Hunting Memories - By Barb Hendee Page 0,10

be catching on more quickly than he initially expected. She must have sensed he wasn’t alive almost as soon as she materialized.

“You simply have to focus upon a landmark in Seattle that you already know,” he said. “From there, I think you’ll be able to sense her.”

“Someplace like the Seattle Center?”

“Yes.”

“Okay . . . I know where that is. And if I do what you say, you won’t send me back? When I’m done, I can just go home?”

If it were possible, he would have smiled. She might be trash, but she would serve him.

Three nights later, Eleisha stood between Wade and Philip in northwest Portland as they all gazed upward.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Wade said in disbelief. “A church? Can you step inside?”

Philip didn’t say anything.

Surprised that Wade would even entertain such old superstitions or trepidation about holy ground, Eleisha glanced over at him. “Of course we can. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Although both men had tried to pry hints from her, she’d refused to say a word about their destination, and after leaving the airport, she’d simply handed the taxi driver an address. She had seen this building only in photos, but standing in the churchyard, with the night-blooming roses winding up the tall, wrought-iron fence, she knew they had come to the right place.

The church was two stories high, constructed of red brick.

It looked like a haven.

She pulled the gate shut behind them and latched it. Then she fished a set of keys from her bag. “Let’s look inside. It’s been empty for a long time.”

Wade’s astonishment grew. “You’ve got the keys? Why isn’t the real estate agent meeting us here?”

“I talked her into . . . Just come inside. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Eleisha,” he insisted. “Agents don’t give potential buyers the keys.”

She ignored him and hurried up the steps to unlock the front doors, which were newer additions made from thick metal.

Philip stopped briefly to examine the doors. She looked back at him, and he nodded.

She turned on the overhead lights. “The deacons’ committee decided to leave the power on so any buyers could see that all the wiring works.”

They stepped into what had once been the main sanctuary, but now the altar was bare and all the pews had been ripped out, leaving only a large room with spiderwebs and a musty red and tan carpet. Half-oval stained-glass window lined the walls, and Eleisha turned in a circle to see each one, soothed by the greens, blues, and yellows in the depictions.

“This was built in 1902, and it’s been on the market for over two years,” she said. “The congregation outgrew it, and they commissioned a new church.” She looked at Philip again. “The walls are two feet thick, and there are only two doorways on the ground floor to the outside: this front one we just came in and a single back door.”

He still hadn’t spoken, but again he nodded and began studying the structure of the high-set windows.

Wade came in only a few steps. “You aren’t seriously thinking of buying this place? Of living here?”

“Just leave your suitcases and come this way,” she said, dropping her bag and moving behind the altar to a side door. The door led into a hallway where she faced two other doors, a stairway to the left leading down, and another stairway at the end of the hall leading up. Eleisha had studied the floor plan for hours and knew the layout by heart. She turned on the hallway lights.

“These two rooms are offices,” she said, opening the closest door.

Wade peered inside at a pleasant room with hardwood floors and cream walls.

“There’s a three-bedroom apartment in the basement, along with an industrial-sized kitchen on the other side,” she added.

For first time since walking through the gate, Wade turned and seemed to be seriously listening to her. “A three-bedroom apartment?”

“Yes, the place was designed so the pastor and his family could live inside the church. But come upstairs with me first.”

Without waiting for a response, she walked down the hall and up the stairs, emerging into another hallway, this one with a red-and-tan carpet like the sanctuary’s. Three doors lined each wall, and she flicked on the light and moved onward, opening doors as she went.

“Most of these were Sunday school or meeting rooms, but they’re empty now. We could turn one of them into a room for Rose.”

The moment those words left her mouth, she regretted them. Both Philip and Wade had agreed to come to Portland and