The Lightkeeper's Daughter (26 page)

Addie turned an impish smile his way. “I fear my father would highly disapprove of my tendency to shed my shoes at a moment’s notice.”

He grinned. “It’s one of the things that endears me to you.”

She removed her hand from his arm and stepped nearer the fountain. “Was this here during my mother’s lifetime?”

“It was installed when the labyrinth was built in 1860. So we should examine it closely.”

She glanced at her feet, then back at the statue. “The only way to go over every inch is to wade into the pool.”

Amusement lit his eyes. “I shall allow you the honor, since I know you want to do it so badly.”

“I think you’ll need to join me. It’s much too tall for me to reach to the top of the hummingbird.”

“Oh, the sacrifices I make for you.” He settled on the bench and yanked off his shoes.

Smiling, she sat on the grass and reached under her skirt to remove her shoes and stockings. The moist grass cooled her feet when she stood. Her dress would get damp, but she didn’t mind. She tried to hold the hem above the pool and waded toward the fountain. The water splashed onto her skirt, and when she reached the fountain, she gave up the struggle to stay dry, as she needed both hands to examine the statue.

John joined her, and they poked fingers into every crevice and ran palms over every surface. Nothing. She tried to hide her disappointment as he helped her from the pool of cold water. “Now what?” she asked after they’d donned their shoes again.

He was staring at the rocks. They’d been stacked and mortared as a support for the hummingbird. He walked around to the back, and she followed. “What is it?”

“Just checking for loose mortar. Ah, let’s check this.” He dug his fingers into the cracked mortar of a rock and wiggled it loose. The cavity was empty.

“If she’d hidden it in a loose rock, wouldn’t it have been repaired by now?”

He nodded. “Quite possibly.” He gazed around the circular parklike area.

“Where does that path lead?” she asked, indicating a trail leading out of the center.

“Out of the labyrinth eventually. A labyrinth isn’t the same as a maze. There are no dead ends. It’s a place for reflection and prayer. A few feet along that path, there used to be a small altar and prayer bench.”

“Oh, I want to see!”

He clasped her hand in his. “This way.”

Her fingers curled around his hand, and she was glad she’d neglected to draw on her gloves. The warmth of his skin connected them in a new way. She nearly asked him why he hadn’t stolen his kiss. They reached a small brick archway. Stepping through it, she saw a matching bench and altar surrounded by flowers. Pigeons roosted atop it.

“It’s so lovely,” she said. A warm breeze enveloped her when she approached the bench. The back arched to match the altar. She sat and breathed in the fragrance of the flowers. “I must come here often.”

He sat beside her, and silence descended. She heard only the chirping of birds as they searched for a good hiding place. Her gaze fell on a sundial. “What about that?”

“Maybe.”

They approached the sundial. It stood on a stone column embellished with carved rosettes. She ran her fingers over the stone in search of any part that moved.

“Here!” John twisted on a rosette, and the ornamentation dropped into his hand. He reached inside and withdrew a piece of paper. “Our pigeon clue!”

Her fingers trembled when she took the paper he passed to her and unfolded it. “It reads, ‘Father murdered,’” she whispered.

Friday morning, the cranky motor on John’s 1906 Harley-Davidson didn’t want to start, and he had to fight with it before drawing out the familiar
putt-putt
of the engine. He rode it to Mercy Falls. As he reached the center of town, he realized a line had collected outside the bank. Frowning, he parked the motorcycle by the front door. He climbed off and strode toward the door.

“There he is!” Mrs. Paschal cried. She rushed toward him with her hands outstretched. “Lieutenant North, I want my money.”

“What’s going on here?” John asked. The line stretched down the block and around the corner.

“It’s my money, and you have to give it to me,” the woman said, clutching at his coat sleeve.

“Of course you can have your money, Mrs. Paschal,” he said soothingly. “The bank will open in forty-five minutes. I have to run an errand and I’ll be right back. The tellers will be along in a few minutes.”

“I want my money now!” she shrieked, grasping at him.

He evaded her hands and rushed back to his Harley. He leaped into the seat and gunned the engine, then turned back the way he’d come. He realized he was sweating, and he wiped his forehead. “I think there’s a run going on at the bank,” he said out loud, though there was no one to hear. “A real run.”

He turned the Harley into the Eaton Manor driveway. When he stopped the motorcycle outside the house, the door opened, and Henry rushed from the manor.

He reached John’s Harley. “John, where have you been? There’s a run developing at the bank.”

“I saw. I just came from there. Do you know what’s caused this?”

Henry scowled. “The Knickerbocker Trust Company just failed. I got a telegram about it early this morning.”

John winced. “We should be all right. We’ve got plenty of reserves.” He noticed Henry wasn’t meeting his gaze. “We do have plenty of reserves, Henry. No need to worry.”

Addie came through the front door with her dog by her side. She knelt and rubbed Gideon’s head, but her gaze lingered on John. He could feel the waves of empathy rolling from her, and it gave him strength.

Henry leaned against the doorjamb. “I loaned ten million dollars to Knickerbocker just yesterday.” His voice trembled.

A loan of that magnitude! John struggled to stay calm. “Without telling me? No wonder numbers weren’t adding up.” He struggled to maintain his temper.

“I was going to tell you. It was a temporary loan, and I expected to recoup it with 10 percent interest.”

John did calculations in his head. “That leaves us with only 5 percent reserve. We might be in trouble.”

“I’m aware of that,” Henry snapped. “Get over to the bank and calm them down. Tell them you’ll give them part of their money today and the rest later.”

“That’s hardly accurate. You did this, Henry.”

Henry jabbed a finger in John’s chest. “It’s your job to make sure we’re not bankrupt by the time this day is over.”

