Scared to Life

By Mikki Sewalt

Divorced and free from an abusive husband, Paige Shugar moves to Pennsylvanias Amish country. Will the quiet surroundings bring her the joy and peace she so desires, or will heartache find her once again? Can R.J., the towns chief of police, protect Paige, and will he win her trust and love? Are Rory and Babs compatible, and does love happen a second time around? Scared to Life will answer these questions as Paige discovers who she is in Christ.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449763824

Mikki Sewalt

A writing course from Wheaton College, Illinois rekindled my desire to write a novel. I was blessed to have home-schooled my two children. I am a retired nurse and private investigator. I reside in South Central Pennsylvania with my dear husband Rich and our two felines.

Book preview

Prologue

Few people know the following story. Exposing myself in this raw fashion has become part of my healing. Some lessons in life are learned the hard way. Such was the case for me. I was married to a man who abused and controlled me. How did this happen, and what blinded me? Was there light at the end of my tunnel?

My good was never good enough. Valleys of doubts and insecurities trapped me. Because I was always trying to please someone else, the real me became nonexistent. What was love, and would I ever find it?

Freeing myself was like a butterfly making its way out of a cocoon. As you read my story, it will gradually unfold before you. It was a bitter road to travel. Changing from a life filled with fear and control, I eventually experienced trust, faith, laughter, and love. The pathway to the present was difficult, but the lessons of the past made me who I am today.

Let me say this before you begin reading: to your own self be true!

I pray you may find comfort and strength as you read my story.

1

As the floorboards creaked on the staircase landing, I froze in fear. Who would be climbing the stairway at this time of night? Cocking my head, I listened. I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the far end of the hallway, so I moved into action.

I quietly pushed my chair away from the roll-top desk, removed the Remington .38 handgun from the lower drawer, and moved stealthily along the wall to the door. I gripped the gun with both hands, held it steady, and cocked the hammer.

Hold it right there, I shouted, or I will shoot! My heart was beating faster than a fan on a hot, sultry day. I patiently waited.

Paige, is that you? came a low, raspy voice from farther down the hallway.

Who is it?

The indistinct voice replied, It’s Jimmy!

Jimmy! Why didn’t you say so in the first place? And what is the matter with your voice? Laryngitis? And why on earth are you sneaking around at this time of night? I said, taking a breath as laughter filled my voice. You really scared me!

Before walking down the dimly lit hallway, I dropped the gun on a small wooden table outside my office door. As the man drew nearer, I realized he was not my brother. I ran into my bedroom, slammed the door, and slid the security bolt into place. Wood began to splinter as he thrust his body against the door. I barricaded the door with my oak dresser, gaining precious time to run across the room.

As I unlocked the balcony door, the oak dresser started to slide on the hardwood floor. I crawled under the banister and slid down the slanted tin roof.

I was terrified! My shoes slipped on the muddy grass, and I stumbled. After I regained my balance, I ran toward the garage.

Torrential downpours descended to the earth with fury. As rain pelted me, my long brown hair was plastered against my head. Terrified of being caught, I ran with the speed of a fox being chased by baying hounds. After removing the extra set of keys concealed behind a shrub, I entered the side door of the garage and locked it. With shaky, wet fingers, I fumbled with the keys to put them into the ignition. As I pushed the remote control opening the garage door, icicles of fear gripped my emotions. I stepped on the accelerator and raced out of the garage into the darkness. Rain pummeled him as he ran alongside my car. As he threw himself onto the car’s hood, our eyes locked. Nicky! How did he find me?

A blood-curdling scream woke me. Drenched in perspiration, I sat up in bed as the grandfather clock chimed three times. My dreams seemed very real and frightening. Jumbled memories tumbled through my mind as moments from years gone by bounced erratically in my head.

Our marriage had dissolved five years ago. The divorce was very bitter. Judge Thomas not only severed my ties to Nick Malone, but everything was also split jointly. I was free in every way, and Nicky was outraged!

As I walked down the courthouse steps, I repeated the following Bible verse: Perfect love casteth out fear. Within the week, I reverted back to my maiden name, Shugar, rented a Haul-It-Your-Way truck, and moved thousands of miles away, leaving no forwarding address. As I moved from Dallas, Texas, to a small country town in Geston, Pennsylvania, old things passed away, and now all things would become new!

