by Jane Shoup
The church, at the end of Main, was on the small side but lovely, with an impressive steeple that enclosed a belfry. As she strolled past, she found herself wishing the bells would toll. The cemetery next to it was well tended and quite beautiful with towering trees. There were benches placed throughout that issued a silent invitation to sit and contemplate her thoughts and actions. Instead, she walked into town. It was apparent that Green Valley’s growth was recent and rather dramatic, since many of the buildings looked new. Only Main Street and Market Street had older buildings.
She started at a hotel, where she asked the proprietor if he knew Pauline Ray. Initially, he gave an open, honest, “No, ma’am,” but then she showed him the photograph. He still claimed not to recognize Pauline, but now he was lying. That meant Pauline was or had been in the vicinity, using an assumed name. Confident she was on the right track, Cynthia went to the dress shop and spoke with the proprietor. Cynthia instinctively knew when people were being disingenuous, and the shopkeeper was being truthful when she declared she did not know Pauline Ray. Yet again, a glimpse of the photograph made the woman withdraw into suspicious silence. “Don’t know that she does look familiar,” the woman hedged. “Couldn’t say. I see a lot of ladies, you know.”
“I’m sure you do,” Cynthia replied impassively.
The shopkeeper at the dry goods store claimed not to know her, but Cynthia knew he wasn’t telling the truth either. She fared no better at the newspaper or the cobbler’s shop. For someone who had not been in town long, Pauline Ray seemed to have earned loyalty among the townspeople, which was strange for a town this size. Small towns tended to be wary of newcomers.
Cynthia crossed over to the jail to speak with the sheriff, although she didn’t expect anything to come of it since Pauline would have wanted to avoid the authorities.
One deputy was on duty. Slunk down in his chair, relaxed, his fingers interlaced on his stomach, he snapped to attention when she walked in. “Yes, ma’am?” he said, sitting up straight. “Help you?”
“I hope so. I’m looking for this woman.”
He glanced at the photograph in her hand and then looked back at Cynthia. “Why?”
“We’re kin,” she said, trying a different approach.
He cocked his head, slightly suspicious. “That so?”
“Cousins,” she continued. “Unfortunately, there was a falling out within the family, but I’m hoping to make amends. After all, it wasn’t her fault or mine. It’s time we let bygones be bygones.”
“Was one of your folks kin to Lionel, then?”
Cynthia smiled, relieved for partial confirmation, even if she didn’t fully understand it. “That’s right. My father. They were brothers.”
His face cleared because he believed her. “Miz Carter’s there. At the Greenway place. I don’t know if you know this or not, but her husband passed on.”
Cynthia’s expression grew somber. “I did know, yes. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to reach out to her . . . and the children, of course. I haven’t seen them since they were babies. I suppose Rebecca must be eight by now. And Jake would be four or five.”
“Yes, ma’am. Well, that’s where you’ll find her.”
“Can you direct me? I was a child when I was last here.”
“Sure thing. It’s past the Blue farm. Here, I’ll draw you a map. It’s not too far at all.”
“Thank you. I really am grateful.”
“You bet,” he said as he reached for pencil and paper and began drawing a map. “Mrs. Carter is a nice lady.”
Cynthia murmured her agreement.
He handed her the map. “I hope you can fix your, uh, estrangement. I get the feeling Mrs. Carter’s had a real hard time of it. I think things are just starting to work out for her.”
“That’s good to hear. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Tell her Ellis says hello. And Shef too, if you see him.”
“Chef?”
“Jeremy Sheffield. A good man. He’s helping her out some and we’re all pretty sure they’re sparkin’,” he said with a silly grin.
“Ah. I will. Thank you again.”
Cynthia left the office feeling more conflicted than victorious. It’s a job, she reminded herself. It’s a job and success matters. She headed to the livery to rent a horse and wagon and drive out to the Greenway place. If she saw Pauline Ray in person, she’d send a telegram to her office and to Ethan Ray and she would be finished with the assignment.
