Sanctuary (7 page)

She might have missed the homemade sign, propped up between the mailbox and the little red flag, if her headlights had not shone directly on the words
Room For Rent
, in big, bold letters.

Pulling cautiously into the driveway, Melissa sat there with the car idling, giving her full attention to a tidy front-gable brick cottage. The land stretched out on either side, dwarfing the house somewhat. When she shut off the ignition, she could hear a host of crickets chirping through the car window. What peace! She longed to sit still, staring up at the expanse of sky and the sliver of a moon.

The front porch light beckoned to her, and she saw that a lovely grapevine wreath with blazing scarlet sage interspersed with ivy and other greenery made for a quaint greeting. Several lamps were still lit throughout the whole house.

Is it too late to knock?
she wondered.

Melissa checked the time on the dashboard and saw that it was nearly nine o’clock. She hesitated, thinking how she would feel about company at such a time—
if
she were still at home. But the sign on the mailbox seemed to indicate a vacancy, and now that she looked, there was a sign in the front window, as well.

Getting out of the car, she hurried up the porch steps, realizing she needn’t rush anymore. She was fairly safe here on the back byways of Lancaster County. She lifted her hand to ring the bell when the door opened and a woman, not many years older than Melissa, greeted her with a warm smile. “Hello, there,” the Plain woman said. “Are you looking for a room?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Melissa replied, noticing the small netting-type cap, the hair bun beneath, the high neckline, tucked bodice, and long, flowing dress with tiny lavender flowers. The very garb Ali had been so eager to discuss. “I might be staying only one night, if that’s all right.”

“Oh yes … ’Course you can stay as long or as short as you please.” The screen door was opened to her and she was welcomed inside. “Please, just make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.” Melissa felt strange, not knowing the woman’s name, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she followed the slender brunette up the stairs, where she was shown the spare room and agreed to take it. She was surprised at the price. Thirty dollars per night, including breakfast. The lovely room would be offered at a discount if she decided to stay longer.

“My name is Lela Denlinger,” the cheerful woman said.

“I’m Melissa.” She gave only her first name, purposely. “I suppose you have a telephone?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t stumbled into an Amish household where phones were taboo.

Lela smiled, pointing to the phone in the kitchen. “Oh my, yes, and you’re welcome to use it anytime. My home is your home … for as long as you choose to stay.”

Well,
this
wasn’t the sort of reception she’d expected. Relieved, Melissa hurried to the car for her single piece of luggage.

“I pack very light,” she explained when Lela eyed the overnight case.

“Feel free to help yourself to anything you find in the refrigerator,” Lela offered.

More perks than Melissa ever expected. The more she chatted with Lela, the more she genuinely liked the cottagelike retreat, as well as its owner. She’d stumbled onto a haven, of sorts. A sanctuary at last.

She waited until the house was quiet, grateful that Lela had left a lamp on in both the living room and the kitchen. At last she had access to a “safe” telephone. Digging into her pants pocket, she found the important number and dialed.

Then to her acute frustration she reached only an answering machine. “Please leave a message at the tone or dial my pager at this number—555-0097,” the recorded voice directed.

Well, I guess it’s better than nothing
, Melissa thought. In the dimly lit kitchen, she spoke clearly into the phone, reading off the rather faded number printed on Lela Denlinger’s telephone. Hanging up, she sighed, feeling bone tired, weary … but at peace, strangely enough.

  
Chapter Eight
  

RYAN AWAKENED SATURDAY to the distant cry of sea gulls. Morning light slipped into the room between the horizontal blinds, signaling the end of an arduous night. His sleep had been fitful, real rest elusive. The clock radio beamed the time: five-thirty-three. Any hope of further slumber evaporated as he glanced at Melissa’s side of the bed. How many times had he awakened that night, searching for her, only to experience fresh disappointment each time his brain registered her absence?

Slipping into his robe, he tightened the belt and went downstairs to make coffee. Morning ritual. Daisy followed him into the kitchen, then disappeared through the doggie door while Ryan ground coffee. The hum of the percolator disturbed the stillness, mimicking the sounds of a normal day. Yet today was anything
but
normal.

As he fully awakened, his mind began to race again, as he thought of Melissa out there somewhere, running away, running from …
what?

Daisy lumbered back through her door and set her expectant gaze on Ryan. Padding to her food dish, she sniffed a little, disdaining the unappetizing crunchy breakfast. She slinked gloomily into the living room and located the spot where a future sunbeam was sure to find her.

