The Time and Again Trilogy Boxed Set: The History Mystery Trilogy

By Deborah Heal

An old house + A new computer program = The travel opportunity of a lifetime…to another century.

Time and Again (book 1)

Abby Thomas is spending the summer in a run-down old house with a bratty pre-teen named Merrideth she is supposed to tutor. It's not her idea of a dream job, but it does come with perks.

There's John Roberts, a devastatingly attractive neighbor who is almost too wonderful to be real. And then there are the virtual trips to the 19th century she gets to take via Beautiful Houses—a computer program also too amazing to be real! With it they rewind time to see all the people who ever lived in the house.

In 1858, Charlotte Miles lives there and the house is a train stop on the Alton & Chicago Line. She takes up the cause of abolition and turns the house into a station on the Underground Railroad after hearing Abraham Lincoln pour out his heart at the debate that will catapult him onto the national stage and lead to his presidency during the dark days of the Civil War.

Unclaimed Legacy (book 2)

Abby's 11-year-old student Merri is finally warming up to her. And her friendship with John Roberts is also heating up. He's definitely marriage material. Except he thinks she's crazy. Because a computer program that allows you to rewind and fast-forward the lives of people from long ago is surely pure fantasy. But then John sees for himself that it's not.

Together they use the program to help the "Old Dears" next door with their family tree. Rummaging around in their history, they discover that the 85-year-old twins have been keeping a secret from each other since 1941. And the ladies' Buchanan ancestors have a few secrets of their own, too.

Reuben Buchanan is a blight on the Old Dears' family name. But was he really guilty of arson? Abby and John must get inside the mind of a murderer to find out.

But there are also heroes in the ladies' family tree. In 1803 Nathan Buchannan's log cabin sat just outside Lewis and Clark's camp where he and the other explorers spent the winter gathering supplies for their cross-continental expedition.

The cabin served several functions throughout the years. But while watching its history unfold, Abby and John discover a 200-year-old treasure waiting to be reclaimed—and that God's promise to bless a thousand generations really is true.

Every Hill and Mountain (book 3)

Since the Beautiful Houses software worked so well for the Old Dears' family tree project, Abby's friend Kate hopes the computer program will help her find out more about her ancestor Ned Greenfield.

Abby and John reluctantly agree to help her, and they take a trip to the tiny town of Equality, Illinois, where, according to Kate's research, Ned Greenfield was born at a place called Hickory Hill. The townspeople of Equality are unhelpful, but eventually they find Hickory Hill on their own.

Built in 1834, the mansion stands sentinel over Half Moon Salt Mine where the original owner John Granger accumulated his blood-tainted fortune with the use of slave labor in the free state of Illinois—the Land of Lincoln.

The shocking discovery on the third floor concerning Kate's ancestor Ned Greenfield is almost too much to bear. But Abby and her friends are reminded that God is in the business of redemption—that one day he'll make all things new.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Brain Books
• Release date: Jul 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386267430

Book preview

Deborah Heal

TIME AND AGAIN

Copyright 2011 by Deborah Heal. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, institutions, or locales are intended solely to give a sense of authenticity. While every effort was made to be historically accurate, it should be remembered that these references are used fictitiously.

Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, King James Version,

except for Jeremiah 29:11, which is from the NIV

Photograph: Heal Farm House by Robert Heal

ISBN: 978-1482627213

ISBN: 1482627213

Also by Deborah Heal in e-book and paperback:

The History Mystery Trilogy (Also available as audiobooks)

Unclaimed Legacy (book 2)

Every Hill and Mountain (book 3)

The Rewinding Time Series:

Once Again: an inspirational novel of history, mystery & romance (book 1)

Only One Way Home: an inspirational novel of history, mystery & romance (book 2)

How Sweet the Sound: an inspirational novel of history, mystery & romance (book 3)

A Matter of Time: an inspirational novel of history, mystery & romance (book 4)

More than Meets the Eye: an inspirational novel of history, mystery & romance (book 5)

Love Blooms at Bethel Series:

Holding On: an inspirational romance (book 1)

Two Hearts Waiting: an inspirational romance (book 2)

Keeping Faith: an inspirational romance (book 3)

In Memory

To Ruth Fite, my eighth grade English teacher, whose words next to the star at the top of my story opened my eyes to the possibilities:

Be sure to give me a copy of your first book!!

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Jeremiah 29:11

One Year Earlier...

Susannah Arnold followed Michael out onto the front porch, flapping her bibbed calico apron to shoo away the smoke. She propped the screen door open with a brick so more air could get inside and sweep through the house and out the back door. There was a brisk wind coming from the east. That would help.

Spooky slipped outside too, meowing her opinion of all the tomfoolery going on. Michael sat down on the front step and cradled the little old sock monkey she’d made for him. Grunting, she lowered herself to the step beside him. Thank you, Jesus, for keeping us all safe.

Out in the yard her rainbow-colored zinnias waved in their tractor-tire flowerbeds. Other sweeter flowers were around back. Normally, she could smell them from the front porch this time of day. But now the stench of burnt cookies was the only thing in the air.

Sorry about your treat, Michael. She frowned in aggravation. And sorry I wasted all that butter and sugar, too.

The little boy patted her arm and told her that it was all right about the cookies and that at least Monkey got out safe and sound.

Smiling, she stroked his mop of shiny black hair. He didn’t talk often, and when he took a notion to, not many folks understood what he had to say. But she was used to his poor tangled tongue. Bless his little heart. He hadn’t learnt to talk right, what with his mama being deaf and all. But that didn’t mean the boy was stupid. No, sir. He was smart as a whip, especially for being only four years old. And she intended to help him catch up with his talking the best she could, even if it meant he grew up sounding like an ignorant hillbilly same as her.

