Christopher, Barbara - Keeper of Key.txt
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Keeper of the Key
***
Barbara Christopher
Was she going to shoot him?
“Your flowers look nice,” he muttered, cautiously eyeing
the tube she held.
She shook this new cylinder a couple of times, then moved
her thumb over a small rippled piece on the side. A wide, white
river shot from the end.
Caleb jerked back, but not fast enough. The streak caught
him on the thigh then settled into a pale gold puddle on the
floor. He swiped his hand over the area of his thigh that had
been nipped. No pain, and no visible damage, even though the
gun-like object put out a flame-like glow.
With another push of the button, the woman doused the
beam and glanced out the window. “Darn, the shed’s locked.
You take the light, and I’ll get the keys.”
She extended the tube, but he didn’t take it.
“Look, if you don’t want to do the work, why don’t you
just leave?” She shoved past him and out the door without once
pulling out her other weapon. The silver tube still protruded
from her front pocket, and she held the red and yellow one at
her side in a tight-fisted, angry grip.
“Miss Berclair?”
“What?” she yelled as she whirled around to face him.
He stepped off the porch and held out his hand for the
tube, realizing that she’d called it a light. It must be some type
of torch. “I’m supposed to take that thing, and you’re supposed
to get the key.”
She slapped the light against his palm. “I don’t have time
for games, Mr. Harrison.”
“I’m not playing games, Miss Berclair. I wish I were. This
morning when I woke up, I left Raleigh, but I never expected
to go so far.”
“And just how far did you travel? All of five miles?”
“And more than a hundred and sixty years,” he whispered
to himself.
I would like to dedicate this book to the members of River
City Romance Writers, Deb Dixon, Carolyn McSparren, and
my faithful critique partners, without whom I would have quit
long ago. I would also like to give special thanks to my editor,
Linda Kichline, for everything she has done for me.
Keeper of the Key
***
Barbara Christopher
One
Atlantis orichalc is a metal with the brilliance of the summer
sun. When it’s pure as new fallen snow it has the power to
change the past and form a better future. But beware, for the
person whose greed outweighs the needs of others will find
this precious metal of Atlantis to be deadly.
***
Raleigh, Tennessee
June 18 6
When would it end?
Caleb Harrison shoved the dresser forward in the wagon
bed. He didn’t like responsibility. Didn’t want it. So why did
he always end up giving his word? Why couldn’t people stay
out of his life? No matter what he did, or what path he traveled,
obligations challenged his resolve to stay a loner.
He would always be accountable to the nuns who had raised
him, yet he had had no problem leaving the orphanage. Now
an obligation struck between him and his one true friend meant
giving up his solitary life. Not for just a day, either. This promise
would last a lifetime.
As Luke Berclair’s godfather, Caleb never thought the boy’s
survival would depend upon his becoming the child’s father.
Caleb removed his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
His horse jerked against his harness and reared his head,
signaling that they weren’t alone. The odor that drifted on the
breeze let him know that William Jacobs stood on the other
side of the wagon.
“What is it, Jacobs?”
“Heard ya needed help. Ain’t no one else willin’, but I’m
not sure I’m up’ta the work.”
Caleb dusted his hat against his leg and let his gaze meet
the drunk’s. William Jacobs scratched his scraggly beard with
a grimy hand and squinted against the afternoon sun.
“The Widow Berclair wants this dresser delivered today.”
Caleb replaced his hat, turned his back on the man and checked
the ropes that held the dresser in place. “Job’s yours if you
want it.”
As he waited for the man’s answer, Caleb watched the rain
clouds gathering in the distance. He didn’t particularly like the
idea of Jacobs riding to Berclair Manor with him. Eight feet of
wagon didn’t lessen the odor of stale liquor, and the stench of
dirty body, shoulder to shoulder, would be sickening. But he
was right. Only a drunk in need of a drink would ride shotgun
with a suspected murderer.
He had a dresser to deliver. He always kept his promises.
Bad weather or not, with the drunk’s help or without it, Rebecca
would have her dresser today. And if they couldn’t find another
way to save Luke, he and Rebecca would have a marriage to
plan.
“I don’t have time to waste, Jacobs. If we don’t move out
soon, your return trip will be in the rain.” Caleb gathered up
his rope and vaulted into the back of the wagon. “You coming,
or not?”
“What kinda pay ya offerin’?”
He should have known the drunk would want his money
up front. Caleb slung the rope over his shoulder and tugged a
pouch out of his saddlebags. He removed a coin and flipped it
toward Jacobs. The drunk snatched the money out of the air
with more dexterity than Caleb believed possible.
