Night Journey (25 page)

“Well, well, well.” Harry started when he saw Earl, the sheriff’s deputy come into the room. “Guess you’re gonna live after all, huh Fuller?”

“Why’m I here?” Harry squirmed from his supine position, wishing he could at least sit up.

“’Cause Sheriff Miller over in Polk County was forced to shoot you after you attacked one of his deputies and then tried to run off.” Earl grinned and crossed his arms. “Too bad he just got ya in the leg. If’n he’d aimed a little higher it shore woulda saved the taxpayers some money. You been wallerin’ in this bed fer nigh on three days now.”

Memories came rushing back and he panicked. “Where’s my wife?”

“Wife?” Earl cocked his head to one side. “Din’t know you was married.”

“Ivy’s my wife. Where is she?” He clutched the bed sheets, frustrated by his captivity.

“You talkin’ ‘bout the little gal they dragged outta that cheap touristy court?”

“Where is she, damn you?” Harry jerked at the restraints, causing the bed to shake. “What have you done with my wife?”

“If you’re talkin’ ‘bout Miss Turner…” Earl smiled, walked over to a trashcan and spat. “Her daddy done took her back to St. Louie.”

“Her name’s Ivy Fuller.” Harry felt his temperature rise. “We got married on Friday. Me and Ivy, and Clyde and Tyme. Just ask Doc Pruett. He was gonna file the marriage licenses for us.”

Earl shook his head and folded his arms. “Now that’s just too bad.”

“What?” Hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled.

“Pore ol’ Doc.” Earl walked slowly around the room before he continued. “Found him in his truck a couple days ago near Thompson’s crick. Looks like he just skidded right off the road and hit the bottom of the bridge…truck caught on fire. If he had any marriage licenses on him, they’re toast now…same as Doc Pruett.”

Harry lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. He should have known it was all too good to be true. Ivy—the money—all of it. Now she was gone and Doc was dead. Nothing good ever happened to him. Everything always ended in tragedy.

“They’re gettin’ up a grand jury tomorrow,” said Earl. “They put it off for a couple of days when it looked like you might not make it, with your fever and all.”

“A grand jury? For what?”

“Well, let me see if I can ‘member all the charges they’re plannin’.” Earl grinned, poked out his fingers, and counted. “There’s arson, grand theft auto, bank robbery, kidnapping…”

“Arson? Bank robbery?” Harry spluttered. “I didn’t do none of those things.”

“Let me spell it out, Fuller,” Earl’s eyes glittered. “We got reason to believe you and your partner McKinney set fire to the Renfro Dry Goods store last Friday.”

“No, we didn’t,” Harry argued. “We worked all day Friday at the camp and then when we came through town we heard about the fire, but we didn’t go near it.”

“Hm. Well, we’ll see. There’s also the car you stole.”

“I didn’t steal any car. Clyde and Tyme bought a new one, so they gave her old one to me and Ivy.”

Earl sniffed. “Wasn’t hers to give. Belonged to Caleb Turner. He inherited it from Chauncey Renfro after he died.”

“What about the money? I didn’t have nothin’ but a hundred dollars that Tyme gave us for a wedding gift.”

“Yeah, that’s what tipped us off to the whole thing.” Earl smirked and leaned on Harry’s bed. “Man at the motel called the local sheriff Friday night. Said you’d been tryin’ to pay for a two-dollar room with a counterfeit C-note. So they checked it out and discovered the car you was drivin’ was stolen too. Our men do fast work. S’why you got caught so quick.”

“It wasn’t stolen.” Harry clenched his fists and tried to ignore the throbbing pain. “And you think I robbed a bank just because I had a hundred dollars?”

“Hoo boy!” Earl chortled. “I ain’t no accountant, but best I can figure, you had ‘bout fifteen thousand dollars in your suitcase.”

“What?” Harry gasped.

“Um hm. That was a nice little chunk of change, my boy. Where’d ya get it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Harry lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

“People’s been speculatin’ ‘bout that money. Couple men robbed a bank over in Bentonville back last January.” Earl scratched his head, sending dander flakes flying. “We think maybe it was you and McKinney done it.”

