Her eyes turned opaque with thought. “I’m never at ease when my father is away.” As soon as the words left her lips, she turned her face away as if she would like to take them back.
“I won’t fall asleep tonight,” he said. “You will be safe.”
She nodded without saying more and left him standing there as she walked back to the house, her small shoulders very straight in her tailored dress.
He had left the pistol in the barn. Inside the barn door, he paused to let his vision adjust to the dimness. He picked up the pistol from the shelf where he had laid it, pulled back the hammer with his thumb, then released it gently. If anyone threatened Ann or her little sisters, he would not hesitate.
He must set off in search of firewood. Night would come soon.
Twenty-Seven
ANN’S LAMP GLOWED LONG PAST THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. Her father’s absence had catapulted her to nervous wakefulness.
She propped one elbow on her desk and rested her cheek on her hand, absorbed in the Radcliffe novel. Not, perhaps, the wisest choice of reading for one who needed soothing. She had started it once before, but found herself unable to continue upon reading that the heroine, Emily, had lost her mother and was left with only her father. Now, a year later, having steeled herself to try it again, Ann sympathized with Emily so deeply that it was as if she lived inside Emily’s skin and walked every step of her travels with her.
But on this page, Emily’s father had fallen ill, which made Ann’s uneasiness rise until her palms were moist.
Still, the father’s words kept her glued to the story.
“One act of beneficence, one act of real usefulness, is worth all the abstract sentiment in the world.”
She opened her diary and took her quill from its place on the desk, dipping it in the inkwell and copying the quotation. Through those words, Emily’s world rose off the page and mingled with reality. Ann’s abstract sentiment had done Will no good in Pittsburgh. But her father’s act of benevolence in aiding the Simons had rippled beyond them and somehow, through Providence, had brought Will to their threshold.
Ann must be, like her father, a doer and not just an indulger in sentiment. It was a lesson that smarted as it sank deeper in her; she was not sure why. Perhaps she did not wish to give up all girlish sentiment. Eli understood that. There was still boyishness in his play with words. Would he be a man who acted in benevolence, who made himself useful to others in need? She did not know. He was not lacking in sentiment. But what would he do with his fine poetic feeling?
He still spoke of medical school, but he had delayed his plans two years since he first spoke of it. He told Ann that he had not felt any peace at the thought of going away without her. When he said such things, his intense gaze increased his other worldly quality and left her stunned that such a man would think so highly of her. She had not dared to hope that he would ever speak to her in that way again.
He could not be far from proposing, and then she would have to decide what to do. It made her head ache. God had turned Eli’s heart back to her, as she prayed for so many times. It was proof that the Lord must intend her to marry Eli. But she did not know how she would choose Eli over her sisters, or her sisters over him.
She put her quill away and closed the novel, finally weary. Stifling a yawn, she went to her window and peeped around the shutter she had left ajar.
Will sat in profile against the firelight, his head bent to a book—her father’s Bible. She had seen it on a rock beside the fire when she brought Will his supper.
She must feel so close a kinship with the apprentice because of the strange accident of the letters, and because she had seen him sorely abused. That would explain why her heart went out to him and why she had been robbed of her power to speak when he first arrived at their home.
Yet, despite all his suffering, he had still tried to ease her burden today during her chores—to lift heavy things for her, to look after her needs.
When he was near, she did not feel moved to pity, as she once had. Instead, time grew slow and simultaneously wild, as if something unexpected was bound to happen, as if he had something to tell her and she him, but each waited on the other. Perhaps that sense of expectation was only in her imagination, a trick of the mind caused by sharing his mother’s letters. In fact, she could now return the letters to his possession permanently. Perhaps doing so would dissolve their unusual secret and remove that oddness she felt in his presence.
She withdrew from the window and went to the loose floorboard over the hole where she kept her diary. Out of habit, she had hidden the letters there upon her return from Pittsburgh. Under the raised board, the little bag nestled against the bare ground. Now that Will sat only yards away instead of in the gloom of Master Good’s barn, the letters seemed like a message of promise for his future. Ann pulled out the bag and stood to check her reflection in the glass before she headed outside.
She took her lamp and carried the bag of letters down the dark hallway and through the parlor. When she stepped outside, Will looked up quickly.
Now that his deep-set eyes were fixed on her, the same paralyzing shyness stole over her as on his arrival. Why had she thought it necessary to return these letters in the dark of night, when she would have to speak to him alone? At least the wavering firelight only reached one side of his face, leaving him in dancing shadows, so she did not have to read his expression.
She would keep it swift and practical. She marched up and held out the bag to him, where it dangled like a flag at the end of her stiff arm. “Here. These belong to you.”
He took them slowly. “Thank you.” If he wondered why she had come out after midnight to deliver them, he kept mercifully silent.
“Good night.” She spun around and hurried back inside, cringing at her own awkwardness. Her ears were still tingling when she reached the refuge of her bedroom and closed the door. He would think her a mannerless eccentric.
At least her mortification had driven away some of her worry.
She assured herself twice that the shutter was completely closed before pulling her dress over her head, untying her stays, and stepping out of her petticoat. She hung the garments carefully in her wardrobe and donned her nightgown.
