“Never saw him before.”
“Then if he’s not the problem, you wanna talk about what is?” Gramps’s voice held an air of concern through the gruffness.
“I saw something in his room.”
“Yeah, I know. The matches.”
“It’s not about the matches.”
“Then what?”
Ryan knew this wasn’t a discussion to be having with Gramps. It was Jessie to whom he needed to vent this frustration. “You’re right, it’s not the kid’s fault. I’ll quit playing bad cop, okay?”
“Okay. How the horses doin’?”
“Fine. It’s warmer out there than it is in here.”
“Well, it’s early, but I’m headed upstairs. Listen, I’m gonna grab that portable TV from your office and see if there’s any information on Ken comin’ through. Could be somethin’ on the news.”
The snowy air entered the cabin with Jessie and Ken. After dropping the wood on the hearth, they extricated themselves from the warmth of their coats and placed them on hooks by the fireplace.
“Do you like to play cards?” Jessie asked Ken as they made their way back to the kitchen.
Ken began to clear the table. “I’d like to just go to my room when we’re done here.”
“Sure,” Jessie replied kindly.
The kitchen was cleaned in silence. Jessie had learned long ago when to be quiet around someone who was struggling.
Ken folded the dish towel and placed it on top of the counter, then left.
“I’ll walk with you,” Jessie said, coming up behind Ken. “I’ve stayed in that room from time to time, and there are a few of my things I’d like to shift to another room.” Ken held back, politely allowing her the lead.
They entered the room and Jessie went through some drawers. “Thanks, Ken, it’s all yours now,” she said, carrying her things. “Apparently Nelly has taken up residence in here, so it would be best if you kept your door open a few inches. You don’t want her having an accident in here. If she needs to go out during the night, she’ll go in and bother Ryan.
“There are extra blankets in that top drawer over there.” She pointed to a set of drawers built into the wall between the dual closets. “It’s going to get cold tonight. Also, two floors up is a great reading loft and a game room. I doubt you’d want to venture up there in the dark, but you’re welcome to look around tomorrow. Ryan’s room is across the hall, and Gramps and I are upstairs, in case you need anything. Good night, Ken.”
He responded with a slight wave of one hand as he stroked Nelly’s head.
Jessie headed upstairs and placed her things in her new room, which had the same layout and design as Ken’s. The second floor was as just as spacious as the first. Her room was just to the left of an open sitting area to which the circular stairway opened, and just beyond hers was the second guest room. Jessie had learned that the bedrooms on this level were originally designed as suites for clients during the time Ryan worked out of his home.
Ryan leaned on the wall across from Jessie’s open door. He watched her hair sway from one side to the other as she arranged items in her dresser drawer. Jessie was the kind of woman who turned heads when she entered a room. The broken nose from an unstable childhood—her father’s mark—was her only visible flaw. “Setting up camp far away from me, eh?”
Jessie glanced toward Ryan. “Yep.”
“Don’t suppose you’d like to have a long, meaningful conversation tonight?”
“Nope.”
“We haven’t talked in a while, you know,” Ryan pushed.
“You said you’d give me till after the holidays, remember?”
“Ah—yes, I did. But this conversation wouldn’t have anything to do with your issues.”
Jessie turned her face away from his view. “If it’s about Ken, could it wait till morning? I’m exhausted.” She wasn’t tired at all, but she didn’t feel that Ryan was ready to hear why all his instincts about this boy were wrong.
“Tomorrow, then.”
* * *
“All things considered, it could be worse,” Beth said to Trudy.
Trudy placed a small sack of groceries on the table as she removed her coat. “I suppose. Are you going to call him again?”
“No. I tried just before you got here. There’s no answer. Our conversation was scratchy anyway.”
“Are you going to tell Michael?”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I made a promise not to.”
“He’s going to be outraged if he finds out.”
“Yep, and since you’re the only one who knows . . .”
“I’m not going to squeal! I’ve seen his temper.” Trudy began sorting the store-bought items. “You’ve been cleaning, I see.”
Beth looked around the kitchen. “Yeah. It helps distract me. Well, actually it doesn’t really, but it’s better than eating my way into the biggest size available. Never paid much attention to how small this place was—doesn’t take long to clean.”
“You should come early Christmas morning and watch the kids open their stuff,” Trudy offered.
“Yeah, just what Tim and the kids need . . . me, bawling on the couch on the happiest day of the year.”
“I’m serious, Beth. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“No, I probably shouldn’t. But I will be. Thanks for worrying, and thanks for the milk and eggs. Surprised the market’s even open. I need to stay here. He may call, he may send a note—heck, miracles happen, right? He may even walk through that door. So I need to be here. Whatever he’s going through, Kenny needs to know I’m here when or if he decides to come home.”
