A Great Catch (26 page)

Though stuffy and humid, Emily’s bedroom remained a better option for her right now than the garden outside with her aunts. Poor Dudly Lynch. He probably left wishing for the silent company of the dearly departed.

But her aunts? No guilt there. They deserved what she’d said.

Sitting up in her bed, Emily heard footsteps in the hall. Hopefully Britta would arrive bearing something to eat, and she prayed it wouldn’t contain tomatoes.

“Your aunts have not stopped talking about your little display this afternoon,” Grandma Kate said from the doorway. She bore a tray with a sandwich and a tall glass of lemonade. Emily’s favorite.

“I suppose you think I owe them an apology.”

Grandma Kate smiled and set the tray on the nightstand. “Actually, no. I think they owe you one.”

“Really?”

Her grandmother nodded and sat down on Aunt Millie’s bed. “What do you think?”

“They don’t understand I’m in control of my own life.”

“That isn’t necessarily a good thing, Emily.”

“What do you mean?”

Her grandmother’s lips curved in a soft smile. “How are you doing, sweetheart, truly?”

The softness in her grandmother’s voice melted all of Emily’s resolve. Fresh tears beaded on her lashes and escaped. “It hurts so much.”

“Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

She couldn’t tell her grandmother about the money yet. She’d know soon enough if Nathan’s investigation proved his guilt. “I wish I could, Grandma, but I can’t. At least not yet. ”

“I understand.” She stood up. “Emily, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“If your daddy was standing behind you, and he told you to fall back into his arms, would you do it?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because he’d catch me. Daddy would never let me fall.”

“But if he was on the other side of the room and told you to fall back, would you do it then?”

“No, he’d never be able to catch me in time.”

Grandma Kate picked up Emily’s Bible and wiped the dust from its cover. “God didn’t move, Emily. You did.” She handed Emily the volume and kissed the top of her head.

What did her grandmother mean? If she asked, Grandma Kate would probably tell her to think it through for herself.

When her grandmother reached the door, Emily blurted out, “Where does it talk about broken cisterns?”

Grandma Kate’s smile widened. “Jeremiah, I believe. Read the whole book. You’ll find it.”

After her grandmother left, Emily set the Bible on her bed and picked up the sandwich. She’d look for the passage later.

Having abandoned all hope of sleep, Emily crawled out of bed. She spotted the Bible on the nightstand and picked it up along with her wrap before padding down the hallway. She slipped into her gown and grabbed the lamp and some matches from the table. She nudged the screen door open, wincing when the hinges squeaked.

Outside, the cool night air greeted her, and she pulled the edges of the cotton gown tighter about her shoulders. She settled in one of the wicker rocking chairs and set the lamp on the table beside her.

Stars glittered in the night sky, and the silver sliver of the moon reflected off the ripples on the surface of the lake. Emily’s breath caught. It was beautiful. When was the last time she simply sat and soaked up this gift?

In the stillness of the night, Carter’s accusation haunted her, playing over and over in her mind.
“Don’t you see all the social issues and busyness in the world will never fill the void in your life? I thought I could be the answer to your insecurities, but I can’t. Only He can.”

Busyness. What did never-grow-up Carter Stockton know about busyness? If the only thing she was worried about was making herself look good to her brother, she’d have time to spend doing other things too—like read her Bible.

But God understood why she couldn’t. Didn’t He?

A profound emptiness, vast and lonely, swallowed her. Carter had called it a void. Did he have a point? Was she trying to fill the empty places?

No. She had important things to attend to. Someone had to change the world, and since no one else seemed to be doing it, she was the one.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to find out what Jeremiah said about broken cisterns.

She struck the match, lifted the flue, and lit the wick. The lamp bathed the darkness with a warm glow. Opening the Bible to the book of Jeremiah, she started in the first chapter. God was calling the prophet into service. He told Jeremiah that Israel had left the devotion of their youth.

Her heart pricked. She closed her eyes and listened to the swashing of the lake’s waters against the shore. In high school, she had been so devoted to the Lord and had been immersed in this very lake after a tent meeting one summer. Had she lost that devotion?

