Katherine's Prophecy

by Scott Wittenburg

  But what Miss Rutledge didn’t know was that her life was already more or less ruined, and these revelations only corroborated it. Her life had been ruined the day her father had raped her. And now, even if she could bring herself to let a man touch her again, she might just as well forget ever being married and having children. Because with her luck, her children would most likely wind up being either gibbering idiots or deformed freaks.

  Or worse yet, being just like her father . . .

  Right now, this very moment, Emily wanted to get up and run away; to just escape from everyone and everything. She didn’t want to hear anymore about her family’s past. She’d heard enough already.

  But she knew that she couldn’t run away. That wouldn’t solve a thing. It never did. She was just going to have to somehow learn how to live with all of this.

  Emily turned to Miss Rutledge and told her quite matter-of-factly, “What you’re implying is that I should try to talk my father into seeing a shrink.”

  Miss Rutledge seemed caught off-guard by Emily’s sudden display of cool reserve. “Er, well, yes. Yes, Emily. I feel you should try to persuade him to see a psychiatrist. You’re probably the only person who could do it.”

  Emily laughed out loud. “Me? Are you kidding? To my father, I don’t even exist!”

  “But honey, if you can’t, then who can?” Miss Rutledge asked.

  “Try one of the many women he takes out. They have more pull with him than I’ve ever had,” Emily replied bitterly.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that things were so bad between you and your father.”

  “Well, they are bad, Miss Rutledge. Really bad. But don’t worry. I’ll try to convince him that he needs help; I truly will. Just don’t expect it to do any good.”

  “Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea, Emily. Maybe he’ll overreact and do something foolish.”

  “Oh, he probably will overreact. But don’t worry, Miss Rutledge. I know how to handle my father. Seriously, it’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure, honey?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll just have to catch him at the right time. Who knows? Maybe he’ll even listen.”

  “Lord in heaven, I hope so.” She paused a moment then said, “Emily, I hope and pray that I haven’t upset you by telling you what I have. As I said before, this hasn’t been an easy decision to make. Perhaps I’ve made the wrong decision. I hope not. Katherine was much more than a sister to me. She was my dearest friend. And I knew her perhaps better than even Warren had. She would have wanted you to know about all that happened, Emily—that much I am sure of.

  “Your grandfather was forever saying how much you reminded him of Katherine. He’d say it was as though an angel had brought her back to him, in the form of his granddaughter, just so he could be with her once again. He loved you dearly, Emily. And he was very concerned about how your father has treated you. He blamed himself for your father’s behavior because he felt it was his fault that Charles is the way he is. It broke his heart to sit by and watch him manipulate you and your mother as he has all these years. But he felt utterly helpless; there was nothing he could do about it.”

  Miss Rutledge heaved a sigh. She looked haggard and spent—as though she could fall asleep at any moment.

  “Whatever happens, please promise me two things. One, that you’ll try and have a talk with Charles about getting some help. But please, under no circumstances, let him know that I’ve had this talk with you. Enough damage has been done in the Hoffman family already, and bringing any of this up to your father will most certainly only aggravate the situation even more.

  “Secondly, promise me that you’ll think very carefully about what all I’ve told you. You mustn’t let it affect you and how you live your life. I hope that once you’ve had a chance to digest all of this, you’ll realize that none of it has any real bearing on you directly. It concerns events that have occurred in the past, and they should well remain there—dead, buried, and forgotten. You are a beautiful and intelligent young lady with your whole life ahead of you. Take my advice and go on with your life as you have, and don’t let these skeletons in the closet tie you down. Will you promise me this?”

  Emily didn’t believe in promises. And what Miss Rutledge was asking her to do was impossible.

  But she didn’t want to upset the old woman. She was kind and her intentions were sincere. And she obviously felt regret for spilling the beans as she had. The last thing Emily wanted was to make Miss Rutledge feel any worse than she already felt.

  “I promise, Miss Rutledge,” she lied.

  She sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you, Emily. You don’t know how much better you’ve made me feel!”

  Emily forced a smile. “And thanks for telling me all of this. It has certainly cleared up a lot of things, and for once in my life I don’t feel left out in the cold about my family’s past. You’re right—I do have a right to know. My father has kept everything from me my entire life and it hasn’t been fair of him to do that. Apparently, he kept a lot of this from my mother too, didn’t he?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest. But I would guess that he did—as much as he could, anyway.” Miss Rutledge replied.

  “That would figure. Well, I’d better be going. I feel very tired all of a sudden,” Emily said, feigning a yawn.

  “Thank you for coming over, Emily. And please, keep in touch. Let me know how things are going. Don’t hesitate to call me, anytime, if you feel that you need to talk to me. Okay?”

  “All right, Miss Rutledge. I will . . .”

  * * *

  Emily arose from the chair and went over to the picture window. The snowstorm hadn’t let up yet and she estimated there to be around five inches of the powdery stuff on the ground. With a shrug, she turned around and sat back down in the chair.

