Words Spoken True (17 page)

As the days passed, the editorials of both the
Tribune
and the
Herald
became more and more heated until Beck sometimes shook his head as he set type. “I sure do hope the boss’s words don’t set the paper on fire.” His words were only partly in jest.

Coleman Jimson’s speeches that the
Tribune
published verbatim helped fan the flames. Jimson was working the crowds feverishly for votes, making promises that a
Herald
editorial claimed Jimson wouldn’t be able to keep even if he were—God forbid—elected president of the United States.

In spite of the
Herald
’s insistent opposition, Stan told Adriane he didn’t see any way his father could lose unless he dropped dead campaigning, and even then he’d probably still get the majority of the votes.

Stanley had reluctantly stayed in Louisville to help his father with the campaign instead of making the rounds of the resorts with his mother.

“It’s all terribly tedious,” Stan confided one afternoon when he came by to deliver a copy of his father’s speech for the next day’s
Tribune
. “I’ve heard all the speeches a hundred times, but Father wants me there to start the cheers if the crowd seems cold.”

As Adriane quickly scanned the speech, she said, “I thought the crowds were enthusiastic.”

“Oh, they are.” Stan brushed at a few specks of dust on his hat. “But Father isn’t one to leave anything to chance. He even makes sure he has a few men scattered through the crowd to handle any hecklers.”

“Handle them?” Adriane looked up at Stanley. “How?”

“Money. Whiskey. A swift kick or maybe a gun in their ribs. I’m sure I don’t know or care.” Stan looked bored. “The less we hear from those people, the better.”

“What people?”

“The Irish mostly. They’re trying to stir up trouble, and Father says, if it’s trouble they want, then it’s trouble they’ll get. And believe me, Father knows how to give people trouble.” Stanley’s lips turned up in a tight little smile as his eyes narrowed. “If you happen to see your friend at the
Herald
, you might do him a favor by telling him that.”

“If you’re referring to Mr. Garrett, I don’t expect to be seeing him.” Adriane kept her voice cool.

“I should think not, since as it is, you’ll barely allow me a few minutes of your time. When are you going to be through with this charade, Adriane? Ever since our summer gala, you’ve been acting as if you practically fear being alone with me. Even Mother is beginning to worry there might be some problem.”

Hope, you mean
, Adriane thought, but she didn’t say the words aloud. “What could be wrong?” She widened her eyes with a pretense of innocence.

“You tell me, my dearest. There are times I can hardly sleep for worrying I might have done something that night to offend you.”

“I told you, Lucilla was feeling ill, and I thought it best if I accompanied her home.”

Adriane was sure Stan knew that was a lie, but she’d stuck with her story all these weeks. She wasn’t about to change it now. In fact she had told it so often and so convincingly that even Lucilla was beginning to believe Adriane had actually ridden home in her carriage.

“Perhaps you should see a doctor,” Stan said, concern drawn in careful lines on his face. “My sister Margaret fears you may be suffering from some sort of nervous vapors. Has she written you suggesting as much?”

“She did write me.” Adriane almost smiled at the flicker of worry in Stan’s eyes. “But just a note saying how glad she was to finally meet me and that she hoped we’d have more time to talk the next time she is in town. She only inquired politely about my health as one is wont to do. I’ll fetch the letter if you would like to read it yourself.”

“No, no, that’s hardly necessary,” Stan said. “But everyone is so worried about you. Mrs. Wigginham especially asked after you last week at the Library Aide Society meeting. She was extremely disappointed when I gave her your regrets.”

“You brought me quite enough facts for a nice mention in the
Tribune
. I’m sure that pleased her.”

“Yes, my dearest, but I have no desire to be a news correspondent.” Stan reached out and laid his hand on her arm.

Adriane forced herself to not shrink away from his touch.

“And you should be spending your time planning our wedding and not worrying about little fillers for your father’s paper. September is drawing very near.”

“Yes, I know, Stan, and I’ve been thinking. Christmas would be such a beautiful time to have a wedding, don’t you think?” Adriane knew she should just tell him straight out she couldn’t marry him, but perhaps with a few more months her father would be able to gather the money he owed to Coleman Jimson. If not by Christmas, then perhaps she could hold out for a spring wedding.

Stanley laughed. “I do believe you are getting cold feet on me, my dearest Adriane.” He put his fingers under her chin and raised her face up until she was forced to meet his eyes. “But we are marrying in September. I won’t allow you to go back on your promise.”

