A Promise Kept (6 page)

Taking a break from designing a logo for a client, Allison checked her e-mail, then opened her browser to the local Chamber of Commerce’s website and began reading:

Kings Meadow, elevation 4,625 feet, is located in a long, wide valley surrounded by rugged mountains of southwestern Idaho. In the 1800s, the farmers and merchants who settled in this valley north of Boise City sold their produce, hogs, cows, and milk to the miners panning for gold throughout the Boise Basin. Eventually, the gold rush ended and most of the miners left the territory. But a good number of the farmers and merchants remained, and many of their descendants still live here today.

As she read, Allison pictured Chet Leonard, standing on the bank of the stream the previous Sunday. She wondered if his ancestors had settled in the valley over a hundred years before. He looked and sounded like a lifelong resident.

She shook her head, ridding herself of the image. She had no interest in men. Cowboys or not. Period. And that one had a family.

A glance at the clock told her it was time to take the dog for a walk. She slipped a sweatshirt over her head, put on her athletic shoes, and headed toward the door, leash in hand. Gizmo was waiting for her there.

In the two weeks since moving into the log house, Allison and Gizmo had explored several paths on their daily walks. Allison’s favorite was the one that followed the river. And today, with wildflowers blooming everywhere—an abundance of pinks and blues, yellows and oranges—she felt a lifting of her spirit. It was so pretty. God’s handprints were everywhere.

Thank You
.

Her spirit lightened a little more.

Thank You that I had this place to come to. Thank You that I wasn’t completely ruined in the divorce. I might’ve been. Other women have been. But I’m okay
.

The simple prayer of thanksgiving broke through a barrier
in her heart, and something she couldn’t quite define began to heal.

You’ve been with me every step of the way. Through the separation. Through the divorce. You were there all the time
.

She didn’t doubt for a moment that God had been with her. Still, she’d been shattered all the same, and the end of her dreams, the end of her marriage, had caused her to grow silent, to distrust her ability to hear God’s voice.

Help me hear You again, Lord
.

She stopped walking, giving Gizmo time to sniff the underbrush and explore each rock and cranny while giving her time to enjoy the scenery.

On this stretch of the river the water flowed by swiftly, its surface smooth, but behind her and around the bend was some of the best whitewater in the world. Rafters and kayakers flocked to this river every summer from around the globe. When Meredith was young, the family had gone on a rafting trip at least once every summer. More often if they had guests from out of state. Tony had loved to put “flatlanders,” as he called those who were not from a mountainous area, in the front of the raft so they would get sprayed with the icy-cold water, drenching them before the trip downriver was over.

Tony’s mischievous sense of humor was one of the things Allison had loved about him. He could make her laugh as no one else could. He’d also made her cry like no one else.

Not liking the direction of her thoughts—the second time today—she resumed walking.

Grieving was a process one had to go through—Allison knew this. It took as long as it took. But she didn’t want grief to morph into self-pity. She’d never been that sort of person, not even at the worst of times. She didn’t want to become that sort of person now. There was too much to be thankful for. She had
a snug home in a gorgeous region. She had plenty of clients and a successful business. She had good health, and her parents and daughter were all well too.

But God hates divorce
. The words pierced her heart—as they always did.

A month or so ago, when Allison had been in the deepest period of mourning, her mother reminded her that while the Bible said God hated divorce, He did not hate the
divorced
. God loved her and wanted His best for her. Her life was not over. God still had a purpose and a plan for her. All she had to do was trust Him.

She knew all of that in her mind. It was getting it into her heart that was so hard. She supposed, like grief, belief took time too.

Allison

On Friday evening a storm blew through the area, causing trees to dance like whirling dervishes and the wind to whistle beneath the eaves. It was a perfect night to sit before the living room fireplace, listening to the wood crackle and pop, while she sorted through more things from Aunt Emma’s trunk.

It was the photographs that interested Allison the most, and there were lots of them. Far more than she’d first thought. Some of them had writing on the backs, identifying the people in the photograph, but others didn’t. Of course, many of them were of Aunt Emma and Allison’s grandmother, Elizabeth Hendricks, and their parents; she recognized all those family members easily enough. There were a lot of her mother as a baby, including some naked ones on a bear rug. Those shots made Allison laugh out loud. Wait until she told her mother about them.

After about an hour of looking, she decided organization was needed before anything else. She had some empty shoeboxes in the spare room upstairs. She would get them and start sorting photos into different boxes. One for photos of people she could identify. One for photos of people she couldn’t identify. And one for photos that piqued her curiosity, made her want to know more.

“I wish I’d seen these before Aunt Emma died,” she said aloud.

Gizmo lifted his head and stared at her.

“If I’d seen them then, I could have asked her. Especially about this guy.” She held up another photo of her aunt with
that same young man, the one she’d asked her mother about. Whoever he was, he was devastatingly handsome. Although the photograph was black and white, she was certain his eyes must have been a piercing blue, and there was a broodiness in his expression that made her think of Douglas Fairbanks, a silent film star from the twenties.

“Who was he to you, Aunt Emma?”

A gust of wind rattled the windows, startling Allison. She dropped the photo, and it drifted dangerously close to the fireplace before landing on the floor. She got up and retrieved it, then headed upstairs for the shoeboxes.

