Spirit of the Valley (26 page)

Lizzie couldn't think straight. Was this woman, this prostitute, really sitting there calmly telling her Jeremy had betrayed her and then telling her it was her birthday?

“I'm sorry I upset you. Is this Mr. Ray dangerous to you?”

Lizzie couldn't tell up from down. Was the question real, or an implied threat? She was so stupid. So stupid to have trusted Jeremy. “H-how do you know Jeremy?”

The question seemed to surprise Marie. “I've known him all my life. I would have done anything for him.”

When had he done it? When had he betrayed her? “That day in the store,” she said as she realized. “You were there and . . . did Jeremy t-talk to you that day? Did he . . . did he tell you?”

“About you, you mean?” Marie asked.

Lizzie nodded, afraid of the confirmation she felt coming.

“Yes.”

Lizzie clutched her hands tightly together and stared out. The rug had just been yanked from beneath her feet, but she had to know what was being said. Or threatened. It was more than just her life on the line. “What is it you want?” she asked weakly.

Marie looked out at the street and lifted her chin. “I'm going to get married and start living a normal life.”

So this was about staking a claim on Jeremy? Well, Marie could have him. He'd shattered her heart in a million pieces, betrayed her trust and the trust of her children. It would have been better if he'd died in the mine. A split second after the thought, she cringed with shame. She didn't mean it, and the fact that she'd thought it shook her to her core. She handed the box of muffins to Marie, conceding the beauty's victory. “Happy birthday,” she said in a low voice. She managed to rise to her feet and walk away. Wisely, Marie didn't stop her or say anything else.

 

 

Marie was perplexed by the last moments of the exchange, but Lizzie had been terribly upset about the news concerning Mr. Ray. Meaning he must be a thoroughly rotten apple. But she'd warned Mrs. Carter that he knew about her, and she had Jeremy to protect her. She'd be all right.

She rose and started to the bakery to offer Mrs. Carter's muffins to the Alfords. It was her birthday and everything had changed for her, and she was going to be changed, too. She was going to be giving and grateful for a chance at a new life as Mrs. Walter Davis. Once they were in Baltimore, no one would even know she'd been a whore. She'd just be a wife and maybe a mother one day. It was a wonderful prospect.

Chapter Forty-Two

Cessie looked up from her task of sweeping the front porch when she saw Lizzie coming down the driveway. Sensing something was wrong, she propped the broom against the wall and went to meet her. The closer she got, the more concerned she became. Lizzie was deathly pale. “What is wrong?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I don't feel well.”

Cessie stepped closer to feel her forehead. There was no fever, but she was obviously ill. “I'm going to put you straight to bed.”

“I'm going home. I want to go home.”

“Then I'll walk you there and stay with you.”

“No. Please. I just need to rest.”

Cessie didn't like it. “Then at least let me keep the children. Jake has built a rather magnificent fort in the backyard and he's ordered the dogs to stand watch and keep intruders out.”

Lizzie fought the urge to fall into Cessie's arms and blurt the truth about her colossal blunder. Her children were happy here, and it was possible they were going to have to go on the run again. All the way here, she'd thought about what Marie had said, but the words had become hopelessly jumbled in her mind. Had she said that Ethan knew where she was, or was she merely threatening to tell him? She had to find out, but for the moment she lacked the strength. Jeremy's betrayal had sapped her strength. All she knew was that she'd foolishly destroyed her one and only God-given second chance.

“Lizzie?” Cessie said gently.

“Of course, yes. They can stay,” she said, pulling away. “Thank you.”

“Oh, honey. You're sure you won't stay, too?”

Lizzie shook her head but kept moving. She didn't dare look at Cessie again or she'd lose all control.

“I'll check on you later,” Cessie called.

Once in the privacy of the woods, Lizzie lost her frail grip on self-control and sobbed without any attempt at restraint. She made it home and got into bed, not even bothering to remove her shoes. The crying spell sapped her, and despite her misery, she fell asleep, waking again when it was early evening. She rose, disoriented, and went into the kitchen, where the fire had been built up. A covered plate of food was on the table next to a note that simply said everything was fine with the children—and to rest until she felt better. Her hand, still clutching the note, fell to the side of her body as if it were weighted. She felt completely alone. Even Lionel had abandoned her. And why not? She'd destroyed the gift he'd given. She'd destroyed her second chance.

She pulled back the cover and looked at the dinner Cessie had prepared, slices of ham and deviled eggs. So she could eat without having to bother warming everything. Lizzie covered the plate again and went back to bed.

She woke again when it was dark, and puzzled over the fact that she was still wearing her shoes and clothing. She sat, blinking in a thick daze until a rush of resentment filled her. She got up and went to lock the doors. Cessie or April May had been back and left more food and built up the fires, but they wouldn't come again this late. Jeremy might try, not knowing what she'd learned, and she'd be damned if she'd let him back in the house.

She went around and twisted the key in every door, something she'd never bothered to do before. Stepping back from the front door, she pictured his face once he realized she'd locked him out. Would he suspect the reason right away? Surely it would cross his mind. Would he feel bad at that point? Would he panic? Would he regret the life he'd surrendered? She hoped so.

