The Fourth Trumpet (18 page)

“Yes’m. I’ll do it right now.” Uncle Mike turned on his heel and disappeared into the den.

Satisfied her niece was fine, Aunt Claire declared she had cooking to do. Berry leaped up, saying he had to wash his truck. When all three had disappeared, Andrea remained on the couch, still a little dazed and bewildered. She stared out the window at the apple tree, branches heavy with ripening fruit. Her thoughts groped and stumbled through a maze of vague impressions and memories.

There was a priest here. And a Baptist minister.
She closed her eyes.
And a pregnant girl. And a thug who nearly killed us.
Suddenly overwhelmed, Andrea pushed up from the couch and stood on shaky legs.
I remember everything. I do. I delivered a baby right here, in this living room. The girl, Carrie, went into premature labor. The stress and fear and loss were too much for her. And the minister—his name was Eleazar—helped me and—
Andrea gave her head a shake then winced at the slight headache and ringing in her ears. This was too much to take in, too far-fetched and impossible.

With a shrug, she climbed the stairs, one step at a time. She’d take a bath and get into clean clothes. Then she’d go downstairs and help Aunt Claire with dinner. However good her intentions were, as soon as she crossed the threshold into her room, she paused, reeling a little from shock. Everything was exactly how she’d left it this morning. It was almost
too
normal—
too
familiar. “Dear God, help me,” she muttered.

Unbuttoning the first two buttons of her rumpled blouse, her fingers fumbled. “What am I doing? I can’t pretend nothing happened. I can’t.”

Flopping down on the bed, she exhaled. Had it really been just a dream? A manifestation from bumping her head? Was that possible? “So, was I Dorothy, whirling around Kansas in a farmhouse? Did I land in the very antithesis of Oz?” She covered her face with her hands and moaned.

“No, I can’t believe it was all a dream. All I went through all those days in the dark. Waiting for the end of the world. Wondering where my family’d gone. All that was a product of my own subconscious? Impossible! I can’t accept that. Eleazar and Father Joe? Carrie and Richard. And Thor, my dear doggie friend who saved me more than once? No way.”

Andrea rolled off the bed and stumbled over to her dresser. Leaning against the heavy piece of furniture for support, she peered into the mirror. Her wide-eyed reflection looked dumfounded. She shook her head at her mirror twin. “All that
couldn’t
have been a figment of my overwrought imagination. Keith was more than a bump on the head. He was
everything
to me. He gave life purpose, gave it meaning. Keith, just a dream? No! No, no, no! I
refuse
to believe that.”

A tremor ran through her. She left the mirror and returned to the bed. Grabbing her pillow, she hugged it fiercely. “Keith, you
were
real. I loved you. You loved
me
. You were
real
. You were real. You
have
to be real. Oh, God!” She lay back and clung to the pillow, while great welling sobs welled up and the dam of her reserve broke into a million pieces of despair.

TWENTY-FOUR

That night and again the next morning, Aunt Claire gave Andrea a thorough going-over. She checked her pupils for any signs of concussion, took her temperature, and poked and prodded like the most experienced doctor. Finally convinced that Andrea was none the worse for wear, she declared her fit to go about her business.

Andrea was sipping the last of her morning coffee when the seed of an idea sprouted. She looked over at her cousin, busily munching his third piece of toast. “Berry?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Hmm?”

“Would you loan me your truck? I need to run—”

“No, I don’t want you behind a wheel for twenty-four hours,” Aunt Claire turned away from the sink and frowned. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“But Aunt Claire, you said yourself I was none the worse for wear.”

“You are perfectly fine, but I don’t want to take any chances. Berry can drive you anywhere you need to go. But what, in heaven’s name, is so important? Can’t it wait?”

Andrea’s eyes shifted from her aunt’s penetrating gaze to the napkin in her lap. “No, it can’t wait.” She really didn’t want to get into another brouhaha with her aunt. “So, Berry…”

Berry shrugged. “Sure, I’ll play chauffeur. Where to?”

“Oh, just around town. I-I need to check on a few things.” She turned to her aunt. “Really, Aunt Claire, I feel fine. I only want to go into town, just a few stops in-between. Berry doesn’t need to babysit.” There. She’d said it. If it brought on World War III, so be it.

