Keeper of the Key Read online

  Keeper of the Key

  by

  Barbara Christopher

  ImaJinn Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  ImaJinn Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61026-032-9

  Print ISBN: 978-1-89389-664-2

  ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 2001 by Barbara Christopher

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

  We at ImaJinn Books enjoy hearing from readers. Visit our websites

  ImaJinnBooks.com

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  Cover design: Deborah Smith

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Lost Atlantis © Algol | Dreamstime.com

  Couple © Jerzy Król | Dreamstime.com

  Coin © Dvmsimages | Dreamstime.com

  :Ekkl:01:

  Dedication

  I would like to dedicate this book to the members of River City Romance Writers, Deb Dixon, Carolyn McSparren, and my faithful critique partners, without whom I would have quit long ago. I would also like to give special thanks to the late Linda Kichline, for everything she did for me.

  One

  Atlantis orichalc is a metal with the brilliance of the summer sun. When it’s pure as new fallen snow it has the power to change the past and form a better future. But beware, for the person whose greed outweighs the needs of others will find this precious metal of Atlantis to be deadly.

  Raleigh, Tennessee

  June 1836

  WHEN WOULD IT END?

  Caleb Harrison shoved the dresser forward in the wagon bed. He didn’t like responsibility. Didn’t want it. So why did he always end up giving his word? Why couldn’t people stay out of his life? No matter what he did, or what path he traveled, obligations challenged his resolve to stay a loner.

  He would always be accountable to the nuns who had raised him, yet he had had no problem leaving the orphanage. Now an obligation struck between him and his one true friend meant giving up his solitary life. Not for just a day, either. This promise would last a lifetime.

  As Luke Berclair’s godfather, Caleb never thought the boy’s survival would depend upon his becoming the child’s father.

  Caleb removed his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. His horse jerked against his harness and reared his head, signaling that they weren’t alone. The odor that drifted on the breeze let him know that William Jacobs stood on the other side of the wagon.

  “What is it, Jacobs?”

  “Heard ya needed help. Ain’t no one else willin’, but I’m not sure I’m up’ta the work.”

  Caleb dusted his hat against his leg and let his gaze meet the drunk’s. William Jacobs scratched his scraggly beard with a grimy hand and squinted against the afternoon sun.

  “The Widow Berclair wants this dresser delivered today.” Caleb replaced his hat, turned his back on the man and checked the ropes that held the dresser in place. “Job’s yours if you want it.”

  As he waited for the man’s answer, Caleb watched the rain clouds gathering in the distance. He didn’t particularly like the idea of Jacobs riding to Berclair Manor with him. Eight feet of wagon didn’t lessen the odor of stale liquor, and the stench of dirty body, shoulder to shoulder, would be sickening. But he was right. Only a drunk in need of a drink would ride shotgun with a suspected murderer.

  He had a dresser to deliver. He always kept his promises. Bad weather or not, with the drunk’s help or without it, Rebecca would have her dresser today. And if they couldn’t find another way to save Luke, he and Rebecca would have a marriage to plan.

  “I don’t have time to waste, Jacobs. If we don’t move out soon, your return trip will be in the rain.” Caleb gathered up his rope and vaulted into the back of the wagon. “You coming, or not?”

  “What kinda pay ya offerin’?”

  He should have known the drunk would want his money up front. Caleb slung the rope over his shoulder and tugged a pouch out of his saddlebags. He removed a coin and flipped it toward Jacobs. The drunk snatched the money out of the air with more dexterity than Caleb believed possible.

  “I’d rather have that fancy neck piece yore wearing. It’d buy me a lot more whiskey than this here coin.”

  “You’ve got the dollar. That’s more than enough pay. Get your horse and tie him to the back of the wagon.” As he spoke Caleb caught the medallion’s chain, tucked it inside his shirt and covered the medal with his palm. A tingle radiated from the coin.

  A warning.

  Subtle, yet there. It felt the same as when his mother had given him his first lesson at the age of five. She had closed his fingers over the orichalc medallion and whispered, When the coin’s vibration is sharp, there is danger close. Remember this, my son. Someday it will save your life.

  Caleb wrapped the rope around the dresser and jerked it tight. The coin hadn’t saved hers. She’d lost her medallion the night she’d been murdered. Murdered by a man she’d thought was her friend. He’d forgotten the lesson until he’d seen Rebecca Berclair wearing an identical medallion bearing the symbols of good and evil—identical, yet different. Rebecca’s coin lacked the deep scratch that had marred the beauty of his mother’s.

  Now he wore the medallion. Rebecca wanted him to oversee it until Luke—her son, his godson—came of age. With the medallion came a promise. He would guard it as his mother had hers, to death if necessary.

  The Atlantis orichalc glowed brighter than fire. His mother told him it had powers yet to be tested and promised its keeper a life worth living.

  Rebecca and her late husband, Saul, had questioned him relentlessly about his past. Deep down he’d known the questions were a test, but he hadn’t known why, not until Saul’s death.

