A Promise Kept (18 page)

But it wasn’t the Emma of these latest diaries. The ones from the later 1920s. Oh, there were glimpses of her here and there, but there was also someone who always seemed to come in second to her younger, prettier sister. A young woman who wasn’t certain who she was or if she was good enough to deserve more than what she had. A young woman who had tried to change herself in order to please the man she loved.

“Why did you marry him, Aunt Emma, knowing what you did? Was he worth it?”

For the first time, she was tempted to pull out more diaries and skim through them until she found answers to her questions. But she refused to give in to that particular temptation. She was convinced Aunt Emma would want her to read them in order. Perhaps it was a silly conviction, but she would heed it.

Allison leaned back in her chair and thought about Tony. She’d known when they were dating that he liked to have a drink. But she’d never seen him drink to excess, never seen the slightest hint that he might have a problem. Maybe it should have bothered her more, as a Christian, but she’d never thought abstinence from
alcohol was a law for believers. Everything in moderation. She’d believed that was a good rule for life. Everything in moderation.

Should she have seen beyond the facade, understood more of what she did see? Or maybe she had understood and refused to admit it. Maybe, like her great-aunt, she’d married despite what she knew or suspected.

She picked up a different photograph of Alexander. “Who are you, Mr. Monroe? And what happened that caused Aunt Emma and Grandmother to keep her marriage to you a secret all those years?”

Emma

October 2, 1928

I miscarried in the night. Yesterday Liza gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and I was present to see his entry into the world. But before the sun rose this morning, my baby was taken from me, lost in a flow of blood.

Why did this happen? Have I sinned in some horrible way? Is God punishing me? Is something wrong with me? Don’t I deserve any happiness?

Alexander said it was all right. That there would be other babies. But I felt him move further away from me, even as he said it.

I wish I had died in the night too. This pain is too great to bear. Mother would say I was doomed for wishing such a thing, but I cannot help it. It’s how I feel. And doesn’t God already know how I feel? It can’t be a surprise to Him if I admit those feelings here in this diary or even say them aloud.

October 22, 1928

The sadness never leaves me. Mother tells me I must stop mourning, fix myself up, make myself attractive for my husband, learn to smile again. She does not know how alone I am in my grief. Even Liza, who has lost a child, does not understand. Because she had John to hold her and love her and cherish her. I have no one. Least of all Alexander.

That man came to the house again yesterday. The one Alexander works for nights, making his deliveries. I was alone when he came. He said almost nothing. He did nothing that should have made me afraid, but I was afraid all the same. There is a strangeness about him, an air of danger in the way he moves, in his eyes. He said his name is Smith. Hal Smith.

Alexander is afraid of him too. I could see that when I mentioned Mr. Smith’s visit. Then he left without eating his supper. Later, I cried myself to sleep. I do not know when he came home.

What has happened to my life? I feel it unraveling and cannot seem to stop it. God, help me.

Allison

In the myriad of conversations taking place before the start of book club, Allison overheard the Leonards’ names mentioned numerous times. The news of Chet and Marsha’s impending divorce had become general knowledge, and Allison felt sorry for Chet and his boys. It was never fun to be the object of gossip. Especially for the ones left behind.

Allison was thankful when Susan called the meeting to order. The members sat on chairs placed in a wide circle. A few matters of business were discussed, and then the meeting was turned over to Allison.

She felt a little nervous as she opened with a few of her own thoughts about the book she’d chosen for them to read. What if no one had liked her selection? And even if they had liked it, what if they had nothing to say about it tonight? Trivial worries. When, since she’d joined the book club last year, had these women failed to freely voice their opinions about a book? Not even once.

The next hour passed in a blur of animated discussion, and before she knew it, the meeting was over and members began to disperse.

“That went well,” Susan said.

Allison smiled, satisfaction warming her insides. Tonight’s meeting had made her feel as if she’d taken one step more into this tight-knit mountain community. She’d come to Kings Meadow
because circumstances demanded it. It had seemed her only option. It no longer felt that way. She would choose to live here, no matter where else she could go.

Was that how it had been for Aunt Emma? Had she come to the mountains to hide and lick her wounds? What Allison wouldn’t give to be able to sit down with her great-aunt and ask the questions she hadn’t known to ask before her aunt passed away.

Drawing a deep breath, Allison slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I keep feeling like God wants to teach me something through Aunt Emma’s life. Do you think that’s silly?”

“No. I don’t think it’s silly. If God can speak through a donkey like He did in the Old Testament, then He can just as easily talk through words written in the past.”

“Aunt Emma’s circumstances weren’t the same as mine. Not that I can see thus far.”

“I don’t believe they have to be the same. I had the Lord reveal a truth to me when I was looking at a wildflower growing through a crack in a rock.”

Allison leaned over and gave Susan a tight hug. “Do you know how thankful I am for our friendship?”

“Likewise.”

They turned in unison and headed for the glass doors of the library. Darkness had fallen over the town while they were in their meeting, but it was relieved somewhat by a half-moon floating above the eastern range. Their cars were parked side by side under a light in the parking lot. They walked over to them and stopped in front of Allison’s SUV.

“Thanks for inviting me to be part of the book club. I’ve enjoyed it so much.”

“Well, your book choice was a great one. Lots of good thoughts. I’m just sorry for the talk that went on before we got started.”

“You mean about Chet and Marsha.”

Susan nodded.

