Beyond All Dreams (31 page)

Anna would have broken down in tears if she wasn't so furious. For the first time since she was twelve years old, she wanted to curse and scream and hit another person. How could Luke
betray her like this? Whatever happened to the
Culpeper
had to be important or he wouldn't have been showered with such high positions to keep silent. She spent the rest of the afternoon working on mundane questions in the map room. It looked like she was going to be a librarian for the rest of her life, and she would waste no more time daydreaming about marriage with Luke Callahan.

The scent of beef stew greeted her when she returned to the boardinghouse. She wasn't hungry, nor was she in the mood to make small talk with the women around the dining table. Walking down the dim corridor toward her room, she clutched Luke's tourmaline key ring, trying to ignore the squeezing in her heart. Women like her had no business with flashy gemstones. She'd get rid of it tonight and go back to her plain iron key ring.

Something was wrong with the doorknob to her room. Her key didn't insert into the lock properly. She pushed harder, and a bolt fell out of the knob, screws and pins scattering on the floor. She pushed the door open.

Oh, sweet heaven . . .
It looked like a tornado had blown through her room. Her clothing was piled on the floor, books tossed about and splayed open, her bedding peeled back. The room had been ransacked.

She walked on shaky legs to her bed, sank down on her knees, and pulled the box from underneath the bed. It was so light she didn't even need to lift the lid to reveal the truth, but she did anyway. It was empty.

Luke had stolen her father's letters.

All the women at the boardinghouse expressed outrage at the plundering of her room. They came running when Anna staggered downstairs to alert Mrs. Horton that their room had
been robbed. Most of the women went dashing to their own rooms to see if they had suffered a burglary as well, but they soon returned. Anna and Mrs. Horton's room was the only room plundered.

“We shall take a complete inventory of what has been stolen,” Gertrude said, propping a pencil over a pad of paper. Despite their close scrutiny of the room, it appeared her father's letters were the only things missing. Mrs. Horton folded the clothes and restored the room to order while Anna sat limply on the bed, feeling like Luke had slapped her.

Had Luke personally ransacked her room or had he sent some anonymous henchman to do his dirty work? Not that it mattered. He had been the one to order it done, and that was all that ultimately mattered.

“Why would someone want your father's old letters?” Mrs. Horton asked.

All Anna could do was shrug. She couldn't tell anyone about her suspicions, for Luke's warning still echoed in her mind.
“If you don't
stop this, they will squash you like a bug beneath
their heel.”
Everyone concluded it must have been young hoodlums out to make mischief. Mrs. Horton took it all in stride, but Anna was too upset to stay the night in her room. Grabbing what little cash she had, she fled to Neville's house.

She wasn't going to let Luke stomp on her. Mrs. Zanetti knew the truth, and if it took traveling up to the Yukon to drag it out of her, that's what Anna would do.

When Neville responded to her knock, she pled for the chance to speak with him privately. “It's about the
Culpeper
,” she whispered. “It's important.”

“Come on inside,” Neville said. “I've already told Margaret everything about it.”

Anna was appalled, while Neville only shrugged. “We're get
ting married,” he explained. “Margaret and I don't hold secrets from each other. Married people tell each other everything.”

“You're not married yet.”

“We're going to be,” he said. “And I can't wait.”

The joy on Neville's face made Anna feel even lonelier. Still, the fact that he'd already blabbered about the
Culpeper
to Mrs. Norquist made it easier to sit in the kitchen and recount the recent events as the landlady prepared dinner. Neville sat beside Anna at the small table, slicing carrots and onions while Mrs. Norquist stood at the stove stirring a pot of Brunswick stew.

“If I go to Canada, I know Mrs. Zanetti will tell me what really happened,” Anna said. “It's probably the only way I'll learn the truth.”

“Be logical,” Neville cautioned. “You'd have to quit your job to travel that far. You'll never find another position to compare with the Library of Congress.”

“Probably not, but I'll lose my mind if I don't figure out what happened. I think there's a chance my father is still alive. I can't go through the rest of my life without knowing.”

“How much will it cost to get there?” Mrs. Norquist asked, not looking up from her stew. Anna didn't know, but anticipation quickened her heartbeat when Neville and Mrs. Norquist exchanged looks.

“We've got the money, if you need it,” Mrs. Norquist offered.