“I’d rather have that fancy neck piece yore wearing. It’d
buy me a lot more whiskey than this here coin.”
“You’ve got the dollar. That’s more than enough pay. Get
your horse and tie him to the back of the wagon.” As he spoke
Caleb caught the medallion’s chain, tucked it inside his shirt
and covered the medal with his palm. A tingle radiated from
the coin.
A warning.
Subtle, yet there. It felt the same as when his mother had
given him his first lesson at the age of five. She had closed his
fingers over the orichalc medallion and whispered, When the
coin’s vibration is sharp, there is danger close. Remember
this, my son. Someday it will save your life.
Caleb wrapped the rope around the dresser and jerked it
tight. The coin hadn’t saved hers. She’d lost her medallion the
night she’d been murdered. Murdered by a man she’d thought
was her friend. He’d forgotten the lesson until he’d seen
Rebecca Berclair wearing an identical medallion bearing the
symbols of good and evil—identical, yet different. Rebecca’s
coin lacked the deep scratch that had marred the beauty of his
mother’s.
Now he wore the medall
ion. Rebecca wanted him to
oversee it until Luke—her son, his godson—came of age. With
the medallion came a promise. He would guard it as his mother
had hers, to death if necessary.
The Atlantis orichalc glowed brighter than fire. His mother
told him it had powers yet to be tested and promised its keeper
a life worth living.
Rebecca and her late husband, Saul, had questioned him
relentlessly about his past. Deep down he’d known the
questions were a test, but he hadn’t known why, not until Saul’s
death.
At the funeral Rebecca spoke of far away places, secret
time locks and passages that only a true survivor of Atlantis
could travel through. She had handed him the medallion as
they stood over Saul’s grave. Caleb, you have proved you are
pure in heart. A true Atlantean.
Pure?
Although he hadn’t lied about his past, he hadn’t told her
or Saul everything.
Rebecca didn’t know the secrets he kept hidden. The time
hadn’t been right for divulging them. Not until now.
Once he delivered the dresser they would talk about his
past and see if she still thought him worthy to wear the
medallion…worthy to bear the responsibility of Luke’s future.
A shiver rippled down Caleb’s spine. Another warning.
He caught the chain and slipped it over his head. For a moment
he gazed at the medallion.
Hide it.
A shiver of urgency followed the thought. He brushed his
knuckles over the elaborate initials on the dresser then twisted
the left letter until the “B” lay on its back. While holding the
sleeping “B” in place, he turned the other knob in the opposite
direction. He heard the latch click into place, curled his fingers
over the raised letters and eased the front panel down.
If he died on the trail Rebecca would know where to look
for the coin.
Still clutching the coin in one hand, Caleb brought the
deerskin pouch to his lips, caught the drawstring between his
teeth and worked it open. He added the medallion to the other
coins, closed the pouch, and shoved it inside the secret
compartment.
He felt his lips twitch into a smile. Rebecca hoarded her
gold and she didn’t trust banks, so at her request every piece
he made had a secret storage area. Even the bed she slept on.
And not just the usual bedpost-bank either. Oh, no. She’d
wanted full-fledged secret compartments.
Caleb worked the front panel back in place, sealed it and
draped the quilt over the mirror.
Jacobs pulled himself into the back of the wagon and
squeezed in between the dresser and sideboard just as Caleb
moved to the front to take his place. He snapped the reins and
clucked the gelding into motion.
***
Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh area
Present Day
Becci rocked back on her heels and rolled her eyes toward
the ceiling. Why couldn’t her aunt understand? They didn’t
have a choice any longer. She’d spent the last of her savings,
and it hadn’t saved the mansion.
“Mary Rebecca Berclair, don’t you roll those eyes at me.
Just sit down at this table and listen. And please, child, listen
with an open mind.”
“There...is...no...gold.” Becci Berclair pounded her fist
against her thigh to accentuate each word.
“Eat your dinner and stop fussing, dear. Besides, I told
you—it’s not gold, it’s orichalc.” Lilly ran her finger over the
fading flowery writing in the journal and read, “‘Eli has given
us one of the medallions. We are saved. The beautiful golden,
orichalc coin holds powers beyond belief.’ That’s what it says
right here. The coin helped Mary Rebecca, and it will help us.”
“I don’t care if we find a dozen books claiming there are a
dozen coins of gold or orichalc. Whatever it’s called, there is
nothing powerful and nothing of value in this house.”
