Chapter One ~ Nora

Nora’s dream slithered into her sound sleep like a serpent. Arriving as a cozy collage of summer fun with a childhood friend, it gave no indication it was a shapeshifter.
   Nora and Julie drank root beer and played Parcheesi.
   They rode bikes and walked up the alley dragging sticks behind them to mark the soft dirt with squiggles.
   When they got to Nora’s bedroom and shut the door, they were in a giggly, wonderful world of their own. This was where secrets were shared while they played with dolls. Sprawled on her bed reading comic books, Nora felt the shift begin.
   Playful sunlight dimmed and slipped away.
   Julie disappeared.
   The bed moved into the corner of the room.
   Empty, colorless walls framed an alarmingly bare floor.
   Shadows from a solitary, overhead light bulb crawled toward the bed.
   Dread took root, and Nora was scooting away from the ominous silence when she saw the rug. Rolled up along the far wall, it sent immobilizing fear through her.
   “Nora, Nora! Hey! Wake up, Babe!”
   Adrenaline exploded, igniting Luke’s body as he reached for his wife across the gray flannel sheets. Half asleep and groping in the late night shadows, he found her shoulder. He couldn’t tell if he shouted or whispered, “Are you okay?”
   Still trapped in the dream that was stealing her soul, Nora heard the question. Her heart pounding, she couldn’t respond.
   Panic, creeping out of a deep place within, pinned her to the soft mattress. It shut out the moonlight that filtered through the pepper tree and danced on her grandmother’s quilt.
   Vivid and contained, this dream was a distorted, distant relative of a nightmare. It had branded her and, even now, continued its slow burn.
   Irritation covered Luke’s lingering fear as he sat up to look at his wife. Her eyes were open. “You made a sound that came out of the bowels of a beast. The hair on my neck is still standing up.”
   Nora stared at her husband. She started to reply, but the words were trapped in the unnerving silence still seeping from the rolled-up rug she’d seen.
   Luke reached out, rubbed her bare arm. This middle of the night invasion was beyond his experience. Relief, like finding water after crossing a desert, had him leaning closer when Nora quietly spoke. “What was the sound?”
   Luke tried repeating what had woken him. Shook his head in defeat. “It came from deep in your throat… a high-pitched wail. Strangled and smothered. What happened?”
   Nora rubbed her eyes trying to remove the lingering images. “I need to move.” She grabbed the edges of the covers, struggling to pull them off.
   Concern surging, Luke watched as Nora sat up and gingerly placed her feet on the soft, warm carpet. He tracked her slow, uncertain path around the end of the bed, past the dresser, and into the bathroom. He listened to her turn on the faucet.
   Through the doorway, Luke could see her standing over the sink with the water running through her fingers. The only movement was her silky, yellow nightgown, caught by the breeze from the open window.
   “What’s happening here, Nora? What do you need?”
   Nora looked in the mirror above the sink wondering if she looked the same. She wasn’t sure. Found she didn’t care and reached for the towel to dry her hands. “I had a weird dream. For some reason, I can’t shake it off.”
   Walking back to Luke’s side of the bed, she crawled under the covers to find the comfort he gave so easily whenever Nora allowed herself.
   He pulled her close. Tucked the quilt around her shoulders. She was shivering from the cool night air… or the dream. He couldn’t tell. “Can you remember it?”
   “Oh, yes. Every detail. How it moved from a hazy dream, playing with a friend to… I don’t know. The first part was like looking at old photos with softened edges. Then it changed.”
   Nora snuggled in closer. Found the sweet spot in the crook of his neck. “I was playing with Julie, my childhood friend from grade school.         We were hanging out, doing the kind of stuff we did back then.”
   Luke listened as his wife described the entire dream, expecting unspeakable images. None of the details matched her deep distress or the horrifying sound she’d made. He tried logic. “Dreams always bounce around like that. You’re in one place and suddenly something else is happening.”
   Nora pushed away. “This didn’t ‘bounce around.’ It melted. Became darker while everything shifted into a menacing threat. There was no sound.”
   Luke listened carefully, catching every detail of something he couldn’t understand.
   “Slow motion,” she murmured. “The silence and slow motion…”
   He didn’t interrupt. Her words hung in the air.
   The soft bed, soft light, soft love didn’t soothe. Billowing frustration urged tears, but Nora refused to surrender. “The walls, the silence, the shadows. Everything… felt so dark. But the rug was the worst. It turned my bones to ice.”
