Protecting Her Child (6 page)

“Stay here, while I talk to Sheila.” Pete left the Jeep and headed up the steps.

Meredith watched him raise the large brass knocker. The door cracked open and a woman wrapped in a terry cloth robe gave him a quick hug, then waved to Meredith.

He hustled back to the car, grabbed her overnight bag and helped her onto the sidewalk.

“Sheila's happy to put us up for the night,” he said.

The gracious hostess stepped onto the porch to greet Meredith with a warm hug. “I'm so glad Pete brought you here. Your mother's a dear friend of mine. Now let's get inside. You must be exhausted. I've got a room ready. If you're hungry, I can prepare something to eat.”

Sheila was about Meredith's height and probably in her mid-forties. She wore her hair in a short bob
and her smile was genuine when she wrapped her arm around Meredith and walked with her into the elaborately furnished home.

A spiral staircase, thick Oriental rugs, polished hardwood floors and elegant period furniture made Meredith think of another era long ago.

“Pete, take Meredith's bag to the room at the top of the stairs. You can stay at the end of the hall, third door on the left.”

Sheila showed Meredith into a room on the second floor where a poster bed covered in a thick comforter and plush pillows beckoned her forward.

“There's a basket of guest toilette supplies on the dresser. Soap, shampoo, cream. Let me know if you need anything else. Sleep as long as you can in the morning. I'll keep breakfast warm for you.”

Once she was alone, Meredith stretched out on the luxurious bedding, too tired to change out of the clothes she was wearing. She pulled the comforter over her legs and started to slip into a deep sleep.

The last thing she thought of before the darkness settled was seeing Pete's face as he'd pulled her from the wrecked auto. Instead of fear, she felt longing.

T
he next morning, Pete found Sheila in the enclosed courtyard at the rear of the house. He crossed the flagstone patio to where she sat at the wrought-iron table.

“Pour yourself a cup of coffee.” She indicated the silver urn on the side cart. “The basket contains pastries. I can fix eggs if you'd like something heartier.”

He smiled with appreciation. “A couple croissants and coffee will be fine.” Once he filled his mug, he carried his plate to the table and sat in a chair across from her.

Sheila's brow was furrowed and tiny lines creased the corners of her eyes. She looked tired and older than he remembered. Probably a result of the grief she carried from losing her son to VHL.

“I'm so sorry about Brice.”

“Thanks for that nice note you sent with the flowers.”

“You did everything you could for him, Sheila.”

She looked down at her coffee and ran her finger over the rim of the cup. “I wanted to find a cure to save my son. That's why I started the Institute.”

“You've heightened awareness. There's been more interest, more research.”

“Only because of Brice and the others who suffer as he did, not from any effort on my part.” She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth and shook her head ever so slightly. “It's a terrible disease that knows no boundaries. I always wished I had been the one with VHL. For the longest time, I feared he had inherited it from me.”

“Eve said you were tested and didn't carry the defective gene.”

“Brice was one of the few people to get VHL sporadically. ‘Chosen by God,' he used to joke.” Her voice caught. “I can't talk to Eve about it.”

“She's strong, Sheila. Eve knows what her future holds.”

“Right now, losing Brice is all the pain I can bear. I can't add any more.” She looked at him across the table. “Does that make sense?”

“It's because you and Eve are so close.”

“That's why I want to protect her.”

Just as he wanted to protect Meredith.

Sheila's eyes were filled with questions. “Eve says her faith and her suffering make her stronger. I wish I could believe what she tells me. But it's hard. If God has the power to change lives, why didn't He cure my son?”

The same question Pete asked himself concerning Eve.

“Eve told me the dark times come from our human condition,” Sheila continued. “But God can bring light into the darkness. She said Brice is now free of disease and pain and the uncertainty of when or where the next tumor will appear. He's whole and healthy and surrounded by everything good. She called it the fullness of eternal life.”

“Did her words help?”

“They brought peace. I still grieve for my son, but I no longer worry about him. Can you understand that?”

“I'm not sure.”

