Clem narrowed his beady eyes at Will. “Don’t think for a second I believe your tale about tossin’ them diamonds ’n’ such down a sewer drain, Taylor. You ain’t that stupid.”
“Yeah, I am, but thanks for your vote of confidence,” he joked. “Unfortunately, back then, I had the smarts of a toadstool. Anyway, I don’t care what you believe.”
Clem stood cemented to the floor, his face so red, it looked as if letting out his breath would cause his head to explode. “Perplexed” best described Hank and Rudy’s expressions.
Will scrambled to come up with a way to still the waters and then to get these goofs out of Livvie’s Kitchen. He decided on telling the truth.
“Look, I feel bad you came all the way from New York thinking to get something you thought you deserved. I really do. But the truth is, even if I had stashed that bag of gems somewhere, I would have turned it in. I’m a Christian now, and my conscience would not have allowed me to walk through that prison gate without making everything as right as I could. I wrote a letter from my jail cell to Mr. Samson at Samson and Sons Jewelers and apologized for breaking down his door and stealing from his jewelry cases. Unfortunately, I can’t pay him back, so the letter had to do. He never did reply, not that I blame him. He’s probably still steaming with anger.”
They all stood there for several seconds, their mouths gaping.
“You sayin’ you found religion?” Rudy finally asked, keeping his head down. He ground his toe into a groove in the wood floor.
“Yeah, I did. The jail cook introduced me to Jesus, told me the Lord loved me, in spite of all I’d done.”
“So, you—”
“Oh, for cryin’ in a rowboat, this ain’t no revival service!” Clem screeched.
Rudy recoiled. Hank just stood there stewing to himself, whatever thoughts he had on the subject staying tucked deep inside him.
“This Jesus junk is nothin’ but a cover-up,” Clem spat out. “You’re just playin’ the religion card to get us outta your hair.”
“It’s not religion I’ve found but a relationship with Jesus. You are right on one point, though: I’d like to get you out of my hair.” Especially before Livvie overhears Clem’s raspy voice from her second-floor apartment and comes down to investigate.
Chapter Fifteen
“Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: so shalt thou find favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man.” —Proverbs 3:3–4
Livvie left the boys to their game of marbles in the living room and gathered the soiled clothes and linens for tomorrow’s wash. In the small room off the kitchen, she separated them by color and fabric in two piles on top of the washing machine, all the while pondering the success of the very first Family Feast. As she worked, she hummed “It Had to Be You,” one of the tunes Will had played for the clientele.
Grinning, she silently marveled at his talent for making that little instrument sing with precision and intensity. It seemed Will Taylor had endless abilities. A real showman, that’s what he was—in the kitchen, on the stage, and even while mingling with strangers. The more she observed him with Joe’s old cronies, the more it struck her how easily he blended in, conversing with young and old alike, relating with equal comfort to the aged Coot Hermanson and her young boys. Watching his interactions, especially with her sons, sounded a chord of optimism in her heart. Why, she’d heard nothing but glowing remarks from patrons about the evening, from the unforgettable meal Will had prepared to his gracious, welcoming ways, and how they could listen to him warble on that harp for hours. She had to admit, she’d been quite charmed, herself.
And her boys—my, how they’d been perfect gentlemen all night, ushering entire families inside, taking them to their tables, and pulling out the ladies’ chairs. Many of the customers had been so impressed that they’d promised to return weekly, making her wonder how they would accommodate so many people on a regular basis. Frank would be so pleased to see how well things had gone for Livvie’s Kitchen ever since Joe had left for Chicago. Or, would he? A part of her could see him turning up his nose at the way Will Taylor had taken over his kitchen, moving things around to suit his preferences. And what would he think of her agreeing to go to church with him this Sunday? Would he turn up his nose at that, as well? Not that it mattered, of course. He’d been gone well over a year. Surely, he didn’t expect her to wallow in self-pity forever. But what on earth was she thinking? It wasn’t as if Will had shown any romantic interest in her. Goodness gracious! An invitation to church could hardly be confused with a proposal of courtship, especially with her boys in tow.
