{"id":1048,"date":"2019-02-10T21:33:59","date_gmt":"2019-02-11T02:33:59","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1048"},"modified":"2020-07-28T17:46:51","modified_gmt":"2020-07-28T21:46:51","slug":"thursdays-child","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/thursdays-child\/","title":{"rendered":"Thursday\u2019s Child"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Thursday\u2019s Child<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Melody Carlson<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma has always been \u201cthe practical one\u201d in the family. But that is about to change as she embarks on the adventure of her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma Davis wants a new life now that she no longer needs to care for her grandmother. A spur-of-the-moment visit to a travel agency sets her on a journey far from her Iowa home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma takes a cruise to the far islands of the Pacific, but it isn\u2019t until she arrives in Papua, New Guinea, that she begins to realize her true calling. Emma regains her sense of purpose by caring for three motherless children and befriending their father, Josh Daniels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Josh\u2019s troubled pass and the loss of his wife have left him vulnerable, but can the love Emma has discovered in her own heart, awaken his heart to all Emma has to offer?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Previously Titled: Awakening Heart<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Emma poured her\nsecond cup of coffee and turned the page of the Des Moines Morning Herald<\/em>.\nSaturday was the only day she took time to read the news, and then only\nbriefly. Headlines depressed her\u2014always someone else\u2019s heartache or shame\nplastered across the front page in unfeeling black and white. Even when she\nwashed the newsprint from her fingers, the stories remained indelibly pressed\nin her mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEmma Jane,\u201d complained\nGrandma from the tiny front room. \u201cWhat\u2019s that yappy dog barking about next\ndoor? She\u2019s been at it all morning.\u201d The worn Naugahyde recliner squeaked as\nGrandma shifted her bulky frame, her groans in accompaniment to the chair. Emma\nsighed. These familiar sounds were more aggravating than usual today. She\nfolded her paper, and walked into the living room. Living<\/em> room\u2014what a\ncontradiction in terms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with\nthat animal?\u201d Grandma scowled as if the annoyance were all Emma\u2019s fault.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma avoided the\npenetrating gaze, instead moving her eyes to her grandmother\u2019s swollen feet.\nThey seemed to ooze right out of her threadbare corduroy slippers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Grandma,\u201d\nanswered Emma, suppressing the urge to throw something. \u201cMaybe Miss Finley\nhasn\u2019t let her out yet. You know how Bitsy gets herself all worked up.\u201d Emma\nsipped her now lukewarm coffee, hoping her answer would pacify the old woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t I know it! And here\nI sit, day in, day out, subjected to that dreadful noise. Why anyone in their\nright mind keeps a snippy little mutt like that is beyond me!\u201d Grandma\u2019s voice\ngrew loud and grating. Emma wondered if poor Miss Finley could hear her ranting\nthrough the thin wall that separated their apartments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma never looked forward\nto weekends the way most people did. Not that she particularly liked her job\nthat much, but Saturdays with Grandma always stretched her endurance to the\nlimit. It was on weekends that she longed for her own home\u2014to do nothing, to\nsing out loud, or even to walk around in her underwear, if she wanted to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRun over and see what\u2019s\nup, Emma,\u201d ordered Grandma. \u201cMaybe you can shut that stupid dog up!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To argue would be\npointless, and to pretend she hadn\u2019t heard would only increase the volume of\nthe demand. Besides, Emma hadn\u2019t visited with Miss Finley since Christmas.\nSurely even her questionable company would be preferable to Grandma\u2019s right\nnow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bitsy barked madly as Emma\nrang the bell. Miss Finley\u2019s door, like theirs, needed painting again. She rang\nonce more, then walked over to the front window. Year-round, Miss Finley kept\nfaded plastic flowers poked into the window box. Sometimes, especially in the\ncold of winter, Emma longed to rip out those vulgar-looking blooms and toss\nthem into the trash bin. Now she leaned over and peeked inside. She spotted\nBitsy leaping about, yipping and jumping like an overwound mechanical toy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then Emma noticed a pair\nof fluffy pink slippers and a flowery bathrobe on the living room floor. She\npeered more closely. It was Miss Finley! Her pale face was motionless, and her\nmouth gaped open. Emma beat on the window until she feared the glass might\nshatter, and Bitsy flew into an even wilder frenzy. But Miss Finley didn\u2019t\nbudge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma raced back to\nGrandma\u2019s and grabbed the phone. Her hands were shaking, and her fingers\nfumbled with the number\u2014was it 119 or 911?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat in the world is\ngoing on, Emma?