Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (19 page)

"I thought you would."

Cameron pulled Candice close as they crossed Riverside Avenue and entered Sunset Park, an oasis of trees, paths, and grassy spaces that bordered the Ohio River. He didn't see any people in the park as dusk turned to dark, but that was fine with him. He wanted the park, the warm evening, and Evansville's most eligible lady to himself.

"Do you like the book?" Cameron asked.

"I don't know," Candice said. She smiled. "I haven't read it."

"You never quit, do you?"

Candice giggled.

"I try not to."

"I can see that," Cameron said.

"I'll read it this week and let you know."

"Sounds good."

Candice looked at him.

"Why did you pick Fitzgerald? He's a fairly obscure writer."

Cameron smiled. Oh, the stories he could tell.

"He won't be for long."

"What makes you think that?" Candice asked.

"Call it a hunch. I think Fitzgerald does a great job of describing this age. He understands the culture and the people. He gets what the twenties are all about."

"And what, pray tell, are the twenties all about?"

"You should know that," Cameron said. "This is the age of style, freedom, and excess, an era of recklessness and extravagance, a time where people win their fortunes and lose their souls in the same evening. I saw most of that on display at the Cathouse. Surely you did too."

Candice took a breath.

"I did," she said. "I've just never heard the modern age described in those terms. You sound like a poet or a sage who knows more about the twenties than you're letting on."

"I'm a student, remember?"

"So you say."

"What does that mean?" Cameron asked.

"What it means, Mr. Coelho, is that you've been in Indiana for thirty-four days. That's thirty more than I would have needed to ask questions and examine papers."

"You sound like Richard Paine and Leonard Heller."

"Did they talk to you?" Candice asked.

Cameron shook his head.

"No. They talked
about
me. I heard them blather at Heller's the other day. They think I've overstayed my welcome. They want me to leave."

Candice stopped, released Cameron's arm, and turned to face him. When she had his attention, she gazed at him with eyes that reflected concern, vulnerability, and fear.

"
I
don't want you to leave," Candice said. "I just want to know who you are and why you are here. You haven't been very forthcoming."

"You're right. I haven't."

"Then why don't you answer my questions?"

"I can't," Cameron said.

"That's not a good answer."

"It's not. Perhaps someday I'll give you a better one."

Candice started to speak but stopped when another couple, a laughing couple, entered the park and started down the path she and Cameron had taken. She took Cameron's hand and led him across a grassy expanse to a group of sycamore trees that offered privacy and quiet.

"I asked you that question because I care about you," Candice said. "You don't have to tell me everything. Just tell me more than you have."

"I will," Cameron said. "I promise, at some point, I will."

He meant it too. He did not know
when
he would tell her more, but he would do it. He would do whatever he had to do to win her over.

"All right," Candice said. "I don't like secrets, but I'll let this pass for now."

Cameron took her hands and pulled her close.

"Now I have a question for you."

"What's that?" Candice asked.

"Why do you like me?"

"I just do."

"I mean it," Cameron said. "Why do you like me? I don't have a job. I don't have money. I'm not even all that interesting. When you get right down to it, I'm kind of boring."

Candice giggled.

"You are."

"See? I told you."

Candice smiled but did not respond right away. She instead looked at Cameron for a moment like he was a problem child who needed a thoughtful lecture.

"I just broke off an engagement to a man who
wasn't
boring. Unlike most men, he was bold, adventurous, and even exciting. He was also cruel, controlling, and sadistically violent."

"That's not what I meant," Cameron said.

"Let me finish."

"OK."

"I've had plenty of 'interesting' men in my life, Mr. Coelho. I don't need any more. What I need is a kind, gentle, intelligent man who treats me like a person and not a possession."

Cameron nodded.

"I get it."

"'Boring' to some is pleasant to others," Candice said. She smiled sweetly. "In fact, it can be a pretty nice change of pace."

