Lindy squatted in front of the cabinet that held the pots and pans. She picked up first one saucepan, then another, tossing each one aside with a grunt of disgust. Sarah cleared her throat and Lindy turned, squealing in surprise. “Oh, you scared me to death,” she exclaimed.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked. Lindy’s cheeks were flushed with color and her eyes were fevered with an unnatural intensity.
Lindy turned back around to the cabinet. “I’m looking for that big pot Mama always used to make soups—ah, here it is.” She withdrew the large aluminum pot and stood up. “I’m going to make a huge pot of homemade vegetable soup. Ben loves my vegetable soup.”
“Surely it can wait until morning,” Sarah protested. “Lindy, it’s after midnight. Go to bed. Get some rest.”
“Rest? I can’t rest. Who could rest at a time like this?” She moved like a marionette to the stove and slammed the pot down on the top of one of the burners. “I’ve got to make vegetable soup. That way everything will be all right again. That way Ben will love me again. He won’t leave me.”
“Honey, Ben isn’t going to leave you.” Sarah walked over and tried to put her arms around her sister, but Lindy shrugged away from her.
“What do you know about it? What do you know about anything?” Lindy yelled. “You haven’t been around. You ran out on me. You don’t know anything about me or my life!”
Sarah stepped back from her, shocked by the vehemence Lindy displayed, the irrational anger that blazed in her eyes. “Please don’t shout, you’ll wake up Jackie,” she said with forced calmness.
Lindy stalked over to the pantry and began to pull out canned vegetables and stack them on the countertop. She moved like a cartoon character in fast motion, stacking the cans higher and higher until they teetered precariously.
“Lindy, you’re tired. Do you really think this needs to be done now?”
“Yes,” she hissed. She turned to face Sarah once again, the same irrational anger twisting her features into a mask of hatred. “I have to do it now...before Ben leaves me for good.”
“Lindy, Ben loves you. He’s not leaving you,” Sarah protested.
“Shut up.” Lindy slammed the palms of her hands against her ears. “I don’t want to listen to you. You don’t know what’s happening around here. How could you? You’ve been gone. You left me, just like everyone else.” Tears sprang to her eyes as she glared at Sarah. “First Daddy left, then you, then Mama. Everyone leaves me. I hate all of you. I hate you for leaving me.”
Again Sarah moved forward, wanting to put her arms around Lindy, hold her close and chase away the fears, the anger, the very illness that ate at her. But Lindy shoved her away and swiped angrily at the tears that glittered in her eyes. “When we were little and I was scared, you’d cuddle with me and tell me that you’d always be here for me. But you lied. You lied and you left me and now I hate you. I hate you!” The last of her words rose on a high pitch of fury and she picked up one of the cans and threw it at the wall. The can hit the wall with enough force to dent the Sheetrock, then fell to the floor and rolled under the table.
Sarah stared at Lindy, astonished at the level of anger she’d displayed. Lindy’s entire body trembled, as if she were on the verge of shaking herself apart. “Go back to bed, Sarah.” She began to pace, her arms flailing frantically around her. “Go on, get out of here and leave me to do what needs to be done.” She turned and began opening the cans.
Sarah watched her for a long moment, still stunned by her unexpected rage. With a worried frown, she started back up the stairs to her bedroom. There was no point in trying to talk rationally with her, she thought. At the moment Lindy was completely irrational. Her mother had often called, detailing Lindy’s manic phases—the frenzied energy, the shift from reality into paranoia.
As she ascended the stairs she contemplated Lindy’s anger. She’d had no idea that her sister was so bitter about her leaving, that Lindy saw it as Sarah abandoning her. Surely Lindy understood the circumstances that had forced Sarah from Clay Creek.
It’s the illness, Sarah reminded herself. The illness caused her irrationality, her fits of anger. The illness colored everything in Lindy’s perceptions.
