She was on Bruce’s land and knew these woods well. There were often hollows beneath these ledges, and it would be a perfect place to hide. The irony! She remembered asking Alex about these overhangs but had always been too frightened to explore them because she was afraid of bears.
She feared those men more than bears and crawled until she reached the rim of the ledge, then peered below. The gap was narrow, only about three feet deep. She held her breath and slid inside, water from the wet moss soaking through her dress.
“There’s blood here,” a voice called from up near the road. “We got her.”
“Then be quiet,” the other voice urged.
They could still be talking about a deer, but she didn’t think so, and she held her breath as the footsteps came tromping through the underbrush. They were getting closer.
“Come on out, chickadee.” The footsteps were directly overhead, so close she could smell the pungent scent of tobacco. It was a strong, sickeningly sweet smell, like cedar and cigars. She clamped a hand over her mouth, fighting not to gag.
Their footsteps faded into the distance, but terror kept Eloise huddled in the cave.
Alex was at the front of the crowd as Reverend Carmichael stood on the bandstand and counted the votes in full view of the town. It was a simple yes or no referendum to endorse the bond, and after announcing each vote, the reverend held the ballot aloft to ensure no one doubted him.
As he read the first ballot, the reverend stood and majestically shouted “Yes,” and the crowd roared. They stamped and clapped and hugged, giving Alex little doubt about the ultimate outcome of the vote. Part of him wanted Reverend Carmichael to simply count the ballots and announce the final tally. It would have taken five minutes, but the reverend’s methodical announcement of each vote had been going on for nearly twenty minutes. So far the vote was 267 to 19 in favor of the bond.
“Come on,” Hercules grumbled. “Even if every remaining vote is no, we still win. Can’t we speed this up?”
Alex shook his head. “Eloise said the investors in New York put stock in things like a landslide victory. And I want everyone in town to see how united we are. It’s a necessary step.”
But people were already lining up for ice cream. Casks of both hard and soft cider were flowing, and no one paid any mind to the reverend as he kept announcing votes, his voice going hoarse.
All evening long, people came by to shake Alex’s hand or clap him on the shoulder. It was hard not to feel over the moon. After tonight, the proposal would go to a New York securities company to put the bond up for sale. It would take a while for that to happen, but Eloise assured him she knew what she was doing.
And where was Eloise? She had promised to be here for the vote, but he’d been looking all evening, and there was no sign of her. None of this could have happened without her, and he wished she were here.
On the bandstand Reverend Carmichael banged a gavel. “My friends, I am holding in my hands the last ballot. And it is a vote for Yes!”
The applause was deafening. People hugged and cheered. Hercules put Alex in a headlock and tried to wrestle him to the ground, but he grinned and twisted his way out of it.
“What’s the final vote?” he called out.
“486 to 29,” the reverend announced. “The municipal bond is endorsed.”
For about five minutes Alex allowed himself unabashed celebration. He crept up behind Hercules and returned the headlock, pulling them both to the ground in exuberant horseplay. Dr. Lloyd began setting off fireworks.
Tonight was only the first of many battles. Eloise needed to get cracking on launching the bond to investors, and then they needed to hire a crew from Pittsburgh to build them a railway. Oh, and then move two hundred buildings, a church, a school, and a bandstand. It was going to be a tough slog through the winter months, and the hard work would begin tomorrow, but tonight was for celebrating.
After he’d brushed off the grass from his tussle with Hercules, Alex’s nephews wanted in on the action. He had to kneel so five-year-old James could imitate the headlock, and Alex obligingly rolled over with a mighty roar.
Someone rapped him on the shoulder. Hard. “Get up, Alex. We’ve got a problem.”
Alex snapped to attention. Dick Brookmeyer, owner of the local stables, had a grim expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“The horse I lent to Eloise Drake just came trotting up to the stables. No rider, but there’s a smear of blood on the mare’s saddle.”
The comment was so incongruous with the general spirit of excitement that for a moment Alex thought he was dreaming. Then he forced down the surge of fear as an eerie calm settled over him and battle mode kicked in.
“Let’s saddle up some horses and ride out,” he said.
“But it’s already dark,” Dick warned.
“All the more reason to go looking for her.” Alex rounded up five other men willing to join the search party, and ten minutes later they were all saddling up at Dick’s stable.
Hercules swung into his saddle. “Does she know how to ride?”
“Yes. She also knows these woods pretty well, so something is wrong.”
The only way to get between Duval Springs and Garrett’s mansion was Mountainside Road. Could it have been more sabotage? The horse could have been spooked by damage to the road and thrown her. She could have broken her back, her neck. . . .
This was no time to panic. He murmured a prayer as he nudged his horse faster, and the men followed as the road gradually rose through the thick forest. He called Eloise’s name, as did the others. She’d have to be deaf not to hear them as they moved deeper into the woods. Unless she was unconscious. The lanterns they carried didn’t cast much light beyond a few yards, and he peered fruitlessly into the darkness.
Frustration clawed at him as he stood in the stirrups. “Eloise!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the woods. Nothing! He exchanged a worried glance with Hercules and swallowed hard. “Let’s keep moving.”
