Authors: David Lewis
Sanctuary (24 page)
EVELYN MET DENNY at the airport, and after they embraced and engaged in small talk for a while, he filled her in on Ryan’s plight. “It’s a sad situation,” he said as she drove him to her home.
“I’ve been praying for them … and for you, too, while you were there,” Evelyn said, looking exceptionally beautiful in a denim skirt and matching blouse.
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” he said, meaning it.
“Well, I hope you’re hungry,” she said as they entered the front door of her town home. “I made dinner for you.”
“You’re always thinking of me.” He took her in his arms once again.
She giggled with delight, then headed off to the kitchen.
“Mind if I check my phone messages from here?”
“Make yourself at home,” she called back over her shoulder.
He reached for the portable phone in the living room and dialed the number. Punching in his code, he listened to the usual smattering of hang-ups and unimportant calls, until he heard something disturbing. “Denny? It’s me, Melissa….”
Sitting down, he listened with interest to the rest of the recorded call. At the end she had given a number where she could be reached. Quickly, he hung up. Then, using his phone card, he dialed Melissa before he forgot the number.
When Evelyn wandered into the living room, he covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered, “Melissa.” Her eyes grew wide.
But it wasn’t Melissa who answered. When he identified himself, the woman said, “I’ll go get her.”
Soon he heard Mellie’s familiar voice. “Denny, is it you?”
“Hey, where are you?” he asked. “Have you talked to Ryan? He’s worried sick.” He glanced over at Evelyn. She was sitting across from him in a chair, her hands clasped as if in prayer.
“I need to talk to you, Denny,” Melissa said.
“I’m listening.”
For the next few minutes, Melissa wove quite a tale on the phone, as unbelievable as any he had heard. Coupled with what he’d learned of her while in Connecticut, he was dubious. He suspended his judgment, nevertheless, long enough for her to finish her side of the story.
“Melissa … I’ll be honest with you. I’m having some trouble believing any of this.”
She paused. “I guess I shouldn’t expect you to believe me” came her soft reply.
“You’re saying that Ryan’s a member of a Russian Mafia group? How do I wrap my brain around that?” He didn’t want to shut her out, because it was obvious that Melissa needed someone to talk to. But it sounded like Melissa was a couple of eggs short of a dozen.
Melissa sighed into the phone. “I’ve lived this nightmare for so long, I’ve forgotten how mind-boggling it probably sounds.”
Denny was uncertain how to proceed. Silently, he breathed a prayer heavenward, asking God for guidance. Organizing his thoughts, he realized he may have jumped to some conclusions. He recalled his conversation with Ryan as they drove to the airport, his own suspicions.
What aren’t you telling me? Why did Melissa really leave?
he’d asked Ryan. Then it came to him … the mysterious man at the coffee shop. Was there more to him than met the eye?
He looked at his fiancée, her eyes compassionate and understanding. He sensed she was praying, too. Then, slowly … deliberately, she mouthed the words “Believe her.”
Melissa was sniffling into the phone.
Denny nodded. “How can I help you, Melissa?”
Marge was putting away her purse and keys the next morning when Ryan arrived at the office. She seemed reticent to meet his gaze.
He mumbled a quick “Hello” and walked to his office, leaving his door ajar.
For the hours that followed, neither of them engaged in their usual offhand bantering. In fact, they scarcely spoke at all.
Just before noon, when Marge delivered several documents, he was standing at the window, watching traffic cross the bridge. His computers were deathly still. At midday, no less.
He sensed her behind him and turned, forcing a smile.
“May I get something for you? Coffee, maybe?” she asked.
“I’ve never asked you for coffee. You know that.”
“Well, I certainly don’t mind if—”
“Thanks, anyway.”
She slipped back toward the reception desk just as his phone rang. Fifteen minutes into the conversation, Marge poked her head in his door again.
He covered his receiver. “Yes?” he whispered, offering her an expectant look.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But your friend Denny Franklin’s on the other line.”
“Denny?”
She nodded. “He says it’s urgent … sounds worried.”
He’s calling to apologize
, he thought.
Or to preach some more
. Ryan was put off. “Tell him I’m busy,” he said.
Looking rather bewildered, Marge nodded and turned to leave.
Ryan uncovered the receiver and spoke at last. “I can meet you tomorrow morning, ten o’clock.”
“Blue Waters Motel. Come alone,” stated the voice on the other end.
“Alone … of course,” Ryan said and hung up.
THERE WERE TWO PHONE CALLS in the afternoon. One from Elizabeth, inviting both Lela and Melissa for supper tomorrow evening. “It’s your birthday, ya know,” her sister reminded her.