She needs to see her doctor, Sarah thought in frustration. Lindy seemed to be deteriorating day by day. This fury, this unprovoked rage frightened Sarah. She needed to press Ben about getting an appointment for Lindy as soon as possible. And if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do that, then Sarah was going to have to be forced to take matters into her own hands and find another doctor. She hated to do that, hated to upset Lindy by taking her to a stranger, but she couldn’t allow Lindy to plunge deeper and deeper into her illness. Something had to be done.
Apparently there was a lot of healing that needed to go on. She didn’t want to leave for New York without attempting to restore some of the closeness she and Lindy had once shared.
She went directly to Jackie’s room, breathing a sigh of relief that the little girl hadn’t awakened and been frightened.
Pausing in the doorway of her own bedroom, she reached up to touch the bandage on the side of her head. She shivered as she remembered the sound of bullets whizzing by her, the vague impression she’d had that the shots had come from the direction of the house.
She shivered again as she thought of the force that had been behind the thrown can of vegetables. Indeed, there was a rage deep inside Lindy, a rage that had gotten the best of her for a moment. She was sick and the sickness created the rage. But could the same illness that created the anger also make Lindy dangerous?
Sarah crossed her bedroom and got into bed, suddenly icy cold. It’s ridiculous to think that Lindy had anything to do with the gunshots, she thought as she pulled the comforter tightly around her neck. Lindy would never do anything to hurt her. But as much as Sarah tried to reassure herself, it still took her a very long time to fall asleep.
Chapter 6
“Sarah, somebody’s here to see you.” Lindy’s voice drifted up the stairs at the same time that Sarah became conscious of the dogs barking hysterically.
She pushed the papers she’d been studying aside and stood up, stretching her arms over her head to alleviate the kinks from sitting too long. She’d been in her mother’s office for the past couple of hours, going over financial papers and the farm accounts.
She ran a hand through her hair and smoothed her blouse, wondering who could be here, then ran lightly down the stairs and into the living room.
Sitting on the sofa was the man Sarah had seen Ben speaking to at Margaret’s funeral. He stood as she walked into the room, his overgenerous mouth creasing into a smile. “Ah, Miss Calhoun, I’m Raymond Boswell.” He held out his hand to her. “I’m the owner of the Boswell Power Plant.”
His big hand engulfed hers, and as he released her, she motioned for him to sit back down. “Yes, Mr. Boswell, what can I do for you?”
“The real question is not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.” He sat down and settled back against the cushions of the sofa, dwarfing the piece of furniture with his large size. He smiled at her expectantly.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Sarah replied.
He leaned forward and smiled once again, exposing an overbite that, along with his long hooked nose, gave him a predatory appearance. “I understand that you’re from New York City.” She nodded, wondering why he was here. “Wonderful city, full of life. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back there.”
Sarah shrugged. “I’m not in any hurry,” she said perversely. “There are still lots of things I need to take care of here.”
“And that’s where I can be of help to you. I’d like to buy this place.”
Sarah immediately shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time here, Mr. Boswell. This farm is not for sale.”
Raymond Boswell laughed with an amused condescension that rankled Sarah. “My dear, everything is for sale...it’s just a matter of settling on the right price
.” He straightened his tie, then leaned forward once again, eyeing her intently. “I’m willing to make you an offer that will assure that your family lives in ease for the rest of their natural lives.”
Sarah stood up. “Perhaps you didn’t understand me the first time, Mr. Boswell,” she replied coolly. “This is our home. It isn’t for sale.” She moved toward the door, indicating to him that as far as she was concerned they had nothing left to discuss.
He didn’t move. Instead he settled back into the sofa once again and chuckled. “There’s no doubt that you are your mother’s daughter. She was stubborn as a mule, as well. Before her accident I spoke to her a dozen times and she finally verbally agreed that the best thing would be to sell out.”
“I don’t believe you,” Sarah exclaimed, sitting back down to face him. “My mother would never have agreed to sell this place.”
