Читать книгу To Love and Honor - Irene Brand - Страница 9

Violet didn’t black out completely, and she felt Roger’s arm around her, leading her to the couch. He pressed her head forward to her knees.

“Hold on a minute.” Roger’s voice sounded a long way off. Soon, he sat beside her on the couch, supported her head and wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth. He brought a glass of water and forced a few drops between her lips. She had trouble breathing, and she gasped for air.

“Tell me I’m dreaming, Roger. I can’t believe you said what you did.”

Roger smoothed the damp hair back from her face, for he had been overzealous in wetting the cloth.

“It’s true, Violet. I received a call about her a few minutes ago.”

Violet caught his hand. “Tell me everything.”

“Linda Conley, a life prisoner, has terminal cancer, with a life expectancy of six months. They’re looking for her next of kin to give her a home so she won’t have to die in prison.”

Violet shuddered and shook her head in disbelief, grasping Roger’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “Roger, you can’t understand what you’ve just said to me. I’ve never needed a friend more than I do now.”

He squeezed her hand. “You have a friend, so don’t worry. Whatever it is you’re facing, I’ll be with you all the way.”

She sat up, pressing her hand to her forehead. “Who else knows about that phone call?” she asked finally.

“No one in Maitland. Fortunately, I was alone in the office when the call came in.”

“I won’t lie to you, but I would rather die than answer that question. I thought when I moved to Maitland, I had left the past behind, and now it’s pursued me here.”

Roger patted her hand. “Your past doesn’t matter to me, and I wouldn’t have approached you if it wasn’t my official duty. I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you, but you know I can’t return that call and say I couldn’t find the answer. From your response, it’s obvious you do know Linda Conley.”

Violet smiled slightly. “One of the things I’ve always admired about you, Roger, is that you do what you think is right regardless of the consequences, so I would never blame you for doing your duty because it involves me. It’s just difficult to unearth the past.”

“Is Linda related to you?”

“Linda Conley is my mother, but I don’t remember ever seeing her, because I was only two years old when she shot and killed my father.”

Violet hadn’t looked at Roger when she blurted out the truth. The words left a bitter nasty taste in her mouth. After a moment, she glanced sideways to see how Roger had taken the news. His brown eyes were deep dark pools of despair, also displaying another emotion. Was it shock? In his line of work, Roger often encountered appalling situations, and she thought he would be hardened to it by now, but his face registered horror. And no wonder, Violet conceded. A law officer would think twice before befriending a murderess’s child. If this news circulated around Maitland, she could bid Larry goodbye, but would she lose Roger’s friendship, too?

Lowering her lashes, she said softly, “Think any less of me than you did a few minutes ago? Do you still consider me a reputable teacher for your daughter?”

Roger moved closer to Violet, his arm encircled her shoulders, and he shook her gently. “Stop that kind of talk. I’ll admit I’m concerned, but only for your sake. What a burden you’ve carried all of your life! I have wondered occasionally why you didn’t talk about your family, but I thought that was your business, and it really didn’t matter to me.”

Violet buried her head on his shoulder, and his hands roamed soothingly over her curly hair.

“Do you want to tell me any more about it?”

“I really don’t know much more than that. I’ve always lived with my mother’s sister and her husband, and I have their version of the episode. Aunt Ruth said that my mother acted in self-defense, but that my father was from a wealthy family, and normally, a large portion of their money would have come to my mother and me, so the Conleys tried to prove that she had murdered him to justify stealing my inheritance. They had enough money to hire the most powerful lawyers. My aunt feels my mother’s attorney was not capable of standing up to such high-powered lawyers. The verdict was guilty, and she was sentenced to life imprisonment without mercy.”

“Have you had any contact with your father’s family?”

“None! I don’t even know where they live. My Aunt Ruth wouldn’t tell me anything about them. My uncle was an archaeologist, and he and Aunt Ruth traveled all over the world, but after they took me in, she stopped going with him, and moved with me to Minnesota. That’s where I grew up, and after I graduated from college, Aunt Ruth thought I would be better off not to return to her home. She wanted me to be hard to find should the Conleys ever try, for she feared that if I was my father’s heir, they might try to dispose of me. I thought it was a rather ridiculous idea, but she’s right about most things, so I was eager to move to Illinois.”

