Time Is a River (31 page)

“What are you implying, Mrs. DeLancey?”

“What am I implying?” She lost all her composure, pointed her finger at Kate, and screamed, “I am
telling
you Kate Watkins murdered my husband!”

The room erupted in angry shouts. Kate’s father, sitting beside her, silently held her hand. Amid the roars, Mrs. DeLancey and Kate stared at each other like two lionesses about to pounce, one hysterical, the other as silent as stone.

Mr. Pace sighed and leaned back in his chair. Mia thought the memory might be tiring him. She handed him his glass of sweet tea and waited while he sipped some. When he was done, she waited patiently until he was ready to come back to his story.

“Afterward, nobody thought it did Kate any good to be so stoic,” Mr. Pace continued. “I never in my life saw Kate cry, but I thought a few tears might have done her some good that afternoon. I felt the shift in public opinion. People walked into the room saying ‘Poor Kate’ and walked out saying ‘Poor Camilla.’ In matters of the heart, sympathy usually goes to the wronged wife.”

“Who else made statements that day?” asked Mia.

“None that day. But the sheriff had already talked to several other folks. The hotel maid remembered seeing DeLancey that night. The trainmaster collected his ticket. I guess he didn’t have his fancy rail car anymore. Most notable was that waiter, Arthur…” He scratched his ear. “I can’t remember that fella’s last name. He worked at the inn for years. He was a lean, rangy man, nervous at being questioned.” He sighed and let the name go.

“Apparently Kate and DeLancey had dinner at the inn that night. He claimed they often had dinner together when Mr. DeLancey was in town. Said how they were always polite. Never any hanky-panky. Except that night, they’d been arguing. She said some angry words at him, then took some piece of jewelry from around her neck—a pendant or locket—and threw it at him. He remembered that. She just threw it at him and left. Arthur made it crystal clear that Kate Watkins left the restaurant alone that night. And Theodore DeLancey remained at the inn drinking.”

Mr. Pace sighed heavily and he looked at Mia with cloudy eyes. “That summed things up right then and there as far as I could see. Kate left for home. DeLancey stayed at the hotel. End of story.”

“But it wasn’t the end, was it?”

“No, ma’am, it was not,” he conceded. “Just like the rain, the rumors and gossip kept coming. Everyone was told to go home. The next day Sheriff Dodds said there wasn’t enough evidence to declare Theodore DeLancey dead and that he’d be listed as a missing person. This wasn’t welcomed by Mrs. DeLancey, to be sure. Her lawyer went on about favoritism and incompetence. They left in a huff. Good riddance, that’s what I thought. We had enough of our own problems to deal with. The Central Bank in Asheville had just closed its doors.”

Mia sat back in her chair and went through in her mind all she’d just heard. “I’m confused, Mr. Pace. With this ruling, how did Kate get the reputation as a murderer?”

He answered in the manner of a man who had been asked this question many times over many years. “That’s the thing about gossip and small towns. There are facts and then there’s what the public chooses to believe. This case was tried and the verdict delivered not by the sheriff but by those out-of-town reporters—from New York, Philadelphia, Boston. They didn’t listen to the evidence. They heard a lead or a juicy tidbit and then sensationalized it in their own version of the truth. You heard of yellow journalism, haven’t you? These guys were as yellow as it gets. They wrote about the seemy side of the story. The juicier the story the better, because scandals sell newspapers. The papers had headlines about the big fight DeLancey and Kate had the night he died and Mrs. DeLancey’s pointing her finger at Kate and saying she murdered her husband. Changed a lot of folks’ minds about her. I always figured that was her intent from the beginning. Revenge, if you catch my meaning.”

“Why did they attack only Kate?” Mia asked, feeling the injustice of the woman always being the target.

“Oh, they went after DeLancey, too. The newspapers portrayed him as some rich playboy and made Kate out to be some wild mountain woman. Cartoons showed him like some dandy, Kate in rawhide pants and her dark hair flying. Camilla DeLancey, with her gold hair and pale skin, was the ideal vision of the wronged, saintly wife.

