Page 43 of Lightning in a Mason Jar
Her hand went to the painted stone she’d pocketed earlier, the memory of Winnie ever present. The only answer for the anxiety churning inside her was to focus on her future and add pages to a photo album of her own making.
1978
I’d walked into the Bent Oak Public Library more times than I could count over the past seven years, but I’d never envisioned myself becoming an official part of the network that helped women find new lives away from abuse. Yes, I’d promised to pay it forward, but more likebeing asked to donate a coat or give someone a ride. As for the scary parts? I had planned to keep my head down. Those other aspects of the operation could be handled by those more seasoned in the process.
For at least the fifth time in the past five minutes, I adjusted the paperwork on the table in the back room, in between running to peer outside the library’s massive stone-silled window overlooking the back parking lot. Still no powder-blue Ford Maverick. The transport was only eleven minutes late, but each second felt like hours.
When I’d spoken to Annette at the hospital, the prospect of managing an intake had felt like an exciting adventure. Now I couldn’t lie to myself. I was scared to the roots of my hair. Not for myself. I’d already survived some of the worst heartaches life could throw at a person. My fear stemmed from worry I would fall short, and this woman’s safety would be at risk.
Or that in some way I might jeopardize the entire network shielding other vulnerable women and children.
That day, though, when Thea had finally pulled into the parking lot in the blue compact car, I had no choice but to set my fear aside and step up. Thankfully, Libby was manning the library’s front desk while I handled the rest. Initially, I’d worried that Libby might be jealous or hurt because Annette had put her trust in me for the riskier part of helping Thea take the next steps in assuming her new identity. Outwardly at least, Libby seemed relieved to take her post, date-stamping books. I suspected Annette had chosen me because I didn’t have a child depending on me if I got caught in the crosshairs somehow. I hoped Libby understood the same.
As I peered out the window into the back lot, I was reminded all too fully of how little we really knew about each other, not even our real names.
Finally—thank heaven, finally—the pale-blue sedan slid into a parking spot by the concrete steps. I yanked open the door and threw myself into the distraction of settling this new woman into our community—the newly named Thea Young.
From the moment I set eyes on her, I forced myself to think of her only as Thea. Her other name no longer existed, just as I had scrubbed my own from the corners of my mind. I certainly didn’t want to risk revealing her connection to the Davis family.
I wouldn’t have guessed at their kinship if Annette hadn’t told me, but that was a good thing. That would make Thea’s new identity less complicated. Thea was tall and confident, with the most incredible black hair spiraling past her shoulders. She wore a chic jean jumpsuit, somehow managing to radiate composure and class during what had to be the most terrifying time of her life.
As I waved her into the back room, I wondered if I had ever been that sure of myself. I didn’t think so. Although that made me wonder how much harder it might be for her to adapt to a new life when her old one had brought her such self-assurance.
Then Thea’s appearance of confidence dimmed a bit as her coal-dark eyes darted around the back room of the library. “Where’s Annette?”
“I’m Winnie. I’m sorry to let you know that Annette’s in the hospital. She had a heart attack.” I rushed to add, “She’s going to be all right.” I prayed. “She sent me in her place. I’ve helped her in the past.”
That seemed the safest way to lend credence to my assistance, rather than explain I’d once stood in her very shoes. Well, not exactly her shoes. I wore my sneakers, scuffed from shifts at the mill, and she wore high heels with faux wood soles.
Thea fidgeted with her neckline, her pulse throbbing visibly in her throat. “I’m not in a position to argue.”
My nerves faded the deeper we sank into the meeting. “Annette sent a note, if that helps.” I passed over the folded piece of paper. According to Annette, she hadn’t written anything incriminating but shared a message in a code that the young woman would understand. “I hope it makes sense to you. She said something about your grandmother teaching you to understand the special language.”
Thea unfolded the lined notepaper, scanned, then breathed a sigh of relief. “My grandmother—Annette’s cousin—was a codebreaker duringWorld War II. Not something many people know. After the war, the men came home and took back their jobs. My grandmother made a game out of sharing her skill with us.”
Annette hadn’t gone into that much detail, but I treasured the nugget of information about Russell’s extended family.
I tapped the manila envelope on the round table. “Here’s the information about two job interviews for a bookkeeper position. One for a feed and farm supply store and the other at the paper mill.”
“Bookkeeper?” she said, her face a study in disappointment.
On the one hand, I felt sorry for her. On the other? Well, that other hand remembered all too well the sting of bleach from working long janitorial shifts.
“It’s a place to begin.” I tried to make the transition easier, because all mop buckets aside, I did comprehend the huge shock to the system that came from launching a whole new identity. “I realize you’re overqualified, and that none of what has happened to you is fair—”
She gave her head a shake. Resigned. “I understand. It’s what has to happen.”
As Thea kept rubbing the tissue along the tabletop, I noticed her fingertips were raw, much like mine had been back before I learned not to plunge my hands in a bucket of cleaning solution. What had happened to her on her way here? “Could I get you some lotion? I really wrecked my hands when I started working in the paper mill, with the chemicals and all.”
Pulling away, she clenched her fists. “It’s not that. I just can’t be found. Ever.”
The steeliness of her voice was underscored by the way her spine snapped straight. Resolve, yes. But underneath that? A deep-seated fear that helped me understand the reason for her raw fingertips. She’d scrubbed away her fingerprints to reduce the chance of detection. Perhaps also the reason she kept cleaning off the table, just in case.
Annette had briefed me on Thea’s past, but I hadn’t considered the implications of a wider network, a dangerous one, determined tolocate her. Such a different scenario from my own. If anything, Phillip wouldn’t have wanted to find me at all.
Any resentment over her pencil-pushing job vanished. My heart ached for her. “Thea, I promise you,” I vowed, reaching across the table but stopping shy of touching her. I could see now the confidence was a mask to hide her brittle control. “I will make it my mission to help you find something that puts your education to good use.”
I’d experienced how the soul could wither when talents were denied. We’d had to make ourselves smaller in so many ways to escape detection. There had to be someplace to funnel our new sense of selves. A place for us to feel a sense of purpose and meaning.
