Into the Light (19 page)

Deborah nodded and picked up her spoon. Chunks of chicken and vegetables floated in rich broth. The soup tasted as good as it looked.

“Don’t look so sad,” Trey said. “We’re not going to make accusations. The trick is to write it as a matter of fact report of the way the sale is organized. Leave deciding whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing to the readers. Mrs. Yates and her friends feel the way you do — they work hard and it’s only fair they get the pick of the lot. If they believe that, let them defend it. If not, maybe next year they’ll do it differently. Maybe next year they’ll get more volunteers.”

When he put it that way.... “But it is only a church sale.”

“Sure, but we have to decide how we’re doing things too. Pretty soon it’s only going to be the town’s decision as to who gets the contract for paving Main Street. If the Mayor’s brother gets the job and no one else is allowed to bid, do we just print an article about all the benefits of a paved street?”

He looked so earnest and serious.

“I think I understand why so many people don’t believe you’re really Webster Van Cleve’s son,” Deborah said without thinking, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I never should have said that. I am so sorry.”

Not only was he not angry, he laughed, laughed loud enough to attract glances from people at the other tables. “You have no idea how much I wish that were true.”

“Caleb says you have his ears.”

“Excuse me?”

“Caleb says he had to twist one of your father’s ears once, and yours are just like his.”

Trey’s eyes widened for a moment before he started laughing all over again. Even though her cheeks still burned with embarrassment, Deborah couldn’t help but join in. They finished their lunch, amid continuing bouts of amusement.

“Your cousin is an old curly wolf, isn’t he?” Trey said.

Deborah nodded. “I think he likes you.”

“I don’t think I can use that as a character reference.”

They had finished, and Trey was helping her with her coat, when an older man walked in, his eyes searching every table.

“Hey, Herman,” Trey said. “If you showed up earlier, I’d have bought you lunch. The food is good here. I recommend a ham sandwich.”

“I already et. Your Ma asked me to let you know your sister had her baby. Healthy little boy, I guess. They’re calling him Webster too.”

“He’s welcome to the name. Is Alice all right?”

“Fine. They’re both fine.”

“Are you staying over in town? I’d like to send something back for them with you.”

“Yeah. I’ll be at the old hotel tonight, but there’s no use asking me about that other business. Nobody’s admitting cutting reins, and nobody but Lenny went to town the night you got run down.”

Deborah stared at the old man wide-eyed.
Cut reins? Run down! What was he talking about?

Trey introduced her to Herman Gruner, who looked past Deborah as if she didn’t exist but didn’t remark on the name.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” Gruner said gruffly and left as if he had important business elsewhere.

“What was he talking about? Cut reins and running you down?” Deborah asked.

Trey made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing. A couple of accidents, that’s all.”

“Cut reins doesn’t sound like an accident.”

“Some of the hands didn’t like the boss’s son turning up after so many years and giving orders, that’s all. Nothing happened.”

“And running you down?”

“Runaway wagon team.”

She didn’t believe him. He was being far too casual about potentially fatal accidents, but he obviously wasn’t going to tell her more. “Is Mr. Gruner afraid to be seen in my vicinity? He certainly wasn’t sociable.”

“He’s afraid of losing his job, and I suppose being friendly with a Sutton could do that. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the church.”

Deborah straightened her shoulders, still wondering about those “accidents,” but surprised to find after their discussion, she almost looked forward to ferreting out the truth about favoritism at the Methodist rummage sale.

T
REY MADE IT
back to the church half an hour before dark, determined to see Deborah safely home. The door to the room where the sale would be held was locked, as were all the others.

Staring down the street toward William and Judith Dalton’s home, Trey considered. Deborah had promised to be home before dark. There was no reason to believe otherwise. He still wanted to knock on the Daltons’ door and ask whoever answered about her, be sure she was inside and safe for the night. More than that, he wanted to take her home with him where he could watch over her himself.

He turned away, annoyed at his foolishness. He’d put her in a position where she would be all over town every day. Hovering over her like a mother hen would have her sneaking away from him the way she did from her family. He was her employer, her boss, no more.

