Into the Clouds Page 2

  Curious though she was, Berdie directed her attention to the balloon brigade. “Don’t overfill that balloon,” she called across the lively church nave to thirteen-year-old Milton Butz.

  He haphazardly filled the red swollen sphere with helium gas and placed it on his lips. The barrel-chested teen grinned. “Yes, Mrs. Elliott. Overfill remedied,” Milton squeaked in that annoying high-pitched tone that comes from a helium gas inhalation.

  Kevin McDermott, his ever-present school chum, howled with laughter, which only goaded Milton into a full rendition of “Rule Britannia.”

  “That’s enough,” Ivy Butz, Milton’s mom, said. “Out with the pair of you. Go on now.”

  The boys made for the door, the ample Ivy behind them.

  Martha Butz, Milton’s twin, tied a string to a full balloon. “I apologize for my brother,” she said in a rather aggravated tone. “He’s such a child.”

  Berdie smiled, stepped to the helium gas tank, and took up a balloon.

  “Mrs. Elliott, there’s someone wants to see you,” Ivy trumpeted from the door where the boys had just exited.

  Of course, someone wanted to see her. How many times in a day didn’t someone in a small English village want to see the vicar’s wife? How many times in the course of parish life did someone come knocking at an inopportune time? Berdie worked at knotting the end of the red, biodegradable balloon she had just filled. “Who is it?” she called against the laughter of several church youths who tied ribbons to the festive balloons.

  Ivy shrugged her shoulders.

  “Tell them to come back after the Ascension Fete,” Berdie directed.

  Ivy nodded and ducked out the door.

  Berdie passed her balloon to Martha, placed another empty balloon over the nozzle, and turned the handle that instantly shaped the red droop into a vibrant orb.

  Then, Ivy backed into the church from the door and nearly stumbled.

  A wiry young woman with ginger hair burst in. It appeared that whomever this woman was who had asked to see Berdie would not be denied. “Mrs. Berdie Elliott,” the anxious woman spoke loudly and examined the church inhabitants one after another. A flushed face, eyes large with anxiety, and gasps for breath indicated that this was not a casual call.

  At that same moment, the balloon Berdie absently filled exploded. The blast bounced round the stone nave sending shrieks skyward and bodies downward.

  The choir, who had been practicing, came to an abrupt halt.

  “Mrs. Elliott, you’ve got to help me.” Above the complete silence came the terrified scream of the stranger. The woman’s untamed bristly hair was a stark contrast against her milky skin and wild pale eyes.

  “Of course. I’m glad to be of help.” Berdie pushed the breathless words out. Her fifty-something-year-old heart beat like hummingbird wings, more from the balloon burst than anything else. Still, being called out in the midst of the congregation was a bit discomforting. “Let’s find a quiet corner.” Berdie approached the woman.

  Hugh was already at the stranger’s side. “Can I offer some assistance?” he asked in a calming voice.

  “It’s Mrs. Elliott I want.”

  “Sacristy,” Hugh said. He gently took the young woman by the elbow, and with Berdie on her other side, they proceeded to the solace of the tranquil room.

  Hugh seated the stranger in a comfortable overstuffed chair near the hearth where a bouquet of fresh garden flowers occupied the space normally reserved for fires in the colder months. Berdie eased her more-pudgy-than-lean body into a chair near the woman while Hugh remained on his feet.

  “No disrespect to you, Vicar, but it’s your wife I want to see,” the somewhat calmed woman explained. “I want her to work for hire.”

  “Hire?” Berdie asked with a sharp tone.

  “What do you mean, Mrs.?” Hugh questioned.

  “It’s Miss Norman, Harriett Norman. And what I mean is, I want her”—she jabbed her finger toward Berdie “—to find my sister.”

  “Where is your sister?” Hugh questioned.

  “For heaven’s sake.” Harriett flared. “If I knew that I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

  Hugh fumbled for words.

  “Miss Norman, your sister is missing and you want to hire me,” Berdie reiterated.

  The woman looked from Hugh to Berdie, her brow knit. “Isn’t that what I’ve just said?”

  “Hire me for what, exactly?”

