Whatever information was in the journal was beyond my grasp. It was in some kind of code I’d never seen before. I’d risked so much to get this journal and it was all for nothing. I picked up the bundle of doll dresses and turned to go into the house. I dreaded seeing the expectations of Elizabeth and my partner crushed. I’d barely gained my feet when I stopped short. Reginald stood in the doorway of the barn, but he didn’t say anything.
“What is it?” I asked, dread creeping up my spine. He was upset. I could feel the dismay radiating from him.
“A child has been killed.”
“Oh, no.” It didn’t matter that I wouldn’t know the child—the death of a young person was always a tragedy. “I’m so sorry. Was it someone Elizabeth knew?”
“Yes. Hildy Morse.”
“That can’t be.” I started toward Reginald, stunned. “There must be a mistake. I just saw Hildy not an hour ago. She was at the clearing behind Ruth’s house, waiting for Ruth to come and play dolls with her.” I held out the bundle of dresses. “See, she showed me where these were hidden and that’s how I found the journal.” I held it out in the other hand. “Reginald, the journal is in some kind of code.”
“We can deal with the journal later. You have to hear me. I don’t know who you met in the woods, but it wasn’t Hildy.” His face was in shadow and he spoke gently.
“It was her. She said her name, Hildy Morse. I had to tell her that Ruth wasn’t coming back. See, she showed me where to find this!” I held the book out again as if it were proof of what I’d seen. Even as Reginald took it from my hand, I knew Hildy was dead. The little girl who’d visited me was a spirit. All of the signs had been there. She’d shown me the hiding place, but she’d made no effort to move the stone herself. Because she couldn’t. She’d been there one minute and gone the next. No real child could have vanished that fast. “She was looking for Ruth to play dolls with her,” I repeated.
But it was more than that. I understood now, though I hadn’t at the time. Hildy was lingering, looking for her grown-up friend to help with the confusion. The child hadn’t yet realized that she was dead. Her spirit didn’t know where to go, and I’d been unaware that she needed my help. My heart constricted in my chest just thinking about the poor lost soul. I hadn’t known Hildy Morse, but I felt her death acutely.
I offered Reginald the journal, but instead of taking it, he pulled me against his chest and held me. “Ah, Raissa, I’m sorry. Elizabeth is beside herself. First Ruth and now the little girl. It’s a damn tragedy. This will be too much for her.”
“You’re right.” When I was certain I wouldn’t cry, we went back to Elizabeth’s house. Her eyes were swollen and her face puffy from crying. She put a cup of coffee in front of me and poured one for Reginald before she sat down.
“What happened?” I hated asking for details, but I had to know. The child I’d seen had not shown any signs of injury. Often the dead wore their manner of death. A slashed throat. A head cleaved open. Not Hildy, though. She’d been as whole and perfect as a young girl could be.
“They said it was an accident, but that’s not true. They said she was in her yard alone and fell into the well. I don’t believe it.” Elizabeth’s dark eyes blazed.
The idea of a little girl tumbling into a well was painful, but I wanted to believe it was an accident. I was fully aware of the blackness of the human heart, but the monster who would kill a child would do anything. “Do you know someone who would hurt a child? Hildy in particular?”
“I don’t know. It’s a terrible thing. At least they can’t pin this on Slater McEachern, since he’s already behind bars.” Bitterness etched her voice.
I decided against telling her that I’d seen Hildy, at least right now. “How was your visit with Mrs. Brooks?” I thought if I turned the conversation, Elizabeth could compose herself. She was on the verge of tears again.
“She’s the one who told us about Hildy.” Elizabeth jiggled the infant in her arms, an automatic maternal action. Even with Elizabeth’s obvious distress, Callie cooed, kicking her feet and pummeling the air with her fists. She put a hand on her mother’s chin and gurgled. The effect was almost instantaneous. Elizabeth drew in a long breath and when she exhaled, she was completely in control of herself.
