by Kelli Estes
She lifted it reverently with both hands, her heart tugging upon seeing the brown stains from Willie’s blood. “This is the handkerchief I told you about from Willie. See her sister’s initials?”
“What was her sister’s name?” Nellie asked, her finger lightly tracing the letters.
Emily shrugged. “She told me, but I can’t remember.”
“I bet it was Ophelia, or Octavia,” Isaac insisted.
“Or Odette,” Nellie said, getting in on the game.
Gabriel didn’t say anything about the handkerchief. He was too busy staring at the money. “Is that real?”
Emily lifted the cash out and saw it was all there. Now her future did not look so bleak. “It sure is.” Then, after the kids each had a chance to inspect it up close, she said, “What do you say? Shall we go to Nebraska?”
No one said a word, but clearly a lot of communicating was going on through the looks the kids were giving each other. Emily held her diary and waited.
Finally, Gabriel scooped the four coins from the dirt and held them out to her. “Add this to the collection. We’re going to need all we can get if we’re to become farmers in Nebraska.”
Emily couldn’t help herself. She gave a whoop of joy. Wide smiles spread across the children’s faces.
When she calmed, Emily shared the rest of her plan. “I was thinking I would go back to wearing a dress, and we could tell people I’m a widow and you’re my children. Would that be okay?”
Nellie bounced up and down. “Oh yes!”
Gabriel scowled. “No one is going to believe you’re my mother.”
Emily couldn’t refute his statement. “That doesn’t matter. People can keep their thoughts to themselves.”
“Besides,” he insisted, “you’re too young to be our mother.”
She hadn’t thought about that and stopped to do the math. He was right. She would have given birth at the age of eleven in order to have a nine-year-old.
Gabriel must have read the truth on her face because he announced, “We’d best say I’m your servant. People would believe that.”
Emily ached for the boy. “You’re right,” she admitted. “But as soon as we arrive safely in Nebraska, you’ll be my son and we’re a family. Got it? I don’t care what anyone says.”
“And we won’t be your slaves?” Gabriel asked again.
She shook her head and looked him straight in the eyes. “No. I admit we’ll all have to work hard if we’re going to survive on the prairie and run a farm all by ourselves, but all four of us will equally share in the rewards. Agreed?”
Gabriel’s lips twitched with a smile he was trying to hold back. He nodded solemnly, but his eyes shone.
“Do we call you Mama?” Isaac asked shyly.
“Do you want to?” She knew the kids had only recently lost their own mother and might not want a replacement so quickly, but both blond heads nodded. “Then I think you should.”
Seeing the light go out of Gabriel’s eyes, Emily nudged his foot with her own. “What’s got you down?”
He shrugged but remained silent.
Nellie piped up, “He wants you to be his mama, too, but you can’t.”
Emily crawled over to Gabriel and put her arm around his shoulders. “Whether I’m old enough or not, I’d be honored to be your mama. Or, if you insist I’m not old enough, I can be your older sister. What do you think of that?”
He leaned into her. “That sounds nice.”
Emily looked at her new little family and felt her heart threaten to burst open. “We’d better start making plans.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Present day: Woodinville, Washington
June 6, 1862: This past week has been a difficult one. I was beaten, lost my diary, and was nursed back to health by three street kids. My diary was returned to me. I healed. I’ve been out looking for work and have not found anything. Newspapers are full of stories of battles from the Peninsula Campaign but I find myself tuning out, turning away. I cannot fight for my country any longer. My country does not want me. Never mind that I lost everything to this war, never mind that I lost my father, brothers, and best friend. No, all the officials see is my sex and that I am inferior, so they turn me away. Good riddance. Let them fight their bloody battles without me. I am done giving everything for a country that does not value me.
From now on, I’m living life on my terms.
June 7, 1862: Those street kids I mentioned earlier have become quite dear to me. Gabriel is the oldest at nine years of age, though his experiences have aged him to double that. He is a whip-smart black boy who works hard to keep his little family together. Isaac is eight and was once, I gather, the son of the family who owned Gabriel, though you wouldn’t know it. Those two are as close as any brothers I’ve known. The youngest is Nellie, who is six. She is spunky and brave and not afraid of anything, it seems. They saved my life, both that night on the street and by giving me a new reason to look forward to the day. They are my new family.
Lincoln has abolished slavery in Washington and all U.S. possessions. Some say it’s a matter of days before it is abolished in all territories. It looks like George was right. This war is, at its core, about slavery. The Federal side must win so that our country can be reunited and slavery abolished in all states. I know this now more than ever every time I look into Gabriel’s eyes. That sweet, strong boy deserves the freedom to make his own choices in life, and he deserves, at minimum, the same respect his two siblings receive for no other reason than the color of their skin. I cannot rejoin the fight, but I can help this one former slave and his adopted siblings, for they are helping me in equal measure.
