Above the Fold

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  Sighing, she rummaged through and found the flyer which included an image of the identical pipe she’d spotted at Jeffrey Shelby’s. Perfect match.

  Maple Grove Lodge.

  Nestled across the state in the Poconos, the resort offered an escape for the well-to-do. After contacting the place, Elissa had decided since Maple Grove benefitted only the rich, it wouldn’t make a sensible spotlight for the society column. But her favorite feature had been the honeymoon package, including a stay at a secluded cabin and offering a luxurious tea set for the bride and an engraved pipe for the groom.

  Jeffrey Shelby had been secretly married.

  CHAPTER 21

  “I’m going to propose to you in tomorrow’s spread.” Cole leaned over his Delmonico steak, wanting to hear Elissa’s warm voice more than the rich tones coming from The Regent’s string quartet. “I need you to proofread it first. Will you do that for me?”

  Elissa pushed her peas about her plate with her fork. “Sure, leave it on my desk. I’ll—” Her head snapped up, and the glow from the candle danced across her features. “What did you say?”

  “Just checking to see if you’re listening.” Cole chuckled. “But that’s not a half-bad idea.”

  “Not a sound one either.” She grimaced, her gaze following a waiter walking past with a tray of food. “This is technically only our second date.”

  He leaned back in his chair with a shake of the head. “No. It’s more like our thousandth.”

  “The previous ones don’t count.” Her smile slipped from her face, and the pain struck him afresh.

  “No more injuries, and no more running.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. A gesture he’d done a million times before, but this was different. He held it like he would her heart, with protectiveness. “Just so you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her lashes lowered with a sigh, disturbing the lace on her collar.

  He hadn’t proven himself yet, but he would. “So tell me, what has you distracted?”

  Elissa fidgeted with her napkin, hesitancy marking the deep hues of her eyes. “I ran some errands today, and they’ve been weighing on my mind. That’s all.”

  “Such as?” He motioned for her to continue, but she sampled her tomato bisque. “Have you started working on the article for your father yet? Any leads?”

  Her fingers faltered, spilling a spoonful of soup on her ivory blouse. Her skin blanched, matching the napkin she scrambled for. “I can’t believe I did that.” She vigorously swiped at the crimson stains.

  “I can hardly see it.” Slight lie.

  Deep creases bracketed her frown. “Everyone will notice.”

  Why did she care so much? “No. People will be too enthralled with your pretty face to notice anything amiss.”

  “That’s a little much, Cole.” With a frustrated huff, she lowered the napkin to her lap. “I’m aware of your pretense. You don’t have to spare my feelings.”

  “What pretense?” Since when was complimenting a beautiful woman an insult?

  “You said you never returned because of your father, but I can’t help but feel there’s more to it. I can handle the cold reality. In fact, I’ll speak it for you. You never returned because I couldn’t measure up. If you’re wanting a perfect woman like Kathleen Stigert, I suggest you look elsewhere.”

  “Why would you mention her?” Then it hit him. The picture on Mom’s wall. The falsehoods surrounding their non-existent relationship. From the cemented frown on Elissa’s face, the gossip had reached Pittsburgh. “Kathy and I are just friends. There was nothing between us.”

  Elissa gave him a knowing look. “Not sure how you expect me to believe that. The woman is gorgeous and flawless.”

  “Untrue. She had a flaw. A major one.” He latched his gaze on hers. “She wasn’t you.”

  Elissa turned her face away, but not before he saw the lone tear coursing along her cheekbone.

  “I’ve only ever had eyes for one girl, and she’s sitting across from me.”

  She scoffed. “You think this now, but the ending will remain the same. Because I still don’t measure up.”

  Her words sank in with hooks, unrelenting. How could she feel that way? “Ah, but you do.”

  “No. You don’t understand.”

  “I want to.”

  Elissa trained her focus on the burgundy tablecloth. “I feel as if I have a deep gash in my soul.”