“And you’ve been happy here?”

“I have never enjoyed complete happiness. I’ve always felt unwanted, rejected by my father’s people and my mother. I can’t forgive them for that, and it eats away at my peace of mind.”

“But if your mother was sent to prison when you were a child, she couldn’t have done much for you. I don’t consider that rejection. Didn’t you ever go to see her?”

“Vaguely, I remember going to a large brick building when I was a child and seeing a woman, but Aunt Ruth said that my mother didn’t want me exposed to a prison environment. She thought the experience of seeing her incarcerated would be psychologically harmful to me. She told Aunt Ruth not to contact her again.”

Violet paused. She had to rein in her emotions and bolster her courage before she told Roger anything else. She took a deep breath and settled into one corner of the couch with her feet curled under her body.

“So not having a real, live mother, I fantasized endlessly about one. As I walked home from school, I imagined that my mother would meet me at the door with a kiss and a hug, and take me to the kitchen for fresh-baked cookies and milk. It was my mother, not Aunt Ruth, who dried my tears, and bandaged my knee when I fell off my bike. And she kissed me fondly beaming with pride when I brought home excellent report cards. She was beautiful, kind and sympathetic, and she made me happy.” Violet shook her head to rid her mind of a comforting childhood dream.

“The year I graduated from college, I had occasion to be traveling through Kansas, and I found out where she was imprisoned, and feeling self-righteous and full of sweetness and light, I went to see her. She refused to see me. My own mother refused to see me!” Violet struggled for self-control, but her usual well-modulated voice gave away her emotions. “Can you imagine that?”

“But why?” Roger said compassionately. “Surely she gave a reason.”

“Oh, yes, she sent back a message that she wanted me to leave and forget I had a mother, that a meeting wouldn’t do either of us any good. To my dying day, I’ll never forget how that hurt me.” She paused and wouldn’t meet Roger’s eyes when she said, “And may God forgive me for such an unchristian thought, but when I wanted to see her, she told me to forget that I had a mother—now that she’s dying, she wants me to take her in.”

“I’m not so sure about that. The woman who telephoned me said they tried to get Mrs. Conley to tell them if she had any relatives, and she refused to name anyone. They traced you through your birth records and Social Security number, and when they asked your mother if you were her daughter, she responded that she had never heard of you.”

“Still rejecting me!”

“I don’t think so. I believe she’s still trying to protect you.”

“If she doesn’t want to come to me, why are they forcing the issue?”

“I asked that question, and I received a runaround answer. Some kind of new regulation gives prisons the option to parole terminally ill patients. It may be that they don’t have the staff to take care of her, but they are going to release her, if not to the next of kin, then to a nursing home, where she can receive proper care.”

“I don’t see how I can possibly bring her here. I have no feeling for her as a mother—it would be like taking in a stranger. Besides the fact that it would upset my whole life-style, how can I afford to do it? I’m living on a shoestring budget now, and there is no way that I can assume her medical expenses.”

“Then she isn’t eligible for Medicare?”

“No, I’m sure of that. I think she was only twenty when I was born, so that will put her in her midforties. She’s still a young woman.” Violet went into the bedroom and came back with a photo of a man, woman, and baby.

“That’s the only picture I have of my parents, and I would assume I was about a year old when the picture was taken. Aunt Ruth gave that to me when I started asking about my parents. They appear to be a happy couple, don’t they? What could have happened in a year’s time to cause such a crime?”

Roger took the picture and looked at it closely. Linda Conley was a petite woman with brown hair and eyes. Her husband, Ryan, was handsome with close-cropped black wavy hair and blue eyes. White teeth gleamed below a small black mustache. His expression and posture spoke of a strong sense of determination, while his wife’s expression indicated a low-key personality.

“His death may have been an accident, but if his parents were vindictive as you’ve heard, they might have pushed for your mother’s conviction out of revenge. If she didn’t put up a strong defense, a jury could have been swayed easily.”

Roger stood up and laid his hand on Violet’s shoulder.

“What am I going to do?”

