Always Friday

by Jan Hudson

  “I feel awful about leaving Aunt Olivia and your grandmother. They’d counted on coming along to find the treasure. It was to have been a great adventure for them. They were terribly disappointed. We’d been planning our trek for weeks. Maybe we should wait until Aunt Martha’s ankle is healed. I felt so sorry for her standing on the porch with her cane and waving her handkerchief good-bye to us that I almost cried.”

  Dan chortled. “Don’t feel sorry for that cotton-topped scamp. Or for her red-haired cohort.”

  Tess was shocked by Dan’s insensitivity to his grandmother’s pain and told him so.

  Dan merely chuckled. “Did you notice which ankle she had bandaged this morning as she hobbled around so pathetically?”

  Frowning, she pondered for a minute. “The right one, I think.”

  He nodded. “It was. Yesterday it was the left.”

  Tess sat up straight. “That old faker! Why would she do a thing like that?”

  Amused, he said, “I think our relatives are playing Cupid. They’re giving us a few days alone.” He wiggled her fingers playfully and winked at her. “Mind?”

  Tess grinned and looked him up and down lasciviously. “I’ll bite the bullet.”

  Dan threw back his head and laughed.

  Soon they turned off the interstate and on to another highway which would lead them north through LaPorte and Baytown to east Texas. While Dan drove, Tess read the road map spread out over the knees of her jeans and acted as navigator, pointing out various sights along the way. The original map and journal had been left in Galveston, but photocopies of those documents lay in the seat beside her.

  “Where to first?” Dan asked.

  Tess picked up the copy of her treasure map with the seven spots marked in red. Tapping the eraser of her pencil against her chin, she said, “Casey and Marsh Prophet found the seventh one near San Augustine.” She crossed it off. “And we now that the first cache was buried on the property where the house is now.” She made an X through the first spot and chuckled. “Wouldn’t the town’s founding fathers have had a fit if they’d known what was buried on the lot they sold in 1838 for four hundred dollars?”

  “Was that the property Violet’s father deeded to her when she married?”

  “Yes. Actually there were two pieces. The other was a waterfront property where Violet’s husband, James Kirby, built a warehouse for his shipping business.” She marked out another spot. “According to Casey’s journal, her grandparents, Violet and James, recovered the second stash after the Civil War. It was buried on the site of Champ d’Asile, a French settlement on the Trinity River. From what I can find out, Laffite gave the group some assistance and was friendly with the leaders, who were generals exiled after Waterloo, but the settlement wasn’t successful and they abandoned the site a year or two before Laffite left Galveston. Now nobody’s exactly sure where the colony once was.” She looked up and grinned. “Think we should tell them?”

  Dan laughed. “I think it would be wise to leave it alone. Which one is next?”

  “The Cherry Cemetery at Atascosito, near the town of Liberty.”

  “The one where a gravedigger suddenly disappeared and later turned up in San Francisco as a millionaire?” Dan chuckled. “Like your granny Mrs. Prophet, I think we can safely assume that he dug up more than dirt. I wonder who he was digging the grave for?”

  Tess ruffled through the papers beside her and pulled out one. “Zelda Marie Gossett, age seventy-six.” She looked over at Dan, an impish gleam in her eye. Although he was good-naturedly going along with her scheme, she suspected that he was still skeptical. Perhaps validating some of the facts in the old journal would help dispel any lingering doubts. “Why don’t we stop by and check it out? The cemetery is just up the road from the library and museum where Laffite’s journal is displayed. It’s not far.”

  An hour later they were standing in front of a glass case that held the original diary. Tess glanced around to make sure they were alone in the small museum, then pulled a copy of the letter from “Theodore Lucas” out of her leather portfolio.

  “Look,” she whispered, holding the sheet next to the worn volume. “Anybody can see that the handwriting is the same.”

