WATCHING CORONA
From Our Dimension To Yours
*
Holly Fox Vellekoop
Copyright 2013 by Holly Fox Vellekoop
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance between actual events, locations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Other Books By Holly Fox Vellekoop
STONE HAVEN: Murder Along the River (Avalon Books, NY)
How to Help When Parents Grieve (Blue Note Books, Florida)
Justice and Revenge
www.hollyfoxvellekoop.com
In Dedication
Past and present patriots who have labored and suffered for the right to live free of the bondage of those who would force suffocating governance upon others.
My husband Ronald B. Vellekoop who continues to be helpful and encouraging.
My supportive sister Fran Gilbert who loved this manuscript. She went to be with the Lord.
My mother Eleanore Aten and my son W. Brandon Seidel - both of who are with Fran.
My son Brian R. Seidel for his encouragement.
Contents
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Prologue
Otherworldly visitations and dreams of her deceased parents, normally indiscernible on any level, are beginning to leave residue in Grace’s activities of daily living.
Having understood long ago, that her own life was not typical of her friends’ lives, Grace kept such concerns private, pondering and revisiting them at will. Nothing mystical or strange that happened to her seemed too bizarre or unusual now. Instead, personal uncommon occurrences were accepted and internalized without feeling the need to confide them to others.
The sweet fragrance of the lily brings recall of something of concern, though she is unsure what that is. The young woman strains to remember what transpires at night in the time between falling asleep and awakening refreshed in the morning, but the answer lies drifting ahead of her consciousness, just out of reach.
Like her mother and her mother’s mother before her, Grace remembers not the dream-state content and matter, instead, recognizing an undefined flavor of episodic phenomena. She tried to focus on it and could not, being troubled by a more practical issue.
“There’s some kind of mistake,” she said aloud. She glanced at her home pregnancy test result again and turned it over, reading the instructions and the outcome one more time. The test-strip color confirmed the pregnancy. Knowing she has never been with a man, she rejected the result and retrieved another test from the folder.
While she knew it couldn’t possibly be, Grace had purchased the home tests to prove to herself it was not happening. She was sure there was another reason for her concerns - a medical illness, or maybe it was due to some underlying stress she was experiencing. Grace had never even been out on a date. She was more than astounded, she was polarized. She had laughed at her foolishness for thinking something so preposterous as pregnancy.
Yet, Grace also understood her life had been bizarre and unusual from her earliest memories. She recognized that something else, other than what would normally be expected, was involved with her, at the deepest level.
Minutes passed with Grace distracted by the distinct perfume of her beloved hybrid lilies wafting through the open bathroom window. Certain the scent was related to the nighttime dramas, she struggled again to find the connection, but could not. Pictures of someone or something she didn’t recognize raced through her mind’s eye and drifted away.
When the timer chimed, her attention was brought back to the pregnancy test and she watched the color change to that which assured her she was going to have a baby. Both tests couldn’t be faulty.
“It must be true,” she whispered.
Grace Bond, an innocent small-town young woman, had somehow, without her conscious participation, become pregnant.
“Grace. Are you alright?” Irma put her ear to the bathroom door, pulled away, and then rapped on it.
“Uh. Yes. I’m fine,” Grace said, hastily shoving the test strips into her purse. “I’ll be right out. I’ll be right out to help you with dinner,” Grace said loudly. She splashed cold water on her face and looked into the mirror. Thoughts crowded her mind about what could be happening to her. A perplexed youthful face looked questioningly back. A blur in the background retreated from her. Grace turned to see what it was. She saw nothing.
The uneasy feelings she experienced during the day after a night’s sleep, were grating on her nerves and it was evidenced in the thin lines around her eyes. Remembering her promise to help with dinner, she opened the door.
Chapter One
Irma sighed and padded down the hallway to the kitchen. She’s always been such a good girl since we took her in. Such a gift. Lately, though, I don’t know what’s come over her. These are troubled times to be raising a child.
Irma peeled potatoes for their evening meal and reminisced about the circumstances that brought the little girl Grace Bond, daughter of her husband Hale’s deceased sister and brother-in-law, into their home.
Dr. John and Linda Bond had perished in a boating accident while their daughter Grace was at a playmate’s birthday party. When her parents didn’t return from an afternoon of sailing on the river, Irma had picked the child up from the celebration, assuming Grace’s parents were just behind schedule. In the early evening when the couple did not arrive home, she and Hale had decided the police needed to be involved.
The rest was a river-town family’s nightmare.
The Bond’s tethered sailboat was found gently rolling with the whitecaps at the junction of the creek and the river, the fore and aft anchors stabilizing its location. All of their gear, John’s camera equipment, and Linda’s purse were onboard. Their placement led the police to believe everything was exactly where the owners had left it. An uncluttered deck showed no sign of foul play.
