Snow Angel (22 page)

Ben shook his head, opening the next one. “Nothing is beyond him now. Your father must have been paying him, somehow intercepting our letters and his, and then giving you
these fake letters. He was leading us all along, controlling our every move.”

“But why?”

Ben looked helplessly at her, his eyes slashes of pain. “I don't know … to keep you apart. He's been controlling our whole lives, Jane.”

Jane hung her head, her arms protectively crossed over her stomach in her lap.

Ben slowly unfolded the next letter. Jeremiah apologized profusely, not blaming anyone for the accident, like some guardian angel whose wings were clipped, who was being guided and duped by evil, blissfully ignorant but completely undeterred. It seemed while recuperating he'd met a woman, a widow with four children, and had married. He was living in Illinois now, had enclosed his new address, which Jane had never known about, and was ready to take back up the challenge of finding Elizabeth, even going to the extreme of posing as a custodian to glean inside information. Jane could only shake her head, lips compressed in shock.

The next letter said that Elizabeth had been at the school and she'd recently been adopted. Could Jane come to the school and demand the name of the adoptive parents?

Jane's eyes filled with tears. “I could have gone. She must have been twelve or thirteen then, and I could have gotten her back.”

Ben just stared at her, sharing this shock. He looked through the remaining letters. Unable to endure any more, he picked up the last one … the one Jane had already opened but not read. He read it silently, knowing he had to shield her from further betrayal. A deep quiver moved over his body as he read
it. He looked up into her shattered eyes, his head tilted to one side, a sheen of tears in his own. “Jane, he says they've found her. He says the letter inside explains everything.”

Jane took a quivering breath. “When? Is it too late?”

Ben shook his head. “It's dated only a month ago. From the state of Washington.” He opened the small, grubby letter that had been tucked inside the neatly folded one. Ben cleared his throat as he read.

Ben's voice faltered, but he quickly read on.

He looked up at Jane. “It's signed Margaret Dunning.”

Jane clutched the edge of the sofa with one hand and held the other against her mouth. “Could it really be? After all this time?”

“I don't know.” He studied the letter then looked up at her. “After everything he's done, I fear this is another trick. What if this,” he motioned to the letters with his arms, “what if it's all
a grand plan to destroy you? What if he's destroyed Elizabeth already?”

Jane stared open-eyed at him. “Oh, my.” She inhaled. “What if he's killed her, leading us on this chase to nothing but a grave?”

Jane sank down from the divan onto the highly polished floor. She stared through blurry eyes at the wood grain, seeing in its patterns an evil face, feeling the malevolence rush over her, as if her father were still alive and here, breathing, watching, in this house with them.

“And I'd just forgiven him,” she whispered into the room.

We have to reply immediately to the Dunnings' letter. A telegram. And Jeremiah Hoglesby, we must write and tell him everything.” Ben stood, fury and deep resolve in his steps as he helped his wife from the floor.
He
would not forgive Howard Greyson for this abomination. Not ever.

“If she's alive, we'll find her,” Jane said. “We will find her, won't we, Ben.” It wasn't a question.

Ben looked hard into his wife's eyes, the wife he'd almost given up hope of ever having whole. And now, years later, as they'd found their quiet way together, he saw it all crumple into the fine sand it really was. They would never have anything as long as this evil ruled over them. It had to be stopped; it had to be resolved. It was
his
battle now, now more than ever before, and he would see Howard Greyson's sneering eyes fade from their lives and lie with his body, dead to them. He would end it one way or the other, but they would not live another day waiting. His patience was at its end.

“We will find her.”

He walked over to the desk, his wife's elegant desk that ill-fitted him but that he had loved because it was one of the first things she had chosen in her determination to pick up the pieces of herself and her life. He sat in the spindly chair, loving the elegant curve of the wood on the back, remembering her excitement when she'd brought it home, his breath catching anew as he remembered the shadows leave her eyes in that moment. His throat clogged as he poised the pen, then he swallowed it and narrowed his eyes, every muscle tense for battle. “To the Dunnings, we'll say …
Interested. Stop. Will be on next train to Seattle. Stop …
”

Jane stopped him. “We're going ourselves? Together?”

Ben nodded once. “Yes. And if we have to spend every dime your father left you to find her, we will. We won't stop until you see her face.”

Jane wept. “God help us,” she wailed toward him, toward heaven.

“Yes. God help us.”

* * *

“HAVE YOU EVER seen anything like it?” Jane breathed as they pulled into the Seattle train station. She had been saying that exact phrase over and over as they crossed the country. The trains going west were bulging with men, and it seemed they were all affected with the same sickness—gold fever.

“I suppose the closest thing I've seen to this is when Gloria Parkins let us pay her a penny to see her drawers,” Ben drawled and then gasped as Jane's sharp little elbow poked him in the ribs.

“I'm sure that didn't hold a candle to the gleam in these fellows' eyes, my dear. I've never seen anything like it. Do you think any of them will really strike it rich?”

