by Becky Melby
“Walmart.” Grandma Blaze swooped her gaze to the ceiling and back to the floor. “Just Walmart, Lex, not Timbuktu.”
“What if she’s a kidnapper? What if she’s going to run off with me and send you ransom notes?”
The hands went back on the hips. “Then I’ll gladly give her every one of the three hundred and forty-two dollars in my checking account just to get you back.” Eyebrows lifted the same distance as the corners of her mouth.
“Sure, laugh.” Lexi shoved her feet into yellow flip-flops. “You probably wouldn’t pay anything to get me back.”
Her grandmother stepped toward the door. “You’re right, we probably wouldn’t. Funny, though, that such hard-hearted people are willing to shell out eight hundred and fourteen dollars to put a pin in a cat’s leg. Especially a cat that makes me sneeze.”
The doorbell rang. Grandma Blaze walked out.
Lexi crumpled on her bed in tears.
Who was the hateful girl taking over her body? Was she possessed? She’d heard that demons couldn’t take over your body if you believed in Jesus. Maybe that wasn’t true. Or maybe she just thought she believed but she really didn’t. Lord, what’s happening to me?
No answer came. Not even God wanted to spend time with a girl who hissed like an angry cat.
Her mouth jarred open. She looked down at her right hand, at the three red stripes she’d hidden from Jake and her grandma. Pansy had scratched because she was in pain and scared.
Just like her.
She hurt because Pansy hurt and because she missed her mom. She hurt because Adam thought it would be cool if Jake and Emily fell in love and got married and because her grandma laughed with Emily the way she used to laugh with Mom.
And that’s why she was scared. Life wasn’t good the way it used to be. Life would never be good for her again. But what if everyone around her got happy because Emily was there to make them laugh?
And make them forget.
Think. Nobody else was making sense. It was up to her. She took a deep breath, dried her tears, and went to the bathroom and washed her face. With a smile brighter than anyone had ever smiled, she walked into the living room.
“Hi, Emily. Thank you for thinking of me. This sounds like so much fun.”
Without a twinge of sadness Emily watched the faded ends—the last vestiges of her former self—drift to the floor. At the stylist station perpendicular to hers, Lexi leafed through a hair magazine.
Sophia, a short, round Italian with purple highlights in her black hair, held a chunk of Emily’s tarnished platinum over her head. “Say good-bye to the old you.”
Was the woman eavesdropping on her thoughts? “Good riddance.”
“I think you should do something really dramatic.” Lexi smiled at her in the mirror. “A wedge. You’d look pretty in really short hair.”
“You think so?” Strange that the opinion of a twelve-year-old actually mattered. “Okay, Sophia, you heard the boss. Let’s go shorter.”
Sophia’s scissors slid an inch closer to her scalp.
“What are you going to have done, Lexi?”
“I want bangs. And layers.” She pointed to a picture and handed the magazine to a tall, skinny redhead in a maroon smock.
The redhead nodded. “You two are going to a barbeque tonight?”
“Yep.” A purple cape settled over Lexi’s shoulders. “It’s in a barn where they’ve had dances every year since before the Civil War.”
The tingle scooting along Emily’s spine was becoming familiar. It was the visceral equivalent of the Twilight Zone theme. Would she dance tonight on the same floorboards as the writers of the letters? “I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t know it was a dance, or you didn’t know they started doing them so long ago?”
“Neither. I thought we were going to eat.”
“We are. But there’s a band, too. Can you line dance?”
Could she line dance? Oh yeah. And, for some strange reason, none of the boxes and bags she’d donated to Goodwill before leaving Michigan had contained her gold-toed black boots. Also amazing was the fact that she knew which Rubbermaid bin they’d retired to. “Yeah. Pretty fair.”
“Jake hates dancing.” Lexi’s expression faded to blank.
What did that mean? It was more than just conversation, Emily was sure of it. There was meaning hidden somewhere in the comment.
Maybe she could blame it on the antibiotics, but the truth dawned embarrassingly slowly. She remembered being Lexi’s age—one foot in childhood, the other flailing around in the scary abyss of grown-up land. Fairy tales still seemed possible in that in-between age. And Emily had more than a hunch that Lexi was dreaming of an impossible happily-ever-after.
For Jake.
Not good. This fantasy had to stop before it began. In lieu of shaking her head, Emily tsked. Though she felt a kinship with the stone-cold Snow White, she wasn’t awaiting a magical kiss. “That’s too bad.” Did her voice convey the impossibility of her ever falling for a man who couldn’t do the electric slide? “Dancing is like breathing. It’s necessary for life, don’t you think?”
The redhead nodded. “Absolutely. Do you two have dates for tonight?”
“No.” They answered in unison, with equal enthusiasm.
“Okay, then.”
“What do you look for in a guy, Emily?” Lexi’s gaze hid her hopes well.
