I’m Charlotte Manning and like the rest of you all—I’m clueless.” There were a few chuckles. Her smile was so warm even Bethany (who had kept a guarded expression most of the time) couldn’t help but smile back.
“But I’m not from Franklin. In fact, I followed directions through Calvert County to get here because I live in Willis County—Shreveport to be exact. I lived in Franklin only for a short time when I was a little girl but haven’t been there since.”
“Interesting,” May commented.
Just then, there was the sharp staccato sound of hail pelting the roof and the women looked at each other. “Hail. That’s not a good sign,” May pronounced. “Maybe we should look for the radio and batteries and find out the safest place to be in this house.” There was a murmur of consent among the women.
“When I first got here, I was looking around to see if there was a phone and I found some steps that looked as though they led down to a cellar or basement,” Jenna contributed.
Edwina shivered noticeably. “Yeah, but we didn’t want to go down there until some of the others got here.”
Jenna laughed. “No, we sure didn’t."
Debra blurted out, “What if it's going to be like a scary movie and we start missing one by one?” Everyone looked at her as though alarmed by what she said and Debra shrugged. She had not intended to cause herself to be scrutinized but that's what the women seemed to be doing. “Well, you have to admit, it has all the markings of a horror movie,” she offered, obviously embarrassed.
Kaitlyn grinned at Debra, guessing that Debra was not as tough as she wanted to appear. There was something about her she liked though.
Debra kicked herself mentally for saying something so lame and wondered why she always tended to say stupid things when she was nervous. Instead of just sharing a thought lurking in her mind in a humorous way she had drawn questioning looks as though she might actually be someone to fear.
Edwina slapped her leg and exclaimed, “Well, I do love an adventure.” The sound of the hail was getting louder. “Let’s go check out that basement. We could all go together.”
Through all the chatter and plans Bethany remained as if one removed—someone on the outside looking in. She joined the women but she felt as if life was already going on without her. She was a spectator and while it was interesting, she would let it play out. This controlled the pain she felt somewhat. After all, knowing the pain would end soon took away its power—the power of forever.
~
Inmate 2949-680-21
The woman cupped her hands over her mouth to hide the sounds of her weeping. In this crazy place there was no room for weakness. She thought of her father, her mother and her sister and stifled a sob again.
For the past several weeks she felt as if she were sinking deeper and deeper into despair. The women, the guards, the prison itself had finally defeated her. She had said she wouldn't let them but she had no more spirit to fight.
Everyone was gone she cared about. Now there was only an empty space where her heart should be. She clutched the rough wool blanket. Was this what it was to be broken?
And the thoughts that had been swirling around in her mind all day would not go away. What if there was another way to live? What if those Christian people were right and there was some kind of God to answer to?
She thought of the deep-browed minister who had talked to them the day before. He said God loved them and wanted to have a relationship with each of them. But how could any real God who cared let a place like this be, she asked herself.
Then he had challenged them. "Talk to Him," he had said. "Tell Him your heart."
She knew she had never really prayed. She had bargained but that had never gone very well.
Then a memory flickered. She had been twelve years old. She had decorated boxes with macaroni and glitter and glued a cross on the cardboard lid. She remembered a song from the one summer she had attended Bible school. What was it?
"Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world."
The words of the young preacher came to her again. "Tell Him your heart."
Oh, God! If her heart could scream and God could hear that scream, would He listen to hers? Would He answer? She bowed herself over on the cot and clutched her stomach. Somebody. Somebody had to be listening.
Chapter 2
The former news anchor named Edwina was soon holding a candle and leading the way into the dark basement. She ventured gingerly, testing each step before proceeding. She thought about what the wild-haired girl, Debra had said and immediately discarded the notion. Though she didn't know who their benefactor was, the will was a bona-fide document as the law firm had assured her when she called. This was no scary movie. It was real life and she hoped the girl with the—what did they call it now?—facial jewelry—and that awful, red streaked hair—had not instilled any fears in the other ladies. Still, Edwina considered, there was no telling what kind of life the girl had if her attire was any indication. Maybe she was used to life being kind of scary.
She was almost at the bottom of the staircase now. Maybe they would find a flashlight, she hoped. Every step had seemed solid enough and there was a rail to hold onto but Edwina still couldn’t see anything beyond the light of the candles they were carrying. All the women were with her on the steps as they made the slow procession down into the unknown.
Edwina realized that her ears were straining for unwelcome sounds and her senses seemed heightened already. She supposed the other women were feeling the same.
Though Debra had only hinted at her fear of going down in the basement, she didn't want the other ladies to know how much the whole thing spooked her. But if they could go down into this basement, she thought, she could do it too. However, goose bumps were rising up on her arms as she went down one more step—last in line behind Bethany.
Edwina finally reached the floor and advanced a few more steps giving the other women room to join her.
May, who seemed to have an air of authority the others respected, came next and after she stepped onto the basement's floor, she turned to look up at the other women coming down behind her. “Watch your step, girls,” she said. "When we get all of our candles down here we might be able to see something."
May saw Jenna coming down the steps next and recalled how Jenna said she hoped her son wasn't worried about her. She seemed like a kind, intelligent woman, May thought. What an eclectic bunch, she considered as she wondered what the other women's stories were and why they had been summoned to the cabin. Her heart was heavy from the knowledge she kept to herself. Soon, she would have to tell them.
Oh, Patricia, she thought. You've outdone yourself this time. Her heart beat faster as she considered everything she knew and what else might be in the offing.
Jenna was glad to be reaching the bottom step. Maybe something in the basement would give them some kind of clue about who died. She didn't expect it to be anyone she knew. She had already ascertained that her being called to the reading probably had something to do with her work as a Christian psychologist and not because of any affiliation with the departed. Maybe she helped someone the deceased knew and was being given a donation toward her work.
One more step. Jenna looked around but her eyes had not adjusted to the darkness yet and everything seemed veiled by shadows. Finally, she was on solid ground. She turned to see the three women coming down the stairs.
May watched as Charlotte joined them. Then her eyes settled on Kaitlyn, the girl who had told them about the tree across the bridge—the last one to arrive at the cabin. May's eyes grew wet as she remembered the first time she saw Kaitlyn walk through the front door of the cabin.
Bethany followed the others dutifully.
Charlotte glanced at May just in time to notice the tears glistening in the woman's eyes and she followed the direction of May’s gaze to discover she was looking at Kaitlyn. I bet there’s an interesting story there, Charlotte thought before turning her attention to the most different looking one of the bunch, the tattooed girl with the dark, red-striped hair who was making her way down the last few steps—her eyes big and somber—looking as though she would rather be anywhere else in the world other than the steps she was making her way down.
In the meantime, Edwina was fully living in the moment. I’m glad to be here—glad to meet these women, she thought. She was excited at the prospect of finding out how her life might tie in with the others. “Are we all here?” she asked—knowing the answer but wanting to hear their affirmation anyway. Edwina smiled as several of the ladies responded with a “here” as though they were back in elementary school. She noticed May wiping at a tear and wondered why.
She saw that Debra, who had come down last, was rubbing the back of her arms as though she were cold. Edwina suspected a kind soul beneath Debra's seemingly tough exterior. Then her eyes wandered to Bethany and she smiled reassuringly at the thin lady with the long hair as their eyes met. Bethany smiled back half-heartedly. Edwina considered the cold expression in her eyes and realized she was like a woman lost—someone only tolerating the experience.
However, Edwina was enjoying the adventure, the camaraderie of the other women and the mystery of it all. She was the kind of woman who believed life was too short not to embrace every minute. With an affirming touch of her hand on Bethany’s back, Edwina urged her onward.
The basement smelled of wood. Charlotte looked to her right and saw several stacks of it in the corner. “Looks like there’s plenty of firewood dried out over there,” she announced.
“Well, I'm glad for whoever took care of the place before we got here,” Edwina said.
“Yes,” May agreed.
Jenna tried to see the wood but she couldn’t for the light of the candles around her. She hoped they would be able to leave the cabin before needing it.
As Bethany took a few more steps forward, the women gathered in a circle, each keeping a hand in front of their candle as they proceeded. “May, don’t you catch my hair on fire with that flame,” Bethany warned, only half joking.
“If I caught that head of hair on fire, the whole house would go down,” May replied with a chuckle.
“What’s that?” Charlotte asked.
Everyone turned to look in the direction Charlotte was gazing.
“Looks like an antique wardrobe,” Edwina said. She stepped closer. “It’s beautiful." She traced some of the ornate carvings with her fingertips.
Charlotte saw the ribbon first. “It has an envelope attached to the handle by a ribbon,” she announced.
The rest of the women gathered around it. An envelope tied by a pink ribbon was looped through the handle of the door. Charlotte reached out for the envelope and read the name on it. “Debra,” she announced.
Debra’s mouth dropped open as the women turned to look at her. She stuttered. “I…I don’t think it means me. Debra is a pretty common name.”
“You’re the only Debra who has shown up today,” Charlotte said. Kaitlyn nodded at her logic and smiled encouragingly towards Debra.
“Why don’t you open it and see?” May urged. “I don’t think it could hurt.”
Debra hesitated and then stepped forward as the others made a way for her. Kaitlyn patted her on the back gently as she passed. May took her candle as Charlotte handed her the envelope. Debra felt as though she had already had her share of mysterious letters lately. Why should this one be for her and who could have written it, she thought to herself as she tore open the envelope. What if this had nothing to do with her and she was opening something that belonged to someone else?
“It’s quite a long letter,” she pronounced as her eyes skimmed over the neat penmanship. "And it’s signed by someone named Patricia Amos.”
For a second, Edwina felt as though someone had knocked the breath out of her. She heard May, as if from a distance, say, “I was afraid of that,” in a disappointed tone but her mind was whirring as she tried to make sense of what she had heard. Had that young woman really said the name Patricia Amos? She stood there in shocked silence as she twirled one of her rings around her finger nervously.
May massaged her forehead.
Jenna was the first one to speak up. “You knew Patricia Amos, May?” she asked.
May sighed and raised her eyes to meet the enquiring looks of the women around her. “Yes,” she admitted.
Jenna spoke quickly. “Do you think this Patricia Amos is the one who died?”
“Yes,” May answered softly.
Charlotte's brow creased with curiosity about why May had kept silent. “Why didn’t you tell us this when we were all upstairs?”
May sighed before answering. “I knew it was her cabin as soon as we got here so I began to suspect it was Patricia who died but I wasn't for sure."
"I knew her husband was killed when a tractor he was on rolled over a couple of years ago but I never dreamed she had passed on too until I came to this cabin." May’s eyes reflected sadness as she considered the death of the woman she knew from a long time past.
“So, you’ve been to this cabin before?” Charlotte pressed for answers.
“Yes, but again, I didn’t know for sure until I pulled up outside that this was the same place,” May explained. “It’s been so many years.”
As soon as Bethany heard the name on the letter, she felt as if her knees would buckle beneath her. She knew Patricia Amos! But even more to the point—why would Patricia want her here? Wasn't this supposed to be about some kind of inheritance? Did people inherit bad things too?
Kaitlyn noticed Edwina seemed affected by also. She looked as though she were frozen in place as if in shock. She stepped next to her and placed a hand on her arm. No one else saw because everyone was looking at May as Charlotte questioned her.
Edwina was hardly able to breathe as the scene unfolded before her. She felt like she might pass out. She was aware that Kaitlyn had placed a hand on her arm and it steadied her—just that simple gesture helped.
Debra spoke up as she addressed another question to May. “So, you knew Patricia Amos and you’ve been to this cabin before?”
“Yes.”
Debra was puzzled. “When we were trying to figure out who had called us all here together, why did you stay silent?”
May considered her answer before replying.
“First of all, I didn’t suspect it was Patricia who had died until I got here and I wasn't sure what to do with the information. Then, I wondered if there might be someone else who had figured it out and I waited to see because, as I thought about it—well it just seemed like maybe I would be spoiling something Patricia wanted to tell you all in her own way.”
“So you were going to wait until the lawyer got here?” Jenna asked.
“Unless I saw reason to do otherwise.”
Debra still held the letter and had been listening to the conversation intently. “And you think I should read the letter?”
“It’s addressed to you,” May answered diplomatically. “At least it’s Patricia’s way of telling you what she wanted to tell you and not mine.”
“Okay,” Debra decided. “I’ll read it as long as it sounds like it might be for me.”
May agreed and held her candle closer so Debra could see.
“Patricia Amos,” Jenna said thoughtfully. “Didn't she own some children's clothing stores?"
May nodded. "She was a successful business woman.
“I’m beginning to believe we are going to discover some very deep connections between some of us,” Charlotte stated with a knowing look.
“What do you mean?” Bethany asked.
May spoke up impatiently. “Please, just read the letter.”
Debra and Bethany looked at her in surprise.
May shook her head. “I’m sorry, girls. Patricia meant something to me and I want to find out for sure what’s happened to her. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“It’s okay,” Debra replied. No one but Kaitlyn seemed to notice how still and quiet Edwina had become.
Debra creased her forehead as she strained to make out the words.
“Dear Debra,” she began. “We’ve never been introduced but I knew your mother, Cynthia, years ago when she worked for me. For a while, we were close friends.”
Debra looked up from the letter. “Well, I guess that settles it," she announced with a little awe in her voice. "My mother's name is Cynthia."
The women surrounding her exchanged glances. Some of them looked at May to see her reaction. May took a deep breath as her memory was stirred. So many times she had wondered what became of Cynthia. Now she was standing next to Cynthia’s daughter. Patricia must have loved the irony of it all when she made the will, she thought.
