A Promise Kept (24 page)

Emma turned her face toward the wall. “Go away. I want to be alone.”

“I will not go away.” Unexpectedly, Liza grabbed the framed photograph and jerked it free of Emma’s grip, then took several steps backward. “You cannot go on like this. It isn’t healthy. Look at you. You’re thin and wan. You have no care for your appearance. This isn’t like you, Em.”

Emma wanted to take her photograph back, but she hadn’t the energy to do so.

Liza’s expression softened a little. “Em, please. Don’t let that man continue to hurt you like this. That’s all you’re doing. Letting him go on hurting you.”

“He was my husband. I promised to stay with him unto death.”

“And he promised to love and cherish you. Didn’t he? Was it love when he went off with other women? Was it love when he struck you?”

Emma’s breath caught and she mouthed the word
no
. Then she held out a hand, silently asking for the return of her photograph. It was the only one she had from their wedding day. She had other snapshots of Alexander, even a few of the two of them together, but the one Liza now held was the only one from their wedding day.

The unspoken request seemed to make her sister angry all over again. With a suddenness that shocked Emma, Liza removed the photograph from its frame and ripped it into tiny pieces. The action sucked the air from the room. Neither woman moved as the last bits of the torn photograph drifted to the floor.

“What have you done?” Emma whispered after a lengthy silence.

“I hope I’ve brought you to your senses. I’m sorry, Emma, but enough is enough. It’s time you rejoined the world of the living.” With that, Liza left the room as quickly as her pregnant body allowed.

Emma got off the bed, knelt on the floor, and picked up the remains of her wedding picture. There was no hope of gluing it back together again. The pieces were too small, the rips too uneven.

Liza’s right. Get up. Move on
.

But she remained on her knees, feeling as if more than a photograph had been shredded. Her heart, too, lay in pieces on the hardwood floor.

Allison

Chet invited Allison for dinner or coffee at least once each week in the month that followed their first date. She accepted because she enjoyed his company—and yet it disturbed her too. She had a feeling Chet would like a more serious relationship, at least down the road a bit. What she wanted remained a mystery to her.

Chet never tried to kiss her. He never did anything more intimate than place his hand in the small of her back as they entered a restaurant. But there was something about the way he looked at her that told her the time would come.

Why wasn’t she eager for romance to happen? She thought she should be. Her mother and her daughter thought she should be as well. And yet something held her emotions in check. Something that said she wasn’t ready for more than Chet’s friendship. It was frustrating, really. He was one of the nicest men she’d ever known. A good dad. A strong Christian. And the two of them had many things in common, including knowing what it was like to be abandoned by a spouse, to be divorced against their wills.

It was a hot afternoon in mid-August when Allison decided to share her confused emotions with Susan. The two women sat in the shade on the deck, cool glasses of iced tea in their hands. Allison talked and talked. Susan listened without comment until Allison ran out of words.

“Well,” she said into the sudden silence.

“Well,” Allison echoed in a whisper.

“You know Chet is a dear, dear friend of ours. Ned’s and mine.”

“Of course.”

“And though we may have known you for a shorter period of time, you are just as dear a friend to us.”

Allison smiled briefly in acknowledgment.

“I am not surprised you and Chet hit it off. In other circumstances, you might have been ideal for each other.”

In other circumstances
.

“Maybe that time will still come.” Susan leaned forward on her chair. “But have you considered the reason you aren’t ready for romance, as you put it, is because God doesn’t want you to be ready for it?”

“Why would that be?”

“My friend, the older I get, the more I realize how little I know. None of us are good at waiting on God. Our culture wants instant everything. Even up here in these mountains, where life is less rushed than in the cities, we still can be impatient with life. We don’t want to wait. We want what we want and we want it now. The television tells us we are worthy of whatever will make us beautiful or rich or smart or happy, and we want it. But the only real answer to your question is wait. Wait and pray. Pray and listen. God will answer you in His time.”

