A Trace of Memory, page 9
While Bo galloped off with the rest of the recovered dog pack, Emma stayed close to Adelaide.
“I get the feeling there’s more you want to tell me,” the officer said, pausing next to her patrol car.
“In a way.” Emma cast a fleeting glance back at the house to be certain they were alone. “I want to get out of here so whoever is after me will leave the Wrights alone. I thought maybe you could offer some suggestions.”
“Do you have money for a motel?”
“I’m afraid not. Maybe Cleo would loan me some, but I know Travis won’t. He keeps insisting I have to stay here.”
“That’d be the smartest move,” Adelaide said. “At least until we get a line on Blake Browning and his buddies.”
“Is there more you’re not telling me? It might help me remember if I had a little background on the band.” Emma studied the other woman’s expression. “There is, isn’t there? Somebody said something about my mother wanting to locate me several years ago and Harlan telling her that some of the band members had been in trouble with the law. Is that true?”
Nodding, the deputy sighed noisily. “Oh, yeah. Big-time trouble, as in arrests for theft and drugs.”
“Was I...? I mean, could I have been...?”
“We don’t really know. We didn’t find your name in the old files. One woman eventually confessed and was sent to prison, but it looks as if the rest of the band and the roadies went free.”
“Roadies? Oh, I know what those are! The crew that sets up and breaks down equipment when we’re moving from town to town.” Her brow knit. “A bus. We had a tour bus!”
“Okay. Do you know what happened to it?”
“No.” Her spirits fell. She momentarily closed her eyes, trying to recall details of the vehicle and its occupants. “I can picture the inside okay, and some of the instruments and such. But no people. Not even myself. It’s as if I’m standing at the top of the stairs next to the driver and don’t want to go any farther.”
“Maybe you’d already left Browning’s band because you didn’t approve of their crooked dealings.”
“I certainly hope so,” Emma said, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. “I can’t imagine that I would have stayed if I’d known they were up to no good.”
“Well, whatever happened, whoever held you against your will, they obviously want you back. Badly.” She patted Emma’s shoulder. “If I were you, I’d forget about leaving here for the time being and count my blessings that there are folks willing to look after me.”
“I suppose you’re right. Thanks for coming out again.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Thanks anyway,” she called as the deputy waved and drove away.
Much as Emma hated the idea of exposing her friends to danger, she had to admit their presence was a godsend. Perhaps literally. And if her heavenly Father had placed her here, how could she deny His divine wisdom?
Unless this was the inevitable punishment for her sins, Emma countered. Even a person who had been forgiven might be forced to face the consequences of his or her mistakes.
If she had been a part of a group of criminals, she could very well need more than God’s forgiveness. She might also have to own up to breaking the law and join the other guilty person in prison.
The notion of going to jail, particularly for a crime she could not recall, shook Emma from her toes to the top of her head and left her stomach tied in knots. If her future was truly ruined, the best thing she could do was distance herself from Travis—and his aunt—as much as humanly possible.
She had noted more than concern in his gaze when he’d looked at her lately and suspected he still cared for her, perhaps almost as much as he had when they were younger. The urge to nurture that emotional bond was strong, yet she vowed to push it aside.
He might believe he was the one protecting her, but Emma knew that that sharp sword cut both ways. She would guard his life—and his heart—as long as there was breath left in her body.
Emma watched the patrol car getting farther and farther away and fear pricked her like the wickedly sharp thorns on the wild honey locust so prevalent in the old-growth forests.
Looking beyond the pastures and into the woods, she shivered. It wasn’t what she could see that frightened her. It was what she couldn’t see.
Her enemies were out there. Perhaps far, perhaps near. She knew it. And, in the depths of her consciousness, she knew one more thing.
They would never give up, never let her go. They would keep coming after her.
There was not a shred of doubt.
* * *
Travis continued observing Emma from the kitchen window, astounded by how courageous she was, yet worried that much of her bravado could be a result of her wanting to impress him with her ability to cope. If he had ever met anyone who was not coping, it was her.
Behind him, Cleo was bustling around the kitchen. She returned breakfast leftovers to the refrigerator, then pulled on a sweater and started for the door.
Travis put himself in her way. “Where are you going?”
“To collect eggs. We used a mess of ’em this morning and I want to be sure there are enough for me to bake a couple of cakes and make a meat loaf later.”
“I’ll go,” Travis volunteered. “Emma can help me.”
“Uh-huh. Who do you think you’re foolin’?”
He chuckled quietly while fastening the holster to his belt once again. “Nobody. Especially not you. Let’s just say I need to check on Emma and leave it at that. Okay?”
“Okay, but remember, we’re still not sure she’s the same sweetheart we both once knew.” Cleo handed him a small, wire basket and gestured toward the door. “Go on. Do whatever you have to. I trust your judgment.”
“Well, you’re the only one, then,” Travis said wryly. “Sometimes I feel as befuddled as Emma is.”
