Dear Emily

by Fern Michaels

Tiny poured the ice tea. Gussie handed out the cigarettes. Millie held the lighter.

  “Terrible, filthy habit,” Phillie said, leaning back as she drew deeply on the cigarette.

  “Disgusting,” the others said cheerfully.

  They took turns blowing perfect smoke rings.

  “I know for a fact that God isn’t going to punish us,” Gilly said happily. “Because He lets us find these terrible things. If He didn’t want us to have them, He’d keep them out of our sight.”

  “Baloney. That’s a crock,” Eric Clapton’s biggest fan, Sister Gussie, said happily. “I’m not giving them up.”

  “We aren’t either,” the other nuns chorused.

  “We might roast in hell,” Sister Tiny said.

  “Then we’ll roast together,” Sister Millie said.

  “Time to stub out,” Sister Gilly said, holding up the stub of her Marlboro Light. “See, nothing but the filter. Absolutely sinful.”

  “Do you think Mother Teresa smokes?” Sister Phillie asked fretfully.

  “Probably, with all the stress she’s under, how could she not?” Sister Cookie said. “I think the sky is pretty black. Oh, I hope we don’t have a storm this evening. I wanted to finish that blood and guts book I’m reading. If the power goes out, I won’t know who killed Darlene.”

  “Her sister Marlene did it, so stop fretting,” Sister Gussie said. “Plus, it was the gardener who gored the guard at the gate. That other stuff was just a red herring. Now you don’t have to worry if the power goes off. I have a new book you can start tomorrow called Missing Beauty. Matt dropped it off yesterday.”

  “I do hope Rosie and Emily are all right. It gets pretty dark up there around this time of day even when the sun is out. With a storm coming, it will be dark as Hades,” Sister Tiny said.

  “Rosie’s been on the trail before,” Gilly said.

  “The most she’s ever hiked is four miles. Today they planned on ten miles. Emily isn’t familiar with the trail at all.”

  “I’d feel better if we asked Ivan to go take a look when he gets here with the mail. He’s late. Usually he’s ringing the bell by the time we finish our…sinful vice,” Millie said.

  “I promised to save them a dinner plate.”

  “Breaking the rules again, Gilly,” Gussie said.

  “Rules are meant to be broken. They aren’t hikers like some of the others,” Gilly dithered.

  “I hear the bell. Ivan’s here with the mail.”

  The sisters gathered up the tray and the dirty ashtray. It was left to Gilly to walk around to the front of the building to accept the mail.

  Ivan was a bear of a man, six foot four and weighing in at two hundred and sixty pounds, a monolith with tree trunk arms and hands like slabs of beef. The khaki uniform and the Stetson did nothing to dispel his giant size.

  “Big storm coming Sister, but not till later. Maybe ten o’clock. Make sure everyone is inside.” His voice was soft and gentle, comforting.

  “Oh, well, if it isn’t going to hit until ten, then I guess I don’t have to worry about Rosie and Emily. They went for a ten-mile hike up on the trail this morning.”

  “What time did they leave?” the giant asked quietly.

  “After breakfast. I promised to hold dinner for them. Actually, I said I would fix their plates and put them in the oven. I know it’s breaking the rules, but I don’t care. They’ll both be starving when they get back.”

  “That was nice of you, Sister. Rules can be broken from time to time. Did Rosie feel confident to hike ten miles? Perhaps I should take a look. The woods will be pretty dark about now. Rosie is afraid of field mice so she might get spooked.”

  “How do you know Rosie is afraid of field mice?” Gilly asked.

  “Matt told me. I’ll take the jeep up and look around. If they left at eight-thirty, nine at the latest, they should have been back by now, even allowing for a lunch break and other pit stops. I’m going to take a look. If I miss them, send up one of the flares we left with you. Will you do that, Sister?”

  “Of course I will. I’ll tell the others. I cautioned Rosie to stick close to the trail and not to get off. I even told her to mark it. Each hiker is told the same thing. They should be back by now. I must go or dinner will be late this evening.”

