Sycamore Hill

by Francine Rivers

  “You said you were hit from behind,” he prompted, and I looked up. I thought I saw real concern for me written on his face, but his expression was quickly shuttered.

  “I guess that’s what happened. I’m not sure. I don’t know,” I muttered.

  “When did all this happen?”

  “I don’t know. About one or two in the morning, I suppose.”

  “What were you doing in the schoolroom at one or two in the morning? Were you expecting a visitor?” His tone was faintly accusing, and I looked up at him, bewildered. His expression was unreadable, but he studied my bemused face with slow intensity, as though expecting to find something very unpleasant there.

  “You’re not making sense,” I said. His mouth softened.

  “Neither are you. You’d better start at the beginning.”

  Jordan could stand there so aloof, while I sat here knowing I carried his illegitimate, unborn child. He was asking that I confide in him even though he cared nothing for me other than as someone he had taken for a few ecstatic moments on a hillside above the river. I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to talk about it with you,” I said hoarsely. “You’d never believe me anyway.”

  “Why don’t you try me?” There was something in his voice that made me want very much to trust him. I swallowed convulsively, wondering why he had come here and wishing that he had not.

  “Just go away. You’d never believe me.”

  “Abby, give me a chance.” He moved away from the door to stand in front of the table. His closeness did awesome things to my insides. I had to say something; so I blurted everything out at once in a tense question.

  “Would you believe me if I told you that I saw Prudence Townsend in the schoolroom last night?” I asked, attempting a self-deprecating smile that failed dismally.

  He looked at me, and his mouth tilted up gently at one side.

  “Before or after you hit your head?”

  I knew he was only teasing me, but too much had happened recently for me to appreciate his humor or the reason behind it. Tears burned as I glared up at him. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me! I should have kept it to myself! You love making fun of me. I should have learned a long time ago how much you enjoy laughing at me. Why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?!”

  “Abby....” he shook my shoulder.

  A sob escaped, and I clamped my jaws shut, speaking through my teeth. “Go away.”

  “You can’t seriously believe there’s a ghost here, can you?” he asked rationally. I started to laugh, a high-pitched sound that stopped as an agonizing pain shot through my head.

  “We’d better get you to Doc Kirk,” Jordan decided, putting a hand beneath my elbow. I thought of the baby I was carrying, and my eyes opened wide. That’s all I would need! The doctor learning of my condition, and word spreading like wildfire through town.

  “No!” I jerked my arm away. “I won’t go to the doctor!”

  “Don’t be a fool! You’ve probably got a concussion. It’s nothing to fool around with.”

  I took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m all right. It’s just a little bump on the head,” I said.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Jordan muttered in frustration.

  I put my head in my hands. “Just go away, Jordan. Just please, go away and leave me alone.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then his fingers pressed comfortingly on my shoulder before dropping away. He came back around in front of me. Leaning down, he put his hands on the table. “You were saying about Prudence Townsend,” he prompted again. I shook my head slowly. “Tell me, Abby. I’m not going to laugh at you.”

  “Not out loud maybe,” I muttered bitterly.

  “Abby.”

  I looked up at him. “She’s here! She is!” He did not say anything, and I searched his face. “I saw her, Jordan.”

  He straightened. “Then we’ll go from there.” He gave me a slow smile. “Would you mind terribly if I sat down?”

  I sighed. “There’s a chair just inside the schoolroom door.” When he was seated, I felt frozen with tension. I was afraid to look at him again, sure that he would see how much I loved him. I wondered what he would say and how he would look if I blurted out that I was carrying his baby. But I would never suffer that humiliation.

  “Start at the beginning,” Jordan urged.

  “I... I heard her crying again.”

  “Again?”

  I glanced up and then away. “I’ve heard her crying since the first. Ellen said it was just the night sounds—animals, boards creaking, that sort of thing. But it wasn’t. It was... Prudence Townsend.”

  “How long have you known about Miss Townsend?”

  “I didn’t know who she was, not until yesterday after Ellen’s funeral.” I stopped, refusing to allow myself to think of Ellen now. I would only cry again and make a further fool of myself in front of Jordan. I swallowed hard before continuing in a ragged voice. “I’ve walked by that pathetic little grave outside the cemetery many times before. I was always curious about it, but never asked anyone. Sheriff Hallender stopped to talk to me, and he told me about her... and what she did to herself.” I shuddered at the memory of that conversation, and then I remembered last night. My arms goose-bumped again, and I stared at the schoolroom door fixedly, half expecting her to appear there in front of me. Jordan did not say anything, and I was scarcely aware of his intent regard.

  “What does she have to do with the bump on your head?” I blinked. Then I focused on him. “She was crying again last night, and I went into the schoolroom. I wanted to talk with her. She... she appeared. I ran. I could feel her right behind me, and I went toward the front door. I opened it, and she said my name. Then something hit me in the back of the head. The next thing I remember, it was morning, and I was lying in the schoolroom.”

  Jordan frowned.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” I demanded bitterly.

  “You’ve got a bump on your head,” he said, offering me a faint smile.

  “You think I’m just another lonely schoolmarm letting her imagination carry her away.”

