Emily, Gone

by Bette Lee Crosby

  Emmy would graduate high school this year, then she’d move on to having a life of her own. College perhaps? Or was she in love with some young man and anxious to start her own family?

  Breakfast was a hurried affair, the twins anxious to get moving on their field day and George preoccupied with the expected delivery of a new line of faucets. Rachel stood on the front porch and watched as he pulled out of the driveway and the twins headed for the corner where they’d catch the bus. Once they were all gone from view, she went back to the kitchen, brewed a cup of chamomile tea, and stirred a spoonful of honey into it.

  She carried her tea to the living room, sat on the sofa, and pulled the locket from her pocket. Snapping the catch open, she looked down at the sweet face of her lost child and whispered, “Happy birthday, Emmy.”

  For a long while Rachel sat holding the locket, telling Emmy all the things a mother tells a daughter standing on the brink of womanhood. She wished her happiness and hoped she would move on to college. Prayed she had known a loving family, a family who taught her right from wrong and hoped that one day she would have a husband, a good man who would give her children of her own.

  The things she would one day wish for Hope and Henry were the same as she now wished for Emmy. The tears fell, and Rachel ached for want of the child she’d lost. In the end, she asked God to grant her the single thing she’d prayed for all these years.

  “I ask nothing for myself,” Rachel said. “I ask only that you keep Emmy safe, give her a life of being loved and knowing happiness.”

  The weight of remembering and prayers were such that they drained Rachel and left her feeling spent. With the locket still in her hands and her head dropped low, she closed her eyes.

  A hand touched her shoulder.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  Startled, Rachel rose quickly and looked at Hope. “What are you doing home?”

  “I forgot my bathing suit, so I told Mrs. Crumbly you’d drop me off at the lake.” She stooped and picked up the locket that had fallen to the floor. Seeing the baby picture, she asked, “Who’s this?”

  Years ago Rachel and George had agreed not to tell the twins about Emmy, so they wouldn’t grow up fearful of the same thing happening to them. Now she was no longer certain that fear was valid. They were old enough to understand. Perhaps the time had come. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “I was remembering a child who was lost a long time ago.”

  Hope saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. “Mom, you’re crying! Who is this baby, and what does she mean to you?”

  Rachel took the locket back and held it in her hands, looking down at the sweet face. She could so vividly remember the horror of finding the crib empty that morning. Over the years the rawness of her pain had healed, but the scar was still there and her memory of it as sharp as ever. She gave a long and deeply troubled sigh.

  “Her name is Emily. We called her Emmy. She was our first child, born almost four years before you and Henry came along.” Rachel’s voice was sorrowful and the words slow in coming, almost as if each syllable were a heavy load that had to be hauled up from the depth of her soul. “Back then we lived in a small house on Yellowwood Road. When we bought the house, your daddy and I thought it would be a good place to raise children; we planned to put a swing set in the backyard, plant a garden, and . . .” Her words trailed off as she pictured the house as it was that rainy night—a lonely stretch of road where no one could bear witness to who came or went, tall pines shadowing the backyard.

  With a look of alarm pinching her brows together, Hope asked, “Did Emily die?”

  Rachel hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “No, she was taken from us.”

  “Taken? Like when the police take a kid away because you’re abusing them?”

  Rachel lifted Hope’s slender hand into hers. “No, nothing like that. Your daddy and I adored Emily. We loved her as much as we do you and Henry. She was sweet and beautiful—”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She was kidnapped. Taken from her crib one night while we slept.”

  “Oh my God, Mom! That’s so terrible!”

  “Yes, it was terrible . . .” Rachel again hesitated, her breath ragged and shallow, her hand clutching Hope’s a bit tighter. “Your daddy and I never got over losing her. In time we were able to move past the pain, but neither of us ever forgot.”

  “Oh, Mom, I feel so sorry for you and Dad. It must have been terrible. You don’t deserve—”

  “No parent deserves such heartache, but it happened all the same.”

