Katherine's Prophecy Read online

  Why did she have the unnerving feeling that there was a reason for these nightmares? That there was some underlying purpose to them, other than to scare the living daylights out of her? And why did she feel such a profound attraction to this old burned-down house? She’d been here dozens of times through the years for no particular reason; yet she’d always felt compelled to return to it over and over again.

  She watched as Cassie pulled something out from under the wooden beam she’d been digging around then stood proudly holding the object in her clenched teeth. From this distance Emily couldn’t tell what it was; only that it was small and round. Her curiosity aroused, she stood up and walked briskly toward her puppy.

  “What have you got there, girl? Let Mommy see it,” she called as she approached her.

  With a playful leap, Cassie ran in the other direction as fast as she could. Emily reached the wooden beam and discovered a hole six inches deep underneath it.

  “Cassie, come here this instant!” she shouted after her.

  The springer spaniel froze where she was and turned to look at Emily. Then she dashed for another ten yards before looking back to see if her master was chasing her.

  “Cassie! I don’t want to play games now. Let me see what you have!” she yelled, then began running toward her.

  Cassie waited until Emily was five yards away then started running again. Emily, now getting annoyed, broke into a sprint in an attempt to collar her rambunctious pet.

  “You’d better stop now!” she warned in a stern voice.

  Cassie glanced back wearing a look of fear after hearing Emily’s tone of voice, and eventually slowed down to a complete stop.

  “Good girl! Now let Mommy see what you have,” she said as she approached her.

  Cassie lay down in the snow and began chewing the object she was holding in her paws. Emily caught up to her then plucked it out from Cassie’s grip.

  Although it was charred black with no distinguishing features other than the cylindrical stem jutting out from its top, Emily recognized the object as being a man’s pocket watch. She took off her glove and began scraping the blackened metal with her fingernail until she was able to free the stem enough to allow it to move. Then she pulled up on it and the lid popped open, revealing the face of the old watch, which was still in remarkably good condition.

  “Clem’s watch,” she breathed out loud in awe.

  She began examining the watch closely, turning it over and over in her hands in utter fascination. The watch had stopped at 12:47 and Emily felt a cold chill run down her spine; wondering if that had been the time at which Clem Porter had perished in the fire. A fleeting image of her faceless great-grandfather engulfed in flames, crying in agony, shot through her mind and her hands began to tremble. What a god-awful tragedy! she thought.

  For the first time since she’d been told the story about her Grandma Katherine, Emily felt a sudden wave of compassion and pity for the one key player who, up until now, she’d given little thought to.

  Clem Porter.

  Her other great-grandfather—theoretically. But had he been a blood relative; or merely the husband of Nancy Porter, and not the father of his wife’s child?

  Had he known about John Hoffman sleeping with his wife?

  Had he known that Katherine was not his daughter, but instead had been John Hoffman’s daughter?

  Had he even suspected any kind of foul play?

  Miss Rutledge had told her very little about Clem Porter. Only that he’d been Nancy Porter’s husband and that he’d been madly in love with her. And that he’d been a good man. From what she’d told her, Clem and Nancy had been the perfect couple—happily married for over ten years.

  Yet, according to John Hoffman, Nancy Porter was a flirt, and had seduced him into this house to make love to her. Not just on one occasion, but several times over a period of a couple of weeks.

  Did this sound like the stuff that happy marriages at the turn of the century were made of? Did it seem likely that Nancy Porter would repeatedly have sex with another man when she was supposedly head-over-heels in love with her husband who, in turn, was equally in love with her?

  No. It absolutely did not.

  So, John Hoffman had raped Nancy Porter.

  Had Clem known about it? Had Nancy told him? And if Clem had known about it, why had he apparently done nothing about it? Especially if he knew that John Hoffman was really the father of his child?

  Emily felt feint suddenly. She crouched down on her knees in the snow and closed her eyes for a moment. These questions that now came to mind left her weak and baffled. The sudden reemergence of Clem Porter into the mystery only added more questions to be asked which would no doubt remain unanswered.

  After several moments, she stood up and sauntered back toward the old house. Cassie, who had been eyeing the pocket watch all this time and no doubt wondered when her newfound toy would be returned to her, quickly sprung up and followed alongside.

  Once back at the old house, Emily went over to where Cassie had dug up the watch and began looking around. Thinking that perhaps something else might be pinned under the heavy wooden beam, she lifted if up as far as she could and threw it aside then examined the exposed area of ground but found nothing.

  Exasperated, she plopped down on the wooden beam and let out a long sigh. Nearly every time she’d come out to the old house, she’d inevitably found herself poking around through the debris in hopes of finding something of significance. And every time, she’d questioned her behavior at some point; wondering why she always felt the compulsion to pursue this ridiculous and futile effort. Did she actually think that she could find something here that would give her all the answers to the questions she sought? If so, then she was clearly wasting her time. In all these years, she’d found only two things—an old fork, and now this pocket watch. Yet, she knew she would never quit searching . . .

  Why is that? she wondered.

