Sanctuary (11 page)

“I hope I’m not interrupting your work.”

She shook her head. “I’ve been painting for hours, so … no.” She removed the canvas, then folded the tripod. “Sit with me?” she asked, sitting down on the beach, demurely crossing her legs. Ryan joined her as they faced the ocean together.

She turned to look at him. “I’m glad you came. Haven’t seen you for a while.” She broke into another grin. “Suzie must’ve told you I was here.”

He let out a short, nervous laugh. “You must get a lot of guys asking for your number.”

She shrugged and removed the canvas. “It happens. Just not the
right
guys.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. I’m not usually such a flirt.”

Surprised by her openness, Ryan wondered what had happened to his shy, reticent waitress. “You don’t have to flirt with me.”

“Why’s that?”

He wanted to say,
Because you had me from the first day I saw you… .
But he didn’t. He just shrugged, tongue-tied.

She laughed softly, elbowing his arm. “You’re kind of shy.”

Humored by the irony, Ryan replied, “You wouldn’t think so … if you knew me.”

“I hope to have that chance,” she said, not missing a beat.

He turned to face her, but she looked away, toward the clouds, at the fragments of sunshine peeking through. “I love New England, but I wish it were sunnier here,” she remarked.

“More like Minnesota?”

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then regarded him mischievously. “You remembered.”

“I listened,” Ryan replied.

“Actually, Minnesota isn’t consistently sunny, either.” Then she paused. “So … do you remember my nickname, too?”

“Sure …” He paused, too, for effect.

“Well?”

“It’s Mellie.”

“Wow! I
am
impressed.”

Their attention was distracted by a large sailboat, traveling south toward the outer ocean. “Have you been sailing yet?” he asked.

“No, but I’d
love
to go. Do you sail?”

“Yeah, but you can’t go with me, you know. You shouldn’t trust strangers,” he said with a wink and a grin.

She nodded, as if giving his remark serious attention. “Well then, we’ll just have to go sailing on our
second
date.” She raised her eyebrows. “What do you say?”

“Confident, aren’t we?” He liked her spunk.

“Just hopeful.” Her expression turned more serious and she appraised him gently, her eyes a soft blue green. “I
didn’t
trust you at first, you know. I don’t trust most people.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” he said softly. “Why did you change your mind?”

She grimaced a bit. “It’s silly, I guess.”

But he prodded her, had to know.

She was coy but met his gaze as if searching for an appropriate response. “Maybe it was … your eyes.” She bit her lower lip, stifling a giggle, gauging his expression.

He laughed. “You’re flirting again.”

“Maybe.”

A knowing look passed between them, and Ryan realized he’d succeeded at last. He had won her over. Their natural rapport, so-called love at first sight—a bit of a sputter initially—roared into full-blown romance. From that moment on they became inseparable.

A few months later, after a whirlwind courtship, they married on the stone pier, just before sunset.

Ryan finished their love story, waiting for Denny’s reaction.

Tossing a pebble into the water, Denny stood and brushed sand from his slacks. “Why the sudden change in her behavior?” he asked skeptically.

“I never knew exactly. She just decided to … trust me.”

Denny nodded, apparently lost in thought. Then—“Maybe you should’ve wondered if you could trust
her
. You knew so little about her.”

“Maybe so.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Ryan led the way back, plodding toward the stone pier. They climbed the ridge and headed back to the car.

Reaching the Bronco, Ryan unlocked the car, but Denny leaned on the door without getting in. “Listen, I didn’t mean to pry, okay?”

“Yeah, you are a bit on the nosy side,” he quipped, looking back toward the ridge.
Their
beach.

“So what’s the next step in finding Melissa?” Denny asked, doing it again.

“If I haven’t heard from Melissa by Monday, I’ll report her credit cards and cell phone. Hopefully trace her location.”

Denny frowned, reaching for the car door. “I guess I’m not very good at this waiting game.”

He had to smile. “Sure you are. You’ve waited years for me. You know—Christianity and all?”

They got in the car. “I’m
still
waiting,” Denny said.

“See? You have the patience of a saint.”

“You’re quoting Revelation, my pagan friend.” Denny grinned and shook his head in mock disgust.