  Ivan handed over a light sack of mail, turned on his heel, and marched around the side of the building to the front where he’d left his jeep. He waited until he was a quarter of the mile away from the retreat before he pulled his mountain vehicle to the side of the road. Using the mobile phone, he called Matt Haliday.

  “Trust me when I tell you those two women did not hike ten miles, and if they aren’t back by now, something is wrong. Rosie has a bunion. Everyone in Black Mountain knows about her bunions.”

  “Let me get someone in to look after the kids and I’ll come up. Light some flares as you go along. It’s going to storm before long, Ivan. At the most it will take me forty minutes.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Ivan said, breaking the connection.

  Ivan thought about the few emergencies he’d had over the years at the retreat. For the most part, the guests never ventured far and there had been no serious problems. He liked this job, related to all the people who came to the retreat seeking comfort and solace. He himself had done the same thing years and years ago when his fiancée was killed in a car accident. Fifty now, unmarried, a lover of children and all animals, he worked virtually around the clock.

  He liked Rosie Finneran, but then everyone liked Rosie. Once or twice he’d thought about asking her to take in a picture show, but he’d never acted on his thought. Now he was sorry. Rosie made him laugh. Rosie winked at him when she thought no one was looking. He never winked back and didn’t know why. Now he wished he had. Sometimes, though, Rosie didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain, but that was okay too. Sometimes he did stupid things too.

  He thought about Emily Thorn and Matt Haliday. He knew Matt was interested in the lady from New Jersey. He tried to hide it, but wasn’t successful. He always asked what went on at the retreat when he was off duty. He’d start by mentioning the nuns and a few of the guests and then he’d hit on Rosie and Emily last. Ivan liked to see the sparkle in Matt’s eyes when he talked about Emily Thorn. Just last week Matt had carried an ice cream cone over to her and then sat with her and Rosie. He’d wanted to join them, but they all looked like they were having such a good time he didn’t want to intrude so he’d eaten his ice cream cone and left, taking a second one with him.

  Ivan parked the jeep. He slung his backpack, which was as big as a bushel basket, over his shoulder and set off, his high beam flashlight lighting the way. His long-legged strides were awesome and thunder loud.

  She was on the ground again, facedown, her foot caught in something. She tried to wiggle, to move, but the knifelike pain in her neck, shoulder, and arm took her breath away. She lay still, her face buried in pine needles and coarse earth. She sneezed again and again from the resin in the needles.

  If she could just sleep, even if it was for just ten minutes. In her life she’d never been this tired, this ridden with pain.

  “Get up, Emily. This is no time to go to sleep. If you’re too lazy to do it for yourself, think about your friend. She’s counting on you. Listen to me, Emily.”

  “Why should I? I thought I told you to leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to a dead person. God’s going to punish you for tormenting me like this. Leave me alone.”

  Emily struggled to get up on her knees as she balanced herself with her hand. She toppled forward, her face again mashing into the pine needles on the ground. “I hurt my knee and my ankle hurts,” she whimpered.

  “Your friend hurts a whole lot more, Emily. Get your ass in gear and get up and do what you set out to do. That’s an order, Emily.”

  “Damn you and your orders, Ian. What about me?”

  “You aren’t important now, Emily. Your friend is important. If her appendix bursts, she’s gone
and you know it. I’m a doctor. For once in your life, listen to me.”

  “You were a doctor. Shut the hell up. I know…I don’t need you to tell me…I can’t see…I know I’m hopelessly lost. Help me to get up.”

  “Do it yourself, Emily. I’m watching you.”

  “Stop telling me what to do.” She was on her feet, listing to the right and then to the left, but she was upright. She reached out with her left foot, trying to find the stick she’d been carrying. She knew if she bent over she’d fall again. She stomped on the end and it bounced upright. She caught it. The prize at the end of the rainbow.

  Thunder rolled across the sky, once, twice, three times, followed by dancing lightning that lit up the forest for a few brief seconds. “They let you do that?” Emily asked in awe. “How’d you do that, Ian?”

  “Magic. Are you satisfied that you’re on the trail?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I am. How much further is it?”

