The Unknown Connection

By Patricia L. Stebelton

The tragic love leading to John Wesley Donavans sudden death has resulted in a three-generation family separation. Following an inner urging, granddaughter, Bailey Morningstar Spencer quits her job and now returns to Chelsea, the same small town her grandmother fled danger nearly sixty-two years earlier. She carries with her the warnings from a mysterious stranger and a sealed box of family secrets. Taking refuge with her great aunt, she meets a handy man who hides dangerous secrets of his own. She is shocked to discover his true identity and struggles to regain her faith in him and hold on to their growing love. Together, they deal with life-threatening events that entangle their lives in danger, and Baileys faith grows stronger as she works to reunite her fragmented family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781512790665

Patricia L. Stebelton

Patricia L. Stebelton, Wife, mother & grandmother. She and her husband, a retired engineer, live inside a small town in the Midwest. They enjoy their church family and spending quality time with family and friends. While pursuing her writing, she also enjoys working as a Commissioned Artist. Her six published novels include: The Sleeping Matchbook & Watched, followed by a sequel, Inherited Danger. Henri’s ghost, Uncharted Storm and Forgotten Witness. Along with these, she’s published several short, true-life stories in compiled books: Stories for Guideposts books, and Angels, Miracles & Heavenly Encounters, as well as, Falling in Love With You” by OakTara. A devotional, in “Love is a Verb” by Gary Chapman & James Stuart Bell. Lastly, short stories in It’s A God Thing by Worthy and “Jesus Talked To Me Today”, compiled by James Stuart Bell”.

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Copyright © 2017 A novel by Patricia L. Stebelton.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover Photo by Author.

All scripture used in the text of the novel was taken from the Ryrie Study Bible.

Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9067-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9068-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9066-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017909351

WestBow Press rev. date: 6/29/2017

Contents

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Preface

Prologue        Fall—1948, Three years following World War II

Chapter 1:       The Move Back

Chapter 2:       Exploring Chelsea

Chapter 3:       Making Adjustments

Chapter 4:       Beginnings

Chapter 5:       Where there’s Smoke

Chapter 6:       Avoiding the Probes

Chapter 7:       Encounters

Chapter 8:       Incidents

Chapter 9:       The Phone Call

Chapter 10:     A Meeting of Minds

Chapter 11:     Home to New Challenges

Chapter 12:     A Visit from a Friend

Chapter 13:     An Invitation

Chapter 14:     Stirrings in the Wind

Chapter 15:     Shall We Dance

Chapter 16:     Contact or Collision

Chapter 17:     Time to Learn

Chapter 18:     Donavans Inside Out

Chapter 19:     The Circle Tightens

Chapter 20:     The Unexpected

Chapter 21:     Storm Brewing

Chapter 22:     Exposure

Chapter 23:     Assembly of the Living & the Dead

Chapter 24:     Loose Ends

Chapter 25:     Rogue Experience

Chapter 26:     Moving On

Chapter 27:     A final Decision

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to Kathleen Clark and the Chelsea Area Historical Society in Michigan for their great help in obtaining the historical information used within the contents of this novel.

Second: A word of appreciation for those special readers, Anne Garris, Dianne Ballagh and Beverly Pickel, who have helped me craft my suspense story of mystery, faith and love.

Lastly: I recognize that without the hard work of several WestBow Publishing expert people, especially Rose Landon, check-in coordinator, this novel would never have become a book. Thank all of you many times over.

Dedication

I dedicate this book is to my husband, Dick Stebelton, for his ongoing faithful support in my writing endeavors throughout the years.

Though I’ve based my story in and around the actual, small city of Chelsea, Michigan, and many things about the town are as I report them, this is a fictitious novel. The characters and some of my places I’ve described, such as: Mick Talbot’s ranchero and Ernie’s Greenhouse are part of my imaginary story.

Preface

My fictional story, UNKNOWN Connection, is based in and around a town I know well. It was a delight for me to develop my storyline and characters within the neighborhoods, stores and sights that I’ve walked and loved many times. For this reason, I’ve added a portion of its rich history for others to enjoy. My Romantic Suspense Novel is in part inspirational as my faith has been my center and motivation throughout life’s joys and sorrows. I hope you enjoy reading my story as much as I did in writing it.

Prologue

FALL—1948, THREE YEARS

FOLLOWING WORLD WAR II

The clock tower struck 10: p.m. in Chelsea, Michigan that cold November night when John Wesley Donavan parked his gray Packard on a quiet side street. He’d driven the long roads from the bustling corporate section of Detroit to this small town, burdened with an urgent need—to counteract the wrong he had done before it was too late. And there remained but one objective—to keep his legal and beloved wife, Janie, safe from the fallout. His jaw was set.

Closing the car door behind him, he pulled the fur-lined wool collar of his top coat high around his neck, adjusted his hat low over his eyes and walked with determination toward his clandestine appointment. To the left the impressive contours of the Methodist Church loomed as a huge sentinel; in the distance stood the massive, elegant Chelsea State Bank, both buildings constructed of granite fieldstone. Reaching Main Street, he checked each way before proceeding right on the deserted street, then quickly walked on past darkened shop fronts. The only visible sign of life was a stray cat skittering down the alleyway.

Careful to keep his head turned away from the low-lit street lamps, John drew his broad shoulders inward, thrusting his chilled hands deep inside his pockets. Feeling his heart rate increase with soaring anxiety, he paused to regain control. I can’t believe it has come to this! he thought, struggling with a mounting sense of urgency. As past events rushed through his mind, he experienced grievous regret for his unwise decisions … but Janie wasn’t one of them—contrary to what his parents believed.