  “That’s the best place for light to enter.” Cole pointed to the cracked kitchen door, where a golden sliver shone through. “Scars may be present.” He glanced at his knuckle. “But it’s how we view them which makes the difference. They can be a reminder of defeat, or that our failures weren’t bigger than our God.”

  Ice clinked in glasses. Silverware scraped against plates. And Elissa Tillman sat stoically.

  “I’m sorry, Spark. Here I’ve been the cause of your pain, but now it’s my desire to be the reason for your happiness. I’ll prove it.”

  “It may take a while.”

  He shrugged. “As I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

  The maître d’ approached their table, a telegram in hand. “For you, Miss Tillman.”

  Elissa thanked him and read it, eyes widening. “Father’s in the hospital. Problems with his heart.”

  Elissa pushed open the hospital room’s door, stomach queasy, nerves taut. Mother sat in a chair beside the bed, holding Father’s hand. Her parents looked over as Cole and Elissa stepped inside.

  “What happened?” Elissa rushed to her father’s bedside, brushing the tears from her face.

  He raised a veined hand. “It’s okay, Lissie.” The weakened rasp of his voice hardly confirmed his words.

  Cole’s palm pressed against her lower back, a reminder of his supporting presence.

  “Heartburn. Not a heart attack.” The lines bunching around her mother’s mouth relaxed as if the news just sank into her as well. “He’ll be fine. Only needs to have less stress.”

  Father grunted. “If the doctors can loan me several grand, then maybe I’ll be more relaxed.”

  Mother worried her bottom lip, patting his hand. “Don’t think of it. Not now.”

  The paper’s financial situation crowded her father’s brain more than anything else. Elissa had to find a way to increase revenue. Father couldn’t bear the burden alone. She leaned over and kissed his brow. “I love you, Old Block.” She hadn’t called him that since grade school when he’d introduce her at parties as the chip off the old block.

  “Right back at you, Chip.” He smiled, eyes glossy.

  “We should let him rest.” Mother stood and kissed his cheek.

  Father grinned at Cole. “See, my boy, all you have to do is feign an illness, and beautiful women kiss you.”

  Cole’s deep chuckle trickled in her ears. “I’ll remember that, sir.”

  “No, you won’t.” Elissa nudged his side with her elbow.

  Her father and mother stared at them with raised brows. She’d forgotten her parents weren’t aware of the renewed relationship. If she could call it that.

  Cole wove his fingers in hers, earning a wink from her father and a graceful smile from her mother. “We’ll be praying for you, boss.”

  After one more kiss to Father’s cheek and an understanding smile to Mother, Elissa exited the room, Cole following.

  The fatigue tangling her thoughts must have appeared on her face, for Cole wrapped his arm around her and practically upheld her as they made their way down the empty hall.

  “I have to find a way to rescue the paper.”

  Cole stopped, his grasp on her hand jerking her to a halt. “Why does the weight fall on you?”

  How could she explain? Not only did she want the Review to succeed for her father—to help him escape the pain of failure—but for herself as well. Her dream might appear selfish, but the paper had belonged to the Tillmans for two generations, and she’d hoped to be the third. A woman publisher.

  Her g
aze wandered over the beige walls to the glossy floors. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, the harsh scent bringing her back to reality. Maybe the time had come to wake up. Fanciful illusions had deceived her before. She glanced at Cole. Maybe she was falling back into the same snare she had five years ago. Her dreams had slipped through her fingers then, but with the Review, she could control the outcome. She’d save it.

  Cole downed the meager remains of his coffee and tossed some coins on the counter. He cuffed the back of his neck, rubbing a knot. Sleep had eluded him most of last night as concerns for Elissa plagued him. Her expression in the hospital hallway haunted him. Desperation had etched lines framing her pain-filled eyes. He knew that look. One where the pressure to rescue a loved one, to ease the burden, bombarded the reasoning, forcing action. But the question was—what action would Elissa take?

  Cole stood and slapped his hat onto his head.

  Elissa had busied herself all morning, poring over financial ledgers in between proofreading articles and answering calls. Then she’d received a telegram which had prompted her to leave without so much as a goodbye. Cole was thankful he’d have all evening with her. They needed to have a long talk.

