A Desperate Hope

by Elizabeth Camden

  He smiled in relief. “The Gilmore Inn still stands. The tavern is in lousy shape, but you can stay at the inn through the end of the month.”

  They took a seat on a bench, and he finally got a glimpse of what she had in the cardboard box. “Cactuses?” he asked.

  “I saw them for sale at the botanical garden and couldn’t resist. They remind me of Arizona.”

  Aside from the one time she’d told him about the convent, she never spoke about those years. He’d assumed she’d hated that period of her life, but maybe not. He’d hated the army at first. He’d been forced into it out of desperation, but over the years he rose to the challenge and became a better man. That sharp detour in his life had been grueling, but he was grateful for it now.

  He glanced down at the box. “I like your cactuses. They remind me of you.”

  “Prickly?”

  “Tough. Resilient. Maybe a little bit prickly, but it’s part of what makes them so dauntless.”

  “They’re not dauntless,” she said. “Cactuses are pure jelly on the inside.”

  Now he was convinced the cactus was the perfect metaphor for her. Eloise had always been tenderhearted, and he’d forgotten that in the way she’d fought like a gladiator over the past few months. To the outside world she was a relentless force of indefatigable logic, but inside she was pure jelly.

  “Eloise!” The shout cut through the din of the train station, and Alex spotted Claude Fitzgerald and Enzo Accardi heading toward them. Both men lugged heavy bags and carried overcoats.

  “I didn’t realize you’d been sent to the valley as well,” Claude said in a confused voice.

  “She lives there,” Alex said. At least, he hoped she’d be living there, and Eloise didn’t deny it.

  “Well, Mr. Mayor,” Claude said pompously, “May 1 is only two short weeks away, so Enzo and I are moving in, preparing for the final demolition. Four caseloads of explosives are being loaded onto the train as we speak.”

  “What a soothing thought,” Alex murmured.

  “We have a private compartment,” Enzo said. “Will you join us? It will be good to see each other again.”

  “Let’s!” Eloise agreed, a little too rapidly for Alex’s taste. He would have welcomed the chance to be alone with her, but Eloise was already following the others across the crowded terminal.

  The train ride with the two demolition experts was surprisingly enjoyable. It was good to see Enzo again, and even Claude wasn’t so unbearable anymore. Perhaps now that Alex had reconciled himself to the loss of the town, it was easier to see humanity in the face of someone he had always considered an enemy. His world had been forever changed, and it was time to make peace. A sense of euphoria came over him while watching Eloise chat with her old colleagues. He loved seeing her happy. He loved that she was coming back to the valley. The world was back on track, and he would handle the challenges as they came. His sense of well-being continued as they arrived in Kingston and boarded a carriage for Duval Springs.

  It came to an abrupt end the moment the carriage arrived in Duval Springs and Alex looked out the window.

  The tavern was a disaster. He stepped out of the carriage, staring in bewildered horror at the chaos.

  “It looks like a bomb exploded,” Claude said.

  The tavern’s roof was gone, and a huge mound of broken boards and tiles lay scattered everywhere. He scanned the yard, looking for Hercules, and finally saw him slumped on a bench in the town square. Sally and a handful of other men were with him.

  Alex ran over, the others following. “What happened?” he asked.

  Hercules looked sick. “The roof came apart when we tried to lift it off. Everything was going perfectly, but as the crane lowered the roof, it crumbled. One second it was fine, and then it smashed to pieces and crashed to the ground.”

  Enzo had joined them, concern on his face. “Were the internal trusses in place during the lift?”

  “Every one of them,” Hercules confirmed.

  Enzo sighed. “I’ll go have a look, but this seems very odd.”

  Alex followed Enzo back to the wreckage that had once been the roof of the tavern. Dust still swirled in the air, and he battled a sick feeling as Enzo hunkered down to examine the broken boards. After a few minutes, Enzo headed inside the partially dismantled tavern to get a better look at the exposed framework.

  His expression was grim when he emerged. “Where is your brother?”