  Dan looked from the letter to the faded pages protected by the glass case, then back to Tess. He smiled and dropped a kiss on her nose. “I believe you, honey.” Lacing his fingers through hers, they wandered to the next display, peering at pictures of Jean Laffite, alias John Lafflin, and family from his later years in St. Louis.

  After they left the building, they drove up the hill to a cemetery shaded by a small grove of trees on a high land rise. They walked slowly among the stones, many weathered and dim, others newer and deeply chiseled.

  As they searched, Tess said, “The man who originally owned his land was a good friend of Laffite’s. I suppose he continued to use this place as a cemetery after Laffite asked to bury ‘one of his men’ on the hill.”

  “Probably.” Dan squatted by an old marker and ran his fingers over the words. “Here it is. Zelda Marie Gossett, born February 10, 1816, died April 18, 1882. Casey Prophet was only six years too late to find the place. I wonder what happened to the original stone that marked the place where he buried the treasure?” He stood, dusted his hands on his jeans, and put his arm around Tess as they both looked down at the ground where a fortune in gold and gems had once been secreted.

  “I don’t know. His description says it was a granite cross with vines and blossoms carved across its surface.”

  Tess slid her arm around Dan’s waist and leaned her head against his shoulder as they stood on the hill and surveyed the gently rolling land below. Only the occasional twitter of birds and the faint buzz of insects in the grass entered the quiet. A fresh spring breeze rose and rustled through the grove of trees, swaying the branches and whispering and hissing among the leaves, as if to tease them with its secrets. It blew over the fields of yellow wildflowers growing in the meadows and moved across the land so that the simple blossoms rippled like a vast, softly waving sea of sunshine.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. “It must have been about this time of year that he was here. He said that, in the springtime, the cross overlooked a yellow sea.” She shivered and Dan hugged her close, running his hands over her arms.

  “Cold?”

  Tess shook her head. “Awed, I think. He must have stood on this very spot almost two hundred years ago. He must have watched the procreators of these very flowers.” She snuggled close to the strong man whose presence warmed her inside and out. “Oh, Dan, I just know we’re going to find the treasure. He meant for us to find it.”

  Dan lifted her face and looked into her eyes. He smiled and brushed a few wind-tossed strands of hair from her face. “I’ve found my treasure.”

  He bent and kissed her with a tenderness that brought tears shimmering to the edge of her lids as they fluttered and closed. She sighed, slipped her arms around his neck, and returned his kiss. Never had any moment been so perfect. Never had anything felt so right.

  * * *

  “Let me handle this,” Dan said out of the side of his mouth as they walked into the records office at the Polk County courthouse.

  As they entered, a middle-aged woman, whose dark brows were arched in a thin line of perpetual surprise, looked up from her sandwich. She smiled and wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. “What can I do for you folks today?”

  Dan smiled and stuck out his hand. “I’m Daniel Friday from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. And this is my wife, Tess.”

  His wife? Tess resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

  The lady took his hand and returned his smile. “Delia Boynton. Assistant County Clerk.” She nodded to Tess.

  “My grandmother is working on our family’s genealogy, and we promised to stop by while we were on our vacation and get some information for her. I hope you can help.” Charm oozed from him.

  The clerk patted the back of her short curls, which were a bright
shade of red somewhere between David Caruso’s and Aunt Olivia’s. “Why, I’ll be happy to do what I can. I’m interested in genealogy myself. What do you need?”

  Out of his pocket, Dan pulled a slip of paper with the information Tess had written on it. “In the eighteen-eighties, a man named Nathan Power owned a farm near the Trinity River. He was a cousin on my great-grandfather Power’s side. We’d like to know where it’s located and if any of the family still owns the property. My grandmother has a diary that her father wrote telling about the beauty of the land there. We promised her that we’d stop by and see it and take some pictures for her.” Dan smiled again.

  Delia smiled back and Tess rolled her eyes heavenward. Dan was spreading it on by the shovelful. But, she had to hand it to him. It seemed to be working.

