A Desperate Hope

by Elizabeth Camden

  “I think whoever is behind this crime was also committing the sabotage,” Alex said. “Almost all of it was near the Timberland camp. It was probably an attempt to stop any digging or development near the site of that boxcar.”

  “What about who shot Miss Drake?” someone asked. “That doesn’t play into your theory.”

  Eloise disagreed. “I was about to file paperwork for the bond,” she said. “The new town is half a mile from the Timberland camp. If Highpoint succeeds, sooner or later it would grow large enough to reach that burial spot.”

  A wave of guilt swamped Alex, for what she said was correct.

  “I’ll bet those bodies are the Russian strikebreakers from five years ago,” someone said. “It never did make sense that the whole lot of them up and left.”

  “How many bodies did you see?” another person asked Alex.

  “A lot,” was all he could respond. He’d been so appalled that his mind froze as soon as he realized what he was staring at.

  “There were twenty-three strikebreakers,” Reverend Carmichael said. “I’ve been doing research on the town history for a book I’d like to write someday, and there were plenty of articles about the labor unrest in the valley. Twenty-three Russian strikebreakers came in 1903, but they left after only a few months.”

  There would be more details soon, for the “gravediggers” had been sent to assist the sheriff. The fact that everyone believed the detectives were gravediggers was a perfect alibi for wanting their assistance at the crime scene. They would remain undercover to everyone but the sheriff.

  “But who buried the boxcar?” Alex pressed.

  “Gee, Alex, who do we know who has heavy earthmoving equipment?” Jasper Trudeau asked. Jasper’s hostility toward Garrett knew no bounds since his mother had been caught out with the valley’s most hated man.

  Eloise stood, hands fisted on her hips. “If owning heavy equipment is all it takes to be guilty of mass murder, we will need a lot more jail cells in this state.”

  Alex grabbed her hand and tugged her back down. He wanted to hear as many ideas as possible, not get bogged down in squabbling. Eloise sat, but every muscle in her body trembled.

  It was fear, not anger, that made her shake. As much as he loathed Garrett, Alex hoped he wasn’t behind this. It would destroy Eloise.

  The tavern door opened, bringing a gust of frigid wind into the room, and a trio of people entered. Alex rose when he recognized Sheriff Dawson and the detectives. He angled his way through the crowd to the door.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  The sheriff leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. “I understand there is a Russian woman in town. Someone’s maid?”

  “Tasha Sokolov,” he replied. “She’s here. Do you need her?”

  The sheriff nodded. “We’ve found a note in the boxcar that looks like it’s written in Russian. We need someone to read it. We’ll need some privacy.”

  Alex glanced at Tasha and Eloise, still huddled on the window seat. He beckoned them forward. By now almost everyone in the tavern had noticed the arrival of the county sheriff, and the noise dwindled.

  “Nothing to see here,” the sheriff announced in a gruff voice. “You can all go back to your business.”

  A few disgruntled murmurs rose up behind them, but no one followed as they stepped outside and down the tavern steps. It was pitch dark and cold as they made their way toward the hotel. There were only a handful of people in the dining room, and Kasper Nagy slumbered on the bench in the lobby, a gentle snore coming from beneath the hat covering his face.

  Alex led the group toward the empty office on the main floor. They all filed inside, and Alex closed the door, but no one sat. It took a moment to light a kerosene lantern. Someday their new town would have electricity, but for now all they had were lanterns. A small circle of light soon lit the room.

  “What have you found?” Alex asked.

  The sheriff looked grim. “Almost all the bodies had scrip from the Garrett quarry in their pockets,” he said grimly. “There are twenty-three bodies. It’s hard not to conclude these were the men Garrett hired to replace his workers.”

  Eloise looked sick but said nothing as the sheriff held out a single piece of scrip. It was the size of a dollar bill but printed on white paper and marked with Garrett Company Store on the front, along with a serial number. Alex knew those notes well, as they were one of the main bones of contention during the strike. Unlike a dollar bill with its lavish engraving, the scrip notes were mostly blank, with plenty of room for a validation stamp on the back.

