"I'm ashamed to admit it," Francine said, "always have been, but I think we're all a bunch of alcoholics. Steven not so much, but all of us, off on binges far too often."

They both fell silent as the winds picked up, beating against the door, and howling around the molds of the windows.

Emily was stunned by her aunt's confession.

"I'll tell you what," Francine said, stiffly, "there's nothing more irritating than a hangover when you've got a ton of work to do." She closed her eyes, her brow pinched. "Why I've come to my senses now, I'm not sure. But I'm glad I have."

"Don't worry, Aunt Francine. I did fine."

"Fine? You say you did fine? You've been treated no better'n a slave.

"You know, Emily. My father, he was a drunk, even more of a drunk after coming home from the war. I remember the ranting, and then the glum silences during hangovers that lasted for days. Best thing for you is to never start the booze in the first place. I should've taken my mother's advice on that subject myself."

Emily had turned, and was clutching the arm of the couch. She felt warmed to the bone, her heart singing, beating the way it was solid like when you know you belong, like how she felt with Haity, and Daniel. "I won't start, I promise. But... Aunt Francine. I-I didn't know that you..."

"You mean drink like a fish? Don't recall is more like it. Although I'm sure as time passes, some things'll stir your memory. I know, I know. You're probably asking yourself, why blurt this out now." She laughed, ruefully. "Who knows, maybe it's me doing the asking. Or maybe it's that God your grandmother spoke of now and then knocking on my crumbling door." She tapped her heart with her knuckles. "Whatever it is, I've decided to turn a new leaf and give you some help. Ha! I guess it's better late than never."

"You're helping me? With what?"

Francine wiped her nose and dropped the wad of tissue into a brown grocery sack. She shifted around and finally settled on her side with her head resting on an elbow, dropping her gaze to Emily. "My guess is that you're gonna want to leave soon."

Emily crossed her arms over her chest, quivering with excitement.

"Of course," Francine continued, "knowing my brother, he won't like it. And to be honest, I'll be surprised if he lets you go at all."

"Grandfather, let me go? I'm sure he won't."

"Gracious Aunt Matilda, how would he ever pay someone else for the work you do around there?" Aunt Francine pointed a finger at her. "But don't let that stop you. Get out of there, the sooner the better."

Emily sat up. "I'm surprised you're telling me to..."

"Well, believe it. And believe me when I tell you to plan ahead. The best way out of here will be for you to take a bus from Watseka to Chicago. From Chicago you can go anywhere you like. Whatever you do, you're going to need some funds. I don't have much cash to speak of, but I'm giving you a silver bar I've got stashed away. Suppose to have been for retirement."

"Aunt Francine. I-I don't know what to say."

"There's no need to say anything. As far as I'm concerned, you earned it.

"There would've been four silver pieces. That's if Carl, my dear deceased husband hadn't misplaced three of them, or who knows what. They disappeared nevertheless."

"How do you think they disappeared?"

"I'm sure it was him and your grandfather... well mostly Carl's doing, I suppose. But Rupert didn't help any. Nevertheless, those two were quite a pair back then. I warned your uncle more than once that it was either me or the gambling."

"You mean you were going to leave him?"

"Auh, I'm not sure I would've gone through with it or not. Nevertheless, about a week before he died, the two of them went out to a poker game. Thought they were foolin' me. Ha. You should've heard 'em carry on when they showed up around six the next morning. I stuck my head out the window and tried to hear what they were saying, but all I could tell was supposedly someone won the jackpot."

Francine squinted and scratched her head with a long thin finger. "Whoever it was, it sure wasn't them. Anyway, the silver bar's just been sitting up in the attic collecting dust. You'll find it on top of the last rafter to your right, way down at the end."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I sure won't need it. There's a chest nearby. Climb up on that and you'll be able to reach the rafter. I had to use a ladder myself. Oh, and make sure to bring a flashlight with some good batteries. Mine are all dead. I doubt I'll be around long enough to get more."

"Don't say that."

Aunt Francine repositioned her head for a better look at her niece. "Listen, Emily, I'm not sure why I haven't told you this before, but I've been holding onto something of yours. It's, uhm... it's a necklace."

