The Letters (25 page)

Chase seemed to be patiently waiting for Delia to return from town. He greeted Delia and Will’s car with his crooked dog smile, as if he knew what she knew. When Delia climbed out of the car, she reached down to pat Chase. The silly dog lifted his head to meet her hand and wagged his tail like a whirligig. Then he collapsed in a fury of friendliness.

Rose walked out on the porch of the farmhouse and waved.

Delia couldn’t hold back her news. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “The cancer is gone! They
caught it in time. It hadn’t spread, not even to one single lymph node.”

Will was grinning from ear to ear. “Rose, I think that sign of yours is spot-on.”

Rose walked over to join them. “What do you mean?”

“That phrase, under ‘Inn at Eagle Hill,’” Will said.

“What phrase? I haven’t seen the sign close up yet—and now with those reporters, I don’t want to go anywhere near the road.” Rose turned to Mim, who had come outside to see what all the excitement was about. “Mim, what did you write underneath ‘Inn at Eagle Hill’?”

Mim started blinking rapidly. “A Latin phrase:
Miracula fieri hic
.”

“Do you have any idea what it means?” Will said.

“No,” Mim said, her face pinching with worry. “I read it in a book and liked how it looked.”

Will grinned. “It means ‘a place where miracles occur.’”

15

I
t was starting to become a habit for Jimmy Fisher to appear, magically, right at suppertime at Eagle Hill. Rose always invited him to stay and, of course, he always accepted.

Tonight, about the time Jimmy was due, Bethany pinched her cheeks for extra color. She peeked out the kitchen window and saw him approaching, one hand on Luke’s shoulder and the other on Sammy’s, steering them along the path from Galen’s. Clearly, they had gotten into some kind of mischief over at Galen’s. It was written on their faces. She hurried out to the porch and scowled at them before sending them in to wash up for supper.

“Those two boys are headed down a dangerous and slippery path,” Jimmy said. “They pay me no mind.”

“Join the club.”

Jimmy had his eyes on the road where a news van was parked. The large satellite dish on the roof of the van was facing Eagle Hill. “What’s going on over there?”

“Something to do with the doctor’s missing wife, who was never missing in the first place. But never mind about that. I need to talk to you about something.” She bit her lip. “Okay. I’ll take it.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “What exactly is the ‘it’ you’re talking about?”

“That job at the Sisters’ House.”

“You’re going to have to interview for it. I’ll certainly put in a good word for you, but they’re persnickety ladies.”

Well, that was unsettling news. She thought she had the job if she wanted it.

He sat on the porch step and pulled off his muddy boots, one after the other. “I thought you were happy at the Stoney Ridge Bar & Grill.”

She gave him her silkiest smile. “I was. I am. I’m just thinking of trying something new.”

Jimmy rested the heels of his hands against the porch flooring and slanted her his superior look. “Liar.”

Those blue eyes were much too perceptive. He was right, she was lying. She never lied! Well, hardly ever. Jimmy Fisher had a way of making her say things, do things, that were not herself. “Fine. I lost my job over that tiny little misunderstanding on Saturday night.”

“From what I heard, it turned into a rip-roaring brawl.”

Shootfire! How did he always know so much? “Are you going to help me get the job or not?”

“I’ll do what I can, seeing as how you’re so sweet and polite about it.” Then he smiled at her, a sweet smile this time, and went inside the house like he owned the place.

Jimmy was an odd fellow, always good-natured and cheerful. His grin was like a flash of light. It was like the sun coming up at dawn; it changed everything.

When Rose woke early for her walk, she stopped abruptly as she came down the front steps of the porch. She was stunned
to see that there was double the number of news vans out front than there had been last night. Hours after the first one showed up yesterday, Eagle Hill was crawling with reporters.

One reporter had walked right into the house while Rose and Bethany were scrubbing dinner dishes, reached into his black shoulder bag, pulled out a camera that he hung around his neck by a strap, took out a lined notepad, and laid it on the kitchen counter. He looked around the kitchen, squinting, and scratched his chin. “Somebody called the news desk and told him about your bed-and-breakfast. My editor thought it was a good human-interest story for the weekend section, so here I am.”

Fortunately, Galen happened along to return Luke’s forgotten hat, sized up the situation, and politely escorted the man off the property.

Then the game commissioner arrived, tracking the eagles that were building a nest on the farm. He shooed reporters farther away and ribboned the farm with yellow caution tape. The reporters camped out across the road and set up to film short clips for the evening news. The Inn at Eagle Hill sign featured prominently in the foreground.

Rose ordered her family to stay in the house. She was grateful to Delia’s son for being willing to talk to the reporters and the game commissioner, whom he seemed to know. It was baffling—all that had happened in the last few days. When Monday morning arrived, she had thought she was facing a typical week. The children went to school. Vera complained about Rose’s housekeeping. Luke came home from school with a note from the teacher that he had done something foolish. Nothing unusual in any of that.

Suddenly, her house was surrounded by predators. All
because a woman with a famous husband needed a little time to herself.

