The Mill River Redemption Read online

  The Mill River Redemption is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2014 by Darcie Chan

  Reading group guide copyright © 2014 by Random House LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

  RANDOM HOUSE READER’S CIRCLE & Design is a registered trademark of Random House LLC.

  ISBN 978-0-345-53823-9

  eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54156-7

  www.randomhousereaderscircle.com

  Cover design: Marietta Anastassatos

  Cover image: Richard Tuschman

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue: A New Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue: A New Beginning

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  A Reader’s Guide

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  Let parents bequeath to their children not riches, but the spirit of reverence.

  ∼ PLATO

  PROLOGUE

  A New Beginning

  December 1983

  JOSIE DISANTI WAS STARTING OVER.

  In the wide backseat of her station wagon, with her aunt Ivy behind the wheel and her daughters, Rose and Emily, asleep beside her, Josie bit down on her lip to keep awake. It was two in the morning, and although she couldn’t see much out of the window, she peered through the glass anyway. To maintain her grip on reality, she needed to remember everything about this day.

  The past week had been a terrifying blur, and she was fighting to emerge from the fog of grief that enveloped her. Her husband, Tony, was dead. All of their possessions were gone, but she and her girls were together and alive. Right now, that was all that mattered.

  Every so often, in the illumination of a passing car’s headlights, Josie met Ivy’s gaze in the rearview mirror, but she didn’t know her aunt well enough to be able to guess her thoughts. Ivy’s presence in Josie’s life had been erratic, a sequence of brief appearances years apart. The last memory Josie had of her aunt was Ivy pressing a slip of paper into her hand as her mother’s casket was being lowered into the earth. “I’m all you’ve got left,” she’d whispered. “So, if you ever need me, call.”

  Now, she and her girls were going to live with this aunt Ivy. Tony didn’t have any immediate family, and it wasn’t safe for them to stay in New York. Their home was gone. Josie didn’t know whom else she could trust. They had no other place to go.

  They’d been driving north for several hours. Josie didn’t know how much longer they’d be in the car, but she hoped they didn’t have too much farther to go before they reached Mill River.

  Josie looked down at Rose, her four-year-old, and smoothed a strand of blonde hair from her cheek. She shifted slightly under the weight of Emily, her two-year-old, whose little head of red curls rested against her side. They were just babies. She wondered how much of the whole horrible mess they would remember.

  It had been just a week since the fire. Each day, Emily wandered over to her several times with wide, blue eyes, saying, “Where Da-dee?” Each time, Josie felt a renewed crush of panic and despair. Her heart racing as she struggled to control her emotions, she would take her toddler in her arms and whisper, “Daddy is gone now, but Mommy is here and loves you very much.” Emily usually just scampered off to play afterward.

  Helping Rose understand what had happened was more difficult. “Daddy died,” Josie had explained to her. “There was no air to breathe in the kitchen, only smoke, so his body stopped working.” There was no way she would explain to her older daughter how Tony had truly died. Hearing that the fire had claimed her father’s life was difficult enough for Rose.

  A week ago, the four-year-old’s knowledge of death extended only to the occasional bug that found its way inside the house, and she had been a happy and carefree child. Now, Rose was unusually quiet and withdrawn. She refused to let Josie out of her sight. Despite Josie’s explanation, she continued to ask, “When is Daddy coming home?” Josie kept repeating, as gently as she could, “Daddy’s not going to come home, because he died. But he loved you and Emily and Mommy very much, and we will always love and remember Daddy.”

  After hearing this several times, little Rose grew angry and her eyes filled with tears. “I want Daddy!” she’d screamed. “Why did you leave him in the fire, Mommy? Why didn’t you get him out, too? I hate you!” Josie was at a loss for words. She could only hug her older daughter tightly, restraining Rose’s flailing arms until her little girl gave up and slumped against her.

  Josie knew when the questions and outbursts were coming simply by the expressions on her daughters’ faces, and the pain she felt when she stared into those innocent eyes was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Somehow she reassured her girls, keeping her voice steady and the chaos held inside.

  While Rose and Emily were awake, Josie pushed the memories of her husband into the dark recesses of her brain. She refused to even think his name. It was only after both girls were sleeping soundly that she allowed herself to cry.

  Late at night, she would remember Tony’s face and how his incredible blue eyes rendered her speechless the first time she saw him. “Love you, always,” she could almost hear him whisper in her ear. If she stood motionless, she could still feel his arms around her, the warmth of his hands on her skin.

  The memories came faster at those times. How he used to walk his fingers over her belly when she was hugely pregnant, and sing “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider.” How he held the girls as colicky infants, swaying and bouncing them, until, miraculously, they fell asleep. How he grabbed up the girls in a huge bear hug each night when he came home from work, how he made faces and used silly voices when he read them bedtime stories. And, more recently, how he sat with Josie on the sofa late into the evening, talking, no, dreaming aloud about the day they would finally have enough money saved to move their family from the cramped, rented row house into a home of their own.

