The Darkness You Fear Page 18

  We spent one last evening together by the campfire, and this morning, we hugged and shook hands, and the children cried at leaving their friends.

  Now we have gone our separate ways. Jonathan is determined to move on to Portland and start a business there.

  We have not slept together since I questioned him, but to my surprise, he shows no sign that he intends to abandon his family. Despite myself, I have begun to hope for a future for us, though my doubts remain. Jonathan has not turned out to be the man I thought he was, but I am his wife and he is my husband, and there is little I can do about that.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Diary of Ellen Meredith

  Portland, Oregon Territory, November 3, 1848

  I have not written in this diary for over three years. I had thought my journey over. I had thought that nothing unexpected, nothing exciting would ever happen again; that life would return to normal, a wonderful ordinariness.

  And for a time, it did.

  Jonathan’s lumber business was successful from the start. We quickly progressed from our clapboard house by the river to a mansion in the hills. To be honest, I would have been happy in the more modest domicile, but my husband insisted that we must display our success. After a few social occasions at which I was too petrified to speak, he didn’t demand that I attend any more. Once a year, I summon my courage and invite his friends over for a soiree, and because it is held within the familiar, comfortable surroundings of my own home, I am able, for that one night, to pretend to be a gracious hostess.

  The more successful my husband becomes, the more distant he is to me. He no longer comes to my bed, and I am fearful that he will find a younger woman and try with her to have the sons he has always wanted. I know that he visits other women at inappropriate times, and some of my neighbors take pains to hint that he is being unfaithful, but I pretend that I don’t understand. If he visits women of the night, it is nothing to me.

  He keeps me in luxury, but I am merely a prop for his respectability. I manage the household, I provide him meals, I take care of the garden and the children, I command the servants, but we might go days without speaking a word to each other.

  Perhaps he has not discarded me because he has finally accepted Jed and Edwin as his sons. Jed especially has been given great responsibility in the business, and Edwin has been working with his brother after school and in the summers. I don’t see much love between my sons and my husband, but they no longer yell at each other.

  Jed has become nearly as distant to me as his stepfather. Edwin is always busy. If not for my girls, I would have no one. From the outside, I live an enviable life. The clerks and the livery drivers all treat me with respect. My mother told me not to expect happiness, and I never have. I should be content with my family’s prosperity.

  This is a life that I would have accepted, that I would have been grateful for, if not for my nightmares. During my waking hours, I find myself daydreaming about dear Cullum, whom I never appreciated enough, who always tried honorably to do the right thing. I never told him how much I loved him. At night, I dream of his death. I see him riding along the trail above our farm, something leaping from the shelter of the trees, him tumbling out of his saddle and landing on his neck.

  I see the creature standing over him, biting into him, tearing at his flesh.

  When I awake, the feeling of horror won’t go away. I can’t help but remember how Goldie found his way back to Jonathan’s stables without a mark up on him. I try to see the creature’s face, but I cannot. But when Jonathan enters the dining room for breakfast, I feel a sudden terror. I hide it as best I can, but I have seen him staring at me with cold eyes, as if he knows what I am thinking.

  I began this diary again because I sense that the consequences of our journey across the continent are not yet over.

  December 13, 1848

  I try to have my yearly celebration between the other wives’ bigger ones, midway between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even then, not all my RSVPs are answered. Still, enough guests show up that we are not embarrassed, though most are my husband’s business associates.

  To my great surprise, I recognized an old friend this year. I sent an invitation to one of Jonathan’s new partners, Mr. Oliver Hoskins, and his wife. When Mary Perkins walked in the door, draped on the arm of a distinguished gentleman, well, I was so surprised I almost couldn’t speak.

  She saw my discomfiture and came to me and embraced me. “I’m so happy to see you again, Ellen,” she said.

  I looked upon her in amazement. She was a beautiful young woman, her green gown matching her bright green eyes, her red hair piled ornately atop her head, held in place by a diamond tiara.

  It was also the first time, I believe, that she ever called me Ellen and not Mrs. Meredith.

  “Does Jonathan know?” I blurted.

  “I think my husband has told him that we are acquainted,” she said. “But whether Jonathan remembers little old me, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Of course I remember you,” Jonathan boomed, entering our little circle. “Without you, our children would have run wild on the trail.”

  I watched Mary carefully and saw a faint blush upon her cheeks.

  Jonathan and Oliver Hoskins shook hands, and I wanted to disappear. Here were three handsome, vibrant people, in the prime of their lives, and dumpy little me, wearing last year’s dress and hoping no one would notice. I couldn’t speak after that, simply nodded dumbly to what anyone said to me.

  Mary took me in tow, doing all the talking, and it was clear that she’d had practice at this sort of thing, that she understood what it was like to be the wife of a tycoon. When the men retired to the library for cognac and cigars, Mary took me aside.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Is Jonathan…Mr. Meredith treating you kindly?”

  “He…is treating me…well,” I said haltingly. The memories of our journey together were overwhelming me. I’d thought to leave it all behind, but Mary’s presence was bringing it all back vividly. “Have you seen the others? Gus and Abigail? Young Becky?” I paused and took a deep breath. “Whatever happened to poor Karrie and Bartholomew?”

