Mitch would be furious if he found out she had kept it from him. News fodder. Libby slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk.
A brisk walk down the street brought her senses alive. A few carriages rolled by, with a bouncing automobile on high, round tires pretending it had the right of way. She passed a few ladies who were out for an afternoon stroll, their wide hats perched on their heads like crowns that competed for greatness. The cigar shop was to her left, the courthouse in the middle of the square. Libby relished the familiarity of her hometown. Were its citizens void of sin and shame? No. Certainly not, but she agreed with Paul that they didn’t deserve to have it splayed in the paper.
“Miss Sheffield!” The friendly voice captured her attention, and she lifted her eyes to meet the kind gaze of Reverend Mueller, Calvin’s father. Her smile of recognition waned as she noted the Corbin brothers flanking him. She recognized Jedidiah immediately, only because he gave her a cold smile and nod of familiarity. His beady eyes fixed on her, as if he could see into her soul. It wasn’t a place she wished him to visit. The other brother, Jacobus, appeared less intense, yet it was difficult to differentiate her emotions when the men were so remarkably similar.
“How are you this fine afternoon?” Reverend Mueller stole her attention back. She shifted her focus to their old family friend.
“I’m well.” She should be ashamed to lie in front of three ministers. “And Calvin? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since . . .” Libby let her words drain away.
Reverend Mueller’s countenance fell, and his mouth took a downward turn. “Ahh, what a horrific thing for the two of you to come upon. Calvin is shaken, but he’s been spending quality time fellowshipping with these two good men. It’s a turbulent period in Gossamer Grove, to be certain.”
“A reckoning day will come,” Jedidiah Corbin said, his eyes narrowing. It was as if he knew, or was trying to know, all about her.
“Jedidiah,” said Jacobus, “now isn’t the time for proselytizing.”
Libby cast him a surprised look. She hadn’t expected the other twin to put the aggressive one in his place.
“Of course,” Jedidiah nodded, his lips straightening with his attempt to soften his expression apparent but not at all genuine. “Miss Sheffield, do accept our condolences about Deacon Greenwood’s death.”
“He wasn’t my father,” she blurted. “I mean, I do care about his passing, but condolences shouldn’t be given to me. Well, I did find his body hanging—” She clapped her hand over her mouth.
The Corbin twins exchanged glances, and Reverend Mueller held up his hand. “Yes, yes.” Calvin’s father gave her a gentle smile, calming her fluster. “However, we know you are close with the Greenwood family, and you also bear the memories. Therefore, we say prayers on all your behalf.”
Libby nodded, her eyes darting to the twins, both staring at her as if she were a mystery to be analyzed and solved. It was remarkably disconcerting and unnerving.
“Well then, we must be on our way. We’re having a meeting with some other church leaders and gentlemen of the community.” Reverend Mueller tipped his hat, and the Corbin twins followed suit.
Libby looked over her shoulder as they moved beyond her, and Jacobus Corbin glanced back. Their eyes locked for a moment, and if she wasn’t careful, her imagination would have read concern and almost an urgent warning in them. But he turned away and left her with only a sense of restlessness, of unanswered questions, and not a little foreboding.
Chapter 14
Libby looked up as the tin bell jangled above the door. The front office of the newspaper held little space for visitors, and the Corbin twins’ presence filled it as they entered. Their narrow eyes were dark, their wavy hair ruffled from the wind, and both had muttonchop whiskers bordering their angular faces. The meeting with the “other church leaders,” as Reverend Mueller had referred to them, must be over.
Libby eyed them with unease.
“Miss Sheffield, may we have a moment of your father’s time?” A mole by Jedidiah’s mouth moved as he spoke. She tore her eyes away from it and met the stark gaze of the much quieter brother, Jacobus. He did not have a mole. For some reason, it made him a tad more attractive, in an angular, pale sort of way.
“My father is occupied at present,” she answered, quite proud of herself for not babbling some long, ill-worded attempt at excusing Mitch. He hated being bothered by “unannounced visitors.”
