Keeper of the Key

by Barbara Christopher

  “The only reason Caleb kissed me is because I made him angry. Besides, I’m engaged, remember.”

  “Pooh. You might be engaged, but you can’t possible love Michael. Just compare the two. Michael’s lazy. Not Caleb. No siree. Caleb Harrison is one strong man. And I swear, have you ever seen a more handsome man, Mary Rebecca?”

  Becci laughed. “He called me Mary Rebecca, too. Only it didn’t sound as if he meant it as an endearment.”

  “Oh, dear. You weren’t kidding when you said you made him angry. I bet he didn’t raise his voice though, did he?”

  “No. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone speak that soft when angry,” Becci mused.

  “I assumed as much. Rebecca said his voice got soft when his dander got ruffled. Which, according to her, wasn’t often. But when it happened, he would call her by her full name.”

  “How do you know that?” Becci asked, the front legs of her chair coming down with a loud crack.

  “It’s in the journal. I’ll show you.”

  Before Becci could stop her, Lilly headed for the box in the far corner and pulled it across the room. As she reached for the top book, Becci caught her wrist.

  “Have you looked at these since I put them away last night?”

  “No. Why?” Lilly asked, glancing from Becci’s hand cinching her wrist to the box.

  “I—I put the last journal on the bottom of the stack, and now it’s on top. You’re sure you didn’t bother them?”

  “I’m sure. And don’t start accusing Caleb. He hasn’t been in the house since early yesterday.”

  “Unless he stole the whiskey,” Becci reminded.

  “Becci, you had the books upstairs, remember? You took them with you in case you couldn’t sleep.”

  Lilly was right. No one could have touched the books during the night, and she’d brought them down with her this morning. If the last journal had been on top she would have seen it. Wouldn’t she?

  Recalling that this was the same journal that had jumped off the table last night, she shivered. It felt as if someone or something wouldn’t rest until she read this portion of her namesake’s life.

  CALEB CIRCLED THE lake for the third time. His luck had changed over the last twenty-four hours, and not for the better. He’d been too angry to ask Becci for breakfast, and he’d worked through lunch. Now he felt the tremor from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. At least he’d found the spigot by the back door. The water had a strange taste, but it satisfied his thirst.

  He laid the hand-whittled spear down and stretched out along the bank. No fish were turning near the edge, and he couldn’t ask Becci for anything to eat. He had to think.

  It wouldn’t be right to sneak into the house to look for the medallion, and he’d said he would be gone before dinner. Without the amulet, leaving would be impossible. Still, he’d told her he would leave, and he was a man of his word.

  By his calculations, darkness would descend in about an hour. It didn’t matter if night fell before he got to Raleigh. He knew the trail, and the full moon would light the path. Someone in Raleigh would put him up one more night.

  Caleb rolled to his feet. If he planned on leaving by nightfall, he’d better get moving. He’d already delayed long enough. The last boat going to Memphis would depart from below Sanderlin’s Bluff before he arrived, and there wouldn’t be another until morning.

  Most of the town folks were probably turned in for the night, but he had several other options open to him. He would just ask Brother Robert if he could sleep in the new church building. Or better yet, Old Man Tapp, the prospector who lived down by the Wolf, would be glad to share his campsite with him. They’d supped together many times over the past year. What would one more time matter? It would give them the chance to discuss the thefts going on around town.

  Caleb cursed and slapped his hat against the ground. He knew for a fact that neither Brother Robert, Old Tapp, nor any of the people of Raleigh he’d met would be alive. With a hundred and sixty years of changes, he doubted he’d even be able to find the bluff or the old familiar path without a guide.

  “Who knows?” he muttered aloud. “The boats might not even be leaving from below the bluff anymore.”

  First he would rid himself of the rancid odor that three days of hard work had created. If he didn’t, no one would welcome him. Not even the old prospector.

  Caleb pulled the chunk of what he hoped was soap out of his pocket and tossed it on the ground before shrugging out of his clothes. With luck, the small piece of soap would last long enough for him to get the odor out of his shirt and off his body.

  BECCI RUBBED HER damp palms on her slacks. After washing and drying the clothes she’d found in the attic, she’d neatly folded and laid them aside until she garnered her courage to face Caleb and apologize. She couldn’t delay any longer.

  Becci drew in an encouraging breath. It had never been easy for her to admit to a mistake, and this time was no different. She gathered up the clothes and headed in the direction Caleb had disappeared. She’d seen him go toward the lake with his homemade spear and a small box.

  Hopefully he hadn’t been leaving without a word. She still owed him for the work he’d done.

  Whether or not Caleb accepted the clothes as a peace offering was questionable. She hoped he would, but according to Rebecca’s journal, he wouldn’t look favorably on charity of any kind. Rebecca had spent two pages ranting about Caleb refusing to take money she offered him when his funds ran short. She’d closed the section with a note praising him.

  In words soft but firm, he called my full name and proceeded to tell me to put my money away unless I had work for him. He had no intention of accepting anyone else’s charity or mine.

