Читать книгу Finding Christmas - Gail Gaymer Martin - Страница 12

Joanne pressed the telephone to her ear but heard only silence on the line.

“Hello,” she said again.

Nothing. She lowered her gaze to the caller ID. Blocked. She hated crank calls, especially now that she’d become so nervous.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice rasping with irritation. She listened for a second more until a faint sound like a moan wavered along the wire, making her neck prickle. She closed her eyes, then dropped the phone onto the cradle and sank into a kitchen chair.

The desperate moan reverberated in her ears. Voices and silent callers. How much more could she take?

She let her frustration subside, then rose and headed for the coffeepot to make coffee for Benjamin. Joanne spooned in the grounds, added water, then wandered into the living room. The clock on her cable box showed 7:47. She had expected Benjamin earlier. Uneasiness filled her, but then she laughed at herself for being so jittery.

The phone rang again and for once she didn’t jump. Joanne knew Benjamin well enough to realize he’d call if something was keeping him. She strode into the kitchen and grabbed the receiver.

“Hello,” she said, expecting Benjamin’s rich, baritone voice.

Distant unclear sounds drifted over the line, but no one spoke.

“Benjamin?”

Then she heard it again—the emptiness.

It grated on her senses like nails on a chalkboard. Her knuckles turned white against the dark beige of the phone. “Either say what you want or stop calling.” Her own determined voice startled her. As she yanked the telephone from her ear, she finally heard something, and brought the receiver back to listen.

“I—I…” A woman’s voice.

“What do you want?”

Only a sigh wrenched the silence.

Breath shot from Joanne’s lungs like air from a pricked balloon. Anger fired within her. “If you’re not going to talk, then leave me alone.”

She heard a click, then an empty line.

Joanne slammed the receiver onto the cradle.

Sick people. They had nothing better to do than harass people. Play the jokester. But it wasn’t funny. Not at all. Then her thought shifted. She recalled the voice and the foreboding. The coincidence seemed too great.

Benjamin? Was he on the way? She called his numbers and got his answering machine. She hung up. The police. She needed someone. She grabbed the telephone book from a drawer, found the number and punched the buttons. Her body trembled as she waited.

“Grosse Pointe Department of Public Safety. Officer James. May I help you?”

Joanne opened her mouth and choked on the words. “I—I’ve received some strange telephone calls.” She sounded foolish.

“What kind of calls?” the officer asked.

She gave her name and tried to explain, but the more she said, the more insane she sounded. The officer obviously didn’t see the connection between her daughter’s death three years ago and two anonymous calls. Right now, neither did she.

“Was the caller abusive or obscene? Or were you threatened in any way?”

“They were hang-ups,” she said, realizing how trivial it sounded.

“Ma’am, two hang-ups doesn’t really warrant police action. You’re welcome to call your telephone company, but unless the calls are threatening or abusive, we can’t take action. After three telephone calls from the same caller, you can contact the telephone company and then we’d be happy to take your report.”

Frustration charged through Joanne. “Thank you for your time.”

“If this continues, call your phone company and then give us a call.”

“Thanks,” she said again, and hung up feeling mortified. He’d explained twice, as if she were stupid.

Joanne eyed the clock again, wishing Benjamin were there. Her mind reeled as she wandered to the living room. She sank into a chair and her hands trembled as she ran them along the nape of her neck, thinking about the calls. Two hang-ups was nothing, just as the officer had said. So why was she distressed?

She needed Benjamin to tell her she wasn’t losing her mind. Hearing Mandy’s voice in her head had been bad enough. Now, on the anniversary of her death, anonymous calls struck her as a cruel coincidence.

She lowered her face into her hands. “Lord, why? If You love me, why are You tormenting me like this?” But beneath her frustration, she could hear Benjamin’s voice: You can’t blame God for all the evil in the world.

Joanne lowered her head to the table and wept while her prayer rose from her heart, asking the Lord to forgive her. You’ve promised to be here when I call Your name. Here I am, Father, begging for mercy.

Her mind whirring with questions, Joanne rose and dragged herself into the living room. Weariness had overcome her, and she wanted to sleep. She stood for a moment in the light of the living room and watched the snow drift to the ground—white, pure, fresh, like a baby, like Mandy had been once.

