Treasure Me (22 page)

“The story is true. I told Birdie myself.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t the first. She’d already heard about the gems.”

His announcement coiled the moment so tight it came to a standstill. Birdie considered strangling him even if it wasn’t in keeping with the holiday spirit. What was he doing? She’d told him about the clues in the strictest confidence. How dare he betray her?

There wasn’t time to figure it out, not with Theodora regarding her. “You don’t say.” She stared unblinking, an owl spotting prey. “Birdie, who told you about the rubies?”

She tried to think past the terror shorting out her brain. No dice.

Hugh obligingly spoke up. “She heard a rumor—she’s not sure where. Something about Justice leaving behind a clue to the location of the rubies.”

Oh, God. He was about to reveal the clue handed down in her family. It was part of her family lore she treasured. He paused before her, his devil-dark gaze churning with an indecipherable flood of emotion.

“I’m not sure I remember the lines. How do they go, Birdie?”

His voice became mellow, like wine, diffusing the anger between them. The change came too quickly, so quickly that Birdie couldn’t protect herself by drawing her gaze from his. The lines of poetry were sacred. He knew they were important to her. All of the emotions she’d hidden away moved swiftly through her expression and she couldn’t halt the peeling back of her hard exterior or hide what was revealed underneath. Hugh muttered a curse as her lower lip trembled and her eyes grew wet. Then he cradled her face between his palms. His scent wove around her, musky and deep, and she swayed toward him as if he’d become her center of gravity.

Bending, he nearly brushed her lips with his. “What were the words?” His eyes were dark and inviting. She dove in willingly. “Liberty safeguards the cherished heart?”

He said the words sweetly, in a low voice that thrummed across her skin. Longing stole through her, unwanted and potent. He was traitorous and cruel.

He was the only man she’d ever needed.

Behind them, Theodora made a tiny sound of surprise. Inside her cowboy boot, her left ankle wobbled. Her knees gave way.

Hugh lurched sideways, catching her in mid-swoon. With a gargled cry, she snatched for his shirt. The moment she was anchored by his sturdy arms, she tried to find her feet.

“Theodora?” Birdie grabbed her other arm.

Above the cowboy hat, Birdie connected with Hugh’s worried gaze. A heart attack? It wasn’t possible. Nothing shook the old woman. She was indomitable.
Please—not a heart attack
. The prospect of Theodora in real danger filled Birdie with fear. The old woman had only recently come into her life. She wasn’t ready to lose her.

Surprisingly, Theodora lurched away from Hugh and toward her instead. Startled, Birdie grabbed hold. Their entwined hands were oddly mesmerizing, the raisin-skinned fingers with arthritic knobs at their base wrapped firmly around Birdie’s pale hands. Theodora murmured something like a prayer, low and sweet.

Her hat fluttered to the ground. Hugh let go, allowing Theodora to rest her head on Birdie’s shoulder.

Thrilled she’d been chosen, Birdie protectively steered her to the nearest truck. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No, no—just give me a moment.” Theodora released a flutter of air.

“Take all the time you need.”

They stood together for long minutes. Hugh sprinted off, returning quickly with a glass of water that Theodora waved away. A man trudged past dragging a small fir tree, his cheeks shiny with perspiration, and hoisted it onto the hood of a truck farther down in the convoy. With a few strips of electrical tape he attached the tree to the windshield. How the driver of the truck would see in traffic with his view obstructed was anyone’s guess.

Appraising his ridiculous stab at decorating, Theodora murmured choice words. She appeared to regain some of her usual vigor.

She glanced suddenly at Birdie. “How much do you know about the Civil War, child?”

“Not much,” Birdie admitted, relieved to see she was doing better. “I’d love to hear whatever you’re willing to share.”

The comment must have pleased the old woman because she hurried on. “It was a dark time in our great nation’s history. Good folk torn asunder by the war. White folks, too.”

Hugh retrieved her hat and handed it to her. “For the record, the abolitionists were white. They helped Justice.”

“Yes, but she didn’t tell anyone about the rubies. Not right away. She had two bags of gems, more jewels than you can imagine. My, how they sparkled! Worth more than the average man makes in a lifetime, I figure.”

