Christopher, Barbara - Keeper of Key.txt

by Keeper of Key. txt (lit)

“What I wear is none of your business. I’m sure Mr. Latham

  will understand if I’m not dressed to the hilt for this meeting.

  After all, he’s just coming by to see the area for the nursery

  and pick up the financial statement that needs to be filed with

  my application.”

  Lightning flashed behind her, and she shot a quick glance

  at the window. With her thumbs hooked in her back pockets,

  she rose up on her tiptoes and swayed. Rebecca rocked like

  that while trying to think. Only Rebecca usually braced her

  fists on her hips because she didn’t have the pockets to hold on

  to.

  As he took her in from the top of her head to the tip of her

  toes, he was ashamed to admit that this woman made his heart

  race and his blood heat like no one he’d ever encountered, not

  even the women he’d visited at the bordellos. And he was sure

  that’s where this woman had come from. Of course, he wouldn’t

  know about her because Rebecca wouldn’t discuss a black

  sheep relative with him. She also wouldn’t let such a relative

  into her home unless it was under duress. So what had this

  woman done to force Rebecca to take her in?

  “You and the other lady were discussing some journals.

  May I ask where you found them and what was written in

  them?” he asked with more casualness than he felt. Had she

  somehow found out about The Keeper journals? Was she

  working with Obadiah? Something inside him told him that

  that was exactly what was going on. She and Obadiah were

  teaming up to steal Luke’s inheritance, and he wasn’t going to

  let that happen.

  She looked relieved by his question. “We found several

  books. My great-great-great-grandfather, Obadiah Berclair

  wrote some of them. He kept one that discussed his father Eli

  and his brother, Saul Berclair. Saul built this house. There are

  several others written by my great-great-aunt, Mary Rebecca

  Berclair, who was my great-great-grandfather Samuel’s favorite

  aunt. That’s who I was named after. I believe there’s even one

  journal written by her sister, my great-great-great-grandmother,

  Catherine.” She held up her hand and counted off the greats as

  if to be sure she put enough in. “They married brothers.”

  She shook her head, looking bemused. . “Finding those

  journals really sent Aunt Lilly on a sniper hunt.”

  Caleb went still. He must be dreaming. This woman talked

  about Rebecca, Saul, Catherine and Obadiah as if they were

  long lost relatives, but that was impossible. Samuel, who was

  Rebecca’s nephew, was only ten-years-old, for heaven’s sake.

  He reached for his saddlebags, and his hand hovered over

  the cracked leather. A corner of his journal protruded from the

  open flap, its edges frayed. What was going on? The journal

  was new!

  For the first time since he regained consciousness, he really

  looked around. Only two of the five furniture pieces were in

  place—the dresser he’d just moved in and the bed.

  Cracks marred the beauty of the hand carved “B’s” on the

  bed’s headboard. The wood no longer showed the texture of

  the grain, but had gone dark. Three white-lace doilies similar

  to the ones he’d watched Rebecca create only a week before

  lay on the matching coverlet in the seat of a rocker he’d never

  seen. The lace looked old and yellowed.

  Caleb closed his eyes. Everything about the room looked

  age-worn and tattered. The wallpaper didn’t even have the same

  design. The dresser, which he’d lovingly wiped with the final

  coat of linseed oil only this morning, had a dull, uncared-for

  finish.

  “I’ve got work to do,” Becci said, turning back to the

  window she’d been trying to close when he first saw her. “You

  just sit there and rest until you’re feeling better.”

  Caleb wasn’t about to rest. He was going to find Rebecca

  and learn what was going on. He pushed himself to his feet,

  picked up his hat and saddlebags from the floor and laid them

  on the rocker. He would retrieve his belongings and go looking

  for Rebecca after he put the dresser into its proper place.

  He rubbed his hand over the tight muscles at the back of

  his neck and studied the once beautiful scrollwork he’d labored

  over so hard. He could do nothing to restore its beauty.

  Confused by how the furniture had changed in just a matter

  of minutes, he decided to ignore the problem for now and take

  care of the immediate one, which was protecting Rebecca’s

  bedroom from the rain. He walked over to the window and

  edged Becci out of the way.

  “I won’t let you or Obadiah steal Luke’s inheritance,” he

  said as he shoved the window down.

  Becci caught his shirtsleeve and whirled him around. Caleb

  stared at the hand that rested on his arm and faced her. Concern

  flared in her eyes.

  “What inheritance?” she whispered.

  “This house, of course,” he replied.

  Four

  Caleb glanced at the hand resting on his arm. Her touch

  felt real. He let his gaze trail up her arm to her well-rounded

  bosom. The small piece of fabric she wore showed every

  rounded contour.

  Heat scorched his cheeks, and he quickly turned his back

  to her only to come face–to-face with her image in the cracked

  mirror. Damn it, he didn’t know where to look.