“It’ll come back to her,” Cleo assured him. “The only tricky part will be whether or not she chooses to tell us the whole truth when it does.”
“She will. I know she will. Just because she’s had a rough time lately, that doesn’t mean her basic character is different.”
With that, he left his aunt and hurried to where he’d last seen Emma. All the dogs had gathered at her feet and were vying for attention.
“You’re spoiling them rotten,” he told her with a smile.
“It’s more the other way around,” she said. “They make me happy by liking me so much. It’s as if they know I need friends.”
“Besides me and Cleo, you mean?”
“Can’t have too many friends.”
“No argument there,” Travis said. He held up the basket. “Come on. Cleo needs the eggs collected.”
Emma’s hesitation wasn’t unexpected. As a matter of fact, it gave him added hope.
“I—I don’t think I like chickens,” she said, frowning.
“That’s another good sign. You never did take to them, particularly broody hens that come after you to protect their nests.”
“I was right? About the chickens, I mean?”
“Sure were. You had a 4-H poultry project one year, after I’d already moved up to membership in FFA. I’d promised to help you with it, but as soon as those cute little chicks started to mature and act erratic, you refused to even go into the pen with them. I had to take them to the county fair for you, too.” He held out his free hand. “Come on. I’ll protect you from the killer chickens.”
“Very funny.”
He chuckled warmly. “I thought so.”
Emma held back, tugging on his hand. “Wait.”
“No excuses. Face your fears,” Travis teased, grinning at her.
She raised her chin, sniffing the air. “Do you smell something strange?”
Pausing beside her, he scanned the outlying areas. Breezes were strong enough to ripple the new blades of grass among the longer, straw-colored stems left standing the previous season. Everything seemed normal. “It looks okay to me.”
“I could have sworn I smelled smoke a second ago.”
“Do you still smell it?”
“No, but...”
“You can look out the back door of the barn while I gather eggs if it’ll make you feel better.”
“I guess so.” Emma smiled shyly. “As long as you’re sure you have no attack chickens lurking in there.”
“Nope. Not a one.”
Satisfied that she’d follow him, Travis entered the barn, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Motes of dust danced in sunbeams coming through the loft door while the land to the rear of the structure lay in shadow.
“The dogs are out back now,” Emma called to him after swinging open part of the rear door. “Looks like they’ve found something in the grass.”
He doubted it. Nevertheless, he decided to humor her. Setting aside the wire basket, he joined her and let her direct him. “Where?”
Emma pointed. “Over there. See?”
“Okay,” Travis said calmly, not dreaming anything else was wrong. “Come on. Let’s see what kind of critter they’ve run to ground this time.”
“I hope it’s too early in the spring for chiggers,” she said, clearly reluctant to step out with him.
“Maybe ticks but no chiggers,” Travis teased, pulling her along.
All was well until they approached the dogs. A patch of grass had evidently been tamped down, similar to a sleeping nest a white-tailed deer might make. Trouble was, Travis knew that no deer in its right mind would bed down where farm dogs could easily find it.
The hair on the nape of his neck prickled. His heart began to beat faster. He listened, wishing his senses were as keen as those of his canine companions.
Several slow, purposeful strides carried him to the depression in the grass. An animal could have made it, he supposed. Unless...
Instead of growling, Bo was wagging his tail. “If I didn’t know better I might think you’d brought us all out here to play a trick,” he said, giving the hound a pat. “What about it, boy? Are you messing with us?”
The old dog wagged all of himself, obviously pleased to receive extra affection. Then, he put his nose to the ground and began to sniff in ever-widening circles.
Travis proceeded cautiously. He didn’t expect to find anything else, he was simply going through the motions to placate Emma.
That was when he saw it. A cigarette butt lay on top of a small section of bent grass. And beside it was an open book of matches.
Travis tensed. Lifted the matchbook by its edges to look at the printed advertisement. It was for a coffeehouse. In Nashville.
Meeting Emma’s eyes, he could tell she had seen enough. Judging by the ashen color of her cheeks and her trembling hands, she knew exactly what this clue meant.
He displayed it for her. “You know this place.” It was not a question.
“I—I think so. That logo looks very familiar.”
“Then we have a new location to start another search,” Travis told her, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.
To his dismay, his former sweetheart looked scared to death. He cupped her elbow. “Bad memories?”
“No. That’s just it,” she said, her words barely above a whisper. “I had a little flash of knowledge when you first picked that up. As soon as I tried to recall more, everything vanished.”
Since none of his dogs were barking or acting agitated, he felt safe enough—for the present. He took a step closer and found her doing the same, meaning he could easily slip an arm around her shoulders.
“I want to know,” Emma insisted, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I really do. I just can’t seem to focus. The harder I try, the worse it is.”
“Then maybe the secret is to not try so hard. Samantha said something like that, too. Remember?”
“I don’t seem to have much patience.”
“You never did,” Travis said. “You know what they say, don’t you? Never pray for patience unless you’re ready for the Lord to give you plenty of reasons to wait.”
