“I'm not asking you to forgo the money completely, just give us a little more time. I'm prepared to pay two pounds.”
“Two pounds!” He gave a derisive laugh. She might well have said a penny.
“Please, my brother is away. He'll be sending money soon. Could you give us a little extra time to pay?”
“The party holding the mortgage wants his money.”
She turned to find Luke Campton almost at her elbow.
“Oh, and we all know who holds the mortgage don't we? You think because my brother is away, you can come down heavily on us. Well let me tell you...”
“No, Miss Saunders, let me tell you. Five pounds on the last day of each month until the debt is paid or I'll have you evicted.”
The cold finality of his voice shocked her, but she gave no sign. “You'll get your money. It isn't the end of the month yet, you know.”
“Three days to go.”
He touched his hat and smiled at an elderly bank customer before handing Mr. Griffith a large bundle of notes. How could a man with so much squeeze the lifeblood out of others?
“I hope you burn in hell one day,” she hissed.
“I'll take you with me when I go, Yankee woman.”
She turned on her heel and left. Three days to get five pounds, then a month in which to find another five pounds. Ian, how could you do this to us? He should have sent money by now, he must realize how desperately they needed it.
“Howdy, Jo.”
“How are you, Benny?”
“You sad, Jo?”
“No, I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She forced a smile.
“Did you send my pictures to the lady?”
“I'm on my way to do it now, but it might take a few weeks for us to hear anything. I've asked my friend to send you some paints, too.”
“Howdy, Mr. Campton, Benny mind your horse today?”
“No, I'm on my way home, next time all right? Here catch.” A gold sovereign flew through the air and was deftly caught in a pudgy paw. Ignoring her, and brushing aside Benny's thanks, Luke strode off.
At the general store where Fiona and Lucy waited, Jo watched in surprise as Mrs. Kilvain left a customer to attend to them.
“Miss Saunders, it has come to my notice that you have that deformed creature mixing with our children.”
“If you're referring to Benny, then yes, he does attend my school.” Several heads swiveled in their direction.
Mrs. Kilvain raised her voice several decibels and Jo realized the woman liked having an audience.
“I don't want him mixing with our Myra, a most unsavory situation, I call it.”
“If that's the case, Mrs. Kilvain, it might be best if you removed your daughter from my school. Of course, I'll refund part of the fees you've already paid.”
“Well, really.”
One of the listeners snickered when Mrs. Kilvain minced off, leaving her husband to deal with the customers. Hypocritical old biddy. Jo fumed. She ordered the bare necessities. After paying for her purchases and giving Mr. Kilvain back the money he had paid in advance for school fees, she was practically penniless. How on earth could they raise five pounds for the mortgage payment?
Fiona asked if the store held any mail for them. Mr. Kilvain scurried to the postal section and came back shaking his head. “Sorry, there's nothing for you.”
He gave a hunted glance around to make sure his wife wasn’t present, before giving Lucy a stick of candy.
“We can't pay for it,” Jo said bluntly.
“I saw her staring at them. It’s all right, so long as the wife doesn't find out.”
“Thank you. Sorry I snapped before,” Jo apologized, feeling sorry for this pathetic, birdlike little man who was dominated by his vicious wife. “Do you know of any place where I could sell some jewelry?”
“The bank might take it.”
“Isn’t there somewhere else?”
He cracked his knuckles loudly. “I can't think of anywhere else.”
“Thank you.” She would have to sell her one piece of jewelry, a gold locket with a ruby in the centre. It was an heirloom handed down from her father's family.
All the way over to the bank, she debated with herself. Why is it me who always makes the sacrifice? Why hasn't Ian sent us some money? Surely he wouldn't have to wait until the drive ended before being paid.
This thought made her hurry towards the bank, remonstrating with herself for being a selfish beast, when he had left his home and family to try and earn some money. How could she let him come back to find his property gone?
