Authors: Susan Crandall
“Finally she told me that she’d seen something. And she’d been too afraid to tell anyone—”
“Christ, Cora, just tell me!”
“Perfume wasn’t all Emmaline was taking from her sister. Johanna saw Emmaline and Phillip in the hayloft, taking off each other’s clothes.”
He thought of Johanna’s hiding place up there. “When?”
“Sometime before the wedding. She couldn’t say for sure. I’m going to tell the sheriff now, but I had to tell you first! This is enough! They have to investigate now that they have another valid suspect in Phillip. I called one of my father’s friends with the federal attorney general’s
office. He’s already calling the state attorney general to get him to put pressure on the local sheriff to examine this case carefully. We’re going to do it!” She was already moving away, toward the door. “I love you, Henry.”
“Wait! Cora.” But the door opened and closed. The lock slid home.
Henry collapsed on the floor right where he was. She loved him.
27
F
or the next hours, Henry thought about Phillip and Emmaline. He might have doubted a sister could betray another so cruelly if it had been anyone other than Emmaline. If he had to put money on whether it had been Emmaline or Phillip who initiated the relationship, he’d bet on Emmaline, jealous as she was over anyone’s receiving more attention than her. This revelation also explained much of Emmaline’s behavior after the wedding. Had Emmaline threatened to tell Violet as a way to exert control over Phillip? Had he killed her to keep her quiet? Or had he just lost control? Emmaline could be infuriating.
There was no guarantee the sheriff would consider this enough to make Phillip a suspect.
Henry thought of the scent of perfume right before he’d lost consciousness. It was true, Phillip often smelled of it. Henry supposed it didn’t matter whom it came from. Emmaline. Phillip. Perfume wasn’t proof of anything. And Henry’s memory still had a hole in it.
Phillip’s losing control was certainly more palatable to Henry than he himself losing control and harming Emmaline. Still, the pain for the Dahlgrens was too horrible to contemplate. And poor Johanna would have to act as a witness.
He flopped onto his mattress and covered his face with his hands.
All he could do was wait.
And he did. Dinner came and went uneaten. Darkness fell. The clock chimed seven. The head thumper went incessantly on.
He filled his hours with positive thoughts of what he would do when—not if—he got out. He’d see Mr. Dahlgren, apologize for running. He’d spend long hours with Gil, asking forgiveness for his own deceit and try to get Gil to forgive himself for the past. Henry wanted to help Gil find his way back to life; Henry’s having his own jeopardized had certainly offered new insight to its value.
Hope held on through the night. Past his uneaten breakfast. But when the clock chimed noon, it vacated Henry’s soul so quickly he thought he heard it whoosh past his ears. Nothing had changed or Cora would have forced her way back in here to tell him. The sheriff didn’t think the word of an eight-year-old was enough to make Phillip a suspect. Cora was too disheartened to tell Henry. No doubt she was out there trying to come up with another suspect, another scenario that held enough logic to get the sheriff’s attention.
He turned on his side, covered his head with his arms, and willed himself not to cry. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.
He must have drifted off to sleep because he was startled awake by the hallway door’s being unlocked and opened. Was it time for his arraignment?
Sitting up, he slapped his cheeks to rid himself of the dregs of sleep. He stood and straightened his shirt and tucked it into his pants. He needed a shave. He needed more than a splash bath in the sink. It shamed him to go before the judge like this. He probably
looked like
a murderer.
The sheriff himself came to unlock the cell. He swung the door wide. Henry held out his wrists for the handcuffs.
“You’re free to go, young man. The charges against you have been dropped.”
For a long moment Henry stood frozen, thinking he’d misheard. “Dropped?”
“Yes. You can pick your wallet up at the desk on the way out.”
“What happened?” He should be sprinting toward the door, not standing here questioning his good fortune.
“We have a confession. That’s all I can say now. You’ll be a witness from here on.”
Henry’s entire body felt as if electricity were humming through it. She’d done it. Somehow Cora had done it.
The sheriff motioned with a nod of his head. “Are you leaving? Or inclined to stay?”
Henry quick-stepped out of the cell and down the hallway. The other cells were empty. He’d gotten so used to the head thumper he hadn’t noticed when the noise had stopped and not restarted.
Stopping in the door to the street, he looked at the gray clouds scuttling across the afternoon sky, sucked in a burning lungful of winter air. The cold bit into his skin and he welcomed it.
