A Matter of Trust Read online

  “Here,” Renee said, pointing to the inscription. “It runs along the bottom of the urn, though in most places it’s nearly worn off.”

  The lettering was so faint, Kate could barely make it out. As she ran her fingers over it, something bothered her about the piece, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  “What was this originally used for?” she asked Renee.

  “It was a cinerary urn.”

  “Used for the burial of human ashes?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, but remember, this is only a reproduction, so believe me, there are no remains inside.” She laughed, turning the urn in her lap again. “I was concerned about finding somebody’s ashes because of some mix-up, but Collin proved it was empty. I’ll show you...”

  She turned the urn so one end faced her. She pressed the cherubim’s feet with her thumbs, then frowned when nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. She turned the urn to the opposite end and pressed the second cherubim’s tiny feet. She tried to lift the urn’s lid, but it remained tightly closed as if sealed.

  She looked up at Kate and Paul with a puzzled expression. “That’s odd,” she said. “Collin opened it in a snap. He showed me there was nothing inside.” She frowned and pressed the cherubim’s feet again, shaking her head. “How strange. It’s never done this before. It easily opened when he did it.”

  Kate and Paul exchanged a glance. There was definitely something odd about this urn. From the look on his face, Paul seemed to sense it too.

  “Collin showed me the secret to getting it to open.” She shook her head again. “I actually did it myself several times.”

  She again pressed the cherubim’s feet, then moved her fingers, trying other possible releases on the box. After a few minutes, she looked up. “He even joked about it being perfect for transporting contraband back into the States.”

  When Kate and Paul didn’t laugh, Renee frowned again. “It was a joke. He didn’t mean anything by it. It was a joke.”

  Chapter Two

  Renee looked across the room at Paul. “You don’t mind, do you?” Again, her hand shook with the weight of the urn as she waited for him to take it from her. It was obvious she expected him to repackage it. Which he did, a smile that only Kate could see, playing at his lips.

  As he placed the bubble-wrapped urn back in the box, Kisses jumped down from Renee’s lap and whined, sniffed around the furniture, then headed to the front door and whined again. Renee gave Kate and Paul a waggle of her manicured fingers and chuckled. “I do believe Little Umpkins is telling me that nature’s calling. Plus, I need to be on my way. I have a million things to do. You know how it is after being abroad.” She glanced at Kate, half-regretting what she’d said. “Well, maybe you don’t.” She stood and pulled what appeared to be a new leash from her handbag.

  “Genuine Italian leather,” she announced as she held it out for them to see. “And the little hearts are made of eighteen-carat gold. I picked it up in Florence too.”

  The sound of Kisses whining and scratching at the front door carried toward them. Renee hurried along to let him out, Kate trailing behind, with Paul bringing up the rear, holding the box with the repacked urn.

  She stooped to clip the new leash on Kisses’ collar, then stood and turned to Kate and Paul. “I nearly forgot to thank you for watching Kisses. I’m sure he was no trouble at all.”

  “No trouble,” Paul and Kate said in unison and dared not look at each other.

  No trouble except for the strict diet of homemade dog food Kate had to make fresh daily. Except for the heartbreaking all-night whining and yipping his first night away from Renee. Except for the fact that from the next night onward, he slept curled up between Paul and Kate, his loud snore keeping them awake.

  “No trouble at all,” Paul said with a grin. “Bye, buddy,” he called after the Chihuahua.

  Paul circled his arm around Kate’s waist as they watched Kisses sniff a clump of grass, circle it a few times, do his business, then head back toward the front door, his tail wagging. It was obvious, in his mind, the visit wasn’t over.

  “We’ll be back soon. I promise,” Renee said as she pulled on the leash to lead Kisses back toward her. “Grandma and Grandpa will be happy to see you anytime.”

  As the big pink Oldsmobile pulled out of sight, Kate and Paul grinned at each other. Grandma was a name Kate would rather reserve for her grandchildren, but she couldn’t help giggling anyway.

