Becoming Forever (Waking Forever Series) (28 page)

The front door swung open, and Ash watched as Harry carried several metal canisters in
, and what looked like a vacuum cleaner with a large holding tank. “Here, let me help.” Ash made a move to take one of the canisters, but just pulling on it slightly she could tell it was much heavier than Harry’s posturing implied.

“I’ve got it. They’re heavy for you; so let me.” He put the cylinders down and rolled the vacuum further into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “I actually need you to disappear for a while
, miss. Go to another room, or go out, but I work better without an audience.”

Ash nodded. “Sure. I’ll go in my bedroom. Let me know if you need anything.” She turned and quickly walked toward the back of the apartment.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stared blankly at the wall.

Her shoulders felt like they were made of rocks, and her stomach was cramping from
nerves and not eating. She lay back on the bed, but her mind raced instead of providing her with much needed sleep. She could hear Harry moving around, and a low hum of machinery coming from the living room.

There was a faint knock on th
e bedroom door, and Ash sat up. “Come in.”

It was Emma. She shut the door behind her, but didn’t make a move to come near Ash. “That’s done.”

Ash didn’t want to know the details. In this case, ignorance was bliss. “Is that it then?”

Emma shook her head. “No. Lara is still out there, and presumably desperate for blood at this point. Based on my conversation with R
achel, Ela was ended nearly a week ago.”

“Rachel said you and Coleen should be careful. That Lara would know how to get to you.” Ash tried to sound calm, but the idea of anyone hurting Emma turned her stomach.

Emma smiled, walked toward Ash, kneeling in front of her. “We are pretty good at taking care of ourselves.”

Ash bit her lower lip nervously. “Harry said what we think can hurt you, really can’t.”

Emma nodded and sat down next to Ash. “Yes. Over the centuries we have allowed certain misconceptions to persist. In some cases, we are the origin of the lie.”

Ash understood. “In spite of your strength, you’re outnumbered.”

Emma grinned. “Exactly. Twenty-to-one by some counts.” She looked down. “There have been periods when relations between humans and vampires have not been copacetic.”

Ash thought about one of her American History classes in college, and how horrified she had been learning about the Salem witch trials and subsequent deaths of innocent people. In general people feared what they didn’t understand and could easily become invested in their ignorance. Ash didn’t want to be one of those people. Someone who allowed their opinion to morph into prejudice.

“How old are you?” Ash started with the simplest question she could think of.

Emma’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I was turned in 1862, when I was thirty-three years old.”

Ash exhaled. “I have questions, and I don’t want to hurt you, or upset you. Is it okay if we talk about this?”

Emma looked at Ash for several seconds. Her eyes moving from Ash’s lips to her eyes. “I would like that.”

Ash nodded, and turned so she was facing Emma as they sat on Ash’s bed. “Great. So, 1862. That was during the Civil War.” Emma nodded. “Where are you from?”

“
West Virginia.” Emma said plainly.

“Really, I wouldn’t have thought. You’ve completely lost your accent.” Ash smiled.

“Most things fade after a hundred and fifty two years.” Ash instinctively reached for Emma’s hand, but thought better of it. There were still too many unknowns.

Chapter 14

“Are you getting up?” Emma stood over her young
est sister Mary. The child rubbed at her eyes and slowly sat up in her bed. Her long dark hair was tied into loose ringlets with thin cotton cloth strips.

“Em, do I have to?” Mary was ten years old, and getting her out of bed before dawn on a Sunday morning was becoming more and more difficult.

“You don’t have to, but God manages to be here
every
minute of
every
day for you. Don’t you think a few hours a week for Him is a fair trade?” Emma pulled the heavy quilts down, exposing the small girl’s legs to the cool morning air.

“Em! It’s cold.” Mary pulled her long night gown down over her legs, reached for the quilt, and tugged at it. Emma held onto it firmly.

“Let’s go. Your mother has made us breakfast.” Emma lifted the quilt up off the bed, and folding it, placed it on the wooden stand next to the door.

Mary was Emma’s half-sister. Her father Henry had remarried after Emma’s mother, Carol, had died while giving birth to her sister Martha nearly twenty years ago.

Emma had been Mary’s age when Carol died. What she remembered most was the silence in the house for months after. Her father had been inconsolable in his loss. A carpenter by trade, after Carol’s death, Henry Atman became more active in the local Methodist church, and eventually was ordained. He now led a congregation of nearly a hundred people in Grafton, Virginia.

Emma walked
down the narrow stairs that led from the second floor of the wood framed house to the ground floor. The house was modest, with a single room acting as the dining room and living room on the first floor. The kitchen was a small add-on room near the back of the house, and the second floor consisted of three small rooms parceled off to form the bedroom Emma, as the oldest, had to herself, the bedroom Martha and Mary shared, and the master bedroom. The bathroom was detached from the main house, making treks during the winter particularly harsh.

“Is she up?” Ada Atman asked as she placed a brown clay plate of bread on a wooden rectangular shaped table. Her graying brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore a long, plain beige dress covered in a faded blue apron, with pagoda sleeves and a high neck collar. She had just celebrated her forty-ninth birthday
, and wore the small pewter brooch Emma had bought her on the collar of her dress.

“That’s up for interpretation.” Emma walked into the kitchen, and picked up a bowl of grits Ada had sitting next to the stove.

“Grab the raisins too, Em.” Ada instructed from the dining room.

Emma picked the small clay bowl up from the counter and carried it along with the gr
its into the dining room. “Has Father left already?”

Ada nodded. “About an hour ago. We’re to take the Runabout to services.”

