The Other Side of Darkness

by Linda Rondeau

“Maybe she wants to give me another ticket.”

  The sour-faced trooper walked in. “I heard that.” There had to be something muscularly wrong with a face that never smiled.

  “What happened to Styles?”

  “You tackled him pretty good. He had a slight concussion. He’ll live, unfortunately. He’s been released into our custody and being held for questioning, probably extradition.”

  Good. He wouldn’t be coming to finish what he botched. Although she’d never underestimate him again. He’d managed to escape a pretty tough house arrest program.

  Trooper Mitchell took out a notepad. “What happened out there, Miss Knowles?”

  “Styles found me at the lake, threatened to shoot me, so I pushed him down and the gun went off. That’s about it.” Sam left out Emmanuel’s angel. “I’d like to know how I ended up at the hospital.”

  “Mr. Bordeaux states he went looking for you at the cabin. When he couldn’t find you, he went to Mr. Gladstone’s house. Mr. Bordeaux and Mr. Gladstone became suspicious that both ATVs were gone from your cabin. Mr. Gladstone checked his security cameras and spotted Mr. Styles watching you leave the cabin and mounting the second ATV. They called 911 and left immediately to assist you. They found both you and Mr. Styles unconscious, you with a bullet wound and Mr. Styles holding a revolver. Mr. Gladstone took possession of the weapon, and secured the suspect while Mr. Bordeaux administered first aid to your wound. We arrived on the scene soon after.”

  So, Zack saved her life again, this time with Jonathan’s help. Her life in ironies.

  Trooper Mitchell tapped her notebook with her pencil. “Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Bordeaux have given us their statements. Mr. Styles is not very forthcoming with information. Lawyered up. Anything you can add would be helpful.”

  The walls heaved, and her stomach flip-flopped. “He did confess to killing Montel Atkins. Otherwise, you’ve pretty much covered it.”

  Trooper Mitchell closed her notepad. “We’d appreciate you sticking around until we’ve completed our investigation.”

  Sam glanced at the array of machines and tubes. “Doesn’t look like I’m leaving Haven any time soon.” Where would she go after the hospital? Certainly not to the cabin. “Am I a suspect?”

  “No ma’am. But the circumstances are a bit peculiar. Why did you go to the lake in the pouring rain?”

  “Looking for an angel.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I wanted to clear my head a little.”

  “We’ll be in touch, if we have any more questions.”

  Trooper Mitchell left, and Sam closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was two o’clock. Two vases of hyacinths sat on her nightstand.

  “Hello, there.” Zack’s voice startled her. How long had he been sitting in that chair?

  Jonathan came in and handed Zack a cup of coffee. “Tracey said to give you this. Hello, Sam. About time you woke up. How’re you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been shot. What are you two doing here?”

  Zack spoke first. “We feel responsible, Sam. If we hadn’t argued…”

  “Enough with the guilt trip…both of you. A man as crazy as Harlan Styles would have found a way to get to me even if you guarded both doors. Maybe killed you in the process. I’m alive, thanks to your quick thinking.”

  Jonathan and Zack locked glances. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

  Who served as a bouncer in a hospital? She’d ring for Tracey to boot these two out, but Zack had inside privileges. “I don’t care who talks first, just spit it out.”

  “Go ahead, Zack,” Jonathan said.

  Zack put his coffee down on Sam’s nightstand. “The Lighthouse doesn’t have an elevator, and it might be awhile before you can manage steps. Pastor Gus said you could stay at the parsonage while you recover and sort things out. You won’t have to deal with either one of us for awhile.”

  “What’s to sort out? When I’m well enough, I’m going home. After what Styles pulled, all deals are off the table. There’s nothing to keep me here.” At it again…the two of them trying to arrange her life, when neither of them had done a very good job in managing their own.

  Jonathan inched toward the bed. “What Zack is not saying is that…well… he and I have talked. We want to help you.”

  “By dictating how I should live my life?”

  “Not at all,” Zack said. “We don’t want you to leave Haven because of either one of us. The people in this town hope you’ll stay. Uncle Aaron’s taking full retirement as soon as his term is up, so another lawyer in town would be handy.”

  Jonathan cleared his throat. “Aaron said he’d help me get the will revoked. After that, I’m going to Paris for awhile. While I’m away, Dawn’s Hope will be in need of a caretaker. I can’t think of anyone better for the job than you.”

  Would Dawn’s Hope be the same without Jonathan, it’s Rochester?

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  Sam hauled the labeled box off the trailer and dragged it up the steps to her new office, the first floor of the old Beacon House in the middle of Main Street. She stopped at the top and gazed at the mountains, their circus of colors heralding a new season of life coinciding with Sam’s.

  Her limp was barely noticeable now. Three months of therapy had done wonders. Two weeks with Pastor Gus, then a move into Dawn’s Hope—the fresh air and walks along the beach as good as any medicine.

  Sam brought the box inside and set it on the oak table, a gift from Abe, a thoughtful gesture. She’d forgiven him, but restoring their relationship would take months more, perhaps years.

  Justine emptied boxes on her side of the office, her wedding picture displayed prominently on her desk.

  “You’re certain Robert doesn’t mind you working for me during his tour?”

  Justine smiled. “He likes the idea. He said he’s hanging up his uniform when he finishes this gig and would like to settle in Haven…thinks it’s a great place to raise a family. So, guess you’re stuck with me for a long time.”

  Sam smiled. “Best way I can get back at Abe…steal his assistant.”

  The phone rang. “That’s your line, Justine.”

  “Probably my mother. She calls me every day about this time since I moved up here.”