  Hope scooted closer and lowered her head onto Rachel’s shoulder. “What about the police? Couldn’t they find the kidnapper?”

  “They tried but never got very far. Sheriff Wilson chased down every lead that came in, Sadie Jenkins raised fifteen thousand dollars for a reward fund, and your daddy ran ads in the newspapers and printed posters that were distributed all over the place, but nothing ever came of it. It was as if Emmy had just disappeared from the face of the earth.”

  As they sat on the sofa, hands joined together, Rachel told of the music festival, how the town had been overrun with strangers, and how the house on Yellowwood Road was shrouded in darkness and so close to Baker’s Field that they couldn’t close out the thumping sound of the music.

  “After three days of listening to it, we were so exhausted we slept like dead people. Neither of us heard a sound that night. Back then Hesterville was such a small town—nobody even thought twice about leaving their door unlocked.”

  With a look of surprise stretched across her face, Hope asked, “Did you and Daddy think that’s why Emily got kidnapped?”

  It was a thought Rachel had pushed aside years ago; now here it was back again. She hesitated a moment, then searched her soul to give what she believed the most truthful answer. “Yes, for a long while we did, and we both shouldered a share of the blame. But after a number of years we learned to be more forgiving. People make mistakes, and things happen—not because we want them to or don’t care, but because life is a whole lot less than perfect. Your daddy and I realized we couldn’t change the past but could do something about the future. Long before you were born, we made sure that you and Henry would be protected in every way possible.”

  “That’s why we have Bruno and the big fence?”

  When Rachel nodded, Hope jumped up and flung her arms around her mother’s neck.

  “You’re the best mom ever!” she said. “But if you’d told us about Emily sooner, Henry and I would have understood and stopped trying to slip away from Grandma and Bruno.”

  “Parents make mistakes—no matter how hard we try, we still make mistakes. Your daddy and I didn’t tell you when you were younger because we didn’t want you to grow up afraid the same thing could happen to you.”

  Hope grinned and raised an eyebrow. “So instead, you were afraid for us?”

  With a hint of a smile curling her lips, Rachel nodded.

  Hope never did get to the lake. She spent the afternoon sitting alongside her mama, asking questions about the sister she’d never known.

  “Do you think Emily looks like me?” she asked.

  “She probably looks more like Henry. There’s no way of knowing for sure, but when she was six months old she looked exactly like him: blonde hair, blue eyes, even that same butterfly birthmark.” Seeing the disappointment on her daughter’s face, Rachel added, “But I think she probably has your personality.”

  Hope’s smile brightened. “I’d like her no matter who she looks like. It would be so cool to have a big sister.”

  For the first time in all the years she could recall, Rachel found happy thoughts of Emmy. They came from her baby sister.

  “Today’s her birthday,” Rachel said. “That’s why—”

  “Mom, we should have a birthday cake!”

  Rachel shook her head. “I hardly think—”

  “Why not? Whether she’s here or not, she’s part of our family.”

 
With Hope so excited about the thought of having a sister, Rachel couldn’t say no. For the first time in almost eighteen years she would allow her heart to see Emily through happier eyes.

  “Don’t start broadcasting it yet. I’ll tell your brother when he gets home from the field trip, and I’d like to talk to your daddy first, so he understands how this all came about.”

  That evening when George arrived home he spotted a bottle of burgundy and two wineglasses on the kitchen counter. Fully aware of the date, he eyed Rachel curiously and asked, “Are we celebrating something?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Rachel said and told him what had transpired that afternoon.

  The whole time she was telling the story George stood there shaking his head as if he were believing and not believing at the same time. Before she even got to the part about the birthday cake he asked, “So the kids weren’t angry that we hadn’t told them?”

  “Not at all,” Rachel said. “Henry was surprised to hear she had a birthmark just like his and suggested we could get America’s Most Wanted to do a feature on Emmy’s kidnapping. That way he could show them his birthmark and help find her. Hope was totally taken with the idea of having a big sister. In fact, she wants to celebrate Emmy’s birthday tonight.”