Spooky came and leaned against her, asking for some loving, too. Stroking the cat’s back, she thought things over. Land sakes, she hadn’t burned a batch of cookies in years. She didn’t even need to read the recipe on the back of the oatmeal box to know that it took 12 ½ minutes for oatmeal raisin cookies to bake. With her memory getting worse by the day, she’d taken to using the timer on her Kenmore stove. But a timer wasn’t much good if you weren’t around to hear it go off. No, she’d gotten it into her wooly head to go out back and pull the weeds out of the green beans. She’d been working away until Michael came running out, pointing at the smoke pouring from the kitchen window.

If her grandson Andy knew how close she’d come to burning down her house—with Michael and Spooky in it—he’d really pester her about how she should move into the old folks’ home. Shoot, if he knew about her spell at Ruth’s house yesterday, he’d be moving her into the crazy hospital instead.

She gazed to the north as if by looking hard enough she’d be able to see past the mobile homes, Michael’s little brown house, and the stand of trees all the way to Ruth Stanley’s house clear at the end of the lane where it met Miles Station Road.

Poor Ruth lay upstairs in that big, old house all alone except for that nurse of hers who mostly just sat around reading People Magazine while she waited for Ruth to kick the bucket.

It was fretting about Ruth that had made Susannah burn the oatmeal raisin cookies—worry, plain and simple. She tried to cast all her cares on Jesus like the Bible said, but it was so hard when your best friend was dying, and there wasn’t a blamed thing you could do about it.

The wind kicked up a fuss, causing Spooky to yowl arch her back. There’s rain comin’, Michael, Susannah said, studying the sky. Let’s go on in, and I’ll fix your supper.

The clock in the kitchen cuckooed, and the boy ran ahead to catch a glimpse of the little wooden bird before it went back inside its house.

She hauled herself up and unpropped the door, muttering to herself, I reckon warmin’ up chicken and dumplin’s simple enough for even me to manage without burnin’ down the house.

As she stirred the pot, a thought came to her. Maybe it was God’s doing that she had burned the cookies. She had intended to take some to Ruth in hopes of perking up her appetite, but a little of the rich broth from the chicken and dumplings might be more tempting to Ruth than sweets, and easier to eat, too.

The idea grew as she and Michael ate their supper, and by the time she’d cleared the table, it was the only thought in her head. Now, Lord? There’s rain coming,’ and I’ve got Michael to think about.

The Almighty didn’t answer out loud, but his command was clear as day. She was to take Ruth some of the broth.

YOU’RE NOT PLANNIN’ on gettin’ any foolish ideas about haunted houses, are you? she asked as they approached Ruth’s house. She would have taken Michael’s hand to reassure him, except she needed both of hers for carrying the thermos of chicken broth. No one would blame the boy if he was a bit fearful. The house was a little creepy even on a sunny day, and with the darkening skies and wind it was downright unnerving.

But he shook his head and went on without a care in the world, letting Monkey pretend to fly in the wind alongside him.

In years past, Ruth had done a fair amount of bragging about how the house was built in 1854 by her ancestor Colonel Jonathan R. Miles. But she didn’t brag anymore. It hadn’t been painted since before her Ralph died, and now one faded blue shutter hung by a single hinge and was caterwauling in the wind like a wild thing. There was not so much as a daisy or zinnia to cheer the place up. Ruth never had been much of a gardener, and when she got sick she was even less of one. After a while, she’d had a man come take out all the shrubs and roses that had been Ralph’s pride and joy so she wouldn’t have to fool with pruning and spraying everything.

Now the place looked so bare and lifeless that a Hoover salesman wouldn’t even bother to knock. And if she was prone to fanciful nonsense—which she wasn’t, thank the Lord—she might get the notion that the old oak trees on either side of Ruth’s sidewalk were monsters, their branches gnarly arms trying to catch them as they hurried along beneath them.

Michael, now you remember what I told you about Miss Ruth. She might look kind of scary, but that’s only ’cause she’s real sick. You just keep in mind she’s your friend and how nice she’s been to you.

Michael nodded solemnly and then skipped on up to the front door,

Most days, Susannah spent several hours visiting with Ruth, talking with her if it was a good day, or praying for her if it wasn’t. But today she hadn’t gone because she hadn’t liked the idea of Michael seeing her look so bad. After all, the reason she was watching out for the boy in the first place was on account of his mama thought he was too young to go his grandpa’s funeral with her.

But it couldn’t be helped. God wanted her to go see Ruth, and so that’s what she was bound to do.

When they got to the bedroom, Susannah saw that Ruth had shrunk even more since she’d seen her the day before. A different nurse was there, busy fiddling with one of those plastic medicine bag contraptions hanging over Ruth’s bed. When the nurse realized she and Michael were standing there, she gasped and grabbed for her heart, like she was seeing ghosts. How did you get in?

Ruth’s laugh came out rusty and thin. It’s all right. They’re friends.

Sorry, miss, Susannah said. I didn’t mean to put a scare into you like that. I’m Susannah Arnold and this here’s Michael. Ruth gave me a key to make things a little easier. She set the thermos on the mahogany dresser and stuck out her hand.

I’m Cynthia Drury, the nurse said and turned back to doing whatever she was doing to the contraption.

Ruth, I’ve brought homemade chicken broth.

She won’t want any, Cynthia said. She hasn’t eaten all day.

Well, how about we let Ruth decide for herself.

Certainly. Cynthia stepped away to the foot of the bed and went to work doing something or other with a black case. She was a busy little thing.

Susannah went to her friend’s side. Ruth’s brown eyes were merry in her pale sunken face. I think I might like a little broth, she whispered.

Good. And looky here who I brought with me.

Michael, Ruth said in her raspy voice. It’s been a long while. I’m so glad you came.

Susannah worried the boy would be standoffish, but he went right up to the bed, patted the pink sleeve of Ruth’s nightdress, and told her how glad he was to see her, too.

Cynthia had a comical look on her face like she wanted to know what Michael had said but was too well mannered to ask.

He said he sure is glad to see Miss Ruth, too. Susannah poured broth into the cup she’d brought along in her apron pocket and then set it on the bed next to Ruth. She reached into her pocket again, and pulled out a cheery striped straw. There. How’s that for service with a smile?