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I looked around my bedroom and a sense of peace engulfed me. For the past several years, I had been doing all things on my own because Christ had strengthened me!

One of the highlights of my week was the sewing and craft classes at my church. I’d learned to crochet multicolored macramé plant hangers and to hand-sew quilts and coverlets. A brightly colored homemade quilt and matching pillow shams adorned my queen-sized bed. The white, lacy doilies peeking out from underneath wooden lamps on each side of my bed were gifts from my friend Babs. Widespread wings on a cream-colored ceramic angel graced the top of my walnut dresser. My large bedroom windows had flowering wandering Jew plants hanging in front of them. The room was by no stretch of the imagination elegant but had a homey feeling, and I loved it!

Smiling at the unusual lampshade balanced atop the brass floor lamp made me think of Jack Larsen. A ribbon that read Welcome to the Workforce was strung across the lampshade in my office on my very first day on the job at Mercee Hospital. Easygoing Jack, with a wide grin on his face, walked into my office, plopped himself down on a chair, and said, Welcome, Sugar! How do you like your gift?

"First off, my name is Paige Shugar, pronounced shoo-gar, not Sugar! And second, the glass lamp with the scalloped edges is beautiful! The flowers of many colors seem so real as they circle the lampshade. I’ve never seen anything like this. Did you buy this for me?"

Yep! Anyone can give you real flowers or plants. I wanted you to have something permanent. Smiling boyishly, he remarked, Admit it! This won’t die, but all the bouquets of flowers on your windowsill behind you and those planters on your desk will eventually bite the dust.

I can see already, I said, laughing, that I am going to have my hands full with you! The lamp is a wonderful gift and so unexpected. I will cherish it. Tears filled my eyes, and I muttered, Thank you so much! I needed another lamp, and this one is ideal.

Hey, don’t go all weepy on me or I will take it back, he said, grinning.

You don’t understand—this gift will be more cherished than you could ever imagine. Someday I will share why, but for now I must start my workday as you end yours.

I gave him a hug and then pushed him out of the door. Go home! Get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.

Giving me a salute and another cocky grin, Jack whistled his way down the hallway.

Yes, this room, as did all my rooms, reflected the real me.

2

As I rearranged myself on the bed, I thought back to five years ago. I had relocated to Geston, a very small country town that is located on the outskirts of Lancaster. I worked full-time as a waitress at the Busy Bee Diner and attended a community college to obtain a nurse’s degree. I loved my job as head nurse on the medical floor at Mercee Hospital in Lancaster.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the five-story white brick building where black metal bars covered the fifth-floor windows. Weathering many years of abuse, the hundred-plus-year-old hospital stood tall and proud on 150 acres. Welcoming people to the front doors were white brick pillars supporting the black roof overhang, giving it a Southern mansion appeal.

As I shifted positions on the bed, I pulled my knees up to my chin. I remembered being in awe of the stately building that was surrounded by the beauty of the hospital grounds. The road leading into the hospital was a picturesque Currier and Ives scene. A white picket fence bordered both sides of the road. Distressed white wooden tables and chairs were strategically placed between flowerbeds that were filled with colorful Azalea bushes adding an air of nostalgia while sycamore trees lined both sides of the roadway, adding old-world charm. Two parking lots on the east side had ample parking for vehicles and an area for the Amish to tie their horse and buggies, while construction on the west side had completed a concrete parking garage for employees. Multiple varieties of flowers and arborvitae bushes outlined all the parking lots. The north side housed a utility shed for lawnmowers, snow blowers, and other smaller pieces of equipment for the maintenance crew.

As you drove around the back of the hospital, a small pond came into view. Lily pads dressed the shimmering water. An age-old replica of a fish spewed water out of its mouth in the center of the pond. Geese and ducks waddled around the pond or swam side by side with a pair of graceful swans. Set in the peaceful surroundings alongside the pond was a white wooden gazebo with three of its sides surrounded by flower gardens. The entire property had a true Southern mansion appeal rather than the appearance of a hospital.

