by Camille Eide
Pressed by an unseen weight, Ian dropped to his knees, landing at the place where the tall grass had been worn flat from his prayers for Edward. He took another deep breath. The pungent scent of heather and pine stung his nose. “God ...”
What? What would he ask God to do? Take this from her? Like he’d asked for Katy?
Ian still couldn’t believe it was true. But he also couldn’t ignore the look on her face in the glen, how hard she fought for control as she answered all his questions and explained more than once about her mom and grandmother, her uncle’s test, her dad knowing all along, and her research. And how it wasn’t curable.
Why Emily?
Hadn’t she always been faithful? Selfless? Forgiving? Hadn’t she honored a father who didn’t deserve it? Didn’t that add years to one’s life?
Apparently not. Katy had honored her father too.
He traced a finger over the words etched in cold stone and a flood of images rushed back—Katy’s nausea, her restlessness turning to lethargy, how quickly she had slipped away.
Sorrow pressed him, squeezing the air from his chest. All the old feelings returned. The ache that diminished but never went away. That ever-present shadow—a quiet reminder that she was gone but not gone. Always with him, but forever out of reach. And the gnawing regret over the choices he’d made, choices that cost him precious time with her.
Katy’s illness had sprung from the shadows without warning. And now Emily faced a similar fate. But she could have been warned. She might have made different choices if she’d been told about her grand inheritance. Why had her father kept silent? He could have spared her.
You mean he could have spared you.
Ian stared at Katy’s gravestone. “God, why do You do miracles for some but leave others to suffer? It’s not right. You let good ones die young, like Katy and Emily’s mum. And now Emily.” He raised his face to the sky. “They don’t deserve it. But even though I turned my back on You, You did a miracle in me. Why?” Angry tears clogged his throat. “Why me and not them?”
Silence.
“Why are You doing this?”
Birds took flight as his voice boomed across the meadow and faded away. In the stillness, his friend Janet’s calm, quiet voice drifted across his thoughts, repeating the words she’d said to him countless times: Faith believes God is good, not just when things are going your way, but in the midst of tragedy.
“Good? I’d like to see You prove that,” he whispered. “Spare Emily.”
Like God had spared Katy?
Ian sprang up and paced among the gravestones, kicking at loose rocks. A small, pointed rock flew up and hit one of the engraved stones. Crouching low, he picked it up and stared at the jagged edges. He closed his hand around it and squeezed until it dug in, sending sharp, stabbing pain. Anger blinded him. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and studied the gravestones.
Inscribed with names and dates, they marked the length of different lives. Some long, some short. Perhaps God gathered up the best ones for Himself.
“Is that it then? Are You just some selfish, old man?”
Ian didn’t really expect an answer to that, and he didn’t get one. Nothing but cheery twitters and the brisk, lively smells of summer carried on a mild breeze.
“I’m done here.” Ian stood and turned to go, but a surge of adrenaline seized him. He spun round and hurled the jagged rock as hard as he could. The rock hit the silent, old church with a clean thwack. The sound echoed, briefly silencing the bird song.
Blind fury drove him back to the darkening trail through the woods.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Later that evening, Maggie and Grace chuckled in the kitchen over tea, but Emily wavered between the kitchen and the sitting room, her nerves cinching up more with every passing minute.
No one had seen Ian since she left him in the honeysuckle grove. Until he returned, all Emily could do was wait, anxious to know if he was okay. The empty sitting room had grown dark, but she didn’t want to go to the kitchen and disturb Grace and Maggie’s conversation. Nor did she want to go upstairs and miss Ian’s entrance. Out of the two, she chose interrupting the women.
Maggie’s voice rattled Emily as she entered the kitchen. “—a wee rickle o’ bones, Grace. What do ye feed her?”
“Emmy’s a good lass. Always running, running. But she takes such good care of everything.”
“Humph.”
Emily joined them with a thin smile.
“Here ye are, dearie.” Grace pushed a scone Emily’s way. “Have some tea.”
