by Amanda Cabot
Before she had a chance to say anything more, the doorbell tinkled, announcing the arrival of a customer. Isabelle struggled to fix a smile on her face.
“Good afternoon.” Jean-Michel fairly strutted as he entered the store. Sarah watched, surprised by both his jaunty walk and the bright smile he wore. This was not the same Jean-Michel who’d spent so much time with her this summer. That Jean-Michel had been courtly but more subdued, and he’d never smiled at her the way he did at Isabelle.
“How fortunate I am, to have two of the most beautiful ladies in Ladreville in the same room.”
Though the fulsome compliment startled Sarah, Isabelle simply raised her eyebrows. “You see, Sarah,” she said in apparent response to Jean-Michel’s words, “I told you you and Thea were beautiful.”
Jean-Michel feigned chagrin. “I stand corrected. The three most beautiful ladies in Ladreville are here.” He looked down at Thea. “I can’t ignore the little one.” Unbidden, the memory of Jean-Michel’s father telling Sarah his son knew his duty and would care for Thea flashed through her mind. She tried not to frown, then noticed that Isabelle seemed equally ill at ease.
“Can I help you find anything?” Isabelle kept her voice polite but distant, the tone she used with new customers.
“Not today.” Jean-Michel leaned on the counter, directing his attention to Isabelle. “I came to offer my assistance.” Though his pause said he expected Isabelle to respond, she remained silent. Jean-Michel cleared his throat before he said, “I heard some unpleasant rumors and want you to know that I don’t believe them.” This time Isabelle stiffened, but still she made no response.
“Your brother and I had our differences in the past and I imagine we will again, but I know he’s not responsible.” Though Sarah expected Isabelle to say something, if only to thank Jean-Michel for his faith in Léon, she did not. Jean-Michel flushed. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, you need only ask.” Isabelle nodded slowly. Though Jean-Michel might construe her nod as agreement, Sarah suspected she was only acknowledging his offer, not accepting it.
“Well, then.” Clearly dissatisfied by the reaction to his offer of help, Jean-Michel took his leave.
“Does he come here often?” Sarah asked when the store was once again devoid of customers. The encounter between Isabelle and Jean-Michel had been an unusual one and one which made Sarah’s mind whirl.
“Almost every day. Why?”
Sarah nodded. “I thought so. I saw the way he looked at you. The man is smitten.”
“But he’s courting you.” Isabelle appeared appalled by the idea of Jean-Michel as her suitor. “Everyone knows that.”
“I’ve never encouraged him, or David, for that matter.” In both cases, Sarah had been convinced the men were acting in response to their parents’ wishes, not their own inclination. While that might have been the favored approach in the Old Country, it was not enough for Sarah.
“I never thought Jean-Michel’s heart was engaged.” Though he’d said all the right things, the words had not rung with sincerity. That was one of the reasons Sarah had never considered him a serious suitor. She’d been polite to him, nothing more. “Now I know why.”
Isabelle flushed with indignation. “The whole idea is preposterous. Jean-Michel and me? Never!”
“Why not? Surely your parents would approve.” After all, Jean-Michel was of French descent, and his father was the most highly regarded man in the town.
“Maman and Papa would approve, and even Léon might be persuaded that Jean-Michel would care for me,” Isabelle admitted. She stared into the distance for a moment, as if composing her thoughts. “It’s difficult to explain, but I don’t trust him. It’s not what he says as much as the way he says it.” She looked at Sarah, a question in her eyes. “Does that make any sense?”
It did, indeed, for that was the way Sarah felt about David. And the thought that Ladreville was home to two men who couldn’t be trusted troubled her almost as much as the problems Léon was facing.
“There must be a way to discover who’s responsible for the thefts,” she said at supper that night. Though she’d been unable to think of anything, perhaps Clay and Zach would have ideas. That was why she’d asked Zach to join them.
“I’m not so sure there is a way.” Clay accompanied his words with a frown. “I’m constantly reminded that this town is very good at keeping secrets.”