He smiled, and she noted again how his face creased into deep lines when he smiled. “If I were in your place, I would do exactly what you’re going to do, although I don’t know what that is now. But it will be the right thing—I have confidence in your decisions, Violet.” A sudden burst of wind sent an onslaught of rain against the window, and Violet shivered. Roger sat beside her again and took her hand. “Don’t try to give me an answer now. I told the woman I would return her call in a few days. I didn’t even indicate that I knew anyone by the name of Conley. Take some time to think it over.”

“I’ll have to. Thanks for understanding, Roger.”

He gently squeezed her hand before releasing it. “What are friends for, anyway?”

Violet doubted that she would sleep, but since she hadn’t slept the night before, she had to have some rest. She checked the locks, turned out all the lights and went into the bedroom. The bed did look inviting, and she reached in the closet and removed the pretty pink nightgown that Aunt Ruth had bought for her birthday. As low as she felt tonight, her spirits needed lifting, and she admitted that the pink brought out the luster of her short, curly hair, and picked up the sheen of her long black lashes. The color also complimented her violet eyes. Though tonight they looked dull and lifeless.

Violet eyes! One of the few stories Aunt Ruth had told about her childhood was the reason for her unusual name. Her parents hadn’t decided on a name for their child, but the minute the baby had opened her eyes and they had noticed that the color was violet, her father had said, “We’ll call her Violet. I’ve never seen such a startling color.”

And while most newborn’s eyes soon change, Violet’s never had, except to become more expressive and intense as she had matured. So her name was the one legacy she had gotten from her father.

Lying in bed, Violet did a lot of praying. Were there any similar incidents in the Scriptures to guide her decision? When Jesus was on the cross, suffering an agonizing death for the sin of mankind, one of his last concerns was for his mother, committing her to the care of a beloved disciple. But Jesus had known his mother; she had loved him and supported his ministry. Mary was there at the foot of the cross to bring comfort when He was dying. When Violet had needed her mother, she had been rejected. Violet’s aunt had done her best to explain that Violet’s mother had only done so out of good intentions, but Violet deeply felt the pain of that rejection nonetheless—carried it with her always. Even if she was in prison, she could have kept in contact with her daughter Violet had always felt. No, Violet decided, there was no parallel between Jesus’s care of his mother and her situation.

Scripture proverbs that Violet didn’t remember that she had ever heard insinuated themselves into her mind. Do not despise your mother when she is old. Well, she didn’t despise her mother; she didn’t know her well enough to despise her. But another thought needled her conscience. You know her well enough to harbor an unforgiving attitude toward her.

Violet had never doubted before that she lived an exemplary life, one that was in harmony with the teachings of the Bible, but she knew that she was facing a situation that would put her Christianity to the supreme test. During her reflection, Violet kept pushing aside one of the parables of Jesus that she would have to deal with before she resolved her turmoil. Once when Jesus had been discussing the end of the present world, He had specified the criteria for those who would inherit eternal life, and He emphasized strongly that the proof of people’s faith was illustrated by their treatment of others.

Violet picked up the Bible to refresh her memory; perhaps it didn’t really say what she thought it did, but the words of Jesus in the book of Matthew pricked her soul like a hot knife. I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.

“But, Lord,” Violet murmured in her own defense, “I went to the prison, wanting to see her, and she wouldn’t receive me. Doesn’t that vindicate me? What more could I have done?”

Try as she might, Violet could not use past circumstances to influence this decision. She knew that, whether or not she took her mother, her Christian commitment was on trial. In this crisis, would she hear her Master’s commendation, “Well done, good and faithful servant”? Or would He say to her, “Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me”? Did she have a faith strong enough to sustain her in the crucible of life? She would soon find out.

Although Violet couldn’t tell anyone in Maitland about her problem, she knew she did have to contact her aunt, Ruth Reed. They often chatted via phone on Saturday afternoon, so Ruth didn’t think anything unusual about the call, and they visited several minutes before Violet came to the reason for the contact. In concise terms, she explained the situation.

Ruth caught her breath sharply, and was silent for a minute or more when Violet finished. “Oh, poor Linda,” Ruth finally said. “After all she’s been through, what a sad way to end her life.”

