“He didn’t say a thing to me. He probably guessed you’d twist my arm to tell you. Before you leave, Bess, there’s something I’d like you to have.”
“Oh, Hannah. You don’t need to spend what little —”
“—Don’t fret so about money. You’ve already learned the most important gifts don’t have a price.” She went to a small desk and pulled an envelope out of the drawer. “Please don’t open it ‘til Christmas. It’s a gift of trust. And thank you again for the beautiful material. When I wear it, I’ll be sure to think of you.”
“When you wear that, you’d better think of Daniel Aldman.”
o0o
The wedding was to be a small affair, with only family and a dozen or so friends. Most were Daniel’s, but Hannah had added a few of the ladies she met tending orphans and the wounded. By that morning, it didn’t look like Bess Brannon would be among the guests.
Amelia fingered the lace of Hannah’s wedding gown. “You look so beautiful,” she said. “When can I get a dress like this?”
Hannah admired her reflection in the looking glass. For the small, informal wedding, the dress was fairly simple. Yet its lines accentuated Hannah’s slender curves, and the material flowed beautifully whenever she moved. Carefully, she set the veil atop her head. Behind her shoulders, it fell like an autumn mist.
“Someday, this dress will be yours,” she promised, “for your wedding day. Besides, if you looked any nicer, no one would even notice me.”
Amelia twirled, flaring her pretty scarlet skirts. “I’ll just keep this dress. I don’t want to have to get married. Uncle Phineas says I’d have to kiss a boy.”
She wrinkled her nose to underscore the distaste in her voice.
Hannah kissed the top of her blond head. “That’s the best part, honey, when you’re kissing a boy as sweet as your papa.”
o0o
Thick, clumped flakes fell straight down on the streets of Marinette, adding to the several inches that came down the night before. Malcolm saddled his horse, relieved that weather and circumstance were finally aligning in his favor.
No more delays, he swore under his breath. Today would be the day he finally paid back Hannah. He swore to himself he would pay her back in spades.
o0o
Bess thanked her lucky stars the train had been on time. On the newly restored line, almost anything could happen, especially since snow was falling once again. She checked the station clock and decided she’d send someone for the baggage later. If she wished to be on time for Hannah’s wedding, she would have to rush.
She took half a moment to check her blond upsweep in the reflection of the ticket-taker’s window. The wrinkled old man inside mistook her gesture and returned a broad wink. Blushing, Bess nodded and turned her head toward the street. Since no one knew she was coming, she’d have to hire a ride.
The trip to Aunt Nora’s, which had started out so badly, turned out a delight. Though her mother’s sister resented being thrown up as a caution, she didn’t take it out on Bess. Instead, the plump, gray-haired woman welcomed her niece into her white frame two-story and a raucous family Christmas.
Raucous, because of her six children, who ranged from eight through thirty. The older girls had come to visit with their own spouses and assorted toddlers. If Bess hadn’t worked with the orphans, she might have been unprepared for the noise level. Nora’s “unsuitable” husband, Uncle Geoffrey, fussed over the babies and wrestled the children as if he quite enjoyed them all. That flummoxed Bess most of all, for her own father’s dignity always kept him at arm’s length from his daughters.
The house, decorated for the holiday, was not the well-staffed mansion of a lumber baron, but Bess loved it at once. Big and welcoming, it smelled of baking pies and cookies, a roast ham, and the scent of love. Geoffrey, a moderately successful builder, might not be “well-bred,” but he was hardly the illiterate Bess’s mother had described. And after the fire that burnt a huge chunk of Chicago the same day Peshtigo went up, his future seemed more promising than ever.
All in all, her aunt and uncle’s happiness inspired Bess. Instead of fading, as her mother hoped, her feelings for John grew with the separation.
Aunt Nora happily conspired to send her home without notifying Mrs. Brannon, so Bess could see her beau.
“I wish you all the best. You’ll have it if you watch where your heart goes, then follow it along. If you follow only money, you’ll end up a wretched failure. Your mother has helped raise a sensible young woman. It’s time for her to trust you now, to choose what’s best for your own future.” Aunt Nora folded her into thick arms.
