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Return to Emmett’s Mill
Kimberly Van Meter
Table of Contents
An avid reader since before she can remember, Kimberly Van Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings, on her mother’s old portable typewriter. Although that first novel was nothing short of literary mud, with each successive piece of work her writing improved to the point of reaching that coveted published status.
A journalist (who during college swore she’d never write news), Kimberly has worked for both daily and weekly newspapers, covering multiple beats including education, health and crime, but she always dreamed of writing novels and someday saying goodbye to her nonfiction roots.
Born and raised in scenic Mariposa, California, Kimberly knows a thing or two about small towns – preferring the quiet, rural atmosphere to the hustle and bustle of a busy city any day – but she and her husband make their home in Oakdale, which represents a compromise between the two worlds. Kimberly and her husband, John, met and fell in love while filming a college production. He was the camera operator and she the lead actress. Her husband often jokes that he fell in love with his wife through the lens of a camera. A year later they were married and have been together ever since.
To Krystina Morgainne for your gift of hope.
To Wynette Kimball for your expertise and wisdom
during a time of great emotional upheaval.
To my children, Sebastian, Jaidyn and Eryleigh, for
understanding when Mum was glued to her laptop.
To my husband, John,
for his determination to continue growing, learning and loving together even when it’s hard.
And finally, this book is dedicated to anyone who’s
ever had to face something painful in their past in order to embrace the future. Your courage is your strength and a gift to yourself and others. You deserve good things. Never let anyone convince you otherwise.
CHAPTER ONE
THE DRIZZLE FALLING FROM the gray skies blended with the steady drone of Father McDonald’s voice until Tasha Simmons lost the ability to tell them apart.
The dull gleam of her mother’s casket mirrored the gloom of the skies. Tears welled and receded until Tasha’s eyes and throat ached.
Flanked by her sisters, Nora and Natalie, and Natalie’s husband, Evan, she blocked out the pain that came with the knowledge her father was only one sister over, and she locked her knees to keep from sinking to the ground.
Suddenly, the short holiday visits over the years weren’t enough. Not nearly enough to get her through something like this. She’d give anything to have one more day with her mother. Just one day.
Fingers tightening around the black plastic umbrella handle, Tasha blocked out faces she’d known her entire life until they were as anonymous as the raindrops pelting the small group. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d ever been the girl they remembered.
The priest ended his reading from the scripture meant to offer some measure of solace to the ones left behind, and everyone murmured “Amen.” He gestured to her father who, with Natalie’s help, approached the casket with slow, stiff steps, a rose clutched in his hand. Tasha averted her eyes, not wanting to watch as her father disintegrated into harsh, shuddering sobs. Staring at the wet ground, the rain creating muddy rivulets down the side of the hill her mother would be buried in, she suddenly hated her sisters’ decision not to cremate. Tasha didn’t want her mother lowered into the cold ground, surrounded by worms, ants and other disgusting insect life. The grief she was holding back rose in her throat and she struggled to get a grip.
Her mother wasn’t supposed to die so young. She wanted to scream it to the heavens until her voice was hoarse or until it disappeared entirely.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Father McDonald indicated it was their turn and the three of them placed their snow-white