Adriana's Secrets: The Secrets of the Montebellis Series, #2

By Cheryl Colwell

The betrayal alone would have crushed a lesser woman.

Orphaned in 1888, Adriana Montebelli's life is governed by self-serving men intent on deciding her fate. Instead of breaking her, their cruel deceptions toughen her resolve to take control. She forges a path through family lies and jealousy, women's suffrage, and union corruption, but at a great cost. Though she rises to manage the vast Van Buren estate, she wonders if her shattered heart will have the strength to love again. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheryl Colwell
• Release date: Nov 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9780989237161

Cheryl Colwell

Award-winning author, Cheryl Colwell, has written multiple suspense novels appropriate for the Christian market. Her loyal readers escape to stunning locations where they meet mysterious strangers and encounter unexpected danger. And a bit of romance. 

Book preview

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

October 1917, Tangle Grove, Oregon

In the early hours of dawn, Adriana Montebelli Van Buren covered her face, her hands smeared with ash. NO! Lord, no! She winced from the cruel blasts of heat as she watched the fire consume the last of her father-in-law’s massive log cabin.

Her ranch hand, Cal, had called for help as soon as he saw the flames, but though he had driven her to the lodge immediately, they were too late. The sharp scent of burning wood assaulted her nostrils. She sank to her knees in the frigid mud, too bitter to pray. Why bother? All she could do was watch as another precious piece of her life disintegrated.

Neighbors, their faces black with smoke, glanced at her with sympathetic expressions while they dragged the few things that remained beyond the reach of the flames. Several men scattered when the tree closest to the log cabin let out a loud crack and thundered to the ground, sending sparks in all directions.

Cal trudged toward her from the back of the burning building. Found this. He threw down an empty gasoline can, his eyes shifting away.

She stood, hands on her hips. What else?

His mouth tight with rage, he pulled a crumpled Camel cigarette package out of his back pocket and handed it to her. Fabio.

The camel had been carefully torn from the paper, leaving a tattered, empty hole, like the hole in the life of each person Fabio touched. He said he’d be back, she hissed through clenched teeth. Get this to the sheriff. This cabin is the last thing that despicable man will ever take from me.

You and I know it was him, but these cigs won’t prove nothin’.

Her voice came out in a screech, Who else fiddles with the package this way? Neighbors paused in their efforts. Questions on their concerned faces suddenly focused on Adriana. She waved them off with a tight-lipped smile and said, Thank you, but go home. There’s nothing more we can do.

Cal nodded. Sorry ma’am.

Her nephew Pieter ran up. Aunt Anna, we have a witness! Next to him stood a young man, faced streaked with dirt and ash. Tell her, Billy.

Yes, ma’am. I seen Fabio Varano ridin’ out this way, carrying a gas can on his horse. I thought it seemed strange. He pointed to the small red can at her feet. Looked just like that one.

Her teeth clenched. Thank you, Billy.

I’m going to see what else I can find, Cal said, clapping Billy on the shoulder.

Adriana nodded and slumped against her car, drained by the sight of the destruction before her. Through the smoke, she saw a man approach, his every step twisting the knife deeper. Though his steps neared, a chasm separated them. He hesitated when an ash cloud billowed. By the time the smoke thinned, he was gone.

Cal returned with nothing new to report. Too shaken to drive, she said, Take me home and get this evidence to the sheriff in Bella Vista.

Cal drove to the front of her house that perched low on a hillside in Tangle Grove. Glancing up, she would have gladly traded this lovely Victorian for the old cabin, the site of the happiest occasions of her eighteen years in Tangle Grove. There her father-in-law, the Dutchman, the man she had known as Papa, had treated her like his own and helped guide her way. All she had left of him were memories. Fabio knew that. Throughout her life, Fabio had known how to inflict the cruelest pain.

THROUGH HER PICTURE window, Adriana noticed that a thin column of smoke in the distance still drifted upward from yesterday’s ashes, just like the unrelenting grief in her heart. She sat in her drawing room, refusing to cry, yet the losses from the fire paraded through her mind—the antiques the Dutchman had given to his darling Julia with such delight, the family china and linens, but worst of all, the furniture Papa built. She sighed. At least his collection of photographs was safe with her. 

Forcing her gaze away from the devastating scene, she laid her breakfast plate on a small marble table. She had barely touched the meal. With icy hands, she tucked the soft flannel of her down comforter close around her legs.

Overwhelmed with this new sorrow, she sank into melancholy. She picked her way through the memories of her life. Some were bright, stored like diamonds in a jewel box. More were weighty—vivid millstones of regret and relentless longings that bonded to the vulnerable points of her heart. Life’s lessons had proved harsh, unbearably harsh.

