The Stills

by Jess Montgomery

  “Well, I think you all should know that both Marvena and her husband, Jurgis, have confessed to murdering Luther,” Lily says.

  Fiona catches her gasp before it blooms large enough for anyone to notice. Marvena and Jurgis confessed? A glimmer of an idea arises in the back of Fiona’s mind.

  Lily says, “Arlie brought Luther to a church they all attend, hoping he’d reform—”

  George laughs, and Abe stops pacing long enough to give Lily an incredulous look.

  “I’m only sharing what I was told. I have Marvena and Jurgis in custody, but I’m hoping to track down Arlie,” Lily says. “They’re protecting one another, but Arlie is a bigger suspect as far as I’m concerned. If I can clear Marvena and Jurgis, they can get home to Marvena’s daughter Frankie. Marvena is rightly worried about her little girl, who has asthma.” Lily gives Fiona a pointed look, as if sharing this motherly concern might stir enough empathy in Fiona to say where Arlie is. But she has no idea.

  “We told you before, we don’t know anything about Arlie. He’s not here,” George says. His laughter has ceased abruptly and he sounds impatient.

  Lily gives him a small smile. “I didn’t think he was. I’m wondering if Luther’s automobile is here?”

  George and Abe exchange looks. George’s glance gives Abe the go-ahead. “It is not.”

  “Do any of you happen to know his license plate number?” Lily asks. After a brief silence, she adds, “I think Arlie took Luther’s automobile. I have an idea where he is going, so with the number, if he’s spotted in that area…” She stands. “Where is Elias? I can ask him.”

  This makes sense—Elias knew Luther better than anyone. But, Fiona realizes, Lily had hoped to avoid talking to Elias.

  George frowns, reluctant to let Lily talk to him because in his state God only knows what Elias might say. But he says, “Of course. Klara, would you show them—”

  Ah—here’s an opportunity. “Klara has her hands full.” It’s true—and not just holding a teapot. She’s been run ragged, constantly cooking for and cleaning up after George and his men. “So I’ve been tending to poor Elias. He’s been so distraught since the news of Luther’s death. Taken to his bed.” She quickly tired of how pitiful he’s acting, all but refusing to eat. Still, for right now she manages to look sympathetic about him. She stands, looks at George. “Let me help out and take Lily to him. I can make sure Elias answers Lily’s questions suitably—but that he doesn’t get too tired.”

  George’s grimace unfurls just a little as she emphasizes suitably and Fiona sees he’s pleased with her—and how he interprets her careful choice of words. That Fiona will cut off Elias’s comments if he starts to say too much. Also true—though not for the reason George thinks. She hopes Lily doesn’t know about the revenuer—not just yet. The news about Marvena has given her an idea.

  “That would be fine,” George says.

  Fiona leads Lily upstairs. She waits at the top, notes how wearily and slowly Lily moves.

  In his bedroom, Elias lies curled up on his side. The room is fusty. Fiona turns up the wick on the coal-oil lamp.

  “Elias, you have a visitor,” Fiona says, almost chirpily. When he doesn’t move, she can’t keep the snappishness out of her voice. “Elias! Sit up. Lily is here to see you.”

  At that, he rolls to his back. As she helps him sit up in bed, Fiona observes how piteously he looks at Lily. But Lily’s face remains impassive as she repeats the news and questions she’d shared downstairs.

  Elias looks to Fiona for guidance. She doesn’t encourage him to confide in Lily, and that is enough for him to simply say he doesn’t know anything about Luther and Arlie’s connection, that they’d all just come here for the Thanksgiving weekend, had planned to leave this evening, until Luther passed.

  “Do you happen to know the license plate number for Luther’s automobile?”

  Elias stares at Lily. If he’s looking for pity or softness, Fiona thinks, he’s going to be bitterly disappointed.

  Lily presses her lips together for a moment, then adds, “Come on, Elias. You’ve always had a perfect memory for such.”

  “Six-one-eight-six-two-six,” Elias says.

  Lily makes a note of it, turns to leave without so much as a thank-you. At last, Fiona is moved to feel some sympathy for Elias. She pats his shoulder.