Bethany frowned. So Debra was Cynthia’s daughter. She wondered why Patricia wanted her there. Did she think she could make up for the past? Bethany’s eyes sparked with anger. Well, she didn’t want her past drudged up before these strangers. Patricia Amos had no right to do that to her.
Bethany was struggling. How could she tell the other women her connection with Patricia Amos without revealing her disreputable history? But there was one thing she was certain of: she was not going to expose herself to their invasive questions. She would die first. A tear slid down her cheek. Why could she never seem to escape the reach of Patricia Amos?
Debra, unaware of Bethany’s consternation or Edwina's state of shock, looked at the letter and began to read it out loud again. “I’m going to tell you some things in this letter that you may or may not be aware of. Maybe if you haven’t heard some of this before, it will help you to understand your mother better so you will be better equipped to help her.”
“A few months ago, a pastor from Welder's Village was visiting our church and as we talked, I asked him if he knew your mother. I knew she had moved back to Stokes County after she left Franklin County. He did know her and he told me about her drinking problem but he also told me about you.”
Debra looked up from the letter. “That was probably Pastor Hall. He knew my mom and me,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She remembered the engaging man who frequented the diner where she worked and still invited her to church every time she was his waitress. She had even spoken to him about her mother before.
“Honey, you don’t have to keep reading it out loud,” May announced. “I didn’t know it would be so personal and I can wait just like everybody else.”
Debra surveyed the faces around her. Everyone looked so serious in the candlelight with the shadows flickering across their faces. The hollow of their eyes seemed deeper and gave them more intense, soulful appearances.
“It’s okay,” she said after taking a moment to think. The diamond stud in her nose sparkled in the candlelight. "Everybody in town already knows my mother is an alcoholic," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
Debra raised the letter closer, positioning it so the candlelight would fall across the page before her and began to read again.
“It’s been many years since Cynthia worked for me but I’ve never forgotten her.”
Debra took a deep breath while glancing at May who seemed to have recovered her bearing. May gave her an encouraging nod.
“Your mother was my employee and then became my friend. She was a beautiful woman and she met a man who owned some race horses while at a dinner in my home when Drew and I first began seeing one another. I wonder if she’s ever told you about him. His name was Stephen Porterhouse.”
Debra looked up and shook her head. May's gaze startled her in its intensity. The man's name didn’t sound familiar to her at all but she wasn’t surprised. Her mother had never talked much about her past.
Debra continued in her soft, raspy voice. “Stephen was Drew's closest friend and was also his lawyer. He became my lawyer too and over the years my friend also. Two of Stephen’s thoroughbreds were quite famous during that period and one of them even ran in the Kentucky derby and placed third. Cynthia became very interested in horses.”
“We were in a recession at the time and it affected my business. My children’s apparel store was just starting to take off when it hit and to keep my head above water, I had to cut back on my employees. Though Drew and I were engaged, I was determined to make my business successful on my own and was substantially invested in it. Anyway, I had to let several employees go and your mother was the last employee I had hired the year before so unfortunately she was one of the first to go. I felt terrible about it and I tried to explain but she wouldn't listen."
“She quit returning my calls and ignored invitations to visit. A few weeks later, she and Stephen broke up. I tried to reach out to her over the next year, even inviting her to my wedding but it became obvious our friendship was over.”
“I debated about whether to tell you these things but after finding out about your mother’s issues, I decided that a disclosure from the past might help you understand her better.”
“She knew my mom alright,” Debra uttered.
She cleared her throat and looked up at the other women’s faces framed by the darkness making them look phantom-like in the candlelight. The flickering shadows only helped to increase the surreal eeriness—the unnatural position she was in—one of standing before a group of women she had just met reading a letter from a dead woman she never knew.
Debra, her stomach churning, bent her head over the letter and began to read again. “For a while during that time of my life, I was consumed with the fear that I might lose my store. When my business began to grow again, I spent so much time at work I neglected my marriage and let Drew fend for himself. Unfortunately, it was during this time Cynthia and Drew had an affair.”
After Debra read those words, she looked up at May with widened eyes. May’s free hand had gone to her mouth. Debra could tell she was shocked and she felt the blood drain from her own face. Someone patted her on the back. This man named Drew had an affair with her mother? Is this why Patricia Amos wanted her here—to answer for the sins of her mother?
She began to read aloud again.
“When I found out about the pregnancy, it almost ended our marriage. I had begun to suspect I couldn't have a child and I thought the best thing to do would be to divorce Drew and let him have Cynthia. But Drew didn't want that. We decided to stay together and try to adopt the child and we worked out a plan with your mother.”
“The child?” Debra asked out loud. My mother had a child with him?”
For the first time that day, May was rendered speechless. Drew had gotten Cynthia pregnant, she repeated to herself. The knowledge was dizzying as she tried to assimilate it with everything else she knew about Patricia and Drew. Now, she had to hear the rest of the letter.
Debra's voice held a tremor in it as she continued to read the contents of the letter more slowly as though she were making sure to get the full meaning from every word. No one stirred.
“At first your mother agreed when we pointed out the kind of life we would be able to give the baby. We paid for her to have an apartment in Stokes County, where Cynthia was from, until the baby was born and we gave her a substantial amount of money to begin her new life with afterwards. But suddenly, she refused all communication with us. Then she claimed that Drew wasn't the father of the baby she was carrying after all. We were destroyed."
"She wouldn’t let us see the baby after she was born and still refused to name Drew as the father on the birth certificate. She even claimed once that Stephen Porterhouse fathered the child even though she and Stephen had broken up months before she conceived and were on very bad terms.”
“This was before the days of DNA testing and if she claimed Drew was not the father, there was nothing we could do without a huge court battle and we didn’t want that.”
“Drew and I patched our marriage back up but the fact he might have a child somewhere haunted Drew. Many years later, when DNA testing became a viable solution to knowing the truth, Drew was making arrangements to have his DNA tested with yours. That was only a month before his accident and after his death I left the matter alone. However, upon coming to the shocking realization a few months ago that I didn't have much longer to live, I began to see the urgent necessity of having it done. It was fairly easy to accomplish considering one's DNA is such a personal thing but I managed to obtain some of your DNA with the help of a private investigator and had it tested with Drew's. It was confirmed. Drew Amos was your father."
Debra let the hand that held the letter fall to her side. She was dumbfounded. “All these years…,” she sobbed. “All these years, mother refused to tell me. I thought she didn't know who my father was!” She broke again and held her hand over her stomach as another sob escaped her.
May wrapped an arm around Debra although she was almost as shocked by the contents of the letter as the young woman. She couldn’t believe she was comforting Cynthia and Drew Amos’s daughter. "Patricia probably didn't mean for you to have to go through this in front of everyone," she told her gently.
Jenna spoke up. “Debra, we can all go upstairs or maybe just one of us could stay here with you while you finish reading the letter to yourself.”
Debra wiped her eyes and the women standing close by couldn't help but notice that her hands were trembling. “No. I’m fine," she told them. "Please. You can all stay. I’m going to finish reading it,” she said with a wavering voice.
“Okay,” Jenna replied sympathetically. “It’s a pretty big revelation but we're here for you."
“It seems that this is the week for big revelations for me,” Debra answered dryly as she thought of the pink, crumpled up paper she found in Toby’s pocket only a few days ago. Then, she took a deep breath and lifted the letter up to where she could see it better and began to read aloud again.
“I’m sorry that this is the way you’ve had to find out the identity of your father if Sylvia has never told you and I’m sorry that Drew didn’t get to know you and that you didn't get to know him. He was going to contact you when you turned eighteen but he died in an accident on his farm involving an older model tractor that rolled over on him."
He intended to find out if you are someone capable and trustworthy in hopes of leaving some of his estate to you one day. So, please forgive me for intruding in on your life without your knowledge, especially about the DNA but Drew had vast holdings and it was prudent for me to investigate. Since my life has taken its own sharp turn, I simply did not have the time to get to know you by a more traditional method but I feel I have found out what I needed to know and am satisfied.
"I discovered you had a troubled childhood and I am sorry but I have also learned that you take care of your mother while holding down a job too. I believe Drew would have been proud of you.”
“I hope the things you’ve inherited will help to make up for some of the difficulties you have experienced in your life."
"My legal representative, Stephen Porterhouse, will become your legal representative too as long as you need him and as my executor he will explain your holdings and the proper care of your inheritance and your trust fund. There will be much to learn, Debra. In the meantime, please enjoy the contents of this wardrobe. I decided to give them to you because if I could have had the pleasure of raising you as my own, they would have been yours anyway. I hope you enjoy them."
Debra lifted her eyes to meet May’s. “She wanted me to be her child,” Debra surmised aloud. May nodded. Debra returned to the letter with a new respect for the woman who had written it.
“Six months ago I was diagnosed with lymphoma—one of the most fatal types of cancer. The doctors say I only have a few weeks left. I’ve lived an abundant life and I’m ready to go but before I pass on to be with my Maker, I wanted to bring this thing I’ve been doing full circle."
"One of the people in the meeting today, (assuming everyone shows up) has already benefitted from Drew's estate—they just didn't know it. Drew started giving to her secretly years ago and I believe seeing how much joy it gave him to do it rubbed off on me. So, even after he died, I continued what he had begun.
I had already been thinking about Drew and Cynthia's child a lot when I was diagnosed. There are things from the past that I need to deal with properly. Imminent death does tend to regulate perspective. Making these arrangements for Drew's daughter has been a joy for me—like one last party to plan before making my final exit. Debra, I want you to use your inheritance to make your life glorious. You are now a very wealthy young woman.”
Debra rubbed her eyes. They had begun to tear up and it was hard enough to read the letter in the flickering candlelight without fighting blurry vision too. The women were hanging on to every word now and were silent as they waited for Debra to continue.
“Being as wealthy as I have been means I had at hand all kinds of resources and I used mine to find out more about you. I know that you were a loner in school. I know that you excelled in your classes and took care of your mother while she was in and out of jail. That must have been very hard on you, Debra. I know you couldn’t leave your mother to go to college—not being able to afford live-in help for her. Don’t give up on your mother, dear. Forgive her as I have. I don’t think she’s ever gotten over the love she lost. God still has a plan for her life just as He does yours.”
“This wardrobe is very special to me. It was a gift from my late husband on our fifth wedding anniversary. He said it was a special place to hang my most beautiful gowns. They are still in it, dear. You might find some of them old fashioned but great design never goes out of style. Somehow, I think they will be just right for you. You might have to have some alterations but after I found out what size you wear, I came up with the idea of giving them to you. Now you have a real hope chest and that pleases me very much.”
“Also, when you learn your part in the will—you will know the possibilities for your future are endless. I believe you will wear some of these gowns someday. All I ask in return is that you think about giving thanks to the One who allowed me to be a blessing to you and that you follow the guidelines stated in my will concerning your inheritance.
Debra looked up at the other women. She had quit trying to hide the tears in her eyes and was letting them pour freely down her face as she finished with a husky voice. “And it’s signed, sincerely, with all my love, Patricia Amos."
May reached for the letter. “May I?”
Debra handed it to her and took back her candle. She saw that the letter was shaking in May’s hands. Funny, she thought, my hands are trembling too. College? An inheritance? She was dumbfounded.
Jenna broke the silence that had ensued. “Obviously, from what the letter said, one of us has already received something from Drew and Patricia Amos but didn’t know it was from them.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, there are some things beginning to make sense to me now.”
Then she burst into tears surprising everyone. “I had no idea,” she said between sobs. “I wish I could have thanked them.” Kaitlyn went to Charlotte and hugged her.
May handed the letter back to Debra. “Aren’t you going to open the wardrobe?”
Debra had been contemplating that very thing and May’s question was all the impetus she needed. She reached out to open it but the doors wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked.”
“I bet the lawyer has the key,” Bethany offered.
“Let’s go upstairs, girls,” May said. She felt so tired since hearing the contents of Patricia's letter to Debra. “It looks like we have a lot to talk to about.”
Kaitlyn put her hand beneath Edwina's elbow and guided her toward the steps. She wondered why the news of Patricia Amos's death affected this apparently well-to-do woman so much. Had they been friends once and lost contact over the years? But Kaitlyn didn't believe it was simple as that because she sensed Edwina's reluctance to speak concerning it.
Edwina sighed as they climbed the steps. This was turning out to be much more than she bargained for, she thought as she stepped into the cabin's main room again. And she didn't know what she was going to do.
~
Inmate 2949-680-21
As the woman curled up on her cot, she thought about the group who had come to the prison and sang for them the day before. There had been a minister who played a guitar very well, two women and a teenage girl who sang with him. They were good but she had heard good singers before. However, none of them had reached through to her heart the way the thin girl in the blue dress did and she didn't even remember the girl's name. But there had been something about that small, big-eyed girl that caused her to sit up and take notice. That girl believed what she was singing about. Why?
So, God, she thought as she made an attempt to talk to someone she had only heard about briefly. "They say You love everybody—that You love the whole world. Well, God, I want to know if it's true. Do you love people who never went to church? And what about those people who went to church but were hypocrites. Do you love them better than me? Tell me that, God."
She waited. There was no answer.
Chapter 3
As they climbed the stairs, Debra could tell that most of them seemed detached now as though lost in their thoughts. She knew who her father was! What had happened down there? Everything had changed just because of one letter. Her mind whirred and even her heart was beating fast.
