Into the Light (17 page)

Her aunt and uncle exchanged a long look, and Uncle Jason wrapped his large hand more tightly around Aunt Em’s smaller one.

“Courage is a strange thing,” he said slowly. “I think everyone has at least a little in them, but some of us have to dig deeper to find it than others. I know that because I wasn’t brave enough to face down my father until years after I was full grown and could have done it. Should have. And those were the years when he did the most damage to all of us. He married your mother and our sisters off in those years.”

“That was different,” Deborah protested.

“In most ways. What’s the same is that finding courage is easier than living with regret. If you don’t want to live in town and try the newspaper job, put it out of your mind and don’t look back. If you do want it?” He smiled and shrugged. “The worst that will happen is you won’t like it, and you’ll be right back here with us.”

Deborah didn’t move as her aunt and uncle left. Uncle Jason was wrong. Falling in love with Trey Van Cleve was the worst thing, and that regret already sat heavy on her heart.

D
EBORAH JOINED HER
aunt in the kitchen the next morning, tired after a sleepless night, but at peace with her decision. She waited until they were all seated at the table for breakfast before saying, “The next time you go to town, I’d like to come and bring some bags and boxes along.”

Aunt Em got up and busied herself at the stove. Uncle Jason nodded. “If the weather holds, we’ll go tomorrow. We have enough of a shopping list a trip to town won’t hurt.”

“I’m coming too,” Aunt Em said. “I want to see this newspaper office. I remember there are rooms on the second floor. The Richmonds lived there after their children were all up and out.”

Aunt Em made rooms above the office sound ominous. Deborah smiled at the thought then wondered where Trey lived. Nearby. Not in those rooms surely. Her nerves, which had settled, started up again.

The weather held, but Deborah traveled to town with only Uncle Jason. Two of Uncle Eli’s boys had broken out with ugly red spots the night before. Chicken pox. Two sick and one still running around had Aunt Lucy worn to a frazzle.

“It’s only decent to stay and help,” said Aunt Em, checking everything Deborah had packed for the third time. “I gave Jason more than a list of supplies. He has a list of what to look for in that newspaper office and what to find out from Mr. Van Cleve. You be patient with Miriam now. You’re not girls any more. None of that squabbling you did when she was here.”

A few tearful goodbyes, and Deborah climbed to the wagon seat, half-wishing a sudden outbreak of red spots would save her from her decision. Her own miserable, itchy bout with chicken pox remained clear in her mind, however, and Aunt Em swore no one ever contracted the pox more than once.

The hours of the trip to town passed quickly. After the emotional talk of the day before, Deborah dared ask about things that had always seemed forbidden — about her mother.

“I never really knew her,” Uncle Jason admitted. “Pa didn’t believe boys and girls should mix, and we hardly ever did. I look at you and your sisters sometimes and wish it was like that for us, but it wasn’t. All I remember is three sad-eyed, skinny little girls who were always frightened. We were all always frightened.”

“He was truly terrible, wasn’t he, my grandfather?”

“Yes. He had an anger and a meanness in him that made him frightening. Eli had the anger, but never the meanness, and Lucy gentled him a lot.”

Deborah remembered the anger. She’d been afraid of Uncle Eli for a long time because of it. “Do you think they’re all right, your sisters?”

“I want to believe they are. They write once in a while and say they are, but then your mother wrote letters like that until the end.”

They passed the trip talking about family history. For the first time Deborah heard how her aunt and uncle had met, and how Uncle Jason had refused to marry while his father lived.

“But if he hadn’t been killed, he could still be alive today. You could have waited forever.”

“We weren’t waiting, we were saving. It’s hard to come up with cash money when you’re farming and it all belongs to everyone, but I squirreled away every penny I got hold of and so did Em. I hated the thought of leaving Eli alone with Pa, but Eli would never leave. The land has a hold on him it didn’t on any of the rest of us. I figured to homestead somewhere farther west. There’s still land for the taking in places like North Dakota.”

“Not good land with water like here.”

