Spring came reluctantly that year, but finally it arrived. Each day seemed a little warmer than the last. The boys spent more and more time outside with their friends and Emily was pleased to find that they made friends readily and to see how many friends they had. They had settled into the neighborhood as though they had always lived there. Pete bought some lumber and with the help of the boys, repaired Mark’s old tree house. From then on it seemed that there was always a troop of boys in the back yard. “Does this ever bring back memories. I thought I’d never get grass to grow back there by the time you and your brother got through with that yard,” Pete’s smile assured her that he wasn’t in the least upset by the steady flow of small feet trampling his grass.
Emily smiled and gave her father a quick hug. It was so obvious to everyone that having a family in the house again had been very good for him. His eyes held a sparkle that had been missing for a long time and there was a lightness in his walk that made him appear years younger than he had seemed before they arrived. As the house filled with joy and laughter, the years seemed to melt away from his face. Helen had been coming for Sunday dinner for a long time and the habit continued. She had worried a lot about Pete as she watched him grow old before her eyes during Angie’s illness and now she was grateful that he had this new lease on life and her infectious laugh when she was there added to the happiness of the house. The two women spent many enjoyable hours together chatting and Emily discovered that she had a true friend in this chubby little woman. Helen gently coaxed her to get out of the house and make friends but so far, other than church, Emily seemed content to remain at home with her family and didn’t have a need for anyone else in her life.
One Sunday evening after a roast beef dinner followed by Emily’s first attempt at chocolate éclairs, she showed her finished quilt to Helen, "This is what I’ve been spending my time on this winter. I found all this fabric in the basement and couldn’t see it going to waste so I tried making a quilt."
"This is beautiful. I had no idea that you knew how to quilt."
"I wasn't sure that I could do it when I started. Mom had the quilting frame in the basement and Dad helped me set it up. I remember when I was a little girl helping Mom quilt in the family room and I guess I hadn’t forgotten. It was nice to have time to just think of Mom. Somehow I felt closer to her when I was stitching on this."
Helen turned the quilt over and examined the stitches evenly laid out on the fabric. "This is really wonderful, dear. I'm impressed."
“I enjoyed doing this one so much that I started another. It is a different pattern. Would you like to see it?”
“I certainly would.”
Helen recognized the quality of the work she was seeing and inspected the quilt carefully. “You know, I do remember your mother teaching you to quilt when you were just a wee girl. She would surely be proud of your work on this. You’ve done a really good job on it.”
Tears clouded Emily’s eyes as she thought of her mother’s patience teaching her to take the tiny stitches. “I know it takes longer to make your stitches small,” she had said, “but the pleasure you will get from knowing you did it right will make up for the hard work you are doing now.” She had done her best and her tiny stitches had brought praise from her mother. “This is so good, sweetie. Don’t ever think that this is just an old quilt - it’s a masterpiece that we have created with a eye for color and a steady hand for stitching.”
“Do you know,” Emily mused, “I think it would make her happy to see me doing this and using her quilting frame. She loved quilting. She would put some music on to play and stitch by the hour. She said it brought her a wonderful sense of peace. Now I understand what she was talking about.”
A couple of days later, an excited Helen phoned, "What do you plan to do with that quilt you made?"
Emily, who had been washing the lunch dishes when the phone interrupted her, wiped her wet hands on her apron and answered, "I haven't really given it a lot of thought. I guess I'll just put it on one of the beds next fall."
"Can I have it to show to a friend of mine? I had an idea and I'd like to check it out."
"Sure, I suppose. What's your idea?"
"Hand-made quilts are worth a lot of money, you know. My friend has a little shop where she sells hand-made items and she's interested in looking at your quilt. If she likes it, she’ll sell it and any more that you make, if you are interested. She could probably sell as many as you can make."
"Oh, gosh, I can't imagine that anyone would pay much for my quilt."
"I think they will, dear. But if I’m wrong and my friend won’t pay enough, then you can just forget about it - nothing lost. All right?"
"All right."
What a wonderful surprise it was to Emily when Helen called with exciting news just a couple of hours after picking up the quilt. "Em, she loved your quilt. She wants to meet you to talk money. Can you come down here?"
"Are you serious?"
"Very serious. I'm at the store right now. Can you come down here this afternoon?"
"Yes, I guess. Where is it?"
"It's on the corner of Yorkdale and Yonge, called Kristie's Krafts."
"I'll be there in about an hour."
Pete agreed to watch Danny, which left Emily free to go downtown to meet with Kristie. He called a taxi while she slipped into a gray wool pantsuit and bright, red pullover. She had applied some lipstick and was putting on her gold hoop earrings when the taxi arrived.
“Wish me luck.”
A short drive brought her to the craft shop where, within minutes, a deal had been made. Kristie would buy Emily's quilts for $350.00 each, and providing they sold as well as she expected, would take as many more of the same quality as Emily could provide. They shook hands solemnly to seal their agreement and Emily left for home thrilled at the prospect of being able to earn money to support her children while remaining at home with Danny.
