Katherine's Prophecy Page 9

  “It just isn’t fair. None of this. And on top of everything else, Grandma Katherine wasn’t even sure who her father was,” Emily said.

  Miss Rutledge nodded. “It’s such a tragedy . . .” her voice fell off, but not soon enough.

  Emily looked at her. “She didn’t know, did she?”

  Miss Rutledge realized that she’d given herself away. She shook her head from side to side and replied, “No, she didn’t.”

  Emily felt guilty for trapping her as she had, but it confirmed what she’d suspected all along. Grandma Katherine had died never knowing the truth about her parentage. Nor had she alluded herself into thinking that Clem had been her father.

  Miss Rutledge must have read her mind. “But that doesn’t necessarily imply that she believed John Hoffman to be her father, Emily.”

  “But why have you misled me all these years, Miss Rutledge? Why have you led me to believe that Grandma Katherine never doubted that Clem was her father” Emily asked.

  Miss Rutledge fell silent for a moment. Then she said, “I’m sorry, Emily. I have misled you, and I apologize. I’ve wanted to protect you from all of this from the very beginning because I wasn’t sure how you’d react. But on the other hand, I’ve felt you had the right to know; and hoped that once all was said and done, you’d take it for what it was worth and then get on with your life. But now I see the effect it’s had on you and I could just kick myself for having told you anything in the first place. You’ve let this whole matter regarding your grandmother get the better of you, Emily—that’s more than apparent. You’ve become obsessed with the very same thing that obsessed Katherine; and you’re letting it affect your life much in the same way that it affected hers. I wish to God that I’d never said a word and simply let the past die as I should have . . .”

  “Please, Miss Rutledge,” Emily interjected. “Don’t blame yourself—it’s not your fault. I have coaxed you all along, trying to find out all I could about Grandma Katherine. And I do have a right to know. But I have a right to know everything. So please don’t keep anything more from me. Please,” she pleaded.

  Miss Rutledge stared at Emily for a moment; then let out a long sigh of resignation. “Alright, Emily. What’s done is done, and we can’t change that. You’re just like your grandmother was; determined and obstinate beyond reproach. She spent most of her life doing the very same thing you’ve been doing—picking around in that old burned down house trying to find anything that might somehow answer her questions. And when you found that old fork and brought it over to show me a long time ago, I knew that it was inevitable—that history was going to repeat itself.

  “And your grandfather suspected the very same thing. That’s why Warren was so hesitant to discuss certain matters concerning Katherine. Because he’d already seen what it had done to his wife, and he didn’t want the same thing to happen to you. He was such a good man—I should have listened to him and kept my mouth shut.

  “But there were a few things that even Warren didn’t know about Katherine. And had he known, I suspect that things might have turned out differently than they had. It’s hard to tell.”

  Emily’s eyes were glued to hers. “What things?”

  Miss Rutledge hesitated before continuing. “I was at Katherine’s bedside when she passed away. She’d told Warren that she wished to speak to me—alone. So as he waited outside her hospital room, Katherine told me some most unsettling things.

  “She told me that John Hoffman had sexually abused her as a child. I was so shocked by this that I nearly fainted on the spot. When I asked her why she’d never told my mother about it, she replied that John had threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone. Apparently he’d fondled her on several occasions—on those nights when she slept over at the Hoffmans’ house. I asked her how long this had gone on and she told me it started when she was about four years old and continued up until she was nearly ten.”

  Emily sat paralyzed, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

  “Emily?”

  She blinked then looked at Miss Rutledge. “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes . . . Yes, I’m fine,” she replied weakly.

  “I’m not going on with this,” Miss Rutledge declared flatly.

  “No, please. Go on. I must know.” Emily insisted.

  She heaved a sigh. “I will be so glad once I’ve gotten this off my conscience. This is very difficult, Emily. For both of us.”

  Emily replied, “I know. And I’m sorry I’m putting you through it. But please continue.”

