by Camille Eide
The path took her through the meadow, the fog thicker on the valley floor. The view from the top of the hill was deceiving; the distance to the old church was a lot farther than she had first thought.
But she had nowhere else to be. No one needed her—Maggie had made that quite clear.
Emily wasn’t sure what to make of Maggie, but it was obvious that she and Grace had quickly developed an odd but symbiotic routine in spite of their time apart and Maggie’s temperament. Being together seemed to be good for them both. And keeping them together was probably best for them.
And ultimately, for Emily.
In Scotland, Aunt Grace would be surrounded by people instead of being left to fend for herself after Emily was gone. But out here, in the stillness of this meadow, Emily couldn’t deny the phenomenon she’d witnessed since their arrival in Scotland. Aunt Grace was needed here. She not only enjoyed being with Maggie, she thrived. She had purpose. And that made her happier than Emily had seen her in a long time.
Wonderful. Perfect. More than Emily could’ve asked for. So why the growing distress, this awful feeling of panic?
She reached the stone church. The remains of a low fence around the churchyard enclosed an old cemetery. Wildflowers and tall grass grew between the headstones. The stones and the building crumbled at the edges and were crawling with moss. The church was probably centuries old, abandoned in favor of the more modern, conveniently located church in town.
She stepped over the fence and strolled around the headstones.
A section of the cemetery had graves dating back over a hundred years, but, moving amongst the stones, she discovered a much newer section.
The name MacLean caught her eye. She stepped closer to the gravestone, holding her breath.
Kathryn Carmichael MacLean.
Heart hammering, Emily closed her eyes to block out the dates. The thought of Katy dying so young while she and Ian were so deeply in love paralyzed Emily with sorrow. Tears streamed down her face.
Stop it.
But she couldn’t. As she stared at the headstone, the crushing sadness pressed deeper. Wiping her face, she spun around and bolted for the woods. The mist had become a light drizzle, flattening her hair and dampening her sweatshirt, but she didn’t care. Getting far away from that cemetery was more important than being dry.
When she reached the woods, she slowed her pace and kept on. The structured layout made Emily wonder if it was private woodlands. The church was probably part of the same land, part of the local county parish. Hopefully, whoever owned it wouldn’t mind her passing through. Maybe she’d get a glimpse of a laird’s castle.
About fifteen minutes passed, and by then, the darkening sky hinted at more than a mere drizzle. The drizzle soon turned to rain, and as it fell, the sky darkened with the threat of more. She was going to get soaked. Good thing it was August—at least it wouldn’t be cold. She tromped on.
The fog seemed thicker than before, which seemed odd with the rain. She kept walking, but instead of thinning and leading to a castle or a manor, the trees got thicker and all signs of the trail disappeared.
“Okay. Let’s rethink this.” Emily stopped, turned, and looked around her, listening. Nothing to see or hear but rain, which was coming down hard and heavy in places where the trees weren’t as thick. She turned back and picked her way through the woods, toward the clearing and the old church. Wet ferns and tangled briars brushed against her clothes as she pressed through, completely soaking her boots and pant legs.
She should have reached the clearing by now. But the woods didn’t look like anything she’d seen. Taking a deep breath, she tucked dripping clumps of hair behind her ears. She was lost, obviously.
Big surprise. She didn’t know this place at all.
“Okay.” It took the edge off her rising unease, thinking aloud. “Just go back the way you came.”
She turned and trudged through a tangle of trees and rotting trunks and leaves for a while, pressing on until she had walked more than long enough to come out near the church—if she had been heading the right way. But the woods were no thinner here. And everything had grown darker.
Emily stopped and closed her eyes, her pulse racing. “Lord, help me, please.”
Thunder rolled in the distance. And another steady sound, like radio static, filtered through the mix of rain and thunder.
Running water. A stream?
She strained to see through the trees, but it was too dark and the woods too thick to see anything. If I can find a stream, maybe it will lead to a house, to civilization.
