Head for Utah? She’d never been to Salt Lake. Southern California? The authorities would have trouble finding her in a city the size of Los Angeles. Or she could follow her mother’s cue and head for Mexico. Quit the U.S. entirely.
Sorrow budded in her chest. She’d never return to Liberty—it was too dangerous.
Which meant she’d never see the women of The Second Chance again. Finney, with her fiery temper and generous heart. Delia, who’d become like a kid sister. Ethel Lynn, with her fluttering, ridiculously feminine airs. Worst of all, she hadn’t shared with Theodora the discovery she’d made—they were family.
And Hugh. Once she left Ohio, he’d become a poignant memory of her squandered dreams.
What if they’d overcome their differences and built a life together? Lulled by the beautiful and fragile possibilities, Birdie lowered her head and wept.
By the time the last sobs abated, dawn was turning the windowsill a blushing pink. Liberty Square lay in shadow, the streetlights dimming in the approaching light. She wiped her face, carefully folded up the map, and slipped it back inside the lining of her coat. As she did, her knuckles brushed against the velvet sack that held the ruby-studded key.
Her fingers caught on the thick, silky cord. The key dropped from the sack and clattered to the floor.
Worried, she checked the key for damage. The brass gleamed; the ruby at the base of the head glinted with crimson fire. Pulling the sack from her coat, she started tucking the key back inside.
She stopped. There was something on the heavy gold cord.
Black markings dotted the twining threads. Why hadn’t she noticed them before? They were tiny and easy to miss. Squinting, she brought the velvet sack near.
The scratches of printing were hard to make out. They appeared to be letters set down in black ink by an impossibly steady hand. The letter in the center was faded, little more than a smudge.
Excited, she rummaged through the pockets of her coat and found her magnifying glass, a useful tool no thief did without.
Peering through the thick lens, she read:
M P
Initials? Justice’s married name had been Turner.
Birdie’s pulse scuttled. Before Justice married, she’d carried the surname of Birdie’s forebears—Postell. Was ‘M – P’ someone’s initials? If so, what did the ‘M’ stand for? She didn’t know the name of Justice’s son—Theodora’s grandfather. Perhaps it was Mathew or Mark. Or maybe it wasn’t a name at all. Her hands shaking, she tried to make it out.
She’d never unlock the mystery without deciphering the letter in between. With painstaking care, she smoothed down the cord’s shiny threads. Drawing the magnifying glass near she looked again, and read:
M A P
“Map,” she said aloud.
Map!
With a yelp, she dropped the magnifying glass and turned the velvet sack inside out. How could she have overlooked such an obvious clue? She hid loads of stuff in the lining of her army coat. Justice had used the same strategy with the lining of the velvet sack.
Birdie expected to find a hidden zipper or a pocket with a map tucked inside. Her heart beat in a dizzying rush as she realized the truth was far simpler.
The cream fabric was covered with a clean, legible script. Roads and the southern edge of Lake Erie were clearly depicted.
Spreading the sack flat on the table, she studied the map with the thrill of discovery bubbling through her veins. There was a pretty star in the middle at Rock Island Cove. She’d heard about the place—Rock Island was a stretch of beach on the lake where teenagers went for privacy. Delia had told her dozens of amusing stories about her antics at Rock Island. The map indicated there was a cave nearby, which Delia had never mentioned. Even so, it should be easy to find.
Hitchhike to the cove? If the Liberty police spotted her on the highway, they’d know she was making a run for it. They’d toss her in jail. Forget the letter Theodora wrote on Birdie’s behalf. The county prosecutor would press charges.
Yet it was early, barely six o’clock. Traffic on Route 44 would be minimal, just truckers ferrying cargo across the state. And there was another, more pressing consideration—Finney had cleaned out her pockets yesterday. If the gems were hidden at the cove, at least she’d have the means to leave Ohio, and quickly. She’d cash in one or two of the rubies at a pawnshop. Once she reached the West, she’d give up her life as a pickpocket and find legal work.