  Remembering him brought a cruel, faint glow of happiness. When the happy memories stopped, as they inevitably did, the terrible ones began. Grief again took hold of her, torturing her with images of bloody clothing and flames shooting up into the sky.

  Her aunt’s voice, coming from the front seat, jarred Josie. “We’re pretty close now,” Ivy said over her shoulder. “W
e crossed into Vermont a ways back. We’re only a few miles outside Mill River.”

  Mill River. It was a relief to focus for a moment on those two words and nothing else. She asked in a whisper, so as not to wake the girls, “What’s it like?”

  “It’s a pretty nice town,” Ivy replied. “Small and friendly. Close enough to Rutland and the ski resorts to keep things interesting, but far enough away to give you plenty of peace and quiet, if that’s what you want. You’ll be safe there.”

  Lost in her worries, Josie sat quietly. What would the locals think of her, a widow with two young daughters and an accent shaped by a lifetime in the Bronx? Could Rose and Emily be happy growing up in such a place? Would she be able to find a decent job? How long would she have to rely on the kindness of this aunt whom she barely knew?

  “We’re coming into town now,” Ivy said as she slowed the station wagon.

  Josie squinted out the window and saw the sign, WELCOME TO MILL RIVER, VERMONT.

  “We’re on Main Street, where most of the businesses are,” Ivy said. “Too bad it’s dark now, or you could really see what a cozy little place this is. But you’ll see it soon enough.”

  Even though it was so late, there were a few Christmas and other lights on. Josie noticed a cute bakery, a hardware store, and a brick post office. Just after the road curved a bit, they passed St. John’s, an old stone church with a small parish house behind it. They stopped at an intersection, where a white town hall building stood across the street on the left side. Beyond that, Josie caught a glimpse of a well-lit police station before Ivy made a sharp left turn off the main thoroughfare. They made another left turn a few moments later.

  “Here we are,” Ivy said. They had pulled into the driveway of an attractive house perhaps two or three blocks off Main Street. In the headlights, Josie could see that it was a two-story 1930s-style bungalow with a big front porch. A walkway cut straight through the yard, past a large sign that read THE BOOKSTOP.

  “I’ve got the attic bedroom all set up for you. Let me come around and take Emily. You can get Rose and some of the other things you need to bring in right away,” Ivy said as she grabbed her coat and opened the driver’s side door. A blast of frigid air burst into the car. Ivy cursed and muttered something that sounded like “balls off a brass monkey” before the door closed again. Josie shivered and pulled a blanket up around Emily, who was still sleeping soundly. Rose stirred on the seat beside her and opened her eyes.

  “Mommy,” she said, still half-asleep, “where are we?”

  Maybe it was the sudden stillness of the car after hours of driving or a combination of emotional and physical exhaustion. Maybe it was feeling her soul crumble, day by day, beneath the weight of her grief. Whatever the reason, Josie’s emotional fortress disintegrated, and the tears refused to stay in her eyes. She gathered Rose against her left side while holding Emily. If she survived, it would be solely because of her children. Her girls were anchors in her sea of uncertainty.

  She would never let them go.

  She would give anything, do anything, to make sure that they grew up safe and happy.

  “Rosie, baby,” she said, “we’re at Aunt Ivy’s house in Mill River. We’re home.”

  CHAPTER 1

  2013

  ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON IN EARLY MAY, FATHER MICHAEL O’Brien knocked at the front door of the tidy house next to The Bookstop. It opened immediately, and he found himself face-to-face with Ruth Fitzgerald, the longtime owner of the bakery-café in town.

  “Hello, Father,” she said, holding open the door. “Please come in.”

  The elderly priest walked into the house and surveyed the scene. The place was quiet even though several people were gathered there. At the far end of the living room, Ivy Collard leaned on her cane and adjusted the position of a bronze urn on a small table. Surrounding the urn were several bouquets of flowers and some framed photographs of Josie DiSanti.

  He watched as Ivy wiped her eyes and glanced around toward him, then at Rose and Emily, Josie’s two adult daughters. They, too, were crying, though they stood apart from each other on opposite sides of the room. It had been a long time since he had seen Josie’s children, and even longer since he’d seen them together. They were older and sadder, but other than that, not much different from how he remembered them.

  Rose’s appearance was impeccable. Her blonde hair curved just above her shoulders, and she wore a simple but elegant black dress. She wore quite a bit of eye makeup, but her tears did no appreciable damage to it.

