A Place Called Home (7 page)

“Are you sure no one saw you?”

“No, Mr. Jeffers, no one saw me.”

“You went alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did you say you found this?” Vince Jeffers held out a small piece of paper.

“In the closet, in the pocket of a skirt.”

“Did you read it?”

“No, sir, I never learned.” The small man stared at the carpet as he mumbled this. He looked up as he heard paper rustling
and found Vince Jeffers reading the note. He watched as the man's jaw clenched and then threw the paper to the desk.

“The note is from Carl Maxwell.” The small man's eyes widened at this information. “He told her to go to a friend of his in Fall Creek—a Mr. Franklin, it says.” Vince Jeffers' voice became very calm as he continued. “Let's call around and visit Carl Maxwell, shall we? We'll ask him about this Mr. Franklin in Fall Creek. It's nearly midnight, but I'm sure we can convince him to talk with us.”

The small man followed as Vince led the way out of the room. Once outside Vince spoke again, softly and more to himself than to the man behind him.

“Fall Creek. I wonder why he sent her to Fall Creek. Well, it doesn't matter. Even if she's not there, wherever she is I'll find her, and when I do”—he paused, a cold smile playing over his thin lips—”when I do, everything will be mine.”

At 9:30 a.m. Mrs Hall opened the door to admit the sheriff.

“Thank you for coming so soon. I just had to see you.” Mrs. Hall's voice was anxious.

“Of course, Mrs. Hall. The stable boy said you had news.”

“Yes. Well, you see, I remembered the day before Christine disappeared”—Mrs. Hall's voice shook and she stopped to take a breath. “The day before Christine disappeared, Carl Maxwell was here. He didn't stay to see Christine, but he left a note for her. I delivered it to her myself.”

“Did you read the note?”

“No, of course not.” Mrs. Hall's voice was indignant.

“Do you have the note now?”

“Well, no. When I remembered this morning, I went up and looked in her room but found nothing.”

“I'll have a look myself.” The sheriff moved toward the stairs and Mrs. Hall followed. “Describe this note to me—size, color…”

Less than an hour later Mrs. Hall was seeing the sheriff to the door. “I'm going to see Carl Maxwell. Hopefully he'll be able to explain the note.”

“Maybe she took it with her.” Mrs. Hall suggested.

“That's possible.”

“Please, sheriff, please keep me informed. My little Christie is out there, away from home. She's never been away from home, and I fear she needs me.” The sheriff watched the old woman's eyes fill with tears. He patted her shoulder awkwardly before moving away with a frown on his face, wishing with all his heart he knew where Christine Bennett was.

Sunshine crept over the windowsill and into Christine's eyes, waking her into confusion. This was not her bedroom at home, or at Doc Cameron's. Where was she? Grandma Em's! The thought brought her instantly awake. Sitting upright in bed, a smile played across her sleep-flushed face.

She sat and surveyed her room from the bed. A soft blend of greens and peaches greeted her eyes. Everything had looked much darker in the lamplight the night before. The greens ranged from a very dark green rug to a pastel green ruffle around the bed. The wallpaper was in peach and yellow flowers with lots of green leaves and vines. The round table by the bed was covered in the same fabric as the bed ruffle. Lacy curtains in soft peach allowed the sunlight to flood in. In one corner was an oak desk and chair. Opposite the desk was a built-in closet. Below the window sat a low oak chest. Christine sat on it and looked out into the garden that Grandma Em had tended yesterday. Further back was a small barn, the sight of which reminded Christine that she would “meet” the animals today.

Having washed, dressed, and descended the stairs, Christine stood in the parlor, where she had met Grandma Em yesterday. Christine noticed for the first time the very ornate and beautifully carved pieces of furniture. The tables and legs of each chair were all intricately carved and matched.

“The furniture was my mother's.” Emily's voice came from the kitchen doorway.

“It's beautiful.”

“The chairs and sofa have been recovered.” She ran her hand over a chair upholstered in a deep burgundy velvet. Curtains in the same material made things a bit dark for Christine's taste, but lovely nonetheless.

“After my father died, Joseph, my late husband and I, lived with my mother. We moved to Baxter from New York when Joseph Jr.—that was Mark's father—was ten. My mother decided to move in with her sister and gave us most of her furniture. The oak bed in your room was mine as a little girl. Well, we had best get to the barn. If you would let me, I'd reminisce all day.”

Once they were in the barn, Christine watched Grandma Em fork hay to a horse who looked too old to be standing. His back swayed to an impossible depth and his nose was as gray as hoarfrost. However, his eyes looked gentle, and he turned like an old friend at the sound of Emily's voice. His name was Caesar.

The quiet bleating that had begun when Grandma Em and Christine entered the barn raised to a sound of desperation by the time Caesar was fed. Chester, Christine was informed, did not like to be kept waiting. Chester turned out to be a goat. He, like Caesar, looked old, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his voice. Christine's eyes widened in surprise at how fast the noise stopped as Grandma Em poured a scoop of grain before him.