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Over Grandma\u2019s raspy\nsquawk, Emma was finally able to dial the correct digits for the emergency\ndispatch operator and told the calm woman on the other end to send help. As\ninstructed, Emma called the apartment manager and asked for a key.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before long, the sounds of\nsirens screamed down the avenue, and an emergency vehicle pulled into the\nparking lot. Emma leaned over the balcony, waving her arms to signal the\nparamedics. Uniformed technicians bounded up the stairs just as the manager\nunlocked Miss Finley\u2019s door. Bitsy\u2019s startled yelps added to the chaos, and\nEmma scooped up the poor little dog and tossed her into her grandmother\u2019s\napartment, ignoring Grandma\u2019s protests as she closed the door firmly behind\nher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The paramedics were\ncrouched around Miss Finley, equipment in hand, poking, prodding, examining.\nOne by one, they all stood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re too late,\u201d said the\ntallest one in a matter-of-fact tone. \u201cShe\u2019s been dead two, maybe three hours\nmax. Looks like cardiac arrest.\u201d They packed up their gear, then turned to the\napartment manager. \u201cWe\u2019ll notify the coroner, but this is Saturday, you know.\nIt might take a while for him to get here. You might want to make other\narrangements.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The balding manager threw\nup his hands, \u201cI dunno nothing about this kinda thing. Never had a tenant die\non me before. I didn\u2019t hardly know her. Can\u2019t you just take her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNope, it\u2019s against regs.\nMight be quicker to have the funeral home come out, but you have to sign an\nagreement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot me,\u201d protested the\nmanager.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, you better call\nsomeone then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The manager frowned. \u201cI\nthought you guys knew what to do\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma wanted to scream. How\ndare they stand around arguing about what to do with poor Miss Finley as if she\nweren\u2019t a real person\u2014or had been until very recently. For the second time that\nmorning, Emma felt capable of violence\u2014she really thought she might punch Mr.\nPotts in the face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stared at Miss\nFinley\u2019s lime green sponge-curlers, still tightly wound in the mousy gray hair,\nand Emma felt her knees begin to wobble, and she clutched the door frame for\nsupport. \u201cYou can\u2019t just leave her lying there,\u201d she said weakly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The three paramedics\nturned and studied her, as if they hadn\u2019t noticed her before. \u201cYou know this\nlady? You a relative?\u201d asked one of the uniformed men.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m her neighbor\u2014and\nfriend, Emma Davis.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, maybe you can take\ncare of this, then.\u201d He pulled a dog-eared business card from his pocket. \u201cHere\nyou go. My uncle runs this joint. He\u2019s a decent guy. I can call him for you on\nthe cellular phone, if you like.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stared at the flowery\nlettering\u2014Eternal Rest Mortuary Services. She nodded mutely, signed a paper,\nand they were gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma stood alone on the\nbalcony, unwilling to go back inside and submit to Grandma\u2019s inquisition. Yet\nshe felt even more uneasy about being alone in Miss Finley\u2019s apartment. Emma\nknew Grandma would probably say Miss Finley was in heaven now and that was only\nher shell on the floor. After all, Miss Finley was a religious woman. Still,\nsomehow Emma couldn\u2019t picture Miss Finley with wings and a harp, perched on a\ncloud. To her, Miss Finley appeared just plain dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma stared blankly out on\nthe gray morning and shivered in the cold. Everything seemed surreal. One\nmoment a person is alive, and the next, she is gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, a long, slate-colored\nhearse slid to a stop in the apartment complex parking lot. A stoop-shouldered\nman in a dark suit emerged and quickly approached, followed by a lanky, younger\nguy. He murmured something that sounded sympathetic, then handed her a form.\nShe signed without reading the fine print, eager for them to take Miss Finley\naway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the hearse left,\nEmma stood on the balcony wondering what to do next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seeing the door to Miss\nFinley\u2019s apartment still ajar, she stepped inside. She should probably notify someone\nabout Miss Finley\u2019s death. As she looked for an address book, she noticed a\nlittle red light glowed in the kitchenette, signaling that the electric teapot\nwas still on. She unplugged it and poured the steaming contents down the sink.\nIt left an ugly brown streak across the scrubbed white porcelain. She turned on\nthe tap and watched as the water ran, finally erasing the last traces of Miss\nFinley\u2019s morning tea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma had known Miss Finley\nfor almost twenty-five years\u2014ever since Emma and her sister, Fran, had come to\nlive with Grandma. Could it have been that long? She remembered the first time\nMiss Finley had invited Emma for tea. That had been on a Saturday, too.