  He checked his watch. Two o’clock. Three hours until the wedding. Cole had plenty of time before he had to be at the church, but he should return to his apartment. Mother had been jittery since the last break-in.

  He turned to exit the modest café but stopped. Mrs. Shelby sat alone in the corner booth, picking at a sandwich and sniffling into a handkerchief. Cole approached her, but she never glanced over.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am.” Cole removed his hat and held it over his chest.

  Startled eyes met his. “Oh, excuse me.” She frantically dabbed her nose. “I wasn’t aware of your presence.”

  “I wanted to convey my sympathies over the recent passing of your husband. He was a good person.”

  “Thank you, young man.”

  “I had the privilege of being tutored by Mr. Shelby when I was younger. Because of him, I passed in ninth-grade science.”

  Her mouth pinched for a second then relaxed. “Are you Cole Parker?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please forgive me for not remembering. I’m better with names than with faces.” She gave a feeble smile. “Dan was fond of you. Always mentioning how bright you were even if you couldn’t comprehend the periodic table.”

  He chuckled low. “I still can’t.”

  Her slow gaze traveled around the room and settled on him. “This place was his favorite café.”

  “Really?”

  “They served fried catfish with cayenne pepper just for him. I don’t know how Dan could stomach it, but he’d dump half the bottle on his food. That was always his preference. Spicy things.”

  Cole fingered the brim of his hat. “I hope the good memories you shared will bring comfort.”

  Her eyes brightened behind the glossy sheen. “Thank you.”

  Cole dipped his chin and said goodbye. His chest ached. What confusion and agony Mrs. Shelby endured. To ardently love someone whom you’d believed felt the same, only to be deceived in the end.

  He froze.

  Was that how Elissa had felt the day he’d failed to return on the train? No wonder she remained guarded. His resolve strengthened. He had no idea how to save a newspaper, but maybe he could rescue her dreams.

  CHAPTER 22

  Cole adjusted his bowtie for the fifteenth time since arriving at McKees Rocks Christian Church. Family and friends of the bride and groom filled the cedar pews. On the platform, the minister rocked on his heels, humming “O Perfect Love.” Mom, fidgeting with the buttons adorning her sleeve, sat beside Sterling’s mother, just in from Virginia. The woman shined brighter than the emerald brooch pinned to her collar, a gift from Sterling’s late father.

  From the lowest step, Cole craned his neck and peered through the glass window behind him, grimacing at the outside view.

  No Elissa.

  Had he told her the wrong time? What if her father had another episode? He rubbed his brow, heat coursing his veins.

  “What have you to be nervous about?” Sterling stood on the top step, his large frame stuffed into a tuxedo making him resemble an Italian crime boss more than a groom. “I’m the one getting hitched.”

  “I’m happy for you, cousin.” Cole smiled. “Though I can’t help but pity Sophie.”

  Sterling chuckled.

  Yep, his cousin’s mood scaled higher than the steeple. A contented smirk replaced Sterling’s routine, chiseled scowl. His narrowed eyes widened in expectation of seeing his future wife.

  Yearning birthed in Cole. A bride. A family. Maybe a curly-haired daughter who mirrored her mother. He scanned the crowd again for any sign of Elissa. His chest deflated. Where could she be?

  The organ’s steel pipes belted the fanfare to “The Wedding March,” and every pew creaked as guests turned in their seats. Attendants opened the wooden double-doors. Candles flickered. Sterling sucked in a sharp breath.

  Nothing.

  The organist crumpled her brow and replayed the fanfare. Sterling shifted behind him.

  A messenger boy dashed through the doorway, sprinting down the aisle toward the minister. The child, puffing his cheeks with heavy breaths, handed the minister the telegram, but Sterling intercepted it. Cole’s cousin tore it open, and his face hardened like the stone cross behind him.

  “What’s wrong?” Cole stepped closer and eyed the telegram before it crinkled in Sterling’s iron grasp.

