Winds of Freedom: Kate Neilson Series, #2

Winds of Freedom is the second novel in the Kate Neilson Series, which includes Winds of Hope (Prequel), Winds of Wyoming (Book One) and Winds of Change (Book Three). To join my mailing list and receive updates on new books via my rare-and-random newsletter, please click the link at the back of the book. As my thank-you, you’ll receive a free short-story compilation titled Passageways.

Acclaim for Winds of Freedom

"Rebecca Carey Lyles once again brings us Kate Neilson, but this time, the reader is thrown into a stunning array of contrasts—the power of loving relationships and the destruction of painful affiliations. Can a tender and freshly minted marriage stand the horrors of the streets? Winds of Freedom is a page-turner that will take you from the depths of human depravity to the heights of friendship, loyalty and passion to do right at all costs. This book is a triumph."

—Peter Leavell, award-winning author and historian, contributor to Passageways and author of Gideon’s Call, West for the Black Hills and Shadow of Devil’s Tower

"Winds of Freedom is consistent with Lyles’s first novel’s unpretentious look at the paths that bring people to God. This exciting tale takes Kate Neilson from bison pastures in Wyoming to a brothel in Dallas and is a testament to the power of friendship as well as the need we all have for someone who believes in us."

—Hilarey Johnson, award-winning author of Sovereign Ground, Heart of Petra, Stone of Asylum, The Reckoner’s Blade and Heiress of Coeur d’Alene

WINDS OF FREEDOM

Book Two in the Kate Neilson Series

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Rebecca Carey Lyles

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Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need;

rescue me from my persecutors, for they are too strong for me.

Set me free from my prison, so I can thank you.

Psalm 142:6-7a (NLT/NIV)

Chapter One

Kate Neilson Duncan knocked a second time on her great-aunt’s front door. She waited a moment and then turned to her husband, Mike, who stood beside her on the wide veranda. When I called last night, Aunt Mary said she’d be home all day.

Give her some time. She never moves fast. Mike aimed his chin at a little boy riding by on a tricycle. Cute kid.

Like Kate, the boy wore shorts and a t-shirt on the warm October day. He steered the trike with one hand and pulled a clattering wagon with the other, carefully negotiating the bumpy sidewalk that bordered the old house. But then he lost his grip on the wagon and stopped beneath the wide branches of an autumn-laced maple tree to retrieve the handle. As he bent down, a wind gust swirled a kaleidoscope of leaves over his head and onto the porch.

The breeze lifted Kate’s hair, set a rocking chair in motion and scattered the leaves across the neighbor’s lawn. She brushed a wayward strand from her cheek and was about to knock again, when the lock clicked and the deadbolt began to retract, metal rasping against metal. Finally, the door opened. Kate could see the chain that stretched the narrow gap between the door and the doorframe, but she couldn’t see her aunt.

Mike pointed toward the bottom of the door, where a wiggling, sniffing black nose poked through at ankle height. Aunt Mary’s dog had always been more of a sniffer than a barker.

If you’re selling Florida grapefruit, a woman’s voice quavered, I’ll tell you what I say every year. My husband’s stomach cannot tolerate citrus, so please don’t come back. God bless you like he blessed Queen Esther. Goodbye.

Before her aunt could shut them out, Kate shoved her sandal into the crack. Aunt Mary. It’s me, Kate.

A frizz of white hair appeared in the narrow opening and Kate could see Mary squinting at her. Katy? My sweet Katy Joy? Mary unhooked the chain lock, opened the door, and held out her arms.

Kate hugged her bony frame, all the while thanking God her aunt recognized her. After the last phone call, in which she’d asked three times who she was, Kate was prepared for the worst.

The older woman leaned back. You cut off your beautiful brown hair.

It was this length at the wedding, shoulder length. Something cold and wet touched the back of Kate’s knee. She jumped. Prissy! You startled me.

Mary shook her finger at the dog. You leave Katy alone.

The curly haired Cockapoo dropped her tail between her legs and sidled over to Mike, who knelt on one Levi-clad knee to pet the dog.

Kate kissed Mary’s soft cheek. I’m so glad to see you again, Aunt Mary. You’re looking great. Not even using your walker. Her aunt had developed multiple sclerosis in her fifties, but she hadn’t relied on a walker until recent years.

The older woman’s sea-green eyes twinkled. She grasped Kate by the shoulders. Just don’t let go.