The fire Gina, her housemaid, built in the drawing room soon radiated its warmth. Adriana relaxed as her shivering subsided. She stared out the window at her mountain—Fire Mountain. Though its legendary evening blaze had always thrilled her, she preferred the morning sunrise when shafts of quiet yellow radiated shadow and light through the tall fir trees. Even that sight failed to cheer her today.

Gina handed her a mirror and began to brush the long strands of Adriana’s hair. Though Adriana was only thirty-six years old, the glossy black tresses her love had once caressed with such tenderness were already interspersed with gray. She set the mirror down and stared into nothing.

Scanning the prominent memories of her life, she shook her head. Nothing had gone as she had dreamed. She fought the longing that threatened to overwhelm her, a deep anguish that loomed dark and heavy, ready to envelope her in despair. It visited more often these long, lonely days. Tears prickled. Life could have held so much more. Her mind screamed that God had deserted her. Had He? She swallowed the ache. Nothing could change the past. She had survived. Wasn’t that what mattered?

Focusing her sight on a jagged rocky outcrop on Fire Mountain, she forced practicality to reassert itself. Even with all her efforts, there was no way to know what would happen to all the Van Buren properties—the mine, the mountain, or Sweet Elke Park—when she was gone. She had no choice but to trust it all to stronger hands than hers.

Gina, bring me my journals, she said. Since childhood, Adriana’s hastily written notes, and later, her long, thoughtful entries, had comforted her, had held her secret thoughts. Gina groaned as she carried a heavy wooden box into the room, then another, both trimmed with ornamental brass corners. The first, she plunked near a low table where Adriana could reach it. Here you are, ma’am.

Removing a bulging envelope from the box, Adriana drew out old scraps of paper—the only writing material that had been available to a poor girl. She pressed the precious, brittle pages between her slender fingers. Below them were the letters, pleading with her sweetheart. Those plaintive words, the essence of who she was, had chronicled the dreams of the life she would have chosen. She set them aside with resignation. Dreams did not always come true.

Deeper in the box lay leather journals filled with fine bound paper purchased after she had arrived in Tangle Grove with her husband, the dashing Joren Van Buren. These pages had served as the only safe place to voice her anguish. Poring over an entry in one of the earlier journals, she cringed as she realized there were things she might need to destroy—cruel truths Klara did not need to know regarding her father.

She fingered a piece of green silk ribbon and swallowed hard. Rico. Adriana’s heart pounded as it had on the day when his soft lips met hers for the first time. Could she possibly allow this precious secret to be exposed? She would remove these pages as well.

She lifted the earliest account she remembered writing. As she began to read, the sounds and scents and scenes from her childhood appeared as vividly as when she had lived them. She blinked away the moisture. Too many things had happened. She would never know the truth about some of those memories. An unbidden thought flitted into her mind like a blink of sunlight brightening the day: Or would she?

CHAPTER TWO

May 1888, Mont Castello , California

What are you thinking! Rita Montebelli shouted at her husband, Costa.

Seven-year-old Adriana cringed and glanced at Ladonna, her younger sister, while her mother shrieked at Papa.  

He flinched, but quickly straightened. What I am thinking is, we have business. So it is a little early, what is one month?

Eyes widening, Adriana finally understood. Mama often said Mt. Thurman was unpredictable. Her parents had always led their climbing treks later in the season, June at the earliest.

Mama continued her fussing. You know these slopes are dangerous this time of year. These are the same conditions that killed Philippe.

Why are you fighting me? This is not France, and we will not have an avalanche, Papa argued.

What good is all my expertise, if you won’t listen to me? Did my brother die in vain?

Papa wagged his head. I have made my living on this mountain for twenty years. I should think you could trust me by now! He sank onto a stool and glared. You know how few visitors we had last year. With desperate eyes darting to Adriana, he quieted his voice. These rich Norwegians came to me, Rita. All they want is a chance to ski and experience the beauty of our mountain. And for that, we will be handsomely paid. You do not have to come, but I lead this household and I will do this.

Adriana watched the set of Papa’s proud jaw while Mama argued with him. She wondered why Mama always gave up in the end, even when he was wrong.

Mama turned to her. Go. Get ready for school.

Adriana obeyed, a knot of worry lodged in her chest.

AS THE TIME NEARED for the expedition, Rita’s concern grew. Gently, she pleaded, Costa, please reconsider.

Deep creases lined Costa’s face, desperation in his voice. We cannot survive without this expedition. We have nothing left. Our credit is gone.

She watched her husband, miserable and hopeless, his eyes studying the dirt lodged in the floorboards. Closing her eyes, her face tilted toward the rafters, the truth hit her. Their stores were all gone. She grew quiet. They would not make it through to summer. Glancing at her thin daughters, she succumbed. Though she hated to admit he had no other choice, Costa was right. This was a desperate time. Forcing herself to exhale slowly and quietly, she subdued her resistance. I will go with you.