If they had only tried to accept Janie, when I told them of our love … He and Janie Morgan had plans to marry. She was his Chelsea sweetheart. He’d met her while staying in his parents’ exclusive hideaway on one of the area lakes. Janie was special—an openhearted and sincere young woman so different from any of the society girls his mother paraded by him. But while the quaint town of Chelsea was adequate for a close vacation respite, a picturesque area to get away from their hectic world, it was not considered acceptable background for a potential Donavan wife. His parents were outraged that he’d dared to love a woman they’d tagged as "unsuitable".

Their threats rang in his ears across an entire ocean as he’d sailed off to war. Mother’s vile intimation screamed in my mind night after night, If you see her again I won’t be the one to blame for destroying her family. I’ve warned you before, John!

He’d racked his brain during three years of war for a solution to bridge the difficult family waters and not lose his precious Janie, but never did the possibility of a secret double life enter his thoughts—it just happened. He’d acted impulsively, thinking Kendra would be an ideal cover to get his family off his back so he and Janie could live privately, but he’d never dreamed he would end up married to two women at the same time—a bigamist! Dear God, what have I done? Forgive me!

Plagued with illness for months on end and hunted by Japanese soldiers in the dense Philippine jungles, John returned home depleted by weakness and hunger with no heart to go up against his family. He was beaten down and exhausted, wanting to be left alone to live his life with his beloved. But it wasn’t in the cards for us, Janie girl. Why is life so hard? Each step forward bore his heavy burden.

He had married Janie immediately after the war, keeping their wedding simple. They’d said their vows in a chapel setting in Chelsea, away from his family—in secret. This was when it began—his first step toward the overall deception. He should have announced their marriage to the world and laid the ground rules down to his mother—instead he’d chosen the easier route. Janie knew about his parents’ reluctance to accept her, yet she continued to believe John’s promise to slowly win them over.

It broke his heart to deceive Janie, and now he was too ashamed to tell her. She understood his need to spend a few days per week in Detroit, accepting that his business required his time. Assuring her everything would work out soon, John had prayed for a miracle. Following yesterday’s discovery, it was clear that he must hide additional proof of his marriage to Janie. . . proof that would legally protect her and their baby, Maureen, from Kendra in the eventuality something happened to him. His parents would be forced to recognize them as family. But if Kendra ever found out about Janie … He couldn’t consider the possibility. It was up to him to prevent that if he could.

Sadly, the stakes of a fatal eventuality happening to him were soaring by the day. He had to put as much protection around his family as soon as possible. The cold air stung his face, but he hardly noticed. If only I could go back and undo my decision about Kendra … He constantly berated himself for not rejecting Kendra’s preposterous marriage proposal at the first. His parents, believing him to be single, and blinded by her impressive connections had pushed them to marry. John had the personal contacts to give Kendra the inside avenue to the lucrative real estate business she was establishing in elite Grosse Pointe. It was an ideal business arrangement, he’d thought. Had I only known that I was making a pact with the devil.

It all seemed so easy—too easy … a plan that would work for both their benefits. Love was never an issue between them. Kendra was cold—an austere woman with a single mission. It was agreed that they would discreetly lead their separate lives without interference. His and Kendra’s marriage was strictly an agreement of mutual convenience, but their connection ended there … or so he had believed at the time.

He drew in a ragged breath. What a coward I was! He had faced the enemy in combat, but the constant pressure from his mother had made him foolishly reckless. Yet, if he’d informed his mother of his marriage to Janie at the beginning, it would’ve been equivalent to throwing her to the wolves.

As John hurried furtively down Chelsea’s dark main street, his mind pounded with past happenings. His lack of strength to stand up to his powerful family had made him the catalyst in most all of the situations, forcing him to examine his motives. Experience had shown him his mother’s capacity for revenge. Those who defied her wishes felt her wrath. He’d learned forgiveness and love only from Janie. John’s hand rose to his neck, rubbing his tense muscles as he walked. He’d taken all the precautions he could think of, but would they be enough to protect Janie from his family and Kendra?

Hindsight reaffirmed his decision; keeping his marriage to Janie a secret from Kendra had been his only good idea. But the woman was no fool. Up to that moment, their business lives had been as separate as their bedrooms. The fact they were married in name only was known only to them and observant servants who operated in a code of family secrecy.

He thought back on how seemingly smooth the arrangement with Kendra had worked for over a year until his personal assistant, Renz, came to him with news of an alarming nature. He’d found condemning papers in Kendra’s office. Renz Aloot, John’s Filipino wartime friend, had continued to watch his back in America after nursing him in the Philippians. John trusted Renz implicitly!

It took John but a few moments in Kendra’s private apartment office to confirm Renz’s observation. It sickened him to realize that he had enabled her to use him as a front for her vile business activities. If she suspected what he’d found out, it instantly targeted him as a liability—a highly expendable one. Knowing this, John had to work fast. The hours he’d spent earlier in the day with his personal lawyers had been the first step. After years of fighting his family, he now had to deal with Kendra.

If only I’d been quicker—had gotten away clean … While leaving Kendra’s office late yesterday afternoon, John had unexpectedly encountered her in his hurried exit. Her accusing glare blocked his attempted excuse. It told him she knew he’d discovered her terrible truth—his words fell flat, seen for what they were, a weak cover-up.

John knew instinctively, the amount of time to complete his plans would not be long. What he’d learned in her office put everything into a new perspective. Seeing the ‘real Kendra’ filled John with icy coldness. She was evil and dangerous! One thought drove him forward and that was the welfare of Janie and his child. No matter what happened to him, he had to protect them and safeguard their inheritance.

