Magnolia (24 page)

John's eyes were wide and curious.

Claire looked at him. “You don't think…?”

“Oh, don't I?” he murmured coldly. “Shall we go for a stroll, Claire?”

“I'd be delighted. You'll excuse us?” Claire asked the widow softly as they stood.

“Certainly. You go right ahead. I never like being cooped up in these compartments on such long journeys. I fear we will tire of each other's company long before we reach our destination!”

“And I'm certain that we will not,” John said gallantly, smiling at the widow.

She laughed with enjoyment. “You're a flatterer, young man. Your wife will have to keep a close eye on you!”

“Indeed I will,” Claire replied, reaching for John's hand in a shy attempt to maintain the fiction of togetherness.

If he was surprised at her action, he concealed it quite well. He returned the pressure of her soft fingers in their white glove and drew her from the compartment.

They were down the walkway a good piece before Claire spoke. John hadn't released her hand, and it thrilled her to feel its gentle pressure.

“Do you think it's Diane?” she asked warily, because even now, she wasn't sure of his feelings.

“Of course I do,” he said, and sounded actually indifferent! “There were two trunks packed in the hall of her home
earlier when I went there. Those were the ones Matt and I broke into at the station in Atlanta. I didn't tell you,” he added, with a grin, “but they were full of Diane's gowns and dresses. I knew then that she was probably going to go with Eli.” He chuckled wickedly. “Eli and the money, I should have said. Diane would have been hard-pressed to let him take the money and not her, as well.”

“I'm very sorry, John,” she said, with genuine regret. “I know that she…means a lot to you.”

He slowed, looking down at her with tenderness in his dark eyes. “She
did,
” he said, emphasizing the past tense. But while Claire hung there with bated breath, and before he could enlarge on that, the porter came past. John stopped him.

“Where is the mail car?” he asked. “A friend of ours is there with her late husband. We wanted to pay our respects.”

“Mail car's that way, sir. Just go down through the passenger compartment and out the door. It's the car just behind this one. Watch your step, now,” he added, and smiled at them.

“Thank you.”

They walked through the rows of passenger seats and to the back of the swaying car until they reached the platform.

“I wish Matt could have come with us,” John murmured. “I don't know what Diane will say when she sees us.”

“She needn't see us,” Claire replied. “Can't you peer through the door and see if it's really her?”

“Not if the shade is drawn,” he said. “But I'll try. You stay here.”

He crossed to the next car, looking around to make sure there was no one observing them. He stood beside the door. The curtain was drawn all right, but the swaying of the cars on the tracks made it swing back and forth. He glimpsed two coffins through it—one ornate and one a pine box. And he saw Diane, in widow's weeds with a black veil momentarily lifted from her face, sitting beside a coffin whose lid was open; Eli Calverson's bald head was just visible above it. He was obviously discussing something with Diane, who looked worried and out of sorts. He moved quickly away and back to Claire, chuckling as he bustled her inside the passenger car.

“It's them,” he said gaily. “Now if we can just find the Pinkerton man in Charleston…” He paused, snapping his fingers. “Claire, we'll stop over in Augusta on the way! I'll rush in at the next stop and telegraph the Pinkerton office and have them meet the train at Augusta! If the money's in that coffin, we'll have Eli dead to rights!”

“What if it's not?” Claire asked worriedly. “What if he sent it on another train, or if it's in a trunk he left behind?”

“We'll have to take the chance. But he wouldn't be likely to leave that much money behind,” he said. “And Diane wouldn't be with him if he had, either.”

“You sound so bitter.”

“I am.” He glanced down at her with regret. “I was obsessed with her for years, and in all that time, I never once
let myself see what she really was. I've wasted part of my life chasing fox fire.”

Her heart jumped with renewed hope. “No time is wasted if we learn a lesson from how we spend it, John,” she said solemnly. “But it must be hard for you, all the same, to have to see her arrested.”

He glanced at her. “In a way it is, Claire,” he said, smiling. “But by and large, people get what they deserve, sooner or later.”

Claire thought very hard for a moment. “Is there a reward for capturing someone who embezzles money from a bank?”

“Yes. The reward would be paid by our bank.”

She smiled. “Let me try something, then.”

“What?”

“Let me talk to Diane.”

“Absolutely not,” he said shortly. “I won't put you at risk. He might have a gun, for all I know.”

His concern flattered her. “I would do nothing to put myself at risk,” she said at once, thinking of the tiny life inside her that he didn't know about, and might not even want. “I think I might be able to speak to her alone. I think I have an idea that might work. I can sit there in the back of the passenger car and watch for her to come out.”

