“Put it on the bed,” she said. “I want you to open it. I already know what’s in there.”
He knew from hefting it that it was no heavier than it had been when he put it in the loft. It did not seem that Jane had added any material weight to it. He had assumed it was empty when she asked him to put it up. It didn’t matter whether it was or not; he would not have looked inside without her permission. Now she was giving that to him, and he was not sure he wanted to take her up on it.
Morgan lifted the latch and raised the lid. The aromatic fragrance of cedar was strong at first, making him rear back. After a moment, he peered inside. “There’s nothing in here.” Indeed, he could see the bottom of the trunk. It was lined with cedar blocks that were connected in such a way as to resemble the wood pattern of a parquet floor. Morgan looked over at Jane and asked, “You must have left what you want me to see somewhere else.”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t. Press down on the right side of the block in the bottom left corner. That will lift the left side and you will be able to remove it.”
Curious, Morgan followed her instructions. The block came out with relative ease. As soon as Jane told him to press down first, not lift, he knew the blocks were a cover for some space beneath them. “How many do I need to take out?”
“Only a third of them can be removed. I think you will see what I put there after you take out—” She stopped because Morgan had gone into the trunk with both hands and was already bringing out the envelope she had secreted away before she left New York. “Go on. Open it.”
Morgan slid his index finger under the flap and lifted it. He knew before he looked what he would find. “There’s money here.”
She nodded. “One hundred twenty-seven dollars. I came with one hundred thirty-one.”
“You told me you had money. I had no idea it was this much.”
“It should have been more. I had thought I would leave New York with two hundred fifty dollars. I had some money saved from things I made and sold, or things I just sold. Most of it is accounted for there.”
“What happened to the rest?”
“It was used to pay the abortionist.”
Morgan said nothing. He closed the lid on the trunk and set it on the floor. He was still holding the envelope in one hand when he sat on the edge of the bed and angled himself so he could see Jane. Beyond the window at her back, the sky was turning gray. Morgan had seen signs that morning that made him think snow was coming soon. If it did, it would be the first since Jane’s arrival, and he found that he was not minding the prospect of it all that much. Now, watching the cold gray light leach the color from Jane’s face, he was not as certain.
He slid his thumb and index finger across the edge of the envelope and raised his eyebrows a fraction. “There’s probably something you want to explain about that.”
Jane put three fingers to her temple again and closed her eyes while she nodded slowly. Returning her hand to her lap, she opened her eyes and settled her gaze on Morgan. “You were kind to take me to town this morning, and I want you to know that I appreciate it. I realize you had reason to be reluctant to make the trip, but you did it anyway. For me.”
Morgan merely returned Jane’s regard. His features were grave while hers were almost without expression.
“It was not a fabrication that I wanted to go to church,” she said. “But it was an excuse. I needed to go to Bitter Springs in order to speak to Dr. Kent. I wanted him to—” She stopped, considered her words. “I wanted him to examine me.”
Morgan was tapping one corner of the envelope against his knee. When Jane’s gaze flitted there, he realized what he was doing and stopped. He offered no comment about this last admission. He said, “Go on.”
“I want you to understand that no one except Dr. Kent knows the reason for my visit. I asked for directions after church, and the Bridgers and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips escorted me there.” She paused when Morgan swore softly. “I told them I wanted to talk to the doctor about Jem. They thought nothing of it, and it was true as far as it went.”
“I don’t know, Jane,” said Morgan. “I’m beginning to think that with you the truth sprints about as far as the barn and the lie walks on forever.”
“That is unfair,” she said quietly. “And hypocritical.”
The scar at the corner of Morgan’s mouth whitened as he set his lips together. His narrow smile was sardonic, and his eyes gave no quarter. He was admitting nothing.
Jane went on. “I’ve told you things here and there about my cousin Alexander. Of all the Ewings, he was the one who made me feel most like a member of the family, and I consider him as I imagine I would a brother if I had one. There is affection and love of a platonic nature, not a romantic one.”
Morgan shifted his weight on the bed. “Do I need to know this?”
Jane exhaled slowly. “Yes. And if you decide later that you did not need to know, then you will forgive me because I have a need to tell you.” She regarded him now from under raised eyebrows. “Alex loved nothing so much as a scheme, and to his way of thinking, the finest schemes were the ones that involved pulling the wool over his mother’s eyes. It is also true that Alex was often in want of money. Even after he began working in the law firm his father founded, Cousin Frances gave him an allowance. No amount would have been enough. He invariably owed more than he had.”
“Gambling?”
“Yes. That accounted for most of his debt. Women accounted for the rest. Alex was everyone’s favorite.”
“Of course,” Morgan said dryly.
Jane ignored that. “On one of the occasions that he was feeling desperate for funds, he told Cousin Frances that some female of little means and no social standing was going to bear his child. He went to his mother, declared his transgression, and explained that, naturally, he would do the honorable thing by the young woman. He would marry her.”
“It is hard not to be impressed by your cousin’s cleverness.”
