Buried Sins

by Marta Perry

  “Andrea, Rachel—” She choked up before she could say anything else.

  “Don’t argue.” Rachel carried her bundles to the kitchen. “We have the makings of a first-class pajama party—brie, crackers, fruit, my special panini sandwiches, hot chocolate and marshmallows, the works.”

  Andrea grinned. “Doesn’t sound remotely like any pajama party food I can remember.”

  “Well, I trust our palates are a little more sophisticated now.” Rachel moved from stove to countertop to refrigerator as if she were perfectly at home. Maybe, for Rachel, any kitchen was home.

  “I hope Tyler knows what a treasure he’s getting.” She crossed to the breakfast bar.

  Andrea followed her. “She reminds him with every meal. I’m sure when Cal faces one of my meals, fresh from the deli, he thinks he’s married the wrong sister.”

  “I had first shot at Cal, you’ll remember, and he never got past looking at me as a little sister.” Rachel turned the heat on under the hot chocolate pot and slapped a fry pan onto the front burner. “He took one look at Andrea and he was a goner.”

  Andrea’s smile was tender and reminiscent. “He didn’t act that way. Spent most of his time yelling at me for one thing or another, as I recall.”

  “He adores you, and you know it.” Caro looked from Andrea to Rachel. “You’re lucky, you know. Both of you, to find such good men.”

  Andrea gave her a quick hug. “Baby, it’s going to happen for you, too. Just because Tony turned out to be a jerk—”

  Rachel made a soft murmur of dissent, but Andrea shrugged that off.

  “Don’t give me that look, Rach. We all know the man was a con artist if not something worse, and Caroline deserves way better than that.” She glanced at Caro’s face. “Okay? Or would you like to slug me?”

  That surprised a laugh out of her. “Tact isn’t your strong suit, is it? But you’re right. It’s just taken me a while to accept.”

  Rachel turned a sandwich. “I can understand that. It’s one thing to accept something intellectually, but another to really get it in the heart.”

  Caro could almost feel the tension drain out of her. “How did I get two such wise older sisters?”

  “It took us a while.” Andrea’s expression grew serious. “We let you down. We know that now. We were both so eager to get away from Mom that we didn’t think about what it was going to be like for you, left alone with her.”

  Tears welled in Caro’s eyes. It was far more than she’d ever expected to hear from Andrea, who was always so sure of herself. “It’s okay.” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “Really.”

  “Okay, enough serious stuff.” Rachel slid plates in front of them, then turned back to get the platter of brie, grapes and crackers. “Wrap yourself around that, and I guarantee you’ll feel better. Prosciutto, goat cheese, roasted red peppers, sautéed mushrooms—”

  “And your secret sauce?” Andrea teased.

  Caro took a bite, the flavors exploding in her mouth. “Wow, Rachel. This is prize-winning food. You’re right. This would bring a dying man back from the brink for one more bite.”

  “Oops, almost forgot.” Andrea turned to scrabble through her bag. “I brought something that’s going to cheer you up almost as much as Rachel’s food.” She put a sheaf of fax papers onto the countertop. “My Internet research paid off faster than even I expected. I found a family historian in Boston who is writing a history of Elizabeth’s family. And—wait for it—he actually had some of Elizabeth’s letters written to her sister from Pennsylvania.”

  Caro put down her sandwich. “You’re kidding! How on earth did you find him that fast?”

  “Genealogy sites.” Andrea smiled, a little smugly. “You’d be amazed at what’s out there, and most of the serious researchers are eager to share. He faxed these when I promised to send him photos of the quilt and any additional information we find.”

  “Hurry, look at them,” Rachel urged. “Andrea wouldn’t let me get even a peek. She said you had to be first.”

  Caro bent over the faxed sheets, deciphering the faint, faded script. It had become easier since she’d been reading the letters from Elizabeth’s sister, and she was able to go through them fairly quickly, reading out pertinent bits to her sisters.

