4

Was that a cry for help? Berdie’s eyes refused to open as she lay upon her bed. The events of the day, her headache, and the questioning by the inspectors had made her hunger for sleep. Even now, the dark enticed her. But she worked to rouse her hearing enough to listen with intent to what seemed to come through the open bedroom window.

The air of the late-May night, still tainted with the scent of smoke, played upon her nose. Perhaps I was dreaming. She rolled over in the bed and stretched her arm to where Hugh usually lay, only to find it cool and empty. She wondered how long it would be before he returned to her side. Sunday, tomorrow, was his busiest day of the week, and she was sure he’d be done in.

Then she thought about Cedric. Give him grace, Lord, to hold on, and if it is his appointed time, may he go in peace. Berdie found herself drifting back to sleep. That is, until a muted bang and clipped steps on the stairs told her Hugh had come in. She focused to bring herself back into the moment.

The bedroom door opened. Berdie could feel the presence of the man she’d loved for nearly thirty years even before her eyes became little slits to see the night-light-etched outline of his body.

He moved through the motions of discarding his day garments somewhat laboriously and slipped into his pajama bottoms.

Berdie pushed the pillow she slept on against the headboard and raised her upper body to lean her back against it. Her headache was dissipating. She rubbed an eye.

“Oh, sorry, love, did I wake you?” Hugh stepped to the bed.

“Not really.” She yawned. “You must be absolutely shattered.”

“The hospital staff urged me to go home and get a couple hours of sleep. Loren said he’d call if there was any change in Cedric’s condition.”

“Good.”

“Did you locate the commander’s daughter?”

“As it happens, she’s a friend of Tillie. Yes, I rang her, only to get her voicemail.” Berdie lifted the duvet. “I told her to call right away due to a family emergency. She could ring anytime.”

Hugh eased himself into the bed and under the duvet. He winced.

“Done in, love?”

“I’ve certainly had better days, but then at least I’m here to tell you that.”

“Indeed. As much as I care for Cedric, I’m so glad it wasn’t you.” Berdie ran her hand up and down Hugh’s arm.

“Rollie’s going to the hospital, in a couple hours actually, to stay with Cedric. All through tomorrow as well if needed, or is that all through today?”

Hugh eased his back against the headboard and released a slight moan.

“Lean forward, my mighty oarsman,” Berdie commanded.

“What?”

She placed her hands on the back of his shoulders and began a circular movement. She could feel tension from an emotionally draining task mingled with stiff, over-exercised muscles all across his back.

Hugh let go a low sigh as he slumped forward.

Berdie tried to massage into his flesh with her palms as much as she could manage, being half awake in the wee small hours.

“I hope Goodnight didn’t get up your nose too much,” Hugh drawled. His drooping head moved up and down with each push of her palms.

“When does he not? He said your urgent call this afternoon was a hoax to catch you out.”

“I don’t know, Berdie. It sounded like real people with real problems.”

Berdie moved her fingers down his arms in rhythmic pulses.

“All I got on the phone was the name of Bryant, and that they lived in the cottage just next the Cathcart Carlisle farm off Old Barn Road. I felt such a fool when I knocked at the door and found the Georgeson family on the other side of it watching TV. They had no idea what I was on about.” He sighed. “I kept asking myself if I may have missed something in the directions, and then when I arrived at St. Matthew’s…”

“The investigative team believes too that the call was a ruse to get you out and away.”

“As much as I detest the whole idea of such a thing, it does smack of a planned deception.”

Berdie paused her fingers. “If the commander was the target, how could they know he would volunteer to drive the people carrier in your place?”

“He accompanied me to the club for several days on the trot, even drove the vehicle yesterday. It’s a part of his leadership nature to take over. He enjoys being with the children.” Hugh barely shook his limp head. “Unless they had a sighting, I really don’t know.”

“A sighting,” Berdie said under her breath and returned her rotating grip to Hugh’s shoulders. “Doug tried to warn the commander when Sparks sat down near the vehicle.”

“The dog’s nose must be half functioning.” Hugh yawned. “I doubt Cedric trusted Sparks’s damaged sniffer, but Doug was right to sound an alarm.”

“It seems I’m the only one who didn’t know the animal was in the military.”

“You exaggerate.” Hugh’s head bobbed.

“Do you think there’s any chance Chad could be a suspect in all this?”

“Chad?” Hugh paused. “I know it looks bad, Berdie, but I don’t think Chad could…I mean, he wouldn’t be the same man if…he’s impulsive, yes, but premeditated…” Hugh’s words trailed off until Berdie massaged an apparently tender spot between his shoulders and he flinched.