  Except this note wasn’t blank. The back of the note was covered in minuscule, shaky handwriting. The tiny letters looked sloppy to his untrained eye, but perhaps it was written by a man dying of cold.

  The sheriff handed the note to Tasha. “Is that Russian?”

  She nodded.

  “What does it say?” the sheriff asked.

  Tasha passed the baby to Eloise and held the note close to the lantern to read. It took a while for her to scan the note. Her accent was heavy, and her voice shook as she spoke.

  “It is very bad. Very wrong,” she said on a shattered breath. “It says they work at the quarry. They complained to Mr. Garrett about the camp he built for them. The tents are cold and the pay is bad.” She paused again, scrutinizing the note as she scrambled to find the right English words. “This is hard to read,” she said. “The writing is shaky and spelling is bad, but it says Garrett made them sleep in this boxcar. He locked them in to teach them a lesson. He taunts them from outside and won’t let them out. It has been two days, and Sergey, who is only seventeen, has already died of the cold.”

  Tasha looked up, holding the note away from her as though it burned. “That is all it says.”

  Eloise looked sick, passing Alex the baby before collapsing into a chair. “I don’t believe it,” she said in a shaking voice.

  The despair on her face made him ache, but how much more proof did she need? He wished it were possible to shield her from the hurt this was going to cause.

  “Twenty-three men are dead,” he said gently. “That note was written by someone who wanted their story told.”

  “Do you think Bruce would have ordered me shot?” she asked incredulously.

  No. Of all the things Alex could believe of Bruce Garrett, he wouldn’t have tried to kill Eloise. But maybe the shooting incident had nothing to do with this. “It could have been hunters. Or drunks from the other camp.”

  “This note is a dying declaration,” the sheriff said. “It will carry a lot of weight with the court, and I will secure a warrant for Mr. Garrett’s arrest in the morning.”

  The sheriff opened the door, and Jasper Trudeau almost fell into the room, having had his ear pressed against the paneling.

  “I was about to knock and check on Tasha,” he said with a guilty flush. A dozen others also congregated in the hallway. Even Kasper Nagy had managed to rouse himself and join the other eavesdroppers.

  Tasha took her baby back, then raced to Jasper’s side. The two of them had been mighty cozy ever since she arrived. The other eavesdroppers scattered to spread the gossip. The sheriff and detectives left, taking the damning note with them.

  Eloise stood motionless in the back of the office, her face stark white.

  Alex closed the door. He wished he could comfort her, assure her that everything would be all right, but they both knew it wouldn’t be. All he could do was tell her the truth.

  “You’re going to survive this,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be tough, but you are tougher. No matter what happens to Garrett, you are going to pick up the pieces and build a strong and honorable life.” His heart was full to breaking. She didn’t deserve more pain and loss.

  “I don’t accept this,” she said, her voice still shaking.

  “How can you deny it? Locking those men in to teach them a lesson? Taunting them? It’s completely in his character.”

  “Maybe. But I still don’t
believe it, and I won’t accept this without a fight.”

  “What choice do you have?”

  She ignored him as she left the office and headed outside, tugging her coat tighter around her. She was heading toward the stables.

  “Tell me you’re not going up there,” he said.

  “I’m going up there.”

  He raced to catch up with her. “Eloise, start distancing yourself now. Bruce Garrett is a sinking ship, and you don’t want to be on board when he goes down.”

  “I’m not going to abandon him, even if he’s guilty.” Two fat tears rolled down her face to splat on her coat. “I don’t know what to think or believe, but I can’t abandon someone, even if the worst is true. Especially if the worst is true.”

  Her words stopped Alex in his tracks, but she continued marching toward the stables. Everything in him wanted to drag her back to the hotel and shake some sense into her, but it would be useless.

