Hearts Unfold Read Free

had been so sad.   What if she hadn't
wanted that?
    There beneath
the infinite expanse of the winter sky, mindful of all that had gone before,
she made her commitment.   She would come
home, build on what her parents had already established, dedicate herself to a
life they would have wanted for her.   She
would work through the practical problems of her decision in the days ahead,
holding firm to the belief that things meant to be could be made to
happen.   The failure of her plan would
have been in the hesitation to take this first step into her future.   Her father had taught her better, and she
intended to make him proud.

 

 
    On her pallet
next to the hearth, Emily slept more peacefully that night than she had in
years.   She dreamed of the house as it
was when there had been the three of them together.   In her dream, she heard the sound of music,
the piano and the violin speaking as surely as the voices that called from room
to room.   She smelled freshly polished
wood, sun-warmed roses and the alluring scent of baking bread.   In every room, as she passed slowly through
the house, surfaces gleamed in the sunlight and a sweet breeze stirred the
curtains at the open windows.   In the oak
trees outside, birds sang and the fields beyond the barn were green with the
summer's abundant crop.   The house seemed
to glow, renewed, reborn.

 

 
    Daybreak
brought the full force of harsh reality to bear.   The first of those practical problems she had
been so sure could be worked through met her first waking glance.   The house was cold, her fire now barely
glowing ashes, and from her vantage point by the hearth, she had a view of the
dust that coated every surface and the delicate webs laced across light
fixtures and clinging in corners.   The
musty smell of neglect filled her nostrils with each breath.   With a resolute groan, she threw off the
covers and scurried to the kitchen.   Soon
the copper kettle was heating water for tea and slices of buttered bread were
toasting under the broiler.   She had
never been afraid of hard work; in fact it had always helped her think.   There was enough work here to last for days,
plenty of time to formulate her strategies and test her arguments.   By the time the house was clean, she should
be prepared to march into Jack’s office and present her plan.
    Jack.   The image of his wise, weathered face brought
a lump to her throat.   More than her
godfather, Jack had been her third parent.   For another two years, he was also her legal guardian, the one person
whose support was essential if she was going to move forward with her
plans.   Just convincing Jack that she was
no longer a child would take some doing.   Persuading him that she could actually come home, take over running the
farm and live here on her own would take much more.   Better to get busy doing something
constructive, than waste energy quaking at the thought of that moment when he
realized she’d lied to him and sneaked up here practically under his nose.   If hard work could help her think, then the
more hard work the better.
    She had made a
mental list of the chores to be done, but first, she wanted to take a
walk.   When she had arrived, just before
dusk, she had rushed to prepare for the night, carrying in her supplies and
enough firewood to last until morning.   Now she walked deliberately to the gate, opening it wide enough to let
herself out into the drive.   Slowly, in
order to enjoy the full impact, she turned back to gaze across the lawn.   It was an image she carried in her mind, as
clear as any photograph; the solid frame house guarded by two ancient oaks,
flanked by the big red barn to the east and the little timbered smokehouse to
the west.   A large, graceful house, with
a deep porch and big dormers lined in perfect symmetry across the front, it sat
close to the ground, as if rooted there over time.   Seeing it now after so many months away she
thought it seemed a little