Miracle in the Mist (12 page)

***

Through slitted eyelids, Frank watched Carrie leave. Memories of her body pressed against him made him hard and left him aching with a need he hadn't experienced in a long time, a need that went bone- and soul-deep. Then his gaze drifted to the painting on the dresser, and he thought of Sandy, and the wanting vanished on a wave of shame. How could he desire another woman? How could he betray Sandy's memory like that?

Drawing the blankets over his head, he rolled over and closed his eyes. But behind his eyelids hovered an image of a lovely young woman in a thin, cotton nightdress with auburn hair and soft lips and a smile that could light up the heavens, but more importantly, his life.

***

From the edge of the forest, Alvin watched Carrie slip from his cottage and hurry down the lane to Clara's. He had no idea what had taken place that night between Frank and Carrie, nor did he want to know. That was their business, not his. What was his business was getting Frank to talk about his problems so he could get him out of Renaissance before Alvin was forced to live through his own hellish memories.

Hours later, when Alvin entered the cottage, Frank was just sitting down to the breakfast Alvin had left for him: coffee, bread, cheese, and an apple.

"Don't you people believe in eggs and bacon?" Frank asked, slicing off a generous hunk from the wedge of yellow cheese. He stared down at it, and then curled his nose. Shrugging, he popped it into his mouth.

Alvin took a seat across from him and poured himself a cup of the thick, dark coffee. "We don't keep any livestock in the village so we ran out of eggs." He took a sip from the cup. The blast of caffeine brought his body to life instantly.

"Isn't there a shop here?"

"Yes, but I have to bring most of the supplies from the outside."

Frank looked at him expectantly, and Alvin knew he was awaiting further explanation. He sighed and set the heavy mug back on the table with a loud
clunk
. "I've been a bit busy with
other things
and haven't left the village for a few days." He was not about to tell him that he couldn't leave the village, thanks to Emanuel… and Frank.

"If by
other things
you mean me, I didn't ask Emanuel to burden you with me. Feel free to turn me over to someone else to worry about anytime you want." Frank's voice held a resentful, clipped edge.

Instantly, Alvin was sorry for his statement. Frank was right. It wasn't his fault that by helping Frank to face his problems, Alvin was being forced to face his own demons. Emanuel had to take the full blame for that on his own shoulders. Alvin shook his head. "That wasn't right. I shouldn't blame you for my worries."

Frank's expression softened. "Would it help to talk about it?"

Alvin studied his hands for a moment, and then raised his gaze to meet Frank's. "Has it occurred to you that you're willing to take on that girl's problems and to talk about mine, but as yet you haven't addressed your own?"

Frank's face shut down. He picked up a paring knife and began devoting undue, intense concentration to peeling the apple. "Nice apples," he said. "Do you get these outside the village, too?"

Having used it many times himself, Alvin knew evasion when he heard it. Shut down. Shut them out. Refuse to discuss it. Draw their attention away from you. Alvin picked up the second apple and turned it in his rough fingers.

"You know, Frank, apples are a lot like people. You don't really know what you've got until you get beneath their skin." He raised his gaze to Frank.

He stopped peeling and glanced at Alvin, then resumed removing the skin from the apple. "Spare me the philosophical garbage."

Alvin set the apple down. "Then talk to me."

"About what?" Frank asked, his dumb act not fooling Alvin for a second.

"About you. About why you're here. About what's eating a hole into your insides big enough for a truck to drive through."

Frank tossed the apple and the knife aside. "I killed my wife and unborn child. Is that what you want to hear?" His voice rose loud enough to be heard outside.

Alvin leaned back in his chair, tipping it up on two legs, and then crossed his arms over his stomach. "It's a start." He waited, but when Frank didn't offer more, he nudged him on. "How?"

Throwing him a scathing look, Frank stood and strode to the window. "How what?"

"How did you kill them, Frank?"

The question cut into Frank like a saber plunged into his heart. "It was snowing. I hit a tree," he finally mumbled. "My wife died instantly." Tears burned the back of his eyes.

