The Promise of Home (18 page)

“Aisle three, near the back.”

“Thank you.”

Karen walked quietly down the aisle as Emily went back to reading. Instead of stopping at the tape displays, she continued on around the endcap until she stood before the ropes she had seen the last time she had visited the store.

Is this really the best way?
The voice of irrationality surfaced again in her mind.
It might be painful, or it might take a long time.

Karen shook her head quickly and went back to the tape section. She picked up a thick, steel-gray roll of duct tape. Feeling its familiar heaviness was like meeting an old friend. How many times had she used it around the house? Duct tape had seen her through broken windows and broken toys. It had braced cracked chair legs, covered holes in upholstery, and helped her leaning Christmas tree stand perfectly upright. During all those times when Nick had been deployed and she'd had to take care of something around the house, duct tape had so often been her go-to item.

She was about to head to the checkout when something caught her eye. A little farther down the aisle, packages of box cutters and their replacement blades hung neatly on display hooks.

Another possibility
, the irrational voice said in her mind,
but messy and almost certainly painful.
Deep down, Karen didn't really believe that she could use her own hand to inflict direct, painful, physical harm to herself. She didn't want Ben to see or find her after she had used such a method, either.

Ben.

Remembering her son had always helped her during times like this, when she began to contemplate doing the unthinkable. Her love for him ran as strong as her bones and as deep as the breath at the bottom of her lungs. From the moment of his birth, he had been her anchor, the reason she fought against the darkness and remained tethered to the land of the living. The thought of him being traumatized by something she were to do, or of her leaving him in the world alone to fend for himself, was always enough to force the irrational voice in her mind back into silence.

Until today.

But Ben is older now
, the voice told her.
He's closer to adulthood. He could go live with your brother's family in Seattle. He would make it. He can make it now without you.

Karen stared for another moment at the box cutters and then walked back toward the rope. The strong, vibrating hum of her cellphone in her purse startled her. She quickly grabbed and answered it. “Hello?”

“Hello, Karen. It's Father O'Brien calling. I was just wondering how you're doing today.”

“Oh.” She felt a bit light-headed, having been pulled so abruptly out of her reverie and also awash in disappointment that the call hadn't come from someone with information about Nick. “It's nice of you to check on me, Father. I'm…I'm doing okay.”

“I'm glad to hear that. I take it you haven't received any other news about Nick?”

“No, nothing today. Not yet, anyway.”

“We'll just continue to hope for the best. I wanted to tell you that I've spoken to some folks about the situation with Nick, and there are many people who've offered to help you and Ben through it. I was thinking of walking over to Ruth's for a late lunch. Would you care to join me? I'd love some company, and that way, I could tell you all about it.”

“I'm not very hungry, to be honest with you, Father, but…a cup of coffee sounds nice.”

“Wonderful! And maybe once we're there, something will spark your appetite. You need to eat, even if it's just a little, to keep up your strength.”

His kindly, paternal tone made her feel as if she were a young child refusing her vegetables, and she had to smile. “I know, Father.”

“All right. I'm going to leave the parish house right now, and I'll meet you there.”

“I'm actually right next door to the bakery, at the hardware store,” she told the priest. “I'll go in and get us a table. See you in a few minutes, Father.”

Karen brought the duct tape to the register and fished around in her purse for her wallet.

“Find everything all right?” Emily asked.

“Yes,” she replied. A small flicker of light thwarted the darkness and warmed her anxious, aching heart when she thought of the elderly priest coming to meet her at the bakery. “I found everything I needed today.”

April 21, 1934

A
t the Mary Fletcher Hospital in Burlington, Michael followed his uncle, grandmother, and a nurse down a series of hospital corridors until they came to a double door with a sign above it that read
WOMEN'S WARD
. Beyond the door, they entered a great room with a tall ceiling. Large windows were spaced high along the wall on either side. A hospital bed was placed beneath each window, along with a curtain that could be pulled on a track to surround the entire bed for privacy, if needed. A wall running half the length of the room divided it down the middle, and there was an old radiator and a nurse's supply station positioned up against the short end of the wall that faced the double door.

