by Zara Chase
Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Farah pulled the door open. There was a small box inside filled with photographs and, praise be, diaries. With no time left to linger, she grabbed her boxful of treasures and made her way back to the loft opening, pulling things haphazardly over the path she’d made, just in case anyone came up here before she’d had a chance to study her find. Why would anyone want to hide these things away, and build a special cupboard for that purpose? she thought as she struggled to descend the ladder with the box tucked under her arm. It had to mean something.
Back in her room, she took a quick shower, threw her soiled clothing into the hamper, and applied a Band-Aid to her cut finger. She examined her leg while in the shower. There were spots of blood on the dressing where she’d put too much strain on it, but she didn’t think she’d done any serious damage. Heaven forbid that she’d set back her date for returning to work, she thought with a mischievous smile.
Farah dried herself off, changed the dressing on her leg, and sat on her bed just in the nick of time. Lights flashed across her window as her parents returned and garaged their car. Unable to resist, Farah opened the box again and picked up the first photograph in it. It was in one of those old-fashioned cardboard frames, a sheet of thin paper protecting the sepia picture. It was in remarkably good condition, given how long ago it must have been taken. Presumably, being hidden away from sunlight all these years had helped to preserve it.
But that wasn’t what caused Farah’s stomach to lurch, and a gasp to slip past her lips. It was what the picture showed that had her all steamed up, setting her mind whirling with unthinkable possibilities. Two men dressed in evening clothes from a hundred years ago flanked a very pretty woman dressed from the same period. She assumed one of them must be Great-Granddaddy McLean. She didn’t know who the other man was, and didn’t spend any time trying to figure it out. It was the woman’s face that had made her gasp. She studied it more closely and broke out in a cold sweat.
She was a dead ringer for Tatum.
Chapter Twelve
It was almost midnight by the time Drew returned to his own house.
“Any luck?” Isaac asked, looking up from the book he was reading.
“No, not a damned thing, and I searched every inch of that fucking loft, once I got past Mom, that is.”
“She still upset?”
Drew shook his head. “You have no idea.”
“Wonder how Farah’s doing? You hear from her?”
“No.” Drew checked his watch. “Funny that. She should have called by now. I hope she’s all right. I guess it’s too late to call her now.”
“Hell, Drew, she’s something else!”
“Yeah, I can’t believe it’s actually happening, buddy. After all these years of trying to pretend she wasn’t the one.” He barked a self-depreciating laugh. “I, of all people, should know that playing mind games is futile. Still, we have her now, even if the timing sucks.”
“Not necessarily.” Isaac levered himself up from the couch where he and Seymour had been stretched out, full length. “It’s time to stand up and be counted, man. Tatum’s shown courage, and you need to keep the momentum going. I know you don’t wanna upset your folks, but they started this war, not you.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Drew sighed. “Nothing’s gonna keep me away from Farah, that’s for sure. We’ve wasted enough time.”
Isaac slapped Drew’s shoulders. “Now you’re talkin’!”
Drew’s cell phone rang. “Who the hell…at this time of night.” He checked caller display. “Farah,” he said tersely. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” Drew listened. “You’re kidding me. Hell, that’s amazing. Are you absolutely sure? Well then, sounds like you’ve found the smoking gun. What? No, I didn’t, but you’ve given me an idea.” He listened some more. “Okay, we’ll see you at the loft tomorrow lunchtime and we’ll go through it all then. Yep, I love you, too. Isaac’s here blowing kisses like crazy, and I’m pretty sure they ain’t aimed at me.” He laughed. “Sleep well if you can, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“She’s found something?” Isaac asked when Drew ended the call.
“Right.” Drew fell into the nearest chair. “Stuff hidden in a purpose-built cupboard right at the back of their loft. She almost missed it.”
“What did she find?”
“Pay dirt. Her great-granddaddy’s diaries. She hasn’t read them yet, but if they were so carefully hidden they have to mean something.”
