Listen to Your Heart

by Irene Brand

  “Hey, Mom,” Debbie said, not looking at her mother, but indicating a turn that Micah should take. “Who was your letter from?”

  Micah heard Laurel open and close her purse. As he made the sharp left-hand turn, he had a slight glimpse of Laurel’s hands. The letter wasn’t in sight.

  “Oh, just a piece of junk mail.”

  “Seems strange anyone would send your mail to Cousin Kevin’s office.”

  Laurel didn’t answer.

  “Probably one of your admirers sneaking a letter to you so I wouldn’t see it,” Debbie teased.

  If she had been disturbed by the letter’s contents, Laurel had regained her composure by the time they reached the restaurant. But her gaiety seemed forced, and occasionally her eyes held a resentful, frightened look. Debbie didn’t seem to notice, so Micah wondered if he was imagining things. Maybe the letter had been junk mail, but he didn’t think so.

  Debbie was interested in Micah’s work, and she plied him with questions while they ate a leisurely meal. It was easy for Laurel to remain silent and mull over this latest threat to her peace of mind. Although as Micah answered Debbie’s queries, Laurel sensed his speculative gaze toward her.

  “What’s the most interesting place you’ve ever photographed?” Debbie asked.

  “That’s a hard one,” Micah said. “I’ve been at this work a long time. I’ve had assignments all over the world.”

  “Do you speak several languages?” Laurel asked in an effort to keep Debbie from knowing how near the breaking point she was.

  “French and Spanish reasonably well. I’ve picked up a smattering of German, as well as a lot of Asian dialects—at least enough that I can find my way around in several countries.”

  At the dessert bar, Micah chose a large portion of apple cobbler, topped with a dollop of soft ice cream. Debbie took carrot cake, but Laurel picked up one cookie, wondering if she could eat it. The food she’d already eaten seemed like a lead weight in her stomach, and she felt nauseous. She desperately needed to be alone. The waitress brought Laurel and Micah fresh cups of coffee, and Debbie had a refill of iced tea.

  “But you can’t pick out a favorite place?” Debbie persisted, while they ate their desserts.

  “Not on the spot like this. I’m always so busy looking forward to a new assignment that I rarely think about previous ones. I’ll have to go through my scrapbooks and slide files and see if I can choose a favorite. Then perhaps I can revisit the area, and make a comparison of my impressions during my original research and what they are on my second visit.”

  “Seems like an excellent idea to me,” Debbie said. She must have suddenly realized how quiet her mother had been, because Debbie covered Laurel’s hand with hers. “Say, Mom, we’re leaving you out of the conversation. I always talk too much. It’s your turn to ask Micah some questions.”

  Laurel had noticed that Debbie and Micah had reached a first-name relationship right away. Determined that Debbie wouldn’t notice her distress, Laurel forced a smile and said, “You’re doing enough talking for both of us. But if Micah can’t think of a favorite place he’s photographed, I’ll settle for one of the most exotic places he’s explored.”

  “I have a large number of those to choose from,” he said. “Machu Picchu comes to mind. You’ve heard of it?”

  The name was familiar, but Laurel couldn’t remember what or where it was.

  “Some kind of an Inca site in Peru, right?” Debbie replied.

  “Right. I went there about ten years ago. I rode a train from Cusco, Peru, to a little village at the foot of an Andean mountain where the historical site is located. I took a rickety bus along a narrow, curvy road to the top of the mountain. The driver handled that bus like he was driving a race car. After the ride up the mountain, I would have walked back down if it hadn’t been for all the heavy equipment I had with me.”

  “Sorry to show my ignorance, but you two college graduates will have to refresh my memory on what Machu Picchu is,” Laurel said, wishing as she often had before that she’d gone to college instead of getting married at eighteen.

  “It’s one of the most beautiful and perplexing sights I’ve ever seen,” Micah said. “The Inca people carved hundreds of stone structures from the granite mountaintop in the fifteenth century. It was a self-contained city invisible from the valley below. When it was rediscovered in 1911 by Hiram Bingham, a Yale archaeologist, the jungle had taken over the site. Although the village is in ruins, enough of the dwellings are left to get an accurate idea of how the Incas lived and worshiped. I camped on the mountain one night and spent hours worshiping God, but after today’s sermon, I’m not sure I worshiped Him in spirit and in truth.”

