Spirit of the Valley (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jeremy woke again, confused at the bright light slanting in the window. It was later than he ever slept, which was disconcerting. By the time he opened his bedroom door, dressed and ready for the day, he smelled bacon. He walked into the kitchen and saw a covered plate, but no one was around. He stepped outside and saw Lizzie, Rebecca, and Jake playing with the dog. Lizzie flashed a bright smile, Rebecca laughed at the dog's antics, and Jake noticed Jeremy. “He's ours?” the boy called hopefully.

“He sure is. If you want him.”

“We do,” Jake exclaimed.

“Can we name him?” Rebecca asked, shielding her eyes from the morning glare.

“I already named him,” Jake announced. “Lucky.”

Lizzie beamed. “I think that's an excellent name for him.”

Rebecca made a face. “No, it's not. How lucky is it to have three legs?”

“He just found a family to love him, didn't he?” Lizzie asked.

The dog looked at Jeremy—and Jeremy knew exactly what he was thinking. That the two of them had that in common.

Rebecca considered. “I guess.”

Lizzie started for the house. “I'll make you some eggs,” she said to Jeremy. When she reached him, she glanced back at the children, who were involved with Lucky, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly. “He's perfect.”

Jeremy laughed softly that a three-legged dog could be thought perfect.

 

 

The kitchen smelled of gingerbread when Jeremy stepped back into the room in the late afternoon, having just cleaned up after a day spent clearing a space for a barn. He'd gone into town to price out lumber and assistance in building the structure, and a plan was now in place. Since he would be here full-time in the winter, he would need the barn. It was a wonderful thought. A cold rain had blown up, which shut down work for the day, but that was fine with him.

Lizzie's back was to him as she coated chicken and put it into a skillet to fry, which added a rich and spicy aroma to the air. Rebecca was setting the table as rain began to beat down on the roof. “It smells good in here,” he commented. “Can I help?”

“No,” Lizzie replied without turning around. “But thank you anyway.”

“Rebecca?” he asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Which ones did you do?” Jeremy asked, nodding at the plates of gingerbread men.

Rebecca walked over and pointed them out. “That one, that one, and that one. Jake did that one.” She looked up and gave him a wry look. “He wanted to know if we could make a gingerbread dog next time.”

Jeremy grinned. “Good question. Do we actually get to eat those cookies? They look too pretty to eat.”

Rebecca turned and leaned against the table. “We eat them.”

“But not till after dinner,” Lizzie added.

The chicken was sizzling, and the aroma made his mouth water. “Do you know how to play checkers, Rebecca?”

“Yes, but we don't have a checkers game.”

“We should get one.”

She mulled it over a moment. “That would be good.”

“That's what we'll do, then.”

She looked at him questioningly and then turned to her mother. “Can I go play now?”

“Yes, you may.”

Jeremy watched Rebecca exit the room, then crossed to Lizzie. Placing his hands on her hips, he leaned around and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I think I'm making progress there,” he said quietly.

She smiled and nodded. “You are.”

More than anything, he wanted to express his joy in the simple moment. He wanted to say he was exactly where he wanted to be. Then, as if she understood his thoughts, she looked at him, pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and her expression was so tender his eyes misted over. He let go of her and walked away quickly, wrinkling his nose. He sniffed discreetly as he poured them each a glass of wine. He walked back and handed her the glass, then watched as she sipped, set the glass down, and turned the chicken in the pan. “Lizzie?”

“Yes?”

“I don't say it enough, but you're the best thing in my life. You, the kids, this place.”

She turned to him, smiling warmly. “We've made it a nice home, haven't we?”

“You've made it a really nice home.”

She drew breath to say something, but Jake beckoned from the other room. “Jeremy, you've gotta see this! Lucky learned a trick.”

Jeremy grinned as he set his glass aside. “Excuse me, ma'am, but I've got to go see a trick now.”

“Go.” She laughed. “By all means, go.”