  Becci sighed. It sounded exactly like the man she’d fought with less than ten hours earlier. The more she read about the 1800’s Caleb Harrison, the more she believed her Caleb had come from the past. As for the secondhand clothes, the work he’d done in the last three days would more than pay for everything.

  Besides, he hadn’t even eaten one meal today. By the time he caught and cooked a fish, he would be starving. He deserved dinner, but how could she convince him to accept it?

  As she neared the lake, she heard water splash. She glanced at the lake. Fear sent a cold chill up her spine. No one dared walk into Berclair Lake among the snakes to swim or bathe. Yet Caleb stood fifteen feet from the bank with a circle of bubbles lapping at his chest.

  She gasped and wavered between calling out a warning to him or turning back toward the house. She knew he probably wouldn’t heed her warning, so she decided to leave. She would bring the clothes back later.

  “Becci,” Caleb called.

  “Hi,” Becci called back over her shoulder. “You’re in the water.” She heard the tremor of fear in her own voice.

  “Yes. If you’ll give me a minute before you turn back around, I would appreciate it.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Caleb chuckled. “I think it’s called bathing. The water is refreshing.”

  She tried to keep her gaze averted, but her eyes had a mind of their own. As long as he stayed in the water, what would it hurt? She walked back to the water’s edge.

  “I don’t think anyone has gotten in that water in over twenty years.”

  His mouth cocked into the half-smile Rebecca commented on frequently in her journals. “I didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, I’d begun to smell worse than Jacobs.”

  He held up something, but she couldn’t tell what it was from where she stood. “I found the soap in one of the boxes. I hope you don’t object to my using it.”

  “Not at all.”

  Becci rested her chin on the clothes she carried and inhaled their freshly washed scent. She needed every ounce of courage to offer them to
him. If he refused, then what?

  “I found some things I thought you might be able to wear while I clean yours. If your clothes are from the 1800’s, they will probably need special attention, and I’d like to keep them preserved for the antique dealer coming to the party. He might be willing to pay you a lot of money for them.”

  “Does that mean you’re not kicking me out of the shed?”

  Becci tipped her head back and drew in a deep breath. “I’m not kicking you out. I would like you to come to the house for supper. And I know you didn’t take the whiskey.”

  “You saw Jacobs?”

  Caleb lowered himself neck deep in the water, and waited for her answer.

  “No. I still don’t know who stole it, but after you—after we kissed, I knew you didn’t. I should have apologized immediately, but the kiss shocked me. Then you left, and there wasn’t time to say I was, um, sorry. But I don’t want you . . . us . . . to kiss again.” Heaven, help her she was babbling worse than Aunt Lilly.

  “I get the point, Miss Berclair. You’re just stating what I told Rebecca when the rumors about my lack of a name started spreading through Raleigh. It’s wrong for a man with no name to make advances toward a respected lady like you. I’m the one who owes the apology,”

  No, she wanted to shout. It isn’t your fault. It’s mine. You don’t know what that kiss did to me.

  But she couldn’t say that. She stared at him while he treaded water, mesmerized by the way his muscles moved under the slick coating of bubbles.

  “You’ve found my work acceptable. You no longer consider me lazy, but if I step out of line you’ll pack me off down the river. You don’t have to worry, I know my place.”

  That said, Caleb raised his arms and dropped below the water. He knew his place all right, but his body didn’t care about propriety. Here he was neck deep in cold water, but that didn’t stop the desire raging through him. Didn’t Becci know what just being around her did to him?

  He surfaced a few feet closer to the bank.

  A gasp escaped from Becci as Caleb resurfaced, and she backed up a step. “Caleb, get out of the water. There’s a . . . a . . . snake.” Her throat closed around the words, fear making them barely audible.

  “Where?” Caleb asked. He didn’t act alarmed. He simply went perfectly still. “And what kind?”

  “Behind you. I . . . I think it’s a moccasin”

  He didn’t turn around. Slowly he inched toward the bank. “How close?”

  “Less than six feet. Hurry! It’s coming right at you.” Caleb twisted around slowly, trying not to draw the snake’s attention. It dipped under the water and Caleb dashed to the shore and crawled out, slipping twice at the muddy edge before dragging himself to safety. The snake appeared at the bank just as Caleb pulled his feet out, and then it slithered away.

  With the same fluid motion he’d used last night, he came up off the ground and stood before Becci.

  “Are you okay?” Becci asked. “It didn’t bite you, did it? What can I do to help?”

  She stopped abruptly, her gaze sweeping the length of his naked, dripping body. Caleb stood there silently as she scanned him from head to toe not once, but twice. He felt his face heat.

  “You’re . . . .”

  From the moment she’d appeared he’d burned with a desire to lay her on a soft bed of pine needles. The hunger in her eyes fueled the fire inside him. But he couldn’t let it happen—not now. Not ever.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” He flashed a grin at her. He knew she hadn’t been about to ask about his health, but he didn’t dare let her finish.

  He shook his head. “And, no, the snake didn’t bite me. He’s probably more afraid of me than I am of him, but there’s no use taking a chance. Now, if you’ll hand me those clothes and hightail it back to the house as fast as you can, I’m sure no one will know of this little meeting,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I’ve finished dressing.”

  Becci whirled away and started up the hill.