  This was a lesson she would have to learn on her own.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  Eloise arrived at Bruce’s house a little before midnight. The first time she’d come here, she’d been only eight years old, and Bruce had welcomed her into his home even though she was a stranger to him. It was the first place she’d ever felt safe.

  Bruce was still awake and surprised to see her. The orange glow from the flickering fireplace cast shadows on the rugged contours of his face. There was no way to soft-pedal the news, so she delivered it bluntly.

  “Everyone believes the bodies are the Russian strikebreakers,” she said. “They had scrip from your quarry in their pockets.” It was hard to look at him as she relayed the message scribbled on one of the notes. It turned her stomach to even think of the horrible way those men had died.

  Bruce remained impassive as he digested the news, but a muscle throbbed in his jaw. “Do you believe it?” he demanded, his voice the same hard tone he often used with his workers but never before with her.

  “I can’t,” she said, although her words didn’t seem to give him much comfort. “They’re coming to arrest you in the morning. You should get a lawyer.”

  “They’ll make an arrest without even speaking to me?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you. If you’re smart, you won’t answer.”

  Eloise stayed at the mansion that night. The town was turning against Bruce, and by staying here, she was announcing whose side she was on.

  As expected, the sheriff and two officers from his department arrived shortly after sunrise to question Bruce. Eloise insisted on being present. Bruce was a hothead who could fly off the handle, but she never did. She had an eye for detail and would be on the lookout for any clue that might exonerate him.

  Neither of them expected to see Marie Trudeau alongside the sheriff. “I’ve heard the rumors, and I’m here to testify to what I know,” she said.

  “No, you won’t,” Bruce said brusquely. “You can’t help, and I don’t want you here.”

  “I tried to tell her the same thing,” Sheriff Dawson said. “She spotted us heading up the mountain and stuck to our side the whole way but refused to hear a word we said. She doesn’t listen.”

  A glint of amusement flashed across Bruce’s face, but it vanished quickly as he led the team of investigators into the main room. He sat in a chair before the fireplace like a king on his throne and gestured to the others to sit.

  “Those Russian strikebreakers came and disappeared within the space of two months,” Bruce said. “I didn’t have anything to do with their going missing.”

  “Except they aren’t missing anymore,” the sheriff pointed out. “They’re dead, and they pointed a finger at you on their way out.”

  “I remember those men,” Marie said. “Four or five of them came to the school, wanting to learn English. They offered me money to teach them.”

  Eloise straightened. “Money or scrip?”

  “Money,” Marie said. “I remember being surprised, because my sons hated how all the workers were paid in scrip. I was surprised to see these men had cash.”

  “That’s because I paid them in cash,” Bruce said. “I didn’t want to, but they were still in debt to the agency that paid their transportation from St. Petersburg. My scrip was no good anywhere outside the valley.”

  This changed things. If those dead bodies all had scrip on them, it could have been planted. The note could have been planted.

  “Can you prove that?” the sheriff asked.

  “Of course I can. I’ve got records.”

  “Can you independently prove it,” Sheriff Dawson pressed. “Anything from your own office could be rigged to provide you with cover.”

  “I just told you the men tried to pay me in cash,” Marie said. “I am certainly independent of his office.”

  “Did you ever provide tutoring to them?”

  Marie shook her head. “They were hated. I would have tutored them, because I know what it is to be a stranger in a foreign land, but when word got around, the town council voted and said I was to do nothing to make life easy for the strikebreakers. The town paid my salary, so perhaps they had the right to make that demand, and I did not help those men. I’m sorry for it now.”

  “It’s obvious to me what’s going on,” Bruce said. “Whoever buried that boxcar needed it to stay hidden. They terrorized anyone who got close to it. The road damage. The tainted well. The fire.”

  “And I can testify he had nothing to do with the fire,” Marie said as she rose to her feet. “He was—”

  “That’s enough, Marie,” Bruce said.

  “But I can exonerate you.”

  “I don’t need you to.”

