Independence’s rebirth had also been her own. The future—good and bad—was waiting to unfold.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A
NOTHER
FIVE
DAYS
PASSED
, and IVA’s former office building was ready to be occupied. Myka had spent most of the morning moving equipment and supplies into the various rooms and getting her own office set up. Now, after giving Bear a much needed outside break, Myka headed back upstairs. As she passed the wool processing area, she saw half a dozen women inside the former kitchen, setting up dyeing stations and drying racks.
Seeing Myka, Fran Brown, one of their spinners and a member of the town council, came over to meet her. “Myka, I’m glad I caught you! Have you spoken to Robyn yet? She said we’ve received several special orders.”
“What kind?” she asked, instantly wary.
“Two ladies want us to process and spin their poodles’ hair into yarn.”
“I have no idea what kind of yarn we’d get from that,” Myka said.
“Neither do I. Maybe we could experiment by shearing Bear’s coat and making him a sweater,” she teased.
Almost as if he’d understood, the dog looked at her and snorted.
“I think that’s a no,” Myka said, laughing. “On those special orders... Let’s suggest that the customers ask us again after New Year’s. By then we’ll be running at full capacity.”
“Fair enough. Oh, and before I forget, Joshua’s been looking for you, too.”
“Where is he now—do you know?”
“Last time I saw him, he was downstairs helping Robyn in her office.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Myka found Joshua on the floor beneath Robyn’s desk, tying off computer cables while Robyn organized software CDs in a storage box.
“Hey, guys,” she said.
Joshua came out from under the desk and sat up. As their eyes met, Myka felt a rush of warmth envelop her. “Hi, Josh. I haven’t seen you in a couple of days. Where have you been hiding?”
“I finished my reports on the town properties, so now I’m working part-time renovating some of those buildings along Main Street,” he said, standing up. “I’m also lending a hand with facade restoration. From a design point of view, that’s really important because it sets the tone for the entire building.”
Joshua’s face seemed to light up as he filled her in on the details, and she realized this was the happiest she’d seen him since he’d returned. It was as plain as the sunlight streaming through the glass window that he’d missed working as an architect more than he’d admitted.
“Thanks for helping me get set up, Josh,” Robyn said, sitting down at her desk.
“Anytime.” Joshua looked at Myka and cocked his head toward the doorway. “I’d like to take the office at the end of this hall. It’s got perfect lighting and lots of room for my drafting table. Almost all my blueprints and sketches are done using computer assisted design software, but I can use the table surface to study Dad’s old maps and papers.”
“No problem,” Myka said, following him to the room in question. “I can help you move your stuff in, too, if you’d like.”
“Nah, I’ve got it.”
“Do you have a minute? Something’s been bothering me, and I’d like to talk to you about it,” she said. Seeing him nod, she closed the door. “The prospect of renewed rail service is becoming more and more important. Where are you on the search for Brooks’s papers?”
“I haven’t made any progress. Dad’s notes are all I’ve got to go by, and those are sketchy. He, Grandma and Ben Bruce were trying to get inside Brooks’s head and figure it out, but that didn’t go anywhere.”
“Ben can’t help us, but I think I know someone who might,” she said. “Edgar Vega’s always been reclusive, but he was one of your dad’s oldest friends, and they shared a love of town history. You should talk to him.”
“That’s a good lead, Myka, but I’m not sure how welcome I’d be. I never got along with Mr. Vega’s oldest son, Luke. I clocked him one time for shooting off his mouth. After that, Luke left me alone, but I’m guessing I’m still not one of his favorite people.”
“So we’ll go over there together. The Vegas don’t live too far from here. Can you use a break?”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
After leaving Bear in her office with his favorite toy, they walked to Joshua’s truck, which was parked in the loading zone alongside the train tracks.
Myka gave Joshua directions as he drove across town and soon they entered one of the neighborhoods west of Main Street. The houses here were evenly spaced, checkerboardlike, on half-acre lots.
“It’s the last house on the right—the blue-and-sand-colored stucco one,” Myka said. As Joshua drove slowly down Cottonwood Road, she told him about J.R. and how he’d helped Mr. Vega.