* * *
Beth hit the repeat button, and Bing Crosby sang—for the fifth time—his rendition of “Silent Night.” Both Michael and Kenny made facial contortions each year when she played the CD. It had been a gift from Kenny when he was younger. She’d give anything to listen to Kenny’s whining right now.
Since her home had been cleaned, polished, swept, and laundered, she didn’t know what she’d do tomorrow. She could wrap Kenny’s Christmas gifts—just in case. She pulled her robe around her as she walked to the front room window. It was late and her neighbors were asleep—at peace in their nice, comfortable lives. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and wondered where hers had gone wrong.
She thought of her parents and their desire for her to be at the top of her graduating class. She had been surrounded by the importance of education. The necessity of proper education was poured at every meal, just like milk. Her mother had earned her degree—insisting on being just as educated as her husband—in case anything ever happened to him. Nothing did. They were both still alive, although her parents had entered therapy when she’d eloped with Michael. At the time, Michael was a prison guard at the state penitentiary in their hometown of Lyle.
They thought I would eventually grow out of it. Typical teenage rebellion. After all, Martha grew out of it, and Steve’s a judge now. Here I am twenty years later, divorced and alone. Mom and Dad finally got to say, “We told you so.” Did I marry him out of spite? She’d asked herself that question many times throughout the years. Somehow the man she fell in love with at sixteen and married at eighteen wasn’t the man yelling at her today. When had that started? She couldn’t remember. When had the swearing started? She couldn’t remember that, either. When had the anger started? That she could remember, but it all had to have had a beginning. How does one get to this point and not know how it all began?
She jumped when the phone rang. “Hello?” she said quickly. “Oh. Hello, Jennifer.”
“Hope I’m not callin’ too late,” Jennifer Chandler said quietly.
“No. Not at all,” Beth replied. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just wanting to—”
Beth waited, but no reply followed. “To . . . what, Jennifer?”
“Well, it’s not my business really. I’m not sure Ken would like it if—”
“Jennifer,” Beth’s voice took courage. “I know Kenny’s your friend, and you probably don’t want to break a promise, but if there’s something you know that can help us find him, please, please tell me.”
“Well, I— Sorry, Mrs. Moon. I can’t talk now, my dad just got home.”
The line went dead. Beth sighed. She turned for her bedroom, leaving the winter scene and Bing Crosby behind. But just in case, she left alight the bright lamp perched in the front window.
* * *
“There you are, Barkley,” Jessie whispered. Something had brushed against her leg while she’d been retrieving a spoon from the kitchen drawer. “Since that big overgrown monster is asleep for the night, you’ve decided to roam freely now, hmm?” She picked the cat up and nuzzled her face in his fur before setting him back down on the floor. She used hot tap water to make a cup of chamomile tea and warmed it as quietly as possible in the microwave.
Tea and candle in hand, she climbed the staircase and settled into the recliner in the reading loft. This was her other favorite room, although there was no backup power on this floor. Since the third floor was the last, the ceilings here matched the vault of those at the back of the cabin and were dotted with skylights.
The howling wind accented the faint flicker of the candle as Jessie closed her eyes and forced her thoughts to Ken. Where had he come from? He wasn’t from Stone Ridge, or Gramps and Ryan would have known him. Summitville was too far away for him to have made such a distance in the storm. Then again, they had no idea how long he’d been on the run. Still, it was more likely he was from either Castle Rock or Lyle County.
“Hey there, kitty. You’re awfully brave to be venturing up here,” she said, detecting a noise behind her and leaning over to pick up the cat.
“Actually, it’s me,” Ryan replied.
Startled, Jessie pulled her arms back. “Oh. How come you’re not sleeping? Was I too noisy?”
“No. Like I said before, it’s been a while since we’ve had a late-night talk.” Ryan stepped past her to the couch.
“Oh, brother. Have you really stayed up hoping I couldn’t sleep?”
“You haven’t been sleeping for a few weeks now, from what I hear.”
“Apparently I’ve got to quit confiding in Gramps.” As she said it she caught a whiff of his cologne, and the slightest chill formed at the base of her spine and increased throughout her body.
Ryan leaned over and handed her the crocheted afghan that was always folded by the couch.
“Thanks.” Jessie readily accepted the afghan, feigning that the cold was the only thing that affected her. “Look, Ryan, I already told you—”
“Thought we could head out at first light and hunt for a tree,” he interrupted.
“Oh, but I thought it would be too difficult in the storm,” she said, her smile concealed in the flickering shadows.
“There are a couple small spruces behind the barn that have been partially sheltered. I think we can cut one of them down without too much trouble. We’re going to need the kid’s help though.”