As they reached the landing, she noticed Kaitlyn standing next to her. She had given her a hug but Debra found herself in an almost robotic state. She knew who her father was! What in the world would happen when the lawyer got here with the will, she wondered. Was she really going to be able to get some help for her mother and attend college? It seemed almost too much to take in.
May was the last one up the stairs. She had to give it to Patricia—she was going out with a bang. May had come to a point in her life of never being very surprised about anything but as her eyes moved over to where Debra and Kaitlyn were standing, her heart jumped in her chest.
Charlotte placed two small logs on the fire and sat down cross-legged on the floor again. She gave a tender smile to the girl named Kaitlyn who sat down next to her. Charlotte loved sitting in front of a fireplace—the warmth and beauty of it was like magic to her. But she had been a reluctant participant in this whole event and sharing her life story with these ladies was not something she looked forward to. Her mother had been a housekeeper and she wasn't ashamed of it. But she preferred to listen to the other women's stories before she started on her own. She hoped they wouldn't begin grilling her because of what she had said downstairs a few moments ago.
Yet, this lady, Patricia Amos had been the one helping her and her mother—well, God bless her, she thought. Now she wanted to learn more about this woman who had reached into her life and given her some hope too.
She knew that someday she would be able to enjoy her life again. Just that knowing was a big step for her after the dark days she had already come through. For the first time she cared about being here with the other women. She did have a rightful place there, she acknowledged; she was supposed to be here and that was something in a world where almost everything had come to mean nothing to her since her mother’s unexpected death a few days ago.
Debra and May went back to the rocking chairs on each side of the room before the fireplace and sat down again. The other women were silently wrapped within their own contemplations and the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the storm filled the room. Edwina joined Jenna on the couch again--glad for the support of the comfortable furniture. She needed to let what she had just found out sink in. She was glad that May had everyone's attention.
May broke the silence when she saw that all eyes were on her. “I knew Patricia very well,” she announced heavily.
Edwina took a deep breath to prepare herself for whatever was coming next.
“It’s been many, many years since I last saw her but when Debra read that letter, I could still hear her voice.” May waved her hand as she looked about the room. “And now, I’m able to see her hand here, in this cabin—the elegance in the midst of the simplicity—that was Patricia—elegant yet strong."
Everyone was completely still--the only other movement in the room came from the fireplace as the well-kept fire danced across the logs.
“How did you know her?” Debra asked.
May gazed into the fire and continued in a somber voice. “I met Patricia during a very difficult time in my life.” She took a deep breath. I had two children when I met her—both boys—one was seven and one was eight and I had just turned twenty-six. My husband Roy had left me—the day after my birthday—and I had to go to work to support my family.”
“Drew Amos gave me a job as a cook and my boys and I were given a small house on his farm to live in also. That job meant everything to me.”
She stopped to look at the other women as though wanting to make sure they understood. “I was no trained chef but I could always cook. I was practically raised in the kitchen beside my mother. I could fix a whole meal by the time I was eleven years old.”
“When my father left, Mother had to go to work and I always had supper ready when she got home. So it wasn’t hard for me to learn to cook for the men who worked on Drew Amos’s farm. It just seemed natural before long and Drew—well, Mr. Amos…,” May’s voice had taken on a warmer tone and she smiled, “…he was very pleased with my work. I cooked for as many as twenty men--the men he hired to work his farm and it was a big job. The work was hard but I loved it. My boys loved living there too but it all changed when Patricia Perkins came into the picture.”
May, apparently taken away by her memories, grew silent as she gazed into the fire.
Charlotte, spoke up. “May, you can’t leave it there. What happened when Patricia Perkins came into the picture?”
As though she had just woke up from a nap, May turned to look at Charlotte. Then she cleared her throat and looked around at the other women who were staring at her, obviously waiting for her to proceed. She shook her head and with a small laugh said, “Well, what else have we got to do?”
May
May had just finished wiping off the table with her dishcloth. Two hours ago, the table had seated twelve men and the table adjacent to it, had seated six more.
May leaned back, putting her hand in the small of her back and rubbed it where it ached for a moment. She admired the clean tables and walked back into the kitchen. Large pots hung on hooks above a huge rectangular island made of solid oak. Beyond the island were two deep sinks big enough to hold more dishes and pots and pans at one time than most households contained.
It made May feel good to look at the organized kitchen, the clean pots hanging and the bright yellow and orange kitchen towels lined neatly on their racks. Jimmy and Barry wouldn’t be home from school for another hour. She would go home, take a bath and clean up before they got there—share an hour or so with them and then come back here to start on supper. A little before six o’clock the men would begin gathering outside, voices raised and excited at the end of another long working day. Supper would be served at six sharp.
As May walked back toward the compact little house she and her sons shared, she heard the dull thuds of hoofs beating the dirt. Someone was coming on horseback. She turned to look and saw Drew Amos heading towards her aboard Samson, his favorite steed. Drew had been proud to let her know that Samson stood seventeen hands tall—bigger than any horse she had ever seen—the biggest of any farm around.
She smiled at him and kept walking. He’d have no trouble catching up with her and she didn’t want to seem too happy to see him. To her amazement, Mr. Amos, or Drew as he had asked her to start calling him, had become important to her as more than just an employer. It had been like a story out of the movies—her, a young divorcé—he, a wealthy widower whose young wife had died only four months after their marriage.
Sometimes Mr. Amos ate in the dining hall with his men but the last few weeks, he had been joining the hired hands more often. At first, the fact that she caught him looking in her direction had not even fazed her. Her hazel eyes, pink cheeks and milky skin had drawn the attention of many men in the past and she was the only woman in a room full of men.
Twice she had to talk to him about two of the men who had become overly familiar with her and he had taken care of the situation for her by giving them a stern warning. She liked having him there. His presence tended to help keep things more orderly. The men were more subdued and didn't make flirtatious comments to her as often.
Maybe that was when she began to entertain ideas about him that would seem ridiculous to almost anyone else. After all, why would a wealthy man like Mr. Amos ever look in her direction? Yes, she was a striking woman. But she was his cook and there were a lot of attractive women a man like Drew Amos had the opportunity to meet. Plus, she had two boys and though he was friendly toward them, he seemed to prefer nodding to them every now and then when he saw them—showing no interest in stopping to talk.
Then the day came when she heard Drew Amos calling her name from the dining room.
“May?”
“In here,” she answered.
May was busy wiping out the sink—almost ready to leave for the afternoon. She heard the heavy clomping of his footsteps and knew he was wearing his boots.
May turned around.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Amos."
"Good afternoon, May." Drew opened his mouth as if to say something else and then looked down at his feet as he placed his hands on his hips. She noticed that he seemed nervous. He leaned on one foot and then the other as though his confidence in standing correctly eluded him as much as the words he was having trouble speaking.
She started wiping her hands off on her apron. She knew the kitchen looked immaculate and she was proud of it.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Amos?”
Drew looked at her and then glanced out of the window as he shuffled his feet again like a nervous school boy. Finally, he spoke.
“May, you know I find you to be a very attractive woman.”
She was startled and her eyes widened. For just a second May thought he was going to tell her she couldn’t work there anymore because of the trouble there had been with the two men. Maybe he wanted to hire a male cook. But her intuition was telling her that was not the case.
She smiled hoping to encourage him.
“Thank you, Mr. Amos.”
May had never seen Drew Amos at a loss for words before. One of the things so attractive about him had been his booming personality—the way he laughed with the men but remained their boss—the way his large frame moved with agility and strength. But now, he seemed hesitant and unsure of himself.
She looked at him standing there, towering several inches above her five-foot-five build and felt goose-bumps.
“I know you went through a hard time with that man of yours before your divorce and maybe it’s still too early for you to consider dating yet. But if you were to feel like going out....” He paused momentarily while his eyes met hers. He saw the sparkle there and noted the smile on her lips. He grinned. “I’d like to be the one you went out with."
May took a deep breath in hopes of maintaining her composure but on the inside she felt like jumping up and down the way she had done when she was a little girl.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him. He had a wide mouth and sensuous lips—the only thing soft about his hardened face. His square brow sheltered his dark, intelligent eyes. At one glance, most people knew Drew Amos was not a man to take lightly. She found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him and felt herself blushing as though he could read her thoughts.
“I'd love to go out with you," she replied in a tone she hoped conveyed the normal way a woman should answer. She hadn't been on a date with anyone other than her ex-husband since she was a teenager.
The thing that happened next startled her. Drew Amos bent over and took her in his arms and hugged her with an amazing tenderness as though she were made of china. He smelled like soap and leather as he planted a little kiss on the top of her head before stepping back from her.
“Thank you, May.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Amos,” she replied shakily. She hoped he hadn’t seen the affect he had on her.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he announced before turning to walk away.
May was a little disappointed that he hadn’t asked her for a certain day yet but she didn't think it would be long before she heard from him again. She watched as he walked toward the door and was a little embarrassed when he stopped and turned around quickly to see her still standing there staring after him.
“Oh, and call me Drew,” he told her with a smile. “But I would appreciate it if you still called me Mr. Amos in front of the men.” He grinned self-consciously. “I don’t want them thinking anything and I like to keep my personal life personal if you know what I mean.”
“I understand.” She gave him a little wave and this time she turned away while he was leaving. May waited until she heard the dining hall door close before she turned back around and placed her hands on her cheeks. They felt like they were on fire but she didn’t care. She was going to go out with Drew Amos!
~
Inmate 2949-680-21
The woman arched her back and looked up into the nothingness above her. "So, you won't talk to me, will you, God? Is it because I didn't go to Sunday school? Did I come from the wrong side of the tracks? What is it? If you really love everybody, then You have to love me too. And if You love me, then where is that love? Why haven't I known it"
She bowed her head, letting her chin touch her chest. "You wanted to teach me something, God? Is that what it is?"
Silence.
"Well, here I am. Teach me." She thought of the singers who had come with their earnest expressions and clean looking faces--looking more like children who had just had their nightly baths than adults who had let themselves be searched and barricaded in there with them. Why did they come?
She wiped at the tears pouring down her cheeks. The singing girl whose voice and manner had touched her so deeply came to her mind again. "You love her, don't You, God?"
She waited. Again, nothing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and actions are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to anyone living or dead, businesses, events or location is entirely coincidental.
For Mom
One of the main characters in this book is named after my mother, Patricia Stokes. However, my mother could have taught the fictional Patricia a tremendous amount about being a loving and giving person and I am very grateful to God for the precious woman He has allowed me to call, "Mom."
Chapter 1
Bethany stared out at the lake. It looks like rain, she thought, as she surveyed the chalky, dull-white sky—one of those times when you couldn’t see a cloud but you knew when the rain started it would stay for a long, long time. It would be a good day to go to sleep forever, she thought. She could take the pills and when the rains started they could sing her to sleep.
But there was that letter on her desk she had replied to last week before making the plan to check out—last week—when she was still giving life the good ole’ college try. Why should I go to some cabin, she questioned herself. There’s no amount of money that can end this nightmare. The letter had said that she would not inherit if she weren’t there. Well, let it all go to someone else.
Still, there was a tiny spark of curiosity in the back of her mind. What did another day matter? At least she would be away from here—away from the ghosts that kept appearing to remind her that her husband, William, the minister, had left town with the church’s secretary and a chunk of the church’s funds.
The men on the board had decided not to prosecute in the attempt to sweep the matter under the rug as quickly as possible. Her presence there was just an unhappy reminder to some of the congregation now. What was left for her? She was no longer the minister’s wife. Her divorce had been granted in absentia on the grounds that he had abandoned her.
There were no duties for her at the church anymore and almost no friends. Tasha Sigmond was the exception but what kind of friend could she be to Tasha now that many in the church looked on her with suspicion, as if she had pocketed some of their money too?
She only had one child and no grandchildren. Her son, Sam, was grown and living in California with another man—a source of pain and shame also. The shame she felt was for the way her husband had treated their son—as though he were just an embarrassment instead of the son he had fathered and should love unconditionally. The pain she felt was the pain of regret—regret for the way she let herself be manipulated into not being the mother she should have been. She was ashamed she let herself be beaten down by the overbearing and controlling stance her husband demanded.
The day Sam had told them about his homosexuality, she had sat frozen in her chair at first while her husband handled their only offspring with condemnation and threats. Bethany had been so shocked by Sam's words she didn't know how to react until Bill actually went towards him as though he were going to be physically violent. Bethany had jumped up from her chair in time to wedge herself in between them—agonizing for the anger and hurt she saw in the two men she loved. Sam was storming out of the front door before her mind even had time to grasp the situation in all of its complexities.
She hoped Sam would forgive her someday for not immediately going to stand beside him. Although she disagreed with his choice, he would always be her son and she would always love him. She had berated herself a thousand times for not handling the situation better.
She had argued with Bill. "How can you win anyone to Christ if you alienate them?" she asked as she reminded him of the verse in Proverbs which stated, "A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city."
Bill had only replied that Sam was his son, not a brother and though she told him he was picking at the literal rather than the heart of the verse, he had discounted her view as though it was beneath his.
After all, he was the preacher, called by God, schooled in the Word, appointed by the elders of the church and elected by the church body. That's what it always came down to when there was a disagreement between them. How could she argue with that?
So, she had decided to wait and pray. Maybe Sam would come back. Maybe Bill would have a change of heart. However, if there had been a change of heart, it was not the change she hoped for. Only a few weeks later Bill left with a woman she once considered a friend. He had a change alright she thought bitterly—just not the kind she expected.
