When Silence Sings

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  She sighed and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. She would have to conduct her work through her sons. They were all she had left. And if Jake didn’t turn up soon, she might have only Mack. She rubbed at the ache centered between her eyes. Perhaps Ivy could give her a tonic. But no. That would be showing weakness. She would simply have to will the pain away and give her full attention to transforming Mack into the man she needed him to become.

  chapter

  twenty-nine

  Colman reached the Gordon cottage well before Ivy returned, just as he’d hoped. There was no need to draw her into whatever schemes Mack and Serepta were hatching. He found Hoyt outside, stacking firewood.

  “You ever been in that cave I was lost in?”

  “Well hey and howdy to you, too.” Hoyt dusted his hands and ambled over to his favorite chair in the shade of a maple tree. “Sit a spell and tell me what’s got you riled.”

  Colman took a breath and set a block of wood on end for a seat. “I think Mack McLean’s after your land, and it has something to do with what’s inside that cave.”

  Hoyt’s smile was half hidden by his beard. “What, lost treasure? Gold? Silver? Or maybe the liquor that’s been hid in there a time or two.”

  “You know about that?”

  Hoyt chuckled. “Jake McLean ain’t half so clever as he thinks he is.”

  “Why’d you let him get away with it?”

  Hoyt shrugged and dug out a pocketknife. He picked up a piece of wood and began carving at it with the blade. “Weren’t no skin off my nose. Anyhow, I’m pretty sure Mack’s already recovered all the liquor Jake stashed in there.”

  Colman shook his head. “I’m not talking about booze. I’m talking about gas—natural gas bubbling up inside that cave.”

  Hoyt’s knife stilled, then resumed its motion. “Gas, huh? Guess that wouldn’t be a surprise. Other folks around here have found it.”

  “Well? What should we do about it?”

  Hoyt grunted. “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean? We have to stop him.”

  Hoyt stopped his whittling and cocked his head to one side, considering Colman. “Stop him from doing what? He’s not getting my land.”

  Colman felt his face going red. “But he’s trying to court Ivy so he can get his hands on the land.”

  A rumble of laughter rose from the old man’s belly. “Won’t do him much good since Ivy won’t get the land. The cottage and the garden are already hers, and the rest belongs to the federal government.”

  Colman couldn’t make heads or tails of what Hoyt was talking about. “I don’t understand.”

  “Weeks Act of 1911. Federal government’s been buying up land to make what they’re calling national forests. The notion is to save some of the land around here”—he let his gaze take in the scenery around them—“so the coal miners, loggers, and everybody else don’t strip it bare. They paid me a fair price for it, and Ivy won’t need more than a place to live and her plants to tend.” He grinned. “It’ll make folks like Serepta McLean and Webb Harpe madder’n hornets when they find out.”

  “But you come and go on the land like you own it.”

  “Those government boys don’t care. Guess they might come in here and do something one of these days, but for now it feels just the same to me.”

  Colman shook his head. “I think you just threw a big ole wrench in Mack’s plans. Does Ivy know?”

  “She knows the house and garden are hers. And she knows I sold some land. Don’t guess she knows exactly how much or that the cave is on that land.”

  “Maybe we need to tell her before she goes and lets Mack talk her into something foolish.”

  Hoyt slowed his whittling. “Mack was always nice to Ivy when they were young’uns. Never teased her about her being fair and kept her company when no one else would. What makes you so sure he doesn’t really care for her?”

  “The way he was talking—it wasn’t like a suitor. It was like he was trying to get her to agree to a business plan. I don’t trust him.”

  Hoyt cocked an eyebrow. “You sure it ain’t because you can’t see how a man would want a woman like her?”

  Colman flushed deeper. “Of course not. Ivy’s . . . special.”

  Hoyt held up the shape of a roughed-out bird. “This has potential,” he said. “And so does Ivy. About time you noticed.” With that, he stood and walked into the cottage.

  Emmaline and Ivy were layering flowers in tissue paper and pressing them between heavy books. Serepta stood watching for a few moments before the child noticed her.