Raymond shrugged. “Believe what you want, but it’s true. Look around you, Miss Calhoun. This place is falling apart. Your mother saw it, your brother-in-law sees it. I’ve had several conversations with Ben and I certainly don’t think he would be adverse to cash in his pocket and a chance at a new start.” He paused a moment, as if to allow his words to sink in. “Why don’t you sell the property to me and go back to your life in New York City financially more comfortable.”
She stood and walked to the door, this time opening it and looking at him pointedly. “I told you before, you’re wasting your time here, Mr. Boswell.”
He eased himself up from the sofa, shaking his head ruefully. “I’d really hoped you’d be willing to listen to reason. Personally I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”
“It’s my mistake and I’ll live with it,” Sarah replied.
He walked to the door and pulled a business card from his pocket. “If you change your mind, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Sarah tucked the card into her pocket and watched as he headed for the gleaming luxury car that awaited him. She leaned against the doorjamb, waiting until the dust from his car had disappeared on the wind. She then closed the door and rubbed the center of her forehead, where a dull ache had started.
“What did he want?”
She turned around to see Lindy sitting on the bottom stair step. “He wants to buy the farm.”
Lindy nodded. “He tried to get Mama to sell, too.” She grinned. “Mama told him to go to hell.”
Sarah smiled. “I did, too, although not in those exact words.” She stepped back to the door and stared outside. The first purple shadows of dusk were just beginning to paint the western sky. “I think I’ll take a little walk before Jackie gets home.”
“Okay, but be careful,” Lindy said worriedly, her gaze lingering on the bandage on Sarah’s head.
Sarah grinned and touched the gauze. “Don’t worry, lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.” With a reassuring smile, she stepped outside into the cool, pre-twilight air.
Jackie was spending the evening at Gladys Prather’s house. Gladys had invited several of her grandchildren over to meet and play with Jackie and it would be close to bedtime before Gladys drove them all home. Sarah smiled, thinking of her daughter’s excitement at the prospect of meeting new friends.
She leaned against the porch supports and breathed deeply of the crisp air, enjoying the quiet that claimed the surrounding farmland. The golden hue of twilight mingling with the sounds of insects buzzing their final song of the day had a tranquilizing effect.
It had been a difficult day. She’d been tense, uncertain of Lindy’s mood in light of the explosion the night before. When Sarah had gotten up it had been obvious to her that Lindy had stayed up all night. She was dressed in the same clothes and her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. Still, despite Sarah’s unease, Lindy had been in high spirits for most of the day. Only the dent in the wall was mute testimony to the rage that had erupted in her the night before.
Sarah sighed again and lifted her face to the cool evening breeze. Her gaze automatically sought out the brown posts of the grape arbor in the distance. Ah, that had once been a place of magic. She shifted position against the porch support, her heart yearning for the ability to go back in time...to believe in magic once more... to believe in love.
She had a sudden impulse, a need to go to that place where the magic of love had once been so strong. It had been a place where she’d believed, no matter what she’d been told by others, that Reese loved her more than he loved himself.
She’d been so young, so idealistic, so very much in love. She suddenly realized she needed to go back there and confirm to herself that it was only a grape arbor with no magic at all.
She set her coffee cup on the porch railing and stepped down onto the grass. As she walked, the long weeds reached up beneath the hem of her jeans to tickled her ankles. She moved briskly, breathing deeply of the sweet-scented air, thoughts of Reese still intruding into her mind.
They had often met beneath the grape arbor in the early morning hours before she went to school and he went to work at the garage. She could remember running across the grass as the morning sun chased the night away. No matter how early she came, Reese was always there waiting for her, his arms opened wide and his eyes burning with fires that took her breath away. How many nights had they met here for a last goodbye embrace before they went into their own homes and spent miserable long nights apart?
Sarah had wondered often if her mom knew what prompted her to leave the house early for school. She had a feeling her mother suspected those early morning trysts, but Margaret was one of the few people in town who’d believed in Reese’s heart. “All that boy needs is somebody to believe in him,” she’d often said.