Transfixed, Birdie shut out the clang of Finney’s bell charging up the street and the impatience oozing from the waiting crowd. The rubies must be worth tens of thousands. No. Hundreds of thousands. Maybe half the jewels of France were buried right here in Liberty.

“Now, Justice understood the value of the gems entrusted to her,” Theodora continued. “Those rubies were the foundation of her new life, a life of freedom. She didn’t squander them buying useless notions or fancy dresses.”

“Did she sell them?” Birdie asked, unable to stop the words from bounding forth.

A speculative gleam lit Theodora’s eyes. “Justice was a clever woman. Like Hugh mentioned, an abolitionist helped her. His name was Henry Williams.”

Birdie recalled the first time Theodora mentioned the rubies, in the restaurant. “Henry Williams owned a farmer’s bank around here, right?”

“That’s right. His kin still live in these parts. Landon Williams?”

Theodora leaned close, as if Birdie’s reply held some importance. The name wasn’t familiar. But Hugh must have heard of Landon, because he looked distressed. Quickly, he donned a poker face.

“Henry let Justice use the gems for collateral,” Theodora continued. “The money she borrowed paid for every brick in The Second Chance Grill.”

“Every brick,” Birdie murmured, recalling the clue she’d found in the patriotic bunting.
Brick by brick, my love. My life built alone, without you.

“When the restaurant became profitable, she repaid Henry and got the rubies back.”

“So she didn’t sell them?” Hugh asked Theodora. He stared pointedly at Birdie. “She didn’t sell them to a pawn shop or anything like that?”

“Only a fool would do such a thing! Those rubies were a bond between her and the man she loved. To even think such a thing!”

Chagrined, Birdie licked her lips. If she found the rubies she wouldn’t hesitate to sell them. They were merely a tool she’d use to build a new life. What they’d once represented to Justice wouldn’t matter.

No—it would matter. It did matter.

A tumult of emotion poured through her. What if she could build a new life right here in Liberty? Given half a chance she’d like to stay near Theodora. Maybe she’d convince Hugh to stay too. Everything Justice represented—her goodness and her pride, the way she’d arrived in town with nothing but her hopes for a better life—Birdie thought for a fleeting moment that she’d do the same. She’d make more of herself than she’d ever dreamed.

Foolish hopes. She didn’t possess Justice’s strength of character or her ability to transcend the lot she’d been assigned in life. Only a person of worth deserved such a chance. Justice had earned a better life through a thousand unimaginable struggles. And Birdie? She’d come into the world the child of thieves, grasping and wanting and taking. She’d go out the same way.

Thankfully, she was spared hearing any more of the story.

Blossom ran toward them. “Hey! Dad says you’ve all got to get out of the way. The parade is about to begin.”

* * *

From her bedroom window, Theodora watched the night steal the last of the sunlight from the sky.

Though the parade was long over, she couldn’t calm the hornets swarming through her insides. She pulled the ruffled curtain across her bedroom window, closing out the darkness. One by one she turned on the lights, then smoothed the lace coverlet on her four-poster bed. Her thoughts were still jumbled as she entered the walk-in closet, where she kept the safe.

Liberty safeguards the cherished heart.

Where could Birdie have heard the words?

For a long moment she stared at the safe, her mind leaping and running in a fitful way. Working herself into a state wouldn’t do. One way or another, she’d get to the bottom of it.

Finally, she calmed down enough to work the dial on the safe. The heavy door swung open with a groan and she removed the leather bound volume.

Returning to her bedroom, she sat in the rocking chair and placed the book in her lap.

Tenderly, she ran her fingers across the buttery leather. A world’s worth of pain was encased inside. And love—there was certainly love. Every question she’d ever struggled with in her long life, every hope and every dream—these pages spoke to them all.

Liberty safeguards—

Until now, they’d been her words alone. Hers, and the babies she’d brought into the world, and the babies who’d come from them. Pride was stamped on every page. And reasons. There were so many reasons to live honorably and with dignity. These words anchored her, and her kin.

But Justice’s diary belonged to them all. The wisdom on each page was meant for her entire family, black and white. She opened the book and let her vision blur above the pretty handwriting.