  The thought that they might be getting close pumped a shot of adrenaline into Tess’s bloodstream that tripped her heartbeat into doubletime and brought a flush of excitement to her face. The Prophets had discovered that the fourth site was on Nathan Power’s farm. After they determined that the loot was buried under Nathan Power’s chicken coop and were about to retrieve it, Power had sicced his dogs on them and the Prophets had left in a hurry. The chicken coop was sure to be gone and the old codger had long since met his maker, but Tess knew where the landmarks were. She crossed her fingers behind her back and made a silent entreaty.

  “Why, sure thing,” Delia said, patting the back of her hair again. “It’s slower than Dish Taylor’s coon hound around here today. Why don’t y’all have some lunch and come back in about two hours? That should give me enough time. I’ll copy everything your granny might like to have for her research, too. Fifty cents a page.”

  They found a little cafe off the square and slid into the red plastic booth. When the waitress brought them water and menus, Tess took a medicine bottle from her purse and shook a tablet into Dan’s hand.

  After he downed it, Dan smiled. “You should have been a nurse.”

  “Not me. I can’t stand the sight of blood.” Looking up from the menu, she said, “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but are you having any trouble with your stomach?”

  He shook his head. “It hasn’t bothered me in a couple of weeks. Taking time off from the company, staying in Galveston . . . being with you, Tess . . . especially being with you”—he took her hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm—”has been the best thing that could have happened to me. Getting sick was worth it. It gave me the chance to meet you.”

  His smile, his touch, his words sent ripples of pleasure over her. Her voice was husky with emotion when she tried to answer. “Dan, I—”

  “You folks ready to order?” The waitress stood poised with a pencil and order pad.

  “Give us another few minutes,” Dan said, releasing Tess’s hand. When the woman left, he asked, “I don’t suppose I could talk you into a greasy, juicy hamburger and french fries, could I?”

  Tess laughed. “Not on your life. I’m thinking more along the lines of macaroni and cheese and green beans.”

  He breathed a long-suffering sigh. “I was afraid of that.”

  They decided on lunch, and when the food was brought, Tess only pushed hers around on the plate.

  “Nervous?” Dan asked.

  “Excited.” She put her fork down. “Maybe ‘antsy’ is a better description. I’ve dreamed of living in that house since I was a little girl. Dan, I can’t explain to you how I feel about it. Obsessed, maybe. It’s always fascinated me, drawn me into a kind of spell as if its rusticated walls are magical. Even as an adult, after I came to realize that it was out of my price range, somewhere inside of me, there has always been a secret longing to have all those gables and towers and wonderfully carved corbels for my very own. I’ve spent hours looking at it, wandering through it, dreaming about it. Does that sound crazy?”

  He reached for her hand and smiled. “Not at all.”

  “I can picture how exquisite it will be when it’s restored. Now, because of a man who was born about the same time as our country, we can make it beautiful.” She squeezed his hand and beamed with bubbling anticipation. “My fantasy is about to come true. I can hardly wait.”

  “Tess— “

  Her smile faded. “Yes?” Her tone was a warning.

  “Eat your squash.”

  * * *

  Tess and Dan stood on the bank staring out over the ninety thousand-acre Lake Livingston, seventy-five square miles of deep, green, murky water. In the distance a speed boat roared across its surface with a skier in tow.

  “Oh, Dan,” Tess wailed, burying her face against his shoulder. “I was hoping Delia Boynton had made a mistake.”

  He rocked her back and forth and patted her back. “I’m sorry, honey, but it looks like Nate Power’s chicken house is in the middle of the lake under fifty feet of water.”

  “How could they do this?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “Progress?”

  An idea occurred to her and she drew back, excited. “We can hire a team of divers.”

  Dan shook his head and kissed her nose. “Sweetheart, the landmarks are gone, too, and all we have is a general idea of which two hundred acres the farm was. It’s impossible.”

