Christopher, Barbara - Keeper of Key.txt
Page 2
“Selling off the antiques will give us a little extra operating
money. I hired some men to help to move the pieces we want
to keep from the shed to the upstairs. We should be ready for
Mr. Latham’s visit.” Lilly stood and shoved her hands in the
pockets of her apron.
“You hired movers?”
“No, just a couple of men. They’ll be here around ten on
Saturday. Mr. Latham isn’t due until one. Oh, Michael said
that Mr. Latham needs a budget outlining your plans for the
nursery, a list of the supplies we need, and my nursing
certificate. He also suggested we include the invoice for the
cradles.
Becci shook her head in resignation. Heaven help her, Aunt
Lilly had already put things in motion. How did she think they
could have a party on their limited budget? How would they
pay workers when they had to scrape pennies to put food on
their own plates?
Becci pressed her fingertips to her temples. What were
they going to do?
“We’ll find a way, Mary Rebecca,” Lilly said, as if reading
her mind.
Two
Raleigh, Tennessee
June 18 6
Caleb slowed his wagon, lifted his hat, wiped the sweat
off his brow and nodded at Rebecca. She stood on the
wraparound porch with Luke perched on one hip and her journal
clutched to her chest. If it hadn’t been for Luke she would look
like a young girl holding her first reader.
Caleb stared at the beautiful picture Rebecca made. Wind
fluttered the curls that had worked free of her braid, which
hung in a long, red-gold trail down the beige lace covering her
shoulders. The high-collared dress accentuated her pale,
sculptured beauty.
The cameo, the gift he’d given her to celebrate Luke’s birth,
rested below the lace’s ruffled edge where the medallion had
once lain . The deep, wine-colored silk of her skirt swirled
about her ankles.
Her beauty rivaled the exquisite Berclair Manor with its
whitewashed pillars bright against the darkening skies. The
scene created a strange sense of foreboding that even Rebecca’s
cheerful smile couldn’t alleviate.
If their plan failed, what would become of Luke? He cared
for the boy more than he’d ever thought possible. Hopefully,
he would come to care for Rebecca, too. If she still thought
him worthy after he told her about his past, they would marry.
Neither had a choice.
“You gonna get this thing in before the storm comes or am
I gonna haf’ta ride back in the rain?” Jacobs snapped.
“Untie your horse and I’ll get the wagon in place,” Caleb
replied.
As soon as Jacobs disappeared around the side of the house,
Caleb circled the wagon and backed the horse up until the bed
touched the edge of the top step. He secured the reins, jumped
out of the wagon, and shoved a wedge of wood in front of the
wheel as an extra precaution. It wouldn’t do to have the animal
bolt and ruin the dresser before Rebecca ever saw it.
Caleb glanced back at the quilt-covered dresser. This was
the fifth and final piece Saul Berclair had commissioned before
his death. Caleb had planned to leave Raleigh as soon as he’d
completed the order, but his plans had changed when Saul died.
Black clouds churned on the horizon like a swollen creek
after a harsh spring storm. Wind whipped the trees and sent a
swirl of leaves and dust across the road, along with the sweet
scent of roses from Rebecca’s well-tended bushes.
“Afternoon, Rebecca.”
“Caleb.” She acknowledged him with a tip of her head. “I
thought the storm might have changed your mind about coming.
I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad we made it before the storm hit.” Caleb slapped
his hat against his leg, sending a spray of dust flying. He braced
his foot against the porch and ruffled Luke’s hair. “Hi, fellow.”
Luke laughed and leaned toward Caleb, waving his arms
for Caleb to take him. His heart lurched as it did every time the
boy wanted to hug him.
“Not yet, Luke.” Rebecca hitched the squirming boy higher
on her hip and moved so Luke couldn’t reach Caleb. “You
won’t get the dresser in before the rain comes if you take him
now.”
“Right.”
Caleb started to turn away, but Rebecca caught his
shirtsleeve to stop him.
“Will you stay for supper? I’ll fry up a chicken.”
Caleb smiled. His favorite Sunday dinner served in the
middle of the week. Rebecca knew him well. “I’d like that.”
Rebecca gave him a quick nod. “I’ll go kill it.”
“No. You might mess your dress.” Caleb raised his hand
to the fancy lace collar. Rebecca needed a husband. Someone
to love her. Not him. He didn’t need or want the responsibility,
but fate had made the decision for them. He cared for Rebecca,
but it wasn’t love.
The muscles of his heart tightened. If the secrets he revealed
today didn’t turn Rebecca away, he would marry her to keep
Luke safe. And even if she didn’t want to marry him, he’d find
a way to make sure Obadiah never took the boy away from his
mother. Never.
Luke raised his arms and squealed, stopping Caleb’s next
question. They would have plenty of time after he finished
working to discuss Obadiah’s upcoming visit.
