by Janet Dailey
“My big day?” A thread of uncertainty laced her tone.
Mitch’s throat constricted. “Your birthday.”
“Oh.” She shook her head, a bit of the confusion leaving her eyes. “You know I don’t like people fussing over me.”
“I know. But maybe just this once? For the kids? They’ve worked really hard on your gifts.” He smiled. “So has Kristen.”
“She has?” A small smile appeared.
“Yep.” He tugged gently on her elbow. “So help me out here, and let’s humor them, okay?”
She patted his cheek, her smile growing. “All right. But just this once.”
They walked to the screen door, Emmy limping more than usual. Then she stopped. “Look, it’s . . .” She paused, reaching out and trailing a hand over the screen. “It’s new. You did this, didn’t you?”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“Thank you, Mitch. It’s beautiful.”
“There’s more where that came from.” Smiling, he opened the door and swept out his arm. “After you, birthday girl.”
A laugh escaped her, and as soon as her foot touched the floor of the front porch, the first verse of “Happy Birthday” rang out. Kristen, Sadie, and Dylan swayed from left to right, their arms around each other’s waists, as they belted out the tune.
Mitch laughed along with Emmy, and dang if she didn’t perk up pretty good at their display. She watched the candle flames flicker in the breeze and squeezed his hand tighter as they sang.
When they finished, Dylan beckoned her over. “Blow ’em out, Nana.”
She walked over and blew the candles out, laughing the whole time.
“Dylan made the cake for you,” Kristen said, nudging him forward.
“You did?” Emmy asked.
He blushed. “Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Ruth Ann helped me.”
“Well, that was wonderful of you.” Emmy bent and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, son.”
Mitch waited, watching Dylan’s expression for any signs of aggravation at the endearment. Dylan had been so put out by the term when Emmy had used it the night Mitch had returned to Hart’s Hollow. But he didn’t seem bothered by it today.
“You’re welcome.” Dylan grinned, blushing a deeper shade of red. “And happy birthday.”
“I got something for you, too, Nana.” Sadie grabbed Emmy’s hand and pulled.
“Easy, Sadie.” Mitch walked over, loosened Sadie’s grip on Emmy, then helped Emmy make her way down the front porch steps to the small gourd rack.
“That’s the one I made for you,” Sadie said, pointing at her purple, daisy-laden gourd.
Emmy cupped it in her palm and examined it more closely. “It’s gorgeous, Sadie. Absolutely gorgeous.”
Mitch guided her hand over to the other gourd. “Kristen made this one.”
He examined it with Emmy. Though he’d watched Kristen paint the gourd in its beginning stages, this was the first time he’d seen her finished handiwork.
She’d painted the top of the gourd a deep yellow reminiscent of sunlight; the bottom, a deep red in the form of Hart’s Hollow’s winding dirt driveway; and in the center, she’d painstakingly sketched and detailed Joe’s original tractor.
Emmy leaned closer. Her eyes glistened as they traced the path of vibrant blue that outlined Joe’s favorite machine. “Why, it’s Joe’s tractor. That’s it, exactly.”
“She’s captured a memory,” Mitch said, admiration filling him when he glanced at Kristen. “One of your favorites.”
“And there’s more.” Kristen sprinted up the front porch steps, grabbed the gift bag from the swing, and brought it to Emmy. “Happy birthday, Emmy.”
Emmy, still enthralled with the painting cupped in her palm, stared at Kristen, then the bag. “What is it?”
Smiling, Kristen set the bag on the ground, removed the tissue paper, and pulled out the scrapbook. The cover was made of wood and it had a black leather binding. In the center, she’d carved a large heart with Emmy’s and Joe’s initials entwined inside, and two large oak trees resembling those in front of the farmhouse framed the edges.
“All your favorites are inside.” Kristen opened the album, then slowly turned the pages. Each one held two or three of Emmy’s photos. Some were just of Joe, others were of Emmy and Joe, but all of them were arranged elegantly with a loving hand. “Here’s Joe fishing in the pond.” She turned another page. “And here’s his tractor. This one’s—”
“Where did you get those?”