  “Right here,” Hercules said.

  Enzo guided them to the mound of rubble and pulled a mangled board out to show them. “I’m sorry, my friends,” he said gently. “The wood in this tavern is completely riddled with termite tunnels. The roof collapsed under the stress of being moved, and now that I can see it better, the rest of the building has the same problem. None of it can be saved.”

  The words were a shock. Alex stood motionless, unable to accept what he’d just heard, but Hercules took it badly. He knelt on the ground and buried his face in his hands.

  This couldn’t be happening. Of all the buildings in town, this was the one they loved the most. It hurt to look at the tavern with its roof ripped off and windows pulled out. It would have been better to burn it all down in a glorious bonfire rather than see it pulled apart in slow mutilation.

  “You’re going to be all right, Alex,” Eloise said.

  Anguish twisted his words. “This tavern is the heart and soul of our community. It’s who we are.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “This tavern has witnessed history and joy and tragedy, but it was the people who made it historic, not the boards and stones. The tavern doesn’t define you. When you get knocked down, you pick yourself up and move on. It’s the American way. You don’t whine. You don’t quit. You pick up and begin again.”

  Eloise had been doing that all her life. He gathered her close and laid his face on top of her head. His lovely, logical Eloise. His ballast. Everything she said was right, but this was a wound that would hurt for a long time.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Two

  Eloise sat in the Gilmore Inn’s dining room as the last of the evening dishes were cleared away. Alex had been despondent all through dinner over the loss of the tavern, but it was nothing compared to Hercules, who slumped in the corner and hadn’t eaten a bite.

  Claude seemed determined to dump salt in their wound by bellyaching over the mess Hercules had made in trying to dismantle the tavern.

  “It’s going to make our work more difficult,” Claude groused. “We could have burned it down in a clean and contained manner had it been left alone. As it is, there’s a mess all over the town square for us to clean up. They ought to be charged for it.”

  “You’re not going to charge for it,” Eloise said. She no longer worked for the state, but as a citizen of New York, she was entitled to an opinion and wasn’t afraid to voice it.

  “I can send a few men from the cement factory down to pitch in,” Jack Riesel said.

  Ever since his company’s accountant had fallen under suspicion for colluding in the death of the Russians, Jack had been exceedingly helpful, volunteering on work crews and joining others in communal meals. Oscar was still in jail, but the detectives hadn’t stopped looking for evidence. The sheriff had already questioned Jack and his father twice but apparently hadn’t found anything incriminating.

  “Anything I can do to help,” Jack continued with a generous smile. “I’m sure everyone will be willing to pitch in.” He looked at Kasper, who lounged on a bench.

  “Don’t look at me,” Kasper said mildly. “I’ve already contributed my work quota for the week.”

  Claude gestured to the two gravediggers dining with Eugene Franks, the old soldier who recently returned for his chicken bone. “Why can’t they help us with the cleanup? They can—”

  “They’re not helping,” Alex interrupted.

  Shortly before dinner, Alex had confided to her that the gravediggers were actually detectives looking for evidence of w
ho had buried that boxcar. How could she have been so blind as not to have noticed those men were no more gravediggers than she was? Silas Roth was as skinny as a bean pole, and the other man had hands softer than hers.

  Claude was still disgruntled. “That tavern is a disaster I hadn’t accounted for. I say the gravediggers need to help with the mess.”

  Hercules ignored the conversation and stared moodily into space. Sally stood beside him, patting the baby’s back and gently swaying as she surveyed the wreckage of her home through the dining room windows.

  “It’s all a matter of perspective,” the old soldier said as he drew on his pipe. “I was at the battle of Vicksburg. That city was under siege for two months, and the chaos was the real thing. That was a mess. This is a little yard cleanup.”

  “Where are we going to live after we move to the new town?” The question came from Bill, Hercules’s fourteen-year-old son.

  “I don’t know,” Hercules said. “For now, we’ll stay here in the hotel.”