“I’d say so.”
“Better yet, there were photos dating back over a hundred years. Two men and a woman feature in all of them. One of the men is her great-granddaddy, and she reckons the other is mine.”
“What!”
“Exactly my reaction?”
“A Baldwin and McLean in the same picture?” Isaac shook his head. “What’s she on?”
“Seems the woman with the guys looks exactly like Tatum. Near enough to be her sister, apparently.”
“What the fuck…”
“Yeah.” Drew rubbed his chin. “It’s too early to draw conclusions, but my initial thought is that both men loved the same woman, my great-granddaddy won first prize—”
“And caused the feud.” Isaac rolled his eyes. “We should have known. These things are always about money or sex, or both.”
“The thing is, Isaac, if the woman in the pictures is my great-grandmother, I’m betting there is something in our loft, too. People in those days kept diaries, or some sort of written record of everything they did, especially if it was important. Farah’s great-granddaddy went to great lengths to hide his because it meant too much to him to destroy, but he also didn’t want it found.”
“Perhaps he was ashamed about something.”
“We won’t know until Farah’s read though everything.”
“And you think your great-grandmother felt similarly ashamed.” Isaac’s head shot up. “Perhaps the woman married your great-granddaddy and then had an affair with McLean.”
Drew shrugged. “Anything’s possible. I’m gonna turn in now, and then first thing tomorrow I’m going straight back to our loft. McLean built a cupboard to hide his secrets, so if Great-Granny kept her stuff, I’m betting it’s hidden, too. I didn’t think to look for actual hiding places.”
“There’s probably a loose floorboard or something concealing all sorts of goodies,” Isaac said, yawning.
“Right, buddy, and you’re gonna help me look.”
“You got it.”
It took over an hour of tapping on every panel and floorboard before Drew and Isaac found what they were looking for the following morning.
“There’s something here,” Isaac said, his voice rising with excitement.
Drew joined him and together they removed a loose board near the back of the loft, right where Isaac had predicted it would be. His hands were shaking when he extracted a bundle of papers and photos wrapped in cheesecloth, bound tightly together with faded ribbon. Drew hesitated for a beat and then untied the bundle. The first thing he found was a photo which he assumed was similar to the one that had so spooked Farah.
“Shit, it could be Tatum,” Isaac said, peering over Drew’s shoulders. “The resemblance is uncanny.”
Drew shook his head. “No wonder Farah’s so stoked.” He scooped up his find. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You’ve got a session at the drop-in center and I’ve got a couple of patients to see this morning, although how the hell I’m supposed to concentrate after this, God only knows.”
“Okay, I’ll hook up with you at the loft around noon. I’ll bring lunch with me.”
“That’ll work.”
* * * *
Farah spent half the night reading her great-grandfather’s diaries, barely able to believe what she learned. Sleep was impossible. Until she’d read every single word, she wouldn’t have a moment’s peace. Progress was slow because she was on emotional overload, the writing was old-fashioned, faded script, and tears kept blurring her vision.
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“This is just so sad,” she said repeatedly, sniffing as she reached for yet another tissue.
Sad yes, but at least now she understood how the feud had started. She was convinced that her parents didn’t actually know the truth, and assumed that Drew’s didn’t either. The situation didn’t reflect well upon any of those involved, and they probably went to great lengths to keep it confidential.
Farah turned the light out at four in the morning, but everything she’d so far learned whirled around inside her head and she was unable to sleep. There were so many blanks to be filled in, and she hoped Drew would be able to find those answers. Knowing part of the story was almost worse than knowing none at all. Curious by nature, Farah burned to know what had made Mary-Ann Pardoe do what she’d done.
She was up with the dawn and somehow got through the morning, helping her mom with the chores without showing just how excited she was.
“Okay then, I’m off to spend the rest of the day with Aubrey,” she told her mother, pausing in the doorway with an overnight bag in hand. “I’ll be sleeping over.”
