“Thanks.” Annalise knew her voice was flat and her expression derisive.
Christen smiled, and Annalise loved her for it. “So, I got a babysitter this afternoon and helped Tyler at the paper. We found some stuff.”
“Yeah?” Annalise felt Garrett tense behind her.
“Yep. Libby Sheffield? Well, she was quite the woman. Not to mention Paul Darrow.”
“Paul wasn’t the bad guy?” Garrett asked what Annalise was going to.
Christen looked down her nose at them in full schoolteacher mode. “Paul Darrow was a rascal, like Tyler, because he buried it. All of it. The news stories!”
“I don’t get it.” Annalise shook her head, perplexed.
Christen leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. She leveled a serious look on Annalise. “The entire story was written in a series of news articles. Written by Mitch Sheffield, the man who’d been part owner of the paper at the time, and Libby Sheffield’s father—per the ancestral website I browsed in.”
“Okay?” Annalise reached for the coffee. She needed it. Even if it tasted like mud.
“Tyler and I found a trunk way back under several old crates. It was Paul’s, as evidenced by an old monogram and then a label on the inside cover. Inside it was an article written by Mitch Sheffield. And an old obituary for Dorothy Hayes that matches the ones you have for Harrison Greenwood and Paul Darrow! Full of Edgar Allan Poe and really bad original poetry, I might add.”
“You read the articles?” Garrett inquired.
Christen shook her head. “No, there’s too many. I mean, there are articles about these Corbin brothers who ran the revival. And articles about the trial of the man who killed Harrison Greenwood and Dorothy Hayes.”
“Wait. So it was proven that they were murdered?” Annalise straightened.
Christen nodded. “Looks like it.”
“How come no one remembers it? If it was printed and publicized?” Annalise was incredulous. A century could muddy a lot of history, but that was a very sensational story.
“That’s just it. It wasn’t printed. The articles were all handwritten and stashed away.” Christen laughed. “You should’ve seen Tyler when we figured that out. Mitch Sheffield pretty much wrote an exposé on how Paul was a proposed victim of the killer—some guy named Reverend Mueller—that Darrow basically aided Greenwood and Dorothy Hayes in their longtime love affair by helping them get time together. He threw poker games in the basement of the paper, and Greenwood used that as a cover to go and be with Dorothy.”
“Whoa.” Garrett shook his head. “That’s seriously messed up.”
Annalise shivered as she felt Garrett press a light kiss to her temple.
Christen’s eyes flickered when she noticed it. “As best as we can figure, Paul Darrow actually shut down the paper right after things came to a head. It was as if he couldn’t stand to be at the paper, or who knows? It didn’t reopen until two years later.”
“Crazy.” Garrett’s voice vibrated against Annalise’s back.
Annalise took a sip of the coffee. “How did Libby Sheffield fit into this? Please tell me she wasn’t murdered.”
Christen looked between Garrett and Annalise before leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. “Libby Sheffield. Funny thing. She’s sorta the one who started the whole mess. Who would’ve known what I’d find when I looked up Reverend Mueller, the man who killed those people and who wrote those creepy old obituaries. There are newspapers from outlying towns that tell all sorts of crazy stuff.”
“Like what?” Annalise pressed.
Christen waggled her eyebrows. “How much time do you have?”
Libby
Libby’s mother wrapped a quilt around her lap. Her eyes were tired as she considered Libby’s.
“Your father is going mad with the paper closing. Paul just locked the doors and sent everyone home.”
Libby gave her mother a sympathetic look. They were both relieved that Mitch wasn’t part of the paper anymore. While Libby had been confronting Paul about her own obituary, Jacobus Corbin was confronting his brother Jedidiah about working alongside Mitch to create a sensation that would boost paper sales and attendance for the revival meetings. Apparently, Jedidiah saw numbers of converted souls as the sign of eternal success. Souls that apparently backslid very fast if Old Man Whistler’s drunken altercation in the middle of the town square last night was any indication. And Mitch saw paper sales as success. The fact the two had created a fake death threat and conspired to hang effigies of the brothers to create a mad sensation and potentially inspire more riots had brought Jacobus to the boiling point. He’d outed them to the police after taking his deductions to his brother, confronting him with the suspicions, and gaining perhaps the most honest confession in the entire career of their revivals.
