by Jane Shoup
She nodded slightly and then shrugged. “I don’t know how he would,” she replied weakly.
“And your name’s not really Carter. It’s Ray.”
“Was. My name was Pauline Ray.”
Her name was Pauline. Not Elizabeth. Not Lizzie. He felt strangely vulnerable and more than a little betrayed. “All those times I called you Lizzie.”
“Because I am now! I left Pauline Ray behind and I became Elizabeth Anne Greenway Carter. I even feel like Lionel was my father. I know that must sound crazy, but it’s true.”
“Is Ethan the reason you don’t want to marry me?”
She looked distressed. Tears escaped, but she wiped them away and looked at him stoically.
“Tell me.”
She folded her arms tightly. “Th-that is a reason, I suppose,” she stammered miserably.
“You’re Lizzie Carter, right?”
She frowned in puzzlement as she considered the question, but then she nodded. “Yes.”
“And your husband, Mr. Carter, he passed. That’s what I heard.”
She hesitated and then nodded.
“He’s not the reason, is he? Ethan, I mean.”
She shook her head slowly. “He’s dead to me,” she admitted quietly.
“Then why?”
She looked pained. “It’s not been long enough. You haven’t really let me know you yet.”
“At least you always knew my real name,” he reminded her bitterly.
“But, Jeremy, what if you change your mind?”
What if he changed his mind? He took several moments to answer, because almost everything out of her mouth was a surprise. “I won’t.”
“I can’t leave again,” she said in a choked voice. “This was my second chance. There won’t be another.”
Was it that she didn’t think he’d made an earnest offer? “You won’t have to. I’d take care of you. I’d be the husband you deserve.”
“Please,” she pleaded. “Please, don’t insist. If you do, I’ll give in. But I don’t want to take that step right now. And it has nothing to do with loving you.”
He was so stunned by the words that silence filled the room. A thick, emotion-filled silence. “I’ve never asked anyone to marry me,” he said quietly. “I never thought I would.” He watched as she ducked her head, either hurt or maybe touched by the words. If only he could come up with the right words to make her understand. “You say you’ve become someone else. Well . . . so have I! I haven’t given a damn about anything or anybody for the longest time. Not until you. Maybe it hasn’t been enough time, but I knew after an hour with you. Maybe even before that. All of a sudden, I want to live again. I want to love you and take care of you. I want a family. I want this family.”
“You want to love me,” she repeated, disturbed by the words. She studied him, trying to discern the meaning in the words and perhaps beyond the words. “Why do you work in the mine?”
He was taken aback by the change of subject. “I’ll quit. I’ll leave it. I’ll find something else.”
She shook her head, because that wasn’t the question she’d asked. “I told you a secret that would ruin me if it got out.”
“And I told you it won’t get out. Not by me. Even if you kicked me out tonight and never looked at me again, I would never want to see you hurt. Don’t you know that?”
“I do, because I trust you. So, maybe you can trust me in return and answer my question. Why did you go to work in the mine?”
“Why do you keep asking?” he demanded angrily.
“Because! There’s something you’re not telling me. You claim you care enough about me to want to marry me.”
“Love you enough,” he corrected.
The words silenced her. “That’s not what you said,” she finally replied.
“I’m not good with words, Lizzie. Pauline,” he corrected bitterly.
She stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”
He didn’t understand, but it was clear that she was serious.
“It’s like a slap in the face. Don’t you understand? I left her behind. I left that life behind. And I’ve shared everything with you,” she said thickly. “I’ve told you everything.”
He sighed. “I went into the mines after my father died. After my whole family had gone. I felt dead . . . and so I went into the ground.”
The words sank in and her expression turned sorrowful. “You have to know they wouldn’t have wanted that.”
He nodded slowly. “I know,” he said quietly.
She walked over and sat, looking exhausted. It looked like she was done talking, and maybe they had said enough. He couldn’t believe how much had been said. “I’ll be outside.”
Lizzie rose to finish her cake, although it took an inordinate amount of will and strength. Having completed the task, she went back to her room and stretched out on her bed, covering herself with a blanket. What had she been thinking, confiding her every secret to him? It was almost as if he had some sort of power over her. Because he was handsome. And he cared. He cared enough that he’d asked to marry her. Love you enough, the memory of his voice echoed. She exhaled slowly and hugged the blanket tighter.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lizzie’s angst grew as she and the children walked the path to the Blue home that morning. What if she was wrong about trusting Jeremy? Not only had she put herself at risk, but her children and April May and Cessie, as well. She needed to forego church and speak with him again. She had to make him understand how much was at risk. Hopefully, Cessie would take the children and April May wouldn’t ask too many questions. She had a way of ferreting out the truth.
Cessie was delighted to take charge of the children and April May was checking traps, so Lizzie made a clean getaway after pleading a sudden stomachache. Rebecca gave her a suspicious look, but said nothing.
“I’ll walk them home this afternoon,” Cessie said cheerfully. “You just feel better.”
