Spirit of the Valley (14 page)

 

 

Two hours later, they headed back home, each with a small crate of fresh vegetables and a ball of goat cheese. It had been a wonderful day, and Lizzie felt light and happy. When the men had come in, the banter started and never stopped, despite the fact that they were hungry and went right to filling their plates and eating. They were priming the tobacco crop, which meant pulling the leaves at the bottom of the plants. It was the first step of the harvest.

Even though they had big appetites, they took the time to spar and laugh, and Doll could hold her own among them. Lizzie had never experienced anything like that easy camaraderie. Neither had her children, who watched with unabashed delight.

Wood, the foreman, was a man in his fifties and he was kind and witty. He'd known just the right amount to tease with Jake and Rebecca. Another of the men, Hawk, was part Indian, and proudly owned it, even amidst ribbing from one of the others, named Malcolm. They'd all been discussing the merits of a cigarette-rolling machine; apparently one had been invented.

“It could go and change the whole industry,” Wood said. He looked at Lizzie. “Right now, companies can't keep up with demand 'cause hand rolling is slow. A person can do, like, less than ten an hour by hand rolling. But this fella, Bonsack, went and made this machine that can roll two hundred a minute.” This caused a general scoffing, which didn't bother Wood in the least. “It's what I read. I recommend you fellas try it sometime.”

“How—” Jeffrey started.

“How do you read?” Malcolm interrupted. “Well, first you pick up a book.”

“Ha, ha,” Jeffrey said with a sour look.

“Usually,” Malcolm said, “it's Hawk here who says
how
, only he means
hi
,” he finished with a big wave.

“That joke never gets old,” Hawk said with a bored lift of his brow.

“Just no way a machine can roll two hundred cigarettes a minute,” Jeffrey said, getting back to the point.

“Not only can it,” Wood stated, “but the man who invented it won that contest put on by a cigarette company out of Richmond, and he won seventy-five
thousand
dollars.”

The conversation went on and on, and it was entertaining to observe. So were the Medlins. Baby Catherine favored her father, who was breathtakingly handsome, but the truly beautiful thing to witness was Tommy and Emeline. The love between them filled the room. The way they looked at one another, the way he touched her. He took the baby and held her the entire time he was there, and it was clear how much he adored her. Never had Ethan looked at his children that way. It was also clear that there was no other woman in the world for Tommy. Em was his world and he was hers. Never, ever had she felt that for Ethan. She hadn't experienced even a fraction of that emotion. But could she? With the right man? With Jeremy?

She tried to push the thought away, but another took its place. After a day of glorious weather, with such gregarious people, who clearly cared for one another and worked hard together, it made the contrast of Jeremy's existence—in a dark, cold mine—hurtful to think about. Why did he do it? When there was work on a farm or a ranch in the fresh air and sunshine, why would anyone subject himself to working in a mine?

“Today was fun, Mama,” Rebecca said from the back. “Can we go back again?”

“Oh, we'll go back lots,” Fiona answered.

“Thank you for taking us under your wing,” Lizzie said.

Fiona smiled and jutted her crooked arms out. “I got big wings. Happy to have you.”

Chapter Nineteen

It was on a cloudy Thursday afternoon that Jeremy trudged out of the mine's lift behind a half dozen men. Liam had managed to position himself to get off the lift first, which was why he saw his eldest nephew, Errol, waiting right away. Jeremy knew what the news was by the boy's stance and drawn face. The others knew too, and murmured words of sympathy as they passed. William's death had been inevitable; it was only a question of when.

Liam looked at Jeremy and gave a grim nod.

“I'm sorry,” Jeremy said. He looked at Errol. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

The boy nodded in acknowledgment but didn't meet Jeremy's gaze.

“We'll bury him tomorrow,” Liam said.

“What time?”

“Afternoon,” Liam said.

“Three,” Errol said with downcast eyes. “Mama said three.”

Liam walked away with his nephew. Several paces away, he put a protective arm around the boy's shoulders and they conferred quietly. Jeremy watched, saddened by the inevitable end of a life spent in the mines. It was a bleak legacy.

When he got back to his house, he sat heavily at his table. For a while, he was too tired and depressed to move. When he did, it was to reach for a bottle of whiskey and the glass he'd used the day before. He poured a drink and downed it. He poured another and downed it. Then he sat back and watched the daylight growing fainter.

 

 

The following day, Jeremy stood in the back of the group gathered for William Baskerville's funeral. It was a dour-looking crowd of a few dozen people. What could anyone say other than it had been a hard life and an even harder death? A wife and children were left behind, and their lives were hard. They weren't going to get any easier, either.

