The Secret of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 4) (14 page)

Twenty-Nine

     
A
lone in the soft lamplight of the sewing room Louisa admonished herself quietly. She paced between the long cutting table, strewn with her notes, and the open window. She’d left Talbot in the hall outside of the guest room. She had tried to explain to him how she felt, but he didn’t understand. How could he when she didn’t understand herself.

      “I’m a fool,” she said to herself. “What am I even thinking? Once again I’ve told myself I’m being careful, being sure this time, and then taken love and just tossed it aside. Maybe I won’t ever be sure. It’s easy for Mama and Colleen and Katie and Cousin Emma. It’s easy for them to say now they were sure. Not me!”

      She took the tiny, wooden carp from her pocket and examined it in the soft light. She had been thinking about Luc Almquist often over the last few days. She remembered how he looked at her in the misty rain, what she felt when she was close to him and the excitement of running wild, clinging to him on his horse. Just thinking about his touch made her body feel as if it had come alive.

      “What I am doing? I don’t even know him. I’ve seen him what, two or three times? And besides,” she told herself, “Luc Almquist is
exactly
the man
I don’t want. He’s another lumberjack like all the others. Like my father and Mark and Roland and…”

      Louisa sank down onto the bed. She loved all of those men, each one of them. Her father always knew her heart and loved her unconditionally. Mark had been more than a sibling and protective older brother. He had also been her confidant and best friend. Roland was the first man she had seen as truly handsome. All of them were men from home. In fact, until she met Talbot she had never found a single man in the city whose company she enjoyed. It wasn’t until Talbot looked at her with his startling blue eyes that she’d ever been threatened with falling in love.

      Louisa cursed under her breath. Had she stayed in New York City she would not be feeling this way. Coming home was confusing her, muddling her emotions. Had she stayed in New York she would feel perfectly fine especially if Talbot had kissed her the way he was kissing her now. It would have all been different. She’d have felt like a real woman and been completely in love.

      In the morning she was going to interview her father and Mark, and forget about Luc Almquist. She’d finish her research and she and Talbot would go back to New York City. She might even agree to marry him, if he asked, and she would stop all this foolishness and get on with her life like other women. It was time to grow up and get away from Stavewood and all of her indecision about the perfect man once and for all.

      Louisa ran a hot bath and dressed for bed. She stopped again before turning down the covers on the bed and picked up the carving of the fish. The carp looked back at her with a peaceful expression. She dropped it back into the pocket of her sweater, where it hung on the back of her mother’s rocker. She donned a robe, grabbed her notebook, and went down to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea. Fish swimming upstream to become dragons, she thought, as she descended the stairs. Fish finding happiness against all odds. Another fairy tale.

      “Hey.” Mark set a wooden crate quietly onto the big table in the kitchen.

      “What are you doing here so late?” Louisa put the tea pot on the stove and lit the burner.

      “I promised Birget I’d drop off some of Colleen’s butter this afternoon, but with the baby coming I never got to it. I was going to wait until morning but I needed some fresh air, I guess.”

      “I can’t sleep myself. Want some tea?”

      “That sounds good.” He pulled a chair away from the table and sat down wearily. “I’m still trying to shake off that brandy from earlier. That fellow of yours sure likes to drink.”

      “I suppose so,” Louisa said, pulling out a chair for herself. “It’s part of how he works. He says that when you sit down, share a drink with a man and listen to what he has to say, you get to the truth faster.” Louisa chuckled. “It’s worked on me a time or two.”

      Mark watched silently as Louisa set out cups and filled a ceramic pot with tea leaves.

      She set down the pot between them and sat down. “Mark, what do you know about Jude Thomas and Diana and the train robberies?” She poured the tea into their cups.

      “That’s funny,” he chuckled dryly. “When I was a kid I used to try to find all those dime novels about cowboys, bank robbers and such. For a while I thought it was pretty exciting stuff, until you got shot of course. Then when it started happening here for real, right outside our back door practically, it was a completely different story.”

      “How did they get away with it?” Louisa asked. She pulled her notebook from her pocket and began taking notes. “Daddy and all the mill workers were all right here. The train runs right across the property.”

      Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, they had an accomplice on board the train.”

      “An accomplice?”

      “Yeah. A guy that was already on the train before the holdup. He’d climb up on top of the cars and work his way up to the engine. Then, when the train would slow down for the curve coming out of Hawk Bend, he’d jump down and pull a gun on the engineer and force him to stop the train. It was all planned out ahead of time so Diana and Jude knew where to wait. Then they’d break into the baggage car and blast open the safe.”

      “Blast? With guns you mean?”

      “No, with dynamite. One time, I guess they used too much, and blew a big hole in the side of the car. That happened right when Mom came and Mr. Evans got shot. I was about twelve, I think.”

