The Finding Emma Collection (Books 1-5)

by Steena Holmes

  Four

  November 2

  I'm worried about Jack. It's that time again. He came home with a new bottle of Jack Daniels and placed it in the cupboard above the stove. He hasn't been talking much, just hiding in his little tool shed, building god knows what out there. I made the mistake in suggesting he start to build things for the local churches Christmas drive. The only person he wants to build for right now is his baby girl. I understand. But his baby girl is getting spoiled and that's not right.

  How long is he going to mourn like this? It's been too many years to count. At first, he would pull away from me for more than a month. Thankfully it's only for a week or so now. I'm too old to deal with this.

  When my folks passed away, I had a good cry and then carried on. I had to. There was no other choice. And when I thought Jack was dead, it was only at night, when Mary was in bed, that I'd let the grief wash over me.

  Jack, please, when I die — don't grieve. If you read this, please live your life. I'll be waiting for you. I will always love you. But for Emmie's sake, I need you to let me go.

  Five

  February 7

  Jack handed me a box today and asked me to mail it while in town getting groceries. It was only a small box, not heavy, and I could hold it with one hand. When I asked him what was in it, his shoulders slumped and he said it was for Valentine's Day.

  What he didn't say was that it was for Mary.

  Most days I'm able to forget, to pretend that she is still out there, somewhere. Most days I live in a fog where not much is clear.

  I'm not sure anymore what is memory and what is make believe. It's hard to discern between real and dreams. Between what I want and what I have. I don't think I know the difference anymore.

  I parked on a deserted back road today and sat there in my car. I know this sounds crazy, but it was as if I saw things happen right in front of my eyes. As if there were a movie playing out on the road. I had to pull over. I don't want to go crazy. Not like this! Please let it be a nightmare. Please let it be something my mind wants me to believe that isn't real.

  I saw an article in the paper of a possible kidnapping again in Kinrich. Not the first, the article said. It highlighted a family still looking for their toddler. A beautiful little girl named Emma. She looked so much like our Emmie, but younger. I tore out the section and burned it in the fire before Jack could read it. I'm not sure why — it was an unexpected reaction. Maybe she reminded me too much of Mary, of what I went through when she first ran away.

  That has to be it. There's no other explanation.

  Six

  March 30

  There are days when I am so angry. At Mary for leaving me to raise her daughter. At Jack for not understanding the situation we are in. At myself for being so angry. The only person I'm not mad at is Emmie. But I take my anger out on her. Not physically. But I pull away. It's the only way I know how to deal with my feelings. I'm not a talker. I don't believe in the theory that if I talk through my feelings things will magically get better. They won't. They'll just become more real.

  Today I hid myself away in our bedroom. Thankfully Jack understood. I used to do this when Mary was a young child. I needed time to myself. Quiet when I could get lost in my own thoughts and not worry about anything else. I'm too old to raise a child. We're too old. Why can't Jack see that?

  Jack wants to reach out to Mary, to convince her to come home and raise Emmie. I think it's a bad idea. I'm not sure why, but there's something inside me that tells me it wouldn't work. I told Jack I would try to contact Mary. But I won't. I can't. She knows where we live. She knows our phone number. Our daughter knows she can come home any time she wants to. But she's chosen not to.

  Her last words to me were, "I hate you." I'll never forget her tone. Every child eventually says that to their parents, but they never believe it. Deep down. But Mary did. I heard it in her voice. I don't know what I did that was so evil, so horrific to earn her hatred, but it's there.

  Every day I remind myself that I can do it differently. That I can raise Emmie to be a loving young woman. But every day I'm also reminded of my age and how tired I am and I get worried. What happens if I die too soon? What if Jack is the one who dies first? What if we die together, like we had talked about, knowing that without each other, there was no reason to live? What would happen to Emmie then?

  Mary will never be a mother to Emmie. She might as well be dead. What kind of mother says that about her own child? Maybe this is the reason Mary hates me so much, because she knows that I'm the type of mother to say that.

  Because both she and I know it is true. Mary is dead. And there's nothing I can do to change that.

  Seven

  June 20

  It's not often we go on family trips, but today was an extra special day: the one year anniversary since Emmie came to live with us. We wanted to do something extra special with her today. Actually, I wanted to make her a cake and give her the new tea set I'd found, but it was Jack's idea to go out.

  There's a little town about an hour away that has a playhouse. Jack once took me to see Romeo and Juliette there for our anniversary back when we were younger. We even stayed at a bed and breakfast, something that was quite the novelty back in the day.

  Last night I finished sewing a new dress for Emmie. The fabric was on sale and so girly. Something Mary would never wear, but perfect for her daughter. I sometimes wonder how Mary could birth a child like Emmie. At times, she's the complete opposite to the child I raised.

  I laid the new dress out for Emmie this morning while she was eating breakfast with Jack. I swear, if our neighbours still lived next door, they could have heard her squeals when she saw it. But she looks like a button as my mother used to say. A button worth sewing. And she did. I made sure Jack took a picture today before we left.

