Gathering Shadows (18 page)

He held it out to me, and I took it. The spine was cracked, but otherwise, the book was in very good condition for its age. I could clearly read the title:
A Wanderer's Dream
by Jacob King
.

“What's it about?” I asked, slowly opening the cover. The yellowed pages inside spoke of age and gentle use.

“My great-grandfather considered himself a wanderer through life. Not someone who made his home here, because his home was in heaven. The story is about a man who lost his way, who valued the things of life instead of life itself. He served his possessions instead of God.”

“A cautionary tale, huh? How does it turn out?”

Reuben smiled. “In the end he realizes what's really important in life. People. His family. Not the pursuit of ambition.”

I closed the cover and handed it back to him. “I'd like to read it someday.”

He slid it back into its place on the shelf. “Sure.” His tone reflected his obvious skepticism.

“For goodness' sake, Reuben. It's not like we'll be on other sides of the world.”

“Maybe so.” He shrugged, but it was clear he didn't believe me.

I walked over to the desk and ran my hand across the intricate carvings. Then I gently lowered myself into the old leather office chair. From that vantage point I could look out on the lush
green fields. Just a slight turn of my head revealed the Arabians prancing in the rain.

“This is the perfect place to write.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I realized I'd said them. I could feel myself flush with embarrassment. “I mean . . . I'm not saying . . .”

Reuben walked slowly toward the desk and faced me. “Please don't feel uncomfortable. You're welcome to come here and write anytime you'd like.”

I could see myself sitting here in this lovely house, surrounded by books, words slipping out through my fingers and onto a keyboard. Everything about this room inspired me. I reluctantly rose from the chair and followed him into a comfortable living room with another fireplace. The long windows continued there and into the formal dining room. Images I couldn't control flashed in my mind. A family gathered around the table for Christmas dinner. Children laughing. A wife reaching under the table to take her husband's hand, each of them thankful for the blessings God had given them.

The kitchen was a combination of old and new, perfectly blended. A built-in oven matched the historic charm of the room, while an antique stove, beautifully restored and gleaming, waited for boiling pots of soup and freshly baked loaves of bread. From there, we ventured upstairs to look at the five bedrooms. Two of them were empty and one held storage. The fourth was charming, with antique furniture and touches that seemed distinctly feminine.

“This is my mother's room when she comes to visit,” Reuben explained. “The bed, dresser, and rocking chair have been in my family for many years.” He ran his fingers across a gorgeous quilt that covered the bed. “My grandmother made
this. She was a prolific quilter. You'll find quilts in almost every room.”

“It's wonderful. I can almost feel the people who used to live here. My grandmother's house was like this. Every time I went to stay with her, I felt . . . I don't know. Like I was really home. As if the house where I lived with my parents was just a place I visited sometimes.”

Reuben smiled. “I know what you mean.”

“How could you? You were raised in this house.”

“Although I loved the farm, I wasn't always certain I wanted to live here. After college, I moved away. Went to work for a brokerage company in Des Moines. Made a lot of money. Had a nice apartment. Then my father died, so I came home.”

“You gave up your career?”

He nodded. “At first I rebelled against the idea. I mean, I had a great job and could buy whatever I wanted. I actually came back planning to suggest Mother sell the farm. But when I walked in the door . . .” He looked away. “When I walked in the door,” he said again in almost a whisper, “I knew I was home. I couldn't see myself in Des Moines anymore. You see, ghosts called out to me. Not ghosts from the past. These were ghosts from a future that would never be if I walked away from this farm—from who I really am.” He turned to stare at me. “Does that make any sense to you?”

“Of course it does.”

He sighed. “I know not everyone is called to live on a farm in the country. If we all did that, our cities would be empty and—”

“We'd have way too much food?”

He smiled. “Yes, I guess we would.”

At that moment, I wished I hadn't made a joke. Reuben's
words had touched me and made me uncomfortable at the same time. There was something about this house that pulled at me. My reaction frightened me.

“We probably need to get going,” he said brusquely. “We need to get you back to town. You have a lot to do before you leave.”

He walked out of the room and started back toward the stairs. “Wait a minute,” I called out. “There's another room here. Is it yours?”

“Yes, but it's not much to see. We don't need to—”

“Nonsense. I might as well take the whole tour.” I went to the last door and flung it open. I walked into a massive bedroom with more incredible windows that looked out over the farm. Another fireplace sat in the corner. This one was made of some kind of carved stone and had a huge mantel. Old pictures in intricate frames decorated the mantel top, and a large painting hung above it. I recognized the farm immediately.

“This is beautiful,” I said. “Who painted it?”

After a brief pause, Reuben said, “I did.”

“Are you serious? Why, it's wonderful. You're incredibly talented. When did you—”

“I painted that as a gift for my mother while I was in college.”