“Aye,” Maggie said. “Ye’re too peely-wally.”
It had been hours since she’d forced down a few bites of Maggie’s porridge. Though her stomach roiled at the thought of food, she needed something. She reached for the scone and took a bite.
Maggie sniffed an empty teacup and squinted into it, then filled it from the teapot, dribbling tea down the side. She offered it to Emily.
“Has he gone back to England now?” Grace asked.
“Who?” A frown creased Maggie’s brow.
“Ian.” Grace turned to Emily, smiling. “Have ye met Maggie’s grandson, dearie?”
The scone suddenly felt like sand in her mouth. What was that about him going to England?
“No, I dinna ken where he’s off to today,” Maggie said around a mouthful of scone. “Now that ye’re home, I don’t care a wee pickle if he stays or goes.”
Was Maggie serious? It was so hard to tell.
“Ian was very kind to us when he came to the beach, wasn’t he, Emmy?”
“Mm-hmm.” She sipped tea to wash down the scone.
“Will he be back for dinner?” Grace asked.
Maggie scowled. “Aye. He always comes round when there’s food.” She set her cup down with a rattle and leaned close to Grace. “Let’s take a Sunday drive, eh, Gracie? Just like the old days.”
Emily gasped. “Drive? You mean, just the two of you?”
“Aye.” The glee in Maggie’s raspy chuckle matched her grin. “Dinna concern yerself, lassie.”
Emily took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Isn’t it a little late for a drive?” And aren’t you legally blind?
Maggie turned to Grace. “Come on. Before he comes back.”
Oh, Lord, this is not good. Not good at all.
Clearly, Maggie would not be easily dissuaded. Emily didn’t think she could tell the older woman what to do, but there was no way Grace was getting into a vehicle with Maggie. Neither one belonged behind the wheel.
Emily forced a smile. “If there’s room for me, I’d love to join you.” It was a gamble.
Maggie grunted.
“Ooh, aye,” Grace said to Emily. “But not tonight, dearie. I’m feeling a bit done in.”
Maggie glowered and reached for the teapot. “Tomorrow, then. If Ian stays away.”
If Ian stays away.
That might make things easier on both of them, but it meant she wouldn’t know for sure if he was okay. It also meant Emily would need to keep a sharp eye on Maggie.
Monday began with bright sunshine and still no sign of Ian. By late morning, Emily couldn’t take it any longer. She went outside and headed down the drive. As she neared the cottage, a car turned off the main road and climbed the drive. Emily stepped off the road and onto the grass.
Ian’s sister waved as she passed with a wagonload of kids. They continued up the slope and parked next to the house.
Emily trekked back up the drive.
Two teenaged boys and two younger girls piled out of the car, all staring at her.
Claire hollered out a hello.
“Hi, Claire.” Emily said. “Is this your family?”
Claire smiled. “Aye. All but Davy. He’s working.”
The kids continued to stare.
“That’s Jack and Douglas,” Claire said, pointing at her sons. “Boys, go find your grannie.”
The younger boy held Emily in rapt fascination. The other o
ne grabbed his brother’s arm and towed him into the house.
“And this is Kallie, who’s eight, and this is Hannah.”
“I’m five.” Hannah demonstrated with her fingers, then plastered herself to her mother’s thigh.
Emily held out a hand to each of the girls, smiling. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Hannah studied Emily from head to toe, her brown eyes wide. “You’re beautiful,” she said. “Are you a princess?”
Kallie groaned and rolled her eyes. “Och! That’s all she ever talks about. She’s going to meet a princess. She’s going to be a princess. She’s going to marry a prince.” She aimed a glare at her sister.
“Och, Kallie, let your sister dream,” Claire said. “It wasn’t that long ago all you ever talked about was being a pirate.”
Emily met Hannah’s gaze. “It’s good to have a dream, Hannah. I think you’d make an excellent princess.”
A broad smile lit the girl’s face. She reached for Emily’s hand and led her to the house.
Kallie darted ahead.
Inside, the boys stood over the counter gobbling down whatever Maggie had piled in a heap for breakfast.