Anna's eyes widened in surprise. She didn't doubt that Mrs. Norquist wanted to see the back of her, but train fare to Canada would be steep and it wouldn't be a permanent solution to removing Anna from Neville's life. Anna would return to Washington in short order.

“I want to know the end of this story too,” Mrs. Norquist admitted. She set the wooden spoon down to stare out the kitchen window, her stern features softening a bit. “It's like getting near
the end of a great novel and not being able to read the last few pages.”

And for the first time since learning of Neville's marriage, Anna caught a glimpse of why he was attracted to Mrs. Norquist. The woman's eyes shone in a way that was reminiscent of Neville himself. The same quirky humor, the same relentless curiosity.

“Let us know if you decide to go,” Neville said. “We'll figure something out.”

It was a tough decision. For six years Anna had defined herself as the map librarian at the Library of Congress. If that was lost . . . well, what else was there? She'd never be Luke Callahan's wife, or probably any other man's wife. Her one foray into a romantic relationship had showed her to be a disastrous judge of character.

That night she moved into a hotel. She couldn't bear to sleep in the room plundered by either Luke or one of the navy's thugs. Over the following days she wrestled endlessly with how to proceed. Quit her job and venture into the wilds of Canada? Or stay in the safety of her room on the top floor of the library and never learn the answer to the greatest mystery of her life. Through it all, a grinding sense of loss haunted her.

It was a physical ache that weighed on her heart, making it hard to breathe. She'd opened a piece of her soul and shared it with a man she thought she loved, and nothing would ever be quite the same. How could she have misjudged Luke so profoundly?

She visited the library's grand reading room each day to scan the Washington newspapers, looking for any mention of Luke Callahan. She skipped over the tedious stories about the unending squabbles between Spain and Cuba and went straight to the social pages, which made a regular feast of political high society. Apparently, Luke was flying with a very exalted crowd
these days. He'd been to dinner at the White House. He'd dined at the home of his former archenemy, Speaker Cornelius Jones. He'd even escorted Speaker Jones's unmarried granddaughter to the opera.

Charming. Absolutely, positively charming. Anna wondered if steam was coming out of her ears. It wasn't that she was jealous. No, she was just furious and hurt, and she hoped Cornelius Jones's granddaughter was as homely as a mule.

Luke never visited the Library of Congress anymore. The man who had once whiled away his lunch hour with books of romantic poetry now had better things to do with his time. She stomped all the way back upstairs to the map room.

She had to know what had happened to the
Culpeper
. This howling ache could no longer be ignored. There was a chance her father was still alive, and she needed to find him. At the very least, she would make contact with Mrs. Zanetti and learn the truth of what happened, and she didn't trust the US Postal Service or the telegraph system to allow that contact to happen. That meant she had to go to the Yukon.

She used her lunch hour to trek to the Potomac train station. The clerk was a little put out at being asked to figure out the price of a ticket to the Yukon Territory, but Anna assured him she would wait while he calculated the cost. The train station wasn't heated, and she tugged the flaps of her coat together while the clerk paged through a series of schedules, making notes on a pad of paper as he calculated the fare. Her toes were freezing by the time he pushed the paper beneath the window to her.

She gasped at the figure. No matter, for she would find the money somehow. All her life Anna had sought out the answers to questions, and this was the biggest unsolved question of her life. She was going to find the answer, even if it meant traveling all the way to the Yukon Territory.

T
he pounding on her hotel room door awakened Anna from a deep slumber and made her shoot upright in bed. Someone was trying to break in to her room! She clutched the sheets to her chest, looking frantically in the dark for an escape. The flimsy doorknob twisted and shook as someone tried to force the door open, but thankfully the lock held.

“Anna, open the blasted door!”

It was Luke. She ought to be relieved, except that he sounded furious and it frightened her. He jerked the doorknob again, following it with more pounding.

“Anna! Open this door or I'm getting the Capitol police to haul you out of there.”

Could he do that? She sidled up to the door, still flustered from the rude awakening. “Calm down,” she said, trying not to let her voice tremble as badly as the rest of her body.

“Anna, I need you to open this door so I can talk some sense into that stubborn skull of yours. Apparently it's gotten so thick that common sense can't penetrate it, so I'm here to help you with that sorry condition.”

Curiosity began to ease her nerves. She pulled on a dressing robe, clutching it to her throat, than yanked the door open. He glared daggers at her. Without asking permission he pushed his way inside and kicked the door shut.

“The Yukon Territory?” he bellowed, towering over her with scorn glittering in his eyes.