“Found out a lot about DeLancey, though. They made him the poster boy for the rich, pampered society boy of the twenties brought low by the crash. He was richer than I’d ever imagined, and I’d imagined a lot. I don’t know if you young people today can imagine the splendor of that time. The Vanderbilts and the Groves, folks like them lived that kind of life right here in Asheville. It’s never been the same since. Not anywhere in this country.”

Mr. Pace scrunched his face and waved his hand in dismissal. “I saw it for what it was. Idle gossip to take the people’s minds off the real trouble they were in. Banks were closing everywhere. Those reporters didn’t give a damn about DeLancey or if he was ever found. They sure didn’t care about Kate Watkins or her reputation.”

“So, DeLancey’s body was never found?” Mia asked.

“Nope. No one ever found out what happened to that poor fellow. There were reports of him being spotted in California, but that was months after. Crazy stuff. Never proved.” He shrugged and his whole body sagged with the effort.

“What convinced the sheriff to drop the case?”

“No evidence, plain and simple,” Mr. Pace replied. “Again, you got to remember the times. Men who lost their money were checking out. We’d hear tell about how some men jumped out the window in New York. There were eleven suicides by noon on Black Thursday. A lot of others slowly drank themselves to death. But some others just disappeared.”

“What happened to them?”

“I mean they just left!” he said in exasperation. “They couldn’t make it in the new life that fate dealt them and took off. It was the Depression and a lot of men became hobos, going from town to town, riding the trains, looking for handouts. A few of them were men keeping one step ahead of the insurance investigator looking for them. They just disappeared and no one ever saw or heard from them again.”

“Do you think that’s what happened to DeLancey?”

“Could be. I’m sure the sheriff considered that possibility. As for me? No. I knew him. I don’t think he could’ve left Kate. His wife, yes. I didn’t believe for a minute that hooey she said about him leaving Kate to return to her. She said that for spite. I never knew a man love a woman as much as DeLancey loved Kate.”

“Then what do you think happened to him?”

He shrugged again, noncommittal. Mia got the sense he was keeping his own counsel on this topic.

“You don’t think she killed him?”

Mr. Pace shook his head firmly. “No,” he said quickly. “I knew Kate Watkins as well as any person and she would have killed herself before she killed him.” He sighed. “But she couldn’t do that, either.”

Mia suddenly understood. “Because she was pregnant!”

“Right.”

Mia reflected on Kate’s silence in the courtroom, enduring in silence the slurs on her reputation and the accusations of DeLancey’s wife. “Did she know throughout that she carried his child? Did DeLancey know?”

“I don’t know. I would’ve married her,” Mr. Pace admitted. “I was just a kid, barely out of college, but I truly loved her. I always had. But she wouldn’t have me. She told me she wouldn’t let me ruin my future by tying myself to her. She tried to be brave and spare my feelings, but I knew the real reason was because she still loved DeLancey.” He wiped his eyes and seemed embarrassed. “Forgive an old man’s tears. I never told anyone that before. Must be losing my mind in my old age.”

Mia was deeply moved by his admission. She looked at Mr. Pace and tried to see him as a young man of twenty-three, stricken to see his dear friend and idol’s reputation in tatters, loving her enough to harbor dreams of rescue. Chivalry was the noblest of sentiments, she thought.

She blinked and Phillip Pace aged again in her eyes, becoming the very old man who had given her his time generously. He was, she realized with sadness, the only person living today who knew the characters in this saga. He was looking off, seemingly preoccupied. His shoulders slumped and his eyelids drooped over opaque eyes. She was about to thank him and say good-bye when he surprised her with his final thoughts.

“Kate’s silence was her own worst enemy. She never spoke up in her own defense. You hear me? Not once. She was silent throughout. I never understood it. The headlines read:
What’s She Holding Back?
Soon, that’s what the folks around here were asking as well. Eventually, they arrived at their own conclusions. The public believes what it wants to believe. That’s the way it was back then. And the way it is now. The result of all the fumbling of the investigation and the later accusations was to start gossip, launch rumors, and spread suspicion thick as glue.”

“And it stuck,” Mia said in conclusion.

“Yes, young lady. It did.”

“But she didn’t kill him! He was a missing person.”

“You can’t prove she didn’t kill him, just like you can’t prove she did.”

“What can be done now?”