Ryan was glad to be heading home as he pulled out of the parking space and onto the road. There was little left to be said as dusk delivered a panorama of color. Perhaps a sign of hope….

  
Chapter Fourteen
  

RYAN CHECKED THE DIGITAL CLOCK on his nightstand. 4:21. In a couple of hours, dawn. He pushed on his pillow, turning away from the window, struggling to recall what day it was.

Sunday …

His friend, Denny Franklin, was sleeping down the hall in the guest room. Daisy was … where? Sitting up, he peered around the dimly lit room. He spied the dog sprawled on the floor, her head draped over one of Ryan’s slippers.

Sleep on, girl
.

Melissa, on the other hand, was probably holed up in a motel somewhere. Did she miss him? Was she lonely?

Mellie … call me. Pick up the phone, let me know you’re okay
.

An image flickered in his memory, and stumbling out of bed, he located Melissa’s note on the dresser. Holding it again, he relived the first moment of discovery, two days ago. He lay on the bed again and pushed back the covers, feeling as if
he
were the one awakening in a strange motel, in an unfamiliar town….

Daisy roused a bit and pattered over to the edge of the bed. Placing her paws on the mattress, she hesitated as if reconsidering the height.

“Come on, girl,” Ryan replied, patting the bed. “S’okay.” Suddenly confident, Daisy burst from the floor, landing awkwardly on his stomach.

“Umph!”

The dog went straight for his face, blanketing him with sloppy saliva. He covered his face with his hands, protecting himself from the barrage. “Too early to play,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

Daisy stopped and began to whine. Following her gaze to Mellie’s side of the bed, Ryan felt renewed sadness. “I know, girl. I miss her, too.”

Still whimpering, Daisy snuggled into the cavity at his side, and Ryan stroked her fur, attempting to comfort his pet. Yet his own fears remained undiminished.

Melissa sat at the window watching the rising sun wink through the trees. Birds twittered in a large oak tree just outside the window, and beyond Lela’s abode, farmers finished up early-morning milking, no doubt their stomachs rumbling for breakfast.

Having slept more soundly than the previous night, she felt better. Hiding her car away had served to lessen her worries, and she’d written her message to Ryan at last—a loving memo that told him she was safe. He would be somewhat relieved, she knew, though he would still wonder where she was and why she had left him.

Relax now
, she told herself, still wondering why the expected phone call had not come. Returning from town yesterday afternoon, she’d inquired of Lela if there had been any calls or messages. “Not once has the phone rung,” Lela told her, removing two plump pies from the oven.

Concealing her disappointment, Melissa climbed the stairs to her rented room. The weekend was possibly the holdup. Surely by Monday she would hear something. For now she ought to use this time to unwind, take advantage of the gentle setting, this quaint society of people, seemingly set in the middle of the nineteenth century.

Reaching up, she slid back the Priscilla curtains slightly, seeing the many horse-drawn carriages going up the narrow lane—more of them than yesterday. Quite a parade of them, heading … where? To a common church building, perhaps. At breakfast, she would ask Lela where Amish folk went en masse.

Here she was, the second day away from home. Lela had seemed agreeable about allowing her to stay another night. In fact, she assumed that Lela was enjoying the company, since she seemed to be going out of her way to serve hot meals, home-baked goodies, and delicious cold drinks. For a woman thirty-something, it seemed strange that she had no work outside the home. So the extra income was surely welcome.

Kneeling beside the chair, Lela folded her hands in prayer. “Dear Lord, please make me a blessing to my houseguest this day.” On behalf of her additional concerns, she prayed about her great-aunt’s ill health, a friend’s pending marriage, and a second cousin’s need for direction in ministry. She also breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for God’s abundant blessings. The earlier sense of doom had vanished completely.

Her father had taught her and her siblings to lift high the name of the Lord in gratitude for all He had done in their lives and in the lives of those around them. “We must never live unto ourselves,” he would often say. “Yet we must surely recognize what a blessing our heritage is, a privilege, really, to serve the Lord.”

“Now, Pop,” her mother would sometimes chide him, “we aren’t any better for being Plain than the next person.”

“Well, now that’s the truth,” Papa might say. Yet Lela felt her father was a little bit proud of his spiritual heritage, the fact that for more than four generations, there were God-fearing Mennonites on both sides of the family tree.

