The Mill River Redemption (6 page)

Emily recognized that schadenfreude was not the primary reason she was willing to go along with their mother’s plan. Her first reason for returning would be to honor their mother’s wishes, to show respect and gratitude for all she had done. She would make a good-faith effort to do as her mother requested regardless of how unpleasant it might be for her personally.

Secondly, Emily was tired of living like a ghost. Since the horrible accident years ago, she’d drifted from one city and failed relationship to the next. She’d gone first to Pittsburgh, then Chicago. She’d left the Windy City for San Francisco, where she’d lived since. She liked the city and its myriad neighborhoods. The weather was good there—never too hot or too cold. There was plenty of work for someone with her skills. Besides, save a move to
Hawaii or Alaska, she had run out of country. She was at the edge, as far west as she could go.

Still, she was slowly coming to the realization that she no longer wanted to be alone. Instead of disappearing anonymously into city crowds, she wanted to
live
someplace and not merely exist as an unknown among the masses. After years of dating losers and living thousands of miles from the few people she was close to, she craved real companionship. She needed
connections
again—to people, to a smaller, familiar place where she wouldn’t feel lost.

If that place was Mill River, with all its good and also painful memories, she would have to accept it.

Perhaps her mother had known what she was doing.

Perhaps not.

Thinking about her summer plans temporarily diverted Emily’s focus from her mother’s death. The reality circled back around fast, bringing with it a deep sadness. She missed her mother terribly. She even missed the nagging and the lectures about her situation with Rose, and the phone ringing at four in the morning when her mother used to call forgetting the time difference. What she wouldn’t give to receive one of those phone calls again.

The man sleeping beside her snorted loudly and shifted in his seat. Emily couldn’t see his face completely, but his hair color and profile reminded her a little of Sam Kiper, a guy she’d dated years ago, in Pittsburgh. Sam had been her first relationship after the accident, and in the beginning, she had had high hopes. Gradually, though, certain things about him began to give her pause. Sam had no problem holding a job as a mid-level manager, but he was too lazy to care about advancing further. His sense of humor was dry with a mean streak. He didn’t care much for kids or animals. And nothing she did infused any energy or warmth into his personality.

After Sam, there’d been Riley Woodson in Chicago. He was a young trader in the Mercantile Exchange, full of frenetic energy
and the ambition that Sam had lacked. Riley wasn’t handy at all, though. He’d confessed to her when she first came to work in his Lincoln Park row home that he’d never so much as touched a hammer. As much as he’d enjoyed her unclothed appearance, he’d frowned every time she donned her work overalls and tool belt.

In San Francisco, she’d dated casually, but nothing serious had materialized. Maybe she was too afraid to get deeply involved again. Maybe she was tired of trying to remedy the faults of the men she dated, to tweak and mold them into her perfect match.

That perfect match didn’t exist anymore.

She had been lonely a long time. Through the years, her mother had always been there, encouraging her, listening, loving. Her mother was the one person who truly understood the kind of loss the accident had caused her and how difficult it was to try to reassemble the fragments of a shattered life. A few tears escaped from her closed eyes and meandered slowly down her face. The clicking of the knitting needles beside her stopped. She opened her eyes to find the woman with the braid watching her with a concerned expression.

“I know it’s none of my business,” the woman said, “but, are you all right?”

Emily wiped the tears from her cheeks and nodded. “My mother died a week ago, and I’m on my way home from her wake.” She was surprised that her words spilled out so quickly.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, her expression turning from concern to pity. “It looks like you loved her very much. I have three girls myself, so I know how there’s something special between a mother and a daughter. Of course, my kids are close as sisters, too. I’m glad they’ll have each other when I’m gone. Do you have any siblings?”

“I have one sister,” Emily said. She began to wonder if her mother had somehow managed to plant this woman in the seat next to her.

“Well, at least you have each other, then. That, and time, will make things better,” the woman said. Emily managed a half-smile and was thankful when the woman resumed her knitting.

Maybe time will help
, Emily thought. Summer would be the beginning of a new stage in her life. She would honor her mother by trying to do as she had asked. It would be wonderful to spend some more time with dear Aunt Ivy. And, if Rose showed up, well, she wasn’t sure what would happen—although it would certainly be something to see her Park Avenue–apartment sister living in the old Johnson house.