“No, it would have been a harder life in some ways. Easier in others, but then Pa was killed, and so we got married, probably quicker than some thought decent, and we’re still here.”

“Killed by Mr. Van Cleve.”

“On his orders anyway. He didn’t do any of the killing himself.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Not to talk to. I’ve seen him in town now and then. So have you.”

“I remember. Tr — his son doesn’t look like him.”

Uncle Jason gave her one of his rare grins. “If he did, we’d still be home today, wouldn’t we?”

Deborah looked away and changed the subject.

M
IRIAM’S FACE SET
into hard lines as she listened to Deborah’s plans. Deborah didn’t waste breath asking to stay with her. Uncle Jason made that mistake and gave Miriam the chance to say no and make her feelings clear.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating it’s going to be for me to admit I have a sister
working for a newspaper?
People will wonder whatever is the matter with our whole family. And Van Cleve? He spends all his time with the
Irish.
He lives in some roach-infested room near the
mill.
No, you can’t stay here. The whole idea is ridiculous and embarrassing enough without having to admit you’re living with me.”

Deborah headed for the door the moment Miriam started her rant and heard the last of it from outside. Uncle Jason handed her back up to the wagon seat, and neither of them said anything until he had the wagon turned around and started toward Judith’s.

“It’s as much your fault as ours,” he said finally. “We all spoiled her.”

That was the truth. Miriam had been such a cute baby, and Mama had died just days after having her. “Maybe we should go to the hotel. I can see about a room at the boardinghouse tomorrow. Having me will be harder for Judith with the children.”

“You can help her with them.”

“I won’t be there that much.” At least not if Trey hadn’t found someone else. That worry niggled at her. The thought she’d forced herself to come this far, and it might all be for naught brought bile to the back of her throat.

“Family takes you in,” Uncle Jason said loudly, as if that would make it true. Of course when the ones faced with taking three orphan nieces in had been Uncle Jason and Aunt Emma, they had done just that, and without a complaint or second thought.

Judith rewarded Uncle Jason’s faith. “Of course you can stay here. We’d love to have you. So you’re going to be working for the newspaper, for that ugly Mr. Van Cleve.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Deborah stared at the floor. “I need to go there and see if the offer is still open. Maybe he found someone else. Maybe he’s changed his mind.”

“And I need to go with her,” Uncle Jason said. “I need to inspect the place for cleanliness and see who lives in the rooms upstairs and how many doors there are between where Deborah will be and those rooms.”

“Well, Trey doesn’t live in those rooms.” Deborah said tartly. “I have it on good authority he lives with the
Irish
in some roach-infested place near the mill.”

“Woo hoo,” Judith said. “Trey, is it? This job of yours is going to be interesting.”

Deborah ignored the teasing and walked out. She reached the sidewalk before remembering she didn’t know where the
Herald
’s office was.

T
HE
H
ERALD’S
OFFICE
was only four blocks from Judith’s. As Deborah walked beside Uncle Jason, her breath came more and more quickly until she gasped for air. She stopped with a block still to go. Uncle Jason peered down at her, his face screwed up with concern.

“Here, sit.” He pushed her down on a wide window ledge that dug into her bottom. “Catch your breath, and we’ll go back to Judith’s.”

Shaking her head frantically, Deborah managed, “No. Just one minute.”

She thought of the way Trey looked buttoning up his coat and leaving the kitchen, thought of his voice. Her breathing slowed and steadied. When the numbness in her bottom turned to pain, she rose and brushed the back of her skirt, tightened her shawl over her shoulders. “Tell me taking on Grandfather was harder than this.”

“I don’t know if worrying about it beforehand was any harder, but doing it was. We brawled all over the yard. He broke two of my ribs, and I thought my jaw. He had me down and a board in his hands at one point. I think he’d have killed me then if Eli hadn’t knocked the board away.”

A single deep breath, and she straightened her shoulders. “Thank you. That puts things in perspective.”

A narrow building that needed a new coat of paint housed the newspaper office. Gold lettering on the front window said, “
Hubbell Herald,
” in large letters, with “
Peter Richmond, Editor
,” underneath in smaller script.