“Mm.” Allison leaned back in her chair and looked up at the sky, watching the tall pines sway gently. “I
have
prayed about it. Did I tell you I’ve been journaling more? Like Aunt Emma, I’ve been writing out my prayers. It helps me to see them on the page.”

“Then perhaps that’s where God will answer you. On the pages of your journal.”

Allison liked the sound of that.

After a brief silence, Susan asked, “When is Meredith arriving?”

“Saturday after next.”

“You must be excited.”

“I am. It feels like ages since she was here, even though it’s only been seven months. I miss her terribly.”

“Of course you do.”

Allison cast a glance toward her friend. “There’s something I haven’t told you about this visit to Idaho.”

“What’s that?”

“Tony’s coming with her.”

“Really?” Susan raised an eyebrow but she didn’t sound surprised.

“He’ll stay in the exercise room on that blow-up bed, like he did for Christmas. And the three of us might go camping up at Redfish Lake for a few nights. That’s what Meredith wants to do.”

Susan laughed softly. “You are an unusual ex-wife, Allison Kavanagh.”

“Do you think so?”

“You feel no bitterness after all that’s happened?”

“No.”

“Did you ever?”

Allison didn’t answer as quickly this time. She considered the question, wanting to be honest with Susan and with herself. Finally, she said, “No, I was never bitter. Heartbroken, yes. Bitter, no. Tony was never a bad man. Alcoholism made him selfish, of course. He could hurt my feelings. He hurt me deeply at times. And I could get angry. Terribly angry. I could strike back with words meant to wound. I’m ashamed of those times.”

“You still care about him.” Susan didn’t phrase it as a question.

Care for Tony? Yes, she did care about him. She and Tony had lived together for more than two decades. They’d brought a child into the world and raised her together. They’d fought and they’d cried. They’d laughed and they’d loved. Divorce couldn’t negate
the memories, good or bad. She might not love him any longer, but she could still care about him, about his health, his recovery, his walk with God. She could still want the best for him.

Perhaps Susan was right. Perhaps Allison was an unusual ex-wife.

Allison

During the week before Meredith arrived, Allison put in long hours at the computer, making certain she was ahead of schedule on her current projects. When she wasn’t doing that, she cleaned and organized like a mad woman. The exercise room was less cluttered than it had been at Christmas. More boxes had been emptied, the items inside having found a place in the house or been given to charity. With fewer boxes, there was more room for the blow-up bed and a small dresser. Tony wouldn’t have to live out of a suitcase for two weeks. Although she doubted it would matter to him. Men didn’t seem to care as much about such things.

The pantry off the kitchen was well stocked, thanks to a recent visit to Costco in Boise. The freezer had plenty of meat, and the refrigerator had lots of summer fruits and vegetables. Since she still didn’t know their exact plans for the next two weeks, it hadn’t been easy to meal plan, but she’d done the best she could.

On Saturday morning she awakened with the knowledge that she would see Meredith in a matter of hours. Her stomach fluttered with excitement, and she was tempted to dress and drive down to the valley rather than leave it to Tony to meet Meredith at the airport and bring her to Kings Meadow. Of course it made sense for Allison to save herself the trip. Still, she knew the hours would crawl until she saw Tony’s vehicle pull into the driveway.

She pushed herself up against the pillows and headboard. Her gaze went to the corner where Aunt Emma’s old dressform now stood, wearing the wedding gown from the trunk. She’d brought them down from the attic a few weeks ago. Perhaps it was silly, but the dress—like the journals—made her feel close to her aunt. As if Aunt Emma were looking out for Allison and offering advice, one woman to another. There had been more to Emma Carter than met the eye. Much more. What Allison wouldn’t give for the ability to sit down with her great-aunt and ask questions.

And her grandmother too. Grandma Elizabeth had died at a much younger age than her sister. Passed away in her sleep a few days after her great-granddaughter, Meredith Kavanagh, was born. Allison had been twenty-three, still young enough to believe life would go on unchanged forever. Not expecting a beloved grandmother could die unexpectedly. Now, all these years later, it seemed she’d hardly known Grandma Elizabeth at all.