Everyone believed the young couple’s bodies would eventually wash up somewhere or be found trapped within watery vegetation, but neither happened.
“Drowned in a boating accident,” was the official outcome of the investigation of Grace’s parents’ deaths.
The little girl came to stay with her aunt and uncle, Irma and Hale Pense.
The boat now occupied an enclosed shed adjoining their barn. Resting expectantly in Grace’s closet were the camera and her mother’s purse. Both were mute witnesses of their owners’ demise.
Irma and Hale had been unable to conceive their own child so were happy to provide a lovi
ng home for their orphaned niece. Their love for John and Linda made the adoption easy.
While Grace’s behavior was pleasant, as years passed, they noticed her daytime naps were fraught with difficulties. When she dozed off in the afternoon, Grace frequently had nightmares and troubled sleep, tossing and turning, mumbling throughout.
Irma and Hale believed her restlessness was connected to the death of her parents and hoped she’d outgrow it.
Since Grace arrived at their home, her aunt and uncle had slept undisturbed throughout the night.
That was not true for Grace. Her nighttime dramas, playing out while her family rested unaware, were eventually discerned as being very real events. They began to manifest themselves as active, circadian occurrences.
Grace Bond, without planning or acquiescence, became entangled in phenomena reaching dimensions beyond her own and that which lie on the other side.
Chapter Two
This morning, like many others, Grace opened the boat-shed doors wide. Sunlight fell across the draped, aging craft. She touched the mildewed canvas, pulling it up on the side to read the sailboat’s name, “Grace and Love.” She traced each letter with her finger, imagining the day when her father had painted his tribute onto the white background. “Grace and Love,” a sentiment composed for daughter Grace and his beloved wife.
While caressing the boat, the tips of Grace’s fingers felt a faint vibration, the crescendo of which reverberated through her soul as if trying to tell her some ancient secret. “Grace and Love” affected her spirit as did beautifully composed phrases and music.
A smile curved upon Grace’s face and she brushed some stray hairs away from blurring her view of the words. She reread her father’s devotion to his family. Grace’s eyes closed as she confided her dilemma to the deceased parents, sensing their gentle advice. For those brief encounters, it was as if they were somewhere alive, in some Zero Point Field of eternal energy and love, watching over her. Just that quickly, the parental mantle of protection was gone. A scant trace of lilies remained.
Grace closed the shed and sat down with her back against the whitewashed doors. Absently, she touched a sensitive spot near her left elbow. It felt chafed and sore. She turned her arm over and saw a lesion oozing clear fluid. Now how did that happen? She dabbed the wound on her pants and went into the house to get a bandage.
After attending to the lesion, Grace went to her room. She retrieved some mementos, her mother’s purse and beach towel and her father’s camera, from her closet. She looked over at their framed picture on her dresser and smiled. It was comforting for her to gaze at them and touch their possessions. She daydreamed what it must have been like for those objects to be held in the hands of her parents. The 35 millimeter film rested untouched in its receptacle.
Chapter Three
Grace and her aunt took a walk through the swaying lilies. The two talked about the hybrids, Grace’s own creations that had become their biggest sellers. They wandered over to some garden benches and tables and stood together, admiring the pleasing view.
“Are you okay, Grace?” Irma asked, her eyes still scanning the flowerbeds.
Grace’s attention was elsewhere.
Irma bent down and pulled loose some stubborn crabgrass that was insinuating itself into their plantings. She tossed the limp remains into a nearby basket and smiled at Grace. “Lately, you seem even more quiet than usual.”
“I’m fine,” Grace said. “I just have a lot to think about.” She brushed her gloved hands back and forth, one against the other to dislodge plant debris and sat down on a bench near the patch of lilies. Seductive perfumes of exquisite hybrid blooms vied for the young woman’s attention, pulling her away from the concerns at hand. More troubling emotions unsettled her spirit, the origin or purpose of which, Grace was unsure. She thought it to be something foreboding. It was as if a new beginning and the end were both imminent. She shook it off, inhaled deeply, and gave thought to what her aunt was asking. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes and absently pulled the worn gardening gloves from her hands.
Irma stood quickly as if she spotted something in the distance. “Grace, is there something in the lily fields?” She pointed toward the hybrids and shaded her eyes. “I think I see movement out there. Do you?”
Grace stood on the bench and scanned the plants. A wave of activity undulated through the garden and was gone. “I can’t see anything. Must be the wind.”
“Strange,” Irma said. “By the way, have you been to the boat to talk with your Mom and Dad again?” She shifted her gaze to her niece.
Grace smiled. “Yes, I’ve been to the boat.”
