His insolent smile that he bestowed upon me told me he could see right into my thoughts. Now I looked away, sliding my gaze behind him, where figures moved about on the terrace. I wondered who lived there with him, and felt the strange, almost overwhelming urge to find out more.
My aunt was oblivious to the whole event. I felt almost like Judas for not speaking up or relaying the scene to her. How could I? Already I was deceiving her. But I wouldn’t need to anymore. Never again.
Chapter Six
Sunday sneaked up on us. I woke earlier than usual with the sun streaming through my window. I made coffee then prepared for church, donning my best dress. In truth, the dress was the same as all my others. A simple, button-down A-line ending below the knee. I had sewn lace on the sleeves and collar to make it prettier. I pinned my hat in place and adjusted it until I was happy with the look. There was nothing to be done about my plain shoes, and I decided at the last moment to put on my stockings.
I remembered to write a quick letter to my father. Then, impulsively, I penned one to Everett, telling him that I had seen the orange dye, although it was in a place that he couldn’t easily access. I suggested he keep looking around the area, for I felt his breakthrough would happen nearby.
My aunt and I ate a quick breakfast. Afterward, I helped her get ready. Brushing her long silver hair, I coiled it into a bun and pinned it in place.
She patted my arm. “Thank you. It gets so burdensome. Doing all these small things that I always took for granted.”
There was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be the sheriff. Would you be a dear and answer the door?”
When I reached the door the sheriff spoke to me through the screen. “Morning Miss Zara,” he said. “Fine Sunday don’t you think?”
“It is,” I agreed, opening the door for him. “Aunt Cleo will be out in a minute. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No. We should get going. The church does get crowded.”
“I’m coming,” my aunt said.
We drove to church in the police car. Sitting in the back of a police cruiser as I was, I felt a strange sensation of guilt, as if I were being carted away for the crimes I had committed.
The church came into view. It was past the train station and nestled among the pines. The building was demure, white and even topped with a steeple. Exactly as a small-town church should be. The congregation was already forming a line outside the doors. We parked and the sheriff accompanied us inside before leaving to sit with another group.
The church was surprisingly dark and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The pews were a deep brown wood, the pulpit mahogany. Footsteps and voices echoed around us. The room was just barely cool enough. If the day turned any warmer, it would be stuffy in the small space. A few women were already fanning themselves as they talked to each other in hushed tones.
The room grew quiet. The pastor had entered. He stood rod-straight in a black suit with a splash of white at his collar. He was handsome, tall and blond, but a touch dour in his features, as if his face was poised to scowl.
“Sin,” he said in a sonorous voice. “I want to talk about sin.”
My stomach sank. It was as if God knew what I had done.
“God punishes all sins,” he said. “He will only tolerate so much before he chases the sinners away. Pestilence, plagues, dust storms.” He took a deep breath, then shook his head and sighed sadly as he continued, “Famines. Floods.”
He turned to face us and his gaze fell upon me.
I felt my cheeks flush under his gaze.
“The only way to maintain our purity is to fight our lesser urges.” Suddenly he turned and went to the pulpit, reached beneath it and pulled out a large cardboard box and gently placed it upon the floor between the aisles. The parishioners responded to the sight of the box with excited gasps. He gallantly fell upon one knee beside it. “Sometimes God tests us, and we must rise to the challenge.” His words dripped from his mouth like honey. Then, he lifted the lid and slid it across the floor. It clattered against a pew. I found myself on the edge of my seat waiting breathlessly for what would happen next.
Gingerly, almost reverently, he dipped a hand into the box. Then, as if he were pulling a baby from a bassinet, he lifted his arm. Dangling from his hand was a multitude of small snakes. They twisted and threaded upon themselves, a writhing ball of evil.
“I fear nothing,” he said boldly. He stood. “Who among you is without sin? Who can stand a test from God?” Walking toward us slowly, he then swung the snakes over the heads of the crowd, and I saw the black, unblinking eyes of the serpents as they passed in front of me. His voice boomed throughout the holy church. “Search your heart, and ask yourself if your heart is pure…innocent enough to be worth saving? If it’s not, have you repented?”
