The room should have been completely dark, but someone—probably Melanie—had lit a candle and set it on the dresser. It was sheltered in a hurricane shade, a curved glass covering that encircled the candlestick and the candle’s flame to protect it from drafts. The glass magnified the effect of the flame and threw light into every corner. Despite the gloom outside her window and the fright and confusion that gripped her mind, Emma knew she was safe in that room. At least for now.
She sat in the rocking chair and clutched a pillow to her chest. She wondered why that thought had crossed her mind. Why wouldn’t she be safe? What made her think that figure in white meant to harm her, or anybody else in the house, for that matter? It could easily have been one of the men from the church, although she’d never seen any of them dressed in that way—not in all the winters she’d spent in Road’s End. And why now? Why wear white in a blizzard when being visible to others would seem to be more important than ever? What if someone got hurt because she didn’t say anything? Rambling thoughts and questions and arguments jumbled around in her mind like popcorn in one of those movie theater poppers. It was too much, too much for an old woman. But would they get hurt? And if so, why?
No, she’d spent too much time by herself to start worrying about the welfare of others. Besides, would they worry about her? She cringed a little when that thought cropped up; Hugh Foster had cared enough to plod his way through this mess the night before and argue with her long after any other person would have given up and left without her. Melanie had made sure she was warm and safe and fed—and involved with the others. Emma hadn’t felt involved in anything in a long while. It was a nice feeling.
Yes, others would worry about her. Maybe not all of them, but some.
Melanie tapped lightly on the door. “Emma? Emma, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” The door opened and Emma stepped aside, motioning to Mel to come in.
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“No, no, I’m not doing much. Rocking and thinking mostly.”
“Winnie said you left the kitchen in a hurry. I thought you might be sick.” Melanie grasped Emma’s arm. It was thin, as was the rest of her, but Mel had an idea her slight build masked a body stronger than most people would imagine. They walked back to the chair; Emma sat and Melanie perched on the side of the bed.
Emma resumed rocking. “No, just tired. And those women—the gabbing. I’m not accustomed to so much talk, you know. I spend a good share of my time all by myself.”
“Well, that’s going to stop right now,” Melanie said. “You’re going to have lots of company from now on. I can guarantee you that.”
Emma chuckled. “I’m afraid you’re being overly-optimistic, Melanie. These women have always taken great pleasure in disliking me. Spending a day or two in their presence isn’t going to change a lifetime of hatred.”
Melanie thought about that. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Emma. I overheard a couple of them chatting downstairs. Hard to believe I could hear anyone over the chatter, I know, but I think it was Hazel Parry and Lorena … what’s her last name?”
“Phillips. Lorena Phillips. Married the boy next door. Literally. Thomas, I think. His folks died two, maybe three, years before Thomas and Lorena were married. After their wedding, she moved about eight feet west of where she grew up. I don’t believe that woman has been more than a half mile from her house her entire life.”
Melanie smiled. Good, Emma was opening up. “No kidding. Anyway, they seemed to be thrilled to have a chance to visit with you after all these years.” She moved closer and said with a grin, “So, what else can you tell me about our lady friends?”
Emma looked at her and winked. “You mean you want to gossip?”
Melanie gave a little shrug and winked back. “Yep, some good old-fashioned gossip,” she said, then leaned to Emma conspiratorially, “but kind-spirited, of course.” She took Emma’s hand and said, “For instance, I know that Winnie is from around here, and that Martha and George moved here from Indiana years ago. But what about Sadie? She’s a widow, I presume?”
Emma pursed her lips as if suspecting a trap. “Sadie Simms is a widow, yes. And I don’t know how far back her family goes in Road’s End, but Winnie’s been here as long as I’ve been here, and that’s been my whole life. Except for my university years.”
Melanie squealed. “University years? Why, Emma River, I didn’t know that! Where? And what did you study?”
“Sweet Briar College, liberal arts degree. That was about it for young ladies in Virginia back in those days, but I enjoyed myself and made some friends. Some of them are gone now, of course, but I maintain contact with one or two of them now and then.”
“I’m impressed. What about after college? Did you teach or work?”
Emma chuckled. “Ha! My Aunt Louanna would’ve had a stroke and dropped dead on the spot. No, I wasn’t allowed to do either, but I did write a couple of books over the years. Small literary-type works. And I tried my hand at some poetry now and again.”
There was a lot more to this lady than Mel had expected. For a moment, Melanie felt ashamed. Why did she continue to make snap judgments? She reached over and patted Emma’s hand. “I wish I’d known you back then. You must have been a fascinating young woman.”
“Well, I don’t know if fascinating is the right word, but I’ve kept the fine folks of Road’s End in plenty of gossip over the years.”
Melanie was quiet for a moment then said, “But what could they have to talk about? I mean if you didn’t work outside your home, didn’t marry, stayed to yourself most of the time, what on earth could there have been to fuel the gossip?”
Emma looked at her and shook her head. “Melanie, have you lived in a small town before? I mean as small as this one? It doesn’t take anything at all to start gossip. Why, the day my sister died, there was enough gossip to spread around for the rest of my life.” She paused. “I’m assuming your husband told you about our conversation earlier today?”
