Kade’s truck was parked outside the cabin when she stopped. He was in the yard with Zorro and Lauri. Lauri waved an excited greeting. “I’ve been working on what you told me,” she said proudly as Bree climbed out of the Jeep. Zorro ran to Samson. The older dog sniffed the puppy then pointedly ignored him.
“See how Samson is treating him? That’s because he’s the alpha dog,” Bree pointed out. “That’s what you have to do with Zorro. I’m not paying any attention to him yet either. You wait until he’s not begging for attention, then call him so he knows to come on your terms, not his.”
“It seems so mean,” Lauri said. “He’s just a baby.”
“He’s a canine baby. He’ll be more secure once he knows what to expect.” After the puppy wandered off a bit, Bree snapped her fingers. “Zorro, come.”
At the sound of his name, the puppy raised his head. Bree knelt and patted the ground. “Come, Zorro.”
The puppy raced toward her, his black ears laid back with his efforts to move quickly on short legs. “Good Zorro,” Bree said, scratching his ears. “Now you call him, Lauri.”
While Lauri practiced the tips, Bree found her gaze straying to Kade. Was that admiration in his eyes? Her chest felt tight.
“Want to see what I do here?” he asked.
“What do you mean? You live here, right?” She walked toward him.
He grinned and took her arm. “Among other things. I’ll show you the important stuff.” He took her out back to a series of pens.
The gentle touch of his hand on her arm sent a warm glow through her. What was wrong with her? She wanted to stop right here in the middle of the path and burrow into his arms, which was stupid because she didn’t want to get involved, especially with a Christian.
The sight of the animals made a good excuse to pull away. “Oh, you have deer!” She reached out to grab a handful of corn in a box near the pens.
“Orphaned wildlife,” he corrected. “I’ll let them go once hunting season is past.” He pointed out a raccoon and a porcupine as well. “Sometimes I have birds—you’ve met Mazzy—as well as a bear cub or two. I just released two small black bears last summer.”
“Kade Matthews, modern-day Dr. Doolittle,” Bree said, smiling.
He grinned. “I wish I could talk to them too. It might make my job easier.”
“How did you get started doing this?” She tossed a handful of corn to the deer and laughed when the smallest one came right up to her and ate out of her hand.
“When I was ten, my dad brought home a baby raccoon whose mother had been killed by dogs. I named him Mask—not very original, but I sure loved him. Dad insisted I release him when he could fend for himself, and I was devastated. But as I grew older and helped return other animals to the wild, I realized how wise Dad was. It’s my way of tending the garden.”
Bree frowned, not sure what he meant, and he saw her puzzlement.
“As in tending the garden like God assigned Adam to do. In Genesis, God told Adam to name the creatures and tend the garden. I take that to mean we should care for his creatures and not deplete the resources. The earth is ours to use but not to squander. I try to do my small part.”
How rare, Bree thought—a middle-of-the-road approach to environmentalism. A small raccoon reached out to Kade with tiny hands, and he picked it up. It patted his face then crawled to his shoulder and perched there comfortably. Bree laughed and decided she was glad she’d taken the chance to learn more about Kade.
Anu was right. Scriptures did reveal things about a man. Kade was one of the gracious, compassionate, and righteous ones. She’d thought she could rule him out of the murder, but now she was certain.
19
Rachel kissed the sleeping boy on the forehead as she tucked the covers around his chin. She loaded the wood stove with as much fuel as she dared then damped it down so it would burn long and slow. The cabin might not be as warm as it could be, but the fire would last longer this way. No amount of wood would make it last two days though.
She stood on the threshold of the cabin and glanced back toward Sam. She wished she didn’t have to leave him alone, but she had no other option. Sam would be fine as long as he stayed inside and under the covers.
Sighing, she shouldered her backpack and eased the door shut behind her. When she heard the latch click into place, she turned and made her way across the clearing, dimly lit by the first rays of sunrise.
