Into the Light (24 page)

“I know that I love you. If not Alaska, Montana?”

He couldn’t mean it, couldn’t. What he felt was responsible and protective, and he was just trying to make her cooperate. Still, saying
that
. Maybe she would crumble after all, fall right off the chair in a graceless heap.

“Love doesn’t — it doesn’t fix things. I can’t.”

“We don’t need to fix things. We just need to — hobble on.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

“I won’t give up you know.”

She tore her eyes from his and lifted the cover from the typewriter. Concentrating on small objects on the desktop banished the light-headed sensation, although her stomach still seethed, and her clothing rasped her skin with every movement.

“So you won’t marry me and move to Alaska, and you won’t go home and stay there until I figure out what’s going on?”

“No, I won’t. I work here, and I’m going to do my job.”

“What if I pick you up and carry you home?”

Her stomach did a complete flip. “I’ll come back.”

“Deborah.”

He ran a hand through his hair, making a mess. She squelched an insane urge to smooth it back down by concentrating on taking a sheet of paper from the desk drawer and rolling it into the typewriter.

“I have an idea for a story,” she said, staring at her fingers on the keys. “There are people in town now who have no idea what a blizzard is like for anyone who lives out on the Plains miles from a neighbor. Joseph and William had no idea. I’m going to describe it for our readers. And farmers like Aunt Em and Uncle Jason who go through it almost every winter will love reading a story that’s about them and their lives.”

“That does sound good, but.... All right, you win, but we’re not going anywhere together, and we’re not even staying here together. When you’re on the desk, I’ll go out. Right now I’ll go visit the police and see what the town miscreants have been up to lately and then the Mayor’s office. I can have a talk with real miscreants there.”

Deborah nodded and started typing. After he left, she ripped out the page of gibberish, wadded it up, and started again.

F
OR THE NEXT
two weeks, Deborah only saw Trey in passing. He was good to his word — if she was in the office, he was not. She fretted and worried.
Marry me. I know that I love you.
He didn’t mean it. Couldn’t. He knew her secrets, knew she couldn’t be any kind of wife.

His determination to protect her was just plain male silliness. He was the one in danger. She wished she could talk to Jamie Lenahan again, but he and his brother-in-law had returned East to help build the new automobiles they had ordered. It would serve them all right if she said yes, lured Trey away to safety, and.... And what? Her mind refused to contemplate what came after the yes.

She missed going to late afternoon and evening events with Trey, missed noon meals with him at the café. Judith’s words often popped into Deborah’s mind.
Whatever else he is, your Mr. Van Cleve is not boring.

No, Trey wasn’t boring, but life without him was. Boredom and sympathy left Deborah vulnerable to a plea from Miss Florence Miller, who approached the counter in the
Herald’s
office with hesitation. Deborah didn’t know Miss Miller, but she knew of her. The owlish little woman eked out a living teaching music in a small house on the edge of the part of town William considered unsuitable for ladies.

Her request was impossible. Trey had committed to attending another of Mrs. Tindell’s cultural events, this time a recital by a Russian violinist with an impressive name everyone in town pronounced differently. As Trey had said before hurrying out the door past Deborah, an hour of aural misery would almost be worth it if it settled the pronunciation mystery.

“I never thought of asking you to put our little recital in the paper,” Miss Miller said breathlessly, “but yesterday Mrs. Green urged me to do so. Her Ned is my best pupil. Seeing his name in the paper would make her so happy. So I promised, but I know you can’t. Even with proper notice, I know you wouldn’t want to spend time with us, and you’d have to, wouldn’t you?”

Fulfilling her promise had Miss Miller flushing red with embarrassment. “I didn’t know Mrs. Tindell would schedule the same day, or I never would have done it, but I sent notes home with all my students weeks ago, and families have to plan. It’s pretentious to call what my students are doing a recital, I know. Even Ned — a Russian violinist — only students — just parents.”

Miss Miller finally stopped her incoherent ramble, and stood waiting for excuses and rejection.

