The questions teased Allison like a well-tuned mystery novel. She longed to reach the end of the story, but it was also fun to discover the clues along the way.
Allison’s first memories of Aunt Emma were here in the mountains. Allison would have been five, maybe six at most. Seen through a child’s eyes, the log house had seemed about three times the size it really was. And her aunt had seemed very old even then. She would have been sixty-two or sixty-three. To a little girl, that was ancient.
Aunt Emma had baked chocolate-chip cookies whenever Allison came to visit. That yummy scent had greeted Allison at the door every time. No wonder she’d loved to go visit Aunt Emma!
It made Allison sad to know her aunt’s life hadn’t always been good, that Emma hadn’t been perfectly happy. But whose life was always good? What person on earth got to be happy each and every moment?
Whatever had happened to Aunt Emma, whatever the reason she had for taking back her maiden name and keeping her marriage a secret from later generations, she had made a good life for herself in her log house outside of Kings Meadow. The woman Allison knew had been content, wise, independent, adventurous. Everyone who’d known her had loved and respected her.
It gave Allison hope for her own future. Whatever her past had been, she could decide what her future would be. Choices she made today would determine her tomorrows. Knowing that made her feel stronger than ever before.
The sun was nearly touching the mountaintops in the west by the time Allison and Gizmo left the path along the river and climbed the incline toward the highway. They weren’t quite to the top when Allison saw a black pickup truck—the same kind as about twenty others in the area—turn off the road into her driveway.
“Come on, Gizmo. We’ve got company.”
They quickened their pace.
By the time the house came into view, the driver was out of the truck and up on the deck. She didn’t have to get closer to know who it was. Chet Leonard.
“I think he likes you.” The memory of her mom’s comment made her suddenly nervous.
Chet turned away from the door, started toward the steps, saw her, stopped, and waved.
She waved back.
“Hey, stranger,” he called to her, grinning. “How was your vacation? Susan says you had a great time in Seattle.”
“I did, but it’s good to be home.” She climbed the steps to the deck. “What brings you out here?”
He removed his Stetson and bent down to greet Gizmo with a few strokes on the head. As he straightened, he answered, “It’s time I got my business online and quit relying on the newspapers to sell my horses. I hear tell you’re the person I need to see about it.”
“I’d be glad to help you, Chet.” See, Mom. It’s just business. “Come on inside.” She unlocked the door. “Would you like some iced tea? I need something to drink after my walk.”
“Sure.”
“Lemon?”
“Please.”
She took the pitcher from the refrigerator, filled two large glasses with tea, and added lemon wedges to the rims. As she handed a glass to Chet, she said, “There’s sugar and sweetener packets on the table.”
He squeezed the juice from the lemon into the tea. “This should be fine.” He took a sip. “Hits the spot.”
“Come on out to the living room. We’ll talk about what you want. Just give me a sec while I grab a few things from my office.” She went into the bedroom and picked up her laptop, a spiral notebook, and a pen.
By the time Allison got to the living room, Chet had settled in one of the matching chairs near the window. Allison had bought the set earlier in the year. The chairs were mauve in color and smallish, made for a woman’s more delicate frame. Chet Leonard was anything but delicate, and he seemed to dwarf the furniture. She nearly laughed aloud at the sight.
As if reading her mind, he stood. “Maybe the sofa would be better . . . so I can see your laptop if you want to show me something.”
“I think so.”
Her mother’s voice seemed to whisper in her ear a second time: “I think he likes you.”
Silently, Allison answered, Be quiet. Go away.
But her mother never had been one to let go of anything related to love and romance—or the possibility of same—not even in her daughter’s imagination.
More than an hour later Allison and Chet rose from the sofa.
“Thanks for giving me so much of your time.” He picked up his Stetson and held it in his right hand. “It’s pretty obvious I’m still living in the dark ages.”
Allison laughed. “Not quite that bad.”
“You’re being kind.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Don’t think you’ll insult me if you speak the truth. My boys have a way of letting me know how far I am behind the times.”
They walked toward the door and stepped outside onto the deck. Dusk had settled over the forest and the air had cooled.
Chet stopped at the top of the stairs and set his hat on his head. “If I had my druthers, we’d all be riding horses, corresponding with pen and paper, and having face-to-face conversations over supper.”
“You’d want to give up that fancy four-wheel drive pickup of yours?”
“Well . . . maybe not my pickup.” He grinned and winked.
The wink made her stomach feel funny.
Chet started down the steps. “See you in church,” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes. See you there.”
He strode to the truck, opened the door, then stopped and turned around. “Hey, would you like to come out to the ranch tomorrow after church? You could have lunch with me and the boys, and we could show you around the place. Might help you get a feel for what we do.”
There was that funny feeling in her stomach again.
“Maybe Susan and Ned could come too,” he added.
No reason to feel funny. It wasn’t like he was asking her on a date. “Sounds like a good idea. Mind if Gizmo tags along?”
“Nope. He’ll be welcome too.”
