“Is she okay?” Dylan left his chair and walked over, his chin trembling.
“Come with me, Emmy.” Mitch stood slowly, helping her rise with him. “It’s getting late, and I could use some rest. I’d really like it if you’d keep me company. Dylan, head inside and get the lights on in Emmy’s room, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Brow creased with worry, Dylan turned and went inside.
Mitch walked with Emmy across the porch, cradling her closer to his chest each time a firework exploded overhead.
Kristen set Sadie on her feet, got up and opened the front door, watching as they approached. “What can I do to help?”
Mitch forced a smile, the frightened whimpers escaping Em
my sending waves of pain through him. “Could you wrap things up here and get Sadie and Dylan in bed for the night? I’m going to stay with Emmy until she falls asleep.”
“I’d be happy to.” Kristen hesitated as they passed, then touched Emmy’s arm. “Good night, Emmy.”
She didn’t respond, just huddled closer into Mitch’s supportive embrace.
“Stop by her room and sit with us for a while when you finish here,” he said, meeting Kristen’s eyes over Emmy’s head. “She’ll be settled then.”
Kristen shook her head and looked away, the bright flashes of color in the sky glinting over the wet sheen of tears hovering on her lashes. “Thank you, but it’s probably better I don’t disturb her.”
Mitch helped Emmy across the threshold, then glanced over his shoulder at Kristen as she closed the door behind them, muffling the sound of the festive explosions outside. The party was ending, Hart’s Hollow Farm was safe, and Emmy could sleep soundly in her own bed every night without fear she’d lose her home.
Those thoughts alone should bring him comfort. Only, after settling in a lounge chair by Emmy’s bed, his mind kept returning to Emmy’s rapid decline over the past few days. She was becoming more and more confused and afraid, and every day of memory loss would continue to be a struggle for her. But it was the distant look in Kristen’s eyes that stayed with him long after Emmy had settled for the night.
CHAPTER 14
Kristen slipped a thin nightshirt over her head, smoothed it over her thighs, then picked up the denim dress Emmy had given her hours earlier. She held it out, tilted it from one side to the other beneath the soft light spilling from the old-fashioned oil lamp on the nightstand.
It was plain but beautiful. Much like Hart’s Hollow and Emmy.
She hugged the dress to her chest and slowly looked around the room. The hours and hours of hard work she and Mitch had put into renovating the house, including this room, had more than paid off. The room was a far cry from what it had been when she’d first arrived.
Worn wallpaper, peeling at the edges, had been stripped from the walls, and in its place, Mitch had painted the walls eggshell white. The hardwood floor had been scrubbed gently with water and vinegar until the dark natural grain gleamed. Framed photos of the fields and streams had been hung on each side of the room, and the long lace curtains covering the open wide window had been carefully cleaned, dried, and reinstalled, allowing the trailing ends to billow out as the summer night breeze blew in from outside. And Mitch had painstakingly restored the overhead light, a circular farmhouse-style chandelier crafted out of wood and iron, so that it gave off an aesthetically pleasing glow when lit.
The room was gorgeous, as was the rest of the house. It was this bedroom she and Mitch had spent hours in, stretched out on the floor, poring over plans and sketches, analyzing and examining, reassessing and improving. It was as though Mitch’s hands had breathed new life into the heart of the home, then had guided hers into coaxing it to beat again.
All the hard work and exhaustion had been worth the smile on Emmy’s face that night at the meeting, when she’d seen the plans for Hart’s Hollow Farm for the first time. And the words she’d spoken had stayed with Kristen every night since, whispering through her mind as she fell asleep and tugging bittersweet tears from her eyes onto the pillow every morning.
I couldn’t be more proud of you if you were my own daughter.
Kristen squeezed her eyes shut, her hands tightening on the dress pressed against her chest. She had wanted to hug Emmy so tight earlier this evening. Had wanted to whisper how grateful she was to have seen Emmy’s ad and come to Hart’s Hollow. To have met Emmy, worked with her, learned from her . . . and loved her as she imagined a daughter would love her mother. As Anna had loved her.
She bit her lip, the sharp pinch of her teeth digging into tender flesh momentarily distracting her from the pain spreading inside her.
“Kristen?”
She started, her eyes springing open and focusing toward the low rumble of Mitch’s voice.
He stood on the threshold of the guest bedroom, one broad hand nudging the half-opened door farther aside, his brow creased with concern as he studied her face. “Are you all right?”
Lowering her hands, she clutched the dress at her side, then forced a weak smile. “I was just . . .” Her throat tightened. She cleared it and tried again. “I was getting ready for bed.” She walked to the small dresser on the opposite wall, placed the dress on its smooth surface, and began folding it with slow, methodical motions. “How’s Emmy?”
“Better,” he said softly. “She fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”
Kristen nodded, pressing the dress flat and paying particular attention to smoothing out a crease. “That’s good. I was worried all the noise of packing up the picnic tables outside and the cars leaving would wake her.”
It was silent for a few moments. Then the door clicked shut and Mitch’s heavy tread moved slowly across the floor, the sporadic squeak of the floorboards mingling with the distant low rumble of thunder outside.