Magnolia (19 page)

“God has plans for us that don't always coincide with our own,” she said firmly. “He had need of your boys, and He took them. You have to realize that we have no power over life and death. And death is a thing that all of us will experience, a certainty. One cannot blame other human beings for a divine call.”

“I know that now,” he said sheepishly. “But at the time, I was rather out of sorts with God. I've come to realize that His will is stronger than mine. I hope I've made my peace with Him. Now I want to make it with my son before it's too late.” He looked at her intently. “Is it too late, Claire? Does he speak of me?”

She swallowed. “He doesn't speak of any of you, except that once, when he told me why you didn't speak to each other. I'm sorry. But then,” she added helpfully, “we don't speak of personal things as a rule, as I mentioned.”

“Yes, yes. I remember.” He closed his eyes and then opened them again. “Life is so hard, Claire. Harder than ever for us older ones, once we stop walking in step with the younger folk. I remember when convention was everything, when men treated women like fairies and idolized them. Now women have so many causes, so many complaints. A man hardly knows how to treat them.” He grimaced.
“And all these modern things, telephones and electricity and motorcars. Where will it all end?”

“Progress cannot be stopped,” she commented. “And motorcars are very exciting. I have one, you know. It was my uncle's. I drive it—and I can even repair it!”

He sat up in bed. His eyes almost popped. “You can repair it? Heavens, aren't you afraid of it?”

“Not at all,” she assured him.

“I never heard such a thing. And you a woman.” He winced. “There I go again. You see? I will never reconcile myself to the changes, to the modern life. I fought in the Civil War, Claire. I've seen men blown to bits. I've seen children starve to death. But I've also seen the closeness of families and the joy of community life without any newfangled improvements. I live in a horse-and-buggy world that is ever so quickly giving way to motors and machines.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to live in a world that has left me so far behind. Even my attitudes are outdated.”

She reached over and patted his hand. “Your outdated attitudes suit me very well. You just go right on having them, and let these modern people rush about as they like. There will always be a portion of society that clings to the old ways and considers them sacred.”

“You're a tonic,” he said after a minute. “You give silver linings to all my dark clouds.”

She chuckled. “I'm very glad. Now, as a reward, will you tell me some more about my husband?”

He smiled. “Indeed I will. What do you want to know?”

“What was he like as a small boy?”

“That may take days and days,” he said.

She settled back into her chair. “Then you'd better start right now,” she said merrily.

 

S
HE LEARNED A LOT
about John from his father, about his quick temper and his kindness. She learned that he'd given all his pocket money once to a small boy whose lunch had been taken away by bullies. John apparently did a lot for the poor without telling anyone, and he never refused a cry for help, even when it put him in danger. She learned that he could swim, but hated it, and that he'd been champion tennis player of his local group. He'd been a keen horseman until Cuba, and he could sail even if he didn't love the sea. She learned things that she might never need to know again. Because John didn't know where to find her—and she didn't want to go home to find him with Diane.

All the while, though, she missed John and wondered how he was. She also wondered about her sketches for Macy's that Kenny had sent to New York. She telegraphed Kenny and had a reply back in no time. He said that everything was all right, the designs were in New York, and he would have payment for her soon. He would send the money by Western Union. That relieved her mind a lot. She'd have money to support herself—and whatever happened, she wouldn't have to depend on John for her living.

Meanwhile, she'd put aside a simple crepe gown, which she'd brought in case there were any social evenings, because it no longer seemed to fit her in the waist. Maude had seized it and carried it into Savannah, where it was displayed in a local clothing store. She'd come home beaming one day, with the news that the design had attracted such incredible attention that there had been women actually fighting over it. The owner wanted more.

“If you want work, Claire, here it is.” Maude chuckled.

“I may very well need it, if my Macy's designs don't sell,” Claire confided. She frowned. “It's so odd that the crepe dress won't fit. I must have gained more weight than I realized. I eat when I'm nervous and upset, you see.”

“You don't look overweight to me, my dear,” she said kindly, and smiled.

