Authors: Cindy Davis
Paige laughed. “I'm glad spring is coming. I've had enough of snow, slush, and mud. Eva sent me out to see if you're in the mood for a muffin."
"Be right in."
Settled at the kitchen table with coffees and corn muffins, Alf and Paige watched Eva as she stood at the window, looking out at the upended mower. She said offhandedly, “Spring's coming. I saw daffodils poking through."
Paige said, “I have something I have to tell you two."
"I smell bad news coming,” Eva said.
Alf was silent. His bright blue eyes roved from his wife, who took the chair across from him, to Paige, who concentrated on spreading butter on her muffin. He continued to look at her, waiting until she'd finished her delaying tactics.
She still hadn't looked up when she spoke, “My name isn't Cassidy Larson."
Neither Eva nor Alf said anything. She finally raised her eyes and gazed from one to the other.
"That's your news?” Alf inquired.
Paige nodded guiltily. “I am sorry to have deceived you, but telling you my real identity may have been—may be—dangerous for you. That's all I can really say about my past. My biggest wish is that I hope you'll forgive me for lying."
Eva laid a warm, soft hand atop hers. “Alf and I have talked about this many times since your arrival. We knew there was something wrong. We had faith that you'd get around to telling us sooner or later. Neither of us condemn you for your secrecy. Apparently, you felt you needed to do this and we understand. Can you tell us your real name?"
"Paige. Paige Carmichael."
Within a week, Paige's new home was inspected, signed for, and officially owned by the Genesis Trust. Spring had sprung. Crocuses and daffodils had popped their purple and yellow heads into the chilly air. As Alf predicted, the grass was greening up all over, bright yellow forsythia decorated yards all over town.
During dinner on Tuesday evening, Paige said, “Can either of you recommend some painters?"
"What are you painting?"
"Everything. I want a fresh coat of white on the house, the garage and the shed. And I think light blue or tan trim instead of that faded brown. Red for the barn. Indoors, I think I'll put white on all the walls, then do some stenciling as wainscoting or around the ceilings and—"
Alf and Eva cast a conspiratorial grin at each other.
Paige interrupted her own oratory, “What's that look for?"
"We know exactly the right painters for you. They work fast and nearly for free. We'll tell them to meet you at the house at eight in the morning."
The following morning Paige roamed from room to room in her new home waiting for the painters to arrive. At 8:10 three vehicles pulled into the driveway. The first was Eva's ancient Dodge. Paige didn't recognize the other two, which both had ladders tied to their roofs. As she watched, frowning, ten people debarked from the cars and began to remove the ladders from the roof racks and haul painting supplies from the trunks.
Paige met them in the driveway, finally noticing that both Eva and Alf wore patched, stained clothing.
"Like my painting duds?” Eva asked.
"You mean you—?"
"Yes, we're the crew. We work fast and efficient and, best of all, we're free."
Paige raised a finger to protest.
Alf grabbed hold of it. “There will be no argument. Look, we're dying to get you out of that room. We've got a throng of people waiting to rent it."
Eva's laughter interrupted Alf's monologue. “Honey, don't listen to him. We don't want you to leave. You are about to get a first glimpse at country folk in action. We help each other out in times of need. Of course, you'll be expected to participate the next time a woman on the run moves to town and needs her new house painted."
"We brought all the paint and supplies. All you have to do is keep the coffee, tea, sandwiches, and cookies flowing."
"Am I expected to cook anything?” Paige asked, recalling a similar conversation with Chris a while back. This time she received a completely different reply. Laughing, Paige inquired if she could borrow Eva's car. “I'll go get the things I need."
Alf handed her the set of keys. “Knock yourself out."
Paige returned in less than an hour to see the entire front of the house already painted a fresh gleaming white. Eight people had disappeared around the side, while two continued to work on painting the trim a pastel blue.
"Very nice,” she called to a tall man at the top of an aluminum ladder. The dark man, who'd been introduced as Chuck Ingman, lived two houses away with his wife, Darla, and three teenaged sons.
"Thanks."
"I can't believe how fast it seems to go with so many working on it. I thank you all."
