Sparked (7 page)

“You dance like a banking man,” Lowell said with a booming laugh.

“Hardy-har-har,” Clayton said. “You’re all just jealous.”

There was a knock and Will opened the front door.

“You didn’t tell me there would be dancing,” someone laughed. Clayton looked up from his movements as Meg joined them.

“That’s not dancing,” Will said. “I don’t know what that is.”

“I want to learn,” Meg said.

Will grinned and took her by the hand.

Soon they were all dancing—even Clayton’s father—switching the women between them and having a good laugh. At one point their beloved old cook, Mrs. Dunder, poked her head in to see what time they’d be ready to eat and his father pulled her into a waltz.

“Mr. Briggs,” she chided, laughing. “Let me be. I’ve a sauce on in the kitchen.”

“This is how you dance, boy. Learn from the best.”

He dipped poor Mrs. Dunder and made her cheeks flush bright pink.

“Oh, now!” she said when he pulled her back up, clearly flustered. “My old bones can’t handle moves like that anymore. And you should very well know it.” 

Clayton was glad for all the merriment. Even though he hadn’t been aware of most of the last three days, he still felt the effects of being cooped up for all that time. He wasn’t a person who liked to sit still for too long, but every note from the radio, and every footfall that followed, made it seem more and more like he’d never been ill at all.

Clayton’s father pulled him aside before they settled in to eat.

“You’re a good man, son,” his father said. 

Again, Clayton had the sense his father was holding back more emotion than he was willing to show.

“I know I’ve been tough on you lately. But after everything that’s happened, well, I wouldn’t want to regret …,” his voice trailed off.

Hope sprouted in Clayton’s chest. Was he really saying what Clayton thought he was?

Lowell put a hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Why don’t we call this a fresh start? Wipe the slate clean. For both of us.”

Clayton met his father’s eye, and it was his turn to bear himself up this time. “That sounds like a great idea, Pop. I won’t let you down.”

Lowell nodded once and that was that. He had always been an economical man. They joined the rest of the family at the long, formal dining table, Clayton still reeling from their talk.

A second chance. His father was giving him a second chance. He’d be damned if he was going to ruin this one too.

The table was covered with food—twice as much as anyone could eat—both Clayton’s and Will’s favorites.

Will leaned in to speak to him as the ladies chatted about plans for Will and Meg’s upcoming wedding.

“Some people are saying the fog was a natural disaster—some sort of rupture of an underground air pocket,” Will said. “But I don’t know.”

“No one knows what it was yet,” their father piped in. “That’s why the Army is here to investigate.”

“Charlie said his uncle thought it might be some leftover weapon at old Fort Austen,” Will said. “Something that wasn’t shut down properly and leaked. Might be why they’re being so quiet about it.”

“That’s pure speculation,” Lowell said. “What do you expect them to do? Announce every little finding to the whole town? Everyone I’ve spoken to from the government has been nothing but forthright. They seem just as perplexed as the rest of us.”

“Dr. Pinkerton seems to have his money on a Soviet attack,” Clayton offered. “I overheard him talking about it.”

“Even better reason for the officials to stay mum,” Lowell said.

“It seems plausible,” Will said. “But why here? Why us?”

“Maybe they thought the Army base was still active. Maybe they’re working off old intelligence,” Clayton said.

“Could be,” Will agreed, though his voice seemed thick with worry. “It’s sobering to think they could get that close.” Will glanced over at Meg, and Clayton could see his concern for her in all this.

“Did anyone see where it came from?” Clayton asked.

“It seemed to start on Mt. Desolation, then spread from there,” Lowell said.

“Yes. Meg and I were just about to cross Lover’s Bridge when we saw it. Everyone thought it was some sort of entertainment for the festival. By the time we realized, it was too late to run.”

“Oh, boys,” Meg said cheerfully. “Haven’t we had enough of this disaster to last a lifetime?”

“Yes,” Florence chimed in. “Please stop discussing such awful matters at the dinner table.”