  Glancing at her watch, Debbie said, “I hate to break up our pleasant meal, but I have to be at work in an hour.”

  Micah stopped in his usual parking place, and before he went to his apartment, asked Laurel, “Do you still have the business card I gave you the day I arrived?”

  Her face flushing, Laurel darted a quick glance at Debbie. “No. It was wet, and I threw it away.”

  Micah reached in his pocket, took out a card case and gave her another card. “My cell-phone number is on the card, so please feel free to call me if you need something. Did your cousin have reason to think you might be in some danger here?”

  Laurel forced a laugh. “Of course not. We’re perfectly safe.”

  But considering the telephone call and the letter in her purse, Laurel hoped her optimistic words had disguised her inner turmoil from Debbie and Micah.

  “Cousin Kevin is a worrywart,” Debbie said. “We have nothing to fear from our neighbors, and travelers wouldn’t know there’s a house out here.”

  “But you are isolated,” Micah insisted, “so please contact me if you need anything. I’ll be here almost every night.”

  Micah’s eyes revealed a warm tenderness and concern that made Laurel’s heart beat faster. Knowing his strength and intelligence was at her beck and call gave her some assurance that she desperately needed.

  Chapter Five

  After thanking Micah for lunch, Debbie and Laurel walked upstairs side by side. Laurel kissed Debbie goodbye before she went into her bedroom.

  “Lock the doors when you leave, dear. I may take a nap.”

  “Sure, Mom. You do look a little washed out. Please don’t work so hard. We have several weeks before the wedding.”

  Laurel closed the bedroom door, stepped out of her shoes, released a pent-up breath and collapsed on the bed. Sleep and the work on her home were the furthest things from her mind. Many times during the past twenty years, while trying to provide for Debbie and deal with her in-laws, she’d experienced a lot of anxiety and fear, but she’d never faced anything like what was going on now.

  She forced herself to lie immobile until Debbie went downstairs. When she heard Debbie’s car on the driveway, Laurel pushed a couple of pillows behind her back and reached for her purse.

  She took out the envelope Kevin had brought her and smoothed out the single sheet of paper she’d crushed in her hands after reading the message.

  “There is only a step between me and death. I Samuel 10:3.”

  Beneath the Bible quotation was a rough sketch of a skull and crossbones.

  Who was harassing her? She supposed there were people who didn’t particularly like her, but she couldn’t think of anyone who disliked her enough to pull these practical jokes. If the messages were jokes. She started shaking as frightening images built in her mind. Was someone planning to kill her? Or worse, was Debbie in danger?

  Laurel caught herself chewing her fingernails while she considered another puzzling incident that she hadn’t connected with the phone call and letter before this. All the yard work and painting she’d done this spring had been hard on her nails, so she sat on her hands to keep them out of her mouth. When Micah had asked if it was dangerous for her to be alone at Oaklawn, she’d suddenly remembered an incident that hadn’t concerned her at the time.<
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  About two months earlier, she’d gone to a woman’s retreat in Knoxville. On her return to Oaklawn at nine o’clock that evening, she’d had the intense feeling that some of the furniture in the hallway had been moved while she’d been gone. Debbie had been away for the weekend, and no one had keys to the house except Debbie and her, although they did keep a key hidden in the garage in case one of them lost her keys. Had someone been in the house that day? She hadn’t been certain at the time, but now she was suspicious.

  In an effort to block these bothersome thoughts from her mind, Laurel lay flat on the bed and focused on the morning church service and their meal with Micah. He’d seldom been out of her thoughts since he’d arrived at Oaklawn.

  In her present state of mind, she didn’t want to spend the evening alone. Would Micah think it strange if she invited him to eat with her when they’d just had lunch together? He’d told her to call if she needed him. She needed him now, but she couldn’t tell him why. Panic-stricken at the thought of being alone until Debbie got home at midnight, she took Micah’s business card out of her pocket. She dialed his number.

