Hearts Unfold (30 page)

“Sorry, didn't
mean to wake you.”
 
He grinned at her as
she stretched under the quilt.

“Sure you did.”

“How've you
been?”

“Busy.
 
There's been a lot going on.
 
How about you?”

“Just the same
old thing.
 
Now why don't we go in the
house and see about these alleged rats.”
 
Patting her knee, he stood up slowly.

“You go.
 
I've already seen them.”
 
She pulled the quilt closer around her neck.

“Oh, no.
 
You have to identify the suspects.
 
Come on, I'll protect you.”
 
Pulling her to her feet, he steered her by
the shoulders through the door, the quilt dragging behind her.

Jack studied
the droppings and bean hulls as if investigating a crime scene, following the
trail into the kitchen and opening a cabinet door to reveal a well-rifled bag
of black-eyed peas.
 
“Here's your
problem.
 
You left them provisions.”

Emily peered
over his shoulder, obviously poised for flight at any second.
 
“Oops.
 
So how do we get them to leave?”

“Traps or
poison.
 
Or a cat.”
 
He closed the cabinet door, again following
the trail as it wound into the pantry.
 
As he pulled the chain to turn on the overhead light, a furry body
streaked past, producing a shriek from Emily and chuckle from Jack.
 
“That's no rat, Em.
 
That's just a little field mouse.
 
Is that what you saw?”

She was
clinging to his arm, staring after the culprit, her eyes wide with terror.
 
“Yes!
 
Only there were six of them.
 
Do
something, Jack.
 
Don't just let him get
away!”

“For heaven's
sake, girl, that thing's as scared of you as you are of it.
 
If you keep squealing like that, they'll all
run for the hills.
 
Now go upstairs and
see if there's any sign of them there.
 
Most likely, they've only been where there was food.”
 
When she failed to leave his side, Jack
rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
 
“Come
on, I'll go with you.
 
Really, for a girl
who can take on anything with a smile, you sure are a coward tonight.”

Upstairs, they
checked the floors and Emily turned back the covers on her bed with a flourish,
fully expecting to see another contingent of rodents tucked in for the
night.
 
When she was finally satisfied
that the infestation was confined to the first floor, she began to calm down.

“Think you can
manage to get some sleep now?”
 
Jack was
examining the floor of the closet, just to be sure.

She grinned
sheepishly.
 
“I think so.
 
But tomorrow, you have to get them out of
here.”

“I'll bring out
some traps, bright and early.
 
And some
cheese.”
 
He paused on the landing.
 
“Or I can get some poison.
 
Which would you prefer?”

She thought for
a minute, apparently torn.
 
“Neither one,
I guess.
 
What about a cat?
 
Wouldn't that be more natural?'

“Natural?”
 
He grinned.
 
“You think they'd prefer to be eaten?”

“But we never
had mice when we had barn cats.
 
Do they
really eat them?”
 
A delicate shudder
lifted her shoulders.

“Usually just
the scent of a cat will keep them away.”
 
He considered for a moment.
 
“I'll
tell you what.
 
Tomorrow I'll bring
Marjorie out for a visit.
 
I'll guarantee
a few days with her as a house guest and the mice will move out.”

“Marjorie?
 
You mean Martha Jean's shop cat?”

“The very
same.
 
Now can I please go home?
 
I do have to work in the morning, you
know.
 
And you look like you could use
some sleep yourself.”
 
Gently, he ran a hand
over her hair.
 
“Welcome home, Em.”

When she had
seen him out the front door, she rapidly retraced her steps up the stairs,
dragging her bag behind her.
 
As quickly
as she could, she dressed for bed and crawled beneath the covers, pulling them
high around her ears.
 
In the dim light
of the bedside lamp, she lay staring at the ceiling until drowsiness forced her
lids to droop.
 
Just as she drifted
toward sleep, she recalled something Jack had said.
 
He had called her a girl who could take on
anything with a smile.
 
Could she?
 
If all of her homecomings were destined to be
filled with challenges of one kind or another, it would take more than a smile
to ever settle in for good again.

True to his
word, Jack was at the door just after eight.
 
Unwilling to venture downstairs, Emily had been watching from her
bedroom window as he walked through the gate and across the yard, carrying a
small wire cage.

“Here's your
exterminator.
 
Martha Jean apologizes,
but she already had her breakfast this morning.”
 
Releasing the fluffy gray cat—a fixture in
the boutique generally found curled in a sunny spot in the display window—the
two of them stood back and watched.
 
With
one grand flourish of her magnificent tail, she put her snubbed nose in the
air, a look of suspicion in her bright yellow eyes.
 
After a moment of savoring whatever scents
she found there, Marjorie lowered her nose to the floor and began to follow the
path of hulls and droppings, her erect tail switching rhythmically back and
forth.

“She's on the
trail and spreading her scent as she goes.”
 
Jack eyed Emily's bathrobe and slippers.
 
“Aren't you ready to go yet?”

“Go
where?”
 
She was watching Marjorie in
fascination, as she swished her way toward the kitchen.

“To breakfast.
 
I was pretty sure even your appetite wouldn't
overcome your fear of those poor little field mice.
 
I'm taking you to breakfast at the cafe,
while Marjorie does her job.
 