“I hate secrets.” The second the words left her mouth, Sarah blanched. She was a fine one to talk. Wasn’t she keeping a secret—a large one—of her own?
Though he gave her an odd look, Zach said nothing. It was only after supper that he took her aside. “I know you said you don’t like secrets,” he said when they were out of earshot, “but I’m hoping you’ll keep what I’m about to tell you in confidence.”
Her curiosity aroused, Sarah nodded agreement.
“You were right.” A smile of pure happiness split Zach’s face. “Those exercises you showed me for Robert were the right ones. He stood today.”
Sarah’s heart leapt with joy. This was what she’d hoped for, what she prayed for each day. “That’s wonderful! Does Clay know?”
“No. Robert wants to wait to tell him until he can actually walk. That’s why I’m asking you to keep this secret. I think Robert doesn’t want to raise Clay’s hopes in case he never goes beyond this stage. It was only a few seconds, but he stood on his own.”
“That’s the first step.” Sarah remembered the thrill she’d felt the day she’d been able to put weight on both legs. That day had been a turning point for her, for it had proven that, no matter how painful the exercises were and how frustratingly slow her progress seemed, she was healing. “Pa will walk again. I know it. And you’re responsible. It’s because you’re here that Pa wants to walk.” Sarah knew Zach’s presence had given him the incentive he needed to persevere.
Sarah was reveling in the thought of Clay’s father walking again as she made her way to the garden that evening. For once, Clay and Thea were not with her. Nora had been off her feed that morning, and Clay wanted to check on the mare one more time. When he’d invited Thea to join him, there had been no question. Though Sarah’s sister enjoyed digging in the dirt, nothing compared to being with a horse. Promising he’d bring Thea to the garden in half an hour or so, Clay had headed for the barn, leaving Sarah to traverse the path alone.
She didn’t mind. In fact, she was grateful for the solitude, for it gave her a chance to rejoice in the news. She knew the happiness bubbling up inside her must be evident and that if he saw it, Clay would try to find the cause. Perhaps by the time he joined her, Sarah would have her elation under control. But for the present, she could think of nothing save the fact that Pa would walk again. If she could have skipped, Sarah would have. As it was, she alternated between singing and humming, all the while murmuring prayers of thanksgiving. It wasn’t her doing or even Zach’s that was responsible for Pa’s being able to stand. It was God’s mercy.
The path was at its narrowest here, with mesquite bushes lining both sides. Idly, Sarah noted the leaves that obscured the ground. Though it wasn’t the season for leaves to fall, they must have blown down in the last storm, carpeting the path. If Thea were here, she would have shuffled through them, kicking them out of her way. She might have even lain down, waving her arms to make the autumn equivalent of snow angels. Sarah would do none of those, lest she somehow injure her leg. She merely walked, but after the months of fearing she would not walk again, that was enough. She smiled as she took another step.
There was no warning. One instant she was walking, her feet crunching on the dry leaves. The next, she was falling. Sarah heard the crack as branches broke, followed by the sickening thud as she landed at the bottom of a deep hole. She smelled the pungent odors of crushed leaves and fear. She saw the darkness of the pit. But mostly she felt. Pain shot through her as her leg crumpled beneath her. Shock stole her breath. Fear dried her mouth. She had fallen into a trap.
/> Traps were common. Sarah knew that. Only not on the path. Only not this deep. This one had not been dug for an animal. Sarah’s blood chilled at the realization that she was the prey.
Clay could not recall ever being this angry. Not even Austin’s death had provoked this fury. Someone had tried to hurt Sarah. Twice. The words echoed through his brain. There was no doubt of it. If he was right, and his instincts shrieked that he was, the wagon wheel had not fallen off by accident. Though there had been plausible reasons for believing that an accident, there was no way anyone could mistake the pit in the path as chance. Someone had known Sarah walked this path almost daily. That same someone had dug a hole deep enough that she could not climb out. Someone wanted to trap her, to injure her, to . . . Clay refused to even consider the third alternative.
