Retribution (29 page)

She tried to pull her focus back to Nadine. “He's hard-working, honest, caring and he treats me like a princess.” She didn't share her other thoughts, the confusion over his behavior, his random acts of affection balanced by periods of distraction.

“Like a princess?” The woman pursed her lips. “I would have thought a liberated woman like you would prefer to be treated as an equal.”

“Princess isn't the right word. He sacrifices what he wants to make me happy.”

“I see.” Nadine fingered the book in her lap. “I'm sure you must be tired. Run along to bed. I will see that the light is turned out when I retire.” As easy as that, Nadine had dismissed her. The queen on her throne.

Lillian quietly went up the stairs, her mind pondering the strange Mrs. Blackwell. Would she someday be like her, alone and living off the lives of others? But now Roger…

Slipping under the cool covers, Lillian reached for her Bible. Yawning, she set it back down and turned off the light. Sleep came easily, but with it dreams of princes who turned to frogs when kissed. Dozens of frogs jumped around her, clinging to her long skirt and getting tangled in her hair as she scrambled to kiss each prince, hoping one would remain true.

22

The six paintings propped against the dining room wall looked like God's creation of the universe on canvas. Colors sprouted and grew, moved and flowed in ways that gave Bill pause. He ran his hand across the stubbly hair on top of his head as he stared at his favorite,
Gethsemane
. Green predominated with splashes of red and blue and an overtone of darkness. The scene evoked emotions both hopeful and deep. No matter how many times he looked at the painting, it always elicited a mood within him.

Footsteps sounded and soon Lillian stood beside him. “Looks like Ted is getting ready to crate up his latest work.” She stared at the paintings, hands on her hips. “He has an amazing talent.”

It had been awhile since he had been alone with Lillian. He searched his feelings, quieted his mind to allow God to send a message. No bells of impending danger jangled at his nerves. And yet Lillian stood beside him. As hard as he tried, he could not trust this woman. And he had tried. Everyone seemed to like her—no, they loved her. She had become a part of the family, yet there remained that doubt God had placed on his heart at her arrival.

“Where is Ted, anyway?” she asked.

“Out getting the things he needs to secure these canvases.” He tried again to sense anything unusual. Normally the feeling of danger overwhelmed him; he didn't need to go searching for it. “So what are you up to today? Going out with Roger again?”

Now he felt it—not danger but confusion.

“He's coming to pick me up after lunch. We're going to do some shopping in Florence.”

“Hey, Lillian.”

“Hey, Ted. Just admiring your work.” She gave him a smile. “I need to get my list ready for the shopping trip to the big city, unless you want me to stay and keep an eye on big mama while you're gone.”

“Going all the way to Florence, are you?” Ted asked. “It's what? Seven miles?” His grin lit his face. “Trina would kill you if she heard you talk of needing to watch her. She thinks she's a pillar of strength.”

“I know, but if you want me to stay…”

“I'll be here,” Bill said. No way would he leave his daughter alone with Lillian. He watched as she left the room, as much at ease here as she would be in her own home. “Any idea how much longer she's going to stay?” The dreaded feeling of danger had not surfaced, but his nerves still jingled. He scratched his arms. Something was up.

Ted placed the stack of wooden packing frames, screws, a hammer and two screwdrivers on the floor, and turned to the row of canvases. “So what do you think?”

“I'll never understand your work, but I've grown to appreciate it.” He ran his hand across the stubble topping his head. “Ted, what do you know about Lillian?”

Ted let out a deep sigh. “Are we back to that? Bill, you're the only one in the family who worries about her.”

“I know, and a prophet is never heard in his own home.”

Ted lifted a painting off the floor and swaddled it in bubble wrap.

Bill held the wood strips as Ted lay the protected painting over them, placed supports on top, and inserted screws to hold the two layers of wood in place.

“Do you think Aunt Betsy will come for a visit once the baby's born?” Screws dangled from between Ted's lips.

“Are you kidding? Nothing short of the Second Coming will keep her away. She mothered Trina after Nancy died, and now she thinks she has a personal claim to my first grandchild.”

