Sanctuary (17 page)

Above them, on a makeshift clothesline, were quilted wall hangings with appliquéd pictures prominently pieced in—a woman wearing a sunbonnet and hanging out her wash featured each small item of clothing hanging free, attached only at the very top. So clever.

“The ‘
Sundries
’ part of the sign out front are
my
things,” Lela said, laughing.

“Since Auntie isn’t Amish,” Mary Jane spoke up.

“I see,” Melissa said, playing along. “But if she were Amish, what then?”

“The sign might just say
Amish Store
. Ain’t so, Mama?”

Elizabeth nodded with a smile, straightening a pile of tablecloths, then moved to the area where faceless dolls were lined up on a shelf. “My youngest sister, Emma, makes these.”

Going over to look at the cute little dolls, Melissa noticed that the boy dolls had tiny suspenders and black felt hats. “These look tedious to make.”

“Oh my, are they ever,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t see how Emma does it, workin’ all day long on ’em.”

“She must have good eyes,” Lela added. “I’d sure hate to have to fool with such wee things.”

Mary Jane came over for a closer look at the dolls’ clothing. She removed a hat from the boy doll’s head and, inspecting it closely, said, “I think
I
could prob’ly sew up a hat like this someday.”

“Jah, someday you will, dear,” Elizabeth agreed.

Just then several cars pulled into the barnyard. Melissa felt the old panic return, but when the customers entered the little store, she realized they were harmless. Just tourists eager to load up on the “real thing,” said one. They had come to buy souvenirs and Christmas gifts “to take back home.”

“No one would believe this place exists,” said another with a laugh.

Isn’t that the truth?
thought Melissa.

When they returned to Lela’s home, Melissa asked if she could do a small load of laundry, since she’d brought so few clothes with her. Lela cheerfully obliged, and when the clothes were dried and folded, Melissa asked her to please check for phone messages. There were none.

Her spirits plummeted, but her impatience bolstered her resolve.
I can’t wait any longer
. “Do you mind if I use your phone?” she asked.

“Not a’tall.” Lela discreetly left the room, going to sit in the living room while Melissa made her call.

She removed a slip of paper from her pocket, then dialed quickly, hoping to get through this time. No more leaving Lela Denlinger’s phone number on an answering machine. She needed answers—now. She wondered what Lela would think if she knew who Melissa was calling. Would the young Mennonite woman be frightened and ask her to leave?

She heard a click. “FBI,” a male voice answered.

Finally … her contact
.

“This is Melissa James,” she identified herself. “Why haven’t you—”

“Melissa? Where are you?” came the suddenly tense reply.

She paused, bewildered over his strained tone. “I left a phone number last Friday night. No one got back with me.”

“We’ve been calling the entire weekend,” he insisted. “Tell me the number again, in case something happens or we get disconnected.”

Confused, Melissa held up the phone and began reading off Lela’s phone number. “Wait.” She stopped after reading the first three digits. She saw her mistake. In her haste she must have given the wrong number last Friday night.

Unbelievable
. After all this time, they
had
been trying to reach her. She finished giving the correct phone number.

“Confirm the address.”

Melissa told him, then paused. “I was followed, but I lost him.”

The man exhaled loudly. “We’ve got to get you out of there.”

“No … I’m safe here.”

“Listen, your life may be—”

“I left my husband behind because you insisted I flee. You didn’t answer my questions then, so now I’m asking again—why did I have to leave my home?”

“It was imperative you leave, Melissa. By your own admission, you may have been in imminent danger. Our nearest agent was an hour away. But now we must speak with you … in person.”

Something was horribly wrong
. Doom was palpable. She heard it in his voice.

Her stomach knotted up. She leaned hard on the counter, breathless with worry, waiting for her world to come to a complete end. “It’s about Ryan, isn’t it?” she said at last.

The agent ignored her. “We can be at your location within ten minutes.”

“The truth,” she said simply with resignation. “I must know about my husband.”

Terrifying images swept through her mind. She recoiled in horror. The room began spinning like a time capsule. She was ten again, black-and-white police cars were flashing in front of Daddy’s little house. A woman in a blue uniform gently but firmly sat her down, telling her that her father had gone to heaven.
What do you mean? I just saw him this morning. Daddy dropped me off at school….

The nightmare was happening again. She felt, for a moment, Mrs. Browning’s loving arms about her, soothing her.
“There, there, dearie, I’m here. Your Mrs. Browning will see to you… .”

See to you …

She shivered, thinking of the precious woman. But Mrs. Browning wasn’t here to pick up the pieces of her life this time. Angrily, Melissa shook her head. Hot tears spilled down her face. She felt she might erupt with rage.

You told me Ryan would be safe!
She directed her thought to the FBI agent.

