Somewhere to Call Home (Love Inspired Historical) (19 page)

“We can’t tarry long over this wonderful breakfast I made,” Michael said. He grinned as he put the biscuits and bacon on the table. “Simple but good, I hope. Anyway, I sent Jim to get breakfast out. Didn’t want him teasing me if this was bad and I wanted Jim to be able to contact Harlan first thing to keep him from showing up here before we’re ready for him.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for him. But I so want all of this settled.” Violet opened her biscuit and spread butter on it. She took a bite and closed her eyes. “Mmm, you do know how to cook, Michael! These are as every bit as good as Gretchen’s and Maida’s.”

“Thank you.” Michael grinned as he handed her the plate of bacon.

“Yes, it’s always been quite a relief to me to know that if the girls couldn’t come into work, Michael could help me in the kitchen,” Mrs. Heaton said. “He always loved helping me when he was young. And I don’t think it hurts any man to know how to feed himself.”

A knock on the back door startled them all. When Violet started to get up to go see who was there, Michael waved her aside, letting her know that he’d go. But it was only Mr. Atwood and the judge showing up as planned.

“Looks like we got here just in time, Judge,” Mr. Atwood said. He put his briefcase down and helped himself to a biscuit.

“We just ate breakfast, but those do smell mighty good. I think I’ll have one, too,” the judge said. “Must be a case of anticipation of closing a case that has us so hungry.”

“Soon as we finish here, I guess we’d better take our places, just in case Harlan decides to come calling on Miss Burton earlier than is deemed appropriate.”

“Well, he’d better not, but I wouldn’t put it past him,” Mrs. Heaton said.

Violet took a deep breath. This was real. They’d talked and planned the best they could, and now it was time to put those plans into action. A shiver of apprehension slid down Violet’s spine and for the first time she felt nervous. She sent up a silent prayer that it would all work right, and hopefully, Harlan Black would be behind bars before nightfall.

Chapter Nineteen

V
iolet found it hard to keep still as they waited for Harlan to show up. The judge and Mr. Atwood were playing a game of chess in the front parlor; Mrs. Heaton was trying to keep to the kitchen in the back—although she’d already been up front several times to check on everyone and see if they needed anything. And Michael was just inside the front door, out of sight, but a reassuring presence to her. His men and the local police chief were hidden around the sides of the house.

“Violet, if you keep pacing back and forth you are going to make Black think you are waiting for him when he shows up,” Michael said softly. “Why don’t I have Mother make you some tea? Is there a magazine or paper around you can read while we’re waiting?”

Violet stopped in her tracks. Michael was right. Harlan might think something was brewing if she were out here pacing when he arrived. “I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”

“That’s understandable, Vi, but it’s going to be all right.”

Did he realize that he’d called her Vi? Or how it warmed her heart? She’d never had a nickname before and no one had ever called her Vi. That Michael was the only one made it sound even more special to her.

“The Lord is with us. Never forget that, Vi.” Michael continued to try to calm her.

“Thank you, Michael. I needed that reminder. I really did.”

“Violet, dear,” Mrs. Heaton whispered from over her son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down and look through your mother’s sewing box? Maybe there’s something in there to mend and you can keep your hands busy, instead of your feet, while we wait.” She handed the white wicker sewing box to Michael and he handed it to Violet. “You are making us all nervous, dear.”

Violet took the box. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Mother,” Michael said. “But please go back to the kitchen and make something.
You
are making me nervous.”

Everyone chuckled as his mother smiled and patted him on the cheek before heading back to the kitchen.

Violet took the sewing box and went to sit in the porch swing her father had put up for her mother.

She opened the basket and looked inside. There were spools and spools of thread, packets of needles, a pattern—Butterick, of course—and as she dug down to the bottom she found a packet. Violet opened it and found cards and notes...sweet loving ones from her father to her mother.

Violet pulled out one more envelope. It was crumpled, and Violet smoothed it out to find it addressed to...Mrs. Heaton, in her mother’s handwriting. But the flap wasn’t sealed.

“Violet, stay there and try to stay calm.” Michael’s voice came to her softly from behind the screen door. “Black is coming up the street now. Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered from all sides. Just be yourself.”

Violet’s mouth went dry as she swallowed, and all she could manage was a nod. She stuffed the packet into the box and put the lid back on. Only then did she look to the street to see that Harlan Black was almost at the front walk.

She stood, smoothed out her skirts and waited for him.

Harlan reached the front walk and stopped. He took off his hat and waved it. “Miss Burton, you
are
back. I’d heard you were and came to see if it was true.”

“As you can see, it is, Mr. Black.”

“I’m glad. Will you be staying?” He hurried up the walk to the porch, but stopped at the first step.