"A necklace? Of mine?"

"It's yours all right, and it's not just any necklace, mind you. You see, at one time, it belonged to your great-great-great grandmother. She received it back in the eighteen hundreds from some wealthy lord. The legend goes that the two carried on an illicit love affair." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Anyway, whether that's true or not is beside the point. The important thing is that it's part of your heritage. I put the velvet necklace box inside a brown box and placed it next to the silver bar."

Emily was shocked at her aunt's revelations. She attempted to tell her how grateful she was, but the woman was in a hurry to confess everything. It was as if she were afraid her time would run out before she had a chance to finish.

"One of the last things your grandmother said to me was that if anything ever happened to her, she wanted you to have the necklace. I left it sitting at the house for years in the back corner of your grandparent's closet. I didn't give it much thought. Then one day I was feeling sentimental or something, and I went over and picked it up. I planned to give it to you when you could comprehend its importance. I didn't tell my brother for years, wasn't even sure that he'd care. Then when I mentioned it to him, classic Rupert blew up for no good reason." She began to cough again, sounding more ragged now.

"Can I get you something?" Emily asked.

"No, no, this drink is all I need." She reached over, her hand trembling as she poured more whiskey into the cup, the tea long gone. Emily had noticed the tremors in the past. Now she knew why. She'd seen her grandfather's hands shake too after a long night of drinking, but never put the two together until now.

"Let me help you, Aunt Francine." She made a move to get up.

"Never mind. I have it. Ha, I've been doing it for years all by myself." She set the bottle on the floor, took a drink, and settled back.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes. So then one afternoon I came home after rabbit hunting and caught the old boy snooping under my bed."

"Oh no." Emily giggled.

"You laugh now. You should've been there. And boy, what a sight it was. There he was in perfect form with me pointing a gun at his backside. I said, *Get up, you old goat or I'll shoot your blasted tail end off.' He just about knocked himself out getting up. Didn't make a peep though, just left rubbing his head. We haven't discussed it since."

"Why would Grandfather want a necklace, anyway?"

"Oh, who knows? Could be he was afraid you might use the necklace as a tool to leave him without a housekeeper. Whatever the reason, I'm sure he's waiting for my demise before making another move. Ha, I think he's scared of me. 'Course, he hasn't seen me lately."

Francine sank back into the pillow. "Mm. How ironic life is sometimes."

"In what way?"

"Oh, a slew of things that happened since... well, since your mother died." Francine raised her head. "Lift your hand, young one. Let me see that ring of yours. I just noticed you were wearing it."

Emily held out her hand revealing the sapphire ring.

"Boy, that sure is pretty, isn't it?" Francine lay back and smiled. "You know, I was just thinking the other day how excited your grandmother was when she brought home that ring for your mother. How sad she was when she realized it was missing, and then again, how excited she was when you found it. Where'd you find it again?"

"Remember? It was under the tree outside my bedroom window."

"Oh, yes."

Emily spread her fingers out, admiring the ring. "Grandmother told me to put it up in my room until my fingers grew into it. I pulled it out on my sixteenth birthday. Haven't worn it since, until this morning."

"Oh, yes. I remember seeing it on you that day."

"You never said anything."

"Mmm, you know me."

"I hoped Grandfather would've forgotten about it. He might have, I'm not sure. Although when I was pouring him coffee that morning, his eyes landed on the ring. Before he could say anything, I told him you gave it to me."

"Speaking of birthdays, you'll be eighteen soon, won't you?"

"Yep. September the fourteenth, three days after my mother's birthday."

"Boy, it sure is hard to believe you'll be eighteen. Time sure flies. Hmm." Aunt Francine shook her head and smiled. "Your mother was a beautiful child. But you..." She stopped to gaze at her. "You Emily, you're becoming more beautiful each time I see you. I was just thinking here the last few days, how you've blossomed into a beauty the likes of which I've never seen. I don't expect that a mere click of the camera would even do you justice."

Aunt Francine laid her head back and closed her eyes.