“Wonderful. Thanks, Ryan.”
“Not a problem.”
“That’s not all you want to say, though, is it?”
“It’s not about your issues, or the boy.”
“He has a name. It’s Ken.”
“I know.”
“Then you could try to use it.” Jessie’s breaths had become short and audible. She was becoming uncomfortable. It had been in this loft that she’d first told of her childhood to Ryan, how she had been hurt by most of the key people in her life—physically, psychologically, and in other ways that little girls should never hurt.
She was five when she and her two-year-old sister Katie had been abandoned by their mother at a theater far from home. Despite her mother’s efforts to sever any trails that might lead authorities back to their father, social services finally located him. She and Katie had been sent back. Their drunken father had abused them, as well as his new wife and her four sons. As the boys grew older, they’d retaliated against the abuse, though it wasn’t their father they took it out on. Jessie had suffered even more then.
Jessie’s stepmother worked long days as a cook or waitress. Her father’s days were spent wallowing in self-pity at the local bar after locking Jessie and Katie in the basement each day. The stern threat that they never tell anyone was always impressed upon them. Most days he’d forget to turn the light on when he left, and on stormy days it got very dark and scary in that dungeon.
Ryan seemed to read her body language and waited for Jessie to feel comfortable again. She calmed as her mind focused on the positive steps that had brought her to this loft and had begun her healing.
Here in this loft Jessie had relayed the traumatic loss of Katie’s life. It had been an accident, but Jessie’s father had blamed her, since she was the one who fed Katie the hotdogs. Not only had she been haunted by the recurring nightmare of Katie’s dying face, she had lived through the constant and heartless accusations of her father.While Jessie was finally able to verbalize the torment and guilt of losing her sister, the inner scars from that battle still existed. She had been forced to dig deep into her mind to the real source of her problems. Blaming her father had been easy, and blaming God had seemed essential—after all, He had let her travel that horrible road, alone. Those were safe places for her anger, but it took Ryan to point out the true source of her anger.
Tonight isn’t about my issues. Take a deep breath and relax, she thought. Give Ryan a chance to—
“You have something that belonged to my wife.”
Ryan’s softly spoken words forced Jessie out of her trance. What?
“I saw it on the nightstand when I went into Ken’s room, beside the matches.”
Any perceptible breaths were silenced. The mention of matches brought Jessie’s comment about Ryan’s past to the forefront of her mind and turned her stomach. She hadn’t fully apologized for that yet; she’d been waiting for the right time.
“Ryan, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have Brecca’s Book of Mormon.”
She groaned inwardly. In an instant she realized Ryan hadn’t been the slightest bit concerned about Ken having matches. It was a convenient cover for the confused turmoil he must have been feeling. Now his behavior makes sense. What on earth am I going to say to him? she thought frantically.
“Jessie, can you explain why you have Brecca’s Book of Mormon?”
“Yes.” Her hands trembled as she picked up her tea. She placed her long slender fingers completely around the mug. “But first I’d like to apologize for my earlier remark concerning the matches. I was out of line.”
“Yes, you were. Apology accepted.”
“I’m wondering, given the circumstances with the boy being here and all, if this should wait?” She bit her lip hopefully.
“His name is Ken—as I’ve been reminded. He’s exhausted. He’ll sleep a long, long time.”
“I . . . I asked Ruth if I ought to give it to you. She said that it wasn’t necessary and that I should keep it—just to read. And then she died, and well . . . I didn’t know . . .” She began making vague gestures with her hands, few of which could be easily seen.
“It wasn’t Ruth’s to give,” Ryan returned softly.
“Yes, I know that. I was waiting for the right time. But I know how you feel about the Mormons.”
“You do? And how is that, exactly?”
“I saw how you treated Bishop Grant when he came to give Ruth the blessing, and then how you wouldn’t have the funeral at the church, and how it gnawed at you to have Ruth’s house inundated with Mormons after the funeral. It’s obvious you don’t approve of them.” Standing reluctantly, Jessie’s words were softer. “I’ll go and get the book.”
“I haven’t asked for it back yet.”
She looked at him shrewdly through the shadows as she eased back into the recliner. “You don’t want it back?”
“When did you start reading it?”
“Ryan, with all due respect to our friendship, I’m not sure that’s any of your business. You have a right to the book, but not to the choices I make about reading it.”
“Oh. You’re reading my late wife’s Book of Mormon, and it’s none of my business. That means you believe what you’re reading, you’re talking with the missionaries, and you’re beginning to accept their views.”
“I’m thirty-plus years old Ryan. I’ve pretty much earned the right to read what I want, talk to whom I want, and choose a religion,” she retorted, her arms providing the proper emphasis.