Over the years, Grace frequently visited the covered vessel that hosted her parents’ last days on this earth, to rekindle the feelings of closeness she had felt when they were still with her. Feelings which never faded as the years passed. Comforting herself with those sentiments, Grace forced her return to the reality of sitting here, on the brink of sharing her trouble.
“Your Daylilies are beautiful this season,” Irma said. “You certainly have the knack for gardening. Just like your parents. I’ve never seen anyone with heartier flowers. You must be deadheading them continually. There’s hardly a spent bloom in the bunch. How do you manage that?” She studied Grace’s strained features and, reaching forward, pushed stray wispy strands from her face, back toward her ponytail. She smiled again at the young woman whom she loved as if she was her own.
“I don’t know how the dead blooms are removed,” Grace said. “At times, they just seem to fall off and are gone. Other times of the year, they hang on and I have to get out there and remove them by hand if I want a clean presentation.” She strained to see the flowers’ condition now.
The beauty of acres of perennial drifts drew customers to Grace’s garden and eventually led to the shoppers purchasing items from her business stand, ‘Grace’s Shed.’ Iron shepherd’s hooks, pottery, lawn ornaments, and cuttings from the flowers were for sale. Her biggest seller has always been clumps of Daylilies, tuberous roots and all. In addition to the bulbs and plants, customers appreciated Grace’s well-researched individualized instructions for each of the old-fashioned and hybrid lilies she nurtured in cold frames and sold. Grace had a lot of repeat customers.
“The lemon-yellows are especially lovely this year, Aunt Irma,” Grace said, her head nodding in the direction of the precious blooms.
“I agree. They remind me of my grandfather’s farm. He’d be pleased to know you’re using plants culled from his personal nursery. Are you using a different fertilizer mix? They just seem to be so much more vibrant than I remember from years past.” She scanned the sea of re-blooming Daylilies with which Grace had been experimenting. “All of them seem to be thicker and more lush.” She was certain the scapes harbored more buds than ever. No sooner would one flower die off than another would open, then another and another upon flowering stalks that were broader than usual to support their heavy colorful heads.
“No. I’m not doing anything different from past years. I can’t explain that either. They just seem to improve on their own,” Grace said. “I’m still using the same fertilizer formula and watering them according to my regular schedule.”
I wonder if they taste as good as they smell, Grace thought. She laughed at herself for such a ridiculous idea then entertained that thought again, wondering if they would be flavorful.
“You should be pleased with what you’ve accomplished,” Irma said. “The scent is so strong I can sometimes smell it on you after you’ve been working here.”
Grace grinned. “Some of my friends say the same thing. They think I’m wearing perfume when it’s just the scent of the lily they smell.” She stared out at her handiwork, patches of color and love, and smiled. The gardening came so easy to her. It was a gift.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Irma said. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just worried about you. Are your grades okay? Do you feel ill? Worried about anything at school?” Sh
e paused and said, “Sorry for asking so many questions.” She laughed nervously.
Grace raised her head up. “Aunt Irma, there’s something I must tell you and Uncle Hale.”
She took a deep breath and said, “I’m pregnant.”
Tears flowed down her face which she wiped away with a tissue retrieved from a pocket. She kept shaking her head back and forth, proclaiming ignorance as to how it could have happened.
Irma looked at Grace’s small body, then back at her youthful face. She listened to everything Grace had to say and when she finished talking, pulled her close while the two of them had a good cry.
Chapter Four
Hale was as shocked as his wife upon hearing the news. He wondered who the father could be, but came up with nothing. Grace had never had a date that he had known about. She had a lot of friends. Everyone liked her. What made it so puzzling was she was not one to seek out boys for dates or groups for partying. He was baffled.
After Grace went to sleep that night, Irma and Hale talked privately about the future of their adopted niece and her expected child.
“Financially supporting the infant won’t be an issue because of Grace’s trust fund from her parents’ estate,” Hale said. “But I worry how she’ll handle an infant and everything else in her life.”
“We’ll get her through it,” Irma said.
By not revealing the child’s father, Grace would have to raise the baby without him to support them in any way. They worried about the emotional toll this could take on an unwed mother. Gossip would abound as it does in these situations in any community. Insisting she didn’t know how the pregnancy happened would encourage extra scorn.
“I never saw this coming,” Irma said, her brow wrinkled with worry. She held onto her husband.
“Me either,” Hale replied. He looked at his wife for an explanation.
Irma had nothing to offer.
“You know, when Linda became pregnant with Grace before she and John were married, it wasn’t such a big deal because they were engaged and had already set a wedding date. This is different, Irma. We’ve no clue as to who the father is. At least I don’t. Do you?” He looked questioningly at his wife.
WATCHING CORONA: From Our Dimension to Yours Page 1