No Place to Hide (42 page)

Justine peered at her curiously.

“I needed help desperately after losing Chantal,” Cheryl expanded, using her daughter’s name far more readily than Justine might have expected. “Brad and I were no good for each other, so it wasn’t long before we decided to go our separate ways. Then one day I found myself in a church begging Jesus, Mary, Joseph, anyone who’d listen to help me cope with my grief. And to my amazement it turned out that someone was listening, because in that very church on that very day I found a leaflet for a Christian retreat in northern France, and taking it as a sign, I decided to go.”

An almost visible glow seemed to emanate from her as she spoke.

“And who should be waiting for me there,” Cheryl continued, “but God himself.”

Justine was aware of Matt watching them, and since he almost certainly already knew the story, presumably having heard it on the way from the airport, he was no doubt waiting for her reaction

Still smiling in an impish way, Cheryl said, “I truly never imagined myself becoming a religious person, but that’s what’s happened, and I really couldn’t be happier. It’s helped me in ways I can hardly begin to describe, from my soul, to my confidence, to my view of the world and the people in it. Honestly, I have so much love in my heart these days that I hardly know what to do with it all, and since there’s really no one I love more than you, I thought, why not come and tell you that? So here I am, hoping we can be friends again, and that you’ll forgive me for not being around to support you during the terrible time you’ve had.”

“Oh God,” Justine sobbed, hugging her again. “I’m the one who should have been supporting you. Oh, Cheryl, I’m so happy to see you, and I’m even happier that you’ve found God, because you look absolutely wonderful, and if this is what it’s done for you, then perhaps we should all take a lesson from it.”

Cheryl gurgled on a laugh. “I promise I’m not out for conversions,” she said, “but if you are interested, obviously I’ll be happy to discuss. Now, down to more important matters…First of all, how’s Lula? I don’t expect she’ll remember me, but I certainly remember her. Such a sweetheart. Matt tells me she’s at day care?”

Justine nodded. How brave Cheryl was to be able to talk about Lula so freely after the terrible loss of her own daughter. “A Christian one,” she stated, hoping it would please her.

Apparently it did, if the shine in Cheryl’s eyes was anything to go by. “Matt also tells me,” she ran on, “that you’ve found your grandmother’s old house and you’re going to restore it?”

“Speaking of which,” Matt said, checking his watch, “I’m due to meet our builder there at four, so I’d better be on my way. Really good to see you, Cheryl. I’ll let you tell Justine how you emailed me to ask if I thought she’d see you, and how we planned this surprise.”

As he rushed out the door, Justine took Cheryl’s hands in hers and gazed into her eyes again. “I don’t want to stop looking at you,” she murmured. “I was afraid I might never see you again.”

“I had the same fear until I realized that if I could find it in my heart to forgive Ben, it would clear the way for us.”

Justine’s expression sobered as her son’s guilt crushed her heart. “I don’t know how you could do that…”

“It wasn’t so difficult when I had Jesus to help me—he took me through every step of the way. But I’m guessing that sort of talk is making you cringe.”

“No, no, it isn’t. How could it when your faith has brought you all this way back to me?”

Bunching their hands to her chest, Cheryl said, “You know, I’d love to see your grandmother’s house. Matt told me during the drive how excited you are about it, so if it’s all right with you, can we go there now?”

“Of course it’s all right with me. I love nothing more than pottering about out there, in spite of it being a wreck as it stands.”

Minutes later they were in Justine’s car heading down South Main Street, with Cheryl taking everything in as they passed.

“You must tell me what you’re doing now,” Justine insisted, “where you’re living. Perhaps you’re still at the retreat?”

Cheryl laughed. “No, I left a couple of months ago. I’ve been staying with my dad and stepmum since then. Luckily I’m not too badly off for money now the house has sold, so I can take my time deciding how I’m going to use my new skill.”

“New skill?”

With dancing eyes, Cheryl said, “I design and make jewelry. Mostly silver and semiprecious stones, and believe it or not, I already have some customers.”