Her aunt’s lips formed a tight, straight line. Her blue eyes bored into Andrea. After an eon of screaming silence, she sniffed and tossed her gray head. “Well, I’m not going to debate the issue with you, but for the record, I think you should take it easy for a day or two, but you know best.” This last was said with another sniff and a lifting of one plump shoulder.

Andrea breathed a sigh of relief and turned to her cousin. “So, may I borrow your truck? Just for a few hours?”

Berry’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you can, but…”

“But?”

“I’m at loose ends today and got nothing better to do. And with me at school most of the year and you, too—well, I’d like to pal around with you today. Okay?”

Andrea lowered her eyes. “It’d bore you to tears.”

“Try me.”

Too tired to argue, Andrea rolled her eyes. “Fine. Come along. But don’t start whining and nagging me to go home. I really have some things to do.”

“Fine. I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were in Berry’s dilapidated, 1977 Chevrolet truck, cruising down the highway toward town. After a few minutes of companionable silence, her cousin glanced at her. “So, Andy. You want to tell me where we’re going and why?”

“I promise I’ll tell you everything. After a while. I need to sort things out first.”

“Okay. So, what’s our first stop?”

“You know that brand-new subdivision going up on Split Oak Road?”

“Castle Construction’s new site? Yeah, Dan Smith’s family just moved there. Nice place.”

“Yes, well, I want to go there, first.”

Berry shrugged but didn’t press her for further explanations. Andrea relaxed. She knew her cousin well. He’d humor her today, thinking he had to because she’d had a rough time of it yesterday. She almost grinned as he drove the few miles, chatting to her about nonsensical things. When they turned in at the entrance to The Meadows, Andrea sat up straighter and scanned the area for something or someone familiar.

“Do you know which house you want?”

“No, just drive up and down the streets. And go slow. Thankfully, there aren’t that many houses up yet.”

They drove up one street and were making their way down another when Andrea saw the front door of a spacious ranch-style house open and an attractive woman with a mass of blonde curls step out, hefting a baby carrier in one hand. Andrea sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, my God. It’s Carrie.”

“Who?”

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop!”

Berry pulled in behind a dark blue van but left the engine idling. “Why? What are—”

Andrea ignored him. She was tore at her seat belt, push open the door, and jumped from the car. Berry’s surprised eyes followed her as she sprinted up to the young woman.

“Excuse me. Carrie? Is it really you? Carrie Vanderpelt?”

“Yes?”

“You
are
Carrie Vanderpelt?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. Do I know you?” The woman looked at Andrea with the same wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look she’d had throughout their ordeal. Andrea would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Yes. Yes, we’ve met. At least, I’ve seen you before. You and—”

Just then, a young man appeared from around the house, strode purposely up to the young woman and relieved her of the baby carrier. “Who’s this?” he asked, looking Andrea up and down.

Andrea’s attention was drawn to the tiny pink bundle, asleep in the carrier. “Your baby. Your sweet little girl. She made it.”

“Yes, Maddie is four months old today,” the woman replied, fingering the pink blanket covering the baby.

“What do you mean, made it?” the man frowned.

“Are you Rob? Carrie was so worried about you. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“
Who
are you, again?” The man’s face now resembled a thundercloud. Carrie’s, on the other hand, reflected both complete stupefaction and bursting pride.

Andrea felt light-headed. “Oh. I’m sorry. My name’s Andrea. Andrea Gardner.”

“Have we met?” Carrie seemed determined to be polite. “Was it at church? Or were you at the book talk at the library last Saturday?”

“No, I—” Suddenly the whole thing seemed ludicrous and Andrea winced with embarrassment. Carrie obviously didn’t remember her, didn’t recall ever having
met
her. Of course not. The whole stupid, incredible thing had only been a dream. A flood of hot humiliation washed over Andrea. She took a step backwards. “I’m sorry. I must be mistaken. Sorry I disturbed you.” Then she happened to glance at the house next door. “Oh! Uh, just one more question, please. Who lives next door to you? Is it, by any chance, a young man by the name of Keith Reynolds?”

Carrie nodded. “Yes. Keith lives there.”

Andrea’s heart flew into her throat. “Is he—” She had to swallow. “Is he home?”