Tears pooled in Joanne’s eyes, then rolled down her cheeks in rivulets. She’d felt sorry for herself for so long, and now this woman’s voice had dragged her back into self-pity.

Joanne shook her head, trying to release her twisted thoughts. What did it matter? God knew the caller’s identity. It wasn’t her place to sit in judgment. “Lord forgive this woman,” she said aloud. “Forgive me for thinking the calls had any evil purpose. Help me find peace.”

Gooseflesh rose on Joanne’s arms as a Scripture came to her: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.” Then verses rolled through her mind: “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” She’d read similar words the other night in the Christmas story, when the angels told the shepherds not to be afraid. The words settled over her like rays of the sun. She needed peace, too. “Thank you, Lord.”

She forced herself from the window as the snow blew into drifts, preparing the earth for everyone’s dream—a white Christmas. It hadn’t been her dream, but since Benjamin had returned, he’d brought a little light into her spirit. She wanted to talk with Benjamin and hear his calm, reassuring voice.

The sound of a car caught Joanne’s attention. She rose and went to the window. Benjamin at last. She opened the door and waited.

When he saw Joanne, Benjamin knew immediately that she was distraught. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said as he stepped inside. “I couldn’t get out of the dinner, and it went on forever. You remember Greg’s long evenings. It hasn’t changed.”

“I’m just glad you came,” she said, beckoning him into the living room.

He followed her through the archway. “What’s happened? More voices?” He sank onto the sofa as she paced in front of him.

“A voice, but this time a real one.”

“A real one? What do you mean?”

“Telephone calls. I had two tonight.” She finally settled into a chair.

Benjamin winced, knowing he should have been there earlier. His chest tightened. “What kind of calls.”

“Anonymous. Nothing, but they upset me. I called the police, but they can’t do anything. I made a fool of myself.”

“No you didn’t. You felt threatened. So tell me exactly what happened.”

He listened as she detailed the incident. His mind tried to make sense of it. He understood why the police had passed it off. Two calls—hang-ups really. What could they do? “What’s going on at Solutions? Is someone frustrated with your status with the company?”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine it being anyone from there. Certainly there’s tension at times, particularly in the powwow sessions when everyone has competing ideas, but no. No one would do that.”

“What about your promotion?”

“No. It’s no one from Solutions. I’m positive.”

“You never know.” He didn’t want to remind her that most crimes involved people who were family or friends.

“When Greg was alive, I learned to tolerate such calls. I’m sure you’ve had them. They were rare. Angry defendants usually blame the prosecuting attorney.” She looked at him as if seeking validation. “But why me, and why now? It’s morbid and awful.”

“It was a wrong number or a crank call. The world has some sick people.”

“I know, but…” She rose again to gaze out the window. “I’d probably blow if off if I weren’t so jittery already.” She turned and gave him a telling look. “I’m infuriated at myself for letting it upset me.”

“You have every right to be, but don’t be angry at yourself.” He stretched his arm toward her. “Come here.”

Her look softened as she walked across the room, then sank beside him on the sofa.

“Don’t forget, if it continues you can do something,” he said. “You can change your telephone number. Have it unlisted.” A new thought struck him. “You have caller ID, right? Did you notice—”

“It was blocked. Both times. I looked.”

“It’s frustrating.” He shifted his hand and rested it on hers. Her fingers felt as cold as his had been when he arrived. Benjamin pressed his warm palm against them. “I wish I had better news, but unless you’re threatened or continue to be harassed, like the officer said, you can’t do much about it. It’s one of those things.”

Joanne gave a faint nod. “I know that now.”

“People call wrong numbers all the time, and then they’re careless enough to try the same number again. Not bright, but not uncommon. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“I hope so,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound convincing.

“Have faith, Joanne.”

On Sunday morning, Joanne slipped into Benjamin’s car.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Not much, but let’s not talk about it now,” she said.

He gave her one of those looks that let her know if she were a witness in court he wouldn’t let her get away with it, but today he would. He backed out of the driveway and headed toward the church, talking about the weather and any mundane thing that came to mind.

“How’s work?” he asked.

“It’s suffering. I’m the head of a think tank, and I doubt that I could find the solution to punch my way out of a paper sack. My co-workers are giving me strange looks.”