Her thoughts returned to Hannah, and the letter she had given her for Christmas. A gift of trust, she’d called it, and it certainly had been.
Dear Bess, the letter began, in lovely, flowing script. You have been so much to me, I cannot keep from you my story any longer. Your mother may have been right; I am hardly the companion she would choose for her young daughter. I leave it to you to decide, and I promise to respect your wishes.
The words that followed shocked and touched Bess as Hannah explained exactly how she’d come to be in Peshtigo. But nothing in that letter diminished Bess’s friendship one iota; instead, it deepened her impression of the wellspring of strength Hannah possessed. But Bess knew that for Hannah, writing down the words must have taken incredible courage. She wanted more than anything to reach her friend before her wedding, to let Hannah know her trust had been well-placed.
Snow fell thick as goose down, and she hoped the wedding celebration wouldn’t be cut short. She needed time to talk with the groom’s brother.
“Captain Hollas,” Bess called up to the familiar face. The burns had set like wax from a half-melted candle, pink and almost shiny. He was riding a huge black horse at a ground-covering trot. The scarred man turned to glare at her, and then his gaze snapped forward. He rode past without uttering a word.
“Old grouch,” Bess muttered. “It wasn’t as if I was expecting a thank-you.”
Dismissing the rude man from her mind, she hired a waiting wagon and rode eagerly toward the church where Hannah and Daniel would be married. Her thoughts, however, centered on sitting beside John in a pew.
o0o
Gen Tanner hurried through the snow to church. Her daughter had hidden in the attic of their home to try to avoid watching her two younger brothers. Gen understood her boys could be a handful, but why did Sarah have to choose today to be so obstinate? She had promised Hannah Shelton she’d come early to help her with her veil and buttons, and the delay had put her here not long before the first guests should arrive.
She hoped Sarah would keep the boys from disturbing the punch and cakes she’d set out for visitors. After the couple spoke their vows, the small party planned to move to her home down the street. Normally, someone from the bride’s family would have held the small reception, but since both bride and groom were fire refugees, allowances were certainly in order. Besides, thought Gen, no one had gathered in her parlor since her husband’s death two years ago. Perhaps a wedding party would be just the thing to banish those sad memories.
The thirty-five-year-old removed her wrap and shook it in the doorway. For the occasion, she’d arranged her coal black hair into an attractive set of loops. She hoped a little moisture wouldn’t make them slump.
As she hurried toward the minister’s office, where Hannah would be dressing, she noticed a man standing nearby, deep in shadow. A gasp betrayed her surprise.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shook her head. “No harm done, Captain Hollas. I just didn’t see you when I first came in. Are you a friend of Hannah’s or the groom’s?”
She couldn’t read the twist of his scarred mouth. “The bride’s. A very old friend. I was wondering if you’d assist me. I’d like to surprise her. Could you ask her to come out?”
Gen’s smile was empty, but polite. She’d helped tend Captain Hollas at the Simonton Hotel, and
nothing about him impressed her to his generosity.
“I’m sure she’s very busy. The guests will be here soon.”
His own smile was disturbing. “Then you’d better hurry. I’d hate her to miss this.”
Reverend Fuller claimed that even the most evil temperaments hid some spark of good. In Hollas’s case, any kindness offered might qualify for a miracle of God.
o0o
Gen Tanner stuck her head into the minister’s study. “You didn’t need my help at all. You look like an angel.”
“Is the groom here yet?” Hannah asked her.
“Not yet. It’s just us girls, except you have a visitor,” the woman said.
“Bess? Is it Bess Brannon?” Hannah leapt toward the door. If Bess had come back, that would make this day complete.
“I’m —I’m not supposed to say. I believe it’s a surprise.” Oddly enough, Gen Tanner’s face registered more unease than excitement.
Hannah brushed the thought aside and stepped out past her. And screamed as though her lungs would burst.
o0o
Malcolm knew he would forever savor the shock and fear on Hannah’s face. Her pale blue eyes flared wide, and her mouth flew open in a terrified cry. He grabbed her quickly, before her shock subsided and she began to fight.