She shook her head to free it of such fanciful notions, then shuffled down the hall to her bedroom to gather a few more items to launder. In the living room, the boys had found something to squabble about, so she called out a threat of early bedtime if they didn’t stop. Silence instantly followed. Considering how tired they had to be after a long day of play and helping out at the restaurant, they ought to have been eager to go to bed, but that was almost never the case. Rather than inquire about their dispute, she decided to finish her chores.
Piano music echoed through the back alley; it came from Isaac’s Restaurant, one block south on Canal Street. Most people referred to Isaac’s as a speakeasy, and, while Isaac Winters didn’t have liquor on the menu, plenty of people went into his establishment sober and came out quite the opposite. Livvie sometimes wondered how, in this time of Prohibition, he got away with selling alcohol. But then, she recalled the rumors about Sheriff Morris’s fondness for the stuff. Considering that he had been elected for two consecutive terms, she figured most of Wabash’s good citizens held the man in high regard, despite his weak enforcement of Prohibition laws.
The piano player at Isaac’s switched from honky-tonk to a quieter tune, and Livvie found herself meandering to the open window that overlooked the alley between her building and the Gaylord & Bambauer Drug Store. The night was unusually warm, yet pleasant, and the curtains ruffled in the gentle evening breeze. Below, two cats faced off with each other, their backs hunched in readiness for combat. “Scat!” she scolded them, poking her head out the window. When they scampered away in opposite directions, she smiled with satisfaction. She ducked her head back inside and prepared to get back to her chores, but something quite different grabbed her attention: the sound of the screen door of the restaurant slamming shut, followed by a rowdy voice that overpowered the other night noises.
“He’s a blame fool,” said a cranky male voice. “I swear, them stolen jewels are hidden somewheres. Got to be.”
“He said he tossed ’em in a sewer drain, Clem. It makes pretty logical sense to me,” said another.
“You’d think a dancin’ duck was logical,” the first one spat back.
“He does seem different from ten years ago. Gettin’ religion would explain that,” said a third fellow.
The threesome started making their way down the alley in her direction, so Livvie stepped to the side of the window, then crouched down and peeked over the sill, keeping an ear to the open window and an eye on their sauntering figures. She couldn’t make out their faces in the shadows, but she could tell they weren’t familiar. What did they mean by stolen jewels, and just whom were they referring to when they said that “he tossed ’em in a sewer drain”? Surely, they weren’t speaking of Will, even though she felt certain they’d just come from her restaurant. She would recognize that rusty squeak anywhere. The door had been making the sound for years, and, while she’d asked Frank countless times to fix it, she’d grown accustomed to hearing it. Her stomach twisted in a sickening knot, and she put a hand to her throat, gulping down a bitter taste. It would seem she still had much to learn about her cook. Just what had he been involved in before coming to Wabash?
“Religion? Really, Rudy. I’ll eat my boots if he got religion. He made too good a crook. Fellas like him don’t reform easy,” said the one who’d spoken first.
A crook, did he say? A panicky sensation crowded her chest.
“He got caught, didn’t he? That ain’t bein’ such a good crook.”
The three men stopped directly under her window, and she heard the strike of a match. Were they lighting up? She stood up just high enough to see one man draw something shiny from his pocket. A gun?
“Put that thing away ’fore somebody sees it,” said one fellow. “Sheesh, you’re nuts. I’m gettin’ back on that train tomorrow. I got no time to mess around this jerkwater town. New York’s got a whole lot more opportunities for me. This plan o’ yours stank from the beginnin’.”
“I’m with Hank. I ain’t hangin’ ’round, neither.”
“Suit yourselves, fools. Just don’t expect no piece o’ the pie if I discover he stashed them stolen goods ’round these parts.”
