by Lisa Gregory
Micah stared. "Dovie!"
She slid off the horse and ran toward them, stumbling in her haste. "Micah! Oh, Micah! You've got to leave! Quick!" She ran straight to him, hardly noticing Luke and Sarah standing beside him. She reached out to grip his arm. panting, her words jerking and tumbling from her mouth. "You have to run. I heard—I heard them talking downtown. They were going for the sheriff. 'Cause of what you did. So I came to warn you. I took one of Dr. Jim's horses.
"I know. I know. Slow down. It's all right. I goin'
Dovie gazed up at him. Tears gathered in her eyes. All the way out here she had thought of nothing but Micah's safely. But now the awful loss of his leaving shook her. She would never see him again. Never kiss him, never hold him. "Oh, God." She began to cry. "Oh, God, Micah."
She flung her arms around his neck and clung to him. He held her tightly. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered to her. "I done had a different life planned. I sorry, Dovie, love."
Tears streamed down Dovie's face. Micah bent and kissed her hard. "Remember me?"
Dovie nodded, unable to speak. Always. Always. She would never forget him.
He swung away abruptly and mounted Jo-Jo. He lifted his hat in a good-bye gesture. He looked down at Dovie. She gazed back, shaking with tears. She felt as if her heart were being torn out of her. He was leaving, going to that wild country out West where she didn't belong. They would never have the sweet life together that they had dreamed of.
Micah gathered up the reins and touched the horse gently in the sides. He started off at a trot.
"Wait!" Dovie's scream stopped him. Micah twisted in the saddle to look back at her. She began to run, her arms uplifted to him.
Micah wheeled the horse around and bent out of the saddle, his arm stretched out to her. When she reached him, he clamped his arm around her and swung her up into the saddle in front of him. Dovie wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. They rode out of the yard together.
❧
Less than an hour later, the sheriff rode up to the Turner house and dismounted. Sarah greeted him at the front door. "Why, hello. Sheriff. Come in and sit for a spell. You here to see Luke?"
"Yes, ma'am." Sheriff Bowens stepped inside the door, sweeping off his hat. He was an easygoing man who had little crime in his town and was happy to have it remain that way. He had been sheriff for only five years, so he hadn't been the one who had arrested and jailed Luke years before. Though he had heard stories about the incident, Bowens had known Luke Turner only as a well-to-do, model citizen. He liked Turner and, frankly, he disliked having to come out here with trouble in his pocket.
"I'll send Cal out to get Luke. He's in the back pasture. Could I fix you something to drink while you wait? Some iced tea maybe? Or lemonade?"
"Lemonade sounds real good, ma'am."
"All right. I'll bring it right in."
Sarah sent Cal for Luke. He had gone to the back pasture as soon as Micah left, knowing that the sheriff would want to talk to him and hoping to slow him down as much as he could. It took forty-five minutes for Luke to appear. Sheriff Bowens didn't seem to mind. He sat in the rocking chair by the front window, letting the breeze blow over him and sipping his lemonade. Sarah filled his glass again as soon as it was empty.
When Luke arrived, Bowens rose and they shook hands in a friendly manner. Luke smiled. Maybe Micah would have a better chance than he had thought.
"Sheriff. Nice to see you. I hear you had a little trouble in town today."
"Yep. Not the first time George Jackson's been in a squabble." He shrugged. "I understand your hired hand hit him."
"Jackson insulted my wife. He hit my son and knocked him and my wife to the ground." Luke's face turned as hard as flint, the easiness erased. "If I'd been there, I'd have done worse."
"Well, now, that's understandable. But Jackson's all riled up, and so are some other people. They're saying we can't let him get away with hitting a white man. Have to set an example and all. So I reckon I better take Micah in."
"Let me show you where he lives, then."
Luke walked with him to the small room in the barn where Micah had lived. The sheriff seemed unsurprised to find that neither Micah nor his possessions were there.
