Suitor by Design

by Christine Johnson

  Minnie clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop it! Peter is nothing like Reggie Landers. Peter is good and considerate and honest. He always put me first.” She choked back a sob.

  Ruth hugged harder, which only made Minnie feel like bursting into tears.

  Jen, on the other hand, spat, “Why would he do this? It’s totally out of the blue.”

  Minnie sucked in a shuddering breath. She knew why. It was clear as could be. Ruth had said as much earlier. Yesterday Peter asked her to trust him. Instead of doing so, Minnie had thrown his words back in his face and stormed out of the garage. She was the reason. She’d forced him to leave.

  “I don’t know,” Ruth was saying. “We may never know.”

  Minnie couldn’t leave it at that. She had to change Peter’s mind. “I have to go.” She grabbed her coat and threw it over her shoulders, not even taking the time to stick her arms in the sleeves.

  “Go? Where?” Ruth asked.

  Jen understood. “Do it, Minnie! You can stop him!”

  Minnie dashed out the door and raced for the motor garage. Hopefully, she’d get there in time.

  * * *

  This had to be just about the worst day of Peter’s life. His parents died when he was too young to fully understand. Aunt Ursula’s death brought fear. This situation tore him apart. The Simmons family had been so good to him. It was bad enough facing Hendrick’s wrath, but when Anna brought Ma Simmons to the garage a little later, he pretty near broke down.

  Ma took his hand and looked into his eyes. “Is this what you want, Peter?”

  That was all she asked, but it knifed through him. He couldn’t look at her when he nodded.

  He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t ever want to leave. Ma was the best mother since his own. But he couldn’t let them suffer if tonight went wrong. Better they never know. If it turned out better than he figured, then he could come back and beg forgiveness.

  “All right, then,” Ma said with a sigh. “Give me a hug, dear.”

  He stooped low to embrace her. For a second he lingered in her arms like a little boy. “I’ll never forget you.” He pulled away before emotion overcame the tough facade.

  Ma patted his arm. “You’re a good boy. Write to me every Sunday, all right?”

  That was a command, not a suggestion. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And make sure you eat properly. Launder your clothes regularly and stay out of trouble.”

  “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

  “Remember that you always have a home here.” Her pale eyes swam in tears.

  His throat narrowed. “All right, Ma.”

  Anna walked her mother out, but not before giving Peter a scathing glare. He had broken her mother’s heart. He knew that. It hurt him, too, but he didn’t have time to think much about it before Minnie stormed into the garage.

  “There you are.” She plunked her hands on her hips. “Tell me Jen was wrong. Tell me you aren’t taking a job with Vincent Galbini.”

  Peter barely had time to swallow his tears. He sure didn’t want to talk to Minnie. If only he’d waited until late in the day, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Hendrick in the lurch.

  “Well?” she demanded. “Speak up.”

  He lowered his gaze. “I am.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Taking a job with Vince.”

  “You can’t!”

  Her strong reaction made him look up. “Why not? I don’t have ties here. I’m an orphan, remember?”

  She shuddered, as if he had struck her with an arrow. “Not anymore. You’re a Simmons now. You’re part of the family.”

  Her words echoed what Ma had just said, but he couldn’t change course now. “Ma Simmons accepts that a man has to make his way in the world. Why can’t you?”

  “Why?” She hugged her arms tight against her midsection. “Didn’t anything I said yesterday mean a thing to you?”

  She’d more or less said she loved him. Her words had rung over and over in his head. That was why he had to do this.

  He looked away from her. He had to. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I love you.” The soft plea stood in such contrast to her earlier indignation that it nearly undid him.

  He wanted to tell her that he loved her, too. He did. He had for ages and ages. But he couldn’t risk her life for a moment’s indulgence. He took a deep breath and hoped she didn’t hear how ragged it sounded. “I’m sorry. I should have told you then that it would never work.”

  He heard her gasp, heard her step backward. Every cell in his body wanted to run to her, to take her in his arms and hold her forever, but he’d gotten her in too deep. Sheriff Ilsley might not know what that notebook was, but he had a strong suspicion. He’d seen something like that once, when he was running errands to the clubs. It tallied the receipts from gambling and money laundering and other forms of vice. Vincent Galbini was involved in something terrible. Tonight would not end well.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  For some reason, that rallied her. “Don’t be sorry—stay. Don’t you understand? You’re better than all of them by a million miles. Reggie Landers is a cad. Vincent Galbini? Nothing. Less than nothing. Don’t do this, Peter. Don’t leave everyone who loves you.”

  It was more than he could bear, yet he had to do it. He had to hurt her in order to save her. Summoning all his courage, he looked at her. “I’m going, Minnie, and there’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

  The fight went out of her slowly, like a leaky tire deflating. First, the fire died in her eyes. Then the confidence wavered. Lastly, the tears came.

  Throwing her hands at him, she cried, “I hate you,” and ran from the garage.

  Peter collapsed against the Maxwell and wept.

  * * *

  He couldn’t mean it.