“You’re the fool, Dodd. Didn’t you hear ’im? There ain’t no pie, and I believe ’im. Will seems…I don’t know. Different.”
“Bosh. You two squirrels got leaks in your think tanks. Good riddance to both of you.”
They set off again, their voices turning garbled as they moved further up the alley.
Livvie stood up fully and sucked in a cavernous breath, then slowly expelled it. “So help me, if that man’s a thief, I’ll show him the door faster than he can say tiddlywinks,” she muttered under her breath, more angry than troubled by what she’d overheard. She needed to learn Will Taylor’s true identity, and, suddenly, tonight seemed as good a time as any. Yes, indeed. No matter what he thought of the intrusion, just as soon as she was sure her boys were asleep, she would march across the hall and knock on his door.
And then, she’d demand answers.
***
In the big, claw-foot tub, Will soaked the sweat off his body till his skin felt waterlogged. And then, he soaked some more. He couldn’t believe the sudden appearance of the old gang. He could have sworn he’d seen the last of them years ago. Matter of fact, they should have been wise enough to stay away. How did they know he wouldn’t wring their necks for leaving him stranded at that jewelry store and letting him take the rap for the crime? Lucky for them, he felt no bitterness, even though he would have preferred never to have laid eyes on them again. Talk about putting a damper on the events of the evening! And the claim that he’d stowed those jewels in some remote spot to retrieve once he was free? He’d never heard anything so asinine.
Clem Dodd hadn’t changed a bit, not counting the wrinkles and caked-on dirt he and the others had accumulated over the years. Will hoped he’d convinced them that he had no idea as to the loot’s whereabouts, and that he had, in fact, given his heart to God, so that he wouldn’t have kept it, even if he had hidden it somewhere. After a quick prayer that Clem and his cohorts wouldn’t do anything stupid, he dragged himself up, stepped out of the tub, and began toweling off. Next, he reached for his jeans and the T-shirt he’d laid out on the linoleum floor. Tonight would be a good time to search the Scriptures for a fresh dose of strength and encouragement. Maybe he’d even write a long letter to Harry. High time he brought his friend up-to-date on all the latest happenings. Too bad he didn’t feel more optimistic at the moment, especially in light of the impressive turnout they’d had at the first Family Feast. Harry would be proud of the way he’d readjusted to the world outside prison, finding a good job and a fine church, making friends, and even taking a couple of fatherless boys under his wing.
A loud rap sounded at his door, ending his musings. His mind went on immediate alert, and his first thought was that Clem and his boys had broken into the building, or that he’d forgotten to lock the outside door, but wouldn’t he have heard them in the hallway? Besides, he distinctly recalled turning the key in the lock and then hanging it on the hook by the door when he’d stepped inside his apartment. Having no gun in his possession, he went for the next best thing—an old broomstick. Holding it as he would a baseball bat, he prepared to strike the first thing that moved. But, when he opened the door just a crack, all he saw was a perturbed-looking strawberry blonde, arms folded across her heart, hazel eyes narrowed, and mouth set in a stubborn line.
He lowered the broom and lifted his eyebrows. “Livvie? Is everything all right?”
“Of course not. May I come in?”
“Um….” He stepped aside, opened the door, and gestured with an outstretched arm. “Sure, be my guest.”
She marched right past him almost before he’d gotten the words out, then quickly swiveled and stared at him face-on, looking prettier than anything he’d ever seen with her hair mussed, her eyes shimmering like wet gold, and her expression fiery and unwavering. “All right, Will Taylor. It’s time you told me who you really are.”
***
“What? Haven’t I already told you?”
Was he kidding? “Not enough, you haven’t. All I know is your name, and a few tidbits about your family.”
“Ah, so you’ve been thinking you’d like to get to know me better. Is that it? Funny, I’ve been thinking the same about you,” he said with a devilish grin. It took all of her resolve not to give in to that charming wit. “How ’bout you start?” he asked, winking.
