Maybe there was something in the floor that opened the door. She pressed every knothole, tried to wiggle each plank. Again the search led nowhere. Frustrated, she leaned against the chair rail. It shifted. Startled, she leaped away from the wall and examined what she’d thought was a single piece of wood. It wasn’t. The roughness hid the seam. When she pressed downward on that piece of chair rail, the entire door moved inward a few inches. From there, she could slide it sideways behind the wall.
Anna’s pulse raced.
This was it, the lost treasure.
Like Mr. Carter entering King Tutankhamun’s tomb, she lifted her lamp and looked inside.
Chapter Sixteen
Brandon closed the bookstore and drove to the river. He needed to get away from town so he could think. He parked by the bridge and walked to the center of the span. Below, ice and snow covered the slower pools while the rapids still ran free. Raccoon and deer tracks dotted the banks.
Brandon had been drawn to rivers ever since the war. While soldiers and horses and artillery wallowed in the muck, the rivers flowed free, cleansing the land. In them he’d found hope. To the river he’d gone after the bloodbath in that ruin of a town. There he’d learned that water couldn’t wash away everything.
Today he stared down at the black water edged with snow-covered ice. It burbled and flowed, tumbling on its way to some other place. Just like after the massacre in Europe, it didn’t heal the raw spot in his heart.
His leg ached. His head ached. He’d thought until he couldn’t think any longer. The bank had offered little hope. After Anna stormed out of the bookstore, he’d gone to Dermott Shea, bank manager. The gray-haired yet vital man had politely shaken his hand and ushered him into his office, but when Brandon explained his need for a loan, Mr. Shea’s good humor had vanished.
Brandon replayed the encounter in his head.
“I’ll need to see your profit and loss statement,” Shea said.
Brandon pointed out the obvious. “I’ve only been open a little over a month.”
“Then we’ll take a look at that.”
He knew what the result would be if Shea saw only the current books, so he offered an alternative. “I own the building outright. Perhaps that could serve as collateral.”
Shea steepled his hands, appropriately somber behind his massive walnut desk. “Commercial-property values are low at present.”
That was a polite way of saying Brandon shouldn’t ask for too large a sum.
Brandon hedged, “I need enough to carry me through until the business turns a profit.”
Shea frowned, silent for a long time. At last with a groan, he shifted forward in his chair. “Mr. Landers, has it ever occurred to you that Pearlman might not have a great need for rare books?”
Anna had said the same thing only in much nicer terms. He struggled to find the right words. “I am, that is, I was, going to add a popular-fiction section until I ran short on funds.”
“It seems to me that should have been your first priority.”
Brandon did not like being lectured to by anyone, even his elders, but he clenched his jaw shut so irritation wouldn’t rule his tongue.
“What would be the cost to stock that section?” Shea asked.
“A hundred dollars. Two, if we add children’s books.”
“Two hundred might be doable.” Shea rose and extended his hand in dismissal. “I’ll run it past the board.”
Brandon squirmed. A hundred or two wouldn’t solve his problem. He needed a much larger cash infusion. “It’s not just the collection. Heating, light, employees. Those all figure into the cost. I’d hoped for a bit more, say three thousand.” If he could recoup what he’d spent on Reggie, he should be able to stay in business long enough to attract steady customers.
“Three thousand?” Shea sat down with a thump. “That’s another matter entirely. It will require collateral. I’m not sure your commercial building will be enough to sway the board.” He paused, waiting for Brandon to offer more.
He didn’t. His house would not go on the sacrificial slab.
After a long pause, Shea muttered, “I’ll bring it to the board. Should have an answer for you by Friday.”
Brandon should have been relieved, but he felt like a lead weight had been strapped to his back. Debt. No Landers had ever been in debt, except Reggie of course. Father always bragged how he’d stayed debt-free while others succumbed to bank runs and recessions. Brandon was about to end that legacy.
The only thing that might pull him out of trouble wasn’t even his idea. Anna had persuaded him to add the popular fiction. She’d campaigned for the children’s books. He hadn’t wanted to run an ordinary bookstore. If not for her vision, he had no chance.
He knew he should be grateful, but his pride smarted. No Landers had ever fallen so low. Once the community learned about his financial troubles—and he had no doubt they would—credit would dry up, and he’d be scrambling to put food on the table. If he only had himself to feed, it wouldn’t matter, but he couldn’t let Anna and her mother suffer. In a way, they’d become his family.
So now he stared into the river looking for answers. Had he done the right thing? Would the store rebound? Could he sell enough popular books to repay the loan? Most of all, could he regain Anna’s trust?
An acorn dropped from overhead, hit the railing of the bridge and bounded back onto the plank roadway. Brandon kicked it over the edge.
“Hey, watch it,” came a cry from below. Moments later, a man emerged from under the bridge holding a fishing pole. He had removed his wool cap and was rubbing his head as if the acorn had struck him. Dressed in a thick wool jacket, he was tall and strong. After clearing the bridge overhang, he looked up.
Brandon froze. It was Anna’s brother.