The Chelsea night air chilled the perspiration that rose on John’s forehead as those memories swarmed back. Somehow I must try to stop Kendra. Evidence indicated this woman had deadly contacts right in her own family network. John’s mouth set in a grim smile, thinking how ironic it was that Kendra was considered acceptable to his parents while Janie was not. The urgency of the situation propelled John toward this late meeting in town,

Reaching the darkened shop fronts that bordered the alley on Main Street, he paused and looked up to confirm there was a light burning in the upper photography studio behind the skylight windows. This was the next important step in protecting Janie and their daughter. He calmed himself before entering the stairwell to the right of the combined stores of Vogel’s and Wouster’s. One final glance assured John he was not being followed before mounting the dark stairs.

The top landing was visible only by lights in the adjacent studio. The photographer met him there. Opening the door and leading him into the studio, the man turned and eyed John with curious appraisal.

So, what’s so important, Mr. Donavan, that it requires a late night meeting?

When both doors were locked behind them, John removed his hat, gripping it firmly in both hands. I have a special favor to ask of you, sir. A favor, that at first may seem a bit unusual. He contemplated his next words. "Let’s just say, there may arise an occasion in the future, a legal reason why someone might have need to see a copy of the wedding picture you took of Janie and me—a dated picture, exactly like the one we purchased a few years ago. He rushed to explain why it needed to be well hidden. Say, in the event someone might break into your studio some night and search your files … Are you following me?" His eyes were nearly black in their intensity.

The arch of the sharp-eyed photographer’s brows narrowed into a frown. "Let me get this straight. You think someone might break into my studio looking for a copy of your wedding picture?" His expression went blank with incredulity.

John shrugged. Possibly? I’m not at liberty to explain, sir, but I ask your help in the matter. I sensed when we were here before that you are an honest man. It’s important that a dated picture of our wedding, as well as a copy of our marriage certificate be kept safely stored away from easy accessibility. He handed the puzzled man a folded copy of his and Janie’s marriage license. Please do not ask me further questions. This is a matter of some urgency! John’s anxious look brought a quick intake of air from the photographer.

The older man rubbed his upper lip in deep thought for several long seconds. Raising his head, he looked across the room at a gaping hole in the wall. Water damage has made it necessary to repair that wall and plaster over it. An object placed deep inside the wall might stay hidden for say, many, many years unless an urgent reason required it to be reopened.

John Donavan smiled in relief and quickly handed the man a generous amount to cover the purchase of a special leather folder to protect the documents and for his trouble. Heaving his shoulders, as if a heavy burden had fallen away, John murmured, Thank you, sir. This is no small favor. It’s a great comfort to me. Turning, he left the way he’d entered and merged into the shadows of the night. Janie was waiting in their cozy, modest home and he wanted to take advantage of every available moment. Ever since the incident in Kendra’s office, he’d borne a mantle of heavy foreboding.

Hurrying down the sidewalk, John felt a bone-chilling shiver run through him. Whatever happened, Janie was the only wife he would ever acknowledge. But he now knew that should Kendra discover his secret, his precious family would be in grave danger also. Kendra had an agenda and something warned him he might not live to see his grandchildren. The wind had turned colder. John hurried to his car and home to Janie.

The lights of their small home were brightly lit, as if she’d been waiting for him. Janie opened the door at the sound of his engine and stood in the lighted doorway, looking like a lovely angel, a cloud of worry covering her face. Although John told her very little, she’d sensed there was unspoken trouble and stood strong to support him. Janie was all love—love for her God in whom she believed with all her heart, and love for him and their baby girl.

Whatever lay ahead, he considered himself a lucky man to have known such love. Crushing her in his arms, John held her close and kissed her fragrant hair. He shielded her from the cold night, all in an effort to keep out everything in the outside, dangerous world that would harm them and tear at their love. Someday, it will be all right, Janie girl, he murmured, under his breath. John’s worried eyes searched the surrounding darkness and prayed it would be so.

Chapter 1

THE MOVE BACK

Late March, 2010

The door of the bus squeaked closed and the driver shifted gears, ready to leave Houghton, Michigan to begin his long journey down to Jackson, a city located in the lower peninsula of the Great Lakes state. Bailey Morningstar Spencer glanced behind her before adjusting her seat rearward. Lowering the window screen, she smoothed down her tousled hair and settled in for the long ride. She knew no one on the bus and was grateful for the anonymity—a chance to reflect on her private thoughts. Yet feelings of aloneness oppressed her almost to the point of suffocation.

She ached inside for all she’d lost.

Drawing a long breath, she rested her head back and allowed her mind to wander. She was traveling away from what she knew and toward the unknown, toward what few family members remained on her mother’s side. Bailey had questioned her motives more than once. Even now she doubted the advisability of such a venture—returning to where it all began. Will it expose me to danger? she wondered. And what exactly am I seeking in this risky move? With a nervous shiver, she reached up to finger the dark birthmark in the corner of her left eye.

Swallowing hard, she accepted the fact that one of the driving forces within her was the deep desire to belong to family again—to find a true place to call home. While she acknowledged this need as a vulnerable weakness, she could no longer deny the inner hunger.

In the past, her small family had moved frequently. Their places of residence were temporary—houses and apartments, never knowing how long they’d be at one location. Now that she was grown and her immediate family was dead, her decisions, good or bad, were her own.

She was barely twelve years old when Grandma Janie breathed her last while holding to Bailey’s young hands—hands that couldn’t keep her beloved Nana from the eternity she seemed almost eager to embrace.

