Lanterns and Lace (16 page)

At the boardinghouse Jenny carried a dinner tray of chicken and dumplings to her room. She didn’t want to waste a single moment of the evening. Already the sun had begun its descent, and amber shadows danced across the faint light from the window.

Pulling her chair close to the small nightstand, she lit the wick of the kerosene lamp and positioned herself comfortably for the hours of reading ahead. Mindful of the task before her and with an air of solemn reverence, she lifted the journal’s cover and examined the inscription. The pages were ivory in color and the lettering in royal blue ink. Instantly, she recognized her mother’s handwriting:

Given to: Jessica Kathryn Martin

Date: 22 January 1888

From: Mother and Father

Cautiously, Jenny turned to the second page:

22 January 1888

Today is my eighteenth birthday. I wonder why Mother and Father gave me this journal. They must believe I will record my deepest thoughts, and when I am not at home, they can read it. I do plan to record everything about my life, but this journal will always be with me. It will be my friend and companion, for I have neither one. No one understands or even dares to know me.

Sometimes I think even Jenny is fearful of me, and I cannot blame her. I even loathe myself. For certain, she is afraid of our parents. Father continually lectures her, and she cries more than she laughs. That too is probably my fault. I wish I understood why he treats her so harshly simply because her school marks are not the same as mine. Perhaps he fears she will become like me. How could she when she possesses such a gentle spirit?

I am so miserable with myself and with Mother and Father. I despise the things I do, but I cannot stop them. My heart and mind tell me to be kind, but my actions do otherwise. Perhaps I am a monster. If I thought someone cared, I would gladly try to resist this senseless defiance and find meaning in my life. Although I believe my greatest rebellion is within me.

What if I never change? Even if I placed my whole being into the purpose of rearranging Jessica Kathryn Martin, who would care? Does anyone fathom the destruction of my soul? I have ruined any notion of a relationship with everyone I touch. And dear Jenny . . . oh, how I love her.

A demon lives inside me. I’m convinced of it. An ugly creature that derives some sort of morbid satisfaction in hurting others. I’ve spent the afternoon debating this very issue within me. Perhaps the only solution is to do away with myself, but I am a coward. Death has such a sweet call. It whispers my name in the darkest of hours. And as the night beckons me into the shadows of shame, my heart longs to be at rest, to sleep peacefully without wild thoughts pulling and tugging at me. How merciful is the song of death when my heart aches to be free of this troublesome world.

Jenny abruptly shut the journal. She covered her mouth in horror at her sister’s statements. A steady stream of liquid emotion dripped from her eyes. Never, no, never, had she perceived the intensity of Jessica’s tormented mind. Taking a deep breath, she read more.

The journal shifted from dismal days of gloom to ones of uncontrollable excitement. She wrote every day—the journal truly did become her friend and companion. During a time of almost maddening exhilaration, Jessica decided to take the step from innocence into womanhood. She discovered by using her body she received favors from men who walked all roads of life. She used them as they used her, but soon this no longer provided a challenge or an escape from her misery.

She acquired a taste for liquor, but the telltale odor on her breath infuriated her parents. They attempted to curtail her activities, but she always found a way to escape their watchful eyes. Weeks and months passed, and Jessica sank lower into depression.

Jenny glanced about her. She’d found such contentment in Kahlerville. If only Jessica could be with her now. Together they’d work through her dear sister’s agony.

Suddenly, new people, new sights, and new sounds stirred Jessica’s mind into a frenzied whirl of euphoria. Her behavior followed a pattern of utmost joy followed by prolonged tears. For nearly two years the cycle repeated itself. Each time the melancholy threatened to take her life. However, the moods evened when she met a particular captivating gentleman:

I met the most delightful man tonight. Oh, but he is handsome. I have never gazed into such deep violet eyes, and his thick blond hair looks as though it were kissed by the sun. His name is Robert, Robert Jacobs, and his words are as rich as fresh cream and flow from his lips like sweet honey. He is a man of many talents—an actor by profession. Mother and Father would be appalled. But I don’t care. I am in love.

Jenny paled in the twilight of her room. Robert . . . Robert Jacobs. He fit the same description as Aubrey Turner. She read on.

Robert enjoys gambling. I stood behind him tonight and watched him play cards with remarkable expertise. I did exactly as he instructed: masked my face with no emotion and drummed on his shoulder a code of what the other gentlemen held in their hands. It was such fun! He won, of course, and the profits were grand. He gave me three hundred dollars for acting as his assistant, and later we went to his hotel room to celebrate. I barely made it home before dawn. Tomorrow I shall see him again.