  “Katherine then told me that she started having horrifying nightmares as a result of this; and that they had haunted her most of her life. I asked her if Warren knew about any of this and she replied that he knew nothing about the abuse, but that he was quite aware of her nightmares. I asked her why she’d never told him and she replied that had he known what his father had done, he probably would never have married her. I of course objected—telling her that he’d loved her far too much to have let anything like that stand in the way of his marrying her. She said that even though that may have been the case, she hadn’t wanted to take any chances at the time. Besides that, she told me, she’d been fearful of how Warren might have reacted had she told him what his father had done—that he might have done something ‘foolish.’ I think she was implying that he might have gotten violent.

  “Katherine likened John Hoffman to the Devil himself; because, as she put it, ‘no God-fearing man could possibly be as vile and treacherous as he.’ She noted that not only had this man abused her as a child, he had also claimed to have once had an affair with her mother; and as a result of that affair, had fathered her. And as if this weren’t enough, he’d then gone one step further and nearly jeopardized her marriage to the man she loved by the very implications resulting from his false claims. She told me that she had never thought herself capable to hate anyone, but that she indeed hated John Hoffman with a passion. He had controlled her life from its very beginning, she said, and the only glimmer of hope in her life had been to marry Warren and get out from under John Hoffman’s hold on her.

  “But as it turned out, she never quite got away from John Hoffman. She told me that she continued having nightmares about him, and that after his death, it was as though his spirit had suddenly come to life and started taking control of her. She saw visions of him in her dreams; horrifying visions of him raping her mother and herself repeatedly, and such. These nightmares got to be so terrifying that many times she would actually force herself to stay awake at night—just to keep herself from dreaming. She refused to discuss these dreams with Warren; feeling that there was nothing he could do about them and that she would only upset him. So she bore all of this trauma all by herself.

  “Your grandmother spent a great deal of her short life in torment—though she seldom ever let it show. She was very independent, and determined to make the best of things in spite of the circumstances. She was always kind to others and had been a loving, caring wife to Warren. She told me that giving birth to your father had been the happiest moment in her life, and that at last she had felt complete. And although she knew that she was going to die as a result of bringing Charles into the world, she pleaded with me not to mourn for her; because she felt that giving new life was much more significant than losing her own, and that she will have died knowing that it hadn’t been in vain.”

  Emily was in tears. She leaned over and threw her arms around Miss Rutledge and held her tight. Fragments of her own life, her grandmother’s life, and the nightmares she’d dreamt swam through her head like a hideous collage of utter Hell. For a moment she thought she would lose her mind and had to open her eyes to assure herself that she was in control. Her body felt limp as she clung to Miss Rutledge for dear life, sobbing hysterical sobs of absolute futility.

  “There, now,” Miss Rutledge consoled, patting her back soothingly. “I know it’s hard; I’ve wept many times myself over the years. But I try to rememb
er what she said—not to mourn her—and I tell myself that she’s in a place much kinder than the world she left behind. She’s there now, looking down upon us, and wishing that we weren’t grieving so.”

  Emily continued clinging to her frail body, unable to control her emotions. Never in her life had she felt so alone and afraid.

  “I’m so sorry, Emily. I can only say that you know everything now, however sorrowful it might be, and I pray that from this moment on you’ll be able to let the matter rest once and for all and get on with your life. Katherine would want you to. Please don’t let her down, honey.”

  Emily somehow managed to nod her head. She felt sorry for Miss Rutledge, who surely had to be feeling that she’d been nothing more than the bearer of bad news to her for all these years. But this wasn’t at all true. She loved and respected this kind old woman who had been her closest friend for most of her life and realized now that Miss Rutledge wanted nothing more right now than a little reassurance that she was getting through to her.

  She fought off the tears and faced her. “I’m okay now, Miss Rutledge. And I promise you, from my heart, that I won’t let Grandma Katherine down.”

  Miss Rutledge told herself that she believed her. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, honey.”