Moisture pooled in the corner of Bailey’s eyes as she recalled Nana Janie’s final words. Hush now, baby girl I’m ready. Your grandpa is waiting for me. Finally, I’ll be with my John. We’ve been parted far too long.

Her words had not taken away Bailey’s sorrow or the longing for the grandmother who’d been her friend and confidante for years. Though short in actual years, Janie and John’s love had been a lifelong bond, and Bailey carried their inspiration with her. She wanted that kind of love one day, but for now she’d settle for a family connection. Grandpa John’s family was a dark unknown. Many doubts surrounded their legacy. Was it there that the danger originated?

The mysterious visitor who’d come to her apartment two weeks earlier had brought back all Nana Janie’s stories of the past and set the stage for the beginning of this questionable venture.

When that soft knock first sounded at her door, it compounded Bailey’s apprehension. In all her twenty-eight years, this was the first personal encounter she’d had with the phantom Aloot family of childhood memories. They visited at night and slipped away silently, and always in their wake followed uncertainty and fear.

* * * * *

The exotic, fine-boned man who stood there, handed her a card bearing the Aloot name—a name she’d heard spoken many times by her grandmother and mother. It was a name whispered in hushed tones, as if the walls might absorb their secrets. Bailey’s nerves that particular night were heightened by the weather. It was reported the entire state of Michigan was cloaked heavily in dense fog, even more so in Houghton. It was an icy, decisively nasty night—a good time to hole up where it was warm. Yet there he stood outside her apartment, dressed in dark clothes, his suave island coloring and somber expression indicating it was not a social visit.

The hour was late, too late for visitors, when his clandestine knock came. She’d opened with hesitation in response to the well-known Aloot name. His sober features had caused Bailey to remember similar night visits when she was a child. On each occasion, a Filipino man had amazingly, almost mystically, arrived at their door. Her mind froze in a startling realization: One of the Aloot family is now standing in my doorway! What can it mean? Sucking in a deep gulp of air, she hurried to welcome him. Visits from his family had always ushered in a time of urgency in the past. We moved quickly, leaving no forwarding address. Is it beginning all over again? Will the fear ever end? She braced herself before speaking.

Ah, please sit down, Mr.–ah–Aloot? she offered, stumbling in her nervousness. She squinted down at the card a second time, unsure of the correct way to pronounce his last name. Bailey directed the slender, reserved man to an empty chair amidst the cluttered area. He couldn’t be considered tall, but close. It was evident to any observer that she was in the process of moving. Packing boxes were staggered around the small apartment, and it was equally evident the young man’s eyes missed nothing. He sat easily on one of her simple dinette chairs and quietly scanned the room before stating his purpose.

"I’m called John, in honor of your grandfather, Miss Bailey—John Aloot Tiador. He inclined his head in a humble nod. My mother, Alieta, is the eldest daughter of Renz Aloot. She married a man named Tiador, but I’ve chosen to keep my grandfather’s honorable name of Aloot. I’ve come on my family’s behalf tonight. We heard you were considering making changes in your life." He said it simply with no hint of judgment, yet Bailey blinked at the bare fact that these people knew so much about her life. But then Mother had been astounded by their knowledge as well.

Bailey couldn’t help but wonder how the Aloot connection to her family originally came to be. Perhaps the answers lay sealed within the taped box of unknown family secrets. Her eyes strayed briefly to the corner where it sat waiting for transport. Returning her attention to John, she braced herself for whatever message he was there to deliver.

* * * * *

The dull sound of the bus in motion was like a hypnotizing one note song. Bailey’s fingers combed her hair in a lazy, distracted manner. She allowed the afternoon sun to lull her to sleep until a road rut jolted her awake. Watching the trees rush by the window, she finally let herself think of the heartaches she was leaving behind. Faces of lost loved ones rose vividly to mind. The long, still unsolved mystery of her grandfather’s death haunted them all. Though she’d never met him, his memory was like a dark, unknown, prominent monument in their minds. Then came those awful years following Nana’s death when Bailey nursed her mother through the aggressive cancer. Bailey was not quite seventeen when her mother, Maureen, became ill, but she managed to hold their fragile home together for her grieving father.

Her father returned from Mama’s funeral with a fierceness Bailey had never seen before. He’d taped and retaped the family box, declaring that everything dealing with the box and that portion of their life was henceforth off-limits until Bailey was of legal age. Bailey sighed. Too many regrets and sad memories, Papa. Now with Dad gone almost six months, her heart ached with overwhelming loneliness. Bailey swiped at wayward tears, still mourning for those lost relationships.

Returning her wayward thoughts to her conversation with John Aloot that unforgettable night in Houghton, Bailey mulled over his suggestions for her trip and wondered at his mysterious warning. Her nightly dreams replayed John’s parting words—words alerting her to possible danger. Danger could await her at her destination.

If your course is set, Miss Bailey, we’ll do what we can. It would be better to sell your car and arrive by bus. Your movements will be less traceable that way. Our family is unsure exactly how much knowledge your enemies have about you.

Bailey felt compelled to comply with John’s suggestions—her reasoning based solely on her childhood memories. Nana said the Aloot family had always looked after their family—something about fulfilling a promise. Nevertheless, Bailey couldn’t escape her apprehension in his presence.

When John Aloot had finished speaking, Bailey glanced around at all the packed boxes, her thoughts lost in a dilemma. How could she transport all her stuff on a small income without benefit of a car? Her gaze connected with John’s hooded eyes in time to catch a glint of humor. He smiled faintly. Have your belongings shipped to your great aunt’s home at the edge of Chelsea. You can move them from there at your leisure. But take care to not alert your aunt about their arrival until the last possible moment. It will lessen the possibility of exposure. Here is a card of a reliable moving company.

