“I cleaned while you were—away, and I’m sure I didn’t get everything exactly right. At least it’s livable now,” Grace said.
Emily raised her face and looked at Grace for the first time in days. “Thank you, Ms. Kimball. I’m not sure how I feel about being here even with the house back in order.”
Grace poured the coffee, put the cups on the table, and found a sugar bowl and spoons in the cabinets. “Sorry we don’t have any cream or milk. I hadn’t gotten to groceries yet.”
“Will said Darlene would be over later today with some groceries and information about a bank account. I think I won’t want to go to the grocery store, at least not yet.”
“One day at a time. You have a lot of healing to do.”
“I’ll be able to talk to Conrad and Caitlin on the phone today.” Her face brightened at the thought of her children. “My mom and dad have been doing their homework with them, and the school sent books and assignments.”
“That’s wonderful. I think it’s good they’re in a place where they feel safe, and if they can talk to you on the phone, they won’t be so worried.”
Emily took a sip of coffee and stared out the window straight across from her chair. Finally, she said in a totally flat tone of voice, “I’m so tired, Ms. Kimball. I still can’t sleep, and when I do, I see terrible sights.”
Grace thought carefully about what she should say. “First, I think you should call me Grace. I know it may be hard at first, but it will get easier. Second, TJ gave me the bottle of sleeping pills the doctor prescribed for you. If it’s all right with you, I’ll stay here tonight, and if you wake up and are afraid, I’ll be here.”
Her former student looked straight into Grace’s eyes. “You’re keeping the pills so I don’t take the whole bottle?”
Startled by Emily’s frankness and newfound logic, Grace quietly said, “Yes.”
Emily moved her upper teeth softly over her lower lip and sighed. A single tear slid down her cheek, and she looked at Grace. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant and slow. “You don’t understand.” She paused. “I could never leave my children. I’ve spent my life taking care of them and protecting them.” She paused again. “You don’t have to worry.”
Grace smiled at Emily, rose from her chair, and came back to the table with the coffee pot, warming up each of their cups. It had been a long time since she’d had Emily Petersen in class as a high school student, but now she could see signs of the old Emily she knew. Relieved, she asked, “Any chance you’re beginning to remember what happened last weekend?”
“Yes . . . not everything. But bits and pieces come back. I’m to see a psychiatrist Mr. O’Malley got for me.” She took a deep breath, stirred more sugar into her coffee, and her shoulders slumped. “I tried for so long—so long to please him. I could never get anything right. I was so worried on Saturday before the dinner and poker game.” She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. “He drinks—he drank—too much, and then it was scary. I’m starting to remember feelings. It’s not pleasant,” Emily whispered, and then she put her head down on her hands on the table.
Grace reached across and touched one of Emily’s hands. “I know it will take time to remember and to begin to feel like—like your old self again. I’ll help you all I can, and I have friends who will be glad to help.”
Emily raised her head and said, “Are you sure you want to do that? Everyone in town will think I murdered Conrad. I’m not even sure myself if I did.”
“Since when did I care what everyone else thinks? Listen to me, Emily. People don’t change much. What they were in high school is pretty much who they are down the road. You never were, nor are you now, someone who could kill another human being. I know you, and I’m willing to bet on your innocence. We’ll get it figured out. I know we will.”
Just as Grace offered help, the kitchen door opened, and Darlene Folger came in juggling two large sacks. In the past, Grace had only seen her from a distance. She was tall and very slender, and her dark hair fell to her shoulders. She had the sort of aquiline nose that divided her face in perfect symmetry. Her actions were quick and focused, and Grace thought an air of self-sufficiency surrounded her like a firewall.
She set the sacks down on the kitchen counter nearest the refrigerator. Then she turned and said, “Hi, Emily.” Rather than wait for Emily to introduce them, Darlene said, “And you must be the high school teacher.”
Grace stood up and extended her hand. “Yes. I’m Grace Kimball. I was Emily’s English teacher.”
