Gathering Shadows (8 page)

As my eyes swept the empty street, I was startled to see August, the cook from The Oil Lamp Restaurant, leaning against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette. His intense expression appeared almost menacing. Could he have been outside my room last night? I still wasn't convinced anyone had actually been there, but seeing him now made me wonder.

Feeling uneasy, I turned to go back inside, but as I reached for the front doorknob, I noticed the lid to Esther's mailbox hanging open. Several pieces of mail dangled precariously. Afraid the wind might blow them away, I pulled everything out and closed the lid.

I was juggling them together when I noticed the top piece of mail was a large envelope with my name scrawled on it. There was no postmark. Obviously someone had stuck it in the box with all the other mail. A chill ran through me. I swung around, wondering if August had left it for me. He was gone. I looked down the street, but he was nowhere to be seen. Even though I could no longer see him, I couldn't shake an eerie feeling of
being watched. “Get a grip, Wynter,” I mumbled to myself. I glanced down at the envelope again. Could it be another threat?

I'd just closed the door behind me when Esther came into the living room with two cups of coffee.

“I brought in your mail.”

“Oh, thank you, dear. Would you put it on the table by the door?”

I put all the other envelopes on the table but held on to the one with my name on it. “I found something in your mailbox for me.”

“I asked Martha to print up some information about Sanctuary and send it over,” Esther said. “That must be it.”

“Oh, great. Thank you.” Breathing a sigh of relief, I put the envelope on the coffee table.

Esther and I spent the next hour talking. She was a wealth of information about the town, although a lot of what she said echoed what Reuben had already told me.

Once she'd exhausted her knowledge about Sanctuary, I directed my questions toward the Mennonite Church and its beliefs. “Esther, I notice you wear a prayer covering all the time. Can you tell me why?”

“Some Mennonites wear one because it's a tradition. Covering a woman's head was a custom in the early church. It isn't one now and shouldn't be something done for the wrong reasons. I'm afraid some in our church have made it a source of pride, as if wearing a covering makes us more spiritual than others. For me, personally, I wear a prayer covering to remind myself that Christ is my head. That my life, my mind, my entire personality, is covered with His love and grace. That He is the one who covers me.” She smiled. “Does that answer your question?”

I nodded. “That's beautiful. I have to admit I've wondered if your church judges those who don't believe the same way.”

“Oh, honey. Churches aren't judgmental. People are. Unfortunately, even in Sanctuary, I hear these kinds of blanket judgments. This church is wrong, this teacher is wrong, on and on and on. I go to only one church, and the Word of God is my teacher. I don't throw around my opinions about others. I believe we'll all have to give an account of our careless words someday, and I don't want to have to explain to God why I was bad-mouthing a preacher I don't know or a church I've never attended. How silly is that?”

As if emphasizing her words, the storm outside finally broke, and the sound of rain hit the roof. It was a relaxing sound. I suddenly wished I had a book to curl up with in my comfortable room.

“I hear the same thing,” I said. “I think it's one of the reasons I haven't been to church for so long. At work, I see enough backstabbing and gossip. Listening to it from Christians turns me off.”

“And that's the worst part, isn't it?” Esther said sadly. “It's not a very good witness to the world.”

“No, it's not.” Even though Reuben had answered my questions about the Fishers, I decided to broach the subject with Esther. “I met a teenager in town. Elijah Fisher? His family is conservative Mennonite?”

She nodded. “A wonderful young man. He's a blessing to this town, and to me. Always willing to help anyone who needs it.”

“I found him interesting. You know, a teenager living such a simple life. What do you know about him? Was he raised Mennonite?”

“I don't actually know. His family moved here when he was
young. Maybe ten years ago. I'm not sure. His parents are dear friends of mine.” She looked at me through narrowed eyes. “There are other conservative Mennonite young people in Sanctuary. Is there something about him that troubles you?”

I smiled. “No, not at all. Just curious.” Not wanting to raise her suspicions, I decided to back off. It was clear I needed to find out more about Elijah before he came to Sanctuary. “Well, thank you for talking to me, Esther. I really appreciate your help.”

