The Promise of Home (31 page)

“Cool! That means no waiting for the bus this morning!”

They left the house a few minutes later, and she had him in the middle school's front drop-off zone right on time.

“Thanks for the ride, Mom,” Ben said. He had already unfastened his seatbelt and had one foot out of the car when she gently took hold of his wrist.

“Wait just a sec,” she said, and Ben turned to her with a quizzical, slightly annoyed expression. “I just want you to know that I'm really proud of you, and that I love you so much. You remember that, okay?”

“Um, okay. I love you, too, Mom.” He paused, studying her face. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Can't a mother tell her son she loves him?”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I'll see you later.” He got out of the car and shut the door.

Her eyes brimming with tears, Karen watched his lanky form enter the school building and disappear down one of the main hallways before she pulled away.

She drove back into town and parked in a space outside Turner's Hardware. It wasn't yet nine o'clock, so she got out and walked down to the bakery.

“Good morning,” Ruth Fitzgerald said from behind the counter when she entered. “I haven't seen you in a few days. How are you?”

“Okay,” Karen replied. “I was thinking this morning how coffee and cherry pie sounded really good for breakfast.”

“You're in luck. I just made a fresh pot of coffee, and there's one piece of cherry pie left. I'll be baking a few more later on. Why don't you sit down? I'll bring it all out to you.”

Karen took her time, watching from a corner table as other customers came and went. She had no appetite, but she tried to take a few bites of the pie. A familiar voice caught her attention, and she looked up to see Emily at the counter, placing an order.

“Hey, Karen,” Emily said. “Could I sit with you for a few minutes until my stuff is ready?”

“Sure,” Karen said, although she wasn't particularly in the mood for company. “So, are you headed to the hardware store?”

Emily came over to her table and pulled out the chair across from her. “Not today. That's just a part-time thing. My main job right now is renovating that big marble house on the hill so Ruth and her husband can open a bed-and-breakfast. We're rushing to get it done in time for a wedding.”

“Claudia Simon's wedding, right? She told me about it. I'm the aide in her classroom.”

“Really? I didn't know you work with Claudia. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, though. Everybody knows everybody around here, and news travels fast.”

“That's true.”

Emily's expression changed to one of sympathy, and Karen kept talking to answer the question she knew had popped into Emily's mind.

“I haven't heard anything about Nick in months, not since they found his Jeep shot up and abandoned. His traveling companion's body was still in the front seat. Nick wasn't there, but the driver's seat was bloodstained. His company insists they're still searching for him, but in all honesty, Emily, I know he's not coming back.”

“Karen, you can't give up hope until—”

“Nick is dead.” Karen felt an overwhelming sadness and a surge of adrenaline, speaking those words for the first time, and it was as if doing so removed a barrier and allowed her to acknowledge aloud that she didn't have the strength to resist the darkness anymore. “They haven't found him yet, but I can feel it. I'm just trying to hang on and convince myself that it's worth going on without him.”

Emily looked at her with wide eyes. “Worth going on? Karen, you don't mean you're going to…You're scaring me, talking like that. You
can't
give up. What about Ben? He needs you more than ever. And so many people care about you.”

Karen shook her head. Part of her knew that what Emily was saying was true, but the darkness suffocated any emotional impact the words should have had.

“Karen,” Emily tried again, “I know what it feels like to lose someone you love more than anything. I
know
. When I was in college, the guy I planned to marry was killed in a car accident, and for years, I thought I'd never get past it. There are still days when I feel sad, remembering him, wondering what we might have had together. But I'm still here. I know he would've wanted me to go on with my life, to try to find happiness. And it's been hard, but I'm doing that now.”

Just how many years has it taken you to get over your fiancé's death?
Karen thought.
You weren't even married. You hadn't built a life together. Losing a husband is worse, so much worse. I just want the hurt to go away.

She didn't speak her thoughts, though, and Emily kept talking. “You can't jump to conclusions about Nick until you have proof. You can't give up hope, at least not yet. I want you to promise me that you won't go and do something rash. You call me if you're even considering it, okay?” Emily fished around in her purse for a pen and began writing on a paper napkin. “Here's my cell number. You call me anytime, day or night. Do you have anyone who can stay with you? Or anyone else you might be able to talk to?”

Karen shrugged. “Father O'Brien knows what's going on, and I've talked with him quite a bit.”