“Alone? Oh, no.” His fingers tightened on hers. “I'm not letting you out of my sight, Mrs. Hawthorn. I'll wait with you.”

She grinned at him, overcome with delight. “Don't you want to talk to Mrs. Cornwall?”

“I do not!”

She chuckled. “Then I would be glad of your company. Some people must be in the dining car, or there would be no seats here. And it may not be long before they return.”

“Then we'll have to hope that she comes through here soon.”

Claire was betting on it, because there wasn't a restroom in the baggage car. Perhaps there were restrooms farther down the train, but this would be closer. She had to hope that Diane would arrive long before any other passengers came to reclaim their seats.

John retained her small gloved hand when they sat down, fascinated with its smallness and strength.

“I like your hands,” he remarked. “They're very capable little hands, too. They can even fix automobiles.”

She smiled up at him, her face radiant and adoring. “They can fix meals, as well.” Her smile faltered a little and she looked away. “Of course, there's no need, since Mrs. Dobbs does it so well.”

He watched her averted face with disquiet. His hands tightened on hers as he saw the pain there. “Claire, I never even asked if you might prefer a house of our own. Would you?”

She tried to speak and couldn't.

“Oh, my dear,” he said softly, and bent to kiss her eyes closed. “Of course you would.” He answered his own question. “We can start looking when we get back,” he said firmly. “I know of at least two small houses near Mrs.
Dobbs. Unless you want something elaborate?” he added, smiling with barely contained excitement. “We could have one with gingerbread trim and crystal chandeliers, if you like.”

She laughed with such joy that she felt she might burst. “Oh, no. Crystal chandeliers are far too grand for me! But I would like a small house,” she said. “If you're sure that you want to live in it with me,” she added, with a painful lack of self-confidence.

His arm went around her thin shoulders and drew her close, easing her head back so that he could search her radiant face with quick, possessive eyes. His breath warmed her face. “Yes, I want to live with you,” he whispered ardently. “But not as we have. I want a much closer marriage.” His arm contracted. “I want to be your husband, my darling, in every way there is. I want to hold you in my arms every night and wake up beside you every morning of my life.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Oh, I want that, too!” she said huskily. Her gloved fingers touched his firm mouth. They trembled with the depth of her feelings. “John, I love you so!” she whispered.

Without caring about their fellow passengers, he bent and kissed her mouth with such tenderness that she shivered in his arms.

He smiled against her welcoming lips, so overcome with joy at her words that he could barely breathe. “And I love you,” he whispered back, to her surprised delight. “With all my heart. With all my soul. With all that I am, or ever will be.” He whispered the last words against her mouth as
he kissed her again, a kiss that was more than a touching of lips. It was a vow.

Murmured laughter caught his attention and he lifted his head to meet indulgent smiles from the people around them. His cheeks actually flushed, and he chuckled self-consciously as he sat up, still possessing Claire's small hands.

“The rest will have to wait,” he whispered with a wicked grin. “This is hardly the place to discuss our whole future, and we're stuck here.”

She beamed at him. “It will only be for a little while, though. In fact—”

The door to the car opened; Diane came in. She didn't look to the left or right, passing by their seat without even noticing them. Claire pressed John's fingers, got out of the seat quickly, before he could protest, and followed Diane right down to the restroom. When Diane went inside, Claire pushed right in behind her and shut the door, closing them in together.

“What…?” Diane exclaimed, grabbing her throat.

“Don't be afraid. It's only me,” Claire said gently. “You're in a lot of trouble. We know that your husband is hidden in a coffin in the luggage car. A Pinkerton man will be waiting for both of you at the next station,” she lied. “We arranged it in Atlanta.”

Diane leaned her head against the wall and let out a ragged sob. “I knew this would happen! I told him. I told him it wouldn't work!” she wailed. “He dragged me into this and made me help him. He hasn't been the same since
he took the money. He threatened me if I didn't go along with it. He said that he would provide for me handsomely if I helped him, but that I would be in great danger from that little weasel-faced man he employs if I didn't. I was afraid of him,” she confessed, her eyes meeting Claire's. “He has been cruel—and I was weak and I agreed to help him. I am lost, you see! I am disgraced, and so is my family—all because I couldn't bear to be poor!”

“Listen to me,” Claire said earnestly. “There's a reward for Eli's capture and the return of the money. It's a very large reward.”

“Blood money.” Diane sniffed. Her lovely eyes filled with tears.

“No. A reward for catching a criminal who stole money from innocent investors in his bank,” Claire replied. Her voice was earnest and quick, because John's whole future depended on gaining this old rival's help. “Think of it, Diane. You'd be a heroine. People would like you as well as pity you, because of what you endured. They would respect you for having the courage to turn in your husband, despite your fear of him.”

