by Ginny Aiken
Olivia’s heart sped up its beat. Perhaps things weren’t quite as dreadful as they’d seemed. Then she remembered the paper she’d held in her hands. “I saw it, Eli. I read what it said, and saw your signature at the bottom.”
“That’s impossible.”
She spread her hands, then shrugged. “I know what I saw.”
He ran rough fingers through his hair. “How could you think I would do such a thing? How could you think I’d go back on my word—a solid agreement—with your father? You know me better than that.”
Pain struck at the heart of her misery. “Perhaps the same way I fail to understand how you would think I tried to ask about this to harm you.”
“That’s different. You’d given me your word.”
“That should have shown you how important my questions were. My word is as good as yours. You should have trusted me.”
“How could I trust anyone? Victoria and her family started out the same way. A question here, a request there. In the end, they stole me blind and left me on the hook for a number of cattle thefts and failed investments. I was betrayed by the woman I’d trusted, the mother of my daughter and son. If I couldn’t trust her, then how do you expect me to trust a virtual stranger? A newcomer into my life?”
Olivia stood tall. “I think you knew from the start that I’m no Victoria, and Papa is no cattle rustler. Comparisons like those are unjust, and plain wrong. You need to learn again the difference between right and wrong.”
“I do know—”
“Please, Eli, hear me out. I know what’s right and wrong before the Lord. I also know the heavenly Father calls me to act when I see a wrong being done. Asking you to spare my family and the others was—is—the right thing to do.”
His shoulders slumped. “Olivia, please. I know what’s right. Throwing folks from their homes in the dead of winter is wrong. I know the difference between one and the other. Besides, I would never break a contract in such an unscrupulous way. If word got out that I engage in such shady dealings, I’d be ruined in no time at all. Everything my father and I worked for all these years would be lost. A banker’s integrity is all he has.”
“A Christian stands before the Lord,” Olivia countered. “I take that seriously. Please know that your trust in me is well-placed. Do the right thing, Eli. Set my folks free from the bondage of fear. Spare them, show them mercy.”
He began to pace. “How can I show someone mercy when I don’t even know what’s been said? I need to make sure an unscrupulous letter is all that was done to them. I won’t stand for trickery or cruelty. You can count on my word.”
“So you suspect the same thing I do. That someone else is guilty.”
“I’m certainly not the one who did any of this.”
“Then hear me out.” She prayed for strength and the right words. “One of your employees must have written the letters. Who would you suspect?”
His eyes pinned her with an unwavering stare. “Not a one of them. Even you mentioned their loyalty.”
“Perhaps a better actor than you think is among them.”
“Even if one of my employees were to fall on difficult times, they know I would never tolerate what you’ve told me. It’s nothing more than a swindle.”
Olivia lifted her chin. “The landowners aren’t the only victims, you know. You’re at risk as well. I hope you understand now why I couldn’t stay silent. I couldn’t let anyone do this to you. I can’t let everyone be destroyed.”
He glanced away. “Could you have your father bring the letter tomorrow night?”
“I’ll get word to him, even if I have to ride to the farm to ask him myself. I know he’s been praying for the opportunity to speak with you since he first received it.”
“Why didn’t he just come to the bank? I’ve never refused to meet a customer. Especially not a decent, honest man like your father.”
“Papa tried, Eli. But you know Mr. Holtwood’s devotion to you. Surely he would fight anyone who tried to disturb you when you’ve asked him to keep customers away.”
Eli lifted a shoulder in a one-sided shrug. “Sometimes a man needs to finish a meeting uninterrupted. Interruptions, no matter how legitimate, do keep me from finishing. Still, Holtwood reschedules in those rare cases. I always welcome my customers.”
“I understand. It’s not anything you’ve done, or anything unusual on Mr. Holtwood’s part that postponed this moment. He did what he usually does, but it kept Papa from speaking with you. Papa had no alternative. The letter told him he had until the thirty-first to pay the mortgage or he must leave.”
With a weariness Olivia hadn’t seen since the injury to his chest, Eli ran a hand over his face. “Let’s not go over the details you know and those I don’t know anymore. We need to see your father’s letter before we say anything further, or do anything else.”
As impatient as Olivia was to have the matter resolved, especially now that she’d managed to bring it into the open, she had to agree he had a point. “You’re right. We’ll wait until Papa brings the letter, and then we can decide on a plan.”
A faint smile lifted the corners of his lips. “We?”
She glared and stalked forward, hands in fists at her sides. “If you, Eli Whitman, think I’m going to fade away after I’ve been so patient about this mess you created with your outlandish agreement, then you, sir, have to find some new thoughts. Here I’ve been trying to protect you and your bank and all you can do is question me—”
“I was only trying to make a joke.” He placed a finger on her lips. “Not the best time, I suppose. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
As always, his touch melted her and sent waves of electricity through her body. The small gesture struck her as the first step back from their argument, but much wasn’t right between them still. Beginning with trust.
She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his hand. “You must understand my need to be there when you and Papa decide what to do about the letter—letters.”