  Minnie wiped away the tears and stormed all the way across town to the Grange Hall in the spitting rain. Never work? How could he say that? All this time he’d let her think he cared for her. He’d hounded her, asked her to everything. Then she finally fell for him, and he refused her. How could he? It must be her. She could never choose the right man. Every one of them turned on her.

  One block she fumed. The next she wept. By the time she worked her way back, the drizzle had cooled her temper enough to let her figure out that he must be hiding something from her. She’d seen fear in his eyes. He would barely look at her. His shoulders slumped. This wasn’t a man eager to set off on a new adventure. No, he was doing this for another reason.

  But what? Peter treasured his new family. He wouldn’t hurt them like this without an overpowering reason. Take a job with Vince? Impossible. She hadn’t even heard Vince offer Peter a job. If he had, one of them would have said something. Plus, Peter wouldn’t go on and on about courting her if he’d intended all along to leave town.

  That was why she had to do something.

  Minnie Fox did not quit. Neither did the Peter Simmons she knew and loved. He’d fought and scrapped to stay alive as an orphan. Something else was going on.

  She reached the end of the alley facing the garage. The rain had stopped, and the Maxwell was parked outside now, all shined up and ready to go. Peter walked out of the garage carrying his wood toolbox, his shoulders bowed and his gaze low. She pressed against the cold bricks of the corner building and watched as he opened the car’s rear door and set the toolbox inside. Then he closed the car door and ambled toward Main Street, never once looking up.

  He looked like a man defeated.

  She wanted to run after him to plead her case, but he’d proven unmovable. The time for talk was over. She had to act.

  Again her gaze landed on the Maxwell. He refused to take her along, but he couldn’t object if he didn’t know she was there. The lu
ggage compartment was big enough for a small person—for instance, one determined woman. If Peter Simmons wouldn’t listen to her, maybe Vincent Galbini would. She would put an end to this nonsense about taking a job in Chicago.

  She would stow away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The sun had dropped below the trees before Peter drove out of Pearlman. He parked by the bridge and tugged the telegram from his coat pocket.

  Change of plans, the wire read.

  Arrive at midnight. Stop.

  New route. Stop.

  Vince hadn’t just given him a different route; the new directions took him almost due east instead of south. He wouldn’t leave Michigan at all. Peter had stopped by Sheriff Ilsley’s office, but he and Agent Fallston were already gone. The deputy promised to give them the new directions if either man returned or placed a call to the office. Peter took the time to copy them down for the deputy, but worry dogged him from that moment forward.

  He had thought Agent Fallston was going to tail him. If he and the sheriff were already gone, then they couldn’t. So where were they? Had they gone ahead based on the old directions, or were they waiting for him somewhere? Peter hoped the latter was the case, but no automobile followed him out of town and none passed him at the bridge. For all he knew, Fallston could be on his way to Indiana.

  His palms sweated, and his pulse thrummed. Somehow he’d have to finish this without help.

  Concentrate.

  He had to memorize the directions before it got dark. He didn’t own a flashlight, and Hendrick refused to lend him one. Peter couldn’t blame him. Hendrick thought Peter wasn’t coming back. He sure hoped his foster brother was wrong.

  Peter repeated the directions one more time, trying to visualize every turn of the unfamiliar route. Out of town heading east and then turn right and follow that a short distance. Left and then straight for miles. Right. Left. Left. One after another. Look for a pitchfork in the ditch. Simple enough except in the dark. At least there was a three-quarter moon.

  He put the car in gear and drove over the Green River and away from home. Regret tugged at his heart. If only he’d refused Vince that first day, he wouldn’t be in this mess. If only he hadn’t been swayed by money. He’d thought it would impress Minnie. Instead it had driven her away. After the abominable way he’d treated her today, she’d never forgive him.

  By the time he reached the first turn at the whitewashed silo, darkness had settled in. The road was straight here, cut through flat farmland. With the fields newly turned and planted, nothing blocked his view except for the occasional grove of trees. Peter kept glancing behind, hoping to see the headlamps of another automobile. Once, he spotted some, but the vehicle turned off. If Agent Fallston got the right directions, he was keeping his distance.

  Perspiration beaded on Peter’s upper lip even though the car was icy cold. He’d worn several layers of clothing under his overalls, knowing this would be a long and cold drive, but no amount of clothing could ward off the cold sweats.

  After one last glance, he turned onto the next road. He sure hoped Agent Fallston was coming. He wasn’t sorry to leave the tooth-rattling “corduroy” road. The slabs of wood kept the car from sinking into the mud, but they were rough on the suspension.

  By the time he turned again, he’d left open farmland and plunged into thick woods. The road narrowed, and branches scraped against the car. The ruts grew deeper, and he had to swerve constantly to avoid muddy potholes.

  Still no headlamps behind him.

  He drove past the last turn. Anyone would miss it. The road was so overgrown that Peter doubted it had seen a car since last spring. This couldn’t be right. A man willing to pay good money for a luggage compartment wouldn’t pick up the car in the wilderness. Yet there wasn’t any other place to turn, and he could see the handle of a pitchfork sticking out of the ditch just like the directions said.