“It’s quite important.” Jacobus’s voice was firm but less sharp than his brother’s. Strong, with a tone capable of slicing through a crowd but with an element of control that made him either more stable or more dangerous. His eyes were stormy and perhaps a little bit treacherous at the same time. She squirmed beneath the searching contemplation. It was difficult to look away. He arrested her with a simple stare.
Either way, she wasn’t keen on entertaining the Corbin twins alone. She glanced over her shoulder at the hallway that led to the office and then into the print room. The air closed in on her, thick with the smell of ink and the bay rum of the twins’ cologne.
Jedidiah snapped his fingers as if to regain her attention. “We’ve news the editor may be interested in.”
Lord knew, the years had not been kind to her, and she’d retreated further and further into herself. But pluck was there somewhere deep inside, and now Libby mustered it as best she could.
“Mr. Sheffield has asked not to be disturbed.” Her voice quivered.
Jacobus’s eyebrow quirked, and for a moment Libby saw a flash of humor pass through his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced with a direct stare that made her shift her feet and reach for papers on the desk to shuffle merely for something to do with her hands.
Jedidiah continued to argue. “Come now, Miss Sheffield. We’re about the Lord’s business, and matters that concern the church, concern the town, which in turn concern the newspaper.”
It was a riddle she didn’t wish to solve. Libby stood, her dress brushing the tips of her shoes. She gripped the edge of the desk. So much for pluck. “I’ll get Mr. Sheffield right away.”
This wasn’t a discourse she wished to engage in. Libby preferred to let her father deal with the revivalists. They were practically a circus on a bicycle but more intimidating than clowns, and rather reminding her a bit of barely restrained tigers.
Mitch was not pleased when she knocked on his door. His growl might have overwhelmed her another day, but now there was a familiarity behind it that brought her some comfort.
“The Corbin twins are requesting to speak with you.” Libby shouldn’t have been surprised when Mitch stood with a flourish and waved his arm, but she was.
“Why didn’t you say so?”
Of course, he’d welcome them. They were, after all, only the leading news story next to Deacon Greenwood’s death. How silly of her to procrastinate when Mitch was half launching himself down the hallway.
Paul stepped from his own office as Mitch’s shoes clomped down the hall toward the front. His eyebrows drew together in disapproval, and Libby ducked her head as she passed him. He wouldn’t be pleased she’d allowed the bombastic revivalists into the newspaper office to speak with Mitch. Her father would take whatever these men had to offer, mix it with lurid exaggeration, and call it truth.
“We’ve some grave concerns.” Jedidiah Corbin began the moment Mitch entered the front office. No greeting, no handshake.
Libby glanced beyond them and out the window toward Fourth Street and the brick road lined with oak trees. A motorcar bounced by a carriage, and the horse tossed its head. Two women with broad hats stacked with flowers and tied with ribbons strolled by, their purses dangling from elbows covered in puffed sleeves. Their skirts buttoned to the sides of their waists, and their capes reminiscent of a magician’s.
Magicians, circuses, and revivalists. All of them ranked in the category of the unbelievable for Mitch. The unbelievable, but the ever so intriguing.
“Grave concerns, eh?” Mitch’s voice
broke into Libby’s thoughts. He’d pulled a notepad out, and a pencil was poised above the paper. “How may I assist?”
Jedidiah Corbin pulled an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “We received an anonymous letter today. Of course, we’ve already reported it to your local authorities, and they will be on guard. However, it warns my brother and me to be on the lookout at our next gathering. We believe the public should be made aware of the possible threat.”
“Threat? The lookout for what?” Mitch asked. He completely ignored Libby, and she preferred it that way. She fixed her eyes on her Bible that lay on the desk just inches from Mitch. It would be her luck for one of the Corbin twins to notice, inquire about her religious affections, and in turn send her down a blustering trail of half-truths. Standing before these men made the idea of coming before a righteous God perhaps the most terrifying idea she’d allowed herself to consider since . . .
