Hearts Unfold

by Karen Welch

  Two days later, Valentine's Day, Emily drove Penny to the airport. The rain had finally stopped and the day was bright and windy. There had been a bad moment that morning, when Penny received a delivery of a dozen red roses. Tucked inside the box was a card, “All my love, Frankie.” Penny had collapsed on her bed, sobbing bitterly. When Emily contacted the florist who made the delivery, she was told the roses had been ordered over a month before, paid for by one of Frankie's buddies from the base. It was common practice, the florist explained, for the boys overseas to arrange things like that as a surprise for their wives and sweethearts. Now, as she boarded the plane for Nebraska, Penny was wearing two of the roses pinned to the lapel of her new coat.

  Driving back to campus, Emily thought again of the irony of the situation. Using that money for such a cause made it seem more like a gift, less like a payoff. She wondered for a moment if she should write to Milo Scheider and thank him for sending the check. But that would risk opening a door she was finally learning to leave closed. Better just to say a prayer of thanks that Penny would have the comfort of attending her soldier's funeral. Better to let the memory of Stani Moss continue to fade.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  On Thursday afternoon before the start of the Easter break, Emily did the unthinkable. She cut a class and began her holiday early. Determined to be home for the Good Friday service the following noon, she drove all evening, finally reaching the farm after ten o'clock. At some point during the spring rains, the road leading up from the highway had suffered a deep washout, and she’d been forced to walk the last fifty yards to the gate in the dark. Lugging her duffel bag across the yard, she wondered why Jack had not warned her of the obstacle but was too tired to be very unhappy about the inconvenience.

  Letting herself in the front door, she switched on the light and wearily dropped her bag. Beneath her heel, she felt the crunch of something hard and looking down, she caught her breath in horror. From the rug, six whiskered faces looked up at her, pausing in what appeared to be their bedtime snack. Six pairs of gleaming black eyes fixed her with a curious gaze. When she screamed at the top of her lungs and leapt onto the nearby chair, her welcoming committee exchanged puzzled glances, dropped to all fours and scattered. One particularly bold member had the audacity to scurry back to snatch up a crumb left in haste, stood for a moment to wiggle his whiskers at her, then turned his naked little tail and ran away.

  When her heart had stopped pounding quite so painfully, Emily tiptoed through the dining room and retrieved the broom from the pantry, her wide eyes scanning the floor for any further sign of intruders. To her astonishment, a trail of dried bean hulls ran from the kitchen all the way through to the front room. Little side trails of unspeakable black droppings led to cabinets and drawers. Frightened and angry, Emily felt tears of frustration welling. How dare anything so disgusting, so filthy, so thoroughly un-welcoming, break into her house?

  Clutching the broom, she immediately went to the telephone and dialed Jack's number. It didn't matter how late it was, he needed to know about this, now. When his sleepy voice answered, she suffered a momentary pang of guilt. But at the sight of yet another dried bean, just at the edge of the hearth, it passed.

  “Jack, I have rats!” was her strident greeting.

  “What? What are you doing home tonight? I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

  “I came early so I could go to church tomorrow. Now what are you going to do about these rats? I can't sleep here with them, that's for sure.”

  Thoroughly awake now, Jack groaned. “What am I going to do? I thought it was your house.” She was sure he was grinning into the phone.

  “Jack, you know how I feel about rodents. I can take almost anything else, snakes, lizards, even spiders, but not rodents! Especially not the kind that show absolutely no fear of humans. These guys practically invited me to sit down and visit.” As she talked, she turned in a defensive circle, scouting for her enemy and winding the phone's cord around her waist.

  Now he laughed, and she had to smile in response. “All right, calm down. Where were these vicious beasts when you last saw them?”

  “Headed for wherever they've built their lair. They've been all over the house, though.” She let out an audible shudder. “Ugh! There are droppings everywhere! Oh, Jack, I know it's late, but could you please come up here? Oh! And when did the road wash out? I had to leave my car down on the hill.”