“Nice to meet you.” Then she gave Grace a dismissive look and turned back to Emily. “Emily, I brought you groceries and information about a debit account Will set up at the bank until we get things sorted out. See, here is the information.” She slid the card across the table, along with some papers Emily would need to sign.
“Thank you.” Emily’s voice cracked. “I’ve never had an account at a bank except for when I finished college and was working. Will you help me with this, Grace?”
“Sure,” Grace said, and nodded.
Darlene looked at Emily and said, “Now, will you be all right here tonight?”
“Yes,” answered Emily. “Ms.—Grace—is going to stay tonight, until I get my bearings.”
Darlene looked Grace up and down. “I see. Well, I’ve spoken to Will, and since you were—indisposed—we’ve planned Conrad’s funeral and luncheon for tomorrow. The funeral arrangements have all been made, and Jessalynn will fly in later today.” She turned to Grace. “Jessalynn is Will and Conrad’s sister.”
“Yes, I know,” said Grace.
“Burial will be in the family crypt at St. Rose’s, and Will and I will open our home for a light luncheon. I assume all of the bank board will be there, along with other notable people from town.”
“But Darlene,” said Emily. “Tomorrow? Doesn’t that seem—I mean—isn’t that a bit quick? How can I get my children and parents back here?”
Darlene sniffed. “The services will be in the afternoon. Your parents should be able to drive back. It’s only three hours, after all. Now, do you have something suitable to wear? If not, I can probably find you something.”
“Yes, Darlene. That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. One-thirty at St. Rose’s. The funeral home will send a limo for you and your parents and children.” She glanced across the kitchen at a blinking light on the counter. “Is that an answering machine for your phone?”
Emily looked in the same direction as Darlene. “Oh, yes.” She lowered her head and bit on her lower lip. “I didn’t want to deal with it yet.”
“Well, let’s check. Could be something important.” Darlene examined the knobs and LED screen and finally pushed some buttons.
“You have ten messages,” a disembodied voice said in an electronic drone. “First message,” and then a man’s angry voice came on the recorder and said, “You’ll get what’s coming to you, you bitch. May you rot in hell.” A pause followed and then, “Second message.” Again, a pause and then a woman’s voice snarled, “You aren’t so high and mighty now, are you, Ms. Folger? I can’t wait to see—”
Grace saw the stricken look on Emily’s face and crossed the room in two strides, pushing the “stop” button decisively. “I think that should do it for today, Darlene. Emily has enough to sort out without listening to such drivel.” Her voice was calm, but definite.
Darlene took a deep breath and walked toward Emily, grabbing her coat from the chair where she’d draped it. “Perhaps you’re right.” She said to Emily, “Might be a good idea not to answer your phone for a few days. You do have a cell phone, too, right?”
“I’m afraid the police confiscated it for evidence,” said Grace.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Poor Emily. You have so much to straighten out. If I have to reach you before the funeral tomorrow, I’ll have to use your house phone, I guess.”
“Yes.”
“See you tomorrow.” She glanced down at he
r fingernails and shook her head as if chiding herself. “I’ll have to get my nails done quickly. I can get them to squeeze me in.” Remembering where she was, Darlene said, “Don’t forget to set the alarm as soon as I’m out the door, Emily,” and with a flick of her scarf and a toss of two gloves into her right hand, she was out the door, and the kitchen was quiet once again.
Emily glanced at Grace’s surprised face. “She’s a force of nature, isn’t she?”
“I’ll say.” And a few other things too, thought Grace. “Let’s put these groceries away, I’ll stop at home and pick up some clothes, and come back and stay tonight. While I’m gone you can call your parents about the arrangements.” And I must remember to tell TJ about those phone messages. She saw Emily glance at the flickering light on the message machine. “And no, do not listen to those messages while I’m gone. That’s an order.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Grace glanced at her watch. Three o’clock. Conrad Folger’s funeral had been the usual litany of biblical verses, hymns, and recitations, and the minister had done a nice job of making the former bank president and abusive husband sound human. She studied Will and Darlene’s dining room, where people still milled around the assortment of catered food and the expensive and well-stocked bar: the board of directors from Conrad’s bank, the minister, some assorted church people, Rotary Club members, and a few people Grace remembered from the bank. But the crowd was starting to thin out.