   “The rug? Just seeing a rug? Why was that terrifying?”
   “I don’t know!”
   Her hand kneaded his chest, seeking something solid. “It was a big roll on the far side of the room. Something you’d see if someone was getting ready to lay carpet. Nothing happened with the rug. It just sat there, but every time I see it… even now… I feel panicky. Like something’s going to happen. I can’t shake the feeling.”
   Nora moved out of his embrace. Sat up. “Talking isn’t helping.”
   “What do you want to do?”
   “I have no idea.”
   That’s what she said, but Nora felt like yelling. She wanted a roaring fight. She’d love to be in the courtroom nailing some lying son-of-a-bitch trying to get away with something. Or standing up to a bastard who abused his and then thought he could get custody with his Sunday smile for the judge.
   “How about a middle-of-the-night movie?” Luke suggested. “Would that be a good diversion?”
   That was her husband’s go-to distraction, not hers, but Nora nodded. “As long as it’s boring. I don’t want any drama.”
   Nora grabbed her chenille bathrobe. She pulled their pillows and the quilt off the bed, and they headed to the living room.
   Four hours later, morning found them back in bed, tangled up in their flannel sheet and blanket. Luke turned off the alarm clock, rolled over, and realized Nora was wide awake, laying on her side, staring out the French doors.
   “It’s going to be a rough day,” he murmured. “Are you in court?”
   Nora continued watching the sun delete the nighttime shadows in their backyard. “No, thank god. Mostly prep. A few appointments this afternoon.”
   Luke began massaging her shoulders. “Do you think you could reschedule them and stay home?”
   “I could go in late. Why?”
   “Might want to give yourself a break here.” Luke knew it was a useless suggestion, but couldn’t help himself.
   Nora pushed herself. She filled her calendar, added post-its when something else came up, then embraced spur-of-the-moment requests that just couldn’t be ignored. She showed up and got things done.
   No matter what.
   Tired didn’t count.
   A bad dream wouldn’t even register.
   It made her the best divorce attorney you could find if you wanted custody of your children.
   Nora crawled out from under the shoulder rub and headed for the bathroom. “You might be right. I feel like an earthquake tossed me into a rift, and I’m still looking for myself.”
   The mirror confirmed her impression. “Looks like I’m putting up a good struggle.”
   Luke followed, turning on the shower as she patted the skin around her eyes trying to decide which of her products would work best.
   “So what happens now?” He stepped into the warm stream of water. “Does the dream go away? Do we have something more here?”
   “Maybe one of my cases is getting to me.”
   “You have a hotly contested custody battle over a rug?”
   Nora felt humor teasing her lips, but the haunting weight of the image of that rug doused it. She plopped on the toilet.
   Luke shampooed his hair to the everyday sound of his wife peeing. When he stepped out of the shower to dry off, she hadn’t moved.
   “I’ve been thinking about my uncle.”
   “Something about the toilet bringing this up?”
   “No, I mean he’s been on my mind these past few weeks. He was my favorite uncle, you know.”
   Luke reached over and closed the window. “So you’ve said.”
   “Did I tell you he liked to rebuild cars? A side-job when he wasn’t working at Dad’s garage.”
   The strange night was turning into a weird morning. What seemed apparent wasn’t. What sounded normal felt out of place.
   “So you’ve been thinking about your uncle…?”
   “Snippets from the past keep interrupting my thoughts. Catch my attention for no apparent reason.”
   Wrapping a towel around his waist, Luke rubbed the fog off the mirror with his hand. He did it every morning. And almost as often, Nora told him it would leave smudges, and he should use the hand towel.
   Today, she just watched. “The dream is connected. There’s something there. My gut’s telling me one leads to the other while logic laughs. Pretty sure I’m being overly dramatic.”
   Luke grabbed the toothpaste and his brush. “You? You’re many things my feisty, determined wife, but no one could accuse you of being overly dramatic. Painfully organized. Logical to a fault. Not dramatic.”
   He put the toothpaste on his brush and opened his mouth, as though he had cleared up that issue.
   Nora pulled on the toilet paper, lost in thought. “I’m going to make some espresso.”
   That, more than anything, told Luke his wife was deeply bothered. Her morning routine never deviated. Before heading to the kitchen, she showered and got dressed. The bathroom was wiped down, the bed made, and her nightgown hung on the hook in the closet, while he was reminded to pick up his clothes.

