Shine Like the Dawn

by Carrie Turansky

  Maggie’s throat burned. How could Helen write those things about Nate? His only crime was trying to make up for his father and stepmother’s heartless treatment and offer Maggie and Violet some consolation.

  She turned the page. There was a lapse of several weeks, and the final entry was dated 25 December 1899.

  We have little to celebrate this Christmas. Mr. Harcourt was downcast and silent, and when I questioned him, he admitted he was disappointed he had not heard from Nathaniel. I told him his naval training might have prevented him from writing, but he was not convinced and stalked off to sulk.

  Clara was disappointed with her gifts and spent a good part of the afternoon carrying on and in tears. Selfish child! Pleasing her is next to impossible.

  I gave the servants a bowl of punch and wished them all a happy Christmas, but even they seemed reluctant to enjoy the day when their master was so gloomy.

  As for me, I did not receive even a card or letter from my cousins. Why do they neglect me and treat me with such scorn?

  Maggie closed the diary and shook her head. Helen’s selfish remarks were depressing, but nothing she’d written that Christmas night tied her to the boating accident.

  Was Maggie’s search futile? Should she give up and put her suspicions to rest?

  No! Her father’s journal clearly stated that trouble had been brewing in the Harcourt family for a long time. His confrontation with Helen and her threats toward him occurred only days before the accident.

  Helen Harcourt had to be involved!

  She closed her eyes, her churning thoughts becoming a silent prayer. You talk about truth and justice in Your Word, about light shining into the darkness and good overcoming evil. I long for that in my life, to know what truly happened that day on Tumbledon Lake and to see justice done, but it seems impossible now. What am I supposed to do?

  She waited, listening, hoping for some divine impression or sense of direction, but no answer came. With a huff, she turned away.

  Why would God answer her prayer? She’d turned her back on Him a long time ago, and she had refused to listen each time He spoke to her in the quiet beauty of a glowing sunset or through her grandmother’s kind words and actions. She had ignored His voice and hardened her heart to His gentle yet relentless call to release her hurt and come back to Him.

  Bone-aching weariness washed over her. She was so tired of carrying her burden alone, tired of trying to balance the scale of justice in an unjust world. The load was too heavy for her, but giving it to God and allowing Him to carry it for her seemed impossible. That would mean yielding her heart and accepting God’s will. And she didn’t know if she had the courage to do that.

  She pushed those thoughts away and rose to her feet. It was time to return the journal and be done with this fruitless search.

  She stepped out of her bedroom and stopped in the hallway. Downstairs, she heard Clara playing the piano in the music room. Helen’s voice rose from the great hall. It sounded as though she was speaking to one of the servants. That might give Maggie just enough time to take care of her task. Still, she’d have to be quick about it and hope she didn’t run into Mrs. Burnell or another member of the staff.

  She slipped down the hall and pushed open the door to Mrs. Harcourt’s sitting room. On tiptoe, she crossed the room, opened the desk drawer, and placed the diary with the others.

  Footsteps and hushed voices sounded in the upper hallway.

  Maggie stifled a gasp. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for a place to hide. The door to Helen’s bedroom stood open, and behind it was a secluded corner next to the tall wardrobe. She darted toward the corner, slid behind the door, then pulled the door open a few more inches to shield herself from view.

  The footsteps entered the sitting room. Maggie held perfectly still, but her heart thundered in her chest.

  “Quickly, shut the hall door. I don’t want the servants to see you.”

  That was Helen Harcourt’s voice.

  A low laugh from a man followed. “Don’t worry. No one will see us. I’ll make sure of that. Haven’t I always?”

  “Stop this nonsense!” Helen’s voice was hushed and insistent. “What do you want?”

  “I’ve had some extra expenses in the last few weeks. I need a little more money to tide me over until next month.”

  “That’s impossible. I can’t give you any more money.”

