Sadie's Secret: 3 (The Secret Lives of Will Tucker) (17 page)

Sadie recovered in time to say, “Honestly, Daddy, I have never seen Uncle Penn do anything the least bit suspicious. He goes to zoos and museums and draws lovely sketches in his notebooks just like I do. Art is our shared interest, as is travel. If that is suspicious, then you and I have a different definition of the word.”

Daddy looked her square in the eye. A muscle worked in his jaw. “As I said, that just means he’s good at what he does. I knew I shouldn’t have gone along with your mama when she said you could go up to Chicago to study art.”

“Art history, Daddy. There’s a difference.”

“It took you away from River Pointe, so it’s all the same to me.” He paused. “And I still say Penn Monroe’s up to no good.”

Sadie sighed. Better for Daddy to suspect Uncle Penn than her. Better still if the subject could be changed to anything else.

Outside the carriage, the ancient buildings and narrow streets of the familiar French Quarter were behind them. Ahead was the river, and beyond that the land showed itself lush and green.

“And while I’m on the subject of my sister’s husband,” Daddy continued, “don’t you wonder what he told me about why he came back to Louisiana without you?”

She schooled her expression but couldn’t manage to look her father in the eyes. “Actually, it hadn’t occurred to me to ask, but now that you mention it, I am curious. What did he say?”

Daddy made a snorting sound. “Not much at first. Then I insisted he tell me where my girl was or I was going after you.”

Sadie could easily imagine that conversation taking place. What she could not figure was how Penn might respond.

“He told me that a matter of importance caused him to hurry back here. ‘A matter of importance,’” he repeated with some measure of emphasis. “I ask you, what is more important than seeing you home safely?”

“Well, Daddy, you did say he was a spy. Perhaps it was a matter of great importance.”

“I don’t care what his excuse was. I was ready to get on the next train north, and then I found out you were heading home. Good thing too. Of course, I know the flooding slowed you down.”

“Yes,” she said truthfully. “There were certain difficulties in the railroad schedules.”

“A derailment north of Shreveport too. I thank the Lord you weren’t on that train. Anyway, you’re here now, no thanks to the man my sister was fool enough to marry.”

The carriage slowed to turn onto the River Road. Inwardly relieved that Penn’s excuse was at least accepted if not approved of, Sadie inhaled deeply of the fresh air, a welcome change from the cinder-filled train and the smells of the city.

She exhaled slowly. Indeed, it was a beautiful spring evening in Louisiana.

“You sound content to be back here,” her father said.

“I suppose I am.” And she was, if even for just a few quiet moments. “What have I missed while I was away?”

Daddy shrugged. “Got two new foals from the bay mares, and the Southern Pacific Company’s decided to build a railroad siding over on the eastern side of our land.”

“That will be convenient.”

“And the Trahan boy, he’s come home from Tulane. Your mama would know more about the topic, but I believe he’s planning on setting up his medical practice soon.”

When she did not comment, he continued. “You remember him, don’t you? Fine boy. A hard worker at the sugar mill before he took himself off to college.”

Of course she remembered Gabriel Trahan. He had stolen her first kiss at the parish fair. Not that it had meant anything. They were practically babies at the time.

Unfortunately, Mama and Mrs. Trahan had never managed to forget. In the years that followed, the conniving pair had taken every opportunity to encourage another kiss.

Or, rather, an engagement.

“Not you too, Daddy,” she protested.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Gabe is a fine man. A good man.”

“And no doubt he will make some woman a good husband someday.”

“That’s what we’re counting on,” he said under his breath. “You know you missed Jeanette’s wedding.”

“I sent my regrets.”

“I understand George will be taking on a job at his father’s law firm. He’s a Harvard man, but I believe he studied the law at Columbia.
Several fine fellows he introduced me to at the wedding inquired about you.”

Sadie sighed. More likely it was the other way around with Mama or Daddy—or both—talking her up to whichever unmarried fellow would listen. The fact she’d missed the nuptials of the decade, as Mama had referred to the Lapeyre–Waugh wedding, was a blessing.

Rather than allow discussions of weddings and available bachelors to continue, Sadie decided a change of topic was in order. “Tell me about the new foals. Are any more expected? And what sort of new gadget is Ethan trying to get you to use in the sugar mill?”

And thus the topic was happily changed. For as much as Daddy wanted to care for her—and apparently that meant renewing his resolve to find her a husband—he was a horseman at heart. And a planter.

With very little effort on her part, Sadie was able to keep that topic going until the massive iron gates of Callum Plantation came into view, but as soon as she saw those gates, she sighed again. She was home. For all the good and the bad that the word meant, she was home.

The drive to the house took another five minutes as the road wound through sugarcane fields and past the sugar mill, where Daddy’s machines ground more sugarcane into sugar than what human labor had once accomplished. Those who came and went through the doors of Callum Sugar and Refining were employees who were loyal and well paid.