“Yes, he did, and I hope you don’t mind. Hugh was concerned about you and wanted me to know how you felt about the other ladies.” She leaned over, pressed her cheek against Emma’s, and hugged her gently. “I’m so sorry about your sister. That would be hard on anyone, but an eleven-year-old … oh, that had to be difficult.”
Emma nodded. “Yes, and it never got any easier. I waited for the pain to go away, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t see her lying at the bottom of those steps.” She pulled the handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
Melanie walked to the bedside table and grabbed a few tissues. “Here.” Emma reached up and accepted the tissues, but said nothing.
Melanie squatted next to Emma’s chair and rubbed the old woman’s arm. “Emma, that’s a horrible memory, I can’t deny that. But there’s no way you can blame yourself for it. Children play in places they’re forbidden to play in all the time. That’s part of growing up—stretching your boundaries.”
She took Emma’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. It was feathery soft on top, but she was surprised to feel calluses on the palms. Hard worker, this woman.
Emma opened her eyes and met Mel’s gaze.
“And in your case, you and your sister had even more reason to do things that the grownups didn’t want you to do,” Melanie continued. “You were desperate for some attention. Heck, you probably thought angry attention was better than no attention at all.” She squirmed a little then settled into a crouch. “But the fact remains it was accidental. You didn’t push your sister. You didn’t know that she’d topple down those stairs. You said yourself that the two of you had played that very same game a hundred times before and nothing had happened. It was just a horrible turn of events. You’ve got to let go of the grief. And you’ve got to get rid of any guilt you feel about her falling. It … wasn’t … your … fault.”
Melanie stopped talking so Emma could compose herself. She leaned on the arm of the rocker to stand up
then walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it to face Emma. “If anything, Emma, your aunt and uncle should be blamed for taking such little interest in the two of you girls that they didn’t even know you were playing a game they considered unsafe. Have you thought about that?”
Emma nodded. “Yes, I have. For the last seventy-two years, I’ve thought about it. But the fact of the matter is, Melanie, it was never our aunt and uncle who told us not to play there. It was our parents, Mother in particular, who had warned us time and time again to stay away from the top of the stairs, to always hold on to the banister, never to run, never take two steps at a time. But when she died, it was as if the rules no longer existed. I think we actually went ahead and did what our mother had forbidden us to do just to see if anyone else in the house cared enough to tell us not to.” She looked up at Melanie, her eyes moist. “And they didn’t.”
Melanie leaned backward, snagged a couple more tissues, and sat back up. She handed them to Emma, taking the used ones in return and tossed them in the wastebasket next to the writing table. “Emma, I hate to ask you this, but there has to be some reason why you think you’re responsible for your sister’s death. Something I’m not seeing, maybe? Something you’ve kept hidden in your heart all these years?” Melanie took a deep breath. “Whatever it is, I hope you know that our Heavenly Father is eager to forgive you of your sins and accept you as His child.”
“She didn’t need to die. She didn’t deserve to die.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“But she did, Melanie, and that’s all there is to it. I was at fault. I hope every day of my life that she’s forgiven me, but how could she? She’s gone.”
“But Emma …” Melanie said. “Let’s just put aside any blame for now, okay? You do know that our Heavenly Father will forgive you of any of your sins if you just ask Him, don’t you?”
Emma snorted. “Heavenly Father, my eye. Where was He when my sister died, when Rachel was taken away? Where was He when our aunt and uncle ignored us, treated us as if we were nothing but unwanted baggage? Where was He when I was left all alone without a mother or a father or my own twin sister? Not with me, I can tell you that. Not with me.”
“Oh, but He was, Emma. He was. The Lord is always with us. He wants us as His children, and if you accept His Son, Jesus Christ, as your Lord and Savior, He will never, ever forsake you. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that, Emma?”
Emma shook her head then raised her eyes to Melanie’s. “Young lady, I don’t need the companionship, or the love, or the forgiveness of a God Who would let a little girl fall to her death and leave her sister to fend for herself for the rest of her days. No God like that would want me as His child, not if He allowed my life to turn out the way it did, and certainly not if He allowed my sister to die.”
This poor woman. Talk about laden with guilt.
Emma turned her head and stared out the window.
“I don’t know what to say right now,” Melanie offered. “But I’d like you to promise me that you’ll let me talk to you some more about this when we have a chance. It’s important. It’s the most important thing you’ll ever talk about. Ever.”
Emma was quiet for a long time. “She’s wearing wool, you know.”
“Excuse me, Emma?”
“A wool dress. She’s wearing a wool dress. My sister.”
“But…”
“She was buried in it. My aunt insisted on it, even though my sister hated that dress. Absolutely hated it. My aunt made me wear an identical one at the funeral—so we’d match, of course. Always the fashion plate, my aunt.” She gave a hollow laugh and looked up; Mel could see the tears simmering in her brown eyes. “But on days like this”—she gestured toward the window to the tempest beyond—”I’m glad she’s warm.”
