She was sinking! Unable to touch the bottom far below. Her hands were leaden, useless. She cried out, but no sound pierced the blackness. The tiny point of light above was too distant to illuminate the silent surroundings. She was deep in the well.
Back in the pit of despair.
Casey bolted upright in the darkened room and tossed off the covers that bound her to the bed. Shuddering, she ran a hand through hair tangled and limp with perspiration. A fine layer of dampness covered her torso, and her light nightgown clung to her skin. Snapping on the reading lamp at her bedside, she slung her legs over the edge of the mattress and pressed her feet to the solid comfort of the floor.
“It’s back,” she admitted out loud.
She’d lapsed into a restless sleep hoping she’d seen the worst this week had to offer. She’d been wrong. The episodes were back and now the dream was, too. It was identical to her college years and couldn’t be ignored. But she’d managed to overcome the symptoms a dozen years ago and she would again. Savannah said all the classic signs of stress were there. Casey wouldn’t waste her time in disagreement as she had back then. Instead, she’d focus on the power of prayer.
The strength and reassurance of the Word.
She twisted her hair and secured it with a clip, then exchanged her gown for a fresh robe. She padded quietly through the fully furnished condo, careful not to disturb her roommate. Savannah’s presence was always a godsend, but tonight Casey needed God, Himself. She settled in the cozy living room and took her Bible into her lap. The companion study guide lay on the coffee table where she’d placed it shortly after moving in many weeks ago, untouched and without progress because she’d been too busy with her own concerns to spend time alone with God.
Forgive me, Abba Father. I need Your mighty presence. I need to feel the comfort of Your perfect will. Please come and meet with me through Your Word.
She flipped to the book of Proverbs and began to read in the sixteenth chapter.
Commit to the Lord whatever you do and your plans will succeed. The Lord works everything out for His own ends.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes to contemplate the words of wisdom. Without exception, those who knew her best said she had control issues. She’d long since accepted that the judgment was both accurate and uncomplimentary. She’d only ever sought counsel from Guy on the subject, which had ended in a huge fight when he’d said she wanted to be CEO because she loved calling the shots, making all the decisions and not allowing anybody to give her guidance. When he’d stepped down and recommended her for his position, her brother had warned her against getting too wrapped up in climbing the corporate ladder. But instead of listening to the voice of experience she’d insisted on doing things her own way, hard-headed and proud of it.
Had she ever intentionally committed her work to the Lord? Asked Him to be the author and perfecter of her plans as well as her faith? Her mama said most folks used prayer as the last resort when it should be the first. It seemed Casey had also made that mistake, but it was never too late to correct it.
She slid to her knees and bowed her head before the Lord of all creation.
Father, forgive my stubborn nature. When You send me guidance, please give me eyes to recognize it. Open my mind and make it fertile ground where the seed of new ideas can grow. And when I encounter advice I’d just as soon not hear, I beg You to shut my big mouth. Teach me to use my ears to listen just in case the words are from You. And give me the intelligence to know when to forge ahead and when to cut my losses and leave well enough alone. This is all new territory for me, Lord. Go before me and show me the way. Your way.
I don’t know what my plans are now, Lord, but I commit my efforts to You and ask You to work everything out for Your own end. Amen.
With a lighter heart, she rose and curled up on the sofa where she rested her head on the thick cushion and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
“Casey, honey, Cooper’s at the door. He says he’s here to pick you up.”
Savannah, in Tweety Bird pajamas, was perched on the edge of the coffee table. Her hand gripped Casey’s wrist, still gently shaking as if uncertain the message was getting through.
“What time is it?” She shot upright and blinked at the light that streamed between the slats in the wooden shades.
“It’s a little after seven. I thought you’d be sleeping in but he says you have to meet with some lawyers in a few minutes.”
“Oh, no! I didn’t hear the alarm!”
She dashed to the bathroom to splash water on her face. The nubby pattern from the sofa cushion embossed her cheek.
“We have an audience with the city council this morning and my dad sent some legal support down from Houston. We’re meeting with them to prepare for the hearing.”
“Why didn’t you fill me in on this last night?”
“It was so late when Barrett dropped me off. You put in just as many hours as I do and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
While Casey brushed her teeth and twisted her hair into a knot, her friend handed over the Warden’s uniform as she was ready for each item. The end result lacked the polish that came from taking her time, but stepping into her new pair of lemony yellow Manolo Blahnik’s gave her the boost she needed to face the ordeal ahead.
Casey admired her feet in the full-length mirror, enjoying what might be the last secure moment of the day.
“What would women do without designer shoes?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe donate all that money to homeless shelters?” Savannah winked to soften the comment.
“Gee, thanks for going easy on me this morning.”
“You have the rest of the world for that. You have me for the truth.”
“Girl, I need you to be praying today that the truth will set us free. If the city decides to revoke our building permits even temporarily we could be in for a legal fight.”
“How can I help?”