Sophia tipped Emily’s chin down to her chest. The timing was perfect. It gave her a moment to inventory Jake’s good qualities and come up with their polar opposites. She thought of the first time he’d found her in tears. Non-judging. The battle over her floor plan. Patient. Carrying her down the stairs. Strong, compassionate, unwavering. “What are your chains, Emily?” Intuitive, caring. “I’ll expect your answer tonight.” Funny. Eyes the color of a mountain lake. A truant groan leapt through her lips.
“Something hurt?”
The truth? “No. Just coughing.” She coughed into the cape to make it not a lie.
Sophia patted her back. “Do you need some suggestions of guy qualities?”
Emily faked a laugh. “I’m not really in the market at the moment.” Still looking down, she didn’t have to face the disappointment on a twelve-year-old face.
“Pick a color name that describes you.” Lexi waved her hand over two shelves of nail polish and smiled at Emily’s too-short hair. The day was turning out way better than she’d expected. Haircut, manicure, pedicure, and realizing Adam was wrong about Jake and Emily.
“I will if you will. And we have to go with the one we pick … even if it’s Mustard Yellow or Swamp Green.”
“Deal. Let’s pick two—a serious one and a fun one.”
Emily picked up a bottle the color of Barney the dinosaur. “Okay. Serious for fingers, silly for toes.”
“Cool.”
Lexi scanned the colors. “Mad as a Hatter” would have described her a couple of hours ago.
“I’ve got mine.” Emily held up two bottles.
Lexi took a few more minutes. “Me, too. It’s purrrrfect!” She couldn’t believe there was a nail color named for her. “Okay. Silly first.” She showed Emily a light blue shade. “It’s called ‘What’s with the Cattitude?’”
“That is purrrrfect!” Emily held out a bottle of pale pink polish. “Mine is ‘Who Needs a Prince?’”
Way perfect. Adam was so wrong. “What’s your serious one?”
“Breathe Life.” Emily’s bottom lip pushed against the top one. Her shoulders shrugged.
“Why did you pick—”
“Ladies pick colors now?” A short Asian woman gestured toward two open pedicure chairs.
“We’re ready.” Emily stepped aside and let Lexi follow the woman.
When they were seated, Lexi leaned toward Emily. “I picked my serious one because of you. It’s ‘Thank You Muchness.’”
October 10, 1852
“Mmm.” Dolly Baker batted her eyes in the general direction of Liam and
two other men leaning against a wagon in front of the Settlement chapel. “I don’t believe there is a more handsome man anywhere in the world.”
On the blanket beside her, Hannah gnawed a chicken leg with unrefined vigor and feigned disinterest in all but the chicken. She chewed till there was nothing left of the bite in her mouth. “Can you believe what a gorgeous day this is?” She lifted her face to the sun. “Strange for October, isn’t it?”
“Hannah Shaw! Are you ill? There is a man like that in our midst and you talk about the weather?”
“Which man?” She asked it so casually it came out almost like a yawn.
“Liam, silly.” Fat sausage curls bounced. “Don’t you just feel fluttery when he’s around?”
“Hmm.” She swallowed the flutters crawling up her throat. “Not really.”
“You are ill. Or dead. Look at those eyes. Bluer than the bluest sky.” Dolly lingered on a wistful sigh.
And up close, in the moonlight, they sparkle like stars. “Wing?” She shoved a plate beneath Dolly’s nose.
“How can you think of food at a time like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like two weeks before the barn dance.” Dolly dipped her head, shielded her face with her bonnet, and whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”
Corn bread crumbs caught in Hannah’s throat, and she coughed until her eyes watered. If her best friend only knew what secrets she could keep. She nodded.
“Liam Keegan is going to ask me to the dance.”
A watermelon pickle lodged in her throat. She covered her mouth with the cloth that had wrapped the corn bread and forced a calm breath.
“Of course, Mother wouldn’t approve if she knew what I knew.” Dolly leaned forward and looked to her right and then her left. “Last week I hid behind the lilacs just to get a closer look at him. I heard him talking to your daddy.”
“Wh—what did you hear?”
Dolly laughed, fat curls skimming her shoulders. Her head dipped to one side. “You really don’t know, do you? Ah, let’s talk of more tasteful things.” She picked up a sorghum cookie. “Like Liam Keegan.”
With the inside of her mouth feeling like the bottom of her shoe, Hannah forced a laugh. “He told you he was going to ask you to the dance?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s never said anything more to me than ‘Good morning, Miss Baker.’ He won’t know he’s taking me until you tell him.”
“Wha …? Me?”
“I saw you at the smithy last week.”
“I was picking up hooks for my father.” Her face warmed. It was not a lie. She had been picking up coat hooks for the cellar. She had also picked up a stolen kiss.
“Did you or did you not talk to Liam when you were there?”
“I talked to Big Jim. I suppose I might have said a word or two to Liam.”