When the service ended, mourners headed back to their homes in the mining camp, a place known as the patch, but Jeremy stayed behind. He stood with his head slightly lowered, hands clasped together in front of him, lost in a mire of thoughts. It occurred to him that he didn't recall one thing that had been said at the service. Not one single word. He hated funerals. At Jenny's funeral, he and his father had anchored his mother between them. The pastor had spoken of a light being extinguished too soon, but he'd been more focused on keeping his mother upright than listening to the words of supposed consolation.

At his mother's funeral, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his father. He remembered the looks of sorrow and softly spoken murmurings of sympathy over what they'd had to endure. The pastor had spoken carefully, mentioning a mother's love often. It was true, she had been a loving mother, but Jeremy hadn't felt love from her at the end; he'd felt a void. He'd felt emptiness. Jenny's death had shattered her mind, body, and spirit.

At his father's funeral, he'd stood alone and numb. At least, he'd started out alone. By the end of the service, he realized he was flanked by Miss McCarthy, his old schoolteacher, on one side, and T. Emmett Rice on the other. Miss McCarthy had taken hold of his arm and Emmett had a hand on his shoulder.

Jeremy turned and made his way through the cemetery to the row where his parents and sister were buried, because what he needed was a reckoning. He needed to be finished with the past, if that was possible.

He stopped before his mother's gravestone first. “Sorry it's been so long,” he said quietly, although he was alone in the cemetery. The pastor kept the cemetery in good condition, mostly using the labor of adolescents who'd gotten into mischief and had a debt to pay to society, but Jeremy wished he had flowers to lay before her grave.

He stepped past Jenny's grave to his father's, wondering if he'd paid enough for his sins, but he still heard his father's voice in his head.
A life for a life, Son.
What a mistake telling him had been. Jeremy had thought the knowledge that he'd exacted justice for Jenny would bring his father some sort of satisfaction. Instead, it had torn them apart.
That's the way of it! A life for a life.

Jeremy had argued that it was
their
fault, Ted Landreth's and Stan Thomas's. That Jenny was dead because of them, but his father wouldn't listen.

“I've lost a daughter and a wife,” Rodney Sheffield had ranted. “You think I can bear to see my son hanged for exacting revenge? Revenge for a crime that can't even be proved? Must never be proved. Would you have us drag your sister's name through the mud? For the love of God, Son. A
Landreth
. They won't stop looking for him until he's found. Until they know. And then the law will say what it's always said. A life for a life!”

“They won't be found,” Jeremy stated, but his father was through listening. He turned his back on his son and walked away. Soon, he'd crawl back into a bottle. And why not? In a short time, he'd lost pretty much everything. His only daughter and then his wife, and the farm would probably have to be sold, too. It was only the two of them left, and their relationship was crumbling.

It was later that night when his father didn't come in to dinner that Jeremy went in search and found him in the barn.

Hanging.

Dead.

It wasn't a sight that would ever leave him, however much he wished it.

Maybe that's what he deserved, because if he hadn't admitted killing Ted Landreth, his father wouldn't have snapped. Jeremy had accepted his punishment and sentenced himself to a life of hard labor in Six. His question now was, did he owe the rest of his life? Was eight years long enough, or did he owe dying there? The quick death of a cave-in or the hard death of black lung.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He'd been foolish to think he'd arrive at any sort of reckoning. All that was here was a reminder of the deaths of his family. At least his father's death had been quick. He'd wrapped a noose around his neck and stepped off the loft. His neck had snapped, his death instant.

His mother, on the other hand, had lingered and suffered, using more and more laudanum to help with the pain of grief, growing thinner and weaker until her heart gave out. Or so the doctor had said. It would have been bad enough to lose Jenny to an accident, but in washing her body for burial, the truth of what she'd been through became apparent.

If Ruth Sheffield hadn't cried out, causing Jeremy to come rushing in to the kitchen where Jenny's body lay on the table, he wouldn't have known. But he did see. He saw the bruises on her arms and wrists and neck, and instantly he knew. And his mother knew. He could still picture her hovering over her daughter's body, sobbing, as the truth tore her up inside.

No one in his family had ever once discussed it, but the abuse Jenny had suffered took on a presence of its own, and it was the loudest specter in the house. He knew when his father had been told. He knew when either of his parents were thinking about it, especially his mother. He saw it in her eyes every day until they went vacant, in part due to doses of laudanum.