Allison closed her eyes and pictured the sisters together. She supposed the women in her present memory had been in their seventies. Grandma Elizabeth had been a widow for at least a decade by then, and she often came to stay with her sister in her mountain home.

Laughter rang in Allison’s head as she reminisced, and the sound made her smile. How those two loved to laugh. And argue! One of them would mention something about their childhood or their parents or some friend, and the other would state that the other’s recollection was wrong. Then off they would go, each convinced her version of the story was the correct one.

Tony, whose own family was fractured and distant, had told Allison how fortunate she was, to have those two gems for grandmother and great-aunt. She’d agreed with him, but at the
time, she hadn’t known how true it was. Gizmo jumped onto the bed, causing Allison to open her eyes again. He whimpered once. Then his ears perked up and he lifted one paw, as if to shake her hand. The meaning was clear enough. Time to stop reminiscing, get out of bed, and get on with her day.

Emma

1932

“What do you think, Em? Would you like to live here?”

Emma turned from looking at the log house to facing her sister. “I couldn’t possibly. It is too much for you and John to do. You’ve done so much already.”

“We have never used it.” Liza shifted the baby from the crook of her arm to her shoulder and patted him on the back. “John acquired it for almost nothing. He thought we could come for a few weeks in the summer. But it takes so long to drive up and with the children this small . . .” She fell silent, ending her words with a shrug.

Emma looked at the house again. A place to live far away from the reminders that haunted her in the valley. It was inviting. “I would insist on paying John back. I don’t know when or how, but I couldn’t let him give it to me outright.”

Just
how
she would pay him back was a good question. And wouldn’t it be even more difficult to earn some kind of income, living in these mountains? Yet her heart tugged at her to accept, even before she’d seen the interior of the two-story cabin. Somehow she knew the depression and fear that had gripped her since the divorce would not follow her to this log house. Somehow she knew this was where she would find peace at last. If God provided for her in this way, how could she refuse?

As if she sensed her sister weakening, Liza said, “Come with me. We’ll look inside. Mark Thomas, come hold Aunt Emma’s hand.”

Emma’s nephew darted over from the underbrush where he’d seen a chipmunk disappear. He held up his chubby little hand to her, and she took it, smiling. She seldom smiled these days, but her three-year-old nephew and his baby brother never failed to work their charms on her.

Liza led the way up the steep steps to the deck. She took a key from the pocket of her dress and unlocked the door. The interior of the house was dark and cool. While Liza went to open the drapes on the large front window, Emma moved into the center of the parlor. With a
whoosh
, the drapes were drawn to the sides and daylight spilled into the room, illuminating dust motes in the air.

“As you can see,” Liza said, “we haven’t bothered to furnish it. But we have everything you would need to set up house. John says you’ll need an automobile to get into Kings Meadow but—”

“No. I couldn’t accept a car in addition to the house. A horse and buggy would be sufficient.”

“Em, really. You—”

“A horse and buggy. Or maybe a wagon would be more practical.”

She walked into the kitchen. A large range took up most of the space on one of the outside walls. An icebox sat opposite it. A work table was in the middle of the room, and a sink with pump handle was located beneath the window. Anticipation stirred in her chest.

“No one in Kings Meadow would know you,” Liza said from behind her. “They needn’t know you’re divorced or anything about Alexander. You could truly start over.”

No one would know she’d ever been Mrs. Monroe. That was
what her sister meant. Erase the past. Just like ripping a wedding photo into a hundred pieces.

“The only drawback is that you will be so far away from the rest of the family. Well, that and the lack of electricity and indoor plumbing.”

“Electricity is overrated. I wouldn’t mind being without it.”

“I would mind. I’ve grown spoiled by modern conveniences.”

Emma left the kitchen and walked down the short hallway to the bedroom. It was roomy. Perhaps too large for a single woman.

“At least we wouldn’t have to worry about Alexander’s bootlegging friends looking for you here.”

She turned to look at her sister. “That was months ago.”

“Not long enough to suit me. Who knows what trouble Alexander will get himself mixed up in next?”