“Okay, honey.” Her mother kissed her. “Have fun.”
Farah climbed into her car, feeling like she was ten years old again because she had to lie to her mother about where she was spending the night. Not that she’d had illicit sleepovers at age ten, but being anything other than completely honest with her mother always made her mind regress to childhood misdemeanors.
She drove the short distance to the hospital parking lot and was waiting for Drew when his last patient left his office. Without saying a word he pulled her into his arms and delivered one of his high-octane kisses.
“I missed you,” he said when he finally allowed her up for air. He picked up her bag and headed for the stairs. “Come on.”
“I missed you both more,” she said, following him up to the loft, where Isaac and Seymour were waiting for them.
Farah was treated to an enthusiastic greeting by Seymour, and another kiss, this time from Isaac.
“I can’t believe what I found!” she said excitedly. “I know a lot of what happened back then now.”
“Thanks to you, we found stuff in our loft this morning as well,” Drew said.
“You did! That’s great. Hopefully we’ll be able to fill in the blanks then. It’ll drive me crazy if I don’t know it all.”
“We haven’t had a chance to look at it yet, but it seems pretty detailed. Why don’t we go through the stuff together and try and piece it all together?”
Over sandwiches and sodas provided by Isaac they did just that. It took the entire afternoon but by the time they’d finished they had a pretty good picture of how things had panned out.
“My great-grandmother was Miss Mary-Ann Pardoe from Denver,” Drew said, recapping what they’d discovered after hours of ploughing through both sets of papers. “Her father was a financier, and during the Civil War he was one of Lincoln’s main fundraisers. Miss Mary-Ann was a pretty socialite. Her mother died giving birth to her. Her father never remarried, but was determined to see his only child make a good match.”
“Right,” Farah agreed. “My great-great-grandfather was doing well here in Sanctuary with the ranch, and contributed to Pardoe’s fundraising for the Union cause. The men became friends, and Pardoe was anxious to see Mary-Ann married to my great-grandfather, Marcus. Listen to Mary-Ann’s account of their first meeting.”
Farah cleared her throat and read aloud.
“June 1880. I met Marcus McLean for the first time today, and was agreeably surprised by what I saw. He’s a fine gentleman with great charm, exquisite manners, and a witty tongue. He was with his neighbor and friend Oliver Baldwin, whose company I also greatly enjoyed. Papa wishes to see me married to Marcus, and doesn’t care for the Baldwins. He accuses them of being Confederates. Dear Papa doesn’t seem to understand the war is over and no one cares about such things anymore.”
“Already she couldn’t decide between them,” Isaac said.
“Looks that way,” Drew agreed. “The three of them were thrown together throughout the entire summer. They used to meet and spend time alone in the shack where Tatum found that gold. Wonder if one of them put it there.”
“Here’s more,” Farah said.
“October 1880. It’s no good, I can’t choose between them. Is it possible for one woman to love two men at once?” Farah looked up and smiled. “Yes,” she said. “It most definitely is.”
“My great-grandmother was the first ménage queen of Sanctuary,” Drew said softly. “It must be her spirit encouraging us to follow her lead and mend the rift between the two families.”
“We’ve come to an agreement,” Farah read. “I’m now officially engaged to be married to Marcus. Papa is delighted, and I’m glad to have made him so. He’s unwell and doesn’t have much time left. We’ve agreed, Marcus, Oliver, and I, that we shall build a brand-new house on the site of our shack where the three of us can meet in private, away from prying eyes, and freely express our love for one another. No one need ever know, so what harm can it possibly do? I blush when I think of the pleasure I receive at the hands of my two ardent lovers—” Farah looked up. “She had sex with them both before she married?”
“Looks that way,” Isaac said, smiling. “She must have been quite a gal, ’cause that was a big deal in those days.”
“Tatum obviously inherited more than just her looks,” Drew said. “She’s not afraid to go after what she wants, either.”
