IT WAS NEARLY six the next morning when the Greenlaws woke and Lucinda reached down the bed feeling around her feet for Kit-then remembered that Kit was at the clinic with Sage, that Charlie had called from the clinic last night to tell her about the coyotes. Rising and pulling on her robe, thinking of Kit nearly killed by coyotes, Lucinda said a prayer of thanks that their beloved tortoiseshell was safe. And she prayed for Sage, too. What had possessed him to run off like that, into the wild, still encumbered by that awkward cast?
Love, she thought. Love and hurt and anger. She didn't want to think past that point, couldn't bear to think that Kit might love him in return, love him enough to leave them, to leave her home.
And how selfish was that!
Starting the coffee, pouring a cup before it finished brewing, she sat down at the dining table with the faded, handwritten letters taken from Olivia Pamillon's diary.
Though she and Pedric had read them at once, when Wilma brought them up last night, she wanted another look. The letters were addressed to only three people: two cousins, Annette Pamillon and Jeannine Pamillon Brink. And Jeannine's husband, Tom. That was the couple who had brought back the first speaking cats, secretly intending to breed and sell them. The messages were oblique in their wording. These seemed to be first drafts, with words crossed out or changed to make them less decipherable to the uninitiated. Surely Olivia had penned new copies from these, mailed them, and kept the originals; but why had she kept them? The replies were equally obscure.
Two implied that Olivia would take legal action to destroy Jeannine's title to her shares of the estate if she and Tom didn't abandon their commercialization of the cats and swear themselves to secrecy. A threat couched in obscurity but clear to someone who knew the truth.
But even Olivia's comments about the cats themselves, to Annette, whom she must have trusted, were oblique, phrases such as, I love watching the wild animals around the estate. So many come to visit me, and seem to grow bolder each day. And then there would be some innocuous and unrelated comment regarding clothes, or a recipe, and then-as if this was the pattern they'd worked out-the urgent part of the message: John's houseguests are incredibly nosy, asking questions that are none of their affair. Or, I have asked Jeannine several times if I might stop by when I'm in the village. Every time they are busy, or are going out of town. My own cousin. And then a few weeks later, again to Annette, I think it's time we visited Jeannine together, a kind of surprise. What do you think?
Lucinda laid the sheets aside. Strange that Olivia had kept these-maybe, as she'd gotten older, she'd held on to them and to the Bewick book as a link with her fading past. Lucinda hoped those who had known about the cats were all dead; she grew increasingly uneasy wondering who else might know, wondering how far the secret might have spread. To paraphrase one of her favorite authors-as secrets will do.
40
IN THE ALLEYWAY of the Harper stable, Kit and Sage sat side by side on a bale of hay watching Charlie saddle the buckskin gelding. It was two weeks since Sage had run away into the woods, more than three since Willow had first taken him to Charlie. His cast had been removed, and he sat up straight and alert. Dr. Firetti had told him he could go home, but must take it easy. He said Sage had healed quickly despite the trauma of his second accident. Almost, Charlie thought, smiling, as if his need to be away from closed rooms and humans had driven him to a fast recovery.
Though now, despite his eagerness for the open hills and freedom, the young tom looked up suspiciously at Bucky, understandably wary of making this journey on horseback. He had insisted he could go on his own, but Firetti disagreed.
Charlie was taking Bucky because he was reliable and steady. Her own sorrel mare was moodier, and liked to shy at the swift, small shadows they might encounter. Redwing was sure to snort and sidestep if the clowder cats came slipping around them through the woods.
Cinching up her western saddle, which she preferred when the cats rode with her, she looked over at Sage. "How will we find them, Sage? The clowder could be anywhere."
"They have favorite places," Sage said. "You can call out and if they see me, I think they'll come-Willow will come."
Charlie doubted that would have been true while Stone Eye was alive. She led Bucky forward to make him let out the air he always hoarded, tightened the cinch again, and tied her jacket across the saddle, snugged up against the horn to make a little pillow. Picking up Kit, she settled her there, then eased Sage down beside her.
