Keeper of the Key

by Barbara Christopher

  Caleb glanced back at the quilt-covered dresser. This was the fifth and final piece Saul Berclair had commissioned before his death. Caleb had planned to leave Raleigh as soon as he’d completed the order, but his plans had changed when Saul died.

  Black clouds churned on the horizon like a swollen creek after a harsh spring storm. Wind whipped the trees and sent a swirl of leaves and dust across the road, along with the sweet scent of roses from Rebecca’s well-tended bushes.

  “Afternoon, Rebecca.”

  “Caleb.” She acknowledged him with a tip of her head. “I thought the storm might have changed your mind about coming. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad we made it before the storm hit.” Caleb slapped his hat against his leg, sending a spray of dust flying. He braced his foot against the porch and ruffled Luke’s hair. “Hi, fellow.”

  Luke laughed and leaned toward Caleb, waving his arms for Caleb to take him. His heart lurched as it did every time the boy wanted to hug him.

  “Not yet, Luke.” Rebecca hitched the squirming boy higher on her hip and moved so Luke couldn’t reach Caleb. “You won’t get the dresser in before the rain comes if you take him now.”

  “Right.”

  Caleb started to turn away, but Rebecca caught his shirtsleeve to stop him.

  “Will you stay for supper? I’ll fry up a chicken.”

  Caleb smiled. His favorite Sunday dinner served in the middle of the week. Rebecca knew him well. “I’d like that.”

  Rebecca gave him a quick nod. “I’ll go kill it.”

  “No. You might mess your dress.” Caleb raised his hand to the fancy lace collar. Rebecca needed a husband. Someone to love her. Not him. He didn’t need or want the responsibility, but fate had made the decision for them. He cared for Rebecca, but it wasn’t love.

  The muscles of his heart tightened. If the secrets he revealed today didn’t turn Rebecca away, he would marry her to keep Luke safe. And even if she didn’t want to marry him, he’d find a way to make sure Obadiah never took the boy away from his mother. Never.

  Luke raised his arms and squealed, stopping Caleb’s next question. They would have plenty of time after he finished working to discuss Obadiah’s upcoming visit.

  “Let me get this in, son, and kill that chicken, then I’ll take you.” Luke screamed louder and Caleb chuckled. “I guess I’ve spoiled him.”

  “He’ll quiet down soon.” As if contradicting Rebecca, Luke’s cry edged upward a notch.

  Caleb brushed the tears off the boy’s chubby cheeks. “I’ll hurry,” he promised.

  “Come to the parlor as soon as you can. I’ve filed some papers at the courthouse giving you control of Luke’s inheritance.” Rebecca raised her hand to stop his protest. “It’s what I want. We need to discuss the conditions I’ve stipulated before dinner.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Caleb touched the brim of his hat, nodded and went back to the job at hand. Rebecca planned everything. Went over each detail thoroughly. They would beat Obadiah. He would never get control of Luke’s inheritance. Never get the chance to squander it like he had his own.

  He pulled out his saddlebags and knife and laid them on the wagon seat while he untied the rope holding the dresser in place. Catching two corners of the quilt, he moved it from the mirror and spread it out on the end of the wagon. “Jacobs, are you going to earn your wages or not?”

  “I’m here, ain’t I?” Jacobs said, climbing into the wagon.

  Caleb shrugged, lifted his hat, raked his fingers through his hair and settled it back in place. He should have known better than to expect Jacobs to earn the money once he had it in his pocket.

  Caleb glared at the drunk until the man grabbed one edge of the dresser.

  He’s not wearing his neckpiece . . .

  “Damn.” Caleb jerked his hands off the dresser. Jacobs’s silent observation shouldn’t have startled him, but it had. He hadn’t thought the medallion would transmit another’s thoughts unless that person touched him or the coin, but somehow the dresser had formed a link between him and Jacobs. Rebecca had warned him that this happened, but he’d never experienced it until now.