You’re a good friend. Ruth took a pull on the straw. Ah, just what I needed. After three more sips, she set it aside. It’s delicious, but I don’t think I care for any more right now.

Susannah put the cup on the nightstand and sat down in the chair next to the bed. Michael stood at her side looking sadly at their sick friend.

The wind blew in, turning Ruth’s curtains into fluttering blue kites, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Cynthia went and looked out the window. You ought to go before the storm gets here.

I reckon I’ll stay a little longer. You’re a lot younger than the other nurse, ain’t you?

"Mrs. Lukens isn’t a nurse, Cynthia said quickly. She’s an aide. I’m an L.P.N."

Susannah didn’t know what that those letters stood for, but it sounded important. And also a little scary. Did it mean regular nurses—aides—weren’t up to taking care of Ruth anymore?

Ruth was asleep, her eyes a-fluttering beneath her thin, bruised eyelids. You poor, poor things, she whispered, the soft words drifting out into the room like wisps of smoke.

Susannah wondered who she was seeing in her mind. Her hand lay on top of the blue sheet, looking so pitiful with the bandage and the tube coming out of it. Susannah couldn’t help but want to pat it. But at the last second, she pulled back, remembering what had happened yesterday when she touched her hand.

Ruth stirred and then spoke again, so softly Susannah could barely hear. But the last part was clear: Hush, hush, don’t cry, Charlotte.

Michael gently touched her old hand with his small young one. The sweet boy had such a loving heart. Her own lack of courage shamed Susannah, and so she reached out to comfort Ruth too.

The room went catawampus like before. Everything was turned around. The windows were gone. The pretty cabbage-rose wallpaper was gone too, leaving the wood walls and rafters to show. It wasn’t Ruth’s nice bedroom at all, just a dusty old attic.

It was dark except for a kerosene lantern sitting on the floor in a pool of light. Lord have mercy, there was a girl there! She wore a long dress and sat on an old-fashioned wooden trunk next to the lantern, weeping as if her heart would break.

Oh my, oh my. Susannah pulled her hand from Ruth’s, and the room went back to normal.

You shouldn’t worry about anything Ruth says, Cynthia said, frowning in puzzlement at her. She still stood at the window—only she’d shut it when Susannah wasn’t looking. It was no wonder, being as rain was pounding against the glass.

Cynthia came away from the window and looked at the dials on Ruth’s contraption. She’s been out of her head most of the day talking about jellybeans, Queen Victoria roses, Charlotte, and those ‘poor, poor people.’ It’s the morphine.

Morphine might be why Ruth was out of her head, but it didn’t explain why she was. Andy was going to commit her to the crazy hospital for sure.

Do you suppose she’s thinking about that old Bette Davis movie? Cynthia asked.

That must be it, Susannah said, even though she knew good and well the Charlotte that Ruth was dreaming about was the same crying girl she’d just seen in the sort of long dress her great-grandma had worn. She felt guilty for the lie. But she wasn’t about to tell Cynthia about it—nobody else neither.

Ruth slept, the storm raged, and Susannah prayed. The wind howled in the chimney, and the loose shutter made such a racket a body could hardly think. She wondered how her hollyhocks and gladiolas were holding up under the rain and wind.

Cynthia came and straightened the bed sheets. Ruth grunted at being jostled, and Cynthia looked sorrowful that she’d caused her pain. Thank the Lord she wasn’t one of those nurses that was all starch and no kindness.

But she sure was nervous. She started pacing the floor and asking foolish questions like why anyone ever chose to live in a Herman Munster house out in the middle of nowhere when they could be safe and sound in the civilized world where there were paved streets and streetlights to go with them.

Susannah didn’t take offense because she knew it was just her nerves talking. The poor woman jumped like a startled rabbit every time the lightning and thunder came or the shutter made an extra loud screech.

Michael wasn’t scared at all, bless his heart. He even spoke words of comfort to Cynthia.

What did he say? Cynthia demanded.

He said you should trust in Jesus so you won’t be afraid.

I’m not afraid. But then the power went out and she shrieked. The room was pitch black, except for the glowing green face of the wind-up alarm clock on the nightstand.

Ruth groaned, and Susannah patted her shoulder. It’s all right. We’re right here with you, honey.

To Nervous Nellie’s credit, her first thought was for her patient. Cynthia made her way through the dark room to the medicine contraption. After half a minute, three beeps sounded, and then the numbers glowed red again. Good. The battery back-up kicked in.

You’ll have to go get the lantern, Cynthia. Ruth’s voice came unexpectedly out of the darkness.

I’m sure I’d get lost in the dark. She sounded like she was spooked for sure.

It’s down in the kitchen on the shelf by the back door, Ruth said. The matches, too.

Susannah shrugged. I’d go myself, but I’m not as spry as I once was.

Then Michael volunteered to go get it. Susannah gave him a squeeze. You’re a brave boy, but I don’t reckon it’s a good idea to let a little feller wander around in the dark by hisself. Anyway, you’re too short to reach the lantern anyway.

Cynthia crossed her arms over her bosom. Well, I suppose it’s up to me, then. But I don’t like leaving you one bit, Mrs. Stanley.

Don’t be afraid, Cynthia, Ruth said kindly. This old house isn’t haunted.

Surely you don’t think I believe in ghosts, she said huffily.

Ruth went on as if she hadn’t heard her. No, this house is blessed...blessed by all the good that was done here. Why, if people only knew...

Don’t talk anymore. You’re going to wear yourself out. Lightning flashed in the room, and Susannah saw that Ruth’s eyes were closed again.

Cynthia went to the window and looked out. The storm doesn’t appear to be letting up at all. If it spawns a tornado, we’ll have to go down to the basement.

Not me. I don’t have the strength of a bowl of Jell-O. Ruth’s voice fizzled out into a whisper.

Susannah turned to where Michael stood. Don’t worry. This house has made it through a thousand storms and been a shelter to everyone who lived here. I reckon it’ll keep us safe tonight.