“Right this way,” the nurse said, and she led them to the bed farthest down on the right side with the privacy curtain drawn completely around it.

Michael took a deep breath as he stepped inside the curtain with the others. His mother was lying on her back, asleep. One of her arms was resting outside the stiff white sheets that covered the rest of her body. There was tape holding something against her wrist—a needle, it looked like, that seemed to have been inserted and left there. A thin, light brown, flexible hose ran from her wrist to a large glass container of clear liquid that was suspended, upside down, by some sort of frame next to her bed.

“What is that attached to her?” Michael asked in a voice barely above a whisper. He had never seen anything like the apparatus to which his mother was connected. His grandmother, wide-eyed and uncharacteristically quiet, looked at him and shrugged.

“Intravenous fluid therapy,” said a man's voice behind him. Dr. Washburn stepped inside the curtain. “It's a new treatment available for patients who are dehydrated. More and more hospitals are starting to offer it for hyperemesis gravidarum, which is the severe sickness that expectant mothers sometimes have. We insert a hollow needle into a vein, usually in the wrist, as we've done with your mother. Through that needle and the connecting rubber line you see here, we can insert fluids directly into her bloodstream. It's more than fluids, really. We can give medicine through the connecting line, and the glass there contains water, glucose, and saline. Sugar and salt, in layman's terms. They'll replenish her body and stabilize her, hopefully enough to allow her to start eating and drinking on her own.”

“How long does she have to take this therapy?” his uncle asked.

“It varies,” the doctor said. “Some patients need fluids for only a few days and recover fully in as little as a week. Others take longer. We'll want to make sure she's properly hydrated, able to eat and drink on her own, and that her kidneys are functioning normally.”

“Will this treatment prevent her sickness from returning?” Michael asked.

“It might,” the doctor said, “or it might not. It's very difficult to predict. The goals, of course, are to return her to good health and ensure that the child she's carrying survives to term. But there's nothing more we can do for her tonight except to let her rest and let the fluids start to help her.” The doctor glanced down at the nurse meaningfully.

The nurse acknowledged the hint with a small nod. “I'll escort you back to the waiting area,” she said. “If everything goes as planned, you should be able to see her each day she's here during normal visiting hours.”

Michael took one last look at his mother before following the nurse from her bedside. Seeing her weak and helpless in the sterile white bed left a terrible feeling of uneasiness in his stomach.

During the ride back to the farm, his uncle brought up the subject of his father. “I wonder if we shouldn't contact Niall. It's one thing for Anna to be sick at home, but it's quite another for her to be hospitalized. She was never admitted to the hospital before.”

“Absolutely not,” his grandmother snapped from the backseat. “He would leave everything and come home, and then where would we be? There's nothing he or any of us can do for her right now. Anna's getting the care she needs, and we'll need his salary to pay for it. Once she's well, she'll be back home with us, and everything will be fine.”

Michael wondered how much it would cost for his mother to stay in the hospital.

“Does he even know she's with child?” his uncle asked.

“Not yet,” his grandmother said.

“Don't you think he deserves to be told?”

If I were in Father's position, I'd want to be told,
Michael thought, but he dared not voice that opinion and agitate his grandmother even more.

“Anna's been in this same position lots of times, and most of them have ended badly. There's no point saying anything to Niall while it's so early. If she gets to where it looks like the baby has a chance, then yes. Until then, we'd best keep it to ourselves. Besides, that's what Anna wants. She told me as much herself.”

Uncle Frank was pulling up to the house, and Lizzie opened the car door and got out the moment the wheels had stopped turning.

“There's no crossing her, is there?” his uncle asked as they watched her go inside.

“No.”

“Michael, I've got a busy week ahead. I won't be able to come out to the farm, but I'll check in on your mother as often as I can. I'll get in touch immediately if there's any change for the worse, and if she's still in the hospital next Saturday, I'll drive out then and take you and Lizzie to visit her.”