  “Momma,” she said, and rushed to wrap little arms around her legs. “Come see the flowers.”

  The warm look on Ivy’s face reflected the emotion Serepta wished she could find a way to show. She adored this little imp who had been thrust into her life, but she felt ill-equipped to express what was stirring inside her. Why did acts of love and caring come so easily for Ivy? Serepta felt like someone who had never been taught to swim suddenly thrust into deep water.

  She disentangled herself from Emmaline and joined Ivy at the table strewn with wildflowers. She picked up a spray of virgin’s bower. She’d noticed the white flowers cascading over fence posts and roadsides as summer waned, but she’d never thought to pluck any. Flowers weren’t something she troubled herself with.

  “It would seem my son is expressing an interest in you,” she said.

  Ivy’s eyes widened. “I don’t think he’s serious. Just a passing notion.”

  “What if it were not?” She began to fashion a crown of flowers for Emmaline’s curls. It surprised her that she knew how.

  “How could it be anything else?” Ivy blinked those seemingly lashless eyes at her. “I’m not generally considered desirable.”

  Serepta stilled her hands. “Men are fools, and unfortunately my sons are no exception. But if Mack were wise enough to want you for his own, I would be . . . pleased.” The last word felt round and solid on her tongue. When was the last time she was pleased? Ah yes, with Charlie before they left for Thurmond.

  “Thank you.” Ivy spoke so softly, Serepta leaned toward her. “I have considered . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Ivy lifted her chin. “It’s unlikely that anyone else will want to wed me, and while I don’t really know Mack anymore, he was kind when we were children.” She paused and cast Serepta a sidelong look as though calculating her next words. “He thinks our union could help end the feud between the Harpes and the McLeans, but I don’t understand how.”

  Serepta hid her surprise. Mack wanted to end the feud? Why?

  “Is that what he thinks? Well, perhaps because you are so well acquainted with Colman Harpe.”

  Now Ivy’s gaze grew wistful. Her eyes lost their focus, and she began to gather flowers until she was holding a bouquet that she seemed unaware of. “Perhaps,” she echoed. “I wish I could be more certain that”—she flushed again—“a deeper affection would grow.”

  “Pah. Affection, by which I assume you mean love, is something fools long for. If you can win a man who will treat you with the respect your intellect and good sense demand, it should be more than enough.” She placed her circlet of flowers on Emmaline’s head, much to the child’s delight. “And if you were to wed Mack, I would ensure he gave you that respect—of that you may be certain.”

  When Colman arrived back at the cabin, Jake had disappeared, leaving a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey and not much else. In frustration, Colman wiped the mouth of the bottle on his sleeve and took a swig, then spit it back out. Burned like fire. He’d stewed over Hoyt’s reaction to his news about Mack’s intentions toward Ivy all the way here. And he had yet to puzzle it out. The nerve of Hoyt. Suggesting he didn’t recognize Ivy’s potential.

  He might be able to hear a mouse whispering in the far corner of the barn, but some words plainly spoken were beyond his understanding. He lit the kindling he’d piled in the fireplace and got a cook fire going. He’d set a snare the
day before and had a fine rabbit to show for it. He spitted it and set it to roast near the flames. He’d also “borrowed” some ripe ears of corn from a field he passed along the way. He peeled the husks back, stripped out the silks, wrapped them back up, and buried them in embers beneath the flames.

  Hoyt had given him a pack Ivy left for him—cornmeal, some coffee, dried beans, cold biscuits, and several little packets of her herbs. With all this bounty, he almost wished he had someone to eat supper with him—even Jake.

  He cocked an ear when he heard voices. It was early evening and full daylight still, so when he peered into the distance he could see two men coming from a long ways off. He soon recognized them—Johnny and Elam. They were talking and laughing like two old gossips. Colman rolled his eyes. After turning the rabbit and making sure the corn wasn’t going to burn, he stepped out onto the crooked porch and waited.

  His cousins were having a lively discussion about the merits of pipe tobacco over snuff. Johnny was a proponent of pipe smoking—cleaner, he said—while Elam preferred snuff—less polluting of the air. Colman smiled and shook his head. He should’ve gotten better acquainted with his family a long time ago.