“Missy, without a body, you’re right back in nineteen twenty-nine.” He indicated the rain streaking the library windows. “Rain and all. You don’t have any evidence—you don’t have any story.”

There was a long silence in the room. Mia slumped back in her chair and let her notebook slip to her lap. Her hands lay still over it. She looked up at the ceiling, her lips pressed tightly together to stop any embarrassing tears. She’d spent months searching for answers to this puzzle. She’d interviewed people, researched the library and the newspaper microfilm, enlisted the help of others. And despite all her digging she really had uncovered nothing solid. Why had she been so drawn to it? She’d gone after this story despite Belle’s request that she let it lie.

Mia closed her eyes as her heart sunk. Belle was on her way home now and she was going to be furious with her. She would find out that Mia had been snooping around, getting everyone talking about her grandmother. Mia put her hands to her eyes. She had been so sure she would find some evidence that would exonerate Kate Watkins once and for all. But she’d run out of time. She’d failed.

There was no proof that Kate Watkins did kill Theodore DeLancey. But neither was there evidence that she did not. All the parties involved were dead. The truth was buried with them.

B
elle came in like a hurricane. Her eyes were dark thunderclouds with lightning bolts flashing from them and Mia stiffened as she walked into the cabin, feeling the cold gust of confrontation whipping in with her.

Mia wanted to run for shelter. She’d been curled up on the velvet sofa, sipping tea and reading
Reel Women
, by Lyla Foggia, a book about heroines in the history of fly-fishing. She’d heard the crunching of tires coming up to the house and had thought it would be Stuart. He often stopped by unexpectedly. She’d unwound her long legs, set aside her book, and rose to her feet to open the door.

Belle was polite when Mia welcomed her in but her stiff smile, her cool, controlled voice, and her body movements as she walked past her into the cabin were all red-flag warnings of a storm coming. Mia stretched her hands at her sides as she joined Belle in the center of the room. Belle stood with her arms crossed against her chest. She wore khaki pants and an olive green shirt with her business logo emblazoned across her pocket. Her red hair was braided and looped tightly around her head. She didn’t even look around the room and Mia felt a sting of disappointment that she hadn’t noticed any of the improvements she had made. The rainy day made the room darker, so she went from lamp to lamp, turning on lights.

She returned to stand a few feet before Belle, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “So, Belle,” she said with forced cheer. “Did you see the gravel drive? And the walkway? What do you think?”

Belle appeared nonplussed to be asked. “They’re nice,” she said bluntly. “I thought you didn’t have any money.”

Mia was caught off guard by the ungracious response. Her mind stumbled for a reply. “Well, my husband—Charles—bought my half of the condo. That gave me some cash. I…I wanted to do something to say thank you to you for letting me stay here.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.” She smiled again and lifted her arm to indicate the cabin. “How do you like the place? Looks good, don’t you think?”

Belle remained stationary but she moved her head to look briefly around the room. Her gaze lingered on the watercolors, but she didn’t comment.

Mia felt herself stiffen as she walked to the fireplace mantel, unnerved by Belle’s fractious attitude. Picking up one of the hand-painted china plates, she said, “My sister came up and she took a sample of the china and silver back with her to Charleston. The china dates back to the twenties and the dealer believes it was done by a local artist. He’s checking into it further, but it might well be valuable. And the silver! Belle, you have a treasure there. Estimates are coming in, but you stand to do very well.”

She pressed on, talking nonstop. “The furniture is good, too. They’ll need you to bring it into the shop, however, so they can inspect it to make certain that it’s straight—unaltered or refinished,” she amended. “Maddie says to tell you it’s definitely worth the effort. Oh, and Belle,” she added, drumming up enthusiasm, for Belle seemed uninterested and unimpressed with her report. “I saw a painting at the Watkins Lodge Manor House of your great-grandfather Robert Watkins. Right behind him, in the painting, is the armoire! So you have a record of its provenance.” She paused as Belle’s face grew tight. Her stomach clenched, realizing too late that she had opened the door to the storm.

“So, you went to Watkins Lodge?”

Mia nodded.

Belle ruminated, pursing her lips and choosing her words. “Mia, do you remember that conversation we had here, before I left for Scotland?”