Chapter Thirty

Cynthia Perkins stepped off the train in Green Valley, Virginia, and followed other passengers toward town. She was content to walk at a leisurely pace through the picturesque streets festooned in late-autumn splendor. Neat clapboard homes had well-used porches and whitewashed picket fences with ornate gates. She could certainly understand choosing to live here—but how and why had Pauline chosen it, if indeed she had?

She'd had success following Pauline Ray's trail, starting with a station attendant at the depot in Indianapolis who'd reported that Pauline and the children had gone southward. “Into Kentucky. Maybe Tennessee,” he'd pondered thoughtfully. “I want to say Louisville.”

She thanked him and followed the lead. There had been more dead ends than hits, but she'd eventually picked up the trail and followed it well into Virginia, where it went cold until she sent queries to local newspapers and telegraph offices, along with Pauline's photograph.

The effort paid off when a salesman by the name of Lester Shoemaker recognized Pauline from having ridden with her and the children, although they'd continued beyond his destination. Pauline, however, had shared she was going to Green Valley because of an elderly relative who was ill. Ethan Ray had claimed she had no family, but perhaps Pauline hadn't told him everything. Or perhaps she'd told Shoemaker a falsehood. No matter. If Pauline and the children were not here in Green Valley, she would continue on to as many towns as she possibly could for the short time left in her contract with Ethan Ray. She didn't care one bit about the man; he was an ill-tempered, small-minded bully, but she had a record of success to consider, not to mention the reputation of the agency.

The church, at the end of Main, was on the small side but lovely, with an impressive steeple that enclosed a belfry. As she strolled past, she found herself wishing the bells would toll. The cemetery next to it was well tended and quite beautiful with towering trees. There were benches placed throughout that issued a silent invitation to sit and contemplate her thoughts and actions. Instead, she walked into town. It was apparent that Green Valley's growth was recent and rather dramatic, since many of the buildings looked new. Only Main Street and Market Street had older buildings.

She started at a hotel, where she asked the proprietor if he knew Pauline Ray. Initially, he gave an open, honest, “No, ma'am,” but then she showed him the photograph. He still claimed not to recognize Pauline, but now he was lying. That meant Pauline was or had been in the vicinity, using an assumed name. Confident she was on the right track, Cynthia went to the dress shop and spoke with the proprietor. Cynthia instinctively knew when people were being disingenuous, and the shopkeeper was being truthful when she declared she did not know Pauline Ray. Yet again, a glimpse of the photograph made the woman withdraw into suspicious silence. “Don't know that she does look familiar,” the woman hedged. “Couldn't say. I see a lot of ladies, you know.”

“I'm sure you do,” Cynthia replied impassively.

The shopkeeper at the dry goods store claimed not to know her, but Cynthia knew he wasn't telling the truth either. She fared no better at the newspaper or the cobbler's shop. For someone who had not been in town long, Pauline Ray seemed to have earned loyalty among the townspeople, which was strange for a town this size. Small towns tended to be wary of newcomers.

Cynthia crossed over to the jail to speak with the sheriff, although she didn't expect anything to come of it since Pauline would have wanted to avoid the authorities.

One deputy was on duty. Slunk down in his chair, relaxed, his fingers interlaced on his stomach, he snapped to attention when she walked in. “Yes, ma'am?” he said, sitting up straight. “Help you?”

“I hope so. I'm looking for this woman.”

He glanced at the photograph in her hand and then looked back at Cynthia. “Why?”

“We're kin,” she said, trying a different approach.

He cocked his head, slightly suspicious. “That so?”

“Cousins,” she continued. “Unfortunately, there was a falling out within the family, but I'm hoping to make amends. After all, it wasn't her fault or mine. It's time we let bygones be bygones.”

“Was one of your folks kin to Lionel, then?”

Cynthia smiled, relieved for partial confirmation, even if she didn't fully understand it. “That's right. My father. They were brothers.”

