Keeper of the Key

By Barbara Christopher

Caleb Harrison doesn't believe the medallion his fiancée has given him is a magical amulet from Atlantis. Until he's transported from 1836 to the 21st Century where he meets Becci Berclair, his fiancée's descendent.

Becci is sure that the workman who has collapsed in her home is insane. He claims to have murdered her namesake, Mary Rebecca Berclair, in 1836. But Becci can't believe this gentle man is a killer.

Unbeknownst to Becci and Caleb, there is another come to the future from the past. And he'll do anything to get Caleb's medallion and the power it will give him.

Soon Caleb and Becci are in a battle that could change both the past and the future forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Sep 30, 2001
• ISBN: 9781610260329

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Keeper of the Key

by

Barbara Christopher

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61026-032-9

Print ISBN: 978-1-89389-664-2

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2001 by Barbara Christopher

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

We at ImaJinn Books enjoy hearing from readers. Visit our websites

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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Cover design: Deborah Smith

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Lost Atlantis © Algol | Dreamstime.com

Couple © Jerzy Król | Dreamstime.com

Coin © Dvmsimages | Dreamstime.com

:Ekkl:01:

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to the members of River City Romance Writers, Deb Dixon, Carolyn McSparren, and my faithful critique partners, without whom I would have quit long ago. I would also like to give special thanks to the late Linda Kichline, for everything she did for me.

One

Atlantis orichalc is a metal with the brilliance of the summer sun. When it’s pure as new fallen snow it has the power to change the past and form a better future. But beware, for the person whose greed outweighs the needs of others will find this precious metal of Atlantis to be deadly.

Raleigh, Tennessee

June 1836

WHEN WOULD IT END?

Caleb Harrison shoved the dresser forward in the wagon bed. He didn’t like responsibility. Didn’t want it. So why did he always end up giving his word? Why couldn’t people stay out of his life? No matter what he did, or what path he traveled, obligations challenged his resolve to stay a loner.

He would always be accountable to the nuns who had raised him, yet he had had no problem leaving the orphanage. Now an obligation struck between him and his one true friend meant giving up his solitary life. Not for just a day, either. This promise would last a lifetime.

As Luke Berclair’s godfather, Caleb never thought the boy’s survival would depend upon his becoming the child’s father.

Caleb removed his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. His horse jerked against his harness and reared his head, signaling that they weren’t alone. The odor that drifted on the breeze let him know that William Jacobs stood on the other side of the wagon.

What is it, Jacobs?

Heard ya needed help. Ain’t no one else willin’, but I’m not sure I’m up’ta the work.

Caleb dusted his hat against his leg and let his gaze meet the drunk’s. William Jacobs scratched his scraggly beard with a grimy hand and squinted against the afternoon sun.

The Widow Berclair wants this dresser delivered today. Caleb replaced his hat, turned his back on the man and checked the ropes that held the dresser in place. Job’s yours if you want it.

As he waited for the man’s answer, Caleb watched the rain clouds gathering in the distance. He didn’t particularly like the idea of Jacobs riding to Berclair Manor with him. Eight feet of wagon didn’t lessen the odor of stale liquor, and the stench of dirty body, shoulder to shoulder, would be sickening. But he was right. Only a drunk in need of a drink would ride shotgun with a suspected murderer.

He had a dresser to deliver. He always kept his promises. Bad weather or not, with the drunk’s help or without it, Rebecca would have her dresser today. And if they couldn’t find another way to save Luke, he and Rebecca would have a marriage to plan.

I don’t have time to waste, Jacobs. If we don’t move out soon, your return trip will be in the rain. Caleb gathered up his rope and vaulted into the back of the wagon. You coming, or not?

What kinda pay ya offerin’?

He should have known the drunk would want his money up front. Caleb slung the rope over his shoulder and tugged a pouch out of his saddlebags. He removed a coin and flipped it toward Jacobs. The drunk snatched the money out of the air with more dexterity than Caleb believed possible.

I’d rather have that fancy neck piece yore wearing. It’d buy me a lot more whiskey than this here coin.

You’ve got the dollar. That’s more than enough pay. Get your horse and tie him to the back of the wagon. As he spoke Caleb caught the medallion’s chain, tucked it inside his shirt and covered the medal with his palm. A tingle radiated from the coin.

