Lois Richer - A Time to Remember

Why had she been afraid to come here? It was gorgeous. Yet even as she thought it, her eyes picked out a densely forested area far beyond the white fences. Prickles of fear made her skin crawl as she stared into the emerald-green of a coniferous forest. There were no bright tinges of red to lighten the ominous darkness, no yellow or orange streaks to break the shadowed duskiness she knew lay beyond that boundary.

“Marissa? Are you all right?” Gray stood beside her opened door, one hand upraised as if to touch her face. “I thought you’d gone into a trance. What’s wrong?” He turned, surveyed the landscape, tried to find what held her attention.

“What’s over there?” she asked, pointing.

He tilted his head back, peering across the land.

“Pastures. Grazing land. Hills. The creek. Why?”

“Does anyone ever go there?” she whispered. Her skin crawled with some nameless fear she couldn’t quite repress.

“Sometimes I ride in to get a stray. It’s pretty dense back there and very easy to get lost, but I leave it untouched because Harris, my father, wanted one piece of his property to remain wild. So did Dani’s dad, on the ranch next door.” He frowned at her. “Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know.” She shivered.

“Come on, it’s cold out here. I should have brought your coat.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her across the yard and up the stairs.

The door opened before he arrived. A tiny woman stood in the doorway, her silver hair wound into a complicated twist on top of her head.

“Come in, come in. It’s getting cooler every day. I suspect winter will come early this year.” She waited until Gray had set Marissa down, then held out one soft white hand. “I’m Evelyn Biddle. Your husband and I talked earlier this morning. He said you’d want to interview me.”

“Interview?” She looked to Gray for help. He didn’t get a chance to respond.

“As housekeeper, dearie. Now come along, you just sit down in this big old chair in front of the fire. I saw the dust from the truck and knew you’d be along soon, so I made some tea. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.” Almost before she could blink, Marissa found herself tucked into the chair, an afghan covering her knees and a cup of sweetly scented tea in her hand.

“There we are. Now you just relax a bit. Winifred told me some of your story. It’s a terrible thing. Just terrible.”

“Thank you.” Winifred, that would be Winifred Blessing. If the kindly baker lady had sent this woman, Marissa was certain Mrs. Biddle would make a perfect housekeeper. There was something about Miss Blessing that inspired confidence no matter how long you’d known her.

“Whoever would do such a thing should be horse-whipped.”

“Um—”

Probably sensing her discomfort in talking about the past, Gray launched into a series of questions, which the older woman answered quite ably. Marissa sat and let them talk, content to listen.

“You must feel free to invite your own family to visit, Mrs. Biddle. Or take some time off. We can’t keep you isolated out here all the time.”

The parchment skin drooped, the blue eyes faded, glossed over with tears.

“I don’t have any family around here, dearie. My daughter was a widow. Army wife, you know. I was living with her and my grandson until they both died. Now I’m at a loose end. I have a son, but he won’t be visiting me, I’m afraid. In fact, I don’t see him often. He gets too upset. He’s in a home now.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’d be glad to stay as long as you need my help. The fact is, you’d be doing me a favor. I just don’t know what to do with myself anymore.”

And she was probably short of money, if she’d been living with her daughter.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Biddle. I didn’t know about your loss.” Marissa was ashamed of herself. She’d been whining about her terrible life, which included a darling son and a husband who clearly cared for her. It was a life that would soon be filled with so many things. This poor woman had lost everything most dear to her.

“Don’t you fret about it, honey. How could you know?” Mrs. Biddle shrugged. “A few months ago, after I’d spent a long time recovering from hip surgery, God seemed to tell me to come back to Blessing. I still have my little house, you see, even if it is rented. And at least one friend, Winifred Blessing. She suggested I stay with her, just until I got back on my feet. That didn’t take long. I’m perfectly well now.”

“I’m glad,” Marissa said, and meant it.

“Winifred won’t hear of me leaving. Says she likes the company. But when they found you, well, she was certain I could help. In a way, arriving out here today was a little like coming home.”

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