“She may have to fight Sandra for baby time.” Ted stared at him. “Any new developments between you and Sandra?”

“What do you mean?” He took a deep breath. If the air had felt thick before, it suddenly became concrete.

“For awhile I thought a romance was building, but lately you seem to be backing off. You know, not making excuses to go to her house. Not beating a path to her side every time she shows up here.”

Bill slumped into a chair. “That woman confuses me.”

Ted grinned. “I think that's their job.” He wiggled fingers in the air. “God made the female species deep and mysterious.”

“Seriously, Ted, I don't know what to do about her.”

Ted stopped working; his expression serious. “What's going on?”

“It's crazy, but I can't shake the feeling of doing something wrong when I think romantic thoughts about Sandra.” He grappled to put his feelings into words, never having been good at expressing emotions. But he had learned to appreciate the strength of his faith-filled son-in-law, and knew he could share his thoughts with him, man to man. “I turned down another offer to sell the house.”

“Hmm. Was it a fair offer?” The screwdriver twisted against the board beneath Ted's hand.

“Not really, but then, what's fair anymore? The house is paid off, and ten years ago it would have sold for twenty thousand more than today.”

“It's a nice place, and you've kept it up. It'll sell.”

“Not if I don't want it to.” He turned from Ted's open stare. “The house is the last link to my old life.”

“So do you plan to go back to Ohio?”

“I don't think so, not now anyway. But who knows in the future?”

Ted secured the frame around his painting. “Sounds like Sandra would tie you here.”

His son-in-law seemed to read his hidden thoughts, and it annoyed him. A man needed his privacy. “Right now I have two lives. I can only live one.”

“Do you love Sandra?”

“Love has nothing to do with it. I will always be there for her and Jimmy, but that doesn't mean I have to marry her.”

“Marry…wow.”

Bill pushed himself out of the chair. “Come on Ted, you know how I feel. I can't marry Sandra when I'm still emotionally tied to Ohio. If I marry again, what happens in heaven when I meet up with Nancy? How do I explain Sandra?”

Ted grinned. “Is that what's bothering you? God doesn't prohibit remarrying after the death of a spouse, so I'm sure He has the two-wife-thing worked out.”

“Someone will love these,” Bill said, taking the opportunity to change the subject. He had talked enough about his personal life. Anymore and his brain would blow up.

“They're all headed to International Christian College in Columbia, ordered for their new chapel. Administration wants to hang them before the community Christmas Eve service.”

“Aren't you putting this off until the last minute? This is what, the middle of December?”

“I had to wait until the oil paint dried. I'm headed to Columbia after lunch. Want to ride along? There are a couple of gifts I need to pick up while I'm in the big city.” He shared a big grin.

“Isn't it supposed to rain?” A few gray clouds drifted as though in no hurry to be displaced by angrier dark cousins.

“It is, but I need to get these delivered.”

He glanced toward the hall. If he went with Ted, it would leave Trina alone with Lillian. In spite of everyone else's opinions, the woman still had danger clinging to her like stink to a skunk. Maybe Sandra would come over for awhile in his absence. No, Lillian said she and Roger were going to the mall. The crowds would be awful, so she would be gone for hours. “I can keep you company. You'll need some muscle to help you carry these into the church.”

“Then let's grab a sandwich and hit the road. We can be back before supper.”

With another glance out the window, he followed Ted into the kitchen, hoping he had made the right decision.

~*~

Lillian stretched and sighed. She loved lazy days like this, snuggled on the couch with a pillow, blanket, and a good book. The men had just left, and Roger would be here soon to take her to the mall. She needed to get ready.

The cell phone in her pocket jangled. “Hey, Roger. I was just thinking of you.”

“Will you care very much if I have to postpone shopping until tomorrow?”

“Actually I'm lying on the couch with a good book, trying to motivate myself to get up and get ready. What's up?”

“Just a last minute glitch at work. Nothing to worry about. Maybe we can even go later, if you want.”

