by Becky Melby
“It makes me feel like I will never, ever understand women.”
“That’s a given.”
Jake fingers grazed her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d like to try understanding one of them. Maybe, with a little help.”
“If we wait too long she’ll be asleep.”
“Can we continue this conversation later? You’re leaving tomorrow for a whole week, you know.”
“Maybe. Go home, take a bath in bug spray, and wait”—she deepened her voice to her best imitation of Topher—“for me to call ya’, Cob.”
Jake’s face lost every trace of softness. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever, bro.”
With an eye roll and a wave, she walked into the house, watched the time on her phone morph from 10:14 to 10:15, and poured a glass of tea while she waited for 10:20. Jake hadn’t called her, so everything must be in place.
“Go back to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Lexi shook her head and folded both arms over her belly. “Feel my head, Grandma. Is it hot?” The heating pad under her pillow was another one of Naomi’s genius ideas.
Adam threw his backpack on the couch and shoved a book in it. “She’s faking it. She’s just trying to wreck all our plans.”
“I am not. I really want—” Grandma motioned for her to lean down to where she sat in the recliner so she could feel her head. Her expression changed from annoyed to concern. Yippee for heating pads.
“You do feel warm. Adam, get that bottle of ibuprofen out of the first-aid kit in the clothes basket in the kitchen.”
Lexi shot a told-you-so look at her brother as he stomped past her. She took the medicine Grandma gave her, hoping it wouldn’t hurt her if she really didn’t need it, and walked off to bed, moaning softly on her way. “I’ll try to sleep.”
She went to the bathroom first. Grandma wore a ton of makeup. There had to be something gray in her drawer. Sure enough, eye shadow just the right color for a nice shadow under her eyes. After an appropriately long time, she staggered out, leaving the fan on in the bathroom, and walked down the hall, touching the wall with one hand for support. She was beginning to convince herself she was sick.
Positioning her pillow to cover the heating pad, she lay on her back and turned the bedside lamp toward the wall. A little light was necessary to show off the circles under her eyes when Grandma came to check on her. Every few minutes, she put her hands under the pillow. When they were hot, she pressed them to her face.
Hard as she tried to keep her eyes open and her face warm, sleep was hard to fight. She’d almost given in when the sound of a hammer woke her. Right outside her window.
“Sorry, Topher. Just had to pound a piece of siding back into place before it rains again. Thanks for calling back.”
Lexi was wide awake now. Her uncle picked weird times to fix things.
“Yeah, I’m serious. Go figure, huh? All this time I figured she hated my guts, and then she sends this amazing letter.
“Read it? I don’t have to. I memorized it! ‘My sweet Jake,’ it starts. How cool is that? Yeah, I know. ‘I’m so happy you changed your mind about liking that Foster lady,’ she says. No, I didn’t really change my mind. I still really like her, but, hey, she’s moving to California, you know? If Heidi still loves me, man, I can’t take a chance on losing her again. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Do you realize how close we came to getting married? Yeah, I know, she’d be the perfect mother for the twins. She’s warm and funny and she just gets kids. Okay, here’s the rest of it—’I know we can only meet secretly until you finish her house. Because I know how much you love me, I will wait patiently for the day when we can be together always. All my love, Heidi.’”
A cramp gripped Lexi’s stomach like a hand crumpling a soda can.
“I’m not wasting any time, bro. This time I’m not going to let her get away. I’m calling her as soon as I hang up.” A loud sniff echoed through the window. Jake was crying? “I’m proposing to her tonight.”
Lexi broke into a cold sweat. She felt the blood leaving her head. The room swayed. She had to stop him. Now. Throwing off the covers, she flew out of bed, yanked open the door, ran down the hall and through the living room. She made it to the kitchen door before Grandma yelled.
“Lex! Stop!” Her recliner creaked as it snapped upright. “She must be delirious.”
“I doubt it,” Adam answered.
Lexi didn’t stop. “I’m fine. I’m all better.” It didn’t matter now if they knew she wasn’t sick.
A week with Emily would be a million times better than Jake marrying the White Witch.
Lexi swiped a tear as Grandma stomped back into the house. She hadn’t heard the end of this. She glared at Jake. “It’s not true?”
“Not a word of it.”
“Then why…?” A branch snapped. Emily walked through a space in the shrubs. Lexi’s skin suddenly felt like the worst sunburn anyone had ever gotten. Naomi and her stupid ideas.
Emily sat down in the empty chair on Jake’s left. Jake patted the chair on the other side. “You needed to see what it feels like.”
Lexi couldn’t look at either one of them, and she sure wasn’t going to sit down. Everything in her wanted to be mad, but it was all her own fault. “The letters were Naomi’s idea.”
Emily smiled. “They were very creative.” She didn’t say it nasty. It would be easier if she was nasty. “Very convincing.” Emily leaned forward. “Lexi, I understand why you wrote them.”
She did? “You do?”
