by DiAnn Mills
“A certain Jenny Martin?” He smiled wide. “I think she has you hooked and on the line.”
“Maybe. Not sure yet. We started out despising each other.”
“So did Casey and I. Love seldom makes sense.”
Grant took a deep breath. “That’s not the reason I’m here.”
Morgan narrowed his eyes. He pulled out a pad of paper, picked up his pen, and dipped it into the inkwell. “Ready. I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks.” He paused a moment to organize his thoughts. “Jenny came to town with the purpose of snatching up Rebecca and learning what happened to her sister. Turner followed her from Cleveland. My guess is he’d been watching her for a long time. According to Jessica’s journal—”
“What journal?”
“Ellen gave Jenny a journal from her sister. In it she describes Aubrey Turner, but he used the name Robert Jacobs. This man had a violent streak, including murder.”
Morgan glanced up. Lately, a few more lines had been etched around his eyes.
“He tried to get Jenny interested in him, but she refused. He also tried to strike up a friendship with Ellen, but she ignored him. Then Mrs. Lewis died, and no one knows why.”
Morgan rested the pen beside the inkwell. “I know where this is going, and Ben is working on it. I’m sure it will be worked out soon.” He paused. “How sick is Ben?”
Grant despised the thought of lying to his brother. “He hasn’t been to see me.”
Silence as heavy as a boulder settled in the room.
“I see you can’t tell me a thing,” Morgan said. “But when you can, I want to know. Bonnie’s my sister too.”
“I’ll do all I can.”
Morgan dipped the pen into the inkwell again. “So give me more of your thoughts about Turner.”
Thank you, Brother. “Martha accused Ellen and Jenny of starting a brothel. She also threatened to burn Frank’s lumberyard, and he in turn let her know what business in Kahlerville should go up in smoke. I talked to Martha about Ellen and Jenny not being interested in opening a business. She acted peculiar.” He hesitated, making sure his thoughts were in order. “In the journal, Jessica wrote that she stole money from Jacobs.”
“Then last night the brothel burns.” Morgan sat back. “I wonder where our man was during all of this?”
“I have no idea.”
“All when a sweet little lady came to town.” Morgan shook his head. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I imagine Turner eventually would have made his way here once he learned this is where Jessica died.” He lifted his pen from the paper. “Is that it?”
I can’t tell you what I know about Martha and Lester. “What pieces are missing?”
“Evidence to lock up Turner. The same as Ben would tell you. Can’t arrest a man unless you have proof he’s broken the law.”
Grant tapped his finger atop the desk. “I think he and I will have a friendly chat.”
“Be careful, little brother.”
“He has no reason to suspect me of digging into his life. He thinks my only interest is in Jenny.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. With your brother as the town’s lawyer and your brother-in-law, the sheriff, he has no reason to trust you with spit.”
“Maybe his cocky attitude will be his demise.” Grant stood from the chair. “I’m going to find out.”
After promising his brother to be careful in his dealings with Turner, Grant set out for the boardinghouse. Lately, his feet headed in the establishment’s direction without much thought. How could one little lady turn his life upside down and leave him dangling like a schoolboy from a tree limb?
*****
His thoughts of Jenny rose and fell as he considered how much he cared for her in one breath and how she planned to return to Ohio at the close of summer. He swung open the door of the boardinghouse and nearly collided with the young woman in question.
“Excuse me, Jenny. I wasn’t expecting anyone on the opposite side.”
“I’m fine.” She blushed, and he warmed.
“Mimi wondered if you would join us tonight for supper,” he said. “Martha and her two boys are staying with us after last night’s fire. Would that be a problem for you?”
“Not at all. I’ll come early and see what I can do to help.”
“Can we talk about the journal later? I’ve read it and want to discuss my findings.”
“Certainly,” she said. “I’m on my way to see Ellen. She told me after the fire that it was time to tell me what happened when Rebecca was born.”
I’d have told you. “I suppose you’ll have a lot of questions answered.”
