Emily, Gone

by Bette Lee Crosby

  Still looking down, Minnie peered at Wilson from beneath hooded brows. “Medgar’s not a churchgoing man—that’s why he can’t see the angels.”

  “But you can?”

  She narrowed her eyes, gave Medgar an apprehensive glance, then turned back to Wilson and nodded.

  Wilson had come there holding on to optimism like a handful of marbles, but with each answer it seemed as if one of those marbles were taken away. Now he was left with only a single marble. He was counting on it when he asked the long-shot question.

  “Did the angels tell you where they took the baby from Hesterville?”

  There were a few moments of hesitation, when it seemed as though she might be thinking, then she shook her head. “They only told me about Ellamae.”

  He felt the hope he’d placed in that last marble leave his hand and fall away. “So why did you write that letter to the Dixon family?” he asked wearily.

  Tears welled in the old woman’s eyes. “Because I know how awful it feels to lose a child. I thought maybe if that mama knew about the angels, it would ease her burden a little bit.”

  With disappointment now weighing heavily on his soul, Wilson went through his questions one by one. He asked how it was she knew about the baby being kidnapped, how she got the Dixons’ address, and if she’d written to other mothers. Each question had an answer that sounded logical but couldn’t be proven one way or the other.

  The facts were that Minnie Gray did have a sister living in Ellijay, a town fairly close to Hesterville, and there had been a front-page feature in the Primrose Post that told of the Dixon family and the baby’s kidnapping. They’d run a picture of Emily beneath the headline that said Search For Missing Baby Continues.

  After an hour of jumping from one possibility to another, Sheriff Wilson came to the conclusion that Minnie was simply a woman broken in spirit and addled of mind. While her letter might have been well intended, she’d wasted two days of his time on yet another wild-goose chase. He thanked the Grays for their courtesy, climbed back into his truck, and started for home.

  It was after ten when Wilson pulled into the Dixons’ drive. He climbed from the truck, the weariness of the trip dogging his footsteps. He was hoping Rachel had gone to bed. It would be easier telling George; his eyes had a look of sadness about them but not the soul-deep misery that Wilson saw in Rachel’s face.

  He stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell.

  George opened the door. Rachel was right behind him.

  Wilson stepped inside, then stood there with his hat in his hand. “I’m afraid it’s not good news—”

  Rachel’s eyes grew wide, and she gave a terrified gasp. Clasping her hand over her heart, she cried, “Oh my God, please don’t say Emmy’s—”

  Wilson knew the thought before she spoke it. “No, no, it’s not that,” he said. “I didn’t find Emily, but this turned out to be another dead end.”

  As he told how the death of Minnie’s little girl had taken away her sense of reason, a sympathetic look settled on Rachel’s face. “I can understand how such a thing could happen,” she said remorsefully.

  “So where do we go from here?” George asked.

  “We keep looking and hope something turns up,” Wilson replied. “We’ve got reward posters all over the state, and there’ve been several newspaper articles with Emmy’s picture and some television coverage, so there’s still a chance that one of those things will pay off.”

  Noticing the way Wilson was fingering the brim of his hat as he spoke, George asked, “How likely is it for that to happen?”

  Wilson gave a reluctant shrug. “No telling. Could be tomorrow; could be never. The longer Emily’s gone, the less our chances of finding her.”

  Rachel covered her face as a stifled whimper rose from her throat. “Don’t stop looking,” she begged. “Please don’t stop looking.”

  UNEXPECTED BETRAYAL

  Murphy didn’t find the note Vicki left until almost midnight. That afternoon he’d come home with a bottle of wine thinking they’d celebrate his new job. Vicki wasn’t in the apartment, but he didn’t suspect anything more than her usual disregard for caution. Her clothes were still there: a pair of jeans tossed haphazardly across the back of the bedroom chair, her favorite sundresses hanging in the closet, and a pile of sandals still in the bag he’d brought from their old apartment at Mrs. Bachinski’s.

  “Dammit,” he’d grumbled when he discovered her gone. It irked him that she’d defied his advice to stay inside.

