Kari smirked. “Would you believe it? I mucked out stalls, fed chickens, and milked goats! Me! I wanted to stay forever.”
She sobered. “Except, of course, I knew I couldn’t. I-I have responsibilities here! So when I left those dear people, it nearly broke my heart—but when I got home, here to New Orleans, it was home, although I still long to return to the land I bought and the family I left in Nebraska.”
She laughed again but wrinkled her forehead. “It’s a little confusing. To feel at home in two different places.”
Owen pulled a pocket New Testament from his suit coat. “I think I know what you are describing, Kari. The Apostle Paul said it like this: For I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content. He didn’t mean ‘state’ as in Nebraska or Louisiana, He meant ‘condition’ or ‘circumstances.’”
“I agree.” Lorene spoke, and Kari leaned toward her to catch her soft drawl. “As Christians, we can be ‘at home’ wherever Jesus is. Since he lives in us and has promised never to leave us or forsake us, we can weather whatever is going on around us and remain at peace in our hearts. Is that what you are describing, Kari?”
“I think that must be it.” Kari rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her folded hands. “I’ve never had such peace! It’s a bit unnerving, actually. It feels . . . unnatural.”
“Ah! Yes, unnatural.” Clover bent toward Kari. “A moment ago you said that you no longer feel broken. ‘Broken’ is a very telling word. We are all broken in one way or another because of sin and what this sinful world does to us, but—and thank the Lord!—Jesus came to heal the brokenhearted.”
A jolt ran through Kari. “That’s exactly what Rose wrote in her journal! She wrote, Lord Jesus, I am so glad that you came to heal the brokenhearted. And my friend Ruth said something about it, too. She said that God will heal every wound we have, even a broken heart.”
Those around Kari nodded, and Clover patted Kari’s hand in the way she had come to love. “If we have been broken our entire lives, then brokenness feels normal. When we aren’t broken any longer, we have to adjust to our new normal: Peace, deep joy, a sense of wholeness. Welcome to your new normal, Kari.”
“Wow,” Kari breathed.
Mercy grinned at Kari. “So let me ask you again, Hon. How you adjustin’?”
Kari grinned back. “I’m living in peace, Mercy. Peace and contentment.”
They laughed together and then Mercy asked, “So which part of this lunch is bein’ the ‘working’ part, Kari?”
“Oh! I had almost forgotten, and it is important, too. It will take a few minutes to explain . . .”
For the next half hour, Kari described the nightmares of her childhood, how all her life The Black had hidden an important event from her, and the night Kari’s memories came flooding back.
When she told them about her parents leaving her in the dark night off the side of the road—to watch over a sister and baby brother—her friends broke out in excited or unbelieving exclamations. But when she described how Elaine and Sammie had been taken away, how the social worker had slapped and threatened her, Owen pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. He shifted from foot to foot, clearly agitated.
“Excuse me. I need a little air.” He stalked away without another word.
Kari looked from his retreating back to Mercy. “What just happened?”
Mercy dabbed away tears. “You don’t know this, Chile, but somethin’ like that happened to Owen when he was only five. He an’ his big brother, Lincoln, got sent to foster care. They split them boys up ’cause they couldn’t get a family to take the two of ’em.
“The foster family they put Owen was horrible—abusive and neglectful. The worst part was that he never saw his brother again. Lincoln died in a gang shooting jest walkin’ home from school. That boy was but thirteen. Owen never knew his daddy. Lincoln was all he had in th’ world.”
Clover struggled to his feet. “Don’t you fret, Miss Kari. Owen’s filled with righteous grief and anger at the moment. I’ll go bring him back when he’s ready.”
As Clover ambled away, Lorene murmured, “It is amazing that you have not thought of your siblings all these years.”
“I know. I have beat myself up over it quite a bit. My friend Ruth tells me that the trauma I experienced that night, plus the threats of the social worker, likely sent me into a psychotic episode. In order to protect Elaine and Sammie from what the social worker threatened to do to them, my subconscious found a way to keep me from remembering and saying anything about them.”