Christine was still staring at the silent goat when Grandma Em threw a handful of corn to the hens and moved to sit on a bench near the door. Grandma Em pulled on an old pair of men's work boots, picked up a large pail, and beckoned to Christine to follow her out the door.

Christine caught up with her just as she stopped in front of a pen holding two of the biggest pigs Christine had ever seen. Christine's mouth dropped open in surprise as Grandma Em opened the gate, picked up her skirts, and entered the pen. The pigs ignored the open gate. Pushing and grunting with obvious delight at seeing her, they rushed toward Grandma Em. She laughed and spoke to them in quiet tones as she tipped the pail into their trough.

Emily then made her way back out to Christine and laughed at the look of disbelief on her lovely face.

“My grandchildren feel just as you do about Belle and Betsy. They are forever after me to sell all my animals. They just don't realize how attached I've become.” Emily patted Christine's arm. “Don't worry, dear, the animals will get used to you and love it when you feed them.”

Emily turned away then and did not see the fresh look of dismay that crossed Christine's face. Christine shook her head in disbelief at what she had gotten herself into.

The women worked well together. They prepared and ate a quiet breakfast. Christine rose afterward, intending to clean up the dishes, but Grandma Em waved her back to her seat. “This is part of my morning routine, Christine.” Christine watched her reach for a large black Bible. She opened the book and began to read aloud, giving Christine no time to be embarrassed or to comment.

“‘Give ear to my words, O Lord; consider my meditation. Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my King and my God, for unto thee will I pray. My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.' Psalm 5:1-3.”

Grandma Em closed the book and bowed her head. “Dear heavenly Father, I praise and thank You for the beautiful day You have given us and the blessings You daily give us. May we
be mindful of You and ever in Your service.” Grandma Em continued to pray, but Christine opened her eyes to see if anyone else was in the room. The only people she had ever heard pray were the preachers at her parents' funeral and later at her grandfather's. But neither one had sounded like this. Grandma Em made it so personal, as though God were right in the room with them. With another quick look around, Christine closed her eyes again. “And Father, I thank You for Christine. She is already so precious to me. Having her here has brought added sunshine to my life. Please bless and keep her and give us a special day together. In Christ's name I pray, Amen.”

Christine, having never had a person pray for her, did not know what to say. To her surprise, no words were necessary. Speaking as if nothing were out of the ordinary, Grandma Em reached for the coffeepot and told Christine what she wanted to do that day. Quickly doing the dishes so they could walk to town before it got too hot, Christine wondered again about Grandma Em and the other people she had met in Baxter. They were not like any people she had known before.

On the walk to town, Grandma Em and Christine's conversation moved to family.

Christine asked, “Grandma Em, you talk as though Dr. Mark's father was dead. Is his mother alive?”

“No, she died when Paul—that's Mark's youngest brother—was only nine.”

“How many brothers does Dr. Mark have?”

“Three—Luke, Silas, and Paul—plus one sister who is married and has two little boys of her own. Paul is at school in Chicago and Luke is there on a buying trip. You'll meet everyone else on Sunday, when we all go to church together and then back to my house for dinner.”

Grandma Em stopped walking and turned abruptly to face Christine. “Christine, it hadn't occurred to me to ask you if
you wanted to go to church with us. I just assumed you would. You will come with us, won't you?” Grandma Em's face was anxious.

Christine could see this was important to Grandma Em. She wouldn't think of refusing her. It gave her a warm feeling to be included as though she were a member of the family. Her answer was simple: “I'd love to come.”

Christine found herself being hugged then, although she never found out why. Afterward Grandma Em hooked her arm through Christine's and they continued toward town, a brilliant smile lighting Grandma Em's face.

They stopped at the post office and then the general store. People greeted them warmly, and when the situation afforded, Christine was introduced. They found out that Lars Larson, who was going to paint Grandma Em's porch and shutters, had broken his arm. Emily brought it up on the walk home.

“Well, I'm sorry Lars broke his arm, but I'm also sorry that my painting probably won't get done before winter.”

“Why don't we do the painting ourselves?”

Grandma Em stopped and looked at Christine as though she had never seen her before.

Christine continued, “I could climb the ladder and you could work below. We could do it after we do the canning this next week, or we could start right away.”

“Luke would be angry,” Emily said in a quiet voice, but Christine could tell she was thinking.

“You said Luke was in Chicago,” Christine reminded her with a mischievous light in her sparkling green eyes.

Emily bit her lower lip in an effort to keep from laughing, but she couldn't hold it in. “We'll do it!” she said in a burst of laughter. “We'll start right away on Monday and then do our canning the next week.” Grandma Em talked a bit more about the painting and then the women walked in silence for
awhile. When the silence was broken, it was Emily asking Christine a question.