  “If I told you how far it is, you’d give up. If I told you were within sight of the retreat, you’d do something stupid like run into a tree. I don’t know how far it is. Just keep moving.”

  “I know your game, you louse—you’re trying to make me mad. Ian, I am too tired to get mad. What you did to me was terrible. I did what I had to do. You didn’t even know me when I walked into your office. I’m the old Emily now.”

  Lightning ripped across the sky, streak after streak until Emily thought she was watching a fire works display. By jamming the stick between two massive boulders, she was able to move forward, her injured arm hanging at her side as she dragged her bad leg. She was moving and that was all that mattered. “That was some show. What’d you do, wrinkle your nose or something?”

  “Stop wasting your energy talking. You should have kept one of the flashlights and a flare. You’re doing good, Emily.”

  Emily was so pleased with the compliment she tried to move faster, tried not to think about Rosie and Ian and his…spirit world. It was probably all a bad dream anyway. She vowed never to tell anyone about the conversations she was having with her dead husband.

  More lightning danced across the sky. She saw it then and thought her heart was going to pound its way right out of her chest. Sasquatch. God, no. Al Roker with his Doppler radar gear on his back. A living nightmare. She gripped the stick in her hands and cried, out of fear, not for herself, but for Rosie. She was losing touch with reality and she knew it. What would the NBC weatherman be doing here in the Smoky Mountains? And if it was Al Roker, where the hell was that giddy Sue Simmons, the five o’clock news anchor? “Ian, help me, don’t leave me here with this…this thing. Ian, I swear I’ll…I’ll do something…good and kind…you can do it, use your powers, Ian. Don’t let me die.”

  But there was no answer.

  Then a light was in her face, blinding her. She shrank back as she tried to shield her eyes. “Mrs. Thorn.”

  She recognized his deep, comforting voice. “Ivan,” she croaked. Her relief was so overwhelming she slid to the ground. It didn’t matter now if she could get up again or not.

  “Jesus, God, what happened to you, Mrs. Thorn?”

  “It’s Rosie. I left her…way back there, up there, somewhere. I tied bandages for a while to mark the trail. Then I ripped my socks and underwear until I ran out. Something’s wrong with Rosie’s appendix. I left her with the flashlights and the backpacks. It got dark and I got lost and…none of that’s important. I can’t tell you where she is. She’s up there. She was running a fever and she was in a lot of pain. You can get her, can’t you?”

  “Of course. What about you? Is anything broken?”

  “No, I’m just banged up. You can leave me here. Just get Rosie.”

  “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

  “I was…I was…talking to myself. I think you should hurry, Ivan.”

  Ivan was already on the mobile phone he carried in his oversize backpack. “Think, Mrs. Thorn, how far, how long did it take you to get here?”

  “Hours, but I got lost, it got dark, I fell down a ravine, it was very slow-going for me. I think I’ve been walking for five, maybe six hours. I left the flares with Rosie and the flashlights. Maybe if you set one off, she’ll set hers off and you’ll get a sense of direction. You’re going to need a litter to carry her. I know you’re big, but I don’t know if you can bring her down by yourself.”

  Ivan slapped the phone back into his pack. “Matt’s on his way. I’m going on ahead.”

  Within minutes, Emily was surrounded by light from low-burning torches Ivan stuck in the ground. “Take good care of her, she’s sweet on you,” Emily said. Now, where did that come from, Emily wondered as she curled up on the mossy ground.

  “Is she now?” Ivan said with a chuckle in his voice.

  When Ivan was gone, Emily whispered, “Is it okay to go to sleep, Ian?” She knew there would be no response. She smiled as she cradled her head against her hands. An instant later she was sound asleep. Thunder and lightning ricocheted over and around her, the pelting rain doing its best to douse the torches Ivan had left for her. She woke hours later when she felt herself being picked up and carried a distance. She felt every bounce and jar as she was settled into Matt Haliday’s jeep.

  “My God, Emily, you look…are you sure nothing’s broken?”

  “Don’t even think about taking me to a hospital. All I need is a hot bath, some bandages and ointment, and maybe some TLC from the sisters. I think I probably look worse than I am. How’s Rosie?”