“Gracious heavens!” Mercy muttered.
The waiter offered dessert, so Kari ordered brownies with praline ice cream for everyone. The man had set the dessert plates on the table and was refreshing the coffee cups when Owen and Clover returned.
“I apologize, Miss Kari.” Owen took his seat and squeezed Mercy’s hand. “You told Mercy this was a working lunch. Is it about your sister and brother, then?”
“Yes,” Kari answered. She looked to Clover. “I have hired Anthony Esquibel in Albuquerque to begin the search. I would like to hire Owen to join him. Is that possible?”
Clover pulled on his chin. “Yes, of course.” He glanced at Owen. “Please hand whatever work that cannot wait off to that investigative firm you got an offer from. Consider yourself assigned full time to Kari’s case.”
“Got an offer from? What? Are you leaving Brunell & Brunell?”
“Not enough in-house work for a full-time investigator, Miss Kari, once I found you.”
“But—”
“Don’t you worry about Owen, Miss Kari. If he accepts that offer, Brunell & Brunell will hire him and his firm for any work we need done.” Clover turned to Owen. “You can tell your new firm that this is your first case for Brunell & Brunell.”
“Yes, sir.” Owen’s ebony face gleamed like polished flint when he addressed Kari. “I promise I will do my best.”
“Thank you,” Kari whispered.
“Does Mr. Esquibel have a place to start?” Mercy asked and then she murmured, “I mean, it’s been a long time. Thirty-some years?”
“Thirty-three years. My sister, Elaine will be thirty-six. Samuel will be between thirty-three and thirty-four. But we do have one solid clue with which to begin the search: When the social worker leaned over me and shook me, her name tag was right in front of my face. Her first name was Marge. Last name began with an S.”
“I will call Mr. Esquibel first thing in the morning, Kari,” Owen promised.
“And I will call a meeting of the senior partners tomorrow,” Clover announced, “to inform them of Miss Kari’s revelations. We will discuss how they impact the Granger estate’s probate.”
Kari returned home and wandered aimlessly around her house. Finally, she picked up the phone and called Søren. I need to hear his voice, she realized.
Once again, Max answered the phone.
“Hey you,” Kari greeted him.
“Kari! Guess what? My pig made weight! Dad says I can enter him in the state fair!”
With those few words, Kari was back in RiverBend.
Thank you for long distance, Lord!
—
MISS DAWES CALLED KARI THE FOLLOWING DAY after lunch. “Good afternoon, Miss Kari. Mr. Clover Brunell held a meeting this morning to apprise the senior partners and executive staff of the information you provided during brunch yesterday. Afterwards, Mr. Washington asked me to call you. He is leaving for Albuquerque this evening and will make his first report as soon as he and Mr. Esquibel have completed their initial records search.”
“Thank you, Miss Dawes. I appreciate your phone call.”
“Hmm. And may I say, Miss Kari, that I wish you the very best. I, um, was astonished by the facts that have come to light. I-I quite sympathize with you and, um, will be praying for Mr. Washington and Mr. Esquibel’s success in locating your siblings.”
Kari had never heard Miss Dawes stumble in speech. “Thank you, Miss Dawes. Your concern
touches my heart, and I appreciate your prayers.”
She thought for a moment. “Miss Dawes, is Mr. Oskar in the office?”
“Yes, Miss Kari. May I connect you?”
“Please.” Kari listened to the on-hold music piped through the phone until Oskar’s voice came on the line.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kari. What may I do for you today?”
“Hello, Oskar. I wanted to check in with you regarding the probate.” Clover and his son Oskar had warned Kari that the probate of Peter Granger’s will would take months.
“It was progressing nicely but, of course, with the information you have provided regarding your siblings, we will need to amend the court documents to include them. These actions—while we include the proper language to confirm their rights and communicate to the court how, when your siblings are located, they will share in the estate—will extend the probate period.”
