Belle hid her grin.
They reached the canal a short time later, coming over the flat, pine-covered hill overlooking Hooker's Station. Even before they passed the drover's tavern, they heard the sound of water and the lap of boats along the waterway. Though the main business for the canal was done near town, there were still old warehouses lining the banks here, their stilted fronts jutting out over the water, their clapboards old and splintering. Shouts from two or three teamsters calling to an incoming barge carried over the water, along with the short, blaring bursts of a canalboat horn and the jangle of the mules' trace chains. The smell of oil and mule and grain filled Belle's nostrils, and she stopped and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, contentedly. Oh, she had missed this.
She opened her eyes again, smiling. "See that bridge over there?" she asked Sarah, pointing. When Sarah nodded, she went on. "Your papa and me used to jump from it all the time. We'd get on a boat headin' to town and then jump off and walk on back. That was some of the best fun I ever had."
Sarah's eyes were wide. "Papa used to jump too?"
Belle nodded. "Yep."
"Where do them boats go?"
"Everywhere." Belle shrugged. "All down the river."
"Forever and ever down to China?"
"I don't know. Maybe some of them."
"I wanna jump. Can we?" Sarah's voice was sharp with excitement.
Belle laughed. "Sometime maybe. Not today."
Sarah's eyes were wide and wondering as she stared at the bridge—almost as if she'd never seen it before, though Belle knew that couldn't be true. Still, she imagined no one had ever told her the stories or shown her the excitement. Probably Lillian had always been along, or Rand, or someone to say, "Stay away from the edge, Sarah," or "Hold my hand and don't let go."
Well, she wouldn't do that. Belle moved purposefully toward the warehouses. "You hungry?"
Sarah nodded. Her booted feet pounded alongside Belle's as she hurried to catch up, but she didn't take her eyes from the bridge ahead. "Yeah."
"Then let's find that muskmelon."
There was a barge coming up the canal, moving slowly through the water, and Sarah stopped for a moment to watch. She pointed to the mules, whose heads were buried deep in their feedbags as they pulled the boat along. "Is that Bandit?"
Belle smiled. "Prob'ly not. You'd know if you saw Bandit—he'd be wearin' a hat with a hole in it. Unless of course he found a way to get rid of it again." She nodded toward the buildings lining the waterway in front of them. "Come on, now, there'll be plenty of time to watch for Bandit."
The warehouses were just as she remembered them: bustling in the front, where they faced the road, where wagons unloaded their wares and foremen shouted and haggled with each other, and lazy at the rear, where the overhanging building sheltered the platform below and teamsters waited for the next barge to come creeping around the bend.
They looked just as old too—she would have sworn each peeling board was exactly as she'd left it, each rickety chair the same that had been there before. It made Belle feel as if time had stood still, as if she were young again and hurrying through each warehouse in search of Shenky.
"Kin I help ya, ma'am?" An older man rose from his chair as they approached one of the platforms. He shoved at the brim of his hat, tilting his head to see better. "Or are ya jest—Belle? Belle Sault?"
Belle smiled broadly. She slammed her hat on her head and held out her hand. "Hey there, Poke, how's things?"
"Why, now, I jest doan believe it, no sir, I doan." Poke grabbed her hand, pulling her forward into his arms so quickly, she stumbled on the short step to the dock. She was enveloped in his heavily muscled arms for a second, squeezed so hard she nearly lost her breath. "Where ya been, girl? Why, it's been 'bout—"
"Six years." Belle pulled away breathlessly. "I just got back a week or so ago, thought I'd come on down and say hey." She motioned to Sarah, who stood there uncertainly. "This is Sarah."
Poke smiled, squatting until he was nearly eye level with Sarah. "Hey there, honey. You're Rand's little girl. I think I seen ya around once or twice, ain't I?"
Sarah shook her head somberly and eased toward Belle.
Poke stood up. "Well, you're a right purty 'un, that's for sure."
Sarah reached up and grabbed Belle's hand. Belle smiled reassuringly, wrapping her fingers around Sarah's, reveling in the moist warmth of the child's hand. "Tell me, Poke, is Shenky still around?"