“Oh my, I nearly forgot.”
Elizabeth chortled. “Now, how on earth can you forget your own birthday?” She paused. “So you’ll be comin’, then?”
Without consulting Melissa, Lela agreed that they would. Thinking of the dire situation Mellie was in, she was tempted to ask for prayer from Elizabeth and Thaddeus. But she kept her peace, knowing full well that one thing could lead to another. Best this way, keeping Mellie’s confidence, not sharing one iota with a soul, though she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would be talking to her heavenly Father, who sees and knows and cares.
The second call came from Paul Martin. “I was hoping to catch you at home, Lela,” he said, not waiting long for her response. “A little bird told me it was your birthday tomorrow.”
Now, who could that be?
she wondered, guessing it was Sadie Nan.
“Would you like to join me for dinner somewhere?” he asked. “You know—to celebrate.”
She found it almost humorous that the man—this man who’d left her for another—was nearly pleading with her to spend time with him. Offhand, she’d thought of inviting him to Elizabeth’s tomorrow evening.
Safety in numbers
, Mama always said, growing up. Paul
had
been a friend of the family, a close friend at that. Years ago. She resisted the urge, knowing it was not her place to extend the invitation. “Do you mind if I get back with you on this?” she said, finding her voice.
“Why, no, not at all.”
They went on to chat about the fair weather and the good sermon yesterday. Small talk, to be sure, but Lela sensed the undertow of interest. Keen interest, at that.
“If it suits, you may call me later this evening,” she said.
Indeed, she had a plan.
“I daresay my sister’s in over her head with that fancy boarder of hers,” Elizabeth confided in Thaddeus while the two of them swept out the milk house.
“Now, we don’t know that for sure, do we?” her husband chided. “Best wait and see what happens. Who knows but maybe the Lord’s in it, just like Lela seems to be thinkin’.”
“Jah, maybe you’re right. After all, it’s not like Lela’s the impulsive kind. She lives her life pleasin’ to God, follows His leading in most everything she does.” Elizabeth thought of one aspect of her sister’s life—the part that left hardly any room for a husband. True, Lela had been hurt something awful by Paul Martin, back when. Elizabeth couldn’t blame her sister for choosing the single life, wholly committed to the Lord God Almighty.
Thaddeus broke into her thoughts. “What gets my goat, though, is this car we’re hidin’ out over here.”
“I’m not surprised you feel that way.”
“Then Lela calls up to say the fancy woman’s coming to get it, only to call back in a minute that she isn’t.” He shook his head, then scratched under his straw hat. “Seems to me, that woman she’s got livin’ over there doesn’t have the slightest idea what she wants, no how.”
Elizabeth had to chuckle. “‘Least we won’t hafta be hiding anyone else’s car in our shed, jah?” She thought of their Amish neighbors farther up the road, whose son had been caught hiding his automobile behind a tree in his father’s own pasture. ’Course somebody got wind of it and blew the whistle on him, hauling the young fella in before the brethren. Since he hadn’t joined church yet, hadn’t taken the oath before God and the membership, he was spared a shunning. Still, she wondered what anybody would say or think if they knew about the shiny white car veiled by the wide planks of aging wood in their own shed.
If Lela’s plan didn’t set well with Paul, that, of course, was his prerogative entirely. But she
did
think she would ask Elizabeth to invite him to supper tomorrow evening. If he decided to do so, sharing a meal with the family gathered there, he’d have to behave like a gentleman. ’Course, having known Paul well before, she didn’t see how that should be a problem at all. The man hadn’t committed a sin by becoming a widower. But, then again, a woman of her circumstances couldn’t be too cautious.
While Mellie slept, Lela phoned Elizabeth and had to laugh a little when her sister decided it was a “wonderful-gut” idea, Paul coming for the birthday meal, and all.
In Melissa’s dream, she was a little girl again, preparing a flower bed for planting. “Mellie, Mellie
not
contrary, how does your garden grow?” Daddy chanted.
“Water and sunshine and everything fine … that’s what makes rose gardens grow,” Mellie answered.
Mrs. Browning was tickled at the two of them. “Goodness’ sakes, you ought to jot down some of those silly sayings.”
“What for?” Mellie asked.
“Why, for posterity, that’s what,” Mrs. Browning said, looking pert and sweet in her work apron.
Daddy stopped his raking, smiling down at little Mellie as she reached for a fat brown worm he had uncovered, dangling it in midair. “She’ll forget just like we all do when we grow up.”
“I’m
never
growing up,” Mellie insisted.
“That’s right,” said Daddy, laughing, then resumed his raking.
