The Sand Foundation

By O.S.F. Rev. Donna DuBois

"I fear I must warn you. The chances of survival are not good."

Sarah's new friend is being drugged and her life is in danger, but Sarah's determination to help her friend at all cost jeopardizes the lives of her friends and her life. Fat

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Nov 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647539771

O.S.F. Rev. Donna DuBois

Donna lives in San Marcos Texas . She received a M. div. from Houston Graduate school of Theology. She trained two years at Md Anderson cancer Hospital as a chaplain. She was ordained a priest in the Orthodox Catholic Church in 1991 and consecrated a bishop in 2002. She worked as a hospital and hospice chaplain . Prior to her ministry career she worked as a registerd nurse. She retired as a investigator of abuse and neglect in nursing homes for the state of Texas.

Book preview

1

Frenzied barking shattered the morning quiet. Sarah jumped at the intrusion into the silence of her early morning bike ride. Then, she gasped. Her eyes focused on a blur of motion to her left. A chow was charging a less than substantial picket fence. The sound of splintering wood announced that the fence had given way to the constant bombardment by the chunky dog. No owner appeared.

The fifty plus pound dog charged with the enthusiasm of a participant in a demolition derby. The dog flew toward her, his teeth snapping. She pumped the pedals furiously, but to no avail. The charging mass of fur lunged for her and sharp teeth penetrated the soft flesh of her ankle. Pain jolted her slender body.

Sarah jerked her long legs up and onto the bike handlebar in a protective reflex. This only succeeded in causing her to lose control of the bike. The front wheel hit the curb with a thud, and she found herself airborne. Her elbow connected with something hard causing a stabbing pain throughout her arm. She landed with all the dignity of a sack of potatoes. As she lay on a carpet of soft grass, gasping for breath, the dog lunged for her face. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm. She threw her hands up to protect her face. Her breath quickened and her heart pounded as adrenalin spilled into her blood stream. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. If fear alone could cause her death, she was doomed.

Chewy! Sit, shouted an unfamiliar voice. The strong but warm voice commanded respect. The attack ended almost as soon as it had started.

Paralyzed with fear Sarah kept her hands raised to her face.

It’s safe. He won’t bother you now.

Slowly Sarah lowered trembling hands. She told herself to take slow breaths. At last, no longer afraid of hyperventilating, she focused on her rescuer, a lanky woman in crisp blue overalls. Her white hair suggested an older woman, but her clear and piercing blue eyes belonged to a much younger woman. Sarah was terrible at guessing ages and refused to try after repeatedly embarrassing herself. Her rescuer threatened the now whining dog with a forceful stream of water from a garden hose. The chow gave her a scornful stare as if daring the woman to use the water on him. In her other hand, she held a garden hoe raised and ready to deliver a damaging blow. The dog whimpered.

Go home. I’m not going to hurt you. The subdued chow trotted back to the security of the remnants of the battered fence then sat wagging his tail, as if obedience had been all his idea.

The stranger pulled a doggy biscuit from her pocket and tossed it to the dog with perfect aim. Chewy caught the treat in mid-air with practiced perfection and swallowed it almost whole. He looked up eagerly for more. The woman shook her head.

Nope—enough for now and you don’t deserve that one. She turned her attention back to Sarah.

Sarah inventoried the damage to her clothing and body.

Are you hurt? asked Sarah’s rescuer with a look of concern and compassion.

I think I’m fine, just scared. Her short ash blond hair curled close to her head, but one errant lock had fallen over one eye. She brushed it into place with an unsteady hand. Her face felt hot and flushed and she hadn’t completely succeeded in slowing down her breathing. Her elbow throbbed and she realized it must have hit the curb but fortunately the softness of the grass had protected her from other injuries.

I’m Eva Malone. Come inside. You are hurt. Let me help you. The woman wrapped an arm around Sarah’s slender waist. She had a surprisingly firm grip.

Some nice hot tea will help. Her elbow already sported a nasty bruise. She slowly flexed her arm then rose hesitantly to her feet with a helping hand from her new friend. Sarah looked down to assess herself more fully. Everything seemed to be working but looking at her ankle she saw blood flowing from a puncture wound. The attack had left her hose shredded and her skirt crumpled and creased. Tears filled her eyes and splashed down her cheeks. Instantly a strong arm went around her waist.

No, really. I’m not hurt, responded Sarah with more conviction than she felt.

The woman’s presence was comforting. She walked along with the woman toward an attractive large two-story colonial home. It had been painted beige with brown window and door frames. Rose bushes in a variety of colors surrounded the house.