“For a few days, at least.”

Harlan came up the steps. “And what brings you back to town? Did you get homesick?”

“I just wanted to come home and check on things and take care of some business.”

“Oh? What kind of business?”

Violet wanted to tell him it was none of his, but that wouldn’t get them where they needed to be. “Well, I was coming to see you later this morning.”

“Oh?” Black leaned against the porch railing and smiled. “Why did you want to see me? Have you—”

Violet couldn’t bear to have him ask if she’d changed her mind. “I want to see the paper my mother supposedly signed putting our home up for collateral on the loan.”

Black pushed away from the rail and moved a little nearer to her. “I showed it to you. Don’t you remember? Why do you want to see it now?”

“I was mourning my mother at that time and you know it. I didn’t look at it that closely and I’d just like to see it again.”

“You don’t believe her signature is real?” He took a step closer.

“I just want to make sure it is hers. I can’t understand why she would have put our home up when my father left us enough—”

“No. He didn’t.”

“I believe he did.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“No, she isn’t, Black.” Mr. Atwood appeared at the door. “I know for a fact that Mr. Burton left this family well-off. Why don’t you come in, Mr. Black?” He held the door wide. “We have some things to straighten out.”

“Mr. Atwood! The rumor mill said you’d be back soon. Glad you are better, but I don’t believe we have a thing to discuss. Mrs. Burton asked me to take care of things since you were gone.”

“I think you are lying, Black,” Mr. Atwood said.

Harlan turned to leave, but by then Michael’s men had come around the side of the house and stood ready to stop him. Jim Moore was one of them.

“What is going on, Moore? Have you set me up?” The hatred in Black’s eyes was evident for anyone to see as he looked for an escape route.

“You could say that,” Michael said, coming out of the house and standing right behind Violet. “But I’m the one he works for.”

Violet could see the fear on Harlan’s face. “Heaton. I should have known you’d be mixed up in all of this. I’ll have you all arrested!” Harlan’s eyes looked wild and Violet wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

“I don’t think so,” Judge Bancroft said, slipping out the door and moved to stand beside Michael and Mr. Atwood. “Mr. Black, why don’t you come in and talk this over with us? It’s not going to do you much good to run at this point.”

“What have you got in there? A whole army?” Harlan yelled.

“We just want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Black. It appears you’ve been doing some creative bookkeeping. Come on inside. Or, if you’d rather, we can do this down at the police station.”

Violet was fearful for everyone as Harlan made to slip a hand to the inside of his jacket. Did he have a gun?

“I wouldn’t try that if I was you, Black,” Michael said.

“It’s not worth it, son,” Mr. Atwood said. “You can’t change the past. You are in enough trouble. No need to make it worse.”

Harlan looked from one man to the other for several minutes before he slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a gun, pointing it straight at Violet. “I don’t think you want to pressure me just now.”

But Michael quickly pushed her behind him and then dived for Harlan, pushing his arm away and wrestling him down, managing to knock the gun from his hand. Harlan dived after it and Michael grabbed him before he could get to it. Michael threw the gun to Jim Moore just before Harlan’s fist caught him in the eye.

Michael gave as good as he got and it took Jim and the other agent to pull them apart. Then everything seemed a blur as Jim Moore stopped Michael’s fist from crashing into Harlan’s face once more. “It’s done, Michael.”

By then the chief of police and the other agent had handcuffs on Harlan and had yanked him to his feet. Michael looked at Violet, and she could see that his eye was turning black already. But there was a gleam in his eye as he looked at her and smiled. She smiled back and his dimples deepened as he winked at her. He was all right. Her heart slammed against her chest. Only then did Violet feel that she could breathe again.
Thank You, Lord.

“Let’s talk,” the judge said, opening the door wide.

* * *

“Maybe it will help you to hear what we know,” Mr. Atwood said once everyone was seated in the parlor. “I know what Mr. Burton left his wife and daughter, and it was a home and land, free and clear of debt, and a tidy sum in the bank. But somehow you left Mrs. Burton, and then Violet, under the impression that they were near penniless.”

“I never—”

“Yes, you did. You went so far as to convince Mrs. Burton that she needed to put her home up as collateral so that there was enough money in her account to pay for her medicine and the doctor.”

“You are making this all up.”

“No. I’m not. We’ve checked your records and we know what Doc charged.”

Harlan laughed. “You’re bluffing.”

“He’s not bluffing,” the judge said. “I was with him. We’ve seen all your records.”

“You broke in and—”

“We had a search warrant. It was all legal and aboveboard. Your actions, however, have not been.”

