of the outdoors. Through the windows, she saw a garden area and an assortment of greenery and colorful blooms. What a wonderful place to live.
Simple and modest furnishings made way for deep shades of blue and cream colored lace pillows, a blue and gold sofa, and a pair of overstuffed golden tapestry chairs. Casey sat on the sofa and admired the oaken tables.
Curiosity nipped at her while she waited for the reverend. What good would it do to start over if everything became a lie? Suddenly she felt dirty, as though the bath she’d taken earlier hadn’t done a bit of good. But she had to start somewhere, didn’t she?
What kind of illness did Sarah Rainer have? Was she sweet like the reverend said, or bitter with the sickness? Those thoughts shouldn’t matter. She’d been around enough surly men to learn how to handle mean-spirited folks.
A short while later, the reverend ushered Casey upstairs. The staircase needed a bit of dusting, but the house had a fresh smell. She followed him to Sarah’s room. Plants of all sizes lined the walls, with smaller ones sitting on the windowsills. Some folks claimed plants made people sick, took away their air. She doubted if a preacher kept things that weren’t good for folks. Casting aside the worrisome thought, she turned her attention to Sarah Rainer. Lines etched into the woman’s face made her look much older than the reverend.
Reverend Rainer bent to kiss his wife’s head. “Sweetheart, this is the young lady I told you about, Miss Shawne Flanagan.” He propped her head with pillows and tucked a thin coverlet around her shoulders.
Sarah smiled, and it seemed as if heaven’s gates opened wide. “Good afternoon, dear. What a pleasure to meet you. My, but you remind me of our granddaughter who lives in Oregon. Just as pretty, but she doesn’t have your beautiful auburn hair.” She touched her own gray-white hair, and a look of horror crossed her face. “John, I forgot to have you pin up my hair. And in front of a guest.”
“You look lovely, Mrs. Rainer. No need to fret, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sarah talked on, even teased her husband about finding a pretty young lady to care for her. She told Casey about their children and grandchildren—and oh, how she missed them.
Her peaceful spirit and a stubborn determination not to be pampered impressed Casey. Sarah didn’t ask about Casey’s family or her past. Rather, she talked about plants and how she cherished spring with the blooming of flowers and trees, and summer with all the vegetables ripening. Mrs. Rainer also enjoyed fall, the season of harvest and preparation for winter.
“Shawne, did you know a tree must shed all of its leaves in order for it to grow new ones in spring?”
“I never thought about it, but you’re right,” Casey said, more than a little apprehensive, as though Sarah knew all about her outlaw past.
“It’s one of God’s miracles. The old dies to make way for the new.”
Casey didn’t know Sarah Rainer well enough to question her way of thinking. Her words sounded peculiar. Something dying made something live? One day she’d ask what that meant. The reverend stepped from the room and allowed the two women to visit.
Once his footsteps no longer sounded on the stairs, Sarah sighed deeply. “Can you take care of an old lady until she dies?” Her weak brown gaze captured Casey.
“Yes, ma’am, I believe I can.”
The woman reached for Casey’s hand. She caught a glimpse of the thin, wrinkled hand—soft and frail. Deep violet veins rose from parchment skin. Although Ma had been much younger, near the end her hands had looked the same.
“Both of us need you. John wants me to have the best of care, and I resent the illness tearing him from his ministry. God’s work should never go neglected.”
Casey’s gaze rested on the small, delicate figure nestled deep in the bed. The undeniable colorless pallor of death rested on her face, but when she smiled, her countenance cast the sweetest glow. Casey savored the moment. It was as though a sense of acceptance shone from Mrs. Rainer’s face.
Sarah lifted her head from the pillow and allowed thinning hair to fall around her shoulders. “Tending to me won’t be easy. I simply cannot do anything for myself. I’m like a baby, only worse. A baby is coddled, and the mother lives in expectation of the growing new life. In my case, you’ll live with the certainty of