She had no one to turn to. The only relative she was close to was an aunt, her mother's sister, Darla. Darla was a kind woman but she was busy with her own family and lived in Florida. Bethany knew her own demise would hurt Darla but felt she could not live just to please someone else. She had done enough of that already.
So there it was, Bethany thought. Her life was in disrepair and she didn't feel as if there was anything of worth left for her to accomplish. She could accomplish death though. That was one thing she could still do right, she thought. Okay, she’d meet them all at the cabin. Maybe she would even see someone there she wanted to give whatever she inherited to—someone who still had some enthusiasm left for living—someone who could do something for a good purpose.
Bethany refused to think about God and what Jesus had meant to her. She had given her all and was done.
She had prayed countless hours for many members of the congregation. She had prayed with them for their sick children, their teenagers when they were in car accidents and their loved ones on their death beds. She had gone to their pot-lucks and their funerals and where was she now? Alone.
There was no blaming God. There was just—nothing. Well—there was one thing she loved—her cigarettes. She had started smoking again. It connected her to her past—her past before she had attended college—before she had started to convince herself she could have a meaningful existence despite the great obstacles she had faced in her short life.
Now, it was only the cigarette that pleased her—the long draw from the filter that pulled that lovely tasting nicotine to the back of her throat and into her lungs—the decadence of being able to enjoy them because there was no one to worry about influencing. And even the knowledge she wasn’t going to be around to suffer the consequences of the "coffin nails," (as Bill called them) —even that was something pleasing to her—as though she was able to escape death by rushing into its arms. Yes, that's what pleased her now—not any God thing she had held on to from the past. At least that's what she told herself.
Gone—she thought—all of them—everyone I have loved—and the hurt would gather up inside of her chest and send real pangs of pain shooting through her, even to her fingertips.
The rain began in earnest—big, smacking drops that quickly blurred her view. Bethany sighed as she watched the smoke from her cigarette float away from her as it disintegrated. My life in a nutshell, she thought. Everything I love disintegrates into nothing.
She finished her cigarette and checked her purse to make sure she had put an extra pack inside, put on her raincoat and stepped quickly through the rain.
Bethany almost fell into her car in her hurry to escape the drenching the heavens were determined to send. She took the directions she had copied out of her purse and read through them once more as her car was warming up. She shivered and pulled out of her driveway slowly.
She had a long trip ahead of her and was supposed to be there by noon. Immediately her thoughts began to go to Bill. She wondered what he was doing right at that moment.
Bethany hated the fact that every time she was driving the car anywhere her mind began to replay the events of the last few months like a bad movie she couldn’t escape. Little by little she had given up trying to make the movie stop. She just sat in her seat and let the film roll.
Sometimes, one of the scriptures she had once loved would dart into her mind but she dismissed them in a determined manner that William would have labeled cold-hearted. Bethany knew that wasn’t true though. She didn’t have a cold heart; she just had a broken one that didn’t work anymore.
The road before her was almost indiscernible but Debra McTurner drove on. It didn’t matter to her that the rain was pelting the roof of her car relentlessly and that visibility was only a few feet in front of her windshield. She had so much on her mind that the turmoil going on all around her was no competition for her own inner chaos.
Toby Ranklin was no longer hers and that thought repeated itself over and over in her heart like a mantra she couldn’t forget. It was all she could think about. It seemed to Debra as though it would be impossible for Toby to be with anyone else. She thought their connection was too solid to ever be severed but the evidence had proved different.
She really was trying to let him go. Though the scent of his skin was still as familiar to her as her own perfume, she told herself that he was no longer hers.
Yet there were the memories that were hers: recalling how he looked when he stepped out of the shower, wet-headed and odd with his hair plastered down around his face except for a few stray wisps that stuck out comically, how he would chase her around trying to kiss her with his “fish lips” as he called them when he stuck them out in a exaggerated pucker, or how he staggered with his hand over his heart when he saw her wearing that black dress he liked so much. And the goofy smile he would don because he knew it made her laugh—all the memories kept flashing back to haunt her even though she was trying not to remember them.
Then, there was the brooding fervor his eyes seemed to hold sometimes—like they did when she had opened the door of her apartment just a few days ago to see him standing there—the memory still smoldered in her mind like a fire that would never go out. Was it possible to ever actually not love him? Debra didn’t think so.
She wiped at another tear and as she did, the bridge in front of her became visible. Debra stepped on her brakes. Alarm caused tingles of fear to spread out through her chest and her knees weakened but her car came to a full stop on the gravel road. Water was cascading over the bridge ahead of her. She could only tell that a bridge should be there by the way the road on the other side emerged out of the depth of the violent water some thirty feet ahead. She could not see the road going across it at all.
How many times had she heard that she should never try to cross a flooded bridge—that the mass of water could easily push her car over its sides? Debra applied pressure to the gas pedal anyway and approached the angry looking water slowly. She figured if she kept the car moving she would be able to get over the bridge and after a long, scary moment, she had indeed cleared it.
In that instant she had forgotten Toby and she exhaled with relief when she found her car continuing on the gravel road again. But a question, one she didn’t want to entertain, pushed its way into her mind. Why had she immediately went ahead and crossed the bridge when there was a real and apparent danger? It was almost as if she didn’t care, she thought, and the realization scared her. No man was worth that—not even Toby.
Maybe, she told herself, it was because of the letter that she had made the effort. She looked at the seat beside her where the letter laid. It was open, its pages accordion-like, spread out haphazardly as though its contents were not necessarily important.
Debra brought her car to a stop to give her nerves time to calm themselves. She reached for the letter and read it again.
"Dear Ms. McTurner,
My client, who will remain anonymous until all participants are present (time and place to be agreed to posthumously by all involved) has prescribed you, Debra McTurner, to be one of the inheritors in their Last Will and Testament.
The last Will and Testament of _________ ________ will be read and all parties involved will immediately become heirs upon the reading of the will provided they are present at the aforementioned meeting.
As a beneficiary of a bequest, it is to your advantage to contact our office at your earliest possible convenience regarding the time and location of the reading of the will. This will enable our office to co-ordinate the meeting to an hour all parties agree upon.
Sincerely, Rafters and Hughes
Attorneys at Law
Attached to the letter was a business card that provided a phone number.
Debra was not a gullible woman—if anything she tended to be suspicious. She looked up the law offices listed on the letterhead on the computer at the library and double checked the phone number in the phone book too before calling. Determining the letter to be authentic, she called the law office of Rafters and Hughes and was given directions to a private residence in the country where the reading would take place. After informing the secretary she would be able to be there at noon the following Friday, Debra hung up the phone and let her mouth go slack with surprise. Someone had put her in their will and she didn't even know who.
Letters of consequence had made their way into her hands twice last week. Monday, she had been surprised by the mysterious letter from a law office she had never heard of only to find one similarly mysterious (but for different reasons) in a jacket Toby had left at her apartment.
She recalled everything—the innocent moment when she realized Toby had left his jacket at her apartment and how she had picked it up from the chair it was draped over and carried it to the coat tree by her door to hang it up. She remembered the one, small shake she had given it that had caused something bright colored to fall to the floor. She remembered how the piece of pink stationary was folded and without even thinking about it being private, she opened it and let her eyes travel to the bottom of the page until they came to the signature that read: With all my love, Brianna.
Debra knew Brianna. She lived in the same neighborhood Toby did and Debra knew the two had an on-and-off again romantic relationship since their high-school days. Without even considering not reading the letter, Debra did. She could tell immediately Brianna wanted Toby back. But there was one line from it that stuck in her memory: Last night was so special that I am beginning to think we are meant to be together after all.
Debra called Toby's cell phone but he didn't answer. She grabbed her keys and purse and ran out of her apartment—the need to know too powerful to resist.
A few reckless moments later she was there. She saw Toby's blue pick-up truck parked in the driveway of the small duplex where he and his friend, Taylor lived. She noticed an older model, white Camry she had never seen before parked next to Taylor's black Honda. Debra took a deep breath before knocking. Taylor answered the door, his dismay at seeing her standing there, white-faced and serious, was apparent.
"Where's Toby?" she demanded. Taylor fumbled for something to say as Debra impatiently pushed her way past him. She heard a woman's voice coming from Toby's bedroom. Her heart filled with dread at what she would find when she opened the door.
Brianna was wearing nothing but a pink, silky push-up bra and a pair of matching panties. Toby was stretched out on the bed beside her in his briefs. Brianna stopped talking in mid-sentence and Toby's hand froze. He had been winding a lock of Brianna's long, dark hair around one of his fingers.
For the space of a few rapid heartbeats, Debra considered Toby—his body, the strangeness of seeing it undressed next to someone else and the fact of his undeniable betrayal.
Toby looked shocked but she detected something else in the expression on the face she knew so well. Was it relief? Suddenly, there were screaming accusations, flying curse words and embarrassing tears—all coming from her. Toby kept saying he was sorry but Debra did not believe him—not when it caused everything to end advantageously for him. Yes, it was messy but it was short, to the point and over with—out with the new and in with the old. Or maybe the old was the new again. She didn't know. All she knew for sure was that it was over between them.
Now, Debra was a woman on a mission. She wanted to find out what she had inherited and if it was money and enough of it, she wanted to leave Welder's Village and never return—never return to see her drunken mother again—never return to her dead end job working for the pasty-faced, bossy Margaret Grissom. She wanted to be someplace where she could start over without having to face Toby the rest of her life.
Debra’s fingers gripped the wheel tighter as she began to navigate her vehicle through the downpour. The memories that flooded her mind fueled her anger and sharpened her pain. It seemed to Debra as though the storm was appropriately matching her mood in intensity. She drove on.
A few moments later, Kaitlyn Mahoney came to the bridge Debra had passed over. She examined the rushing waters carefully and decided to step out of her vehicle and get a closer look. She pulled her hood over her head and ducked into the rain. “Dear Lord!” she exclaimed as the rain pelted her. She got back into her jeep and decided to advance slowly.
Her heart quickened as she drove over the bridge but just as she breathed a sigh of relief she was shocked by a huge cracking sound behind her. In her rearview mirror, Kaitlyn saw a massive tree lying across the bridge she had just passed over, branches were entangled in the rails and she knew the gigantic obstacle was solidly blocking the way of any other traffic.
Thankful that she was still in one piece, Kaitlyn continued on even though her knees felt weak and her heart was pounding. According to the map included with the directions she had received, the cabin was still about a mile away. A green sign on the road ahead announced that she had just entered Stokes County.
She picked up her cell phone and looked to see if she still had a signal. None. She had never been in this part of the country before and even though she was fond of exploring in her Jeep, she was so far away from home she felt uncomfortable. Kaitlyn tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel nervously. She had been traveling for over three hours but there was so much on her mind, she hadn't been aware of the time.
Her thoughts returned to the earlier events of the day and she went over them again—pulling into the nursing home parking lot—walking towards the building her mother had lived in for the past year—her footsteps on the white, antiseptic floor—the door opening—her mother's face.
She could still see the blank look her mother gave her as she entered her room and knew that for the first time there was not even a glimmer of recognition. Her mother had left her maybe never to return, probably only sporadically, as the doctors warned a year ago when she was forced to turn the care of her mother over to a nursing home.
Kaitlyn had fought to keep her mother herself but after several instances of hysterics and escapes, she faced the fact she could no longer do it. A tear slid down Kaitlyn's cheek. Though she knew the time was coming, she still wasn't able to prepare for the horrible reality of it.
Kaitlyn continued driving until several moments later she spotted a large, two-story cabin with a wrap around porch. Five cars were parked in the big, circular gravel driveway and there was a glimmer of light coming from the inside. This must be it, she thought as she turned in slowly.
She picked up the letter and folded it before putting it inside her purse. Her hoodie was still wet from her brief excursion near the bridge and she removed it and the raincoat and put on her favorite jacket. It was made of Italian leather, soft and black. Though faded with age, Kaitlyn treasured it. It had been her father's who had died five years earlier.
It would be little protection against the driving rain and she did not want to get it wet but protection from the weather was not the point of her beloved jacket. She draped her raincoat over herself and opened the car door.
Kaitlyn scurried through the rain and as soon as she stepped onto the porch, the front door opened. A young woman, who had an unnatural looking head of hair, black with red streaks—stood at the entrance. Kaitlyn could hear voices in the background. “Here’s another one,” the girl with the streaked hair called back over her shoulder as if announcing someone else foolish enough to venture out in such weather. Kaitlyn saw a tattoo of a bird in flight on the girl's neck as she turned.
“Hi,” she said as she opened the door further and stepped back to let Kaitlyn enter. “Welcome.”
Kaitlyn stepped into a large room and her eyes went immediately to the fire blazing in the fireplace. She wanted to gravitate toward its warmth as quick as possible.
“Come on in,” one of the women called. “You can hang your raincoat over there." She pointed to the brass hooks next to the door where several other coats already hung.
Kaitlyn’s throat felt dry and she swallowed. “U-hhh, I just want to make sure I’m in the right place,” she announced.
“There’s no other place around here for miles and this is a dead end road so you must be,” said another woman whose friendly smile made her feel welcome.
Kaitlyn guessed the attractive woman with the bouffant, white hair circling her face like a halo to be in her forties. There was a look of intelligence in her kind, hazel eyes lending an expression to her face that reminded her of her own mother—well, the way her mother used to be.
