“No bitterness even when I was an adult and didn’t contact or visit her?”
Tillie didn’t meet his gaze. “I have a confession to make.”
Greg sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “About what?”
She nibbled her lower lip, distracting him from the conversation at hand.
“I lied to her.” Her words were barely a whisper, and he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly, but before he could ask her to repeat them, she continued. “In her final weeks when she was so sick and I didn’t expect her to make it, I…I—um—told her she’d received a card from you.”
“You what?”
Her eyes begged him to understand. “She was nearing the end of her life. I knew she’d never learn the truth, but wanted her to go to her grave believing you were thinking of her.” A tear splashed onto her hands, and he wiped another from her cheek while blinking away a few of his own.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing at first. She smiled then asked me to read it to her.” She drew a deep breath. “I pretended to go down to the foyer to pick up the card and brought back one from a friend of hers at church to read to her instead.” She met his gaze again. “Believe me when I tell you I didn’t put words into your mouth. I simply read the sentiment imprinted in the card and told her it was signed, ‘Love, Gregory.’ Oh, but the smile on her face was so worth the lie.”
Greg nodded. “I’m glad you did that. Thank you. It makes me feel better.” He paused to wrap his head around that selfless gesture from Tillie, which must have been difficult for someone who tried to be honest and forthright. “So you were with her when she… She wasn’t alone at the end?”
“I took care of her until her last breath and stayed with her until the funeral home came to take her away. She refused to go to the hospital in those remaining weeks, preferring to die here in her own bed, in her own house.” As if realizing the morbidity of that thought, she added quickly, “I assure you that the mattress upstairs is a new one, not the one she…well, you know.”
“Good to know.” He smiled. Leave it to Tillie to worry about his comfort. But he wanted to know more about Gram’s final days. “What did she say about me, before or after the card incident?”
Tillie averted her gaze again, causing him to worry that it might not have been as pleasant as she’d indicated earlier. But she soon faced him again. “That ornament wasn’t the only time she talked to me about how I was destined to be with you. On her deathbed, she urged me to write back to you.”
“Why didn’t you?” Would things have been different if he’d known Tillie earlier? Clearly, Gram’s attorney had his address, and he doubted Gram would have asked him to keep it a secret if she was so set on matching them up.
She nibbled her lower lip before whispering, “Fear of rejection, I suppose. But I was more worried about disappointing Mrs. Foster than anything in that moment, so I assured her I would. Her attorney took care of mailing her journals to you. I could have asked him for your address, but never did. Out of fear, plain and simple.”
“Well, the important thing is that we’ve found each other now. If you and I are meant to be together, it will work out. If not…”
“I’ve always kept myself safe by simply not putting myself out there to be hurt.”
He grinned. “I’ve noticed you use this house as a sanctuary to hide away from the world.”
Tillie shrugged with a shy grin before growing dead serious. “Don’t break my heart, Greg. If you don’t think there can be anything between us, I can handle hearing that now. But, as you suspected when I put a halt to where we were headed a little bit ago, I’m skittish. I feel like I’m diving into the deep end of a pool with no lifeline, and I don’t know how to swim. So please, Greg, don’t play games with my emotions and my heart.”
He cupped her cheek. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world. Trust me.” Even as he said the words, they almost caught in his throat. He needed to tell her about the things Gram wrote in her journals about Jesse James, but she’d made it clear where she stood on revisionist history theories. If he wanted her to respect him—maybe even come to love him someday—he didn’t want to come across to her as delusional.
“I’d like to, but you’ve not always been completely honest and forthcoming with me.” She seemed to be doing better at telling him what she thought at least.
“No, and for that I’m truly sorry. I understand I’ll need to earn your trust.” He nodded toward her ankle. “We have a little more time on our side now. Let’s keep building on what we have in common.”
“Thanks, Greg. I’d appreciate that—but please don’t get me all worked up like this again.”
He chuckled. “Believe me, it was equally hard on me…pun intended.”
* * *
At the moment Gregory began unbuttoning Tillie’s blouse, Amelia faced toward Jesse, who leaned against the mantle near where he’d etched his J.H. alias initials in 1939 to let it be known he’d been here in his John Howard persona toward the end of his life. Tillie had it all wrong, as she and Gregory did on so many things, but sometimes the truth was neither here nor there. Perception was all that mattered in the end.
“For all that’s decent and holy, Jesse, stop staring at them! Let’s give the young’uns some privacy.” She tugged on his coat sleeve, dragging him out of the room.
“It is a mite awkward, but damn, ain’t that the best sight you’ve ever seen? Amelia, my darlin’, I think our work here is done.”
“Don’t jump the gun. Until I see my Tillie dressed in white on the arm of Gregory as they walk back down the aisle, I’m not resting on my laurels.”
“You really think he’ll botch it up at this point? Didn’t you see the way they opened up to each other, touched each other?”
“Yes, but you ought not to be remembering that. Wipe it from your mind, Jesse.”
