Tracie Peterson - [Land of Shining Water 02] (19 page)

“Father?” Tavin called as he entered the office. His father’s desk was empty, and the lamp had been extinguished. At the far end of the building a light still glowed. Perhaps his father was speaking with Luthias Knox. Tavin waited a moment, listening for the sound of voices, but he heard nothing.

The last thing he wanted was yet another encounter with Emmalyne’s father. It was bad enough that Tavin had been tortured by dreams of the young woman every day for the last eleven years; seeing her father and brother at the quarry
caused him to daily reconsider his agreement to stay. His father knew how difficult the situation was, yet he did nothing to help avoid the unwelcome meetings. In fact, he had on two different occasions instructed Tavin to go and speak to Mr. Knox on one matter or another. Tavin mustered his courage. It was foolish to be afraid of one old man. “But I don’t fear him as much as I fear myself around him,” Tavin said, moving toward Knox’s office.

Looking into the room, Tavin could see that Knox was alone. With his head bent over the ledgers and pencil in hand, Luthias seemed not to hear his approach. It was just as well. Tavin had no desire to speak to the man. He started to back away when Knox spoke.

“Are ye jest gonna stand there a-hoverin’?”

“I was looking for my father,” Tavin replied and turned to go.

Knox halted him with one simple yet astounding statement. “I would have a word with ye.”

Tavin’s jaw tightened and his breath seemed to catch in the back of his throat. He squared his shoulders and faced his enemy. The older man’s icy blue eyes narrowed, and his thick reddish-brown brows pulled together as he frowned.

Waiting in the uncomfortable silence, Tavin thought perhaps to just leave without hearing the old man out. After all, why should he show this man any respect? Luthias Knox had done nothing but treat him with contempt since his arrival.

Knox continued to size Tavin up a moment longer, then slowly stood. Finally he spoke. “I have jes one question for ye.”

“Very well,” Tavin said evenly. “And what would that be?”

“Do ye still love ma daughter?”

Of everything Tavin could have imagined, he had never expected such a question. He looked at the man and tried to push aside the bitterness and hate that had been his companions since losing Emmalyne. He had no desire to give Knox an answer to this question fraught with such anguish, and so he posed one of his own.

“Why would you care?”

Knox seemed surprised but stood his ground. “I asked ye a question. Ye can have the decency to answer me.”

Tavin shook his head, backing away. “I owe you no answer.”

He was halfway out the door by the time Knox caught up with him. “I ken yer anger and hatred of me, but what I donnae ken is yer intentions toward her.”

Tavin doubled his fists and whirled around so quickly it actually produced a look of fear on Knox’s usually dour expression. “You made sure my intentions toward her were put aside years ago,” he spat out like sharp daggers at the old man. “Now you toy with me—ask if I still love her. I think you know the answer to that, Mr. Knox. But if you don’t, I see no reason to enlighten you.” He reeled away as quickly as he had confronted his archenemy, not waiting for a response.

Marching across the grounds, Tavin shook in anger. It was as if a storm had risen up and been unleashed inside him, certain to destroy everything in its path.

“It was a mistake to come back,” he spat out once more. “I would have done better to fall off the face of the earth. Better that I should drown in Lake Superior than face these demons.” He glanced around him at the thicket of aspen and oak, grateful that no one was around to hear his tirade.

Promise or no promise, Tavin knew now it would be
impossible to stay. How could he? Emmalyne was just down the road—a few short miles away. She was as lovely and appealing—inside and out—as ever, and it was killing Tavin to know that she could never be his.

“Do ye still love me daughter?”
The words came back to haunt him.

Of course he still loved her. He’d always loved her.

I will always love her.

Even with the arrival of September, the temperatures held fast in the nineties. Angus was well again and back to work, and Emmalyne worried that Mother would slip away again into her sorrows. However, to her surprise, that didn’t happen. She wasn’t sure why. A part of her liked to think that perhaps her talk with Father weeks earlier had something to do with it. Father had been less demanding of late, and in truth, Emmalyne thought he seemed even a wee bit happier.

Of course, it could just be wishful thinking. I want so much for things to change, and it would be like me to see improvement where none truly exists
.

“You look so deep in thought, I’m hesitant to ask what you’re pondering,” her mother said from across the kitchen table.

Emmalyne looked up from the creel basket she was weaving. “Oh, you know me. I’m thinking of all the work that needs to be done before the cold sets in.” Then she shook her head. “No, that’s not the truth, Mother.” Her mother looked surprised and opened her mouth to speak, but Emmalyne quickly continued. “I was thinking about Father. He seems . . . well, he doesn’t appear to be as unhappy as he’s been in the past.”

“I think seeing Angus’s health return has helped him appreciate life more,” Mother replied. “He’s been much more patient with me, as well.”

“I’m so glad. I worried that it was just my imagination. I want to believe that a change is truly happening—that my prayers are being answered.”

Mother paused in her own basket work. “And exactly what did you pray for?”

“That Father would learn to love again. That he would find peace with God. That he would treat you better—give you the love you deserve.”

“And what of prayers for yourself?”