Whoever had done it had been clever. After he’d dug the pit, he’d placed branches over the opening, camouflaging them with leaves. Thea would not have fallen in, for the branches would have borne her weight. There was no question; Sarah was the intended victim.
Clay took a deep breath, reminding himself Sarah had been fortunate and had suffered no serious injuries. Though painful, her leg had been strained, not broken again, and she could walk—hobble—with the assistance of a cane. That was the only good thing Clay could say about the evening.
If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the fear he’d felt when he’d heard Sarah’s cries. He and Thea had been coming down the path, their progress reminding Clay of a jackrabbit. Thea would scamper for a few seconds, then pause, distracted by a flower or a butterfly or even a fluttering leaf. The child found joy in everything. She’d tried to convince Clay to sing, and when he refused, undaunted, she’d proceeded to sing—if you could honor the sounds which emerged from her vocal cords with that word—as loudly as she could. That’s why Clay didn’t hear Sarah until they were almost at the pit.
If he’d ever doubted that he loved Sarah, the sight of her standing there, obviously in pain but determined to escape, would have destroyed his last doubt. He loved her; he wanted to protect her; he wanted to marry her. But first he had to discover who had tried to hurt her.
“I don’t understand it,” Clay said, venting his frustration on Zach. Once he’d assured himself that she had no broken limbs, Clay had insisted Sarah return to the cabin and rest. She’d had her hands full, quieting Thea, for the child had been distraught over the sight of her sister in the pit, but eventually Thea’s eyes had closed. If they were fortunate, they would both sleep now. Clay knew he would not. He paced the main room of the ranch house, ranting at Zach. “God must be punishing me by taking everyone close to me.”
Though Clay had expected a vigorous remonstrance, Zach’s expression was calm. “God didn’t kill Austin. A human did that,” he said quietly, adding, “I thought your wife died of food poisoning.”
“She did. Although . . .” Clay’s thoughts began to race again as he thought of the day Patience had died. “I wonder if the poisoning was deliberate. It seems strange to me that the only other person who was ill was Mary.” He’d heard how the other women hadn’t wanted to taste the fish chowder. At the time Clay had been too distraught to question the story. Now he did. Didn’t courtesy demand that everyone sample each dish, even if the serving were small? Perhaps the chowder hadn’t been to blame. Clay grabbed his hat and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Into town. There are some questions that need answers.”
“And they can’t wait until morning?”
“No.”
Zach appeared resigned. “I’m going with you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I think I do.”
Within minutes, they had saddled their horses and were heading toward town.
“She’s a wonderful woman.” Though they’d been riding silently, Zach seemed to feel the need to talk while they forded the river.
“Sarah?” As far as Clay was concerned, there was only one wonderful woman in the state of Texas. “I thought Austin was crazy when he decided she was the bride for him. A woman responsible for a small child, a woman who can’t ride a horse—I couldn’t picture such a woman on the Bar C, but Austin insisted. Now I can’t imagine life without her.”
“You love her.” Zach made it a statement rather than a question.
“The whole idea fills me with guilt.” Clay didn’t bother denying that he loved Sarah. Zach knew him well enough to recognize a lie. “Sarah was supposed to be Austin’s wife, not mine.” And that was the crux of the matter. Though Clay had written the letters, he’d done that for Austin, not himself. It was Austin who should have been Sarah’s husband and Thea’s father.
Zach was silent for a moment before he said, “From everything I’ve heard about him, your brother would have wanted you and Sarah to be happy.”
Clay couldn’t deny that any more than he could deny his feelings for Sarah. “It still seems wrong, as if I’m cheating both of them.” That was why he’d made no mention of love to Sarah, no matter how often he’d longed to make his courtship official.
Zach gave him a sidelong look as they left the river. “I’ll pray that you find the answer.”
He should have been used to it by now. Zach talked about God and prayer as much as Austin had. Perhaps on another day, it wouldn’t have bothered Clay, but today wasn’t another day. Today was the day someone had tried to harm Sarah. “A fat lot of good that will do.” He spat the words at Zach. “You and Austin put a lot of store in your God. Look what that got Austin: killed. He was so sure God meant Sarah to be the Canfield bride that . . .”
