Peace of Mind

"What can I do to help you right now?"

"You already have." Landon let go of her hand. "I'm sorry, I think I squeezed it harder than I meant to."

"Don't worry. I'm tougher than I look. My parents died when I was fourteen. My dad had a heart attack while he was driving. A heart defect no one had detected. I don't know what I would have done without my brother, Steve."

Sympathy surged through Landon. He knew loss all too well.

"Do you know... what happened to me?"

Grace shook her head. "I don't know exactly what happened to you, and you don't need to tell me unless you want. I only know that pain in your eyes. I saw it in my own mirror for a long time."

"How did you know what to do a moment ago?"

Grace blushed. "Being Derek's friend I supposed you were a soldier too. Besides, you keep calling me, ma'am."

She giggled and Landon nodded.

"I supposed you have PTSD."

This girl could see right through him. He nodded slowly again.

"So I read on the internet about it... I was lucky to remember something of what I read about how to help someone during a... flashback? Is that what you had a moment ago?"

"Yes."

Why was this girl taking all this trouble?

"Landon, I want to help. What can I do for you? Please, trust me."

He knew she wouldn't give up.

"I need something to do. A job. I need the money."

"A job... Hmm..." Grace thought for a while and then her face lightened with an idea.

"Do you like writing?"

"I've kept a journal, that's all."

"The Town Council is looking for someone to write a short history of Middletown. The mayor wants to use our history to promote our town. Maybe even open a museum. A long-postponed project. He put me in charge, maybe because of my job I'm in touch with a lot of tourists. It doesn't pay much, but it will cover your rent and give you some pocket money."

"I'm not a professional writer. Besides I don't even live here," Landon said. "Shouldn't someone from the community write about the town? A journalist would be more qualified than me."

"Janice Cooper? The Queen of mean? No, thank you. She was a bully in high school and she hasn't changed much since then."

She saw the confused look in Landon's face and explained.

"She is the editor of the local newspaper," Grace lowered her voice and added. "People don't like her at all."

Grace continued, "Look, Landon, we don't need a book. Just a short, coherent narrative we can use part of on a website, a brochure, or an advertising program. I think an outsider will be objective and produce a narrative appealing to all people, not just locals. We want fresh, unbiased eyes. I've been thinking about hiring someone, but why don't you take a stab at it?"

Landon took a look into Grace's eyes, pondering the idea. She had a puppy begging look.

"I don't want to pressure you," Grace said, obviously sensing his hesitation. "So say no if you're not ready."

It was impossible to say no to Grace. She was a force of nature. Besides, he needed the money.

"Where would I begin?" Landon asked, a kernel of interest building inside.

"Probably the best place to start is the room in the community center we call a museum. There are old newspapers, photos, artifacts, and God knows what else. Things are just piled up there sadly. Then, maybe you can talk with Marcus Carter. He's a descendant of Middletown's founder, Fergus Carter. There are rumors that Fergus kept journals. Marcus might have them if, indeed, they do exist."

Grace's proposal was the last thing Landon had expected. But, he needed something that would absorb him. Something that would help him to take his mind out of his own problems. History had been his favorite class in high school.

"I'll give it a try," he finally said. "I can't promise anything remotely coherent."

Grace grinned. "I'll try to tone down my expectations."

Their lunch arrived and they dropped the subject. Landon took a bite and exclaimed, "This is really good."

He couldn't remember when anything had tasted so good.

"Tony, the chef, creates wonders in the kitchen," Grace said, and they both concentrated on their meals.

CHAPTER 11

Once they finished lunch, Landon followed Grace to the community center.

People tried to come close to meet and greet, but as she promised, Grace kept them away saying they were in a hurry.

Landon needed something to keep his mind busy, a diversion. Having no goal was like looking into an abyss. He needed to start living again. He owed his fellow soldiers more than just surviving.

But it was so damned hard.

A salt-and-pepper haired, wiry man rose from a desk in a corner and greeted them as they entered the place.

"Landon, meet Jonas Hickok," Grace said introducing a man in his late sixties. "He manages the place. Jonas, this is Landon Petersen and his dog, Scout. He is living in Marcus's cabin."

At the sound of his name, Scout barked and wagged his tail.

Jonas straightened and held out his hand and Landon took it. "Really pleased to meet you, Sir," he said. It was a firm shake, and Landon warmed to his friendly grin.

