by Linda Ford
Mrs. Whitley opened a cupboard that revealed a space under the stairs. “Look at that. A whole box of toys.” She pulled the box toward them. “Mikey, have a look and see if there is anything you’d like to play with.”
The boy knelt and took out a ball, a collection of farm animals, several books and a little wagon. He soon played happily.
Emily looked about, at a loss as to what she should do. “Were you making something?” She nodded toward the sewing room.
“I am making several dresses for a Mrs. Abernathy. She’s in the family way and none of her clothes fit. Would you like to see what I’m doing?”
“Yes, please.” Emily moved Mikey and the toys closer to the door where she could watch him. As she straightened, the room tipped sideways. She sank to the floor, clutching her head in her hands.
Mrs. Whitley rushed to her side. “Forgive me. What was I thinking to drag you all over the house? Jesse will be unhappy with me.” She tsked. “Can you make it to the sofa?”
Emily struggled to her feet, clinging to the older woman’s hand. Mrs. Whitley wasn’t a big woman, but she put her arm about Emily’s waist and guided her to the couch with every bit as much strength as Emily had felt in Mrs. Whitley’s grandson.
Emily practically fell to the couch and leaned her head against the back. The room continued to circle and sway.
Mikey followed them and leaned against Emily’s knees.
She wanted to reassure him, but opening her eyes churned her stomach.
“Lie down and rest.” Mrs. Whitley placed a pillow beneath her head and pulled the green afghan over her. “Would a cold cloth to your forehead help?” She rushed away to get such before Emily could answer and placed it on her forehead.
“Thank you.” The coolness soothed her head.
“Just rest. We’ll be quiet. Won’t we, Mikey?”
Emily listened to them slip away to the kitchen. Their voices came from a dark tunnel. Lord Jesus, please make my dizziness go away and bring back my memory.
The canary sang as she lay there. She might have slept if it had been possible to relax, but she lay stiff as a board, fearing the slightest motion. She willed herself to remember her past, but her mind was full of dark tunnels that led nowhere.
*
Jesse paused at the door to take off his wet slicker and hang it on the nearby hook. It had stopped raining, but not before he’d gotten a good soaking. The downpour had made it impossible for him to track the criminals. He would go back later and examine every inch of the ground.
He shook water from his hat and hung it next to the slicker. He kicked off his wet boots and left them on the porch, then he stepped into the house. His heart crashed against his ribs at the sight of Emily, motionless on the couch. He hurried forward. Had she…? Was she…?
The blanket over her rose a bit and he gasped a shot of air.
She wasn’t dead. But she didn’t look very well, either. Although her eyes were closed, tension fanned out from the corners of them.
He slipped closer. “Emily?”
Her eyes flew open and she winced.
“Are you okay?”
“My head hurts.” She sat up, closing her eyes for a moment then opening them to study him. “Tell me you found the culprits and have them locked up.”
“The rain made it impossible to track them. However, I found something.” He returned to the door and picked up the damaged and stained satchel. He pulled a stool close and set it there.
“Does this look familiar?” he asked.
“It’s a satchel.”
“Have a closer look at it.”
“Is it mine?” Her voice trembled.
“Look inside.”
She did so and removed a water-damaged Bible and a packet of hairpins. She ran her fingers along the inside. “That’s all? Was there nothing else? My clothes? Something to indicate who I am?” She had a desperate look in her eyes.
He did his best to sound more encouraged than he felt. “This is all I found.” He’d searched the stagecoach and a wide circle around it, but apart from trampled grass and the imprint of an oddly shaped horseshoe, he’d found nothing. If he ever saw a hoofprint with that contour, he’d know what its rider had been up to the first week of July. “I can’t think why they took personal belongings.”
A sharp object—likely a knife—had damaged the satchel. He guessed the robbers did not want any reminder of God in their possession and had tossed aside the Bible and satchel. Nothing else remained of the stagecoach’s contents or the belongings of its two occupants.
“May I?” She asked permission to open the Bible.
“Yes, of course.” He’d hoped for eagerness and recognition, but she showed neither.
She opened the book and read the name inscribed on the flyleaf. “Emily Smith.” She looked at Jesse. “Is this me?”
“I hoped it was and that it would bring back your memory.” He rubbed his neck. “I didn’t find the men responsible for your accident, nor any proof of your identity.” He’d failed and was disappointed with himself.
She slowly turned the pages. “Maybe something in here will tell me who I am.” Many of the pages were stuck together from being wet and she carefully pulled them apart. Two were thick and refused to separate. “It feels as if there is something between these. But I don’t want to tear the paper. I can’t bring myself to purposely damage the Bible.”
He sensed tears and frustration close to the surface and gently took the Bible from her. “Let me try.” Jesse could not get the pages apart. “There’s certainly something there. Maybe steam will work.” He headed for the kitchen.
“I’m coming.” She moved cautiously, swayed a little.
He stopped, caught her arm and guided her into the kitchen where Mikey played with some of his old toys and Gram stirred a pot on the stove.