  “What inheritance?” Becci asked again.

  “Nothing. G-gold, maybe?” He swallowed hard, forced

  his thoughts away from the woman’s body, and locked his eyes

  with hers. If she didn’t know about the gold Rebecca had

  hoarded or the orichalc medallion, it wasn’t his place to tell

  her. The gold belonged to Rebecca. And according to Rebecca,

  he was the keeper of the medallion until Luke came of age. He

  knew the rules, knew its powers, but Rebecca would decide

  who inherited Berclair Manor and its contents.

  “There is no gold or, as Lilly prefers to call it, orichalc,”

  Becci said. “We have antiques and this old house that’s

  mortgaged through the roof. That’s all.”

  Smiling, Becci caught her braid, gave it a sharp tug and

  flipped it over her shoulder. “I’m tired of all these stories about

  something that doesn’t exist and probably never did.”

  Caleb’s breath caught, and he snapped his gaze back to

  the window. The hazy reflection in the glass only made him

  want to look at the real person standing beside him. Even

  blurred, he could tell that her smile made her eyes sparkle,

  which added to her appeal. He’d bet his horse that she had her

  pick of the men who visited her work place.

  “We also have six journals.”

  “Journals?” Caleb repeated. He cast a quick glance in her

  direction then forced himself to turn away again.

  “Yep. They tumbled right into our laps last month while

  we were going through some of the junk in the shed. One of

  the tables literally fell from the top of the mess, dumping the

  box of journals at our feet.”

&
nbsp; Becci frowned. Did she have remnants of her lunch between

  her teeth or something? The man acted as if he couldn’t stand

  to look her in the eye.

  “Did Aunt Lilly hire you to look for the treasure that’s

  supposedly hidden in the house? Well, it doesn’t exist. And

  please look at me while I’m talking to you.”

  She planted her hands on her hips and rocked up on her

  toes. “I want to be sure you understand completely. I’m not

  paying you to go on a treasure hunt. I’m paying you to bring

  the furniture from the shed to the upstairs before Mr. Latham

  arrives. Understand?”

  Caleb swallowed hard. He’d thought she just didn’t realize

  her effect on him, but at her demand for him to “look at her,”

  he knew better. He scanned the room for something to cover

  the woman.

  She might not care who saw her body, but as long as she

  remained under Rebecca’s roof she would not display herself

  for his benefit.

  “Ma’am, would you please cover yourself while I’m in the

  room?” Without waiting for her answer, he crossed to the bed

  and jerked off the spread.

  “I’ve never met your Aunt Lilly,” he said, draping the

  coverlet over her shoulders. “At least not before she

  administered to me just now.”

  He caught one of her hands and pressed it against the loose

  ends. He let his fingertips brush the back of her hand as he

  reluctantly pulled away.

  “You said one of the tables broke.” He waved his hand

  toward the dresser. “Does it match this bed and dresser?”

  He couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t concentrate. Even with

  the coverlet wrapped around her shoulders, the memory of her

  pale, bare midriff flooded his mind.

  “This is ridiculous.” She raked her free hand through the

  bangs curling over her forehead. “Of course it does. The

  bedroom furniture are the only pieces that lasted. Whoever made

  them knew his trade.”

  “Yeah.” Caleb felt a surge of pride followed by concern.

  Why had Rebecca removed the other pieces? Had they changed,

  too? Had the linseed oil he’d used done this damage and

  Rebecca just didn’t want to tell him? He ran his hand over the

  side of the dresser.

  “If you’ll show me where the rest of the furniture is, I’ll

  get back to work.”

  “Did your fainting spell cause your mind to go blank, too?

  The rest of the furniture is in the same place you found the

  dresser.”

  Caleb frowned.

  Becci rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and expelled a

  hard breath. “We stored everything in the shed while we painted

  the nursery and office,” she explained.

  “Shed?”

  “Are you sure you’re up to the job?” She heard the concern

  in her own voice. The man looked healthy, but he had just

  passed out. She ruled out his having anything major wrong

  with him. After all, he’d just moved the dresser up the stairs.

  Lightning flashed again. Becci glanced at the window and

  mentally counted off the seconds while she waited for the

  rumble of thunder. Two. Not far away at all. According to the

  weather forecast, the small shower preceded a raging storm

  that was due to arrive within the hour.

  “I’m fine,” Caleb said, pulling her back to their

  conversation.

  He reached out, as if he wanted to touch her, but his hand

  never reached her cheek. A half smile tipped one corner of his

  mouth as he slowly lowered his hand. She should move. She

  should tell him not to even think about touching her, but the

  thought of his touch sent a tingle from her toes to her lips.

  Would his kiss create the same rippling effect? Heaven help

  her, what had brought that thought to mind?

  He stepped back, and the fluttery sensations inside her

  ebbed away.