“That’s fantastic.” Justine was genuinely thrilled for her. “Do you have a shop?”

“I rent a stall at a market near my dad’s every first and third Sunday in the month, and the rest of the time I sell online. I have gifts for you and Lula—and for Sallie Jo and Hazel, whom I’m longing to meet.”

“Matt obviously told you about them?”

“He did. So it seems you found some angels of your own.”

Justine threw her a quick glance. Yes, that was an accurate way of describing Sallie Jo and her family.

Cheryl smiled and winked, and a moment later Justine found herself wondering if she might be thinking the same crazy thoughts that were crowding into her own mind right now. They’d often come up with ideas, even outlandish ones, at the exact same time, so maybe that uncanny connection was still there.

“It’s definitely worth considering,” Cheryl told her.

Justine blinked. “You’re kidding me,” she cried, realizing they actually were reading each other’s mind.

Cheryl laughed.

“I think it’s the most wonderful idea,” Justine declared rashly. “You can stay with us until you find a place of your own, and there’s definitely room for a jeweler a few doors down from my gallery. I think there’s even space for a workshop at the back. We can check it out. Oh, God, Cheryl, I can hardly believe this is happening.”

Smiling, and gazing at the Culver Bible Church they were passing, Cheryl said, “It would be wonderful if it could, but there will be an immigration issue to overcome…”

“We’ll put you in touch with the lawyer Matt’s using. It’s a bit different for him, as a writer, because he qualifies as being what they call ‘outstanding in his field,’ and of course he’s married to an American, but I’m sure this guy can work something out for you. It might mean you having to leave the country every three months for a while…”

“Which would be fine. I can visit my dad and maybe do some traveling in search of inspiration.”

Reaching for her hand, Justine said, “Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Laughing, Cheryl said, “You’re not dreaming. I’m really here, and from the little I’ve seen of it so far I think I could feel very comfortable in these parts.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Justine told her drily, “this is a community of around twelve hundred people with no less than ten churches to choose from—all Christian, I believe—so you should feel very at home.”

“Such heaven,” Cheryl sighed humorously. “Do you ever go to any of them?”

“No, I’m afraid we don’t, but that’s not to say we won’t. Everything is up for discussion…Now, if you look to the right, do you see the house at the end of the track, kind of hiding behind the tall hedges? That’s ours, but I’ll take you there later. I just wanted you to see where we are in relation to town, and to May’s Cottage, which is what we’re going to call it, officially.”

“Perfect. I’m sure she’d thoroughly approve.”

“I hope so. Honest to God, I sometimes feel that she’s here, guiding me or watching over me. I even think she had something to do with bringing me here in the first place, like she willed it or something.”

“I don’t see any reason why that shouldn’t be true,” Cheryl responded.

Justine wondered if she was going to expand on that, but she didn’t seem inclined to, so they simply drove on along the south shore, chatting about what they were seeing as they passed the Venetian Village, turned by the wetlands conservation area, took a left at Mystic Hills, and eventually arrived on East Shore Drive.

Apart from a car and a truck, there was no sign of Matt and the builder when they arrived at the cottage, which was still masked from the road—this time by lavishly blossoming trees.

“Wow, this is truly special,” Cheryl murmured, gazing up at the welcoming facade as they stepped onto the crumbling patio with its patchwork of leftover snow and assortment of budding wild flowers. “And the view…It’s so close to the lake. Are you going to live here when it’s done?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Justine replied, going first into the hall, where Al had helped Matt to lay temporary timbers to make the floor more secure. “It’s quite cut off in winter, with most of the properties around only being used in summer, which would be OK for me and Matt, but not for Lula. So we’re thinking we might try to buy the house we’re renting at the moment, as we’ve become so fond of it, and do the same as our East Shore neighbors and come over here from around May to September, except we won’t have as far to travel. It’s an extravagance, but if we can persuade our families to spend time here during the summer there’ll be plenty of room for everyone to stay. Including you.”

