Wow, yeah, I’m alive!  I say that enthusiastically because I came close to seeing Jesus face to face!  I took a quick trip to the beautiful state of Alaska, happy not to have to “check my back” constantly.    But there was a whole new worry.  Here is the first thing I read when I got there:

If you are considering doing some camping this summer, please note the following public service announcement: In Alaska, tourists are warned to wear tiny bells on their clothing when hiking in bear country. The bells warn away MOST bears (brown, black, etc.), but be careful because they don’t scare Grizzly Bears. Tourists are cautioned to watch the ground on the trail, paying particular attention to bear droppings to be alert for the presence of Grizzly Bears. One can easily spot a Grizzly dropping because it has tiny bells in it.

 

Then I was solemnly warned about the wolves that run in packs like gangsters and the moose (that is plural)  who find joy in stomping humans to death.  Then there is the quicksand in the bay, and if you fall in the river, you got about 23 seconds before you freeze to death.

But this all sounded easy to me compared to what I have been through trying to stay alive in the lower 48.  So I took in some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.  I traveled from Anchorage, after having a hamburger from The Lucky Wishbone, into Palin territory up through Palmer near Wassailia and onto Chickaloon.  The icy gray river raged alongside the highway filled with freezing silty glacier run-off amid a backdrop of ominous clouds gossipping with the mountaintops and threatening to rain.

After dodging the moose, wolves and grizzleys, I headed south to beautiful Homer, located on the southern Kenai Peninsula, to deal with what I came here to deal with….a murderer.

Once in Homer, making sure no one was following me, I boarded a ferry to the small town of Saldovia, accessible only by boat.  

As the boat pushed its way through the sea, the creatures from underneath decided to show themselves.   It was amazing.          img_2058

Then I had to transfer to a little skit which I motored out to an old home that sat right on the water, only about a 10-minute ride.  Finally I felt safe.  It was ear-piercing quiet.

The locals at the dock back in Saldovia had warned me about a “rouge” grizzly in the area, who had charged a pair of kayakers, scaring the soup right out of them!  But he was the least of my worries.  I’ll take that kind of animal over the “animals” I’ve been running from.

Once again I hear all you yelling at your computers, “Why, why, why did the crazy lady go to bear country?”  Well, I was here to trace the steps of one of the henchmen.

Remember when the drone had tried to shoot me on my basketball court?  Our security camera got its license #.  After researching that, I got the address…. and you got it, chicky, Saldovia, Alaska.  None of it made sense to me, which is why I came all this way, I had to stop whoever it was that was trying to stop me.

The house was old and dark.  Stale, mismatched furniture filled the front room which also doubled as the bedroom.  Noticing the bathroom only had a shower and a sink, I headed outside looking for the outhouse.  And there it sat, the House of Shame, and I quickly noticed it was already in use!

This was no 5-star hotel for sure, but my little cabin would work, it would give me the peace I so desperately needed to do some research.  So settling in with the crystal blue bay surrounding me, I poured over the newspaper clippings I pulled up on the internet, and finally after hours of reading, it popped up and slapped me:  

There it was, taunting me to go further.  I soon learned that Sal’s goon had been hand-picked from this remote little fishing village because of his resume of murder!  I soon knew his address and name:  Gordon Villinni.  Gordon?  Really? Doesn’t sound so scary to me.  Maybe WiseGuy or Iceman, maybe Machine Gun Tony… but Gordon?  I rolled my eyes as I headed out to take my little skit over to see where this killer lived.

Reaching the village took no time, and soon I had a hot cup of coffee from Amon’s in one hand and a map in the other.  Ol’ Gordy’s place was easy to find, but unfortunately for me, it was boarded up.  It looked like no one had been home in a long time.  I snooped around back and saw no sign of life.  Despair descended upon me as I realized I had wasted all this time and money coming here.  No Gordon, no answers.

