Like There's No Tomorrow

by Camille Eide

  He searched along the old drover road and headed for town. In the village, he asked the few people he saw if they’d seen her, but no one had. He scoured every road surrounding the village, all the while fighting paralyzing alarm and trying not to think the worst. But his panic continued to build. It was the same panic he felt as Katy lay dying, the same feeling of utter helplessness.

  Where had Emily gone? Had something happened to her? Had she fallen and injured herself? Or worse? Was she lying in the rain unconscious? The image of her lying at the bottom of a cliff or in the Kirkhaven burn, famous for overflowing with every hard rain, gripped his chest with a surge of fear-laced adrenaline.

  His foot slammed the pedal. “God, You have to help her. You have to keep her safe. Help me find her, please.”

  Think, MacLean. What would keep her from returning to the farm?

  He swallowed hard, willing away the worst-case scenario.

  Again, she couldn’t have left for the States—her passport and clothes were still here. Even if she wanted to leave, she would never do anything to upset Aunt Grace. So she had to be out here. If she’d gone walking, she could be anywhere in the surrounding countryside.

  He drew a deep breath, exhaled hard, and searched both sides of the old drover road as he followed it northeast, toward the motorway to Stirling. “God, please help me find her. I’ll do whatever You want. I’ll be kinder to Maggie. I’ll spend more time with Davy. I’ll spend more time with You. I’ll go to church every Sunday.”

  The Dumhnall Road sign loomed ahead.

  Ian turned south and followed the narrow, winding road that led into the hills. He crossed the bridge and drove on, straining to see anything or anyone along the road.

  The hills, burns, and meadows were known for attracting hikers, with walking trails stretching out for miles in all directions. She could be anywhere.

  He pulled the truck over to the edge of the road and stopped. “Emily ...”

  There was too much ground to cover. If she was out here, he wasn’t going to find her, not without help.

  “God, if You’re there, I need You.”

  Rain dumped more water than the ancient wipers could handle.

  With a sinking feeling in his gut, Ian turned the truck around, crossed the bridge again, and headed back toward the village. He needed help.

  Use the flashlight.

  Ian stopped the truck in the middle of the road, engine rattling at an idle, grabbed the light, and jumped out. He shined the light ahead, then swept the beam slowly over the meadow and across the road to the other side.

  Nothing.

  Reaching into the cab, he switched off the motor, then stepped away from the truck. Rain pelted his head, spattered against his face. He walked along the road, shining the light back and forth on each side.

  Nothing.

  “This is nuts.” He returned to the truck, the knot in his gut twisting tighter with every step. As he reached for the door handle, a faint sound broke through the rain. Pulse racing, he held his breath and turned, listening.

  The sound again, faint, like a cough. From the burn far below the road.

  Heart thudding, he ran back to the bridge and shined the flashlight down onto the gurgling burn.

  Nothing but water and rocks.

  He crossed to the other side and aimed the light down, rubbed the rain from his eyes, and searched up and down the stream, around every rock and bush.

  Nothing.

  “Emily!” He held his breath, listened. “Emily!”

  A faint voice drifted above the babbling water.

  Ian ran along the bridge and shined the light at the edge of the road until he found part of an overgrown trail. He scrambled over rocks, through thorny briars, tangled branches, and tree roots, hugging the bridge’s mossy stone face down to the water’s edge. “Emily?”

  A voice echoed. “In here.”

  He aimed his flashlight under the bridge.

  She crouched under the arch, hugging her knees, shivering.

  Ian hit the stream with a splash and ran, slipping on the rocks. When he reached her, he grabbed her arms, pulled her to her feet, and held her close. Relief came in tidal waves, sending a violent shudder through him.

  “Thank You, God,” he whispered.

  She trembled against him.

  He held her tighter. “Are you hurt, love? Are you all right? What happened?” He pulled back to see her face. Even in the dark, she looked pale, hollows circling her eyes. “Are you ill? I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  “I’m okay. Just cold.”

