14. Fourteen
Dust tickled Camilla’s nose and aggravated her throat. Thus far, she’d managed to keep herself to one ladylike sneeze mostly contained against her sleeve.
She eyed the old furniture, boxes, crates, trunks, and who knew what else in Daniel’s attic. “How are we ever going to find anything up here? This place is stuffed with more things than Alma May could haul.”
Daniel straightened from digging in a trunk. “I doubt it’s that much.” He shifted through papers. “Besides, we already know we aren’t interested in the furniture. That dismisses most of it.”
If he’d needed money, he could have kept his motorcar and made space in the attic at the same time. Who needed this much stuff? And did people simply pass their forgotten items to the next generation without ever bothering to sell, restore, or dispose of useless junk? Some of these things had to have been up here before the War Between the States.
She cocked her hands on her hips. An hour in and this quest had already grown tedious. “Very well. I suppose if I wanted to find a long-lost family treasure, this might be the place to do it. No one’s been here in half a century. Maybe your family simply forgot their fortune up here with everything else.”
She was only half joshing.
“According to your father’s book, my father was up here fairly recently.” Daniel tossed the old letters back into the trunk and moved to the next one.
The man focused on an ancient book, her teasing clearly lost on him.
Maybe she should tell him to keep looking and she’d come back tonight to see if he’d found anything. When she’d signed the contract, she hadn’t figured on digging through dusty attics. She shuffled around a precarious stack of dining room chairs leaning toward the muted light trying to penetrate the dirty window.
“Hey, look at this.” Daniel flung a sheet to the ground, revealing a much newer-looking steam trunk in the far corner. “Not much dust on this.”
“Because it was covered.” The toe of her shoe caught on a lampstand, and she had to steady it before it toppled over.
“Not much dust on that sheet, either.” He popped the lid.
She scooted past two other trunks and peered around him.
How strange.
Pretty little boxes, all heaped on top of one another. A couple the size of a good hatbox, but most were like the jewelry box her mother had owned. Daniel selected one with angled sides shaped like an octagon.
“I think this was in the hidden room. I recognize this shape in the dust pattern.”
She pressed against his arm to see better. “Well then, open it.”
He tilted it toward the light and cracked the lid.
Nothing inside but a black-velvet lining. He set it aside and opened another. Then two more.
All empty.
“Whatever he’d had in there, it’s gone now. But why hide the boxes?” Camilla put her fingers under her nose to stifle another sneeze.
“I don’t know.” Daniel tried all the other boxes to be sure. “None of this makes much sense.”
Exactly.
There were more questions than answers, and these pieces didn’t fit. They might as well be hurtling downstream after a flood with no engine. On a rickety flatboat. This had all happened so quickly, and they’d jumped in without a plan. Had it really only been a few days?
First her wits had been caught up in Daniel’s sudden appearance and her adamant opposition to treasure hunting on account of what happened to Papa. Then there had been the disgruntled dockmaster, Mr. Copeland not paying her, and of course, Daniel’s insistence on muddling her senses. Throw in the unexpected kiss, and she’d been completely discombobulated. She hadn’t slowed down enough to think and ask pertinent questions.
“Let’s go back to the beginning. What made you come look for me?”
He frowned. “I told you. I found the name Lockhart in the ledger. The same one that talked about the treasure.”
“Yes, I know. But why?” She waved her hand through dust motes. “You saw a mention of an old treasure your family lore talked about in bedtime stories. And then you saw the name of a boat and its captain. Fine. But why did that make you choose now to hunt a treasure no one has ever found? Especially when you don’t have extra means to do so, and you don’t know where to start looking?”
His shoulders hunched, and he stared into the trunk of empty boxes. “If I don’t figure out a way to get a lot of money in a short amount of time, my sister and Lucas will be in danger.”
A tingle scurried down her back like a stowaway rat. “What do you mean ‘danger’?”
He pressed his lips and then drew a deep breath. “I made some other discoveries as well. Ones not as pleasant.”
After several breaths of silence, she prompted, “Such as…?”
“I don’t think Lucas Sr. died in a factory accident. After he passed, I started going through his office. I was paying the bills for Mabel.” The words tumbled from his lips like rats trying to scramble past one another.
Light tickled the top of his hatless hair, creating whorls of highlights. He brushed his fingers through it, mussing the pomade he’d applied. She liked the way the thick locks settled across his brow. One that currently tilled deep furrows in lines of contemplation.
Camilla lowered herself atop a trunk behind her. This had the feel of a tragic beginning. Best settle in for whatever came next.