I lowered my head, so flushed that I began to fan myself and when I dared to look again, the pastor’s gaze was directly on me. My emotions were a blur of guilt and excitement at the spectacle and I felt great relief when he put the snakes back into the box.
His sermon didn’t end so much as it tapered away, like a guilty thought that refuses to die down. Once it was over, a few parishioners rose from the pews to throw open the doors at the rear of the church. The midday sun streamed a shaft of bright light into the dark building. I helped my aunt down the aisle, and we waited patiently in that bright sunlight for our turn to shake the hand of the pastor.
He gave my aunt a peck on the cheek before turning to me and sliding his hand over mine. My aunt’s thin, wavering voice introduced us.
“Pastor Thornson, I’d like you to meet my great-niece, Zara Pendleton, come down all the way from Kansas to stay with me. The dust storms took their farm. Her father’s working for Roosevelt now.”
His eyes focused upon mine. “I’m sorry we meet under such trying circumstances,” he said, “though it was a pleasure to have you worship with us today.” He was an intense man, there could be no doubt about that. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“Until things settle with my father. Until…” Until what? I didn’t know, and let the sentence trail off.
“Until the good Lord decides otherwise,” my aunt chimed in, breaking up the awkward moment.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Cleo.” Turning to me. “Miss Pendleton, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
“Without snakes, I hope.” I tried to be lighthearted with my words, but they came out a bit more hesitant than I’d intended.
“I’m sure you’d have nothing to fear,” he replied with a smile.
I walked with the sheriff and my aunt to the car.
“I think I’ll walk home,” I told them. “It’s a beautiful day, and I’d like to stop by the post office and mail a letter. Also, I want to go to the general store, look at the seeds. Aunt Cleo, I’m thinking of starting the garden we spoke about.”
“All right dear, but please don’t scare me again by being late.”
The sheriff gave me a suspicious look and I hurriedly said, “Of course not. I promise I’ll be on time.”
It was a short walk to the store. At the general store, the clerk was very helpful in giving advice and after her recommendations I chose okra, eggplant, peppers and lima beans. When I held the seeds in the palm of my hand, I felt almost hopeful.
I paid, and as I still had a little bit of money left over, I splurged and bought strawberry seeds, as well. I left the store to head home with my purchases wrapped in a parcel. From the looks of the sun, I guessed that I should just barely make it before the sunset.
The post office was right next door to the general store. I mailed my father’s and Everett’s letters and picked up the mail for my aunt. I started the walk back home in an almost happy mood. The one cloud that marred my demeanor was the guilt I felt upon hearing the sermon. But my misbehavior was behind me. It wouldn’t happen again.
It was late in the afternoon, though still sunny and I walked at a leisurel
y pace. When a car approached I would step from the road onto the swale, running my hand along the high grasses. I was almost happy. Almost. If I knew my father was settled and doing okay I would feel truly happy.
I heard a train approaching from a distance, and as I reached the railroad crossing it arrived at full speed. Before I could cross the tracks the safety arms dropped and I stood watching the cars as they rattled and clacked along, feeling the thrill of the hot wind gusting over me.
I had counted sixteen cars when from the corner of my eye I noticed two men behind me. One was tall with a beard, the other short and wiry. They were gruff, greasy men. I was calm, certain it was no cause for alarm that they should also wait for the train to pass. But when they stepped forward, right next to me, flanking my sides, I grew afraid. I peeked at them. The first one I looked at met my gaze with his dark eyes. He scratched his beard and looked at me insolently.
I quickly looked away.
The other man was staring at the train, his hands in his pockets. I stepped backward, trying to put at least some distance between myself and them.
That’s when they turned around. I saw the ill intent on their faces. The quick looks they gave each other proved my instincts. I started to step away, but the tall man’s arm shot out and grabbed me by the waist.