Jenny discovered how Jessica formed an instant alliance with Robert. She accompanied him to his card games and took great delight in helping him secure winning hands. His smooth speech and extremely good looks drew Jessica ever closer to him, and he became her shining knight, the one designated to save her from herself. She attempted to change her habits to please his every whim and successfully covered her troubled emotions in his company, but then she unleashed them in full force upon returning home. The lies and deceit mounted. Nothing mattered to Jessica but Robert, and she treasured the earth beneath his feet. When he asked her to pose as his wife and travel with him, she eagerly accepted.

In the beginning their relationship blossomed. They enjoyed the gambling, and their clever cheating brought in more money than the two could conceivably spend. Jessica continued to hide her old ways until she could no longer keep the demon captive. When Robert began experiencing Jessica’s moods, he responded violently, and she tasted his frightening temper. Together their passions ruled selfish and cruel:

Today, Robert killed a man on board the River Queen. He said the man accused him of cheating. It terrifies me to think that he enjoyed the gunplay, especially since the man’s accusation proved correct . . . This is not enjoyable anymore. I am frightened, but there is nowhere to go, no one to help me.

On another day, Jessica wrote:

Robert takes all the money and gives me little to survive. It is impossible to save a thing, and he knows it. He is not sane. I am sure of it. Oh, we are a matched pair with our madness. Tonight, he told me I was nothing without him, and later he told me he loved me. I cringe at his affections. I only want to be free.

A week later Jessica’s pain had increased:

My life is more wretched than ever. Robert is vicious, and I think he enjoys hurting me. He takes on the stage characteristics of his most villainous characters until I wonder who he will become next. My only refuge is to feign a nap each afternoon—to think and plan a way out of this nightmare.

Jenny gasped in recalling Aubrey Turner’s comment about Jessica’s naps. In the heat of the summer evening, she pronounced judgment. Aubrey Turner and Robert Jacobs had to be the same man. But why had he changed his name? He’d admitted to being Jessica’s fiancé.

Days later in the journal, Jessica’s tone changed:

I have devised a scheme to free myself. I know where he keeps his money. It will work, if I can just endure a few more nights with him.

Robert is deplorable, repulsive. I cannot bear for him to touch me, but I must. He must not suspect what I plan to do.

Jenny felt her sister’s fear but was astonished by what Jessica wrote just two days later:

Today, Robert asked me to marry him. He wants to travel to San Francisco and purchase a theater and gambling house. Acting is what he loves best, and he promises not to hit me any more. Perhaps I should consider his proposal. He might truly change.

Jenny shook her head, convinced that if Robert was the man she knew as Turner, he would not have changed. Her fears were confirmed as she read an entry a few pages later in the journal:

I wanted to write Jenny and tell her about the upcoming wedding, but Robert became furious. I can no longer bear his beatings. He has become an expert in hurting me where the bruises do not show. I have to get away.

Several entries later, Jessica wrote from San Francisco:

At last I am free—finally free, and I did not have to marry him. I vow to do whatever is necessary to earn a living. Any pride and self-respect I might have had is gone, but I will never allow a man to rule over me again. Most of the money is hidden away until I find a safe place to live.

Jenny learned how Jessica had stumbled into the town of Kahlerville. Prostitution was not new to her, and she lost no time in seeking out the town’s brothel.

Must everyday be the same? If only these men would do something else besides satisfy their physical needs. I deplore them, or maybe it is myself I long to destroy.

Days of deep hopelessness followed. Jessica’s life brightened when she met Ellen. For the first time, she found a true friend:

This afternoon I told Ellen about Jenny and Grandma Martin. Both are so dear to my heart. I remember how Grandma always said, “Goodness” when surprised or excited. When Jenny was four years old, I heard her use the same expression. At the time, Jenny and I were playing dolls beneath the lilac tree, and she said, “Goodness, Miss Suzanne has a frightful cold.”

My precious Jenny and Grandma, I miss you both so very much. I wish I had told you how much I loved you. I really wanted to be a good girl like I promised Grandma. My life has been a squander.

The entry for the following Sunday elaborated on what Jenny had already learned from the Rainers:

I visited Reverend Rainer this afternoon. He says that God loves me just as I am, and He will stay by me forever. I wish I could believe those words. It is simply impossible, too difficult for me to even conceive such an idea. The reverend says God sent His Son to die for my sins, just like Grandma used to tell me. Maybe for someone else, but not for the likes of me. Nothing could ever make me feel clean enough for God. But I’d like to think so. I truly would.

