Could I run away? But where could I go? And how would I leave? I had no money, and who could loan me enough to start somewhere new. And how could I even start somewhere else when I had an infant to care for? The situation seemed to grow worse and worse as I contemplated it.
Perhaps I could save some money over the next few months. But I could see no way to save enough to support myself for even two months. Who could I stay with? Ellen in her tiny room overlooking a garden? What would she think of me if I were to tell her of my condition? I pressed my hands tightly over my face, wishing I could die.
By morning I had no answers, and my head and body ached from lack of rest. The nausea only further reminded me of my dismal, terrifying future. It was Sunday, and I was expected at church for services and Sunday school. Mechanically, I dressed and gathered my things together.
Somehow I managed to get through the morning, though my thoughts were far away and frightening in nature. When people looked at me, I wondered if they guessed my secret, though I knew that was impossible. It was only my own guilt that was torturing me.
Ellen stopped me as I was heading back for the schoolhouse. “You look dreadful, child. What are you doing to yourself?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” I answered.
“Why don’t you come over, and we’ll talk?” she suggested, her face even more wrinkled with her obvious concern over me. I felt miserable.
I hesitated at her invitation, thinking what she would feel about me if she were to learn the truth. Could I tell her? Could I stand to have her affection change into shock and contempt? I swallowed hard, feeling tearful and wanting desperately to run away.
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t give me any of your lame excuses, Abby,” she said sharply. “You’re on vacation, and your time is your own. Now, you can spare me an hour or two. You’re coming for lunch. Do you understand?” she said, speaking to me as though I were a truant.
I could not help but smile at her manner. How I loved this domineering old tyrant!
“All right,” I agreed.
Her pursed mouth twitched with satisfaction. “Then come along, and we’ll have no further arguments about it.”
A short time later we sat in her room. The day was as bleak as I felt, and I cast about frantically for something to say to lighten the mood that had come with me. Ellen’s niece brought in a pot of coffee and two cups, and my barely settled stomach began to turn. Ellen poured out a cup.
“You’ll have to come get it, Abby. My hands are too shaky for passing it across to you,” Ellen instructed.
“No... no, thank you. I don’t feel like having any coffee right now.”
Ellen looked at me sharply. “You look drawn.”
I tried to relax my facial muscles and smile, but my stomach was tightening alarmingly. Without answering, I shook my head.
“You’re ill!” Ellen said.
The wave passed, and I opened my eyes and let out my breath slowly. “I’ll be all right in a moment.”
“How long has this been going on?” Ellen demanded, annoyed at the idea of my being sick. “Elvira Hudson said you didn’t look well the night of the Christmas program. And when you came back in, you looked positively ready to faint. Now you’re ill again. Have you seen Doctor Kirk?”
“No. There’s no need.”
“I disagree. You can’t go on like this, Abby. You look a wreck. You’ve lost weight, and you don’t need to lose any. Now, don’t be so stubborn and ridiculous. I’ll talk to Doctor Kirk myself and arrange an appointment for you.”
“No!” I cried. “It’s up to me whether I see a doctor or not, and I don’t want to see one!”
Ellen was silent but watchful. My face flushed under her speculative glance.
“It’s nerves, that’s all. Really. There’s no need to concern yourself, and I wish you wouldn’t!” I said, hoping she would stop staring at me in that peculiarly discerning way of hers, as though she could see right inside my head. I was sure she had guessed what was wrong with me.
“And just what do you have to be nervous about?”
I lowered my head, feeling the guilty color staining my face. “Reverend Hayes suggested I start seeking another position,” I managed finally, grasping that excuse and hoping it would satisfy her.
She relaxed slightly and gave an impatient sigh. “Yes. So I heard. You were tactless to say the least. When are you going to learn to avoid that man and keep your mouth closed. You have Diego reinstated, and Matthew Hayes has learned his lesson. Don’t expect to work miracles by rearranging the reverend’s head.”
I laughed, for just an instant forgetting my problems. “How did you manage to be tactful all those years, Ellen?”
“Good question,” she muttered, then sniffed. “I think everyone was just a little scared of me. I had most of this township in my schoolroom at one time or another, you know.”
“You’ve been around long enough.”
“Don’t be impertinent!” she snapped, and then laughed with me. She waggled her finger at me. “But don’t you think you’ve sidetracked me. I’ve had experts try that over the years. Now, what’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing that you can help me with, Ellen,” I said honestly.
“Is it the same thing that’s been bothering you for some time?” she pressed, but gently. I rubbed my temples.
“It’s all interrelated.” I looked up at her, not even trying to conceal the anguish I felt. “But I can’t talk about it. Not with you. Not with anyone.”
For a long time Ellen did not say anything. She was deep in her own thoughts. I shifted restlessly, my hands feeling very cold. What if I told her?
“Did Jordan find you outside the schoolhouse?” she asked suddenly, her eyes piercing.
My mouth opened and then shut. “Was he looking for me?” I parried, knowing it was useless.
“Abby...” she said warningly.
“Yes. We talked,” I wearily admitted.
“And what has Ross Persall to do with you?”
