A Cry In the Night by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

here.”
    Erich draped an arm across her shoulders and studied the painting with her. “Remember, anything you want us to keep, I won’t exhibit.”
    â€œNo, that’s foolish. This is the time to keep building your reputation. I won’t mind at all eventually being known as the wife of the most prestigious artist in America. They’ll point me out and say, ‘See, isn’t she lucky? And he’s gorgeous too!’”
    Erich pulled her hair. “Is that what they’ll say?”
    â€œUh-huh, and they’ll be right.”
    â€œI could just as easily send word that I can’t make the show.”
    â€œErich, don’t do it. They’ve already planned a reception for you. I just wish I could go but I can’t leave the kids yet and dragging them with us won’t work. Next time.”
    He began to stack the canvases. “Promise you’ll miss me, Jenny.”
    â€œI’ll miss you lots. It’s going to be a lonesome four days.” Unconsciously Jenny sighed. In nearly three weeks, she’d spoken only to a handful of people: Clyde, Joe, Elsa, Rooney and Mark.
    Elsa was taciturn almost to the point of absolute silence. Rooney, Clyde and Joe were hardly companions. She’d only chatted with Mark briefly once since that first evening, even though she knew from Joe that he’d checked on Baron at least half a dozen times.
    She’d been on the farm a week before she realized that the telephone never rang. “Haven’t they heard about the ‘reach out and touch someone’ campaign around here?” she joked.
    â€œThe calls all go through the office,” Erich explained. “I only have them come directly to the house if I’m expecting a particular one. Otherwise whoever is in the office will buzz me.”
    â€œBut suppose no one’s in the office?”
    â€œThen the Phone-Mate will take messages.”
    â€œBut Erich, why?”
    â€œDarling, if I have one quirk, it’s that I despise the intrusion of a telephone ringing constantly. Of course whenever I’m away, Clyde will set the line to ring through to the house at night so I can call you.”
    Jenny wanted to protest, then decided against it. Later on when she had friends in the community it would be time enough to coax Erich into normal phone service.
    He finished separating the canvases. “Jenny, I was thinking. It’s about time I showed you off a bit. Would you like to go to church next Sunday?”
    â€œI swear you can read my mind,” she laughed. “I was just thinking that I’d like to meet some of your friends.”
    â€œI’m better at donating money than attending services, Jen. How about you?”
    â€œI never missed Sunday Mass growing up. Then after Kev and I were married, I got careless. But as Nana always said the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I’ll probably be back at Mass regularly one of these days.”
    They attended Zion Lutheran the following Sunday. The church was old and not very large, actually almost chapel-sized. The delicate stained-glass windows diffused the winter light so that it shone blue and green and gold and red on the sanctuary. She could read the names on some of the windows: DONATED BY ERICH AND GRETCHEN KRUEGER, 1906 . . . DONATED BY ERICH AND OLGA KRUEGER, 1930.
    The window over the alter, an Adoration of the Magi scene, was particularly beautiful. She gasped at the inscription: IN LOVING MEMORY OF CAROLINE BONARDI KRUEGER, DONATED BY ERICH KRUEGER.
    She tugged at his arm. “When did you give that window?”
    â€œLast year when the sanctuary was renovated.”
    Tina and Beth sat between them, sedately conscious of their new blue coats and bonnets. People looked over at the children throughout the service. She knew Erich was aware of the glances too. He had a contented smile on his face and during the sermon slipped his hand into hers.
    Midway