On the Trail of the Truth

by Michael Phillips

  A little while later Mr. Kemble approached along the sidewalk, with none other at his side than Robin T. O’Flaridy, walking along laughing and talking amiably together. No lady would say the things that came into my mind at that moment. Fortunately, I swallowed them and managed to keep my mouth closed. Robin wore a bandage over one corner of his mouth and chin, and one eye was pretty badly swollen and discolored, but otherwise he didn’t look too much the worse for wear.

  “Ah, Miss Hollister!” exclaimed Mr. Kemble the moment he saw me. “Robin told me to expect you sometime soon.”

  Robin gave me a nod and a smile, and I gave him back a look that shot daggers. I wasn’t feeling much like a loving and forgiving Christian at the time!

  Mr. Kemble led the way inside and down the hall to his office, and I followed in silence.

  “Quite a business you and Robin got into up there, eh, Hollister?” Mr. Kemble said the moment the three of us were alone. “And it looks like he scooped you again! Tough break too. I thought this was the one where you might really prove yourself.”

  “Scooped me!” I exclaimed, at last finding my tongue. “What are you talking about?”

  “Right here,” he replied, slapping his hand a couple times on a stack of papers that sat on his desk. “When Robin arrived yesterday afternoon—looking a mess, I have to tell you!—and put this in my hands, I knew everything had paid off in the end. Not only had he unearthed the whole of that bum Gregory’s story, he had actually made off with the thing—notes, interviews, quotes and all! Can you believe it, Hollister? He scooped the whole Globe story—stole it out from under their noses! With this in our hands, they can’t run it against Fremont!”

  “What?” I stammered.

  “How was I to know that he’d go back out there on his own after I pulled him off the story and sent you? Mighty determined reporter he’s turning out to be! It really is too bad, Hollister, for O’Flaridy to scoop you twice in a row. Lucky for you he was there, though—to save you from those ruffians!”

  The whole time Robin was standing by with a smug smile on his face, not saying a word.

  “He—he told you all that, did he?” I said. I’m afraid my voice did not sound too calm.

  Mr. Kemble chuckled. “He also told me you’d be furious and would try to tell me you had done it all. Look, Hollister, you’re young . . . you’re a bright kid. But another thing you’ve got to learn in this business is not to be a sore loser. When you’re up against someone more experienced than yourself, like Robin, you’ve got to expect to be beat out for a story now and then. But you’re learning.”

  I sat down finally, took some deep breaths, and tried to calm down. It would do no good to argue or yell or complain or call Robin a liar. That would only confirm what Mr. Kemble already thought, that I was a young and emotional female not able to think rationally. And I suppose the first two were true, but this was one time I had to force myself to think rationally!

  Finally I looked up at the editor and spoke again, softly and without anger.

  “And just what sort of article did Mr. O’Flaridy provide you to run in opposition to this information of Gregory’s that he brought you?” I asked.

  “We hadn’t exactly settled on our response. Perhaps Robin will write a pro-Fremont piece. Perhaps you could even join that effort. Perhaps nothing need be done with regard to this aborted Globe information.” He patted the stack of Derrick’s papers again.

  “I see,” I said, then paused thoughtfully. “And has it occurred to you that Derrick Gregory is also an experienced writer with perhaps more at stake than either of you, and that he would be well able to reconstruct from memory much of what he was planning to divulge? Do you think that just because you have his notes and perhaps a rough draft of his article, you have stopped him entirely? I wouldn’t doubt that he is already back in Sacramento or right here in San Francisco, in a hotel someplace, writing furiously to redo the very article that you think you have stopped.” I pointed to Mr. Kemble’s desk and the papers that I had taken from Derrick’s room.

  Mr. Kemble and Robin were both silent, thinking over what I had said.

  “If that is true, your possessing his notes and original material will do you no good whatsoever. He’ll still run his story in the Globe, and Colonel Fremont will suffer just as much damage as ever.”

