Chapter Four

The January day had turned warm, with temperatures rising into the upper fifties. Rivulets of snowmelt meandered along Smoky Mountain Road where Livvy Jenner—the town librarian—and Kate were taking a noontime walk. It had become a ritual for the two, walking during Livvy’s lunch hour a couple of times a week. Kate would arrive at the library on days when the temperature was pleasant, and the two would make their way up Smith Street, past the Town Green, take a right onto Hamilton Street, then head north out of town along Smoky Mountain Road to Kate’s house, where they’d make banana-and-yogurt smoothies before heading back the mile or so to the library. They had it timed to perfection, always arriving back just when Livvy needed to return to work.

Kate lifted her face to the warming sunshine, the sound of their sneakers on the pavement filtering toward the towering pines on either side of the country road as they made their way back to town.

“You seem in a good mood today,” Livvy observed. Her auburn hair was tucked behind her ears and her white sneakers peeked from underneath her black-nylon walking pants.

“I am in a good mood,” Kate said. “I got started on setting up my stained-glass studio early this morning. I feel as if it’s a new adventure for me. I don’t know...I’m excited about it.”

“I thought you’d been making stained glass for years.” Livvy slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Yes, but this is different. I really feel ready to do something with it, you know? Really create something special.”

“Like starting a business?” Livvy raised an eyebrow and smiled at her friend.

“If I had customers, who knows what it could grow into? I’ll just be glad to be working at it again. It’s energizing to feel like a creative, imaginative person.”

They came around a bend in the road, and a car slowed down to pass them. They walked single file as it did, then Kate moved back up next to her friend as Mountain Laurel Road came into view straight ahead. To the east was the Hamilton Springs Hotel, in its final phase of construction. It was said to be lovely, though Kate had yet to see it. It was supposed to be open for operation any day now. Kate couldn’t wait to try out their spa and Bristol’s, the new restaurant.

Kate glanced to the west, in the direction of Patricia and Marissa Harrises’ home, just off the hilly stretch near Quarry Road.

She sighed as the image of that frail girl appeared in her mind’s eye. She was barely older than Kate’s youngest daughter, Rebecca. Dark circles had ringed those luminous eyes. She’d seemed hungry for someone to talk to, someone who wasn’t already overwhelmed by the heavy burdens of life. Kate thought again of her promise to come visit.

“What’s wrong?” Livvy asked. She was gazing at Kate with an expression of concern.

“It seems you know my cues as well as my husband does.” Kate chuckled. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking of the Harrises. Poor Patricia—she’s lost so much already. I can’t imagine what she must be going through to lose a husband and now to have a child stricken with leukemia...” Kate shook her head.

“It is a shame,” Livvy said. “And so young. If my James were to be diagnosed with leukemia...” she paused. “It’s just too unimaginable to even consider. And since Patricia lost Ray, she hasn’t been the same.”

“You know her?” Kate asked.

“Kate, Copper Mill isn’t that big, and I’m the town librarian. I know pretty much everyone, especially if they like to pick up a book every once in a while. Patricia and Ray used to come into the library every Wednesday evening for date night while Marissa was at youth group. They’d usually read periodicals, though Patricia might bring whatever book she’d been reading from home if it was one she just couldn’t put down. She always was quite a reader. Even after Marissa was older, she and Ray kept coming. I can still picture them sitting in that maroon love seat by the front window, reading side by side. He usually picked up Outside magazine or anything that related to sailing and the outdoors, and Patricia would get out the Country Living or Parenting magazines. It’s funny...” she paused.

“What’s funny?” Kate prompted.

“There’s so much you can learn about people by what they read. I’d be interested in doing a character study of people based on their reading choices.” She shrugged, then went on, “Anyway, Patricia barely ever comes in at all anymore, not since Ray died.”