Emily sat in silence, touched by the words and the memories, and by the change in her aunt. A few minutes passed before she looked up, alarmed at how still her aunt had become. She rolled onto her knees and leaned forward to make sure the old woman was still breathing. Reassured, but no less worried, she settled back onto the rug. "Please don't leave me, Aunt Francine, not now."

Minutes turned into hours as Emily read, stoked the fire, and took trips to the shed for more wood. Finally, the brutal winds died, leaving an eerie hum in the air and a lonely ache in her heart. She didn't want this to end. She placed her head on the armrest of the couch and closed her eyes.

"You know what?"

Emily bolted upright. "Oh, w-what, Aunt Francine?"

The old woman lowered her eyes to Emily's. "Whatever reason he's got for wanting that necklace is a mystery to me. But just don't let him catch you with it."

"I won't."

"And remember, no one but me and you know about the silver bar."

Francine pondered her next words. "I'm glad I had a chance to talk to you, Emily. I was afraid I wouldn't." Her mouth turned at the corners, and then she lay back and closed her eyes.

"Me, too, Aunt Francine. Me, too." There was more Emily thought of saying, but she didn't know how to sift through all the feelings she had stored for so long.

Before today, Francine had never told her she cared. Yet, she realized it didn't matter any longer that for years she had to beg for help, or attention, or that her aunt had been as sour as stale milk more times than not. The important thing was she'd taken the time out of her life to do things for her.

Now, she had come through with something that would change her life.

"Thanks, Aunt Francine," she whispered. But the woman had drifted off to sleep, thoughts of getting up to fix supper long forgotten.

CHAPTER TEN.

The night Aunt Francine died, Emily tearfully pictured herself with the men in a front row pew singing Amazing Grace with her mother, grandmother, and her aunt's spirits there to help mend the family. Yet, when she mentioned having the service at a nearby house of worship, Grandfather's response was a grunt and a look of horror.

Early morning on the day of her funeral, Grandfather and Claude left for parts unknown. Expecting them to show up for the service, Emily stood at the gravesite with her uncles, clutching a basket of flowers. She looked across the way to where her mother and grandmother lay, recalling how sad Grandfather was after Grandmother died. Yet, it wasn't until his eyes fell upon his daughter's grave that he completely fell apart.

"They're not coming," she said to Steven.

"Now how do you know that?"

"I just do. They're not coming."

He stood for a moment, looked up the gravel drive and then motioned to the minister to go ahead.

Following the service, she walked to where her mother and grandmother lay beneath rock headstones. It felt odd being there for the first time in more than fourteen years. As she stood at their feet with a breeze gently tossing her hair about, she felt their presence press against her chest, as if they were all sharing the sound of the rustling of the leaves, the fluttering of butterfly wings, and the swaying of the grass in the wind. The whole thing was uplifting, and she hung onto the feeling for as long as she could.

When it passed, she knelt at each of their headstones and left a bouquet of marigolds. She stood then and turned to look about for a glimpse of where Haity lay, wondering if she was next to her father who died a few years after his daughter. She wondered if they were even buried there.

"You ready to go?" Steven said, coming up beside her. He dropped his eyes to the graves of his mother and sister. They stood for a few minutes in silence, and then Emily followed him to the pickup.

"I'll ride in the back," she said, already climbing onto the footboard. She hopped in and positioned herself in a corner between the grocery bin and the side of the pickup. Steven sped off and she lifted her face, letting the wind brush against her cheeks and through her hair with its fingertips and sighs as it swept away again. She wondered where this invisible force came from and where it went. Whether it came back to touch those who lived as it had done so long ago tugging at her grandmother's hair, and long before that her own mother's. She wondered if those moments from the past were now part of her, and if their spirits were trying to tell her something by the unexpected stirring in her heart.

"When something touches you, my little Bella Bambina," her grandmother used to say, "that's the God of the universe trying to tell you something." She always had those little notes of premonition. Like the casting of a shadow by a cloud over the sun, or the catch of a breath at the sight of a shooting star, or a sudden gust of wind that folds around you and then sweeps off in a hurry. She believed these things sometimes came to warn you, and other times she said, they come to sooth your soul and bring you hope.

