Bandit's Hope (35 page)

Mariah shot him a warning glance. "Please, Uncle." She shook her head. "Not like this."

"Death?" Miss Vee repeated. "I don’t understand."

Otis appeared behind Miss Vee, his eyes wide and darting. Uncle Nukowa’s gaze bounced between them. "I stopped to pay respects to my sister tonight, and what do you suppose I found?"

They blinked at each other. Otis shrugged.

"A fresh grave in the family plot," Uncle Nukowa said. He glared at Mariah. "A hidden grave, though not hid well enough."

"What?" Miss Vee shuddered and rubbed her arms. "Whose, for heaven’s sake? We’ve had no recent deaths."

Her uncle’s gaze seared Mariah to her chair. "You can answer her question, can’t you?" He raised his chin toward Miss Vee. "Go on. Tell her who’s buried beside your mother on the hill. With a rock for a headstone"—he rattled the string of beads—"and these for a marker."

Miss Vee’s hand snaked around to take them. "Your mother’s necklace?" Her bewildered stare lifted to Mariah. "You placed your prized possession on a grave?" She shook her head. "But whose?"

Otis wagged his head sadly and patted Miss Vee’s arm. She glanced down at him and started to wobble.

Mariah lunged for her. "For heaven’s sake, Uncle, get a chair."

They sat her down just before she swooned. The men held her upright while Mariah brought a cold cloth to wipe her face.

"Slap her wrists," Otis said. "I hear that helps to bring ’em around."

In the time it took to revive Miss Vee, the events since Father’s death tumbled through Mariah’s mind like scenes before a drowning man—every chance to change her mind, every missed opportunity to confess.

She hadn’t once paused to admit she’d stopped talking to God along the way. If she had, she would’ve realized she’d veered far from His will.

Forgive me!
her heart cried.

The rage in Miss Vee’s glance and the fury in her uncle’s stance told her God’s was the only forgiveness she could ever hope to get.

"Why?" Miss Vee’s single word held a bitter accusation.

"I wanted to tell you so many times. Can you imagine how difficult it was to keep it from you?"

Tears flowing, Miss Vee shook her head. "I can’t imagine a single thing about the terrible deed you’ve done."

Sinking to one knee, Mariah reached for her hands.

Miss Vee yanked them free and turned away.

Mariah sighed. "At least let me answer your question. I did it because I had no choice. Mother made me swear never to lose our ancestral land. Her burial place."

Uncle Nukowa crossed his arms. "It was a promise you couldn’t keep."

Her mouth as dry as cotton, she nodded firmly. "But I could, Uncle. If I married a nahullo like she did."

Otis nodded grimly. "Which explains all the nonsense with that wicked Gabe."

Grateful for one ally, Mariah spun. "Yes. Only Tiller came along and we fell in love. He’s already asked me to marry him."

She stood and reached for her uncle’s arm, relieved when he didn’t pull away. "Don’t you see? You became the only thing standing in my way. If you hadn’t arrived, I’d be Tiller’s wife right now, and Mother’s land would be safe."

Stunned, Mariah gripped her forehead to still the spinning room. "What am I saying?" She swallowed hard to ease the pain crowding her throat. "How could Tiller marry me? He already has a wife."

Her uncle’s head snapped around. "What?"

She tucked her chin. "He deceived me all along. As it happens, Tiller’s married."

Otis tugged at her arm. "Little missy, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think it’s true because—"

"I’ll kill him." Uncle Nukowa balled his fists, murderous rage coloring his face. "I’ll boil the flesh from his rotted bones."

"Stop!" Miss Vee stood, as if waking from a trance. "John Coffee’s gone. That’s all that matters now." Clinging to the back of her chair, she lifted her chin. "I loved him from the first day I laid eyes on him." She smiled softly. "At first it seemed John might grow to love me, too." Moaning, she clutched her stomach. "Then Minti came along and cast her spell." Her mouth twisted. "I’m not a bit surprised to learn all this grief leads back to her."

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back. "Well, they’re together now, and so be it. Even from the grave Minti’s won. If you listen close, you can hear her laughing."

Uncle Nukowa reached to steady her. "Viola …"

Miss Vee glanced his way. "Forgive me, Joe, for speaking ill of the dead." Gazing around the kitchen, she gave an eerie laugh. "But she’s not really gone, is she? This is Onnat Minti Bell’s inn. Always has been. Always will. Just like John Coffee was hers, and she’ll never turn loose of either one." She staggered to the stairs with Otis clinging to her arm.

Longing to comfort her, Mariah edged closer. "Go up and rest, Miss Vee. Tomorrow we’ll sort all this out."

She raised her brows. "Can you undo your lies?" Her laugh was chilling. "Can you bring John back?" Stiffening her spine, she patted Otis’s arm then pulled away. "I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, when I come down these stairs for the final time, I’ll have my belongings with me."

She glanced around the room as if Mother flitted there. "This is the last night I’ll sleep in her blasted house."

Joe caught Mariah’s sleeve before she escaped up the stairs. "Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done."

She whirled, her eyes spitting fire. "How could you be so cruel?"

Otis backed into the hall. "I’m a mite tuckered, myself. Reckon I’ll get back to my room." Reeling away, he disappeared.

Gritting his teeth, Joe pointed at his chest. "Me cruel? Do you muddy the pond to avoid your own reflection?"

She hung her head. "I have a lot to make up to her. But you could’ve been more considerate in how you broke the news."

He raised one brow. "You had plenty of time to tell her any way you saw fit."

"I told you why I couldn’t. You know how Mother was. Surely you of all people can understand."

