Kendall thrashed desperately beneath the water’s surface. She was struggling in less than two feet of water, but with her arms pinned to the pond’s murky bottom, she knew she would never be able to raise her head far enough to break the surface. Her only hope was to free herself from Ted’s grip. She fought frantically then, twisting and kicking, trying to wrench her arms loose from fingers that wrapped around her like a vise. Her lungs felt as though they would explode, and she was no longer able to hold her breath. Water gushed into her mouth as her windpipe involuntarily sucked in, searching for air that wasn’t there. She tried to exhale and what little air was left in her lungs exploded in tiny bubbles toward the surface. She knew she was dying then and she thought of Mom and Dad and even Ted, in better times. Images of Jackson filtered through her mind and tore at her heart as her struggling subsided and her body became limp.
Her last conscious thought held no great revelation of importance. Instead, as she felt the watery grave engulfing her in darkness, a question lingered. Why had her brother suddenly dropped on top of her, his body covering hers beneath the water? His full weight had landed on her with extreme force, his hands sliding away from her arms and out to her sides, as if the embrace he withheld from her in life, he offered to her in death.
Chapter 21
>Jackson ran along the forest trail, the sweat running from his forehead mingling with the rain that had now begun to fall. He could faintly see ahead the end of the trail where it opened onto the clearing and the pond. He had nearly run the mile length of the trail in less than six minutes, but it had seemed like an eternity to him. His legs ached from the strain, but the muscles continued to pump consistently, driven by adrenaline and his desperate need for her.
He thought he heard the hammering of horse’s hooves behind him, but he couldn’t be sure, his own breath and heartbeat echoing so strongly in his ears. He prayed that Tom was close, that one of them would reach the pond soon. The loud boom that resounded through the air made Jackson’s heart flinch as he ran, until he recognized that it was merely the pounding of thunder.
He burst through the opening and into the clearing, his eyes scanning the area and sending quick messages to his brain, like a movie projector running on fast forward. He suddenly stopped running and stood facing the pond, breathing in heavy gulps of air, saw Cynthia sitting in the mud nearby, saw Sam raised in the air, teetering on hind legs as his front hooves suddenly thrust downward and pummeled the head and upper body of the already battered and bloodied man who lay at the water’s edge. Jackson couldn’t identify him, but doubted that even the stranger’s own mother would be able to recognize him now.
But there was no sign of Kendall. Then suddenly he spotted her boots in the sand, half hidden in the brush at the rim of the pond, her legs and body disappearing into the water.
He rushed to her, feet splashing into the pond, his knees collapsing as the density of water and mucky bottom broke his momentum. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up from beneath the water, still on his knees, and cradled her head in his arms. He pushed the wet hair from her face and senselessly called her name, as if she would open her eyes at the sound and let him know that she was all right. He lifted her then and quickly carried her lifeless body from the pond and laid her on the muddy shore. He knelt over her and pinched her nose closed and breathed into her mouth, then pressed lightly on her stomach to expel some of the water. He continued his routine relentlessly, all the while calling her name, begging her not to leave him.
He heard a nearby sound of squishing mud and looked up and saw Tom dismounting his horse. Jackson glanced at him with desperate eyes that pleaded for help in summoning some sort of divine intervention, as he breathed again into Kendall’s mouth, then pushed again lightly on her stomach.
Jackson looked back at her face and saw the fine thread of pond water seeping from the corner of her mouth. He pushed again and she exhaled a sputtering cough, as more water spewed from cold, quivering lips.
The rain was coming down harder now and Jackson leaned forward, sheltering her face with his chest. He had to bend his head at an awkward angle to see her face, but he could see her eyelids fluttering open, heard her moan. Her head moved slowly from side to side as she regained consciousness, and then she raised her arms weakly and pressed into his chest with hands that had so little fight left in them. A small guttural sound escaped from her throat as she tried to push him away.
“Kendall, it’s me. It’s Jackson.”
She must have heard him, must have understood that she was safe again, because her arms fell limply to her sides and he could hear her raspy crying. He raised her to a sitting position and she lowered her head, pressing the side of her face into his chest.
Tom unsaddled Sam and removed the blanket and took it to them, then went over and knelt beside Cynthia, who was staring dazedly at the red-haired stranger lying in the mud.
Jackson put the blanket over Kendall’s shoulders and fanned one end out over her head, tenting her from the downpour. Neither of them spoke; they just sat in the rain, holding onto each other.
Jackson glanced over at the dead man and knew that if Sam hadn’t been with Kendall, Jackson never would have gotten here in time. He wondered about the strange man, but didn’t want to ask questions of Kendall now.
The heavy downpour subsided to a moderate sprinkling, and Kendall pushed the blanket away from her face. She looked up into Jackson’s face, but still couldn’t speak. Her bottom lip began to tremble and he held her tighter.