“You can count me in,” Cheryl said with a twinkle. “I’m loving it already. Look at this kitchen, it’s so hilariously seventies…Are you going to keep it?”

“Alas no, the floors will have to come up for heating and plumbing to go in, and given its condition, it’s likely to fall apart as soon as we start moving it. We’re taking plenty of photos, though, because I don’t want to forget how it was for May.”

After showing Cheryl the sitting room with the magnificent fireplace that was still, apart from mold, bird droppings, and dust, more or less intact, and the furniture a group of Amish craftsmen had already inspected for restoration, Justine said, “Sounds like Matt’s in the cellar with the builder, so let’s go upstairs. I haven’t properly been through Phillip’s or May’s bedrooms yet. Do you know about my uncle Phillip and what happened?”

Cheryl nodded. “Matt told me. It’s so tragic, but as we know, your grandma wasn’t the only one running scared of AIDS and the stigma back then. Thank God times have changed.”

Agreeing, Justine said, “My mother wants to go through his room when she comes at Easter, so I’m left to sort out May’s. I’m not sure why, but up till now I’ve been a bit hesitant about starting, but with you here…Weirdly, it feels like this is the right time.”

Apparently amused, Cheryl followed her up to the first landing and all the way to the end, where the master room was still largely under wraps, apart from the bed with its corroded iron frame and rotting linens. A couple of ladders were propped against one wall, left by Al and Matt, who’d had to use them when removing the shutters.

“It’s like a little mystery tour,” Cheryl murmured as she helped Justine remove the covers from a formerly pink, now putrid chaise longue. “This was obviously exquisite once. Will the craftsmen be able to do anything with it?”

“I won’t know until they’ve seen it, but let’s hope so. I think that must be a tallboy over there. Do you want to check it out while I do the nightstands?”

Apparently entranced, Cheryl went to drag off the heavy dust sheet and found a bookcase full of classic novels and biographies. “She was obviously a big fan of Henry James,” she commented, counting as many as ten of his titles on the top shelf.

“There’s one here,” Justine said, finding a damp and curled copy of
The Wings of the Dove
beneath some rosary beads in a bedside drawer. Seeing there was a bookmark, she opened it to the page it was saving, and was saying, “She must have been reading it before she died,” when her eye was caught by the back of a wooden frame propped against the wall beside the bed. Lifting it carefully, she checked the handwritten inscription in the bottom right-hand corner, wondering if she was about to discover yet another Impressionist masterpiece.

What she read was,
Done by May Cantrell, August 1976.

She turned it over and saw that behind the moldy glass was a beautifully embroidered quotation.

Frowning as she looked round, Cheryl said, “Can you smell oranges? Or is it roses?”

Justine nodded, because she could; in fact she felt surrounded by the scent, and when she realized what she was reading she understood why.

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all

To Dorry and Channing Mitzell

with love

Acknowledgments

So many enormous thank-yous to the people of Culver:

First of all to Susie Mahler, owner of Café Max on Main Street. Thank you, Susie, for being there every step of the way, answering my emails so quickly and so informatively, and allowing me to use the café as a location.

To Sallie Jo Tardy Mitzell for an amazing tour of Lake Maxinkuckee and of her family’s beautiful lakeside cottage. Thank you too, Sallie Jo, for letting me use your name for one of the main characters.

To Craig Mitzell for adding so much color and character to the story.

To Jeff Kenney of the
Culver Citizen
for yet more color and so many insights.

To Chief Wayne Bean of the Culver Police Department.

To Sheryl at the Child Care Ministry.

To Marcia Adams for generously sharing her historic knowledge of Culver.

To Dorry Mitzell for the wonderful coffee cake.

—

Also to my dear and treasured friend Chip (Mitzell) Mitchell for introducing me to Culver.

And to my US editor, Kate Miciak, for the story about the rabbits and introducing me to the Pennsylvania Impressionists.