  The hair rose on the back of his neck. Heading down this road was sure to lead to trouble. He ought to turn back. Drive anywhere else and abandon the car. He could slip into a boxcar on a train and disappear forever. It was tempting, but that left Minnie in danger. If he didn’t fulfill this delivery, Vince might blame her.

  Regret tasted bitter. Too late to get out. In too deep to ever get the one thing he wanted most

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. God, please help me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s right anymore. I’m sorry for failing You. Take me, if You want, but keep Minnie safe. Please.

  It wasn’t much of a prayer, and he probably didn’t use the right words, but he felt a little better afterward.

  Then he put the car in gear and crept onto the overgrown road.

  * * *

  If Minnie had known she would ride in the luggage compartment, she would have put in thicker padding. Every bump and dip hurt. That ghastly washboard road chattered her teeth, and she accidentally bit her tongue. She braced her hands against the sides so she wouldn’t roll and alert Peter to her presence, but she couldn’t keep it up the entire time. When the road smoothed out for a bit, she relaxed. Then the car would hit a pothole, and she’d get another bruise.

  The compartment was as small as a coffin. She could push up the seat cushion, but there was no place to go. Peter had stopped the car once soon after getting started and again much later, but he didn’t get out either time. The motor was running, but the car wasn’t moving. Was he lost? She lifted the seat cushion just enough to peek out, but that was when the car lurched forward. The cushion bounced up and nearly slid onto the floor. Only a quick grab and a lot of effort prevented disaster.

  He’d nearly discovered her back at the garage. She’d snuck into the car while Hendrick was closing the garage. He and Peter had argued something awful, but she couldn’t make out what either one said. Sometime later, the car door opened and the seat cushion lifted. She froze. It wasn’t dark out yet. Surely Peter would see her.

  Something soft yet heavy struck her on the shoulder. She grabbed what felt like a hard and lumpy pillow. She had to pull it down over her head so Peter didn’t reach into the compartment. Thankfully, he set the seat cushion back in place without noticing her. Then he opened the shallow hidden compartment underneath her and put something in there. What? She was dying of curiosity, but he’d gotten into the driver’s seat, and she had no opportunity to get out and look.

  A deep pothole bounced her against the underside of the seat cushion and then against the floorboards. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a blanket? It was freezing back here. She’d shivered for hours. Surely they must be there by now.

  Almost on cue, the car stopped. This time Peter turned off the motor. They’d arrived.

  Now she had to convince Mr. Galbini not to hire Peter. From inside the compartment, she couldn’t hear anything except the car door slam. That had to be Peter getting out.

  While lying on her side, she pushed up on the seat. It lifted a little before her arm started to ache and she had to give up. This was going to take more than one arm. She wiggled around until she could get a knee and two hands on the bottom of the cushion. Up she pressed. The cushion lifted enough for her to scoot up and push it off the pegs so she could lean it against the seat back.

  Her legs were cramped, and her arms ached, but she managed to crawl to her knees and look around. No one was in the car. Peter’s toolbox was still on the floorboards. The full moon illuminated everything. He’d driven into a wooded area with an old, ramshackle henhouse that looked about ready to fall down. No house. No barn. No sign anyone lived here.

  She could hear voices. It took a minute to spot Vince and Peter near another car. Minnie squinted. It looked like the Pierce-Arrow. Vince was talking to Peter, who kept glancing around nervously.

  This was her moment. She gripped the door handle, opened the door and crawled out. Unfortunately, her le
gs had lost feeling from being cramped up in the compartment, and she stumbled to her knees.

  “Peter!” she called out.

  He whipped around.

  She was met with the sharp sound of guns preparing to fire.

  * * *

  “Minnie? What? How? Why are you here?” Peter stammered.

  Vince eased off his revolver. “It’s all right, boys. I know the gal.”

  The three thugs who’d shown up with Vince reluctantly backed off.

  Peter had the distinct impression they were disappointed not to fire their shotguns. Well, he wasn’t going to give them the chance to get near Minnie. Before Vince could say another word, he rushed to her side and helped her to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

  She jutted out that defiant chin of hers, apparently unfazed by the guns that had just been pointed at her head. “Helping you.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “I can see that,” she said with deserved sarcasm. “You have things completely under control.”

  He ignored the jab. “How did you get here?”

  She gingerly hopped from foot to foot. “The luggage compartment.”

  “What? But I put my clothes in there.”

  “So that’s what that is.”

  Peter raked a hand through his hair. This was bad. Very bad. Vince did not look pleased. Though he’d already said enough to imply he was bootlegging, he hadn’t yet divulged the details. Peter needed that admission in order to turn Vince over to federal agents. Minnie was not only unwittingly ruining that, but she was also in tremendous danger. Vince’s willingness to protect her could end at any moment. Peter wished he’d brought that rifle of the sheriff’s after all.

  Minnie, on the other hand, seemed to grow more confident by the second. “Mr. Galbini. How good to see you again. I hope I can have a word with you.”

  Vince must have been stunned by her forwardness, because he didn’t say a thing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “As you know, Peter is an important member of our community. People rely on him.” Her voice wavered a little. “I rely on him.”