Chapter 19
Hush you two. It’s Sunday.”
Emily lounged on her inflatable bed-turned-chair on the back porch and listened to Cardinal Bob and his significant other battle it out. Karen was nagging again. Why was she always several boughs higher on the tree than her man? Emily lifted her coffee mug. “You guys need counseling.”
Her flippant remark left a bitter taste that French vanilla coffee couldn’t wash away. She’d broached the subject of counseling the day before she left for Colorado. The day Keith offered to pay for her “problem.”
In retrospect, she couldn’t fathom why she’d tried.
Stupid. The definition of insanity is pursuing a guy who’s losing interest. Doing it the way she had was nothing short of evil.
Cardinal Bob took flight. The empty pine branch bobbed. He landed on the porch rail. Bright red against a green backdrop. Black eyes in a black face gave him a stern expression, but the Cosmo Kramer ‘do made it impossible to take Cardinal Bob too seriously. Maybe that was Karen’s whole problem.
Bob’s head swiveled. One eye stared directly at her. Emily had the eerie sense he was trying to tell her something. She didn’t move, just stared in awe at the amazing creature so close she could count his feathers. Lord, he’s so beautiful. She breathed the prayer as easily as the morning air.
Karen called from the tree—dweeb, dweeb, dweeb. Unruffled, Bob nodded, as if to say, “Watch this.” His wings opened and he glided back to his branch. Purdy, purdy, purdy, he answered.
Emily laughed. “Killing her with kindness, huh? How’s that working for ya?”
A rhythmic screech, like steady bleats on a wooden whistle, interrupted. A blue jay swept from behind the shed and landed on the wounded oak. Karen stopped complaining. Bob began a loud chip, chip, chip—a warning cry—as he fluttered to a branch a foot away from her. Karen was anything but lovable today, but there he was, defending her.
The way a man should.
Leave it in the past. What’s done is done. She pulled everything she could think of from Vanessa’s bag of tricks and said them out loud. Keith wasn’t worth the time she’d spent on him back then, so why was she giving him a piece of her day now?
Because it was all his fault. Everything that happened wouldn’t have happened if Keith Miller had just come out and told her he wasn’t a one-woman kind of man.
Emily reached down and grabbed the top book from a stack of things she wanted to skim before Jake showed up. An English Settler in Pioneer Wisconsin—The Letters of Edwin Bottomley 1842–1850. She opened the cover and stared at an Alfred Hitchcock–like silhouette of a portly gentleman in a waistcoat with tails. The caption identified him as Captain Thomas Bottomley, the recipient of the letters bound in the book. Was the cane in his hand functional or fashionable? How convenient to live in a time when no one would know.
She flipped past the introduction. The first entry was headed LIVERPOLL, May 11, 1842 … the Shipe is very Clean and the Captain appears a Sober and intelligent man.
Misspellings were frequent, and the lack of punctuation made it hard to separate sentences as she read about the Bottomley family’s departure from England.
Emily leaned back and sipped her coffee. The cardinals clamored on. The blue jay made sporadic swoops in front of the pine tree as she read. Sunday May 15 5 0 Clock This morning we are being towed out into the Irish Chanel by a Steamer.
Lost in the past, she left her own past behind.
Emily arranged eighteen letters in two rows on the now clean card table. Jake laid out the three letters Emily had found in the pipe above the others. Only those had dates, all from November 1852. And now they knew who’d written them.
Hannah Shaw.
Emily pointed to one penned by the man, or boy, and read the short note out loud. “‘The stationmaster asked me to retrieve the parcel I picked up last night and bring it back to you. He has no room for it at present. Can you take it tomorrow night? I am confident you will, and that means I will see you again. God does, indeed, smile upon us.’” Something about the last few words roughened her voice. “It’s all so coded.”
Hands on his waist, Jake studied the letters. “Think what they were risking.” In that stance, with the look of intrigue on his face, he was just an older version of his nephew. Still a fascinated—and fascinating—little boy inside.
“Adam started to say something in the boat before we hit the log. He said he wished there was something like the Underground Railroad today.”
Jake nodded, moving one hand to rub his chin. “I get that.” A slow smile took over his face and he winked at her. “Every guy wants to be a rescuer.”
“Preferably rescuing damsels who don’t fight back.”