He didn’t see Cora. Instead, Anders Dahlgren stood on the sidewalk, slump shouldered and looking much older than the last time Henry had seen him. Henry waited. Did Mr. Dahlgren know of the confession? Or was he here on Cora’s behest of the other day?
Henry walked slowly down the steps.
Mr. Dahlgren took off his coat and put it around Henry’s shoulders. “You will freeze.” How Henry had missed the Swedish cadence of that deep voice.
“Now you will.”
“I will never be warm again. Coat or no coat.” Mr. Dahlgren put his hands on Henry’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I did not believe it was you.”
“I shouldn’t have run. I’m sorry. Sorry for the hurt and the shame I caused you.”
“Young Henry. We are the ones who have hurt you. And you now have my apology.”
“What are you talking about?”
His shoulders stooped a little more. “My girls.” He sighed and shook his head. “Their jealousy went too far. I am ashamed to be their father. Now Violet will pay. But I fear it is their mother who will pay the highest price.”
“Violet?” Then it made sense. “Because Phillip confessed.”
“It is all very confused now. Violet had to be sedated. But Emmaline and Phillip . . . there was a fight. She swears Emmaline fell but—”
He sighed. “Phillip told Violet to change her dress, not to let anyone see. When she came back, you were there. Phillip wasn’t. She found a way to save them—by sacrificing you. I am sorry and ashamed.”
“So Phillip hit me when I came upon him and Emmaline’s body.” Henry wondered if Phillip had left Henry for dead, too. “If Emmaline’s death was an accident, the law should take that into consideration.”
Mr. Dahlgren’s faded blue eyes locked on Henry’s. “And what consideration is given to you, whose life was stolen by their cowardice?”
In that moment the whole of Henry’s life broke open, spilling out at his feet in a jumble of fractured pieces. He saw if just one single piece of that life had been different, if it had held together or offered a shred of belonging or comfort, he would not have found this life he now lived, a life in which he truly fit. He would not have found Cora, or Gil, or even that mutt Mercury.
He grabbed Anders Dahlgren and hugged him tight against his chest. The coat fell from Henry’s shoulders onto the sidewalk, but he felt no cold. Into the man’s ear he whispered, “My life was not stolen. You gave it to me that snowy day you picked me up at the cemetery, a boy with no family, no hope. You can’t be blamed for what happened in May. I owe everything to you.” Henry squeezed tighter. “Everything.”
The man had gone against his wife. Doubted his daughter. Nurtured Henry’s mind with books and conversation, fueled his love of machines. Anders Dahlgren had been as much a father to him as his own pa had been. More in some ways.
When he pulled away, Mr. Dahlgren had tears in his eyes. “Young Henry. I know you will not stay, but you will always be welcome
in my home.
I will put the wife in the barn next time.”
Henry smiled. “Thank you.”
Mr. Dahlgren’s gaze shifted to the jail. “I must go see the sheriff now. See what is to be done.”
Henry picked up the man’s coat and handed it back to him. They nodded their good-byes and Mr. Dahlgren headed up the steps.
Henry watched him. Then he called, “Mr. Dahlgren.”
He turned slowly and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, young Henry?”
“I never once minded the barn. It was home.”
Mr. Dahlgren’s smile this time was slow and sad. “I minded.” Then he turned and went into the jail.
For a moment, Henry stood on the sidewalk with his eyes closed, wishing he could do or say something that would ease the man’s pain. But Henry knew better than most, when disaster comes to call, all you could do is hold on and pray for salvation. He hoped Mr. Dahlgren’s salvation turned out as well as Henry’s always had—even though he’d been too hurt and scared at the time to see it.
When he opened his eyes, Cora was standing at the curb. And he felt he was home.
She ran to him and threw herself into his arms so hard he stumbled backward a couple of steps. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders and she sobbed.
“Hey. Hey. It’s all right. They got a confession from Violet. I’ll probably have to testify, but it’s over.” She cried harder. “Shhhhhhh.” He kissed the top of her head as he rocked her slightly. “Shhhhh.” This kind of breakdown was so unlike her.
He peeled her off him and held her by the shoulders. “It’s all right.”
She took a couple of gasps, then started crying again. “It’s not . . . oh, Henry, it’s not . . . Gil crashed. He’s dead.”
H
enry’s ears started ringing. His body went numb. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there frozen before he forced himself to move.
Don’t think now. Just do.
He got them a taxi to the Delaware Hotel. The driver looked at them suspiciously as Henry helped a trembling and crying Cora into the backseat. He recalled he
looked
like
the murderer he’d been accused of being, out in the January weather with no coat. He could have eased the man’s suspicions with a simple “Death in the family,” but he was afraid to open his mouth. So he just glowered and nodded for the man to drive.