Hadn’t he taken Cal Sutton’s warning to heart? Despite the attraction, Deborah was not the woman for him. He would help her break out of the shell she’d hidden in most of her life if he could. That’s all.

If only flashes of his mystery woman didn’t keep cropping up through her wary reserve. The list. Even if her sociable sister created it, Deborah had been the one to present it, to march off to the Methodists on her own and discover the small blot on the ladies’ charitable efforts. And the way she laughed with him over his ears....

Trey forced his footsteps in the direction of the old hotel. Instead of undermining Deborah’s confidence by checking on her, he’d buy Herman a drink and give him the gifts for Alice and the baby.

At least he didn’t have to skulk through town worrying about another attempt to kill him. He hadn’t lured Deborah to town only to put her in danger.

Alice, Vernon, whether one or both of them had wanted him dead, they no longer had a reason. Webster Van Cleve wouldn’t mind news that his son had bought a newspaper, but knowing Trey had ink-stained hands and delivered bundles of papers to the merchants of the town himself would prick his father’s pride.

Finding out a woman, any woman, was working in an enterprise owned by a Van Cleve, would be more like a slash than a prick.

A Sutton? Any dealing with the Suttons not loaded with malice would have his father ranting and foaming at the mouth.

Couple that with a Van Cleve grandson who could be the new heir — lawyers had to be working on a new will about now. Trey gave his cane a twirl and started for the hotel.

D
EBORAH’S FIRST WEEK
at the
Herald
raced by in a blur of weddings, a christening, a funeral, the preparation for the Methodists’ rummage sale and the actual sale.

Introducing herself and explaining she had come on behalf of the paper became easier, if not easy. Observing Trey’s approach when she accompanied him to a town council meeting and a retirement dinner at the flour mill helped, although his approach was too — male.

Her first test as the paper’s social reporter came at a luncheon given by Mrs. Gilbert Snopes, one of Miriam’s new friends. Deborah had not received one of the coveted invitations, but Trey had.

“Here,” he said. “Take this, go have a nice lunch, and listen to enough of the nonsense to write something about it.”

The guest of honor at the luncheon was a high muckety-muck from the Women’s Temperance Union. “You don’t believe in temperance?”

“I don’t believe in laws that can’t be enforced. That’s my opinion, not the paper’s. The
Herald
is staying above the fray.”

Deborah folded the invitation inside her new leather purse and walked the half mile to the Snopes mansion. As she approached the imposing three-storied house with its turrets, pillars, and lovely bargeboard, butterflies took wing in her stomach. Hunger, of course. At this time of day ordinary hunger was to be expected. Why then did the thought of food turn the butterflies into nausea?

A trio of chattering women approached from a cross street, nodded to Deborah, turned and continued on ahead of her. Two of those women were acquaintances who had always spoken a friendly greeting when they met anywhere in town.

Heart quickening, trying to work up saliva in her dry mouth, Deborah followed the others through the wrought iron gate, up the walk to the front door. Mrs. Snopes greeted the women ahead of Deborah with enthusiasm. A maid took coats.

The other ladies were still in the tiled entry hall when Mrs. Snopes approached Deborah with considerably more reserve. “Miss Sutton, how nice to see you. I don’t remember sending you an invitation, but of course dear Miriam is here, and since Judith sent regrets, you are welcome to take her place.”

Deborah fumbled in her purse. “I do have an invitation. I’m here for the
Herald
.”

Mrs. Snopes regarded the invitation as if Deborah had extended a used handkerchief. “I sent an invitation to Mr. Van Cleve. If he cannot attend in person, then Mr. Richmond would be acceptable. I do not approve of young women gadding about town behaving in ways unbecoming to a lady and taking a position a man with a family should have. I suggest you return to Mr. Van Cleve and relay that message, and I further suggest you stop embarrassing your family and return home.”

