Carried to the Grave and Other Stories Page 22
Where was he?
Then strong arms reached past her and grabbed Elizabeth. She could no longer see Grace. Other arms, arms she knew, pulled Kate out of the water, picked her up, and carried her to safety.
“Grace! Where’s Grace?” Kate cried.
“She’s safe, lass,” the sweetest voice in the world answered. “She’s safe. Yeh’re all safe now. Thanks to you, my brave wife, yeh’re all safe.”
∞
Later that day, Thaddeus London’s body washed up on the lakeshore near the Indian encampment. Though Kate spared not one whit of grief for the man who had caused so much pain, she was deeply sorry that the Indians had to be the ones who found him. They had treated Grace well, and all the white men did, Kate thought, was rain down sorrow and sadness on them.
It turned out that Daniel Gibson had been in the Mercantile with more questions for her when the Gregory boy arrived, breathless. He and Paddy had rushed down Front on foot. They’d raced across the bridge, barely pausing to size up the situation below. It was obvious that London intended to drag both girls into the water and that Kate, determined as she was, could not stop him. She was too small, he too strong, the terrain too rough. But luck, or fate, or God, had intervened.
What Kate didn’t understand was why Thaddeus London had killed Reverend Haugen. With both men gone, only Laura Culver London, the LLC of the monogrammed coin purse, could venture a plausible explanation.
“He understood what I’d been through,” she’d said to the group that had gathered in the Mercantile after the girls were pulled from the river. Paddy had closed up shop for the day and stoked the woodstove to warm them. Kate had put on Paddy’s old iron kettle—what he called his bachelor kettle—and they’d found enough cups for coffee and tea. The rough leaves Paddy sold the loggers weren’t so bad after all, Kate decided, under the circumstances.
“He knew,” Laura continued, “that women have few options when their husbands mistreat them, and he could not countenance that.” James had arrived during the rescue and now he put a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder. She laid hers on top of his. They were truly husband and wife, Kate thought, even if not before the law. “He could see that James and I cherished each other. It pained him that we were not legally married, but that troubled him less than the abuse I’d suffered and the threats Thaddeus was making. Nor could he tolerate blackmail, particularly when innocent children were involved.”
“And,” Paddy suggested, “when the fate of this community could well have been at stake. Including his own future and that of his daughter.”
“When the reverend refused to promise silence, London struck him with the candlestick,” Daniel Gibson said. He was leaning against the counter near the front door, his hands red with cold despite the hot mug in his hands. “Hid one behind the church and stashed the other in Ivan Gregory’s woodpile. He was nursing a grudge against Ivan, too, for kicking him off the job at the power company.”
“That must have been what he was doing when I saw him,” Kate said. “After Buster and I found the first candlestick and I went to summon help. London was coming around the corner of the house. I wondered why he was there, but assumed he was working for Ivan. He headed back toward the church and I think if I hadn’t been following him, he would have gone to the woodpile and retrieved the other candlestick, meaning to stash it somewhere else that would incriminate Ivan. But it was too late—I’d taken it. And I was watching him, so he changed course.”
Paddy slid his arm around her and she leaned into his warmth, realizing for the first time how much danger she’d been in. It frightened her more now than it had then, when she’d been unaware, acting on instinct.
“I’ll make sure word spreads quickly,” Gibson said, “that Frank Lang had nothing to do with the murder or the theft. He’s a good soul, despite the stammer and the bad leg, and it’s not right that London sought to blame him for his own crimes. Mrs. Murphy, I owe you an apology. I underestimated you, and I promise not to do it again.”
He’d smiled, and as she smiled back at him, an idea popped into her mind. But it could wait for a private moment with her husband. She’d gazed around the room, at the deputy, at the three Petermans, at young Grace and Paddy, her own true love. Paddy wanted the Mercantile—the Merc—to be the heart of Jewel Bay, and it was.
It was.
∞
A week later, two letters arrived from Chicago, one for Kate and one for Grace. In the letter to Kate, Agnete Swensen apologized for the unkindness of her original letter and asked Kate’s forgiveness. She was ill, she wrote, deathly ill, and did not expect to live out the year. It pained her to know that she was not likely to see her only grandchild again in this world and asked if Kate could perhaps send her a photograph or two.
I knew that Arval trusted me to come around and to love the child, the woman wrote, and I would have, were I not ill. The reverend, it seemed, had retained his faith in her, despite her behavior.
Mrs. Swensen had asked her lawyers to obtain references on Kate and Paddy, and instructed them that if all appeared in order, the Murphys should be given full legal custody of Grace, if they were willing. There would, she hinted, be a small legacy attached, though her lawyers would administer it. Kate thought briefly of the lawyer who had cheated Laura Peterman and forced her into an ugly marriage, but then remembered the kindhearted lawyer in Pondera whom she and Paddy had consulted about Grace, at James Peterman’s suggestion. She decided she was willing to trust Mrs. Swensen’s business judgment, even if her personal judgment had failed her.
Kate did not read the letter Mrs. Swensen’s had written Grace, though it clearly touched the child deeply. Tucked inside were photographs of Freya through the years, and one of Freya with baby Grace, which Kate placed in a frame and set on the side table where Grace could see it every night from her cot.
The church in Jewel Bay was not expected to receive a new minister until spring, at the earliest, so the bishop made the trip to Pondera to preside over the lawful marriage of James and Laura. It was a quiet ceremony, except when Kate sniffed back tears, followed by coffee and cake at the Peterman home, where Kate finally set her hands on the grand piano.