“I started finding evidence my brother-in-law might have been involved in illegal activities. Records of shipments, notations of money for a business he didn’t own, and the like.” Daniel began as though tasting each word and finding it bitter. “I’d wondered about how he afforded the lifestyle he led with the money he made managing a glassware factory, but I never asked. Figured he could have had old family money. And my sister seemed happy.”
He raked a hand through his dark hair again, and another lock joined its fellow in rippling over the grooves above his hunched eyebrows. “After he died, some men came to Mabel’s house. Thankfully, Mabel and little Lucas weren’t there. They’d gone out to enjoy time in the park while I dealt with her accounts for her. Those men had a look about them. You know what I mean?”
“I’m sure I can guess. Big, scarred, and knife-wielding?” She tilted her head. That’s what thieves on the river looked like.
Daniel paused to blink at her. “What? No. They were in suits. But there was this undercurrent of danger.”
“Oh, right. Slick like an eel’s underbelly. I’ve seen that type too.” She fiddled with the end of her braid and waited for him to continue.
“Anyway, they asked a lot of questions. Next thing I know, I’m being accused of some… illegal dealings. As you can imagine, that didn’t go well for my law practice. About three weeks later, the bank came saying they were calling in a bunch of Lucas’s high-dollar loans. They are going to take the house next week because he defaulted on his payments.”
“Wait. You were accused of something illegal, and the bank came calling because of your brother-in-law’s loans. What does that have to do with the eel-belly fellas?”
“They claimed Lucas owed them as well. Said if I didn’t repay, then Mabel would have to. They left it at that, but I understood the danger implied. I’m assuming Lucas Sr. procured loans outside of the banks as well, and those people won’t be as nice about recouping their assets.”
He sat cross-legged on the floor and put his head in his hands as though the confession had drained him. At length, his gaze found hers again. “The accusations against me were false, in case you’re wondering. But a smeared reputation, no matter if it’s untrue, ruins a man’s practice.”
“I figured.”
The affirmation drained some tension from his taut jaw, and he gave her a grateful nod.
Camilla sifted through the information. Lucas Sr. and perhaps Mabel—one never could tell—had been deeply in debt and possibly involved in illegal activity that got Lucas Sr. killed. Somehow, that connected to Daniel being accused as well, which led to the loss of his practice.
Which explained why he and his sister both moved into this house.
Problem was, what did any of that have to do with the lost Hollis treasure? What had the elder Mr. Gray gotten into, and why had he hired Papa to help?
Cold seeped through her veins. “What if our fathers weren’t after the old Hollis treasure?”
He met her gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you said your brother-in-law was doing something illegal. Your father was also involved in a quest that got him and Papa killed. What if they weren’t looking for a treasure after all?”
Surprise should have brightened in those green depths, but instead, something dimmed them—resignation?
“But you’ve already thought of that.” She speared him with her best reprimanding glare. “Not that you bothered mentioning our fathers might not have been after an old treasure after all. Maybe he got Papa involved in some scheme instead.”
Daniel splayed his fingers. “I don’t know that for sure. These could be two very different situations. What I do know is my father searched for the Hollis treasure and my grandfather’s ledger mentions the same. In my line of work, we deal with the facts we know, not speculations.”
“Right now, we have no facts and an abundance of theory and speculation.”
He huffed a resigned chuckle. “I suppose you’re right.”
Good. At least he agreed. “So, who were these people Lucas Sr. was working with? And how do they connect to our fathers and your grandfather?”
“We don’t have any evidence they are connected to my grandfather.”
“People don’t create secret rooms for family-lore treasure, Daniel.”
“I don’t know. I guess I hoped…” He grunted. “It sounds ridiculous now.”
“Hoped what?” She toyed with the frayed hem of her trouser leg and gave him the comfort of not maintaining eye contact.
“I hoped I’d discovered the key to finding the treasure my family always told stories about. I’d hop on a boat to a place downriver where we could dive under the water and come up with crates of gold coins. I could pay off our family’s debts and provide for my sister and nephew. Maybe start a new practice here in Natchez. All our problems would be solved.” He squeezed his fingers into a fist. “Fanciful is unlike me. I should have known better.”
Before she could respond, he gathered his feet beneath him and rose. “I shouldn’t have asked you to join me in this harebrained nonsense.”
She remained seated. “I never said it was nonsense. Only that finding treasure that sank to the bottom of the Mississippi would be impossible to dredge up.”
“Exactly. Harebrained. You told me so the first time I mentioned a salvage expedition.”
“I said my boat isn’t a salvage operation, no matter what rumors flew around after my father had the same idea about easy money and a quick way to a better life.” The words carried more sting than she intended. “I’m sorry. That came out harsh.”
