Spirit of the Valley (27 page)

Chapter Forty-Five

Marie's head was slightly turned as she sat at her vanity braiding her hair slowly and methodically. Her face was clean and her clothes were new, purchased yesterday as a birthday gift to herself. She wore a simple white shirtwaist with a slim gray ribbon-bow around the neck and a black-and-gray striped skirt.

At this time of afternoon, she ought to have been getting dressed for work, but everything was about to be different. No—everything was already different, because the night before, she'd told Walt she would marry him. They wouldn't leave for Baltimore until the first of December, but she couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't be a whore, not for one more day.

She'd thought about going to Saul and telling him—but he was known to go crazy when a girl left, even one who had the right to go, as she did. She'd told her closest friends and she would leave Saul a note explaining, but she was clearing out this afternoon, hopefully without seeing him. She'd packed what she needed and she was going to Walt's to surprise him. First, though, she was going to see Lizzie Carter.

Not only had the Alfords been pleased by the muffins and purchased them, they wanted whatever Mrs. Carter was willing to bake. They were also interested in her teaching their son, young Clay Alford, about baking, and were willing to pay her for it. Marie had money to pass on to Lizzie, and also possibly hope.

She stood and smoothed her skirt, pleased by how respectable she looked. Maybe she'd even stop in to see her mother and younger brothers and sister before she left. They'd not spoken in ages, but it would be good to show them what she'd become. At least, what she was about to become.

 

 

On the way back home in mid-afternoon, Jeremy sat on the train, lost in thought. After his meal, he'd gone to the newspaper in Roanoke and struck up a conversation with the editor, a man named James Page. The affable man had joked about calling the newspaper
Page's Pages
. Instead, he'd gone with the more dignified
Roanoke Daily News
. Not only was Page able to produce Morrison's obituary, which Jeremy had requested, he'd known the man's family.

“Charles was his father's heartbreak,” Page confided. “He was probably sixty, or not even, when he passed, but looked ten years older. All from Charles's scandals,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Charles had no family left when he was killed?” Jeremy asked, glancing over the brief article.

“No. Probably a good thing.”

Fortunately, the seat next to Jeremy was unoccupied. His new satchel, a large one, sat on the seat next to him and his hand rested atop it. Inside was the money—a still uncounted sum—and gifts for Lizzie and the children.

For Lizzie, he'd purchased a crimson silk robe and a wedding ring, although he'd had to guess at the size. If it needed adjustment, they would come back together. In fact, they would anyway. They'd stay at the best hotel and eat at the finest restaurants and try all the wines.

He tried to shrug off the thought as he looked out the window. For Rebecca, he'd gotten a tote bag made of canvas, leather, and fabric for transporting her schoolwork back and forth. It was the perfect size, and he'd added a pad of paper bordered with daisies and a pencil bag full of pencils and an eraser.

For Jake, he'd purchased pots of modeling clay and a baseball. There hadn't been bats small enough for him, but Jeremy would make him one. By the time he started school, he would be ready to keep up. At least at recess.

Buying the gifts had been a great joy and he'd looked forward to giving them. He still did, only . . .

He looked down at his impressive new satchel, highly polished leather with brass buckles. Inside it was his smaller satchel with the money. How much, he didn't know, but it was enough to provide security for a long, long time. Except it wasn't his money. He didn't know who it belonged to. Maybe no one, but it had only fallen into his hands by a twist of fate and because of a cheat. A cheat who'd tried to cheat him. But that didn't make it his money. Forty-three dollars was his, plus extra for the trouble of the train trip, but he'd spent more than that already. So, what was he to do with the rest of it?

Spend it? Hoard it? Use it wisely? Why shouldn't he? Most people would. He wondered if most people would feel so conflicted about it.

 

 

Marie felt giddy as she turned onto Main, because she'd snuck away from Saul's without detection. There would be no confrontation and there would be no going back. All she had to her name were the possessions and small amount of cash in the travel bag she carried. She'd left all her risqué clothing, face paint, and accoutrements behind for her friends, as she had no need of them any longer. She'd left the vile tonics, her womb veil, her long-handled sponge, and the ingredients for her after-intercourse douche behind.

When she reached the church, she stopped briefly. In Baltimore, they'd find a friendly church and they'd go on Sundays. In a few years, she could picture her fair-haired young son clutching the hand of his father while she held her dark-haired infant daughter in her arms. Her son would look like his father and her baby girl would look like her. Only her little girl would be smarter and much better cared for than she'd ever been. Her children would never know what she'd been. They would only know her as their sweet, gentle mama.

She meandered through the cemetery to Jenny's grave and stopped, wondering how different things would have turned out had she not drowned.

 

 

Jeremy stopped in the shade of an ancient oak because, across the cemetery, Marie was standing at his family's gravesite. He'd been planning on going there himself, but he didn't want to encounter her. Instead he turned and headed toward Emmett's office.

 

 

Marie walked on until she saw the train station to her right. The train was there, and passengers were boarding while others, having just arrived, dispersed. A few walked away, stiff and distracted with the business at hand, while others strolled with loved ones, all bright smiles and happy chatter. She watched people waving good-bye to whoever was behind the small gray windows of the smoke-belching train.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” a man said, stopping before her. “Are you from this area?”

