Silver Lies Page 21

  Inez pulled away. "Her carelessness nearly killed us."

  "Is that what you’re angry about?"

  "She’s an expert in the saddle, or so I hear." Inez gritted her teeth at the unintended double entendre and then identified the deeper source of her fury.

  She took a couple of steps. Her shoes were scuffed beyond repair.

  Sands kept pace with her, watching her intently. "I won’t be taking her up on the invitation. That goes without saying. So, does that tight-lipped expression I see have to do with my ‘previous visit’ with Mrs. DuBois?"

  "It’s none of my business."

  "No lies between us, remember? Ask, and I’ll answer."

  She focused on her shoes.

  Sands put both hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. "Mrs. DuBois wields words like a weapon. Now, my visit. It was a courtesy call, same as I’ve paid to all the parishioners. Well, almost the same. I turned down her offer of ‘refreshments and entertainment.’ My interest is in the state of their souls. Nothing else."

  "You don’t have to tell me any of this."

  He looked her in the eye. "Yes, I do. If I don’t, her words will hang between us, destroying any chances we have of getting to know each other better. Now, let’s get you home."

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Abe held up the ivory-handled bowie knife. "Mighty fine, Inez." He turned it this way and that, admiring the wicked blade etched with "AJ".

  "I gambled that your old one was still missing. Merry Christmas, Abe." Inez eased back into Emma’s window seat, glad that her choice pleased him.

  The fire in the parlor’s small fireplace popped behind the painted screen. Next to Emma’s rocking chair, a small fir tree stoically shouldered candles and strands of cranberries. The black crepe, which had draped the mantel and few pictures in the parlor since Joe’s death, was nowhere to be seen. Inez had been surprised that Emma proposed a Christmas gathering, given the circumstances. But she had insisted. "Joe always said we should look to the future, not to the past." Tears had veiled Emma’s eyes, but did not fall. "He would have wanted us all together. Wanted us to carry on."

  She did, however, keep the curtains drawn.

  Joey bumped Inez’s elbow as he wiggled around and pulled back a corner of the heavy curtain to peer out the window.

  "Joey." Emma’s voice carried a mother’s verbal nudge. "Why don’t you open your gift from Aunt Inez and Mr. Jackson."

  Joey pulled the ribbon and foil wrapping paper off the box on his lap and handed them to his mother for later reuse.

  He lifted the top off the box. Inez was gratified to see his eyes go wide.

  "This is how it works." She took out the pocket telescope, showing him how the inner tube could be extended from the larger brass cylinder.

  He nudged the curtain aside again, allowing a shaft of sunlight to pierce the room, and pointed the telescope out the window, training it up the street.

  "What do you say?" Emma prompted. "Thank you Auntie Inez, Mr. Jackson." Abe handed a flat rectangular package to Inez. "For you, Inez." Inez removed the wrapping paper and stared with bemuse-

  ment at the book on her lap. Leaves of Grass.

  "I took a chance that you don’t have it." Abe leaned forward, watching her face. "Leastways, I don’t remember you ever talkin’ ’bout it. When I asked the bookseller for somethin’ for a highly literate lady, he recommended this one. It’s mighty fine poetry, he said."

  Inez remembered reading Walt Whitman’s sensual poems aloud from an edition that had been smuggled into her boarding school by a classmate. It seems like a century ago.

  She flipped the pages until she came to a remembered passage:

  "But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face; It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists; It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees—dress does not hide him…"

  "Poems?" Emma’s voice jolted Inez out of her reverie. "How thoughtful, Abe. We all know how Inez loves her books. Would you read one for us, Inez?"

  "Ah—" Inez paged quickly, looking for something less flammable than "I Sing the Body Electric." The lens of Joey’s telescope thunked against the windowpane. "Uncle Mark! It’s Uncle Mark!"

  The book thudded to the rug as Inez rose from the seat and turned. She wrenched the curtain back. Light flooded the room, momentarily blinding her. Placing a hand on the cold pane, Inez leaned close to the glass, her breath twisted in a knot around her heart. Abe, Emma, and Susan rushed to the window.