Emily’s description of her time with the three orphans gave Larkin an idea. If the kids had given Emily a new purpose in her life after the military, maybe Larkin could find similar purpose. She was far from ready to start a family of her own, but she could be a mentor to a child. The military had taught her a lot of valuable skills in working with people, and she’d always enjoyed mentoring opportunities. She would be perfect for the role.
A quick scan online squashed her hopes as swiftly as they’d risen. Mentors were people who had their lives on track. It was all Larkin could do some days to get through the day. Who was she kidding? She didn’t have any experience with kids, and what made her think anyone would trust their daughter to a woman who had gotten the only kid she’d ever befriended beaten and killed by her own father?
No, Larkin was not mentor material. She’d probably mess up anyone who came into her life. She had absolutely nothing of value to offer anyone.
Plus, she was a liar. She’d known it when she was with Zach last weekend and had told him all about Sarah except for how she died. She hadn’t expected to like the guy. She’d thought she could gloss over what she’d done, but the fact that he deserved to know the truth had been haunting her ever since.
Without pausing to allow anything to change her mind, Larkin picked up her phone and dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring.
“Larkin, it’s good to hear from you.”
“It was my fault,” she blurted out. “I’m the reason Sarah is dead. You need to know that.”
“What?” There was a sound, like fabric rubbing against the phone’s speaker. “Hang on a minute. I’m at work. Let me go into an empty meeting room.”
Larkin waited, not saying a word. She deserved to have this drawn out. Deserved for this to hurt.
“Okay, I’m back.” Zach sounded worried. “What did you say?”
She perched on the edge of her bed and stared blindly out the windows. “I said that I’m the reason Sarah is dead. I fucked up, and she paid the price.”
She told him all of it. The whole story of Nahid and Anahita. Of how Sarah had advised her not to interfere and to notify their superior officers of the situation, but Larkin hadn’t listened.
Of how Larkin had let her personal relationship with the girl blind her to her duty, and how Sarah had stepped in to stop her and lost her life doing so.
“I thought you should know the truth,” Larkin finally said when the whole story was out.
Zach was silent for so long she might have thought the line had been disconnected, but she could hear him breathing. His breaths were short and fast, as if he was angry. As he should be. As anyone would be.
She waited for his pain and his anger.
“I, uh…wow,” he said finally. “That’s a lot to take in.”
Larkin closed her eyes. Breathed.
Another voice sounded in the background, and Zach said, “Look, I can’t really talk about this right now. I’ll call you later tonight, okay?” He hung up.
Larkin let the hand holding her phone drop to her lap. Telling the story to Sarah’s brother had been brutal, but she now realized she’d been hoping he would make her feel better, just as he’d eased the pain of scattering Sarah’s ashes and saying goodbye to her. Larkin had been hoping Zach would excuse her and make it not her fault.
But it was her fault. Nothing, no one, could make it better.
Numbly, Larkin went downstairs looking for Grams. Grams always made her feel better about anything that ever happened to her.
But Grams wasn’t there. A note on the counter said she was out running errands. Kaia was gone, too. Probably at work.
She had no one, so she reached for the next people on her list of friends: Jim Beam and Jameson.
With a bottle of each cradled to her side, she grabbed her rucksack and sweatshirt and slipped into her tennis shoes but didn’t bother to tie them. She didn’t know where she was going; she just knew she needed to get away from here for a while. She got in her car and drove east, toward the mountains.
The burn of the whiskey in her throat felt like the penance she knew she deserved, as though it was burning the story she’d spoken, searing it into her body so that it would forever be written in her flesh. A testament of her shame.
It would be so easy, she realized, to ignore the curve of the road. Rather than turning the wheel, she could keep it straight and sail off the pavement into the ravine. For one glorious moment she would feel like she was flying, weightless, free. And then she would slam into a tree, and she wouldn’t have to feel anything ever again. She could join Sarah in the ocean.
The car shuddered as the right tires hit gravel on the side of the road, and she automatically corrected back to the left.
Her mother had begged her not to kill herself where Grams would find her. She would do it this way, where some stranger would pull her body from the wreckage and no one in her family would have to clean it up. Her mother’s final wishes for her would be fulfilled.
Larkin raised the bottle of Jim Beam into the air as a toast to her mother. But then the memory came to her of Grams curled in Gramps’s recliner watching over Larkin as she slept.
Grams would be shattered. Not even a year had passed since Gramps had died. Losing Larkin might be more than she could take.
Shaking, Larkin put on her blinker and turned onto the next side road she came to and immediately onto the dirt shoulder where she turned the car off. She had no idea where she was. All around her was dripping-wet forest. There were probably houses tucked in the trees, but she could not see any, and she felt all alone. Even the heavy gray sky pressed over her, making her feel as though there was nothing beyond her car.
She didn’t know what she wanted to do, and she was tired of thinking about it.
She was so tired of everything.
She’d sleep. And when she woke up, she would decide what to do next. She crawled into the back seat with her two best friends, Jim and Jameson, and stopped thinking about anything else.