“It’s over, Kendall. You’re okay now.”
“It’s Katherine,” she whispered.
He studied her face for a moment. Her expression seemed somehow different. “You remembered?”
“Everything.”
“Katherine,” he repeated, then smiled at her. “I like it. It suits you.” He lowered his face to hers, feeling a desperate need now to kiss her, a final confirmation that she was alive and warm and that everything was indeed okay. She turned her face away. He looked at her quizzically.
“Jackson, there are things I need to tell you.”
“Tell me later. Kiss me now.”
“No, you have to know now.” She gazed nervously at him. “This has to be said. Before anything else happens between us. I couldn’t bear it if you kissed me and then regretted it again.”
“I never regretted kissing you.”
“You said you did.”
“I lied.”
“But there are things you don’t know, things I need to tell you first. I’m afraid you’ll regret that you ever knew me.”
“Never.”
He pulled her against him and lowered his face to hers again as he whispered to her, “There’s nothing you can tell me that will make a difference, Kendall, because I—”
“No,” she said softly, but urgently, as she pressed her fingers against his lips. “Please don’t say anything. You need to know my name. My full name.”
“Okay,” he responded and smiled, as if to humor her. “What is it?”
“First of all, I was right about the name Kendall. It seems odd that I took a name that was mine all along. Kendall is my maiden name, though, not my married name. But I promise you, I never knew that. Until today.”
Jackson was still smiling, but he refrained from laughing, not wanting her to think he was laughing at her, since she seemed to think this confession was of such importance. “I believe you,” he said. “I never once thought you were lying to me about that. Now, kiss me.”
“And Ted Kendall isn’t my husband. He’s my brother.”
“That’s even better. All the more reason for you to shut up now and kiss me.”
“No, Jackson, you don’t understand. That’s not it. It’s my full name, my married name, that’s the thing.”
He had been relieved to hear that Ted Kendall was a brother, not a husband. But she had a husband, after all. What difference did it make what his name was. “Yes?”
Her lips be
gan to tremble then, and her eyes became glassy with tears as she whispered, “It’s Coley.”
The smile faded from his lips and he looked at her pensively, still not understanding, not sure he wanted to.
“My name is Katherine Kendall Coley.” She bit her lip in an attempt to stop its trembling. “Jackson,” she stammered quietly, then looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “Your brother, James Lee, was my husband.”
Jackson stared at her, speechless. He sucked in a deep breath and held it. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. After a moment she looked up at him. His breath suddenly released in a rush and he was having trouble getting the words out that were rattling around inside his brain. “Your husband?” he asked finally, barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” she answered in a tone that bespoke of guilt and regret. “Jimmy…James Lee was my husband.”
“What do you mean he was your husband?”
“Oh, Jackson,” she whispered. “I never intended for you to find out like this.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Just tell me!”
Her soft crying culminated in one final, anguished sob before she breathed deeply and answered sorrowfully, “James Lee is dead, Jackson.”
Chapter 22
>Jackson felt as though every breath, every hope, had drained from him. He still held Kendall in his arms, but slowly turned his head and stared at the dead man, saw the damage that Sam’s hooves had done to the man’s head. “James Lee?” He breathed the name through lips that barely parted, the anger in his heart now mixing with remorse and sorrow.
“No,” Kendall quickly assured him. “That’s not Jim.”
“Who, then?”
“My brother, Ted,” she responded, as the tears began to flow again.
“And James Lee? How did he die?”
“It happened shortly before I came here.”
Jackson looked at her then, the confusion and dismay showing in his features. “You planned this all along. You intended to come here. Is that it?”
“Yes, but—”
She was startled into silence as Jackson released her and looked away.
“Jackson, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” He stared at her for a moment, unable to hide the anger in his expression.
“I can tell it’s not good. But you’re wrong. I didn’t come here under false pretenses, and I never meant for any of this to happen. Please let me explain.”
“You can explain, all right. But not here and not now.” He stood then and helped her to her feet. He felt an urgent need to distance himself from her. He didn’t understand any of what she had told him. He had been living with the woman who had been married to his brother, had fallen in love with her. He suddenly felt betrayed, foolish. But his love for her and his deep concern for her immediate safety and well-being overrode any lingering sense of disloyalty or suspicion. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can ride back to the house?”
Kendall nodded and began making her way toward Sam. She glanced over at Cynthia, who was standing and leaning against Tom, her face buried in his chest as she cried softly, as if she were a helpless victim in all of this. Kendall would see to it that Cynthia answered for f her actions and her association with Ted, but she had no strength or willpower to confront Cynthia now. Kendall merely shook her head and continued walking toward the horse. Jackson followed her and began re-saddling Sam.
“You don’t mind if I ride him back to the house?” Kendall asked with dismal eyes.