A warning.

Subtle, yet there. It felt the same as when his mother had given him his first lesson at the age of five. She had closed his fingers over the orichalc medallion and whispered, When the coin’s vibration is sharp, there is danger close. Remember this, my son. Someday it will save your life.

Caleb wrapped the rope around the dresser and jerked it tight. The coin hadn’t saved hers. She’d lost her medallion the night she’d been murdered. Murdered by a man she’d thought was her friend. He’d forgotten the lesson until he’d seen Rebecca Berclair wearing an identical medallion bearing the symbols of good and evil—identical, yet different. Rebecca’s coin lacked the deep scratch that had marred the beauty of his mother’s.

Now he wore the medallion. Rebecca wanted him to oversee it until Luke—her son, his godson—came of age. With the medallion came a promise. He would guard it as his mother had hers, to death if necessary.

The Atlantis orichalc glowed brighter than fire. His mother told him it had powers yet to be tested and promised its keeper a life worth living.

Rebecca and her late husband, Saul, had questioned him relentlessly about his past. Deep down he’d known the questions were a test, but he hadn’t known why, not until Saul’s death.

At the funeral Rebecca spoke of far away places, secret time locks and passages that only a true survivor of Atlantis could travel through. She had handed him the medallion as they stood over Saul’s grave. Caleb, you have proved you are pure in heart. A true Atlantean.

Pure?

Although he hadn’t lied about his past, he hadn’t told her or Saul everything.

Rebecca didn’t know the secrets he kept hidden. The time hadn’t been right for divulging them. Not until now.

Once he delivered the dresser they would talk about his past and see if she still thought him worthy to wear the medallion . . . worthy to bear the responsibility of Luke’s future.

A shiver rippled down Caleb’s spine. Another warning. He caught the chain and slipped it over his head. For a moment he gazed at the medallion.

Hide it.

A shiver of urgency followed the thought. He brushed his knuckles over the elaborate initials on the dresser then twisted the left letter until the B lay on its back. While holding the sleeping B in place, he turned the other knob in the opposite direction. He heard the latch click into place, curled his fingers over the raised letters and eased the front panel down.

If he died on the trail Rebecca would know where to look for the coin.

Still clutching the coin in one hand, Caleb brought the deerskin pouch to his lips, caught the drawstring between his teeth and worked it open. He added the medallion to the other coins, closed the pouch, and shoved it inside the secret compartment.

He felt his lips twitch into a smile. Rebecca hoarded her gold and she didn’t trust banks, so at her request every piece he made had a secret storage area. Even the bed she slept on. And not just the usual bedpost-bank either. Oh, no. She’d wanted full-fledged secret compartments.

Caleb worked the front panel back in place, sealed it and draped the quilt over the mirror.

Jacobs pulled himself into the back of the wagon and squeezed in between the dresser and sideboard just as Caleb moved to the front to take his place. He snapped the reins and clucked the gelding into motion.

Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh area

Present Day

BECCI ROCKED BACK on her heels and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Why couldn’t her aunt understand? They didn’t have a choice any longer. She’d spent the last of her savings, and it hadn’t saved the mansion.

Mary Rebecca Berclair, don’t you roll those eyes at me. Just sit down at this table and listen. And please, child, listen with an open mind.

There . . . is . . . no . . . gold. Becci Berclair pounded her fist against her thigh to accentuate each word.

Eat your dinner and stop fussing, dear. Besides, I told you—it’s not gold, it’s orichalc. Lilly ran her finger over the fading flowery writing in the journal and read, "‘Eli has given us one of the medallions. We are saved. The beautiful golden, orichalc coin holds powers beyond belief.’ That’s what it says right here. The coin helped Mary Rebecca, and it will help us."

I don’t care if we find a dozen books claiming there are a dozen coins of gold or orichalc. Whatever it’s called, there is nothing powerful and nothing of value in this house.

Aunt Lilly just wouldn’t give up. Becci sighed. She didn’t blame her. For the briefest moment she, too, had hoped the old journals they’d found would unlock the secret to the riddle of Berclair Manor.

She immediately recalled the riddle’s words. Gold glows bright in the house of Berclair. Fortune shines on the true of heart, and love strengthens the powers of The Coins of Good and Evil.