He pulled the china cup to his mouth and took a long swig of the hot coffee. What about Meredith? Did she have VHL? Would she learn that her baby was affected as well?

Seemed that a loving God wouldn't let an innocent child be stricken with a fatal condition.

“I'm not sure I can believe in anything except what I can influence, Sheila.”

He glanced up at the bedroom window where Meredith was sleeping. If he couldn't save Eve, maybe his research might benefit Meredith and her unborn child.

And what about God?

Would Pete ask for His help?

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

 

Meredith woke to bright sunlight pouring through the window. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 11:00 a.m. She hadn't slept that soundly or that late in months.

Usually she lay awake for hours listening for trucks that drove too slowly, or settling floorboards that sounded like someone walking in the house, or wind that reminded her of when the police had stood at her door and told her Ben was dead.

She shook her head ever so slightly. This wasn't the time to look back.

Throwing the comforter aside, Meredith glanced out the window to the garden where Pete and Sheila were deep in conversation.

Pete sat in a band of light that filtered through the trees. A breeze ruffled the collar of his shirt. He
raised his right hand for emphasis as he spoke to Sheila, his brow wrinkled, his gaze serious.

For an instant, Meredith imagined the clean scent of his aftershave and the strength of purpose she could almost hear in his voice.

Her night's rest was thanks to Sheila's generous hospitality and Pete's determination to find her a safe haven, at least for one night.

Meredith appreciated his calm persistence to ensure her well-being and was touched by his concern for her safety.

“I'll take care of you,” he'd said to her.

Her adoptive father used the same words when he shoved her in the basement closet where she'd whimper with fear, not knowing if he'd ever return to set her free again.

In his twisted mind, the closet was a safe place. At least that's what her adoptive mother had claimed.

But then Hazel Collins never admitted that they lived with a psychotic man who controlled every aspect of their lives.

When Hazel died, Meredith had escaped. Forced to act because of her adoptive father's rage.

Not that she could tell Pete what had happened that night. Not that she could tell anyone.

That phase of her life was over. At least, she prayed it was.

Meredith peered outside again, her eyes drawn to Pete. Gratitude swept over her.

Savannah was far from Refuge Bay. The men would never search for her in such elegant surroundings.

She glanced around the room, unaccustomed to so many comforts. Her fingers touched the thick terry cloth towel set Sheila had placed on the dresser. She smiled. Sometimes it was nice to be spoiled.

Once Meredith was out of the shower and had changed into a comfortable pantsuit with an elastic waist that provided ample room for her growing baby, she gathered her personal items and returned them to her tote.

Picking up her cell, she tapped in the mechanic's number and left another message concerning her car.

When the repairs were completed, Meredith would make a quick trip back to Refuge Bay to pick up her automobile. Surely the thugs would have given up their search for her by then.

What did they want from her? To ensure that she wouldn't go to the police? But she had nothing to tell them.

She tucked the knife and her cell phone in her pocket and shoved her purse into her overnight bag, then zipped it shut.

Meredith planned to stash her bag downstairs by the front door. If an opportunity arose, she could slip out of the house without having to run back upstairs to retrieve her things.

A sense of optimism settled over her. Maybe it was the sunshine or the new buds bursting forth on the trees. Flowering Bradford pear trees, cherry blossoms and redbuds heralded spring and filled her with hope.

That's what Pete had provided. Hope that things would get better.

Despite Ben's murder. Despite the men who continued to surface. Despite a disease she may have inherited.

Grabbing her bag, she walked downstairs, the smooth mahogany banister cool to her touch.

She left her tote by the door, then wove her way through the perfectly decorated home until she found the open French doors that led to the well-manicured backyard.

“I'm afraid I overslept,” she said, stepping into the sunlight.

Pete looked up. A smile spread across his face, causing a warm glow of acceptance to swell within her. How long had it been since anyone had greeted her with such a sincere look of welcome?

“I hope you slept well.” Sheila rose from her chair. “There's juice and fresh fruit on the table. Sit
next to Pete, and I'll bring out a plate of cold cuts and cheese, along with some French bread and condiments.” She reached for Pete's cup. “Can I pour you a refill?”