  “Are you?”

  “She exists, I tell you,” I said doggedly.

  “You said this ghost of yours was the cause of Ellen’s death.”

  “I’m only guessing about that. It was the look on Ellen’s face,” I said, shutting my eyes against the memory. “I’ve overheard people talking about it. There are others in this town who believe Prudence Townsend is haunting this place. They just decided not to share the information with me when I came.”

  “Understandable,” Jordan muttered wryly.

  “Very!” I agreed. “Though it wouldn’t have mattered much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had a total of two dollars in my bag. Where would I have gone?” I spread my hands. “But she didn’t threaten me then. It was just the crying at night and knowing she was here.”

  “You’re sure someone isn’t playing an elaborate joke on you?”

  “A rather macabre joke, wouldn’t you say?” I snapped. “And it’s been going on for four months.”

  “Maybe someone wants you out of the schoolhouse.”

  I looked at him. “There are at least three people who have voiced that wish. Mr. Olmstead and the Reverend Hayes are two.”

  “And the third?”

  “You.”

  Jordan’s eyes darkened. “You know just how to irritate the hell out of me, don’t you?”

  Orphan meowed again, plaintively. “I’ve got to feed my cat,” I said quickly.

  “Forget that damn cat,” Jordan growled. “It can wait. If it were worth its salt, it’d be filled up with mice. This place must be crawling with them.”

  Orphan sensed she was not wanted, and she scuttled out the cracked window.

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” I asked, sincerely appalled.

  “Is there any physical evidence of what happened?”r />
  I thought hard for a moment. “There have been notes scrawled on the blackboard. And twice there’s been a rope over the front beam,” I told him hesitantly.

  "Where’s the rope? I’d like to have a look at it.”

  “Gone. It was there last night. It wasn’t there this morning.”

  “Are you sure it was there in the first place?”

  “Yes!”

  “All right. Don’t get upset,” he said soothingly. “What sort of notes?” I related them to him. “Anything unusual about the writing?” Jordan then asked.

  “The messages were printed at first, and they weren’t very neat.”

  Jordan stood up and paced restlessly about the room. I watched him, unable to look away. Would I ever be able to forget this man? I remembered the first time I had seen him on the road. I had responded to him even then. My life stretched before me, arid and loveless. Then I thought of his child, and my hand crept down protectively. Somehow I would find a way, even without Jordan Bennett.

  “What’s the matter?” Jordan asked. I blinked and looked away, realizing that he had been looking at me.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that, Abby. What is it? Are you sick again? You’ve been sick an awful lot lately, haven’t you?” He eyed me curiously.

  “I’m perfectly all right,” I replied stoically. Jordan gave me a withering look. Then he moved toward the door.

  “Jordan?” I appealed, and he looked back at me, his mouth tightly drawn, eyes narrowed.

  “Did you have something else you wanted to tell me?” His expression was hard and unyielding.

  “No, I guess not. I think I’ve told you quite enough as it is,” I said tiredly. Jordan’s expression grew even colder. “You don’t believe she’s in there, do you?” I looked toward the schoolroom door and shivered.

  “I think something very strange is going on around here,” he admitted, relenting only slightly. He pushed his heavy jacket back from his belt and shoved his hand into his pocket in a casual, careless stance. He obviously was not much concerned, I thought, hurt by his indifference. Yet, I still wanted him to stay. I ached to tell him about our baby.

  “Someone wants to scare you out of here,” Jordan said thoughtfully. “But I doubt if it’s a ghost. There’s a more rational explanation than that one.”

  “What do you think I should do?” I asked shakily, wanting him to make the decision for me. His mouth tightened again.

  “Since you won’t take my advice and see Doc Kirk, I think you should lie down and rest,” he said curtly. That had not been what I meant, and he knew it. His answer seemed to confirm my feelings that, while he had listened to my incredible story, he was not much concerned over it. Any thought of confiding in him about the baby dissipated with his look. Unable to bear his indifference, I averted my eyes. He yanked open the door and left.

  It was only after he had gone that I wondered why he had come to the schoolhouse in the first place.

  After fixing myself a light breakfast of warm toast and tea, I did as Jordan suggested and lay down on my cot to rest. Surprisingly, I slept for hours, and awakened feeling somewhat refreshed. The dizziness was gone, though the lump on the back of my head was still tender to the touch.

  Deciding that cleaning was too strenuous, I busied myself making class plans for the new year. I scanned textbooks and jotted down possible assignments that would be fun and informative for the children.

  Around four o’clock I prepared a small can of stew for dinner. Then I toted water from the well. My headache returned with the heavy work, but it lessened when I bathed in the warm water. By the time I emptied the tub and set it away, it was after six and already dark. The sky had been overcast that afternoon, and I wondered if there would be another storm tonight. I remembered the leaks in the schoolroom, and I decided to set out some pans to prevent too much water damage. Having done that, I went to bed.

  A loud crash and a muffled oath awakened me. I felt dazed with sleep for a moment, and then heard another crash. Someone was in the schoolroom. I remembered what Jordan had said that afternoon about someone wanting to scare me into leaving, and I felt a sudden surge of anger. Was this all a hoax designed to terrify me? I shoved back the covers and tiptoed across to the lantern near the door. Hurriedly, I struck a match and set it to the wick. Then I opened the door, intending to confront the mischief-maker and demand an explanation.

