A Promise Kept (19 page)

Her dad grinned. “You look good, kid. Awful good. Lighter. Like a burden’s been lifted. It’s good to see you like this.”

Glad you didn’t see me a year ago when I was a mess
.

Her dad insisted on going with Allison to bring in their luggage. Then she left her folks in the guest bedroom to settle in while she went downstairs to see to the remainder of the supper preparations.

It surprised her, how completely natural it felt to have her parents here. In so many ways it was as if this had been her home for years and years. She looked forward to taking her mom and dad to church in the morning. She wanted them to meet her friends and many acquaintances. She wanted them to know she was in a better place. Emotionally as well as physically. Spiritually too, although God was still remodeling her heart. A major project, to be sure.

Emma

1929

Emma stared at her reflection in the mirror. When had she become the woman who looked back at her? Not only the sad turn of her mouth or the dark circles beneath her eyes. When had she become a woman without an opinion, someone who seemed afraid of her own shadow, someone who entertained self-pity in the night? What happened to the little girl who loved to climb trees and ride horses bareback and swing from a rope on the tree and drop into a pond? Liza had asked her a similar question once, but Emma hadn’t been willing or able to see that she was right.

“Where did you go?” Emma whispered. “Are you still in there somewhere?”

She leaned closer to the mirror.

What sort of person lets herself disappear in order to please another? Like a chameleon, always changing colors
.

Whom have I pleased? Not Alexander
.

Not God either
.

She’d drifted away from the Lord. Not on purpose. Through neglect. She rarely picked up her Bible. She seldom prayed. She hadn’t gone to church in a long, long time. Alexander refused to go, and it had become easier to simply stay home with him than to make him angry when she went alone.

Easier. Was that how she made her choices today? She would do this because it was easier. She would do that because it was easier.

“Easier is not necessarily better,” she told her reflection.

Somehow, Emma had to find her way back to her true self. She hadn’t lost herself in a day. She wouldn’t find her way back in a day. But she could take the first step. She could start looking.

She turned from the mirror and picked up her Bible from the nightstand, wiping away the fine layer of dust on its cover with her free hand. Then she retrieved her bound journal from its hiding place and carried both books to the table in the kitchen.

“Lord, help me.” She let the Bible fall open and began to read.

Allison

Pastor Josh preached a sermon on courage that Sunday morning, and Allison felt as if he’d prepared it for her alone. That wasn’t an unusual experience. It was often that way these days.

It seemed most of the congregation waited outside to meet her parents when the service was over. She was on a first-name basis with everyone, and it was fun to make the introductions. Time and again she heard someone tell her parents how glad they were to have Allison living in the Kings Meadow area. Two women said what a terrific addition she was to the book club. And Chet Leonard said he was grateful for the encouragement she’d been to him in recent months, although he didn’t go into specifics.

“My, what a handsome man,” her mom said as they walked toward Allison’s car later. “Is he single?”

“Mom, don’t start matchmaking.”

“Well,
is
he single?”

“He’s about to be divorced. Maybe he is by now.”

Her mother cocked an eyebrow. “I think he likes you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Allison pressed the button on the key fob to unlock the doors of the SUV. “He’s still in love with his wife.”

“Hmm.”

Susan Lyle had invited Allison and her parents to Sunday dinner, so she turned the car east when pulling out of the parking lot and drove toward her friend’s house.

From the backseat, her mom recalled meeting Susan years before. “She was very close friends with your aunt. Does she know anything about that mystery man you believe was Emma’s husband?”

“No. Not a thing. And if Aunt Emma would have told anyone, I think she would have told Susan.”

“Exactly. So it must not be true. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want to know more about that cowboy. Leonard. Was that his name?”

Allison released an exaggerated sigh.

Her mom laughed.

“You’re hopeless, Mom. You know that?”

“I know, but you love me anyway.”

“Yes, I do.” Allison glanced at her dad, seated to her right. “You too, Dad.”

“Thanks, my girl.”

Her mom’s voice turned serious. “I can’t help wanting you to be with someone, Allison. I hate the thought of you being lonely.”

“I know that too. But I think it’s good for me to be alone right now. I’m in a good place. Really and truly I am. Maybe I needed to learn to be alone with myself so I can learn to be better with another if the time comes.”

“My goodness,” her mom replied. “That sounded wise.”

“Didn’t it, though.”

As all three of them laughed, Allison sent up a silent thanks to God for the parents He’d given her. She knew men and women who hadn’t spoken to their fathers or mothers or both for years because of some rift or another. She didn’t believe that could happen with her parents. Oh, she could disagree with them at times. Strongly disagree. But love ruled, even in an argument. How grateful she was for that example.

Allison pulled up to the Lyles’ house with those words of thanksgiving in her mind.

By the time Allison had turned off the engine, Susan stood in her doorway, smiling and waving. “Welcome,” she said as Allison and her parents walked toward her. “Maggie. Bob. I’m so glad you could come. The last time I saw you was at Emma’s funeral, but we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

“I’m not surprised,” Maggie answered. “There were a lot of people at the funeral.”

“She was dearly loved by everyone in Kings Meadow. She was an institution, really.” Susan motioned for her guests to go inside, then she brought up the rear. “Would any of you like something to drink? It will be about half an hour before dinner is ready.”