  The phone rang as they walked back into the house. Kate glanced at the clock: 6:52. Parishioners usually didn’t call that early. With a worried frown, she hurried to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

  “Mom?”

  It was Melissa. And in that single word, Kate knew something was wrong. “Honey, what is it?”

  “Mom, we need to come see you. It’s important.”

  Kate detected a catch in her daughter’s voice, and her heart skipped a beat.

  “Of course. We’d love to have you.”

  “I know it’s last minute, but we really need to talk to you and Dad. And Mom...?”

  “Melissa, is everything okay?”

  There was a pause, then Melissa said, her voice stronger, “We’re setting up appointments with...well, with some people in Pine Ridge. As soon as they’re lined up, we’ll be on our way.” She hesitated. “Pray with us the timing will work out.”

  “Timing?”

  “There have been some recent changes at John’s office, and he’s got a new boss. He’s got this huge project at work he can’t leave, not even for an em—” Her voice broke again, and Kate thought she heard quiet weeping.

  “Melissa?” Had her daughter started to say emergency?

  Melissa cleared her throat. “We’ll explain everything when we get there. I promise. And I’ll call to let you know when we leave. I just can’t go into it now. Not until we know more.”

  As Kate hung up the phone, she slumped down in her chair at the kitchen table and looked up at Paul, who had just come around the corner.

  “It was Melissa. Something is wrong, but she wouldn’t say what.” Kate repeated the conversation as Paul joined her at the table.

  “We need to lift them in prayer,” he said.

  They reached across the table and held hands as Paul began. “Gracious heavenly Father, we don’t know exactly what to pray for, but Melissa and John are struggling with something. We pray that your loving arms would enfold them; that you would watch over them and protect them; that you would guide them and give them wisdom for whatever they face; and most of all, that you would give them your peace. Also, I pray, prepare us for their visit this weekend that we may be ready to support them in whatever way they need.”

  “Dear Lord,” Kate added, “it is so natural for a mother to worry about her child. Help me, Lord, to put my trust in you and know that you will care for Melissa and John and Mia. Bring them safely to us as soon as possible, and give us the wisdom we need to minister to them.”

  Kate wiped the tears from her eyes as they raised their heads and looked at each other. “I know John has to fulfill his obligations to his new boss...” Kate’s voice dropped off. “I just hope they can get here soon so we’ll know what’s going on.”

  “We’ve put it in the Lord’s hands, Katie. I know we can trust him for the next few days. The best we can do is to keep praying.”

  “THAT URN IS NO ordinary souvenir,” Kate said to Paul as they washed their breakfast dishes.

  She checked the clock. It was almost ten o’clock, and between her concerns about Melissa’s family and her growing doubts about the urn, her mind was whirling.

  As soon as the kitchen was cleared of the dishes, she planned to try out a new cookie recipe she thought John and Melissa would like. If she couldn’t help them tangibly, at least she could offer them some warmth and sweetness.

  Paul picked up a plate, dried it, then reached for another.

  “You’re right about the urn,” he said, then stopped and leaned back against
the counter, crossing his ankles. “If I didn’t know better, I would say it’s the real McCoy, not a copy.”

  Kate sighed as her whirling mind settled. The look of Paul standing there, ankles crossed, idly drying the plate, calmed her. And talking to her husband about her nagging suspicions helped her put them in perspective. It had happened in the past; it was happening again. She smiled at him, thinking of all the reasons why she loved him.

  “What?”

  Her smile widened, and she shrugged. “Actually, I was thinking the same thing. About the urn, I mean. It’s worn as if centuries old, and did you notice the hairline cracks?”

  He nodded.

  “Some looked like they had minute bits of soil in them, as if the thing had been buried.”

  “Which is what happens to a cinerary urn.” He chuckled. “Of course, if it is the real thing, it’s come a long way. By tomorrow it will be under a spotlight in that glass case Renee bought for the foyer.”

