Uncertain Past

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Baby kitties sure sleep a lot,” Alanna said fretfully.

  “No more than you did when you were a baby, I’ll bet.”

  “Huh. Babies crawl and play with toys. And they like to ride in strollers. I wish I had a baby sister. I keep asking my daddy,” she said, frowning. “All he says is maybe I’ll get one someday.” Alanna flopped on the floor and propped her chin in her hand.

  Emmy wasn’t about to touch that subject. However, she couldn’t help wondering—was Riley being vague simply to put Alanna off, or did he want more children? And if so, did he already have a prospective mother picked out?

  Although she had a perfect opportunity to pump Alanna about any woman in her father’s life, Emmy would never stoop that low. Obviously she needed to think about something other than Riley.

  “I have three boxes of books.” Emmy pointed. “Would you like to help me arrange them on the shelves, Alanna?”

  “‘kay. When we’re done, will you read me a story?”

  “These are all books for big folks. Next time, bring one of your favorite stories and I’ll read it. Or, we can check kids’ books out of the library,” Emmy said, remembering fondly the many happy hours she and Mom Fran had spent there. Almost instantly, Emmy realized what she’d said to Riley’s daughter, forcing her to hastily add, “I mean, we could go if your dad says it’s okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” The child cocked her head prettily to one side.

  “Because . . . because I’m new in town. Parents have to be very careful who they let their children go off with.”

  “I know. Daddy told me to not take candy or go with strangers. But you aren’t a stranger, Emmy. Miss Gwyn knows you, and so does Daddy. Mr. Jed phoned this morning. I heard Daddy talking about stuff him and you used to do.”

  “Ah,” Emmy said. “I really think you should quit that listening in when adults are on the phone.”

  Alanna looked sheepish as she shrugged. “I wouldn’t listen, ‘cept nobody ever tells me anything.”

  She sounded so vexed, Emmy had to chuckle. “Come on, little Miss Pitcher With Big Ears. My books won’t shelve themselves.” Emmy directed Alanna to start with the bottom rows. As they worked, they talked about games and dolls. Time ticked by fast. The child was an absolute joy. She handled the books with care, and placed them according to height. She even read a few words in some of the titles which impressed Emmy. Neither was ready to end the day when they heard several long blasts from a car horn.

  “Rats, she’s back.” Alanna poked out her lower lip.

  Emmy glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that two hours had slipped by. “Actually, she was gone longer than she’d said. That’ll put me behind on errands. Tell you what, I’ll leave the rest of these until Mrs. Yates lets you come again.”

  Since Emmy still sat on the floor, Alanna scrambled over and threw her arms around Emmy’s neck, followed by a smacking kiss on the cheek.

  Emmy, who’d long ago rejected the idea of having her own children, but who’d never imagined she’d regret the decision, was moved by Alanna’s display of affection. She not only hugged the girl back, she walked hand in hand with her to the door.

  The good feeling lasted as Emmy went about her business that afternoon. It lingered even after she pulled into the circular drive at Beaumarais.

  Jed opened the door. He appeared more relaxed this evening. “Hi. Lord, Emmy-M, I still can’t believe you’re really here.” He tugged on a lock of her straight blond hair, much as he’d done when they were growing up.

  “Gwyn said you asked about Frannie’s personal effects. They’re stored in my attic. I didn’t know where else to put them.” Draping an arm over her shoulder, he relieved her of the loaf of bread, which he tossed to Gwyn in passing. Then Jed guided Emmy up a winding flight of stairs. He led her into a large room at the top.

  A music room, she saw, stopping in front of a wire stand. A violin case sat open on a velvet chair. Nearby stood a cello with sheet music spread around.

  “You’ve branched out, I see.”

  “Gwyn plays cello. She’s quite good,” he announced with pride.

  Emmy would have asked for a private concert, except that Jed hustled her into the center of the room, where a wooden ladder already hung down from an opening in the ceiling.

  “If Logan Fielder knew I’d kept Frannie’s personal effects, he’d be out here with a search warrant. To be honest, Emmy, I must have glanced through everything as Joleen helped me box it up. I swear these cartons haven’t been opened since.”

