A Promise Kept

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Really? This early?”

  “Trust me. It can be this early. You never know in these mountains.”

  Would Allison suffer from cabin fever? Aunt Emma hadn’t. She used to say winter was when she got the most work done, and that allowed her to play more in the summer. Allison remembered the smell of chemicals seeping under the door from the darkroom where her aunt developed her photographs, and it made her smile.

  I’ll just hope I’m more like Aunt Emma and less like Marsha Leonard.

  Susan reentered the kitchen, putting an end to the brief conversation. “Everyone’s here. Chet’s going to bless the food. Come on outside.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly. Allison made a few new acquaintances and enjoyed the company of others she’d met already over the summer. Over dessert, she took particular interest when several men, including Ned and Chet, got into a debate regarding the timing of a bank robbery in Kings Meadow in the previous century.

  “I’m telling you,” Ned said, “that didn’t happen in the thirties. It happened during the second World War.”

  Chet shook his head. “You’re wrong. It was during the Great Depression.”

  “Where’s your boy?” a man whose name Allison had momentarily forgotten asked. “Rick’ll know. They cover that in high school history.”

  Chet straightened and looked around. “I don’t see him. Must be inside or maybe down at the barn.” Then his gaze fell on Allison. “If your aunt were here, she could tell us. Emma Carter knew the history of this area as well as any historian.”

  The other men nodded.

  Allison smiled. “Yes, she did. I always loved her stories about Kings Meadow.”

  “Folks up here have always appreciated a good storyteller,” Chet said, returning her smile. “And your aunt was the best storyteller I ever heard.”

  His comment warmed Allison’s heart. She’d thought the same about Aunt Emma, and it delighted her to hear someone else say so.

  Emma

  1926

  Emma was working on needlepoint—at her mother’s insistence—when Liza burst into the parlor. Always beautiful with her blond hair, blue eyes, pale complexion, and a lithe figure that seemed custom ordered for the current fashions, Liza absolutely glowed with happiness as she joined her sister on the settee.

  Emma set aside her needlework, glad for an excuse to stop. Even more glad to spend time alone with her younger sister. There were too few opportunities these days. Liza rarely went anywhere without her husband. Emma missed those many nights when the two sisters would lie awake, talking, sharing secrets, giggling about something that happened at school. With Liza married and setting up a home of her own, Emma felt as though a part of her was missing. To make matters worse, now their mother’s attention was totally focused on her elder daughter’s unmarried state. As if Emma needed Mama’s constant reminders of the many ways she failed.

  Liza took hold of Emma’s hand and squeezed her fingers. “You will never guess my news.”

  “What is it?”

  “Guess.”

  Irritation—but with her mother, not with Liza—made her jaw twitch. “Why should I try if you say I will never guess it?”

  Liza wasn’t fazed by Emma’s ill humor. In fact, her smile broadened. “Okay. I’ll tell you. I’ve seen the doctor and I’m going to have a baby.”

  “A baby? Already?”

  “You sound surprised. John and I have been married almost three months.” Liza laughed. Then her voice dropped to a whisper, even though they were alone in the room. “The truth is, I must have gotten pregnant on our honeymoon. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Still can’t.”

  Embarrassment caused Emma’s face to grow hot. She was a virgin, but she understood the essentials when it came to conception.

  “Be happy for me, Emma.”

  “Of course I’m happy. I’m going to be an aunt.” But I don’t want to be an old maid aunt.

  “You mustn’t tell anyone. I haven’t told John yet, but I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  Emma had never allowed herself to envy her younger sister before, but she had to fight both envy and resentment now. Couldn’t something good happen to her sometimes? Couldn’t a man learn to love and adore her? Couldn’t Alexander learn to love her? Would she ever have the joy of announcing that she was expecting a baby?

  “Don’t even tell Mother,” Liza added. “Promise me.”

  “I promise. I won’t say a word to anyone.”

  “Good.” Her sister rose to her feet. “Now I must go home. I’ve planned a very special meal for tonight, and I want to make sure all is in readiness.”

  Before Liza could move away, Emma stood and drew her into a tight hug. “Thank you for telling me. I’m happy for you and John. Very happy.”

  “I knew you would be.” Liza kissed Emma’s cheek. “Tell Mother I couldn’t stay but I will come for a nice long visit tomorrow. In fact, tell her John and I are coming for supper. She might guess what that means, but tell her anyway.” Liza said her farewell over her shoulder as she hurried out of the parlor.

  Emma was happy for her sister. Truly, she was. Liza couldn’t help that good things came her way all the time any more than she could help being beautiful.

  But still . . .

  Allison

  The first snow flurries of the season were falling on that Saturday in October when Allison discovered the leather-bound journals in the bottom of the second trunk in the attic. She’d thought the photographs—some of which she’d framed, others she’d placed in scrapbooks, many she was still trying to organize—would be what she treasured most. But these journals were like pure gold to her. How wonderful that her gifted, storytelling aunt had written down events from her life.

