Aunt Bay sniffed. “I’m wounded.”
Ruth picked up her Bible. “Beatrice, did Amy tell you her background?”
“Just now.”
“So when I call God ‘Father to the Fatherless,’ based on Psalm 68:5, and I tell her that He adopts us into a new heritage that makes the old one irrelevant, what do you think?”
Aunt Bay ignored the outstretched Bible and focused on Amy. “It’s true, child. Jesus died — and lives — to save us all. Everyone who asks.”
“Even me.” Weight fell from Amy like a concrete cast that had broken. She looked from one woman to the other. “I’ve always believed in God, but thought His rules kept me out. How do I ask Him to accept me?”
Smiling, Ruth waved her Bible at Aunt Bay in a “you-lead” gesture. “You two have a history.”
Aunt Bay’s eyes glistened. “I — Amy, you’re a child of my heart and this can’t make me love you more, but I’m bursting with pleasure. You’re aware that God is holy and we can’t earn His acceptance.”
Amy nodded.
“And that you’re separated from Him by your own sins and imperfections, not just the circumstances of your birth?”
“Ruth explained that.”
“Do you believe that Jesus’ death and resurrection is enough to pay for your sin so that nothing will separate you from God the Father?”
“There’s a lot I don’t understand about that, but yes.”
Aunt Bay took her hand. “There’s a lot I still don’t understand. We’ll study together. For now, you need to invite Him into your life, to clean and adopt you. It means living His way, not yours, from now on. He’ll help you with that. Don’t worry about praying fancy. He knows your heart.”
Ruth joined hands with them and gave Amy’s an encouraging squeeze. “You can do this. He wants to say yes.”
Amy shut her eyes. “Hello, God? I believe Your words. I am fatherless. Will you be my Father?”
The pressure on Amy’s hands didn’t ease when she finished. Should she say something else? “Oh. Amen.”
Aunt Bay and Ruth took turns praying for her. Hope bloomed in Amy’s spirit, watered with words of love. Finally Aunt Bay said, “Amen.”
They dropped her hands, only to envelop her in hugs. Eventually, Ruth pulled away. “Will you keep in touch?”
“I’d like that.” Amy fished in her purse for one of the gallery’s cards. She wrote her name and cell number on the back. “I don’t always have my cell on, but the gallery number is good.”
Ruth took the card. “Oh, Stratton Gallery. We’ve been there, but not for years.”
Aunt Bay held out a scrap of paper and a pen. “We have an open house on Saturday, if you’d like to see Amy in her natural surroundings.”
Ruth wrote her contact information and handed it back. “I’ll see if Tony has plans. You’re near Peggy’s Cove, right? If it’s fine, we could stop at the restaurant for gingerbread.” She hugged them both. “One way or another, I’ll talk to you soon.”
She picked up her Bible and went back to her husband.
Aunt Bay nudged Amy. “We should get going, before Michael comes looking for us. He frets worse than an old woman.”
Amy fell into step beside her. Michael. “He’ll be so excited to hear this. Do we have to tell him what kept me away?”
“Child, it’s a non-issue. You need to believe that. Michael won’t care, but keeping secrets gives them power to poison us.”
Chapter 19
The fourth time Amy opened her eyes, pale dawn light had finally seeped into the room. The house lay silent. Amy swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat up. Her alarm wouldn’t sound for another hour or so. She turned it off. If she did fall into a decent sleep now, she’d wake in such a stupor that she’d be useless all day.
She fetched her bathrobe from the hook on the bedroom door. The laminate floor was cool against the soles of her feet, but not as cold as it would be in a few months. The temperature, and the smooth surface, made a soothing contrast to the sticky, tangled mess of her dreams.
Amy positioned the rocking chair to face the window and opened the blind. She sat, drawing her fluffy robe tight around her middle. Outside, a crow cawed. A few sweeter-voiced birds answered. As light spread across the sky she watched gulls soaring over the water.