  He dropped down on the sofa and clicked on the TV. His upbeat mood from landing a job faded fast. Before the hour was out he was pacing the floor, his agitation made worse by worry, since she had the baby with her.

  Until now, there’d been no indication that news of the kidnapping had reached western Kentucky, but there was always the possibility of a traveler from Georgia. Someone who’d seen the kid’s picture, read about the reward, and was looking to collect some quick cash.

  The thought of a passerby spotting them was a prickly reminder of Vicki’s foolishness. He’d told her a dozen times that taking the baby out was stupid, just plain stupid. It was trouble they didn’t need. Another day or two, then they’d drop the kid off at a church and be free to live their lives.

  Why now? Why would she deliberately screw it up when we’re so close to having this over and done with?

  At six, Murph switched the TV station to CBS and watched the news. The local anchor told of a water main break and a need for more parental involvement in the school’s PTA program, but there was no mention of finding a baby or apprehending a kidnapper. After the local news ended, Walter Cronkite came on. He told listeners Nikita Khrushchev had died at the age of seventy-seven, and a robbery had taken place at the Baker Street branch of the Lloyd’s of London bank, but again, no mention of the kidnapped baby.

  Vicki was capricious, that was a given, but with a baby and no money in her pocket she’d have limitations.

  Money!

  Murphy remembered the $600 he’d tucked away in the dresser drawer. He hurried into the bedroom, pushed aside the boxer shorts, and counted the money. Twice he fingered through the stack of bills and counted them: $550. She’d taken fifty dollars.

  Maybe she needed something for the baby? Or herself? He doubted it was food, because there were jars of baby food in the cupboard and milk in the fridge.

  So what else?

  Murphy recalled Vicki’s interest in the Kaufman-Straus department store Mrs. Palmeyer mentioned.

  Yes.

  He glanced at his watch: seven p.m. Some evenings the stores stayed open until nine. Maybe it was Mondays?

  He clicked off the TV and scribbled a note telling Vicki that if she returned home before he did to stay inside the apartment.

  I’ll be back soon, he wrote. I’ve gone in search of you! He added the exclamation mark so she’d know he was pissed.

  Murphy pulled away from the row of gray townhouses and turned onto Ledger Boulevard. He drove slowly, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the sidewalk, hoping to spot her on the way home. She didn’t have a car, so she’d most likely be walking—unless there was a bus. So far he hadn’t seen one on this road, but now it became another thing to look for.

  He arrived at Kaufman-Straus just as the store was closing. As the last few stragglers hurried off, a uniformed guard stood there locking the door. By the time Murphy parked and ran over, the lights were dimmed and the guard gone. He knocked on the glass and waited, hoping someone had heard him. After a short while he knocked again, but when the neon sign in the store window clicked off, he knew it was useless. Even if someone answered his knock, it was obvious there were no last-minute shoppers left in the store. She wasn’t here.

  If not here, then where?

  Murphy returned to the car and sat there, trying to think through a list of places she might have gone. At this point, he was stymied. She could be anywhere. Vicki was unpredictable; she did what you’d least expect and
went where you’d never think of looking.

  With no plan in mind, he began driving through town, up one street, down the next, stopping at small out-of-the-way restaurants and shops, peeking inside and moving on after not seeing her. When he returned to Lakeside Apartments it was after nine p.m. He’d found no trace of Vicki and was beginning to imagine the worst. He was out of ideas about where to look when he spotted the light in Mrs. Palmeyer’s window and knocked on the door.

  “I hate to bother you,” he said, “but I’m looking for my wife, and she isn’t at home. Have you seen her?”

  “Not since she borrowed the stroller on Friday.”

  Stroller?

  A sinking feeling settled in Murphy’s stomach. Needing a stroller meant just one thing: she planned to keep the baby.

  “Okay,” Murphy said and forced a smile. “I guess she’s gone to the movies or something. Thanks anyway.” He turned and started down the walkway.

  “I’m in no hurry to have that stroller back,” Mrs. Palmeyer called after him.