  “Listen to this.” She frowned at the page. “She says, ‘I have completed the quilt according to the pastor’s instructions, and I eagerly await the first opportunity to put it out.’ That’s a little odd, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe she just means to use it,” Rachel said, scooping up melted brie with a cracker.

  “Could be.” But something was niggling at the back of Caro’s mind—something she’d read or heard, that had to do with quilts.

  “Listen to this one.” Andrea had picked up another of the sheets. “This really is odd. She says, ‘Thank you, my dear sister, for your concern. I am upheld by your prayers. As you say, this venture can be dangerous, but when I think of the perils of those we help, our dangers are nothing. If only I could be sure who to trust. A Friend was taken into custody two nights ago, and all are praying for him and questioning who could have betrayed him.’”

  “Wow,” Rachel said again. “I always pictured women of those days living a pretty quiet life. Sounds like Elizabeth had something more serious on her plate. I wonder what it was.”

  “Well, my new genealogy friend promised me more letters in a few days, so maybe the answer will be there.” Andrea looked toward the stove. “Are you going to give us some of that hot chocolate, or just let it steam away over there?”

  “Goodness, I forgot.” Rachel scrambled to get the hot chocolate served up, along with a shoofly pie that she said was Emma’s contribution to the party.

  Between the food and the lively chatter her sisters put up, Caroline realized to her surprise that she actually wasn’t worrying any longer. She had a new life, and plenty of new things to occupy her mind. With so much support, she’d get through this dark time.

  They cleaned up together, chattering in a way she couldn’t remember since they’d been children. Her sisters had grown into women to be proud of. Andrea, so smart and efficient, but with a new softness about her since she’d come back home and met Cal. And gentle Rachel—there was strength behind that gentleness that surprised her.

  What did they think of how she’d turned out? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She’d certainly made more than her share of mistakes.

  They finally settled in front of the fireplace with refills of hot chocolate. “I guess we should have asked your friend to join us,” Rachel said. “But she went out to dinner, and I didn’t like to interfere with her plans.”

  “You mean you thought she’d put a damper on the party,” Andrea said, smiling.

  “It’s just as well,” Caro interceded. “I don’t think Francine is the pajama-party type.” And Francine certainly didn’t have to tell Caroline where she was going for the evening, although she was a little surprised that she hadn’t.

  “It was nice of her to come here to support you,” Rachel said.

  “It was. She’s bravely doing without her gourmet coffee for the sake of being here for me.”

  “I did manage to fix some hazelnut this morning that she said wasn’t half-bad.” Rachel’s grin said that she wasn’t offended.

  Andrea stretched. “Look at the time. I’d better get some sleep. I’m supposed to meet with a new client in the morning.”

  Caro was about to say that they could go and sleep in their own beds when the noise came. Rachel froze, half into her sleeping bag, and stared at the back wall—the one the connected to the barn. “Did you hear that?”

  “How could you help but hear it?” Andrea demanded. “Somebody knocked something over. Sounds like your vandals are back, Caro.” She was already dialing her cell phone. “Cal, there’s someone in the barn. Yes, all right. We will, just hurry.”

  She snapped the phone shut. “Cal says to stay inside and keep the door locked. He’s on
his way, and he’s calling Zach.”

  When Caro would have moved, Rachel grabbed her. “It’s all right. They’ll be right here. Cal was staying in the house tonight. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

  “I don’t have a couple of minutes.” Caroline pulled free and headed for the door, seized by a compulsion she didn’t really understand. “I can’t wait. Don’t you see? The quilt is in there. Vandals—” Words failed her, but the pictures filled her mind—some ignorant kids slashing at the quilt, stretched on its frame, throwing paint at it—

  She reached the door and grabbed the flashlight that hung next to it. Barney, excited, jumped at her heels, barking. “I’ll be all right. I’ll take Barney—”

  “We’ll all go.” Andrea coolly pulled a poker from the fireplace rack. “It’s our history, too.”