Ruth’s soft words came out of the darkness. She’s going to need your help, Susannah.

Who is, honey?

Merri.

Mary who?

I’m so happy to know my house is going to someone who really needs it. The Lord’s timing is perfect.

Well, apparently not when it comes to scheduling, Cynthia said. My replacement was supposed to get there at 8:00, and the last time I could see my watch, it said 8:30.

I guess I’ll try to fetch the lantern, Susannah said.

No, I’ll get it, Cynthia said with a tired sigh. You stay put in that chair. The last thing we need is for you to fall and break a hip. Besides, I want to go use Ruth’s phone downstairs to call Ed and see what’s keeping him. My cellphone hasn’t worked out here all day.

I have a feeling when you pick up that telephone you ain’t going to hear a dial tone on it neither.

How long do you think it will be before the power is restored?

I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I was you, Susannah said. Country folks was the last to get electrified, and now that we have it, we’re the first to lose power in a storm. The last to get it back afterwards too.

Well, isn’t that just great?

After a spell, Cynthia got back with the lantern. The warm light gave the room a cozy glow, but it made Ruth look even more like a corpse. Susannah had to keep watching to make sure she was still breathing.

Tiredness seeped into her bones, and she thought how nice it would be to go home and get into her own bed. Poor little Michael was wilting too. She didn’t like the thought of him being around when Ruth passed on. But considering Cynthia’s comment about breaking a hip, it didn’t seem wise to walk home in the middle of a storm. The lane had more potholes than a redheaded boy has freckles, and on such a dark night she would be sure to fall into one of them. And anyway, what if the Lord wanted her to be on hand to see Ruth off to Heaven?

Come on, Michael, she said. You and Monkey can sleep in one of Miss Ruth’s other bedrooms."

He came willingly, stopping at the doorway to bid Cynthia a good night. She got the gist of what he was saying and returned the wish along with a smile.

You should rest, too, Mrs. Arnold.

No, Susannah said, watching Ruth’s still form on the bed. I’ll come back and keep watch with you.

With the storm making such a ruckus, Susannah figured she’d have to sit with Michael for a while to help him fall asleep. But he closed his little shoe-button eye peepers with complete faith, and by the time she was finished praying, he was asleep.

When she got back, Cynthia was still sitting faithfully by Ruth’s bed.

Your shift’s over, miss. You should go on home, Susannah said softly. I’ll keep watch over her until the next nurse gets here.

"I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to. By law, drugs like morphine have to be administered by a nurse.

Then it looks like we’re in this together.

You are a good friend, Cynthia said.

And you’re a good nurse. I guess it’s hard to watch a person die, even if she’s not your best friend.

It is. But I like this better than when I worked in the psych ward at the Veterans’ Hospital. They have so many poor men with PTSD there—a few women, too. Some of them have horrible hallucinations and live in almost constant fear and anxiety. I felt so powerless to help.

"Halloosa-nations—that’s when you see things that ain’t real."

Yes, and sometimes people also hear and even smell things that aren’t real.

Just something their minds conjure up—like folks at the crazy hospital do.

Cynthia smiled. Yes, like that.

Is this PDTS—whatever you call it—something only soldiers get, or can anyone?

Oh, it’s an equal-opportunity illness, Mrs. Arnold. I mean, yes, other people can get it, too.

Susannah wished she could ask Cynthia about what she had seen and heard when she touched Ruth’s hand. But what if she had another nurse rule, besides the one about morphine, that said she had a duty to haul her away to the crazy hospital?

SUSANNAH REALIZED SHE had dozed off when a dinging noise woke her. Beside her Cynthia straightened in her chair and said, That means the morphine is getting low. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that Ed gets here soon with more.

Susannah didn’t bother to cross her fingers, but she did step up her praying.

Presently the morphine did run out, and things weren’t so peaceful for poor Ruth then. Within only a few minutes she started in rolling from side to side, like she had a wolf gnawing on her insides.

Cynthia went downstairs to check the phone again, but it was still out. Watching Ruth suffer made her as agitated as her patient. After a while she snatched up her purse and said, I’ll be d—darned if I’m going to let Ruth suffer in her last hours—not on my watch.

Be careful, Susannah warned. The roads are likely flooded by now.

I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Susannah wiped Ruth’s brow with a cool washrag, and when that didn’t stop her from thrashing around on the bed, she sang as many hymns as she could remember the words to. A Shelter in a Time of Storm was the first one to come to mind. After that she came up with When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder:

When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound, and time shall be no more,

And the morning breaks eternal, bright and fair;

When the saved of earth shall gather over on the other shore,

And the roll is called up yonder I’ll be there.

Those hymns seemed to soothe her a little. She thought about singing When We All Get to Heaven. The words were uplifting, but since it had a perky tune that didn’t seem right for a sickroom, she only sang the last verse:

Onward to the prize before us! Soon his beauty we’ll behold;

Soon the pearly gates will open; we shall tread the streets of gold.

Next she sang Rock of Ages and then The Old Rugged Cross, which were comforting to them both. By the time she finished, Ruth had stopped tossing and turning and laid there quiet and peaceful-like. Just to be sure, Susannah sang one more of her favorites, There’s a Land Far Away:

There’s a land far away ’mid the stars we are told,

Where they know not the sorrows of time

’Tis the land of our God—’tis the home of our soul

Where the ages of splendor eternally roll

Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal,

On the evergreen mountains of life.

It was a good thing she knew the words to all those hymns by heart, because even if she could read the hymnbook, she wouldn’t have been able to see it for the tears in her eyes.

She was going to miss Ruth! But how could she be sad, knowing what blessings God had in store for her?

The storm finally let up and then fizzled out altogether, leaving the little world inside Ruth’s bedroom quiet and peaceful. She was smiling in her sleep. They said that people about to pass to the other side saw Jesus and the pearly gates. Was that real, or just another kind of halloosa-nation?

Ruth’s poor hand lay still and frail on the blue sheet. Susannah reached out and put her own over it.