Paddy readily agreed to Kate’s suggestion that he hire Frank Lang to make deliveries and run errands at the Mercantile. Frank couldn’t drive the Model T, but he could handle a wagon and the mule had instantly taken to him. Kate told Anne her suspicion that Daniel Gibson was sweet on her, but Anne replied he might have lost his chance to Ivan Gregory, and Kate considered that a good thing.
Grace and Elizabeth were becoming fast friends. While the girls chatted about books and lessons and classmates, Laura taught Kate a few embroidery skills. In the evenings, when Grace read to them, Kate worked on the monogrammed towels, no longer embarrassed by her stitches.
Paddy began to talk about adding a room onto the little log house in the spring. And when Kate wrote to her mother and Alice, Buster snoring on the floor between them, Grace wrote to her grandmother. Kate had ordered Grace her own stationery box and pen, and as the girl bent over the paper, Kate had to be careful not to let a tear of joy blot her own ink.
This, she knew, was where they all belonged.
Acknowledgments and Historical Notes
While Jewel Bay closely resembles Bigfork, Montana, my home, I’ve played with the geography and renamed a few places. It’s easier to kill people that way, especially because I have no plans to move.
“Carried to the Grave” was inspired by a bit of family history, a few generations back. The late Ramona DeFelice Long edited the story with grace and insight. She taught me a great deal, as an editor and as a friend, and I’m grateful.
“The Christmas Stranger” was sparked by a real-life exchange I had with another customer in the local UPS store. When I mentioned it on Facebook, under the heading “Small Town Pleasures,” reader Jane Meyer suggested it would make a good short story. She was right. The stamp given to Erin is fictitious, although temporary th
ree-centers were issued in 1917 to raise war funds.
“A Death in Yelapa” originally appeared in Malice Domestic 14: Mystery Most Edible, edited by Verena Rose, Rita Owen, and Shawn Reilly Simmons (Wildside Press, 2019). Thanks to Shawn Reilly Simmons for her excellent edits.
The incidents in “Put on a Dying Face” come entirely from my imagination, and do not reflect on our local theater company in any way. Both building and company are true gems and a great asset to both the real and fictional villages.
I’m sure that when Donna Lawson bought a character name at a charity auction a few years ago, she did not expect to become a recurring character, but she epitomizes the spirit of the village, so here she is again. Similarly, when my sister-in-law, Kathy Jensen Budewitz, told me she would like to be a character, I knew she would fit in perfectly. Thank you both.
Several years ago, a trio of local heroes created a documentary film as both community history and a fundraiser for the Bigfork Art & Cultural Center. My husband, Dr. Don Beans, was asked to write and perform the score, giving me a chance to eavesdrop around the edges. As I wrote the historical novella for this collection, I pored over the accompanying book, Bigfork: A Montana Story, by Ed Gillenwater, Denny Kellog, and Tabby Ivy (2017). Both Ed and Denny helped me track down additional historical details, as did Laura Hodge at the BACC, home to the Bigfork History Network, a community history project spawned by the film. Though I’ve attempted to get the history right, this is fiction. Murphy’s Mercantile draws from fact, but the building itself is a product of my imagination. In 1910, a year I chose long before I dreamed of adding historical fiction to the Food Lovers’ Village series, the Bigfork elementary school was located in the Methodist church, which was then south of the current tennis courts, leased while plans were being made for a new school. For the novella, I added a church hall and turned it into a makeshift school. That and other historical fictions and inaccuracies are entirely my fault. The bell, by the way, was donated back to the school district a few years ago, and still rings on special occasions.
Thanks to my good friend, Peg Cochran, for reading the manuscript, to my agent, John Talbot, and to Bill Harris and his team at Beyond the Page.
Thanks, most of all, to the readers, especially the locals, who have embraced my books, particularly the Food Lovers’ Village Mysteries.
Note to Readers
Readers, it’s a thrill to hear from you. Drop me a line at Leslie@LeslieBudewitz.com, connect with me on Facebook at LeslieBudewitzAuthor, or join my seasonal mailing list for books news and more (sign up on my website, www.LeslieBudewitz.com). Reader reviews and recommendations are a big boost to authors; if you’ve enjoyed my books, please tell your friends, in person and online. A book is but marks on paper until you read these pages and make the story yours.
Thank you.
About the Author
Leslie Budewitz is passionate about food, great mysteries, and her native Montana, the setting for her national-bestselling Food Lovers’ Village Mysteries. She also writes the Spice Shop Mysteries, set in Seattle’s Pike Place Market. As Alicia Beckman, she’s the author of stand-alone suspense, beginning with Bitterroot Lake (2021). She’s the proud owner of three Agatha Awards, for Best Nonfiction (2011), Best First Novel (2013), and Best Short Story (2018), and has won or been nominated for Derringer, Anthony, and Macavity awards. Also a practicing lawyer, Leslie is a board member of Mystery Writers of America and is a past president of Sisters in Crime.
Leslie loves to cook, eat, hike, travel, garden, and paint—not necessarily in that order. She lives in northwest Montana with her husband, Don Beans, a doctor of natural medicine and musician, and their cat, an avid bird-watcher.
Visit her online at www.LeslieBudewitz.com, where you can find maps of the village and surrounding area, recipes, and more.