The Widow of Saunders Creek (33 page)

Swallowing down my fear, hurt, sorrow, and guilt, I stopped at the bottom of the porch. I didn’t want to go any farther if Jarrod’s folks didn’t want me here.

“Well, it’s about time you got yourself over here, gal,” Fred said. He smoked a pipe, and talked around it.

“Yes sir,” I said. “I’m so sorry it’s taken this long to come by.”

“We thought maybe you just been hurtin’ too bad to see Jarrod’s folks.” His gaze narrowed. “That it?”

I wasn’t going to lie to this man. “Partly.”

He puffed on his pipe. Raindrops began to fall on me, but he still didn’t invite me onto the covered porch, and I didn’t impose. “Partly, eh? What was the other part?”

The screen door opened and Liz reappeared. “Good Lord, Fred! Why didn’t you ask Corrie onto the porch?”

“Figured she’d come on up iffen she wanted.”

“You know well and good our Corrie wasn’t raised that way. You
have to ask her. She’s got manners.” She turned to me. “Honey, get out of the rain before you get soaked. I brung you some tea. It’s good and sweet just the way you always liked it.”

I stared at her. Then him. And I saw Jarrod. I remembered how I loved listening to these two and their incessant, but oddly affectionate, bickering. Tears began to trail down my cheeks, and the sobs began. I dropped to my knees in the grass at the bottom of the steps. I clutched my gift to my chest and wept. Somehow, Mrs. Saunders had descended the steps and knelt beside me. I clung to her, and we held each other for I don’t know how long. The rain was still falling when, finally, we climbed the steps, still in each other’s arms. We sat on the swing, soaked, cried out, but reunited in our grief over Jarrod’s death.

Even Fred teared up when I presented them with the flag that had covered Jarrod’s coffin. “But that’s for you, Corrie,” he said.

I shook my head. “If I had a son, I’d keep it. But it should go to you.”

He gathered me close and held me. “It’s good to have you back, gal.”

I stayed at the Saunders’ home for hours. We looked through photos, and I listened to stories about Jarrod’s childhood. We cried together and laughed together. I felt safe, wrapped in wings of love. We lost track of time until Fred announced he was going to starve to death if he didn’t get some supper.

Gasping, I jumped up from my seat at the kitchen table. Eli would be at my house any minute. “I have to go,” I said. “I’m late for dinner with Eli.”

Fred and Liz gazed at each other. Silent words passed between them.

I hadn’t told them that I wanted to start dating Eli, and even
though I knew I had a perfect right, I hated the pain in their eyes. I sat back down. “You know I’ll always love Jarrod.”

Liz reached out and covered my hand with hers. “We know, Corrie, honey. We couldn’t pick a better man for you to love again than Eli.”

“Well, it’s only dinner.”

She nodded. “Jarrod wouldn’t want you to be alone, and life is too short to spend it grieving.”

“You said that really good, hon,” Fred said, his faded brown eyes misty. Jarrod had been the image of this man in his youth, and as I looked at him now, I imagined what we might have been as an older couple.

“No one will ever take his place in my heart.”

Liz’s hand trembled on top of mine. “I know. Now you go and have a fine time with Eli. We’ve always said God must be saving him for the best girl out there. Looks like that might be you.”

I didn’t bother to say “It’s only dinner” again. In my heart, I knew better. And as I said good-bye and drove home, I realized there was a new place in my heart with Eli’s name on it.

Corrie’s Jeep was gone when I arrived to pick her up for dinner. I walked around to the back of the house and sat on the deck, enjoying the cool air the rain had brought. I dialed her number, just to make sure she was okay, but when it went to voice mail, I smiled. She must have just run out for a quick errand if she forgot to grab her phone. I relaxed into the cushions and allowed the breeze to flow over me. The sky had grown darker again as clouds continued to roll in.