Jenny felt her sister’s fear and despair as she read the entry from two days later:

I must be pregnant. It has been over two months since my time. I have no idea who is the father. There are so many. I thought I had been careful, taken the precautions. How stupid of me. How could I have sunk to such lowness? Surely God has punished me for all the horrible things I have done. If He truly loves me, then why this curse?

Jessica wrote in her journal faithfully every day of her pregnancy. She tried to be fit company for Ellen’s sake, but the lowest of depression settled upon her. Near the end of her confinement, an unusual entry captured Jenny’s attention. It was a letter:

My dear sister,

I have a strange feeling that giving birth to this baby will cause my death, and I welcome it. I’d never be a fit mother. Why should I subject a babe to a mother who cannot control her behavior? Some days I fancy it might change my life and cure this madness, but I think not. I would rather die than subject my own flesh to this insanity.

I don’t know what will happen to my child, but I am sure Ellen will see the baby receives a proper home. She has been so good to me, priceless—much more than I deserve. I hope she leaves this sordid life and finds real happiness. Never mind my rambling, Jenny. I need to tell you about crucial matters.

I have carefully explained to Ellen that she must give this journal to you. I hope, in reading this, you will see I truly wanted things to be right between us. If there is a God, I pray He will press upon you to find this town. I know you will come. I must believe it.

I desperately tried to be like you. You are so pretty, so smart, and you found it easy to be obedient. How cruel of me to leave you to the mercy of Mother and Father, and I have regretted it a thousand times. I should have been stronger and stayed for your sake. For this I am truly sorry. Please forgive me.

Within the pages of this journal are the means of locating a large sum of money. Yes, it is the money taken from Robert, but he obtained it through ill means. It is for you and my dear baby, and I know you will do the best with it.

Please make sure my baby is loved and cared for, and please remember I love you. We had such good fun playing dolls beneath the lilac tree. Remember playing school and how I vexed you with my obsession with numbers? Remember the tea parties and the days of innocence? I believe those days were true paradise—no madness, no regrets, and no concerns about the morrow.

Jenny lifted her tear-glazed eyes from the journal. The hour chimed long past midnight. She ached from mental exhaustion and the pang of her sister’s troubled mind. The truth about Aubrey Turner or Robert Jacobs, whatever his true name, made her tremble. She clearly understood why he’d followed her to Texas. He wanted his money and thought Jenny knew of its whereabouts. He lied to her and Ellen about his love for Jessica to secure his funds. No wonder Ellen kept her distance from him. She felt his evil, too.

Tomorrow she must talk to Ben about Robert Jacobs and the connection to Aubrey Turner. She also wanted to ask Grant to help her decipher Jessica’s journal. She didn’t want the money for herself—Grant could keep it for Rebecca.

My dear Jessica.

I was not a sister to you in life, but I promise you I will do my best to fulfill your dying wish.

Ben scooted his chair closer to his desk, scraping the legs across the bare wooden floor. He wrote the name Robert Jacobs on a piece of paper and stared at it. “And Jessica said he posed as an actor and a gambler?”

“Yes, sir.” Jenny pressed her lips to keep calm. Her gaze swept across the sheriff’s small office. Although tidy, it smelled a bit like her chamber pot in the mornings. Must have been the occupant locked up in the back. Smelled like a whole gang of them.

“No need to be nervous, Jenny. This information is just between you and me.” Ben coughed. The sound seemed to come from his boots.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. Just a little tickle in my throat.” He turned his head and coughed again. “Back to business here. Other than the man having a temper, did she make mention where all of this happened?”

“Only Cleveland and San Francisco.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“He shot and killed a man in a card game on board a boat called the River Queen.” Jenny took in a breath. “I understand he did the same thing here. Since I learned he hurt my sister, I’m a little afraid for myself and Ellen, given that Jessica stole money from him.”

“I’m sure Ellen has already told Frank.”

“Oh, no. I read that part in the journal. Ellen isn’t aware of the stolen money.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. “I’ll go to work on this. With your information, it shouldn’t take long before we have a few answers. Did your sister’s journal mention any other names that he used?”

“No. How soon can you arrest him?”

“I can’t unless he’s broken the law.”

Indignation rose up in her. “Are you saying he could continue to frighten Ellen and me, and there’s nothing you can do?”

