Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) (24 page)

“The picture of a happy family, aren't they?” she said as they turned back to watch James lead Louisa past Rose.

“Something is out of focus?” Simon asked.

“Photoshopped. It's going to sound crazy, but in 8th grade I was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe.”

“Of course you were.”

Elizabeth's eyes flashed with annoyance. “Anyway, I wanted a widow's peak. I thought they were the most glamorous thing ever. I tried to train my hair, I even tweezed once, like Marilyn,” she admitted. Simon winced. “But you can't make it happen,” she added. “It's either in your genes or it isn't.”

Simon waited patiently for the point.

Exasperated that he was apparently too dull to see it, she sighed and nodded toward Louisa. “Genetics.”

He followed her gaze and the light suddenly dawned. “Louisa has a widow's peak.”

Elizabeth nodded. “But neither Rose nor James does. Basic high school science. It's impossible for Louisa to be their child.”

All this time he'd been so fixated on Mary, and with good reason, it had never occurred to him that Louisa could play a part in this. “Rose had an affair as well?” he wondered out loud.

“Hard to believe,” Elizabeth said. “But what other explanation could there be?”

“I don't know,” Simon said, trying to process the possibilities. He turned to catch a glimpse of Louisa when something familiar caught his eye. “Mary.”

Mary stood hunched in the bushes watching the children through parted branches, watching the party that should have been hers. Perhaps it really was hers. Mrs. Nolan at the orphanage had said that Mary had died a week before her eighth birthday. It could hardly be a coincidence that Louisa had met that mark today.

Mary must have sensed them looking at her, because she turned away from the party and toward them. Elizabeth had been right; she was fading, but it was far worse than he'd imagined. She looked so sad, so small, so frail.

Mary took a step toward them, and with her closeness he felt the same wave of despair he had before, and with a new sense of helplessness. With each step her image became more translucent, almost transparent. She must have felt it, felt herself draining away, because her expression shifted from surprise to fear. She ran toward them. Instinctively, Simon started toward her. Only steps before they could touch, she vanished.

Simon felt the surge of panic and pushed it down. It was too soon, wasn't it? They had to have more time.

“Simon?” Elizabeth breathed, her anxiety echoing his own.

He looked to Elizabeth and back to the empty spot where Mary had just been. “We are running out of time.”

He had to
do
something. They'd stood back and watched long enough, he decided. It was time to act. Searching the party, he found James standing by the veranda talking with Dr. Walker, and another man. He started toward them.

Elizabeth trailed behind. “What are you going to do?”

Simon stopped and turned back to her. “I think it's time I had a little chat with James Harper.”

Elizabeth looked surprised. “What are you going to say? Nice party. By the way, had any affairs lately?”

Simon frowned. He honestly didn't know what he was going to say, but it was time something was said. If they were to save Mary from an eternity “in between” as Old Nan had put it, they'd have to do more than attend children's parties.

“If Mary is a Harper,” Simon said, “James or Elijah is her father. She won't find peace in death until they admit their part in her life.”

He turned to Elizabeth. “We've no reason to believe they're going to suddenly see the light and claim her as their own. Can we really afford to wait any longer before we confront them?”

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. “No.” She looked back to where Mary had been a few minutes ago. “I just hope we haven't waited too long.”

Simon set his jaw and nodded. He walked over to James and forced a smile to his lips. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but would it be possible to speak with you and your brother privately for a moment?”

James excused himself and they gathered Eli from a flock of women and went into James' study.

James sat on the corner of his desk. “If this is about the investment opportunity, it's not too late—”

Eli leaned against the bookcase, prepared to be bored.

“No,” Simon said impatiently. “It's not about that.”

James spread his arms as if to say go ahead.

Simon looked at one brother and then the other. “This is about a personal matter.”

“If this is about my seeing your wife naked—” Eli said.

“Eli!” James said in shock.

Simon clenched his jaw. “No, this is about a child.”

James stood, tense and concerned. He glanced at the window. “Louisa?”

“Mary Stewart.”