Chapter One ~ Nora

Nora’s dream slithered into her sound sleep like a serpent. Arriving as a cozy collage of summer fun with a childhood friend, it gave no indication it was a shapeshifter.
   Nora and Julie drank root beer and played Parcheesi.
   They rode bikes and walked up the alley dragging sticks behind them to mark the soft dirt with squiggles.
   When they got to Nora’s bedroom and shut the door, they were in a giggly, wonderful world of their own. This was where secrets were shared while they played with dolls. Sprawled on her bed reading comic books, Nora felt the shift begin.
   Playful sunlight dimmed and slipped away.
   Julie disappeared.
   The bed moved into the corner of the room.
   Empty, colorless walls framed an alarmingly bare floor.
   Shadows from a solitary, overhead light bulb crawled toward the bed.
   Dread took root, and Nora was scooting away from the ominous silence when she saw the rug. Rolled up along the far wall, it sent immobilizing fear through her.
   “Nora, Nora! Hey! Wake up, Babe!”
   Adrenaline exploded, igniting Luke’s body as he reached for his wife across the gray flannel sheets. Half asleep and groping in the late night shadows, he found her shoulder. He couldn’t tell if he shouted or whispered, “Are you okay?”
   Still trapped in the dream that was stealing her soul, Nora heard the question. Her heart pounding, she couldn’t respond.
   Panic, creeping out of a deep place within, pinned her to the soft mattress. It shut out the moonlight that filtered through the pepper tree and danced on her grandmother’s quilt.
   Vivid and contained, this dream was a distorted, distant relative of a nightmare. It had branded her and, even now, continued its slow burn.
   Irritation covered Luke’s lingering fear as he sat up to look at his wife. Her eyes were open. “You made a sound that came out of the bowels of a beast. The hair on my neck is still standing up.”
   Nora stared at her husband. She started to reply, but the words were trapped in the unnerving silence still seeping from the rolled-up rug she’d seen.
   Luke reached out, rubbed her bare arm. This middle of the night invasion was beyond his experience. Relief, like finding water after crossing a desert, had him leaning closer when Nora quietly spoke. “What was the sound?”
   Luke tried repeating what had woken him. Shook his head in defeat. “It came from deep in your throat… a high-pitched wail. Strangled and smothered. What happened?”
   Nora rubbed her eyes trying to remove the lingering images. “I need to move.” She grabbed the edges of the covers, struggling to pull them off.
   Concern surging, Luke watched as Nora sat up and gingerly placed her feet on the soft, warm carpet. He tracked her slow, uncertain path around the end of the bed, past the dresser, and into the bathroom. He listened to her turn on the faucet.
   Through the doorway, Luke could see her standing over the sink with the water running through her fingers. The only movement was her silky, yellow nightgown, caught by the breeze from the open window.
   “What’s happening here, Nora? What do you need?”
   Nora looked in the mirror above the sink wondering if she looked the same. She wasn’t sure. Found she didn’t care and reached for the towel to dry her hands. “I had a weird dream. For some reason, I can’t shake it off.”
   Walking back to Luke’s side of the bed, she crawled under the covers to find the comfort he gave so easily whenever Nora allowed herself.
   He pulled her close. Tucked the quilt around her shoulders. She was shivering from the cool night air… or the dream. He couldn’t tell. “Can you remember it?”
   “Oh, yes. Every detail. How it moved from a hazy dream, playing with a friend to… I don’t know. The first part was like looking at old photos with softened edges. Then it changed.”
   Nora snuggled in closer. Found the sweet spot in the crook of his neck. “I was playing with Julie, my childhood friend from grade school.         We were hanging out, doing the kind of stuff we did back then.”
   Luke listened as his wife described the entire dream, expecting unspeakable images. None of the details matched her deep distress or the horrifying sound she’d made. He tried logic. “Dreams always bounce around like that. You’re in one place and suddenly something else is happening.”
   Nora pushed away. “This didn’t ‘bounce around.’ It melted. Became darker while everything shifted into a menacing threat. There was no sound.”
   Luke listened carefully, catching every detail of something he couldn’t understand.
   “Slow motion,” she murmured. “The silence and slow motion…”
   He didn’t interrupt. Her words hung in the air.
   The soft bed, soft light, soft love didn’t soothe. Billowing frustration urged tears, but Nora refused to surrender. “The walls, the silence, the shadows. Everything… felt so dark. But the rug was the worst. It turned my bones to ice.”