For a few moments, he had feared that the woman with the dark hair wouldn’t tell her he was here. How fortunate he had convinced her, for he would have shot her if she’d given him more trouble. Then Hannah would have had time to prepare. Now, the loop-haired ninny stood with her jaw gaping, unable to comprehend his choke hold on the bride.
With scarred hands, Malcolm withdrew the needle from his pocket that would make her his. He lifted it to her upper arm, where the lace of her sleeve had torn.
Hannah kicked backward like the stubborn mule she was. Only Providence kept her from ruining his knee. Just as she’d nearly ruined his whole life. He spun her around and slung her toward the pews, then swore when she fell and struck one with her head.
Behind him, the door to the minister’s office slammed shut, and he heard the sound of a chair pulled up against it. He drew his Colt and fired three shots through the wood.
Something heavy thudded against the door, and he heard the thin sound of a child’s scream. Malcolm’s pulse raced. Not a child! He’d kill Hannah if she’d made him harm a child.
Turning back to his ex-wife, he was gratified to see she hadn’t moved. He pocketed the hypodermic syringe, a new device he’d discovered after his war injury. With it, he could dose her quickly with enough morphine to make her sleep. But now her unconsciousness made it unnecessary.
Her veil obscured his vision as he hoisted her over his shoulder. Tearing it off, he tossed it to the floor.
Today, she wouldn’t need it.
As he ran to where his horses had been hidden, Malcolm felt pleased to find his mind in fighting form. He felt no panic, only eagerness to move on to the next step in his plan.
o0o
At the nearby Pendleton Hotel, Daniel Aldman fumbled with his tie.
“Here, let me do that,” John said. His brother’s smile looked amused. “I think you’re even worse off than the first time.”
“I’m not nervous,” Daniel said. “I just don’t hold much with these fancy clothes. Far as I’m concerned, some prissy English fella is sniggering up his sleeve for inventing the uncomfortable things.”
“Uh, huh. Probably sitting around in homespun snorting corn liquor while he does.”
“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”
“Not a chance. I don’t want to give you cause to bring it up if I get Bess to marry me.”
A woodpecker-quick rapping interrupted. Daniel opened the door.
“Amelia, what on earth? Hannah will have to fit if she sees what you’ve done to that dress! Hey, wait. What’s wrong?”
“Ha-Ha-Hannah!” She screamed the name again and again, tears streaming down her reddened face. She’d torn her frilly dress, and when Daniel lifted her, he saw a fine mist of red droplets on her face.
“My God. This is blood. Are you hurt, Amelia?
The girl shook her head, and Daniel felt panic rising like bile in his throat.
“Hannah’s hurt?” he asked. When she nodded, Daniel passed her to his brother. “Keep her here, John. Make sure she’s not injured.”
He sprinted out the door and downstairs, his mind unable to hurdle one horrible thought.
Malcolm must have come back. And after last time, he’d be mad enough to kill.
As Daniel ran, he forced himself to imagine other explanations. Broken glass, an accident —but none explained his daughter’s terror. Despite the falling snow, sweat poured down his back by the time he raced into the church’s front door.
And stopped dead. Hannah’s veil lay draped over a pew.
The first few guests came in, the women Hannah knew. He ignored them, even though he could hear them whispering speculation about his wild hair, his untucked shirt.
John clattered in behind them, still holding Amelia in his arms. Her sobbing had stopped, and she clung to her uncle’s neck, crying, “Hannah! I want Hannah!”
Daniel picked up the fallen veil and saw another spattering of blood. “My God,” he said. “The bastard’s killed her.”
He turned to the nearby office door, recognized the bullet holes for what they were. Behind him, he heard a woman’s gasp.
He tried to open the door and found it blocked. That didn’t stop him. He threw a shoulder into it, determined to smash it into kindling if need be.
The door gave, but there was weight behind it. Hannah’s weight, Daniel thought. He pushed more gently, and in the door’s wake saw a smeary trail of blood. And now a hand, a single pallid hand stained scarlet.