1983

F
OR
J
OSIE, HER FIRST WEEK AT
T
HE
B
OOKSTOP PASSED
slowly. Each day was a blur of looking after the girls and trying to follow Ivy’s advice to not suppress her feelings. Josie realized that she felt a little better if she stayed with her aunt in the front room, helping with customers and listening to Rose and Emily entertaining themselves in the Kids’ Corner. It was a taste of normal life, and it provided just enough of a distraction to keep her grief at bay.

She clung to that small bit of normalcy two evenings before Christmas as she stood in the upstairs bathroom getting ready to go out. She’d curled her hair and even put on a little makeup. Lipstick added a touch of color to her pale face, and a bit of concealer under her eyes did wonders to hide the dark circles and puffiness from fitful sleep and frequent crying. It seemed like a long time since she’d taken any special care with her appearance. Tonight, though, Ivy was dead set on taking her and the girls to Mill River’s annual holiday pitch-in. Looking at herself, she was surprised to realize that getting fixed up actually made her feel a little better.

Rose and Emily were already decked out for the occasion in new, matching red and green velvet dresses. She had splurged and purchased them during a shopping trip to Rutland the day before. They had new black patent-leather Mary Janes, too, which they
discovered made a distinct tap on the hardwood floor of the attic bedroom. Before long, the girls were stomping, giggling, and chasing each other from one end of the room to the other.

“What’s all that ruckus?” Ivy called from the kitchen. “You all about ready?”

“We’ll be down in just a minute,” Josie said. She sprayed a quick veil of Aqua Net over her hair and left the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Ivy was removing a large casserole dish from the oven.

“Something smells wonderful in here,” Josie said. “What did you make?”

“My famous chicken biscuit pie,” Ivy said. “It’s always a hit at pitch-ins. It’s like chicken potpie, but I put the filling in a casserole dish instead of a pie crust, and then I put homemade buttermilk biscuits to bake on top. Learned how to make real biscuits years ago, when your mom and I were growing up in Nashville. Thomas used to rave about ’em. There are folks up here who can really cook, but I’ve never had biscuits as good as they are in the South.” Ivy placed a sheet of aluminum foil over the steaming casserole dish and crimped down the edges.

“It looks wonderful,” Josie said, wondering who “Thomas” was, but she decided that now was not the time to ask. “The only place I’ve ever had biscuits is Kentucky Fried Chicken.”

Ivy laughed. “Colonel Sanders makes decent biscuits, but they’re not as good as mine.” She carefully lowered the dish into a canvas carrying case. “All right. It’s only two blocks to the town hall, so it won’t be a long walk.”

Josie repeatedly glanced over her shoulder as they made their way down the sidewalk. Each time she did, she saw only cozy little houses and businesses awash in light from the lampposts and holiday displays. The cold night air smelled of snow and spruce, with just a hint of wood smoke, rather than auto exhaust. Once they
were on Main Street, she looked up and saw a great, white mansion on a hill overlooking the town.

“That old house has been here longer than I have. It’s almost like it’s watching over all of us, isn’t it?” Ivy asked, following her gaze. “I know you’re nervous being out, but you don’t have to worry anymore. No one followed you here from New York, and only the detectives and the funeral home know where you are. I know it might take you a little time to believe it, but you and the girls are safe now.”

They’d reached the white town hall building. Josie opened the door for Ivy and the girls and smiled at the scene that greeted her. The large meeting room was already full of people. Garlands and strings of lights were hung across the wood-paneled walls while white paper snowflakes hung from the rustic exposed beams in the ceiling. A cassette deck on a table in one corner played traditional Christmas carols. The room was packed with row after row of tables and chairs, and several long tables positioned end-to-end against the far wall were filling up with covered dishes. Ivy headed that way to deposit her casserole while Josie took the girls and found seats.