As the words echoed, Clay lost his train of thought. Was it possible? Had Austin somehow known he wouldn’t live to wed Sarah? Surely not! Clay searched his memory, trying to recall the times Austin had spoken of Sarah. “That’s how he always described her,” he mused. “The Canfield bride. Austin called her the Canfield bride, never his bride. I wonder . . .”
Though Zach appeared thoughtful, he shook his head. “You’ll never know why he said that. Don’t even try to find a reason. You’ll only make yourself crazy.”
Clay accepted the wisdom of Zach’s advice. “You’re right. I have more important things to do. Somehow, I will learn who killed my brother and who hurt Sarah.”
When they reached Herman’s house a few minutes later, Clay pounded on the door.
“I’m going blind, not deaf,” the older doctor groused as he opened the door, admitting Clay and Zach. “C’mon in. I can use the company.” He pointed toward a couple chairs. “Although, judging from the thundercloud on your face, this is not a social visit.”
“I wish it were.” Briefly, Clay explained what had happened to Sarah. “There have been too many accidents,” he concluded. “I can’t believe they’re coincidence. That’s why I want to talk to you about the day Patience died.”
“It was food poisoning. The fish chowder was tainted.”
“Possibly. My question is, what if it wasn’t bad fish? Could the poison have been deliberately added to Patience’s portion?”
Blood drained from the older doctor’s face. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “The only other person who said she ate the chowder was Mary.”
“Did she exhibit the same symptoms as Patience?”
“I can’t say. I didn’t see her until the next day, and she was apparently recovered by then.”
“Mary didn’t summon you immediately?” Though Clay had not been with Patience that afternoon, Herman had described the symptoms as severe. He couldn’t imagine anyone in such agony not calling the doctor.
Herman shook his head. “That woman was never ill a day in her life. You know the reason she’s summoned me so often over the past year has nothing to do with her health. I went to the Lazy B the next day, simply because one of the other women told me Mary had eaten a bowl of the chowder and I wanted to check on her. Judging from her condition, she must have ingested far less than your wife.”
> Clay did not like what he had heard. “So someone could have deliberately killed Patience.”
“Based on what you’ve said, I can’t dismiss the possibility.”
Though Herman spoke softly, to Clay the words sounded like nails in a coffin. The anger he’d been struggling to control raged like a wildfire, filling every sinew of his body.
“Patience, Austin, and now Sarah.” Clay looked at Zach. “I swear by the God you hold so dear that I will find whoever’s responsible, and I will make him pay.”
18
She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt as if she were falling again. It had taken only an instant to reach the bottom of the pit, and yet in her mind she was tumbling for minutes, perhaps hours, before she crumpled in a heap. Shock, fear, and regret mingled with the pain that shot through her leg. Shock that she had fallen. Fear that she might not live to care for Thea. Regret that she had not told Clay she loved him. Over and over, the images haunted her.
It was useless. Sarah tossed the blankets aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep wasn’t simply eluding her; it had fled and was probably miles away. Sliding her feet into slippers, she reached for the cane Clay had given her. Though the injury had made her limp more pronounced, she was able to walk so long as she placed most of her weight on the cane. Slowly and deliberately she made her way into the cabin’s main room and sank into the rocking chair. Perhaps the rhythmic motion would soothe her nerves. Perhaps it would help her make sense of what had happened.
She closed her eyes, and this time she saw Clay’s face as he reached the hole. When she’d landed, she’d soon realized that escape was impossible. Though the pit was only seven or so feet deep, that was enough that she could not reach the top. Whoever had dug it had been careful to remove rocks and roots that might have helped her climb out. The trap had been meticulously planned and constructed, with only one flaw. The digger must not have known that Clay accompanied Sarah to the garden most evenings. It was the knowledge that he would be coming soon and that he would be able to pull her out of her prison that kept Sarah from panicking.