  “Right.” Rachel rushed to the kitchen and returned brandishing the fry pan. “Let me at them.”

  Caro’s fear was swept away by the desire to laugh. “All right. Let’s go.”

  She opened the door. Barney ran ahead of them, barking wildly. How they must look, running after the dog in the dark. The fear she’d felt the night before in the woods was a distant memory. She could take on anything with her sisters behind her.

  They rounded the corner of the barn. Barney gave a fierce bark, followed by snarling and snapping, and a man’s frightened cry. She swung the torch’s beam wildly, trying to focus on the melee.

  The dark figure—was it the man from last night?—tore free of the dog and started to run.

  But there was no place to run. The police car surged down the lane, siren wailing, just as Cal, breathing hard, burst out of the path from the house.

  The man froze, caught in the converging beams of the headlights and the torch. Zach got out of the police car and came toward him.

  “Out kind of late, aren’t you, Mayor?”

  The man turned, full into Caro’s light. Keith Morris stood there, and in his arms was the antique quilt.

  Zach led Keith to a straight-backed chair in the barn apartment and planted him in it, none too gently. In his opinion, Keith should be sitting in the police station right now, but he’d given in, partly because of Keith’s frantic appeals to be allowed to explain, but mostly because Caroline said she wanted to hear him. After what she’d been through, she deserved to hear.

  At the moment Caroline and Rachel had spread the quilt on the table and were going over it, stitch by stitch, to be sure it hadn’t come to any harm. Andrea had given up her poker, a little reluctantly, and now sat in the corner on the sofa, her husband’s arm around her.

  “Okay, Keith.” He frowned down at Churchville’s mayor. “Let’s have an explanation. Breaking and entering, theft—those are plenty serious charges.”

  “No, no, you can’t arrest me.” Sweat broke out on Keith’s forehead, and his gaze swiveled from side to side and settled on Caroline. “You have to believe me. I just wanted a look at the quilt, that’s all. I wanted to know what you had before I made an offer. But then I heard the dog barking, and I ran without thinking.”

  “You expect us to buy that? You could have come to Caroline anytime and asked to see the quilt if you were interested in buying.”

  “He already saw it,” Caroline said. “He offered to buy it.”

  “I…I hardly got more than a glimpse then.” Keith looked at him and quickly away. “I mean, I thought the price would go up if I showed too much interest—she’d already turned me down once.”

  “If all you wanted was to look at it, why did you take it out of the frame?” Andrea leaned forward, apparently unable to stay out of it any longer. “You were trying to steal it.”

  Keith shied away from the words. “I couldn’t help it. I mean, it was my mother.” He looked up at Zach again. “You know what she’s like. She’s so proud of being the final authority on things historical in the area, proud of her ancestors being First Proprietors, going back to William Penn and all that. She couldn’t take the idea that someone might have something of more historical significance than she does.” He sat up straighter, apparently gaining confidence from this line of argument, which just might be closer to the truth.

  “So you decided to steal the quilt for her?” He let skepticism weigh his voice.

  “Not steal, no. I thought if I showed it to her, maybe she’d decide it wasn’t that great and lose interest. Or if not, I’d return it, come to Caroline, make her a fair offer. I thought I’d have it back before anyone even knew it was missing. You don’t want to arrest me for that. Think of the ugly publicity.”

  That was the wrong argument to use on him. In his book, no one was above the law. Maybe it would be tough to go up against the Morris family, but—

  “That’s not why your mother wants the quilt.” Caroline walked toward Keith, her gaze fixed on him.

  Zach took a sidestep that put his body between them, shocked by the wave of protectiveness that surged through him. “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t veer from her focus on Keith, and she spoke to him as if there were no one else there. “You don’t know what we found out. We already had Elizabeth’s letter from her sister. Now we have copies of the ones she wrote.”

  Zach shot a glance toward Andrea, who seemed like the one most likely to give him a sensible explanation.

  “The Elizabeth Unger who made the quilt,” she said. She turned her attention back on her sister. “Go on, Caro. What did you figure out?”

