Rebel With A Heart. Carol Arens

the years, as an investigative journalist for the family paper, Trace had uncovered plenty of nasty secrets. Hanispree Mental Hospital had some of the worst. It was a stink hole of corruption. The more he poked around, the more determined he was to expose the malignant soul of the place.

      To the casual observer, Hanispree looked like a resort where the wealthy might come to relax. Its gardens were manicured and the marble staircase inside gleamed. Expensive wood floors reflected layers of polish.

      The truth that he had discovered ate at his gut. Polished floors and gleaming marble were a facade. Hanispree Mental Hospital was little more than a prison for the cast-off members of wealthy families. He was certain that some of them had no mental illness whatsoever.

      A movement beyond the window caught his attention. He figured he’d be the only one foolhardy enough to go outdoors with a storm blowing in. He walked to the window and pulled aside the filmy curtain.

      What the devil? Lilleth and her little brood were making their way down the boardwalk, their bodies leaning into the wind. He’d assumed they would be settled into the hotel by now.

      He started to reach for the doorknob, to run after her and find out if there was something amiss.

      But she had a husband, no doubt a fine man who was at this moment coming to her aid. Trace would do well to remember that he was not himself at the moment, but Clark Clarkly.

      If she discovered who he was it might spell disaster for the exposé he was writing. If his true identity was revealed, what would happen to all the folks at Hanispree? He needed to keep his distance.

      Trace peered after Lilleth, his eye to the windowpane trying to see up the street, where Mr. Gordon no doubt waited with open arms.

      The investigative journalist in him began to gnaw at something. It was trivial, really. But Lilleth detested being called Lilly. He’d witnessed her wrestling half-grown boys to the ground for teasing her with that name.

      A knock low down on the front door brought his attention and his eye away from the window.

      He opened the door to let in a flurry of flakes and young Sarah Wilson.

      “Little Sarah.” He closed the door behind her, then brushed an inch of snowflakes from the brim of her hat. “What are you doing out in this weather?”

      “Good day, Mr. Clarkly. I’ve come to borrow a book.”

      Bless her heart, coming out in the elements. He was familiar with Sarah. She was a nine-year-old bundle of curiosity, as well as a dedicated reader. Her mother was in frail health, and Sarah escaped into stories as often as she could.

      Clark Clarkly and his lending library did have their uses in the community. He wasn’t a complete waste.

      “As luck would have it, I picked up a shipment of new books just an hour ago.” Trace lurched toward the desk and snatched one up, along with his shattered spectacles. “I’ve just the thing for a girl your age, Miss Sarah.”

      He opened the ledger on his desk and Sarah signed her name in it, her promise to return the book.

      “I’ll bring it back real soon,” she said.

      “Not until the weather clears.” He would give her the book to keep, along with a few others, when his assignment was finished and he went back home to Chicago. “Come along, I’ll see you home.”

      Trace put on a heavy coat, picked up his collection of new books and gathered Sarah’s mittened hand in his.

      Outside, he closed the door behind him and glanced in the direction that Lilleth had gone, but she and her family had vanished.

      Met up with her husband, no doubt, the lucky man. In his mind’s eye, Trace saw the pair of them snuggled in front of a snapping fire. He wished his Lils and her man the best, truly he did.

      “You’re going to like this story, little lady.” Trace walked in a direction away from Hanispree Mental Hospital, but there was no help for it. “It’s the tale of a girl just your age.”

      * * *

      Main Street was deserted, the silence profound. Only the shuffle of Lilleth’s and Jess’s footsteps on the boardwalk disturbed it.

      Wisely, the folks of Riverwalk had withdrawn into their homes. Tendrils of smoke curling out of fireplaces made the cold outside seem that much worse. Only yards away, people were tucked into houses and fully booked hotels, enjoying warmth and companionship.

      With any luck, Mrs. O’Hara’s place, whether it be a boardinghouse or private home with an extra room—Mr. Hotel Owner hadn’t offered that information—would be warm and have food for the children.

      Biting cold wasn’t the only thing troubling her about Main Street this afternoon. The utter stillness was almost spooky. Out in the open, with no one else about, it seemed that eyes observed her every step. It was silly, of course, as she’d been careful.

      A block back, she had been startled by a curtain being drawn aside. Her gasp had nearly woken baby Mary, who slept sweet and warm, against her breast.

      “It’s all right, Auntie Lilleth,” Jess had said. “It’s probably Mr. Clarkly. The sign over the door says that place is his lending library.”

      “It makes sense that Mr. Clarkly would be a librarian, the way he stacked those books in alphabetical order.” For some reason it didn’t bother her that he might be watching. Funny, when for the last two weeks she’d done nothing but live in fear of folks who stared too intently at her family.

      “And Jess, don’t forget, call me Mother. Anyone might hear you.”

      “Uncle Alden won’t come to Riverwalk.” Jess shifted the small valise under his left arm to his right. “He’s too afraid of ghosts.”

      True, Alden Hanispree had an unnatural fear of them. It was probably the very thing that had spared her sister’s life. Had he not been such a fearful little man he might have murdered Bethany instead of having her committed to his haunted mental hospital.

      Still, just because Alden Folger Hanispree was a cowardly man didn’t mean that he wasn’t dangerous.

      Dangerous, and greedy for their inheritance, he was a powerful enemy to her niece and nephew.

      “He might send someone, though.” Lilleth stopped. She lifted her nephew’s chin in her fingers and looked him in the eye. “I’ll protect you, I swear it. But Jess, we can’t be too careful. Watch every word you say and don’t trust anyone but me.”

      “I wish my father was still alive. Uncle Alden couldn’t hurt us then.”

      “I wish that, too.” Lilleth traced the curve of Jess’s cold cheek. It had been only six months since his father’s death. Too little time to keep Jess’s eyes from becoming moist. “But he sees us from heaven, I’m sure of it.”

      “Do you think, somehow from way up there, he can help us sneak Mama out of the mental hospital?”

      “Well, if he can, you know he will, and if not, maybe he’ll send someone our way who can help us.”

      She couldn’t imagine who that would be, since she wouldn’t allow anyone close enough to be able to help. She wouldn’t say so to Jess, but it would be she who would have to figure a way to get Bethany away from Hanispree.

      “Everything will turn out fine, Jess, don’t you worry.” Lilleth shifted the baby in her arms. She was small for a twelve-month-old, but nonetheless the weight was beginning to take a toll on Lilleth’s back. “We’d better get to Mrs. O’Hara’s before we freeze.”

      “Sure, Ma.” Jess stepped forward with a long stride.

      If her brother-in-law was watching from above, as she firmly believed, he would be proud of his only son. Jess was a brave and intelligent boy.

      Praise the saints, they were nearly to the saloon, then only a few more blocks to sanctuary.