The Widow of Saunders Creek (19 page)

Eli finished getting the drinks and went outside to watch the grill while I put the salad together.

Fifteen minutes later, we sat down to an alfresco meal. A nice breeze flowed over us, drying the perspiration we’d both acquired during the few minutes inside the sweltering kitchen. I dipped a bite of lobster tail into a finger bowl of clarified butter and slid the bite into my mouth.

Movement by the door caught my attention, and as I swallowed my bite, I looked up. The curtain moved, and I could have sworn someone’s silhouette appeared in the window. My face must have shown my confusion.

“Everything okay?” Eli asked.

The shadow remained, and I nodded toward the door. “I think someone is in the house.” The slightest hint of a thought made me consider that it might be Jarrod, but I had never seen him or felt him other than the hairs on my arms or neck going up. I had been nervous about an intruder ever since Ray showed up on my porch the night of the tornado, and my anxiety had only grown after the incident at the barn. Only Lola showing up that day and sleeping in the house with me had kept my nerves from getting the better of me. This house wasn’t exactly burglarproof.

“Do you think they decided not to go to the concert?” Eli asked. “Maybe it’s Lola.”

He had tensed up, though, and was poised to go inside.

“Lola would have called me if they were going to be home early. She would have wanted me to save her a lobster tail.”

He nodded. “Stay here while I make sure it’s not an intruder.”

Some part of me—the part that was all coward—wanted to allow him to be the big, strong hero while I sat back and let him take care of me. But I had played that role for too many years with Jarrod, and then
I got left alone and suddenly had to learn to take care of myself. As much as I loved Jarrod, I wasn’t ever going to be the damsel in distress again. I got up at the same moment he rose from his seat. He frowned. “Well, at least let me go first,” he said.

“Gladly.”

He smiled as he walked to the grill, his limp more pronounced than usual, and grabbed the tongs. He held them like a weapon. Carefully, he opened the door and stepped inside. I stayed at his elbow. Any closer and I’d be piggyback.

Nothing looked disturbed. But it was a big house, and I knew what I’d seen.

We walked through, room by room, upstairs and down, and as we stepped over each threshold, I felt myself relaxing a little more. We made our way back down the steps and through the house. When he opened the front door, I moved into the kitchen. I walked toward the hallway but stopped short in the center of the room. Something seemed different. I looked around, first toward the cabinets, then the fridge, stove, and table. I did a complete three-sixty and was standing with my hands on my hips when Eli entered the kitchen a minute later.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

I shook my head, frowning. “I don’t know. There’s just this feeling I get when something isn’t quite right.”

“You have that feeling now?”

“Yeah. But nothing seems out of place or anything.” I shook myself to get rid of the sense of foreboding and motioned my head toward the hall. “Let’s finish eating.”

“Good idea.”

“You don’t think I saw anything, do you?” I preceded him down the hall and through the mud room.

“I don’t know if you did or not.” He leaned around me and opened the door. “It’s enough for me that you think you saw someone. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

I loved the way Eli made me feel validated instead of foolish. Anyone else would probably have said I imagined it. I stepped onto the deck, and my stomach sank as I looked at the table.

Eli’s plate was turned over, his food strung across the table and on the ground. His glass was toppled, and his tea soaked the tablecloth.

“Interesting,” he said.

“Interesting?”

“Your plate is exactly the way you left it.”

It was. My heart sped up as I examined the table. On his side of the table, it looked as though someone had deliberately upended things. My half-eaten plate of food looked exactly the way I’d left it, as Eli had noted. My glass sat next to my plate, and even my napkin hadn’t moved.

I frowned and glanced at Eli. “Why would someone do this?”

And where was he? Had someone come into the house, waited for us to investigate, and come around to the back just to tip Eli’s plate?

“It was probably a gust of wind that hit my side of the table just right. Yours was probably protected by the house.”

I rolled my eyes because of how unlikely that sounded. He shrugged and gave me a wry grin. “I got nothing here. It’s a quandary for sure. Raccoon?”

“Ever heard of a raccoon that knocked over a plate but didn’t eat the food?”

“What about that cat you took in?”

I considered it for a second, then shook my head. “Kitty wouldn’t have tossed the food off the table. He would have just jumped right up and started digging in.”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Well, that’s it. I’m out of suggestions.”

“Random one-sided wind and raccoon? Those are our options?”

“Now you know why I went to seminary instead of the police academy. No instincts.”

I laughed, but my mind turned to the shadow I’d seen in the window. That shadow was real. I had seen something. I shoved aside my feelings for the time being. “I’ll clean this up and get another lobster tail. It doesn’t take but a few minutes to grill.”

“You have extra lobster tails just sitting around in your fridge?”

I hated to sound pretentious, and I was afraid I somehow had. “Blame Lola. She always overbuys. I don’t know why. It’s not like we ever did without as children.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“Do I sound like a rich girl without a clue about real people?” I had lived on a budget for seven years, and none of my friends had a clue I was raised in an affluent family. To them, I was just frugal Corrie who could stretch a dime into a dollar with coupons and bargain shopping.

Eli smiled and shook his head at my question. “You are the most down-to-earth woman I know. Rich or poor.”

“Then you know I’m not one to keep expensive food lying around my fridge.”

“I was kidding.”

I exhaled. “Sorry. I’m sensitive about my upbringing. Anyway, my
theory about Lola’s obsession with cooking too much is that Mother always made more food than we needed. She said you never could tell when company would stop by.” I grabbed my plate and glass from the table. “You want to grab the rest of the dishes? I’ll take up the tablecloth and grab another from inside.”

The door was still open, so I carried my food and drink inside, through the hallway, and to the kitchen table. Eli followed closely behind. “Put everything in the sink, even the tablecloth,” I said. “I’ll take care of it later.”