"Guess I better make sure he's not hiding in the barn," Bowens commented, and Luke showed him through the barn.
They checked the toolshed and stopped by the corral to look at the mare and her colt. They walked back to the front porch, where the sheriff's horse was tied. He glanced al the hoofprints leading out of the yard but made no comment.
"Well, he must have hightailed it. Probably halfway out of the county by now." the sheriff commented.
"Probably."
"You know where he might go?"
"No."
The sheriff nodded, "Guess I'll check around tomorrow in town, though I don't suspect it'll do much good."
"Probably not."
"That Jackson's always a nuisance. Threatened the Jewish peddler last year, you know. I reckoned this would be a wild-goose chase."
He looked sideways at Luke, and a small smile touched his mouth. Luke smiled back.
❧
"He's not going to do anything about it." Luke said, settling back in his chair.
"Are you sure?" Sarah poured him a glass of lemonade and sat down across the table from him.
"It was obvious. I could tell he didn't like Jackson, thought he was a troublemaker. He'll probably ask a few questions down on F Street tomorrow, and that'll be the end of it. He'll say he couldn't find Micah; he's gone and good riddance. Why waste taxpayers money looking for him?"
"Will Grandpa come back? Is he going to try to take me back again?" Cal stood close to Luke, though not quite touching him, picking at the edge of the table.
"No. We'll never let him have you. In fact, I plan to ride over to his place tomorrow and remind him of that."
"Luke.... " Fear brushed Sarah. She paused and glanced at Cal, standing so trustingly beside Luke. "Cal, why don't you run upstairs and see what Emily's doing? She's been quiet so long, I suspect she's into something."
"All right." He left the room, and they heard his rapid footsteps on the stairs.
Luke knew Sarah. He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to tell him what she didn't want to say in front of Cal.
"Are you sure you should go over there?" she began, frowning.
"Of course. Apparently I didn't make myself clear enough the first time with Jackson. So I'm going to make sure he understands what will happen if he bothers you or Cal again. He's already done more harm than I want to see."
"I know, but—I'm not sure it's safe for you to go over there alone."
Luke's eyebrows shot up. "You're saying I ought to be afraid of George Jackson?"
"Yes."
Luke made a noise of disgust. "The day I can't whip a man twice my age..."
"Oh Luke, of course you could whip him—fairly, face-to-face. But he's a sneaky, slimy man. I don't trust him. He might ambush you. He might shoot you when you ride into the yard. He doesn't have ordinary scruples; he's convinced himself that God is on his side, so whatever he does is right. He could justify anything by saying it was God's will."
"He's not going to ambush me."
"How do you know?"
"How could he? He won't know when I'm coming or from where. Don't worry. I'll be careful."
"Why take the chance? He knows we aren't going to give up Cal."
"You think I'd let him get by with hitting Cal or insulting you? I ought to horsewhip him. When I think of him daring to say anything to you—"
Sarah smiled a little bitterly. "Does it matter that much to you?"
"Matter! Of course it matters. How could it not?" He stared at her, amazed.
"Sometimes I wonder how you feel about me. I'm not so sure anymore." She knew she should not say it, should not open up the wounds. That's always what they did the only times they talked anymore. It was wrong; it was
tearing the fabric of their marriage apart. She knew it. Yet she could not seem to keep from saying the words.
"How can you not be sure?" Luke's gaze carried anger and pain. "You know how I feel about you. I love you. I'll always love you. But I can't risk—"
Sarah jumped up agitatedly. "That's right. You can't risk. One thing I never thought of you, Luke, and that's that you were a coward. That you'd curl up in a hole because of fear."
The skin around Luke's mouth whitened, and for a second Sarah thought he would jump up and start yelling at her She would have welcomed the release of emotions. Instead he said, in a low, tight voice, "You're right. When it comes to you, I am scared. I'm not like you. I know what it's like to have nothing and no one. I know what it's like to live without love. That makes me want to hold on to what I've got, I'm scared to death of losing you."
