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Date Posted: 10:16:27 03/31/03 Mon
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: Ghosts - ch.4,5 & 6
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Ghosts - ch.1,2 and 3" on 09:38:58 03/30/03 Sun

CHAPTER FOUR

"Prisoner's this way…" The guard directed Peter and Sophie to the last cell block on the left.

Sophie approached immediately while, inexplicably, Peter tarried in the hall.

Charity looked worn and tired, but there was a fire in her eyes, a determination, which somehow made Sophie confident that everything would be all right.

"It's good to see you," Charity greeted Sophie with a weary smile.

"The guard won't let us in the cell but he said we can talk as long as we like," Sophie patted Charity's hand and held it tightly in her own.

"Us?" Charity craned her neck just in time to see a recalcitrant Peter making his way toward her.

"What happened, Aunt C.?" Peter cut straight to the chase, giving Charity a hasty peck on the cheek through the bars.

"I was duped…" Charity fairly spit the word.

"Duped? You?" Peter found the concept inconceivable.

"Duped, swindled, conned, worse than granddaddy Hank and the refrigerator salesman," Charity hated to admit it.

"Maybe you better start from the beginning?" Sophie ventured, trying to be helpful.

Charity took a deep breath and sighed. "A week ago, I received a phone call from Stanley Morrison. He's an antique collector. I met him in Virginia City while I was researching Sully and Michaela's letters. I hadn't heard from him in over a year…."

^^^^^^^

"Charity, I have something here I think you might be interested in." Dispensing with his usual pleasantries, Morrison came straight to the point.

"Yes, Stanley, what is it?" Charity had only half a mind on the conversation as she scribbled a few notes for the next WALPOCS agenda.

"Remember that painting you described to me?" he asked.

Suddenly, with that one, single question, Charity's undivided attention was his.

"I could be wrong," Stanley hedged, "but I'm having a small exhibit this Friday. I could hold it until then…"

Charity put her pen down at once and leaned back in her chair, a pensive look on her face. "I'll be there. Thank you, Stanley."

^^^^^^^^^^^

"When we arrived Friday night," Charity continued, "the gallery was packed. I couldn't find Stanley Morrison anywhere…"

^^^^^^^^^^^

"This place is busier than a saloon," Ben wisecracked. "What's a fella gotta do t'get a drink around here?"

"Champagne, Sir?" A tuxedoed server appeared before him.

"Why, thank ya…" Ben grinned. He'd been hoping for a beer but at this point, anything alcoholic would do.

"Have you seen Mr. Morrison?" Charity inquired of the waiter.

"No, Ma'am, but Ms. Wilcox is right over there…" Charity turned to see Stanley's assistant, Ivy Wilcox, speaking with some guests.

With a wave, Charity caught Ivy's glance and, soon, the petite young woman approached them with a smile.

"I didn't expect to see you here tonight, Mrs. Mitchell," Ivy welcomed Charity warmly.

"I came to see Stanley," Charity was growing concerned.

"Oh, I'm afraid he's been detained," Ivy explained. "He'll be so sorry he missed you."

"That's odd," Charity replied hesitantly, not knowing what to think. "There was a painting he called me about…circa 1870…a woman…"

Ivy paled and began to fluster. "He called you? Oh, I…uh…didn't know…" She seemed quite surprised.

"Didn't know what?" Ben interrupted, hoping to get this fancy evening over with as quickly as possible.

"I'm afraid I just sold it," Ivy blurted, her eyes darting toward the far back corner of the gallery, where a very tall, handsome man with light sandy hair was admiring his newest purchase.

"Sold it to whom?" Charity asked, walking single-mindedly through the crowd with Ben and Ivy in close pursuit.

"An investor…quite charming…he's just opened a new casino in Vegas…" Ivy tried in vain to intercept Charity before she could reach the roped-off area where the sold paintings had been secured, still on their easels.

Once there, though, Charity stood mesmerized before a painting she'd heard about but had never seen.

Discerning Charity's presence, the painting's new owner turned with a smile. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" he asked, a satisfied gleam in his eye.

Ben watched, as Charity seemed, amazingly, at a loss for words. She stood virtually mesmerized as gallery workers wrapped and crated the painting before her very eyes.

"Ivy, I've gotta be going," the man reached for his property. "Thank you for a lovely evening," he said, giving her a friendly kiss on the cheek.

"Congratulations, Mr.…?" A little late, Charity attempted to introduce herself.

"Leighton…Gus Leighton…of the Sahara Sands," he revealed on his way out. "Come and visit us, sometime…"

^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FIVE

"Oh, we walked right into his trap…" Charity folded her arms across her chest in a useless attempt to calm her anger. "If only I'd seen it."

^^^^^^^^

Ben took one look at Charity's determined expression and knew where they were headed. "I'll go make the reservations," he grumbled, downing his champagne in one gulp.

"I doubt he'll sell," Ivy tried to dissuade Charity from her plans.

But Charity's mind was made up. Reverently, her fingers reached out to gently brush the now empty easel.

"He'll sell…" Charity's answer was clear and resolute.

"All set," Ben returned, snapping his cell phone shut.