Kate rotated them both toward Mike, who patted Prissy’s head and stood.

Aunt Mary, Kate said, do you remember my husband, Mike?

Mary squinted at the tall blond man for a long moment. And then she smirked. How could I forget such a handsome brute?

Kate grinned.  It wasn’t often she got to see her husband blush.

Mike took Mary’s hand from Kate’s shoulder and kissed her fingers. And I haven’t forgotten you, either, pretty lady.

Mary beamed.

Okay, you two. Enough flattery. Kate led Mary to her chair in the living room and helped her sit. She could tell her aunt didn’t recognize Mike. Thank God she let him into her home, despite her confusion.

Kate sat on the couch beside Mike. Time for us to get down to business.

Mary peered at them over the top of her glasses. Business?

The business of getting you moved from Pittsburgh to the Whispering Pines Ranch in Wyoming. Remember how much you like it there?

Mary picked up a newspaper and began to noisily fold it.

Prissy climbed into Mike’s lap. Mike whispered, Smells weird in here. I don’t think it’s the dog.

Kate nodded. She couldn’t put her finger on the odor. Maybe it had something to do with her aunt’s aging body, or maybe she’d forgotten to bathe. Though she’d had MS for a long time, the forgetfulness was new. How many boxes have you filled, Aunt Mary?

Boxes?

We need to pack your things for the move. But before we go, we’ll have a garage sale for stuff you don’t need. Have you been sorting?

Sorting?

Kate glanced at Mike.

The dimple in his cheek twitched.

This was going to be more difficult than she’d expected. Don’t you worry about a thing, Aunt Mary. We’ll take care of the details. And Amy will join our work crew in a couple hours.

Who’s that?

She’s... How could her aunt forget the animated redhead? Amy is my best friend. She visits you every week, and she flew to Wyoming with you when Mike and I got married. She was my maid of honor, remember?

Mary compressed her lips and began to pick at a fingernail.

Well, anyway, when Amy gets here, we’ll order a pizza and have a moving party. Kate couldn’t wait to see her friend again. They’d met in prison and supported each other through a host of challenges.

Lately, she’d sensed desperation in Amy’s voice when they talked on the phone. Although she was usually upbeat, she hadn’t found a job to replace the one she lost almost six months ago. Kate was afraid her impulsive friend would leap at whatever employment came along, good or bad. She knew from experience that unhealthy employment opportunities were often more abundant than good options for ex-felons.

Moving? Eyebrows pinched, eyes darting, Mary scrutinized her living room as if seeing it anew. From my friends? My neighborhood, my home? Her voice rose with each question. From my prayer room? From Prissy?

Kate’s heart lurched. She knew the sting of being ripped from all that was familiar. Though they’d talked often on the phone about selling her aunt’s home, the conversations must have gotten lost in her head. We’ll take the desk and phone from your prayer room, and we’ll take Prissy with us, too. She’ll like living in the country.

Mike grunted.

Kate knew what he was thinking. If the coyotes don’t eat her.

She rubbed the dog’s furry head before standing. We’ll take this one step at a time. How about I make us some tea? Her aunt loved green tea.

Mary’s face brightened. That sounds wonderful. Let’s all have a nice cup of tea.

In the kitchen, Kate filled the teapot with water and placed it on the stove. Sensing warmth from a nearby pan, she picked up the lid to find dry carrots and crinkled peas beginning to brown. So that’s what they smelled. She shut off the gas and moved the pan to another burner to cool. Aunt Mary, have you done any baking lately?

Uhm, well, I...I’m not sure.

Don’t get up. I’ll check the fridge. The first thing Kate saw when she opened the door was a big pan of brownies with a corner piece missing. The second was a platter of hot dogs stacked layer upon layer pyramid style. She stared at the pile. Had to be at least three dozen wieners in the mound.

Her aunt hobbled into the kitchen, pushing her walker.

Kate laughed. You don’t take orders very well.

Mary peered into the open refrigerator. I forget why I came in here.

I asked if you’d baked anything recently, and you did. The brownies smell wonderful. Kate slid the pan from the fridge. But all these hot dogs surprise me. I didn’t know you liked them so much.

Mary’s eyebrows lowered. I don’t like them, not one bit. Your Uncle Dean is the wiener lover. Buys them by the bushel and eats at least a dozen a day.