Violet was dumbstruck for a few moments. Since Roger’s visit, she had been dwelling on how this emergency would affect her; she had never once considered her mother’s side of the situation, but how like Aunt Ruth to think of others first. She proved that by her next words.

“Of course, you can’t take her, Violet. I’ll bring her to my home and care for her.”

“Now, Aunt Ruth…”

“Violet, listen to me. If you bring Linda into your home, there’s a chance that her whole past will blow up in your face. Both your mother and I have tried to shield you from the consequences of events that weren’t your fault. We can’t let it surface now.”

“Roger said that she told the prison officials she didn’t have any relatives, and they traced me through my birth certificate. She apparently doesn’t want to come here.”

“No, she wouldn’t, so don’t worry any more about it. I’ll get in touch with the correctional facility and tell them I will assume her care.”

Violet hesitated. How tempting it was to dump the problem on Ruth. Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me. “Please don’t make any arrangements for a few days, Aunt Ruth. Honestly, it would be a relief to shove all of this on your shoulders, and I’m not even sure if I can assume the responsibility for my mother. But I’m twenty-five years old, and if I’m not mature enough now to face up to my obligations, I never will be. Give me a few days, and pray for me that I might make the right decision.”

As he often did on Saturday night, Larry took her to the country club, which featured a lavish buffet on the weekends. When he removed her coat to hang it on the rack, his hands lingered on her shoulders. “Say! You’re beautiful tonight. Is that a new dress?” She nodded as they were escorted to a reserved table. “I didn’t know the teachers at our school received a raise in salary,” he joked.

She laughed, and for a moment, cheered by his admiration, forgot the calamity about to break over her head. “I’m a careful shopper,” she answered.

After he seated her, he took a small box from his pocket, opened it and removed a thin silver chain. “Allow me,” he said, and he bent toward her, fastened the necklace around her throat and left his arm on her shoulders. Touched, Violet lifted her hand to feel the smooth circlet around her neck.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, “but what’s the occasion?”

“I wanted to make amends for my harsh words a few days ago. I was so intent on heading off a potential crisis among our pupils and parents that I didn’t consider the right and wrong of what I asked you to do. I shouldn’t have put you in such a position.”

She covered his hand resting on her shoulder with her fingers. “Don’t speak of it again. Have you had any repercussions over Janie’s selection?”

“Oh, a few murmurings from some of the students, but so far, no parent has contacted me.”

“But you may have telephone calls on Monday.”

“Quite possibly, but we won’t let that ruin our evening together. Shall we go to the buffet? It isn’t crowded now.”

At the buffet Violet asked for a small portion of roast beef, which she surrounded with several vegetables. The salad bar was always tempting, but she chose only a bowl of marinated vegetables. She had little appetite, but to keep Larry from asking unwanted questions, she forced herself to eat. They lingered over their dessert and coffee.

As they drove back to her home, Larry said, “Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving weekend? I’m flying to Colorado with several of my friends for skiing. I would like for you to go as my guest.”

Violet’s spirits plummeted. For much of the evening, she had forgotten about her mother. “That sounds great, but I’m not sure I can go. I may have company that weekend. Aunt Ruth often comes here on Thanksgiving, and I go to her home for the Christmas holidays. May I let you know in a few days?”

“Sure, but we need to make reservations by the end of the week.”

When Larry kissed her good-night, his caress was more passionate than it had ever been, suggesting a new level in their relationship. He had never kissed her so ardently, he’d never asked her to accompany him on a trip before, nor had he bought her any jewelry. Should she jeopardize a possible marriage with the catch of Maitland by taking in her mother? On the other hand, should she tell Larry the truth about her past?

Violet changed into casual clothing after the Sunday worship service, and was about to prepare her lunch when the phone rang. It was Roger, wanting to know how she felt.

“All right, I suppose, but I’m no nearer a decision than when you brought me the news.”

“You looked a little down.”

“Gee, thanks—I needed that encouragement,” Violet replied with a laugh.

