Listen to Your Heart. Irene Brand
just a piece of junk mail.”
“Seems strange anyone would send your mail to Cousin Kevin’s office.”
Laurel didn’t answer.
“Probably one of your admirers sneaking a letter to you so I wouldn’t see it,” Debbie teased.
If she had been disturbed by the letter’s contents, Laurel had regained her composure by the time they reached the restaurant. But her gaiety seemed forced, and occasionally her eyes held a resentful, frightened look. Debbie didn’t seem to notice, so Micah wondered if he was imagining things. Maybe the letter had been junk mail, but he didn’t think so.
Debbie was interested in Micah’s work, and she plied him with questions while they ate a leisurely meal. It was easy for Laurel to remain silent and mull over this latest threat to her peace of mind. Although as Micah answered Debbie’s queries, Laurel sensed his speculative gaze toward her.
“What’s the most interesting place you’ve ever photographed?” Debbie asked.
“That’s a hard one,” Micah said. “I’ve been at this work a long time. I’ve had assignments all over the world.”
“Do you speak several languages?” Laurel asked in an effort to keep Debbie from knowing how near the breaking point she was.
“French and Spanish reasonably well. I’ve picked up a smattering of German, as well as a lot of Asian dialects—at least enough that I can find my way around in several countries.”
At the dessert bar, Micah chose a large portion of apple cobbler, topped with a dollop of soft ice cream. Debbie took carrot cake, but Laurel picked up one cookie, wondering if she could eat it. The food she’d already eaten seemed like a lead weight in her stomach, and she felt nauseous. She desperately needed to be alone. The waitress brought Laurel and Micah fresh cups of coffee, and Debbie had a refill of iced tea.
“But you can’t pick out a favorite place?” Debbie persisted, while they ate their desserts.
“Not on the spot like this. I’m always so busy looking forward to a new assignment that I rarely think about previous ones. I’ll have to go through my scrapbooks and slide files and see if I can choose a favorite. Then perhaps I can revisit the area, and make a comparison of my impressions during my original research and what they are on my second visit.”
“Seems like an excellent idea to me,” Debbie said. She must have suddenly realized how quiet her mother had been, because Debbie covered Laurel’s hand with hers. “Say, Mom, we’re leaving you out of the conversation. I always talk too much. It’s your turn to ask Micah some questions.”
Laurel had noticed that Debbie and Micah had reached a first-name relationship right away. Determined that Debbie wouldn’t notice her distress, Laurel forced a smile and said, “You’re doing enough talking for both of us. But if Micah can’t think of a favorite place he’s photographed, I’ll settle for one of the most exotic places he’s explored.”
“I have a large number of those to choose from,” he said. “Machu Picchu comes to mind. You’ve heard of it?”
The name was familiar, but Laurel couldn’t remember what or where it was.
“Some kind of an Inca site in Peru, right?” Debbie replied.
“Right. I went there about ten years ago. I rode a train from Cusco, Peru, to a little village at the foot of an Andean mountain where the historical site is located. I took a rickety bus along a narrow, curvy road to the top of the mountain. The driver handled that bus like he was driving a race car. After the ride up the mountain, I would have walked back down if it hadn’t been for all the heavy equipment I had with me.”
“Sorry to show my ignorance, but you two college graduates will have to refresh my memory on what Machu Picchu is,” Laurel said, wishing as she often had before that she’d gone to college instead of getting married at eighteen.
“It’s one of the most beautiful and perplexing sights I’ve ever seen,” Micah said. “The Inca people carved hundreds of stone structures from the granite mountaintop in the fifteenth century. It was a self-contained city invisible from the valley below. When it was rediscovered in 1911 by Hiram Bingham, a Yale archaeologist, the jungle had taken over the site. Although the village is in ruins, enough of the dwellings are left to get an accurate idea of how the Incas lived and worshiped. I camped on the mountain one night and spent hours worshiping God, but after today’s sermon, I’m not sure I worshiped Him in spirit and in truth.”
Glancing at her watch, Debbie said, “I hate to break up our pleasant meal, but I have to be at work in an hour.”
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