by Carol Arens
“They won’t have harmed her, Lils.” Trace knelt beside her and placed his big solid hand on her shoulder.
Apparently he was not going to give up calling her that pet name, and just now she didn’t have the heart to argue the point.
She would not tell him so, but at this very moment it felt good to be his Lils, to know that his strength was there to bolster her.
A loose shutter banged against the side of the building in the wind. Even though the gust didn’t penetrate the thick wall, cold radiated from the stone as though it were a block of ice. Wherever they had taken Bethany, it must be warmer than this.
“Not all clues are seen,” Trace said, standing and drawing her up with a hand under her elbow. “Let’s pay Mrs. Murphy a visit.”
Trace took off his shoes and indicated that Lilleth should do the same. She nodded in understanding and bent to untie the laces. To Mrs. Murphy they were ghosts who could drift about unheard.
In the unlikely event that a fainthearted caregiver was working at this time of night, spectral silence would be crucial.
Trace turned the lantern wick to low. His face took on an eerie glow. Hers would appear just as frightening. They must look like visitors from the underworld.
Lilleth opened Mrs. Murphy’s door. The old woman sat on her bed, gazing out the window, but turned when she heard the squeal of the hinge. She gave them a crinkled smile.
“I was watching you just now. I didn’t know spirits would have to walk all the way across the yard. I thought you could pop in and out at will.”
“We can do that,” Trace answered, while he squatted in front of the fireplace to stir life into the embers of the weak blaze. He placed a log on top and watched while it kindled to life. “But my bride and I enjoy a stroll after dark now and then.”
“How lovely to be newly wed.” Mrs. Murphy’s smile turned inward.
Lilleth sat down on the bed beside her. “We have become concerned about my sister. She is not in her room and it’s been swept bare. Did you hear anything? Any little thing that might help us find where they’ve taken her?”
The old woman’s gaze shifted, her attention returning to the reality of the dank cell she lived in.
“Oh, yes, dearie. I did hear something.” Mrs. Murphy looked at her with clear, sharp eyes. Lilleth was sorry to have yanked her from her vision of happier days, but it couldn’t be helped. “It was the doctor. He came himself this time, and only an hour ago. He and Mrs. Goodhew both. I remarked to myself that it was odd. They never come here after dark.”
“Did they say anything? Any little detail that might tell us where they took her?” Trace asked, still poking at the log.
“If they did, I couldn’t hear it. Mrs. Hanispree was raising quite a fuss.”
Lilleth thought she might be sick. A struggle meant that Bethany could have been harmed.
“Did it sound like they hurt her?” she asked through her tightening throat.
“Don’t you worry about that, missus,” Mrs. Murphy said, patting Lilleth’s hand. “What I heard was the doctor grunt and Nurse Goodhew screech. Mrs. Hanispree got the best of them, she did.”
“Maybe she escaped on her own?” Lilleth said hopefully to Trace, who was now standing and peeking his head around the doorway into the corridor.
“I doubt that,” he said, glancing back inside. “This place is a fortress.”
“That’s certainly true.” Mrs. Murphy shrugged. “The only ones who come and go freely are the ones who have passed on, like you two lovely young shades.”
“They won’t hurt her, Lils. They can’t afford to.”
“If you call me that one more time I won’t be responsible for what I might do!” she snapped, letting her frustration take aim at him. He had to stop this. It was difficult enough to be near the man without him trying to resurrect her affection by calling her Lils.
Mrs. Murphy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Do lovers spat even on the other side? I was so hoping things would be different there, being a place of goodness and love.”
Lilleth felt terrible. Mrs. Murphy looked forward to her journey to the other side with such optimism. It was heartless to dash the frail woman’s hopes in order to express her own annoyance.
“Oh, it is a place of love,” she explained quickly, and patted her hand. “But even there we are human, and sometimes harsh words are spoken. You needn’t worry, though—lovers always kiss and make up.”
“That’s a relief.” Mrs. Murphy smiled brightly at her, then at Trace. “Go ahead, then, kiss and make up.”
“Well, no, not right—”
Before she could protest, Trace stepped forward and drew her up from beside Mrs. Murphy. He braced his arm around her back and tugged her close.
Since there was no way out of this situation without disillusioning the dear old woman, Lilleth lifted her face to allow one chaste, dry kiss.
She ought to have known that would be impossible. This was Trace, and she was, despite the intervening years, his Lils.
She should have pushed away when she felt the first flash of heat roar through her veins. That would have been proper. It would have been wise. But this was the kiss she had imagined forever...her fantasy flaring to red-hot life.
Mrs. Murphy would have no worries about a cold hereafter now.
* * *
Dawn came with heavy clouds breathing down on the earth. Clark sat at his desk and dipped his pen in the ink bottle.
This time, words would not fail him. The telegram to his parents would be short and to the point. Finally, with his feelings settled, his goal determined, he knew what to write.