“What else did she like to read?” Kate couldn’t help but feel curious. It was who she was. She supposed if Livvy looked at her reading habits, she’d discover a decided bent toward Sue Grafton and Mary Higgins Clark.

“Oh, Patricia probably could’ve taught parenting classes, she read so much on the subject. From Dobson to Spock, she read it all. Books on miscarriage and even adoption.” Livvy paused in thought. “She and Ray had so much trouble having any more children after Marissa was born. I always wondered why they didn’t adopt. But she sure doted on Marissa, and Ray...he adored that girl.”

Before making their way across Mountain Laurel Road, they stopped to let a semitruck and a lumbering motor home pass in front of them.

“So when did she become such a...loner?” Kate asked.

“Patricia?” Livvy clarified.

Kate nodded.

“That was a recent thing. After Ray’s passing. She was actually one of the popular girls in high school. Very pretty. A cheerleader. She went for years with...What was his name? He moved away right after graduation. What was his name?” Livvy shook her head as she struggled to recall the name. “Anyway, Patricia was a few years older than I was. She was a senior when I was a freshman. I remember she was in youth group back then, and quite active. She participated in a lot of the discipleship training.”

“Really?” Kate said. “I’m surprised. She seems so...against faith somehow. I don’t know her, but she seemed very closed when I talked with her. She didn’t want me trying to convince her to come back to church.”

“That happens to a lot of people when life tests them.” Livvy smiled, then shrugged. “I just knew her from church, really, at youth group. I looked up to her as a leader. She went to college in Chattanooga, I think. Then a couple years later, she came back married to Ray and with a baby.”

“She must’ve been pretty young when she had Marissa, then.”

Livvy nodded. “Nineteen, maybe? Twenty? Her folks moved away shortly after she left for school. They’d lived here all their lives, then as soon as Patricia was gone, they moved. That seemed odd to me. People in small towns tend to stick around, especially when they’re older like those two were. Matt! That was his name. Matt Reilly. That was her boyfriend.”

Kate nodded absentmindedly and continued walking. Something still didn’t seem right. “Why would Patricia tell me that she could stop Marissa’s leukemia?”

Livvy stopped too. “She said that?”

Kate nodded.

“That’s an odd thing to say.”

“I thought so too,” Kate said. “It was almost like a confession. Then she pulled inside herself—like a tortoise retreating into its shell.” She shook her head. “I keep thinking about it. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Maybe she feels guilty,” Livvy offered. “Isn’t that what mothers do? Feel responsible for everything that happens in their children’s lives?”

“Well, that’s true,” Kate admitted. “I’m probably just imagining things. You know.” She smiled shyly. “After the fire investigation, I’m starting to see mysteries everywhere!”

Kate paused for a moment in thought, then said, “So, her parents moved away while she was in college?”

“Somewhere out of state.”

“And she moved back here...not near them after she got married?” Kate was thinking out loud, not really asking a question. She couldn’t put her finger on what exactly was niggling at her. They came to a stop at the corner of Smith and Main, at the entrance to the parking lot for the library. An old pickup with a rusted front quarter panel rumbled up the street and past them, toward the Town Green. Two young mothers with babies pushed their strollers along the sidewalk.

“Was she ever in any kind of trouble?” Kate asked.

“Not that I recall.” Livvy shrugged. “Like I said, she was a leader in school, and even after she and Ray moved back, they were members of the Rotary. Ray volunteered with Habitat. Patricia was always helping out at the school. As for her folks, near as I could figure, they had a normal parent-child relationship. Of course, she was young, eager to get out on her own when she was eighteen...And Copper Mill was home for her, even without her parents here.”

Livvy folded her arms across her chest as another vehicle passed. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Life is hard enough, but without her parents nearby...”

“But Ray, he was an exceptional man—devoted, kind. Always willing to lend a hand. They loved each other. Anyone could see that. When she came home married to him, she was the happiest I’d ever seen her. Just really good people. He thought the world of her, right until the day he died.”