  When he answered, she said, “Hello, this is Laurel. I’m in the mood for grilled hamburgers this evening and it’s no fun picnicking alone. Do you want to join me in the picnic area near the rose garden?”

  “I’d like that. I’ve been enjoying the view of your gardens from my kitchen window.”

  “Seven o’clock okay?”

  “Yes. Don’t go to a lot of trouble.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Laurel changed into a yellow gingham-checked blouse and a pink cotton split skirt. She loved shades of pink, but with her hair, she had to be sure she wore the colors below her waist. She prepared a vegetable salad and took hamburger patties out of the freezer to thaw. She gathered the condiments, bread and serving utensils and wondered what to do with her time until seven o’clock. She picked up her sewing basket and applied herself to her needlework.

  Laurel was already at work at the grill when Micah arrived at the rose garden enclosed by a white paling fence. For a moment, he leaned on the half-open gate watching her. The evening sunlight, streaming through the foliage of a large oak tree, gleamed on her red curls.

  Suddenly aware that she wasn’t alone, Laurel swung around, her eyes wide and frightened. She smothered a gasp, and Micah thought she was going to faint. In one long stride, he was beside her, his arm circling her shoulders. Scanning her face worriedly, he helped her to a chair.

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  Taking a steadying breath, she forced a smile to her lips. “You must think I’m terribly jumpy, but I was preoccupied, and I didn’t hear you coming. You don’t make any noise when you walk.”

  “It’s a habit, I guess. When I’m photographing wildlife, I can’t make a sound, or I’d miss some great pictures.”

  Micah had changed into a pair of khaki shorts and a white polo shirt. He wore white tennis shoes and ankle-length socks. As he hovered over her, she wondered why she’d ever thought that Micah wasn’t a handsome man. His piercing blue eyes were the finest feature of his dark face. His firm nose and chin spoke of strength, yet she considered him the gentlest man she’d ever known. He had a high, intelligent forehead and the streaks of gray in his black hair set off his good looks. She’d known Micah only a few days. How could she have become so comfortable with him, as if she’d always known him?

  Micah stirred a little under her intense scrutiny and, embarrassed, she glanced away. He turned his attention to the garden to give Laurel time to gain her composure. White-centered carmine-red buds marked the rambler roses cascading over the fence. A great hybrid ivory tea rosebush spread its branches across the wall of the brick house. Other varieties of roses that Micah didn’t recognize were confined to a well-mulched bed in the middle of the garden. The blooming roses cast off a scent that reminded Micah of the sweet, exotic fragrance that seemed characteristic of Laurel. The grill, white picnic table and matching chairs were grouped near the kitchen door. Branching oak limbs shaded the garden from the hot rays of the sun.

  A walk leading to a meadow-style garden was edged with brilliant yellow floribunda roses set inside lines of box-barberry. This garden was in open sun, which suited the Joe-Pye weeds—rather coarse, bold plants with purple-speckled stems, topped with mounds of mauve flower heads. Butterfly weeds with brilliant orange flowers attracted the monarch butterflies. Micah strolled along a walk of landscape stones, enjoying the buzzing bees and butterflies that surrounded him.

  When he returned to the rose garden, Laurel had draped the picnic table with a dainty cloth and had placed three roses in an attractive triangular arrangement in a white pottery pitcher. Beef patties sizzled on the grill.

  “Ah,” Micah said as he sat in the chair Laurel indicated, sniffing the aroma of the juicy meat. “After that large lunch, I didn’t think I’d want anything else to eat today, but I’m looking forward to a hamburger. It’s nice of you to invite me.”

  Laurel flipped the patties once more to be sure they had cooked sufficiently before she turned off the gas. She sat opposite him at the table and passed the salad.

  “Oh, but you’re doing me a favor by eating with me,” she said. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

  She hesitated, half tempted to tell Micah about the two frightening messages she’d had.

  Micah saw the doubt and fear in her eyes and he thought she was going to confide in him, but instead, she said, “I have either lemonade or unsweetened iced tea to drink. Which would you rather have?”