“Ross?” I gasped. “Nothing. We’re friends.”
“Women are never friends with a man like Ross Persall,” she snorted derisively.
“Well, I am. We’ve talked on occasion, and he seems very nice.”
“Charming is a better word.” She sniffed.
“You don’t know him,” I said defensively.
“No. But I don’t expect it’s any great loss.” She pointed to the sandwiches. “Come, come. Eat something.” I shook my head. “At least try,” she said with concern. I picked up a half, handling it for a moment before forcing myself to take a small bite. I chewed the spongy mass and swallowed.
“You left the schoolroom in such a hurry, I was worried about you,” Ellen admitted, having munched a bite of her own sandwich. “Then Jordan disappeared for a long time, and he came back in looking like thunder itself. You returned looking like death warmed over, and Ross Persall followed a few minutes later, watching you with a possessive air. And I saw him cast Jordan more than one accusing look. Now, what does all that mean?” She raised her brows slightly.
“I was sick. Mr. Bennett happened by at the most inopportune time. We argued a bit, then Ross Persall came by and simply misunderstood what was going on. There’s nothing between Ross and me for him to feel possessive.”
“And Jordan?”
My face turned a guilty red.
“Abby?”
“There's nothing....” I started to lie, and then couldn’t. I shook my head and felt the tears welling into my eyes, blinding me.
“Abby...” Ellen said softly, her voice so gentle and tender, it was my undoing. I started to sob. I put my hands over my face. I heard her get up from her chair by the window and move across the room. Her arm came around my shoulders.
“Abby...” she repeated, and the distress was evident in her tone.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve known there was something wrong for some ti
me now. Won’t you trust me, dear?”
“I can’t talk about it. I can’t.” I looked up at her through my blurred vision. Her arms came around me, cradling me against her.
“You could tell me anything. It wouldn’t matter. I love you like my own daughter.”
I pulled away, feeling the full weight of my guilt. I looked up at her. I could not stand it. I got up and hurried to the door.
“Abby! Please, let me help you!” Ellen pleaded.
My fingers closed around the knob, and for an instant I leaned my forehead against the door. “Oh, Ellen,” I moaned. “You wouldn’t love me if I told you. You’d never even want to see me again.”
By some minor miracle no one saw me hurrying back to the schoolhouse. No one saw me go out the back door and run past the well and out into the rolling hills, where I could find a few hours’ solitude and peace. I had to think. I had to find some way to work things out.
It was very late when I returned to my room. As soon as I walked in, I knew someone was there. The teakettle was on and was steaming madly. Upon checking, I found it almost empty. The door to the schoolroom was ajar, and I went in. For a moment I didn’t see anything. Everything seemed to be in its place. Then I saw someone sitting in the chair at my desk. My heart stopped and then started again in a rapid drumbeat. I moved forward slowly, straining my eyes to see who it was. There was no movement.
Then I recognized her. Her pale eyes were wide open and staring, her mouth sagged in a soundless scream. The fingers of her right hand clutched at the front of her dress.
“Ellen?” I rushed forward and touched her. She was freezing cold. She slid sideways into my arms.
“Ellen! Ellen!”
She was dead.
Chapter Nineteen
Clouds darkened overhead, threatening to add another deluge to the storm that had already swelled creeks and puddled the streets. The wind whipped wildly through the sycamore grove, making the branches groan with protest. The last few leaves released their weakened hold and spun off dizzily. Everywhere, the world seemed gray and cold.
A crowd followed six men bearing a small pine box on their shoulders. They moved slowly up the street and through the gate of the cemetery. People drew tightly together to ward off the cold. The men lowered the box, setting it on slats across a yawning hole. Here and there people sobbed or spoke in low, aggrieved voices. Reverend Hayes moved forward, flanked by Jesuit Father Anthony from Sycamore Hill’s only other church, St. Joseph’s. Ellen Greer had been a shared servant of the town, and her funeral was a joint concern.
Father Anthony spoke first, briefly and poignantly, summarizing Ellen Greer’s career and years of unselfish service to the people. Reverend Hayes spoke then, his voice subdued as he talked of Ellen’s strength of mind and character and of the debt everyone owed her.
Jordan Bennett, as one of the pallbearers, stood at the front. His face was pale and controlled. The dark suit he wore looked expensive. It was an Eastern cut, and it made him seem remote and all the more a stranger to me.
The eulogy became a drone of sound against the wind. Words were lost. I watched as the six men, Jordan among them, lifted the small, poor casket and took the slats away. I closed my eyes. I wanted to blot out the picture of Ellen being set into that cold, dark grave at the top of the hill. The words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” drifted to where I was standing, slightly apart from the crowd. I winced when I heard the thud of soil as it was dropped in upon Ellen.
“... You can tell me anything. I love you like my owndaughter....” Ellen’s voice came to me. Tears burned and then coursed down my cold cheeks. “Abby... Abby... please let me help you. I love you like my own daughter....”
