He frowned. “I don’t know, and I don’t much care.”
“But you should. You’re a decent man, I think. Wouldn’t you care if a small, innocent child were to happen in here and see your handiwork? Would you want a child to live with that for the rest of his or her life?”
“I could always come back tomorrow,” he offered. The possibility obviously disturbed him.
“On what excuse? You’re not a parent. I’ve done nothing to warrant a visit from the sheriff. They haven’t forgotten the robbery, have they?”
“Shut up!” he ordered tersely. His voice was loud in the still room. “I’ll think of something,” he said more quietly. “No kid will find your body, I assure you, for your peace of mind,” he said sarcastically. “Now pick up the rope, damn you!”
“I won’t. You can’t expect me to make it that easy for you.”
“I could bash in your brains,” he threatened, taking a step forward so that I thought he was really going to do it. I flinched back. “Bennett would be blamed. A lovers’ quarrel. Everyone knows he has a vile temper. They’d believe he killed another woman. They like you. Maybe this time they’d even hang him. It’s been a while since the town’s seen a good hanging.”
It could happen, I thought wildly, and then stilled the fear. I could not think of all the possibilities now. I could only try to find a way to escape. “Jordan’s no fool, even if everyone else is. I told him about the sounds I had heard. He was suspicious. He didn’t believe Prudence was here. Why do you think he was here tonight, Mr. Hallender? He was watching the schoolhouse. Maybe he’s watching now.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said succinctly. “You had a lovers’ quarrel. That much I heard. And I watched him ride over the hills before I came in through your room. Bennett’s gone.”
I decided to try another tactic. “What has he ever done to you? Wasn’t he your friend? You’d have his death on your conscience as well as mine if the town did put him on trial and hanged him.”
“Shut your damn mouth!” he snarled furiously. His gun hand shook violently, and I thought for an instant he was going to pull the trigger without even realizing what he was doing. He paused and then suddenly holstered his gun, hammer back in place, and grabbed up the rope.
I did not hesitate. I bolted past him for the door. He swore vilely and kicked out his bum leg to trip me. I heard him grunt in pain. Then his fingers became tangled in my free hair, drawing me up short with a cry. I stumbled and fell to my knees. My scalp was stinging, and I was sure he was going to rip my hair right out.
“Let go! You can’t hang me!” I cried, grabbing at his hand. I fought as I felt him trying to sling the noose over my head. I twisted around and kicked out hard with my bare feet. I felt my toes and soles crush into him. He gave a high-pitched screech of pain and doubled over. I struggled up and frantically threw off the rope. Hallender’s fingers came out, grasping blindly until they fastened on my nightgown. The top buttons ripped away as I strained forward toward the door of my room. I turned to hit his hands loose.
“You bitch," he gasped. His face was a grimace of agony, but his eyes were blazing with feral rage. I granted and gasped with my violent efforts to beat free. He loosened one hand, doubling it into a fist as he swung at me. He caught me across the side of my jaw. I tasted blood as I dropped to my knees. He grabbed my hair, pulling my face up as he hit me again and again until I was senseless.
“You had to make it hard, didn’t you?” he groaned. “You had to fight me! Well, your lover Bennett will get blamed for the mess I’ve made of your face,” he went on. Then he looped the noose around my neck as I lay prostrate on the floor. My fingers clutched at the rope, but he yanked hard. I gasped for air. He dragged me across the floor. Then I heard the rope slap against the rafter above. He was hauling me up. My feet were off the floor. I was kicking. The rope burned my neck. I choked. The circulation was cut off in my fingers as the noose tightened. I fought, the muscles of my arms straining with all their strength.
God, help me. I am dying! My vision blurred as I choked, gagging against the bounds of the rope. I kicked one last time.
Then suddenly I was falling. I hit the floor hard, and the slackened rope loosened about my neck as my fingers continued their pulling. I dragged in air painfully, staring around me for Hallender. I yanked frantically and managed to pull the noose off.