Jacobus had agreed not to press charges against Mitch if he gave up the paper—and gave it back to Paul Darrow.
“I doubt Paul will stay out of the newspaper business forever,” Mother continued, breaking into Libby’s thoughts. “But we all need time to heal. Including Paul. And your father.” Her lips pursed. “Be that as it may, if it can all go away and not be tied to Gossamer Grove, we’ll all be better off. There are too many good people here—churchgoing people—and we don’t deserve that type of pall hanging over our town because of one man.”
“One man?” Libby raised incredulous eyes to her mother. “Good people? We’re all broken people. We can’t make a secret of these things. For the sake of grace and faith, it will only hurt generations to come. Look at what it’s done to me and to Calvin. To Paul and to the Greenwoods.”
She thought of Lawrence Hayes, Dorothy’s son. Of Elijah, Dorothy’s son. It was known now that both boys were the sons of an illegitimate affair. Mrs. Greenwood seemed intent on not speaking of it, insisting the town leave her husband and sister to rest in peace. It seemed that with time, perhaps Gossamer Grove would respect the grieving widow’s request. But Elijah? The truth of his birth, of who he was, staggered him. Libby mourned the absence of Elijah in Gossamer Grove. He’d left town shortly after, and whether he ever returned, only time would tell. They’d shared a swift farewell, a strange, longing look that shuttered into a cool nod, and then Elijah had left Libby too.
Her mother reentered the house, leaving Libby alone on the porch. She heard footsteps and raised her eyes to see Calvin coming up the walk. His familiar walk, somewhat hindered as if he had to think about each step before taking them, was accompanied by a smaller form. Lawrence Hayes. The adolescent boy smiled up at Calvin, chattering away as if they were the best of friends. Lawrence’s father, Ralph, had been released from jail and seemed to be doing better, although many whispered that in the evenings he hit the bottle rather hard. Everyone knew Ralph had told Lawrence that he wasn’t his son, but the man was still going to care for the boy as his own. God help the lad and his future.
“Hello, Lollie.” Calvin was more serious, but his smile was genuine. Mrs. Beaton, the Mueller’s housekeeper, had been caring for Calvin for the time being. But Libby had seen little of him.
“Hi, Calvin.” Libby bit her bottom lip.
“I brought Lawrence. Like you asked.” Calvin pushed Lawrence forward.
Libby clasped the item in her hand. Maybe she’d had too many days to think while sitting on the porch recovering from her ordeal. Maybe she was too sentimental or it had all just gone to her head. But people needed hope. Grace. Something to hold on to in the dark moments, whether by life’s doling hand or by one’s own choices. She needed to tell Lawrence that too. He was a victim, like Calvin. His mother had been taken, his older brother had abandoned him, and his father might well be on his way to being a drunkard. What hope did Lawrence have?
“Lawrence, I wanted to give you something. Something that, years from now, maybe you’ll look at and remember what I tell you.”
Lawrence frowned, his young eyes studying hers as if trying to comprehend.
Libby reached for his hand
, and he gave it to her. She laid her watch in his palm. It was broken, the hands stopped at the very moment his father had stabbed her shoulder in an attempt to hurt Jacobus.
“Eight thirty-six p.m., Lawrence. It was the moment in my life when time stopped. When I made a choice to do what was right, to turn my back on selfishness.” She remembered launching herself in front of Jacobus. He was alive because of that act. She took no pride in it. Her heart ached that she’d not done the same years before when it mattered just as much. Libby glanced at Calvin, who was kicking a stone with his toe.
“I learned that night that the journey to grace is painful but necessary. It’s turning your back on yourself in order to give to another. It’s beginning the journey toward forgiveness. Remember that. Remember that it can be found, if you look for it. No matter who you become, no matter whose life you hurt, no matter how many regrets you carry with you, there is forgiveness. There is grace. Can you do that? Can you remember that?”