I opened the drawer and took out another tablecloth and more flatware. I glanced at Eli. “Want to grab the tray of lobster tails?”

“Sure.” He opened the refrigerator and glanced back over his shoulder. “How many?”

On a whim, I decided to go ahead and cook the rest of them. It wasn’t likely we’d fire up the grill two nights in a row. “Just grab the whole tray,” I said, glad the idea to cook them all hadn’t come to me the first time around. They might be on the ground.

Eli pulled out the lobster tails, and we walked back to the deck. “I’m glad you’re the kind of guy who can roll with the punches,” I said, giving him a little nudge.

“Why are you cooking all of these?”

I grinned as he spread the tablecloth over the table. “There are fifteen tails left here. If Lola has a good evening with Joe, she’ll want to stay up talking and eating. If she has a bad date, she’ll also want to stay up talking and eating. She’ll eat at least two of these, you’ll eat two of them, and there’s always lunch tomorrow. So they won’t go to waste.”

“Makes sense.”

“It really does. If I didn’t cook them tonight, they’d most likely end up going bad.”

I turned the tails, one at a time. Why was I talking about such insignificant things when I really wanted to talk about the plate and the glass and how on earth that had happened? Again, my thoughts turned to the shadow that no one could ever convince me I hadn’t seen. Aunt Trudy’s voice echoed in my mind:
“The departed come to us as glimpses and shadows.”
Had Jarrod done this? Was it even possible? Part of me wanted to speak with Aunt Trudy. To get her opinion. I think she would say Jarrod was trying to get my attention. Was it possible he saw Eli with me and was telling me not to go there?

I felt hands on my shoulders and jumped. “Whoa,” Eli said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were so deep in thought.”

“Eli.” I could hear the relief in my voice. “You did scare me. Sorry.”

“I have an idea,” he said, turning me by my shoulders until I was eye level with his chest. He tipped my chin so that I met his gaze.

“What idea?” I said, a little disconcerted by his closeness.

“After dinner, let’s take a walk past the bridge and go see the campground.”

“Won’t it get dark?”

“Yeah, but I have a four-wheeler with headlights. I’ll get you home safe and sound.” He smiled down at me, and my heart did a little dance. “It’ll do you good to get fresh air, and I really want you to see the campground.”

I felt honored that he wanted to show me his land. And the fact that he could see I needed to get out of the house to clear my head made me feel unbelievably cherished. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but he made
everyone around him feel loved. I knew it wasn’t just me. He had a way about him that drew people. I’d seen it at the shop when he stopped by. Even Aunt Trudy softened when he came into the room. Despite their deep, fundamental differences, her affection for him was obvious. Eli was a kind and generous guy, and for a little while this evening, I felt cherished again.

I didn’t want to admit it to Corrie, but the incident over dinner got to me. I didn’t feel threatened or afraid, but I remembered things like this happening when I was a child. Things being knocked over, doors slamming, unexplained scratching noises that Granny swore was a friendly sort of ghost. Only as I got older did I question the “friendliness” of slamming doors and such.

Was the demon from my childhood playing games with Corrie now? So far she hadn’t mentioned anything to me about other disturbances, but I remembered the overturned coffee cup and the stuck door, and if that destroyed table was any indication, I’d say it had returned—if it had ever left the house in the first place. At any rate, I wanted to get away to regroup and give Corrie a little distance as well. She truly seemed a little shaken.

Silently, I prayed for peace, and as we walked over the bridge and paused to listen to the shallow water rushing over the pebbles below us, my prayer was answered. Birds sang their last song of the day, and the cicadas were in full voice. The atmosphere soothed the soul and fueled the romantic feelings I’d been trying not to show.

We leaned against the railing and tossed in errant branches. “How could anyone not love this place?” Corrie asked, her voice soft and airy.

“I honestly can’t answer that.” I fought the urge to cover the hand
she’d placed on the railing. I just wanted to be close to this woman, to touch her soft skin, to take away the sadness I so often saw in her eyes. She closed her eyes, and a smile touched her lips, and I knew she felt the wave of contentment I was experiencing. The essence of nature created by a loving God. I wanted to say something about the awesomeness of God, but I knew that sometimes it’s better to let Him do the talking.

Her eyes opened and she turned to me. “Do you think I should give up the house?”

The words slammed into me like a wave crashing into the side of a ship. I felt tossed. Not because I thought she should give it up, but because I wondered if someone had been cruel enough to suggest it.

“Why would you ask that? Has someone in the family been giving you a hard time?”

I knew family members mumbled about Jarrod leaving her the land and the house rather than stipulating it had to stay in the family. But Corrie was his family, and Jarrod never intended to die before he built a life here with his wife and children.

She shook her head. “Not overtly. I know there is some resentment, but that’s not what I’m concerned about.”

“That’s good. What made you ask my opinion, then?”

“Lola.” She paused for a brief second and then continued. “She thinks I need to give it back and go home. Get on with my life, take a job in an art gallery, and definitely start painting again. Find a nice guy and remarry.”

Again, I felt tossed. But I sensed I needed to tread carefully. I couldn’t begin to know what God had planned for this woman. It
wasn’t my place to speak from my own heart. She had to make that choice. “What do you think you should do?”

She drew in a breath and released it slowly. “I don’t want to go. This is where I feel Jarrod.” She glanced at me. “You know? I’m afraid that if I go somewhere else, he’ll be lost to me forever.”

Jealousy rose up. I knew it was ridiculous. I was jealous of a dead man. I thought I’d left that part of me behind long ago. I thought I’d matured. But clearly I had more growing ahead of me.