The Problem Child (Emerson Pass Historicals 4)

I drovedown the driveway to the Barnes estate as the snow began to tumble from the sky. As I went around the sharp turn, a shadow appeared in the distance. I squinted into the darkness. Someone was walking toward me. The figure wore a pair of boots and a flannel nightgown. The meandering, slow gait made me think at first glance she was drunk, but I dismissed this idea when I realized it was a child. Addie. She stopped, staring into my headlights.

I slammed on my brake but left the engine going before jumping out and running to her.

She appeared like an angel, with the snow falling around her. For a split second, I imagined she had wings attached to her back.

“Addie?”

“Viktor?” Her eyes shone in the glow of the car’s headlights. She sounded surprisingly strong and clear.

My instincts told me to stay calm and approach slowly, as if she were a frightened animal. I forced myself to speak evenly, almost conversationally. “What are you doing out here?” Was I seeing her ghost? Had Addie become an angel? I tried not to cry, but tears fell anyway, warm on my cheeks.

“I’m a cat, looking for a private place to die.”

I took one step closer. “Addie, no. Not that.”

“I’m going to find a cozy nook, like our cat did. They like to die alone. I have to do that too.”

“Where is everyone? Didn’t they see you leave?” This was said out loud but more to myself than her.

“I had to sneak away. They were all sleeping. I can’t be here any longer, keeping them all from living.”

I reached her just as her knees seemed to buckle and caught her in my arms. Lifting her, she seemed to weigh even less than the day I’d brought her home. “You want to live, Addie. You said so to Cym.” I carried her to the car. Snow caught in my lashes and made it hard to see, but I managed to get her into the passenger side.

She leaned over and grabbed my coat collar in her small white hands. “I want her to jump, Viktor. Promise me you’ll make her.”

“You’re going to be here. You’re going to see her with your own eyes.”

“I don’t want to live like this any longer. Each day is worse than the last. I’m not going to get better.”

“You don’t know that.” I hesitated, worried to say too much.

“I’m so very tired,” she whispered. “I’m a burden, too. All of them should live and laugh, and I’m ruining all of it.”

I had to tell her what my mother had said. Hope was all I had to offer. If she could just hang on for a little bit longer. “I just had dinner with my parents. I told them you were sick and refusing to eat. My mother said she knew a girl when she was young in Norway. The girl was like you. Sick all the time. Her family were bakers. There was always a lot of bread around. Just like Lizzie makes at your house. When she stopped eating bread and muffins and whatever else was made with flour, she stopped being sick.”

Her eyes fluttered, as gently as a butterfly’s wings. “Is that true?”

“Do you remember yesterday when you had the bread? Afterward you were sick.”

“Mama thinks it’s the bread too, but that’s such a silly idea.” She sounded about a hundred years old. “Bread is nothing but flour.”

“That’s right. You’re a smart girl. What does that tell you? Flour makes you sick.”

“Flour is wheat. Wheat comes from the earth.”

“What if you try eating something without any flour in it again? Like the potato soup? It didn’t make you sick, remember? Isn’t it worth trying?”

She clutched my collar again. “I’m scared, Viktor. I’m scared to live and scared to die.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” My throat ached so badly I could hardly speak.

“Sometimes having hope is worse than just giving up.” Unshed tears shone in her eyes.

“Can’t we give it one more try, though? Have just enough hope for one more bowl of that soup?”

“Maybe.” A slight lilt told me she wanted to try. Hope. That word again. The one that had sustained many a sufferer.

“Do it for Cym and all of your family,” I said. “They all love you so much. They don’t want you to leave them.”

“I’d not had any more hope left in me,” Addie said. “Even the angels couldn’t convince me to return. I could feel them, Viktor. All around me. They whispered to me—go home—but I couldn’t listen any longer. And then I saw your car.”

“An angel brought me here to you,” I said. “You must have quite a few watching out for you.”

“My grandmother.” Addie let out a shallow breath before her teeth began to chatter. “She always told me I was her special girl.”

“You are a special girl.” I grabbed the blanket I kept in the back and tucked it around her. “Let’s get you back to your family.”

“Soup. Potato soup,” she whispered.

God bless potatoes, I thought. And the angels that guided us.