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There was a beat of silence. Trey looked at Shane. “You took it all down.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Shane said.
Another beat of silence followed. Trey drew a slow breath and exhaled even more slowly. “You asked who we’re protecting. It’s our families. It’s our memories. It’s our mom. I shouldn’t tell you this. I shouldn’t. And if it goes into your book I will tear you apart, limb by limb, but Mrs. Douglas wasn’t the first woman assaulted in this valley. My mom was hurt. I don’t know all the details, only that she’d confided in Grace Douglas a little bit. She’d told Mrs. Douglas that someone had hurt her and she was afraid. That’s why she stopped going to the revival. It’s why she didn’t want to leave the house. Brock suspected something had happened, too. He said he found Mom crying, and at first he thought Dad had beat her, but Mom swore it wasn’t Dad but she wouldn’t say who. Brock told us Mom wasn’t well, that she was struggling with something, and so we all took turns keeping an eye on her. We made it a point never to leave her alone.”
“Did you ever share any of this with the investigation?”
Trey shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“If you knew Dad, you wouldn’t ask that.”
“What does that mean?”
“He was hard on her. She was already unhappy. The last thing she needed was him blaming her for one more thing that wasn’t her fault.”
“Did he do that often?”
“Daily.”
Silence fell and as if aware he’d said far too much, Trey started for the door. Shane followed, accompanying him down the front steps, and out onto the dirt and gravel driveway.
“What was she like?” Shane asked as Trey swung the truck door open.
Trey’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Your mom.”
For a moment Trey seemed at a loss for words and then he answered gruffly, “Sweet. Sad. So very, very sad.” His voice hardened. He looked away, jaw gritted. “She deserved better than my father,” he added, climbing behind the steering wheel and slamming the door closed.
Trey reversed quickly, effortlessly, and turned the truck around to head out, more familiar with the Sheenan ranch than any of his brothers as he’d been the one to work it, day in and day out, until he’d gone to jail.
Shane knew all this and more. He’d spent more time the past month researching the Sheenans then he had the Douglas story. But every Sheenan discovery just led to more questions. Like just now. The conversation with Trey this morning had been equal parts enlightening and puzzling. But then, Trey himself was enlightening and puzzling.
Even more surprising was how much Shane liked him.
Maybe not every Sheenan was an ass.
All week Jet worried about how to tell Harley she was heading out of town on Friday. When she wasn’t engaged in teaching a lesson, she’d find herself stewing over the situation, knowing she couldn’t just disappear for three days—Harley would be on the phone with the sheriffs and police in record time—but also aware that she couldn’t just tell her older sister that she was heading out of town with Shane. Harley would have the Sheenans hunting them down in record time…
What Jet needed was a good excuse to head out of town, one that wouldn’t put Harley into a panic, but nothing came to her until it crossed her mind she could attend an education workshop somewhere…something that would help her with credits should she plan on pursuing a Class I Professional Certificate. She’d come to Montana on a Class II Standard Certificate for beginning teachers, and the only way one worked up in salary was by experience and units and degrees. Harley wouldn’t question Jet’s desire to attend an education workshop or seminar.
After school Wednesday, Jet sat down at her computer and did a search for workshops and courses in Montana, specifically for the coming weekend, which was the President’s Day weekend. She’d been worried that because it was a legal holiday on Monday there wouldn’t be anything, but the opposite was true. There were quite a few offerings across the state—four in Missoula, one in Billings, two in Bozeman. She studied the offerings for Missoula, and was pleased to see several for elementary age students, including utilizing Montana state parks to teach Montana history. The all-day course would include lesson places for place-based education regarding Montana’s Native American tribes. Lesson plans ranged from social studies to art, reading, and science. Definitely interesting coursework, and useful for Jet since she was still new to Montana.
Jet signed up for the five hour workshop and paid the small fee, and then sent Harley an email with details, so her sister would know where she was this weekend and what Jet would be doing.
Harley immediately replied to the email. “Where are you staying? How are you getting there? Will you be on your own?”