She smiled. “I hope so. We may even be able to figure out the contents of the journal.”
“I’ll look forward to this evening.”
Grant tipped his hat and held open the door for her. He realized he’d have a difficult time concentrating on the rest of the day. A mixture of love for her and fear for her safety—and the safety of others—kept him after Turner like a bloodhound.
I’d marry her tomorrow if I thought I could keep her safe. Right now is not a good time to tell her how I feel. She has enough angst without me clouding her mind with a marriage proposal. Especially when I don’t know how she feels.
What a fool notion anyway. Turner had plans, and Grant had a feeling he’d stop at nothing to find his money. Marrying Jenny wouldn’t end the turmoil any more than destroying Jessica’s journal. How much had Jessica taken to cause Turner to pursue the matter for more than three years? Grant made his way to Harold’s desk and, after polite conversation, asked to see Turner.
“He checked out,” Harold said. “Claimed to have had enough of this town and was heading back to Ohio. I felt sorry for the man. Didn’t seem to have many friends. Every morning he walked to the cemetery to visit Jessica Martin’s grave. Love must have had a strong hold on him.”
Gone? He hadn’t known Turner to be amiable, but obviously Harold had found more compassion for the man than most of the town. Guilt nibbled at his conscience. He should have tried harder to befriend the man. But he couldn’t help but be relieved that Kahlerville was finally free of Turner’s torment and unrest. A stirring in Grant’s soul alerted him that maybe the town hadn’t seen the last of Turner.
*****
Jenny studied Ellen from the small settee in the newlyweds’ parlor. Her blanched skin and darting gaze said more than words about her emotional unrest.
“Ellen, don’t torture yourself this way. It’s not necessary for me to hear what happened when Jessica died.” Jenny’s claim shook the foundations of why she’d originally come to Kahlerville. Slowly, her selfishness had dissipated, but the reasons why she’d originally journeyed to this town plagued her night and day. “She died a believer, and that’s what matters most.”
Ellen straightened. “I want to tell you the whole story because it’s important to me, too. I’ve never told anyone all of it, and I should. I need to.”
Jenny placed her hand atop Ellen’s. “We loved her, yet we understand she fought a league of demons with her troubled mind.”
“I fret about Rebecca.”
“I’ve never seen a trace of Jessica’s behavior in her. I told Grant the same.”
Ellen lifted a tear-glazed face. “Good. Very good.” She glanced at the hand resting on hers. “You love him, don’t you?”
Jenny wrestled with her answer, for to lie went against everything she now believed. “We haven’t known each other very long.”
“The heart doesn’t wear a clock.”
At that moment, the clock on the mantle struck the hour of ten o’clock. They laughed, and it broke the tension.
“Never mind. It will all work out,” Ellen said.
“Will it? How, when I’ve caused so much pain? I ought to go home and give all of you a little peace.”
“Maybe this is home.” Ellen’s gentle smile pierced the heart of Jenny’s dreams.
“So you know the truth,” she f
inally said. “You saw through my best-kept secret.”
“I remember when I realized how much I loved Frank. I felt so vile with all I’d done. But he made me feel like a princess, something from a children’s storybook. When I think about it all, I see that Frank is a picture of Christ for me.” She laughed. “Understand, my Frank isn’t perfect, but he is very close. He loves me unconditionally, just like the Bible says. I’ll go to my dying day thanking God for Frank. I want that for you, Jenny. I’ve seen the way Grant looks at you, and the love is there.”
Jenny remembered the kiss on the Fourth of July. She wanted to believe it was real. “It’s hard for me to consider a relationship with him after the trouble I’ve caused—am still causing.” She refused to dwell another moment longer on her and Grant. Love between them was impossible—he deserved someone better.
“God is in the miracle business. Just wait and see. Are you ready to hear about your sister?”
Jenny nodded. Anything to rid her mind of her ragged sentiments about Grant. “I want to know what happened. Every word.”