Emmalyne shrugged. “Those prayers were as much for me as for you and him. If you are happy and at peace with Father, that will make me happy, too.”

Mother frowned and put aside her handiwork. Leaning forward, she reached out to still Emmalyne’s fingers on the basket. “I would have thought you might have prayed for your father to change his mind about your marrying Tavin MacLachlan.”

She hadn’t expected this comment from her mother. In eleven years they had never talked in detail about what had happened between Emmalyne and Tavin. It seemed strange that Mother would bring this up now.

“What’s done is done.” Emmalyne pulled her hand away and continued her work. “Besides, Tavin hates me.”

“Bah! He doesn’t hate you. He couldn’t. I remember the way he used to look at you—care for you. I was happy for the both of you. I knew it was a true love match.”

Emmalyne sighed and pushed wispy strands of hair away from her face. This was not a conversation she wanted to
have, and she wondered if the pain would ever leave her.
Will I ever be able to talk about Tavin and not feel as if my life is ending all over again?

“I never felt right in putting an end to your engagement, Emmalyne. I argued with your father about his decision. But he wouldn’t be moved. His heart was so broken over the loss of the girls.” Her mother’s lower lip quivered, and her eyes shone with tears. “The loss cut him deep.”

“It affected all of us. But instead of taking it out on each other, we should have come together.” Emmalyne lifted her gaze to meet her mother’s regretful nod.

“Aye, we should have. It is funny how death brings some close and tears others apart.”

Emmalyne figured her mother was referencing the death of Father’s family as much as the girls. She couldn’t help but wonder how her mother had ever managed to continue keeping house and raising children for a man filled with such bitterness, such cold indifference.

“I think your father was afraid more than anything,” Mother said, her voice low. She glanced around the room, as if fearful that someone might overhear. “I think death frightens him terribly, because he feels at odds with God.”

“I’m praying that this will change,” Emmalyne said, her voice also hushed. “God alone is the one who can reach through to Father’s hard heart. God is the only one who can change any of us.”

“’Tis true. I only hope Luthias won’t wait until it’s too late. He’s not a young man anymore.” Rowena paused a moment, considering her next words.

“Emmalyne,” she finally said, “we did you wrong in keeping you from Tavin. I’ve told your father that on many
occasions. I know he will never admit it, but I believe he regrets his actions. I wanted you to know that, because I believe in his own way he . . . well, he cares about having made the wrong decision.”

The tightening in her throat left Emmalyne unable to speak. She wanted to rage at her mother.
How can you say Father regrets his actions? He shows no signs of remorse. He’s controlled his family like a tyrant
. Her father had made a decision and inflicted his judgment on all of them, no matter the cost, the pain. Everything had to be his way.
He is cruel . . . how can Mother expect me to believe otherwise?

Yet how could she ever grow to love her father if she refused to forgive him? Emmalyne gave her head a brief shake at how easily bitterness could grow from a single thought.

“Emmy . . .” Her mother’s voice interrupted her inner dialogue. “I’m so sorry for what we took away from you. If I could go back and see things done differently . . . I would.”

Emmalyne looked up and saw her mother’s sincerity, her genuine love. “I know you would have, Mother. Sometimes . . . just once in a while . . . I like to think Father would, as well.” At least she hoped that might be true. “I’d like to believe he’s sorry for what he did.”

A knock at the front door startled both women. Emmalyne stood, abandoning the basket and her discomfort.

“Dr. Williams, what a pleasant surprise,” she said at the front door, ushering the tall man into the house. “Come see what Mother and I have been up to.” Emmalyne brought him into the kitchen. “Look, Mother, Dr. Williams has come to pay us a call.”

“I’m happy to see both of you looking so well,” Jason said, his smile widening. “Ah, those must be the baskets you
told me about, Miss Knox. May I?” he asked Emmalyne’s mother. She nodded and Jason picked up the partially woven container. “This is quite grand.” He handed back the piece and turned to Emmalyne. “I know you must be wondering why I’m here today.”

“Yes. It is a surprise to both of us,” she admitted.

He sobered considerably. “I hope you will forgive me, but I’ve actually come to ask a favor.”

“And what would that be?”

The doctor looked to Mrs. Knox first, and Emmalyne couldn’t help but wonder if what he had to say would upset her.

“I’m on my way to the MacLachlans’. I have some information regarding a . . . a place where Mrs. Edlund might be able to receive help. However, I need to convince Mrs. MacLachlan that it’s a good establishment, one where Fenella isn’t simply locked away but where she could be treated.” He returned his piercing gaze to Emmalyne. “I hoped you might come with me.”

“And how is it you know that it is a good place?” Emmalyne wondered. “I feel just as concerned as Mrs. MacLachlan when it comes to the matter of Fenella’s care.”

Jason nodded. “I completely understand. That’s why I went to visit this particular establishment myself. It’s in St. Paul.”

“A mental institution?” Emmalyne asked.