Jet grimaced, not wanting to fib, but at the same time not wanting to share too many details, either, which could just trip her up and trap her later. So she waited to answer, and then just before bed sent a quick text. “Going with a friend. Driving. Not sure where we’re staying yet.”
That seemed to appease Harley as the next day there was no email or text reply.
Chapter Nine
Friday arrived and Shane picked up Jet from her school as she’d decided she’d rather leave her car in the school parking lot than drive all the way home, delaying their departure further.
Marietta sat off Highway 89 and was on the way to the Flathead Lake so it wouldn’t have been much of a delay to stop by Kara’s and pick her up, but Shane knew Jet was more worried about people seeing them leave town together than the actual delay, so he agreed.
They’d been driving for close to forty-five minutes and had left Bozeman well behind when he felt Jet’s gaze rest on him yet again. She seemed to be spending more time looking at him than the scenery outside the car window.
“What?” he asked, shooting her a glance.
Her eyes met his. “I don’t know. You tell me what.”
“You’re smiling. A lot.”
She shrugged, still smiling. “I’m excited. This is fun. I’m looking forward to seeing Flathead Lake and visiting places I’ve only heard about. I know we don’t have time to really spend in Butte, but is there any way to do a quick drive through the historic downtown part, just so I can see it for myself?”
“Butte?”
“I’m fascinated by the city. I teach Montana history to my one fourth grader and Butte kind of haunts me. It was once this city of tremendous wealth with the discovery of copper and the dawn of the electrical age and then by the 1950s it was on its way to being a ghost town.”
“It’s not a ghost town. It’s Montana’s fifth largest city, I believe.”
“Yes, but Montana is not densely populated. Montana’s biggest cities would be considered towns by California standards.”
“Don’t let a Montanan hear you say that!”
“No, I know. I’ve learned to be careful, but it’s interesting to note that today Missoula’s population is close to seventy thousand. Bozeman is right around forty thousand. And Butte is maybe thirty-four thousand, but it once was the place to live. It had over a hundred thousand people—some say one hundred and twenty thousand people in 1920—and huge mansions, theaters, and beautiful civic buildings. It even had its own amusement park, with rollercoasters and a lake and stood there until the 1970s, when it was torn down.”
“Columbia Gardens.”
She nodded. “I would have loved to have seen it.” She sounded wistful. She was clearly fascinated by the idea of a mining company tycoon creating an amusement park for the people of Butte in 1899.
William Clark had purchased twenty-one acres at his own expense, and never charged admission. When he died in 1925, his family sold his estate and holdings, including the amusement park, to Anaconda Copper Mining Company and they ran it until 1973 when it closed for good. “I can’t show you the amusement park,” Shane said, “but Clark’s mansion is still there, and some of the other Copper King m
ansions, but in my opinion, Clark’s is the most impressive, and in summer is open as a museum.”
“But only in summer?”
“May through the end of September. But Butte’s West Side is definitely worth a quick detour. It’s easy off the freeway and it sounds like you’d enjoy driving through the neighborhoods with all the Victorians.”
“I would,” she agreed, settling back in her seat, feet out of her shoes and propped on his dash. Her socks were dark brown with pink and orange polka dots. The polka dots and color scheme made him smile. But then, being near her, with her, made him smile. She made him happy. Maybe that was the magic, her magic. She’d found a way to thaw the ice coating his heart. He was beginning to feel, and when he was with her, those feelings were good.
Those feelings gave him hope. Until he remembered the Sheenans and then he went numb again. The past did that to him. He told himself he wanted no part of it, and yet at the same time he was stuck in it.
“So, after Butte,” she said, breaking the silence, “what do we do?”
He told her there weren’t many choices for accommodations this time of year and since none of the motels in Polson seemed like the best fit, he’d booked a cabin in the town of Cherry Lake through the VRBO site which meant they’d each have their own room and space, so he could write if need be, and she could work, too.
“Sounds good.” She hesitated. “But how are you feeling about the trip? This is where you were raised, isn’t it? At least when you were a little boy?”
