William Thatcher stepped off the elevator and into a hotel lobby filled with mass confusion. A frenzied crowd pushed toward a window off the east wing, where billows of black smoke could clearly be seen past the panes. Thatcher pressed through the throng to observe where the smoke was coming from. When he reached the window, his knees went weak - for just outside the building, parked in the side parking lot, was a familiar black Dodge automobile engulfed in flames.
He stared in shock as firemen arrived with a hose, stretching it toward the destruction. Then he looked down between the open door and the door jam. The blood drained from his face. He saw a lifeless hand draped in a woolen cloak that he recognized immediately. His daughter had purchased it for her husband with money from her teacher's salary, and Lucas had been so proud.
Thatcher raised a hand to his head, and his vision began to blur. It couldn't be! The man who had become the son he'd always wanted was gone? He felt sick.
Turning around, Thatcher stumbled through the crowd, his ashen features communicating devastation. He reached as far as the lobby and fell into a chair as another thought came to mind. Elizabeth! How will I tell Elizabeth? From out of the corner of his eye, he saw men rushing in from the outside, but they didn't matter. He could barely think. This couldn't be happening.
"Thatcher! William Thatcher! Where is he? Where's Lucas?"
William raised his eyes slowly as Harry St. James hurried to his side. St. James had heard the explosion when he was only a few blocks away and had returned to see what had happened.
William didn't respond.
St. James knelt beside him and then touched his arm. "William? Did you hear me? Are you okay? Where is Lucas?"
Thatcher stared vacantly - his mouth trying to form words, though none would come. Finally, an agonizing utterance was made. "Gone."
St. James furrowed his brow. "Who? Lucas? Where did he go?"
"We've failed." Thatcher raised his hand and lazily pointed it toward the window, and St. James immediately understood.
Taking Thatcher's other arm in his hand, he shook him lightly to gain his focus. "William. If you're referring to the car, the man inside isn't Bouchard. It's Spencer. Allistair Spencer."
A bewildered Thatcher processed his words. "What?!"
"I left Lucas in Spencer's care before leaving for the university. I got delayed getting out of here and was only a few blocks away when I heard the explosion. I came back to investigate. The man inside the car is Sir Allistair. Not your son-in-law. We need to find your son-in-law."
Before Elizabeth's father could say another word, a man approached them both with an envelope in hand. "Mr. Thatcher! Mr. Thatcher! I have something for you."
St. James stood as the man drew near and relaxed when he recognized the hotel manager – one of the few men at the location who knew of their situation. An overwhelmed Thatcher looked up.
"I have a letter for you," the manager said, passing the paper to Elizabeth's father. "The other man in charge of security, Mr. Spencer, handed it to me shortly before the explosion. He said if I saw you this afternoon that I was to give it to you. He said it was important and, well…. with all the confusion."
St. James thanked the manager, who nodded and then walked away, and the two veteran agents huddled together as Thatcher opened the envelope. A key fell out onto his lap, which he handed to St. James.
"What's it say?" Harry asked.
Thatcher began to softly read the note out loud.
Dear William,
I am writing this letter as I prepare to leave the hotel to go confront Al Capone and two of his helpers, Sammy Marchesi and Jimmy Castello. It is my intent that you will never read it. However, if, by some twist of Providence, it has reached you, it can only mean one thing. Some disturbance has caused you to leave your room, and I am dead.
Thatcher looked at St. James as the realization struck him that Spencer knew what he was walking into. He returned to the letter.
Seeing this be the case, there are several things that you must know as I leave the remainder of my work to you and to St. James. I know you will succeed where I have failed. First, know this - Lucas is safe."
William stopped reading and brought the letter in his trembling hand up to his mouth. He looked at St. James with eager eyes and, with a shaky voice, returned to his reading.
You will find him in room 207."
"Let's go!" St. James said. "We can finish reading upstairs."
The two men stood and moved as quickly as they could to the elevator, the chaotic scene in the lobby now of secondary importance given Lucas was alive. A few minutes later, they burst into the room, and Thatcher rushed to Bouchard, who was lying still in the middle of the bed, one hand handcuffed to the headboard, having not moved at all since Spencer left him.
"Lucas, can you hear me?" William asked, shaking him to no avail.
"He's out," St. James responded, holding up a vial to where Thatcher could see. "Spencer's got him drugged - Medinal."
"What's that?" William asked.
"A sleeping medication. Judging from what's left in the vial, he's going to be out for a while."
"But he's going to be okay?"
"Is he breathing, okay?"
"Yes."
"He should be fine," St. James replied.
Thatcher looked at the sleeping Bouchard and sighed. "I am so relieved! But Allistair? My friend? What has he done?"
