by Camille Eide
This wasn’t right—the three of them having tea without Emily. For more than two years, the four of them had exchanged countless letters over tea. Emily’s absence sent a cool, hollow feeling over him, like a swiftly moving shadow.
God could heal her. He’d done far more amazing things.
You want a miracle, but have you taken a look at the one you’ve already been given?
As Ian mulled on that thought, Maggie set a cup near him and poured from her teapot. “We saw our old house in Baillieston. They turned that drafty old place into a fancy gift shoppe.” She clucked and shook her head. “Ye believe me now, eh, Gracie?”
“Do they know about the tree in the backyard?” Grace’s pale eyes danced with girlish delight. “Did they see what Liam carved in it for ye?”
Maggie snorted and plopped onto her chair. “Havers.”
Ian’s studied his grannie. “What’s this, Maggie? Love notes from Granddad?”
“Hoo-hoo.” Grace chuckled.
Maggie’s nose and cheeks burst with bright splotches. “Ye’re not the only MacLean who can swap secret letters.”
Ian frowned into the murky contents of his teacup. What else did the old woman know?
“Thomas slipped me notes when we were at the University.” Grace chuckled. “When we worked in the clinic.”
“At Glasgow University?” Ian asked. He grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbled a note, and shoved it into his pocket.
Grace nodded. “We had a lovely time then.” Her smile faded. “But it was a sad time, too. I wanted to be with Emmy. With her precious mum gone, Emmy’s poor father ...”
A familiar twinge tugged at Ian’s chest.
“So she was a wee child then?” Maggie asked.
“Fifteen,” Ian said much too quickly.
Maggie smiled and slurped her tea.
“I did love being in Scotland, but I needed to go back for the lass.”
Maggie poured more tea for Grace, but the pot clanked hard against her cup. “And go back ye did. I never saw ye again.”
“Och, Maggie. Ye’ve had Ian here. And Claire and her lovely, wee family. Ye’ve not needed me.”
“Who said anything about needing ye?” Rising from her chair, Maggie took the empty scone plate and stomped to the stove for more.
Grace reached over and laid a hand lightly on Ian’s arm. “Such a dear young mon. Maggie is blessed to have ye and Claire so close.”
Ian put his cup down and turned to his aunt. “Did Claire take you to visit the university hospital when you went to Glasgow?”
Aunt Grace shook her head. “No. There was not enough time.”
“I’ll take you then, if you fancy a tour.”
“Ooh.” Grace patted his arm. “That would be lovely.” She sipped her tea and smiled.
“Aye, lovely,” Maggie chortled as she returned to the table. “A whole day footerin’ about in a hospital.” She thrust her pudgy, red nose close to her sister’s face. “Best keep yer eyes open, Gracie. I’ve heard tales of old folks like ye going in for a visit and never coming out again.”
“Never?” Aunt Grace lowered her cup. “Ooh, dear.”
Ian stifled a chuckle. “I’ll go with you.”
“I’m going too.” Maggie set the pot down with an exasperated grunt. “If ye’d stayed here where ye belong, Gracie, there’d be no need for all this foolishness.”
“Margaret Agnes, I had to go back. Emmy needed me. Her dear mum wanted the lass properly cared for. Ooh, if Jess could see her now, she’d be so proud. Emily turned out so lovely.”
“Aye, quite lovely.” Maggie cocked her head at Ian. “Dinna ye agree, laddie?”
Ian swallowed scalding tea with a loud gulp and set his cup down hard enough to rattle the saucer.
“Jess named Emily after a Wordsworth poem,” Grace said. “There was a heartsick young maid named Emily who ... ooh, dear, I can’t mind the whole of it now, but there were some lines about those flowers. How did it go, now?”
The old woman’s brow furrowed so deep that Ian grew half afraid she would have another stroke.
“I remember.” With eyes closed, Grace smiled. “She approached yon rustic shed/ hung with late-flowering woodbine, spread/ along the walls and overhead/ the fragrance of the breathing flowers/ revived a memory of those hours.”
