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I t took the authoritiesnearly a week to find, identify, and finally release Kelly’s remains to Emma and Mikey. Her nephew had come to her two nights ago and asked if he could bring his mother home to Medicine Creek Camps for the wake, to let the townspeople pay their respects.
Emma had thought to have a quiet affair with only Ben and Greta present. But she soon realized how badly Mikey needed to perform this act for the woman for whom he’d had so many conflicting feelings for most of his life. So she had agreed, and they’d made a place for Kelly’s closed coffin in the living room.
And the townspeople, themselves likely sorry for having judged her, had come.
On the day of the funeral, the procession to the graveyard where Charles and Miriam Sands were buried was a long one. Cars and pickups and even logging trucks lined the road beside the small cemetery. The ceremony was brief, the faces of Medicine Gore contrite. They were all guilty of condemning a woman who had tried her best to keep her son safe from the evil that had been living with them for sixteen years.
Flowers overflowed the gravesite, spilling onto Emma’s mother and father’s graves. The weather was glorious, warm and embracing.
Emma didn’t cry. She had purged herself that afternoon on the mountain, high up in the land her family had called home. She had made her peace with her sister, silently thanking Kelly for Mikey, and laid her quietly to rest, knowing the boy was finally safe.
As for Mikey, it was as if he’d suddenly had a weight lifted off his shoulders. The burden of being abandoned by someone who was supposed to love him was gone. Though sad and remorseful, he walked taller and seemed more peaceful.
So Emma didn’t cry for her sister as the minister finished his eulogy and the townspeople gave her their sympathy on their way out of the cemetery. Nor did she cry when Ben led her away.
She didn’t shed a tear until she turned back looking for Mikey, and saw him all alone, his jacket on the ground and his sleeves rolled up, slowly shoveling the earth over his mother.
Then she doubled over in pain.
Ben turned her into him, burying her face in his chest. “Sshhh, Emma. It’s okay.”
“I can’t stand for him to do that, Ben. He shouldn’t be alone. He shouldn’t be doing that!”
“He has to, Em,” he told her, hugging her close. “It’s the last act a son can do for a mother he loves.”
“Help him.”
“No, honey. He doesn’t need me. He needs to be alone with Kelly. Come on,” he said, turning them toward his truck. “Everyone is waiting at Greta’s house.”
The entire town was gathered on the lawn, the porch, and inside the huge kitchen and parlor, as they had been when Sable died.
Emma had her emotions under control by the time they arrived, and felt she held up well, even when the condolences turned to questions. She actually smiled when the questions turned to apologies to Ben.
John LeBlanc led the crusade. “Well, Sinclair. We’re sorry for thinking you had anything to do with the dam being blown up sixteen years ago. It came as quite a shock to learn that it was Poulin.”
“It was Poulin who first cried that Sinclair was responsible,” Durham added, coming up and handing Emma a glass of punch. He looked at Ben. “I’m, ah, sorry for the little misunderstanding that day, Sinclair. No hard feelings?”
Ben didn’t answer immediately. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he said, his arm around Emma’s waist.
“Rumor has it you’re pla
“Next week,” Ben confirmed. “The day after Thanksgiving.”
Durham looked at Emma. “You’re staying here, aren’t you? You aren’t selling Medicine Creek Camps?”
Ben answered for her. “No, she’s not. I’m going to move my office to Medicine Gore.”
Both men widened their eyes and Durham choked on his punch. “But I thought you owned some huge shipping company. How you go
“With satellites, modems, faxes, and computers.” He gave Emma’s waist a gentle squeeze. “And if I can find myself a good pilot, I can commute to New York when I need to.”
Durham and John looked floored. “What about all the people who work for you?” John asked.
Emma looked at Ben. This was the first she’d heard of his plan.
“Nothing in New York will change. But there’s a fine workforce here, also.”
“We’re loggers,” Durham said. “We don’t know nothing about computers.”
“It will be steady, year-round work,” Ben said.
Durham and John both frowned, their bushy eyebrows drawing together. Emma laughed out loud. “Your wife might become a career woman, John. And during your off season, you’ll be doing the cooking.”
Both men turned and beat a hasty retreat, mumbling that they needed something stronger than punch.
“Do you have a place in your company for a spry old woman, Mr. Sinclair?” Greta asked as she took the men’s place.
“I’m sure I can find something.”
“Well, Emma Jean. I must say, when I sent Ben that letter, I certainly wasn’t expecting the results I got,” Greta said.
“ Yousent the letter!” Ben said.
Greta nodded, smiling like a well-fed cat. “Damn right I did. I figured it was time you came back and righted a few wrongs.” She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “I didn’t realize that the greatest wrong was living under my own roof. Thank you for fixing things, young man.”
Ben smiled, took the old woman’s hand, and kissed it. “I’m glad to have been of service. And thank youfor giving me my son and Emma.”
Greta blushed to the roots of her gray hair as she turned to Emma and winked. “Your mother’s wedding dress is in my attic. Charlie asked me to save it for you girls.”
All three of them turned when the kitchen door opened and Mikey finally walked in. Emma started toward him but stopped when he smiled at her.
He looked surprisingly … peaceful. His jacket was thrown over his shoulder, his tie was pulled free and hanging down his front, and there were streaks of dirt on his cheeks. But he looked serene.
“I’m starved, Aunt Greta,” he said as he walked over to the punch bowl and downed two cups without stopping. “What’s to eat?”
Greta hauled him over to the counter and began filling him a plateful that would choke a horse.
“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Emma asked Ben.
“He’s okay right now, Em. He’s found himself.” He smiled at her. “And thanks to your meddling friend, we all found each other.”
“I’m so glad,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and hugging the man of her dreams to her heart.
Epilogue
A s weddings went, this had to be the nicest one Emma would ever see.
It didn’t matter that she was limping as Mikey and Beaker walked her down the aisle, or that there was a stain on her mother’s dress that she had decided to leave in, or that it was pouring cats and dogs outside. It didn’t even matter that Pitiful had broken one of the windows of the tiny clapboard church, and knocked over a vase of flowers trying to see what the love of his life was up to.
She didn’t even bat an eyelash when the ground rumbled with gentle shivers.
All that mattered was that Ben was waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
But it wasn’t until the vows were said, the rings exchanged, and the kisses given, that Emma noticed the bouto
Both men were wearing sprigs of moss.
Letter from LakeWatch