  I paused and looked straight at Mr. Kemble. “What you need,” I said, “is a story that refutes Gregory’s charges and strengthens Mr. Fremont’s position.”

  “And where can I get such a story?”

  “I happen to have one—right here!” I patted the writing satchel on my lap. “Completed, ready to print, and refuting nearly all of Gregory’s charges.”

  “May I see it?” asked Mr. Kemble. I think he was beginning to wonder if he’d misread the whole situation.

  “Not until we have worked a few things out,” I replied. “For now, I will just hold on to it myself.”

  “If it’s what you say, Corrie, I’ll pay you well. I’ll give you your eight dollars without an argument this time.”

  “You can’t buy my submission quite so easily now, Mr. Kemble. You sent me up to Sonora, as you said, to find the truth. Well, I found it. I found Mr. Gregory when Robin couldn’t. I found what he was going to print. I found what I am satisfied is proof against his charges. I risked my life to steal that for you—” I pointed to the papers on his desk.

  Suddenly I stopped, and the impact of what I had done hit me square in the face. I had determined not to lie to get my story, and yet I had done something just as wrong—I had broken into Derrick Gregory’s room and stolen his papers, and at the same time I hadn’t given it a second thought.

  “Mr. Kemble,” I said at last. “When I took Mr. Gregory’s article, I didn’t even stop to consider if it was right or wrong—I just knew I had to get my hands on that information. I had to stop his article from being published, to save the Fremonts from his deception.” I paused, then went on.

  “Maybe that makes me just like Derrick—willing to do anything for a story. But maybe it’s different because my reasons for doing it were better. I don’t really know, and I haven’t had time to sort it all out yet. Maybe it doesn’t matter at all to you, but it matters to me, and it may take me a while to get over what I’ve done. But your willingness to believe falsehoods about me is just as bad as the Globe being willing to print lies about John Fremont!”

  I stopped, trembling with both anger and apprehension as I thought about my actions.

  “I am deeply sorry, Corrie, if there has been some misunderstanding,” Mr. Kemble said.

  “There has been no misunderstanding. It seems simple enough to me. What Robin brought you is nothing.” I turned to Robin. “That was your one mistake, Robin, leaving me my carpetbag,” I said. “That’s where my notes were. I had been with Derrick the whole previous day, and had written down everything he’d told me. He even admitted to bribing half the people he quoted! He as good as told me himself which of the charges against Mr. Fremont were false. And all that was in my carpetbag, which I still have. And at the Mariposa I got the rest of what I needed to destroy the credibility of Derrick’s story. But you had none of that, which is why stealing Derrick’s papers from me didn’t do you a bit of good!”

  I was angry again, and even the pale look on Robin’s bruised face wasn’t enough to renew the kinship I’d briefly felt with him four nights ago around the campfire.

  “And you know what else you don’t have?” I continued. “You don’t have the last page that Derrick was in the middle of writing when everything exploded back there in Sonora. I left it behind. But I know what that page contained, and it would be dynamite if used against the Colonel. I know what that page said, and I am able to refute it. But neither of you have any idea as to either.”

  I looked around again at Mr. Kemble as I said these last words. I stopped and the room was silent. I had the best of the argument, and both men knew it.

  “Now, Mr. Kemble,” I said.
“When I left, you told me to get to the bottom of the story and to find out the truth, and to have it on your desk by the 22nd. Today’s the 20th. I’ve done everything you said with two days to spare. I reckon it’s time for you to decide what you want to do about this matter, and it’s time for me to decide what I want to do with what I’ve found and with the article I’ve written. I’ll be staying at Miss Sandy Bean’s Boarding House if you want to contact me. Otherwise, I’ll be back to see you, perhaps tomorrow. That is, if I don’t decide to take what I have to another paper!”

  I got up from the chair and approached his desk, where I reached over and took hold of the stack of papers. “And if you don’t mind, I think I will take these with me. I’m sure Robin will be glad to tell you how things really happened in Sonora.”

