by Irene Brand
Violet changed into casual clothing after the Sunday worship service, and was about to prepare her lunch when the phone rang. It was Roger, wanting to know how she felt.
“All right, I suppose, but I’m no nearer a decision than when you brought me the news.”
“You looked a little down.”
“Gee, thanks—I needed that encouragement,” Violet replied with a laugh.
He laughed then, too. “I didn’t mean it that way. You were beautiful as always, but you seemed distressed. And with reason, too,” he added. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”
“Nothing special.” Except throwing a pity party for myself, I suppose, she thought. “You can either feel flattered or annoyed, Roger, I don’t let my guard down with anyone except you. Most people think I never have a care in the world.”
“The kids have gone to a concert this afternoon, and I’m going out to my farm to exercise the dogs. Come with me. I’ll throw some sandwiches in a backpack, and we can eat out in the open. The temperatures are supposed to be warm this afternoon.”
“I warn you I’m feeling rather grumpy.”
“You’re not the first grumpy female I’ve encountered.”
She smiled, and her voice softened. “You’ve talked me into it. I’ll contribute apples and cookies to the picnic. What time?”
“Pick you up in a half hour. Wear walking shoes and a jacket.”
As Violet hurriedly washed two yellow apples and placed some cookies in a plastic bag she felt her mood lightened. It would be relaxing to spend the afternoon with Roger; he accepted her as she was.
Roger’s fifty-acre farm was located ten miles from town. There were a few outbuildings and a small house, which he utilized as a retreat when he wanted to escape the pressure of his work. Most of the farmland was tillable, and he rented this to a neighbor to raise corn. Ten acres of the property was rugged, covered with deciduous and evergreen trees. He bypassed the buildings and drove on a private road along a large creek until he reached the base of the hill.
“Do you come out here often?” Violet asked.
“Not as often as I want to. I try to bring the dogs for a run at least once a week, and spend a few hours at the house. I’ll give you a tour of that before we go back to town.”
His dogs were housed in a wooden structure in the back of his pickup. He opened the doors, and two beagles with smooth white coats, black-and-tan patches, and long, droopy ears, vaulted out of the box and into the underbrush beside the truck. They nosed around in the grass for a few minutes, and then with a yelp, the largest dog took off through the woodland, with his companion right behind him.
“Should we follow them?”
“Not unless you’re feeling overly energetic. They’ll cover lots of miles this afternoon. They go where they want to, and when I want to leave, I whistle them in.”
“And they always come?”
“Well, not always, but let’s hope they do today. I have to go on duty tonight at eight o’clock, so I can’t spend much time looking for dogs. But they’ll be all right unless they pick up a deer’s scent. They’re not supposed to chase anything except rabbits, but I don’t have time to train them as they should be.”
He reached in the truck for a bright orange pack, in which he stored Violet’s apples and cookies, and strapped it over his back. Pointing upward through the trees, he said, “This is a one-hiker trail. Do you want to go first?”
“I’ll follow since I don’t know where we’re going.”
He adjusted the straps on the backpack. “Call out, if you want to rest.”
Sunlight heated Violet’s back as it filtered through leafless trees. The forest floor was carpeted with colorful foliage, and in moist places, green ferns decorated the earth as if placed there by a landscape designer. Violet noticed many different kinds of birds flitting among the trees: noisy chickadees bobbing their black heads and saucily scolding the intruders; brilliant, squawking blue jays already gathered into colonies for the winter and not yet accustomed to close communion; cardinals swooping back and forth among the undergrowth, picking berries from wild holly bushes; and woodpeckers hopping up and down tree trunks looked for insects.
Violet admired the fleecy clouds that punctuated the vivid blue sky and breathed deeply of the fresh air. In the distance, the two dogs barked in excitement, and as the sounds shifted often, she assumed they were hot on the trail of some prey.
At first the climb was gradual, but when they came to a steep incline, Roger stopped and waited for her to catch up.
“We’ve only a short distance to go, but this last five minutes takes some wind. We need to stop and do some deep breathing.”
“What an invigorating walk! Why haven’t you asked me to hike with you before?” she asked in mock severity.
“When I come out here, I want to be alone, excepting present company,” he added with a grin. “I like people, as you know, but sometimes I need privacy. As to why I haven’t brought you, I hadn’t thought of it for one thing, but I decided you needed to be with me today. Even if you don’t want to talk about your problem, I’m the only one who knows and understands about it. So talk or not, be assured that I’m here for you, whatever your need.”
She reached out her hand, and he took it in a strong grasp. “Thanks.”
“Ready to go on?” he asked. At her nod, he released her hand. “Good. I’m hungry. The sooner we reach the peak the better.”
Violet was gasping for breath when they reached the top of the rocky and arid hill, bare of vegetation except for a few windblown pines.
“Our picnic table,” Roger said, pointing to a level stone outcropping under one of the trees.
Violet dropped down on the rock with relief and loosened the top of her hooded sweat jacket. “Whew! I didn’t know I had a heart until it started thumping. My blood is really flowing now.”
