Words Spoken True (33 page)

By some miracle, the knife had missed any of Beck’s vital organs, and the doctor said with the proper rest and care, the old man had a good chance of making it. Once Beck was bandaged and settled in his bed, Dr. Hammon turned to Adriane. “Now, my dear, it appears that you too are bleeding.” His eyes touched on the blood staining her torn dress that she had pulled together as best she could.

“It’s not my blood.” Adriane attempted to keep her voice from trembling as she desperately tried to block from her mind the image of Stanley’s face as he died. She failed on both counts.

Blake moved closer to her and put his arm around her waist. She leaned against him, glad he was there beside her. Glad Stanley hadn’t been able to steal him away from her by whatever trap he’d set for him down on the waterfront.

The doctor went on kindly, but insistently. “I think some of it may be yours. There appears to be a cut on your chin.”

Adriane shut her eyes a moment and remembered Stanley’s knife slicing into her face as she jerked away from him. “It’s nothing,” she said. She reached up to touch her chin and was surprised to feel the warmth of fresh blood on her fingers.

“No arguments. You need stitches.” Dr. Hammon’s voice was calm and businesslike. “Come out to the kitchen and we’ll fix it.” When he put his arm under her elbow to usher her out of Beck’s room toward the kitchen, Blake’s arm tightened around her. The doctor looked at him. “She’s safe now, man. There will be plenty you can do for her later, but now I need to tend to that cut.”

When Blake turned her loose, the doctor led her out of Beck’s room back into the pressroom where the sickening smell of death assaulted her. Adriane felt faint, but she forced herself to keep walking toward the kitchen, her eyes straight ahead.

Beside her, Dr. Hammon glanced toward Stanley’s body and then over his shoulder at Blake, who had followed them out. “For the love of mercy, Garrett, do the decent thing and cover the man’s body before his father gets here. If I need your help with your wife, I’ll call you.”

So Adriane was sitting at the kitchen table doing her best not to flinch as Dr. Hammon stitched up the cut when Coleman Jimson came storming in the front hall and into the pressroom.

“What’s the meaning of this? Dragging me out this time of night. I don’t care what Stanley’s done. It could have waited till morning.” His voice was loud and angry.

Adriane’s heart began to thud back and forth in her chest. Whatever else Stanley had been, he was the Jimsons’ only son, and her gun had killed him. His blood would always be on her hands, his dying face forever in her nightmares.

Dr. Hammon looked toward the pressroom for a moment. Then all his attention was back on Adriane. “Try to relax, Adriane. I’m almost finished here.”

But although she was no longer feeling the pain of the stitches, she couldn’t relax. Not with Coleman Jimson about to look at his son’s body.

The doctor must have noted her unease because he began talking in a low, kind voice. “Whatever happened to Stanley, he brought it on himself.” He looked up from working on her chin and met her eyes. “I think you can trust your husband to handle this and spare you any additional agony. He seems a decent sort.”

From the pressroom she could hear Blake’s voice, calm but cold as he told Coleman Jimson his son was dead. Jimson’s voice trailed off, and there were no more shouts. Neither were there any sounds of grief. Instead Coleman Jimson only sounded extremely weary as he said, “His mother will take this very hard.”

Blake gave the man no word of sympathy. Instead he said, “He was the river slasher.”

Dr. Hammon pulled in a sharp breath, but Adriane could hear no response from Coleman Jimson in the next room.

After a moment, Blake spoke again, the shock evident in his voice. “You knew.”

Adriane pushed the doctor’s hands away from her chin and stood up. The doctor stopped her long enough to tie off his last stitch, then let her go. She paused in the doorway to the pressroom. Trembles ran through her as she remembered standing there earlier, feeling the evil throbbing in the darkness. Stanley’s evil. An evil his father had evidently been aware of.

Coleman Jimson was staring at the sheet-covered body of his son. “I didn’t really know,” he said finally. “I only suspected.”

“And you didn’t do anything,” Blake said.

“What could I do? He was my son.”

“And what about Adriane?” Blake seemed to nearly choke on the words. “You were willing to sacrifice her life.”

“I never thought he’d hurt Adriane. Never.” His eyes flew back to Blake, and even from across the room, Adriane could see the concern in his face. “He didn’t, did he? She’s all right?”

“I’m alive,” Adriane said from the doorway, her voice stronger than she’d thought it would be. “Five other girls are not.”

Coleman Jimson stared at her a moment, taking in her torn dress, the blood. Then he looked back at Blake. “You did right to shoot him.”

Blake didn’t contradict him, and even as Adriane started to speak, Dr. Hammon lightly touched her arm to stay her words.

“It will be better this way,” the doctor whispered in her ear.

And so having accepted what he thought was the truth about his son’s death, Jimson turned his mind to the future. “You can’t print this,” he told Blake.

“It’s not the kind of thing you can hide,” Blake said.

“Maybe not all of it, but some of it. The whole truth would kill his mother.”

“And destroy your political career,” Blake said harshly.

“Perhaps, but people do not always hold a father responsible for a son’s sins,” the man said, and Adriane could see him beginning to regain some control. “But think, Garrett, what it could do to Adriane if you publish the truth. The gossip.”

