A Distant Memory

by Traci DePree

  But she reminded herself that if Sonja was at Opryland for an audition, there was only one place she would have thought to go: the theater where the Grand Ole Opry performed.

  Although the Ryman Auditorium had been a beautiful historic building in downtown Nashville, its replacement was a nondescript box with a brick courtyard. Kate parked in the closest lot she could find and made her way inside the Grand Ole Opry. The ticket booth was closed, and the main doors to the show floor were locked. No one was around, it seemed, so she ambled around the right side, looking for any door that might lead to Sonja.

  Finally a maintenance worker came around the corner. “How did you get in here?” the short man with a pockmarked face said. “We aren’t open for shows this time of year.”

  “I’m looking for a missing woman,” Kate said, reaching yet again into her handbag for the photo of Sonja.

  “A missing woman? What would she be doing at the Grand Ole Opry?”

  “Auditioning?” Kate supplied.

  “Hmm,” the man said, almost in a sneer. He looked Kate over, and then his expression softened. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt for you to talk to someone in the show.”

  He reached for the set of keys that jangled from his belt loop and unlocked one of the side doors to the main theater.

  “They’re down there rehearsin’ fer next season,” he said as he opened the door. “Anyone asks, don’t tell ’em I let you in, got it?”

  Kate nodded and smiled her thanks.

  The place was quiet as stage workers scurried about. Someone at the front, a woman with overlarge hair, was talking into a microphone, telling the technician to turn down the volume.

  “Tim, for some reason we have too much reverb on this—” She stopped talking midsentence and pointed at Kate. “Who are you?” she said.

  Kate quickly moved to the stage to introduce herself and repeat the story she’d already gone through twice that morning about Sonja’s disappearance. She added that she believed Sonja had experienced some sort of PTSD flashback that might have brought her to the opry to audition.

  The woman glanced at the picture for mere seconds, then handed it back and said, “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen her.”

  “Is there someone else I could ask?” Kate said, not wanting to hit another dead end when she felt she was so close to finding Sonja.

  The woman shrugged. “You can ask whoever you like, but not in here. We’re working.”

  Then she dismissed Kate with a wave of her manicured hand.

  When Kate was outside again in the courtyard, discouragement hit her full force. “This is a wild-goose chase,” she said to herself.

  She walked to a bench and sat. Assuming that Sonja had come here, where would she have gone afterward, after attempting to audition? Then the answer came: home. But if Sonja was still in her delusion, she wouldn’t have headed to Copper Mill; she would have returned to where she grew up—Berry Hill.

  She called Judy for the second time that morning.

  “What did you find out?” Judy asked when she answered the phone and Kate said hello again.

  “Nothing yet,” Kate said. “But now I’m wondering if you could tell me where Sonja’s home was in Berry Hill. That’s the correct town, right?”

  “It sure is. It was on Glenrose Avenue, not far from Woodlawn Cemetery,” she said. She gave Kate the address, then told her how to get there. “Let me know what you find, okay?”

  Kate promised to call her if there was any significant news. Then she headed back to her Honda. Minutes later she was wending her way through the streets of Nashville toward Sonja’s childhood home. It was in a beautiful neighborhood of historic Victorian clapboard homes. Watching the street signs, Kate slowed until she came to a beautiful green Victorian with a wraparound porch. The pillars and railing were red brick.

  She pulled up in front and turned off the engine. Then she closed her eyes and sent up a prayer. Lord, if this doesn’t lead to her, I don’t know where else to go. Please don’t let this be a dead end. Let it be the right step toward finding Sonja once and for all.

  Her nerves settled slightly as she drew in a deep breath. She unbuckled her seat belt and walked up the brick sidewalk to the front door. Wind chimes jangled in the breeze as she pushed the doorbell button.

  An elderly woman with a walker came to the door after several long minutes. A large brown dog was at her side, tongue hanging out of its mouth.

  “Hello?” the woman said, her head and shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

  “Good morning,” Kate said with a smile, glancing at her watch and noting that it was close to noon. “I’m wondering if you can help me.”

  “Help you?” The woman’s wrinkled face took on concern.

  Kate pulled out the photo of Sonja yet again and held it out for her to see. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen this woman. She’s been missing—”

  A hand flew to the woman’s chest almost instantly, causing Kate to stop talking.

  “Why, yes, I’ve seen her. She came to my door a few weeks back.”

  “She did?” Excitement fluttered in Kate’s stomach. “Do you know where she went? What did she say?”

  “She kept saying that she lived here. I told her she must be mistaken, but she was very insistent.”

  “She used to live here,” Kate said, “as a girl.”

  “Oh.” The woman seemed surprised.

