Page 71 of The Souls of Lost Lake

“We’re fine,” Ava answered quickly. She flopped onto a chair, then popped back up and fidgeted with the curtain at the window.

“Mm-hmm” was all Hanny said.

Ava walked the length of the sitting room—which wasn’t that far—and back to the window. She wanted to look out, to see if she could spot Noah across the street at the church. Or maybe to take in normal life outside. It would be nice to witness a day of sunshine, to be able to leave the parsonage without worry of the ramifications of those actions. She’d give just about anything to perch on a barrel of bootleg whiskey outside the general store and shoot the breeze with Ned.

“You cannot keep pacing, child. You’ll be the death of me!” Hanny exclaimed. “There’s no need to rush that any sooner than it’s already coming.”

Ava stopped pacing, and it landed her in front of Noah’s desk. The corner of Emmaline’s letter stuck out from beneath a few other envelopes. Ava fingered it, recalling the words of remorse the woman had penned Noah. Who was she? What was her story? And why did she owe Noah an apology?

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Did Hanny have eyes on the top of her head? She was still bent over her embroidery.

Ava jerked her hand back. “Do you know who she is?”

“Whowhois?”

“Emmaline.”

Hanny paused and lifted her head. “You read his letter?”

“No,” Ava lied.

“You did or you wouldn’t know her name. It’s not on the envelope.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“Sheis none of your business. And no, I really don’t. The reverend is quite private, you know.”

Ava dropped onto a chair, the air from the cushion poofing from her weight. She couldn’t figure why it bothered her, but there was a little pit in her stomach. She jumped up again. “I can’t just sit here and do nothin’.”

Hanny sighed, hooked her needle through the embroidery, and set it aside. “You’ve not much choice.”

“I do. I can march down to Officer Larson and let him know he’s plumb wrong about it all. I didn’t kill Matthew, and I didn’t kill Jipsy. You can’t blame a person just ’cause they were a victim of something unsolved.”

“No. Youshouldn’t, but people do. They talk and conspire and wheedle gossip until it sounds like the truth.”

“No matter how it hurts someone? It’s all right to discuss another’s life and hang them with no sort of proof?”

Hanny offered her a sad smile. “Sometimes they believe they have proof.” She struggled to her feet, pushing off the sofa arm with her hand. “Here. If you need something to occupy your time...” She neared Noah’s desk and pulled a few sheets of stationery from the center drawer. “Write a letter to the missionaries. They’ll appreciate the correspondence, and you’ll be doing something generous with your time.”

Ava took the proffered paper, looking at it as though it were going to disintegrate in her hand.

Hanny limped toward the doorway. “No time is wasted when used for others. I’m going to make tea before I head home and cause more questions by being here too long.”

Ava watched Hanny disappear around the corner. All right then. Write a letter. It might get her mind off last night. Off the ruins of her home. Off Lost Lake. Off Noah...

She moved to the desk and sat in Noah’s chair, reaching for a pencil. What did one write to a missionary?

Dear person of God,

Most people think I’m a murderer, but I figured I’d write you anyway.

Ava closed her eyes against the dark humor. Only one name reverberated in her mind, and she didn’t know why. She didn’tunderstand the repetitive nature of why she kept thinking of this person, considering she didn’t know her at all. But it was eating at Ava’s insides. The not knowing. It pretty much seemed like every part of her life was touched by not knowing.

She set her pencil to the paper.

It was time to figure out something. However small, it was at least a distraction from her problems.