  At the funeral Rebecca spoke of far away places, secret time locks and passages that only a true survivor of Atlantis could travel through. She had handed him the medallion as they stood over Saul’s grave. Caleb, you have proved you are pure in heart. A true Atlantean.

  Pure?

  Although he hadn’t lied about his past, he hadn’t told her or Saul everything.

  Rebecca didn’t know the secrets he kept hidden. The time hadn’t been right for divulging them. Not until now.

  Once he delivered the dresser they would talk about his past and see if she still thought him worthy to wear the medallion . . . worthy to bear the responsibility of Luke’s future.

  A shiver rippled down Caleb’s spine. Another warning. He caught the chain and slipped it over his head. For a moment he gazed at the medallion.

  Hide it.

  A shiver of urgency followed the thought. He brushed his knuckles over the elaborate initials on the dresser then twisted the left letter until the “B” lay on its back. While holding the sleeping “B” in place, he turned the other knob in the opposite direction. He heard the latch click into place, curled hi
s fingers over the raised letters and eased the front panel down.

  If he died on the trail Rebecca would know where to look for the coin.

  Still clutching the coin in one hand, Caleb brought the deerskin pouch to his lips, caught the drawstring between his teeth and worked it open. He added the medallion to the other coins, closed the pouch, and shoved it inside the secret compartment.

  He felt his lips twitch into a smile. Rebecca hoarded her gold and she didn’t trust banks, so at her request every piece he made had a secret storage area. Even the bed she slept on. And not just the usual bedpost-bank either. Oh, no. She’d wanted full-fledged secret compartments.

  Caleb worked the front panel back in place, sealed it and draped the quilt over the mirror.

  Jacobs pulled himself into the back of the wagon and squeezed in between the dresser and sideboard just as Caleb moved to the front to take his place. He snapped the reins and clucked the gelding into motion.

  Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh area

  Present Day

  BECCI ROCKED BACK on her heels and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Why couldn’t her aunt understand? They didn’t have a choice any longer. She’d spent the last of her savings, and it hadn’t saved the mansion.

  “Mary Rebecca Berclair, don’t you roll those eyes at me. Just sit down at this table and listen. And please, child, listen with an open mind.”

  “There . . . is . . . no . . . gold.” Becci Berclair pounded her fist against her thigh to accentuate each word.

  “Eat your dinner and stop fussing, dear. Besides, I told you—it’s not gold, it’s orichalc.” Lilly ran her finger over the fading flowery writing in the journal and read, “‘Eli has given us one of the medallions. We are saved. The beautiful golden, orichalc coin holds powers beyond belief.’ That’s what it says right here. The coin helped Mary Rebecca, and it will help us.”

  “I don’t care if we find a dozen books claiming there are a dozen coins of gold or orichalc. Whatever it’s called, there is nothing powerful and nothing of value in this house.”

  Aunt Lilly just wouldn’t give up. Becci sighed. She didn’t blame her. For the briefest moment she, too, had hoped the old journals they’d found would unlock the secret to the riddle of Berclair Manor.

  She immediately recalled the riddle’s words. Gold glows bright in the house of Berclair. Fortune shines on the true of heart, and love strengthens the powers of The Coins of Good and Evil.

  Legend said The Coins of Good and Evil were hidden in the house. Hidden? Sure. Her great grandfather, Matthew Berclair, had spent his entire life trying to decipher the legend. He’d even pointed out that there had to be more than one coin since the riddle spoke in plural. He’d passed the only thing of value he owned, the house, to his only living relative, his grandson, her father. Her father had mortgaged the place to the chimney top, not because he was looking for the Berclair fortune. Oh, no. Every spare cent he had went for his weekly poker game and his bottle of booze.

  “The journal talks about hiding places. I know we’ll find them. I just know we will.”

  Becci closed her eyes and eased into her chair. He aunt had fixed the meal and she’d best not waste it.

  Nothing really mattered any more. Not her plans for the nursery, not her job as an aide in the prenatal unit, not even the house. Besides, she’d bet her life savings, if she hadn’t already spent it, that the original Mary Rebecca had squandered every golden cent.

  Becci tossed her long braid over her shoulder. She and Aunt Lilly had been through this over and over since they inherited Berclair Manor.

  Once she sold the place, maybe her life would settle and she could go on about her business. After all, she had a wedding to plan and no time to waste. “Aunt Lilly, we’ve done everything but tear down the walls looking for that stupid treasure, and I don’t intend to do that.”

  She jumped up, shoved open the screen door, and scraped the remains of her half-eaten dinner into the small dish beside the step. A scrawny gray tabby peeked out from the stack of newspapers in the recycle bin.

  “Come on, Pepper.”

  At the mention of his name the kitten tumbled out of the bin and fell into his water dish. He daintily shook each tiny paw and cautiously made his way to the food. Becci stepped back to give the skittish feline room.