“I'll let Grandma know about next Saturday. Thanks for everything, Uncle Frank.”

“Don't mention it,” his uncle said. “Oh, and Michael?”

Michael had already opened the car door, but he paused and turned to look at Frank.

“Next Saturday night, I'll need you to come back to the mission with me,” his uncle said in a low voice. “We'll need to move what we left there to a final resting place.”

L
ate Saturday afternoon, after closing Turner's for the day, Emily went to the marble mansion to start edging the newly finished walls with paint. Rather than being focused on her work, though, she was preoccupied with the old letter from the briefcase that she had read most recently.

…I can't even begin to describe how ill I was. Nothing stayed down, not even water, and I started feeling so weak. Michael came to sit with me one morning, and I could tell by the look on his face that the sight of me scared him. I know he was desperate to help me. He washed my face with a cool cloth and told me how happy he was for the baby's coming, but there was nothing he could do to ease my sickness. It was heartbreaking for me. A mother is supposed to care for her children, and even though he was nearly fifteen, he was still my child, still in need of my care, and I couldn't provide it…

I was convinced that I would die before she was born. The hospital was necessary but terrible, with strange tubes and fluids inserted into my body, and nurses hovering, inspecting everything that went in and came out. And seeing Michael's face when he visited, full of love and concern and fear…that was nearly enough to kill me. What if I didn't make it? What would become of him?

So, Anna's pregnancy had complications that, back in the 1930s, would have been life-threatening to her and the baby.
Medicine has come a long way
, Emily thought. Her sweet nephew, Alex, had nearly died as a result of a head injury. Without the doctors, surgeons, and advanced medical technology of today, including the advent of medevac helicopters, the little boy would have perished. Emily couldn't imagine how her life would have changed if Alex had died.

She was painting slowly, still awash in gratitude, when she heard the back door of the marble mansion open and her sister's voice echo through the house. “Em? Emily?”

“In here.” She set the paintbrush and small can of paint she'd been holding on the foldout tray at the top of her ladder and carefully climbed down.

“Hey,” Rose said as she entered the room. “I brought you a sandwich from Ruth's. Your usual, chicken salad on rye with two pickles on the side. Figured I'd save you a trip over there to pick up your dinner.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Emily said, accepting the bag Rose held out to her. “That was really nice of you.” It was still odd, being on speaking terms with her sister. The truth was, she still wasn't sure their relationship could be repaired, but she'd agreed to try if Rose did. So far, the effort seemed to be working. “How do you like working at the bakery?” she asked as they walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the bag containing the sandwich in the refrigerator.

Rose shrugged. “It's not bad. It helps out Ruth, and it keeps me busy while Alex is in school. That's one of the things they stress in AA meetings—you gotta keep yourself occupied. If you sit around with nothing to do, it's easier to slip up and start drinking again.”

“Makes sense,” Emily said. She looked at her sister and smiled a little. “I'm glad you're sticking with the program. I know it's hard, but you're doing a good job at it.”

Rose nodded at her and then looked down at her high-heeled shoes. She didn't say anything, but Emily could see the tickled smile on her sister's face and the color that crept into Rose's cheeks.

“You know, this house is amazing, even though you're not done yet,” Rose said suddenly. “I can't believe it's been up here for all these years, and nobody had any idea what was inside.”

“A few people knew,” Emily corrected her, “but yeah. It's a shame. Since you're here, why don't I show you around really quick? I'm excited for when it'll be open, even though I'm stressed out over all the stuff I have to finish. There's no way I was going to tell Ruth she couldn't open in time for Kyle and Claudia's wedding, but I knew I'd have to cram about a year's worth of work into three months to pull it off.”

Emily led Rose back into the great hall and up the staircase to begin the tour.

“Look at that millwork,” Rose remarked as they peeked into a couple of the bedrooms. “It must've been custom-made.”

