A Promise Kept (17 page)

An ache in her heart replaced all other feelings as Allison drove up the state highway toward home. An ache . . . and anger too. Tony had tried to manipulate her at lunch. He
had
manipulated her, and she shouldn’t have let him do it. She’d allowed it too often in the past.

“Mind if I say a blessing?”

She
had
minded. It was an act. Tony’s Christianity had always been a surface thing. Was he even saved? Could someone be a Christian and a drunk at the same time?

Allison winced at the thought. God had called her to task on that kind of thinking a number of years ago, and the memory of it was seared into her brain. As she’d read the first few verses of Romans 14, she’d felt God say,
Who are you, Allison, to pass judgment on another? Tony belongs to Me, and I am able to make him stand
.

“So why
didn’t
You make him stand?” she whispered.

Seeing a pull-off ahead, she flipped her right turn signal and slowed her vehicle. Once she stopped the Subaru, she turned off the engine and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel.

I’m still demanding to know why. I don’t mean to do it, Father. I don’t want to do it. I thought I was learning to be content, and now here I am again. In the same place
.

“How pathetic,” she added aloud.

Lifting her head, she looked out the windshield. A thin blanket of snow covered the mountainsides, but the pine trees had
shed their white winter cloaks. Everything was beautiful and still, the only sounds rising from the river on the opposite side of the highway.

Help me, Lord. I’m tired of sliding backward into old resentments. Help me move forward and forgive. Really forgive
.

Allison

The public library in Kings Meadow was surprisingly good for such a small community. Allison enjoyed spending time there. Sometimes she liked to simply stroll the aisles, dragging an index finger along a row of books, reading the titles as she went, pulling one out when it caught her eye. Sometimes serendipity brought a greater reward.

But on this weekday morning in April, the week after her birthday, she was depending upon the Dewey Decimal System as she sought information about tracing one’s ancestry as well as books about the history of Idaho in the early twentieth century. She was frowning, concentrating hard on titles, when a man spoke her name.

“Morning, Allison.”

She turned and found Chet Leonard standing nearby. “Good morning.” She smiled. “I thought I was the only non-librarian in the place at this hour.”

“Me too.”

“How are the boys?”

“Pretty good.” He paused a moment, then added, “Their mother called earlier in the week, and they got to talk to her briefly.”

Allison tried not to show her surprise. There hadn’t been a word about Marsha’s whereabouts since she left. Or so Susan had told her a couple of weeks ago.

Chet answered the questions Allison was too polite to ask.
“Marsha’s in Nevada. Been there this whole time. She’s filed for divorce. Doesn’t want to come back home. Not ever. Doesn’t even want joint custody of the boys.”

“Oh, Chet. I’m sorry.”

“Marsha was always a devoted mother. She loved our sons with everything in her. This isn’t like her. This isn’t like the woman I’ve known all these years. I wanted to go down to Reno so we could talk face-to-face, but she refused to let me come. Refused to give me her address.” He closed his eyes for a few moments. “I don’t know how to help her. I only know she
needs
help.”

“I’m sorry,” Allison repeated, softer this time.

“We had a good marriage. We had a happy family. I thought our faith could carry us through anything. Even Rick’s death. Now I don’t know what to think.”

It might have seemed strange to someone else, the way Chet opened up to her just now. Their friendship was of a more casual nature. But Allison understood the reasons for it. There had been times in the past, as her world crashed around her ears, when she’d revealed intimate details to complete strangers. Words had poured out unexpectedly, as if she’d had no control over them. All she’d needed was a warm body who seemed willing to listen. That was what she was for Chet Leonard at the moment. A warm body willing to listen.

She offered him an understanding smile. “I wish I had words of wisdom to share with you, Chet. I was devastated when my marriage failed. But it does get easier with time. I promise you that.”

His return smile was halfhearted at best.

“If there’s anything I can do, Chet, just ask.”

He shook his head, then shrugged. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer. I really do.” He took a step back. “I’d best be on my way. Got work to get done at the ranch.”

Allison watched him disappear around the end of the ceiling-high bookshelf.