  Joey’s voice climbed in excitement. "I knew he’d come back for Christmas!"

  With confident strides and hands buried deep in pockets, he stepped sure-footed between the hollows and humps melted and refrozen in the old snow. His head was bent, the black hat shutting his face from view.

  Dear God.

  He paused two doors away and removed his hat to smooth light brown hair. Inez’s world slid sideways as he glanced up in their direction.

  "Oh—" A chorus of exhalations told Inez that she wasn’t the only one who’d stopped breathing.

  Reverend Sands replaced his hat and continued toward Emma’s house.

  "Joey. How could you?" Emma’s reproof was directed toward her son even as she patted Inez’s shoulder consolingly.

  Inez sank back on the window seat and shut her eyes to bring her world back in order. "Don’t scold him." She squeezed Emma’s hand. "When I saw…but how could I have even thought…"

  "Well, Reverend Sands does look like Mark. I, I mean just a little," Susan stammered.

  Abe smoothed back his own hair, looking curiously at Inez. "He’s a dead ringer at a distance. You didn’t see it before now?" He winced, perplexed, Inez supposed, that she’d been so blind to the physical similarities.

  A rapping at the door sent the group flying in different directions: Joey to hide, Emma to greet Reverend Sands, Susan to retrieve a cup of eggnog for the new arrival.

  Sands entered the parlor just as Susan barreled out of the kitchen. "Merry Christmas." She handed him the cup.

  "Thank you." He nodded to Abe, smiled at Inez. "Merry Christmas." He shifted to peer down the hallway. "Where’s Joey?"

  Whitman’s words whispered through Inez’s mind like a tree in a breeze. "You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side."

  "I’ll get him," Inez said hastily.

  Glad to escape the suddenly stuffy parlor, she hurried to the small bedroom. Pushing the door open, she saw Joey folded over his rocking horse, torso and head hidden from view. All she could see were the soles of his shoes, his Sunday-best pants, and his rump sticking up above the horse’s saddle.

  "Joey, Reverend Sands is here." She sat on his bed. From there, she could see his upside-down head, face turned away. "For a minute, I thought he was Uncle Mark, too."

  "Mama told me Uncle Mark’s with the angels. I forgot."

  "That’s all right, Joey."

  Joey turned to face her. "She says Uncle Mark’s with papa in Heaven. I miss papa. Do you miss Uncle Mark?"

  "Yes. Very much."

  "Do you get so sad that you cry sometimes?"

  She hesitated. Then, "Yes. Sometimes."

  Joey sighed and righted himself on the horse. "Me too."

  He rocked a moment, the rockers thumpeting on the plank floor. She could almost see the wheels turning. "Maybe…"

  "What, Joey?"

  "Maybe you could marry Reverend Sands. Then you wouldn’t be so sad anymore." His face brightened. "And mama and me could visit."

  Bemused but irritated, she put out a hand to stop the horse. The elaborately carved eyes and nostrils gave it an astonished expression. "Getting married and all, that’s not a subject for children. Don’t repeat it to Reverend Sands. Or anyone else."

  He looked at her, dark eyebrows knitted in a frown that reminded Inez of his father. "Don’t you like him, Auntie Inez? He likes you. I heard Miss Carothers say so to mama.
"

  "There you are." Reverend Sands leaned on the doorjamb, overcoat still on. "Joey, your mother gave us permission to go to the corner and back before supper. So, are you riding that horse to California or would you like to throw a few snowballs?"

  Joey perked up and slid off the rocking horse. "Snow won’t pack."

  "I’ve got something else to show you then." Sands wiggled his eyebrows in a mock show of seriousness. "Hurry. It’s a secret."

  Joey grabbed a cap from the floor and a long, tangled scarf before heading toward the kitchen for his jacket.

  Inez stood and looked around the near empty room. A small trunk stood in the corner, half-filled with Joey’s clothes, waiting to receive the last few items. By this time next week, they’ll be gone.

  She turned to find the reverend still leaning in the doorway, watching her. He moved aside to let her pass, then caught her arm. "I asked Mrs. Rose to save me the chair next to yours. I hope you don’t mind."

  "Mind? Not at all."