She should not be nervous. Her father thought there was no reason for alarm. And she was not alone; Will was here.
She blew out the lamp and climbed into her bed. She must not think of Will anymore if she wished to forget her foolishness and find any rest tonight.
She hoped the Simons were well at their cabin. Clara had seemed so ill yesterday.
Lord, please heal Clara and guard the Simons. Protect us all from evil men this night. Please help me to know why you have chosen Eli for me, and how I can marry him without leaving my sisters. And calm my nerves and send me sleep. In your Son’s holy name, I ask you these things. Amen.
A stick cracked. Will’s head jerked up. He could not tell how close or far away it was, though it came from the woods beyond the field.
It could be anything—a deer, a bobcat. But as he gazed at the indistinct trees, the hair rose on his arms.
There. Something moving, a blot of deeper darkness in the moon shadows.
He rose to his feet, gripping the pistol. But he saw and heard nothing more.
He could not stay here. He had to discover whether that was human or animal. He half ran into the field and over the bare furrows in the darkness.
When he reached the trees he paused, assaulted by the memory of his run across Master Good’s yard to the woods.
Still no one in sight. He slipped through the grove, skirting knotty bushes, alert for any sign of motion. It must have been an animal. There was nothing to see.
He would go to the cabin and be certain that John was still awake, then get back to the house.
As he arrived on the border of the clearing, he froze. Thumps and thuds sounded from inside the cabin. The door was ajar, revealing faint light from a banked fire. John was nowhere to be seen.
He kicked the door, throwing it back on its hinges. A man leaned over the bed, tying Clara’s hands. Her eyes were wide and terrified, her mouth stopped with a strip of cloth. John lay sprawled on the floor.
“Stop!” Will cocked the hammer and raised the pistol. The man arrested himself in mid-motion. He turned slowly to Will, hands in the air.
“Now, don’t be getting’ excited, boy.” He wore a beaver hat low on his forehead. “I’m just claimin’ some stolen property.”
Will darted a glance at John, who was silent and motionless. “Get away from them.”
“There ain’t nowhere to go.”
“Come out here.”
The man grabbed something from the bed. Will ducked. A pistol blast deafened him, and the breeze of the shot puffed past his ear. He dodged behind the wall and dropped to the ground.
Complete silence in the vacuum left by the gun’s report.
He waited. The bounty hunter would not kill John or Clara—they were good for a reward alive, not dead. But if Will went in there, the man would pick him off like a duck. Will would have to wait him out. He trained his pistol on the door and waited.
A blow to his head. The world spun. Someone from behind. Had he come out the window? A heavy body threw itself on top of him, hands at his throat. Will fought back, grabbing wrists, yanking against a vise-grip. The man was strong. Unable to break his grip, Will drove his knee as hard as he could into the man’s midsection. He grunted and his grasp loosened. Will heaved him to the side and pounded at his jaw, but struck only a glancing blow. The man seized Will’s hair and yanked his head to the ground, making him twist on his stomach to avoid a broken neck. A knee planted in the small of his back knocked the wind out of him.
“I’ll be gone in an hour, boy,” the man whispered. “My wagon’s just down the road.” A cold ring of metal touched Will’s temple. He stiffened. Lord, make it quick.
A solid thud sounded above Will and the weight fell from his back. He rolled over and scrambled to his feet. Ann stood over the supine form of the bounty hunter, a thick log raised in both hands like a club. Her nightgown billowed in the slight breeze; her jaw was clenched, her eyes eerily vacant. She raised the log high over the man’s head.
“No!” He did not want her to kill the man. She seemed driven by a force beyond her—a blind fury. He hardly recognized her, and she was not listening.
He launched himself up and pushed her. She stumbled sideways and fell, the log dropping from her hands. “Stay there!” he yelled.
The bounty hunter was already on his feet. On the ground the barrel of Will’s pistol glinted, halfway between him and the other man.
Will dived for it. His hand just touched the handle as the other man grabbed the barrel. Grappling for it, both of them sprawled on the turf. Their hands became a straining knot of sinew. The man tried to turn the gun back toward Will and break his grip. Will’s hands were slipping; the man rose to one knee, forcing Will on his back.
He had only one choice. Every muscle taxed to its limit, he moved his index finger to the trigger and pulled.
An ear-splitting boom. The impact of the shot spun the man half-around and threw him on his side a few yards away. He staggered to his feet, clutching his bicep, his face slack with shock. Then he ran for the trees, hitching as he kept one hand to his wounded arm.
Will jumped up and ran after him. The man moved with surprising speed, crashing ahead through the brush. Will had to follow by sound alone, as the darkness pressed in and made every step a leap of faith. Something caught his foot; he went down like a felled tree, knocking the wind out of himself. When he scrambled up again, the sounds of the man were faint. He would not be able to catch him now.
Crestfallen, he retraced his steps to the cabin with more care. He hoped he had not hurt Ann when he pushed her; worry quickened his pace as he emerged into the clearing.