“You’re right, your religious preferences are solely yours. My feelings about that put aside for the moment, I’m concerned about your sudden turn to God.”
“Meaning?” Jessie’s voice softened. She knew that if anyone was capable of putting his own feelings aside to help someone else, it was him.
“It wasn’t too long ago that you were bitter toward God.”
“Go on.”
“Then you have an experience, which, incidentally, I’m still in the dark about, and suddenly you’re meeting with the missionaries and reading Brecca’s Book of Mormon.”
“I’ve only met with them a few times. But what is it you’re going for here?”
“I’m suggesting that you’ve replaced one expedient with another. Being angry with God is what kept you going through the years . . . Now leaning on God is what seems to be keeping you going.”
“Hmm. Expedient denotes an unethical means to an end. I’m not sure how leaning on God could be considered unethical, but somehow you managed to drift from your issue—to mine. We’re not supposed to be discussing my issues, remember? The ball hasn’t dropped at Times Square yet.” Her voice conveyed a tone of satisfaction.
“Technically, this issue is both of ours.”
“Do you want the book back or not?” Jessie snapped, her anger rising.
“No. I would’ve liked knowing that you had it, that’s all.”
“Ryan, think about this. Look how upset you were tonight—you, who are unusually calm. If I had told you months ago that I had it, and was reading it, how would it have been any different?”
“You didn’t tell me months ago. That’s the point, Jessie. If you viewed our relationship as strictly professional, would you have told me about the book?”
Jessie remained still, staring into the darkness. She searched for his face, wondering what expression it held. Yes, if her connection to him were purely professional, she would have happily discussed her newfound knowledge. But he wasn’t her therapist anymore. He was in love with her, and worse—as difficult as it was to admit—she was in love with him. But she couldn’t answer this question out loud.
“Let me try a different approach,” Ryan continued. “Your reading of the Book of Mormon and your reservations about telling me. Are those the reasons why you keep avoiding me lately?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve taken what little you know regarding my past, the few incidents you’ve witnessed, and without getting my views, decided that I’m incapable of discussing your feelings about the Mormons? Jessie, what can I do to assure you that no matter what either of us has been through or are going through I’ll be here for you?”
“If you are open to the subject, as you’ve indicated, then why didn’t you tell me Ruth belonged to the Mormon Church that Sunday I wanted to go and pray on her behalf? You said there was only the Catholic and Methodist churches. That was a deliberate lie, and you promised you’d always be honest with me.” Barkley had found his way into Jessie’s lap, and Jessie was relieved to have something to fidget with since her teacup had long since been emptied.
“I knew if I told you of Ruth’s church you’d have chosen to attend, and . . . I didn’t want to deal with that chapter of my life. I made a mistake. It was wrong and I apologize. Jessie, I don’t dislike all Mormons. And while your reading of the Book of Mormon does make me nervous, I won’t stand in your way. I chose to leave the Church . . . but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some truth to the gospel—there’s a difference. If you’re wanting to go there, I won’t stop you, and it won’t change my being in love with you. I would just want to be sure you’re accepting the teachings of the gospel on their own merits and not just replacing one crutch with another.”
“I’m not sure about truth, but I have found peace.” Jessie heard his sigh. “You don’t believe me?”
“I think you’re convinced you’ve found peace, which is better than your alternatives—fear and pain. But you’re still experiencing nightmares. I can’t help you help yourself if you’re intent on keeping things from me.”
She sniffed, feeling through the darkness to the coffee table for the tissues that were always there. “Have I mentioned lately that I really don’t like you?”
“Yeah, usually when I’m right. The truth is, you like me much more than you’re ready to admit—or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I’m tired. Am I giving you back Rebecca’s Book of Mormon or not?”
“No. Return it when you’re through with it. I am curious how you came by it though,” he said.
“I found it at Ruth’s. It was in the room I stayed in. Will you tell me sometime why, exactly you left the gospel?”
“Left the Church, you mean.”
“Right. There’s a difference, you said. But I don’t know what that means.”
“The gospel is truth—the teachings of Jesus, if you will. The Church is merely the institution made up of imperfect people that attempts to carry out the teachings of the gospel in an organized fashion.”
“Hmm . . . So you’ve left the Church, but not the gospel?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but I’ll make you a deal. When you’re ready to tell me about your experiences—namely how you knew where to look for your mother’s letter last summer, and about the nightmares—I’ll answer your questions.”
“What happened to opening up to me, building my trust, letting me in, and allowing me space to do the same?” Jessie teased.
“As I remember, you were quite specific about me not using those techniques anymore.”