“Sorry, love.” Berdie patted his now-warm back. “Time to sleep, I should think.”

Hugh pulled his head up, turned, and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Then without a word, he slid down to place his head on the pillow.

Berdie lay down beside him and snuggled close. Glad her man was home and next to her, she could feel herself drifting off already, until she became aware of a cry, like the cry that first awoke her earlier. It became louder. She rustled. It came again, but louder, until it became obvious someone was calling out in need. She felt Hugh jerk into consciousness.

“Berdie?”

“Yes, I heard it too.” Berdie decided to pursue the source. “You stay still, love. I’ll see to it.”

“Sure?” barely eked from Hugh’s lips.

Berdie got out of bed, grabbed her robe, and put it on as she padded toward the bedroom door. When she flung open the aged oak wood, the plea she heard wasn’t coming from outside at all. It seemed as if it came from the direction of the hall.

Doug’s bedroom door was just slightly ajar. A beam of soft light spilled cross the dark hall’s wooden floor.

“It’s OK, Dad.” Tillie’s voice was just audible.

“Call in. We need fire power,” Doug yelled.

Berdie rapped on the door with her knuckles. “What goes on?”

She heard movement, and Tillie slipped into the doorway. Doug, who was sitting up in his bed, was just barely visible. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Elliott, did we wake you?”

“What’s happening, Tillie?”

“Don’t worry. I can take care of him. He’s just a bit overwrought.”

Doug let go a chilling scream, leaned forward, and covered his head with his arms.

Tillie left the doorway, still just open, and hurried to the bed’s edge, where she sat and put her hands on Doug’s shoulders. “Dad, you’re OK.”

Berdie could see, when Doug glanced at his daughter, how his eyes flared, almost glazed. He swallowed hard. Beads of sweat made his forehead glisten. “Watch out,” he barely whispered.

“Doug?” Berdie stepped into the room.

“No, no, get on,” he screamed at the top of his voice. “Go, go, go.” He pushed Tillie’s hand from his shoulder.

“Father, please.” Tillie’s plea was anguished as she stood.

Berdie moved to stand by the bed.

“Mrs. Elliott, what are you doing?” Tillie implored.

“This has happened before?”

Tillie didn’t speak. She pursed her lips so tightly their soft pink went almost white.

Doug looked into Berdie’s face. Fear, that’s what she read in his tired blue eyes, fear and panic. Fear and panic from another time and place.

She bent down close to him and put her hand on his arm. “Doug, it’s Berdie, Berdie Elliott.”

An apparent light of faint recognition danced into his frightful stare as he slid his arms from his head.

“You’re in our old vicarage, safe as houses.”

“Is everything all right?” Hugh now stood at the fully opened door.

“No,” Tillie snapped. “There’s already too many in the room. It makes him uneasy.”

“Captain Elliott.” Doug gazed at Hugh and began a military salute, but stopped. He eyed Hugh up and down as if just recognizing there was no uniform, no epaulets, no shouted commands. Just Reverend Hugh Elliott, standing before him in his dressing gown.

He redirected his gaze to Berdie, and then flushed.

“Doug.” Berdie clasped his hand.

He gave a quick nod, his blond hair moist upon his forehead, and dropped his chin.

Berdie let go his hand, stood, and Hugh came near. He placed a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Douglas Devlin. Now try to get some sleep.”

Again, Doug nodded and slid down into the bed, lying on his side, facing away from them.

“I’ll get you some more sedatives from the bathroom chest, Dad.” Tillie pulled the duvet up round Doug’s shoulders. She bent low to his ear. “Love you, Daddy.”

Hugh took Berdie’s hand and gently guided her back out into the hall. Tillie followed behind.

“He’s terribly embarrassed, to the point of shame.” Tillie blinked as wet gathered in her eyes.

“He needn’t feel that way,” Berdie assured. “Many of our bravest soldiers suffer in such a way.”

“Well, it’s a wretched pity. Life should never take this course.” Tillie’s words bit into the dark. Then she eyed them. “You needn’t tell anyone about this?”

“Tillie, all who have served in wartime, to some degree or another, share in combat fatigue.” Hugh’s voice was certain, despite his sleep deprivation.

“Nonetheless, it’s no business of anyone else. He’s been doing quite well, actually, until all that happened today.” Tillie lifted her chin as if struggling to rise above it all.

“Discretion is a churchman’s promise,” Hugh confirmed.

