Inescapable (17 page)

She suddenly stopped and hurried over toward the corner of the room. Then she bent over. When she stood up she had an envelope in her hand. She glanced at it quickly and then came back toward me. “Here,” she said. “Someone must have left this for you. No tellin' how long it's been here. I didn't notice it earlier, but that doesn't mean much.”

I took it from her and watched as she closed the door behind her, got in her car, and drove away. I stood staring at the front door, wondering if there was any way in the world I could keep Cora's Corner Café from going under before she returned. As I turned to go back upstairs, I suddenly remembered the envelope and carried it over to a nearby light. Someone had written my name on the outside. An old fear raced through me. I tore the blue envelope open and pulled out the paper inside.

I'm still watching you and Charity, Lizzie. I told you you'd never get away from me. Running away has only put more people in danger.

I slumped to the floor with the note clutched in my hand and began to cry.

I spent the next two hours
in automatic mode, finishing our movie and getting Charity to bed. Although I tried to act as if nothing was wrong, she kept watching my face, her expression one of concern. I couldn't completely hide the terror that caused my heart to pound in my chest.

Once she was in bed, I went back downstairs to get a cup of coffee and think. How could there be another note? The man who wrote them was dead, wasn't he? Would I never be free from him? Eventually my fears narrowed down to one unanswerable question. When had it arrived? There was no postmark. The envelopes in Kansas City had all been postmarked in Kansas City, although there was never a return address. This envelope had obviously been hand delivered.

I quickly checked the front door of the restaurant. It certainly wasn't airtight. I could easily slide an envelope under it. Someone had brought it to the restaurant and left it for me. But when? Last night I'd quickly swept the floor before going to bed, but I was so tired, I only concentrated on the areas under the tables. I could have easily overlooked it. It had been pushed between a large decorative cupboard and the corner. It was a miracle Cora even noticed it.

After heating up some coffee and pouring myself a cup, I slumped down into a chair in the dining room and turned the note over in my hands. It was definitely written by the same person. Same blue paper. Same blue envelope. Same threats—except that this one wasn't just targeted at me or my daughter. What did the writer mean by saying I'd put even more people in danger? Who was he talking about?

I noticed that the envelope was a little worse for wear. It could have been on the floor for a couple of days. Perhaps it had been pushed under the door, either kicked into the corner unnoticed by a customer or blown there by the wind once the door was opened. I'd been at Ruth's Thursday night and Cora had swept up. She probably would have noticed it. So that meant the note had been left sometime between late Thursday night and this afternoon. The man in the red cap had been found late last night. He could have brought it Thursday night or Friday before he died. It had to be from him. I couldn't accept the alternative—that the writer was still a danger to me and those I loved.

I finished my cup of coffee and watched the storm outside gather in intensity as questions inside me raged as well. The man in the red cap was dead. He couldn't hurt me anymore. Surely this note was the last one I'd ever receive. I suddenly remembered Charity's words after her prayer.
“God said to tell you not to be afraid anymore, Mama.”
It sounded so simple. Of course, Charity didn't understand how complicated life really was. All of the sudden something my grandmother used to say popped into my mind.

“God spent a lot of time in His Word telling us to ‘fear not,' Lizzie. I truly don't think He was just trying to fill up pages. Do you?”

“That sounds good, God,” I whispered into the darkened room, “but so far my life has been crammed full of things to be afraid of. How do I ignore them?” I shook my head. “I'm trying to trust you. I really am. Help me. Please.”

Then I remembered Cora's visit. I'd forgotten it with the discovery of the note. She had gone to be with her sister and had turned the restaurant over to me! How in the world could I run it alone? Was there anyone else who could do a better job? There was Cora's previous helper, Julie, but she wouldn't be much help, since she and her husband were expecting a baby any day now. Maybe it would be better to close until Cora got back, but I'd promised her I'd keep the things going. Could I possibly pull it off now that I'd found the note? How would I ever be able to keep my mind on the restaurant?

