Emily, Gone

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Sorry,” she called out, then pulled away and started for home.

  When Rachel arrived back at the house it was after eleven, so she made a pitcher of lemonade and invited Angela to sit on the back patio.

  “It’s nice and shady, and we can hear the phone from there,” she said.

  For most of the afternoon they sat there sharing stories of life in Kentucky and living in Hesterville. Angela told of her reluctance to move.

  “I guess change is inevitable,” she said, “but it doesn’t always come easy.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Rachel agreed and told of how she’d been so resistant to letting George make an office out of the room that once belonged to Mama Dixon.

  It was near four when Ernie finally called.

  “I’ve got good news, bad news, and worse news,” he said. “The good news is that we’ve towed your car, and it’s now in the shop. The bad news is that your transmission is totally shot.”

  “Good grief,” Angela said. “What can be worse than that?”

  “It’s gonna cost thirteen hundred to replace it, and since I’ve gotta send for parts, it’ll take a good week to get the job done.”

  “Oh no.” She gave a long, drawn-out groan. “Isn’t there any way it can be done faster?”

  “Nope,” Ernie answered. “And a week is based on my not finding any other problems.”

  For a long while Angela just stood there saying nothing; finally Ernie asked, “So should I order the parts or not?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Go ahead and order them.”

  When Angela returned to the patio, she had the look of a deflated balloon.

  “That bad, huh?” Rachel said.

  Angela nodded. “I hope you don’t mind us being here for a while. Ernie said it’s going to take a week to get the car fixed.”

  “Not at all,” Rachel replied. “I’m enjoying the company. Some guests dash out right after breakfast, but having you stay and chat reminds me of how it was with Mama Dixon . . .”

  She segued into the story of how one year they sat and crocheted together for so long that they donated seven throws to the church bazaar. Angela smiled but only half listened, because she was thinking about how she’d explain this to Kenny. At five o’clock when Rachel went to pick up the kids at the lake, Angela stayed behind.

  “I’d like to go ahead and call Kenny,” she said. “I know he’s not going to be happy hearing the news, and I want to get it over with.”

  She was right; he wasn’t happy. After she’d explained the cost and how long it would take to be repaired, she gave him the house phone number and told him they’d be staying until the car was ready.

  “Look on the bright side,” she said. “Nothing worse than this can possibly happen.”

  On the drive back from the lake, Rachel noticed that Hope was unusually quiet.

  “Is anything wrong?” she asked.

  “Un-uh.” Hope shook her head without looking up.

  “I imagine you’re all exhausted after a long day in the sun,” Rachel said. “You need to go to bed early tonight. I don’t want you getting sick.”

  “I’m not tired,” Hope replied, but she had a troubled expression stuck to her face.

  As soon as they turned in to the drive, Rachel shooed everyone inside.

  “Shower and get changed for dinner,” she said as they headed up the stairs. She made her way into the kitchen and was in the midst of preparing a salad when Hope appeared in the doorway, still in her swimsuit.

  “Mom, I need to ask you something.” Her voice was uncharacteristically somber.

  Rachel set the knife aside and took Hope in her arms. “What is it, honey? Did something happen?”

  Hope gave a reluctant nod, then asked the question that had been troubling her all afternoon. “Didn’t you tell me Emily had a butterfly birthmark just like Henry?”

  Rachel hesitated and took a deep breath. After so many years of looking for similarities and finding none, she’d stopped imagining every blonde child was Emily. She’d stopped expecting the impossible to happen. At least she’d thought she had. “Yes, Emily did have a birthmark like Henry, but why would you—”

  “Was it on her shoulder the same as his?”

  Rachel’s heart skipped a beat just as it had back at the lake, and a strange uneasiness crawled up her spine. “No, it wasn’t; it was down lower, on her back.”

  “Like here?” Hope reached around and pointed to a spot just above her waist.

  For a moment Rachel was dumbstruck, then she dropped down in a chair with her heart racing. “Yes. Why would you—”

  The serious expression Hope wore was way beyond her years. With her voice lowered to a whisper, she said, “Lara has Henry’s birthmark in that spot. I saw it when she changed into her bathing suit.”