“So, where are Patricia’s folks now?”

“I heard that her parents died a few years back. Some sort of accident, and she was an only child.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“It seems our mission is clear,” Kate said as they made their way across the parking lot and up the stairs to the front doors.

Livvy paused to give Kate her full attention.

Looking at her friend with conviction, Kate said, “Those two lost souls need us.”

WITH A POT ROAST in the oven and the table set for supper, Kate meandered back to her studio. Paul was at the nursing home in Pine Ridge for his regular Wednesday visit with the church members in residence there.

Much was still in disarray in the small studio, but definite areas had been set aside for each phase of the stained-glass process. Kate had been looking up the cost of light tables online and found a nice one for a reasonable price on a stained-glass-supply Web site, so she placed an order. The shipment was due to arrive in a week.

She already had that large divided organizer she’d brought from San Antonio for the colored glass sheets she kept on hand. This she moved alongside the spot where her light table would eventually be. She began placing the large sheets in the vertical bins. The smaller pieces she placed in drawers that ran horizontally at one end of the organizer. Then, following the Roy G. Biv rainbow pattern, she sorted the colors left to right beginning with red, orange, yellow, green, and so on. Soon she had all the glass distributed into its correct spot.

Then she got out her glass-cutting saw, small miter saw for zinc framework, her ancient grinder, many soldering irons and scrub brushes for cleaning off her tabletop, and a myriad of small tools and laid them in a line on the floor. Once she installed the closet organizer, she’d have a spot for each of these items.

She decided that a Peg-Board on the wall over her layout table could hold items like squares, pliers and whatnot. She wondered if the hardware store in town would carry such a board.

Tired from all her work, she sat in the room’s only chair, a padded office chair on wheels, and gazed out the window at the winter evening. The waning light of day illumined the yard. It had been so warm that bald patches showed where the snow had melted. Headlights shone from the country road, and Kate listened as her husband’s Chevy pickup pulled into the drive. She heard the door slam and the screen-door spring stretch and complain before slamming shut behind Paul.

“I’m in here,” Kate called.

A moment later he was at the door to her studio. “Hey, sorry I’m late.” He leaned against the doorjamb. His graying hair fell across his eyes, and he pushed it back with a hand. “Wow. You’ve gotten a lot done in here.” His gaze drifted across the room.

“Not too bad for two days’ work,” Kate said. “How about you?”

“Mmm. I had quite a visit at the nursing home today.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good. Very good,” Paul said. “The residents are always so glad to see a new face. It doesn’t matter if they’re from our church or not, I end up visiting with a whole slew of folks. Mrs. Roberts wheeled herself right up to me and said, ‘I expect you’ll come to call in my room today, Pastor Hanlon. Right?’ Well, what could I say to that?”

“I don’t think I know her,” Kate said.

Paul shook his head. “You wouldn’t. She’s been in the home for several years. She has Parkinson’s quite bad, but she’s sharp as a tack. That’s always hard to see—those trapped in uncooperative bodies despite being fully aware mentally...” His words broke off, and Kate gazed into his kind eyes. Paul took a deep breath. “It always gets to me,” he said. “And yet it’s such a blessing.”

“I’m sure they appreciate your visits.”

“No, I mean it’s such a blessing to me.”

Kate stood and walked to her husband, kissing him on the cheek. “That’s why I love you, you know. That heart for people.” She patted his chest.

Paul blushed slightly, then gave her hand a squeeze. “I know I’m a big softy. I can’t help but think about James 1:27—‘Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress.’ I always think I’m doing my good deed when I set off, yet I end up receiving so much more than I ever give.”