“I'm not sure what you have planned for tomorrow, but you might have a hard time talking to folks on Sunday. It's the Lord's Day in Sanctuary.”

“That's fine. Zac and I have a couple of other places to visit. If we can get some interviews set up for Monday and Tuesday, that would be great.”

“I don't think you'll have any problems.” Esther took a bite of her cookie. “What time will you leave tomorrow?”

“After lunch. These other towns are close-by.”

“Oh, good. Then you will be able to attend church in the morning. If you want to understand Sanctuary, you must include our faith. It is the foundation of who we are.” She smiled. “Sanctuary Mennonite starts at nine, and Agape Fellowship begins their services at nine-thirty. I realize you can't attend both churches at the same time. And although I'm sure you will be able to interview some people at Agape, it won't be allowed at Sanctuary Mennonite.”

I nodded slowly. “Actually, I'd like to attend both, but why don't I start with Agape?” Esther looked a little disappointed. I wanted to go to her church, especially because the Fishers attended, but I needed some film. I thought for a moment. “Esther, does your church have any other services?”

“Tomorrow night at six o'clock.”

I frowned and shook my head. “I'm afraid we won't be back by then.”

“We do have two Wednesday meetings a month, but our next meeting isn't until next week.”

“We have other places to visit, and even after we get back to St. Louis, everything we've filmed will spend time in editing. There's still plenty of time. How's this? I'll try to make it to your church next Sunday. If I can't do that, we'll be back here for your Wednesday service.”

Esther's face lit up with a huge smile. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

“Do we need permission to attend?”

“No,” she said with a light laugh. “We're a church. We do encourage people to attend, Wynter.”

“Do I have to . . . I mean, should I . . .”

This time she chuckled heartily, her face wrinkling in amusement. “No, you don't have to dress like we do. Just dress modestly. You'll be fine.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Esther.”

She nodded. “I'm so glad I can help you.”

I stood up. “I can't thank you enough for your hospitality.”

“You are very welcome, dear. It's so nice to have company. This house has been too quiet.” She handed me the plate of cookies. “Why don't you take these upstairs for Zac? And tell him there's coffee on the stove and fresh lemonade in the refrigerator. You two help yourself to anything you want.”

I smiled. “It's going to be hard to say good-bye. You're spoiling us, Esther. You're an amazing hostess.”

She shook her head. “You've truly given me much more than I have given you. I'm so thankful to have new friends.”

“We are too.”

She sniffed a few times and dabbed at her eyes. “Dinner will be at six. Reuben said he would join us tonight.”

“Sounds wonderful. I have a little work to do before then.”

“You go right ahead. I plan to take a nap. When you're my age, a nap becomes a requirement.”

I grabbed the envelope I'd put on the table and headed upstairs. Frances, a beautiful calico cat, ran past me, probably on the way to my room. I stopped to listen at Zac's door and could hear him clicking away on his keyboard. I knocked softly and after a few seconds, he swung it open. I handed him the plate of cookies.

“From Esther. She said to tell you there is coffee on the stove and lemonade in the fridge.”

“Thanks. She made me a huge sandwich for lunch. I'm not sure I can eat anything else.”

“Wait until you taste these. If you don't finish every last one, I'll eat the plate.”

“I'm gonna weigh five hundred pounds by the time we leave this place.”

“Wouldn't hurt you to put some meat on your bones.”

“Thanks.” He pointed at his camera bag. “Ready to get something on film?”

“I don't think so. Let's wait for Reuben to set up a few more interviews. I think I'd rather knock most of it off at once instead of bothering these people in bits and pieces. I get the feeling that will go over better. The more they see us, the more they won't want to see us. Does that make sense?”

He nodded. “I guess so. I feel like I'm not accomplishing much.”

“Well, tomorrow we'll get some good stuff in a couple of other nearby towns. At least we'll be moving forward. I'm going to
work on our schedule and go over some historical information Martha sent me. Oh, and we eat again at six.”

