“You seem to know your way around,” Warren commented, giving her a shrewd look.
Sensitive to any mention of her association with Indian Island, Ellen said shortly, “I’ve been here a few times,” and Ellen’s tone earned her another sharp glance from Warren.
They climbed the sloping bank to the site of the dig. An area some thirty feet square had been cleared of all vegetation, and four men were on their knees scraping at the dirt. Lane looked up, waved his hand, and came toward them.
“Lane Dalton,” she said to Warren. “Lane, this is John Warren, who’s visiting me. He’s interested in your work.”
The two men shook hands, and Lane said, “Let me show you what we’re doing.”
“You’re not excavating the mound?” Ellen said, pointing to a conical-shaped, tree-covered mound several feet from the dig.
“We’re searching for the site of a village.”
“Found any evidence so far?” Warren asked.
“We’ve discovered many arrowheads and bits of pottery, remains of the Shawnees and Delawares. You remember, Ellen, there have always been Indian relics over here.”
That’s how she’d met Lane the first time. She’d come to the island with her dad, who farmed a few acres on the north end of the island, and she’d found Lane looking for arrowheads. They had spent the day following her father as he plowed the land, uncovering several relics. Ellen forced her mind back to the present.
“This is slow work,” Lane was explaining. “We probably won’t learn much before the summer ends and these students have to return to college.”
“If the island floods this winter, most of your work will be destroyed,” Ellen observed.
“I know that, but only floods like the ones in 1889 and 1913 were ever high enough to reach this point. I figure that’s why the natives built on this knoll.”
“You’re looking for the remains of prehistoric tribes?” Warren asked.
“Yes. This mound dates from the Hopewell era, and we’re hoping to find that they lived here.”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“The outline of a house. They built square or rectangular dwellings, and the ends of their houses were composed of a single row of posts. We’d like to find where those posts were set. Or we might find Hopewell pottery, which differs in composition and shape from that of later native tribes.”
“What about that Indian, Deerslayer, I’ve heard about?” Warren questioned.
“He met a treacherous death on the island, but his village was over on the mainland where my ancestors built Arrowwood.”
The other men stopped their labors and sprawled under an oak tree, delving into a basket.
“Time for lunch. Why not join us?” Lane invited. “It will be like old times picnicking on the island, Ellen.”
Hardly! Not with four other people here, she thought, wondering how he could be so cheerful about activities of their youth that had led to an unhappy ending.
“We should go back to Arrowwood. Fannie will send out a search party if we don’t show up for lunch.”
“It won’t take long to eat cheese, crackers, and coffee. We do a little better for supper.”
Ellen allowed herself to be persuaded, but she talked little during the meal. While Lane and Warren conversed, Ellen’s thoughts turned to the many times she and Lane had slipped over to the island. She had often waited along the riverbank until Lane’s skiff drifted with the current to her hiding place, and then they’d rowed to the island. Usually they had come in late evening and stayed until it was nearly dark, returning before they could be missed.
Ellen quickly checked her thoughts, but glancing at Lane and catching his gaze for a moment, she realized that he too was remembering their trysts here.
When lunch was finished, Lane walked back to the river with them. Now that Warren knew about Lane, she didn’t see any reason to keep their meetings secret.
“Since we shared your food today, Lane, why not come to Arrowwood for dinner tomorrow night?”
He glanced down at his dusty garments. “I’m afraid I’m not fixed with dinner clothes. I didn’t think I’d be dining out much this summer, and I’m traveling light.”
“Your clothes won’t matter. Fannie and I aren’t very formal.”
“I’ll be glad to come. What time?”
“We eat at half past six.”
After they settled in the motorboat, Lane said, with a warning look at Ellen, “You’ve had a lot of activity over on the mainland the past few nights, haven’t you?”
Warren’s keen gaze surveyed him warily. “The garage burned a couple of nights ago, if that’s what you mean.”