Until now, she’d thought of Birdie Kaminsky as both an irritation and a pleasure. A cocksure child who liked to hear stories about the past when she wasn’t hurling zingers like firebombs at anyone who stepped on her toes. And she knew with a deep, unshakeable certainty that there was more to Birdie than she’d imagined.

Hugh closed the file on the Kaminsky family that Fatman had given him at the hunting lodge. He was still shaken after his run-in with Birdie yesterday at the parade and didn’t relish another upset, this one with Anthony. To top it all off, the librarian was glaring at him as if she knew he was stalling. The library was about to close. He was already late for the interview.

Steering his car through the Square, he tensed beneath the guilt gnawing at his guts—guilt put there by the questions Birdie had thrown at him at the Festival of Lights. What she’d said was true. The article he’d written fourteen years ago about Landon Williams had led to Cat Seaver’s death. Now Hugh was again writing an article sure to destroy another family.

And what of Theodora’s comments? She’d tossed out a real stunner when she’d mentioned Landon still lived in the area. Given the publicity he’d endured, he should’ve moved away. Negative media exposure uprooted people, sent them scuttling from the limelight. Yet Landon was still in town.

Night shadows pooled on North Street. Slowing his car, Hugh tried to pull himself together. Lights from the row of houses flung a diamond-sharp brilliance across the hard-crusted snow. Birdie had been right to get in his face—he was the last person capable of rehabilitating her. Hell, he couldn’t even keep his own life together. He kept repeating the same mistakes.

For a long moment, he wrestled with his reservations about investigating one of Liberty’s most cherished citizens.

Problem was, he liked Anthony. It was a stretch to say they were friends but he admired the type, a man who was steadfast and decent. What if Birdie was correct? Anthony’s reasons for taking the cash might be understandable, if not quite legal. During the interviews Hugh conducted last summer, he recalled the entire Perini clan going into hock to save Blossom during her long battle with leukemia. The donations flowing into the websites from people across the States… would anyone care if some of the cash repaid the mountain of debt Anthony carried?

In the strictest sense, there’s no crime here
. He pulled into the Perini’s driveway and cut the engine.
I won’t be writing an exposé. It’ll be a public lynching of a good man.
Wearily, he climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell.

Blossom threw open the door as if she’d been waiting for him. “Mr. Shaeffer, come in!” She pulled him inside. “Dad says we can’t vote until you hear the choices. Democracy in action. Don’t worry—you get to vote, too.”

What was the kid talking about? Handing over his coat, Hugh looked around. “Where’s your dad?”

“In the living room with Mary. C’mon. They’ll give you the lowdown while I go back upstairs. I have a gazillion emails to return.”

“Then you’d better get to it.” Following the girl to the living room, his guilt morphed into a soul-killing agony.

Leave now
. He spotted Anthony and Mary together on the couch. Anthony was hunched over a sheaf of papers on the coffee table.
Call Bud at the Register. Quit
.

Mary looked up at Hugh and smiled. “Aren’t journalists supposed to be punctual?” Rising, she gave him a quick hug. “I have calls from patients to return. If you’d been much later, I would have missed this.”

“Sorry for the delay.” Uneasy, he chose a chair across from them. “How’s your medical practice?”

Mary returned to the couch. “Growing by leaps and bounds. People were going out of town for basic medical care. The drive was especially hard on my older patients.”

“I’m glad it’s working out.”

Oblivious to their conversation, Anthony pulled a document from the pile. “Found it.” He handed it to Hugh. “Mary created a spreadsheet before we left on our honeymoon. We should’ve organized the deposits earlier. At least we finally got to it.”

Curious, Hugh glanced at the neat columns of numbers cramming the page.

“Blossom helped Mary put it together. Most of the cash went into short-term CDs.”

Mary added, “With three banks involved, there’s been a lot to track.”

Floundering, Hugh looked from one to the other. Banks? CDs? “You’ve lost me,” he admitted.

Anthony took back the document. “Remember the websites we put up to help my daughter?”

Hugh kept his face blank even as his heart raced. “Of course.”

“Well, we didn’t,” Mary interjected, laughing.