Reginald and I exchanged a long look. He’d seen it too. The baby’s touch had calmed Elizabeth. It would be more accurate to say it had numbed her pain. I stood up and reached for Callie. Elizabeth put her in my arms. The baby’s hand pressed into my sternum. A sense of peace started in my chest and spread rapidly through my body. It was the most peculiar feeling, like putting ice on a burn.
I looked down into the baby’s navy eyes and knew the exchange had been deliberate. A gift from an infant. “Hold her, Reginald.” I offered the child to him.
He took her in his arms with a skill I hadn’t anticipated. Reginald had grown up hard, an orphan on the streets and some time in a hellhole called an orphanage. He had no family at all, but somewhere he’d learned to hold an infant.
Callie reached up to capture his mustache in her little webbed hand. She tugged on it and burbled, kicking her feet. I’d never seen such a happy child. Reginald sighed, and the tension in his face evaporated. Whatever Callie had, it was powerful.
I didn’t believe in angels walking the earth or children conceived by angelic union, but what did I actually know about the realms beyond this one? Before this past summer, I’d convinced myself that the things I saw out of the corner of my eye, the shadows flitting through moonlight, were all my imagination.
A week at Caoin House had taught me better. The dead were not always dead. And they were not always honest or good. Sometimes they could be very bad, motivated only by malice and ill will. There were more variations on what a ghost might be than I’d ever anticipated, even after reading the fabulous ghost stories of Poe, James, Bierce, and Freeman. I’d come to Mission at Elizabeth’s request because I’d assumed—falsely—that she was haunted. Why else would she call an agency that specialized in hunting ghosts? There was something supernatural at work in Mission, but ghosts, at least in my experience, could not conceive a child. So who did Callie belong to? And what was the infant capable of?
The child Reginald held had definite powers. Did it matter where they came from? Not to me or Reginald or Elizabeth. But it could matter greatly to Slater McEachern. If this child conveyed the power to dream the truth, as Elizabeth believed, she was essential to McEachern’s future—to the jury verdict that would hang or free him.
“You asked about Gaylen Brooks?” Elizabeth dragged my thoughts back from the dark realm. “She had every reason to hate Ruth, but she didn’t.”
“I grew up in New Orleans around prostitutes and their clients,” Reginald said. “I’ve seen some unconventional arrangements, but nothing like what’s going on in Mission.”
“How do you mean?”
“Ruth worked for Lucais Wilkins,” Elizabeth said. “He took a cut of everything she made, and he kept her working, even when she wanted a different life. Ruth was like an animal to Lucais and those men, to be used however they wanted, whenever they wanted. She couldn’t escape them.”
“Gaylen’s husband was one of the men who frequented Ruth’s house at night, wasn’t he?” I asked.
Reginald nodded. “Apparently he was a very frequent guest at Ruth’s. Enough so that the Brooks family was strapped for money all of the time. From what Gaylen said they were barely scraping by.”
“What is her husband’s role in Mission?” I knew he had an official capacity. He must have brought goods or a service to Lucais or Lucais would never allow him to continue so far in debt—if Gaylen Brooks could be believed.
Reginald nodded, intuiting what I was thinking. “Welton controls the loans at the local bank, at Lucais’s behest. He says who gets a loan, or an extension, or some leniency on late payments. Only those who are unfailingly obedient to Lucais get any consideration. Lucais runs it but Welton is the face of what passes fo
r the bank. And he’s also in charge of the schools.”
“So a man who frequents prostitutes and runs his family into the ground with debt is in charge of educating the children.”
“Mostly the boys,” Elizabeth said. “Girls don’t often go to school, and those who do drop out when they’re twelve or thirteen, of marriageable age.”
“Twelve!” The calm Callie had bestowed on me evaporated in outrage.
“Train them young and they’re less likely to rebel at a later date.” Elizabeth’s words were bitter. “It’s abuse, but Lucais and the board approve the marriages. The parents of the young girls are often too afraid to speak out against the union.”
“Isn’t it illegal for a child to marry?”
“Not illegal if the parents consent. There’s no one in Mission who would dare to withhold consent for a marriage Lucais arranged.”
“And the mothers go along with this?”
