by Eve Gaddy
“I have no idea.” He thought about it a moment. “You could ask her sister. You said your mother kept in touch with her. Or maybe your mother knows.”
She didn’t look pleased with that idea. “What’s wrong?”
She reached for her water, sipped it, taking her time. Avoiding his gaze, she said, “I haven’t told my mother anything about what’s been going on with me. She doesn’t even know I’m divorcing Glenn. Much less that you and I are involved.”
“You’re afraid to tell her. Because you’re still married? Or because I’m black?”
“Neither.” She finally looked at him. Glared. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not afraid to tell her. I didn’t want to get into it with her about the reasons I’m getting a divorce. And as for you and me. . . . Until tonight I thought you’d dumped me. I thought we’d had a one-night—okay—two-night stand. Why would I tell my mother any of that? Do you tell your mother about every fling you have?”
“I don’t have flings. And that’s immaterial. You’re hedging. You know that’s not the case now. Do you intend to tell her about us?”
“Of course I do. But first I have to tell her about the divorce. Glenn is always on his best behavior around her. He’s always sucked up to her. She has no idea what he’s capable of.”
“She doesn’t know about the night he hit you?”
Claire shook her head. “I didn’t want to tell her. It was all so sordid.”
“We went through this the night it happened.” He took her hand, patted it comfortingly. “Nothing was your fault, Claire. Your husband was wrong to hit you.” She didn’t answer, so he continued. “I thought you might have talked to your mother since you’re still not talking to Lanie.”
“No. I haven’t talked to anyone. Except you.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Well, it sure as hell isn’t going to be Lanie.”
“You could do worse. She cares about you.”
“So much that she lied to me for years. Do you think I’m wrong to be angry at her? After what she did?”
“I don’t think you’re wrong. I just think your anger is a little misplaced. Lanie made a mistake. She should have told you your husband hit on her when it happened. She owned up to her mistake and tried to explain why she acted the way she did. The person who’s never owned up to anything is your soon-to-be ex. He’s the one you’re really mad at. And you should be. Hell, he won’t admit he hit you, will he? Much less anything he might have done prior to that.”
“Glenn isn’t the point. We’re getting far away from the subject.”
“What subject?” He said it flippantly, but he knew she’d keep going.
“What if you’re having these dreams because we’re supposed to find out who really killed Calvin? We’re supposed to find out what really happened all those years ago.”
“Still too woo-woo for me.”
She let go of his hand and got up to pace. “Both Elijah and Calvin were murdered. We don’t know what happened to the women they loved, not yet. Well, we know Bella died, but we’re not sure about Sarah. And now you and I are together. Maybe we’re here together for a reason.” She stopped pacing, looked at him, her eyes fervent. “We have to find out the truth.”
“So that we can live happily ever after?” he asked sarcastically.
“I wouldn’t describe it exactly like that. Maybe we’re supposed to find out about the past so we can get it right this time. We can be together and put the past to rest.”
“Or, if your theory holds true, we’re supposed to be together so I can be murdered. In this lifetime, just as I was in the previous two.” Yeah, that was a fun idea.
“Do you believe that? If you’re involved with me you’re going to die?”
“Claire, I don’t believe any of this,” he said wearily. “I think it’s all horse shit.”
“So much so that you won’t even consider looking into Calvin’s death?”
“I didn’t say that.” Reluctantly, he told her what he’d been thinking for several days now—since he’d talked to his mother and discovered Calvin’s murder had never been solved. “I have an old friend from high school who’s an investigative journalist. Emmitt Rickerby. He writes true crime novels. Likes nothing better than to look into cold cases.”
“Rickerby? I think I’ve read one of his books. He’s really good, but I remember not being able to sleep after I finished the book. Very scary, considering it was a true story. You really went to school with him?”
“Yeah, he was a good friend back then. We lost touch over the years, but I’ve been meaning to try to touch base with him anyway.”
“Could you talk to him? Ask him to help us?”
“I could see if he’s interested. It’s sure as hell a cold case and something that might be right up his alley. Calvin died more than forty years ago. If the police really did sweep his death under the rug, that could bring up a lot of issues. The cops won’t be happy. Neither will the real killer if Buster Cantrell isn’t the murderer.”
“You don’t have to tell your friend the real reason you want him to look into the case, do you?”
He laughed. “What, that I think I’m channeling the murder victim? Seriously? No, I don’t think I need to let him know about that. I’ll tell him about the picture, though, that I’m Calvin’s spitting image. And that my mother’s still grieving over her cousin’s murder. Because that part is true and doesn’t make me sound like a whack job.”
“You’re not a whack job and neither am I. We’re having to come to terms with something that’s out of the ordinary. Not in the normal realm of our beliefs. That’s not an easy thing to accept. Nothing that’s happening to us is easy to accept.”
“Haven’t we talked enough about improbable, impossible things for one night? Can’t we table this discussion for another time?”
Claire paused with her water bottle to her lips and slanted him a quizzical look. “What did you want to discuss?”
