She smiled a little. In fact he was throwing open doors to parts of herself she’d never even dared to dream about. And even as a new blush climbed into her cheeks, she found herself looking forward to his promise of the night.
“Adriane Darcy,” she whispered to her reflection. “What’s come over you? Thinking such wanton thoughts.” She tightened her mouth to erase the smile and splashed more cool water on her face. But the smile stayed curled deep inside her, waiting without fear or shame for the right moment to uncurl and find its way back to her lips. And she remembered Grace’s awkward explanation of what happened between a man and woman in the marriage bed. It’s by God’s design. He gave us love. He made us this way for a purpose.
A prayer came unbidden to her lips. “Thank you, Lord, for letting Blake love me.”
Downstairs, Adriane threw herself into the work of getting out the paper. The hours passed swiftly with words and the clatter of type in the galleys. Blake, with Duff safely in tow, had gone down to the riverfront, but they’d come back with little new information.
Blake wrote an editorial calling for accountability for those who had done the shooting, but there was little real fire in his words. As he told Adriane after she read it over, the police could hardly arrest the whole town. Or even all the Know Nothings.
“But mark my words,” he added. “The Know Nothings have killed their cause with these riots. Thinking men will leave the party.”
“But what about their candidates who won in the election?” Adriane looked up from the paper at him.
“Men like Jimson will be smart enough to note how the wind lies and make new alliances.”
At Jimson’s name, Adriane felt a cold dread settle in the pit of her stomach as she looked at the clock. It was almost three.
“Don’t worry, Adriane.” Blake put his hand on her arm. “Jimson may be able to take the building and the press, but he can’t take our words. We’ll find a way to get those words in front of the readers.”
“How?” Adriane asked. She had spent part of the morning going through her father’s accounts to try to determine exactly how much was owed to Jimson, but she could find no record of any deal he’d struck with Jimson.
For a brief moment she had thought that if Coleman Jimson had no written proof of money owed him, they would not have to give in to his demands. Then she knew she couldn’t do that. She would honor her father’s debts.
Besides, even before Jimson came at three and pulled the paper bearing her father’s signature out of his pocket, she had known he would have the proof. He was not a man to let such a thing as money owed ride on handshakes and friendship.
“Adriane, my dear, you must know how distasteful all of this is for me,” Jimson said, a look of genuine sorrow in his eyes.
Adriane had steeled herself for the confrontation, prepared for anything but sincerity from him, and for a moment she was at a loss for words. She stared down at the paper to regain her composure and went pale when she saw the listed amount. Then she smiled a bit at herself as she realized an amount ten times less would have been just as impossible for them to pay.
Without a word, she handed the paper to Blake, who stood beside her in the front hall. He read the amount impassively and handed it back to her.
Adriane looked from the paper to Coleman Jimson. It was strange how it was almost as if she’d never seen him before this moment. Always before when she had looked at him, Stanley had been in his shadow. Now as she thought about what Stanley had done, she began to wonder which shadow was darkest and just how much Coleman Jimson actually knew about his son.
Adriane laid the paper on the hall table without taking her eyes off Jimson. “You know, of course, that we can’t pay you the full amount today.”
“I feared as much.” Jimson again sounded as though the truth of that gave him no pleasure. “I would have never called in the note as long as your father was living, my dear, but things have tragically changed.” He glanced over to Blake before he looked back at Adriane. “We do seem to have somewhat of a dilemma.”
Adriane kept her eyes steady on the man in front of her. “Do you know who shot my father?”
He looked at her with a puzzled frown. “My dear, how could I? It was a shot fired at random from a mob of crazed men.”
“And how many men in your pay were in that mob?” Adriane stared at him.
“My dear girl, grief has caused you to lose all reason.” His surprise was evident. “What possible motive could I have for wanting to harm your father? It was my fondest hope that we would soon be related through your marriage to Stanley. I knew nothing of the broken engagement until after the riots.”
“Perhaps not, but Stanley did. He came to the Tribune Monday and threatened my father’s life if I persisted in my refusal to marry him.”
Now it was Jimson’s turn to pale, but he pulled himself under control quickly. “Stanley was no doubt distraught when he was here. Normal enough, considering he’d just been rejected by the woman he loves, but anything he said was no more than words. Stanley is much better with words than actions.”
“Perhaps you don’t know your son as well as you think.” Even as Adriane spoke, she realized that Coleman Jimson knew his son very well. Beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead. Even so, she had no proof for her accusations.
“Surely you don’t plan to print any of these outrageous allegations.” Jimson’s alarm was becoming even more visible by the second as he looked at Blake. “You are aware that libel is a serious crime.”
“As is arson.” Blake’s voice sounded harsh after his long silence.
Jimson’s eyes narrowed on Blake. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Not at all,” Adriane said quickly, sensing Blake’s anger in spite of his impassive expression. “We only plan to print the truth in the Tribune-Herald, whatever that truth may be.”
“My dear girl, truth is often illusive.” A new wariness shielded the look in Jimson’s eyes. “In fact, truth is something most editors learn to bend this way and that to suit their particular causes. Your own father was very adept at finding the proper truths to publish.”
