Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (12 page)

The tornado had claimed just twenty-six lives in Griffin but inflicted an arguably greater wound. It had destroyed
every
building in the small community and dozens more in the outlying area, including a farmhouse that James Bell, father of Percival and Henry, had built in 1855.

Cameron thought about the house and the family that had once called it home as he folded the newspaper, set it aside, and stared blankly at the wall. He tried to imagine what it was like to lose most of your worldly belongings in the blink of an eye, but he simply could not.

Unlike Candice and Marjorie Bell, he had not lost a thing on March 18, 1925. In fact, he had gained something. He had acquired something interesting, new, and potentially priceless. He had gained a diary that was arguably the most valuable document on the planet.

Cameron reached for Henry Bell's journal, opened it to a page he had marked, and started reading. He had read the diary at least five times in the past seventy-two hours and all but memorized its contents. He knew the narratives, sketches, and formulas almost as well as he knew the particulars of his master's thesis, but he didn't understand what all of them meant.

That left him both frustrated and hopeful. He was frustrated because he could not figure out the most important parts of an important work. He was hopeful because he believed he had the means to find most of the answers that eluded him.

Cameron had not shared his discovery with Candice or Marjorie. Deciding on the spot to keep all of his options open, he had tucked the muddy journal in his satchel, returned to the Bell women as if nothing had happened, and comforted them in their moment of distress.

He had not seen the women since escorting them to a nearby farm that had somehow escaped destruction. When the farmer said he could drive up to two of the three tornado survivors to Evansville Wednesday night, Cameron happily gave up his seat. He returned to town the next morning on a bus transporting refugees from the disaster zone.

Before leaving Cameron at the farm, Candice had promised to finish their interview. She said she would contact him as soon as she had settled into her new home.

Cameron looked forward to the meeting. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to pick her brain, test her intellect, and hear her twang. He wanted to see her green eyes and beautiful smile. He wanted to do all these things and more, but he knew that now was not the time to do them.

Candice needed a break. She needed at least a few days to mourn her loss, comfort her mother, and adjust to living with her brother, sister-in-law, and niece.

Cameron pondered her situation for a moment and then returned his attention to the diary, which had become a favorite read. He looked at the bookmarked page, made a few mental notes, and proceeded to a page that was perhaps the most important in the work.

Tucked in the middle of the page, between observations about camp food, was a passage the Rhode Islander had discovered in less than ten minutes. It answered a pressing question.

"August 4, 1898: P and I said so long to the fellows today. Most seemed eager to go home to their families or return to their jobs. I am too. M and L seem like memories now. The farm is but a faint recollection. Were it not for P's 'discovery,' I would have joined the others in Truckee. As it is, I still have work to do. P insists his find is worth the delay. We shall see. Tomorrow we will return to Needle Peak and inspect the cave in question. I look forward to the visit, if only to satisfy my curiosity and bring my business here to a conclusion."

Cameron didn't need a decoder ring to decipher the letters. P was Percival, the diarist's brother and a fellow expedition member. M was Marjorie, his wife. L was Lawrence, his son. Now twenty-eight, Lawrence had been eighteen months old in August 1898.

Cameron didn't need help with the rest of the passage either. Henry Bell had not just provided a clue with his reference to Needle Peak. He had provided a road map.

If the mountain, a towering block of basalt, was not the front door to the mystery cave, it was the back. In one passage, the diarist had confirmed Professor Bell's story, validated Marjorie's memory, and given a time traveler enough information to start his mission, if not complete it.

Yet Cameron had no desire to pack his bags and hop a train to California. To search for the cave now would be to search in the last week of March. He had no interest in looking for a cave or anything else in twenty feet of snow.

He also had no interest in looking for priceless jewels when he had another treasure in his sights. If he did nothing else in Evansville, Indiana, he would get to know Candice Bell, win her mind if not her heart, and let his conscience dictate his actions.

Cameron checked his watch, noted the vertical hands, and decided to find some supper – or what the modern world called dinner. He closed the diary, got out of his chair, and walked to the closet, where he retrieved a jacket the dry cleaners had not ruined.

Cameron threw on the jacket and started for the door, but he did not take more than a few steps before he stopped, changed direction, and returned to the desk. He sat down, opened the diary, and this time flipped to a page near the back.

He quickly found a passage that gave him as much comfort as any Bible verse. Poignant, poetic, and sweet, it revealed a forty-year-old man's limitless affection for his newborn daughter.

"February 14, 1900: M delivered an angel this morning. Born at six on this day of love, she is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I held her all morning and well into the afternoon, sang her songs my mother sang to me, and told her how much I love her. She is the answer to so many prayers, a bundle of joy I shall treasure for many years."

Cameron sighed as he read the passage. Though he liked both the prose and the sentiment, he was moved more by
when
they had been put on paper.

Henry Bell did not treasure his daughter for many years. He treasured her for another day. He died before Candice Bell even had a name. His lovely entry was his last.

CHAPTER 17: CANDICE

Friday, March 27, 1925

Candice sipped her morning coffee, lowered her cup to its saucer, and ran her hands along a walnut dining table crafted in 1850. She had always wanted the ornate piece and had asked for it at age eighteen, but she did not get it. Like so many other heirlooms in the Bell family, the table went to the child who had married, settled down, and purchased a home.

Candice looked at that child, her older brother, and smiled sadly. She envied a lot of things about her only sibling but nothing more than his ability to take charge in a crisis.

Lawrence had done just that in the past week. He had provided his mother and his sister with a permanent home, taken charge of their financial affairs, and even provided them with the use of a car to replace the one Candice had lost to the Tri-State Tornado.

"Thanks," Candice said.

"Thanks for what?" Lawrence asked.

Candice took a breath.

"Thanks for being a brother."