Eli shrugged. “Who's that?”

James leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest and worked hard to make his expression appear neutral, even disinterested.

“Alice Stewart's daughter,” Simon said, looking both men in the eye. “Perhaps that helps.”

“I don't see what any of this has to do with us,” James said as he toyed with a paperweight on his desk.

“No?” Simon said as he took a step closer. “Are there so many bodies buried on your property that you lose track?”

James dropped the paperweight, his voice rising. “Now, see here—”

“That woman was never identified,” Eli said, raising a finger to emphasize his point.

“Not officially,” Simon said, turning his attention back to Eli. “Thanks to a little influence wielded by a powerful family? A family friend conveniently installed as temporary coroner and overlooking evidence? Ignoring her injuries, ignoring her murder.” Simon saw them both blanch at that. “A poor woman like that. A prostitute. No one would ask questions.”

“I don't like what you're implying,” James said.

Eli stepped forward. “I don't understand.”

“Then let me be clear,” Simon said, his fury growing. “Alice Stewart was a tenant on River Run.”

“We have several tenants,” Eli said.

“And do you father all their children?” Simon demanded. He could feel his blood pressure rising.

James stood and his eyes flashed with anger. “That's quite enough.”

“No, it's hardly enough,” Simon said, as he took another step closer to the brothers. “If you are man enough to create a child, you damn well better be man enough claim her as your own.”

Eli looked honestly confused. “Would one of you tell me what the hell this is all about?”

“I think you need to leave this house,” James said.

Simon was barely able to control his anger now. He would give anything, do anything, to protect his own child. The idea that one of these men had discarded theirs made him sick. “One of you had an affair with Alice Stewart. Mary was your child. If there is a shred of decency inside you, you will do what you know is right.”

James strode forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Simon stood in front of James, ready to fight.

Eli stepped between them. “I think you'd better go, Cross. Now.”

Simon's eyes shifted to Eli briefly. James looked about ready to hit him, and even though a part of Simon would have relished a physical confrontation, it would not be the best course. Not yet.

Simon nodded to Eli and took a step back. “You may be able to bury their bodies,” he said. “But you cannot bury the truth with them.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Elizabeth tried to find something kind or at least interesting to say about Millard Fillmore. After all, he was the President. Somehow she doubted she could share her honest views on the Compromise of 1850 or the Fugitive Slave Act with the wives of the Old South. Sadly, that was about all she knew, too. It would have been so much easier if the women had fit her vision of them as sweet, retiring, gossipy flowers. But they were not. Oh, they gossiped enough, but the most popular topics of conversation weren't puffery, but politics. Politics meant talk in the defense of slavery, the demonization of abolition and the threat of secession. There weren't poles long enough to touch those subjects.

She smiled at something Mrs. Goode said and wondered how Simon was getting on. At least he could meet the issues head-on. Although, she didn't envy him his task.

From across the veranda, Rose caught her eye and smiled sympathetically. If only she knew that her world was going to change, she might not be so kind right now. And that troubled Elizabeth. Rose was kind. Genuinely kind. Elizabeth considered herself a good judge of character. Rose was honest and good. No matter the circumstances it was nearly impossible to imagine her having a part in any of this, or having an affair of her own. And yet, Elizabeth thought as Louisa came to her mother's side, she must have.

It just didn't make any sense. When Rose had told Elizabeth about Louisa's birth, how difficult it was, how the doctor had thought they both might die, there was not a hint of dishonesty about it. Not a trace of guilt about having another man's child. She must truly believe that Louisa was theirs, but how could she forget the whole sleeping with the other man part. That was usually hard to forget.

Rose pulled Louisa into her lap and the girl leaned back against her chest.

What else could it be? Elizabeth tried to let go of her conclusions and look at the evidence with a fresh perspective. Sherlock Holmes, and he knew his stuff, fictional or not, said that one should approach a problem with a blank mind. Don't twist facts to suit theories, let the theories fit the facts.

