by Lily Cahill
The fact was, $88 just wasn’t enough to safely leave. Maybe they could do it on $150, but she was nowhere near even that. How long would it take to earn the rest? If she picked up an extra odd job or two and tried to cut back on their expenses it might go faster. She could mend her dresses to make them last longer, and let the hem out on Bethany’s for at least another year. They didn’t really need bologna every week, did they? Butch would complain, but she could cut that back to once a month and can some jelly from the berries this summer for sandwiches. It wasn’t him paying for it.
And perhaps she’d have better luck finding more work in town now that a few people had trusted her with some of their mending and baking. When she’d first tried after graduation, almost no one would even speak to her—not with her father’s reputation staining her last name. Those who hadn’t slammed the door in her face had laughed in it instead. But now … perhaps it was worth trying again. If she had steady work, her savings would grow so much faster.
She couldn’t concentrate any longer. Cora stood and wiped her wet hands down the front of her dress. She needed to feel the money in her hands, to verify the exact amount. It was a ritual that always comforted her when she was feeling anxious about her plans. She glanced around the yard to be sure no one was watching, then went to the east corner of the house and knelt down. There was a loose board at the back where she had been stashing all her treasures since she was a child.
The money would be safer in a bank, but that wasn’t possible. The day Cora had turned eighteen, she’d foolishly put on her best dress and walked into Briggs Bank—the only bank in town—hoping to set up an account for herself, but they refused to do business with her. In fact, they’d threatened to call the police if she didn’t leave the premises. Cora’s face still grew hot at the shame of the memory.
She pulled the board aside from the house and reached for her tin. Right away, she knew something was wrong. It felt too light. There was no clink of coins inside at all. She tore the lid back.
It was empty.
Her stomach went weak.
No. Please, please, no.
That was all she had. That was everything. Without it, they’d be stuck here forever. Who had taken it? How had they even known where it was?
Just then, the three men sauntered out of the house. She straightened quickly out of habit, trying to conceal the hiding spot. Then she realized she was looking at the most likely culprit.
She marched toward Butch. “Where’s my money? What did you do with it?”
Butch grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cora could see the lie in that smile. Sure as day, he was the one who had stolen from her.
“You do know. Give it back. Or so help me God, I’ll—”
Butch grabbed her arm. “You’ll what?”
Cora punched at him, but his fist was quicker than hers. Before she made contact, he had both of her wrists held tightly in just one of his meaty fists.
Tears stung her eyes as she struggled against him, but her efforts were useless. He was built strong, just like their father—bull-chested and over six feet tall to her scrawny five-foot-six. “You can’t just take it. You can’t. That’s everything I had.”
“It’s stealing from the family is what it is,” Huck said.
Ralph stood at Butch’s side, gawping at them all.
“It wasn’t stealing. I earned every penny of that money.”
“And who owns the roof over your head? Who put the clothes on your back?”
Clothes from five years ago, Cora wanted to say. And a house my mother inherited from her grandparents. Huck hadn’t had much to contribute to the family coffers for a very long time. And since he’d been saddled with paying restitution for the Briggs memorial, it had become nothing at all.
“You should be grateful I don’t throw your sorry ass out onto the street. From now on, if you want to live here, you’ll pay your fair share in rent.”
Cora couldn’t believe what he was saying. The anger in her heart bubbled over. “I do everything for you. I cook and clean and buy all the groceries. I take care of Bethany and work myself sick trying to make ends meet. I’m not paying you a dime for rent. It’s you who should be paying me.”
Huck turned to Butch, still holding Cora by the wrists. “I think she needs to learn a little lesson, don’t you?”
Butch smirked. He dragged Cora over to the laundry tub and shoved her head into the water.
Cora gasped for air as he pulled her back up, dripping and soapy and humiliated.
“You don’t steal from your family,” Huck said.
“I didn’t steal,” Cora spat back at him.
“Again,” Huck said, and Butch dunked her again.
When Cora surfaced, she saw Bethany running toward her from the wild field behind the house, chokecherries bouncing from her apron.
“Cora!” Bethany screamed.
“Go away,” Cora ordered, barely able to speak but terrified Bethany would get involved.
Bethany hesitated where she stood.
“Scoot!” Huck yelled, and she ran back into the brush, tears running down her cheeks. Cora let out a sigh of relief.
“You ready to admit to what you did?” Huck asked.
“I did nothing wrong. And unless you want to cook your own dinner and clean your own sheets, I suggest you tell your empty-headed goon to let me go.”
Butch shoved her head under water without being told. And this time he held her there.
Cora wasn’t prepared for it. There was no air in her lungs. But no matter how hard she thrashed, Butch held her under. It was everything she could do not to inhale.
She wished with all her might she had the strength to fight him. Wished she could take the tub and toss the water in his face and show him what soap tasted like.
All of a sudden there was a whoosh and the water in the laundry tub flew past her face.
Backward.
Behind her.
Onto Butch.
He released her wrists with a howl. “What the—how did …,” he sputtered. “What the hell did you just do?”
Cora didn’t know.
All she knew was that she wanted it to happen. She wanted it to happen and it did happen.