“That does ring a bell.” Emma glanced up at him. “Speaking of church, I’d like to go next Sunday, if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure. I have a concealed-carry permit and Arkansas law now allows me to take a gun into the sanctuary, so I’m not worried.”
“A gun? In church? That seems so wrong.”
He had to agree. “I don’t intend to brandish it, if that’s what you mean. A house of worship should be safe, but there’s no guarantee we won’t be in danger coming or going.”
Emma managed a smile. “I’ll be satisfied if the church roof doesn’t fall in on me when I walk through the door.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Nobody’s perfect. If sinners weren’t welcome in the Lord’s house, the place would be empty.”
“I like the way your mind works, mister.” The fleeting grin she’d flashed him began to fade. “I just wish my own mind was half as clear as yours is.”
And I wish my memory was dulled, Travis thought. Then I wouldn’t remember how much I once loved you. Or realize how much I still care.
TEN
As far as Emma was concerned, she was making little progress. What she couldn’t understand was why it seemed so easy for Travis to look on the bright side of everything. Surely he’d had his share of disappointments, most markedly her own desertion, yet his faith remained strong.
And hers? She simply wasn’t sure. Snippets of Bible verses often popped into her head, sometimes making her think that the Lord had reminded her of them in order to comfort her. At other times, spirituality made little sense in the context of her dilemmas.
Samantha had left a prescription in case Emma wanted something to help her sleep, and Travis had filled it when he’d gone back into town to run errands. Part of her was desperate to remember everything, while another part feared that if she let down her guard she might rue what she then was able to recall.
Holding the slim, blue plastic bottle with her name on it, she actually considered throwing the medication away. Night was already a frightening time. Putting herself into drug-induced slumber seemed reckless.
Daytime, however, held far less menace. And she was already dead tired. She held up the tiny bottle. If she took one of these sedatives now and then napped for a bit, perhaps the nightmares wouldn’t be so bad.
Since Travis was outside with the dogs, working, and Cleo was doing household chores, Emma figured this would be a good time to conduct her experiment. Even if she was scared silly by vivid dreams, at least she’d awaken to the sun and quickly realize she was safe and sound.
She left a note on the kitchen table that simply read, “Upstairs taking a nap,” swallowed a dose with water, and went to her room.
She’d remade the bed so she merely slipped off her shoes and stretched out atop the coverlet. The pillow was soft, welcoming. Even with the blinds closed there was plenty of filtered light to warm the room and let her enjoy its ambience.
Emma sighed, waiting for the medication to take effect, and noticed only that her body felt more relaxed than usual. That notion made her smile. Almost any state would be more relaxed than she had been lately.
Sighing, she closed her eyes. Breathed slowly, deeply, steadily. Birds were singing outside her window, heralding spring and calling to their mates. “Even the birds of the air have nests,” she remembered from the book of Matthew. “And foxes have holes.” I could use one of those foxholes about now. I’d just duck down and pull branches over me for camouflage.
Camouflage?
Random shapes of mottled browns and grays danced in Emma’s mind. One of the pickup trucks she had darted past during her escape had been painted that way, she realized. And those boots! They weren’t merely muddy, the uppers had been done in that same, hard-to-see pattern.
Look up, her subconscious kept urging as she envisioned herself crouched behind the bed with Bo. Just raise your eyes a little and you’ll be able to see faces.
Emma hugged herself, peeked out from behind lowered lashes and saw the drab walls of her former prison. She was back in that locked room. And cold. So very cold.
Shivering, she stared into the darkness and waited for what she was sure would happen. It always did. He would come. And he would threaten her again and again.
The door creaked on rusty hinges. Emma cringed back against the metal posts in the headboard of her flimsy cot. He was there, at first just a shadow, then growing in clarity until she could see his swarthy face and feel the malevolence of his presence.
“Well, I see the princess is awake. Didn’t you enjoy your breakfast?”
One swift glance at the nightstand told Emma she hadn’t touched the meal.
Because he drugs me that way, she realized, easing as far from her nemesis as the shackles would allow.
“Then I guess you’ll have to go hungry,” the burly man said. “You’ll change your tune soon enough or starve to death.”
“I’d rather starve than eat anything you’d touched,” she shrieked. “You filthy...”
He waggled a thick finger at her. “Now, now, how would it look if folks found out our star gospel singer talked like that. Shame on you.”
Gospel singer? Was that what she was?
Music drifted on the air, its charm pulling at her and taking her further into her muddled memories. Away from the makeshift prison.
Church? Yes! She was standing before a small congregation, most of whom were seated so close she could see their individual faces. Some were smiling. Others appeared emotionally affected—in a good way.
She held a microphone with foam covering the pickup to eliminate background noise. Her heart was full of love and thankfulness. A sense of euphoria washed over her. Her voice rose in a crescendo of praise to her heavenly Father and His blessed Son, Jesus.