Jeff and TJ walked over to Grace’s side. Jeff said, “Emily’s out in the kitchen saying good-bye to her parents and kids. They seem to be well-behaved children and very quiet. What a terrible thing for them to have to absorb. You wonder what they’ve seen and heard in that household.”
“I think her parents will take them back to Williamsburg. It’s better they have some stability while all this goes on. Also better for Emily to be away from this crowd while saying good-bye. Have you noticed how most people have avoided offering their condolences to the widow? News travels fast and so does judgment.” Then she remembered an idea her brain had been formulating. “Jeff, think we could talk to Will about setting up Internet service in Emily’s house, along with a laptop? That way she could do a video call with the children,” Grace said.
“Sure, I can handle it,” he answered, “but we might need to ask her if her parents have a computer.” He looked out toward the dining room at small groups of people who ate and spoke in quiet tones. Occasionally, they heard loud, uproarious laughter, especially from the group around Will Folger. “Somehow I don’t think The Depot is catering this luncheon,” Jeff remarked with a chuckle.
“Either that or they did cater it for free,” said TJ quietly. Jeff smiled.
TJ stared toward the dining room and said, “Darlene seems to be in her element. Maids hired to help with the catering and lots of opportunity to schmooze the bank directors. Of course, she doesn’t have to suck up very hard since they named Will interim president yesterday.”
“Really? I’m the newspaper editor, and I didn’t know about it. On the other hand,” said Jeff, “Will has been drinking rather steadily.”
“I think we can cut him some slack. After all, it’s his brother’s funeral,” TJ said. “No doubt he has a problem with alcohol, but I guess today, of all days, it’s understandable.”
At that moment Grace saw Emily walk toward them with Jessalynn Folger in tow. Suddenly, Jessalynn recognized Grace and headed straight over to her.
“Oh, Ms. Kimball. It’s so wonderful to see you again.” She held out her hand.
“It’s certainly been a long time. My condolences over your brother’s death.”
Jessalynn looked back over her shoulder at the crowd in the dining room. Then she turned back, a neutral look on her face. “Thank you. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t say this to anyone but you.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I actually came back to make sure he was, indeed, dead.” She turned to Emily. “I’m sorry if that shocks you or hurts your feelings, Emily. We didn’t know each other very well in high school, but I grew up in that household, and I can guess how difficult your life has been.”
Grace admired Jessalynn’s candor, as well as her expensive but conservative suit and pumps. She definitely looked like New York City; she wasn’t flashy, but her dark brown hair was caught up in a large clip at the back of her head, and her jewelry was sophisticated and expensive. Her body was obviously the work of many hours at a gym. Grace recalled that Emily and Jessalynn had been in the same class at Endurance High School, and she had taught them her first year.
Jessalynn held her hand out to TJ. “I don’t remember you from school, but someone pointed you out to me as the police detective. That’s quite a feat in conservative, little old Endurance.”
TJ shook her hand and smiled. “Thanks. It took some doing. I imagine you won’t be here long, but I’d love to hear about the house you grew up in. That is, I’d like to hear about the household. It might help me understand better what happened to your brother.”
“Are you sure you want to know? I’ve spent thousands of dollars in psychiatrist’s fees trying to forget it.”
Emily patted her shoulder and added quietly, “I don’t think you can say much that will shock me.”
“Maybe not. But I must leave tomorrow.”
“Oh,” said Emily, a mildly stricken look on her face at losing a sister-in-law so soon. She struggled to say something foreign to her. “Why—why don’t you”—she paused—“come over to our—my—house this evening? I’ve never had anyone come over to see me—well, except Grace—er, Ms. Kimball. Please, say you will,” Emily pleaded. “You come over too, TJ. Grace stayed with me last night and it helped my nightmares. And, Mr. Maitlin, you come too.”
