~ by M. C. Pehrson
Susan and Tommy recovered their health. Now that they were up and out of bed, it became harder for Emma to visit the attic. Often, she waited until after bedtime before tiptoeing along the hall with pen and scissors and paste. Alone in the quiet attic, she compiled the illustrated life of Carl John Kester. Funny, that his middle name was John. For years, that name had been linked to villainy in Emma’s imagination, but no amount of searching turned up anything evil about Mr. Kester.
Emma began her scrapbook with his early years on a Minnesota dairy farm and his family’s move to the San Fernando Valley. After high school, he became a barber and helped support his parents. It was steady work, but not the sort of job for the young man with shy eyes and a love for the land. At home, he indulged that love by building the rabbitry business and raising pigeons. He hunted and hiked and went camping with his sister. Emma found photos for everything and carefully printed Carl’s story around them.
Then the war came. Carl was drafted into the army, where he served in combat. One day, an exploding artillery shell sent him to the hospital. After that, his hands sometimes trembled, and he was bothered with nightmares that never completely went away. Emma wrote carefully about this serious subject, using newspaper clippings and pictures of Carl with his army buddies.
When the war ended, he went back to work as a barber and married beautiful Christina Norquist. He enjoyed her good cooking, and they were very happy together. Soon, little Susan was born. Emma filled a whole page with wedding snapshots, baby Susan at her baptism, and Carl’s favorite recipe for lemon pie.
Then came the bad year. One by one, Carl’s parents and sister died. His nightmares got worse. A doctor’s report mentioned a nervous condition, depression, and trouble sleeping. Did he start to rely on alcohol for some relief? Emma knew what it was like to lose a loved one, to wake up from bad dreams, and lie in bed with a pounding heart. The sympathy she felt for Mr. Kester made its way onto the pages of the scrapbook.
Tommy was about to be born when they inherited the old farmhouse, right here on the boulevard. By then, the rabbit hutches and pigeon cotes were long gone, so Carl turned to farming the little piece of land as a sideline. He built the henhouse so Christina could have chickens, and put together a windmill like the ones back in Minnesota when he was a kid. There were many good things worth remembering.
Emma came to the final pages of the scrapbook. Here she pasted a photo of Susan smiling down from the windmill ladder and lots of pictures showing all four Kesters together in their happier moments. Tears welled as she copied “A Father’s Prayer” from the well-worn prayer book Carl had carried with him during the war. At last, she truly felt like she knew him. Carl Kester had never wanted to become an alcoholic. He was a gentle, decent man who loved God and his family with all his heart.
The book was finished. For a moment, Emma savored the quiet sense of completion, and then she started to pick up.
Suddenly she heard footsteps out in the hall. It happened so fast; there was no chance to hide. She froze as the attic door swung open and Papa walked in to discover that the light was already on. In an instant, his eyes found her huddled by the open chest.
“Emma?”
“…Papa,” she said in a small voice. Emma knew that she should have asked permission before digging through the chest and filling the old scrapbook. But what if the answer had been “no”?
Papa came closer. He looked with displeasure at her pot of paste and the strewn contents of the chest. “So, you are the mouse we’ve been hearing. What is all this? Why aren’t you in bed where you belong?”
Emma swallowed hard. Rising to her feet, she handed him the scrapbook. “I’ve been making this for Susan…and Tommy, too…but it’s all done now. It’s about Mr. Kester, so they’ll remember the nice things about him.”
“Mr. Kester?” Papa’s frown lines deepened as he flipped through the pages, studying them intently.
Would he misunderstand? Would he be jealous of Carl Kester? After all, Papa was Susan and Tommy’s stepfather now.
Emma tried to explain. “It’s different with Mama and me. All my memories of her are good, except for the sickness, and that didn’t affect her mind — not like drinking.” She paused for a deep breath, her heart pounding hard. “I’m sorry, Papa. I guess I fouled up everything, didn’t I? Mom’s going to be mad, isn’t she?”
Papa did not answer for the longest time. He just kept on reading. Then with a sigh, he closed the scrapbook and tucked it under his arm. There was a tired look in his eyes, and his voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Don’t worry, Honeybee. I don’t think Christina will be angry. I’m going to take this downstairs and show it to her. Go to bed now. You can pick up this mess tomorrow.”
As he bent to kiss her cheek, she hugged him tightly and said, “I love you, Papa.”
That night, Emma dreamed about Carl Kester. She saw him standing near her bed, and when she ran into his arms, he kissed her on the cheek, just like her own Papa. And at that moment, it seemed as if everything would be okay.
***
Morning cast a rosy glow over Emma’s room. A warm breeze smelled of honeysuckle as it gently stirred the curtains, but the confident note of her dream had faded. Though it was the last Saturday before school let out for the summer, she felt none of the usual anticipation. Wondering what the day would hold for her, she dressed in play clothes and went downstairs to face Mom. Emma found her in the kitchen, taking blueberry muffins out of the oven.
Mom glanced up and smiled. “Good morning, Emma.”
Emma’s stomach tightened. “Morning,” she said, and hesitantly came up beside her. “Did…did Papa…”
Mom’s eyes grew misty. Nodding, she reached out with one arm and pulled Emma close. “What a wonderful idea…and so thoughtful. You did a beautiful job. The scrapbook is right here on top of the breadbox. Why don’t you show it to Sue and Tommy after breakfast?”
Relief flooded Emma, and she felt closer to her stepmother than ever before. “I was afraid you’d be mad! Oh Mom, I’ll never go digging in the attic again — not without your permission — I promise!”
Breakfast seemed to take forever, but at last, Papa and Mom were lingering over their coffee when Tommy devoured the last buttered muffin and asked permission to leave the table.
“Hold on,” Mom said. “Emma has a surprise for you and Susan. The two of you sit together.”
As Tommy hurried over to Susan’s side, Emma went to get the scrapbook. She could only hope that they would not be disappointed or upset by what they found in its pages.
Her heart raced as she set the big leather book in front of them and opened the cover. “It… it’s all about your Dad. See? It tells a story, with pictures and everything. Did you know that he raised rabbits? Right here on this property, before he met your mother. He tried keeping one in a pen on the ground, and it dug a deep burrow. It was a black and white doe — a female that was going to have babies. She dug her way out and raised her bunnies here on the farm. All these years later, some of her grandchildren are still hopping around.”
“That’s right!” Susan said as if only now remembering. “Dad told me that once when I was really little.”
Emma pointed to a small boy with tousled hair. “That’s him…with his mother. They lived on a big dairy farm in Minnesota.”
“A dairy,” Tommy said with importance. “That’s where they get milk. You mean they had cows?”
Emma showed him another picture. “Lots and lots of them. See?”
Susan, who could read for herself, started turning the pages. She found the place where Emma had listed some funny, old-fashioned sayings from letters that her father wrote during the war. She laughed. “He used to say that, alright — I remember. And that, too.”
“Said what?” clamored Tommy. “Tell me! What did Dad say?”
With a warm, contented feeling, Emma backed away, leaving Susan and Tommy to rediscover their father.
Mom gave her a grateful smile, and Papa said, “Come here, Honeybee.”
Emma went and stood between them. As Papa held one hand and Mom held the other, Emma could not help thinking about her own Mama. But here on the old Kester farm, she felt loved… and yes, she felt happy. It was going to be a good summer.
A very sweet chapter.