Legend said The Coins of Good and Evil were hidden in the house. Hidden? Sure. Her great grandfather, Matthew Berclair, had spent his entire life trying to decipher the legend. He’d even pointed out that there had to be more than one coin since the riddle spoke in plural. He’d passed the only thing of value he owned, the house, to his only living relative, his grandson, her father. Her father had mortgaged the place to the chimney top, not because he was looking for the Berclair fortune. Oh, no. Every spare cent he had went for his weekly poker game and his bottle of booze.

The journal talks about hiding places. I know we’ll find them. I just know we will.

Becci closed her eyes and eased into her chair. He aunt had fixed the meal and she’d best not waste it.

Nothing really mattered any more. Not her plans for the nursery, not her job as an aide in the prenatal unit, not even the house. Besides, she’d bet her life savings, if she hadn’t already spent it, that the original Mary Rebecca had squandered every golden cent.

Becci tossed her long braid over her shoulder. She and Aunt Lilly had been through this over and over since they inherited Berclair Manor.

Once she sold the place, maybe her life would settle and she could go on about her business. After all, she had a wedding to plan and no time to waste. Aunt Lilly, we’ve done everything but tear down the walls looking for that stupid treasure, and I don’t intend to do that.

She jumped up, shoved open the screen door, and scraped the remains of her half-eaten dinner into the small dish beside the step. A scrawny gray tabby peeked out from the stack of newspapers in the recycle bin.

Come on, Pepper.

At the mention of his name the kitten tumbled out of the bin and fell into his water dish. He daintily shook each tiny paw and cautiously made his way to the food. Becci stepped back to give the skittish feline room.

The image of the first time she saw the shivering ball of fur came to mind. She couldn’t turn her back on a stray. Never could. But they had no trouble leaving her alone when they regained their health or found someone else to give their affection to.

Becci dropped the fork on her plate. This stray would leave, too. At least she hoped so. She couldn’t afford another mouth to feed, even if that mouth belonged to an orphaned kitten.

Why not? Lilly snapped before the door closed behind Becci.

Why not what? Becci asked as she rinsed her plate and put it in the dishwasher.

Tear down the walls. When you sell that’s what a developer will do. And since you won’t even talk about my plan . . . .

Aunt Lilly . . .

Just listen, Becci. I don’t want this place destroyed either.

Becci groaned and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling again. Okay. What’s your plan this time?

It’s the children’s sanctuary you want to open.

We’ve been over this before. The bank turned down my loan.

Well, how about the nursery? You know the one I’m talking about—the inexpensive place for new mothers to leave their babies.

I can’t get the money I need to open either the safe-haven or the nursery.

Yes, you can. There’s this company, Ascomp Incorporated. Michael thinks they might have a solution to our problem. They’re offering ongoing aid for organizations run by minorities. He thinks there’s a chance your newborn nursery qualifies.

You’re listening to Michael? My fiancé, Michael Ascott? When her aunt nodded, Becci huffed in disbelief. Aunt Lilly hated Michael. She even went out of her way to insult the man. And the day Becci showed her the ring, she left in a rage, the back door slamming at her heels. I thought you couldn’t stand him.

I can’t. Nor do I trust him, but he gave me the name of the company and . . . well . . . I called a Mr. Latham. He’s the CEO or something like that. He wants to look the place over next week. I said we would have it ready for his inspection.

Becci cupped her hand to her nape and massaged the tense muscles. She might as well give in. Once her aunt got a notion to do something, an entire football team couldn’t stop her. What do we have to do?

Michael came by while you were at work the other day and discussed his plans. This Latham guy wants to take a tour of the house and have you explain where you plan to put everything. Michael suggested we give the company a party, of sorts, in a couple of weeks. Michael’s sure they’ll give you the aid you need. He’s also inviting a couple of antique dealers who might be interested in buying some of the old furniture.

Lilly shut the journal that lay on the table in front of her. Selling off the antiques will give us a little extra operating money. I hired some men to help to move the pieces we want to keep from the shed to the upstairs. We should be ready for Mr. Latham’s visit. Lilly stood and shoved her hands in the pockets of her apron.

You hired movers?