He laughed then, too. “I didn’t mean it that way. You were beautiful as always, but you seemed distressed. And with reason, too,” he added. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”

“Nothing special.” Except throwing a pity party for myself, I suppose, she thought. “You can either feel flattered or annoyed, Roger, I don’t let my guard down with anyone except you. Most people think I never have a care in the world.”

“The kids have gone to a concert this afternoon, and I’m going out to my farm to exercise the dogs. Come with me. I’ll throw some sandwiches in a backpack, and we can eat out in the open. The temperatures are supposed to be warm this afternoon.”

“I warn you I’m feeling rather grumpy.”

“You’re not the first grumpy female I’ve encountered.”

She smiled, and her voice softened. “You’ve talked me into it. I’ll contribute apples and cookies to the picnic. What time?”

“Pick you up in a half hour. Wear walking shoes and a jacket.”

As Violet hurriedly washed two yellow apples and placed some cookies in a plastic bag she felt her mood lightened. It would be relaxing to spend the afternoon with Roger; he accepted her as she was.

Roger’s fifty-acre farm was located ten miles from town. There were a few outbuildings and a small house, which he utilized as a retreat when he wanted to escape the pressure of his work. Most of the farmland was tillable, and he rented this to a neighbor to raise corn. Ten acres of the property was rugged, covered with deciduous and evergreen trees. He bypassed the buildings and drove on a private road along a large creek until he reached the base of the hill.

“Do you come out here often?” Violet asked.

“Not as often as I want to. I try to bring the dogs for a run at least once a week, and spend a few hours at the house. I’ll give you a tour of that before we go back to town.”

His dogs were housed in a wooden structure in the back of his pickup. He opened the doors, and two beagles with smooth white coats, black-and-tan patches, and long, droopy ears, vaulted out of the box and into the underbrush beside the truck. They nosed around in the grass for a few minutes, and then with a yelp, the largest dog took off through the woodland, with his companion right behind him.

“Should we follow them?”

“Not unless you’re feeling overly energetic. They’ll cover lots of miles this afternoon. They go where they want to, and when I want to leave, I whistle them in.”

“And they always come?”

“Well, not always, but let’s hope they do today. I have to go on duty tonight at eight o’clock, so I can’t spend much time looking for dogs. But they’ll be all right unless they pick up a deer’s scent. They’re not supposed to chase anything except rabbits, but I don’t have time to train them as they should be.”

He reached in the truck for a bright orange pack, in which he stored Violet’s apples and cookies, and strapped it over his back. Pointing upward through the trees, he said, “This is a one-hiker trail. Do you want to go first?”

“I’ll follow since I don’t know where we’re going.”

He adjusted the straps on the backpack. “Call out, if you want to rest.”

Sunlight heated Violet’s back as it filtered through leafless trees. The forest floor was carpeted with colorful foliage, and in moist places, green ferns decorated the earth as if placed there by a landscape designer. Violet noticed many different kinds of birds flitting among the trees: noisy chickadees bobbing their black heads and saucily scolding the intruders; brilliant, squawking blue jays already gathered into colonies for the winter and not yet accustomed to close communion; cardinals swooping back and forth among the undergrowth, picking berries from wild holly bushes; and woodpeckers hopping up and down tree trunks looked for insects.

Violet admired the fleecy clouds that punctuated the vivid blue sky and breathed deeply of the fresh air. In the distance, the two dogs barked in excitement, and as the sounds shifted often, she assumed they were hot on the trail of some prey.

At first the climb was gradual, but when they came to a steep incline, Roger stopped and waited for her to catch up.

“We’ve only a short distance to go, but this last five minutes takes some wind. We need to stop and do some deep breathing.”

“What an invigorating walk! Why haven’t you asked me to hike with you before?” she asked in mock severity.

“When I come out here, I want to be alone, excepting present company,” he added with a grin. “I like people, as you know, but sometimes I need privacy. As to why I haven’t brought you, I hadn’t thought of it for one thing, but I decided you needed to be with me today. Even if you don’t want to talk about your problem, I’m the only one who knows and understands about it. So talk or not, be assured that I’m here for you, whatever your need.”

She reached out her hand, and he took it in a strong grasp. “Thanks.”

“Ready to go on?” he asked. At her nod, he released her hand. “Good. I’m hungry. The sooner we reach the peak the better.”

