Huntington Family Series Read online

  When everyone had finished, Mitch’s father, Cameron Huntington, sang “O My Father,” Ashley’s favorite hymn. As his rich voice filled the chapel, Mitch recalled the day Ashley told him this song had been instrumental in her conversion. “When I sang the part about having a Heavenly Mother,” she’d said, “I knew the gospel was true.”

  His father returned to the bench, and Mitch handed a sleeping Emily Jane to him before going to the pulpit. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I’ve been feeling disoriented these past weeks, especially with the change at my house.” A few chuckled at this. “It’s really helped me to have this memorial service since I didn’t have the chance to be at the funeral. I know that when she’s older, Emily Jane will appreciate all the stories you have shared today. As for me, I met Lane in the mission field. He was my trainer when I first arrived in Brazil, and we spent six crazy, marvelous months together. The last month he was there, we were together again, opening a new area. He was as close as a brother to me. And Ashley, well, if he hadn’t been in the way, I would have married her myself.” More laughter. Mitch’s emotions rose in his throat, making it difficult to speak. “Lane and Ashley were the best kind of people, and I know they’ve gone on to better things. I promise I’m going to do the best I can to raise Emily Jane the way they would have—in the gospel, with love, and a lot of support from my family. Thanks again. Remember, we have lunch here for anyone who’d like to stay.”

  At that moment he noticed the woman sitting alone on the back row. She wore a sleeveless, flowing dress that reminded him of a finger painting he’d made in kindergarten. Blues, mauves, yellows, and greens blurred together in a jumble of wild celebration. Yet it wasn’t the dress or its conspicuous lack of sleeves in an LDS chapel that arrested him, but rather her face. She looked like Ashley.

  Yet Ashley was dead.

  “Are you all right?” asked the Graysons’ former bishop, touching his shoulder.

  Mitch blinked, but the woman was too far away for him to see clearly. Goose bumps broke out on his arms, though the chapel was comfortably warm.

  “I’m fine,” he whispered. Another part of his mind registered that Emily Jane had awakened in his father’s arms and was beginning to cry. He hurried toward her.

  “Come to Mitch,” he whispered. Emily Jane smiled and held out her arms, arching her body toward him. She might not be able to say his name yet, but she could certainly let him know how happy she was to have him back. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she snuggled her head in the space between his neck and shoulder. Mitch turned to see the woman who looked like Ashley, but his view was blocked by Roger’s head two rows back.

  He faced the front and sang the closing hymn with the others. After the prayer, he stood and looked for the woman. Would she be there? Or had it been some type of vision?

  No vision. She was still in the back, standing now. Alone as before.

  “Mitch,” Amanda hissed. “Is something wrong? You look pale.”

  Like I’ve seen a ghost, he agreed silently. “Do you see that woman in the back?”

  “Yes. Who is she?”

  “I don’t know.” As his initial shock faded, curiosity was quickly taking its place.

  “Well, go and see. I’ll help Mom direct the others to the food.”

  Mitch had the odd urge to give Emily Jane to his sister so the woman wouldn’t see her up close, but that seemed paranoid and would only make Emily Jane cry.

  He shuffled sideways to the aisle and began walking toward the woman. Though her curly hair was the same bright reddish orange as Ashley’s, he saw now that it barely brushed the top of her shoulders. Ashley’s had gone halfway down her back. This woman definitely had more freckles, which he suspected had been enhanced by repeated exposure to the sun. Her slender arms looked much more defined, and her face was more oval than Ashley’s.

  Mitch gave an inaudible sigh. She definitely wasn’t Ashley. This close up, he wasn’t even sure they looked that much alike—aside from the hair. He was not seeing a spirit but a live woman. He almost laughed.

  Shifting Emily Jane to his left arm and hip, he held out his right hand. “Hello, I’m Mitch Huntington.” Her hand felt small in his, but she returned the handshake with a strong grip. “This is Emily Jane,” he added, tilting his head toward the baby. “Who are you? How did you know Lane and Ashley?”