He’d handed her a second professional card. This also bore a Spanish name that many Filipinos carried from years back of Spanish comingling. It caused her to wonder if there existed a family connection between the Aloot family and the family on the card. It was like he’d prepared for all contingencies. Bailey’s mind blurred.

The confident young man paused at the door to add, Please reconsider our first suggestion, Miss Bailey. The time is right. We feel your late grandfather, John, would agree. You must consider the dangerous element out there that is still pursuing you. Bailey’s pulse raced at the warning, able only to nod silently. John Aloot put on his overcoat and had his hand on the doorknob before she found her tongue.

Wait, John, she’d called. Who is pursuing me? What is it they want? No one has ever said. I was a child then, but I am no longer a child.

Without turning, he’d answered, "It is not my place to mention names at this time, but our sources are reliable. Though we don’t know who he might send to accomplish his evil intent, the basic goal remains the same as it was for your grandmother, Jane, and your mother, Maureen, before you. They want to eliminate all of you. In simple terms, they want you dead, Miss Bailey." He’d left quickly without further explanation.

She’d wondered later if she’d ever again encounter this John Aloot. I should have asked him, but I was too stunned. "We’ll do what we can," he’d said.

And how will I know what danger to look for—or who? Was it someone in Grandpa John’s own family? Surely not. But I don’t know for sure. Who is the he John spoke of—the they? Bailey’s mouth tightened. All I want is to live my life in a normal way. An inner voice challenged her thoughts. Then why did I quit a good job to return to Chelsea, my grandmother’s original home? The real question remained: Why do I feel so driven?

Feeling a gentle pressure against the back of her bus seat as the man behind her reclined his position, Bailey shifted uncomfortably. She was a pacer and there was nowhere to pace on the narrow aisled bus. The older woman seated next to her was engrossed in a paperback; her salt and pepper severe-cut hair hugged her lined cheekbones. As if feeling Bailey’s gaze, the woman glanced up at her curiously beneath her wire-rimmed glasses, peering at her with small green eyes. I’m sorry, do you want to get out? Just say so, and I’ll move so you can get by.

No, that’s all right—really. I’m fine, just a little anxious to get there I supposed, She added, . . . and road weary. Bailey gave the woman a weak smile.

Oh I know. My old back doesn’t do well riding hour after hour either. She held out a gloved hand. I’m Ella Jardine. I hate long rides. I always arrive feeling like a pretzel.

Nodding in sympathy, Bailey lightly took hold of Ella’s gloved hand. Bailey Spencer. Sorry to have interrupted your reading. The stocky woman’s square jaw projected outward.

Arching her neck, Ella frowned. Reading gives me a kink in my neck, but there’s little else to do but read and I only have a few pages remaining. I’ve read better books, she complained.

I’ll leave you to finish your story. I’m inclined toward a nap. Bailey turned back to the window, clutching the large, taupe leather bag on her lap. She could feel the outline of her own paperback tucked deep inside, but she knew she was too restless to concentrate on a fictitious story, especially with her own life so unsettled. Next to the paperback, she felt the outline of a cylinder, her canister of pepper spray. She had carried the self-defense weapon since the death of her father. A lifetime of fear led Bailey to arm herself. It went with her everywhere. Hopefully she’d never have need to use it.

She steeled herself from dwelling on those unsettling memories, but her mind wouldn’t let go, second-guessing every decision. Bailey lowered her head into her hands. John Aloot’s impressive visit was so fresh in her mind. Though his features revealed little emotion, he had managed to convey his disappointment in her decision to postpone any reunion to her grandfather’s estranged family. Should I have agreed? she questioned.

Her own thoughts argued … Most of them don’t even know I exist—nor care, I imagine, and one of them might even be trying to kill me. Besides, I have much to learn about the past before I can make any decision, and I need guidance, Lord. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she added, I’m sorry the only time I pray lately is when I’m in urgent need of something. I’ll try to do better.

Bailey felt acutely aware of her failure to pray in recent months. Now she worried that she was acting on her own instincts and not under God’s umbrella.

"Living without God’s guidance will only bring problems," Grandma Janie had quoted regularly.

On the heels of that advice, Mother was always quick to add that Grandma would know the truth of that statement better than anyone she knew. Neither explained what it all meant. Is that secret in the box too? wondered Bailey. She couldn’t remember when she’d first had the inner urging to move back to Chelsea. The thought had been fixed in her mind for months.

Now here I am traveling to the very place where it all began. She’d often wondered what cowardly actions her grandfather had been guilty of that mother had mentioned. Was the source of the family’s danger a result of those actions? Nana and Mother avoided answering her questions. As the bus raced through the blackness of night, Bailey realized her destiny neared. She pulled her camel coat tighter, feeling a sudden cold chill. Was her faith strong enough to face what was ahead? More importantly, was it God’s hand guiding her to this small town in mid-Michigan or her own willful curiosity?

She estimated how many more hours before they reached their destination. Her great Aunt Cordele had promised that she’d meet her at the bus depot in Jackson. When Bailey expressed tender concern about the elderly woman driving that long distance after dark, she had faced the full force of her aunt’s wrath.

Corky, as Nana had referred to her sister, had barked back, I’m still able to get around and do things, you know!

Her aunt’s bluntness first startled, then amused Bailey, alerting her to the challenge that lay ahead. She knew when she arrived she would have to do some quick side-stepping to her aunt’s probing questions. While she hated to impose further secrecy, yet she heard her voice make one additional request.