  The woman scowled. “What do you think? To boil my morning egg? To find my sister, of course. Word’s about that you’re a dead good detective, and I want to hire you.”

  Berdie nearly laughed when she saw the shock that registered on Hugh’s face. If the woman hadn’t been so edgy, Berdie would have broken into a hearty chuckle.

  “My wife is not for hire, especially for investigative work,” Hugh said firmly.

  The woman turned her gaze to Berdie. “Don’t you want to help me?”

  “Of course,” Berdie assured, “but am I the best person for the job?”

  Hugh’s shoulders tightened. “This sounds like a police matter to me.” He pulled a mobile from his pocket.

  There was a light rap at the nearly-closed door, and Lillie Foxworth unapologetically burst into the room. “Hugh, Edsel needs…” Lillie stopped abruptly. Inquisitive delight shone in her face. “Sorry for interrupting,” Lillie said with only a mild hint of apology. Her hazel-green eyes burrowed into Berdie’s. What’s going on? she mouthed.

  “She’s not for hire,” Harriett responded.

  “Sorry?” Lillie’s inquisitiveness turned to amusement.

  “Constable Goodnight? Vicar here,” Hugh spoke into the mobile phone.

  “The police were no help,” Harriett nearly screamed.

  Berdie placed her hand on the woman’s arm. “You’ve spoken to them, then?” she asked in a calm voice.

  The woman stomped a foot. “And what little good it did.”

  Lillie put her hand over her mouth and sat. The choir-director robe that draped over her slim body made her appear almost angelic. There was a twinkle in Lillie’s eyes, and her hand covered a grin.

  “Miss Harriett Norman is with me.” Hugh paused. “I’ll ask.” Hugh put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Do you live in Mistcome Green, Miss Norman?”

  “And what if I do?” The woman frowned and eyed Hugh as if trying to decide if this vicar could be trusted.

  Hugh went to a corner of the sacristy and continued the phone conversation.

  “My husband wants only what’s best for you, Miss Norman.” Berdie looked reassuringly into the large, pale eyes.

  “What about what’s best for my sister?” Harriett pushed her hand into her skirt pocket and retrieved a postcard. “You see?” She shoved the picture of a sunny marina dotted with palm trees into Berdie’s hand.

  Lillie stood, positioning herself to peek over Berdie’s shoulder.

  Berdie flipped the postcard over. It had a Portuguese postmark. Harriett, it read in what appeared to be hastily scrawled words; I’ll be back in Timsley at the end of the week with a rather wonderful surprise.

  “This is your sister, I assume?”

  The woman nodded her head. “I got it nearly six weeks ago.”

  Lillie gave a quiet gasp.

  Harriett leaned forward and gripped the arms of the chair. “Now, can you help my sister?”

  “Berdie,” Hugh beckoned.

  Lillie took the postcard from Berdie, who arose.

  “I want you to hear this for yourself.” Hugh handed the phone to her. “Mind you, heed these words. And this is the last of the matter.”

  She brought the mobile to her ear as Hugh made a quiet exit. “Yes,” Berdie spoke into the mobile.

  “Mrs. Elliott,” The unmistakable voice of Aidan Kirkwood’s Constable came over the phone. Albert Goodnight growled his words. “Vicar says you got that nutter there.”

  “What?” Berdie frowned.

  “Harriett Norman. They call her ‘the Mad Hatty’ of
Mistcome Green.” The constable laughed heartily with an edge of mockery.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s in Wonderland, that one.”

  Berdie understood that Goodnight was the law in Aidan Kirkwood, but she had little patience with his uncouth manner and brash incompetence to do his job. “She’s trying to find a missing relative. Harriett just showed me the postcard from her missing sister,” she said in as even a tone as she could muster.

  Goodnight’s howl of laughter caused her to pull the mobile from her ear. She took a deep inhale and returned it to listening position again.

  “Hatty Norman does not, never has, and never will have a sister,” Goodnight bawled.

  Berdie blinked. “No?”

  “Send that nutter back to Mistcome Green, and let her bother the law somewhere else.”

  Silence as he rang off told Berdie that Albert Goodnight was done with the matter.

  She pursed her lips and nearly throttled the mobile.

  Harriett Norman clung so tightly to the arms of the chair her fingers were white.