“Stop!” I yelled, and yanked my body away. But yells meant nothing next to a moving train.
He grabbed me again, roughly forcing my body to collide with his. My parcel went flying through the air. He looked at me with a sneer, not even bothering to speak. He didn’t need to. I saw what he wanted in his eyes. Then, something strange happened.
From behind me a broad figure emerged and stormed toward us.
Navarre.
He was intent on the man holding me and pounced on him, ripping his grip from my body. He smashed him in the face with such force that the man flew through the air, past the safety arm, and crumpled to the ground just beside the speeding train. But, Navarre was not finished. He went to the man, reached down, and forced his face even closer to the wheels. All the muscles in Navarre’s body were taught and his rage palpable.
On and on the train went, and Navarre forced the man to endure the huge silver wheels that squealed and clacked by mere inches from his face. He gripped him so tightly I thought the man’s head would burst.
I looked quickly to see if the man’s friend was still around and saw him running straight into the woods, which swallowed him up in shadows. I saw Navarre’s motorcycle. He had pulled up and nobody heard him.
Just before the train sped away Navarre lifted his hand, stood up and strode over to me. He stopped to scoop up the parcel with my seeds inside.
“You’re coming with me.”
“I don’t think so,” I said quickly, remembering my vow.
Navarre stopped, and turned to me and the look on his face made me afraid. “You’d rather walk home with these fellas? This one’s just shaken, not injured. The other one is just fine, waiting in those bushes. I’m sure once I drive away they’d be happy to escort you.”
Just then the last car on the train rushed past, and a lonely burst of hot wind swirled around us. The safety arm clanged loudly as it lifted. I heard the man moaning on the ground.
Ahead of me the road was very long and solitary. I chose the lesser of two evils. “I’ll come,” I said.
Navarre gave a quick nod and held out the parcel to me. Then he climbed on the motorcycle and watched me with very intent eyes as I walked toward him. In order to climb on the bike, I had to place my hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin. I swung my leg over the back of the bike. The motorcycle dipped the tiniest bit as I did so, and unaccustomed to the feel of the bike, I leaned against him.
He must have known that I hadn’t ridden before. “Put your arms around me,” he said.
I tucked my skirt underneath my legs to prevent it blowing in the wind, then wedged the parcel between our bodies for safekeeping and finally slid my hands around his waist and linked them together. Good thing he couldn’t feel the flutter of my heart—or know my wild thoughts. Just a ride, I reminded myself. Nothing more. Resist temptation no matter what.
With a strong kick, he fired up the motorcycle and we roared away.
The day was almost gone, but sunlight still lingered. Far in the distance, I saw dark storm clouds rising up above the trees. They had not yet reached us, and I believed they were heading in another direction. The wind bit at my face and ears and I hid against Navarre’s back, in that little, windless pocket of warmth. Trees flew past us, as did the river, slow as molasses, and I watched the strange world spin past me from my safe little spot. Safe, I knew, only for the moment.
The thrill of being next to him was undeniable. He was both dangerous and mysterious. Hard to predict. My body didn’t care. In fact, it responded to him, craved him and the lure of danger. A tug of war raged inside me, and as my hands savored his hard body I felt the rope fraying, threatening to break. How I wished the road would stretch on forever, relieving me of the battle inside my heart.
We hit a pothole on the road, and I gripped him tighter, acutely aware of my hands against his stomach. The feel of his body, hard-muscled and firm beneath my fingers, turned my hands to pure liquid.
We hit another bump, and my hands were jolted apart and now fanned across his stomach as I clutched his waist. Inside me, my heart beat wildly; my face burned. Such foolishness, I knew, but my God, I could feel every fiber of his shirt, the warmth from his skin beneath, which to my hot fingers felt almost cooling.
The world was far away and blurred and I, removed from it all, hovered in an exquisite agony. Next to him, feeling him, without any danger to my promise. I watched everything, the whole world passing by, and I loved the speed, the thrill of it. I saw a glimpse of the storm again, but felt immune to it, because we could outrun anything on his bike.