Chapter Forty-Three

Seventeen more bodies were taken from the mine. Ten men were still missing, buried under rock and earth, but there were no tunnels unexplored and no possible survivors left. It was a quiet, somber group that lingered as corpses were either taken away by grieving kin or, if the miner had no family, placed in a wagon to be taken to the small mine cemetery behind the patch.

Jeremy and April May were silent for most of the trip back home. All he knew was that he needed to see Lizzie. He needed to take a bath, see the children, and hold Lizzie. Tomorrow he was taking a trip to Roanoke. With no job and not a great deal of savings, he needed all the money he could get his hands on, and Morrison still owed him. It was strange that the man hadn't come back after throwing such a fit about his belongings. After his dream—or had it been a hallucination?—Jeremy hadn't been able to stop thinking about the watch. “I'm going to take a trip to Roanoke tomorrow,” he said. “A man there owes me some money.”

April May nodded but didn't comment.

“And I'm going to go see Lizzie if she's not at the house.”

“Don't blame you.” There was silence before she added, “Today was hard.”

It had been hard. Liam was gone. Almost every miner he knew was gone. Timmy had been killed, as had every single boy in the breaker and even a twelve-year-old girl working the door in the mine. He hadn't realized any girls worked there. He hadn't seen her body—it had been pulled from the mine the day before—but he'd heard the description of her small body lying among the men's.

As it turned out, Lizzie wasn't at the Blues'. Cessie explained she was feeling unwell, so Jeremy set off to check on her. The locked doors he encountered were strange, and he considered crawling through a window, but decided against it. She wasn't feeling well, perhaps because of the mental and physical strain of the days before, so he'd let her sleep.

He found a stack of clean clothes in the laundry room and bathed before checking the doors one last time, knocking lightly. The knock wasn't answered, so he headed back to the Blues'.

 

 

Jeremy woke early and went to the cottage first thing, but the doors were still locked and his knock wasn't answered. He went around to her bedroom window, and the crack in the curtains allowed him to see her sleeping. He was disappointed because he so wanted to talk to her, but he would let her be. Obviously, she needed sleep. He would have liked to have touched her face, smoothed back her hair, and told her he loved her, but it would have to wait.

He returned to the Blues', had breakfast, and walked Rebecca to school before returning to his small house in the patch to collect what he needed before embarking on the trip to Roanoke. Looking around, he found the anonymity of the place disquieting. There was nothing personal, nothing homey. He'd be glad never to see the place again. He packed a small, worn satchel with basic necessities in case he had to spend the night in the city, including his gun and holster. He resented the train fare he'd have to spend, and he'd damn well collect it in addition to what Morrison owed him, but if he was lucky enough to find the man quickly, this would be a one-day trip. Roanoke was only a little over an hour away by train.

 

 

Lizzie rose feeling weak and sluggish. She forced herself up and into the kitchen and ate slices of sourdough bread and drank strong tea until she felt some life return. The mind took longer to bring around. First things first. She unlocked the doors and stripped her bed. She went to the laundry house and saw his dirty clothing in the basket. So, he had been there. She'd been right to lock the doors.

She put her sheets in the wash basin, filled it with hot water, and added soap. Her intention had been to agitate it a few times and then let it soak, but the effort of working the handle that forced the paddle around felt satisfying. Frowning darkly as she pondered the circumstances, she came to an understanding. The fact was, she'd felt like a victim most of her life, but she hadn't been one since she'd found this place and these people. She would
not
give it up. Not this home, not Cessie and April May, not her children's happiness. Not Lucky. Not Lionel. Not anything.

If Ethan found her, she would demand a divorce and she would refuse to return with him. And if he attacked her or attempted to harm her children ever again, she would kill him. She was not a victim. She would
not
be a victim. By the grace of God, she'd become Elizabeth Anne Greenway Carter, and Lizzie Carter was a strong and capable woman who could protect herself and those she loved.

Feeling better, she stepped back and shook out her arms. The grief of Jeremy's betrayal lingered just below the surface, and she had to keep it that way. She couldn't think of him now. She was strong, but she wasn't that strong.

Chapter Forty-Four

Roanoke was a city of nearly sixteen thousand people. It was disconcerting. Jeremy walked street after street until he found the sheriff's office and went in to inquire after Morrison.

“Do I know Chaz Morrison?” The sheriff repeated the question slowly and with a droll expression. He hadn't bothered to rise from his desk or even to sit up straight, which rubbed Jeremy the wrong way. “Who's asking?”

“My name is Jeremy Sheffield. I'm from Green Valley and Morrison owes me money.”

“Correction, he
owed
you money. Past tense, since he went and got hisself shot between the eyes a couple months back.”

Jeremy gawked. “He's dead?”

“You ever know anyone to get shot between the eyes and not be dead?”

It wasn't worth a reply and so Jeremy didn't attempt one.

“Look,” the sheriff said, “it's a shame you got a bad debt on your hands, but you got lots of company, if that's any consolation. I've had at least a dozen men come looking for him for the same reason.” The sheriff shrugged. He was a fleshy man with bags and dark circles under his eyes. “Morrison was a scoundrel. No two ways about it. He was a card cheat and not a very good one, which is why he went and got hisself shot.” He glanced at Jeremy's holstered pistol. “Maybe you had something similar in mind.”