“Maybe you should go see him now,” Emily suggested. “I can drive you over to the church on my way to the mansion, if you'd like.”

“Maybe I will go see Father O'Brien,” Karen said slowly. “I don't need a ride—my car's outside—but thanks.” She rose from her seat, and Emily quickly grabbed up the napkin and pressed it into her hand.

“Don't forget this,” she said. “I'm serious about you calling me if you need to. Are you sure you're okay right now?”

“I'm fine, don't worry.” Emily didn't look at all as if she believed her, so Karen forced a smile as she stuffed the napkin into her jacket pocket. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.”

Karen left enough money on the table to cover her bill and then some. Ruth was waiting on several people who had come in around the same time, and Karen was able to slip out of the bakery without another conversation. Instead of going to her car, though, she walked next door to the hardware store, where Henry Turner greeted her and asked if she needed help finding something.

“I need a new dryer vent hose.”

“Oh, sure. They're right over here.” Henry came around the counter and led her down one of the aisles. “Here you go. These are actually dryer duct kits. We've got 'em in eight-foot and twenty-foot lengths. Do you know how long of one you might need?”

“The longer, the better, I think. How wide is the hose?”

“They're both a standard four inches. They come with two clamps, one for each end. The clamps should make the connections airtight, but you could always use a little duct tape around each end if you wanted to.”

“I have plenty of that at home. It's what I got the last time I was here, actually.”

Henry nodded and took a twenty-foot duct kit from the shelf. “I'll carry it up front for you.”

When she arrived back at home, Karen pulled into her garage and lowered the door. She left her purchase resting on the trunk of the car while she went inside and got her roll of duct tape. She also retrieved the two sealed envelopes—one addressed to Ben, and the other to her brother, George—that were sitting on her dresser. She then opened the duct kit and knelt on the floor of the garage beside her car's exhaust pipe.

A half hour later, she climbed into the driver's seat, laid the letters on the dashboard, and started the engine. The duct functioned perfectly. The end attached to the car's tailpipe was clamped and taped, and she had made sure the area surrounding the end of the hose secured in one of the back passenger windows was also airtight.

Exhaust from the engine poured into the car. Karen inhaled deeply, her eyes closed and her head fully supported by the headrest. Her faith told her that what she was doing might prevent her from ever seeing Nick again, but her heart hoped to see him and hold him again, or at least for relief from the crushing burden of her life.

November 1934

M
ichael sat with his uncle in the hospital waiting room. He'd been there over an hour, having arrived with his mother in Mr. Whibley's truck. By the time they'd made it to the hospital, she'd started to bleed heavily. Michael had never felt so disappointed and helpless—disappointed that everything he had done to make sure she and the baby would be all right might not have been enough, and helpless to do anything to improve the situation.

Another hour passed, and then a nurse with a clipboard appeared and called, “Anna O'Brien?”

The two of them practically jumped off the bench. “I'm Frank Lynch, Mrs. O'Brien's brother,” his uncle said. “This is her son Michael. Her husband is working out of state, I'm afraid.”

The nurse nodded and made a note on her clipboard. “Please follow me. The doctor would like to speak with you.” She turned and pushed open one of the double doors leading from the waiting room and held it for them to follow. She led them to a small consultation room in the maternity wing, where a doctor in surgical garments soon joined them.

“Anna is resting comfortably,” the doctor said. “She had a serious placental abruption, which means that the tissue connecting the baby to her body suddenly separated. We were able to stop the bleeding after we delivered the baby, although she needed a transfusion.”

The doctor paused, and the momentary silence in the small room was ominous.

“The baby—” his uncle began, and the surgeon nodded.

“The baby survived, but she's very small, not even four pounds. She wasn't due for a few more weeks, from what I read in Mrs. O'Brien's medical records. The early delivery, and the sickness that Mrs. O'Brien suffered for a good part of her pregnancy, probably kept the baby from reaching a normal size.”

“Will she survive? The baby?” Frank asked.

“She could. It's hard to say. She's in the nursery, and I can assure you she's receiving the best of care.”

“When can we see them?” Michael asked.

“Your mother is unconscious from the anesthesia. I expect it will be tomorrow morning, at least, before she's able to receive visitors. There's no reason why you can't see the baby, if you wish. I can ask a nurse to escort you there.”

“Yes, please, Doctor. And thank you for all you've done for Anna,” Frank said, extending his hand. “Our prayers have been answered tonight.”