A bell tied to the door sounded when Uncle Jason pushed it open. Deborah concentrated on taking even breaths as she walked inside. Pale green and dark wood. Before she took in more than that first impression, Trey appeared through a door behind the counter, wiping black hands on a towel, and she forgot everything else.

“Just let me get enough of this ink off my hands to....”

His words stopped when he saw her. For a fleeting moment she thought she saw something in his face, something that matched the way her own spirits soared at the sound of his voice and sight of him. He was in shirtsleeves, rolled up shirtsleeves that showed muscled forearms streaked with more ink.

“Can you get that off well enough to touch anything without leaving marks?” she said.

“Oh.” He looked at his hands as if surprised the ink was still there. “Yes, there are solvents. My fingernails will look like a boy’s for a few days, one who doesn’t waste much time washing. I’m learning to work the presses.”

He dropped the towel on the counter and came around the end. “Tell me you’re here because you changed your mind.”

“I’m here because I changed my mind — if you haven’t found someone else.”

“There is no one else.”

At the sound of Uncle Jason’s cleared throat, Trey hastened to add, “No one else that I know of who could fill the position, that is. I can’t imagine how I’d word an advertisement for the position in my own paper.”

Another harrumping sound from her uncle prodded Deborah to make introductions. The two men said the correct polite words, but they eyed each other warily.

“What exactly is Deborah going to be doing here? Where will she be working?” Uncle Jason said finally.

Trey looked around as if he hadn’t thought of that before. “Here some of the time.” He pointed to the big desk behind the counter. “I’ve posted the hours the office will be open by the door, and I want anyone who comes in to subscribe or place an advertisement to be guaranteed someone will be here to serve them. No waiting. With Peter, Mr. Richmond, alone here, that hasn’t always been the case. The bell only works if someone is here and if the presses aren’t running and drowning out the sound.”

Deborah’s heart sank. In spite of his talk about a lady reporter, what he wanted was a clerk to sit behind a desk.

“We’re all going to take turns,” Trey continued. “We’ll have to work out whether that means by the day or certain hours, but with three of us, no one will be tied to the desk all the time. Other than that, I hope De — Miss Sutton will set her own course. We have customers who request we cover events important to them, and we oblige, of course, but we need to cover more of what goes on in the town.”

“But I can’t just attend someone’s wedding without an invitation.”

“Not all, but some, and as time passes, you’ll be welcome more and more places.”

“I’m not good with crowds,” Deborah said doubtfully.

“You don’t have to be in the middle of crowds. You’re an observer, not a participant. Can you imagine the story you could have written about the Fourth of July shooting contest?” Trey laughed. “Not that there’s ever much suspense about the outcome.” He motioned to the back room. “Would you like to see the presses? We have a linotype machine.”

In the back room, Trey introduced them to Peter Richmond, who was doing something with the larger of the two presses that required a wrench. He had ink on his hands, but wasn’t covered with it the way Trey was.

Deborah wasn’t sure what a linotype machine was. After hearing Trey’s enthusiastic description of how the machine made it possible to set type by the line instead of by the letter, she knew more than she wanted to.

Uncle Jason and Mr. Richmond were still talking by the large press. “Don’t tell me Mrs. Richmond operated this behemoth better than anyone else too,” Deborah whispered.

Trey lowered his voice to match hers. “No, everything in here was Mr. Richmond’s bailiwick. He’s teaching me, but he’s also agreed to stay. For the foreseeable future, not just a few months. So I’ll learn everything I can from him, but he’ll keep doing the work of getting the paper printed. You and I are responsible for coming up with what he prints.”

“Mr. Richmond tells me he’s going to continue to live over the office,” Uncle Jason said, joining them. “Do you live nearby?”

Trey’s expression showed he understood full well the purpose behind the question. “Right now I’m staying in Jamie Lenahan’s room on Walnut Street. He’s going to be gone until at least after the first of the year, and all I need is a place to sleep. Once he returns, I’ll have to find a place of my own.”