Teeth clenched, anticipating the worst, she waited for the agent to continue. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, gentler, as if attempting to console her. “Melissa … I have some upsetting news. It’s about your husband, Ryan James….”

  
Chapter Twenty-One
  

AS GOD AS HER WITNESS, Lela did not wish to eavesdrop on Melissa’s phone conversation. Yet she
had
heard bits and pieces, and she was greatly troubled. Could it be that Melissa’s husband was in danger? She refused to think the worst, though Mellie’s angry words echoed through the house—“I must know about my husband… .”

Now Mellie was venting her anger into the telephone, shouting at whoever was on the line. Then a period of calm followed. Silence overtook the place.

Last came weeping. “No … no, it can’t be… .” Mellie’s voice carried into the small living room. “You must be wrong.”

Not knowing what to say or do, Lela prayed silently.
Lord, please help Melissa with whatever it is … let me be a comfort
.

Suddenly, she heard Melissa shout into the phone, “I don’t believe you! Just leave me alone!” Abruptly, she returned the phone to its cradle.

Worried, Lela rose from her chair. She went to the kitchen where the girl was sobbing inconsolably. “Mellie?” she whispered.

Making eye contact with her, Melissa stammered through her tears, “I need to get my car. I have to leave.”

“Sure, Mellie, but are you … will you be all right?”

Melissa shook her head. “Nothing’s ever going to be all right again.”

Picking up the phone, Lela quickly dialed the number for Thaddeus King. Meanwhile, Melissa rushed upstairs, still weeping. Thankfully, Elizabeth answered on the second ring. Lela told her sister that Melissa would be over soon to get her car. She hung up just as Melissa reached the entryway with her overnight case, fumbling through her purse. Approaching her, Lela prayed silently for divine guidance, observing Melissa’s obvious frustration.

Turning to face her, with plaintive eyes, Melissa said, “I forget how much I owe you.”

“Oh … well, it’s thirty dollars per night. You’ve been here three nights total.”

Melissa shuffled through a number of bills in her wallet—more money than Lela had seen in a long time—handing over five twenties. “This should cover it. Keep the change.”

Meekly, she received the money. “Can I help you in any way?” Lela asked, her heart going out to the disturbed woman.

Tears welled up, and Melissa’s lip quivered as she shook her head no. She juggled her overnight case and purse and headed for the door, then stopped abruptly, as if someone had spoken her name, calling her back.

Lela’s own tears kept her from seeing clearly, yet she was hoping, perhaps, that the poor thing had changed her mind. Oh, more than anything, she wanted to help.

Melissa inched forward, making another attempt to exit. Yet once again she halted. Sighing ever so deeply, she set her overnight case down with some degree of resignation. Hugging herself, she seemed to stare past the door. Her expression changed from fear to grief. A pallor descended over her. “I can’t go back. Can’t
ever
go back,” she whispered.

Seizing the opportunity, Lela reached out a hand. “Please stay longer, Mellie … as long as you like.”

The young woman turned, her face a contortion of pain and sadness. Lela did what she knew best—she opened her arms to the hurting soul, and Melissa fell into them, sobbing without restraint.

After a time Melissa said she was tired and needed to lie down.

“May I steep some tea for you to take to your room?” Lela offered.

Mellie declined, desperation on her face. She made her way up the steps, slowly, methodically, lost in her anguish.

Thinking it wise to follow closely, Lela kept an eye on Melissa as the young woman went to the spare room, where she finally lay on the bed, breathing heavily.

“Oh, Ryan,” whispered Mellie again and again. “Not you, too.”

Lela pulled up the handmade quilt at the foot of the bed, placing it over Mellie’s quivering body. The swollen red eyelids had closed, shutting out the world.

Watching over Mellie just now, Lela was reminded of the times she’d stood silently near the beds of her sleeping nieces and nephews. As if her presence were somehow consoling, though she took no pride in it.

When it seemed Melissa’s breathing had slowed to a steadier rate, Lela felt the Lord prompting her to pray. She reached down and touched Melissa’s arm lightly.
Father in heaven, please comfort this your dear one. Enfold her in your loving arms, for Jesus’ sake. Amen
.

Sleep came at last. Lela left the room. She must phone Elizabeth right quick, let her know that Melissa would not be needing her car. Not just yet.

Periodically throughout the afternoon, Lela checked in on her guest, but Melissa, sleeping soundly, did not stir once. It was well past five o’clock when Lela made another round past the spare room. She found Melissa sitting at the edge of the bed, looking a bit groggy, a sad, lost look in her eyes.

“May I get some tea for you now?” she asked, tapping the door that stood slightly ajar.

