“Hello, Jo.”
“Randall, come in.” Jo motioned him inside. “We’re in the parlor.” While Margaret and Tessa greeted Randall, Jo noticed Fiona reflexively pulled Adam closer to her side farthest from the doorway. “What brings you our way? Not that we aren’t happy to have you visit. Plus, we know you’ve been working a lot of hours.”
“Yeah, but it seems I’m also expected to get some sleep,” he said with an embarrassed grin. He shuffled his feet and ran his fingers through his ginger-colored hair. “Since you were instrumental, Fiona, in helping solve the murders, I wanted to update you that we had the man in custody. Unfortunately, he drowned in the flooding.”
Fiona picked up Adam, rose from in front of the couch where they played on the floor to sit on the cushion. Adam nestled into her chest. The little boy must’ve realized this talk was important because he remained silent. “The man was responsible for all the murders?” Fiona asked.
Jo noted Randall shifted so he wouldn’t accidentally glance in Tessa’s direction. Everyone in the room, except Tessa, knew Warren killed Ethel. They also knew Warren had sent someone to hurt Tessa. None of them would reveal the secret. Tessa meant too much to Jo, to all of them. “That is what all the reports reflect,” Randall said.
“No need to protect me,” Tessa said. “I know Warren was responsible for Ethel’s murder and helping to kidnap you.” Jo’s eyes widened. “I didn’t want to believe him capable, of course. But when I confronted him at the station, I saw a side of him I hadn’t witnessed before then. I’m sorry.”
Fiona nodded. To Tessa, he added, “We aren’t alerting anyone else. We,” he glanced at everyone in turn, “wanted to protect you from any gossip or inquiry.”
“And don’t blame Jo and us. We couldn’t bear to see you hurt.” Margaret rose from the floor. “Thank you, Randall, for letting us know. Can we offer you anything to eat or drink? You must be famished as well as tired.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh. But my mother has a meal waiting.” He glanced down at his uniform. “Promised to attend to my laundry too. I just wanted to offer your family a bit of closure.”
“We appreciate that, Randall. You’re welcomed here anytime.” Margaret smiled at him.
Randall nodded, obviously pleased with the open invitation. “Good night, then.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Jo followed him out the door and onto the porch. She lowered her voice. “Is there going to be a problem with the others involved with the incident at the Telephone Company?”
“You’re worried about the police learning the truth about Warren?”
She smirked. “Of course. We’ve all been through enough. We just want to move on—not look over our shoulders forever.”
“It won’t come from me. Other than your family, Jo, I’m the only one who knows the full truth.” Randall slapped his cap on his head. “We’re friends, right? I won’t jeopardize that. Don’t expect Donald and Walter to spill the beans about Warren, as a rumor seems to have made it to their cell. Cops don’t like it when you attempt to shift blame to a dead cop.”
Jo leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. She smiled at the instant reddening of his cheeks. They could live with Warren being touted a hero or whatever, as long as Tessa wasn’t hurt by the extent of Warren’s perfidy.
“Josephine Cavanaugh, are you accosting an officer of the law?”
“Not hardly,” Jo said. “I see it as a proper thank you for going above and beyond the duties of your rank.” She shrugged. “Besides, yes, we are friends. You wouldn’t deny your friend an offering of gratitude, would you?”
Randall shook his head, then snickered. “I’m glad you and your family moved to town.”
“Glad you survived it.”
“So far, anyway,” Randall said. He walked to his car. “Get back to your family, Jo. May you all have a wonderful night.”
“Thanks to your news, Randall, we will.” He waved as he drove away. Jo spun on her heels and rushed inside, to her family.
Epilogue
Six months later
Margaret leaned back against the counter, drying her hands on the dishtowel when Jo rushed through the back door. Gusts of biting cold January wind followed in her wake before she shouldered the door closed, snowflakes scattered and crashed into nonexistence against the floor from the warmth of the room.
“Have any trouble with your drive?” Margaret asked as Jo toed off her snow-encrusted boots on the rug by the door.
“Nah, no more than usual,” Jo said. She lay a small package on the table before she pulled off her gloves and unbuttoned her jacket, then draped it across the back of the chair. Jo’s curly blonde hair crinkled with static when she pulled the knitted hat from her head. “Where is everybody?”
Margaret draped the towel over the dishes in the strainer before responding. “Tessa’s upstairs, putting Adam to bed for me. Christmas wore him out, but now he’s moved on to questions about New Year’s Day.” She moved closer to Jo and the table. “Fiona’s in the parlor. There’s a plate for you warming in the oven.”
“Great, I’m starved. The meeting in town took longer than I expected. Snow doesn’t look like it will amount to much, but that wind is a doozy.” Jo retrieved her plate from the oven and plucked a fork from the strainer. “Is it okay if I take this upstairs? I’ll remember to bring it back down.”
“What you mean,” she said, grinning, “is Tessa will remember.”
“Yeah, yeah, it gets done.” Jo kissed her cheek. “I’ll say goodnight to Fiona and be upstairs if you need me for anything. How is she today?”
