The Man from Shadow Valley

by Regan Forest

  No wonder she felt so protected whenever he was with her. No wonder she had walked the streets of Shadow Valley and felt different, even felt people reacting in a different way. It wasn’t her. It was him.

  Ellen pushed the journal back into the cone of light and scanned the yellowed pages. “It gets harder and harder to read. This is a day-to-day account of injustice and Iris’s desperate attempt to get someone to help her.” She turned more pages. “Oh, no!”

  “What is it?”

  “This rotten nephew had Iris evicted! Can you imagine? A dying woman and her little girl evicted! Iris is saying that before she leaves, she is going to hide what proof she has left of her marriage inside this house. She has written a prayer on the last page that someone will find it and learn the truth. I can scarcely read the prayer, the handwriting is so weak.” She turned to the last page and the end of the prayer. A cry of alarm came from her throat.

  Cody moved closer—an instantaneous protective reflex—and his arm came around her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  It was a struggle to find her voice. She held out the book. “Look... Iris’s signature on the final page. Iris Montrose Whitfield!”

  “Montrose?” Cody scratched his head. “Montrose?”

  “How can it be...? Cody! My great-grandmother was named Mary Helen! Could it be that Iris—that the ghost—is the mother of that same Mary Helen?”

  “If her maiden name was Montrose, yeah, it could very well be.”

  Ellen’s mind reeled. Could it also be that the ghost came to me in my dreams to lead me here because I am her great-great-granddaughter? No, it was crazy! Yet her great-grandmother’s name was Mary Helen!

  Cody uncrossed his legs and rose, leaving the flashlight casting its flare like a small dagger on the dusty floor. “This could mean that Carolyn Meullar isn’t the rightful heir to Whitfield mansion. You are.”

  “It couldn’t be.... Things like that just don’t happen....” In the arrow of light, Ellen’s hands trembled over the ribbon of the box that held all that was left of a young girl’s dreams—a wedding dress. She imagined the day Iris Montrose wore it, with joy and hope for a sparkling future.

  Ellen clutched the old diary to her chest and dissolved into tears.

  She felt Cody’s hand on her shoulder. “Honey, let’s go. We’re going to take the case with us. Everything else in the house might legally belong to Carolyn Meullar, but this sure as hell doesn’t. These documents need to be looked at more closely.”

  Night had closed in; darkness sat thick and heavy in the mansion. Careful that the flashlight beam not show in any of the windows, Cody led her down the flights of stairs, holding her arm and carrying the leather suitcase. The basement was as black as a cave. He helped her climb outside, handed up the case, and followed, closing the window.

  Buster materialized out of a clump of weeds. He had been amusing himself chasing field mice while he waited for Cody. Ellen was glad for this friendly reminder of what life had been before she entered the mansion tonight. She was grateful Cody had driven his car, because most of the strength had drained out of her body. Her legs had gone numb from the shock, and the last thing she wanted to do was pick her way home through the dark of a moonless night, even with Buster as a scout.

  “I don’t want to go home,” she said. “I can’t bear the dreariness of Pebble Street tonight, thinking about the generations of my family—all the women of my family—who lived there and never got away, even when they tried.”

  Cody nodded in understanding and headed toward the radio station. “I have a show to do in an hour. We’ll find something to drink and a snack, and you can make yourself comfortable in my luxury digs while I entertain the thriving metropolis of Shadow Valley.”

  Ellen thought of his sexy deep voice coming over the airwaves and experienced a surge of pride. “Everyone does listen to you,” she said. “They talk about the program changes.”

  “I wonder how many have noticed my continuing semisubtle endeavor to change their musical tastes.”

  She laughed. “You’re bringing class to this old mountain town.”

  “Damn right.” He grinned. “Just like you do. Two pebbles polished into gemstones.” As they turned onto the main thoroughfare and drove under the streetlights, he turned to her. “We’re going to investigate this thing.”

