Really? Everything she’d ever loved had gone away in one form or another.
“I wish you weren’t doing this alone,” Sue fretted. “If there’s anything I can do to help—I mean it. Sometimes we have to accept help.”
Emma mustered a smile. Sue knew her independence well.
“I know. Thanks.”
“And you’ll be in my prayers.”
Emma nodded. Prayer was foreign to her lately. She was convinced that the only thing you could depend on was yourself, not some pie-in-the-sky benevolent person who watched over everything you did and cared—really cared—about your needs and hurts and disappointments. God surely didn’t care about her joys because there had been so few in Emma’s life.
Sue pulled a handful of magazines from her large purse. “Something to occupy your flight time.”
“Oh, I didn’t even think—”
“I know. Now, go. Don’t worry about anything here. Just take care of things at home, and Emma?”
“Yes?”
“Remember. Without the valleys, how could we know the joys of the mountaintops?”
Without the valleys. Were there actually mountaintops?
Giving Sue a final hug, Emma turned and passed through the security system. Her flight was being boarded, and she entered the Jetway. She located her seat and stowed her carry-on, then sat looking out the window until the plane taxied down the runway and lifted off. She closed her eyes. Sue had said to take care of things at “home.” Technically, Serenity wasn’t home. It hadn’t been for a long time. Emma wasn’t sure what she’d find there, and that made her stomach clench. Home. She really didn’t know what that was anymore. But soon—too soon—she’d be back in Serenity, and she would know what had snatched Lully’s life. Tears pricked her eyes again and she closed them, willing the tears not to fall.
Would Sam be there? She hoped not. Surely God wouldn’t do that to her—would he?
Serenity, Colorado, was in the four corners region of southwestern Colorado, 31.6 miles from Durango—far enough from the visiting tourists attracted by Durango and the Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad, a scenic trail that runs along the old route to the silver mines, developed by the Denver and Rio Grande Western.
While the old city of Durango, with its history and cultures of the early settlers, was now a tourist, educational, and agricultural center, Serenity was a small community with few attractions other than its natural beauty. Even as a teenager Emma had recognized that. Tucked in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where silver and gold had once been mined, the streams were cold and clear, the mountains tall, majestic, and snowcapped most of the year.
Long before Emma was ready, the plane landed at La Plata County Airport, a few miles outside of Durango. She rented a car, oriented herself with a map the rental agency provided, and got on Highway 160 west to Durango. Maneuvering the compact through the last of the tourist traffic, she turned on Highway 550 north to the Serenity cutoff, then drove, admiring the beauty of the rough hill country. The Animas River sparkled beneath late October sunshine.
Aspens that had already peaked in color once again captured her heart. This had been home for the first seventeen years of her life. When she’d left, she wasn’t thinking of the rugged beauty she was leaving behind; all she’d thought of was the heartache she hoped to shed. To some degree it had worked, but now she was reminded of both the beauty of her home and the heartache that had driven her away from it.
She’d neglected to ask the sheriff’s deputy where to go when she reached Serenity. She stood beside the rental car, staring at the old courthouse as a ball of red fire backlit the historic two-story building. Fall sunsets are still the greatest, she thought. Amber tones bathed the red-brick building, painting it in muted browns and gold against the blue of the distant snow-topped mountains. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air, stirring memories she’d buried a long time ago.
She hoped the attorney who had been helpful when their father left was still Lully’s lawyer. Merle Montgomery would know what to do about making arrangements for services, about the house, about Lully’s personal effects.
Leaves covered the ground, and squirrels darted about, tucking nuts away for the coming winter. Walking slowly up the concrete walk, Emma focused on the five-and-dime variety store on the corner of the square to the left of the courthouse, still there after all these years.
She and Lully had saved their pennies and nickels, and every six months they’d walk to the dime store to buy something special. Emma got a new doll one year. Lully bought colorful beads and embroidery thread for her special jewelry projects, even though money was tight.