Grace smiled at Emily’s decision, and she added, “This sounds like a great opportunity. You’re something of a puzzle to all of us, Jessalynn, kind of like the child who got away, as opposed to Will, who was the prodigal son. We could scrape up some food for dinner and light a fire in the fireplace. It will be good for Emily to have some people around.”
Jessalynn looked at each of their faces. Then, with a deep sigh, she answered, “All right. Maybe it’s time to blow away some of those cobwebs from the past. Perhaps it will help you, Emily, to know you have not been alone in the Folger family curse.”
That evening, after the dishes had been cleared away, they sat on various sofas and overstuffed chairs in the late Conrad Folger’s living room. The fire crackled in the fireplace, the chandelier’s soft light shone down on them, the temperature outside hovered in the low thirties, snow fell intermittently, and Grace distributed coffee.
Jessalynn was the first to speak. “This is always the way I imagined my brother Conrad would be living,” she said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Especially the chandelier.” She looked at Emily. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so small-minded. But it isn’t about you. It was about him.”
Emily looked down at her hands in her lap. Grace could feel a hush in the room, as if the house itself was waiting for a long-ago story that flowed forward in time into this room, into these lives. The fire crackled and sparked several times, and TJ, Grace, Jeff, and Emily waited for the storyteller to begin.
“I never thought I would ever come back to Endurance,” Jessalynn began. “I thought I could live my life in another place and ignore the existence of this little piece of real estate. For a while, that worked. But I guess those deep roots of your earlier life always come back. I spent a great many years trying to understand, and, frankly, forgive my parents for what they were. At least I could leave, which was more than my mother could do. Will left, too, but he was drawn back here out of necessity, and I can already see his life at the bottom of a bottle is an attempt to forget what is always there, always hovering at the back of both our memories.” She paused, leaned over the coffee table, and took a sip of her coffee. Then she dropped her shoes on the floor and sank back into the sofa cushions.
“Growing up in th
e household with my parents and two brothers was a living hell.” She paused for a moment and reconsidered. “I guess my mother loved me, but I’ll never know since she was afraid to be demonstrative. She certainly never told me she loved me. Will did care for me, as much as he could. Of the whole group, only Will understood and urged me to leave. By then he was already hopelessly shattered by our father’s choices, especially the choice to groom Conrad for the bank and throw the two of us away. If this was the last century, they would have drowned me like a puppy—the runt of the litter—unless my father sold dogs for a living, and then he’d have kept me as a breeder.”
Emily gasped at this description and blurted out, “I never knew. I always thought in high school you were so lucky to be born into that family with two brothers and an amazing future.”
Jessalynn laughed softly. “Ah, appearances. The Folger family has spin-proofing down to a science. Appearances are everything. Any time we went out, even as children, we had to look perfect. White-glove perfect. My mother lived in fear of her life if our father saw even a strand of hair out of place when we visited him at his bank.” At this she shook her head briefly and smiled, perhaps at a long-ago memory. “Sunday dinner at our house was always an epic adventure. After church—we never missed—we would return home, and each of us would have to give our father an account of our sins for the week. He’d go around the table. Then, each meal he’d pick one of us to bully. Usually it was Will because he fought back. Conrad let it roll off his back. I just looked down at my lap and kept quiet. For anything, the boys were whipped with his belt, a cruel belt with a large, silver buckle. But me, I was a girl. A metal hairbrush did the job on me.”
Grace suddenly realized she was holding her breath at this recitation. “Why? Why would he treat you all so terribly?”
“Good question, Ms. Kimball, and one I grappled with for many years. He was an abusive bully, just like our grandfather. I never knew my grandmother. She died before I was born, and it was probably a blessing. Our grandfather was strict and in charge. Because of that, our father grew up in a household where you didn’t speak unless you were spoken to. Our grandfather lived to old age, and I can still remember how frail he was, but how his eyes still held a staring, evil gleam. I think he’s the source of our father’s cruelty.
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