  “Okay, I’ll let her know,” he answered and, without turning around, gave a wave.

  Once back in the apartment, Murphy opened the bottle of wine and poured a glass. He stood remembering how he’d expected it to be a celebration, then shook his head sorrowfully, took a long drink, and carried the glass into the living room. His heart felt heavy as lead when he lowered himself into the chair.

  For a long while he sat there, thinking back on all that had happened. Time and again he pictured the night of their own baby’s birth. He could close his eyes and see the wretched look on Vicki’s face, hear the agonizing scream when she learned what happened. Yes, she’d suffered, but that didn’t give her the right to take someone else’s child, did it?

  Where he’d been certain before, he now questioned everything, wondering if he’d done the right thing. Was there another way? A way he’d not seen?

  When his glass was empty, he filled it a second time and then a third. As he drained the bottle, he noticed Vicki’s note lying on the floor. He picked it up, and his hands trembled as he read.

  I love you now, and I’ll love you always. I’m sorry it has to be this way, it said.

  Tears welled in his eyes, and he grabbed on to the counter to keep from falling. There was no longer any doubt.

  She was gone.

  In the days that followed, Murphy reasoned that since she’d taken just fifty dollars, the money would eventually run out, and she’d return. There was no way she could hang on to the baby and work. She’d return, and he’d welcome her back regardless of the circumstances. Somehow, someway, they’d work it out.

  If keeping the baby was how he could hold on to her, he would do it. It was not his choice, but he would do it to be with her. And if in time they were caught, so be it. Spending the rest of his life in prison would be no worse than the life he was living now.

  FAIRLAWN, KENTUCKY

  Two weeks after Vicki arrived, Angela took the day off work, and the two sisters drove into Paducah for an afternoon of shopping. They had lunch at a waterfront café, then lingered over a second glass of iced coffee and shared a piece of lemon cake. They laughed remembering how as kids Vicki would come up with a plan to snitch a few dollars from their daddy’s pocket or sneak in the side door of the Rialto.

  With mock indignation Angela said, “You were always the one with the bright idea, but I was the one who usually got caught.”

  “Not true,” Vicki replied. “What about the year you were in love with James Dean? We snuck in to see Rebel Without a Cause five times, and nobody was ever the wiser.”

  Sitting in the café and chatting as they were reminded Vicki of the afternoon she and Murphy had done almost the same thing, except then there was no dessert. He’d been irritable and anxious to leave. She’d wanted it to be leisurely, an afternoon such as this, but he’d spoiled it by looking over his shoulder as if he expected disaster to strike at any moment.

  Before she could catch hold of herself, the memories began to come one after another, and a feeling of regret rose in her throat. The sorrow of it shadowed her face.

  Maybe if I’d waited a little longer . . .

  “Is something wrong?” Angela asked.

  Pushing the thought back, Vicki forced a smile. “It’s nothing. But we probably should get going if we want to find that crib for Lara.”

  They spent the entire afternoon in Paducah, strolling from shop to shop looking at baby clothes, cribs, and high chairs. While Murphy had tried to hide Lara, Angela did just the opposite.

  “This is my adorable niece,” she told the waiters and shopkeepers. “Looks exactly like her mama, doesn’t she?”

  Everyone seemed to agree. No one raised an eyebrow or questioned it.

  While they were at the Baby Boutique, Angela took Lara from the stroller, sat her atop the counter, and played peekaboo as the sales clerk rang up an assortment of ruffled rompers and drawstring nighties.

  “Just look at that smile,” the clerk said. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker for sure!”

  It was easy to see why. With her golden curls and huge blue eyes, Lara was a beautiful child. Even when she was passed from person to person, she remained good-natured.

  It would seem that given the situation, Vicki would shy away from such attention, but she didn’t; in fact, she soaked it up. Gloried in it, you could say. In her mind, all those people seeing them as mother and daughter justified her decision.

  Late that afternoon, with Lara sitting in her brand-new stroller and both sisters loaded down with shopping bags, Angela suggested they stop for a drink before heading home.