"No, just a couple of men. They’ll be here around ten on Saturday. Mr. Latham isn’t due until one. Oh, Michael said that Mr. Latham needs a budget outlining your plans for the nursery, a list of the supplies we need, and my nursing certificate. He also suggested we include the invoice for the cradles.

Becci shook her head in resignation. Heaven help her, Aunt Lilly had already put things in motion. How did she think they could have a party on their limited budget? How would they pay workers when they had to scrape pennies to put food on their own plates?

Becci pressed her fingertips to her temples. What were they going to do?

We’ll find a way, Mary Rebecca, Lilly said, as if reading her mind.

Two

Raleigh, Tennessee

June 1836

CALEB SLOWED HIS wagon, lifted his hat, wiped the sweat off his brow and nodded at Rebecca. She stood on the wraparound porch with Luke perched on one hip and her journal clutched to her chest. If it hadn’t been for Luke she would look like a young girl holding her first reader.

Caleb stared at the beautiful picture Rebecca made. Wind fluttered the curls that had worked free of her braid, which hung in a long, red-gold trail down the beige lace covering her shoulders. The high-collared dress accentuated her pale, sculptured beauty.

The cameo, the gift he’d given her to celebrate Luke’s birth, rested below the lace’s ruffled edge where the medallion had once lain . The deep, wine-colored silk of her skirt swirled about her ankles.

Her beauty rivaled the exquisite Berclair Manor with its whitewashed pillars bright against the darkening skies. The scene created a strange sense of foreboding that even Rebecca’s cheerful smile couldn’t alleviate.

If their plan failed, what would become of Luke? He cared for the boy more than he’d ever thought possible. Hopefully, he would come to care for Rebecca, too. If she still thought him worthy after he told her about his past, they would marry. Neither had a choice.

You gonna get this thing in before the storm comes or am I gonna haf’ta ride back in the rain? Jacobs snapped.

Untie your horse and I’ll get the wagon in place, Caleb replied.

As soon as Jacobs disappeared around the side of the house, Caleb circled the wagon and backed the horse up until the bed touched the edge of the top step. He secured the reins, jumped out of the wagon, and shoved a wedge of wood in front of the wheel as an extra precaution. It wouldn’t do to have the animal bolt and ruin the dresser before Rebecca ever saw it.

Caleb glanced back at the quilt-covered dresser. This was the fifth and final piece Saul Berclair had commissioned before his death. Caleb had planned to leave Raleigh as soon as he’d completed the order, but his plans had changed when Saul died.

Black clouds churned on the horizon like a swollen creek after a harsh spring storm. Wind whipped the trees and sent a swirl of leaves and dust across the road, along with the sweet scent of roses from Rebecca’s well-tended bushes.

Afternoon, Rebecca.

Caleb. She acknowledged him with a tip of her head. I thought the storm might have changed your mind about coming. I’m glad you’re here.

I’m glad we made it before the storm hit. Caleb slapped his hat against his leg, sending a spray of dust flying. He braced his foot against the porch and ruffled Luke’s hair. Hi, fellow.

Luke laughed and leaned toward Caleb, waving his arms for Caleb to take him. His heart lurched as it did every time the boy wanted to hug him.

Not yet, Luke. Rebecca hitched the squirming boy higher on her hip and moved so Luke couldn’t reach Caleb. You won’t get the dresser in before the rain comes if you take him now.

Right.

Caleb started to turn away, but Rebecca caught his shirtsleeve to stop him.

Will you stay for supper? I’ll fry up a chicken.

Caleb smiled. His favorite Sunday dinner served in the middle of the week. Rebecca knew him well. I’d like that.

Rebecca gave him a quick nod. I’ll go kill it.

No. You might mess your dress. Caleb raised his hand to the fancy lace collar. Rebecca needed a husband. Someone to love her. Not him. He didn’t need or want the responsibility, but fate had made the decision for them. He cared for Rebecca, but it wasn’t love.

The muscles of his heart tightened. If the secrets he revealed today didn’t turn Rebecca away, he would marry her to keep Luke safe. And even if she didn’t want to marry him, he’d find a way to make sure Obadiah never took the boy away from his mother. Never.

Luke raised his arms and squealed, stopping Caleb’s next question. They would have plenty of time after he finished working to discuss Obadiah’s upcoming visit.