“Of course, darling,” Will said to Meg. He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. 

“Besides, I’d much rather hear about what happened at the festival beforehand,” Meg said with a mischievous grin as she turned to Clayton. “Lucy told me she spotted you crossing Lover’s Bridge with a young lady. But she wasn’t close enough to see who it was. Evie said she thought it was Cora Murphy, but of course I told her that was impossible.”

From the head of the table, Lowell snorted, “Quite impossible.”

Clayton tensed. Was the truce with his father destined to end so quickly?

“I’ve been dying to solve the mystery ever since,” Meg prodded. “Who was she? Should we be planning a double wedding?”

“A mysterious woman? Have you been keeping secrets from us, Clayton?” Florence asked.

“It’s really not that interesting,” Clayton said, trying to shut down their conversation. It didn’t work.

“Oh, please. I heard they made it all the way across,” Meg said, eyes dancing. “And we all know what that means, don’t we, darling?”

There was a light in Will’s eyes as he looked at Meg. He’d proposed six years ago, shortly after the two had crossed successfully for the first time themselves.

Clayton balled his fist under the table, trying to decide how best to handle this.

“Just give me a name,” Meg begged. “Or how am I supposed to show my face to the girls? They expect me to have all the latest gossip on the most eligible bachelor in town.”

“Him? The most eligible bachelor?” Will teased. “That can’t possibly be true.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but ever since you went off the market, all the talk’s been about Clayton.”

“Don’t make me gag,” Will grinned.

Meg rolled her eyes playfully at Will then asked again, “So? Who is she?”

He summoned his courage and said, “It was the Murphy girl.”

The image of Cora leapt into his mind.

Those eyes. That kiss.

“You tease!” Meg accused, laughing. Then she saw that Clayton wasn’t joking. The smile on her face faltered. In fact, it felt as if a chill had settled over the entire table.

“It was an accident. I didn’t recognize her.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lowell said. 

Clayton was suddenly very glad that the last time he’d seen Cora, she’d been running away.

“He’s been at college, Pop,” Will offered. “She’s, um, well … grown up quite a bit since.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not likely to repeat my mistake.”

His father’s expression seemed to hold still for a moment, wavering, deciding. Then he smirked.

“They’ll have to try harder than sending a Trojan horse if they want to fool a Briggs, won’t they, boy?”

Clayton grimaced inwardly, but tried to smile with the rest of the table as they laughed. What would his father say if he knew Clayton was the one to blame?

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Speaking of young ladies,” his mother interjected brightly. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you to someone. Amber Middleton, Grant and Maisie Middleton’s niece. She’s visiting for the summer and is just the most delightful creature. I thought you might consider her as your date to the Briggs Foundation Gala.”

Anger leapt up in Clayton’s heart. Why was she always trying to meddle?

“Give me a chance to breathe, Mother, before you doom me to another debutante?”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, he regretted them. He could see the hurt in his mother’s eyes. Wasn’t she just trying to help? And they had all been through so much. Couldn’t he extend a little patience, at least tonight?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Clayton said.

“You’re still tired. I shouldn’t have pushed,” his mother said, though it was clear that her agreement was an effort to regain the peace that Clayton had disrupted.

“There might not be much time for young ladies this summer anyway,” his father said. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about your next steps at the bank.”

It was an obvious effort to change the subject, and Clayton didn’t fight it. He was glad for the reprieve. And he was glad the business with Cora Murphy was behind him.

Two days later, Clayton was driving home from work in his convertible—a silver Aston Martin DB2/4 convertible that was his college graduation present—taking a detour through the winding hills to kill a little time. It had been only two days since he’d been released from the hospital, but things had been so busy with work that he’d barely had time to think. Now he was expected home, where his mother was throwing a dinner party. The summers between school were always full of dinner parties, and now that he’d graduated there were certain to be even more.