She stood in front of Butch, shivering and tongue-tied. Ralph’s laughter broke the silence.
“Looks to me like she got one over on you, Butch,” Ralph said. “Your sister’s a spunky one. I like that in a woman.”
“Shut the hell up, Ralph. This ain’t about you.”
A shiny black ’49 Mercury drove up in front of the house, and they all turned to look. Danny sat behind the wheel. He was Butch’s age, a mechanic and a greaser that had been hanging out with Butch and Ralph since they were kids. His little sister, Ella, was Bethany’s best friend. He honked the horn in irritation.
“You guys comin’ to the bar or what?” Danny asked.
Huck spit on the ground, then met Cora’s eye and patted his pocket. “First round’s on me, boys. What do you say?”
“Hell yes,” Ralph said, and turned to the car with Huck.
Butch looked from Cora to the car and back.
“This ain’t over,” Butch said before turning away. “I promise you that.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Clayton
Dr. Porter hovered over Clayton as he sat in bed, checking his pulse and temperature. He had only woken moments ago, and the haze was still clearing from his mind.
“Cora. Where’s Cora?” he asked.
“Cora?” Dr. Porter asked.
Clayton lifted himself up on his elbows, his thoughts clearing. “The Murphy girl. Is she okay?” He had to know. The guilt was like a rock in his gut.
The young doctor looked at him curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“I, ah,” Clayton said, suddenly realizing how strange it was for him to be asking after a Murphy. “I just saw her. Before that thing. That fog. She looked … she didn’t look well.”
“Miss M
urphy went home with her sister just an hour ago. She seemed to be in excellent health.”
Relief washed over Clayton’s face, but he tried to make his voice sound calm and unconcerned when he said, “Good. That’s good to hear.”
The curtain slid open and his parents entered.
“Oh, thank God,” his mother said, kneeling by her son’s bedside. Florence Briggs was usually dressed impeccably, but today she wore plain black cigarette pants and a tousled blouse. Her hair was hidden behind a chiffon scarf and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“It’s okay, Mother,” Clayton said, squeezing her hand. “I’m fine.”
His father, Lowell, placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder. He was a tall man with a commanding presence. Clayton had never seen his father cry, but as he cleared his throat, Clayton knew it was to fight back tears.
“It’s good to see your strength recovered,” Lowell said. Clayton could see that even those few words took effort. His heart swelled in his chest. Maybe there was a chance to repair things with the old man after all.
“Thanks, Pop.”
“Meg and Will are okay, too,” Florence said. “Will woke up a few hours ago and is with Meg now.”
Clayton’s mind was reeling. Will and Meg had been ill? It felt like he’d woken up in a different world. He didn’t even know where he was.
But as he looked around, he realized he did, in fact, know. He recognized the tin tiles on the ceiling, the rich wood floors, the large emblem past the now-pulled-back hospital curtain. This was the town hall. There were hospital beds in the town hall.
Just as he had the thought, two uniformed officers—Army? Marines?—marched past, like their presence was completely normal in the small mountain town.
“Can someone please tell me what happened?” he asked.
Only a few short hours later, Clayton and Will stepped through the door of the Victorian mansion their family called home, having finally been cleared for release by Dr. Pinkerton.
Their father and mother were there to greet them—standing underneath a banner that read, WELCOME HOME, DEAR BOYS. There were streamers hung from the ornate ceiling and fresh flowers everywhere. Artie Shaw was playing on the record player. And from the smell of it, the kitchen was bursting with all their favorite foods.
Florence was now dressed in her usual elegant attire—a full-skirted floral cocktail dress that shimmered in shades of aqua and grass green. Her hair was styled perfectly and her makeup applied. It was as if she’d been on a long, restful vacation instead of busy putting together the little celebration that had greeted them when they walked through the door.
“Mother, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Clayton said.
“Really. We’re fine,” Will added.
She kissed Clayton on the cheek, then Will. Clayton suspected it was to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. “I know, but I can’t turn down a good excuse for a party.” It was her way. Florence was a woman who celebrated life. Clayton had always felt closer to her, more similar. Just as Will and his father seemed to share a special bond.
Florence winked at him, and Clayton tried not to see the true meaning behind her words: how scared she had really been when both of her boys and her future daughter-in-law had gotten so ill. He resolved to try and make her forget it had ever happened.
“In that case, you owe me a dance,” he said, taking his mother by the hand and spinning her around in the middle of the grand front hall. She laughed, and soon she was cutting a rug with him to “Back Bay Shuffle.”
He spun her out and shimmied, twisting his steps as he drew her back toward him, smiling.
“What is that?” Florence laughed. “I certainly didn’t teach you to dance like that.”
“The bop,” Clayton smiled. “I learned it at school.”
“It sounds like something you’d do in a fight,” Florence said. She was a good sport, though, and tried to mimic his movements—her face flushed and happy. “Looks like it, too.”
“You dance like a banking man,” Lowell said with a booming laugh.
“Hardy-har-har,” Clayton said. “You’re all just jealous.”
There was a knock and Will opened the front door.