The pain in my chest was excruciating. If only I had been there, perhaps I could have helped her. But Doctor Kirk said she had died almost instantly of a heart seizure. He said she had been ill for a number of years. But if I had been there, I could have comforted her. I could have held her close to me so that she would not have been so afraid. I could have told her how much I loved her. I had never told her. But I had not been there when she needed me. And Ellen had died alone in that cold, haunted schoolhouse.
“Miss McFarland,” someone said softly. I opened my eyes and saw Ellen’s niece, Sadie, standing before me. She held out something. The little package was loosely tied with parcel string. “I think my aunt would have wanted you to put these up in the schoolhouse somewhere. They’re her service plaques,” she explained, her voice wobbly. I took them and nodded. I was unable to speak. Fifty years of teaching, two small bronze plaques. I stood silently, tightly gripping the pieces of memorabilia that represented Ellen’s entire life.
A picture of Ellen’s face flickered in my mind’s eye. She was smiling that taunting smile of hers and wagging her gnarled finger at me. Then another picture superimposed itself. I saw her face in death, eyes open in fear, mouth in a silent scream for help. And she had been alone. All her life, Ellen Greer had been alone, even in the end.
People moved past me down the hill. I felt their stares. Everyone knew that Ellen had died in the schoolhouse. Everyone knew I had discovered her body. Some, hearing my screams, had sent Tom Hallender to investigate.
I overheard one townswoman saying to another, “Did you see Miss Greer’s face that night? She saw something. That’s what killed her. She saw something there in that place. I’m not sending my little girl back there, that’s for sure.”
Had Ellen seen the ghost? Was that what had frightened her so badly that she had suffered the fatal seizure? I stared back into the faces that passed me. Jordan was approaching. His eyes were seeking mine and rendering some message I was incapable of comprehending in my grief over Ellen. I turned away quickly and made my way down the hill to the gate. I felt like walking; so I started back along the fence and up toward the grove. I had stopped by the lonely grave with its wooden marker when Tom Hallender caught up with me.
“Miss McFarland, could I have a minute of your time, please?”
When I did not answer, he moved closer. He looked at the plaques clutched in my hand. “Not much to show for fifty years, is it?” he said bluntly, repeating my private thoughts of only moments before. I wished he hadn’t.
“There are other things more important, Sheriff,” I answered quietly, wanting him to leave me alone with my grief.
“Seems to me the town could have given her more than two plaques, a cheap pine casket and some sentimental words over her grave,” he went on brutally frank. I flinched.
“Everyone respected and loved her,” I said shakily.
“Sure. So much so that if it hadn’t been for her niece’s husband owning a boardinghouse, Miss Greer would have rotted in some charity home somewhere,” he continued ruthlessly. The cold possible truth of his words made me recoil.
“Is this why you wanted to talk with me?” I emitted tremulously. “Because if it is, I would just as soon not hear more!”
“I know you cared for Miss Greer.” He disregarded my plea. “You were good friends with the old lady. I don’t think she would have wanted the same kind of life for you.”
His comment about Ellen being an old lady irritated me, and my mouth tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I mean working for fifty years and then getting nothing for it but what you’ve got in your hands.” He indicated the loathsome plaques. Why wouldn’t he just go away and leave me alone?
“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered painfully.
“It should then,” he said, irritated. “You’ll be just like her, you know. Working here year after year, giving everything you’ve got to people who don’t care a penny about you. Then when you’re old and of no more use to them, they’ll kick you out and expect you to fend for yourself.”
Of course, that would not happen to me. I would not be allowed to stay here in Sycamore Hill. Not once my secret became known. But somehow that did not matter now. I did not see so far ahead. I did not want to see any far
ther ahead.
“You shouldn’t be so concerned, Mr. Hallender. And I don’t know why it should matter to you so much what happens to me.”
“Because I’m in the same position Miss Greer was, only I haven’t got a niece with a boardinghouse,” he said bitterly. “I wouldn’t want to see the same thing happening to you as well. Someone’s got to get out.”
“I don’t understand.” He wasn’t making any sense to me at all.
“It’s so simple. I’ve got a little money saved. I’ll loan it to you so you can go someplace else and start anew.”
My eyes opened wide. “Why should you want to do that for me?” I hardly knew this man, and yet he was offering me his savings. Why?
“Just what I said, Miss McFarland. So you don’t end up like Miss Greer, wasting your life for people who just don’t give a damn.”
“I don’t see teaching as a waste of my life, Mr. Hallender,” I assured him honestly, smiling ruefully. A flicker of impatience plus something else passed quickly across his face. He looked down at the grave by which I was standing.
“Beats me why you would even want to go back to that place with everything that’s happened there.”
“You mean because Ellen died there?” I asked, and then shook my head, “It doesn’t frighten me.” There were other things worse.
“She isn’t the only one who died there,” he said calmly. I did not say anything for a moment, but my heart was thudding with alarm. He looked down at the grave again.
“Please explain,” I managed finally.
“There was a teacher just before you—”
“Prudence Townsend. Yes, I know.”
“You’re standing by her grave,” he said, and I stared down in surprised horror.
“But I understood she was a young woman,” I stammered.
“Younger than you, I’d guess.”
Sycamore Hill Page 26
