by Eve Gaddy
“Have you talked to the police?”
“No. My mother was working for Roger Dennis back then. The same lawyer she worked for when we were in high school and afterward. She and her boss tried to keep the investigation going all those years ago, but the cops said there wasn’t enough evidence to charge anyone. I’m not even sure the case is still open. But I don’t know anything about the police department.”
“Oh, it’s still open. All unsolved cases remain open. The Fort Worth Police Department has detectives assigned to that department and that’s all they do. But that said, it might not be the most active case going. It depends on if they have new information or evidence. But they’re always open to people coming forward with information, even after all this time.”
“So if I—we—found something new, the police would look into it?”
“Sure.”
“Even if the cops involved were dirty?”
“Absolutely. I would think most of those involved are long retired, if they’re still alive. Forty-four years is a long time. Why do you think the cops were dirty?”
“I don’t, necessarily. My mother is a different story. She’s convinced that Buster Cantrell killed Calvin and paid off anyone investigating. I’m not so sure it was him. Either way, back then no one seemed to care that a poor black kid was murdered in cold blood. Except his family and the girl who loved him.”
“The girl who loved him being . . . ”
“Buster Cantrell’s daughter. His white daughter.”
Emmitt gave a low whistle. “I’ve heard of Buster Cantrell. His name has come up in connection with some of the cases I’ve investigated. From all accounts, he was a real son of a bitch.”
“Apparently. Was he ever convicted of anything?”
“Nope. Very powerful man. I haven’t investigated him thoroughly. This is just something I remembered off the top of my head. Why don’t you tell me what you know about Calvin’s death and we’ll go from there.”
Jonas told him the story, or as much of it as he knew. Emmitt promised to look into it, see what he could find out from the police department and other sources. He also said he’d try to set up some interviews and include Jonas in them. He didn’t think working around Jonas’s schedule at the hospital would be a problem.
“Jonas, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Why?” The only thing he hadn’t told him was Claire’s theory of past lives, and he sure as hell wasn’t touching that one.
“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like I’m getting the whole picture from you.”
Emmitt hadn’t gotten where he was without being observant. Jonas had to give him something. “You know the woman I told you I was involved with? Claire Westbrook?” Emmitt nodded. “If we interview anyone, like say, you get the detective on the case to talk to us, she’d like to be a part of it as well.”
“Okay. Why is she so interested?”
“Here’s the weird part. The girl Calvin was in love with? Bella Cantrell? She was a cousin of Claire’s. Her mother is still in touch with Bella’s younger sister.”
He rubbed his lip thoughtfully. “So Calvin was your cousin and Bella was her cousin. You’re right, that is odd. Odd that the two of you are involved now. I assume Claire is old enough that you don’t have an irate, bigoted father to deal with. Or that she can tell him to take a leap if so.”
“No father. But she has a not-quite-ex-husband. Who’s a bigot.”
Emmitt was staring at him openmouthed. “Good God, Jonas, you know how to pick ‘em.”
“Once you meet Claire you’ll understand. She’s—” He stopped because he couldn’t think how to explain his feelings. She was beautiful, sure, but that wasn’t why he was in love with her. Part of it, much as he hated to admit it, was that damned connection he felt to her, especially when they were together. “She’s worth it, whatever the problems,” he finally said.
“I hope so, buddy. Be careful, okay?”
“I will. You be careful too. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you investigating a case I turned you on to.”
“BRING THE TEA with you, darling.” Evangeline Keaton, Claire’s mother, smiled. “Let’s sit on the porch since it won’t be long until I can’t anymore.”
Claire suppressed a twinge of guilt. The house and the grounds were too much for her mother to take care of since her father had died. The stables and the lone remaining horse made for even more work, and full-time help was expensive. Evangeline still rode, though not daily like she used to. She liked to say she and Bolo were growing old together. Bolo was an Arabian gelding who detested everyone but Claire’s mother. He tolerated his caretakers, but he only loved one person, and that was Evangeline.
But Claire had found a place for Bolo to go to live out his life, not too far out of town. The owner ran what was basically a retirement home for horses, and had assured Claire that Evangeline would be welcome to visit any time and ride him whenever she felt like it. It was the best Claire could do, but her mother wasn’t a bit happy about it.
“What did you want to talk about?” Evangeline asked. “You sounded so odd on the phone.”
“I’m getting a divorce. And before you ask, yes, I’m absolutely positive that’s what I want.”
Evangeline didn’t look shocked and proved it with her next words. “I knew you weren’t happy, but I didn’t know it had progressed so far. Will you tell me what decided you?”
“You knew I was unhappy? You never said anything.”
“I assumed you’d talk to me when you were ready. And here you are. What decided you to take this step?”
Claire drew in a deep breath. “Glenn hit me. Beat me, actually. I filed for divorce the next day.”
Concern washed over her face. She put her hand on Claire’s arm and squeezed. “I’m so sorry. When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I . . . I couldn’t. It’s . . . humiliating.”
