“Not yet,” Rose pointed out. “No charges have been brought against you.”
“No, but that’s where it’s headed as soon as the tests come back.” She tapped the book nervously. “And there’s nothing I can do about it. Either they’re going to arrest me or not. But I can try and figure out what happened one hundred and twenty-two years ago.”
“Kate,” Rose began in an exasperated voice, “you can’t solve a murder that happened over a century ago.”
“Maybe not solve, but I can find some answers.” She leaned forward. “You were close to your great-grandfather. Who did he think killed Jacob?”
Rose rolled her eyes, but answered. “He didn’t speak of it often, but as I recall I overheard him tell Essie that he suspected one of Jacob’s neighbors, but his suspicions weren’t proof. The man’s sister gave him an alibi.”
“Anyone else?”
“There were the same kind of rumors floating around then as now: an indigent—someone passing through the area.”
“Other than the fact Hannah was his wife, why did suspicion fall on her?”
Rose pursed her lips. “Jacob was abusive and everyone had turned a blind eye.” Her face grew grim. “Women didn’t have a lot of choices back then. Divorce caused a scandal, and there were the children to consider. They belonged to the husband, and it was within his rights to deprive his ex-wife of any contact with them.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s only been in the recent past that we’ve created women’s shelters. Back then, they had nowhere to go if their families weren’t in a position to help them.”
“So Hannah allegedly killed out of either revenge or self-defense?”
“Yes,” she answered with hesitation.
“Your great-grandfather didn’t buy into that?”
“No, and neither did Essie.” An angry light flared in Rose’s eyes. “You’re picking scabs off some very old wounds—of both my family’s and Will’s.”
“Why is looking for the truth reopening old hurts?”
“Not solving Jacob’s murder was the biggest regret of my great-grandfather’s life, and we’ve always let it be.” She gave a tired sigh. “Then there’s Will’s family. His great-grandfather, Willie, lost not only his birthright, but his mother.”
“Will said Hannah’s arrest changed his great-grandfather’s life, but I assumed it was because she was arrested.” Confusion was written on Kate’s face. “Will said she wasn’t convicted.”
Rose leaned back in her chair and studied Kate. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“You want the truth?” she asked, leaning forward abruptly. “Her attorney and the county attorney made a deal without Hannah’s knowledge. It was determined that she was not guilty due to ‘uncontrollable impulse.’ ”
Kate’s eyebrows shot up. “An insanity plea?”
“Yes, and they confined her to an insane asylum. Willie was taken away and raised by her sister and brother-in-law.”
Kate’s mouth had dropped open and she snapped it shut before speaking. “Those were terrible places,” she declared.
Some of the anger seemed to leave Rose. “Yes, they were. Inmates often lived in substandard conditions. Some were beaten. They were isolated and not allowed any contact with family or friends.” Her lips tightened. “If a body wasn’t crazy going in, they would be shortly after living under those circumstances.”
Kate remembered how she’d felt last night locked up in the jail cell. Sympathy for Hannah flooded her. The woman had lost everything, her home, her child, and never received a reprieve.
“How did Willie ever survive the trauma?”
“He had a good home with his aunt and uncle and went on to become a doctor.” Rose traced a line across the table. “But I don’t think he ever got over the way his mother had been treated. He seldom spoke of her.”
“Is that why Will won’t talk about her?”
“Yes. We’ve come a long way since then, when it comes to the treatment of mental illness. But even now, it carries a stigma.” She tugged on her lip. “Even today, there are those who view it as a genetic defect and one that can be passed on to children.”
“ ‘The sins of the father, ’ ” Kate murmured.
Rose looked at her sharply. “What did you say?”
“It’s in this book.” She handed it to Rose. “There’s an essay in here entitled that, but it’s talking about violence not insanity. At least I think it is. Most of the chapter’s been ripped out.”
Rose’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the book. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in a trunk out in the old cabin.” A realization dawned in Kate’s mind. “You recognize this book, don’t you? Do you know who the author is?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rose said quickly and handed the book back to Kate. “I’m not familiar with this at all.”
“But, Rose, your grandmother was an early-twentieth-century writer, so was this person. Take a look at it and maybe you will recognize it.” She pushed the book toward her.
Rose’s attention darted away. “No, I won’t. I’m too old to remember such things.”
Bullshit. There wasn’t a thing wrong with Rose’s mind or her memory.
“Rose,” she said painfully, “I don’t believe you.”
Rose abruptly stood. “I’m sorry to hear you say that.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late and you don’t want to leave Trudy for too long.”
Dismissed, Kate picked up her book and left, but on the way home her mind spun with questions.
Hannah had been unjustly locked away, and according to Trudy, this cursed their branch of the family. If Trudy was correct, then logically Hannah must’ve held her stepson Joseph responsible for what happened to her. Why?
And Willie’s birthright—how did it manage to fall to his brother? She understood why Hannah hadn’t inherited a portion of the farm, but it didn’t explain Willie not receiving his share.