“I’m May,” she announced pleasantly before asking, “I suppose you got a letter too?”
Kaitlyn nodded and reached for her purse to get it. “That’s alright,” another one of the women spoke up. “You wouldn’t have come all the way out here in this weather if you didn’t have a letter.” The woman that spoke looked to be in her forties or so also. Like the woman who had introduced herself as May, she had a kind face.
“We all got the same letter,” the girl who had answered the door told her matter-of-factly. Come on in and warm yourself up."
The other women welcomed her with friendly faces and nods. She hung up her raincoat and joined the circle of women by the fire as she picked a large rocker to sit in.
The couch and the rocking chairs on each side faced the fire in a semi-circle and there were two cinnamon colored, wing-backed chairs, one on each side of the fire place too. One of the chairs was occupied by an intense-looking, thin woman with long, brown hair and the other chair was empty. A young girl with smooth, brown skin and large, dark eyes was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She glanced up at her and smiled before turning her attention back to the fireplace.
Kaitlyn counted six women not including her.
“I don’t suppose you know who the law firm that wrote us is representing, do you?” the girl who had opened the door for her asked.
Kaitlyn shook her head. “I have no idea,” she answered. “I didn’t even know anyone I knew died.”
The two women sitting on the couch looked at one another before turning their attention back to her. “Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news,” a pretty woman in a blue sweater announced in a friendly manner. “Which do you want first?”
The young lady sitting in the floor smiled up at her. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not that bad.”
“Okay, tell me the bad news,” she answered since she always preferred getting it over with first.
“The electric is out,” the woman in the blue sweater said. “But the good news is that there’s a fire and a note from the caretaker saying there's wood in the basement and some snack food in the cabinets,” she added. "Do you by any chance have a flashlight?"
Kaitlyn shook her head. "Sorry."
The blonde-headed lady wearing the expensive looking boots shrugged. "Well, we've found plenty of candles we can use if we need them.” Kaitlyn noticed the flash of diamond rings on her fingers as she waved her hand towards the rest of the house. “We don’t even know whose cabin this is. Do you have any information that can help us figure it out?”
“No,” Kaitlyn answered as she realized she had stepped into a situation that reminded her of a mystery book she had read a long time ago. At least they had a fire and it was warm—even toasty in the room.
“I don’t suppose we’ll know until the lawyer gets here,” the lady conjectured. “And who knows when that will be in this weather?”
“Well, if the lawyer isn’t here yet, he or she may not be coming,” Kaitlyn supplied.
Debra raised her eyebrows in concern. “Because of the water on the bridge?”
“More than that. A tree fell across the bridge right after I crossed it and until it's moved no one will be able to get through unless there’s another way in."
May spoke up. "I don't think there's another way in here so I guess we won't be having any company for a while.”
“Thank God it didn’t land on you,” the woman in the blue sweater commented. Her forehead creased with concern. “My son will probably call me this evening to find out how the meeting went and he'll be worried if I don't answer. None of our cell phones are working out here either. Did you check yours?”
“Yes, I already did,” Kaitlyn told her. I wasn’t getting a signal after I crossed the bridge but I’ll check it again.” She reached into her purse and got her cell phone out. “No,” she muttered after a moment. “Still no signal.”
The blonde lady wearing the diamond rings chuckled good-naturedly. “I just got back from vacation and then I had to come out here to the boonies. I’m starting to feel like God's purposefully separating me from the rest of the world and making me rest."
“Yeah. Maybe He's trying to give us all a little vacation,” May said with a smile as she leaned back in her rocking chair. "I could sure use one."
Bethany didn't like to hear the name of God mentioned even in a vague reference. She twisted in an attempt to get comfortable in one of the wing-back chairs by the fireplace.
Maybe the rain followed me, she thought. Maybe there’s some kind of cloud over my life now since Bill left but she knew that wasn't true. They had not been happy as a couple for a long time. She began looking in her purse for her brush.
She felt her eyes moisten and almost wished she had already taken the pills that would bring the oblivion she desired. Her hand touched and then caressed the small plastic cylinder that contained the powerful depressants. They were still there in her purse—her safety net—like a spy’s secret cyanide pill that would allow him escape from torture, she thought. There was something empowering in the knowledge that she truly didn’t have to take it anymore—any of it—if she so chose.
May surveyed the women and noted Bethany’s troubled countenance before she spoke again. “Well, we’ve got a warm, dry place to wait and we’re all okay. Thank God for that.” Several of the women voiced agreement with her statement.
Debra looked at the women around her and grimaced. What have I got myself into, she thought. Here I am holed up with a bunch of women I don't know and don't care to know—except maybe for the girl named Kaitlyn who just came in and the black girl sitting in front of the fire—those two seem pretty cool. She watched as Kaitlyn walked over to the hooks attached to the wall and took off her jacket to hang it up.
A couple of the women reminded Debra of people she had often referred to as, “those God-talking people,” when telling Toby some amusing incident that happened at work. I can’t even go out in the woods to get away from them, she thought.
Debra crossed her arms and frowned while she continued to rock back and forth. She felt out of place but since there was no way out, she might as well make the best of it.
There were a few moments of silence while the women contemplated the fact they were stranded and what it meant to them individually.
Kaitlyn sighed as she thought of her mother again. At least she wouldn’t be worried about her. She closed her eyes against the pain in her heart. She couldn’t remember a day in her life when her mother hadn’t been there for her. Yet she was gone from her mother’s memory as though she never existed. It seemed impossible.
The lady in the blue sweater stood up and stretched before walking over to the window and looking out. Someone in this cabin has got to know something about why we are here, she thought. She shook her head, marveling at the strength of the storm before going to sit back down. She decided to share her idea of how they could pass the time.
“I think we should all introduce ourselves and tell where we’re from—talk about ourselves a little. Surely if we share enough information, we’ll find out what we have in common and from that, we'll be able to figure out who made the will.”
“Good idea,” the lady with the diamond rings sitting beside her on the couch answered. “I don’t mind starting."
Debra wrinkled her forehead as she tried to recall how she knew the wealthy looking woman—even her scratchy voice seemed familiar. She watched as she leaned forward and introduced herself.
“My name is Edwina Kingston and I’m from Lincoln County. If you haven’t been there before, it’s about a hundred and fifty miles south from here in Tennessee.” She had blonde hair wound tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a gold cross that hung down low over her maroon colored blouse. Several of the women had already admired her slim figure and the way she looked in her Ralph Lauren slacks and leather boots.
“I used to live in Franklin though, so this part of the country is familiar to me,” she added. “And like the rest of you, I received a letter from the law firm of Rafters and Hughes. I never saw it though. I was on a vacation when it came and my secretary read it to me over the phone and confirmed it for me." Her eyes sparked with the excitement of sharing. "I just got back from a wonderful cruise with my family to Alaska."
"How many of you went?" May asked.
"Well, I'm married, so my husband Lee and our son, Timothy went—just us three." She put her hand to her lips as she thought before adding. "Sometimes people recognize me as the former news anchor from WNS, a station in Knoxville but that was a few years ago. I work behind the cameras now."
Debra nodded. So, that's why she looked familiar. Throughout the years, their small, local station often received news out of Knoxville. "I knew I'd seen you somewhere before," she told her. "I've seen you on our local news channel."
Edwina laughed. "Well, I know I've never seen you before, with your beautiful face and wild-colored hair, I would never have forgotten it."
Debra grinned as she touched her hair. "What's wild about my hair?"
A few of the women laughed.
The former newswoman nodded at Kaitlyn. “And like this young lady said, I've not heard anyone I knew died so I’m in the dark about who could be the benefactor.” She turned back to face Jenna seated next to her on the couch and nodded to her. “Do you want to go next?”
The lady in the blue sweater who had first made the suggestion they introduce themselves smiled back at her and then turned to look at the others. “Well, Edwina and I got here first and we had a while to talk before everyone else arrived. But we’ve not found anything in common yet that might point to who made us beneficiaries so I thought if all of us put our heads together, we would have to come up with something.”
“You didn’t tell us your name,” the lady named May in the rocking chair commented.
Jenna smiled showing her dimples. "I’m Jenna Turner and I’m from Franklin but I haven’t ever come into Stokes County from this direction before,” she began. "And I've never been on television like Edwina and I don't recognize anyone here." Jenna had shoulder length, dark brown hair that framed her face attractively before flipping up at the ends. She had been told before that she looked a little like Kathy Lee Gifford.
"I'm a widow. My husband died eleven years ago and I have one son. His name is Dustin and he's probably playing basketball with his friends at the gym right now. I'm a Christian psychologist and I have my own practice.
Jenna knew her affirmation of Jesus Christ as Lord separated her from many in her field but she believed it also gave her a wider well-spring of knowledge to draw from. It wasn't that Jenna thought she was superior in any way to her colleagues. She just believed that mankind's foundation was shaken more by sin than anything else and her therapy sessions were geared by that reasoning giving her different insights than those not influenced by Christianity.
As Kaitlyn listened to the women introducing themselves, she watched Jenna particularly. The way the woman spoke reminded her of her mother before the early dementia she was diagnosed with had set in. She sighed.
Jenna continued. “And my son, Dustin—he's in college—but he still lives at home. He was planning to stay in a dorm on campus with one of his friends tonight though. They're having a big poker tournament and he was excited about it—man-cave stuff all night he told me—so I wasn't expecting him home. I just wish I had a way of getting a message out to him in case he calls so he won’t be worried about me.”
Debra pushed a lock of black and red hair behind her ear as she listened to Jenna speak. She wondered what kind of young man would call his mother from an all-night poker tournament and grimaced. She could not imagine it.
She guessed Jenna to be in her late 30's or early 40's. It was hard to tell with women nowadays, she thought. A lot of them are as pretty as their younger counterparts. Then, her glance fell on the woman sitting on the floor who kept staring into the fire as though removed from the events happening around her. She was wearing jeans and a red sweater and had short, black hair. She was the only African American among them. Debra wondered what her story was and why she was so quiet.
Then Debra turned her attention to May. She was wearing a black, jogging suit and tennis shoes and looked fit but curvaceous—not the typical, grandma-in-the-rocking-chair type, Debra decided.
Debra let her attention roam to the other women in the room while she considered the fact she felt out of place among them. Maybe it was because of her "wild hair" as Edwina had put it and her diamond studded nose but she felt like it was more than her physical appearance that separated her from the other women.
However, she acknowledged to herself, they all seemed friendly enough—though this definitely was not her usual kind of crowd. But what did she have to go back to, she asked herself, even if she could get out right now? Toby would not be waiting for her and her mother was probably holed up with some loser of a man who liked to stay as drunk as she did.
She turned her attention back to the lady speaking. Jenna was saying, “I hope we don't have any more tornado warnings."
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” May commented. “We’ve had a lot of storms so far this year.” It was late April and already Franklin and the counties surrounding it had experienced two tornado warnings.
“I think we should search some more to see if we can find a radio and some batteries just in case the weather does get worse,” she added. There was a murmur among the women as they agreed with May’s statement.
“And while I’ve got everyone’s attention, I’ll introduce myself,” she said agreeably—coming to a stop in her rocking chair as if to get a good look at each woman there. “I’m May Greenfield and I’m from Franklin originally too, although I have lived in Liberty for the past ten years.”
Though she was old enough to have two adult sons, May was still a very attractive woman. Her green eyes projected kindness and warmth and she had styled her all-white hair in gentle sweeps that framed her face while the ends of it were gathered into a small chignon in the back.
“Nobody’s expecting me home tonight because I live alone so I guess as long as one of my boys doesn’t call, no one will be worried about me.”
“I’m in my forties so I make it a point to run every morning—trying to stay in shape—but I guess I pushed myself a little too hard this morning. I ran three miles but I usually only do two and a half. I think I was trying to get the exercise in before the rain started,” she said. “I suspect we’re going to have to spend the night here. They’ll probably get the electric back on tomorrow and the lawyer will be able to make a way to get out here to us by then. After all, he knows we’re here.”
"That's right," Edwina concurred. There were nods and sighs as the women considered their predicament. "Who's next?"
Kaitlyn shrugged. "I guess I'll go next. “My name is Kaitlyn Mahoney and I’m in the dark about all this too.” She smiled sweetly and added, “I’m from a little town called Hugo. It's about an hour south of here near the Tennessee border.” She looked at the other women and decided she should share more. “My mother might have been able to help me figure why I've been summoned here but she’s suffering from early on-set dementia and doesn't know anyone anymore so if there’s some connection through her to all this, I couldn't even ask her about it.”
The poor girl looks as though she is ready to burst into tears at any moment, Jenna thought. She would see if she might want to talk later. Maybe she could help.
Debra considered her own mother's drunken tirades and sighed. She had seen her mother so "out of it" she didn’t know anyone either but that was something she brought on herself by her drinking. Unlike Kaitlyn, Debra had no pity for her mother.
Charlotte, who had been the quietest one of the group, addressed Kaitlyn. “I love that jacket you had on. Where did you get it?”
“It was my father’s.”
“Oh,” Charlotte replied sensing the deep feelings behind the short statement Kaitlyn made. Were both of her parents out of the picture? If so, how awful to have one parent dead and the other stricken with dementia at such an early age, she thought. “That jacket must mean a lot to you.”
Kaitlyn’s eyes were misty as she nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty special to me. My father died several years ago and it kinda' makes me feel close to him.” She sighed. "I guess I should tell you something more informative than my personal experience." She thought for a moment. "I love to go up in hot air balloons and I've been to Paris once and I want to go back." She shrugged. "I don't know. Does that link me to anyone here?"