He got Cora’s hotel key from her purse. She had to tell him the
room number twice before he understood it. Her mouth or his ringing ears at fault, he didn’t know.
When they got inside her room, he took off her coat, sat her down on the bed, and poured her a glass of water. When he handed it to her, he saw his hand was shaking as much as hers. He waited with growing impatience as she drank. The urgency he felt was ridiculous. Gil was dead. Nothing was going to save him.
Henry thought of Gil’s steady deterioration since the day they’d met, of his disastrous trip to Ohio. The look in his eyes when he’d seen Henry and Cora kissing.
“It’s Mary that needs freeing.”
Oh
my God, Gil, did you . . . ?
Henry went cold to his bones. He suddenly understood Mr. Dahlgren’s saying he would never be warm again.
Cora took a deep, shuddering breath, then said in a small, quivery voice that sounded like another person’s—a weaker person’s, “By this afternoon I still hadn’t received a telegram. I could understand the first day’s delay . . . if he’d lost the race, he’d have been so upset, he’d been determined to get that prize money for . . . for . . .” She swallowed. “I figured he’d drowned his disappointment in a bottle and would send word when he sobered up. At first I was so m-m-mad—” She dissolved into fresh tears.
Henry held her while she got herself together.
Her cheeks puffed out with a breath. “I sent a telegram to Reece, asking if Gil had made it back with Evie yet, and left word how to get in touch with me. Just before I came to get you, Reece called me. . . . I knew it was bad because he had to drive into town to get to a phone . . . to pay long-distance charges.
“Frank Evans sent him word about . . . about . . . th-the crash. Reece’s farm was the only contact information he had.” She paused. “He won, Henry. He won the race.”
“He did? What in the hell happened, then?”
“They aren’t sure. Mechanical failure of some kind. After the win, he did some stunts. He went into a dive and couldn’t pull out.”
Couldn’t? Or didn’t?
Henry’s stomach went hollow and sick. Gil
pulled out of dives practically every time he was in a cockpit. It could have been mechanical, so Henry kept his thoughts to himself. He owed Gil that much.
Henry moved them so they were lying on the bed. The knot in his throat got tighter and tighter. His heart felt as if it had been torn from his chest and stomped on. When he blinked, he saw Gil’s Jenny racing across that field against Cora on her motorcycle. It was only months ago, but a lifetime, too.
Cora cried on his shoulder until his shirt was wet. Finally he heard her breathing slow and realized she’d cried herself to sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling as the light faded. It finally grew dark enough that the streetlights coming through the windows cast two gray rectangles on the ceiling. Henry stared at them until they blurred, then finally closed his own eyes. When he did, he realized the pillow under his head was soaked with his own tears.
T
he world was coming undone. The discovery of the truth that gave Henry his freedom was tainted by the tragedies that had come on the same wind. Would there ever be a phase of his life that wouldn’t bear the dirty fingerprint of disaster?
He could have done more, for both Gil and Mr. Dahlgren. If he’d told Mr. Dahlgren of his suspicions that Emmaline was meeting someone she shouldn’t, the man wouldn’t have buried one child and be worrying another would go to prison. And Gil? Henry laid out all of the reasons the crash was mechanical failure. The Evie was a new design. Gil wouldn’t have sacrificed another man’s plane.
Then he remembered the haunted look in Gil’s eyes when he’d returned to Mississippi to find Henry and Cora kissing.
It’s Mary that needs freeing.
Henry shook those thoughts out of his head.
Nothing was a surety; life had taught him that. The road not taken did not guarantee a different destination.
Cora was crying in her sleep. He stroked her hair to quiet her. His
own chest hurt; his head felt ready to explode from the inner pressure. He didn’t want this night to end, to face the morning and the realities that lay outside their hotel door. He and Cora could just lie here, clinging to one another until they turned to dust. Right now, that idea suited him fine.
He drifted into sleep, but reality followed him there. He stood helpless with his feet in the sand as he watched the Evie plummet out of the sky, heading toward palm trees, water, and death. He saw Gil’s determined face, one hand forcing the stick forward and the other on the throttle. The impact jerked Henry awake, sweating and gasping for breath.
The orange glow of the rising sun set the room ablaze.
Please let there not have been fire. Racers didn’t overload with fuel, so he’d hold that as truth.
Could Gil have run out of fuel?