Lilleth had kissed him. She had kissed him as Trace, not as Clark. In that instant his world had shifted and fallen into place.
Afterward, just as he had expected, she fought what she was so clearly feeling. On the way home through the woods she had seemed as icy as the frozen tree limbs they walked beneath.
Even so, he couldn’t help but sit at his desk grinning at his pen. His imagination flared to life, picturing the ways that he would thaw her. In the end she would be his Lils again. He wrote with a firm, bold hand.
Mother...Father, cannot complete assignment. Have become personally involved. Have broken character. Understand that this will end my career.
Always, your son,
Trace
Postscript: Marrying Lilleth Preston.
* * *
That last would be a shock. Over the years he had been encouraged by one family member or another to forget her. The past was the past and best forgotten, they would preach. That would have been sound advice for most people, but it was different for him. His memory was such that he remembered things most people forgot.
He recalled that little girl in detail. He saw the spark of mischief in her smile, and even today he clearly heard her giggling laugh in his head. What his family could never understand was that the scar of their separation would be with him forever, not just the one on his chest.
With his decision finally made, Trace stood up with a stretch and a grin. He put on his coat and went outside.
One block into the two-block trek to the post office, it started to snow. He caught a drifting flake on his tongue.
He enjoyed the stab of cold on his flesh. It felt fresh, just as life did right now.
It was true that challenges lay ahead of him, but he was not without hope.
Lilleth had kissed him.
He struggled to adjust the weight of the alphabetically layered books in the crook of his arm, because that was what Clark would do, and he couldn’t put the character away just yet. He strode, less than sure-footedly, the last block to the telegraph office.
He sent his wire without the angst he’d thought would go along with such a life-changing decision. Just because he qui
t the family business, something that no one else had ever done, did not mean that his life would be empty.
Just then, the reason that his life would not be empty stepped out of the bakery. Lilleth was bundled against the blustery day in a heavy coat. The wind nipped her cheeks with a pink blush. A few red locks streamed out from under her hat, to bounce and frolic about her face.
Only a thoroughly smitten man would think poetic thoughts of frolicking red curls. If she glanced up and saw him, would she be thinking poetic thoughts, as well?
He stood beside the telegraph office door and watched to see.
* * *
Coming out of the bakery, Lilleth shivered even under her heavy coat. She would have attempted to make flapjacks for the children’s breakfast—they were kin to biscuits, after all—but her thoughts were distracted in so many ways she barely knew how to feel.
She’d lain awake most of the night trying to gather her thoughts into some kind of order.
First, where was Bethany? Lilleth would scream in frustration if she could. Where once there had been only a wood door and a very impressive lock keeping her from her sister, now she did not know where she was. Lilleth prayed one more time that Trace had been right when he said that Alden could not afford to hurt her. That she had been stashed in a fancy room at the asylum that was used to trick families into believing their loved ones were being luxuriously cared for.
Lilleth only hoped that someone had laid a fire in Bethany’s hearth just as Trace had done for each of the inmates last night, before the two of them made the brisk walk home.
One more thing that left her sleepless was that the inmates were not the only ones to have had fires laid in their hearths. Trace had done a fine job of igniting one in hers.
Of all the wicked timing. She couldn’t consider romance while her sister was in peril.
Even though, walking home, she had put on a brilliant show of iciness toward Trace, the truth was that his kiss had claimed her. It had nearly claimed poor Mrs. Murphy, too. The dear soul was looking forward to the other side more eagerly than ever before.
Lilleth couldn’t afford to dwell on her feelings for Trace. But only a born and raised fool would deny that something life-altering had shot between them with that kiss.
Just in case this kettle of turmoil was not enough, she had Alden to consider. There was every chance that he was in Riverwalk. That could be the reason they had moved Bethany. Alden might have an apoplexy if he had to visit the inmate quarters.
Enough time had passed for that squirmy Perryman fellow to have reported to Alden about her and the children. Alden might be watching her from a window or an alley this very moment. The hotel was close to the bakery. She and her bag of quickly cooling pastries would be in full view of anyone caring to look.
All along, she had feared a visit from the marshal. Alden could have easily wired him and had her arrested at any time. Since he hadn’t, it had to mean that he intended to deal with her in a more personal way.
She had met the man only a few times, but in private, Bethany had told her things about him. He was a wicked little man with filth in his heart. Greed was his core value.
With her husband alive, Bethany had had no need to fear him. He had simply been an unpleasant relative to be tolerated on holidays. In her grief, she hadn’t recognized the danger he had become to her and the children.
Frowning, Lilleth glanced behind her at the boardwalk. On this side of the street no one had ventured out into the cold. But on the other side, she saw Trace standing in front of the telegraph office, grinning at her.
She glanced away with an insincere huff.
All of a sudden her heart tripped, stalled, then tripped again.
There was no one staring at her through the hotel window because they were staring at her from the hotel porch.