Most of the women looked at each other and shook their heads. Edwina laughed and said, "Well, I've been to Paris and found the experience exceptional but I don't know if having that in common links us in any way."
Kaitlyn looked a little embarrassed.
"Oh, no," Edwina said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound condescending. I just think we need to look at different factors than what our favorite things to do are."
Kaitlyn shrugged good-naturedly. "You're right. I guess we need to look more at "who" we have in common than "what.""
Edwina smiled. "Yes. I believe you're right."
Kaitlyn looked around the room. "Who's next?"
The thin lady with the long hair stood up and stepped closer to the fireplace. Her hands were still cold and she held them palms out towards the fire. She glanced around nervously as she spoke. “I’m Bethany Hawn and I’m originally from Franklin too,” she said with an awkward little nod towards May.
"My divorce was final last weekend and I just took up smoking again. I used to be a pastor's wife and now...," she paused, "…I guess I don't know what I am now." She looked at Jenna. "I used to be a mother but I failed at that too." She rolled her eyes.
"I can't believe I said that," she admitted self-consciously. "You know what? I don't know anyone who's died and I don't want to spend the night here. But I guess there’s nothing I can do about that," she murmured as she sat back down and placed her hands on her knees. "I don't suppose anyone wants to."
Jenna was watching Bethany closely as several of the women shared ill at ease glances with each other. She wondered if Bethany had a child that died or if she had lost custody of her children. Whatever, she was certainly uncomfortable in her own skin.
To Debra, Bethany looked like a nervous cat ready to jump. That woman might as well relax, she thought. It looks like we're going to be here for a while. As she examined Bethany, she found herself judging her unkindly. I'll bet she was a bad mother and her child ran away, she thought before realizing she had probably unfairly projected her own feelings about her mother onto Bethany.
She surveyed the women around her again. Though they might dress differently from her, they seemed nice enough.
But several times she had noticed the woman named May staring at her with an odd look on her face. She had received that kind of reaction from people before and it had ceased to matter very much to her if they looked at her or not.
In fact, she thought, she might as well get the introductions over with. She shrugged her shoulders, took a deep breath and addressed the women.
“My name is Debra McTurner and I don’t have the least idea who wanted me to come to the reading of this will either. I’ve lived in Stokes County all my life and I come from Welder’s Village, about a half an hour from here. I'm a waitress and right now my life sucks.” She looked around at the other women in the room again before smiling awkwardly. “That’s about it.”
“This mystery beneficiary must come from this region but I don’t know why none of us has any idea who it is,” Bethany stated.
Charlotte tilted her head. She was still sitting in a cross-legged position on the floor in front of the fire. There was no reason for her to go into some of the details of her life that may or may not have anything to do with the reading of the will. “Maybe we don’t even know the person who died,” she suggested.
Debra nodded. “Yeah, that was my thought too," she said aloud, not bothering to add that if her mother had known anyone with money, she would have touted it every chance she got. She turned to look out of the large bay window facing the woods. It would get dark early tonight because of the rain, she thought.
Charlotte stood up and bent over to touch her toes. “Ah-h-h,” she sighed. “The fire feels great. I was chilled to the bone when I got here.” She looked around the room and smiled at everyone. “I guess I'll go next. I’m Charlotte Manning and like the rest of you all—I’m clueless.” There were a few chuckles. Her smile was so warm even Bethany (who had kept a guarded expression most of the time) couldn’t help but smile back.
“But I’m not from Franklin. In fact, I followed directions through Calvert County to get here because I live in Willis County—Shreveport to be exact. I lived in Franklin only for a short time when I was a little girl but haven’t been there since.”
“Interesting,” May commented.
Just then, there was the sharp staccato sound of hail pelting the roof and the women looked at each other. “Hail. That’s not a good sign,” May pronounced. “Maybe we should look for the radio and batteries and find out the safest place to be in this house.” There was a murmur of consent among the women.
“When I first got here, I was looking around to see if there was a phone and I found some steps that looked as though they led down to a cellar or basement,” Jenna contributed.
Edwina shivered noticeably. “Yeah, but we didn’t want to go down there until some of the others got here.”
Jenna laughed. “No, we sure didn’t."
Debra blurted out, “What if it's going to be like a scary movie and we start missing one by one?” Everyone looked at her as though alarmed by what she said and Debra shrugged. She had not intended to cause herself to be scrutinized but that's what the women seemed to be doing. “Well, you have to admit, it has all the markings of a horror movie,” she offered, obviously embarrassed.
Kaitlyn grinned at Debra, guessing that Debra was not as tough as she wanted to appear. There was something about her she liked though.
Debra kicked herself mentally for saying something so lame and wondered why she always tended to say stupid things when she was nervous. Instead of just sharing a thought lurking in her mind in a humorous way she had drawn questioning looks as though she might actually be someone to fear.
Edwina slapped her leg and exclaimed, “Well, I do love an adventure.” The sound of the hail was getting louder. “Let’s go check out that basement. We could all go together.”
Through all the chatter and plans Bethany remained as if one removed—someone on the outside looking in. She joined the women but she felt as if life was already going on without her. She was a spectator and while it was interesting, she would let it play out. This controlled the pain she felt somewhat. After all, knowing the pain would end soon took away its power—the power of forever.
~
Inmate 2949-680-21
The woman cupped her hands over her mouth to hide the sounds of her weeping. In this crazy place there was no room for weakness. She thought of her father, her mother and her sister and stifled a sob again.
For the past several weeks she felt as if she were sinking deeper and deeper into despair. The women, the guards, the prison itself had finally defeated her. She had said she wouldn't let them but she had no more spirit to fight.
Everyone was gone she cared about. Now there was only an empty space where her heart should be. She clutched the rough wool blanket. Was this what it was to be broken?
And the thoughts that had been swirling around in her mind all day would not go away. What if there was another way to live? What if those Christian people were right and there was some kind of God to answer to?
She thought of the deep-browed minister who had talked to them the day before. He said God loved them and wanted to have a relationship with each of them. But how could any real God who cared let a place like this be, she asked herself.
Then he had challenged them. "Talk to Him," he had said. "Tell Him your heart."
She knew she had never really prayed. She had bargained but that had never gone very well.
Then a memory flickered. She had been twelve years old. She had decorated boxes with macaroni and glitter and glued a cross on the cardboard lid. She remembered a song from the one summer she had attended Bible school. What was it?
"Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world."
The words of the young preacher came to her again. "Tell Him your heart."
Oh, God! If her heart could scream and God could hear that scream, would He listen to hers? Would He answer? She bowed herself over on the cot and clutched her stomach. Somebody. Somebody had to be listening.
Chapter 2
The former news anchor named Edwina was soon holding a candle and leading the way into the dark basement. She ventured gingerly, testing each step before proceeding. She thought about what the wild-haired girl, Debra had said and immediately discarded the notion. Though she didn't know who their benefactor was, the will was a bona-fide document as the law firm had assured her when she called. This was no scary movie. It was real life and she hoped the girl with the—what did they call it now?—facial jewelry—and that awful, red streaked hair—had not instilled any fears in the other ladies. Still, Edwina considered, there was no telling what kind of life the girl had if her attire was any indication. Maybe she was used to life being kind of scary.
She was almost at the bottom of the staircase now. Maybe they would find a flashlight, she hoped. Every step had seemed solid enough and there was a rail to hold onto but Edwina still couldn’t see anything beyond the light of the candles they were carrying. All the women were with her on the steps as they made the slow procession down into the unknown.
Edwina realized that her ears were straining for unwelcome sounds and her senses seemed heightened already. She supposed the other women were feeling the same.
Though Debra had only hinted at her fear of going down in the basement, she didn't want the other ladies to know how much the whole thing spooked her. But if they could go down into this basement, she thought, she could do it too. However, goose bumps were rising up on her arms as she went down one more step—last in line behind Bethany.
Edwina finally reached the floor and advanced a few more steps giving the other women room to join her.
May, who seemed to have an air of authority the others respected, came next and after she stepped onto the basement's floor, she turned to look up at the other women coming down behind her. “Watch your step, girls,” she said. "When we get all of our candles down here we might be able to see something."
May saw Jenna coming down the steps next and recalled how Jenna said she hoped her son wasn't worried about her. She seemed like a kind, intelligent woman, May thought. What an eclectic bunch, she considered as she wondered what the other women's stories were and why they had been summoned to the cabin. Her heart was heavy from the knowledge she kept to herself. Soon, she would have to tell them.
Oh, Patricia, she thought. You've outdone yourself this time. Her heart beat faster as she considered everything she knew and what else might be in the offing.
Jenna was glad to be reaching the bottom step. Maybe something in the basement would give them some kind of clue about who died. She didn't expect it to be anyone she knew. She had already ascertained that her being called to the reading probably had something to do with her work as a Christian psychologist and not because of any affiliation with the departed. Maybe she helped someone the deceased knew and was being given a donation toward her work.
One more step. Jenna looked around but her eyes had not adjusted to the darkness yet and everything seemed veiled by shadows. Finally, she was on solid ground. She turned to see the three women coming down the stairs.
May watched as Charlotte joined them. Then her eyes settled on Kaitlyn, the girl who had told them about the tree across the bridge—the last one to arrive at the cabin. May's eyes grew wet as she remembered the first time she saw Kaitlyn walk through the front door of the cabin.
Bethany followed the others dutifully.
Charlotte glanced at May just in time to notice the tears glistening in the woman's eyes and she followed the direction of May’s gaze to discover she was looking at Kaitlyn. I bet there’s an interesting story there, Charlotte thought before turning her attention to the most different looking one of the bunch, the tattooed girl with the dark, red-striped hair who was making her way down the last few steps—her eyes big and somber—looking as though she would rather be anywhere else in the world other than the steps she was making her way down.
In the meantime, Edwina was fully living in the moment. I’m glad to be here—glad to meet these women, she thought. She was excited at the prospect of finding out how her life might tie in with the others. “Are we all here?” she asked—knowing the answer but wanting to hear their affirmation anyway. Edwina smiled as several of the ladies responded with a “here” as though they were back in elementary school. She noticed May wiping at a tear and wondered why.
She saw that Debra, who had come down last, was rubbing the back of her arms as though she were cold. Edwina suspected a kind soul beneath Debra's seemingly tough exterior. Then her eyes wandered to Bethany and she smiled reassuringly at the thin lady with the long hair as their eyes met. Bethany smiled back half-heartedly. Edwina considered the cold expression in her eyes and realized she was like a woman lost—someone only tolerating the experience.
However, Edwina was enjoying the adventure, the camaraderie of the other women and the mystery of it all. She was the kind of woman who believed life was too short not to embrace every minute. With an affirming touch of her hand on Bethany’s back, Edwina urged her onward.
The basement smelled of wood. Charlotte looked to her right and saw several stacks of it in the corner. “Looks like there’s plenty of firewood dried out over there,” she announced.
“Well, I'm glad for whoever took care of the place before we got here,” Edwina said.
“Yes,” May agreed.
Jenna tried to see the wood but she couldn’t for the light of the candles around her. She hoped they would be able to leave the cabin before needing it.
As Bethany took a few more steps forward, the women gathered in a circle, each keeping a hand in front of their candle as they proceeded. “May, don’t you catch my hair on fire with that flame,” Bethany warned, only half joking.
“If I caught that head of hair on fire, the whole house would go down,” May replied with a chuckle.
“What’s that?” Charlotte asked.
Everyone turned to look in the direction Charlotte was gazing.
“Looks like an antique wardrobe,” Edwina said. She stepped closer. “It’s beautiful." She traced some of the ornate carvings with her fingertips.
Charlotte saw the ribbon first. “It has an envelope attached to the handle by a ribbon,” she announced.
The rest of the women gathered around it. An envelope tied by a pink ribbon was looped through the handle of the door. Charlotte reached out for the envelope and read the name on it. “Debra,” she announced.
Debra’s mouth dropped open as the women turned to look at her. She stuttered. “I…I don’t think it means me. Debra is a pretty common name.”
“You’re the only Debra who has shown up today,” Charlotte said. Kaitlyn nodded at her logic and smiled encouragingly towards Debra.
“Why don’t you open it and see?” May urged. “I don’t think it could hurt.”
Debra hesitated and then stepped forward as the others made a way for her. Kaitlyn patted her on the back gently as she passed. May took her candle as Charlotte handed her the envelope. Debra felt as though she had already had her share of mysterious letters lately. Why should this one be for her and who could have written it, she thought to herself as she tore open the envelope. What if this had nothing to do with her and she was opening something that belonged to someone else?
“It’s quite a long letter,” she pronounced as her eyes skimmed over the neat penmanship. "And it’s signed by someone named Patricia Amos.”
For a second, Edwina felt as though someone had knocked the breath out of her. She heard May, as if from a distance, say, “I was afraid of that,” in a disappointed tone but her mind was whirring as she tried to make sense of what she had heard. Had that young woman really said the name Patricia Amos? She stood there in shocked silence as she twirled one of her rings around her finger nervously.
May massaged her forehead.
Jenna was the first one to speak up. “You knew Patricia Amos, May?” she asked.
May sighed and raised her eyes to meet the enquiring looks of the women around her. “Yes,” she admitted.
Jenna spoke quickly. “Do you think this Patricia Amos is the one who died?”
“Yes,” May answered softly.