  After looking through them Allison realized her great-aunt had kept journals faithfully from the time she was a girl of fifteen until the year she entered the care center at the age of ninety-seven. There were over forty of them, unlined pages filled with Aunt Emma’s particular hand. The dates covered inside had been written on the blank fly page in the front of each journal, making it easy to stack them in order. That was how Allison planned to read them. Like a series of wonderful novels.

  As she withdrew the last of the journals from the trunk, she thought of the mystery man in her aunt’s photographs. It was tempting to look ahead in the journals to discover his identity, but she resisted the urge. She wanted to savor the story of Emma Carter’s life. But she did wonder why her aunt hadn’t told her about the journals. She must have known Allison would find them eventually.

  Glancing up from the leather book in her hand, she saw that the snow was falling harder now. She got up from the floor and walked to the window. A white carpet covered the ground. Already a couple of inches deep, with no signs of it stopping soon.

  Time to fire up the treadmill. Her long walks with Gizmo would be less frequent in the coming months. Allison wasn’t a fan of the cold or the snow, and her small dog wasn’t crazy about the white stuff either. She could only hope the two of them wouldn’t get cabin fever, like Marsha Leonard had warned, before spring arrived in earnest.

  At least I have plenty to read while I wait for the spring thaw.

  Allison returned to the stacks of journals next to the trunks and picked up an armful of them, starting with the oldest ones. Then she carried the books down to her bedroom on the first floor. There, she placed them on a bookcase on the right side of her bed.

  What she wanted to do was grab the first one, go lie on the sofa with a blanket over her lap, and read to her heart’s content. But this was Saturday, and she needed to do some housework before she got lazy. Starting with mopping the kitchen floor. It amazed her how one woman and a small dog could mess up a house so quickly.

  Disorder used to bother Allison a lot. She supposed it was another control issue. Certainly she’d blamed Tony for any disorder that came into their lives. What was it the Bible said? A contentious woman was like a steady drip of wa
ter on a rainy day. Something like that. If Allison was brutally honest with herself, she would admit she’d been that contentious woman plenty of times throughout her marriage.

  Okay, she would admit it. She hadn’t been the perfect, loving, giving, charitable, praying wife she should have been. But who could have been such a paragon of virtue, married to Tony Kavanagh?

  Is that a speck in your eye, Allison, or is it a log?

  The thought made her angry. She grabbed the broom from the utility closet and attacked the kitchen floor with a vengeance.

  Emma

  1927

  Emma hadn’t seen Alexander in over five months. Not since before Thanksgiving. There had been times when she’d thought she might die from missing him. Only she hadn’t died. She’d gone on living . . . and hurting.

  Thus, when she opened the front door one evening in April, she was more than a little surprised to see him standing there.

  “Hi, Em. How you been?”

  “Fine.” A lie if ever there was one.

  “Can we talk?” With a tip of his head he indicated she should come outside. “Out here. In private.”

  She nodded and stepped through the open doorway, closing the door behind her.

  “How’s the family?” he asked as he followed her toward the porch swing.

  “Everyone’s fine.”

  “I heard your sister had a baby.”

  Liza. Of course. He wanted to know about Liza. “Yes. A little boy. They named him John Jr.” She sat on the swing and gave a little push with her foot, setting it in motion.

  Alexander leaned his behind against the porch railing. “She still in love with her husband?”

  “What kind of question is that? Of course she is.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes people change their minds. Sometimes folks get divorced.”

  “Not people in the Carter family.” Emma stopped the swing and sat straighter. “Mother would expire from the very thought of it. Liza would never divorce John even if she didn’t love him. But she does love him, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Yeah. I guess not.”

  Emma looked away from him and stared out at the quiet street that ran in front of her home. Many of the trees were green with new leaves. Others were covered in buds, saying they weren’t far behind. Tulips and crocuses were in bloom near the porch steps.

  “Em?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why don’t we get married?”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “I asked you to marry me.”

  But you don’t love me.

  “Why shouldn’t we get married? We’ve known each other for years. We get along good. You don’t have a fella and I don’t have any special girl. No point us going on alone, you stuck here with your parents. I’ve got a bit of money put away. Enough for a nice honeymoon. We could go off somewhere and have fun. Forget Boise for a while.”

  He meant forget Liza. Emma knew it as surely as she knew her own name. But if they were married, maybe he would forget Liza eventually. Maybe Emma could make him forget her sister once and for all. Maybe she could teach him to love her.

  “When?” she asked softly.

  “When what?”

  “When would you want to get married?”

  He grinned as he pushed off the railing. “As soon as possible. We could elope tomorrow if you want.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to elope. I’d like to have a wedding.”

  Alexander frowned. “No big production.”

  Of course. He was remembering Liza’s wedding.

  She answered, “No, nothing fancy. A quiet ceremony, here at home. Early June, perhaps.”

  Alexander came to the swing and sat beside her. “A few more weeks won’t matter much. I can wait.” Then he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

  Their first kiss and it was over in an instant. But soon she would be his wife and she could kiss him as often and for as long as she wished.