  “I’m afraid I’d better leave now, though. There are some things I have to tend to at the shop,” she lied. “But I’ll come back to see you soon—real soon. I just hope you’ll forgive me for taking so long to come around this time.”

  She smiled. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, honey—I understand. You just take care of yourself, okay?”

  “Okay. And you do the same. Do you need anything before I go?”

  “No, thank you. Be careful on your way back,” she said.

  “I will, Miss Rutledge,” Emily replied. She stood up and put her coat on then picked her purse up from the bed.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, glancing over at the pocket watch lying on the bedside table. She retrieved it and put it away in her purse then bent down and kissed Miss Rutledge.

  “Bye, see you soon,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “Good-bye, dear. Drive carefully,” she repeated.

  Emily nodded then turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER 7

  Dorothy Rutledge continued staring at the door for a moment after Emily left then slowly turned her head and fixed her eyes on the jewelry box lying on top of her dressing bureau. Long shafts of afternoon sun sprawled lazily across the width of her room and fell directly on it, highlighting it—demanding her attention.

  She hadn’t told Emily everything. And she most likely never would.

  A mixture of guilt and frustration swept over her like a dark cloud. How could she possibly fulfill her promise to Katherine? And what had made Katherine so certain that she could? Had she seen a vision just before she died—a premonition of the future? Or had she simply become delirious in her final minutes of life before finally succumbing to the throes of death?

  She gazed around at the room where she would most likely spend the remainder of her life and wondered how much longer she’d be around. A year? Six months? A week? She felt certain it wouldn’t be much longer; the doctors had all but told her so in that vague and elusive sort of way that they spoke of such things. Her heart was weak, and arthritis had all but confined her to a bed and a wheelchair. Her time was running out.

  If she had but one wish to be granted before she died, it would be to see Emily Hoffman find a good man who would love and care for her and make her happy. She was such a good, sweet young woman; and to see her lead the dismal and lonely life she led made her heart bleed for her. She was undeserving of such a forlorn existence—much too good, much too innocent. And knowing that she herself was partly to blame for Emily’s grim situation by dragging skeletons out of the closet only made her feel worse.

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head in prayer.

  “Please, Dear Lord, see that Emily finds comfort and happiness in life. She needs you so, right now. And please forgive me for my sins and spare Emily any more pain and suffering. I have tried to do what I felt was right throughout this tragic situation, but I now fear that I’ve made a grave mistake. Please, Oh Lord, if I have indeed erred, spare Emily for my folly; for she is innocent. Thank you, Lord, for hearing me now. Amen.”

  Dorothy opened her eyes long enough to fluff her pillow and pull the covers up over her frail, trembling body. Then, as the mental and physical exhaustion of the day set in and took over, she closed her eyes again and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

  CHAPTER 8

  Emily approached the road, downshifted into third, and began her ascent. A full moon shining in the crystal-clear evening sky illuminated the snow-shrouded banks skirting the road; and had Emily not been so caught up in her thoughts, she might have paused to observe the breathtaking beauty of the mountain as she wound precariously up its slope.

  She pulled up beside her house and shut off the engine then walked over to the side door. Cassie, as always, was barking excitedly inside as Emily unlocked the door and entered. She patted her loyal companion and went into the kitchen to feed her then removed her coat and gloves.

  Although she was ravenously hungry, Emily decided that a good strong drink seemed more appealing than food at the moment. A hot bath wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. She took the bottle of scotch from the cupboard and poured herself a drink, adding a little ice. After a moment’s hesitation, she took a sip and grimaced as the liquor burnt a path down her throat to her stomach.

  “Life’s a bitch,” she muttered, and sipped again.

  With a shiver, Emily topped off the glass with more liquor and made her way upstairs. She went into the bathroom to start the water running, sprinkled in some bubble bath crystals then went to her bedroom to undress.