“No, sir. I just wanted the money he owed me.”

“Well,” the man said with a shrug. “Fact is, we couldn't even hang the man who did it, he took off so fast. Not that anyone lost a lot of sleep over that.”

Jeremy looked toward the street and sighed.

“Hope he didn't get you for too much.”

Jeremy nodded his thanks and walked out to the street, feeling invisible in the bustling town. He'd counted on getting his money, but at least he had the watch and the silver snuff box. They were worth something. He began looking for a pawn shop or a jeweler, but the sight of a bank made him stop short as he remembered the keys and Morrison's claim that he had a safe deposit box in the bank on Third. What if it was true? Jeremy pulled out the silver snuff box and let the keys fall into his hand. Each one was numbered. It was worth a try.

The City Bank of Roanoke on Third Street was an elegant place with high ceilings and arched windows. As Jeremy walked to one of the sharply dressed men who manned partially barred stations, he wondered how much the place had cost to build and exactly who had paid for it. What exactly was the point of putting a lot of money into building a fancy bank? Behind the clerks were offices made with dark wood, the occupants of which would occasionally look out upon the floor. Jeremy felt nervous. He felt like a criminal. Was he doing something criminal?

“May I help you, sir?” the clerk asked.

“I need to get into safe deposit box one fifty-four,” Jeremy replied without a flicker of expression.

“Certainly.” The man pulled out a ledger and read through a few pages of entries. “The name?”

“Morrison.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Also,” Jeremy said, “box eighty-one.”

The man looked at the ledger again and flipped a page, then nodded once more before setting the book back down. “If you'll follow me.”

Jeremy did his best to remain expressionless as he followed the man. They walked through the bank and entered a long room full of brass squares that ran the length of the walls. The banker found eighty-one and pulled the long rectangular box from the wall. They then walked to one of several curtained-off sections, although they were the only two people in the room. In the space was a table where the man set the box. Jeremy waited for the man to retrieve the second box and leave before he tried a key. His hand was actually shaking and he blew out a breath to calm himself.

Inside the first box were ten-dollar and fifty-dollar bank notes, as well as silver certificates. Jeremy held one up and read. “This certifies that there have been deposited with the Treasurer of the U.S. at Washington, D.C., payable at his office to the bearer on demand, 1000 silver dollars. This certificate is receivable for customs, taxes, and all public dues and when so received may be reissued.”

It was worth a thousand dollars? A
thousand
dollars. His heart was pounding. He swallowed hard and fingered through the other silver certificates, then looked up and around to make sure he was still alone in the room. This was Morrison's cache, and he'd gotten possession of it because the man had cheated him, been caught and forced to give up his valuables. And then Morrison was killed when caught cheating again. It gave Jeremy a chill up his spine.

He opened the second box and found much the same, although there were also IOUs, a few gold certificates, and pieces of jewelry: a woman's diamond pin, shaped like a bow, and a man's gold cufflinks. The bow pin was all white diamonds, or what looked like diamonds, on a black setting, except for the single central gem of pale pink. It was exceptionally feminine, something Lizzie would like even if it wasn't made of real gems.

He licked his lips as he shoved the contents of both boxes into his satchel, forcing it all to fit. He had to gather his composure before locking the boxes again and leaving, nodding to the banker, who nodded in return.

Back on the street, he felt conspicuous and light-headed as he walked. Had he just committed a crime? Was it theft? He was in possession of something that wasn't his. At least, it was never supposed to have been his. He went into a restaurant and was seated in a private booth, which he was glad for. He needed to think and he needed a drink.

The waiter appeared and handed him a menu while casting a discerning eye over him, as if determining whether he could pay for his meal. If only he had any notion of how ridiculous that was.

“May I get you something to drink, sir?”

“I'll take a glass of wine. Your best-selling wine.” The waiter inclined his head and left, and Jeremy rolled his shoulders discreetly and stretched his stiff neck. He picked up the menu, but couldn't concentrate on it. How much money had he just taken? Would anyone come after him? How could they? He had the keys to the boxes he'd asked for. He'd been given them by the man who owned the box. The man who'd stolen and cheated for years.

The waiter was back with the wine, both the bottle and a glass. He showed the wine label, as if Jeremy could concentrate on that, and then poured a small amount, saying, “This is ten-year-old Gruaud-Larose.”

Jeremy picked it up and sipped. “It's good.”

The waiter poured more into his glass and set the bottle on the table, then gestured to the menu. “Have you decided? May I say, the veal and the lamb are excellent. Both served with potatoes au gratin and a vegetable medley.”

“I'll take the veal.”

“Very good,” the man said with a bow of his head. “I'll bring a basket of bread.”

As the man walked away, Jeremy sipped the wine again, fascinated by the rich, complex layers of flavor. It felt as if he was playing a part, and maybe he was. Only a few days ago, he'd been close to death a mile below the surface of the earth, and today he was sitting in a fine restaurant in the city next to a bag containing a fortune. The only problem was that it wasn't his money.