Free Dreams for Stones by Ann Warner Page B

finished paper to show Emily.
    That day, Jess, looking more stooped than
Kathy remembered from her last visit, had answered the door.
    “Hi, Jess. I’m here to see Emily. To show
her my paper.”
    The house framed Jess with dark and quiet,
and no smell of fresh baking floated in the air. He’d stared at
her, his silence stretching like a cobweb pulling against her hair.
“Em.” He stopped, cleared his throat. “She died. A week ago.”
    Kathy didn’t really need the ordinary words
Jess used to confirm what she already suspected, but the pain she
felt on hearing them was sudden and extraordinary.
    “What happened?” The words seemed to come
from a distance, as if someone else were speaking.
    “Heart just gave out.” Jess stopped, then
went on, his voice wavering, his throat working. “Nearly killed me
too.”
    Kathy reached out to touch his arm, before
she remembered. Jess didn’t seem to like to be touched. Emily was
the hugger. “Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry.”
    He motioned her to come in, leading her
slowly back to the kitchen, Emily’s kitchen, where he fixed
tea.
    Kathy sat, fighting the tears that were
making her throat tight and her head ache. Finally, she gave in and
let the tears run down her face.
    After Jess poured the tea, Kathy warmed her
hands on the cup, and she and Jess sat in silence until Jess
cleared his throat. “Emily left something for you.” His hand
trembled as he lowered the cup onto the saucer with a click. “I’ll
get it.”
    Kathy waited in the quiet of Emily’s
kitchen, staring at the pink and purple blossoms of Emily’s African
violets lifting their petals in the breeze from the kitchen window.
The ticking clock and an occasional drip from the faucet were the
only sounds, until Jess returned, that new uncertainty altering his
step.
    He carried a large shoebox. “It’s Em’s
diaries. I came across them the other day when I cleared out her
desk. She wanted you to have them. Took a real shine to you, Em
did.”
    Later, when Kathy opened the box, she found
a number of small books along with a note, written in a neat, clear
hand, lying on top.
     
    November 12, 1990
    My dearest Kathleen,
    I know from our talks, you worry about making the right choices in
your life. I cannot, nor should anyone, tell you what to do. For
that, my dear, you must listen to your own heart. And, never fear,
it is speaking to you.
    Perhaps I can help a little though, by showing you how I found my
own way. There is no one I would rather share that with.
    I also want you to know, Kathleen, your visits brought this old
woman so much joy.
     
    Love,
    Emily
     
    After she read Emily’s note, Kathy started
to cry again, which was strange. After all, Emily wasn’t family.
Only, that’s what Kathy’s sorrow felt like. Like she was mourning a
death in her family. Of someone precious to her.
    Eventually, Kathy came to realize that piece
of paper with Emily’s name on it was the fulcrum on which her
entire future tipped. Just like the nursery rhyme, the one that
went. . . for want of a nail the shoe was lost, for want of a shoe
the horse was lost...all the way to the end with the country being
lost, if she hadn’t met Emily and learned to trust in her dreams,
her life would have been something else altogether.
    And tonight, when the consequences of the
choice she’d made to let Greg go to San Francisco alone was a heavy
burden on her heart, she needed Emily again.
    She sorted through the box of small
leather-bound books, looking for the beginning of Emily’s story.
When she located the right book, she curled up in her easy chair
and opened it to the first page.

    January 1, 1925
     
    Well, here I am, starting a diary, of all things. When I told Jess
I didn’t have any idea how to do that, he said I ought to start by
telling where I came from and how I came to be Mrs. Jess Kowalski,
living in Cincinnati, Ohio.
    I guess that’s as good a way as any.
    I grew up on a farm near Red Oak, Iowa,
never expecting to