“Absolutely. I've worked in several other older homes, but even in the most expensive ones, you rarely see woodworking of that quality. Here's the master suite, which will probably be called the honeymoon suite,” Emily said as they entered the largest bedroom, the one with the huge windows overlooking Mill River. “The view is amazing.”

“Wow,” Rose said as she stood before the window looking out. “Can you imagine, all those years that Mary McAllister was up here by herself, watching over all of us?”

“I know,” Emily said. For a moment, she and Rose stood together silently, gazing out over the last of the brilliant fall foliage and their little hometown.

“The artwork, too, is stunning,” Emily said, pointing up at the walls as they came back down the stairs. “Horses and Vermont countryside, mostly, all originals. And look at the antique lighting fixtures.” Rose craned her neck to stare up at the ceiling, especially the huge chandelier hanging over the great hall. “I've had a time, trying to find incandescent bulbs to fit some of them. All they make these days is fluorescents and LEDs. Ruth may need to have them retrofitted or maybe swap them out entirely at some point. It'd be a shame to have to get rid of them, though.”

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and Emily went to a light switch on the wall. “The big chandelier's on a dimmer switch, see?” She lowered the light in the room to demonstrate.

“Romantic,” Rose said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Emily agreed. “I don't blame Kyle and Claudia for wanting to have their wedding reception here.”

“Speaking of which,” Rose said, “you should've heard this idiot woman Claudia was with at the bakery earlier. Kinda reminded me of my bartending days, when I used to hear people say all sorts of crazy stuff. Anyway, this woman—Misty, her name was—came in with Claudia's future brother-in-law. She was so loud and obnoxious that I couldn't help but overhear their conversation, and the more I heard, the more pissed I got.”

Emily's mouth dropped open as Rose recounted Misty's rude behavior, and she burst out laughing when Rose described how Misty had bragged about her “Channel” purse.

“I guess I got my bitch on,” Rose admitted, causing Emily to laugh even harder, “but I really couldn't help it. Claudia's a nice person. Naive and innocent, maybe, but really nice, and she didn't deserve to be treated like that.”

“Claudia
is
nice,” Emily agreed. “I'm glad you were there to help her out.”

“
Soooo
,” Rose said, and Emily knew immediately that her sister was changing the subject to one she didn't really wish to discuss, “tell me what happened with that Matt Campbell person at the hardware store. You know, the time you mentioned at Mom's? When he hit on you?”

Emily rolled her eyes. She was so conflicted about Matt—what kind of person he was, how she was starting to feel about him, and whether she was ready to feel that way about anyone. Rose was eagerly waiting for her response, but she didn't know what to say, and she preferred not to say anything at all.

“I really don't want to get into it.”

“Oh, c'mon, Em. I'm dying to know. Besides, we used to tell each other everything.”

“Rose,” Emily said, struggling to keep her annoyance from creeping into her voice, “things are different now than when we were kids. I mean, look, I'm glad we're talking again. I really am. And it's great that we're both back here in Mill River. But I've become a pretty private person over the years. It's not you—I just don't like to share relationship details with
anyone
.”

Also
, Emily thought,
things aren't nearly back to the way they used to be, and you have a lot of nerve pressing me for personal information when we weren't speaking a few months ago.

As her sister stared at her with a crestfallen look, a loud knock at the back door interrupted the silence. A moment later, a man's voice called out, “Emily?”

Rose looked at her with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “Are you expecting someone?”

“Hello? Who's there?” Emily said loudly. She shook her head and shrugged, although she recognized the voice and knew
exactly
who had come through the door.

“I probably should have called you before I came over, but I just decided— Oh.” Matt hesitated as he came into the great hall carrying a large picnic basket and saw Emily standing there with Rose. “Sorry, I didn't realize someone else was here.”

“Um, Matt, this is my sister, Rose Frye. Rose, this is Matt Campbell.”

“Nice to meet you, Matt, and don't worry about it,” Rose said. “I was leaving anyway.” Her sister hurried past him, heading for the back door. Once Rose was behind him, she pointed at Matt and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Emily kept a poker face and focused her attention on Matt.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him once her sister had left the house.