“I think she was naïve to imagine she could get away with building a house and not have anyone know what went on there,” Farah said. “They had servants, and servants have eyes and ears.”
“She was before her time,” Drew agreed. “But you have to admire her spirit.”
“November 1860,” Farah read. “Disaster! Papa caught Oliver and I alone, and we weren’t behaving innocently. He’s furious with me, demands that I marry Marcus immediately, and forbids me to see Oliver ever again. And so I must choose. I can make my father’s final months happy by doing as he wishes. That’s what I ought to do, but I confess to being conflicted. Marcus is wealthier than Oliver, his ranch is larger and better managed. Oliver needs my support and my money. Papa will get over his disappointment, forget about silly allegiances during the war, and eventually help Oliver financially. I just know that he will. And then, when Papa returns to God, the three of us can be together again.”
“The best-laid plans,” Isaac said with a rueful smile.
Farah wiped tears from her eyes. “She underestimated her father’s determination to be obeyed and the friendship that already existed between him and Marcus McLean’s father.”
“February 1861,” Drew read. “Oliver and I were married today. Papa broke my heart by not attending the ceremony. Marcus stood as best man for Oliver, but I felt a distance growing between us, a premonition that things would never be quite the same between us again. Marcus says he understands, but I’m not convinced he actually does. Papa has threatened to disinherit me rather than have his fortune fall into Baldwin hands. I can only pray that he’s insincere.”
“Imagine having to be my best man when I marry Farah, knowing that you’d never get your hands on her again,” Drew said to Isaac.
“I can’t imagine it,” Isaac replied, serious for once. “But going back to the past, I still don’t get it. If they all wanted to carry on as usual, why did it matter that Mary-Ann chose Baldwin? What tore them apart?”
“Her father did,” Farah said, bursting into tears.
Chapter Thirteen
Isaac scooped Farah into his arms, sat down with her in his lap, just like he had the day before, and let her sob on his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, stroking her shuddering back. “Don’t cry, darlin’. I can’t stand to see you cry. This is good news. We know what happened to cause the feud now and can do something about it.”
“I know,” she gulped, “but it’s so sad. Three lives ruined, and all the lives since then tha
t have been blighted by the feud. It’s not too late for us, but what about Mary-Ann, Marcus, and Oliver?”
“We can’t do anything for them,” Drew said, sitting beside them and lifting Farah’s feet onto his lap. “But we can do what Mary-Ann wanted and mend the rift.”
“To say nothing of being happy in our little threesomes,” Isaac added.
“Yes, you’re right.” Farah’s tears dried up. “Tatum suggested we got the two families together in the same room and try knocking some sense into them.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Drew said slowly. “And I know precisely which room it ought to be.”
“The shack,” Isaac and Farah said together.
Drew hoisted a brow. “Symbolic, don’t you think, given what we know now?”
“It’s a great idea, but will they believe us?” Farah asked.
“Sure they will.” Isaac nodded emphatically. “How can they not, given all the evidence we now have?”
“We’ll scan some of the better pictures and extracts from the diaries,” Drew said, “and make them into glossy booklets for them to keep. They’ll be as curious as we are once they get over the shock.”
“We could project the pictures onto a screen first,” Farah suggested, sounding more enthusiastic, “and tell the story as each one goes up.”
“That would certainly make it more dramatic,” Isaac said.
“Dramatic is what our two families does best.” Farah managed a smile. “I’ll tell Tatum what we found out.”
Drew shook his head. “No, don’t do that.”
“Why not?” Farah looked confused. “She deserves to know.”
“Keep it vague. I’ll deal with Tatum and my lot, you do the same with yours. Just tell them all they need to be at the shack on Wednesday evening at seven when all will be revealed. If no one knows in advance what we’re going to tell them, it will make their reactions more telling on the old folks.”
Farah nodded. “Okay, I guess that makes sense.”