  “But you must have access to everything now that Old Moneybags is gone. I’m sure he left you a tidy sum.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. Who would dare call Mr. Harcourt Old Moneybags? She leaned down and peeked through the keyhole into Helen’s sitting room. A pudgy, middle-aged man with straggly blond hair and a shaggy mustache faced Helen.

  “Nathaniel inherited everything.” Disdain filled Helen’s voice.

  “He may be the heir, but your husband wouldn’t leave you without an income. And besides that, I know you must have some funds secreted away.”

  “I only receive a small allowance, but it’s not nearly enough to pay for my expenses. Clara and I must go to Nathaniel and beg for every shilling. It’s humiliating.”

  “Well now, that’s quite a change, isn’t it?” The man laughed again.

  “Yes, it’s a change, for me and for you.” Helen paused and glared at the man. “Your days of counting on me for an income are over. You’ll have to find some other way to cover your expenses.”

  “Now, Helen, that won’t do. You’ve always found a way to keep our agreement, and I’m sure you can find a way now.”

  “I can’t! Everything has changed! I must do as Nathaniel says—he has threatened to banish me to a small cottage at the far end of the estate.”

  “That young upstart! Why do you let him treat you like that?”

  “I have no choice. He controls everything now. What do you expect me to do?”

  “I expect you to keep your word and pay me what you promised.”

  “Roland, you’re not listening! I have no way to—”

  “Shh! Someone’s coming!”

  Their voices hushed and footsteps passed in the hallway. Silence followed for a few seconds.

  “Thirty pounds should see me through until June.” Roland’s voice was a harsh whisper.

  “Don’t you understand? I can’t give you thirty pounds or three hundred, and there won’t be a payment next month!”

  “You listen to me, Helen.” Roland’s voice was low and threatening. “You’ll send me the payment we agreed on or I’ll make sure your dirty little secret is printed on the front page of every newspaper in the country. And when that happens you will be forced to leave Morningside, but you won’t be living in a modest little cottage—you’ll be going to jail!”

  Quick steps trod across the room. The door to the hallway opened and then closed.

  Maggie held her breath, counting the seconds.

  Helen’s fierce growl vibrated through the room, then glass shattered against the far wall. Footsteps marched toward the corner where Maggie was hidden.

  Maggie froze and squeezed her eyes tight, not daring to breathe.

  The door swept away from Maggie and slammed with a loud bang.

  Stunned, Maggie opened her eyes and scanned the empty sitting room. A broken vase lay shattered on the fireplace hearth, but Helen had retreated into her bedroom.

  Maggie’s knees went weak. She gripped the side of the wardrobe and pulled in a steadying breath. Then she ran across the room, stepped around the broken glass, and slipped into the hallway. A quick glance to the left and right told her no one was watching.

  She bolted down the hall, entered her bedroom, and quietly closed the door. Pulling in a ragged breath, she leaned her forehead against the door.

  “Maggie, what in the world are you doing?”

  She gasped and whirled around. Grandmother sat in the overstuffed chair by the window, a book in one hand. She looked at Maggie over the top of her spectacles. “Well, are you going to tell me what you’ve been up t
o?”

  Maggie swallowed, her thoughts spinning. “What do you mean?”

  “You know very well what I mean. You’ve been sneaking around the house and hiding something from me. I’m disappointed, Maggie. That’s not like you.”

  Maggie’s heart sank. She had kept her search a secret, but she’d never intended to hurt her grandmother. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I have kept something from you, but that’s only because I didn’t want to say anything until I knew if my suspicions were true.”

  Grandmother frowned. “What suspicions?”

  Maggie crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite her grandmother. She glanced toward the bed to make sure Violet was asleep, then she turned back to Grandmother. “You may find this hard to believe, but I think Mrs. Harcourt may have been behind the boating accident that killed my parents and sister.”

  Grandmother’s eyes widened. “My goodness, Maggie. That’s a serious accusation.”

  “Yes, very serious.”