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A crack of thunder jolted me back to the present. Stifling a yawn, I glanced out of my bedroom window. Raindrops were trickling down the windowpane, reminding me of tears I’d shed because of Nicky’s abuse. Why did he change from a fun-loving guy to the tyrannical, abusive man he became? Remembering how we met brought back fond memories of happier times.

I was sauntering down the hallway of a movie theater holding a cup of soda, a bag of popcorn, and my purse. As I rounded the corner, a dark-haired man wearing blue jeans and a white pullover sweater bumped into me. I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever met. Popcorn flew everywhere! As we kneeled down to pick up the pieces, we bumped heads. The more he tried to apologize, the further his foot went into his mouth and the more we laughed!

We decided the movie wasn’t worth all the bumps and bruises. We met at a local twenty-four-hour diner and talked for hours. Our backgrounds were similar. He had an identical twin named Nickoli, and I had a brother two years older I called Jimmy. Nickoli worked as a computer programmer in Fort Worth, and my brother was stationed overseas in the army. Both sets of parents were deceased, and we had no other living relatives.

Our weekends and evenings were spent together laughing at the most ridiculous things. On rainy days, we would hold hands and splash through water puddles. He would always say, Come on! Why spoil the fun with an umbrella and boots! Our silliness drenched us both.

He loved to cook! Spaghetti was his favorite dish to prepare, and eating it was hilarious. We would have contests to see who could twirl the most pasta on a fork and then feed it to one another. Most times we ended up with more sauce on our clothes than in our mouths. We kept saying we were going to buy bibs, but we never did! Nicky always showed me a loving gentleness, and our future looked promising. I was at my best and happiest when I was with him.

One evening we dined at the historic Rhapsody Country Club. Never having been there, I dressed in a floor-length, azure-colored sheath dress with a matching flower-embroidered jacket. I pulled my hair up into a twist and fastened it with butterfly diamond hair clips. Small, wispy tendrils framed my face. White-heeled sandals with blue-embossed flowers across the strap accentuated my French-tipped toenails. I felt like a princess! Nicky’s black tuxedo and light blue shirt complemented my ensemble.

The hostess seated us, giving Nicky a flirty look, as a distinguished-looking waiter took our order. Crystal chandeliers hung elegantly as they sparkled to soft music playing in the background. Cream-colored tablecloths and matching napkins trimmed in blue adorned the walnut tables. Intricately designed chairs with plush seats provided a comfortable, relaxing atmosphere. As I sank into the soft, plush seat, I admired the crystal stemware shining with rainbow colors from the overhead chandeliers.

I glanced around the plush interior and noticed everyone was speaking in hushed tones.

Nicky, I whispered, these people act as though they are in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. Nicky threw his head back, laughing heartily as many frowns and hard stares were shot in our direction.

We enjoyed a Caesar salad followed by a bowl of lobster bisque soup. Many giggles erupted from us because neither of us had dribbled soup on ourselves.

After eating the tasty shrimp scampi and cheesy Franco biscuits drenched in butter, Nicky said with an impish expression, "I will force myself to eat the raspberry cheesecake. While rubbing his abdomen and spying a large piece of cheesecake on the patron’s plate seated beside us, he grinned mischievously and remarked, It will be hard, but I know I can do it."

After washing the cake down with a cup of special blend coffee, he patted his stomach and said, I am stuffed, and then proceeded to let out an uncouth belch! This brought gales of laughter from me, and once again stares bored into us as we stood up to leave.

Nicky, you had tears running down my face, I remarked as we made our way toward the exit. Did you see the matronly looking lady sitting at the center table? She had a horrified expression on her face when you belched! Unable to contain myself, I burst into giggles.

No, I only had eyes for you, my dear. I love your contagious laugh and your innocence. Let’s get out of here before I do something else ungentlemanly and they throw me out, he said, reaching for my hand.

We decided a walk in the cool of the evening was a perfect ending to a perfect day. We walked down the front steps toward the narrow, lazy stream nearby. The night sounds of bullfrogs and the distant hooting of an owl were very relaxing. Now and then we could hear geese honking as they flew overhead.