Charlotte's brow creased with curiosity about why May had kept silent. “Why didn’t you tell us this when we were all upstairs?”
May sighed before answering. “I knew it was her cabin as soon as we got here so I began to suspect it was Patricia who died but I wasn't for sure."
"I knew her husband was killed when a tractor he was on rolled over a couple of years ago but I never dreamed she had passed on too until I came to this cabin." May’s eyes reflected sadness as she considered the death of the woman she knew from a long time past.
“So, you’ve been to this cabin before?” Charlotte pressed for answers.
“Yes, but again, I didn’t know for sure until I pulled up outside that this was the same place,” May explained. “It’s been so many years.”
As soon as Bethany heard the name on the letter, she felt as if her knees would buckle beneath her. She knew Patricia Amos! But even more to the point—why would Patricia want her here? Wasn't this supposed to be about some kind of inheritance? Did people inherit bad things too?
Kaitlyn noticed Edwina seemed affected by also. She looked as though she were frozen in place as if in shock. She stepped next to her and placed a hand on her arm. No one else saw because everyone was looking at May as Charlotte questioned her.
Edwina was hardly able to breathe as the scene unfolded before her. She felt like she might pass out. She was aware that Kaitlyn had placed a hand on her arm and it steadied her—just that simple gesture helped.
Debra spoke up as she addressed another question to May. “So, you knew Patricia Amos and you’ve been to this cabin before?”
“Yes.”
Debra was puzzled. “When we were trying to figure out who had called us all here together, why did you stay silent?”
May considered her answer before replying.
“First of all, I didn’t suspect it was Patricia who had died until I got here and I wasn't sure what to do with the information. Then, I wondered if there might be someone else who had figured it out and I waited to see because, as I thought about it—well it just seemed like maybe I would be spoiling something Patricia wanted to tell you all in her own way.”
“So you were going to wait until the lawyer got here?” Jenna asked.
“Unless I saw reason to do otherwise.”
Debra still held the letter and had been listening to the conversation intently. “And you think I should read the letter?”
“It’s addressed to you,” May answered diplomatically. “At least it’s Patricia’s way of telling you what she wanted to tell you and not mine.”
“Okay,” Debra decided. “I’ll read it as long as it sounds like it might be for me.”
May agreed and held her candle closer so Debra could see.
“Patricia Amos,” Jenna said thoughtfully. “Didn't she own some children's clothing stores?"
May nodded. "She was a successful business woman.
“I’m beginning to believe we are going to discover some very deep connections between some of us,” Charlotte stated with a knowing look.
“What do you mean?” Bethany asked.
May spoke up impatiently. “Please, just read the letter.”
Debra and Bethany looked at her in surprise.
May shook her head. “I’m sorry, girls. Patricia meant something to me and I want to find out for sure what’s happened to her. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“It’s okay,” Debra replied. No one but Kaitlyn seemed to notice how still and quiet Edwina had become.
Debra creased her forehead as she strained to make out the words.
“Dear Debra,” she began. “We’ve never been introduced but I knew your mother, Cynthia, years ago when she worked for me. For a while, we were close friends.”
Debra looked up from the letter. “Well, I guess that settles it," she announced with a little awe in her voice. "My mother's name is Cynthia."
The women surrounding her exchanged glances. Some of them looked at May to see her reaction. May took a deep breath as her memory was stirred. So many times she had wondered what became of Cynthia. Now she was standing next to Cynthia’s daughter. Patricia must have loved the irony of it all when she made the will, she thought.
Bethany frowned. So Debra was Cynthia’s daughter. She wondered why Patricia wanted her there. Did she think she could make up for the past? Bethany’s eyes sparked with anger. Well, she didn’t want her past drudged up before these strangers. Patricia Amos had no right to do that to her.
Bethany was struggling. How could she tell the other women her connection with Patricia Amos without revealing her disreputable history? But there was one thing she was certain of: she was not going to expose herself to their invasive questions. She would die first. A tear slid down her cheek. Why could she never seem to escape the reach of Patricia Amos?
Debra, unaware of Bethany’s consternation or Edwina's state of shock, looked at the letter and began to read it out loud again. “I’m going to tell you some things in this letter that you may or may not be aware of. Maybe if you haven’t heard some of this before, it will help you to understand your mother better so you will be better equipped to help her.”
“A few months ago, a pastor from Welder's Village was visiting our church and as we talked, I asked him if he knew your mother. I knew she had moved back to Stokes County after she left Franklin County. He did know her and he told me about her drinking problem but he also told me about you.”
Debra looked up from the letter. “That was probably Pastor Hall. He knew my mom and me,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She remembered the engaging man who frequented the diner where she worked and still invited her to church every time she was his waitress. She had even spoken to him about her mother before.
“Honey, you don’t have to keep reading it out loud,” May announced. “I didn’t know it would be so personal and I can wait just like everybody else.”
Debra surveyed the faces around her. Everyone looked so serious in the candlelight with the shadows flickering across their faces. The hollow of their eyes seemed deeper and gave them more intense, soulful appearances.
“It’s okay,” she said after taking a moment to think. The diamond stud in her nose sparkled in the candlelight. "Everybody in town already knows my mother is an alcoholic," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
Debra raised the letter closer, positioning it so the candlelight would fall across the page before her and began to read again.
“It’s been many years since Cynthia worked for me but I’ve never forgotten her.”
Debra took a deep breath while glancing at May who seemed to have recovered her bearing. May gave her an encouraging nod.
“Your mother was my employee and then became my friend. She was a beautiful woman and she met a man who owned some race horses while at a dinner in my home when Drew and I first began seeing one another. I wonder if she’s ever told you about him. His name was Stephen Porterhouse.”
Debra looked up and shook her head. May's gaze startled her in its intensity. The man's name didn’t sound familiar to her at all but she wasn’t surprised. Her mother had never talked much about her past.
Debra continued in her soft, raspy voice. “Stephen was Drew's closest friend and was also his lawyer. He became my lawyer too and over the years my friend also. Two of Stephen’s thoroughbreds were quite famous during that period and one of them even ran in the Kentucky derby and placed third. Cynthia became very interested in horses.”
“We were in a recession at the time and it affected my business. My children’s apparel store was just starting to take off when it hit and to keep my head above water, I had to cut back on my employees. Though Drew and I were engaged, I was determined to make my business successful on my own and was substantially invested in it. Anyway, I had to let several employees go and your mother was the last employee I had hired the year before so unfortunately she was one of the first to go. I felt terrible about it and I tried to explain but she wouldn't listen."
“She quit returning my calls and ignored invitations to visit. A few weeks later, she and Stephen broke up. I tried to reach out to her over the next year, even inviting her to my wedding but it became obvious our friendship was over.”
“I debated about whether to tell you these things but after finding out about your mother’s issues, I decided that a disclosure from the past might help you understand her better.”
“She knew my mom alright,” Debra uttered.
She cleared her throat and looked up at the other women’s faces framed by the darkness making them look phantom-like in the candlelight. The flickering shadows only helped to increase the surreal eeriness—the unnatural position she was in—one of standing before a group of women she had just met reading a letter from a dead woman she never knew.
Debra, her stomach churning, bent her head over the letter and began to read again. “For a while during that time of my life, I was consumed with the fear that I might lose my store. When my business began to grow again, I spent so much time at work I neglected my marriage and let Drew fend for himself. Unfortunately, it was during this time Cynthia and Drew had an affair.”
After Debra read those words, she looked up at May with widened eyes. May’s free hand had gone to her mouth. Debra could tell she was shocked and she felt the blood drain from her own face. Someone patted her on the back. This man named Drew had an affair with her mother? Is this why Patricia Amos wanted her here—to answer for the sins of her mother?
She began to read aloud again.
“When I found out about the pregnancy, it almost ended our marriage. I had begun to suspect I couldn't have a child and I thought the best thing to do would be to divorce Drew and let him have Cynthia. But Drew didn't want that. We decided to stay together and try to adopt the child and we worked out a plan with your mother.”
“The child?” Debra asked out loud. My mother had a child with him?”
For the first time that day, May was rendered speechless. Drew had gotten Cynthia pregnant, she repeated to herself. The knowledge was dizzying as she tried to assimilate it with everything else she knew about Patricia and Drew. Now, she had to hear the rest of the letter.
Debra's voice held a tremor in it as she continued to read the contents of the letter more slowly as though she were making sure to get the full meaning from every word. No one stirred.
“At first your mother agreed when we pointed out the kind of life we would be able to give the baby. We paid for her to have an apartment in Stokes County, where Cynthia was from, until the baby was born and we gave her a substantial amount of money to begin her new life with afterwards. But suddenly, she refused all communication with us. Then she claimed that Drew wasn't the father of the baby she was carrying after all. We were destroyed."
"She wouldn’t let us see the baby after she was born and still refused to name Drew as the father on the birth certificate. She even claimed once that Stephen Porterhouse fathered the child even though she and Stephen had broken up months before she conceived and were on very bad terms.”
“This was before the days of DNA testing and if she claimed Drew was not the father, there was nothing we could do without a huge court battle and we didn’t want that.”
“Drew and I patched our marriage back up but the fact he might have a child somewhere haunted Drew. Many years later, when DNA testing became a viable solution to knowing the truth, Drew was making arrangements to have his DNA tested with yours. That was only a month before his accident and after his death I left the matter alone. However, upon coming to the shocking realization a few months ago that I didn't have much longer to live, I began to see the urgent necessity of having it done. It was fairly easy to accomplish considering one's DNA is such a personal thing but I managed to obtain some of your DNA with the help of a private investigator and had it tested with Drew's. It was confirmed. Drew Amos was your father."
Debra let the hand that held the letter fall to her side. She was dumbfounded. “All these years…,” she sobbed. “All these years, mother refused to tell me. I thought she didn't know who my father was!” She broke again and held her hand over her stomach as another sob escaped her.
May wrapped an arm around Debra although she was almost as shocked by the contents of the letter as the young woman. She couldn’t believe she was comforting Cynthia and Drew Amos’s daughter. "Patricia probably didn't mean for you to have to go through this in front of everyone," she told her gently.
Jenna spoke up. “Debra, we can all go upstairs or maybe just one of us could stay here with you while you finish reading the letter to yourself.”
Debra wiped her eyes and the women standing close by couldn't help but notice that her hands were trembling. “No. I’m fine," she told them. "Please. You can all stay. I’m going to finish reading it,” she said with a wavering voice.
“Okay,” Jenna replied sympathetically. “It’s a pretty big revelation but we're here for you."
“It seems that this is the week for big revelations for me,” Debra answered dryly as she thought of the pink, crumpled up paper she found in Toby’s pocket only a few days ago. Then, she took a deep breath and lifted the letter up to where she could see it better and began to read aloud again.
“I’m sorry that this is the way you’ve had to find out the identity of your father if Sylvia has never told you and I’m sorry that Drew didn’t get to know you and that you didn't get to know him. He was going to contact you when you turned eighteen but he died in an accident on his farm involving an older model tractor that rolled over on him."
He intended to find out if you are someone capable and trustworthy in hopes of leaving some of his estate to you one day. So, please forgive me for intruding in on your life without your knowledge, especially about the DNA but Drew had vast holdings and it was prudent for me to investigate. Since my life has taken its own sharp turn, I simply did not have the time to get to know you by a more traditional method but I feel I have found out what I needed to know and am satisfied.
"I discovered you had a troubled childhood and I am sorry but I have also learned that you take care of your mother while holding down a job too. I believe Drew would have been proud of you.”
“I hope the things you’ve inherited will help to make up for some of the difficulties you have experienced in your life."
"My legal representative, Stephen Porterhouse, will become your legal representative too as long as you need him and as my executor he will explain your holdings and the proper care of your inheritance and your trust fund. There will be much to learn, Debra. In the meantime, please enjoy the contents of this wardrobe. I decided to give them to you because if I could have had the pleasure of raising you as my own, they would have been yours anyway. I hope you enjoy them."
Debra lifted her eyes to meet May’s. “She wanted me to be her child,” Debra surmised aloud. May nodded. Debra returned to the letter with a new respect for the woman who had written it.
“Six months ago I was diagnosed with lymphoma—one of the most fatal types of cancer. The doctors say I only have a few weeks left. I’ve lived an abundant life and I’m ready to go but before I pass on to be with my Maker, I wanted to bring this thing I’ve been doing full circle."
"One of the people in the meeting today, (assuming everyone shows up) has already benefitted from Drew's estate—they just didn't know it. Drew started giving to her secretly years ago and I believe seeing how much joy it gave him to do it rubbed off on me. So, even after he died, I continued what he had begun.
I had already been thinking about Drew and Cynthia's child a lot when I was diagnosed. There are things from the past that I need to deal with properly. Imminent death does tend to regulate perspective. Making these arrangements for Drew's daughter has been a joy for me—like one last party to plan before making my final exit. Debra, I want you to use your inheritance to make your life glorious. You are now a very wealthy young woman.”
Debra rubbed her eyes. They had begun to tear up and it was hard enough to read the letter in the flickering candlelight without fighting blurry vision too. The women were hanging on to every word now and were silent as they waited for Debra to continue.
“Being as wealthy as I have been means I had at hand all kinds of resources and I used mine to find out more about you. I know that you were a loner in school. I know that you excelled in your classes and took care of your mother while she was in and out of jail. That must have been very hard on you, Debra. I know you couldn’t leave your mother to go to college—not being able to afford live-in help for her. Don’t give up on your mother, dear. Forgive her as I have. I don’t think she’s ever gotten over the love she lost. God still has a plan for her life just as He does yours.”