  Grandmother set aside her book. “Mrs. Harcourt is certainly a cold, unfeeling woman, but I can’t believe she would plot a murder. What makes you say such a thing?”

  “I never suspected it either until I read Father’s journal.”

  Grandmother’s silver eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know your father kept a journal.”

  “He did. But after the funeral, the Harcourts sent people to clear out our house. All the furniture, clothing, and personal items, including my father’s journals, were given away or destroyed, except for his last journal. I took that with me when they sent me to Scotland.”

  Grandmother clasped her hands in her lap. “Go on.”

  “I kept it locked away in my trunk with Mother’s Bible. I knew it would be painful to read it, so I never opened it until a few weeks ago. Then, on the night of the fire, I read Father’s final entry…That’s when I knew his death was not an accident.”

  “What did it say?”

  Maggie recounted her father’s description of Helen’s rendezvous with a man in the woods and the confrontation that followed.

  Grandmother listened intently, clearly caught up in the story. “Mrs. Harcourt actually said she would accuse your father of…making advances toward her if he told Mr. Harcourt what he’d seen?”

  “Yes! At first she tried to pretend it all meant nothing, but Father had seen them together before, and he felt he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He urged her to go to her husband and tell him the truth. That’s when she threatened Father.”

  Grandmother huffed out a breath. “How dare she!”

  “Helen was angry with Father and wanted to silence him. I think she must have learned about our plans to take the boat out and then paid someone to damage it.”

  Grandmother’s face had gone pale. “And all this is written in his journal?”

  “Well, most of it, but the journal was lost in the fire.”

  “So there’s no proof.” Grandmother sighed. “Isn’t there a possibility it was just a dreadful coincidence?”

  “No, I’ll never believe that, especially not after what I just overheard.”

  Grandmother lifted her silver eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  Maggie leaned forward. “A man named Roland came to see Mrs. Harcourt, and she whisked him off to her sitting room so no one would hear them talking.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “Well, I was putting back…something I borrowed when I heard them coming, so I hid in the corner of her sitting room behind the door.”

  “Maggie, you ought not be in Mrs. Harcourt’s sitting room or eavesdropping on her conversations.” Grandmother smoothed her hand across her skirt. “Still, this sounds like an important matter. What did they say?”

  “He asked her for money, and from what I heard, it sounds like she pays him every month to keep him quiet about something he called her ‘dirty little secret.’ ”

  Grandmother lifted her hand to cover her heart. “Oh dear, that does sound like terrible business.” She pondered for a moment. “You think the secret she wants to keep hidden is her involvement in the boating accident?”

  “Yes, what else could it be?”

  “She might be paying him to keep her affair with that man a secret.”

  “That’s what I thought at first, but the last thing Roland said was that if her secret got out she would be forced to leave Morningside and would go to jail. So it must be something illegal, not just something improper.”

  Grandmother gave a slow nod.

  “Society might raise their eyebrows if they learned Mrs. Harcourt had a long-standing affair, but her husband is dead,” Maggie continued. “There’s no one to send her to jail for that now.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Maggie stood and paced across the room, her thoughts shifting from one conclusion to the next. “Perhaps I should go to the police.”

  Concern flooded Grandmother’s eyes. “I’m not sure that’s the best course of action, at least not yet.”

  “But we know Mrs. Harcourt threatened Father, and now it’s clear she was paying someone to keep her secret.”

  “She does sound guilty, but without your father’s journal, it would be your word against Mrs. Harcourt’s. And I’m afraid the police would be much more likely to believe her.”

  Maggie moaned and sank into a chair. Her grandmother had a point. Maggie’s suspicions and theories were not enough to convince the police Mrs. Harcourt was at fault. They needed solid evidence, and Maggie had nothing to give them.