Aunt Corky, she asked, gently. "I’d appreciate it if you would keep my return to Chelsea between us for the present. Not that anyone knows me …" Giggling, she’d made an attempt to laugh at her own situation, feeling more and more self-conscious.

You got that right, sweetheart. Not even your own cousins know you, a fine thing! All I have to recognize you by is a wrinkled, outdated picture, when you were a teenager. I should be used to all this hush, hush hokey business by now. It doesn’t matter; what matters is you’re really coming home. Honestly girl, I just can’t wait to have you here, to see you in the flesh.

There had been such raw tenderness in Aunt Corky’s words, as if she was truly anxious to reconnect with her dead sister’s family. Don’t let me bring danger to her door, dear Jesus.

The constant drone of the bus’s wheels finally won out. Bailey’s eyes flickered and closed.

* * * * *

Deep in an uneasy sleep, Bailey stirred when the whine of the diesel engine changed gears. Could they be pulling into the Jackson station? She blinked at all the commotion, as people scrambled to gather extra bags and carry-on luggage. Shaking the sleep from her logy brain, Bailey positioned her seat upright and waited until the first wave of anxious travelers had exited the bus. The woman, Ella Jardine, lumbered out of her seat and down the aisle.

The man from the seat behind her waited as well, and now that only a few remained, he stood at the end of her row and stared down at her from the approximate height of five feet, eleven, with a look Bailey knew all too well.

I’m J.J. Austin. Be happy to help you with your luggage. His warm, brown curls and dark blue-grey eyes were not unattractive, but his aggressive manner was a complete turn-off to Bailey. He rubbed his bristly afternoon shadow and looked her up and down with smooth approval.

Without hesitation, she responded with a clipped tone. No, thank you, Mr. Austin. I can handle it, myself. I’m being met at the station by someone. But thanks for asking. She hoped he wouldn’t hang around and pester her further.

The air had developed a damp rawness as outside temperatures plummeted. Carrying her laptop and a oversized handbag, she stepped inside the uncomfortably warm, bright waiting room and sought out a wall clock. She winced at the lateness of the hour. Nine p.m. was simply too late for an older woman like Aunt Corky to be out in such nasty weather. Regrettably it was the only ticket Bailey could get on the date she required. Bailey withdrew her luggage from the bus carrier and found herself stranded in the center of the terminal with more luggage than she could transport by herself—the result of being one of the last off the bus. All luggage movers were taken.

Recalling the last family photo that Aunt Corky had sent her, her tired eyes searched for a likeness in the faces of those who were crowding inside the station. She chided herself for not overriding her aunt’s comments and making alternative arrangements for transportation. Her poor aunt was probably still out on the highway making her way here. If so, Bailey’s wait might be extended. She looked for a suitable place to sit and stash the luggage. Staring at the bags left at her feet, she reasoned how she might manage to move them to a comfortable chair. Basically she needed an extra hand. Lifting the one bag under her free arm, she determined to somehow get her things out of the main thrust of the room. Eying the wheeled bag as she would an opponent, she wondered if it was possible to direct the bag with the force of her lower body.

Sensing a presence, Bailey drew back sharply. The startling appearance of the annoying man from the bus stood near—too near. He winked at her. You can’t deny a helping hand wouldn’t make life easier at this moment. Just tell me which direction you’re aimed and I’ll get those bags for you.

Bailey inwardly groaned. Why wouldn’t this guy get the idea she wasn’t interested. She was afraid of giving him even a hint of encouragement in fear he would become like chewing gum on the bottom of her shoe. Yet how else could she get her luggage across the room? She exhaled a frustrated breath and looked around trying to think of a way out of this awkward dilemma on her own. Maybe if she stalled, he’d give up and leave or one of the luggage movers might free up for use. Unfortunately he continued to push his offer.

Come on, it’s just a pile of luggage, honey. You know you need my help. He grinned.

His arrogant confidence was irritating. "Look, don’t call me honey! she began. And I don’t …"

* * * * *

The sandy-haired man in a chocolate leather jacket slipped inside the station and shook his head free of rain water in his dash from the parking lot downpour. Mick Talbot arched his neck to scan the crowd. The photo in his pocket was faded, but his eyes zeroed in on one particular woman with honey, blond hair in a camel-colored coat near the center of the room. Observing the muscular, curly-haired man walk up and make his move on her, Mick drew out the photo for a second look before advancing. It had been a long day and he was in no mood for a confrontation. But some days he just couldn’t seem to get his wish, and this was sizing-up to be one of them.

* * * * *

While Bailey was in the process of declaring her refusal, the stranger from the bus grabbed hold of the luggage on wheels. With that firmly in his grasp, he reached for the heavy bag under her arm only to be stopped quite unexpectedly. From the side, an iron-like hand thrust from out of nowhere, like lightning, to claim Bailey’s bag before Austin could grasp it.

I’ve got it, pal, said the sandy-haired man. Thanks for the help, but it looks like I’ll be the designated driver tonight. I was sent to be the lady’s ride." Mick extended his free hand and waited for the bus stranger to relinquish the handle on the wheeled luggage as well.

Bailey gawked at Mick, finding herself momentarily speechless. Noting her surprised reaction, J. J. Austin stood his ground with a challenging glare. Funny, dude. The lady in question doesn’t seem to recognize you.

Mick gritted his teeth and dug into his inside pocket for a folded piece of writing paper. Handing it to over to Bailey without a word, his azure blue eyes fixed on the stranger, his manner bored and unyielding.