Gram saw Emily. “Should you be up? You look pale.” She gave Jesse a sorrowful look. “I should have insisted she rest. Instead, I dragged her around the house showing her every room.”
“I’m fine, though I don’t mind sitting.” Emily sank into the nearest chair.
Jesse showed Gram the Bible and explained his plan to separate the pages.
“It’s worth a try.” Gram pulled the kettle forward to the hottest part of the stove and they waited for it to boil.
“Okay, here goes.” He steamed the edges of the pages until they softened then slowly pulled them apart. “It looks like a letter.” He handed it to Emily.
She stared at the folded paper and drew in her lips.
He sat across the corner from her. “Isn’t it better to know?”
“Maybe.” Fear, hope and caution threaded through her voice. “Or maybe I’ll regret what I discover.” She laughed, a mirthless sound. “Of course, we have no idea if this is even mine.”
He squeezed her hands. “There’s one way to find out. Open the letter.”
With trembling fingers she unfolded the page and read it aloud.
Dear Abigail and John.
The bearer of this note is Miss Emily Smith. I have entrusted her with the special task of bringing to you Michael, also known as Mikey. When you asked me regarding adoption I knew he was perfect for you even though he isn’t an infant. He’s affectionate, easygoing and a real joy. Please accept him as your own. It might help him settle if you allowed Miss Emily to stay with you a few days.
I am looking forward to a letter from you expressing your delight at the child I have chosen for you.
My sincerest regards,
Your Aunt Hilda
She stared at the letter. “So, I’m Emily Smith?”
“It would seem so.”
She lifted her face, her blue eyes darkened with despair. “But who is Emily Smith?”
He didn’t have an answer for her.
Chapter Three
Emily looked down at her clothes and grimaced. “What am I going to do?”
He knew she meant more than her missing clothes. Her loss of memory ma
ttered far more, but he couldn’t do anything about that. However, he could do something about the other.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find something. I’ll go ask the preacher’s wife to help.” He ignored her protest as he headed for the door.
His grandmother waved him away. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Little Mikey is content to play with the toys.”
Jesse shifted direction and knelt in front of the boy, recalling how lost he’d felt when his mother left him. Mikey was with strangers and a woman who didn’t remember him. It had to be frightening. He patted Mikey’s head.
Mikey looked at him solemnly.
“You’re a good little boy,” Jesse said.
“’Kay.” Mikey studied him a moment. “Mem, mem, mem.”
Jesse wondered if the boy meant to say Emily or was he asking for his mama.
He nodded. “’Kay.”
His answer seemed to satisfy the boy, who returned to the toys. Jesse left the house and headed toward the church and the manse that stood next door to it. It hadn’t rained as hard in town as it had at the robbery site, which was unfortunate for his search efforts. He said hello to Evan, the preacher’s four-year-old son who played in the yard with his dog, and then knocked on the door.
Annie opened and greeted him. “Hi, Jesse.”
Annie’s maiden name was Marshall. Jesse had been best friends with her brother, Conner, for more years than he cared to count. Annie was like a sister to him. Funny to think that all three of her brothers were now married and she had married the preacher.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Come on in and tell me what it is.”
He followed her into the kitchen, accepted a cup of coffee and helped himself to the cookies she offered. Hugh came from his adjoining office.
“Good, you’re both here. Saves me having to tell the story twice.” He explained about the stagecoach robbery and finding Emily with no memory and young Mikey who couldn’t tell them anything.
“All their belongings are gone. I hoped—”
“Say no more. I’ll gather up enough for her and the boy. How big is she?”
“She comes to about here.” He indicated his shoulder. “She’s slender. Too big for anything of Gram’s, too small for yours.”
Annie studied Jesse intently a moment.
He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her busy mind.
“How old is she?”
“Annie, how would I know? She can’t remember.”
“Give it your best guess. I need to know what sort of clothes she’d like to wear.”
“I’d say she was about your age.” Annie had recently turned twenty. “Give or take a year or two.” He tried to think what else he could tell Annie that might be of help. “She’s wearing a blue top like yours and a dark skirt. Just ordinary clothes.”
Again Annie’s study of him lasted a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. What did she think she saw or understood?
She nodded as if she’d made up her mind about something. “And the boy?”
“Says he’s almost—” He held up three fingers as had Mikey. “Smaller than Evan. It must be an awful feeling not to remember who you are.”
Annie leaned closer, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe this is an answer to my prayers.”
He sat back and stared at her. “You prayed the stagecoach would be robbed?” He shifted his gaze to Hugh. “Did you know this?”
Hugh squeezed Annie’s hand, giving her an adoring look. “I think you better explain things.”
Annie brought her gaze back to Jesse. “Of course I didn’t pray that, silly. I’ve been praying a young woman would come into your life.”
Jesse stared at her. “You can’t mean—she might be married for all we know.” He recalled her worry about having done something wrong. “You haven’t even seen her and yet you—” He shook his head, stunned at her words. “We don’t know who she is and she can’t remember. She might be hiding, for all we know.”
“I think who she is when she can’t remember is who she really is. No masks. Nothing to hide. Just the real Emily. Perhaps more real than the person she is when she can remember all the things that have happened to her.”