Shef. She mulled over the name and wondered how big a role this Shef played in Pauline’s new life.
Lizzie placed the last of the eggs in her basket and started back to the house, but stopped when she saw a wagon headed toward her with a woman driver. Shielding her eyes from the afternoon glare, she waited. “Hello,” she called, when the woman got close.
“Afternoon,” the woman said as she braked to a stop. “Is this the Blue place?”
“No, but you’re close. It’s not even a mile that way. Actually, you passed it.”
“Ah. Well, thank you,” the woman said. “I suppose I was distracted. This is such beautiful country.”
“It is,” Lizzie agreed with a smile.
The woman nodded and turned the wagon around. As she rode back to town, the conflict Cynthia felt surprised her. She should have been nothing but pleased because, after all, she’d performed her assigned task well and met with success. But Pauline Ray was exceptionally lovely and Ethan Ray was a controlling, bad-tempered man who had probably driven her away. Still, her business was her job, which she had performed admirably. Everyone would be pleased with the results. Everyone except Pauline and possibly the children.
Cynthia turned the horse and wagon back in at the livery and walked to the telegraph office. Two men were present, one older, one younger, though the younger man was headed to the back room when she walked in.
“Help you, ma’am?” the telegraph operator asked as he came forward. One of his legs was shorter than the other, so he had an odd gait.
“I need to send a telegram to Mr. Ethan Ray in Indianapolis.”
The man picked up a tablet and began scribbling in cryptic symbols. “Your name?”
“Perkins. Cynthia.”
“Go ahead.”
“Subject located,” she said, watching his face. “Stop. Green Valley, Virginia. Stop. Going by name of Carter.”
The man glanced up sharply, then looked back down, his face reddening.
“Will find at Greenway cottage, east of town,” Cynthia continued. “Stop.”
“Is that all?” he asked stiffly.
She realized the man didn’t particularly care for his job right this minute. She also knew, as he did, that he had to send the message and keep it confidential. “Yes.”
“Three dollars,” he said, giving her a hard look.
She also realized she was being overcharged, but she didn’t care. Ethan Ray would be paying the bill. She handed over the money. “I’ll be needing a receipt.”
He grabbed a receipt book, wrote it out, and handed her the receipt. “Mind me asking why you’re poking your nose in other people’s business?”
She folded the receipt and put it into her reticule. It was a Friday afternoon, her job was completed, and she had a train to catch. “I do, actually. Good day.”
Chapter Thirty-One
It was late when Bart Gunderson leaned across the table toward Marie. She looked like a goddess in her low-cut red dress. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her cleavage. “Got something to tell you,” he said, slurring his words. As usual, he’d had too much whiskey.
“What’s that?”
“I could get in trouble. Lose my job.”
She almost rolled her eyes, knowing, as she did, he worked for his uncle. Jules Gunderson, the telegraph operator, was a good man. Too bad for him Bart was so worthless. She felt for Jules, getting stuck with him. “Then why would you tell me?”
He shrugged. “I’m thinking you want to know
.”
She reached for the bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. “And why would you think that?” The drunker he was, the less he’d be able to perform, and that worked for her.
“It’s about Mrs. Carter.” He watched closely for a change in her expression.
“So, what is it?” she asked after a brief hesitation.
“I know something about her. Something damaging,” he said, stretching out the word.
She sat back, wondering if he was just angling for her favor or if he really had information worth knowing. “What?”
“It’ll cost you.”
She reached for her glass and sipped. “What do you want?”
“A blow job.”
She leaned forward, disgusted with him. “I can’t be working deals under the table,” she hissed. “I’ll get into trouble.”
“We’ll go about it secret-like,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ll leave and go around and you can let me in the back.”
She thought about it and decided he must have something worth trading. He looked too smug not to. “We’ll have to get away from each other for a while or it won’t fool anyone.”