  “The Catledges left me a letter,” Mary confided. “They have left the territory and changed their name. They asked me not to try to find them.”

  “Left?” I echoed. “Whatever for?” But even as I asked, I sensed the truth.

  Mary didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “Karrie disappeared not long after we arrived. I haven’t been able to find her. Bart…you can find him down at the docks. He sweeps out the taverns and does whatever odd jobs he can find. He is usually drunk. I have offered to help him, but he refuses.”

  “Oh, dear,” I said. I sounded like my mother, old and staid. I hated what I had become and envied this beautiful young woman, which is something I never would have thought possible.

  Mary dug into the tiny, jeweled purse she was holding and handed me a piece of paper. She leaned over and whispered, “If you must reach me, send a message to this address. Don’t try to get to me at home.”

  She looked around to see if anyone had overheard or noticed, and then gave me a bright smile. “Let us speak of happier things. How are Edwin and Jed?”

  “They work with their stepfather,” I said. I was surprised that I had used the term “stepfather,” because with most people, I pretended they were his true sons. “They are well.”

  “And Mattie and Nan?” Mary asked, smiling.

  I returned the smile, and for the first time all evening, I felt like myself. “They are turning into young women before my eyes. Both have been going to school. Mattie has announced that she will become a doctor!”

  Mary laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  The men started venturing back into the dining room, and Mary quickly said, “We must get together soon. I have more to tell you.”

  Since that night, she has sent me several messages, but I haven’t answered them. I am certain that what she wishe
s to tell me is something I’d best not hear.

  I’m a coward, but I have fought my battles. Now all I want is peace.

  Last night, I dreamed of the creature who attacked Cullum. The creature had Jonathan’s face.

  January 12, 1849

  I asked Carter, our butler, to arrange a carriage ride down to the waterfront. He objected, but I insisted. I could see him wondering if he should tell Mr. Meredith, but in the end he acceded to my request, on the condition that he accompanies me.

  We drove up and down the streets, and I examined the rough-looking men lounging outside of the taverns and flophouses.

  “Who are you looking for?” Carter asked.

  “A friend,” was all I answered. It was none of his business.

  I was about to give up for the day when I saw Bart Parsons. It was his shock of blond hair that alerted me; otherwise I never would have recognized him. He was sitting with his back to the boardwalk, his head down, but I was sure it was him.

  Carter helped me get Bart into the carriage, and we went to a nearby restaurant, a respectable if not lavish establishment. They almost didn’t let us in. Bart stunk to high heaven. I pleaded for them to let us have one of the back rooms, and when Carter produced a fair sum of money, they let us in.

  Bart didn’t recognize me. I had to tell him my name more than once. Finally, he looked at me blurrily. “Ellen? Ellen Meredith?” Then he looked panicked. “Is he with you? Is he looking for me?”

  “My husband doesn’t know I’m here,” I said. Carter gave me a sharp look and opened his mouth to say something, but I stared back at him steadily and he subsided. I’d never done that before, but I was more determined than I’d been in a long time.

  “Where’s Karrie?” I asked.

  “I need a drink,” Bart said. “Give me a drink and I’ll tell you.”

  I sent Carter off to get a drink. The moment he left the room, Bart leaned forward. His eyes cleared for a brief moment. “She went looking for our children,” he said. “She never came back.”

  “Where did she go?” I asked, mystified.

  “Ask your damn husband.”

  “Jonathan? Why would he know?”

  Just then, Carter returned with a shot glass of amber liquid. Bart downed it with one gulp.

  I turned to Carter. “Give him the rest of the money.”

  “But, ma’am…”

  “I don’t want your charity,” Bart said, standing up unsteadily. “I don’t want his money.”

  He lurched out the door, and I rose to follow him. I felt Carter’s firm hand on my arm. “Pardon me, ma’am. You must respect his wishes. Give him that much dignity.”

  The next thing I knew, I was in the back of the carriage going back to our mansion in the hills, as if I’d blanked out the time since leaving the restaurant. Carter was across from me, looking at me speculatively. When he noticed I was back among the living, he gave me a smile—the same smile he gave me every morning, and just as false.

  “You will not mention this to Mr. Meredith,” I said. “I have asked very little of you, Carter. And you’ve had little to fear from me. But do not cross me on this.”

  Carter looked surprised, then a twisted smile came over his face—twisted, but at least genuine. “As you wish, ma’am.”

  February 10, 1849

  My daughters are ill. It was a light fever at first, and I made both girls go to school. Nan was sent home, shivering and flushed. I sent Carter to fetch Mattie from her school and sent for the doctor.

  It is typhus, the doctor told me. “They are young and healthy,” he said. “They can recover.”

  Jonathan is on one of his business trips. I have asked Carter to go get him, but I don’t believe he will return in time to make a difference.