“Oh, it’s you,” Simmons said.
Apparently the day could get worse. “My apologies. I had no idea anyone was under there.”
Simmons scrambled up the bank. “You must not fish much, then. This is the best spot this time of year.”
“Is it?” Brandon had an uncontrollable urge to dip a hook in the icy water. “I haven’t fished in years. Fish still biting?”
“Bit slow today, but I’ve caught my share this winter. You just gotta be patient.”
Patience was not a word that Brandon would have associated with Simmons. He looked back at the water. “Trout?”
“Bass, mostly.”
“That so? Maybe I should see if there’s a pole in the carriage house.”
Brandon realized his gaffe when Simmons drew in his breath sharply. He should never have reminded the man of his kid sister’s housing arrangement. “I guess I should be going.”
Fine snow had begun to sift down, dusting his coat. He took a step toward his car, but Simmons blocked the way. Intentionally or not, Brandon couldn’t tell. He edged toward the center of the bridge, keeping his gaze on Simmons.
The man raised a hand to stop him. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“You.”
Apparently Hendrick Simmons was a man of few words. Brandon waited for him to explain.
Simmons shoved his free hand in a jacket pocket. “You’re all right, a regular fellow.”
Brandon guessed that was a sort of blessing. A lot of good it did when Brandon had just broken Anna’s heart. “Thank you.”
He started toward his car again, but Simmons wasn’t done. “I don’t ever want to hear that you hurt her.”
Too late. Anna’s crestfallen face floated before his eyes. He’d not only hurt her; he’d devastated her. The hand clutching Brandon’s gut twisted even tighter.
* * *
Anna couldn’t see a thing. She moved the lantern farther into the crawl space.
“What
are you doing in there?” The telltale tap of Ma’s cane drew near. “It sounds like you’re rearranging the furniture.”
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Anna called out before she stuck her head into the opening.
The lantern’s soft glow revealed a small room, inky black. The floor was made of wooden planks like the rest of the apartment, but here they hadn’t been planed smooth and varnished. The raw wood bit into her palms.
“What did you find?” Ma had wedged herself around the dresser and spotted the open crawl space.
“I don’t know yet.” She lifted the lantern to scan the ceiling. It was as tall as the bedroom but much narrower. The facing wall was only an arm’s length away and made of stone. The mortar crumbled in places, but it was solid.
“Looks like a storage area,” Ma said.
“Except there’s nothing in here that I can see.”
To her right, the crawl space ended abruptly in another stone wall. To the left was nothing but black, emptiness. The lantern’s light didn’t reach to the end. Maybe the treasure was hidden there. Probably not. It couldn’t be this easy to find, or someone would have discovered it years ago. Nonetheless, Anna had to know.
She wiggled into the crawl space, making sure to keep the lantern ahead of her. Though she could stand, the tight area seemed to squeeze in on her, and she had to fight a moment of panic. The fire last summer had generated the same chest-tightening fear. She’d been in the upper-floor classroom when the wall of flame descended on the school. Whipped by storm winds, smoke soon filled the room. She’d had to help the teacher bring the children out of the classroom, down the stairs and through the narrow hallway to safety. By the time they got out, she’d wheezed and coughed from the smoke.
She leaned against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. This was not the same. There wasn’t any fire. She wasn’t in danger, thankfully, because that splintery plank floor would catch fire in seconds. She was in control. She could leave at any time, but if she did, she’d never know if the lost fortune was hidden here.
Curiosity drove her forward—that and the chance to win over Brandon.
Picking up the lantern, she inched down the length of the room. With every step she examined the lath-and-plaster wall to her left and the stone wall to her right. She tested each plank of flooring to see if it would move. Nothing but dirt, dust and cobwebs, though why spiders would inhabit such a dark space was beyond her.
At last she reached the far end, also constructed of stones mortared together. Not one stone within reach moved, and she didn’t have a stool to check the ones above her head. No gold. No hidden compartment. Maybe Ma was right, and it was just a storage area. But then why hide it behind a dresser and make the mechanism for opening it so difficult? Surely it had been intended to hide something.
Unless the treasure had already been removed, pilfered like most of the pharaohs’ tombs.
Her heart sank. If so, then Brandon was right and there was no fortune to be found. The bookstore would fail. He’d leave Pearlman, and she’d never see him again.
The tightness in her chest worsened. Never see Brandon again? That hurt more than never going to college or failing to unearth a pharaoh’s tomb. She slumped to the floor, the lamp at her side.
When had he got so important to her? Since that evening in the kitchen? Or during their waltz? All she knew was that she couldn’t bear never seeing those gray eyes and dimpled chin again. That night he’d wanted to kiss her. She was sure of it.
How would that feel? She touched her lips. No man had ever kissed her, not romantically, that is. She’d seen kisses in the movies and read about them in the dime novels. She’d longed for just one, but not from just any man. That first kiss had to be special. It had to mean something. It had to come from a man she could love with all her heart—someone like Brandon.
“Mr. Brandon.” Ma’s exclamation sounded far away. “What brings you here?”