"Lookin' for melon, eh?"
Belle laughed. "We didn't have breakfast."
"Yeah, he's still here." Poke jerked his head. "Around the front of Clarke's there. Ya got back jest in time. Says this is his last year on the canal."
Belle glanced toward the barge, now moving to the coal warehouse at the end of the line. "Water looks low this year."
"It's been low most years." Poke sighed. "Took a loss for the first time two years ago and ain't made a profit since. The railroads . . ." He shrugged, letting his words trail off sadly, then he smiled as if the sadness had never existed. "Well, ya come on back soon, Belle, won't ya? We'll have a drink. And bring that little mite with ya."
"I will." Belle nodded a good-bye, and she and Sarah wound their way between the other buildings to the road in front. Poke's words left her feeling vaguely melancholy, and for the first time Belle noticed the changes. When she'd left, the stop at Hooker's Station was always moving, always bustling. Usually there were three or four barges pulled up to the platforms. The line of wagons delivering goods had reached far down the road, and peddlers hawked their wares on every corner.
But today there was only one barge, and the three wagons pulled in front of the warehouses were a sorry reminder of the days when there had been twenty. It made her feel unexpectedly sad, but only for a moment. The sight of Shenky's stand made her spirits rise again, and Belle forgot her conversation with Poke the minute she saw the bent old man puttering around the cabbages. She turned to Sarah, pressing her finger to her lips in a warning to be quiet, and the two of them tiptoed toward him, stopping only a few feet behind.
"Hey, Shenky," Belle said.
He jumped, whirling around so quickly his hat went flying off his head, clutching his chest. "Dammit, you near gave me—" his mouth dropped open in surprise. "Christ A'mighty, if it ain't Belle Sault back from the grave!"
She laughed. "Don't make me dead so damn quick, Shenky." She gave him a big hug and then bent for his hat, dusting it off and handing it back to him with a flourish. "Miss me?"
He snorted. "Like the corn misses a crow. Damn you, girl, where you been?"
"New York City."
"Hmmmph. I guess you're too big for your britches now—bein' a big-city girl and all."
"Yeah, I guess so." Belle's smile widened. " 'Fact I almost decided not to come around. After all that big- city food I figured you wouldn't have anythin' even worth lookin' at here today."
"Not worth lookin' at? Are you blind, girl? Did you just plumb leave your sight back there in goddamn New York City? You won't find cabbages this good anywhere —who's that trailin' behind you like a goddamn shadow?"
"Well, you just scared her away with your yellin' and carryin' on," Belle said. She turned around, motioning for Sarah to come up beside her. Sarah took a few tentative steps, her eyes never leaving Shenky's craggy face. "This is Sarah."
"Hmmph. She's a pretty thing."
"That's what Poke said."
"Poke?" Shenky's pale blue gaze shifted back to her face. He frowned and moved away, his stoop-shouldered gait staggering and uneven as he went to a bushel basket of melons. "That good-for-nothin'? He and I ain't never agreed on anythin', you know that. So I s'pose you two come in here for some muskmelon, and you're lucky, Miss goddamn New York City, 'cause 1
just happen to have a few." He stopped and turned around, shaking a gnarled finger. "And you won't find nothin' this good in that town."
Belle nodded. "I know it."
"Hmmmph. Just you remember it." He rea
ched down, pulling up a round, webbed melon and thumping it with his finger. "I don't know why I'm even doin' this," he muttered. "They're all ripe as can be. Nobody's ever bought a sour melon from old Shenky. Nobody." He put the melon aside, picked up another one, thumped it, and then smelled the stem. He held it out to Belle. "I s'pose you want me to cut it for you."
"Please."
"Hmmmph. Well, then, come on over here, Miss City- girl-who-can't-cut-a-melon." He shuffled to the back of the stand, where the remains of several other melons were piled in a basket. The sweet, musky scent hovered in the air. With a single whack of a long, thick knife, the melon was split in two, the orange flesh glistening with juice, the white seeds a glob in the center.
"Here you go." Shenky's face was still stern as he handed Belle half and motioned to Sarah to come closer, but his blue eyes were shining. "Come on up here, little girl—or don't you want a piece of this prize-winnin' melon?"