“Look after Barrett when he shows up. Let him take over the conference room for the rest of the day, keep him fed and give him whatever he needs, but keep a close eye on him. The guy’s so intuitive he scares me.”
“Well, you seem to have won him over, so he should be in your corner, right?”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that even for a minute. He’s here to do a job for his family and their client, not H & H. If he thinks this deal is going south, it’s his responsibility to pull the plug on our future.”
“Honey, there will be other opportunities,” Savannah insisted.
“But there will never be another first opportunity. I won’t settle for failure.” Casey’s voice was firm.
“And you don’t think you can reason with him?”
Casey couldn’t help laughing at the statement.
“The man operates on pure reason. We’d have to appeal to his emotions and I get the distinct impression those are pretty well off-limits.” Her chest tightened as she said it, remembering his simple declaration…I care.
“Don’t confuse his culture with his emotions, Casey. English folks naturally project that whole stiff-upper-lip thing, but underneath they’re softies just like the rest of us.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.” Maybe there was hope.
She hugged her friend, grabbed her briefcase and dashed for the door.
The council chamber resembled a courtroom. It gave Casey the creeps to take her place at the speaker’s table before the panel of local officials. The morning’s briefing had been unnerving. Maybe it was time to consider lawyer-avoidance therapy, if there was such an animal. She knew she was blowing things out of proportion and it was impacting her work relationships, but it was so hard to forgive and forget the painful months she’d watched her family and their reputation suffer.
“As we discussed, Miss Hardy, this will probably go faster if you’ll let me do the talking,” the man at her right murmured. His voice was annoyingly low and calm.
Based on their business cards, Gerald Hempstead was the senior of the two representatives from the Houston-based law firm and an expert in these matters. She pressed her lips together in an effort to exercise self-restraint and give the control to someone else. What if this was the guidance she’d been praying for in the wee hours of the morning? Didn’t she owe it to God to keep her mouth shut, open her ears and render her mind fertile ground for new seed?
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for attending today’s open session of the Galveston City Council.” An elderly man in oversize horn-rims greeted the room. “It is always encouraging to have the participation of our citizens.”
“These folks aren’t our citizens,” a sarcastic male voice called from several rows back. “All you have to do is check out those Harris County license tags to know they couldn’t care less what happens on the island as long as it won’t interfere with their sunbathing and Mardi Gras partying.”
“Nathan, you’ll get your five minutes,” the mayor responded without so much as a glance up from her notepad.
Nathan? Not only was the heckler known by name, the mayor didn’t appear to be in the least disturbed by his outburst. Casey laced her fingers together in her lap. This couldn’t bode well for their side.
Casey peeked over her left shoulder to the aisle just behind them, seeking out Cooper for a comforting sign. His bushy white eyebrows were drawn together, his mouth curved upside down in a line of disapproval. His lips were pressed tight, like he wanted to spit, and for once it was not related to the lump of tobacco that was perpetually tucked inside his jaw. Clearly, Cooper was worried.
“The sergeant at arms may continue,” the mayor instructed.
“Thank you.” He moved into a list of topics to be covered, finishing with the previous day’s discovery.
“We have a good news/bad news issue to consider today and Her Honor has graciously agreed to move it to the top of the agenda. Since a recent find of Karankawan artifacts has temporarily stopped the building of Galveston’s first Hearth and Home store, we’ve invited all interested parties to speak.”
“I got plenty to say, so how about if I go first?” Nathan’s voice called.
The mayor removed her reading glasses, passed her hand over her eyes as if preparing for the worst and then nodded agreement. “After we’ve had a brief review of the issue, you may be the first to respond.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me waste my time reminding you of council proceedings. You know the drill, Nate.”
Nate! Not only was the mayor on a first-name basis with the guy, they seemed to be downright familiar.
“Thanks, sis.”
Casey and Hempstead locked eyes.
“Definitely an unexpected development, but nothing that can’t be overcome,” the attorney whispered in assurance.
Once again she turned to Cooper, who shrugged and held his palms upward.
“Will the spokesperson for Hearth and Home please take the speaker’s stand?”
Before he rose and stepped to the mike, Hempstead gave Casey’s arm a reassuring pat. It had the reverse effect he’d intended. She wanted to slap him silly for the condescending act.
Oh, Lord, have Your way in this situation today and don’t allow me to do or say anything I’ll regret.
Casey had to grudgingly admit the corporate attorney did a decent albeit boring job of making introductions, stating the facts of Hearth and Home’s commercial plan for the island and recapping the details of the artifact find.
“With all due respect to the Native American heritage of Galveston County, the materials uncovered yesterday were nothing of sufficient note to prevent my client from resuming the work schedule. We request permission to continue construction in accordance with all permits issued by the City of Galveston.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hempstead.” The mayor nodded.
There was no smile from the woman, no eye contact to give Casey even the least bit of encouragement. Was it possible for a few clay pots to throw the skids under a multimillion-dollar project?
“My turn, Your Honor?”