Ben shrugged and stood up as the train came to a stop. “The odds are slim. Only a handful really strike it rich during these rushes, but each man here thinks he'll be among that handful, so who knows?” As he eyed his wife he added, “I see that gleam in your eyes, Jane. Don't go getting any ideas. We're getting too old to scale frozen mountains.”

Jane moved ahead of him, following a young man dressed in miner's garb, carrying a heavily loaded canvas pack, and clanking his way down the narrow isle, and whispered, “Speak for yourself, Ben Rhodes.”

Ben laughed, thinking she was right. She probably could scale a mountain if her daughter was on the other side of it. She was looking younger every day, vitality of purpose filling her face and her body with energy. They should have done this years ago.

As they came to the door, they paused and looked out at the city. Each town they had stopped at had its own distinctive feel, a personality it seemed. Seattle looked intriguing, sophisticated. Not like the last few dusty western towns they had stopped at, most of them looking as if they were thrown up in a day and made from tumbleweed. This town had a look of permanence about it.

“Just smell the air, Ben. It's so clean. Doesn't it smell of pine and the sea?” She took a deep breath, moving down the steps of the train onto the wide platform where they collected their luggage. “I suppose we should find a hotel and get something to eat,” she said wistfully.

Ben smiled, reading her well, as he always did. “Yes, we should. We'll look up the Dunnings first thing in the morning. I, for one, would like a bath. I feel as if I haven't had one in days.”

Jane smiled. “That's because you haven't.” Shaking her head she said, “I'm just so anxious. I won't ever be able to sleep tonight.”

With his arm around her lower back, Ben led her to the waiting hackney and whispered in her ear, “I'll do my best to keep you occupied in your sleeplessness.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING brought with it rain and gusty winds. Dressed in long, black coats with their black umbrella raised above their heads, Ben and Jane followed the directions the hotel clerk had given them and picked their way through the side streets to the Sweet's Hotel. Finding the street name they turned, walked up the windswept, narrow lane toward the foretold blue sign.

“Ben, are you positive of our directions? This place looks so …”

“Seedy? Yes, it does. But, it seems we found it, so the directions must be right.” Turning, they walked up the wooden-plank steps and through the door. The entry looked to be a parlor room done garishly in red—a faded and stained red carpet, red draperies, and dark paneling making up the backdrop. The furniture was of red-and-gold damask, with dark mahogany frames, the kind in Jane's Great Aunt Eulalie's house, a place she had hated to visit as a child because it smelled of old people and the lemon oil and vinegar that her aunt used to clean everything. This room reeked of tobacco and something else distasteful that Jane couldn't quite put a name to. Taking a firm grip on her elbow, Ben pulled her further into the room and cleared his throat.

A blonde woman appeared. Her girth was squeezed into a tight, pink chiffon evening gown that swayed dangerously from side to side as she approached. “Yes?” she drawled. “Would you like a room?” She was looking at Ben like she would like to have him for dinner.

Jane cleared her throat, gaining her attention, but only for a moment. “We are Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes from New York City, and we have come to see the Dunnings, Margaret and Henry. They telegrammed us that they were staying here. Are they still here?”

The woman eyed her and then Ben again, pouting her lips. “Sure, they're here.” She touched her hair and tilted her head. “Are you friends of Henry's?”

She was looking at Ben again. “Not exactly, Mrs… . ?”

“Oh, Miss Hart. But you can call me Bess.”

Jane resisted the urge to grit her teeth. “Miss Hart, are you employed here?”

Irritated eyes shifted momentarily to hers. She shrugged an exposed, plump shoulder and grudgingly answered, “Why yes, would you like me to tell Henry you're here?”

“Please, and his wife. We would like to see them both,” Ben said with authority.

Bess motioned to the chairs. “Just make yourselves comfortable, and I'll see if they're up … that is, if they can see you.” With an exaggerated sway to her hips, she made her way up the stairs. She would have been disappointed to learn that Ben wasn't appreciating her efforts, as he was busy dusting off one of the chairs.

Jane sat beside him with a
humph
and said, “Tell me this isn't a brothel, Ben.”

Ben raised his eyebrows, looking around. “At one time it may have been, judging from the decor. But it's only a seedy hotel now. I never would have brought you had I thought otherwise.”

“If the Dunnings were here, I would have come anyway,” Jane muttered.

“No doubt.”

They stared in tense silence, hearing only the loud ticking of a clock as they waited. After what seemed an eternity, Bess came back down and said, “They're ready. You can follow me.”

At Ben's nod they followed her down a narrow hall and into a small room at the back of the building. Jane sighed in relief at the spare furnishings and simple embellishments. She had feared the deeper they ventured in the house, the more brothel-like it would appear. Sinking down into a chair, she summoned a smile. “Miss Hart, might we have some coffee while we wait?”

Bess seemed more amiable after her visit to the Dunnings'. “Of course, ma'am. And some tarts if you like. Freshly baked, apple or blueberry.”

Glancing at Ben, Jane shook her head. “No, thank you, Miss Hart. Just the coffee will do.”