Her breath plumed in front of her as she walked toward Ontonagon. There was no bus or taxi service from Rock Harbor, and she had no money for a ride to Ontonagon even if one had been available.
It was nearly 9:30 by the time she reached the bus station. She jostled her way aboard amid a crowd of passengers and found a seat at the back. She’d barely slept the past two nights for worrying about Sam; now she fell asleep before the bus had finished loading.
She awakened as the bus neared Chicago nearly thirteen hours later. When the bus finally stopped, she disembarked and stood in the middle of the crush of passengers as they pushed and shoved their way to the next bus. What should she do now, and where should she go? The cold wind off Lake Michigan sliced down her back, and she zipped her jacket to her chin, jammed her hat down low on her head, and pulled on her gloves.
She turned and plodded through the crowd. Once clear of the masses, she glanced around at the Chicago skyline, twinkling with light from the skyscrapers. Rachel had forgotten what it was like to be in a big city. She felt more alone here than in her little cabin in the woods.
She had one shot at not having to stay out in the cold all night. She made her way to a phone booth and perched her backpack on the cold steel ledge near the phone. Fumbling in the pack, she found a slip of paper with a number written on it. There was no guarantee the number was still good. It had been nearly ten years since she’d last spoken to her brother.
Her hands shook as she dropped two quarters into the pay phone. Once the phone began ringing, she almost hung up. What would she say to him after what she’d done? But the thought of huddling in the cold all night was a strong goad.
“Hello.”
The voice was gruff but familiar. She wet her lips. “Frank? It’s Rachel.”
The pause was long, then Frank finally responded, “What do you want? I figured you was dead by now.”
“I need a place to stay tonight. Just for one night. I leave tomorrow.” Hating the pleading tone in her voice, she drummed her fingers on the cold metal shelf in the booth.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough to me and my family?”
“Please, Frank. I have nowhere else to go. I’ll just sleep on the floor and be gone tomorrow.”
Frank snorted. “I guess you can’t do any more damage. Where are you?”
Relief as sweet as a summer rain washed over Rachel. She gave him her location and hung up. What had swayed Frank to allow her to stay? He still sounded just as bitter. She found a spot in a doorway sheltered from the wind and settled down to wait. The nervousness she felt made her jittery, and she wished she had a cigarette. She hadn’t had any money for smokes in over a year though.
About half an hour later she saw a car cruising slowly down the street. Maybe that was Frank. She stepped out of the doorway and into the beam of a streetlight so he could see her. The car pulled to the curb. The window went down and she stepped to the door, her heart in her mouth.
“I don’t have all day. Get in if you’re coming,” Frank said.
She got in the car. The blast of warm air from the vents made her eyes water, but the heat felt heavenly. After fastening her seat belt, she turned to look at her brother. He was staring at her through bushy gray eyebrows.
“You ain’t changed much,” he said. “Hair’s grayer, like mine.” He snorted a laugh as he pulled back onto the road, but his eyes were still suspicious. “What you doing here?”
“Job interview,” she said. “You don’t look different either.”
He patted his stomach. “Hannah’s fattene
d me up some.”
“It looks good on you. You were always too thin.”
He grunted. “Don’t think you can get around me with flattery. I still hate your guts. You burned down my house!”
Rachel gulped. “I was just trying to help, Frank. I thought if you had the insurance money, you could keep Paulie out of jail.”
“And instead, you nearly put me in there with him! You always were stupid, Rachel.”
“Then why’d you come get me?” she snapped, annoyed with him for bringing up all the old baggage. But then what had she expected? All her life she’d heard she didn’t have any common sense, and while what she’d done to his house might prove that to some people, Rachel had known it was the only way to save her nephew. Was it her fault the plan had taken such a bad turn?
“Because of you my daughter has never married. What man would have her with all those burn scars on her face?” Frank slammed the steering wheel with his hands.
Rachel hunched over against the door. “I didn’t know Hannah was still in the house,” she said. “You know that, Frank. I never would have done anything to hurt her.”