   “The rug? Just seeing a rug? Why was that terrifying?”
   “I don’t know!”
   Her hand kneaded his chest, seeking something solid. “It was a big roll on the far side of the room. Something you’d see if someone was getting ready to lay carpet. Nothing happened with the rug. It just sat there, but every time I see it… even now… I feel panicky. Like something’s going to happen. I can’t shake the feeling.”
   Nora moved out of his embrace. Sat up. “Talking isn’t helping.”
   “What do you want to do?”
   “I have no idea.”
   That’s what she said, but Nora felt like yelling. She wanted a roaring fight. She’d love to be in the courtroom nailing some lying son-of-a-bitch trying to get away with something. Or standing up to a bastard who abused his and then thought he could get custody with his Sunday smile for the judge.
   “How about a middle-of-the-night movie?” Luke suggested. “Would that be a good diversion?”
   That was her husband’s go-to distraction, not hers, but Nora nodded. “As long as it’s boring. I don’t want any drama.”
   Nora grabbed her chenille bathrobe. She pulled their pillows and the quilt off the bed, and they headed to the living room.
   Four hours later, morning found them back in bed, tangled up in their flannel sheet and blanket. Luke turned off the alarm clock, rolled over, and realized Nora was wide awake, laying on her side, staring out the French doors.
   “It’s going to be a rough day,” he murmured. “Are you in court?”
   Nora continued watching the sun delete the nighttime shadows in their backyard. “No, thank god. Mostly prep. A few appointments this afternoon.”
   Luke began massaging her shoulders. “Do you think you could reschedule them and stay home?”
   “I could go in late. Why?”
   “Might want to give yourself a break here.” Luke knew it was a useless suggestion, but couldn’t help himself.
   Nora pushed herself. She filled her calendar, added post-its when something else came up, then embraced spur-of-the-moment requests that just couldn’t be ignored. She showed up and got things done.
   No matter what.
   Tired didn’t count.
   A bad dream wouldn’t even register.
   It made her the best divorce attorney you could find if you wanted custody of your children.
   Nora crawled out from under the shoulder rub and headed for the bathroom. “You might be right. I feel like an earthquake tossed me into a rift, and I’m still looking for myself.”
   The mirror confirmed her impression. “Looks like I’m putting up a good struggle.”
   Luke followed, turning on the shower as she patted the skin around her eyes trying to decide which of her products would work best.
   “So what happens now?” He stepped into the warm stream of water. “Does the dream go away? Do we have something more here?”
   “Maybe one of my cases is getting to me.”
   “You have a hotly contested custody battle over a rug?”
   Nora felt humor teasing her lips, but the haunting weight of the image of that rug doused it. She plopped on the toilet.
   Luke shampooed his hair to the everyday sound of his wife peeing. When he stepped out of the shower to dry off, she hadn’t moved.
   “I’ve been thinking about my uncle.”
   “Something about the toilet bringing this up?”
   “No, I mean he’s been on my mind these past few weeks. He was my favorite uncle, you know.”
   Luke reached over and closed the window. “So you’ve said.”
   “Did I tell you he liked to rebuild cars? A side-job when he wasn’t working at Dad’s garage.”
   The strange night was turning into a weird morning. What seemed apparent wasn’t. What sounded normal felt out of place.
   “So you’ve been thinking about your uncle…?”
   “Snippets from the past keep interrupting my thoughts. Catch my attention for no apparent reason.”
   Wrapping a towel around his waist, Luke rubbed the fog off the mirror with his hand. He did it every morning. And almost as often, Nora told him it would leave smudges, and he should use the hand towel.
   Today, she just watched. “The dream is connected. There’s something there. My gut’s telling me one leads to the other while logic laughs. Pretty sure I’m being overly dramatic.”
   Luke grabbed the toothpaste and his brush. “You? You’re many things my feisty, determined wife, but no one could accuse you of being overly dramatic. Painfully organized. Logical to a fault. Not dramatic.”
   He put the toothpaste on his brush and opened his mouth, as though he had cleared up that issue.
   Nora pulled on the toilet paper, lost in thought. “I’m going to make some espresso.”
   That, more than anything, told Luke his wife was deeply bothered. Her morning routine never deviated. Before heading to the kitchen, she showered and got dressed. The bathroom was wiped down, the bed made, and her nightgown hung on the hook in the closet, while he was reminded to pick up his clothes.