      “I remember hearing about that.”

      “They hit quite a few trains, all in this area, and they got away every time. No matter how fast a posse got after them they disappeared. They never did figure out where they got to so quickly. It wasn’t until years later anyone knew it was the Weintraub gang.”

       “Everyone around here knew them so they wouldn’t have looked out of place. Maybe that’s how they got away with it,” Louisa speculated.

      “Maybe. But some of those robberies were big hauls. They would have been riding with large bags. And they would have been clearly marked by the railroad and the bank. Someone would have noticed.”

      Louisa scribbled into her notebook and then sat back, thinking. “Who was the accomplice?”

      “No one knows. He wore a neckerchief over his face and no one could ever identify him. He was never caught.”

      Mark leaned back in his chair. “I guess no one will ever figure it out.”

  
Thirty

     
L
ouisa waved from the back porch as Mark disappeared along the lane towards his home. She had given him the waterlogged watch and he had assured her he would get it repaired quickly and discreetly. She set the teapot and cups in the big stone sink and climbed the stairs quietly to the third floor. She knew it was likely that Talbot was still up and about, as he often was awake late into the night. She wanted to explain herself to him, although she wasn’t sure what she was going to say. If she really belonged with him, she reasoned, the words would come.

      Along the upstairs hall a soft light shone from the doorway to the turret and Louisa pulled open the heavy door.

      “Birget,” she said. “What on earth are you doing up here in the middle of the night?”

      “Ah, child, you surprised me. I thought for a moment you were a ghost come to haunt me.”

      “Whose ghost would do such a thing?” Louisa chuckled softly. She walked up beside the old woman and looked out across the miles over the softly lit landscape. The silvery moon reflected perfectly on the calm water of Fawn Lake in the distance.

      “I can think of a few,” Birget said thoughtfully.

      “Are you all right to climb all these stairs alone?” Louisa asked, sincere in her concern.

      “Don’t you be giving me grief like your father, child. He scolds me about coming up here at night too. I’m gettin’ on in years, I know, but I can still get around well enough on my own. And on a night like this, when sleep won’t come, this is exactly the place to be. The view of the lake is so much better from here.”

      “From here?” Louisa asked.

      “When your father was first building the place they dug the foundation over that way,” Birget pointed out over the lawn. “Couldn’t do it though, because there’s water running under there. So they refigured all the numbers and built the house where we are now. It’s just as well, I was thinking, not only for the view but because it left such a nice space there for the gardens and the gazebo.”

      “I never knew that.”

      “Yes. It was Corissa who chose this spot for the gazebo. She was very adamant about it too. She wouldn’t have it anywhere else. I was out here on the site whenever I could be while your father was building. Every board was put in with a bit of love, you know.”

      “You worked for Corissa before you came to Stavewood, didn’t you?”

      “Yes. Well, actually for her mother, the Old Miss. What a fine woman she was. She knew the value of this place and how to find true happiness, she did. I never saw that woman troubled. She always knew her heart that one, but she never passed that on to her daughter. No, Corissa was always fighting what was in her heart. It’s a hard thing to ignore what your heart is telling you, it certainly is, and I could never understand what made a person want to lie to themselves.”

      “Maybe when someone can’t make up their mind it’s easier for them to ignore their feelings.” Louisa said.

      “Then they’re not listening to their hearts, I say,” Birget remarked. “That was Corissa’s mistake. I don’t know why exactly, but she spent the time she was given trying to tell herself what to feel instead of just listening to her heart.” Birget chuckled. “Ah, but I’m a tired old woman trying to tell myself I’m young enough to be up here all night.”

      “Would you like me to walk you back down to your room?”

      “That would be very nice, child. Thank you.” Birget put out her arm and Louisa led her down the stairs and into her room.

      Birget’s room was filled with old treasures, very different than when Louisa had occupied it. Where there was once a massive dollhouse and window seats with rows of fine porcelain dolls now were stacks of worn, leather bound books and heaps of papers and clippings. The bed was piled high with threadbare quilts and baggy nightgowns hung on hooks on the wall. The room presented a side of Birget that Louisa had never seen. She thought about Birget hanging the aprons out in a fussy manner on the lines earlier. She remembered her as always wearing a freshly pressed uniform, her shoes polished to a gleam and never without stockings. Although Birget had been a part of the family for all of Louisa’s life, she never really knew her.

     “Goodnight,” Louisa said quietly and closed the door behind her. Suddenly she was overcome with her emotions. Louisa put her hands over her mouth and cried silently. She had heard enough about following one’s heart.

     
Thirty-One

     
A
s she descended the stairs in the early morning light, Louisa Elgerson knew what she had to do. She would focus entirely on her notes and then she would leave Stavewood. She would not be swayed by romantic notions any longer. Her life was not Camelot and there was no knight in shining armor to show up on a white charger and take her to the fairy cottage where they would live happily ever after. She needed to return to the city, to the reality of New York. She simply had to get through a few more days.