THE NORWEGIANS ARRIVED the following week. Rita rearranged her little home to hold the preliminary meeting. Costa outlined the plan, then turned the meeting over to her to train the adventurers in safety procedures. Arrogant, frowning faces scoffed when she held up a length of red cord and explained its use. If there is an avalanche, these lightweight cords will float to the top and give rescuers a marker to locate. They refused her instruction, but she stubbornly held her ground.

One of the exasperated leaders stood and glared down at her, offering a small concession. If we approach a sinister looking area, we will attach the cords. He signaled the others and they stalked away.

TWO DAYS LATER, RITA stared at the fire, sipping hot chocolate.

Cheer up, Rita, Costa laughed and kissed her squarely on her pouting lips. His eyes sparkled. Tomorrow will be a wonderful day. We will stay on the lower meadows.  

She peered into his hopeful eyes and longed to support his enthusiasm, yet her frustration remained. She battled between his disregard for her opinion and the necessity of this trip imposed by their desperate financial need. She sighed, through with arguments.

Though the day had been bright, she was thankful it was not hot enough to melt the snow. She allowed herself a smile at the lightheartedness of her husband. This one skiing expedition would cover their expenses for a year.

This morning, Costa had received a generous payment in advance and had eagerly paid off their accounts in the small village. She had purchased supplies for the trek and stashed the remainder of the money in a heavy pottery jar that she kept under a floorboard next to their bed. Turning, she had seen Adriana observing the hiding place. Don’t tell a soul about this. At Adriana’s solemn nod, Rita smiled at her child and replaced the jar.

BEFORE FIRST LIGHT, Costa left to meet Alberto and Georgio Romano outside the rustic inn that housed the Norwegians. He had hired the Romano brothers’ large draft horses to pull the two sleds. They would arrive early to permit the men to load the gear before the arrival of the guests. While he was busy, Rita prepared a thick porridge for her family. Come, girls, it’s time to eat.

Costa returned later to eat his breakfast and sat on a small three-legged stool by the fire that blazed in the hearth. Rita noticed he kept his head bowed. She glanced toward her daughters and said, We won’t be returning until suppertime. I cut the bread and cheese, and there is milk in the icebox. You can read and do your schoolwork until we get back, but I don’t want you playing outside. Do you hear that, Ladonna? Adriana’s little sister gave a distracted nod.

It was still dark when Rita hugged and kissed her daughters goodbye, holding them until Ladonna squirmed out of her embrace. Rita let go reluctantly, turning away quickly to prevent Adriana, always the sensitive one, from seeing the fear tightening her mouth.

We will be home before you know it, and then we will have a special treat! Costa told their sleepy girls. At this, Rita watched their attention perk up.

What is it? Ladonna demanded.

No, no. We will wait, or it will not be a surprise, he said, eyes dancing.

Adriana put her thin arms around her father’s waist. I love you, Papa. Please be careful. Costa’s smile wavered. He pulled away quickly to avoid her trusting gaze, tromping down the slushy steps. Rita followed him. When she looked back, the girls were at the window, watching their parents make their way to the inn where the visitors waited.

Rita and Costa arrived at the sleds before dawn. Excitement pervaded the air as the visitors discussed the fabulous skiing they eagerly anticipated. Rita helped the group pile their personal gear into the sleds by lamplight, then climbed aboard and handed out thick woolen blankets to keep them all warm. Six people filled each sled, including the drivers, Alberto and Georgio Romano.

They rocked unevenly as the teams of massive draft horses pulled them to a point within trekking distance of the meadows. They would use snowshoes for the climb and replace them with their long skis to weave their way down to the bottom of the snow-covered meadow. The guests planned to repeat this adventure many times during the week.

After reaching the maximum elevation for the horses, the climbers unloaded their gear. While fitting snowshoes over their heavy boots, Rita again brought up the subject of the protective cords. She held them out to the party.

Surveying the stillness of the bright snow, one of the men cast a look of disdain. I do not want that silly rope tied around me, what do you think I am, a dog? His friends laughed at his comment and made barking noises.

Rita shook with fury, but Costa moved between them and whispered to her, Wait until we get up the mountain a little farther. They will see the value in it. Rita held little hope of such a change of heart as she secured cords to herself and Costa. Ignoring more derision from their customers, she forced her attention toward the mountain.

Costa led the climb in the soft light before dawn. Soon, the glory of the sun rising over a distant mountain range stopped them. They watched as it peeked above the rim, then sent out streaks so brilliant they had to cover their eyes. A light layer of clouds took on the rainbow colors of orange, pink, and violet. Rita noted the appreciation in their clients’ faces.

