The Promise of Home (6 page)

Michael took the spoon and squinted down at it. The dim light in the root cellar made it hard to read the fine script, but he tilted the spoon up and down until the minuscule etching was illuminated:

Anna

“And now, turn it over and look on the back of the handle.”

He flipped it over and saw the words
My sweet girl
in the same tiny script, engraved into the thin silver surface. When he looked back at his mother, her eyes were brimming with tears.

“It was a little joke between Mama and me. When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into the kitchen and eat sugar straight out of the bowl. The hired girls would scold when they caught me, but Mama was gentle. She always hugged me and said that I couldn't help it because I was her ‘sweet girl.' ”

Michael didn't know what to say, but he smiled and passed the spoon carefully back to her. After a moment, his mother gently placed the sugar spoon back in its place. He watched as she closed and latched the lid of the flatware case and hid it again behind the burlap sacks.

“Father and Grandma really don't know about it?”

“No, nor does Seamus, and you're not to tell them about it, either, Michael.”

“But you've had it for so long, and we've moved more than once. How have they not seen it?”

“I've been very careful, and I change the hiding place from time to time,” she said with a slight smile. “Now, Michael, I need to know—I can trust you, can't I?”

“Yes, Mother,” Michael said. “You can trust me.”

His mother nodded. “For all these years, I've honored Mama's wishes to keep her gift a complete secret. I've showed it to you only as a precaution, in case something happens to your grandmother and me while we're here alone.”

“Nothing will happen to either of you. I promised Father I'd take care of everything, and I will.”

“I know, Michael. You gave your word.” His mother patted his arm before she took up two of the burlap sacks and began walking along the bins of vegetables, looking into each one. “Let's start at the end here,” she said as she knelt down near the large potato bin at the end of the row. “Anything that's soft or rotten will go in one bag, and anything starting to grow that we can still eat goes in the other. The good potatoes, we'll pile up to go back in the box.”

Together, they tipped the box forward and dumped the remaining potatoes onto the earthen floor. After a few minutes of silence, his mother looked at him with her brow furrowed. “I don't want you to think that my keeping the silver means that I believe I might need it someday to leave your father,” she said softly.

“I didn't think that.”

“Good. Marrying your father was the best thing I ever did. I keep the silver now only so our family has something to fall back on. I'd sell it if we were starving or desperate, but we're not—not yet, anyway. But I rest easier, knowing it's here. Since Roosevelt made it illegal to keep gold and took away forty percent of our dollars, silver is the only sure money. And I'd be afraid that your father and grandmother would want to part with it sooner than we should if they knew I had it— Oh!”

At his mother's loud gasp, Michael looked up from his sorting. She had picked up a potato that had gone bad, and its foul-smelling liquid had run all over her hand and down her arm.

“That's a really rotten one,” Michael said. “It stinks worse than anything in the barn.”

“It does,” his mother agreed. She put the bad potato in the “rotten” sack and rose to her feet. “I'm going to go wash this off,” she said, but she stood in place. She placed her clean hand over her mouth and clutched at the wooden shelving for support.

“Mother?” Michael quickly got to his feet. “What's the matter?”

“The smell,” she said in a weak voice. “I just felt like I was going to be sick. I'll be all right once I get some fresh air.”

“I can do the sorting myself,” Michael said. “It won't take long.”

His mother looked at him for a moment and then gave a resigned nod.

“Let me walk you upstairs—”

“No, no need. I can get myself upstairs, and I'll probably lie down for a little while. If you can finish down here, I'd be grateful. The sooner it's done, the sooner you can get out and get us something good for supper.”

As Michael watched, his mother made her way slowly to the stairs and up out of the root cellar.

Once she was gone, he finished looking through the potatoes as quickly as he could and moved to the next container. The apples took the longest because there were more of those left. It was a relief to push the apple bin back into place. He could finally go hunting! Michael picked up the two sacks of inferior produce and selected one of the good apples from the bin to take as a snack.

He took the bag of still-edibles into the house and left it in the kitchen for his mother. The silence inside told him that she was in her room resting, and his grandmother hadn't returned from the chicken coop. Quietly, he slipped the long strap of his game bag over his head, removed his .22 rifle and a box of cartridges from the gun case, and went back outside. He would drop the rotten produce at the barn. His grandmother might want to feed some of it to the chickens, and the rest she could put in the compost heap beside the garden.