  “Lily—oh, Lily, will you be at Luther’s funeral?” Elias cries out.

  Lily pauses in the doorway, turns, and fixes Elias with such a hard stare that Elias shrinks back in the bed.

  “Oh, I meant to thank you for returning my gloves yesterday,” Fiona says. Lily lifts her eyebrows at the reminder. “I—I will have the funeral home leave word with you. We are hoping to make plans tomorrow for a service and funeral on Thursday.”

  “No need to go to the effort to leave word,” Lily says flatly. “I’m sure I’ll read the funeral notice and obituary in the Kinship Daily Courier, along with everyone else.”

  Elias drops his head to his hands.

  “We’ll see you there, then?” Fiona keeps her tone polite—not too eager, just in case Klara has come upstairs after all. While she’s succeeded in turning Klara and Abe against each other, she hasn’t—and knows she won’t—turn them against George. Klara will surely report any odd flicker in Fiona’s voice to George.

  But Fiona widens her eyes, as if begging Lily to understand. I need to see you there.

  Lily gives a curt little nod that only Fiona sees.

  Then the sheriff leaves.

  Fiona gives herself a moment, just a moment, to close her eyes. Breathe slowly. Is it possible that Luther’s murder, Marvena’s arrest, is a gift to her? Yes, yes, the shimmering outline of her plan floats before her, beckoning. Rash—yet offering hope for full escape from George, and control of her own fate, far sooner that she could have dreamed. She reviews the steps in her plan. Tonight, she’ll lay awake after George is again lost in his restless nightmares and hone every detail until her plan is solid and gleaming in its polished perfection.

  Monday, November 28, 8:30 a.m.

  “Pull over there.” Fiona points to a spot a little farther up on this stretch of Kinship Road.

  Elias keeps driving at the same creeping rate, his hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that the hairs pop up on his knuckles. He stares intently out the windshield, as the wipers clear a light freezing rain.

  “Did you hear me?” Fiona’s voice is shrill. “I said pull over!”

  It’s nearly impossible to keep her patience with him, though she knows she must. This morning, she’d finally gotten him to dress, to go downstairs to breakfast, to say what she’d instructed him to say: that he was feeling better and needed to go into town to the funeral home.

  George had looked annoyed, as Fiona knew he would. He was intent this morning on getting the men started on putting in the gravel road before the weather got worse; he’d even talked to her about it this morning before breakfast. He wouldn’t want to spare any of his men.

  If Elias feels up to driving, I can keep an eye on him, Fiona had offered.

  Abe had not returned yet, and George is fuming over his right-hand man’s absence—and no news about what, if anything, the Harkins boy had observed happen at Marvena’s still.

  Abe’s absence and George’s resulting fretful mood worked to Fiona’s advantage. George, preoccupied with plans he’d written out in a notebook, waved his hand, as if shooing them out the door. Go on.

  Now Fiona snaps again, “Pull over!”

  This time, Elias listens, gliding to a stop alongside the road.

  “Look at me.”

  Elias stares straight ahead.

  Fiona takes his chin, nudges him to look at her. When he does, she nearly gasps. Elias is a broken man.

  She can use that.

  “Elias, you yourself said a few days ago that you were worried that Luther and you would become expendable to George. You didn’t want the liquor supply poisoned, and we thought we stopped it because I w
as able to warn Lily Ross. But she didn’t mention anything about finding tainted liquor and George has complained to me that the plan was not pulled off. Last night, George laughed at the notion of Luther finding solace in the Lord. But what if Luther changed his mind, didn’t want to poison others?” Fiona in no way believes this, but Elias’s face is slowly brightening at the notion. “What if Abe killed Luther? Doesn’t that make more sense than Arlie? Sure, Lily saw Luther and Arlie together at the Kinship Inn, but Abe was gone that night, too, looking for Luther.”

  Elias frowns but then shakes his head. “What does it matter? Luther is gone. Daniel is gone. I have nothing—”

  “Listen to me! I have a plan, but you have to trust me. What if we can take George and Abe out—but in a way that shows Lily that you’re a good man?”