Jeremy opened his eyes and looked at his sister's grave. He'd loved her. He still loved her. He'd always wanted to protect her, but she'd made bad choices that had gotten her hurt. The hard truth was, he'd been angry with her a long time. He hadn't actually admitted it, not even to himself, but it was time he faced it. He'd warned her about Landreth. Warned her and warned her, and she'd ignored him. It was pointless to be angry at her when she was gone, but her death had ruined everything. It had destroyed every one of them.

But he still loved her, and he knew how much she would have hated hurting anyone, most especially her family. In fact, she'd probably died to keep the truth from coming out. That would have been like her. Damn it, he didn't want to be mad at her anymore. But it could have been different.
You should have known that you could come to me and I would have taken care of it. You should have known. You didn't have to go and do it. Why did you? It ruined everything. You ruined everything, Jen.

He swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the painful lump in his throat, but it wouldn't subside. He shook his head. If nothing else changed today, this would change. He was going to admit he'd been angry with her and he was going to forgive her. She hadn't meant to get hurt. She'd believed in the wrong man, and she'd only been sixteen at the time. Sixteen.

He felt the soft touch of a woman's hand on his back and knew it was Lizzie. It surprised him that he knew who it was without seeing her and also that she'd approached so quietly. He tried to compose his face as he turned, but when he did, no one was there. He shivered from the strangeness because it had been such a physical touch. He looked back to Jenny's gravestone and tears blurred his vision. He cleared his throat and wiped his face, sniffing hard.

A new realization suddenly seized him, and he turned back to his father's grave, but what he saw was the past. What he saw was the moment his father learned the truth about what Jeremy had done. He'd gotten angry, of course, and gone on and on about a life for a life and about not being able to bear seeing his only son hanged. Because, in his mind, some sort of celestial debt was owed.

Jeremy reeled because he'd always thought his father's suicide was meant to punish him. It was an act of desperation and heartbreak, yes, but he'd believed it had also been meant to punish him.
But it hadn't been.
Instead, it was a drunken, misguided pact with the universe. It was Rodney Sheffield saying,
If a life is owed for the Landreth boy, here I am. I give mine. Leave my boy be.
It had been an act of love. He didn't fully understand how he knew this now; he just knew. Jeremy unsteadily made his way to the nearest bench and sat, and this time, he cried without shame.

Chapter Twenty

It was dark, well after nine, when Jeremy reached the cottage. After leaving the cemetery, he'd gone to the saloon for a couple of drinks before going on to Wiley's for supper. Lizzie wouldn't be expecting to see him tonight, so he wasn't going to put her out. He wouldn't ask for anything but a bed so that he'd be able to get an early start. Liam was taking the day off and so would he. That was a day and a half of work missed this week, and old man Landreth wouldn't pay a dime for an hour not spent working, not even for a funeral, but Jeremy was beyond caring.

His time at the cemetery hadn't provided the peace of mind he longed for, but it felt like he'd made a start. The truth was that he'd been caught up in a quest for atonement for years—even if he'd never called it that or realized it was that. Maybe, just maybe, he had paid enough. He was about half drunk now, so he'd have to sleep on it and see how things looked in the morning, but it was a good thought.

He walked around to the side door to the kitchen and knocked lightly, but there was no answer. A light burned inside, so Lizzie wasn't asleep. Or if she was, she'd accidentally left the lamp on. He hesitated and then opened the door and stepped into the kitchen lit by the fire burning in the hearth and one wall lamp. He decided to write a note and then make his way to bed, but as soon as he made a move to do it, Jake appeared in the doorway. The boy looked half asleep as he cowered. He'd been crying. “What's the matter, Jake?”

Rather than answer, Jake looked around for his mother.

Jeremy started toward Jake, but the child jerked back, frightened. Jeremy halted abruptly because scaring Jake had startled him. On instinct, he squatted to be at eye level with the child. “It's okay,” he said gently. “Your mama's not here, but she may be in her room.”

Jake considered him warily and then shook his head.

“Maybe in the outhouse.” He paused. “Did you have a bad dream?”

The boy nodded.

Jeremy caught a whiff of urine and noticed that Jake's pajama bottoms were wet. This was beyond his realm of experience, but he had to say or do something. For one thing, Jake knew he'd noticed. “You know, wetting the bed happens sometimes after a bad dream,” Jeremy said. Jake quivered, and it did something piercing to Jeremy's heart. “It's all right,” he assured the boy before rising. “Is Rebecca asleep?”

Jake nodded jerkily.

“Well, how about we get you in some dry clothes and get you back to bed?”