  “Howdy, Colman. Heard you was staying here,” Johnny said, brushing a hank of hair off his forehead.

  “Word sure does get around. Somebody send you a telegram?”

  “Naw—they’s a wanted poster with your picture down at the station.” Elam grinned almost as wide as his ears and then spit, demonstrating his preference for snuff.

  “Well, I guess you two must be able to smell as good as I hear, since you’ve arrived just in time for supper.”

  “Now, that’s the kind of greeting makes a man glad. What you got?” asked Johnny.

  “Rabbit and sweet corn, with some of Ivy’s biscuits I’ll toast over the fire.”

  “That’ll do,” said Johnny.

  They trailed inside behind Colman and settled on the floor while he tended their meal. Lacking plates, Colman spread the husks out around the soft, lightly charred corn, and laid pieces of roasted rabbit there. He used a forked stick to toast the biscuits and handed those around, as well. To drink, they had cold well water.

  “There’s some whiskey if you want it, but it’s pretty bad,” Colman said.

  Johnny shook his head. “Gave the stuff up some years back, and Elam here never touched it. So, you want to say the blessing since you’re a preacher now?”

  Colman bowed his head and gave thanks for the simple food. They ate with their hands in silence for a few moments. Finally, Johnny cleared his throat. “We come for a reason, Colman.”

  “Did you? I figured you were just hungry.” Colman aimed for levity, but he’d sensed his cousins hadn’t come all this way just to be sociable.

  “Webb’s been worse than ever lately. Going around telling anyone who’ll listen that Maggie’s child can’t be Caleb’s. Says he run Charlie out of town, and he’d be glad to show anyone who has sympathy with the McLeans the same door.” Johnny leveled a look at Colman. “I think he means you mostly.”

  “I’m not in town,” Colman said. Although getting back to Thurmond and leaving Serepta and the rest of the McLeans behind did have its appeal.

  Elam picked up the thread of conversation. “Webb’s been wanting to stand taller than Serepta McLean ever since her man died. Thing is, we think he’s been consorting with the enemy.”

  Johnny held up his hand. “Well, not exactly. What’s that saying, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’? Guess he thinks Mack McLean is his friend.”

  Colman perked his ears. “Mack? What’s Mack got to do with this?”

  Elam licked his lips and leaned in like he was afraid someone outside might hear. “I seen ’em. Webb and Mack been meeting out at Loup Branch.” He shot a look at Johnny. “I’ve got a fishing hole out there.”

  Johnny snorted. “What he means is, he’s got a place to hide when he lays off work.”

  Elam rolled his eyes and tugged at his oversized ear. “Says you. Anyhow, I’ve seen the pair of ’em out there twice. Don’t know exactly what they’re up to, but it seems mighty peculiar.”

  “Whyn’t you use your second sight to see what they’re up to?” Johnny smirked. “Or don’t it work like that?”

  Elam stuck his chin in the air. “It’s a gift. I don’t get to command it like calling a dog.”

  Colman jumped in before the pair of them got carried away. “You’re telling me Webb Harpe and Mack McLean have been meeting in secret?”

  Elam nodded. “Sure enough.”

  “What I think is,” Johnny chimed in, “Mack, being the second son, figures he can sell out Jake and his ma so’s he gets a bigger piece of the pie. Webb, he’ll cozy up to anybody who can help him knock Serepta off her tree stump. And who would be better to do that than her own boy?”

  Colman tried to put all the pieces together in his mind. If Mack was after the gas on the Gordons’ land, that would be a big step toward gaining money and power. And if Jake were out of the picture, Serepta would likely include her younger son in business matters that would give him the insight he needed to undermine her. Shoot, he wouldn’t even have to undermine her. He could just weasel his way into her business, and she’d probably let him.

  “What’s in it for Webb?” he asked.

  “Aw, he’s wanted to have a corner on the illegal liquor business since he was a young pup. He wants to put on fancy duds and lord it over the rest of us. He thinks he can get in with the high society folks up there at the Greenbrier Hotel.”

