Necessary Evil

by Killarney Traynor

  Around and around in my head, I read off the list of Gregory’s crimes, starting from when he first appeared in my house and threatened to expose my secret about the letter. The way he insinuated himself into my home, got out of doing the chores by hiring Jacob, and complained about Aunt Susanna’s fussing, how he constantly bothered me for information, keeping us up late at night to pump us for information, and - worst of all - ruining my moment with Joe. I remembered the arrogance, the intrusions, and the insinuations, until my blood began to boil.

  The sooner Gregory Randall gets off my property, the better.

  Then the path turned, the trees cleared a little, and a shaft of moonlight shone down on an expertly filled hole.

  I stopped short.

  It was here, not that long ago, that Gregory and Trusty were attacked by the trespasser. I remembered Trusty’s whimpers and the blood running down Gregory’s face as he stopped me from charging after Jacob. I remembered touching his face in the kitchen, and the look he gave me when he said, “I knew I had to get out there before you did.”

  Joe Tremonti was part of my existence long before you blackmailed your way into it.

  Maddie, what else can I do?

  I had the sensation of cold water running down my back as I stood there in the dark. The memories swarmed me again, same memories but changed somehow, as though I was seeing them in person now, when before they were reflections in a flawed mirror.

  I remembered Gregory insisting that he would pay Jacob’s salary, as it was part of the deal. I heard him cautioning me against running outside the first time Trusty heard the digger. I saw his smile when I cracked a snappy remark; but this time, I saw that he hardly ever returned it. I felt his hands on mine on that morning I fell into the hole, and his voice telling me that we would find the truth and end the siege. I had believed him then.

  Just like I believed him now.

  I remembered the look on Joe’s face just after he kissed me, the look of satisfaction.

  A man could get addicted.

  I shook my head, my fingers going to my lips.

  What man leaves the woman he cares about alone in her hour of need?

  I buried my head in my hands, the lantern clunking down at my feet.

  I wasn’t wrong about Joe. I couldn’t be. Joe was the mainstay. Joe was the standby, my fallback and first choice, the one who rode to my rescue the first time and promised, albeit tacitly, to be there forever. Joe was the man most women only dream about, but the one I got to know.

  Joe was part of my future. That had been decided. It had been decided long ago, back on that day when he found me sobbing at Uncle Michael’s funeral.

  What kind of a “real” man convinces the woman he loves to lie?

  Memories surged over me. I recalled Joe explaining that the only thing I needed was proof that the treasure didn’t exist. “A statement,” he’d said, “or a sale that proved that the treasure was lost before Alexander ever got to the farm.”

  I don’t honestly remember whose idea it was to write the Beaumont letter. It may have been mine, it might have been his, but Greg was right about one thing: I didn’t know a thing about forgery. It was Joe that found the ink and paper, and arranged to buy it so that there was no connection to me or the farm. His hand was the one that wrote the words, that aged the paper and arranged for Professor Maddox to authenticate it – because Joe knew, as few did, that the good professor was starting to show the first signs of dementia.

  “It’ll work, Maddie,” he’d said. “No one will ever know. No one will ever care. Just trust me. It’ll all work out.”

  Oh, it worked out, all right. Look at me now, Joe, and tell me if this is what you consider, “working out.”

  I felt a sudden revulsion for the man who’d allowed and encouraged me to do this, giving me this burden of guilt that was almost impossible to bear.

  Not that any of this excused my part in it. It was I who agreed, and then did the research on Beaumont, and I planted the letter in the attic and made sure that Aunt Susanna found it. I planned and schemed to ruin the family name and the reputation of the man who’d taken me in, and treated me like a daughter.

  But then Joe had taken an almost incredible risk for the sake of friendship. If we’d been found out, I would have been disgraced - but Joe would have been ruined. His professional reputation and standing, his marriage… All were all put on the line for me. Surely that said something about Joe, even though the debt I owed was enormous, almost overwhelming. Not only did I have the burden of the lie that was meant to protect my family while betraying them, I had been responsible for Joe’s professional reputation as well.

  I’d failed him in that. I hadn’t burnt the letter as I’d promised, and now Greg knew. What was to prevent him from blowing the whistle on all of us?

  Even as I thought that, I knew better. Gregory never once told me that he’d ruin me. He’d only ever said that the truth would come out – after we’d found the truth to temper the news of the fraud. Had he ever actually threatened me?

  He hadn’t.

  I felt sick. I felt beaten. It was for my aunt’s sake that I had lied, for Joe’s sake that I’d taken full responsibility for the forgery, and for a legacy’s sake that I’d betrayed Uncle Michael. Now I was about to lose them all: Aunt Susanna, Joe, Greg…

  Oh, Gregory…

  Everything you touch you ruin, Maddie Warwick. Everything you touch, you ruin.

  I wished that I could find a place to bury myself, to hide from the reality that was exploding around me. It was a childish impulse, one I used to give in to when I was young. I was always running. Running into the woods, hiding among the trees, lowering myself into the ruins of the old foundation by the path. I’d wait until everyone had gone, until no one was looking for me - until I was quite sure that there was no one left. Hiding in that hollow in the ground, I learned to wait out the storms of my early life. When I was a child, I hid.

