A Steadfast Surrender

by Nancy Moser

  Her throat was dry. Parched by the truth. “Used it to what?”

  “To hide out from life.”

  “I’m not hiding from anyone. I want to help people. I’m here to help Sim.”

  Harold considered this a minute. “Maybe Sim is here to help you.

  She choked on a cookie crumb. Or his words. She wasn’t sure which. “But now we’re apart. How can either of us help the other if we’re apart?”

  “I guess you’ll have to wait it out.”

  Great. Waiting. Her favorite pastime.

  Merry was just getting ready to lock up when Officer Ken Kendell came in the library. Although she’d expected him all day, when closing time approached without a visit from him, she’d let herself relax.

  Too late to escape now. At least everyone was gone. At this point she’d count her blessings.

  He strode toward the counter, one hand resting on his never-used firearm. “Hey, Merry.”

  “I guess you heard about the library-ghost ruckus.”

  “It’s not the ghost I’m concerned about.”

  “Oh?”

  He looked around the library. “Care to tell me why you let two strangers live in a public building?”

  “It was temporary, Ken. And they weren’t hurting anything.”

  “Then maybe we should open up the town hall for tenants too?”

  He had a point.

  He leaned against the counter. His class ring could have fit on her thumb. “I did a computer check on your Claire Adams.”

  Merry laughed nervously. “And she’s a felon on the run, right? She’s an infamous serial killer who stalks people who don’t have the same reading taste as she does.”

  “She’s not infamous, but she is famous.”

  She blinked. Twice. “What are you talking—?”

  He pulled a folded page of a printout from his back pocket and opened it. He talked as Merry read. “She’s a world-renowned mosaic artist. She has her own gallery, she’s had showings in London and Lucerne. People—movie-star types—pay tens of thousands of dollars for her work.”

  Merry tried to stop her head from shaking, but she couldn’t. “She never said a thing. She was doing research on Michelangelo—for fun.”

  Ken laughed. “According to her press, she could have given Michelangelo lessons.” They both looked toward the mosaic Ivan was massacring. “It makes you think, doesn’t it? All that talk about her giving up everything.” He turned back to Merry. “Quite a sacrifice.”

  Merry couldn’t fathom it.

  “Makes you wonder why she came here.”

  “She said God led her here.”

  “I heard that.”

  “And?”

  He stood and arched his back. “No way to prove it one way or the other, is there?”

  “So what happens now?”

  “You tell her she can’t stay here.”

  “She’s left. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Just as well then.”

  Not really. Now that Merry knew the whole truth she wanted to talk to Claire. Right now.

  “Then there’s the girl,” Ken said. “She’s a runaway.”

  “And she’s run away again. I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

  “We need to get her back to her relatives.”

  “Even if they don’t treat her well?”

  “According to whom?”

  “According to her.”

  “Hmm.”

  “She could be telling the truth.”

  “Or not. The point is, it’s not up to you and me to decide, Merry.” He took out a notepad and pencil. “I need her full name so I can put it in the computer and search the missing children database.”

  “I…I don’t know her last name. She’d said she was Claire’s niece, so I assumed it was Adams. And when Claire asked her, she never did tell us. I’m not even sure where she’s from.”

  “You’re not much help.”

  “Sorry.” Actually, Merry was relieved she didn’t know Sim’s last name. She didn’t want to be put in the position of withholding it from Ken.

  He headed for the door. “If she comes back, you call me.”

  When Merry didn’t answer, Ken turned to look at her. “You’ll call me. Right?”

  She drew a cleansing breath. “Can’t we just let things be a little while longer? Give the girl the benefit of the doubt? Wait until we know the whole truth?”

  He put his hands on his hips, looking at the floor. Finally he looked up. “I shouldn’t. I’m not promising anything. And I guarantee if I find out you’re hiding her, I’ll come take her. You keep me informed. Let’s be on the up-and-up, all right? Work together on this?”

  “I suppose.”

  “That’s not a strong enough answer, Merry.”

  “Yes, yes. If she comes back I’ll let you know.”

  Sim opened her eyes to a single thought: Claire!

  It was dusk. She’d fallen asleep in the barn loft. The good thing was that no one had found her. She was safe.

  But what about Claire? Had she gone back to the library? Was she at Merry’s? Or was she gone, completely gone from Steadfast? She had every right to leave. Especially after what Sim had said: It was a mistake hooking up with you, Claire.

  Why had she said such a thing? It wasn’t true. She wasn’t keen on all of Claire’s ways, but she was glad she’d met her. Knew her. And she didn’t want her to be gone.

  Sim needed to check the library before it got dark. If Claire wasn’t there, maybe she’d left a note. Knowing something was better than nothing.

  The back door to the library was still unlocked. And why shouldn’t it be?

  The ghost fiasco had swept into Steadfast like a summer storm, only to dissipate, leaving behind only the mud, puddles, and humidity of the excitement.

  Sim went inside, bounding up the stairs. “Claire? Where are you?”

  No answer.

  She scanned the attic. Maybe Claire was out looking for her. She’d been gone for hours. Maybe—?