Maybe Aunt Bay and Michael had been right about the evening being too much after that frightening phone call. Dream fragments echoed in Amy’s mind, most in the distorted voice from the phone. Threatening, mocking, rejecting her in front of rooms full of onlookers.
Her criminal cousin sat with Ruth and Tony, all three wearing old-fashioned judges’ wigs. Gavels banged. Fingers pointed. Heaven thundered.
Aunt Bay threw up her hands in defeat.
Michael turned away.
Motion outside the window pulled Amy’s thoughts into the present. A squirrel dashed along a tree branch. Amy followed his progress, thankful for the distraction.
The little creature sprang to the next tree’s branch, raced to the trunk, and scurried to the ground. Whatever his errand, Amy envied his simple life. Eat and avoid being eaten. Harsh, but without the mind games that turned humans into such wrecks.
Becoming a child of God should make her feel better, not worse. The peace that had washed her had been stolen in the night. Amy replayed the conversation with Michael when they came home. The joy on his face. The way her explanation only made him hold her tighter. She’d never seen him speechless before.
The rocker creaked as she stood. Maybe the mindless routine of her physio exercises and a shower would banish her mental discord.
The house was still silent when Amy crept downstairs, dressed for the day and desperate for caffeine. A light in the kitchen warned her she wasn’t the only one up. The sharp scent of coffee pulled her into the room.
Aunt Bay sat reading the paper, wrapped in a red plaid robe. The paper rustled as she set it down. “Good morning. You’re up early.”
Amy put on her brightest expression, but her beeline for the coffee pot would tell Aunt Bay the truth. “I may turn into a zombie by noon.” Clutching her mug, Amy shuffled to the chair opposite Michael’s aunt. “What’s the latest?”
The older woman snorted. “You’d have to ask Google. This is out of date by the time it’s printed and delivered.”
“But you read it every day.”
“I don’t mind a time lag.” Aunt Bay flipped back through a few pages and spun the newspaper to face Amy. “Our friend Troy is at it again.”
Did Crash Investigators Ignore Evidence?
Amy slid the paper nearer and focused on the article’s small print.
Investigators may have overlooked evidence pertaining to the fatal crash of a private aircraft on a Nova Scotia road two years ago. Speaking on condition of anonymity, a reliable source suggests that in the absence of visible motive, investigators may have ruled certain details extraneous due to the “statistical improbability” of sabotage in the case.
A potentially suspicious car was seen on club grounds prior to the disastrous flight. Key security footage was indecipherable, and the night guard’s report had gaps big enough to fly a commercial jet through.
With the recent findings from the crash in Maryland, these and other grey areas are enough to prompt this reporter to call for a second investigation. A man may have been murdered. Do his loved ones not have the right to know the truth, one way or the other?
At least he hadn’t mentioned Amy’s name. Or the pilot’s. “None of this sounds very solid, but it’s too much to have ignored in the first place. How can they find evidence this long after the fact?”
Aunt Bay rotated the paper on the table and returned to her previous page. “I don’t know. I still can’t get my head around someone trying to kill the two of you. What could they possibly gain?”
“That’s the question.” Amy dropped her forehead into her palm, nose wrinkling at the tang of newsprint. She had no answers on a good day, let alone af
ter a night like the one she’d just endured. “Luc is going to be livid.”
“Let me answer the phone if he calls.”
“I can’t expect you to fight my battles for me.”
“Not all of them. This one. For today.”
Amy straightened and reached for her coffee. “Today, it would be most welcome.”
“You made a big decision last night, after a crazy day. It’s no wonder you didn’t sleep well.”
The first sip of coffee woke Amy’s taste buds and warmed her throat as she swallowed. She leaned on her elbows, mug supported in both hands, and filled her nostrils with the potent aroma. “I had terrible dreams. Does that mean God didn’t want me after all?”
Faded blue eyes studied her. “What do you think?”
“I think I should believe what I saw in the Bible, not what I feel.”
“Good answer. The old you will fight to stop the new you that God wants to grow.”