Jedidiah Corbin unfolded the letter and handed it to Mitch. “Cowardice, really. They daren’t sign their name to it.”
Mitch’s lips pursed as he skimmed the letter, perhaps both impressed and shocked. Libby strained to see over her father’s shoulder. Mitch handed the paper back to the minister before Libby could capture any more than a cursory glimpse of the handwriting.
“It appears you’ve made some enemies,” Mitch affirmed.
“Enemies? Most certainly.” Jedidiah stuffed the letter back into his pocket. “Understand that people in the past have threatened to blow our brains out. But there’s little way we could retaliate, for if we tried it in return, nothing would happen. They have no brains to be spattered!”
Libby cupped her hand over her mouth as a little yelp escaped.
Jedidiah ignored her. “Regardless, violence is not our choice of response. This death threat needs to be brought to the attention of the people. For their safety. For ours. To call a bluff to the imbecile who dared to threaten the working of God’s hand within the community of Gossamer Grove.”
Libby’s eyes went wide, and she shot a glance at the very silent other brother. Jacobus appeared placid. Unaffected. Almost bored.
Awkward stillness separated Libby and her father from the Corbin twins. If they were trying to stir up further trouble by bringing an anonymous threat to the newspaper, it would well succeed. Yet, one could hardly argue that if they’d already reported it to the police, perhaps they truly were looking out for the best interest of the locals.
She lowered her hand, which was trembling. Libby attempted to hide it in the folds of her dress, but she caught the eye of Jacobus, who didn’t seem to ever blink. She looked away. A handwritten threat to the reverends, delivered anonymously, was similar to the typewritten obituary for Deacon Greenwood. Yet she could hardly tie them together with the only common denominator being violence. One committed, one merely threatened.
Mitch cleared his throat. His face was awash with fascination. “I do say, something such as a threat against men of the cloth must be published in warning that the congregations not only defend you but also stay within the boundaries of Christian character.”
Libby blinked. Her father was parroting her mother’s pious tone, as though trying to garner kinship with the revivalists. He was engaged with their cause now, if not for the salvation of souls, for the selling of newspapers.
“The sender is obviously disturbed and in need of divine intervention.” Jedidiah Corbin patted his chest where the letter was hiding in his jacket. “But, by the grace of God, we will continue to spread the wonder of grace in view of confessed sin.”
“Certainly.” Mitch nodded. “I shall pen a report regarding this threat and your imminent safety.”
“Wonderful,” Jedidiah replied.
“Thank you for your time,” Jacobus added, his eyes shifting between Mitch and Libby, finally resting on her face. “We covet your prayers for protection, not only for us but also for those in attendance who so desperately need to hear the Word of the Lord.”
“Certainly,” Mitch assured.
After one more long stare, the Corbin twins departed, leaving Libby very unsettled in their wake. While Deacon Greenwood’s obituary was unlikely to be connected to the reverends’ letter, Libby couldn’t be sure. The ministers appeared to be intent on cleaning up those they felt held little intelligence toward things of a spiritual nature. But what did that have to do with the death of a church deacon?
Nothing. They were unrelated. At least that was what Libby tried to convince herself of.
Libby slipped out the rear door of the office, dusk settling over Gossamer Grove and the brick buildings, casting shadows over the alley. A cat scampered by her and disappeared in the stairwell leading to the basement of the newspaper office building. Libby had never been in the basement. She’d never had a desire to go there. She’d caught a peek inside once, however, and it was dank, tomblike, with spider webs blanketing the ceiling between the wooden rafters.
She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed them with her hands. Peering down the alley, she squinted into the fast-growing darkness.
“Libby?”
Libby yelped at the whisper that arrived just as a cool breeze lifted loose curls against her cheek.