Delia had offered to leave right away, but Rose wouldn’t hear of it. God had brought her to Eagle Hill for healing. Rose was sure of that now, and she didn’t want to see her leave until she was good and ready to go. No doubt, she told Delia, the reporters would move off as soon as another story broke.

But that was before one of the reporters translated the Latin saying about miracles that Mim had painted on the Inn at Eagle Hill sign. The story grew bigger. And bigger. It had been picked up on the internet, Bishop Elmo told her last night, when he dropped by with a brush and paint and politely asked her to remove that Latin saying. With every news account, the Inn at Eagle Hill became more peaceful, more beautiful. A place where miracles abounded. Ready for the picking, like ripe cherries on a tree.

On this morning, Wednesday, the reporters were still staked out on the road, so Rose went the other way, toward Galen’s property. Usually, Chase liked to come along with her, but he was sleeping in Mim’s room—probably curled up right on her bed—and she didn’t want to disturb them. She took a hillside path that her boys had carved and stood at the top to take in the sight. The air was so crisp and clear that the rising hills in the distance weren’t layered, but alone and separate.

Rose relied on these quiet moments. She needed to get off by herself and listen to the sounds of the country, to pray and to think. She was accustomed to feeling pressed from dawn till dark, bound in by the small but constant needs of others. Not until she felt fortified again—felt that she could lead the family—would she return to the farmhouse.

Here, high in the hills, she could relax and pay attention to other sounds. There were sounds, she thought, that belonged just to early morning. The country talked quiet: one human voice could drown it out, particularly if it was a voice as loud as Luke and Sammy. On a still day, those boys could be heard at least a mile, even if they were more or less whispering.

A mourning dove called in the distance, and somewhere in a nearby tangle of bushes, its mate trilled out a reply. The eastern sky was red as coals in an oven, lighting up the hillside. She watched the process happily, knowing it would only last a few minutes. The sun spread reddish-gold light over the trees, making them look like they were on fire. It would be gone soon, and the day would begin. A sunrise was tribute enough to the glory of God.

She saw Galen on the far side of the hill, rifle tucked under his arm. She waved and called out to him. “Any luck?”

At the sound of her voice, he turned, spotted her, waved, and crossed over to meet her. “He was in the trap.”

What a relief! She would sleep easier without that mournful howl of the coyote. At least one thing in this day was starting out right. She tilted her head. “Galen, just how old are you?”

He looked surprised. “Thirty-one. What’s that got to do with a coyote?”

She grinned. “Just wondered.”

He took a step closer to her. “So how old are you?”

“Thirty-six. Thirty-seven come August.”

He whistled two notes, one up, one down. “Practically ancient. Closing in on Vera’s age.”

Rose smirked. “Well, I hope I am not that ornery.”

“No. There’s a difference between strong coffee and bitter medicine.”

She laughed out loud. “Galen King, you are a sore trial and a wonder. Both.” Then he held her gaze and she blushed.

Galen was not as handsome as black-haired Dean, but there was something about him. In so many ways he was gruff and abrupt, but in his way with Rose, he was always gentle and she could always count on the truth from him. A true friend. “Remember when I told you the eagles’ nest would be a blessing to us?”

He nodded.

“The police chased those reporters off the property and warned them to stay away because the game commissioner complained that they would disturb the eagles. So . . . blessing number one.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Number one?”

“Yes. Something about those eagles choosing our home makes me feel blessed. A sign that God is with us.”

“But God is always with us, Rose, whether we think it or not.”

“Yes, but sometimes it’s nice to have a reminder.”

A blast of cold wind came over the ridge and Rose shivered. Galen reached out and adjusted the collar of her coat—Dean’s old coat. Warm, callused hands brushed against her neck as he pulled up the collar and straightened it. “I won’t let you chill.” He rumbled the words in a soft, deep voice.

Rose lowered her gaze. “I’d better get down the hill in case Vera is ringing her bell.” On the way down the hill, she pressed her hands to her fiery cheeks. How could such a simple gesture feel so intimate?

Galen felt uncertain. He exhaled a deep breath as he watched Rose hurry down the hill. He tried to reason out what had
just happened. His heart was pounding like a teenager’s, an odd staccato that echoed in his ears.

It troubled him that Rose skittered off just now like a frightened cottontail. He thought of what Jimmy Fisher had scolded him about recently—that the more he stayed apart, the more his presence made folks nervous.

“It’s hard for normal people to relax around you, Galen,” Jimmy had said. “You’ve never been relaxed yourself, so you don’t know what you’re missing.”

The last few months, he felt as if he had been missing something in life.

His wants had always been simple. When his mother passed, and then his father was called home, he willingly took on the mantle of seeing his younger siblings to adulthood. He never resented that obligation. He was a man who felt responsibility keenly. He took great satisfaction in his work as a trainer of Thoroughbreds. It was challenging, interesting, and useful to the community. And sometimes, on a warm summer afternoon, he did like to catch a couple of cooperative fish, griddle size.