Dear Emily

by Fern Michaels

  “Okay, I can deal with that. Think about it like this. There you are, a svelte one hundred and fifteen pounds with a sleek new hairdo, fashionable makeup, a gorgeous outfit, and out of the woods comes Ivan the…hunk. He sweeps you up over his shoulder and takes you to his…his cave, where you make wild, passionate love. He ravages and plunders and you love it. You cry for more, more, and still more until he’s nothing but a quivering mass of jelly. You get up, rearrange your clothes, and look down, disdainfully, at this heap of quivering manhood and say…what will you say, Rosie?” Emily doubled over laughing.

  “See you around,” Rosie gurgled. “I’m in your hands, Emily. Do it.”

  “Okay, tomorrow we start. Let’s stop for lunch. I think we’ve come about four miles, maybe a little more. We deserve to rest.”

  Emily handed over a plastic-wrapped ham and cheese sandwich and a peach to Rosie, who said she wasn’t hungry. Emily ate hers hungrily and could have eaten Rosie’s too, but she didn’t. The juice from the peach dribbled down her chin, dropping to her T-shirt. “Oh, shit, now it’s going to stain my shirt. I’m such a slob.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Want some water?”

  “Yes, but what I’d really like is a couple of aspirin. Do you have any in the first aid kit?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to help, if it’s your stomach that hurts. Is it bad?”

  “It isn’t as bad, but it’s still there. It must be a pocket of gas and that’s the worst. I get it sometimes when I eat the wrong things. I think it’s from the three weenies I ate last night. Maybe it’s from those char-blackened, roasted potatoes with all that dripping butter.”

  “Best potatoes and weenies I’ve ever eaten,” Emily said happily.

  “Then how come you don’t have gas?” Rosie grumbled.

  “This is some conversation. I ate sauerkraut with my weenies. It makes you go. Did you go?”

  “No, I didn’t go. The aspirin is for a headache. Give me three.” Emily obediently shook out three aspirin from the bottle and handed them over to Rosie, who gulped them down with a swig of water from the bottle in Emily’s backpack.

  “We have to get moving. Our goal is to make it back to the retreat by dusk. Gilly promised to hold dinner for us if we were late. She made me swear not to tell the others. I put ten bucks in her personal poor box.”

  “Bribing a nun is shameful. And she let you do it?” Rosie asked.

  “Yep, and she smiled. Here, let me give you a hand,” Emily said, reaching down to grab Rosie’s arm. She staggered backward, regained her footing, but in doing so turned completely around. Huffing and puffing, Rosie took the lead, but veered to the right, leaving the trail. Emily followed, whacking at the brush with her arms.

  Emily looked at her watch two hours later when Rosie said, “I have to stop, Emily. My side is killing me. Let’s see if we can figure out where we are exactly. Where’s the map? I haven’t seen any markings for a long time now. The trail is clear, not like this path we’re on. Do you suppose we made a mistake and somehow got off?”

  “Don’t tell me that, Rosie,” Emily grimaced. “I don’t want to be lost. My God, there’s nothing around for miles and miles. If you even think we’re lost, let’s head back the way we came and go back to the retreat. We can do this another time. It’s almost two o’clock.” She handed over the water bottle. Rosie drank greedily and asked for more aspirin, while Emily rummaged in her pockets for the map. “I left it in my shorts,” she wailed.

  “Feel my head, Emily.”

  “Rosie, you’re hot! We’re going back! Now!”

  “Not till this pain in my side lets up. How hot do you think I am?”

  “Maybe 102. Did you have a fever when we started out?”

  “No. I just felt sluggish. I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think the pain in my side is gas either.”

  “Are you telling me…? Did you ever have your appendix out? Are you telling me you think you have appendicitis?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my ovaries because I had my GYN checkup before I came up here. What else is there but your appendix? My kidneys are okay. God, Emily, what if it bursts? I’ll try, but I don’t think I can make it back.”

