The Plan

by Kim Pritekel

  “Do you think you can fix it?” she asked, keeping her tone light and friendly, even as she was about to yank the piece out of his hands and take it elsewhere.

  “Well,” the jeweler finally said, lowering the thin gold chain with its cross pendant that dangled from his fingers. “This is a beautiful and unique piece,” he explained, removing the loupe and setting it on the piece of dark purple velvet laid out over the glass top. “This piece is likely circa eighteen sixty, perhaps sixty-five. Definitely Civil War era or just after.” He grinned at her, his pencil-thin mustache seeming to smile right along with him. “The Victorian Era was a wonderful time for jewelers. There was so much experimentation going on,” he continued. “With the discoveries of ancient artifacts and cultures—”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Ellis, and it certainly is interesting,” Lysette interrupted, her irritation coming through in her tone. “But can it be fixed?”

  The short man cleared his throat, though Lysette couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or irritated. “This piece isn’t as simple as it would appear. If you look through this,” he handed her his loupe, “you can see that even in the cross itself, there are nearly microscopic notches, each one put there by hand to make the cross sparkle.”

  Humoring him, Lysette did as asked, and she had to admit, it was kind of neat to see so up close. “Beautiful. So intricate.”

  “Indeed,” he exclaimed, taking the eyepiece back from her, some of his former excitement returning to his voice. “The problem is, each link on this chain is similarly nicked and notched, all unique to this piece. When it was yanked off or however the clasp was broken,” he added, tapping the broken ends with a fingertip, “it took several of these links with it.”

  “I see,” Lysette said, eyebrows drawing as concern filled her. “So it can’t be fixed then?”

  “Well, it can,” he said, laying the necklace on the velvet square not far from where the lead crystal ring box sat. “But it won’t be as simple as affixing extra gold links that I have laying around here.” He indicated his small store with a wave of his hand. “They’ll have to be made specifically for this in the tradition it was initially made. That is,” he added, “if you want it all to match. I can add random links that may match each other but will not match the lion’s share of the chain. Your choice.”

  Lysette stared down at the necklace, a fingernail tapping lightly on the glass as she considered. “What will it cost?” she asked, meeting his beady little gaze. “To re-create them.”

  “Oh, goodness,” he said, resting his hands on the glass case as he too stared down at the piece in question. “At least fifty dollars, Mrs. Vaughn.”

  “Oh, my,” she murmured.

  “You have to understand, the labor that would go into this alone is extensive and laborious, and the materials—”

  “Let’s do it,” Lysette said with conviction, lightly pushing the velvet cloth toward the man to emphasize her decision.

  He looked at her, thick, dark eyebrows shooting up from behind the frames of his glasses. “That’s quite a bit of money. Perhaps you should come back with Mr. Vaughn.”

  “Mr. Ellis,” she nearly purred, leaning slightly forward, her eyes hard and boring into him. “Mr. Vaughn may handle the money, but who do you think handles him?”

  The jeweler swallowed hard before nodding. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get started on this right away.”

  “Thank you.” She finally wandered around looking at various things as her order was written up so she could provide her phone number and sign it. The bell above the door dinged, and her father entered. “Almost finished here,” she assured him.

  “All right, how much are you going to have to sneak in past Jim?” he joked.

  She smiled. “I was good.”

  “Ma’am?” the jeweler called to her, holding out a pen.

  Moments later, father and daughter strolled arm in arm down a shady street in downtown Denver, glancing in various windows when something caught one or the other’s eye. Davis Landon lived primarily in California now, though he did return to the Denver property a handful of times a year, such as now. She looked up at him, noting the gray she could see in the hair and sideburns that were visible beneath his fedora. He was still a very handsome man—the most handsome man in all the world, she thought—but he had aged considerably since her mother died. Her illness had hit him hard, and her death had taken a piece of him with her.

  “I’m so glad you’re staying for a few weeks this time,” she said. “I miss you, and I know the kids miss you terribly.”

  “I miss you all, too,” he said, bringing a hand up to rest over the smaller one at the crook of his arm.

  She smiled at that, glancing at a window that had a beautiful dollhouse on display. “Hold up,” she said, pulling away from her father and walking over to it. “Bronte loves to collect the little furniture,” she explained as he stepped up beside her. “Remember, from that beautiful dollhouse Maman bought her when she was a little girl?”

  “I do,” he said with a wistful smile.

  “So,” Lysette began conversationally. “I haven’t told you about someone very special who’s come into our lives.” She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for only a moment before getting them moving again.

  “Oh? Don’t tell me, Jimmy finally got his way and you got a dog.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “No. Are you kidding? Jim would kill me. He doesn’t believe animals belong in the house, even though it’s Aunt Josie and I who clean up all the messes.”

  “Of course,” he drawled. Lysette knew her father liked Jim overall and certainly respected the kind of provider he was, but she always sensed something underlying with him.

  “It’s Jimmy’s teacher,” she began, feeling a bit mischievous rather than just outright telling him what she knew would shock him.