Let me get this in, son, and kill that chicken, then I’ll take you. Luke screamed louder and Caleb chuckled. I guess I’ve spoiled him.

He’ll quiet down soon. As if contradicting Rebecca, Luke’s cry edged upward a notch.

Caleb brushed the tears off the boy’s chubby cheeks. I’ll hurry, he promised.

Come to the parlor as soon as you can. I’ve filed some papers at the courthouse giving you control of Luke’s inheritance. Rebecca raised her hand to stop his protest. It’s what I want. We need to discuss the conditions I’ve stipulated before dinner.

Yes, ma’am. Caleb touched the brim of his hat, nodded and went back to the job at hand. Rebecca planned everything. Went over each detail thoroughly. They would beat Obadiah. He would never get control of Luke’s inheritance. Never get the chance to squander it like he had his own.

He pulled out his saddlebags and knife and laid them on the wagon seat while he untied the rope holding the dresser in place. Catching two corners of the quilt, he moved it from the mirror and spread it out on the end of the wagon. Jacobs, are you going to earn your wages or not?

I’m here, ain’t I? Jacobs said, climbing into the wagon.

Caleb shrugged, lifted his hat, raked his fingers through his hair and settled it back in place. He should have known better than to expect Jacobs to earn the money once he had it in his pocket.

Caleb glared at the drunk until the man grabbed one edge of the dresser.

He’s not wearing his neckpiece . . .

Damn. Caleb jerked his hands off the dresser. Jacobs’s silent observation shouldn’t have startled him, but it had. He hadn’t thought the medallion would transmit another’s thoughts unless that person touched him or the coin, but somehow the dresser had formed a link between him and Jacobs. Rebecca had warned him that this happened, but he’d never experienced it until now.

Rebecca had almost completed his lessons on being the Keeper. She’d promised that before they finished he would know as much as she did about the medallion and understand what it meant to be a Keeper. His mother had been a Keeper, and she’d lost her life protecting her missing medallion.

Taking a deep breath, he placed his hands back on the dresser. Together they lifted it just enough to slide it to the end of the wagon.

. . . most likely lost it in the wagon. I’ll find it and he’ll never know where it went.

Caleb pulled back again. Jacobs, I can take it from here. You draw some water for the horses.

Jacobs disappeared, and Caleb grabbed his saddlebags from the seat and tossed them on top of the dresser. Jacobs had a reputation of pilfering through things and tended to have a loose tongue when in his cups. Well, he had things written in his journal that the rest of the town didn’t need to know.

Caleb tipped the dresser onto the quilt to protect the wood then tugged it up the step and into the house. He paused at the parlor door. Rebecca sat on the love seat with Luke on her lap. The boy’s loud scream echoed through the house.

She would stay there, out of the way, until he finished. Then he would quiet Luke, maybe for the last time, and confess his past. The final decision on what they would do belonged to Rebecca. Could she trust a professed murderer to raise her son?

Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh Area

Present Day

WHERE’D THE TIME go? Becci hurriedly braided her hair and tied the end with a cotton ponytail holder. She grabbed her sweater and hurried downstairs. She’d already wasted most of the morning on trivial things. Aunt Lilly could supervise the moving of the furniture. After all, she knew what pieces needed to go upstairs.

Coffee threatened to slosh over the side of the mug her aunt handed her as she entered the kitchen.

Uh-oh. Not a good sign. Aunt Lilly only poured her coffee when she had something bad to report. Lately, every time she entered the kitchen a mug ended up in her hands.

Becci glanced out the side window at the driveway—the empty driveway. She shifted her gaze to the bay window. She had a clear view of the vacant backyard.

She barely managed not to roll her eyes toward the ceiling. Maybe they had arrived and would be back later.

Where are the workers? I thought they were due around ten.

They’re late, dear.

Her aunt’s voice held a nonchalance that made Becci clench her jaw to keep from losing her temper. She waited for the rest of Aunt Lilly’s reply. There had to be a good explanation.

"Uh. They . . . uh . . . are due any minute. You just go on and pick up those cleaning supplies. I’ll handle things here until you get back. I do know what needs to be done."