“No, you’re right. And truthfully, if there’s more going on than following a map to lost treasure, then it could be dangerous.”
“It’s always been dangerous.” She tried for an encouraging smile, but it fell flat. Some wounds still festered too much for jesting. She pushed the feeling of loss aside to deal with later. “For now, let’s focus on what we know about the treasure and assume your brother-in-law’s activities are a different matter.”
Daniel plucked one of the boxes from the trunk behind him and turned it over in his palm. “I don’t know if there ever was a real treasure.”
He was probably right. Prudence would say to leave this treacherous current and seek the safety of calmer waters. Find a few decent cargo jobs and forget all about Daniel and his family secrets.
But then what?
Could she return to a life hollowed out without Papa? How long did she want to navigate the waters without him? She was proud of her pilot’s license and the accomplishments it represented, but did she want to spend the rest of her life hauling cargo and wondering what happened to her father? Yet, treasure seeking was dangerous at best and deadly at worst and left people empty-hearted and empty-handed.
But it might also lead them to the truth. Truth might settle her heart. And her future.
“Why don’t you tell me the story?” Even as she chided herself to let the past go and move on with her life, more words gained steam and poured from her mouth. “We’ll see what parts of the tale we can match with what we already know and maybe figure out where to start looking.”
Daniel regarded her, intelligent eyes churning with indecipherable thoughts. Maybe he’d given up on the matter.
He drew a deep breath and began.
“During the States’ War, Dorothy Hollis Merrill stole her husband’s wealth while he was off fighting for the Union. She was a Confederate at heart, but her father wanted her to marry into the money in Natchez. Rumors of war and discontent swirled in those days, and Mr. Hollis knew tying his family to Northern wealth would prove resourceful if Lincoln’s new income tax laws came to pass. So right before the war began, he negotiated a marriage between his sixteen-year-old daughter and the widowed forty-year-old Mr. Oliver Merrill.”
Camilla opened her mouth to give her opinion but closed it so as not to interrupt. Her father would never have done such a thing, but even if he’d tried, she would have never agreed. Poor Dorothy likely didn’t have a choice. Women then didn’t have the same rights they gained in the 1900s.
“Most of the big plantation owners in Natchez were Northern men,” Daniel continued. “That’s why the governor quickly surrendered the city, and they were never under any Union fire. Anyway, those wealthy men and their families went back to their other homes deep in the safety of Union territory.”
He settled back on the floor across from her, his face dipped in shadows that caressed his smooth jaw.
“Oliver decided to join the army in the fall of 1863. He left his wife in the safety of a Union-occupied town and went to war. According to the story, Dorothy’s father fought for the Confederacy, and she used her position as a Union officer’s wife to spy for the Rebels. Some stories even say she secreted supplies to their army.”
“I’m sure that would cause strife in her marriage if she ever got caught.” Camilla propped herself on the heel of her hands. “Did she steal the treasure too?”
Daniel shook his head. “It’s called the Hollis treasure because most of Oliver’s wealth came from Dorothy’s dowry. Turned out, he made a good show of living the lifestyle, but he needed Mr. Hollis’s money to keep his businesses going.”
“Oh. Makes sense. I was wondering about that.” She waved a hand. “I’m sorry for interrupting. What happened after she was a spy?”
“When it became clear to her the South wouldn’t win, Dorothy arranged a deal to get their wealth in gold coins. She didn’t trust the Confederate or Union dollar. And gold would still spend in Europe. She took all her husband’s assets and buried the gold along the Mississippi banks.”
That would be easier to find than sunken crates. “Then what, she never dug it back up? She must have, or we’d be looking to dig and not find the Carolina.”
He arched a brow. “Would you like to hear the rest of the story?”
Oh. Snakes and saltwater. She’d let her mouth run away again and jump ahead. She pinched her lips together and, with a sheepish nod, gestured for him to continue.
“At some point while working as a spy, Dorothy took a Rebel lover. The two of them were going to use the money to escape to Europe or South America and start a new life as soon as the war ended. Or her lover would desert the army and come for her. But then Oliver got himself shot and returned home much sooner than she expected. Dorothy told him marauding soldiers had taken everything. Suffering from the loss of his leg and battling with infection, Oliver believed her.”
“Oh my.” Camilla leaned forward. No wonder the family shared this story for so many years.
“A couple of months later, the war ended. Dorothy and her lover dug up the gold and loaded it onto a steamer headed to New Orleans. He planned to go ahead of her and secure their passage to Europe under false names. She would leave her husband with a nurse and disappear in the night a few days behind him. But the steamer sank in the Mississippi after a boiler fire.”