  She stared at Clem’s watch in her hand. Although it gave no clue to what had happened, she still regarded it as a significant and precious find. For in her hand was a personal possession of her great-grandfather that she would cherish forever. In fact, it was the only memento of either Clem or Nancy’s existence on earth, with the exception of the fork. She had nothing else; not even a photograph of them to hold in her hand and look at from time to time.

  The fire had destroyed virtually everything that her great-grandparents had ever owned. Except their most prized possession: their child.

  Emily began sobbing softly. This was all too much to conceive. Beginning with Clem and Nancy’s tragic deaths and the abrupt end to their short, happy lives, three generations of her family had been profoundly affected ever since. Grandma Katherine had died young, never knowing who her real father had been, and never given the opportunity to raise her only child. That child, Emily’s father, had been an insane tyrant who had abused her mother and herself; as well as pulling the carpet out from under the folks of Ashland Falls. And now, she herself was watching her own life being swept away before her very eyes by the mental torment that wouldn’t and couldn’t let her live a normal life.

  She, the last living Hoffman, was apparently doomed forever. And all of this was due to her greedy, selfish great-grandfather, John Hoffman, who had committed an act of self-indulgent lust. She had grown to hate the man. Almost as much as she wanted to hate her father. But she couldn’t hate her father. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been the way he’d been.

  It all came back to John Hoffman. He was the Devil himself.

  Sorrow turned to anger as she sat there thinking about him. He was the reason she was there now, confused and frustrated, among the ruins of what used to be a house filled with love and hope. He had destroyed the product of that love and hope, just as he’d destroyed nearly everything good and decent in this world that he’d touched. He’d turned his own son and his son’s wife against him and died a lonely and bitter man. Karma, she thought. What goes around comes around.


  Once again, Emily stared at the pocket watch and realized how little she knew about its owner. Maybe, she thought, she could learn more about her great-grandfather if she talked to Miss Rutledge.

  It was time to pay her a visit at the nursing home.

  She stood up and stuck the pocket watch in her coat pocket then started to leave. Cassie, who was sniffing around the fireplace, broke into a sprint and led the way back down the path.

  CHAPTER 6

  Kingston was a thirty-minute drive from Ashland Falls. Along the way, Emily thought about the Miss Rutledge and felt guilty for not going to see her more often than she did. She knew she wouldn’t be around much longer—she was already ninety years old; and Emily was the only acquaintance of hers who ever paid her a visit as far as she knew. Miss Rutledge had never married; and her only living relatives were her deceased stepfather’s family—all of whom had apparently long ago forsaken the old lady. If it weren’t for Margaret Travis, Henrietta Latham’s mother who also lived at the nursing home, Emily felt certain that Miss Rutledge would most likely die from sheer loneliness.

  It was 4:30 when Emily arrived at Oaklawn Senior Care Center. She was relieved to find that Miss Rutledge was awake and alert when she entered her room and saw her sitting up in bed reading a magazine.

  “What a wonderful surprise! How are you, honey?” she exclaimed as she looked up from her magazine and saw Emily.

  “Fine, Miss Rutledge,” Emily said as she walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “And how have you been?”

  “Couldn’t be better,” she replied.

  “Have you been feeling alright?” Emily challenged, after noticing how thin and weak she’d gotten since she’d last seen her.

  “Why sure! My only complaint is the crazy diet they have me on. I’d give my eye tooth for a fat juicy steak!”

  “They aren’t starving you, are they?”

  “That depends on what you’d call having to eat cooked carrots, potato soup, and Jell-O day-in and day-out. I only eat because I have to—not because I enjoy it.” Miss Rutledge declared sourly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But I guess they know what’s best for you,” Emily said, suddenly dreading growing old.

  “I reckon so,” she replied with a sigh.

  “I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last visit. Things have been sort of helter-skelter since my father died,” Emily said, taking off her coat and pulling a chair up beside the bed.

  “Have you been making out okay in that big house all by yourself?” Miss Rutledge asked.

  “Oh yes, everything’s fine. I finally installed some floodlights outside in the yard so it isn’t so dark and spooky when I get home in the evenings. That helps a lot.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Your grandfather Warren was forever trying to get Charles to do that, but you know how stubborn he could be—especially when your grandfather was concerned. He’d tell your father that it wasn’t safe for a pretty young woman to be up there on that mountain alone half the time without at least having the grounds lit up.”

  Emily shook her head. “Well, you needn’t worry about me, Miss Rutledge; I know how to take care of myself. Besides, I’ve got my ferocious puppy to protect me now if anyone dares to lurk around that house,” she declared with a wry grin.

  “What did you say your new friend’s name is again?”

  “Cassie. She’s cute as a button—and getting pretty big, too. She’s turned out to be the best companion a girl could ever have.”

  Miss Rutledge made an odd expression, then said, “Some women seem to think that a man might make an even better companion.”

  Here we go again, Emily thought to herself. Would she ever let up?

  “Trust me, Miss Rutledge. Cassie is all I really need right now,” she said, hoping to get off the subject.

  “I’m sorry, Emily, I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just wish you’d find a decent young man and get married someday. You’re much too beautiful a young woman to be all alone as you are. I just worry about you, dear.”