“I wasn’t even here then. I was still working for the CCC up in South Dakota. I didn’t come to Arkansas until April.”

“You got any proof of your whereabouts?”

“Well, yeah. I could get proof. All I gotta do is write to my old unit.”

“We’ll let your lawyer take care of that. Meanwhile, you’re still in a messa trouble. But you’re damn lucky they caught ya when they did.” Earl hovered over Harry, staring him in the face. “Just a little bit farther and youd’ve crossed the state line with the little gal. Then we’d have to turn ya over to the Feds for interstate kidnapping.”

“Yeah, lucky me.”

“What about McKinney? You know where he went with Miz Renfro?”

“No. They didn’t say where they were going.”

“You sure you don’t know where they went?” Earl poked at Harry’s injured leg with his finger. “’Cause you might as well tell us. We’ll find ‘em one way or the other.”

Harry stifled a scream and broke out in a cold sweat. A thousand burning needles gnawed at the edges of his frayed nerves, but he remained silent.

Earl pulled back the sheet and stared at Harry’s leg. He ripped the bandage off and Harry almost passed out. The gaping wound where the doctor had removed the bullet was still raw and puffy, but appeared to be healing. Earl stood and studied the wound for several seconds, then roughly tied the bandage back in place. Harry bit his lip, refusing to cry out.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Earl sneered as he headed for the door. “Ain’t that bad no more. I’ll tell the doctor you’re ready to leave the infirmary and go back to your jail cell.”

“Are you sure she’ll be ready by then?” Jared’s dark eyes glittered and his mouth tightened. “It’s been more than three months since she’s spoken with me. It’s almost October, you know. I have to make the reservations for our ship or we’ll never make it to Paris by New Year’s Eve.”

“Yes, yes, of course she’ll be ready.” Caleb smiled, lit a cigar, and held out his lighter to Jared. “She’s been through a trauma, remember? Just takes a little time. But the doctor says she’ll be just fine. I see no problem in having the wedding on December third.”

“Well, what’s the matter with her now? Why won’t she see me tonight?” Jared puffed on his cigar and scowled.

“She’s got a touch of the flu,” said Winifred. “Her eyes are all puffy and her nose is red. She’s in no condition to entertain anyone right now. Did you bring the sketches?”

“Oh, yes. Here they are.” Jared pulled some drawings out of his briefcase and spread them on the drawing room table.

“These are lovely. I think that one will do quite nicely.” Winifred studied the pictures of wedding gowns, pointed to the third one in the set, and handed Jared an envelope. “Here are her measurements for the seamstress.”

“Don’t you think we ought to consult Ivy before we make the final decision?” asked Caleb.

“Very well. If you will excuse me, Jared, I’ll take these upstairs and show them to her.”

“Winnie, Jared and I are going to the club for a drink. I shouldn’t be too late, but don’t bother waiting up. All right?”

“Of course, dear. It was nice to see you again, Jared. I’ll show these sketches to Ivy.”

Winifred turned and walked slowly up the stairs. They were all fooling themselves if they thought Ivy would be ready to marry Jared by December. It had already been more than two months since they’d forced her to come home, yet she was still crying over Harry.

She stopped on the stair landing and held her aching head. The tension from all the unhappiness in the house was getting to her. Dr. Baker had advised her to avoid stress, yet she found herself bombarded with it daily. As soon as she finished with Ivy she would go take a dose of her medicine and lie down. She just hoped the tumor wasn’t growing again.

She could still hear Jared and Caleb’s voices from where she stood upstairs. She paused to listen.

“Will you be certain she wears the necklace? She was wearing it the night we met, you know. It’s very important she wear it at our wedding, too.”

“Of course, Jared. The necklace is safely locked away. Nobody’s going to touch it until then.”

The slamming of the front door echoed throughout the house.

Winifred sighed when she thought about the unusual diamond and sapphire pendant cross. Caleb had taken it, along with a matching ring and pair of earrings, off a dead German officer when he was away fighting in the Great War. He’d sold the ring and earrings before they married, but she’d worn the necklace at their wedding. She reached up and touched the scar on her neck, still faintly visible after all these years.