  Colman closed his eyes and tuned his ears. Something about that last comment rang a bell . . . What had he heard?

  That’s it.

  The day he’d been knocked in the head and had woken to find Uncle Webb watching over him, he’d heard something out of the ordinary. Hushed voices—Webb’s and . . . not Jake’s. Whose voice had it been? “Mack McLean,” he whispered.

  “What about him?” Johnny asked.

  “When I was coming to that day, I heard Mack telling Webb he’d let him use the McLean suite at the Greenbrier. He sounded mad about it, too. Doggone, I think it was Mack who shoved that sack over my head. Or maybe even Webb, but the two of them were in it together.”

  Johnny and Elam exchanged looks. “What in tarnation are you going on about?”

  Colman closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t quite call it to mind, but I’m pretty sure Webb and Mack were making some kind of deal so Webb could get me to do his dirty work for him.” He tossed his corncob in the fire. “And I let him do it.”

  chapter

  thirty

  The letter lay in the center of her blotter, the handwriting all too familiar. Serepta stared at it. Finally, she picked up the envelope and slit it open. She wasn’t going to let a bit of paper and ink best her. A single sheet slipped out, and for the briefest moment she thought she caught Charlie’s scent—a mix of woodsmoke and fresh air. She closed her eyes and pushed down the emotion welling inside her.

  Her hand shook as she lifted the paper, and she willed it to steady. She could hardly read, her eyes were so eager to take in the words printed there. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to take the letter in, word by word.

  S, I have arrived in Gauley Bridge. There is work here, building a tunnel for the river. I don’t understand what they mean to do with it, but they’re giving colored men jobs, so I took one. I’ve healed up good. Don’t worry about me. We knew it couldn’t last. Revelation 3:19–20. Look it up this time. —C

  Tears burned her eyes, yet she would not let them fall. What had she expected? That Charlie would return to her after she had failed him? He would never ask her to follow him—he knew she’d worked too hard to throw everything away when there was no place for them to be together in this world.

  He hadn’t gone very far. Gauley Bridge was just a few stops north of Thurmond on the C&O. Of course, he might as well have gone to Mexico for all it mattered. She could no more go see
him or fetch him home than she could marry him.

  She crumpled the paper, then smoothed it out again. Even if she were willing to sacrifice her position, her power, and wealth for Charlie, it wouldn’t matter. The world simply would not allow him to ever be more to her than a servant. Anger rolled deep inside her. No matter how hard she worked, no matter what she sacrificed, some things remained beyond her reach. And what did Charlie say to that? He sent her yet another Bible verse.

  Well. She would look this one up, only because she supposed it would be Charlie’s last request of her. She looked around for a Bible. She thought there was one somewhere on the bookshelves lining the far wall, but she failed to turn one up. Then she remembered. Charlie’s room. She rarely entered the narrow space in back of the house. As she walked through the kitchen, Hallie froze in the midst of pulling dark purple grapes from their stems and gave her a look of veiled terror.

  “You need anything, missus?”

  “I intend to clean out Charlie’s room now that he’s gone.”

  “I can do that.” The girl moved toward the doorway, but Serepta stopped her with a look.

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll call you if you’re needed.”

  Hallie nodded and went back to her fruit. Making juice or jelly, Serepta assumed. She hesitated at the closed door, then stiffened her spine and pushed it open.

  Inside, the space did smell like Charlie, a hint of cedar rounding out the aroma she’d imagined earlier. She breathed it in and told herself it was enough that she’d known at least one good man. A clean shirt hung on a nail on the wall, as well as a coat. A straw hat lay on top of a chest, and there, on a rickety table beside a narrow cot, was Charlie’s Bible.

  Serepta lifted it, the worn leather cover soft in her hands. She feathered through the pages and saw that Charlie had plied his pencil on every leaf. Words and phrases were underlined. He’d written things in the margin, like truth and hope. Remembering some of his earlier notes to her, she found the Song of Songs. There on the first page he’d written Love her this way. The words shot through her like a bolt of lightning, and she sagged to sit on the edge of the cot. Did he mean . . . ? No. She would not torture herself like this.