  While Justine chatted, Sam started unloading law books and stacking them on her shelves. Doc Henson peeked in. “Where should we take this armchair?”

  “That’s Justine’s. Sadie’s remodeling the two upstairs apartments. We’re storing Justine’s furniture in mine until hers is ready. In the meantime, she’ll stay with me at Dawn’s Hope. Sadie has a lot of projects going on at the moment. She won’t be able to start on this building until after Christmas.”

  Doc shook his head. “I know…Zack’s wedding is around the corner. I hear our boy is going into the police academy in a month or two. Who’d have thought? Still can’t picture him a New York City cop. His fiancée is going into the force same time as he is.”

  Justine ended her phone call and continued unloading boxes. “Sam, where should we put this big old clock?”

  “You decide. Of course, Sadie will probably want me to throw it out once we set her loose on the office.”

  “Wonder what kind of theme she’ll come up with?”

  “We’ll see. The house was built in 1859…maybe antebellum?”

  Sam took out the photo of her, Zack and Jonathan, taken on the day she moved into Dawn’s Hope. She placed it on the shelf next to her desk.

  Justine glanced at the photo. “Have you heard from Jonathan since he went to Paris?”

  “No.”

  Not that Sam expected to, he owed her nothing, a long-distance attorney-client relationship. When Jonathan returned, she’d move into the other upstairs apartment above her law office. Much more convenient—especially the commute. She’d be right across from the Lighthouse and near the church, her own Triune Point. Still, she’d like to know if Paris was as romantic in the fall as it
reportedly was in the spring.

  Sam considered herself blessed, confident this decision had been the right one. Haven had given her so much, friends, affection, shelter, and now a purpose. From now on, she would defend the innocent, rather than attack the guilty.

  The phone rang and she answered it, taking the handset into the other room as her helpers buzzed with excitement. “Sam Knowles’s office.” She liked the sound of that, and beamed, even though no one could see her pleasure but the Lord.

  “Sam, it’s Abe. I don’t know if you heard, yet. I know you’re busy with the big move, today.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Harlan Styles is dead. Brenda, too.”

  Three months ago, Sam might have felt cold satisfaction with the news, a sense they both got exactly what they deserved. Amazing how much a person can change in that amount of time. Rather than rejoice, Sam pained for their tragic ends. “I hoped they might turn around.”

  “Who knows what their last thoughts might have been.”

  Only God knew for sure. “What happened?”

  “They found Styles’s body in the prison laundry room—strangled. They found Brenda floating in Ingram’s pool—her throat slashed.”

  Tears formed as Sam counted the losses surrounding this case…so many. Could any of them have been avoided? “Thanks for letting me know, Abe.”

  “Are you happy, Sam? I mean, with your decision to stay in Haven? Your old job’s yours if you want it.”

  It felt good to hear Abe’s voice. Why waste her life being angry? Besides, in a way, Abe had been responsible for her new life in Haven. “I hope you will come to Dawn’s Hope for a visit, sometime?”

  “Thanks, Sam. I think I’d like that.”

  Sam brought the handset back into the front room as Rusty came in with the last box. “Thank you everyone,” Sam said. “You’ve done enough.”

  Justine slung her purse over her shoulder. “We’re all going over to the Lighthouse. Spaghetti tonight. Are you coming?”

  “In a few minutes. Go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

  As Justine crossed the street, Tracey Golden came up the steps. “I’m on my way over to my parents’ but wanted to drop this off, a little office-warming present.” She handed Sam a satin-wrapped soap dispenser. “Sadie’s invention.”

  “Is there anything she can’t do?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Thanks for your thoughtfulness. I’ll put this in the bathroom.” Sam grabbed her purse. “I’ll walk over to the Lighthouse with you.”

  “Don’t tell Sadie I warned you, but she’s cooked up a special party for you. Everyone’s waiting.”

  Sam spotted Sadie as she clipped across the street, agitation with every step.

  “Speaking of Sadie…maybe she’s come to drag me over herself.”

  Sadie shoved a citation in Sam’s hand. “You’ve got to do something about this. The Board of Health’s trying to shut me down…claiming I got too many people in my lounge while I’m serving food. Now that’s ridiculous. What’s America coming to if a body can’t have friends over for supper?”

  “Of course, I’ll represent you, Sadie. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “Good. Now you hurry it up, supper’s waiting.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sadie grabbed Tracey’s hand. “You come with me. I need your help.” Sam watched the pair cross the street and disappear into the Lighthouse, like any mother and daughter who loved one another.

  Sam closed the door as a delivery truck pulled up to the curb. The driver emerged with a small box and clipboard. “Are you Samantha Knowles?”

  “Guilty.”

  No smile.

  “Special delivery from Paris.”

  Her hands trembled as she opened the box. She gasped at the ivory statue perched on top of a small music box. Etched at its base was the inscription, “Emmanuel’s Angel.” A note was attached.

  Sam,

  I wanted this angel to keep you company until I return.

  Affectionately,

  Jonathan Gladstone

  She returned to her office, to set the angel on her desk. She turned the key and wept as it twirled to the familiar chorus of hope:

  I’ve anchored my soul in the “Haven of Rest,”

  I’ll sail the wide seas no more;

  The tempest may sweep over wild, stormy, deep,

  In Jesus I’m safe evermore.

  Sam sang as it played, unconcerned about her pitch. Her heart, in tune with God, swelled with gratitude for He had taken her to the other side of darkness, a place where hope dwelled.

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  May God’s glory shine through

  this inspirational work of fiction.

  AMDG