# 1 Depend on Doubt

Uncertainty is an ally of change. It opens doors to new possibilities. It invites new insights.

Ambiguity is a friend in quantum change. When it comes to creating new realities, it gives us the possibilities of a blank sheet of paper with a plethora of paints rather than a paint-by-number set.

Doubt casts light into the the shadows of our life, illuminating new opportunities. In the chaos of our thoughts, we notice we’re unsettled and what’s getting too routine. Dreams from the past and new yearnings won’t be ignored. We get uncomfortable enough to look for more.

The rumble of doubt can inspire us to release control and expand our life. It can show us that the way we have been managing relationships and circumstances is no longer working. It might point out a long-held belief that is no longer our personal truth. In the uncertainty of this feeling, freedom from outdated expectations often bubbles up.

Doubt can point out what we fear. Change often feels like we have to betray commitments or give up what we’ve worked so hard to create. Quantum Thinking reminds us that we get to choose what we include in our shifts, that nothing important gets left behind.

Getting a puppy launched a list of doubts for me. Was I ready for the change in my days, the commitment required, the unbelievably deep connection I knew I would feel? In the middle of writing a challenging novel, I was filled with uncertainties. Gathering information soothed my doubts. As I let go of old expectations, my husband and I discovered a different path for sharing days with a puppy. New information helped me release Old Thinking and my doubts.

Uncertainty is your heads-up to go to your inner wisdom for guidance. This is where you’ll get clear, vibrant insights connected to the energy field. Turn away from well-intentioned advice, quiet your inner chatter, and ask yourself what you need to know… right now. A positive, empowering, and maybe improbable message will pop up. Trust it. It’s for you. Keep asking until you hear your inner guide.

Doubt is the niggling energy that can empower change by making us aware of our inner wisdom.

Chapter 24

Elizabeth held her teacup close to her lips, soothed by the warmth from the earthenware. Watching Old Maggie nibble a cookie and share it with a one-eyed, orange cat that had jumped onto her aproned-lap seemed to help.