He stared blankly out the window, but he didn't see the quaint little village. All he saw was snow falling in blinding sheets, a tree hurtling toward them, and all he heard were Sandy’s terrified screams and then the high-pitched sound of crunching metal. Then silence.

"At least she died instantly," Alvin said, his voice weary and horribly sad.

Snatched from his memories, Frank turned back to the man hunched over at the table. "What?"

"I said at least she died instantly. My wife took hours to die in a hospital room." Alvin rose and abruptly left the cottage.

Chapter 10

After leaving Alvin's cottage, Frank wandered around the village for a while. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Carrie. It had nothing to do with what had happened the night before in his bed. He'd held Carrie, comforted her, and then let her go. Nothing more than one friend would do for another.

But it had everything to do with the fact that comfort had turned to desire. He had betrayed Sandy's memory. He had wanted another woman. Not just wanted, but longed for with an unbelievable intensity. How did he reconcile that with having loved Sandy more than any other human alive? Alvin's prying into the accident only served to underline that betrayal.

Then it came to him. Wanting didn't equal love. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, and it was nothing more than his body reacting the way any full-blooded, healthy man's body would react if he had a half-naked woman lying in his arms. Still, he felt the tug of betrayal.

Suddenly, Carrie's words penetrated his brain. He'd been so wrapped up in her problems and his growing sexual attraction that they'd slipped past him until now.

I trust you, Frank
.

The words bit deep into him. He picked up a dead twig and twisted it until it snapped. He didn't want her trust. He didn't want anyone's trust. Yet he'd asked Carrie to trust him. Why? Sandy had trusted him to take care of her and their unborn child, and look how that had ended. No. Carrie would have to see herself through this. He didn't want to be responsible for anyone else anymore.

But he cared about Carrie. How could he not be there for her? She had no one else. As he walked blindly through the village, a tug of war went on in his brain that soon had a dull pain jack-hammering in his skull.

Moments later, despite his vow to stay away, and as if his feet had a mind of their own, Frank found himself stepping into Clara's garden. Carrie sat in her usual spot beside the stream. He knew she was waiting for him. And he knew what he had to do.

"Morning," she said shyly.

"Morning."

"About last night," she blurted, giving him no chance to speak. "I—"

He held up his hand. "No need."

Frank wasn't sure if she was about to apologize or not, but whatever she'd been about to say, he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to see the sun shining down on her head like a halo or the way it picked up the red highlights in her hair and made them dance like flames. He didn't want to see the welcome in her eyes or the lift of her full lips in a smile that entwined him with a reminder of how sweet and soft they had felt beneath his.

What he wanted was to speak his piece, cut his ties, and run before he got sucked into another intimate situation, but his feet seemed glued to the ground. As he stood there gazing into her lovely face, he could feel his resolve to distance himself from her slowly crumbling. Before he lost his nerve or let her beauty override his intentions, he had to do what he'd come here to do.

"Carrie, I don't want to mislead you. I'm the worst person in the world to help you through this thing with your faceless man."

Mouth agape, she stared at him, obviously stunned by his change of attitude from last night.

"I have my own demons to extricate. Until I do, I can't… get close to anyone."

She dipped her head and clutched her hands together in her lap. "I understand."

But he knew she didn't. The light had gone out in her eyes. She felt abandoned, and he hated himself for being the cause.

"That doesn't mean we can't talk," he qualified, trying to take the edge off his abrupt declaration. "It just can't go beyond that." He almost added
for now
, but stopped himself before the words passed his lips. There was no
for now
about it. Was there?

He looked up at the clear blue sky. What the hell was wrong with him? His emotions were fluctuating like a flag in a shifting wind. One minute he wanted Carrie as far away from him as he could get her, and the next he couldn't bear the thought of being separated from her.

"Look." He squatted beside her and took one of her cold hands. "I'll be here for you whenever you need me, but don't trust me, Carrie."

She turned her face up to him. "Why?" Her moist eyes tugged painfully at his heart.

What could he say in answer to that?
Don't trust me because I kill the people closest to me
? "I can't seem to help myself, and if I can't do that, how can I help you?"