  “Let’s take a few more minutes. I can help support you, but if it really is your appendix, maybe you shouldn’t even be walking. The fever is going to slow you down. I don’t want to leave you here and go on to try and find help. If we are lost, I could get even more lost on my own without the map. The sisters will know something’s wrong if we don’t make it back by dusk, but that’s six or seven hours from now. A lot can happen in that time. There’s no guarantee Gilly will even be aware that we aren’t back. Our suppers will be in the oven and she’ll be at Devotions. Maybe we won’t be missed till nine o’clock or even later. Tell me what to do, Rosie,” Emily said tightly.

  “Go back and…get help. I can’t make it, Emily, and even if I could, I’d just slow you down. Take the bandages from the first aid kit and tie strings on the bushes so the rangers can find their way here. Once you find the trail, you can jog the rest of the way. You’re in good shape.”

  “Oh, God, look at you, you’re drenched. I’ll leave you the water bottle and the backpack. What if it gets dark and you’re here alone?” Emily wailed.

  “I have your flashlight and my own. Go, Emily, please. I’ll be okay till you get back. It’s my fault. I went off the trail.”

  Emily’s heart fluttered in her chest. “Rosie, I can’t leave you here alone. What if some wild animal attacks you? I don’t know the first thing about tracking, finding my way back. I could get lost again. Maybe we could burn something and try and contain the fire so just the smoke rises. Surely someone will see it.”

  “Fires are out. They can spread. I’m not experienced in this camping business. Don’t even think about it. The pain is getting worse, Emily. Please go. I’ll be okay as long as I know you’re trying. You can do this, Emily. Just think about all the things you accomplished after your husband left you.”

  “God, Rosie, that was different. No one’s life was at stake then.”

  “You’re wrong, your life was at stake. Stop talking, Emily, and go. Please.”

  “All right, all right, but first let me make you comfortable. Rest your head on my backpack. The flashlights are beside you. If it rains, you have some pretty good foliage overhead. I’ll leave the water with you. Drink it, Rosie. Keep chewing these aspirin.” She slipped the bottle into the breast pocket of Rosie’s shirt. She leaned over to kiss her friend on the cheek. “Count the leaves on the trees, and when you’ve counted them all, start to count the pine needles. I’m going to be giving you a quiz when we get you out of here.”

  “Just go, Emily. I’m counting,” Rosie grimaced.

  Emily looked over her shoulder as she started off. Rosie’s eyes were closed, her face full of pain. I can do this. I know I can do this. I have to do this or something will happen to Rosie. I goddamn well will do this.

  Emily thought about bears and wolves and other creatures of the forest. Snakes. She looked around wildly for a big stick. Should she try to be quiet or should she make noise? She had no idea. Walk. Stay alert. Don’t lose the stick. She waved it threateningly for her own benefit.

  She walked for hours, following the beaten back bushes they’d attacked earlier. She hoped and prayed she would recognize the place where they’d stopped for lunch. She looked at her watch. She’d been alone for two hours, which meant she should be coming to their luncheon spot any minute now.

  Sweat dripped down her face, down her neck, soaking the T-shirt. The heavy twill of her pants was chafing her thighs. She looked around, her eyes wild, when she felt a gust of wind as it whistled through the dense trees. What the hell did that mean? A temperature drop? The dimness of the forest pressed around her. Alarming her. She still hadn’t found their picnic spot. Had they struggled uphill or had they gone downhill? She couldn’t remember. All she could think about was Rosie and the place where s
he’d left her. She ripped off another piece of the sterile gauze and tied it to a thorny bush. She felt her heart ripple in her chest when she unrolled the rest of the roll. There wasn’t much left.

  Emily stopped, hoping to see something that looked familiar, something to indicate they’d come this way before. The trail was steep, slick with the resin from the pine needles. Twice she slipped, going down on her knees, but righting herself immediately. She tried to run, but her lungs wouldn’t permit it. She should be going downhill, not uphill. She stopped, her ears buzzing. She was aware now that there was no sun. Earlier she’d noticed the lacy pattern ahead of her. It was darker now too. “Oh shit!” she muttered for the hundredth time.

  For the first time Emily smelled her own fear. Her eyes started to burn with the salty sweat dripping into them. She was lost and she knew it. “You shouldn’t have trusted me, Rosie,” Emily wailed.