He nodded. “Of course, but there’s nothing more we can say or do tonight. Tomorrow promises to be an exhausting day. It only makes sense for you to get the rest I know you’re going to need.”
She knew sleep the night before a significant event was a matter of common sense, but the strain between them still bothered her. On the other hand, they had made progress. They were speaking again.
“Good night, Eli. You should rest as well. Tomorrow will be an important day for both of us.”
She turned and walked out to the hall, up the stairs, and into her room. Only then did the tears fall.
Chapter 24
As the sun began its glide down the sky toward the horizon on Christmas Eve, light snowflakes began to dust Bountiful with their sugary sparkle. Wearing a new eggplant-colored wool dress, Olivia could scarcely control her excitement… or her apprehension.
On the one hand, she’d anticipated this evening for a long while, devoting hours to prepare her home for the event. On the other hand, since Eli had sent a message to her father that morning, she knew that at some point in the evening they would meet with him. Eli would see the letter that had set off so much trouble.
After that… well, it was anyone’s guess what they would do after that.
When the doorknocker clapped against the brass plate for the first of many times, Olivia hurried to greet her guests. On the way to the door from the dining room, where she’d finished lighting candles, she called out to Eli. “They’ve begun to arrive. I’d like you here with me, especially since I don’t know your railroad officials.”
She waited and, when she heard her husband’s steps on the stairs, she opened the door. The Bowens were the first to show up.
After the woodworking master, others came in a steady stream, including the five somber gentlemen from the railroad. Olivia offered them a warm greeting, took their oh-so-proper black coats and hats, and took the items up to her room. The men struck her as intent on their business and dreadfully dull.
A smile on her face, Olivia chattered with the ladies who’d come, glad for the feminine company at a gathering that would otherwise have been for the men. She joined Eli time and again, trying her best to keep her attention on their four special guests.
Then Mama and Papa appeared. Eli must have seen them the moment Olivia opened the door. He excused himself from the railroad men and joined her, his expression serious, his gaze, as it often appeared, intent.
“Good evening.” He shook hands with Papa, then folded Mama’s wool cloak over his arm. “I hope you don’t think I’m terribly rude, Mr. Moore, if I ask to speak with you right away. Our kitchen’s likely the best place for us to go since our guests are in other rooms.”
“Not at all. I have the letter right here.” Papa patted the pocket of his tobacco-brown suit.
The four of them made their way to the kitchen. There, Cooky and her daughter Kate bustled from table to stove to shelf gathering the platters and trays they would need when they took the food out to serve.
When Olivia closed the kitchen door, Eli held out Mama’s wrap to Kate. “Could you please take Mrs. Moore’s belongings up to Mrs. Whitman’s room?”
She nodded.
“I would also appreciate it if you’d take a few minutes and give us some privacy in here. You, too, Cooky.”
As soon as the two women left, he turned to Papa. “May I see the letter?”
Papa handed it over.
Eli scanned the page.
Olivia held her breath.
Mama prayed.
When he finished, Eli exhaled. But before he could say anything, Papa gave him another fistful of papers. “Here, Mr. Whitman. I gathered some of the other letters. The men I spoke to wanted to thank you for taking the time tonight to give these a look. Everyone knows how important your meetings with the railroad officials are to everyone in Bountiful.”
Eli only nodded.
Although it seemed like an extraordinarily long time to Olivia, the clock atop the kitchen pie safe said it only took her husband seven minutes to skim the papers her father had given him. She couldn’t wait for Eli’s verdict.
Mama took hold of Olivia’s arm, her fingers cold even through the fabric of her sleeve. She began to count the seconds.
“I can assure you of one thing,” he finally said. “I’ve never seen these before. I didn’t sign a single one of them. It is my name and it does look like my handwriting and signature, but I did not write these falsified documents. They’re a good imitation, but, again, it’s not my writing.”
Olivia let out her pent-up breath. “Who could have written them?”
“I have my suspicions, but suspicions aren’t enough to take to Marshal Blair.”
“It is criminal, then.”
Eli nodded. “They’re forgeries. Whoever wrote them has worked with great cunning to swindle these men out of land that’s rightfully theirs. While he’s at it, he has done his best to implicate the bank in his thievery.”
“I only have one more question,” she said. “If the bank forecloses on the mortgages, don’t the deeds come back to the bank? How can the thief profit from that?”
Eli shrugged.
Papa shook his head. “I wouldn’t know.”
“But I will find out.” Eli’s voice left no doubt. “Just like I saw earlier today that a number of files are indeed missing from the bank—Hugh Roberts’s, for one.” He shook his head. “I looked around, asked a few direct questions, and now I can see how Mr. Parham, who is new, wouldn’t know any better. I just don’t know how I didn’t notice the missing paperwork. Of course, I don’t check that material on a daily basis, but what’s gone from the file drawers is substantial, including a number of deeds. Thank you for your patience, Mr. Moore. From what Olivia has told me, you asked her to tell me about this quite a while ago, but I kept her from speaking when I should have encouraged her willingness to help. I’m sorry for my stubbornness.”
