From Shards to Sea Glass Read online

  From

  Shards

  To

  Sea Glass

  Michele Wilder

  Copyright © 2018 Michele Wilder

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Steaming Kettle Publications 2018

  ISBN: 978-1-7324657-1-8 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-7324657-0-1 (print)

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic or mechanical means, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author other than as a brief quotation for comments or reviews.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances or references to characters, situations, names, places, businesses, events, actual people (living or dead) within its pages are unintentional, co-incidental or fictitiously used, adapted and interpreted purely as a product of the author’s imagination.

  michelewilder.info

  Scripture quotations: Authorized King James Version (public domain)

  Hymn quotations: “It Is Well with My Soul”, “Come, Ye Disconsolate” (public domain)

  Cover photography: Michele Wilder

  Interior design: Polgarus Studio

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter One

  “Are you aware, Miss Wycoff, that your parents had a safe deposit box?”

  Claire compressed her finger with a sweaty palm. “Why, no.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Mr. Buchannan swiveled from his desk to the file-laden credenza behind him. He reached for a small cardboard box with a large yellow envelope balancing on it and turned back to face her. “I’m glad my letter caught up to you. My secretary gave up trying to call you three weeks ago.”

  He set the box on his desk. “Your boyfriend called a few times and even stopped by once demanding to know the status of your parents’ insurance policies.” He paused. “He also asked if we knew your whereabouts.”

  Claire’s eyes widened. She squeezed the next finger as her hands began to tremble.

  “We told him nothing.”

  She exhaled slowly through tightened lips. “Thank you.”

  “Your father had given me explicit instructions that you not know about the existence of the safe deposit box unless both he and your mother were deceased.”

  She clenched her jaw, willing her eyes to stop pooling. I’m not going to cry. I’m not! An unbidden tear rolled down her cheek.

  Mr. Buchannan’s long brown finger pushed aside the name plate reading “Rufus Buchannan, Esquire” and nudged a tissue box toward her.

  Claire swiped a tissue.

  He tapped the yellow envelope. “This contains copies of the paperwork for your files and the four lump-sum checks. Again, I’m sorry for the delay in receiving these claims, but once we finally obtained the required proof that your parents’ deaths were not a result of suicide or homicide, the insurance companies processed them rather quickly.”

  She blew her nose. “I understand.”

  “Would you like to look at the checks now?”

  She shook her head.

  “Very well.” He set the envelope aside and unfolded the flaps on the box. “Here are the contents of the safe deposit box. Thankfully your father had left the keys with me.”

  Claire mopped her eyes with the soggy tissue.

  “On top of the contents I found an envelope with instructions that this note be read to you before you receive the items. Would you like me to read it?”

  Claire nodded.

  He withdrew a 3x5 card from a small white envelope and cleared his throat. “‘Our dear Claire, These items hold great meaning to your mother and me and represent special times or people from our past. Some things you know about. Others you don’t. Pay particular attention to the riddle in the small brown box. If you choose to follow its lead back to your roots, please be extremely careful. We love you, Claire. You are the best daughter any parents could ever hope for. Love, Dad and Mom.’”

  Claire swooshed two more tissues from the box and buried her face in them.

  Mr. Buchannan tucked the card back into its envelope. “Do you want to look through the contents now?”

  She shook her head.

  Mr. Buchannan returned the white envelope to the box before reclosing the flaps and setting the yellow envelope back on top. “Do you have any questions, or is there anything else I can do for you?”

  She wiped her nose. “No, you have been most helpful.”

  “It has been a privilege to be of service to you and, of course, to your parents the past several years,” he said while rising with the box and envelope. “Again, my deepest condolences, Miss Wycoff.”

  Using the desk to steady herself, she rose and took them from his hands. “Thank you for all your help, Mr. Buchannan. You’ve been most kind.”

  As she left, she clutched the box to her chest. Other than the two pictures, she held in her arms the only tangible remnants of her parents’ lives.

  The next day, the clinki
ng of dishes and hum of conversation faded into the background as Claire pushed down on one of the buckling folds of the crisp, newly-purchased map. Out of Hyding on the coast of Maine.

  Starting at the northeastern-most point, she inched her finger down the jagged coastline of Maine. Out of Hyding on the coast of Maine. She read every tiny name. Out of Hyding on the coast of Maine. She scrutinized every island and pond and county and town.