He grinned. “Quarter of an hour do?”
She sat back again, her eyes blazing. “It better be worth it.”
“Put it like this. If Shef finds out what I know, my guess is he’ll hightail it. So, you tell me. Worth it?”
Marie got to her feet, but as soon as she went to walk past him, he tried to put a hand under her dress.
“Don’t push it,” she warned in a low voice.
“Oh, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do, sweetheart,” he said, gloating. “I’m going to push it every way that it can be pushed.”
Disgusted to her very core, she walked off. Glancing at Saul, who was involved in conversation, she slipped outside for some air and space and a smoke to hopefully cool her agitation. There were times she felt she couldn’t take one more minute of her life, and this was one of them.
At the same moment, Jeremy’s hand hovered over the surface of Lizzie’s stomach, feeling the heat emanating from her skin.
“What are you doing?” she murmured.
“Feeling you. Watching you breathe. It’s nice.”
She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, from lovemaking that had left them both spent and lethargic. “I doubt it’s that nice,” she said sleepily.
“No, it is. The little hairs on your stomach. You almost can’t see them. The way these muscles move,” he said, touching lightly and making her smile.
“That tickles.”
“I like this time . . . after,” he said mischievously. “I like noticing little things.” He looked into her eyes as he caressed her face with the backs of his fingers. “The expressions on your face. Figuring out what’s going on in your mind.”
She turned toward him and looked deeply into his eyes. “What am I thinking now?” she asked in a sultry voice.
“Don’t go using that voice on me, woman, or we will start all over again.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t think I have it in me.”
“Oh, we’ll find it.”
She reached for his hand and kissed it. “I’ve never been this happy.”
“Me either,” he whispered.
“Mrs. Carter . . . isn’t really Mrs. Carter,” Bart said, still breathless from his reward. Although she’d kind of cheated. She hadn’t taken off her clothes. In fact, she hadn’t done anything except undo his trousers, release him and go to work on him. It hadn’t been all mouth. She’d used her hand, too.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“This stranger, a woman, comes in today wanting to send a telegram to a man in Indianapolis, Indiana,” he said with a waggle to his head. “The message was this. Subject found. Going by the name of Carter. Stop. You’ll find her at the Greenway place. Stop.”
“Going by the name of Carter?”
“Yeah. Meaning whoever Mrs. Carter is, she ain’t. You get my drift? She’s wanted by someone in Indianapolis, Indiana.” He paused. “Makes you wonder if Shef knows who he’s mixed up with.”
Her heart did a painful flip-flop. She started to turn away from him, but he grabbed her arm.
“Honey, you only just whetted my appetite. Now, I told you I want—”
She jerked away from him. “I don’t care what you want. A deal’s a deal and I did what I agreed to.”
“Yeah, well, your boss man doesn’t know that, does he? And you want to keep it that way, I’m thinking.”
She crossed her arms, looking confused. “Maybe I’m wrong, but, uh, isn’t it against some rule to pass on what’s in those telegrams?”
His expression went from smug to slightly ill. “No need to get all bitchy about it.”
She glared, allowing him to see the disgust she felt for him. “Fasten your britches up and get the hell out of my room, Bart. And go the back way out because you were never here.”
An hour before dawn, Jeremy pulled his arm from around Lizzie and turned over. When he touched something warm on the other side of him, he opened his eyes in confusion and saw Jake lying beside him. At first, the boy looked asleep, but then his eyes opened. “I had a bad dream again,” Jake whispered.
“It’s okay,” Jeremy whispered back, patting the boy’s chest lightly. Lizzie was still fast asleep on his other side. The plan had been for him to be gone by morning so the children wouldn’t know. So much for that plan, he thought wryly.
“I didn’t wet the bed,” Jake added.
“That’s good.”
“Are we still going to go to town tomorrow?” Jake whispered.