“Have you done anything else?”

“A few paintings and some sketches. One of these days when I have more time, I'd like to paint again.”

“You should.” I wandered through the rest of the room, finding a lovely window seat. A perfect place to read a book. For a moment, a picture flashed in my mind. I saw myself curled up on the seat, lost in the pages of a novel. I pushed the image away. “It's incredible, Reuben. I can't imagine coming home to this every night. You're very lucky.”

“I feel blessed,” he said.

“Do you ever miss your previous life?”

“No. I haven't regretted my decision for one second. I know where I'm supposed to be. That brings me great contentment. God has a plan for my life, and I know this house is where that plan will unfold. Someday, a woman will feel that same call, and we'll build something here that will last forever.”

“Forever? That's a long time.”

“That's what family is, Wynter. The entire world began with two people. And that's how it will continue until the day we're all called to heaven. I'm standing here now because my great-grandparents had a dream. Years from now, one of my children will be here with his or her family. And on it goes.” He came over and put his hands on my shoulders. “How those members come into a family doesn't matter, you know. Family isn't blood. Family is love. Family continues, no matter what. It isn't how you get in. It's how you get out—what you leave behind.”

“I know you're right,” I said softly. “It's just . . .”

“It's just a shock to find out your parents weren't your birth parents? I know. But the truth is we're all adopted, aren't we? Didn't God adopt us as His own?”

“Yes, He did.”

“Well, if it's good enough for Him . . .”

“I know. I'm working on it.”

“I understand.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. “Seems to me you were given away by parents who didn't love you to parents who did. That's a pretty big blessing. Something you don't want to throw away.”

I didn't respond, just nodded. Being in this house made me feel emotions I didn't know how to interpret. It would take a while for me to figure out what they meant.

We walked out the front door. I said good-bye to Lazarus,
who licked me on the face, and then I climbed back into the truck. The rain had finally stopped, and the sun was beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. By the time we reached town, the skies were almost clear. Reuben pulled up in front of Esther's and stopped, his motor still running.

“Aren't you coming in?”

“Well, I would like to see how Zac's doing,” he said. “Maybe I'll just check on him and leave.” He glanced at his watch. “It's almost six o'clock. I'll probably go to the restaurant for dinner.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Sure, if you want to.”

“I won't be in town much longer. As long as Zac is feeling better, we'll probably finish up tomorrow and leave.”

He nodded. “I guess you're right. Let's go check on Zac.”

I could hear a note of reluctance in his voice. It hurt me to think he might be protecting himself from me. My feelings for him were strong, but fear crouched at the door of my heart. We were so different. Did we have any chance at a future? I couldn't be sure.

We got out of the car and had just said hello to Esther when someone knocked on the front door. Reuben opened it since he was the closest.

“Paul!” he said with surprise. “We were just talking about you earlier today. Come on in.”

A young man dressed in the uniform of a deputy sheriff walked into the room. Immediately his eyes locked on me.

“Wynter, this is my friend Paul Gleason.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said with a smile. “Reuben has told me a lot about you.”

Paul didn't respond to my greeting, nor did he return my smile. “You're Wynter Evans?” he asked in a stern voice.

I nodded and looked at Reuben, confused by the deputy's demeanor.

“What's this about, Paul?” Reuben asked, obviously as puzzled as I was.

“It's about the murder of August Metzger, Miss Evans. There is evidence that leads me to believe you have information about his death.”

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Reuben finally found his voice. “What in the world are you talking about? That's insane.”

“Look, Reuben, we're friends, but I have a job to do. I can't allow you to interfere.”

“Would it interest you to know that I've spent a lot of time with Wynter since she got here? I can assure you she didn't have anything to do with killing August.”

“I'm not saying she killed him. I'm saying she might be involved. I won't know her level of involvement until I talk to her.”

“You mentioned evidence,” Reuben said. “What kind of evidence?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“Paul, we're friends. Please come down off your official high horse and talk to me.”

Paul folded his arms across his chest and stared at Reuben, who glared back at him. They seemed locked in a battle of wills. Finally Paul relented. “We found Wynter's name . . . actually, both of her names, written on a piece of paper in August's billfold.”

Reuben flushed red with anger. “What else did you find in his billfold, Paul? Did he have a photo I.D.? Maybe the state of Missouri killed him. What about a fishing license? I know he fished. Maybe the Department of Conservation did it.” He shook his head. “This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You said
both
of my names?”

Paul nodded. “Your real name is Emily Erwin, right?”

“Yes, but how would August Metzger know that?”

“Unless you're ready to arrest her, I think you need to leave, Paul,” Reuben said through clenched teeth. “I have no idea why August had that information, but that doesn't make Wynter a murderer.”