"That was fast," Charity delighted in the way Ben indulged her.

"Credit cards, Darlin'," he winked.

"You don't mind?" Charity was thoughtful enough to ask, at least.

"Aww, it'll be our second honeymoon," Ben put his arm around her, a big grin on his face.

If that month on Vashon didn't qualify as a honeymoon, then Ben Reardon didn't know what did. But, if it made Charity happy to consider their relationship as one long engagement, then who was he to argue. They'd marry eventually, he was sure of it, though it might take a year, or two…or twenty. However long it took, Ben planned on enjoying every single second of his life with the unpredictable and utterly delightful woman he loved with all his heart.

"C'mon," Ben invited irresistibly, giving Charity and encouraging kiss on the cheek, "let's play some cards and buy us a painting."


^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER SIX

"It was just as I imagined…" Charity whispered, the image still fresh.

"It?" Sophie questioned, surprised to see Peter shaking his head, obviously trying to control his anger.

"Not a painting at all, really," Charity recalled. "But a sketch of a woman - in charcoal. I would have known the artist purely by the vibrant pencil strokes alone."

As Charity paused for a breath, Sophie found herself holding hers.

"If you placed it over my desk, I swear it would be a match," Charity defended herself.

"Two women…so different…and yet, the sketches, the poses, were almost identical," she commented, as if that were enough.

"Over your desk?" Sophie repeated, confused.

"Grandpa Zack's portrait of his mother…" Peter knew Charity's prized possession quite well.

"Clarice," Charity nodded.

"So, you think the portrait you saw in Virginia City was done by Zack Lawson?" Sophie asked to be sure.

"Yes," Charity was sure. "It wasn't signed, but I know his style, his lines…"

"But the woman in the painting wasn't Clarice?" Sophie hadn't a clue about the woman's identity, but Peter did. He'd had a sinking feeling right from the start.

"She was wearing a locket with the initials L.C. engraved on it," Charity revealed. "Peter, it had to be her…"

"Her?" Sophie felt goosebumps begin to rise on her arms even though the jail's air-conditioning was set at a comfortable sixty-eight degrees.

"Lila Cohen…"

Peter began pacing back and forth in front of the cell. He'd anticipated where this story had to be going and, still, he couldn't believe it.

"Oh, please…" he groaned audibly, "Not the Legend of Lila Cohen, again…"

Charity's voice became harsh. "Don't take that tone with me, young man! Lila Cohen is not a legend!"

"Sure, and Abagail Bray is alive and well and living in Paris," Peter shot back.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute…" Fearing the cell bars weren't as strong as they looked, Sophie came between Charity and Peter - just in case.

"Explain…" Sophie demanded details. "Abagail Bray? Lila Cohen?"

"Abagail Bray…Sully's first wife, remember?" Peter reminded her. "She died in childbirth, along with their daughter, Hannah."

"Oh…" Sophie grew quiet at the mention of yet another first wife.

"And Lila Cohen," Charity began to explain.

"Is a myth…" Peter dismissed. "Nothing but a ghost."

"My Grandpa Zack didn't think so when he met her," Charity countered.

"If he met her…" Suspicious as always, Peter recalled there were two sides to every story and Katie Sully's version was very, very different.

"Zack was an old man…on his deathbed…and his vivid imagination was what made him such a great artist," Peter allowed kindly.

"We can't all be from Boston," Charity sniped at her godson.

Undaunted, Charity turned to Sophie, anxious to tell the story in her own words….

"You see, my dear, while Peter's family tree clearly descends from Sully and Michaela," Charity offered by way of explanation. "I'm afraid my great-granddaddy Hank never got around to marrying his first love, Clarice. They had one son together, Zack, who fathered the line of Lawsons which ends with me, today."

"Hank, Clarice, Zack…" Sophie repeated, trying to keep up. "Got it…"

"But what if there'd been another branch of the Lawson family?" Charity continued, keeping Sophie's rapt attention. "Granddaddy Hank wasn't exactly the celibate type…"

"Another branch?" Sophie questioned, fascinated. "You mean not from Clarice, but from…"

Somberly, Charity nodded.

"Lila Cohen…" she spoke softly.

Just the way Charity whispered the name held the spellbinding power of a ghost story told on Halloween night.

"It was the winter of 1867…" Charity described. "Hank was stranded in a blizzard up on the North Trail. Undoubtedly, he would have frozen to death, except that a band of Jewish settlers managed to rescue him. Among them, was a twenty-year-old girl named Lila Cohen."

"So, she did exist…" Sophie was entranced.

"Clarice had died a few years earlier and Hank had sent Zack to live with an elderly woman named Ruby Johnson. Hank was bitter, lonely, and alone. And then he met Lila…"

"Quiet, refined, beautiful…She'd been studying to be a nurse. And, in the five days, and nights, they were stranded together, Lila tended to him, she cared for him, and she loved him…"

"No one was more surprised than Hank. He'd never expected to love again, least of all a Jewish girl." Charity smiled just a bit. "Granddaddy Hank wasn't exactly the tolerant type, either…"

"What he and Lila shared was something neither of them could explain. From two different worlds, their lives together began and ended on that frozen mountain - just a single moment, frozen in time."