"Whatever he felt he needed to do to keep Bouchard safe. He must have thought he had no other choice."
"God rest his soul," Thatcher responded, affectionately placing his hand on Lucas's shoulder.
"Do you mind?" St. James asked, motioning toward the letter that Thatcher had laid on the bed. William nodded, and Harry picked up the letter, then sat on the edge of the bed and continued to read.
I have received word from my informants that Capone's gang plans to move out on assassinating Lucas today. They were not able to tell what form this hit will take, but given the covert way in which Capone operates, I feel that I'm the only member of the team with the experience and insight into his ways to stop him. It is my belief that he will strike early rather than later as after the debate, there will be too many people around to affect the hit. So, I'm leaving the hotel dressed as Lucas, assuming that someone is watching and will follow me. On my person, I carry enough weaponry of a high enough caliber that I believe I can best him, still being the top shot in our class. However, if I should fall, know this, I have lived my life in the way I've wanted, and I can think of no better cause to sacrifice myself for than for my country and my friend, who deserves every opportunity to live a full and happy life as I have.
But enough with sentiment. We are reasonable men, and we must return to the reason I am writing. Up until recently, Al Capone was staying at the MacDonald, a few blocks from where you are now. He checked out on the twenty-sixth and appears to have moved to a lodge just outside of town. The Faraday is somewhat secluded and a better place for them to stay away from the hustle of the city. If they attack this afternoon as planned, I'd send agents there immediately. Perhaps you can catch them before they get away. You can take advantage of the fact that they may believe Lucas is dead and will probably stay where they are, knowing there are likely to be checkpoints throughout town.
As for Bertram, communication between him and Torrio's team has slowed, and the word on the street is that he's not happy about it. He may prove a cooperative witness and want to make a deal. But if it were me personally, I'd nail his hide to the wall. I see nothing redeemable about his character. He deserves to lose it all.
Finally, William, I ask that you take care of yourself and your precious family. You have been blessed beyond measure and should enjoy the time you have left with them to the fullest. Tell Lucas not to worry. This was my choice, and I'm so very proud of the man he has become.
Until we meet again, my friend, cheerio!
Allistair
In Hope Valley, a group of townspeople was gathered at the Queen of the Valley, ready to listen to the debate. Henry was there, as was Abigail, and together with Minnie and Joseph, they were supplying the town with debate day desserts to go along with the election hors d'oeuvres that Gustave had made. Molly stayed close to Bill, who defied Emily's orders to stay in bed. And Ned and Florence provided entertainment, singing songs from a decade ago that everyone knew and could sing along with while they waited for the radio broadcast to begin.
At the Grants' rowhouse, Nathan was resting on the couch while Emily made them dinner, and Allie was upstairs reading Jack a bedtime story. With a little boy in the house, it had been far from a quiet day – but Grant found it delightful and wondered how long it would be before he and Emily would welcome their own little noise maker to the home.
And a few doors down, Lee and Rosemary sat talking and waiting for their dear friend's debut on the debate stage. Rosemary was in a very cheerful mood and seemed so much more like her old self – already planning for what would occur when Lucas won.
At six o'clock, Ned shushed the crowd at the Queen, telling them the debate was just about to begin, and everyone took their seat. Mike and Fiona sat apart, both feeling a distance that neither liked but didn't know how to address. At some point, they knew they needed to talk – but not today.
Fifteen minutes passed by, and the noise volume in the restaurant began to rise again as people became impatient for the debate to begin.
"I wonder what the holdup is?" Archie Grant asked, he and Constance having stayed in town until their son was back on his feet.
"I hope everything's okay," Sarah Hill said.
"I'm sure it's fine," Mary Weise replied.
Just then, the announcer on the radio broke through with an announcement that none would forget.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this just in. We apologize for the delay in our scheduled programming, but we've just received word that the debate tonight between Parliamentarian Lyndon Bertram and his challengers has been canceled.
The group at the Queen emitted a low groan, and in each home, listeners looked at one another with confusion.
"You mean I came all the way out…." One man at the Queen said, only to be elbowed by his wife.
Gustave turned and gave him a withering look, causing to man to shrink down.
"Details are sketchy," the announcer continued, "But according to sources, it appears that one of the candidates, Lucas Bouchard of Hope Valley, was killed today when his automobile exploded just outside the Blumberg Hotel. Stay tuned to this network for more details as they become available."
A stunned Emily sat down on the couch next to her equally stunned husband, neither knowing what to say. At the Coulters, Rosemary began to cry, falling into Lee's arms as it seemed history had repeated itself in their dear friend's life. And at the Queen, Hope Valley sat dismayed.
"This can't be true," Molly said. "I just saw him!"
"It's not true!" Florence agreed, but when the two women looked at each other, the look in their eyes betrayed their unbelief.
