Mountain Sanctuary by Lenora Worth

had started out to be a good day.
    What are you afraid of? That voice in her head echoed against the beating of her pulse. Stella knew what she was afraid of. She was worried that if she delved too far into her mother’s personal things, she might actually find that side of her mother that remained so elusive and mysterious—that side that had driven her mother to leave a husband who loved her and a daughter who never actually understood her. And if Stella did find something redeemable in her mother’s legacy, then she’d be forced to let go of this bitterness that clouded her every waking breath. That same bitterness that had driven her right into the arms of the wrong man. But it was also the bitterness that kept her going, kept her pushing to make something of her life—in spite of not having her mother around for part of her life. If she let all that resentment go, would her life slowly unravel right along with it?
    But you have Kyle now. Yes, she had Kyle, her precious little boy. At least she could be thankful for that blessing. Stella couldn’t comprehend how a blessing could come from such a bad union. How?
    And how could she find any more blessings on this day as she sat here staring at this old, battered trunk? Did she want to open this and ruin her good mood? Or did she want to look for the blessings in the small treasures her mother had tucked away inside this box? Holding a hand to her lips, Stella wondered if true blessings did sometimes appear hidden in the folds of despair. She wasn’t ready to test that theory today.
    Touching her hand to the aged leather of the old-fashioned trunk, Stella shut her eyes and tried to remember her mother. She saw an ethereal figure standing at an easel. She could remember her mother’s tormented eyes staring out into the garden. Estelle would paint frantically at times, as if her life depended on it. Which Stella supposed it did. Then there were the fights—the horrible fights where her father would sit silent and rigid while her mother ranted on and on about how miserable she was, how she needed her art more than she needed the security of a family.
    “Well, you got that wish, didn’t you?” Stella said out loud, pushing the box back underneath the stairs. She didn’t need to open this trunk to find the truth of her mother’s desertion. “Another day maybe, but not today.”
    She refused to get all caught up in her bitterness right now. Instead, she wanted to keep this special Sunday tucked back inside her own memory box, complete with doves cooing and church people singing, complete with sunshine and the smell of paint and turpentine. She’d created something this morning, same as her mother had. But without all the chaos and drama that had surrounded her mother’s talent. Her dainty little china plates and cups might not ever fetch a high price in some art gallery, but her china painting meant something to Stella.
    It meant she’d turned a corner, that she was willing to risk a part of herself she’d kept hidden away for so many years. She didn’t want to mess that up with nasty, bruising memories of being abandoned. Not today.
    Getting up, Stella decided to go back to the house and heat up the pot roast she and Adam had let simmer in the slow cooker all night. At least they could sit down and have a nice Sunday dinner. The rest of the day was like a gift; all of the boarders would be gone and they didn’t have any check-ins until later in the week. She could paint all day long if she wanted.
    She turned to leave the studio and found Adam standing in the door, a look full of curiosity tinged with longing etched on his face as he watched her. And in that minute, Stella could almost understand her mother’s intense need to capture images on canvas. Stella wanted to capture Adam, in just this way, standing at her door, waiting and watching.
    But she reminded herself as she started walking toward him, how could she capture all the feelings that rushed