Jake didn't back away, so Jeremy rose and started forward slowly. He reached the boy, held out his hand, and Jake took hold of it before glancing up at him. Jeremy's heart experienced yet another piercing stab of some sort. Whatever it was, it was sharp enough to rob him of breath.

The two of them walked back toward the room Jake shared with Rebecca, passing Lizzie's room along the way. The door was open and the room empty, so she was probably in the outhouse or the bathhouse. They entered the children's room, where Rebecca was curled on her side, fast asleep. “Where's your clothes?” Jeremy asked quietly, letting go of his hand.

Jake went to a chest and opened the bottom drawer.

Jeremy felt totally out of his element. “Put on something dry, all right?”

Jake obeyed and Jeremy walked over to the bed and saw the wet spot. He glanced back at Jake, who was bent over dressing. He looked so small, hunched over like that. So helpless and innocent. Jeremy thought back on the black eye Jake had come to town with, and then of the way the child had drawn back when he'd started toward him. Who was it that had put that fear into him? “I'll be right back,” he said quietly.

Jeremy went to the wardrobe at the end of the hallway where Lizzie kept towels and blankets, and retrieved a couple of towels before going back into the room. Jake stood at the bed, looking abashed and uncertain. Jeremy doubled one towel over the wet spot and then put the second on top of it. “It's a little trick,” he said with a wink. “Come on.” He lifted Jake up and put him down on top of the towels. “We can change the bedclothes in the morning. How's that sound?”

Jake nodded.

Jake turned on his side and got settled and Jeremy covered him up after making sure the top cover wasn't wet. Again, he squatted to be eye level with the boy, suddenly reluctant to leave him. “You want to tell me about the dream?”

Jake didn't move or speak.

“That's okay,” Jeremy assured him. “I'll see you in—”

“A bad man was after us,” Jake said.

Jeremy's breath caught. He hadn't been altogether certain Jake
could
speak. He hadn't heard his voice even once. “Is that right?”

“He hurt Mama,” Jake said, “and he was looking for Rebecca and me. I couldn't run away.”

“That sounds scary, but it was just a dream. No one is hurting your mama or Rebecca or you.”

“Or you?”

Jeremy smiled despite the sudden ache in his chest. “Or me.” Jake's small, warm hand reached out and covered Jeremy's hand resting on the bed, and the ache intensified.

“I wish we had a dog,” Jake said sleepily. “Our neighbors had a dog and it barked if anyone came around. Except not if he knew you.”

“What was the dog's name?”

“Blackie.”

“What color was he?”

Jake grinned. “Black.”

“Having a dog might not be a bad idea,” Jeremy said after a brief pause. “Of course, you'd have to take care of it.”

Jake's eyes grew round. “I'd take care of it,” he pledged.

“How 'bout if I talk to your mama about it?”

Jake nodded and smiled, excited by the prospect.

“Think you can go to sleep now?”

Jake closed his eyes at once.

“That was fast,” Jeremy teased.

Jake kept grinning, but kept his eyes closed.

“I wish it worked like that for me. I'd say, ‘Jeremy, go to sleep now,' and I'd be out, just like that.” He pulled his hand from Jake's grip and touched the boy's hair. “Good night, Jake.”

“'Night,” Jake whispered.

Jeremy stepped back into the kitchen just as Lizzie walked in the back door wearing her worn-out robe. Her hair was wet, her face pink from the heat of a bath. She stopped short when she saw him.

“I knocked, but—”

“I wasn't expecting you,” she said haltingly, folding her arms in front of her, apparently uncomfortable at her lack of dress.

“Sorry for just walking in.”

“No, it's fine,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

“Someone died,” he blurted, taking her by surprise once again. “Someone from the mine.”

She looked stunned. “I'm sorry.”

“It's better that he passed. Black lung is a hard way to go.”

Clearly, she didn't know what to say.

“I thought I'd take tomorrow off and get an early start here.”

“I'll go put on some clothes,” she said as she started forward.

“Jake woke,” he said when she was almost even with him.

She stopped and looked at him with alarm.

“I'd just stepped inside and he was there. Looking for you. He'd had a bad dream. He'd, uh, wet the bed.”

She cringed. “I'll see to him.”

“I already did.” For the second time, she seemed staggered and he wondered if she was displeased. “I put towels over the wet spot and he got into dry clothes. I figured it was best to change the bedclothes tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “You're right. Thank you.”

He was getting an odd feeling from her, as if she wasn't sure how she felt about him helping her boy. Of course, he had come in uninvited. “When I first saw him, he was standing in the doorway and I could tell he'd been crying. I started toward him and he jerked back, like he was afraid of me.”