Claire's hands rested on her flat stomach. She had a nagging suspicion about the weight gain that she wasn't about to share with anyone. She'd lost her appetite and felt sick a morning or two, as well, but she also kept that to herself. She wouldn't think about it, she decided, until she had to.

JOHN FELT HIS LIFE HAD GONE SADLY AWRY. HE
missed Claire. He worried about her. And he worried, too, about the bank.

Rumors that something was wrong at the bank persisted after Claire's abrupt departure. Eli Calverson had shown up that next morning after the riot only long enough to unlock the front door, then he'd left like a shot, mumbling something about feeling unwell. He looked unwell, all right—pale and drawn and worried. That only intensified John's feeling of apprehension.

As John had already decided to have a talk with Dawes, the firm's chief bookkeeper, he went straight in to see him. The little man was very nervous, and John's mere presence seemed to intimidate him.

“I assure you, Mr. Hawthorn, that Mr. Calverson keeps a very careful eye on my books, and he hasn't said a word to me,” Dawes said. He cleared his throat, red in the face and
all but blabbering. “I suggest that you take up any problems you may have with Mr. Calverson and not me.”

“I'll do that, Mr. Dawes,” John said evenly. “But you realize, I hope, that if auditors have to be called in, your name will be the first one under suspicion if any faults are found. And it won't be Mr. Calverson who will face a judge and jury.”

Dawes's eye grew huge behind his spectacles. “Of all the outrageous things to say!” he blustered, almost upsetting his inkstand. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!”

John's eyebrows lifted eloquently. “I have every intention of pursuing this, Mr. Dawes,” he replied calmly. “If I were you,” he added, his dark eyes narrowing, “I'd think very carefully about cooperating with the authorities.”

“What…authorities?”

“The Pinkertons, Mr. Dawes.”

The little man followed him all the way out into the lobby of the bank, stuttering and pleading in frantic whispers. John turned as he reached his own office.

“If you have anything to say,” John told him, “this is your last chance.”

Dawes gnawed his lower lip until he tasted blood. For a banker, Hawthorn had a very intimidating demeanor. He meant what he said. And with Calverson gone, there was no one left to face the blame except the bookkeeper.

“Calverson…made some…withdrawals and then falsified entries to explain them,” Dawes said in a whisper. “He threatened to…that is, he threatened
me
…if I didn't
cooperate. It's something to do with the reason he wanted to merge the bank with Whitfield's investment firm so quickly. I don't know why. He didn't trust me enough to say.”

John had seen men blackmailed while he was in the service. Dawes looked like a person with dark secrets. The threat of exposure had forced better men than Dawes into a life of crime.

“I'll do what I can for you, when the time comes. If you cooperate,” John added meaningfully.

Dawes let out the breath he'd been holding. “I'll do whatever you say, Mr. Hawthorn.”

John nodded. “Go back to work, for now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dawes ambled back the way he'd come; John stood with his hands in his pockets, scowling. He hadn't seen the president of the bank again this morning—not even a glimpse of him—after Calverson had unlocked the doors promptly at nine.

His first stop was Calverson's office, where his secretary, Henderson, was sorting mail.

“Has Eli come in?”

Henderson looked up and blinked. “No, sir. He went back home right after he unlocked the doors. You remember…? I believe he was unwell.”

“Yes, he said so. I think I'll go over to his home and check on him,” John said, so as not to arouse suspicion. “I'll be there if I'm needed urgently.”

“Yes, sir.”

He got his hat and overcoat and cane, went out into the nippy air, and hailed a carriage. All the way to Eli Calverson's palatial home, he was thinking about Whitfield and this merger. Eli hadn't been honest with him about a lot of things. Something was going on, and he meant to find out what.

He only wished he knew where Claire was. No one had heard from her or seen her since she left on the train. He'd even been to see Evelyn Paine, but Evelyn was as worried as he was—and equally in the dark as to Claire's destination.

When he got to the Calverson home, he was still brooding about Claire. He tapped on the front door and waited for the maid to admit him.

“I want to see Eli Calverson,” John told her.

