Theodora did the angry-shimmy thing with her shoulders. “What does he think he is? North Korea? Delia, trot over there and haul him out. There’s work to be done.”
After Delia trudged off, Theodora latched onto Birdie’s wrist and dragged her forward. The old woman was an angry bee zipping through the crowd. Even as her hat blinked holiday cheer, the scowl on her face sent the swarm of parade-goers scattering.
Breaking free, Birdie set herself a mulish gait. She nodded in greeting to Finney, busy emptying the pockets of anyone unlucky enough to pass within earshot of her clanging bell. The pail was already full of bills. Tens, twenties, a Ben Franklin—no, two. The citizens of Liberty weren’t rich, but they were certainly generous.
Still, there must be limits. If there was a parade committee, they operated on a budget of fifty dollars… or less. The trucks idling bumper to bumper behind the courthouse sported plastic poinsettias stuffed into rust spots and cheap tinsel taped on greasy windshields. A silver Ford was pathetically adorned with cardboard bells a five-year-old must have cut out. Behind it, a pockmarked Chevy revved beneath a twisted clump of twinkle lights. Half of the lights were dead.
“Give them your hat, Theodora.” Birdie nodded toward the men heaping greenery on the Chevy. “They need all the help they can get.”
“Like hell I will.” The old woman went up on the toes of her cowboy boots. “Hugh! Over here!”
Birdie tried to steel herself as he strode forward. Hugh was in fine form. His eyes were slitted and he was working the muscles in his jaw. His irritation went unnoticed by Theodora, who put them both to work on the third truck in line—another Ford. They strung lights in an uneasy silence while their cowboy general barked orders at Blossom, who’d eagerly appeared with her friends. Delia ran off to fetch aluminum garlands. Anthony was already pouring sweat from the flatbed of a truck near the end of the procession. Several men Birdie recognized as regulars at the restaurant were helping him.
Nervous energy galvanized her into action. The faster she got away from Hugh, the better. She peered back at the crowd for Natasha, who’d disappeared.
“Working out your next heist?” he asked when they’d tugged a gaudy length of aluminum garland around the front bumper and faced each other. He snatched the duct tape from her quivering fingers and tore off a strip. “If you’re watching Finney, you’ve picked the wrong target. She’ll never let you near enough to the fireman’s fund to grab a fistful of bills.”
“Go to hell.”
The retort jerked him upright. “It’s nice to see you too, Eggplant. Been minding the apartment while I’ve been away?”
Did he think she cared if he avoided her? “Let’s get this done, all right? I left my boxing gloves at the homestead. Find someone else to go a few rounds with.”
“I’m not fighting.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to get you to admit you need morality training. Not to mention a new line of work.”
“Leave me alone.”
Horrified at the tremor in her voice, she bit her mouth shut. Pressure built behind her eyes. Her heart flung against her sternum like a fledgling thrown from the nest. Tears? No way. Tears were reserved for cataclysmic events. If she were evicted from an apartment for skipping rent, or another drifter stole her stuff—maybe she’d bring on the waterworks. But not for Hugh.
She drew a deep breath in a desperate attempt to stabilize her emotions. “Will you lay off?” Because he was right, mostly. She hadn’t been able to resist looking at the fireman’s fund, and she had lifted cash from Natasha. She’d earned his loathing… and her own.
She’d stayed too long in this little town, long enough to grow used to the scent of cinnamon sweetening the air every morning as Natasha got to work at the bakery, long enough to wait with anticipation to hear about Delia’s weekend social life every Monday. Miss Betty greeted Birdie with a wink and a nod whenever delivering the mail, and Blossom Perini took over The Second Chance most afternoons with her teenage friends. They asked for advice about boys while they slurped root beer floats and fiddled with their iPods. Birdie liked the way they took in her words as if they were valuable gems. But she’d donned the townspeople’s affection like an ill-fitting pair of jeans. Trying to fit into their company was impossible.
Approaching, Hugh seemed to sense an opening. “How ‘bout this. I’ll back off if you’ll admit I’m right.”