He stared at her. Could she be right? “It makes no difference in any case. My job is to apprehend the robbers and take care of Emily and Mikey until we can see them safely to their destination. I have no other interest in them. And I can’t think why you’d suggest otherwise. You know how I feel about women.”
She dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand. “A good woman would change your mind, but I understand you have reason not to trust them.”
He tried not to sputter. The trouble was, she knew too much about him. But her judgment was way off. “Your grandfather is the matchmaker in your family. One is quite enough, don’t you think?”
She laughed. “I’m sure he’ll do his share. But never mind. Perhaps I am being premature.”
“Perhaps?”
“I’ll come and see for myself what kind of woman she is.”
“Now, wait a minute.”
“I need to see both of them to know what size clothing they need.”
“I thought I told you enough.” He didn’t want her coming over. As soon as she saw Emily she would decide she was more than suitable. After all, she was a beautiful woman and, if the way she treated Mikey was any indication, a kind one, too.
But who was she? The question had to be answered before any of them could make a judgment about her.
*
Emily tried to tell herself she wasn’t anxious for Jesse to return. But she would be lying. Yes, she hoped he would bring her something to wear besides her soiled shirtwaist and skirt. But even if he brought back nothing, she found his presence steadying. And why shouldn’t she? He was the sheriff. His job meant she was safe with him and he would do everything he could do to help her.
She sat at the table peeling potatoes for the evening meal. At first, Mrs. Whitley had refused her help but Emily insisted. “There’s no point in sitting about trying to remember who I am. Far better to be busy.”
The older woman had agreed, on the condition that Emily sit to work. “Jesse would have my hide if anything happened while he’s gone. That boy takes his responsibilities very seriously.” She looked out the window and waved as someone passed in the alley, then continued. “You might even say he is overly conscientious. Now, I don’t mean just about doing his job, but about life in general. He has impossibly high expectations of others so he is often disappointed.” She gave a sad shake of her head.
Emily didn’t know if she meant the words as a warning, but Emily took them that way. What if she had committed a crime or contributed to one? Why else would she have such a worry? And if she had, Jesse would be…well, not disappointed because he had no reason to trust her or have expectations of her. She’d already wondered aloud in his presence if she might be guilty of something.
But what could she have done? She tried to think of holding a gun and using it for evil, but it didn’t feel as though she knew how to shoot a gun, let alone use it to harm someone.
The outer door clicked. She heard Jesse murmur something as he stepped inside.
Muffin, who had been sitting on the floor watching Mikey play, barked then whined and bounded for the door.
A female voice greeted the dog.
Jesse had a sweetheart? Well, of course he did. Emily just hadn’t considered it.
He stepped into the kitchen with a tall woman at his side. A stunningly beautiful woman with blue eyes to rival a clear sky and hair the color of the sun.
Emily sat very still, feeling mousy in contrast.
“Hello, Gram. How are you?”
“Hello, Annie.”
Jesse turned Annie to face Emily. “Emily, this is my good friend, Annie Arness. She’s the preacher’s wife. She’s promised to find you something to wear, and Mikey, too. Mikey, say hello to Mrs. Arness.”
“’Lo.” Muffin had returned to
his side and Mikey clutched at the dog’s back.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Emily said. Annie was married to the preacher?
“Likewise.” Annie turned to Jesse. “You didn’t tell me she was beautiful.”
Jesse gave the woman a look so full of warning it surprised Emily that she didn’t lose her smile. Instead, she chuckled. “I’ll behave myself. Don’t worry.”
“You better.”
Emily recalled his grandmother’s words about him having high expectations of others and wondered if Annie had disappointed him.
Annie turned her attention back to Emily. “I am sorry to hear of your misfortune, and both my husband and I will pray you regain your memory quickly.” She clapped her hands together. “In the meantime, I’ll take care of finding you some fresh clothing. Jesse, where’s my bag?”
Jesse held forth a valise and Annie took it from him.
“I brought a few of Evan’s things that are too small for him.” She pulled out two pairs of overalls, three little shirts, nightwear, socks and other necessities. “I think they’ll fit Mikey okay. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything handy that would be your size. Jesse said you were taller than Gram, here, and shorter than me.”
Emily’s head began to hurt at the rapid delivery of Annie’s words.
Jesse caught Annie’s arm. “Emily needs to rest.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll return with a few things.” She slipped away.
Emily called her thanks then closed her eyes. She heard the chair next to hers being pulled out. A warm hand touched her elbow.
“Are you okay?”
She opened her eyes and looked into Jesse’s concerned face. She would have nodded but knew the movement would hurt, so she whispered, “I’m as good as can be expected, I suppose.”
He chuckled. “The doc would be proud of your answer.”
She grinned, already feeling better.
Mrs. Whitley moved a pot on the stove. The scraping sound reminded Emily she had offered to help prepare supper.
“I need to finish peeling the potatoes.” Emily picked up the knife to resume her task. She felt Jesse’s study and paused to look at him. “What?”