  “Elizabeth talked about making the quilt according to the directions she’d been sent. About putting it out for its first use. About a Friend being betrayed and arrested, and how their courage was nothing to that of the people they were trying to help.” She turned toward the others then, her eyes alight with excitement. “Don’t you see? I remember reading about it—some scholars believe that quilts were used as signals on the Underground Railroad, guiding escaping slaves to safe houses.”

  “This area was one of the major routes.” Everyone knew that. There was even a historical tour of Underground Railroad sites.

  “Elizabeth was a perfect person to get involved—deeply religious, coming from Boston, which was a center for the abolitionist movement.” Caroline went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “The Friend she talked about…the word was capitalized because she literally meant Friend, one of the local Quakers who were part of the network. She said someone in the area betrayed him to the slavecatchers.” She swung back on Keith. “That’s what your mother didn’t want me to find out.”

  He’d become so involved in her story that he’d almost forgotten about Keith. Now he saw that the man’s face had blanched.

  “What about it, Keith? Time to stop dancing around the truth.”

  “One of your mother’s prized ancestors was the traitor. That’s it, isn’t it?” Andrea was on her feet now, shaking off her husband’s restraining arm. “You’re trying to save your family reputation.”

  Keith shook his head helplessly, sagging in the chair. “Mother knew the family stories about it. When she heard about the quilt, heard that Caroline was going to display it, was looking into the history—she thought it was all going to come out. She wouldn’t let me alone about it. She said I had to destroy the quilt, make it look like vandals had broken in, anything. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it.”

  Zach planted his hands on his hips. “And what about the rest of it? Breaking into this apartment, forcing Caroline’s car off the road last night.”

  Cal cleared his throat, the sound breaking through Zach’s fury. “Much as I hate to sound like the attorney I used to be, Chief, don’t you think you ought to caution him before he answers that question?”

  The words restored his common sense. He was appalled at himself. He was letting his feelings for Caro get in the way of his duty.

  He reached for Keith’s arm. “Come on. Let’s continue this down at headquarters.”

  “No, no, don’t.” Keith shrank away from him. “I don’t need an attorney. I
didn’t do anything else, I swear it. I heard about her troubles, but it wasn’t me. And I couldn’t have done anything last night—you should know that. I was at the town council meeting. It went on until nearly eleven. The council members will tell you. I was there the whole time.”

  “I won’t press charges.”

  The quiet statement had him swiveling toward Caro. “What are you talking about? He’s admitted it.”

  “But he didn’t do the other things. I never thought he did.”

  No, she wouldn’t have believed it could be that easy. Besides, she believed Tony was still alive. “We caught him red-handed running away with that quilt in his arms.”

  “We got it back. There’s no harm done.” For a moment she looked ready to burst into tears. “I don’t want the trouble it would cause.”

  “That’s not an excuse for not doing your duty.” Now it was as if they were the only two people in the room. She knew how he felt about duty. And why.

  “Your duty. Not mine.” She looked immeasurably tired. “If I don’t press charges, you can’t arrest him, can you?”

  “No. He can’t.” Keith straightened. “I’m very grateful, Caroline. I hope you won’t—”

  “That’s not all.” Now it was Rachel. He’d always thought her the gentle one of the sisters, but at the moment she had fire in her eyes. “There’s a condition to not pressing charges.”

  Zach’s gaze crossed with Cal’s. Cal gave a rueful shrug. “I suggest both of us contract temporary deafness. Whatever she’s going to propose, we shouldn’t hear.”

  That was probably good advice, but he couldn’t pretend none of this ever happened.

  “You resign.” Rachel said, the tone of her voice allowing no wiggle room. “It’s in the paper tomorrow, or we press charges. And you and your mother walk on eggshells around us from now on. No more tricks, no gossip, nothing.”

  “I agree. Anything. Everything.” Keith was practically babbling in his efforts to get this over with. “I’ll do it.”