He reached for her hand, tugged her over and pulled her into his lap and began unbuttoning the shirt she wore. “Nothing. Talking isn’t what I had in mind.” He slipped the shirt off her shoulders and cupped her bare breasts. “God, you’re beautiful. I want to forget all this and make love to you.”
“Works for me,” she said, and kissed him.
Rachel’s Journal—June 21, 1859
I am going to have a child. I have thought so for some time, but I am now certain of it. I’ve told Ben and he is thrilled. But he has forbidden me to have any more to do with helping the fugitives. I have pleaded with him to no avail. He says I have another life to consider now, the babe’s.
Sarah is still involved. In fact, Victor’s frequent absences allow us to move more people toward freedom than we had imagined when we began our task. I asked Sarah if she thought about aiding her lover. I asked if she would help Elijah to escape and she gave me the oddest look. “I have begged him to go,” she said. “But he won’t leave me. I think he fears what Victor will do to me. Not that he can stop him. No one can.”
I asked her to elaborate, but she said she had already said too much. She seems resigned to her lot . . . And yet, she is not. Is she thinking to run off with Elijah? How foolish that would be. Dangerous and foolish.
Yet I ask myself if our situations were reversed, what would I do? And I know the answer. I would do anything necessary to be with Ben. Anything I had to do to be with the man I love.
June 1859
“PACK A BAG FOR me, Sarah,” Victor said one night. “Enough clothes for a fortnight, at least.”
“Where are you going?” While she wasn’t unhappy he was leaving, his departure often brought other problems. Such as the overseer being overzealous in disciplining the slaves.
“Hunting. I’ll stop by the Hendersons on the way back,
so pack something decent for me to wear.”
The Hendersons were old friends of her husband’s. They held many of the same views as Victor did about secession, war, politics, and the proper way to handle slaves. Sarah couldn’t abide them and was always thankful that Victor’s hunting trips didn’t require her presence. Bad enough she had to suffer their presence when they came to Victor’s plantation. At least she didn’t have to travel and be trapped with a woman she considered both cruel and tedious.
“Victor, there’s something I need to talk to you about before you leave.” She’d tried to bring it up before but had always lost her courage. Victor’s anger was a thing to be feared, and he didn’t take kindly to what he termed her interference in his business. Victor strongly believed that a woman, particularly a wife, should be seen and not heard.
“What is it?” He took a sip of his brandy, but as far as she could tell he wasn’t drunk.
“It’s about Mr. Bransen, the overseer. He takes advantage when you’re gone.”
“Takes advantage of what? You? Are you saying he made advances toward you?” He half rose from the chair, his face darkened with anger.
“No, no,” she said hastily. “He hardly speaks to me. His treatment of the slaves is another matter. He’s so cruel to the slaves. Very cruel. He always finds excuses to whip someone when you’re gone. I’ve spoken to him about it, but he ignores me.”
Victor relaxed, sipping his brandy and dismissing her. “The slaves need to be disciplined. I’ve told you that before. I don’t expect you to understand, not the way you coddle that woman of yours.”
She might as well tell him the rest. At least he was letting her speak and not dismissing her concerns out of hand. “Mr. Bransen has also made advances to Celia. She’s my personal servant and I don’t want him bothering her. Please, Victor, will you tell him to leave her alone? I tried, but—” She waved her hands helplessly. Bransen had ignored that request too. Although he hadn’t raped Celia, both Sarah and she knew it was only a matter of time.
Victor frowned. “As I said, you coddle her too much, but she’s yours to do with what you will. I’ll speak to him. Is that all?”
“Yes. Thank you, Victor.” She couldn’t spare Elijah from Bransen’s further mistreatment, but at least she’d been able to spare Celia from his unwelcome advances.
“You’re looking a bit peaked,” Victor said. “Is there a reason for that?”
“No.” He was asking if she was with child. She hung her head, though sorrow was the last emotion she felt. “I’m sorry.”
“When you’re finished packing you can await me in your room. Damn, if I’d known you’d be barren I wouldn’t have married you.”
Sarah held her tongue. Nothing she said would make a difference.
His face softened. “Don’t take on. You are a beautiful woman. At least I don’t have to bed the likes of your sister with her squint.”
Something for which Rachel, no doubt, was profoundly grateful. Her sister’s squint didn’t bother her husband. Ben loved her despite that or any other imperfection. If only Sarah had been so fortunate.
But Sarah had done her duty. As she would tonight and all the endless nights thereafter.
“Yes, Victor,” she said, and slowly climbed the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
November Present Day
JONAS WATCHED Claire as she slept. He knew she’d been dreaming, not simply because she was restless but because she had called out Elijah’s name in her sleep. Once he closed his eyes, once he relaxed, he’d sleep. And dream, Goddamn it. Jonas hated being at the mercy of his subconscious. He needed to be in control, and control had never been farther away than it was in his dreams.
December 1968
CAL WAS SUPPOSED to meet Bella in the school parking lot by her car. They didn’t usually meet at school, but Bella said since they were married now, everyone would know soon enough. She was tired of sneaking around.
