Chapter Fourteen
NORA STOLE SNATCHES OF SLEEP on the couch downstairs but never fully rested.
The shadows of last night’s troubles pressed too heavily upon her.
While preparing for church in the morning, she examined herself for signs of attack, but the bruising she found could easily be caused by her slip down the steps with the trunk.
The Jerdens were her last hope for evidence that she hadn’t dreamed it all.
However, when she knocked on their door, they answered still in their coats and with a carpetbag at their feet.
They’d only just returned home from a visit with their daughter in Indianapolis.
She was no closer to knowing if she’d imagined the attack or not.
Sleep called for her to hide from the uncertainty, but nothing would keep her from finally singing with the rest of the congregation.
Today was to be her first, and likely only, Sunday without Father’s restrictive rules on a late arrival and early exit.
The sheer joy at the opportunity shoved last night’s troubles aside and felt sinful for its magnitude.
May God forgive her if it was dishonorable to break Father’s rules so she could sing without reserve.
Arriving so early not even the choir or pastor milled about proved she might have been a little too eager.
When she entered the sanctuary, only a handful of people dotted the pews.
Most were elderly ladies bent in prayer with scarves covering their heads.
It was a dying practice in their church, but Nora always appreciated the humble beauty of a head covering.
Given how bright her own hair was, maybe it would be a blessing to others if she hid it beneath one of her own.
Mum had some beautiful pieces Nora could pilfer from the opera trunk, but Father would object and deem them unnecessary.
Nora tapped a finger on the arm of their usual pew but didn’t enter.
Father wasn’t here to make her arrive late or leave early, nor was he here to force her to sit in the back.
Lydia and Abraham would sit closer to the front, but should she?
Could she focus with her back exposed to anyone behind her?
She wasn’t vain by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn’t relish the idea that Winston or Ursula could watch her without her knowledge.
However, with Abraham in her pew, they couldn’t harm her.
Stop it. You likely dreamed them up. Behaving as if they are real only makes you as insane as Mum.
Nora winced. Mum wasn’t insane. She was confused and needed help, no matter what Dr. Chalfant said. To believe anything else meant Nora could be following Mum’s descent into madness.
You are not going mad. You are tired and have stirred up memories you’d rather forget. Sit with Lydia and Abraham. You are here to worship, not worry. This is your only free Sunday. Do not waste it on silly imaginary fears.
With courage bolstered, she strode to the Pelton family’s usual pew—second from the front, directly in front of the pulpit—and took a seat.
She pulled a green clothbound hymnal with gold lettering from its place in the narrow bookrack and ran her thumb over its cover.
The rough texture sent a thrill of excitement through her, and she flipped through the pages, drinking in the words and notation of songs she’d not heard more than a few bars of, if at all.
She was fairly good at sight-reading. Even when she didn’t have the music before her to read, she’d always been good at predicting the next note based on the ones preceding it.
Music was full of patterns and communicated so much without a word ever spoken.
One day music would fill her life again, not just in stolen moments.
The organist practiced, and Nora closed her eyes, feeling each note as it reverberated through the room.
Oh, how she needed this chance to rest in the beauty of God’s musical creation.
Soon she would pour her soul out to the Lord and, in return, have it filled to overflowing with the peace and wholeness she’d missed for so long.
She breathed deeply and lifted her head in her own private reverie.
Unease intruded upon her riotous joy and crawled its way up her spine, as unwelcome and unnerving as a spider upon her skin.
No, she would not cave to paranoia. She slipped her hand into her pocket and clutched the knitting needles there.
As long as she had these, she’d be safe.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check her surroundings.
Perhaps it would even calm her nerves. More people had arrived, and the hum of voices in the foyer indicated the sanctuary would soon fill.
She nodded at one of the elderly ladies whose eye she’d caught, but it wasn’t her who’d caused the unsettling sensation.
It’s all in your head. You need to stop this nonsense.
Even as she chided herself, her gaze snagged on Winston’s in the back row.
Or was it the man from the opera, that Adler fellow?
