“That’s kind of you but no thanks.” I waved away her offer. “I prefer the cabin. My concern is we don’t know why someone shot a bullet into your tire.”
“Probably just kids.”
He leaned into me, nose to nose. “I don’t want the likes of you influencing Edie. Neither do I want you around my friends or family. I want you out of our community.”
“Stop it.” Edie’s voice echoed around us. “Pushing your weight around makes you look like a bully on steroids. I want to get Shelby settled into the cabin and then home to my kids. Are you driving us, or do we walk?”
I didn’t need anyone to fight my battles, although she knew her brother better than I did. He wanted to protect her from trouble . . . namely me.
“Get in,” he said. “I’ll take you.”
“Not one more ugly word to Shelby. You hear me? I’ve had enough from the chairman of the unwelcome committee.”
Others must have voiced their opinions about helping me.
He scowled and strutted like a rooster to the cruiser. At the door, he whirled around and shook his finger at me. “When I get to the bottom of this, you’re heading right back to prison.”
Fear coiled around my heart for too many reasons to list. Should I go through with his earlier request to take the morning bus to another town? Two surprises had blindsided me—my dad claiming I’d threatened the family and someone firing a bullet into Edie’s tire.
I’d thought of little else but freedom for years. But was I ready to leap into the unknown?
4
Sunlight filtered through the bedroom window above my head, an amenity I’d once taken for granted. Despite the mix of emotions assaulting me about being shot at and a disagreeable police officer, I’d slept in my own bed. In my own home. And wearing soft pale-green pajamas—a gift from Edie. Did she know the color green often signified healing?
Last night after she’d shown me the cabin and bidden me good night, I walked through each of the five rooms, exploring and praying for my fresh start. No spiders caught my attention. Sometime after midnight, the rain stopped. My mind ceased to deliberate the myriad problems ahead and those who stalked me, and I yielded to sleep.
This morning through fog-laden eyes, I admired my rustic bedroom. I stared up from a chunky, four-poster bed to a light pine-beamed ceiling and inhaled the sweet peace that cradled me. Perhaps my joy came from the homey wood, varying textures, and endearing fabrics woven together to create a homespun feel. I drew my fingers over the quilt covering me and touched the threads of the perfectly crafted pieces of a star pattern symbolizing the Lone Star State. Back in high school, my interior design dreams included living in an apartment in New York City with sleek lines and huge windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. Another lifetime. Another me.
The cabin seemed to whisper that I could make it, the same thing I’d told myself since giving my life to Jesus. My fingers gripped my Bible on the nightstand—the only way to start the day. The reading came from Psalm 139: “O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me!” Trusting in Him superseded everything else. I finished the passage with more optimism than the depression attacking me the previous night.
After swinging my legs over the bed, I lingered on the scent of freedom and lavender potpourri, a strange but incredible mix that seemed to shake off my trepidation about the future. In the kitchen, I rummaged through the fridge and small pantry. Edie had stocked me with enough to feed a family of four for a week. My favorite luxury sat on a tan-and-cream marbled counter—coffee beans, a grinder, and an upscale coffee maker. Soon the smell of freshly roasted coffee tickled my taste buds.
Before prison, I’d dabbled in the taste of coffee with no preference either way. In prison, I found it disgusting but the caffeine necessary to survive. The smooth, bold flavor of my sip this gorgeous morning sent me soaring into paradise.
Edie’s kindness blessed me. How could one woman shine love all around her? She’d lived through tragedy too, not of her own making. For that, we were sister-survivors.
Barefoot, I took my mug outside, and the coffee tasted even better with the sounds of birds and fresh smell of clean air. A robin perched in a tree, singing a crisp tune. Stepping gingerly over the driveway’s gravel, I made my way to the grass. Oh, the feel of the soft blades between my toes and tickling my feet. I leaned my head back and let the sun bathe me in delicious warmth. Never again would I take the taste, smell, sound, touch, and sights of nature for granted. Bright. Beautiful. Full of vitality.
I missed my family, but my decision was vested in love.
Back inside, I reached inside my backpack and placed one of my treasured possessions on my nightstand. For my twelfth birthday, Dad had given me a kaleidoscope. He showed me how the pieces of colored glass formed intricate designs. I’d spend hours creating patterns and sketching them until interior design attracted my interest. That kaleidoscope went with me to prison. The intricacy of color helped me process the valleys and mountains of my life journey. I simply applied bright colors in place of dark and gray.
A knock at the door startled me. Neither the sound of tires crunching pea gravel nor a car door slamming had given me any indication of a visitor. I walked to the window and took a look. A cowboy or cowgirl had paid a call. Not Officer Hughes, whom I’d nicknamed Bubba Valleysburg.
I opened the door to a mostly white-haired man, more like premature white because only a few lines fanned from his brown eyes. “Can I help you?”
A smile greeted me, framed by a salt-and-pepper mustache and a goatee. “Hey, I’m Denton McClure. I live on the other side of the woods.” A slow drawl rolled off his tongue. “I heard you’d moved in from Edie. Wanted to introduce myself. Give you my cell number in case you need something.”
“How kind of you. I moved in late last night.” I glanced at my pajamas. “I apologize for my lack of dress.”
“It’s early, and I’m sure you had a late night.” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, I smell coffee. For sure another day. You must have plenty to do, so I’ll leave you alone.” He handed me a folded piece of paper. “My number’s there, and your name?”
Heat rose into my face for not offering it earlier. “Sorry. I’m Shelby Pearce. Pleased to meet you, but I don’t have a phone yet.”
“Just text me when you do. That way we can keep in touch.”
First I needed to buy a phone and figure out how to text.
“We’re isolated here,” he continued, “and you don’t seem to have a car. I believe neighbors should look out for each other.”
He said goodbye and rode off on his horse . . . sorta like one of the many John Wayne Westerns I used to watch with Dad. Denton’s dark eyes had studied me in a type of peculiar curiosity. Trust him or beware? I’d play it safe and not return the good-neighbor persona. The truth about me would rise like smoke signals soon enough.
Someone had laid the foundation for trouble last night with a gunshot. Until I found out who was responsible, Officer Hughes and Denton McClure weren’t above suspicion.
5
Prison had given me hours to deliberate life. In my seventeen-year-old naiveté, I had never imagined Dad and Mom’s abandonment or a prison sentence. When first charged with murder, I’d thought my age would soften the judge’s heart. I’d land a few years in juvenile jail and lengthy probation linked with community service. In essence have my hands smacked. That didn’t happen. As the years inched by, I learned my parents protested my parole three times. I might never learn all the reasons why they chose to close the door on our relationship. Although I had confessed to a horrendous crime. Once I’d gotten past the feeling-sorry-for-myself syndrome, I chose to make the best of my circumstances by pursuing an undergrad and master’s degree in business.