  His words caused a rumble more of fear than excitement; she wasn’t sure why. Fear of hoping? Fear of it being true? “Oh, but Cody, this happened nearly a century ago. All these people are long dead.”

  “Iris Montrose is still living in the mansion. Still hoping to find vindication.”

  Maybe this, too, is a dream, she thought, reaching over to touch his arm. “Promise me secrecy. Any inquiries we make must be done carefully. It wouldn’t do for people all over town to start saying I’m trying to claim I’m an heir to the mansion. The story is just too far-fetched. And if Iris couldn’t get help then, when she actually was Lawrence Whitfield’s living wife, what chance would there be for a distant heir? If I even am her heir?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. For one thing, scheming Roger is long dead.”

  Later, while she sat on Cody’s bed with Buster, listening to his live broadcast from the studio down the hall, Ellen remembered her grandfather’s family Bible. Dog-eared and limp, it had been passed down for generations. Family births and deaths had been recorded in that Bible, possibly as far back as her grandfather’s grandmother. In fact, she realized, this was where she had heard of Mary Helen Montrose. Her name was in the family Bible.

  They got out the Bible when he took her home after the broadcast. Ellen would not stay the night at his station apartment; people would notice and the town would talk. Even if she would soon be away from here forever, she refused to give them anything to gossip about. And it wouldn’t be so good for Cody, either, even though he didn’t seem to care.

  Anyway, she had to get up early and work on the dresses. It felt wonderful to be away from the truck stop, putting her own talents to use. Her cherished career had actually begun to take shape.

  It was a night of little sleep. She hadn’t wanted to let on to Cody how truly rattled she was about this strange turn of events. Mary Helen had apparently not even been allowed to retain the Whitfield name, but in the Bible someone had marked a W. after the entry of her name.

  * * *

  BY THE END OF THE WEEK, all the evidence was in the hands of an attorney. A search for public records had turned up nothing. They had only the accusation of an ill and bitter woman that could never be verified. Iris’s journal might be true, the attorney said, but there was no way of proving it after so many years. He assured them that no case could be opened. The matter could get no further.

  Ellen hid her disappointment the way she had learned to hide so many of her feelings. She hadn’t dared hope, anyway. After all, her dreams had been of a magnificent house; this one was run-down. Her destination couldn’t ever have been a haunted, neglected place; her destination was a career of dazzling success.

  “You never really believed it could be, did you?” Cody asked, as they sat at lunch in the Silver Nugget.

  She shook her head and smiled. “Me own a mansion? Well, if I ever do, it won’t be a dusty, weed-grown one.” As she said it, something tugged at her heart. The house, like Iris Whitfield, deserved a better fate. It was like a living thing to her and, yes, she would have given anything if it had been hers, whether she ever admitted it or not.

  A chain of events that happened during the following week jolted Ellen, and reminded her of her private determination to escape Shadow Valley. On Tuesday, Cody learned from one of the town council members that an offer had been accepted on the mansion from a buyer in Denver who planned to convert it to a hotel. The news hit Ellen hard—that this should be the final chapter in the struggle of Iris Montrose Whitfield to claim her rightful home. The mansion seemed doomed never to be a home to anyone again.

  This news was bad enough. Even worse was what happen
ed on Wednesday night.

  Cody had stayed late at her house on Tuesday, languishing in bed drinking Burgundy wine, and when they had made love, Ellen’s heart kept crying that she could never leave him; she loved him too much. For days she had known that she was lingering because Cody was here. Her confused heart didn’t know how to explain it to her equally confused head.

  At her insistence, he had not slept over, but left her to the reality of the silent empty house on Pebble Street and her plans to rise very early to finish Doreen Engleson’s dress.

  Around nine the next morning, she was carefully ironing the last seams when Jed Mortimer phoned from the truck-stop café.

  “Can you do me a big favor, Ellen? Can you come in to work? I’m short of help the next two nights because Millie is off to a cousin’s wedding in Estes. I haven’t found a replacement for you yet. It’s not gonna be easy.”