“Of course it doesn't,” he shot back. “I'm not saying she murdered him. I'm simply asking questions about some evidence we have. There were papers hidden in August's apartment. Under a loose floorboard. We discovered a file full of items, some of them related to Miss Evans. And a comment written by August that is confusing.”

“What does it say?” I said. “I don't understand.”

“I'd like you to come down to the station, Miss Evans. I'll be happy to show it to you.”

“Does it have to be right now?”

He paused and then shook his head. “No. It can wait for the morning. I want to make it clear that I'm not saying you killed Mr. Metzger. I just have some questions. Please be there by nine o'clock.”

“She'll be there,” Reuben said. “I'll bring her myself.”

“All right. I'll hold you to that.” He tipped his hat briefly and left.

We all stood there looking at each other in shocked silence.

“Well,” I said, “and here I thought my life couldn't get any stranger.”

“I can't believe this,” Zac fumed. “What's wrong with that guy?”

I went over and gave him a quick hug. “Just a reminder, my friend. I didn't actually kill August Metzger. Everything will be okay.”

“I can't wait to see this so-called evidence,” Reuben said. “Why would August have information about you? It doesn't make sense.”

I had to sit down. My legs felt shaky and weak. “Actually, it does if he sent me those articles and mailed that note to my father.”

Zac came over to the couch and sat next to me. “So you're convinced he left those clippings for you?”

“No, I'm not certain. I'm only saying it's possible. But if he wanted me to look into the kidnappings, why didn't he just come and talk to me?”

“I don't know,” Reuben said, “but there's only one person I can think of who might be able to help us figure out what's going on. We need to have our ducks in a row before tomorrow morning. I'm going to call Rae. Maybe she can meet us at the café.”

“Don't be silly,” Esther piped up. “You tell her to come here. I'll make dinner. Besides, she's very upset about August's death. Having to go out in public might be difficult for her right now.”

“Thank you, Esther,” I said. “I'll help you.”

“Absolutely not. You sit here and rest. You need some peace and quiet.” She pointed at Zac. “You will help me.”

Zac rolled his eyes. “I hope you're kidding. I can't even get my microwave meals to come out right.”

She shook her finger at him. “You need to learn how to cook if you refuse to find a good woman and get married. Besides,
you've been lying around for too long. You must start getting a little exercise.”

Zac snorted. “I'm not refusing to get married, Esther. I'm just not ready for the commitment.”

“When you do meet a good, godly girl, I want her to know you can cook. Come with me.”

Zac stood up. “I've been ordered to the kitchen. I suspect it's because Esther thinks you would like to be rid of me so you can talk. But, if she actually forces me to prepare food, you might want to pray. I'm not worried, since I've already survived one poisoning. I'm trusting I've built up an immunity. But you two . . . well, I can't guarantee your safety.”

It was obvious he was trying to lighten the mood, and I smiled at him. “I'm willing to take my chances. I trust you, Zac.”

He hesitated a moment before giving me a reassuring smile. “Everything will be okay, Wynter,” he said. “You know that, right?”

I nodded. “I'm believing that too, but while you're in the kitchen with Esther, you might ask her to teach you how to bake a cake with a file inside.”

Zac shook his head. “Actually, they don't use those anymore. I'll probably need some kind of electronic gadget that opens prison doors.”

“Get out, Zac,” Reuben said good-naturedly.

Zac sighed dramatically. “I hear those words a lot. Well, here goes nothing.” He tossed me one more smile before he left the room.

Reuben came over and took Zac's place on the couch. He reached for my hand.

“Like Zac said, everything will be okay,” he said soothingly. “I don't want you to worry.”

“I'm past worrying. It's like I'm trapped inside someone else's life. I left St. Louis only a few days ago, but it feels like years.” I took a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, goodness.”

“What's wrong?”

“What if the sheriff's office makes me stay here while they investigate? I can't tell Ed I'm involved in a murder.”

“Unless they arrest you, I don't think they can make you stay in Sanctuary. My guess is they'll tell you not to leave the state.”

“Unless they arrest me?”

Reuben shook his head. “Wynter, that's not going to happen. Obviously Paul doesn't actually suspect you, but he's found something that needs to be explained. Once we see this so-called evidence, we can confront it and clear everything up.”

“I'm interested to see what they have.”

“Me too.” Reuben stood up and fished around in his pockets. “I left my cell phone in the truck. I'm going to call Rae.”

A thought occurred to me. “Maybe we should have told Paul about the man who forced us off the road.”

“You're right. After what he said, I totally forgot about it. The truth is, he can't do much. We didn't get a tag number, and there are lots of black trucks in Missouri. I should call my insurance company though.” He checked his watch. “Guess that will have to wait until tomorrow. I'll be right back.”

“Okay.”