  Jack took pity on her then, assuring her he'd be out as soon as he could get dressed. “I didn't think the washout was that deep. Poor kid, it wasn't much of a welcome home, was it?”

  “Not what I expected.” From somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, she heard a noise and pictured the band of six racing across the linoleum. With a stifled scream, she again climbed to the safety of the chair, barely catching the telephone as it slid off the table. “Hurry, Jack, please hurry! I'll be waiting on the front porch.”

  When Jack arrived Emily was curled on the porch swing, wrapped in a quilt against the cool night air, sound asleep. Carefully, he took a seat beside her, taking a minute to study her face in the light from the window, before she opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Sorry, didn't mean to wake you.” He grinned at her as she stretched under the quilt.

  “Sure you did.”

  “How've you been?”

  “Busy. There's been a lot going on. How about you?”

  “Just the same old thing. Now why don't we go in the house and see about these alleged rats.” Patting her knee, he stood up slowly.

  “You go. I've already seen them.” She pulled the quilt closer around her neck.

  “Oh, no. You have to identify the suspects. Come on, I'll protect you.” Pulling her to her feet, he steered her by the shoulders through the door, the quilt dragging behind her.

  Jack studied the droppings and bean hulls as if investigating a crime scene, following the trail into the kitchen and opening a cabinet door to reveal a well-rifled bag of black-eyed peas. “Here's your problem. You left them provisions.”

  Emily peered over his shoulder, obviously poised for flight at any second. “Oops. So how do we get them to leave?”

  “Traps or poison. Or a cat.” He closed the cabinet door, again following the trail as it wound into the pantry. As he pulled the chain to turn on the overhead light, a furry body streaked past, producing a shriek from Emily and chuckle from Jack. “That's no rat, Em. That's just a little field mouse. Is that what you saw?”

  She was clinging to his arm, staring after the culprit, her eyes wide with terror. “Yes! Only there were six of them. Do something, Jack. Don't just let him get away!”

  “For heaven's sake, girl, that thing's as scared of you as you are of it. If you keep squealing like that, they'll all run for the hills. Now go upstairs and see if there's any sign of them there. Most likely, they've only been where there was food.” When she failed to leave his side, Jack rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Come on, I'll go with you. Really, for a girl who can take on anything with a smile, you sure are a coward tonight.”

  Upstairs, they checked the floors and Emily turned back the covers on her bed with a flourish, fully expecting to see another contingent of rodents tucked in for the night. When she was finally satisfied that the infestation was confined to the first floor, she began to calm down.

  “Think you can manage to get some sleep now?” Jack was examining the floor of the closet, just to be sure.

  She grinned sheepishly. “I think so. But tomorrow, you have to get them out of here.”

  “I'll bring out some traps, bright and early. And some cheese.” He paused on the landing. “Or I can get some poison. Which would you prefer?”

  She thought for a minute, apparently torn. “Neither one, I guess. What about a cat? Wouldn't that be more natural?'

  “Natural?” He grinned. “You think they'd prefer to be eaten?”

  “But we never had mice when we had barn cats. Do they really eat them?” A delicate shudde
r lifted her shoulders.

  “Usually just the scent of a cat will keep them away.” He considered for a moment. “I'll tell you what. Tomorrow I'll bring Marjorie out for a visit. I'll guarantee a few days with her as a house guest and the mice will move out.”

  “Marjorie? You mean Martha Jean's shop cat?”

  “The very same. Now can I please go home? I do have to work in the morning, you know. And you look like you could use some sleep yourself.” Gently, he ran a hand over her hair. “Welcome home, Em.”

  When she had seen him out the front door, she rapidly retraced her steps up the stairs, dragging her bag behind her. As quickly as she could, she dressed for bed and crawled beneath the covers, pulling them high around her ears. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, she lay staring at the ceiling until drowsiness forced her lids to droop. Just as she drifted toward sleep, she recalled something Jack had said. He had called her a girl who could take on anything with a smile. Could she? If all of her homecomings were destined to be filled with challenges of one kind or another, it would take more than a smile to ever settle in for good again.