  She had kept one of her promises to Miss Rutledge. A couple of days later she had approached her father, not really sure how she was going to word what she wanted to say. He’d been sitting at his desk in his study going over some papers that she guessed had something to do with the sale of the mill. When she entered the study, he hadn’t even looked up from his papers to acknowledge her presence. She’d gone over to his desk and stood there, feeling like a school kid waiting for the teacher to stop grading papers long enough for her to ask a question. She stood there for a full minute before her father had finally asked her what she wanted. She stalled for a moment, then decided that the direct approach would probably be the best way to handle this.

  “Father,” she had said. “I’ve been awfully worried about you lately. I know that you’ve been under a lot of stress since Grandpa died, and I wonder if maybe you need to take a little break from all of this.”

  He had suddenly jerked his head up and glared at her with a sinister, sarcastic look in his eyes and said, “Is that right, dear? Are you suggesting that your old man should take a long vacation? Is that what my little girl thinks her daddy needs?”

  She had managed to remain calm. “No, Father. That’s not what I mean. I just think that perhaps you need to try and put things into perspective. You know, let someone help you sort out everything. I mean, Mommy’s gone, and now Grandpa . . . It’s been an awful lot for you to handle all at once. Maybe you could see someone who could—”

  His eyes had suddenly bulged out in rage. “You mean see a fucking shrink? Is that what my little girl thinks I need? Does my little girl think that her daddy’s gone crazy? Is that what she’s getting at? Why you fucking little whore!”

  He had sprung up from his chair and smacked her across the side of the face. She had fallen backward, and in an instant he was on the other side of the desk. He struck her again, sending her reeling into the wall. He ran over and put his hands around her neck and started strangling her with a grip so tight she couldn’t breathe. His face was an inch from her own—his eyes filled with the fury and hatred of a madman on a murderous rampage . . .

  Then all of a sudden he had removed his hands from h
er neck. He stared at her for a moment, his expression like that of someone who just realized he was lost and had no idea where he was going. Then he turned away and walked out of the room. Slowly, tentatively . . . like a lamb gone astray. Emily had stood there terrified, trying to catch her breath. She heard the side door open then close. Then she heard her father’s car start up and the sound of its wheels spinning on gravel as it pulled away from the house. Her father hadn’t returned for three days.

  In the meantime Emily had done a lot of thinking. She had assessed her situation and considered her options then made her final decision.

  She decided that she no longer wanted anything to do with her father. She could have moved out of the house, but refused to give him that satisfaction. Instead, she would remain at the house and completely ignore him—shut him totally out of her life. Let it eat away at him and show him what it was like to be ignored and unwanted just as she had been most of her life.

  She had of course realized that it wasn’t going to be easy to pull off. Her father was potentially dangerous and she would have to keep a close eye on him at all times. But she felt confident that she could protect herself, if need be. Her father became violent only when something really riled him up. Otherwise, he more or less just did his thing and kept pretty much to himself. She couldn’t do or say anything that would possibly upset him because she wasn’t going to associate with him in the first place. Her silence would annoy him, no doubt, but he wouldn’t get violent over that. It just wasn’t the way he operated. She would be on her guard at all times though, nonetheless.

  In essence, her father would live his life and she would live hers. Sort of the way it had always been, she’d thought to herself. Only this time, the rules would be different.

  When her father returned, he had apologized for what he’d done and promised Emily that it would never happen again. She told him in so many words that if it ever did happen again that he would be going to prison for a very long time. Then she had told him that he was to stay away from her from that point on, and that she no longer wanted anything to do with him. He was to live his life; she was to live hers. And, she warned, if he didn’t comply with the rules, she would see to it that the entire town, including the authorities, would find out what he’d done to her as a child.

  Her plan had worked. Somewhere in her father’s sick mind lay an enormous amount of guilt; it needed only to be tapped to be realized. Furthermore, he was paranoid, and the thought of her telling on him for his past deeds had been more than he could conceive. The fact that none of it would probably ever stand up in court most likely hadn’t even crossed his mind. It made no difference. The important thing was that he had backed off and never abused her again.

  When her father had sold the mill to the land developers, Emily found herself in an awkward and embarrassing position. By this action, her father had completely severed any remaining thread of attachment between himself and her, and she became unyieldingly defiant of him. She publicly condemned him for jeopardizing everybody’s jobs and promised the townspeople that she would do everything in her power to help them. She wanted to make it clear to them that she was on their side, not her father’s.

  She helped them get loans to set up their businesses in town and in some instances gave money to those who needed it as down payments or rental securities for their shops. She still had all the money she had inherited from her grandfather and could think of no better way to use it than to help Ashland Falls get back on its feet.

  It was during this period of ‘rebirth’ that Emily had gotten the idea to open an antique shop. She had occasionally received gifts from people as a token of their gratitude for her help and Clarence Peterson had offered her an old rocking chair which was, as he’d put it, “a little banged-up, but nothing that some sandpaper and a little varnish can’t fix up.” Emily had accepted the old Victorian piece and restored it, feeling very pleased at her accomplishment. She started hunting around the area for old furniture to restore and this had eventually led to the establishment of her antique shop.