Lizzie started home at a brisk pace, although her steps slowed as she got closer. When she stepped into the clearing, the view of the home she’d inherited and loved so much hit with a strange impact. She loved it, and she wanted to stay for the rest of her life. She also wanted Jeremy in her life, although it was too soon to think of marriage. What would people think of such a rash decision? She needed to be accepted here first. Folks hadn’t accepted her father—and he wouldn’t want that kind of life for her. She didn’t want to be an outcast.
She heard the sounds of hammering and started forward again. She didn’t know exactly what she would say, but she had to make him understand. The sound was coming from the winery, where Jeremy was rebuilding the cellar steps. She looked down the treacherously steep staircase. “You were worried about me breaking my neck going down there,” she said.
He looked up at her in surprise and had to remove the nail held between his lips before speaking. “Your neck is worth more than mine.”
“Is that so?” she asked wryly.
“Thought you were going to church.”
“Cessie took the children. I . . . we need to talk,” she said haltingly.
With the light behind her creating a halo effect, she looked truly angelic, especially dressed up for church. “I’ll come up,” he said. “I came down here on a whim, and then got sidetracked looking around to see what it was going to take to repair these steps.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll come down,” she said, already taking the first step.
He tossed the hammer aside and held up a hand to assist her, staying ready should she fall into his arms.
“It’s so dark down here,” she commented when she reached him.
“This isn’t dark,” he rejoined.
“I suppose not. Not like you’re used to. May we sit?”
“Sure, but—” He tugged off his coat and laid it on the step for her to sit on. “So you don’t get your dress dirty.”
“Thank you.”
She sat on the second step and he sat
next to her, shoulder to shoulder. “You feeling uneasy about what you told me?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you—”
“You sure about that?” She shifted to better meet his gaze and, even in the dim light, he saw the intensity in her eyes.
“Yes, I am! I knew I could trust you. I know I can trust you. But having shared what I did—”
She had a point, and his conscience was weighed down by his secret. How could he keep getting more and more deeply involved without telling her the truth?
“It’s not only me at risk,” she continued. “It’s the children and April May and Cessie. Who only wanted to help me.”
“Two men,” he said quietly, “are dead because of me.” He heard her breath catch. “The truth about me is a whole lot worse than the truth about you, but I’ll tell you and then you’ll have something on me.”
Her jaw went lax for a moment; then she clamped it shut, angry. “I don’t want something on you! Is that honestly what you think I want?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say it right. But it’s only fair that you know, since I asked to come into this family. Not that you would have agreed, but—”
“I will agree,” she interrupted. “When it’s been long enough that everyone won’t be shocked. I want to marry you. But I don’t want us to be . . . judged. I want us to be accepted. That’s my hesitation. And maybe that makes me a terrible person, since I am . . . married to Ethan.” She finished the statement as if the words had a bad taste. “And yet I’m not afraid of God’s judgment. I’m afraid of people’s.” She paused. “I love it here. I want us to stay and be happy the rest of our lives. A lot of these same people didn’t accept my father.”
“Your father,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she said with a bemused smile. “Maybe I’m not making any sense, but I do feel like Lionel’s my father. And here I am, concerned with public opinion when I’m suggesting bigamy. Which is not only a sin, but a crime. But I’m speaking my heart. What I truly feel. I feel like I’ve buried my old self, my old life. I don’t feel married. I wouldn’t feel any conflict about marrying you, because Pauline Ray doesn’t exist anymore.”
“I wouldn’t feel any conflict about marrying you, either,” he said. “But bigamy wouldn’t be my worst crime. You need to hear this.” He got to his feet and crossed to the shelves that lined one of the walls. The ceiling was low, only inches above his head, but it wasn’t as tight as what he was used to. Keeping his back to her, he sought for the right place to begin. He’d kept the truth locked away for so long, it didn’t want to come out. “My sister, Jenny, fell in love with this rich man’s son, who always did what he wanted and got away with it. He used girls. Ruined them. I warned her. Over and over again,” he said with a shake of his head. “I warned her about Ted Landreth.”
“Landreth?”
He turned to face her and nodded. “His father owns the mine I work in. Like I said, it’s a rich family. Not known for being good people, either.” He hated this story. “One day, Jenny came home. I don’t know; she wasn’t right. She seemed real upset, but trying to hold it in. She left the dinner table without touching her food and went to bed. Then the next morning we found her—”
“I know,” she said, although it came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat. “I know she drowned.”
“On purpose.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened.
“I believe she took her own life.”
Lizzie rubbed her arms against a sudden chill.
“I found her. I pulled her out of the pond.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lizzie said with a shake of her head.
“It was a terrible day, one of the worst ever. My mother took it upon herself to . . . prepare Jenny. She could have waited for a neighbor to help, but I think she suspected something wasn’t right. But when Jen was stripped of the wet clothes, my mother cried out. I went in and I saw.”
Lizzie’s face was a mask of tension and empathy.
“She’d been handled roughly,” he said haltingly. “That’s all we knew. But I had a pretty good idea who’d done it. The thing is, a weasel like Ted Landreth would never take responsibility, no matter what he’d done. He’d never had to, not for anything, and he wouldn’t be starting now.”