Brandon was here?
Anna shot to her feet and, in the process, knocked over the lamp. With horror, she watched the oil spill and the flames shoot across the floor.
“No,” she screamed.
The fire. The school. It was happening again, only this time the flames stood between her and safety.
Chapter Seventeen
Brandon heard Anna scream and bolted into action. This wasn’t a playful cry or even the shriek of seeing a mouse run across the floor. She was terrified.
He crossed the sitting room in few steps, but the chest of drawers blocked the bedroom entrance. He shoved it out of the way and started to push it against the wall until he noticed the crawl space had been opened. Wisps of smoke drifted out of the doorway.
Anna coughed. From inside. What was she doing in there?
He pushed the dresser against the bed and dropped to one knee to get through the crawl-space opening. His shoulders scraped both sides, even when he turned sideways. His leg and foot protested the act of kneeling, but he ignored the pain.
Anna was in danger.
Once he got his upper body inside, he saw the problem. A small fire, caused by a toppled oil lamp, burned across the floor from the stone wall to the plaster one. Anna crouched on the other side of the blaze, her eyes wide.
“Help me!” She panted, hysteria threatening.
Though panic wanted to propel him to her side, that would only put both of them on the wrong side of the blaze.
“Walk toward me,” he urged as evenly as he could.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Just walk through the flames. They won’t hurt you.”
But she didn’t move. She must be too afraid. He’d seen that in battle. A soldier would be all bluster and bravado before a fight, but once the shelling started, he froze, unable to act. Invariably that man fell.
If Anna didn’t act soon, she would be in trouble. There was no other way out of this room.
“I’m right here.” He spoke calmly despite the alarm beating on his eardrums. He balanced on his good knee and held out his arms. “You’ll be fine.”
If possible, her eyes widened farther. “My skirt will catch fire.”
“Not if you jump over the flames.”
She didn’t budge. What was wrong with her? The fire was still tiny. She could easily step over it.
“I can’t,” she sobbed, and he knew she’d never move if he couldn’t persuade her.
“Yes, you can. You can do anything. You’re a brave explorer, just like Mr. Carter.”
Even that didn’t move her.
“It’s just like before,” she wailed.
Of course. The pastor had told him she’d been in a fire. Last summer, was it? She’d survived, but perhaps the scars still ran deep.
No amount of coercion would get her moving. He needed another tactic. He backed out of the crawl space to look for something to put the fire out.
“Where are you going?” Anna cried. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’ll be right back.” He gave her a smile of encouragement before ducking out to survey the bedroom. He could get a pail of water from the washroom or... The rug. It had bunched up when he’d shoved the dresser aside. That should do the trick. He tossed the rag rug into the opening and crawled in after it. The smoke had gathered enough to burn his eyes and throat. Anna crouched near the floor, her apron pressed to her face. Good. At least she had the presence of mind to get low, where the air was better.
At the sound of his reappearance, she lifted her head. “Brandon.” The sound was muffled by the apron and her fear.
“Stay there.”
With one motion, he threw the rug over the fire. The flames sputtered and died, but the searing hot lamp created a bulge that allowed air to creep under the edge of the rug. A tongue of flame licked out from underneath.
“It’s not out,” she shrieked.
Brandon stripped off his coat and threw it over the remaining fire. Within moments, the blaze died, leaving them in darkness. Only the dim light of the opening showed the way out.
“Come here,” he commanded shakily.
She sniffled. “You must think I’m a coward.”
“Not at all.” Brandon fisted his hands to stop their trembling. “You’re the bravest person I know.”
She shuffled toward him but stopped at the smoldering remains of the fire. Her tear-streaked face lifted.
“I’m sorry.” Her words came out in a sob. “Your coat.”
He couldn’t believe she was worried about something so insignificant. “It’s just a coat.”
But she only sobbed harder. “I’ve ruined it. Now you’ll have to buy another. But you don’t have the money.” Each statement came with a gasp for air and a cough. “That’s the last thing I wanted. Oh, Brandon, how can you ever forgive me?”
He didn’t hesitate one second. He pulled her close and led her to the crawl-space entrance, where the air was clean. Only then did he collapse, cradling her against his shoulder. Her hair smelled smoky but still so very much like Anna. Dear Anna, the woman he thought he’d alienated, the one he could never quite get out of his mind. He breathed deeply, letting the smell and feel of her melt into his senses for just a moment.
Then he took her face in his hands and made her look at him. “Now you listen to me, Anna Simmons. All I care about is that you’re safe.”
And he meant it more than he’d ever meant anything in his life.
Her liquid blue eyes pooled with tears. Her lips trembled like flower petals in the wind. And he loved her. Not a passing fancy or crush. He couldn’t imagine a day without her. With her, he could conquer anything.
Her lips formed his name, though nothing sounded, and he could hold back no longer. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and lightly touched his lips to hers. They yielded at once, perhaps from surprise, but then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and returned the kiss with an intensity that took his breath away.
Legacy of Love Page 18