  "Good. Wish you’d come walk with us. You look as if you could use a bit of fresh air as well." He slid his hand up to her shoulder. An answering shiver ran down her spine.

  "I’m half afraid of what will happen next if you and I go strolling down the street."

  He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  "I mean," Inez added hastily, "given the near miss we had last night." She edged past him. "Emma probably needs help in the kitchen."

  Reverend Sands dropped his hand, still smiling. "I understand. You two have just a few days left. We, on the other hand, have time."

  In the kitchen, the aroma of a roasting wild turkey filled the air. Joey jittered from one foot to the other by the back door in barely contained excitement. "I’ve got a surprise too. Mama says I can show you outside." Inez caught the glint of the pocket telescope behind his back.

  "A surprise, eh? Let’s go. Looks like we’ve got lots to do." The reverend winked at Inez and Emma as he opened the door.

  The women watched the two figures—one tall, one small—negotiate the footpath through the snow-filled backyard to the alley.

  Emma wiped her hands on the towel looped over her apron. "Reverend Sands is a good man, Inez. He helped us through the worst of times and is getting us started on a new life. And now, Joe’s debt is taken care of. I only wish I knew who paid it off so I could thank them in person or at least in my prayers. Reverend Sands says he’s passed along my gratitude and not to think on it any more."

  She started back to the stove. "It’s a miracle, when you think about it. Five thousand dollars. I can’t think of anyone with that kind of money who’d do something like that."

  "Speaking of people with that kind of money," Inez drifted over to the stove with her, "how was your ride home with Harry last night? Did he behave himself?"

  Emma froze a moment, her face still. She then shook her head, dipped a spoon into a canister, and sifted a spoonful of flour into the drippings. "Mr. Gallagher wished us a pleasant journey to California. And he apologized."

  "Harry apologized?" The notion boggled Inez.

  "For any distress he might have caused." She added canned milk to the bubbling gravy. "He also wants to buy Joe’s lot downtown. Building and all. I told him to work it out with you and the bank. Ironic, isn’t it. Harry Gallagher ruins our lives, buys what’s left, and finances our new life in California."

  "Harry’s buying Joe’s business?" Inez leaned against the kitchen table. Baffled. "Why?"

  "Location, I suppose. It’s on Chestnut, after all."

  Inez thought of something else. "Too, there’s the assay equipment. I heard he’s hiring a company assayer. Maybe he’ll cart Joe’s furnaces and so on up to Fryer Hill."

  Emma stirred the gravy. "He said he’d pay eight thousand dollars. Eight thousand. Is it really worth that much?" She shook her head. "I’ll leave it to you, Inez. I don’t want to think about him or Joe’s business any more."

  She filled the gravy boat. "Would you tell Abe and Susan that supper’s ready? Then, you can help me put it on the table."

  Inez smoothed her skirt. A bump in her pocket reminded her: The key.

  "I have a quick question for you first." Inez pulled out the small key. "We found this among Joe’s papers in his office. Does it look familiar?"

  Emma’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. She took the key from Inez and examined it briefly. "No. Maybe it opens his desk."

  "We tried and it doesn’t. The design and size are unusual. Maybe it belongs to something here at home. A strongbox or—"

  The key made a decisive tick as Emma slapped it on the kitchen table. "I’ve never seen it before. And unless it’s the key to a fortune, I don’t care. Joe’s gone. Right now, I’m doing what he would have wanted and trying my best to look forward, not back. To make some kind of future for myself, Joey, and…and the baby."

  Her mouth began to tremble. She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes before tucking a strand of carrot-colored hair behind one ear. "We’ve packed nearly everything in the house. You helped us. Did you see anything that might fit that key? I didn’t. Give it to Mr. Gallagher. It must belong to something in the office, and he’s going to own it all anyway. Let him figure out what it unlocks. Now, please bring the gravy to the table."

  She swept out of the kitchen into the small dining area.

  Inez looked at the orphan key and swallowed the lump in her throat. Maybe I’ll get lucky and see something I’ve overlooked.