His voice was gravelly from overuse by the time they rounded the old miner’s pass, but now they were only a mile from Garrett’s house. Either they’d already passed her, or they’d come upon her soon. Alex drew in a lungful to start hollering again but stopped when a thin voice came from somewhere in the distance. He drew his horse to a halt.
“Quiet, everyone.” He held his breath to listen.
“Alex?”
He nearly doubled over with relief, because it was Eloise’s voice, coming from far down in the ravine. He vaulted off the stallion, grabbed a lantern, and scrambled through the brush as he hustled down the slope.
“Where are you, Eloise?” he called. Mud made the hillside slippery, and he grasped at saplings and tree branches to steady himself as he lurched farther down.
“I’m here.”
Her thin voice sent a new wave of concern through him. She must have taken quite a beating on her way down to sound so bad. Even so, he smiled as she crawled out from beneath a ledge of limestone jutting from the soil.
“Find any bears in there?”
“No bears.”
But she didn’t sound good, and he rushed to her side. A scarlet splotch marred the back of her yellow dress.
“What happened?”
“I think somebody might have shot me.” Her voice sounded as bewildered as her expression looked. The bloodstain and a rip on the back of her dress made it hard to conclude otherwise.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” There was no trace of panic in his voice as his battlefield training came to the surface with remarkable ease. After assessing her condition, he ordered two men to Garrett’s house for a wagon. Hercules came down the ravine to wait with them until the wagon arrived.
“Could it have been hunters?” Hercules asked.
“I don’t think so,” Eloise said, still lying on her stomach in the dirt. She went on to relay a conversation between at least two men speculating on whether “they got her” or not. She hadn’t seen the men but thought
one of them might be named Pomo or maybe Cuomo. Their voices had been muffled, and she couldn’t hear well.
Alex exchanged worried glances with Hercules. “We’ll figure it out once it’s daylight,” he said.
Hercules had his rifle at the ready, and they both scanned the woods for any hint of danger. In the meantime, Alex kept up a constant stream of chatter to keep Eloise distracted from the pain.
“We held the vote tonight,” he said, unable to block the pride from his voice. “We won, 486 to 29. The bond is a go.”
He was rewarded by a genuine smile from Eloise as she lay weakly in the dirt. He spoke of the festival and the maple candy, and of how Oscar Ott’s professional pride had been offended when he wasn’t trusted to tally the votes. “He’s an accountant too. What’s with this weird fascination with numbers you people have?”
He continued the rambling steam of pure nonsense to keep her distracted. After the longest thirty minutes of his life, the men returned with a wagon. It would be impossible for them to maneuver the wagon down the ravine, and once again Alex’s army training came to the fore. After helping Eloise stand, he and Hercules faced each other and grasped arms, forming a makeshift chair with their arms.
“Go ahead and sit,” he urged. “We’re going to carry you up to the road like a princess on a throne.”
“I think I can walk.” A grimace of pain crossed her face as she took her first trudging step up the hillside, but others on the road hollered encouragement as she got closer. She even managed a smile as she reached the road, and Alex helped her into the bed of the wagon.
“Let’s go,” he ordered as soon as the tailgate was closed. He walked alongside the wagon all the way to Garrett’s house. It galled him that he had to turn her over to that man’s care, but this wasn’t the night for a confrontation, and he needed to do what was best for Eloise.
When they reached the gate outside the mansion, he asked the driver to stop the wagon. He leaned over the wagon bed to get as close as he could to Eloise.
“I need to leave you now. You’re in good hands, but I don’t see any point in asking for trouble by setting foot on the property.”
She tilted her head to see him in the dim light. “Probably for the best,” she said.
He reached in to squeeze her hand, wondering when he’d be able to touch her again. A couple of men opened the gate leading up to the mansion, and he stepped back, watching them lead the wagon through doors that then closed with a clang and a thump as the bolt thrust into place.
It was probably for the best that she would be cared for by Garrett, as the place was swarming with guards.
Because there was one thing Alex knew for sure about what had happened. Whoever had shot Eloise wasn’t a hunter.
Chapter
Thirteen
Eloise was a little miffed at the doctor’s belittling of her wound.
“It’s only a mild graze,” he pronounced after cleaning it. It was three inches long and so shallow that it didn’t even require stiches. After spreading on a thin layer of ointment, he covered it with a bandage and declared her fit.
In truth, the physical wound wasn’t serious, but the fright still held her in its grip. If she hadn’t bent to avoid a low-hanging branch, that bullet could have killed her. Spending hours huddled alone in a muddy overhang had only magnified her fright.
Despite this, she felt well enough to join Bruce for breakfast the next morning. She gingerly descended the staircase, a model of poise because it was impossible to slouch or even lower her chin without aggravating the wound on her back. Were grazes supposed to hurt this badly?
Bruce nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee when he saw her approach the breakfast table. “What are you doing out of bed?” he roared.
“Since it is impossible to lie on my back, and I hate being on my stomach, I thought I’d join you for breakfast.”