  “Joleen? Does she still work as a nurse in Tyler?”

  “She’s retired.”

  “Losing Fran must have been horrible for her. They were so close.”

  “I rarely see her unless we accidentally run into each other. She’s a hard person to read. Distant—maybe that’s the best word to describe her now.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Joleen. I figured she’d take over for Fran. She came by most nights after work. Remember how she’d order us around like she had every right?”

  “Here, let me give you a boost. That first step is a doozy. Um, if I had to define how Joleen has changed, I’d say she folded up after Frannie disappeared. Like the lotus lily out on the lake does at night.”

  Emmy ducked under the eaves and waited for Jed. “I suppose everyone handles grief differently. Joleen stayed single, and Fran and us kids were her life. Or at least that’s how it seems as I look back. I wasn’t very observant then. Kids are self-centered, aren’t they?”

  “Or tuned in to other interests. These two boxes contain everything that was in the desk. There’s also one box of clothes and another of knickknacks.” Jed stared down at the boxes as if he didn’t want to be the first to touch them. “It’s a pitiful amount to represent a person’s entire life.”

  Emmy sighed. “I feel funny doing this. Like I’m poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Nonsense. You were her daughter. She had no other kin.”

  “Really? You and Will were a pair of frogs? Listen, Jed. None of us has a legal claim to any of this. She didn’t—couldn’t adopt me, I was told, because back then a woman without a husband wasn’t an acceptable candidate.”

  “Technically you’re correct. Joleen said Frannie didn’t believe in wills. It seems her husband had one drawn up. In the end, nothing was left for Fran. It cost more to have the attorney handle the transaction than she actually got. She decided to put her money to better use—like take in needy kids.”

  Emmy sank to her knees and dragged the first box closer. “It’s taken me some time to admit this, but I, for one am grateful she did what she did.”

  “Me, too.” He swallowed hard when the first thing Emmy pulled from the box was a stack of certificates. Jed’s old music awards.

  Emmy handed them to him. He sifted through the parchments, saying nothing.

  She glanced up to see why he’d fallen silent. Tears glistened in his eyes. Her stomach wrenched at the sight, and she wished she could snatch the certificates back. Last night Jed had talked some about how he’d struggled with the guilt attached to his and Fran’s arguing over his music career. Not knowing what to say to ease his current pain, Emmy dug in the box and took out the next folder.

  “Jed, look! Copies of your birth certificate and Will’s. Plus, all of our report cards.”

  He came down on one knee to look over her shoulder. His voice was raspy when he spoke. “I remember she had to verify my age to enroll me in school. Will, too. Your birth certificate must be there somewhere. Check again.”

  “No.” Emmy shook her head. “There’s this note from Social Services validating the date I was found, and my approximate age. I’d so hoped—” She stopped midsentence.

  “You haven’t reached the bottom of the box.”

 
“The rest is paid bills, receipts and old tax forms. Warranties on the appliances. Oh, here’s a contract for the work she was having done on the porch.”

  Jed snatched it. “Hank left town without collecting pay for what he did. Ray Jennings thinks he went on a binge and ended up in a drunk tank somewhere.”

  “Without money?”

  “It’s Ray’s theory, not mine. He said drunks can always find a bottle.”

  “Have you considered that maybe Belmonte demanded his money in advance? He could have flown into an alcoholic rage and killed her.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Jed mused, folding the contract. “I’ll turn this over to my lawyer and see if he wants to use it to prod Fielder. The sheriff claims Hank was always unreliable. To me, his timing in this instance ought to be considered suspect.”

  “I agree.” Emmy had opened the second box. It contained a small album filled with faded pictures of Frannie’s wedding. Tucked into the back were Jed’s, Will’s and her school pictures and two packets of snapshots. “Would you look at us. What dweebs.” Emmy hooted with laughter as she held up photos showing her with pigtails and gap teeth and Jed with an untamed cowlick. “Will must’ve thought it was cool or sexy to lower his eyelids and curl his lip. He’s done that in every shot.”

