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STEVEN STOPPED FOR gas in Whisper Falls four hours later. He bought a can of cola and a chocolate bar and pulled back out onto the two-lane highway. The snack would tide him over until he reached the cabin and could make a sandwich with supplies he’d brought along in the cooler.
Trees grew thick and tall on either side of the road, lending an aura of foreboding to the already settling dusk. He tapped his thumb nervously against the steering wheel. Would he be able to spot the turn off? Gravel and dirt lanes cut off into the trees every mile or so, marked only by a generic black mailbox or reflector stakes at the edge of the lanes. They all looked much the same in the dim light.
He glanced down at his directions. 5.3 miles from fork in road. He passed that fork a couple of minutes ago. It must be close. He slowed to 40mph and watched for the reflective markers. There was the turnoff. A pickup truck roared past. The driver laid on the horn, informing Steven that he had forgotten to signal.
A narrow lane, darkened by the encroaching forest, wound through pine and ash trees growing so close on either side they not only blocked out any remaining daylight, but also stifled sound. The crunch of gravel and pine needles beneath the car’s tires was muted as though someone had put socks over them. A pair of eyes reflected the headlights as a small animal scuttled across the road and disappeared into undergrowth on the other side.
Steven sighed with relief when the small cabin came into view. It looked the same as he remembered. He’d only visited the place once; the day he signed papers and paid for it with cash. Over a year ago.
The sweep of headlights lit up the weathered siding for a moment before he pulled alongside a deserted shell of a 70’s model Chevy station wagon and shut off the engine. Dusky silence greeted him when he stepped out of the car. Even the crickets seemed to be listening.
He decided to check out the cabin’s living conditions before carrying everything in. It had been sparsely furnished but clean the last time he was inside. He hoped the same would be the case today. He expected the interior to be overrun with mice and bugs, maybe an errant bat or two, but when he unlocked the front door there was no sound of tiny scurrying feet or flapping wings, only the tick of a clock somewhere in the dark. He searched for a light switch, flipped it on, and gazed about, satisfied. It would do.
*****
HANOVER
“Tell me again why you don’t want Emma playing in church? Because I thought that was the point. To someday use her music in service to God,” Sam said thoughtfully. He squinted against the sun and leaned back in the deckchair, arms crossed behind his head, watching Emma and Bear play tug-o-war on the lawn with a piece of frayed rope.
Lori turned in the chair beside him, eagerly latching on to her husband’s choice of words. “Yes. Someday. Not when she’s five-years-old and full of mischief. She was crawling under the podium while I spoke to Mrs. Winter. She’s too young to understand responsibility, and I think her age would distract other people from worship.”
Sam’s frown lines deepened. “What does her age have to do with other people’s worship?”
“They’d be thinking how cute Emma is instead of praising God.” She took a sip from her glass of iced-tea and smiled at him over the rim. “You know I’m right. She may be our daughter, but she took after some long-lost relative who resembled Cinderella. The only thing she got from me was my pleasing personality. And your mathematical genes were magically transformed into music genes during conception.”
He chuckled. “Mom asked me the other day if I was sure Emma was my daughter. She said there’s no record of a Tatum that could carry a tune, much less play like Emma.”
“Really,” she said, plunking her glass down on the little table with enough force to slosh. “So now my fidelity is suspect as well as my cooking skills.”
Sam put his hands up in defense mode. “Don’t hit the messenger. It was only a joke. I’m sure it was just her way of showing how proud she is of Emma.”
“I bet.” Lori pushed up from the chair and opened the sliding door. “I’m going to start dinner now. Keep an eye on them and don’t let Emma near the street.”
“I’m quite capable of simple thought, you know.”
She saw a smile tug at the corners of his mouth in spite of his serious tone. He was right. Ever since Emma’s accident she had been overly vigilant, issuing orders as though he were ten. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be bossy.” She bent and kissed his lips lightly.
“I know. You can’t help it. What else can I expect from a cheating wife who can’t cook?” He caught her arm as she threw a playful punch to his shoulder and pulled her onto his lap. “Don’t worry, I still love you.” He grinned and kissed her long and hard before releasing her.
Lori staggered to her feet, breathless. She restrained the urge to send his chair over the side of the deck. She had a love/hate relationship with this man. He could ignite a flame of passion in her with a touch or stir her ire with a word. Right now, she wasn’t sure which was winning. “Just for that I’m making your favorite. Tuna surprise.” She fluttered her lashes and slipped inside before he could respond.
A smile played on her lips as she took a pot from the cupboard and stood at the sink to fill it with water. Sam had joined Emma and Bear in the yard for a game of tag and was running a zigzag pattern to avoid being caught by the two of them. Watching through the window, Lori couldn’t help but notice a total lack of Sam in her daughter. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Emma was a tiny little thing for her age, but she wasn’t lanky like Sam. She was solidly built. Her dark baby curls had turned blonde over the years, unlike Sam’s or hers. And her nose was too perfect. A button of a nose. How could a man with a prominent Romanesque profile have such a beautiful daughter? She released a quiet laugh and set the pot on the stove. God was definitely looking out for Emma.