“This wardrobe is very special to me. It was a gift from my late husband on our fifth wedding anniversary. He said it was a special place to hang my most beautiful gowns. They are still in it, dear. You might find some of them old fashioned but great design never goes out of style. Somehow, I think they will be just right for you. You might have to have some alterations but after I found out what size you wear, I came up with the idea of giving them to you. Now you have a real hope chest and that pleases me very much.”
“Also, when you learn your part in the will—you will know the possibilities for your future are endless. I believe you will wear some of these gowns someday. All I ask in return is that you think about giving thanks to the One who allowed me to be a blessing to you and that you follow the guidelines stated in my will concerning your inheritance.
Debra looked up at the other women. She had quit trying to hide the tears in her eyes and was letting them pour freely down her face as she finished with a husky voice. “And it’s signed, sincerely, with all my love, Patricia Amos."
May reached for the letter. “May I?”
Debra handed it to her and took back her candle. She saw that the letter was shaking in May’s hands. Funny, she thought, my hands are trembling too. College? An inheritance? She was dumbfounded.
Jenna broke the silence that had ensued. “Obviously, from what the letter said, one of us has already received something from Drew and Patricia Amos but didn’t know it was from them.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, there are some things beginning to make sense to me now.”
Then she burst into tears surprising everyone. “I had no idea,” she said between sobs. “I wish I could have thanked them.” Kaitlyn went to Charlotte and hugged her.
May handed the letter back to Debra. “Aren’t you going to open the wardrobe?”
Debra had been contemplating that very thing and May’s question was all the impetus she needed. She reached out to open it but the doors wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked.”
“I bet the lawyer has the key,” Bethany offered.
“Let’s go upstairs, girls,” May said. She felt so tired since hearing the contents of Patricia's letter to Debra. “It looks like we have a lot to talk to about.”
Kaitlyn put her hand beneath Edwina's elbow and guided her toward the steps. She wondered why the news of Patricia Amos's death affected this apparently well-to-do woman so much. Had they been friends once and lost contact over the years? But Kaitlyn didn't believe it was simple as that because she sensed Edwina's reluctance to speak concerning it.
Edwina sighed as they climbed the steps. This was turning out to be much more than she bargained for, she thought as she stepped into the cabin's main room again. And she didn't know what she was going to do.
~
Inmate 2949-680-21
As the woman curled up on her cot, she thought about the group who had come to the prison and sang for them the day before. There had been a minister who played a guitar very well, two women and a teenage girl who sang with him. They were good but she had heard good singers before. However, none of them had reached through to her heart the way the thin girl in the blue dress did and she didn't even remember the girl's name. But there had been something about that small, big-eyed girl that caused her to sit up and take notice. That girl believed what she was singing about. Why?
So, God, she thought as she made an attempt to talk to someone she had only heard about briefly. "They say You love everybody—that You love the whole world. Well, God, I want to know if it's true. Do you love people who never went to church? And what about those people who went to church but were hypocrites. Do you love them better than me? Tell me that, God."
She waited. There was no answer.
Chapter 3
As they climbed the stairs, Debra could tell that most of them seemed detached now as though lost in their thoughts. She knew who her father was! What had happened down there? Everything had changed just because of one letter. Her mind whirred and even her heart was beating fast.
As they reached the landing, she noticed Kaitlyn standing next to her. She had given her a hug but Debra found herself in an almost robotic state. She knew who her father was! What in the world would happen when the lawyer got here with the will, she wondered. Was she really going to be able to get some help for her mother and attend college? It seemed almost too much to take in.
May was the last one up the stairs. She had to give it to Patricia—she was going out with a bang. May had come to a point in her life of never being very surprised about anything but as her eyes moved over to where Debra and Kaitlyn were standing, her heart jumped in her chest.
Charlotte placed two small logs on the fire and sat down cross-legged on the floor again. She gave a tender smile to the girl named Kaitlyn who sat down next to her. Charlotte loved sitting in front of a fireplace—the warmth and beauty of it was like magic to her. But she had been a reluctant participant in this whole event and sharing her life story with these ladies was not something she looked forward to. Her mother had been a housekeeper and she wasn't ashamed of it. But she preferred to listen to the other women's stories before she started on her own. She hoped they wouldn't begin grilling her because of what she had said downstairs a few moments ago.
Yet, this lady, Patricia Amos had been the one helping her and her mother—well, God bless her, she thought. Now she wanted to learn more about this woman who had reached into her life and given her some hope too.
She knew that someday she would be able to enjoy her life again. Just that knowing was a big step for her after the dark days she had already come through. For the first time she cared about being here with the other women. She did have a rightful place there, she acknowledged; she was supposed to be here and that was something in a world where almost everything had come to mean nothing to her since her mother’s unexpected death a few days ago.
Debra and May went back to the rocking chairs on each side of the room before the fireplace and sat down again. The other women were silently wrapped within their own contemplations and the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the storm filled the room. Edwina joined Jenna on the couch again--glad for the support of the comfortable furniture. She needed to let what she had just found out sink in. She was glad that May had everyone's attention.
May broke the silence when she saw that all eyes were on her. “I knew Patricia very well,” she announced heavily.
Edwina took a deep breath to prepare herself for whatever was coming next.
“It’s been many, many years since I last saw her but when Debra read that letter, I could still hear her voice.” May waved her hand as she looked about the room. “And now, I’m able to see her hand here, in this cabin—the elegance in the midst of the simplicity—that was Patricia—elegant yet strong."
Everyone was completely still--the only other movement in the room came from the fireplace as the well-kept fire danced across the logs.
“How did you know her?” Debra asked.
May gazed into the fire and continued in a somber voice. “I met Patricia during a very difficult time in my life.” She took a deep breath. I had two children when I met her—both boys—one was seven and one was eight and I had just turned twenty-six. My husband Roy had left me—the day after my birthday—and I had to go to work to support my family.”
“Drew Amos gave me a job as a cook and my boys and I were given a small house on his farm to live in also. That job meant everything to me.”
She stopped to look at the other women as though wanting to make sure they understood. “I was no trained chef but I could always cook. I was practically raised in the kitchen beside my mother. I could fix a whole meal by the time I was eleven years old.”
“When my father left, Mother had to go to work and I always had supper ready when she got home. So it wasn’t hard for me to learn to cook for the men who worked on Drew Amos’s farm. It just seemed natural before long and Drew—well, Mr. Amos…,” May’s voice had taken on a warmer tone and she smiled, “…he was very pleased with my work. I cooked for as many as twenty men--the men he hired to work his farm and it was a big job. The work was hard but I loved it. My boys loved living there too but it all changed when Patricia Perkins came into the picture.”
May, apparently taken away by her memories, grew silent as she gazed into the fire.
Charlotte, spoke up. “May, you can’t leave it there. What happened when Patricia Perkins came into the picture?”
As though she had just woke up from a nap, May turned to look at Charlotte. Then she cleared her throat and looked around at the other women who were staring at her, obviously waiting for her to proceed. She shook her head and with a small laugh said, “Well, what else have we got to do?”
May
May had just finished wiping off the table with her dishcloth. Two hours ago, the table had seated twelve men and the table adjacent to it, had seated six more.
May leaned back, putting her hand in the small of her back and rubbed it where it ached for a moment. She admired the clean tables and walked back into the kitchen. Large pots hung on hooks above a huge rectangular island made of solid oak. Beyond the island were two deep sinks big enough to hold more dishes and pots and pans at one time than most households contained.
It made May feel good to look at the organized kitchen, the clean pots hanging and the bright yellow and orange kitchen towels lined neatly on their racks. Jimmy and Barry wouldn’t be home from school for another hour. She would go home, take a bath and clean up before they got there—share an hour or so with them and then come back here to start on supper. A little before six o’clock the men would begin gathering outside, voices raised and excited at the end of another long working day. Supper would be served at six sharp.
As May walked back toward the compact little house she and her sons shared, she heard the dull thuds of hoofs beating the dirt. Someone was coming on horseback. She turned to look and saw Drew Amos heading towards her aboard Samson, his favorite steed. Drew had been proud to let her know that Samson stood seventeen hands tall—bigger than any horse she had ever seen—the biggest of any farm around.
She smiled at him and kept walking. He’d have no trouble catching up with her and she didn’t want to seem too happy to see him. To her amazement, Mr. Amos, or Drew as he had asked her to start calling him, had become important to her as more than just an employer. It had been like a story out of the movies—her, a young divorcé—he, a wealthy widower whose young wife had died only four months after their marriage.
Sometimes Mr. Amos ate in the dining hall with his men but the last few weeks, he had been joining the hired hands more often. At first, the fact that she caught him looking in her direction had not even fazed her. Her hazel eyes, pink cheeks and milky skin had drawn the attention of many men in the past and she was the only woman in a room full of men.
Twice she had to talk to him about two of the men who had become overly familiar with her and he had taken care of the situation for her by giving them a stern warning. She liked having him there. His presence tended to help keep things more orderly. The men were more subdued and didn't make flirtatious comments to her as often.
Maybe that was when she began to entertain ideas about him that would seem ridiculous to almost anyone else. After all, why would a wealthy man like Mr. Amos ever look in her direction? Yes, she was a striking woman. But she was his cook and there were a lot of attractive women a man like Drew Amos had the opportunity to meet. Plus, she had two boys and though he was friendly toward them, he seemed to prefer nodding to them every now and then when he saw them—showing no interest in stopping to talk.
Then the day came when she heard Drew Amos calling her name from the dining room.
“May?”
“In here,” she answered.
May was busy wiping out the sink—almost ready to leave for the afternoon. She heard the heavy clomping of his footsteps and knew he was wearing his boots.
May turned around.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Amos."
"Good afternoon, May." Drew opened his mouth as if to say something else and then looked down at his feet as he placed his hands on his hips. She noticed that he seemed nervous. He leaned on one foot and then the other as though his confidence in standing correctly eluded him as much as the words he was having trouble speaking.
She started wiping her hands off on her apron. She knew the kitchen looked immaculate and she was proud of it.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Amos?”
Drew looked at her and then glanced out of the window as he shuffled his feet again like a nervous school boy. Finally, he spoke.
“May, you know I find you to be a very attractive woman.”
She was startled and her eyes widened. For just a second May thought he was going to tell her she couldn’t work there anymore because of the trouble there had been with the two men. Maybe he wanted to hire a male cook. But her intuition was telling her that was not the case.
She smiled hoping to encourage him.
“Thank you, Mr. Amos.”
May had never seen Drew Amos at a loss for words before. One of the things so attractive about him had been his booming personality—the way he laughed with the men but remained their boss—the way his large frame moved with agility and strength. But now, he seemed hesitant and unsure of himself.
She looked at him standing there, towering several inches above her five-foot-five build and felt goose-bumps.
“I know you went through a hard time with that man of yours before your divorce and maybe it’s still too early for you to consider dating yet. But if you were to feel like going out....” He paused momentarily while his eyes met hers. He saw the sparkle there and noted the smile on her lips. He grinned. “I’d like to be the one you went out with."
May took a deep breath in hopes of maintaining her composure but on the inside she felt like jumping up and down the way she had done when she was a little girl.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him. He had a wide mouth and sensuous lips—the only thing soft about his hardened face. His square brow sheltered his dark, intelligent eyes. At one glance, most people knew Drew Amos was not a man to take lightly. She found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him and felt herself blushing as though he could read her thoughts.
“I'd love to go out with you," she replied in a tone she hoped conveyed the normal way a woman should answer. She hadn't been on a date with anyone other than her ex-husband since she was a teenager.
The thing that happened next startled her. Drew Amos bent over and took her in his arms and hugged her with an amazing tenderness as though she were made of china. He smelled like soap and leather as he planted a little kiss on the top of her head before stepping back from her.
“Thank you, May.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Amos,” she replied shakily. She hoped he hadn’t seen the affect he had on her.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he announced before turning to walk away.
May was a little disappointed that he hadn’t asked her for a certain day yet but she didn't think it would be long before she heard from him again. She watched as he walked toward the door and was a little embarrassed when he stopped and turned around quickly to see her still standing there staring after him.
“Oh, and call me Drew,” he told her with a smile. “But I would appreciate it if you still called me Mr. Amos in front of the men.” He grinned self-consciously. “I don’t want them thinking anything and I like to keep my personal life personal if you know what I mean.”
“I understand.” She gave him a little wave and this time she turned away while he was leaving. May waited until she heard the dining hall door close before she turned back around and placed her hands on her cheeks. They felt like they were on fire but she didn’t care. She was going to go out with Drew Amos!
~
Inmate 2949-680-21
The woman arched her back and looked up into the nothingness above her. "So, you won't talk to me, will you, God? Is it because I didn't go to Sunday school? Did I come from the wrong side of the tracks? What is it? If you really love everybody, then You have to love me too. And if You love me, then where is that love? Why haven't I known it"
She bowed her head, letting her chin touch her chest. "You wanted to teach me something, God? Is that what it is?"
Silence.
"Well, here I am. Teach me." She thought of the singers who had come with their earnest expressions and clean looking faces--looking more like children who had just had their nightly baths than adults who had let themselves be searched and barricaded in there with them. Why did they come?
She wiped at the tears pouring down her cheeks. The singing girl whose voice and manner had touched her so deeply came to her mind again. "You love her, don't You, God?"
She waited. Again, nothing.