Lizzie dropped her gaze.

“He said a—”

Her eyes locked on his. “He spoke to you?”

He nodded. “Once he was in bed.”

“What did he say?”

“He'd dreamt a bad man was after you and Rebecca and him. He said he couldn't get away.” He paused, wondering if she'd say something, but she didn't. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

She hesitated and then shook her head.

“I'd help if I could,” he said. “I hope you know that.”

She averted her gaze again. “It was just a dream.”

“Was it?” She lifted her chin and met his gaze, but he could sense that a wall of defense had come up.

“We've probably all had that dream. Someone big and mean after us. After the people we love.”

He nodded slowly even though he knew she wasn't telling the truth. At least, not the whole truth. She was definitely a woman with secrets, not that she was the only person in the room with secrets. “He wants a dog.”

She blinked in surprise. “A dog?”

“Like your neighbors had. A dog who'll bark when strangers come around.”

She paled as she gripped the front of her robe tighter. “He told you about our neighbors?”

He noted her reaction. “Just that they had a dog who barked when strangers came around,” he replied calmly.

“Oh.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” he said carefully. “Whatever your secrets are, I've got worse.”

“You can't really know that, can you?” she asked darkly.

“I do know that,” he stated without hesitation.

The light from the flickering lamp illuminated some inner struggle on her face. “Perhaps one day you'll share your secrets and I'll share mine,” she replied guardedly.

Fat chance, he thought. If he shared his, she'd boot him out of their lives so fast, his head would spin. She wouldn't want him anywhere near her kids. She turned and went after the shawl on the back of her chair, and he had a queer feeling that she'd just issued an invitation, and he'd missed the chance.

She wrapped the shawl around her. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

He wasn't a wine drinker, but he wanted more time with her. “That would be nice.” As she went for it, he pulled back a chair and sat. She carried back an open bottle and two glasses. She poured and then sat. “I guess you probably know a lot about wine,” he said.

“Not really.”

He took a drink. It was a red wine, dark and fruity, but not as sweet as he'd expected. He took another sip, trying to decide if he liked it.

“Thank you for taking care of Jake.”

He looked at her. “I didn't mind.”

She smiled and seemed to relax a little.

“You know, getting a dog isn't a bad idea,” he continued. “I could look around for one.”

“It's nice of you to offer,” she said less than enthusiastically as she swirled her wine and watched the liquid cling to the sides of the glass.

“Lizzie?”

Reluctantly, she looked up and met his gaze.

“Is there a bad man after you?”

“I certainly hope not,” she replied, attempting to sound light. “I know a very good man is helping us out.”

He frowned, because the statement put him in his place. “I'm not a very good man. Maybe I could have been. I don't know. But I'm not. I just care about you and the kids.”

She cocked her head, disturbed by the statement. “Why do you work in the mine?”

The question took him by surprise. How bizarre it was that he'd asked about her secrets and then she'd hit on his. “We went from getting a dog to why I work the mine?” he asked, to buy a moment.

“A few days ago, we went to a farm. Fiona, from the boarding house, took us to meet her aunt and her friend Emeline.”

He sat back and watched her. He had no idea what she was getting at, but she was so pretty, all clean and red faced and wet haired from a bath. It was strangely intimate.

“It was a lovely day,” she said. “When the men came back for the noonday meal, it was . . . enjoyable. Everyone there works hard, you can tell, but they enjoy each other's company, too. They seem to enjoy their lives. And on the way back home, I kept thinking of you in the mine. I wondered why you do it. Why not work on a ranch or a farm, especially when you know the life?”

“There was a reason for going to work in the mine.”

“Was it
not
to work on the land? To do something different after—”

He half expected her to say
after the murder
, but she didn't. She just let the half-spoken statement hang in the air. “Why don't we get back to the bad man?”

Her expression grew wary. “Jeremy—”

“I'd rather know what I'm up against. If I'm up against something.”

She frowned. “You're not.”

Again, he felt put in his place. She was shutting him out. Out of what, he didn't know exactly, but she was definitely shutting him out. “Maybe you'll trust me enough someday.”

“Maybe when you trust me enough to confide in me.”

“The difference is, I want to know to help protect you,” he retorted.

Confusion flickered on her face. “Maybe I feel the same.”

He almost scoffed, the thought was so absurd. “You want to protect me?”

She was suddenly angry enough that her eyes flashed. “Maybe I do. I'm not sure you're doing a very good job of it.”

She meant it, and for the third time that night, he felt his heart lurch. “How did Jake get that black eye he had when you first came to town?”

She looked away.

“Lizzie?”