How could you simply pass by the situation at hand with a simple promise for discretion? Berdie wanted to know more about Doug’s health, about Tillie’s wellbeing. She glanced at Hugh and had the sense he saw the inquisitiveness in her eyes.

“Come along, Berdie.” Hugh squeezed her hand. “Let Tillie get on with her care.” He smiled gently at the young woman. “If you need any assistance, you know where we are. Otherwise, we’ll see you in the morning then.”

Hugh moved Berdie along with him to their bedroom entrance.

“Oh, Reverend Elliott, how’s Cedric?” Tillie questioned.

“I’m afraid his condition hasn’t changed.” Hugh sighed. “I wish I had better news for you. I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything, Tillie.”

Once in the bedroom, Hugh closed the door.

Berdie couldn’t help herself. “There’s so much left unsaid about Doug’s situation, Hugh.”

“I understand.” Hugh undid his dressing-robe belt. “And doubtless you will find out all about it.” He took off the garment. “You and Tillie will have a confidential discussion, over a warming cup of tea, in the light of day, Berdie, when Tillie brings the matter into your conversation.”

Hugh did have a point. Approaching 4 AM may not be the best time to discuss such things. After all, she and Tillie were under the same roof. They would have some time together. She would see to that.

“Let’s try to make the best of the minutes we have left to sleep. Busy day tomorrow. Or rather, a busy day today.” Hugh got into bed and patted the spot next to him.

Berdie removed her dressing robe and threw it on the end of the bed. She scrambled under the covers and nuzzled close to Hugh again.

In no time at all, Hugh was asleep.

Berdie had to work at getting past her curious nature that wanted answers to her questions right now. Had Doug received any treatment for what Berdie recognized as posttraumatic stress syndrome? How serious was it? How often was he sedated? Did his injury cloud his reasoning? And then there was Tillie. Had she received any support as his caregiver? Finally, of course, Berdie struggled to consider if there was really anything she could do to help. There was so much to sift through and consider in all the goings-on, but it just somehow seemed beyond her. In very little time, the warmth of Hugh’s body captured her will to inquire, her brain waved the white flag, and slumber was a gracious victor.

****

The clear swell of the church bell beckoned Berdie on as she made way across the front garden to the edifice of faith, not more than a hundred yards from the vicarage.

Her most comfortable skirt required little to be fit for a Sunday morning, likewise her silk blouse that felt like cream on her skin. Just the thing after experiencing a frenzied day and distressing night. What wasn’t just the thing was the headache that was back.

Berdie’s nose picked up the scent of bacon, no doubt some nearby fortunate person’s breakfast. And quite frankly, she would have loved to join them, not having had but a quick piece of toast. But she had another task at the moment, to nourish her needy soul.

She moved forward, and the ringing peals brought fresh thoughts, despite her brain still feeling painful and fuzzy.

For hundreds of years, when this bell sounded, fieldworkers dropped their tools, women busy in the kitchens of their meager homes interrupted their tasks, and the whole of the community answered the call to assemble. The gathering was to set aside uninterrupted moments for prayer and worship to the God who gave their lives meaning and hope. Though few could read back then, stained-glass windows told stories of miracles, sacrifice, judgment, and holy lives that lifted and inspired. It was a stolen moment of time to leave the world of everyday life behind. For a few blessed moments, they could enjoy the Divine promise of a better world to come, and restore their present strength.

Was it that much different now, today? After yesterday’s events, if ever a community needed renewal and restoration, this would be the time.

“Good morning, Mrs. Elliott.” Maggie Fairchild zipped the greeting and entered the church with four others unfamiliar to Berdie.

In the far corner of the church acreage with tape and tent, all the paraphernalia of a crime-scene investigation were in place. A few parishioners hung about near the spot, peering and peeking as if to satisfy some morbid curiosity. Tillie and Doug were among them, but Berdie had neither time nor inclination just now to be a part of it. Curiosity would probably mean a full house at church.

Hugh stood at the entrance of the twelfth-century building, whose windows had held up well despite the recent blast.

“You made it then,” Hugh greeted. His usual vibrancy was tinged with lack of sleep.

“Just.” A quick nod and Berdie eased past the young acolytes, lads dressed in choir gear.

“I’ll bet you a candy bar I’ll light my candle before you,” one of them challenged the other.

Berdie hoped some of their energy might rub off on her, though it seemed unlikely.