  I felt the fever come upon me. I went to my bed, telling no one. In the morning, when I rose, the walls and floor rippled as if made of cloth, and the light pierced my eyes and entered my head, filling them with pain. I stumbled to my children’s room, where the doctor sat, drowsing.

  “He poisoned us,” I said loudly.

  The doctor looked confused. “Poisoned? It is typhus, Mrs. Meredith. I assure you.” He rose from the chair and led me to it, helping me sit. He put his hand to my forehead, then stepped back. “You must go to your room, ma’am. You must rest.”

  “I will sleep here,” I said. “You can take care of all of us here.”

  The doctor didn’t object. I’m sure it made his job easier. A bed was brought in, and I asked for this diary, in which I have written as long as I can. I can’t see the letters anymore, only the white of the paper. I can’t hold the pen firmly; it slips out of my hand. But I will struggle on and hope that whoever reads this can make sense of my ramblings.

  I summoned my maid, Bridget, and I have instructed her to deliver this to Mary Perkins…no, Mary Hoskins, I now remember.

  If I lose Mattie and Nan, I have no more reason to live. Today their condition took a turn for the worse, and even now I hear Nan struggling to breathe. Mattie has not been conscious since this morning. My own mind grows confused. I fear for us all.

  Mary, if you are reading this, the worst has happened.

  I must tell you now what I have always known but never admitted it to myself. My husband is an evil man and a murderer. This is not the fever speaking, this is the truth finally coming out. When Cager and Allie Parsons went missing, I caught my husband that same day washing his hands clean of blood. He told me it was from dressing a rabbit, but there was so much of it, and it was thick upon his hands.

  When gold was discovered in California, I remembered the blue buckets and the shiny rocks, and I asked Jonathan about them, but he professed not to remember the incident. But I know when Jonathan is lying, as he has been lying about almost everything for a long time now.

  Be careful, Mary. If you see the Catledges, tell them to remain hidden, especially young Becky.

  I can write no more. I can’t see the paper now, nor feel the pen.

  May God forgive me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Vale, Oregon Territory, September 1851

  Dearest Frank,

  It was fortunate that I finished Ellen Meredith’s diary before reaching Vale. Otherwise I might not have understood the story that Abigail Catledge told me upon arriving. I might have thought she was exaggerating, even delusional. But the evidence is beginning to add up, and it is clear that the culprit is gold, as it always seems to be these days. It is clear that the children found gold while lost in Eastern Oregon, and that Jonathan Meredith learned of it.

  Beyond that, all is supposition, with no real evidence to support it. I believe that I am going to have to find the Lost Blue Bucket Mine if I am to confirm my suspicions. This won’t be easy. It is, after all, truly lost, except perhaps to Jonathan Meredith, and he won’t so easily give up the location. He is a rich man and able to buy the rough men he needs to protect his secrets.

  If I am interpreting Ellen’s diaries correctly, there is only one of the children still alive or not missing who knows where the mine can be found—and that is Becky Catledge. I’m disappointed to find that she is not here in Vale, but Abigail has provided information that should allow me to find her.

  Love,

  Virginia

  Abigail Catledge got up from the table and poured both of them another cup of tea. She bustled around the kitchen, putting away things, rearranging things, and Virginia understood that taking comfort in her domestic chores was the woman’s way of giving herself time to think. Finally, she sat down across from Virginia with a sigh.

  “Jonathan Meredith became extraordinarily successful in a very brief time,” she said. “It was as if he already had money from some source or other. At first, my husband and I didn’t think too much about it. We’d learned that Jonathan was an aggressive and ambitious man.

  “But one day, Gus saw him coming out of the gold exchange office, and on a whim, he went in and questioned the clerk.

  “‘
Mr. Meredith is our best customer,’” the man said. ‘He doesn’t complain about our exchange rate, which is admittedly not as good as he could get in San Francisco or Seattle. He understands the difficulties of being in a less populated and prosperous area.’

  “‘He’s come in before?’ Gus asked.

  “‘Many times,’ the clerk said. He broke off and suddenly seemed doubtful, as if he realized that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to be telling a stranger tales about his best customer. ‘Sir, unless you have business to transact, I must get back to my work,’ he said.

  “That is as far as my husband took it. It probably seems strange to you now, but you must understand that at that time, we were not yet aware of the gold strikes in California. It wasn’t until a few months later that we understood the full significance of it. We simply assumed that Jonathan had brought his riches west with him, which gave him a head start in his business ventures.

  “The Merediths were soon too wealthy to acknowledge the likes of us poor farmers. I think Ellen would have liked to visit, but Jonathan kept her in that mansion, surrounded by servants, and I think she was too embarrassed to make the effort.

  “Gus and I purchased land outside of Oregon City, and it was every bit as fertile as we’d been told back East. We did well the first two years. The weather was good, the crops grew well, and we had enough money left over to purchase seed and supplies for the next year’s crop.

  “Kerrie and Bartholomew Parsons purchased land nearby, but they did not do as well. Bart began drinking, and Kerrie rarely left the house. We tried to help them, but Bart was too proud to accept money, and his farm was in such arrears that Gus couldn’t take enough time from our own crops to make a difference.