For some reason Sarah felt overwhelmed by her disheveled clothing. Perhaps it was shock causing her to focus so intently on appearance rather than her injuries. I can’t go to school looking like this.

Don’t worry about the hose. The woman laughed warmly. I have an extra pair or two in the house and I can clean up that skirt and press it in no time.

Sarah prided herself on a nice appearance and now she looked as though she’d been in a train wreck but if she returned home to change, she’d miss her entire first period. Her perfect attendance seemed unreasonably important. Suddenly she laughed, I could have been killed or scarred for life and I’m worrying about clothes and missing class.

Sarah’s sudden outburst of laughter seemed to startle the woman and she grabbed Sarah more tightly as if afraid that Sarah might be losing control.

I’m glad you dropped in, but next time I hope you won’t literally drop in. Eva laughed at her own wit. Her eyes twinkled causing her to look almost young. Sarah knew Eva was trying to distract her from the trauma of the attack and that made her like the woman even more.

Count on it. Sarah would value this woman’s friendship. It felt good to have attention on her, even if it took a dog attack to get it. Sarah’s father was an Episcopal priest and it sometimes seemed to her that her parent’s attention always focused on the needs of others.

Sarah was curious about Eva’s age but was too polite to ask. Whatever her age, Eva had presence and a regal quality that gave her an ageless beauty. A red long sleeve cotton shirt under her crisp blue overalls made her clothes seem a fashion statement rather than work clothes. They fitted loosely on her slender body. Nothing about Eva spoke old or frumpy.

Sarah considered that her father was right when he preached that beauty is not an outward quality but inward.

Eva stopped suddenly, whipped out a white handkerchief from her pocket, and hastily wrapped it around Sarah’s bleeding ankle. Tears splashed down Sarah’s face. She found Eva’s ministrations extremely comforting.

Thanks Ms. Malone. I don’t mean to cry, but I can’t help it. I feel so silly.

Eva, everyone calls me Eva. Not Ms. Malone. You’ve had a shock. It’s okay. Feel free to shed a few tears. Cry all you like. The woman rattled on while gently guiding Sarah to the back door of her large two-story home.

Sarah had only observed a back yard like Eva’s in magazines. It was the most beautifully landscaped yard she had ever seen. There were three levels. Hedges bordered each level, and the green lawn was broken by beds of roses of all colors and all sizes. A St. Frances statute formed a large birdbath and several bird feeders hung from three giant oak trees. Rose vines bursting with large roses in bloom circled each tree. A white wooden bench faced the birdbath and looked over the flower filled yard and a koi pond. It provided a perfect spot for reflection and meditation.

I’ll put a proper bandage on that bite when we get inside. I’m so sorry about Chewy. I told Margaret her fence needed repair. I don’t know what came over that dog. Dick had a doctor’s appointment this morning or they’d be home.

I’m just grateful you rescued me. I think Chewy might have really hurt me. Just recalling the attack caused Sarah’s heart to race again. She could almost hear it thundering away. Her normally peach complexion had paled, and she shook slightly as she thought about the vicious attack.

Eva opened her back door and held it for Sarah. I suppose. He got his name because he chewed up all his toys within weeks of getting them. Maybe he’s just getting grouchier with age. Still, I had better make sure he’s taken to the vet–just to be sure nothing’s wrong. You never know for certain with a dog. I’ve always heard that most people are bitten by dogs that don’t bite, according to the owners. That just shows you what they know. I’m just glad he’s been through obedience school and had all his shots. I’ll have Margaret’s yardman repair the fence this morning. Margaret’s had Chewy ten years. She’ll be crushed when she learns he’s bitten someone.

Then don’t tell her. I shouldn’t have ridden so close to her yard. I know dogs are possessive of their territory. Sarah feared Margaret might feel compelled to send the dog to the pound. She doubted he’d find a new home at his age.

Eva’s yard smelled of roses and it was alive with color. Eva apparently had been out watering her roses. It was late October but in central Texas it was still in the high eighties as soon as the sun was up.

I must tell Margaret. She’s not going to allow Chewy to attack people. A stronger fence ought to hold him and protect the unsuspecting public.

The back door opened into a large vibrant kitchen. One wall held whimsical paintings that Sarah imagined might have been painted by Eva. Sarah, at last, felt less shaky. The kitchen smelled of fresh baking.

Eva led Sarah to a chair at a large kitchen table. She then put a pot of water on the stove for tea. A white linen tablecloth covered the table and a single red rose in a crystal vase graced the center of the table. A china plate heaped with cookies sat next to the rose.

You must be expecting guests. Sarah worried that she was intruding.