A hard knot formed in the pit of her stomach. The enjoyment of browsing books in the library was gone. She felt as if she might cry. Perhaps an overreaction to the news about Marsha, but emotions weren’t always logical. She’d learned that during her separation from Tony. How many times had she walked down the grocery aisle and been overcome with tears when she wasn’t even thinking about him or their situation? Or how many times had she driven along a familiar road and started crying because of a song on the radio? Her emotions had been all over the map. Rarely had they been trustworthy.

She took the books she’d selected earlier to the counter and checked them out, then went outside into the morning sunshine. After letting Gizmo out of the car for a short bit of business, she drove toward home. Warm temperatures had been melting the snowpack faster than she’d anticipated. Some places were bare where a few weeks ago snow had been piled high. Spring was definitely in the air. Next time she was in Boise, she would go to the garden supply store. Some large planters filled with flowers would be welcome additions to her large deck. It faced south and got enough sun.

Maybe she should buy some new deck furniture. It would be fun to entertain more during the summer months. She could invite the book club to meet at her house in August when the days were long and the evenings pleasant.

When she got home, she dropped her purse and keys onto the table inside the front door. The light was blinking on her phone, telling her she had voice mail waiting. She picked up the handset and tapped in her code. The message was from her mom with the wonderful news that she and Allison’s dad were driving to Idaho for a visit.

Excited, Allison didn’t finish listening to the message. She
hung up and pressed the preprogrammed button to dial her parents. Her mom answered on the third ring.

“Mom, when are you coming?”

“Didn’t I tell you in the message? I thought I did. We’re coming next month. For a couple of weeks.”

“Oh, Mom. That’s great. You’ll stay with me, of course. I can hardly wait to see you. It’s been too long.”

“You could’ve come down to see us anytime, you know.”

“I know. But with moving and with my work—”

“Excuses. Excuses.”

Her mom was right. Those reasons
were
excuses. But Allison had needed this past year to get her legs under her, to begin to feel a little more whole. She’d made progress, although her recent lunch with Tony had shown she hadn’t progressed enough.

“After we see you, we’ll go to Seattle for a month to visit Chuck and Joan and to attend Karen’s graduation.”

Karen’s graduation! Allison flinched. She’d received an invitation to her niece’s high school graduation a couple of months ago but had set it aside and then forgotten about it.

“You should come with us, Allison. Chuck and Joan have plenty of room in their house, and we could take you back home on our return to Arizona.”

“I couldn’t be away from my work for that long. Not for a whole month. And what about Gizmo? Boarding him would be ridiculously expensive, and I wouldn’t want him spending that much time in a kennel anyway.”

“I’d forgotten about your dog. Pets can be so inconvenient at times.”

“Maybe I could drive with you to Seattle and then fly back after Karen’s graduation. That would work.”

“It’s settled, then. That’s what we’ll plan on. I’ll tell your father. He’ll be delighted.”

Emma

1928

Liza was safely delivered of a baby boy, aided by Mrs. Willows. Mark Thomas, the name chosen for a son, weighed in at five and a half pounds—they would later learn—and had a good set of lungs. The doctor arrived about ten minutes after the baby made his entrance into the world. There was little left for the physician to do other than verify that Liza and Mark Thomas were both in fine health. Emma’s and Liza’s mother and Alexander got to the house soon after.

Emma stood with her back against the wall, watching the exchange of smiles and hugs, hearing the laughter and words of delight. The room was warm with joy.

Will it ever be like this for me?

She closed her eyes, fearing she might start to cry. Hurt feelings left a metallic taste on her tongue.

“Emma?”

The voice broke through her thoughts and she opened her eyes.

Her mother stood before her. “Are you all right, dear?”

Emma nodded.

“Are you sure? You look pale. Elizabeth says you helped deliver the baby.”

“I didn’t do all that much. I just did whatever Mrs. Willows told me to do. She knew exactly what to do.” She offered a weak smile.

“I hope it hasn’t made you afraid of your own delivery.”

“Not at all. I’ve never witnessed anything more amazing in my life.”

