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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781509219643 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Wild Rose Press |
| Publication date: | 04/16/2018 |
| Pages: | 164 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.35(d) |
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Greeneville, Tennessee, August 2016
Sarah Haskins looked at the clock on her computer as she connected with the next ringing line. Lord, please let my replacement be on time. If I have one more death call this day, it will send me right over the edge.
"9-1-1, what's the address of your emergency?"
"Hello, is this the fire department?"
"We dispatch for fire, ma'am. What is the address of your emergency?" Sarah said firmly.
"Well ... I don't know if it's an emergency ..." The voice faded away. If a voice could paint a picture, then Sarah was talking to a frail little woman with white hair.
"Ma'am, what is your address?" Why couldn't they just answer the questions? It would make her life so much easier.
"Dear, could you send a fire truck with a tall ladder out here? My little Whiskers is stuck up in a tree and won't come down, and I'm afraid she is going to starve ..." Now the fading voice was accompanied by tears.
"Ma'am, I cannot send you a fire truck to get your Whiskers down. Do you have a can of tuna in the house?"
"Well, yes, I think so," answered the "white-haired" voice.
"All right, sweetie, I want you to open the tuna can all the way and take the top completely off the can. Now, take it outside and wave it around under the tree so Whiskers can see you. Then set the can down at the base of the tree and go back inside. I promise you, Whiskers will come down to eat. Okay?"
Thank the Lord! There was Beverly coming through the door now.
"Did you hear me, dear?"
"Yes ... are you sure she will come down?" came the tearful inquiry.
"If she's not down by tomorrow morning, then you just call us right back, okay?" Sarah used her most soothing voice as she gathered her things together. And tomorrow it would be someone else's problem, because Sarah had the next three weeks off. She hadn't taken a vacation in years and had accrued the limit in comp time. So it was vacation time, whether she liked it or not.
"All right, young lady, and thank you."
"So, how did the good folks of Greene County treat you today?" Beverly asked, as she sat in the still warm chair and adjusted her headset.
"Honey, I am so glad to see you I could just kiss you. I've had two heart attacks, both DOA, one suspicious package that shut the high school down for two hours, and a possible meth lab explosion out toward Parrotsville, off the 340, that had traffic backed up most of the morning. Let's just say there's a glass of wine screaming my name, and I'm about to go shut it up."
Beverly laughed as she plugged herself into the computer. "Well, go ahead and have a glass for me, 'cause you know my night's not gonna be a bit better. Try to enjoy your vacation."
"Oh, don't you worry about that. I've got three long weeks to purge this place from my head."
Sarah stuffed her jump-bag behind the seat of her truck and headed for home. Home to an empty cabin that was too big for her, on twenty-three acres that kept her separated from any neighbors. She could feel the adrenalin levels start to taper off as she drove. When you had no personal life, and your co-workers were the closest thing to family that you could claim, your job became all-consuming.
It had been all right when Uncle Fred was still alive. Caring for him helped her forget the really bad choices she had made.
She could barely remember the faces of her parents. She'd been seven years old when they skidded off the mountain near Gatlinburg. Fred and Thelma had taken her in and loved her as if she'd been theirs all along. They were much older than her parents, so her upbringing was a little different than most of her school friends. While other kids played video games and attended dances and such, Sarah learned to hunt and fish. She knew how to sew her own clothes, and she was a pretty darn good cook, which was handy after Aunt Thelma was diagnosed with cancer. So instead of going off to college, Sarah had taken a local job, with the Greene County Sheriff's Office, to better care for the only family she had left.
It was completely dark when she turned off the main road, checked her mailbox, and started her favorite part of the drive home. If she was lucky, she might see some deer. Those beautiful, sweet faces always seemed to calm her. It kept her from "seeing" the faces of the voices she dealt with during the day: the little old lady screaming that her husband was having a heart attack, so hysterical that you couldn't get her to even try CPR; or the single mom screaming in the background as her boyfriend beat her senseless for the third time this year.
Sarah exhaled slowly and deeply, trying to banish all the ugliness from her mind, as she parked the truck behind the cabin.
The motion detectors lit up the exterior of what could only be called a rustic palace. Her uncle had covered the two acres nearest the cabin with gardens to rival anything seen on television. Aunt Thelma's happiness was all that had mattered to him, and in the weeks before her passing, he'd wheel her into the gardens to spend hours reading to her.
That was true love. That was the kind of love Sarah had witnessed growing up, and she would never settle for less again. She was depending on the good Lord to lead her to the right man, next time around. If there ever was a next time.