Her mind knotted around the multiple possibilities and their implications.
He could be the Winston of her family’s past and be real, having finally found them after so many years of hiding.
Or he could be a hallucination. Proof that she was losing her mind.
Or he could even be Mr. Adler—an innocent parishioner simply come for services before the opera company moved on.
Or Mr. Adler could be the real Winston, just with a new name.
After all, her family had changed names without it ever being questioned.
How was she to untangle the knot and figure out which possibility was right?
A wicked smile that shouldn’t be possible in a church twisted Winston’s lips, like he dared her to acknowledge his presence publicly. Did that make him a hallucination or a real man?
This was ridiculous. She should get up and talk to him to prove which of the four possibilities he was.
Of course, if she started talking to someone who wasn’t there, the congregation might drive her out as demon-possessed, or maybe they’d simply lock her in a room and call for an exorcism.
Wouldn’t that make a fine scene? But she was in a public place, which meant if he was a man of flesh and blood, others would interact with him at some point.
They’d speak to him or awkwardly scoot past him in the row to reach their seat.
It made for a safer test of her sanity, and she intended to watch him until she proved to herself she wasn’t imagining him.
Of course, if he was real, so were his threats.
Nora shivered but didn’t take her eyes from him. He seemed to understand her purpose and stretched his arms across the backrest, waiting for her to come to her own conclusions. She only needed one person to speak to him. One person to struggle to slip past him.
“Ahhh! I’m so excited you’re sitting with us today!” Lydia rushed into Nora’s pew.
Her hug forced Nora to lose sight of Winston.
When finally released, Nora glanced back to continue her vigilant watch, but he was gone.
She scanned up and down the row and even raised onto the tips of her toes to see if he’d ducked low.
It didn’t help her see, only garnered a quizzical look from Lydia.
The tightness in Nora’s chest confirmed her fears, even if her mind refused to admit it.
Paranoia was digging its claws into her, exactly like it had with Mum.
She swallowed and gave Lydia her full attention. Any paranoia must be shoved aside. She could not, would not, become like Mum and start seeing enemies where there were none.
Mrs. Pelton nodded to the spot Nora occupied. “Would you allow me that seat, please? I prefer to be directly in front of Pastor Evans so I am not distracted.”
As Nora and Lydia shifted into the aisle, Lydia waggled her brows behind her mum’s back.
Mrs. Pelton’s need to see and, more importantly, be seen at church had long been a joke amongst the Guardians.
For her, a godly reputation started by punctual, consistent, and demonstrative participation in church services.
Her adherence to the belief was almost comical.
Nora could only imagine what the woman thought of her and Father’s lack of punctuality.
Dr. Pelton and Abraham strolled up the aisle side by side with a closeness and silence that were telling of something wrong. The fact that Abraham, who only had eyes for his fiancée, directed his attention toward Nora was doubly unsettling.
When they reached her, neither man stepped aside.
True concern climbed aboard the wagon of her unwieldy paranoia. “Is something wrong? You both look as if you have something terrible to tell me.”
“The only thing terrible is I got dragged into this.” Dr. Pelton cast a sidelong glance at Abraham, then Lydia.
Some of her fear eased at his grumble. “Dragged into what?”
“Into helping this poor fool surprise you.” Abraham stepped aside and revealed a hunched Mr. Beaumont.
With that exuberant smile of his, he stretched to his full height and held his arms out to his sides. “Surprise!”
The rest of her tension evaporated. Mr. Beaumont was persistent and a bit daft, but the combination was oddly appealing. “Good gracious, I thought something was really wrong. Although”—Nora shot Lydia a glare—“I suppose my best friend playing matchmaker is very wrong.”
Lydia waved her hand. “It wasn’t me. I had no knowledge of Mr. Beaumont’s coming until I spotted him in the foyer. This is all Abraham’s fault.”
Abraham crossed his arms. “You’re the one who told me to look into the man’s character.”
“A character that I am eager to prove, m’lady.” Mr. Beaumont bent over Nora’s hand and kissed the air above it.