  Suddenly Ian’s voice rang in her ears. “Bitch, Emily, you do that best. And when you’re done bitching, cry and whine. No one does it better.”

  “Shut up, Ian. You’re dead. Ashes in the desert. You can’t talk to me anymore and you can’t tell me what to do either. I’d like to see you find your way in these woods. I can do this, you wait and see, you son of a bitch! I’m not really hearing you. You’re just a figment of my imagination,” Emily snarled.

  Which direction should she be going—west, east, north, or south? She had no idea. Where was the sun going to set? It was impossible to tell with the way the clouds were streaking across the sky. The canopy overhead was so dense, so chilling, she felt bile rise in her throat. She lashed out with the stick, closed her eyes, and moved to the left only because it felt right to do so. She slipped then, the sturdy mountain boots going out from under her. She was on her back, sliding over rocks, brush and the sticky, oozing pine needles. She felt something graze her cheek and then she felt the pain and wetness.

  The wind knocked out of her, Emily didn’t move. A trembling hand reached up to touch her face. Blood. She pulled up her shirt to wipe at it. Head and face wounds bled profusely and didn’t necessarily mean a serious injury. She stared overhead at the patch of grayness directly in her line of vision. Any fool would know it was going to rain and rain soon. The cooling breeze she’d felt before was stronger now. Definitely wind.

  Emily got to her knees, shook her head to clear it, and started off again. She thought she was going the same way, but at a lower level, one that wasn’t so dense with under-growth. She was still on high ground, but her breathing was easier. She tied a piece of bandage onto a bush, winced at the sight of her own blood.

  She struggled on, glancing at her watch every few minutes. It was a quarter to five. She still had hours of daylight if a storm didn’t come up. Winded, she leaned against a tree and bellowed at the top of her lungs. She called for help over and over until she was hoarse and then she started off again. “I can do this. I have to do this. You can do whatever you set out to do if you have the will.” Well, by God, she had the will. It was nature and the forest that were not cooperating. She plowed on, wiping at the oozing blood on her cheek with the back of her hand.

  She thought about the inspiration hour that she and Rosie had attended the week before. It had started out seriously and ended on a silly note, but she’d walked away with a wonderful feeling. Part of it was Sister Cookie and her dry sense of humor. Basically it was a list of things to do, suggestions that were an inspiration guide.

  Now, if she could just remember some of those things, it might help. She plunged ahead, her head reeling dizzily. It was darker, the trees and shrubbery more dense. Soon it was going to be totally black within the forest. Open a book, to any page, choose a paragraph, and let it be your inspiration. Sure, sure, what if it’s one of those romance novels full of sex and mayhem? Emily muttered as she whacked at the dense growth along the trail. Don’t for one minute think or even tolerate negative thinking. Don’t listen to people with negative tongues. Easier said than done. You take me now, Sister Cookie, just what the hell is positive about the situation I’m in right now? Don’t lose your sense of humor. If you temporarily misplace it, find it. It takes more muscles to frown than it does to laugh. Laugh often. Ha, ha, Emily snorted.

  Emily stopped, took a deep breath. She was exhausted, winded. She leaned back against a tree, her legs spread, her hands on her knees. She took deep breaths. She swore then that she heard Ian’s voice soughing through the treetops. It was unmistakable. She should know, she’d listened to it for years and years.

  “You screwed up, Emily. Now you’re copping out. You never think, you just plunge ahead. For once in your life take charge.”

  “Shut up, Ian, you’re dead. You aren’t even buried so you can’t rise from the dead. You’re spread all over the Mojave Desert with those stupid tulips. I’m here and I’m doing the best I can. It’s black as pitch. I can’t see. I think I might have a concussion and Rosie is depending on me to get help. Don’t talk to me, Ian. I refuse to listen to a dead person. Get the hell away from me.”

  Let your mind and spirit be open to receiving a miracle. Here I am, Lord, you can send one this way any minute now. No, no, don’t direct it at me, send it to Rosie. You’re full of it, Sister Cookie. I liked the one where you said it was a wise man or woman who knows when to retreat. That one was made for me. A close second was when you said we should all be on the lookout for His Messengers. God, I can’t even see. What if He’s here and misses me? bullshit!