  Rebecca had almost completed his lessons on being the Keeper. She’d promised that before they finished he would know as much as she did about the medallion and understand what it meant to be a Keeper. His mother had been a Keeper, and she’d lost her life protecting her missing medallion.

  Taking a deep breath, he placed his hands back on the dresser. Together they lifted it just enough to slide it to the end of the wagon.

  . . . most likely lost it in the wagon. I’ll find it and he’ll never know where it went.

  Caleb pulled back again. “Jacobs, I can take it from here. You draw some water for the horses.”

  Jacobs disappeared, and Caleb grabbed his saddlebags from the seat and tossed them on top of the dresser. Jacobs had a reputation of pilfering through things and tended to have a loose tongue when in his cups. Well, he had things written in his journal that the rest of the town didn’t need to know.

  Caleb tipped the dresser onto the quilt to protect the wood then tugged it up the step and into the house. He paused at the parlor door. Rebecca sat on the love seat with Luke on her lap. The boy’s loud scream echoed through the house.

  She would stay there, out of the way, until he finished. Then he would quiet Luke, maybe for the last time, and confess his past. The final decision on what they would do belonged to Rebecca. Could she trust a professed murderer to raise her son?

  Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh Area

  Present Day

  WHERE’D THE TIME go? Becci hurriedly braided her hair and tied the end with a cotton ponytail holder. She grabbed her sweater and hurried downstairs. She’d already wasted most of the morning on trivial things. Aunt Lilly could supervise the moving of the furniture. After all, she knew what pieces needed to go upstairs.

  Coffee threatened to slosh over the side of the mug her aunt handed her as she entered the kitchen.

  “Uh-oh.” Not a good sign. Aunt Lilly only poured her coffee when she had something bad to report. Lately, every time she entered the kitchen a mug ended up in her hands.

  Becci glanced out the side window at the driveway—the empty driveway. She shifted her gaze to the bay window. She had a clear view of the vacant backyard.

  She barely managed not to roll her eyes toward the ceiling. Maybe they had arrived and would be back later.

  “Where are the workers? I thought they were due around ten.”

  “They’re late, dear.”

  Her aunt’s voice held a nonchalance that made Becci clench her jaw to keep from losing her temper. She waited for the rest of Aunt Lilly’s reply. There had to be a good explanation.

  “Uh. They . . . uh . . . are due any minute. You just go on and pick up those cleaning supplies. I’ll handle things here until you get back. I do know what needs to be done.”

  Becci downed her coffee and set the cup in the sink. Staying here wouldn’t get the work done, most of which she could do herself. She would put her strength up against most men. The only problem was the sturdy antique dresser would take at least two people to maneuver it up the stairs, and her aunt’s arthritic knee couldn’t stand the pressure.

  Becci sighed. When she had a firm financial base she would surprise her aunt with the knee-replacement surgery she needed.

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy. If the men come show them what goes upstairs and let them get started.” Becci caught the strap of her purse then faced her aunt.

  “I’m expecting a couple of calls. Several of the women who visited the hospital’s obstetrics clinic were asking about child-care for newborns. I told them about our plans, and they seemed interested. It’s a good idea, Aunt Lilly.”

  Before her aunt could reply, she glanced o
ut the window. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She’d best take the car. “Back shortly, Aunt Lilly.” She said as she grabbed her keys off the counter.

  A half hour later, Becci pulled into her driveway and shoved the gear stick into park. She ground her teeth to keep from cursing. A storm rumbled, not only on the horizon, but in Berclair Manor as well. No workers.

  Why hadn’t they come? Becci snatched the plastic bag of cleaning supplies, hurried into the house and headed upstairs to change into the cutoffs and crop-top she wore to work around the house. Aunt Lilly had done her best. It wasn’t her fault the workers never showed up.

  But even as she made that acknowledgment, Becci was glad her aunt wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Her temper didn’t always listen to reason.

  Raleigh, Tennessee

  June 1836

  CALEB PAUSED AT the first landing. Luke’s shrill cry echoed through the hall. The boy never fussed this long. Maybe he felt Rebecca’s tension. She worried about Luke’s future. Obadiah wanted to send Luke to a boarding school back east. Rebecca would only see him on the holidays, if Obadiah let her make the trip.

