"It does, ja?" The voice came from the shadowed street.
"Ely!" Lena called out as she skipped down the steps like a school girl. "We were wondering if you'd ever come back!"
A distinguished looking man with graying hair stepped into the light, spilling from the doorway. Maddie had the impression he was someone who's mind was as well-ordered as his appearance. He opened his arms to Lena. For a moment, she wondered if they were relations, but nothing in his features corroborated that conclusion.
"The company needed a little more of my time than I had at first thought. It's good to be back," he said.
He spoke with a thick German accent.
Evan shook Ely's hand before introducing him to David. "We have a new boarder. This is Dr. Thornton's replacement, Dr. David Reynolds. Dr. Reynolds, this is one of our dearest friends, Ely Beckert."
With a sharp turn, Evan held out his hand to Maddie and said, "Actually, we have two boarders. This is Madison Alexander. She accepted a job working for Mrs. Wilkinson. So, it looks like she might be staying with us awhile."
Ely dipped his head to Maddie. "This town is in short supply of young ladies of quality. You have found the best house in town to make your home."
"So why don't you stay with us if we are the best boarding house in town?" Lena asked, her mouth forming into a small pout.
"You know I lived here in Ketchum before you and Evan moved from Sawtooth City. Besides, Mrs. Bernhardt's house is much closer to my office."
"I still wonder if it isn't Mrs. Bernhardt as much as her tidy house that keeps you away from us." Lena linked her arm through Ely's. "Have you come to play for us?"
"Oh, yes!" Jessie clapped her hands. "It's been ever so long!"
Not until then did Maddie notice the violin case in Ely’s hand. The battered leather case appeared older than Ely, and he carried it like a treasured friend.
Ely said, "I'm of a mind to, Mrs. Long," He tipped his hat to Bart and Jessie. "Perhaps a lullaby for the little one, ja?"
Jessie’s cheeks glowed, and she brought a hand to rest lightly on her stomach. Smiling with secret delight, she became a painting of the Madonna, an impression enhanced by Ely’s choice of music. His skill proved he was no provincial fiddler, such talent clearly cultivated by years of classical training.
After her initial surprise, Maddie relaxed into the melody, and closed her eyes, transported by Ely’s violin singing Passacaglia’s The Guardian Angel. Who she needed to be or truly was didn't matter in those moments. From his fingers came the music she’d grown to appreciate in her brief stay at boarding school, calming and achingly beautiful.
Unaware the violin had ceased its singing, her eyes still closed, she didn’t sense Dr. Reynolds’ approach.
"Surprising, isn't it? That such a talent should be found here."
Maddie opened her eyes. A brief look about her and she realized he was the only one near enough to have heard the comment.
"Yes." She understood the unspoken part of his comment. It was surprising that such a skilled musician should be here in this frontier town. Was it also a waste?
The doctor seemed to be talking to no one in particular, but simply putting to voice his private ruminations. "Perhaps something about these open skies draws out the creativity in people. I wonder if it might not be a good place for someone with your aspirations." He brought his eyes to her then. "You might find your muse here. That is what they call it, yes?"
Maddie tipped her head to consider the intent behind his comment. Was he being condescending or sincere? She nodded, saying simply, "It is."
"Miss Alexander, I do hope you won't let the comments of Dr. Thornton discourage you."
"They don't. Such an attitude would be expected from a man of his age."
The doctor pushed his hands into his pockets. After a while he asked, "Are you working on anything now?"
"A few things. Just pieces, really, a little poetry." She thought of her journals filled with fiction, tales of the adventurous exploits of her daring heroine. Dr. Thornton would certainly disparage her literary efforts? No doubt, Dr. Reynolds would as well.
Lena lay her hand lightly on Maddie's shoulder. "Maddie, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but would it help you if we moved a desk into your room? We have one in the attic that might work well for you. It should fit beneath the window. Would you like that?"
Maddie felt a confusing mix of emotions. "I'd. . .That would be very nice. If it isn't too much trouble, I mean. Yes. Thank you."