  True to his word, Jack was at the door just after eight. Unwilling to venture downstairs, Emily had been watching from her bedroom window as he walked through the gate and across the yard, carrying a small wire cage.

  “Here's your exterminator. Martha Jean apologizes, but she already had her breakfast this morning.” Releasing the fluffy gray cat—a fixture in the boutique generally found curled in a sunny spot in the display window—the two of them stood back and watched. With one grand flourish of her magnificent tail, she put her snubbed nose in the air, a look of suspicion in her bright yellow eyes. After a moment of savoring whatever scents she found there, Marjorie lowered her nose to the floor and began to follow the path of hulls and droppings, her erect tail switching rhythmically back and forth.

  “She's on the trail and spreading her scent as she goes.” Jack eyed Emily's bathrobe and slippers. “Aren't you ready to go yet?”

  “Go where?” She was watching Marjorie in fascination, as she swished her way toward the kitchen.

  “To breakfast. I was pretty sure even your appetite wouldn't overcome your fear of those poor little field mice. I'm taking you to breakfast at the cafe, while Marjorie does her job. You can stay in town until after church. There's a soup and sandwich lunch after the service. By that time, I wouldn't be too worried about seeing any mice again.”

  She turned to him with a grateful smile. “You're the best, Jack. I won't be a minute. I'm starving!” Racing up the stairs, she stopped halfway. “What about my car? Is it going to have to sit on the side of the road all weekend?”

  “County crew is on the way. It should be taken care of by the time we get back. Sorry I didn't get that fixed before you got home. Now scoot! I'm starving too.”

  As they sat waiting for their scrambled eggs and bacon to arrive, Jack asked if she'd heard anything more from New York.

  “No, nothing. I suppose by now he's well on his way to recovery.”

  “What did you do with that check?”

  Between bites, she told him about Penny and Frankie. “I know now it was a blessing, getting that check. I just didn't understand that at first.”

  “Sorry to hear about your friend's loss. That reminds me, though, James McConnell came home.”

  “For good?”

  “He's been discharged, but he's gone again now, hiking the Parkway. Mike said he wanted to get away from everything for a while. James told him he couldn't breathe inside the house.”

  Emily's eyes filled with unexpected tears. “Poor Sara. She must be so worried. I remember when James left school to enlist; she said she was so proud of him for making such a sacrifice.”

  “He'll come around. It may take some time, but James is a fine young man. He'll find his way.” Something about the look in Jack's eyes made her wonder if he wasn't just being hopeful.

  When they returned to the house, she was able to move her car into the drive, finish unpacking, and set to work cleaning up the mess left by her uninvited houseguests. Marjorie had found a sunny location on the kitchen floor and curled up to nap, positioned where any mouse worth his salt would recognize the warning, pack up and vacate the premises. Jack had left with the promise to return for dinner. Putting away the things she'd picked up at the market, cold cuts and potato salad, along with a frozen lemon meringue pie, she surveyed the damages.

  “Darned old rats!” she said to the sleeping Marjorie. “They've spoiled my plans for working outside this weekend.” When the cat opened one eye and twitched her tail, Emily laughed. “Like you mind. I guess this is a big treat for you. Oh, well, I might as well get to it. As Jack said, it's supposed to be my house, field mice and all.”

  It took two hours of vacuuming and mopping, clearing out cabinets and scrubbing shelves, before she was satisfied the house was no longer a germ-infested hotbed of disease. Opening the windows to let the westerly wind from the mountains blow through, bearing the scents of spring and lingering wood smoke, she finally began to feel she'd come home. She put on music, Schubert's “Trout” Quintet, and felt her spirits soar and her steps lighten. By the time she set the table for dinner, she was confident that between Marjorie's regal presence and her own arduous cleaning, the rodent visitation was at an end.