We held hands as we crossed a small, narrow bridge that overlooked a kidney-shaped pond. Swans were floating on the water, and the moonlight gave a romantic glow to our surroundings. The stars were twinkling their brilliance, and soft music flowed through the open windows of the country club. Before we sat on a small bench, Nicky pulled his expensive handkerchief out of his pocket and dusted off the seat. He then put his finger under my chin and turned me toward him.

After clearing his throat, he said, Paige, you have given me so much happiness with your kind, endearing, and loving ways. I want to spend the rest of my life protecting and loving you. This ring reminded me of your beautiful, clear eyes. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?

I remember throwing my arms around his neck and yelling very loud and unladylike, Yes! Yes! Yes!

Bursting with laughter, he lifted me to my feet, swung me around, and planted a kiss on my lips that left us both breathless. Within ten weeks, our whirlwind courtship became a marriage. His controlling personality slowly emerged somewhere around the middle of the second year.

3

I was working as a relief secretary for a temp agency and enjoyed choosing my jobs. Nicky wanted me to quit my job, stay home, and become Miss Suzy Homemaker. He pressured me daily until I finally surrendered, and the man I married slowly became a stranger. His personality changed daily.

On one particular night, I remember preparing lasagna, a small salad, and a homemade apple pie. I had dimmed the lights and lit candles. Nicky arrived home far later than usual. When he walked into the dining room, I smiled and tried to give him a hug. He responded by demanding a steak and baked potato. Dishes flew across the table onto the floor. He tossed the pie into the trash. Not understanding why he would do this, I started to cry. He derided me and berated my weaknesses, and I became an emotional, nervous wreck. Nicky insisted my dinner menus should be given to him every evening for the following day. After writing down what he wanted, he would then discard what I had planned. My food choices didn’t matter. It was always about him.

I always made excuses for his behavior: he worked too hard, his days were long and tedious, rush-hour traffic was a nightmare, and the list went on! I blamed myself for not being able to read his mind. I felt like I was always walking on eggshells.

My hairstyle and clothing were also of his choosing. When he accompanied me to the hairdresser, it was not only embarrassing but also frustrating. I had no say on any particular style or cut. Hairdressers would look at me with sad, pitying expressions. If I was permitted to shop alone, clothing that was not of his taste was ripped off of me. He chose very modest clothing, almost grandmotherly and lacking in color, for me, but he delighted in complimenting more loosely clad women on their appearance or ogling them. When he would compare a particular part of my body to younger women, it was also an embarrassment to me. Why couldn’t he love me for me and not for the endowments I did or did not have? My self-esteem became nonexistent.

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There was no romance or intimacy in our marriage. Against my wishes, he moved me into the smaller bedroom at the end of the hallway. He said I was too restless to sleep with anymore. Holidays came and went with excuses for why cards were not bought, or he would make promises of flowers that never came.

I became nothing more than his domestic servant, and the work I did around the house became more important to him than me. At least he had a clean house with hot meals, which were now delivered to him and placed on his lap in the living room, and a wife who doted on him.

He wasn’t a very good actor, and I knew someone else was always in his thoughts. My life totally revolved around him. He took pleasure in browbeating me into an emotional cripple. It seemed to excite him and gave him power. Counseling was out of the question. He said he didn’t need it, and I wasn’t allowed to seek it. My friends before marriage ceased to exist. Without friends or family, I had no way of escaping the doldrums of life.

Afraid to verbally express myself, I withdrew into a silent shell of my own making. That became my safety net. I was always trying to please yet always failing. I became less and less the happy person I used to be. I no longer believed in love, and I reasoned in my heart romance was for other people.

Nicky rarely complimented me about anything. I always had to ask if I looked nice or if the meal was to his liking. Most of the time he would say the meal was okay.

Once in a blue moon he would say I looked nice, but that was a rarity. I started to build walls inside myself and showed little emotion on the outside. I woke up many mornings willing myself to be happy. I wasn’t permitted to cry, and if I tried to have quiet time, I was met with question after question. According to him I was always in an ozone layer. He needed to know exactly what I was thinking. I learned to say anything that would appease him. I couldn’t tell him what