Although Eli had spoken to her father, his gaze had pinned Olivia’s. The hope he’d done so much to extinguish over the last two weeks flickered again. She tried to tamp down her enthusiasm, since she didn’t know what Eli meant by his intense stare. She needed to hear his words. And to witness his actions.
She’d have to wait him out.
Papa cleared his throat. “Mr. Whitman, could you indulge me a moment longer, please?”
Eli nodded.
“One of the men who received one of these letters mentioned someone, but the man he accused is someone I can’t see as the culprit. Zealously loyal toward you? Oh, yes. He’s guilty of that. But treachery and criminal acts? No. I can’t see him do that to you.”
Olivia brought the knuckles of her fist up to her mouth to keep a cry from breaking out. Zealously loyal… access to loan papers, account balances, deeds… familiarity with Eli’s handwriting. She knew who it was. She turned to her husband.
“Now that I know you did not write this letter…” Papa paused, as if making up his mind. “When I came to the bank, the same man told me the correspondence should be clear enough, that it must say it all so there was no need for me to speak with you.”
Eli’s jaw tightened. He, even better than she, knew who Papa’s friend had implicated in the crime.
No one spoke the name. No one had to.
“If you’ll excuse us, then.” Mama linked her arm through Papa’s. “Now that we’ve related everything we know, we’ll join the rest of the guests and leave you two alone. I believe you have a great deal to consider. And talk about.”
“One last thing,” Eli said before the Moores left. “Perhaps it goes without saying, but I want no more confusion. As far as your property goes, don’t give the fraudulent notice another thought. We’ll discuss everything at another time—the twenty-sixth, sir, if that’s convenient for you. Rest assured the original terms on the loan stand as they always have, as does what we discussed about the extension. I’ll get word to the other farmers and ranchers as well. In the meantime, please celebrate the evening with us and our guests, and tomorrow enjoy the day of our Lord’s birth.”
“Thank you,” Papa responded, “and I wish you and Olivia a blessed Christmas Day as well.”
Mama dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye.
Papa patted her shoulder, and then turned and extended his hand. The two most important men in Olivia’s life shook on the agreement they’d reaffirmed.
From the corner of the kitchen where the monstrous black iron stove sat, a familiar voice piped up. “It’s good and well past time for these two to do more than mope around this house, it is. Time for the sun to come out and shine right bright for this family again. I’m plumb sick and tired of that kind of tomfoolery, I am.”
Eli turned to the cook. “I gather you slipped back in here without anyone the wiser, and you heard everything we discussed. I would appreciate—”
“Don’t you dare insult me, Mr. Eli Bank President Whitman!” Cooky warned, a ferocious look on her plump, rosy-cheeked face. “I’d far rather chop a finger right off my hand this very minute than go out and flap my tongue about business that’s none of my own. What’s more, if you weren’t so blind and deaf, you’d already know it right well, now wouldn’t you?”
In spite of the gravity of the situation, Olivia couldn’t hold back a laugh. Mama and Papa hurried away, chuckling as well. Once they were gone, Olivia dared a look in Eli’s direction.
A sheepish expression and a ruddy flush on his lean cheeks proved Cooky’s words had struck their mark. Perhaps it was time for her to follow her parents before her humor at her husband’s expense canceled the progress they’d made so far. As she went toward the door, Eli stepped forward to stop her.
“Don’t go yet. I want you to know that I may still pull Holtwood aside tonight. He ow
es me—everyone—an explanation. Depending on those answers, we might need to call the marshal out of the dining room before he’s finished his supper.”
“Why don’t you wait until Cooky and Kate clear the table?” Olivia suggested. “I’ll speak with the marshal, let him know you may need his help.”
At first, she thought Eli would balk, but then, a smile brightened his face. “It may take me a while to get used to it, but I accept your help. Let’s join our guests now, and then scare the snake determined to ruin us out of the patch of grass where he has hidden so well.”
“Don’t forget the farmers,” Olivia added, torn between joy and alarm. “Just like you, they’re targeted to lose everything they own.”
In spite of the revelation of the culprit’s identity, and how great a betrayal it represented, maybe things were about to work out as she’d hoped. Maybe the Lord would answer her prayers for her marriage the way she’d prayed He would as well.
When Eli held out an arm, she slipped hers into the crook of his elbow. Together, they joined their guests for a splendid Christmas Eve soirée.
When the guests had finished the last morsel of apple pie and Cooky and Kate entered the dining room with the handy cart to clear away the china and silverware, Olivia’s gut tightened again. She glanced at Eli, who gave her a quick nod, a tight smile, and that private wink that had disappeared the night of their argument.
A rush of memories and a flood of warmth sped through her and lodged in the vicinity of her heart. Please, God, please! May it be your will.
She stood to look for the marshal, and found him chatting with one of the men from the railroad and Mr. Metcalf, the owner of the Mercantile. Although she hated to interrupt a conversation that could have an impact on the decision about the spur line, she knew she couldn’t stand by and not alert the lawman.
They had a forger… swindler… thief—a crook—to catch.
Standing tall, she approached the trio. “Gentlemen.”
Marshal Blair dipped his head. “What a table you set, Mrs. Whitman. Haven’t eaten that well in a mighty long time.”