The sharp bite in Emmy’s voice startled them all. Sadie flinched, and Dylan stepped back.
Kristen’s hand froze on the scrapbook, her fingers digging into the picture she was displaying.
“I gave them to her.” Mitch moved to Kristen’s side and covered her hand with his. “Kristen wanted to make something special for you and asked me to h—”
“Asked you to steal for her?” Emmy’s mouth tightened, and bright red blotches formed on her neck and cheeks.
“No.” Mitch swallowed hard. Tried to steady his voice. “Kristen asked me to help her put together a scrapbook for your birthday, so all your pictures could be kept safe in one pla—”
“Safe?” Emmy snatched at the scrapbook, wrenched it out of Kristen’s hands, and clutched it to her chest. “She stole from me.” Her eyes flashed, and she pinned Kristen with a look of hatred, which Mitch had never seen on her face. “What’d you bring, girl? What’re you trying to do?” She stabbed a gnarled finger in Kristen’s direction. “You said you wouldn’t steal from me. Said you wouldn’t lie. And here you are, doing both.”
“I-I’m sorry, Emmy,” Kristen whispered.
Mitch nudged Kristen’s back, stepped in front of her, and spoke calmly. “Kristen didn’t lie, and she didn’t steal from you. She was trying to do something nice for your birthday.”
“You’re just like the rest of them,” Emmy continued, shouting at Kristen, her face crumpling, tears streaming down her cheeks. “A thief and a liar. You came to tear down my house. To steal from me. Get off my land. You hear me, girl? This ain’t your home.”
Kristen’s face paled, and the hurt flashing in her green eyes stabbed Mitch on the inside, making his hands shake as he guided Emmy toward the house. “Emmy, everything’s all right. We’ll take the pictures back out if you’d like.”
“She stole from me.” Emmy trembled in his hold. “I won’t let someone steal from me.”
“It’s okay,” he repeated, helping her up the steps and into the porch swing. He knelt in front of her, covered her hands with his on the scrapbook. “We’ll take them all out and put them back in the shoebox if that’s what you want.” He waited for a few minutes, until her sobs began to subside. “Is that what you want to do, Emmy? Do you want to take them out and put them back in the shoebox?”
The panic left her eyes and her brow furrowed as she focused on the task he’d suggested, then said calmly, “Yes. I want to take them out.”
“Okay.” He squeezed her hands and stood. “Come with me. I’ll get the shoebox, and we’ll take them out, okay?”
She nodded, a strand of gray hair slipping from her topknot and falling over one eye.
He brushed it back, then helped her inside, casting a quick look over his shoulder at the front lawn. Sadie, crying, pressed her face against Kristen’s middle. Kristen hugged her close, her mouth moving as she spoke softly to Dylan, who stood close by her side. The smiles they’d sported earlier were gone, a mix of shock and sadness having taken their place.
Bad day, it seemed, had been an understatement.
Thirty minutes later, Emmy sat on the edge of her bed as he carefully peeled the last photograph from the scrapbook Kristen had created. Her tears had stopped almost as abruptly as they’d begun.
“They’re all back where you had them now,” Mitch said, placing the picture in the shoebox with the others. He lifted the shoebox from the floor and set it on her lap. “Would you like to look through them?”
She blinked slowly, th
en shook her head. “I’m tired.”
“Then lie back and take a nap.” He stood, moved the shoebox to the nightstand, and helped ease her back against the pillows. “I’ll be right outside when you wake up.”
Her eyes closed and she drifted off before he reached the door, her deep breaths steady and even. He closed the door behind him quietly, then followed the soft clink of silverware into the kitchen.
Dylan and Sadie sat at the table with half-empty glasses of milk in front of them, taking bites of two large slices of birthday cake. Chocolate icing coated their lips, and crumbs clung to their chins. Sadie was no longer crying, and Dylan looked more at ease, too.
“Where’s Kristen?” Mitch glanced around, an uneasy feeling knotting in his gut.
“She went to get the truck,” Dylan said around a mouthful of cake. “Said she’s going to check the fields while we eat. Is Nana okay?”