Mia’s stomach rose to her throat, choking her. She swallowed hard.

“I asked you at that time not to look into my grandmother’s life. I thought I was very clear. Yet today, when I went to Watkins Mill, I picked up a copy of the
Gazette
. And what do you think I saw staring out at me on the front page? Something tells me you know.” She made no effort to hide her scorn.

“And when I asked about them, I learned the newspaper has been running a series of the articles for weeks.” She continued, her anger ringing in her words. “People couldn’t stop talking about them. No matter where I went my grandmother’s name was on everyone’s lips. And all of them told me that it was you that started it all.
You.
” She flung the last out accusingly.

“The articles are good,” Mia said defensively. “They let people know who your grandmother really was. Not the monster they thought she was.”

“You had no right to do this!” Belle exploded. “I’m so upset I can’t even articulate what my feelings are, they’re so raw. You came to me. You asked for my help and I took you in, let you stay in my cabin. I was there for you. And all I asked of you was to lay low. I didn’t want my family business stirred up. You went behind my back while I was out of town and did exactly what you wanted to do. I can’t begin to understand this invasion of privacy. I thought we were friends.”

“I did it for you!”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t do this for me. You did it for yourself.”

Mia stepped back as though struck. This was so close to the truth she had to own it, but it also stirred her up enough to stop cowering and speak her mind.

“Yes, in time, I did,” she replied. “You invited me here to help me, I know that. I’m eternally grateful. When I arrived I had no idea who your grandmother was or any interest in her.” Mia stretched out her arm indicating the cabin. “But here I was, surrounded by her things, and you have to admit, there are some incongruities here that make one wonder who your grandmother was. So I started looking around. I had no agenda.”

“And then I asked you not to pursue it. Mia, that’s a weak argument.”

“You’re right. But that was just the beginning. It grew and took on a life of its own. That same day you told me—I’ll never forget it—you said that your grandmother was nothing but a shame to get past. I felt a shiver go through me, it was so cold. But you went on and told me your story and how your mother never sold this property. How she paid taxes on it, even though she didn’t have much money. Do you remember what you said then? You said you were going to hang on to the property for a while until you could figure out why she did that.”

“So you were going to find out the answer for me.” Belle’s sarcasm was a sharp swipe.

“Yes. And for me. I thought if I could uncover the truth, find Kate’s true identity…”

Belle lost her patience. “You’re looking for Kate’s identity? Come on, Mia. Whose identity are you really looking for?”

Mia felt herself numbing up.

“I know your type,” Belle said bitterly. “You try on new identities like you try on a new outfit. You wanted to be a fly fisher and you put on the clothes and the gear and think that’s all there is to it. This whole thing with Kate Watkins was just a new thing for you. Some sport. You didn’t think about how all this would affect me. It was all for you.”

The injustice of the accusation was so sharp Mia felt stabbed by it. The pain literally took her breath away and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then her own fury rooted in her core. It swirled up in a fulcrum and tore from her throat.

“That’s a lie! Another lie! There are so many lies in this town everyone is blinded by them. You told me that fly-fishing is all about the senses. But you’re so shut down when it comes to your family, you won’t hear the truth, won’t see it when it’s standing smack in front of you. Look around you. This place is filled with clues to your grandmother and you won’t even look at them. You want to throw them all out. Belle! Pay attention! The townspeople are not talking scandals about your grandmother. They’re celebrating her. They aren’t pointing fingers at you, they’re opening their arms.”

“Celebrating her? They call her a frigging murderer! They drove my mother out!”

“A long time ago, yes. The town chose to believe the scandals and lies about your grandmother rather than the truth. They were wrong to do so. But you condemned her, too, based on the stories your mother told you. I don’t know why your mother left but it wasn’t because she was mistreated. It’s only her version of the truth.”

“Who are you to tell me about my mother? Or my grandmother? They’re not your family.”

“She might not have been my grandmother but I’ve come to love her. And let’s talk about family. Your mother didn’t defend her. And you didn’t, either.” Her anger flung out the accusation with more intensity than she’d intended.