Mel didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. They sat in silence until Emma spoke up again, this time in a near whisper. “When we were very young, maybe a year before our mother died, I remember we drove past a burned-out patch of forest, all blackened stumps and charred tree trunks, scary stuff for two little girls. But Mother pointed to the green growth that was sprouting up all over—new grass and trees, I imagine—and told us that life was like that scorched forest, that time marches on. My, how I hate that phrase.” She took a breath and continued, “Nevertheless, time marches on, she told us, and yes, sometimes bad things happen to good people. But life always finds a way to continue, and strong people always find a way to survive.”
Melanie reached for Emma’s hand, and this time, Emma met her halfway. They sat quietly, hands clasped, until Emma said, “I remember thinking about that at the funeral—both funerals, in fact. Hers and my sister’s. I remember thinking, ‘But mama, what if I don’t want to survive? What if I just want to give up?’” She sighed and turned to Melanie, the tears now streaming down her face. “But, of course, there was no one left to answer my questions.” She rested her head on the back of the rocking chair. “And I’ve long since stopped waiting.”
A sharp rap at the door startled Emma from her thoughts.
“Melanie, are you in there? It’s Sadie. Emma, is she in there with ...”
Melanie jumped up and opened the door.
Sadie reached for her. “Oh, Melanie! Thank goodness. Come quick. I think someone is trying to break in.”
“Break in? Are you sure they’re not just knocking?” Melanie was out the door and into the hallway. “They’re probably just lost and want to get in out of the storm.”
Sadie harrumphed. “Well, if they are, they’re dressed all in white and wearing ski masks and skulking around outside the house carrying big ol’ guns.”
Melanie stopped, turned back to the ladies. She looked stunned.
Emma’s stomach plummeted to the soles of her feet.
Sadie motioned down the stairs. “See for yourself. But stay away from the windows. They’re trying to find us. I’ve got everybody jammed into the kitchen on the floor under the window, but those women can’t stay quiet for long. Somebody’ll hoot or bawl or something and give us away, sure as shootin’.”
Melanie cringed.
“Sorry, ladies. Poor choice of words,” Sadie said.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she lingered by her bedroom door. Dressed all in white? What had she done?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bristol looked as horrified as I felt. “I-be-back? Are you sure?” I said.
Sherman started to nod his head, and I held up my hand. “You’re going to give both of us a headache, son. Besides, I know you didn’t imagine that plate.” I looked at Bristol. “Well, what now?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to panic.”
“Oh no, you aren’t. You just think you are. Let’s sit down and think about this for a minute.”
Bristol sat down hard then shot upwards again. “The women! Your wife and the others are at the inn with that … that Jackson guy. Didn’t you say he showed up last night around the time those guys would’ve arrived in the Hummer? Maybe he did the paint job on the church.”
Something not quite right about that theory niggled at the edge of my brain, but I didn’t take time to figure out just what it was. I already had my phone to my ear. Busy. I slapped it shut and two seconds later it rang. “Mel?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. “Listen to me. I don’t know who that Delbert Jackson is, but I don’t think he’s any construction company owner. I don’t have time to explain right now, but he might have driven a bunch of men … what do you mean dressed in white? Have you seen them?”
To my horror, Melanie explained what the ladies had discovered—men wearing white and carrying guns peering in the windows. Apparently, Emma had seen one of them talking to Delbert Jackson outside about an hour before. That was all I needed to know: Delbert Jackson was definitely in cahoots with this band of white-clothed thugs. I was furious with myself for not remembering to send Joe or Rudy back to replace Jackson with the women. What had I done?
The question, though, was what to do about it. They were armed and even though we had some weapons, I wouldn’t have bet next week’s collection plate on my army’s ability to defend any of us. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer. Heavenly Father, be with us as we figure out a way to stop these men from whatever horrible thing they have in mind. Keep these people safe, both here and at the inn; protect us with a band of mighty angels. Help us, Lord, to defeat those who would harm Bristol and the rest of us. In Your Son’s precious Name I pray. Amen.
I looked up and Bristol was gone. Sherman sat on the pew looking as confused as ever. “Where’d Bristol go?” I said.
Sherman cocked his thumb behind him toward the front door. “Out. Thataway.”
“No way,” I said. Please, Bristol, don’t go getting yourself killed out there.
“Yeah, he did, Pastor. I saw him head right out that front door.”
I patted him on the back. “I wasn’t doubting your word, Sherman. I just don’t want him getting hurt.” But I couldn’t do anything about Bristol just yet. “Come on, let’s get the men together and tell them what we know.”
Five minutes later, the men were up to speed. I thought Dewey and George were going to vault over the pews in their eagerness to get at their stash of weapons. “Wait, men,” I said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need someone in charge of handing out those guns. Leo, how about you?”
“Yep.”
Leo and his merry band of soon-to-be-re-armed senior citizens traipsed to the office. “Lord, help us.”
“Hey, man,” Sherman said. “What can I do? Just say the word, Pastor, and I’m there. I mean it. Just say the word.”
I looked at my new friend, head bobbing, fluorescent-orange hair lighting up the room in the glow of the candlelight, and smiled. Nothing like the exuberance of youth to get things rolling. Or someone killed.
“Hey, buddy, I appreciate your offer, but let’s face it, you’re what … seventeen, tops?”
Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 12