Evangeline’s hand tightened on her arm. “For him, not for you.”
“Thanks, Mom. I was afraid you’d—” She stopped, unsure how to continue.
Evangeline leaned forward and put her hand on Claire’s knee to pat. “You’re my daughter, Claire. Surely you didn’t think I’d take Glenn’s side over yours.”
“Not exactly. But you’ve always seemed so fond of Glenn, and he’s always been on his best behavior around you.”
Her mother shrugged, sat back, and sipped her tea. “I never liked him. But you married him and seemed to love him, so I put up with him for your sake.”
“Dad never liked him either. He wasn’t as good at hiding it as you were.”
Evangeline laughed. “No, he made his feelings pretty obvious when you told us you were marrying Glenn.” She shook her head. “I’m glad he’s not alive to hear this. No telling what he’d do to Glenn. Did you press charges?”
“No. The police weren’t very encouraging about that. It was a first offense, there’s never been any problems before, on top of that, Glenn is an attorney.” She shrugged. “It didn’t seem worth it. I just filed for divorce.” One bombshell down. Another to go.
“I wish you’d told me you were having such problems. I might have helped,” Evangeline said.
“There was nothing you could do. I had to come to the decision on my own.” Claire fell silent, unsure how to proceed.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Yes. Glenn thought I was having an affair. I wasn’t. But that’s why he beat me up.”
“I see.” She looked at Claire closely. “You’re involved with this man, though. The man he thought you were cheating on him with.”
“Now I am. I wasn’t at the time. We work together at the hospital. He’s a neurosurgeon. His name is Jonas Clark.”
“So, you have medicine in c
ommon. Will I like him?”
“I hope so. But I have something else to talk to you about. You still keep in touch with Aunt Sophie, don’t you?”
“Sophie?” Clearly puzzled, Evangeline asked, “You mean my cousin Sophie?”
“Yes. I need to talk to her. Well, Jonas and I do. Unless you know the story.”
“What story? You have me mystified.”
“The story about her sister, Bella, and the boy she loved.”
“Oh, Claire.” Evangeline leaned back and shook her head. “Why do you want to know about that? It’s a terribly sad story.”
“The boy she was in love with was a cousin of Jonas’s.” They had decided to tell Claire’s mother the same story Jonas gave to his friend Emmitt Rickerby, the investigative reporter. “Jonas’s mother was very close to him and the murderer was never caught. No one was even charged. Jonas told her he’d do what he could to find out what happened. Who really killed him.”
Evangeline was staring at her openmouthed. “Calvin Davis was black. Jonas is black? You’re involved with a black man?”
“Yes. And if you’re going to say something racist, save it.”
Evangeline drew herself up and glared at her daughter. “Don’t take that tone with me, Claire. Simply because I’m surprised doesn’t make me a racist.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a little touchy about it.”
“So it would seem. Do you know the story about Bella and Calvin?”
“Some of it,” Claire said. “Why, do you?”
“I know what Sophie told me. And it doesn’t make me happy to find you involved with someone of another race. It’s a frightening story, Claire.”
“I’m sure it is. Calvin Davis was murdered in cold blood and the killer never caught. I don’t know what happened to Bella after his death. I know she died. I remember hearing that, but I never knew why. Jonas’s mother doesn’t know either, only that she died.”
“Buster Cantrell all but murdered her. At least that’s what Sophie always maintained. The instant she could, she left town and didn’t come back until her father was dead. It speaks volumes that he didn’t try to stop her. She hated him with a passion.”
“What did he do?”
“Did you know Bella was pregnant?”
Claire nodded. “I’m sure her father was livid.”
“To say the least,” Evangeline said dryly. “Buster Cantrell took her to Mexico. He swore he’d have no mixed race grandchildren. According to Sophie, he drugged Bella and forced her to have an abortion. She died from complications, but Sophie always believed she died as much from a broken heart as anything.”
Claire covered her mouth and closed her eyes, appalled at what she’d heard. God, she’d expected it to be bad, but the story was worse than she’d imagined. “That’s a horrible story, but I fail to see what it has to do with Jonas and me.” Unless she really was the reincarnation of Bella Cantrell. But Bella’s life, her story, was nothing like Claire’s.
Yet Claire’s life was eerily similar to Sarah’s. Complete with an abusive husband.
“This is the twenty-first century,” Claire continued before her mother could speak. “Things have changed. There’s no reason Jonas and I can’t be together. Once I’m free.”
“But you’re not free. I have a bad feeling about all this. A very bad feeling. You’re asking for heartbreak getting involved with Jonas Clark.”
Asking for heartbreak. Exactly what Rachel Adams wrote in her journal about her sister Sarah. And look how that ended.
June 1859
ELIJAH AND SARAH watched until the three men were out of sight. “Do you think they’ll make it?” Sarah asked.
“Mebbe. Long way to go.”
“We’ll never know, will we? We’ll never know if any of the people we help make it to safety or not.”
“Can’t be helped.” He looked at the lake, water shimmering in the moonlight. “This be a good place.”
