Time Is a River (17 page)

“We know she lost her house after the stock market crash. So that’s nineteen twenty-nine.” Her memory jogged. “Wait a minute…” Mia pulled out her notebook and leafed through the pages to the information she’d learned in the library. “Here it is. Walter Watkins died in nineteen twenty-nine, too.” Her pencil tapped the paper. “I wonder what month.”

“That’s easy enough to look up.”

“OK, she lost the house but she must have kept some land and the cabin to live on. Belle inherited eighty-some acres. In all likelihood, there wasn’t anyplace else for her to go. It might have been less of a retreat than a practical decision.”

“She may have felt hounded, too, by the press and the townspeople after the scandal of a murder investigation.”

The timeline began to sink in and Mia knew a profound sadness for Kate. “That poor woman. She lost her fortune, her home, and her father all in one year. Then she was accused of murder. That’s a lot for even the strongest woman to bear. I wonder if she didn’t go a little bit crazy.”

“The
Gazette
must have covered the case,” Nada said. “It was a huge event for the town.” She looked at Mia with a slanted gaze. “So, I’m guessing now you want me to dig up that microfilm, too?”

Mia smiled. “Please.”

Nada leaned back in her chair, considering. “We’re digging into a can of worms.”

“We have to keep digging. Which is why I don’t think it’s time to publish anything about Kate Watkins yet.”

Nada took a deep breath and considered this. “Sorry, Mia, I disagree. I’m going to go ahead and print Kate’s fly-fishing articles. They’re timeless. But I won’t run a story on her. Yet. I can stick in some byline info about her being a well-known fly fisher in the nineteen twenties. I’ll keep it vague.”

Mia shook her head with regret. “Belle is still going to kill me.”

“No she won’t. The articles will get folks remembering the good about Kate Watkins and not dwell on the old scandal. How could she be upset about that? Look, I admired Kate Watkins. I won’t sensationalize her. It’s time the town got to know who she really was. Not some hermit or some ghost. The fly-fishing articles will whet the appetites for the true story after all these years.”

“Therein lies the rub. How do I get to the true story? Other than newspaper articles, Mr. Pace and Mrs. Minor are the only ones alive who knew Kate. How can you interview the dead?”

Nada’s face eased into a self-satisfied smile. “You go to the original sources.”

Mia looked up, intrigued.

“Diaries, correspondence, newspapers, photographs—those are the real treasures of the past. It brings history alive. Honey, you came to the right place.”

M
ia drove along a small road behind Main Street. Her car climbed sharply up the mountainside and past houses ranging from large Victorians to small cottages. Mia stopped her car before a small, pale green cottage with a faded, white front porch and trim. It was modest but tidy behind a cheery perennial border flanked by tall hollyhocks. Mia checked the address she’d written in her notebook. She’d gone directly from lunch to Shaffer’s to ask Becky for Mrs. Minor’s address and phone number. She glanced at her watch. It was three o’clock. She was right on time.

A little orange Pomeranian dog was chained to the front porch and yapped shrilly while she walked up the steps. “Hush now, shhh,” she said as she lowered her hand to the dog in greeting. The petite dog bared its teeth and pumped up its incessant barking. “So don’t be friendly,” Mia snapped back.

The front door swung open before Mia had a chance to knock. Rising, she peered through the screen to see a wiry woman in jeans and a T-shirt with her black hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Uh, hi. I’m Mia Landan. We spoke on the phone?”

The woman narrowed her dark eyes. “You the lady who come to talk to my grandmother?” She spoke in a heavy rural drawl.

“Yes, I am. And you’re Mrs….” She forgot the name.

“Just call me Lucy,” the woman said, opening the screen door. “You hush, Angel,” she said, bending at the waist to swoop the dog up in her arms. Angel kept growling, her bulging eyes staring at Mia menacingly.

Angel? More like little devil, Mia thought.

“Sorry about that,” Lucy said, jiggling the dog in her arms to settle it. “She just gets testy with strangers.”

“Is this a good time for Mrs. Minor?”

“It’s as good as it’s going to get,” she said, letting the screen door slam. Outside, Angel mercifully stopped barking. “Grandmamma’s had her lunch so she’ll likely be a little more lively. If she’s gonna talk it’ll be now. ’Fore she takes her nap.”

Mia stepped into a darkened living room with weary, large furniture. The old sofa was covered with a crochet throw and a curios cabinet was crammed with statues of angels.

“I’ve brought some flowers,” Mia said, handing the bouquet of cheery summer annuals to Lucy. “And some pastries from Shaffer’s.”

“My, but Grandmamma will be happy to have these. Flowers and sweets,” she murmured, smiling.

“How is she feeling?”