Two doors down from where Clark stood, Alden Hanispree stared past Perryman’s raised and wagging finger. He looked her in the eye and recognition flared.
It was too late to run. In any case, Perryman knew where to find her—where the children were at this very moment!
She returned their glares, stalling and frantically figuring out how to get the children away before the men could reach them.
She glanced at Trace for half a heartbeat, and in that second saw his expression harden.
He nodded back at her and all of a sudden Clark appeared.
She didn’t stay long enough to see what he would do, but she knew. He would bumble his way down the boardwalk and no doubt bowl them over.
Even with his help, she might not have enough time.
She dashed around the back of the bakery, passed the library and ran up the trail that led through the woods to the cabin.
Maybe she would always love Clark Clarkly, just a little bit.
* * *
Lilleth raced toward the cabin, taking just a moment to glance at the path behind her. She prayed that Trace had been able to keep Alden from following her. She would need ten minutes to get the children out of here and to the lending library.
The library was the logical place to go. It was the only place to go.
Every second mattered, because there was no other trail between here and there. She hiked up her skirt and ran with her head down, forcing her legs faster with each step.
She went down, hitting the frozen ground hard on her hands and knees. The impact jarred all her joints, but she forced the pain from her mind. Already the fall had cost her seconds that might change the fate of her family forever.
Still a hundred feet from the cabin, she began to yell, “Jess...Jess!”
When he opened the door, it was with a frying pan gripped in his fist.
“Put on your shoes and coat,” she rasped, the harsh breathing nearly closing her throat. “Your uncle is on his way here.”
“Holy cats!” Jess exclaimed, leaping away from the doorway as she charged through it.
She snatched Mary off the floor, where she had been playing with her rag doll.
Jess snagged his coat from its peg, shoving his arms inside while he ducked into the bedroom.
Lilleth stuffed Mary into her little jacket, then buttoned the baby up inside her own coat.
All the way home the wind had gained in intensity and the temperature had fallen.
She dashed to the kitchen, put the pretty Wedgwood baby bottle in her pocket, then hurried to the fireplace, where a line of clean diapers was strung to dry. She stuffed those in her other pocket.
“Let’s go, Jess!” She stooped down and grabbed the rag doll off the floor, then put it inside her coat for Mary to hold.
Jess burst out of the blanket wall with his shoes on his feet, but not laced. Something squirmed under his coat. It meowed and poked its orange head from between the buttons.
He dashed past her toward the front door, not pausing as he reached down and scooped the skillet off the floor.
Once outside the cabin, Lilleth considered taking the children off the path and through the woods, where they would be unlikely to encounter Alden. That would take much longer, though, and they could become lost. With the first snowflakes of the storm already falling, she couldn’t risk that.
Mary wailed, probably cold and hungry. Lilleth didn’t try to quiet her. If she met Alden on the path, the baby’s crying would make no difference.
“Run to the library!” she panted.
She was tired, and with the toddler’s extra weight, Lilleth was slowing Jess down. Alone, he might be able to outrun Alden. At least one of the children would be safe.
“Clark will delay your uncle, but I don’t know for how long.”
“Clark?” Jess slowed his sprint to glance back at her. “Auntie, we could stop and have a picnic along the way.”
That might be true. As Clark, Trace coul
d bumble his way through anything...probably.
“Get along!”
Jess turned and dashed ahead of her.
Five minutes later she saw him where the path met the woods behind the library. He was coming back, dragging Trace’s heavy ax on the ground behind him.
“Quick! Into the house.” She plucked the tool from his hand.
He darted forward once more. While she walked backward, she cradled Mary under her coat and dragged the ax over dirty snow left over from the last storm. She did her best to obliterate their footprints.
It seemed a hundred years later that she reached the front porch and went through the door, which Jess had opened.
She said a silent prayer right there on the spot, a thousand times thankful that they had made it and that the door had been unlocked.
Jess put his cat down and took Mary from her arms. Lilleth hurried to lock the doors as the aches of the fall began to set in.
There was no fire in the hearth and she didn’t dare light one. Both Alden and Perryman knew that the librarian was not at home. They were a pathetic pair, but evil-minded and cunning enough to notice smoke coming from a chimney with the librarian not there to light a fire.
Twelve long minutes later a key scratched in the lock and Trace opened the door.
Lilleth rushed to him and he hugged her tight about her shoulders. Jess wrapped his arms about the pair of them.
“I knew you’d come to me,” Trace said.
She leaned into his strength. Just this once, it felt good to be able to depend on someone other than herself.
“Did Alden go to the cabin?”
He nodded.
“How did you hold him off for so long?” Jess asked, his voice brimming with excitement.
“Ah...well, it took a while for them to gain their balance.” Trace grinned down at him. “Then they had to hold my books while I put them back in order. Turns out they didn’t want to borrow any of them, however, even though I showed them picture after picture.”
“I reckon I want to be a librarian when I grow up.” Jess puffed out his slim chest. “One just like Clark.”