He continued to smile, but there was something almost fierce in his eyes. And looking at him, the truth slammed into her. She had promised. Not only Stanley, but her father. The Lord was not going to provide her an escape, and the darkness she so dreaded closed in around her heart.

“Why do you want to marry me, Stanley?” she asked.

“Love, of course, my dearest,” he said.

“Besides that,” she said.

“Why does there have to be a besides that?”

“I don’t know, but there is, isn’t there?”

“You don’t realize how beautiful you are, Adriane, or how your kind of beauty affects a man.” He let his eyes slide down the length of her dress, then reached out to finger the buttons on her bodice with much too much familiarity.

“Really, Stan.” Adriane jerked back from him as blood rushed to her face.

“Yes really, Adriane, my dearest.” His smile grew broader and even less appealing as he lowered his voice. “If I didn’t know your old Beck was listening from the other side of the door, I’d take you now. It would be my right.”

“You have no rights to do any such thing until you’re my husband.”

“A matter of a few weeks. No one would condemn me for being a bit impatient.” Stan’s gaze went from her face to her body again. “You’re going to be so soft. So good.”

“Stanley, you’re embarrassing me.” Adriane backed up against the wall to get away from him.

He stepped closer to her. “Surely not, my dear. You’ve grown up in a newspaper shop with very little training in the art of being a lady. You can’t make me believe you’re that innocent.” He came at her with both hands.

Adriane slipped past him before he could touch her again. “I think you’d best leave, Stanley,” she said coldly.

The look on his face changed as though he realized he might have gone too far. “Please don’t be angry with me, my dearest,” he begged. “You know I’d never intentionally upset you about anything, but sometimes just the sight of you makes me forget myself. You will forgive me, won’t you?”

“Only if you promise never to behave so abominably again.”

“Oh, I do promise,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. It must come from being in such close contact with all these common men on the streets at Father’s rallies. It’s enough to make a man fear for his own safety and thus want to gather as much of life to him as he can. And you, Adriane my dearest, are life to me.” He took her hand and kissed it, not even appearing to notice the ink stains on her fingers.

“Do you feel the streets are actually that dangerous?” For a minute she forgot his near attack as she noted the unmistakable worry in his eyes.

“They are.” Then his look of worry was gone as he smiled and kissed her hand again. “But you needn’t be worried about me, my dearest. If there’s trouble, I know how to take care of myself.”

A few days later, the trouble that Stanley expected finally broke out at a political rally. When hecklers interrupted the speech of Humphrey Marshall, the Know Nothing candidate for United States Senator, his supporters began throwing rocks and gunfire broke out.

The rally was not far from the newspaper offices, and after Adriane heard the gunfire, she paced the hall until Beck finally came in safely and reported her father safe as well.

“It weren’t much. Just some folks letting off a little steam on both sides,” Beck said. “’Course some of the fellers did go check on that rumor going around about the guns in the churches. They somehow got the keys to that Catholic church on Thirteenth Street and searched it.”

“Were there any guns?”

“Nah. Most all of what’s being said is nothing but hot air. The Irish ain’t got nowhere to get that many guns or the wherewithal to get them. The most of them ain’t hardly got money to buy food.”

“Did you see Duff?”

“Don’t you be worrying about Duff. If I know him, he’s at home standing guard over his sisters and mother. That last girl that got murdered, that Dorrie Gilroy, you remember? Seems she was somebody they all knew real well, and while everybody else might have forgotten the river slasher with all this electioneering going on, our Duff ain’t.”

“He and Blake Garrett should get together.”

Beck looked at her with a sad smile. “They ain’t the onliest ones.”

Adriane changed the subject quickly. “Do you think there’s going to be more trouble, Beck? With the election, I mean.”

“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t. The boys just lacked a little making a mob out there tonight, and if they’d come up on any guns, who knows what might have happened.” Beck shook his head again. “The way I see it, about the only good thing that’s going to come out of this election is that we’re sure to sell a pile of papers.”

T
he last hot days of July whipped by in a blur of speeches and newspaper print. A parade was planned for the first Saturday in August as a final show of strength for the Know Nothing candidates before the election on Monday. When her father demanded and Stanley pleaded that she carry a transparency in the parade, she surprised both them and herself by agreeing.

Stanley was pathetically jubilant when she told him she’d march in the parade with his sisters Pauline and Hazel, who had come back to Louisville expressly to take part.

“I’m so happy, my dearest Adriane, and Father will be too,” he said, squeezing Adriane’s hand. “Can I assume then, that you will be your wonderful old self again and ready to take your rightful place by my side at all the social functions? Mother and Pauline are planning a grand dinner party to celebrate Father’s victory, you know.”