  I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.

  His cousin glowered at the door the messenger boy retreated through, his nostrils flaring, masking his hurt with anger like when he’d been younger.

  “Go find her. I’ll take care of everything here.” Cole placed a hand on Sterling’s shoulder, and the gesture seemed to snap him out of the daze. Sterling gave a tight nod and strode out the back, leaving a confused mass of people in his wake.

  Cole moved to the center step. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming, but there won’t be a wedding today.”

  Gasps and murmurs echoed off the wood-paneled walls.

  Wherever Elissa was, Cole sure hoped she was having a better time than he.

  Of all the bad choices Elissa ever had made, this could be the worst. But what other option had she? She adjusted her faux pearl headband and stepped into The Steel Fountain Club. The bouncer at the door hadn’t required a passcode or even a membership number. Purchasing passes into speakeasies for a high price had been on the rise lately, but no, all she had to do was slip the man some cash and follow the white painted arrows to the correct doors.

  Pathetic.

  Prohibition seemed valid only on paper.

  The fringe of her dress tickled her knees with every step into the smoke-thickened club. Jeffrey had said he’d be here tonight, Wednesday, and she hoped he’d kept his word. The telegram in her purse forced this extreme action.

  Slot machines lined the paisley-papered walls. Couples littered the dance floor, and Pittsburgh scotch soiled the fancy linens. A band gathered in the corner. Some musicians sat on stools, while others stood, swaying to the jazz melody. She gulped and willed her legs not to wobble like chilled marmalade.

  She took in the vast area, perusing the plush red sofas and several tables. Approaching her from the right side of the room with a grin as thick as the cosmetics lining her eyes, Jeffrey Shelby captured the attention of every female within a twenty-foot radius.

  “I see you came for me after all.” His dark eyes focused on her.

  She gnawed her bottom lip, tasting the grit of her lipstick. “Evening, Mr. Shelby.”

  With a wry smile, he tapped her nose, the drink in his hand swishing with the movement. “I thought we decided that you’d call me Jeffrey. Or Jeff, if you want to be more personal.”

  The rattle from the roulette table mixed with gleeful murmurs.

  “I came to see if you’d remembered any m
ore information for my women’s club. The deadline is soon.” Sooner than he knew. Four days and she needed to have an article on Father’s desk and hopefully a sound plan to save the paper.

  He laughed and grabbed her hand. Oh, the relief of wearing elbow-length gloves. She’d rather his oily fingers mar the satin than caress her skin.

  “Is that really why you came here?” His gaze raked her body. “You look temptingly stunning to be concerned about a stuffy women’s club.”

  “I confess I have a curious nature.” Too curious. Would she be able to encourage him to speak openly? Maybe even admit to the accusation listed in the telegram? She inhaled a ragged breath and lowered her mascaraed lashes for a long blink.

  “I’m fond of those kinds of natures.” He sipped his drink, gaze locked on hers over his glass. “By the way, since you’re calling me Jeff, it seems unfair to refer to you as Miss Freedy. How am I to address you?”

  “Elissa?” A deep voice trickled over her shoulder.

  She turned.

  Adam.

  Her gut sank lower than the three flights of stairs she’d descended to enter this place.

  “Ah, Elissa, is it? Lovely name. Fitting.” Jeff clapped Adam on the shoulder and lifted a dark brow. “And how are you acquainted with this gentleman?”

  “I … uh …” This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to unfold. What was Adam doing at a speakeasy, looking mighty comfortable breaking the law, sipping his wine? “We’ve known each other since we were young.”

  Adam stepped closer. “What are you doing here? And looking so … so modern?” He spoke low in her ear and then pulled away to study her face.

  She huffed. Elissa had combed her closet until she’d discovered a dress fit for raising the hemline and adding heavy amounts of fringe. What Adam had called modern, she called a tiresome endeavor. She shot the Review columnist a warning glare. At least she hoped it was one. Judging by Adam’s smirk and the lazy way he eyed her, she feared he misunderstood.