“Whiskey and death wiped my mind long ago, but it’s kinda hard to unsee them now.” The two spirits ended up in the kitchen near the low-burning hearth. “Heed my words. Any day now, they’re going to quit fighting the attraction and come together.”
Amelia shook her head as she stared at the flames. “I hope you’re right, Jesse, but I have a feeling they haven’t resolved all their issues. And don’t forget Peterson. That worthless grandson of my first husband’s is up to no good, I tell you. Gregory and Tillie have been so into each other they haven’t paid one bit of attention to the proof that’s right in their hands. Their fancy cameras caught him red-handed in the cellar when he offered to get the cherry bounce.”
“I don’t know nothing about new-fangled contraptions like that, but I’ll agree he’s up to something. Did I ever tell you I didn’t care for your first husband?”
Amelia grinned. “On more than one occasion.”
“Glad you dumped him.”
“As am I.” Amelia sighed. “Too bad he had to procreate. The world would have been better off had he not continued his line with Mark’s mother. Tillie and Gregory would be better off, too.”
At least Jesse and her second husband, Elmer, enjoyed each other’s company, although they didn’t know one another long and mostly in a professional capacity.
Chapter Twenty-One
Three busy weekends had passed since Thanksgiving Day, with a blur of guests coming and going. Greg made two visits home to Minneapolis to see Derek. Each time he left, Tillie expected not to see him again, but he always returned as promised.
Putting the casserole dish into the oven, Tillie glanced up to find Greg standing in the doorway to the dining room. He’d disappeared when they came back from the store after helping her put away the groceries.
“You aren’t overdoing it, are you?”
She smiled. He must ask her that a dozen times a day. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to be rid of those crutches. I haven’t even felt a twinge in my ankle for days. The physical therapy is doing the trick. I should be able to drive again in a week or so.”<
br />
“You’ve healed remarkably well.”
It was a month to the day since she’d sprained her ankle. Every day, she expected Greg to say he’d be leaving, but the project with the preservation society kept him here now. He’d been invaluable to her these past weeks, doing all the heavy lifting and carrying her up and down the stairs even when she insisted she could use her crutches or even take the stairs on her butt.
What would she do when he left? Not about running the inn. She’d been doing that for the most part again already. But she’d miss hearing the sound of his footsteps in the house, sharing meals together, and laughing about whether Mrs. Foster was hiding missing objects from them that suddenly appeared in plain sight right where they’d looked earlier.
Greg usually Skyped with Derek after supper, which seemed to be working as far as keeping them from missing each other too much. Tillie found herself longing to see the little guy again herself, but never intruded on their sessions unless Greg was in the dining room and asked her to say hi.
Afterward, they spent their evenings alone sitting by the fire—in the parlor if there were no guests or in the office if there were—reading or talking about what he’d been working on with the preservationist that day. Their times together warmed her heart.
But this domestic bliss couldn’t last forever, especially now that she was doing almost everything she once did.
“Supper should be ready in about forty-five minutes,” she announced.
“If you need anything, ask, but I’d probably only be in the way.”
“Nonsense.” She’d enjoyed working side-by-side with him in running her inn, but tried to prepare herself for the day when he wouldn’t be here.
I don’t want to think about that right now.
“Make yourself at home, Greg.” Forever, if you’d like! “The dining-room table is set already, but there’s a tray of veggies and dip on the sideboard if you’re hungry now.”
“No, I can wait until dinner with you. I’ll take the paper products down to the cellar and maybe read in the parlor a while. Cathedral by the Sea might be Falcones’ finest book yet.” She’d borrowed the book for him from the library a few days ago when he’d run out of reading material.
While peeling carrots, she heard the motion-detector alarm go off on the surveillance system. Just Greg. She glanced at the monitor and smiled. He’d been a godsend the past month making all of the trips to the cellar. Those stairs would have been a challenge until the last few days, but he was sweet to take the rest of the supplies down there.
She cut the carrots and placed them in a pot to boil while preparing the glaze when the alarm went off again. This time when she glanced at the computer, a transparent form showed up on the screen. Then it moved. Tillie dropped the spoon into the pot and came closer to the monitor. If she wasn’t fully awake, she’d think she was seeing an apparition.
Greg came onto the screen again. Why was he coming from the canning room? He didn’t go to the stairs, instead walking over to the shelves of canning jars to shine his phone’s flashlight against the wall. She watched intently as he ran his hand over the stone and mortar then shook his head. Making his way to the stairs, he walked right through the apparition, stopped a moment, and turned around. Had he sensed something? How could he not see it? She couldn’t wait to show him the video after supper.
Curious as to what had drawn him to the canning room—perhaps hoping to capture more spirit activity—she switched to that room and backed up the footage to a few minutes ago. This was the first time she’d watched surveillance footage since the cameras had been installed, even though it turned out to be easier than she’d expected.