As he left, Esther's and Zac's voices filtered in from the kitchen. I felt so close to these three people, and I'd known them only a few days. How strange to leave the place I call home, find myself somewhere new, and feel it's more like home than the place I left.
Home
.
That word had started to take on a different meaning. Was St. Louis really home? And what about the people I called my parents? Was my home with them? Even
though the shock of discovering they weren't my birth parents had rocked my world, in my heart they were still Mom and Dad. With all their faults, that hadn't changed. I would never know my birth parents, but somehow I couldn't mourn them yet. Someday perhaps, but for now, they were just people who didn't want me.

Reuben's words about home and family had affected me. He was right. Family was important. Families could change the world—for better or for worse. What would the final story be for my family? Would we come out of this situation weakened even further? Or would this strengthen us? Pull us back together? I couldn't answer those questions yet, and I wasn't sure when I would be able to.

Thinking about my dad made me suddenly realize his trip to Jamesport was totally unnecessary. I should have called him right after we left the Fishers, but with everything going on, I'd completely forgotten his quest to dig up information about Elijah.

I jogged upstairs to find my cell phone. After trying a couple of times to get a signal, I decided to join Reuben outside.

He was just coming in when I reached the door. I explained that I was calling my father to tell him he could come home.

“Oh, man. I can't believe I didn't think of that.”

“I know. Unfortunately, being accused of involvement in a murder tends to make a person forget things. Hope he won't be angry.”

“I'll wait inside while you call.”

“Thanks, Reuben. I won't be more than a couple of minutes.”

Once on the porch, I punched in my dad's cell number and listened to it ring. It went right to voice mail. Not wanting to tell him about our meeting with Samuel and Naomi through a
voice mail message, I left a brief request for him to call me right away. Hopefully, he'd check his messages soon.

I was just starting to go back into the house when my phone rang. Dad.

“Hey,” I said when I answered. “I was just calling you.”

“I'm on my way back, Emily,” he said. “I won't get there until rather late. I need you to wait up for me. I have some news.”

“Dad, we found proof that Elijah isn't Ryan. I'm sorry.”

There was a prolonged silence, and then I heard him take a deep breath. “Emily, just wait up for me. We'll talk about this when I get there.”

“Okay, but I think it could wait until tomorrow.”

“Please don't argue. Just do what I'm asking.”

A click signaled he'd hung up. Great. Staying up late the night before I had to face an interrogation at the sheriff's office. Perfect.

“Did you get him?” Reuben asked when I came into the house.

“Yes. He wants to talk to me tonight. Wants me to wait up for him.”

Reuben frowned. “You told him Elijah couldn't possibly be Ryan?”

I sighed with exasperation. “Well, of course I did.” I was immediately sorry I'd taken my frustration out on Reuben. “I'm sorry. I'm just exhausted. I was ready to walk away from all this . . . drama.”

He came over and wrapped his arms around me. “It's okay,” he said softly. “Everything will turn out all right.”

“And how do you know that?” I said, my voice muffled as I leaned into his shoulder.

He pulled back and stared into my eyes. “Because God is with you, Wynter. He loves you, and He'll bring you through. He'll show you the truth.”

I walked away and slumped down on the couch. “I don't know why He'd be interested in me. I haven't been very faithful to Him.”

Reuben smiled. “You're His child. That hasn't changed. When children make mistakes, parents hope they get it right the next time, but they don't walk away. Parents want their kids to be the best they can be. That's what God wants for you, you know.”

I smiled. “I may not have found my brother in Sanctuary, but maybe I discovered something else. A way back to my heavenly Father.”

“I'm glad.”

“What you said earlier about families—I think you're right. My parents took care of me, raised me, loved me. It may take me a while to get used to the truth about my birth, but I intend to find a way to work through it.”

“Can you forgive your father?”

I nodded slowly. “In time. Yes, I'm sure of it. If God can forgive me, I don't have much of a choice, do I?”

“Good. I—”

A knock on the door interrupted him. Reuben opened it. Had Paul come back? Had he changed his mind and decided to haul me down to his office today? I was thankful to see Rae standing on the porch. I suddenly wondered if she also thought I had something to do with August's death. A trickle of apprehension ran up my spine.

As if confirming my fear, she walked straight to me, not even acknowledging Reuben. “Deputy Gleason told me he would be questioning you about what happened to August,” she said.

“I . . . I didn't—”

“Oh, honey. I know you didn't have anything to do with August's death. That's the goofiest thing I ever heard.” She smiled
at me, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. “I'm a pretty good judge of people. You're a good woman. I knew it the first time I met you.” She pointed her stubby finger at Reuben. “And that's what I told Paul Gleason. That he was wasting valuable time bothering this young lady when he should be looking for August's killer.”