She looked back at the Bible. God told Jeremiah that Israel had forgotten all He’d done for them. Then she found the verse she was looking for. She read it aloud. “For my people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.”

Digging cisterns was evil? How could that be? The Israelites were only taking care of themselves. They saw a need and met it.

She blinked. But God had always provided for them, and they knew it. The man-hewn cisterns soon revealed their brokenness. They’d never worked.

Emily’s chest squeezed. Carter had seen her brokenness and tried to help, but he wasn’t the answer.

Her thoughts whirled. Her work was important. Day after day, she fought for women to have the right to vote, and some days the thrill of small victories left her feeling filled to the brim with pride and success. But, like the water in the broken cisterns, it seeped away and left her empty again.

What broken cisterns had she dug herself into? Her suffrage work? Her relationship with Carter? Had she put her hope in something that held no water? Did she have to give it all up?
Lord, please, no. I want others to see more than a clumsy girl when they look at me.

And there it was. Her cistern—broken and empty—lying exposed before her.

Lord, forgive me.

“Emily?”

Grandma Kate’s voice crept into Emily’s dream about walking the high wire. What was Grandma doing on the tightrope?

Someone laid a hand on her shoulder and shook her. Emily opened her eyes and found her grandmother’s concerned face staring down at her.

“Have you been out here all night?”

Emily nodded and pressed a hand to the crick in her neck. The Bible fell from her lap.

“Broken cisterns?”

“Living water.” Emily smiled, and then felt a prick. “I have a lot to give up.”

Grandma Kate sat in the rocking chair beside her. “Emily, your thirsts come from God. He made you and put them there. It’s not wrong to long for women to be treated fairly or to want a relationship with someone who loves you. But we get in trouble when we don’t let God be the one filling us up and meeting our needs.”

“Not letting Him catch us?”

“You moved away from God.” Grandma Kate touched her hand. “He would still have caught you, but you made it impossible for yourself to believe He would.”

“I feel so foolish.”

“No, honey. Today you’re who you wanted to be. God can mend our brokenness. In Christ, you know you matter.”

Like a balm, the words flooded over Emily’s bruised heart.

“Are you going to speak to Carter now? Tell him what you’ve discovered?”

Emily rubbed the ache in her neck, but it didn’t ease the pain the mention of Carter caused. He’d been right about her. Had she been wrong about him?

It didn’t matter. She was too late. The damage was done.

How much damage could Carter do with this one last act? He stared at his father’s bank, where vice president Nathan handled all of the day-to-day affairs. The large brick building, solid and unyielding, seemed so much like his brother. His gut twisted. How would their father deal with discovering one of his sons had betrayed him?

Carter stuffed his hands in his pockets and squeezed the wad of cash. This was no time to stop. He had to do what he had to do, and everyone would know the truth soon enough. Taking a deep breath, he set his plan into action.

The heat of June melted into July and took with it Emily’s hopes of seeing Carter again. Tear-filled nights turned into colorless mornings despite the white daisies and rainbow of zinnias blooming around her. Even at the few practices with the Owls he’d arranged especially for her, Carter was absent, although she doubted he missed the regular ones with his team. Still, he never wandered far from her thoughts or her prayers.

Prayers. In the last few days, she’d found a special time again with the Lord. Today she’d risen before her aunts or grandmother and quietly made her way to the beach. She walked along the far southwest corner of the lake where lily pads generously dotted the water’s surface with broad, heart-shaped leaves and pale pink blossoms. A frog croaked and leapt from the bank, splashing into the water before her.

Emily glanced toward a castle-shaped cloud in the sky.
Lord, I’m trying something new today. I’m asking You to help put my day in order. I want to control it, but I’m giving it to You. The Bloomer Girls are coming tomorrow. I can think of a hundred things to check on, but I have no idea where to start.