Lawrence gave her a quizzical look, but his fingers closed over the watch. “Sure. I can do that.”
Libby knew she would probably always be remembered by him as a strange lady who gave him a broken timepiece. She prayed he wouldn’t throw it away. She prayed it would be used one day, to set him or someone else onto a new path of grace.
“Calvin?” She shifted her attention to the man in the overalls.
He lifted soulful eyes and shook his head. “Don’t, Lollie.”
Her heart sank.
Calvin neared her and took her hand. “My daddy said you ran away and you didn’t get help. I know—I know I’m not like Elijah. I’m just a boy.”
Lollie bit her lip harder.
Calvin continued. “You may’ve run then, but you always been here. You didn’t run forever, Lollie. You’ve been my girl forever.”
Tears escaped and trailed down her face. Calvin shifted uncomfortably, but Libby couldn’t stop. It was overwhelming, the innocence in which Calvin stated his forgiveness. While he didn’t comprehend entirely, he remembered enough. He accepted she’d left him. But he also accepted she’d returned, even if it had been too late.
Libby reached out her hand to her old friend. “Yes, Calvin,” she nodded. “I’ll always be your girl.”
Calvin smiled and gave her an eager nod in return. The moment for him was over. He pulled a bag of marbles from his pocket and a piece of chalk and proceeded to draw a circle for the game on the sidewalk. Lawrence trailed beside him, chattering about a cat-eye marble of blue.
Libby wiped the tears from her face. Forgiveness was sometimes a bitter thing. Freeing, but also so undeserved. So very, very undeserved. It made God’s grace more precious. And—she watched Calvin flick a marble with his thumb and finger—and Calvin’s forgiveness a treasure she would carry with her forever.
Chapter 41
Annalise
Annalise stood on a climbing pad, its six-inch depth firm yet able to catch the impact of a falling climber. Granted, Garrett wasn’t that high. She craned her neck to look up, her arms extended to “spot” him. He was maybe twelve feet up. There was no catching him if he fell, but she could direct his body onto the crash pad with her arms if needed.
He hung solidly by his fingertips, gripping a small hold on the boulder, his left toe creating leverage against an even smaller ledge on the rock. His muscles rippled through the T-shirt on his back. He made it look effortless.
Garrett reached the top and then dropped onto the pad in full control of his descent. He flopped onto his back and stared up through the trees at the clouds. He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at her. “You gonna stand there and spot nothing?”
Annalise quirked her eyebrow and sat down next to him. She pulled her day pack toward her and dug through it. Finding the item, Annalise pulled it out. She wasn’t sure why she’d brought it. A broken watch from her grandmother was an odd item to bring into the wilderness bouldering.
Garrett broke the companionable stillness. “So how do you feel about the land for the shelter?”
“Dumbfounded.” Annalise ran her thumb over the face of the watch. “But grateful. I didn’t think Nicole would really sway the board to give up the money Larson was offering.”
Garrett didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he just stared at the sky. Finally he said, “She’s pretty shaken up. I think she wants the town to heal, though. For our community to be stronger.”
Annalise closed her fingers around the watch. “Gossamer Grove has good people in it. Needy ones, but strong ones. We can all pull together, and I believe this shelter might serve an even bigger purpose than I’d imagined.”
More silence.
Then Annalise ventured, “Is Nicole going to be all right?” Recalling Nicole’s veiled warning at the pantry, Annalise understood even then that Nicole was still upset from Eugene’s threat and later his death. She’d played no part in anything, but was squeezed between the politics of a small town.
Garrett moved his hands behind his head, his elbows jutting out. “Nic is just lost. Like we’ve been.” He turned thoughtful. “She’s trying. All of this is hitting the paper, especially since they arrested Brian. At least Tyler’s not being a jerk. His coverage is to the point.”
Annalise nodded. “Gossamer Grove is going to take some time to recover. I mean, ‘The Biggest-Hearted Small Town in the Midwest’ is getting some chinks in its vintage charm.”