Cameron smiled.

"You've made your point, Miss Bell."

"I have?"

"You have."

Cameron put his hands to her face.

"Now let me make mine."

Cameron leaned forward and kissed Candice for the first time. When he was finished, he kissed her again. He kissed her until a million stars appeared in an indigo sky and promises he had made to a distant professor retreated to the recesses of his mind.

CHAPTER 30: CAMERON

Friday, April 24, 1925

Cameron knew when Beatrice Franklin directed him to Thad's office – and not Candice's – that his visit to the
Evansville Post
would not be a short one. He walked slowly to an open door, peeked inside, and saw the busiest man in town wrap up a phone call.

"Please come in," Thad said.

The editor motioned with his hand and then returned to a caller who apparently wanted to know a lot about ad rates and circulation figures. When he finished the call, he stood up, leaned across his desk, and extended a hand to his visitor.

"It's nice to see you again," Thad said.

Cameron shook the hand.

"You too."

"Please take a seat."

Cameron sat in the nearest of two chairs, lowered his satchel to the floor, and studied his surroundings as the newsman returned to his seat. No matter where he looked in the spacious office, he saw awards, diplomas, and photographs of Thad Grant with famous people.

"I like your pictures," Cameron said. "Is that you with President Harding?"

"That's me with
Senator
Harding," Thad said. "It was taken five years ago at the Republican National Convention in Chicago. I covered the event for the
Post
and had an opportunity to meet the senator shortly before he was nominated."

"It's impressive."

"Thank you," Thad said. "I'm sorry for imposing. I'm sure you came here for personal rather than business reasons, but I wanted to talk to you while I had the chance."

"I understand. It's no problem."

"Candice should be in around noon. She's running errands right now."

"I see," Cameron said. "Is there anything special you want to talk about?"

Thad shook his head.

"No. I just want to see how you're doing."

"I'm doing fine."

"Have you completed your research?"

"I've finished most of it," Cameron said.

"That's good. If I can help you in any way, please let me know."

"I will."

"I have to admit I'm surprised you're still here," Thad said. "When we met last month, I got the impression you were just passing through."

Cameron smiled.

Here we go again.

"I was."

"So what happened?"

"I kept finding new things to research."

"Is that all?" Thad asked.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"Have other things kept you in Evansville?"

Cameron chuckled.

"Maybe."

"I don't mean to pry," Thad said. "Your personal life is your business. It's just that when my ace journalist shows interest in a man from another state, I pay attention."

"Are you worried I'm going to steal her?"

Thad laughed.

"Yes!"

Cameron smiled.

"You overestimate my appeal, Mr. Grant."

"Please call me Thad."

"OK. You overestimate my appeal, Thad. While it's true I like Candice and have been seeing her socially for about two weeks, I have no plans to take her to New England. I'm not sure she would go even if I asked. If there is one thing I've learned about your society editor, it's that she loves Indiana and wouldn't leave the state for anyone."

"Are you sure about that?" Thad asked.

"I'm as sure as I can be," Cameron said.

Thad chuckled.

"That's a relief."

"I'm serious," Cameron said. "You're worrying about nothing."

"That's good to hear."

Cameron leaned back in his chair and processed what the editor had said. Though he was getting tired of answering questions about his intentions, he at least understood why Thad was interested in those intentions. He had hired and groomed a rainmaker and didn't want to lose her to some interloping nobody from Providence, Rhode Island.

"There is something I don't understand though," Cameron said.

"What's that?" Thad asked.

"You don't want to lose Candice. Is that right?"

"That's right."

"Then why don't you do everything in your power to keep her?"

"I don't follow."

"Why don't you give her more responsibility or better assignments?" Cameron asked.

"Are you referring to her interest in hard reporting?"

"Yes."

The editor frowned.

"I haven't promoted her to the news side for two reasons," Thad said. "The first is because I don't want to lose one of the best society writers in the country. There is no one I could hire who could do for this paper what Candice is doing. She has an audience in the thousands."

