After the thirteen hours spent on two planes, one layover only forty-five minutes, Edwina was exhausted. The flight attendant woke her when they landed in Chicago. She rose on weak legs and pulled her small carry-on from the space above her head, the last person off the plane.
Then there was the matter of the three hour bus ride back to South Bend, Indiana and a twenty-minute cab ride to Niles. The familiar surroundings did nothing for her sore and wounded heart. She’d gone over and over in her mind why she found herself so desperate to get home. To what? To whom? Oh there had been one or two men asking for dates, most of them library patrons, but none she felt inclined to spend time with.
Because I’m safe here. I know every waking moment what I will be doing. Every hour is accounted for. Edwina wanted to cry. Certainly it was overtiredness from the hours traveling alone. She wished Cecelia could have come along. Yet, somehow she knew that God was pushing her. God I don’t know what you’re doing... but it sure hurts.
Slinging off her worn shoes, she dropped her bags at the door and hit the bathroom. The sight of her small shower and tub sent her into new fit of tears. She did want a different life. But how did one do that without changing their entire personality?
After slipping into a pair of worn pajamas Edwina crawled into her single bed and snuggled down. Bertie wasn’t there to comb out her hair. Tears fell on the pillow as her blood- shot eyes closed and shut out the world.
By morning, she was ready to jump out of her second floor window. Rain was coming in the bedroom window, sluicing down the bookcase. It must have been open the entire time she was gone and had soaked the walls and several of her favorite books.
Crying harder, she wanted to pray, but nothing would come out. She pulled each book from the case. Her fingers turned red and blue and black from the ink running from the covers. The pages were wilted and crinkled. Laying them out flat on the wood floors, she let the tears fall freely. It was good to cry when one was overwhelmed. She’d read that in a health magazine. And heaven knows she’d had enough stress these last two weeks to last a lifetime. Perhaps she was made for her practical, common sense lifestyle.
But she had taken the trip. By herself. And worked it out. She’d walked the hills of Scotland, resided in a castle with a very handsome laird, hadn’t she? Even caused him to laugh once or twice. Not to mention the fact that she had her hero bio all set out for the story. Perhaps it had all happened so that she could write her first novel. That must be it.
But why had she not considered the job the Scot offered? It had been a life-changing offer and she’d turned it down because... because she was afraid.