Amy savoured another mouthful of coffee, then set her mug down and rocked it gently on the table. “What Ruth and Tony said last night helped me think through the whole thing with my father. I can forgive him. And I’d like to meet him while he’s in town.”
“You’ve never met?”
Amy shook her head. “He found out about me the hard way, when Gilles invited him to our wedding.”
“No wonder he had issues.”
“I know, but that didn’t make it any easier when I needed him.”
The older woman tapped a finger on the newspaper. “You could invite him here, for safety. Michael and I could stay out of the way. Then he could join us for supper if you decide to ask him.”
Michael stepped into the kitchen. “Supper when? Who?” He pulled a mug from the cupboard and grabbed the coffee pot.
His aunt spoke to his back. “Amy’s father. When he calls.”
As Michael poured, he said, “After yesterday’s threat, I’d feel better if he came here. Any man could pretend on the phone, and lure you somewhere. Besides, I’d like to meet him.”
Amy pushed her chair out from the table and stood. “I might as well get an early start on the office work, since we lost part of yesterday with our friendly, neighbourhood police officer.”
Michael turned. His eyes held hers. “Leave the door locked unless a customer knocks? Just in case?”
“I won’t even put up the ‘open’ sign this early.” Amy hurried from the room before he could ask about her night.
By mid-morning her eyelids were scratchy and drooping. Time to get the blood pumping some oxygen to the brain. Another cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt, either. Amy stood and stretched.
As she passed through the gallery, a shadow at the door made her flinch. She took a second look as the person knocked. Ross!
Amy hurried to let him in. “Hi. How are you?”
He walked into the showroom, casually elegant in a tailored leather jacket. His dark eyes, always unreadable, searched her face. “Perhaps the question is, how are you?”
She flipped her hair behind her back. “I had a bad night, that’s all. Were you looking for Michael, or is there something I can help you with?”
“I was in the area and thought I’d see if you were free for an early lunch.” He stepped closer. “Granted Emilie has an active imagination, but I’ve been concerned about you. Perhaps rightly.”
Amy moved to the nearest display rack. Her fingers straightened already-straight packets of greeting cards. “Everyone has troubled dreams sometimes.” She tried to keep her voice light. “Aunt Bay and I were out late last night, and I didn’t unwind well enough before bed. Honestly, it was nothing to do with my life here — or with the crash. But thank you for caring.”
“You’ve suffered so much. I’d hate for anything else to go wrong.” His voice carried warmth. Sincerity.
Amy felt her defences go up. Michael. The unnamed texter. She didn’t need a third protector hemming her in. Mouth closed, she brushed a fleck of dust off the wire rack. She didn’t need to alienate one of Michael’s clients, either.
Ross trailed his fingers through the tabletop fountain. “I saw another article today about your plane crash. That reporter is another person with a flair for the dramatic.”
Was Ross the phantom texter? He could afford a second, throw-away phone to keep his privacy. The question stuck in Amy’s mouth. Whoever it was, the person didn’t want to disclose his — or her — identity. “He’s been asked to keep me out of his investigation.”
“Wise move.”
“But if you read what he wrote today, don’t you think he raises some fair questions?”
His brows came together. “The investigators know their job. I make it a point not to waste time on areas outside of my expertise. It saves me much trouble.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Aunt Bay walked into the room. “Oh, hello, Ross. I was just wondering if Amy needed any help.”
“Miss Rockland, a pleasure to see you. Perhaps you’d convince Amy to let me take her to lunch. A break can do wonders.”
“It can, indeed. I’ll watch things here if you’d like to go, Amy.”
Amy shook her head. “Thank you both, but the best break for me today will be a nap.”
Ross lifted his palms. “Another time, then, for lunch. I don’t give up. Have a pleasant day, ladies.”
Aunt Bay locked the door after he left. “A fine young man.”
Amy nodded. “He didn’t need me falling asleep in my salad. If you don’t mind, I’ll go lie down for a bit now. This afternoon Michael wants the three of us to go over the weekend plans.”