Ben offered a smile that she assumed he meant as reassuring. “As long as I’m sheriff, no woman in Kahlerville will ever be afraid. I have no problem escorting him out of town if he even bends the law.”

She nodded. Relief flowed warm through her veins. “Good. I wonder . . . “

“What are you thinking?”

“Should I confront him with what I know? Tell him I have no idea where Jessica hid the money?” She hesitated while a memory danced across her mind. “I just remembered something. One night at the boardinghouse I awoke to a horrible smell—a skunk. When I arose from my bed to shut the window, I heard Mr. Turner—or whatever his name is—speaking harshly to another man. He wanted to know about the finances at Martha’s Place and if she came into any money after Jessica died.”

Ben leaned forward. “What was the response?”

“The man claimed to know nothing.”

“Did the man have a name?”

“I didn’t hear it spoken.”

Ben made more notes. He glanced up and studied her. “Do you understand what this means?”

“I think so. Aubrey Turner is an evil man.”

“In case you have any doubts, Turner must believe you or Ellen has his money.”

“But we don’t.”

“If he was convinced of that, he wouldn’t be wasting his time here in Kahlerville.”

Jenny’s heart hammered against her chest. “What can I do?”

“Be very careful. Is there somewhere else you can live besides the boardinghouse? I don’t feel comfortable with you staying there in the same establishment as him.”

She shook her head. “The boardinghouse is fine. I have a lock on my door, and the men stay in a different section.”

“Do you trust me to make a few inquiries regarding your safety?”

“What do you mean? Find me another place to live? I refuse to be a burden to anyone. I’ll stay at the boardinghouse until I decide to return to Cleveland.”

“I advise you not to attempt the journey back until I can get to the bottom of this mess with Turner.”

“All right. But I won’t live in fear.” A surge of courage swept through her. Or perhaps it was a wave of pride from the knowledge of the revolver in her reticule. “I won’t be confined to my room like a frightened child.”

“I understand your sentiments. Just be wary of where you are and what is going on around you. One more thing. Grant needs to hear all of what we’ve discussed today.”

“Why?”

Ben laid the pen on his desk and folded his thin hands. “Two reasons: One, he has a concern for you, and two, he is raising Jessica’s daughter.”

“Surely Mr. Turner wouldn’t harm an innocent child.”

“Frankly, Jenny, if he followed you from Cleveland and committed the other crimes we suspect, do you think he’d hesitate to use a child to obtain his money?”

Jenny left Ben’s office with a slightly dizzy sensation. She had insisted there was no need for an escort, but now she wished someone supported her. The conversation had been overwhelming, and the future looked bleak as long as Aubrey Turner stayed in town. The startling revelation about the potential danger to her, Ellen, and precious little Rebecca left her shaken. And what about all the Andrews family and the Reverend and Mrs. Rainer? And Miss Mimi? For a moment she believed her knees would not hold her legs.

I can be a strong woman. I won’t cower in fear.

She must tell Grant about the journal. If he disliked her before, he certainly would when he learned Rebecca might be in danger. She hated to tell him what she’d learned, not because she wanted to keep the truth from him, but because the news would sadden him. Dear Grant. All he ever wanted was to raise his daughter in peace. Then Jenny came along and disrupted his world.

And he had disrupted hers. How sad to love a man she’d hurt so badly. She’d known him but five weeks and realized her heart was smitten, and she’d been friends with Oscar for two years. Never had she felt any of the insurmountable feelings with Oscar that she experienced with Dr. Grant Andrews. Unfortunately, he would never give her a single thought with all the trouble she’d brought his way.

She peered about as though Turner might try to speak with her on the street—or demand what belonged to him. Where was his money? Jessica had indicated the clues to the whereabouts were within the pages of her journal. But Jenny had read it from cover to cover, and nothing was revealed.

The perplexing notions about Jessica and her world were more than she could bear, and with this knowledge came a pounding headache. Guilt for all the trouble she’d caused crept over her. If she had not promised Ben to tell Grant this instant about the journal, she’d walk back to her room.

*****

Grant spied Ben and Frank in the corner of the churchyard after Sunday morning services. He wanted to talk to both of them together about Turner. The man had become a burr in his saddle. No one stood with the two brothers. Most likely, they were discussing the same matters weighing heavily on him.

“I need to talk to Ben and Frank,” he said to Mimi. “Would you keep an eye on Rebecca?” He smiled at Jenny, regretting the tug at his heart and the anger in his soul for all that her coming to Kahlerville had caused. And to think he’d just finished worshiping God.