"What's the other reason?" Cameron asked.

"The other reason is that anyone could report news stories. It doesn't take a gifted reporter to cover hard news in this area. Not a lot happens here."

"That's funny. I have just the opposite impression."

"What do you mean?" Thad asked.

"I mean that in the four weeks I've been here, I've witnessed a cross burning, visited an illegal liquor and gambling establishment, and seen evidence that respected local businessmen have invested heavily in bootlegging operations."

"We do have a reporter that covers that beat and only that beat."

"I know about George Penn," Cameron said. "I'm sure he's a nice guy and a capable reporter, but I think we both know he's no Candice Bell. She told me she did most of the heavy lifting in exposing an embezzler. She did
all
of the heavy lifting, in fact."

"She did," Thad said. "She got credit for it too."

"Then give her more credit. Give her more responsibility. Surely whatever you would lose in the society section you would gain in the news section."

Thad smiled and sighed.

"Candice was right about you. You view everything logically."

"Isn't that a good way to view things?" Cameron asked.

"It is, sometimes."

"Then why not view this situation logically and give her a chance?"

"I might," Thad said. "I might sooner rather than later. In the meantime, however, I have to run a newspaper in a competitive environment. If I give Candice a new role, I have to make sure the
Post
will profit from that decision."

"I understand. I'm just asking you to keep an open mind."

"I'll do that, Mr. Coelho. I'll do that if you promise me one thing."

"What's that?" Cameron asked.

"Don't take my society editor to Rhode Island."

Cameron smiled.

"OK," he said. "Fair enough."

CHAPTER 31: CAMERON

Owensboro, Kentucky – Sunday, April 26, 1925

The Big Tent was big. Stretching from one end of the city lot to the other, it covered more than twenty-five thousand square feet and accommodated most, but not all, of those who had come to see the show. Those who couldn't sit stood. Those who couldn't watch inside listened outside. By the time Reverend Benjamin J. Hardy opened his Bible and began preaching the word of the Lord, more than fifteen thousand people had gathered to hear him speak.

Cameron and the Bells were among the lucky ones. Sitting in folding metal chairs six rows back, they had a close, unobstructed view of the stage, the altar, and a forty-year-old Southern Baptist minister many newspapers were calling the new Billy Sunday.

"I bet you've never seen anything like this," Candice said softly.

"You're right," Cameron said. He smiled. "I haven't."

He hadn't either. He hadn't even known what to expect. Even a two-hour drive in Lawrence Bell's 1924 Cadillac Coach hadn't prepared him for a religious revival that was a spectacle few modern concerts or sports events could match. In 1925, old-time religion was big-time religion.

No one, of course, had looked forward to the service more than Marjorie Bell. On the journey from Evansville to Owensboro, she had read aloud six long newspaper articles previewing the event. When she was done, she recounted the time she had met Billy Sunday in 1917. By the time the party reached Kentucky, Cameron considered himself converted.

Cameron took a moment to study his fellow travelers and noted their differing reactions. Marjorie stared at the speaker and nodded at his every word. Lawrence nodded, too, as if wondering whether fiery speeches had a place in furniture advertising. Lula and Candice smiled like schoolgirls listening to a principal lecture them on the pitfalls of lust. Mary didn't seem to care. She slept soundly through the fire and brimstone on her mother's lap.

Cameron smiled at the perfectly normal American family and then turned to the stage, where the reverend was in full devil-fighting mode. He admired the man's theatrical talents and his command of the language. Ben Hardy, evangelist, spoke in the parlance of the common man.

"Make no mistake, brothers and sisters. Satan is a slick guy," Hardy said as he stepped to the edge of the stage. "He will tempt you as surely and effectively as a traveling salesman peddling his wares. Only the price of his wares will not be dollars and cents. It will be your eternal soul!"