Swinging up, she headed Bucky out behind the barn and into the woods. The last time she'd entered these woods, it had been black night. She thought of the coyotes, and shivered.
But this morning was bright and crisp, and the only movement ahead was shadows shifting from the blowing trees. Beneath Bucky's hooves, the earth smelled loamy and rich. Heading through the dense stands of oaks and pines, Charlie had no idea, when they found the clowder, what Kit would do. No idea whether the tortoiseshell would stay with Sage and become his mate, as he wanted, or would return to Lucinda and Pedric. Kit had told Charlie nothing. But if Kit remained in the wild, racing off with the clowder to vanish among the hills, she would break Lucinda's and Pedric's hearts.
Kit hadn't said good-bye to the Greenlaws. When Charlie asked her why, she wouldn't talk about it.
As they emerged from the woods onto the open hills that rose vast and green above them, Sage's small body went rigid with anticipation. Charlie held him securely as Bucky made his way up through the tall grass toward the high woods.
Within an hour they were on the little trail that led along the edge of the cliff between the pine woods and the sea. Far below, the sea crashed against the rocks, foaming and pounding, stirring the smell of iodine. Then, when at last they turned away from the sea into the woods, the smell of new spring grass came sharply again, crushed under Bucky's hooves. Nothing stirred among the woods; no bright eyes watching them, no shadow of a cat, not even a tail-flicking squirrel. She urged Bucky in deep among the trees, then pulled him up, letting him snatch at mouthfuls of grass though Max wouldn't have allowed him to do that. Around them the woods were silent. Snuggled before her in the saddle, the cats looked and looked, but they saw none of the clowder. Kit, leaping down into the carpet of leaves, began to search for scent. Sage crouched to follow, but Charlie held him back.
"You don't want to jump so far on that newly healed leg." She looked down at the pale-colored tom. "You'll be taking care of yourself now. You'd better do what the doctor said, Sage. If you give that leg time to heal fully, it will grow strong again. Otherwise, you'll cripple yourself. You don't want to live all your life lame, unable to run or hunt properly."
Sage scowled deeply at her. He'd had enough of being bossed by humans. But then, he'd had enough, too, of being crippled by the cast, and he remained obediently still.
They watched Kit circle where the clowder had often sheltered at night when she had run with them, the dense stand of blackberry brambles offering a safe haven from predators. Working in ever widening circles, Kit stopped suddenly and reared up, looking around her.
"They were here," she said. "Call them, Charlie. Call Willow."
Softly Charlie called. And warily she watched the woods, hoping some unseen hiker wouldn't emerge and wonder what she was doing. Again she called, and again.
"Louder," Kit told her. "Call louder."
She called, watching the dappled sun and shadows beneath the blowing pines. Every shape seemed to change and move in the shifting light, yet nothing really moved at all.
She called three times, then three times more. Bucky pulled at the reins, reaching to snatch at the sparse grass. Her voice, out of place in the silence, seemed to her a rude invasion of the wild woods. She was answered only by silence, and by the distant crash of water breaking against the cliff. Below her, Kit stood up on her hind legs again, like a little rabbit, watching the woods and listening. But when Kit looked up at her, Charlie couldn't read the expression in the tortoiseshell's yellow eyes. Agi
tated. Unsettled. A look that could mean anything.
When after a quarter of an hour there had been no response, no faint and distant mewl, no stealthy shadow approaching through the blowing-tree shadows, Charlie said, "I don't think they hear us. Can you track them away from the bramble?"
In her lap, Sage fidgeted, wanting down, wanting to search, too, but still she held him. If they had to hurry away from some danger, Kit could leap to the saddle or could vanish as swiftly as a bird. But Sage's weaker leg would slow him, nor should he make a flying leap.
Kit, after a long search nosing into zigzags among the brambles, leaped to the top of an outcropping of granite boulders, a hill of tumbled stones that rose against an oak. There she reared up tall, staring into the treetops. Loudly she mewled, and mewled again. A strange, wild cry that made Charlie shiver; then Sage's voice joined her, their cries eerie in the empty woods.