“Yeeeeees, Nate.”
The city official’s tone as she acknowledged her brother was difficult to interpret. Was she tired of accommodating him or simply resigned to it? Casey’s gut churned.
The man approached the podium. Where his sister was a striking, silver-haired woman, professional in every way, her brother was costumed as if headed for a historical reenactment. He was dressed head to toe in crudely fashioned animal skins, and carried a longbow in his clenched fist.
When he communicated, there was no mistaking his passion, though it was difficult to hold back a smile. Instead of addressing the room and making his case, the man began a lyrical chant. He danced in rhythm around the speaker’s podium and raised his bow in defiance.
“Nathan.” The Mayor interrupted her brother’s trancelike state. “That’s not even close to Karankawan. It’s Sioux and you picked it up watching Dances With Wolves, so cut that out. You have four minutes left.”
He gave up on his theatrics and motioned for someone in the back of the chamber to join him. Heads turned toward a small band of similarly dressed people sporting painted faces and feather headdresses. They made a compelling if out-of-place picture as they shuffled single-file down the center aisle.
A tall figure in a dark suit at the back of the room caught Casey’s eye. Her heart lurched.
“Stick a fork in this deal. It’s done,” she mumbled.
Leaning against the far wall, seemingly engrossed in the proceedings, stood Barrett Westbrook. His arms were folded, his head cocked to one side, taking in the show.
His expression was grim. Like her future.
The bespectacled sergeant at arms spoke up, redirecting the room to matters of business.
“Our rules of order normally allow each of you five minutes at the podium. However, precedent has long ago been set on this particular issue and the council will only entertain one spokesperson from your tribe with your time commencing immediately.”
A slight woman in beaded buckskins and thick black braids edged through the small group and adjusted the mike to her height. She addressed the officials, her words bearing a clipped Native American cadence.
“I am Little Conch, here to speak for a people unable to defend themselves. The peace-loving Karankawan survived untold centuries on this island only to be wiped out of existence by Anglo settlers a hundred and fifty years ago. The ground they trod is sacred and deserves to remain undisturbed. So many exceptions have already been made, so many discoveries plowed under and forgotten. We plead with this wise council to protect this find, to end the commercial expansion that daily chips away our heritage.”
She stepped back, extended her arms and motioned for the others to follow. They formed a circle, facing inward as if shutting out the rest of the world. While the timer clicked off their remaining minutes they lowered their eyes and shared a mournful but enchanting song.
Casey was certain the language they used was none she’d ever heard before, but no translation was necessary to convey the sorrowful message. She felt a sudden conviction to do something to acknowledge their sadness, validate their need to represent the extinct tribe.
But what? Certainly there was something short of abandoning construction that would commemorate the find.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” The mayor noted the end to their allotted time. “Before we adjourn to discuss the circumstances, would you like to say anything directly on behalf of your corporation, Miss Hardy?”
Unprepared to respond, Casey looked to the H & H legal counsel for guidance. Hempstead gave a slight shake of his head.
“No, thank you, Madam Mayor,” she answered.
“There is no defense. That is why she will not speak,” Nathan insisted.
Hempstead stood. “No defense is required and my client declines to be drawn into these theatrics. This is for the city to decide. Hearth and Home is a respected name built on the integrity of the Hardy family.”
Emboldened, Nathan continued. “You heard ’em, sis. They think this is a sideshow instead of an effort to protect our home. And that’s all the evidence you need to end this hostile takeover of our island by money-hungry outsiders here and now. Family business, my foot. Monkey business is more like it.”
Casey pushed her chair back, preparing to stand. Beneath the table Hempstead signaled with his hand that she should stay put. He leaned close, spoke in a barely audible whisper.
“They want you to get up there so they can rattle you. These folks are nothing more than professional hecklers. Your father called us in for this purpose, so let me do my job.”
How could she sit idly and leave this to a man she didn’t know and couldn’t trust while strangers impugned the Hardy name? Numbness surged into her hands. Her heart started to thump erratically against her ribs.
She sucked in a breath, and released it slowly. What could she say anyway? What words would refute their claims? Even if the syllables came to mind she knew she’d never be able to get them past her lips. Her mouth was dry as dust and her tongue felt like a lump of mud. Useless and dirty. She raised a trembling hand to loosen the collar of her silk blouse.
“Well then,” the mayor said while standing. “If there’s no more discussion—”
“Madam Mayor, if I may have a word.” A voice carried from behind as Barrett made his way to the speaker’s podium.
Casey’s ribs ached from the frantic pounding inside her chest. Her lungs seized up, unable to expand and contract. What if she passed out from the sheer panic that was invading her? Did people die from the heebie-jeebies? Even if she survived physically, her career would be smothered before it had ever truly breathed on its own. Suffocated before all these prying, uncaring eyes. And it seemed an attorney would be her undoing after all.
Not Barrett! Please, Lord.
Not by the hand of the man I’m falling in love with, she admitted to herself as she pleaded with God.