“That’s good for you,” Roger said as he unzipped the backpack and spread it open to reveal the contents.
“You’re in for a treat—Gibson’s turkey sandwiches,” he said, “but let’s have a word of prayer first.”
He reached for Violet’s hand, and held it in his large warm one. “God, we are thankful for the beauty of Your earth. I never feel as close to You as I do when I’m in the woodlands. But Violet has a problem, God, and we believe You can bring the solution. You know the past and the future, and we are hazy on both of those points when it comes to her mother. What should she do? What can I do to help her? We are Your servants, Father, help us to recognize Your leading. Bless this food to our bodys’ use and give us a good afternoon together. Amen.”
Violet tightened her grip on Roger’s hand, and she gazed long into his eyes before she loosened her grasp. The genuine concern he had expressed for her in his prayer touched her deeply and she was speechless in the face of his heartfelt concern.
The apples and sandwiches complemented one another, and the cool juice in plastic containers alleviated Violet’s thirst, which was intense after the climb. The cookies made a fitting conclusion to the meal.
“This is a good time for a nap,” Roger said, “if you don’t mind the hard rock.” He stretched out across the rock, put his hands under his head and closed his eyes. Violet found a nearby pine tree and sat down beneath it. She intended to think about the decision she must make soon, but her mind was blank. She had always heard, “Don’t put off until tomorrow what you should do today,” and perhaps that should apply in this situation. She couldn’t stand much more emotional turmoil. A stiff breeze riffled the tops of the pines and the limbs swayed rhythmically, but the wind didn’t reach their secluded, sunny spot. She closed her eyes, and may have slept a few minutes, but Roger’s stirring on the rock alerted her.
“If you’re ready, we’ll head back toward the truck on a different trail, and I’ll start calling the dogs. They’re probably resting, too—I haven’t heard them barking for several minutes.”
The ridge path was wider, and they walked side by
side in companionable silence. Perhaps Roger sensed that Violet needed time to think through her decision and he respected that time. Roger was never a garrulous man, but he normally talked more than he had today. Occasionally, he whistled for the dogs and received an answering yelp. By the time they reached the truck, the beagles, still full of pep, were panting at their heels, tongues drooling.
Roger poured water into a pan for the dogs and gave them a small portion of dry food. After the dogs had eaten, he lifted them into the truck and fastened them in their box. “They’re just like kids who have played out in the fresh air all day. They’ll sleep on the way back to town.”
When they came to the farm buildings, Roger parked beside the house. The one-story structure, an old house, was painted a light green with modern windows installed. “Come in and see my hideaway,” he invited.
“This is a good retreat,” Violet said. “That row of evergreens conceals the house from the highway and blocks the noise from the road.”
They walked up on the front porch and Roger opened the door, then stepped back to let Violet precede him into one large room that swept the entire length of the house. On the western side was a kitchen area with modern cabinets and appliances, a small dining area, and a broad window providing a view of the hills. The rest of the room was paneled in light oak. A brightly colored oval rug lay in front of a large fireplace with comfortable chairs grouped around it. A plaid-upholstered couch stood beneath the window, a bookcase filled with books and magazines nearby.
“This is wonderful,” Violet said. “No wonder you like to come here.”
“The house was in bad condition when I bought the place, but I tore down the shed on the rear of the building, installed new windows and siding, and removed some partitions to make this one big room.” He motioned toward the back of the house. “There’s a small bedroom and bath in that area.”
“It’s definitely a man’s house,” she said. “Do your children like it?”
“Right now, they’re more interested in town life. I’ve brought them out a few times, but they aren’t very enthusiastic. I thought Jason might enjoy working on the farm, but he hasn’t shown much interest.” He indicated the fireplace where several logs awaited a match. “We can have a fire if you want to stay awhile. It’s cool in here.”
“I have no plans for the afternoon, just so I’m back to Maitland in time for church.”
“While I start a fire, see what you can rustle up for a snack from the refrigerator and cabinets.”
The smell of wood smoke wafted through the house while Violet looked in the cabinets. “What about cheese and crackers?” she called. “And there are soft drinks. Or do you prefer a hot beverage?”
“Heat some water for tea, please.”
Roger pulled two of the chairs close to the fire and placed a small table between them. By that time, Violet had sliced the cheese and had the water boiling. He rummaged in the cabinets until he found a plastic tray, placed the cheese and crackers and the two cups of tea on it, and carried their snack to the living area.
Violet sighed as she sank into one of the lounge chairs. She took off her shoes and leaned back. Roger removed his jacket before he sat down. “It will get hot in here before long.”
As they munched on the cheese and crackers, Violet observed the sparsely furnished room more closely, and she said, “No television?”
“Nor a telephone, either. I do have a small radio in the bedroom.”
On the mantel was a family picture—a man, woman and two small children. Violet hadn’t seen a picture of Roger’s wife, but she could see many of Misty’s features in the woman.
“Roger, why haven’t you remarried?”
“Are you proposing to me?” A mischievous twinkle sparkled in his deep eyes.
“Of course not,” she said. “I noticed the picture and that made me curious.”