“Nah. That just adds to the challenge.” His smile lost a bit of its lift and he picked up a letter. “I think our Hannah is a bit like you.” He cleared his throat and read, “‘I have long kicked against the goads of society’s expectations of a woman. Why is it that you can hunt possum in the dark of night and paddle the river by day, and I must stitch by candlelight and bake bread at sunrise?’” Jake tipped his head so his arched eyebrow aimed at Emily. “Well, maybe not in all things.”
“Hey! I can bake bread.”
“Have you ever?”
She nodded toward the kitchen that now formed one end of the great room. “Right here. Nana Grace taught us. When the kitchen’s finished I’ll bake you a loaf.”
“I’d like that.” His tone was serious, his eyes slightly shaded.
“Go on.”
Jake focused on the letter. “‘Mama, God rest her soul, used to tell me I was cursed with restlessness. I do not consider my longing for adventure a curse. It is the very thing that drives me to pick up the standard—’” He stopped reading and pointed to the spot where Hannah had crossed out several letters.
“Looks like she started to write ‘of freedom.’”
“Maybe she thought even that was giving too much away.”
“Do you think they felt the excitement of being part of something so vital, or just the fear?”
“I wonder.” He held the letter closer to the lamp he’d brought down from the attic. “‘It is the very thing that drives me to pick up the standard. Would Miss Prim and Proper with the fat sausage curls descend the stairs in the dark of night to tend the waiting parcels? I think not. I have come to believe of late, however, that I should be grateful for the disguise of womanhood. Who would consider an innocent young—Oh my, I have said enough for one night.’”
Jake stopped before the end of the letter. Standing so close his woodsy smell made her dizzy, Emily waited for him to continue.
“‘How glad I am that I need not even finish my thoughts and yet you will know them. May the Lord light your path tonight.’”
“I need not even finish my thoughts and yet you will know them.” Hannah had voiced every woman’s deepest desire—to be known so deeply, so intimately, that she didn’t even need to speak her thoughts out loud. It was that desire that had started the chain of events that led to her putting on her skis for the very last time.
Be present. She took several minutes to scan the letters. “This one mentions her restlessness. Looks like his response.” She swallowed twice before the words came out. “‘If restlessness is the trait that defines who you are, then I say please stay restless, my love. You have a courage that is sadly lacking even in many men. So continue to stitch and bake, both of which I am confident you do better than Miss Prim and Proper, and use your restlessness to further the cause and capture the heart of this hunter.’” She swallowed again and whispered the closing. “‘Sleep well.’”
The room grew warm in the heat of Jake’s gaze. Was he watching for a reaction? If so, she probably hadn’t hidden the bittersweet pain the words caused. Please stay restless, my love. To be known so well and accepted—
“… if you changed your plans?”
“I’m sorry.” She blinked and stepped away from Jake. “What did you say?”
Jake put the letter back in its place, sat down, and crossed one leg, resting his right ankle on his left knee. He chewed on his bottom lip and stared at her. “I was wondering if there’s a reason why you have to end up in California. You said you didn’t know what you’d be doing when you got there. Is it just something you want to do, or are you committed to something. Or someone?”
Emily pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the card table. Jake fiddled with a shoelace as he waited, but there was nothing casual about the lines forming on his forehead.
She folded her arms across her chest as if it would hold in the sudden rush of emotion that filled her lungs. Tell him. She argued with the voice. No one, no one knew the whole story. It made no sense to unburden her soul to him. He’d asked about California for an obvious reason. He wanted to know if there was a chance for something between them.
There wasn’t. But not because she wanted it that way. Everything in her wanted to go back to last night when, for a few hours, she’d danced in his arms and laughed with him and pretended he was her future. But he wasn’t. Because she did have a commitment, and because she couldn’t be the woman he needed. And maybe telling him was the only way to squelch his hopes without hurting his feelings, without losing him as a friend. She gazed into patient eyes and took a tremulous breath.
Jake shook his head. “I know I have no business asking. But I got to thinking during church this morning about how God brought us back together.”
This was going to be harder than she’d thought, but it made her even more determined to tell him everything. “Jake, I …”
“Just hear me out.” He smiled, lopsided and awkwardly. “I know how this sounds, but that’s not what I’m saying. Not that I don’t wish I were in a position to pursue you.” His right brow rose slightly. “But I think the reason we found each other again is more important than boy meets girl.”
Emily lowered her hands and gripped the seat of the chair. “What do you mean?”