Lena squeezed Maddie's shoulder. "We'll see what we can do." After a quick glance at David, she added with a smile, "Every artist needs a patron. We'll do all we can to encourage your muse."
That night she luxuriated in the lavender scented sheets and soft mattress. The soft purrs of her new roommate, Havoc, added another degree of comfort. Apparently, the cat condescended to sharing her room and her bed. Maddie lay her chin against the cat's velvet fur, enjoying the soft vibration of its purr against her skin.
Dr. Reynolds’ handsome face intruded upon her peace. She scrunched her eyes shut, willing his image away. Men had only confused or disappointed her.
A year after arriving at the boarding school in Troy, New York, a charming young man had shown a keen interest in her. For a full month, he'd been the gentleman caller that stirred profound jealously among her friends. He'd delighted her with small gifts that reflected his understanding of things that gave her pleasure, profuse bouquets of daffodils and French lace handkerchiefs scented with lavender, and even a small box of chocolates from Huyler's Candy Company. But despite his thoughtful attentions, one day he failed to keep their scheduled outing.
Confused and heartbroken by her young suitor's disappearance, she secluded herself for a week with a profundity of tears until a letter arrived from her father. In it, he explained in the briefest manner an investment opportunity he had offered a prosperous widow from Virginia. She had taken the precaution of hiring an agency to investigate Alex's family history, including an interview with his daughter. Her father wrote that he was proud of the exceptional manner in which she had conducted herself with the young man. The man had found nothing in his discourse with Maddie to suggest her father to be as anything other than what he proclaimed to be—an honest man offering an opportunity for investment.
It took her only moments to realize in those few sentences the truth that she’d been duped. Her young suitor was apparently skilled in the same area of discernment as she, but as a man, he'd found honest employment for his skill. The experience left her disillusioned, not only toward her father, but for the gender she deemed distinctly equipped for duplicity and deception. Love itself seemed cruelly dependent on some lie, a deception of one's self or of another.
No, the handsome Dr. Reynolds was not for her. Neither was this the time for entertaining such romantic notions. A mere second passed before another consideration occurred to chase away the first. Why couldn't Miss Alexander pursue Miss Jennings's goals as a writer? What could stop her? The answer came crashing down upon her. She shivered and hugged the cat closer as she remembered the gun within the valise beneath her bed. Her father obviously thought someone might try.
Chapter 14
Maddie awoke the next morning out of an alarming dream of being suffocated in a thick storm cloud. The truth was less startling as she pushed Havoc’s luxurious tail from her nose and mouth. However, a series of frightening thunder claps shook not only her bed but the window panes. She sat up, rudely awakening the cat. Havoc stretched and resettled herself on the pillow.
Maddie rubbed a hand over her eyes. It was Saturday. That meant Mrs. Wilkinson wasn’t expecting her for work today. She fell back on the pillow, grateful for a few more minutes of sleep.
A thump came from overhead. Why was someone in the attic at this hour? A loud exclamation, brought her to her feet. She opened the door a crack. The door to the attic stood open.
Another exclamation, "Son-of-a-gun!" Bart's voice.
"Are you al
l right, Bart?" Maddie called up the steep stairs. "Do you need any help?"
Bart's head peered at her from the top of the stairs, his brow dotted with beads of sweat. "Sorry. No need to worry. Evan and I are just moving some furniture is all."
Evan's face appeared momentarily beside Bart's. "Hope we didn't wake you. Trying to move that desk out from under a few things. We'll be finished as soon as we can move some trunks aside."
Both heads disappeared and Maddie returned to her room. She dressed quickly, tidied the room, then looked about the small space wondering where another piece of furniture could fit.
Half-an-hour later, Lena stood beside her, arms folded trying to work out the same puzzle. "Well, I see space under the second window, but there won't be any more than an inch between the desk and the bed. If you aren't anxious in small spaces it might work."
With no small amount of grunting and bumping of shins and walls, the two men wedged the desk through the doorway and into position under the dormer window just as another crack of thunder shook the windows. Maddie wasn’t the only one to react as Bart jumped back, stepping on Lena’s toe.