  “From dust to decor,” Kate quipped. “Not to mention from ancient Italy to modern-day Tennessee. But that’s not the only reason I want to take a closer look.”

  Paul grinned. “Let me guess. It’s that Renee can’t get it open.”

  She chuckled. “You got it. That’s why I plan to call Renee to see if I can arrive a few minutes early for choir practice.”

  A brow shot up. “To try and open the urn?”

  “Renee’s pretty prickly about such things, but maybe she’ll let me examine it a little closer.”

  Paul arranged a handful of knives, forks, and spoons in the flatware drawer. “I’ll miss our Saint Francis prayer, but I’m glad Renee thought of hanging it beside the urn display.”

  “I agree,” Kate said as an unexpected quiver of disappointment filled her heart.

  When she’d thought that she and Paul were going with the tour group, she’d read everything she could about Saint Francis, knowing Assisi would be a major part of the tour. She was so excited over the prospect of retracing his steps, she almost couldn’t sleep at night. Even the prayer attributed to him that had hung in their living room since they moved to Copper Mill had come to life in a new way, its meaning even more precious to her than before.

  Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.

  Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

  Where there is injury, pardon.

  Where there is doubt, faith.

  Where there is despair, hope.

  Where there is darkness, light.

  Where there is sadness, joy.

  O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

  To be consoled, as to console.

  To be understood, as to understand,

  To be loved, as to love.

  For it is in giving, that we receive,

  It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

  It is in dying, that we are born to eternal life.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Paul said, studying her face.

  She smiled at him as she rinsed a few tidbits of granola from a cereal bowl, then handed it to him. “Melissa, of course, is always in my mind and heart, but this urn, Italy, Saint Francis, Assisi, are rattling around in my brain as well.”

  Paul sobered. “I know what you mean about the kids. When I least expect it, their faces pop into my head.”

  For a moment neither spoke, then Paul cheered her with that smile she loved as he flipped the dishtowel over his shoulder.

  “Why am I getting the feeling a mystery is coming on? As in that little nipping thing that happens at the edge of your brain?”

  Her spirits lifted with his lighthearted words. She flicked soapsuds at him. “Why do you always notice the direction I’m heading before I do?”

  He chuckled, grabbed a handful of suds, opened his hand, and blew them at her. A few bubbles landed on her cheek. He gently wiped them off. Then he smiled into her eyes and kissed her on the tip of the nose.

  “Because I do know you so well,” he said softly. “And I love that part of you—your curiosity, your desire to find out the truth about things, your heart for helping friends...”

  “I don’t know about the helping friends part. I just want to get to the bottom of what’s bothering me about this urn,” she said. “This time it’s strictly curiosity.”

  “Uh-huh,” Paul said, still grinning. “We’ll see.”

  KATE CREAMED THE BUTTER and eggs, the mixer whirring. She measured the dry ingredients, then gradually stirred them into the mix as she moved her thoughts from Melissa’s phone call to Renee and her urn. Paul was probably right. Maybe her curiosity didn’t have as much to do with the urn as it did with Renee’s vulnerability.

  She smiled as she stirred in some oatmeal and almond extract. Renee and vulnerability were two words she’d not often connected in the same breath.

  She stirred in some butterscotch chips, put her hand on her hip and looked into the rich dough. The almond fragrance was delicious. She went over to the refrigerator for some chopped walnuts, brought them back and measured out a cupful.

  After stirring them in, she dropped dollops of the dough onto a baking sheet, then placed the sheet in the preheated oven.

  The idea of Renee being vulnerable hit her again...along with images of the urn, thoughts of the secret steps that no longer opened it, and Collin’s supposed joke about it being a good place to hide contraband.

  Yes, it seemed Renee had gotten into something more complicated than she’d anticipated. Kate didn’t know why or how, but Paul was right: she had a heart for helping friends. And no matter how the woman could irritate her, Renee was Kate’s friend.

