by Jane Shoup
She took a shaky breath and then another.
“Luckily, Alex wasn’t dead,” he said.
“He wasn’t?”
Jeremy shook his head. “The bullet went into his shoulder. Curtis took him into town to the doctor.”
“How did they explain?”
“They claimed someone shot out of nowhere. This hellion named Abel Lindley had been on the warpath about some disputed territory. He’s part of this crazy family, so everyone believed he did it, although it couldn’t be proved.”
“And Ted and Stan?” she asked reluctantly.
“They disappeared, never to be seen again.” He paused. “If you mean what really happened, I dropped their bodies down an old well shaft near the cabin.” She nodded very slightly and then hugged him close. He felt the solidarity and knew they were bound for life. More than any ring or words of passion could do. He was so grateful for it, he couldn’t speak for several moments. “Curtis and Alex started the rumor that Ted had been talking about going into the city to try out some gambling trick he’d learned. That’s the thing about a small town. Start a whisper and it becomes a wildfire. The rumor started; people believed it. Especially when no one could find either Ted or Stan. And a lot of men were hired to look for them. Eventually, everyone assumed they’d gotten themselves tangled up with the wrong gamblers and killed.”
“All that talk about not being a good man,” she said. “That’s what it was about?”
He nodded.
“You shot those men in the defense of others.”
“I doubt a judge would see it that way.”
“It’s what it was! It’s just lucky that Alex lived.”
“I don’t know, Lizzie,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “I think I would have killed them no matter what. Once Curtis and Alex were gone. I think I would have.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t possibly know that.”
Except he did know that. But did he really want to convince her he was a killer at heart? This place was her second chance, and she was his second chance. “So you can live with knowing all that?”
“Of course I can.”
“And you’re really going to marry me?”
“Are you really going to marry me?” she echoed.
“Nothing in the whole world would make me happier, Elizabeth Greenway Carter.”
She leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Me too,” she whispered.
He smiled and stood. “I want to show you something interesting I discovered.” He walked over to the wall and knocked.
“If someone knocks back, I’m going to jump to the top of these steps.”
“Point is, if that was wood backed by earth, it wouldn’t sound hollow.”
Her puzzlement cleared and she rose and walked to him, intrigued.
“It opens,” he said. “Here.” He pointed to two vertical seams. “You have to take off this center section of shelves,” he said, starting to do it.
She grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Wait.”
He looked at her and she looked disturbed all of a sudden. “What’s wrong?”
“Why did you go to work in his father’s mine?”
He hesitated a few moments. “I killed two men. Maybe three, including my own father. He took his own life once he learned what I’d done. I thought knowing might give him some peace, but it worked just the opposite. He kept saying ‘a life for a life.’”
“Oh, Jeremy.”
“It’s true. He thought I was damned, that I’d be hanged, and he couldn’t take it. So he—”
“You did not kill your father!”
“I know that now,” he said quietly. “Too much grief broke him. He was drinking at the time—”
“But at the time, you thought . . . you had all this blood on your hands, so you—”
“I thought justice would be done if I died in the mine.”
Tears shone in her eyes, but more than anything, she looked angry. “How completely, utterly stupid of you!”
Tears escaped and slid down her face, and she started to turn away, but he grabbed her back. “Lizzie—”
“What?” she demanded, refusing to look at him.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. You just had to know.”
She swallowed hard and wiped her face, then looked at him. “So now I know. You’ve been punishing yourself all these years.” It was silent for several seconds. “Just tell me you’ll stop,” she said beseechingly.
He studied her a moment and then nodded.
“So what’s behind the wall?” she asked, granting him a reprieve.
He turned, swiping at his nose and eyes discreetly, knowing she’d changed the subject for his sake. He removed the four center shelves and then swung a three-foot section of the wall open to reveal another room, although it was dark inside. “It’s full of wine.”
“Is it really? And we found it today, of all days.”
He grinned. “Yeah. The day of our beginning. Our real beginning. No more secrets.”
“No more secrets,” she echoed solemnly.
He felt the lifting of a long-held weight; held so long, in fact, it made him feel giddy to be unburdened of it. “What do you think? Is it too early to open one?”
She laughed. “No.” She reached out and cupped his face and her smile turned wistful. “I love you.”
He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. “I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Marie glowered as someone else mentioned the change that had come over Shef. Why couldn’t everyone just mind their own damned business? Was there nothing else in the whole world to talk about?
“What’s the matter, Marie?” Walt asked, walking up to where she stood at the edge of the bar.
“Nothing.”
“You look mad as a wet hen.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Well, good, ’cause it’s too fine a day to be unhappy. And a Sunday, besides.”
“Everybody just talking about everybody else,” she complained. “That’s all. It gets on my nerves.”
“Who they talking about?”
She shook her head. “No one. Never mind.”
“Must be someone.”
She folded her arms. “You heard anything about the woman who came to town? Mrs. Carter, used to be Greenway?”
“Yeah, sure. The hermit’s daughter. I haven’t seen her, but I hear she’s real nice.”
“And pretty as everything,” Marie added bitterly.