The smile faded from her face when she saw him shining his light onto the stone with the more recent mortar around it. He ran his fingers around the edge as if searching for a latch or lever then pushed against the stone as if he could make the sixteen-by-twelve-inch wide block budge.
What was he looking for? If he’d been inspecting the windows for evidence of tampering, she would have understood he was merely making sure no one had tried to break in again.
But this? Was he still hunting for Jesse’s treasure? Had he lied to her again?
When he left the canning room, she went to the sink to wash and dry her shaking hands, trying unsuccessfully to calm the erratic beating of her heart.
She needed to confront him, ask what he’d been doing down there. He’d been in the cellar on numerous occasions to store or retrieve something she needed. Had he been snooping around then, too?
Because she cared for him in such a deep and personal way, she needed answers. This was a man she could very well give her heart to, but not if he continued to keep secrets from her and pursued these revisionist-history stories that had haunted Tillie since childhood.
Tillie walked slowly through the dining and birthing rooms toward the foyer as if marching to the gallows. The cellar door had been bolted again, so she proceeded to the parlor where she found Greg sitting with his book on his lap reading as though nothing had happened. No, not reading. He stared blankly at the flames.
Was he concocting some new story?
When he turned toward her, he smiled. “That was fast. Forty-five minutes already?” He closed the book and started to stand.
“What were you searching for in the canning room?” She blurted out the words before losing her nerve. He closed his eyes a moment. When he reopened them, he didn’t make eye contact at first, convincing her that he was about to reveal something she didn’t want to hear.
He didn’t ask how she knew. Since he’d installed the cameras himself, that was obvious.
At long last, he met her gaze, imploring her for—forgiveness? Understanding? Whatever. Until she heard his explanation, she held out hope he had a good reason. But if he’d lied to her about being Mrs. Foster’s grandson and hid from her his real reason for wanting to be here, did that mean everything had been a lie? He hadn’t come back here for her, but for his own selfish interests in finding some non-existent treasure everyone seemed so sure had been left behind by the famed outlaw.
Everyone but Tillie.
She’d only been a means to an end for him. Tillie blinked rapidly.
I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“I owe you an apology, Tillie. I’ve been snooping around a while now…”
The rest of his words were blocked by the sound of blood rushing through her ears. Snooping meant he’d been intentionally sneaking around without her knowledge. Why?
“When I installed the surveillance cameras and fixed the window, I tried to see what the intruder was so damned interested in.”
“And did you find anything?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t think it would be down there anyway. More likely it’s hidden in the walls or a hidden passageway. Unfortunately, I haven’t found any evidence of either.”
“So you searched beyond my cellar?”
He took a sudden interest in the floor, and he nodded ever so slightly. “There and in my suite and Derek’s bedroom. Well, and the fireplace here.” He met her gaze again. “But all that was during the first couple days of my initial stay, before I’d gotten to know you better.” Again, he wouldn’t make eye contact. “Then the next morning Derek said he had seen Gram in his room that first night—and had been seeing her in his room in St. Paul, too.”
What did Mrs. Foster have to do with this? Clearly, he’d been out to find Jesse James and his damned fictitious treasure.
He continued, not aware of her dubious thoughts. “I’m convinced she’s been watching over Derek for a while now, even though I wasn’t aware of it. Apparently, he only shared those earlier visits with his mom.” When he looked her in the eye again, she saw pain. No. Obviously, she wasn’t seeing clearly at the moment. “I soon came to the conclusion you weren’t involved in any smoke-and-mirrors activity.”
Ah, so at first he’d thought she’d conjured up an apparition for Derek to se
e. “I’ve never been a charlatan or a fraud—and would never frighten a child.”
He furrowed his brows, perhaps to hide his true feelings about her. “I know that, Tillie. I’ve known it almost from the beginning, once I pulled my head out of my…” He raked his fingers through his hair, and his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I screwed up. Most of the snooping happened within the first couple days I was here. Although I’ll admit I didn’t believe you one-hundred percent at first, I liked you enough not to want to do harm to you or your business.”
“Then what were you doing in the cellar tonight? Find anything?”
“Nothing. I swear. That wall has intrigued me since the first time I was down there, so I decided to take another look.” He grinned, almost sheepishly. “I’m convinced now that the most valuable things in the cellar are your home-canned goodies.”
Flattery wasn’t going to work with her…not anymore. She thanked him in a clipped tone then asked, “Why do you even care about hidden treasure? You aren’t exactly hurting for money.”
“It’s not about the money. Never has been.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she asked, “Then tell me, what is this about?”
He came closer, and she took a step back, halting him in his tracks. “Look, Tillie, I’m a history buff. I have Gram to thank for that. Finding whatever Jesse James left behind would be incredible.”
“What if you’d found something? Would you have taken it with you?”
“No! How could you think that?”
She didn’t know what to think any longer. Other than that, he wasn’t who she believed he was.
“Tillie, I swear to you I…” She waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be warring within himself about what more to say, probably because he’d already told enough lies and couldn’t keep them straight.
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