  As an adult, I ran.

  But there are some things you can’t outrun, and some things you can’t hide from. I could no longer hide from the fact that if I was in love, it wasn’t with Joe Tremonti.

  I am not a child. I’m too tired to run and I can’t hide in the old foundation anymore.

  The old foundation…

  Realization poured over me, stripping my thoughts away, leaving only one clear, bare idea:

  INOLDFOUNDATION

  I turned back, sprinting to the house before the thought was complete. My head was pounding, my heart racing, my mind focused on one thought.

  I knew where the treasure was.

  Gregory was outside, pacing around the back yard with his hands in his pockets, kicking at pebbles and looking absolutely miserable. Under any other circumstances, I would have hesitated; but tonight, with the thrill of discovery pounding through my veins, I ran for him full-tilt.

  He turned, surprised.

  “Madeleine, what is it?” he demanded, and looked confused as I grabbed his arm.

  “I’ve found it,” I gasped. “I’ve found it!”

  His eyes were impossible to see in the darkness.

  “Found what? The treasure? Where?”

  I gestured behind me.

  “The old foundation. I know what he meant!”

  “Wait here,” he said, and dashed back into the house. He emerged a moment later with a flashlight and his walking stick.

  “Show me,” he said.

  It wasn’t far, and the way was so familiar to me I could have run there with my eyes closed. As Gregory easily kept pace with me, I flashed back to the first night I met him, how quick he’d been to run to the scene of the accident with me, and how then - as now – when he could outrun me with so little effort, he stayed at my side.

  We reached the bend in the road. Greg hesitated. I plunged into the forest, following a tiny footpath that was so little used that it was nearly grown over, and only someone who knew what they were looking for would have found it. He was behind me, the be
am from his flashlight bouncing off the trees, lighting my way.

  We turned on the lantern as we slowed our pace, watching the ground carefully. The way was strewn with fallen branches and new growth. Leaves slapped my face, thorns clawed at my shins, and something skittered away from me in the undergrowth up ahead. But I was too driven to be frightened. The foundation was only a short distance from the path, so close that I nearly stumbled into it.

  I stopped short and got my bearings, letting my beating heart calm. The light of my lamp seemed a paltry defense against the dark that pressed against us. Above my head, the trees whispered to each other and under them, fire flies winked in and out.

  Greg came up behind me, playing his flashlight in the hole in front of us. It was all that remained of the Hill family home. No one really knew when it had been built: some said in the 1820s, but my uncle had maintained that it was earlier than that. One thing everyone agreed upon was that it was built as the eldest son’s main living quarters. They had lived in it until a fire consumed both the structure and the fledgling family that lived in it. After, the remaining family let it fall to ruin, focusing on other parts of the property, which included the piece that Darlene Winters lived on now.

  All that remained of the house was the stone-lined root cellar and the remains of the granite fireplace. The timber used to build the house had long since rotted away. Leaves, the trunk of a fallen tree, and other debris had collected in the place that once stored a family’s winter food supply and, much later, hidden a little girl desperate to be alone. Looking at it that night, I marveled at how the younger me once had the courage to sit in such a deserted place.

  Greg’s voice broke the silence.

  “You think it’s in here?” he asked.

  I nodded, uncertainly. “Yes.”

  “It’s not on Chase property.”

  “I know, but…” I shrugged. “I just had a feeling.”

  He played the light about the remains.

  Thinking the treasure was here was a long shot – and it was getting longer the more I thought about it. For Alexander to stash the money here meant that he assumed the Hills wouldn’t touch this place while he was gone, a risky assumption. But Avery would surely never come across this by accident. The clue fit better, too: Alexander would have said, “in the basement” rather than “foundation,” if he’d meant the family home. And if he’d meant the basement, why did the farm hands testify that he’d gone out of the house to bury the treasure?

  They could have lied, of course, just as Alexander could have said “foundation” when he meant the family basement. But I didn’t think so, and there was only one way to find out.

  Greg was saying, “We ought to wait until morning…”

  I jumped into the foundation.

  My landing was unsteady, the floor made slippery by fallen leaves, but I didn’t lose my balance. I recovered and lifted the lamp triumphantly.

  “If you think I’m going to wait for a little thing like daylight, you’re crazy,” I said.

  He stared. Then, through the night air, I heard him laugh, and the sound made my heart skip a beat.

  “You know, Madeleine,” he said, and then he jumped into the pit beside me. My lamp light caught the smile on his face as he landed. He steadied himself and continued. “I always knew you were a treasure hunter at heart. Just like me.”

  He was standing a little too close, his presence just a little too much. My angry words came back to taunt me: It’s always been Tremonti. He’d looked so crushed then, so excited now. Could he have recovered so quickly? Or, like me, was he just trying to put it behind him?

  It didn’t matter.

  “Let’s start looking,” I said.

  “Let’s,” he nodded. “Flip you for the south wall.”

  “As if you knew which one it was.”

  “As if it mattered,” he returned cheerfully.