“Truth.” Garrett continued to watch the clouds.
Annalise looked up at the boulder he’d been climbing. Splotches of white chalk marred its face from where his fingers had patterned out a route.
“Brent said you guys talked?” It wasn’t really her business, and yet it was. The friends had fallen out when Garrett left and Annalise moved to Connecticut. Brent was lost in the shuffle. Mad at his best friend, stunned for Annalise, and the type of good guy she’d wished for years that Garrett had been.
Garrett nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.”
He didn’t elaborate. Annalise supposed just knowing the two could move forward without any hard feelings was a good thing.
She picked up the watch again. “Christen has really been doing her research about Libby Sheffield.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Annalise knew she’d keep the watch forever. Knew she’d forever wonder how it had gotten from being pinned on Libby Sheffield’s blouse in the photograph, to Eugene, to Annalise’s grandmother. Either way, she wasn’t sure it mattered how so much as what the watch represented. A new beginning. A story buried by years and mold and dust brought to light to show her that she could start fresh without forsaking her past.
She recalled Libby Sheffield’s family tree that Christen showed her a few days ago. Where Libby had ended up. Where she lived her final days. Her family and generations that came from her who lived in an entirely different part of the United States. And the revival. The pamphlets of the Corbin brothers’ revival sort of made sense now too. Piecing together newspapers Tyler found in the basement to Libby’s own history and to the revival meetings, it seemed the Corbin brothers had almost been the catapult to cause a local reverend to exact judgment on those who held unconfessed sins.
“What a wicked crazy history this place has,” Garrett muttered.
“It does.” Annalise slipped the watch back into her pack. She scooted over next to Garrett and looked down at him, laying her hand on his chest. Now that life seemed more under control, she’d spent all night debating this moment. It was here now. She would press forward.
“So, I wanted you to know something.” Annalise’s stomach flipped when Garrett leveled his dark eyes on hers.
“Okay?”
Boy, this was harder than she’d thought. “I—I’m sorry.”
Garrett raised himself up on his elbows. “For what?”
She had to. It was only right. “For blaming you. All these years. We were both a part of what happened. I’ve been praying I could move on—and with Nicole finding Gia’s picture in Brian’s stuff,
that’s helped—but I owe you an apology.”
Garrett stared at her for a moment, then accepted it. “Thank you.”
“And Gia?”
Garrett heaved a deep sigh, as though he’d contemplated it many times before. “We have to trust her to Him.” He looked up at the heavens. “I mean, she’s twelve now. It’s not fair to her to do anything but pray for her. Maybe one day she’ll look us up.”
It was what Annalise believed too. But it hurt. Especially now that she and Garrett were—were what?
He sat up and took her hand. “Look at it this way. Gia is the good that came from our bad.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” Annalise whispered. Honest. They had shared happy moments. Good times. Friendship.
“Nah. It wasn’t.” Garrett grew serious. He trailed a finger down her cheek. “I want to kiss you . . . but I won’t.”
Annalise was disappointed and relieved at the same time. They had so much history. So much history. They needed to move slowly.
“Probably a good idea,” she admitted.
“But you know”—Garrett gave her a lazy grin—“maybe later?”
“Maybe later,” she laughed. “When we get to know each other better. As people. We never really took enough time to do that when we were in high school.”
Garrett reached his hand out and took hers in a handshake. “Hey. I’m Garrett Greenwood.”
Annalise smiled, looking down at their hands, at Garrett’s casual but solid grip. She laughed again as she responded, “I’m Annalise Forsythe.”
“Cool,” he said, keeping her hand in his. His grip was warm. It promised her that the past was not a waste. All its mistakes weren’t for naught. They could be used to make them more sensitive to the fact that grace was necessary for faith and for each other. Life may not be well-ordered, but it was worth living anyway. The broken moments, and moments like these . . .
Garrett tugged her down. Annalise rested her head on his chest, and together they watched the clouds.
The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond Page 31