  Elias’s eyes widen and he shakes his head again. “That will never happen—”

  “Whatever you did to make her hate you”—at this, Elias recoils as if Fiona has spit in his face—“I don’t know. I don’t need to know. And maybe you can’t get her to care for you again, but if that’s the case, don’t you want people to talk about how you did this good thing—stopping George from bringing this business into the county? Her children—Daniel’s children—will hear that talk one day. And don’t you want to avenge Luther’s death? If he was all you had to live for, and now he’s gone—well, especially since he had changed his mind about hurting people, don’t you want to fulfill what he started?”

  Elias looks confused, and Fiona knows he’s turning over the question—had Luther changed his mind, found a need for goodness at the end with Arlie?

  Fiona is quite certain he hadn’t.

  But she sees that in his grief, Elias wants to believe in her. Have faith in her and, more important, in the improbable fiction she’s weaving.

  Fiona gives him another nudge. “Elias, I believe Luther found redemption. The truth is, I know you’re weak, even with your heart medicine, and none of us know how long we have. I have a way for you to find redemption—if not in Lily’s eyes, then in God’s. In the community’s. You don’t want Luther to have died at the hands of George and Abe in vain, do you?”

  Elias sighs. “What do you want me to do, Fiona?”

  Fiona smiles, her relief sincere. “Your brother established the mine in Rossville, and Luther ran it. I’m guessing they talked about blasting new entrances and tunnels. If we could get our hands on dynamite, would you know how to safely set it?”

  Elias stares at her, and for long moments the only sound in the cold automobile is of the ice pelting on the roof and windshield.

  At long last, he nods.

  “Good,” she says. “First, there’s a man you need to meet.”

  * * *

  Colter is still in the old cabin, but Fiona suspects that that’s mainly due to how weak he is.

  Elias pulls a rickety wooden chair up to the bed and stares at the man, taking in his long, raspy breaths. He presses his hand to the man’s chest, and then to his forehead. Colter doesn’t bother to open his eyes.

  When Elias turns to Fiona, she nearly jumps—he’s transformed, his expression animated with concern.

  “This man has a fever and slightly elevated heart rate,” Elias says briskly. “He has an infection and is dehydrated.”

  “What can we do?” Fiona asks. Colter will be no good to her dead. She needs him to be alive for at least another week.

  “Plenty of fluids. An antiseptic, such as Listerine, for the head wound, which needs to be cleaned,” Elias says. “Rest and warmth…” Elias pauses, considering, and for a moment Fiona admires how smart and efficient Elias must have been as a doctor, how much he’d loved his work. “He’s young, otherwise healthy,” Elias says. “If we can stabilize him, he has a good chance of recovering—otherwise the infection will take over his body.”

  “Do you think you could get what you need in Kinship?” Fiona asks.

  Elias nods but narrows his eyes, questioning. “Who is he? Why is he here?”

  “He’s an agent from the Bureau of Prohibition. He came looking for Luther.…” Fiona hesitates, unsure how her next bit of news will impact Elias. Push him back in his well of despair—or motivate him further to fulfill her plan. “He told me Luther shot him at Marvena’s still. Left him for dead. He found his way here, and I found him in the woodshop.”

  Elias has gone still, his eyes wide. Though he seems to be staring at her, she’s not sure he sees her. Fiona kneels beside him, puts her hand on his arm. “Elias, listen to me. That was, that was before Luther went to the church. Remember? And this man has a family. I found his wallet.” She stands, goes to the table, grabs the wallet. “Look. There’s a letter tucked inside, addressed to his mother back in Chicago.” She holds the wallet open, so Elias can see the folded letter—no envelope—alongside a few bills. “I’ve read it to him, several times over, to remind him to fight to get better.”

  Well, she’d read it, a long apology for some undetailed slight, which explains why he wasn’t home at Thanksgiving. But she had not read it to the man. A lovely thought, though.

  “So we need him to get better. For his sake. Because if he does, the Good Lord will judge Luther less harshly. For Luther’s redemption.”

  Elias hasn’t moved or blinked.