  “Lots of people have birthmarks,” Rachel replied apprehensively. “Are you sure it was the same as Henry’s?”

  “Mom, I’m positive. I was standing right beside her.”

  Rachel’s heart swelled, and she could barely breathe. A million thoughts raced through her head. The possibility that Emily would one day simply walk back into their lives was too ridiculous to even consider, and yet here was Lara, the right age, looking just as Rachel believed Emily would look, and now with a butterfly birthmark in the same spot. Her stomach churned as her heart and mind battled—her heart crying out to believe and her mind arguing that such a thing was impossible.

  She waited until she could catch her breath, then asked, “When you saw Lara’s birthmark, did you mention it to her or Henry?”

  “No, I wasn’t sure if I should.”

  “Don’t. At least not for now. Let me ask Lara’s mom about it.”

  Trying to pretend this was not a matter for concern, Rachel gave her daughter’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “It could be that you’re a lot like me, Hope. When we want something to be true, we convince ourselves it is. I noticed how much Lara looks like your brother, and for a moment I let myself think she might be Emily. The problem is when you start believing things that are all but impossible, it’s just wishful thinking.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “No buts. I said I’d talk to Lara’s mom about it. Now, scoot. Get ready for dinner, and don’t mention a word of this to anyone else. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Hope echoed, apparently satisfied.

  Rachel moved through the remainder of the dinner preparation like a robot. As she carried the dishes of food to the table her mind jumped from one thought to another. Yes, all the similarities were there—the birthmark, the age, the cerulean-blue eyes slanted upward at the outer edges, the curve of her cheek—all of it perfect and yet it made no sense. Not even an idiot would bring a kidnapped baby back to where the family could conceivably recognize their own daughter. Angela certainly wasn’t an idiot. In fact, she seemed to be an intelligent woman and a good mother.

  Seems to be . . . , Rachel’s heart argued. Not everything is as it seems to be . . .

  Despite the preposterousness of such a thing happening, Rachel knew there were too many red flags to let this go by without talking it through.

  You’ve been disappointed a thousand times before, her heart warned, but Rachel pushed the thought aside. Even if she had to be disappointed a thousand times more, she’d never give up searching for Emily.

  With a million different thoughts jumping around in her mind, Rachel hurried through dinner without speaking of what she’d heard to anyone. But before the table had even been cleared, she suggested George take the kids to the Dairy Queen for dessert.

  “Angela and I will stay here and clean up,” she said.

  “We can wait awhile and then all go,” George replied.

  Angela was on the verge of saying that was a fine idea, but she caught the look Rachel gave George along with the shake of her head.

  “Ice cream plays havoc with my stomach,” she said. “I’d just as soon stay here and give Rachel a hand.”

  Somethi
ng was wrong—she was certain of it. Hopefully it was not more bad news about the car.

  THE QUESTION

  Before George’s car pulled out of the driveway, Rachel had the table cleared and the dishwasher loaded. As the water began swishing into the machine, she turned to Angela and said, “Let’s sit in the living room and talk.”

  Rachel had not eaten a bite of her dinner, yet her stomach was churning. Her nerves were so raw that she could feel them pulsing against her skin. She knew how furious she would be if someone ever dared suggest the twins were not her babies, so she couldn’t even imagine how Angela would react to such a question.

  They sat opposite one another in the club chairs, and when Rachel looked across she saw a mother, not a kidnapper. Suddenly the whole idea seemed ludicrous. Other than Lara looking like Henry, the only thing she had to go on was Hope’s word that she’d seen the birthmark. Hope was a fourteen-year-old girl with an extremely vivid imagination.

  “Would you like a drink?” Rachel asked. “An after-dinner cordial, perhaps?”

  She hoped Angela would say yes, because then she could pour one for herself also, and it might help calm her nerves.

  Angela shook her head. “No, thanks. Dinner was delicious, but I’m absolutely stuffed.”