  Out of… Her finger stopped. “Hydeport,” she whispered. Could it be? She traced the remainder of the coast to the New Hampshire border then slid her finger back under the name of the town. Hydeport. It has to be it. Nothing else fits.

  Should she move there? Perhaps focusing on solving the strange riddle would give her purpose and direction again. How she craved a diversion from the continual turmoil warring within her! Would she let her parents down if she didn’t go? Leaning back she picked up her teacup and sipped the last cold swig of the sweet, milky liquid.

  Move to Maine? She suspended the cup below her lips.

  Leaving the painful memories in Chicago tempted her, yet traveling by herself across the country to a place she had never been intimidated her.

  No, it scared her!

  But then…

  Her hand shook as she clinked the cup back onto its saucer.

  …Daniel would never think to look for her there.

  She refolded the map. Maybe I should go—and soon! She stood and floated a ten-dollar bill onto the check before slipping her arms through her coat sleeves. How can I be sure of what to do? Grabbing the map and her purse, she headed toward the door. If I just had some kind of confirmation…

  Philip’s stomach growled. With an hour to kill before exhibitors could enter the convention center, he drove to the parking lot of a diner he had seen on his way to the hotel last night. As he pulled his jeep into a parking place in front of the sidewalk, a young woman with a long mass of brown curls walked toward him. Wow!

  He followed her as she approached the corner of his dark-blue, SUV-style jeep. He shifted into park.

  She glanced at the front of his jeep then stopped in her tracks and stared. She lifted her striking, aqua-colored eyes toward him.

  Captivated he couldn’t look away.

  Her eyes widened then returned to the front of his jeep. She blinked several times before turning about and hurrying down the sidewalk.

  Coming to his senses, Philip reached for the door latch and pushed at the door. “Grrr!” The keys jangled as he turned them and pulled them out of the ignition. His seatbelt zipped across him while he yanked the door latch again. After unfolding his 6’2” frame from the jeep, he stepped out then up onto the empty sidewalk. He scooched in front of the jeep and inspected it thoroughly before scrunching his eyebrows.

  He stood again and scanned the parking lot.

  She had disappeared.

  Chapter Two

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Erin, the property manager, cut into her thoughts. “My, what a fabulous May morning this is!”

  Claire wiped her clammy hands on the sides of her thighs. “Yes—yes, indeed.”

  “Again, I do apologize that this rental isn’t closer to Hydeport, but I just can’t think of anyplace else available that comes close to what you’re looking for.”

  “This twenty-mile drive hasn’t been terribly bad, I suppose.” The doubt blanketing her mind threatened to smother the weak flames of determination and excitement that had flickered to life last week.

  Claire covered a yawn. She had dragged her twenty-four-year-old body into a motel late last night and while looking for breakfast in a vending machine an hour ago had spotted the realty office across the highway.

  If this cottage doesn’t work, maybe I should toss this whole crazy idea into the wind and head back west this afternoon.

  “Now Lone Spruce Cove, or the Cove as the locals call it, is just over a mile beyond the cottage,” Erin continued. “It’s a small town but has a main street full of fabulous shops and a lovely little harbor.”

  Oh, no! She’s trying to sell me on the town. The cottage must be a shack!

  “The Cove is pretty quiet most of the year, but as we get closer to Memorial Day weekend it will swell with tourists and weekenders. Many homes in the area are summer or weekend residences, but the owner of the estate where the cottage is located lives here all year round.”

  As they meandered up Route 1, the two-lane highway between Hydeport and Lone Spruce Cove, dense evergreens and spindly, budding trees edging the road blurred past. When houses, antique shops, or inns parted the trees, bursts of the brilliant-blue ocean beyond them mesmerized her. The encroaching trees, however, suffocated her, and she tugged at the damp edge of her V-neck shirt.

  The car slowed and turned right at a pop of pink—a square, wooden sign dangling from an iron hanger. Carved into the sign the name “The English Rose” glistened in gold leaf. Below the name three pink roses protruded in raised relief.

  They wound through a short evergreen tunnel before the passage opened. Claire sat erect in her seat. Erin stopped the car.