  “So you’ll do it?” he asked, drawing back from her. “You’ll marry me?”

  “Yes, Alexander. I’ll marry you.”

  Allison

  The snow was gone by the time Allison left for church the next morning, but there was still a bite in the wind blowing through the canyon. Cold enough that Allison decided to leave Gizmo at home.

  As she drove toward Kings Meadow, Allison wondered how many times during the coming winter months she might be forced to stay home because of slick roads. Hopefully not often. Attending the worship services at Meadow Fellowship had become one of the high points of her week. A healing had been taking place while she sat in the back row of the small sanctuary, Sunday after Sunday. A healing in her spirit. A healing not yet complete but getting there.

  When Allison pulled into the parking lot, she saw a group of people standing outside the church entrance, almost in a huddle. Why didn’t they go inside out of the wind? It seemed strange on such a cold morning. She got out of her Subaru and walked toward them.

  One of the women turned as Allison approached. It was Sarah Parker, the women’s ministry leader. Her face was streaked with tears.

  Allison felt her heart sink. Something bad had happened. “Sarah? What’s wrong?”

  “Chet and Marsha Leonard’s son was killed last night.”

  “Rick?”

  Sarah nodded.

  Allison pressed a hand against her chest. Rick, the eldest of the three Leonard children, had been such a bright and likable young man. A cowboy like his father, and so good-looking he must have driven the girls crazy.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “A car accident. He and three other boys were driving back from Boise last night. The car hit black ice. It slid off the road and went into the river. Rick didn’t get out.”

  Hearing such news made her think of her own child. How grateful she was Meredith had come through her teen years without having some horrid accident or ailment. But she quickly pushed the thought away. “What about the other boys?”

  “Two are in the hospital in Boise. The third was able to come home last night with his parents.”

  Allison looked toward the entrance, then back again. “Are Chet and Marsha inside?”

  “No.” Sarah shook her head. “They stayed in Boise overnight with Marsha’s parents.”

  She heard singing through the closed church door: “It is well . . . with my soul . . .”

  The words of the hymn caused tears to well in Allison’s eyes.

  Sarah added, “The women’s ministry will take them some prepared meals when the Leonards return home.”

  “Let me know how I can help.”

  “I will.”

  After that, the small group moved inside.

  That morning’s usual order of service was discarded. The congregation sang a little. They prayed a lot. Women wept. Men fought tears too. The pastor didn’t give his prepared sermon. Instead, he ministered to his small flock with words of comfort from the Bible and words of wisdom gleaned from years in the ministry.

  Allison was exhausted by the time church let out. But instead of driving home, she turned her car toward Susan’s house. If Allison was heartbroken over Chet and Marsha’s loss, she knew Susan’s grief would be ten times worse. But it turned out Allison couldn’t be of any comfort to Susan because she had gone with her husband to Boise to console the Leonard family.

  Allison drove home, and after letting Gizmo outside, she settled onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. Then she called Meredith.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Allison felt ridiculously close to tears at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Some friends and I are going to the zoo this afternoon. I’m waiting for them to come pick me up.”

  “The zoo. That sounds like fun.”

  “It’s a great one. You need to come down for a visit so we can go together.”

  What Allison wouldn’t give to be able to hug
Meredith right that moment. To pull her close and feel her heart beat. Life felt more fragile than usual. She was all too aware how quickly anyone she cared about could be gone.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Are you crying?”

  “No. Yes. A little.”

  “What happened? Is it Dad?”

  “It isn’t your father.” Exasperation caused Allison to press her lips together while drawing a deep breath through her nostrils. Everything wasn’t about Tony. Her daughter needed to learn that, just as she’d had to. She released the breath and said, “A boy who goes to my church was killed in a car accident last night. So young. Seventeen years old. It just . . . it just hit me kind of hard.”

  “Oh, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  “I needed to hear your voice.”

  “I’m okay, Mom. Honest. I’m careful when I go out. I look both ways when I cross the street. I eat my vegetables. I get enough sleep and plenty of exercise.”

  The loving note in Meredith’s voice helped chase away Allison’s negative feelings.

  “Wish I could be there with you,” her daughter added.

  “Me too.”

  Allison heard the faint chime of a doorbell.

  “Mom, I’ve gotta go. My friends are here. You going to be all right?”

  “I’m fine, honey. Go enjoy the zoo.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you later.”

  They said good-bye and Allison hung up the phone. She thought about a number of different things she could do to fill her afternoon. But in the end, she pulled a throw off the back of the sofa, lay down, and took a nap.

  Emma

  1927

  Alexander and Emma were married in her parents’ front parlor on June 9, 1927. Only a few family members were in attendance. After the splash of Liza’s wedding the previous year, the ceremony seemed a bit drab, but it was the way they wanted it. Simple. No fuss.

  The newlyweds honeymooned in New York City, and along with four million other people, they watched Charles Lindbergh’s ticker-tape parade up Broadway, celebrating the aviator’s successful flight across the Atlantic.