She smiled and covered his hand with her free one. The sun got brighter. "We can help each other."

Frank's insides churned. Was she right? Could this fragile, troubled woman help him find his way through the web of guilt the accident had spun around him? Was there, indeed, a light at the end of this cold, dark tunnel he'd been in for so long?

Carrie squeezed his hand. "Clara told me that the Assignments come to the village with a load of emotional baggage. Maybe sometimes, we have to help each other carry the load. Maybe we're supposed to help each other."

Was she right? Was that what this was all about? Was he reading far too much into his relationship with Carrie? Were they just meant to help each other find the answers they both so desperately sought?

"Let me help you with whatever's troubling you," she said softly. "And you can help me. It doesn't have to be any more than that, if that's what you want. A friend helping a friend over some rough spots in the road."

Although he wouldn't characterize what either of them were going through as anything as trivial as
rough spots
, Frank had known for a long time that his burden was becoming heavier than he could bear alone. After all, wasn't that why he'd come here, to lighten the load? What harm could it do to let her help him find the way to peace of mind and he, in turn, could do what he could to help her? It didn't have to be more than that. It wouldn't be more than that. He'd make sure of it.

Still, he hesitated. He glanced past Carrie to the opposite riverbank and started. On the other side, Sandy stood near the water's edge, smiling and nodding her head, as if telling him to go ahead. He blinked, and as before, she had already disappeared.

Contentment washed over him. He smiled and nodded. "Okay, we'll help each other."

Carrie waited, but although he had agreed to their mutual assistance, he did not offer to tell her about his troubles, and she didn't push. When he wanted to, he'd tell her. She had to believe that, no matter what.

***

Emanuel turned away from the window where he'd been watching the exchange between Carrie and Frank. Clara had just set his usual mug of coffee on the table.

"Frank seems to be taking some tentative steps toward finding his way, and Carrie has had some of her memory return," Clara said.

Emanuel took a seat and sighed. "Yes, but Alvin still seems to be fighting off his own resolutions." He curled his big hands around the mug and looked deep into the dark liquid it held. "I'd so hoped that he and Frank could help each other."

Clara straightened her mobcap and sank into the chair next to him. She patted his hand. "It's not over yet. Perhaps one has to heal first to be able to help the other."

"Perhaps," he said distractedly. "Perhaps. And perhaps Alvin needs a gentle nudge."

Emanuel went silent. Clara waited. A deep frown creased his broad forehead, and he fingered the end of his long white beard, a definite sign that he was thinking about some way to give Alvin a shove in the right direction. She smiled. If she knew Emanuel well, and she did, probably better than anyone in the village, she was sure he'd find his answer before too long, and when he did, Alvin would not even know he'd been nudged.

She wisely left him to his thoughts and went into the pantry to get some fruit to add to the picnic lunch she had decided to pack for Frank and Carrie. Emanuel wasn't the only one who could deliver a discreetly aimed nudge to fate.

***

"Oh my!" Carrie was astounded at the beauty of the spot where Clara had directed her and Frank to enjoy the surprise picnic she'd packed for them. Now Carrie knew why Clara had urged her to bring along her paints.

High above their heads, a waterfall cascaded in silvery sheets over granite rocks and then plunged into the large, crystal-clear pool below. At its base was a wide area of soft, brilliant green grass dotted with yellow dandelions and purple and white dog-toothed violets. Surrounding the clearing, like sentinels, stately pine trees swayed in the warm, gentle breeze, and at the foot of the trees and encircling the entire setting grew bushes heavy with blueberries that provided a barrier between Frank and Carrie and the outside world. It was as though they'd found a private haven, safe and secure from everything that had twisted their lives into unmanageable chaos.

Frank spread the blanket Clara had given them, and Carrie laid out the food: two large, ruby-red apples; a loaf of golden, crusty bread still warm from the oven; a wedge of cheese; and two slices of dark chocolate cake, coated with thick, white icing. They ate silently, both surprised at the degree of their hunger.