Fiona stood and began to cry, immediately leaving the venue. Mike saw her and followed.
Joseph, once he had recovered from the shock, stood and offered to pray. Nobody commented. Nobody could. There just weren't any words. It was a simple prayer, just a few words, but typical of the pastor of Hope Valley in that, in its simplicity, it contained profound wisdom.
"Dear Lord, we confess our hearts are confused and broken right now. We don't understand. Yet we know you are in control. And so, we look to you. Give us comfort. Give Elizabeth and Jack comfort even more. And show us what we can do to be a good help to them and carry on the work which Lucas has started. It's in Jesus' name that I as these things, Amen."
In the Thatcher hotel room, Elizabeth was beside herself, even though she hadn't heard the news.
"Where is he? The debate has started!" she said, pacing the floor.
"Your father should be here soon," Grace replied. "Come, sit down."
"Mother, it's seven fifteen! He's been gone for over an hour! You don't…you don't think something has happened, do you?" she asked. "Oh, my goodness!"
Before Grace could answer, Elizabeth had picked up the phone.
"Who are you calling?"
Elizabeth ignored the question. "Yes, this is Elizabeth Bouchard in suite 515. My father, William…."
"…is here!" Just then, the door to the suite opened, and William entered. "Get your things. We've got to go."
"Never mind." Elizabeth hung up the phone. "Why? What has happened?"
"We've got to leave. I'll explain on the way." Thatcher replied.
Grace didn't have to be told and quickly gathered a few items for herself and Elizabeth and was ready to go in less than a minute. Elizabeth joined them at the door.
"Is Lucas alright?" a worried Elizabeth asked as they traveled down the hallway.
Thatcher took her by the arm and led her to the elevator. "He'll be fine."
"Will be?! Father?!"
"No more talking! Keep your head down, and do not speak to anyone. Do you understand?"
"But Sir Allistair – "
"Is dead," William said bluntly.
Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. "What?"
"Come now," Thatcher replied. "We mustn't delay."
Elizabeth stepped into room 207 and immediately rushed to her sleeping husband. "Lucas?! Darling?"
"He's alright," William said as Elizabeth looked up at him in desperation. "He's just been given some sleep medication."
"Medication? Why?" she asked.
"To prevent him from going to the debate," Harry St. James replied, stepping forward. "Spencer received a credible threat that Capone and his gang were going to execute a hit on your husband today. He incapacitated him for his own protection and decided to take on the threat himself – losing his life in the process."
"Allistair is a hero," Grace said, taking a seat across the room. Elizabeth was too dumbstruck to speak.
"There's more," St. James interjected. "Allistair left a note telling our agents where Capone and his men were last seen. Our men just raided the place, and one of Capone's men was killed. The other escaped. Capone was nowhere to be seen."
"So, you're saying he's loose?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes. Which means you and your husband are still in danger. That's why we brought you downstairs. We need to move you to a safe house. It's the only way I know to protect you." St. James said.
"Yes, of course," Elizabeth replied, taking her husband by the hand. "How long do you think he'll be asleep?"
"It's hard to say," St. James said. "I know we can't wait around here for him to wake up."
"Well, what are you going to do?" Grace asked.
"We'll have to carry him out," St. James said.
Emily walked back into the living room after checking on Jack. "He's asleep, thank goodness. He's a smart little boy. I would hate for him to pick up on something and for his mum not to be here."
Nathan was sitting up on the couch and nodded but was barely listening.
"Would you like me to make you some…." Emily stopped when she saw Nathan close his eyes.
"Tea? No thanks." Grant shook his head, clearly struggling. "I can't believe it. I just spoke with him. We…. we were going to beef up his security when he got back. They're federal agents. How could this happen?"
"The men they are up against are formidable foes. It's my understanding that the Chicago police even have a difficult time with them."
"That's because many of them are bought. Big Jim Colosimo, the Black Hand, Torrio – they roll into a city and take it over through bribes and intimidation."
"They must not care about their town," Emily stated.
"Not enough," Nathan agreed. "But I do, which is why I should have done more to protect him, to stand with him. He was doing this for all of us. I should have done more."
"Nathan, may I remind you that you were shot standing with him?"
"I was doing my duty as a Mountie. That comes with the territory. But Hope Valley is my home town too. I should have gotten more involved as a citizen, as a father, as a friend." Grant lowered his head, then raised his hand to his face, wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. "He deserved that much. I should have done more."
Emily had no answers for her husband other than the one answer he needed, her love and compassion. She held him in her arms.
"They're never going to believe this!" Elizabeth said, pulling her hair back into a bun.
"Why not?" Grace asked, tightening the apron around Elizabeth's maid's dress.