"You're entirely welcome. You are expected to repay, you know.” Chuck stepped down the ladder. Paige followed him to the side of the house where he began washing out his paintbrush.
"In what way?"
"When the snow is ten feet deep in my driveway, I'll expect you to help shovel."
"All right,” came a timid reply. “But, just one thing. If there's ten feet of snow in your driveway, won't there be ten feet in mine?"
"Uh-huh,” he said with a smile. “You'll need to be up extra early to shovel yours first."
"I see.” She fumbled her packages into one hand and shoved a hand to him, to seal the deal.
Inside, Paige set up her new coffeepot. While it dripped into the carafe, the aroma of coffee filled her kitchen. Listening to the laughter and camaraderie from outside, she popped two trays of ready-made cookie dough into the oven and set the timer. While the cookies baked, the smell of chocolate joined with the coffee smells and her stomach began to growl. Paige spread slices of bread across the counter and covered them with mayonnaise, cheese, ham, roast beef, and salami.
As the food was ready, she set it on the porch table, not that she had much choice, since except for the kitchen table, which had already gone to the dump, the wicker set was her house's entire collection of furniture. Paige slipped on her paisley jacket and ambled outside. To her astonishment, another wall was completed and the crowd was joyfully working on the third.
"Food's ready,” she announced.
"Okay,” came several replies.
Eva made her way around the house carrying a can of paint. She set it on the ground and opened it.
"What can I do?” Paige inquired.
"Just keep the food flowing,” Eva said, stirring a wooden stick inside the can.
Darla Ingman, Chuck's perpetually happy-go-lucky wife, laughed, “You won't believe how much this crowd can eat. It'll be a full time job to keep the trays full, wait and see."
Paige strode around the front of the house. The pair who'd been working on the trim now held navy blue coated brushes and were painting a narrow strip around the edges of the flower boxes.
"Whadya think?” asked the bearded man on a stepladder.
"You all are the most incredible people I've ever met."
The man's cheeks attained a flush of red that matched his shirt, and he turned away to continue his task.
As Eva predicted, Paige had a hard time keeping up with the demand for food. By dusk, the outside of every building was complete and Paige had to make another run to the store. This time she hit the deli on Spring Street, arriving back with bags of sandwiches in every imaginable combination. Cookies baked continually in the oven and the musty scent of the unused house began to smell lived in—like home.
The crew moved indoors and instead of packing up and heading for home when darkness fell, they set up spotlights and attacked the downstairs walls with a vengeance. By midnight, the entire job was complete.
Everyone rested on the hardwood living room floor with arms wrapped around bent knees, staring tiredly into the fireplace, watching the energetic flames licking at each other, casting an amber glow in the otherwise dark room.
Paige rose, teary-eyed. “I am speechless."
"And that doesn't happen often,” Alf interrupted, causing an eruption of laughter from the group.
After each person had received a hug and special thanks from Paige, she moved around her kitchen piling the remains of the food, of which there was very little, into the refrigerator.
Eva washed and rinsed the tired coffee maker and left it on the sideboard. Alf busied himself with dousing the embers in the fireplace.
"When did you plan on moving in?” Eva inquired.
"I guess I should get some furniture first."
"Uh, er, ah, what ... I was just wondering ... I didn't know how to ask what sort of furniture you're wanting. I mean, are you financially able to get new things or ... I know of a few places that sell nice used things."
Paige laughed. “I want to furnish it in Colonial style. I guess new, but I wouldn't mind a few antiques if we should run across them."
Paige glanced at Eva then placed Spirit's carrier on the braided rug gracing the center of the newly polished living room floor, and opened the door. “This, my little cat, is the last time you'll have to be locked in this crate,” she said as Spirit raced out, hopped onto the back of the sofa, and curled into the fetal position. “Well, I guess that settles that!"
Both women laughed. Paige started a pot of coffee, then stood gazing out the window over the sink watching a robin poke his beak into the ground, pull and yank until he came up with a fat, juicy worm. Behind her, she felt Eva's gaze as she waited patiently for Paige to answer her question.