“No. It’s your problem, not mine. I was only helping you out, and you know it. Besides, you won’t be bankrupt. There are the other businesses. The boats, the dairies.” But the bank’s failure would be catastrophic to the people who had entrusted Henry with their money.

He realized Henry hadn’t answered him. “The other businesses are in no danger, right?” John asked.

Henry had gone white. “They’re mortgaged, son. To the hilt. If the bank fails, I fail.”

John couldn’t breathe. The scale of this was too huge to take in. “I see.” He straightened his shoulders. Addie’s future was at stake. Edward’s too. “I’d better see what I can do at the bank.”

Henry clutched at his arm. “This doesn’t affect only me, you know. It’s you and Edward.” He squinted into John’s face. “Julia too.”

“Is this why you asked me to help out? So I could take the blame if your risk failed?”

Henry’s face reddened. “Of course not. You’re family. I’d hoped your oversight would see us through. Obviously I was wrong.”

John’s fists clenched. Henry had set him up. “You didn’t even consult me about the loan to Knickerbocker. I would have advised against it.”

“Precisely why I didn’t mention it. If this gamble paid off, I would have been able to reestablish myself.”

“Instead you’ve brought your family to the edge of ruin.”

And Henry would be out on the street. John had seen that crowd at the bank. There would be no talking to them. “I’d better get to the bank,” he said.

T
WENTY-SEVEN

P
EOPLE SHOUTED AND
shoved one another in the bank lobby. John fought his way through the crush, then slipped into the back rooms, where two of Henry’s tellers cowered in the corner.

Paul Lingel swiped a lock of hair back into place over his bald spot. “What are we going to do?” he asked in a quavering voice.

John fixed a stare on both tellers. “We’re going to do business as usual. I shall go out there and try to restore order and confidence. I want both of you to be smiling and confident.”

Paul straightened his tie and knocked mud from his black pants. “Yes, sir.”

John took a deep breath, then strode out to the oaken counter. “Good morning!” he called, stretching his mouth into a smile. “You’re all out early.”

“We want our money,” a beefy man in overalls said at the front of the line.

John couldn’t lay hold of the man’s name. “Of course. No one is saying you can’t have your money, but what are you going to do with it when you get it?”

“We’ll have it in our possession,” the man said.

“Then what? Hide it under your mattress?” He laughed and held up his hand. “Please, friends, there is no need for panic.”

“I got a telegram from my uncle,” someone yelled from the back. “His bank in New York closed down, and he lost everything.”

People cried out and surged toward the counter. John tried to reason with them, but they shouted him down, demanding their money. He signaled to the tellers, who came forward. Their nervous smiles would only serve to inflame the crowd.

“Please, in an orderly fashion,” he called. “Panic will make things worse.”

His final statement pricked the bubble of agitation, and he saw the crowd visibly relax. He allowed himself a sliver of hope until the man in overalls thrust his fist into the air.

“This is no different from 1873!” he yelled. “Banks failed all over the world.” His fist came down on the counter. “Give me my money!”

Just like that, the run started. Though John tried several times to restore order, no one paid attention. The tellers began to pay out money from deposits, and the line diminished, then ballooned again. He wished he’d asked Addie to pray before he left the house. It would take a miracle to get through the run and still be solvent.

Within an hour, Paul pulled him aside. Perspiration dotted the older man’s forehead. “We’re almost out of cash,” he whispered, wiping the back of his hand across his damp face.

“Let me look.” John strode back to the vault and slipped inside. Only two stacks of money were left.

The bank had failed.

His knees gave out, and he sank onto a nearby chair. Those poor families were about to lose their life’s savings. Anger burned in his belly. Henry hadn’t even considered the possible effects of his actions on the people of this community. How could John go out there and tell the people that the money was gone?

He considered the ways he might pull this out yet. He might announce the bank was closing for the day rather than tell them the money was gone. But that would only postpone the inevitable. No bank would loan Henry the cash, not considering the current situation. The people waiting out there—shopkeepers, factory workers, homemakers—were going to have to know sooner or later that their worlds had shifted.

He got heavily to his feet. While Henry might prefer to avoid the situation, John wasn’t going to do it. He’d speak the truth today, even if it pained him. And it did. He dreaded the disbelief and disillusionment on the faces of these anxious people.

Carrying the last two stacks of money, he returned to the counter and distributed the funds into the tellers’ cash drawers. “Carry on,” he said. “Let me know when the money is gone.”

He watched those in line jostle for position, then step to the windows and demand their money. Reddened, fearful faces waited and watched as their turn neared. Three people served, then seven. Five minutes. Ten. It wouldn’t be long now.

Paul shot a desperate glance John’s way and held up his hand. John stepped into the crowd and held up his hands. “Friends, I’m sorry, but the bank is going to have to close its doors. Our cash is gone. I’m going to do what I can to call in loans to pay you, but for now, I must ask you all to leave.”

The din increased to a roar. People pushed the others around them. He heard more cries for money, actual sobbing, and his gut clenched. Someone shoved him, and he struggled to keep his balance before going down into a sea of feet. Someone yanked him up, then planted a fist in his face and another in his stomach.

He welcomed the pain. A kick landed against his thigh, and the agony spread up to his waist and down to his ankle. Then another slammed into his head, and fog rolled across his vision. He fought his way through the blurry vision and reached for support. A hand grabbed his and hauled him to his feet. He reeled, and a hand seized the back of his collar and pulled him free of the kicks and punches still aimed in his direction.

“Lieutenant North, are you all right?” Paul propelled him down the hall while the other teller blocked access.

John nodded, and sharp pain circled his neck at the movement. “Thanks, Paul.”

“What are we going to do now?” the older man asked.