  “There’s a darling little place at the end of Clark Street,” she said. “If we wait an hour before starting home, we’ll miss most of the traffic, and it will be an easier drive.”

  Vicki grinned and gave a nod. “Sounds great. I think I know the place you’re talking about; it has a garden terrace out front, with flowers and shade trees.” She remembered it because when they’d passed through Paducah, she’d pointed it out to Murphy and asked to stop there. He’d given it no more than a fleeting glance, then declared it too crowded and driven right by.

  In no particular hurry, they strolled down Marine Way, then made a left onto Clark. Halfway down the block Vicki glanced across the street and saw a familiar figure coming out of the Burgher House restaurant.

  The woman was looking down, searching through her purse, then all of a sudden she lifted her head and started to smile.

  Mrs. Palmeyer!

  Vicki turned on her heel so quickly she almost knocked Angela over. “I’ve got to get out of here!” She whirled the stroller around and headed back down Marine.

  Stunned and more than a bit confused, Angela hurried after her. “Wait a minute,” she called. “What’s wrong?”

  Not certain whether or not Mrs. Palmeyer had caught sight of her, Vicki kept moving. “I feel really sick,” she said, not slowing or turning back. “Like I could throw up any second.”

  Wrestling with the bulky shopping bags and almost out of breath, Angela finally caught up to Vicki and grabbed hold of her arm. “Wait a minute!”

  Vicki kept up the rapid pace, and Angela stayed with her.

  Tugging on her sister’s arm, Angela said, “Rushing around like this is going to make you feel sicker. Slow down.”

  “I’ve got to get off this street!” Vicki glanced over her shoulder and saw Mrs. Palmeyer’s carrot-colored head bobbing along Marine—a block and a half behind them. She turned into an alleyway that ran behind the buildings and came out on Fourth Street.

  “Maybe if you stop and get something cold to drink, you’ll feel better,” Angela gasped.

  Vicki shook her head and kept going. After they’d made the turn from Fourth Street onto Washington, Vicki glanced back again. There was no sign of Mrs. Palmeyer.

  Vicki slowed her pace slightly but kept moving. “Sorry,” she said. With no other explanation at hand, she claimed she was prone to
panic attacks.

  Angela looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Since when?”

  After again glancing over her shoulder to make certain she’d lost Mrs. Palmeyer, Vicki breathed a sigh of relief and slowed her stride to a near normal pace. “It began just after Lara was born,” she said. “And being in a crowd sometimes brings it on.”

  The quizzical look remained on Angela’s face. “Marine Way wasn’t crowded.”

  Vicki shrugged. “Maybe not, but it felt that way to me.”

  Still struggling to understand the cause, Angela asked, “Was it a difficult pregnancy? Was there some kind of trauma? What actually—”

  “Oh, it was nothing like that.” With the place where they’d parked the car now in sight and no further sign of Mrs. Palmeyer, Vicki was anxious to move away from the subject. “It doesn’t happen all that often,” she said. “I guess it was all the excitement of spending the day with you and Lara.”

  She gave an easy smile, then segued into talking about her pregnancy and how she suffered through two months of morning sickness, had a craving for cucumber sandwiches, and couldn’t abide the smell of beer. She spoke of how in the sixth month she began to feel the baby moving and somehow knew it would be a girl.

  “By the seventh month, I was big as a watermelon,” she said, laughing, “but I didn’t care. The only thing I wanted was a healthy baby.”

  Angela smiled. “Well, you certainly got your wish.”

  “Uh-huh.” Vicki nodded. She stopped there and said nothing about the bright lights of the operating room and the heartbreaking news of a stillborn birth.

  The stories she told were part truth and part lie, woven together so seamlessly there was no way of telling one from the other. She’d thought them through a thousand times until reality stepped aside and truth was reborn in the shape of what her heart wanted to believe.

  The only thing she couldn’t reimagine was Murphy. When Angela asked about the baby’s father—why she needed to get away, what terrible abuse drove her to leave—Vicki said it was something she didn’t want to talk about.