“Of course. Your family is special to you. I went through something kind of similar when I was a little older than you. My sister brought her best friend along when my family went on a cruise. I’d been looking forward to it for months, and all of a sudden Dawn Anne, this girl I didn’t even know, who was ten years older than me, is barging in on our family time. I spent the whole nine days of the cruise watching grown-ups play shuffle board. Dawn Anne stole my sister from me and I hated her for it.”
Emily didn’t really look like the kind of person who would use the word hate. Lexi moved the chair a few feet back and sat down. “Really?”
“Really. So I understand why you wouldn’t want me around.”
“Did you do anything to that girl?”
Emily laughed. “I put a jellyfish in her bed.”
Jake’s eyes looked like great big marbles. “Those things sting!”
“It was dead.”
“Eeww.” Hard as she tried to hate Emily, it wasn’t working. She wasn’t a bad person. She just didn’t belong here. “What did she do?”
“She totally freaked. She and my sister didn’t go to bed until after midnight, and Dawn Anne’s screams woke the people in the state room next to us. It got really ugly.”
“Did they ever find out you did it?”
Emily shrugged. “They couldn’t prove it and I didn’t ‘fess up, so they couldn’t punish me. I was in my twenties before I told them the truth.”
“For real?” Not only did she not hate Emily, she just might become her new hero.
She still didn’t belong here.
But maybe it was better to let her think they were friends.
“That went well.”
“I thought so.” Emily ran her thumb along the ridged aluminum arm of the lawn chair angled to face Jake.
“You totally won her over when she found out what a nasty kid you were.” He leaned forward and took her hands. “I’m glad you grew up.”
Heat slithered from her palms to her shoulders. Though the color of an icy mountain lake, his eyes were anything but cooling. She breathed deep, pulling the night air into her lungs. She needed to keep her head clear. “Jake.”
His eyes closed briefly. His grip loosened. “Just once, could you say my name in a different tone?” He sat back in the chair. “I bet you were really good at playing Red Light/Green Light, Teach.”
Pulling her hands free, she stood. His sarcasm was justified. �
��I know. I know I’m sending mixed signals.”
“Emily.” He whispered her name and started to stand.
“Don’t.” She held one hand up. “I need you to listen without saying a word. I need you to hear all of it.” Wrapping her sweater tight across her chest, she turned to face the house. Looking at him, she’d never get through it. She told him about the day of the accident, the people she’d met, the little blue pill.
“So you blame yourself for what happened to Sierra.”
Emily nodded.
“And for losing the baby.” Again, he said her name. Again, she raised her hand.
“My injuries…” She pressed one hand to her temple and stared at him. She needed to see his reaction. “I hemorrhaged internally. The only way they could stop it was to do a hysterectomy.”
His eyes narrowed. His lips parted. He stood and took a step toward her, as she knew he would. She expected his arms to engulf her, expected words of sympathy. She steeled herself as he did what she knew he would and tried, with every ounce of strength she possessed, not to savor the warmth and hardness of his chest or the sense of being cared for and protected. Of being home.
The pain was physical. As he pressed his face against her hair, the ache in his chest grew. “I’m so sorry, Emily.”
She didn’t conform to him, didn’t soften in his arms. And then it hit him. All her red lights were about this moment, about his reaction to this reality. His eyes closed. He breathed deep of her spicy scent. Emily couldn’t bear children. If he stayed with her, he would never know what it meant to father his own child. Was this what God was calling him to? If he married her and gained custody of the kids, Emily would have a ready-made family. She would have someone to shower with maternal feelings. But he would never know what it was like to hold a son who looked like him, to pass on his name, his genes.
Emily’s hands rose and pressed against his chest. “It’s okay, Jake. I’m okay.” She looked up at him, eyes clear, not tear-filled. A faint smile tipped one corner of her mouth.
He pulled his arms away to brush the hair from her face. Emily shook her head. Her hand rested on his arm for just a moment, like a butterfly landing then taking flight. Then she turned. And walked away.
He didn’t follow her.
October 23, 1852
Isaiah’s deep, hushed voice sang into the thick blackness. “Wait not for tomorrow’s sun. Turn, sinner, turn O!”
Liam’s paddle adjusted to the rhythm of the song. It was hard work, going against the current, but his arms took to the task without complaint. An hour ago he’d been grateful for the blackness that shrouded them, but the clouds had shifted, exposing the moon. He gave thanks for just enough light to navigate the chain of lakes ahead. They were almost halfway to the bend in the river where he and Isaiah would part ways.
“About an hour,” he whispered when Isaiah paused between verses. An hour until Isaiah’s song would have to cease and he’d need to flatten himself on the bottom of the canoe, under the pile of flour sacks and next to two dead beavers.
How strange this past year had been for a farm boy who’d never had hopes of doing anything but buy his own land, find a good woman, and support a family. Yet here he was, training to be a blacksmith, more in love than he’d ever imagined a human being could stand, and part of something so much bigger than himself. He and Big Jim and the Shaws had only played a small role, but it was a necessary part. They hadn’t helped many, in the whole scheme of things, but some were children with hope-filled futures ahead. Some, like Isaiah, hoped to gain their freedom in order to return and help their loved ones break free.
