Miracle in the Mist by Elizabeth Sinclair

questions I would have no reason to delve deeper for my answers, to weigh my own wisdom. You, my dear, are one of my greatest assets."
    Clara waved off his compliment with her hand. "You have always found the answers to any problem within your heart. What does it tell you this time?"
    For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire burning brightly in the hearth.
    "It's telling me that… " He thought for a time, seeming to choose his words carefully. "It's telling me that sometimes it takes another with the same wound to heal an afflicted soul."
    She patted his hand and rose to refresh his cup. "Then perhaps you should listen to it." She replaced the coffeepot and resumed her seat. "Alvin has lived with his pain for far too long. You said so yourself. It's time he found peace."
     
    ***
     
    Frank stepped over the threshold of the tiny cottage. The odor of disuse assailed him. The plain wood floor held no rug. A crudely made table flanked by four nondescript chairs resided somewhat sadly in the center of the room. A simple, pine cupboard stood against one wall. The fireplace held no fire, but lay as cold and unwelcoming as the cottage itself. Other than the rifle leaning against the wall near the fireplace, there were no signs that anyone inhabited the cottage.
    Oddly, it reminded Frank of the apartment he'd moved into after Sandy's death. He couldn't bear staying in the house they'd built and furnished together, the house with the nursery upstairs that would never hold their child. It had been a constant reminder of all he'd lost through his own foolish stupidity and carelessness. He'd sold it, complete with all its contents.
    "Your room is over there," Alvin said, bringing Frank abruptly out of his memories. "We're about the same size, so the clothes in the dresser should fit you. The pants might be a bit long."
    "Won't you need your clothes?"
    Alvin shook his head. "I've got enough." His assessing gaze slid over Frank's rumpled sports jacket and slacks. "Looks as if you'll be needing a change."
    "Thanks." Silence stretched out between them. "So… you live here?"
    "Most days, when I'm not traveling for Emanuel."
    "Nice place," Frank lied.
    "It's somewhere to eat and lay my head," Alvin replied, noncommittally.
    Frank almost laughed out loud. How many times, when someone asked him about his apartment, had he spoken those exact words? A place to eat, sleep, and do battle with the nightmares that visited him nightly.
    "It seems like we have a lot in common," Frank said in an effort to still the voices of his memory and make conversation with his… landlord?
    Alvin's head snapped up. He glared at Frank and then walked to the door. "I have things to do," he finally said. "If you get hungry, there's some food in the cupboard. Help yourself." Turning on his heel, he left the cottage.
    Frank stared at the closed door, trying to recall what he'd said that could have elicited Alvin's reaction. Nothing rang a bell. He shrugged and went to explore the room that had been delegated to him.
    Like the outer room, this one was barren, except for a single bed with a plain, brown quilt covering it and a dresser positioned against the wall with the only window the room boasted. Deep down, the plainness pleased Frank. No frills, no reason to become attached to it. A place to lay his head at the end of a long day.
    Satisfied with the simplicity, Frank left the room and the cottage to explore the village. As he stepped from the cottage, deep shadows fell over him, and he realized that the sun had set behind the distant mountains while he'd been inside.
    With a leisurely pace, he strolled past Alvin's cottage to the end of the village he had not yet seen. As he walked, he became aware of the sound of running water. A stream? Perhaps the stream that flowed beneath the footbridge leading into Renaissance. Quickening his pace, he headed in the direction of the sound that he now believed to be water cascading over