After a clap of thunder, I heard a little whine that sounded like one
of the cats might be in trouble. Normally, I left the barn cats alone, and they left everyone else alone, but since Corrie had made an attempt at domesticating “Kitty,” he showed up from time to time to cozy up long enough for her to give him something to eat. If she didn’t love him so much, I’d have left him, but I knew she would go looking for him the second she heard that distressed meow.

Better me than her. I walked toward the old barn that hadn’t been used for anything since Pop passed away. Without Pop to take care of the place, Granny had sold off all the cattle and horses. I would have stayed longer, but she hadn’t wanted to keep me from my dream of going to seminary. At least, that’s what she’d said.

I opened one side of the heavy double barn doors and went in. I called out “Here, Kitty, Kitty,” feeling stupid for doing it. But I also felt a little heroic. The whining was coming from high above, and I realized with a slight groan that he must be in the loft. That explained why he was whining. He must have gotten up and now couldn’t get down.

I went to the ladder, and it struck me just how hard I’d fallen for this girl. I wouldn’t have climbed an old barn ladder to the loft to rescue a bawling cat for just anyone. “Kitty,” I called. “Come here, you dumb animal.” I climbed a few more steps, hoping without much conviction that he would just come to me.

I heard Corrie’s Jeep coming up the road and turned for a second toward the sound. As I turned back to the ladder, my equilibrium left me, and I felt a weight slam against my chest. A face in the loft loomed over me. I tried desperately to regain my footing, but I knew in a sickening beat that this could be my time. I fell twelve feet. My body landed hard, and I lost my breath as my head connected with old, stale hay on a hard earth floor.

More thundershowers were moving in, and as I crested the hill that rose to my drive, my heart sped up. Eli’s truck sat in front of my house. Thankfully, he had waited—not that I’d really doubted he would. I glanced around, but I didn’t see him. I remembered he had a key to the house. Still, I was a bit surprised that he would let himself in when there wasn’t an emergency. I didn’t mind. I was just surprised. I killed the motor and headed to the house but stopped short. My trash cart was tipped over, presumably from the storm. I righted it, glad none of the garbage had scattered. The container was still firmly shut.

I hurried around to the back and tried the doorknob, but found it unyielding. If Eli had gone inside, he’d locked the door behind him. I slid the house key into the lock and turned the knob.

“Eli?” I called out. “Hey, did you use your key? It’s okay if you did.”

I walked around a little, knowing he wouldn’t go upstairs, even if he did come inside. He had too much respect for my privacy. Had he gone to the bridge?

I dismissed the thought as unlikely. The guy wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t do that with a storm coming on.

As if to echo my thoughts, the sky let loose with a loud crack of thunder that shook my house. I walked into the kitchen and saw I had a missed call on my phone. I picked it up. Eli had called just a few
minutes ago. I rested my hands on my hips and glanced around the room, truly perplexed.

“Eli!” I don’t know why I called out again when it was clear he wasn’t in the house. Maybe it was because I suddenly had a sense of foreboding. And then I felt the presence that Eli had sent away only hours earlier.

Dread made its way through me as I realized my reprieve had been short lived and, as Eli had promised, the evil spirit had returned. My heartbeat quickened as my stomach roiled from the sudden foul odor wafting through the room. That was something new. I recognized its malevolence, and everything in me wanted to run away.

My brain muddled. I knew there was something I could do, something I could say, but fear paralyzed me.
Eli, where are you?

For some reason, the image of my trash cart lying on the ground flashed to mind. Then it struck me: the painting hadn’t been there, where Eli left it. My mind tried to rationalize. Eli must have decided to take it somewhere on the property and permanently destroy the thing. Maybe even burn it.

But no.

I knew where it was, and my body went weak with fear.

The water faucet turned on, and water poured in full force down the sink. I wanted to whimper,
Help me, God. I don’t know what to do
.

My eyes found the Bible on the table, still open. In my mind’s eye, I could see the wings surrounding the soldier and child in my painting. I walked to the table and lifted the open Bible. I heard a crash behind me and spun around. My coffeepot lay on the floor, the decanter broken into shards of glass.