“This is what they’ve been raised to know and expect. It’s one reason a stranger like yourself is so dangerous. The women might begin to realize there’s a different world outside Mission. They’re given a rudimentary education of reading and numbers so that they’re equipped to run households, budget, and sell eggs, cheese, or crafts.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Hildy wanted to learn. She loved history and reading.”
Elizabeth suddenly pushed back from the table and stood. She paced to the kitchen window to look out. “Ruth told me about her friendship with the child. Hildy had a big imagination. She thought there were fairies in the woods and she loved stories about them. Ruth was helping her learn. I helped too. As far as I can tell, Hildy was the only good thing about Mission for Ruth.”
“Do you think someone found out she was talking to Ruth?” Would they actually murder a child just for wanting to learn? The possibility notched my sense of unease up into something more akin to panic.
“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “Lucais has spies everywhere. You know he does. They watch the roads and drift by people’s houses, making sure their ‘laws’ aren’t being violated. They watch what you buy in the store and how you dress. Sometimes I’d swear they can tell what you’re thinking. And they all report to Lucais.”
I hadn’t yet told Reginald about my brush with Lucais. I had to, eventually.
“There’s no newspaper in town?” Reginald asked.
“None. And none allowed within the city limits. If you brought one here with you, it would disappear from your car. Such things are a danger. They put ideas into the heads of women and children. Ideas that can only bring punishment and suffering.”
Something had been bothering me. “Why are you really here, Elizabeth?” Elizabeth didn’t belong in Mission. She was educated, exposed to a bigger world. She was indeed a danger to the rule of law in Mission. It could only end with her being crushed. Why had she stayed so long? Waiting for her brother’s return was an answer that was wearing thin.
“I don’t have a choice. I have to help Slater McEachern.”
“Even if it costs your life?”
“Even if.” She retrieved Callie and held her close until the baby made a soft purring sound. “You should get ready for your dinner date, Raissa.” She kept her gaze on her child.
I wasn’t ready to concede defeat in my efforts to get Elizabeth and Callie to leave—with or without Slater McEachern. “I understand you want to save McEachern, but what about your child? If they kill you, what about Callie?”
Elizabeth leveled a gaze at me. “I’ve already told you. That’s why you’re here. You understand how special she is. You feel her. And if something should happen to me, I want you to raise her.”
Chapter 12
Hattie Logan had rigged an outdoor shower, and the water, warmed by the hot sun, felt fabulous. I washed my hair and changed my clothes, still opting for conservative dress though I longed for the shorter, cooler skirts of the modern world. In a small act of defiance, I wore a garnet necklace that had been my mother’s and shoes with heels and several dainty straps. After broiling in the car for a week and sweating all night, I didn’t care that Mission would be scandalized. I wanted—needed—to enjoy a few feminine pleasures. I had no idea where Michael Trussel intended to take me to dinner. I suspected it wasn’t the small diner by the jail. That was far too public. It didn’t matter where we went, I was vain enough to want to look nice, even though I had plenty of reservations about the evening.
I knew two things about Michael Trussel that made me believe our dinner was nothing more than an attempt to pump me for information. Michael was a former Pinkerton, and he’d been flirting or toying with the local law’s kid sister, Melissa Gomes. If Michael truly intended to make a life in this area, he knew better than to play the Gomes girl false, which meant he had to have a business reason for spending time with me. Therefore, this was a set up to see what I might reveal.
Once I was clean and sitting on the porch for my hair to dry, Reginald sat beside me. He held the journal out to me and I took it with some reluctance. “It’s some kind of foreign language,” he said. “It’s a language I don’t understand.”
My hopes faltered as I looked at the strange symbols that didn’t translate into any language I’d ever seen written down. It wasn’t a romance language. I knew a few words in those. “Do you have any ideas?” I asked. “Russian? Something like that?”
“I don’t have any ideas, not yet. But that doesn’t mean we can’t decipher it.”
“Time is running out. They’ll try him tomorrow and likely get a verdict. You know it’s a foregone conclusion that they’re going to hang him unless we come up with something that refutes the murder charge. This,” I shook the journal lightly, “is useless.”