  It would be hard to say no after all the favors Jed had done for her over the years, even though Ellen had made all the emotional disconnections from her identity as a waitress at a truck stop. It would cut into her deadline for completing the two other dresses. It would also be an excuse to prolong making her plans for leaving, at least for a couple more days.

  “Okay,” she heard herself say. “The usual shift?”

  “Yeah. I appreciate this.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Ellen looked over the gown; it was as superb as she’d envisioned. Doreen Engleson would be very pleased.

  * * *

  DOREEN WAS PLEASED to the point of raving. Cody had volunteered to take Ellen in his car to deliver the gown so she wouldn’t have to carry it. He sat outside and waited until Ellen bounced out with a check in her hands.

  “The honorable mayor’s wife is ecstatic,” Ellen said, getting into his car.

  “You knew she’d be happy. You have an amazing talent.”

  “I know. I really do know. The other dresses I’m commissioned for will be stunning, too.”

  Cody looked at his watch as he drove toward the town’s business district. It was nearly one-thirty. “Do you want me to drop you at the café?”

  “No, I want to deposit this check, and I know you need to get to work yourself. I’ll stop at the bank and walk from there.”

  He pulled up in front of the bank building. “I’ll meet you when you get off, then. Around eleven?”

  “Thanks.” Ellen smiled and squeezed his hand. “See you then.”

  * * *

  IT STARTED OUT AS AN ordinary evening at the Blue Spruce. Customers were talking about the unusually warm weather. The atmosphere began to change when Harvey Altman walked in.

  When he saw Ellen, the heavily built local trucker adjusted his brimmed cap and grinned. “Well, look who’s back. Hail the princess.”

  If Millie had been here, Ellen could have refused to wait on Harvey, but tonight there was no choice. The best she could do as a way of protest was to keep him waiting. When she did walk to his table, she handed him the menu, avoiding his gaze.

  “They said you quit.”

  “Why would you care, one way or the other?”

  “Hey! For the last seven years you’ve been the prettiest part of this place—a fixture, like. Then all of a—”

  Not wanting to hear what else the man had to say, Ellen interrupted, “I’ll be back to take your order,” and turned on her heel. Her reactions to Harvey Altman were familiar; he had been giving her a hard time since they were kids at school. Millie insisted Altman acted that way because he’d had a crush on Ellen for years and she wouldn’t give him so much as a smile.

  Taking an order while deflecting snide or suggestive comments was a skill Ellen had perfected long ago. Altman had something on his mind, but he wasn’t about to get a chance to say it. Not a man to allow a woman to get the better of him, Altman sat sulking in the booth for more than an hour while Cody’s voice and Cody’s music filled the room. Twice, Ellen turned up the radio.

  As the hour grew later, the customers thinned out. Altman waved for more coffee—his sixth refill. When she took too long to bring it, he yelled across the room, “Hey, Pebble Princess! You gonna bring my coffee or not?”

  The other customers turned to look. Fuming, Ellen lifted the coffeepot from the burner, wishing she could pour it over Altman’s greasy head. While she filled his mug he grinned. “Jed said you quit. What happened? Did your good-lookin’ meal ticket dump you for a society gal and send you packin’? Found out what side of the tracks is what in this town, did he? After he had his bit of fun, though—according to what people are sayin’.”

  Ellen continued to ignore him until she saw that Harvey’s eyes had fixed themselves on something behind her, and the eyes were staring, dumbfounded.

  She whirled around. Cody!

  15

  ELLEN STEPPED BACK in fright. Cody’s face, contorted with rage, explicitly answered her urgent question—and Harvey Altman’s. He had heard everything the trucker had said.

  So deep was her fear of Cody’s wrath, no sound came from her lips when she tried to say his name. Dread mixed with ineffable emotions of another kind, too—the savory anticipation of revenge.

  The silence was terrible and seemed to last forever, but in actuality it was only seconds before Cody reached the table. Every head in the place was turned toward him. “Do you want to repeat what you just said or is it only ladies you insult to their faces?”