  “Are you going to find my sister?” she asked with wide eyes.

  Berdie searched for the right words. Should she ask about the sister, a description, something that would make sense of things without creating turmoil? There was definitely a postcard addressed to Harriett from someone. The need and concern the young woman displayed appeared very real.

  “Of course, she will find your sister.”

  Berdie’s delay in responding made room for Lillie to fill the momentary silence.

  “She’s wonderful. She’ll get to the bottom of this in no time.”

  Harriett released her grip on the chair. Her eyes grew more serene, and her shoulders relaxed. A huge grin spread across her face that had now dismissed the furrowed forehead. She jumped to her feet with what seemed a sense of fresh wellbeing. “I’m ever so grateful.”

  “Now, Miss Norman…” Berdie began.

  “I’ll just see Harriett to the door,” Lillie interrupted Berdie’s train of thought once more.

  “Lillie, I’m not at all sure…”

  Harriett acquiesced to Lillie’s guiding hand on her elbow.

  “We’ll be getting in touch with you soon, Miss Norman,” Lillie pattered as she and Harriett walked out the sacristy door.

  No sister? Really? How often had Goodnight gotten his so-called information from sitting around a late night table with the lads at the local pub, the Upland Arms? The pub certainly was not the most reliable source.

  Harriett seemed so relieved that someone was willing to help. Still, at this moment, Berdie couldn’t possibly commit to Harriett’s task, even sorting out the real from the fantasy. She must get on with the events at hand. She returned to the church nave.

  Lillie deposited Miss Norman at the church door and sent her on her way. Despite her entrance, few noticed the woman’s departure.

  “Lillie.” Berdie grabbed Lillie’s hand as the choirmaster raced toward the choir.

  Lillie abruptly stopped.

  Berdie took hold of the angel-wing like sleeve of the choral robe and gently shook it.

  “What are you doing?” Lillie scoffed.

  “Just looking for your little mouse.”

  “What?”

  “We will be getting in touch with you, Miss Norman. Of course we can help.”

  Lillie leaned close to Berdie. She made her voice barely audible but the spark in her eyes spoke thunderously. “Don’t tell me, my dear friend, that you aren’t keen as mustard to find Miss Norman’s sister.”

  “There’s more to it, Lillie.”

  Lillie’s eyes widened. “When is there not?” She almost giggled.

  “Miss Foxworth.” The bright, but tentative tenor voice of Linden Davies pierced the clandestine conversation as he called from the choir. “I need your assistance, please.”

  Lillie nodded to Linden as Loren, who stood near him, eyed the needy fellow.

  “We’ll talk later,” Berdie said.

  “Oh, indeed we shall.” Lillie beamed. “An adventure is in the making, I shouldn’t wonder.” With that, Lillie scurried to the aid of her protégé.

  “Adventure.” Berdie loved the opportunity of it, but rarely found it came without misfortune for some poor soul.

  “That’s it for the balloons, then.” Ivy’s full moon cheeks decorated the edges of her cheerful smile.

  Berdie took in the balloons that were cellotaped to the back of some pews. “I hope we have more balloons than children tomorrow and not the other way round.”

  “I shouldn’t worry.” Ivy’s optimistic sparkle danced. “I’m sure everything tomorrow will be tickety-boo.”

  “Tickety-boo,” Berdie repeated as she reviewed in her mind the colorful people she had met today. She took a deep inhale. “From your mouth to God’s ear, Ivy.”

  2

  “It’s a perfect day for the procession,” the sturdy Mrs. Braunhoff sputtered as she raced past Berdie in the front church garden, red ribbons in hand.

  “Just so,” Berdie returned.

  Indeed, the mid-morning Sunday sun beamed its lovely spring rays as if to bless the ancient church and all who gathered for the Ascension Sunday procession.

  Berdie let the welcoming warmth caress her face. Pushed aside momentarily, were thoughts concerning Harriett Norman.

  “Berdie,” Hugh called as he exited the church. Coming into the bright light made his fine church vestments almost dazzle. “I need to go position myself.” He nodded toward the procession participants while clinging to the large altar Bible. “Will you please go through the queue to make sure everything is set to begin?”