But he’s not—

Oh, that obstinate man. Mary pursed her lips. He’s been sneaking off to Jimmy’s Long Dog Stand in front of the library again. Pays that bandit’s outlandish prices, when we have plenty here. She wrinkled her nose. Throw them out before they turn green.

Uncle Dean died years ago. Surely these aren’t his...

Mary glared at her. Don’t talk about your uncle that way, Katy Joy, and don’t argue with me. I am not in the mood. She reversed her walker and started for the living room.

Kate frowned. What was that about? It wasn’t like her aunt to be snippy. Or to talk as if Uncle Dean was alive.

Mary paused at the doorway between the two rooms. Well, hello, young man. Her voice was cheery again. Did Katy let you in?

Oh-oh. Aunt Mary had already forgotten Mike.

Uh, yes, she did. Kate could hear surprise in his voice. We’re good friends.

Kate snickered. I certainly hope so.

That’s nice. Mary rolled her walker into the living room. I read the book of Esther this morning.

Esther in the Bible?

The very one. It’s quite an interesting story about a young Jewish woman who became queen of Persia way back when. Do you know how that happened? The king wanted a new...

Kate set the brownies on the counter and took out the hot dogs, glad she’d been given permission to toss them in the garbage. Only God knew how old they were. She dumped the pile into the garbage can under the sink and closed the refrigerator door.

She’d been concerned about uprooting her aunt from her vintage Pittsburgh neighborhood and taking her to their mountainside guest ranch. Now it was obvious she needed someone to keep an eye on her. Kate broke off a piece of brownie. Thank God for Mike and her sweet mother-in-law, Laura, who would help her watch over Aunt Mary. Caring for a confused person with MS could be a challenge.

She bit into the brownie and choked. Ugh. Salt. Lots of salt. She turned on the faucet and spit the bite into the garbage disposal.

The teapot began to whistle, the tone starting low and then rising.

In the living room, Mary stopped her story. Oh-oh. Fire truck coming this way. Better check the police scanner in my prayer room.

Kate set her mug on the porch and rested her elbows against the gray-painted step behind her. Basking in the breeze that came up just then, she watched leaves on the big maple tree surrender to random blusters. The red and orange clusters twirled and danced to the ground to carpet the lawn like a colorful quilt.

Amy Iverson leaned back against the same step. Sure feels good to sit.

Kate smiled. You can say that again.

Sure feels good to sit.

Kate chuckled. I asked for that.

Amy threw back her head and laughed. Sunlight glistened off her auburn hair.

Prissy crept over to inspect Kate’s cup. Amy flicked her fingers at the dog. Get your snout out of Kate’s cider.

The little dog dropped to her stomach, placed her head between her paws, and ogled Amy with woebegone eyes half hidden by silky curls.

Oh, you silly puppy. She pulled the dog onto her lap. Now your feelings are hurt. Amy looked at Kate. Much as I hesitate to say it, this might be a good time to tackle the attic.

Kate groaned. You’re going to make me leave this beautiful yard to crawl inside a hot dusty attic?

Seems like a good time to work up there, while your aunt is napping. Amy set Prissy on the porch and stood.

Good point. Seems like she takes stuff out of boxes faster than we put it in.

Do you think she’ll try to climb the ladder to the attic?

I hope not, but you never know. Kate massaged her lower back. What are we going to do with her things? All of a sudden, she’s against having a garage sale, even though she’s said for years she needs to get rid of stuff. Doesn’t make sense, except I was told people with dementia want to hang onto everything familiar.

I understand.

You and me, both. Kate picked up her cup. Prison makes a person cling to what little they have.

Yeah. Amy held out her hand to help Kate to her feet. But we moved on, and we have to help your aunt move on. The more I’m around her, the more I’m convinced she needs to be with you.

Inside the house, they tiptoed up the stairs, past Mary’s bedroom. At the end of the hallway, Kate pulled the rope to lower the attic ladder, praying the grate of metal against wood wouldn’t be too loud. Amy picked up Prissy and started to climb the ladder.

Kate whispered, Why are you taking the dog?

Amy leaned toward her. So she won’t disturb Aunt Mary’s nap.

Kate suspected Amy’s love for animals was the real reason. Yet, the longer Aunt Mary slept, the more they’d accomplish. She followed her friend up the ladder and clambered into the musty garret just in time to muffle a sneeze into the crook of her elbow. Let’s open windows to get some air flow.