Violet was gasping for breath when they reached the top of the rocky and arid hill, bare of vegetation except for a few windblown pines.

“Our picnic table,” Roger said, pointing to a level stone outcropping under one of the trees.

Violet dropped down on the rock with relief and loosened the top of her hooded sweat jacket. “Whew! I didn’t know I had a heart until it started thumping. My blood is really flowing now.”

“That’s good for you,” Roger said as he unzipped the backpack and spread it open to reveal the contents.

“You’re in for a treat—Gibson’s turkey sandwiches,” he said, “but let’s have a word of prayer first.”

He reached for Violet’s hand, and held it in his large warm one. “God, we are thankful for the beauty of Your earth. I never feel as close to You as I do when I’m in the woodlands. But Violet has a problem, God, and we believe You can bring the solution. You know the past and the future, and we are hazy on both of those points when it comes to her mother. What should she do? What can I do to help her? We are Your servants, Father, help us to recognize Your leading. Bless this food to our bodys’ use and give us a good afternoon together. Amen.”

Violet tightened her grip on Roger’s hand, and she gazed long into his eyes before she loosened her grasp. The genuine concern he had expressed for her in his prayer touched her deeply and she was speechless in the face of his heartfelt concern.

The apples and sandwiches complemented one another, and the cool juice in plastic containers alleviated Violet’s thirst, which was intense after the climb. The cookies made a fitting conclusion to the meal.

“This is a good time for a nap,” Roger said, “if you don’t mind the hard rock.” He stretched out across the rock, put his hands under his head and closed his eyes. Violet found a nearby pine tree and sat down beneath it. She intended to think about the decision she must make soon, but her mind was blank. She had always heard, “Don’t put off until tomorrow what you should do today,” and perhaps that should apply in this situation. She couldn’t stand much more emotional turmoil. A stiff breeze riffled the tops of the pines and the limbs swayed rhythmically, but the wind didn’t reach their secluded, sunny spot. She closed her eyes, and may have slept a few minutes, but Roger’s stirring on the rock alerted her.

“If you’re ready, we’ll head back toward the truck on a different trail, and I’ll start calling the dogs. They’re probably resting, too—I haven’t heard them barking for several minutes.”

The ridge path was wider, and they walked side by side in companionable silence. Perhaps Roger sensed that Violet needed time to think through her decision and he respected that time. Roger was never a garrulous man, but he normally talked more than he had today. Occasionally, he whistled for the dogs and received an answering yelp. By the time they reached the truck, the beagles, still full of pep, were panting at their heels, tongues drooling.

Roger poured water into a pan for the dogs and gave them a small portion of dry food. After the dogs had eaten, he lifted them into the truck and fastened them in their box. “They’re just like kids who have played out in the fresh air all day. They’ll sleep on the way back to town.”

When they came to the farm buildings, Roger parked beside the house. The one-story structure, an old house, was painted a light green with modern windows installed. “Come in and see my hideaway,” he invited.

“This is a good retreat,” Violet said. “That row of evergreens conceals the house from the highway and blocks the noise from the road.”

They walked up on the front porch and Roger opened the door, then stepped back to let Violet precede him into one large room that swept the entire length of the house. On the western side was a kitchen area with modern cabinets and appliances, a small dining area, and a broad window providing a view of the hills. The rest of the room was paneled in light oak. A brightly colored oval rug lay in front of a large fireplace with comfortable chairs grouped around it. A plaid-upholstered couch stood beneath the window, a bookcase filled with books and magazines nearby.

“This is wonderful,” Violet said. “No wonder you like to come here.”

“The house was in bad condition when I bought the place, but I tore down the shed on the rear of the building, installed new windows and siding, and removed some partitions to make this one big room.” He motioned toward the back of the house. “There’s a small bedroom and bath in that area.”

“It’s definitely a man’s house,” she said. “Do your children like it?”

“Right now, they’re more interested in town life. I’ve brought them out a few times, but they aren’t very enthusiastic. I thought Jason might enjoy working on the farm, but he hasn’t shown much interest.” He indicated the fireplace where several logs awaited a match. “We can have a fire if you want to stay awhile. It’s cool in here.”