Susan Lyle was the kind of hostess who made everyone feel important and special. Allison sensed it wasn’t something Susan had learned to do over time. It was innate. One of the gifts of the Spirit—the gift of hospitality.

Conversation around the dinner table eventually turned back to Aunt Emma. Susan shared a number of stories that were new to Allison and her mother. “Did you know she took flying lessons when she was older than I am now?”

“Flying lessons?” Maggie Knight shook her head. “When was this?”

Susan frowned in thought. “Maybe nineteen seventy-two or -three. Ned and I hadn’t been married more than five years.” She looked toward her husband for confirmation. “Am I right?”

He laughed. “I haven’t a clue. All the years tend to run together. But I do remember her talking about those lessons. She was right proud of herself.”

Allison thought about the Emma Carter she was discovering in the pages of the diaries. That younger Emma didn’t seem particularly adventurous or courageous. And yet, those traits
had been very much true of the aunt Allison knew as a child. Growing old hadn’t slowed Aunt Emma down much either. Not until almost the end of her life.

“And do
you
think my aunt was married when she was younger?” Her mother’s question pulled Allison’s attention to the present.

Susan gave a small smile. “I must believe it, Maggie. Emma had no reason to lie in her diaries. Not any reason I can think of, at any rate.”

“Why keep it a secret?” Allison’s mother pressed. “Why use her maiden name the rest of her life?”

“I don’t know that either.” Susan looked at Allison. “But I do believe Emma meant for Allison to find her diaries and read them. And eventually Allison will discover the answers to your questions and her own questions too.”

Emma

1929–1930

The crash of 1929 was felt immediately by people like John Hendricks and his parents. People with money. People with investments in the stock market. People who owned businesses. It embarrassed Emma to see the smug satisfaction in her husband’s eyes when he learned the Hendricks family had lost so much.

“They won’t be sticking their noses in the air anymore,” he crowed. “How the mighty have fallen!”

She could have told him that for all her sister’s husband and in-laws had lost in the stock market, they were far from destitute. They hadn’t lost their homes and cars. They could still afford their servants. She could have warned him not to be so pleased about the troubles of others because the Monroes just might have to turn to the Hendrickses for help one day.

She could have but she didn’t.

Alexander ceased to gloat when the effects of the crash began to trickle down to people like him. And trickle down they did. First Alexander’s hours at the mill were reduced. Then he was let go. Even his bootlegging business fell off; his customers didn’t have money to buy the bathtub gin. By late summer the Monroes were evicted from the cottage they’d rented since the summer they married, and with no other options, they moved into her parents’ home.

October 2, 1930

Alexander leaves the house every morning to look for work. Or so he tells me. Most days he doesn’t return until long after dark. When he does, he is still unemployed. He smells of liquor when he comes in. Sometimes he is so drunk I’m surprised he can make it up the stairs to our bedroom. Last night, when he crawled into bed beside me, there was a new smell. Perfume. Cheap perfume. There is only one way I know of for him to smell like that. He was with some other woman. A woman who was close enough to him for her perfume to get on his clothes and skin.

I am sick at heart. Sometimes I think I cannot draw another breath for the pain of it. I’ve known he cared more for Liza than for me. But since she would never betray me or John, I wasn’t afraid Alexander would do anything more than long for her from afar. I still had hope he could learn to love me. But now?

I have tried to be a good wife. I have tried to obey him as I promised in my wedding vows. I have tried not to nag, like the steady drip of water Proverbs talks about. But I am failing. I have already failed.

I know my parents are worried, but they say nothing to me about Alexander. They never utter a negative word to my face. In our family such things are not talked about. Married couples are expected to work things through on their own without airing their dirty laundry. But I see the worry in their eyes. I hear it in their voices when they talk of benign things.

I pray and I pray for Alexander to know God and heed Him. We are unequally yoked, to be sure. I knew we were when I married him. I knew he had no room for God in his life, but I didn’t care. I ignored the warning voice in my heart. I wanted to marry Alexander more than I wanted to obey God. Alexander attended church for a time before we married, and I told myself that was enough. But his going to church had nothing to do with faith or worship or even me. Whatever his reasons for going—to impress Liza, perhaps?—he never let God come near.

Am I much different? I have sought my own way again and again.

Mark Thomas turned two yesterday. I was with Liza and John to help celebrate with cake and homemade ice cream. Liza has stopped telling me that someday I will have a child of my own. She must not want to give me false hope any longer. Or perhaps she’s guessed how seldom my husband reaches for me in the night.

How much faith do I have? Or what kind of faith? Am I willing to believe God for my future? Am I willing to give Alexander and our marriage over to Him and trust Him to do with it as He wills?

Last year I decided I needed to discover who I am. Who I really and truly am as a person, as a woman, as a Christian. The real me—body, soul, and spirit. Sometimes I think I know. Sometimes I think I may never know. I am twenty-three. I’ve been a wife for over three years. I’ve been pregnant and miscarried. I was with my sister when her first child passed away, and I was nearby when she delivered her second child. I can be decisive and brave, but I can also be indecisive and cowardly. I swing from one to the other, as if riding a pendulum.

Should I ask Alexander if he has a mistress? Should I force the issue into the light of day? Or would I rather not have my suspicions confirmed? If I get an answer, I can no longer pretend not to know.

The pendulum swings.

Allison