While the ladies discussed whether “that doughface Franklin Pierce could actually win”, Elizabeth settled in for a little silent sleuthing. First, she had to clear her mind. She pushed out a long slow breath and had just started to fall into the zone when she caught sight of Simon coming toward her. He looked agitated. Holmes would have to wait.

“We should go,” he said.

Simon hastily made excuses for their abrupt departure, promising to see them all again at the Colonel's gala ball tomorrow night. In a tense silence they waited for the buggy to be brought around to the front of the house. Whatever had happened inside had left Simon wound up tighter than a tick.

They traveled nearly a quarter mile of the way down the road toward town before he calmed himself sufficiently to tell her about the conversation. Elizabeth listened raptly. Simon certainly hadn't pulled any punches.

“I wish I'd done a better job of it,” he said.

“I don't know how you could. It's not exactly an easy conversation to have.”

Simon nodded and let out a deep breath. “Frankly, I wish you'd been there. I was so angry that I'm not sure I can judge their reactions properly. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

Elizabeth squeezed his arm. “I don't blame you.”

“Reason, if I could have managed it, would have been a far superior tool.”

Elizabeth could feel the tension in the corded muscles of his arm. “We can try again tomorrow.”

Simon sighed again. “I don't know. Whoever is at fault here has gone to great lengths to cover up their misdeeds. I don't think they'll give in so easily.”

“We'll just keep trying until they do,” Elizabeth said.

“And hope we're not too late.”

They rode in silence for a while after that, each lost in their own thoughts. The afternoon sun began to fade and long shadows stretched out across the road. The horse's hooves and the wooden buggy wheels beat out a steady rhythm on the hard dirt road as one mile rolled into the next. They were about twenty minutes outside of town when two men on horseback rode out from the woods and stopped in front of them. Elizabeth instinctively tensed. The sun was directly behind them, leaving only dark, intimidating silhouettes.

Simon pulled the reins back to stop the buggy. “Can I help you?” he said, as he casually shifted the reins to one hand and reached for the gun in his pocket with the other.

Elizabeth heard the hammer of the man's gun cock before she saw it. Her heart stuttered at the sound and then dropped as she saw the taller of the two point a long barreled gun at Simon's chest. “I wouldn't do that, friend,” he warned as he walked his horse a little closer. “Take your hand out real slow.”

Simon paused for a moment, his jaw muscle tightening, before following the instructions.

“Now, you're gonna keep your hands up,” the man said. “Y'understand?”

“If this is a robbery,” Simon said. “Take what you will and leave us.”

The thin man laughed and nodded his head to his partner. “Gonna be fun, right?”

The other man snickered. Elizabeth felt sick. She'd seen that look on men's faces before and it always ended badly.

“Now, shut up and do what I say or I shoot your wife right between her pretty eyes.” The long gun barrel of the man's dragoon shifted to Elizabeth.

Simon glanced at her, angry and helpless, and raised his hands. Elizabeth met his eyes with her bravest, most resolute face, silently pleading with Simon to have heart.

“Take his gun.”

The other man, who wasn't as tall, but was much more muscular, slid off his horse and walked over to them. He fished into Simon's pocket and pulled out his gun. He admired it for a moment before stuffing it into the back of his waistband.

“I think we could use a little privacy,” the tall man said and indicated a small clearing off the road. “Over there. Don't try nothin'.”

Simon ground his teeth, but did as he was told and drove their carriage into the small clearing. Privacy was not good. If they were robbers, they would have wanted to get what they came for and get away as quickly as possible. Moving off the road meant they had other plans. Elizabeth swallowed hard and tried not to let her imagination get ahead of her. She had to keep a clear head and deal with what was happening, not what might happen. She pushed out a quick, short breath and braced herself for what was to come.

“That's far enough,” the leader said. “Now git out.” He waved the muzzle of his gun.

Simon looked over at Elizabeth. His expression was pained and angry and a dozen other things. In that instant, his eyes said everything from,
Get away if you can
to
I'm sorry
and, above all else,
I love you.
He squeezed her hand, for what she realized might be the last time. She had trouble letting go.