"Thank you," Landon said.

"Jonas, I wondered if you could show Landon the museum," Grace said making air quotes. She turned to Landon. "I have to show a house. I'm leaving you in good hands. Jonas can drive you and Scout back to the cabin if I'm late."

"Okay. Don't worry, I think we can find our way back."

Grace could tell Landon was not happy to be left alone with a person he had just met.

"Call me if you need anything." And then she was gone.

"Is she always like this?"Landon asked.

Jonas Hickok grinned. "Pretty much. Grace McAllister is like the wind, always in movement."

"She hired me to write a short history of Middletown."

Jonas nodded. "She has been looking for someone for a while. Are you a writer?"Jonas said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Nope. A soldier," Landon admitted.

"A fellow soldier," Jonas looked at Landon with new respect. "I'll show you around."

Jonas walked to the left and stood at an open door while Landon looked inside. "This is our library and computer center."

Landon peered inside. Large windows were framed by cheerful drapes. Books filled shelves that lined one wall of the room. Several worn but comfortable-looking chairs were scattered in front of them.

"Nice," he said.

Then Jonas led the way across the hall to a door and opened it. "And the museum," he prompted. "We're just beginning to put it together. We've been spending the past several months asking for contributions. Not money, but letters, photos, old newspapers, vintage clothing. Things people usually keep in their attics or their barns. Right now it's just scattered pieces of our history. I've been going through it, but I'm no curator. In fact, I'm just a volunteer who hangs around here."

Landon nodded.

"Retirement was driving me and my wife crazy. One thing led to another, and before I knew it I was hooked like a fish," Jonas explained with a laugh.

The big room was crammed with artifacts from rifles to old mining equipment. Lots of wooden furniture. Daguerreotypes and dusty photo albums. Newspaper-size bound volumes sat in a pile on a table. Other tables held scrapbooks. Old fashioned clothes hung in a wardrobe.

Unopened boxes filled another table, with even more boxes tucked underneath. Landon glanced through several of them: menus from the '20s, a bill promoting a traveling circus in 1888, and several wanted posters from around the same time.

Another box was filled with school pictures that looked as if they went back as far as the late nineteenth century. A stack of high school yearbooks was in the corner.

"Any of it cataloged?"

"Afraid not. We trying to pile similar things together. We keep the oldest and most fragile things in that cabinet. The mayor says there's no money for a real museum or a curator."

Landon looked around helplessly. This wasn't a museum. It was a disaster zone. It would take months to find anything and more months to get something that looked like a museum into shape.

"You can spend as much time as you need here," Jonas said. "It'll be good to dust off the stuff. Just handle it with care."

"Grace said something about talking to... a descendant of the founder of the town... Marcus Carter?"

"You could try," Jonas scratched the back of his head. "He might talk with you. He might not. It's worth a try. He's a bit... difficult."

"Do you know him?"

"No one really knows Marcus Carter," Jonas said. "He's not the most social person in Middletown."

That wasn't encouraging. He could relate with the man's desire to hide from the world. However, it was time to stop hiding from the rest of the world. And to do that, he had to join it. Prying into the town's history seemed a safe way of doing it.

"Do you know where he lives?"

"Everyone knows where the old man lives, a big mansion in Carter Avenue and Highland street. You can't miss it."

Jonas left Landon alone in pursuit of other volunteer duties.

Landon spent the rest of the day looking through boxes at the community center and sorting the material on different tables.

Scout lay beside him, his head resting on his paws, his tail wagging occasionally, apparently to remind Landon that he was there. He didn't have to be reminded. In a few short weeks, he had become his lifeline.

Landon found very old newspapers, way before The Middletown Gazette. Some were little more than a single page. The yellow pages presented a glimpse of the town: the marriages, the births, and the deaths. It was like filing through snapshots of history.

He snapped pictures with his phone of everything related to his task. He planned to work on them later at the cabin.

"Hi, again" came a voice from behind him, and he whirled around. Jonas stood in the doorway. "I hope I didn't startle you," he said. "You looked completely absorbed."

"I was," Landon said.

"You must be exhausted," he said. "You've been working for hours. I'm sorry but I have to close the place."

Landon closed the bound volume he was reading. "It's probably time for me to go back to the cabin and feed Scout anyway."

