Bluegrass Hero. Allie Pleiter

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СКАЧАТЬ talking about Gil Sorrent’s foreman, right? Skinny, bushy hair, kinda wiry lookin’?”

      “Yes, that’s him.”

      “Well, women were going after him at the interfaith church social Friday night. If you’d been there, you would have been able to see it for yourself.”

      Emily, a fan of church but not of church socials, chose to ignore “matchmaker” Sandy’s gentle rebuke and keep to the subject at hand. “I know that part, but I need to know why. Ethan doesn’t strike me as a real ladies’ man.”

      Sandy started laughing. “No, ma’am, he ain’t. It took a little doin’, but I have figured out why he was suddenly the center of attention. And I guarantee it don’t have a thing to do with soap.” Sandy rested her elbow on the table and leaned in. “Doc Walsh’s wife told me Thursday afternoon at the Women’s Guild meeting that she heard Ethan Travers has a birthmark shaped like the state of Texas on the back of his neck.”

      Odd as it was, Emily didn’t see how it explained things.

      “And Barbie Jean Blabbermouth was sitting beside me when she said it.”

      Now that explained a lot. Barbara Jean Millhouse, aka Barbie Jean Blabbermouth, was so fond of gossip she was practically her own communications monopoly. Anything uttered in Barbara Jean’s vicinity was instantly public and often widely exaggerated. Given Barbara Jean’s talents, Emily was surprised she hadn’t heard that Ethan had a birthmark in the shape of Elvis and that he could make it gyrate on command.

      Barbara Jean also had four daughters. Four single daughters, because none of them could keep their mouths shut any better than their mother and far too many Middleburg men had learned that the hard way.

      “What did Ethan think? That he’d stumbled onto some kind of love potion? That man’s smarter than that. He knows there’s no such thing as love soap.”

      “Actually,” Emily corrected, “there is. There’s also joy, and peace, and patience, kindness and the rest of the fruits of the spirit—you know, from the passage in Galatians? I just bought a line of soaps from a company called Edmundsons because I thought it was such a clever idea. Edmundsons is also the company that makes Lord Edmund’s Pirate Soap, which is what Ethan thinks made him a ladies’ man.”

      “Spiffy marketing. Sounds like just the sort of thing you’d carry in that pretty shop of yours. But mercy, someone needs to set that Ethan straight about what soap can and cannot do.”

      “Oh, believe you me, I think Gil Sorrent is doing that. In spades. Along with every last one of those guys up on Homestretch Farm.”

      “Speaking of Sorrent, we’re gonna have a hard time convincing him Middleburg doesn’t need a herd of ATM machines. Him and his electronic gadgets.”

      “He’ll be a harder sell, but maybe he’ll see it our way.”

      Sandy stirred her coffee. “Let’s hope. But Emily, I didn’t bring you to lunch just to gab about money machines. I’ve got somethin’ serious to ask you.”

      Emily looked at her friend. “Everything okay with you?”

      “No, not that kind of serious. It’s more like somethin’ hard. Or you may think it’s hard. But a good kind of hard, I’d say.”

      Emily planted her hands on the table. “Sandy, out with it.”

      “They were asking for names for the Character Day speech up at the high school. I told them I’d ask you.”

      “Me? Give a speech at Character Day? That’s hero stuff. Not my kind of thing. Why on earth did you tell them you’d ask me?”

      Sandy leaned in and took one of Emily’s hands. “Because the topic is ‘Standing Up for What’s Right.’ And the quote they’re using is the one about how the only thing evil needs to prevail is for good men to do nothin.’ And that, sugar, is your kind of thing.”

      Emily pulled back. “No. I’m not ready to do that.”

      “I wish you wouldn’t turn it down so quickly. I think it’s time for you to raise your voice. It’s not like everybody don’t already know what happened to Ash. Most everyone would know why you were there. How many other people have had something tragic like that happen because the one person around to stop it wouldn’t? There ain’t nobody in Middleburg with a more powerful story on that subject than you.”

      “That’s just it. Everybody already does know—they don’t need to hear it from me.”

      “Maybe not, but I think you need to say it. How long has it been now, four years? You’ve never spoken up. You hardly ever talk about Ash’s murder and how it affected you. You think we don’t see how it hurt you? When they stopped looking for that one witness, don’t you think we felt it alongside you? There’s a whole town waiting to let you back into life, Emily. But you gotta come out when we open the door.”

      “Sandy, no.” Emily pushed away her lunch, her appetite gone.

      “Look, I know it’ll be hard. I know what I’m askin’. But I think you’d give such a powerful talk that none of those kids would ever forget it. And maybe, just maybe, one of ’em will find themselves in a situation of having to take a stand like that, and they’ll step up because they remember you.” Sandy blinked back a gathering tear. “You know, I can think of no finer tribute to Ash. He’d’ve done it if it were him.”

      “He’s not here.” Emily fought the lump in her throat.

      “So be here for him. And for you.” She grabbed both of Emily’s hands. “Just tell me you’ll think about. Don’t say no till you’ve thought about it and prayed about it. Okay?”

      Emily gave in. Refusing Sandy Burnside just wasn’t something the average person could do.

      Chapter Four

      Monday night, Emily spread her two problems out before her on the living-room floor.

      On the one side was the stack of three scrapbooks that held clippings from all of Ash’s memorial services, obituary notices, newspaper articles and the dozens of cards that had been sent to her after his passing. All the paper accounts made it sound so clean, so clinical. “Search for Known Witness Continues.” “Montague Case Closed.” “Scholarship Fund Established at Middleburg High.” She could scan those with an odd detachment. Keep them contained like the clippings held in place by those little black photo corners. It was the real-life details—the taxi receipt he had in his pocket that night, the box of tuning equipment that she kept in her garage, his shirts that hung in the back of her closet, the wedding ring the funeral director insisted she keep even though she wanted to bury it with Ash—it was those things that always did her in. They wouldn’t contain themselves neatly in her scrapbooks. Instead, they spilled out, reminding her how messy her life had felt since Ash’s loss. While she’d taken a strange comfort in compiling and organizing the scrapbooks, she couldn’t seem to cope with those details. They remained loose ends she couldn’t tie off.

      Othello, Emily’s enormous orange cat, wandered in to inspect the scrapbooks, padding at the corner of one page with a round butterscotch paw. “Do you miss him, Othello?” Emily ran her hand down the cat’s smooth back. Othello had been a gift from Ash on their first Valentine’s Day as a СКАЧАТЬ