Authors: Gloria Repp
She curled both hands around it, letting the ache flow through her, and after a minute, she set it on the bedside table. She would always grieve for him, but the pain had become a quiet stream, drawing her close to the God he’d loved.
Next morning, her first thoughts went to her car. It was getting old, but she took good care of it. What on earth could be wrong? And who could she get to fix it? She’d ask Bria.
She found that Tara was sitting up, scratching at her hair, and the girl agreed to join her in the kitchen for scrambled eggs and toast.
They were finishing up when Bria arrived. She smiled at Tara. “Hi! I’m glad to see you’re up. Isn’t Mollie a good cook?”
Tara eyed Madeleine. “That’s your name?”
“That’s what my friends call me.” The sight of her car through the window jogged her memory. “Bria, is there anyone in town who works on cars?”
Bria frowned. “I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Tara asked.
“Last night, it wouldn’t start.”
Tara finished her cocoa. “I like to fix cars. Got your keys?”
It wouldn’t start for Tara, either, but she looked interested and popped open the hood. “It’s been running good before this?”
“Yes. And I just had it tuned up for the winter.”
“Okay. Get in and try it again.”
Tara stared into the engine compartment, muttering to herself. She told Madeleine when to turn the key and crank the engine, and when to stop. Then she looked around the edge of the hood. “You got a screwdriver?”
Madeleine showed her the tool kit in the trunk and Tara made a satisfied sound. She bent over the engine. “Let’s check this—crank it again. Aha! No spark!” A minute later, she said, “No wonder. Look.”
In the midst of the hoses and belts that ran in and out of mysterious blackened objects was something cup-shaped.
“Your distributor cap,” Tara said, twirling the screwdriver. “Your rotor’s gone, see?”
Madeleine didn’t see, but she understood what the girl had said. “Gone? How could it be gone?”
Tara pushed the hair out of her eyes. “They don’t just fall off by themselves, I can tell you that. You leave your car unlocked?”
“Out here, I thought it would be all right.”
“Uh-huh. Someone lifted your rotor.” Tara wiped her hands on her jeans. “When you got that tune-up, did they give you back the parts they changed?”
“They always do. In the trunk, I think.”
Tara dug through the spark plugs and belts, and Madeleine drummed her fingers on the hood. Someone
stole
it?
“Your lucky day!” Tara held up a piece of dark brown plastic that was shaped like a stubby T. “This’ll take only a minute. There. Get in and crank it.”
The engine fired with a throaty roar, but Madeleine wasn’t as glad as she thought she’d be. She turned it off and slowly got out of the car. Who would steal her rotor?
“Thanks, Tara,” she said, and as they walked inside, she asked, “Where did you learn how to do that?”
“My uncle,” she said. “Calls himself Marrick the Miracle Man. He can fix anything on wheels. That bumper of yours—he could take care of it too. I’m going to get me a shower and a nap.”
While Tara slept, Madeleine talked to Bria about the dining room, and Bria said, “I’ll start cleaning those walls. When Tara wakes up, she can help me with the windows.”
“Now that I have a car that runs again, I can get some patching compound and paint,” Madeleine said.
She went to her bedroom for her purse, and after a moment’s thought, picked up Paula’s two decoys. She’d show them to Dan’l: Exhibits A and B. Maybe Pineys had a backwoods system of justice and he could suggest what to do about Kent.
Dan’l was sitting on his porch when she arrived, and she held out the decoys.
“Could you give me your opinion?” she asked. “Don’t you think these both look like Paula Castell’s work? They even have the same eye groove.”
He didn’t reach for them as she expected, but she kept talking. “See, this one that looks so old—it has PC burned into it.”
She glanced toward the door. “Could I take another look at that decoy of yours?”
“Uh, it’s all packed up,” the old man said. “I don’t bring it out no more.”
Why the sudden change?
His gaze slid away from hers.
So he knew, or suspected, the scam. And Kent must have already talked to him.
“But wouldn’t you agree that these two were probably made by the same person?”
He stood to his feet. “I don’t agree to nothing at all. Stay out of trouble.”
She put the decoys back into their box and smiled at him. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, and as she turned onto Whitton Road, she was still seething. That big blond ox, that good-for-nothing womanizer, that
snake.
He must have threatened the old man.
At the store, she started by asking Timothy about wallpaper borders and ended up telling him what had happened last night with Kent. As she spoke, he looked more and more concerned. “I had no idea it would turn out like that,” he said. “I hope I didn’t give you bad advice.”
“Don’t you blame yourself,” she said. “You told me to pray about it, I did, and I went. Now I want to stop him.”
The worry faded from Timothy’s eyes, and she told him about Dan’l’s reaction. “Kent has pressured that old man,” she exclaimed.
“Probably didn’t take much. Dan’l never has exerted himself for other people. His motto is,
Look after number one.
”
The bell jingled, announcing another customer. Nathan. He crossed the floor with his long stride. “How’s the sick girl today?”
“Much better,” she said. “Ate a good breakfast. Then she went outside and replaced the rotor someone stole from my car.”
Both men looked mystified, and she gave them the few details she knew. She glanced at Timothy. “That’s why I couldn’t drive myself last night.”
“Does our girl wonder have a name?” Nathan asked.
“Tara. Said her uncle’s name is Marrick. But she’s afraid I’ll tell the police, and she says she has no parents.”
“Sid Marrick comes in here,” Timothy said. “You remember—tall, red hair?”
That was Tara’s uncle?
Nathan glanced at Timothy. “What were you two looking so serious about?”