“There is no need to wordify about your condition. I have seen it often, and it takes no more than a good cup of chatter-broth and a couple of cookies to set it right.

“Feel the good air about you. Think of the sun shining on your adventure, imagine flowers sending their fragrant encouragement, and Emily here purring upon the moment,” her hostess crooned.

“Remember your feet upon that good, clean floor beneath the table. With nothing more than a flight of fancy, you can send roots out of the bottom of your slippers to attach you to the strength of earth and soil. You are as solid the table before you, the cup in your hand,” the woman across the table assured Elizabeth.

The voice deepened. The following words were wrapped in silk. “Like the grass outside my door, you are reaching for growth. Feel that and you will slip into this time with Old Maggie.”

Elizabeth was not sure she could feel roots growing out of her feet, but she did feel the solid wood planks beneath her slippers. Composure moved up her legs. It spread through her body until she could speak.

“I feel rather like a child who has found a treasure in the attic and knows not what to do.”

“Of course you do. It is not often you find yourself sitting across the table from an old crone and her cat,” laughed Old Maggie.

Her laughter held such raspy truth; Elizabeth could do nothing, but nod and smile in agreement. Shifting in her chair, the countess was fighting an impression of the world being flat… and she was sailing off the edge. She looked for words as though they were the rudder.

“I feel the rightness of seeking your company, but that does not mean I know why I am here.”

“You are here for this moment,” the older woman answered without hesitation.

Old Maggie leaned over her cat, offering Emily another bite of lemon cookie. Time expanded. She captured Elizabeth’s attention with her serenity, pulling her guest to safety with her confidence as well as her voice.

“I had known it would happen somewhen, and, rising out of bed at sunrise, I felt the air sparkle. I knew you were on your way. That is why I thought to get the floor mopped.”

The crone smiled. “A chore that would have completed except that snoutfair Harry came by with some peas and strawberries, and our conversation took us away.”

“It is easy to talk with him,” Elizabeth concurred.

The countess smiled when Old Maggie looked at her with a certain knowing, and then qualified her statement. “Or, maybe I should say, he seems more pleasing as I quit expecting him to respond in ways I’ve become accustomed. I own I was rather resistant to his company when I first arrived.”

“Yes, but when we do not listen to our spirit, it will always, sooner than later, give us another push,” the crone said.

Elizabeth nodded though she had no idea what that meant.

“I find this certainty a constant delight in the day-and-day world. First we trip. Then we stumble. Without fail, when we do not respond to the whispers from within, we fall down. But, of course, the lads need your presence as much as serendipity was part of the path for you and Harry.”

Old Maggie picked the cat off her lap and leaned over to set her on the floor before asking, “Do you want more hot water before we begin?”

“Yes. Please.”

Elizabeth instinctively asked for the familiar.

“Good. Heat up my leaves at the same time, would you?”

Pouring water gave the countess a bit of respite. Thinking about roots growing out of the bottom of her slippers brought a smile. The comfort of another cookie helped her look directly at Old Maggie to see where this day was taking her. Though the crone glowed like a candle sitting on a window sill in a storm, Elizabeth was not sure she would find shelter.

Old Maggie began in the middle.

“You will only make yourself ramfeezled if you persist in avoiding the wonder we hold within ourselves. Community, home, and family are a part of our journey. They demand we look outward. The appearance of gray hair marks the beginning of our transition, when we are invited to travel inward.”

Old Maggie’s voice washed over Elizabeth as she continued listening to the crone.

“Gentle graying announces the changes when body, mind, and spirit make their shift, and your sixth sense comes forward to guide your days. With each new gray hair, the voice of your intuition becomes louder. The whispers become insistent. These make the path quite clear for those who dare to listen.

“Our intuition guides. It brings those who are uncertain into the company of those who have learned to heed their inner voice. This instinct lights the path leading each woman to her spirit realm. It opens one’s eyes to a destination of purpose and creativity.

