by Diane Noble
“I’m your wife, Paul, and I love you. Whatever it is, you need to confide in me. Does it have to do with your health? Did you move the money out of savings because our insurance doesn’t cov—”
He stared at her for a moment, unblinking. His expression was filled with compassion, yet he seemed somehow at war with himself, as if wanting desperately to tell her something of utmost importance...yet unable to.
In that split second of fear for his health, she tried to picture life without him. A sting of tears crept up the back of her throat.
“Oh, Paul,” she said softly, “are you trying to protect me from something?”
He hung his head and didn’t answer.
After a moment he looked up. “I asked you before, Katie, and it seems I need to ask you again: please trust me.”
“But, Paul—”
He shushed her by putting his index finger over her lips; then standing, he bent to kiss the tip of her nose.
He slid under the covers and turned out the lamp on his bedside table.
Kate sat on the edge of the bed, considering all the possibilities having to do with his health. When people reached later middle age, insurance premiums skyrocketed for a purpose: the incidence of age-related diseases could suddenly come marching into your body without warning.
The missing money, high premiums, and high deductibles all added up to one thing: Paul seemed to be struggling with something that seemed bigger than what they had usually faced.
Finally, she said, “No matter the reason, whatever it is you’re keeping from me, I need to know. I love you and want to stand beside you in...in whatever it is you’re going through.”
Without answering he closed his eyes, breathing deeply as if too weary for words.
Kate blinked back her tears and went around to his side of the bed. She touched his forehead with her fingertips, then stooped and kissed his cheek.
“Just let me handle this my own way, Katie,” he whispered. “Everything will be okay. I promise. Please, just trust me and don’t fret.”
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Kate woke before dawn. As she pulled back the covers, she glanced over at Paul’s side of the bed, not wanting to wake him. But he wasn’t there.
He didn’t have any appointments until ten that morning. Why would he be up and out so early? It wasn’t like him.
She tiptoed toward the kitchen, wondering why the house was so quiet. Usually, either John or Melissa would have been up by now. Though since they weren’t to meet Dr. Lucas at the hospital until one thirty, they certainly had the time to sleep in.
When she reached the kitchen, she was surprised to see that someone had already put on the coffee, and three mugs graced the counter nearby. Three used mugs.
Kate reached into the cupboard for another and poured herself a cup of the dark, slightly stale brew.
She peeked into the guest room to see if her suspicions were correct. They were. The port-a-crib was empty. The sleeper sofa was made up, blankets folded.
She went back to the living room, settled into her rocker, and reached for her Bible. She had just opened it to Isaiah, chapter twenty-five, when she heard a light tap at the front door, followed by the sound of the door opening.
“It’s just us, Mom,” John called to her.
Kate hurried to the entry as he came through the door with their jogger, the three-wheeled stroller that allowed either John or Melissa to jog while pushing it. He was dressed in workout clothes. Mia, in a miniature pastel version of workout sweats, was all smiles and lifted her hands to be picked up. Kate reached for her, and as she pulled her into her arms, the toddler patted Kate’s face.
“Gamma!” she pronounced. “Gamma!”
Kate carried her granddaughter into the kitchen. “Are you hungry, Mia mine?”
Mia pointed to Kate’s mixer. “Want dat.”
“Blue pancakes?” Kate laughed. “I just happen to have some left from yesterday. How about if we warm them up for my special girl?”
She settled Mia into the high chair by the table, then gave her a small plastic bowl of applesauce and a toddler-size spoon while Mia waited for her pancake.
Mia laughed and scooped a spoonful of applesauce into her mouth. It drizzled down her chin.
Kate’s heart welled with love for her granddaughter, even as she wiped Mia’s face—and her own—with a damp cloth.
The front door opened, and Kate could hear the happy chatter between Paul and Melissa as they came around the corner into the kitchen.
Paul held up a bag of sweet rolls as if it were a trophy.
“Look what we brought the family for breakfast. Fresh out of the oven. We’ve already eaten, but I think we might have our arms twisted to lap a lip over one of these.”
Kate gave them each a hug. “So that’s where you’ve been.”
“I just wanted to take my daughter to breakfast,” he said. “We ended up at the diner just as it opened. These truly are fresh out of the oven.”
“We had a great time visiting with LuAnne,” Melissa said. “She entertained us with stories of the tour the whole time we were there.” She shook her head. “And every other word is in Italian. She said she listened to language tapes for months before they all left and wasn’t about to give up using the words she learned just because she’s back in the States.”
Kate cut the blue pancake into bite-size pieces and put it on a plastic Winnie-the-Pooh plate. After a drizzle of maple syrup, she carried it over to Mia, who was waving her arms like a windmill, applesauce stuck in her hair.
They all stood back in amazement as, with dainty little fingers, she ate one piece after another. Still chomping, she reached for her sippy cup, which John had filled with milk.
“This is the most she’s eaten in days,” Melissa breathed.
“Maybe it’s the syrup,” John said. “She doesn’t get sweets very often.”
Paul winked at Kate. “It’s the blue in the pancakes. It always worked with you kids too. Pancakes simply didn’t taste the same unless they were blue.”