Anger flooded me. I knew I would have to confront this spirit if I was going to live in my home. I could move away, as Eli said, but I didn’t want to. I loved this house, and I had a right to live here. That thing didn’t.

I didn’t have the courage to close my eyes, but I lifted a prayer just the same.
Tell me what to do, God
.

I had seen the demon leave this morning when Eli spoke. I searched my memories for the right thing to say. Doubt assailed me as I felt my hair being tugged. Would it even listen to me? I wasn’t Eli. I didn’t have his faith or his goodness. A second later, I remembered Eli’s admonishment: it’s not about the person, but the name.

I clutched my Bible to my chest as if it were my shield and gasped as the kitchen cabinets began to rattle. This had to stop. I was tired of this evil thing playing with my life. I was so ready to live without soul-wrenching grief and fear.

I stood in the center of the kitchen, so afraid I honestly believed I might pass out from fear. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up. It was now or never. “I know you aren’t Jarrod.” The cabinet doors banged so hard they seemed about to come off the hinges. My throat tightened, threatening to shut off my air. But somehow, I found the courage to whisper.

“You can’t stay. I want you to leave this house in Jesus’s name. And don’t come back.”

The cabinet doors stopped banging; the water stopped pouring from the faucet. The putrid smell dissolved, and I was left holding my breath, waiting.

I remained still, as peace flooded the room and washed over me.
Standing there I came to realize that Sam and Eli had been so right. My breathing returned to normal, and I stood in wonder that so much power resides in one simple name. All these years I had lived without the Person behind the power, but He had come through for me despite my failure to so much as acknowledge Him in years.

I climbed the steps to my bedroom and was not at all surprised to see that the painting had been returned. I stepped in, bolstered by what had happened downstairs. I walked to the painting and grabbed it. Once outside, I marched to the trash cart. I slammed the painting onto the ground, knowing this time it would not be coming back into my house. For Billy’s sake, I hated to trash it. No artist wants to have his work tossed out like that, but I had to make an exception this time.

As I turned around to head back to the house, I saw movement from the barn. From my vantage point, I saw the barn door swing open and bang shut.

Eli? I couldn’t imagine why he’d want to go to the barn, especially when it was about to storm. Surely he’d be in any second. The wind caught the barn door again and blew it open.

I approached cautiously, knowing there were loose boards on the ground and scrap metal here and there. I’d planned to clean it up eventually, but the guys hadn’t gotten to that yet since we’d focused on the house remodel. I caught the door midswing as the wind whipped at my skirt and blew my hair across my face.

I walked inside. “Eli?” The door slammed hard behind me, and I jumped as it opened again with a groan. And then I heard another groan. It sounded human. Just then my eyes caught movement in the darkened old building. “Oh my goodness! Eli!”

I rushed to the side of the room and knelt down next to him. Barely conscious, he mumbled as blood stained the hay beneath his head. My phone was inside, so I lifted his cell phone from his front shirt pocket.

“Pushed,” he mumbled.

“Shh,” I said. “Don’t try to tell me what happened yet. I’m going to call for an ambulance.”

His breathing was ragged, and I wondered if he had fluid filling his lungs.
That’s it
, I told myself.
No more
Grey’s Anatomy
for me
.

I dialed 911 and dispatch answered within a couple of rings. “I need an ambulance,” I said. I gave the rural address and then told him point-by-point directions. I gave him Eli’s phone number and insisted he call if they got lost. “Hurry,” I said. “I don’t know for sure what happened.”

“Is he conscious, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.

“Barely. Please, just hurry.”

I knelt next to him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Somehow, his hand was between my hands, and I kissed it over and over. “Eli, listen to me,” I said as my heart nearly exploded with fear that he wouldn’t recover from whatever had happened here. “You’re going to have to fight. I’m not strong enough to lose the only two men I’ve ever loved in less than eight months.”