  That night she built a fire, just large enough to drive the spring chill from the room. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she watched the flames lick at the dry wood and sparks fly up the chimney. It was then that she felt the shiver of memory along her spine. Here, in this very place, she had sat beside Stani, watching him, willing him to live. She could picture him perfectly, his face shadowed in the firelight. What was he doing now? Was he well, healed and back to his career? Or was he still struggling to overcome his injuries? It was the not knowing that kept him in her mind, even after all these months. If only she knew for sure that he was all right, whatever that might mean in his world, she could let him go forever.

  She sat for a long time, until the fire died to embers, reliving that night. In the end, she was weary, bereft, and at the same time aware that remembering brought a kind of comfort. Knowing that he had survived those hours here and that she had helped him in some small way to return to his life eased the sadness of never knowing what had happened next.

  Slowly, she let her thoughts turn to an idea she had somehow managed to avoid. It was quite possible, in fact most likely, that there was a woman in Stani's life, a woman who loved him and had been waiting to take care of him when he returned. He was the sort of man a woman would care deeply for, dedicate herself to, with his exceptional looks and talent. He deserved the love and attention of a strong woman who understood how special he was to the world. When she had pictured him, somewhere in an elegant Manhattan apartment, she had tried to imagine the people around him. But until now she had not filled in the space occupied by the woman who loved him.

  She would be calm and patient because he might not be the easiest man to love. She would be beautiful, as he was, someone who fit easily into his world. She would know how to support him, soothe his moods, how to bring out the best in him. Not a wife—there had been no ring on his finger—but a sweetheart or a lover. Whoever she was, she had been waiting, Emily hoped, prepared to sacrifice her own life to nurse him back to health. It would take a woman with great compassion, a woman unafraid of hard work, and a woman of faith to meet the challenge. Hoping that this unknown woman was worthy of a man like Stani Moss, she said a little prayer. Even if she hadn't possessed all the needed skills, Emily prayed that God would see to it that she did her job well.

  She poked at the fire, encouraging the last of the embers to flame. As she did, Marjorie came to rub against her knee, purring loudly.

  “So, you've decided to be friends now? You know, I have a nice warm bed upstairs if you'd like to share.” She gathered the cat onto her lap, smoothing the silky fur. Comforting, she thought, the simplest contact between living things cou
ld be amazingly comforting. A word, or just a touch, could move aside sadness at least for a little while. As if the cat shared her sentiments, she rubbed against Emily's hand, closing her eyes in contentment.

  When she finally went up to her room, Marjorie followed, leaping onto the bed and settling at the foot to take her evening bath. As Emily snuggled between the cold sheets, she thought again of Stani Moss, hoping that he had found comfort and encouragement as he recovered. It made all the difference having someone, be it friends or lovers, close by to lend support. Someone to call in the middle of the night, someone to come when asked, and most of all someone who cared enough, no matter what was needed, to do their best for you. She had been so blessed in that regard, with her parents, with Jack and Angela, and countless others. Did he have those people in his life, who loved him unconditionally and accepted him as he was? She'd never know, but she would pray for them anyway. Somehow she felt Stani still needed all the help he could find if he were ever going to make that amazing comeback she had imagined.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Stani began to work harder, demanding that the therapists increase his exercise regimen. He and John Kimble took long walks outside in the cold winter air, usually at night to avoid prying eyes. He asked that his violin be placed within easy reach, holding it in his hands for hours, tucking it against his shoulder and sitting with eyes closed, listening to the music in his head.

  His memory began to return, bit by bit. He remembered leaving Washington with Betsy. He was finally told that Betsy and Mark Stevenson had died in the accident. But he had no recollection of the party at the lodge, or of ever meeting Mark. When he asked about the aftermath of the accident, he was told that he had wandered away from the scene and been taken in by a woman who lived nearby until help arrived. Stani seemed to store the information away, as if it were too much to absorb. As he focused on regaining the use of his arm, it became less and less important for him to understand how he had been injured. All of his energy was channeled toward once again playing the violin. Nothing else mattered until he achieved that goal.