Finally Paige turned, leaned on the counter and folded her arms across her chest. Then she sat in one of her new maple captain's chairs and waited for Eva to follow suit. She took a pair of deep breaths. “I wanted to tell you and Alf the rest of my story but haven't had the courage.
"I assume you know I've been on the run ... since late last summer,” she said as if that were all there was to her saga. Paige told Eva of her relationship with Stefano Santangelo.
"Gosh, it's just like in the movies."
"Yes and no. Stefano never was into—” Paige stopped speaking and wrung her hands on the table before them. Both women seemed mesmerized by this act. After a moment, Paige spoke again. “Let me rephrase that. I didn't know he was into any of that stuff. I guess I was awfully naive."
Eva nodded, whether in agreement or understanding Paige didn't know—and didn't ask.
"At least one man is dead because of me. Not from me,
because
of me. Because of something that happened while I was trying to escape. I'm not proud of some of the things I've done in the last nine or ten months.” The coffeemaker sputtered and hissed. Paige, as if needing the respite, got up and poured two mugs of the pungent steamy brew.
"I just want you and Alf to know how grateful I am. I feel safe here. Protected and ... loved. This town. These people.” She wiped the corner of an eye. “I want to stay here and—"
Eva whispered, “Is it possible whoever's after you can trace you here?"
Paige nodded. “I've tried to keep a low profile and it's been several months. But, I guess it's still a possibility."
"What will you do if it happens?"
Paige shrugged. “I imagine I'll run again."
"Can't you fight back? Legally?"
"Stefano's influence spans the globe in both private and legal sectors. They have contacts even in organizations like the witness protection program. Stefano Alphonse Santangelo is his full name. His parents came from Italy.” Paige sat back down. “I hired an attorney a while back. That's where the books and computer came from."
"Harry."
Paige nodded feeling a tender emotion settle into her as she recalled what the bulky lawyer had suffered in order to protect her. “Anyway, Harry prepared for the eventuality of my being on the run. He gave me the cell phone for Christmas so I could contact him.” Paige laughed. “Problem was, it was weeks before I opened the package."
"I'm sure you'll find peace and happiness here.” Eva patted Paige's hand, rose, and laid her cup in the porcelain sink. “Well, I'll leave you two now and let you get settled. Don't be a stranger."
Eva wound her arms around Paige and hugged her tightly. Paige, in an uncharacteristic gesture, returned the hug.
"We'll miss you."
"We'll see a lot of each other,” Paige vowed. “I'm only two miles away."
Eva patted Spirit, who remained on the back of the sofa, but stood and arched her back in response to Eva's touch. Paige waved good-bye until the red car was out of sight. She picked up the cat and twirled around the room, holding the startled animal against her chest.
"Let's make some dinner. What do you want to eat?” she asked, setting Spirit on the antique braided rug. “I think I'll start a fire first.” There was no answering meow from Spirit and Paige looked to see where she'd gone. She found her in the bedroom, sniffing up and down.
Paige eyed her four poster bed covered with the handmade quilt and matching drapes. She stepped closer for a look at the framed gold coin on the wall beside the dresser and nodded, satisfied.
It was July. Pink petunias overflowed the flower boxes on the front of the house. Multi-colored pansies adorned the length of the walkway. The rose bushes, which had attracted Paige to the house, sported small teardrop shaped buds that grew daily, preparing to burst forth with the aroma she found so soothing, yet stimulating and full of hope.
Spirit leaped high and captured a moth. She batted it with a delicate paw, let it go and chased it again. It was getting dark and Paige decided to stop for the day. She put away her gardening tools in the shed and called Spirit to come inside.
Paige went around shutting the shades, peeking out each window at the empty roadway. The few cars that passed took no more than a fleeting interest in the now occupied house where the seven-year-old girl and her horse had gotten run over. She shivered and forced the thought out of her head.
After dinner, she sat in her comfy armchair sipping a glass of merlot. Spirit hopped into her lap, turned around twice, and lay down, purring comfortably. The only light came from the tiny lamp on one end table. As Paige scratched the top of Spirit's calico head, the cat's ears pricked forward, turning and straining toward the front yard.