And suddenly the woods weren't empty. Cats appeared all around them slipping out from among the far trees and from beyond the boulders and descending from the highest branches, down the rough trunks. They paused and stood looking, their ears forward, their tails twitching; none approached too close. Only Willow came to them, trotting up to Bucky.
Quietly Charlie dismounted, holding Sage against her. She knelt before the bleached calico lady, and put Sage down.
Willow licked the young tom's face, then turned to look at the clowder cats. And now all the cats came around them and rubbed against Sage and licked his ears and made over him. But all the while, ready to bolt, they watched Charlie and the big buckskin.
Then Willow's mate appeared, the white tom Cotton, racing out of the far woods, his friend Coyote beside him. The white tom and the dark tabby tom strode forward boldly to inspect Sage.
***
IT TOOK A while to tell Sage's story. Charlie, sitting on the grass among the cats, told the story alone; Sage and Kit had wandered away. Willow and the two toms sat close to her, listening, the shy clowder cats gathered behind them in a ragged half circle. Like children, Charlie thought, children gathered at story hour, their faces filled with wonder at Sage's ordeal, with amazement as Charlie described the hospital and how Sage had been helped by humans. And, like children, most of the cats believed her but a few did not. These five, their expressions skeptical, turned to look away toward the rock hill where Sage and Kit sat together.
Charlie could see that the two were arguing. She couldn't hear their voices-but with the sudden dropping of ears and lashing of tails, she could clearly read Sage's beseeching, and Kit's short, willful temper, and it was hard to keep her mind on the story. Then Sage reared up as if his patience was at an end, and smacked Kit hard in the face-a businesslike blow that made Charlie catch her breath.
All the cats were watching. Cotton growled, and Willow's surprised intake of breath was followed by her whispered, "Oh, my." And this was the moment of decision. Would Kit stay with him, now that he'd shown some tomcat macho? Was that what she'd been waiting for?
41
THE JOURNEY HOME was silent. Kit rode in Charlie's arms, her face hidden against Charlie's shoulder. She said nothing, she didn't look up at Charlie. She huddled deep in her own thoughts. Above them the sun pushed higher into the clear sky; the chill day grew warm despite the sea wind blowing up the cliff. Charlie didn't know all that had occurred between the two, she knew only that Kit was going home again, and that for Lucinda and Pedric and for all Kit's friends, that was the best news. But she grieved for Kit, and wished Kit would share with her what she was feeling.
***
R IDING CUDDLED AGAINST Charlie, leaving Sage behind, Kit was both sad and relieved. And was uncertain, too, wondering if her decision had been the right one and yet knowing, deep down, that it was right.
Lucinda had once told her that a person should not let pity shape their decisions, that pity seldom fostered clear thinking. Now, Kit clung to Lucinda's words, assuring herself she'd done what she must do.
She had, sitting with Sage atop the hill of boulders, looking down at Charlie with the clowder gathered around her, and then looking away deep into the woods and then out to the bright, wild sea, tried to think clearly. The trouble with clear thinking was that her feelings kept getting in the way.
She had looked at Sage and then looked away toward the village whose life was so far removed from the ways of the wild. She had looked back at Sage, looked deep into his eyes as he sat waiting for her decision, his patience at an end since he felt well and strong again. His sudden demanding attitude had pleased her, for Sage's sake. But then…
She'd thought about when they were small, how happy they had been in each other's company, just the two of them-except that Sage could never understand her dreams and yearnings. She had tried to tell him what she imagined and longed for, but he never seemed to care. But they'd been only kittens, and despite their bitter disagreements they had loved each other.
But now they were grown cats. What they believed had become more deeply a part of them and would shape them all their lives. And she thought that neither of them intended to change, certainly Sage didn't mean to examine what might be right or wrong or what had gone awry.
She thought about when the clowder had gone to hunt rabbits on Hellhag Hill, when she first saw Lucinda and Pedric picnicking there. Sage and the rest of the clowder had crept away to escape the two humans, fearing and hating them, but she had hidden in the grass listening to the tales Pedric told and she'd been fascinated that humans were as hungry for those stories as she.