Benjamin didn’t respond as he nosed the car into the church parking lot. He supported her elbow as they ascended the church steps, and she gave him the best smile she could muster to reassure him that her mood had nothing to do with him. Joanne wasn’t even sure what bothered her. The woman hadn’t called since Friday night. She should be pleased, but she wasn’t.

Joanne had a difficult time thinking the woman’s calls had been a wrong number. She sensed that, like the voice, the calls meant something, but church wasn’t the place to dwell on it. Today, she needed strength and rejuvenation.

As they settled into their seats, the service began. Music rose and the congregation lifted their voices in praise. Benjamin smiled as if he was glad he came. He’d mentioned he hadn’t been to church since he’d moved back from Seattle.

Church had become a difficult place for Joanne after the funeral. Joanne knew that might sound strange to most Christians, but she and Greg had shared so much there. They’d been married and had had Mandy baptized at the same church. They had been at worship each Sunday. After he was gone, she felt abandoned by Greg and by God. Now, with Benjamin beside her, she felt complete again.

When the sermon began, the message startled Joanne. As if the pastor knew her need, he spoke about evil attacks on God’s children. “It’s like a war, a battle of good and evil. God cries to us in one ear while the sin beguiles us in the other. We need selective hearing when it comes to good and evil.

“But those who are victims of evil, remember this from Deuteronomy 23: ‘For the Lord your God moves about in your camp to protect you and to deliver your enemies to you.’ God’s children are never alone in the fight. Though all seems lost, keep your eyes pointed to heaven and your ears tuned to God’s Word. He might speak to you in a whisper, but His power is almighty. Let these words from Psalms be your prayer as you face the powers of evil. ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.’ Amen.”

As she rose for the prayers and final hymn, Benjamin glanced at her as if wondering if she’d been listening. She would assure him that she had. Having heard the message, Joanne knew she had to let God be her strength and refuge. Thank you, Lord, she said in silent prayer.

The last hymn began, and Joanne was surprised to hear Benjamin’s rich baritone voice as he belted out the last verse of “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus.”

“I needed that,” Joanne said minutes later as she slipped from her pew into the aisle.

“I did, too,” he said, sending her a tender smile.

He walked beside her into the cold, and she shuddered as they turned into the wintery wind.

“Want to stop for coffee?” Benjamin asked, slipping his arm around her shoulders as if to ward off the cold.

“That would be nice.” She glanced at him, afraid to gaze too intently. His closeness affected her in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt a familiarity she hadn’t felt since Greg died.

Benjamin nosed the car onto the highway and soon a small coffee shop appeared on the right. He pulled into the parking lot. “Is this okay?”

“Anything’s fine,” she said as she opened the door.

They hurried inside, and a waitress waved them toward a table. They ordered mugs of coffee, which were brought to their table immediately. Benjamin sipped the hot brew and Joanne lifted the cup and let the aroma surround her.

“Thanks for coming to worship with me today. I felt less lonely than I have in a long, long time.” She paused, then decided to continue. “I like the feeling.”

“So do I,” he said.

“I was thinking that you’re a glutton for punishment, though. I’m not the greatest company lately.”

She took a sip of the coffee and looked at him over the edge of the cup.

“You’ve always been good company, Joanne. You and Greg.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He set the mug on the table and leaned forward. “I think we’re avoiding something, Joanne. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s the same.” She gave a shrug. “I’m worried about the calls, yet disappointed she hasn’t called again. I need three, remember.”

He seemed to study the murky pattern in his mug.

“If I only knew what she wanted.”

He looked up. “It might have been a wrong number, and you can’t assume it’s a she, Joanne. People sometimes change their voices for crank calls.”

She saw the flicker of frustration in his eyes and felt the same emotion.

“Remember the sermon today,” he said. “God is in your camp. The Lord is your ever-present help in trouble.”

“I heard the sermon.” She immediately regretted the edge in her voice.

“I know, but believe it.”

Her terse comment hadn’t swayed him, and she felt good knowing he cared that much. She’d hurt him with her abruptness, and she longed to smooth the concerned look from his face.

“I’m so afraid when it all pans out to be nothing that you’re going to be hurt,” he said.