Hallender was falling backward against the desk in an effort to escape the fleeting, white form that was trying to engulf him. The sheriff hit the lantern, knocking it onto the floor. It shattered, and kerosene splashed out onto the floor at Hallender’s feet. The lighted wick made the fuel explode into flames that licked up the man’s legs. He screamed in pain, the animal sound tearing into my brain. When he ran for the door, I did not stop to think of what he had just tried to do to me. I stumbled up and chased after him, shouting his name.
Hallender’s body was engulfed in flames by the time he reached the street. He staggered and fell. Dropping down next to him, I rolled him over in the mud, trying frantically to extinguish the flames. Lights were going on in houses close by. People were coming out, staring up the street in curiosity.
“Help me! Help me!” I cried. Hallender’s screams of agony were making me cry out as though I were burning. I tried to pound out the flames.
A few people started running up the street. Two men reached me and helped me roll the sheriff over until the flames were completely smothered. Hallender’s screams changed to moans as he writhed in agony. The exposed flesh was blackened and bloody, the smell of burned skin and muscle sickeningly sweet in the air. He moaned, delirious, twisting against the efforts of the men, who were trying to comfort him.
There was nothing else I could do for Tom Hallender. I averted my face as the two men bent closer to talk to him. I could not bear his agony, and I stood up. Looking back up the street, I saw flames flickering through the window of the schoolhouse. I bolted forward. “The schoolhouse!” I cried in dismay. “Someone help me put the fire out!” I started to run back.
“Let it burn!” shouted one of the men. “Miss McFarland, let it burn!”
In confusion, people were looking at Hallender’s charred body and then at the burning building down the street. The sheriff began to scream again as the two men carefully lifted him.
I ran down the street, through the schoolhouse gate and up the path to the front steps. Dashing into the building, I ripped curtains from the front windows and slapped at the flames that were destroying my desk and the front seats of the classroom. My arms rose and fell, rose and fell; yet rny efforts seemed to only whip the fire into further fury.
Running to my room, I grabbed the bucket of water from the stove. I hauled it back into the schoolroom. After shoving the curtains into the water, I beat again at the flames with the drenched cloth. I worked feverishly, but the fire was still gaining, licking over the wooden floor and catching books and papers, spreading farther and growing increasingly, hellishly hotter.
Finally I took the bucket and cast the water over my desk in hopes that I might save something. Weakened, my fingers lost hold of the handle, and the bucket thudded heavily onto the floor on the other side of the desk, into the burning inferno and out of reach. Smoke was everywhere, and I could hardly breathe. I reached out and grabbed Ellen Greer’s two bronze plaques.
Then I thought of the money, the savings of farmers and ranchers in the valley around Sycamore Hill. If nothing else could be salvaged, that must be. I managed to reach my room again, although the fire was now eating at the wooden framework of the schoolroom and creeping closer to my quarters. My precious books were catching fire, but there was nothing I could do. I reached my bed, coughing in the iron-gray air. I yanked at the mattress and pulled it from the narrow bunk and onto the floor.
Had I grown so weak? I fought to drag the mattress across the floor to the back door. I coughed, my lungs burning with the acrid air. It was hot, and the flames were illuminating the frame of the classroom door
way. In a minute this room would be engulfed.
Where was the rain now? God, please, let it rain again! I prayed fervently, all the while jerking frantically at the mattress. I managed somehow to drag it out onto the steps. Getting it down to the ground was easier, but it was a muscle-aching chore to drag it through the wet grass to a safe distance. Only when I stopped did I notice that the back end of the mattress had caught fire. I beat it out with my hands.
Then, blessedly, it did begin to rain. A deluge fell from the black clouds. Fire and water sizzled and hissed in mortal combat.
I sank down, my body shaking with physical exhaustion. I stared up bleakly at the schoolhouse, which was still burning in the torrent of rain. The roof was almost gone. The flames reached out the windows, blackening the sides of the building. There would be little worth salvaging by the time the storm extinguished the fire. I had dropped Ellen Greer’s plaques in my room.