“I always liked Jerry,” he said. “It took guts for him to stick with his own interests and not run with the pack.”
As Joshua pulled up against the curb across from the Vega residence they saw Robyn coming down the front walk toward her car.
“Interesting,” Joshua observed. “I didn’t expect to see her here.”
“She’s got a thing for J.R.,” Myka said, “but she’ll kill me if you tell her I said so.”
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe.”
As they crossed the empty street, Robyn waited on the sidewalk to greet them.
“Let me guess, Robyn. You’re just following up on that lunch meeting,” Myka whispered, grinning.
“Exactly,” Robyn replied, her face flushing slightly.
“Okay, seriously now. How did your lunch with J.R. go?” Myka added.
Robyn smiled. “It was perfect. He gave me some great marketing ideas. I’m going to start a blog giving people special insights into HMI. I’ll focus on the artisans and the different crafts they practice.”
“That sounds great!” Myka said. “Will it be part of our webpage?”
“Yes, and I’ll also start a newsletter. We’ll ask visitors to the site to sign up,” she said. Robyn looked from Myka to Joshua. “But what are you two doing here, if I may ask?”
“We’re going to ask Mr. Vega if he and my father ever learned anything more about Mr. Brooks and all his secrets,” Joshua replied.
“Trying to find out where those documents went?” Robyn asked.
“That’s right. My dad and Mr. Vega were and are this community’s best amateur historians,” Joshua answered. “Hopefully, we’ll learn something new.”
“Well, I’ve got to get going, so good luck with that. I’ll catch you guys later.”
As Robyn walked off, Myka and Joshua went up to the Vegas’ front porch.
Before they could ring the bell, J.R. opened the door and greeted Myka with a smile. “I thought I heard a familiar voice,” he said. “Robyn and I were just talking about you, Myka.”
The awkward-looking kid Myka remembered was taller now, about six foot one, and although he’d put on some weight, he was still slender. He wore brown framed glasses that made his hazel eyes seem owlish.
“You’ve done a great job kick-starting Independence,” he said. “It’s good to see people taking charge of their destinies.”
As his glance shifted to Joshua, Myka introduced them.
“You remember Joshua Nez, don’t you?”
“Long time, dude,” he said with a nod, then waved them inside.
“I hear you’re retired now,” Myka said.
“Too young for that. More like between careers. Right now I’m keeping busy helping Dad with his business.”
“Myka, is that you?” Edgar Vega called out from farther inside the house.
“Yes, Mr. Vega,” Myka answered. “Where are you?”
“He’s in the den,” J.R. said. “Dad spends a lot of time in there, but it’s awfully cold in winter. I want to put in a fireplace, some skylights and full-length windows as soon as possible. His eyesight isn’t what it used to be and he needs more light.” J.R. looked at Joshua. “At your convenience, I’d like to talk remodeling with you.”
“Anytime,” Joshua said. “You have my number?”
“Got it from Robyn,” he replied. “I’ll be in touch.”
As they entered the den, Edgar Vega, a slender man in his early seventies with thinning gray hair, was wiping his hands on a rag. The painting before him was still in the early stages, sketched out with thin strokes, but it was clearly a Southwestern landscape. He gestured to the closest chairs, then placed the rag on a small worktable covered with paints and brushes.
“Hi, Myka, Joshua. Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, pushing the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid flannel shirt farther up his arms.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Vega,” Myka said, noting the faint scent of turpentine. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”
“Sir,” Joshua greeted.
“I was ready to take a break, so your timing’s perfect,” Edgar said, taking a seat on a tall, three-legged stool beside his art supply table. “So tell me. What brings you here today?”
Myka glanced at Joshua and gave him a nod, knowing this would be better coming from him. As she sat back, he explained about his dad, the maps and the historical documents.
After he finished, Joshua added, “I was hoping that maybe you and Dad had discussed his research, or that you’ve looked into Brooks’s legacy at one time or another.”
“I’ve done both. The questions surrounding Silas Brooks have always piqued my curiosity, but your father’s research was more comprehensive than anything I’ve done. He’d spend hours studying those old newspapers and reading whatever he could find about the man. It was personal for him. Your dad identified strongly with Brooks.”
“Really?” Joshua asked. “How so?”