“Then here goes. I’m everything you think I am. A loser, a drifter—I’ll never get it together. Satisfied?”
His expression froze. “If you agree, why not change?”
The question ate through her eroding composure. “Gee, I don’t know. Because I don’t have any real job skills? Or maybe it’s because I can’t deal with people, their expectations. You should’ve seen how pissed I made Finney yesterday. A customer grabbed me by the arm, to take his order. I nearly sent his ass to the floor. I reacted like he’d come at me in an alley.”
“Get off the street and you won’t have to be streetwise. There are other ways to live.”
And what would that involve? Monthly bills, a car payment—responsibilities. “You make it sound simple. It’s not,” she replied. “No one taught me the basics. How to keep a schedule. Hold down a job. Pay bills.”
“You have a job. You do pay bills—rent at least.”
“I can handle a short stint. Then it falls apart. I don’t get it.”
“Sure you do.” He drilled her with a hard stare. “It takes perseverance to change, but you want it easy. You’ll grab the rubies and go. When the money runs out, you’ll go back to drifting.”
Christ, she did want to cry. “And you’re an expert on change? I should follow your lead?”
“I can help you rehabilitate.”
“I manage fine on my own.”
“Oh, yeah? Seems like you need something before you manage your life straight into jail.”
He’d tapped her deepest fear and the harsh tenor of his voice made the horror vivid. The steel cage. Miles of cement, like a tomb. If she was ever forced to spend time in prison, locked up like an animal, she wouldn’t survive.
He grunted. “So you are scared.” He blocked her path when she tried to flee. “You should be. The U.S. has grown a conservative hide. Most people think criminals like you should be warehoused for the long haul. They aren’t big on rehabilitation, Birdie. They’d just as soon incarcerate your ass and throw away the key.”
“Why won’t you lay off?”
“I can’t. Not while you’re screwing up your life.”
She wasn’t taking it. “Aren’t you the guy who derailed his life when he wrote about some do-gooder’s cheating husband? Didn’t the woman drown?” She got into his face, enough so he flinched. It was an awful victory. “Isn’t it your fault she died? Oh, and you’ve been doing so well ever since.”
The accusations sucked the air from Hugh’s lungs. She was taking gutter swipes and she knew it. No glory in winning, not with the pain in his eyes mainlining straight to her heart. She wanted to double over and wallow in the body blow she’d doled out to them both.
Theodora trotted up. “Cain and Jezebel! What are you fools arguing about?” She planted herself between them. “Hugh, you’re not fixing to faint, are you?”
The question drew his shoulders up. “Stand off, buckaroo. I’m all right.” He scraped his hand through his hair, unwilling or unable to draw his eyes away from Birdie’s. The pain in his face ebbed to low tide, with gale winds rising.
Theodora screwed down her hat. “Make another comment about my Western wear and you won’t be fainting. You’ll be dead.” She grabbed the duct tape dangling from his hand. “We’ll finish together. Birdie, get the lights. Move!”
Stiffly Birdie swung onto the ice-crusted lawn, where decorations were heaped in boxes. When she returned with her arms full, Hugh lobbed fiery glances. Enough so that Theodora noticed. Her mouth worked silently while the air between them congealed. When she’d had en
ough, she stamped her foot.
“All this high emotion is poisoning my disposition. What were you rascals discussing?” She thumped Hugh on the hip, as if he were the one more prone to honesty. Glowering, he was as mute as marble.
Theodora’s mistrust stung but it was manageable. “We weren’t discussing anything important,” Birdie snapped. She flung one end of the string at his chest. She ached from her ankles to her neck, as if his displeasure were a virus running rampant in her system.
“Horse manure. Hugh, tell me what’s going on.”
He glanced at Birdie, the hurt extinguished from his face. His predatory smile pooled fear in her belly. “We were arguing about Justice Postell,” he said, and her blood ran cold. “Birdie swears the freedwoman brought rubies to Liberty. I wasn’t buying it.”
“The story is true. I told Birdie myself.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t the first. She’d already heard about the gems.”