“Great. I might need help rolling down the stairs, so wait for me, okay? We'll go down together.”

I laughed and said good-bye as he closed his door. By the time I got to my room, I was actually feeling a bit sleepy. Had to be the slow, small-town atmosphere getting to me and the sound of rain on the roof.

I kicked off my shoes, got the little stool, and after moving Frances over a bit, climbed up on top of the quilt. I pulled my laptop next to me but decided to look over Martha's information first. However, after I opened the envelope and looked at the pages inside, I almost fell out of the bed—which could have had dire consequences since I was so far from the ground. The pages didn't contain the history of Sanctuary. They were clippings from newspapers. All of them about babies kidnapped from Missouri hospitals.

“What does this mean?” Zac looked through all the pages I'd found in the envelope. He looked as mystified as I felt.

I plopped down in the chair. “Obviously, someone in Sanctuary wants us to look into this. Maybe they think the person who committed these kidnappings lives here.”

“But where's the cryptic note with the clue we need to find the kidnapper?”

I grinned at him. “Why does the note always have to be cryptic? Why can't it just say, ‘Here is the name of the person who took these babies, and here is the address where you can find him or her'?”

“Because it's never that easy. Not in any of the books I read anyway.”

“Well, it should be.” I rubbed my temples, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache. News stations were always getting “stories” from tipsters whose imaginations were much more active than their common sense. “I'm happy to look into this but not right now. Finding out the truth about Elijah comes first. Besides, we have to get something on tape for our report.
This could be nothing more than someone's vivid imagination. That cook from the restaurant was standing across the street when I found the envelope. Maybe he put it there.”

Zac gulped. “Oh, great. So if we don't investigate, he'll poison our food? I'm not eating in that restaurant.”

I smiled at him. “Now who's paranoid?”

He stared down at one of the pages. “You don't think this could be connected to your brother in some way, do you?”

“How could it be? Ryan wasn't a baby.”

Zac's eyes narrowed. “But he went missing. Just like these children.”

“All of those incidents happened in Missouri. Ryan was taken in Illinois.”

“It's not that far away, Wynter. Just over the bridge. And perhaps you're forgetting that if Elijah is Ryan, you found him in Missouri.”

“I don't know.” I took the pages from him, folded them, and put them back in the envelope. “I'll look this over later.”

Zac shook his head. “There's definitely something going on in this town, and I intend to find out what it is.”

“Or maybe we're just chasing shadows,” I said with a sigh. “I'd hate to lose my job over a wild-goose chase.”

Zac frowned up at me. “You're not getting cold feet, are you?”

I leaned against the closed door. “I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired. Or maybe it's bringing all this up again. Feels overwhelming.”

Zac studied me carefully. “I guess it would be. Sorry. I don't mean to be insensitive.”

“You're not. Sharing my situation with you has been cathar
tic. But walking back into this darkness is difficult. My emotions are out of control.”

He nodded. “We'll talk more tomorrow on the road. By the way, where are we going? To Jamesport?”

“No, it's too far. Would take us over ten hours. Besides, I can't use it for our report. But somehow I need to find out about the time the Fishers spent there.”

Zac flipped over to another screen on his laptop. “I have a friend in St. Joe who works for a local newspaper. He's done some investigating. Jamesport is only about an hour away from St. Joe. Why don't I ask him to pop over and ask around a bit?”

“I don't know. Telling you about my past has been hard enough, and I don't know your friend.”

“I won't tell him about Ryan. I'll just ask him to nose around. Get what information he can about the Fishers. He doesn't need to know why.”

I turned the idea over in my mind. Obviously, if Elijah had been born in Jamesport, I was wasting my time. But if we caught Elijah in a lie, things would certainly become much more interesting. “Okay,” I said finally, “but tell your friend to be careful. I don't want the Fishers to find out we were asking questions about them.”

“I'll tell him it's background information for a possible story and that he needs to fly under the radar. I'll also offer to reimburse him for his lunch.” Zac grinned. “This guy would drive anywhere for a good meal.”