I GOT IT, CYNTHIA said.

Susannah took her hand away from Ruth’s and sat there blinking in confusion. The room was all wrong. The curtains were supposed to be white, not blue. And Charlotte’s bed sure wasn’t supposed to have an elderly woman dying in it. What? she finally thought to ask.

The morphine, Cynthia answered impatiently. "That is why I braved the storm and downed powerlines, you know. She went to work replacing the empty medicine bag with a new one. How is she?"

Susannah shook her head to clear it, but it didn’t help a whole lot. She still felt like she was half in Ruth’s world and half in Charlotte’s. But she’d better come up with something sensible to say or she’d be on her way to the funny farm quicker than quick.

At first Ruth was suffering something fierce, and I thought she was going to slip away to the next world. How long have you been gone, anyway?

About an hour. Cynthia put two fingers to Ruth’s wrist. How did you manage to calm her?

It seems longer—days and days.

Well, excuse me. It wasn’t easy getting the morphine in the middle of a typhoon.

I wasn’t complaining, Miss Cynthia. It’s just that—never mind. Anyway, it was the singin’ that seemed to help her settle down. And prayin’ of course. She’s better, ain’t she?

We’ll see. Sometimes patients rally for a short while at the end, but don’t get your hopes up. Mrs. Stanley doesn’t have much time left.

Will she...? Is she goin’ to make it through the night?

I believe she will. Go on and rest. You look exhausted.

You’ll keep watch?

Yes, of course. I’ll call you if she worsens.

Then I reckon I’ll grab a few winks.

In the next room, Michael was still fast asleep. Susannah laid her weary bones down next to him on the bed and thought about what she’d seen.

When she’d taken hold of Ruth’s hand, she’d hoped that she would get a glimpse of Heaven’s glory, but the Almighty had kept that shielded from her view. No matter. She’d get to see that firsthand soon enough anyway.

But he had shown her other wonders. Ruth had been right to brag about her house! So much had happened there. And Charlotte Miles! What a spitfire that girl had been! If dear Ruth was still on this side of Heaven in the morning, she’d take her hand again and together they’d go have another peek at the past.

Thank you, Jesus, for letting me see the olden days, she said, yawning with weariness. I don’t know if it was a halloosa-nation or what, Lord, but it was a blessing all the same.

Susannah smiled and then closed her eyes to sleep.

Chapter 1

Abby had first considered volunteering at St. Louis Children’s Hospital for her required Ambassador College service project so that she could contribute to the community while also enlarging her horizons. But her roommate Kate reminded her of her tendency to faint at the sight of blood. Several of her classmates chose to build homes for disadvantaged families with Habitat for Humanity. But since she had never actually used a hammer before, much less a power saw, being a companion and tutor to an economically disadvantaged adolescent had seemed like a much better choice. After all, it would be good practice for when she became a teacher after she graduated.

After packing up her dorm room for the summer and saying goodbye to Kate, Abby left Chicago and drove south six and a half hours south, following the directions her client’s mom had given, through terrain foreign to a city girl. Just after the sign that said Brighton, Illinois—population 1,750—she turned onto Miles Station Road. It got narrower and bumpier with each mile until there were no more houses, only cornfields and the occasional tree. Then, in the last of the daylight, she crossed the railroad tracks she had been told to watch for and pulled up to the house where she would be spending the summer.

Kate had teased her about being a governess and warned her to watch out for dark, brooding men skulking about. Now, getting slowly out of her little blue car, she thought maybe Kate was more right about the Jane Eyre bit than she knew.

The two-story house standing in the gloomy shade of several huge oak trees had once been white but had not seen a paintbrush in about a million years. One faded blue shutter hung at a drunken angle, squeaking as it shifted in the wind. There were no shrubs to soften the foundation, just some scrubby grass struggling to survive in the shade.

Service Project, she reminded herself firmly and knocked on the door. It opened and a smiling woman with an outstretched hand said, You must be Abby. I’m Pat. Come on in.

She shook Pat’s hand, relieved to see that she had a friendly and pleasantly ordinary face, not at all like the sort housekeepers in gothic novels had.

Hi, Abby Thomas.

Pat held the door wide, and Abby stepped into a sparsely furnished entry hall.

I’m sorry everything is still such a mess around here. I haven’t had much time to get moved in, much less begin fixing things up. Her words bounced off the bare wood floors and tall ceiling.

Pat turned toward the staircase behind her and called, Merrideth! Come on down. Abby is here.

I can’t wait to meet Merrideth.

She’ll be right down.

But there was no answering call from upstairs— no happy cry, no sound of eager, hurrying feet. Her young charge was apparently not as anxious to meet as she was. Pat called for Merrideth again. There was no answer, but she seemed unconcerned, only smiled and said, How was your trip, Abby?

It was nice. I’ve never been this far out into the country before.

Still no Merrideth.

Pat glanced over her shoulder. I’ll go see what’s keeping her. She pointed to a door opening off the hall. Just make yourself at home in the living room.

The room where she was to attempt this was huge, or probably just appeared so because it was nearly as empty as the hall. The only furniture was a newish sofa and an antiquated television set. The gold floral wallpaper was faded and loose in some places. The floor was of rough wooden planks, bare of any rugs.

After a moment, she remembered that she had promised to call home and dug her phone out of her purse. There were no bars.

A whispered argument was raging upstairs. She strained to hear. It sounded as if Pat might be losing. She thought about going back to the car for her suitcases—and to try for better phone reception—but then she heard two sets of footsteps coming down the stairs. Apparently Pat had won the battle.

She came into the living room, but Merrideth stalled at the doorway. She was wearing a blue baseball cap and looking down at a chocolate-colored cat in her arms. Abby could not see much of her face, but the girl’s body language spoke loud and clear.

She approached her with caution. Hi, Merrideth. She extended her hand. I’m Abby. Merrideth continued stroking the cat. Abby let her hand drop to her side.