Silently Sarah came forward. Shenky put the half melon in her pudgy little-girl hands, and she looked down at it, and then up again at him as if she was fascinated.
Belle grinned. "How much do I owe you, Shenky?"
"Owe me?" His frown deepened. "Don't insult me, girl—you don't have enough money to pay me what this melon's worth, so I don't want a thin'. You just go on off and enjoy it—and don't you come around botherin' me again, you hear?"
"Yes, sir." Belle saluted, fighting to keep from laughing. "Not again, I promise."
"Good." Shenky put his hands on his hips, watching them as they walked from the stand, and it wasn't until they were nearly to the street that he spoke again. "Welcome home, Belle. It's good to see you."
She turned and smiled. "You too, Shenky. You too."
Chapter 15
Rand bent, sluicing water from the back-porch cistern over his head and neck, not caring when the water splashed his shirt and shoulders. It felt good, cool and wet, and for a moment the headache he'd been nursing all morning disappeared.
But only for a moment. It slammed back, full force, when he glanced up the back stairs. For the most part he'd managed to avoid Belle last night and this morning, but now seeing her was unavoidable. He knew she'd be sitting at that table, waiting with Lillian and Sarah for him to come through the door for dinner. He would have to sit there and eat and somehow—somehow— keep from looking at her, from thinking about the past, from remembering her smile.
He wasn't sure if he could do it.
Anxiety was a hard lump in his stomach as he grabbed the rough huckaback from the rail and dried himself off, and it only grew as he trudged up the stairs to the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.
The kitchen was empty.
Rand stopped in the doorway, frowning. The table was set for dinner. The pitcher of buttermilk was frothy, as if it had just been poured, and the smell of green beans and ham filled the room. Two pies sat on opposite corners of the table, and apple butter and pickles glistened in their dishes.
But it was quiet except for the hissing of the coffeepot. Where the hell was everybody? He ran a hand through his damp hair, raking it back from his forehead, and went to the hallway. "Lil?" No answer. He tried again. "Lillian? Sarah?"
"I'm in here!" Lillian's breathless voice came from the hallway. She hurried into the kitchen, her arms full of dead and wilting mums from the vase in the hall. She swept past him, laying them on the porch to throw in the compost pile before she went to the stove. "Tell Sarah to come in, won't you? I called the two of you nearly ten minutes ago."
Rand went to the door. "Sarah!" he called. "Sarah, come in for dinner!" Then, when there was no answer, he turned back to Lillian. "Are you sure she's out here?"
Lillian pulled the pot of stew off the stove. "Wasn't she right behind you?"
He shook his head. "I haven't seen her all day."
Lillian's head jerked up. "You haven't seen her all day? I—I thought she was with you."
"With me?" Rand's heart slammed into his stomach. "What do you mean, with me? I assumed you were watching her."
Lillian blanched. She dropped the pot of stew to the table. "No. I thought she was out in the fields with you." Her voice rose slightly. "Oh, good Lord. I haven't seen Isabelle either."
"Belle?" Jesus. He felt strangled suddenly. Rand braced a shaking hand on the doorframe, trying to steady himself, to think. No one had seen Belle. Sarah was missing. "I'm not leavin' and I'm not takin' Sarah away. I'm stayin' here, with her." Belle's words came crashing back. "I want to tell her the truth about me." It couldn't be true. He wouldn't believe it. She'd promised. But the truth slammed into him, in spite of his reassurances. Belle was gone. Sarah was gone. And promises were just words. She'd taken his daughter, he knew it. She'd probably planned this from the beginning.
"I'll kill her," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I swear I'll kill her."
"Rand—"
He inhaled deeply, forcing a composure he didn't feel. "Keep looking," he ordered tersely. "Check their rooms, see if anything's missing. I'm going into town. If they took the train, someone's bound to have seen them."
Without waiting for Lillian's answer, Rand swept past her, racing to the barn. His hands shook as he saddled Duke. Jesus, please let me be wrong. Please . . . The words rang in his head, a useless litany. Useless because he knew he wasn't wrong. They were gone. His heart raced as he led Duke from the barn, and his mouth went dry when he saw Lillian rushing across the yard. She was pale; he saw the fear in her face. He didn't need to hear her speak to know what she was going to say.