Lena grimaced, saying, "I think that’s a good place for now. Maybe we should all go down for breakfast. We can move it later if Maddie wishes." She patted Maddie’s hand and smiled. "You’re probably anxious to begin work, but first we feed your body and then we feed your muse."
The new puppy was the topic of the morning, beginning with Lena insisting that Evan scrub and comb the dog before allowing it in the house again. Apparently, dogs did not live in houses as often in the cities in which Lena had lived. Evan was adamant that the pup would live in the house and not the streets. Maddie recalled an earlier conversation with Lena, seeing the evidence of it now. She’d described Evan as passionate for rescuing lost souls and animals.
By the end of the meal, both debaters had won ground. Evan conceded to the bath upon Lena’s acquiescence to giving the canine foundling a home.
Maddie helped with dishes. It was becoming clear that Jessie's condition made Lena needful of another pair of hands. Maddie willingly gave her help, glad to be useful.
"Madison, I have something else." Lena pulled open a drawer in her desk and pulled out a stack of paper. "You'll need paper for that novel you have within you."
Maddie croaked out an awkward thank you and accepted the stack of paper. She’d find a way to express her thanks more fully. She patted Sticks on the head and turned for the stairs.
A second wave of rain rolled down from the mountains to the north, bringing with it wind that drove great drops against her window. Maddie lit the oil lamp and rearranged the stack of paper for the eighth time. A single sheet lay before her, white and glaring beneath the light. She'd been waiting for inspiration for the past hour. Nothing.
Havoc looked up at her, only moving her eyes, tail curled over her black nose. Maddie crawled up onto the bed and curled her body around the cat's. The adventurous plots driving the stories filling her journals had provided hours of diversion while she penned them and more hours of entertainment for her friends as she read them aloud at night in darkened dorm rooms. Where was her inspiration now? Fiction was usually much more pleasant to contemplate, but now that she’d stepped into her own fictional world her imagination failed her.
Maddie scrambled to the foot of the bed, reaching for the journal she'd brought with her on the long journey west. She settled back next to Havoc. The cat made a sound that expressed her displeasure at Maddie's disturbances. Maddie opened the book, pulling the cat onto her lap. "I'm going to read to you a good story and then I want your honest opinion."
The cat squinted at her then settled her head onto a paw.
Maddie began.
The Case of the Disappearing Corpse
Constance Cavanaugh studied the evidence before her: a burned piece of letter, a bloody knife, a monogrammed lady's handkerchief, the stub of a train ticket to Paris. To anyone else, these fragments meant very little, but to Constance Cavanaugh they formed a detailed picture as clear as the mirror that reflected her own attractive image.
When Maddie had finished, she stretched her hand to the desk to pick up her pencil. It slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor, rolling under the bed. She dropped on her knees to retrieve it. The pencil had rolled to the far side of the bed, coming to rest against the leather valise. She froze.
Sitting back, she hugged her knees to her chest as she'd done on the first day. There it sat, waiting to expose her connection to her father. In the next instant, she was stretching out beneath the bed grabbing the handle and pulling it to her. It felt hot to her touch. Ridiculous.
She clutched it to her chest and opened the door a crack, listening. Distant voices assured her she wouldn’t be seen. She stepped out into the hall and tried the door to the attic. Unlocked. As she pulled it open, the hinge creaked. She became her heroine, Constance Cavanaugh, making one last look over her shoulder before climbing the steep stairs. She imagined herself writing her own adventure story.
Trunks and heavy furniture cluttered every foot of the attic floor. A tiny space showed her where the men had moved things this morning. She squeezed herself between a giant dresser and a bookcase, holding the valise above her head. Under the sloping eaves next to a trunk marked with stickers in an unknown language, she spied a dark corner. With a grunt, she shoved the valise deep into the corner and scooted the trunk in front of it.
She stopped at the bottom of the attic stairs, waiting at the door to make sure no one had come from the rooms below. As quietly as she could, she slipped back into her room where she threw herself onto the bed next to the cat, her silent roommate.
Maddie drew the cat into a tight embrace and swore her to secrecy.