  There was a shimmer in the woman’s blue eyes, as though she might have recently been close to tears. She was attractive—beautiful, even, he would say. Not in the frilly way of Ashley, but in an active, energetic way. He bet she could beat him to the top of Mount Timpanogos, all the time looking as pretty as she did at that moment. He liked the idea, though he wasn’t sure at all if he appreciated the way his heart was racing.

  She blinked several times before replying in an icy, unfeeling voice. “I’m Cory Steele. I’m AshDee’s—Ashley’s—sister.”

  Mitch sucked in a breath, feeling as though someone had punched him in the gut. Was this the greedy, weasel-faced Cory Steele, who was trying to put his nose in where it didn’t belong? This was the guy Mitch had secretly envisioned punching in the face if he so much as dared question Mitch’s guardianship? He struggled to make sense of the change. She definitely wasn’t a man, and her face didn’t begin to resemble that of any weasel on earth.

  “Ashley’s sister?” he croaked, willing himself not to be fooled by her attractiveness. She nodded.

  Definitely trouble. “Why are you here?” he asked. Since Ashley’s family had disowned her for following her heart, he felt it was a valid question.

  Cory’s eyes went to Emily Jane and then back to him. “That should be perfectly clear. I’m here to take custody of my niece.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cory hadn’t believed her claim on EmJay would go over without opposition, but she hadn’t expected the sudden, violent anger burning on Mitch Huntington’s face. His jaw clenched, and his posture became instantly defensive. The immediate and powerful reaction destroyed her preconceived notions of him as a weak competitor. Sure, he was attractive enough in a casual way, with his bright blue eyes and the longish hair that framed his angular forehead, and his handshake had been surprisingly firm and confident. But his stylish suit didn’t hide the fact that he was a bit too thin for his height, and the way he held the baby made him seem, well, rather domesticated. Nothing to really challenge her—or so she’d thought.

  What disturbed her most was his control. He didn’t allow his feelings to burst out of him as she had in the attorney’s office yesterday. In fact, he studied her a full fifteen seconds without speaking. Cory counted it out, each second building the pressure inside her chest.

  Then he said quite calmly, “I’m Emily Jane’s legal guardian, and she stays with me. However, you’re welcome to hold her, though I must warn you, she doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”

  The emphasis caused Cory a fresh wave of guilt. All at once, she knew she deserved every bit of his scorn. Here she was looking at her very own niece—her only niece—for the first time. There was no excuse under heaven for that.

  It’s AshDee’s fault, her mind cried in response. She’s the one who walked out!

  Cory glared at Mitch, but he met her gaze with equal intensity. Some part of her mind noticed the music that ebbed and swelled around them as the last few people filtered from the chapel. The melody somehow reminded her of the jungle, where she had felt, albeit for only brief instances, a connection with something otherworldly. Something her father might have termed godly.

  Swallowing with difficulty, she looked away from Mitch’s angry, challenging eyes, focusing instead on her niece. EmJay stared at her with enormous eyes, neither smiling nor frowning. She was more adorable than in her pictures. Her skin was white and smooth, marred only by a few freckles. Her bright hair poked out in curls everywhere except on top where a red bow secured them in place. She wore a red blouse, a brown-and-red plaid skirt, off-white tights, and brown suede dress shoes with straps that emphasized her
chubby feet. Cory fought tears—fought any weakness within herself. She reached for the baby.

  Still staring at her, EmJay lifted her arms toward Cory. This time Cory’s tears came with no way to stop them. All the reasons she had come to Utah in search of EmJay melted away—all but one. The love she’d hoped to feel for her sister’s baby surrounded her in huge undulating waves, blotting out everything else. I never knew, she thought wonderingly. I never knew.

  Triumphantly, she glanced at Mitch and saw with satisfaction that his mouth was silently ajar, his anger apparently given way to surprise. But was it surprise at the baby’s desertion, or at Cory’s tears?

  “Hi, EmJay,” she crooned in a high voice. She’d often played with the native children at the camp in Brazil, and the babies liked it when she talked this way. “I’m your Aunt Cory. Yes, I am. And you’re so much prettier than in your pictures.” She found herself swaying back and forth to the rhythm of the postlude music.