She’d made it very clear that he was to attend, but he really didn’t feel up to making small talk with his parent’s friends tonight. Ever since buckling down at school, his patience for society functions had grown less and less. It felt like the world was changing, growing bigger, and his entire social circle was stuck in a tiny, increasingly more irrelevant universe—a universe full of petty gossip and vapid conversation. It was exhausting. More than that, it was boring. He wanted more excitement in his life, more texture. 

His thoughts drifted to Cora. As much as he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. She had gotten into his head—planted herself there—as indestructible as that golden trumpet vine in his mother’s garden that he and Will had been tasked with uprooting three summers ago. They’d thought they’d gotten it all but it bloomed anew each summer. The damn thing simply wouldn’t die.

He thought of the tilt of her chin as the boys had taunted her, remembered the fire in her eyes as she’d refused his help. He remembered the hurt too, that awful sadness that settled onto her features. And he had put it there. He felt terrible, but how was he supposed to make it right?

Thinking of her at all was foolish. She was the one woman—maybe the only woman in the world—who was completely out of the question. His family would never allow a Murphy into their midst.

The feud had started long ago, five generations before, back when the Briggs mine first opened. Jed Murphy had been the foreman, hand-picked by the first Lowell Briggs himself—and he’d begun siphoning money almost as soon as he was hired. He cut corners every time there was an opportunity to pad his own pockets: equipment, wages, safety measures. And it was the last that had allowed Lowell’s only daughter Daisy—a child of just nine years old—to wander into a faulty shaft that should have been sealed. She was lost when it caved in, and her death brought all of Jed Murphy’s crimes to light. He drank himself to death before any charges could be filed. If Jed’s wife wasn’t pregnant at the time, they probably would have run her out of town. Instead, they shunned her. The stain had remained on the Murphys ever since. 

Clayton thought it was possible the Briggs had been too harsh in their treatment during the following years, but murder was a hard sin to wash off. It was known in town that if you wanted to do business with the Briggs, then you didn’t do business with the Murphys. And everyone wanted to do business with the Briggs. 

Everyone in town also had some story to tell about how they’d been cheated or abused by a Murphy. It was as if they were fulfilling a vendetta on all of Independence Falls. They just couldn’t let the fight die.

That business with the Lowell Briggs Memorial last year hadn’t helped matters. Clayton didn’t think he’d ever seen his father angrier than the day he stood over the tall bronze statue of his ancestor, toppled against the sidewalk and dented beyond repair. The court’s ruling to make Huck pay damages did nothing to soothe his father. Clayton had seen the old seed of hatred bloom anew in his father’s eyes.

So even thinking about Cora Murphy? It was just too dangerous. His father was giving him a second chance. He wasn’t going to take that lightly. He turned the car toward home.

The big house glowed on the hill as Clayton approached it. It was the largest home in Independence Falls by far—a beacon of wealth and prosperity to the entire town below. It wasn’t exactly Clayton’s taste—a turreted Victorian with fussy details and far more rooms than people to live in them—but his great-grandfather had built it fifty years ago. Since then, the house had, if anything, come to represent his family to the town.

He parked, then took one final moment for himself before opening the door, shoring up his nerve for the long night ahead. But it wasn’t his parent’s friends he found mingling and sipping cocktails in the parlor—it was women. 

Specifically, all the eligible women in town.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Clayton

Clayton scanned the room. It was a setup for sure. 

The place was crowded with women. Simply teeming with swishing skirts. Sure, there was a guy or two scattered around. Not including them would have been too obvious, and his mother was too smart for that. But most of them were cousins or brothers who had been married off long ago. 

He spotted his friend June, a sweet blond who had been like a little sister to him ever since their days in grammar school. She made her way over in a teal-colored dress with a wide skirt that Clayton could only describe as “frothy.”

“I might as well be at a slumber party with all these girls around. I take it you were ambushed?”

“You take it right. Can I ask when you got an invite to this little shindig?” 

Clayton was starting to wonder just when this event had been planned. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard a thing about it until yesterday when his mother swore she had told him about it weeks ago. Had this all been a reaction to his mentioning Cora at the dinner table? Apparently it had spooked his parents more than he realized.