No, I do this for myself. Eva gave a casual wave of her hand in the direction of the kitchen table. I like decorum. Why eat just a meal when you can have tea and cookies on china? asked Eva.

You do this every day? For yourself? Sarah’s eyes widened with delight and surprise. At home, they were just as likely to use paper plates as dinnerware and decorum was the last thing anyone considered.

I do. Of course, Margaret comes over for tea when she’s not getting ready to leave on vacation. The Bible says love your neighbor as yourself. Eva smiled. Well, first you must love yourself and I confess I do love myself. She chuckled pleasantly. She had a warm, throaty laugh. Help yourself. I’ll just put on some water for tea. Eva pointed toward the plate of cookies then busied herself spooning tea leaves into a clay pot.

Sarah smiled in response to Eva’s warm laughter. Is Margaret Chewy’s owner?

Yes. He belongs to my neighbors, Margaret and Dick Wilson.

Eva filled a small silver pitcher with milk and put it on the table next to a matching sugar bowl.

New neighbors just moved in on the right. The moving van arrived Saturday. The for sale sign is still up, and they are still unloading boxes. The house has been on the market at least five years. It was a grand old house once, but it was overpriced. The realtor’s gushing about her commission. The couple paid cash and that seems strange to me. They don’t look like a wealthy couple and the furniture they moved in looks rather dowdy. I’m sure they’re nice but no one can be as nice as the Wilson’s. We go on a cruise every year about this time. They’ll leave this afternoon. This year I’m staying behind because they’re celebrating their fiftieth anniversary. They married right after high school. A third party at their anniversary just wouldn’t seem right.

Sarah loved Eva’s broad smile and warm laughter. The Wilson’s attended her church and she knew of the couple but not too well. She didn’t realize they lived so close to the school.

Eva joined Sarah at the table and offered her more cookies. As they munched on cookies, Eva shared about herself. Sarah listened as she relaxed from her attack.

I was born and raised here. I stayed home after high school to care for Father after his stroke. Mom died six months after Dad’s stroke.

Eva looked out her window as if lost in the past, and then shook her head, as if shaking out unpleasant thoughts. She put a smile on her face and continued. I had a brother, Nathan. He took off to New York as soon as Mom died. He planned to earn a living as an artist. He left me alone to take care of Dad.

The teapot began whistling and Eva got up, poured the boiling water into the clay pot, and grabbed a strainer out of a drawer then placed these items on the table. She then retrieved a couple of cups from a cabinet and brought those along before retaking her seat across from Sarah. She poured tea for Sarah and herself using the strainer to keep the tea leaves out of their cups.

Eva laughed. "Men always assume the woman will be the caregiver. I didn’t mind. Father didn’t last long and after his death I went off to Vanderbilt and studied journalism.

World War II was almost over by the time I graduated. I got a job as a war correspondent the last year of the war and moved to England."

That’s so exciting. Sarah had never known a professional journalist.

Nathan was engaged to Joan Graham. She’s Foster now.

Sarah looked up startled at the mention of her journalism teacher.

Joan was a year behind Nathan and just beginning her senior year when he left for New York. They had known each other since childhood. That house on the right was her family home until she reached high school then the Martin’s bought it and she moved across town.

Eva paused. Her smile had vanished. Sarah knew she was remembering past losses and difficulties.

Police arrested Nathan for selling a forged painting to a rich New Yorker. He didn’t do it. Eva rushed her sentences together. It’s a complicated story. Joan wrote to him every day and even visited him in prison after she graduated. She always believed in him. We both knew he’d been set up. He spent almost five years in prison then the governor pardoned him…said there was a question of jury tampering. Nathan was out one month but his health was ruined in prison and he couldn’t recover.

Eva studied the floor as if seeing memories in its polished surface.

I’m sorry about your brother, offered Sarah for lack of anything better to say.

It was a long time ago.

Eva sighed then smiled and changed the subject.

England was exciting. I got involved in the Resistance. I saw a lot and met a lot of wonderful people.

The Resistance? How courageous.

Not really, I had to do it. I couldn’t stand what the Nazi’s were doing to people—turning them into haters of all people that were old, disabled or Jewish. It was the least I could do. I loved being a part of something so meaningful. Coming home, I felt I’d left my real family. Nathan had died. I had nothing to come back to. I was depressed for a while until Joan convinced me to teach journalism. It was her first year out of college and she wanted the support.

Sarah sat straighter and her eyes widened at the mention of her teacher again. Mrs. Foster is my journalism teacher. She reached retirement age a couple of years back but says she’s not ready for the glue factory just yet.

Eva laughed and Sarah couldn’t help but laugh with her.