Tears, warmed by the memory of those who had loved her, rolled down Emily's cheeks. A soft wind came and whisked them away, perhaps to live in another day and another time.

Back at the farm, she started lunch for her two uncles. There still wasn't a sign of Grandfather and Claude. She noticed on the way back from the funeral they weren't at Aunt Francine's. Though she knew, it was just a matter of time before they would go. Suddenly, she was in a hurry to head over there herself.

Eager for the men to finish up so she could be on her way, she cut thinner slices of bread than normal. She put less meat and lettuce onto the sandwiches. And when it was time to sit for lunch, she ate faster than usual, all in the hope that it would inspire them to do the same. Finally, she stood and started clearing the table. They didn't seem to notice her urgency, just took their sandwiches and left.

After she cleaned the kitchen, she went upstairs and reached under the bed for a flashlight and a potato sack. She draped the sack around her neck and placed the flashlight into one of her skirt pockets. Then she slipped away to retrieve the legacy her grandmother left her, and to claim the gift from Aunt Francine that would buy her freedom.

Outside she called the cats to accompany her.

"Kidders! Caesar!" When they didn't respond, she tried to coax them from their hiding. "Kiideers! Caeeesaar!" Still nothing. "All right, you rascals, it's your loss."

She wasn't exactly superstitious, but the cats liked to tag along whenever she left the yard. She kept looking back for them all the way to her aunt's. At the same time, she listened for the sound of Grandfather's pickup.

The moment she stepped inside the cottage, so quiet now, as though it had been empty for years, she imagined voices telling her to get out before the old man showed up. This strange feeling stayed like a cloud as she hurried to the bedroom and pulled a stool to the middle of the room. She climbed on top, using a rope attached to a ceiling doorway to lower a makeshift stairway.

Carefully making her way to the top step, she pulled out the flashlight, flipped the switch, and climbed into the attic. The beam of light was weak as she moved toward the left wall, stirring up dust and knocking down cobwebs. She sneezed a couple of times, then brushed herself off, trying not to look either way into the darkness, hoping for nothing worse than a few spiders. When she reached the wall, she pointed the flashlight to the last rafter, turned right, and then followed the beam of light.

As she reached the far end of the attic, she stubbed her toe on something and dropped the light to the chest Aunt Francine mentioned. Pointing the flashlight back up to the rafter, she moved the light until there before her, like two old friends patiently waiting, sat the silver bar and the box containing the necklace.

She positioned the flashlight face-up inside her right skirt pocket, and then pushed the chest closer to the beam. Her heart thumped as she stepped on top of the old brown trunk and gently reached for the box that held her necklace. Wiping it off with her skirt, she slipped it into her left pocket, and then gingerly lifted the silver bar. It was larger than she expected, almost half the size of a loaf of bread. She brushed away dust revealing its rich color and a one hundred-ounce marking.

"Oh, my word," she whispered, "I'll bet its worth at least fifty bucks." She took the potato sack from around her neck and placed the bar inside, finding it hard to believe it belonged to her.

She stepped from the chest and was about to head back down, when her curiosity got the best of her. She set the sack on the floor and lifted the trunk lid. There she found old documents and a couple of large envelopes, a pile of funny looking pictures of people she never knew existed, and a stack of letters mostly from her uncle, Carl McTune. Her great uncle's letters were from Italy and Germany, dated back as far as 1910. Although, the letter that really caught her attention was the one wedged beneath the flap of one of the large brown envelopes sitting on top of the pile. It was addressed to Francine from a man named Samuel Dimsmoore. The return address was a Post Office Box number in San Francisco, dated September 1941.

She was tempted to rummage around more. But her time was short. She placed the letter next to the necklace, along with a package of stamps she found wrapped in clear plastic. Then she picked up the potato sack and set back across the room.

After only a few steps down the ladder, the kitchen door creaked opened. She moved quickly, planning to toss the sack out the window once she got down. But then her skirt caught onto something. She grabbed a chunk of fabric, giving it a sharp tug. The skirt ripped, but she still couldn't move. Tightening her fist around the cloth, she yanked again. There was another ripping sound then she was free.