Costa gazed at her and smiled. They lived for this. She never tired of seeing the passion etched on his face when they climbed. Wiping his brow, he continued to lead the group upward. Stopping near noon, he helped Rita hand out the lunch Maria Varano had made. Rita smiled inwardly. In an unusual show of humility, Doriano Varano had thanked her quietly last night for the business Costa had provided. Last summer had been hard on all of the residents.

Lars, the tall, blond leader of the Nordic group, crouched beside Costa. Thrust outside the circle of influence, Rita listened quietly while Lars pointed up and to the left from where they were standing. That should give us the longest run and the perfect angle to use our Telemark turns.

Costa remained quiet and studied the southwest slope of the meadow. So did Rita. Three weeks ago, the warm afternoon sun had caused a partial thaw. Costa took Rita aside to consult with her privately. She considered the undulating slope that headed down the mountain at a 35-degree angle. It was easy to see how appealing it would be to the skiers. Then her searching blue eyes caught sight of the cornice that hung above the path they had chosen.

Rita spoke in a low tone to Costa, I don’t like the looks of that. See how the snow is loaded on the top? It would not take much to topple it over, starting a slide—just a bit of wind. Looking to the right side of the meadow, she had a different opinion. The slope is more gradual there, but not by much, and the trees are helping to anchor the snow. It will be the best place to descend.

Costa nodded his agreement. Rita smiled, grateful he trusted the expertise she had gained from her mountaineering family in France. In the eight years that they had been guiding as man and wife, she had never had a misstep. He kissed her cheek and left to tell Lars.

I don’t care what your wife says, Lars shot at Costa, his eyes narrowing. We are paying you to guide us, not be our nursemaids. We will go down where we choose to go down! It appeared that Costa would not be able to persuade him otherwise.

Rita spoke up, barely holding her rage in check. Do you see that cornice? It is waiting to fall with the slightest bit of wind. If it does, it will begin an avalanche that will widen as it travels down the mountain. She drew her hands down and apart, giving a picture of what the mass of snow would do as it gathered speed and material. Her certainty had a sobering effect on a few members of their party, but Lars’ again defeated his guides.

We will be skiing far this side of that cornice. He lifted a finger into the air and mocked, And as you can see, there is no wind. We are skiing there. That was his final word, and they gave him no further argument.

After lunch, they climbed another two hours to the spot Lars had chosen. Rita worried that the cornice was much closer than it had appeared from below.

If Lars noticed, he was not about to mention it. This is it! he called to his companions. Hearty shouts of excitement filled the air.

The skiers planned to leave Costa and Rita and make their way laterally to their left, across the slope to the point where they would put on their skis. The Montebellis would return to the meadow by the path they had taken up the mountainside.

Rita thought the men were foolish, but she knew it was useless to argue. She and Costa said goodbye and started down. They made good time as the crisp snow kept their snowshoes from sinking into the sparkling crystals at their feet. When they were halfway down, they turned and looked back up the mountain where the men should have been skiing by now.

Rita froze and grabbed Costa’s shoulder. Look! They have gone almost to the cornice, she shouted with disbelief. Costa too saw they had gone to a higher starting point for an even longer run. "Ces imbéciles! she yelled, bitterness stretching the corners of her mouth into grim lines. They will get us all killed."

Feeling something, she turned around. The wind! No longer quiet, the wind had begun its ominous course, blowing teasing gusts they knew would increase rapidly. Fear seized her. We must get down, she choked.

Checking that their marker cords were untangled, they increased their speed. By shortening their traversing lines, they were able to make a straighter path down and out of harm’s way. Rita checked frequently to see if any of the men had started their descent. She hoped they would delay long enough that she and Costa would be clear of trouble in case a problem arose. Those men could risk their lives, but she had two little girls waiting at home.

Rita and Costa were out of breath from the pace they were keeping. Their lungs welcomed the rest when they paused for a brief moment and turned their attention back up the mountain. They stood silent and wary as the first skier started down the course he had set, cutting long, gradual turns through the snowfield. Soon another joined him, then another, until only one man remained on the upper ledge from which they had started.

Crack! A loud blast like a powerful rifle firing filled Rita with horror. Her whole body tensed as she watched. The slab of ice and snow broke off the cornice. It hit the slope below it with a resounding boom, shaking the mountain beneath their feet. The ledge where the last man stood gave way, and his body disappeared into the plunging mass.

Go! Rita yelled. She and Costa began a full-out sprint. Mixed with blind fear, the exertion turned simple breathing into an excruciating effort. She kept glancing back as they fled, praying for time and protection. With a roar like the crash of a hundred colossal ocean waves, the tumbling snow picked up momentum. In no time, it engulfed the two men who were last to start.

The lower skiers attempted to head to the side to escape the thunderous swell of snow that obliterated everything in its path. Near the bottom, Lars and another man headed for a thick stand of trees, but it was too far away. They would never reach it. When Rita searched