  Rachel smiled politely. She felt her heart fluttering, so she hesitated and took a few deep breaths. In and out . . . slow . . . slower. She glanced over, hoping to see Angela as she would have been eighteen years ago, a young hippie tiptoeing through a stranger’s house to steal a baby, but the image wasn’t there. She was too much like Rachel herself, a woman who cherished motherhood, a woman who’d likely as not cross a minefield to protect her child.

  Rachel didn’t think she could do it. After so many years of searching for Emily, it seemed strange that Hope, and Hope alone, had somehow unearthed her missing sister. Perhaps this actually was nothing more than wishful thinking. Hope had taken the idea of having an older sister to heart instantly. She’d even insisted they celebrate Emily’s birthday. It was virtually impossible to believe she’d suddenly found that sister.

  “You look as though there’s something on your mind,” Angela said. “Did you want to talk about it?”

  Rachel answered with an edgy little twitter. “Yes, I think maybe I do . . .”

  “Please don’t tell me Ernie’s called and there is something else wrong with the car.”

  “No, it’s not the car,” Rachel replied. “But since you’ve mentioned it, how was it you happened to be out on Yellowwood Road? There’s not much traffic on that side of town. Have you been there before?”

  Angela chuckled. “Good heavens, no. That was my first and last time, hopefully.”

  Rachel gave a stiff smile. It stood to reason that a person would give that answer if they were the one who had taken Emily.

  As one thought pushed through to the next one, Rachel continued. “I hope you’ll forgive me; I’m going to ask you a question that may come across as a bit insulting. I don’t mean it to be that way, but . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Angela said. “I’m not that easily insulted, so ask away.”

  With her eyes lowered and her fingers nervously twisting the wedding band on her left hand, Rachel began.

  “Yesterday, when you asked if Hope was my only daughter, I said yes, but we actually have two daughters. Emily, our firstborn, is eighteen years old now. I seldom speak of her, because when she was only six months old, we lost her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Angela said sympathetically. “But I’m not sure I understand—”

  Rachel quickly clarified the situation. “Emily didn’t die; she was kidnapped.” Although she’d uttered those same words countless times before, they still stung as they rose from her throat. Pausing for a moment, she took another deep breath. “You’re a mother, so I’m certain you understand that when anything bad happens to your child, it tears your heart to shreds.”

  “Of course I do. Why, I can’t even begin to imagine the heartache.”

  “It happened back in 1971; that was the year they had the music festival out in Baker’s Field. We lived on Yellowwood Road back then . . .”

  As Rachel’s voice droned on, telling of the loud music, the extreme exhaustion, the drenching rain, and waking in the morning to find Emily’s crib empty, Angela began to think back on the cardboard box she’d carried home from Wynne Bluffs. Beneath Vicki’s clothes she’d found an orange wristband. She’d held it in her hand and studied it, wondered if it might be a souvenir saved as a reminder of good times. It was from a music festival; Angela was almost certain of it. She closed her eyes and tried to bring the image to mind. There it was. Hesterville Music Festival, August 1971.

  When Rachel finished telling the story and looked up, Angela’s sympathetic smile was gone, and her face had paled.

  “I hope you didn’t think I was implying something tragic could happen to the kids now,” Rachel said. “Hesterville is a very safe town. It was quite different back then. Thousands upon thousands of hippies descended on the town, and no one, not even Sheriff Wilson, could tell one from the other.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Angela asked nervously.

  “Because of something Hope said. She’s a bit like me in that if she wants something badly enough, she almost wills it into happening. I realize she has a fanciful imagination, but after she told me what she’d seen, I knew I had to ask you about it; otherwise I’d never be able to live with myself.”

  There was no response. Angela now sat with her spine rigid and her arms flattened against her body.

  Seeing this change boosted Rachel’s courage. Maybe her question wasn’t as crazy as she’d thought. The jitters she’d had earlier eased, and her voice grew stronger.