Maggie grunted. “Woodbine. There’s no mistaking that scent.” She reached out and plucked a blossom from the bouquet on the table.
Ian frowned. “Woodbine? I thought this was honeysuckle.”
Maggie smiled and brought the blossom to her round nose. “Did ye now?”
“Woodbine is honeysuckle,” Aunt Grace said. “Jess loved it, and so does Emmy.”
“It turns up in such odd places.” Maggie sniffed the flower so hard the petals almost disappeared.
“Thomas says,”—Grace’s voice fell to a conspirator’s tone—“‘When words escape, flowers speak.’”
“Do they now?” The old woman leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her bosom. “This bunch appeared on my table. I dinna ken how.”
Maggie’s hints didn’t go unnoticed, but nailing down the thought that kept springing to mind was more important.
Grace’s eyes grew round. “Maybe it was faeries.”
Maggie cackled long and loud.
The idea stirring in Ian’s mind suddenly took shape, like a painting when the key brushstrokes are applied. He sprang from his seat. “I’ve got things to do.” As he headed for the back door, their voices trailed him down the hall.
“I’ve always wanted to see a faerie,” Grace said.
Maggie chuckled. “I believe ye just did.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Claire and Emily strolled from shop to shop under only smatterings of rain in spite of overcast skies. By early afternoon, the clouds parted and the sun finally appeared, warming the streets and working to dry a week’s worth of puddles.
Not that rain would have made any difference to Emily. Getting a break from the farmhouse felt like a long-awaited parole.
They stopped for lunch at a cozy, little chip shop tucked upstairs above a pub. The place housed a small gift shop with an assortment of Scottish souvenirs. Emily bought a drawing pad and matching pencil with a red and blue tartan design for Hector, and she picked up postcards for her dad, Jaye, and the rest of the kids at Juniper Ranch. After a lunch of fish and chips with fresh apple pie and cream, they toured the oldest house in Glasgow. Built in the late 1400s, the house had been renovated to give visitors a glimpse of what it might have looked like in centuries past. When they returned to Claire’s flat later, Emily met Davy. With his burly build, bright, blue eyes, and quiet manner, he looked a lot like Douglas, but the dimpled smile was definitely Jack.
After dinner, Emily stood. “I’ll do the cleanup.”
“Sorry, love.” Claire carried dishes to the sink where Davy was scrubbing and rinsing. “This handsome chap here offered to help me, and I hate to say it, but his offer tops yours. Besides, it looks like you’ve got bedtime-story duty.” She nodded toward the doorway.
The girls awaited—Kallie clutching a book and Hannah hugging a cloud of purple, shimmery fabric.
Story time? But ...
Hannah stuffed the purple cloud into Emily’s hands and smiled.
Emily returned the smile. What had she expected? If she really wanted to distance herself from the farm and Ian, then spending time with his sister and her family probably wasn’t the wisest choice. “Okay.” She held out her free hand. “Lead me to my chambers.”
One twin bed was ready for Emily and the other had been fixed up double so the girls could share.
“Tonight’s a slumber party,” Kallie said. She hopped onto a bed and bounced until it squeaked. Giggling, Hannah joined her sister.
Slumber party. Marvelous.
“So what bedtime story am I reading?” Emily asked.
Kallie shook her head so hard her hair whipped against her face. “I’m reading. But
I’ll hold it up so you can see the pictures.”
“That’s the best part,” Hannah said. “Uncle Ian’s pictures.”
Emily sucked in a sharp breath. “Wait. What book is that?”
“Daniel’s Friends Face the Fire.” Kallie giggled. “I couldn’t say all those fs when I was wee.”
Fabulous. What next—Ian in person?
Kallie flipped to the first page, but Hannah made her go back and start at “Jack’s page.” A handwritten inscription, slightly faded with time, sprawled across the inside cover.
Emily’s heart tripped at the familiar print.
“Read it.” Hannah nudged Emily.
Clearing her throat, Emily looked to Kallie for the go-ahead, then read aloud. “‘To my little man, Jack. From your favorite Uncle Ian: May we men always stand up for what is right, play hard, and win the hearts of beautiful ladies. (If it’s okay with your mum.) But most of all, may we have the courage to—’” Her throat tightened and the words wouldn’t come.