She’d never liked the necklace. From the moment she first saw it, she’d sensed something cold and unfriendly about it. But Caleb had insisted she wear it and she’d kept her anxiety to herself; afraid he would think her insane if she told him about the way it seemed to cut off her breath—or how the sharp edge had dug into her neck, leaving tiny droplets of red on her wedding veil. And then the scratch hadn’t healed properly, leaving a scar to remind her of her irrational fear.

Caleb had locked it in the safe after their wedding and she hadn’t looked at it in years. But then two years ago, when times grew hard, Winifred suggested he sell the necklace. Together they’d taken it to a local jeweler with a reputation for honesty. The jeweler’s appraisal had been astonishing.

Winifred shivered, remembering the excitement on Mr. Schmidt’s face when he looked at the necklace. The jeweler’s wife had then entered the shop, picked up the necklace, and tried it on. She was wearing the earrings and ring Caleb had sold years before, and the proximity of the stones together flashed like fire beneath the overhead lights. Mr. Schmidt had grown angry and barked something in a language Winifred didn’t understand, which sent his wife scurrying in tears from the room after removing the necklace.

He recovered quickly from his outburst, rummaged around on a bookshelf behind the counter, produced an old, leather-bound book, and flipped through the pages. An artist’s rendering of the necklace, earrings, and ring appeared on page fifty-seven.

Caleb laughed when the jeweler read the story beside the picture, but Winifred took it seriously. According to legend, an eighteenth-century Romanian jewelry-maker had been commissioned by a member of European royalty to manufacture the set for her daughter. The precious gems were delivered to their destination, but the necklace was never paid for. Unable to collect the debt, the jeweler put a curse on whoever wore the necklace.

Mr. Schmidt then proceeded to tell them that the necklace was a priceless antique, that it belonged in a museum, and that it would be impossible for him to pay Caleb a fraction of its true value. This explanation had seemed to satisfy Caleb, however, for he had taken it home and locked it up. The next time Winifred saw it was on the night Ivy was crowned Queen of the Veiled Prophet Ball—the night she met Jared.

Ivy hadn’t liked the necklace either. She’d complained about feeling choked when she wore it at her début last year. Yolanda, the maid, had called it unlucky.

Winifred steeled herself and knocked. Silence. She put the key in the lock and opened the door. The room was cold, yet airless and stuffy. Winifred’s heart skipped a beat when she looked around and couldn’t find her daughter. Then she heard the retching and she hurried inside, dropping the portfolio onto Ivy’s bed.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?”

Ivy knelt on the floor, hovering over the chamber pot. Her face was a tortured mask, her complexion ashen, and her eyes sunken and hollow. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slowly rose to her feet.

Winifred’s stomach heaved at the sickly smell, but she covered her nose with her hand and hurried to help Ivy. “Darling, are you sick again?” Winifred put her arm around Ivy and walked her back to the bed.

Ivy groaned and lay down. She turned her face to the wall and curled herself into a ball.

“Ivy, I’m getting very worried about you. I think it’s time to call the doctor again.” Winifred sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers across Ivy’s forehead. She didn’t have a fever, but her chestnut hair had lost its shine and her complexion seemed pale and sallow.

“You won’t like what he tells you. You know very well what’s wrong with me, but you don’t want to admit it.”

Winifred stared back at her daughter and shook her head. “Oh, Ivy. You’ve got all the symptoms I had months ago. Do you think you might have cancer?”

Ivy closed her eyes and her lips curled in a grimace. “You are such an actress. You know very well that I’m with child. I’m going to have Harry’s baby.”

Winifred recoiled. “How can you say such a thing? You’re not even married!”

“I was married. Until you and Papa had me declared incompetent and got my marriage annulled.” The dark circles under Ivy’s sunken eyes grew more pronounced as they filled with tears. “I will never forgive you and Papa for what you did to me.”

“That so-called
husband
of yours is nothing but a common criminal. He’s sitting in jail right now and I hope they never let him out.” Winifred’s heart began to palpitate and she held her hand to her chest, gulping in shallow breaths.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Ivy spat. “I might as well be in jail too. I haven’t been out of this room in over two months.”