Melissa laughed. “I remember that.”
Mia laughed with them and buzzed her lips again, this time with milk.
A FEW HOURS LATER, the kids had bundled Mia in the car and left for their next appointment in Pine Ridge, and Paul soon after backed the pickup out of the driveway for an appointment at church. Kate bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up. Melissa had helped with the breakfast dishes, though because she and Paul had eaten at the diner, there weren’t many.
She tried once more to call Dr. Hosea, but an automated voice told her his mailbox was full.
Needing to think things through, she decided to make a batch of brownies, complete with chocolate-fudge frosting.
As she mixed together the ingredients, she thought about the morning. She knew John was in the habit of jogging in the morning, and they had purchased the special stroller so Mia could go with him. She flipped the dial to preheat the oven, then poured the brownie mix into a baking dish. As she waited for the oven to heat, she slid into a chair at the table and considered all the possibilities that came flooding into her mind. One stood out above all the others: Was Paul confiding in Melissa because he was suffering from some disease? With health care costs so high, it would make sense that he would withdraw money from savings. But why would he tell Melissa when she was going through so much herself?
While the brownies baked, she went into her studio, sat down, and sketched a new stained-glass design. She’d had an idea for making a votive candleholder with the images of Francis and Clare, and as she sketched several patterns, Kate considered colors and the shape of the votive. She lost herself in her work, thinking about the lives of these two people and how they had influenced centuries of believers with their radical ideas of following Christ.
One of her favorite quotes was from Francis himself: “Preach Christ, and if you must, use words.” It reminded her of another quote, though she couldn’t remember if it was attributed
to Francis: “You may be the only gospel someone will ever read.”
She whispered a prayer, that even in all her concerns for Melissa’s family, and her preoccupation with the mystery of the urn, her life would reflect her Lord.
She was almost startled when the oven timer chimed. Almost reluctantly, she left her studio for the kitchen. She had just pulled the brownies from the oven when the phone rang.
It was Livvy, asking for an update on Mia.
Just before the conversation ended, Livvy asked Kate if she could meet for lunch at the park. “I brown-bagged it today,” she said. “Enough for two, if you’d like to join me.”
“Good timing,” Kate said. “I’ve got a new theory I want to run by you.”
She could almost hear her friend smile on the other end of the line. “I love it when that happens,” Livvy said.
While the brownies were still warm, Kate used a wooden pick to poke holes across the top. After melting the fudge icing slightly on the stove, she then smoothed it across the warm baked brownies. The kids had always loved the way she made these. The warm icing drizzled into the holes, ensuring moist cookie bars once they were cut.
As she sprinkled on some chopped walnuts, she thought about Dr. Hosea and something that had been niggling at her brain since the middle of the night.
What if the urn was stolen? And if so, from where? A private collection? A museum? Dr. Hosea had been very excited about the piece. In fact, he’d indicated that the urn didn’t look like a copy, that it might be an original. If so, how did it get to the shop where Renee bought it?
She sprinkled another handful of nuts, then paused again.
And if these theories were true, how did Collin Wellington get involved? Did he choose Renee as an unwitting accomplice?
She finished sprinkling the nuts, cut two large pieces for her picnic with Livvy, then covered the rest, still in the baking dish, with cellophane wrap.
KATE WAS WAITING FOR LIVVY at a picnic table, when her friend crossed the street and headed her direction. Four young mothers were having a picnic with their preschoolers a few tables away, and the sounds of their chatter and laughter carried through some young willows. A light breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby maple tree, and a mottled pattern of shade and sunlight danced across the table.
Livvy grinned as she sat down across from Kate. “I hope you like tuna fish.” She unwrapped the sandwich and handed half to Kate.
They spoke for a few minutes about the kids, then Livvy leaned forward. “Now, what about your theory?”
Kate told Livvy about what she’d come up with while frosting the brownies.
Livvy blinked. “You think it was stolen? I saw Renee buy it, along with Collin, who inspected it carefully before he gave her the thumbs-up.” She untwisted the lid from a bottle of sweetened iced tea, divided it between two paper cups, and handed one to Kate.
She studied Kate thoughtfully, then she leaned forward again and dropped her voice as one of the picnicking mothers walked by with her toddler. “When you’re onto something, you’re, well, onto something. I take your little nudges seriously. What makes you think it could be stolen?”
“That’s actually giving my theory too much credence. Right now, it’s just a lilliputian feeling—”
Livvy laughed, and her right eyebrow shot up. “Lilliputian?”
“As in Lilliput, a fictional little guy from the Jonathan Swift nov—”
Livvy was still chuckling. “A librarian would know this.”
Kate bit into her sandwich, sobering. After a sip of iced tea, she said, “And this may indeed be fiction, just a gut feeling perhaps, but it makes me want to research recent art thefts or museum heists in Italy...”
“Whoa...” Livvy sat back, her eyes the size of quarters. “Are we talking about international crime? That’s big stuff.” She took a bite of sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.
Kate hurried on. “It’s a beautiful piece. From the little research I’ve done online, looking for similar artifacts, it appears to be museum quality. I contacted Dr. Hosea, sent photos, and he got very excited about what he saw.
