Come Rain Or Shine Part 21

"Are these the boys coming for dinner?" the old woman asked from the corner of the room. Emmie knew she was half blind but surely she could hear the man's m.u.f.fled scream. He couldn't be more than three feet from her. Yet here she was checking who was staying to eat. This was the strangest group of people Emmie had ever met. If possible, the Del Grande family was her normal half, and that was saying something.

"Come on, Aunt Eve, these people have some business to work out. I'm gonna take that one to the shed." The big man let go of Marco and moved to the half-naked man on the ground.

"No. Vincent, you take care of our friend," Al said, nodding to the man on the ground. "You three need to hear what Marco has to say."

Vincent did as his father asked leaving Al, Marco, and Emmie alone with the three Sloans. Emmie crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at her mother's family, each of them wearing a completely baffled expression. Marco wiped the blood off his lip and straightened his suit.

"Miss Eve, Chris, Cain," he said, "I was a friend of Ruby's."

The men frowned. Eve's face fell at the mention of her mother's name.

"We fell in love and she ran away with me to Chicago more than twenty years ago."

"Chicago. Ruby's been in Chicago all these years?" Eve asked with a confused smile. Emmie wondered if her mind was giving way to old age.

"No, things didn't work out between us and she eventually came back to Kentucky," he said. "She settled close to the Tennessee line."

"Yeah, well . . . why have you come here? Chris and I were only kids when she hightailed it outta here, saying something about how she thought she deserved better-like she was some kinda princess. She like to have broke Pa's heart when she left. I don't think he ever got over her leaving." Cain's brows knitted, "But we know our history. And I ain't surprised it was some fancy fella like you that took her away. She always had one eye on the horizon. She woulda jumped this ship with anyone willing to take her."

Chris cut his brother off, moving to stand nearly nose-to-nose with Marco. "We know our family history and don't need to go over it with the likes of some city slicker like you. Why are you here?"

Emmie walked up and gently touched Chris's arm to get his attention. It worked. Both brothers snapped to look over at her almost in unison. She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. "I am Ruby's daughter. This is my father, Marco."

Of all the things the men had planned to learn that day, this was not one of them. This time Cain was actually the one taking a step away from her. He nodded like he wanted to say something but couldn't think how to reply. Emmie took his nod as a sign of acceptance.

"I always a.s.sured your father that I was watching out for his daughter. Ruby lived near my family. Your father wanted her to be able to live her own life, as long as I could a.s.sure him she was living well," Al said.

"I guess since she's here with him," Chris nodded at Marco, "that means my sister has pa.s.sed."

Emmie felt tears p.r.i.c.k her eyes at the question. "The Spanish flu took her to the angels. But I couldn't have asked for a better mother."

The boys nodded, looking down at the ground. It was silent for a moment before anyone spoke.

"What do you want from us?" Cain asked skeptically, looking at Emmie.

"Nothing," Emmie answered honestly. "I can see I probably made a mistake coming here today. I just . . ." She didn't finish the sentence because she couldn't think of anything to say.

It was actually the older woman who broke the silence. She walked slowly over to Emmie and ran her dry cracked hands down her forehead, nose, eyes, and lips before she rested them on the sides of Emmie's face. "You're just as lovely as your mother. Would you like to help me with the noon meal? Ruby always was a good cook."

Emmie wanted to say no. She needed to leave this place. Her mouth formed the words but no sound came out. Al spoke for her, "Yes, Emmie is a good cook just like her mother. We've got some things to take care of and it'll be good for you to get to know your great-aunt Eve."

Her eyes pleaded with Al but his face was resolved, leaving no room for argument.

Eve grabbed the younger girl by her elbow and ushered her into the kitchen. Without a word, she handed Emmie a large bowl of potatoes and carrots. "Get to peeling, girl, we got us a lot of hungry men to feed at noon."

The old lady all but pushed Emmie down onto a short wooden chair with a wobbly leg and slid a knife across the table. What was with this family and their knives? Emmie had no idea what to do. Surely they didn't expect her to sit in this kitchen and peel potatoes when her world had just been flipped upside down. She shrugged out of her coat, draping it on the back of the chair and sat back down. Her great-aunt looked back over again and nodded to the bowl. "The carrots ain't gonna be peeling themselves. Do you need me to show ya how?"