Becci downed her coffee and set the cup in the sink. Staying here wouldn’t get the work done, most of which she could do herself. She would put her strength up against most men. The only problem was the sturdy antique dresser would take at least two people to maneuver it up the stairs, and her aunt’s arthritic knee couldn’t stand the pressure.

Becci sighed. When she had a firm financial base she would surprise her aunt with the knee-replacement surgery she needed.

I’ll be back in a jiffy. If the men come show them what goes upstairs and let them get started. Becci caught the strap of her purse then faced her aunt.

I’m expecting a couple of calls. Several of the women who visited the hospital’s obstetrics clinic were asking about child-care for newborns. I told them about our plans, and they seemed interested. It’s a good idea, Aunt Lilly.

Before her aunt could reply, she glanced out the window. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She’d best take the car. Back shortly, Aunt Lilly. She said as she grabbed her keys off the counter.

A half hour later, Becci pulled into her driveway and shoved the gear stick into park. She ground her teeth to keep from cursing. A storm rumbled, not only on the horizon, but in Berclair Manor as well. No workers.

Why hadn’t they come? Becci snatched the plastic bag of cleaning supplies, hurried into the house and headed upstairs to change into the cutoffs and crop-top she wore to work around the house. Aunt Lilly had done her best. It wasn’t her fault the workers never showed up.

But even as she made that acknowledgment, Becci was glad her aunt wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Her temper didn’t always listen to reason.

Raleigh, Tennessee

June 1836

CALEB PAUSED AT the first landing. Luke’s shrill cry echoed through the hall. The boy never fussed this long. Maybe he felt Rebecca’s tension. She worried about Luke’s future. Obadiah wanted to send Luke to a boarding school back east. Rebecca would only see him on the holidays, if Obadiah let her make the trip.

Caleb shoved the thought away, took out his handkerchief and polished the wood one last time. The sooner he placed the dresser in Rebecca’s room, the sooner he could try his luck at quieting Luke and they could start making plans to thwart Obadiah’s attempt to take control of Berclair Manor. Rebecca didn’t want to believe Saul’s brother would steal Luke’s inheritance, but Caleb didn’t doubt it. Man’s greed often forsook blood and loyalty.

He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. Stalling wouldn’t eliminate the task before him. Ten more feet and his future would be mapped out for him. He glanced at the bedroom door and froze. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He would swear a shimmering glow encircled the entry.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Lightning. That’s all it was.

Caleb caught the strap of his saddlebags with one hand and the quilt with the other. He should have thought about using the quilt before he hired Jacobs, but he’d been thinking about protecting Luke and Rebecca from Obadiah, not moving furniture. Storm or no storm, once he finished he would give the man another dollar and send him back to town.

Caleb tugged the dresser up the last of the steps.

Wind rattled the windows and fluttered the curtains. Voices echoed through the house.

Had Rebecca called him?

Caleb tilted his head toward the sounds coming from downstairs. Darn it, Luke, pipe down. The boy’s cry drowned out all the other noises.

A river of anxiety washed over Caleb. Every instinct in his body shouted for him to hurry. He tried to shove the dresser into the room but it wouldn’t move. Why? Nothing stood in its path.

Caleb leaned against the dresser. Without Jacob’s help he would never get it through the door.

Luke’s bellowing grew louder.

You up there, Caleb? Jacobs called.

Yeah. Caleb shook his head in disgust. Where else would I be?

Caleb turned toward the stairs. Jacobs stared up at him from the landing—one hand braced against the wall, the other wrapped tight around a knife. The drunk’s gaze, wild and glazed, darted toward the downstairs then back at him.

Fresh blood glistened on the knife’s razor sharp edge.

Rebecca!

Jacobs stumbled up the last two steps. An eerie silence replaced the roar of the wind, and a chill shivered up Caleb’s spine.

Luke had finally stopped crying. A moment later the wind picked up harder than before, and so did Luke’s wail.

Widder’s fine, Jacobs yelled over the wind’s howl. It’s that brat of hers that needs shutting up. She sent me up here to help so ya can git back down thare and quiet ‘im

Caleb tipped his head toward the blood-dampened blade. That’s my knife.

"Yep. I . . . uh . . . I borrowed it ta cut off the chicken’s head. I kilt it for the ider. Darn bird might near flogged me to death. I was looking fer a rag to clean the blade when Widder Berclair said ya