Her shoulder blades knitted themselves taut. Did she have to tell him, this soon? She wasn’t ready.
Timothy said, “You should tell him. Use my office.”
She preceded Nathan to the office, but as they stepped inside, he took her elbow and guided her down to the end of the room.
He moved his hand to her shoulder, hesitantly, as if he thought she might pull away. “I wanted so much to come back yesterday.”
She hurried past the distraction. “I found out something,” she said. “It could get me into trouble.”
“I might have to rescue you.”
“You might, at that.” She looked up at him. “I went out to supper with Kent on Tuesday night.” The gray eyes sharpened, and she said quickly, “I suspected that he was running a scam with Paula’s decoys, and I had to ask him about it. I didn’t want to talk at the Manor.”
He seemed to understand her reasoning, and something in her shoulders relaxed. She told him about Kent’s warning, how she’d prayed and come to a decision, and how it seemed that Dan’l had been threatened.
His face grew thoughtful. “The problem is, it’ll be hard to pin the guy down. He’s smooth, and we’re not talking about a large sum of money.”
“Timothy said Paula’s reputation will be damaged.”
“And he’s counting on that, of course.” He frowned. “How did he treat you?”
She’d left out that part. “All right until we drove back.”
“He made a pass at you?”
“He was furious because I wouldn’t go with him to some Apple Pie place.” How could she describe it? “He seemed to turn into a monster.”
She shuddered at the memory. “I ran for the house, and Mac was waiting on the porch so I grabbed him up and he scared Kent off.”
Nathan’s eyes had gone dark. He put both hands on her shoulders.
“But Nathan,” she said, “here’s something I just realized. Even when he was angry, when I knew what was going to happen, I could still think. I didn’t freeze up.”
“That’s important, isn’t it?” He searched her face, as if he wished he could see inside her head.
“It’s a start. If he ever touched me, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“He never will, if I can help it.” His mouth set in a grim line. “I have a friend who’s a police detective. I’ll talk to him.”
He drew her a little closer. “I’m going to Philadelphia for a couple of days. Have to give a speech.”
Her stomach fluttered, but she kept her voice calm. “What’s it about?”
“Alcohol use in the Alaska Native community.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“I’ll use the research from my chapter, and a few of the better lines. Speechifying is easier for me than writing.”
He didn’t say any more, or that he’d miss her, or even when he’d get back, but that was fine. A little distance might give perspective, for both of them.
She left the store with a smile that seemed to be lipsticked on, as if it belonged to a clown. Too much emotion lately. She was supposed to be working on strong-and-independent. Remember that.
In the afternoon, Tara helped her patch holes in the dining room, watched as Madeleine started on supper, and then chose a cake—German Chocolate—for them to make together.
She must have decided that she could trust Madeleine, because she began to talk about herself. Her parents had died several years ago and she’d been sent to live with her father’s twin brother, Sid, and his wife. The man owned a junkyard, was a genius at fixing cars, and spent his spare time rebuilding one for himself.
Madeleine put the cake into the oven and did dishes while Tara chopped nuts for the frosting.
Tara worked for a minute then looked up. “Things got to where I knew I had to get out of there.” Fear crossed her face. “I knew I had an aunt down here somewhere—my mother’s sister—so I figured I’d just hike down the Batona Trail and find her.”
She chopped another few nuts and paused to stare at the knife in her hand. “So stupid of me to cut my leg like that. I’ve used my hatchet a hundred times. I still can’t figure out how it slipped.”
. . .
for a reason . . .
“I think God sent you here, Tara.”
The girl looked away. “My aunt’s name is Minna Sooy. Do you know where she lives?”
“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Timothy, the man who owns the store, might know.”
Tara glanced at the clock. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going to phone him.”
She flipped her hair back and stood tall. “Do you think, if I clean up good and talk nice, she’ll let me stay with her?”
“I’d think so.” Madeleine glanced at the clock too. Was it so late? SING would be starting soon.
“I’m going out tonight,” she said. “A bunch of us—teens and kids and everyone—get together to sing. Would you like to come?”
“Nah. I don’t feel very social right now. Can we frost the cake when you get back? Where’s Mac?”
Maybe she was expecting too much, too soon. “Mac’s probably outside,” Madeleine said. “He likes to prowl around, and then he comes back to wait for me on the porch. I’ll see you later.”
With Nathan gone, Remi did his best on the guitar, and Howard’s voice was loud enough, but SING seemed to drag.
Afterwards, over cookies that tasted like cardboard, she asked Charlotte about her clients. Charlotte laughed, saying that the last delivery had been a butter birth, with only six hours of labor. Madeleine smiled to herself. That’s what Arlene would have called it too.
She told Charlotte how her interest in birthing had started at a friend’s home birth, with Arlene as the doula. During the birth, she had helped Arlene as well as she could, and after that, Arlene let her assist from time to time.
She didn’t mention that when Brenn found out, he’d given her that cold look and said, “Birth and death belong in the hospital.” After he died—not in the hospital, come to think of it—she’d started assisting Arlene again. Something about the birth process was more satisfying than anything she’d ever experienced.
Charlotte’s eyes gleamed. “I know what you mean,” she said, taking a drink of her lemonade. “We get quite a few home births around here. Folks don’t have insurance. The last doc we had was a druggie and made mistakes. Now we’ve got people who’d rather shoot a doctor than ask him for anything.”
She smiled. “Dr. Parnell is my backup. What a difference! He’s so good with births.”
And he was good with injured cats, runaway girls, and panic-stricken women.