From Dishes to Snow

By Kathy M. Howard

Bayne Harris has lost everything she holds dear in her life. Her husband and children are dead. She was the one who caused the accident—the one behind the wheel. She cannot escape that night as it continuously haunts her thoughts. A year after they’re gone, nothing has changed. The memories are still unbearable. She can’t breathe. She can’t function. She needs to get away. View Top Mountain provides the perfect escape. No one will bother her there. No one will want to check on her or talk about what happened. She can live her life alone, away from do-gooders and any chance of happiness. This is her plan, but she soon finds out God has something else in store.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ambassador International
• Release date: Nov 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781620203880

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Information

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Contact Information

From Dishes to Snow

© 2014 by Kathy M. Howard

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-62020-285-2

eISBN: 978-1-62020-388-0

Edited by Brenda Covert

Author Photo by Sharon Brisken Photography

Cover Design and Page Layout by Hannah Nichols

eBook Conversion by Anna Raats

Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures are taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

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DEDICATION

God, thank You for my salvation and your amazing love. This book is Yours. Do with it what You will.

Moye, thank you for your patience, love, constant support, and blind eye to a crazy house while I worked.

Bree and Mackenzee, you are my sunshine. Thanks for always making my days brighter.

Mom, Dad, and Chuck, thanks for the numerous adventures in the mountains in our own little red house.

Granny, Granddaddy, and Grandma, thank you for your never-ending encouragement in my life.

Thank you to all those loved ones, especially Mom, who faced the unknown and took on the challenging role of uplifting yet honest editing. I couldn’t have done it without you.

I LOVE YOU ALL!

As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.

~ Joshua 1:5b

PROLOGUE

Mrs. Harris? Ma’am? Can you hear me?

The buzz of fluorescent lights above was deafening.

Bayne, are you okay?

I stood at the window, staring at the world outside. The sky was gray, dreary. Rain began to fall. The veteran doctor and coworker of my husband walked slowly to my side. He unwrapped his stethoscope from around his neck and stopped within inches of my unmoving body. I felt his hot breath on top of my head. He spoke again, deliberately lowering his tone.

I know this is hard, but I need for you to respond. Can. You. Hear. Me?

Yes! I hear you! I hear you! But, why am I here? Where’s Micah, I yelled.

What was wrong with him? Wasn’t it his job to listen to his patients? Why was he ignoring me? Before I could reach a reasonable explanation for the doctor’s apparent indifference, my legs lost all feeling. They were suddenly numb, going limp from top to bottom. My body began to quiver, and my eyes fluttered wildly. Doctor Henderson reached out and grabbed my right arm, catching me as I started to fall. His cool fingers around my clammy skin steadied my shakiness and sense of understanding long enough to feel an invisible punch. The fierce blow of truth hit hard.

Again I heard the older man ask, this time with intense determination, Can you hear me?

The sudden reconnection to reality explained the physician’s silence to my questions. I’d been answering him in the depths of my mind. Slowly, I found my voice and responded in a barely audible whisper. Yes.

An immediate sigh of relief came with one word, Good. He held tightly to my right arm and wrapped his other hand around my left arm for extra support, afraid that if he let go, he would lose me again. He guided me to the hospital bed and gently pushed me to a sitting position. The room began to spin. Ordinarily motionless objects took flight, blurring together. Was this really happening to me?

Look at me, Bayne. I need you to look at me so I know you can hear me. It’s important. Doctor Henderson gave me a minute to bring my distant eyes to his before continuing. My mind felt just as distant, but I tried hard to focus on what he was attempting to say. It was an accident, Bayne, plain and simple. You understand? No one could have predicted it. It just happened.

I saw his lips moving and heard his words, but I had a hard time comprehending their meaning. The words left the man’s mouth in an orderly form but entered my cognizance in complete disarray. I simply could not grasp what I was being told. My lack of response put an end to his attempt at an explanation. Instead, he settled into his job, listening to my breathing and checking my blood pressure. My vitals were as good as could be expected under the circumstances. Physically, I would be fine in a few weeks. Mentally and emotionally, on the other hand, I was paralyzed for life. He let out a deep breath, releasing frustration and sadness. Though he tried to be discreet, I clearly heard his faint whispers to the nurse as they exited the room.

Bayne Harris is going to have a long road ahead of her, and she needs to start that journey on fresh ground, with no regrets held deep in her heart. She doesn’t need doubts surfacing tonight, next week, next month, or even five years from now. She needs more than a medical professional can offer. She needs God.

CHAPTER ONE

Everyone said it would get easier. They said, in time, life would get back to normal. They were wrong. After fourteen months nothing was easier, nothing came close to normalcy. I still woke up every morning expecting to hear the shower running and quiet giggles coming from the bedroom across the hall. I still spent twenty minutes struggling to get out of bed, day after day, praying it was all just a horrible nightmare. Surely the lack of sounds in the house was because Micah had stepped out to get the paper and the kids were still asleep. But, all was quiet.