Will had minimized the bad blood between his side of the family and Joe’s, but both he and Rose clammed up whenever she brought up Hannah. She’d heard the pride in his voice when he’d spoken of his great-grandfather Willie. Did he harbor more resentment over Willie’s fate than he let on?
A terrible thought occurred to her.
Was it deep enough to seek revenge?
Chapter 41
Fall 2012, the Clement family farm
As Rose watched Kate pull out of the driveway, her heart ached for her young friend. She wanted to help her, but old loyalties superseded new friendships. She picked up her cell phone and dialed Will’s number.
He answered on the second ring.
“Kate was here and she found a book in the old cabin,” she said without preamble.
“Okay—”
She cut him off. “A book containing essays. One is titled ‘The Sins of the Father.’ ”
“Oh.” Will was silent for a moment. “Did you tell her?”
“No. There’s no time limit on promises, Will.” She paused. “I did tell her about the verdict and Hannah’s incarceration.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“She’s not going to give up, is she?”
“No. She doesn’t want to face what might come about over the next few days, and she’s using this quest of hers as a distraction.” Rose began to pace back and forth in front of the window. “She’s truly convinced that if she learns the truth about Jacob and Hannah, it will help her out of her situation.”
“What can we do?”
“You’ve tried to get her to drop it?”
“Yes, and it didn’t work. Can you think of anything else she might find?”
“How would I know?” Rose replied in a frustrated voice. “Who would’ve suspected that she’d find that old newspaper article or that book? It’s been out of print for decades.”
“How do you suppose a Krause wound up with a copy?”
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“I imagine it was sent to them. And from the looks of it, they didn’t appreciate the gift—the cover was obliterated and the essay was ripped out.”
Will snickered.
“It’s not funny,” she declared. “Not if you want to protect your secrets. I’d hate to see reputations that have stood for a long time destroyed.”
“I wonder which one of the mighty Krauses received the book? Joseph or his son?”
“Joseph, I would think. No one else would get the connection.”
“Hmm,” his voice grew thoughtful. “Maybe I should pay Kate a visit tomorrow. Offer to help her look for clues.”
“Then lead her in a different direction?”
“It’s worth a try.”
Chapter 42
Fall 2012, the Krause family farm
Kate was upset by her conversation with Rose. She could try pumping Trudy for information, but she’d have to get past all of her mutterings about curses and ghosts.
She found her sitting on the back porch, watching the sun climb higher in the morning sky.
“I’m sorry if Will upset you yesterday,” she said.
A steely look from Trudy was her only response. She tried another topic.
“I found an old trunk out in the cabin.”
“That would be the one that belonged to Joseph’s mother, Suzanne,” she replied, rocking back and forth. “She was a Southerner.”
“No one ever mentions her. She must’ve died young.”
“She did.”
“How?”
“She fell down the cellar steps and broke her neck.”
Kate looked out over the farm. A cool morning breeze stirred the autumn leaves, and in the distance, she heard birds singing. She shivered. One would never know that three tragic deaths had occurred in such a peaceful setting.
“How old was Joseph when his mother died?”
“About eight or nine, I guess,” she answered with a shrug.
“Then Jacob married Hannah?”
Trudy’s lip curled. “He’d have been better leaving that one alone.”
“I know she was confined to a mental institution,” Kate said quietly.
“They should’ve hanged her.” Trudy rocked a little faster.
If Kate wanted to avoid one of her tirades, she needed to proceed carefully.
“So the family’s always believed she was guilty?”
Trudy faced her with eyes blazing. “Of course she was guilty. Her and that boy were the only ones in the house that night.”
“Not Joseph?”
“No, he didn’t get along with Hannah, so he stayed in the old cabin.”
“What about Willie? Did Joseph get along with Willie?”
“That boy was a pampered brat. He didn’t deserve this place.”
“He signed it over to his brother?”
“No. Hannah did.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking all these questions?”
“Just curious. So Hannah signed it over to Joseph before the trial?”
“Yes, and contrary to what that Will Krause’s family has always claimed, it was legal.” She frowned. “Always made me sick listening to people rattle on about ‘the good doctor’ and how we cheated him.”
“You mean Willie?”
“His mother was a crazy murderer.” She gave Kate a sly look. “I’m not too sure that he wasn’t just like her. Bet you’ve never heard anything about him attending Charles Walker’s death bed?”
“Who’s Charles Walker?”
“Humph, that’s what I thought. No one ever talks about that.” She settled back in the chair. “Charles Walker was the county attorney who charged Hannah. I always thought it was kind of funny that Willie was present for the death of the man who locked up his ma.”
“You think he killed him?” Kate asked in a shocked voice.
“Not saying he did, but that family’s not as lily white as they’d like everyone to think.” She smiled with satisfaction. “Joe knew, and one of these days, he was going to let it out.” She turned her attention to Kate. “You’re asking a lot of questions about the past when you’ve got worries of your own right now. They think you killed my son.”