Michael started out, as he always did, by walking through the rear pasture toward the woods. At the corner of the field, just before the trees started, he passed a row of four large rocks that were purposefully placed. His mother walked down to the stones every spring to plant flowers among them. Now that he was older, he knew what lay beneath those rocks, and he knew not to bother his mother on those rare occasions when she visited them.

Only a few hours of daylight were left, at best, and Michael moved past the row of stones faster than he normally would have. He was focused on getting a few squirrels. There was a sweet spot in the woods where he could sit with a clear view of a grove of hickory trees. He almost always got a squirrel in that place, either perched on one of the bare branches or scrounging around for buried nuts.

Michael ended up bagging two squirrels in the woods before the sun dropped too low for him to continue.
It might still be bright enough to hunt outside the forest,
he thought, so he reloaded his rifle for the walk back to the house. If he got lucky on his walk home through the field, he might kick up a rabbit hiding in one of the frozen tufts of grass that extended above the snow. The last thing he wanted to do was miss an opportunity to add to his haul.

When he emerged from the trees, he followed the fence up through the pasture toward the house. The lights were on there, as well as in the barn. Undoubtedly, his grandmother was busy with the evening milking, and his mother was in the kitchen starting supper. That realization prompted him to move faster. The quicker he skinned and dressed out the squirrels, the quicker they would be cooked and ready to eat.

As Michael stepped onto the rear porch, his mother's scream snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked through the glass in the door and saw inside the looming figure of a man he didn't recognize.

L
ate Sunday morning, Emily arrived at Turner's Hardware to open the store. Henry, the owner, rarely came in on the weekends anymore, and she was looking forward to the time between customers to work on unlocking the briefcase.

She put on her work apron, opened the safe, and loaded the till into the register. There were two boxes of stock that Henry had left for her in the back office, but it took her only a few minutes to unpack the packages of drywall screws and thin finishing nails. She slid most of the small containers onto the appropriate display racks, then put one package of finishing nails in her apron pocket. Next she walked around the end of the aisle to where the screwdrivers were displayed, including sets small enough to be used for jewelry or eyeglass repair. She placed one of those in her pocket as well.

Lined up on the far wall, there were spools of rope, cabling, and wire that could be purchased by the yard. Emily snipped small pieces of two sizes of the wire and headed back to the front counter. On her way, she flipped the sign on the door to
OPEN
.

She had the locked briefcase up on the counter and was hunched over it, fishing the sturdier piece of wire into the keyhole, when her first customer arrived. She straightened up and smiled. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe. Do you guys carry car air fresheners?”

“Sure, back in the auto section. Far corner on the left,” she said as she pointed down one of the aisles.

“Thank you, ma'am.”

Emily watched the man walk away from the counter. He looked vaguely familiar, though she didn't recall ever meeting him. Within a few minutes, she was again completely absorbed in working on the briefcase. The man clearing his throat as he stood before the register startled her.

“Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't notice you coming back,” she said.

“That's all right. I didn't mean to make you jump.” The man smiled and put a package of evergreen-shaped air fresheners and a bottle of upholstery cleaner on the counter. “So, where's Henry?”

“He's off today,” Emily said. “I usually cover the store for him on Sundays.”

“And you are…?”

“Emily DiSanti.”

“I'm Matt Campbell.” He reached out a hand, and she shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

As soon as he said his name, Emily placed him. “You're one of the officers in town, right? The newest one?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm off today, though.”

Matt was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. She had seen him only in passing and only in uniform. “The regular clothes threw me off,” she admitted. “Here, let me ring you up. Is this stuff for the police department?”

“No, they're for my car. I just got a puppy—”

Her attention shifted for a moment as the front door of the store opened again. A woman with short black hair entered and walked down one of the aisles before Emily could greet her.

“Really? A puppy?” Emily said, focusing again on Matt. “What kind?”

“A shelter mutt.”

Emily grinned. “That's where my dog, Gus, came from, too. Shelter mutts are the best.”

“They are. I haven't named her yet. I think she's part husky and part Lab, but who knows. Anyway, she's not housebroken yet, and I made the mistake of letting her sit in the passenger seat of my car.”

“Ah.” Emily laughed and started scanning his items. “Then you definitely need this stuff.”

“Yes, ma'am. Unfortunately.” He gave her a sheepish grin.