She removed the locket. It was a strange feeling not having it resting between her breasts, as it had done for years. Akin to severing a limb, she bit down on a note of hysteria.
“Eight pounds,” Mr. Griffith said.
“It's worth much more,” she argued.
“Take it or leave it.” She was beaten and they both knew it.
“I want three pounds in cash, the rest to be taken off the mortgage payment.”
Once again, he flicked the imaginary speck of dust off the dark sleeves of his coat. What had Jim said, sent down from Oxford after only a few days? Yes, he did look shifty.
When he handed over the money, she stared at his hands--lily white, feminine, and yes, purposely he let his fingers brush against hers. She clenched her teeth to stop herself slapping his face before making a hasty, undignified exit.
***
The next day, Myra Kilvain did not attend school and two other children dropped out also. By the end of the fortnight, only Benny, the Kirkmans and Johnson boys still attended. No doubt Mrs. Kilvain had viciously spread her poison.
When Jo answered a knock at the door, she gasped in shock on finding Luke Campton and a police constable standing there.
“Go on with your work, children,” she instructed. “What can I do for you?” She ignored Luke and directed her query to the policeman.
He shuffled his feet. “Has there been an accident?” she prompted.
“No, I'm sorry, Miss Saunders.” He fidgeted.
“Do you have permission to run this school?” Luke growled.
“I don't need permission.” She angrily faced him. This battle was between the two of them and she would never back down, no matter what it cost her.
“If you don't have official permission, Miss, I have to close you down,” the policeman said.
“You put him up to this, you and that pious hypocrite Mrs. Kilvain,” Jo flared. “I'm not closing; in fact, I plan to expand.”
“Like hell you are,” Luke grated. “What you’re doing here is illegal.”
“Please, Miss,” the policeman almost pleaded, and she felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault Luke Campton owned the law, and Mrs. Kilvain had elected herself keeper of the town's morality.
“I won’t close my school down and no one can make me.”
“You’ve delivered your message, leave Miss Saunders to me.” Luke dismissed the policeman who scuttled off like a frightened rabbit.
“Your school is finished, and so are you, Yankee woman, but before you go, a little token to remember me by.”
His arm shot out and slammed her body against his own, and he held her so tightly her breasts were crushed. His mouth swooped to capture hers in a hard, punishing kiss.
The force of his mouth parted her lips, giving his probing tongue access to her mouth. His grip relaxed and his hand cupped her breast. His thumb started caressing her nipple.
She kicked out at him, but her legs became so weak she could barely stand up. Her hands somehow wound themselves around his neck and a whirlpool of heat began swirling deep within her stomach. Shock sucked the breath from her lungs.
Luke felt the sudden hardening of Jo’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the surge of heat from her body burning through his clothes. He changed the tenor of his kiss now, the savagery replaced by gentle probes as he explored the inner most depths of her mouth, tasting all of its sweetness and still cra
ving more.
For God’s sake, what was wrong with him? He wanted to punish her, not seduce her. He dragged his mouth away from hers and strode off, leaving Jo collapsed against the wall.
***
On Monday, no children turned up. Mrs. Kirkman came over to see them, greatly distressed, saying they had received word from the authorities that the school was illegal, and anyone who sent their child there would be fined.
“They can't do this,” Jo stormed. “It's blackmail! Isn’t there one family brave enough to defy them?”
“I'm sorry.” Flora averted her eyes. “Things have been going badly for us. We don’t have the money to pay any fines. Not only do we owe the bank, but the general store, the feed merchant…” she trailed away under Jo's stormy look. “Most of the other families are in the same position.”
Jo sighed, her anger evaporating when she realized what an insidious position Flora was in.
“I don't blame you, honestly. Campton’s behind this.” She clenched her fist. “Contemptible wretch.”
“Jo!” Fiona's shocked rebuke caused her to bite back on another few colorful descriptions.