Amy deposited the dog on the floor. I’m not sure we can reach the windows. This place is a jungle of junk.

Put on your pith helmet, get out your machete, and go for it.

As quietly as they could, they shoved their way in opposite directions and managed to prop open two small casements. The next step was to slide items away from the floor opening to make room for the empty boxes Mike was rounding up.

Prissy trotted from one tantalizing smell to another, nose wiggling, tail wagging.

Amy laughed. Bet she’s never been up here. She swept her hand over the attic’s eclectic contents. How do you want to tackle this?

Kate picked up a mixer. One beater dangled from its cracked case. Let’s make a pile for worthless stuff like this and other stacks of like items we can box together. You know—all the books together, pictures in another group, Uncle Dean’s comic books in a pile, and whatever else we find similar, like Aunt Mary’s needlework projects.

They worked in silence for a time, digging through old stacks, forming new ones. When they were close enough to talk without raising their voices, Kate said, Too bad your boss closed the stables. Grooming horses was a perfect job for you. Do you have any other possibilities?

Nada. You know how hard it is for ex-felons to find employment. Amy tilted her head. I’ve been meaning to ask. How did you get on at Whispering Pines so easy?

Kate pointed upward. It was a God thing. The internship application didn’t require criminal history and Laura didn’t ask for a background check.

I need to find something like that.

Wish we could hire you at the ranch, but we don’t keep many people on staff during the off season. She lifted a lid from a shoebox. Marbles. Dozens of marbles of every size and color. Why do you think they kept marbles?

Maybe your uncle saved them when he was a kid.

Kate surveyed the toys and puzzles, magazines and tools scattered across the attic floor. He apparently saved everything from the day he was born until the day he died. A puff of air blew through the room, leaving a dust cloud in its wake. She sneezed again.

Amy patted her arm. Bless you.

Thanks. Kate rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Any chance you’d be able to make it on unemployment until next spring, when we could hire you for the tourist season?

I’d love that, more than anything, especially if you hire another bunch of good-looking single cowboys, like Clint Barrett.

Last I heard, Clint and Cyrus Moore’s daughter, Susan, are still seeing each other.

Yeah, I figured as much. Just sayin’. Anyway, I promised my sister, Elaina, she can move in with me after I find a job. Besides the fact that she and my aunt—the one who took Elaina and my brother in when our mom left us—don’t get along, she wants to attend the University of Pittsburgh.

I bet you’d love to be with your sister again.

Amy smiled. I’m excited, but I already have my dogs and cats to feed, so I want to be sure we can make it financially before she joins me.

Don’t forget your parrots.

I could never forget Orville and Wilbur, or my guinea pig.

You and your menagerie. Kate chuckled. You even have them on your legs. Cute idea to tattoo Orville on one leg and Wilbur on the other.

Amy stretched to examine the backs of her calves. The artist did a good job, didn’t he?

He did. Good color. Best I’ve seen.

They’d look better if my legs were long like yours.

Kate laughed. No way. They’re perfect on you. Are you going to have the artist do your other animals?

Not ‘til I get a good-paying job. These things cost a fortune.

Have you applied at the zoo?

Amy huffed. The human-resources lady didn’t even try to hide the fact she thought I might do something despicable to the animals or to the kids who visit the zoo, just because I spent time behind bars.

Ouch, that hurts.

It’s just as well. I was afraid they’d make me feed the snakes and clean their cages. She made a face. I hate snakes.

I wouldn’t like that either. Kate searched through a pile for the mate to a shoe. I’m sorry you have to go through the job-hunting humiliation again and again.

Maybe I’ll call the number on that ad I told you about.

Kate opened her mouth, but Amy held up her hand. I know, I know. It sounds too good to be true. Can’t hurt to check it out. She shoved a mound of used clothing aside. Besides, sometimes beggars can’t be choosers.

Be care—

Hey, your name is on this box.

Really? Kate scrambled over an old bicycle to gawk at the words printed neatly across the top of the carton. Katherine Joy Neilson. Aunt Mary hadn’t mentioned storing a box of her stuff in the attic. Was it something she’d left at a foster family’s house?

Amy picked up a stained shirt and wiped dust off the top. Don’t just stare at it, Kate. Open it.