She smiled back. He had a handsome face that seemed to be getting better-looking the longer she spoke with him. He had also called her “ma'am” three times during their brief encounter.

“So, let me guess. You were in the military before you joined the police department?”

“Yes, ma'— Oh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'm sorry. Using ‘ma'am' or ‘sir' is second nature to me now. I'm trying to break the habit.”

“That's okay,” Emily said. “I've been called worse things.”

“I was in the Marines for sixteen years. The last six before I got out, I spent in the Middle East—Iraq and Afghanistan—but the last time I had to decide whether to re-up, I felt like it was time to come home and do something else. Police work sounded pretty interesting. I like it so far.”

“Mill River's a nice town,” Emily told him as she handed him his receipt and bagged his purchases. “I grew up here, and I moved back myself last summer.”

“I actually heard a little bit about you,” Matt said. “You know, when everything was going on with your sister.”

Emily felt her cheeks start to burn. “Oh, right. Well, Rose and I are on better terms now.” She smiled quickly. Matt continued to linger, and she began to get the feeling that he didn't want their conversation to end.

“That looks like a pretty old briefcase,” he said. “It's in good condition, though.”

“Yeah. It belongs to…a friend. I've been trying to get it open for her, but the keys are lost, and I didn't have anything at home small enough to fit in the locks.” She looked down toward the far end of the counter, where her nails, wire, and tiny screwdrivers were scattered.

“Do you know anything about picking locks?”

“Well, no, not really, but I'm pretty handy. I'll figure it out.”

“I can tell you that none of those things will work,” Matt said, glancing at her makeshift collection of tools. “Look, let me make it easier for you. I've got a pick set at home. I need to go let my pup out for a break, but after that, I'll grab the tools and come right back here. I can pop this baby open for you, no problem.”

“Really? I mean, that's so nice of you, but it seems like a lot of trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I'll be back.” Matt grabbed his bag from the counter and hurried out the door.

Why doesn't the hardware store carry lock-pick sets?
Emily wondered. Henry stocked almost every kind of tool made, so it was odd to learn of something he didn't offer. More important, why would Matt know how to pick locks? Was it part of his military or police training? And besides, given that he
was
a police officer, and she was trying to open a briefcase she didn't own to view contents that weren't hers, wouldn't it be foolish of her to accept Matt's help?

Karen Cooper stood in Turner's Hardware, staring at a display of various kinds of rope.

Not that she intended to buy any, or use it…yet. It was more like she was giving in to a morbid curiosity that lingered deep in the back of her mind. She was merely looking at her options.

She'd been doing well this morning. After attending Mass, she'd swung by home to drop off Ben before going back out to do some shopping. At the bakery, she'd smiled and chatted with Ruth Fitzgerald and picked up a few pieces of pie. She was proud of herself for maintaining a cheerful facade, for sticking with her usual routine to provide a semblance of normalcy. All morning, except for a few brief minutes at St. John's, during the morning Mass and when Father O'Brien had spoken with her afterward, she'd managed to avoid actively thinking about her missing husband.

Overhearing the conversation between the woman behind the counter and the male customer had ruined her fragile balancing act. The man had mentioned that he'd been in the military, stationed in the Middle East, and his words had cut through the flimsy membrane containing the worry and despair Karen struggled to control. She was in front of the rope display, shaking and trying to get herself together, when she felt a hand on her arm.

“Excuse me, I wanted to see if you needed help finding anything…Are you all right?”

“Oh.” Karen gasped and hurriedly wiped her cheeks. “No, I…uh, yes, I'm fine.” She blinked and avoided eye contact with the red-haired woman next to her.

“Aren't you Karen Manning?”

Karen flinched at the woman's question and glanced up at her. “Yes, I was. It's Karen Cooper now.”

“I thought so! Do you remember me? Emily DiSanti? We went to school together. You were a year ahead of me.”

“Emily?” Karen squinted at the woman's face. “Oh! You had an older sister, and I was in the grade between you two.”

“Yeah, you're thinking of Rose. She and her family live in Mill River now. I do, too.”

“I moved back a few years ago myself. My husband—” Karen paused. Why was it that every conversation circled back to Nick? She swallowed and tried to keep her voice steady. “My husband served in the Air Force for years, so we moved from place to place for a long time. We came back here to live once he decided not to reenlist.”