“In the beginning, the pains seized Jessica without relief, and she expected the delivery to come quickly. We both did. Hour after hour, she cried out for relief until she feared her life had come to a dreadful end.” Ellen shook her head. “I was afraid she’d not make it, but I couldn’t convince her to let me fetch Grant. I remember her screams clamoring throughout the brothel.
“I’d been around women giving birth, but with your sister, it seemed like a paralyzing force seemed to grip her body, one that held her captive. For three days she endured the pains, and still the babe didn’t come. Jessica wondered if her child warred against life itself or its mother.”
Ellen tilted her head, and Jenny knew she recalled every moment. “So many things come to mind about that day. The odors of unwashed bodies fused with perspiration in the small, cramped room. An open window ushered in a cool breeze on that January day, as though mocking her suffering. Her screams sounded more like pitiful whimpers. She had no strength left to fight. Jess closed her eyes and told me she was going to dream away the agony. I understood completely. Any pleasant thought helped drown out the ritual sounds of sordid laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the jingle of men’s money at Martha’s Place.”
Ellen stood from the settee and walked into the hallway. She touched the petals of a daisy. Jenny said nothing. She saw the torment on Ellen’s face. Too many things left unsaid between her and Jessica, like picking berries before they were ripe. Yesteryear crept to the present, and Ellen transported her mind to the nightmare of Jessica’s impending death . . .
*****
“You’d be better off to work more on your backside than find yourself and this baby in a pine box.” I dipped a rag into a basin of tepid water and gently pressed it against Jessica’s face. “Let me fetch Doc Andrews. I’ll help you pay him.”
“I can’t,” Jessica said. “My past clings to me like cobwebs. And I’m afraid.” She grasped the bed sheet and yanked it from the sides of the bed. Her knuckles bleached white.
A moment later, Jessica licked parched, cracked lips and closed her eyes. “Go get him then. I can’t go on much longer.”
“Doc Grant will come,” I whispered. “He always comes to help us. He treats us like real ladies.”
A wave of anguish passed over Jessica’s face, and I swallowed a sob. “I’ll hurry.”
The door closed behind me, and I scurried down the hallway and the steps. How I hated leaving Jessica suffering alone with no hope.
Grant came immediately. With his long strides, I had to run to keep up with him. Finally, we were at the brothel, up the stairs, and in Jessica’s room.
“You shouldn’t have waited so long.” His voice full of compassion should have calmed Jessica, but it didn’t. He examined her while I held her hand. She squeezed it until I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“The money,” Jessica managed through a ragged breath.
“Nonsense. You know me better than that,” Grant said.
I knew Grant’s payment was to attend a church service. Jessica and I had tried that, and the cruel stares from all those “decent” ladies drove us to never return, although Jessica did try a few more times than I did.
Jessica’s body revolted in torment. Would it ever end?
“I need to turn the baby,” Grant said. “The little rascal wants to come out feet first.”
Jessica nodded and gripped my hand even harder. When the pain grew unbearable, Jessica fled to blackness, and for a moment her body relaxed. An hour later, she gave birth to a tiny baby girl. Grant attempted to lay the infant in Jessica’s embrace, but she was too weak to hold her. The bloodied towels beneath her told a grim story.
He lifted the baby above Jessica’s eyes. “A beauty,” he said softly. “A real beauty.”
“Thank you.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I know I’m dying . . . What will happen to my baby?”
He glanced up at me. I remember his sad eyes as though they grieved, too. “Life is in the hands of the Father. You need to simply rest.”
“I know the truth.” She glanced toward the open window where a threadbare curtain barely moved.
I wondered if this was how life passed from one hell to another.
“Is there anyone for me to contact?” he said.
Jessica shook her head. “Surely you understand.” She peered up at me. “No family. No one that matters but Ellen.”
I started to mention you but thought better of it. Jessica had her reasons.
“I understand.” Grant’s deep, soft voice comforted even me.
“My baby,” she said. “Will you . . . take my baby? If she stays here, she’ll be working by the time she’s eleven.”