“Tired, quiet, but our beloved Fiona nonetheless.” Jo nodded, her expression saddened. “Good night, Jo.” Jo was almost into the hallway, a green bean thrust into her mouth when Margaret noticed the package Jo brought in with her. “Jo, what’s this?”
Jo shrugged and said, “It’s addressed to you. The return address has the name as N. Allen.”
Margaret felt lightheaded. Nicholas? But— “Margaret? Everything okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine. Go to Tessa and eat.” Margaret suspected the plate would be cleaned of its contents before Jo made it to the room she shared with Tessa.
Left alone, Margaret pulled the brown paper package closer and dropped into a chair. Jo had been correct about the sender. Margaret remembered Fiona telling her N. Allen was the name Nicholas used for his photography. Everyone had believed he’d perished with the flood, like Warren. Why had he waited so long to contact them? At least he could have let Fiona know, stopped her grieving his death because of Warren’s hatred of them.
Margaret tore open the wrapping, ripped the return address free from the rest, and stuffed it into the pocket of her dress. Inside was a cloth-wrapped bundle and two envelopes, one thick envelope addressed to Fiona, the other thinner to Margaret.
Margaret opened hers.
Dear Margaret,
I’m certain this is a surprise. All will be explained in the letter to Fiona. As you must read it for her, you’ll both learn more about why I didn’t offer an explanation before now.
Included, if you haven’t unwrapped it already—I know how impatient women can be with gifts—is something I thought you would want. Two things to be precise. The top item is for the household. A keepsake I picked up during my travels.
The second is self-explanatory.
If you ever need anything, Margaret, don’t hesitate to ask. The inclusion of all the Cavanaugh ladies and little Adam in my life has made me a better person. Thank you.
Your friend,
Nicholas
Margaret refolded the letter, stuffed it back in the envelope, and tucked it away in her pocket with the address. She removed the cloth to reveal two five-by-seven picture frames. The top picture was Ian, Brigid, and Richard, all dressed up as if going to church. Margaret smiled. Brigid and Richard had finally completed their family, and they were a handsome group.
T
he second frame held a picture of Fiona and Margaret in a tender embrace. The love they shared captured perfectly. The picture was taken in the workshop about nine months ago. Margaret remembered the day vividly. It was the day she confronted Fiona, believed Fiona was leaving her. Instead, she learned Fiona suffered physically and tried to keep her troubles hidden. Tears poured down her cheeks. Nicholas had provided a reminder of her love, to last well beyond Fiona’s remaining days on the earth. She cried harder. It was many minutes before Margaret was able to pull herself together. She picked up the envelope Nicholas addressed to Fiona and made her way to the parlor. Margaret would bring their photo to their room later.
The flames in the fireplace where all that illuminated the room. Fiona no longer needed lights and Margaret appreciated being able to see the furniture without incurring bodily harm. Fiona sat on the settee that faced the window. Even in the coziness of the firelight, Fiona looked tired. Margaret noticed the changes of the last couple of weeks, the lethargy in her limbs, the longer periods of sleep. Margaret wanted to lash out at a God who set so many painful hurdles for Fiona to jump, one who slowly took the reason for Margaret’s heart beating.
Margaret inhaled deeply. Enough of this self-pity. Fiona was still here, sharing so many moments of love and tenderness that was purely Fiona. “Kitchens cleaned up,” she said to announce her presence. Margaret lit the lamp beside the settee.
“Come, sit with me,” Fiona said as she patted the empty space beside her. “Everything okay? You took longer tonight.” Margaret sat close to Fiona, rested her head on Fiona's shoulder, as Fiona embraced her.
“Fine. Jo brought a package home. There’s a picture of Ian, Brigid, and Richard. They look very happy.”
Fiona smiled. “I guessed as much from their phone calls. Having proof is nice. Why didn’t they let us know the picture was coming?”
Margaret raised her head to kiss Fiona’s jawline, then sat up, but didn’t disconnect the physical contact between them. She lightly tapped the envelope to Fiona’s thigh. “Because the picture and this envelope addressed to you, came from someone else.” Fiona’s brow furrowed, probably trying to suppose the possibilities. Margaret didn’t pause too long, decided the quicker the announcement, the sooner Fiona could process. “They are from Nicholas.”
Fiona gasped. She was silent for a long time. Margaret assumed to process the information. “Nicholas? But how?”
“I assume that’s where this envelope comes into play. Would you like me to open it and read it to you now? Or would you want to do this upstairs?”
“Here, now. If I let you wait, you’ll have to change, wash up, putter around, and then get to it.”
“I don’t putter around,” Margaret said, her tone equally teasing. Margaret opened the flap and pulled out the folded papers inside. She shifted so Fiona could nestle into her side as she unfolded the sheets of paper. She didn’t pause to count them, knowing she would finish every word unless Fiona stopped her. There was no way to gauge how the words would affect Fiona. She’d been devastated in her belief that Nicholas died. “Ready?” Fiona’s nod was barely perceptible.
Margaret read.
My dearest friend Fiona,
Please don’t be too angry with me for my extended silence. After Warren and I went out the window, my satchel caught on the remaining pieces of fire escape still attached to the outer wall. I eventually fell into the rapid water, broke my leg, a couple ribs, and my wrist. As you know, I couldn’t very well let the locals, especially those who knew me, uncover my truth. I managed to get away before I collapsed and couldn’t go further.
