“Please forgive me, but I cannot even trust myself. I’m sure we won’t be away for more than a few days. I’ll contact you when we return.”
He nodded, though a puppy with its bone taken away couldn’t have looked more crestfallen.
He left through the back, and Papa appeared in the kitchen doorway. “It’s time to leave. Detective Lawson will escort you, Madelyn, and your mother to the Planes’ while I sort out this mess with the window.”
“My bag—”
“Is already packed and loaded into the carriage. Go out the front and straight to your seat.”
Lydia hesitated. “Papa?”
His unusually impatient glare demanded she obey immediately.
“I just want to say, you were right. I wrongfully justified my actions so that I could achieve what I wanted, and others have paid the consequence for those decisions.” A tear slipped out as the fullness of it weighed upon her. “I could have written anything, anything at all, but I chose to rewrite their stories and kill them, because I thought my plan for justice was better than God’s.”
“Oh, my dear girl.” He pulled her into a hug and sighed. “Acknowledging that we have done wrong is the first step toward forgiveness and restoration. Confess it to Christ and then allow Him to begin the work of changing you. It won’t be easy and it will hurt, but discipline is meant to restore us to each other and to Him. Don’t mistake that discipline for not loving you. Because we do. God and I love you so very much.” His voice grew thick, and he released her from their embrace. “Now get outside. Each moment you delay is a risk to your sister and mother.”
Lydia nodded, her throat too tight for words.
When she reached the door, onlookers gathered across the street, where officers held them at bay. Mr. Clemens stood among them. She stopped walking and fisted her skirts. Billy Poe might exist because of her, but this mob existed because of him. He’d been the one to turn the fury of Cincinnati toward her family, and she’d love nothing more than to retrieve the brick from her parlor and show him her fury. Her conscience twinged. Cincinnati’s unrest was a consequence of her actions. She would not shift the blame to someone else. Even him.
Detective Lawson grasped her arm and created a protective barrier as he ushered her into the closed carriage. “Keep the shade drawn and your head away from the window.”
Once she claimed her seat next to Madelyn, he shut the door, and the carriage dipped as if he’d swung up top with the driver.
So much secrecy and protection needed for her family, all because one reporter couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Of course, if she’d just come forward at the beginning, this situation might have been avoided. She cringed. She’d already apologized to Detective Hall yesterday, but she owed Detective Lawson an apology as well.
All through the ride, Lydia’s mind turned over Billy Poe’s words. Did she share in the responsibility for those men’s deaths? Would Billy have acted without her words? If she’d never written them—if she’d only written her romance stories—would the men still be alive?
The ride to Theresa’s took twice as long as normal and varied in speeds from heart-racing to plodding as they wended a path she’d never taken.
Detective Lawson handed her down onto the drive of the castle-like home. “I’m sorry for the unusual ride, ladies, but there were several people attempting to tail us. We’ve lost them, but I suggest staying away from windows and refraining from venturing out of doors.”
“Thank you, Detective Lawson,” Momma said before she bustled past, ushering Madelyn inside.
Lydia held back.
“Please, Miss Pelton. I need you to adhere to my advice.”
“I will. I just wanted to apologize for what I have cost this investigation by my silence. It was wrong of me, and I ask for your forgiveness.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I understand that you did what you thought was best to protect yourself and your family. I am only sorry that we could not preserve your secret.”
“You are too kind, but being exposed is only what I deserve.”
He offered a compassionate smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all have our secrets. Now go inside and stay away from the windows. Detective Hall and I will see to it that this case ends quickly so you can go back to writing your stories.”
Lydia thanked him again, but it sounded as hollow as she felt.
Papa had said acknowledging her wrongdoing was the first step toward forgiveness and restoration, but was it too late? Four men were dead. Her silence had delayed the police from searching in the right direction. If another man died … Christ might forgive her, but could she forgive herself? And what about justice? What did that look like now? She had a lot to consider over the next few days of hiding, and she suspected that this period of self-reflection was going to be exceedingly miserable.
CHAPTER16
TWO DAYS LATER, ABRAHAM CROSSEDthe street from Central Station and glanced at the horsecar. Sweaty bodies elbowed one another for a chance at the breeze stirred by the horse-drawn conveyance. He could pay the fare and be home in half the time, but his shirt and vest already stuck to him like fresh plaster. Riding with that crowd would turn his entire suit into a rancid rag. Besides, a walk would provide the solitude and silence he needed to think that working with Lawson denied. Who knew the man would be such a squawking hen? Not that Abraham didn’t appreciate the instruction on becoming a detective, but the constant chatter left him little room to make his own observations.
He bypassed the horsecar and unbuttoned his coat to allow in what little air he could. Although he and Lawson had interrogated all the picketers, they were no closer to identifying Billy Poe. The man remained a faceless menace with an uncanny ability for delivering notes unnoticed. Oh, Abraham and Lawson had their suspicions, but nothing beyond speculation.
Monroe’s story about how he’d found Billy Poe’s letter sounded as true as an out-of-tune piano. Why would Poe pretend to be a picketer, drop the note at the corner of the house—half-hidden in the bushes, no less—and leave the discovery of it to chance? The obvious answer? He wouldn’t. PoewantedMiss Pelton to read that letter, and dropping it outside the house was a senseless gamble. The wind could have whisked it away, someone could have picked it up and taken it, or it could have gone unnoticed altogether. No, that story made no sense for a man as meticulous and prepared as Poe. More likely, Monroe had crumpled and stepped on the note himself to make it appear trampled before bringing it into the Pelton home. The man plainly had a romantic interest in Miss Pelton, and Poe was quite clear in his admiration of her.