  AS PLANNED, Kate arrived at Renee’s a half hour ahead of the other choir members. Renee’s mother, Caroline, opened the door and let her in, frowning as Kisses yipped, jumped, and ran in circles when he saw Kate.

  Renee came around the corner in a cloud of Estée Lauder’s Youth-Dew. “Dear, when you called, you didn’t mention you’d be here this early.”

  “Well, I’d really hoped to spend a few extra minutes with your beautiful urn.”

  Renee brightened. “That’s what you said, but honestly, I’m rushing around getting ready for the others...” She let the words fall off dramatically. “I was just putting on tea.”

  Kate followed her into the living room, where the urn was prominently displayed on the coffee table. It seemed to almost glow in the nearby lamplight.

  “May I take another look?” She glanced at Renee, who nodded as Kate knelt beside the glass table.

  Behind Renee stood a scowling Caroline. “Urn-schmurn,” she said. “And I suppose you’ve heard all about Renee’s romantic Mr. Urn?”

  “Mother, please,” Renee said, her lips tight. “His name is Collin Wellington.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes and, turning, made her way out of the room with what Kate thought was an exaggerated hobble.

  Kate turned her attention back to the urn. Several things about it intrigued her: the strange symbols that ribboned the bottom, depicting some sort of ancient language; a soil-like substance in the hairline fractures that covered the entire piece; and the secret steps to opening the urn that Renee couldn’t duplicate.

  And why would Collin Wellington even joke about the urn being a place to hide contraband? She couldn’t get her mind around all that might mean.

  She had to open the urn.

  “The secret steps to opening the urn,” she said to Renee, standing again. “Have you tried them again?”

  “Oh yes. Many times.” Renee sat down on the sofa and lifted the urn onto her lap. As if unable to resist trying one more time, she fiddled with the feet of the cherubim, gently pulling, then pushing, this way and that. Nothing.

  “May I try?”

  Renee shot her a quizzical look. “Why the sudden interest?”

  Kate sat down next to her. “I think it’s strange that you once were able to open it, and now you can’t.”

  Renee sighed. “Well, I can understand that. I feel the same way.” She
lifted the urn and placed it on Kate’s lap.

  “It has something to do with the feet. And I swear I’m doing the same thing Collin showed me.” She showed Kate the exact steps.

  Kate tried various movements with the figures, the cherubim as well as Saint Francis and the wolves on one side and the cloaked figures on the opposite side.

  She shook her head slowly. “You’re right. It seems locked fast.”

  “Strange, I know. But there must be something I’ve overlooked,” Renee said with a shrug. “Though it’s not like me to overlook anything.”

  Kate heard a car pull up and park outside and glanced at her watch. Choir practice was about to begin. Renee started for the entry door.

  “Wait,” Kate said, catching up with her. “Was the urn out of your sight anytime after you purchased it?”

  “That goes without saying,” Renee said with a sniff. Her penciled eyebrows arched. “I had to check it for the flight home.”

  “Aside from that, I mean,” Kate said. “Did anyone have access to it—in a hotel room, on the tour bus, that sort of thing?”

  “Tour coach,” she corrected, then added, “You’re wondering if I left the urn unprotected so someone could place contraband inside and seal it up again?”

  A loud rap interrupted them, and Renee again headed toward the entry door. Just before she opened it, she turned back to Kate. “The answer is that nobody had access to it, that I know of, anyway. I certainly didn’t carry it around with me throughout the rest of the tour. With its weight and size, can you imagine I could do such a thing?” She let out an irritated sigh. “Besides, I really didn’t think of it as valuable to anyone but me. As time went on, its value increased—to me—but because of Collin, not because of any kind of intrinsic value the urn might have.”

  She paused as the rapping at the door sounded again. “Even Collin kept it in his car for a few days at the end of the trip so I wouldn’t have to bother taking it in and out of hotels.”