Page 118 of My Heart Will Find You

Gradually, she opened her eyes. Ben’s room was as she remembered it. Nothing had changed. Actually, there were two chairs beside the bed, one on each side. Had someone been watching her as she slept?

When she tried to move she was weak and shaky, but she lifted herself up. On the pillow beside her was the little bear that Pat had made and Nellie had given her. She picked it up, her hand closing around it. “Give me strength,” she whispered.

She dreaded going downstairs and facing people. From the light through the curtains, it appeared to be morning. Would she find Henry frying bacon? Was Zack here? Freddy?

Henry would want her to tell him all that had happened in this last dream. How could she do that? This time she’d been too fearful to do what she was sure she was supposed to do. Max had done it all. He’d invited people and put them together. Henry and Martha. Lillian and Tobias.

Etta closed her eyes. Her mother! Seeing her again, talking to her, and best of all, relying on her, had been glorious. But remembering it might break her heart.

Turning, Etta put her feet on the floor, then cocked her head and listened. There were no sounds. With the lockdown, there was no traffic noise, and inside, it was eerily silent. No matter how quiet people tried to be, they made noise. But not now.

Henry must be in the library, she thought as she got up to go to the bathroom.

Inside the spotless, shiny room, she didn’t take time to marvel at it. She didn’t feel like half of her was in the past, or even that the past was pulling her away. No. She was fully here and now. She would never again dream of a town and people who no longer existed.

She showered and dressed, and tried to brace herself to face Henry and his umpteen questions. Who? Where? When? “Whatexactlydid he say?” There were never enough details to satisfy Henry. And this time, she’d need to talk about Martha. Should she tell him what Max said about Martha cutting Henry up and feeding him to the hogs?

For a moment she put her hands on the counter and looked into the mirror. Today she didn’t feel “old and plain,” but “old and empty.” She felt drained, as though her life had been taken from her.

She stepped back. “It’s showtime,” she said, quoting one of her favorite movies. It was time to face Henry and his questions.

Slowly, she went down the stairs, then glanced in Henry’s library. He wasn’t there. Nor was he in the kitchen. She remembered Zack’s voice saying Henry was leaving. But he was too ill to go anywhere. She went outside to his house and knocked. No answer. The door was unlocked and she went in. No one was inside.

She got her phone and called Zack. It went to voice mail. “I’m up and Henry isn’t here.” She started to add more but couldn’t think of anything.

She made herself a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast and ate in the kitchen. She knew what was facing her, but she didn’t want to do it. After the second dream, it had been fun to see that she and Max had saved Wyatt Earp and he was back in the history books. But right now she didn’t think anything in her life would ever be “fun” again.

She finished her meal, cleaned up, took a very deep breath, and went into Henry’s library.

The first book she picked up was the one that had told about the 1871 massacre. She knew that account hadn’t been in the book the first time she read it. She quickly flipped the pages. The Cheyenne attack of 1869 was there, but there was nothing in 1871.

“Looks like you stopped it,” she said aloud. She meant Max. At the cost of his life, the violence had been prevented. The memory made her sit down heavily on Henry’s big leather couch. Usually, he was stretched out on it, writing in his notebooks.

On the coffee table was a large book she’d never seen before. It was one of those editions that cost hundreds of dollars and was sold only to libraries and avid collectors.

The title and author were printed in small type on the beautiful linen cover. There was no flashy font meant to attract customers.A Study of a Town, by Henry Fredericks.

She opened the book to the title page.

A Study of a Town, Garrett, Kansas, in 1871.

As seen through the eyes of an artist and the residents.

Drawings and paintings by Henry Fredericks.

Stories by the people of Garrett.

On the next page, it said,I dedicate this book with love to my wife, Martha Garrett Fredericks.

Etta’s heart jumped a bit at seeing that. She was glad they’d found each other.

The next page was a watercolor of the main street of the town, and it looked just as she remembered. The painting was so vivid she could almost smell it.

She turned the page. There was a portrait of Pat, muscles bulging, wearing trousers and a leather apron, hammer raised over an anvil. Behind him, a fire blazed in a forge.

Etta shut the book. Seeing someone she loved and would never see again was too much to bear.

She curled up on Henry’s sofa. Her eyes were dry, and she wished she could cry. Maybe tears would be a release.

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