*****
MARION MARVELED AT the beauty of the small boy beside her. His blonde wavy hair and dark eyes caught the attention of many a mother they passed as they strolled along hand in hand through the rainforest section of the Minnesota Zoo. He seemed lit from within today, a smile blazed across his face at every new experience. The fact that he was happy made her happy and she was sure her face resembled a Cheshire cat, grinning from ear to ear. Zander needed fun in his life. Nearly every time she saw him, he appeared much too serious and reserved for a boy his age. But today was different.
He ran ahead and pointed up at a bright red and yellow parrot. “Look, Aunt Marion!”
“He’s a beauty,” she said, nodding. “God certainly knows how to paint creation.”
Zander cocked his head to one side. “God painted the birds?” he asked.
Marion chuckled; thrilled to be able to share her faith. “The birds, the animals, the trees, and sky. He made them all and gave them all colors. God created the world and all that’s in it, including you and me.” She took his hand again. They continued through the display. “What do you think about that?” she asked.
His tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth and his eyes narrowed for a couple of seconds before he spoke. “I think he did a good job.”
“That’s what he said.”
Zander stopped and looked up into her face. “You love God, don’t you?”
Marion felt a ripple of electricity course through her at the boy’s acute insight. How would he know something so profound from their short conversation? But his gaze was direct, his words more a statement than a question.
She smiled. “Yes, I love God very much. How did you know?”
He shrugged, his small shoulders raised nearly to his ears. “Daddy says I shouldn’t talk about it.”
“About God?”
“No.” He shook his head. “About my gift.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to make of that, but if his father didn’t want him to divulge something then she shouldn’t pry. It wouldn’t be right. Would it?
“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t think Daddy would be mad if I told you. He trusts you,” he stated matter-of-factly as though trust was a common word in a five-year-olds vocabulary.
“I see. Well, what exactly is this gift?” She followed him through the plastic strips that kept the birds from escaping their man-made environment and into a corridor that led toward another section of the zoo.
Zander stepped around a woman bending over a stroller and ran to the glass enclosure that held a coiled snake of some kind. “Look! God painted spots on him.”
Marion placed her hands on his shoulders and peered down at the serpent. “He certainly did. But I’m afraid even if smiley faces covered his body it wouldn’t make me like snakes any better.”
Zander looked up at her. “Smiley faces? That would be funny.”
He appeared to have forgotten about their earlier conversation, so she dropped it and followed him to the next display. She could always ask him about it later when they stopped for lunch.
“Snake tastes like licorice,” he said, staring at the python behind the glass.
She laughed. “I thought it probably tasted like chicken.”
*****
STEVEN OPENED HIS EYES. Light filtered through the dusty, plaid, curtains at the single window. He pulled down the blanket covering him and stretched. A set of ancient antlers adorned a place of prominence over the woodstove. He was glad they didn’t include the head of the buck. He didn’t think waking up in a strange place with glass eyes staring down at him would have been a scenario he was ready for. He threw his legs over the side of the couch and sat up, scratching at the beard on his chin. Yawning, he made his way to the small sink in the kitchenette. After letting the water run for a full three minutes, he realized freezing was the only temperature available. He splashed his face, suddenly more awake than he wanted to be.
The coffee pot he’d brought was already plugged in and ready to go, so he scooped in some grounds and turned it on. While it brewed, he made himself eggs and toast. Most of the food he’d brought was canned so it would last for a good length of time. He didn’t know when or if the cabin might come in handy, but it might prove to be Zander’s only escape hatch; a place to hide until he could guarantee his safety.
He filled his cup and took a sip of the scalding brew. It wasn’t strong enough to grow hair on his receding forehead, but it would do. He had shelves to build, a security system to install, and plans to make before returning home. He stepped out the door of the cabin. Steam rose from his cup in the crisp woodsy air. A hint of moldering leaves and rotting bark mingled with the acrid scent of wood smoke. A neighbor was using their fireplace this morning. Yesterday the temps were in the low 70’s, but this morning autumn was ablaze with frosty color.
His gaze rested on the deserted car shell and he took another sip of coffee. This place would work out just fine. It was far enough off the beaten track to be unnoticeable to passerby, and he’d been very sure not to leave a paper trail when he took ownership. He glanced up through the trees at a stormy looking sky and for a moment thought about his childhood God. Could he expect protection from the Almighty if he needed it, or would his pleas fall on deaf ears after so many years? He slowly turned away and went back inside.
*****
ZANDER WAS NOT AFRAID of the dark. He was not. It was just that sometimes at night he felt surrounded by voices, telling him things, showing him things. He didn’t like it. In the daylight it was easier to block out the bad things. The voices that never stopped.
Aunt Marion’s house was nice. It felt warm and safe. Except at night. The room she put him in was painted blue with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He liked to look at them after the light was shut off and imagine he was flying up in the sky, high enough to touch them. But after a while the glowing got dimmer and the voices got louder.
Daddy said he’d be back to pick him up tomorrow. He was glad. Uncle Frank was always shouting everything he said. Even when he wasn’t angry, he sounded mad. Sometimes he felt like Uncle Frank was playing a game, testing him like the doctors at the lab. He didn’t like that either.
Aunt Marion never tested him. She loved him the way he was. She asked about his gift when they were at the zoo, and he almost told her. But then he stopped. What if she started testing him? Would she still love him if she knew? She said God made everything and it was all good. Was he good? He didn’t feel good. Especially in the dark when the voices were louder than the beating of his heart.