Chapter 15
Before the shop opened on Monday morning, Maddie arrived outside Mr. Wilkinson's hardware store. Peering through the window into the darkened interior she tried to recall Mrs. Wilkinson's last words to her on Friday afternoon. She was confident they'd agreed to start early today.
"Miss Alexander, sorry I'm late." Mr. Wilkinson fussed at the lock for a moment before coaxing it open. Holding the door for her, he explained, "Mrs. Wilkinson has a crisis to attend to. Seems the Temperance Union's secretary, Mrs. Porter, was discovered using sherry in her cherry pie crust. Caused a heck of a hullabaloo. Not my favorite society, truth be told, but that wife of mine is a pistol. There's no stopping her, as well you’ll come to know. Laud, I do love that woman."
Maddie waited as Mr. Wilkinson turned around the open sign in the window. For an awkward moment, Maddie watched as he took off his hat and coat, hanging them behind the counter. Should she try to look busy or wait for Mrs. Wilkinson?
As if reading her mind, Mr. Wilkinson glanced beyond her to the empty room where Mrs. Wilkinson's few books sat lonely and scattered along the far wall. "Um. . .Suppose you could lend me a hand if you were of a mind to."
Finding activity far more preferable to idleness which might allow her anxiety to take over her thoughts, Maddie nodded. "I'd be happy to, Mr. Wilkinson."
For the next few hours Maddie took inventory of nuts, bolts and a variety of hardware supplies she'd never seen before. Mr. Wilkinson, though not as loquacious as his wife, made friendly conversation. Through his eyes, she met the most colorful and renowned citizens of Ketchum. Often told with a generous dose of humor, his stories made the time pass quickly.
Customers drifted in and out at an easy pace, giving Maddie opportunity to learn where the store's most requested items were stocked. Mr. Wilkinson spent as much time engaging in local gossip as selling his merchandise. By mid-day, Maddie knew more about Ketchum than she'd known of any place she and her father had ever called home. She assumed this was because they never stayed in one place long enough to get to know anyone more than the landlord or the corner grocer.
Near midday, the merry shop bell announced another customer. Maddie pulled herself up from behind the counter where she'd been organizing a tray o
f saw blades. Surprised, she found Dr. Reynolds standing just inside the door, hat in hand, looking vaguely lost. Maddie couldn't imagine what tools could interest the doctor.
"Good day, Dr. Reynolds. How can we help you? Surely, you don't shop for medical instruments here." It was flippant, she knew, but Mr. Wilkinson's good-natured banter had loosened her tongue. Dr. Reynolds' blank look gave her cause to regret the teasing. While for Maddie the comment was perfectly natural, for reserved Madison, it was out of character.
His smile returning, Dr. Reynolds took a step farther into the shop. "In years past, I suppose such an instrument as you brandish might have been employed. However, we have developed more refined medical instruments."
Puzzled, Maddie looked at the saw blade in her hand. "Oh." Slightly flushed, she placed the tool back on the shelf.
"I was just wondering how you were getting on in your new position." Dr. Reynolds took in the smudged apron she wore about her waist. "Your job entails a bit more than we had originally thought."
Untying the apron and putting it aside, she stepped from behind the counter. "Mrs. Wilkinson was delayed so I’ve been assisting Mr. Wilkinson." She pulled her hands together before her waist, still puzzling over his presence. "Would you like to see the bookshop?"
Dr. Reynolds nodded and followed her into the vacant back room, their footsteps echoing off the bare walls.
"So, what type of books appeal to you, Dr. Reynolds? Perhaps we have something on our shelves." She gave him a teasing smile. "That is," She paused for dramatic effect throwing out her arm to the sparsely adorned bookshelves. "That is, as long as you might have an interest in cooking, needlework or literature of eighteenth century England."
Glancing to the vacant right and left walls, his eyebrows arched upward toward his hairline. She could see the effort he took to keep from laughing aloud, his bemusement touching his eyes first. The suppressed laugh resolved itself into a broad smile revealing perfect white teeth and charming dimples. "Mrs. Wilkinson has ambitious foresight, doesn't she?"
Redeeming Lies Page 10