  Emmie was a little ball of energy on the drive today. She kept asking where we were going, but Jack would only wink at her and leave me to calm her down, as usual. I swear, he has no idea some days of how to raise a young child. He likes to get her worked up over the littlest things. He says her laughter is a balm to his soul. Honestly — a balm to his soul. The old man is growing soft.

  We stopped at a little tea shop and ate cucumber sandwiches with homemade lemonade. It was too sour for Emmie so Jack snuck in a few extra packets of sugar, not thinking I'd notice. The scones were light and fluffy, but nothing like what I make. They could have used an extra teaspoon of vanilla and a little less salt, in my opinion.

  The play we went to see, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, was quite enjoyable. Emmie loved it, I don't think she stopped smiling until she went to sleep. The best part of course was when Emmie got picked out of all the kids in the small crowd to go backstage during the intermission and then have a small role on the stage. I was a bit wary of her doing that, she's so small and not used to crowds, but Jack was there at the side and stood guard, protecting her like the man he is. She was as cute as a button, playing the role of a sunflower swaying in the breeze.

  This will be a day we'll never forget.

  Eight

  July 17

  I thought Emmie had run away today. Just like Mary. I behaved like a crazy woman and embarrassed myself when I couldn't find Jack and I called Doug for help. Why did I call Doug? I should have remembered Jack was only down the road looking at our neighbour's old lawn mower.

  Jack hasn't said anything but I know it bothered him. That I would call Doug instead of seek him out. I made his favorite cake as a peace offering. Saying I'm sorry or even trying to explain would serve no purpose.

  I know we'll do what we always do — ignore it. It might not be the right way to handle a situation, but it's our way. And it works.

  I had been outside with Emmie working in my garden while she played beside me. It was hot out and I thought it would be nice to make us some lemonade. I must have lost track of time because the next thing I remember, I was sitting in my chair in the living room. I must have fallen asleep.


  I can't believe I did that. How could I have left Emmie outside by herself? How could I have forgotten about her long enough to decide I needed a nap? It doesn't make sense.

  Although, a lot of things aren't making sense lately. I'm losing track of time, forgetting to do the simplest of things, like make dinner, or forgetting where I put the sugar. I know Jack notices. He's started to write notes for me on the fridge, having me write out lists of what I need to do and he's been after me to set timers on all the things I cook or bake. But what do all these things matter if my mind goes blank?

  I panicked when I couldn't find Emmie. I searched all through the house before I realized I'd left her outside. By herself! How could I have done that? I know we live out in the country, but it doesn't mean we're safe from dangers. What if someone had come by and taken her? What if...Jack tells me I can't live in the world of what ifs, that it does no one any good. He's right of course.

  But when his truck wasn't in the driveway and I did the first thing I could think of. I called Doug. He must have heard the panic in my voice. He helped me to calm down. There was nothing else he could do. He doesn't live close enough to come out and help search. Why I called him in the first place, I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. Other than deep down, no matter what has happened between us, I know Doug will always be there for me. Even if I don't want him to be.

  Emmie was outside sleeping in the play house Jack just finished making for her. Outside. Exactly where I had left her. Why didn't I think to look in her play house? That should have been the first place I looked. Even Jack said that. Why didn't I look in there first?

  I don't know. Why didn't I?

  Nine

  October 31

  Instead of having our house lights on and waiting for a handful of children to come knocking at our door, Jack suggested we take Emmie into Hanton and go out for dinner. Without making a big deal of the holiday, Jack suggested that Emmie dress up in one of her princess costumes we'd found at a garage sale last summer.

  She sure did look like a miniature Cinderella.

  Jack surprised me by taking us to the Chinese restaurant. My favorite place — we used to go there every Sunday afternoon for their buffet. It's the only place in the area that makes decent chicken balls. Mei Ling took to Emmie as soon as we came in. It had been so long since I last saw Mei Ling, even though we are the same age, she looked as delicate and beautiful as she used to. Hard to believe we were once best friends growing up.

  When Mei Ling confessed that she knew me when I was her age, the look in Emma’s eyes had me laughing. Back in those days, it was unheard of for a German family to be close friends with a Chinese family, and yet, we were. Helped that we were neighbours and born close in age. Our mothers learned to lean on one another for help. I remember having a joint vegetable garden and Mei Ling and I pulling weeds in the early morning.

  We didn't stay long. The place began to fill up too quickly for my liking and I think Jack could see how anxious I was getting. Mei Ling was kind enough to package up our meals so we could take them home. On our way to the truck, Jack took Emmie into some of the stores that were handing out candy to the kids before they closed up. She ended up with more than enough candy and I had to hide it when we got home. That much candy is never good for a young girl. The last thing she needs is to develop a sweet tooth and crave sugar all hours of the day. It's bad enough that Jack brings her home treats when he goes for coffee with the boys. Back when we were kids, having a sugar treat was reserved for extra special occasions.