THE COLD RETURNED on Thursday with a steady snowfall and gusting winds. After Paul left for work in the morning, Kate decided to mix up a batch of Nestlé’s Toll House cookies. They were Paul’s favorite, so she doubled the batch to make sure he’d get his share, unhealthy though they were. The only alteration she made to the famous recipe was substituting butter-flavored Crisco for the butter. The cookies always turned out just right with that switch, moist without being a gooey mess as the butter ones always seemed to be, at least whenever she made them. Leaving the mixer to run, she slowly added the chocolate chips until they were mixed into the batter. As usual, she let her thoughts wander to the current mystery she was puzzling over and tried to settle on why Patricia might be able to help her daughter, but nothing seemed to make sense. She switched off the machine and lifted the beater.

These cookies were intended for a mission—to soften the heart of one Patricia Harris. Kate smiled at the thought, as if the human psyche were so simple that a basic concoction of sugar, flour, and chocolate chips could change the heart. If only that were possible, she would’ve saved the world ages ago with a big Texas-style cookie bakeoff.

Retrieving the large cookie sheets from one of the lower cupboards, she began scooping the dough onto them, making sure to leave enough space between so the cookies wouldn’t run together once they started baking. Soon the enticing aroma of chocolate-chip cookies filled the quaint kitchen. Kate put on her oven mitts and pulled out the first sheet, then the second. She waited a few minutes, then carefully placed the cookies on the cooling racks she’d set up on the counter. When she had placed the next batch in the oven, she leaned against the counter to sample the goods. They were just right, melting in her mouth as the taste of semisweet chocolate filled her senses.

Once the cookies had cooled, she neatly placed a dozen and a half on an inexpensive yet decorative plastic serving plate, gathered the clear blue cellophane wrap just so around the plate, and tied a pretty bow on the top using a white satin ribbon. Then she slipped the other gift from her studio into a flowered envelope and attached it to the bow like a greeting card.

When she set off for the Harrises’, the snowfall had ceased, leaving a shimmering glitter across the landscape. The sun was shining brightly, almost blindingly, as Kate made her way along Mountain Laurel Road. She pulled up in front of the spacious home and saw that there was no car in the driveway. She walked up to the garage to peek through the side-door window—no car there, either. She had turned to climb back into her Honda and return home when Patricia and Marissa pulled up in an off-white Mercedes.

“What are you doing here?” Marissa asked as she got out of the car, a wide smile on her face when her eyes landed on the cookies in Kate’s hand.

Kate lifted them slightly and said, “I had a little something for you.”

Patricia closed the driver’s door and gave Kate a questioning look. Then she moved to the front door and unlocked it, motioning for Marissa to go inside.

Once her daughter was out of earshot, she turned to Kate, “I appreciate you trying to reach out to us and all, but I thought I made myself clear the last time—”

“I know you’re hesitant to let anyone into your life right now,” Kate began, “but you shouldn’t go through this alone. It’s hard enough with a support system, but alone...You need a friend.”

Patricia’s shoulders slumped, and tears welled in her pale eyes. Finally she sighed. “I wasn’t very kind to you—”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Kate said, gently touching her hand. “That’s in the past.”

“After the day Marissa had, I know she’ll be glad for the company. At least for a little while.” Then she led Kate into the back of the house, where Marissa was already lying on the couch.

Once Patricia had peeled off her coat and scarf, she took the plate of cookies from Kate’s hands and said, “These look delicious.”

She took them over to her daughter, who asked, “Can I?”

“By all means,” Kate said. “I brought them for you.”

Marissa carefully slipped the envelope off the ribbon and tore it open. “Oh, look, Mom, it’s a sun catcher. How pretty!” She held it up for her mother to see. The stained-glass miniature caught the light in shades of green and blue.

“It’s a coquí,” Kate said, “a Puerto Rican frog. Actually, I made it myself.”

“You made this?” Marissa’s face held amazement. “What a gift you have!”

Kate waved a hand through the air. “Oh, anyone could learn to do it. It just takes practice and patience.”

“Thank you.” Marissa smiled up at her. “I really, really like it. It was so thoughtful of you.” She turned toward her mother. “Mom? Can we put it up in the window now?”