“There will be gossip no matter what we print.”

“We can control it. We must control it.” Jimson narrowed his eyes as he looked at Blake before he went on. “It will give you a certain power over me, and the loan will be forgotten.”

“We are not for sale,” Adriane spoke up, her words fierce and determined.

Jimson turned his eyes toward Adriane. “I wasn’t suggesting that you were, my dear, but I do hope we can be reasonable. For the good of us all. There could be some difficulties for Mr. Garrett here if the circumstances were examined too closely by the police. Plus, I’m sure neither of you would want the matter to go to trial where you might have to take the stand to testify about Stanley’s attack on you. Think how distressing that would surely be for you.”

Blake’s voice was tightly controlled as he said, “What story can we print that people will believe?”

“A duel,” Jimson answered quickly. “People will understand that.”

“I don’t fight duels,” Blake said.

Jimson thought a moment before he asked, “Was it Stanley’s gun?”

“No.” Adriane had difficulty pushing out the words. “He had a knife.” She shuddered as she pointed to where it still lay on the floor. “It was Beck’s gun.”

Jimson stared down at the knife before touching his eyes on the cut on Adriane’s chin. His face went white as if fully realizing what his son had thought to do. He shut his eyes and stood very still. After a long silence, he moistened his lips with his tongue and said, “All right. So this is what we’ll say. Stanley, crazed with jealousy, breaks in here to confront Adriane. Wade’s man pulls out his gun to make him leave. Stanley fights with the old man, and in the struggle Wade’s man is wounded and Stanley is killed. We don’t have to make mention of the knife.”

Blake looked across the room at Adriane. She met his eyes and nodded. There was the germ of truth in the story.

Duff suddenly spoke up from where he’d been watching the men from the door. “But what of me sister? What of the slasher?”

Blake turned and answered him softly, with kindness. “Naming the murderer won’t bring back Lila, Duff, but no more girls will die.” He paused a moment, his eyes searching the boy’s face before he went on. “Will that be enough?”

Duff looked from Blake to Adriane. “If it’s best for Miss Adriane this way.”

Blake’s eyes lifted from Duff to Adriane. “It is.”

And so the deal was made, the story planned with silence in regard to the whole truth vowed by all present.

B
efore the police came, Adriane went upstairs where she scrubbed her hands three times in her washbowl. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and stared at those hands in her lap. She thought she should change out of her bloodstained dress in case the police wanted to talk to her. Downstairs she heard the front door opening and then the murmur of unfamiliar voices, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. She was glad. She didn’t want to know what they were saying.

She remembered how when she was a child locked inside the closet and the monsters had edged too close, she had shut her eyes and whispered the Bible verses about light.
And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

She needed light. She needed to block out everything. Stanley slicing off the buttons of her dress, then the sharp point of the knife under her chin. The deafening boom of the gun as they’d fallen. The way even as he was dying he’d reached for her throat to take her with him. His eyes changing into something not quite human as he’d fought for his last breath. And then Blake was there, anger mixed with the fear on his face. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking even as he had pulled her close and held her as though worried she might break or perhaps was already broken. Then Beck bleeding. They had to think about him.

She tried to think about Beck now. To pray for him. That was better than thinking about what had happened. She didn’t want to think about what had happened. Not even about the deal they’d struck with Coleman Jimson. A deal to tell and publish lies. That didn’t seem right. Best for everyone perhaps, but was it right?

The minutes ticked slowly past as she stared at her hands and waited, and though the lamps in her room were lit and light danced all around her, the monsters of the dark lurked in her mind.

It seemed like hours later when she finally heard Blake’s step on the stairs. Once again she was the child in the closet hearing her father coming in the house and knowing that soon she’d be rescued from the dark. For a moment she felt that same joyous leap of her heart, but then she mashed it down. This time there might be no rescue. What if the police didn’t accept their story? What if they demanded to know the truth? From her. What if they decided she was guilty of causing Stanley’s death? She had wanted him to die. That was surely reason for guilt.

She didn’t look up when Blake came into the room, but kept her eyes on her hands. Was that more blood under her fingernails?

He came over to stand in front of her. When she kept her head bent, he gently touched her hair. “They’re gone.”

She made herself ask, “They believed what you told them?”

“It sounded true,” he said. “Jimson played his part well. A grieving father distraught over the foolish actions of his son that led to his tragic death. The police were ready to accept whatever he told them to believe. They carried the body away for him.”

“And Beck?”

“He’s still out from whatever the doctor gave him. Duff’s sitting with him. Joe came in and the doctor set his arm and gave him a ride home in his buggy. Everything is taken care of.”

“Everything?” Adriane asked quietly, her eyes still on her hands. That was definitely blood under her fingernails. Maybe Stanley’s blood. She clamped her lips together to keep back a scream.

“Almost everything,” Blake admitted. He knelt in front of her and with great tenderness lifted her face up, being careful not to touch the stitches in her chin. His eyes probed hers as though looking for answers to unasked questions.