  I took Derrick’s papers, put them under my arm with the satchel full of my own, and walked out of the office.

  Chapter 52

  Countdown to November

  The trip back to Miracle Springs from San Francisco was peaceful and thoughtful for me. I’d gotten my Raspberry back from Robin, and would return Rayo Rojo to Mariposa later. With both horses it was a much slower ride, and it gave me a chance to reflect on all that had happened.

  After my conversation with Mr. Kemble, I went through all sorts of doubts about what I had done. Even though I was trying to stop others from doing wrong, the thought kept coming back to me that I had taken what didn’t belong to me. And as I sat at Miss Bean’s wondering what to do, I couldn’t help finding myself confused. Finally I just had to say to myself, “Well, right or wrong, I do have Gregory’s papers, so now I have to decide what to do with them.” Maybe I’d never find any hard and fast rules that would help me know the answer to every situation I was in. I had to trust somehow that God would lead me through the dilemmas I might face as a writer.

  In the end I left my entire Fremont article—explaining the charges that were being brought against him, and then showing how many of them were fabricated just so that he would not be elected—with Mr. Kemble. He said that its appearance would be a major boost to the Fremont campaign and should insure that the Colonel carried California in the election.

  I took Derrick Gregory’s papers to the Globe for them to return to him. He couldn’t do much damage with them any longer, and I didn’t feel right about keeping them. Without my even having to dicker for it, Mr. Kemble said he’d pay me $10 for the work I had done. He called it a “major effort” in the Fremont cause. He also said the Alta would pay the expenses of my trip to Sonora. He would have a check sent to me for $29. We didn’t get around to discussing the pledge he’d made earlier to give me a regular article in the Alta. But I hadn’t forgotten, and I planned to remind him of it before long!

  On the afternoon of September 26 I finally rode into Miracle Springs. I was so glad to be home—I’d had enough adventures for one month!

  I rode up to Parrish Mine and Freight Company, stopped, dismounted, and walked inside. Almeda wasn’t there, but Mr. Ashton and Marcus gave me greetings and hugs enough for all three of them.

  “Miz Hollister, she left for the claim,” said Mr. Weber. “She got big news for ya all, Miss Corrie! You best git on yer horse an’ follow her as quick as you can.”

  “Can you take care of Raspberry for me, Marcus?” I asked. “As you can see, I came back with an extra horse.”

  “No trouble, Miss Corrie.”

  “Then I’ll see you both again tomorrow,” I said, and hurried back outside. Now I was ready to give Rayo Rojo a run, and she was ready! We flew out of Miracle Springs so fast I’m sure a few heads turned as we passed the Gold Nugget. We clattered across the first bridge over the creek and headed up the incline in less than two minutes. Never had I covered the distance so fast. Just wait until Zack and Little Wolf see this magnificent animal! I thought.

  I galloped all the way home. As I was dismounting, all the family poured out of the house, and just like after my other trip, there were hugs and tears and shouting in plentiful measure.

  I was anxious to find out the “big news” Marcus Weber was talking about. A flood of questions came out. I had all but forgotten that nobody else knew a thing of what I’d been through for this last two weeks. The only responses I heard were the clamoring questions of six other people shouting out and wondering what had happened to me!

  Finally Pa managed to make his voice heard above all the rest. “Everybody inside!” he shouted. “The only way we’re gonna get to the bottom of all this is to take it one question at a time!”

  We trooped inside, still loud and laughing and talking. It was a happy moment. Every one of the others had big smiles on their faces and I knew they had something to tell me.

  Pa got us all sat down and got my brothers and sisters to quiet down. Then he said, “Now, Corrie, tell us all about your trip.”

  “Oh, Pa,” I groaned, “there’s too much! It’ll take days to tell you everything that happened! I want to hear your news! Something’s up—it’s written all over every one of your faces!”

  The laughter erupted all over again. I had never seen Almeda so gleeful. She was laughing like a little girl.