Allison remained on the deck, her dog sitting by her right leg, and watched as Chet got in his truck, started the engine, turned the pickup around, and drove away.
Allison
The next afternoon Allison leaned against the top rail of a wooden fence and stared across the rolling pastureland of the Leonard ranch. To the north, rugged mountains formed a gorgeous backdrop. Horses—dozens of them—grazed or slept in fields of green. In a paddock off to her right, a palomino rolled on his back, stirring up a dust cloud. The air smelled of newly mown lawn and hay.
This was why people wanted the life of a cowboy. Or at least to live in close proximity to cowboys.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Chet stepped up beside her.
“Beautiful.” She turned and leaned her back against the fence, her gaze moving to the barn and the two-story house beyond.
Chet’s two boys were throwing a Frisbee for Gizmo in the fenced backyard while Ned and Susan Lyle observed them from the covered patio.
Last summer, when Marsha was still here and Rick was still living, the Leonards had invited Allison to come out to the ranch on a couple of different occasions. For one reason or another, she hadn’t been able to accept. Now she regretted it. There was something restful about this place.
“My great-granddad ran cattle on our land in the early part of the last century,” he said. “It was my grandpa who made the move to raising quarter horses.” He motioned with his head toward the paddocks behind the barn. “Some great performance horses have come out of this place. Lots of champions. Cutting. Barrels. You name it. Likely one of ours has done it.”
“Do you rodeo?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. Did when I was younger. Before the kids came. But all that traveling around wasn’t what I wanted for my family. I wanted to be a hands-on kind of dad. Be here when they took their first steps and all the firsts that followed.”
“Too bad there aren’t more fathers l
ike you.”
“What about your ex-husband? Was he a good dad?”
She was surprised by the question.
“Sorry. Too personal? I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No. It’s all right. But it isn’t easy to answer. It’s complicated.”
“Life’s complicated.” Chet turned his gaze toward the mountains.
“Tony was a good dad, most of the time. He loved our daughter. But sometimes . . .” She let her voice trail away.
“Marsha was a good mom to our boys. I guess we had our troubles like any married couple, but we always worked through them. But after Rick died . . . Well, I guess there were more cracks in the foundation of our marriage than I knew. Never would’ve dreamed she’d take off the way she did. Leave our sons. Get a divorce. Cut herself off completely from her past and everyone she knows and loves.”
Softly, Allison said, “Our situation wasn’t quite the same, but Tony walked out too. It’s a unique kind of hurt, being abandoned by the one you love.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No reason you would have.”
“How long was it before you stopped feeling like your lungs were being crushed?”
She figured that was a rhetorical question. And even if not, she wasn’t sure she could answer it. So she simply laid a hand on his upper arm.
Emma
1931
Emma hurried toward the house she and Alexander had moved into in the spring. Despite her best efforts to make them look otherwise, the three rooms were small and gloomy. Nothing she did made the house feel like a home. But Alexander had insisted after working at the dairy for a few months that they move out of her parents’ home, and the three-room stucco was all they could afford.
Alexander had seemed in a better mood over the summer. He laughed more. His words were kinder. He’d even gone to church with her a few times in August. They seemed to be friends again. Emma liked that and let hope blossom in her heart. Alexander had even agreed to go with her to Mark Thomas’s birthday party tonight. Her nephew was three years old, and the cutest little boy in the world.
She felt a pinch of sadness, a longing for a baby of her own. Especially now that Liza was pregnant again. How many prayers had Emma sent winging toward heaven, begging God to give her a child to love? Hundreds? Thousands? Was His answer no or not yet?
She glanced at her wristwatch. Mrs. Conners had let her off work an hour ahead of schedule so she would have ample time to change her clothes and freshen her hair before Alexander got home from the dairy. Even so, it would be difficult to make the party on time.
Please don’t let Alexander forget about tonight. Don’t let him be late getting home.
Unlike her prayers for a baby, this one was answered quickly. When she turned the corner and looked toward the end of the block, she saw her husband’s truck in the driveway. Alexander hadn’t forgotten. He’d not only remembered, but he’d gotten home before her. Smiling, she quickened her steps.
She entered the house through the kitchen door. It only took a few steps to carry her across the room to the bedroom door. As she turned the knob, she said, “Alexander.”
In that moment her world came crashing to a halt.
Her husband was in bed—and he wasn’t alone.
“Emma, what are you doing home?”
It was as if she could see herself from afar. Her eyes widened. One hand gripped the doorjamb. The breath caught in her chest. Her face paled. A buzzing sound filled her ears.
“Emma.”
She turned away, went into the parlor, too confused to know what to do next. Her stomach rolled and she thought she might be sick. Time passed as she stood in the middle of the room, powerless to move, unable to think.
“Emma.”
She turned toward Alexander, who stood framed in the archway between the parlor and kitchen. He wore trousers but no shirt. His feet were bare.
“What are you doing home?” he asked again, scowling at her.
Somehow words came out of her mouth. “Mark Thomas’s party is tonight.”