“Let me get this in, son, and kill that chicken, then I’ll take
you.” Luke screamed louder and Caleb chuckled. “I guess I’ve
spoiled him.”
“He’ll quiet down soon.” As if contradicting Rebecca,
Luke’s cry edged upward a notch.
Caleb brushed the tears off the boy’s chubby cheeks. “I’ll
hurry,” he promised.
“Come to the parlor as soon as you can. I’ve filed some
papers at the courthouse giving you control of Luke’s
inheritance.” Rebecca raised her hand to stop his protest. “It’s
what I want. We need to discuss the conditions I’ve stipulated
before dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Caleb touched the brim of his hat, nodded
and went back to the job at hand. Rebecca planned everything.
Went over each detail thoroughly. They would beat Obadiah.
He would never get control of Luke’s inheritance. Never get
the chance to squander it like he had his own.
He pulled out his saddlebags and knife and laid them on
the wagon seat while he untied the rope holding the dresser in
place. Catching two corners of the quilt, he moved it from the
mirror and spread it out on the end of the wagon. “Jacobs, are
you going to earn your wages or not?”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” Jacobs said, climbing into the wagon.
Caleb shrugged, lifted his hat, raked his fingers through
his hair and settled it back in place. He should have known
better than to expect Jacobs to earn the money once he had it in
his pocket.
Caleb glared at the drunk until the man grabbed one edge
; of the dresser.
He’s not wearing his neckpiece...
“Damn.” Caleb jerked his hands off the dresser. Jacobs’s
silent observation shouldn’t have startled him, but it had. He
hadn’t thought the medallion would transmit another’s thoughts
unless that person touched him or the coin, but somehow the
dresser had formed a link between him and Jacobs. Rebecca
had warned him that this happened, but he’d never experienced
it until now.
Rebecca had almost completed his lessons on being the
Keeper. She’d promised that before they finished he would
know as much as she did about the medallion and understand
what it meant to be a Keeper. His mother had been a Keeper,
and she’d lost her life protecting her missing medallion.
Taking a deep breath, he placed his hands back on the
dresser. Together they lifted it just enough to slide it to the end
of the wagon.
...most likely lost it in the wagon. I’ll find it and he’ll never
know where it went.
Caleb pulled back again. “Jacobs, I can take it from here.
You draw some water for the horses.”
Jacobs disappeared, and Caleb grabbed his saddlebags from
the seat and tossed them on top of the dresser. Jacobs had a
reputation of pilfering through things and tended to have a loose
tongue when in his cups. Well, he had things written in his
journal that the rest of the town didn’t need to know.
Caleb tipped the dresser onto the quilt to protect the wood
then tugged it up the step and into the house. He paused at the
parlor door. Rebecca sat on the love seat with Luke on her lap.
The boy’s loud scream echoed through the house.
She would stay there, out of the way, until he finished.
Then he would quiet Luke, maybe for the last time, and confess
his past. The final decision on what they would do belonged to
Rebecca. Could she trust a professed murderer to raise her son?
***
Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh Area
Present Day
Where’d the time go? Becci hurriedly braided her hair and
tied the end with a cotton ponytail holder. She grabbed her
sweater and hurried downstairs. She’d already wasted most of
the morning on trivial things. Aunt Lilly could supervise the
moving of the furniture. After all, she knew what pieces needed
to go upstairs.
Coffee threatened to slosh over the side of the mug her
aunt handed her as she entered the kitchen.
“Uh-oh.” Not a good sign. Aunt Lilly only poured her coffee
when she had something bad to report. Lately, every time she
entered the kitchen a mug ended up in her hands.
Becci glanced out the side window at the driveway—the
empty driveway. She shifted her gaze to the bay window. She
had a clear view of the vacant backyard.
She barely managed not to roll her eyes toward the ceiling.
Maybe they had arrived and would be back later.
“Where are the workers? I thought they were due around
ten.”
“They’re late, dear.”
Her aunt’s voice held a nonchalance that made Becci clench
her jaw to keep from losing her temper. She waited for the rest
of Aunt Lilly’s reply. There had to be a good explanation.
“Uh. They...uh...are due any minute. You just go on and
pick up those cleaning supplies. I’ll handle things here until
you get back. I do know what needs to be done.”
Becci downed her coffee and set the cup in the sink. Staying
here wouldn’t get the work done, most of which she could do
herself. She would put her strength up against most men. The
only problem was the sturdy antique dresser would take at least
two people to maneuver it up the stairs, and her aunt’s arthritic
knee couldn’t stand the pressure.
Becci sighed. When she had a firm financial base she would
surprise her aunt with the knee-replacement surgery she needed.