  Once things had settled down a bit, Emily again found herself thinking about the conversation she’d had with Miss Rutledge after her grandfather’s death. The revelations made that day had festered in the back of her mind and she soon came to realize that she would never be at peace with herself unless she discovered the truth: Had John Hoffman truly been Grandma Katherine’s biological father? Or had Clem Porter? Her life, her well-being, her future all seemed to teeter on the answer. She started accepting the fact that she may never discover the truth and that the nightmares would go on forever . . .

  Emily felt the quiet loneliness of the big house creep into her thoughts. Her eyes went from the burning embers of the fire to Cassie, lying beside her with her head in her lap. She patted her companion lovingly and Cassie looked up at her as if to assure her that she wasn’t the only living soul in the house.

  Until she discovered the truth, she would continue living just as she had these past ten years. She had established her priorities and lived by them unfalteringly. She possessed a strong sense of values and lived a simple, uncluttered life free of social obligations and the trappings that often went along with them. The scars of her own past, along with the murky past of her family and its ramifications, were the driving forces that had put her in the position she now found herself in. Her course was set—straight and narrow—to live out a life that seemed to be predetermined for her. A life that was for the most part predictable and bland; fueled by a commitment to being good to others selflessly and abstaining from sinful wrongdoing as best she could. In essence, it was a life of relative isolation, goodness, and celibacy.

  Not unlike that of a nun . . .

  Emily could feel her defenses breaking down as the tears again welled up in her eyes. This time she didn’t hold back and allowed herself the luxury of release. For the first time in years she wept for herself; letting the tears flow freely—as though a dam holding back far too much water for far too long had suddenly given way and collapsed.

  As she cried, the stark reality of loneliness gripped her like a vise and wouldn’t let go. She acknowledged that this loneliness was not only a feeling, but a fact as well, now that her father was dead. She no longer had any living relatives; she was the last twig of the Hoffman family tree. Her father, as cruel and selfish as he’d been, had nevertheless been an integral part of her life merely by being another living soul who lived in it and shared this house with her. But now he was dead and she was alone. And he had died a lonely man ridden with guilt and forsaken by his only child.

  Had she been fair to her father?

  Yes, she decided. She had been fair. Had it not been for him she could be living a normal life now. He had ruined her life a long time ago, and he had made her mother’s short life a living nightmare. He’d turned against his father and forsaken the existence of his mother.

  Karma, Emily thought. What goes around, comes around.

  Now she was stuck here alone in a world that seemed like a vacuum void of love and companionship. With the exception of Miss Rutledge, who was now ninety years old and wouldn’t be around much longer, there wasn’t a soul left in the world she could reach out to.

  Emily suddenly felt a wet tongue on her cheek. Cassie seemed to sense that she was overwrought as she lapped at the salty tears from her face with zeal. Emily found it impossible to resist grinning at Cassie’s persistence and before long was laughing heartily as she swooped the puppy up in her arms and hugged her tight.

  “At least I have you, girl. And you’ve just made Mommy feel a whole lot better,” she told her loyal companion.

  Emily arose from the chair and reached for the poker then spread out the coals in the fireplace. She left the den and turned out all the lights downstairs before heading up the stairs to her bedroom. After turning on the bedside lamp, she removed her robe and slipped in under the covers. Reaching for the book on the nightstand she’d been reading, she noted the time. I
t was only 9:35.

  She was surprised at how early it was and wondered why she felt so exhausted now. It hadn’t been a particularly busy day at the shop by any means. She recalled Henrietta Latham and her sister-in-law dropping by and it reminded her that she should pay a visit on Miss Rutledge at the nursing home the first chance she got. She hadn’t seen her in over two weeks.

  With a yawn, she lay back on her pillow and opened the book. She was grateful that she no longer felt depressed and cautioned herself that from here on out she must quit feeling sorry for herself. It was unhealthy and totally uncalled for. Why had she let herself get so carried away? she wondered. She’d told herself a long time ago that she had to accept things as they were and mustn’t let them get her down as she had tonight.

  She turned to the place she’d left off the night before and began reading. She read for the next hour or so until she could no longer keep her eyes open. Then Emily closed the book and turned off the light. Immediately, she fell into a deep and heavy sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  In a sleepy haze, Emily became aware of something warm and hard rubbing against her chest. She wasn’t sure how long the rubbing had gone on—the steady, rhythmic movement felt relaxing as she slept; and only now had she become conscious of it in her half-sleep.

  As she became more awake, she realized that she was being caressed by a hand; a very large hand. She could feel the fingers of the hand occasionally spread apart then come back together again in a scissors-like motion with her tiny nipples pinched in between them. Each time this happened, she could feel her nipples get big and hard, just as they did whenever she went swimming or got out of the bathtub on a cold winter night.