“My father believed in what he printed,” Adriane said staunchly and then wondered who she was trying the most to convince. Coleman Jimson or herself.
Jimson smiled a bit as if he sensed her uncertainty. “Of course, but he was wise enough to consider carefully what he believed as you and Mr. Garrett here will also need to do.”
“As we will.” Blake spoke quietly but forcefully. “You can rest assured of that.”
“It is comforting to know that you both have such respect for the truth, but truth will not pay the bills.” Jimson looked down at the paper on the hall table.
“Regrettably so,” Adriane agreed, trying to take control of the situation again as she changed tacks quickly. “We will turn over possession of the building to you by the end of the month. Until then we will continue to publish the Tribune-Herald, but we will concentrate on a healing of the city. An effort I’m sure the state’s newly elected officials will support fully.”
Jimson looked around. “The building is not in very good shape. I doubt it has the value you imagine.”
“And what value would you put on the Tribune?” Adriane kept her voice cool. She had expected this.
“The readership numbers have been falling in recent months, I understand. And without Wade, I doubt the paper has much chance of survival in the crowded newspaper market here in Louisville.” Jimson looked from Adriane to Blake. “However, the Tribune-Herald together is a much more marketable commodity.”
“You can’t take the Herald,” Adriane said. “It is not mine.”
“Neither is the Tribune, as a matter of fact,” Jimson said. “When you married, all your property as well as your debts became your husband’s.”
Adriane’s heart sank as she realized what he said was true. She had not only lost the Tribune but had caused Blake to lose the Herald as well. She lower
ed her eyes away from Jimson’s. She had no more fight.
Blake’s hand tightened slightly on her arm as he spoke. “As Adriane has told you, we will vacate your building and if necessary, surrender the equipment. As to the Herald, we will have to wait for the reading of Mr. Chesnut’s will. In the meantime it’s imperative that we continue publishing or else lose our readers. Without readers, the papers, either of them, have little value. I’m sure everyone will take note of your patient forbearance and think highly of you for allowing their newspaper to continue uninterrupted.”
Jimson studied Blake a moment before he said, “And there will be no vicious attacks on my character?”
“You have won the election, though perhaps not as fairly as one might wish.” When Jimson started to protest, Blake held up his hand to silence him. “Let me finish. Be that as it may, there would be little need in attacking your character now. As not only an editor but a citizen of this town and state, I would hope that I have been wrong and you will represent our district well. If not, then my duty as an editor would be to point out your shortcomings as our senator.”
“And none of that could happen before the end of the month as I won’t have taken office by then,” Jimson said thoughtfully. “I think this is a deal we can strike. As long as you realize the debt will not be forgiven no matter what you print or don’t print.”
“A great many things will not be forgiven,” Blake said.
Jimson’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Blake for a long moment before he said, “I think we understand one another.”
“There is one more condition,” Blake added before Jimson could turn away.
Jimson looked at him suspiciously. “What’s that?”
“You keep your son away from my wife if you want him to keep breathing.”
Jimson looked once more at Adriane with sincere sorrow in his eyes. When he spoke it was to Adriane, not Blake. “Stanley is my only son, and his children will carry on the Jimson name. You can’t fault a man for wanting those children to be strong, my dear. I had hoped your strengths would counter Stanley’s weaknesses.”
“So you bought me for him,” Adriane said.
“No, my dear,” he said sadly. “I only tried to buy you, but he spoiled the deal as I feared he would all along.”
“And our deal?” Blake said coldly.
Jimson looked back at Blake. “Stanley will not trouble you or Adriane again. I’ll see to it.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and left. Adriane’s knees felt weak and she leaned against Blake, thankful for the strong feel of his body.
“It’s all right, Adriane,” he said softly. “He’ll keep his part of the deal. Stanley Jimson won’t bother you again.”
With Blake’s arms strong around her, she could almost believe it in spite of the worry deep inside her that none of them knew what Stanley might do.
30
After Jimson left, Blake called a meeting of the hands in the pressroom. Around them, stacks of the Tribune-Herald lay folded and ready for delivery on the morrow. It was early, not much after five in the afternoon, but they had gone ahead and printed the paper before Jimson came in case the man refused to listen to reason and insisted on closing down the press. Why one more issue mattered that much, Blake didn’t really know. He just knew it did.
A newspaperman got out his issue no matter what. His father had taught him that, had believed it without question. The news could not be stopped, and so after his father died, Blake had done everything he could to keep their paper going.
It hadn’t mattered so much what he printed, but he’d worked night and day to keep a paper out on the streets the same as always. It hadn’t changed anything. His father was still dead and the paper he’d published dead with him. All Blake had been able to do was delay facing that truth for a few weeks.
That was all they’d done today with Coleman Jimson. The debt was too large, twice as much as anything Blake might have imagined, and even if by some chance, Chesnut had left Blake some share of the Herald in his will, there wasn’t much left of the Herald of any value. The building and equipment were gone. While the name remained, a newspaper was only as good as its last issue in the eyes of most readers.
It was a losing battle, but one they would fight to the bitter end. With that in mind, he wanted to be fair to the hands. He had no money to pay them today and could give them little guarantee of pay tomorrow or even of a job by the end of the month.