“There was plenty of activity going on last night too. Boats in and out of the creek most of the night. And one of the boats buzzed by our camp and threw a stick of dynamite in the middle of the tents.” Ellen gasped, and Warren gave her a searching look. “We doused the fuse before it exploded, but none of us slept much after that.”
“Someone trying to scare you away?” Warren asked.
“Perhaps. We’re not very popular with the people of Daltonville. They think we’re stirring up dead spirits.”
“This will convince Fannie that Deerslayer’s spirit has returned,” Ellen said lightly, but the news troubled her.
“I hardly think Deerslayer would have driven by in a high-powered motorboat using dynamite to drive us off the island.” Lane laughed, but Ellen was aware of an undercurrent of concern.
“Be careful, Lane,” Ellen cautioned.
Worry about Lane monopolized Ellen’s thoughts as she and Warren returned to Arrowwood, and she started when Warren spoke. “Still in love with him, aren’t you?”
“I hope not. Our youthful friendship caused the most bitter moments of my life, and I don’t want to go through that again.”
“I’d be careful of him. Has it occurred to you that his camp is in a strategic position to watch Arrowwood? It seems to me that the island has much better camping spots than that sandbar. What do you know about Lane Dalton anyway? I don’t mean as a youth—I mean lately.”
“I hadn’t seen Lane since 1918, or heard from him, until I returned to Daltonville. But I know he wouldn’t cause any trouble.”
“Until we find out what’s going on, everyone is suspect.”
Ellen halted her steps when she saw a Chrysler parked in front of the portico.
“Company?” Warren asked with a lift of his eyebrows.
With a sinking heart, Ellen said, “Yes, and I have a feeling it’s my husband’s son. What could have brought him here?”
Warren drove away in his car, and Ellen rushed up the portico steps. Fannie rustled down the hall as soon as Bentley opened the door. Her lips were pursed, and she surveyed Ellen with angry eyes.
“Where have you been? We waited and waited for you.”
“Is that Bruce’s automobile out front?”
“Yes, and he has Mrs. Margaret and Henry with him.”
“What have I done to be persecuted with a visit from them? Where are they?”
“Eating lunch in the dining room.”
“Try to keep them occupied for awhile, and see that I’m not alone with Bruce while they’re here. I’m going to change my clothes.”
“Where have you been? You’ve got mud all over your shoes.”
“Over on the island, but don’t broadcast the fact.”
When Ellen came downstairs a half hour later, the Herns had settled in the drawing room. Widowed Margaret Kinzel, stern of visage and lean of frame, had never forgiven her husband for dying and leaving her with a newborn. Yet despite her displeasure at having a child when she was well along in her thirties, Margaret still doted on three-year-old Henry. Margaret and Henry sat on the leather couch, and Bruce stood looking out the window. Hearing her step, Bruce turned and came toward her. Bruce obviously thought his dark good looks made him irresistible to women, and he did look much as Timothy would have looked at his age, but his lack of c
haracter made him unappealing to Ellen.
“Here’s my dear stepmother! How are you, Darling?” Taking her arms, he pulled her toward him, and Ellen turned her head so that his kiss fell on her cheek instead of her lips. She shoved him away.
Ellen had never been comfortable around her stepchildren, but she sat in an armchair and crossed her legs, trying to exhibit more calm than she felt. “How are you, Margaret? And little Henry?”
“We’re tired, that’s how we are,” Margaret lamented. “Why did you move to this out-of-the-way place? I feel like I’m at the end of the world.”
“Daltonville was my childhood home.”
Bruce lifted his eyebrows and said mockingly, “This palatial mansion was your home?”
Ellen laughed shortly. “No. I grew up on the other side of the tracks. May I ask why you came?”
“That’s hardly the type of welcome we expected,” Margaret said tartly.
“You didn’t care for my company in Cleveland, so I naturally wonder why you’d follow me to Daltonville.”