  “Miss Berclair?” She stopped, her back ramrod straight. “You forgot to leave the clothes.”

  Without glancing back, she dropped the stack, saying, “Becci. You can call me Becci. I’ll go across the street and pick up something for supper. Wait for me in the kitchen. Aunt Lilly wants to discuss Rebecca’s murder with you.”

  Caleb knelt down beside the pile of clothes. Rebecca’s murder! Who had murdered her? Jacobs? Obadiah?

  If he returned, would he hang for a crime he didn’t commit?

  Nine

  MUSICAL NOTES floated through the house. Lilly paused, her hot-pad, mitten-covered hands hovering in front of the open oven door.

  “What in the world is that?” Caleb gasped, then inwardly groaned. After Lilly’s lecture on electricity, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ask any more questions. The music sounded again, followed by a rattling noise and then a sharp rap.

  “It’s just someone at the front door. I’ll explain about the doorbell later,” Lilly answered. “Right now, though, I need for you to see who’s there. My pies are ready to come out of the oven.”

  “Sure.” Caleb marked his place in the encyclopedia Lilly had given him to study and shoved his chair back. He reached the door just as the music sounded a third time and the visitor knocked again.

  He opened the door. The man standing on the porch squinted at him with angry disapproval, and a prickle of recognition struck Caleb. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation. He knew only Becci and Lilly from this era, and he didn’t care to meet anyone else.

  The stranger’s dark-eyed glare swept over Caleb. Caleb followed the man’s scrutiny down the clean, but faded britches Becci had given him to his mud-encrusted boots. Then he turned his gaze on the stranger and mimicked his actions. Not one speck of dirt soiled his clothing.

  The stranger swallowed and, with deliberately slow motions, ran his hand over the funny cravat that covered the row of buttons on his shirt. He made a show of tightening the knot at his neck.

  “May I help you?” Caleb asked.

  “Who the hell are you?” the stranger snapped with authority.

  “Caleb Harrison. And you are?” Caleb replied evenly.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Caleb frowned. Twice the man had answered his question with a question. “I asked if I might help you, sir, and who you are. You have not answered me. I insist that I at least know with whom I’m speaking.”

  “My name is Ascott. Michael Ascott. Becci’s fiancé.”

  Caleb tightened his grip on the door. So this was the man Becci planned to marry. She should reconsider her choice of men, Caleb decided. Surely she could do better.

  What was he thinking? He had no right to pass judgment on this man because of his own attraction for Becci. Especially since she obviously didn’t feel likewise.

  True, she’d responded to his kiss, but she’d made it clear she’d only done so because he’d caught her off-guard. She’d chosen Michael Ascott to be her mate.

  Caleb locked his gaze on Ascott’s hand as he drew it down his cravat. A tiny scar threaded its way across the knuckles of the man’s right hand. Something tugged at a long-ago memory. He’d seen a scar like that before, on a man whose face he’d never seen. The man who had lain with his Elizabeth.

  This couldn’t be that same man, not a century and a half into the future. That man was dead. He’d killed him.

  Ascott slid his right hand out of sight, cleared his throat and shoved the door open wider with his left.

  “I’m glad to finally meet you. Becci has mentioned you several times since I arrived,” Caleb said as he extended his hand in greeting

  “I’m sure she has. Where is she?” Ascott asked as he pushed past Caleb, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  Caleb curled his fingers into a fist, t
hen opened it and gently closed the door.

  “Becci’s out. Miss Lilly is in the kitchen.”

  “Becci’s out? Where did she go?”

  “She’s picking up something for us to eat,” Caleb said, tossing the words over his shoulder as he passed Ascott on his way to the kitchen.

  “Not for herself, I hope. We have a date.”

  “Oh.” Caleb shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. Ascott had come courting. Would they use Rebecca’s parlor? Caleb cringed at the thought of them together.

  He felt trouble brewing. Just as he had the day Elizabeth died. Same as he had the day he’d loaded the dresser in his wagon to deliver it to Rebecca. He’d let his guard slip on both occasions. He wouldn’t make that mistake a third time.

  Ascott strode past Caleb and entered the kitchen as if he owned the house. No one in Raleigh had treated Caleb as an outcast. They’d feared him, even disliked him, but they’d accepted him.

  Caleb pulled out his chair, took his place at the table and opened the encyclopedia to the place he’d marked. The man wouldn’t run him off. He belonged here as much as Ascott did.

  “What are you doing here?” Lilly asked, sounding surprised.

  Caleb breathed a little easier. At least Ascott hadn’t been expected.

  “Are those fresh apple pies? They smell absolutely heavenly,” Ascott said.

  Did the man always avoid answering questions? Caleb wondered.

  Ascott closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Lilly tossed a quick look at Caleb, pointed down her throat and pretended to gag, then turned quickly away before Michael saw her.

  Caleb swept his hand over his face and covered his mouth to stifle his laugh. That only made matters worse when the sound came out a sputter. He faked a cough.

  He barely managed not to burst out with another laugh when he realized that Lilly’s face had turned crimson. She picked up a towel from the counter and sent Caleb a warning glare as she slowly dried her hands.