All well and good
, she thought, getting up from her morning prayer. Yet she knew the importance of a person yielding his or her heart to the Savior—a personal relationship—not relying on the faith of others who’d gone before. With all her heart, she yearned for God and His ways. She longed to be a servant, as the Lord was to His own disciples while here on earth. In spite of her meager means, she wanted to be a giver, as well.

She remembered a poem Mama had taught her as a child, about the camel. He kneels in the morning to take the burden upon his back and kneels again in the evening to have it removed. Her prayer ritual went something like that, too, she sometimes felt. Not that she was weighed down with the cares of life like some folk, no. But she was a willing vessel, prepared to lay down her life if need be to show love for others. “Shake me, Lord. May I hurt for my neighbor who may not know your saving grace,” she often prayed.

Today she wept on her knees. “Help me build bridges to a lost world … beginning with Melissa.”

The dear girl was clearly perplexed, suffering. When Melissa had inquired about phone calls, Lela was sure she saw grave concern in the blue eyes. Who or what was the woman afraid of? And what was so urgent as to keep waiting for a call, not to mention hiding her car?

Sometimes in the past twenty-four hours, just thinking on it, Lela was tempted to give way to fear herself—having such an apprehensive person in the house. Truth was, she’d prayed Melissa into her care last Friday evening. So without a shadow of doubt, she knew the Lord had sent the woman her way.

Hours later, sleep coming in snatches, Ryan slipped out from under the covers, leaving Daisy to nap in the bed. Tossing his robe aside, he showered, dressed, then headed down the hall, looking in through the partially open door to Denny’s room. Bed made … room empty. Denny was an early riser. He found his friend sitting in the living room, reading his Bible.

“Are you up for some church after breakfast?” he asked, expecting Denny to fall off the sofa in shock.

“That’s
my
line,” Denny said, eyes wide. “You’re not messing with my head, are you?”

“What else do we have to do today—besides wait by the phone?”

“Say no more.” Denny grabbed the phone book, flipped through the yellow pages under churches.

Ryan headed to the kitchen to cook breakfast—fried eggs, German sausage, and whole-wheat waffles—the sort of food he and Melissa rarely ate. They preferred whole-grain cereal and fresh fruit. Healthy fare.

“What about the Village Church … in Groton?” Denny called from the living room. “Okay with you?”

“Whatever you decide.” Typically, on other occasions when Denny had come to visit—if Melissa was around, that is—no one had suggested attending church. But this time things were so up in the air, it didn’t matter to Ryan how they spent the day. To some degree time had ceased. He was merely marking it, hour by hour, till Mellie contacted him.

Unaccustomed to the aroma of rich food, Daisy whined incessantly, begging for a bite. Ryan resisted Daisy’s pleading, and sat down to eat. Denny, however, gave in, tossing Daisy a taste of sausage after Ryan nodded his reluctant consent.

“You have to know, she’ll get fat,” he cautioned.

“Maybe, but she’ll love me for it,” Denny replied. “Besides, after I leave, you can put her back on a diet.”

Daisy nuzzled her head into Denny’s leg as he rubbed her neck. Then she lifted her paws to his lap—a household no-no—glancing at Ryan as if to gauge his response.

“See, she loves me best,” Denny said, giving Daisy a full rubdown.

“She craves people food. You just happen to be the delivery boy.”

“No-o,” Denny cooed at Daisy. “You love me for my mind, don’t you? Want to come home with me and have people food every day?”

Ryan chuckled. “You’re corrupting my dog.”

“Sorry, chief.”

“Would you care to go with me to the Mennonite meetinghouse today?” Lela asked her guest, serving up hot scrambled eggs and bacon.

Melissa looked up from the table, a rather startled expression on her face. “Well, I … I don’t know.” Then, quickly, “No. I’d better stay here.”

“To wait for your phone call?”

Nodding, Melissa spread rhubarb jelly on her toast. “Any other Sunday …”

“Just not today?” she said, hoping Melissa might elaborate.

“I wondered …”

“Yes?”

Melissa paused, frowning, before she continued. “Where were all the horses and buggies headed this morning?”

“Up mighty early, were you?”