“We want to know why you authorized an investigation into our father’s past. Who gave you the right to do that?” Margaret demanded.
Ellen tried to concentrate on what Warren had told her to reveal or conceal.
“The authorities have some doubts about the nature of your father’s death, and when Ercell committed suicide rather than answer questions, the police thought it might be well to investigate.”
Ellen had been looking at Bruce as she spoke, and the news definitely startled him.
“What kind of doubts about his death?” he demanded.
“They think he may have been murdered. If you want any more information, you’ll have to check with the United States Marshals’ office in Cleveland. They’re conducting the investigation.”
Further discussion was terminated when Henry let out a howl and started pounding on his mother. Trying to defend herself from the child’s tantrum, Margaret said, “Poor child. No wonder you’re cross after that long trip.” She turned to Ellen. “If you’ll direct us to our rooms, we’ll settle in.”
“Surely you aren’t expecting to stay here!”
“Of course we’re expecting to stay here,” Margaret snapped. “This is our father’s house. We have as much right to be here as you do.”
“This house has always been mine. Timothy gave Arrowwood to me.”
“At least his money paid for it!”
“I suppose we can find a place for you tonight, but we’re not staffed for guests. You’ll have to do your own work, and I don’t think you’ll like that. Also, the generating plant is shut off at eleven o’clock, and the lights go out. You’ll not be able to stay up to all hours.”
“Dear stepmother, I believe you’re trying to scare us away,” Bruce said.
Ignoring Bruce, Ellen asked, “By the way, Margaret, how is Karen?”
Still trying to calm the struggling Henry, Margaret answered, “Who knows how that girl is? She’s running around the country with some of her friends, no doubt spending the inheritance she received from her grandfather.”
Margaret’s eighteen-year-old daughter had been the only one of the Hern family to accept Ellen. Right from the first, Ellen and Karen had been friends, a fact that irritated Margaret.
“I’ll show you some vacant rooms, but, remember, this is only temporary.”
“Bentley,” Bruce called, “come help with the luggage.”
Standing at the head of the stairs, Ellen noticed that Bentley carried most of the luggage, and from the number of suitcases they’d brought, this didn’t appear to be an overnight visit. Indicating the rooms opposite her own, Ellen said, “You’ll need to share the same bathroom, and Henry will have to sleep in your room, Margaret. Arrowwood isn’t equipped with a nursery.”
“We’ll manage.” Looking at the bed, she added, “When will the maid put on the linens? It’s time for Henry’s nap.”
“There are sheets and pillowcases in that dresser, but you’ll have to prepare the bed. We didn’t expect company this summer, and I didn’t bring many servants.”
“Why can’t Fannie make the beds?”
“Because I won’t let her. Nor will I allow Bentley to fetch and carry for you either. Let me remind you again that I didn’t invite you here, but if you’re determined to stay, you’ll have to live the way we do.”
She knew she would have to tolerate them until she learned if Warren preferred having the Hern family where he could keep an eye on them.
“Dinner is at half past six.”
Downstairs, Ellen called the household workers into the kitchen. “Remember, I’m giving the orders at Arrowwood, and I don’t want you waiting on Bruce and Margaret. Since they came here uninvited, they’ll have to take care of themselves.”
She wandered dejectedly into the living room where Fannie struggled with the newspaper’s daily crossword puzzle.
“What are they after?”
“I don’t know, but I already have enough trouble without having them in the house. I’ve invited Lane Dalton for dinner tomorrow night, but I’ll send him word not to come.”
“Although I can’t imagine why you’d invite Lane for a meal, I wouldn’t change my plans for those two. You had to put up with them as long as Mr. Hern lived, but you don’t owe them anything now.”
Dinner was a miserable affair as Bruce continually picked at Ellen, with Fannie sitting stiff-backed and silent, and Margaret devoting all of her attention to Henry, who threw his food on the floor. As the maid scurried around trying to repair the damage the child made, Ellen said, “Margaret, you’ll have to feed that child in the kitchen from now on.”