Attempting a weak smile—perhaps trying to acknowledge Lela’s generosity—Melissa’s face was stony white. “I should go,” she said blankly, “back to Connecticut.”

Lela was filled with dismay. Melissa was in no shape to drive any distance, much less all that way. “I thought you said … you could never return.”

Melissa looked up at her, eyes glistening anew. “You’ve been so kind to me, Lela. It wouldn’t be right for me to stay longer.”

“Well, why not?”

Melissa’s eyes lowered. “My life’s in danger. I can’t put you in jeopardy. If I stay … he might find me.”

“
Who
will?” Lela was stunned by Melissa’s admission. Perhaps, though, the young woman was just confused. Lela sat on the bed, turning her gaze back to Melissa. “Does someone want to hurt you?”

Nodding, Melissa leaned her head into her fists, beginning to cry.

“Does that person know where you are?” she probed gently.

“I don’t see how … but it’s still too dangerous.”

“I believe God will keep you safe here, Mellie. He is bigger than the evil around us,” Lela said. “Our help cometh from the Lord,” she whispered.

Melissa looked doubtful. “Can God stop bullets?”

Lela’s breath caught in her throat.
What sort of trouble is Melissa in anyhow?
she thought, not letting on. Bravely she smiled. “Are you in some kind of trouble … with the law, I mean?”

Melissa smiled crookedly. “No.”

“Should we call the police?”

“They’ll do nothing. And he’d find me for sure.”

“You’ll be all right here till you decide what to do. We’ll trust in the Lord.”

“Why are you willing to take the chance?”

Lela felt the assurance rise up in her. “Truth is, I’ve seen the miracle-working power of God in this community.”

Melissa’s gaze held hers, as though searching, hoping for truth, then she shook her head, lying back on the bed. “God doesn’t answer my prayers.”

“Mellie—”

Melissa shook her head, then closed her eyes again, hugging herself tightly, as if hiding from the world. Lela reached down, pulled the covers over her guest, and left the room.

The next morning Lela knocked on Melissa’s door. The door was ajar, and she saw that Mellie was up, sitting in a chair, pale and listless. “Were you able to sleep much at all?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“What would you like to eat?”

“Only some juice, thanks.”

Lela headed downstairs to fix breakfast. Maybe if Melissa smelled the food cooking, her nose would prod her stomach. How important that the girl keep up her strength. Especially being so emotionally overwrought.

Pouring batter into her waffle iron, she kept an eye on the eggs frying and bacon sizzling. She set the table, placing a small cluster of flowers in a vase for the centerpiece.

When the table was ready, she heard footsteps on the stair and caught a glimpse of Melissa coming through the kitchen, heading toward the sun porch. “It’s another nice day,” she called to her. “Go ahead, have yourself a look round the garden.”

Melissa obliged and went outside. Lela could see her looking out over the pastureland to the east. She seemed motionless, quite forlorn.

After a time Lela carried a tray of freshly squeezed orange juice outside, offering some to Melissa, who accepted it graciously. “This may help to make you feel better,” Lela said, hoping it would.

Their eyes met. “You remind me so much of …”

“Who?” Lela asked, curious to know.

“My best friend … Mrs. Browning.”

Lela was glad to see Melissa coming out of her shell a bit. “Did you know each other from school?”

“No, she was lots older. She took care of me after …” She paused as tears filled her eyes. “My friend was like a mother to me.”

“Where is she now?”

Melissa bit her lip. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Browning in years. I used to talk to her about everything. I miss her so much.”

“Some people say
I’m
a good listener.”

Melissa nodded, her face drawn. “I know you are.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but if you feel like talking, I’m here for you. All right?”

The poor thing looked away, out toward the distant horizon. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” she said, her voice low. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’ve lost my identity … and my husband in the same lifetime. Everything important to me is gone… .” Her voice trailed off and her shoulders shook with fresh waves of grief.

Lela was stunned, allowing her guest to sob out her pain. She wished she might comfort the poor girl, but she was unsure of what to do, considering Melissa’s secrecy.

After a time she headed back into the house to check on the breakfast in the warming oven. Eventually Melissa followed and sat at the table, preoccupied as she reached for her cloth napkin and placed it solemnly in her lap.

Lela served up eggs and bacon, along with the waffles. “Sometimes when I need solitude, I take long walks,” she said. “There’s a beautiful place almost a mile from here. I call it my sanctuary, but it’s not mine, really. Still, I can go and sit on the banks of the Conestoga River and talk to the Lord.”

“Where is it?” Melissa asked.

“Did you come in by way of Hunsecker Mill Bridge?”

“Is that the covered bridge?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Sometime, we’ll go for a walk there.” Melissa seemed remotely interested. “I saw the bridge by moonlight last Friday evening. “