“She can’t be near as pretty as you are.”
Marie rolled her eyes. Apparently, she was to Shef.
“I wish I could make you smile, Marie,” Walt said wistfully.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“Well, I am, so stop saying that.”
“Okay. You want to go upstairs?”
A sigh escaped her before she could stop it and a hurt look crossed his face.
“You know what?” he said. “Don’t do me any favors.” She drew breath to respond, but he continued. “It may come as news to you, but there’s girls here who actually like my company.”
She felt a prickling of panic. Donna had warned her enough times about Walt losing interest. “I like your company.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“Oh, come on, Walt,” Marie said, taking his arm. “You know you’re my special guy.”
“Since when?”
Marie pouted. “Since always.”
“I know what got you so dad-blamed bothered about Mrs. Carter,” he accused, his expression hardening as the truth dawned on him. “It’s Shef, ain’t it? The two of them have struck up some sort of thing, and you’ve still got a sweet spot for him.”
“I do not. It’s got nothing to do with him. I just don’t like people talking about other people. That’s all. Besides, I don’t think they’re together. Where’d you hear that?”
He pulled his arm from her grip with a
shake of his head.
She noticed Samantha watching them from across the room, and a renewed sense of panic took hold. Vultures were waiting to move in on her territory. “Look, never mind about Shef and whatever that lady’s name is,” Marie said as she maneuvered close. She teasingly kissed his grizzled cheek. “Let’s you and me go upstairs and get more comfortable.”
He sulked. “You sure you want that? I ain’t Jeremy Sheffield, after all.”
“Walt.” She pouted. “Come on. I don’t want to talk about him. I haven’t had a sweet spot for him since we were kids.”
Walt gave her a wry look. “I’ve seen you when he’s around.”
She took hold of his hand. “Whaddaya say you give me a chance to prove you’re wrong?” she all but purred.
“I don’t think you can prove I’m wrong, but we can go upstairs.”
Marie smiled like she was the happiest girl in the world, and it wasn’t that much of an act, because she was relieved. It would have been humiliating if Walt had walked off and gone over to Samantha. She made sure her rival was still watching, and then led Walt away, walking with a pronounced swagger.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was near quitting time when Jeremy finally broached the subject with Liam. He was lying on his back working on a vein overhead because the seam they were in was only three feet tall by some twelve feet long.
“Quitting?” Liam repeated. He was propped against the side of the seam, spent from the day’s work and a recent coughing fit. He watched Jeremy’s lamp bob as he nodded. It was silent for a few minutes as both men pondered the next steps. Liam needed a new partner or he would be let go, and he wasn’t in the prime of youth or in the best of health. “What will you do?”
“Not sure yet. Maybe become a farmhand. I don’t know. I just can’t stay here anymore.”
“I know what you mean.” Another silence fell between them before Liam asked, “When were you thinking?”
“When we find you a new partner.”
Liam barked a laugh, although there was no amusement in it. “I thought you said you wanted out.”
Jeremy felt like shit. He didn’t want to leave Liam in a bind, but he needed to get out of this hellhole. He cared enough that he’d shown up today, and he’d keep showing up until they found some solution for Liam—but they both had to be realistic, too. He could give it a week or two, maybe a month, but he couldn’t stay indefinitely. Damn it, Liam was his partner in the mine and his friend, but he’d never been assigned as Liam’s keeper. “Maybe you could find work outside this place, too.”
“It’s a good thought,” Liam replied dryly. Then he coughed. “I’m only something like six weeks from pension.”
Jeremy froze. He felt a little sick to his stomach all of a sudden. “You are?”
Liam nodded. “Never thought I’d take it. Never figured I could make ends meet on a quarter pay, but it beats nothing.” He paused. “Wonder if I could find someone to hook up with for the month and a half.”
Jeremy barely held back a sigh of fatigue and depression. He knew the same as Liam that no one else would take him on. Which meant Jeremy would have to stay. For the sake of a pension, he would have to stay. “I can stick it out that long.”
“You don’t hafta,” Liam objected. Then he coughed.
Damned pension, Jeremy thought. The only reason they offered it was because most men didn’t make it twenty years in the mine. If a man did, he sure as hell didn’t make it much longer. They heard a mule team coming, pulling an almost full train of carts behind it. It sounded different when it was a heavy load. “Whatcha say, fellas?” a voice called.
“Not much,” Shef answered, glad for the diversion.
“Nope. Never do.”
“How are you, Timmy Wayne?” Liam asked as he slowly scooted out of the seam.
Jeremy also followed because he needed to stretch.
Timmy made it into their shallow pool of light. “Any better and I’d be twins,” the boy said with a grin.
Liam grinned back. “That’s a good one.”
“About that birthday of yours,” Shef said as he rotated a stiff shoulder.
“I thought you forgot,” Timmy said.
“Nope.”
“You sure you wanna do that, Shef?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“Yep. So you did.”
“So, this Friday after work?”
“Yes, sir. I’d like that a lot. Think we can go back to the patch after, so I can change into clean clothes?”
“That’s what we’ll do,” Jeremy said as he bent to help Liam dump their bin of coal into the cart.