"Lila never asked for more than Hank could give," Charity told the story just as she'd remembered hearing it from Zack before he died.

"When the storm cleared, the settlers went their way, and Hank went his. But, before she left, Lila gave Hank a silver locket with her initials on it and a picture of her inside - a small token of remembrance."

"He never saw her again," Charity concluded sadly.

"But Zack did…" Sophie guessed correctly.

Charity smiled at Sophie's intuitiveness and continued with Zack's portion of the tale.

"It was November 1870. Zack had been attending The Wellman Art School in Denver, when, one day, a woman and her two-year-old daughter came to visit," Charity explained. "She introduced herself as Lila Cohen, a friend of his father's. She was charming, polite, and the visit lasted barely ten minutes."

"Later that month, Hank joined Zack in Denver for Thanksgiving. When Zack mentioned his previous guests, Hank blanched."

"Zack said it looked as if his father had seen a ghost…."

^^^^^^^^^^

"Ya sure her name was Cohen? Lila Cohen?" Hank badgered his son.

"Yeah, Pa…" Zack stuttered.

"What'd she look like?" Hank pressed, angrily.

"Don't know, Pa," Zack shrugged. Then, trying to be helpful, Zack pulled out a sketchpad and began to draw the person his brain wouldn't allow him to describe any other way.

But Hank had no time or patience. Frustrated, he pulled a shiny silver locket from his pocket and opened it for his son.

"This?" he demanded sharply. "Did she look like this?"

"Yeah, Pa," Zack replied with a smile. "She looked like that."

Inspired, Zack continued drawing, adding the pretty locket to his memories of the pretty lady. In no time at all, he'd sketched a perfect likeness of Lila. Hauntingly familiar to Hank, Zack's only thought was of the kind and gentle face the woman had. Except for the dark hair, she almost reminded him of his mother…

Furious, Hank tore the photograph to shreds and then proceeded to rip Zack's drawing into a million pieces, destroying it, as well.

"A daughter? She has a daughter?" he whispered under his breath, stunned by the news.

"Who…who is she, Pa?" Zack ventured, frightened.

Hank paced the room like a caged animal, then stopped. His life was no life for Lila. Never was and never would be. She probably found herself a good husband and, for all he knew, they had a couple of kids by now. None of them his. Doors that were shut needed to stay shut. Period.

Hank looked deep into his son's eyes and answered the question. "Nobody," he vowed. "She's nobody."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"But Zack couldn't get the image of the beautiful woman with the dark hair and loving smile out of his head," Charity continued. "So, when he returned to Denver, Zack sketched a new portrait of Lila - locket and all - keeping it with his other projects."

"Less than a month later, the woman returned for a final visit..."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"My daughter and I are leaving Denver, Zack," Lila said softly. "I just wanted to come and say goodbye. I enjoyed meeting you and I know you'll be a wonderful artist someday."

Suddenly, Lila's gaze fell on the portrait Zack had created of her. Slowly, she approached it and ran her fingers lightly over the canvas, pausing at the sight of the silver locket around her neck.

There was only one way Zack could know about the locket. He had to have told his father of her visit.

Lila took a deep, cleansing breath. There it was…she had her answer. Obviously, Hank's feelings hadn't changed a bit. He knew she was in Denver, knew she had a child, and still he hadn't tried to find her. Lila's hopes for a future with Hank had been dashed once again.

"I'm glad your father kept the locket," she continued, while Zack stood by, not letting on that he knew precious little of the story.

"He'll always be in my heart," Lila's voice was wistful.

In his usual, quiet, observant way, Zack made notice of the woman's tearful expression, the pain in her voice, and, most importantly, just how much the little girl with her reminded him of his pa.

It would be years later, as he grew to manhood, that Zack would put the pieces of the puzzle together. Years before he would ultimately confront Hank with the realization that that little girl Lila Cohen had brought to visit him had, in fact, been his sister….

Suddenly, Lila realized Zack was waiting for her approval of his work.

"I'm…flattered, Zack," she said, visibly moved.

"Here…" Zack stuttered, rushing exuberantly to the sketch. "Keep it…"

His Pa didn't want it. He'd even gone so far as to rip up his photograph of the nice lady. Why not give her this painting as a goodbye present?

"Mama, carriage…" Fascinated by the horses outside the window, the little girl raced to tug at her mother's sleeve.

As Lila moved toward her, the young child finally had a clear view of her mother's portrait. "Oooh, pretty…" she exclaimed excitedly.

"You're pretty, too," Zack responded guilelessly, for the girl had won his friendship already.

Lila stood very still, watching Hank's two children, so at ease with each other.

Absorbing the moment fully, a tear fell upon her cheek. Zack was older and his hair was lighter, but they both possessed Hank's cobalt blue eyes and his mischievous crooked smile.

"Come, Chava," Lila smiled lovingly at her daughter.

"I shall treasure this always, Zack," Lila promised, taking the painting in one hand and her little girl by the other. "It will remain in my family forever."

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