“Thanks, Zac.”

“No problem. By the way, you never told me where we're going tomorrow.”

“We'll head to Bonne Terre and visit the mines. If we have
time, we'll go to the Black Madonna Shrine and Grottos near Eureka.”

Zac's eyebrows shot up. “The what near where?”

“A place that will fit right in with Ed's desire to find spots most Missourians haven't heard of. It's really pretty cool.” I grinned at him. “I've heard miracles happen there.”

He blew out a quick breath. “Well, we could certainly use one, huh?”

“You've got that right.”

“What time are we leaving?”

“After lunch. And . . . after church.”

His eyes widened, and he gave me a thin smile. “Whoa. You let me know when you're out. I'll be waiting here.”

“No, I want you there. We'll need some film.”

“I thought Mennonites—”

“We're going to the other church. I'm thinking we'll get some great shots and a few short interviews.”

He stared at his computer screen as if it could offer him a way of escape. “Can I wait outside?”

“No, Zac. Part of the job.”

I wasn't being completely honest with him. Since coming to Sanctuary, my lack of church attendance had started to bother me. Not sure why, but for the first time since Ryan's disappearance, I felt the desire to go back. The idea frightened me a little, and I didn't want to go alone. Besides, maybe it would do Zac some good. I had no idea why he hated everything spiritual, but if he enjoyed himself tomorrow, perhaps it would help him. At least that's what I told myself. I wasn't ready to admit to anyone that it might help me too.

Zac shook his head. “Okay, but I'm doing this under duress.”

I grinned. “Whatever it takes to get you in church.” I looked down at my watch. “It's a little after four-thirty. I'll meet you outside your door at five 'til six.”

“You're really just trying to pay me back for what I did to you, right? Making me go to church.” He sighed deeply. “Boy, try to sabotage someone one time, and they never forget it.”

I couldn't hold back a giggle. “You're too much, Zac. Really.”

As I turned to leave, I saw him smile. I was really starting to like Zac. What a difference a day made.

My headache had gotten worse, so I took an aspirin and lay down. After a few minutes, I nodded off. Even though I'd only seen it in pictures, I dreamt about the Black Madonna Shrine. I was standing in front of it when the face moved. Out of the lips came my brother's voice calling my name. “Emily, please find me. Don't give up. Help me.” Startled, I sat straight up in bed, and put my hand over my mouth. A loud noise echoed in my head. Had I actually screamed or had I been dreaming? I wiped the back of my hand against my forehead. It was covered with sweat. Shaking, I got out of the bed, using my little stool to help me down. I'd taken my clothes off and was in my underwear when a knock came at the door. “Just a minute,” I said loudly. I quickly pulled on my dress pants and shirt. When I opened the door, Zac stood there, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Did . . . did I yell?”

“I wouldn't call it yelling. More like a bloodcurdling scream. Almost scared me to death.” He pushed past me, looking over the room. “I thought you were being murdered.”

I lowered myself down onto the couch, my body still trembling. “No. Just another dream about my brother.” I pushed the hair out of my face. “Do you think Esther heard me?”

“I doubt it. I noticed she wears a hearing aid. Besides, I believe she's sleeping. I went down a few minutes ago to get some lemonade, and she wasn't around. The door to her room was closed.”

“Good.”

Zac studied me carefully. “You didn't tell me these dreams of yours were so scary.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes they're not. But there have been some doozies. This was one of them.”

“I'm sorry, Wynter. I really am.” He started to leave but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “You're not alone, you know. Thanks for telling me the truth about Ryan. You won't be sorry. I intend to do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Zac.”

I locked the door behind him, though I wasn't certain why. The dream made me feel weak and frightened. I checked the time. Thirty minutes until dinner. I grabbed some fresh clothes and hurried to the bathroom. A short, cool shower helped. I dried my hair and quickly braided it. By the time I left the bathroom, I felt a lot better. After putting my dirty clothes back in my room, I hurried out to the hall and found Zac waiting for me. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, we were greeted by the aroma of something wonderful. My stomach churned with anticipation.