The directness of her words shocked Kate.
“You know I wasn’t here until after you drove Joe to the hospital.” She leaned forward. “What happened that day?”
“I already told the sheriff,” she answered in a bitter voice.
“Did Joe say anything? Did he tell you who’d hurt him?”
Trudy rubbed her forehead with a trembling hand. “I don’t remember—it all happened so fast—Joe’s shirt turning red with blood—” She stopped, her face stricken. “Why are you trying to make me remember? I tried to save him. I didn’t want my son to die.”
Kate reached out to her. “Trudy—”
She pushed herself to her feet and glared down at Kate. “You—you brought this on us. If you never came here, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Doing an about-face, Trudy scurried into the house. The door slammed, and a moment later, Kate heard the music box begin to play.
Questioning Trudy hadn’t brought Kate any closer to the truth. She never got the chance to ask her about the book she’d found in the cabin. Rose and Will weren’t going to tell her anything. The only place left was to check at the library. They might recognize the essays.
As Kate walked into the library, she felt eyes watching her, but she ignored them. However, it was hard to disregard the librarian’s look of disapproval when she approached the counter.
“May I help you?” the librarian asked in a grim voice.
“I found this book,” Kate replied, placing it on the counter, “and I wondered if you might know the title and the author. As you can see it’s in bad shape.”
With a shake of her head, the woman opened it and flipped through the pages. “No, sorry,” she said. “This isn’t familiar.”
“Do you have any suggestions as to how I might discover the title and the author?”
The librarian’s gaze slid to her left. “Well,” she said with reluctance as she studied the chapter titles. “You could try an Internet search . . . using twentieth-century authors and women’s issues.”
Kate received the distinct impression that the woman would prefer it be done somewhere other than her library.
The woman handed her the book and Kate gave her a broad smile. “Thanks,” she said brightly, “I’ll use that computer over there.”
Once seated at the computer, she typed in the librarian’s suggestions, and thirty minutes later had decided it was hopeless.
Stretching her arms overhead, she squinted at the screen. At first, she’d wondered if Essie, Rose’s grandmother, was the author, so she followed several links about her, but found nothing about any essays. The name of Johan Bennett had popped up in conjunction with Essie, which didn’t surprise her. Rose had mentioned that Johan had been Essie’s mentor.
She typed in Johan’s name and followed those links. Not much was out there even though he’d been a prolific writer and staunch supporter of the suffragette movement. His opinions had caused a quite a stir. One article had credited his work as being the driving force behind changes in the child-labor laws.
But as for the man himself, Kate found a reference calling him “reclusive,” and that was it. No formal biography or photographs—and nothing that would indicate a connection to Iowa, much less the Krauses.
Next she tried “Iowa mental institutions in 1890.” Forcing herself to skim through those, she was appalled at the conditions in which the patients lived. Her horror grew as she uncovered articles mentioning the use of lobotomies for the treatment of the mentally ill.
While she was reading one of the articles, a familiar name popped out at her, “Dr. William Krause.” Further searching led to a biography of Dr. Krause.
He wasn’t the simple country doctor Kate had assumed. He had been active as a mental-health advocate and had fought until his death in 1970 f
or the abolishment of lobotomies.
Kate leaned in. His work wasn’t surprising, considering the fate of his mother. Had Hannah still been living then? Had, in the course of his work, he seen his mother?
“Hey,” a voice whispered in her ear, startling her.
She turned to find Will standing behind her.
Leaning in, he squinted at the screen. “I see you’re reading about Willie.”
Kate closed the screen and looked up at him. “How did you know I was here?”
He pulled a chair over and sat. “I saw your Jeep parked out front.” He paused. “Why were you looking up my great-grandfather?”
“I—well.” Kate squirmed in her chair. “It wasn’t my intent. Rose told me about Hannah.”
“And you discovered Willie’s name by looking up mental institutions?”
“Yeah. I thought he was a small-town doctor. You never mentioned his work for the mentally ill.”
Will shrugged. “It’s no big secret. I don’t understand why you feel the need to dig up all this old history.”
“Does it bother you?” she asked, remembering what Trudy had said about his family possessing secrets.
“I think you should be concentrating on building your defense, so that you’re ready in case it comes to that.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“The truth? I don’t appreciate it,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “What happened to Hannah was a miscarriage of justice, and I think it only fair that the poor woman should be allowed to rest in peace.”
She tried another tack. “What about Joseph? How do you think he played into what happened to her? Did he testify against her?”
“I can’t stop you, can I?”
Kate shook her head.
“We believe he set her up.”
“How?”
“He might have tampered with the evidence. Maybe he orchestrated the deal between the county attorney and Hannah’s attorney. It’s all supposition and we’ll never know for sure.”
“About the county attorney—Trudy said Willie was the attending physician at his death.”
Will’s face grew stony. “What are you suggesting?”
The Widows of Braxton County Page 25
