We Were There: Emmeline's Story

Alternative Ending

The thought of Speirs brought back a flood of emotions and memories for me. I hadn't seen or spoken to him since the war was declared over - since he told me he loved me but chose to stay in the military, getting himself shipped elsewhere. Every time I closed my eyes, I tried to recall his face - his features - so I could see him in my mind. Every hair, his tense jawline, his brooding eyes, his five o'clock shadow...each detail remained fresh in my mind for the first few months since seeing him last but now, I was beginning to forget those cherished features. I worried as time continued to pass, perhaps I would forget him entirely, and every fiber in my being fought like hell against it from happening. If Darla saw my inner struggle, she never said a word.

During our lengthy stay in England, I started the task of writing to the parents of the soldiers whose dog tags I collected throughout the war's course. By the time our final year finished, the majority of them were completed and mailed. After Darla and I made our arrangements on our flight back to the states, I decided to finish up the remaining letters. There was only one name on my list I felt needed a personal delivery - Thomas Palmer.

Darla's fiancé, Rory Lavers, managed to track down Thomas's next of kin and their current address. When Darla gave it to me, she begged me to let her come along. I agreed, not thinking she was serious. Her fiancé didn't seem to mind her traveling back to the states to spend time with while I figured all of this out. In fact, he encouraged it. It was almost as if he knew I needed Darla by my side.

When we landed in the states, Darla demanded we stop at the first cafe we came across to get that pie. A small part of me chuckled at her request but another side of me fought the feeling to flee. I knew I promised to tell her - and I wanted to - however, I wasn't used to talking about these things with people. The moment she spotted some run-down cafe, we stopped and sat at a sticky red-laminated table in the corner. Darla wasn't shy about ordering coffee and pie for us. The moment they were placed on the table, she sat there with her hands interlocked, patiently waiting for me to begin my tale.

I struggled to figure out where to start but once I began, I found myself telling her things I never shared with anyone - not even Randleman or Speirs. I told her what I remembered about my parents and how they died. I spoke about the wayward home - a place filled with happy memories that changed into a personal hell for every one of us girls and the horrors we faced daily. I detailed the beatings and abuse, the days we went hungry or cold, I recounted the moments when Robert took charge of the place and hell seemed like a comforting distant memory for the nightmares that ensued after his reign. I showed her each scar, recalling each broken bone I had while living there. I remembered each girl's face and how many died by their hands, where they were buried in the cornfields surrounding the house, and how our lives were threatened should any of us step out of line or speak about what was going on there.

During the lengthy story, Darla listened without judgment as I prattled on about my past. She asked questions here and there but for the most part, stayed silent as I spoke. One question she asked was about the moment I decided to make my daring escape. I explained it took me years to work up the courage but the final straw broke when a young girl of 6 was murdered before our eyes because she cried in the middle of the night for being scared of the thunderstorm raging violently outside. Despite our best attempts, none of us could calm her as each bone-shaking boom of thunder rattled the foundation but by then, she had paid the ultimate price.

My escape attempts failed previously, forcing Robert to keep close tabs on me at all times. Oftentimes, he locked me in the cellar or closet for days at a time, trying to break me and my will to run away. He threatened to break my legs with the use of a steel pipe but even then, there was something in the back of my head urging me to try anyway - knowing I'd die if I stayed. It didn't matter if I stayed or fled because Robert painted a target on me since day one.