  “But what about after those guys burn down the hotel?” Bill pressed, resentment plain in his face as he eyed Claude.

  “Dr. Lloyd has a lot of room in his house,” Alex said. “Maybe he can put some of us up.”

  Hercules sighed. “I’d rather just get a new tavern built as soon as possible. I’ll find the money somehow.”

  No one knew what to say. An uncomfortable silence stretched in the dining room.

  Bill dug into his pocket and retrieved a crumpled slip of paper. He studied it for a moment before speaking. “The state owes me sixty dollars for moving all those graves. You can have it, if it helps.”

  Hercules buried his face in his hands and started sobbing. Sally dropped to his side, but his weeping didn’t cease. He didn’t even lift his head as he spoke through his tears. “That’s your money, son. You worked hard for it.”

  It took a while for Hercules to regain his composure, and Eloise sat helplessly alongside Alex, wishing there was something she could say or do.

  Finally, the oldest Duval boy stood. “Well, I had some good news this afternoon,” he said, shifting a little.

  “Let’s hear it,” Alex said.

  John held up a slim envelope and offered a timid smile. “I got accepted to Harvard. I start in September.”

  This brought a fresh round of tears from Hercules, but this time they were mingled with laughter as he lunged across the dining room to pull his son into a hug. John’s news was exactly what was needed to lift everyone’s doldrums and make them look toward the future.

  Jack grinned as he put up a pair of fists and pretended to spar with John. “I’m a Yale man down to the Yale-blue blood running in my veins. Welcome to the storied rivalry. May it be a long and bitter one!”

  Claude was full of advice about how John should comport himself at Harvard. John hung on every word, even after Claude veered away from advice and into bragging about his own accomplishments at Harvard.

  At some point during the bittersweet celebrations, the old soldier rose to seek his bed. “I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning, so I’ll say my good-byes now,” he said to the group that suddenly fell silent. “I didn’t expect to find so much comfort in coming back for that chicken bone, but the neighborliness here was something I haven’t known for a long time.”

  Eloise offered to drive him in the morning. All the men had plenty of work in clearing out the last remnants of the town to be saved, but she could take a few hours to drive the old soldier into Kingston.

  Everything broke up quickly after that. Jack headed back up the mountain, and Kasper pulled the leather covering over his telegraph machine. One of the gravediggers left “for some fresh air,” but the other decided to remain in the dining room to smoke another pipe. Eloise could only hope they knew what they were doing, for loitering around the hotel and socializing didn’t seem very productive, and her nagging sense of unease was growing. Even as she headed upstairs for the night, the scar on her back prickled and itched.

  Eloise couldn’t shake a feeling of sadness as she drove the old soldier into Kingston. His eyes took on a faraway quality as he gazed at Duval Springs a final time before climbing aboard the wagon. The village green was a trampled patch of mud, and vacant lots pockmarked the town square in the bleak spring sunshine.

  “The town I loved is already gone,” he said.

  “Yes,” she acknowledged. In two weeks, the remaining buildings would be demolished, but the idyllic town of her childhood had vanished. All that remained was the memory.

  An hour later, they arrived at the Kingston train depot. The old soldier carried only a satchel, so he needed no help as he hefted the bag down from the wagon’s bench.

  “Thank you kindly, young lady,” he said as he tipped his hat to her.

  Something caught her eye on the covered walkway running the length of the train depot. There weren’t many people loitering on the platform, for the train would leave soon, and most of the passengers were already aboard. But the rail-thin figure of the man casually lounging on a bench was familiar. It was Silas Roth, one of the undercover gravediggers. What on earth was he doing here?

  “I’ll go with you to the ticket window,” she said.

  “There’s no need. I’ll be fine, if you want to be on your way.”

  What she wanted was to know why Silas Roth was at the train station, staring straight ahead, casually gnawing on a toothpick. She scanned the rest of the crowd but didn’t spot the other undercover detective.