  Sim did a sudden three-sixty All of Claire’s belongings had been tossed by the ghost-seeking crowd. Obviously Claire hadn’t been back since the attic was discovered.

  Then where was she?

  Sim went downstairs. It was quiet.

  As quiet as a library.

  A horrible sound.

  Merry parked in front of the building. Since she’d spent so much of her day dealing with the issues of the ghost and Claire and Sim, she hadn’t gotten her work done, so she’d come back after dinner.

  When she unlocked the front door and went inside, she was shocked to see Sim come out of the fiction stacks.

  Merry flipped on the lights. “Sim?”

  “Claire’s not here.”

  “I know. She never came back from running after you. And where have you been?”

  “Places.”

  “Don’t. I’m not in the mood.”

  The girl turned toward the storeroom. “I’m going to wait for her in the attic.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Her eyes blazed. “Oh yes I am! This place is my home.”

  “Not anymore, it isn’t.” Not when the police are looking for you. ‘You’re coming home with me.”

  “I’ve got to wait here.”

  Merry closed her eyes. “Look, Sim, we both have to face facts. Claire hasn’t been back and she may not be coming back.”

  “Thanks to this stupid town.”

  Merry put a hand on her shoulder. “Home is where you place your head. And tonight, your home is my home. Okay?”

  Sim bit her lower lip. “There’s one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you to promise you won’t call my aunt and uncle, and you won’t call the sheriff on me.”

  “Sim, you can’t continue to live in limbo like this.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Merry sighed. “Fine. I won’t call anyone, at least for now. Just come home.”

&
nbsp; Merry pulled in the driveway and shut off the car. Sim didn’t move, so she walked around and opened the door for her. “Last stop. Everybody out.”

  Sim complied, but without enthusiasm. Merry led her inside and tossed the keys on the entry table. She turned on some lights. “You hungry?”

  Sim shook her head. Merry looked at the clock. Thank heaven—it was nine. A respectable time to turn in, if you were desperate. “I bet you’re tired.”

  The girl headed upstairs, accompanied by the creaking of each step. Merry followed after her, opening the windows, letting in the summer breezes.

  Come on, Sim. Say something. They both stopped at the door to the extra bedroom. “Well then…good night.”

  Sim went into the room and began to close the door.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Sim. I’ll help you through this. You’re not alone. Not with me around.”

  Sim continued the door’s gentle swing, closing it in Merry’s face.

  Claire hid behind the bushes at Merry’s house and watched Sim go inside. She clutched a hand to her chest and realized her ache was caused by regret. Sim wasn’t her charge anymore. Not that she ever truly had been.

  Merry could probably take better care of the girl than she could. A real house. A real room. Food prepared in a kitchen, not eaten out of a box or can. But the question remained: Why had God arranged for Claire and Sim to meet up and stay in the library if it was only for a few days? How could she help the girl when she couldn’t even spend time with her?

  She couldn’t risk seeing her. Not after the townspeople called her a pervert. Yet even that she could handle. That was so far beyond the truth, she could defend herself with ease. But the rest…

  They’d laughed at her sacrifice. They hadn’t understood at all. Called her loony. Crazy. “Nobody wants to be poor.”

  Were they right? Was she crazy? Had it all been for nothing?

  For that’s what she had now. Nothing. Truly nothing. No calling, no goal.

  And no Sim.

  Harold’s house was quiet. Claire slipped the kitchen phone off the hook, muffling the dial tone. She punched the numbers. When she heard the first ring, she moved to the far side of the refrigerator to mute her words.

  “Hello?”

  “Darla?”

  “Claire! I’ve been waiting to hear from you. The church has been calling the gallery, and the gallery’s been calling me. They want your decision about the commission. What am I supposed to tell them?”

  She’d actually forgotten all about the commission. She’d called Darla for some commiseration, a connection, a comforting word. Not pressure.

  “Claire, answer me.”

  “You sound upset.”

  “I am. I mean, it’s awkward. I don’t like being in this position.”

  Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. Poor Darla. Left to take the heat. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you—for anyone—to have to handle such things.”

  “Yeah? Then give me something to tell them. What’s your decision?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Well, when will you know? They’re not going to be kept hanging forever. In fact, they’re asking Dermont Davis to submit a proposal.”

  “No!” She’d spoken too loudly. She lowered her voice. “They can’t use Dermont. The most original idea he’s ever had was when he decided to start copying my style.”

  “I know, I know. He’s a Claire Adams wanna-be. But he’s here, and you’re not. To a church that’s raring to go, that’s a plus.”

  “Did he approach them? I bet you a million dollars he approached them.”

  “You don’t have a million dollars, Claire. You don’t even have a thousand dollars. Not anymore.”

  “That’s beside the point. Dermont has no right taking advantage of my absence—”

  “Absence? You make it sound like a temporary condition. Does that mean you’re coming back?”

  Claire let the refrigerator guide her to the floor. Tears caught her by surprise. She flicked them away.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Yes, I’m crying.”

  “Hey, don’t do that. I’ll put the church off. Don’t let Dermont’s presence push you into anything. We both know he could never handle such a big commission.”