  Anger rises in Fiona’s chest. She grabs Elias’s arm again, this time to give him a shake. “And for yours. Remember, you helped kill my uncle? If you can help save this man, help me take down George, won’t that repay the debt—”

  Elias jerks his arm free, shakes his head. “That’s not how it works, and I can never make up for what I’ve done.” Fiona is pretty sure he’s not referring to Uncle Henry. “But yes, I can get those items. If we can get back quickly enough, we can still save this man.”

  * * *

  “Why in the world would I tell you that?” Marvena eyes Fiona with skepticism. “And why do you want it?”

  Fiona glances around the jail, a new addition to the county courthouse, with twice as many cells as the old one that once stood behind the sheriff’s old house. But no one—save Jurgis, who is in a cell across from Marvena—is paying any attention to them. Marvena is in a cell by herself, while the other cells each hold several men.

  Fiona refocuses on Marvena. “I can’t answer that just yet.” She’s just asked Marvena where she might find some dynamite near or in Rossville. Martin had talked with concern about rumors of miners sometimes sneaking back sticks of dynamite to use as a threat—or defense—against Luther and the thugs he’d hired to thwart talk of unionization.

  Fiona leans closer. “But what I can tell you … you tell me where I might find some, and I will find a way to help you with whatever you want.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me? I killed Luther; I’ve already admitted it.” Marvena scowls. “Glad to see the sum’bitch dead. There’s no getting me off the hook.”

  “I’m not trying to get you off the hook,” Fiona says. “I’m saying I’ve heard tell of your little girl’s trouble with asthma. Lily came by yesterday asking about Arlie’s connection to Luther, and mentioned it. I think she thought my hearing of it would stir sympathy in me for you, and make me say where Arlie is. I don’t know that, but I read the Cincinnati newspapers diligently, and I do know that there’s a children’s hospital in Cincinnati that has new treatments. I’ll pay for it, as long as it takes; all you have to do is tell me how to get my hands on a few sticks of dynamite.”

  Marvena stares at her, askance. “How are you going to convince your new husband of footing that bill?”

  Fiona smiles. “Don’t worry about him.”

  Still, Marvena looks worried. “Is this for something he’s up to?”

  “No one you care about will get hurt, Marvena. But your young ’un just might live with the right treatments. You have to believe me.”

  Pain treads over Marvena’s face, as if every gasping wheeze and coughing fit of Frankie’s is replaying in her mind’s eye. And, Fiona can see, Ma
rvena wants to believe her.

  A vulnerable moment. Fiona leans closer, practically pressing her face to the cell’s bars. She puts her hand on her abdomen, whispers, “I’d do anything for my children. Wouldn’t you?”

  Marvena’s expression shifts to distaste and sorrow, as if she’s about to make a deal with the devil.

  And, Fiona thinks, perhaps Marvena is.

  But Fiona is not going to back down from her plan now. It’s genius.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Fiona joins Elias at the Kinship funeral home. When Mr. Arlington excuses himself for a moment, she whispers to Elias, “Did you get what you needed from Dr. Goshen?”

  Elias, stony faced, nods.

  * * *

  Fiona’s foot slips, and she catches hold of a tree branch. She waits for a moment for her heart to settle, then pulls her scarf back up around her face.

  Tears spring to her eyes, from the cold and from frustration. She doesn’t see anything like the rock formation Marvena had described, an overhang of shale a hundred paces or so directly north from the Rossville boardinghouse.

  She dashes her eyes, scans the icy white landscape again, and this time relief floods over her. Snow has blurred trees and hills and rocks, but there, behind the trunk of a large oak, looks like the hiding spot that Marvena had finally told her about.

  * * *

  Dusk comes as Fiona enters the old cabin. She’s just hidden the dynamite—a bundle of four sticks, tightly wrapped in a rag rug—in a woodbin, where the sticks should stay dry, at least until Thursday. Elias is already tending to Colter.

  “He’s gotten worse,” Elias says as he removes the bloody, soiled cloth from Colter’s head and gently begins washing the wound with water—snow that Fiona had melted and then boiled, over a small fire in the old stove, then cooled.

  Fiona’s exhausted, and she catches a whiff of herself from her labors in the woods. She’s already worrying about how to explain that she and Elias ended up spending almost the entire day in Kinship—simply to plan Luther’s funeral and burial. It is set for Thursday.