  The front door of the schoolhouse was ajar. I hooked the lantern on the bar just inside my door and walked into the classroom. A pan was upside down and moved from where I had set it earlier. A puddle of water was splashed on the floor beside it.

  Footsteps were coming up the front landing. I looked up, startled and saw someone standing in the doorway.

  “Abby!”

  “You!” I breathed.

  “I saw the light in your room. What’s going on?” Jordan asked.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded in turn. He had stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes moved slowly about the room and then came to rest on me.

  “I came to see your ghost, what else?” he answered mockingly. He looked away and noticed the pan. “Did the cat kick over the pan? Or did Prudence Townsend?”

  I didn’t like his tone, but answered nevertheless. “Orphan won’t come into this room at night,” I told him flatly. “But something kicked it over.”

  “Not something—someone.”

  “I don’t see much difference,” I said wearily. He was looking at me, and the lantern light from behind me cast enough illumination for me to see the tautness of his expression. His eyes moved down slowly, taking in my long, loose hair tumbling around my shoulders and down my back, and the white nightgown I was wearing. I was unaware that the light behind me clearly silhouetted my body.

  “Abby....”

  My heart thudded wildly at his hoarse tone. He came slowly toward me, stopping just in front of me. For a long moment he did not move. Then his hands came up to my shoulders, caressing and gentle. I tilted my chin up as his mouth descended. His lips touched mine in a soft, testing kiss. I knew then I should draw away, but I didn’t want to. He lifted his head and looked down into my face. Opening his jacket, he drew me against him, pulling his coat back around me. Then he kissed me again with devastating effect. His kiss went on. One lingering caress led to another. The heat of his body grew like a furnace through the thin-cotton fabric of my gown. I knew Jordan was fully aroused. Knowing that my effect on him was as fast and as profound as his on me was headily intoxicating. The blood sang wildly in my ears, and my heart drummed in a frantic race with his.

  Jordan moved restlessly, pushing back far enough so that I saw his eyes were dilated and bright. His hand shook as he raised it to my face. Then he kissed me again.

  “You know I want you, Abby. Let me make love to you. Here. Now,” he breathed against my mouth before taking it again.

  Want... not love, my mind cried painfully. He only wants to use me again like he did at the river to relieve his physical need for a woman—any woman.

  Jordan sensed my withdrawal. His embrace tightened. “Abby,” he groaned in protest. “I need you.” His hand moved down my spine to the small of my back, pressing me hard against him so I could have no doubt. My own need of him almost threatened to overcome my pride. I struggled slightly, afraid if I remained any longer in his arms, I would forget everything but this moment and the intense desire for his possession. Jordan kissed me again, roughly passionate. I pulled my mouth away, knowing I had to say something, anything, to stop what was going to happen.

  “I haven’t forgotten your obligations to Reva even if you have,” I managed, grasping at the first thing that came into my head. Jordan’s caress stopped abruptly. He didn’t move, and his stillness was worse than anything I had ever experienced. Irrationally, I wanted to reach up and kiss him, to apologize for the lost moment and the words that meant nothing.

  His fingers bit into my shoulders as he sho
ved me away. His eyes were still dark and bright but with another emotion equally as primitive as passion.

  “That was as effective as a cold shower,” he ground out.

  “You do owe Reva something,” I said, not wanting to allow myself to relent and apologize. Jordan’s look was full of hostility.

  “You still persist in believing Diego is my son.” He sneered at me. When I did not answer, he went on. “I’d be proud to have a son like him. But, no, damn you. He is not my son. I’ve never been with Reva... not in that way. I grew up with her, for God’s sake. It would have been like bedding my own sister.” His fingers reached out, pinching painfully around my jaw and tilting my face up with a jerk. “Or do you think me capable of that sin as well?!” He released me and stepped away as though afraid of what else he might do if he remained too close to me.

  “You wanted me to believe it was true,” I whispered, remembering the implications he had made himself.

  He looked at me in utter contempt. “You believed exactly what you wanted to believe! You heard just what you wanted to hear! I thought if you had time to think things through, you’d have the sense not to believe all the gossip. Until now, I’ve never explained myself to anyone. I didn’t think it would even be necessary with you. But you’re no better than anyone else. In fact, you’re worse! You’re the lowest kind of hypocrite there is. Have you ever analyzed your actions, Miss Abigail McFarland? You turn up your Boston nose over what you imagine is going on with Reva, while you spread yourself like a whore for me in a field above Altadena Creek!”

  I recoiled from him as though he had struck me physically in the stomach. My face paled, and my eyes filled with tears. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again,” I managed chokingly.

  “Only too happy to oblige,” he answered harshly, but his own face was pale and drawn. “Only one other thing before I go. Just for the record, I didn’t murder my wife. She was drunk and fell down the stairs while I was working five miles from the ranch house. That’s how she broke her neck. I didn’t do it! When you invite the ladies in for tea, shovel that into their cups along with the sugar!”