She started to say something, but he put his fingers softly on her lips. “Not now. We’ll talk later. First a bath.”

He carried in the tub and hauled warm water up the stairs that he must have put on to heat before the police came. He found the towels and soap, and when all was ready, he helped her strip off the ruined dress. She could feel his hands trembling as he eased the sleeves off her arms. While he carried the dress to the door to throw it out of the room, she slipped out of her chemise and pantaloons and stepped into the tub to sink down into the warm water.

She picked up the soap, but he knelt beside the tub and took it from her. Gently he began soaping her shoulders. She kept her eyes straight ahead as she said quietly, “He didn’t touch me.”

When his hands went still on her shoulders, she turned to look straight at him. “Would it have changed things if he had?” She kept her eyes steady on his. She did not want him to back away from the question. She needed an answer.

He didn’t hesitate. “Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you, Adriane. Or the way we belong together in every way.”

She was too surprised to speak when his mouth began quivering and his face crumpled as tears filled his eyes. He brushed the back of his hand across his eyes and drew in a shaky breath before he was able to go on. “But I should have been here to protect you from him.”

“You can’t always rescue everyone.” Adriane reached up to touch one of the tears that leaked out on his cheek.

He put his hand over hers and brought it around to his lips. He kissed her palm before he said, “But I want to rescue you. I can’t stand to see the wounded look in your eyes. I should have been here to save you from killing him by killing him myself.”

“I wasn’t holding the gun when it fired, but I did make him fall. That’s when the gun went off.” Stanley’s contorted face was there in front of her again. She shuddered so violently that water splashed out of the tub onto the floor.

“It’s over, darling. He can’t hurt you now.” Blake reached into the tub to put his arms around her.

She stayed stiff, unable to accept his embrace. “But don’t you see?” Adriane stared down in the water at her hands just below the surface. The blood was gone from under her fingernails, but would it ever be gone from her memory? “I wanted him dead. I was glad when he died.”

“Shh, it’s all right. You didn’t cause it. The evil within him caused it all. But he’s gone now and can’t hurt anyone else. That’s what you need to keep in your mind. He can’t hurt anyone else.” He touched his lips to her cheek and then her shoulder. “I’m here with you.” He leaned back and looked at her face. “I’ll always be with you.”

Adriane could see the depth of his promise in his eyes. With him beside her, she’d be able to face whatever was to come. Even the blackest closet of her fears would never be completely dark again, for his love would glow from inside her to push aside the darkness. A gift of light from the Lord who had heard her prayer in the darkness.

“I want to have your baby.” She wasn’t sure where the words came from or why she picked that moment to say them with death so fresh in her mind. Perhaps that was the reason.

Blake laughed, light exploding from his eyes as all signs of his earlier tears vanished. Suddenly death seemed far away. “I certainly hope so. If we’re going to start a newspaper dynasty, we’ll need at least six. Three boys and three girls. Think of the money we’ll save on hands once Beck has them trained to set type.”

“They might not all be as adept with the type as their mother,” Adriane said.

“True enough. But as long as they have their mother’s fire and courage, that will be enough.” Blake dropped his lips down to cover hers lightly before he began soaping her arms and back.

Adriane shut her eyes and soaked in the good feel of his hands touching her before she opened her eyes again and looked straight at him. “I love you, Blake Garrett. I have since the first moment I saw you in Mrs. Wigginham’s parlor.”

“I know.” A smile lingered on his face. “The part I wasn’t sure about was whether I could ever get you to admit it.”

“And now that you have?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“I think it calls for at least five-inch headline type.”

“I doubt that headline would sell papers.” She laughed. A few hours ago, she wasn’t sure she’d ever have the chance to laugh again. But with the Lord’s help she had escaped the dark closet of evil that was Stanley Jimson. Another laugh welled up inside her as she rejoiced in the light surrounding her now. It was good to breathe. It was good to have Blake kneeling there beside her tub. It was good to have words of love on her lips.

“It will be a limited edition. One issue for you. One for me. And maybe one for Mrs. Wigginham.”

“And you?” Her smile faded as she stared at him intently. “I think you may have decided to rescue me that day, but when did you know you loved me?”

“I’ve always loved you, Adriane. I just didn’t know it until I saw you.”

She stood up then, letting the last of her fears slide away from her like the droplets of water off her skin. Water couldn’t rid her of the stain of Stanley’s blood, but Blake’s love could.

His eyes widened with surprise, but then his face warmed with love as he wrapped a towel around her and lifted her out of the tub. Water dripped everywhere, but neither of them noticed as he held her close and lowered his lips to hers.

Light, glorious light filled her heart. Nothing could ever steal that from her again. She’d prayed for an answer and now that amazing answer held her in his arms.

“I love you, Adriane Darcy,” Blake whispered into her hair.

“You mean Adriane Darcy Garrett, don’t you?” She leaned her head back to smile at him.

“I do indeed, Mrs. Garrett. I truly do.” Light exploded from his eyes again as he said, “I love you, Adriane Darcy Garrett.”

“And I love you, Blake Garrett. For now and forevermore.”

Never were words spoken more true.