Inside, there were few empty seats. She finally came to rest at a back pew on the far side of the nave. Only the uninterested or very late sat in this spot, because there was a large column that obstructed the view of the lectern and altar. Nonetheless, it was the vacant spot, so this was her place to roost for this morning.

On the far edge of the row at the central aisle, she spotted the white-haired Batty Natty and her caregiver niece, Sandra, who wore her lovely yellow gingham dress. It showed off Sandra’s rich brown eyes and flattered her near-forty-year-old form.

When Mr. Castle, the church organist, began the voracious pounding out of notes announcing the processional, Berdie jumped, a reaction blamed on recent events and a broken night of rest.

“Mrs. Elliott.” Mrs. Hall, who sat next her, was clad in a pink rolled-brim hat that drew attention to her rather large camel-like eyes. She offered to share an open hymnal with Berdie as the first notes of “Soldiers of Christ, Arise” sounded from the congregation.

“Thank you,” Berdie offered rather sheepishly.

She joined in singing with the congregation. “From strength to strength go on. Wrestle, and fight, and pray.” Berdie tried to sing as if she had energy and no headache, but it came out rather breathless. Still, the words buoyed her. “Tread all the powers of darkness down, and win the well-fought day.”

Berdie caught movement out of the corner of her eye, only to see Tillie bring Doug in his wheelchair to a halt next to Sandra at the far end of the row. Tillie set the brake on his chair, and as quickly as she entered, departed, leaving Doug on his own.

Sandra, like Mrs. Hall, offered her open hymn book to Doug, who took hold of it with her, giving a nod and a smile.

As the hymn ended and the service continued, Berdie found herself staring at the pillar, which she had already scrutinized in detail. She blinked rapidly, hoping the flutter may exercise her concentration into vitality.

“The Lord is my refuge,” arose from beyond the pillar.

Who was doing the first Scripture reading? Berdie didn’t recognize the voice that sounded flat as a board. She tried to move her head, craning her neck, to a place where she could see the reader. But then she got right in Mrs. Hall’s way.

“Sorry.” Berdie pulled her head, like a tortoise, back to its shell.

She looked down the row, as unobtrusively as possible, to see Doug and Sandra sharing a Bible, reading the lesson together.

Rarely had Berdie seen anyone following the lesson in a Bible, and certainly never sharing with someone. Doug caught Berdie’s eye and gave her a rather large grin and returned to reading. Well, Berdie thought to herself. Well, well.

Back to her attempted listening. It wasn’t but a few moments and several goes at repositioning her body that she peeked Doug’s way again. A hint of grin still graced his mouth as he glanced at Sandra, who glanced back at him and smiled.

Now Berdie grinned. Despite an interrupted night of rest, it seemed Doug had his attention piqued, but it wasn’t the service. Apparently, warm fires glow in our cool stone church.

Though it gave her a momentary distraction, she knew she couldn’t stare or watch for long.

Reluctantly, she moved her eyes to the ancient pillar before her, when patriotic music sounded forth and made her sit straight up and blink. It came from her bag. She flung the thing open and began digging through until she found her mobile, which she obviously had not turned off, but now did. Lord have mercy.

Mrs. Hall stared at her.

“Sorry,” Berdie whispered.

Berdie eyed the caller ID. Avril Royce. She let go a gasp.

Whoever had not been staring at her when the mobile phone blared was looking her way now.

She flushed. The pillar in front of her almost seemed a gift. It would avert the glare she was sure Hugh could be sending her way right now. “Excuse me,” she whispered to Mrs. Hall again. “Emergency.”

Berdie, as discreetly as possible, scooted from the pew and out the main door, not even giving a glimpse in Hugh’s direction. “Dear God, let her still be available,” Berdie prayed at the bottom of her voice.

Outside and away from the church door, she checked her voicemail. Nothing.

“I so wish Hugh was available to do this,” Berdie moaned. But she didn’t want to risk not finding Avril available. She rang up the commander’s daughter and took a deep breath.

“Yes.” Avril’s voice was anxious when she answered.

“Avril, this is Berdie Elliott. My husband is a former naval officer who served with your father.”

“Yes, what’s happened?”

Berdie swallowed. “Well, your father was spending time with us here in Aidan Kirkwood when he was involved in”—Berdie paused—“a rather awful accident of sorts.”

“Accident of sorts? What does that mean?” Avril almost sounded irritated.

Berdie pulled her shoulders back. “This may be difficult for you to comprehend, but I’ll tell you straight. Your father was in a vehicle that burst into flames and…”

“Is he…?”

“Hanging on by a slender thread.”