Chapter Two

Okay, okay. I get it. Mike silenced the navigation system before the condescending voice could tell him one more time to make an immediate U-turn. Thank God he didn’t have to depend on technology to get where he needed to go in Wyoming.

He steered the rental car into a medical complex parking lot and maneuvered between buildings and pedestrians, looking for a place to turn around. He couldn’t wait to get back home where roads made sense and traffic in town was only bumper-to-bumper for a couple minutes after the ballgame.

His cell phone rang. He slipped it out of his pocket as he pulled into a parking space. Probably Kate wondering what in the world happened to him. She didn’t have any trouble finding her way around Pittsburgh, but the cobweb of busy streets made no sense to him. He lifted the phone to his ear. Hello.

Hi, Mike. This is Marshall Thompson.

Mike pressed the space between his eyebrows with his fingers. Maybe he wasn’t in such a hurry to go home. Marshall, the neighbor rancher who’d purchased several of his bison cows and calves, never called just to shoot the breeze. What’s up, Marshall?

Sorry to bother you, Mike. I know you’re on vacation, but I have a question for you.

That’s okay. I need a break from traffic. What’s the question?

Have you seen any red deer over at your place?

Mike rolled up the windows so he could hear better and switched off the car engine. What was so important about red deer? You mean elk? Sure, we see them around the ranch all the time.

"No, I mean red deer, as in imports from overseas. You know how Europeans call bucks stags and the does hinds? Well, I swear I saw a red stag and four hinds in my bison pasture shortly after dawn this morning."

What makes you think they’re imports?

Their coloring is different from elk, more reddish, and their coats are sleeker. They look like a cross between deer and elk.

Where do you suppose they came from?

Probably Australia or New Zealand. At least that’s what I concluded from my research.

I mean locally, like from a reserve or a park.

Oh. He cleared his throat. I’m betting they came from the Hughes ranch. That’s the direction they headed when they took off running. But... He paused. No matter where they came from, I’m afraid they could be spreading brucellosis.

Mike grimaced. Ownership of certain exotic species was illegal in Wyoming, partly because the animals sometimes carried disease, including brucellosis, which could induce abortion and premature calving in cattle and bison. I suppose you already let my loaner bull loose in your cow pasture.

Yep.

Me, too. I moved the other bulls in with my cows just before we left on this trip. God only knows how many pregnant bison cows we have between the two of us. Mike shook his head. How did impregnated cows morph so quickly from being a good thing to being a bad thing? He moved the phone to his other ear. Have you called Game and Fish?

Marshall snorted. They laughed at me. Said there were no red deer in Wyoming, except on a reserve up north.

Too bad. I was hoping they’d test the reds to see if they’re carriers. Why do you suspect Todd Hughes?

Rumor has it he wants to turn his place into an exotic game ranch and stock animals from all over the world for millionaire hunters hoping to bag trophy heads. I also heard he’s trying to enlarge his spread by hundreds, if not thousands more acres. Might explain why he’s been bugging me and Dad to sell our ranch to him.

Mike watched cars pass on the street in front of him. Seemed like he was always the last rancher to catch Copperville gossip. Maybe it was because he didn’t hang out at the bar, or because the Whispering Pines was different. Theirs was a guest ranch as well as a cattle and bison ranch.

Still there?

Yeah, just trying to sort it all out.

I know you said RB51 isn’t necessarily effective with bison, yet I’m wondering if I should immunize my cows, just in case.

It’d be risky. I vaccinated all our calves, including the ones I sold to you, but not the cows. Remember the abortion storm in that Pinedale cattle herd a while back? I read that it was caused by inoculating pregnant cows.

Marshall released a long sigh. I’d better go. I’ll scout the area to see if I can find the reds. I hear they’re skittish, so it may be a lost cause. He paused. I’ll keep you posted.

We should return in two or three weeks. Depends how long it takes us to get Kate’s great-aunt packed up. We’re moving her to the ranch.

I hope the move goes okay. Drive safe and give me a call when you get back.

Will do. Mike closed the phone. If there was anything they didn’t need, it was brucellosis. The disease could cause the state veterinarian to order the destruction of their herds, and if it spread, Wyoming would lose its brucellosis-free status for the second time in recent years. The livestock sales of every producer in the state would be hindered, maybe stopped. At best, constant testing of their herds would be an expensive nuisance, especially with obstinate buffalo.