Elijah slipped from the narrow pathway between the newspaper building and the next-door hotel. He eyed the cat in the stairwell even as he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Libby hugged herself even tighter. “That’s all right.” She was relieved he’d come after receiving her message delivered by one of the newsboys. All afternoon she couldn’t shake the desperate feeling that circumstances were spiraling out of control. Too much was being overlooked, ignored, or not dealt with. Starting with Elijah’s father, his death, and the obituary forever etched in her memory.
Elijah’s features were shaded by his fedora. His form in a dark jacket and trousers cut a striking figure, but in the dark, even Elijah seemed a tad intimidating to Libby. The Corbin twins had certainly done a number on her nerves.
“We cannot stay silent, Elijah. We must face this.” Libby whispered her rehearsed words, although truth be told, it wasn’t really necessary. Their meeting was covert only to avoid drawing attention to the reason why they were meeting. Perhaps they should have been less dramatic and met over tea.
It was too late for second thoughts.
“Do you still have possession of the obituary?” Libby asked.
Elijah pushed his hat back on his forehead, and his eyes narrowed as he gave her a distant once-over, as if trying to convince himself why he was even here. Finally, Elijah reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew it. Libby eyed the offensive paper with derision. For a split moment, she’d hoped he burned it, destroyed it, or otherwise disposed of it. If it didn’t exist, maybe it hadn’t happened. But that was sheer foolishness.
“I don’t like this, Libby.” Elijah handed it to her.
She opened it and gawked at the undeniable message, indicative of a very different motive behind Deacon Greenwood’s death. Not to mention, its allusions to some secret sins Deacon Greenwood harbored were a horrific claim to make in the wake of the man’s sudden death. Whoever had written it had a vendetta. The same as whoever had written threats against the Corbin brothers. As if—
“It’s as if they want to mete out righteous judgment on us all,” Libby mumbled.
“Pardon?” Elijah tilted his head.
Libby lifted the obituary. “This—this prophetic telling of your father’s death. Secrets and sins. The meting out of justice. Then there were the death threats made against the Corbin brothers, as though their way of bringing about conviction wasn’t being effective enough.” Libby shrugged, her thoughts tumbling from her mouth almost faster than she could think them. “As if people were being converted and baptized, but there was no public confession of sin? Maybe that’s it. Or maybe they have nothing to do with each other.”
Elijah appeared bewildered, trying to follow her jumble of words.
Libby pushed the ob
ituary toward him. “I don’t know. But we must take this to the police, Elijah. Someone killed your father. You cannot be in denial of it.”
Elijah glanced over his shoulder as the night breeze picked up and blew a lone page of newspaper their direction. It tossed across the ground, rolling and wafting, then tucked away in the shaded corner of the stairwell. He shifted his attention back to the obituary. His frown deepened in the shadows, and in the dimming light Libby could still make out the troubled darkness in his eyes. She read the doubts there.
“You have to believe me, Elijah. My father and I didn’t concoct this to create news. My father doesn’t even know it exists.” Libby dared to reach out and rest her hand on his forearm. He glanced at it. “I wouldn’t allow that if it was even a consideration.”
Elijah had taken the obituary from her, and now he ignored her pledge of loyalty. “This line here. ‘No more shall his secrets wound. No more shall his secrets shame.’ That isn’t Poe, I don’t think. Whoever wrote this composed that line to imply my father had some sort of shameful secret.”
“Yes.” Libby breathed a sigh of relief. Elijah was coming out of his grief-stricken daze. Logic and the horrible truth were finally coming to light.
“My father didn’t hide any sins, Libby Sheffield.” The thickness to his words, the untold truth behind them, was what speared Libby.
Like we hide ours, he seemed to add. Only it came from his expression, his eyes, and the tilt of his mouth in cynical shame.
“Still, we cannot hide the obituary,” Libby argued. Lord, forgive her for her own secrets even as she attempted to expose another’s. But he was already dead, gone, surely that counted for something? It wouldn’t affect Deacon Greenwood were the accusation true, should he have something hidden worth being brought to some righteous end. But what about his family? They would bear the agony of those secrets if they were to come to light.
The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond Page 9