Enigma of Fire

by Marilyn Leach

  “She demeaned her father for her own protection and to lessen his capacities in our eyes.” Lillie frowned.

  “Well, look at the secret she was protecting.” Loren arranged the materials in the first-aid box.

  Lillie straightened. “Tillie appeared to be doting over her father when in fact she was manipulating him.”

  “Yes,” Berdie scorned. “I think she loved him, but her whole being was consumed with anger, revenge, and such loathing that it skewed everything.”

  “How incredibly sad,” Loren said slowly.

  “And she made every attempt to point at Chad as a suspect. She paraded him to police that very first evening they were in my home, but then she alerted the entire community when having tea in the Copper Kettle. She talked about the terrible conflict Chad and the commander had. She dropped Chad right in it. I shouldn’t wonder that she, not Villette, spun it into a life of its own.”

  “Too clever by half,” the doctor summed up, “though demented.”

  “Then, when bits and pieces were not making sense with the commander as the target, Tillie floated the idea of suicide, which by then, others were considering. Sadly, I took enough of the bait to pass it on to Kent, which was her expectation. But when it came down to it, suicide didn’t fit the commander’s character.

  Lillie raised a brow. “Devious.”

  “The greenfinches were the final piece.”

  “Greenfinches?” Lillie wrinkled her nose.

  “I observed the little greenfinch family weaning their baby, and as we spoke of the firefight involving Hugh and his chums. Your words, ‘not there,’ put me on to Tillie.”

  “But, I never said ‘not there,’” Lillie corrected.

  “Are you sure?”

  “But back to the book,” Loren redirected.

  “Oh yes. I didn’t read it, nor did I want to from what I understood, but Rollie had, and Hugh started it after the commander finished it. So, I asked Rollie about the contents. He told me, among other things, it contained a formula for creating a bomb.”

  “That would certainly point a finger at her.” Loren set cotton balls next to a bottle of antiseptic. “Still, there had to be other indicators.”

  “Of course, but in terms of a big mistake, fleeing the vicarage in haste and leaving the book there was a silly mistake not worthy of her cunning.”

  “What tripped her up?” Lillie asked.

  “Once I began to put pieces together, I saw her anger and distress when she left the vicarage in a new light. I thought Tillie’s anxiousness to leave was due to concern about her father, as she said. But it was the fact that she couldn’t face her blunder, what she had done to the commander, plus her failure to do in Hugh. That’s what drove her from the place in such high dudgeon.”

  “Poor Doug. Tillie used him for her own purposes.”

  “Then there was the scar,” Berdie went on.

  “Just below her neckline?” Loren ran a finger cross his upper chest. “I noticed that at the dinner party. It was just visible, as I recall.”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Lillie answered him.

  “It was little Emmy and Max put me on to that. Why was it Mrs. Limb brought the little ones to the vicarage that fateful day?”

  Lillie rolled her eyes heavenward, then back to Berdie. “To keep them safe, she said.”

  “Safe from what?” Loren asked.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Berdie continued. “We knew their father was having episodes. Was Mrs. Limb protecting them from the whole ordeal? Of course. But what if the children were somehow threatened? What could that mean?”

  Loren rubbed his chin. “A delirious father harming his own. What a grim effect it would have on a child.”

  “Precisely.” Berdie nodded. “Tillie never spoke of her scar or how it got there, but we all know now.”

  “It surely fed into her revenge, but she didn’t really blame Doug.” Lillie took a quick breath. “Did she?”

  Berdie shrugged. “Consciously, unconsciously? Who’s to say? It was a constant reminder for Doug too, and I believe Tillie used it to her advantage.”

  Loren wiped the dispensary tray with an antiseptic wipe. “All of this could have been corrected, or at least managed if they had sought treatment. There are more funds, more practitioners now than previously to look after those with posttraumatic stress disorders.”

  “Well, Doug’s receiving professional help now, bless him. And the Limb’s young Alec is also getting services. Hugh was a great encouragement that way. He assured them there was no shame in seeking help and that it actually facilitated good overall family health as well.”

  “Speaking of.” Lillie nodded toward the distance.

  Doug and Sandra, hand in hand, strode the lake’s edge, engaged in conversation, and no wheelchair.

  “He’s adjusted so well to his repaired prosthetic, and quickly as well. He’s quite fit, actually,” Loren commented.

  “Sandra’s certainly been a tonic in all this. Doug’s devastation over Tillie has had a healing touch with Sandra’s presence in his life.” Berdie couldn’t help but feel a bit self-satisfied. “God bless them both and…”

  A cry of pain interrupted her conversation.

  Berdie saw Rollie, arms anchored around Chad and Dave’s shoulders, wince as he hobbled with the help of his chums to the first-aid tent, Joan behind them.

  “Blimey.” Berdie said what she knew her companions had to be thinking.

  “Get him settled here.” Loren put on a fresh pair of gloves while the men placed Rollie on a portable examining table.

  “Didn’t I tell him before that last heat to pull out?” Joan directed to Berdie. “He was limping the moment he got out of bed this morning. Well, now he has no choice but to listen.”