  “How beautiful,” Claire whispered. “It certainly isn’t Lake Michigan.”

  The deep-sapphire ocean extended for miles and miles until it faded to light blue then to frosted whiteness where ocean and sky met. The morning sun dangled over the water on their left and doodled a shimmering line of gold on the ocean’s surface. Boats skittered in all directions.

  They crept on, stopping again where the driveway divided. Erin pointed. “This is the landlord’s house.” She ducked her head and leaned over to look out Claire’s window. “I just love the colonial style. It was built in the early 1800’s.”

  Claire’s attention roamed over the immaculate grounds to the garnet-colored, wooden doors on the detached garage to the symmetrical, two-story house standing tall and proud at a right angle to the shore.

  “Just look at that stone chimney and those cedar shakes.”

  Garnet trim glossed in contrast to weathered gray shakes that hung like rows of teeth on the garage and house. “They’re lovely.”

  Erin pointed up. “I bet it’s a fabulous view from that upper story!”

  Large windows filled with small individual panes looked out at Claire with an empty stare. The sun glinted off a stained-glass window on the front door beside black iron hardware befitting a castle.

  Claire leaned back. “I can’t imagine living in such a place—though I certainly wouldn’t mind it.”

  The car rolled on and, after veering to the left, stopped at the bottom of a short incline in front of a tiny, butter-colored cottage facing the landlord’s house.

  “This is darling—like something out of a storybook!”

  “Isn’t it? It was converted from an outbuilding several years back,” Erin said as they got out of the car. “Originally intended to be used only seasonally, the owner recently converted it to be lived in year round.”

  Led by slate squares pressed into the grass, they stepped toward a white door set with a round, stained-glass window pieced in the same design as the sign by the road. Buds tipped stark bushes beneath the windowless area on the left and the large, square-paned window on the right.

  Once over the threshold, Claire’s eyes fell instinctively to the gray granite-tiled floor. The calming smell of lavender floated from a twisted wreath hanging on the hallway’s pastel-blue walls. Golden morning light extended its welcome across the tiles from the end of the short hallway.

  On Claire’s right, a bed covered with a brocade bedspread filled the center of the mint-colored bedroom. The antique mirror on top of a tall white bureau reflected the morning light from the window topped with an open Roman shade.

  Her curiosity lured her past the bedroom, the bathroom across from it, and the pocket door hiding the hallway closet to the open room at the back of the cottage.

  “As you requested, it’s fully furnished,” Erin said gesturing toward the white-washed wooden table and two
chairs nestled within the kitchenette on their left. She picked up a tumbler from an open shelf. “I love these green, Depression-glass dishes.” She returned it and nodded toward the leftmost corner. “The heat source is that woodstove.”

  Claire caught an earthy whiff of leather from the white loveseat at her right. The sun’s permeating warmth radiated through the large windows at the far right corner of the room. “The light in here is amazing.”

  “It is, and because of the cottage’s angle, you would have plenty of sun for much of the day. Do you think your worktable and supplies will fit in that corner?”

  “Yes, I believe they will.”

  The sunlight glittering off the ocean beckoned her, and she walked to the French doors and threw them open. She closed her eyes. While infusing her lungs with the invigorating mix of salt air and balsam, she implored the sun to caress her with its rays. The balm of the ocean’s cadence soothed her brittle emotions.

  She turned to Erin. “I’ll take it.”

  Erin locked the front door. “The landlord travels often and is, in fact, away now. While our company takes care of showing the rental and the paperwork, you pay him directly each month.”

  Claire bit her lip. “Do I have to wait until he returns before moving in? I’m supposed to return the little rental trailer by tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, no, we can sign the papers, and you can move in today.” She pointed toward the main house. “Just drop your payment through the mail slot in the front door up there when you return today and then on the first of each month.”

  Once again, Claire followed Erin’s finger. Hmm. She liked the idea of having an excuse to get close to that house.

  As the sun vanished, Claire drove back up Route 1, tired but satisfied with the day’s accomplishments. I can’t believe I actually moved here…and all because of a riddle that makes little sense. What would her parents have thought of her?

  “Every event happens for a purpose, Claire.” She snorted believing her mother’s words even less now than when she heard them years ago. “God always has a good reason for allowing things to happen even though we may not know or understand why at the time.”