The open house would be fun. Amy always enjoyed observing patrons react to Michael’s work, and hosting here gave her a sense of personal pride. The entire main floor would be open to guests, with Michael’s art on display throughout. The spacious, eat-in kitchen made a perfect gathering point for drinks and finger food. Michael’s arrangement with the local bakery meant professional-quality refreshments that were an art form in themselves.
She clutched Aunt Bay’s arm. “What if whoever phoned makes trouble? I didn’t leave like they wanted, and Troy’s article will only provoke them.”
~~~
Amy’s alarm woke her from a forty-five minute power nap. She couldn’t say the snooze energized her, but at least she’d be able to string coherent thoughts together for the meeting. When she left her bedroom at noon, faint music from Michael’s studio said he was still painting.
She found Aunt Bay pulling coffee cake from the oven. “Smells good in here.”
Michael’s aunt set the pan on a cooling rack. “I thought we could all use a treat.”
The front doorbell rang. Amy grinned at Aunt Bay. “Someone knew you were baking.” She hurried through the house to the entrance.
When she pulled open the door, Luc stood on the step. Amy hadn’t seen her intended father-in-law in months. He spent most of his time in Montreal, and when he was here, it was easier to stay off his radar. Gilles had been their only real connection.
In those months, the man had aged years. Lines trenched his face, and his eyes peered out from dark caves. She caught his arm and drew him inside. “Luc, are you well?”
Aunt Bay bustled toward them. “Luc Renaud, you can be polite to Amy or you can leave.”
“It’s okay, Aunt Bay.” Amy kept a hand on his arm. “Come and sit down. Can we get you a drink?”
“No, thank you.” Even his voice was thinner, although his most recent call proved he could still be forceful when roused. Luc allowed Amy to take his jacket and followed her to the living room.
Aunt Bay joined them. “I apologize, Luc. After you upset Amy on the phone the other day, I thought you were here to do it in person.”
He flapped a hand. Dismissing the apology, or the presumption of his intent? His eyes sought Amy’s. “It was never my aim to hurt you, chérie. Gilles loved you so much.” He sank into the couch. “The loss of my son destroyed me, and you see the wreckage today. This talk of the
plane crash, of sabotage…”
Luc paled as he spoke, but his eyes burned. “You have questions. I have questions. But asking them is dangerous for my family.”
Family? Amy studied the shell of Gilles’ father. A successful businessman would have rivals, but enemies who would target his children? What kind of trouble was Luc in? She sat beside him, angled to see his face. “What are you going to do?”
His eyes, once so like his son’s, blinked rapidly. “Nothing. And I plead with you to do the same.”
“But the police—” Would do what? The investigators had signed off. The case was closed. Amy squeezed Luc’s hand. “If we found some proof…”
“No.” Again the forlorn head shake. “What is done is done. I can’t bear to lose any more. It’s possible that our intrepid reporter will draw enough attention to himself that he will pay the price. We must say nothing.”
Aunt Bay huffed. “Luc, you need help. This is too much to face alone, but you can fight it.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment. “These are powerful men, Beatrice. Ruthless. Unstoppable. They must believe they have won. It’s the only way we’re safe. Now, because of Amy’s earlier questions and even her recent flight, she and this household are also under scrutiny.” He touched Amy’s cheek. “For Gilles, I tried to keep you safe. I distanced you, but it wasn’t enough.”
Amy frowned. “I thought you agreed with your wife’s opinion of me.”
“Chérie, you were Gilles’ missing piece. I had never seen him happier, even under the darkness. For that I am forever grateful. Honore may have seen it in time, but I knew from the beginning. You were no mistake. You were a gift.”
The words seared Amy’s mind. Luc’s lips still moved, but her ears sang with what she’d heard. No mistake. A gift. He meant for Gilles, not a comment on her birth, but the words spun and grew, eclipsing his smaller meaning. And perhaps he did know it all. Gilles might have told him.
A tingling sensation wrapped Amy like a soft, static-charged blanket. Like a divine hug, from the inside. Warmth flooded her and poured out in tears. This wasn’t pain, or hurt. This was… healing.
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