In my mind’s eye I saw my burned books; the children’s art; the blackened, destroyed desks and walls. My head was beginning to throb, and I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples. My face felt stiff and swollen. I sank farther down as though the rain were a weight on my shoulders. Finally, keeling over, I lay numb on the grassy slope beneath the oak.
“Abby....” A deep, anxious voice entered my consciousness. “Abby.” I felt strong hands on me, turning me onto my back. The rain was cold on my face. The man lifted me in his arms. As he carried me, my head bounced against the hard muscles of his shoulder. My eyes flickered open, and I saw people standing around and then walking alongside as I was carried down the street high in his arms. I heard people talking.
“Is she going to be all right?”
“What happened to her face?”
‘Tom Hallender died. Burned to death!”
“The sheriff admitted he had the money! It was in the mattress Miss McFarland dragged out of the schoolhouse!”
The man carried me on down Main Street, with people following. The voices rose and fell around me as I wavered in and out of consciousness. My head hurt, and I groaned. The man’s arms tightened protectively, drawing me still closer to the warmth of his body. “You’ll be all right,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with worry.
“You can’t take her there!” someone said in protest. “Get her out of the rain! Maybe Sadie will let her use Miss Greer’s old back room.”
“I’ve got a new boarder. Sorry.”
I was cold and shivering. The rain kept coming, but it had softened to a drizzle. I could feel my nightgown clinging to my chilled skin. My protector carried me on, effortlessly. I could hear the rapid beat of his heart. I felt it against my breast as he held me cradled next to him like a child.
A door opened and closed behind us. I heard noise and more voices, then silence. Someone touched my brow with gentle fingers. Through a haze of pain and exhaustion I opened my eyes. My vision was blurred.
Marba Lane moved closer, her soft fingers pressing the damp hair away from my cheek. “Put her in my room, Ross. I’ll take care of her.”
I heard no more.
Chapter Twenty-two
Doctor Patrick Kirk’s head was slightly bowed, and his eyes were narrowed with concentration as he listened through his stethoscope to my rapidly drumming heart. I knew how fast it was racing, and I also knew that he could tell just how frightened and tense I was at this examination. Would he begin to wonder why?
I watched the doctor’s face closely for some indication of what he was thinking. Finally, he straightened up, pulling the medical instrument from his ears and letting it dangle against his white shirt and tweed vest. He looked at my distraught face.
“I want you to understand that anything, absolutely anything I learn from my examinations is strictly confidential.”
The flood of color washed in and out of my cheeks like waves on a white-sand beach. Then I swallowed hard. “You know.”
“That you’re pregnant? Yes. From my first examination. About seven weeks, I’d say.”
I closed my eyes tightly. “Will the baby be all right?” I asked, thinking of the events of the last few days and the violence and physical exertion of the previous night.
“Then you want this child?”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. My hand crept down to my abdomen, and I thought of Jordan. I loved him, but I would never share his life except through this baby I carried. “Yes, I want this baby very much,” I whispered.
“In that case you were very lucky. You’ve a strong constitution. The baby is well-set. I don’t think you’ll have any problems.” He smiled kindly. “I should tell you that I suspected you were pregnant the night of the Christmas program.”
“Yes?” My eyes widened. “How?”
The doctor’s hand came up as his fingers lightly traced beneath my eyes to my cheekbones. “I noticed the faintest mask of pregnancy. I doubt anyone else would have paid any attention. But I guess I’m always on the lookout for new patients.” He smiled like an old friend, and my tension left me. I could talk to this man without fear or embarrassment.
“How soon will I be able to travel?” I asked.
Dr. Kirk frowned, then he rubbed his chin. “What about the father?”
“The father doesn’t know. I don’t think he’d want to, Doctor,” I said, anticipating what he would say next. “And... and this situation is more my fault than his. He doesn’t love me, and I wouldn’t want him to feel he had to marry me.” The words dragged out painfully.