“Your students are giving a piano recital for their parents tonight?” Deborah summed up.

Miss Miller nodded.

Deborah glanced toward the back room. Mr. Richmond had spent the day on the linotype machine. By four o’clock the lines in his face would be crevices, and his walk would be close to a shuffle. Still, if she asked him, he would go, or go with her.

“The problem is that Mr. Van Cleve has accepted an invitation to Mrs. Tindell’s recital,” Deborah explained. “I’d love to come to yours, but I’d need an escort, and I’m not sure who I can ask. Give me a moment to consider.”

Judith and William were taking the children to visit his family this evening, so she couldn’t ask William.

“Oh, you mean you would...” Miss Miller’s face lit up. “The Greens would be delighted to bring you with them. I know they would.” Her face fell. “Of course, then you would have to stay to the end.”

“I’d be happy to stay to the end,” Deborah said, writing Judith’s address on a scrap of paper. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Judith and William had already left when Deborah returned home. She had time to wash and change her clothes before the Greens arrived — and leave a note, since Judith and William would be home before she was.

T
REY CLOSED HIS
eyes and leaned back. Mr. Rostovtzeff was proving a pleasant surprise. Deborah would have enjoyed this, and he would have enjoyed having her beside him.

Alaska. He didn’t want to go to Alaska or anywhere else. He wanted to smoke out this would-be killer, get him stopped, marry Deborah, and make a life here. Now that he had Herman co-opted into providing information about the comings and goings at the V Bar C, figuring out who was behind the attacks should be possible. Him. Not Alice. Him.

His eyes flew open when a hand closed on his shoulder.

“I need to talk to you,” William Dalton whispered.

Deborah. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”

“She’s fine. At least I think she’s fine, but I need to talk to you.”

Trey ignored the glares as he followed William out of the room and into the hallway.

“What do you mean you
think
she’s fine.”

“Judith and I were out tonight. When we got home, we found this in the middle of the kitchen table.”

William handed Trey a note. “I am covering a recital tonight. Since you will be home before I am, I didn’t want you to worry. Deborah.”

“Of course we are worried. She’s always been bad about slipping off by herself, but in town at night in the dead of winter? She mentioned at breakfast she wished she could come here, so we hoped.... I said I’d find her and bring her home, but now I don’t know what to do. I hate to go back and tell Judith I couldn’t find her. I can’t think where else she could be.”

Neither could Trey, although he was having trouble thinking at all. Where would she go? This was the only recital in town tonight, this week, this month. Why say a recital? To tweak him when she knew he’d be here without her? If he found her unharmed, he’d wring her neck.

“Your wife doesn’t know of anything else going on in town tonight?” he asked William.

“Nothing like a recital. The Baptists have choir practice.”

“If you check with the Baptists, I’ll check with Peter and see if she left an address or anything at the office. If I don’t find anything, I’ll meet you back at your house. If I do, I’ll get word to you somehow.”

Trey came closer to running than he had in the past year and a half and arrived at the
Herald
out of breath. Nothing on top of the desk gave any hint where she might be. He yanked open one desk drawer after another, searching for any clue.

A faint click made him look up. Peter stood in the doorway in his drawers and vest, a large black pistol shaking in his hand.

“Do you mind pointing that somewhere else before it goes off?” Trey said.

“Oh. Yes, of course. I thought you were a burglar. There’s nothing much to steal, but I thought I should come look.”

Trey took the revolver from him and let the hammer down gently. “Next time you think there’s a burglar, lock your door and stay upstairs. You’ll be safer.”

Peter nodded, yawning, “I expect so. What are you looking for?”

“Any indication of where Deborah went tonight.”

“I expect to Miss Miller’s piano recital. That’s what she was planning.”

“Piano recit.... That frumpy little woman who lives on Water Street?”

“That’s the one. She was in here today, and Miss Sutton promised....”