  “I can’t believe I found you.” She tried to pull away, but he kept her in a firm grip. “How did you get here?”

  “I went for a walk, but I got lost.” Her voice was hoarse. “Is Aunt Grace upset?”

  “She’s just worried, naturally. Maggie too.”

  “Maggie’s worried?”

  “Aye. They didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  She groaned. “I’m so sorry.”

  He heaved a deep sigh and tipped her chin up. “Emily, if you want to go exploring, take someone with you next time. I’d be happy to show you round.”

  Emily broke free of his hold. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble. Thank you for coming out in all this to find me.” She turned and made her way toward shore. Her foot slipped.

  Ian instinctively offered a hand, but she caught herself and kept going until she reached the slope and Ian’s makeshift trail. He walked on, shining the light ahead of her.

  Illuminated raindrops fell hard and steady in its beam.

  “Emily.”

  She stopped and looked back. The flashlight cast an upward glow, deepening the shadows beneath her eyes.

  “I can’t stand round and watch you go on alone like this.”

  She studied his face, but her weary expression didn’t change.

  “Will you let me help you?”

  Emily shook her head.

  If she were a MacLean by blood, she couldn’t be any more stubborn. “Why not?”

  “You’re not talking about hiking, are you?”

  He stepped closer. “I’m talking about you leaning on me, Emily. For everything.”

  The sound of rain swelled to a steady roar and reverberated round them in the narrow ravine.

  Emily shivered. “You can’t help me, Ian. You can’t fix this.”

  “I know that, but I love you, Emily. I’ll be your strength.”

  The shivering increased, shaking her whole body. She hugged her arms. “Ian, I appreciate that you want to, but you can’t.” She shook her head slowly. “Not for me, not even for yourself. I’m sorry, but no one’s that strong. There’s nothing you can do, Ian. Just let it go. Please.” She turned and climbed the trail.

  Her words sliced through him, their aim razor-sharp. She was right. He was helpless, just as he had been with Katy.

  And the sooner you accept it, the better.

  Angry tears stung his eyes. He swallowed hard, fighting the ache in his throat.

  They hiked up the trail to the road and walked to the old truck. The weight of defeat threatened to crush him, but he concentrated on getting Emily home as quickly as possible. They rode back to the farm in silence.

  When they arrived at the house, Maggie leaped from her chair and forced Emily to sit. “Grace!” Maggie’s voice sounded unusually tremulous. “Put the kettle on.” Then she scurried out of the kitchen.

  Grace took Emily’s hands and rubbed them. “What kept ye away so long, child?”

  Emily darted a glance at Ian. “I got a little turned around and lost my way.” She squeezed Grace’s hands. “I’m sorry for causing you worry.”

  Maggie returned with a towel and wrapped it round Emily. As she rubbed Emily’s shoulders, she glanced up at Ian. Her expression was odd, like a clashing mixture of guilt and relief.

  “We must give the child something to eat, Maggie.” Grace peered at Emily, worry etched in her wrinkly brow. “The poor lass needs foo
d.”

  Jaw clenching tighter with every passing minute, Ian watched the old women tend to Emily.

  Emily caught his eye. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  She was safe.

  He slipped out of the house without a word. As he reached the cottage, his foot caught a rock. He bent, snatched it up, and hurled it as far as he could. The growing heartache finally sank in, settling down so deep that no amount of fury could drive it out. All he could do was lift his face to the sky and let the frustration come, cascading down his face with the rain.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The downpour continued. At times, rain pelted Emily’s window so hard it sounded as if a mob were trying to get in. The older women busied themselves storing heather honey, maintaining their bickering banter, and making a huge mess, but Emily kept to herself.

  Getting lost in the woods had broadsided her with a numbing truth. She couldn’t be there for any of the people she loved, so there was no point hanging around and dragging out the pain of separation. The longer she stayed trapped in the house with the old sisters, the stronger her certainty became that she needed to remove herself. Not just from Ian, but all of them.