  “Being operated on as we speak. It’s appendicitis. Ivan stayed at the hospital with her.”

  “She kind of likes Ivan,” Emily said, trying to brace her injured shoulder against the door.

  Matt laughed. “Ivan kind of likes her too. You did really well, Emily. For a tenderfoot.”

  “I thought that was a cowboy term.”

  “We use it a lot for people who aren’t experienced on the trail. You made it. I’ve seen, over the years, experienced men get hopelessly lost. We’ve had to send out search parties more than once. Rosie will be just fine, thanks to you.”

  Emily clenched her teeth. “I had a little help. Actually, I had a lot of help.”

  “I don’t think I want to know,” Matt said quietly.

  “That’s good, because I wasn’t about to share.”

  “You really should have a doctor look you over, Emily. I’ll be more than happy to drive you to an all-night clinic if you don’t want to go to the hospital. I’d feel a lot better if you’d agree to go.”

  “I’ve already had a doctor…I’m fine. The sisters will take good care of me. Gussie told me she would have been a vet if she hadn’t had a calling, as she put it. She loves patching up people. Talk to me, Matt, tell me about those nuns. They don’t seem…they are real, right?”

  “There’s all kinds of stories. The one I think is closest to the truth is that they once belonged to an order of Benedictines. One of them, Cookie, I think, had a very rich relative who left all his money to her. He used to come here twice a year. The place fell on hard times and she bought it up, after she left the order. She’s quite modern, as are the others. They believe in divorce, birth control, think priests should be allowed to marry, and think there is a place for female priests. The Vatican didn’t see it their way so they left. The Black Mountain Retreat is their home and they’re the happiest bunch of women I’ve ever seen. Their habits are a design of their own. They still consider themselves nuns and they do lead a good life, ministering to one and all. I guess you could say they’re progressive renegades. I don’t personally know if this is true or not, but it’s been said that more than one person has mentioned them in their will. This place is very solvent, and as fast as they take in money, they put it back into the business. And it is a business. There’s a two-year waiting period for reservations for new guests.”

  “That can’t be,” Emily said groggily. “I just called up and they took me right away.”

  “Then you must be som
eone very special,” Matt said briskly. “It’s one rule they don’t break. I told you that first night only special people go to Archangel.”

  In spite of herself, Emily felt pleased. She’d never, to her knowledge, been considered special. It must be because of Father Michael.

  “What time is it, Matt?”

  “Almost midnight. The sisters are waiting up for you. I radioed ahead. There might be news of Rosie when we get there.”

  “I hope so.” A moment later Emily was asleep.

  The sisters dithered and fretted when Matt carried Emily into the kitchen by way of the back door. He was shooed out almost immediately. “Any news of Rosie?” he called through the screendoor.

  “Not yet. Let us know if you hear something.”

  As one, they clucked their tongues like mother hens as they shepherded Emily into a huge bathroom.

  “There’s no way we’re going to try and take your clothes off. They’re stuck to you with your own dried blood so we’re going to stand you under the warm water and let you remove them. Then we’ll take you into the Jacuzzi. A good belt of this plum brandy and a couple of aspirin will have you feeling better quickly. We’ll tape up your shoulder and ribs, patch up your knees and arms. You’ll be good as new in about a week,” Cookie said.

  “Should we pour the peroxide over her while she has her clothes on or off?” Gussie asked as she removed the cap from a gallon jug.

  “After,” Cookie said briskly. “I think we can all use a slug of that brandy. It’s going to be a long night.”

  “I’ll get the glasses,” Phillie said happily. “This is so nice, being able to do something good for Father Michael’s friend. He’s going to be so pleased when we tell him.”

  At four o’clock, when the nuns led Emily out to the porch where she was to sleep on the chaise lounge for the remainder of the night, she felt almost as good as new. She said so, quite happily.

  “That’s because you’re drunk. One drink in the Jacuzzi is equal to four. Maybe it’s three. It has to do with the hot water. You had three glasses of brandy so that’s either nine or twelve drinks. Sleep well, dear Emily,” Gilly said, covering her with a light summer blanket.