“Intuition is our knight in white, shining armor, there to help us claim our kingdom in the bold time of life.”

Elizabeth reached through all the wisdom she was hearing and took a deep breath as she grabbed the first thing that came to mind. “How will I find my kingdom, if I do not know it by appearance or location?”

Old Maggie did not move or even blink as she said, “Your journey is creating your kingdom.”

Neither woman hurried past this moment. The hands on the clock paused to listen.

“The real question is whether you will choose to travel inward to your personal truth or continue your outer journey. The inner landscape is explored with spirit, guided by feelings. The outer world defined by what you already know.”

Sitting in the silence that followed, Elizabeth felt herself standing at a fork on a road. To the left, she saw fetes and fashion. There were successes and status. To the right was a place of no time where intimacy was encouraged, creativity celebrated, and spirit growth possible. With no doubts, she stepped to the right.

“Oh dear,” she muttered upon realizing the journey ahead. “I do not know if I packed all I need to travel down this road.”

Old Maggie laughed. Shaking her head, she chuckled. Then she reached up and pulled a white hair from beneath her scarf.

While Elizabeth watched, the older woman got out of her chair and moved to a sideboard on the wall opposite the large fireplace. She opened the third drawer down, and rummaged around until she harrumphed with satisfaction. Returning to the table, Old Maggie put the long, curly strand of hair into a small, flat leather pouch.

Elizabeth could see complete satisfaction written across her hostess’s face like a well-loved poem.

“Now we only need one of your gray hairs,” Old Maggie announced.

“There are a few taking root right here,” the countess said as she removed her bonnet and placed her fingers near her right temple.

“So there is,” Old Maggie agreed, stepping closer to pluck a single strand as though it were an everyday occurrence to harvest gray hairs during tea.

“These, growing on the right-hand side, tell me your heart yearns to know what is beyond the fences,” she said as she added another curling, gray hair to the pouch.

Old Maggie handed it to Elizabeth. “Take this with you. It is a medicine bundle. These strands will empower the next part of your journey. You are, indeed, ready. The gray hairs of your life experience have given you the knowledge necessary to travel forward. In your heart, you know what makes you special and what you have to share. Your sixth sense is in place to guide you.”

Elizabeth clutched the pouch in her left hand as she retraced her steps back to Widow Marshall’s cottage. She had much to consider, but the countess thought of nothing more than the sunlight playing with the leaves in the mild breeze. It seemed she would be meeting facets of herself she had thought lost, buried under many good causes and reasons. Yet Elizabeth got home with nothing more on her mind than a cool glass of lemonade and the shady chairs down by the river.

The violets growing profusely atop her rock wall now felt less like decoration and more like friends. Old Maggie had told her they were for watchfulness.

The following morning, Elizabeth put a white banner on a stick and stuck it through the slats on the gate, hoping Mutton and Tom would see it. Doing letters with two young boys felt like roots in the bottom of her slippers.

Serendipity

Chapter 61

There was always a sweet day in spring when the sunshine finally became hotter than the cool breeze coming off the snow-capped peaks at the head of the lake. On that day, Abby was learning how to apply perfect layers of fingernail polish. Sitting on an old towel on the newly mowed lawn, she had filed her nails into even, gentle curves. It had been a challenge to follow the directions from the article in the Good Housekeeping magazine, but Abby had made sure she moved the file from the outer edge toward the center instead of sawing back and forth. After much effort and concentration, she was more than a bit pleased that all her nails were the same length and she was determined there would be no polish lapping over her cuticles. The ten cotton balls sitting at her side were testimony to her persistence. Scattered around the bottle of nail polish remover and covered with light pink, frosted, nail polish, they held the evidence of her efforts and filled the air with acetone.