“Of course. That was exactly my purpose in asking to speak with you. I want to ensure that my sister and brother receive their fair share of the estate.”
Kari thought for a moment. “Oskar, my uncle and my cousins have quite a number of old photographs that I would like copies of. Can you recommend someone who would be willing to travel to Kansas and Nebraska and make reproductions of them for me?”
“I cannot suggest anyone off the top of my head, Miss Kari, but I will ask my assistant, Miss Fletcher, to investigate and make a recommendation.”
“Thank you, Oskar. And, um, I don’t have a lot to do at present, so I suppose I am ready to begin the education you hinted at earlier.”
“Earlier” referred to the several days in April over which Brunell & Brunell’s attorneys had revealed the details of Peter Granger’s estate to Kari. At their first meeting, Clover had introduced Kari to Brunell & Brunell’s other senior partners, Clover’s brother, Jeffers Brunell, and their cousin, Clive.
However, The Seniors, as they were referred to, were semiretired and primarily provided oversight to the firm. And while Clover still devoted his time to the administration of Peter Granger’s estate, it was his son Oskar who, aided by a team of accountants and financial consultants, provided the day-to-day management of Peter Granger’s considerable assets.
Now Kari needed to become better acquainted with those assets so she could steward them responsibly.
“Very good, Miss Kari. Suppose we ease into the process by a series of two-hour orientations? Perhaps twice a week to begin with. And I suggest that we personally visit some of the estate holdings so that you see them as more than a line item on a balance sheet.”
“Whatever you feel is best, Oskar. I want to learn and begin to feel useful.”
“Very good, Miss Kari.”
After they said goodbye, Kari wandered through the house again looking at it with fresh eyes. Yes, my father grew up here, but the woman who raised him was not his mother and Peter Granger was not his uncle. That man’s name was not even ‘Peter Granger.’ It was another false identity for the evil man Rose and Joy knew as Dean Morgan.
As she rehearsed the facts, angry thoughts and feelings started to roil around in her belly. She pulled herself up with a sharp rebuke.
I’m not going to fall into that trap a second time!
“No!” she said aloud. “I forgave Dean Morgan. I will not allow myself to slip into bitterness again. Lord, you forgave him at the end of his life. You saved him the same way you saved me. I will speak forgiveness over him every time I think on him. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for grace!”
Kari found herself at the top of the stairs in the doorway of Peter Granger’s bedroom. “But forgiveness doesn’t mean I need to treat this house as though it still belongs to him.”
She breathed a small laugh. I still find it ironic—a paradox of justice?—how everything he worked for and valued is now mine.
Ours, she amended. Mine, Elaine’s, and Sammie’s.
She had a realization. And some day, in his timing, God will bring them here, if only to visit.
She stepped through the doorway and surveyed the large master bedroom and its attached bathroom.
The first time Kari had visited the house had been in Clover’s company. He had shown her Peter Granger’s bedroom and said, “Mr. Peter had a bathroom installed ensuite in his last years. I confess it is in need of modernizing. That is something I wager you will enjoy doing yourself.”
Kari considered his suggestion again. “Time to remove Peter Granger’s imprint from this house,” she muttered. “Time for a makeover!”
She tripped back downstairs to call Lorene Brunell.
Lorene was delighted with the prospect of remodeling and redecorating the master bedroom and bath. When the phone call ended, Kari look around the living room with fresh eyes. “If I am going to live here and make this a real home, I need it to reflect me and not Peter or Alicia Granger.”
She identified a few things that she did not particularly care for and went in search of a piece of paper and a pen to jot them down. Her search led her into Peter Granger’s ground-floor office. The office opened from the house’s spacious foyer and shared a wall with the living room. Kari had not really spent any time in the room.
Because it kind of creeps me out, she admitted.