If he harbored anger at being called to this mission instead of raising a roof on his own land with Hannah by his side, the anger was aimed not at God but at men who thought it their right to own other men and at those who tolerated such evil. Liam took a long, slow breath and let the words of the gospel song sooth his ire. “Turn, sinner, turn O!”
Liam stayed close to the shore and out of the splash of moonlight that lit the glasslike lake. He rounded the curve of the north shore and navigated the narrow channel that led him back onto the Fox. The Pottawatomi called this river Pishtaka. Buffalo. At times during his nights on the river, Liam imagined what it had been like before settlements dotted the river named for those majestic beasts.
“Wait not for tomorrow’s sun…” Isaiah’s rich voice soothed them both. “Turn, sinner, turn O! Wait not for tomorrow’s sun, turn, sinner, turn O! Tomorrow’s sun will sure to shine, turn, sinner, turn O!”
“Good words, Isaiah. I’m trying to put them to memory.”
A dog barked. Too close for Liam’s comfort. Not a wild dog, from the sound of it. A hunting dog, nose to the ground. “Get down.”
The barking grew louder. Liam stopped paddling, holding the end of his paddle against the current. The noise stopped abruptly. The canoe drifted in the silence. Gooseflesh rose on Liam’s arms as he strained to hear anything that didn’t belong with the chirping of crickets.
Movement. On top of a small rise above the east bank. Moonlight silhouetted two men and a dog. Two men, and two muskets. Hunters? Liam’s heart slammed his breastbone. His breathing came in short, strained gasps. Dipping his paddle straight down, he searched for the river bottom. There, five feet down. But was it deeper toward shore? And, large as he was, would Isaiah be any match for the current?
“Mr. Liam?” Isaiah whispered, fear tightening his voice. “I’ll not put you in danger.”
“The water is up to your shoulders here. You’re better off fighting the river than those guns.” Liam paused, taking only a heartbeat to make a decision punishable by death. He lifted his pants leg and pulled out the only thing of value Da had ever given him—a Colt revolver. “Keep it dry,” he said, handing it to Isaiah.
“No, Mr. Liam, I cannot—”
“Hide on the bank. If I’m not back for you in an hour, stay close to the river and head north. There’s a farm, just west of the sharp elbow in the river. There’ll be a single lantern in the barn window. You’ll be safe there.”
Gaze fixed on the shadowy figures on the hill, Liam rode with the canoe as it rocked. Isaiah made a small splash. An involuntary gasp escaped as the cold water hit and his feet scrambled to find the bottom. Lord, bring him to solid ground.
“Ho! Stop!” The voice—loud, angry—rolled down the riverbank.
Liam lifted the paddle, dipped it in the opposite side, moving toward the voice and the guns and away from Isaiah. “Hello!”
The dog howled and broke into a run. Reeds rustled as he neared the water. One man followed, the other stayed on the hill, with full view of the river. Liam prayed the darkness would conceal Isaiah’s wake. He waved. “What are you hunting on this fine moonlit night?”
Man and dog reached the bank at the same time. “Sheriff Hiram Brown.” The man tapped his chest. Moonlight reflected off a silver badge. “Question is, who are you and what are you doing out here?”
Bounty hunters. The man probably wasn’t a lawman at all. “Checking my traps.” Liam eased up to the bank and grabbed onto a tree limb. “Liam Keegan. I work for the blacksmith in Rochester. Smith by day, trapper by night.” He fought to keep his tone light and casual. “What’re you looking for, Sher—?”
The dog shot through the sheriff’s legs and leaped into the canoe. His yowls ricocheted off the trees as he sniffed and scratched, his tail waving like a surrender flag.
“What’s in there?” The sheriff lifted the gun and cocked it. The sound reverberated across the water.
“Beavers. Have a look.” Out of respect for the firearm, he didn’t turn around. If any sign of Isaiah was left, he’d know soon enough. But the carcasses would explain the hound’s frenzy. The dead animals might well be Isaiah’s saving grace.
The sheriff picked up a stick and poked the bags and the animals. “Enough room for a man to hide.”
“I suppose.” Liam tried to add boredom to his voice. Maybe a touch of frustration. What wou
ld he be feeling if, in fact, he were only out here checking his traps? “Are you looking for a man?”
“We are.”
“What’d he do?” The more ignorant he sounded, the more believable he might appear.
“Ran off from his master.”
“Ah. One of them. There a reward?”
“One thousand dollars.”
Liam lifted his brows. Not that they’d be seen in the dim light, but he needed the appropriate mask. “A tidy sum. I’ll certainly keep my eyes and ears open.”
The sheriff called his dog out of the boat. For what seemed like an interminable time, he stared at Liam. Finally he touched the brim of his hat. “We’re camped up yonder. You hear anything, you come find us.”