"Sarah's things are still there," she said breathlessly as she approached him. "But I didn't see Belle's clothes, and she wouldn't think to take Sarah's. Oh, Randall, she's gone."
Rand mounted the horse quickly. "Check Alspaugh's," he said tersely. "Maybe they went over there. Or maybe Dorothy and Kenny saw something."
She nodded, but before she could say anything, he urged Duke into a run, past the house, onto the road.
Damn. Desperately he tried to think of where Belle would go this time. Back to Cincinnati? Or would she go north, to Sandusky? Or, Christ—there was Columbus . . . Cleveland . . . The possibilities sent his heart slamming into his throat. Belle was too damned clever; he had no idea what she would do next, or where she would go. She was just as likely to return to New York as leave it forever.
He should have watched Sarah more closely. He'd always known Belle would take the first opportunity to take her. Rand pushed the horse to a faster pace. Belle and Sarah could already be in town by now. If they'd started early, they could have made it even on foot. When the hell was the next train?
Rand couldn't remember, and the question sent panic racing through him again. If they'd gone already, his only hope was that someone had seen them. Surely someone would have. People knew Belle. They knew Sarah. The two of them together would have been noticed. . . .
Or maybe not. Maybe they hadn't even gone into town. Maybe they wouldn't even take the train. . . .
He refused to think of the possibility. Belle had to know he would come after them the moment he discovered them gone. Surely she would take the easiest, fastest way out of Lancaster. Wouldn't she?
He dug his heels into Duke's sides.
By the time he got to the train station, both he and Duke were sweaty and heaving. There was a train on the track, belching ash-filled smoke into the air. Please, he thought. Please let them be on that train. He dismounted and ran inside.
The room was crowded, and there was a line to the clerk. Desperately he scanned the room, a hard lump in his throat. But there was no Belle. No Sarah. His heart sank into his stomach. They weren't here. They weren't here. That meant only one thing: They were either gone or on that train.
He prayed it was the latter.
Rand pushed into the line, ignoring the shocked gasps and "Excuse mel's" of the waiting passengers, and leaned into the window.
"Well, hello there, Mr. Sault." A freckle-faced boy, barely more than eighteen, greete
d him, looking surprised. "If you could just wait your turn—"
"What trains have left this morning?"
The boy frowned in confusion. "What trains? Well— uh—only two so far."
"To where?"
"Uh—Sandusky left at—uh—early this mornin'. Cincinnati pulled out 'bout twenty minutes ago."
Rand felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, mister, but we're waitin'."
Rand turned and glared. The woman clamped her mouth shut and shrank away. He jerked back to the boy at the window. "You know my daughter, Sarah?"
"Why, yes, Mr. Sault. Pretty as a pic—"
"Was she on either of those trains?"
"Uh—"
"A blond woman would have bought the ticket. My stepsister, Belle."
The boy shook his head. "No one like that today, Mr. Sault. And I didn't see Sarah, I know it."
"You're sure?"
"I—I think so."
Rand leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "You have to be sure."
"I'm sure." The boy swallowed nervously. "No one like that."
The woman tapped Rand's shoulder again. "Listen, mister—"
Rand stepped away from the window, exhaling deliberately, forcing himself to calm down. They hadn't taken the train. The idea wound its way through his mind slowly, and just as slowly he forced himself to believe it.
He tried to think, forced himself to consider the options. There was the National Road, of course, but he doubted Belle would have taken a stage. Too slow. He could catch up to them on horseback in no time. The canal would pose the same problem—especially now, when the water was so low that packet boats were forced to stop all along the route.
Which meant only one thing. Belle would have done what he least expected, the one thing he wouldn't think of until it was too late.
She would have hitched a ride.
The thought sent panic rushing through him. If she'd done that, it would take him days, even weeks, to hunt her down. Wagons passed this road every day. A wagon could go anywhere, take any route, go any direction. And once she got to a big city, she could simply disappear.
After the frost f Page 15