“I guess he fooled us both, Mama,” Sarah said softly, shoving her memories aside as the arbor came into full view. She stopped a moment, wondering if coming here had been such a good idea. Instead of banishing the past, dispelling the magic, it seemed to have pulled her, wrapping her once again in its spell.
The last of the evening sunlight painted the arbor and surrounding brush with its lush golden light, but still she was reluctant to take the dozen steps that would carry her beneath the wire mesh laden with twisted, gnarled vines. She imagined she could smell Reese in the air, that clean, masculine scent that always stirred her to distraction.
For just a brief moment she wished she could go back, experience the overwhelming act of making love with him one last time.
She took a step forward, surprised to hear her foot echo hollowly. She looked down and realized she’d stepped on the sheet of thick wood that covered the old well. She’d forgotten about it. Before she could move, she heard an ominous crack and her stomach shot up to her throat as she felt the wood beneath her feet split and she plunged downward.
There was no time for thought, no time to scream. As she fell, her feet scrambled for a foothold and her hands clawed for something to hang on to. She sobbed in relief as her fingers gripped a large root, effectively stopping her descent and making her feel as if her arms had been pulled out of her shoulder sockets.
She gasped for breath, trying to orient herself, still the frantic beating of her heart. She had fallen only about two feet below the ground level, but as she looked up, she realized she might as well have fallen twenty feet.
She closed her eyes for a moment, adrenaline pumping through her, making it difficult to think. Oh God, she had to do something. But what? She was afraid to move, afraid to fall. She suddenly became aware of the noxious odor of stagnant water and rotting vegetation. It wafted upward, like air from a grave, and she clung more tightly to the root, trying to stop the trembling that possessed her body.
The root she hung on to crackled and gave a fraction of an inch. Sarah screamed, her feet working to find something, anything, that would ease the deadweight of her body. She gasped in relief as her foot found what felt like a dislodged brick. She placed her toes on it and was relieved to feel some of the strain on her arms dissipate.
Minutes
passed while she fought off panic. “Lindy!” she screamed, shivering as her only answer was an echo from the bottom of the well. Above her, half of the board that had broken still covered a portion of the hole, allowing only a sliver of pale twilight to reach within.
How on earth would Lindy know where she was? How long would she have to hang here waiting for somebody to come looking for her? Despite the coolness of the air, she felt perspiration popping across her forehead. Her arms trembled with the effort of hanging on, and her hands ached with the intensity of her grip on the root. Night would fall before long and she’d be hanging here in the dark. She fought off a shiver of horror at the very thought.
How long could she hang here? How long before her hands cramped or her arms weakened and she fell?
“Lindy!” she screamed once more. Again there was no answer, no indication that anyone heard her. Her cry echoed eerily around her. Somewhere in a nearby tree a bird chirped, and in the distance she could hear the barking of a dog.
The dogs. Surely Lindy would come outside to feed the dogs their evening meal. And if she came outside, then she would hear Sarah’s cries for help.
She yelled until she was afraid her voice would go hoarse, fighting back tears of frustration and fear.
What would happen to Jackie if Sarah fell...if she died? Would Lindy and Ben raise her? Could Ben take on the responsibility of a child along with the responsibility of Lindy? What would Reese do? Would he finally take Jackie? Learn to love her? Be a father?
A bubble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat at this thought. It seemed a little drastic to have to die in order for a man to become a dad. The laughter turned into a choking sob.
She strained her shaking arms, wondering if she could pull herself up enough to grab on to the ground above. She pressed her toes into the roughened sides of the well. She squeezed her right hand around the root and cautiously removed her left one, stretching up. But the ground was simply too far for her to reach.
Sarah closed her eyes as her grasping hand dislodged tiny pebbles and dirt clods. They rained down on her head, bouncing off her body, and it was several long seconds later that they finally plopped into the dank water beneath her.
Fugitive Father Page 8