  Her common sense shouted for her anger to flame, but what

  she felt bordered on…disappointment? Yes, disappointment

  at not receiving the kiss her mind had conjured up. Becci

  expelled a breath and decided to ignore both emotions. Neither

  would help the situation.

  “I hope you’re worth your wages. I don’t have money to

  waste.” She knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t seem

  to help herself. The man was having such a strange effect on

  her. Instead of apologizing, she flung the spread toward the

  bed and walked out of the room.

  She stopped at the door and turned to stare at the man. She

  wanted to ask his name, but his actions stopped her. What in

  the world was he doing?

  Caleb brushed one finger over the door frame before his

  gaze collided with the woman’s. She didn’t appear to have been

  harmed when she went through the door. He arched one brow

  and caught the doorknob, glancing at the room. It still looked

  basically the same, yet different. The dresser and bed both

  looked…old.

  Rebecca told him the medallion could transport people

  through time, and he hadn’t believed her. But that’s what this

  felt like. He gave a wry shake of his head. This had to be a

  dream. Dreams often felt real until a person woke up.

  If he went into the hall, would it cause him to wake up?

  Whether it did or not, he couldn’t stay in Rebecca’s bedroom.

  It wasn’t proper. Besides he had to find Jacobs and make sure

  he understood that he could stay with him in the barn for the

  night. He didn’t like the idea, but he couldn’t send the drunk

  back to town in a raging storm.

  As he prepared to step through the doorway, Caleb kept

  his eyes on the woman. Resting one hand on each side of the

  door frame, he walked through the entrance. A tingling sensation

  pulsed around him. Not the painful prickles of before, but a

  gentle throb. He would ask Rebecca if what had happened

  earlier had something to do with the orichalc medallion.

  The woman called Becci remained in front of him.

  Disappointment mixed with excitement and fear. This was a

  dream, so why hadn’t he awakened from it?

  The woman headed for the stairs. “We need to get going,

  Mr…I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” she said, stopping at

  the top of the staircase to look back at him.

  Caleb shrugged. “My name is Caleb Harrison.”

  Becci paused, her fingers tightening around the handrail,

  and she turned to scowl at him. “Aunt Lilly put you up to this.

  I know she did. Don’t you even think about trying to trick me

  into believing you’re from the past.”

  Without giving the man a chance to answer, Becci pivoted

  and ran down the first flight of stairs. At the landing, she stopped

  and glanced over her shoulder, watching the stranger start down.

  “What is your name?”

  “Caleb Harrison,” he repeated.

  “Listen, mister, I don’t know why Aunt Lilly put you up to

  this charade. But if you insist on taking the name of one of the

  characters my namesake, the original Mary Rebecca Berclair,

  wrote about, I’d rather you did
n’t choose the one who murdered

  her, even if that murder did happen more than a hundred and

  sixty years ago.”

  “M...murdered?”

  The shock she saw reflected in his expression looked

  genuine. It was the same kind of look she’d seen at the hospital

  when friends and family learned of a loved one’s death.

  Recalling the journals’ claims that the orichalc coin let people

  travel through time, she felt an eerie shiver climb up her spine.

  He couldn’t be the real Caleb Harrison, could he? No.

  Impossible.

  Pain gnawed at Caleb’s heart. Rebecca’s dead? He caught

  the banister and stared down at the woman on the landing below.

  The image of Jacobs holding the blood-soaked knife flashed

  through his mind. Did Jacobs kill Rebecca? Did he kill Luke?

  But if he had, how would this woman know about Rebecca’s

  death without him knowing about it, too?

  “You’re lying. Rebecca’s not dead. She and Luke are

  waiting for me in the parlor.”

  Caleb glanced past Becci to the sitting room’s entrance,

  and then he let his gaze scan the old portraits that lined the

  stairwell. There were unfamiliar portraits that he hadn’t seen

  before, and he felt a fluttering of panic as Becci’s words

  replayed in his mind. She’d said the original Mary Rebecca

  Berclair had been murdered more than a hundred and sixty

  years ago.

  Again, the image of Jacobs with the bloody knife flashed

  through his mind. Had the drunk killed Rebecca and come

  upstairs to kill him, too? Was he actually dead instead of

  dreaming? But if he had died, and Jacobs had killed him, why

  had Jacobs come with him in this dream or nightmare or

  whatever it was? Although illogical, was Rebecca’s claim that

  the medallion could transport a person through time true?

  Caleb sucked in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. For

  the first time, he let himself believe in the possibility of time

  travel because he couldn’t let himself believe that Rebecca and

  Luke were dead and lost to him. He had to get back to them,

  but he couldn’t leave Jacobs behind. If the drunk had harmed

  either Rebecca or Luke, he would make sure he paid the price.

  Finding Jacobs came first, and then he’d find his way back

  to Rebecca and Luke. When a voice inside whispered that he

  was too late, he refused to listen. Rebecca and Luke were alive