“Mill River seems to have that effect on people. It calls to you when you've been away for a while.” Emily furrowed her brow and hesitated before she said anything more. “Karen, are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine,” Karen said, but her shoulders sagged as what was left of her composure slipped away. “It's just that…my husband is working in Saudi Arabia, and he went missing yesterday. I was trying to keep it together today, but I overheard your conversation with that man, and when he mentioned being stationed in the Middle East…”

“I'm…I'm so sorry,” Emily said. “I don't know what to say. Does your family still live here? Do you have anyone close by?”

Karen smiled as Emily squeezed her arm. “My mother passed away years ago. Dad's nearby, in Rutland, but he has Alzheimer's. He lives in a memory care facility there. Sometimes he recognizes me, but he doesn't know who Ben is anymore, and he doesn't talk much.”

“Who's Ben?”

“My son. He's thirteen. I can't believe he's a teenager already, but he is, and he's a great kid.” She smiled at Emily through her tears. “My brother, George, lives in Seattle. Nick's family is in Texas, spread all over the state. His parents and sister live in Houston. I've been in touch with everybody. We're all just hoping and praying we'll get a call saying he's been found.” Karen pulled her phone from her pants pocket and looked down at the screen.

“I hope so, too.”

“They've got lots of people searching, lots of private security people from the company he's with, and some military. They'll find him.”

“They will, I'm sure they will,” Emily said quickly.

They stood in silence for a moment. Karen glanced at the ropes on the wall and then over at Emily. “I came in here for…lightbulbs. I'm all out of sixty-watt bulbs, or whatever fluorescent kind gives the same amount of light.”

“Sure, we have them,” Emily said, and she turned to lead Karen to a different area of the store. “How many do you need?”

Karen selected a box of bulbs and paid for them at the register. She gamely kept up small talk with Emily, but inside, she longed to rush home, climb into bed, and pull the covers over her head. Sleep would be a welcome, if temporary, respite. Perhaps the thick bedding would persuade her body and mind to relax enough to let it come.

Carrying a small brown bag and a steaming cup of coffee, Claudia left Ruth's bakery-café and headed up the street toward the police station. Even though the walk was short, it was wonderful to be out in the crisp autumn air with the bright sunshine warming her face. The sunny day and the brilliant fall foliage made everything in Mill River vibrant and happy. The fact that she was planning her wedding and on her way to surprise Kyle with lunch bolstered her upbeat mood, too.

She reached the door of the police station just as Kyle was coming out. “Hi,” she said. “I brought you lunch.” She held up the bag and the coffee cup.

“You're just full of surprises,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “What's in the bag?”

“Chicken salad and apple pie from Ruth's. Do you want to go to the break room?”

“Well, Ron just got here, so I was going to take a quick drive around. You want to come along?”

“Yeah.” She smiled suggestively.

“Don't get any bright ideas, my dear. I'm on duty—”

“—which means you can't mess around, yeah, I know.” She followed him to the department's Jeep Grand Cherokee and climbed into the passenger seat. “You really ought to loosen up a little.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and started the engine. “So, you came from the bakery?”

“Yeah. Rowen was there, all set up at one of the tables with her homework.”

“And probably something sweet, I imagine.”

“Yes, she was working on a cupcake along with her book report.”

Kyle chuckled. “That'll be another advantage of moving into your place. Rowen won't have a ready supply of baked goods downstairs.”

“I don't know how you guys have managed to live in that apartment for as long as you have. I mean, it's a nice place, but I'd go nuts with the smell of pies and pastries constantly coming up through the floor.”

They drove down Main Street, through the main business district and a residential area composed of small, older houses and a few trailer homes. There was a stand set up in front of one of the mobile homes. A stout woman with curly gray hair sat in a chair behind it.

“Daisy's still at it, I see,” Kyle said as he slowed the Jeep and rolled the window down to speak to her. “How are you, Miss Daisy?”

“Hello, Officer! I'm just fine, thank you. Trying to sell what's left of my special Halloween potion.” Daisy motioned to a line of large mason jars on the table, each of which was filled with bright orange liquid. “It's scary good, you know. There's lots of orange juice in it, and each jar comes with a secret spell to keep the ghosts and goblins away. Would you like to try it?”

Claudia watched as Kyle took a deep breath and tried to give her an earnest response.

“It sounds nice, Miss Daisy, but I've got to finish my patrol and get back to the station. It's a nice afternoon to be out, though. You enjoy the sunshine!”