Kate glanced at Marissa, wondering at the request. It wasn’t as if sticking a suction cup to a window was a difficult task. But when Kate studied her more closely, she could see how very weak the girl was. What little color she had had drained from her face in the short time they’d been in the house.

Marissa raised herself to stand, but then her legs seemed to give out from under her. Kate caught her and was amazed at how light she was. Under her bulky sweats, she was skin and bones.

Patricia had come alongside her as well. Her eyes met Kate’s, and she could see that they were filled with worry.

“Do you want to put it up in here?” Patricia asked her daughter.

Marissa shook her head. “No. Let’s go in my room. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you feeling nauseated?” Patricia asked.

Kate realized then that they must have just come from a chemotherapy treatment, and she remembered Patricia’s words about the rough day Marissa had had. Her heart ached at the thought, yet Marissa was undaunted.

“I’m okay, really,” the girl insisted. She smiled as if to reassure her mother, then said, “Come on, let’s put the coquí up on my bedroom window. I’ll be able to see it from my bed when I wake up.”

Gingerly they helped Marissa walk, though it seemed the fainting spell had passed. She quickened her pace, so Kate let go of her, though Patricia still kept a grip on her arm.

Marissa’s room, off the short kitchen hallway, was a cheery place. High shelves that ran the length of the room held Elvis Presley memorabilia in all shapes and sizes—Elvis paper dolls, greeting cards bearing the singer’s image, dolls, buttons, you name it. And on the walls, aged posters from many of Elvis’s movies shone with Technicolor brightness, including the singer’s famed Blue Hawaii pose in red shirt with white flowers and a yellow lei around his neck.

“It looks like you’re an Elvis Presley fan,” Kate said.

“Can you tell?” Marissa let out a chuckle, then lowered herself onto the bed, which was covered with a pretty aqua blue silk comforter, matching pillows, and embroidered white-on-white accent pillows.

Her mother helped her move up further onto the full-size bed, then covered her legs with a crocheted coverlet that had been draped over a nearby rocking chair.

“Yes, I’ve always been a big Elvis fan,” Marissa went on, “though not as big as Mom used to be. Being born on the anniversary of Elvis’s death—that pretty much sealed that I was destined to be an Elvis fan for life. But Mom used to date Elvis.” She pointed her chin toward her mother in a teasing gesture.

“I did not!” Patricia protested. “The man was way too old for me.”

“But you had a crush on him in grade school,” Marissa persisted, which made her mother blush.

“You don’t have to confess anything you don’t want to confess,” Kate said, smiling. She took a seat in a padded chair near the window. Bright sunlight diffused by sheer white curtains warmed the spot.

“I don’t mind saying, I did have a crush on Elvis,” Patricia finally admitted, “and I did own every one of his singles. I still have them on the Jukebox downstairs. And”—she lowered her head—“I actually had my picture taken with him once.”

Marissa clapped her hands in glee. “See? She still has that picture too if you’d like to see it.”

Patricia shook her finger at her daughter. “I doubt I could find it if I wanted to.”

“So, are you going to put my sun catcher up?” Marissa asked. She sat back on her bed as she held the glass ornament out to her mother. Patricia took it from her outstretched hand and pulled the curtain back.

“A little to the left,” Marissa said, sounding slightly out of breath. “It’ll catch the morning sun there.” She closed her eyes slightly, and a moan escaped her thin lips.

Kate glanced at her, her heart aching at the sight of the girl in obvious discomfort, while Patricia adjusted the sun catcher and pressed the suction cup against the window to hold the ornament in place. Then she stepped back and moved to her daughter’s side.

“I’m okay,” Marissa insisted, her eyes on the sun catcher. “I like that, don’t you?”

Kate felt humbled as she watched Patricia stare lovingly at her ill daughter, who was trying to be so brave despite her circumstances. And yet she felt powerless too.