  The deluge persisted and the walls of the old farmhouse seemed to press in. Emily spent her time in the upstairs study, exchanging messages with Rebecca, the research associate in Portland, and filling out questionnaires.

  On the day Ian went to town, she went down to the cottage and phoned Jaye. Emily filled her in on what had happened with Ian and what she’d learned from the university clinic but held back the part about getting lost in the woods.

  Jaye was unusually quiet.

  “What’s up, Jaye? What’s wrong?”

  “I was still hoping things would work out with you and Ian somehow. You know, the two of you in a castle on a cliff overlooking the sea, with a boatload of kids and living happily ever after.”

  “Really?” If not for the girlish pout in her friend’s voice, Emily might have felt a stab of loss at the comment. But as it was, Jaye’s fantasies came as a sparkling ray of relief. “Sounds good. And what do you get out of this little fairy tale?”

  The line went quiet again. “Seriously? Em, if it meant you’d get a guy like that, I’d take a travel trailer in a hay field with forty-seven cats.”

  Emily couldn’t help but laugh. “Now that’s a lovely, wee picture.”

  “See? I knew it. You already sound like a highland lass.”

  “With a castle on the sea, don’t forget.”

  By Wednesday, the rain eased up enough to get out of the house. Claire came and took Maggie, Grace, and Emily to Glasgow, where they spent the morning touring the city and visiting the sisters’ old neighborhood, then back to Claire’s flat for tea.

  Emily hovered in the background and let the sisters visit with Claire and her family, but, for some reason, Maggie insisted on including her in everything and she made Emily join them at the table. After a few minutes, an unsettling sense of frustration burned in Emily. She jumped up and went to the window.

  Claire pulled Emily aside and tossed a nod toward the older ladies. “You need some time away from the old hens. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning. And pack a bag—you’re staying the night.”

  Later, back in her room, Emily reached for the Bible Ian kept on top of the chest.

  It wasn’t there. In its place was an envelope bearing her name in Ian’s neat block print.

  Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t seen it.

  Holding her breath, she opened the envelope and drew out the folded paper. Not a letter, but a map. Hand-drawn in remarkable detail, it showed several landmarks including the farmhouse, walking trails, honeysuckle grove, surrounding roads, and hills. Even the loch where she went swimming with Claire’s family. It was labeled and marked with directions and distances, with walking trails in blue. The church and cemetery were in the middle, and far northeast of the meadow and woods, a tall stone bridge arched over a stream.

  She put the map back in the envelope and left it on the dresser.

  Saturday morning, while Aunt Grace and Maggie assembled pies, Emily hung around the kitchen window and kept a close eye on the driveway. At the sound of Claire’s car, Emily grabbed her duffel bag and jacket and waited at the door.

  Claire burst in and winked at Emily. “Hey, there!”

  “Hi.” Emily smiled.

  Claire ducked into the kitchen. “Do you have a pie for my boys, Maggie?” She shook her short hair, sending droplets of water flying. “If they find out I’ve been here on pie day and didn’t bring one home, they’ll have my head.”

  Maggie muttered, “Do I have a pie. Humph.” She turned to the bunker and came back with the requested dish. Handing it to Claire, she leaned close and nodded in Emily’s direction. “Keep a keen eye on that one, now. Dinna let her wander off.”

  “Fat chance.” Claire grinned. “Hannah won’t let her out of her sight.”

  “I’m making a pie for the reverend,” Aunt Grace said over her shoulder, smiling. “He’s so kind. He brought us a chicken for supper last week.”

  “No, Grace, I told ye. He dinna bring us a chicken.”

  “Margaret Agnes, I know a chicken when I see it.”

  “Let’s go, Em, before things get ugly,” Claire said beneath her breath. She headed for the door and called back with a song in her voice, “Cheerio, you two. We’re off for some girl time—we’re going shopping!”

  Aside from slipping up to Emily’s bedroom to leave the map, Ian had avoided the house all week. It wasn’t until Emily was safely on her way to Glasgow with Claire on Saturday that he finally had a chance to venture up to the house to see if anything needed done.