  Emily was moved, as always, by the elderly woman’s sincere intentions. “That’s all right,” she said. “But please don’t worry about me. I’m happy with things the way they are right now. And who knows? Maybe Mr. Right will come along and sweep me off my feet someday.” she added lightly.

  “Well, I wish he’d hurry up!” she exclaimed, then after a pause said, “I’m not going to be around forever, you know. And I’ve promised myself that I’m not letting the Good Lord take me until I’ve seen you married off.”

  Emily was caught off-guard. There was something in the way she’d said this that seemed odd for some reason. And in spite of the fact that she was piqued at Miss Rutledge for putting her on the spot, she tried her hardest not to show it.

  “Then I guess you’re going to be around for a long, long time, Miss Rutledge. And I’m happy to know that!” she said, smiling widely.

  “Why you little rascal!” Miss Rutledge exclaimed, then broke into laughter.

  “What do you think of this weather we’ve been having?” Emily asked.

  “We’re sure having our fair share of snow, that’s for certain. Have you had any trouble getting up that mountain in all of this?”

  “Not yet. My bus does a pretty good job in the snow.”

  “And have you been eating right? You look a little thinner than usual.”

  “Yes, Miss Rutledge, I have,” Emily replied. She’d lost five pounds in the last month, but until now hadn’t thought it noticeable.

  “Emily dear, may I ask you something?” Miss Rutledge said in a serious tone of voice.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Please don’t get angry with me. I just want to know, honestly, if anything is the matter. It’s just that—how should I put it—you don’t look too well. You look as though you haven’t been sleeping right; you’re pale, and your face is drawn. I can’t help but sense that something is troubling you. Please, Emily. Tell me.”

  Emily looked away. If she only knew how many times she’d wanted to open her heart to her and tell her everything. But she’d never been able to bring herself to do it in all these years. It had just been too difficult; and now that she was so old and her health so fragile, she just couldn’t see any sense in it. It would upset her too much.

  Besides, it was her problem to deal with, and nobody else’s.

  “I’m fine, Miss Rutledge. I’ll admit that I haven’t slept well lately, but other than that, everything’s been fine.” Emily finally said, still looking away.

  “Please, Emily. Tell me the truth,” her old friend gently coaxed.

  For a moment, Emily wanted nothing more than to spill her guts to this wonderful woman. To tell her the whole ball of wax; to share the pain, fear, and grief she’d been enduring for so many years with someone other than herself. She would feel better—she’d have a shoulder to cry on and be consoled into thinking that everything was going to be all right.

  But she didn’t tell her. She simply couldn’t.

  Emily faced her and stared into her faded green eyes. “I’ll be okay, Miss Rutledge. I’ve had a few problems, but I’ll be able to work them out by myself. So please don’t worry.”

  “Sweetie, maybe you should talk to someone else, if not to me. They may be able to help.” she suggested, he voice soft and sincere.

  Emily shook her head. “I’m okay—it’s nothing serious. And certainly nothing a shrink could do anything about. I’m just going to have to deal with this myself in my own way.”

  Miss Rutledge said, “Alright, honey. I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. But if there’s anything I can do to help, will you promise me that you’ll let me know? I know I’m old and feeble, but I would do anything on this earth within my power to help you, and make you happy.”

  Emily stood up and went over to her then put her arms around her.

  “I love you, Miss Rutledge.”

  “I love you too, dear.”
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br />   After embracing her, Emily stood and reached for her purse lying on the bed. She opened it up and withdrew the pocket watch then handed it over to Miss Rutledge.

  “I found this out at the old house. Cassie dug it up from under one of the boards. I think it must have been Clem Porter’s.”

  Miss Rutledge eyed the watch she held in her arthritic hand and said, “It most likely was Clem’s. Every man owned a pocket watch back in those days.”

  “What was he like?” Emily asked her.

  Her eyes went from the pocket watch to Emily. “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than I’ve already told you, dear. I was only four years old when he and Nancy died in the fire, and I can’t recall ever laying eyes on him. All I’ve learned about him came from my mother who was Nancy’s best friend, as you already know.”

  Emily could already sense that Miss Rutledge was more than a little hesitant about rehashing the past right now.

  She said, “When I found this watch today, I realized that I know so little about him, and it just doesn’t seem right. For that matter, I don’t know much about Nancy either. Yet I know more than I care to about my other great-grandfather, John Hoffman. I don’t even know what Clem and Nancy looked like! Aren’t there any pictures of them anywhere?”

  Miss Rutledge sighed. “As far as I know, my mother never had any photographs of the Porters. Keep in mind, Emily, that things were quite different in those days. Photographs were still relatively rare; more of a luxury, you might say. Cameras were not that commonplace and for the most part, only the well-to-do indulged in picture-taking. Clem and Nancy probably never even owned a camera, as they were common folk. And even if they did own a camera, everything they had went up in flames along with their house. They had no living relatives when they perished, either. Poor Katherine. She never even knew what her parents looked like . . .”

  Her eyes clouded up when she said her name. Emily took her hand and patted it comfortingly.