A few times, while running or traveling to and from the farm, she’d crossed a wooden bridge spanning a large stream about a mile or so from the house. Maybe this was the same stream. It was hard to tell where the sound was coming from, but if she started moving, at least she might be able to tell if she was getting closer or farther away.
The dark slowed her pace even more. She stepped carefully over fallen tree trunks, feeling for tree roots beneath a boggy carpet of needles and rotting leaves.
What time was it? How long had she been gone? It must have been hours. Panic crept up her throat. Aunt Grace was probably awake by now, maybe even beginning to worry.
Worrying was something Grace wouldn’t have to do for long. If she stayed here in Scotland with Maggie, she’d have no reason to worry about Emily. Once Emily was back in the States, she’d be out of sight, out of mind.
But first, she had to find her way out of these woods.
She pressed on, listening for the sound of water as she worked her way through trees and over roots and downed limbs. After a while, the sound grew louder. A heavy downpour soaked her clothes, drawing heat from her body.
And she was wrong about August—she was cold.
Finally the trees thinned and the sound of rushing water grew louder. The ground sloped downward and a stream came into view. A few more steps brought her to a rocky edge of the water. If this was the same stream she’d seen before, it would lead to the bridge and the road back to the farm.
But which way? Emily wiped rain from her face with a wet sleeve, then looked upstream and down for a clue. Pretty much the same both ways.
Which way had the stream flowed at the bridge? She hadn’t paid close enough attention. Closing her eyes, she listened. Above the rush of water, the silence was deafening.
“God, which way?”
Maybe if you’d been listening to Him, you’d be able to hear Him now.
“I have been listening. Haven’t I?”
She’d been doing exactly what God wanted her to do. With all that had happened in the last few weeks, she’d dealt with making heartbreaking decisions. What God wanted from her was a no-brainer. She needed to do what was best for everyone, do everything in her power to make sure everyone was okay. This had been her role for longer than she could remember. She didn’t have to ask.
She was just a little stuck at the moment and needed some direction.
Emily wiped the rain from her eyes. Aunt Grace would be worried, maybe even distraught. Emily needed to get back—now. There was no telling what could happen to her poor aunt in that state.
In the stillness, her quickening pulse thudded in her ears, sending her heart pounding harder. What if she had a heart attack now? She closed her eyes, willing the panic to stay down. No. Not a heart attack. Not here. Not alone.
But she was alone.
Figure something out, Em.
Any sense of direction she had was useless here. If this stream flowed to that loch she’d visited with Claire, then the loch was probably downstream. Her best guess was that the farm was upstream from the loch.
“Upstream it is,” she whispered, words falling flat in the rain. “Lord, I hope I’m right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“She’s gone.” Maggie stood in the cottage doorway chewing her lip, empty-handed this time except for the old, scarred shovel handle she used as a walking stick.
Ian frowned. “Who’
s gone?”
She stomped her foot. “Och, are ye daft now too, laddie? The lass! The one that writes ye letters.”
A burst of adrenaline shot through Ian’s veins. Emily was gone? “What do you mean, ‘gone’?” His voice thundered louder than he’d intended. “Since when?” He pushed past Maggie and rushed to the drive, trying to ignore the uneasy tingle creeping up his spine.
“Grace woke wanting to see her, but she wasnae there,” Maggie said from behind him. “We looked everywhere. We waited and waited, but she’s still not come round.”
Ian sprinted to the middle of the drive, barely noticing the rain smacking his face.
The old truck was there, next to the house in the spot where Emily had parked it after church.
He spun round to Maggie, who had followed him and stood without flinching at the steady rain matting down her stiff, white hair, her hands clutched together in a knobby clump around the shovel handle. “She hasn’t gone far. The truck is still here.”
“I know the truck is here. I’m no gowk, Ian. I checked that first.”