Kallie dove in and finished. “‘To stand in the fire and remember that God will always stand in it with us. Love, your Uncle Ian.’”
Emily stared at the ink standing out against the white space as Hannah spoke. “Jack was a wee baby when Uncle Ian made this book.”
“He didn’t make the book, only the pictures,” Kallie said. “Wheesht! I’m reading now.”
And very well for an eight-year-old.
While Kallie read, Hannah crept close, snuggled into Emily’s lap, and leaned against her. The account of the three young men standing up to King Nebuchadnezzar for their faith in God, in spite of the fire that threatened to take their lives, took on a living heartbeat. It breathed, whispering words only her soul could hear.
“I’d be so afraid.” Hannah said.
“Not me,” Kallie said. “I’d take a sword from the guard and cut their heads off.”
Emily winced.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Hannah said. “The guards got all burnt up and so did their swords.”
“Still, I wouldn’t be afraid. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego weren’t afraid.”
“Yes, they were. That’s why they were brave.” Hannah looked up at Emily. “Would you be afraid?”
The fiery furnace scene lay open on the floor. The three young men must have been terrified, and certainly had no idea how it would turn out. All they knew was to trust and obey God without question.
Would I trust God enough to surrender to the flames and stand firm, no matter what?
God, would You really ask me to do that?
Both girls waited.
A pulse-quickening urgency stole over her, as though her answer was somehow forever binding. A test.
My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.
Emily drew a calming breath. “I think if the Lord wanted me to go into a blazing furnace, He would—”
Have to send her a text message. In all caps.
“He would go with me and give me the courage and strength I need to do it.” That’s good, Em. You almost have yourself convinced.
Kallie closed the book with a snap. “Uncle Ian is going to make a book for me, too. Someday.”
Emily studied the girl. “Is he really?”
“Aye. About Samson.”
“And a beautiful princess,” Hannah said.
“No. Samson was a super-warrior. He killed a thousand men with a donkey bone.”
Hannah frowned. “Then I’ll ask him to make me a book, too.” She turned to Emily. “You forgot your princess frock. Here.” She pulled the wad of purple from Emily’s hands and thrust it at her.
Emily stood and held the tutu against her. “I’m not sure this will fit me, Hannah.”
“It will. My da wears it when we play castles.”
Emily bit her lip, but the image of stocky Davy in a purple tutu sprang to mind and a chuckle slipped out. She slipped the fabric over her head, stood up, and pulled it down around her waist.
Kallie giggled.
Hannah smashed herself against Emily’s legs and hugged her tight.
Emily hugged her back, fighting the tug in her heart. Good job letting go of Ian and his family.
A creak came from behind them.
Claire stood in the doorway, head cocked to one side. “Join me in the kitchen in a bit?”
Emily finished up the bedtime rituals according to the girls’ specific instructions and tucked them in before wandering to the front of the house and complimenting Claire on their manners.
“You have a fine way with kids.” Claire set a plate of shortbread on the kitchen table and filled Emily’s mug from a flowered teapot. “I’m impressed.”
Emily sipped her tea.
Claire’s kitchen was small, about the same size as the one Emily shared with Aunt Grace, but stuffed to overflowing with everything from cooking utensils and food bins to toys, books, and gadgets in various stages of disassembly. Colored drawings, notes, and photos covered nearly every inch of the refrigerator.
One photo caught Emily’s eye—Hannah in a purple dress with glittery cheeks. Beside her stood a small, fierce-looking pirate.
“Is that Kallie dressed as a pirate?” Emily pointed. “I almost didn’t recognize her.”
“Aye. That was taken at the Summer Fair in Kirkhaven. The girls each won a ribbon in the fancy dress contest.” Claire took down the photo and gave it to Emily. “The sparkles on Hannah’s face were her Uncle Ian’s doing. Faerie dust, he told her. We averted a scorching meltdown when a broken-hearted faerie princess lost her crown. A very noble rescue.”