  Jed touched the pictures reverently. “Shall we divvy them up?”

  “Let’s make copies—three sets of each. Of course, we’ll have to store Will’s. Oh, Jed, don’t you wonder where he is?”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “But he knew damn well I wasn’t going anywhere.”

  To sidestep what was obviously a touchy topic, Emmy closed the second box. She ripped the tape off the one Jed had said contained knickknacks. As it happened, the top item brought a stab straight to her heart. It was a music box. A sticker on the bottom said it played “Greensleeves”—Fran’s favorite song. A few bars tinkled the instant Emmy lifted the ceramic piece from its wrapping. A carousel horse twirled a half turn.

  Emmy remembered mowing lawns and begging odd jobs in town for an entire year to earn the money to buy her mom this gift for Christmas. Their last, it turned out.

  She fingered a bead of glue holding one of the horse’s legs intact. That holiday, Will and Jed had both received footballs. They’d thrown them in the house even though Mom Fran forbade it. The trinket got broken before dinner was served. More upset than anyone had ever seen her, Fran banished the boys to their rooms until the culprit owned up to his misdeed.

  Emmy couldn’t eat, either. She sobbed into her pillow all afternoon. All the kids assumed Mom Fran would eventually give in. She remained firm. Emmy ended up sneaking food to the boys.

  Jed touched the ornate horse. As if reading Emmy’s mind, he murmured, “I know you got into trouble for smuggling Will and me cold turkey and dressing. But Frannie couldn’t stand the thought of us going hungry, either. Did you know she saw you filling plates when she returned to the kitchen after doing the same?”

  “I never knew. She didn’t say a word to me.”

  “You know,” he said, eyeing Emmy obliquely. “Neither Will nor I thought any of our throws came close to hitting the music box.”

  “I knocked it off and broke it,” Emmy blurted, her throat suddenly clogged with tears. “I was so mad at myself but too afraid to tell, because you guys ordered me not to touch your stupid footballs.” Her eyes suddenly overflowed.

  “Hot damn—truth at last. It’s exactly what Will and I figured. You looked so guilty when you brought us those plates. But we weren’t about to rat on you,” Jed said, forgiveness etched in his smile. “Here, you have the music box. And don’t let guilt keep you from enjoying it. Besides,” he said, hauling in a deep breath. “Will and I did chip the living room lamp. We glued it ourselves. If Frannie knew, she never let on.”

  From below, Gwyn called out, “I have spinach salads dished up. I just drizzled hot bacon dressing over them. Are you guys planning to stay up there all night? If so, the greens are going to get very soggy.”

  Jed pulled out his handkerchief and gave it to Emmy to blot her eyes. “We’re coming,” he informed his wife.

  Emmy stood and thanked him quietly. “I’ve cried more in two days than in all the years since I left Uncertain. I thought my tears had all dried up.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t. Anyway, I read somewhere crying is the best catharsis. If anyone needs a release valve, Emmy-M, it’s us.”

  Chapter Five

  Emmy felt wrung out when she arrived home, in spite of Gwyn having served a wonderfully relaxed meal on the patio. She’d artfully arranged multicolored ironstone bowls and wood-handled eating utensils on a glass-topped wrought-iron table. The chairs offered thick cushions a person could burrow into. Torchières edging the property reflected pathways through the lotus lilies on the lake. Frogs croaked up and down the scale, blending in peaceful harmony. While it made for a pleasant evening, Emmy hadn’t been able to shake the tension shimmering inside her, brought on, no doubt, by delving into Mom Fran’s possessions. Possessions that produced gut-wrenching memories, but nary a clue as to where Emmy should start searching for the person who’d brought her into this world.

  Richard had once asked her if she recalled ever overhearing her foster mother talking to friends about Emmy—some conversation in which Fran might have let slip some pertinent fact about Emmy’s birth. And though Emmy had racked her brain, nothing stood out. Nothing except the story of a brooch, reportedly found pinned inside her baby blanket. A significantly large pearl nested in the hollow of an intricate twenty-four-carat gold tree whose branches were dotted with pricey emeralds, all set in a circle of gold.