  “Celebrate Emmy’s birthday? Isn’t that kind of weird?”

  “It might seem so at first,” Rachel said. “But actually, it’s kind of sweet. I like the idea of believing that wherever Emily is, she’s still part of our family.”

  That evening, dessert was a pink cake with eighteen candles. Since it had been Hope’s idea, she had the honor of blowing out the candles and making a wish.

  “Are you going to tell us what your wish was?” George asked.

  “Un-uh,” she said and shook her head, “because then it might not come true.”

  ROAD TRIP

  On the first Thursday of July, Angela and Lara left Fairlawn. They’d planned to leave a week earlier but had stayed to enjoy the Fourth of July block party and to say one last goodbye to friends and neighbors.

  With the car already packed and ready to go, Angela thought they’d be on the road by eight a.m., but it ended up being closer to eleven when they finally pulled onto the highway and headed west toward I-24.

  Lara fiddled with the radio, twisting the dial until she hit upon the mellow sound of Phil Collins singing “Two Hearts,” then settled back into her seat. Twenty minutes later she spotted the 69 West road sign.

  “Why are we headed west?” she asked.

  “Your father thinks we’re better off sticking to the major highways. He wants us to get on I-24 and take it all the way down to 75.”

  Lara groaned. “Boring. Can’t we at least have some fun on this trip?”

  “We will. We’ll stop for lunch and—”

  “Mom! Stopping for lunch is not having fun. Let’s explore. Find some out-of-the-way places, maybe go and see Nashville.”

  “Nashville?” Angela laughed. “I don’t think—”

  “Why not?”

  After several moments of hesitation, she said, “We’re supposed to be in Daytona tomorrow. Your dad is looking forward to spending the weekend with us.”

  “Can’t you call and say we’ve decided to make some stops along the way? Dad’s busy working; he won’t care if we get there next week instead of tomorrow.”

  “I guess a day or two wouldn’t make much difference.”

  “Mom, you’ll have the rest of your life to be in Daytona, but this may be the only time we get to take a road trip together.” When Lara looked at her mom’s face and saw the thought settling in, she added, “In August I’ll be going off to college, and we won’t be able to do this.”

  The intensity on Angela’s face softened, and she smiled. “All right. We’ll take a few extra days and do some sightseeing along the way, as long as Daddy is okay with it.”

  “Yay!” Lara spotted the overhead sign saying PADUCAH 12 MILES as she lifted her arms and did a happy little jiggle. “Let’s start here. I’ve never been to Paducah!”

  “Yes, you have,” Angela said with a chuckle. “You were just too young to remember.”

  They parked the car in the center of town, then spent the afternoon having lunch at a café along the waterfront and browsing the shops, with Angela reminiscing about the day she and Vicki came to buy the crib and high chair. As they stood looking in the window of the Baby Boutique shop, Angela told how Vicki had sat Lara on the counter and smiled when the clerks made a fuss over her.

  “Your mama loved that; she was so proud of you.”

  Lara smiled. “I like that we’re doing this, Mom. It makes me feel closer to Mama. Maybe I have the same wild and crazy streak she had.”

  “Lord God, I hope not!” Angela said and laughed.

  It was near five when they left Paducah and got back on I-24. They drove for three hours, then left the highway and spent the night in Clarksville. After having dinner in a roadhouse called Papa’s Place, Angela called Kenny.

  “If you have no objection, Lara and I would like to make this a real mother-daughter road trip. You know, take our time, do some sightseeing along the way, stop in Nashville for a day or two, maybe visit Chattanooga and Atlanta. The only thing is, we probably won’t get to Daytona until sometime next week.”

  Kenny groaned. “I was hoping you’d be here tomorrow.”

  “I know, but try to understand. This may be the last opportunity I have to spend quality time with Lara. Once she’s off to college . . . well . . .”

  “I can appreciate your wanting to spend time together,” Kenny said, “but it’s a long time to be on the road just the two of you.”