She looked around, studying the thoroughly masculine décor and furniture, particularly the large desk in the center of the room. Kari could imagine Peter Granger sitting at that desk—gloating over his escape from Denver. Plotting the deceptions that Kari’s father would grow up believing. She shivered.
My house. I will make this my house. All of it.
Kari pulled the chair out from the desk and, after hesitating a moment, sat down.
She opened desk drawers, searching for pen and paper. The drawers were all empty, and Kari recalled one of the senior partners—or was it Oskar?—saying that Brunell & Brunell had gathered all of Peter Granger’s papers into their files for safekeeping.
Still, when she pulled the bottom desk drawer out, she thought she heard something shift in the drawer.
Aha! Maybe they missed something.
Kari pulled the drawer out as far as the stops would allow and ran her hand to the back of its deep recesses.
Nothing.
Oh, well.
Kari leaned back in the expansive leather chair—obviously intended as an “important” man’s chair—and surveyed the office with a more subjective eye. One wall was lined with built-in bookshelves filled with expensive volumes.
All these books were stored in the attic until I arrived, Kari reminded herself. As she studied the titles and their ornate bindings, she confessed to admiring the collection.
Two other walls were paneled in costly woods. The carved chair rails and engraved panels were most certainly fashioned by an artisan.
Kari shook her head. Beautiful!
She ambled around the desk, examining the paintings on the walls, deciding what would stay and what would not. After I clear that wall, it would be a perfect palette to display the family pictures I want to have framed.
She sat at the desk again and studied the room. She frowned. It’s too dark in here.
She swiveled the chair and faced the window behind the desk. Heavy damask drapes hid the glass, contributing mightily to the room’s depressing atmosphere. Kari stood and swept them aside.
“Oh!”
The window hidden behind the curtains was tall; the lower two-thirds of it was paned; the upper third was rounded and formed a sunburst. Kari loved the window and the view of the grounds through it—the sweeping lawn and a mounded swath of flowering rhododendrons and hydrangeas. And a single, gnarled live oak with broad branches almost sweeping the ground, branches that practically begged the child in anyone to clamber up their thick arms and onto the trunk.
Kari looked at the edges of the drapes in her fisted hand. “Well, you have to go.”
She knew where to find a stepladder and went off to fetch it. Within minutes she was slipping drapery hooks off t
he rods and dropping the thick fabric to the floor.
Soft light flooded the room, and the window framed the sprawling oak perfectly.
“This,” Kari whispered in delight. “This is splendid.”
Getting her teeth into the task, she pointed at the oversized desk chair. “That monstrosity must go, too,” she murmured, “and probably the desk. I will ask Lorene where to look for new, lighter furnishings.”
But in the natural light streaming from the window, the wood in the room was coming to life. Kari realized that the sculpted trim on the walls was a match to the ornate carvings on the desk’s drawer fronts.
“The same person who carved the paneling also built this desk,” she realized.
She studied the desk more objectively, admiring its craftsmanship and glowing wood grain. “I doubt I could find a desk as beautiful as this one,” she admitted, “and it certainly belongs with this room. Okay, get rid of the chair, but maybe not the desk.”
She stopped again in front of the window and sighed. “Whatever new window treatments I select, they must preserve this view.”
As she considered keeping the desk, she imagined it turned toward the window rather than away from it. “Yes. With the desk facing that way and a more feminine chair . . .” She pushed against the desk only to realize how heavy it was.
Well, and I don’t want to scratch the floor.
Kari went out the back door and shielded her eyes against the hot August sun. “Toller? Are you out there?”
“Yes, Miss Kari!” He walked out from behind some shrubs and trod across the lawn toward her. “What do you need?”
“Could you come in the house with me? I could use some muscle.”
—
MISS FLETCHER CALLED KARI WITH THE NAME AND NUMBER of a respected photographer. “He is quite cutting edge, Miss Kari. He has a new kind of camera that puts the pictures on computer disks. He claims he can make reproductions of old photographs and fix things like cracks and fading in the copies.”
All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7) Page 8