“She’s ninety-two and lived a simple life but a good one. She’s not doing so good right now, though. Not eating much. It’s like she’s just dwindling away. But she’s a sweet old girl and I don’t want anything upsetting her.”

Mia heard the warning. “That’s not my intention.”

Lucy accepted that. “She asked to watch her stories. That’s always a good sign. And she’ll surely perk up once she smells cinnamon.”

“Lucy, how did your grandmother know Kate Watkins? Were they neighbors at Watkins Cove?”

“Yeah. But they knew each other before that. Her mama used to work for the Watkins family, back when they were at the big house. She was the family cook. That’d be my Great-grandmamma Minnie.”

“And they moved out to the cabin with her?”

“I don’t know what happened, exactly,” Lucy continued. “That was a long time ago. I only know that when Miss Kate lost her house and moved out to the woods she gave Great-grandmamma Minnie some land so she and her husband could build a place of their own. That was the first land my family owned outright. It was a right and moral thing to do, that’s what my grandmother always says. She says when the chips were down, Miss Watkins could be counted on to stand with you.”

Mia followed Lucy down a short hall. They stopped at a closed door to a bedroom and Lucy faced her.

“She might want to talk. It’d be nice to hear one of her stories again. But she might not. Most of the time she just sits in her wheelchair and laughs and sings and mumbles so I can’t figure out what the heck she’s trying to say. Then out of the blue she’ll look at me and know me and we’ll have a nice chat. I sure don’t understand it. That’s all I can tell you.” She opened the door. “She’s in there.”

Mia stepped into a small, lavender bedroom. It was heavily shaded by overgrown yews alongside the house but someone had been kind enough to cut back the dense foliage from one window to allow a shaft of sunlight to pour through. An old woman sat in this sunlight. She seemed to sink into the deep cushions on her wheelchair. Her black skin was chalky and wizened, and fine gray hair covered her scalp like goose down.

“Grandmamma, this here’s Mia Landan, the lady I was telling you about. She wanted to meet you.” She stepped closer to the old woman and took her hand. Then she waved Mia over. “Say hi to Ms. Landan.”

The old woman turned her head toward Lucy. Her dark eyes were clouded with glaucoma and she looked up uncomprehendingly.

“Do you want to tell her one of your stories about Kate Watkins? Grandmamma?”

Mrs. Minor’s shiny, dark eyes peered over her shoulder at Mia like a crow.

“Hello, Mrs. Minor,” Mia said with a smile.

The old woman scowled, then turned her head to look out the window.

“Grandmamma?”

The old woman grunted.

“Mrs. Minor,” Mia said, scooting lower to be closer to her face. “I’m Mia. I’m living at the cabin at Watkins Cove. In Kate Watkins’s cabin.”

The old woman turned her head back and looked at Mia. Her eyes appeared sharper as she studied her face. “What you doin’ at the Watkins place?” she said fiercely. “You ain’t got no business there.”

“I was invited.”

“Huh. No one’s invited there. By who?”

“By Belle Carson.”

“I don’t know no Belle Carson,” she mumbled.

“Belle is Kate’s grandchild. Theodora’s child.” Mia paused, hearing her own words.
Theodora’s child.
Theodore DeLancey. Another chink fell into place: He was the father of Kate’s child.

“Little Theo?” Mrs. Minor’s voice brightened. “I haven’t seen her in, oh Lord, I can’t remember how long. How is that sweet child?”

“I’m sorry. Theodora passed away. Last winter I believe.”

The old woman’s face seemed to fall into itself. “They all dead now. It’s a blessing and a curse to live so long. At least she’s with her mama at last. She been waitin’ a long time to see her child. God rest their souls.”

“What happened between them?”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, that’s a long story. You don’t need to know all that.”

“I’d like to hear the story. All of them.”

“Why you want to know all that? It’s all past. Long past.”

“It’s not past. The scandal is still very much alive.”

“Dirty rumors, that’s all they is. If you come here for that, then you can go now. You won’t hear me bringing up those filthy lies.”

Lucy put her hand on her grandmother’s shoulder to calm her. “It’s OK, Grandmamma. We won’t talk about them.”

“I’m not here to upset you, Mrs. Minor, or to dig up dirt on Kate Watkins.”

“I got nothing to say to you.”

“Please, Mrs. Minor. I don’t believe the scandals are true. But the silence over the years has allowed those lies to be perceived as the truth. There aren’t many people alive who remember Kate. I talked to Mr. Phillip Pace and now there is only you.”

“Why do you want to talk to me? It’s not your place. I should be talking to her granddaughter. Belle’s her name? You tell Belle to come by soon.”

“Belle won’t come. Theodora filled her mind with so much suspicion and hate for her grandmother she doesn’t want anything to do with her.”