Abby’s nails were finally beautifully done, and, later than afternoon, it was the only thing she thought about when her dad led her down the basement stairs of the dental office. When he walked her into the darkness and shut the door, Abby couldn’t see into the far end of the windowless room, but she could feel the unusual thickness of her nails. The only light, coming from a second doorway, cast a weak, yellow glow and didn’t dispel the lurking depths where Abby was led. For her, there was nothing but the shadows in front of her and the new sensation of her polished fingernails.

When Abby found herself sitting on the end of the table, those nails dug into the palms of her hands. Time stopped moving in ticking, forward progression. In the sea of darkness with her fingernails the only lifeboat, time became disjointed snapshots of sensations and impressions. The coarse contours of her dad’s face filled her view. His smile twisted as the pillow case came down over her head. A cough broke through the silence and dropped out of the air somewhere behind her.

In a prison of fabric, her mother’s laundry soap assaulted Abby’s nostrils. Footsteps, coming from the slip of light behind her, scratched her soul. A vise gripping one knee and then the other sent streams of cutting pain up and down her legs. Cold, smooth metal on her stomach burned. The poking, prodding, panic, and pillowcase came together in senseless sensations. Abby couldn’t breathe.

Under the suffocating hood, she felt the friendly hand of death reaching for her, but Abby’s body kept going, and the secret room in the corner of her mind gathered the mayhem of four men. Mind and body protected while those with power ravaged. This moment in time was placed in a thick safe, far from Abby’s knowledge about herself, but the lesson she learned would come out of the basement with her; she was on her own. The threat to her survival had spread into the ranks of Lakeville.

That evening, Betty agreed when Abby suggested sitting on the towel earlier in the day had made her legs ache. This young teenager, who would soon leave 8th grade, sat with her little sister after they had taken their baths. She was going to re-apply the nail polish on her right thumbnail. All her other nails looked perfect, but that one nail had a gouge, and Abby was convinced she hadn’t let it dry completely when she had painted it earlier in the day. Ignoring the unexplainable soreness in her thumb joint, she plugged her hair dryer into the outlet to use between each of the three layers of polish and turned her attention to Katie.

“Barbie definitely needed a bath tonight,” the 5th grader informed her older sister. “April and I took our Barbie dolls down to the beach and they got all sandy.” Under Katie’s sure hands, the well-endowed blonde with a tiny waist and feet permanently shaped to fit high heels was being relieved of her yellow bathrobe and shower cap.

“What did they do at the beach?” Abby asked as she carefully applied the first layer of pink polish.

“Well, after we made a swimming pool for them, they sat around so they could get a tan,” Katie answered and then, seeing her sister was really listening, she shared more. “We used a big, blue mixing bowl buried in the sand and it looked like a real pool,” she explained. “It was so cool! And then we found a whole bunch of flat rocks and put them all around it. That was our patio.”

Abby nodded, and Katie continued her story while she began dressing Barbie in a form-fitting red dress. “We made hammocks for them too… like the one at April’s house, except we used sticks instead of metal. Her mom’s dishcloths looked almost like the real hammock. The colors sort of ran back and forth in stripes and made squares.”

“I love hammocks,” Abby responded as she turned on the hair dryer and directed it’s stream of hot air on her thumbnail. “Do you remember Gramma’s, out by the raspberry bushes?”

Katie giggled. “It was always tipping over and, that one time,you fell right on top of me when I was trying to get on.”

“Yeah,” Abby laughed.

“I like how Gramma has big bowls of raspberries in the refrigerator,” Katie observed as she placed the straw hat on top of Barbie’s head and looked at it. “You get to eat as many as you want,” she added with a sigh and moved the hat to the side so it slanted over one ear.
Abby turned off the hair dryer and watched her sister moving the hat around, looking for just the right angle to satisfy some inner image she held. “Where’s Barbie going after you get her ready?” she asked Katie.

“She’s going to bridge club,” Katie answered and laid her doll down so she could put on her short, white gloves.

“Oh, does she like to play bridge?” Abby asked as she took the bottle of nail polish off the corner night stand and got ready to work on the second coat.