Diane stopped sniffling and stared at Claire with red-rimmed blue eyes. “They would?” she asked, surprised.

“Of course they would.”

Diane fiddled with a handkerchief, her eyes downcast. “It's a large reward?”

“Very large.”

“But I went with him. I'm an accomplice. I'll go to jail!”

“No, you won't. If you turn him in, you can tell them the truth—that he forced you to help him by threatening you. That's the truth.”

“Well, yes, it is. I suppose I could.” She eyed Claire suspiciously. “Why are you willing to help me? You do know that your husband is in love with me? And that when I'm free of Eli, he's going to leave you and marry me?”

Claire knew better than that, thank God, but she didn't dare admit it just now. “If you don't turn in your husband, John might go to prison,” Claire pointed out. She took a slow breath and waited. As she did, she thought about John's child, and the way his face had looked when he confessed his love. She loved him—and would have sacrificed her own happiness to give him to Diane, if that had been what he wanted. She thanked God that it would not be necessary. She contrived a wistful smile as Diane wavered, and added calculatingly, “I'd rather see him with you, you know, if that's what he really wants, than see him go to jail for another man's crime.”

“You're very unselfish,” Diane said after a minute. “I'm not. I like being rich. I like having pretty things.” Her shoulders shrugged. “I thought John would be poor, and I'd had enough of living hand-to-mouth and having my sisters depend on me for a living when they were between lovers. I married Eli because he was wealthy.” She sighed. “I never loved him. I loved John.” She looked up. “But I never loved him quite enough, did I, Claire? And I think that you do. I'm sorry he doesn't love you.”

“That doesn't matter,” Claire said, keeping her delightful
secret. “Keeping him out of jail is my only desire at the moment. Will you help?”

Diane hesitated. But she really had no choice. “Yes,” she said. “I'll help you. What do you want me to do?”

A SMALL TOWN CALLED LIBERTY WAS ALONG THE
route the train took to Augusta. While the engine stopped to take on passengers, John dashed into the station and sent a wire to Augusta, to the sheriff.

Diane went back to the mail car, carefully closed the door, and made sure the shade was down. She went and sat down beside the coffin as if nothing had happened.

“Is it all right?” Eli asked, peeping over the edge of the coffin. “You didn't see anyone you knew?”

“Of course not,” she lied prettily. She'd had plenty of practice. She even smiled. “But the train is very crowded.”

“That won't matter. The people will get off at stops all along the way. As soon as we get across the state line into South Carolina, I can get out of this thing. I'm terribly uncomfortable. I'm not wanted in South Carolina.”

She glanced into the coffin, at the bags of money. There were several, all of them stuffed full. It was a king's ransom,
and she'd just agreed to help the bank recover it. Well, she sighed, there was a reward. She wouldn't have to go to prison. She'd be free of Eli. And she'd even be able to get John back. Claire was no match for her. She smiled.

“You look very smug,” Eli muttered, wiping his sweaty brow.

“Everything is going our way, isn't it?” she asked cheerfully, and stared out the window at the passing scenery as she began to work out a happier future in the privacy of her mind.

 

W
HEN THE TRAIN PULLED
in to the Augusta station, several men in suits rushed forward, and John went out to meet them. While Claire watched from the compartment she was still sharing with Mrs. Cornwall, the men came aboard the train. Minutes later, she saw a shocked, defeated-looking Eli Calverson being led away in handcuffs. Beside him, a man wearing a star on his lapel was carrying several bags of the sort used by banks.

John came back into the compartment quickly. “Sorry to leave you here, Mrs. Cornwall, but Claire and I must get off the train and go back to Atlanta at once. Come, dearest,” he added, dragging Claire up by the hand. “Have a pleasant trip,” he told Mrs. Cornwall.

“Thank you, young man. I hope things go well for both of you,” the widow said.

They waved to her as they rushed down through the passenger car, out the back door, and down the steps to the platform. Diane was standing a little apart with two
uniformed men, weeping noiselessly into a handkerchief while her husband looked back with furious anger and outrage as he was spirited away.

“My poor, poor Eli.” Diane sniffed. “Oh, his poor mind was so twisted. He couldn't have known what he was doing, could he?” She looked up at the impressionable young lawman with a face that would have melted stone.

The young man patted her gloved hand. “Of course not. Now, don't you worry, Mrs. Calverson. We'll take excellent care of you. Here, let us get tickets for you on the train back to Atlanta.”

“Not on the same train with my husband?” she asked, with real fear. “Oh, I simply couldn't bear it!”