His hand slid over hers, and the warmth rolled up her arm. She sat a moment in silence, then drew back her shoulders and sent him a brave smile. “I’m making a big deal out of two calls. Maybe wrong numbers. Forget it. I will, too.” She rested her free hand on his shoulder. “I should have listened to you. You said tomorrow will be better. Maybe it will.”

Hearing her sound more positive lifted Benjamin’s spirits. “Good for you,” he said, tapping his index finger against her hand, hoping she’d smile. “You need a break from all of this tension. “Let’s do something fun, Joanne. Let’s be kids again and enjoy one day without thinking about all of this.”

Her brow wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, but he didn’t let the look stop him. “I’m not kidding. It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s go downtown to the Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

She gave him a disbelieving grin. “Are you sure you’re not kidding?”

“I’m not. How long has it been since you went?”

“Four years, I guess. We took Mandy when she was nearly two, but she was too young to enjoy it.”

“But did you?”

“Enjoy it? Sure. Who doesn’t love a huge parade like that one.”

“Then it’s time to go again—giant helium balloons, marching bands, floats, clowns. What do you say?”

“I say you’re ridiculous. Two adults going to a kids’ parade?”

“Let’s be kids for a day. Come on.” He chucked her under the chin, and she laughed.

“Okay, but if it’s freezing cold you’d better bring along a thermos of hot chocolate.”

“I’ll do better than that.”

Donna sat in the living room and watched Connie concentrate on her toy house. Sometimes she was amazed at the depth of love she felt for the child. She’d been her stepmother for less than three years, but time didn’t matter. Connie fulfilled her longing to be a mother, a pleasure her body would never allow her.

She remembered that when she met Carl, one of the draws for her was the child. Connie seemed so lost and so in need of a woman’s touch. Carl said he’d hired sitters to care for her, but that wasn’t a mother’s love. Donna had opened her heart to Connie.

“Can we go to the parade?” Connie asked, looking up from her playhouse. Plastic furniture and plump, molded characters were strewn across the floor.

“You mean the Thanksgiving parade?”

Connie nodded. “My friend Sarah is going. Can we go?”

Donna had never taken Connie to the parade. Carl wouldn’t take the time or effort to fight the Detroit traffic, then stand out in the cold to see the gigantic helium balloons and the floats or listen to the bands. “I’ll ask your daddy.”

Connie hung her head.

Donna realized the child knew her father too well.

“Could we go?” Connie asked.

“You mean just you and me?”

Her face brightened and she nodded.

Donna knew there were shuttle buses. Maybe if they went to Fairlane Town Center they could take public transportation. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Please.” Her blue eyes shone with excitement.

“I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do.”

Connie accepted her offer and went back to her play, while Donna closed her eyes to think. Every child deserved to see the Michigan Thanksgiving Day parade. It was televised in cities across the U.S. It seemed unfair for Connie not to go. But Carl? He wanted his Thanksgiving turkey.

Carl wanted a lot of things—and gave so little.

Donna’s thoughts slipped again into escape mode. She had made two calls to Joanne Fuller, but she’d lost her nerve. When she’d opened her mouth, her voice froze. She’d been disheartened by her actions. Donna needed to know if Connie was truly Joanne Fuller’s daughter.

She sensed Carl was having business trouble. Or he was in trouble. He would never tell her, but she’d seen his behavior change for the worse these past few months. She was certain he’d gotten into some kind of racket and that it had backfired. When Carl had problems, Donna had greater ones.

Escaping had preoccupied her mind because she feared for her life. It seemed as if Carl took out his anger and frustrations on her. Now she feared for Connie, too, and she needed to make sure she’d found Connie’s real mother. It was beyond her comprehension how Carl came to have Connie, but she felt certain she had deduced correctly. After she made sure, she would devise a plan—a plan to escape.

Wouldn’t a mother pay a great deal of money to know her daughter was alive? Money would mean nothing with a child at stake. If Donna had cash, she could get away. She could even take Connie with her. Her love for the little girl had grown as deep as if the child were her own, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

If she made Joanne Fuller believe she would lead her to her daughter, the woman might be willing to pay her, but instead of leading her to Connie, Donna could take Connie and leave the U.S. She could go to Canada or Mexico—anywhere to be free of Carl’s cruelty.

She had to think her plan through carefully. One mistake and she could scare off Joanne or get the police involved. Or worse, Carl could find out and she’d be a dead woman.