“That sounds interesting,” Adriane said noncommittally, deciding to take one step at a time.

First she’d quit hiding and go back out into the world where she could see firsthand what was happening. Then maybe the strange stupor that had seized her mind and stolen the words from her pen would be broken. It had been days since she’d been able to write much more than a stilted report of the weather in her journal. Her prayers seemed every bit as stilted. She didn’t know what to pray or even what to hope for, but that was no reason to shut herself in a dark closet of despair. She needed to gather the light while she could. And wait for the answers that Beck kept assuring her would come.

The day of the parade she dressed carefully and fixed her hair with even more care while trying not to think about the probability of seeing Blake Garrett somewhere along the parade route. It did little good to think of Blake. After the last few weeks of editorial attacks and counterattacks between the
Tribune
and the
Herald
, the prospect of even a casual friendship with Blake had gone from unlikely to surely impossible.

She shoved thoughts of Blake Garrett from her mind and went downstairs to meet Stanley. A storm had lashed through the city just an hour earlier, and the newsboys were bringing in reports of downed trees and roofs off barns on the outskirts of the city. For a while it looked as if the parade might be canceled, but then the setting sun began turning the retreating storm clouds a deep rosy hue as if supplying elaborate decorations for the event.

Not only had the streets been washed and swept clean of refuse by the rain, the storm had freshened the air with an invigorating hint of coolness after the heat of the day. The Know Nothings could not have ordered a more perfect evening for a parade, and the streets were clogged with carriages and people on foot converging on the courthouse where the parade was to begin.

After Coleman Jimson and a couple of the other candidates made impromptu speeches from the courthouse steps, the girls unrolled their transparencies as the band struck up a lively tune. A charge of excitement seemed to be leaping from person to person and bringing shouts and laughter to everyone’s lips, even Adriane’s, as the parade began.

People along the route cheered as they passed, although Adriane wondered how anybody could be left to cheer as the parade stretched out behind her farther than she could see. Adriane was marching near the front of the winding column between Pauline and Stan who had stuck close to her side all evening. As family of one of the candidates, they had an honored spot in the parade directly behind the actual candidates themselves. The band followed them, and in between the cheers, the pounding drumbeat seemed to echo Adriane’s own heart that kept jumping up into her throat every time she spotted a man with dark curly hair in the crowd along the street. Her banner sagged a bit each time the man turned out not to be Blake Garrett.

When they passed by the
Tribune
’s offices, Adriane shouted a greeting and waved at Beck, who watched from the doorway. Not too much farther down the street, she spotted Duff and couldn’t keep from worrying that he shouldn’t be there. He did look so Irish. Even as she watched, a couple of men laughed and shoved the boy roughly out of their way. Adriane’s steps lagged, but then Duff saw her and tipped his cap before he grinned and melted back into the crowd. Stanley put his hand on her elbow and urged her forward.

They were almost back to the beginning of the parade’s circuitous route through the city when at last she spotted Blake. The charge of excitement that had been playing over the marchers seemed to concentrate and sear the air between them as their eyes met. For a moment she thought Blake would push out into the street and grab her. For a longer moment she wished he would. Then his eyes shifted a bit to the left and took in Stanley close beside her, and his face turned hard.

“He should be shot for staring at you so brazenly,” Stan muttered into her ear as he moved closer to Adriane.

With a heavy heart, Adriane forced herself to look back to the front of the parade. The strength drained out of her legs and arms in such a rush she thought she might have to sit down in the middle of the street and let the parade pass around her.

But somehow she managed to keep moving her feet, although she allowed the transparency she carried to droop as she answered Stanley. “If you mean Mr. Garrett, I’m sure he wasn’t staring at me but at Father.” She nodded slightly toward her father, who was walking directly in front of them. “No doubt he’s considering his next attack.”

“Perhaps, but it’ll do him little good,” Stan said with a short laugh. “He took on the wrong family when he took on the Jimsons, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if we were soon to see the last of our Mr. Garrett.”

“Really?” Adriane glanced over at Stan. “Mr. Garrett doesn’t impress me as the type to leave town because of a little opposition.”

“A little opposition?” A furrow formed between Stan’s eyes. “The man’s turned everyone who matters in Louisville against him. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll leave town now. Tonight. Before the election. It would be much safer for him.”

“Safer?” Adriane stared at Stanley as her throat tightened. She could barely get out her next words. “What do you mean safer?”