“Mr. Calverson isn't…available, sir. Shall I ask Mrs. Calverson to come down?”

He was surprised. “Yes, please.”

He waited until Diane appeared from a room in the back of the house. Her eyes were red, but she forced a wide smile at the sight of him. “John! How wonderful to see you!” She held out her hands for him to take and pulled him with her. “Do come into the parlor.”

She led him out of the hall and closed the sliding doors behind them.

“I'm so glad you've come,” she said worriedly. “I'm so upset. I don't really know what I should do.” She tugged a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, John. It's such a frightful mess.”

He'd never seen her quite so genuinely upset. “What's wrong?”

“Eli's…very ill,” she said. “I've just had the doctor. He's in…what is it called? Oh, yes. Quarantine.” She dabbed at her eyes and nose and peered up at John over the lacy handkerchief with faint calculation. “He's ever so sick. I'm quite sure that he won't be able to come back to work at all this week…” Her voice trailed off.

“Diane, do you know about any unusual activity at the bank?” he asked.

“Why, no, John,” she said, with wide eyes. “I do know about the riot, of course, because I was there. Eli was very upset.” She made a gesture. “That's what caused him to be sick, all the worry about those investors making such silly accusations. As if anyone would embezzle money at our bank! The very idea! You don't think Eli would steal from the bank, do you, John?”

And John thought, You little schemer. Something was afoot—and Diane was up to her pretty neck in it. She couldn't know about the bookkeeper's accusations, thank God. He'd make sure she didn't find out. Whatever Eli was up to, he wasn't going to get away with it. John wasn't about to be left holding the bag.

Diane moved close to him, smiling sweetly. “How I've missed you, John,” she said. “I should never have married him, you know.”

How sugary sweet she sounded. But she looked nervous. She looked frightened, as well.

“Won't you stay for a little while?” she said, wringing
her handkerchief. “I'm so lonely and upset—and we haven't had a chance to talk alone together in such a long time. I do so badly need to talk to you, John.”

Once, her nearness would have driven him mad with desire. Now it only irritated him.

Diane's wan face lifted to his. “Claire has left you, hasn't she, John? It's all over town. Now you can divorce her and have me. You can make peace with your people and get your inheritance. We can live very well…”

“What about your sick husband?”

She hesitated. She looked frightened and her eyes didn't quite meet his. “I can't think about him now. You do still want me, don't you, John? Darling, you remember how good it was between us when we were engaged.” She brushed her body against his lightly, almost frantically. “We must meet again. At my sister's perhaps, and very soon. We must be very discreet, of course, but we must make plans very quickly, my darling. Before Eli…uh, that is, before Eli…recovers completely,” she added quickly.

John thought how he would have hated to be married to such a woman, who had no qualms about running away from a sick husband—
if
Eli was really sick, which he doubted very much. Diane was ready to cut and run, just as Eli was, but she seemed to prefer a different direction altogether. Perhaps she had no stomach for dodging the law.

She was making crazy plans, and he wanted no part of them. He was sorry for her, because Eli Calverson would inevitably be proved guilty of embezzlement and serve time
in prison. She would lose everything. But right now the most important matter was to find out how much Eli had taken and recover the bank's money. It made him sick to think of all the people who had trusted the bank with their life savings—and who now stood to lose.

Eli must have been squirreling money away for a long time. Whitfield probably wasn't in on this, but did he know what Eli had planned? That was a worrying thought, especially if there was an overdraft that Eli was counting on Whitfield to cover.

“I really need to speak to Eli,” he said. “Couldn't I do it through the door?”

She flushed and mopped at her brow. “That would be…unwise. No, John. The doctor said no one could see him, or—or talk to him. You—you must go away.”

“Very well, then,” he told Diane, removing her clinging hands. “I'll come again, when Eli is stronger.”

She smiled nervously. “Yes, well…that might be best.” She bit her lower lip. “Yes, it might,” she said, seeming to speak to herself. “For now, at least.” She glanced up at him. “I'll send word to you when we can meet. I'll try to make it very soon. You will come to me, John?”