  “Nonsense, I’ll go with you,” she said as she headed toward the ticket window. In three minutes the ticket had been purchased and the old soldier was ready to board. She followed him to the waiting passenger car, where the door remained open for the last stragglers.

  “I’ve enjoyed your visit,” she said as she prepared to say good-bye to this strangely melancholy man. “I know the rest of the town appreciated—”

  “Miss Drake!” a voice shouted. It was Kasper Nagy. He wore a tense expression and carried a coat slung over one arm as he hurried toward her. “Miss Drake, thank heavens I’ve found you in time.”

  “What’s the matter?” It was odd to see the town’s famously lazy telegraph operator looking so animated.

  “I’m afraid you must go on a journey with me.”

  Before she could make sense of the strange comment, Silas Roth vaulted off the bench and came striding toward them. “Kasper Nagy, you are under arrest for the murder of twenty-three Russian immigrants in 1903.”

  Eloise froze, stunned by the statement, but the other detective materialized at Kasper’s other side, handcuffs at the ready.

  Kasper took a step back, and his anxious expression changed to one of determination. “That won’t be possible,” he said.

  “It’s mandatory,” the detective said. “No arguing.”

  “But Miss Drake and I are going on a journey, and you see—” He slipped a pistol from beneath his coat, and a gunshot cracked through the air.

  The old soldier toppled and fell, blood blooming across his shirt.

  Kasper grabbed Eloise’s arm and jammed the barrel of the pistol against her temple. “I regret the demonstration to prove that I am in earnest,” he said.

  Eloise couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  “Let her go, Kasper,” one of the detectives ordered.

  “Not until I get where I’m going. You’ve seen that I have no problem killing a hostage, so if you want her to stay safe, I need the two of you to back up. All the way to the depot wall. Move!”

  Both men started inching backward, their eyes still trained on Kasper, but all Eloise could see was the old soldier lying motionless on the ground.

  “S-somebody help him,” she stammered, but no one moved. Aside from the two detectives, everyone else at the depot had scattered for cover.

  “It’s no use, Kasper,” one of the detectives said. “Oscar Ott has been singing like a bird. He’s told us how you ordered him to pay for the equipment to bury the Russian
s.”

  The barrel of the gun pressed harder against her temple, and the stink of gunpowder was sickening.

  “Fine, guilty as charged,” Kasper said. “But you’re not going to catch me, because I’ve got a hostage and you’re going to do exactly as I say. I need you to deliver a message to the stationmaster that this train is to go directly to Milton,” he ordered. “There will be no stops between here and Milton, where you will be provided with further instructions.”

  Kasper jerked her backward, and a whimper escaped her throat. He whispered in her ear. “Easy does it, you’ll be fine. Just keep following orders.”

  The stubble of his whiskers against her cheek made her flesh crawl. She managed to nod as he dragged her backward, and prayers from the convent ran through her mind. Lord, have mercy . . . Christ, have mercy . . . Holy Mary, pray for me. . . .

  The two detectives gaped as Kasper hauled her inside an open boxcar filled with stacks of lumber, still using her body as a shield. The detectives had followed at a careful distance, keeping their hands raised.

  “You can let her go now, Kasper.”

  He shook his head. “Deliver my instructions. If this train isn’t moving in three minutes, I shoot her ear off.”

  The two men conferred for a moment before one of them raced to the depot office. Over the next few moments, uniformed train officials darted across the platform, scurrying to make arrangements. The old soldier hadn’t moved from where he sprawled on the ground, and no one went to help him.

  At last, one of the detectives stepped forward, both hands in the air. “Okay, the train is going to Milton. Now let her go.”

  Kasper shook his head. “Miss Drake is my insurance policy. You’ll learn more in Milton.”

  “Be reasonable,” the detective said. “We can’t let this train leave with her aboard.”

  Kasper slid the gun barrel behind the shell of her ear, pushing it forward. “She doesn’t really need this ear,” he called out. “You have ten seconds to start moving, otherwise I’ll demonstrate another show of force. Miss Drake has two ears and lots of fingers and toes.”