“Of course,” Grant said. “I’d be honored to find a home for her.”
“No, please.” She searched for strength. “I want you to have her. I’m giving my baby girl to you.”
Frustration stole across his face. “I can’t raise a baby. I’m not married. There’s no one to tend to her.”
Pale, weak, and trembling, Jessica fought for strength to continue. “Please, promise me.” Her eyes never left her baby’s face.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Because I’m a whore?”
“Absolutely not.” Long moments followed, heavy as though the thoughts going through Grant’s mind swung like a pendulum. He stared at the infant’s peaceful face. “If you don’t get better, I’ll adopt and raise her as my own daughter.”
Using one foot, he pulled a chair to her bedside and sat with the baby partially in his arms yet resting near Jessica’s heart. “She is so very beautiful.”
Jessica smiled. She seemed to marvel at the tiny turned-up nose, rosebud mouth, and the long, thick lashes curling up from sleepy eyes. Oh, and she had that thick dark hair then, too. Such an exquisite creature, so delicate, so perfect.
“Her name is Rebecca,” Jessica whispered.
“A lovely name.” Grant’s gaze swept over Jessica’s face. “Do you know Jesus?”
She closed her eyes. “Jesus has no use for the likes of me. It’s too late now.”
“No matter what happens, it’s not too late. Would you like to talk to the reverend?”
She took a deep breath and hesitated. Finally, she nodded.
He turned to me. “Would you mind going after the reverend? He should be at the parsonage.”
I hurried to find the reverend just as I’d done earlier to fetch Grant. The tall, white-haired gentleman did not hesitate. As always, he had the undeniable look of caring on his lined face. Within moments, we joined Jessica, the baby, and Grant.
“Thank you,” Grant said to his stepfather and laid tiny Rebecca at Jessica’s side. “Do you want Ellen and me to leave?”
“No. Please, stay with me,” she said.
Reverend Rainer took her hand and eased into the chair beside her bed. His soft gray eyes extended a rare kind of love.
“I’m dying,” she said simply. “Help me. I’m scared.”
I swiped at the tears. I was losing the only friend I’d ever known.
*****
Ellen walked back to the settee and sat on the soft cushion. “She found life in Jesus and allowed Him to take her home. That’s the story. So sad, yet it had a beautiful ending.”
Jenny blinked back her tears. “Rebecca has a fine father and a beautiful family, and I would never have known a fine woman like you.”
Ellen smiled. “Grant had a rough time of it in the beginning. Folks believed he was the father. I stayed with the reverend and Jocelyn. Then I found a place to live with the Widow Lewis. Grant’s mother and the reverend helped him with the baby, but he wanted to do it all himself.”
Jenny remembered Grant telling her about those early days with a new baby.
“So he bought a big house, and Miss Mimi came to live with him and Rebecca.”
Jenny’s mind spun with the story. The truth had been bittersweet. Perhaps the time had come for her to go home to Cleveland. These people had endured enough of life’s interruptions. They needed peace.
Chapter 30
“Higher,” Rebecca squealed while Jenny lightly pushed on the rope swing in Grant’s rear yard.
“You’ll be touching the limbs soon,” Jenny said.
“No, I not.” Rebecca’s cheeks flushed with excitement. “Higher, please.”
You are Miss Mischief. “I can’t, sweetheart. It’s dangerous for you to swing so far. I love you too much to risk your getting hurt.”
Rebecca puckered up to give her finest pout, but Jenny ignored the protruding lower lip. Instead, she hurried around the tree and faced the little girl on the opposite side of the swing.
“I’ve got you!” She lifted Rebecca from the wooden seat into her own arms. “Now I have a little butterfly, and she can’t ever fly away.”
Rebecca squirmed and giggled, her brown curls bouncing. “Let me go. Me a butterfly.”
“Whoa, there,” Grant said from the doorway. “What’s going on out here?”
Jenny laughed, not once taking her eyes from the little girl’s angelic face.
