Reckless: Shades of a Vampire(59)

“Emma,” Michael shouts, standing up. “Wait.

"I have a question.”

Emma turns around, standing at the barn door. Michael walks a few steps closer.

“What does the snake bite have to do with it all?” he asks.

“Everything, Michael,” she says. “Everything.”

Emma turns back, and walks from the barn toward home.





19.



Knock at the Door


Being sure of what the future holds is a good recipe for the unexpected. For Emma, she is sure a knock will come at the door any moment from the sheriff who will take her away in handcuffs and banish her to a life in prison.

Two weeks have passed since Emma met Michael in the barn, and she’s done little more than breathe only the necessary breaths she can’t help but take in and eat the slightest of morsels to keep her mother from nagging about eating more. She had come home late that morning June 8 after being with Michael in the barn and said she had a ferocious stomachache and gone to bed.

It certainly wasn’t a lie. Her stomach was certainly doubled up in agony. And she hadn't been the same sense. She was just waiting for that knock at the door.

After Michael disappeared the first time Emma managed to survive in his absence by dreaming of his return. Now, she had nothing left to dream. Michael had not returned to the Denton farm after that day two weeks before, not that she had seen anyway.

Sure, she had remained in the bed for nearly three days ill. And no, she had not looked out the window. But in the days since, she had been on the parsonage grounds for at least an hour or two doing chores and tending to the garden. And not once did she see Michael, or any sign that he had been there.

He was gone for good, she figured.



Emma is setting the table for lunch as her mother scoops fresh peas that have finished boiling to a serving bowl. Emma’s father walks into the kitchen and takes a seat at the table, ready for his lunch.

“You won’t believe what I heard at the church today,” Emma’s father says.

“What, Jeremiah?” Emma’s mother says.

“I got a call, from the sheriff.”

Emma freezes. Of course.

“Sheriff said someone found Josh’s truck some 45 miles from here. Near Chattanooga, he said. Found it abandoned in a parking lot. Wal-Mart I think. No sign of Josh. But his truck was there. Had been there all along, I guess. Nobody must have noticed.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Emma’s mother says.

“Do they know how it got there?” Emma says.

“Nope. And they don’t know if Josh is dead or alive. Probably dead, the sheriff said. But nobody knows for sure. They can’t rule a man dead just because his truck is gone and he is gone.

“Just another Sand Mountain mystery. Like that deputy, Cagle, that went missing. Strangest thing. They haven’t found him, either. Only his car. Now, they have Josh's car, too. But that's all they have.

“Well,” Emma’s father says. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”



Later that day, the sun is setting as Emma folds the last pieces of a laundry load in the wash room. Her father is back from the church, finished with work for the day and reading in the parlor. Her mother is kneading dough in the kitchen for dinner rolls.

There is a knock at the door.

Emma’s heart pounds. She folds the remaining laundry faster.

“Jeremiah,” Emma’s mother says. “Can you get that? I’ve got flour on my hands.”

“I got it,” Jeremiah shouts back.

He opens the door.

Michael is standing there.

He’s wearing dress shoes, khaki pants, and a collared blue shirt. He’s holding a clump of yellow roses in his hands.

“Hello, sir,” Michael says. “I’m Michael Mooney, and I’m here to see your daughter, Emma.”

“I know who you are,” Emma’s father says.

“Oh, okay. Well, might I ask your permission to see your daughter, sir?”

Emma’s father pauses.

“I’m not sure what to say,” he says.

Emma's father knows he doesn't want Michael for his daughter, but after David's departure, there aren't many options. But there’s another problem keeping him from letting Michael through the door.

“I can't let a man court my daughter who doesn’t go to church,” Emma’s father says.

“Doesn’t go to church?” Michael says.

“That’s right. Everybody knows your family is heathen. Never in church on Sunday.”

“I respectfully disagree, sir,” Michael says. “Not with the 'never in church on Sunday' part. That’s right. My family doesn’t go to church on Sunday, not the kind you preach in anyway.

“But we believe. Very much so. We just hold our church service at home, among ourselves, or in the woods alone, in the case of my father. It’s like Emma.”