"Grace asked me to drive you home. I don't want to catch hell from her"

"I think I prefer to walk. It's just a couple of miles. Scout and I need the exercise."

CHAPTER 12

That evening, Grace greeted her brother, Steve and his wife Diana with a huge hug.

"You look happy," Steve said to his sister.

"I am happy."

"Well, that's a refreshing change. You have been moody lately."

Grace ignored her brother's bait, and asked, "Remember the new resident of the cabin?"

"Yes, Derek's friend, Landon?" Diana said.

"That's him," Grace said with a smile. "I like him."

Steve laughed, "You like everyone."

"There are a few exceptions," Grace said squinting her eyes.

Her brother nodded. "Point taken."

"What is he like?" Diana asked Grace.

"Quiet. Grieving. Jumpy."

"Do you know what happened to him?" Steve asked.

"He was a soldier. He and Derek were army buddies. He has PTSD," Grace explained hoping she wasn't breaking any confidence. "Please, don't tell anyone. He doesn't need people looking at him as if he was a basket case. He asked me for something to do and I gave him a job."

"Grace... not another 'lost puppy', please," Steve exclaimed pinching the bridge of his nose.

"He volunteered to write about Middletown's history."

"Volunteered?" Steve shook his head with a smile.

Grace shrugged innocently. "He wanted to do something to pay for the cabin. He's short of money. We need a history of Middletown ready for Founder's Day. It seemed... fortuitous, don't you think?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "You can't fool me, Sis. I can see your fingerprints all over this."

Grace smiled. "So what? He seems lost, Steve. Really lost. He could use a friend."

Steve smiled at his sister. "What I said, lost puppy. I love you, Sis, you and that huge heart of yours."

"Me, too," Diana piped, squeezing her sister-in-law hand.

"Thank you, guys, you know how to make a woman feel better."

"Just be careful, Sis. Men, particularly ones with sad stories, are your weak point," Steve pointed out. "I don't want to see you heartbroken again."

Grace couldn't take her mind off Landon. He looked so fragile and yet he had the strength to plunge through whatever pain he had. He'd traveled to a strange town with a determination to reclaim his life.

He shouldn't be alone in this fight. He wouldn't be alone.

CHAPTER 13

Landon woke up and looked at the morning sun coming in from outside.

Another night without nightmares. He rubbed Scout's fur.

Scout stood and wagged his tail. "Want to go out?" he asked.

The tail moved faster.

"Time to get up," he said. He was hungry. Appetite was something else that had been missing. Dr. Michaels would be proud. He should write about that in his journal.

Landon slipped into jeans and a T-shirt, then went to the back door and opened it. Scout dashed out into the woods.

He stood there and watched as the dog explored the area in the back, did his business and returned.

The lake was visible through the trees. The scent of pines perfumed the air. A few wildflowers peeked up out of the ground.

He sat down, opened his laptop, and downloaded the photos he took at the museum to start working.

Landon read and wrote for a few hours. He had a sheet of paper where he had drawn a timeline with short notes above each date and event he thought might be important. A lot of the early years revolved around the Carter family. However, there was a blank space at the very beginning. The earliest news was about Fergus Carter supporting the statehood. A title in an old newspaper read, "Town's hero."

His hometown newspaper with a similar title flashed in his head.

Suddenly, the sparks in his head were rising with a panicky feeling that was impossible to ignore. He couldn't stay in the chair, and he couldn't focus on the images in front of him. His shirt felt too close at the neck. He had trouble catching his breath. The walls got closer, the ceiling lower. His heart felt like a sledgehammer hitting his chest.

He went out the main door into the open air, where he could begin to breathe.

He took off his shirt and sat down on the grass breathing through his mouth. The cold morning air brought him back to reality.

Scout lay down at his side. Steve scratched his ears. "Did I scare you? Don't worry, I'm okay now."

His thoughts turned to Grace and how she had handled his flashback when they were at the restaurant.

His phone rang startling him. Landon looked at the screen. It was Grace. Spooky.

After the preliminaries, she got to the point. "Remember Marcus Carter, the one who might have original journals from the 1850s?"

"Yes, Jonas and I talked about him. He gave me his address."

"Oh, goody. I was calling you to give you his phone number."

"I have a question for you, how do I approach Mr. Carter? Jonas said he might be reluctant to talk to someone."