As much as I wished, the road didn’t stretch on forever. The bridge came into view. Navarre slowed and turned onto it. Once again I made the mistake of looking down and saw the current sweeping along beneath my feet. Without meaning to I gripped Navarre tighter. He pulled up to the gate and turned off the motor.
I felt windblown and disoriented. My eyes were sticky with tears. Navarre put both feet on the ground while I tried to climb down. I moved tentatively, sliding to the ground as demurely as I could while hugging the package to my chest. “Thank you,” I said. “For the ride and for…” My voice trailed off.
Navarre’s hands were tensed on the handlebars. Without a word he put the kickstand down, dismounted and came to me. He held a heavy key ring in his hand, which he flipped through until he found the right key. He unlocked the gate. Gave it a nudge. With a creak, the heavy door swung open a few feet. I looked down the tree-shaded path and felt that pull again, stronger this time. I fought the urge. Smoothing my skirt, I began to walk away.
“Stop.” He gave me no warning, simply grabbed me, almost angrily, and pressed me against the gate. He kissed me. It was almost like he was branding me, claiming me. I was assaulted by the smell and the taste and the feel of him. All my defenses melted away.
He pulled back from my lips and said roughly, “You are mine. Do you understand? I will kill anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way.”
I wanted to remind him that it wasn’t me he should be angry at, but I couldn’t speak as I was trying too hard to catch my breath. Finally, I managed to say only, “I am not yours, Navarre.”
He bellowed in anger and kissed me, even rougher this time. My traitorous body responded and before I knew it my hands were on his skin, loving the feel of him at my fingertips.
“Tell me you are not mine,” he ground out. “Say it.”
I looked up at him. Scared. Nervous. “I am not yours,” I repeated softly. “I can’t be part of that…that wickedness.”
Navarre exploded. His features drew tight and angry, and he loomed above me. With my back to the gate, I tried to sidestep him. But he was
ready and with one quick move of his strong arm, he trapped me, encircling me with his embrace as he grabbed on to the bars. “You belong with me,” he said and stared at me with his bold, blue eyes.
“No,” I said. There was barely any sunlight left and in the strange half-light everything seemed surreal.
He pulled hard on the bars, wrenching the gate toward him so forcefully my body slammed against his. He wound his hand in my necklace, bringing me even closer to him. “This is all the proof I need. You may cloak yourself in propriety, but it won’t last very long. The pull is too strong.” Then he smiled lazily, full of confidence.
Every breath he took I felt. Every muscle of his torso, I felt. I smelled him, a heady mixture of spice and the sea. A thrill mixed with awe ran through my body and that’s when he tilted down and kissed me. Gently this time. He was changing his tactics and I was just as vulnerable to this method, perhaps more so.
His kiss was insistent; his lips were gentle. But, as tender as his lips were, his arms were unmerciful, gripping the gate so hard and forcing me so tightly against him that I had no choice but to yield. I was lost to his lips and couldn’t help the small noises of pleasure that escaped from me. Soon I was responding, moving my body against him and pushing out all reason, only to respond to the man.
Now his hand was on my leg, rising higher. He was impatient, sliding his hands up my stockings, past the garter until he reached my underwear. He gripped the thin fabric and shoved it aside, his hands diving down between my legs. I was shamefully wet, and he slid his fingers along me, so slow I thought he was torturing me. “You are exquisite,” he whispered and pushed his fingers inside me, kissing me hard and passionately. Showing me exactly what he wanted most.
“I don’t think this is really happening.” I laughed nervously, childishly. For it was getting dark and the gloaming light was murky and odd. I hoped that what was happening wasn’t real. The light was so strange that Navarre appeared grainy and almost imaginary. He had a ragged beauty in the half-light with his dark hair and the shadows stretching over him.
Harlequin E Shivers Box Set Volume 4: The HeadmasterDarkness UnchainedForget Me NotQueen of Stone Page 47