  “Lemonade, please.”

  She handed him a plate with a hamburger and bun on it and placed a plate of dill pickles, sliced tomatoes, onions and lettuce within his reach.

  “It’s a fix-your-own-sandwich,” she said, and the dimple beside her mouth deepened.

  They didn’t talk much while they ate, and when the meal was finished, Micah carried the utensils and serving dishes into the house while Laurel filled the dishwasher.

  “Shall we sit in the garden?” she asked. “The weather is so special that I hate to spend any time indoors.”

  Micah hadn’t known if he was expected to stay for a visit or if he’d just been invited for a meal, but he readily agreed to her suggestion. When they returned to the garden, Micah picked up the shears that Laurel had used to arrange the table decoration. He motioned toward a rose growing beside the garden gate.

  “May I?” he asked. Her eyebrows lifted quizzically, but she nodded.

  He went to the bush, inspected it for a few minutes before he cut off one of the large yellow rosebuds. He clipped the thorns from the stem. Smiling tenderly, he brought it to Laurel. His look of gentleness made her heart ache.

  “Excuse the fact that my first flower to you is one of your own, but this is my thank-you for supper.”

  She colored, but she took the rose and sniffed its royal fragrance. Had he put an extra emphasis on the word “first”? Did he intend to give her other flowers? His next words answered her question.

  “Although I doubt I’ll find any flowers that equal yours in beauty, I’ll buy the next flowers I give you.”

  “Thanks.” She motioned to a chair opposite hers. “Sit down and ‘smell the roses,’” she said in her quiet, musical voice.

  Micah put a pillow behind his head and settled comfortably in the chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles and stretched out before him. When they’d come from the house, Laurel had brought a basket. She lifted some needlework from it.

  “I’m making a counted cross-stitch sampler for Pastor Jensen and his wife. I want to have it finished for their silver anniversary in November, and I haven’t made much progress. I do most of my needlework in the winter.”

  While Laurel worked, Micah enjoyed the serenity of the garden. He recognized various birdsongs coming from the trees around them. Butterflies flitted around their heads. Laurel was a picture of domesticity as she leaned over the work in her hands. He believed he
could grow accustomed to this kind of living.

  A ringing phone shattered the silence, and Laurel jumped, uttering a cry of distress. Icy fear twisted around her heart, and she started shaking. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to.

  Micah stepped out of the lounge and started toward her.

  “Answer it, please,” she whispered.

  Micah hurried into the kitchen and picked up the phone, wondering what kind of message Laurel was expecting that had frightened her. He hesitated a moment before he answered.

  “Hello.”

  After a momentary pause, the caller said, “This is Bruce Jensen. I was calling Laurel Cooper. Do I have the wrong number?”

  “Oh, no, Pastor. Laurel is out in the rose garden. I’ll call her.”

  “Is this Mr. Davidson?” Pastor Jensen said.

  Momentarily, Micah thought the preacher might wonder what he was doing in Laurel’s house. “Yes,” he answered without an explanation.

  “Just give Laurel a message. She volunteered to prepare a bouquet of flowers for one of our hospitalized members in Knoxville. Tell her I’ll pick up the flowers around ten o’clock tomorrow morning. If she isn’t going to be home, ask her to set them on the back porch.”

  Micah assured him that he’d give Laurel the message, and the pastor said, “I enjoyed having you at the church today. I hope to see you again at services.”

  Laurel sat motionless in her chair, her needlework lying in her lap.

  “It was Pastor Jensen,” Micah said immediately, and gave her the message. Her head bowed, and for a moment she remained in a frozen position.

  “I don’t want to be presumptuous since we’ve just met, but if you’re having a problem, I’ll be glad to help you.”

  Laurel stood, walked to the gate. She picked a rose from the rambler over the gate and shredded the fragrant bloom in her hand. The scent of the crushed blossom wafted toward Micah. She finally turned with a wan face, and the fear glimmering in her eyes disturbed Micah.

  “I can’t talk about it right now,” she murmured.