She was sitting up where she had fallen, her nightdress a pale pool against the black ground. As he approached, she lifted her head, tears streaking her face.
He hung his head. “Forgive me.”
“No, you were right to stop me.” She was as pale as her gown, her hair tangled. “I would have killed him.”
“Still, I should never—”
“It was Rumkin. He tried to kill me once.” Her face was stricken under its tear streaks. She blinked and then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “He escaped?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She cast her eyes down, her white face tense.
“He won’t be back tonight, not with a shot to the arm.” Will stood. “I must see to John and Clara. I’ll return shortly.”
Upon entering the cabin, he found to his relief that Clara was sitting up in bed, untied. John perched next to her, his feet braced on the floor as he bent and rubbed the back of his head.
“Just a nasty bump.” John spoke more slowly than usual, but seemed otherwise recovered. “I’m sorry. He must have snuck up quieter than a mouse and hit me with his pistol. I didn’t sleep on the watch.”
“At least you and Clara are safe for now.”
“Praise God.” John took Will’s hand in both of his rough palms and shook it. “And thank you, brother.”
“You have nothing to thank me for. He got away.”
John’s brow creased under its cross-shaped brand, but he pressed Will’s hand once more before releasing it. “Still. If you hadn’t come running, we’d be trussed up like turkeys in the back of a wagon.”
“That’s for sure,” Clara said from where she lay on the bed.
Will glanced away and saw the shotgun standing in the corner. He retrieved it, feeling the reassuring weight of the stock. “We should all go to the main house, John, for the rest of the evening. Just to be cautious. You and I can sit by the fire outside.”
“All right. And Clara can stay in the sitting room there?”
Will nodded.
The quilt lay on the floor by the hearth. Will picked it up and walked out of the cabin. A few feet away, Ann stood shivering, her arms wrapped around her blowing gown. “Here you are.” He wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. “We will all go back to the house together.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she swallowed and whispered, “Thank you.”
She needed comfort. He knew he should not, but he put his arm around her shoulders.
To his amazement, she bowed her head and leaned in to his shoulder like a little girl. Her warm sweet smell rose up, making him want to pull her close and embrace her. He forced himself to stay very still. Then John came out of the cabin, and she jerked away.
“Miss Miller, are you all right?” John asked. The pistol was thrust through his belt and he supported Clara, who had mustered enough strength to walk.
“I’m well, John.” Ann’s voice was tight. “Let’s go back. I woke at the sound of the pistol shot. If the girls woke too, they must be frantic.”
John murmured to Clara. “Keep good hold of me.” He turned to Ann again. “Come on, Miss. We’ll be there in no time.”
They all set off across the clearing, Will in the rear with the shotgun.
The men did not enter the house when they arrived. Ann took Clara’s arm and helped her over the threshold. She murmured a good night and closed the front door behind them.
For the few hours of darkness that remained, John and Will sat by the fire. Every now and then, one would stoke the fire with the poker or add another log.
“Why don’t you get some rest?” John asked at one point. “I can watch.”
But after the fight, all Will’s senses remained alert. “No, I cannot sleep. You should sleep instead.”
John shook his head.
So they stayed there, backs propped to big logs.
“When Mr. Miller returns tomorrow, we will ask him what to do next,” Will said.
“In case Rumkin comes back?”
“Yes.”
John sighed. The silence
was heavy, but after a few minutes it became more meditative. John gazed at the fire, as if other sights painted the canvas of his memory.
The log on the fire cracked and sparked. Will’s eyes drifted to the closed shutter of Ann’s bedroom window.
He tried to conjure up Emmie’s face to feel what he should feel for her.
But Ann’s warm fragrance lingered and returned, all night long.
Twenty-Eight
SOMEONE WAS RIDING TOWARD THE HOUSE. IN THE afternoon light, Ann could see that his horse was a bay. Her father. She sighed and the tightness in her chest eased for the first time since he had left. But she would have to tell him about Rumkin. Would she tell her father about her own part in the attack?
Two hours earlier, Will had escorted the Simons back to the cabin, leaving her to keep a lookout with the shotgun.
“Even if Rumkin were able to come back—and he will not, with a bullet in his arm—,” he had said, “he would not seek you out here. He would come to the cabin.”
Though she knew it was true, since Will’s departure she had been hard-pressed to hide her anxious watchfulness from the girls. She had brought a bucket of potatoes out and peeled them, cleaned the barn, fed the animals, and done any other chore that would keep her outside where she could see. And while she watched the road, one disbelieving thought rippled through her mind: I would have killed him. The same savagery that so horrified her in Allan Burbridge had crept into her own soul, so she would have beaten a man to death. She was worse than a beast, to witness a crime against heaven in the murder of Mr. Holmes and still be prepared to do the same.
The horse and rider drew nearer. But the man in the saddle was not her father—he was too tall and lean. When he doffed his hat to her from twenty yards away, blond hair shone in the sunlight.
It was Eli. Standing on the stoop, Ann clutched the kitchen door with one hand and touched the other to her forehead. She had completely forgotten about her plans to ride with Eli this afternoon.
Fairer than Morning Page 21