      She tapped on the door to her father’s office and stood with her back straight in the doorway.

      “Good morning,” he said cheerily.

      “Good morning, Daddy. I’ve decided I really need to get moving on my book. Would you mind if we talked?”

      Timothy Elgerson eyed his daughter suspiciously. He’d seen her demeanor like this before, usually when she was upset and afraid she was going to cry. He wondered if perhaps she and her young man had had a misunderstanding. “Talbot still in bed?”

      “He’s a late sleeper,” she replied coolly.

      “I’ve noticed,” Timothy said, gesturing to the chair. Louisa paced around the office. The walls were lined with shelves of books and ledgers and hand carved pieces of art. She ran her finger along the back of the tufted leather chair and then sat down reluctantly.

      “Do you still have the things from when mother first arrived? You know, the tickets and such?”

      “I certainly do.” Timothy smiled broadly and pulled open a drawer. He produced a leather-topped box and set it gently onto the desk, flipping open the lid.

      As he pulled out the contents, one item at a time, he reminisced about them and, whenever his voice caught in his throat, Louisa clamped her lips together tightly. She did not want to hear anything emotional this morning, only facts.

      He had kept bits of ribbon from her mother’s hair and a curl of hers that had been clipped when she was just an infant. His collection was carefully stored and arranged in the big box.

      “These are the stubs to the train tickets I sent her. They were first class, the best money could buy.” He laid the tickets out in front of her and reached into the box again, pulling out another set of ticket stubs. They were obviously steerage and coach class. “These, unfortunately, are the tickets she received. I’m thankful every day she got through that voyage to get here.”

      He produced the advertisement for a mail-order-bride that had appeared in the publication.

      Louisa read the words, written in Timothy’s neat hand on the form:

     
Wife wanted. Widower. Large farm owner. 12-year-old son. Marriage within one year. T. Elgerson, Billington City, Minn.

      She looked up into her father’s soft eyes. “This is so…” She struggled to find the right words for what she was thinking.

      “Daddy, this says practically nothing. It’s cold and promises hardly anything more than a business arrangement. Mama is so emotional. There must have been hundreds of ads that were more personal, that promised love, romance… anything. This says nothing about anything like that.”

      “I know.” Her father drew a deep breath. “She always said it made no promises but it was the one she had to answer. My heart was broken, Loo. As was hers. Maybe that’s what it takes. Maybe a heart needs to be broken once to know when it hears the right words.”

      Louisa swallowed hard. “Daddy, I’m too afraid.”

      “Afraid, Loo? Of what?”

      “Of falling in love. Of having my heart broken. You and Mama, and Mark and everyone here, you all make it look like it’s easy, but it’s not. Not for me.”

      “Maybe it’s the fall that scares you. But don’t think of it that way. Just let yourself love. That’s all.” Timothy stood up and walked around the desk.

     “Look at this,” he said. He picked up a simple picture frame from the desktop and handed it to her. “Your mother sent this to me and I found it compelling.”

      Louisa looked at the photograph. She knew it well. “That’s the picture Mama sent in response to your ad.” It was old now, scratched and partially torn, but then it had been damaged before it had reached Stavewood all those years ago. The woman in the frame had never been recognizable as her mother.

      “It’s so worn and faded now, and it never looked at all like her. Why did you keep it? It’s like the image of a stranger.”

      “That’s
exactly
why I kept it. When I placed that ad this was exactly the woman I was seeking. A stranger. A completely fresh start with no emotions. You see, Loo, I was like you. I was afraid of falling again, of falling in love. But, your mother knocked my feet out from under me. I didn’t have to choose, I just fell. I thought I wanted that stranger in the picture but I was wrong.”

      Louisa studied the photograph. Through the blurred focus she saw a young woman, her hair pulled snug against her head. Her expression was plain and resigned and numb, much like herself, she thought. The emptiness mirrored exactly what she was feeling.

      “Thank you, Daddy. I’m going to type up my notes and then I want to ride out to the cottage and see Katie and the baby. I think I have most of what I need now.”

      “That’s a good idea,” Timothy said. “You should take the opportunity to see them now. They’ll be going home later. In fact, your mother and I will be helping them. We’ll be gone overnight.”

      Louisa did not let on that what she really intended to do was to let go of the memories of the cottage and the fantasy of finding a true love. She was ready to move on with her life.

      She returned to the sewing room and began typing frantically. She wrote several pages before turning the knob on the side of the typewriter and pulling out the sheet. She set it neatly in the box with the rest of her manuscript. Louisa took a deep breath and closed the door behind her as she left the room.