At twenty-four, Sarah had married a deputy. Carl had been handsome, a little edgy, and new in town. After a whirlwind courtship, they'd settled into what she'd believed would be her dream come true. Wrong. A year into the marriage, Carl put in for a transfer to B- squad, which put them working on opposite days and nights. He claimed it was so he could be closer to the in-town action and make himself more eligible for promotion. As it turned out, the only thing Carl was promoting was a good time. Sarah found herself the object of pity when a seventeen-year-old high-school senior announced that Carl was the father of her soon-to-be-born baby.
Devoting herself to caring for her uncle had kept Sarah sane during the whole debacle of Carl's firing, the divorce, and his subsequent jail sentence. Three years later found her coming home to an empty house and an equally empty life.
There were few things nowadays that gave her joy, but tomorrow she was going to relish one of those few. She had three weeks to go hunting for antiques.
* * *
Asheville had some of the finest antique stores in the South, and Sarah was looking for something unique but affordable.
"Oh, shoot," she said aloud, as she pulled the truck over to check her GPS. She must have written the address down wrong. She had searched the internet for a new place to "hunt." She looked all around but could not find Anna's Gifts & Notions anywhere. She was about to give up and go find some food when she spotted a small sign down an alley. She eased the truck down the narrow, brick-lined lane, and there it was.
She was looking at a small brick building with green shutters. From the outside, it might have been any small, faded family business. But once Sarah stepped inside, she felt a shiver run across her shoulders. She knew she was going to find an exciting treasure here. The building was deceptively small from the outside; once she was inside, it seemed to go on forever. There were cases filled with glassware and old jewelry pieces. She could see the owner had set up little vignettes here and there: a beautiful chair accompanied by a Louis XIV side table, a wingback chair with a matching, brocade footstool.
Sarah must have wandered around for at least twenty minutes before a melodious voice startled her.
"Were you searching for something in particular, dear?"
She turned to find a slender woman standing behind her. Sarah was speechless at her appearance: the woman's head was covered in shiny, jet black hair, except for an inch-wide streak of pure white that ran from the left temple back to a lovely chignon; her prominent cheekbones and Romanesque nose spoke of Native American heritage, but her eyes were a deep, dark blue. They reminded Sarah of a stormy sky.
She smiled at Sarah and tried again. "Are you interested in furniture, jewelry, or maybe pottery?"
Sarah reddened, as she realized she had been staring at the woman.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, but you remind me of a beautiful old painting that belonged to my uncle."
The woman stood silently. After another embarrassing pause, she turned and started down an aisle.
"Come along, dear. I pride myself on helping people find just what their hearts desire."
As Sarah followed her, it suddenly came to her why the woman looked so familiar. It wasn't just the hair; the woman wore a suede dress that hung loosely against her slim body. The neckline was covered in beautiful bead embroidery. Sarah shook her head. She would have to look more closely at the painting in the den, but she would be willing to swear this woman could have stepped right out of it. How odd.
The woman stepped behind a glass case and observed Sarah, as if interested in her reaction.
Sarah looked down into the case and drew in a slow breath. She could feel her heart pick up its rhythm. She was seeing some of the most breathtaking pieces of beaded jewelry she had ever come across in all her shopping trips. There were bracelets, brooches, and necklaces of all shapes and sizes. One piece held her frozen to the spot. It was an upper arm bangle. The shape, a winding snake, was common in a piece of this type, and it was the jeweled look of the beads that called to Sarah. They were arranged in such a pattern as to perfectly resemble a copperhead snake, with its head drawn back as if ready to strike. The eyes were a golden-colored glass that seemed to speak to Sarah. She was so engrossed in study of the piece that she was startled when the woman spoke.
"She is lovely, isn't she?"
Sarah stuttered, "Excuse me?"
"The goddess. She is lovely."
"The goddess? Do you mean the snake?" Sarah raised her eyes to the woman. The woman was smiling indulgently, as if Sarah were a child drooling over a piece of candy.
"Would you like to try it on?"
Sarah looked on eagerly as the woman opened the case and removed the bangle.
Sarah was not a thin girl. She carried twenty pounds more than her doctor was happy about. Years of working in the garden, carrying a rifle in the woods, and pushing first Aunt Thelma and then Uncle Fred in a wheelchair had developed some muscle in her upper arms, besides. There was a moment of insecurity as the woman extended the armlet. She would be embarrassed if it was too small.
It happened so quickly that Sarah was not sure what she'd seen. It was almost as if the jewelry had come alive and wrapped itself around her upper arm.
"It fits you perfectly."
Sarah glanced at the woman and thought she saw traces of a smug smile. As if this exotic woman knew something she did not. No, she must have imagined it.
"Yes," she sighed, "it does fit nicely. And it's beautiful. But where in the world would I wear it?"
Sarah looked back into the case. There was a piece that was more her style. A beautiful, arrowhead-shaped piece of Tennessee Paint Rock Agate. It was suspended from a rope of aged rawhide.
"How about that arrowhead necklace? I would get much more use out of that."