“I’ll be back in a jiffy. If the men come show them what
goes upstairs and let them get started.” Becci caught the strap
of her purse then faced her aunt.
“I’m expecting a couple of calls. Several of the women
who visited the hospital’s obstetrics clinic were asking about
child-care for newborns. I told them about our plans, and they
seemed interested. It’s a good idea, Aunt Lilly.”
Before her aunt could reply, she glanced out the window.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. She’d best take the car. “Back
shortly, Aunt Lilly.” She said as she grabbed her keys off the
counter.
A half hour later, Becci pulled into her driveway and shoved
the gear stick into park. She ground her teeth to keep from
cursing. A storm rumbled, not only on the horizon, but in
Berclair Manor as well. No workers.
Why hadn’t they come? Becci snatched the plastic bag of
cleaning supplies, hurried into the house and headed upstairs
to change into the cutoffs and crop-top she wore to work around
the house. Aunt Lilly had done her best. It wasn’t her fault the
workers never showed up.
But even as she made that acknowledgment, Becci was
glad her aunt wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Her temper didn’t
always listen to reason.
***
Raleigh, Tennessee
June 18 6
Caleb paused at the first landing. Luke’s shrill cry echoed
through the hall. The boy never fussed this long. Maybe he felt
Rebecca’s tension. She worried about Luke’s future. Obadiah
wanted to send Luke to a boarding school back east. Rebecca
would only see him on the holidays, if Obadiah let her make
the trip.
Caleb shoved the thought away, took out his handkerchief
and polished the wood one last time. The sooner he placed the
dresser in Rebecca’s room, the sooner he could try his luck at
quieting Luke and they could start making plans to thwart
Obadiah’s attempt to take control of Berclair Manor. Rebecca
didn’t want to believe Saul’s brother would steal Luke’s
inheritance, but Caleb didn’t doubt it. Man’s greed often forsook
blood and loyalty.
He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. Stalling
wouldn’t eliminate the task before him. Ten more feet and his
future would be mapped out for him. He glanced at the bedroom
door and froze. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He
would swear a shimmering glow encircled the entry.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Lightning. That’s all it was.
Caleb caught the strap of his saddlebags with one hand
and the quilt with the other. He should have thought about using
the quilt before he hired Jacobs, but he’d been thinking about
protecting Luke and Rebecca from Obadiah, not moving
furniture. Storm or no storm, once he finished he would give
the man another dollar and send him back to town.
Caleb tugged the dresser up the last of the steps.
Wind rattled the windows and fluttered the curtains. Voices
echoed through the house.
Had Rebecca called him?
>
Caleb tilted his head toward the sounds coming from
downstairs. Darn it, Luke, pipe down. The boy’s cry drowned
out all the other noises.
A river of anxiety washed over Caleb. Every instinct in his
body shouted for him to hurry. He tried to shove the dresser
into the room but it wouldn’t move. Why? Nothing stood in its
path.
Caleb leaned against the dresser. Without Jacob’s help he
would never get it through the door.
Luke’s bellowing grew louder.
“You up there, Caleb?” Jacobs called.
“Yeah.” Caleb shook his head in disgust. Where else would
I be?
Caleb turned toward the stairs. Jacobs stared up at him
from the landing—one hand braced against the wall, the other
wrapped tight around a knife. The drunk’s gaze, wild and
glazed, darted toward the downstairs then back at him.
Fresh blood glistened on the knife’s razor sharp edge.
“Rebecca!”
Jacobs stumbled up the last two steps. An eerie silence
replaced the roar of the wind, and a chill shivered up Caleb’s
spine.
Luke had finally stopped crying. A moment later the wind
picked up harder than before, and so did Luke’s wail.
“Widder’s fine,” Jacobs yelled over the wind’s howl. “It’s
that brat of hers that needs shutting up. She sent me up here to
help so ya can git back down thare and quiet ‘im”
Caleb tipped his head toward the blood-dampened blade.
“That’s my knife.”
“Yep. I…uh…I borrowed it ta cut off the chicken’s head. I
kilt it for the widder. Darn bird might near flogged me to death.
I was looking fer a rag to clean the blade when Widder Berclair
said ya needed help. Besides, I thought if’n I kilt it I might git
me a bite ta eat afore I left.”
Jacobs swiped the flat edge over his sleeve, dropped the
knife to the floor and wiped his bloody hands down the front
of his shirt.
“Rebecca…”
“Like I said, the widder’s fine. But that thar storm’s a
comin’ in a might bit quicker than I expected, and I’m goin’ ta
be stuck here ‘til it passes.”
Caleb stared at the scratches marring Jacob’s cheek, then
at the bloody smears on his shirt. Had they really come from
killing the chicken? Of course they had. Jacobs didn’t have
any reason to hurt Rebecca. He still felt uneasy, and he lifted