“Och! Where are your manners, boys?” Claire said. “Say hello to Emily. She’s here from the States.”
The older one quickly swallowed a large mouthful, brushed off his hands, and offered one to Emily. “Hello. I’m Jack.” His voice seemed strangely deep for a teenager. “Pleased to meet you.”
Hannah giggled.
The younger boy stepped forward, brushing Jack aside. “I’m Douglas. Hello.” His voice was even deeper.
Kallie frowned at her brothers. “What’s wrong with you two? You sound funny.”
“Who’s that?” Maggie’s voice carried in from the back hall. “Jack? Dougie? Are ye staying for dinner, then?” Maggie emerged with two buckets overflowing with berries.
“Is that for pie?” Jack’s eyes widened. “Ah, Grannie, I love you.”
Maggie scoffed. “Of course it’s for pie. But not till after supper. Ye lads run out and get a hen for me.”
“I’ll do it.” Kallie whipped out a wicked-looking dagger from her pocket.
A second later, Emily realized it was plastic.
“Where’s Uncle Ian?” Douglas asked. “I want to go fishing.”
“Me too.” Kallie put her dagger away.
Douglas threw his sister a glare. “You can’t go. Just us men.” He glanced at Emily. “And her, if she fancies.”
Maggie frowned. “I dinna ken where Ian is. Go upstairs and get Granddad Liam’s pole.”
Douglas disappeared, followed by Jack. In spite of the thunder of feet on the stairs, Douglas’s loud whisper reached the kitchen. “Did you see the way she smiled at me?”
“I want to see Uncle Ian too,” Hannah said. “He said we could draw more pictures next time.” She smiled up at Emily. “This is next time. Actually, he draws and I color them in.”
He’s drawing again? Something warm rose up inside of Emily. “I’ll bet you’re an excellent artist, Hannah.”
“I’d like to see Ian too.” Claire aimed a questioning look at Emily. “Is he here?”
Aunt Grace appeared in the doorway. When she saw the little girls, a wide smile brightened her face. “Och, bless me! Who are these bonnie lassies?”
As her aunt took a seat at the table and met the girls, Emily spoke quietly to Claire. “Ian hasn’t been back, not to the house anyway.”
The house shook as footsteps thundered down the stairs, growing louder until Jack and Douglas burst through the narrow kitchen doorway simultaneously.
“Is there a storm?” Grace asked. “Ooh, I love to watch storms.”
Claire’s hands flew to her hips. “Whoa there, lads, where’s the fire?”
“Got it.” Douglas shouldered his brother aside and crossed the kitchen, fishing pole in hand.
“Come on, then,” Jack said with a grin. “Last one to the burn digs the bait.” He disappeared down the hall toward the back door.
Douglas ran after him yelling, “I have the pole! I’m not digging worms too!”
Emily offered to get breakfast for Aunt Grace, but she insisted on doing it herself. After everyone had finished eating, Claire, Maggie, Grace, and Emily pitched in to clean up the kitchen, then went outside with the girls.
The women walked along the edge of the berry field, talking as the girls tried to catch chickens, until the boys returned saying they’d found Ian.
Claire frowned. “He didn’t take you fishing, then?”
Jack set the fishing pole down and stood with hands on his hips. “All he wants to do is cut down trees.”
“Trees?” Grace asked.
“Aye, for firewood.”
Claire frowned at the boys. “You should’ve stayed and helped him.”
“Ma, we tried to help but he didn’t want us. He had enough for three winters already, but he wouldn’t stop.”
“He told us to go fishing without him.” Douglas looked glum.
Emily’s heart sank.
Maggie muttered some remark about how a bit of hard work would have done the lads some good.
“He asked if the ladies needed anything.” Jack shot a glance at Emily. “And he says sorry if he caused any worry.”
“Worry?” Maggie snorted. “We’re not worried, are we, Grace?”
Aunt Grace smiled. “Ooh, no. They’ll catch loads of fish. I’m not worried.”