"It doesn't even fit!" Bouchard replied, pointing to her tummy.
"Are you ladies ready?" William asked. He, too, was dressed as hotel staff with a maroon vest and grey trousers.
"I look ridiculous," Elizabeth said.
"You do not, dear," Grace replied, putting Elizabeth's maid cap on her head and straightening her own.
"It's only for a few minutes," William looked at his ladies and couldn't help but chuckle. "If the Kensingtons could see us now."
"They'd faint," Grace chuckled.
Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to laugh. A killer was hot on their trail, and now was not the time for levity.
The Thatchers and Elizabeth exited the lavatory, reentering the bedroom, which was suddenly much fuller than before. St James and two SIS agents had rolled a large laundry cart into the bedroom and were about to fill it with human cargo.
Elizabeth looked with curiosity at the cart. "Wait a minute. He's not going to ride in that, is he?"
"Afraid so," St. James said. "Your husband is a big man. We can't just stuff him into a trunk."
"What about a wheelchair?" Grace asked.
"Too risky. With the news being out that he's been killed if someone were to recognize…."
"Wait! It's in the news already?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes, all over North America," St. James said.
"No! I need to call my in-laws! I need to call back home!" she said, moving toward the phone. St. James stopped her.
"You need to stop thinking about the people back home and think about your safety," St. James said sharply. "I'm sorry for speaking so harshly, Mrs. Bouchard, but we have one job and one job only right now, and that's to get you and your husband to safety. You can call his parents when we get there. The people in Hope Valley will get over it when they see you alive."
Elizabeth held her peace, knowing he was right.
On the count of three, two SIS agents took Lucas's top half, and William and St. James lifted his lower half as they carried him to the cart.
"Careful with his prosthetic," Elizabeth warned her father, who was on Lucas's left side.
"I didn't forget," Thatcher replied, watching the sides of the cart as they lowered him inside. With Lucas's long limbs, he barely fit.
Once in place, the men stripped the bed of all linens and, removed the towels and robe from the bathroom, then piled them on top of him. A few minutes later, St. James and his men left the room to go get their transportation, and the Thatcher-Bouchards began working their way down the hallway.
Few of the hotel staff knew that SIS was present, so staying inconspicuous was going to be key if they were to escape. They made it to the elevator without any problem, but as they reached the first floor, a clerk delayed them.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked gruffly.
Elizabeth backed away toward the back of the cart near her mother while her father stepped forward.
"We're just taking the cart to the laundry room," he explained.
"The laundry room is in the back. Are you new?" the man asked suspiciously. "I haven't seen any of you around."
Around this time, Elizabeth heard a moan from inside the cart.
"What was that?" the man asked, looking her direction.
"My stomach," she lied, rubbing her belly. "I haven't had any dinner."
William put an arm around the man and led him away from the cart just as Elizabeth watched some of the laundry begin to move. Seconds later, a shock of dark hair began to emerge. Elizabeth's eyes grew wide, and she grabbed a pillow. She forced Lucas back down into the cart.
"We really need to go," she stated, looking to her father, who glanced at the cart and saw Bouchard's left hand reaching out from underneath a blanket.
"I agree!" he said quickly. "We understand the issue. No linens in the lobby. I promise we won't make that mistake again," he said as he turned around and began pushing the cart.
"Wait a minute!" the clerk said. "I wasn't finished!"
"Have some compassion! This young lady hasn't had her dinner," Thatcher replied.
"But…."
"You wait here, and perhaps we can chat later." Before the man could respond, William turned the corner with the cart and began speeding it down the hall. "Time to make a run for it," he said, reaching another hallway and making the turn with little difficulty.
Finally, they reached the back door, where St. James was there to greet them.
"Hurry, hurry!" he said, motioning for them to move.
The cart jostled erratically down a couple of steps, causing Lucas to groan loudly.
"Be careful!" Elizabeth said, rushing toward the open doors to a waiting furniture van.
St. James helped her to get inside, and William and Grace followed while SIS agents lifted the entire laundry cart and shoved it through the back door. Before St. James was able to get into the passenger's seat, Elizabeth was on her feet, fishing for her husband in the cart.
"Elizabeth! Sit down!" Grace said.
The driver hit the gas, and Elizabeth toppled straight into the cart, landing on top of Lucas.
"Help me! Help!" a muffled voice said from below. "Someone's trying to kill me!"
"Guess who's awake?" Grace whispered to William.
"Lucas!" Elizabeth said, narrowly avoiding being hit by his flailing arms.
"Help me! Someone help! I'm being kidnapped! They are trying to kill me!"
"Lu-kiss…calm down!" she said. "Will you…. will you lis-ten! I'm not …."