His face cleared because he believed her. “Miz Carter's there. At the Greenway place. I don't know if you know this or not, but her husband passed on.”

Cynthia's expression grew somber. “I did know, yes. It's one of the reasons I wanted to reach out to her . . . and the children, of course. I haven't seen them since they were babies. I suppose Rebecca must be eight by now. And Jake would be four or five.”

“Yes, ma'am. Well, that's where you'll find her.”

“Can you direct me? I was a child when I was last here.”

“Sure thing. It's past the Blue farm. Here, I'll draw you a map. It's not too far at all.”

“Thank you. I really am grateful.”

“You bet,” he said as he reached for pencil and paper and began drawing a map. “Mrs. Carter is a nice lady.”

Cynthia murmured her agreement.

He handed her the map. “I hope you can fix your, uh, estrangement. I get the feeling Mrs. Carter's had a real hard time of it. I think things are just starting to work out for her.”

“That's good to hear. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, ma'am. Tell her Ellis says hello. And Shef too, if you see him.”

“Chef?”

“Jeremy Sheffield. A good man. He's helping her out some and we're all pretty sure they're sparkin',” he said with a silly grin.

“Ah. I will. Thank you again.”

Cynthia left the office feeling more conflicted than victorious.
It's a job
, she reminded herself.
It's a job and success matters
. She headed to the livery to rent a horse and wagon and drive out to the Greenway place. If she saw Pauline Ray in person, she'd send a telegram to her office and to Ethan Ray and she would be finished with the assignment.

Shef
. She mulled over the name and wondered how big a role this Shef played in Pauline's new life.

 

 

Lizzie placed the last of the eggs in her basket and started back to the house, but stopped when she saw a wagon headed toward her with a woman driver. Shielding her eyes from the afternoon glare, she waited. “Hello,” she called, when the woman got close.

“Afternoon,” the woman said as she braked to a stop. “Is this the Blue place?”

“No, but you're close. It's not even a mile that way. Actually, you passed it.”

“Ah. Well, thank you,” the woman said. “I suppose I was distracted. This is such beautiful country.”

“It is,” Lizzie agreed with a smile.

The woman nodded and turned the wagon around. As she rode back to town, the conflict Cynthia felt surprised her. She should have been nothing but pleased because, after all, she'd performed her assigned task well and met with success. But Pauline Ray was exceptionally lovely and Ethan Ray was a controlling, bad-tempered man who had probably driven her away. Still, her business was her job, which she had performed admirably. Everyone would be pleased with the results. Everyone except Pauline and possibly the children.

Cynthia turned the horse and wagon back in at the livery and walked to the telegraph office. Two men were present, one older, one younger, though the younger man was headed to the back room when she walked in.

“Help you, ma'am?” the telegraph operator asked as he came forward. One of his legs was shorter than the other, so he had an odd gait.

“I need to send a telegram to Mr. Ethan Ray in Indianapolis.”

The man picked up a tablet and began scribbling in cryptic symbols. “Your name?”

“Perkins. Cynthia.”

“Go ahead.”

“Subject located,” she said, watching his face. “Stop. Green Valley, Virginia. Stop. Going by name of Carter.”

The man glanced up sharply, then looked back down, his face reddening.

“Will find at Greenway cottage, east of town,” Cynthia continued. “Stop.”

“Is that all?” he asked stiffly.

She realized the man didn't particularly care for his job right this minute. She also knew, as he did, that he had to send the message and keep it confidential. “Yes.”

“Three dollars,” he said, giving her a hard look.

She also realized she was being overcharged, but she didn't care. Ethan Ray would be paying the bill. She handed over the money. “I'll be needing a receipt.”

He grabbed a receipt book, wrote it out, and handed her the receipt. “Mind me asking why you're poking your nose in other people's business?”

She folded the receipt and put it into her reticule. It was a Friday afternoon, her job was completed, and she had a train to catch. “I do, actually. Good day.”