Her mother shook her head. “I’m glad of that, dear.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “But it would be better not to speak of such things in mixed company.”

Emma glanced toward the bed. Liza was cradling the baby near her breast, already looking refreshed. As if she hadn’t gone through hard labor a short while before. Alexander stood by a window, looking out at the backyard. None of them cared what she’d said to her mother. Even if they had, it wasn’t as if they weren’t all married adults, fully aware of the facts of conception and at least partially aware of the facts of giving birth. Her mother’s admonition seemed a ridiculous one.

But Pearl Carter had been born into a different world. She clung to the traditions of the nineteenth century. She thought telephones were noisy, disruptive things. She thought motorcars smelly and unsightly. She was disinterested in moving pictures and had never joined the rest of the country in its excitement over radio. And she certainly believed no woman should discuss intimate subjects such as childbirth in front of a man. Not even in front of her own husband.

Her mother turned away from Emma. “Alexander, your wife is tired. I think you need to take her home now. She needs to rest.”

Alexander turned from the window, nodded, and headed for the bedroom door without a word to anyone. Emma knew he expected her to follow. She pasted on a smile and pretended not to notice his rude departure as she walked to the bed and kissed her sister’s cheek.

“I love you, Liza. I’m so happy for you. How blessed you are.”

“Thank you, Em. I am blessed.” She smiled in return.

“When will John be home?”

“In the morning.”

“He’ll be sorry to have missed this.” She squeezed Liza’s hand. “I’ll come again soon after you’ve gotten some rest.”

Liza smiled and nodded.

Emma bid her mother good-bye, then hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Alexander waited for her by the truck. He wore a frown, and when she saw it she knew his mercurial mood had turned foul.

As soon as they were pulling away from the curb, he said, “I get so tired of having my nose rubbed in John Hendricks’s success.”

“What do you mean? Who did that?”

He ignored her questions. “And since when does your mother think she can boss me around like that?”

“She didn’t—”

“Alexander,” he said in a high-pitched voice, “your wife is tired. Take her home.”

Emma wanted to argue with him, but she pressed her lips together to keep from it.

“I’m sick of it, Emma. Sick of them.”

Sick of me too?

They drove the remainder of the way home in silence.

Allison

Allison sat at the dining room table, completed scrapbooks and loose photographs scattered across the polished surface. She held one black-and-white photo in her hand. A photograph of Aunt Emma’s husband, Alexander James Monroe. Emma’s
husband
. Her aunt had been married. How was that possible? Allison’s mother hadn’t known about it. Neither Aunt Emma nor Grandmother Elizabeth had ever said a word to anyone in the family. Aunt Emma had used her maiden name all the years Allison had known her. She’d been buried under her maiden name. But at one time, there had been a husband. At one time, she’d been Emma Monroe.

Which explained the old wedding dress Allison had discovered. The dress hadn’t belonged to another woman. It had been
Emma’s
. She’d worn it on her
own
wedding day. A day long kept a secret. A wedding and yet among all the many, many photographs her aunt had kept in her trunks, there wasn’t a single one to commemorate her wedding day. She’d kept other photos of Alexander James Monroe. Why not any of their wedding?

Allison studied the photograph in her hand. As she’d thought before, Alexander Monroe reminded her of a silent film star. Swept-back hair that appeared to be dark blond. His eyes must have been a piercing blue. At least that was how they appeared in this snapshot. There was something brooding about his looks. And if the diaries could be believed, he’d married Emma while loving her sister. While loving Allison’s grandmother!

Poor Aunt Emma.

Every family had secrets of one kind or another, but some secrets were buried deeper than others. How many years had Allison managed to keep Tony’s drinking a secret from her parents, from her friends, from the pastor and elders of their church? Much longer than she should have been able or should have tried.

She picked up another photograph, this one of her aunt as a young woman. Emma Carter hadn’t been a stunning beauty like her sister, Elizabeth, but she’d been pretty in her own way. Allison had always assumed she hadn’t married out of choice. Because she’d been a woman of strong opinions and unafraid to face the world alone and on her own terms. That was the Emma Carter she’d known.