Page 25 of Into the Starlight (Secrets of Sweetwater Crossing #3)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Joanna reached for her gloves and bonnet, determined to find something to occupy her mind other than thoughts of Burke’s proposal. Perhaps cleaning the second bedroom in Miss Heppel’s house would do that.

Five minutes later, she stood in the doorway of what would become her baby’s nursery. Though she’d planned to explore the contents of the dresser drawers, today the trunk caught her attention. Settling on the floor next to it, she pulled out the key ring she’d found in Miss Heppel’s bedside table and began trying to fit keys into the lock.

The second one worked, and the lid opened easily, revealing a mostly empty interior. That was not what she’d expected. When she’d thought about it, Joanna had envisioned a trunk filled to the top with items that belonged to either Miss Heppel or her mother. Instead, it appeared only one thing had been stored here, a garment made of white silk. Carefully, Joanna withdrew the silk and examined it, sighing at the beauty. Intricate tucking and delicate lace trim turned what could have been an ordinary nightgown into one a bride might have chosen for her wedding night. This was a masterpiece.

Was the trunk Miss Heppel’s hope chest? If so, where were the linens most women collected? And if the nightgown was part of her trousseau, where were the other garments? The only other item in the trunk was a small leather satchel. Unlike the distinctly feminine nightgown, this appeared to be something a man would carry. Was it meant to be a gift for her bridegroom?

Joanna pulled the satchel out and studied it. The stiffness of the leather told her it had never been used, and the style was old-fashioned, perhaps having been made twenty or so years ago. Joanna’s father had had a similar satchel, one that had been a gift from Mama on their first wedding anniversary. His had been plain, whereas this one bore two initials: CF.

Joanna’s breath caught in her throat. Given its age, the satchel couldn’t have been intended for Emily’s husband, Craig Ferguson. Could it have been for Clive Finley? The timing would have been right. Combine that with the items from Finley House that Miss Heppel had kept in her room and Joanna was almost certain this had been destined for Burke’s uncle.

Why? Miss Heppel had claimed that she barely knew him. If that was true, there was no reason for her to have had a satchel with Clive’s initials.

Joanna took a deep breath, trying to slow her heart rate. When she’d gotten it under control, she returned to study the satchel. Though her initial impression had been that it was empty, a small bulge told her there was something inside, the size and shape suggesting a book. With fingers that shook despite her best intentions, she unfastened the buckle and opened the satchel, withdrawing the book. She’d thought it might be another one purloined from Finley House, but it was not. This was a journal, a journal whose slightly worn cover told her it had been used.

Should she open it? Joanna bit her lip, trying to decide. Journals were private, and yet they were designed to be read. Reluctantly, she opened the cover and saw Miss Heppel’s name inscribed on the first page. Reading further would be a violation of privacy, and yet Joanna wanted—no, she needed—to learn more about the house’s former owner. This book might hold the answers to the question of why Miss Heppel’s room had had crown molding and wainscoting from Finley House, about why her trunk contained a satchel with Clive Finley’s initials.

Putting aside her misgivings, Joanna rose, took a seat next to the window, and leafed through the book. There were no dates, simply dozens of pages filled with girlish handwriting.

She took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn’t regret it, then began to read.

I never thought I’d have a diary. I never believed I would have anything I wanted to preserve in writing. All that changed today. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen came to town. He’s tall, with auburn hair, green eyes, and the most wonderful smile. When he favored me with that smile, I knew Clive Finley was the man I was destined to marry.

Joanna cringed. Her questions were being answered, but the answers were far from reassuring. She turned another page.

Everyone in town is talking about Clive and how he plans to build a house for his sweetheart in Alabama. Fortunately, it will take months and months to complete it. That’ll give me time to change his mind.

Poor Miss Heppel. Joanna’s heart ached for the girl she’d been, one of many who’d been infatuated with the newcomer, just as Joanna had been infatuated with George, Emily’s first husband. Though Miss Heppel had denied being infatuated, her words proved otherwise.

I did it. I told Malcolm I would never marry him, that he was not the man for me. How could he compare to Clive? He can’t. He was angrier than I’d ever seen him. Strangely, he didn’t blame me. He said it was Clive’s fault and that someone needed to stop him from turning girls’ heads. I think it was only bluster, but I’m afraid for Clive. Somehow, I have to find a way to warn him.

Joanna laid the book on the seat beside her and closed her eyes, trying to calm her thoughts. Mayor Alcott had made no secret of his disdain for Burke’s uncle, but had there been more than scorn involved? They’d had a violent argument at Ma’s Kitchen. Was that because Miss Heppel had refused the mayor’s proposal? Had he been so angry that he was somehow responsible for Clive’s sudden disappearance? That was something she and Burke would have to determine, but first she needed to see whether later entries in Miss Heppel’s journal shed any light.

He stopped to talk to me after church today to tell me my playing was beautiful. There was no mention of the way Malcolm accosted him at Ma’s, accusing him of trying to turn my head. Now I know what to do. He walks past here most days when he goes from the house he’s building into town. When I see him coming, I’ll open the front window and begin playing. Mama always said music was powerful. When Clive hears it, he’ll know that I’m the woman he’s supposed to marry.

The memory of Gertrude saying that Miss Heppel had tried to entice someone with her music flitted into Joanna’s brain. Had others known of Miss Heppel’s infatuation?