  Suddenly she was on the ground, rolling, rolling, rolling, until she slammed against an outcropping of boulders at the base of a tree. She wanted to scream her agony, but the pain in her shoulder was so bad all she could do was bite down on her lip, rock her body in misery. She felt a rush of warmth on her arm. Was it ripped open?

  It was lighter here with a break in the overhead canopy of pines. By squinting she could just barely make out the hands on her watch. And stuck into the outcropping of rocks was a wooden arrow with the words APPALACHIAN TRAIL. Five o’clock. Was she going toward the Black Mountain Retreat or toward Maine? Providing she could even get up. She rolled on to her left side, waited a moment until the pain eased, and then struggled to one knee. Pain rocked her body, spears of pain shooting up and down her arm. Broken shoulder, collarbone, arm? Probably all three. She was on her feet now, her face contorted with the effort.

  “Goddamnit, Emily, move!” Was it Ian’s voice that shouted encouragement? Impossible. Ian was dead, gone forever. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re going the wrong way. I always said you were stupid. Turn around and go the other way. Do it, Emily.”

  “Shut up, Ian. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

  “I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

  Was it really her ex-husband talking? Was she delirious, hallucinating? From long years of habit she turned around, each step agony.

  “If I’m really talking to you, Ian, what are my chances of getting help for Rosie? How far am I from the retreat?”

  She was on the ground again, her body one massive raw nerve ending. She knew she was going to black out. “You pushed me, you son of a bitch!”

  “That’s it, Emily, get mad. Real mad. Get on your feet and move!”

  “Help me, Ian. Please. If you hate me so much, then help me to get help for Rosie. Rosie never did anything to you. Please. I can’t do this. I cannot take another step. I have to lie down. Sooner or later someone will find us. Leave me alone, Ian. My arm and shoulder are broken. You’re a doctor, you know how painful that is. You went to bed when you got a pimple.”

  “Quitter! You’re going to let your friend die because you’re too damn lazy to pick up your feet. I gave you an order, Emily, and you damn well better obey me. You just sprained your arm and shoulder. Nothing’s broken. You only have a gash on your arm. Trust me.”

  “I’m not a quitter and I’m not lazy. Another thing, you bastard, when I get back, I’m turning you in for practicing medicine when you’re dead. So there!�
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  She was moving. She must be crazy for talking to a dead person. On the other hand, maybe talking to a dead person was what Sister Cookie meant when she said she should be ready to receive one of His Messengers.

  Ian a Messenger of God? It was too ludicrous for words. Wasn’t it?

  What time was it? How much time had gone by since she fell? Talking to a Messenger of God, even if it was Ian, took time. Five-thirty, six? Probably five forty-five.

  “Keep moving, Emily.” His voice was gentle this time, prodding her on. Maybe he really cared if she made it. For Rosie’s sake, of course. I can do this. I have to do this. I will do this.

  At the Black Mountain Retreat, Sister Cookie looked at the clock. Goodness, time had gotten away from her. She looked around, checked the ovens, slid the trays of scrubbed potatoes into the one that was free. The rump roasts were baking to perfection. The salad was all ready, the tables set, the vegetables ready to be steamed. The home-baked rolls were in the warming oven, the peach cobbler cooling on a long table on the back porch.

  A tray with pitchers of ice tea and glasses waited for her to carry out to the back porch, the one place, besides their bedrooms, that was off limits to their guests. Here in this private, secluded place that was all theirs, they congregated to smoke a forbidden cigarette and drink their ice tea. Once a month they confessed their vice and then forgot about it until the following month.

  None of the nuns really knew where the cigarettes came from—the fresh packs anyway. The ones left on the tables after meals were placed in a shoe box in the kitchen waiting to be claimed. Usually they waited three days before they smoked them. “Finders, keepers,” Phillie chortled as she fired up. The fresh packs appeared as if by magic, usually every other day. Most times they were left on the steps of the back porch, where they sat during their morning and afternoon break. The sisters were divided on their opinions as to who left the awful things. Gilly, Cookie, and Tiny thought it was Matt. Phillie, Gussie, and Millie thought it was Ivan.