“No, ma'am. He'll be going on a special train,” he replied. “Don't you worry about that. We'll take care of everything. Oh, Mr. Hawthorn,” he called to John, grinning. “Are you and your wife traveling back with us, too?”

“Indeed we are,” John said. He smiled at Diane, but he had Claire by the hand and showed no sign of letting go.

If Diane was surprised by the attention he showed Claire, she handled it well. She managed a weak smile for the Hawthorns and then linked her arm with that of the young Pinkerton man and walked into the depot with him. It was understandable that John wouldn't approach her in public, she supposed. After all, they had to keep up appearances. Surely that was his rationale,s as well. She smiled prettily at the young Pinkerton man, who beamed back at her and began to talk about himself.

She encouraged him. She knew how to handle men,
and this one was no challenge at all. Men could always be flattered into doing anything if one appealed to their vanity by asking them about their jobs or their lives. It was really amazing how much unwanted information came flowing out.

She went with him to a seat on the train—far removed from the ones that John and Claire were able to get. It didn't seem to take so long to get back to Atlanta as it had to reach Liberty. In a very short time, it seemed, they pulled up under the Spanish facade of the Atlanta railroad station depot and passengers began to disembark on the platform.

 

P
INKERTONS MET THE TRAIN,
among them Matt Davis, who hadn't yet left for the home office in Chicago. But instead of taking charge of the prisoner, which another senior agent might have done, he let the young arresting Pinkerton officer take Calverson into the local jail. It made the young man dizzy with self-esteem and amused Claire, who watched him lead his prisoner away as if he'd won at the races.

“And now I really am going home,” Matt told John, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He wasn't in the trunks, so where was he?”

“He was hidden in a coffin, of all places!” John chuckled. “With his wife in the mail car beside it playing the part of the grieving widow. It might have worked, except that a real widow came and sat with Claire and me and mentioned the beautiful young widow in the mail car whose husband's coffin came aboard at Colbyville.” He shook his head. “She
didn't realize that she was solving a robbery. I suppose we should have told her. It would have made her day.”

Matt glanced past John and Claire at the dispossessed widow, around whom two other Pinkerton men swarmed helpfully. “And what about her?” he asked.

“She'll get the reward,” John said. “Afterward, I daresay she'll land on her feet.”

Matt nodded. “There's quite a sizable reward, put up by the board of directors of the bank,” he said. “I suppose you knew?”

“Yes,” John said. “They weren't too warm with their welcomes after I was released from jail,” he added darkly, “but they did bend enough to tell me about the reward they'd posted for return of the money. They seemed fairly certain that I'd miraculously produce it, given enough incentive.”

“This should satisfy them,” Matt said. He glanced past John's shoulder. “And some more reassurance is forthcoming.”

Even as he spoke, reporters from the local paper and two out-of-town ones, alerted to the railroad chase by someone in city government, rushed forward with their pads and pencils—ready to take down whatever answers they could get to their questions.

John told the story succinctly, aided by Matt Davis, and, almost at once, Diane, whose fair beauty made her the heroine of the story. At least it did until Claire's part in the chase became clear.

“You have a motorcar?” one young reporter exclaimed. “And you drove it here to the depot? May we see it?”

“Certainly you may,” Claire said, beaming. “It's at our apartment house.”

John's arm came around his wife. “And there's something else you should know about my wife,” he added proudly. “She's just contracted with Macy's department store of New York City to design a line of women's evening gowns for them.”

“Under your own name, ma'am?” one reporter asked.

“No,” Claire replied. “I use the name ‘Magnolia' on my gowns.”

There was a gasp from Diane, who went pale as she realized that the designer whose elegant creations she'd so coveted was someone she actually knew. What a pity that it turned out to be John's wife!

John himself was impressed. He'd had no idea of the name Claire used on her designs, but he'd heard enough of “Magnolia's” fame to make him feel very like strutting. The woman he loved was indeed a woman of parts. He grinned at her with pure pride. She intercepted that look and her hand tightened in his.

“‘Magnolia.' How very Southern,” another reporter said. “And now, Mrs. Hawthorn, let's go and see that automobile!”

 

T
HE PRESS FOLLOWED
Claire and John back to Mrs. Dobbs's and photographed Claire sitting in the seat of the pretty little black Oldsmobile with her fingers on the steering knob.
She arranged to have Mrs. Dobbs in a photograph with the two of them, and the motorcar, which made the little woman's day. The reporter who was the most interested in her turned out to be the only one who'd maintained John's innocence and had mentioned the charge of embezzlement in Calverson's past. Claire liked him at once and thanked him heartily for his defense of her husband.