Blake surveyed the motley crew clustered about him in the pressroom. Beck and Duff were all who remained of Darcy’s hands, and besides Joe, only three of his own hands had shown up the last couple of days. Calvin, a young kid named Seth, and Herb, a man he’d hired only last week.
Blake frowned at Herb slouched against the wall, his hands deep in his pockets, and wondered why he was still there. The man hadn’t received the first sniff of pay and had hardly had time to develop any feelings of loyalty to Blake or the Herald.
Herb looked up, caught Blake’s eyes on him, and slid his own eyes quickly back to the floor. Something about the man bothered Blake, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Even so, it wasn’t a time to send men packing without cause. The man did his job. He’d even been the one to pull Joe out of the burning Herald building on Monday. For that, if nothing else, he owed the man a job as long as he wanted it.
Blake explained the situation to the men quickly and succinctly. He finished up by saying, “We’re going to do our best to keep the Tribune-Herald up and running, but if you leave, there won’t be any hard feelings.”
“I ain’t going nowhere, boss,” Joe said. “You know that.”
Blake allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile. He had known that. Had counted on it, in fact. And Beck would be with Adriane till he died. He was the same as family, and Duff near to it. If it came to it, that would be enough to get out the paper, but the meeting had been for the other three.
Herb glanced up at Adriane and quickly away as he said, “I always heard tell a woman in the pressroom was bad luck.”
Blake glanced at Adriane beside him, but she didn’t act as if she’d even heard the man. Ever since they’d struck the deal with Coleman Jimson, she’d hardly said three words to anybody as she helped fold and get the papers ready. Blake looked back at Herb and said, “Mrs. Garrett has been helping her father put out the Tribune for years.”
“So I’ve heard.” Herb didn’t look at Adriane again. “Could be they’ve had more than their share of bad luck along the way. More than their share lately at any rate.”
Across the room, Beck muttered something that Blake couldn’t make out. Maybe it wasn’t words at all, but merely a growl, as it was plain the old man was only a word or two away from exploding. Surprisingly enough, Adriane made no response at all. She seemed hardly aware of Herb’s words.
Blake kept his own voice calm. “If you don’t like the working conditions, Herb, you’re free to walk out the door right now.”
The man slouched lower against the wall. “I didn’t say I was wanting to quit. I was just worried some about bad luck.”
“The Tribune-Herald is going to make its own luck the next few weeks. We’re going to put out a paper that will set Louisville on its ear.”
“We could do it too, boss,” Joe said. “All we got to do is figure out who this slasher fellow is, and what with this witness coming forward, maybe things is finally beginning to break.”
Beside him, Blake felt Adriane come to attention as she finally showed some sign of hearing what was being said. He glanced at her and regretted for the hundredth time the story they’d run in the paper the day before.
“Some folks out on the street are saying you just made that up, Mr. Garrett,” the kid named Seth said. His face flushed a little as he went on. “I told them you wouldn’t print something that wasn’t true.”
Before Blake could come up with an answer for Seth that wouldn’t completely spoil the boy’s belief in the truth of the printed
word, Herb spoke up. “That ain’t the worst rumor going around.” Herb’s gaze hit on Blake for a second before sliding down to the floor. “I heard a rumor the other day that you were the killer yourself, Mr. Garrett. That nothing like this happened before you came to town.”
“That rumor’s so old it’s growing mold,” Calvin said.
“Girls is still getting killed,” Herb said.
Duff was across the room and had the much bigger man pinned against the wall before anybody else could move. “Mr. Garrett didn’t kill me sister, but he’s seeing to it that whoever did has some reason to be worried.”
“Easy, boy.” Herb’s eyes flew full open for a moment, but he didn’t try to push the boy away. “I wasn’t aiming to upset you about your sister and all. I was just giving wind to some of the rumors I’d heard. There’s another going around that it’s one of the watch and that’s why nobody can ever catch him. Then I even heard it might be some society dandy.”
“If you’d seen what he done to her, you wouldn’t be talking about it like it’s no more than some kind of parlor guessing game.” Duff’s face twisted as he tried to keep back his tears.
Blake started across the room, but Adriane moved in front of him. With only a bare glance at Herb, she took hold of Duff’s hands and pulled him away from the man. Then she put her arm around the boy and ushered him out of the pressroom.
When the door shut behind them, Herb muttered, “I wasn’t meaning to trouble the boy. I feel bad for him. His sister too.” Without looking at any of the rest of them, he pushed himself away from the wall and shuffled out the front door.
“And good riddance,” Beck said.
“I promised no hard feelings,” Blake said.
“I make my own promises.” Beck sent Blake a hard look before he stood up and went into his room off the pressroom and shut the door firmly.
Joe, Seth, and Calvin filed out without a word. From the way Calvin kept avoiding Blake’s eyes, Blake didn’t think he’d see much more of him. Blake blew out his breath, glad the meeting was over, and pushed away from the printer’s table he’d been leaning against. He’d have to tell Joe to scrounge through the taverns to find some hands.
Words Spoken True: A Novel Page 30