Shadow of Turning

“How old are you, anyway?” Chancy asked.

“Mid-thirties. How about you?”

“Twenty-eight, going on eighty-two,” she quipped, rubbing her back at the waist. “I shouldn’t sit so still after a day of heavy lifting like today. I’m really starting to feel the muscle strain.”

He walked her to her van, opened the door and held it for her. “We’ll get you unloaded in no time. Then you can put your feet up and relax.”

That made Chancy laugh again. “Relax? You obviously work for somebody else. People who run small businesses like mine don’t have the luxury of taking time off.”

“You can’t work 24/7.”

“Of course not.” She tossed her purse in ahead of her and climbed into the van. “I go to church on Sundays.”

Nate shut the door and backed away. “Right. Well, give me a minute to start the truck and I’ll follow you.”

As he turned and walked to the waiting pickup, Chancy watched him, pondering his reaction to her simple statement. Apparently, saying grace at the table was not the only practice of faith Nate Collins wasn’t used to. Unless she missed her guess, he wasn’t much for church attendance, either, which might help explain his off-putting reaction when she had given credit to God for answered prayer. She sighed. His closed-minded attitude probably bothered Hester and Ted a lot more than either of them let on.

Well, the night was young, she thought, starting the van and letting it idle while she watched Nate don his jacket before climbing into the cab of the truck. It wouldn’t hurt him to humor his grandparents and attend church while he was in Serenity. And in case he hadn’t thought of doing so for their sakes, she was going to look for an opportunity to suggest it.

Given the horrible losses she had experienced in the past few years, Chancy didn’t know how she would have coped without her faith, weak as it was. How anyone got through life without knowing and trusting God was an unfathomable mystery to her, one she had long ago given up trying to solve. Maybe someday she’d understand why things had happened the way they had. Maybe she never would. That wasn’t the real issue.

As far as her parents were concerned, she was the one who had failed, not God. When she’d had a strong, unmistakable urge to go by their house and see them, she’d resisted because she hadn’t wanted to listen to their squabbling. And they had died. It was as simple as that.

Logic and Bible teaching told her that God forgave her. What she couldn’t seem to do was forgive herself.

Darkness had crept into the empty antique shop behind the grocery store as the sun had set. The prowler had not come prepared to stay so long.

She squinted, trying to see, as she sorted through stacks of merchandise that had yet to be priced and placed on the shelves in the front. Once the precious collage went on sale there was no telling who might buy it or how soon it would be sold. If it left Serenity, say in the hands of a tourist, it could end up anywhere.

The young woman brushed away tears of frustration. How could she have been so careless, so thoughtless? Why, oh why, hadn’t she mustered enough gumption to offer to buy the collage when she’d realized she’d missed the bid at the auction? Maybe the dealer would have sold it to her. And maybe the antique buyer would have sensed the desperation in her offer and raised the price far beyond her ability to pay.

Well, there was no use speculating. It was too late to do this the easy way. Now, she had to either locate the valuable artwork and steal it, or take the chance it might come up for sale soon without her knowledge.

She was not willing to wait and see. Time was running out.

Nate followed Chancy down Main to Church Street and through the pothole-riddled alleyway next to the small grocery market. The area appeared to be even more run-down than he’d remembered.

He brought the pickup to a stop behind the van, careful to leave plenty of room for unloading. By the time he climbed out and joined Chancy at the rear door of her shop, she was already fiddling with a ring of keys.

“That’s odd,” she muttered.

“What is?”

“This door. I could have sworn I left it locked.”

“You didn’t?”

“I guess not. When I went to turn the key, it was already open.”

“Are you sure?”

“Relatively.”

Even in the dimly lit alleyway he could see her sheepish smile so he said, “In other words, maybe not.”

“Okay. Maybe not.” Giving the knob a twist she swung the door open. “Wait here. I have to go into the front to turn on the lights.”

“You don’t have a switch back here?”

“No. I’m only renting and I never saw a need to rewire the place. It’s a little inconvenient but I usually open the front first and take care of everything from there.”

Nate peered into the crowded storeroom. “This place is a maze. How can you navigate in the dark without getting hurt?”

“Easy. I know where everything is.”

“Still, I don’t think you should try it. I’m sure there’s a flashlight in the truck. Hold on. I’ll go get it.”

Chancy rolled her eyes as he jogged away. How silly he was being. She’d managed just fine all these years without anyone telling her what to do or how to do it, and she wasn’t about to listen to the advice of some bossy city slicker, no matter how well intentioned he might be.

She swung open the heavy wooden door, stepped inside the barnlike storage area and gave her eyes a few moments to adjust to the lack of light.

Armless side chairs hung from the rafters by pegs and below them, armoires, dressers, desks and other heavy pieces of oak and mahogany furniture stood in rows like sentinels, guiding her path. Admittedly the way was narrow but as long as she stuck to the main aisle she knew she couldn’t go astray. Besides, the longer she stood there the better she could see. Sort of.

Sliding one hand along the top of the nearest chest of drawers, she extended her other arm in front of her and started into the labyrinth that was her stockroom. She always kept the floor clear, so she knew there would be no unseen obstacles. She’d have the lights on and everything squared away long before Nate got back with his unnecessary flashlight.

Suddenly, there was a skittering, scraping sound to her right. Chancy froze. “Nate? Is that you?”

No one answered. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She held her breath. Listened. The only thing she could hear was the rapid beating of her own heart as it echoed in her ears.

Logic told her she was alone. Instinct told her otherwise. Logic suggested the presence of mice. Instinct insisted on a prowler, instead.

Well, there was no sense just standing there, she reasoned. If she backed out the door, she could reenter with Nate. If she pressed forward, she could turn on the light and banish her groundless fears. Relying on him did not appeal to her one bit. Proving her mettle, especially to him, sounded a lot more appealing.