Pat removed her daughter’s baseball cap and smoothed a greasy strand of hair from her eyes. Say hi to Abby, Merrideth. She raised her eyes to glare at her mother and at last gave Abby a quick look and a mumbled greeting.

Merrideth had not been blessed with her mother’s good looks. Her face was round and pudgy, her eyes small and squinty. It was impossible to tell their color because her hair had fallen into them again.

On the phone Pat had said that Merrideth was plump and that maybe could she help her with her diet. Fat was the word that came to Abby, even though she was ashamed of herself for thinking it. She had always considered herself a loving and accepting person, and she did feel pity for the sullen girl who stood there scowling at the world. But distaste was warring with compassion and about to win.

Abby reached out a hand again, this time to pet the cat. Your cat is very pretty. What’s its name?

She’s not an it. She’s a she.

Pat laughed nervously and looked to see Abby’s reaction to this additional bit of rudeness.

Abby stroked the cat’s head, and it began to purr. At least it had manners. "What’s her name?"

Kit Kat. It’s my favorite.

Your favorite cat?

No. My favorite food.

Why don’t we get your things, Abby, before it’s too dark? Merrideth, would you like to help?

Merrideth apparently would not, because she left, still clutching Kit Kat. Pat helped Abby carry her bags up the stairs and down the hall. She stopped at the last door on the left. I figured you’d use this room for lessons.

A state-of-the-art computer and printer sat looking out of place on a scarred old oak table. It seemed an expensive purchase for someone who qualified for her school’s free tutoring program.

On the monitor, colorful images of homes scrolled by in a slide show. She recognized one as the Frank Lloyd Wright home her brother had taken her to see in Chicago. A sagging secretary’s chair and a couple of mismatched straight-backed chairs sat in front of the table, and in the corner was a stack of boxes that the computer components had come in.

Pat glanced away. "You’re probably wondering how I can afford such an expensive computer.

Abby’s face heated with embarrassment, because she had, in fact, just been wondering if Pat were ripping off Ambassador College. She could not come up with anything to say that was both polite and honest, so she mumbled Uh... instead.

It’s from Merrideth’s dad. He feels guilty about what he did—and that he never visits her. It was probably bought with....Well, anyway, I didn’t buy it. Just so you know.

It looks like a good one.

He put a gazillion computer games on that thing, but she’s always playing with that house program. It doesn’t seem like something a kid would be interested in, does it? Pat said with a short laugh. But what do I know? I’m just the mom. I only wish Merrideth would remember to turn it off when she’s through with it. I hate to think how much electricity it’s wasting. Pat went to the computer and began shutting it down. When the monitor finally blinked out she said, Now, let’s get you settled in. You’re just across the hall.

After the barrenness of the rest of the house, Abby was relieved to see that the bedroom had the usual complement of furniture. Pat had obviously worked hard to make it cozy. The bed was covered with a pretty comforter in shades of rose and sea foam green. And it came decorated with its own sleeping cat, this one tan and white.

It’s a beautiful room.

I’m glad you like it. The bathroom is next door.

Merrideth, her blue baseball cap back in place, appeared in the doorway, still carrying the purring Kit Kat. There you are, Chippy! She dropped the cat in her arms and went to scoop up the unsuspecting one on the bed. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.

Pat turned to Abby with a rueful grin. Feel free to banish the cats from your room if you’d rather not have them underfoot.

That’s all right. I like cats. She stroked Chippy’s warm golden back. I can see why you named your other cat Kit Kat, Merrideth. But why is this one Chippy?

It’s short for potato chip.

That reminds me, Pat said suddenly. I need to check on dinner. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.

Abby opened her suitcase and began taking clothes from it. Surprisingly, Merrideth stuck around, her curiosity apparently stronger than her aversion. She pulled a Kit Kat candy bar out of her pocket and continued watching her unpack.

Kate had said sarcastically that tutoring sounded like a ton of fun. At the time, Abby had reminded her that service projects are not done for the fun of it. Now she reminded herself.

So how do you like your new neighborhood?

Merrideth contemplated the Kit Kat under her left arm and the Kit Kat in her right hand. I don’t know, she said, putting down the feline version in favor of the candy.

Have you met any new friends yet?

No. She unwrapped the candy bar and dropped the paper onto the dresser.

I’m sure there are other kids around. She was not sure of that at all, and it was such a lame thing to say that she expected Merrideth to flee in disgust.

Yeah, but the only ones I’ve seen were wearing red baseball caps.

So what’s wrong with that?

They’re not Cubs fans. That’s what.

Well, we’re closer to St. Louis than to Chicago. You’re in Cardinal territory now.

That figures. This is such a stupid place.

When Merrideth glanced away, Abby whisked her red Cardinals shirt out of the suitcase and hid it in the bottom dresser drawer. Wearing it would not win her any points with Merrideth.

Anyway, I’m getting out of this dump soon. My dad said I can come visit him this summer any time I want.

Abby took a stack of underclothes out of the second suitcase and put them in the top drawer. That will be nice.

So I wouldn’t unpack everything if I were you.

Abby hid a smile. I think I’ll go ahead and unpack my underwear just in case. She took her cell phone out and flipped it open. Still no bars. She would have to see about e-mailing her friends later.

Merrideth sneered. My phone’s way better than that Quasar.

You have your own phone? I had to wait until I was fifteen.

Yeah, she said, pulling it out of her pocket. My dad got me this Rhapsody II before I left Chicago. He said Rhapsody II is way better than Quasar. My dad said I can call him any time I want to.

You have a great computer too.

Of course I do. My dad bought it for me last year. Mom won’t let me use her laptop. She says it’s for her stupid business.

You want to go play around on the computer then?

No.

Abby pulled her softball and glove out of her suitcase. How about a game of catch?

No.

Pulling her sketchpad out, she said, Do you like to draw?

No.

What do you want to do, Merrideth?

There is nothing around this stupid place, not like Chicago.

There’s no place like Chicago. I love going to college there. But we’ll find neat places to go and things to do around here. She hoped.