“How far are you intending to travel?” he asked after a careful study of my face and deciding he would not be able to change my mind. My eyes burned.
“As far as possible.” Marba had come into the room this morning to tell me that there had been a $1,500 reward for information leading to the capture of the bank robbers and return of the money. That would take me quite a distance and leave me enough to live on until the baby was born.
“How are you traveling?”
“By coach some of the way, then by train.”
“Well, so long as it isn’t by horseback and you’re not going too long a distance by coach, I don’t see any problem. Just some common sense, and let your body be the guide. If you start aching or cramping, rest. Don’t push yourself!” He smiled wryly then. “Try to keep the worrying to a minimum, if possible. And as soon as you get settled, contact a physician.”
“Thank you.” I stared down at my clutched hands, tears welled into my eyes.
He patted my shoulder soothingly. “I wish you luck, Miss McFarland.” He left.
I lay back in bed, feeling the heavy weight of my situation on my chest. The door cracked slightly, and someone tapped.
“Mind if I come in for a visit?” Ross asked, entering anyway. He walked to the bed and drew up a chair. “Doc said you’d be as good as new in a couple of days.”
I forced a smile. Ross’s face softened, and he picked up my hand. “You’re beautiful, even with black eyes. How’s your head? Doc said you suffered a concussion. You have to take it easy for a while. Just lie back and let me wait on you.” He pressed his mouth against the palm of my hand.
“You’re quite the heroine in town now.” He grinned. “Everyone is buzzing about how you risked your life to go back into that schoolhouse to drag out the bank’s money. What are you going to do with the reward? Blow it away on pretty dresses?”
“I don’t think so.” I smiled. “Probably use it for something more sensible than that.” I couldn’t tell him yet that I was leaving. I remembered the tone of his voice as he had lifted me. I remembered flashes of his face when he lay me on this bed. How I wished Jordan Bennett had looked at me like that, just once.
“Is the schoolhouse completely destroyed?” I asked, hoping he would believe the tremor in my voice was due to worry about the fire.
“No. The rain had already pretty well soaked the place before Hallender accidentally started the fire. The storm put it out in a short time. There’s not much to salvage, I’m afraid. It’s a shell,
though your quarters are still intact. You aren’t planning to go back there, are you?” He seemed surprised and disturbed.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, I won’t go back there.”
“I picked up your things. You can stay here as long as you want.”
“I feel awful about putting Marba out of her own bed.”
“Why should you? Marba likes you.” He gave a slight chuckle. “I think she enjoys playing the role of benevolent nurse.” I did not like his tone.
“I’m very grateful to her, Ross.”
Ross relented. “Marba’s a good woman.”
“I’m glad you’re aware of that.”
He laughed under his breath. “You sound just like a schoolmarm when you talk like that.”
“I should.” I smiled slightly.
Ross clasped my hand between his and stared into my eyes, his own darkening with emotion. “Abigail, I think you know how I feel about you.” I was unable to keep the dismay from my expression, and he sighed ruefully. “Don’t say anything right now. We’ll give it a little more time.”
There was nothing time would change in my feelings for Ross Persall, but I couldn’t tell him that. I hoped he did not feel about me what I felt for Jordan Bennett. I wouldn’t want anyone to hurt that much. And soon I would be gone.
“I haven’t thanked you yet,” I stammered self-consciously, wishing there were some way to make him feel nothing but friendship toward me.
Ross stood looking down at me. “That’s not necessary.”
“I wish there were something I could do.”
Ross leaned down. “There is one thing,” he whispered. “What?”
“Let me kiss you,” he breathed. I liked Ross Persall. I was grateful to him, but when he put his mouth on mine, I felt nothing but vague acceptance. His kiss was gentle at first, then he started to probe my lips with his tongue. I drew away immediately, feeling repulsed. Jordan’s kisses had been far more intimate, but my reaction had been drastically different. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, unable to look at him.
He sighed again, resigned. “You really are an innocent. I don’t believe a man has ever really kissed you before. If you gave me a chance, you might find you’d like it.”
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