“No, Keith should be at work.” Her face brightened. “Maybe that’s where we met. Were you at his open house party last week?”

Feeling even more foolish, Andrea shook her head. “No. No, I, uh, just heard about him from some friends of mine. Thanks. Sorry I troubled you. You have a beautiful baby. Bye.”

Berry, who had left the car to rescue his cousin before the dumbfounded couple could call the police, stopped halfway up the walk. As soon as Andrea turned, he linked his arm through hers and tugged. “C’mon, kiddo.” His voice was unnaturally loud. “I think we’ve made a mistake. This isn’t the couple
I was talking about
,” he said with emphasis.

Andrea looked at him in bewilderment, then realization flooded over her. He was rescuing her from her lunacy. Even though the woman definitely was Carrie, she hadn’t a clue who Andrea was. She’d never seen Andrea before in her life. And her husband looked positively suspicious, ready to phone the authorities any minute. Andrea’s cheeks reddened. “I-I’m awfully sorry,” she said again over her shoulder. “I-I mistook you for-for someone else I…”

“Come
on
,” Berry hissed.

“That’s all right,” the young woman called back. Her husband frowned and just stared as they made their retreat.

Berry didn’t give Andrea a chance to say another word. He quickly ushered her back to the truck, shoved her in, and hopped in. With a roar of engine and a squeal of tires, he drove out of the subdivision.

Once out on the main road, he let out an exasperated sigh. “What in heaven’s name were you
doing
back there? I have half a mind to take you to emergency right this second. Your head needs examining. Man! That was more than embarrassing. That was over-the-top humiliating.”

“Oh, put a lid on it,” Andrea snapped.

“No! I mean it, Andy. That whole scene enacted back there was off-the-charts weird.”

“I’m sorry. I thought-I thought they were some people I knew, and—oh, never mind.”

“
Please
tell me what this is all about!”

“I will, I will. I promise. Only not yet.” Andrea cast pleading eyes in her cousin’s direction. “Will you take me to St. Michael the Archangel Catholic Church, please? It’s across the street from—”

“I
know
where it is. Why do you want to go
there?
You’re not Catholic.”

“I’m not joining the church, Berry. I just want to check up on something. Sheesh! Cut me some slack, will you?”

“It better not be like the last thing you ‘checked up’ on.”

“I told you not to come, not to whine. I wanted to do this, myself.”

“I’m not whining. Heck. I just want to know what this is all about.”

“Stop nagging, Berry. I have some things I need to work out. I’ll explain later.”

“Fine. You better come totally clean.”

“I will. I promise.”

Berry drove to the outskirts of their little town, past the fire station and the post office, to First Street, where St. Michael the Archangel Catholic Church stood across the street from Sunrise United Methodist Church. As they approached the Catholic Church, Berry slowed to a crawl. Andrea immediately sat forward and waved her hand toward a young man in front, pushing a hand mower. It had taken her only a second to recognize Richard.

“Berry, stop, please,” she said in a strained but controlled voice. “I need to ask that young man a question.” Her cousin gave her a funny look but didn’t object. Andrea glanced at his sober expression and made a futile attempt to smile. “Stay here. Don’t leave the car.” He shrugged as she got out and his eyes never left her as she walked sedately over to the young man. She knew he was beyond understanding her motivation.

As Andrea approached, she had to clear her throat twice. “Excuse me. Hello.”

The young man looked up, smiled and stopped. “Yeah? Can I help you?” It was the punk—the thug who’d beaten up Father Joe and then taken shelter in her home. The one Eleazar and Father Joe forgave and said they loved. Andrea did her best to maintain some semblance of cordiality, not stare with mouth gaping.

“Uh, yes, yes, you can. I hope,” she stammered. “Does a-does a Father Joe work, uh, I mean,
live
here?”

“Yeah, Father Joe’s the pastor here. Do you need to see him? I can take you to his office.”

“Oh, uh, no, thank you. I mean. I don’t need to talk with him right now.” She squinted at the youth. “Is your name Richard, by any chance?”

The young man looked somewhat surprised and was about to speak when the door behind him opened and out stepped Father Joe, looking healthy, happy, and very much alive. Andrea was caught off guard and could only stare stupidly.

The young man, however, spoke up. “Father. This young lady was asking about you. I tried to help, but…”