remind herself that when she announced she was leaving, her mother hadn’t offered a word of protest. Not one sound, unlike Fred, who had told her she was on the path to hell.
No, Gretchen had helped her daughter pack. Had taken her to the bus station. What wrath that must have brought down on her head.
Nora felt tears seeping out of her eyes but she didn’t wipe them away. Gretchen had wanted her daughter to escape. Of that she was certain. But whether that had anything to do with her mother’s final act of despair, there was no way to know.
So maybe she was responsible, at least in part. But not fully. Never fully. Not with Fred Loftis in the picture.
God, what was she doing here? Had she sunk so low she had to come back here? Couldn’t she find enough strength to stand on her own two feet?
Escaping Minneapolis made sense, at least until that man was in prison. And yes, she was still very weak from her injuries and needed time yet to regain her strength. But surely she could have gone somewhere else.
Agitated, she rose and walked through the house. No pictures of her or her mother remained. They had been erased as if they had never been. Even the wedding photo showing a young Gretchen and Fred had vanished.
Why the hell had her father told her to come back here? Some vestige of genuine caring? Or just the sense that he had to do something that would look good to the people whose opinions he really cared about?
She would never understand that man. Never understand how he could care so much about some things and so little about others. How he had become so hard and implacable.
How had he become so righteous and wrathful and so lacking in compassion? Had he been raised that way? She would never know, as she knew nothing about him except what he showed her in any passing moment. If he had a past he never mentioned it. He might have sprung out of the ground as a fully formed adult for all she knew.
She had to get out of here. A glance at the clock told her he would probably be coming home soon. He generally took an afternoon break then returned to the pharmacy as the evening business picked up and remained until closing.
But where would she go?
Anywhere. Anywhere at all.
Once again grabbing her jacket and the key, she left the house. Walk slowly, she reminded herself. One easy step at a time or she wouldn’t get anywhere at all. There was the library, if she wanted relative quiet, or Maude’s if she wanted coffee.
But there’d be too many people at Maude’s, even at this time of day.
So, walking as slowly as an elderly lady, she set out for the library. She could hole up there at least until her dad went back for his evening shift. It was a much longer walk, but if she managed it, she’d have something to feel good about.
And she desperately needed something to feel good about.
Chapter 4
E mmaline Dalton, known to everyone in the county as Miss Emma for reasons long since forgotten, was a beautiful woman in her early fifties. Nora had a soft spot for the town’s librarian mainly because Miss Emma had allowed her to hide out there for hours and read whatever she liked, while insisting to Fred Loftis that, of course, the girl was always doing her homework.
Homework had been Nora’s excuse for coming to the library every single day until her father insisted she started working. And Miss Emma had given her a home away from home.
Emma recognized her immediately and came out from behind the desk to hug her warmly. “It’s so good to see you again, Nora. I just wish the circumstances were better.”
“I never intended to come back here,” Nora told her frankly, returning the hug. “Never.”
“I can’t say I blame you. We’re quiet right now, so why don’t we share a cup of tea back in my office? There may be something I need to tell you.”
That ratcheted up Nora’s anxiety, but only a bit. She didn’t fear Miss Emma the way she feared her father.
Emma had an electric teakettle on her desk
No, Gretchen had helped her daughter pack. Had taken her to the bus station. What wrath that must have brought down on her head.
Nora felt tears seeping out of her eyes but she didn’t wipe them away. Gretchen had wanted her daughter to escape. Of that she was certain. But whether that had anything to do with her mother’s final act of despair, there was no way to know.
So maybe she was responsible, at least in part. But not fully. Never fully. Not with Fred Loftis in the picture.
God, what was she doing here? Had she sunk so low she had to come back here? Couldn’t she find enough strength to stand on her own two feet?
Escaping Minneapolis made sense, at least until that man was in prison. And yes, she was still very weak from her injuries and needed time yet to regain her strength. But surely she could have gone somewhere else.
Agitated, she rose and walked through the house. No pictures of her or her mother remained. They had been erased as if they had never been. Even the wedding photo showing a young Gretchen and Fred had vanished.
Why the hell had her father told her to come back here? Some vestige of genuine caring? Or just the sense that he had to do something that would look good to the people whose opinions he really cared about?
She would never understand that man. Never understand how he could care so much about some things and so little about others. How he had become so hard and implacable.
How had he become so righteous and wrathful and so lacking in compassion? Had he been raised that way? She would never know, as she knew nothing about him except what he showed her in any passing moment. If he had a past he never mentioned it. He might have sprung out of the ground as a fully formed adult for all she knew.
She had to get out of here. A glance at the clock told her he would probably be coming home soon. He generally took an afternoon break then returned to the pharmacy as the evening business picked up and remained until closing.
But where would she go?
Anywhere. Anywhere at all.
Once again grabbing her jacket and the key, she left the house. Walk slowly, she reminded herself. One easy step at a time or she wouldn’t get anywhere at all. There was the library, if she wanted relative quiet, or Maude’s if she wanted coffee.
But there’d be too many people at Maude’s, even at this time of day.
So, walking as slowly as an elderly lady, she set out for the library. She could hole up there at least until her dad went back for his evening shift. It was a much longer walk, but if she managed it, she’d have something to feel good about.
And she desperately needed something to feel good about.
Chapter 4
E mmaline Dalton, known to everyone in the county as Miss Emma for reasons long since forgotten, was a beautiful woman in her early fifties. Nora had a soft spot for the town’s librarian mainly because Miss Emma had allowed her to hide out there for hours and read whatever she liked, while insisting to Fred Loftis that, of course, the girl was always doing her homework.
Homework had been Nora’s excuse for coming to the library every single day until her father insisted she started working. And Miss Emma had given her a home away from home.
Emma recognized her immediately and came out from behind the desk to hug her warmly. “It’s so good to see you again, Nora. I just wish the circumstances were better.”
“I never intended to come back here,” Nora told her frankly, returning the hug. “Never.”
“I can’t say I blame you. We’re quiet right now, so why don’t we share a cup of tea back in my office? There may be something I need to tell you.”
That ratcheted up Nora’s anxiety, but only a bit. She didn’t fear Miss Emma the way she feared her father.
Emma had an electric teakettle on her desk
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