and grief were turning her into a loony woman, a crazy sleepwalker. She was nowhere near over mourning Marty. She should have realized that because sometime during the night she had sleepwalked herself into her kitchen and opened up her cupboard doors and left them that way.
This morning when she woke, she had felt marvelous. She’d had a long night of uninterrupted dreamless sleep. It was rare for her to sleep that soundly and for so long. Maybe it was knowing that she finally had someone who would work for her that allowed her to rest. The sun was shining and the day was promising to be lovely and warm. Today, she would face her fears of the storm and go back out in the kayak. Today, she might even mount the steps into her loft and get out her paints.
Nori was a muralist. Essentially, she painted what people told her to, which was mostly humongous scenes of old country towns on the sides of buildings. It was her work and she loved it. Yet since Marty died, she hadn’t touched a paintbrush. She just couldn’t bring herself to. It was like that part of her—the artist part—had died with him.
But today, with the sun streaming into her window and leaving ribbons of gold on her walls, it would be different. She would paint. Today would be the day when she would get back to being an artist. It had been too long.
After she had woken up this morning, she had gone into her kitchen. The cupboards next to the sink were wide-open and the cups she and Steve had drunk coffee in yesterday were up on the shelf. She had stared, perplexed. She hadn’t remembered putting them there. She had left them in the sink. Hadn’t she? And how had she left the cupboard door open?
She was always fastidious about keeping her cupboards closed. Marty was the one who was forever leaving them open and when she would complain, he would take her in his arms, dance around the kitchen and say, “Ah, my little Elnora.” And he would push her hair off her face and plant a kiss on her mouth.
She would playfully push him away and say, “You know, that’s not going to get you anywhere, and don’t call me Elnora. That’s my grandmother’s name. My name is Nori.” And she would one by one close the cupboards, making a point of doing so.
When she went to close the cupboards, something way in the back caught her eye. A bit of color. She reached for it. It was a tiny bell. It looked to be a cream-colored china bell with a decorative hand-painted purple flower on one side.
She rang it. It had a pretty tinkling sound. Had this been in here the whole time? And how was it that she hadn’t seen it before? Or maybe she hadn’t looked in the farthest reaches of her cupboard. That had to be it.
She told herself that she was still so disorganized from her unpacking, it could’ve been here the whole time and she wouldn’t have seen it.
She experimented with the cupboard door. She closed it hard and it bounced back open. There. That’s all that was. The latches were broken. Steve’s new cupboards would be a great improvement.
She had taken the bell into the living room and placed it on the mantel. Off the kitchen there was a large room that was loaded with boxes of antiques, junk, dressers and trunks. That’s where the Shaker rocker had come from. Perhaps there were more bells like this in that room.
Pushing thoughts of the cupboard doors out of her mind, she entered Marlene’s café. Selena was her waitress this morning. She was a tall, thin, pretty girl with long, straight, brown hair. Yet, despite her innate prettiness, she always seemed hollow eyed and haunted, as if she bore the cares of the world. Nori had been told that Selena had graduated from high school last year, but wanted some time off before she decided what she wanted to do with her life.
“Hello, Mrs. Edwards,” the girl said. “Would you like a menu?”
“Just coffee would be great.”
“I’ll get you some milk.”
“Thanks.” Nori preferred milk to cream in her coffee and a lot of restaurants only served cream. But Nori had been coming here so often that they knew her preferences.
A few minutes later Selena returned with a little pitcher. Nori’s laptop was already open.
Her first e-mail was from her daughter Daphne. Even though Daphne and Rachel were identical twins, they were miles apart in temperament. Daphne was vocal and articulate. She typically wrote long e-mails, detailing everything they did at camp—from waking in the morning until the lights went out at night. Nori read it eagerly. Daphne went on about the new friends they had made, the awesome worship band, and the cute guy who played drums. Nori wrote long, chatty, happy-faced e-mails to her daughters at camp.
You’ll love it here. It’s so beautiful…
You wouldn’t believe the mouse droppings I’ve had to clean out…
And the bugs! I’ve never seen such big spiders…
And you should see the guy I’ve hired to work on the place. He’s huge! You know your Uncle Phil? He’s even bigger than Uncle Phil…
She paused, her fingers on the keyboard, and allowed herself to think about Steve for a while.
What idiocy had been a part of her brain when she said her daughters could go off and work June and July at a Christian camp? She thought back to their mother-daughter times, holding on to one another all night that first night after Marty died. Then more recently, watching videos, eating popcorn, shopping and all the things they did. Just the three of them. She missed them so much now.
She was finishing up reading her last e-mail when Marlene came and took a seat across from her and asked her how everything was going.
“You will be happy to know that I finally got someone to work out at Trail’s End for me,” Nori said. “I think you know him.”
“Great!” Marlene placed her hands flat on the table. “Steve Baylor?”
She nodded.
Marlene cheered. “Well, I’m glad he finally took my advice. Roy and I told him to come see you. Now we can take you off the prayer line.”
Prayer line? “He seems like a nice guy,” Nori said.
“He is. A very nice guy. He’s had a bit of a hard go of things, though.”
Despite herself, Nori was interested.
Marlene continued, “We get the story at church sometimes. He has a son he never sees. We sometimes pray for him in our small group.”
“He told me about him.”
Marlene folded her hands. Her fingernails were long and red. She wore a lot of rings. “Well, I’m glad he opened up. The Steven Baylor I know is a bit reticent. It’s hard for him to open up to people.”
“Maybe I caught him in a mood.” Nori pulled a chunk of hair away from her face for a moment and remembered Steve’s face as they had knelt close together beside her fireplace. “Has his son ever been here?” Nori wondered.
Marlene said, “Just once that I remember. Jeffrey is a cute little gaffer. You should see him. Big. Like Steve. Big for his age.”
“It’s sad they don’t get to see each other more often.”
“It is. I feel so sorry for the little tyke. And for Steve. Steve came to the Crossing after his divorce three years ago and went into business for himself.”
“What did he do before that?”
“I don’t know exactly. Government work is what he says. I presume he was some sort of carpenter for the government. He and Alec are friends. Sometimes he works with Alec. Steve must be some sort of auxiliary police officer here.”
“Who’s Alec?” Nori asked.
“He’s the sheriff. You haven’t met him, I guess.”
Nori shook her head.
“You will.”
While they talked, her e-mail icon flashed. “Oh,” Nori said,