His announcement coiled the moment so tight it came to a standstill. Birdie considered strangling him even if it wasn’t in keeping with the holiday spirit. What was he doing? She’d told him about the clues in the strictest confidence. How dare he betray her?
There wasn’t time to figure it out, not with Theodora regarding her. “You don’t say.” She stared unblinking, an owl spotting prey. “Birdie, who told you about the rubies?”
She tried to think past the terror shorting out her brain. No dice.
Hugh obligingly spoke up. “She heard a rumor—she’s not sure where. Something about Justice leaving behind a clue to the location of the rubies.”
Oh, God. He was about to reveal the clue handed down in her family. It was part of her family lore she treasured. He paused before her, his devil-dark gaze churning with an indecipherable flood of emotion.
“I’m not sure I remember the lines. How do they go, Birdie?”
His voice became mellow, like wine, diffusing the anger between them. The change came too quickly, so quickly that Birdie couldn’t protect herself by drawing her gaze from his. The lines of poetry were sacred. He knew they were important to her. All of the emotions she’d hidden away moved swiftly through her expression and she couldn’t halt the peeling back of her hard exterior or hide what was revealed underneath. Hugh muttered a curse as her lower lip trembled and her eyes grew wet. Then he cradled her face between his palms. His scent wove around her, musky and deep, and she swayed toward him as if he’d become her center of gravity.
Bending, he nearly brushed her lips with his. “What were the words?” His eyes were dark and inviting. She dove in willingly. “Liberty safeguards the cherished heart?”
He said the words sweetly, in a low voice that thrummed across her skin. Longing stole through her, unwanted and potent. He was traitorous and cruel.
He was the only man she’d ever needed.
Behind them, Theodora made a tiny sound of surprise. Inside her cowboy boot, her left ankle wobbled. Her knees gave way.
Hugh lurched sideways, catching her in mid-swoon. With a gargled cry, she snatched for his shirt. The moment she was anchored by his sturdy arms, she tried to find her feet.
“Theodora?” Birdie grabbed her other arm.
Above the cowboy hat, Birdie connected with Hugh’s worried gaze. A heart attack? It wasn’t possible. Nothing shook the old woman. She was indomitable. Please—not a heart attack. The prospect of Theodora in real danger filled Birdie with fear. The old woman had only recently come into her life. She wasn’t ready to lose her.
Surprisingly, Theodora lurched away from Hugh and toward her instead. Startled, Birdie grabbed hold. Their entwined hands were oddly mesmerizing, the raisin-skinned fingers with arthritic knobs at their base wrapped firmly around Birdie’s pale hands. Theodora murmured something like a prayer, low and sweet.
Her hat fluttered to the ground. Hugh let go, allowing Theodora to rest her head on Birdie’s shoulder.
Thrilled she’d been chosen, Birdie protectively steered her to the nearest truck. “Do you need to sit down?”
“No, no—just give me a moment.” Theodora released a flutter of air.
“Take all the time you need.”
They stood together for long minutes. Hugh sprinted off, returning quickly with a glass of water that Theodora waved away. A man trudged past dragging a small fir tree, his cheeks shiny with perspiration, and hoisted it onto the hood of a truck farther down in the convoy. With a few strips of electrical tape he attached the tree to the windshield. How the driver of the truck would see in traffic with his view obstructed was anyone’s guess.
Appraising his ridiculous stab at decorating, Theodora murmured choice words. She appeared to regain some of her usual vigor.
She glanced suddenly at Birdie. “How much do you know about the Civil War, child?”
“Not much,” Birdie admitted, relieved to see she was doing better. “I’d love to hear whatever you’re willing to share.”
The comment must have pleased the old woman because she hurried on. “It was a dark time in our great nation’s history. Good folk torn asunder by the war. White folks, too.”
Hugh retrieved her hat and handed it to her. “For the record, the abolitionists were white. They helped Justice.”
“Yes, but she didn’t tell anyone about the rubies. Not right away. She had two bags of gems, more jewels than you can imagine. My, how they sparkled! Worth more than the average man makes in a lifetime, I figure.”