She’s one of the school’s most popular teachers. No one wants her to retire.

Sarah considered that Mrs. Foster might be the oldest teacher at Oakley High but without any doubt, no one had reaped more love from her students than Mrs. Foster.

She studied journalism and education at UT and returned here to student teach. At her suggestion, the school hired me as the journalism teacher, and we did student teaching together. I didn’t have a teaching degree but in those days it didn’t much matter as long as you had a college degree and experience in your field.

Eva stood suddenly, grabbed the teapot, and took it to the sink to rinse out. She placed the teapot upside down on the drain to dry out then sat back down to resume her visit with Sarah.

How did I get on that ancient subject? Sorry. After I came home and taught journalism at Oakley High, I ended up caring for an ailing old-maid aunt, the last of my family. Now you know everything there is to know about me.

Sarah saw that these memories brought a pained expression to her new friend’s face. She felt certain there was much more to know about her Eva Malone.

Sarah helped herself to another chocolate chip cookie.

You’ve been a caregiver most of your life.

I suppose so. I never regretted it. I enjoyed it and I also loved teaching. Eva looked at her watch then continued. I don’t know what I’m thinking about. I’ve just rattled on and forgotten all about your injuries. I’ll get my first aid supplies and be right back.

Eva rushed off down a long hall. She returned shortly with a small first aid kit. She washed and bandaged Sarah’s wounds with remarkable speed and skill. Sarah’s breathing had returned to normal. She regretfully declined more cookies. Her hands had stopped shaking and her peaches and cream complexion had returned

Now, you stay right there while I iron your skirt and wash out a little dirt. Hand it to me.

Obediently Sarah slipped off her skirt and handed it to Eva. The older woman disappeared down the hall.

Sarah took time to have a long look around the kitchen. A large window over the sink looked out at the backyard. Light spilled in through the window to give the kitchen a cheery glow.

Sarah had planned to stop at Eva’s house on the way to school and ask her if she could sketch her roses. Sarah supplemented her spending money by selling her artwork on consignment at a local art supply shop. The excitement of the accident completely wiped her original agenda from her memory.

What type work do you do? Sarah raised her voice so Eva could hear her from down the hall where she’d disappeared to iron her skirt. There was no answer although Sarah felt certain Eva had heard.

Sarah sat dutifully in Eva’s kitchen chair awaiting her return. She continued to wonder what type work Eva did. She decided it must pay well since the house and yard undoubtedly required a great deal of upkeep. A shelf over the sink held colorful teapots of every shape and size. Some were in the shape of animals and others in the shape of English cottages. Sarah wondered if perhaps Eva had inherited her money, but why then would she need to work?

Eva returned with Sarah’s freshly ironed skirt draped over her arm and a pair of panty hose grasped in one hand. They resumed chatting as Sarah stepped into her skirt and squirmed into the hose.

You’ve had such an interesting life, said Sarah.

When you’ve lived almost eighty-seven years, you do accumulate a lot of interesting stories.

Sarah tried to close her gaping mouth before her new friend noticed. Eva certainly didn’t look anywhere near eighty-seven.

Unfortunately, few people really want to hear old stories, no matter how interesting or wise. Anyway, I don’t want to live in the past either. The present is too much fun. Eva laughed merrily.

Oh, what do you do now? I mean besides raise beautiful roses? Sarah subtly tried again to learn what work Eva did.

Sarah thought she noticed Eva’s face redden slightly but she still didn’t answer the question. Sarah’s curiosity had reached a new height.

My goodness looks at the time. You’re late to class. Eva studied her watch.

Sarah glanced down at her watch and was startled to realize how much time had passed. First period would end in fifteen minutes. She had enormously enjoyed her visit and regretted that she must leave.

Sarah quickly surveyed her clothes and decided she looked no worse for wear. She regretted that Eva had managed to evade all her questions about her work. Clearly, Eva was a professional woman, but professional what? Apparently, she worked from home. Whatever Eva did it would have to remain a mystery for now.

Eva walked Sarah down her long hall to her front door. Sarah studied the beautifully decorated home as she made her way to the front door. The antique furniture smelled of fresh lemon oil. An oriental rug in the living room accented a wall of impressive paintings. Some were clearly by master artists. The hardwood floors were polished to a high shine.

Before saying good-bye, Sarah asked if she could return and sketch Eva’s roses. Eva seemed thrilled that Sarah would return. Certainly, any time.

2

Sarah stood in the doorway scanning the classroom for an empty desk. She hoped to avoid notice.

Thank Goodness you’re alright, boomed the teacher’s husky voice. You’re never late. I thought something terrible had happened to you.