“I have no plans for the afternoon, just so I’m back to Maitland in time for church.”

“While I start a fire, see what you can rustle up for a snack from the refrigerator and cabinets.”

The smell of wood smoke wafted through the house while Violet looked in the cabinets. “What about cheese and crackers?” she called. “And there are soft drinks. Or do you prefer a hot beverage?”

“Heat some water for tea, please.”

Roger pulled two of the chairs close to the fire and placed a small table between them. By that time, Violet had sliced the cheese and had the water boiling. He rummaged in the cabinets until he found a plastic tray, placed the cheese and crackers and the two cups of tea on it, and carried their snack to the living area.

Violet sighed as she sank into one of the lounge chairs. She took off her shoes and leaned back. Roger removed his jacket before he sat down. “It will get hot in here before long.”

As they munched on the cheese and crackers, Violet observed the sparsely furnished room more closely, and she said, “No television?”

“Nor a telephone, either. I do have a small radio in the bedroom.”

On the mantel was a family picture—a man, woman and two small children. Violet hadn’t seen a picture of Roger’s wife, but she could see many of Misty’s features in the woman.

“Roger, why haven’t you remarried?”

“Are you proposing to me?” A mischievous twinkle sparkled in his deep eyes.

“Of course not,” she said. “I noticed the picture and that made me curious.”

“Why do you wonder?”

“Well, you’re such good company. I have the feeling you’ve been alone for a long time.”

“Ten years,” he said musingly.

“Don’t you miss sharing your life with someone? Raising two children alone couldn’t have been easy,” she added.

“At first, the pain was too deep to even consider another marriage, and I didn’t want to saddle my kids with a stepmother as young as they were. My mother lived with us until a year ago, so the children had plenty of supervision while I was at work. When Misty turned fifteen, Mother went to live with my sister in Arizona to get away from the cold, damp winters here. The idea of remarrying isn’t distasteful to me. Now that the kids are involved with all kinds of interests and activities that don’t include their Dad, I have been thinking about it.”

Violet nodded approvingly. She had seen firsthand that Roger was a good, supportive father, and he would make a caring husband.

“Now, it’s my turn to ask questions. Are you going to marry Larry Holland?”

His question startled her, but she smiled slightly. “He hasn’t asked me.”

“Maybe Olivia Holland hasn’t given her okay yet.”

“Now, Roger! Larry is a nice guy—he can’t help what his mother does.”

“I know that. So if he does ask, will you marry him?”

“I’ve often asked myself the same question. I’d be foolish to say no, wouldn’t I?”

“Probably so. He’s a good catch, or so I’m told.”

Roger continued to gaze at her, his expression relaxed, yet his gaze was somehow intense. Violet looked away. She stared into the flames, sipping on the tea until it cooled. Right now she had to make a decision more pressing than marriage.

Roger stood, stoked the fire, and took the empty cup from her hand. He carried the utensils to the kitchen, and Violet heard him washing the items and replacing them in the cabinets. When he returned to his chair, Violet said, “I’m going to take her.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “Are you happy with that decision?”

“No, not exactly happy, but maybe relieved. As a Christian, I know it’s the right choice. I can’t get the words of Jesus out of my mind, I was sick and in prison and you came to me. Aunt Ruth advises against it, saying she will care for my mother at her home. But in all good conscience, I can’t allow that. I’ll have to take her and manage the best as I can.”

“I’ll help every way I can.”

“Do you think we can keep her past a secret?”

“A lot of legal red tape will be required to transfer a paroled prisoner from one state to another, and the incident is bound to be caught by the news media. It will be better if you don’t try to hide her past. It will be a worse scandal if you conceal her background and the news leaks out gradually.”

“I’ll probably lose all of my friends.”

“Anyone who deserts you because of a tragedy like this that happened when you were a child isn’t worth having for a friend.”

“I’ve been thinking all afternoon that I probably should go talk to Pastor Tom about this.”

“A good idea. If you have your church family behind you, half the battle is won. Do you want me to go with you to see him?”

“Yes, please.”

“Then let’s close up here and go now. He should be in the church office this afternoon.”