  The baby’s solemn eyes didn’t leave Cory’s face.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I know I should have.”

  EmJay finally spoke in a soft, tentative voice, “Momma.”

  The man beside her gave a little groan. “She sees the resemblance,” he said half under his breath. The surprise in his eyes was now muted by sadness.

  Shaking her head, EmJay strained away from Cory in a valiant effort to return to Mitch. Cory resisted the urge to hold onto her niece and run. EmJay buried her face in Mitch’s chest, yet almost immediately turned her head to peek at Cory.

  “Would you like to eat lunch?” Mitch asked. “They have it set up in the next room.” To his credit, though she hated giving him any, he didn’t appear to be gloating but seemed as shaken as she was at the baby’s response.

  “I am hungry,” she admitted. She had to eat and could use the time to regroup. Somehow she had to convince this man that EmJay belonged with her.

  “Mitch!” a pregnant woman Cory assumed was his wife appeared behind them. “Come on. Hurry, everyone’s waiting.”

  EmJay lifted her head and smiled at the woman before darting another shy glance toward Cory.

  “Manda, this is Cory Steele,” Mitch said. “She claims she’s Ashley’s sister.”

  “I am her sister.” Cory didn’t like his implication.

  “You look like her. Nice to meet you.” The woman held out a hand. “I’m Amanda. I knew Ashley and Lane for only a few months, but I really liked them.” Cory mumbled a greeting, not daring to take her eyes off Mitch for long.

  “Funny,” he said slowly. “Ashley never mentioned she had a sister.”

  “That just goes to show that you weren’t as close as you thought,” Cory retorted, goaded beyond politeness. “And you think you should be raising my niece?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Did you know about me?” he countered.

  Reluctantly, she shook her head.

  “I was in their ward at BYU before they were married, and even after they went to a different ward, I saw them practically every day. I was the best man at their wedding. I helped Lane with his car when it broke down. I was at the hospital the night Emily Jane was born. I helped move them to Texas last December. I answered e-mails from one or the other of them every week. I’m the one they chose to raise their daughter. In all that time, Ashley never mentioned she had a sister.”

  Cory didn’t know what a “ward” was, or “BYU,” but the meaning of his words were clear. Her sister had found a new life, a good life, apparently, and hadn’t been inclined to talk about the rift in their family. AshDee had gone on without her. Hurt sliced deep into Cory’s heart.

  “We were like family,” Mitch added.

  Cory glared at him. “I’m AshDee’s only family.”

  “Uh, can we talk about this later?” Amanda pulled Mitch toward the door. “Another ward has the church at one. We’ve got to be out of here by then.”

  “Okay.” Mitch’s face relaxed. “But I hope Mom didn’t make potatoes and green Jell-O.”

  Amanda grinned at the apparent joke Cory didn’t get. Cory watched them leave the chapel, feeling almost as bereft as she had the day AshDee had packed her suitcase and left home for good, their father shaking his fist after her. “And don’t ever come back,” he’d yelled, “unless you give up that cult you’ve joined!”

  The music suddenly stopped, and Cory’s eyes caught a movement on the stand. A lady was there, gathering piano books into a small canvas bag. She walked down the aisle, smiling and nodding as she passed. Cory was alone.

  She hadn’t been in a church since her father’s funeral. This didn’t look like the churches in the poor neighborhood where she’d grown up. The room was wider and there were no pictures nearby, though she’d seen one of Christ in the foyer. Everything was well built and in excellent repair.

  Without the music, the silence was deafening. Not like the pregnant silence in the jungle before a storm, or the hush of the animals when a large predator was near, but rather a spiritual silence that reached into Cory’s soul. She felt an unexplained urge to run to the front, to throw herself on her knees, and beg for . . . for what? And to whom? There was nothing here. Nothing but the large photograph of her sister and her husband at the wedding Cory had missed.

  Then why did she feel something or someone was there? An eeriness shuddered up her spine. “AshDee,” she whispered, staring at the photograph that somehow she’d approached without realizing. But, no, the presence she sensed wasn’t her sister, and she wasn’t about to consider that it might be God.