  “As you know, my darling husband, putting things in order suits me.”

  “Precisely.” Hugh’s smile was almost as dazzling as his vestments.

  Grayson Webb, the parish council chairman, appeared cheerful as he found his way to Hugh’s side. “Wonderful this.” His gaze scanned the assembly on Church Road. Wearing his mayoral chain of office about his neck, and holding his ornamental staff, he appeared positively commanding. His styled hair was sprayed into obedience. And judging by the assault on Berdie’s nose, Mr. Webb announced his presence in applied gentleman’s fragrance. “The Timsley Times ran a full article yesterday on our planned activities, you know. Front page.”

  “Now that’s a rare occurrence.” Hugh nodded. “Constructive church events considered front page news.”

  “Both our names appeared in print.” Mr. Webb ran a finger down his lapel.

  “Well then, you two newsworthy men need to place yourselves in the procession.” Berdie prompted.

  “My wife will signal when it’s time to begin the march.”

  “Your wife?” Mr. Webb spoke in a less-than-gentle manner.

  “That is to say,” Berdie amended, “I will signal you when everything is set so you may raise your staff to start the procession.”

  “Oh, yes. Important that,” He gave the staff a gentle wiggle. “Well then, let’s get on with it.”

  While Hugh and Mr. Webb found their way into the crowd, Berdie went to the front of the assembly where Jeffrey Lawler, a winsome young man with his spiked hair and well-trimmed goatee, held the lead banner skyward on its long pole.

  “The Ladies’ Guild has done a fine job hand-stitching the banner.” Berdie inspected the rich red background awash with white clouds and large golden letters that read, He Lives and Reigns Forever.

  “Cherry stitched the Lives,” he said, obviously proud of his wife’s handiwork.

  “Now Jeffrey, the moment you hear the band begin, start forward,” Berdie reminded him.

  “Yeah, ready.” This lively fellow, who captained the village football team, would have no trouble carrying the banner the full distance through the High Street to the village green.

  “It’s not a game on the green this time, hey Jeffrey?” Milton Butz stood behind Jeffrey, accompanied by Martha and several other pre-adolescent church youths, i
ncluding the ginger-haired Kevin McDermott. All held bundles of floating red balloons to be passed out amongst the children at the village green for the great release.

  Kevin tried to swat an offending fly near his eye, sending one of the balloons skyward, adrift with the light breeze.

  “You great loaf,” Milton barked at his friend.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Elliott.”

  Berdie flipped her hands about the air near Kevin’s head knocking the insect on its way. “Just try to hold on tightly, Kevin.”

  Lillie’s student cum choir director, Linden Davies, race toward Berdie from the church car park. The small St. Matthew’s choir that followed him continued down the queue, but Linden and an attractive older woman stopped when they reached Berdie. “Hello Mrs. Elliott,” he greeted somewhat breathlessly.

  “Mr. Davies, good morning.” Berdie glanced at the woman.

  “Oh. This is my mother-in-law, Mrs. Olivia Mikalos.” He waved his hand toward Berdie. “Olivia, this is Mrs. Elliott, the vicar’s wife of St. Aidan.”

  The slender woman nodded her tastefully graying head toward Berdie, emerald earrings sparkling. The woman’s face, though mature, held all the fine features of beauty: high cheek bones, almond eyes, nicely shaped nose, contoured lips. The celery green linen top she wore, with matching trousers, was a lovely accompaniment to the light colored espadrilles that adorned her feet. Fashionable, while at the same time, practical.

  “It’s a lovely morning for an event like this.” Mrs. Mikalos said. Though her blue eyes were bright, her words had a must-be-polite tone.

  “Indeed,” Berdie replied. “Lovely.”

  Mr. Davies took a deep breath. “May I ask that Olivia, Mrs. Mikalos, accompany you? My wife and children came in a separate car and they haven’t arrived yet, you see.” Mr. Davies and the woman exchanged furtive glances.

  “Well, I was just…” Berdie began.

  The man turned on his heel and took flight toward the High Street.

  “But Mr. Davies,” Berdie called, “we begin the procession any moment.”

  Linden simply waved a hand.

  Mrs. Mikalos lifted her chin. “What would we do without our families?”