When Marigold Hayes turned fourteen, her mother died, and her father went missing. For forty years, she has searched for her dad and lived a quiet life on Abbott Island, until she met Johnny. As her love for Johnny grows, her sorrow from the relentless search for her father breaks her heart. She begs God to help her move forward with her life before she has no love left to give. Then three mysterious strangers show up who could change her life.
Can Marigold and Johnny settle the past and move toward the promise of a blessed future?
CHAPTER ONE
Marigold Hayes jabbed a spade in the soil. A flat of geraniums
waved their scarlet heads as she lowered her fifty-four-year-old body onto a
grassy spot. The joints in her knees popped and cracked, another reminder her
fifty-fifth birthday loomed over her. Five years to sixty, but she had never lost
hope of finding her father.
Forty-years had passed since the accident, and the occasional
nightmare still haunted her. Newspaper clippings, library research, yet not one
morsel about her father. Mom had died, a fact Marigold learned the morning
after the accident, and Dad vanished. Not a trace of his being existed after
the crews towed the car from the wooded ravine.
She plunged the small shovel into the loamy soil she had worked
for the last twenty years. Without fail, she planted annuals and nurtured the
perennials plotted in the memorial garden she had created to honor her parents.
Blooms of red geraniums and multi-colored zinnias would burst with radiance all
summer. White daisies, the flowers Dad had gifted Mom with on anniversaries and
birthdays, created a happy backdrop. Along the edge of the corner garden, she
tucked in bright yellow marigolds, her namesake.
As she spoke her annual prayer, her heart pleaded and sought God’s
help to find her dad. After a murmured, "Amen," soared to heaven, she
tipped a geranium from its plastic container, loosened the bound roots, and
plugged the plant into the earth. From a plastic jug, she sprinkled water into
the hole, then scooped dirt in, and patted it around the stem. Soon, three
red-headed flowers stood side by side. From the zinnia seed packet, she
sprinkled the beginnings of a rainbow of color. Her steady work soon filled the
flower bed with the promise of summer blossoms and her soul with restored hope.
With an old tattered dish towel, Marigold wiped the soil from her hands, then
she rose from the ground and dusted dirt off her knees. She fingered a red
bloom, and a pungent but pleasant fragrance filled the air.
Hands loaded with containers, gardening tools, and the water jug,
Marigold trekked to the house.
Feet pounded on the nearby pavement, as Johnny Papadakis jogged
from the street into her yard. His tall, slim, well-muscled form raised her
pulse, even as she stilled. At fifty-eight, he kept himself in shape. She tipped
her chin up. "Hey, there."
"Hi, Mari." He stopped a few feet away, bent, and placed
his hands on his thighs. After a few deep breaths, he raised to his full
six-foot-three height. His brown eyes sparkled in the sun as he adjusted his
baseball cap. Hands on his hips, he turned to the garden in the corner of her
yard. "Working on your parents' flower bed?"
She moved to the porch and deposited her armload. "I finished
a few minutes ago. You know, I wonder every year whether to continue. Dad would
be eighty-three by now and may not be alive." The memories of her dad and
mom had faded with time, except for a few. Whenever she found a worm in the
garden, the squiggly creature between her fingers transported her to a happier
time.
One autumn day, they had fished in Lake Erie right here on Abbott Island.
She'd mustered the bravery, as only a child could, to bait her own hook. Mom
had packed potato salad, apples, and a yellow cake with chocolate icing and Dad
grilled the fish they caught over a campfire, even the small one she had
snagged. A full moon shone and a cool breeze waved as she had cuddled between
them in her safe place. Forty years had passed since she'd hugged her dad.
Where had he gone?
Johnny rested his hand on her shoulder. "Giving up depends on
whether the flowers bring you hope or make you sad." Without hesitation,
he drew her into a hug.
Her head rested against his sweaty shirt, but she didn't care.
This man who walked into her life ten years ago empathized. Uncertain she
deserved such a wonderful guy in her life, she stowed her emotions deep in her
heart. Maybe fear, perhaps set in her ways, or not sure how to respond to his
affections, she valued his friendship and company without a deeper commitment.
He patted her back, then let go and reached for the jug and tools
she had left on the floor. "Where do these go? I'm happy to put them away
for you."
She grasped the jug's handle. "I appreciate your help, but I
can do it."
Her tall, handsome friend didn't budge. She released her hold and
shook her head. "Thank you. They go in the shed out back."
With the gardening supplies firm in his arms, he trailed her to
the backyard. "Your she shed, of course." A deep laugh escaped his
chest.
Hand on her hip, she turned to him. "Do my paint choices make
it a she shed? You know I love color, and chartreuse and periwinkle brightened
the yard. Did you see my pink and red tulips when they bloomed and how they
created a painting on the front? Besides, I love my little she shed."
She swung open the door to the building and the earthy odor of
potting soil drifted to her nose. On the inside, an antique writing desk sat in
the corner, covered with gardening books and journals. A shovel, rake, and
several baskets lined the space behind the desk. A pale-pink wall held life
jackets, kayak paddles, and other lake life paraphernalia. "Set them on
the floor by the desk, and I'll put them away later. I want to spray out the
buckets."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Esther the blue heron.
I met Esther on the beach one day and she let me get a close-up of her.
The house I used to imagine Sadie's home.
Here's a little bonus:
Page one of Home Where She Belongs:
Sharp breaths escaped Sadie
Stewart’s lungs. Her legs wobbled like cooked spaghetti as she pushed to
reclaim her routine and run the rest of the route. Confidence surged through
her as her running shoes crunched dried leaves and pounded Abbott Island's hard
dirt trail. Rosie, her beloved canine companion, kept rhythm with each step.
Aged maples decked in orange and
scarlet bent across the trail and shaped a golden canopy. The pungent scent of
wood smoke hung in the air. Rosie's red flag of a tail slapped the calves of
Sadie's legs as she bounded alongside her. Her dog never judged her or caused
her pain. Not like the man who had ripped her emotions to shreds.
A chill wind from Lake Erie rushed
at their backs and pushed them toward the only place where Sadie found peace,
her grandparents’ home. Every summer for twelve years, she’d lived in the
warmth and comfort of their care, played with her friends, and helped her Gram
clean the rental cottages. Grandpa had deeded the property to Sadie, but she’d
neglected the place for three years. Now, she depended on the island rentals to
rescue her from a life of regret and hurt.
Around the curve, she pushed her
legs harder. A daily run helped clear her mind and build her strength. “Run,
run, run.” She panted. Run, run, run... from him.
Fear dogged every step as she
raced toward freedom from the man who shattered her heart. The memory of Bryce
Shaw's screams and accusations played akin to a recording in her head. She
prayed he'd give up and not track her to the island.
His constant text messages and
incessant calls obliterated the peace she sought. Three months and the man
refused to give up his game of superiority over her. She'd changed her phone
number once, but he must have dragged it out of her father. Or Dad offered her
information without hesitation. At least the island’s spotty cell service might
delay the next threat to tranquility.
Tomorrow she'd drive Coop, her Mini-Cooper
onto the ferry and search for the closest place to trade in her number. This
time she'd keep it to herself, except for the handful of people familiar with
her story. She'd enlist the folks at the phone store to help her block the two
people who tormented her. Two birds with one stone, as Gram used to say. Her
father, who had never loved her, yet forced her to work for him, and Bryce, the
man who had destroyed her trust, both fueled her determination to start over.
As she ran, sorrow swallowed her heart. The hurt and humiliation weighed heavy
as an anchor.
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