“I hate him, my God how I hate him.” She could still feel the touch of his hot mouth against hers and she inwardly raged against the wanton way her body had responded. Luke Campton was an arrogant, unprincipled swine.
“Come and have some tea, Flora,” she invited.
“Thank you. Granny's keeping an eye on the little ones for me. Maybe you could restart the school later.”
After Flora left, Fiona tried to comfort Jo.
“What's the use? What's the use of anything? Even poor Benny deserted me.” She couldn’t remember when she last felt so depressed.
“You'll find a way. When Ian gets back, things will be better.”
They can't get much worse, she thought bitterly, trying not to let her desperation show for Fiona's sake. Why worry her already overwrought sister-in-law?
***
A week later Fiona suggested they go into town. “There are a few things we need. You could drive, I'm too nervous.”
Her beseeching blue eyes had Jo capitulating. Who could deny such an appeal?
She resolutely pushed away the thought that if Fiona were not so helpless, her brother would not be in such a mess. “Yes, I'll drive us in. I'll have to wear gloves to hide my hands. Doing a man's work is ruinous on my skin.”
After breakfast, Jo hitched up the cart. She grimaced at her simple maize color gown while Fiona with little Lucy trotting beside her, looked femininely sweet in blue sprigged muslin.
Another warm day beckoned, with the sun shining from a cloudless blue sky. They had still not heard from Ian, but hoped a letter might be waiting for them in town.
Jo drove at a leisurely pace, with Lucy sitting between the two of them. She was a pretty, docile child, who favored the maternal side of the family.
Fiona spoke little, obviously worrying and fretting for Ian.
“He'll be all right,” Jo soothed. “There’ll be word from him soon, saying how much he misses us all.”
The nearer they came to town, the more fraught and agitated Fiona became. By the time they pulled up in the main street, her hands trembled.
“I need to go to the bank first,” Jo said. “Take Lucy and wait at the store, so you can read Ian's letter straight away.” If there is one.
She jumped nimbly to the ground outside the store, and turned to lift Lucy down, while Fiona alighted in a demure, ladylike fashion.
“See you in a little while.” She tickled Lucy under the chin until she giggled. Laughter bubbled up in Jo's throat and her lips curved into a smile as she straightened up and took a step back. Only to be met by Luke Campton’s intense scrutiny. He stood a few feet away, engaged in conversation with another man, but he let his eyes wander all over her. Hot color surged into her cheeks at his intense appraisal.
Ignoring him, she walked across the road toward the bank. Within a few strides, he caught up to her.
“How are you, Jo?”
She ignored his very existence by staring straight ahead.
“Are you going to the bank?” His tone of voice caused her steps to falter.
“Yes, if it's any of your business.”
He helped a young woman lift her pram over the gutter and on to the footpath, acknowledging her thanks with a nod.
In two strides he caught up to Jo. “Not going to ask for more time to pay your mortgage, I hope.” His softly spoken, menace filled words, stopped her instantly. “If you acted more friendly toward me, we could come to some arrangement. I can be generous to women who please me.”
“I'd sell myself in the street before I let you touch me.”
“No one in town would buy you, Yankee woman, unless I say so.”
“I'll see you in hell first.” She quickened her pace until she almost ran, but he merely lengthened his stride to keep up.
“The bank won't lend you any more money. If you can’t make regular payments on what you already owe, they'll sell you up. Your brother owes forty pounds.”
“You liar,” her voice shook even though she tried to control it.
“Care to check?” He pushed the bank door open, and stepped aside so she could enter first. He must be lying just to frighten her. She fought a battle against the fear welling up inside her, forcing herself to stroll over to Mr. Griffith.
“Good morning, Mr. Griffith.” She faked a smile. “I wanted to ask you whether we could have more time to pay the installment on our loan.”
“I'm sorry, Miss Saunders, the party holding the mortgage requires regular payment.”
“You mean Luke Campton, don't you? He owns this bank. In fact he owns the whole town. What kind of weak-willed people are you?”