He muttered a curse.
“Who is she?” Emma whispered.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m your wife. It matters to me.”
But did it? Did it really matter who that woman was? It wasn’t as if Emma hadn’t known he’d been unfaithful in the past. Did it matter the name of the strumpet he’d brought into their bed? Was she the reason he’d seemed happier of late?
That thought sparked something inside of Emma. A rage she hadn’t known it was possible to feel. “You brought her into my home! Into our bed!” She took two quick steps forward and slapped him.
She had no time at all to prepare for his reaction. The back of his hand struck her with such fury she flew backward, hitting the wall. Pain exploded in her head. Air gushed from her lungs. Then she screamed as he moved toward her, murder in his eyes.
Allison
Something unexpected happened to Allison during the weeks that followed. She became aware of herself as a woman again. She hadn’t realized the awareness was gone until it came back to her. She found herself looking at men and wondering if they were single. Which appalled her to no end. But Meredith found it funny when Allison confessed the realization to her one evening over the telephone.
“Why wouldn’t you wonder about single men, Mom? You’re not dead yet.”
“I know that, honey, but I’m not interested in men. Not in any romantic kind of way. I’m never getting married again, so what point is there in it?”
“Bet that drives Grandma crazy when she hears it.”
Allison leaned back in the deck chair and stared up at the soft blue-gray sky. “You have no idea.”
“Sure I do. Grandma can’t wait to get me married off. She’s always asking if I’ve met someone special.”
“Well? Have you?”
“Mom!”
Allison grinned. “Couldn’t help myself. And there was someone you liked last year. What happened to him?”
“Didn’t go anywhere. Hey, before I forget, have you talked to Dad lately?”
“No.” Out of habit, her stomach clenched. “Why?”
“I’m going to use my vacation time to come visit you both, but I really hate having to divide time between Boise and Kings Meadow. The time goes by so fast as it is.”
Disappointment replaced wariness. Allison was greedy enough to want Meredith with her the entire time.
“Would it be all right with you if Dad came to stay at your place for those two weeks? He’s got vacation time coming too.”
Allison opened her mouth, intending to refuse, but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure what. Perhaps because she always found it hard to refuse her daughter. Or was it something else?
“We got along great at Christmas, the three of us,” Meredith added, not knowing the battle was won.
“You’re right. We did.”
“Could you take some time off from your work so we could do a bit of traveling? Maybe go camping at Redfish Lake.”
“When are you coming?” Allison headed inside to check her schedule on the computer.
“Around Labor Day, if that works for you. I’m thinking the week before and the one after.”
Allison looked through her planner, estimating in her head. “Yes,” she said at last. “I could do some traveling with you. Couldn’t be gone the whole two weeks, though.”
Even as she said it, she knew once Meredith arrived, it would be the same as when she visited her brother in May. She would play instead of sitting down to work. Her desk and computer would gather dust until her daughter went back to Texas. But that was okay. She would just have to put in extra hours in the first weeks of August so she wouldn’t feel guilty during Meredith’s visit.
And Tony’s visit.
“Mom? Did you hear what I said?”
“No. I’m sorry. I let my mind wander. What was it?”
“I said I’ll firm up the dates of my vaca
tion and then let Dad know so he can do the same. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have particulars, like my flight times and such.”
“Okay.”
They exchanged a few more words and then ended the call.
As Allison put down the handset, she wondered what she was doing, letting Tony come to stay a second time. When she saw him in April, he’d made her angry. Angry and confused because he’d manipulated her feelings. That was how it had seemed anyway. Would seeing him again, letting him stay in the spare room, bring those unwelcome feelings back?
When Tony was out of sight, he was out of mind. When he was out of mind, Allison’s life was easier. In these mountains she didn’t have as many reminders of him and the life they’d had, both good and bad. A few memories but not many. Not constant. She was certain that was why God brought her there to live. So she could heal. So she could move on. The Lord had told Allison to let go, and she had, though sometimes it seemed He’d pried her clutching fingers loose one stubborn digit at a time.
Emma
1931
“Emma?” Liza’s voice was loud and clear from the other side of the front door. “Emma, open the door.” She knocked again.
Emma leaned her back against the wall, holding her breath, as if afraid her sister would hear her breathing. She didn’t want Liza to see her today. Not like this. Not with her face swollen and bruises on her arms and legs.
“Emma, I am not leaving until you open this door. I know something is wrong.”
Make her go away. Please make her go away.
“Please, Em.” Liza’s voice softened. “Please. I will stand here all day if I must. Or I’ll send for someone to break down the door.”
Liza would do it too.
Exhaling a breath of defeat, Emma pushed away from the wall and crossed the living room. She stood there for a few moments, fingertips on the knob. Finally, she opened the door, her gaze locked on the floor.
“Em—” Liza gasped, then she whispered, “Saints alive. What has he done to you?”
Tears blurred Emma’s vision. Her throat was too tight to speak. Her face hurt. Her body hurt. But it was the emptiness in her heart that was the worst of all.
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