She reached down to remove the bangle from her arm. When she tugged on it, there was a quick sting. She looked down at her arm. The bangle had come off easily, and lay coiled in the palm of her hand, but something on it must have caught on her arm, because she found two little drops of blood where the bangle had been.
"Oh, dear," the woman exclaimed. "I am so sorry. You must have scratched yourself." She immediately produced a tissue and wiped away the droplets.
Sarah could barely see where they'd been. She handed the bangle back to the woman. "Could I see the arrowhead?"
"Of course." The woman placed the beautiful bangle back in the case carefully and then handed the rawhide rope to Sarah.
She held the smooth, cool, agate piece in the palm of her hand as she asked, "How much for this one?"
The woman smiled sweetly. "Well, this lone piece used to be part of a pair. They were said to be magical, when worn by lovers. Since I have only the one to offer you, why don't I just give it to you, as an apology for the scratch?"
Sarah considered those dark blue eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes, I am sure. Your heart knows this piece was made for you."
The woman's assertive tone made Sarah a little uncomfortable.
"All right, and thank you."
The woman started moving toward the front door. "Was there something else I can help you with?"
Sarah thought she was being brushed off, but she didn't mind, as she was suddenly tired. Must be all the overtime I've put in lately.
She followed the woman to the door. "No, ma'am, I think this will do me."
The woman smiled as she held open the door. "Yes, the heart knows what it wants."
Sarah heard the click of the lock behind her as she headed for her truck.
* * *
Sarah looked at the clock. Five-thirty. She had taken a shower, thinking it would freshen her up, maybe wash away this tiredness. She was dressed in her newest jeans, matching jacket, and her favorite boots, with her revolver strapped above the boot top. The whole ensemble paired very well with her new arrowhead necklace. But now she wasn't sure she had enough energy to ride all the way into Greeneville for supper.
"Heck," she said to the empty kitchen, "I'm not even hungry now."
She opened the fridge, took out a full bottle of Sangria, and was reaching for a glass when she remembered the painting.
"Aha! That's what I was going to do."
Sarah moved to the back of the cabin, taking along the bottle and glass.
Both Thelma and Fred had been avid readers. He, of course, lived for the hunting magazines that arrived regularly, while Thelma had been a "closet" romance reader. Uncle Fred had built a fireplace in the back wall of the cabin, and Aunt Thelma had arranged two reclining chairs in front of the beautiful river-rock wall, with an antique table between them to hold their bowls of ice cream. This had been their favorite retreat, the place where they spent hours reading and dozing, completely comfortable in their love.
Sarah set her bottle and glass on the table, then turned to the inner wall. Yep, there it was. Uncle Fred had once told her the painting had been in the family for several generations. She moved closer now, to better see the details.
"By golly," she exclaimed. "I was right!"
There, before her eyes, was the woman from the store. Same streak of white in her hair, standing in a forest, with beams of golden light shining around her. There was a large stag with his head thrown back, as if challenging her presence in his domain. She had one hand extended toward him, as if to calm him. When Sarah was a little girl she would pretend the woman was an Indian princess and the stag was going to turn into a handsome warrior and claim his love.
"Good heavens," Sarah yelped aloud. There, on the woman's extended arm, was the snake bangle! Well, a snake bangle. Surely not the one from the store.
She moved to one of the recliners and turned it to face the painting. She opened the bottle and poured a full glass of the cold, sweet wine. She got comfortable in the recliner and just stared at the painting. She sipped occasionally, as she tried to make sense of it all.
CHAPTER 2Viking Mountain, Tennessee, August 1890
Sarah was dreaming. Men were arguing. She was cold. She must have kicked the blanket off the bed. She reached out for the blanket, and felt ... dirt? The men were louder now. She must have left the television on. All right, all right, I'll just have to get up and turn it off.
Sarah opened her eyes and found herself looking at treetops ... and blue sky! She rolled to her side and could see she was lying on the ground ... cold, hard ground. And the arguing men were blocked from her view by a thick stand of mountain laurel. Some were laughing, and one was yelling.
Sarah froze. What the heck was going on? She slowly removed the revolver from her ankle holster. One voice stood out above the others, and what he said made her blood run cold.
"Taggart, you'll never get away with killing me. You'll be the prime suspect when I come up missing."
"Hell, Kramer, they'll think you finally fell off the deep end and hung yourself. That's if they ever find your body. I mean, we are a far piece up the mountain, and why would they come lookin' up here?"
"Folks'll just say the poor soul couldn't get over his wife disappearin' while he was off roundin' up horses. Add to that how he was stuck with that kid who never spoke. Got the best of him, livin' in that house ... lookin' at all those pictures he drew."
There was the laughter again.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "A Heart for All Time"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Linda Tillis.
Excerpted by permission of The Wild Rose Press, Inc..
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