“You’re not trying to make this a pleasant visit, Ellen.”
After dinner, Ellen went into the living room, and the Herns followed her.
“Are you going to have the police stop the investigation of Father’s business?” Bruce asked.
Ellen looked more closely at Bruce, noticing a nervous tick in his forehead. His hands shook slightly, and she wondered how much Bruce knew about his father’s racketeering activities.
“No, I’m not. If Timothy was murdered, I want to find out who did it and why. You should want to know too. Maybe the whole Hern family is slated for extinction. Some rather strange things have happened since I’ve been here at Arrowwood.”
“What kind of things?” Margaret demanded, and again Ellen caught a startled expression on Bruce’s face.
“The house has been burglarized and the garage burned.”
“Why would that have anything to do with Father’s death?” Bruce asked.
“Besides,” Ellen continued, “I don’t think I can stop the inquiry. The authorities don’t need a family’s permission to investigate a crime.”
“We want to know too what you intend to do with your share of Father’s estate,” Margaret demanded.
“What?” She had recognized crudeness in these people before, but she hardly expected they would go this far.
“It isn’t fair for you to receive half of Father’s estate, while Bruce and I only inherit a quarter each. Besides, with our capital in a trust fund, we’re short of money all the time.”
“I didn’t know the contents of Timothy’s will until he died, but if you want me to hazard a guess, I imagine he thought he’d given you enough. He set both of you up in a house that equaled the one we lived in, and in spite of the generous yearly allowance he gave you, you were constantly begging him for more money. Perhaps he thought if you received your share of the inheritance outright, you’d be penniless in a few years.”
“I suppose you’re a wizard at handling money,” Bruce said.
“I’ve never had a chance to find out, but so far I haven’t spent any at the races or on worthless stocks. You should be glad he left the money in trust. We never know when bad times may befall us. We’d all be wise to save for a rainy day.”
“Regardless of the reason, dear stepmother, I’m short of money, and I’ve
come to you for a gift. Or consider it a loan if you aren’t feeling generous.”
“Forget it, Bruce. No gift. No loan.”
“I’m staying here until I get some money. You’d better divvy up, or you’ll wish you had.”
Ellen’s spine tingled at his words. Was he warning her? Hearing Thompson’s voice on the front porch, talking to Fannie, Ellen left the room and went out the door.
“I’m going for a walk,” she said to Fannie.
“Do you need company?” Thompson asked.
“No, I have all the company I need,” she said angrily.
Thompson fell into step beside her, and she protested, “I feel like a prisoner. If I leave the house, you follow me. If I stay inside, I have to put up with verbal abuse.”
“Fannie said that your in-laws have come for a visit.”
“An extended stay, I’m afraid. Bruce came after money, and he intends to remain until he gets it. If he stays until I give him any money, he’ll never leave.”
“Warren plans to come and pay you a visit, more or less posing as a family friend, to have the opportunity to observe everybody. Will there be room for him now?”
“I’ll see if I can tuck him in someplace. What if Margaret and Bruce know him? He’s been in Cleveland several years, I believe.”
“I don’t suppose it’ll make any difference if they do recognize him.”
Entering the house on her return, Ellen locked the front door and paused momentarily at the entrance to the drawing room. Bruce was reading a newspaper, and Margaret held Henry on her lap, directing his attention to a picture book.
“I’m going to bed. Don’t forget that the lights go off at eleven o’clock. There are oil lamps and matches in each of the bedrooms. Breakfast is at eight o’clock.”
Seven
Fannie stood in front of the dresser brushing her hair and plaiting it for the night. Ellen entered that room first, then closed and locked the door.
“How long are they going to stay?” Fannie whispered.
“Bruce says he needs money and intends to stay until he gets it.”
Love Almost Lost Page 7