Page 56 of More Than Meets the Eye

“Tell me about the book you collected.” Seth’s eyes held apologies even as his jaw firmed into a determined line.

Christie tugged her hand free of Seth’s hold and leaned away from him. “It was just a book.”

Seth didn’t straighten. He left his hands dangling in front of him, bridged off his knees, as if begging her to reconnect. “But you read it, didn’t you?”

Evangeline wished Christie could hear the tenderness in his tone. If so, she’d recognize how torn he was, how much he cared about her, how much he wanted to help.

“I’ve seen how you are with books,” he teased. “You can’t resist peeking between the covers.”

Christie bit her lip and turned her face away, refusing to answer or even continue the conversation. But she hadn’t left the room. She wanted to stay, yet something was scaring her. What?

Seth slid off the settee and knelt on the floor. Like a gentle predator, he pursued her, crouching at the side of her chair. He stroked her cheek, his fingertips trailing her hairline before softly turning her face back toward his.

Evangeline’s breath caught at the shimmer of tears in her friend’s eyes. Her heart demanded she go to Christie to offer what comfort she could, but her head recognized that Seth was the one she needed right now.

Christie’s chin trembled. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me,” Seth said. “Let me help you.”

She bit her lip and looked at the ceiling.

Seth stroked her cheek, bringing her attention back to his face. “Who left the book for you?” he urged. “The schoolmaster?”

Christie reared back.

Schoolmaster? Evangeline frowned. From Ben Franklin? Was this what Logan had been investigating?

“Tell me, sweetheart.” Seth captured Christie’s hand. “Please. We can help you.”

She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. If he finds out you know his secret . . .” She bit her lip. “He might try to hurt you, too. Or Evie. I can’t let that happen.”

“There’s no way for him to know what you’ve told us,” Seth said. “He doesn’t even know where you are.”

Christie pressed her lips closed, unconvinced.

Seth planted himself directly in front of her chair and focused in on her. Evangeline knew that look. The one that wrangled the truth out of her no matter how determined she was to hold on to a secret. Christie didn’t stand a chance.

“All right,” Seth said, his tone sharper. Christie might not be able to hear the difference, but she must have sensed it in his posture or facial expression, for her eyes widened, and she grasped the chair arms for support. “Let’s say he does find out where you’ve been staying and who you’ve been staying with. What’s to keep him from assuming you already told us everything? He couldn’t afford to take that risk. So whether you tell us or not, the threat is the same. The only difference is that if you tell us what you know, we have more ammunition for fighting him.”

Christie’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” she whispered. “The book was Mr. Benson’s.”

“And did you read it?”

She ducked her head and nodded.

When she looked up again, Seth asked, “Where were you when you read it? Could Benson have seen you?”

“I don’t know. I waited until I was halfway home, in the cover of some trees, before I opened it. Usually Benson attends church, putting on a righteous show for the parents of his students, so I thought it would be safe.” A fierce look entered her eyes. She leaned forward, and her hands slapped down over his wrists, her fingers latching into place. “I had to take the risk, Seth.” Her knuckles whitened as her grip on his arms tightened. “Earl always keeps the ledgers locked in a metal box under his bed. This was the first time I’d been trusted with transporting one of them. I couldn’t waste the opportunity.”

“So Earl and Benson are partners.”

Evangeline recognized the intense expression on her brother’s face. He was pondering, fitting things together, discerning patterns, and plotting likelihoods, just like he did when researching a new investment opportunity.

Evangeline was still trying to make sense of the ledgers and why Christie was so keen to read them, while Seth had already jumped to what they signified. No wonder their family had enjoyed increased financial security over the last five years. He was always two steps ahead.

“Not true partners,” Christie qualified. “Mr. Benson has his own barter system set up with Earl. He gets one free jug of moonshine a week in exchange for tallying the accounts. Earl gives him supply receipts and order lists, and Mr. Benson organizes everything into tidy ledger rows.”

Seth’s brows scrunched together. “I don’t understand. Why would you care about the ledgers?”