“Thanks, Sheila, but I can get it. And don't feel you need to feed us. Meredith and I can grab lunch at one of the local restaurants.”

“Don't be silly,” Sheila said. “In fact, why don't you stay another night?”

Brow raised, he looked at Meredith. “Do you need more time to rest?”

“Actually, I feel great.” She smiled at Sheila. “I deeply appreciate all you've done for us.”

“Nonsense, it's nothing. Besides, I'm thrilled to be able to meet you at long last. You two chat while I get lunch ready.”

Meredith poured juice and placed two slices of melon on a plate.

Pete helped her with her chair, then waited as she bowed her head and offered thanks. At the conclusion of the prayer, she raised her eyes to find him staring at her.

Her cheeks warmed, and she reached for her glass of orange juice to cover the unexpected flip-flop of her heart.

Pete sat back in his chair. “You look like you got a good night's sleep.”

“That's because I did. You and Sheila have been so kind.”

“I think Sheila enjoys having someone in the house. If we take her up on another night, we could tour the city and the surrounding area.”

His eyes twinkled, revealing his deep appreciation for the city's history. “I've met so many good people here who are proud of their heritage. Many of them talk about ancestors who were slaves, often hidden in dank basements and whisked through secret tunnels just to be free.”

Meredith had grown up in slavery. Not the type Pete talked about, but a slavery of control and manipulation.

She would have done anything to gain her freedom. Except crawl through a narrow underground tunnel.

Death paled in comparison to the terror confined places still held for her.

Thanks to Sam Collins.

Sheila appeared, carrying a large tray of food. “Lunch is ready,” she sang out, arranging the assortment of cold cuts and cheese on the table where Meredith and Pete sat.

Throughout the meal, their conversation focused on Savannah and the charm of the historic district. Meredith ate heartily, surprising herself with her
appetite. She was equally surprised at how comfortable she felt sitting next to Pete, as if she'd known him for a lifetime.

After they finished, Sheila scooted her chair back from the table and patted Meredith's arm. “I may be butting in where I shouldn't, but as I told you, Eve and I are friends.”

Sheila pursed her lips. “You know about her medical condition, and I'm sure Pete mentioned the importance of being tested for VHL. If you feel up to it, he could draw your blood today and send it out to the lab we use so you can have the results that much sooner.”

Before Meredith could comment, Sheila turned to Pete. “You can get everything you need at the Institute. It's not far from here. Barbara McSwain is on duty today. I can call ahead and let her know you're coming.”

Much as Meredith wasn't ready to be tested, if Pete left the house, she could bid goodbye to Sheila and disappear into the city while he was gone.

Last night she had spied a number of R
OOM-TO-RENT
signs in the older section. She also recalled seeing a public health clinic where she could get prenatal care.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Meredith said, hoping her enthusiasm didn't seem forced.

Sheila stepped inside to make the phone call while Pete leaned across the table and reached for her hand.

“You're making the right decision,” he said. “Adrenal tumors could come into play during delivery. If your doctor knows what to expect, you'll be in less danger.”

She pulled her hand back. “Danger?”

“High blood pressure is the main complication.”

“Could it affect the baby?”

The way he shrugged off the question was more telling than if he'd used medical jargon to define the problem. More good news.

“It's not something to worry about at this point,” he assured her. “You may not even have the disease. That's why testing is important.”

He glanced at his watch. “If I go to the Institute now, I can have your samples ready for pickup this afternoon. The sooner you know the results, the better.”

Pete hurried across the stone patio and entered the house. A few seconds later, he stuck his head through the open French doors and said something to her.

But she was still trying to process this new glitch: that high blood pressure could place her baby at risk. “Pardon?”

“I said I'll put your bag in my car.” He disappeared again.

Dropping her napkin on the table, she pushed her chair back and hurried after him.

“Pete?” she called out as she threw open the front door.

His Jeep was already at the end of the block. He turned left and drove out of sight.

Her plan to leave while he was at the Institute wouldn't work. Not when he had the bag that contained the baby quilt she'd made, each stitch filled with love for her unborn child.