  “Come on . . . out with it!” I exclaimed, looking around at everybody. “What is going on here?”

  “Well, Almeda,” said Pa, looking down on her with a smile, “I reckon it’s more your news than anyone else’s. Go on . . . tell her!”

  Almeda, who was sitting beside me on the couch, took one of my hands in hers and looked me tenderly in the eye.

  “You’ll never believe it, Corrie, but your father and I are going to have a baby!”

  “That’s . . . that’s wonderful!” I exclaimed.

  Without even realizing it, I discovered that I was crying. All the emotions and fears I’d had to keep to myself for the past two weeks broke loose into a well of tears that spilled over to everyone in the room. Even Pa was half laughing and crying at the same time!

  When I finally dried my tears, I found that I still could not find any words to express all that was in my heart. Every word I tried to speak only started up the tears all over again.

  Almeda finally came to my rescue with a long, tight hug that only a mother can give and only a daughter can receive.

  At length we did manage to take some deep breaths and get back to some normal conversation. I had so many questions, especially with the election now getting so close, and wondering what had been going on in Miracle Springs. But they were nothing compared to all I had to tell about my adventures!

  So much had happened in two weeks, and so many stories remained to be told! In the next few weeks the Hollister-Parrish-Belle clan would witness a whole new series of events that would turn our lives topsy-turvy again—permanently.

  All of our lives were changing. In a period of two weeks, I had found myself facing more adventure and danger, struggle and doubt, than I would have ever thought possible. I had grown so much! I’d gone out on the trail of the truth, and in finding it, I had found a little more about myself as well.

  And yet in some ways the adventures were still only beginning!

  The story that followed, and what happened in the two elections . . . you can read about in A Place in the Sun, THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER, Book 4.

  About the Author

  Michael Phillips is a bestselling author with more than seventy of his own titles. In addition, he has served as editor/redactor of nearly thirty more books. He is known as the man responsible for the reawakened interest in George MacDonald of the last thirty years. In addition to the MacDonald titles adapted/edited for today’s reader, his publishing efforts in bringing back full-length quality facsimile editions also spawned renewed interest in MacDonald’s original work. Michael and his wife, Judy, spend time each year in Scotland, but make their home near Sacramento, California. Visit Michael’s website at www.fatheroftheinklings.com

  Books by Michael Phillips

  FICTION

  THE RUSSIANS*

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p; The Crown and the Crucible • A House Divided • Travail and Triumph

  THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*

  The Heather Hills of Stonewycke • Flight from Stonewycke • Lady of Stonewycke

  THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*

  Stranger at Stonewycke • Shadows over Stonewycke • Treasure of Stonewycke

  THE SECRETS OF HEATHERSLEIGH HALL

  Wild Grows the Heather in Devon • Wayward Winds

  Heathersleigh Homecoming • A New Dawn Over Devon

  SHENANDOAH SISTERS

  Angels Watching Over Me • A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton

  The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart • Together Is All We Need

  CAROLINA COUSINS

  A Perilous Proposal • The Soldier’s Lady

  Never Too Late • Miss Katie’s Rosewood

  CALEDONIA

  Legend of the Celtic Stone • An Ancient Strife

  THE HIGHLAND COLLECTION*

  Jamie MacLeod: Highland Lass • Robbie Taggart: Highland Sailor

  THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER

  My Father’s World* • Daughter of Grace* • On the Trail of the Truth

  A Place in the Sun • Sea to Shining Sea • Into the Long Dark Night

  Land of the Brave and the Free • A Home for the Heart

  Grayfox • A New Beginning • The Braxtons of Miracle Springs

  THE SECRET OF THE ROSE

  The Eleventh Hour • A Rose Remembered

  Escape to Freedom • Dawn of Liberty

  AMERICAN DREAMS

  Dream of Freedom • Dream of Life • Dream of Love

  The Sword, the Garden, and the King

  Heaven and Beyond

  Angel Harp

  Murder By Quill

  From Across the Ancient Waters