Chapter 25 #2
"A painter," Cara said, nodding shyly.
"I ain't never met an artist before. But I saw an exhibit once when I was in St. Louis. They were French paintings. The prettiest things I ever did see. You paint like that?"
"Well, I'm not sure what you saw. But I love to paint. Maybe I can paint you someday."
Loralee felt herself blush. "Don't know why you'd want to go and do that. Ain't nothing worth painting about me."
"Sure there is. You're beautiful, Loralee." Cara was eyeing her through narrowed eyes, her head tilted. "Besides, you're family."
"Your great-grandmother." Loralee tried to say it calmly, but her voice trembled with what? Fear? Elation? Awe? There really weren't words for a situation like this. "I reckon its going to take a little getting used to."
Still, it explained a lot of things. Like why Cara was the spitting image of Mary, and why she felt such a strong bond for the girl. Girl . Heavens, she was already thinking like a granny. Great -granny. And here she was younger than her own grandchild. The thought was sobering.
Loralee thought about her own granny, the only bright spot in an otherwise nightmarish childhood.
Granny Shaw had been from Ireland. An imp of a woman with dark hair and laughing eyes.
She'd always said there were things in this world a body simply couldn't believe with the eyes alone.
'Listen with yer heart, girl, that's where ye'll be finding the real answers. '
Loralee closed her eyes and concentrated on her feelings, shutting out her doubts and confusion. As quickly as it had come, her confusion vanished like so much smoke in the wind, and she knew, in her heart, that the things Cara was saying were true.
For the first time in long time, Loralee didn't feel alone.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she opened them.
Cara was watching her, her sea-green eyes reflecting her own fears.
Without a word, Loralee raised her arms and the two women embraced.
This might not be a normal family reunion, but it felt mighty good all the same.
"I can't read the first letter. Something W, then T3. " Patrick held the scrap of paper up to the candlelight.
The locket lay open on the table, all concentration centered on the note. Cara still couldn't believe she hadn't thought about the note when she first saw Loralee's locket. Too much to process no doubt. And it didn't really matter, Michael had remembered.
Patrick blew out a frustrated breath. "I can't tell for sure. See what you think." He passed the paper to Michael, who also held it up to the light.
Cara leaned forward, staring at the paper, willing it to yield answers. "Maybe it's directions of some kind."
Michael frowned. "Could be. That would mean the missing letter is either an S or an N."
"Right." Patrick reached for the note. "But what in hell is T3?"
"Tunnel number." Michael looked up, exchanging a look with his brother.
"So this is directions to a mining tunnel?" Cara asked, not certain exactly what the information meant.
"Not just any mining tunnel. One in the Promise. The main shaft goes laterally into the mountain with other tunnels branching off to either side?—"
"The north and south sides." Patrick interrupted his brother. "The slant is then either to the west or east."
Cara nodded with understanding. "So the directions are for the third tunnel on either the south or north sides with a westward slant."
Michael shot her a quick smile. "Exactly. With this, we can narrow it down to two tunnels."
"But what good does it do us to know where, if we don't know what, and more importantly, why?" Loralee asked.
"Patrick and I think it must have something to do with Father's ramblings."
"About the silver?" Loralee leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, her eyes on the paper in Patrick's hand.
"Right."
Cara frowned as something nagged at her brain. She tried to focus on it, but whatever it was it remained just on the edge of her subconscious. Reluctantly, she let it go and focused again on the conversation.
"That and the fact that Vargas may have been related to Striker."
"The great grandfather." Cara thought back to Nick's confession. "His name was Amos."
"Exactly." Patrick smiled. "So somehow it's all related."
"And what's more important is that Striker knows how." Michael's face hardened in the glow of the candles.
"And killed our Father because of it." Patrick's face tightened, too.
Cara was grateful suddenly that they were on her side. These were not men to be trifled with. "So you think that Amos is on his way to the Promise now?"
"Maybe. If there's really something up there, then he'd want to get it before everything blows sky high."
Patrick grimaced. "And Striker doesn't hit me as the type to abandon something he obviously believes is worth killing for."
"True enough, and Duncan was awful excited about the silver." Loralee put in.
Suddenly, the little thought pushed its way into the forefront. Cara sucked in a breath. "He said the silver, not silver."
"What?" Three heads turned to focus on her.
"When you all talk about it. You say silver.
As though it's not specific. But whenever Loralee talks about what your father said, she always refers to the silver.
Specific silver." She groaned with frustration as three pairs of eyes looked equally blank.
"Don't you see? Nick had books about the lost silver.
That's what he was looking for. The silver. "
She watched as the impact of her words sank in, satisfied to see comprehension dawning. Michael was the first to see it. "You think Amos found the silver from the Promise?"
"I think it's possible."
"So then what? My father found it, too?"
"It would make sense. That would explain his excitement."
Michael ran a hand through his hair. "But if he found it, he would have told Owen." He looked over at his brother.
Patrick frowned. "He tried. Or at least that's what Sam said. But Owen was out, so Father got drunk instead."
"And came to see me," Loralee added.
"That must be when he put the note in the locket," Cara said, her mind trying to put it all together.
"It's possible." Loralee scrunched up her forehead in thought. "In fact, it makes sense. Duncan had my locket with him. I'd broken the chain and he said he'd fix it for me. Never let anyone have it before. But I trusted him." She looked up to meet Patrick's gaze.
"Our father was a wily old goat, Loralee. I wouldn't put it past him to slip the coordinates into the locket. Especially if he thought there might be trouble."
"Look, this is crazy." Michael held up a hand. "Father couldn't have found the silver. We're ignoring the fact that my mother ran off with it. She and that son of a bitch muleskinner." He spit out the word as if it tasted vile.
"His name was Zachariah Bowen and he didn't run off with anyone." Loralee's voice was tight with anger. "My Zach never ran off with anybody."
"Your Zach?" There was a note of incredulity in Michael's voice.
Loralee squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Zach Bowen was my husband."