“Yes. It’s rumored to be haunted. The lake and the shanty,” she said, gesturing at the small structure several yards away. “Victor won’t come near it. He’s very superstitious.”
“Most folks is. The slave women, they talk about this place.”
“I’ve heard them. That’s why I told Victor the slave women who were tortured in there haunt it.”
“Old overseer lived here.”
“Yes. If anyone deserved to be haunted, he did.” She fell silent, unwilling to discuss the tales she’d heard of the man. “He was worse than Bransen. I told Victor that one of the slaves was a witch and she had put a spell on this house.” She gestured at the shanty, still certain she could hear the screams of long dead women. “I didn’t know it really was haunted. I made up the story so I’d have a private place. I found it when we were first married.” Before she’d reconciled the dream of her marriage with what the reality actually was—when she’d been looking for a way to end the pain. She’d found the lake and took comfort knowing that if her life became too hard to bear she could end it in the cool water of the lake. “Do you believe it’s haunted?”
“I reckon.” He shrugged. “That don’t bother me none. Those ghosts and such ain’t mad with me.”
“Good.”
“This place be good to move folks through. ‘Specially if the master’s afraid of spirits.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
“Pretty out here,” Elijah said. “Kinda like a dream. Ain’t seen nothing like this hereabouts.”
“A dream. Yes, it is like a dream. That’s why I call it Dream Lake.”
He smiled at her. “You go on back now. Master will be lookin’ for you.”
“No, he won’t. Victor went to town. He’ll stay in town, with one of his women.”
“Does his women worry you?”
She laughed. “Worry me? I’m grateful to them. I only wish they could make it to where he never touches me again.”
“It ain’t right, what he does to you.” His fist clenched. “I cain’t stop him. You be his wife.”
“You could leave.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I reckon I’ll stay.”
As he stared at her, she said, “I could leave Victor. Follow you. We could be together.”
“It ain’t possible. He’d find us. No tellin’ how he’d use you.”
“No worse than how he uses me now.”
“Dyin’s worse.”
“Is it? Is it really?” Angrily, she stepped toward him. “Worse than being used again and again by a man with no love, no gentleness in him? A man who takes more care with his horse than he does his wife? Tell me, Elijah, why is death worse?”
“Sarah, you don’t know what you’re saying. Once you’s dead, they ain’t no comin’ back.”
“Do you think I care about that? Do you know how often I’ve come here and thought of how easy it would be to let the water take me? To walk into that lake and let all my pain and fear, all the suffering I see every day just . . . float away?”
He reached for her, and she walked into his arms. “Don’t, Sarah. Stay strong.” His arms tightened around her. “Promise me.”
She looked up at him. “I can’t. If you were to die, Elijah, I would die too. Please say you’ll leave. Before Victor or Bransen or someone else takes you from me.”
“Iffen I do, you be all alone.”
“I’ll find a way to follow you. Say you’ll go.”
He gazed at her for a long, long moment. “I will,” he said, resigned and reluctant.
Relief swept through her, and with it, despair. “Then kiss me. We may never have the chance again.”
He murmured, “Gonna be damned for this. But—” He bent his head, she rose on her toes, and his lips met hers.
She’d never imagined a kiss like
this. Gentle, respectful, but she felt the passion he held back. His lips were soft, so soft. His tongue was warm, magic against hers.
He broke away before she was ready. Nearly flung her aside. “No, Sarah. You want freedom, not me.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone more.” Sarah reached for his hand. It was warm and strong in hers. “Lie with me, Elijah. I want to know what it is to lie with a man I love. A gentle man, a loving man. I want to lie with you. Before you go. Because we don’t know what will happen, or even if we’ll ever see each other again. Don’t deny me.”
Elijah pulled away, turned his back to her. He gave a tortured groan. “You don’t know what you’re askin’.”
“I know exactly. I need you, Elijah.”
“I love you. You know it,” he said in a tortured voice.
“There’s no shame in our loving each other. Why do you act as if there is?”
“You my master’s wife. Ain’t no world where that be a happy thing.”
She crossed the few steps between them. Put her arms around his neck and drew his head down to hers. “Kiss me. Kiss me, Elijah.”
“We both gonna be damned for this.” His arms encircled her as he looked down into her face. His eyes were dark, mirrors of his soul. And his soul was tortured.
“No.” She put a hand to his face and smiled lovingly. “We’ll both be saved.”
His arms tightened around her. His lips covered hers, his tongue swept into her mouth. He picked her up, carried her to the grassy spot near the lake. Lay her down and stood looking down at her. The moonlight shimmered over the scene, giving it an otherworldly appearance.
Sarah began undoing the buttons of her blouse. Soon she was naked in the moonlight. Elijah watched her silently. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Holding out her hand, she said, “Lie with me, Elijah. I want to be touched with love. I want you to touch me, to love me.”
He came down beside her and took her in his arms. Such strong arms yet they held her so tenderly. “I do love you, Sarah. More than life.”