\nSix-year-old Emma had been sitting outside on the cold cement steps, leaning\ninto the wrought-iron handrail, and wishing she could disappear\u2014the same way\nher parents had disappeared from her life after their terrible accident.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That day, Miss Finley had\nbeen on her way upstairs with a grocery bag in her arms. Emma remembered how\npretty the woman had looked in her floral print sundress. Of course, Miss\nFinley had been much younger back then. Actually, about the age Emma was now.\nHow very odd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello, love,\u201d Miss Finley\nhad said brightly. She called everyone \u201clove.\u201d It had something to do with her being\nBritish. \u201cCare to come in for a spot of tea? I just bought some yummy-looking\nbiscuits\u2014or, rather, cookies, as you Yanks call them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Being six and fond of\ncookies, Emma had accepted. Miss Finley\u2019s apartment had intrigued her with its\nvibrant colors and modern furnishings. Now the colors seemed garish, and the\nfurniture, with its peeling vinyl edges, tasteless and tired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A small pink address book\nlay next to the phone. Emma thumbed through its nearly empty pages until she\nfound a Finley\u2014in Liverpool, England.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello? Is this a relative\nof Maggie Finley?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaggie? Why yes\u2026 I\u2019m\nMaggie\u2019s aunt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m Emma Davis, Maggie\nFinley\u2019s neighbor\u2026 and I\u2019m sorry to be the one to tell you\u2026 but\u2014well,\nunfortunately, your niece was found dead this morning. A heart attack, I think\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a long silence.\n\u201cOh my\u2014poor little Maggie.\u201d The aunt was sobbing now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She gave Emma the number\nof an uncle in Los Angeles who could help out, and Emma gave him a call. He\noffered to cover the expenses if Emma could handle the arrangements. She\nagreed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust what is going on\naround here?\u201d demanded Grandma when Emma returned to their apartment. Bitsy\nquivered in a corner with a pathetic look in her eyes, as if she\u2019d lost her\nonly friend in the world. Emma supposed it was true. \u201cAnd why in heaven\u2019s name\ndid you dump Miss Finley\u2019s dog in here?\u201d The old woman\u2019s tone softened. \u201cIs\nMaggie okay, Emma? I heard sirens. I just know something\u2019s wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, Grandma, something\u2019s\nvery wrong. Miss Finley is dead. Probably had a heart attack early this\nmorning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDear me! So that\u2019s why\nthe dog was barking her head off. I just knew<\/em> something was amiss as\nsoon as I got up this morning. I always sense these things, you know. And when\nthis dog wouldn\u2019t stop barking\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma interrupted the\nmonologue. \u201cGrandma, I\u2019ve got lots to do. I agreed to handle the funeral\ndetails for Miss Finley.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By noon, Emma had\ncompleted much of the arrangements by phone. Oddly enough, the procedure seemed\nalmost familiar\u2014selecting flowers, music, the casket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, at the funeral\ndirector\u2019s request, she returned to Miss Finley\u2019s apartment to search for some\nappropriate burial clothing. She tried to imagine what the woman might choose.\nWhat does one wear to one\u2019s own funeral? After thumbing through the sparse but\norderly selection of office wear, she discovered a garment bag stashed way in\nthe back. Zipped inside was a lovely cream-colored, street-length dress. It\nlooked to be about twenty years old, trimmed in lace, with a yellowed price tag\nstill hanging from the sleeve. It hadn\u2019t come cheap, not even way back in those\ndays\u2014which was odd, since Miss Finley was a fanatical bargain shopper. It had\nto have been a wedding gown, although Emma had never heard her neighbor mention\nany romantic interest. She wondered what had happened, why the wedding had\nnever taken place. Surely Miss Finley would want to wear her dress this\nonce\u2014even if it was for a funeral rather than a wedding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After delivering the\ngarment, Emma walked sadly back to the apartment, contemplating Miss Finley\u2019s\nunfulfilled and insignificant little life. Who was her mystery lover? What had\ngone wrong? Maybe he\u2019d died in Vietnam. A wartime romance<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or maybe it was more like\nEmma\u2019s own story. Even after almost seven years, it still hurt. But then\nperhaps today was as good a day as any to mourn lost love. So for the first\ntime in years, she allowed his face to force its way back into her\nconsciousness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\u2019d been sure that he\u2019d\nloved her, and almost as sure that she loved him. But he knew about her fears,\nand still he insisted she come to France that summer. He knew she was afraid to\nfly, afraid to visit strange countries, afraid of so many things. Yet he would\nnot take no for an answer. He went to Paris without her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that was the end of\nit. She shook her head as the apartment building came into sight. The memory\nwasn\u2019t painful anymore. It was almost a disappointment\u2014she\u2019d expected to cry.<\/p>\n\n\n