“Oh no,” Zac mumbled. “Here we go again.”

As we entered the dining room, we found Reuben already waiting.

“Good evening,” he said with a smile. “Hope you're hungry. Esther's been cooking up a storm.”

His rugged good looks were accented by a black sweater and jeans. My breath caught when I saw him. I tried to cover up my reaction by coughing lightly.

“I wasn't hungry until I smelled dinner cooking,” Zac said. “What are we having?”

Reuben shook his head. “A Mennonite dish, Zac. Not sure you'll like it.”

Zac plopped down at the table. “Since we got here, I've eaten enough for four people. And liked every single thing.”

Esther came into the room carrying a plate. “Reuben King, just what are you telling Zac? Shame on you.” She sat the dish down on the table. “We're having fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Nothing to fear.”

Zac grinned. “I'm not afraid of your food, Esther. My only fear is not being able to get into my clothes. Usually I don't eat much. Fruit, yogurt, granola bars—whatever's handy.” He let out a long sigh. “When I get home, I may have to learn to cook. Don't think I can go back to the way things were.”

I patted him on the back. “Women love a man who can cook. You'll be a catch.”

Zac frowned. “I'll have you know I don't have any problem getting dates. So far, no one's questioned my culinary skills.”

I laughed. “Esther, let me help you.”

“Thank you, Wynter,” she said with a smile. “If you would carry in a few things, I would appreciate it.”

“I'll help too,” Reuben said, standing to his feet.

Esther waved her hand at him. “You sit down. Wynter and I can get it.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, and I followed her into the kitchen. For someone who lived a simple life, Esther's kitchen was pretty modern, except for the old gas stove across from the kitchen sink. I'd seen pictures of those ancient appliances. Huge, with two doors below and a large cooktop. Esther caught me looking at it.

“That stove belonged to my grandmother, and then my mother. Now it's mine.” She smiled. “I wouldn't use anything else. In my opinion it does a much better job than any modern appliance available today.”

“I believe it. You know, my mom used to be a good cook too.”

Esther put a large platter of fried chicken into my hands. “Did you tell me she'd passed?”

“No. She's still alive. She just doesn't cook much anymore.”

“Oh?”

Esther studied my face as if waiting for an explanation. I couldn't come up with anything except a lie—or the truth—and I wasn't willing to share either.

“I-I'll take this in and come back,” I said quickly. When I walked into the dining room, Reuben jumped up and took the huge platter from my hands and set it on the table. “I'll be back,” I said. When I whirled around, I almost knocked Esther down.

“Just a couple more things,” Esther said, “and we'll be ready to eat.”

“Are you sure Zac and I can't help?” Reuben asked.

Esther smiled at him. “Thank you, Reuben, but we're fine. Maybe you and Zac can clear the table later.” She sat a big bowl of mashed potatoes down on the corner of the table. “You know, I was taught that women should serve the meals without help from the men.”

“Do you still believe that?” I asked, slightly horrified by her statement.

She shook her head. “No, but I love preparing and serving food for my friends. I have more trouble with some of the other traditions that were taught to me as a child.”

“Like what?” Zac asked.

“Like excommunicating members of the church for disobedience.”

“I thought Mennonites didn't shun people,” I said.

“We don't,” Esther answered. “Shunning means a member is not only expelled from church but also rejected by his family and friends. Mennonites don't do that, but the church used to be harsher when I was young. Now we try to work with members who are struggling. And we pray.” She shook her head. “I have to be careful though. Some of those old judgments find their way into my mind sometimes. I fight them, because more than anything, I want to please God. I know now that God desires mercy and not judgment, so I try hard to be merciful. Some of my friends have a tougher time changing their old habits. They stay in comfortable patterns instilled in them many years ago. But I want God to challenge me. To reveal truth to me. The more I seek His wisdom, the more I know Him. And to me, knowing Him is everything.”