“Did Martha go with him?” Emma smiled at the mention of her sister. She was singing at services today, and Emma was so proud of her. She had initially shied away from their father’s suggestion that the singing she did while tending to the chickens, was better suited for a more refined audience.

“She did. Poor thing couldn’t even eat
, she was so nervous.” Ada walked toward the foot of the stairs. “Mary Elizabeth Atman, if you’re not down her in one minute, you will be mucking out the horse stalls for the next two weeks.” Ada wiped loose flour from her apron. “That child will be the death of me.”

Emma sat down at the table, and served up three plates. As she was spooning the last of the grits onto Mary’s plate, the young girl came bounding down the stairs. “I’m up!” She jumped over the last step, and ran to the table where she dramatically flung herself into one of the thin wooden chairs.

Ada took her apron off, and hanging it on the metal hook just inside the kitchen doorway, joined Emma and Mary at the table. She bowed her head. “Well, for that and other blessings, let us give thanks.” She smiled at her daughter as the three females joined hands. “Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Amen.”

“Amen.” Emma lifted her head, picked up her spoon, and stirred the steaming bowl of grits. “Mary, d
id you finish your primer Miss Calvin assigned?”

The girl was chewing a spoon full of raisins as her eyes widened. “How do you know about that?” She covered her mouth after a rogue raisin popped out.

Emma smiled. “Miss Calvin and I spoke last week, and she said you haven’t been turning in your assignments. She gave me a list of what would be due for the next three weeks.”

Mary looked at her mother, and then back at her half-sister. “I - I left my book at school.”

Emma shook her head. The twenty-two year age difference between her and Mary had caused their relationship to become more of a mother daughter dynamic over the years. A role Ada was comfortable with and Emma enjoyed. “Then we’ll need to go by the school on the way home from services and get your book. You best hope Miss Calvin is willing to open the building up for you.”

Rebecca Calvin had relocated to Grafton with her parents and brother over a year ago. The family was originally from Richmond, but recent strains on the economy because of the threat of succession had forced William Calvin and fam
ily to move to Grafton and take up residence with his older, spinster sister Helen.

Grafton had seen a tremendous amount of growth in the past ten years as a result of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad
, which had merged a number of branch lines off the railroad's mainline and through Grafton. Shortly after Mary had been born, there had been less than two hundred people who called Grafton home. Now, nearly seven hundred residents occupied the Tygart Valley River town.

William Calvin was a
carpenter by trade, and the town’s counsel had managed to raise enough funds for him to build a small schoolhouse near the far north end of town. Rebecca had agreed to take a modest annual stipend to teach the thirty children whose parents saw fit to send them to school.

Even with an abridged school year to account for the planting and harvesting seasons, most parents didn’t see any value in their children receiving a formal education. This was especially true for the girls, who it was assumed would mar
ry in their early teens and bear children.

Henry Atman
, on the other hand, had insisted all his children learn to read and write. Emma didn’t have the benefits of a formal schooling, but Henry had spent countless hours with her and Martha teaching them reading, writing and arithmetic. Emma had a natural curiosity for how the world worked, and would pull the trunk from under her father and Ada’s bed out regularly, in order to read and re-read the books stored inside.

“Can’t you go get the book
, Em?” Mary smiled broadly. “Miss Calvin likes you better anyway.”

Emma shook her head. “She likes you too
, Mary, but you have to apply yourself.”

Ada reached for her daughte
r’s hand. “You’ll ask your teacher after services to retrieve your book, and then you won’t forget again ,Mary. Am I clear?”

Mary nodded. “Yes
, momma.” The dark haired girl stuck out her lower lip, and began squeezing one of the raisins between her thumb and forefinger.

“Playing with your food is a good way to ensure you’ll go to bed hungry tonight young lady.” Ada took a bite of grits as she glared at the girl.

Mary dropped the raisin. “May I be excused?”

“Where do you plan on going? We’re leaving for services in a few minutes.” Ada asked, her eyebrow raised.

Mary waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Around.”

Emma and Ada both had to stifle a laugh at the young girl’s flippantness. “Around
, you say?” Emma asked.

“Around.” Mary nodded.

“You can be
around
this table with Emma and me, and then you can be
around
the family at services.” Ada tried to sound firm, but her tone teetered on amused.

Mary shrugged, and sank lower into her seat. Emma couldn’t remember how she was at that age, but according to her father
, she was every bit as precocious as Mary. The three finished breakfast at a little past seven, and began cleaning the plates and pans.

Once finished, Emma hitched Red, a ten year old chestnut colored quarter horse, to the Runabout, and the three climbed onto the buggy. Emma and Ada sat on the ends of the narrow black bench, while Mary was safely wedged between them. Ada steered the buggy along the narrow dirt and rock path lined with pine and spruce trees.

The Methodist church was a fifteen minute ride from their house, and looking down at Mary, Emma could already see the child was dozing off. She put her arm around the small girl, who turned her shoulder toward Emma, and cuddled into her side.

Rounding a bend in the road, the church came into view. Nestled among a cluster of pine trees, Grafton Methodist Church was a simple, single room structure. Its wood siding had been painted white with black trim around the four windows that lined either side of the church. A modest iron cross sat atop a slight gable over the front entrance to the building.

Families were making their way into the sanctuary as Emma, Ada and Mary pulled the buggy to a stop in front of a wooden fence post. The three disembarked from the Runabout, and Emma tied Red to the post. “Mary, you best be awake for your father’s sermon this morning.” Ada took the yawning girl’s hand.