For Daddy had long ago discovered that one went with the other. The cluster of white frame cottages off in the distance also testified to his belief that those who were given more than a job tended to stay longer and work harder.

As a child, Sadie recalled playing with the children who resided in those cottages. Recalling the cozy spaces where boys and girls bunked two or three on a mattress at night made her vast canopy bed with its carved headboard and blue silk curtains seem terribly lonely when the shadows fell.

So she had turned to books. And later, to art. Neither were good substitutes.

After a few more curves in the road, the vast white marble home that formed the center of Callum Plantation came into view. She knew the
path ahead by heart, and yet each time she returned and saw the lush canopy of two-hundred-year-old live oaks marching like sentinels down the avenue, her heart soared.

Home. Again the word pierced her heart and settled her mind all at the same time.

The carriage turned down the last quarter-mile toward the front entrance of Mama’s grand palace on the river. Twenty-eight live oaks. Twenty-eight equidistant columns spanning all four sides of the massive mansion.

Peering out from between the columns were four windows on the top floor and four more on the ground floor below. Each window was flanked by shutters of deep green latched closed only in times of severe weather or the odd cold spell that touched this part of Louisiana.

In the center, upstairs and down, were double doors that opened onto wide porches. Delicate iron lace framed the balcony above and kept those who wandered too close from landing on the lush green lawn below.

Home.

Sadie sighed. How many secrets had she hidden there? Too many. And yet here she was returning with even more.

As she stepped out of the carriage, she glanced up at the balcony to see curtains fall back into place. Likely her mother had been sitting by the window awaiting the carriage’s return for some time. She was vigilant, her Louisiana-born mama, and she was a prayer warrior who would have been petitioning the Lord on Sadie’s behalf ever since her only daughter stepped on the train to Chicago.

The double doors opened downstairs, and three of her brothers poured out onto the wide porch, followed close behind by most of the household staff and two of Daddy’s hunting dogs. The entire assemblage hurried down the steps toward her, the boys calling her name, the dogs barking, and the rest of the group offering broad smiles.

Oh, but it was good to be home.

Daddy came up beside her and placed one arm around her waist. “Welcome back, Sarah Louise. I hope you’re not considering an escape anytime soon.”

Her father’s use of the word “escape” made her cringe even as she
quickly turned her expression into a smile for her family. For that was exactly what leaving Callum Plantation felt like every time she passed through the gates with her traveling bags beside her in the carriage. An escape.

From what, she didn’t bother to consider. Not when there were necks to hug and laughter with a generous dose of the cook’s fried chicken and shrimp gumbo still to be had inside the only place she could truly call home.

No, the need to escape would sneak up on her slowly, gradually. Would seize her like a thief in the night, grasping at her throat until she felt as if she could not breathe unless the carriage was heading away down the River Road with her inside.

Thirteen

J
efferson pushed away from the table, the pile of oyster shells and empty plates indicating an evening well spent. As firelight flickered across the polished wooden floor, he rose and gestured for the Pinkerton agent to follow him across the wide center hall to his grandfather’s library, where his box of evidence and case notes was waiting unopened on Grandfather Tucker’s desk.

He let out a long breath of relief. At least John hadn’t tampered with it.

A fire had been lit there as well, rendering the room much more comfortable than it might otherwise have been on this chilly night. Kyle gravitated toward the mantel and the array of items placed there by Grandfather Tucker that no one yet had dared remove.

Edging a pair of miniature bronze Civil War cannons and a judge’s gavel out of the way, he picked up a silver-framed miniature of a woman wearing the formal gown of a Mardi Gras queen and held it up to the light. “A beautiful woman. Your mother?”

“My grandmother.” Jefferson smiled as he took a seat behind Grandfather’s massive desk and then reached for the humidor. As expected, the staff still kept the box filled with the late judge’s favorite cigars.

While Jefferson had never taken to the vice, tradition dictated that he offer one to his guest. “Thank you, but no,” Kyle said as he returned the miniature to its place on the mantel.

Jefferson closed the humidor’s lid and set it aside. Moonlight filtered through the open shutters of the floor-to-ceiling windows, mingling with
the golden glow of the fire to turn the multicolored carpet a rich silvery shade.

Of all the rooms in Grandfather’s home, this was Jefferson’s favorite. The lone place where he felt well and truly at peace.

“You’re certain your grandmother has seen John recently?” Kyle said when he had settled across from him in a leather chair beside the fire.

“She may be near to ninety and confined to her bed, but her mind is as sharp as yours or mine. According to Granny, my brother was last here some eight or ten days ago. She based this on the fact that while she appeared to be napping, she saw John rifling through her jewelry cabinet.”

Kyle met his gaze. “That would fit the profile. I don’t suppose she called the police.”

“You suppose incorrectly. Granny was insistent that a report be made, even though it doesn’t appear that John escaped with anything of value.”