“Well, you said that you'd have dinner with me if I could figure out a way to work it into your schedule. So, I decided to bring you dinner here,” he said, holding up the picnic basket. “I brought a blanket to spread out on the floor to keep anything from falling on the wood you just refinished.” He turned the basket slightly, so she could see a rolled blanket strapped to the side of it. “What do you say? Are you hungry?”

Emily couldn't help but smile.
This
was an impressive gesture, not to mention an original and thoughtful one. Matt looked really good, too—clean-shaven, and wearing a dark plaid flannel shirt and nice-fitting jeans. She thought about the chicken salad sandwich waiting in the refrigerator, but she'd had the same thing for dinner the last three nights. How much chicken salad could a girl really eat?

“Maybe,” Emily said with a cautious glance at the picnic basket. “Whatcha got in there?”

Matt grinned and started unbuckling the straps that held the rolled blanket in place. “Let's sit down, and I'll show you.” He spread the blanket in the center of the great hall, well away from the ladder where she'd been standing earlier. Emily lowered herself into a cross-legged position and watched as he joined her and started to unpack the basket.

“Grilled chicken, still warm,” he said as he lifted out the first container of food. “Baked beans, also warm,” he said when he removed the second container. Matt then held up a bag of small oranges. “Clementines, room-temperature. And last but not least, beer and bottled water, both ice-cold.” He set the oranges on the floor, removed the beverages, and looked at her sheepishly. “I wasn't sure whether you drink alcohol.”

“I'm not my sister,” Emily said. “I don't drink much, but I'll have a beer every now and then. Today, though, since I'm working…” She grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the cap. “Did you cook all this yourself?”

“I grilled the chicken,” Matt said. “The baked beans came out of a can. I figured I shouldn't push it, trying to cook something from scratch I'd never made.” He took disposable plates and plastic forks from the bottom of the basket and handed one of each to her. “Here, help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. She took a plate and served herself a drumstick and some beans. “You know, I actually like canned baked beans. And they sound a heck of a lot better than a chicken salad sandwich for the fourth day in a row.”

“Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you'd been stuck up here,” Matt said. “What were you working on today?”

“Getting ready to paint,” Emily said after she swallowed. “I have to edge and paint all the new walls, which were put up to address a lead paint issue. It's going to take me forever, but I don't want to go over budget by hiring a crew to do it, since I'm perfectly capable myself. I'd rather subcontract out for things I don't have the expertise in. This chicken is great, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Matt said. “What do you have left after the painting?”

“Some plumbing things, mostly updating fixtures. I've been ordering updated toilets and sinks and swapping them out as they're delivered. I've got to stain and seal the wood floors. They're all sanded, but I didn't want to finish them until the walls are painted and dry, just in case. I have a stained glass image that I want to install in the window above the front door. Then there are a bunch of smaller things—installing new deadbolts in all the rooms and hanging new flat-screen TVs. I'm sure there will be more stuff that comes up.”

“That's a lot for one person to do,” Matt said. “How did you…I don't mean any disrespect at all by asking you this, but how did you learn how to do this? Restore houses, I mean?”

“What, you mean you don't think women can build or restore houses?” Emily looked at Matt sternly enough to cause him to stop chewing. His eyes grew wide with alarm, and he threw up his hands and tried to speak with his mouth full, but Emily laughed.

“Don't worry, I was just messing with you. I'm not offended at all. I actually get that question all the time. I started fixing small problems in high school. My mom's a real estate agent, you know, and every time she got a new listing, she'd let me take care of whatever I could so she wouldn't have to mess with hiring a professional.” She paused, carefully planning what she would tell him next. “After I left Mill River, I started working as an assistant to a contractor, and I took some courses at technical schools. Eventually, once I'd been through enough renovations to feel comfortable handling everything about them, I got a contractor's license and starting taking jobs on my own.”

“I'm impressed,” Matt said. “Did you know you wanted to do this for a living early on?”