Trey already had his hand on the door. “Do me a favor and find someone to go and tell the Daltons where she is. Tell them I’m going after her and I’ll get her home.”

Trey yelled the last so he would be heard because he was out the door and almost-running again.

T
HE YOUNGEST CHILDREN
went first and played very short pieces. As the performers increased in age, their performances increased in length and skill required. Ned Green must be a prodigy indeed.

Deborah wrote another name in her notebook. The only way to report on this modest little recital and do it justice would be to include the name of every child. Miss Miller and the parents had every right to be proud. Trey would be fortunate if Mrs. Tindell’s Russian entertained so well.

Banging sounded from the front door. Deborah looked around, frowning. No one should be arriving and interrupting this late. The girl playing missed a few notes and stumbled to a halt as Trey hurried into the room.

“Excuse me. Excuse me.”

He pushed through the clusters of parents standing around the piano until he reached Deborah. She jerked away. “What are you doing here? You’re upsetting everyone. That little girl....”

“The question is what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be home. Judith is worried, and William is searching town for you. Say your goodbyes, and I’ll take you home.”

Around her, parents whispered and frowned. Miss Miller had resignation on her face and a comforting hand on the shoulder of the little girl at the piano.

“I apologize for causing this disruption. Perhaps you can explain to the children that sometimes gentlemen act impetuously. Mr. Van Cleve and I are going outside for a moment,” Deborah said to Miss Miller. To the little girl at the piano she said, “I hope when I return, you will be kind enough to let me hear you perform from the beginning again.”

Deborah wove her way through parents and children, smiling and nodding, until she reached the front door, which she yanked open without waiting for Trey. As soon as the door closed behind them, she said, “I left Judith a note. There is no earthly reason for her to be worried or you to be here disrupting everyone’s evening.”

“She didn’t send me. William came to the Tindell recital, hoping to find you there or that I would know where you were. They’re worried because they have enough sense to know it’s dangerous for you to sneak around town at night. If they knew you were in this part of town, they’d be here with the police.”

“I came here in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Green and their two children, and they plan to take me home. I am not sneaking, and I am not stupid. I don’t know what’s gotten into Judith and William — or you. I left a note, and they have no reason to worry or interfere or enlist you to interfere. Go home.”

“You really came here with one of those families?”

“Of course I did. Are you saying you think I’m not only sneaky but a liar?”

“Well, you have been known to....” Evidently reconsidering the wisdom of finishing that thought, he put his hands in his coat pockets, rocked on his heels, and changed the subject. “You must be cold.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m returning inside, where all those proud parents and excited children are now trying to pretend they aren’t disappointed that someone from the paper isn’t going to listen to their recital after all.”

“I really was worried about you.”

“You treated my worry about you as a joke and sent the men away.”

“I didn’t think it was a joke, but I suppose I hoped it meant more than it did. That red dress is pretty, but it’s not warm enough to stand out here, and you’re shaking. Let’s go back inside. Will the musicians and their families forgive me if two people from the paper listen to the rest of the concert? Will you walk home with me instead of the Greens?”

“We came in their carriage.” She pointed at the line of vehicles waiting in the street.

“Aah, I suppose you’d rather ride than walk then.”

She open her mouth to agree, but what came out was, “I’d rather walk with you, but it will be a while, you know, and you’d better show proper appreciation. I expect Ned Green to deliver a rousing finale.”

Trey opened the door and sketched a courtly bow. Deborah swept back inside.

They left almost two hours later, thanks and good wishes from Miss Miller, parents, and children ringing in their ears. The same damp cold that had chilled Deborah to the bone on the carriage ride to the recital and when standing outside without a coat arguing with Trey no longer affected her. His gloved hand covered hers where it rested on his arm and warmed her better than the stove in Miss Miller’s house.

“It was all your sister’s fault,” he said as soon as they set out.

“You are entirely blameless.”

“I am.”

“You didn’t burst into the house in a froth, ready to drag me out of there.”

“I object to terms like froth and drag.”