Sarah clenched her fists. Her face was tight with frustration and anger "That's right. You're so damn scared of losing something that you're pushing it away with both hands. I don't want to live like that. I refuse to live like that!"
She turned and marched out of the room, leaving Luke staring after her.
❧
After supper Luke returned the Bankses' horse to them, and when he returned he found enough chores around the barn to keep him occupied the rest of the evening. He kept thinking about what Sarah had said to him. He didn't want to think about it, but even though he had escaped her presence, he couldn't escape his thoughts.
She had sounded like she was through with him. He couldn't believe it; a woman like Sarah didn't leave her husband. But what if she stayed with him, and didn't love him anymore? He thought that would be even worse than her leaving—to live with her, see her, be with her every day, all the while knowing that he was nothing to her . That would be an even more excruciating hell than the one he was in now.
He couldn't bear it if things were to be that way between them now. Yet neither could he bear it if Sarah died in childbirth. Much as it hurt to see her unhappy, painful as it was to be around her without sharing her bed, even as hard as it would be to be married to her and not feel her love, nothing could be as bad as watching her die. Knowing that he had killed her.
Luke's thoughts distracted him so that finally he gave up working and sat down on a bale of hay, his head between his hands. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the faint noises outside, didn't sense the presence of the three men who entered the barn.
One of the men's arms brushed against a mule collar hanging on a post, and it made a noise. Luke heard it and turned. He saw them: George Jackson, Harvey Cater, and a third man he didn't know. Their eyes were bright with anger and hatred.
Luke's first, burning thought was that Sarah was unprotected in the house, and he jumped to his feet, cursing himself for being so careless. Damn it! He knew the kind of man Jackson was; he should have known how furious he would be that Micah had gotten away. He should have suspected that Jackson would attack him in retaliation. Sarah had even warned him against going to Jackson's place tomorrow, but he had been so sure of his ability to take care of Jackson that he had hardly listened to her.
The three men hesitated, then came forward warily, their eyes on Luke. Luke grabbed the bale on which he had been sitting and flung it at them to buy himself a moment of time. He whirled and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, a sturdy, sharp-tined rake. He started toward the men, swinging the wickedly clawed tool. They backed up, disconcerted by his going on the attack. Obviously they had expected him to run for the back door of the barn. But Luke's major concern was getting past them to the house to protect Sarah and the children.
He jumped forward, swinging the rake down in a short chopping motion, and two tines of the rake sliced narrow furrows in Cater's arm. Cater howled, and all three men jumped back. Luke followed, swinging the rake in a wide arc. The thick wood handle whistled ominously through the air as he swung it back and forth, pacing the group backward.
Too late, Luke heard fast, light footsteps behind him, and he realized that Jackson had brought a fourth man with him who must have sneaked in through the back. He started to pivot, but just as he did a heavy body hit him from behind, throwing him to the floor.
Luke rolled, tearing away from his assailant and swinging his fist into the other man's jaw even as he moved. The pain in his back where he had been hit hardly registered; Luke's thoughts were entirely on retrieving his weapon. But even as he lunged across the floor for the rake, the other three were upon him. They hauled him to his feet, fists flying. Luke dodged and punched and kicked. He was a good fighter: coolheaded, quick, and fierce. He knocked the breath out of one man, blackened another's eye, and left all of them with bruises they wouldn't soon forget. He even managed for one brief instant to tear away and race out the front of the barn.
But Jackson caught him around the ankle in a diving leap, and he crashed to the ground. The other three piled on top of him. There were simply too many of them. They dragged Luke to his feet, one on either side of him, and twisted his arms up behind his back, immobilizing him. George Jackson glared at him, blood running from a cut on his chin and one cheekbone swelling with a dark bruise. Jackson rammed his fist into Luke's stomach.
"Take him back inside, boys. This time we're goin' ta teach this nigger-loving devil a lesson he ain't goin' ta forget."