“Yes, I was sorry to hear it too. I saw Chet here at the library last week and he told me about the divorce. How’s he holding up?”

“Okay some days. Not so good on others.”

“I know how that is.”

“Ned tries to be there for him as much as possible. Of course, Chet’s one of those independent cowboy types. Strong. Kind of quiet and thoughtful. You know what I mean.”

It was Allison’s turn to nod.

“In some ways I think this is harder for Chet than not knowing where Marsha was. At least then he could believe his wife would return to him. He doesn’t have much hope for that now.”

“They seemed a happy couple.”

Her expression sad, Susan drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “I guess this is a good reminder that things aren’t always what they seem.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“All I know to do is to pray for them.”

“God hates divorce. He doesn’t hate the divorced.” Allison gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “That’s what Mom said to me when I was hurting and in such despair.”

A small smile bowed Susan’s mouth. “I’m glad you aren’t in despair any longer.”

“Me too.”

They bid each other good night and got into their respective vehicles.

On the drive home, Allison’s thoughts turned again to Chet and Marsha, and she prayed both of them would find peace. “Your will be done, Father,” she whispered when she didn’t know what more to pray, then added, “In my life too, Lord. Your will be done in my life too.”

Allison

Allison was as excited as a kid on Christmas as she awaited the arrival of her parents on that first Saturday in May. She found herself returning to the deck again and again, hoping to catch a glimpse of their car as they turned into her driveway. It was just before four in the afternoon when she finally got her wish.

As the car approached the house, she waved her arm in a big arc, grinning like a fool. She told Gizmo to sit and stay. Then she hurried down the steps so she could hug her parents the instant she could get to them.

Her mother was out before the engine died. Tall and slender like her mother had been before her, Maggie Knight looked a couple of decades younger than her seventy-two years, despite having let her hair go gray. Whenever someone mentioned her more youthful appearance, she was quick to declare she could take no credit for it. “Good genes,” she would always say. “I inherited good genes.”

“Look at you, Mom. You’ve got a bit of a tan.”

“We’ve been golfing a lot,” her mom answered.

Allison hurried to the opposite side of the car as her dad disembarked.

A couple of years older than his wife, Robert Knight looked closer to his real age, but he also was in great physical shape. All that golfing, no doubt. He still had a full head of hair, hair that
used to be as black as ink and was now a rich silver-gray. The kind of silver that women paid a hundred dollars or more to achieve in a beauty salon.

“Dad, you look fit as a fiddle.”

“Feel fit, thanks. And you don’t look so bad yourself, Allison. We’ve missed you, honey.” He embraced her.

“I’ve missed you both too. Come inside. I’ll get your bags in a bit. Are you hungry? We can eat sooner rather than later if you want.”

“We’re fine,” he answered. “We can wait. Can’t we, Maggie? I need a bit of exercise more than food. Mind if I walk about outside before I come in?”

“I don’t mind, Dad. Go ahead.” Allison returned to her mom’s side, and the two women walked to the stairs and went up the steps to the deck. “Mom, meet Gizmo.”

Maggie Knight bent down and stroked the dog’s head. “Hello, boy.” As she straightened, she added, “He’s well-behaved.”

“Not always, but for the most part.”

When they entered the house, her mom stopped again. “My goodness. I didn’t expect the place to look so different.”

“I’ve added my own touches.”

“You’ve done more than that, sweetheart. Even with all the modernizations, it always felt like a cabin when Aunt Emma was living. You’ve made it feel more homey.”

The praise felt good. “Thanks. I’ve tried.”

Her mom moved toward the framed photographs on the wall. “Are these some of the photos you found in the trunks?” She perused more of them on the mantel and a side table.

“Yes. And those I haven’t framed, I’ve put in scrapbooks. I finished the last of them earlier this week. Well, except for duplicates or similar shots. I left those in a box.”

“Did you frame one of that mystery man you asked about?”

“No. But I have a surprise for you about him.” She hesitated a moment for effect before saying, “He was Aunt Emma’s husband.”

The look on her mom’s face as she turned around was priceless. “Husband? Aunt Emma was never married.”

“Yes, she was. She wrote about her wedding and her honeymoon in her diary.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Well, it’s true, whether you believe it or not. And what’s more, she wrote that Alexander Monroe was in love with Grandma Elizabeth when he married Aunt Emma.”

Maggie stiffened. “I don’t believe that either. My mother never had eyes for anyone but my father.”

“I didn’t say Grandma returned his feelings. It’s actually quite sad to read about.”

“If there were any truth to it, we would have been told years ago. Who could keep that kind of secret for so many years? Especially these days with the Internet and such.”

“The secret-keeping began long before computers and the web. Maybe even before you were born. It would have been easier back in the thirties and forties to hide information. Would you like to see some of the diary entries about him?”

Her mother shook her head. “Maybe later. It really isn’t important, after all. Everyone it might have mattered to is dead.”

Allison could have argued. It mattered to her. For some reason, it mattered a lot. But she sensed her mom wouldn’t understand, even if she tried to explain it. And she probably couldn’t explain it. Not yet. Not until she read more of the journals.

Her dad knocked on the glass door from the back deck off the kitchen. Gizmo barked as he raced to see who it was. Allison followed at a more sedate pace.

“It’s drying up nicely,” he said when the door slid open. “I remember the snow still being neck deep on the first of May some years.”

“I remember that too. I thought it would be that way this year. The snow was really deep all winter long. But the warmer temps have melted it fast.”