Lucas continued to struggle, and St. James offered to have one of his men step in, but Elizabeth didn't hear him because of the commotion.
"Lucas! Listen to me! Look at me! I am not trying to kill you. I'm trying to help you!"
He struggled to right himself, twisting away from her and reaching for the top of the cart. "By smothering me?"
"Lucas! I - I didn't try to smother you!"
"Yes, you did!" he said, trying to stand. She pushed him back down.
"When?"
"Back there! I was trying to sit up, and you pressed a pillow over my face," he said, finally looking at her.
"That's because you were making too much noise!"
"That never seemed to bother you before."
"Lucas!" she said, shoving him.
William looked at Grace and rolled his eyes, and Elizabeth's mother chuckled.
"Lucas, look at me," she said, grabbing him by his face. "It's me. Elizabeth. I promise I would not try to smother you. Darling, you've been drugged, and you're not thinking straight."
"But…." he stopped fighting her and looked confused. "You didn't try to kill me?"
"No! Why on earth would I try to do that?"
Lucas nodded, some reasonableness returning to his mind. "Is the debate over?" he asked.
"There was no debate."
"But Spence…."
"We'll talk about it later," she said, drawing him close to her bosom. "For now, just rest."
"Fiona, slow down!" Mike sprinted to catch up with Fiona, who had somehow made her way down to the dock by the church pond. She leaned over the railing in tears, refusing to look up.
"Go away, Mike. I want to be alone."
"Fiona, I don't think that's a good idea."
She didn't respond.
"Is it okay if I just stay here with you? I mean, he was my friend too," he asked.
She took a deep breath. "It's more than just that. It's…it's all falling apart."
"What do you mean?" Mike said, coming behind her and placing his hand on her shoulder.
She didn't speak for several seconds but finally turned to him. "It's not supposed to be this way. Young men are not supposed to die, and young women aren't supposed to enter widowhood for a second time. And this town wasn't supposed to change. But it is. And I look around and see where I'm losing all my friends. First Faith moved, and now Lucas…."
Mike furrowed his brow. "I'm always going to be your friend."
She smiled sadly. "But it's different now. I've gone and ruined everything. I mean, we're different. Something's changed."
"Fiona. Do you want to know why I backed away? I was scared. I mean, here you are, this beautiful, smart, bold, dynamic thunderbolt of a woman lighting up the sky, and here I am, this puny little cloud …."
"Oh!" Fiona began to cry harder and turned on her heels, walking toward the road.
"What? What did I say?" Mike said, trying to follow. "Fi. Talk to me. Please! Help me understand!"
She turned back around. "I thought you understood me. I thought you were different than the others. I've had men tell me I'm too bold all my life, but you – you seemed to get me – or at least I thought you did. Mike, I'm not a thunderbolt, and I'm not lighting up anybody's sky. I'm a woman who just lost a dear friend and is scared to death that some evil gangsters are going to come in and take over everything – and…" she began to cry more. "I'm…. I'm missing my friend….and I wish I could just turn things back and just…."
Mike moved over to her and wrapped his arms around her, letting her sob into his jacket. He didn't say anything but just held her for as long as she needed it.
Finally, when her tears began to subside, he touched her face.
"Please don't cry, and don't you worry. I'm not going to let any gangsters come in and harm you, and you haven't lost your friend. I'm not going anywhere, and we haven't ruined anything. I promise. Can we try this again?"
She shook her head. "Mike, you don't have to…."
"I want to," he replied. "I'm sorry that I referred to you in a way that made it seem like I don't think of you as human. I know you are. I think we just operate at different speeds. But I'm willing to try if you're willing to be patient."
Fiona reached out and touched his cheek, then smiled. "I think I'd like that."
Mike nodded agreeably, then offered his arm. "Can I take you back to town? Maybe buy you a sarsaparilla?"
She began to walk with him. "I doubt they are serving anything. Everyone is so upset over the news."
"You're probably right," he replied. "Can I walk you home?"
She nodded. "I think that sounds nice."
Lucas lay on a couch, staring into the fireplace and listening at the bustling room about him, wondering how they could all seem so oblivious given all that had happened. Elizabeth, of course, was excused. She was doing him a favor by taking on the onerous task of speaking to his parents – explaining what she believed to be true - that he was safe but too tired to talk. But it was the rest of them. So many of them. If this was a safe house, why did so many know about it?
Thatcher, St. James, and some newly arrived officers were at the coffee table across the room, planning and plotting their next line of attack. Grace was busy in the kitchen, seeing what snack she could line up for the group. On the opposite side of the room, new agents were being educated about Torrio, Capone, and Bertram – the whole case.
It seemed a good thing to him that most believed he was still under the influence of the Medinal, but that wasn't the case. The effects of the sleep medication wore off the moment Elizabeth had explained to him what had happened to Spence. What a brave and foolhardy act – and for him? Despite the fact that he had no say in the situation, Bouchard felt ashamed.
Elizabeth slipped into the room to check on him, which normally would have been a comfort. She saw that his eyes were open and knelt beside him, gently stroking his arm and then the side of his head.
"Do you feel like anything to eat?" she asked softly, brushing some hair off his forehead.
Lucas looked straight ahead, watching the flickering flames, then shook his head no.
Elizabeth leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "I understand." She sat down on the floor next to the couch and leaned her head against the armrest. "Your mother and father are fine. I tracked them down in London, and because of the time difference, they hadn't even heard. I know for now we're not allowed to call anyone, but…."
"Call Nathan," Lucas said. "Tell him I'm alive and that we need to talk when we get home."
Elizabeth thought for a moment, regarding the serious expression on Lucas's face and wondering what he was thinking. "I will speak with father and get permission. The Grants are taking care of Jack, so it should be allowed."
Lucas nodded once and then closed his eyes, so Elizabeth pulled a throw blanket up over his shoulders, bidding him to rest.
"Lee. Are you awake?" Rosemary asked, rolling over in their bed to face him.
Like most residents of Hope Valley, Lee hadn't slept a wink the entire evening, thinking about Lucas, worrying about Elizabeth, and considering what sort of role he would now play in the life of young Jack and the baby yet to come. All of this news was bad enough, but adding to these burdens was the fact he was the town's mayor and the thought of what would become of the Hope Valley plagued him.
"I'm awake," he said softly.
"We need to think of something to do for Elizabeth when she returns. And, I was thinking, she doesn't need to be in that big house alone. So, if I can move in there…."
Lee turned to his wife. "Rosemary, you can't. You're not able."
"I feel okay."
"Because you're following Emily and the Obstetrician's orders. And if you did go over there, you'd just be another person for her to worry over. Besides, I'm sure her parents will stay with her – at least for a while."
Rosemary sighed. "You're probably right. I just wish I could do more!"
Lee shook his head. "I know what you mean."
The room was quiet for over a minute while Lee stared at the ceiling, and Rosemary watched him.
"What are you thinking?" she finally asked.
Lee inhaled. "Oh, of how good it felt the other day to receive that photo telegraph. I knew it was important and that it was somehow helping Lucas in the cause to save this town. But you know, now that I look back on it, I think maybe I should have been leading this charge, not him."
"You?"
"Yes. I'm the town's mayor. Lucas is…wasn't a politician. He was a businessman, a husband, and a father. He was our friend, and here he was with his life on the line, and what was I doing to help? Perhaps if I'd done more, he'd still be alive."
"Lee, it was Lucas's decision to run for office," she replied. "You can't feel responsible for decisions he made."
"I suppose you're right," he replied. "But now he's gone, and we're faced with the possibility of losing this town. It IS my responsibility to see to it that it doesn't happen. I just wish I knew how.
The sun rose over Hope Valley, and Bill Avery rose with it, ever so carefully getting himself cleaned up and then slipping into a suit in preparation for a train ride he intended to make later that morning. For the trip, he holstered his pistol, though he doubted he'd have to use it.
Elizabeth Bouchard was like a daughter to him, and Lucas, a man he'd grown to admire and respect. Therefore, despite the fact she was with actual family, he had telephoned the closest train station first thing that morning and had purchased a ticket to Edmonton, intent on accompanying them home. He'd asked Molly to take him to the station, and, at first, she refused. But when he told her that if she didn't drive, he'd jump on Hero and make the trip to Edmonton on horseback, she relented.
In his day, Avery had witnessed much that had caused sorrow, but nothing had affected him like hearing the news that Lucas had been murdered. As a lawman, he was angry, and he could just imagine what he'd do to Capone if he was ever to meet him. But as a father figure and a friend, he was grieving. Elizabeth's first husband, Jack Thornton, had been his closest friend, and it was over his death that he and Elizabeth had bonded. Which is why he was happy when she found love a second time. But now, Bouchard too? It was so senseless and evil.
He grumbled something under his breath when he reached for his coffee cup in the cupboard and felt a pain in his side. He knew he shouldn't be traveling, but just like he always did, he would push through it and do what needed to be done. A knock came on his door. His ride had arrived.
"Come in," he said, inviting the fiery redhead, who was one of the few women he knew that would put up with him into his home.
Molly entered, looking around the sparsely decorated bachelor's pad that she'd seen for the first time only recently, her mind immediately thinking it needed a feminine touch.
"I'll be right with you," Bill said, slogging down a cup of hot black coffee and taking a bite of a day-old muffin from Abigail's. "How are the roads?"
"They're fine," Molly said. "But I wish you'd reconsider."
"Now, I told you…."
"Yes, Bill. I know. You said if I didn't drive you, you'd jump on Hero and ride to Edmonton yourself."
"And I meant it," he replied.
Molly pursed her lips and glared at him.
"Fine," he responded. "I'm stubborn. Just say it!"
"Oh, I'd never say that," Molly replied.
"But you'd think it," he said. "But the truth is, I'm doing this because it feels like one of the few things that I can do in order to ease Elizabeth's burden. That girl deserves some happiness, and if it means a little discomfort and inconvenience, I don't care. And if people want to judge me for it, so be it. It's the way it is."
Molly crossed the room and placed her hand on Bill's cheek. "Bill Avery, I know under all of that coarse exterior lies a heart of gold. No judgment is coming from me. I promise."
Bill's lips curved upward into a small smile. That woman.
At the safe house, there were doors opening and closing all morning long, making sleep, even if that were possible, a distant stranger. Elizabeth was worried - worried over Lucas, worried over Jack, worried over the threat which loomed over them.
But Lucas was quiet. A prisoner to the dark thoughts of his head, Bouchard couldn't stop ruminating about all that had happened and about what had brought them to his point. He, too, imagined what he would do to Capone if he saw him, but these visions were things that he knew he could never follow through on. So he tried to concentrate on what he could learn, but with every thought and every remembrance came an overwhelming sense of guilt that he couldn't shake. He'd failed them all.
A loud call went out within the house as Harry St. James asked all agents to gather in the formal living room for their next assignments. The Bouchards knew St. James and Elizabeth's father had been working on a plan since the previous night, but they were too upset to engage. But with the newness of the morning came a new resolve – at least in Elizabeth's eyes. Lucas was a different story.
"Okay, gentlemen. Here's where we're at," St. James said. "Our agents and the Mounted Police have been working on a joint operation going house to house around Edmonton looking for Capone and his cohort, Sammy Marchesi." He reached in between the papers inside a clipboard he carried in his hand and pulled out two photographs. One, they recognized as Capone. The other was a mugshot of a dark, ominous-looking man with a hardened expression who appeared to be of Mediterranean descent. "So far, they've found nothing. This means Bouchard is still in danger, and we're going to have to give his and his family's security our utmost attention."
"You weren't before?" Elizabeth asked in an uncharacteristically confrontational way.
"Pardon?" St. James asked.
"You were supposed to be providing the best protection for my husband and our family before, and yet your men apparently stood around looking like department store mannequins while someone was able to not only get to his car but rig it with explosives for the second time in so many weeks."
"For which I take responsibility," St. James said. "I had asked my lieutenant to see to it that the parking area was secure but had been unclear in my instructions – which is why I've called this meeting now to make sure we have any and all questions out of the way.
Now, in the case of Lyndon Bertram, he was questioned and released and, according to headquarters, is not being treated publicly as a person of interest. Of course, privately, we know he is involved. Bauer, Miller, and Eckstein, you are being assigned to tail him. Parton, we will be taking advantage of your wiretap capabilities in order to intercept any communication that he has with Capone that might lead us to where he is hanging out. We know they'll talk because they're going to want to finalize their business since we're going to continue to fake Lucas's death."
"No," Lucas said.
St. James furrowed his brow. "No? No, they're not going to want to talk?"
Lucas looked to St. James with a steely expression. "No, you're not going to fake my death."
"We're not?" Harry asked. "What other plan do you have to catch Capone?"
"I have none," Lucas said, lowering his eyes. "I'm done. I'm dropping out of the race."
"You're what?" St. James asked, astonished.
"What about the election? What about Hope Valley?" William asked. "Have you forgotten you're doing this for my grandchildren's future?"
"A future hiding away in safe houses? Dodging bullets? Checking for explosives? What kind of life is that? William, when I agreed to run, I said I was going to do so on my own terms and in my own way, and I had a plan for what would happen. However, if I've learned anything from this venture, it's that literally nothing has gone according to plan, and now, a man is dead – a mutual friend of ours who was removed from this world before he even knew what hit him."
"He knew the risk," St. James said.
"And so do I," Lucas replied, his eyes whelming up. "I'm not your savior, and I'm not the town's savior. I'm just one man who wants to live in peace and do the best I can for my family and community. I tried to stand, but it's clear that I'm woefully outgunned in this game, and if there is anything that I've learned as a gambler, it's that you have to know when to bow out of the game. Three attempts have been made on my life by Capone. One of my friends is dead, and another injured. I will not tempt fate a fourth time. We're going home, and the announcement of my withdrawal will be in the morning paper."