Camilla gasped. “Did the lover die?”
“According to the reports, there weren’t but two survivors. Both women, so the lover must have died. The owner attempted to salvage the boat, but no reports indicate the gold was ever found.”
How tragic. For many reasons. “So, what happened to Dorothy?”
“Oliver suffered an illness and died.” Daniel’s voice carried a layer of conspiracy, and he leaned closer to her in the dusty light.
Her breath caught. “Do you think she killed him?”
“I don’t know.” He sat back. “But it seems plausible.”
Camilla smeared dust from her palms down her trousers. “So that’s it, then? The gold was lost, so she murdered her husband and lived her life without him or the money?”
“So the story goes.”
So much for anything getting them closer to finding the treasure. Papa would say something about folks reaping what they chose to sow. She opened her mouth to tell Daniel this tale seemed inappropriate to tell children when he pointed a finger in the air with more dramatic flair than she’d seen out of him thus far.
“Until she gave her daughter a deathbed confession.”
“I knew it couldn’t be over yet.” Camilla rubbed her hands together. “What kind of confession?”
“Dorothy eventually married another wealthy Union man. They only had one child before he also died and left Dorothy with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Eventually, she got the consumption, and her daughter, Mary, took care of her. One night after the sickness had taken most of her strength, Dorothy told Mary about a lover who had betrayed her. But she’d swindled him in return.”
“Oh my.” Camilla tapped a finger on her knee. “Maybe the gold never made it onto the steamer after all.”
“Well, after that—”
Camilla threw up her hands. “It doesn’t matter. The story doesn’t lead us anywhere. Either the gold sank to the bottom of the river or Dorothy’s lover stole it from her and it was lost. He could have taken the gold anywhere.” Tingles shot down her spine. “Oh! Unless you think he loaded it on the Carolina, which might have gone down somewhere else.”
Daniel chuckled.
“I interrupted again.” Camilla massaged her temples. “I really must work on the virtue of patience. Words have a hard time staying confined once they’ve formed. Please, continue.”
“All these years, the tragic story was passed down of the woman who swindled her husband and was swindled in return. Mothers used it as a tale of morals for their children.” Daniel rolled his shirtsleeves, drawing her eye to muscular forearms. “Speculations and theories became topics of family gatherings following Mary’s death. Mary believed her mother had fever-induced dreams. She didn’t believe there had been any gold, but if there had, it had been lost along with everything else during the war.”
Made sense. A lost treasure made for good conversation around the table and an interesting way to pass the time, but story without substance didn’t lead to real clues. Not that she’d interrupt again to say so.
Daniel continued when she stubbornly remained silent.
“Then something my father found made him believe the gold was loaded on the Carolina and maybe it could be found, so he hired your father.”
“But your grandfather didn’t want them searching for it.” Ideas swirled in eddies through her mind and insisted on flowing free. “He said something about no one finding ‘what died with that gold.’ He hired an investigator to have your father followed. But your grandfather’s sickness got worse. Your father went missing, and then your grandfather passed soon after.”
“Yes, I believe that’s the whole of it.” Daniel turned out his palms.
“Maybe somehow the men connected with your brother-in-law had something to do with whatever our fathers and your grandfather were doing and none of this has anything to do with Dorothy’s gold.” She sighed and took Daniel’s hand, holding it in the space between where they sat. “Either way, I don’t think you have enough information to find the Hollis treasure. Sounds like Dorothy’s lover took your gold over fifty years ago. Even if it did go on another boat and not the one that sank, it was likely spent a long time ago.”
His shoulders drooped. “You’re probably right.”
Something inside her wanted to say anything to ease the bitter disappointment from his face. She almost wanted to promise him they could keep looking. Maybe they’d discover something no one else had.
But that thinking had already led to death. Finding the answers as to why wasn’t worth risking sharing the same fate.
The sensible words lodged in her throat. Those eyes of his burned, arresting all logic. Pools of emerald swirled with eddies of hope, sparks of desperation floating like lost lifeboats in an unrelenting current.
Her fingers trailed over his calloused palms. Strange how a lawyer had the hands of a boatman. The thought drifted away as the current in his gaze shifted, darkening while his pupils widened.
Electricity jolted along her skin when his other hand grazed a trail up her forearm. “Thank you for helping me.” His voice lowered. “For believing me.”
She could only nod. How did one find words when captivated by such eyes? Something within her strained forward, wanting to draw closer to the light and lose herself in the admiration shining there.
Heaven help her, but she’d already cut anchor. Now she was helplessly floating free and losing all sense of direction.