You can
stay in town until after church.
 
There's
a soup and sandwich lunch after the service.
 
By that time, I wouldn't be too worried about seeing any mice again.”

She turned to
him with a grateful smile.
 
“You're the
best, Jack.
 
I won't be a minute.
 
I'm starving!”
 
Racing up the stairs, she stopped
halfway.
 
“What about my car?
 
Is it going to have to sit on the side of the
road all weekend?”

“County crew is
on the way.
 
It should be taken care of
by the time we get back.
 
Sorry I didn't
get that fixed before you got home.
 
Now
scoot!
 
I'm starving too.”

As they sat
waiting for their scrambled eggs and bacon to arrive, Jack asked if she'd heard
anything more from New York.

“No,
nothing.
 
I suppose by now he's well on
his way to recovery.”

“What did you
do with that check?”

Between bites,
she told him about Penny and Frankie.
 
“I
know now it was a blessing, getting that check.
 
I just didn't understand that at first.”

“Sorry to hear
about your friend's loss.
 
That reminds
me, though, James McConnell came home.”

“For good?”

“He's been
discharged, but he's gone again now, hiking the Parkway.
 
Mike said he wanted to get away from
everything for a while.
 
James told him
he couldn't breathe inside the house.”

Emily's eyes
filled with unexpected tears.
 
“Poor
Sara.
 
She must be so worried.
 
I remember when James left school to enlist;
she said she was so proud of him for making such a sacrifice.”

“He'll come
around.
 
It may take some time, but James
is a fine young man.
 
He'll find his
way.”
 
Something about the look in Jack's
eyes made her wonder if he wasn't just being hopeful.

When they
returned to the house, she was able to move her car into the drive, finish
unpacking, and set to work cleaning up the mess left by her uninvited
houseguests.
 
Marjorie had found a sunny
location on the kitchen floor and curled up to nap, positioned where any mouse
worth his salt would recognize the warning, pack up and vacate the
premises.
 
Jack had left with the promise
to return for dinner.
 
Putting away the
things she'd picked up at the market, cold cuts and potato salad, along with a
frozen lemon meringue pie, she surveyed the damages.

“Darned old
rats!” she said to the sleeping Marjorie.
 
“They've spoiled my plans for working outside this weekend.”
 
When the cat opened one eye and twitched her
tail, Emily laughed.
 
“Like you
mind.
 
I guess this is a big treat for
you.
 
Oh, well, I might as well get to
it.
 
As Jack said, it's supposed to be my
house, field mice and all.”

It took two
hours of vacuuming and mopping, clearing out cabinets and scrubbing shelves, before
she was satisfied the house was no longer a germ-infested hotbed of
disease.
 
Opening the windows to let the
westerly wind from the mountains blow through, bearing the scents of spring and
lingering wood smoke, she finally began to feel she'd come home.
 
She put on music, Schubert's “Trout” Quintet,
and felt her spirits soar and her steps lighten.
 
By the time she set the table for dinner, she
was confident that between Marjorie's regal presence and her own arduous
cleaning, the rodent visitation was at an end.

That night she
built a fire, just large enough to drive the spring chill from the room.
 
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she
watched the flames lick at the dry wood and sparks fly up the chimney.
 
It was then that she felt the shiver of
memory along her spine.
 
Here, in this very
place, she had sat beside Stani, watching him, willing him to live.
 
She could picture him perfectly, his face
shadowed in the firelight.
 
What was he
doing now?
 
Was he well, healed and back
to his career?
 
Or was he still
struggling to overcome his injuries?
 
It
was the not knowing that kept him in her mind, even after all these months.
 
If only she knew for sure that he was all
right, whatever that might mean in his world, she could let him go forever.

She sat for a
long time, until the fire died to embers, reliving that night.
 
In the end, she was weary, bereft, and at the
same time aware that remembering brought a kind of comfort.
 
Knowing that he had survived those hours here
and that she had helped him in some small way to return to his life eased the
sadness of never knowing what had happened next.

Slowly, she let
her thoughts turn to an idea she had somehow managed to avoid.
 
It was quite possible, in fact most likely,
that there was a woman in Stani's life, a woman who loved him and had been waiting
to take care of him when he returned.
 
He
was the sort of man a woman would care deeply for, dedicate herself to, with
his exceptional looks and talent.
 
He
deserved the love and attention of a strong woman who understood how special he
was to the world.
 
When she had pictured
him, somewhere in an elegant Manhattan apartment, she had tried to imagine the
people around him.
 
But until now she had
not filled in the space occupied by the woman who loved him.

She would be
calm and patient because he might not be the easiest man to love.
 
She would be beautiful, as he was, someone
who fit easily into his world.
 
She would
know how to support him, soothe his moods, how to bring out the best in
him.
 
Not a wife—there had been no ring
on his finger—but a sweetheart or a lover.
 
Whoever she was, she had been waiting, Emily hoped, prepared to
sacrifice her own life to nurse him back to health.
 
It would take a woman with great compassion,
a woman unafraid of hard work, and a woman of faith to meet the challenge.
 
Hoping that this unknown woman was worthy of a
man like Stani Moss, she said a little prayer.
 
Even if she hadn't possessed all the needed skills, Emily prayed that
God would see to it that she did her job well.