And now he was an hour late. Emily had gone from annoyance to worry and was starting to swing back towards annoyance again. Where could Bart be?
For a fleeting crazy moment she wished that Daddy were here to talk to her. Then she laughed out loud - if he was here, she wouldn't be. She wondered what Auntie would have thought about this. Nine years had passed since Emily's aunt had died, but she still felt the loss...
XXX
"What's wrong, Auntie?" young Emily had asked. She was only nine, but wise enough to know that something wasn't right.
The older stick-thin woman stirred on her couch. "Wrong, dear? What do you mean?"
The little girl said nothing and an awkward silence passed between them.
Auntie sighed, looked down at herself, and laughed weakly. "Oh, I just got tired of being so fat. That's all..."
Emily wasn't convinced. "But when are you going to get better?"
Auntie closed her eyes and slumped back on the couch. She took a few shallow breaths and then reopened her eyes and leaned forward.
"That's up to the Good Lord Himself, child," she whispered. "But ..."
"But, what?" Emily asked.
"There's a surprise coming tomorrow. Don't ask - you'll find out then."
Emily knew that tone of voice. She'd have to wait 'til tomorrow.
"Okay," she said. Then she looked at her Auntie and smiled. "Cuddle?" she asked hopefully. The older woman smiled back and held out her arms. "Come here, Em," she said. "Just be careful, Auntie's not feeling the best, today... "
The surprise, as promised, arrived the next day. She had hoped that it would be a pony, or a piano, or something else fun, but, when the coach came by and disgorged its passenger, it was only her father - home for another one of his occasional visits
"Hello, Emily," he said formally. "How is your Aunt Margaret today?"
She looked up at the tall man in the white captain's hat. "She's on a diet," the little girl answered. "But I liked it so much better when she was still fat."
A strange look passed quickly across his face. "Indeed? Well, let's go see." He turned and walked briskly towards the cottage and let himself in, daughter trotting along behind him.
His sister was sleeping on the couch. Or some thing that looked like her was...
"Judas Priest," he whispered. The skeletal figure stirred, opened its eyes and smiled.
"Walt," Margaret smiled weakly at her younger brother. "I knew that you'd come."
"My God, Meg..." he whispered again. Then he moved forward quickly and kissed her on the forehead. "I never knew..."
Auntie had smiled, had told him that it was okay, and then she looked past him to where Emily was standing by the door of the cottage.
Her father turned towards her. "Go outside and play," he ordered. "And close the door behind you."
She did, of course. But Emily also knew that the window by the couch was always kept open, so she crept quietly around the corner of the cottage and found herself a comfortable place to sit. She was quick enough that she didn't have to miss a single word...
"But you said in your letter that it wasn't cancer," came her father's softly spoken voice. "I know a good doctor..."
Emily had to listen really, really hard to hear Auntie's reply.
"It's diabetes, Walt. There's no cure for that, either - but at least it's not cancer..."
"The 'wasting disease' ...?" Her father's words passed heavy and flat through the air.
"It's not so bad. I haven't been this thin and trim for forty years."
"Meg! Please - that's not funny…" her father scolded.
"Look ... I can feel sorry for myself or I can laugh ... I'd rather laugh, if you don't mind," came the whispery reply. Her father said nothing, and Auntie continued. "Walt, I'm so glad that you're back. And that you got back in time - I was afraid that she'd be left alone."
He laughed bitterly. "She might as well be. What do I know about raising a child? A young girl?"
"You'll do fine. You're a good man, Walt."
"But you know my feelings about the subject, Meg. Martha would…"
"Martha's dead and gone, brother dear. You have a responsibility to the girl and it's what Martha would want. Women die in childbirth - they still do, you know. Don't hold it against the child, it's not her fault."
Emily gasped. "What!?"
The conversation inside the cottage ceased abruptly and, a few seconds later, the window above her was slammed shut and latched.
XXX
In the darkness of the forest nine years later another, older, Emily wiped a tear from her eye. Nine years it had been: half a lifetime but …oh god! … That memory still hurt.
XXX
Auntie was much stronger than any of them had suspected; she lingered another week past that day. But her aunt's time eventually came and Emily was summoned to her bedside. Her father's eyes were red...
He left her there and closed the door behind him.
"How are you doing, child?" she whispered. Her voice was so weak that Emily could barely make out the words.
She swallowed hard and nodded, tears forming. "Okay."
The dying woman pushed herself closer. "I want you to promise …"
"What, Auntie?"
"Promise me that you will get along with your father. Take good care of him."
"B-but … " the girl stammered. "He's mean! And scary … "
Margaret closed her eyes and chuckled. "Not to me, he isn't … and you hardly know him. That's just his way … Walt's a good man, Em - you'll see."
"Oh, Auntie!" Emily sobbed.
The old woman's eyes opened once more, slightly. "I'll miss you, child…"
XXX
The day of Auntie's funeral was the longest and the most miserable of Emily's young life. She had never thought that she could cry so many tears and still have more left.
Throughout the long service she held her father's hand tightly and sobbed while he stared stonily ahead. She looked up at him from time to time and wondered why he wasn't crying, too.
After a long, long time - after the last of the other mourners had finally left, he looked down at her and placed his hand gently on her head.
"Do you fancy a walk to the beach?" he asked softly.
She didn't, really, but couldn't think of anything else better to do, so she came along.
It was a longish walk to the beach for a nine-year-old, but eventually they arrived.
They sat down, but her father was not in a talkative mood, so the time was passed silently.
He looked out over the water and a faraway expression came over his face. A tear formed in his eye and eventually it rolled down his cheek.
After a while her curiosity overcame the shyness and she asked him the question that had been on her mind.
"Are you crying for Auntie?"
Her father paused and the faraway expression returned to his face for a minute or so. "I guess we'll both miss her," he said.
"Why didn't you cry at the funeral?"
He grimaced. "It's not done. Men just don't."
"But why not?"
He shrugged and they fell back into silence. For awhile.
"Father?"
He looked down. "Yes, Emily?"
"I'm sorry."
He frowned down at her in confusion. "What in the world are you talking about?"
She tried again. "About Mother."
Now he was really confused. "What do you mean?"
"I killed her and you're mad at me for that... "
He whipped around. "What did you say!?"
"I know it's true," she said in a small, soft voice.
He looked at her in stark horror. "Where would you get an idea like that?"
"She died having me. And that's why you've been angry with me..."
"But we never told ... " And then he remembered. "The day I came back - you were listening to us? Outside the window?"
Emily nodded, eyes wide.
Her father sighed and shook his head. "Then you must have also heard her when she said that it wasn't your fault?"
She nodded again.
Her father looked away for a few seconds, and then he looked at her again. "And … have you ever heard your Auntie tell a lie - even a little one?"
No, she hadn't.
"Well that should settle it, then. I'm very sad that we lost your mother, but very happy to still have you."
Emily looked up at him again. "Father?"
He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Yes, child?"
"May I call you 'Daddy'?"
Walter turned away so that she couldn't see the tears that were suddenly running down his cheeks. He fought to keep his voice level and calm.
"You can call me anything you want." Then he put his arm around her and she leaned her small head against him and cried some more.
From that day onward, his attitude was different, and the next six years with him were good.