Bruce filled a plate with scrambled eggs from the sideboard, then brought her a cup of coffee. Two of his bodyguards were at the table with him and had been huddled in a furtive discussion when she entered. The bodyguard she knew simply as Moose stood up and held a chair for her.
An uncomfortable silence reigned after everyone was seated. None of the men made any attempt to resume the conversation that had them so engrossed when she entered the room. She tasted the eggs, wondering when one of them would speak, but the three men seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting in their chairs.
The silence was unbearable, and she finally set down her fork. “I’m feeling much better this morning. Thank you all for asking.”
“I can see that,” Bruce said. “Do you have any additional insight about what happened yesterday? Do you remember any other voices?”
Before she could answer, a trio of men clomped into the room. One of them held a rag to a cut beneath his eye, but the others looked triumphant. Emil Lebenov, the head of Bruce’s security team, tossed a burlap sack on the floor.
“That foreman squealed like a baby,” Emil said. “We got all we’re going to get—”
“Ahem!” Bruce rose to his feet. He sent a pointed glance at Eloise, and the newly arrived men instantly sobered.
“That breakfast sure smells good,” Emil said. “It looks like Mrs. Hofstede outdid herself. Do you think there’s enough left for us?”
Bruce gestured for the men to serve themselves from the sideboard. He had never been a stickler for formality, and she’d known most of these men since childhood, so it wasn’t unusual for them to join him at the breakfast table.
“Fill your plates, and we can talk later,” Bruce said.
“I’d prefer to talk now.” Eloise stared at the man with a cut beneath his eye. “Where were you this morning?”
“Eloise,” Bruce said in one of his warning tones, “the men were doing a little business, and you needn’t concern yourself.”
“You’re feeling better?” Emil said. “We heard it was only a graze, but those things can hurt.”
“Ha!” Moose pulled the collar of his shirt open. “See that scar? That’s where I had shrapnel dug out without anesthesia. That hurt.”
The man with the cut on his eye lowered his handkerchief to hold up a hand with only three fingers. “I had two fingers blown off in a mining accident. That hurt.”
Lowering the handkerchief revealed a cut on his lip too. And Moose had a smear of blood on the knee of his pants.
“What sort of business were they on?” Eloise demanded of Bruce.
He rolled his eyes. “Hang it all, Eloise. They were out at the Kingston work camp, trying to find who shot you. There was a drunken bash last night, and I need to know if any of them thought it would be a good idea to shoot off some guns in the woods.”
Her mouth dropped open. “And you thought beating people up was a good way to find that out?”
“No one was going to volunteer to it,” Emil said reasonably. “And besides, we learned a bunch of construction workers placed bets on who could shoot more squirrels in the space of an hour. We’ll have their names soon.”
“Not if you have to beat it out of people,” Eloise said.
Before Bruce could protest, the housekeeper entered the room, a hint of panic in her face. “Mr. Riesel is on his way in,” she said.
Everyone in the house knew what that meant. When Bruce’s most important business associate entered the house, Eloise needed to make herself scarce. As a child, she had been insatiably curious about Mr. Riesel, probably because she was forbidden to have any contact with him.
Bruce stood and offered a hand to help Eloise rise. “Come along,” he prompted when she didn’t budge.
Was he really going to make her clear out of the room? Yesterday she had been shot. Maybe it was only a graze compared to the horrors suffered by the others in the room, but the wound was fresh, and it hurt to stand. Even worse, it would hurt her soul to scurry away and hide because Bruce Garrett still refused to acknowledge their relationship.
“I’m not moving,” she said quietly.
“How long are we going to keep playing this game?” she asked. “I’ve been shot, I’m in the middle of breakfast, and I don’t feel like leaving.”
“Go and ask Mr. Riesel to wait,” Bruce ordered the housekeeper, but it was too late.
Two men already stood behind the housekeeper—a stocky, middle-aged man and a younger man with a peppermint stick dangling from his mouth. Both looked at Eloise with curiosity.
Bruce straightened. “Jack!” he boomed in an artificially bright voice. “I didn’t expect you to be joining us today. Come in! I’d like to introduce Eloise Drake. Miss Drake is my accountant. Eloise, this is my oldest business partner, Theodore Riesel, and his son, Jack.”
The older man looked stonily at Eloise, but Jack seemed intrigued. “Eloise Drake,” he said in a pondering tone. “I’ve heard the name recently. Aren’t you the one placing a bond up for sale? I saw a woman named as the placement agent and thought that very odd. Is it you?”
Good manners dictated that she should stand, but she remained seated at the dining table. “Yes, that’s me. The people of Duval Springs need a rapid influx of cash if they’re to get their town moved ahead of the demolition crews.”
Jack tutted. “The fact that a town needs money doesn’t justify a risky investment scheme.”
She ignored the condescension in his tone and relied on logic for her reply. “The municipal bond will bring a 5.25-percent rate of return, compared with 2.6 percent for treasury bonds, and it is far safer than commodities. It is an excellent investment.”
A roguish smile spread across Jack’s face. “You should keep this lady on the payroll,” he said to Bruce.
“I intend to. Come, let’s head out to the quarry, and I can show you the proposed blasting zone.”
A Desperate Hope Page 11