"You lied to me, girl. To everyone in this house." He shook his head. "Such behavior I’ll never understand." He tightened his mouth. "And now I learn the dog who urged you to defy me has a wife?"

She held up her hand. "Believe me, I didn’t know. Not until tonight."

Biting off a blistering curse, he glanced toward Tiller’s room. "Is he in there? Sleeping under my roof?"

Tears spilled onto Mariah’s cheeks. She let them flow unchecked. "He’s gone. He rode out with his gang as you came in. After they robbed the safe."

"His gang?" Stunned, Joe gaped at her. "Are you saying
Tiller
robbed us?" He wouldn’t admit it, but none of the things he’d heard matched what his heart believed about the boy. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the table. "I think you’d better start from the beginning."

Sinking into a chair, Mariah covered her face with her hands. "I still can’t believe it myself. My head is reeling."

Joe patted her trembling shoulder. "Do your best, but I need to know what happened."

When she finished her tale of burglars in the parlor, Otis regaining his memory, her stolen gold, and Tiller making a getaway with his band of thieves, Joe was madder than he’d ever been in his life. He stood and lifted Mariah to her feet. "Go to bed and try not to fret. I’m going to round up some men and go after them."

She touched his arm. "Rest first. You haven’t slept all night."

"I dozed awhile at Tobias’s house."

"Helped along by a few pints of ale?"

He lowered his eyes.

"It’s not enough, amoshi." She squeezed his hands. "It’s nearly daylight. Rest until then."

He scowled. "This can’t wait."

"At least while I pack food and water for your trip? Besides"—she shrugged—"you’ve said it many times, nahullos are easy to track."

He twisted his mouth to the side and nodded. "I suppose another hour can’t hurt."

"Thank you. I’ll feel better knowing you’ve had some sleep." Mariah turned toward the counter, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Go on up. I’ll call you when everything is ready."

Hurting for her, Joe pulled her around and tugged her to his chest.

She buried her face in his shirt and wept. "How can you forgive me?"

He grunted. "Because you’re right. I know how your mother was."

Raising her head, she searched his face. "You won’t hurt him?" She knitted her brow. "When you find Tiller, you won’t harm him, will you?"

The ways of women were a deep river indeed. "I should think you’d want his scalp."

She shook her head. "Maybe someday. Not now."

He swiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Go upstairs and wash your face before you ready my pack."

"Yes, Uncle."

He walked her to the bottom step, and she climbed as if her legs were made of stone. Halfway up, he called her name.

"Yes sir?"

"I’m sorry about your father. I know how you loved him."

"Yes, very much." Her voice broke, and her red nose flared.

"And Mariah?"

"Yes sir?"

"I want you to call me Uncle Joe now. The time of my anger has passed."

FORTY

T
iller reined Sheki beside the other horses and slid to the ground. Every inch of him hurt as if they’d dragged him the last grueling miles. He supposed in many ways they had. His head throbbed, his heart ached, and his muscles strained to return to Mariah.

Hade lit the lantern then tossed his pack against the trunk of a river birch tree. Sliding to the ground, he propped his back against the worn leather bag, groaning when his knees cracked. "Sure is soon to be setting up camp. We should at least ride until daylight so they won’t spot our fire. There may be a posse behind us, and I’d like to see them before they see us."

"I doubt there’s a posse," Nathan said. "It would take too long to round one up. The nearest lawman’s in Canton." He kicked a rock toward the Pearl. It landed with a
plunk
and a splash. "Besides, I’m tired of running."

Hade yawned and stretched. "I’m just plain tired. I sure could use some coffee. You boys go see what you can do about it."

Sonny pushed off the ground where he’d sprawled to dig a fire pit. "Yes sir. I’ll round up some wood."

Nathan pulled a battered coffeepot from his saddlebag then squatted by the riverbank to fill it.

Tiller sat on a log and slid his knife from the scabbard to dig up a piece of chicory root to roast. Anything to add flavor to Nathan’s strong, bitter grounds.

He paused, turning the bone handle over in his hand while memories flooded his mind.

The day he fled Scuffletown, he took the time to grab his Christmas gifts from under the tree. The knife, the only gift he’d kept up with over the years, came from his uncle.

Uncle Silas, a gem of a whittler, spent hours carving fine statues and trinkets, and he’d promised to teach Tiller to do the same. If he’d stayed in North Carolina, he’d be carving something besides chicory root and sassafras and might’ve carved something better out of life.

Uncle Silas once told him, "The blunders you make as a youth can chase you into old age. Don’t make a mess of your life while you’re still damp behind the ears."

Anger surged in Tiller’s heart, and he squinted toward Nathan. He’d been a child when the older boys led him out of town by his soggy ear. For ten years, he’d stumbled along behind a ruthless gang, feeling lost and out of place—years spent away from his family that he could never get back.

Tiller appreciated what Nathan tried to do for him in the barn, but it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know if anything ever could be. He felt as if a fog had lifted in his head. Otis, Mariah, and the inn had awakened him from a bad dream, and he wasn’t about to roll over and go back to sleep.

Lantern light glinted off the knife in Tiller’s hand. His searing gaze jumped to Hade, snoring under the tree with Mariah’s coins tucked inside his makeshift pillow.

Planted by impatience, watered by desperation, the idea grew, slipping into Tiller’s head the way sap oozed from greening bark. He saw no reason to wait any longer.

Fighting tears, Mariah slung eggshells at the sink. Scrambled eggs, his favorite food, reminded her of Tiller. The cream she poured into the eggs he liked stirred into his coffee. Coffee summoned memories of sipping cups together at the breakfast table. The table brought to mind their Dr. Busby games.