They’d felt the stares following them, the whispers about “those crazy Mansi girls,” but they’d gotten adept at ignoring them. Lully was rumored to be different—whatever that means. She was eccentric, even as a young girl, drawing a fair amount of curious stares by the way she dressed. Flamboyant—weird, Emma conceded. Clothing in those days after Dad left had come from what they could scavenge from the Salvation Army bins. Lully picked the most colorful and dramatic garb she could put together.
On their way home, they’d stop by Lott’s Restaurant and order two chocolate-chocolate chip, single-dip ice cream cones, carefully sort out the change, and after selecting one paper napkin each from the dispenser, they left the store, closing the door carefully behind them.
Old man Lott would step to the window and watch the girls making their way down the sidewalk, side by side, licking their cones. “It ain’t right,” the big Swede would say, crossing his arms over his ample stomach. A fierce look would come into his eyes. “That Lully Mansi’s weird. She shouldn’t be raisin’ little Emma out there in that cemetery.”
“Those girls aren’t living in the cemetery,” Freeda Lott was rumored to correct her husband.
“Don’t know what else you’d call it. The house sits not thirty feet from Ezra Mott’s headstone.”
And the conversations would continue as the girls walked slowly toward the big, old Victorian house they’d called home since they were born. They’d heard the comments. Apparently those who gossiped about the Mansi girls thought they were deaf.
But both Freeda and Lott had been right. The old town cemetery hadn’t been used for fifty years. The property bordered the Mansi backyard. No one knew why a house had been built that close to a cemetery. Emma remembered hearing her mother tell that her great-grandfather, James Mansi, had set his heart on a piece of property where there was a small, abandoned house. Apparently no one knew why the original owners had left the house, perhaps because of the nearby cemetery. The lot was large and had majestic pines for shade that lent a sweet scent to the air. The location suited James, and he bought the lot in 1884 and moved his family into the abandoned house.
As the years passed, Great-Grandpa James continued to add to the original structure as funds permitted, turning the house into a funeral parlor. First, a second floor, then a third, a back porch, a wider front porch, until he’d created a strange mix. James kept changing his mind on architectural style and bought whatever materials cost least at the time. Soon the Mansi house fit right in with the growing cemetery’s tilted, weathered headstones, run down and dotted with moss.
A short time after Emma and Lully were born to Ralph, James’s oldest grandson, and his wife, Mary, they moved their family into the town fright. They cared for Ralph’s parents until at age eighty-five they died within a few months of one another. Then their mother, Mary, got sick. In too short a time she was gone. Their father grieved. It was as if the light had gone out of his life. He brooded, hardly spoke. Ralph often forgot his girls existed. Within a year he gave up and disappeared, leaving Emma and Lully, then ages twelve and fifteen, to fend for themselves.
For months after their father left, Lully assured Emma that he’d come back. At first Emma had believed her. It wasn’t until some time after Ralph disappeared that anyone in town thought to ask about him. The girls, fearful that someone might decid
e they couldn’t take care of themselves and would notify authorities, fended off questions. “Dad was working out of town.” “Dad was sick with the flu and couldn’t get around.” “Dad had gone fishing up in the mountains for a few days—we can take care of ourselves real well, thank you,” they’d say. By then Lully was sixteen and the townspeople decided she could care for her sister well enough, so no one did anything about the two girls living by themselves in the big, old Victorian.
The Mansi sisters were happy enough to be left alone. They ate what they wanted when they had the money and went to bed at any hour. They cleaned house only when it was absolutely necessary—which wasn’t often. Left to their own devices, they created their own worlds. Lully graduated high school and spent her days at home, drawing the jewelry designs she said she saw in her mind, until there were stacks of papers here and there about the house. Lully stayed by herself and Emma attended school, unwilling to share any information about her living arrangement. The rumors and talk about the girls grew. When anyone ventured to ask about her father, Emma would tell another lie and walk off.
