Dust gathers on the books that line the office shelves. They have not been touched in ages, many just there for aesthetic value. Her slim finger traces across their bindings, leaving a path in the dust. She continues until she finds the volume she is looking for. A personal scrapbook, its contents consisting of articles that she has found to be of interest. She tugs to remove the book from its resting place and carries it back to her desk. She lays a hand atop the burgundy leather, feeling it as if it may impart something to her from this touch. She has an hour before her next client, and she opens the book wide, carefully smoothing the paper within. Newspaper yellowed with age, glossy paper contrasting it, cut from an old issue of Time. She flips through the pages, looking for the item she wants. The black and white picture of a woman smiles up at her. The woman is tall and thin, dressed elegantly with her hands resting on the shoulders of a small girl. The traces of a smile flit on the girls face, barely there. She looks as though she is being forced to take this picture. A finger traces across the girl's frilly dress, and then up across the mother's dress, coming to rest in her face. The smile looks genuine, but there is a cold fire in the eyes. Slightly to the side and behind the woman is a gentleman, tall and well built. He has the same look as the little girl, one of displeasure of being photographed. His eyes bear a pain, a sadness that runs deep into his soul. The little girl's eyes? She has fear flickering in them, and that same fear seeps into the eyes looking at the photograph. She is a very distressed little girl.

*****

August 1969

The sun shines down on the lake, causing the ripples to glitter like broken glass. She sits alone on the dock, feet dangling over the water, dirt smudging the frilly yellow dress. She knows she's going to get in trouble again, for getting the dress dirty. Her head snaps towards the house as she hears the back door slam shut. Her mother stands on the concrete step and glares down towards the dock. Emily ignores her mother, tempting even more punishment for not coming immediately upon sight of her mother. The afternoon silence is cracked by her mother's voice.

"Emily Amelia Christophersen!" the stern sound rings out above the lake. To little Emily, it is like a whipcrack. She dutifully stands and brushes the dust from her dress. She trots up to the house, her mother waiting like a serpent about to strike. She slows and stops short of her mother, but not far enough away to avoid the hand that slaps her cheek. She ducks her head, struggling not to let the tears show. Mother didn't like to see tears, it made her angry when she saw tears.

"Dammit, Emily. I've been looking for you for fifteen minutes. We're having pictures done today, and now look what you've done." she huffed, and pulled the girls chin up sharply between her fingers. A red welt was appearing on one cheek from where the wedding ban had struck her.

"I'm sorry, Mommy." she whispers, avoiding the glacial stare that has settled on her face.

"You always are. Go have your father put ice on that and get cleaned up." she released Emily and crossed her arms over her chest. Emily lunged for the door knob and bounded into the kitchen. Her father sat at the edge of the kitchen, perched on a stool as his daughter came in. Her mother passed by and left the tow alone in the kitchen. Emily's father eyed her as he stood, coming across the kitchen.

"She got you good, didn't she?" he asked, looking at the red welt. "What was it this time?"

"Same thing that always makes her slap me, me being me." a strange reply for most six year olds, but Emily had matured much faster living in this home.

"Let's ice it, maybe get the swelling down." he shook his head and opened the freezer door. She dutifully got a dish towel out of the drawer and held it open for him, watching the ice cubes slide against the terry cloth. "And we have pictures today, she should've known better."

Emily nodded her agreement. The cold of the ice stung slightly as she rested it against her cheek. Her father brushed the loose curls from her face and hunkered down to her level. She looked into the blue-grey eyes that so closely matched hers. "What, Daddy?"

He sighed, a deep and tired sigh. "I'm going to get you out of here, Emmie. I've already made arrangements with your aunt. You'll live with her until your mommy gets better."

"Daddy, I don't want to leave you. Not with Mommy, she might hurt you." tears were welling in her eyes at the news. Tears were okay in front of her father, he didn't get angry and hurt her. He hugged her tight and lifted her into the air, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Don't worry, Emmie. Daddy will be just fine." He carried her out to the living room where the photographer was setting up his camera. He settled Emily on the couch, and went up the stairs to get her mother. Mother was smiling as she came down the stairs. She came over to Emily and gave her a kiss on the forehead as she scooped her into a hug. She tsked at the welt on her cheek.

"Really, Emily. What am I going to do with you?" she took the towel with the ice away and set it in an empty candy dish. "You knew we were having pictures today."

The photographer eyed the exchange, ignoring the mother's words. Everyone on town knew that Marian Christophersen beat her daughter. Rumor had it that she had even attacked her husband one night. He finished the adjustments on the camera and smiled at Emily's mother.

"I'm all set, Mrs. Christophersen."

She nodded and Emily hopped off the couch, coming to stand in front of her mother. She felt the tight grip of her mother's hands on her shoulders as Daddy took his place behind Mommy. Emily watched the photographer intently, trying to smile like a good girl. The flash blinded her for a moment, and she blinked seeing fuzzy dots in her vision. Another few flashes and they were done. Emily was sent up to her room until dinner. She glanced back at her father as she ran up the stairs. She saw great pain and sadness in his eyes as he stood next to his wife.

Emily slipped into her room and looked out over the lake, seeing a bird land on her sill. She went over and opened the window, startling the little finch. She saw a bright flash of yellow as the bird flew into her room. She watched it circle near the ceiling and the fly back out the window. As she watched it in the slowly sinking sun, she felt a sinking in her stomach. She really didn't want to leave Daddy here all alone.

*****

A tap on her shoulder brought Emily to her senses. She had been dozing, she looked down to see her hand resting on the last picture of her family together. The last picture of her father. Edward stood to her side, looking down at her.

"It's one o'clock, Emily. Mrs. Grimes will be here at one thirty." he set a plate down on the desk, carefully to the side of the book. "I thought you might like some lunch."

A relieved look in her eyes. "Thank you."

Edward stepped back as if to leave but he stopped and looked back at the photograph. "May I ask who she is?" he of course meant the woman whose face was covered by Emily's finger

She twitched ever so slightly, her back stiffening. "My mother." she shut the book quickly and slid it out of the way, bringing the plate into its place. "Thank you for lunch, Edward." her tone did not invite discussion and Edward slipped from the small office, closing the door behind him.

"She hurt you didn’t she, Emily?" he questioned himself as he lifted the telephone receiver that sat in the hall. He dialed the number from memory. He listened as it rang; once, twice, three times."

"Vermont State Hospital." came a flat female voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Edward Chilton. I was wondering if I could make an appointment with one of your patients?"

"Which one?"

"Marian Christophersen. I'm doing research on people who have killed their spouses." the lie slipped so easily from his lips.

"Okay, one moment." soft jazz replaced the woman's voice as Edward was left on hold. There was a click and she picked up the line again. "Okay, you can speak to her at ten on Wednesday, is that okay Dr. Chilton?"

A smile spread across his face. "Marvelous. Thank you, dear. Ta-ta."

*****