Mr. Atwood drew out papers showing that the bank account in Violet’s mother’s name was still intact and in fact had money in it. “What were you planning on doing? Persuading Miss Burton to marry you, get her house, land and bank account for yourself? And for what reason? To show your papa that you were a better man?”

It was at that moment that Harlan Black broke. “He never loved my mother. Always wanted Violet’s mother, right up until she died. He never stopped loving her. And he never loved me. Never wanted me. I wanted to show him that I could have it all. But Mrs. Burton didn’t want me to come around and try to court Violet. Didn’t want to give me a chance because of him! I knew I had to do something. When she got sick, well, I tried to convince her that she had money troubles and the only way out was for me to give her a loan, putting up the house for collateral. I knew she wasn’t long for this world, so I even promised to leave Violet alone.”

He looked at Violet. “But she yelled at me and told me to get out of the house. She was real agitated. And then she collapsed. She wasn’t ever the same after that. Couldn’t talk or anything.” He looked at Violet and then down at the floor.

Did he have any remorse at all? He’d probably helped cause her mother’s stroke. Violet closed her eyes and willed herself not to throw up. The pity she’d begun to feel for him changed to repulsion.

“So you forged her name on the papers and told Violet she’d signed them?”

Harlan raised his head and grinned. “She believed me.”

“Because she was in mourning, not thinking straight, and I wasn’t here to tell her different and to look into it for her,” Mr. Atwood said.

“And if you’d waited to come back, you old coot, I probably could have convinced her to marry me by now. Especially now I have someone in the Heaton House working for me.”

“What are you talking about? Who is working for you?” Michael asked.

“Not your agent, if that’s what you think. No. It appears there is someone who wants Violet away from you as much as I do.”

“Lila,” Violet whispered. “But how—”

“Miss Lila Miller got in touch with me a few weeks ago. Let me know right where you were. I bought a train ticket and was going to leave on Monday. We had everything set up so when you came out of Butterick she could say she’d met a friend and leave you to catch the trolley on your own. And I’d be there waiting for you.” Black grinned at Michael. “And you’d never see her again. But you ruined all my plans by coming here before I could leave town.”

His arrogance had Michael on his feet and grabbing his collar. “You are scum, Black. You always have been and it doesn’t have anything do to with your father.”

There was loathing in Black’s eyes when he looked at Michael and sneered. “Your sister didn’t think so, though. No, she didn’t think I was scum at all. I remember one night—”

Michael drew back his fist and only the fast action of his men stopped him from giving Harlan Black exactly what he had coming to him.

* * *

It had been a long day, both heartrending and happy. By nightfall, Violet had seen Harlan Black arrested for fraud and the inheritance she’d never realized she had reinstated to her. Her home was really hers, and she had money in the bank and never had to worry about paying Black one more cent. She even had the means to be able to help some less fortunate than her.

They’d had dinner with the Edwardses that evening, and afterward Violet, Michael and his mother relaxed on her front porch before going in to pack for the trip back to the city. She and Mrs. Heaton shared the swing and Michael was in one of the wicker chairs.

He looked pitiful, his eye swollen, black-and-blue and looking worse by the minute. Her heart swelled with love for this man who’d fought for her today. He’d won—though he looked a bit worse for it. But it could have turned out so differently. He could have been shot and killed. She shuddered at the very thought.

Just thinking about how close he’d come to losing his life on her account made Violet tremble.

“I’m so glad this is all over and we’re headed home,” Mrs. Heaton said. “I loved Ashland when we lived here, but I don’t want to move back. I might feel differently if your mother was still alive, Violet, but not now.”

At the mention of her mother, Violet finally remembered the letter her mother had written and never mailed. She reached into the sewing box she’d left on the swing, dug out the letter and handed it to Mrs. Heaton.

“I have something for you. I found it when I was out here earlier today, but it was about the time Harlan showed up and so much has happened since then, I forgot until now.” She handed it to Mrs. Heaton.

Mrs. Heaton took the packet from her and turned it over. She opened the flap that had never been sealed and pulled out another envelope with a letter wrapped around it. Her quick intake of breath told them that she was surprised. She swallowed hard. “This envelope is addressed to your mother and it is from...” She sighed deeply and her eyes were full of tears as she continued, her voice shaky, “It’s from Becca!”

She ran trembling fingers over the writing before opening the letter from Violet’s mother and reading out loud. “‘Dear Martha, I received this from Rebecca a few days ago. I don’t know that anything in it will help you and Michael to find her, but I pray it does. I have a suspicion that Harlan Black had something to do with her disappearance, but I have no proof of anything. Just that he makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He’s made it known that he wants to court Violet and I’m going to let him know just how I feel about that—in no uncertain terms. Please let me know you received this, I—’”