“You have to look past the surface to see it. Although one was wealthy and the other not, there was a lot more to their stories than money.”
“Like what?” Joshua pressed, curious.
“Let’s start with Brooks. Although his family diversified their holdings, their biggest moneymaker was a firearms manufacturing plant in the Midwest. Silas despised weapons, but he did what his father expected and took over when the time came. Yet as the company prospered, he became guilt ridden. After Silas’s wife and baby died during childbirth, he was convinced that he’d been cursed by the ghosts of those killed with his family’s weapons.”
“I’d always heard he was a troubled man, but I didn’t know the whole story,” Myka said. “Did you ever meet him?”
“He commissioned me to do a painting of a prominent New Mexican historical site. He left the choice to me and I took months to decide.”
“And he was okay with that?” Myka asked.
“Yes. He wanted something special and knew I’d come through,” he said. “That painting turned out to be one of my best. It focused on the Cross of the Martyrs in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains near Santa Fe. It’s a monument dedicated to the Franciscan friars in 1920. Since Brooks rarely left his house, I took the finished painting over to him. He loved it and asked me into his home for some cognac. He didn’t have many guests, so I was incredibly flattered.”
“That house was really something in its heyday, I would imagine,” Joshua said.
“It was. I’ve never seen anything like it—before or since.” He lapsed into a long silence. Eventually, he continued. “When it came time for me to get paid, he asked me to wait for him, then closed the door and stepped out of the
sala.
I heard what sounded like furniture being moved and the clack of wood. I thought something was wrong, so I went into the entryway and called out, asking if he was okay. He met me a second later, annoyed because I’d left the room. He handed me my money, all cash, and told me to leave.”
“Did you ever figure out what was going on?” Joshua asked. He was beginning to understand his father’s fascination with Brooks. Every detail he uncovered led to another, even more interesting one.
“Since he paid me in cash, I figured he must have had a secret panel stuffed with money in the house somewhere, but I don’t know for sure,” Edgar said. “Your father checked for loose floorboards or a trap door just last year, but he didn’t find anything.”
“Does Mayor Allen know this story?” Joshua asked.
“I doubt your father would have said anything unless he’d actually found those missing documents.”
Joshua nodded. “Yeah, Dad was like that.”
“If Brooks really did leave a will behind, my guess is that it’s still somewhere in his house.”
“Thanks, Mr. Vega,” Joshua said.
“I know you and your father had differences, but he was very proud of you, son. You always came first...no matter what the cost.” In a thoughtful voice, he added, “Like Silas Brooks, your dad paid the price for family.”
The change in Mr. Vega’s tone caught Joshua’s attention. “You mentioned before that my dad and Brooks were alike. How do you figure that?”
Edgar started to speak then shook his head. “It’s not for me to say.”
“He’s gone, Mr. Vega. If it’s something that might help me understand Dad better, I’d sure like to hear it.”
After a long moment, Edgar finally nodded. “When a son looks at his father, all too often he sees only part of what’s there. There’s judgment, history, sometimes pride, and all that colors the reality,” he said. “You saw a hardworking janitor that some misguided people in the community looked down on, but he, like you, had bigger dreams once.”
“He never mentioned anything like that to me.”
“Probably because there was nothing more to be said,” Edgar answered. Looking directly at Joshua, he continued, “Your father was a first-class woodcarver, and although you may not know this, he had his own shop at one time. He loved his work, but business came in spurts, and when your mom got pregnant, he realized he needed a steady paycheck. His job at the plant gave him a salary and health insurance, so he closed his shop and never looked back.”
“If he loved woodworking so much, why didn’t he open a shop once I was in college and on my own?”
Edgar shook his head. “As we age, our dreams change, Josh. He no longer had the energy nor the inclination to deal with the ups and downs of an unreliable career.”
“I wish he’d told me.” Joshua felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d misjudged his father for years and there was nothing he could do to make it right.
“Adam was a proud man. He never felt the need to explain himself to you or anyone else.”
“Proud, he was,” Joshua agreed.
They left the Vegas’ home soon afterward, and Joshua didn’t speak until they were back in his truck. “My dad and I weren’t so different after all.”