“What did you do?” she said just above a whisper.
“I went to the only decent friend of his I knew. His name was Curtis Powell, and I found out from him what happened.”
“You’re saying you found out what happened to Jenny?”
He nodded reluctantly. “Curtis said another friend of theirs, Stan Thomas, pulled him aside one day and offered him a bit of fun that involved lying with a woman, and not a whore, either.”
Lizzie cringed.
“Not rape,” Jeremy continued. “Stan said the girl would be willing. Curtis didn’t get the full gist and he didn’t know where they were going when they started off this one day.” He paused. “The day before Jenny died.”
Lizzie pressed her fisted hands to her lips.
“Ted had a head start, Stan said. Ted always had a head start he said, and he laughed when he said it.”
“Oh, my God,” Lizzie breathed.
“Curtis figured out where they were going before they got there. It was an abandoned cabin on the edge of our land. By then, he was going because it was Jen. Not to hurt her, because he’d always been sweet on her. More to make sure she was okay. But she wasn’t. Right as they got there, Stan admitted it was Jenny and said the plan was to share her.”
Lizzie exhaled as she bowed her head, pained by the words.
“They went inside and it was obvious she’d been hurt. He said she was white as a ghost, obviously sick to her stomach. And she looked like she’d been manhandled. He didn’t remember exactly what was said, something about sharing her, but she was saying no. Real upset. Curtis told Ted to leave her alone, but Stan was not about to give up what had been promised, so he drew a gun on Curtis.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened.
“Ted made Stan put down the gun and then the two of them left, but Curtis was pretty sure Ted had already hurt her.”
“Oh, Jeremy.”
“Curtis followed them to be sure they didn’t circle back, and because Jenny wanted him to leave. Begged him to. He was going to come calling the next day to make sure she was all right, but there was no next day.”
Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears and spilled over. She shook her head, exhaled shakily, and wiped her face. “It’s so terrible.”
“I know.” Jeremy came back to the step and sat again. “It took some time, but I came up with a plan, and Curtis helped. After what happened to Jenny, he wouldn’t have anything more to do with Stan or Ted.”
“What was the plan?”
“What we wanted was for Ted to admit he’d hurt Jenny. Of course, the only way he’d do that was if he felt safe enough. If he was bragging about it.”
Lizzie hugged his arm for support.
“There was a new circuit judge in town and his son was someone Curtis had become friends with. His name was Alex Corry, and he agreed to help us. So, this poker game was arranged, a night of drinking and playing cards. Guess where Ted suggested they go for the game?”
“The cabin?”
He nodded. “In a way, it made it easier for me, ’cause I was outside listening. No way they would have said anything if I was there. But since I knew the place—”
Her grip tightened on his arm.
“So, they were all drinking, except Curtis and Alex had watered theirs down. Alex was real clever the way he went about drawing Stan and Ted out. He told them he could find out what women in the county were in trouble for this reason or for that, his father being the judge and all, and that maybe they could take advantage of the knowledge.”
“Take advantage,” she repeated with a curl of disgust on her lips.
He nodded. “Use the knowledge to—”
“To do whatever they wanted,” she interj
ected, with distaste. “I understand.”
“They thought he was one of them once he said that, and he just kept egging them on. When Curtis left to relieve himself, Ted and Stan said Curtis shouldn’t be a part of the plan, that he’d just ruin it. Alex asked what they meant and he got the whole story.”
Jeremy looked away and swiped at his eyes. He didn’t want to give in to the rage of emotion tearing at his insides, but he’d kept the truth to himself for so long. Sharing it now made it fresh again. Lizzie put her arm around him protectively. “The truth is, she went to the cabin willingly to be with Ted,” he continued in a thick voice, “because he said he loved her and wanted to marry her. I’d already learned that much from a friend of hers. But once she was there, she changed her mind. Or tried to. Alex asked Ted what he meant by that and the son of a bitch said he changed it back for her.”
Lizzie shuddered.
“Then Alex said, ‘so you raped her,’ and Ted said he didn’t think it could be called rape because she’d said she would.”
“You must have been sick to your stomach,” Lizzie commiserated.
He nodded. “And it got worse. Stan said he would have had her too, except for damned Curtis. Then Curtis stepped back in and Alex stood up and said he was ready to go. He’d heard what he needed to. Up until then, he’d been acting half drunk, but suddenly he was stone cold sober. So, Ted got all alarmed. He demanded to know what the hell that meant, and Alex said, ‘I’m going to go back and tell my father exactly what you did. I don’t know what they can do to you legally, but pretty soon the whole town will know what you really are.’”
Jeremy shook his head. “He wasn’t supposed to do that. But he did and the rest of it happened so fast.”
“What happened?”
“Ted yelled, ‘The hell you will,’ and he stood, drew a gun, and fired. He blew Alex backwards into a wall.”
“Oh, dear God!”
“Then he aimed at Curtis, but I was firing by then. There was one window in the cabin, and I shot through it and killed them both. Ted and Stan. I killed them.”