A sweet ache of misgiving stole through her. There wasn’t time to wallow in tears even though it was unbearably difficult to leave the people she’d grown to love.
Settled on her dreary choice, she walked the two miles to the highway with her teeth chattering and her heart turning to stone. The highway was a ribbon of black weaving toward the horizon, where fingers of daylight were reaching into the dome of stars. She didn’t dare think about leaving Hugh—later, when she was settled in a new life, she’d examine their short romance in excruciating detail. The grinding noise of gears shifting pulled her from her thoughts. Caught in the blinding glare of headlights, she stuck out her thumb. The rig ground to a halt.
Her luck held when the trucker, a middle-aged man with a tattoo of a snake on his neck, agreed to take her all the way to the lake. “It’s on my way,” he said, withdrawing a pack of Camels from beneath his bandanna.
By the time they reached the heavy forest near Rock Cove the day was rising bright and stark. Miserably cold, Birdie walked toward the sound of waves crashing while she studied the map. There was a drawing of a hill with pine trees, due north of the beach, with a cave above it. The shoreline smelled of marine life and rotting driftwood, and the wind pounded the water into angry waves. Whitecaps thundered toward shore. She looked north.
A seagull alighted on the sand, its wings snapping shut. The lake roiled and churned. A sense of misgiving stole through her as she thought of Meade, losing her mother to the treacherous waters. The pain she must have endured was difficult to grasp, the shock and the horror.
The sorrow was all consuming; Birdie stood in its harsh embrace as the gull hopped through the sand. Even if it was wrong to break her promise to Officer Tim to stay put, it was a boon for Meade. She’d never again suffer the torment of seeing Birdie. Reason enough to cast her doubts aside.
Icy wind tore at her cheeks. The toes of her tennis shoes sank deep and were brushed by the tide. Turning away from the beach, she forced her attention on the trees to the north where the land rose gently from the lake.
The incline was dotted with fir trees, which grew dense as the sandy beach gave way to the ice-crusted floor of the forest. She made it to the top of the first hill and realized she still had a good fifty yards to go. She got her bearings and pushed forward. Peering skyward, she spotted a jagged outcropping of rock.
The mouth of the cave was barely visible behind a curtain of vines and brambles. Without the map, she never would’ve found it. But now the journey proved easy—large wedges of slate jutted out of the side of the hill, as if nature provided steps for her ascent. Climbing ever higher, Birdie paused at the small clearing on top, where heavy vines crackled at the touch. Before the cave’s dark portal delicate brambles covered in ice glittered like strands of frozen pearls. It was frighteningly black inside, the scent of dampness reaching her nostrils and putting a tremor in her blood. Fumbling inside her pocket, she withdrew her flashlight and walked inside.
The plop of water echoed off the walls. With bated breath, she swung the flashlight in a wide arc. She was standing in some sort of alcove, with the larger cave still ahead. Rechecking the map, she noted the carefully drawn heart and the words:
ten paces forward, from the heart
She found the heart within minutes; a chiseled slab of granite set into the wall, it was reminiscent of the brick heart she’d found in the storeroom with Hugh. She sent a silent prayer of gratitude to Justice, who’d wisely used a similar clue.
Starting at the heart, she strode carefully toward the center
of the cave. At the tenth step, she dropped to her knees. A bat fluttered overhead, startling her. Pondering where it had come from put gooseflesh on her arms. She laid the flashlight on the ground, the narrowed beam providing sufficient illumination to examine the dry, silty earth.
She hadn’t thought to bring a trowel, and she looked around desperately for something to use. She spotted a flat rock bigger than her hand and snatched it up. With growing excitement, she began to dig.
Sweat was trickling into her eyes by the time she gave up on the first hole. She’d dug down nearly two feet and found nothing. Thankfully, the dirt was soft, easy to dislodge. Repositioning the flashlight, she started again.
And within moments heard the scrape of rock against metal.