Glancing from one to the other, Bailey clumsily unfolded the note: Bailey, be nice to this kind young man. He’s helping us out. I twisted my back today and Mick offered to drive to Jackson and bring you home. His name is Mick Talbot and he’s a Godsend. Can’t wait to see you. Aunt Corky.

Lifting her gaze to the tall, light-haired man, she nodded. What’s your name?

Sighing heavily, as if the whole procedure was too much effort, he replied, Mick, Mick Talbot.

Bailey glanced back at the grim-faced, curly-haired stranger. My aunt sent this man. Thanks for your offer of help, but we will be fine from this point, Mr. Austin. It actually gave her pleasure to dismiss him. Besides his obnoxious behavior, something troubled her about the man.

J.J. Austin jerked the wheeled luggage in Mick’s direction, shooting him a knife-like look. My pleasure, pretty lady, he mumbled. With a fast turn, he made his way to the door leaving Bailey alone with the surly man named, Mick.

She offered him a weak, apologetic smile. This man had graciously come to her rescue on a frightful night, only to be challenged, first by an aggressive stranger and then by her.

I’ll take that, ma’am. Mick nodded curtly toward her laptop. Bailey relinquished her bag to his outstretched hand and hurried to follow him obediently from the building.

I appreciate you doing this, Mr. Talbot, she murmured contritely. Sorry about that earlier hassle, but I had no way of knowing who you were. She rambled on, trying to smooth out the rough beginning. Actually, I’d already turned that man down on the bus, but he took advantage of the bind I was in to get a little pushy. Noticing his blatant disinterest, she abandoned conversation and shifted her large handbag, to follow behind him.

Talbot lowered his bare head against the onslaught of driving rain and mumbled, It happens, ma’am. I’m parked a short distance to the right. Put your hood up, Miss Bailey.

His abrupt tone was a little daunting, but Bailey tried to overlook it considering their introduction hadn’t been that pleasant. She pushed to keep up. The man’s strength was incredible. He was handling both bags plus her lap top and he was out-distancing her without effort. Once Talbot loaded the bags, Bailey followed his lead, scrambling to take cover inside a blue Chrysler Sebring.

Bailey waited until the heat had taken the chill from the car to steal a sidelong glance at her driver. From the tight set of his jaw and his cool manner, she could tell it was going to be a long, quiet trip to Chelsea. Adjusting her seat backward, she made an effort to relax and not think about anything except the very next thing on the agenda, which would be her initial face to face with her great-aunt.

Listening to the slick wheels slice through the water on the interstate between the city of Jackson and the small city of Chelsea, Bailey watched the shadowed rise and fall of the farmland and adjoining countryside beyond the window. She caught only fleeting glances between the pounding rain on the window. Never one prone to fill in awkward gaps of conversation with boring weather tidbits, especially when the weather beyond the window was glaringly obvious, she returned her focus to the passing shadows, allowing the silence to continue.

As the unpleasantness of the bus station passed from her mind, Bailey was able to think in a more logical way. It was her style and it worked well for her. All of her medical information and hospital experience in Houghton were filed competently inside mental compartments of her brain. Everything in her life was compartmentalized, even to her bare bones social life, but this move to Chelsea was rearranging her whole thinking process. It was outside the box. Her instincts told her she was advancing on the adventure of her life.

Shifting in her seat, she glanced back at Mick Talbot. His features were relaxing as the distance behind them increased. Perhaps now would be a good time to approach him. Mr. Talbot, how did Aunt Corky hurt her back? She sounded fine when we last talked.

He checked his mirrors before answering. Corky was in the basement, making room for some boxes that supposedly are arriving in a few days. All I know is, she said she twisted the wrong way. I’d just driven up to do some work for her and heard her call for help. I’m a handyman, Miss Spencer. I mow grass and fix things among other duties.

How badly hurt is my aunt? she asked.

The doctor thinks concentrated rest should take care of it. But I certainly hope you don’t require a lot of maintenance, Miss Spencer, because Corky has been ordered to keep off her feet for a few days. Her daughters live too far away to come home during the week, although one of them might possibly come on the weekend to help out.

Bailey recoiled at the sharp inference of her becoming an added burden. The heat rose in her cheeks. She bristled inwardly at his insinuation that she would demand her injured, elderly aunt to wait on her. The man was crudely critical without cause and out-spoken in his approach. Was this to be her night of encountering rude men?

Blowing angry air through her teeth, she replied dryly, sarcasm dripping from each word, Oh, I think if I try, I might be able to manage without my usual maid service. Not giving him time to respond, she hurried on, Perhaps with concentration, I might even think of ways I could be of some help to my ailing aunt during my stay. Bailey tried not to dwell on the fact that her aunt most probably hurt herself while striving to make room for her storage boxes. I seem to bring gladness wherever I go, she thought wryly as guilt settled in. She was fast losing hope of a warm homecoming.

Chuckling, Mick shot her an appraising glance. You’ve got moxie, I’ll give you that. You and Corky should get along just fine, Miss Spencer. She enjoys a good sparring partner.

It would seem she’s not the only one, Bailey muttered, her words barely audible.

What was that? Mick asked, his eyebrows raised.

Oh nothing. Bailey stared through the dark window pane.

A slow grin crept across Mick’s shadowed profile.