She raised her chin a notch. “I gather someone has been eavesdropping on me again.”

“Someone has been eavesdropping on you since last October, when you sent that first letter to the navy.”

In a strange way, it was comforting to know it hadn't all been her imagination. “It's none of your business if I want to travel to Canada. I haven't done anything wrong.”

Luke grabbed her elbows, lifting her until her face was only inches from his. “You're playing with fire and you need to
stop
,” he said, giving her a shake before letting her go.

She rubbed her arms and took a few quick steps back. “Yelling at me won't solve anything.”

Luke drew a steadying breath. “If you don't stop, you're going to awaken a sleeping dragon, and I won't be able to protect you. You don't know what you're dealing with here.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can't.”

Anna glared at him. “You lied to me about the
Culpeper
.”

“Yes.”

That surprised her, but she couldn't stop digging now. Not after she caught that hint of regret in his voice. “Why?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“It appears Speaker Jones is very grateful for your newfound loyalty. Dinner at the White House, fancy committee appointments. Tell me, is his granddaughter pretty?”

“She's eight years old,” he said flatly. He stalked over to the
window to look outside with a stony expression. He braced his hand against the window frame, tension making the cords in his neck stand out. She waited for him to speak, but all she could hear was the rasp of his breathing.

“Cornelius Jones and I disagree on many things, but beneath the political disagreements, he's a good man. He's fighting for a noble cause, and I am his ally now.” He turned to face her. “Do you understand? He and I are
united
now. This is the most important battle of my life and I can't let you interfere.”

“Even if it means lying to my face.”

“Yes.” His eyes darkened, sympathy radiating from them. “I'm sorry, but yes.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and forcing himself to look her in the eye. “I wish I had never agreed to help you with the
Culpeper
. I wish I had never learned the truth. But, Anna, please believe me, the one thing I have not lied about is your father. He died in 1882.”

His voice became soft as he spoke the words. Tears blurred her vision, because she believed him. The tiny flame of hope that her father might still be alive flickered out and died. Her bold, courageous father was never coming home. Her face crumpled, but she refused to give in to tears. This conversation was too important for her to lose her composure now.

“Tell me,” she begged.

“Anna, you don't want to know. Please trust me on this.”

“Too bad. I
need
to know.”

He shook his head. “I was brought into confidence because the government wanted me to persuade you to let the
Culpeper
and her sailors rest in peace. Only harm can come from resurrecting the truth of what happened. And I wanted to protect you from the truth. But maybe once you know, you will agree to leave the story alone. Forget it for all time.”

“Tell me,” she repeated.

He glanced around her room—the rumpled bed, the stack of books on her bedside table. He crossed the room and turned the spines of the books toward him. He spotted a Bible at the bottom of the stack and pulled it free.

“Put your hand on this Bible and swear to me, and swear to God, that you will never tell another living soul what I am about to say.”

Her eyes went wide, sensing she was on the verge of finally learning what had happened to her father.

“Anna, I'm warning you, this isn't an easy secret to carry. It will drag on your heart, and you'll want to shout it out to the world, but you can't. You can't tell
anyone
. Not Neville. Not your aunt. You can't write it in a book for posterity. This secret needs to be carried to your grave or I can't tell you.”

She set her palm against the grainy leather cover of the Bible and looked him in the eyes. “I swear it.”

For once, her voice sounded firm and clear, but Luke winced as though he'd hoped she wouldn't take him up on the offer. With great care he set the Bible back on the bedside table. He guided her to sit on the bed, then took both her hands within his own as he sat beside her.

“I wish there was something I could say to make this easier,” he said as he gripped her hands. “The men of the
Culpeper
were executed by the Spanish army after they were caught running guns to rebels in Cuba.”

The blood drained from Anna's face. “
No
 . . .”

Over the next few minutes he filled her in on the tragic details. The
Culpeper
's primary mission was to map the Caribbean Sea, but every few months they also delivered a shipload of guns to Cuban rebels. The United States quietly encouraged the revolutionary sentiment brewing in Cuba, hoping it would oust Spain from their last major foothold in this hemisphere.
The
Culpeper
made numerous drops of guns and ammunition, until they were finally caught in 1882 and brought to the port city of Santiago. A rogue Spanish official named Enrique Banales charged the crew of the
Culpeper
with inciting rebellion. The sailors were found guilty in a sham trial, and Banales ordered the entire crew to be executed by firing squad the next morning.