Frank’s antipathy was so strong that Rachel struggled to breathe. This had been a mistake. There was no forgiveness in the man. Several miles later, Frank sighed and his animosity seemed to leak away. “Yeah, well, you never did have no sense, Rachel. But you always had a good heart.” He stopped at a small, one-story house. Built in the forties, it couldn’t be more than eight hundred square feet. “Here we are. Hannah’s working tonight.”
“What’s she do?”
Frank snorted. “She’s a nurse like you.”
Frank parked then slid his bulk out of the car and plodded up the walkway. He twisted the key in the lock and opened the door. “Home sweet home,” he said.
The air smelled of stale cigarettes and beer, just like the house she’d burned down. Rachel followed him inside.
“Leftover casserole’s in the fridge if you want some,” he told her.
By the time she finished eating, Rachel and Frank had settled back into their old relationship. He was as hungry for companionship as she, hungry enough to grudgingly forgive her. By the time she left the next morning, he had agreed to let her and Sam move in until they found a place of their own.
Life in Chicago suddenly became more attractive. She and Sam could move right away, even if she didn’t get this job. If she lived in the city, she could find employment in no time.
In a way, the whole scene felt familiar. She slipped back into city life as if slipping into a comfortable sweater she hadn’t worn in years. The sights, sounds, and smells of the city gave her a sense of place, something she’d missed in the woods.
Frank dropped her off for her interview the next morning. Dressed in wool slacks and a nice sweater left over from her days as a nurse, she felt like her old self, confident and put together.
When she walked out an hour later, she had a job. Her heart sang as she changed her clothes and headed for the bus station. She and Sam would be so happy here.
The fire had gone out hours ago. Sam huddled under the blankets, but he still wasn’t warm. When would she be back? He hated to be alone. When he was alone like this, too many thoughts whirled in his head. Sometimes strange memories tried to poke their way through. Sometimes he could almost catch them.
Some of them were good. He remembered his mommy, his daddy, his dog. Whenever he tried to talk about these thoughts to her, her mouth pinched up like she’d eaten a lemon. She told him not to think about them. Sometimes he remembered his daddy yelling. Then the plane crashing in the trees. He hurt all over and he’d tried to wake Daddy up, but he wouldn’t wake up.
If he thought hard enough, he remembered that he had another name once, but he couldn’t think what it was. Every day it got harder for him to catch the memories—as hard as it was for him to catch the chipmunks. They didn’t like his new hair color any better than the old one.
Sam clasped his arms around himself. Maybe he could light the fire. She had said not to try, but she’d been gone a long time. She was gone when he woke yesterday, and then the fire had gone out when it got dark. He’d shivered all through the night, and he was still cold. It would be even colder soon. The sun was going down, and the wind had started to blow hard.
The wind blew snow under the door and around the windows. Biting his lip, he slipped out of bed. He already had on his slippers, but even they hadn’t helped his feet stay warm. He dragged a blanket with him and wrapped it around his shoulders. First he should use the privy. She had left a potty inside, but it was smelly and nasty. Sam’s lip curled. He’d go outside.
Opening the back door, he stepped into the yard. The snow came nearly to his knees, and he struggled to get to the little shed behind the house. Sam moved quickly. He left the privy door open a little so he wouldn’t be in the dark.
It was spooky to be out here alone. She always came with him and talked to him outside the door. What if a bear came and ate him? Or wolves. He’d heard the wolves howling last night, and he’d cried. She would be disappointed in him. Only babies cried, she said.
He finished and hurried back to the house. He breathed more easily when the door was shut and latched. He rewrapped the blanket around his shoulders then walked toward the stove. If he could use the privy by himself, he could do something as easy as lighting a fire.
He touched the stove. It was cold, as cold as he was, maybe colder. The lever turned easily in his hand, and he looked inside. The ashes were white, and wind whistled over him with the stove open.