“Of course not.” He paused, then added with a slight tremor in his voice, “I owe this horse a lot.”
Kendall looked up into his face then, wanted to put her arms around him, to comfort him and shield him from all the unanswered questions she would soon have to answer, but she merely nodded and placed a hand on his arm. His eyes were strained with sadness and something else that Kendall could only perceive as disillusionment. He helped her onto Sam’s back, then lifted himself up and sat behind her.
They rode slowly and quietly back to the house, Tom and Cynthia following on Tom’s horse. They found Chief Bullard, who had only moments before arrived, standing in the yard beside the open door of his patrol car, watching curiously as they approached, relieved to see that everyone was all right. Jackson paused only briefly in the yard to point out to Lan the location of where the crime had occurred, promising to explain everything later, then continued on toward the house with Kendall.
Cynthia stood helplessly in the middle of the yard, realizing she had no transportation back home. She took a few steps toward the house, then faltered, and said in a whimpering voice to no one in particular, “I need a ride home.”
Kendall stopped on the back porch steps then and turned to look at her. “Oh, you’re not going anywhere just yet, Cynthia.”
≈≈≈
Three hours later Kendall stood at the kitchen window and watched as the Athens County Sheriff’s detectives and the county coroner drove away. She said a silent goodbye to her brother as the coroner’s van pulled onto the gravel road leading to the highway.
Chief Bullard pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Let’s go, Miss Gamble.”
Cynthia rose from her chair meekly, as a fresh onslaught of tears began. “B-but, my baby. You can’t put me in jail pregnant.”
Chief Bullard seemed unimpressed as he put a hand on her elbow and escorted her to the back door. “We certainly don’t deny prisoners medical attention, Miss Gamble.”
“But, I mean, I’m pregnant, for God’s sake. I simply cannot go to jail,” she wailed.
“You’ll be allowed to contact your lawyer as soon as we get you back to the station. It’s possible you may be out on bond by Monday.”
“M-Monday?” Cynthia turned to look at Jackson pleadingly. “Jackson, do something!”
Jackson responded quietly, but firmly, “If this child you say you’re carrying is mine, I’ll do everything I can to help you, to see to it that you get excellent care and that this baby is not born in prison. But I’ll also make sure you never get anywhere near this child again.”
“You can’t do that! This baby is ours. We should raise it together!”
“Whether you’re convicted or not, do you really think I want my child raised by someone who’s guilty of conspiracy to commit kidnapping or murder?” Jackson shook his head and sighed heavily. “You really should have kept your doctor’s appointment this morning, Cynthia, instead of leading that maniac to the pond. Now get out of my house.”
With that, Chief Bullard opened the back door and led Cynthia to the waiting patrol car. Kendall still stood at the window, looking out. She hadn’t wanted to be witness to the conversation that had just taken place. No matter how she felt about Cynthia, Kendall couldn’t find it in her heart to gloat. It had been a horribly frightening day and at the moment, revenge was the last thing on her mind. She felt a great appreciation for merely being alive. And there was so much she still had to say to Jackson and Casey. That was going to be heart wrenching enough.
As Cynthia and the police chief reached the patrol car outside, Kendall turned away from the window and found Jackson still seated at the kitchen table, staring at her. Casey, who had been summoned home from the police department, sat in the chair at the opposite end of the table next to Tom. The three of them were quiet, looking at Kendall with faces that seemed to be anticipating a nuclear attack.
Casey was the first to speak. Her voice held an agitated and somewhat suspicious edge. “Now that Lan has left, tell us why you came here. It wasn’t an accident at all, was it?”
Kendall winced at the harshness of Casey’s tone. “No. My coming here was no accident,” she answered quietly. “But, Casey, you’ve got to believe that I never intended to stay here, and I never meant for any of this to happen, for any of this danger to follow me here. I only wanted to stop and explain to you about James Lee. I thought you
and Jackson both had a right to know what had happened to your brother.”
“He had told you about us, then?” Casey asked, her voice trembling, yet still retaining an edge of wariness.
“Yes. He talked about you often. He loved you both very much.”
Jackson snorted at that. “He had a funny way of showing it. He takes off to God knows where, and then we never hear a single word from him for twelve years.”
“Jackson, please don’t be too hard on him,” Kendall whispered. “He had his reasons for living his life the way he did. You may not understand them, you may not agree with them, but that doesn’t mean that Jim didn’t love you.”
“Okay, so what were his reasons?” Jackson asked. “We all know he didn’t like farm life. So because of that, he deserts us?”
“It was because he had deserted you, when you needed him the most, that kept him away. It’s true he didn’t like living on this farm, hated it, actually. But he was ashamed of what he had done to you and Casey. And the longer he stayed away, the more difficult it became for him to get in touch with you, to face you again. But he cared a great deal for both of you.”
Jones, Beverly R Page 28