  Everyone in Duval Springs knew what Marie had been doing that night, but the gossip probably hadn’t spread to Kingston. If Marie was required to testify in court as to where she’d been that night, it would make news across the state.

  “Please,” the sheriff prompted, “if you have something relevant, we need to know. Because right now, the case looks grim for Mr. Garrett.”

  Marie lifted her chin, ignoring the glare from Bruce as she continued. “I was here in this house. I was with Mr. Garrett all night, and I can testify that he never left until dawn. He could not have set that fire.”

  The sheriff’s brows rose, and it looked as if he choked back laughter. “We never thought Garrett actually lit the match. That’s the sort of thing a rich man orders his henchmen to do, just like he ordered them to beat up Alex Duval all those years ago. He paid someone to set that fire, and you were nothing more than his alibi, ma’am.”

  The color drained from Marie’s face, and she reached for the back of a chair to steady herself. Eloise hurt for her, but what could she do? It was horrible to witness this good woman’s humiliation before the three officers from Kingston.

  Marie regained strength quickly. An angry flush of color stained her cheeks, and she straightened her shoulders. “Take him!” she ordered the sheriff. “And throw away the key.”

  In the end, Bruce was arrested and carted off to jail in Kingston. Eloise borrowed a wagon to drive Marie back to Highpoint but was surprised by the older woman’s demeanor when she climbed onto the buckboard. Instead of anger, Marie seemed anxious but not the least bit offended.

  “You don’t think he’s guilty,” Eloise said.

  “I know he’s not guilty, but the sheriff doesn’t need to know I’m in Bruce’s corner.”

  Eloise breathed a sigh of relief, knowing Bruce had at least one additional ally in town. On the drive home, she listened to Marie recount how she’d fallen in love with the most hated man in the valley. They first met the morning Marie’s house was moved when she lost her temper. Bruce came the next morning to apologize. She invited him inside, where an apology that should have taken only a moment stretched into a three-hour conversation about her life in France, the work at his quarry, and why leaves turned colors in the fall.

  “He gave me this,” Marie said, pulling a cha
in out from her bodice to reveal a silver acorn pendant. “He said I remind him of an acorn. Something that has existed only a stone’s throw from his front door all these decades, but he never realized it until one day he spotted me, and then it was like a mighty oak tree had sprung up in his path. Maybe it isn’t the most romantic of notions, but I feel the same way. I don’t mind a little gruffness in a man, and in his heart, I see his good. Not a day has gone by when we have not managed to steal an hour or two.”

  “But why has he kept it a secret?” Eloise was outraged on Marie’s behalf. Bruce’s life was full of secrets, and he still hadn’t completed the legal work to have her recognized as his daughter.

  “That was at my request,” Marie said. “I feared how my sons would react. Now I’m embarrassed for that. I should have shouted it proudly and let my sons think what they will.” She reached a gentle hand to cover Eloise’s own. “Just as Bruce should have shouted how proud he is to be your father.”

  “You know?”

  Marie nodded. “We have no secrets from each other. I don’t know how we can prove his innocence, but perhaps between the two of us, we can figure something out.”

  Eloise smiled. It was a long shot, but at least she had an ally.

  After dropping Marie off at Highpoint, Eloise drove back to Duval Springs. The once quaint town now looked even more battered, shabby, and sad. The village green had been shorn of grass and trampled by the oxen. More than a hundred buildings had been moved, leaving a ragged collection of vacant lots. Construction materials lay scattered everywhere. The iconic town hall was gone, having been safely moved last week.

  A sudden inspiration struck her. Marie said the town council had forbidden her to tutor the Russians. If Eloise could find a record of that vote, it would validate Marie’s story that the men had cash with them, not scrip. Alex could help her get those records.

  She was breathless after running up the stairs and into the lobby of the Gilmore Inn. Inside, the world continued to operate as though everything was normal. A maid poured coffee in the crowded dining room, Kasper manned the telegraph machine, and Alex sat behind mounds of paperwork at a table. He looked distracted as she raced up to him.