“No. Actually it’s more along the lines of a convalescent home, much like those set up in the mountains for patients with tuberculosis. It has a home-like setting. A doctor of psychiatric studies, along with another physician, has arranged this in the belief that it will bode better for the mentally ill patient. It provides a much calmer environment with more
personalized care. The entire place has room for just twenty patients. It’s costly, but I think it might be the kind of home Mrs. MacLachlan would approve of.”

Emmalyne nodded. “It sounds like a possibility. However, do they lock the patients in their rooms?” The fact that Fenella could never sit outdoors bothered Emmalyne a lot. She couldn’t help but think that fresh air would do her good, but she also understood that Fenella’s violent acts forced Morna to keep her under lock and key. To be honest, that hardly seemed better than an institution to Emmalyne.

“They do lock them in at night. That’s for their own safety as much as for the others. During the day they try to engage the patients in various activities.”

Emmalyne tried to imagine Fenella actually participating. “And what of the hideous tortures I’ve heard some institutes use?”

“They use a variety of methods to help them handle their patients, but this doctor uses humane treatments and believes in therapies that will help the patient recover their sense of well-being.”

“Such as what, Dr. Williams?” Emmalyne’s mother asked.

“Well, walking outdoors, planting in the garden, water therapy. They read to the patients and have art classes for them to participate in. And music—they had the most amazing pianist there playing for the residents when I visited. Not only this, but the doctors are both good, godly men. They arrange for a minister to come on Sunday afternoons to share Scripture and pray with the patients.”

“I think Morna would like the sound of all that very much,” Mother replied. “How might we help?”

Emmalyne was surprised that her mother was including
herself in the matter, but said nothing. Instead, she looked back to the doctor. “Yes, tell us.” Emmalyne suddenly realized she had left him standing and hadn’t even offered refreshments. “In fact, why don’t you sit here with us and have some shortbread and tea while you explain.”

After Jason enjoyed three helpings of shortbread and gave the details of how they might assist him, the trio headed over to the MacLachlans’. The buggy was too small for more than the doctor and her mother, so Emmalyne walked briskly alongside the entire way despite the doctor’s protests. The day was warm but the air was cooler under the canopy of shade. The trees were just starting to change color, and in another few weeks, the entire land would be a riot of beautiful oranges, yellows, reds, and browns.

“This is such a pleasant time of year,” she commented. “Even though it’s warm, the humidity seems far less. I suppose it will return soon enough, however, in the form of icy rain and snow.”

Dr. Williams smiled down at her as he kept the horse moving forward. “I have to admit I am rather worried about the winters. We didn’t get much snow in Kansas City.”

“The winters can be dreadful,” Mother interjected. “You’ll need a sleigh.”

Emmalyne nodded. “She’s right, you know. I hope Dr. Schultz has already thought of that for you.”

Jason chuckled. “He has. He told me he has a sleigh and snowshoes and a variety of other equipment that he assures me are necessary for living through a Minnesota winter.”

They weren’t far from the MacLachlan house when they heard screaming. Emmalyne looked at the doctor for a moment, then hiked her skirt and began to run. Something was terribly wrong. Another scream tore through the air.

Dr. Williams urged the horse to pick up speed and easily bypassed Emmalyne on the road. He’d just brought the buggy to a stop in front of the house when Emmalyne rounded the corner and saw the problem. Fenella was on the roof.

Morna MacLachlan stood on the ground, pleading with her daughter to go back inside. “You cannae stay out here, Fenella. You’ll get hurt. Please haste ye back inside,” she begged.

Fenella gave another scream and swayed back and forth on the lower roof. Emmalyne clutched her throat in fear. Dr. Williams was already heading to where Morna stood, so Emmalyne helped her mother from the buggy before joining them.

The doctor and Morna were attempting to reason with the crazed woman. Emmalyne looked up at Fenella and wondered if there was anything left inside her mind that could recall their days together.

Dr. Williams leaned toward Emmalyne. “Talk to her. I’m going to climb up the trellis and see if I can get ahold of her. It’s not such a long fall should she lose her balance, but I fear she could get hurt nonetheless.”

“Of course.” Emmalyne looked to Morna, who had collapsed into Mother’s arms. “I’ll do what I can.”

She walked to a position where Fenella could see her better. “Fenella, it’s me, Emmy!” she called.

Fenella stopped swaying and cocked her head to the right. She appeared to understand Emmalyne’s words. Encouraged by this, Emmalyne continued. “Fenella, do you remember when we were in eighth grade, and we had a harvest party at school? Remember? You and I were in charge of baking one of the cakes for the cake walk. We worked so hard on that cake.” Fenella said nothing, but neither did she seem to notice Dr. Williams stealthily approaching from the other side.

“Then we put the cake on a chair while we helped Mrs. Morton hang the banner, and Horus Kaberline sat on it.” Emmalyne chuckled at the memory. “Do you remember, Fenella? You told him it was a cake walk, not a ‘cake sit,’ and he’d have to pay a dollar for ruining a perfectly good prize.”

Just then Dr. Williams reached Fenella and grabbed her from behind. She cried out and fought him like a wild animal, but Jason easily overpowered her and dragged her to the window of her room. Emmalyne grabbed his doctor’s bag from the buggy and rushed past Morna and her mother.