  Caleb shoved the thought away, took out his handkerchief and polished the wood one last time. The sooner he placed the dresser in Rebecca’s room, the sooner he could try his luck at quieting Luke and they could start making plans to thwart Obadiah’s attempt to take control of Berclair Manor. Rebecca didn’t want to believe Saul’s brother would steal Luke’s inheritance, but Caleb didn’t doubt it. Man’s greed often forsook blood and loyalty.

  He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. Stalling wouldn’t eliminate the task before him. Ten more feet and his future would be mapped out for him. He glanced at the bedroom door and froze. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He would swear a shimmering glow encircled the entry.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Lightning. That’s all it was.

  Caleb caught the strap of his saddlebags with one hand and the quilt with the other. He should have thought about using the quilt before he hired Jacobs, but he’d been thinking about protecting Luke and Rebecca from Obadiah, not moving furniture. Storm or no storm, once he finished he would give the man another dollar and send him back to town.

  Caleb tugged the dresser up the last of the steps.

  Wind rattled the windows and fluttered the curtains. Voices echoed through the house.

  Had Rebecca called him?

  Caleb tilted his head toward the sounds coming from downstairs. Darn it, Luke, pipe down. The boy’s cry drowned out all the other noises.

  A river of anxiety washed over Caleb. Every instinct in his body shouted for him to hurry. He tried to shove the dresser into the room but it wouldn’t move. Why? Nothing stood in its path.

  Caleb leaned against the dresser. Without Jacob’s help he would never get it through the door.

  Luke’s bellowing grew louder.

  “You up there, Caleb?” Jacobs called.

  “Yeah.” Caleb shook his head in disgust. Where else would I be?

  Caleb turned toward the stairs. Jacobs stared up at him from the landing—one hand braced against the wall, the other wrapped tight around a knife. The drunk’s gaze, wild and glazed, darted toward the downstairs then back at him.

  Fresh blood glistened on the knife’s razor sharp edge.

  “Rebecca!”

  Jacobs stumbled up the last two steps. An eerie silence replaced the roar of the wind, and a chill shivered up Caleb’s spine.

  Luke had finally stopped crying. A moment later the wind picked up harder than before, and so did Luke’s wail.

  “Widder’s fine,” Jacobs yelled over the wind’s howl. “It’s that brat of hers that needs shutting up. She sent me up here to help so ya can git back down thare and quiet ‘im”

  Caleb tipped his head toward the blood-dampened blade. “That’s my knife.”

  “Yep. I . . . uh . . . I borrowed it ta cut off the chicken’s head. I kilt it for the ider. Darn bird might near flogged me to death. I was looking fer a rag to clean the blade when Widder Berclair said ya needed help. Besides, I thought if’n I kilt it I might git me a bite ta eat afore I left.”

  Jacobs swiped the flat edge over his sleeve, dropped the knife to the floor and wiped his bloody hands down the front of his shirt.

  “Rebecca . . . ”

  “Like I said, the ider’s fine. But that thar storm’s a comin’ in a might bit quicker than I expected, and I’m goin’ ta be stuck here ‘til it passes.”

  Caleb stared at the scratches marring Jacob’s cheek, then at the bloody smears on his shirt. Had they really come from killing the chicken? Of course they had. Jacobs didn’t have any reason to hurt Rebecca. He still felt uneasy, and he lifted his hat and settled it back on his head, ordering, “Let’s get this in place.”

  They each caught a side of the dresser. Lightning flashed, sending glittering beams through the room. A sharp crack followed. Caleb adjusted his saddlebags and slipped his hand along the dresser’s side to protect the wood.

  Where’d ya put that damn gold neckpiece? Jacobs’s words filtered through his mind just as tiny points exploded through his arm. Caleb immediately jerked his arm away from the dresser and flexed his hand. The prickling started at his fingers and danced upward to his shoulder.