  The image of the first time she saw the shivering ball of fur came to mind. She couldn’t turn her back on a stray. Never could. But they had no trouble leaving her alone when they regained their health or found someone else to give their affection to.

  Becci dropped the fork on her plate. This stray would leave, too. At least she hoped so. She couldn’t afford another mouth to feed, even if that mouth belonged to an orphaned kitten.

  “Why not?” Lilly snapped before the door closed behind Becci.

  “Why not what?” Becci asked as she rinsed her plate and put it in the dishwasher.

  “Tear down the walls. When you sell that’s what a developer will do. And since you won’t even talk about my plan . . . .”

  “Aunt Lilly . . . ”

  “Just listen, Becci. I don’t want this place destroyed either.”

  Becci groaned and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling again. “Okay. What’s your plan this time?”

  “It’s the children’s sanctuary you want to open.”

  “We’ve been over this before. The bank turned down my loan.”

  “Well, how about the nursery? You know the one I’m talking about—the inexpensive place for new mothers to leave their babies.”

  “I can’t get the money I need to open either the safe-haven or the nursery.”

  “Yes, you can. There’s this company, Ascomp Incorporated. Michael thinks they might have a solution to our problem. They’re offering ongoing aid for organizations run by minorities. He thinks there’s a chance your newborn nursery qualifies.”

  “You’re listening to Michael? My fiancé, Michael Ascott?” When her aunt nodded, Becci huffed in disbelief. Aunt Lilly hated Michael. She even went out of her way to insult the man. And the day Becci showed her “the ring,” she left in a rage, the back door slamming at her heels. “I thought you couldn’t stand him.”

  “I can’t. Nor do I trust him, but he gave me the name of the company and . . . well . . . I called a Mr. Latham. He’s the CEO or something like that. He wants to look the place over next week. I said we would have it ready for his inspection.”

  Becci cupped her hand to her nape and massaged the tense muscles. She might as well give in. Once her aunt got a notion to do something, an entire football team couldn’t stop her. “What do we have to do?”

  “Michael came by while you were at work the other day and discussed his plans. This Latham guy wants to take a tour of the house and have you explain where you plan to put everything. Michael suggested we give the company a party, of sorts, in a couple of weeks. Michael’s sure they’ll give you the aid you need. He’s also inviting a couple of antique dealers who might be interested in buying some of the old furniture.”

  Lilly shut the journal that lay on the table in front of her. “Selling off the antiques will give us a little extra operating money. I hired some men to help to move the pieces we want to keep from the shed to the upstairs. We should be ready for Mr. Latham’s visit.” Lilly stood and shoved her hands in the pockets of her apron.

  “You hired movers?”

  “No, just a couple of men. They’ll be here around ten on Saturday. Mr. Latham isn’t due until one. Oh, Michael said that Mr. Latham needs a budget outlining your plans for the nursery, a list of the supplies we need, and my nursing certificate. He also suggested we include the invoice for the cradles.

  Becci shook her head in resignation. Heaven help her, Aunt Lilly had already put things in motion. How did she think they could have a party on their limited budget? How
would they pay workers when they had to scrape pennies to put food on their own plates?

  Becci pressed her fingertips to her temples. What were they going to do?

  “We’ll find a way, Mary Rebecca,” Lilly said, as if reading her mind.

  Two

  Raleigh, Tennessee

  June 1836

  CALEB SLOWED HIS wagon, lifted his hat, wiped the sweat off his brow and nodded at Rebecca. She stood on the wraparound porch with Luke perched on one hip and her journal clutched to her chest. If it hadn’t been for Luke she would look like a young girl holding her first reader.

  Caleb stared at the beautiful picture Rebecca made. Wind fluttered the curls that had worked free of her braid, which hung in a long, red-gold trail down the beige lace covering her shoulders. The high-collared dress accentuated her pale, sculptured beauty.

  The cameo, the gift he’d given her to celebrate Luke’s birth, rested below the lace’s ruffled edge where the medallion had once lain . The deep, wine-colored silk of her skirt swirled about her ankles.

  Her beauty rivaled the exquisite Berclair Manor with its whitewashed pillars bright against the darkening skies. The scene created a strange sense of foreboding that even Rebecca’s cheerful smile couldn’t alleviate.

  If their plan failed, what would become of Luke? He cared for the boy more than he’d ever thought possible. Hopefully, he would come to care for Rebecca, too. If she still thought him worthy after he told her about his past, they would marry. Neither had a choice.

  “You gonna get this thing in before the storm comes or am I gonna haf’ta ride back in the rain?” Jacobs snapped.

  “Untie your horse and I’ll get the wagon in place,” Caleb replied.

  As soon as Jacobs disappeared around the side of the house, Caleb circled the wagon and backed the horse up until the bed touched the edge of the top step. He secured the reins, jumped out of the wagon, and shoved a wedge of wood in front of the wheel as an extra precaution. It wouldn’t do to have the animal bolt and ruin the dresser before Rebecca ever saw it.