"Quite honestly, I don't know. I talk with his secretary most of the time. An old vinegary spinster. If you try to set a meeting through her she'll say no," Grace opined. "Marcus Carter had retreated from nearly everyone in the last years. But he's very proud of his family roots. If he knows about the project he might be willing to help. We'll talk more about it tonight."

"Tonight?" Landon didn't remember making any plans with her.

"Around six," Grace said in a matter-of-factly tone. "I'll cook for you and we'll talk more about your work and strategies to reach Marcus Carter. Don't worry, I'll bring everything I need. I hope you like pizza."

"Yeah, I love pizza. Who doesn't?" Suddenly Landon was hungry and remembered he didn't have breakfast yet.

He wasn't sure whether he was ready for it, but Grace McAllister was the kind of person who didn't take no for an answer.

"Landon, are you really okay with this? I don't want to impose myself."

Landon appreciated her words.

"It's fine," Landon said. He stood there for a moment. It wasn't fine at all, but he needed the job and Grace had been very helpful and respectful so far.

Despite any misgivings, he was hooked on the job. One of his character flaws was an obsession to finish whatever he started.

CHAPTER 14

Landon looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"Just breathe. Why are you so nervous?" Landon said aloud. Scout came closer. "It's not a date. You can do this."

Landon's wardrobe was limited, and that was an understatement. Three pairs of jeans, one pair of black pants, two sweaters, three T-shirts, and several shirts. His choice of footwear was a pair of walking shoes, a pair of sneakers, one pair of well-worn loafers, and a pair of boots.

Suddenly, he saw blood on them, even when they were clean. The flashes in his brain turned into little movie clips. His breath felt trapped in his chest. Scout came closer and made some noises to let him know he was there.

"You're in the cabin. You're safe here", he told himself, taking long, slow breaths.

He chose a pair of jeans, a black shirt, and loafers. He stared at himself in the mirror. Really looked for the first time in months. His hair needed a cut. Badly. He was thin, too thin. His cheeks were hollow.

Scout watched every movement; following him from room to room as if afraid someone would snatch him.

"I'm okay," Landon reassured him.

The doorbell rang and Scout barked. "It's a bit late for that," he told Scout. "You're supposed to bark before the bell rings." He hurried to the door and opened it. Grace stood there, a smile on her lips, and two big paper bags in her arms. She wore her dark brown hair simple and sleek. No makeup that he could see.

"Hi, Landon," she said.

"Please come in." They went inside to the kitchen, and Grace placed the bags she was carrying on the solid wooden table.

"I'm really not stalking you," she said taking the items out of the bags.

"Are you sure?" he asked with a slight smile. Humor. That was new. He had to make sure to write that down in his journal.

"Your buddy Derek will vouch for me."

The dog barked and wiggled his tail at her.

"Scout vouches for you too."

Grace smiled, and scratched the dog's ears, "Of course, he does. He's a very clever dog."

"Do you need any help?" Landon asked her.

"No, thank you. Relax. I've been able to handle myself pretty well in the kitchen since I was a teen."

She took an apron from one of the bags. It said, 'You may kiss the cook'.

"It's just an apron. Don't get any ideas," she warned him with a smile.

Grace made small-talk about the local gossip, while she mixed the ingredients. Landon listened and watched her graceful dance from fridge to table, and finally to the oven. Some minutes later, a wonderful smell filled the cabin.

The more they talked the more Landon felt at ease with her. Grace was a gentle, easy-going person. There was something about her that brought light to his darkness.

"Could you fix us something to drink, Landon?"

"I don't keep alcohol in the cabin. It doesn't mix well with my medications. Would you care for a glass of milk, juice or water?"

"Juice is fine. Thank you."

He set down two tall glasses on the table.

"My homemade pizza is my brother Steve's favorite meal. I hope you like it. Peggy, his first wife, loved it too."

"Your brother was married before Diana?" Landon asked.

Grace took a sip of milk and nodded. "Yes, Peggy, his first wife, was shot in a mugging and died. She was an amazing person. She was a therapist. The whole town loved her."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that."

"Thank you, I moved in with my brother when it happened. He was crushed. I was afraid he might do something stupid." She made a pause to compose herself and quickly added, "I'm happy he found love again. Diana is a great person. She made Steve happy again."