The hospital nursery was conveniently adjacent to the maternity wing. Through a glass window, Michael could see rows of wheeled bassinettes, many of which were occupied. The nurse who had walked with them went inside and spoke with one of the pediatric nurses, who nodded. Instead of going to a bassinette, she approached a large, boxy structure against one of the walls. The front of the structure was open and divided into three small beds.

“What is that?” Michael whispered.

“An incubator,” his uncle said quietly.

The pediatric nurse bent slightly and lifted a tiny bundle from one of the incubated beds. Carefully, she positioned the baby in one arm and walked over to the window. The nurse who had escorted them to the nursery came back out the door and stood with them to see the infant.

Michael could scarcely breathe. His baby sister was a delicate vision. Although her eyes were closed, he marveled at the tiny perfection of her facial features. Her minuscule eyelashes matched the slight wisp of blond hair on her head, and her clenched fists were no bigger than the end of his thumb. The rest of her was hidden, well swaddled in a receiving blanket.

“Well, Michael, you're a big brother now,” his uncle said quietly.

She has to survive. She will survive,
Michael thought. Somehow he had done it. He had seen his mother through, and he would continue to do anything he could to make sure his sister grew and thrived. Michael wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and grinned up at his uncle, who was smiling, too.

“Uncle Frank, we have to call Father. I promised we'd contact him if anything happened with Mother or the baby.”

“I'll do that as soon as I drive you back to the farm. You'll need to tend to the livestock, yes? Will you be all right alone for the night?”

Michael nodded.

“Tomorrow morning I'll come get you for another visit. Hopefully, we'll be able to see your mother then, too.”

The next morning, Michael was ready to leave the house at ten o'clock, when his uncle had promised to be there. When Frank hadn't arrived by ten-thirty, he started to pace around the kitchen. The Colchester parish sedan finally turned into the driveway at five minutes before eleven, but the expression on his uncle's face as he exited the vehicle kept Michael from saying anything about his tardiness.

“Michael, something terrible's happened. Please come back inside with me for a minute.”

Michael focused on his uncle's eyes, which were uncharacteristically watery. They sat down at the table.

“I tried to call your father last night, but I couldn't reach him. I figured it was late, that there was no one in the company office at that hour. This morning I tried again. I got through to one of the foremen, and he passed the phone to one of the managers. I don't know how to say this…The manager told me that he was killed in an accident three days ago.”

Michael stared blankly, unable to find his voice.

“It was an accident,” his uncle said. “A fall. He was working up on one of the steel supports. Apparently, no one saw what caused him to lose his balance. They only realized he was in trouble once he'd slipped and was hanging on by one arm, and he fell into the river before they could get to him.”

“No. No,” Michael said. “Father's so strong. He'd hang on, even if he did fall. And if it happened three days ago, we'd have heard before now. Someone would have called you or sent us a wire.”

“I know it seems like that's what they would do. I said the very same thing. I guess it took some time to retrieve his body from the water and identify him, and the company decided not to try to notify us on Thanksgiving Day. They tried to call my office yesterday, probably while we were at the hospital with Anna. The manager sent a telegram for her to my office after we spoke by phone, said we should consider it official company notice.” Frank produced an envelope from his pocket and gave it to Michael to open. “I was late coming out because I waited for it to arrive. I knew you'd want to see it for yourself.”

Michael took the envelope and opened it.

WESTERN UNION

1934 DECEMBER 1 AM 10:13

DEAR MRS. O'BRIEN,

I DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND, NIALL MICHAEL O'BRIEN, DIED AFTER FALLING FROM A STEEL SUPPORT TRUSS AT THE TRIBOROUGH BRIDGE CONSTRUCTION SITE. A LETTER OF INFORMATION FOLLOWS.

OTIS P. MACARTHUR, MANAGER

TRIBOROUGH BRIDGE AUTHORITY

Michael looked up with tears welling up and spilling out of his eyes. “Why?” he asked his uncle. “Why would this happen to us right now, after everything? Why would God
let
this happen?”

Before Frank could answer, he'd dropped the telegram and was out the door, running, running through the fresh snow. He cleared the back pasture and kept going, not knowing where he was headed or when he would stop.

In every difficult situation he'd experienced since his father had left, he had figured out a way forward. Now, though, he couldn't think. He didn't know where to turn or what to do. He was lost.