She nearly blacked out from excitement. Flinging down the rock and using her hands, she clawed out clumps of loose dirt that clouded the air and started her nose itching. On a gasp, she uncovered the edges of a grey metal box. It was constructed of hammered tin, the corners marred by rust.
Wedging the box from the ground, she lowered it gingerly onto her knees. The extraordinary quality of the moment struck her full force and she sat staring at the treasure in her hands with growing awe. The rubies were as real as the undying passion between Justice and Lucas. The gems were here, safely tucked inside this box. Shaking, she dug the key from her pocket and pushed it into the lock. A soft click as it turned, and she opened the lid with her heart pounding in her ears.
And found nothing.
No sack, like the one protecting the key. No gems spitting fire. Nothing. Disappointment lanced through her. Groaning, she sat down with a thump.
The box joggled in her grasp. A slip of paper wedged in the corner slid out.
She snatched it up. What the hell? Quickly, she read this newest and by far most frustrating clue:
Liberty safeguards the cherished heart.
Wait a second. She knew this clue. Hadn’t she been raised on its promise? These were the words written on the slip of parchment her mother kept in the safety deposit box in New Mexico.
Liberty safeguards…
Birdie drew in a shuddering breath. What did Liberty safeguard? Why, a cherished heart.
Cherished. Tears blinded her. They came in a torrent—she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t even try. For what did it mean to be cherished? It meant you were held dear. You were protected.
Loved.
Hadn’t Hugh shown his love when he’d asked her to come back with him to Akron? He’d said they’d weather the bad publicity together. Sure, if he’d never hired a PI to look into her background there wouldn’t have been a story in the first place. But people screwed up all the time. Most of them left you high and dry after they’d hurt you.
Not Hugh. He’d shown how much he cared by offering to protect her until the publicity died down.
He loved her.
And what about Theodora? She was well respected in Liberty, the town’s leading citizen. She had risked her good name to protect a common thief. Without her intervention, the county prosecutor would’ve pressed charges. The letter she’d written was proof of her love.
Finney, murmuring encouragement as Birdie took her lumps from the citizens in town. Delia, managing to forgive the thief who’d stolen from her but who was also her friend. Maybe Ethel Lynn hadn’t come through in some monumental way. But she offered tea and, with sewing needle posed at the ready, ministered to loose buttons with tenderness and care. And who could blame the old lady for rushing, brightly feathered, into the limelight?
Delight trembled up Birdie’s ribcage and out of her mouth in a spurt of laughter. She loved them all. She cherished them.
Grinning, she snapped the box shut. She’d keep it as a trophy. Not of all she’d lost—of all she’d gained.
She was going back to Liberty. Even the threat of Meade’s wrath wouldn’t keep her from the people she loved.
Someday she’d tell Theodora about the ridiculous hunt for the jewels. They’d enjoy the story over shots of moonshine and bowls of squirrel stew.
On a sigh, she got to her feet and marched out of the clammy darkness. The sun was blinding, cutting across the ledge in a wide arc.
Her vision clearing, she let out a yelp of surprise.
Theodora sat perched on a boulder. Impatience brewed on her deeply lined face. Dressed properly for the frigid weather, she wore a sporty down coat, a knit cap, and leather gloves.
Birdie flapped her arms, unsure whether to be nervous or relieved. “What are you doing here?”
“What a foolish question. I’m waiting for you.” Theodora sighed. “I figured after Meade cornered you last night, you’d come here at first light for the rubies. Make a run for it.” She hesitated, frowning. “I talked to Meade. She admitted to threatening you.”
“She told me to leave town or else.”
“Or else what?”
Birdie shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t sound good.”
“You fret over the damnedest things. Don’t you know Meade’s bark is worse than her bite?” Theodora made a swiping motion toward the cave. “Well? Did you get a dose of Justice or not?”
Birdie gaped at her.
“Lord and Jezebel—didn’t you find the last clue?”
Birdie shook her head with amusement. Geez, how could she be so stupid? The box she’d dug up was old, an antique from Justice’s time. But the message inside? She withdrew the slip of paper from her pocket.