“Your father and I had to work very hard to convince the judge to let you come home at all. You were acting like such a lunatic, he wanted to have you committed to an institution. I thought I would die from shame when they brought you home wearing a straight jacket.”

Ivy sniffed. “I wish you had sent me to the hospital. At least then I might have been able to go outside occasionally.”

“Is that what you want? To go outside?”

Ivy sat up and took Winifred’s hand, her eyes pleading. “Mama, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to lose my mind. I’m sick of this room—sick of this house. Won’t you please let me see some of my friends?”

Winifred hesitated. “Jared will be back in a little while. Would you like to see him?”

“No! You know how much I hate him.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes darted around the room. “I want to see Margot. I heard her at the door yesterday asking for me. Please let me talk to her? Please?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You know how your father feels about her.” Winifred embraced Ivy and the sketches fell out of the portfolio onto the bed.

Ivy picked up a drawing and stared at it. “What is this?”

“They’re sketches of wedding gowns from Jared’s designer. He wants you to pick one out so she can begin sewing.”

Ivy screamed, picked up the drawings, and began ripping them apart.

Winifred gasped and jerked them away. She stood up and stared at her daughter. “What is the matter with you?” She backed out of the room, clutching the portfolio.

Ivy collapsed onto the mattress, sobbing uncontrollably. Winifred’s heart lurched when her daughter’s mournful wailing seemed to increase with the click of the lock. She retreated to the safety of her bedroom.

She stood with her back to the wall, trying to catch her breath, her lungs ready to explode. How much more could she endure? Her head pounded and she was reminded of another time, when the pain in her head and the crying of her child had been too much to endure.

Almost blinded from the pain, she felt her way to her bathroom. She reached into the medicine cabinet with shaking hands and rummaged through the bottles. Nothing in here would be strong enough to help her now.

She stumbled back into the bedroom and opened the closet, kicking aside mounds of hatboxes and shoes until she found what she was looking for. The little wooden chest hadn’t been opened in years, but she knew that what she needed was inside. She groped through the tiny blankets and shirts and booties until her fingers touched the cool glass bottle.

Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.

She carried it into the bathroom, poured some into a tumbler, and drank. She closed her eyes and waited for the precious serum to work its magic. Within seconds her mind cleared and the pounding in her head abated. She breathed deeply and smiled. Her stress had vanished.

Winifred stared at the label on the bottle. A picture of a pretty Victorian lady dangling a toy above a plump baby adorned the bottle. The words
for children teething
were prominently displayed across the front. A Pure Food and Drug Act tax stamp dangled loosely from its stopper. Such a wonderful product. It used to be available everywhere, but now you couldn’t even get it any more.

She carried the bottle down the hall, placed the key in the lock, and entered her daughter’s bedroom. Her mother’s heart ached at the sight of her child, crumpled on the bed. Ivy was crying again, her sobs pitiful and hopeless. She sat on the bed and rubbed Ivy’s back, her words low and soothing.

“There, there, my darling. Mama’s here now. Please don’t cry. Mama has something to make you feel better.” Winifred reached for a spoon on the bedside table, opened the bottle and poured some liquid into the spoon.

Ivy turned over and looked at her mother, her nose twitching from the pungent odor. “What is that?”

“Some nice medicine to make you feel better,” replied Winifred. Her hand shook as she held the spoon toward Ivy. “Baby Danny liked it when he was cutting teeth. It always made him sleep so well.”

Ivy gasped and knocked the spoon out of Winifred’s hand, spilling its contents on the bed. She grabbed the bottle out of her mother’s other hand and stared at the label. “Mama, this has morphine in it.”

“Now look what you’ve done!” Winifred snatched back the bottle and hugged it to her body. “How will I ever get the baby to stop crying?”

“Mama, is that what happened to Danny? Did you give him that syrup?”

Winifred stared at Ivy, confused. How did she know about Danny? She and Caleb had kept his existence a closely guarded secret from Ivy all these years. But now somehow she knew and the pain she’d kept bottled up inside suddenly came pouring out, threatening her composure, as well as her sanity.