"No, I can peel," Emmie said, grabbing the largest potato in the bowl and setting to work.

The knife was the largest and sharpest knife Emmie had ever used in a kitchen. While her hands worked on the potatoes her eyes darted into the living room every few seconds anxiously watching for Silas to walk back through the front door. After a few minutes she began to give up hope. She finished the peeling and started chopping.

"We need to talk."

She jumped, startled at the sound of his voice in her ear and nicked her finger. Silas fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to the wound. "I'll be right back, Miss Eve."

"Hmm . . . oh," she said, seeing Silas, "you take your time now, girl." The older woman smiled and went back to work stirring an empty pot of boiling water. Emmie half worried about leaving the woman alone in the kitchen. But Silas pulled her from the room and out the back door.

Silas stood in front of her. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, shaking his head. Emmie thought if he rubbed his jaw any harder he might actually rub the skin off. She knew him well enough to know he was getting ready to fish a cigarette out of his vest pocket before he made the move to do so. He inhaled deeply, squinting one eye as he did so, never moving his gaze from her face.

Grabbing the cigarette with his thumb and first finger he pulled it away from his mouth and exhaled slowly. She watched his mouth as he bit his lower lip and nodded. "Let me ask this first." She was surprised at how calm his voice was. She'd expected him to pull her out here and flip his lid.

"Al explained to me that the butcher brothers are your uncles," he said.

That was not a question but she didn't think this was the time to call him out on that. So she nodded in agreement.

"I know that must have come as quite a shock. Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she answered too quickly for that to be the truth and they both knew it.

"You sure about that?" he asked, taking another draw from his cigarette.

"Yeah. As messed up as this is, it's not my biggest problem right now," she said, thinking about her conversation with Bo.

Silas smirked, turned his head to the side, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and nodded in agreement. "Oh, Mo Chuisle, you are right about that . . ." The way he said the words typically reserved as a term of endearment made her take a step backward. He wasn't shouting but the hint of his family's Irish accent appeared in his tone, his voice laced with venom.

"Why in the h.e.l.l are you in Kentucky, Emma?" he shouted.

Chapter Forty-four.

"Silas I just . . ." Emmie said, looking out at a field off to his left rather than directly at him.

"You just what? What? You just wanted to be down here in the middle of the excitement? You were mad at me for leaving you and wanted to teach me a lesson about how you don't need me to tell you what to do?"

"No, no," Emmie said, finding her voice and looking back at him, "I just wanted to help."

"Help?" he said, smashing out his cigarette under the toe of his boot.

Emmie stood there locked in his gaze. He moved closer to her. So close she could feel the holster under his jacket rubbing against her forearm.

"This is not helpful to me," he said slowly.

Emmie ignored his comment. "I've got some information that will be helpful to you. I called Bo last night and . . ."

"You did what?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I called Bo and he wasn't acting right. I'm worried someone may even be at the Johnson's. He was talking really quiet like he didn't want anyone to know he was talking to me."

"Why did you call Bo?" he asked, taking a step back from her.

"I knew if there was anyone who might be able to give me more information about what's going on, it would be him. But if we are being honest, more than that I wanted to check to be sure he was okay. His cabin and all of his moonshine were burned, Silas. I was worried. Heck, I even wanted to check to be sure Spotty was not caught in the fire."

Silas only nodded, taking another step away from her. "What seemed off about him?"

"He kept asking where I was and if you were with me. He said I shouldn't come home."

"Did he say why?" Silas asked.

"No he got off the phone pretty quick. But if you take me to talk to him, I am sure I could get more information," she suggested.

"You want me to take you to Bo?" he asked, his face set in a deep frown.

Emmie nodded. A moment of silence pa.s.sed before Silas spoke.

"Why are you here?" Silas asked again, shrugging.

"Silas, I told you. I cannot sit up there in some fancy house like nothing's wrong when the folks I love are in danger. Especially because whoever is starting these fires seems to be connected to what happened in that cabin. The way I figure, this is all partly my fault. Mr. Thomas, the apple pie, that's all me."