The woman was tall and wide. Her strong-featured face loomed above Deborah as she gave this lecture. Her lavender satin and lace-covered bosom quivered with outrage all too close to Deborah’s chin. Resisting the urge to retreat at top speed, Deborah managed to say, “I understand, and I will convey your message to Mr. Van Cleve.”

One of the watching trio tittered.

“You
convey
that if he wants subscribers to his paper, he’d better stop flaunting immoral big city ways in our town. We won’t have it.
I
won’t have it. Tell him I expect him in person before Mrs. Lambert begins to speak.”

Deborah gave in to the urge and fled.

Trey was unimpressed. “I’m sorry you had to listen to the old harridan. Next time, don’t. Turn around and leave as soon as anyone starts in. Garden parties aren’t really news. We’re doing people like her a favor mentioning her pet project.”

“It’s not a garden party, and she wants you to attend and listen to her speaker or send Mr. Richmond.”

“I want circulation to double next week, and that’s not going to happen either. To hell, er, heck with her. Come on, we’ll have plainer and better food at the café, and then we’ll find something actually interesting going on in town somewhere.”

He really intended to ignore Mrs. Snopes. Deborah was sure that wasn’t wise, but she accompanied him to the café in a warm haze of appreciation.

M
RS.
S
NOPES SAILED
into the
Herald’s
office before Deborah had hung up her coat the next morning. Trey’s low curses at the linotype machine and Mr. Richmond’s patient instruction sounded from the back room. The two of them would be setting type for this week’s edition.

“I wish to speak to Mr. Van Cleve.” Without so much as a glance at Deborah, Mrs. Snopes stepped to the counter, tapping a gloved finger on the surface.

After letting Trey know he was needed in the front office, Deborah sat at the desk and pretended to edit the pages in her notebook.

He would apologize to the woman, she decided. He’d apologize and promise to do better next time.

Trey walked up to the counter still in the printer’s smock he wore over his shirt and trousers. Curiously, although he also now wore gloves for the messiest chores and setting type wouldn’t take him anywhere near ink, he was wiping ink-stained hands on a rag the same way he had the first time she had come to the office with Uncle Jason.

Mrs. Snopes gave him a narrow-eyed, disapproving look. “Did Miss Sutton inform you that I expected you or Mr. Richmond at my luncheon yesterday?”

“She did,” Trey said, nodding. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I hired Miss Sutton specifically to report on social events such as yours. Since you turned her away....” He gave a little shrug that completely negated his apology.

“I made a few notes myself,” Mrs. Snopes said, pulling several sheets of paper from her purse. “I’m sure you can manage something appropriate from these.”

Deborah sat at enough of an angle to see Trey’s smile, all teeth, no warmth.

“Maybe next time, Mrs. Snopes. We have this week’s edition laid out, and we’re setting type now. We filled your space with a story about Mr. Gardner’s buggy being stolen and abandoned outside town.”

“His nephew does that several times a year, and everyone knows it. That’s not a story.”

Trey shrugged again and repeated, “Maybe next time.”

Mrs. Snopes had turned pale except for two bright spots on her cheeks. “You are an embarrassment to your father.”

“I am. He’s mentioned how he wishes he drowned me the first time he laid eyes on me.”

Mrs. Snopes stormed out without another word, the bell jangling wildly as the door slammed.

Deborah joined Trey at the counter. “If you did that to make me feel better, you succeeded, but you really are going to go bankrupt if you keep it up.”

He smiled at her, the real kind, white teeth showing, but eyes warm and crinkling at the corners. “That’s part of it, I suppose. I wish I could claim to be a knight in shining armor, but it’s mostly the fact we can’t let tyrants like that tell us what to print and how to print it, or it won’t be much of a paper. If she wants to impress her friends with mentions of her garden parties in the newspaper, she has to play by our rules. We’re not playing by hers.”

“You really are hard headed.”

“Famously.”

“And you have more ink on you than I’ve seen in days.”

“I was hoping for a chance to shake her hand.”

Deborah went back to the desk, light hearted. Her new job definitely had peaks and valleys, but she suspected working for Trey Van Cleve the peaks were going to prove so high the valleys would all look like shallow ditches.