The damn clue was written on a Post-it note.
“I don’t know about Justice,” she said, handing it over, “But I’m pretty sure I got a dose of Theodora. Nice work.”
The old woman stuck her corncob pipe in her mouth, struck a match… and winked.
Delighted, Birdie motioned for the pipe and took a long drag. Smoke poured down her throat.
Gagging, she thrust the pipe back. “There are some things we’ll never share. Yuck.”
“At least share one secret. How did you know about Liberty and the cherished heart?”
“From the slip of parchment handed down in my family—Liberty safeguards the cherished heart. How do you know about it?”
“From Justice, of course.” Theodora blew out a puff of smoke, her dark eyes awash with merriment. “Birdie, your branch of the family tree got bits and pieces of the story. My branch got a sight more—her diary. Damn informative book.”
“Justice left a diary?”
“With a request on the last page she hoped her descendants—me and my kin—would one day fulfill. She was mighty upset when Lucas came to Liberty, half dead from the war and a weakening constitution.”
“Why was Justice upset that he’d followed her to Liberty?”
“Molly, of course.”
“My great-grandmother?”
Theodora nodded. “Molly was a wee thing when Lucas enlisted with the Confederates. He left her with kin when Southern pride sent him off to fight in a war he never believed in. He’d given Justice two bags of rubies to take north. Two bags—understand? ‘Course you know Justice loved Molly. She’d helped Lucas raise the child after his wife died.”
Birdie hung on every word. “One of the bags of rubies was meant for Molly?” A wave of affection for Justice swept through her.
“Justice promised Lucas she’d get the jewels to his daughter if he didn’t survive the war. He did make it through and died right here, in Liberty.” Sorrow filtered across Theodora’s face. “Afterward, Justice spent years trying to find the girl, but people were displaced. The South was a shambles. Safe here in Ohio, Justice grew wealthy in her own right. By the time she found the girl’s whereabouts, my granddaddy, Theodore, was a young man.”
“Theodore went looking for Molly?”
“With a letter written in a sort of code by his mother.”
Breathless, Birdie neared. “A letter filled with clues so Molly would know where the rubies were buried.”
“She was a young woman by then, living with an uncle in Savannah—a despi
cable man. He took one look at the Negro calling on his niece and tore up the letter.” Theodora glanced at her appraisingly. “I suspect your great-grandma was a mite resourceful. She must’ve got hold of a scrap of the letter—the slip of parchment handed down in your family.”
Stunned, Birdie stepped away to look off over the trees. What if Justice’s portrait and the remaining clues had been lost? Molly’s bit of parchment wouldn’t have been enough to find the rubies. She recalled what Theodora had told her on the day they met—just last year, Finney dug the portrait out of the storeroom and put it back up in the restaurant with the clue safely tucked inside—
She spun on her heel. “If you knew about the clues, why didn’t you follow them to the rubies?”
Theodora snorted. “Have you gone stupid? I found the loot when Eisenhower was president.”
“But the clues were left in place. I found them all—”
“You found them because of my daughter, Belinda,” Theodora cut in. “The one they call Ruby? When she was a wee thing, she begged me to put the clues back. She was sure a lost relation would arrive someday in search of the gems.”
“Wasn’t she worried about sharing them?”
“You fool, she didn’t care about the rubies. She cared about finding our lost kin.”
Something heavy and surprisingly sweet wove through the old woman’s voice, and Birdie’s heart overturned. Even if Theodora had cashed in the gems long ago, did it matter? The clues were put back in place in hopes of reuniting the family. Theodora’s daughter, Ruby, had dreamt of finding her long-lost relatives—of finding Birdie.
What did she get for her troubles? She’d been rewarded with a relative who’d arrived in Liberty with greed in her heart and as much family feeling as you’d find in a slug. Embarrassed, Birdie turned back toward the trees and the dawn filtering over the forest. Ruby deserved better. She deserved a relation she could be proud of, not a petty thief who’d arrived merely for financial gain.
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