  We separated and went to opposite walls. The hole was not as deep as memory or shadow indicated. My eyes were almost level with the ground, a fact which greatly lessened the trapped feeling I had. I lifted the lamp and moved closer to the rock-embedded wall.

  The debris under my feet made an unsteady platform, forcing me to move slowly and carefully. I walked around the perimeter, checking the walls for scratch marks or loose rocks, or maybe an “X” to mark the spot. I didn’t know what to look for and I felt rather foolish – an amateur doing what a professional could do better, but I didn’t stop.

  The walls had held up pretty well over time. There were a few loose stones, but I hesitated to pull them out to examine what was behind them, worried that I might find more insects than treasure. The walls had caved in a few places, loosened by rain and time, the rocks now partially buried under the debris. I felt the softened, root-threaded earth, but found nothing to indicate that there had been anything buried there.

  Every once in a while, during my brief examination, the sounds of the woods seemed to change. There would be a snap, like someone stepping on a twig. Or the tree frogs would momentarily hush, as though silenced before a looming threat. I would freeze in response, my nerves taut, my mind roving through possible explanations - all of them life-threatening and most of them absurd. Once, I swore I heard slow-moving footsteps through the leaves, but it ceased almost before I identified it. I looked to see if Greg noticed the sound, but he seemed absorbed in his examinations.

  Relax, Maddie.

  I focused again on my search and found that I was back to where I started. I lowered the lantern and sighed in defeat.

  “Maddie!”

  The sound made me jump, and the note in Gregory’s tone quickened my pulse. I ran to where he was bent over.

  He pointed to a spot. “Put your lamp there.”

  I did as he said. He handed me the flashlight and knelt in front of a pile of fallen stones. He began to throw them to one side, almost recklessly.

  “So loose,” he muttered to himself. “Can’t have been here long, but…”

  That’s when we saw the box.

  It was tucked into a hole in the wall behind the stones: a plain tin box, with a handle so rusted that it had molded back into the side of the box.

  “Gregory!” I gasped. “It’s…”

  He was already scraping away the imprisoning earth. “Help me, Maddie.”

  I kneeled beside him, and between the two of us, we dug enough out to start pulling at the box. It took a bit of effort to move it, because it was heavy and the ground had fallen in around it. Looking back, we probably should have waited, should have documented the site better. But we were both fueled with impatience, and nearly tore the box apart in our combined urgency.

  “Is it really…?” I asked.

  He said, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  The earth suddenly gave way, and we fell backward, taking the box with us. I, still holding the flashlight, rolled to one side as he rolled to the other.

  As I did so, the light shifted, exposing another part of the ground, and something else caught my eye - something that was so out of place that it was enough to take my mind off of the long-lost treasure for a moment.

  It was buried under branches, faded with time, and so coated in dirt that I could barely make it out. It was a plaid horse blanket. Only someone who had been at Chase Farm for more than seven years would have recognized it. Uncle Michael himself had decided to change out the old plaid horse blankets for the more modern weave in a stylish gray color, giving away all the plaid to a recycling plant.

  I pushed aside some of the debris and assured myself that this was, indeed, the Chase Farm blanket, but what was it doing here? Had I brought it here one time and forgotten it? That would have been most unlike me. Had someone else? But who?

  Greg interrupted then.

  “Maddie, bring the light.”

  He was kneeling in front of the box, brushing off the dirt. I crawled around the front of it, telling myself that it could be anyone’s box, that it needn’t be Alexander’s. It co
uld just as well belong to the Hill family. Judging from the tense look on Greg’s face, he was thinking the same thing.

  “There’s something stamped here,” he said, gesturing to the top of the box and squinting in the dim light.

  I lifted the flashlight and the light fell across the top, where it had been stamped with one word: McInnis.

  We’d found it. Here, on the wrong piece of property, the McInnis treasure, after 150 years, was sitting right in front of us.

  “Oh my God…”

  My voice echoed in the empty darkness. I stared, my heart pounding. Here it was, the answer we’d all been waiting for, the treasure that Uncle Michael had been so sure existed. This box proved my uncle right, even while it disappointed his hopes that Alexander was a righteous, misunderstood man - if, that is, the box contained the McInnis family fortune.

  Greg was shaking his head, brushing the dirt off of the top of the box.

  “I can’t believe it,” I muttered, and he looked at me. “I just can’t believe it. After all this time… It’s here. It’s really here.”

  “It is,” he said. “And you found it, Maddie. You figured it out and you knew where to look for it. After only a few weeks with me, you’re getting to be quite the detective, you know. If you ever give up horses, you might want to consider this as a new career.”

  His voice was an odd mixture of tones and implications, and I flushed with pleasure before I remembered the argument that had me charging out into the dark by myself.

  How different everything seemed now.

  The feeling of triumph was short-lived. Looking at him across that trunk, I realized that the end was coming. Now that the treasure was found, he’d be leaving for good. Our collaboration would be at an end.

  I couldn’t let him go after that terrible argument. But what could I say?

  I looked at the box.

  “Aunt Susanna,” I said. “We have to tell her.”

  “Better than that,” he said, springing to his feet. “We’ll show her. Give me a hand.”