  Even if she could convince the police to question Nate’s stepmother, that might prompt Helen to destroy evidence or find a way to pay Roland or someone else to keep silent. And what if Helen learned Maggie was the one making the accusation? She might turn her anger on Maggie and her family. Maggie couldn’t put her grandmother and sister in danger. They must be safely away from Morningside before she made any of this public.

  Grandmother leaned forward in her chair. “I think we should pray and wait on the Lord to make our next steps clear.”

  Resistance tugged at Maggie’s heart. She did want to make sure her family was safe before she went to the police, but she would not wait indefinitely for her grandmother to sense the timing was right. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing, not when I believe that woman is responsible for the deaths of my parents and sister.”

  “I know this is difficult, Maggie, but listen to me. There’s more to waiting than just biding our time. Our job is to pray and trust the Lord to reveal what’s hidden and bring the full truth to light.”

  A lump lodged in Maggie’s throat. What if her suspicions were unfounded? What if she was wrong about all of it? Then again, what if she was right?

  Grandmother reached for Maggie’s hand. “It’s time to put your hurt and suspicions into the hands of the One who knows the truth and has the power to do something about it.” Warmth and confidence flowed from her grandmother’s work-worn hand into Maggie’s. The soothing flow wrapped around her heart like a comforting blanket.

  Could she cross that bridge and renew her trust in God? If she did, would He take up their cause and see that justice was done? With everything in her she wanted to believe Someone had the power and wisdom to help her learn the truth, even if it was a truth she didn’t want to accept. But even more than that, she wanted to believe that Someone loved her and would meet her on that bridge when she stepped out in faith.

  Did God still love her even after she’d turned her back on Him for so long? She pulled in a shuddering breath and stepped out.

  Help me, God, I want to believe.

  Nate shifted on the hard wooden chair and glanced around the circle of men gathered in the church hall. Reverend Samuelson sat on his right, and eight workers from Clifton filled the other seats. The tense conversation had gone on for almost two hours, with the men listing their grievances and Nate responding as best he could with his limited knowledge of Clifton. He glanced at Samuelson, hoping his friend could find a way to
end the meeting on a positive note.

  Samuelson met his gaze, then looked around at the men in the group. “The hour is late, and we need to draw this meeting to a close. I think we’ve all learned a great deal tonight. You’ve made your points clear and given Mr. Harcourt the information he needs to take back to the board.”

  “But will they listen? That’s the question.” John Palmer shifted his hard gaze to Nate.

  “I’m sure Mr. Harcourt will do his best to—”

  “Can he promise us a meeting with the full board to negotiate our grievances? That’s what we want.”

  Nate’s chest tightened, and he tried to rein in his frustration. He couldn’t make that promise. But if he was going to keep these men on the job and avert a strike, he had to convince them he would do his best.

  Nate looked across at Palmer. “I promise to speak to the board and explain these issues in the most persuasive way possible.”

  A few men nodded, looking satisfied, but Palmer and the two men on either side of him sent Nate doubtful frowns.

  Nate’s conscience bore down on him. It was wrong to lead them to believe he could control the board or that the outcome was certain. He had to tell them the truth, even if they didn’t like it or him. “I will do everything in my power to help you, but I cannot guarantee the board’s response.”

  Murmurs and sharp glances traveled around the circle.

  Samuelson lifted one hand. “Gentlemen, I hope you’ll make an effort to understand Mr. Harcourt’s position. He has made a commitment to speak to the board, but he is only one member. He does not have the final say in all matters at Clifton.”

  A man seated next to Palmer pointed at Nate. “Your father founded the company, and you own a good portion of it now. That ought to give you a say in how the company is run.”

  Nate nodded. “I do have some influence, and I will use it to make sure the issues we’ve discussed have a fair hearing.”

  “No!” John Palmer’s shout echoed around the room. “That’s not good enough! We’ve been put off time and again.” He turned and glared at Nate. “We’ll give you one week, that’s all. If we don’t have a promise from the full board to meet with us, then we will bring it back to our men and they’ll vote to strike.”