There was a labored pause. “Did this happen on the road?”

“No, the vehicle was parked. I’m afraid foul play is suspected.”

“Foul play.” Another uneasy pause ensued. “So what you’re saying is that my father was the victim of a bomb blast?”

“It’s still under investigation, but it does appear so.”

Silence seemed a gulf between them.

“Avril?”

“I was expecting to get a call like this. Most my life, I’ve been dreading a call like this.”

“I understand how difficult…”

“Do you?” Avril interrupted. “The kind of work he did, military intelligence, all the horrible things that took place under his command, how could it not come back on him?”

Berdie was prepared for tears and distress from the commander’s daughter, but not this.

“It had to happen eventually, didn’t it? How long can you secretly carry on ruining people’s lives and not be found out?”

Berdie gripped the phone, working at keeping even-tempered. She had to put the young woman’s acidic views behind her. “Avril, you need to come to your father’s aid. Whatever you may think or feel about his vocation, he is still your father. He could die at any moment and he needs you.”

“Does he? Perhaps you should tell him that.”

Berdie tried to comprehend the moment. “He’s not in a position to be told anything.” What on earth had happened between the commander and his daughter?

Berdie heard a bleep sound that created a quick break in transmission, and her thoughts took a different course. “Where are you, Avril?”

“I’m not in the country, if you must know. Neither my boyfriend nor I have the readies for air travel.”

Boyfriend. How did he suddenly come into the conversation? Readies? That could compound the issue, but not if Berdie could do anything about it. “Avril, we can work out any financial assistance you may need, and you’re welcome to stay in our home, the vicarage, in Aidan Kirkwood.”

There was no response.

“Avril, you can’t just leave your father.”

“I love him desperately, you know.”

Berdie detected a slight tremor in Avril’s words. “Of course you do. You are his daughter.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. You don’t understand.”

“I understand that if you don’t come to your father’s side, you may carry a world of regrets to your grave. You really must come.”

“I’m sure you’ll be very kind. He’ll be in tender care with you. Tell Daddy”—her words were unsteady—“goodbye for me.”

“But, Avril.”

Click.

“Avril, Avril?” Berdie literally shook the mobile phone as if it would bring the young woman back. She hurriedly rang up Avril’s number again. No response.

Berdie sighed. Now she was not just tired, she was second-guessing herself. Should she have left this call to Hugh, who, having had training in discussions of this sort, may have gotten a different response? A moot point now.

Having just made a hash of things was certainly not something Berdie fancied.

She heard a slight screech of brakes and looked to the road, where Doc Honeywell had brought his old car to a dead stop at the edge of the church garden. He opened the car door and stuck out his balding head, glasses halfway down his nose. “Mrs. Elliott, how fortuitous that you should be out here. I need to speak with you.”

She walked toward his vehicle. “Yes, Dr. Honeywell, what is it?”

The man made a strained effort to rise.

Berdie knew the retired doctor, now in his eighties, would be more comfortable being seated. “Please stay seated, Doctor.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “These old legs don’t always do what I want them to.”

Berdie was already at his car.

“I just wanted you to know that the dog will be put down this afternoon at Dr. Stoddard’s animal surgery. I thought you should know.”

“Dog? Sparks? Sparks is alive?”

“Is that his name? Bad shape, I’m afraid. Terrible shape, really. It’s a sure thing his master can’t look after him.” He nodded. “Most humane thing, you know.”

Berdie felt suddenly sorry for the creature that had invaded and disrupted her home. Sparks most surely saved lives yesterday. What an ignominious ending for a dog who served his country. To be put down with none in attendance to recognize his contribution to the welfare of countless troops seemed unthinkable. “What time?”

“Time?” Doc Honeywell squinted.

“What time is Sparks to be put down?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Could you ask Dr. Stoddard to delay until someone known to the dog can be present?”

The doctor grinned. “I think it unlikely that the animal would be affected by such a thing, but I’ll ring the vet and make the request if you wish.”

“Yes, please. I’ll be at the animal surgery this afternoon then.”

“As you think best, Mrs. Elliott.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The man kept his half-smile and closed the car door. Berdie watched him depart, knowing he thought her a bit silly. The old doctor, who probably had occasionally treated animals as well as people in his country practice, generally thought in terms of livestock rather than pets or companions.

Nonetheless, it was the honorable thing to do, to see Sparks off. She was sure the commander would have done the same if he was able. And so she would do it, by God’s grace. She may even secretly shed a tear for the once-lively animal.