Sarah mumbled an apology that apparently went unheard. Mrs. Foster pushed up with effort from her enormous desk at the front of the room and strolled to Sarah’s side as rapidly as her bulky frame would allow.

A cloak of silence settled on the class as students waited to hear Sarah’s excuse for lateness.

Sarah normally enjoyed Mrs. Foster’s dramatic concern for her students but not when the focus centered on her. Usually others rated the teacher’s intense attention. Sarah felt her face heat up and feared it rivaled Rudolph’s nose for redness.

Mrs. Foster put her hand in the center of Sarah’s back and gently guided her to an empty desk as if she were incapable of finding a seat unassisted.

I had imagined all kinds of terrible things. Mrs. Foster’s steel grey eyes were bright with alarm while her brow wrinkled in concern. Her myopic eyes, already magnified by her glasses, appeared huge due to worry.

Oakley isn’t exactly a crime center, said Sarah mainly to remind herself. She knew that Mrs. Foster had an impressive imagination and loved to exaggerate minor incidents. She could turn a simple lost item into a three-alarm burglary and an innocent jab with a finger into a felonious assault. Knowing her teachers love of exaggeration, it made her nervous.

You’re never late to school, accused her teacher. I just knew that something horrible had happened to you, Her enormous gray eyes scanned Sarah from head to toe then stopped at her bandaged ankle.

I knew it! You’re hurt. Eric, find a stool for Sarah to elevate her injured ankle, barked Mrs. Foster. She jabbed a finger at Sarah’s bandaged ankle. Eric gazed around the room then, with no stool in sight, he rushed out.

Sarah felt a sudden irrational need to apologize. No, really, it’s nothing.

The students also gave Sarah an intense once-over. She self-consciously raked a blond curl from her face and stared back at the glaring faces. Her cheeks burned from embarrassment at all the attention, and from her rush to class. She wished she could crawl under her desk and hide from their stares.

Sorry I’m late, but I did have a minor accident. Sarah face was hot enough to light a fire. She wished her classmates wouldn’t continue to glare at her. She fixed her attention on the floor rather than meet their questioning eyes. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did they keep staring at her?

Well, this is journalism. Mrs. Foster clapped her hands and stood up straight. Okay class, time to get back to work. She returned to her desk.

Sarah sighed with relief until she realized that her teacher continued to focus on her.

Tell us everything, Sarah. Maybe it could be a story.

Sarah erupted into laughter before she could stop herself.

I don’t think so. The Wilson’s dog broke through their fence and bit me but it’s not serious. Sarah’s heart thundered in her chest as she recalled the husky chow’s snapping jaws. Luckily, Ms. Malone saved me from serious injury by issuing a few sharp commands. And that’s all there is.

Are you sure you’re alright? Mrs. Foster demanded again. She returned to Sarah’s side and focused intently on Sarah’s wrapped ankle.

Sarah tucked her elbow close to her side to hide the bruise. She hated being the center of attention.

Just a nip. Sarah responded. Her leg now throbbed. The attack had shaken her, but she wasn’t about to break down and admit pain in front of her classmates.

Well! I insist. Let the class decide. Tell us everything from the beginning. I’m waiting. Who, what, where, and when! She turned slightly to face the class and snapped her fingers to emphasize each word then turned back to Sarah. Well, let’s hear it.

It was nothing. Sarah briefly detailed the attack. It was futile to try to evade persistent teacher’s quest for information. Sarah explained how she’d been attracted to the beautiful rose garden across from the high school. I had intended to introduce myself to the owner and ask her if I could drop by sometime to sketch her roses.

A ripple of laughter spread across the room as soon as Sarah indicated she’d intended to drop by.

Mrs. Foster returned to her desk. She pulled at her dress in an effort to cover her knees before sitting down. The dress likely fit ten pounds earlier. She seemed pleased with Sarah’s story. Continue, Sarah.

Sarah detailed her attack and rescue by Ms. Malone. She omitted mention of how much she enjoyed the visit while Eva tended her wounds. She’d been spellbound by Eva’s brief biography of her life as a war journalist in England and her work in the Resistance. It seemed wiser to let Mrs. Foster assume attention to her injuries delayed her and not the cookies, tea and conversation.

Eric returned. He’d been unable to find a stool, but the teacher had apparently had already forgotten her request and ignored his effort to apologize. He shrugged his shoulders and returned to his desk amid a smattering of laughter.

Sarah could hardly wait to share her interesting visit with Leslie. Leslie had been best friend since she first moved to Oakley three years earlier.

Leslie intended to study journalism in college. Sarah still had no idea what Eva did now, but her past work as a journalist