Alberta and her life with Eric seemed very distant. In all the months she had been in Toronto, she had heard nothing from him, and she had begun to become complacent. Perhaps all her worry had been for nothing and he would leave them alone after all. The boys didn’t seem to miss him, and her nightmares were happening less and less often. This deal for her quilts was the icing on the cake. Life indeed was good.
To celebrate her newfound prosperity, Emily decided that a celebration was in order and for dinner ordered Chinese food, complete with chopsticks. The house rocked with laughter as the family tried mostly without success to get the food from plate to mouth. After a while, when no one had managed to get anything to eat, they gave up and resorted to forks. The dinner was a huge success and they ceremoniously opened the fortune cookies amid the clutter of dirty dishes and take out containers. Danny had enjoyed the meal immensely, the proof being the amount of rice that he had scattered on the table and floor all around his chair. Kyle surveyed the mess and in a small voice remarked, “We sure made a mess. Dad would be some mad. He’d yell at us for sure.”
“I know, sweetheart,” his mother answered, “but we don’t have to worry about your father anymore. We can make as much mess as we want and he can’t yell at us. He’s not going to hurt any of us again.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
As she got up to begin clearing the table, she said a short prayer. “Dear God, keep him away from us, please.”
Chapter 19
Eric had been busy. He had avenged himself on Gary and Jeanie and acted properly shocked when the police had come to talk to him, as he knew they would, for it was obvious that his name would come up in connection to what had happened next door. But, as he also knew, there was no evidence - he had been very careful. It had paid off to wait until the time was right and not to act rashly. There was nothing to connect him to any of the goings-on at his neighbors. He had heard rumors that they were going to sell, but so far they hadn’t, at least he hadn’t seen any ‘For Sale’ signs on the property and he was watching.
“Fine, thanks. How have you been?" She smiled broadly and her eyes glittered in anticipation of finding out if any of the rumors about Eric were true, "We haven’t seen you or your family in weeks.”
“I’ve been fine.” He smiled, knowing that she was fishing for information and determined not to provide any. “How is the pastor?”
“Why, he’s fine.”
“That’s good. I was quite concerned when I heard.”
“Heard...”
“Well, I’m sure there’s no truth in it, but it must have been upsetting.”
Alarm leapt into her eyes and it was only with some effort that he stifled the chuckle that threatened to erupt at the way this was playing into his hand. She stammered slightly, “I - I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Oh, I thought everyone would have heard by now. Sorry. I guess I should have kept my mouth shut. Anyway, there’s no truth to the story, so just forget I even mentioned it.”
“If there is something I should know...”
“No, nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Mr. Thompson...”
“Really, it’s nothing. I tried to tell them both that they were mistaken, although I’m not sure that they believed me. I’ve known Pastor York for some time now and one thing I’m sure about is that he is as honest as the day is long. I told them that they had better not accuse him of mismanaging donations to me, for I absolutely refuse to entertain that thought for even one minute. I don’t care what evidence they think they have, I know he wouldn’t do something like that.” With satisfaction, he watched her mouth drop open and the color drain from her face. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. My frozen food won’t be frozen long if I stay here and visit all day. Have a nice day, Mrs. Wright.”
Eric couldn’t stop the broad smile that creased his face as he walked away from the speechless woman. “I’ve never seen her at a loss for words before.” he chuckled, “Bet she makes up for it later and finds lots to say before the day is over. She will have this spread to at least half the congregation before bedtime and I'll bet the story grows each time she tells it. It wouldn’t surprise me if she demands his resignation before she’s done.” Fortunately for Jan, he had no idea that his family had spent the night with her prior to their flight to Ontario, so her name never made it to his 'get even list'.
“Now,” he decided as he stowed his groceries in the back of the car and slid in behind the wheel, “there is only one other score to settle before I can turn my full attention to Emily - her interfering parents. Her father’s done more than anyone to convince her to leave me. I don’t know how he found her but how doesn’t really matter. He got to her and now he’s going to pay. I won’t rest until that score is settled.” He had spent a lot of time coming up with the best way to get them and could think of nothing safer or more sure to do the job than a few sticks of dynamite placed at the right spot at the back of the house where he could get to it through the back alley. Using the alley meant that he should be able to get away undetected after setting the charge, and he certainly had no intention of getting caught. No way would he go to jail for them. He was sure that once they were dealt with, he would feel as though he had some control over his life. Once her parents were out of the picture, and an explosion at their house should keep them busy enough with their own problems to keep them out of his business, then all he would need to do would be to get Emily and take her and the boys back home where they could get back to a normal life.
He had worked out a plan very carefully that he knew would require a great deal of patience but he couldn’t imagine anyone who could be more patient than him, especially when the end result would mean having his wife back where she belonged. “I’m not going to rush anything,” he decided, “I’ll just let things happen in their own time. I only need to be in the right place at the right time and be ready when the opportunity opens up.”