  “Oh, yeah? If my grandson is actually listening and doing his work rather than wooing every girl in sight, I’m sorry, I can’t see that as a very special teacher,” he teased.

  “He has straight A’s, as a matter of fact.”

  He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. “Well, this person is special,” he agreed.

  She smiled, the mother in her kicking in when suddenly a baby began to cry across the street. She watched as a frazzled mother tried to calm the infant. Smiling as she remembered those days, she returned her focus to her father and their conversation. There was so much she wanted—no, needed—to know.

  “It’s Ellie,” she finally said, glancing up at him. “The special person is Ellie.”

  He stopped their forward momentum with a touch to Lysette’s shoulder. “What?”

  “She lives in Woodland, Daddy,” Lysette said. “She’s been there for years. I had no idea.” She found it interesting that her father’s expression was a mixture of concern and elation.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Hell, I just found out last fall,” she said, getting them moving again and guiding them to a stone bench to sit. “I just found out the truth last week.”

  “She told you?” he asked quietly.

  “Well,” Lysette blew out, “someone had to!” She regretted her tone the moment the words were out of her mouth, even if she couldn’t quite regret the words themselves. “I’m sorry I got a bit loud.”

  “Please don’t apologize,” Davis said. “I deserved that.” He looked away from her and seemed to have seen something as he pushed to his feet with a grunt of exertion. “Come on.”

  “Daddy, I want to talk about this—” Lysette began but then saw what had caught his attention.

  Without another word between the two, they headed down the street to the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. It was a stunning work of architecture that belonged in Europe somewhere and not Denver, Colorado. It had been a favorite spot of Margaret Brown, later known as “The Unsinkable Molly Brown.”

  They took a seat in the back pew that her mother always sat in when she needed som
e quiet introspection time. Perhaps her father needed a place such as the cathedral to confess his sins of omission to Lysette.

  They got settled, and she waited for her father to speak, giving him time. Eleanor had told her all she knew from her perspective, so now it was time to hear the rest.

  “That morning, I sent Alan to grab Eleanor and Emma and bring them to the train station, so we could all leave together,” he began, looking straight ahead into the massive structure that was the nave. “When he arrived alone at the train station,” he said, lightly shaking his head as he crossed his arms to wrap around his hat, which he’d removed upon entering the church and placed in his lap, “my heart fell. I just knew something had gone horrendously wrong.”

  As Lysette listened to his soft, calm voice recounting the events of that day, it was lulling her back into those images and memories.

  “So,” he continued, “I left you guys there with Alan to go without me, and I drove to that old farmhouse.”

  He was quiet for so long, Lysette almost spoke to prompt him to continue.

  “Some serious violence had taken place, honey,” he murmured. “And I don’t just mean the murder. There wasn’t a room in that house except maybe the kitchen where there wasn’t broken furniture, wall hangings crashed to the floor, someone’s blood…” He finished the last in a whisper, his eyes becoming shiny as he seemed to be looking into the past, seeing it all over again. He cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. “The police were already there, and Eleanor had been taken away.”

  “What about Emma?” Lysette asked.

  “They were going to take her to the hospital. She was beat up horribly.” Again, he cleared his throat. “Broken teeth, broken jaw and nose. I think she was in profound shock. She didn’t even know who I was when I tried to talk to her.”

  “What did you do?” she asked, nearly in a whisper. She was riveted by his tale.

  “I told them who I was, answered some questions.” He glanced at her. “That was when I found the necklace.” He gave her a small smile. “There it was, lying on the floor surrounded by Ed’s blood, yet not a drop on the cross or the chain.”

  She matched his smile. “Phoenix from the ashes.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I put it in my pocket, then went out to find the best lawyer I could for Eleanor.”

  “How was she? When you guys went to see Ellie in jail?” Lysette asked, not entirely sure she wanted the answer. She thought back to who they both were so long ago, but particularly who Eleanor was. She was a strong young woman, to be sure, but had some deep fragilities, too. The thought of her being all alone, sitting in a cage, was almost too much to bear.

  “Well, as you’d expect, she was scared, tired.” He let out a heavy sigh, seeming tired himself. “I really didn’t want to leave her. Wished so badly I could gather her up, hide her in my coat, and just leave it all behind for her.” He shook his head and whistled softly between his teeth. “Tough time for that young woman.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Maman tell me?” Lysette asked, getting down to what she really needed to know. “I assume she knew.”

  He nodded. “She did. Honestly, sweetheart, we wanted you to live your life, which you had all ahead of you. There was nothing you could do where Ellie was concerned. We didn’t want you to stop living or turn away from opportunities.” He reached a hand over and placed it on her knee. “In retrospect, maybe we should’ve done things differently, but at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.”

  Lysette allowed those words to mull, though she knew she’d need much longer than their time sitting in the church. She needed to be alone to really consider all that she’d been told.

  ****

  Lysette glanced at the sign welcoming her to Brooke View as she passed by on her way in. It was the same sign she remembered from when she was a kid, though it looked a bit worse for wear. She hadn’t been back since that morning they’d all scurried around to hightail it to the train station.