I guess the powers that be were looking out for me. I found a place hidden away, which belonged to a retired schoolteacher, who nursed me back to reasonable health, enough for me to travel.
Margaret, I appear to be blessed with the gentler and caring side of educators, not the ruler-wielding and sharp-tongued harridans of my day.
After four months I managed to make my way to Philadelphia and Ruth. It seems she continued her father’s business and was doing good for herself in her father’s semi-retirement. It only took a moment of gazing at her to realize I had run away from more than my father. Of course, Ruth’s, “What took you so long?”, helped confirm this.
Ruth and I had a small private—and totally inadmissible—wedding. We spent our honeymoon in Boston, hence the family photo of the Donnelly’s. After speaking of my friendship with the Cavanaugh’s, Ruth wanted to visit the places that created my remarkable friend and friendship. She adores you already.
I miss you, Fiona. All of you, actually, if I’m honest. I would never have realized my true feelings for Ruth had I not witnessed the love between you and Margaret.
My only wish and my deepest hope are that you’ll hang on as long as possible. Ruth and I would love to visit. See how Adam is getting along, see Jo and Tessa. I hope they worked things out.
I know you aren’t in control of this. But you are a fighter, my friend. I hope soon we can see one another, and you meet my Ruth and partake in some of that stubborn sass, which is exclusively Fiona Cavanaugh.
My thoughts, prayers, and hopes to see you in the not-too-distant future are with you. Above all, I recognize you have shown me how to be a better human.
Lovingly,
Your friend no matter what,
Nicholas
Margaret folded the letter, stuffed it back into the envelope, and placed it in Fiona’s hand. She put an arm around Fiona, pulling them closer together. She realized they both had silent tears on their faces.
Fiona was the first to break the silence. “Isn’t that just like a man? Bossy.” Fiona snorted. “Won’t be because I have so much to still teach Adam. Or that leaving you will be the hardest task possible in my whole life. No. I have to fight so the snooty Nicholas Tirrell can visit and show off his Ruth.”
Margaret chuckled. “The nerve of the man.”
“In truth.”
If Fiona’s indignation paused or slowed her illness, then Margaret planned to fan the flames. So far, willpower alone kept Fiona with them. “I think you should, too. Not because Nicholas commanded it, but so you can give him what for when he does get here.” Margaret wasn’t ready to lose her heart, her true love. The matter was inevitable, a battle with indefinite time. Fiona was losing the battle if her recent lethargy was any indication. Hopefully, this missive from Nicholas would be the boost she needed to fight a bit longer.
Fiona reached for her cheek, sat up, so they faced, somehow locked her sightless gaze into Margaret’s. “Every day I am relieved and blessed when I wake, feeling you beside me, spending time with our nephew-son. I’m glad to have closure with Nicholas, rather than all the horrid things I imagined.” Margaret welcomed Fiona’s tender kiss, let Fiona set the tone and pace. “I do my best to fight because eternity wouldn’t be long enough for your love, to share in the joy that is you, Margaret.” Fiona sat back a little. “I most certainly won’t do it just to appease some willful man.”
This time Margaret pulled Fiona into a kiss, one she hoped explained all that lived in her heart. Share the passion only Fiona could incite in her. Out of breath, Margaret gathered Fiona into her arms. “That is my girl. I love you, Fiona Cavanaugh.”
“And I love you, Margaret Cavanaugh, my wife, auntie-mother to our wonderful boy.”
Margaret pulled away and grasped Fiona’s hand in hers as she prodded her to stand. “Let’s finish this properly upstairs.”
“Now who’s being bossy?” Fiona asked teasingly as they made their way to the staircase and their bedroom.
Margaret couldn’t know how long she had left with Fiona, but she didn’t plan to waste a single moment of loving her.
The End
Afterword
The events in the story were purely for fictional entertainment. The Pueblo flood, however, is entirely real. But I have taken license with the timeline. The historic flooding took place on June 3, 1921. A cloudbur
st deposited over half an inch of rain in a matter of minutes. As the rains fell, the Arkansas River and Fountain Creek swelled to over fifteen feet, before receding. Two hours from the storms start, the entire wholesale district and most of the business district of Pueblo were flooded with water ten feet deep, destroying most of the downtown Pueblo. Some reports have the death toll as high as 1500 people, though the count was hindered by the fact the debris and sludge left in the flood’s wake washed away or buried many who were never recovered. Assisting with the flood damage and carnage is the fire that broke out in a lumberyard, the flood carrying the burning lumber through the city streets.
It took Pueblo three years of the community banding together to rebuild. The city was running again by 1924.
About the Author
Sharon lives in Colorado, enjoys finding new trails to hike and playing mahjong, although not simultaneously as she’s awkward enough under normal circumstances. She served in the U.S. Marine Corps—Oorah! Sharon currently works as financial and program assistant for Nursing and Forensic Nursing Programs, for the UCCS, Nursing College.
More Sharon G. Clark titles:
Speak Easy Speak Danger Page 27