  “Don’t worry—we’ll be fine.”

  He gave an apprehensive-sounding sigh. “Okay, but call me every night, and be careful.”

  “I will,” she promised.

  On Friday, Angela made it to Nashville. With no reservations and no specific plans, she drove through town looking for a place to stay.

  “Let’s find a fun place,” Lara said. “Not one of the big hotels.”

  After an hour of scouring the side streets and finding nothing, Angela was about ready to spring for a night at The Hermitage when she spotted a bed-and-breakfast sign saying TURN LEFT FOR HANNAH’S HOUSE. She rounded the corner onto Bradford Avenue and saw it. A lovely turn-of-the-century stone house with a wide expanse of lawn and mounds of colorful impatiens. Alongside the walkway was a WELCOME sign.

  Hannah’s House was precisely the type of place she’d been looking for.

  That evening they had dinner at Hattie B’s, then strolled along Broadway. Later on, as she and Lara walked arm in arm, peeking in shop windows, eyeing the honky-tonk bars, and laughing as they hadn’t in many months, Angela knew this time together was a good thing. Lara would soon be off to college and starting a new life, but both of them would forever remember the fun they’d had on this trip.

  On Saturday they toured the Grand Ole Opry and the Country Music Hall of Fame, then had dinner at Puckett’s. They were on their way back to Hannah’s when Lara spotted a bustling coffeehouse and gave a devilish grin.

  “The sign says it’s open-mic night; let’s stop and listen to some music.”

  After weeks of ups and downs—the excitement of graduation followed by the agony of leaving friends behind—Angela was glad to see Lara happy and smiling.

  She glanced at her watch. “It’s kind of late. Tomorrow we should get an early start if we’re going to see the sights in Chattanooga.”

  “It’s Saturday night, Mom, and nine thirty isn’t that late! Let’s skip Chattanooga and see the open-mic show instead.”

  Once they were seated at a small table in the back, they ordered lattes and sat listening to bluesy music until closing time. It was almost midnight when they started back to Hannah’s House. Halfway down Belcourt Avenue, Lara leaned over and kissed her mama’s cheek.

  “This trip has been the best ever, Mom. Thank you!”

  After
such a late night the thought of an early start was forgotten, and it was ten a.m. when they finally climbed into the car. Angela slid the key into the ignition, but when she tried to shift into “Neutral,” the gearshift refused to move.

  “That’s odd,” she mumbled, then pulled the key out, waited a few seconds, and tried again. For a fleeting second, she regretted not taking the car in to Harley for servicing as Kenny had said. She’d intended to, but Harley had been booked solid, so she’d gone to the express lube place on the highway.

  After three attempts, the gearshift popped into “Neutral,” and the engine rumbled to life. She shifted into first and pulled away from the curb. Backtracking through the streets of Nashville, she circled the city and got onto I-40 East and headed back toward I-75 to continue the trek south.

  “I’m thinking it’ll take us four to five hours to make Atlanta,” Angela said, “so we can find a place to stay, have dinner, and walk around the city for a bit.”

  Once they were underway, Lara found a country music station and began singing along with the Eagles.

  “I hope Atlanta is as much fun as Nashville,” she said, then went back to belting out “Take It Easy.”

  “Uh-huh,” Angela answered, but her mind wasn’t on Atlanta. It was on the strange feel of the car. She could almost swear she heard a strange noise that hadn’t been there before. When they passed Chattanooga, she thought about getting off the highway and finding a service station to give the engine a quick check, but it was Sunday, and the odds of finding a mechanic working on Sunday were slim to none, so she sailed on by. If worse came to worst and the car did need some sort of repair she could have it done on Monday, and they’d spend a second night in Atlanta.

  A few miles after they passed Dalton there was a clunking sound. The car shimmied, and it felt as though she’d downshifted into third. That was when she started to realize they weren’t going to make it to Atlanta.

  “Lara, honey,” she said, “watch for an exit. This car has me worried. I think we’d better stop and have it checked out.”