  Janet Anderson’s call, which had come later the same night he’d found Emily, could not have been a coincidence. It bore the mark of some carefully timed, divinely executed plan.

  Janet could always look past the initial blow and the ensuing turmoil that often blindsided others, and focus on the biblical perspective. When she phoned, Ian almost didn’t take the call. He was still numb, still trying to swallow the bitterness of defeat. But before long, he was telling Janet all that had happened, from the beginning. Her calm, steady strength traveled across thousands of miles without the slightest pause.

  “I’ll pray for you, Ian, for both of you,” she said. “We don’t often get to know where God is leading us or why, but we do know He’ll provide whatever we need to get there. Read Isaiah and let God’s word speak to your heart. Commit Isaiah 41:10 to memory and remember it when you pray. When the plan is God’s, He provides the means. He is faithful, Ian. All His ways are good. Always.”

  Always? Coming from anyone else, Ian might have scoffed. But coming from Janet, the words carried weight.

  As he neared the farmhouse, Ian slowed his pace. He stopped and leaned against the truck. The air smelled clean and fresh.

  The dark rain clouds had finally moved on, leaving only wisps of white parading past the sun.

  “Lord, I don’t question Your goodness. I do trust You. But I don’t understand why You brought me into her life if I can’t do anything for her. Why did You let me fall in love with her if I have to let her go?” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  A gentle gust stirred. He pictured Emily standing there, a lock of hair moving across her cheek in the breeze. “Why?” he whispered.

  Why? Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell Me, if you understand.

  “That’s not fair,” he muttered. “Even Job couldn’t answer that one.”

  The breeze picked up.

  He opened his eyes.

  The clouds made slow but steady progress across the sky.

  “All right, forget I asked why. Just tell me what You want from me. If You’ll help me, I’ll do my best. Your way, God, not mine.” With a slow exhale, Ian pushed off from the truck and went inside.

  The kitchen was a war zone every Saturday afternoon, and this day was n
o different. Scattered flour, crushed berries, heaps of crusted mixing bowls, and dribbling pies adorned the room.

  At the center of it all sat two white-haired, old women, sipping tea and looking quite pleased with themselves.

  “It was honey.” From Grace’s tone, this wasn’t the first time she’d said it.

  “It was bread.” Maggie set her teacup down with a clank. “Tell her, laddie.”

  Too late for escape—they’d seen him. “What’s this?”

  “Manna,” Grace said. “In the desert. God sent it from heaven every morning.”

  “Aye.” Out of habit, he went to the bunker and swept a critical glance over the pies.

  “They crrrushed it up and made porridge from it,” Maggie said, her words rolling low and burry like an old storyteller.

  “No, they made it into cakes. Honey cakes.”

  With a grunt, Maggie rose from her seat and padded to the cupboard, shaking her head.

  Grace’s voice rose. “It came with the dew every morning and all they had to do was go out and gather it up. They always had plenty.”

  “Not plenty,” Maggie fired over her shoulder. “They were only allowed to take enough for the one day. If they took extra, it got maggots.”

  “When I said plenty, I meant enough. It’s the same thing.”

  “Och,’tis not.” Maggie turned to Ian. “Have some tea, laddie. There’s plenty.” She snorted and pulled out a cup.

  Grace set her cup down gently. “Can ye imagine going to bed every night without a crumb to yer name? All they had at the end of the day was the good Lord’s promise to provide again in the morn.”

  “Sit.” Maggie shuffled toward Ian with a cup and saucer.

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll leave you ladies to your stories,” Ian said. “Two’s company, three’s a crowd.”

  Aunt Grace lifted a quick smile. “Ooh, no. You must stay.”

  Ian sighed. “For a minute then.” He pulled out a chair, shoved the clutter aside, and sat down.

  The week-old honeysuckle bouquet still sat in the middle of the table. Though beginning to droop, it still gave off that haunting scent.