“He can cut down the entire forest as long as he’s back for dinner.” With a grunt, Maggie shuffled toward the house. “Aye, he’ll be back. He always comes round when I cook. Always poking his big nose in it, no matter what it is.”
“Not this time.” Jack shook his head. “He said not to wait for him.” He plucked a berry from a nearby vine and popped it in his mouth. “You won’t be seeing Uncle Ian today.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tuesday morning, Ian hooked the wood trailer to the tractor, towed it up into the woods, and loaded the pine logs he’d felled the day before. He should have brought the trailer with him in the first place. No matter. At the time, he wasn’t thinking about anything but knocking something down.
Repeatedly.
The day before, when he grabbed the chainsaw and fuel can and stormed into the woods, all he wanted was to cut and keep cutting until he ran out of trees. Or petrol. But even if he had an endless supply of fuel and a blade that never dulled, he could have leveled an entire hillside and still not spent his anger or his grief.
Once he filled the trailer with as many logs as it would hold, he hauled the load back down to the farm and stopped at the clearing behind the woodshed. He pulled a log from the trailer and braced it on the cutting blocks. With the chainsaw, he cut it into stove lengths and continued cutting, one log after another. The process was simple, mindless, and repetitive. Not too hard, but enough effort to produce a burn, keep his blood pumping, work up a sweat. Besides, it had to be done. Winter was inevitable. He needed to prepare.
Where would she be when winter came?
Not here. Not curled up next to me and a blazing fire.
He yanked the next log off the stack so hard it rolled away and smacked into the shed. As he brought it back to the blocks, he saw Emily’s face and remembered the way she paled as he blethered on with his proposal. He could still hear the tremble in her voice when she told him she couldn’t be there for him.
So like Emily. Her future was collapsing in front of her and she was thinking of him.
He braced the log, jerked the cord, and cut the wood to pieces.
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?
“I’m not listening to You.” Maybe saying it aloud would discourage any more unwanted input. “I don’t fancy Your way of taking care of things.”
The way things were turning out, it seemed God had a nomad’s life in mind for Ian aft
er all. When old Maggie was dead and buried, he would leave this place. Travel as he had before.
Alone.
As he worked, he kept seeing Emily, her eyes darkened by pain, tears streaking her face.
Who would be with her when she got sick? Grace? Her dad?
A numbing heaviness settled in his chest and spread out in waves, turning his arms to deadwood. The next log didn’t come off the trailer as easily as the others had.
“Ah, I see I’m just in time. Can I lend you a hand, Ian?”
Ian propped the log against the trailer and turned round.
Reverend Brown already had his jacket off and was rolling up his shirtsleeves as he climbed the sloped yard to where Ian worked. The grey-haired man offered a bony, outstretched hand as he approached.
Ian pulled off a work glove and gave him a firm handshake. “You’re not exactly dressed for wood sap and motor oil.” Ian put his glove back on.
Reverend Brown let out a laugh. “I’m not, am I? I should know by now when visiting the farms in my parish to come prepared to work.”
“No need for that.” Ian walked to the side of the shed, took the cart, and wheeled it back to the pile. “You have enough work as it is. Checking up on absent parishioners must be a tiresome job.”
The reverend laughed again, an easy, good-natured laugh. “Aye. We did miss seeing you and Maggie on Sunday. You’re quick, Ian.”
“So are you.” Ian tossed a chunk of wood into the cart. “It’s only Tuesday.”
Another hearty laugh. “I hope Maggie’s not unwell?”
“No. She’s strong as a mule. In more ways than one.”
That got a knowing smile out of the reverend.
“We have visitors,” Ian said. “They arrived from the States late Saturday night. They needed their sleep, so we stayed home Sunday.” He frowned.
That’s why Emily had been so quiet at the airport. It wasn’t jet lag that had her so shaken. She was distressed about telling him. Worried about how he would take her news.
“Maggie’s sister, isn’t it? I’d heard she and her niece were coming to visit.”
“Aye.” Ian continued to load the cart.