  “But the church doesn’t know that. They’ll give it to him because he’s there and raring to jump on it, and then he’ll get into it and mess it up and the church will hate me for not taking the commission in the first place.”

  “My, my, a regular mosaic soap opera.”

  Claire sniffed and groaned. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?”

  “I take it the complications extend beyond Dermont Davis?”

  She told Darla about the library ghost fiasco and the town’s reaction to her sacrifice. “They think I’m bonkers.”

  “You are bonkers. But don’t let some town stop you from doing what you need to do. Just wait it out.”

  “But the commission. Dermont…”

  “Is God telling you to get all blubbery and give up what you’re doing there?”

  “I…I don’t know. I haven’t consulted Him.”

  “Don’t you think you should?”

  Claire began to laugh. “What would I do without you, Darla?”

  As Claire slipped outside to go to the room above Harold’s garage, a window on the second floor opened and Harold peered out. “You feel better now?”

  Claire looked back toward the kitchen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “You didn’t. But living alone I notice small sounds. Did your friend help?”

  Claire shrugged. “She gave me the same advice you did: to pray and wait.” She sighed. “I fear there’s a conspiracy to curtail my impatient nature and I’m not sure I like it.”

  “Advice can be hard to take.”

  “And harder to apply. But I promised Darla I’d give it a shot.”

  “Can’t ask for more than that. You’re a good woman, Claire Adams. Let me know if you need anything.” He disappeared inside.

  She went up the steps to the room, but sleep would have to wait. Being a good woman could only start in one place.

  She fell to her knees.

  Sixteen

  Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do

  and doesn’t do it, sins.

  JAMES 4:17

  IT WAS FIVE O’CLOCK in the morning. Merry Cavanaugh couldn’t sleep. Was it because there was another person in her house?

  How ironic. Her lonely house often kept her awake, and yet now, when she had someone with her, she couldn’t sleep.

  She turned over and had to adjust the twisted shirt she slept in. Lou’s shirt. Although she’d long ago gone through his things, she’d kept a few odd items intact. Like this shirt she slept in, his Bible on the bedside table, his toothbrush in the drawer, and the bookmark in the book he’d been reading. Slices of him. Things that brought to mind daily scenes she never imagined she’d forget. And yet, even with these small life-markers, she found the memories fading, like a veil being drawn across them, softening their edges, making her strain to see them clearly. Maybe someday, she’d get the book out and start up where Lou left off Finish it. Read it blind.

  That’s what her life felt like, as if she were starting up where Lou’s life had left off. Trying to finish it. Trying to read it blind.

  No…not blind. Unlike an unknown book, they had shared a life and a history. In truth, she’d known him better than he knew her. Where Lou was an open book, Merry was a locked diary with secrets and private thoughts that had nothing to do with loving her family or being a good wife and mother. She was never unfaithful or anything so blatant, but in her heart she experienced plenty of mental infidelities and embraced far too many thoughts about being alone, being away, being a different Merry in a different life.

  She hugged her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. How much had Lou known? It was a question that could never be completely answered. And w
hen she’d been in the throes of one of her dissatisfied moods, she walked the tightrope between never wanting him to see the black side of her heart and wanting to confront him with every petty complaint, real and imagined.

  He’d known some of it. And it cost him his life. He knew she was flying to Phoenix because of her dissatisfaction, to have fun with a girlfriend. That’s why he surprised her by bringing Justin on the plane. To be with her. To try to save her from herself. And to try to save their marriage.

  She remembered his words on the plane: “I know you’re not happy, Mer.”

  Not happy? The level of the unhappiness she’d felt then compared with the unhappiness she felt now was laughable. A cut finger compared to an amputation. If only she’d been content with what she had—counted her blessings instead of weighing her happiness. If only she’d been nicer. Such a simple thing, being nice, and yet she’d failed horribly at it.

  Be nice now. You’re not alone now.

  Sim needed her. A child alone who could use some kindness.

  Merry got out of bed and tiptoed into the hallway. The door to the guest room was closed. She tried to remember if there was a lock on that door. She hoped not. If Sim locked herself in, then it meant she was afraid, or angry, or upset, or…

  How would I feel if I were an orphaned runaway and I’d been brought to a strange house after my newest friend had disappeared?

  An answer came in a flood of emotions that spurred Merry to open the door. She needed to know how Sim was doing. Even at five in the morning.

  She flexed her fingers like a safecracker and forced herself to use deliberate movements. It wouldn’t do to barge in and scare the poor girl. She took a deep breath and wiped her hands on Lou’s shirt. Then she turned the knob. Unlocked. She inched the door open. The lamp beside the couch was on.

  The couch was empty.

  She’s left! She ran away!

  Merry opened the door wide. Then she saw her.

  Sim was sitting on the window seat, her knees drawn to her chest. Her head lay on her arms, her face turned toward the window. She sniffed.

  Merry’s heart, which she thought was broken beyond more hurting, ached for a heart more hurt than her own. She went to the window seat and sat. Sim looked up. Their eyes met, and with that one glimpse into a pain beyond her own, Merry discovered a hidden place in her soul.