  Scoffing at her own thoughts, Cory backtracked to her bench and pulled out her duffel bag from where she had stowed it at the beginning of the service. Afraid she might be late or lose herself along the way, she had taken a taxi to Alpine and been forced to carry her belongings with her. After lunch she’d have to rent a car and find a motel. Apparently she would also need a good attorney.

  In the hallway, she followed the sound of voices. A door opened onto a spacious room with a glossy wooden floor. They play basketball, she thought, noting the lines painted permanently on the floor. She hadn’t thought of Mormons playing ball.

  Tables were laid end to end, forming two long lines. People sat at them, eating and talking. They knew my sister, Cory thought. They loved her enough to attend this service. A warmth filled her heart, and for what seemed like the hundreth time that day, she fought tears. Another thought followed, one not as welcomed. I don’t know any of them. Once, she had known everything about AshDee.

  “Cory, over here!” Amanda was waving her to an empty place next to where Mitch was seated, holding EmJay on his lap. Cory sauntered over, trying her best to look confident.

  Amanda touched her arm. “Gang, meet Cory. She’s Ashley’s sister. I’ll let you do the introductions, because I’ve got a runaway. Don’t worry, I’ll let the ladies in the kitchen know we need another plate.” This last she said over her shoulder as she rushed across the room after a dark-haired toddler who was doing her best to escape past a blond boy through a side door.

  Cory sat by Mitch, letting her duffel slide gently to the floor. From his lap, the baby peered out at her, offering the tiniest of smiles. Before she could stop herself, Cory reached out and smoothed the wild hair that reminded her so much of her sister’s. She saw Mitch stiffen.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Mitchell?” asked an elegant older woman across from Mitch. She wore a flowing blue dress that matched her eyes, and her blonde hair was styled becomingly. Cory guessed this was Mitch’s mother, though she seemed to resemble the pregnant Amanda as well, so maybe she was wrong. At the elegant woman’s right was a tall, balding, rotund man with glasses. She recognized him as the man who had sung the lovely hymn during the service. He didn’t look anything like those around him, except for the green eyes, which Amanda shared. Maybe these are her parents, not his, Cory thought. Not that it really mattered. They were all the enemy.

  “I met her myself only two minutes ago,” Mitch said
in a cold voice.

  The older woman stared hard at him for a long, pointed moment. When Mitch didn’t respond, she said, “Then I’ll do it.” Her gracious smile returned. “I’m Jessica Huntington, and this is my husband, Cameron.” She touched the balding man’s arm. “Next to him is our daughter Kerrianne and her three children, Misty, Benjamin, and Caleb.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Kerrianne said. She resembled Amanda, in a thin, washed-out, less vibrant sort of way, though her eyes were blue like her mother’s. Cory thought she seemed sad and tired.

  No wonder, with three children. Cory wondered which man was her husband.

  “Tyler’s our youngest,” Jessica nodded to the man sitting on the other side of Mitch. The young man’s smile was contagious, his green eyes sparkling beneath his black-framed glasses. “Next to him with all that beautiful blonde hair is Savvy Hergarter, a family friend.”

  “Then there’s Blake Simmons, our son-in-law,” Jessica continued. Cory inclined her head toward the attractive, dark-haired man who gave her a friendly smile. “And you’ve already met Amanda. The children she’s chasing are Kevin and Mara. The rest of the people here aren’t related, but they knew your sister in some way.”

  Cory nodded, still unsure at even the family relationships. Was Blake married to Kerrianne?

  “Did you come from California?” Jessica asked, picking up her fork.

  “No, from Texas,” Mitch said before Cory could reply. “She was visiting Ashley’s lawyer. She wants custody of Emily Jane.”

  A frown creased Jessica’s face, and deep lines appeared on her brow. “Oh, so that’s how it is.”

  Cory squirmed under her intent stare, stifling a desire to bite her nails. For some reason she wished desperately that she didn’t have to disappoint this woman. “Before that I was working in the Amazon,” she said quickly.