Emily’s throat tightened as she stared at the painted faces. How like Ian to care about such a seemingly little thing. “That must have made her day.”
“Och, you’ve no idea.” Claire rolled her eyes. “He’s quite the hero. But I suppose you already know that.”
Emily nodded. Time for a change of topic. Ten ways to put out a grass fire. Anything.
“I heard Ian spent a weekend at the beach with you and Aunt Grace.”
“Yes. That was a special treat for Aunt Grace. It meant a lot to her.”
“And you? Did you have a good time, then?”
Emily swirled the tea around in her mug. The weekend she spent with Ian was one she would never forget. “Yes.”
“Oh. So you do know how to have fun. Or at least you did.”
Emily gaped at Claire.
“Can I be frank with you, Emily?”
Frank? She widened her eyes. Good grief, what were you before?
“You may be alive, but you’re not living.” Claire crossed her arms and leaned back. “Not like the woman you were meant to be.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. How could Claire say that? Emily clasped her hands around the mug, but the cooling ceramic drew heat away from her fingers, leaving them chilled.
Claire lifted the teapot and filled Emily’s cup. “You’re a very gifted woman, Emily. Generous, caring. And loads of fun, I’ll wager. You have so much to give. But since you’ve been here, all you’ve done is fash and brood about how you’re going to die.” A snort puffed from her nose. “As if you’re the only one.”
Emily’s mouth gaped. Brood? She met Claire’s dark gaze. “I’m trying to avoid causing anyone pain. Especially Ian. I just want to do what’s best for him.”
“Best for Ian? Well that’s good and noble, love, but how do you know what that is? And what gives you the right to decide?”
The blunt force of Claire’s words sent Emily’s heart pounding. Claire had no idea how long and hard Emily had agonized over this decision.
“So you’re throwing away what life you have left to avoid pain?”
“I’m not throwing away—”
“Has it occurred to you that you’re being selfish?”
Selfish? Emily’s mouth dropped open again. Did Claire think this was easy for Emily? That she enjoyed losing those she loved?
Emily cleared her throat, but the tightness wouldn’t
budge. “I’m not sure what makes you say that. I don’t think you understand how much I’m giving up.”
“Listen, love. I know you think you’re sparing everyone you love by checking out of their lives, but you’re wrong.”
Ah. The real reason Claire invited her here. Emily should have known. She reined in a growing wave of resentment. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Oh, you have a choice.” Claire nodded. “You just don’t like your options.”
“What do you mean?”
Claire leaned forward again, bracing her chin in both hands. “I’m going to tell you a story. Davy left us once. Did you know that?”
Emily shook her head.
“When Hannah was a baby, Davy lost his job and had to go looking for work, but jobs were hard to find. He would find something for a while, but then he’d get let off. He had to travel farther away to find work and send money home. It was hard on him, hard on us all, but he did it. And he kept it up for a while, but then a time came when there just wasn’t any work. He went all the way to England and beyond, came back, went out again. But every time he came home without a job, it did something to him. It ate away at him. I had to get part-time work, get a sitter for the kids. He felt like a failure, like he’d let us down. He couldn’t face his children, or me. The last time he went looking for work ...” She shrugged. “He didn’t come back.”
Perhaps Davy was one of those who also felt the weight of responsibility for others. “He must have felt terrible.”
“Aye. Our children’s faces were a constant reminder of his failure. He felt worthless.”
“That’s so sad.”
“You want to know what’s truly sad? Davy couldn’t see there were far more valuable things he could provide us. Things worth much more than money.”
“That must have been incredibly difficult for him,” Emily said.
Claire’s dark eyes locked onto Emily’s. “It was incredibly selfish of him.”
Selfish. There was that word again, parting the conversation like the Red Sea and leaving a silent gap. “How was he being selfish?”
“He wanted to provide for us, but only if he could do it on his terms. When it didn’t work out the way he wanted, he couldn’t bear the guilt from seeing us every day.” Claire rose and took her cup to the sink. “He left because he didn’t like the way being with us made him feel.”