  She slipped it into her pocket as boots rattled up the back steps. Joey burst into the kitchen, eyes shining, cheeks ruddy from cold. "Auntie Inez! Watch!" He set two fingers in his mouth and let loose with a piercing whistle. Emma, who was just entering the kitchen, clapped her hands to her ears. "Not inside!"

  "’Scuse me." He didn’t look particularly contrite. "I can whistle! Reverend Sands showed me how!"

  Another, heavier set of boots clomped up the stairs, and the reverend walked in, looking pleased. "I heard you all the way to the shed, Joey."

  Joey beamed.

  Reverend Sands crouched low, his face level with Joey’s. "Now tell your mama. What’s the signal?"

  Joey looked up at his mother to be sure she was listening. "Three whistles means help, mama. You blow three times, I’ll come rescue you."

  She smoothed his rumpled hair. "I’ll remember that. Now go wash your hands."

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Evening gloves in hand, Inez examined her reflection in the mirror over her bedroom washstand. In the lamplight, the ivory lace bled white, tracing the décolletage of her new evening dress and falling in a straight line down the front of the bodice. Inez stroked the dark green velvet, marveling at its softness and trying to ignore the turmoil in her stomach.

  You’d think I was fifteen, preparing for my first dance.

  She felt for the strand of pearls wound through her intricately knotted hair and checked that the countless hairpins were all in place.

  Inez twisted the two bands, gold and silver, on her ring finger, debating whether to remove them. At the knock on the front door, she hastily pulled on her gloves and quenched the light.

  She opened the door to find the reverend in full dress. He stared, then doffed his top hat. "Mrs. Stannert. Words fail me completely."

  Inez finished buttoning her gloves and smiled. "Well, this is a first. Thank you, Reverend."

  He helped her with her evening cape and escorted her to a waiting buggy.

  "You brought a rig." She was pleased she wouldn’t have to navigate through snow and slush on foot.

  "Much as I enjoy walking with you, I didn’t want to chance more ruined coats and shoes. Or worse. I intend to deliver you to and from the dance in one piece."

  "You sound like Abe." She settled against the cushioned seat, her satin skirt making a satisfying rustle. "When I took the money to the bank Wednesday, he insisted on coming. Said he didn’t want me to mysteriously disappear along the way."

  The reverend turne
d up the collar of his overcoat and shook the reins. The buggy jolted into motion. "That’s one thing that Mr. Jackson and I agree on. No disappearances allowed. Which means I’m your constant companion tonight." He paused, and his tone lightened. "Your dance card is full, Mrs. Stannert. Too bad for the other fellows, lucky for me."

  He clucked to the horse, which obediently picked up the pace, turning onto Harrison’s gas-lit street. In front of the Hotel Windsor, a confusion of rigs and enclosed buggies angled for space.

  The reverend guided the buggy around the corner. He sat for a moment, scanning the area. Whatever he saw, or didn’t see, seemed to satisfy him. "We shouldn’t have any problems walking this short distance."

  "I think you’re making way too much of this." As he eased out of the rig she caught the dull gleam of a gun belt beneath his tail coat. "You came armed to a soiree?"

  "As I said, I’m taking no chances." His face softened as he helped her down the steps and they began to walk. "I’m looking forward to a pleasant evening in your company. With no complications. So, you mean to say you don’t have your little Remington tucked in a secret pocket?"

  "I left my gun at home."

  They ascended the steps to the brick-sided hotel. A wreath of pine boughs framed the heavy oak door while the leaded glass insets twinkled with shifting lights and colors from within. Reverend Sands turned toward her, eyes crinkling at the corners, reflecting her own anticipation. "Ready?"

  He released her elbow for a moment to retrieve the engraved invitation from inside his dress-coat. A few tentative snowflakes fell as the reverend opened the door.

  The first thing to hit her senses was the unexpected warmth, heavy with the scent of vegetation; the second was the color and light. Flowers of an astonishing variety perched in crystal vases on tables. Fragrant winter garlands twined around the banister of the grand staircase that led to a balcony overlooking the crowded floor below. Potted ferns and small trees, some ten feet high, stood in silver urns along the walls. Their branches held brilliant crepe paper and birdcages with multicolored birds.