  Rose stood beside her husband, Sheldon, an older, balding ex-investment banker with a slightly bored but properly solemn expression. Their nine-year-old son, Alex, was dressed to match his father in a perfect black suit. The little boy neither fidgeted nor whined. He stood silently between his parents, rubbing away the occasional tear that shimmered behind his glasses, and took it all in. Rose kept her gaze focused on the urn and occasionally dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  Emily stood alone, as far from Rose and her family as was possible in the small living room of Josie’s house. She was as striking as Rose, but her appearance couldn’t have been more different. Her natural beauty was only accentuated by a face devoid of makeup, a smattering of freckles high on her cheeks, and her soft red curls pulled back in a loose ponytail. Tears ran from her huge blue eyes—eyes exactly like her father’s, as Josie had said so many times. Emily, too, was dressed in black—a simple skirt and top with a black cardigan two sizes too big. She stood with her arms wound tightly around her middle, as if to hold herself up.

  “It’s good to see you, Father,” Ivy said quietly. “I guess we’re all ready now. Everything’s just as she wanted.”

  “Yes, thank you so much for coming, Father,” Rose said, throwing her shoulders back and raising her chin. “You remember my husband, Sheldon Frye, and our son, Alex?”

  “Of course.” Father O’Brien shook hands with both of them. “It’s good to see all of you again,” he said with a glance over at Emily, “although I wish it were under different circumstances.”

  Rose eyed Emily before continuing in her elder-in-charge voice. “I know Mom thought the world of you, Father, and she was so grateful for your help over the years.”

  “Yes, she did, and she was,” Emily said softly. “We appreciate your being here.”

  “Your mother was a wonderful person.” He walked carefully to the table where the bronze urn and photos were displayed. He bowed his head, said a silent prayer, and made the sign of the cross before turning back to the group.

  “I still wish we could’ve had some sort of viewing,” Ruth said. “But Josie’s instructions were clear. She always hated the idea of herself in a coffin, with everyone staring down at her. Never wanted that to be the last people saw of her.” Ruth’s voice broke, and she quietly excused herself to the kitchen.

  “The poor thing.” Ivy shook her head as she lowered herself onto the sofa. “She’s right, though. And I expect we’ll have quite a houseful today. Everyone in Mill River loved Josie. Lots of folks from Rutland knew her, too, since she sold so many houses over that way.”

  “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Rose said. “I talked to her just last week. She never mentioned anything about not feeling well or having any sort of heart problem.”

  Emily sniffed and glanced over at her sister but said nothing.

  As an awkward silence filled the room, Father O’Brien saw Josie’s daughters make brief eye contact with each other.

  “With respect to the burial,” he said gently after a moment, “I understand Josie wanted it to be a private family affair. Perhaps later on, after everyone has left, we could sit for a few minutes to decide on the timing and details? I don’t have anything else scheduled today.”

  “We probably won’t get to it today, Father,” Ivy said before either daughter could respond. “I know it’s unusual not to have a burial scheduled right after a wake, but that was Josie’s doing. She wanted the girls to take care
of something first.” Ivy looked at him for a moment with raised eyebrows and a strange gleam in her eyes, as if there were more that she wanted to tell him.

  Father O’Brien nodded, but he eyed her suspiciously. He knew Ivy well—in fact, he’d known her since sometime in the early seventies, when she’d first moved to Mill River with her fiancé, Thomas Dearborn. They’d finally decided to give up their hippie sort of lifestyle and put down roots, and the friendly Vermont town had seemed to them to be the perfect place.

  Ivy and Thomas had bought a little house and opened The Bookstop in the front half of it. They appeared to be happy in the beginning, and certainly, their little bookstore filled a niche and thrived. For reasons unknown to Father O’Brien, though, Thomas broke their engagement and left her a few years later. Ivy stayed behind and became a loud, loving, quick-witted, slightly bawdy, big-hearted fixture in Mill River. She knew everything and everybody. It was difficult to keep a secret from her, and once she knew a secret … well, she found it almost impossible not to reveal it.

  Looking at Ivy, Father O’Brien realized she was sitting on something—something having to do with Josie’s girls—but he didn’t have time to mull over what it might be. The townspeople had begun to arrive for Josie’s wake, and before long he found himself moving through a crowded living room, visiting with those who stopped by.

  Joe Fitzgerald, the police chief of Mill River, entered the house wearing his uniform. Fitz clapped him on the shoulder after he’d spoken to Josie’s daughters.

  “Hullo, Father,” he said. “I guess everything is going well?”

  “As well as these things can go,” Father O’Brien replied. “Ruth’s in the kitchen. She’s having a rough time,” he added.

  “She’s been upset ever since we got word. She and Josie were two peas in a pod, I tell you. Ruthie was almost as close to Josie as she was to her own sister.” Fitz shook his head sadly and turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll go spend a few minutes with her before I head back to the station.”

  A constant stream of visitors came through the front door. They made their way around the living room, signing the guest book, pausing to gaze at the urn and the pictures of Josie, stopping to shake hands and speak with Josie’s daughters and Ivy. Kyle Hansen arrived with his daughter, Rowen, and Claudia Simon, an elementary-school teacher in Mill River whom he’d been dating for several months. Father O’Brien watched as Kyle and Claudia spoke with Emily, then Rose and her husband, and as Claudia knelt to speak to Alex.