“We’ll chat with the other ladies until you’re ready.” Mimi reached for Rebecca’s hand. “Jenny needs to get better acquainted with the other fine women in this town.”

Grant offered another token smile and made his way toward the Kahler brothers. The conversation he’d shared yesterday with Jenny made him a little dour. He feared for her safety and expressed it, but deep inside was a heavy dose of resentment.

The closer he walked toward Ben and Frank, the more he realized the two weren’t happy. He turned around to give them their privacy. In his present mood, he almost welcomed a good argument.

“Grant, come on back. This affects you, too,” Ben said.

So they were discussing Turner. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to get involved with feuding brothers. He and Morgan had seen their share of disagreements, but those were years ago. He retraced his steps and was suddenly thankful for the slight breeze under the oak tree. Frank had a line across his forehead deep enough to plant potatoes. Ben looked pale. His flesh seemed to be falling from his body. This was no summer cold. Grant prayed his suspicions of a chronic lung condition would prove false.

“I’m ready to run Turner and Martha DeMott out of town,” Frank said.

“My, brother, you sure are wearing your Christian hat this morning,” Ben said.

Frank stuck his finger into Ben’s face. “It’s not your wife who was threatened, and it’s not your lumberyard looking at a match.”

Ben’s face softened. “You’re right. It’s not. But arguing about what to do isn’t going to make the problem disappear. I should have some answers about Turner this week or the next. I sent wires to lawmen, U.S. marshals, and the Pinkertons. Besides, I think Martha is harmless.”

“As in Turner put her up to it?” Frank said.

“I think so. She was real polite when I confronted her. Said she was angry about the rumor but wouldn’t tell me where she heard it.” Ben focused on Grant. “What’s your opinion about all of this?”

As in I should have put Jenny on a train back East weeks ago? “I think if Turner is wanted somewhere, we’re all better off.”

Frank slowly nodded. “As mad as I am, I have to agree. Can’t figure out for my life why he’s so bent on learning more about Jessica. The woman’s been dead almost three years. Makes me wonder if he thinks she’s still alive.”

Grant knew what kept Turner in town, but he wasn’t about to tell Frank. That was Ben’s job.

Ben scratched his chin, then coughed.

“What are you not telling me?” Frank said. “And when are you going to see Grant about that cough?”

Ben finished up his spell. “In answer to your first question, Jessica stole money from Turner, if he’s the same man mentioned in Jessica’s journal—a Robert Jacobs. The answer to your second question is none of your business.”

Frank’s eyes widened then hardened. “Suit yourself. Are you thinking he’s after Ellen and Jenny for the money?” He paused. “Of course he is. Why else did he follow Jenny here from Cleveland?” He slammed his fist into his palm. “This means my Ellen and—” He slid an alarmed look Grant’s way. “Jenny could be in danger.”

“I just learned about this, too,” Grant said. “And don’t forget my daughter.”

None of them said anything for several long moments.

“Let me work with the law,” Ben finally said. “We’re jumping to conclusions when the answer may be simple.”

“Where’s the man’s money? If Jessica stole it, then we’ll return it.” Frank crammed his hands inside his pockets.

“We don’t know,” Grant said. “No one has any idea where it might be or how much is involved. To the best of my knowledge, Ellen doesn’t have any idea about Jessica taking his money.”

“I’m sure of it,” Frank said. “She would have told me. As it is, she isn’t sleeping well. The situation is worrying her because she’s frettin’ over Jenny. But I need to tell her this so she’s more careful.”

“I’d like to see Jenny living somewhere besides the boardinghouse, but she won’t hear of it.” Grant glanced back at a group of laughing children. Rebecca called out to him, and he waved. Jenny stood beside her with Mimi. His favorite ladies.

“I tried, too, but she refused,” Ben said. “I thought you might have better luck.”

“Are you kidding? Most of the time we’re fussing about something.”

“Ellen and I started out that way,” Frank said. “Took me a long time to see the reason she riled me so was because I loved her.”

Grant’s face reddened. “Don’t think that’s the case here.” Then he remembered how Casey and Morgan had battled until they admitted their love. “We’re talking about another matter here today.”

“I sure hope the Lord is listening this morning,” Ben said. “Leave it to an Andrews to make my job a little more difficult.”

Grant grinned. “Hey, that’s what we do best.” But his thoughts raced back twelve years to when Casey was being chased by a band of outlaws and to the resulting blood bath on Morgan’s ranch. One tragedy in a family was enough.