  “Do you have any idea where she went?”

  “It was evening, kind of cold out too. She kept asking for her mother, saying she just wanted to go to her room. I could see that she was troubled, disoriented. So I gave her the address of a shelter not far from here. They take folks in and work with them to find suitable housing.”

  “Can I get that address?” Kate asked.

  “Why of course,” the woman said. “Why don’t you have a seat on the porch? I’ll go write it down for you.”

  She closed the door and the woman disappeared back into the house while Kate took a seat on the wrought-iron furniture. She could hardly believe she’d found Sonja’s trail. So much time had passed. What had happened to the woman during those long days? She prayed that Sonja would still be at the shelter.

  Finally the elderly woman returned with a slip of paper in her shaking hand. “It was a while back,” she repeated. “Your friend might not still be there.”

  “At least it’s another step closer to her,” Kate said. “Thank you so much for helping.”

  The woman waved the comment away. “I do hope you find her.”

  The shelter was a mere four blocks from Sonja’s childhood home. It was housed in an old mansion that had run down considerably from its glory days, and the sign out front read simply Samaritan House.

  Kate climbed the wide stairs to the front door. Hanging plants in full bloom lent a sort of cheeriness to the otherwise depressing place.

  Kate knocked, and someone inside called, “Come on in.”

  The screen door screeched as Kate tugged it open. Inside, men and women with haggard faces and rheumy eyes stared at her. She moved past, searching every face, looking into adjoining rooms for Sonja.

  “Can I help you?” a man wearing a cleric’s collar asked.

  “I’m looking for a missing woman,” Kate said, but before she had a chance to finish her thought, Kate saw her.

  Sonja! She was sitting in a rocking chair, staring out lace curtains at the street beyond.

  “She’s here,” Kate whispered.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  You know her?” the man asked.

  “That’s her,” Kate said, walking quickly to Sonja’s side.

  Sonja glanced at Kate, then looked away. There was no sense of recognition in her gaze. Kate’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d found Sonja—alive and well!

  Kate knelt in front of her.

  “Sonja,” she said. Sonja looked at her then, taking her in.

  “Is that her name?” the priest said from behind her. “She always called herse
lf Pip,” he said. “Kind of hard to trace that, and without anything more...” He shook his head.

  Sonja’s shoulders began to shake, and she began to cry. Kate reached for her and held her.

  “I am Sonja,” she finally said. “Sonja Russell.”

  “No,” Kate corrected, “Sonja Weaver.”

  Instantly a hand went to Sonja’s mouth as if realization had opened like a curtain in her mind.

  “Where’s Brad?” she murmured. “I kept looking for him.”

  “He’s at home,” Kate said. “Waiting for you.”

  Sonja’s crying only increased until she was gulping for air.

  “It’s okay,” Kate soothed. “It’s time to go home.”

  When Sonja had calmed herself and Kate rose to standing, the priest introduced himself. “I’m Father Morgan. I’m so glad you came.” He glanced at Sonja. “She hasn’t responded to anyone like that.”

  “Thank you for taking care of her,” Kate said, shaking hands with the priest and noting his kind blue eyes.

  “We wondered if she might be an angel. She has been a blessing to us,” Father Morgan said. “She sings to us every evening after supper.”

  “You had no idea who she was?” Kate asked.

  The man shook his head. “No. But she spoke of her family, of two children she missed.”

  “Becky and Brian,” Kate supplied.

  Sonja repeated their names in a whisper to herself, then a smile filled her face, and she said, “Let’s go see them!”

  Kate immediately dialed the Weavers’ home phone. A tired-sounding Brad answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hello,” he said. Kate glanced at her watch and realized that it was probably the middle of his sleeping time, since he’d taken the job working night shift.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” Kate said, “but I have good news...no, amazing news!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Kate inhaled, a grin splitting her face. “Brad, I found Sonja!”

  The line was dead silent.

  “This isn’t funny, Kate,” he finally said.

  “I’m not joking. She’s right here with me.” Kate glanced at Sonja, who was grinning from ear to ear, though tears lined her cheeks.

  Kate could hear the intake of breath over the line. “Sonja’s there?” Disbelief turned to utter joy. “Where are you?”

  “In Nashville.”

  “I need to come get her!” Brad’s voice broke with emotion, and she could hear him weeping.

  “It might be quicker if I just brought her home,” Kate suggested. “But we’ll leave right away. I promise.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. “I need to tell the kids. Can I talk to her?”

  Kate handed the phone to Sonja. She looked at it for a moment before placing it against her ear.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said.