  The tingle reminded him of the strange sensations he’d felt when he’d held the gold-colored medallion, only stronger.

  Ignoring the flicker of pain and Jacobs’s curses, he slipped his arm back in place and forced the dresser into the room.

  Caleb braced his weight against the slick wood. An intense burning ignited the nerves in his arms, legs and chest, finally centering in his head.

  “Push the thing through the door,” Rebecca’s soft voice called from inside the room, yet it seemed far away.

  No, it couldn’t be Rebecca. She waited in the parlor with Luke.

  “Rebecca, honey, don’t harass the workers,” a stranger’s voice called. Distant, yet so close Caleb would swear it came from someone standing at the foot of the stairs.

  Where is it? Jacobs’s demanding thoughts clamored with the other voices.

  Caleb rested his head against the dresser and relaxed a moment. Thunder shook the walls. Jacobs was right. He would never make it back to town before the storm hit. The only thing Rebecca and he could do was let the man stay in the barn until the weather cleared.

  Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh area

  Present Day

  “I DON’T WANT TO sell,” Becci Berclair muttered. She stretched across the bed to straighten the spread. She liked her aunt’s idea of a nursery for newborns. The area definitely needed one. Besides, it would solve all their problems—financial and otherwise—if they managed to get it opened.

  She knew Michael wanted her to sell the old place. He’d told her often enough that it was nothing more than a money guzzler. Still, he had gone out of his way to help her and Aunt Lilly find a way to save Berclair Manor. When she asked him why, he’d said he loved her and if she truly wanted the place he would do everything he could to help her save it. Then he managed to have her request added to the list of names vying for the Ascomp grant.

  When, shortly after inheriting the place, she’d been approached by a real estate agent wanting her to list the property, her first thought was, Sell her home? Absolutely not. She’d thought herself lucky when she inherited the family homestead, but she hadn’t known about the outstanding debts. Now she knew that even if she sold she wouldn’t clear enough money to live a month much less a year. And that’s what she needed—enough money to get her through one year of living expenses so she could finish her schooling. Of course, Michael had said that after they’d married he’d help out on the expenses, but knowing he really didn’t feel she should keep the house, she couldn’t ask him to do that.

>   Lightning flashed through the room, interrupting her thoughts, and a sudden downpour dotted the floor with plump rain circles. Becci skirted the bed and put her strength into shutting the window. It wouldn’t budge. With luck, she might get it down before the whole room flooded.

  A man’s curse sliced through the room. Startled, Becci whirled around and saw two men and the dresser through the doorway. When had the workers come? It really didn’t matter as long as they had the furniture in place before Mr. Latham arrived.

  They were sure taking their time with the dresser, though. Becci braced her hands on her hips. “Just push the dresser through the door.”

  “Rebecca, if that’s the workers, don’t you dare harass them,” Aunt Lilly called from the foot of the stairs.

  Becci drew in several deep breaths. It didn’t help. Her temper still threatened to erupt. Her aunt meant well but—

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and turned back to the window. Let the workers go at their own pace. What did she care if it took them half a day to move the dresser into the bedroom.

  Caleb brushed his hand over the side of the dresser. Just as lightning flashed again, it vibrated and jolted over the threshold with such force that both he and Jacobs tumbled into the room after it.

  A searing pain as keen as a flint-sharpened knife cut through Caleb. His legs trembled and threatened to give way. He clung to the side of the dresser and glanced at Jacobs.

  The drunk held the dresser in a white-knuckled grip, his arms stiff and his jaw clenched. Did Jacobs feel the pain too?

  Caleb tried to call to Rebecca, but the words were a silent beckoning.

  Rebecca, help me.

  Caleb, take Luke with you. You promised.

  Rebecca!

  It’s too late.

  Caleb heard the anguish in Rebecca’s voice. Her next words were calmer, but he still heard her pain.

  Go where the spirit leads you. Be safe, Caleb Harrison.

  Rebecca’s words vibrated through Caleb. Haunting. Pain riddled. Luke’s cry tore at his heart.