  The barely controlled fury in Cody’s voice seemed to have a paralyzing effect on Harvey Altman. Gripping his coffee mug, he opened his mouth and squawked, “I ain’t said nothin’ insulting about you—I was talking about her.... Hell, everybody knows—”

  A strangling sound emitted from his throat as Cody grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Everybody knows what?”

  “Who...who...ach...” Altman’s eyes went wild as he felt himself being lifted from the chair.

  Jed Mortimer came bolting from the kitchen in a panic, yelling, “Hey! Hey! Take it easy!”

  Altman’s words bounced off Cody’s rage like rain off a hot tin roof. The trucker had managed to make him even more furious, if that was possible. Jaw clenched, Cody yanked the other man out of the booth.

  The first blow to Harvey’s jaw sent him reeling backward, crashing into one of the tables. Jed yelled for someone to call the police. Ellen cried out Cody’s name, knowing nothing she said—nothing anyone said—was going to penetrate.

  Harvey sputtered through a mouth full of blood and sprang into self-defense. The large man—taller and broader than Cody—regained his balance and started forward, tossing obscenities, but no one could miss the spark of pure fear in his eyes. Cody’s intense stare was enough to send terror through the veins of everyone who witnessed it. Even Jed drew back in fright.

  Before Harvey could make a decision whether to run or try to defend himself, he was hit with a second blow, and then a third. All the customers were on their feet, moving away from the crashing tables as the big trucker fell backward, scattering chairs. Both hands went up in front of him—a signal for his assailant to stop.

  Instead, Cody moved in closer, grabbed him once again by the jacket collar, and dragged him toward the door. Jed, perspiring, leapt forward to open it. Harvey, like a captured animal, began loudly protesting.

  Outside, under the blinking red neon sign and the post lights of the parking lot, Cody forced the other man against the side of a truck. “You’ve needed to have your mouth shut for you for a long time!” he growled through clenched teeth.

  Altman, having had time to gain his second wind, suddenly pulled free and sent a blow to the side of Cody’s face—a mistake he should not have made.

  By the time the police arrived three minutes later, Cody was standing over a crumpled form on the pavement.

  Joe Garry was first on the scene. “What’s going on?”

  Jed ran toward him, hoping to avoid anything else that would set off Cody’s anger. “It’s just a misunderstanding!”

&
nbsp; Cody wiped his hand across his mouth, stepped over Harvey Altman and said calmly, “Misunderstanding, hell. Harvey was long overdue for a lesson in respect.”

  The other officer, Mark Dickens, who had known Altman for years, helped the groaning man to his feet. Bleeding and bent over in pain, he would not look at Cody.

  “What started it?” Mark asked.

  Cody met the officer’s eyes. “He shot off his mouth.”

  Joe Garry made a survey of the faces in the small crowd. He asked the café owner, “Jed, what about damage to your place? Are you going to press charges?”

  Jed glanced at Ellen, then at Cody—fearfully. “No. No need. It’s minimal damage.”

  This was a relief, but not a surprise to Ellen. It was possible Jed knew more than she thought about what she put up with from the likes of Harvey Altman. She stood back in the shadows, smothered in humiliation, not wanting to call attention to herself and not knowing what to say to Cody. The memory flashed of another time this had happened—years ago when she was eight and he was twelve. It was the same thing then as now—his anger triggered for the same reason. The difference was, he barely knew her then. This time, it was very personal for him.

  Harvey was helped to the police car to be driven to the first-aid station at the hospital. He would know as well as everybody else that word of this fight would be spread all over town by tomorrow. And the reason for it, too.

  The reason for it. The indignity and shame. Ellen fought back the tears that stung behind her eyes. Years of humiliation had come to a head, and in such a horrid way—Cody fighting her battle for her because it had turned out to be his battle, as well. Because of his close association with her. It didn’t matter that he was originally a child of Pebble Street. He wasn’t from Pebble Street now, as far as this damned town was concerned. But she was. She always would be. Even Meredith couldn’t change that.