Ryan poured his coffee, sipped, grimaced, and poured the entire contents down the drain. He headed upstairs to shower, reliving last night’s flurry of activity and phone calls, having finally phoned the police. Around nine o’clock, two policemen had sauntered to the door as if they had all the time in the world. Once inside the house, they poked around and asked the standard formulaic questions. When they saw Melissa’s “good-bye letter,” their shared glance said it all.

For the next hour the tenor of the discussion changed dramatically. Instead of initiating a rapid search for his wife, they began to treat Ryan as a
suspect
.

Struggling with frustration and worry, Ryan patiently endured their insinuating questions. Finally, one of the policemen stated outright, “There’s no sign of foul play, Mr. James. People are free to come and go as they wish. Unless of course … you haven’t told us everything.”

Ryan was glad to see them leave. They glibly promised to “keep an eye out,” then strolled out the front door, presumably to get on with real police business. He was on his own.

Later Denny called back as he had promised and insisted on flying in anyway, to be the proverbial good friend in this “time of trouble.” Ryan had felt somewhat relieved, but in the end it didn’t matter whether Denny came to visit or not. Only Melissa’s safe return could bring him comfort now.

Before getting into the shower, Ryan turned on the water, adjusting the hot and cold, then grabbed the cordless phone receiver and placed it above the shower frame.

Just in case.

Several times during the night, Melissa had awakened, breaking out in cold perspiration. Each realization of her situation brought a fresh assault of fear. Now, muddled and confused, she pieced together yesterday’s events. The unexpected encounter at the restaurant in downtown Mystic, her ultimate desperate flight.

She struggled to sit up in bed, but only briefly. Her head throbbed with the least exertion.
What must Ryan think of me?
she wondered, sinking back against the pillows again.
He must be desperate with worry
. On more than one occasion she had been tempted to call him but had resisted.

It was then that she thought of corresponding with Ryan by e-mail. That should be safe, shouldn’t it? The notion gave her hope, though only a flicker. She remembered reading news accounts of on-line virus creators and senders—there must be ways to trace such offenders. If the authorities could locate hackers, then she, too, could be found. Her spirits sank.

In the distance, the sound of horses’ hooves tapping the pavement piqued her curiosity. And yet another … what was
that
sound? She strained, listening. Such a familiar yet foreign sound—the unmistakable rattle of carriage wheels.

What on earth?

She sprang out of bed, taking no time to bother with slippers. Standing in the dormer window, she peered down at the road below and was amazed to see a horse and buggy hurrying along. Where were they headed at this hour?

Melissa glimpsed the driver—a young woman in a dark dress and apron, wearing a little white cap on her head—with a girl at her side, dressed similarly. She guessed they were Amish, the peace-loving sect Ali and her husband had so enthusiastically discussed after visiting here.

It’s a real-life Jane Austen movie
, she thought, momentarily pleased at the sight. She stood in awe, watching the carriage and horse until they disappeared from view.

Turning from the window, she inspected the room by dawn’s light. The bed—surely an antique—was framed by a large brass headboard and footboard. Nearby, the bold scale and fine patina of the cherry bureau reminded her of a dresser owned by Nana Clark. She recalled how thrilled Nana had been to discover such a “find,” for her grandmother adored antique furniture.

Sighing, she went and sat in the floral chair in a cozy nook, complete with built-in bookshelves and a gleaming brass floor lamp. The room was even more spacious than her own at home. Tucked way at one end of the room was a second sleeping area, where a single bed nestled behind hand-painted flowery curtains of gentle yellow and lavender. A small wicker table, painted solid yellow, anchored the sitting area.

Leaning back, she felt her muscles relax against the chair. In spite of her anxiety, she knew she’d made a good choice by coming here. After a time she reached for one of the many books behind her and, thumbing through, discovered the author to be a Mennonite minister. So was Lela also a member of the conservative group? Curious to know more about Plain tradition, she read several chapters before returning the book to its shelf.

Then, tiptoeing back to the bed, she sat down, staring at the rag rug beneath her feet. How had she stumbled upon such a whimsical cottage? And what of Lela Denlinger? The woman had been unusually friendly, welcoming Melissa as though an anticipated guest, even family. Was this typical for Plain folk?

The sound of further
clip-clops
enticed her back to the window. Below her, several buggies, spaced as if by an invisible hand, made their way down the road in front of the house. An undeniable calm swept over her as she watched, and for a moment, she felt safe. Safe, for the first time since yesterday morning when Ryan had kissed her good-bye.

Safe …

All too quickly, she recalled the startling circumstances by which she had come to this idyllic setting. She washed and dressed for the day, wondering when the phone would ring for her.