Transfixed, Birdie shut out the clang of Finney’s bell charging up the street and the impatience oozing from the waiting crowd. The rubies must be worth tens of thousands. No. Hundreds of thousands. Maybe half the jewels of France were buried right here in Liberty.
“Now, Justice understood the value of the gems entrusted to her,” Theodora continued. “Those rubies were the foundation of her new life, a life of freedom. She didn’t squander them buying useless notions or fancy dresses.”
“Did she sell them?” Birdie asked, unable to stop the words from bounding forth.
A speculative gleam lit Theodora’s eyes. “Justice was a clever woman. Like Hugh mentioned, an abolitionist helped her. His name was Henry Williams.”
Birdie recalled the first time Theodora mentioned the rubies, in the restaurant. “Henry Williams owned a farmer’s bank around here, right?”
“That’s right. His kin still live in these parts. Landon Williams?”
Theodora leaned close, as if Birdie’s reply held some importance. The name wasn’t familiar. But Hugh must have heard of Landon, because he looked distressed. Quickly, he donned a poker face.
“Henry let Justice use the gems for collateral,” Theodora continued. “The money she borrowed paid for every brick in The Second Chance Grill.”
“Every brick,” Birdie murmured, recalling the clue she’d found in the patriotic bunting. Brick by brick, my love. My life built alone, without you.
“When the restaurant became profitable, she repaid Henry and got the rubies back.”
“So she didn’t sell them?” Hugh asked Theodora. He stared pointedly at Birdie. “She didn’t sell them to a pawn shop or anything like that?”
“Only a fool would do such a thing! Those rubies were a bond between her and the man she loved. To even think such a thing!”
Chagrined, Birdie licked her lips. If she found the rubies she wouldn’t hesitate to sell them. They were merely a tool she’d use to build a new life. What they’d once represented to Justice wouldn’t matter.
No—it would matter. It did matter.
A tumult of emotion poured through her. What if she could build a new life right here in Liberty? Given half a chance she’d like to stay near Theodora. Maybe she’d convince Hugh to stay too. Everything Justice represented—her goodness and her pride, the way she’d arrived in town with nothing but her hopes for a better life—Birdie thought for a fleeting moment that she’d do the same. She’d make more of herself than she’d ever dreamed.
Foolish hopes. She didn’t p
ossess Justice’s strength of character or her ability to transcend the lot she’d been assigned in life. Only a person of worth deserved such a chance. Justice had earned a better life through a thousand unimaginable struggles. And Birdie? She’d come into the world the child of thieves, grasping and wanting and taking. She’d go out the same way.
Thankfully, she was spared hearing any more of the story.
Blossom ran toward them. “Hey! Dad says you’ve all got to get out of the way. The parade is about to begin.”
* * *
From her bedroom window, Theodora watched the night steal the last of the sunlight from the sky.
Though the parade was long over, she couldn’t calm the hornets swarming through her insides. She pulled the ruffled curtain across her bedroom window, closing out the darkness. One by one she turned on the lights, then smoothed the lace coverlet on her four-poster bed. Her thoughts were still jumbled as she entered the walk-in closet, where she kept the safe.
Liberty safeguards the cherished heart.
Where could Birdie have heard the words?
For a long moment she stared at the safe, her mind leaping and running in a fitful way. Working herself into a state wouldn’t do. One way or another, she’d get to the bottom of it.
Finally, she calmed down enough to work the dial on the safe. The heavy door swung open with a groan and she removed the leather bound volume.
Returning to her bedroom, she sat in the rocking chair and placed the book in her lap.
Tenderly, she ran her fingers across the buttery leather. A world’s worth of pain was encased inside. And love—there was certainly love. Every question she’d ever struggled with in her long life, every hope and every dream—these pages spoke to them all.
Liberty safeguards—
Until now, they’d been her words alone. Hers, and the babies she’d brought into the world, and the babies who’d come from them. Pride was stamped on every page. And reasons. There were so many reasons to live honorably and with dignity. These words anchored her, and her kin.
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