The door had just closed when it opened again. In walked a tall, reedy man, his face gouged with pockmarks, his hair thin and gray. Standing beside him was a gaunt, hard-looking woman. Her face hung in lines of bitterness. Jane felt her heart lurch. Fighting down feelings of despair, the inability to connect these two with her precious child, she forced a smile and stood with her husband. Ben regained his composure first and in his usual friendly way extended his hand. “You are the Dunnings, I presume?”

Henry shuffled his feet and handled the brim of his hat, nodding, his eyes darting around nervously. Margaret eyed them with a greedy glitter. “Yes, sir, we are. Margaret and Henry Dunning you're talkin' to.”

Jane felt as if nothing escaped those beady eyes and shivered. Ben drew her forward, her arm stiff as she reached out to shake their hands. “This is Jane, my wife, and I'm Ben Rhodes. Please, sit down. Coffee should be here any minute.”

After they were all settled, Ben began his interrogation. “Your letter indicated that you adopted a girl from the Illinois State Orphanage.”

Margaret nodded, quickly agreeing. “That we did, sir. She was nigh on twelve when we got her. Pretty thing, wasn't she, Henry?”

Henry jerked his attention to her and scowled. Speaking for the first time, he said loudly, “We did the best we could by her. Times were tough and we might 'ave worked her a mite hard, but she thrived.”

Jane sought and found Ben's hand for strength. Her eyes closed briefly for a moment before she could speak. “You said her name was Elizabeth. Could you describe what she looked like?”

Margaret was quick to answer. “She was the spittin' image of you, ma'am. Only maybe a bit prettier, beggin' your pardon, ma'am.” She smiled, revealing black rot on her teeth.

Jane turned her face toward Ben's in a silent plea for help. She hadn't known this would be so difficult.

Ben squeezed her hand. “You say she looks like my wife. Can you be more specific?”

Margaret shrugged. “She had black, wavy hair. Thick and unruly it was. Fine, creamy skin. I never could figure out how it stayed so nice out in the goldfields like we was … but she always did insist on a big hat. Wore one o' Henry's most of the time.”

“You made a living mining gold?” Ben asked incredulously.

Henry roused himself to answer. “Farming wasn't feeding us anymore. We had to do somethin'.”

Jane's eyes sparked as she asked quietly, “If you couldn't feed yourselves, why adopt a child and have another hungry mouth?”

Margaret stepped in. “Now listen, we done all right by the girl. She wasn't mistreated.”

Ben squeezed Jane's hand again and took over the questioning. “Your letter also said you saw a paper with the name Elizabeth Greyson. Can you tell us more about that?”

Margaret answered again. “Well, the day we went to pick her up at the orphanage, we were left in the office there for a bit, and layin' on the desk was her papers.” She shrugged. “I was curious what they said and so was Henry. Seein' how he can't read, I sneaked a peek. I only made out the name Elizabeth Greyson, then I heard them coming back and sat myself back down. They told us at the orphanage her name was Elizabeth Smith—till we changed it to Dunning, that is. Does the name Greyson mean somethin' to you?”

Margaret looked hopeful and though Jane didn't want to confirm it, she did. “It's my maiden name and the name Elizabeth was given at birth.”

The gleam was back in Margaret's eyes. “Well, if you don't mind me sayin' so, I think you've found her.”

“We've found her,” Jane repeated softly to herself.

Ben leaned forward, intense. “Not quite, Mrs. Dunning. Where
is
Elizabeth?”

Margaret and Henry exchanged glances. “Well, lookee here,” Henry interjected, “we heard there was a big reward for that kind of information. We'd like to see some of the cash before we go and tell what we know.”

Jane felt Ben's muscles tense for the battle and relaxed inwardly. Her husband was one of the best legal minds in the country. He could handle the Dunnings.

“There is a … reward,” Ben said smoothly, “but only for the safe return of Elizabeth Greyson.” He looked steadily at Henry. “Not for information.”

Margaret perked up. “Well, you won't be findin' her without our information. And we ain't sayin' where the chit is until we see that reward money.”

Henry looked at her and scowled.

Ben just stared at her. Calmly he laid it out. “We, of course, are interested in finding the young woman you say is Elizabeth Greyson and desire to know her whereabouts. On the other hand, you have no proof of your claims and could be misrepresenting the facts for your own personal gain. This being the likely case, we shall have to be assured that the girl in question is indeed Elizabeth Greyson before you see the reward money. Is that perfectly clear?”

They both nodded as if spellbound. Henry hesitated and then ventured, “But sir, we can't stay on in this hotel without somethin'. We've been living on credit with the hopes of gettin' this money soon. Couldn't you spare a small sum to tide us over?”

Ben contemplated the man. “Three hundred dollars for the whereabouts of this young woman. After that, you will have to wait until her identity has been confirmed.”

Margaret drew a wrinkled paper from her pocket and handed it to Ben. “I suppose that'll do for us until you find the chit. Now this here is a telegram we received from that investigator we hired to find Elizabeth.”