  As she prowled down the main street of the town she spent part of her childhood in, her head weaved from one side window in the car to the other, trying to take it all in. Some of the old buildings were gone while some were still there, though many with different businesses inhabiting them now, some twenty-two years later.

  She slowed the car to a crawl as she neared the building her father used to own. A few years after the house was burned to the ground, the Landon family had sold all their stakes in the town, save for one, one she intended to visit later.

  The building where the Landry General Store had been was now a record store, posters of the day’s most popular artists plastered to the large front windows. She pulled the New Yorker in front of the building and let the engine idle as she took in what the store had become. As she saw some teenage girls giggling in the record store through the window, their hair pulled back into ponytails and held with scarves, she could easily see Eleanor standing behind the register, her hair pulled into the tight bun.

  Resting her elbow on the side of her door, she put her cheek against her fist. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would have been like had things been different. What if they’d finished school in Brooke View? What if they’d become women together? Would they still be together?

  The door of the record shop opened, and the two teeny boppers giggled their way out onto the sidewalk, heads together as they jabbered like monkeys in a tree over the album one of them held.

  Smiling, Lysette watched them for a moment before backing the car out of the space and driving on. There was no way she could drive to where her house used to be. From what she understood, the acreage had been sold to the town, and a baseball diamond had been built there. Though that was wonderful for the kids in Brooke View, she knew that field was there because of hate, and it wasn’t something her heart could take.

  The roads were as dusty as ever as she headed out into the farmland, which seemed to be producing well. She noticed the scarecrow that had become a roost for all the neighborhood birds.

  When she decided to head out, she was worried she wouldn’t be able to find it again, but the worry was for naught. The farther out she got, the firmer her memory became. She remembered riding shotgun next to Eleanor, her heart skipping a beat as the inexperienced driver took the dirt roads far too fast, nearly sending them into an irrigation ditch a couple of times.

  She smiled at that thought before the smile slowly slid from her lips. She recognized the Howell house coming up, though now it was a light gray with dark blue trim rather than yellow with white trim, but what caught her eye the most and made her gasp was the sight of the old farmhouse.

  “My god,” she whispered, a hand coming to her mouth for a moment as she slowed the big car.

  She drove to the long drive and turned in, her eyes wide as she took in the weed-choked yard and chipped paint on the house. Out of the five windows she could see on the front of the house, first and second floor, three of them were broken or missing. Many of the shingles on the roof were missing, some mixed in with the weeds from flying off during nasty winds or from damage caused by the snow and the rain.

  She pulled the car up as close to the house as she dared. Pulling to a stop, she killed the engine and sat in the confines of the car, listening to the slight breeze that made the weeds and wild grasses shake and shimmy as though trying to lull her inside.

  Hands resting on the steering wheel, she took in more of the house. Some of the bricks at the top of the chimney were missing. She chewed on her bottom lip as she studied the house, the dark holes left by the broken or missing windows felt like eyes watching her, a presence around her.

  She reached her hand out, fingers wrapping around the ignition key ready to turn it when she stopped again, her gaze drawn to the house. As if of their own accord, her fingers tugged the key free, and she reached to open the driver’s side door. She climbed out, immediately the breeze brushing by her, trying to take some of her hair with it as it sent it bl
owing in her face. She brushed it aside, considering for a moment grabbing the scarf she kept in the car for just such moments but decided against it.

  Closing her car door, she took a deep, steadying breath, then picked her way carefully to the house, grateful she was in capris and flats. There was a small path, though extremely overgrown, that had once been the path to the front porch and could be navigated with careful steps.

  Curiously, she found a single boy’s sneaker halfway tucked into the weeds. “Okay,” she drawled, picking her way past it.

  Finally reaching the porch stairs, she looked down at the weathered wood, trying to make out visually if they were safe. Raising a foot, she pushed down on the first and second step, satisfied that they felt solid. She did the same all the way up to the porch, noting part of a board was missing near the house, but otherwise, she was sure it would hold her in the few steps to get to the house.

  The front door was there, but it had been kicked in; the shoeprint still remained on the wood. The doorknob and locks were missing, as were two of the three hinges. She stepped inside, wary. The walls were filthy, likely from dirt and such blowing in, she reasoned. The couch had been torn to shreds, tipped on its side, the innards visible. She couldn’t quite recall what the material had looked like, as she’d only seen it the one time.

  Turning away from that, she scanned the floor, noting the liquor bottles, food trash, and debris from the house. She noticed something on the faded wood planks that was partially obscured by a broken table. Walking over to it, she used the toe of her shoe to shove the pieces aside.

  Gasping, her hands went to her mouth. The floor had a large brownish stain. She knew instantly what it was. Tears came to her eyes as she lowered herself until she was kneeling next to it. She didn’t touch it, didn’t dare. But as a tear slipped from her left eye, she knew that had been where Ed Landry had taken his last breath, where his life’s blood had flowed from his body, forever a stain on the floor and forever a stain on Emma’s conscience. It had changed so many lives irrevocably.