Stifling a yawn, Lillian glanced out the window. “It's supposed to rain. Let's wait for another day, if that's all right with you.”

“Good with me. Call you later.”

She glanced across the room at Trina, propped in her father's old recliner. It was hard to see the woman's face over her protruding belly, and twinges of jealousy wedged their way into her conscious.

Trina groaned.

“Are you all right? Do you want the couch? I can sit in the recliner if you want to trade places.” Those were the right words. Give up her comfy spot, even though she didn't want to. Her lips tightened. To say envy didn't eat at her would be wrong. Every morning she confronted the one thing she wanted most and didn't have—a loving husband and a child. How would Trina, the faithful ”God is good” woman, react if her baby were taken from her?

Trina sent her a smile. “I have trouble being flat, so the recliner is better, but thanks.”

Lillian grimaced against her negative thoughts. It had been weeks since she had considered Trina as anything but friend. Besides, she had been spending so much time with Roger, she seldom saw the woman except in the mornings. She tried to settle back into reading her book, but the story no longer held her interest.

Trina flipped the page of her book, closed it and tossed it to the floor. “I'm getting some juice. Do you want anything?” She struggled to sit up.

“I'll get it for you.” Retribution for bad thoughts.

“Thanks, but I need the exercise.” Trina managed to stand, hands supporting her back as she gained a tottery balance. “Listen to that wind.”

Lillian parted the lacy curtains. “It's really gotten dark; looks as if we're in for another storm.” Her hand slipped between the cushions of the couch. “Hey, look what I found.” She held up a roll of green duct tape.

“Looks like Dad's missing tape has been found.”

The room darkened. A clap of thunder shook the house. Lillian shivered and pulled the knit throw closer to her neck. The murky gloom felt unnatural, as though swirling vapors hid in the shadows.
Come on, first you turn on Trina, not you're seeing ghosts.

Trina turned on the overhead light, banishing spectral bodies to the other rooms, and snatched the remote. “Maybe we should check the weather.”

Both women focused on the screen. The announcer pointed to a line of severe storms currently situated over the Pee Dee region which included Darlington County: heavy rain and high winds expected for the next couple of hours.

“Swell,” Trina said. “Rain and wind. I hope Ted has the sense to not drive home.” Suddenly she bent over and clutched her abdomen. A low moan escaped her lips.

~*~

Thunder rattled the plates hanging on the yellow kitchen wall.

Jimmy's hand jerked, splattering cookie dough across the counter. Wide eyes met those of his grandma.

“It's all right, sweetheart.” She wrapped her arms around his slight shoulders. “It's just thunder. We're safe inside.” The sky broke loose with a volley of power, and Jimmy cowered against her. Her heart ached, remembering the horrors he had endured while restrained and alone in a black and airless shed.

Rain pelted the wood siding of the small house. The overhead light did little to erase the mid-day gloom; the shadows simply shifted from one corner to the other. Another flash of lightning, a crack of thunder.

Jimmy clamped his hands over his ears.

“Let's forget these cookies until the storm passes.” She covered the bowl with a dishcloth and turned off the oven. Jimmy's hand felt like ice in hers. He was normally so brave. Lately he had been more agitated than usual. To be honest, her nerves were a bit thin too, and her skin burned with apprehension. And now, with the storm, they both needed a distraction.

“Let's play a game. How about something fun?”

Jimmy loved board games and, hopefully, the activity would burn off some of his tension. He responded with a weak smile.

She had dug the games from the attic when Jimmy came to live with her. They had belonged to Jimmy's father; some things were too precious to part with. Sorrow tugged at her heart as it always did when she thought of her son beside his wife in the cemetery on Worley Street. Just three years old when they died, Jimmy had few memories of his parents. The games connected them. Both father and son enjoyed the challenges and skills involved in playing them.

The sound of the wind wailed through the walls while rain bashed against the windows as if the hands of Satan were beating against them.

Sandra gathered Jimmy onto her lap and murmured a prayer for safety.