Abby finally got a good look at Merrideth’s eyes—which were actually a nice shade of brown—when she used them to shoot daggers at her.

I’m eleven and a half, and I don’t need a babysitter! she said and stormed out of the room.

Well, that was a good start, Abby muttered.

Delicious smells were in the air, and she followed her nose to the kitchen. It had to have been remodeled since the house was built back whenever, but it definitely needed it again. The chrome-edged countertops looked like something from the 1950s, the avocado appliances were pure 1970s, and the cabinets were thick with who knew how many layers of yellowed white paint.

Pat was easing lasagna oozing with melted cheese onto three blue plates.

That looks and smells wonderful—just like my mom’s.

Homemade? Pat said with a laugh. Right. This is the kind that comes straight from the deli. Would you mind telling Merrideth dinner is ready? Maybe she’ll come if you ask her.

Abby frowned in confusion. Sure, she said, wondering why anyone would have to be coaxed to come eat lasagna.

She found Merrideth in the living room watching some reality show about supermodels. It didn’t seem like a wise choice for an impressionable pre-teen.

Your mom said to tell you dinner is ready.

I’m watching TV, in case you didn’t notice, Merrideth said without looking up.

It’s lasagna, and it smells great, Abby said pleasantly.

Merrideth turned at last and stared unblinking at Abby. I’m not hungry.

Abby shrugged. She must not like lasagna as much as her mother thought.

Pat’s embarrassment was obvious when Abby reported Merrideth’s response. Don’t mind her. She’ll warm up to you. I’ll fix her a snack later.

And that would explain why Merrideth wasn’t hungry for dinner. That and the Kit Kat bars.

As I said before, we moved from Chicago when Merrideth’s school was out. Pat paused and set her glass of iced tea down. Guess you’re wondering why we would move into this run-down old place out in the middle of nowhere?

Abby passed Pat the salad bowl. It does seem like a big change from the city.

You see, I inherited this house from my great aunt. She died in February and left it to me in her will. Then when I found out my husband...when he got involved with.... Well, I won’t go into that. Let’s just say I was lucky to have this chance to start over.

Merrideth said she’s going to go visit her dad.

Pat glanced at the living room door and lowered her voice. That’s not going to happen, not if I can help it. She sighed and turned back to Abby. I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t say anything to Merrideth. I’m waiting for the right time to tell her.

Okay. Abby did not know what to say. It occurred to her that she had never actually talked to a divorced person before. Quite a few of her high school classmates had suffered through the trauma of divorce, but she had never thought of it from the parents’ perspective before.

Anyway, Pat continued briskly, I’ve always wanted to live in a big old house. I’d love to restore it to its former glory. I can already see the way it should look. There’s lots to do. For one thing, as you probably can tell, it isn’t air-conditioned. To be honest, I don’t have the money, at least not yet. Obviously, if I did, I’d pay you.

Don’t worry about that. I volunteered for this. I’m majoring in elementary education. Tutoring will be good teaching experience. And my parents live just over in St. Louis, so I may pop over to see them too.

Then it’s a win-win. Pat’s smile left her face and she rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. When my husband and I—well, I’ve been a little distracted. Actually, a lot distracted. I had so many problems of my own that for a while I didn’t notice that Merrideth was having trouble in school. It was gradual at first, and then her grades began dropping like a rock. I never expected it since she’s so smart.

What does she need help with most?

Everything, actually. You know, math, English, history. I talked to her new principal and thankfully, she’s not going to hold Merrideth back a grade. She can transfer right into sixth grade. That is, if she works over the summer to catch up.

I’m sure she’ll be fine by the time school starts this fall. It was another thing Abby was not at all sure of, but it seemed like the kindest thing to say to a woman with a headache. She would do her best, but wouldn’t most of it depend on how committed Merrideth was? And she had a bad feeling about that.

I’ve been swamped with my new job, and I will be all summer. So I didn’t know when I was going to get the time to work with Merrideth. Then I just happened to see a brochure about your college’s tutoring program. I was so relieved.

And here I am, at your service. We could get started first thing tomorrow. You said you had books for me to use?

Pat stood and started stacking their dishes. They’re in the trunk of my car. I’ll get them for you right after I clean up the kitchen.

I’ll help.

That’s so sweet of you.

Abby gathered the remaining dirty dishes and then scanned the kitchen for the dishwasher. There wasn’t one. Hopefully, the shock did not show on her face.

Pat plugged the sink, squirted in some detergent, and turned on the hot water. I just know you’re going to be good for Merrideth. She hasn’t had much of a chance to make new friends.

Then I hope I can be her first. If she’d let her. Abby took a steaming glass out of the drainer and dried it. By the way, I’m having trouble getting a phone signal.

Sorry about that. Cell reception is kind of iffy out here. You can use our home phone to call out. If it’s important.

Thanks. The message was coming in loud and clear. Money was tight—extremely tight. And she needed to remember that all the things she took for granted would not necessarily be available.

Washing and drying the dishes by hand did not take as long as Abby had thought it would, and she found there was a certain satisfaction in doing things the old-fashioned way. But still it took more time than she wanted to devote to such mundane matters when she was champing at the bit to begin preparing for her classes.

And so she was happy when that was over and Pat took her to get the textbooks. Abby blinked in surprise. They wore dreary, shabby covers, smelled strongly of mildew, and looked a million years old. Where on earth had she gotten them? A yard sale maybe? Pat did not say, and Abby did not think she should ask.

She carried the stack of textbooks to her room and plopped onto her bed. Opening the math book, she saw that it was as bad as she had imagined: copyright 1984 with black-and-white photos of dorky kids. The English book was even worse: 539 pages of wall-to-wall text with only a few lame illustrations to break the monotony. It looked boring even to her, and she loved English. She could not wait to hear what Merrideth would have to say when she got a look at them.