So was he. He wanted nothing more than to claim her as his wife and get on with their life. But he didn’t mind admitting he was afraid of what Buster Cantrell would do when he found out the truth. Cal was also a little worried about his own mother’s reaction, but not much. However much she disapproved, Fay loved him. She would grow to love Bella and the baby, too.
Except she’d have to get to know them some other place. He didn’t want to raise their child in Fort Worth. Not with Buster Cantrell around to make Bella’s life—and that of everyone connected with her—a living hell.
As he neared the parking lot, he saw her shrinking back against her car, struggling with that bastard, Larry. Cal started to run, but he was still too far away to stop him. Larry yanked her closer. Cal shouted, but Larry ignored him and continued to manhandle Bella. As she struggled, Calvin heard him say, “You can’t want him over me. He’s colored, for God’s sake.”
Larry tried to kiss her, but Bella struggled madly, turning her head away. She must have kicked him or bit him because he suddenly let go of her and raised his fist to her.
Calvin grabbed it, turned him, and planted his fist in the son of a bitch’s face. “You don’t ever lay a hand on Bella again. Understand?”
The wimp had crumbled with one punch, but Calvin wasn’t through. He hit him again, would have pounded the crap out of him, but Bella grabbed his arm before he could continue.
“Don’t, Cal. He didn’t hurt me.”
“He tried to kiss you. He put his hands on you against your will. That’s hurting you in my book.”
“It’s all right. Just let it go.”
“You’ll be sorry for that,” Larry spit out, still sprawled on the ground.
“I don’t think so.” He turned to Bella again. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Leave me alone, Larry. I’m Calvin’s now. I’ll never go out with you.”
“What do you mean, you’re his?” Larry got up and dusted himself off. “Just what the hell does that mean?”
“We’re married. Calvin and I are married and we’re having a baby. So you just forget about me.”
Damn. Larry was the second to last person he’d have chosen to tell their secret to. “You shouldn’t have told him,” Calvin said. “He’ll go straight to your father.”
“I don’t care.” She looked at Larry scornfully. “You just go tattle if you want. We were going to tell him soon anyway. My father can’t keep us apart now that we’re married.”
“You can’t marry a nigger! It’s not even legal!”
“People of different races can legally marry now. It’s been legal for over a year. Now you take your . . . your prejudiced self out of here and don’t come back.”
He took off, giving them both a look of loathing.
Cal pulled Bella into his arms, and she rested her head against his chest.
“I understand why you told him, but I think we’re going to regret it.”
“No one can hurt us now,” she said, looking up at him. “We belong to each other.”
November Present Day
JONAS ARRIVED FIRST at the seafood restaurant where he’d arranged to meet his old friend. He had no trouble picking him out when the man walked in. Emmitt Rickerby had changed very little since high school.
“Jonas? Hey, man, I’d have known you anywhere.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Good to see you, Emmitt.” Jonas shook hands, reflecting on the friendship he’d let slip since moving so far away. Emmitt had grown up to be successful, but he looked anything but complacent. The man radiated energy.
He’d filled out a little and looked older, but he still wore the same type of wire-rimmed glasses and carried himself with the same serious air. The boy he’d known had been very irreverent, and if his books were anything to go by, Emmit
t still was.
He was also a damn good investigative journalist, and Jonas only hoped he could get him interested in Calvin’s case. Not only did Jonas not know the first thing about researching a cold case, he had no time to do it.
Emmitt had married his high school sweetheart, and they had three kids. After Jonas looked at the obligatory pictures, he told Emmitt about Claire, and then his mother and the problems he’d been having taking care of her. He figured it was a good lead-in to what he wanted his old friend to do.
“Tell me about this project you think I’ll be interested in,” Emmitt said after the waitress served their food. “I just finished a book, and while I have other ideas, I’m always interested in new ones.”
Jonas had found it surprisingly easy to catch up with him. Though they hadn’t seen each other in a number of years, there was no awkwardness when they met again. They had no difficulty picking up where they’d left off. For a man who researched and wrote about some truly horrific crimes, Emmitt appeared unfailingly upbeat. And he was interested in everything, just as he’d been as a kid.
“It might not be your cup of tea. As to whether you’ll want to write about it, I can’t say. But even if you don’t, I’d appreciate some help in finding out what really happened. I promised my mother I’d do my best to find the truth, so I’m stuck.” Not to mention, he’d promised Claire he’d look into it, since she was convinced that Calvin’s unsolved murder was one of the reasons for his dreams.
Dreams. Bullshit.
He pulled out the picture of Calvin that he’d taken from his mother’s house and handed it to Emmitt. “His name was Calvin Davis.”
Emmitt studied it for a long moment. “Man. The resemblance is uncanny. I remember you from high school and this guy’s a dead ringer for you. Sorry, no pun intended.” He glanced at Jonas before picking up his tea. “I assume that’s the issue. He’s dead?”
Jonas nodded. “Murdered in 1968. Unsolved homicide. He was my mother’s cousin. She’s never gotten over his death. I found this picture the other day and thought it was me until she told me it was of her dead cousin. She told me what she knew of the story and asked me if there was anything we could do to find out the truth about what happened. So I thought of you.”