I hung my head as I turned to head back to the dock when I heard a “psst”.  I looked around, and seeing no one, I continued on.  “Pssst”.  There it was again.  This time I stopped and turned to see an old lady knitting on her front porch.  We had eye contact.  She motioned me over to her.  Feeling suspicious, I looked around and behind me and seeing no one, I headed her way.  I felt goosebumps cover my arms and the back of my neck as I headed toward the dilapidated dark cabin.  When I extended my hand, she ignored it and kept knitting.  She never looked up, but whispered, “I know who you are.  Gordon told me you’d be here.  I’m supposed to trick you, tell you he’s gone for good.  But he’s not.  He’s waiting for you.  Get out of here, girlie, go now before he lays his trap. Now GIT!”

Her tone was forceful.  I backed up, eyes filled with fear.  She finally looked up, “GIT NOW!”  She was so forceful I turned and ran.

I was breathing so hard by the time I got to the dock, I could hardly tell the cashier I wanted one ticket back to Homer.  I realized all my stuff was back at the house.  But so was Gordon.  It was a trap.  I knew I couldn’t go back.  I had my purse and I had my phone and I had a pen…..I boarded the ferry.  Good-bye Seldovia, good-bye Alaska….good-bye peace.

It was a long trip home, Saldovia to Homer, Homer to Anchorage, then outta Anchorage to Seattle, then Seattle to California, always looking over my shoulder, always wondering if every man I see is Gordon… Gordon the hired gun.

Back to Mama’s story, the story that is pulling me into the dark shadows:

Abby awoke with a start…the house was eerily quiet.  It was Sunday, and she knew Rosa was off, but something didn’t feel right.  The other side of the bed was still made, untouched with her Bible still laying where she left it.  He had never come to bed.

Abby rose with her familiar pit in her gut resurfacing and grabbed her robe, sliding  her cold feet into slippers.  As she descended the siral staircase, she could hear the TV on.  Heading into the kitchen, she looked out into the family room where she saw her husband still sitting in the same chair as last night.  He was still.  The television was preaching out a Sunday morning church service, something which she was certain he would never watch.  She slowly entered the room, noticing he never moved.

As she approached him from behind the chair, she was shocked at how still he was sitting, though when she turned to face him, she could see his eyes desperately trying to tell her something.  She reached for his hand on the armrest, and it never responded, not even a flinch.  She whispered his name, and although his eyes were frantic, his head never moved.  “Oh, Jesus, help me!”

Abigail knew then he had had a stroke.  

She ran to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

 

Back at his side, she held his limp hand as she stared into frightened eyes.  She kept telling him over and over help was on the way, and he was going to be okay; both knew she was lying.

The days were long in the hospital, with Abby staying constantly with Nathan, who laid in bed like a statute.  He had been sedated and thank goodness, he slept most of the time, relieving her of having to stare into his pathetic, apologetic eyes.

“Isn’t that the way it always is,” she thought?  “Too little, too late.”   During the long hours she couldn’t help but remember her first attraction to him, the way he winked at her and always opened the door for her, treating her like a queen.  His manners and charm were unprecedented in her life, but she didn’t give the relationship a long enough time to prove itself.  She married him in a whim and within a month’s time, the regret began to seep in.

He drank almost every single night.  And he was a mean drunk.  She remembers how he would point his finger at her, with both eyes half mooned, slurring his made-up allegations at her.  He never hit her, but he had come mighty close many times.  She quickly learned to stay out of his way, to quietly escape a room if she heard him coming.  She never wanted to confront him about anything in case she awoke his anger.  Sure, there were the occasional times he was still charming and apologetic, when she naively believed he could change, would change.  But by the end of a few days, when he couldn’t go any longer without a binge, his alcohol and wrath would return.
Tuffy and Dave walked in, interrupting her thoughts.  Dave handed her a Starbuck’s latte, which he brought her every day when he came to visit.  She was getting the feeling he was there to see her, not Nathan.   Tuffy was truly concerned for her husband, having been his employee for over 20 years.  But Dave always sat right next to her and his eyes seemed to bore straight into hers.  His concern for Nathan was minimal, which she understood remembering the night of the fire. She felt the familiar anger arising as she remembered her husband’s scorn for the workers, and she had to literally shake her head to rid the memories.