Such was her life—until Sam. When Sam came into Emma’s world, things changed. First the giddy happiness, then the awful heartbreak.
Emma’s thoughts were interrupted when she saw Merle Montgomery coming out of his office as she topped the stairs to the second floor of the courthouse.
“Emma? Emma Mansi!” Merle reached for her hand. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has. How are you, Merle?”
“I was so sorry to hear about Lully—”
“Thank you,” Emma said. She was on her last nerve now; if Merle was too sympathetic, she’d burst into tears and she didn’t need that.
“I’m wondering if you—are you Lully’s attorney?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I was hoping you’d get here today. Ken said he’d contacted you.”
“Someone from the sheriff’s office did. I didn’t note his name.”
“Ken—Ken Gold. Sam’s youngest brother. Sam was out on a case of suspected cattle theft all night—”
Emma’s heart stopped at the mention of Sam. “Sam?”
“Sam Gold. He’s the sheriff here now. About five years, I think. And Kenny is his chief deputy. Couldn’t separate those two with a crowbar.”
It was hard for Emma to imagine Sam’s younger brother old enough to—well, she supposed he was only two or three years behind Sam. Emma cleared her throat. “I have to make some arrangements—”
“Sam will help you with that. There’ll be an investigation, you know.”
Emma had trouble following Merle. “Concerning what?”
“Lully’s death—don’t know that she died of natural causes. Found her sitting in the swing on the front porch—must have been there all night. It doesn’t look like foul play, but you never know.”
Foul play.
“Well, now that you’re here, would you mind if we took care of the reading of the will tomorrow morning?”
“No …”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m due in court in a few minutes, a case that will probably spill over into tomorrow afternoon, but there should be a break in the morning, say, about ten-thirty? Will that work for you?”
Emma’s mind was numb. Lully gone. An investigation. A will to be read. Too many things to think about. “Fine. Thank you. I’ll see you then.”
“Good, good.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m so sorry that Lully’s gone. She was an interesting woman.” He glanced at his watch again. “See you in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Emma repeated, watching him hurry away.
Merle had called Lully an “interesting woman.” That was kind, considering all the things people had said about the Mansi girls over the years.
Well, there was only one of the “crazy Mansi girls” left, and as soon as possible Emma would shake the dust of Serenity off her shoes—for good this time.
Chapter Two
Emma shifted the rental car into park and stared at the old house. The basic structure looked exactly as she remembered it: three stories, wraparound porches, and a dilapidated garage on the right side at the back. But little else looked the same. The house had needed paint when she left, but now it looked like the Colorado wind had stripped every suggestion of color from the weathered boards. Everything was gray and leaning.
She tried the front door and found it unlocked. That surprised her a little. Lully had kept the doors locked because she had been the recipient of so many pranks over the years. The old cemetery that sat directly behind the house hadn’t helped the situation, especially at Halloween. Kids thought of new tricks to try every year, from hauling a tombstone to their front porch to having full-blown spook parties in the cemetery at midnight.
The house was cold, echoing. Dust motes floated in the air as if the place had been empty for a long time, instead of one day. Emma shivered. The aromas of lilac, cinnamon, and other unidentifiable scents floated to her. Lully had been fond of incense and candles. Emma was surprised, after seeing the alarming condition of the house, that Lully hadn’t accidentally burned down the place long ago.
“Well, here we are,” she said.
Leaving her coat on the foyer table, Emma walked through the downstairs, noting the old furniture, the frayed drapes, the overall clutter that now drove Emma wild. Lully was still the worst housekeeper in history. “Stuff” was stacked on the floors, end tables, and sofa, ready to topple over onto the floor.
Returning to what was once a formal parlor, Emma perched on the edge of a worn Victorian couch and closed her eyes. This was worse than she expected. Memories rushed at her, overwhelming her with sadness.