He thought she was a lady and so she smiled a serene, restrained smile. “I am.”

“Can you direct me to the Greenway cottage?” he asked.

Her smiled slipped and her heart began to hammer. It was he. It was the man Lizzie was afraid of. “It's that direction,” she replied, trying to sound calm and natural despite the fact that she was telling an out-and-out lie.

He blinked. “Where's the town?”

“In that direction.” She pointed.

“I thought the Greenway cottage was east of town. That's what I was told.”

She shrugged lightly. “I can't tell one direction from another, but I've lived here all my life. The Greenway place is maybe a mile that way.”

He looked aggravated, but tipped his hat to her and walked on. Going toward town. She lifted her skirt slightly and hurried to warn Lizzie.

 

 

Rebecca saw Jeremy and ran for him. She reached him and hugged him, which was a wonderful feeling. “What are you still doing in town this late?” he asked.

“We practiced for the Christmas pageant after school. Did you just get back?”

“I just got off the train. I'm going to go see Mr. Rice for a little while, but will you tell your mama I'll be there soon?”

She grinned, nodded happily, and hurried off, full of purpose.

Marie reached the crooked tree, and hurried over to stash her bag behind it since she'd be able to walk faster without it. She set it down behind the tree where it wasn't noticeable, then turned and found herself face-to-face with a livid-looking Mr. Ray.

“I guess you know my wife?” he asked accusingly.

“N-no,” she stammered.

“Liar,” he said, giving her a vicious shove backwards.

Her foot caught on a raised root and she was propelled backwards without control. Her head hit the trunk of the tree and she lay stunned. Mr. Ray stepped into view, glaring down at her, and then turned and walked away. She tried to sit up, but only made it a matter of inches. She felt warm blood seeping down the back of her neck. She tried to get up, but she couldn't. Everything was strange, slanted and moving slowly. So skewed. So very skewed.

 

 

“Jeremy,” Emmett said, rising from his desk and extending his hand.

Jeremy shook it. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”

“I've got an appointment in a quarter of an hour, but you can have until then.”

Jeremy sat, but was suddenly at a loss for words.

“Something wrong?” Emmett asked gently. “I mean, something other than the obvious. I know what you've been through.”

Jeremy sighed. “When I was in the mine, trapped—”

Emmett nodded.

“I thought of something. I had . . . sort of a dream, and I remembered this man who owed me money. He was a gambler. He lost several hands and ended up owing me nearly fifty dollars. This was in August.”

Emmett nodded again, all ears.

“The man claimed he had the money back in his room, but he didn't. Then he said he'd bring it back, but I didn't trust him, of course.”

“Understandable.”

“So, in the meantime, I kept his watch and this silver snuff box. He wanted them back real bad. Begged me not to pawn them. He said they had sentimental value. The man's name was Morrison. Charles Morrison. He swore he'd get the money to me in three days, but he didn't.”

“The man owes you money,” Emmett said, “says he'll get it to you in a matter of days. In the meantime, you hold some of his valuables for collateral.”

Jeremy nodded. “But he didn't return. So this morning I took the train to Roanoke to find him, because he said the money was there in the bank.”

“Sounds like a man who talks a lot and means very little of it,” Emmett said.

“Yeah, only he did have money in the bank.” He leaned over and opened his satchel and pulled out the smaller one from within. He handed that to Emmett, who took it with a bemused expression until he looked inside. He looked up at Jeremy sharply.

“When I got to Roanoke, I went to the sheriff first. He told me Morrison had been shot and killed. I saw his obituary. Morrison died not a week after he left here.”

“That would explain his failure to reappear. If he'd ever had the intention.”

“Oh, he would have come back, because there were keys hidden in the snuff box I took from him.”

“Keys?”

Jeremy nodded. “I didn't understand what they were for at first, but then it all came together when I left the sheriff's office and started thinking about the bank. Morrison said he had the money in a safety deposit box.”

“Ah, the key was to the box.”

“Keys. To the boxes. Yes. So I found the bank and asked for the boxes and they were filled with that,” he said, nodding at the satchel. “I took it.”

“Did you claim to be Morrison?”

“No. I said I wanted to get inside a safety deposit box. The banker asked what number and I told him. I knew because it was on the key. Then he looked it up in a ledger book and asked me the name. I said Morrison. I didn't say I was Morrison.”

Emmett pondered. “He asked what name was on this account and you told him.”

Jeremy nodded.

Emmett glanced in the bag again. “How much is it?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I didn't count it.”

Emmett looked regretful. “If Morrison has family—”

“He doesn't. I made sure.”

“So, why have you come to me?”

“It's not my money,” he said, knowing full well how foolish the predicament was. He'd gone after the money, collected it, and there it was. But he couldn't keep it. He'd spent too many years paying for one crime to go and commit another. It felt like a test, and he wasn't about to fail when he had everything to look forward to right now. He would find another way to survive. “I guess I came for your advice about what to do with it. What's the right thing to do?”

Emmett leaned back. “Did this Morrison have debts that you know of?”

“He was a card cheat. The sheriff said a dozen men had showed up looking to collect.”

Emmett pondered a few moments. “But he had no family and there's probably no way of tracking down who's owed what.”