His smile grew more self-conscious. “I was a hit-and-run witnesser when I first met you. I should have stayed in touch.”
The change of direction should have been expected.The letdown, an almost physical pressure on her shoulders, revealed a depth of disappointment that caught her off guard. There was no future for them, but she’d wanted him to fight for it, even just a little.
She set aside her disappointment as a dim mental picture of the pudgy kid called Cob materialized like a fuzzy hologram. So unlike the man who sat across from her—definitely not someone her fifteen-year-old cool self would have stayed in touch with. Her tall, handsome First Kiss, on the other hand, would have warranted daily letters scented with Calvin Klein Escape and sealed with iridescent pink lip gloss, but a new crush on her return home took her mind off her summer love. She smiled as she thought of the present-day Topher. God had protected her from wasting perfectly good perfume.
“I got involved in a youth group when I went home. I became just as overzealous as you were.” She watched as a hint of surprise registered on his face. “Over the next three years, I went on four mission trips and worked at a church camp. And then I went to college.” She wondered if he’d pick up on her implication.
“You made it further than I did. My dad died and I got mad at God. About the time I stopped blaming Him, I grew eight inches and got skinny and too cool for Jesus.”
“And what about now?”
He grinned. “I’m happy to say I am no longer too cool for God.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’ve been slowly finding my way back since my sister got sick. It feels good to be home again.”
Emily rubbed one thumb with the other. “That’s a good way to put it.”
“I don’t feel the need to sell it. This time around I just hope to live it.”
“You appear to be doing that.” Hervoice softened unintentionally. What was it about this room, this table, that drew them into emotion-baring talks?
“Thank you.” His tone played a perfect counterpart to hers. “If Ben were out of the picture I’d be a little less of a hypocrite.”
“Maybe God’s using him to teach you to forgive.” The words came from her mouth, the wisdom unearthed from some long-buried archive.
“Maybe. If so, I’m failing. Just when I work up a drop of sincerity and manage to pray for him, he does something that makes me want to choke him.”
“Was he always like this?”
“No. When Abby first met him he was simply a worthless human being.” His teeth ground together in an expression part-grimace, part-seething. “See? At the very least I need to start keeping my thoughts to myself.”
Emily smiled. She wasn’t used to this kind of humility in a man. “You’re being less of a hypocrite when you’re honest. You’re admitting you have a problem with the guy and you’re working on it.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Did your sister’s death make him bitter?”
“I don’t know.” He put both feet flat on the floor and crossed his arms. Was he aware they were speaking the same body language? “I guess I never really asked that question. He’s always had a temper, but I never feared for the kids until Abby was gone.” He tipped his head to the right. “Very clever. You’re trying to make me feel sorry for him.”
“Only if there’s good reason.” She tipped her head at the same angle.
Jake laughed and uncrossed his arms. “Thank you for the nudge. I’ve never tried to think of Ben as having real feelings like the rest of us.” He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “If he’d had an ounce of sensitivity in him, Abby would still be alive.”
“What do you mean?”
“She died of a bleeding ulcer. The doctors said it was caused by a virus, but stress acted like gasoline on hot coals.”
Emily leaned toward him and caught herself before she reached out to touch his knee. “And Ben added stress?”
“Oh yeah. But you’re right, I need to attempt seeing him in a different light. Abby wasn’t all that easy to live with either. Maybe they made each other miserable.”
“You know all that sage advice came from you and not me. I just asked a question.”
His chin lowered and he smiled at her with only his eyes. “Well, you started me thinking in the right direction. But this little talk was supposed to be about you. I’m trying to make up for lost time and you go and turn the tables. So what happened to you in college?”
Emily picked up her phone and checked the time. “We have to pick up the kids in four minutes. Just enough time to hide the letters.”
“Man, you’re good. But you’re not off the hook. Are you going to tell Dorothy about these?”
“Yes.” She added two sheets of yellowed paper to the stack. “Right before I leave.”
A cord on Jake’s neck stood out. “Which brings us right back to the question I probably shouldn’t have asked but still want answered.”
The light glinting in his eyes alluded to something more than unfinished spiritual business. She focused on the drawstring of the velvet pouch. A few more seconds under that light and she wouldn’t remember her own name, let alone the reason she had to leave town. “I’ll go put these away.”
She reached the second floor before realizing she’d taken the steps two at a time.
Her cane was at the bottom of Honey Creek and she hadn’t needed it yet.