“How ’bout not?” She smiled pertly. “I want to know the name of the restaurant where you worked in New York, exactly why you left that job, and the name of your former employer, so I may call him.”
His put-on smile faded as his shoulders dropped a notch. “All that, huh?”
Continuing the stare-down, she put her hands on her hips and waited. He remained silent, so, she added, “I heard some men talking under my window a while ago. They mentioned your name and something about some stolen jewels. I’m pretty sure they’d just left the restaurant, because I heard the screen door slam, which tells me one thing. They stopped in to see you.”
His mouth formed an o before he bit down on his lower lip and gave a slow nod. “What exactly did you overhear?”
“Uh-uh. I’m not giving you a chance to come up with more lies. I want the truth, and I want it now, or I’ll….” She chose to keep the alternative open-ended.
“Fire me?” he suggested.
“Maybe.”
“I figured you might, so that’s why I’ve been somewhat private. I don’t think you really want to hear the whole truth, Liv. It’s not a very pretty story.”
Frank had called her Liv, and she’d always liked it, but she didn’t know how she felt about hearing it from Will. Didn’t he have to earn the right to use her nickname? Her stomach tied itself into a fast knot. “You might as well go back to the beginning. For starters, why did you have to jump a freight train to come to Wabash? If you left a decent job in New York, wouldn’t you have saved enough money for the fare?”
He moved behind her and closed the door. “Hm. Did I ever say it was decent?”
He had her there. Clearly, she’d made too many assumptions about this man. “If you didn’t like your job, why on earth did you jump into another restaurant position?”
“Because I love to cook.”
“But you just said—”
“You want something to drink?” He gestured at his own tiny kitchen, where a vase of fresh-cut flowers adorned the little counter. “I have some lemonade in the fridge.”
It did sound refreshing, but she shook her head. “What I want are answers, Will.” No point in telling him how lovely the flowers looked, or how impressed she was by his wish to brighten up the otherwise drab little space. What kind of man did that?
He sighed, lowered his head, and rubbed his chin, as if feeling for his absent beard. “Are your boys sleeping?” His voice went suddenly hoarse, and she wondered if his nerves had started jangling.
“They are, and, considering how tired they were, they won’t wake up till dawn.”
“That’s good.” He gestured toward his living room, where the old sofa with the protruding spring rested against the dull blue wall. Above it, a lackluster painting she’d purchased at a secondhand store hung, slightly crooked. �
��Sit down?”
“Fine.” She moved to the frayed chair next to the couch and settled into it. The sun had set and given way to dusk, and Will leaned over to pull the chain on the ancient lamp beside the sofa before lowering his muscular frame onto the seat cushion. Low light filtered through the sparsely furnished room, revealing a Bible with a well-worn black cover on the small corner table at one end of the sofa. The sight of it wove a web of tangled emotions in her heart. What would she do if she found out that keeping Will in the kitchen would put her boys and her in harm’s way? She’d have to let him go, wouldn’t she? The very notion set her heart to thumping, for as much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, she’d grown attached to him. Furthermore, as far as she could tell, he was a much better person than she, a man of faith and integrity. What part could he possibly have had in stealing jewels?
For the span of a minute, they sat in utter silence and stared at each other, she awaiting some sort of confession, he apparently trying to decide where to start. He lifted one of his big legs and crossed it over the other, then clamped hold of his bare foot around the ankle. The sight made her feel surprisingly vulnerable. To her best recollection, she’d seen only two men barefoot—her husband and Margie’s—and something about seeing Will in such a primitive, untailored state sent her pulse spinning. Not only that, but a dim shaft of light from the glowing lamp struck his damp, chestnut hair and made it gleam in a way that caused a strange surge of affection to swirl inside her, even as she clenched her jaw and fought the ridiculous feeling.
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