“In the middle of the night, I woke with a start, first to pray for Mia and wisdom for the doctors who will see her today, then my thoughts flew to the urn. I think Dr. Hosea may know more than what he’s told me. Otherwise, why would he get so excited? Why would he take the initiative to contact you so quickly after he saw the article in the Chronicle?”
Livvy sipped her tea thoughtfully. “You’ve got a point.”
“He’s indicated he wants to see the urn firsthand, run some tests—carbon dating, I suppose.”
“That would mean taking it to his university?”
“And telling Renee my suspicions.”
“I wonder how she would take that?”
“Well, before I call our Dr. Hosea or tell Renee anything, I want to find out if an urn like this has been reported stolen. I’ll start with Florence, since that’s where Renee and Collin purchased it, and spread out from there.”
A HALF HOUR LATER, Kate was seated at one of the library computers, waiting the few seconds it took for Google to appear.
She tried several combinations of descriptive phrases:
Etruscan urn
Etruscan burial urn
alabaster burial urn Etruscan symbols
alabaster burial urn
Franciscan burial urn alabaster relief
Pages of matches appeared on the search-results screen. She quickly scanned through them, finding dozens of photos of urns, most with relief carvings. Some were from museums, some were from private collections, but none matched Renee’s.
She next tried a new angle: “museum heists in Florence.”
Nothing.
She did a broader search, including Rome and Milan.
Nothing.
She did another, including all of Italy, then all of Europe.
Nothing.
She sat back, folded her arms, and stared at the screen.
Her middle-of-the-night instincts on this one had obviously been wrong.
Then she pulled up Google once more and typed in: “museum heists in the UK.”
Her eyes widened.
A museum in Oxford reported a missing urn nine months earlier...
Oxford?
A storm warning slammed into her mind, turning it into a whirlwind of possibilities, dire possibilities, as she considered the implications.
AS SOON AS KATE reached her car, she tried to call Dr. Hosea on her cell phone. This time, when she got his voice mail, she left her number and told him she had new information about the urn and to please call her as soon as possible.
All afternoon and well into the evening, she awaited his call. The phone never played its tune.
By bedtime, she was more puzzled than ever about the urn and its origins, both recent and ancient.
Chapter Eleven
Melissa surprised Kate by fixing breakfast for everyone, insisting that Kate sit down at the kitchen table and relax. Kate watched with wonder as her daughter, who as a teenager stuck up her nose at the very idea of even eating breakfast, fried the bacon, scrambled the eggs, and operated the toaster like a short-order cook.
Kate noticed that Melissa used all egg whites, then added only one yoke to the mix for color before scrambling. When she commented on it, Melissa just smiled. “I just think that Dad—and you, of course, Mom—should keep watching your cholesterol, that’s all.”
Kate blinked in surprise, then thought about it a moment. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” She glanced at Paul, who had let his gaze drift somewhere over her right shoulder.
Melissa frowned. “What do you mean?”
“About your dad’s health.”
Melissa smiled gently. “Mom, you both need to take care of yourselves. You’re at an age where diet and exercise are all-important. That’s all I meant by it. Honest.”
Because it was Thursday, the talk over breakfast was about Livvy’s la
test article in the Chronicle, and the picture that accompanied it.
“It’s interesting that Livvy featured the urn rather than the folks from Copper Mill,” Melissa said, squinting at the photo. She scanned the article, then said, “Ah, but listen to this: ‘Tuscany is a place to go with the one you love. Imagine fields of sunflowers stretching as far as the eye can see, their golden petals shimmering in the breeze under an almost purple Tuscan sky.
“‘The B and B where we stayed surely must be the most romantic getaway in the world. All of us on the tour agreed that if it hadn’t been for missing Assisi, we could have easily spent another week or two in that spot. The food, fixed by the owner’s wife, was the best we experienced in all of Italy. And as an added bonus, she spent an afternoon teaching us how to make homemade pasta from start to finish.’”
Most romantic getaway in the world? Kate drew in a deep breath and bit her lower lip as she stood to clear the dishes. “Does she say anything else about the urn, or Renee and Collin?”
“Only that it’s on exhibit at the church, and Pastor Paul Hanlon has said everyone is welcome to stop by and see it.”
Paul chuckled. “After the press it got in last week’s Chronicle, I think everyone in Copper Mill has already seen it.”
Kate poured coffee all around and slid into her chair.
Mia, sitting in the high chair, lifted her arms and said, “Gamma.”
Kate lifted her into her arms. The toddler seemed especially quiet. Popping a binky into her mouth, Mia closed her eyes and snuggled into Kate’s lap. For a brief moment, Kate rested her cheek on the toddler’s head, her heart once again swelling with love. She wondered how she could think of herself and what she missed in Italy when the needs of Mia, Melissa, and John were so great. She breathed a quick prayer for forgiveness.
“The online version of the article may bring in others,” she said, gently combing Mia’s hair with her fingers. “Last week’s article triggered a response from Dr. Hosea.”
“Speaking of which, have you heard from him yet?” Paul took a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug.