Darcy sat next to Jesse in the ICU. She held his limp, cold hand in hers. The poor old man clung on to his life by a thread. She spoke softly to him. She doubted he could hear, but there were things to be said all the same.
“I don’t know why you kept those paintings, Jesse. Dad. But I do know you must have had a reason. Thomas believes in you and, well, so do I.
“It’s been a crazy few days finding out about the truth. About you and Mom. I understand why you and Grandma and Granddad made the decisions that you did after Mom was killed. And there’s nothing to forgive. So you don’t ever have to ask. You should know that I always loved you. Even when Grandma wanted me to be angry with you the way she was. I didn’t know enough to understand what had happened, but now that I do, I know that you loved Mom. You did the right thing by testifying. And you did the right thing by writing to me.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away with her free hand. “I can’t stay long. But I had to say goodbye. And don’t worry. I’m going to make sure that Wissenberg knows I’ve been to my house so that none of your friends will be in danger anymore. I will make Wissenberg think that I have the key and everything else he wants, even if that’s not true, and then—then I’m going to disappear. They will know that I’m lost to them forever and with me, the hopes of ever finding the paintings. But I love you. I’m so, so glad you wrote to me. Wake up, Jesse. And know I love you.”
Darcy wasn’t sure but she thought she felt Jesse’s hand tighten just ever so slightly around her fingers. “Thank you, Jesse. I’ll be thinking of you.”
Darcy stood. She bent over and kissed her father on the forehead. She had so much to thank him for. She would never forget her time here in Willow Trace. She would never forget the people and their kindness and their love for God. She would never forget her friendship with Thomas and how his quiet strength and faith had helped lead her to a budding search for her own peace. She knew she didn’t fully understand God’s love yet, but she had felt the power of its force in brief waves around her and she wanted more. Her heart was open and ready.
Wiping away one last straggling tear, Darcy headed for the door. She wasn’t two steps outside Jesse’s room when she came toe-to-toe with a familiar face.
“Agent Danvers.” Darcy stopped fast as tall agent was blocking the way. “What are you doing here?”
“I figured you’d be back to see him sooner or later,” the woman said. She ran a hand over her blond spikes.
Darcy wasn’t sure if she wanted to trust the US Marshals office. After all, they had completely failed Jesse. But Danvers was there and...well, she knew she didn’t want to be alone in her town house. “I guess you read my mind.”
“So you’ve finally come to your senses and decided to relocate?”
Darcy nodded.
“That is a wise, wise decision.” A wide smile stretched across the agent’s face, which seemed more filled with triumph than compassion.
Darcy looked back toward Jesse’s room. Already, some of her newfound peace felt as if it were eroding. She didn’t want to give him up, but she knew that she had to. She was doing the right thing for everyone. But if that were so, why did she feel so unsure?
* * *
Sleep would not come. Thomas sat up in his bed. His leg was throbbing and his mind raced with thoughts of Jesse and Darcy and the fire and everything else. He might as well get up and focus on something constructive.
He relit the lantern and grabbed his Bible. He looked up the two verses that Jesse had put in the letter. Exodus 38:9—Next they made the courtyard. The south side was a hundred cubits long and had curtains of finely twisted linen.
Thomas reached again to his side table. He picked up his journal and pencil. He turned to a clean page and started scribbling. Three, eight, nine. The reference numbers. But there was a number in the verse, as well.
He skipped a line, then wrote one hundred. But wait, he thought. It’s not a just a hundred. It’s a hundred cubits. In the footnote of the Bible, it stated that would be about one hundred fifty yards. Maybe the number he wanted was 150? But 389 what? And 150 what?
Then he wrote the verse from Numbers. Chapter seven. Verse seven. Seventy-seven. He gave two carts and four oxen to the Gershonites, as their work required. Two carts and four oxen. That could be six if he added the numbers or it could be twenty-four if he just wrote them side by side. But again twenty-four what?
Thomas scratched his head. Not what, he thought. The question isn’t what. The question is where. Where the artwork was. Like he’d thought before. It’s not a code. The verses provided an address. Some combination of these numbers provided a zip code or a street number or maybe even the postbox or bank number where the paintings were.
Then Thomas remembered what Darcy had said about the Bible being a part of the message. If the verses and the numbers were all that was needed then why had Jesse hidden the Bible, too? That only made sense. Thomas flipped back from one verse to the other. This wasn’t Jesse’s Bible, but it was the same edition. If something was important about the Bible, surely the intended message would be on the same pages as the two verses.
Thomas read the pages. He studied them. Something was there staring right at him, but what? Page numbers? Maybe. He scribbled those down, as well.
Thomas wrote the numbers several different ways. It was a lot of numbers. Too many for a zip code. Too many for a street address. But what other way could one locate something using numbers?
Coordinates. If he took the verse reference numbers and added the triple-digit page number to each of the verse reference numbers then... Thomas wondered if it was about what you needed to give a very precise longitude and latitude. He wasn’t sure, but thought maybe a little time on a computer would help. Of course, he didn’t have one. But Abigail did. He hated to wake her after all the help she’d been earlier at the singing, but this was important.
Thomas pushed himself off the bed and hobbled down the stairs and out to the stable, where he usually kept his phone. He was going to get this figured out.
Tonight.
* * *
Agent Danvers had been quiet as they walked out of the hospital. Darcy paid the cab driver who she had asked to wait. She took her things out of the backseat, then followed the agent to her truck and climbed in. The drive to her town house seemed interminably long. The snow had stopped and the main roads were completely clear, but still it seemed like they were moving at a snail’s pace. Darcy had asked Agent Danvers what would happen when she relocated. What were all the people she knew going to be told? What would her design team think? Her boss? The US Marshal had not been too forthcoming with her responses. Something about it all being explained to her later.
Darcy knew she was doing the right thing. But she already missed Willow Trace. She missed all the friendly faces. She missed Thomas. She hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.
Finally, they arrived at her town house. Darcy unlocked her car and took out the Bible that had belonged to Jesse—not the one he’d hidden away, but the worn one he’d obviously read regularly. In all the commotion of the last trip to her place, she had forgotten to take it to read to Jesse in the hospital. But she was glad she’d forgotten now, because she had it to read herself. To learn more about God and also as a keepsake to remind her of Jesse and Thomas.
The first thing Darcy did when she got inside was turn on her phone. She wanted Wissenberg and whoever his little minions were to know that she had left Willow Trace. She got on her computer and answered several emails, too.
As she now rummaged through her town house, gathering the few things she wanted to take with her to her new life, Agent Danvers kept rushing her. In fact, the woman paced her living area, and was biting her nails and constantly talking on her phone in whispers. Darcy couldn’t figure out what she was so nervous about. Darcy was the one who was giving up her life. Not Agent Danvers. Danvers was just doing her job. Shouldn’t she be used to this sort of thing?
When Darcy emerged from her bedroom, she found Agent Danvers hovered over a huge mess on her coffee table. “What are you...?”
Darcy paused about halfway across the room. She could see what was spread out over the table. It was Jesse’s box. The woman had completely disassembled it.
“What did you do that for?” Rage rushed through Darcy’s veins.
“I knew there had to be more than one key,” Danvers said. An evil smile spread over her lips. She reached down over the table and lifted up a small key.
Darcy stumbled back a step. Why would Agent Danvers be looking for a key?
* * *
“It’s a place in Washington, DC,” Abigail told Thomas over the phone.
His heart pounded. “This must be where the paintings are,” he said.
“I don’t know, Thomas,” Abigail said. “It’s some sort of restaurant and bar.”
Thomas thought for a second. “Well, I may be off a little. I thought my Bible was the same edition as the one we found in Jesse’s highboy. But it’s possible that it’s not—meaning the page numbers could be slightly different. We need to call Agent Ross.”
“I don’t have his number,” Abigail said. “I’ll have to call Elijah and I doubt he’s going to answer his phone at this hour. In fact, I doubt he even has it in the house with him.”
“You answered.”
“My husband’s an ER doctor. We always answer the phone,” she said.
“Then we will just have to drive over there,” Thomas said.
“We? Thomas, it’s the middle of the night. This can wait till morning.”
“I don’t know, Abby,” Thomas felt his pulse racing. He felt a sense of urgency that he couldn’t explain. “I got this feeling that we need to take care of this tonight.”
“Go back to bed, Thomas,” she said. “I’m getting another call.”
Thomas decided he would call Elijah himself, even though he knew Abigail was right. There was no way his friend had his phone on and inside the house. Eli’s father, the bishop, tolerated phones for business and emergencies, but he wanted them out of the home whenever possible, which when you got right down to it was most of the time.
Elijah’s line went to voice mail and Thomas left a detailed message explaining his theory about the location. He wanted to hitch up his buggy and ride over to the Millers’. He especially wanted to share what he’d discovered with Darcy. But Abigail was right. He knew that a buggy ride would be slow and painful with his leg hurting so much, and the Millers would hardly be happy to see him at this time of night. It could wait a few hours. It would have to.
Thomas pushed himself up and started to go back to the house, when he heard his own phone ringing. Maybe Elijah had kept his phone nearby and had heard the message? It wouldn’t have surprised him with all the excitement that they’d had the past few days if Elijah wanted it close in case of another emergency.
But when he looked down at the phone, it wasn’t Elijah’s number calling. It was Abigail. He answered.
“Change your mind?”
“No, I didn’t change my mind,” Abigail said. “That was Blake on the other line. He called to tell me that Jesse woke up.”