Lawrence Bell, businessman, husband, father, and all-around good guy, lowered the newspaper in his hands. He stared at his sister like she had just thanked him for being human.

"You're getting dramatic again," Lawrence said. "You really should develop that side of yourself. I hear the theater company is holding auditions for
The Gold Diggers
."

"Do you think I'm a 'gold digger,' Lawrence?"

"No. I do not. I think you're just the opposite. You, dear sister, will marry for love. You will find a vagabond someday, buy a shoddy house in the slums, and be as happy as a clam."

Candice laughed softly.

"You're probably right," she said. "Of course, you assume I'll find the right vagabond in the first place. I think all the good ones in town are taken."

"That's not true," Lula Bell said. She sipped her coffee. "I know several who ask for fruit and vegetables at the market every Thursday. They seem like honest sorts, if a little dirty."

Candice stared at her sister-in-law.

"You're not helping, Lula."

"What about that gentleman you met the other day? You haven't said much about him."

"That's because there's not much to say," Candice said. "I had barely had the chance to meet him when the tornado struck."

"What's he like?" Lula asked.

Candice glanced at Lawrence, saw that he had returned to his paper, and then looked again at her sister-in-law and full-time confidante. Short, slim, and pretty, Lula was Candice's brown-haired twin, a high school classmate who had been with Lawrence since the eleventh grade.

"He's handsome, for one thing," Candice said.

Lula raised a brow.

"Now you're cooking. I suppose he's single, educated, and wealthy too."

Candice sighed.

"I don't know about the wealthy part, but he's definitely educated. He's a graduate student from Rhode Island who is working on a doctorate in history."

"Is he available?" Lula asked.

Candice glared at her interrogator.

"How would I know? All I know is that I didn't see a ring on his finger."

Lula smiled.

"I see I've taught you well."

Candice shook her head.

"You're reading too much into this. Mr. Coelho is a nice man, but he's a visitor. I suspect he will return to New England by April, if not sooner."

"Do you plan to see him again?" Lula asked.

Candice nodded.

"I told him I would contact him as soon as Mother and I were settled. He's apparently renting a room at the Vanderburgh Hotel."

Lawrence lowered his paper and looked at his sister.

"Don't you think it's odd that a man would travel all the way from Rhode Island just to speak with you about social customs or whatever such nonsense?"

"I do," Marjorie Bell said as she entered the dining room. She held Mary Bell, her two-year-old granddaughter, in her arms.

Candice turned her head.

"Have you been eavesdropping, Mother?"

"No," Marjorie said. "I've been entertaining this delightful child. I caught only a snippet of your gossip."

Candice gazed at her mother and smiled. She was happy to see her back to her nosy self nine days after a tornado had stripped her of a house, her belongings, and a lifetime of memories.

"We're not gossiping," Candice said. "We're talking about the nice young man who saved our lives. You of all people should be grateful he was in Indiana last week."

"I am, dear," Marjorie said. "I just think it's odd he came here in the first place."

Candice couldn't disagree. For several days, as she slowly put her life back together, she had tried to figure out why Cameron Coelho had come to Evansville. There was nothing, she thought, that he could not have obtained through the mail or a telephone call.

"I do too," Candice said. "There are many questions I'd like to ask him."

"Such as?" Lula asked.

"Such as why he suspected the storm was worse than it looked. I saw no signs of a tornado when he urged us to find a cellar. I saw heavy rain and a dark cloud."

"Perhaps he's a seer!"

"I sincerely doubt that," Candice said. "Seers don't wear three-piece suits."

Lula laughed.

"You've been to the circus too many times. Seers don't always look like gypsies."

"They do in my book," Candice said with a smile. "The funny thing is, Mr. Coelho didn't look like a student either. He didn't
act
like a student – or even a visitor, for that matter. He acted like someone who was already familiar with Indiana and the people who live here. What he hoped to learn from me I still don't know."

"Are you going to grant him another interview?" Lula asked.

Candice nodded.

"I am. I may even call him later today."

Lula sipped her coffee.

"Where will you meet him? The newspaper office?"

Candice shook her head.

"No. I want to meet him somewhere else. I owe him more than an interview."

"What do you mean?" Lula asked.

Candice smiled.

"I mean I owe him a dinner."

CHAPTER 18: CAMERON

Saturday, March 28, 1925

Cameron admitted that he didn't see it coming.

When Candice stopped by to see him in the hotel lobby Friday, he expected her to give him maybe an hour of her time. He expected her to share some Indiana stories, answer a few questions, and perhaps thank him for lending a hand during and after the storm. He didn't expect her to do all that and
then
invite him to dinner Saturday night at Evansville's finest restaurant.

Cameron looked around the dining room of Harrison's, a steakhouse on Vine Street, and saw the cream of the city's crop gathered around twenty linen-covered tables. Then he looked at the most beautiful and unpredictable woman he had ever met and smiled.

"I have to tell you I'm surprised to be here," Cameron said.

"Why?" Candice asked.

"I don't deserve this. If anything, I should be treating
you
. You did me a favor. You gave me all the information I asked for and then some."

"I did. But that's not why I asked you to dinner. I asked you to dinner because you saved my life and my mother's life. For all I know, you saved Otto Braun's life too. He was not listed among the dead in Griffin."

"You know him?"

"I know who he is," Candice said. "He's the only taxi driver in Evansville who comes out to Griffin – or what used to be Griffin."

Candice turned away when her eyes started to water.

"Are you all right," Cameron asked.

Candice took a deep breath and nodded.

"I just keep thinking about the victims. I lost three high school classmates to the tornado. It's hard for me to talk about the storm without thinking of them."

"I understand. We can talk about something else."

"No," Candice said. "I
want
to talk about the storm. I want to talk about your role in it."