“Say, Timmy,” Liam said after they’d finished the task. “You know of anybody looking for a laborer?”
Jeremy looked at Liam, but Liam wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Can’t say I do,” Timmy replied as he stepped back and wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers. “If I did, I’d try to convince ’em to bring me on. I’m ready.”
Liam clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll get there.”
“Why you ask?” Timmy inquired.
Liam shrugged. “Curious.”
“They’d take on more miners,” Timmy said. “But you gotta have two years’ experience and pass a test on explosives and such. It’s a written test, too,” he said dejectedly.
“Not so good at written tests?” Liam asked.
“No, sir. Readin’ and writin’ is not my strong suit. Not by a long shot. I never did take much to book learnin’.”
“It was the same with me,” Liam said.
“Well, I’d best get. I’ll see you Friday, Shef, if not before.” Timmy led the mules onward until darkness swallowed them whole.
“You gonna blast again?” Liam asked, still avoiding his gaze.
“I don’t think so. I’m just going to pick up.” He started back into the hole.
“Shef—”
Jeremy turned and looked at him. Even with only the whites of Liam’s eyes gleaming clearly in the light of Jeremy’s lamp, Jeremy could tell it was important. “Yeah?”
“You can’t worry about me.”
The words caught Jeremy off guard, and a flood of emotion kept him silent.
“You’ve been carrying your weight and some of mine too, and it’s time we . . . I don’t know, face up to the light of day and move on accordingly.” He paused. “It’s a funny thing for one miner to say to another, isn’t it? Face up to the light of day.”
“That’s what I’m looking forward to,” Jeremy said thickly. “I want to hold my face up to the light of the day and breathe fresh air.”
Liam nodded.
“But I’m not going to leave you in the lurch with six weeks to go till pension. Six weeks in Six. I’ve done a hell of a lot longer than that. I can make it six more weeks.”
“I’m not asking, Shef.”
“I know. I’m offering.” He paused. “The only thing is, I don’t want to work the half day on Saturday anymore. But you can pick up someone else to work with for that.”
Liam nodded and then looked off. Only the quivering of his chin gave away the emotion he was fighting. “You mind if I head on out?” he asked in a shaky voice.
Jeremy shook his head. The lump in his throat was painful. “No,” he managed. Liam gave a weak salute and started off, but Jeremy didn’t hurry to finish his final task. Liam needed a little while alone, and so did he. Down the tunnel some distance away, small orange lights bobbed and swayed as tired men trudged toward him. He couldn’t see anything but the lights from the lamps in hats, and yet he sensed the weariness of the men beneath. He understood completely. He felt it, too.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Friday, October 5
Lizzie swatted at an insect that buzzed near her ear and then went back to pruning the vines. She’d walked the children over to Cessie and April May’s this morning, determined to begin reclaiming the vines, and she’d been at it all day. The books on wine making stated fal
l was the time to plant. “It’d be nice if you’d guide me,” she murmured. “Don’t let me tear out anything I shouldn’t.”
Not only was it easy to imagine Lionel with her, it was a comfort. Today he would have brought a chair, two glasses, and a bottle of wine. He would have worn a big-brimmed hat and supervised in his witty, almost cavalier manner. He’d possessed wisdom and humor, intelligence and humility. She knew this. She also knew that he was pleased she was there. How, exactly, she had come to possess this knowledge, she didn’t fully understand, but she knew it in her heart.
She couldn’t dally too much longer, because she needed to get cleaned up and join the others for dinner. Jeremy had sent a note to let her know he was taking a young friend from the mine to dinner and that he would be coming over later. She couldn’t wait to see him. In fact, her senses suddenly and overwhelmingly flooded. She blew out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest, aching with desire. Never had she experienced anything like what he made her feel. Many years ago, Ethan had seemed a good man and a sensible choice, and her father had approved of him, but her husband had never made her feel special or sensual or beautiful, the way Jeremy did.
As it turned out, Ethan had not proved to be either a good man or a sensible choice, but she’d made her bed by marrying him. It would have probably remained that way, despite her fantasies of escaping, except that he’d hit Jake. That one blow meant that he could no longer be trusted not to hurt their children.
She would never forget the memory of that night and the way Jake had cowered on the floor after being knocked down. Horrified, she’d rushed toward him as Ethan reared back to hit her. For some reason, he’d refrained that time. Instead, he’d spewed vile words and stormed from the house. She’d pulled Jake into her arms, rocked him, and cried. Hating Ethan. Hating herself. Rebecca had joined them on the floor, the three of them hurting. Frightened. Crying.
When the tears finally stopped and the self-hatred abated, a cold, bitter finality set in. She put the children to bed and went to her hiding place, a loose floorboard in the keeping room. She withdrew and counted the money she’d secretly squirreled away for the last seven-and-a-half years. Ethan was so tight-fisted; she’d borne many blows because of occasionally overspending. Of course, never once had she actually overspent. She’d simply claimed she had in order to save. Kneeling in the keeping room, she’d felt sick to her stomach, wondering how they’d be able to begin a new life with just over seventy dollars to their names.