* * * * *

While Mick unloaded the car, he urged Bailey to go ahead of him inside. She rushed up the stairs of the wide old porch that graced the entire back of the large Victorian house. The home was happily situated on a side street a few blocks from Main Street Chelsea. A porch light haloed a golden haze over the wet, glistening porch area and across the backdoor threshold. Bailey caught her breath at the immediate feeling of warmth she experienced. She imagined her grandmother as a young girl rushing in from school without a hint to her future. The tips of Bailey’s long fingers tingled with excitement. She was retracing footsteps of Nana’s life.

Hesitating a long second, she turned the doorknob and pushed, hearing a slight squeak in the old hinge. Bailey knew Mick would be right behind her but she wanted to savor this first moment of stepping inside the old homestead. Because of their vagabond, sometimes gypsy-style life of traveling around the state, she’d missed untold family dinners and reunions with Grandma’s family. Would they accept her now? These people were the only family Bailey could claim still in existence.

I hope you can see through my eyes, Nana. What a reunion this would be if you were actually here with me to greet Aunt Corky after all these years.

Is that you, Mick? Have you brought Bailey? Hurry and get inside this living room, so I can finally lay my old eyes on her. I’ve been on ‘pins and needles’ sitting here in this lumpy chair waiting for this moment. Aunt Corky’s anxious voice quivered at the last.

Bailey called out, It’s me, Aunt Corky. Mr. Talbot will be right in with my luggage. It’s pouring out there. Give us time to shed our shoes and overcoats first. She started undoing her soggy coat with dripping hood just as Mick banged his way through the door, his arms full of heavy bags. His longish hair dripped down his bearded face.

Don’t you bother about any of that, you hear. Mick, bring her in here. I’m tired of waiting alone like a forgotten step-sister. If it hadn’t been for my stupidity today, I’d have been there with you. Hurry up, you two!

Bailey was working fast to help Mick untangle the luggage. She grabbed a dishtowel off the rack and wiped off her computer bag, setting it with two other bags on the braided rug in front of the stove. Hurriedly, she finished undoing her coat and whipped it off to wrap around a kitchen chair.

Mick lifted his head in the direction of the living room. Listen, Corky, he called. It’s been a long day. I’ve locked up your car; I’ll just take my van and head home now.

You’ll do nothing of the kind, Mick Talbot! Unless you married someone this afternoon that I don’t know about, you’d be going home to a cold, dark house way out in the country and no dinner. So you might as well spend a few extra minutes drying off here and eat something warm. My neighbor brought over a pot of stew and put it on the stove in case you might be hungry. Now bring my great niece in this living room. Then you can dish up some stew and put on some coffee for all of us.

Patience, Corky, we’re coming. Looking over at Bailey, he whispered, Keep her pacified while I put the coffee on. She’s been wound up for a week just knowing you were coming. He nodded toward the doorway leading into the next room.

Bailey glanced at the rugged man lifting a container of coffee from the cupboard. He did look tired. He was obviously staying to please Aunt Corky. She, herself, had been up since 3:30 a.m. getting ready for the long bus trip. Focusing on the entrance to the living area, she drew on what fortitude she could muster to make her trembling legs move forward toward their first encounter, feeling both excitement and dread.

Her hands smoothed her brown tweed sweater downward to her Khaki slacks and shook her damp hair free from her face before she stepped across the threshold to the toasty living area. Bailey’s eyes went immediately to the sinewy, white-haired woman situated in the large recliner to the right of the fireplace—her steps were hesitant. Unlike Grandma Janie, Aunt Corky’s face was narrow, now lined with old age and sun. Although wire-rimmed glasses hid most of her eyes, Bailey knew they were riveted on her entry. Hello, Aunt Corky, she said, clearing a voice noticeably strained with uncertainty.

The old woman’s mouth parted as Bailey moved closer. Corky pursed her lips as if holding back something that was straining to get out. The last few years, I’d all but given up hope I’d ever lay eyes on Janie’s family before death claimed me. She lifted her face back to Bailey. Well, don’t just stand there. Come sit here next to me in this chair, girl. She patted the faded blue, high-backed traditional chair that looked as if it had been positioned specifically for her.

Bailey’s hand took hold of the back of the chair to support her unsteady legs before easing into the high back with the worn fabric. An unbidden yawn slipped out before she could catch it.

You’re exhausted. It’s as clear as day. Shifting uneasily in her chair, Cordele raised her head toward the kitchen. Mick, hurry up with that coffee. This girl is fading fast.

Refocusing on Bailey, her faded hazel eyes squinted, as if sharpening her focal view of the young woman before her. You look some like Janie, but the shape of your face and your eyes are definitely John’s, even to the eye color. You’re a mite taller than I expected, but most people are these days. Personally, I think it’s the vitamins and all that steroid pumped food they’re feeding kids. If I was younger I’d raise my own chickens. She wagged her finger.

Bailey’s eyes widened at her aunt’s comments, their rich umber shade, stark against the pale hue of her complexion. She smiled. You can buy naturally raised chickens in the markets.

Yes … Well, I’m not sure I trust them either. Who knows what goes on in those barnyards. She stared critically at Bailey’s wan expression. You look peaked, child. Too much living inside—not healthy. We’ll have to do something about that. Do you think you could eat a bite?

Oh I don’t think so, really. It’s awfully late and I’m almost too tired to chew. Her hand rubbed her forehead.

Nonsense. Mick, bring this girl some stew too.

Shaking her head vehemently, Bailey protested softly. Aunt Corky, please quit ordering that poor, tired man to wait on me. He’s already gone way out of his way to drive me here from the station. I am perfectly capable of serving myself. She stood abruptly, as if to prove the point, and started back to the kitchen when Mick met her with a small bowl of hot stew in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.

"Hope you don’t mind drinking it black, Miss Bailey, I think Corky is out of