“There! I knew it.” Dolly picked up her reticule. “Order me a nice big hook for my father’s birthday. We so rarely come to town. And when you do, suggest that he ask me to the dance.”
“I can’t do—”
“You must.” Her eyes gleamed with something more intense than mischief. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell your daddy’s not-so-little secret.”
Perspiration dampened Hannah’s blouse. “What secret?” Her voice was barely audible.
“The one”—Dolly rose gracefully to her feet and brushed crumbs from her skirt—“he would die if anyone knew.”
With that, she turned and fairly skipped back to the chapel.
CHAPTER 17
“… wouldn’t change a thing that changed my life …”
The man in the dirty white cowboy hat and week-old beard sang into the mic with a voice that could almost rival Kenny Chesney. Emily held an ice-filled glass of tea to the pulse points on her wrists and kept her eyes on him—and away from the man sitting in the lawn chair next to her. “The trials, the tears … it’s hard to hate what got me here …”
Emily stared up at a star-flecked sky. A faint breeze wafted an intoxicating summer blend of hickory smoke and citronella across the lawn. How long would it take to not hate the things that brought her here?
And how long after she left would it take to stop liking “here”?
“Hungry?” Japanese lanterns reflected in the plastic tumbler Jake lifted toward her.
“Starving.” And more than ready to get up and move and busy her hands and her mind with something other than the whistle that had greeted her exit from Blaze’s car. Jake had taken her hand and twirled her in a pirouette like a ballerina in a music box. She wiggled the painted toes hidden by her gold-tipped boots. Who needs a prince?
Jake’s hand on her back steered her to the food table. With all the insensitive jerks in the world, why did she have to hire one of the few remaining gentlemen? She picked up a heavy-duty paper plate and caught Tina staring from behind the pig roaster. A greasy thumb shot in the air.
She felt a tug on her sleeve and looked down. All she saw was the brim of a red cowboy hat. “Michael? Are you under there?” She lifted the hat. “Thought that was you.”
Michael nodded, an all-business look on his tanned face. “I caught Squiggles again. He was in our garage on my dad’s working bench, and I bringed him over to show you but you weren’t there. I looked in your shed for the frog can, but alls I could find was a glass jar. Can I leave him there and come visit him again? For one day.”
“For one day.”
Jake pushed the hat over Michael’s eyes and got a smile out of him. Dimples showing, the boy shoved the hat back and looked up at him. “Russell says I hafta ask if you killed any ghosts yet.”
“Did I … wait, how do you kill a ghost?” Jake’s laughing eyes locked on Emily’s. “Isn’t dead kind of the definition of a ghost?”
“But Tina says you’re smashing down walls, and Russell says ghosts live in walls.” The boy’s eye’s widened. “Maybe you ‘bliterated one without seeing it and maybe—”
“Michael!” Tina called across the table. “Let the poor people eat.”
“I gotta go before Russell eats my peanuhbutter cookies. Adam’s grandma said you made ’em.”
Emily nodded and tapped the top of his hat. “I’ll take good care of Squiggles.”
“Okay.” Michael dropped to the floor and crawled under the table.
Jake smiled. “He likes you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It usually takes a long time for him to warm up to people. He knows you’re kid-friendly.”
She didn’t respond. He handed her a napkin.
Two banquet tables bowed like swayback horses under the weight of fruit salads, cheese platters, vegetable trays, and desserts. Massive ice-filled troughs cradled bowls of potato salad. A Nesco roaster of bacon-loaded baked beans formed the centerpiece.
And it all looked good. Amazing. She hadn’t hesitated when Jake asked if she was hungry. She was, and the fact still surprised her. Dear Vanessa, you won’t believe what happened to me this week. My stomach growled.
“Tina and Colt make their own sauerkraut.” Jake pointed to a crock as big as the pails of drywall mud lining her new great room.
“How very German. Can’t wait to try it.”
“Seriously?” His eyes, shadowed by a black felt hat, squinted at her.
“What? I don’t look like the fermented cabbage type?”
Serving spoon suspended over the beans, he shook his head. “Not tonight, you don’t.”
Don’t ask. Don’t give in to it. Don’t— “And what do you mean by that?”
“I mean …” He turned and graced her with a slow-and-easy country-singer smile. “Tonight you look like champagne and strawberries.”
Emily stopped breathing as Who Needs a Prince? melted off her toenails.
What’s the mantra for this, Vanessa? Focus on the moment. Live in the present. Nothing in her bag of emotion-stabilizing tricks fit. She needed to get out of the moment. Happy place! That’s it. Ocean breeze, sand in my to
es, Coppertone, surfers skimming the—
“Crab dip.” Jake’s elbow nudged her off the beach. “Mom made that. Did you taste it?”
“No. Not yet.” Though it wouldn’t be hard to come by here in my happy beach place. “I made the broccoli salad.”
“You’re amazing.”