  The piece had simply disappeared from the house one day. Frannie was positive she’d misplaced it, because she said only friends came to the house, so she’d always been reluctant to report it stolen. She’d told Emmy in later years that the house hadn’t been broken into and nothing else was missing. That was how Mom Fran was—she found good in everyone. It was what made her murder so darned hard to swallow.

  Fran was convinced the brooch would turn up someday when they least expected. Emmy had crossed her fingers that she’d find it tucked among her foster mom’s belongings. If she closed her eyes, she could see the brooch as it had been described. Mom Fran had made up wonderful stories about how the lovely jeweled tree meant Emmy was extra special. She’d said it proved that Emmy’s mother, probably a girl from a rich family, had loved her baby enough to provide for her.

  When Emmy was older, Fran had explained that some families couldn’t cope with the idea of illegitimacy. Which had certainly been true in the case of Jed’s wealthy uncle. The old buzzard had disowned Jed’s mother.

  Emmy let the kitten, Egypt, curl up on her bed. The raspy purr was comforting. She drifted off to sleep and dreamed of a day she’d be reunited with her parents, with family. It was a recurring dream.

  She slept late, but was eventually forced to abandon her bed because Egypt persisted in batting Emmy’s nose and licking her cheek. Yawning, she petted the kitten, thinking she ought to get up anyway.

  After feeding Egypt and playing with him until he wandered off to nap, Emmy dived into the task of putting away her remaining goods. She thought often of her scheduled meeting with Riley, but still refused to think of it as a date.

  By afternoon, she’d unpacked the box that held her dart case. She’d played in a league off and on for twelve years. Often enough to have worn out five sets of darts. Her latest, top-of-the-line tungsten, were the best she’d ever owned. She spent a moment checking the steel tips and the composite shafts to make sure none had broken or vibrated loose. Finding all were ready for play, Emmy locked the case and set it by the front door.

  Deciding on something to wear presented a problem. She wanted to look nice and admitted to herself that it was a question of pride—a womanly urge to show Riley Gray Wo
lf what he’d missed in letting her get away. In the end, a need for comfort won out. Throwing darts demanded freedom of motion. She ultimately settled on her best blue jeans and a yellow tank top that emphasized her tan. Then she worried her outfit might be too casual.

  Even after taking time to wash her hair and apply pale-green eye shadow and a slick of natural lip gloss, Emmy was ready an hour early.

  She sat down and picked up a new romance novel she’d bought to liven up a long, lonely evening. She became so absorbed, the next time she checked her watch she discovered she had only ten minutes before she was supposed to meet Riley at Crazy Jake’s.

  She tore out of the house in a panic, afraid Riley would look around the bar, see she wasn’t there and leave. But as she backed down the long driveway, her jittery nerves subsided. If Riley didn’t hold her in enough regard to give her fifteen minutes leeway, then to heck with him.

  He had waited.

  Emmy’s eyes were drawn to him the minute she stepped through the door. He stood at the back of the noisy, smoky bar, warming up with some practice throws. He wore black dress slacks and a pale-blue shirt with long sleeves rolled just past his elbows. A suit jacket lay across the table of a nearby booth.

  Emmy clutched the hem of her tank top and pulled it down over the two-inch gap between it and her blue jeans. Riley had obviously come straight from work. Why hadn’t she realized he’d be dressed like a lawyer?

  Then he turned to speak with a man who sat on the end bar stool. The guy had on a work-worn T-shirt, logger boots and a baseball cap set backward on his head. That was when Emmy realized a lock of coal dark hair had fallen rakishly across Riley’s left eye. And his dress shirt was halfway open, exposing a bronzed chest dotted with sweat in spite of the lazy fans rotating overhead. Riley laughed at something his friend said. Emmy caught a brief flash of even white teeth as he raised a frosty beer bottle to his lips.

  She saw him stop in the middle of swallowing. His dark steady eyes swept the entry; the moment he spotted her, his body relaxed. Riley held up a staying hand to his friend and started toward her at a trot.