Jeremy nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Jake closed his eyes. “I don’t like bad dreams,” he murmured.
Jeremy tugged the covers around the boy and kissed his head. “Everything is all right now.”
“I know,” Jake murmured sleepily.
If any two words had ever been sweeter or more meaningful, Jeremy couldn’t think of them. Lizzie shifted and draped an arm around his waist and Jeremy experienced the most profound contentment he’d ever known.
Chapter Thirty-Two
In Adams’ General Store the next afternoon, Rebecca and Jake ogled the tall jars of candy on the counter, whispering about which looked best. Lizzie’s shopping was nearly completed and Jeremy’s items were stacked on the counter. He walked over and stood behind the children. “You ready to go?”
They looked up at him and nodded.
“I don’t think so,” he said. He looked up and waved over the shopkeeper. “Not until you pick out some candy.”
The way their faces lit up was a sight to behold.
“How many do we get?” Jake asked excitedly.
“Jake,” Rebecca hissed.
“No, it’s a good question,” Jeremy said. “If you don’t ask, how are you going to know?”
Jake beamed. Rebecca made a face.
“What do you think?” Jeremy asked.
“Five?” Jake asked.
Rebecca shrugged.
Jeremy looked at the patiently waiting shopkeeper. “They’ll each fill up one of those,” he said, pointing at the colorful paper candy bags.
Jake and Rebecca’s eyes grew wide in wonder.
“As long,” Jeremy added quickly, looking at Jake and then Rebecca, “as you don’t eat it all at once. You go and get sick from eating all that and—”
“We won’t,” Jake said.
“We promise,” Rebecca said solemnly.
“What will it be, little ones?” the shopkeeper asked, leaning on the counter with a patient smile.
As Jeremy walked away, he wondered if he looked as happy as he felt. Mrs. Daniels, a middle-aged widow he’d known all his life, smiled warmly at him, having enjoyed the scene, he supposed. He tipped his hat to her and continued on to Lizzie, who was fretting over bolts of fabric.
“Do you like this one,” she asked him, holding up a patterned fabric, crimson with small white and yello
w flowers, “or this one?”
“What for?”
“A dress. I’m making school clothes for Rebecca.”
“I like both. Get both.” He leaned close. “We’ve got the money,” he said softly.
She looked away, embarrassed at how her body had reacted from his low voice and the tickle of his warm breath on her ear.
“I love it when you blush,” he whispered. She gave him a look of objection and turned farther away from him. He chuckled before turning to catch the shopkeeper’s eye. “She’ll take these.”
“Jeremy,” Lizzie said again, clearly uncomfortable.
“And get some for yourself.”
Lizzie bit her bottom lip.
“I want you to. Get what you want.”
“Can we walk around the square?” Rebecca asked.
Jeremy glanced down at her and experienced a jolt of surprise that she’d addressed the question to him. He glanced at Lizzie, who smiled and nodded—again, at him. “Sure,” he said to Rebecca. “Just keep an eye on your brother.”
“I will.”
Jeremy watched them leave, excitedly clutching their bags of candy. He was on top of the world, until he noticed Marie staring at him from across the store. Tension tightened his gut, but he calmly tipped his head to her and looked away. “I’m going to step outside,” he said to Lizzie.
“I won’t be long,” she said.
“Take your time. Pick out something nice.” The smile she gave him, full of gratitude and love, warmed his heart. It didn’t take much to make her happy. Then again, it didn’t take much to make him happy either. Her smile alone did it. Seeing the kids thrilled by candy and a couple minutes of freedom. Rebecca asking his permission like he was her pa.
He walked out of the store somewhat reluctantly, knowing Marie would follow. The way she was watching him, she had something to say.
Rather than follow, Marie wandered toward Mrs. Carter, watching her discreetly. Striking was the first word that came to Marie’s mind. She was more striking than beautiful. Mrs. Carter caught her staring and smiled politely. “Having a hard time deciding,” she said.