  Tess sighed and wiped her eyes. “Damn! And after you paid Delia twenty-three dollars for that stack of deeds and plats and tax roll lists.”

  He smiled and they walked back to the SUV. “Why don’t we drive on to Lufkin, find a motel, and get a fresh start in the morning?”

  “A motel?” She raised an eyebrow. “One room?”

  “One room.”

  Tess laughed. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Sometime after midnight, Dan awoke. He missed the warmth of Tess’s body next to his. His hand searched the empty space of the king-size bed.

  “Tess?”

  “I’m here,” she whispered from the shadows.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” He got up and went to the window where she stood naked, staring out the blinds at the distorted reflection of the motel’s neon sign on the swimming pool.

  “Just thinking, planning. I didn’t mean to wake you. I couldn’t sleep.”

  He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and rubbed his face in the fragrance of her silky hair. “I’m getting used to having you beside me. I miss you when you’re gone.”

  Crossing her arms over his, she absently rubbed his arm.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “Lots of things.”

  “The treasure?”

  She nodded. “I wonder what it will look like and how we’ll dispose of it. The booty the Prophets found in the seventh place near San Augustine was four metal chests full. Some of it was gold coins, some was in gold and silver bars, and some was jewelry and precious stones. If we find gold coins, I imagine that the collector’s value will be greater than the weight-value of the gold.”

  “I imagine.”

  Dan rested his cheek against the crown of her head and savored her sweet scent and the feel of her bare skin against his. His heart ached for her. He knew that the chances of their finding anything after all this time were almost non-existent—even a hundred years ago the Prophets had only been able to recover the goods from one site—but he couldn’t bring himself to dash her hopes. When she talked about the treasure, the look of joyful anticipation on her face was worth all the gold in the world.

  A part of him wanted her to be able to hang on to her dream as long as she could. He understood about dreams.

  But another part of him—the pragmatic part— wanted her to abandon her search before she had to face the pain and reality of coming up empty.

  All he could do was go with her and stand by her and love her enough to ease some of the disappointment she was bound to suffer when the fifth and sixth spots on the map yielded nothing. When this thing was over, and she was finally satisfied that there was no treasure to buy a decrepit castle in Galveston, he would take her back to
Pittsburgh with him. Because of Tess, he’d already stayed longer than the month he’d promised himself. After they were married, he would even build her an exact replica of her beautiful-ugly mansion. Hell, he’d buy the damned thing in Galveston and have it shipped stone by stone to Pennsylvania if that’s what it would take to make her happy. He couldn’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for Tess.

  “Tess?”

  “Hmmmm?” She leaned her head back against his shoulder as he nuzzled the satin-soft skin at the pulse point of her neck.

  “I love you.”

  She turned in his arms and looked up at him. Even in the dim light he could see the beauty of her smile. It bathed the darkness with sunshine and wanned his blood.

  “Dan?”

  “Hmmmm?”

  “I love you, too.”

  Chapter 8

  The clerk at the Angelina County courthouse was busier than Delia but just as helpful. And to Tess’s everlasting relief, as far as they could determine, the area they were looking for this time was not underwater. By early afternoon, they were headed to the fifth spot, located several miles outside of Lufkin, a small town in the Piney Woods of central East Texas.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t ask the lumber company that owns the property for permission to nose around?” Dan asked.

  Tess shook her head. “The clerk said they own acres and acres in that area. I doubt that anyone connected with the company will even know that we’re there.” She checked the journal pages again. “According to Casey’s account, a church had been built on the site a few years before they found it, and when she and Marsh came through looking for the treasure, the community had gathered for a week-long revival meeting after spring planting. Some of the more distant families were camped on the grounds and, since there wasn’t room to dig under the church even if all those people hadn’t been around, they moved on.”

  Dan stared at her in disbelief. “Do you mean for us to crawl under an old church and start digging holes?”