Mitch nodded, already heading for the front door. “She’s taking a nap. Stay here with Sadie, all right? I’ll be back in a sec.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, and by the time he reached the front lawn, Kristen was pulling Emmy’s truck onto the driveway. Jogging, he caught up to the slow-moving vehicle, then rapped his knuckles against the driver’s side window.
She spotted him, stopped the truck, and rolled down the window. “How is Emmy?”
“Resting.” He leaned on the windowsill and studied her blank expression. It was guarded and unapproachable. So much like when they’d first met. “Thank you for taking care of Sadie and Dylan.”
“I was happy to.” She faced the driveway again, a tiny muscle ticking in her jaw as her hand moved toward the old-fashioned window handle. “I’ll head out and take care of the field work.”
“She didn’t mean it.” He reached inside the cab, captured her hand, and threaded his fingers through hers. “She’s having a bad day. It’s going to happen occasionally, and it has nothing to do with you.”
Kristen nodded, giving a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
He waited. Searched her expression. “That was her illness talking, Kristen. Not her heart. You know that, don’t you?”
Eyes gentling, she lifted her hand, cupped his jaw, and smoothed her thumb across his cheek. “I know. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine. You have enough on your mind, and Emmy needs you. Besides, it’s getting late, and the fields need to be checked. I think it’d help if I give her some space for a while.”
Reluctantly, Mitch released her, then moved back, watching as she put the truck in gear. “That was her illness talking,” he repeated. “Not her heart.”
Kristen glanced at him, smiled that empty smile once more, then drove away. Red clouds of dust billowed out from the worn tires and drifted slowly across the front lawn.
The strained note in her voice left Mitch wondering if she truly understood. And the vacant, detached look in her eyes made him question when—and if—she’d return.
* * *
Kristen ran. Legs burning, she forced one foot in front of the other, propelling herself farther away from the truck, which she’d parked a mile back at a neighboring field. Farther away from the grave intensity in Mitch’s eyes, and as far as she could manage to get from Emmy’s angry shouts, Dylan’s fear, and Sadie’s desperate sobs.
Get off my land.
Her lungs constricted with each fierce stride, struggling to catch the brief air she snatched in with ragged breaths. Bits of gravel, soil, and clay stung her bare ankles and shins, and sweat slicked down her back, plastering her thin T-shirt to her skin.
This ain’t your home.
Just ahead, the sun hit the horizon. The bright blaze of light pulsed more strongly just as the dusk-darkened land began to swallow it, the trees and the beaten red path starkly defined below. And in that moment—God forgive her—she’d never seen a thinner line between heaven and hell.
She broke from the dirt path and darted left into the cornfield she’d planted almost two months ago.
The ten-foot-tall stalks slapped her shoulders and neck as she sprinted past. Out of breath, she drew to a halt in the middle of the field; shoulders sagging, she dropped to her knees.
A high-pitched screech rang out and echoed across the field. She looked up, eyes drawn to the dark outline of a familiar red-tailed hawk. Wings spread wide and talons stretched, it swept across the gold-streaked sky on a strong current, then circled back, swooping low.
“You’re back,” she said, her breath puffing between dry lips. The bitter taste in her belly crept up her throat, and she forced a halfhearted smile, hoping to subdue it. “It’s been a while. Are you looking for dinner? ’Cuz I’m not it.”
Another cry, sharp dive on the current, then return glide.
“Though I will say, you’re seeing me hit a new low.” She pressed her palms to the ground and curled her fingers into the red soil. “Sitting in dirt, talking to some bird a hundred feet up who can’t hear what I’m saying, much less care or understand.”
The soaring movement of the hawk blended with the shadows, which loomed larger as the sun descended. She fixed her attention on the bird, her eyes and chest burning.
When I get better, we can go back home, can’t we, Mama?
“She won’t get better.” Her throat closed. “Emmy won’t get well. She’ll only get worse, like Ruth Ann said.”
Kristen squeezed her eyes shut, and hot tears rolled over her lashes. The thick leaves adorning the cornstalks rustled on the breeze, brushing her arms.