“Why, my dear, you sound almost distressed.” Stanley smiled at her. “I can’t believe you’d waste your compassion on the likes of Mr. Garrett after the things he’s printed the last few weeks in that travesty he calls a newspaper.”

Adriane kept her voice level and free of the trembles that were awakening inside her. “I’m hardly worried about Mr. Garrett. I’m sure he is quite capable of taking care of himself, but I would hope nothing is being planned that would reflect badly on the
Tribune
.” She slid her eyes across Stan’s face and added somewhat belatedly, “Or you or your father.”

“I’m touched by your concern, my dear.” Stan’s smile changed, twisted a little until something about his perfectly shaped features became almost alarming. “I had begun to fear you didn’t care for me at all. It’s such a relief to see how mistaken I was.”

Adriane looked down at the street and chose her words carefully. “I wouldn’t want to see you do anything foolish that might end in you getting hurt.”

“Jimsons don’t get hurt. People who try to hurt the Jimsons are the ones who live to regret it. Remember that, my dearest.”

On the other side of Adriane, Pauline turned from her sister Hazel in time to hear Stan’s last remark.

“For heaven’s sake, Stanley,” she said. “You sound positively grim and on a night when there’s no reason for anything but celebration. Father has won the election every way but at the ballot box and that is just a matter of a couple of days. Monday night Father will be our new state senator, and with this exhausting campaign over, we can turn our thoughts toward preparing for the wedding.” Pauline squeezed Adriane’s arm. “It’s going to be the perfect finale to a wonderful summer.”

“Perfect,” Stan agreed. A confident smile chased the strange threat from his face.

Adriane was relieved when they reached the end of the parade route and she could plead exhaustion and escape from the midst of the Jimsons. Later in the quietness of her room, she sat in front of her open journal. For the first time in days words were ready to flow from the end of her pen, even if they were words she was almost afraid to write.

Honor thy father.
The words slipped through her mind as she glanced over at her Bible on the corner of her desk. Those words were there. She couldn’t deny that. But other bits of verses came to mind.
For love is of God. Blessed are the pure in heart. Walk in truth. And the truth shall make you free.
Nothing about her life would ever be true again if she promised to love, honor, and obey Stanley Jimson. The Lord was showing her the answer. The only answer.

At last she allowed her hand to begin moving the pen to form the words.

I cannot marry Stanley Jimson. Even if Father loses the
Tribune
, I cannot marry Stanley Jimson. Even if Father completely disowns me, I cannot marry Stanley Jimson.

She stared at the words and felt as if she’d just pushed open a door that had been locking her into this small corner and now light was flooding in to surround her. Her heart felt free to beat again. Her mind could take wing and leave the darkness behind. She laid her hand on her Bible and whispered a grateful prayer as another Bible verse came to her mind.
And the light shineth in darkness.
Beck had shown her that in the first chapter of John years ago and she had embraced the light.

She pulled another sheet of paper to her and once more wrote a letter to Grace in Boston, but this time she didn’t tear the letter up as soon as it was written. This time she folded it and stuffed it in an envelope. She’d stay with Grace until she found some sort of position. She was not totally without talents. She would find something. Perhaps there would even eventually be some way to continue writing. It would not be like helping her father and Beck get out the paper. Nothing ever would be, but the
Tribune
would survive without her. She would survive without the
Tribune
. She could not survive as Mrs. Stanley Jimson.

She dug through the papers on her desk to pull out a piece of her finest stationery. She studied the smooth whiteness of the page a moment before she carefully dipped her pen into the inkpot.

Dear Stanley,

I am deeply sorry to be writing this letter, but after a great deal of thought and much soul searching, I realize I will not be able to marry you on September 15th or on any other date. I beg your forgiveness for the unforgivable, and deeply regret any pain my decision may cause you. You are a fine gentleman and I rest assured there are any number of young ladies much more worthy of your affection than I.

With deepest regret,
Adriane

She stared at the written words. She was sure Stan had guessed weeks ago that she did not want to marry him. Worse, she feared he had guessed her feelings for Blake Garrett, though she hardly dared to admit them even to herself. That’s why he had tried to frighten her with his threats against Blake. And he had. They weren’t idle threats.

Adriane pulled yet another sheet of paper to her—this time the plainest she could find—and in large block letters printed,

PLEASE BE WARNED! THERE ARE THOSE WHO THREATEN TO DO YOU HARM DUE TO THE STRONG OPINIONS EXPRESSED IN YOUR PAPER. A CONCERNED CITIZEN.

She folded the sheet of paper and tucked it in her pocket. Tomorrow she would get Duff to deliver the warning and post the letters.