Later, Sage had been cross that she'd strayed so near to humans-and he'd said that humans had no right to any of those tales.
And then this morning, sitting with Sage on the mountain of boulders listening as he planned their life together, as he told her how it would be, she knew they were not the same. She knew that she could not do this, that she could not do as he wanted.
She had looked at Sage, whom she had known and loved forever, and wished she could be different. Or that he could. And she knew that wouldn't happen. Sitting close to Sage on the sun-warmed rocks, she had wept for them both.
Maybe her heart was like a bird fleeing among the clouds. And Sage's heart was like the steady robin, at one with the earth and the sheltering woods. She didn't know which was best. She felt ashamed of hurting him, but it was better to hurt him now than to hurt him more later.
Swallowing back her tears, she had told him goodbye…
And he had whacked her!
Surprised, she'd raised her paw to hit him back, but then she laughed. His blow freed her. She'd laughed and, despite his rumbling growl, she'd nuzzled him good-bye and she turned and ran, ran back to Charlie, ran away from him feeling free at last, so free, even if she was weeping.
***
THE CATS AND humans were gathered at the Damen house for potluck, an impromptu party that Ryan and Clyde said was to celebrate the sale of Charlie's new book, but in truth was in celebration of Kit's return home from the hills. For those humans who knew Kit's story, emotions were high. Max and Dallas, puzzled by the undercurrent of excitement, could only attribute it to the sale of Charlie's book. And Mike and Lindsey were too wrapped up in each other to notice anything out of the ordinary. Only Clyde was skeptical of Kit's resolve.
"I hope she doesn't change her mind, doesn't go through this again." He and Ryan were alone in the kitchen, setting out silverware and napkins.
Ryan set down a stack of plates, turning to look at him. "That's very cheerful. I didn't know I married Scrooge."
Joe sauntered in, leaped to the counter staring at Clyde. "What do you know about how Kit feels? Don't be such a sour face."
Ryan grinned, and winked at Joe. They heard the front door open as guests arrived, and they moved to the living room, where Kit was snuggling down before the fire beside Rock, looking as domestic as if she had never, ever considered running wild. Only the white cat moved away from the growing crowd. Snowball, though she had taken to joining the family since Ryan moved i
n, headed quickly for the laundry, wanting her own quiet space.
Drinks and beer were passed, and appetizers. Everyone toasted Charlie for signing her second book contract, then the conversation turned once again to the past few weeks, to the fate of Ray Gibbs, whose trial for the murder of Ryder Wolf was scheduled to begin in six weeks.
The night after Gibbs had been taken into custody in San Francisco, Dr. Emerson had called Dallas at the station to say he'd found Nina's dental records, that he'd called John Bern, and they had a match. So that was Nina in the Pamillon grave; they did not know yet whether that had been Nina in the tree house with Carson, they were waiting for a match on the DNA.
Lindsey said, "I know the lab's backed up, but what about the two bullets Dr. Bern found in Nina's grave? Do they have anything on that?"
"They do," Dallas said. "Those were.45 slugs." The bullets that had killed Ryder were.32 slugs and the rifling matched the revolver taken off Gibbs in San Francisco.
"But," Dallas told her, "OBI found the gun that killed Carson. Found it this morning, in the woods two miles from the tree house-they spent two weeks tramping the woods with metal detectors. This morning they dug up a.45 Colt with two smudged prints beneath the cylinder." He smiled. "Where Gibbs was careless wiping down the gun."
"Gibbs's prints," Lindsey said sadly, but not surprised.
"Ballistics matched it to the slugs in Chappell," Dallas said. "This will give their DA enough to indict Gibbs for Chappell's murder. With luck, he'll do time for that, as well as for Ryder's death.
"But as for the slugs in Nina's grave, they were so badly corroded it's not likely they'll ever get a match."
Lindsey sipped her drink. "I'll always believe that Gibbs killed Nina. I don't want to think that Ryder did that-I don't like to think Gibbs will never answer for that. But at least," she said, "if he's convicted for Carson's murder and for Ryder's, then he won't go free. I saw him shoot Ryder."
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