“Certainly.” He strung her along, thinking that it would be just as well to keep tabs on her until Eli reappeared. But he had no interest in pursuing their old relationship. He thought only of Claire now. Looking at Diane, he wondered how on earth he'd managed to fall under her spell. She was lovely, but Claire was superior to her in every way. Especially in the ways of kindness and love.
Diane's only concern was solvency, with whomever she could attain it. Why hadn't he realized that in the past? Or was it only that he'd lost her—and her very elusiveness made her desirable?

He dismissed the thought. His mind was on Calverson now, and how to stop him from getting away. If only he could get up those stairs undetected and see for himself if Eli was at home. But he didn't dare risk it. He might spook the man into running too soon.

He left Diane and went directly to the police station. He told an inspector everything he knew, begged him to use the utmost discretion, and encouraged him to alert the Pinkerton detective agency.

“By a stroke of good fortune, several of them are due in town this weekend for a convention,” the officer told him. “You'll have a good group to help sort this out. Mr. Hawthorn, you're certain of what you've told me?”

John's expression was grim. “Utterly certain. But I don't think the bookkeeper will speak freely until the money is found and an arrest made. He's a frightened fellow.”

“We'll keep that in mind, sir. Thank you for coming to see me. We'll be in touch. As I hope you will, should you receive further information that might be of help to us.”

“Certainly, I will,” John promised.

He walked outside the police station with a worried scowl. He couldn't be absolutely certain that any funds had been embezzled. Only the bookkeeper's forced confession was evidence of it—coupled, of course, with Eli's strange behavior. The books would have to be audited by the bank
examiners to find any real evidence of fraud. That would take time. Meanwhile, Eli Calverson would certainly try to get away. And if that happened, guess who would be left to take the blame!

 

T
HE NEXT WEEK WAS A NIGHTMARE
of comforting frightened stockholders, watching the bookkeeper, and keeping a close eye on Diane to see what he could learn from her. He gave the excuse of checking on Eli's health to stop by her house daily, just for a few minutes at a time. Diane ate it up, thinking she had him dazzled. But each time, John listened and watched carefully for any sign of Eli. He found none.

In between he missed Claire and worried about her. She could be anywhere. What if something happened to her? He'd never even know. It infuriated him that she'd left, just as his life was falling apart. She believed that he loved Diane, but he didn't. He only wanted Claire back, with all his heart.

At the end of the week, things seemed to be getting better. The Pinkertons arrived in town a day early, and one of them turned out to be a very old friend of John's named Matt Davis. The man was Sioux, very evidently so, and easterners who had never seen a real live Indian found him alternately fascinating and intimidating. It amused John, who knew Matt's background.

He took Matt out to dinner the very evening he arrived and laid the case out for him.

“Leave this to me,” Matt told him. “I'll have it out of your bookkeeper in five minutes.”

John's eyebrows rose. “You don't still carry that bowie knife?”

Matt grinned. “I don't need to. I've picked up a lot of new methods over the past ten years. You'd be surprised at how easily I get information these days with minimum force.”

“I'd be surprised at the minimum-force bit, certainly,” John replied, tongue in cheek.

Matt sipped his sherry. “You're wearing a wedding ring,” he remarked.

“That's right. I've been married a little over two months—and my wife has already left me,” he stated dryly.

“Is that a joke?”

“Not really.” He sighed. “Claire actually is missing. I hurt her badly with my attention to my ex-fiancée. I was at fault. I hurt her, and she ran. I can't really blame her. Now I can't even discover where she is.” He looked up. “When you get through with Dawes, you might take on my case and help me track down my wife.”

Matt pursed his lips. “Does she have friends in the city?”

“Legion,” John replied. His dark eyes went even darker. “Including a clothier named Kenny Blake…with whom she seems to spend a lot of time lately.”

Matt put down his glass. “Interesting,” he said neutrally.

“Don't get the idea that I haven't put a foot wrong,” John had to add. “I've not treated her well. She had every reason to leave me.”