Several heads turned as her voice rose. “He steals other people's cattle, lets a girl and her baby die in…”
“Enough.” Luke grabbed hold of her shoulder, his fingers pressing into her soft flesh.
“Get your hands off me.”
“This way,” he snarled, propelling her ahead of him. He all but shoved her into a small room.
“How dare you touch me! I'll have you arrested for assault.”
He ignored her outrage. “Don't ever speak to me in such a manner again.”
“Why not? It's the truth.”
“I'm warning you, Jo, so help me, if you were a man I'd knock you down.”
“Don't let the fact I'm a woman stop you.”
“Ah no.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I have something better planned for you now, my willful Yankee beauty. By the time I finish with you, your pride will be trampled into the dust.”
“I'm not frightened of you. The big boss squatter might have the rest of this town cowed, but not me.”
“I like it when you get angry.” His intense scrutiny stopped her angry outpourings. “Yes,” he lowered his voice until it came out in a soft but dangerous purr. “I always did like spirited women.”
A wave of fear swept over her. “You can't force me to do anything I don't want to,” she pushed the words out past a lump in her throat.
“I don't intend to force you. I want you to come to me, and you will, make no mistake about it,” he predicted with an arrogant confidence.
She minced back into the public section of the bank and waited until Mr. Griffith finished serving a customer.
“How much do we owe to clear the mortgage?”
“You owe forty two pounds, Miss Saunders.”
Ian, how could you let things get this bad? “Would you give me a few weeks to raise some money?”
He flicked the imaginary speck of dust off his coat without answering.
“Please, I've got stock I can sell.”
“Well.” He patted his few strands of hair back into place. “A month, then you’ll have to pay the full amount.”
He stood like God presiding over the final judgment day, and she knew he enjoyed every minute of it. She dared not provoke his wrath by t
elling him what a horrible, despicable creature he was.
Luke did not put in an appearance, and she hurried outside where the heat hit her like a furnace blast after the coolness of the bank's interior. She would have to put on a bright face for Fiona's sake, but it was hard.
“Howdy, Jo.”
“Oh, Benny, you haven't been to school.” He hung his head.
“Been working.” Those candid childlike eyes stared at the ground. How could anyone be so contemptible as to threaten a poor unfortunate like him?
“She…” He stubbed his finger at the general store. “…called Benny bad. I'm not bad.”
“Of course you aren't. Anytime you happen to be passing my way, make sure you call in for a visit.”
He gave her a loose lipped, slobbery grin. “Not angry, Jo?”
“No, keep up with your letters and drawing won't you? Practice like I told you.”
“Benny have the paints?”
“Yes, but I haven't heard from my friend yet.”
As Jo hurried into the general store, she spied a crowd of people milling around a prostrate figure on the floor.
“Fiona.” She rushed over. “What happened?”
The crowd moved away, leaving only Mrs. Kilvain trying to bring Fiona around with smelling salts.
“What happened?” Jo dropped to her knees.
“She fainted.”
“Why?”
The white, strained faces formed an ominous circle around her.
“She got some bad news, a letter,” Mrs. Kilvain said.
“What letter?”
“When Mrs. Morrison fainted, I took the liberty of reading this.” Mr. Kilvain thrust a grubby letter at her. “Your brother's dead.”
“Dead?” Jo shrieked. “He can't be?” A roaring noise almost perforated her eardrums. The letter fluttered to the ground and Jo grabbed hold of the counter to stop herself from following it. The pressure on her chest felt so great she had trouble breathing.
“Y…you read the letter I…I can't.”
“Sam Bainbridge, Mulvaney’s head stockman, wrote saying your brother got washed away in some snap flood as they crossed a river.”
“No. It’s not possible.” Jo’s eyes filled with tears and they spilled out of her eyes and formed hot rivulets as they ran down her cheeks. She loosened her grip and her body slumped against the shop counter.
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