Ian? Maggie hadn’t called him by name in some time. Something was definitely wrong. “How long has she been gone?” he called over his shoulder as he headed back inside for a raincoat.
Maggie followed. “I dinna know.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Maggie frowned. “Lunch.” She chewed her lip again, a quirk he hadn’t seen since Granddad Liam was alive.
Inside, Ian checked the clock: it was nearly seven. Where would she have gone for so long, and without telling anyone?
“Have you checked the—never mind. I’ll look.” He grabbed a rain slicker and pulled it on as he headed for the door. “Tell Aunt Grace I’ll find her and not to worry.” He turned and stared hard at the old woman. “Can you do that?”
Maggie nodded, face downcast.
“What is it, Maggie? Is there something else?”
“No,” the old woman said through pursed lips. “Just find the lass.”
In a few long, brisk strides, Ian reached the paddock at the back of the house, forcing down the rising quiver of fear. Empty. Where would Emily have gone? And why? She couldn’t have gone too far on foot, and yet she had been gone a very long time. It wasn’t like her to let Aunt Grace worry. Not like her at all.
The rain fell harder.
He checked all the outbuildings, scanned the hillside, then glanced at the house. How thoroughly had the old women searched the house? Maybe Emily had fallen asleep somewhere they didn’t think to look. He let himself in through the back door and checked the lower floor, but there was no sign of her.
What if—could she have left? Gone home?
Heart racing, he took the stairs two at a time. The door to his bedroom was open. He held his breath and went in. He stood in the middle and surveyed the room.
The bed was made. Her jacket hung on the back of the door. Her purse, her passport, and a few of her things were all laid out on top of the chest, along with the truck key, which he snatched up and stuffed in his pocket.
He yanked open the wardrobe. Her clothes hung there, soft and light-colored, resting against some of his. The faint scent of honeysuckle drifted out.
Honeysuckle. She must have gone to the glen.
In seconds, Ian was down the stairs and out the back door. Heavy rain pummeled his head and shoulders as he hiked up the braeside. She must have gone to the glen and got caught in the rain, perhaps decided to wait it out there. He hit the wooded trail at a run, ducking through sagging branches and dripping leaves, and kept on running until he reached the grove. Gasping to catch his breath, he scanned the silent wood. She wasn’t there.
“Emily!” His voice echoed in the thicket, mocking him.
Had she been here?
Still catching his breath, he stood in the center and looked round. Dripping leaves bounced under the heavy spattering of raindrops. The steady roar of rain grew, tightening the fist of panic clutching at his chest.
She had to be on foot. But where?
Drenched and dripping, he pushed his way back through the wet brush to the main trail, turned north, and hiked to the top of the hill. He scanned the meadow but couldn’t see anything in the mist.
He yelled her name, listened, yelled again. His voice fell flat, grounded by the rain.
Heart pounding, he sprinted down the hill and across the meadow. His eyes searched over the valley on both sides of the trail. It took several minutes, even at a full-out run, to reach the church.
“Emily!” He doubled over to catch his breath, hands on his knees. Then he stood and scanned the building and churchyard, listening. He peered inside the church, then circled the cemetery and the building, calling her name.
No answer.
Standing at the edge of the cemetery where he’d begun, he raked both hands through his dripping hair and took a long, hard look across the meadow. “Emily, where are you?” he whispered.
Silence.
Was she injured? Or had she—
Panic thundered in his chest and sent him running back to the farm as fast as he could.
Her fingers, toes, and lips were numb. So were her thighs.
Emily shivered inside her clothes, which were thoroughly soaked and chafing against her cold skin. She had no idea how far she’d gone upstream. In the hour or more she’d been walking, it felt like miles, but now it was fully dark. The shore was rocky and the going slow. Nothing looked familiar, and nothing had changed.
Stupid idea.