  BRAD, BRIAN, AND BECKY were at the front door when Kate and Sonja pulled into the long driveway at their home. It was afternoon, and the kids had no doubt just gotten home from school. Kate could tell from the way they craned their necks that they were ecstatic to see their mother.

  Kate shut off the engine, then turned to look at Sonja. Though her eyes were circled in dark rings, she was still the beauty Kate recalled, even without makeup. Her eyes were glued on the three people she loved most in the world.

  “I’m home,” she whispered.

  “You are,” Kate said, squeezing her hand. “Why don’t you go say hi to your family?”

  Tears streamed down Sonja’s face as she opened the car door to climb out. Kate watched the scene play out, her heart full.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered softly. “You brought her home.”

  Instantly, Becky screamed, and Brian took off at a run to his mom. Brad stood still for a moment, then dropped to his knees, overcome with emotion. Brian reached Sonja first. He lifted his petite mother into the air to hug her. Becky was jumping up and down, waiting for her brother to put her mom down. They wept and laughed and cried. Brad joined the circle, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the four gazed at each other with so much joy that Kate started to cry.

  Finally Brad came to the car.

  “We can’t thank you enough, Kate,” he said.

  “Thank God,” she corrected, smiling from ear to ear. The Father had brought his child home.

  Epilogue

  The following Sunday, the faithful at Faith Briar Church gathered to welcome Sonja home. Renee Lambert was there, as were the Jenners and the Andersons, Abby Pippins and Lisa Phillips, Eli Weston, and the rest.

  Brad stood back with a huge grin on his face. Kate stood next to him.

  “It’s good to have her home,” she said.

  “Amen to that,” Brad agreed, then shook his head. “I took her to the doctor Friday...the specialist that diagnosed the Alzheimer’s,” he said.

  “And?” Kate prodded.

  “He thinks there were several contributing factors that caused the episode Sonja experienced. The debt and all the pressure the bill collectors were putting on her was clearly bringing out some of her symptoms. Then when she thought the bill collector was Ronnie Gilbert, he said it probably triggered a bit of PTSD from all those years ago. Judy said that Sonja went through some therapy back then, though she tried to keep that time in her life stuffed in the past.”

  “So she was having a flashback?” Kate asked.

  “Or a series of them. It’s hard to say. Then when Buster took off running, she panicked. It was a good thing she didn’t know that he’d died then or who knows what she would have done.”

  “Did she say why she kept the piano lessons a secret?”

  Brad’s face filled with a smile. “She wanted to surprise me with a recital on our anniversary.” He shook his head. “That’s so like her.” He paused and gazed at his wife again. She was hugging Betty Anderson.

  “So, what can you do in the future?” Kate asked. “To keep something like this from happening again?”

  “Getting her on the right medications first, I’m taking over the bill paying so she doesn’t have to deal with that. It’s probably better that way since I’m the spender.” He chuckled. “And selling the house so we don’t have that pressure. The Realtor says she thinks she might already have someone who might be interested.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Kate said.

  Brad nodded. “We have a bit of equity to buy a smaller place.”

  “Here in Copper Mill?”

  “Yeah,” Brad said. “Copper Mill is the closest we’ve come to having family. We’re staying.” Then he paused as Sonja gave a little wave and he waved back. “Keeping stress to a minimum is key, the doc said. I’m looking into hiring a companion to stay with her when I’m not home. I might even be able to get my insurance to pay Judy to be her personal-care assistant when her schedule allows.”

  “That’s hopeful,” Kate said.

  Brad sighed happily. “I’m just glad to have her back.”

  Sonja came over and said hello to Kate.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Sonja said, sounding like the woman Kate recalled from weeks before. It seemed like such a long time ago. “You didn’t give up on me.”

  “I couldn’t,” Kate said. “Becky hadn’t given up either. She knew you were waiting somewhere for them to come and find you.”

  “When I was at the shelter, I was in such a fog. I thought they were a figment of my imagination,” Sonja confessed. “They were a distant memory.”

  Becky joined her mother and placed a protective arm around her shoulders while Brian stood next to his father on the other side.

  “They’re flesh and blood now,” Sonja went on, giving both her husband and her daughter a squeeze. “This is so much better than a memory!”

  About the Author

  BEFORE LAUNCHING her writing career, Traci DePree worked as a fiction editor for many of the best Christian authors in the country. While still maintaining her editing career, Traci loves making
up new worlds in her novels. Her hope is that, just as in Copper Mill, Tennessee, her readers will see God’s creation and inspiration within the people in their own lives. Traci is the author of the best-selling Lake Emily series, including A Can of Peas, Dandelions in a Jelly Jar and Aprons on a Clothesline. She makes her home in a small Minnesota town with her husband and their five children, the youngest joining the family via adoption.

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