“You didn’t tell me there would be dancing,” someone laughed. Clayton looked up from his movements as Meg joined them.
“That’s not dancing,” Will said. “I don’t know what that is.”
“I want to learn,” Meg said.
Will grinned and took her by the hand.
Soon they were all dancing—even Clayton’s father—switching the women between them and having a good laugh. At one point their beloved old cook, Mrs. Dunder, poked her head in to see what time they’d be ready to eat and his father pulled her into a waltz.
“Mr. Briggs,” she chided, laughing. “Let me be. I’ve a sauce on in the kitchen.”
“This is how you dance, boy. Learn from the best.”
He dipped poor Mrs. Dunder and made her cheeks flush bright pink.
“Oh, now!” she said when he pulled her back up, clearly flustered. “My old bones can’t handle moves like that anymore. And you should very well know it.”
Clayton was glad for all the merriment. Even though he hadn’t been aware of most of the last three days, he still felt the effects of being cooped up for all that time. He wasn’t a person who liked to sit still for too long, but every note from the radio, and every footfall that followed, made it seem more and more like he’d never been ill at all.
Clayton’s father pulled him aside before they settled in to eat.
“You’re a good man, son,” his father said.
Again, Clayton had the sense his father was holding back more emotion than he was willing to show.
“I know I’ve been tough on you lately. But after everything that’s happened, well, I wouldn’t want to regret …,” his voice trailed off.
Hope sprouted in Clayton’s chest. Was he really saying what Clayton thought he was?
Lowell put a hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Why don’t we call this a fresh start? Wipe the slate clean. For both of us.”
Clayton met his father’s eye, and it was his turn to bear himself up this time. “That sounds like a great idea, Pop. I won’t let you down.”
Lowell nodded once and that was that. He had always been an economical man. They joined the rest of the family at the long, formal dining table, Clayton still reeling from their talk.
A second chance. His father was giving him a second chance. He’d be damned if he was going to ruin this one too.
The table was covered with food—twice as much as anyone could eat—both Clayton’s and Will’s favorites.
Will leaned in to speak to him as the ladies chatted about plans for Will and Meg’s upcoming wedding.
“Some people are saying the fog was a natural disaster—some sort of rupture of an underground air pocket,” Will said. “But I don’t know.”
“No one knows what it was yet,” their father piped in. “That’s why the Army is here to investigate.”
“Charlie said his uncle thought it might be some leftover weapon at old Fort Austen,” Will said. “Something that wasn’t shut down properly and leaked. Might be why they’re being so quiet about it.”
“That’s pure speculation,” Lowell said. “What do you expect them to do? Announce every little finding to the whole town? Everyone I’ve spoken to from the government has been nothing but forthright. They seem just as perplexed as the rest of us.”
“Dr. Pinkerton seems to have his money on a Soviet attack,” Clayton offered. “I overheard him talking about it.”
“Even better reason for the officials to stay mum,” Lowell said.
“It seems plausible,” Will said. “But why here? Why us?”
“Maybe they thought the Army base was still active. Maybe they’re working off old intelligence,” Clayton said.
“Could be,” Will agreed, though his voice seemed thick with worry.
“It’s sobering to think they could get that close.” Will glanced over at Meg, and Clayton could see his concern for her in all this.
“Did anyone see where it came from?” Clayton asked.
“It seemed to start on Mt. Desolation, then spread from there,” Lowell said.
“Yes. Meg and I were just about to cross Lover’s Bridge when we saw it. Everyone thought it was some sort of entertainment for the festival. By the time we realized, it was too late to run.”
“Oh, boys,” Meg said cheerfully. “Haven’t we had enough of this disaster to last a lifetime?”
“Yes,” Florence chimed in. “Please stop discussing such awful matters at the dinner table.”
“Of course, darling,” Will said to Meg. He reached across the table to squeeze her hand.
“Besides, I’d much rather hear about what happened at the festival beforehand,” Meg said with a mischievous grin as she turned to Clayton. “Lucy told me she spotted you crossing Lover’s Bridge with a young lady. But she wasn’t close enough to see who it was. Evie said she thought it was Cora Murphy, but of course I told her that was impossible.”
From the head of the table, Lowell snorted, “Quite impossible.”
Clayton tensed. Was the truce with his father destined to end so quickly?
“I’ve been dying to solve the mystery ever since,” Meg prodded. “Who was she? Should we be planning a double wedding?”
“A mysterious woman? Have you been keeping secrets from us, Clayton?” Florence asked.
“It’s really not that interesting,” Clayton said, trying to shut down their conversation. It didn’t work.
“Oh, please. I heard they made it all the way across,” Meg said, eyes dancing. “And we all know what that means, don’t we, darling?”
There was a light in Will’s eyes as he looked at Meg. He’d proposed six years ago, shortly after the two had crossed successfully for the first time themselves.
Clayton balled his fist under the table, trying to decide how best to handle this.
“Just give me a name,” Meg begged. “Or how am I supposed to show my face to the girls? They expect me to have all the latest gossip on the most eligible bachelor in town.”
“Him? The most eligible bachelor?” Will teased. “That can’t possibly be true.”