I finished my coffee, made sure the front door was locked, and trudged upstairs. Sitting in our living room by the window, I pushed the note out of my thoughts and ran several scenarios for running the restaurant through my head. Shortly before midnight, I came to the surprising conclusion that I might actually have the expertise to make it work. My father had spent his life telling me I couldn't accomplish anything, that I had no talents or gifts, but even though I tried to find a reason for failure, I could only see success.

There really wasn't any aspect of the business I didn't know. Besides waiting tables, I'd helped in the kitchen and knew almost all of Cora's recipes. And those I wasn't sure about were in a notebook kept in the kitchen. Cora had written them down for Julie, so she'd have them when Cora was away. By one o'clock in the morning, I had it worked out in my mind. Cora's Corner Café would open Monday morning as scheduled, and I would keep it running until Cora came back.

After getting ready for bed, I searched for a place to hide the note, trying to push its dark threats out of my thoughts. If I could prove that the man in the red cap had written it, I might be able to dismiss it. Unfortunately, there was no way to be absolutely sure. Even more frightening was the thought that maybe his death wasn't an accident. Was I missing something? Or some
one
? Who could possibly want the man dead, and why? Was my father involved, or someone else? Someone with a completely different motive?

Along with that mind-numbing possibility, I still wondered about the man and his hateful threats coming right before I'd lost my job. Could all these circumstances be related in some strange way? Try as I might, I couldn't figure out how. It did seem extremely odd, though. The man finding me in Kingdom was another one of those
coincidences
that seemed to be questionable. I couldn't make sense out of it and could feel the beginnings of a stress headache gripping my temples. Thinking about it wasn't going to accomplish anything, so I tried to direct my thoughts toward the restaurant and my new responsibilities. However, an uneasy fear seemed to have burrowed its way into the pit of my stomach, and I was certain it had no plans to vacate anytime soon.

Sunday morning dawned frosty but bright. The sun was out, shining on a fresh layer of snow. I began to wonder if I'd ever see grass or dirt again. Since I'd arrived, Kingdom had been covered with snow. I fixed breakfast for Charity and me while wondering what was happening at the church. This was the morning of the big vote. I watched the street from the restaurant as I made notes for the upcoming week. Mother had mentioned a few days ago that she would try to come by today, since the restaurant was closed, and we could spend some time together undisturbed. Leaving the house on Sundays, other than for church, was frowned upon, so I wasn't sure if her declaration was just false bravado. However, I hoped she'd come because she would know how to reach Callie about helping at the café. Besides, I wanted to learn the outcome of the voting.

It was almost two o'clock when the buggies began rattling down the street, the congregants heading home. It was much later than the normal dismissal time. I saw my parents ride past, my father urging Blackie faster than usual, but I wasn't sure what that meant. I waited in the dining room, still praying Mother would come.

Finally, at almost three thirty, our buggy came up the street with Mother driving. I stepped out onto the porch and waited for her to tie up Blackie and come inside. As she got closer I could clearly see the unhappiness on her face.

“Come on in, Mother,” I said, holding the door open for her.

She walked into the closed restaurant and glanced around the room. “Where is Charity?” she asked in hushed tones.

“She's down for a nap.”

Mother pulled me over to a table and sat down. “Today I experienced something in church I never want to go through again, Daughter. It was so distasteful.” She put her hand on her chest as if she were experiencing pain. “Perhaps you could pour me a cup of coffee before I tell you more? I need something to calm my nerves.”

My mother loved her coffee, and even though I'd told her more than once that coffee couldn't actually produce a calming influence on the body, she wouldn't abandon her insistence that it brought her peace when she was disturbed. I'd given up arguing with her.

I hurried into the kitchen. The coffee was still hot, since I'd been drinking it as I waited for her to arrive. It only took me a couple of minutes to return with her cup and a small container of cream.

She poured the cream into her coffee and then grabbed it like a lifeline. After a couple of sips, she put the cup down and sighed. “Pastor Mendenhall addressed the church after Communion and told them about the vote to remove him. He said that he only wanted God's will and assured us that if he had betrayed our trust in any way, he was willing to step down without any further unpleasantness. He stated his view very simply but eloquently. He believes that in the past we have been too strict with one another. He reminded us that God is a loving God, full of grace and compassion, yet during the past several years there have been too many people pushed out of the church because they broke the rules we imposed on them. Instead, he said, we should have extended love and forgiveness toward our hurting brothers and sisters.”