Aunt Lilly just wouldn’t give up. Becci sighed. She didn’t
blame her. For the briefest moment she, too, had hoped the old
journals they’d found would unlock the secret to the riddle of
Berclair Manor.
She immediately recalled the riddle’s words. Gold glows
bright in the house of Berclair. Fortune shines on the true of
heart, and love strengthens the powers of The Coins of Good
and Evil.
Legend said The Coins of Good and Evil were hidden in
the house. Hidden? Sure. Her great grandfather, Matthew
Berclair, had spent his entire life trying to decipher the legend.
He’d even pointed out that there had to be more than one coin
since the riddle spoke in plural. He’d passed the only thing of
value he owned, the house, to his only living relative, his
grandson, her father. Her father had mortgaged the place to the
chimney top, not because he was looking for the Berclair
fortune. Oh, no. Every spare cent he had went for his weekly
poker game and his bottle of booze.
“The journal talks about hiding places. I know we’ll find
them. I just know we will.”
Becci closed her eyes and eased into her chair. He aunt
had fixed the meal and she’d best not waste it.
Nothing really mattered any more. Not her plans for the
nursery, not her job as an aide in the prenatal unit, not even the
house. Besides, she’d bet her life savings, if she hadn’t already
spent it, that the original Mary Rebecca had squandered every
golden cent.
Becci tossed her long braid over her shoulder. She and
Aunt Lilly had been through this over and over since they
inherited Berclair Manor.
Once she sold the place, maybe her life would settle and
she could go on about her business. After all, she had a wedding
to plan and no time to waste. “Aunt Lilly, we’ve done everything
but tear down the walls looking for that stupid treasure, and I
don’t intend to do that.”
She jumped up, shoved open the screen door, and scraped
the remains of her half-eaten dinner into the small dish beside
the step. A scrawny gray tabby peeked out from the stack of
newspapers in the recycle bin.
“Come on, Pepper.”
At the mention of his name the kitten tumbled out of the
bin and fell into his water dish. He daintily shook each tiny
paw and cautiously made his way to the food. Becci stepped
back to give the skittish feline room.
The image of the first time she saw the shivering ball of
fur came to mind. She couldn’t turn her back on a stray. Never
could. But they had no trouble leaving her alone when they
regained their health or found someone else to give their
affection to.
Becci dropped the fork on her plate. This stray would leave,
too. At least she hoped so. She couldn’t afford another mouth
to feed, even if that mouth belonged to an orphaned kitten.
“Why not?” Lilly snapped before the door closed behind
Becci.
“Why not what?” Becci asked as s
he rinsed her plate and
put it in the dishwasher.
“Tear down the walls. When you sell that’s what a developer
will do. And since you won’t even talk about my plan....”
“Aunt Lilly...”
“Just listen, Becci. I don’t want this place destroyed either.”
Becci groaned and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling again.
“Okay. What’s your plan this time?”
“It’s the children’s sanctuary you want to open.”
“We’ve been over this before. The bank turned down my
loan.”
“Well, how about the nursery? You know the one I’m
talking about—the inexpensive place for new mothers to leave
their babies.”
“I can’t get the money I need to open either the safe-haven
or the nursery.”
“Yes, you can. There’s this company, Ascomp Incorporated.
Michael thinks they might have a solution to our problem.
They’re offering ongoing aid for organizations run by
minorities. He thinks there’s a chance your newborn nursery
qualifies.”
“You’re listening to Michael? My fiancé, Michael Ascott?”
When her aunt nodded, Becci huffed in disbelief. Aunt Lilly
hated Michael. She even went out of her way to insult the man.
And the day Becci showed her “the ring,” she left in a rage, the
back door slamming at her heels. “I thought you couldn’t stand
him.”
“I can’t. Nor do I trust him, but he gave me the name of the
company and...well...I called a Mr. Latham. He’s the CEO or
something like that. He wants to look the place over next week.
I said we would have it ready for his inspection.”
Becci cupped her hand to her nape and massaged the tense
muscles. She might as well give in. Once her aunt got a notion
to do something, an entire football team couldn’t stop her.
“What do we have to do?”
“Michael came by while you were at work the other day
and discussed his plans. This Latham guy wants to take a tour
of the house and have you explain where you plan to put
everything. Michael suggested we give the company a party,
of sorts, in a couple of weeks. Michael’s sure they’ll give you
the aid you need. He’s also inviting a couple of antique dealers
who might be interested in buying some of the old furniture.”
Lilly shut the journal that lay on the table in front of her.