  I will admit though, she looked just like a princess all dressed up tonight.

  Ten

  November 5

  Mary is outside with some stray dog she found in the field. The yapping is giving me a headache. There was a reason I don’t like dogs. You can’t trust them. The moment you turn your back, they snatch food off the counter, urinate in your flower garden and dig up your root vegetables thinking it’s a bone.

  Growing up we used to have a dog. A collie. I thought it was a family pet and even gave it the name of Sugar. It didn’t take me long to realize there are only two reasons to have an animal on the farm. For food or for protection. The moment the animal stops protecting you, it becomes useless. We don’t need a dog around here.

  Once Jack is home, I’m sure he’ll agree with me. He can give Mary the bad news. I’m tired of always being seen as the mean mommy. It’s time for Jack to step up. You can’t have it both ways and it’s not fair.

  Eleven

  November 11

  Veterans Day. A day to remember those who sacrificed their lives for our country.

  To remember the fallen soldiers.

  A day to remember the agony I experienced as a military wife. To remember the worst days of my life.

  Poor Emmie doesn't understand. She sees Jack dressed up in his military uniform, looking so polished and handsome and is in awe. I see my husband wearing his badge of honor honour and commitment. I also see the husband that I almost lost.

  The mood is somber in our home. Jack began his morning with the bottle of whiskey that sits above the fridge. I don't like him drinking around Emmie, but today I kept quiet and had Emmie help me make muffins for breakfast.

  We headed into Hanton, to the legion there. Standing around the flag pole, listening to the mayor, who is a son of a war veteran, brought tears to my eyes. Jack did a wonderful job explaining to Emmie the purpose of the ceremony and why it was so important to always remember.

  I wish I could have told her otherwise.

  There's nothing I would like more than to forget the time when he was listed as Missing in Action, when I thought he was dead or worse, a POW. I wish I could forget the loneliness and heartache Mary and I experienced as we tried to remain stoic and hopeful for his return.

  I wish I could forget everything about that year.

  Jack lays beside me in bed. He has the hot water bottle on his knee and is nursing a shot of whiskey beside him as the news drones on in the background. It's rare that he pays attention to his bad knee, but every so often it will swell up to the point where he can't handle the pain anymore. Same with the wounds on his back.

  Today is a day that I remember just how much I love my husband and I thank God for bringing him home to me. It's like there's a battle inside of me — on one hand I am desperate to forget what he wants to remember but on the other hand, without that memory I know our marriage wouldn't be as strong as it is.

  The pastor says God never gives us more than we can handle. But who says it's up to Him to determine what we can handle or not?

  Twelve

  January 14

  Jack is sick. I know he is. The pharmacist called the house today to let me know his prescription was ready to be picked up. I checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and his pill bottles weren't empty. What is this new prescription for?

  He never tells me when something is wrong. He tries to protect me. But I know his heart isn't strong enough any more. I know that it's only a matter of time before I lose him.

  I can't lose him. He's my everything.

  We made a promise to each other a very long time ago, that we would never leave each other again, that we would die together, in this house. My parents did it. They both died within hours of each other in their bed one night. They were both old and ready to let others carry the burden. That's what I want for Jack and me. But now we have Emmie.

  We can't die like we'd planned. Who would take care of Emmie? Certainly not Mary. My daughter can't even take care of herself and I refuse to allow Emmie to be raised in a shelter or a home where unwanted kids are sent. That will not happen to my granddaughter.

  Emmie has been running a slight fever the past two days. I'm sure it's just a cold. We've had our share of cold days this winter and she's been a trooper trying to help Jack shovel around the house. I think they both must have overdone it.

  I think I'll put on a chicken carcass to simmer tomorrow and make them both some hom
emade chicken soup. All they need is a little love and care. I can't take Emmie to the doctor — we don't have any of her legal information. Jack sent Mary a letter last week requesting it. He mentioned bringing a lawyer in to help us get legal custody, and says we'll need it for when she goes into school. And we're not even sure if she's had her needles yet.

  There are days I don't understand that daughter of mine.

  It's as if she'd dropped off the face of the earth and couldn't care less that she has a daughter we're raising for her.

  It scares me. What if something happens to both Jack and me? Who will then take care of Emmie? What will happen to her?

  Thirteen

  January 29

  There are some days I want to strangle the man snoring beside me. The older he gets, the more stubborn, and there's some days I just can't handle it.

  It's very rare that we fight but today was one of those days when everything and anything he said or did set me off.

  It wouldn't hurt him to put his dirty tea cup in the sink, would it? Does he have to leave it on the table where ring marks are made?

  Does he need to leave his snowy boots on my floor so that I'm the one stepping in puddles all the time?

  We have a mitt rack over the register to help dry all Emmie's wet outdoor mitts, hats and scarves. So why does he allow her to drop them on the floor and leave them there?