Free Miracle in the Mist by Elizabeth Sinclair Page B

afraid it's just muddied the waters even more. Now I'm wondering if I want to find a past that belongs to someone who could create that."
    He stood and stared at the canvas for a time. "Psychology was never one of my strong points, but I'd say that is not the real you."
    She laughed. "Please don't tell me that you think it's born of something buried deep in my psyche."
    "We all have a dark side, I'm told. Maybe this is yours. You said you dreamed him without a face." She nodded. "There must be a reason you couldn't or wouldn't put a face on him. What else did you dream about? Maybe there's a clue hidden there."
    She sighed. "If there was, then I don't remember it. All I recall is the faceless man standing over me. I know he frightened me." She opened her mouth to say more, but stopped.
    A large orange and black butterfly had landed on her shoulder. Carrie stood stone still. It sat there for a few seconds, exercising its wings, and then it flew off into the flowering shrubs behind them. Carrie laughed like a delighted child.
    As if punched in the gut, Frank sucked in his breath. A surge of the same feeling he had experienced the night before beneath her window coursed through him. Last night, he'd only guessed it was the return of life. Now, he was certain. This woman had him doing something he hadn't done in a very long time—looking forward to tomorrow.
    Almost magically, Frank became acutely aware of his surroundings. The color of the flowers had become more brilliant, their fragrances headier; the gurgle of the stream reminded him of the laughter of children; the wisps of clouds dotting the sky were more vividly white, the sky itself a more dazzling blue. In short, like it or not, Frank Donovan was returning to the land of the living.
    "Why don't you try painting something else? Maybe now that you've gotten that out of your system," he pointed at the garish painting, "you can paint something appealing to the eye."
    Carrie glanced at the paint box, then at the second blank canvas. She picked up a brush.

 
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
    Alvin knocked on Ellie's cottage door. Moments later it swung open to reveal a lovely young woman dressed in an ankle-length, navy blue skirt and a white peasant blouse. Her long, blond hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders, framing her peaches-and-cream face, and her bright blue eyes danced with pleasure at seeing him. She seemed to have an inner merriment, which was an intricate part of why Alvin liked her so much.
    "Alvin, how nice to see you." She moved to the side. "Come in, please."
    Alvin stepped over the threshold and then went directly into the cottage's quaint living room. Many of the things that Meghan, the previous village Healer and this cottage's prior occupant, had kept there still remained: the clock with no hands that ticked away the time in the corner, the curio cabinet that held some of the mementos of Assignments who had passed through the former Healer's care, and the two well-worn armchairs that flanked the large, fieldstone fireplace. Even the basket containing a colorful tangle of embroidery thread still sat beside one of the armchairs, as if Meghan had just left the room for a moment, but would return presently.
    But along with the remnants of Meghan's occupation of the cottage, Ellie had added her own special signature, and in doing so, had made the dwelling hers. A bright-colored, braided rug covered the pine floor in front of the hearth. Curled up on it and basking in the glow of the fire burning cheerfully behind him was a white dog, a stray that had wandered into the village and adopted Ellie, and whom she had christened Ghost for his habit of disappearing for days at a time and then suddenly reappearing on her doorstep. Curled comfortably amid Ghost's legs was an orange cat named Ginger. Neither acknowledged Alvin's arrival with more than a raised eyelid.
    He strode to his customary seat in one of the armchairs and sat.
    "Can I get you anything?" Ellie asked,