In the midst of shock and disapproval, Lucas stood to his feet and offered his hand to Elizabeth. "Shall we? I'd like to see where they've stored our things, then have one of these, um… department store mannequins to give us a ride. That is if you can still stand to be seen with your failed politician husband."
Elizabeth took his hand. "Lucas, you've failed at nothing, and you have my unconditional love and support no matter where we go. And despite all of this, you're still the most honorable man I know."
Lucas smiled softly as she took his arm, then the two of them walked back to their bedroom and prepared to go.
Joseph arrived at the Grant's rowhouse a little after noon with Minnie at his side. The pastor's wife came to get Jack to take him down to see his auntie Rosemary to allow the adults to have privacy to talk. The child, of course, had been told nothing of what had happened with his father, though he was perceptive enough to know something wasn't right. Still, he didn't question them, instead choosing to be the good little boy his mother and later his father had raised him to be.
While Emily made fresh coffee, the pastor and Nathan sat across from one another in the living room. Their intent was to plan a funeral.
"Pastor, thanks for stopping by. I know Elizabeth isn't going to be in good shape to get all this started – and of course, her wishes will trump anything we come up with, but I want to help where I can. For example, I know the funeral will be at capacity, so I'm arranging for the Mounties to patrol the area to make sure everything stays orderly."
"Of course, of course," Joseph said. "Do you have any idea when it will take place?"
Nathan paused. "I'm not sure. Not to sound gruesome, but it kind of depends on the shape of the…um…." He stopped speaking and looked away, holding up his finger. So much of his life, he had been trained to be dispassionate about the reality of death – but to have it hit so close to home, with a friend with whom he'd been through so much. It wasn't getting easier. He cleared his throat. "Of course, she could just have a memorial service rather than a wake."
"Here you are," Emily said, bringing a tray with a coffee pot and three cups on it to the couch. As she poured the brew, she told Joseph that she'd like to be involved with decorations. "I know where I can get some lovely flowers this time of year, havin' just planned my wedding. I think Lucas's favorites were roses."
Nathan looked at her and smiled. "How'd you know that?"
"From when he was my patient back in Baltimore. He used to order them for Elizabeth every week, and he'd give detailed descriptions of everything he wanted."
Nathan chuckled. "That sounds like him."
Just then, the telephone rang. Grant took a sip of his coffee and hoisted himself up, not spilling a drop as he winked at his wife, showing off over how mobile he was becoming. He smiled and then lifted the receiver.
"Hello?"
Grant's coffee cup came crashing to the ground when Lucas's voice said hello on the other end. On the other end of the line, he could hear Florence weeping and Ned's concerned voice asking her what was wrong.
Emily and Joseph stood, watching Nathan with concern as the shocked Mountie tried to process everything that was being said to him. Finally, he spoke up.
"Um…I…I don't mean to interrupt …. but how? Lucas, we thought you were dead! How are you calling me?"
Emily and Joseph's faces lit up with relief while Nathan listened as Lucas told him about the explosion and how he had lived.
"But more about that later," Bouchard said. "Our train is about to board. If Emily will allow it, would you mind picking Elizabeth and me up at the train station? We should be home around four."
"Absolutely," Nathan smiled. "Anything!"
"Excellent!" Lucas said. "We'll see you then."
"Sounds good," Nathan replied. "Oh, and Lucas…."
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're not dead."
"Yeah, me too," Lucas smiled and hung up the phone.
Walking away from the phone booth, he returned to Elizabeth, who was being dutifully guarded by a SIS agent. He looked at the man appreciatively. "Thank you for watching her," he said. "But you are hereby relieved of duty. Your mission is at an end."
"But sir," he protested.
Lucas touched his shoulder. "I know. You have your orders. But that was for a parliamentary candidate – which is something I no longer am. I'm carrying my sidearm and think we'll be okay."
"Yes sir," the man replied.
After he had walked away, Lucas looked at his wife with love emanating from his eyes. "Shall we go?" he asked.
Elizabeth smiled as he took her bag.
Just as they reached the turnstile, Lucas stopped just as he handed his ticket to the ticket counter. He tapped Elizabeth on the arm, and she looked up.
"Bill?" she asked as the familiar man at the next turnstile over started to exit the station.
Avery stopped in his tracks and just looked at the two of them with his mouth agape.
"What are you doing here?" Lucas asked.
Avery gained control of his demeanor and smirked. "I've come to accompany your wife back home – but since you're here – I trust there's a good story behind this?"
"Good?" Elizabeth said. "I'm not sure those are the precise words I'd use to describe it. But there is a story. That's for sure."
Lucas smiled at Bill, offering him money. "Go get yourself a return ticket, and we can tell you all about it."
Avery refused the money and nodded. "This I can't wait to hear. Stay right here. I'll be right back."