  “You’ve been overworking your muscles and joints, no doubt,” Loren diagnosed by a simple glance. After removing a shoe that revealed a blue-tinged, swollen foot, Loren’s simple prodding produced yelps and gasps of air on Rollie’s part.

  Berdie couldn’t believe this was happening. She knew how terribly let down Hugh would be, all the fellows for that matter. Committing to show up and crew, their many hours of practice, hoping to honor the commander, all gone for naught. And things had been going so well.

  Chad and Dave took in the situation.

  “That’s bad, Rollie,” Chad finally admitted.

  “Doc, can you wrap it, give me painkillers, and get me going?” Rollie grimaced. “We’ve a race to win in fifteen minutes.”

  “This isn’t Premiership football, Rollie. The only place you’re going is to hospital.” Loren examined the offending spot closely. “It’s a sprain by the look of it, and a bad one. But you need a proper X-ray examination to make sure it isn’t something worse.”

  “I’ll pull the car round,” Joan said firmly to her husband. “And that’s an end to it.” She pulled car keys from her pocket, brooking no disagreement.

  “Do you want me to come with you, Joan?” Berdie offered.

  “No, you’ve got so much on here, Berdie, but thank you.”

  Loren handed Joan a small white placard with a red cross on it. “Place it on your windscreen where it can be easily seen and Mr. Braunhoff will let you come right up to the tent.”

  Joan took it and departed.

  “Blast,” Rollie railed. “Sorry about this, lads.” He gritted his teeth. “Stupid thing to do.”

  “You just take care of yourself,” Dave admonished.

  Within three minutes Joan was back. The men helped get Rollie safely in the car and on his way.

  Chad’s face reflected the disappointment felt by all. “I’ll go let Hugh know we need to scratch the team.”

  “Maybe you can find someone to step in.” Lillie’s tone didn’t sound at all hopeful.

  “In ten minutes’ time?” Chad sounded piqued. “Any idea who?”

  “Me?” The words came from the opening of the tent, where Doug and Sandra stood.

  “Doug?” Berdie c
aught her breath.

  “I saw Joan bring the car round, and I knew it couldn’t be good news. But hopefully, I can help.”

  Chad looked Doug in the eye. “Do you mean it? Maybe a better question is: have you got it in you?”

  “I won’t know unless I try.” Doug glanced at Sandra, who offered a reassuring smile and quiet nod.

  Dave looked at Loren. “Dr. Meredith?”

  Doug stepped forward. “I use to row with these fellows. They’re my team. And I’m decently fit.”

  “Your thighs are very well developed. You’ve got powerful shoulders, but…” Loren didn’t get a chance to finish.

  “I’m not saying we’ll win, but one leg is better than none.” Doug was absolutely keen.

  “That’s the spirit.” Chad slapped Doug on the back.

  “We need to let Hugh know what’s happening,” Dave urged.

  “He’s been helping Mr. Webb at the church’s hospitality stall since the last heat.” Berdie pulled her mobile from her trouser pocket and handed it to Dave.

  “You’re quite sure, Doug?” Dave asked.

  Berdie watched Doug’s eyes, no longer clouded with the haze of sedatives, blaze with more confidence than she’d ever seen before.

  “I want to do it.”

  That’s all it took for the crew to smile and make way to the boat, Sandra too, while Dave rang Hugh.

  When the five-minute bell sounded, Berdie left the tent. She, Lillie, and Sandra, who had returned, made way to the shoreline along with families, singles, teens, tots, grandparents, bikers, pets, and all other sorts. It seemed the whole of Christendom, and then some, gathered near the lakefront finish line.

  Sandra hugged Doug’s prosthesis to her torso for safekeeping since Doug was more comfortable rowing without it. She whispered to Berdie and Lillie, “Some may say Doug’s got a leg up on the race.”

  Lillie’s eyebrows rose, but Berdie chuckled. She appreciated Sandra’s sense of humor.

  Chad as toe man, Hugh, Doug, and Dave faced six other crews who were just as eager to take the Whitsun Regatta Cup. From all appearances, there looked to be only two other crews that had the same kind of competitive edge as Saint Aidan’s. Blessed Virgin Kingsford and Waterside Chapel were the boats to beat.

  Berdie was amazed at how quickly Blessed Virgin was off the mark at the starter pistol. Waterside Chapel was a surprising second and St. Aidan was third, all others trailing.

  Several supporters began to hoot and holler encouragement for their crews. And by the time the boats reached the far side of the lake and went round their buoys, Blessed Virgin was in the lead, St. Aidan second, and Waterside Chapel third. That’s when the roaring commenced.

  “Heave ho, St. Clement.”

  “Go, go, Waterside.”

  “Show us what you’ve got, St. Margret.”

  “Give ’em what for, Blessed Virgin.”

  Berdie chuckled to think what an unsuspecting visitor might make of the cheers. She watched Blessed Virgin surge, Hugh and his crew a half–boat length behind. But the first-place crew began to flag, and Waterside Chapel took the lead. St. Aidan kept a steady pull and release and within several strokes was nearly even with the Waterside crew.