“Why do you wonder?”
“Well, you’re such good company. I have the feeling you’ve been alone for a long time.”
“Ten years,” he said musingly.
“Don’t you miss sharing your life with someone? Raising two children alone couldn’t have been easy,” she added.
“At first, the pain was too deep to even consider another marriage, and I didn’t want to saddle my kids with a stepmother as young as they were. My mother lived with us until a year ago, so the children had plenty of supervision while I was at work. When Misty turned fifteen, Mother went to live with my sister in Arizona to get away from the cold, damp winters here. The idea of remarrying isn’t distasteful to me. Now that the kids are involved with all kinds of interests and activities that don’t include their Dad, I have been thinking about it.”
Violet nodded approvingly. She had seen firsthand that Roger was a good, supportive father, and he would make a caring husband.
“Now, it’s my turn to ask questions. Are you going to marry Larry Holland?”
His question startled her, but she smiled slightly. “He hasn’t asked me.”
“Maybe Olivia Holland hasn’t given her okay yet.”
“Now, Roger! Larry is a nice guy—he can’t help what his mother does.”
“I know that. So if he does ask, will you marry him?”
“I’ve often asked myself the same question. I’d be foolish to say no, wouldn’t I?”
“Probably so. He’s a good catch, or so I’m told.”
Roger continued to gaze at her, his expression relaxed, yet his gaze was somehow intense. Violet looked away. She stared into the flames, sipping on the tea until it cooled. Right now she had to make a decision more pressing than marriage.
Roger stood, stoked the fire, and took the empty cup from her hand. He carried the utensils to the kitchen, and Violet heard him washing the items and replacing them in the cabinets. When he returned to his chair, Violet said, “I’m going to take her.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Are you happy with that decision?”
“No, not exactly happy, but maybe relieved. As a Christian, I know it’s the right choice. I can’t get the words of Jesus out of my mind, I was sick and in prison and you came to me. Aunt Ruth advises against it, saying she will care for my mother at her home. But in all good conscience, I can’t allow that. I’ll have to take her and manage the best as I can.”
“I’ll help every way I can.”
“Do you think we can keep her past a secret?”
“A lot of legal red tape will be required to transfer a paroled prisoner from one state to another, and the incident is bound to be caught by the news media. It will be better if you don’t try to hide her past. It will be a worse scandal if you conceal her background and the news leaks out gradually.”
“I’ll probably lose all of my friends.”
“Anyone who deserts you because of a tragedy like this that happened when you were a child isn’t worth having for a friend.”
“I’ve been thinking all afternoon that I probably should go talk to Pastor Tom about this.”
“A good idea. If you have your church family behind you, half the battle is won. Do you want me to go with you to see him?”
“Yes, please.”
“Then let’s close up here and go now. He should be in the church office this afternoon.”
Chapter Three
Tom Walker was a small man with a neat figure, a kindly face, and a deep voice. His hazel eyes were bright and clear. Now in his sixties, his reddish brown hair, fringed in gray, was steadily receding from his forehead. Tom’s wife had died, childless, several years ago, so Tom’s whole life was tied up in the ministry of First Community Church, which he had shepherded for ten years.
He looked up with a twinkle in his eyes when Violet and Roger entered. “Have you two come for premarital counseling?”
Violet was encouraged that he started the session on a light note, for she was able to smile and said, “Why ruin a perfect relationship by marrying your best friend?” Roger said nothing, but when Violet g
lanced in his direction, she was astounded to note that his face had flushed slightly.
Pastor Tom laughed. “I thought you might be following the trend today. I’ve had two couples already this afternoon. But sit down, anyway. What’s on your mind?”
The pastor’s office was equipped with roomy, padded chairs grouped around his desk. Tom was a patient man, never pushing his visitors to speak until they were ready, and the three of them sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I don’t know any easy way to say this,” Violet began, “but my mother, Linda Conley, is serving a life sentence for murder in a correctional facility in Kansas. She’s a terminal cancer patient, and Roger received a message two days ago that they want to parole her to the next of kin. That happens to be me.” The silence in the room was intense, broken only by the faint ticking of a small clock on the pastor’s desk. Once she had made the initial disclosure, Violet hurried on to reveal the whole story, ending with, “I know it’s something I have to do, but how can I cope with this disruption in my life? I wish I could say I was doing it out of love for my mother, but I don’t love her. I don’t even know her. It will be like taking a complete stranger into my home.”
“The first step toward coping is prayer.”
“I have been praying, and I’m sure Roger has also, otherwise, I couldn’t have come this far.”
“You seem to have the situation under control,” the pastor said. “How can I help you?”
“Although I don’t know how I can possibly care for a very ill woman and teach school also, I’m concerned about local people finding out about my past, as well. I rather flatter myself that I have a good reputation in the community, and I don’t know how I can bear to have everyone know that my mother is in prison for killing my father.” Violet covered her face with her hands. “Just saying the words brings so much anguish that I want to crawl in a hole and die. What will it be like when those words are on the lips of everyone in Maitland?”