Emma

1926

Liza’s June wedding to John Hendricks, eldest son of one of Idaho’s leading—and wealthiest—citizens, was the social event of the summer. The pews of the church were filled with friends and family, successful businessmen and powerful government officials, both city and state. Everybody who was anybody had been invited to the wedding, and from the looks of the packed sanctuary, most had accepted the invitation.

Emma was delighted to serve as her sister’s maid of honor, although she felt awkward and gauche whenever she stood next to Liza, who was even more stunning than usual in her long white satin gown and exquisite veil. Emma was thankful when, at last, she was able to slip away from the spotlight and observe the reception from a dim corner of the banquet hall the Hendricks had rented for the occasion. She wasn’t surprised when Alexander joined her there.

“Well, she did it,” he said, his gaze locked on the bride. “Landed herself a rich husband.”

“She loves John.”

“Does she?” Alexander turned his eyes on Emma. “I’ve started to believe Liza only loves herself.”

“Don’t say such things, Alexander. Not to me. She’s my sister, and I only want her happiness. John makes her happy.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “What has she ever done to deserve your unswerving loyalty?”

“Stop it.”

“Really, Emma. I mean it. What has she ever done? Does she ever think of you first? Does she ever think of anybody but her—”

She frowned at him, then turned to walk away.

He grabbed her upper arm to stop her, pulling her around to face him again.

“I won’t stay if you keep talking like that,” she told him. “I won’t listen to another negative word about Liza. This is her wedding day.”

“All right. I’ll be quiet.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She was glad he promised because she didn’t want to leave this corner. And she didn’t want to leave Alexander’s side either.

The small orchestra on the stage played a few notes to get the attention of the guests. When the room fell silent, Liza and her groom moved to the center of the floor. The bride held her train over her right forearm, and as John drew her into his embrace, Liza smiled up at him with adoration. What a handsome couple they made. They belonged together, John and Liza.

A lump formed in Emma’s throat.

“Come on, Emma,” Alexander said. “We might as well join them. You can waltz, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can waltz.”

It was the first time Alexander held her in his arms, and as they moved around the room with the other couples, she pretended not to know he’d rather be holding her sister.

Allison

Susan Lyle was a force of nature. She was sixty-two but she had the energy of a woman half her age. It took no time at all for Allison to consider Susan the best friend she’d ever had.

The two women fell into a habit of meeting for coffee on Friday mornings at a little Kings Meadow bistro on Main Street. Allison felt so comfortable with Susan that she’d soon shared more details about her marriage with her new friend than she’d shared with her counselor or her codependency group after more than a year with them. In addition to learning each other’s life stories, they spent a fair amount of time talking about God. Allison looked forward to those conversations the most. Susan’s faith was deep and unwavering, and Allison drank in her words of wisdom as she felt her own faith strengthen and grow.

When Susan invited her to join the book club that met at the library on the third Monday of every month, Allison agreed without hesitation. She hadn’t read books for fun in recent years. The book club, she hoped, would reintroduce her to reading a story for pure pleasure. It would also help her break the habit of vegging in front of cable television after a day at the computer. And besides, it was an opportunity to meet more of her neighbors—neighbors being a loose term in these mountains.

By the end of her first summer as a full-time resident, Allison had stopped thinking of the log house as Aunt Emma’s place. It had become her home. Sure, there were times when she missed
the life she’d had in Boise with Tony and Meredith. Times when she missed the ease of finding whatever she wanted at the grocery store or at the mall. And there were nights when she reached her hand across to the empty side of the bed, wishing it wasn’t her dog she found there. But for the most part, she was content. Happy, even. She felt healthier—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Perhaps she even felt fresh hope for the future.

Returning from her walk with Gizmo one afternoon in mid-September, Allison told herself she must start taking her camera everywhere she went. The colors had started to turn, and autumn would become more beautiful with every passing day. She didn’t want to miss any of it. Maybe she should buy a book on nature photography—one of those manuals written for dummies—and see if she could become proficient, at least to a small degree. Aunt Emma had made her living with photography. Perhaps Allison had inherited a little of that talent.

As she climbed the steps to the deck, she heard the phone ringing inside. She hurried to unlock the door and grab it before it went to voice mail. “Hello?”

“Mom?”

“Hi, honey. What a nice surprise to hear your voice.”

“Mom, I got a call from St. Luke’s. Dad’s in the ER. They think it’s his pancreas again. It sounds like he’s in bad shape.”

Bad shape
. Did she mean drunk?

“Can you drive down there? I’m worried and I don’t know when anyone at the hospital will let me know how he’s doing.”

Chaos. Allison had grown used to its absence. “Oh, Meredith. I—”

“I know, Mom. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go. But I’m so far away, and he
is
my dad.”

She had no argument against such words. “All right. I’ll leave as soon as I change my clothes and put on some makeup.”

“Call me when you know anything. I’ll have my cell phone with me all the time.”

“I will. I’ll call as soon as I have something to share.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Allison hung up the phone. She was glad her daughter had been mending fences with her father over the summer. Once Meredith was old enough to understand, Allison had been honest with her about her dad’s problem. Allison had encouraged Meredith to love Tony unconditionally but never to enable him. She’d tried to set that example, although she’d often failed at it.

The phone rang again before she could step away from it. This time she checked the caller ID before picking up the handset. “Hi, Susan,” she answered as she walked toward her bedroom.

“Allison, I’m calling about book club. Could you—”