Gathering her skirt, she sat down on a thick log and leaned against the oak tree trunk behind it. She drew her knees up on the log and wrapped her arms around them. A doe and fawn froze in the clearing only yards from her. Finally, the deer sprinted away with her speckled fawn in tow. Emily smiled. She’d been at the lake over a month and had scarcely taken a moment to enjoy the wildlife around her.

Lord, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but slow me down. I’ve missed out on so much.

Including Carter.

“This way!”

Digger Hall jumped off the side of the boardwalk and raced down the beach toward a pair of large rowboats.

Emily stopped on the pier. “Shouldn’t we be practicing ball? The game’s in two days.”

“We rent the boats and do this before a lot of big games.” Ducky held up his arms to lift her to the sand. “Carter thinks it breaks the tension. Besides, rowing is not only good exercise, it takes teamwork.”

“Boys, it’s nice of you to include me, but I don’t know how to row.”

“That’s okay. Neither does Elwood.” Digger laughed at his own joke.

Elwood glared at him. “You wish, Digger. We outfielders haven’t lost to you infielders in the last three races, and no offense, Emily, but I don’t want you on my team. Hate to ruin a good winning streak.”

Several other team members pinned him with their stares.

“No offense taken.” Emily scanned their faces and smiled. Only six of the regulars were present this morning. “Elwood’s right. I’d only slow the team down. Why don’t I just watch all of you from here?”

“No! You’re part of the team,” Ducky insisted.

Digger raised his eyebrows. “So where’s she going to ride?”

“With me.” Carter’s voice boomed from the back of the group. She hadn’t even noticed him approaching. The team divided to let him through. “She’s playing shortstop, so she’ll ride with the infielders. Digger, you can ride with the outfielders.”

Emily glanced at the regular shortstop and he shrugged. Carter brushed past her and climbed into the boat. The first baseman took his seat, leaving the one in front of Carter open. The rowboat tilted and wobbled as they climbed in, even though one end still remained on the shore.

“Get in.” Carter’s voice held no warmth.

Ducky stepped forward and offered his hand. “You heard the man, Emily.”

“I really—”

“Get. In.”

Emily glanced at Carter and blinked. As usual, coffee-colored curls escaped from beneath his cap and bounced on his forehead in the breeze. Seeing him made all the wounds bleed fresh.

Did she see a flicker of something in his eyes? Could he possibly still care? She shouldn’t want him to—not after what he’d done to her grandmother—but she did.
Lord, help me be strong.

“Emily?” Ducky waited until she placed her hand in his and then helped her step into the boat.

“Am I just going to ride?”

“No.” Carter’s voice, hard and terse, made her shiver. “You’re part of this team—at least for two more days. You’re going to work like the rest of us.”

And then I’ll be done with you for good.
She heard his unspoken words as plainly as if he’d said them.

Ducky glanced at Carter and quirked an eyebrow before gathering the two oars from the beach. He handed them to Emily one at a time. “Put the pegs in those oar locks. There you go. Good work. Now hold on to them until we get going and don’t let them fall in the water.”

He went around to the front of the rowboat and shoved the stern off the sand. As soon as the rowboat was clear, he hopped in, shaking the boat in the process.

Emily gripped the sides and glanced at the other rowboat, already filled with the outfielders, waiting offshore. The infielders in her boat began to work together in practiced ease. Once the two boats were lined up, the oarsmen stopped.

“To Turtle Island and back.” Carter readied his oars. “On your mark. Get set. Go!”

Unsure of how or where to start, Emily merely grasped an oar in each hand and watched them work. Oars slapped the water in a steady rhythm.

“Don’t just sit there,” Carter growled. “Start rowing.”

“But—”

“Move your hands like this. Forward. Up. Pull. Down.” He chanted from behind her. “Forward. Up. Pull. Down.”

It took several tries to figure out Carter’s pattern. When she moved the handles of the oars forward, the oars moved back. Then, by raising them up, the blades dipped into the water. Pulling required straightening her legs to keep her from sliding on her seat. When she pushed her hands down, the blades of the oar lifted out of the water, and the process repeated.