He glanced at the pipe thing. What had she called it? He stood on his tiptoes and managed to turn the thing straight up and down, as she had shown him. He’d watched her start a fire a hundred times. He couldn’t count to a hundred yet, but he knew it was a lot. The kindling was in a box by the door. Trailing the blanket behind him, he took a handful of the kindling with his free hand and tossed the pieces into the stove.
No, wait, that wasn’t right. He had to put newspaper under it. He pulled out the kindling, piece by piece, and laid it on the floor in front of the stove. There was a box of newspaper by the bed. He took a piece, wadded it up the way she always did, and laid it in the stove. Then he piled the kindling on it. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the box of matches beside the stove.
She said never to play with matches, but this wasn’t playing. If he didn’t do something, he would freeze like the dead fox he’d seen last winter. He bit his lip while he opened the box of matches and took one out. Holding the box as he’d seen her do, he ran the match across that rough strip on the box. The match burst into flames, and it startled him so much he dropped it. It fell to the stone in front of the wood stove and quickly went out.
Sam took out another match. He held the box and the match at arm’s length and squinted his eyes. Striking the match, he barely flinched this time when it flared. He held it to the paper in the stove. The paper flamed, and Sam grinned. He’d soon be warm, and she would be so proud of him. Crouching in front of the stove, he basked in the bit of heat radiating from the burning paper.
The dry kindling caught and began to crackle. Sam watched for a few minutes, mesmerized by the dancing flames. He held his hands in front of the fire to warm them. The fire popped and snapped, a wonderful sound to Sam. He longed for the fire to really start heating up the room.
Slowly, he fed the flames with more kindling. As long as he stayed right in front of the stove with the blanket wrapped around him, he felt warm. He knew he needed to throw some of the larger logs on the fire, but he was afraid. What if he put them in wrong and they rolled out again? All his work would be wasted.
Soon the kindling box was almost empty. Sam took the last handful and put it on the fire. He might as well try to do something now. The fire would soon be out anyway. Struggling with the weight of it, he picked up a split log. He leaned into the stove and pushed the log onto the flames with all his might.
The log seemed to turn in
his hands before it hit right in the middle of the fire. The kindling scattered, and several pieces flew out the stove door. One landed on Sam’s blanket. It smoldered then flared into flame. Sam screamed and turned to run.
20
Bree curled up on the sofa and sipped her tea. Warm and content, she almost didn’t answer the door when the bell rang. Samson padded to the door and waited expectantly. The bell rang again. She tossed the fleece throw off her legs and reluctantly went to the entry.
Hilary stood on the porch, huddled in a sheepskin coat. “It’s freezing out here.” She brushed past Bree and came inside, stomping the snow from her boots. “Mason is working late tonight, and I was bored. Want to order a pizza?”
“I just warmed up some leftover chicken enchilada casserole Martha sent over. There’s plenty left. You want some?” Bree took Hilary’s coat and hung it in the closet under the stairs. She ordered Samson into the living room. No sense in riling Hilary with his presence.
“Sounds good. I wouldn’t turn down a cup of hot coffee either.” Hilary followed her into the kitchen.
As Bree heated Hilary’s meal, she wondered how she could bring up Hilary’s outburst at the party. Her suspicions would nag her until she laid them to rest.
Hilary sat at the small dinette in the corner. “Mother wants to know if you’ll bring some of your cranberry salad and the sweet potato casserole to Thanksgiving this year.”
“I think I’ve still got the recipes here someplace,” Bree said. Had Hilary really come by because she was bored? Under normal circumstances, Hilary would have just called to ask about Thanksgiving arrangements. Bree set the casserole in front of her sister-in-law along with a cup of coffee then sat across the table from her.
“Smells good.” Hilary chased several forkfuls of food around the plate before she set her fork aside. “Mother told me you’re giving up the search,” she said.
Ah, the real reason for the visit. Bree steeled herself for Hilary’s cajoling. “I’ll search until the first of the year, then I’m going to get busy with a training school. I’ve found a couple of possible sites.” Hilary was blinking rapidly, and Bree looked away. Tears might make her lose her resolve.