Her aunt knew almost everyone in town. As they were eating, Ivy pointed out or introduced her to more people than she could ever remember. When it was time for dessert, Josie watched as Ivy worked her way from the food tables back through the crowd to their seats. Her aunt handed each of the girls a beautifully decorated gingerbread man and set a slice of pie in front of Josie. “I’ve been hearing about this tart cherry pie,” Ivy said, looking at the piece she’d brought back for herself. “The new police officer they just hired, what’s his name? Joe Fitzgerald? His wife made it. People are raving about it.” She sat down, took up her fork, and scooped a bite into her mouth. “Holy crap.” She closed her eyes and chewed slowly. “Try it, Josie. It’s the duck’s nuts, I tell you! I’ve got to get this recipe.”

“It is fantastic, isn’t it?” Hearing a voice she recognized, Josie looked up to see Father O’Brien standing next to their table. In one hand, he held a plate bearing a large piece of cherry pie. In the other hand, he held a plastic spoon, at which he was staring intently. As if to snap himself out of his thoughts, he shook his head slightly and then looked down at Ivy with a sheepish smile. “I’m pretty sure it’s the best I’ve ever had. This is actually my second piece.”

“Oh! Hi, Father!” Ivy said with her mouth full. She swallowed quickly. “Have you met my niece yet? This is Josie DiSanti, and her daughters, Rose and Emily. They just came to Mill River and will be staying with me for a while.”

Josie looked up at Father O’Brien, and he met her gaze with a question in his eyes. She realized that he didn’t know whether it was all right to divulge the fact that they had already met.

“I actually met Father O’Brien last Saturday night, while I was out walking,” Josie said quickly. She saw a flicker of relief cross the priest’s face. “I ended up stopping by the church to warm up, since the door was open, and we had a nice talk.” She looked down at Rose and Emily sitting next to her. “Girls, can you say hello?”

“Hello,” Rose said dutifully. The little girl looked curiously at Father O’Brien’s black attire and white collar, and Josie wondered whether questions about them were forthcoming. Emily stared up at the priest without speaking before turning to hide her face against Josie’s side.

“Em’s a little shy sometimes,” Josie said.

Ivy picked up her empty dessert plate and stood up. “Why don’t you take my seat, Father? I’m done eating, and I’ve been meaning to go introduce myself to Ruth Fitzgerald. I want to ask her about her pie recipe.”

“Thanks, Ivy, that’s very kind of you.” He set his pie on the table and sat down as Ivy headed across the room. “I’m glad to see
you here,” he said to Josie, smiling at her and the girls. “You look like you’re doing a little better.”

“I’m trying,” Josie said. “I really didn’t want to come here tonight, but Ivy insisted. It’s actually been easier than I expected. Even a little bit fun.”

“You should try to go out every day, if you can. Getting fresh air and meeting people will do you good. I was actually hoping to see you here, since I have something for you.” Father O’Brien reached inside his jacket and withdrew a padded, sealed envelope. He offered it to her. “It’s a Christmas present for you and your daughters.”

“A present?” Josie asked. The envelope felt lumpy and uneven, and she heard a muted jingling noise when she took hold of it. “For us?” She turned the envelope over in her hand, but there was nothing at all written on it. “Father, I … I don’t know what to say. I would never have expected you to get us anything!”

“Oh. Ah, well, it’s actually not from me. It’s from someone in town, someone who wishes to remain anonymous but who wanted to do something to help you and your children. Her only request is that you wait to open it until Christmas morning.”

“What’s inside it?” Josie asked.

Father O’Brien pursed his lips and smiled slightly before answering her. “I would be in serious trouble if I told you that.”

Josie stared at him. His eyes twinkled with delight, but he did a good job at maintaining a poker face in every other way. “All right,” Josie agreed. “I’ll open it on Christmas morning.”

“Mommy, can I hold it?” Rose asked. She reached out her hand, but Josie carefully slid the envelope into her purse.

“No, Rosie, we don’t know what’s in it, so Mommy is going to put it in her purse for safekeeping.” She turned back to the priest. “Father, would you please thank the person for us? And tell her that I was truly touched that she would think of my girls and me?”

“Of course. I would be happy to,” he said as Ivy finally made it back to their table.

Ivy was flushed and slightly out of breath. “That Ruth is just a darling, but she won’t say a word about what’s in that pie. I’ll have to figure out some way to weasel it out of her.”