“Oh, God!” he swore, shoving himself inside the door.
And turning slowly to face what he knew would be a dead body . . .
But not Hannah’s. Instead, Gen Tanner lay sprawled helplessly behind the door. She wasn’t dead, either. The blood-soaked red fabric of her violet-colored dress yet rose and sank in time with shallow breathing. She’d been shot twice, in the shoulder and the midsection. Gut-shot, as they’d called it in the War. Daniel wouldn’t put much on her chances.
“Get a doctor!” his voice boomed. “This woman has been shot!”
John forced his way into the room without Amelia. Staring down at Mrs. Tanner, he gave voice to Daniel’s question. “Where is Hannah, Daniel? What in heaven’s name has happened here?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The motion of the horse made Hannah’s head bob painfully. With each jolt, her skull pounded, forcing her awake. Though thick haze obscured her vision, she could make out the horse’s black mane and the gray trunks of bare trees as they spun by. Cold numbed her hands and feet, made it hard to tell where she stopped and the animal began. Melting snowflakes stung like bees against her unprotected neck and face.
She felt so dizzy, wanted so badly to fall off the horse, if only to stop the sickening motion. But something held her tightly in the saddle. That something was an arm around her waist.
Abruptly, she remembered. Malcolm, his flesh ruined by the slick scars of heavy burns. He’d come —come to —her wedding? Her gaze flicked to the yards of creamy silk that flowed behind her. Dear God in heaven! He was abducting her! Taking command of one limp arm, she swung back an elbow, but the blow bounced ineffectively off his shoulder.
Malcolm reined in the huge horse. “So you’re awake now,” Malcolm said. “I’m glad. We can’t have you dying prematurely.”
Hannah flung herself away from him and, to her shock, met no resistance. With a grunt, she landed facedown in the packed, ice-crusted snow. The freezing moisture penetrated the thin fabric of her dress and set her shivering. She wanted to get up, to run, to scream for help, but nothing worked as she expected. Legs, arms, and vocal cords all refused her need.
In front of her, Malcolm’s boots stood, glistening with snow
flakes that settled on black leather. “You hit your head quite hard. You won’t be running anywhere so soon. Now get up and stop this foolishness, or do you wish to freeze to death?”
As he dragged her to her feet, she looked around. Besides the horse, she saw nothing but thick snowfall, a narrow track, and endless, gray tree trunks.
“I said, do you wish to freeze?” His hand fisted in the neckline she had sewn with such care. With one hard jerk, he tore it to her waist.
She stood frozen like a fawn when the wolf’s eye falls upon it.
“Answer me!” he shouted as if he didn’t fear he would be overheard. He glared at her, his face marred by contempt and slick scar tissue. “Look at you, in a wedding dress. Did you imagine, after you ruined me, I would allow this?”
Violently, he tore the dress from her. The skirts tangled in her legs, and she fell again as he pulled them out from under her. This time, the cold combined with terror to afflict her with palsied, painful tremors. Grabbing her by the arm, he wrenched her to her feet again once more and slapped her, then twice, then again, until the thick haze overwhelmed her.
o0o
Amelia clung to her father, shivering and weeping silent tears. In a pew near the church altar, Daniel sat with her and stroked her hair.
His initial reaction had been to run outside, to see if there was any trace of Hannah. John brought both their coats, and the two of them ran up and down the streets like madmen, stopping strangers and asking questions as they ran.
Few people were out, and no one had seen anything save the confusion after Mrs. Tanner was discovered. The snow was falling harder, hard enough to rapidly fill tracks.
Defeated, John and Daniel returned to the church, where Amelia wept in Bess Brannon’s embrace. Quietly, he took his daughter and tried to comfort her.
He had to focus on his child’s pain to keep from falling into the chasm of his own.
Someone had brought the doctor, and the sheriff was here as well. A round-bellied man with wire-framed glasses and a tendency to whisper, Sheriff Skinner leaned forward to ask another question.
Touched by Fire Page 18