She finally stirred and went upstairs to the second floor where her bedroom had been. She pushed open the door to her parents’ room; the interior looked like it hadn’t been touched since her father had left some twenty years earlier. She firmly closed the door and walked on. The next room had been Lully’s. The scent of her sister’s perfume hung in the air, and clothes were looped over the back of chairs, the foot of the bed. She shut the door quickly. She couldn’t face this now. The next room had been a guest room; Emma ignored it, going to the room that had been hers when she lived in the house.
Again, little had changed. A single bed with threadbare chenille spread with a telltale burn hole in the middle (the result of her and Lully’s one and only experience with cigarettes), the same awful sun-faded grape-colored drapes, and the wooden-back chair and scarred dresser. The room smelled musty and unkempt; in other words, it smelled like home. Aware that she would have to sleep there tonight, Emma opened the window to let in fresh air and then went downstairs to find clean linens.
Emma woke early after a restless night. She ate a piece of toast and drank a cup of coffee, all that was available. Apparently Lully didn’t keep much in the way of food handy, and certainly not boxed cereal. Emma didn’t think she could stomach oatmeal, which had always been Lully’s breakfast staple.
At ten twenty she parked near the courthouse, wondering why Merle felt the will had to be read so soon. Yet she supposed the sooner legalities were taken care of, the quicker she could be on her way back to Seattle. The thought sustained her as she got out of the car and walked up the concrete sidewalk.
As she passed a group of people standing on the sidewalk outside the courthouse the conversation died. She felt their gazes follow her; she could feel their eyes burning into her back. That, it seemed, had not changed. Hadn’t they expected her to come? Surely they had. She’d been gone a long time, but her sister had died.
Emma Mansi … Emma Mansi … Emma Mansi. She braced herself against the imagined voices.
Lully Mansi’s sister. Don’t you know about her?
The crazy girl’s sister?
Thought she moved to Seattle or somewhere. Said she’d never come back. She had to—found that sister of hers dead in the porch swing early yesterday morning. Foul play, they think.
No! Here
in Serenity?
It can happen, you know. We’re not immune to trouble, and if anything strange was gonna happen, it would be to the Mansi woman.
You can guarantee there’s gonna be trouble.
Well … just because Lully was a little weird doesn’t mean Emma’s—
Those Mansis were all alike. The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Emma refused to acknowledge the whispers with even a flicker of an eyelash as she climbed the stairs. She reached the attorney’s office and took a deep breath before going in. The door squeaked on its hinges when she opened it. No one was at the reception desk, but she heard voices coming from an inner office. She followed the sound and pushed open the door carefully.
“Emma.” Merle Montgomery looked up and greeted her. “Come in, come in. I know this is all a little rushed, but there are decisions to be made.”
Emma nodded. “I understand.” She didn’t, really.
The attorney’s office hadn’t changed a whit either, maybe a little more disorganized and cluttered.
“Come, come and sit down. Everyone is here and we’re about to get things underway.” Merle pointed to a chair near the back of the room.
It was then that Emma saw him. Sam Gold. Heat rose in her cheeks as he turned to look at her. Recognition mixed with surprise flickered briefly across his rugged features, as if her appearance had caught him off guard. But he had to know she was coming. She was Lully’s only relative. Maybe she should have phoned him … No. You owe him nothing. Nothing. When he allowed his mother to separate the two of you and made no attempt to see you again—stop it! That was fifteen years ago! You’re doing exactly what you vowed not to. What if and should have are dangerous words. It doesn’t matter now. Never did, apparently.
Sam saw the confusion on her face, the flush that colored her cheeks. So, she was still angry with him for what happened. He shouldn’t be surprised. He had hurt her—hurt her badly. Events had been out of his control, but she didn’t know that, didn’t know the whole story. Maybe now that she’d finally come back he could tell her what happened—but then by now it wouldn’t matter. She’d moved on with her life.
Lori Copeland Page 2