All had been quiet for over a year now. The only sound I heard was from the decades-old ceiling fan above me as its pull chord banged the light fixture with every rotation of the blades. The rhythm was loud and monotonous, but in an unusually noiseless house, the distraction was welcomed. The banging kept the silence at bay for a while, until those first twenty minutes passed. Then the tears fell, and within seconds my pillow was saturated with the results of my reality.

My world was gone. Everything had been taken from me. Gone, and all because of my rushing, my poor decision-making. Doctor Henderson’s words continuously haunted me. It was an accident, plain and simple. It just happened. It was not just an accident. It was not plain or simple. And it definitely did not just happen. I let it happen. I was the cause that ripped my world apart.

The phone rang, breaking through the silence. It caused me to jump, reminding me there was life outside my room. Sunlight broke through the blinds. It tried spreading its warmth, but I ignored it. Others would welcome the bright, sunny Tuesday morning as it offered an encouraging boost in the middle of a workweek. I rejected it. A cheery day hadn’t reflected my life in a long time. I lived in gray, gloomy weather where the sun never made an appearance.

My morning tears were hot, burning my cheeks on the way down. I brushed them away with the back of my hand, unsure I had it in me to talk to anyone yet. I’d figured out early on to put up a front. People showed concern and wanted to help by talking and asking lots of unwelcome questions. They meant well; however, most times it was more than I could bear. I’d always liked my alone time, but over the last several months the desire to be alone had become a necessity. If people thought you were still struggling, they showed up or called at all hours of the day and sometimes night. When people believed you were healing, they tended to back off. I needed whoever was on the other end of the call to back off. I brought the phone to my ear and took a deep breath.

Hello?

Bayne Harris? Whomever the woman was, her high-pitched, southern voice was far too exuberant for nine o’clock in the morning.

Yes, this is she. It was too early in the day for my front to be anything but weak. I sat up, forcing myself to fake a bit of strength.

This is Kallie Mackintosh from Peace Baptist Church. I’ve been given the task of calling all the people in our community who have lost loved ones in the last few years. Task? Poor you. You must be exhausted! My thoughts were so sarcastic I was almost afraid she could hear them through my silence. Part of me would have been okay with the idea. It might teach her to think twice about how she speaks to those of us on the other end of her burdened task. When she continued her short speech without taking a breath, I realized the sarcasm had gone unheard.

We know that you are a member at a sister church, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do what we can. After all, we are all called to do our part, whether we know each other or not. So, on behalf of the women’s ministry at our church, we just wanted you to know we’re praying for you. In fact, we prayed for you last Wednesday night during our weekly prayer meeting. Kallie Mackintosh paused in triumph, probably feeling like she had earned another jewel in her crown. The woman talked to me as if she was talking about what to wear for the day or what to buy at the grocery store on the way home from work, not as if she was talking to someone who had gone through the most devastating of events and who did not care one way or another if she saw her next birthday.

Before the caller could continue on her own feel-good quest, I felt the front strengthen enough to cut the conversation short. As cheerfully as I could manage, I slowly and carefully let out a response. Thank you so much, Mrs. Mackintosh. That is so thoughtful of you and the women’s ministry. Please pass on my thanks and be sure to let everyone know how much I appreciate those prayers. I spoke with so much earnest and gratefulness that she believed me. With a quick, enthusiastic will do, the line disconnected.

In just over a year, a short lifetime had been lived inside my bedroom. After the accident, I barricaded myself within its four white walls, only coming out to wash clothes and to answer the door. Groceries were ordered online and conveyed to the house once a month. Mail was held weeks at a time and then delivered in bulk. Neighbors grew tired of my tall grass and took measures into their own hands. Life stood still. Hours became days, days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years. The ceiling tiles were counted at least four times a day. Every rerun of Andy Griffith was watched. Every book in the small bookcase read, though not comprehended. Time moved in such slow motion that I felt each painful heartbeat, not really minding if the next thump was my last.

Concerned friends and church members called and visited often at first, but mainly in small doses. In the beginning, I could only stomach the company for minutes at a time. After a while, I learned to pretend. The pretense of my improvement and giving them more of my time with each visit encouraged unwanted well-wishers to withdraw their frequency into my domain. It was easier to put up with the company for an hour or two every other week than for several minutes every day.

Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of what was, of what ought to be, and of what I did or did not do, for that matter. It had been over a year, and Micah’s dress shirts still hung in the closet next to my slacks. His outside shoes continued to hold their spot by the back door. Hunting gear, ready for the season, remained packed in a duffel bag against the living room wall. Drawings of princesses and super heroes held their place of honor on the refrigerator. Stuffed animals lay on bunk beds covered with green and yellow dragonflies painted across the headboards. Tiny, smudged fingerprints remained on the kitchen window, awaiting Daddy’s arrival from work. Pictures. Pictures of my life, my old life, were everywhere. They screamed at me from the den, the hallway, and the bedrooms.