“And I’ll never forget either,” Mellie vowed.
When she awakened, her thoughts flew to Ryan. Heartbroken at the thought of her husband’s double life, she wept, realizing that she was never going back to Lord’s Point.
Never again to be held in Ryan’s arms, talking and sharing into the night to the music of Debussy’s “Claire de Lune.” Never again would she laugh as he comically scrutinized her artwork too closely, or bask on the sun deck of their little sailboat. Never again….
Not only was Paul Martin on hand at the Kings’ house, but his young son Joseph was there, too, playing a game of checkers with Timothy King. Indeed, Lela felt peculiar arriving
after
Paul, coming into her sister’s back door along with Mellie, seeing him there already. She tried to ignore the awkwardness of the situation, greeting him and going out of her way to introduce Mellie.
“Very nice to meet you,” Paul said, extending his hand to Melissa.
“She’ll be staying on with me … indefinitely.” She felt she ought to be straightforward with Paul, in case he decided to call on her at home sometime. Having Mellie there was also a deterrent, perhaps, a safeguard against something romantic developing too quickly.
“Are you enjoying yourself here in Lancaster County?” Paul asked Melissa, offering a smile.
Nodding, Mellie said, “Very much, thanks.”
Just then Elizabeth rang her tiny dinner bell, and the children scurried to the kitchen to wash up, taking turns as they lined up. Lela enjoyed watching her nieces and nephews, as well as young Joseph, vie for the soap and, later, the hand towel. She quickly dismissed any notion of becoming the towheaded boy’s new mama. No, she mustn’t set herself up for more pain, though it was clear Paul’s adoring gaze was hard to avoid.
Best be careful not to lose my heart again
, she thought. Besides, no one asked—not once during the meal—just how long Paul was scheduled to be in town. No one inquired of the business that had supposedly brought him home, either. So she steeled her emotions, praying for divine guidance, quite unsure of herself all round.
When the birthday cake was brought out, Lela delighted in discovering that her sister had baked a lemon cake with rich chocolate icing. Not at all in the typical Amish style, but definitely Lela’s favorite dessert and one their mother often made in her own Mennonite home. “Why, thank you, Elizabeth,” she said, looking around the table at the dear faces surrounding her. “And thanks to each of you for helping me celebrate this day.”
Young Mary Jane excused herself, along with Timothy and Linda, and they headed for the front room. John, the baby, sat in his high chair, waving a spoon. Lela figured they were up to something. And they were. Her nieces and nephew returned, bringing homemade presents. Mary Jane’s was a white doily; Timothy and Linda had made colorful drawings of cows and barns. To top things off, Elizabeth brought out a platter of whoopie pies.
“Don’t you think we’ve had enough sweets for one day?” Lela said, smiling across the table at the children.
“Ach, how can that be?” Timothy answered, reaching for the plate of goodies.
“All right, then.” Lela was ever so pleased.
Melissa could not have counted the times she noticed a loving exchange, eyes glowing, between Elizabeth and Thaddeus King. They were obviously very much in love and quite content with their happy brood of four. She was also well aware of Paul Martin’s excessive courtesy and attention toward Lela, who was seated across from him and his son. Ardent interest, yes. So
this
was the man, no doubt the reason for Lela’s blushing cheeks on the phone the other day.
Observing both couples, her heart ached anew for Ryan, con artist and smooth talker though he had turned out to be. Yet part of her longed to know, from his lips, the truth.
When the time came to say their good-byes, she wondered if she ought to make herself scarce, leave ahead of Lela, giving the woman ample opportunity for a proper send-off. But, no, Lela wouldn’t hear of it, implored her to wait “and we’ll walk home together.”
“Please, allow me to drive you,” Paul said, his hands resting on little Joseph’s shoulders. “I would be very happy to see you both home.”
Melissa was careful not to smile at the man’s insistence, though he was not unpleasantly so. She rather liked him, and was fairly convinced that Lela did, too.
In the end Lela gave in, and they rode the ridiculously short way home—Lela in the front seat, Melissa in the back, next to Joseph.
“We’re moving back to Lancaster,” the boy said suddenly.
“You are?” Melissa asked. “And where is it you live now?”
“Alone … all alone, in Indiana.” The child’s voice was so pathetic, she wondered if he had been coached by his father.
Melissa fully expected Paul to comment at this point, but he directed not a single remark toward the backseat.
Wondering when she might hear Lela’s take on the celebration—particularly this guest—Melissa hoped they might have opportunity to walk to the covered bridge before dusk. She stared up at the sky, glad there was still plenty of light. More than an hour left before nightfall.