There had been a few British scientists aboard the
Culpeper
, and British diplomats in Havana caught wind of the planned executions. They raced to Santiago to intervene, but the executions were already under way. By the time the British diplomats arrived, only three crew members were still alive. Silas Zanetti was one of them.

Anna couldn't move, couldn't think. All she could see was a ghastly image of her father, lined up and shot like a common criminal. The numbness wore off, and the shaking began in her hands and traveled up her arms.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Please, God, no.” Luke pulled her into an embrace, gently rocking her as she felt the pieces of her world start to crumble.

“It happened fifteen years ago,” he whispered against her cheek. “Your father is in heaven, looking down on you right now. He's not suffering anymore.” He rocked her, but it couldn't blot the image from her mind. Her father lined up to be shot . . . Did they give him a blindfold? Was he alone or did they shoot them as a group? She pushed Luke away and staggered to the window. It hurt too much to let him see her face.

“It was a diplomatic nightmare,” Luke continued. “Spanish officials in Madrid were horrified by what had happened and were desperate to make amends. Our government wanted peace too. We'd barely recovered from the Civil War and we couldn't win a war against Spain. Both sides wanted to keep the affair quiet, because this sort of thing would inflame the American
public, who might demand blood for blood. The hurricane was used as an excuse to explain the
Culpeper
's disappearance. The ship was turned over to Spain, and they paid us millions of dollars in reparations. A portion of that money went to the three surviving sailors on the condition they never return to the United States, and never spread the story of what happened. Two of the survivors were brothers from Ireland. They were happy to leave the country. But Silas Zanetti was different. He hated the situation, yet understood the need to keep the peace. He changed his name, moved to Canada, and ultimately made contact with his wife, who joined him in exile.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. Mrs. Zanetti's terse message made more sense now.
“
You have no relatives, only enemies in Cuba,”
she had written. How terrible that the Zanettis had to live in exile because of the actions of one brutal colonial official.

“What happened to Banales?” Anna asked through clenched teeth.

“He was sent back to Spain in disgrace. Stripped of power, but they couldn't do more without endangering the fabricated story. I gather he is still living in Madrid.”

“I want him punished,” Anna said. She began pacing the room, which was too small to contain the anger radiating from her soul. “He killed fifty-three men! Murdered them!”

“Anna, hush.” Luke pressed his hand over her mouth. Gently, but the message was plain. He'd warned her that this would be a hard secret to carry, but she had no idea what she'd agreed to. She was supposed to pretend she didn't know the truth? That a rogue Spanish official went unpunished for the murder of fifty-three Americans? It was unthinkable!

It was also what she had just sworn on the Bible to do. “Why are you so friendly with Speaker Jones all of a sudden?”

“He's a pacifist,” Luke explained. “He's been trying to keep the peace with Spain for decades. Cuba is a hair's breadth away from revolution, and if that happens, the United States will probably be dragged into a war with Spain. Most of the men in Congress are eager for a war. They think Spain is weak and this is our chance to take their colonies. Last month the War Department sent a battleship to hover off the coast of Cuba. Spain is spitting fire over it and threatening war if we don't call the ship home. All it will take is a tiny spark to set off this powder keg. We can't get dragged into this war, Anna. The hawks in Congress will use any excuse to start a war. If they learn about the
Culpeper
, they'll trot it out to fuel the public's sentiment for war.”

“I want Enrique Banales and every man who participated in that execution to be punished.”

“Anna . . .” His voice was low with warning.

“You can't ask this of me,” she said. “I can't just ignore it.”

“Anna, we
can't
go to war. The machines of modern warfare would make your blood run cold. Do you know what a Gatling gun can do? I saw a demonstration my first year in Congress. A single soldier with a machine gun stood before a cornfield and blasted it to pieces. It took less than a minute to mow the entire field down, until not a single stalk of corn was left standing. Can you imagine what that gun would do to a field of men? Do you want that on your conscience? Because that's what we are dealing with, Anna. We can't go to war.”

He grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “There must be a better way for us to settle disputes. Men of honor can't rush toward guns and bloodshed when reason and goodwill can triumph. I've spent my whole life believing in the power of the mind over the fist. That the lion can lie down beside the lamb. I couldn't let my feelings for you interfere with the quest
for peace. I wish I hadn't lied to you about the
Culpeper
, but I didn't know how else to silence you.”