The old woman grew agitated. “I need to see Theodora’s daughter.”

“Mrs. Minor, I’m here because I want to help her daughter. Because I care about her. And…I care very much about Kate Watkins.”

The old woman leaned forward to peer closer at Mia’s face. “You say you’re staying in Kate’s cabin?”

“I sleep in her room.”

Mrs. Minor nodded her head, her eyes gleaming. “She come to you yet?”

Mia’s breath hitched. She said carefully, “It…It’s more a feeling.” “A knowing.”

Mia nodded. That was it exactly.

“Mmm-hmm,” Mrs. Minor said, and sighed with satisfaction as she settled back into her wheelchair. “If you say you’re trying to help Miss Kate…I’d do anything for her. People thought she was cold. But she wasn’t. She was strong is all. And spoke her mind. People didn’t like that in a woman. Not back then.”

“Who was Theodore DeLancey?”

The old woman’s back went erect in her chair. “What you know about
him
?”

“I only know his name. And that he had a letter of introduction to Kate.”

“Humph. If you don’t know about DeLancey, then you don’t know nothing.”

Intrigued, Mia pulled out a copy of the letter Nada had found in the stacks.

“This is a letter of introduction that somehow made its way to the historical society. It’s addressed to Miss Watkins and concerns Theodore DeLancey.” She opened the thick, vellum paper and handed it to Mrs. Minor.

“I’ll need my glasses.”

Lucy reached far over to the bedside table and retrieved a pair of glasses with thick lenses. “Here, Grandmamma.”

Mrs. Minor slipped the glasses on. They slid down her nose a fraction as she bent to read. Her lips moved over the words.

“So, this here’s the letter that started it all. Lord, Lord, Lord, one little letter.”

Mrs. Minor adjusted her glasses and looked again at the letter, then let it fall into her lap. “The way the Reverend saw it, a letter of introduction was like a command performance. The Reverend was a gentleman. He surely was. And a gentleman only lives by one code, hear? I don’t believe he could’ve played it another way. That said, I figure if he knew how things would turn out, all because of this letter, well I don’t think he’d have made the stand he did.”

“Please, tell me what happened.”

Mrs. Minor shifted in her seat, ruminating. Mia saw the struggle in the old woman’s eyes and waited for her to continue.

“One thing you got to know right from the start. It wasn’t just some”—she gummed her lips thinking of the word—“
affair
like people said. When it all came out, folks made it sound tawdry and cheap. It weren’t nothin’ like that. There was love there. She loved that man fierce and true and went into it with her eyes wide open. That was her way.”

Mrs. Minor looked again out the window and her voice grew soft as her mind traveled far back in her memories.

“DeLancey, he come to town in his fancy railroad car. Oh, it was something. The townsfolk were mighty impressed. Everyone who lived in Watkins Cove at that time listened for the high-pitched whistle of the afternoon train. Whenever Reverend Watkins heard it, he said a prayer of thanks. He could remember back to when the train line was built. He was only a boy then but he claimed he’d never forget the high cost that railroad demanded—in lives and dollars. People quickly forget tragedy, though. By the twenties, when that whistle blew the townsfolk ran to the depot to see who might be stepping off onto the platform. On that particular Sunday, the Reverend and Kate were ankle-deep in the Davidson River, as usual. They should’ve just kept fishing, I always thought, but Kate had a new rod coming in on the train so they went to town.”

“Is that when she met DeLancey?” Mia asked.

Mrs. Minor slowly nodded her head. “Him and his fine suit and shoes. Lord, he had money. More money that the Watkins family ever dreamed of having, if that gives you any idea. Not that money made any difference to Kate.” She cackled softly. “She used to tease him about it, call him a dandy and a fancy boy. I think he liked that best about her. That she was so feisty and gave him what for. I don’t imagine there were too many folk in his life who did. He adored her, any fool could see that.”

The old woman sighed again and brought her thin fingers to her mouth. “No, it weren’t the money. I know that for a fact. Years after it all happened, Kate and I were sittin’ on her porch just watching the sun go down. I remember the sky was all red, like a fire over the mountains. She was in one of those talking moods. You know the kind? It didn’t happen often with her. She was tight-mouthed about things close to the heart, so I remember it clear. Might’ve been she sensed her time was coming, or it just might’ve been the soft air that night.

“She was rocking and looking far out and she told me when she first saw DeLancey she’d thought he was Lowrance Davidson coming home from the war. She’d stumbled and grabbed hold of her father’s arm from the shock of it. DeLancey turned his head and then, of course, she knew it wasn’t Lowrance, but she allowed there was some spark in that first connection. Her father did speculate as to how the two men looked alike. Not in the face so much, but in the hair and the way they moved.” She shook her head. “It was curious.”