“She’ll have to leave here, and so will Mitch. He’ll take Sadie and Dylan with him. Then they’ll build the bypass, pave Hart’s Hollow over, and it’ll disappear.”
The wind picked up, lifting her hair from her neck in waves and drying the salty tears in tight patches on her cheeks.
“Or what’s left of it,” she said, mouth trembling. “There’s not much out here now as it is.”
Only there was. There were fertile fields stretching as far as the eye could see. Rich red soil that nourished and grew new life in places that had once been barren. There were honeysuckle breezes and enchantment in the land that birthed the healthiest berries and the sweetest dreams that could be imagined. There was the warm grip of Sadie’s trusting hand and the renewed hope reflected in Dylan’s smile. There was the comforting feel of Emmy’s approving words from days ago.
And there was Mitch. His soft kisses, gentle touch, and strong embrace. The intense want in his eyes whenever he looked at her since their trip to Peach Grove. An unspoken urging of sorts, as though he were silently asking her to voice what she was only now being forced to face. That Hart’s Hollow Farm itself had become the home and family she’d always hoped to find.
But she had to leave. And soon.
Kristen tilted her head back, watched the hawk glide away. “Because how can I love someone else I know I’m going to lose?”
CHAPTER 11
Funny how a plank of wood less than two inches thick could feel as insurmountable as a four-mile-high mountain range.
Mitch raised a balled fist and knocked on the door of the guest bedroom again. “Kristen? Are you awake?”
No answer. He shifted from one foot to the other, then pressed his ear to the door. There was no rustle of sheets or footsteps across the floor, just continued silence.
Yesterday, after Emmy had settled down for a nap and Kristen had driven off, he’d spent a few hours with Sadie and Dylan. They had eaten another slice of cake, had played a short game of baseball in the front yard, then had drunk sweet tea and chatted on the front porch before he ushered them off to bed. Emmy had got up once, had eaten what passed for a decent supper, then had retired to her bedroom for the night.
Mitch had returned to the front porch, had sat in the swing and watched the driveway, hoping for Kristen to drive back up in Emmy’s truck before dark. But the afternoon sun had come and gone, night had fallen, the stars had come out, and there had still been no sign of Kristen.
Around elev
en, he’d trudged inside and taken a shower. By the time he’d made it back to the front porch, Emmy’s truck was parked in its usual spot by the shed. Upstairs, there had been no light escaping from beneath the door of Kristen’s room, and only the low creak of the bed had let him know she’d made it safely inside.
He’d gone to bed himself then. After hours of tossing and turning, he had gotten up at five this morning and had worked his way through a few morning chores. By six, he hadn’t been able to concentrate any longer and had returned to Kristen’s bedroom door.
“Kristen? I’m worried about you.” He rattled the doorknob a bit. “I’m coming in. All right?”
No answer again. After opening the door, he glanced hesitantly at the bed. She was there, all right, lying on her left side, huddled beneath the sheet. Her blond hair had slid over her cheek during her sleep, and it gleamed beneath the tendrils of soft morning sunlight shining through the window at her back.
He walked quietly across the room, leaned over the bed, and brushed her hair over her shoulder with a knuckle. “Kristen.”
She stirred, a sigh escaping her, then opened her eyes. Sleep faded from her expression, and a smile appeared as she focused on his face.
He smiled back. “Morning. Sorry for waking you, but I was worried.”
And just like that, her happy look of greeting dissolved. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the change was apparent all the same.
Dragging one hand across the back of his neck, he motioned toward the empty space beside her. “May I?” At her slight nod, he eased into a seated position on the bed. “I waited up for you last night. Where’d you go?”
She rubbed her forehead, stifling a yawn. “I checked the fields, then took a walk. Guess I lost track of time.”
“After it got dark?” He held her gaze. Watched the color in her cheeks deepen. “For over six hours?”
She frowned, lifted to an elbow, then pushed herself upright against the pillow. “Did you come in here and wake me up just to interrogate me?”
“You can’t blame me for being concerned, after the way you left yesterday,” he said quietly. “And if you’d open up once in a while, I wouldn’t have to ask.”