Music was powerful. Joanna knew that. But she also knew it had limitations. She’d learned that when George had been in Sweetwater Crossing, buying horses and choosing a bride. When he’d urged her to play for him each evening, choosing the songs and occasionally singing while she played, she had thought that was a sign that he loved her. She’d been as mistaken as Miss Heppel.

I thought he would ask me to dance at the church social. He didn’t. My sole consolation is that he only danced with married ladies and old spinsters. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone to see how he favors me. I understand his restraint, but there must be a way to make him admit that I’m the one he loves.

Sensing the increasing desperation in the way Miss Heppel’s handwriting had changed, Joanna hesitated to turn the page. She rose to look outside. Had this been Miss Heppel’s room before her parents died? Had she stood at this window and imagined herself walking down the aisle toward Clive Finley?

With another sigh, Joanna returned to the diary.

Nothing’s working. He treats me like he does everyone else. He’s polite but never shows how much he cares for me. In another month, the house will be finished and he’ll go back to Alabama to bring HER, that woman whose name I don’t want to know, back here. I can’t let him do that. I can’t let him leave. I have to do something more.

Joanna’s eyes widened when she turned the page and saw the unmistakable signs of tears blurring the handwriting.

Stealing is wrong. I know that, but I can’t think of any other way to keep him from leaving. It was hard to carry those pieces of wainscoting from his house back here. I wanted to put them in the attic, but I knew I couldn’t get them upstairs without Mama hearing, so I stored them in the woodshed.

The next entry was devoid of tearstains.

I heard Clive was upset about the missing wainscoting. I’m sorry to have caused him distress, but I had to do it. If he doesn’t acknowledge his love for me, I’ll take something else—anything to delay completion of the house.

Though Joanna had expected pages telling of the stolen crown molding, books, and table, there were none. The diary ended with one final entry.

He’s gone. Clive left last night without saying goodbye to anyone—not even me. How could he have done that? He loves me. I know he does.

Joanna closed the book and laid it aside, her heart filled with sympathy for the woman who’d penned those poignant entries. This must have been what Miss Heppel had meant when she’d said she’d done things she was ashamed of. She’d broken one of the commandments by stealing, but if she was ashamed of that, why had she filled her room with the stolen items? Was it a form of penance, a constant reminder of her wrongdoing, or was it something else?

Joanna wished she knew.

“We need to find out whether Mayor Alcott was involved in my uncle’s disappearance,” Burke said when Joanna finished the explanation of what she’d discovered in her new home. He’d been relieved when she’d suggested they walk along the creek after supper, grateful that she was no longer avoiding him, and more pleased than he wanted to admit that she’d asked for his advice.

“People warn about a scorned woman’s anger, but it’s just as likely that a man who’s been rejected would be equally angry ... and equally dangerous.” Joanna shuddered. “The mayor can be brusque and overbearing, but I hate to think that he might have harmed someone.”

Burke agreed. While he didn’t particularly like Alcott, he had difficulty picturing him as dangerous. He’d be more likely to threaten than to attack someone physically. Still, people were capable of almost anything if sufficiently provoked.

“If we ask him,” Joanna continued, “he’ll only deny everything. I suppose we could talk to the sheriff.” She paused as a frog hopped into the creek, splashing water a surprising distance. “I’m not sure how helpful the sheriff would be either. That’s why I think we should start with Mrs. Carmichael. She has an excellent memory and might recall if the mayor was in town when your uncle left.”

Burke smiled at the realization that his own thoughts had reached the same conclusion. “That’s a good idea. We don’t have to tell her about the diary, only that we heard he was angry with Clive.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds before Joanna spoke again. “Do you think I should tell Della that Miss Heppel stole those things in an attempt to keep Clive here longer? It would explain why there were delays in finishing the house.”

“I’m not sure there’s any benefit. What the journal tells us is that Miss Heppel did not send that letter of lies to Della, because she was as mystified as the rest of the town when Clive left. Unless she lied.” Burke couldn’t discount that.

“I don’t think she did. What she wrote seemed genuine.”

They’d been strolling, enjoying the unusually warm evening with Joanna’s hand wrapped around his arm in a way that Burke found reassuring. Even though she’d refused his proposal and tried to avoid him for a day, she did not shrink from his touch.

“I wonder whether I should burn the diary. The entry about the mayor doesn’t prove anything, and the rest would only tarnish Miss Heppel’s reputation. What do you think?”

If this was what life with Joanna would be like, consulting each other before making decisions, listening to the other’s opinion, it would be even better than Burke had imagined. He could picture them fifty years from now, still acting like a team. But that was the future. Joanna was waiting for an answer.

“My mother used to tell me not to make any hasty decisions. She said I should wait a week before doing something irrevocable and see if I felt the same way then.”

Joanna stopped and looked up at him, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “It’s good advice, but you didn’t follow it yesterday. You didn’t wait even an hour before doing something hasty.”

Is that how she viewed his proposal? It was true he’d acted quickly, but it hadn’t been an impetuous act. “Asking you to marry me may have seemed impulsive, but it wasn’t. I was listening to my heart.”

Joanna’s smile turned to skepticism. “Your heart told you to rescue a woman who was close to hysteria?”

“No.” It was vital that she understand. His future happiness, hers, and that of her child were at stake. She had to believe him. And then Burke realized what he’d done wrong. He’d neglected to tell Joanna the most important thing, the one thing that might convince her.

“My heart told me to marry the woman I love.”