No one truly understood, and no one really wanted to take the time to understand. In truth, I didn’t wish that understanding on my worst enemy. It was as if an elephant had perched itself on my entire body and was in no hurry to get up. I couldn’t catch a breath. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. All energy had been drained. I had nothing left to give. I was of no use to anyone, especially myself. Simple daily jobs, such as eating or taking a shower or even brushing my teeth, became ridiculously hard. They required a self-motivated pep talk, which sadly required its own form of encouragement. Life was too hard, especially in that house, where we all lived together as a happy family. It was too hard, being surrounded by all the reminders. The life I’d lived for over a year was not living. I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating in my room, suffocating in the past.

I can’t stay here anymore. I have to leave. I need to leave.

CHAPTER TWO

With something worthwhile to finally pass the time, I was able to get out of bed with a purpose. I spent the next week looking for my escape. Most of that time was filled researching the Internet for long-term getaway locations. I knew there were people in the community who could offer suggestions, but I didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. Plus, they would soon figure out I was not as fine as I made out, and then the visits and phone calls would become unbearable again. No, I needed to do it on my own and if I was lucky, no one would discover where I had gone or when I would return. They’d have no choice but to leave me be.

By the end of the week, I felt I had my answer. The mountains. Mountain air would be a welcome change to the city air and life of Augusta, Georgia. The pace of life in the higher elevations would likely be slower, and the people would be few and far between. All of those characteristics suited me in my present state of mind. I shouldn’t have many, if any, visitors checking on my lack of appearance in town, which meant no one would be the wiser if I chose to stay in bed all day. Phone calls would be almost nonexistent, giving me the added peace and quiet I craved.

With the low population, limited rentals, and the change of states, I settled on View Top Mountain. It was located on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee, far enough from Georgia to separate me from most physical reminders of my past life. There were about two hundred fifty people living on the mountain and only three houses up for rent. Most of the occupied homes were so sparse that I felt sure I would be left alone. The more I researched, the more I decided View Top was the right fit for my escape.

Over the next four days, I made the proper arrangements for my vacation, as I told everyone. Money was the most important step in the process and could be a deal-breaker if not substantial enough, so I started there. I closed out our bank accounts and collected the kids’ college funds. Micah had opened a savings account for the twins when they were born, which was to be used for weddings or a new car when they turned sixteen. I emptied that as well. Everything combined, I calculated my so-called vacation could last a year and a half before I’d have to return to some form of work. Over the last year, I had been living off of Micah’s life insurance and had not needed to go back to the classroom. There wasn’t a whole lot left from that source of financial help.

Once the money was taken care of, a lawn service from the next town over was called to see to my yard every two weeks. My mail was put on hold until the new address could be sent to the post office, where it would then be forwarded. The subscription to the local paper, which was mainly for my husband’s benefit and which I had not had the strength to discontinue yet, was finally cancelled. I put in my resignation at the elementary school. That didn’t come as much of a surprise since I never returned to the classroom after the accident. The principal had given me a long leash and allowed me to take as much time as I needed. The young college graduate who had been filling in for me was overjoyed to take the position permanently.

Finally, I packed enough clothes to see me through all four seasons, about twenty books, a small television and DVD player, a handful of movies, bed linens, and one picture of Micah, Jamie, and Paige. All of those things could fit into Micah’s truck. That was the goal. I didn’t want to bring a trailer into the picture—that might arouse suspicion among my neighbors. If they knew my vacation was more along the lines of a disappearance, they would become very involved and possibly try to change my mind. I needed to slip away without the hoopla, and if that meant purchasing furniture and dishes and whatnots from small general stores in the mountains, then so be it.

As I stepped out of the house, I fumbled with Micah’s wedding ring around my neck. It was the only part of him I could take with me. I slid it on a silver chain the day I decided to leave Augusta, knowing the cool metal against my skin would keep the memories fresh. I turned to look one last time at the home we had built for ourselves. I pictured my sweet husband with his arms around the kids as they all waved goodbye. Happy smiles covered their faces. They were so clearly visible that I hesitated leaving. Could I put up with the worried looks and never-ending questions? Could I find a way to stay? I knew my answer just as quickly as the questions entered my mind. I could not. I was at the bottom of a deep, dark pit and desperately needed to find my way out. I slowly closed the front door and locked it. Tears filled my eyes as my waving family disappeared.

The trip was about a five-hour drive through beautiful trees and clear blue skies. Some of the leaves still held their red and orange hues, while most had already lost their luster and embraced the earthy tone preceding their descent to the ground. The start of November brought the reminder of its traditional meaning. It was usually such a joyous month, everyone focusing on what they were most thankful for. My list now consisted of colored leaves and the cold Coke® I picked up halfway through the trip. I shook my head, mumbling. "I’m so sorry, Micah! I’m so very sorry! If I hadn’t been so . . . so, you’d still be here. Paige and Jamie would still be here. We might’ve even taken this trip to View Top Mountain together, as a family. My thankful list could’ve been so