Chapter 23
Sarah changed into her nightgown and sat down at the vanity to brush out her hair. She felt weary and hopeless; it seemed a tremendous effort even to do this simple task. What did it matter if her hair was brushed until it was burnished? Luke would not see it, would not touch it, would not wind it around his hand or bury his face in it. He was gone from her, truly gone from her. Somehow she had to come to live with that fact.
It took a moment for the faint noises outside to penetrate her reverie. She lifted her head and frowned. She heard a distant voice, followed by several thuds. What in the world was Luke doing?
She rose and went to the window to look out. The barn door stood open, light slanting out of it. She saw the flicker of shadows but could discern nothing. Her unease stirred. She leaned out of the window, squinting her eyes to see. Suddenly a form burst out of the barn, running. Luke! Sarah straightened, apprehension slicing through her.
Right behind him came four men. All of them looked wild and rumpled, and one's arm was stained red. One of the men was George Jackson. Sarah sucked in her breath. She was frozen, unable to move, unable to call out.
The men grabbed Luke, pinning his arms behind him, and Jackson hit him. That broke Sarah's trance. She didn't scream; she had enough control not to do that. She must not give away the element of surprise that was on her side. She hurried out into the hall, her voluminous white nightgown billowing out behind her.
"Call" Sarah called out his name as she raced down the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom he was at the top of the steps, rubbing his head sleepily.
"What's the matter?"
"Your grandfather's got Luke out there. He has three men, and they're beating Luke up. I'm going out to stop them. You take care of Emily if she wakes up."
Sarah ran into the sitting room and pulled Luke's rifle from the gun rack. Cal ran down the stairs after her. "I'm going with you. Give me a gun."
Sarah didn't hesitate. "You know how to use one?"
"A little."
She pulled down the shotgun and handed it to him, then gave him a handful of shells. "Can you load it?"
"Yeah." He broke the gun and jammed in two shells while they hurried out of the house. Beside him Sarah was loading the repeating rifle and releasing the safety.
"Don't aim for your grandfather, but for one of the other men," she whispered as they trotted across the yard, their nightclothes ghostly in the darkness, "I'll take care of Jackson. At close range, that thing you've got will blast anything, so don't worry about hitting an exact spot."
"I know." Cal's face was grim and pale, all youthfulness gone. Sarah knew he would handle
it.
Their feet were bare, and they moved without noise, running lightly across the dirt of the side yard and up to the barn. As they drew closer, they could hear the sickening sounds of fists meeting flesh, but Sarah was wise enough not to rush in. She paused at the open door of the barn, fixing the position of her opponents in her mind. She and Cal stood sideways to the others. Two men held Luke while Jackson stood in front of him, hitting him. The other man stood to the side, nursing his bleeding arm. Blood trickled from the corner of Luke's mouth, and the side of his face was reddened and scraped, a bruise forming on his cheekbone. An anger so fierce that she wanted to rush blindly at Jackson, swinging, swept Sarah, and it was all she could do to retain the calm she needed to win.
Jackson drew back his fist to hit Luke again, and Sarah stepped into the barn. "Stop it!"
Her voice was sharp and hard. The men turned toward her, gaping in surprise.
"Sarah!" Fear pierced Luke. "Goddamn it, what are you doing here? Get out!"
Sarah didn't waste a glance for him. Her eyes were on George Jackson. "You hit him again, and you're a dead man. Cal, go around behind him and keep your gun on the others."
Cal did as she directed, carefully avoiding walking between her and her target. He took up his position, the shotgun level in his thin aims. He looked at the men who held Luke with a coldness that was eerie for one of his years. The two men shifted and glanced from him to their leader and back to Sarah.
"Let go of Luke or I'll shoot Jackson."
Jackson laughed, "A woman and a boy." It had scared him when she burst in with the gun, but now that he realized it was only Turner's wife and Cal, he relaxed. "Can't no woman do nothin' to us. She won't fire that gun."