* * *
It was the cold that woke her. And an annoying tapping sound. A bright light shined right in her face and really pissed her off. Other than the light, it was pitch-black outside.
“What?” she yelled, holding her arm over her eyes.
“Open the door, ma’am,” came a muffled response.
Larkin opened her eyes fully and realized she was in the back seat of her car with an empty bottle of Jameson cradled in her arm. And worse, staring at her through the window was an officer in uniform. He still shined his flashlight into her face.
Knowing this wasn’t going to turn out well, she slid the bottle to the floor and took a minute to push her hair off her face and tuck it behind her ears. Her head ached, and her eyes felt like sandpaper. Then, reaching to lower the window, she realized it wouldn’t go down with the car off and swore under her breath.
“Open the door, ma’am,” the officer said, seeing what she was trying to do.
Obeying, she flicked the lock up and opened the door, shivering as a blast of cold air swept over her. She blinked. It wasn’t as dark as she’d first thought. In fact, the eastern sky was starting to lighten, so it must be near morning. She’d been here all night. “Good morning, Officer. How may I be of service?”
“Would you please step from the vehicle?”
Larkin had been on the other side of this situation more than once on various military bases during her career. She knew she had no choice but to comply.
Making sure to keep her hands visible, she climbed from the car and stood leaning against it, hoping the officer hadn’t noticed her swaying when she got to her feet.
“What are you doing here, ma’am?”
“I was…um…feeling sleepy so I pulled over to rest for a while.” She was sure she’d heard the line from someone she’d interrogated at some point in her career. She hadn’t believed it at the time any more than this guy seemed to.
“How much have you had to drink?”
Larkin mentally crossed her fingers. “Not much.”
“Uh-huh.” His expression didn’t change. “So, you didn’t actually drink that bottle I saw you holding?”
“What bottle?” She turned as though to look for a bottle, but the movement made her dizzy. “Oh, yes, I remember now. Hmm.” She really didn’t know what to say, and her brain refused to click into gear.
“What is your name, ma’am?”
Knowing she was caught, Larkin hung her head. “Larkin Bennett, sir.”
“Larkin Bennett, I’m going to need you to give me your car keys as well as your identification and vehicle registration.” He opened the car door for her and waited for her to produce the requested items.
She was feeling nauseated and shaky and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but she knew she had to be careful. He could arrest her for DUI, public intoxication, or some other charge. Or, he could take pity on her and simply take her to the station to sleep it off.
“I need you to come with me, Ms. Bennett,” the officer said, reaching for her elbow to escort her to the cruiser parked behind her own car, the engine still running. She had no choice but to go with him.
The back seat smelled funky, but the warmth of the heater welcomed her, and she did not care about anything else. As the officer got on his radio and called in the location of her car, she realized he had not read her Miranda rights to her. She wasn’t being arrested.
Relieved, she leaned against the car door and let sleep claim her once again.
Chapter Thirty
Present day: Woodinville, Washington
She’d disappointed Grams before—like the time she’d stolen a ten-dollar bill from Gramps’s wallet when she was eight, or the time when she was twelve and locked Kaia and Jenna out in the rain because she was mad at them—but this time she’d reached an all-new low.
At the police station, she was led to a row of chairs and allowed to lie down as they called Grams to come get her.
Grams said little to her at the station and even less on the drive home. Larkin tried to apologize, but Grams ignor
ed her and turned the radio up louder.
When they got home, all Grams said was, “Why don’t you go wash off your night and then go to bed. We’ll talk when you wake up.”
Larkin nodded like a recalcitrant child and did as she was told.
Her dreams came strong and fierce. She was back in Kandahar, standing in a crowd of children begging for food and candy and money, but this time the Afghan police captain didn’t send them away with angry words. He instead fired his AK-47 into the crowd, tearing through their fragile little bodies like paper targets at a gun range. Larkin screamed for him to stop, but her cries went unheeded. And then, she looked down and saw that she had been the one firing on the kids. Her rifle had a spray of blood over it.
When she looked up, the children were gone, and so were the rest of the police, both American and Afghan. Only Larkin stood on the dusty, smelly street, and walking toward her was a figure wearing a blue burqa. Larkin knew who was beneath that heavy cloth. She knew what was beneath that heavy cloth.
“Stop!” she shouted. But the figure kept walking toward her at a slow and steady pace.
“Anahita, stop!” she shouted again. The figure kept walking.
Larkin pleaded for her to stop over and over again, and then, in the corner of her eye, she saw movement. When she looked that direction, she saw Sarah there, walking toward Anahita with her M4 assault rifle raised. “Sarah, stop! Go back,” she yelled now, but Sarah did not hear her.
Suddenly both of them were directly in front of her—both Anahita and Sarah—their faces stretched in ugly expressions of contempt. “Your fault,” they said in unison. “You did this.”
Larkin slapped her hands over her ears to drown them out, but their voices got louder and louder until she felt they were inside her skull, driving her mad.