Mike combed his fingers through his hair. After years of work, his bison herd was finally to the point where he felt it was large enough to sell cows and stud service to people like Marshall plus offer buffalo meat, horns, skulls and hides for sale. He couldn’t imagine starting over.

Laura Duncan finished her cereal and carried the bowl into the kitchen of her log home. What a treat to have strawberries on her oatmeal this late in the year. Almost everything else in the Whispering Pine’s mountainside garden had succumbed to the cooling temperatures with the first frost, but by covering the strawberry bed at night, she’d been able to keep the plants active a bit longer.

She placed the cereal bowl in the dishwasher and the leftover berries in the refrigerator, thinking that if Dan were still alive, she wouldn’t have leftover strawberries to refrigerate. He loved to eat them fresh from the garden. Laura heaved a sigh and picked up her tea mug.

She took a sip of the cinnamon-spiced tea and gazed out the window above the sink. For the umpteenth time, she reminded herself to live in the present, not the past. Every day was a gift, and today was a special gift. For the first time in two years, she could relax at the conclusion of their guest ranch tourist season and appreciate the advent of fall.

Though she’d tried, she couldn’t recall the turning of the leaves that bleak autumn two years ago when Dan left her following a brief battle with cancer. During those dark days, her world had dimmed to gray and then to black. Again and again, she found herself staring through the nearest window, seeing nothing beyond his suffering and her sorrow.

Last fall, she’d gotten caught up in the whirlwind of Mike and Kate’s wedding. Their happiness gave her joy in the midst of grief. She smiled. The reception had been the talk of the valley for months.

Laura walked to the deer-antler coatrack by the back door, plucked a sweater from one of the points and stepped outside. As usual, Mike’s collie dozed on the deck. He raised his gray muzzle, pounded his bushy tail twice and dropped his head back down, his body sagging against the wide redwood boards.

She knelt to pet the dog. Sorry I’m not Mike, Tramp. I’m all you’ve got for a while.

Even in his old age, and though his encounter with wolves a while back slowed him down, Tramp wanted to go wherever Mike went. Since his master’s departure, he’d slept on the rug by her bed every night, breathing sad whimpers between restless twitches. Yet, she appreciated the dog’s company. The house had echoed with a hollow emptiness after Mike moved into Kate’s cabin.

But the silence would end when they settled Kate’s aunt in the spare bedroom. Laura patted Tramp one more time and stood. She hoped she and Mary would get along okay.

On the far end of the porch, aspen leaves rustled, flickering hints of yellow and flashes of orange. Like gold coins tossed by a benevolent hand, fallen leaves skittered with the breeze along the edge of the deck. Laura looked beyond the ranch buildings to the Sierra Madre Mountains. Snow was already shimmering on the highest peaks.

She was a lucky woman to live in a region that featured sunshine and blue skies almost every day. This time of year, the canopy above her was a rich, almost purple, shade of blue. Laura settled into the chaise lounge and rested her head against the chair back. Breathing in the crisp fall air, she caught hints of wood smoke, dried leaves, warm deck planks, and even the dusty dog.

A pickup truck rumbled by to stop in front of one of the cabins. As predictable as the seasons, fall hunters replaced summer tourists. She slipped the sweater over her shoulders, thinking of how she’d anticipated this moment for weeks—the moment when the last summer visitor had driven away from the ranch and the cleanup was complete, the moment when she could put her feet up. Why wasn’t she giddy with excitement?

She folded her arms. Maybe her lack of enthusiasm was because Kate and Mike’s departure had left her with the realization she and Dan would never again travel together, would never again do anything together. Two years since his death, the understanding that he could not, would not return to her was only now beginning to sink in.

Or maybe it was the note she found in her nightstand that put her in a funk. Dan’s neatly printed words said he couldn’t imagine life without her. That he loved her more and more as time went by. How he wanted to grow old with her.

She plucked a blond hair from the sweater. Even something as miniscule and insignificant as a single hair made her think of her husband. He’d loved the color of her hair and said it reminded him of a ripe wheat field. Would she ever be free from constant reminders of Dan? Did she want to be free?

White clouds drifted above the trees. Thank God heaven was more than sitting on a cloud and strumming a harp, or Dan would be bored out of his mind. Although she was glad he was no longer suffering, she missed him. Oh, how she missed him. Two years had dulled the pain but not