He began to put his plan into action by going to a bar that he knew was frequented by pipeline workers, who worked out of a supply yard that was just outside Edmonton. It took a couple of nights sitting there nursing beers before he met a couple of men who might be able to supply him with the information he needed. Had he been a pool player, he would have had an easier time fitting in but Eric had never spent much time in bars and had never been to a pool hall so his knowledge of the game was almost non-existent.
It came as a bit of a surprise to him that the men who drank there were so friendly and so easily accepted him, for it took only a few nights and a bit of friendly banter before he noticed a slight change in attitude. People were welcoming him when he came in and stopping to chat with him. It seemed that in just a matter of days he had been accepted as one of the regular crowd at Smitty’s Tavern. He had a real ability to put on whatever face he felt was appropriate for the people he was with at any time and although he appeared genuinely friendly and relaxed, in actual fact, he worked hard at blending in and becoming one of the group. He laughed at their jokes and listened to their complaints about their women and their jobs. He seemed not to be overly interested in discussions about their workdays but was actually listening carefully as they talked among themselves and in time he began to get a mental picture of what was in the company’s yard and storage area. Finally, one night about three weeks after he had begun going to the bar, he heard what he had been listening for - the location of the storage shed on the lot where they stored the pipeline’s supply of dynamite.
He made a few trips past the construction site, checking out the area and making sure that he could find the shed that contained the dynamite. He finally spotted a locked shed about 70 yards from the main gate that he was sure held what he so desperately wanted. Now he had only to bide his time waiting for the right opportunity to get closer and make certain that he had the right shed. Another two weeks went by before the opportunity he had been waiting for presented itself.
Eric was sitting at a table in Smitty’s with a group of four pipeline workers enjoying a normal night of friendly banter, boasting and boozing, when Dave Cummings looked at his watch and announced, “Well, this old boy is heading for home. Six o’clock seems to be coming earlier all the time.” There was a general agreement that it was time to drink up and head out, except for one man, Wayne Prichett, who had been watching a couple of girls at the pool table for most of the evening and wasn’t about to give up yet on the idea of getting a name and phone number before the evening was over. “You guys go ahead,” he suggested, “I’ll grab a taxi.”
“You sure?” Dave, who had the wheels tonight, wanted to know.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
The others left and Wayne took his beer and wandered over to where the two girls were standing and began to chat with them. Eric waited to see what would happen aware that this might be just the opportunity that he had been waiting for all this time. Within ten minutes, it became painfully clear that Wayne was not going to have much success with the two girls tonight. To his credit, he didn’t give up easily, but it was to no avail. The girls were simply not interested and finally even Wayne knew that it was hopeless. He carried his near empty beer back to the table and sat visiting with Eric while he finished it and ordered another. When he reached the bottom of that bottle he pushed back his chair, “Well, I guess I’m heading home.”
“Yeah, me too.” Eric got to his feet and added. “How are you getting home?”
“Cab.”
“Want a ride. I’m leaving anyway.”
“Aw, I don’t want to put you out any.”
“No trouble. I expect you’d do the same for me.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Think I’ll hit the can before I head out.” Eric headed toward the men’s room.
“Good idea.” Wayne ambled along behind him.
Eric hurried and before Wayne exited the washroom door, he was back at the table and had pocketed Wayne’s cigarettes and lighter and was reaching for his coat. He was just shrugging it on as Wayne reached the table and picked up his coat. Eric tossed a handful of change on the table and said, “All right, let’s go.”
Next morning he began to put Step 2 of his plan into action. He got up early and drove down to the pipeline supply yard where he headed for the shed that he had surmised contained the dynamite. Trucks were loading up for the day and as he had hoped the shed door was ajar. He was able to get a good look inside and confirm that this was the explosives storage shed. In minutes one of the workmen noticed that he was a strange face in the yard and stopped him. “Can I help you with something?”
“I’m not sure. I’m looking for Wayne Pritchett. Is he around here somewhere?”
“I think he’s over there.” He pointed in the direction of a truck that was being loaded across the yard.
“Thanks, buddy.” He soon located Wayne and gave him the cigarettes and lighter with the explanation that he had found them in his car that morning. They chatted for a few minutes and then Wayne returned to work and Eric to his car. It might not seem like much but it had been a very successful morning. He had the information he needed and now once again he just needed to bide his time for a while until his visit was forgotten and then he could go back, this time in the dead of night and get a few sticks of dynamite - enough to pull a certain house down around the ears of some people who really deserved it.
He waited just over a week and finally the perfect night presented itself. It was cloudy and the moon was all but hidden, when Eric cut through the chain securing the front gate and approached the shed, crowbar in hand. In no more than a minute, the lock was broken, and Eric was inside the building. He pulled the door shut behind him and with the aid of his flashlight, located the boxes of dynamite. He had planned to take only two or three sticks but when it appeared to be so easy, he stuffed his pockets full of all that he could carry, took a roll of fuse, shut off his light and hurried back to his car. There he removed his gloves and with a satisfied smile, drove home.
Leaving Sharpstone Page 15