  Before putting on her robe, Emily stood before the closet door mirror and stared at her body, recalling that Miss Rutledge had noticed her weight loss. She did look a little thinner, but not anorexic by any means. The most obvious change was her bust size, which seemed even smaller than usual. She placed her hands on her breasts to gauge their size and groaned in disappointment. She squeezed them a couple of times and the action sent a pleasant tinge of electricity down between her legs. Her fingers began tracing the line of her nipples as they tingled and swelled in response. She thought about Ted and wondered what it would have been like making love to him. Would she have enjoyed it? she wondered. Would she ever know what it was like to be touched and made love to by any man, for that matter? A man who loved and respected her; a man who genuinely cared for her whom she knew she could trust?

  Emily moaned as she felt the familiar sensation of desire between her legs, but resisted the temptation to reach down and satisfy the intense yearning she was feeling there. She had let that temptation win her over a couple of times in the past, and each time had ended up regretted it. It never seemed to satisfy, and always made her feel ashamed.

  In a single swift movement, Emily grabbed her robe and fled to the bathroom. As she sampled the bath water, it occurred to her that she had been blotting out her visit to the nursing home since entering the house. But the revelations made there were now beginning to invade her thoughts again, making her feel vulnerable all of a sudden. She reached for her drink and took a huge swig.

  The liquor warmed her, but the cold thoughts wouldn’t go away. She shut off the tap and gently eased herself down into the hot bubbly water. Lying back in the tub, she took another drink and closed her eyes.

  She wanted so much to forget what she had just learned from Miss Rutledge. In fact, at that moment, she wished she’d never known about her grandmother. Her own life was in a shambles now, and she was sick and tired of analyzing it.

  John Hoffman had not only fathered Katherine, but had sexually abused her, too.

  This thought played in Emily’s mind like a broken record.

  She had more in common with Grandma Kather
ine than she cared to admit. How had Miss Rutledge put it? “History was repeating itself.”

  Was the old lady implying she knew that my father had raped and abused me as well? she thought to herself.

  How could she know?

  She simply couldn’t. It was impossible. Just a stab in the dark.

  But what about the nightmares? Another stab in the dark?

  Surely. Nobody knew about them. Just as no one knew about her father and what he’d done.

  So why did she still have the feeling that Miss Rutledge hadn’t told her everything? What was she still keeping from her? And why?

  Emily opened her eyes. She reached for her drink and took a couple of sips, nearly finishing it off. She set it back down on the edge of the tub and yawned wearily.

  A dull numbness swept over her as she closed her eyes. The alcohol was beginning to take affect—a fact she graciously welcomed. She became aware of the steady drip-drip-drip of the faucet amidst the still, dead silence of the house and the regularity of the dripping water had a mesmerizing, almost hypnotic effect.

  With remarkable ease, Emily blotted all thoughts of her grandmother from her mind. She thought of Ted again, and how she wished he could be there with her now. Things would be different this time—she would pretend that Sunday afternoon had never happened. And instead of resisting his advances, she’d allow his hands to explore her body—to touch and caress her all over. And she would enjoy every moment of it.

  She could almost feel him now; his hands cupping her breasts and gently squeezing them. Emily brought her hands down and imagined them to be Ted’s, and that he was in the tub with her. He was sitting there facing her; her legs wrapped around him while his hands worked their magic on her. He pinched one of her erect nipples firmly—just enough to cause her to tingle all over. The other hand moved slowly down her tummy, pausing long enough for a finger to encircle her belly button ever so lightly before gliding down along her hip to her thigh. His hand slid down to her inner thigh, then she felt his fingers touching and exploring her soft, wet mound of hair. He bent down and kissed her there for a few moments, his tongue occasionally sliding in and out of her, making her quiver in ecstasy. She could feel her juices beginning to flow, mingling with the warm saliva of his tongue and the hot bath water. Then he moved his head away and his fingers returned, sliding slowly in and around in her. He continued doing this for a long time, making her burn with uncontrollable desire.