  “When the twins were small, George and I decided to wait until they were old enough to understand before we told them about the kidnapping. Then a few months ago Hope saw Emily’s baby picture, and when she questioned it I told her what happened. Well, as soon as she found out that she had an older sister, she became fascinated with the idea and wanted to know everything there was to know about her.”

  With her eyebrows pinched together, Angela said, “I really don’t see how this—”

  “It seems Hope now believes Lara is her long-lost sister.”

  Rachel slowed for a moment and forced a smile, but Angela’s expression didn’t change. There was no slightly bemused smile, no solicitous sigh, nothing. That struck Rachel as odd.

  “You see, our Emily was a blue-eyed blonde like Henry, and like Lara. In fact, she and Lara are just about the same age.” As she spoke, Rachel kept her eyes fixed on Angela and waited for a change of expression, but she remained as stone-faced as Mount Rushmore.

  Whereas earlier Angela had leaned in to the conversation, she now sat with her back stiff. “I’m certain there are millions of young girls who match that description.”

  “At first, that’s exactly what I thought,” Rachel said. “I figured it to be more of Hope’s wishful thinking, but then she told me about Lara’s birthmark. Apparently she saw it when they changed into their swimsuits at the lake.”

  Suddenly there was a shift in Angela’s voice. Her words became wobbly and more defensive. “It’s true Lara has a birthmark, but it’s not all that unusual. I’ve known other people with birthmarks. A woman I worked with had one shaped like a heart.”

  “Hearts and ovals, they’re more commonplace, but the butterfly shape, not as much. Henry has a butterfly birthmark; his is on the back of his shoulder. Emily has one too, but I’ve never mentioned where it was. Then today when the kids came home from the lake, Hope told me Lara has a birthmark just like Henry’s, only hers is low on her back. That’s where Emmy’s was.” She hesitated, then asked, “Doesn’t that strike you as rather odd? Two girls the same age, same coloring, and both with an unusual birthmark in precisely the same spot?”

  Angela gave what was intended to be a casual shrug, but it came across as a hastily erecte
d wall. “It’s unusual, perhaps, but nothing more.” She swiped her hand across her forehead and brushed back the perspiration beaded along her brow. “It’s awfully warm in here. I could use a breath of air.”

  “If you want I could put the fan on, or we could sit outside.”

  Angela shook her head. “Don’t bother. I’m really tired, so I’ll be going up to bed soon.”

  With a sense of urgency now rising in her chest, Rachel reached across and touched her hand to Angela’s knee. “Please don’t go,” she begged. “I’m not suggesting you had anything to do with Emily’s kidnapping, but with so many coincidences you can surely see why I have to ask. You’re a mother; if it were your child, wouldn’t you ask the same questions?”

  With her eyes avoiding Rachel’s, Angela tilted her head ever so slightly. “Yes, I guess I would. But while I sympathize with your situation, I don’t think I can be of any help.”

  Keeping her hand pressed to Angela’s knee, Rachel pleaded, “Answer just one question, will you? A single question and perhaps we can put an end to this whole thing?”

  Rachel’s voice was high-pitched and edgy sounding.

  It was as if Angela could sense what was coming. She cringed, and Rachel felt the twitch beneath her hand.

  “I realize this is a deeply personal question, and I apologize for asking it, but are you really Lara’s mother, and do you have a birth certificate to prove it?”

  Rachel held her breath and waited. A second ticked by and then another and another. If the answer was yes and there was a birth certificate, there could be no argument, no further questions. This flicker of hope that had suddenly sprung to life would be snuffed out just as it had been so many times before.

  Turning away, Angela gazed absently at something in the distance beyond the window. She’d known for years the birth certificate issue would one day be a problem—now here it was, uglier and more horrific than anything she could have ever imagined. The tears welling in her eyes answered before she did. “No, I don’t have a birth certificate,” she said solemnly. “Lara is my sister’s child.” She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes, then turned to Rachel. “Vicki was my younger sister; she died when Lara was only fourteen months old. At the time she and the baby were living with us, and her boyfriend, the baby’s father, was nowhere to be found, so Kenny and I raised Lara as our own.”