That evening, Claire and John dined with his mother and father at the hotel. Maude Hawthorn was full of the excitement of the day, and she ran out of breath asking questions about the mad chase to Augusta to recover the stolen bank money and catch the thief.

“I still can't believe it,” she said, shaking her head. “You two are lunatics, do you know that? What if he'd been armed?”

“I had rocks in my duster pocket,” Claire volunteered.

John chuckled. “And I had a .32 Smith & Wesson revolver tucked in my belt,” he added, glancing at his wife's shocked face. “No, I didn't tell you, did I? I thought you were better off not knowing. And as things turned out, I didn't have to use it.”

“I seem to recall that you won awards in the service for pistol marksmanship,” Clayton Hawthorn interjected. He was still having a hard time talking to his son, but he'd relaxed a little this evening. He looked as if he were desperately trying to rebuild their relationship.

“I did. I miss the service from time to time.”

“My boy,” Clayton said quietly, “why don't you reenlist?”

That, coming from his father, was almost an apology. He smiled. “I don't know that I'd be happy in the service again, although I have thought about it,” John had to admit. He looked at Claire and smiled gently. “At first, I had doubts about settling into life as a banker.”

Claire didn't bat an eyelash. “I'm quite happy to go wherever you want to go,” she said happily, still keeping her precious secret about her child.

“Your good name will be cleared when the newspapers hit the street corners tomorrow,” his mother added. “And you do look so handsome in uniform.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Mother. But there's still some action in the Philippines,” he said, glancing at Claire. “There's no guarantee that I wouldn't be sent there. I shouldn't like to take my bride into a war zone, especially when she has a whole new career opening up for her. I did mention, I hope, that I'm very proud of you, Claire?”

She colored. “No, you didn't.”

“Then this is a good time to tell you that I am,” he replied, his dark eyes warm on her face. “So, it's rather an inopportune time to reenlist just yet.” He reached for Claire's hand and brought it to his lips gently. His eyes made hungry promises. “I have enough to do right here. I won't have it said that I ran, after the slur Calverson made against my character. I want to stay here at least until the scandal dies down again. Then, Claire and I will decide what we both want to do.”

Clayton cleared his throat. “Well, I'd be very happy if you both came to Savannah; you could take over the
presidency of my bank when old Marvis retires.” He shifted. “That's not a bribe. I guess it sounds like one.”

John studied his father carefully. “I'd like to be near you and Mother. I'll consider it.”

Clayton looked shocked. “You will?”

“Would you like to live in Savannah?” he asked Claire, with a loving smile.

She beamed. “Yes. I adore it,” she said. “There's so much history there. And it's right on the ocean, as well. You could force yourself to go sailing with Jason and your father. I heard about the seasickness,” she added, with a grin.

“You know about that?” he said teasingly.

She smiled. “Yes. I heard all about it in Savannah. As well as a few other things,” she added wickedly. “Like about the frog you hid in your mother's sewing basket and the worm you put down the back of Emily's dress at church. At church, of all places!”

“It livened up the service.” John chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he looked at his wife.

She was beginning to realize how little of the real man she'd ever seen. He was mischievous, she saw, and the amusement in his eyes delighted her with its promise.

She looked down at their linked hands. “But, as you said, we can talk about where to live later.”

His fingers contracted.

“And from now on, whatever you want to do with your life will be fine with me,” Clayton Hawthorn said, lifting his chin. “I'm…quite proud of you, John—and quite ashamed of myself and the two years I've wasted. I never should have blamed you for something that was an act of
God, my boy. I've accepted that now. I'm sure you grieved as much as I did.”

“That's quite true,” John said, agreeing, and his eyes were sad. “But those years did teach me how much my family meant to me. Perhaps they weren't wasted.”

Clayton's jaw tautened. “You could come and visit.”

John smiled. “I could come for Christmas, and bring Claire.”

The old man's eyes twinkled in a radiant face. “So you could!”

“You must,” Maude entreated. “It will be the most joyous Christmas, to have all my family with me!”

John searched his wife's eyes. “Shall we go home and pack?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do!”

She jumped up, oblivious to the amused looks of fellow diners. “May we go now? Right now?”

John chuckled. “Indeed we may! If we can conclude all our business, we can leave with you at midday tomorrow, if that suits you?” he asked his father.

“It suits me very well. Come and have a late breakfast with us in the morning, and we'll purchase our tickets after ward.”

 

B
UT THE PACKING DIDN'T
get done. After they fielded Mrs. Dobbs's excited questions, John locked Claire in their suite and carried her to bed. They loved as they never had before, tenderly and slowly, with such exquisite fulfillment that Claire was breathless and exhausted and hopelessly enthralled.