He looked around at the house behind her for a second before he spoke. "I used to wonder how a girl as sweet as you could attract so much trouble. Now that I know the butcher brothers are your uncles, it makes perfect sense. It must be in your blood. Brave to the point of danger, but loyal to the end." He walked closer to her and ran his knuckles along the side of her cheek. "I've pretty much got most of this sorted out and that man," Silas. .h.i.tched his thumb behind him toward the shed, "it's just a matter of time before he fills in the gaps."

Emmie frowned at the shed. The brothers had taken the half-naked man in there. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask who he was and what Silas hoped to learn from him, but she thought better of it.

"I appreciate that you are worried about me, but I will be fine. Trust me," he said, pulling her chin up gently so her face was closer to his.

"Silas, I trust you. But that doesn't mean that I don't still worry about you. Plus I'm worried about others too. You are not the only person I love residing in Kentucky," she said.

His eyes went dark at her remark. She could tell by the way he moved away from her that her words had stung him. "I don't guess I am."

He turned his back and walked away from her. At first she thought he was pacing but he never turned back around. He was headed for the small shed near to the barn that he had indicated the half-naked man was in. Her stomach sank as she realized he wasn't coming back. She swallowed hard and took off after him, dead brown gra.s.s crunching loudly under her feet.

"Silas," she said.

He didn't stop.

"Silas, what are you doing? We aren't done talking about this." She was running now to catch up with him before he made it to the shed.

He reached for the door without looking back. Emmie bent down under his arm and stood facing him with her back against the door of the shed, blocking his entrance. His arm rested just above her shoulder, flat against the faded weathered wood. He kept his focus just above her head, refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Look at me," she said.

He didn't. She could see the muscles in his jaw flex as he ground his teeth together but he never moved his eyes to hers or said a word.

"Look at me," she shouted, balling up her fist and hitting him lightly on the chest.

Silas closed his eyes and reopened them slowly. With lightning fast reflexes, he grabbed her arm with his free hand. "Do not touch me."

"You have to talk to me. You have to talk to me about this," she said, her voice hollow.

He released her hand and rubbed his eyes. "I'm done with this Emmie."

Her mouth fell open in shock. "What do you mean you're . . . you're done with this?"

"I just . . ." His voice trailed off and he shook his head as if he didn't know how to finish.

"You mean you're done with me?" Her throat tightened at the words.

Silas looked back up at the weathered wood of the shed door above her head and shook his head no.

"Then what do you mean?" she asked.

He smacked the door with his palm so hard Emmie thought it might come off the hinges.

Emmie stood frozen, unsure what to say.

"You were just going to leave me. I begged you take me, but you left me up there with no way to get home. And you knew it, Silas," she said, trying to explain.

"Oh, I'll never again underestimate your resourcefulness, Emma."

"Please don't call me that. I know you are only saying it because you are angry with me."

He looked down at her incredulously but didn't say a word.

"You left me," she repeated, trying to make him understand, "and this is all partly my fault. I can help you." She reached for his fisted hand, forced it open, and threaded her fingers through it. He never moved to accept her touch.

"I don't want your help. I'm not sure how I can be any clearer about that. I thought leaving your a.s.s in Chicago was sufficient enough to get that message across, but clearly you needed it, spelled out in words," he said with a snide grin. "I. Don't. Want. Your. Help."

Now it was Emmie's turn to feel stung. She released her grip on his hand and nodded. She moved farther down the wall of the shed away from him. If he wanted to be in that shed so bad, doing G.o.d-knows-what to G.o.d-knows-who, she'd let him. All they were doing right now was trading licks. Their words were nothing but poison to each other.

He reached for the door handle again but paused before he got it all the way open. His eyes were sad as he looked down at the ground.

"Did you tell him where we were?" Silas asked.

"Tell who?" She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Your Bo. Did you tell him where we were?" Silas asked.

"He is not my Bo. And no. How could I tell him where you were? I didn't know," she answered quietly. "You left me with no explanation."

"I left you a d.a.m.n note, Emmie. Don't act like I ran off on you," he shouted.

"Yeah, well . . ." she struggled for something to say. "Notes are for cowards, Silas. You were a coward-afraid to face me when you left."