Belle bowed up. “No, I did not,” she roared back. “Why would I? Do you think I haven’t thought about what my mother went through? I had to live with those painful memories all of my life. Day in and day out. I don’t want to go back there!”

“But you did come back!” Mia cried.

Belle’s face contorted and she turned and walked to the window to look out. Mia could feel her lion’s struggle for composure. It helped her regain her own.

“Both you and your mother turned your backs because of your hurt and your pride,” she said gently. “Don’t turn your back now. All families struggle with truth and lies. Family secrets. Your family is no different, only more public because of your family position. My mother told me there were three sides to every story. His, hers, and the truth. I was only trying to get to the truth.”

Belle didn’t reply.

“Give Kate a chance. She’s your grandmother. She really was amazing. You don’t know who she really was. And it’s a shame. Because you’re so much like her.”

Belle spoke evenly, her back still to Mia. “You speak as if you knew her. You don’t know her.”

“Yes, I do. She’s here. If you opened your heart you would know she is. She’s crying out from the grave.”

Belle turned around. Her face was cold but her dark eyes gleamed like volcanic glass as she flung out one final insult. “You’re plumb crazy. Hearing voices—”

“I’m not hearing her voice,” Mia replied, not rising to the bait. “I’m reading her voice.”

The time had come. Mia took a breath and walked directly to the library shelf. She had to give up the diaries now. Belle needed them more than her. She opened Kate’s diary and took out the sealed envelope from Mrs. Minor. Then lifting all three volumes she walked to Belle and handed the books to her.

“What’re these?”

“Kate’s diaries.”

Belle looked stunned. “Where did you find them?”

“Here. In the bookshelf. They were wedged behind some other books. One is a diary written by Kate when she was a girl of twelve. The other is her fishing diary. It’s a marvel and it spans over twenty years. When you read them, you’ll hear her speaking to you. The last is her father’s fishing diary. That’s more perfunctory, but still, it was done by your great-grandfather, Reverend Walter Watkins.”

Belle lifted the cover of the diary and perused the girlish script. As though the emotion was too strong, she snapped the cover shut and looked at Mia. Her dark gaze was unreadable.

Mia reached out. In her hand was the long envelope, curled at the edges and wrinkled from time stored in a box in Lucy Roosevelt’s attic.

“And this is a letter that was written by your grandmother to your mother. It was never delivered. Old Mrs. Minor held on to it for years. Unfortunately, she died before she could give it to you. Her daughter asked me to do that, so…”

Belle looked at it, then stuck out her hand and took it. She looked dispassionately at the envelope. Then Mia saw a faint softening of her features as she ran her finger across her mother’s name. She turned it over and saw that it was sealed.

“I’m surprised you didn’t open it and read it.”

It was a low blow, but not altogether undeserved. Mia didn’t reply.

Belle put the letter into a diary, then looked up, her face impassive. “This doesn’t change anything,” she said. “It’s time for you to go. There’s a storm coming, but when it’s passed, I’d appreciate it if you’d pack up and leave the cabin. Right away.”

Mia felt like she’d been punched and was trying to catch her breath. A silence fell between the women. Mia looked at Belle and found her unrelenting.

“Thank you for the time you gave me,” she said sincerely. “I’m sorry I caused you any pain. That was never my intent. I’ll leave as soon as the storm is over.”

“That would be good. I’d appreciate it if you left the key on the table.”

Belle was gone. Once again, Mia was alone.

She went to the bookshelf and ran her hand along the empty space where the diaries had lain. Only an outline of dust remained on the shelf. Mia felt their absence like a pall. She looked around the room at the watercolors that were her visual diary of her time spent here. Each one spoke to how she showed up every day saying yes to the universe.

One by one, Mia removed the tacks and took the watercolors down. She stacked them neatly on the table. They resembled pages of a book, and she knew someday in the future she would look at them again and read the story there with fresh eyes. Looking around, she thought the cabin felt void, empty without them, as though she were already gone. She felt that Kate was gone, too. She no longer sensed her presence in the cabin. Mia wrapped arms around herself and walked from room to room. On the final round she stood in the middle of the cabin and called out, “Kate? Kate, are you here?” She looked at the empty space on the bookshelf, the unadorned wood walls, and the rain streaking the windows like tears.