She blinked rapidly and her voice broke. “He looked right at me, Elizabeth Lynn. I believe you are one of the people he was thinking about.”

“I appreciate that. Pastor Mendenhall was always kind to me. After I got pregnant he went out of his way to tell me if I needed anything I could come to him. I guess he meant it.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I truly believe he did.” She wrung her hands together several times before picking up her cup once more. Instead of taking a drink, she just held it. “After that he called for a vote. Slips of paper were passed out, and we were told to write
Stay
or
Go.
Pastor asked that the slips be given to the men
and
the women.

“Your father stood up and asked for a chance to speak first. Pastor Mendenhall agreed and gave him the pulpit. Matthew announced that the women's votes would not count, as far as he was concerned, and then he went on for about twenty minutes, expounding his view that righteousness is produced by our stringent adherence to the regulations handed down by the elders. He lambasted our pastor, saying that he had been infected by the world, and that he was opposing the founders of Kingdom. That the purpose of our town was being corrupted. He accused Pastor Mendenhall of seeking members but not holding to sound doctrine.”

She shook her head. “You may not realize it, but many people have left our congregation with your father's sanction. Pastor has worked hard to bring them back. Some have come. Some have not. Your father would turn his back on all who have left, choosing to see them as apostate. He faults the pastor for seeking their hearts.”

She sighed deeply. “All I could think about was the passage in Luke where the Lord says he came to seek and save the lost.” Mother reached up and removed her bonnet, smoothing her salt-and-pepper hair with trembling hands. “How can seeking the restoration of our brothers and sisters be wrong? As your father spoke, it became clearer and clearer to me how wrong he is.”

She cast her eyes up toward me. “I hate to say this, Daughter, but I was . . . embarrassed by him. I have never said that about my husband before, but I must speak the truth.”

“It's all right, Mother. You have the right to your feelings. I like hearing what you think.”

She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, your father does not share your opinion. He would rather I stay quiet.”

“Go on. What happened next?”

“After your father finished, the vote was taken.” Her smile was tremulous. “The people voted overwhelmingly in favor of keeping Pastor Mendenhall. Women and men both. Only five voted against him.”

I frowned at her. “But what about Father's supporters? Surely there were more than that. At the very least, there are two other elders besides Father who left their positions. If all of their wives voted . . .” I stopped and stared at her. “You voted for Pastor to stay, didn't you?”

Mother raised her chin. “Yes, I did. And it felt good, Lizzie. Someone wanted my opinion, and I gave it.”

“Does Father know?”

“I have no idea, but I am sure he suspects.” She stared into her coffee cup. “He did not speak to me all the way home. I have never seen him so angry. He went straight into the bedroom and shut the door without even asking for lunch. After waiting a while, I left and did not tell him where I was going.”

“I'm sorry he's upset, Mother, but he brought this on himself. His attitude is finally having consequences. It's very difficult for me to feel sorry for him.”

“I know, and I would not expect you to. But you know, even though I must stand against his views in this, I do feel compassion for him. His father molded him into the man he is. When we courted and were first married, Matthew was a very different person. Loving and sweet. And very thoughtful. But the seeds of anger sown in his heart by your grandfather could not hold back an evil crop, and eventually your father became what he is today.” She shook her head slowly. “I so miss the man he used to be. His tender touches and the sweet things he did for me.” She blinked back tears that resisted her efforts. “He would bring me flowers, Lizzie. He would gather wildflowers and bring them home to me, just like you used to. If only he could find that man inside him again. It would change everything.”

I reached over and put my hand on her arm. “How long can we blame Father's choices on someone else?” I asked gently.

She turned her grief-stricken face to me. “How long will you blame your father for yours, Elizabeth?”

I dropped my hand. “That's not fair, Mother.”

“Yes, it is, Daughter. I think it is very fair.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Wow, when you start speaking your mind, you go full steam ahead, don't you? Couldn't you ease into this a little slower?”