But despite Carter’s continued chanting, she could not master the same rhythm as her teammates. Her oval rowing motion always seemed half a stroke behind. Finally, he switched to saying “pull” at the right times instead of all four movements. With time, she caught on and Carter stopped his reminders. Still, she forced her mind to concentrate while the others joked among themselves.

She glanced at the other boat only yards ahead. Her arms ached, but she pulled harder, determined to do as much as any man.

“We’ll take ’em on the way back,” Ducky announced after the other boat reached the buoy off Turtle Island first.

“Don’t use your left oar!” Carter shouted.

Too late Emily realized the others had stopped using their left oar. She jerked and her oar popped from its lock. Caught by surprise, she let go of it. The oar toppled into the water with a splash, and she lunged for it.

Carter caught her belt. “Are you trying to dump us all?”

“No, but—”

The others in the boat had stopped rowing when they heard the commotion, and Carter used his oar to drag hers close. He bent over the side and retrieved it before passing it to her.

“Thanks, Emily.” Sarcasm dripped from the third baseman’s comment.

Emily reinserted the peg of her wet oar into the bracket. “I’m sorry.”

“Stow it, Mac. We win as a team and we lose as a team.” Carter dipped his oars back in the water. “Loyalty. That’s what matters. Right, Emily?”

Emily’s chest constricted, and tears burned in her eyes. Refusing to cry, she dug the oars into the water in tandem with the rest of the crew, his words echoing with each stroke.

Anger and hurt churned inside her like the water displaced by the oars. Loyalty. He was the one who’d betrayed her trust. He was the one stealing from her grandmother. Did he expect that in the short time they’d known each other, she’d put him before her own family?

As Carter had said, she was an Owl for two more days, and right now it couldn’t end soon enough.

Leveling the Winchester at the shooting gallery targets, Carter eased the trigger back.

Ping!
The cast-iron rabbit toppled backward, and Carter’s lips curled. He cracked open the rifle and stuffed another .22 shell inside. He lifted the Winchester to his shoulder and sighted another target.

Ducky fired his first shot and missed. “So was that little display today to punish Emily or to let everyone know why you two are on the outs?”

The report of gunfire filled the building, but no metallic pings followed. Carter glared at his friend. “Someone’s got to put her in her place and wake her up. She’s only doing this suffrage stuff to be someone. It’s all about her pride.”

Ducky lifted his shotgun to his shoulder. “Anyone ever told you you’re a hypocrite?”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“You do remember I’m holding a gun, right?”

A chuckle resonated from Ducky’s chest. “Shoot me if you want, but hear me out first.” He pulled the trigger, hit the target, and set the little piano tune playing. “You say Emily’s doing all the work to get the recognition, right? That it’s all so she can be someone?”

Carter nodded. “She doesn’t think she measures up.”

“But you’ve spent your whole life trying to prove yourself, just like her. Think about it. You wouldn’t marry her unless you could have it your way, when you were someone.”

“I didn’t ask her to marry me.”

“Fine, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess you would now since you have that baseball offer from Gibbs.” Ducky reloaded his rifle.

Carter took aim on the moving cast-iron squirrel. His gut twisted in frustrated, angry knots. “Well, I couldn’t very well marry someone on what I make as an Owl.”

“And you didn’t love her enough to work in the bank.” Ducky fired at the squirrel first. It toppled backward.

“This isn’t about me,” Carter growled.

“Don’t waste your breath. The truth is you didn’t put your relationship with her in God’s hands any more than she did.”

Carter clenched the rifle in his grasp, his chest heaving. He’d prayed about things with Emily. He’d even begged God to open her eyes. But had he seized back control, wanting to look good to her and to prove himself to Nathan?

He laid the gun down on the counter. “I think I’m going to head back. I need some time to think before the game.”

“And pray?” Ducky raised his eyebrows.

Even though suggesting someone pray should not cause violent outbursts, it took everything in Carter not to punch his best friend. Could Ducky jab the knife in any deeper?

“Remember, someone like Emily won’t be around forever.”

Apparently, he could.