Even so, guilt cascaded through Abby every single time she looked at her husband, knowing she should be crying, pleading with the doctors, pleading with God to spare her husband’s life.  But she didn’t plead with God or with anyone.  Her heart toward him was like a stone, unfeeling.  She knew his inability now to hurl his hurtful words was a reprieve for her, even if it came through a stroke.  So there he laid with pleading eyes, and there she sat, feeling like God did answer her prayers, giving him exactly what he had coming.

She wondered how long her heart had been dead, she couldn’t remember when she had finally given up.  It’s not that she wanted Nathan to necessarily be punished, she just didn’t want to deal with him anymore, she wanted him to go away.  But she had known since her first year of marriage, she was his, held captive forever by his searing anger.

 

The days wore on like unwelcome guests in the small pale-green hospital room.  Abby ate little, but welcomed her daily latte from Dave.  The small chitchat between them slowly grew into long talks about their pasts, their families and their faith.  Shame took hold of Abby as she felt attraction for this  man she barely knew while her husband lay motionless within a few feet.  But she was lost in his deep smile and his hushed low voice, and she found herself drawn to every word he whispered  like water to a drought.

It was Thursday night at dusk, nine days since she had found him in his chair,  when his doctor came in for his usual rounds.  He took special attention to Abby, sitting in the dark corner alone, thin and pale.  He assured her it was okay to go home, get a good night’s sleep and a hot meal.  His persuasions allowed her to leave for some much needed sleep.

Whether it was God’s grace or judgement, Abby wasn’t sure, but in the early morning hours the hospital called awakening her out of a deep sleep.  Her husband had passed, and she was summoned back to the hospital.  Everything about that early morning remained a blur to her as she hurriedly grabbed her sweater and slipped into her awaiting shoes.  She couldn’t believe it, he was dead.  Unbelief taunted her, maybe they called the wrong family?  Maybe he was actually getting better and was going to come home again…. But the erratic heart beat told her the truth, he was gone.  The hospital must have called Tuffy also because he and Dave were at the front door knocking by the time she made it downstairs.  With sober faces and sad eyes, they assisted her to the awaiting car to the long drive to the hospital to make arrangements for this dead lost soul.

Weeks passed quickly as Abby dealt with the memorial and began packing.  The house and the majority of the money had been in a trust, and unbeknown to her, was to be handed down to Nathan’s 19-year-old son, Ryan, her stepson.  She was left with her belongings, her car and $30,000.  But Abby didn’t care about the money or the house.  She was free.  She woke up invigorated with life and sunshine, eager to escape the mansion that had held her prisoner for so long. She quickly packed her things in the bedroom, but left everything else after a few rude clashes with Ryan over whose pots and pans they really were.  Like father, like son.  She just wanted out.

Leaving the mansion on the cliff, she turned for one more last look at what seemed to be the world’s envy and shook her head at all the wasted time.  Tears cascaded down her face, not for Nathan, but for all her lost years.  She silently prayed that God would redeem them and somehow return those years to her.

Abby rented a small cottage in town, and Dave began to visit her daily.  They were both so needy from their cruel marriages they married within three months, a second marriage for both.  It was a small wedding under a willow tree.  Tuffy brought Abby in on a white horse.  She was beautiful.  Dave had long ago said good-bye to Mika, but her memory resurfaced as the music began.  Dave pushed the memories down far, where they belonged.  He thanked God for the second chance.  But the memory of Mika kept popping into his mind, and he silently wondered if he was out of God’s will.  But what he felt when he was with Abby was worth the conflict battling within.