“Then why was Lucais out in the woods behind Ruth’s house? Why would she keep it hidden if it wasn’t important?”
I’d told Reginald about my encounter, and I could see it upset him. But it was over and done. Lucais hadn’t threatened me. Not really. And now Reginald made a good point. “I don’t know.”
I handed the journal back to Reginald. “We can work on this when I get back from dinner. I won’t be late, I assure you.”
“Just be careful, Raissa. These are dangerous people. We don’t know how this Trussel figures into the picture. Elizabeth said everyone in town knows he’s dating the deputy’s sister. I’m not thinking this is a smart move to go out with him.”
“Tell me about Welton Brooks and the bank loans.”
“It’s a rigged system,” Reginald said. “I felt sorry for Mrs. Brooks. Lucais runs the law, the church, and the town. Welton loans money to people, so he controls who survives a bad year and who doesn’t. Most who need a loan are already sliding down the slope of financial ruin. They become desperate if they can’t pay their loan notes. It only takes a few months of missing a loan payment and they’ve lost everything. Mrs. Brooks is a nice woman, but she said her husband enjoys foreclosing on a family and putting them out in the road. She hates her husband, but she can’t get away from him.”
The power divide in Mission was bleak and clear. Those who curried favor with Lucais and Welton had an easier time of it than those who bucked them. Lucais’s favorites got loan extensions, or help making the payments.
“Is there anyone who can put Lucais in his place?” I asked.
“No one in Mission.” Reginald sounded bleak. “He controls this town. Everyone is terrified of him. His cruel streak is well known. From what I’ve gleaned, no one from out of town is interested in fighting Lucais. There’s not enough gain for them.”
“Is it possible Lucais killed Ruth himself?”
“That’s what I was hoping to prove,” Reginald said. “So far there’s no evidence of that. Lucais is a brutal, cruel man, but Ruth was an asset. She made money for him. She kept men who otherwise might have looked for higher wages or better jobs from leaving the area. He would never let her go from Mission, but I don’t think he would have killed her.”
“And We
lton Brooks? Could he have killed her?” He was Lucais’s toady, and sometimes men like him took vicious pleasure in stepping on those they felt were powerless.
“From what his wife said, he would never do anything to get on the wrong side of Lucais.”
I let out a huff of frustration. “So neither is a viable suspect for Ruth’s murder. Any other men or women who might want to kill her?”
“Gaylen as much as said that many of the wives tried to help Ruth out. They were by and large glad that she was in town to occupy their husbands.”
I thought of Alex and the intimacy and joy we’d shared. Had he turned his attentions on another woman, it would have broken my heart. But Alex was a man who loved with his heart and his body. I didn’t know if Lucais and Welton were capable of love of any kind.
I drew my attention out of the past. Reginald and I had to confront this moment, the present, and the things that were about to be set in motion early tomorrow morning. The trial would be swift and I had no doubt where it would end. Things were looking bleak. “The trial is tomorrow and we have nothing.”
“We have to keep Elizabeth out of that courtroom.” Reginald’s pose was languid, leaning against the porch post as he swung a leg over the side railing. But the knuckles of his hands were white with tension.
“They won’t let her in the courtroom door. Women aren’t allowed to attend trials in Mission.”
“That won’t stop Elizabeth.” Reginald had a good reading on our new friend. She was as willful as I’d ever dared to be, though she was far more reserved. There was a cold fire in Elizabeth, and when it came to justice for Slater McEachern, that fire burned hot. She claimed to have no romantic interest in him, and I took her at her word. Slater had been a friend to Ruth, and to Elizabeth at times. She was a person who stood tall for her friends.
The screen door creaked and Hattie came over to us. “If you’re hungry, I have some field peas and cornbread for supper. You’re welcome to eat with me.”
“We have something we must do, but thank you for the generous offer.” Reginald was smooth. “Hattie, we never expected you to feed us. Please don’t go to any trouble.”
A Visitation of Angels Page 10