  Berdie swallowed and felt her breath go a bit rapid. Suddenly, “Go, Hugh,” joined the cheers filling the air of Presswood Lake.

  “That’s it, Doug.” Sandra added her voice. She squeezed the prosthetic leg to her chest and began thumping it with an open palm. “You’re doing it, love. Keep stride.”

  “Ai-dan, Ai-dan, Ai-dan,” rose as a chant from a group of the church youth, Lucy and Milton Butz flailing arms to keep the rhythm pumped up.

  Berdie could now see the look of sheer determination on the two leading crews approaching, but none looked more committed than Hugh, grittier than Chad, more dogged than Dave, or more indomitable than Doug.

  “Stroke,” Hugh heaved.

  Berdie put her hands into fists, shaking them up and down as St. Aidan began to edge forward. “Come on, St. Aidan, you can do it, chums!”

  Grunts, red faces, power shoulders, and Divine strength put St. Aidan just even with Waterside Chapel.

  “If boats have noses,” Sandra yelled to Berdie above the roar, “that’s what we’ll win by.”

  The words no sooner left Sandra’s mouth when exactly that happened. By the smallest of margins, St. Aidan edged past the other boat just as they reached the finish line and was declared the winner.

  “We did it, we did it.” Berdie could barely take it in.

  Sandra grabbed Berdie’s hand, Doug’s artificial leg bouncing, while Lillie yipped and laughed.

  Berdie let go a “Yes,” thrust a fist into the air, and sprang about as the supporters of St. Aidan of the Wood Parish Church erupted into cheers.

  When Hugh and Doug, who was helped along by Chad and Dave, climbed onto the small awards stage, applause exploded.

  St. Aidan’s flock shouted and whistled with exuberance until the Lord Mayor of Timsley, whose thin legs looked just able to keep his bulbous body upright with its weighty mayoral chain about his neck, waved his hand to beg silence.

  He lifted a silver cup upward. “On behalf of the people of Timsley and all the surrounding villages”—he extended the cup to Hugh—“we present the first annual Whitsun Regatta Cup to the crew of St. Aidan of the Woods Parish Church.”

  Applause abounded. “Ai-dan, Ai-dan” came from the church youth as Hugh accepted the cup.

  “Lord Mayor,” Hugh said amidst sweat, wet silver hair, and face red from exertion, “on behalf of our crew, we thank you.”

  As Chad, Doug, and Dave offered smiles and waves, there was more applause and not a few hoots.

  Hugh raised his palm to silence all, and the crowd went still.

  “We would like to dedicate our win and this cup to Commander Cedric Royce, who is expected to leave hospital next week.”

  Cheers, whistles, and thunderous claps arose from the St. Aidan crowd.

  Hugh waved his hand again and took a deep breath. “Also, with our win we would like to acknowledge all those who have served or are on active duty in the armed forces. May our gifts and talents bring great honor and give us courage to gladly face all our tomorrows. God bless us all.”

  Hugh handed the trophy off to Doug, who had one arm draped around Chad’s shoulder to keep upright and the other free to take the cup.

  Not just St. Aidan, but the entire crowd went ballistic with appreciation as the triumphant Doug raised the prize high in the air.

  “That’s my man,” Sandra all but screamed.

  “Far better than a scratch, they’ve overcome,” Lillie shouted.

  “They have,” Berdie answered. “We all have, really.”

  “Is that gifted investigative nose of yours back in full flow now, no doubts?”

  “Not a doubt in sight. I’m ready and willing to use what God has given me whenever the call comes. I can tell you this right now. Overcoming is what happens when people utilize their God-given gifts for the welfare of the community.”

  “Amen to that.” Lillie twinkled.

  And the hands of time seemed to stand still at Presswood Lake as the people’s Whitsun spirit of celebration reverberated from shore to shore.

  A note from the author

  The story, Enigma of Fire: A Berdie Elliott Pentecost Mystery, has a festive Berdie singing a song to herself at the Whitsun Regatta while she waits for Maggie Fairchild. “Come, Holy Ghost, Our Souls Inspire,” or rightly titled “Veni, Creator Spiritus” in the original Latin, was written in the ninth century and sung in the early church. John Cosin (1594–1672), Dean and Bishop of Durham, England, translated it into English. It is paired, to this day, with a surviving plainsong melody. Although it was originally sung at Pentecost, it is now also raised in song at ordination services of the clergy throughout England.

  “Veni, Creator Spiritus”

  Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire,

  And lighten with celestial
fire;

  Thou the anointing Spirit art,

  Who dost Thy sev’nfold gifts impart.

  Thy blessed unction from above

  Is comfort, life, and fire of love;

  Enable with perpetual light

  The dullness of our blinded sight.

  Teach us to know the Father, Son,

  And Thee, of both, to be but One,

  That through the ages all along

  This may be our endless song:

  “Praise to Thy eternal merit,

  Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  Thank you…

  for purchasing this Harbourlight title. For other inspirational stories, please visit our on-line bookstore at www.pelicanbookgroup.com.

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  May God’s glory shine through

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  AMDG

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