Not bothering to open the other books, she stacked them all on the nightstand and picked up her phone. Only a single flickering bar showed, but the call went through. Her mom answered on the second ring. Abby only got a few words out, and then the line went dead. It was not a big deal, except that her parents worried incessantly about her. Of course she could e-mail them, but since they went for weeks on end without checking their account, that would not do much good. At least she’d had the chance to tell them she had arrived safe and sound.

If the connection had held, she would have reassured her mom that she’d had no trouble on the trip downstate and had found the address with no trouble. She had not run out of gas, been approached by axe murderers posing as hitchhikers, nor had any breakdowns. Furthermore, even though it was a creepy house in a creepy neighborhood, Pat seemed like a really nice woman—except she spoiled her daughter rotten, and thus Merrideth was a little brat who was so lazy she didn’t even bathe. Worse, she was a Cubs fan. Her dad would have laughingly expressed outrage that Abby should be expected to work with someone so misguided.

But then he and her mom would have had said something wise about how no matter how difficult the circumstances, God would help her to do the job she had signed on for. And he would. Abby was confident of that. But there was no getting around the fact that it was going to be harder than she had at first thought. In fact, it was shaping up to be a very long summer.

Later, when she turned out the nightstand lamp, she was astonished at how dark the room was. The dark walls met seamlessly with the night sky in the window. There were no stars out and no streetlights. And no street noises intruded either. The bed was the right degree of softness, the sheets were cool and crisp, and she was wearing her comfy nightshirt with the Ambassador College logo on the front. Conditions were, in fact, perfect for sleeping.

Nevertheless, it was a long time before she felt herself drifting off. And when a tiny electronic beeping sound punctuated the silence she was instantly fully awake again. A blue glow was streaming through the large crack under her door. In the absolute darkness it seemed ridiculously intrusive. The light looked like something from a sci-fi movie about invading aliens, but she assumed it was just Merrideth playing on the computer across the hall. Knowing that did not make it any easier to get back to sleep, and so she threw back the covers and got up.

The door to her room screeched when she opened it. She had not noticed it earlier in the light of day. Was it some rule that old doors in old houses only creaked at night?

Both Pat and Merrideth’s bedroom doors were closed, and the only light was the blue one coming through the open doorway of the computer room. Merrideth was not there after all, but she must have been earlier, because the slide show of houses was going again. When Abby touched the mouse, it stopped and the words Beautiful Houses: Take a Virtual Tour were superimposed over the image of a contemporary glass and stone mansion.

She shut down the program and then the computer itself, and the annoying blue light was replaced with blessed darkness. Fortunately, she did not run into anything as she stumbled her way back to bed.

Chapter 2

Sunlight pierced her closed eyelids, and a fly kept buzzing around her face. When it decided to land and walk around on her lip, she pulled her arm out from under the sheet and swatted at it. Kit Kat, lounging comfortably by her side, yowled at the sudden movement and jumped off the bed.

It had taken a long time to fall asleep, and when she finally had, the sound of passing trains had wakened her several times. And once she had dreamed the blue light was back on.

Now, there was only the pleasant sound of leaves rustling in the early morning breeze, mixed with a wonderful birdsong, one that had a dozen different melodies and seemed to come from just outside her window. At about the same time, the sound of voices—a combination of cartoon and human—began to register. Tweety Bird and Sylvester were at it as usual, and so were Pat and Merrideth.

It’s summertime, Mom. Remember? School’s over.

But, honey, you know you’re behind.

Merrideth mumbled something about Kit Kats.

"All right. If you’ll do your schoolwork." Desperation tinged Pat’s voice.

Then the front door thunked shut, bringing Abby out of her semi-awake state to full alert. Her eyes flew to the clock. Oh, great. Oversleeping on her first day on the job was sure to impress Pat.

She slipped out of bed and went to the window to check out the weather. Her room faced east and the view was of the backyard and a weathered barn framed by flowering trees. Halfway between it and the house was an old well covered with warped wooden planks. Some kind of blooming vine twined up the iron pump handle.

She was about to turn away when the barn door opened and a small boy came out carrying a black cat and stood there in the morning sun as if he owned the place.

Hi there! Abby called.

Startled, the boy looked up, trying to see where the voice came from. The cat began to hiss and struggle and then, springing from his arms, raced back into the barn. The boy took off just as quickly in the opposite direction.

Hey, don’t be afraid.

But he continued running and was soon out of sight behind the stand of trees at the edge of the yard.

Yawning, Abby headed for the shower. It was time for the rookie teacher to prepare for battle.

As hot as it already was, shorts and a T-shirt would be nice, but knowing she would need every weapon at her disposal to establish her authority with Merrideth, she chose a loose-fitting white cotton dress instead. It definitely made her look more mature. After toweling her hair a bit, she combed and scrunched it. If she left it down it would dry in a riot of brown curls. Instead, she pulled it to the top of her head and fastened it with a clip. It would be cooler off her neck, and more importantly, it would make her seem more teacher-ish. Hopefully.

With the hairstyle and the dress, she was as ready to face Merrideth as she ever would be.

There are definitely kids in this neighborhood, she said cheerfully as she entered the living room. At least one, anyway.

Merrideth did not reply. She lay sprawled across the sofa in her pajamas. Her hair hung in limp, dull strands, even worse than the night before. Abby leaned against the doorway and waited. Merrideth continued to focus on the TV.

Finally, Abby went to stand in front of it. Hi, Merrideth. What’s on?

Duh. Cartoons.

Did your mom leave for work?

Yeah.

Should I make you breakfast?

Already ate.

Okay, then.

Abby found the evidence when she entered the kitchen. Three individual-sized boxes of Sugar Puffs lay empty on the table alongside a jug of milk. A half-full bowl of cereal was glued to the table in a sticky puddle of milk, which Kit Kat and Chippy were helpfully lapping up.

Abby shooed them away and took the dishes to the sink. When she had her own breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast ready, she sat at the kitchen table to eat. The morning sun was streaming in the east window. Like all the windows throughout the house, it was huge, nearly reaching the ten-foot ceiling. The sill was deep and just begging to be filled with pots of bright flowers. But the elegantly fluted wooden