Kicking herself was a waste of energy. She needed to think. She’d thought about turning back a few times. But by then, long after dark, Grace would probably have gotten worried enough to send someone out looking—that someone most likely being Ian—and if he or anyone was looking for her, doubling back would make it harder for anyone to find her. The best thing to do would be to find shelter and wait.
Rain continued to beat down on Emily’s head and shoulders as she stumbled along the wet rocks. It was stupid to take off like that without letting them know. Stupid to let something a poor old, blind woman said get to her.
The sound of thunder grew closer and more frequent. It was too dark to see beyond the banks. She couldn’t tell if woods, hills, or meadows bordered the stream.
A sudden crack of thunder overhead made her jump. Lord, I’m tired and scared. Please help me out of this.
A burst of lightning illuminated a dark mass looming ahead, upstream.
Emily worked her way toward it, stepping into the stream and tripping over slippery rocks when there was no shore.
The mass took shape, arching high over the stream. A bridge.
The rain fell in a sudden, heavy smattering of hard, wet bullets. Emily kept moving until she reached the bridge. Not the little wooden bridge she’d hoped to find, but a massively tall, narrow stone bridge, towering about twenty-five feet above the water. Which meant a road nearby, hopefully. And shelter.
Emily waded through shallow water until she was under the bridge. It was solid stone, but the arch was high, nearly as tall as the bridge. Inside, she found a flat rock that rose above the water. She crouched on it and leaned back against the cold stone.
Thunder rolled and crackled overhead.
Fatigue swept over her like a flash flood. She rested her forehead and arms across her knees. Every part of her body felt numb. Except her mind, which now raced with the thoughts she’d held back in the need to find shelter.
It was bad enough that Aunt Grace could be worried into a state of distress, but the whole household would be in upheaval. They would have to send someone out to look for her. How bad would it be? Would they call authorities, disturb their neighbors?
How could she have been so stupid as to get herself lost? She should have known better. She should have known a lot of things. Like what a mistake it had been to come to Scotland. She should have found someone else to bring Aunt Grace here. She should have done whatever it took to avoid seeing Ian in perso
n. That was her biggest mistake.
Seeing him, talking to him, being near him—all a huge mistake.
And kissing him—colossal mistake. Didn’t she have enough to battle? Longing was a creature awakened that should have been left alone.
“I wish I’d never met him.” Angry tears welled up, but she choked them back. “I don’t know why You’re letting things happen this way, Lord. I don’t get it.” Frustration racked her body and she leaned back against the cold stone.
You’re angry.
“Don’t I have some right to be angry? I’ve lost everyone I care about. My mom, before I had a chance to really know her. My dad, when I needed him the most. I’ll lose the group home kids, and I’m losing Aunt Grace to Maggie.” She broke down sobbing and didn’t care. There was nobody around to hear it. “And don’t forget Ian. Did I ask You to bring him into my life? Did You do that so I could lose him, too?” Shivering, Emily lifted her soaked face. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. And as if that’s not enough, I’m losing my own life too. Why, God?”
Thunder rolled, drowning out her words.
Sprinting back to the farm, his feet kept time with the hammering in his chest. He burst into the house, gasping.
Maggie and Grace sat at the kitchen table—but no Emily.
“Did she come back?” He dripped puddles all over the kitchen floor.
“No.” Chewing on her lip, Maggie set her teacup down with a rattle and turned away.
Grace looked up. “Ian? Do ye know where Emmy is?”
Ian drew in a shaky breath. “I’m looking for her, Aunt Grace. I’m taking the truck now. Don’t worry, I’ll find her.” God, help me, I have to find her.
He took the large flashlight they kept in the kitchen from the shelf and rushed out the door, pulling the key from his pocket.
As he got the truck running, he phoned the Kirkhaven constable, told him where he’d looked and where he was going. Then he headed out, and once he turned onto the main road, he switched the headlights on high-beam and drove slowly, scanning the fields and hills on both sides of Craig’s Hill Road.