Beyond All Measure (32 page)

“That don’t mean I had anything to with what happened at the Spencers’.”

Wyatt rounded on him. “Then why lie to me about what happened to your arm, Charlie?”

“I was embarrassed. Me and a coupla the boys had a little too much to drink one night. I stumbled and fell into the fire in the grate. I know you don’t like it when we drink too much, Mr. Caldwell. I didn’t want to get fired.”

“And you were nowhere near the Spencers’ place when the Klan torched their yard?” McCracken asked.

“No!”

The sheriff bore down on his quarry. “Have you ever been out to Lillian Willis’s place?”

“Once. Mr. Caldwell sent me out there to tell ’em he couldn’t come to supper one night. But that’s the only time. I swear it.”

McCracken nodded. “When you were out there that day, did you walk around, look in the windows, check out the barn?”

“No! I rode in, went up on the porch, knocked on the door. That Yankee woman from Boston came to the door. I told her what Mr. Caldwell said to tell ’er, and I rode right back out.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Yeah.”

McCracken reached into his pocket and produced a small penknife. “Then can you explain to me why I found this in the woods at the back of Mrs. Willis’s property? I believe it’s yours. It’s got your initials engraved on it.”

“It’s mine. I lost it. A long time ago.”

“Uh-huh.” McCracken eyed Blevins and turned the knife over and over in his hands.

Wyatt kept his eyes on Charlie. The silence spooled out. He could almost smell the fear on the younger man.

“You can’t prove nothing!” Charlie spat. “It’s my word against yours. I ain’t gonna stand here and listen to any more of this.” He pulled his sleeves down and buttoned the cuffs. “I’m going back to work.”

“No, you’re not.” Wyatt fought to control his rage. He’d spent enough time among all kinds of men to know when they were lying. And Charlie Blevins was lying.

He opened his office safe and took out a couple of bills. “Here’s your pay. Clear off my property. Don’t come back.”

Avoiding Wyatt’s gaze, Blevins wadded the bills and shoved them into his pocket.

McCracken held the door open for Blevins. “I’m going to be watching your every move. Sooner or later, the truth will out. And when it does, I’m going to be on you like a hen on a June bug.”

Wyatt went outside and watched until Blevins had saddled his horse and disappeared down the road toward town. McCracken shrugged into his coat. “I’d bet my last dime that he’s guilty as sin. But he’s right. Unless I can get somebody to swear he took part at the Spencers’ and left that note, all I’ve got are my suspicions.”

“And the knife.”

“Which he claims to have lost.” McCracken clasped Wyatt’s shoulder. “He’d be a fool to try anything now. All the same, if I were Ada Wentworth, I’d lay low until Blevins has a chance to cool off.”

THIRTY

Ada led Smoky from the barn and into the February cold. She set her sewing box and a stack of Lillian’s quilt blocks into the rig, tucked her blanket around her knees, and set off for the church.

It had felt strange worshipping on Sunday without Lillian asleep beside her, and stranger still to see the mound of bare dirt at the far end of the graveyard—a stark reminder of Wyatt’s loss, and hers.

The gravestone he had ordered from Knoxville wouldn’t arrive for another month. In the meantime, he’d placed a simple wooden cross at the head of Lillian’s grave. In the absence of flowers, Ada had added a wreath of holly, the shiny red berries injecting a hopeful note into the gray winter landscape.

Ada planned to fetch Sophie from Mrs. Lowell’s after today’s quilting circle. She was eager to continue the girl’s lessons and to teach Sophie more about making hats. And Wyatt was coming for supper. Ada looked forward to the evening. She hadn’t seen Wyatt since Sunday. The mill was going full blast to make up for lost time and to fulfill an order that had arrived by telegraph on Saturday.

She approached the road to Two Creeks. Smoky shied and came to a halt, his ears twitching, his withers quivering.

“Smoky, get up!” Ada clicked her tongue and rattled the reins. The horse whinnied and stepped sideways in the road.

“Get
up
, you bag of bones! What’s the matter with you?”

Then she saw movement in the trees, a sudden glimpse of white and then nothing. A shiver of fear passed through her.
It was nothing. A trick of the light
.

Another moment of uneasy silence, and then horses’ hooves pounded the ground behind her. A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the trees. Smoky let out a shrill whinny and reared in his traces, pulling the rig sideways into the trees. Ada hauled in the reins with all her might, but Smoky raced on, the wheels cracking as he lurched blindly through the tangled undergrowth.

Rough hands grabbed Ada from behind and yanked her from the rig. Facedown on the cold, hard ground, she couldn’t breathe. She writhed and fought to turn herself over, but her attacker was much stronger and heavier. She heard the fabric of her dress rip before she was lifted and slammed into the ground again. All the air rushed from her lungs.

She fought back with all her strength. “Get off me!” Somehow she broke free and crawled away, raising herself onto her elbows. She felt a trickle of blood on her forehead and struggled to see through an eye that was rapidly swelling shut. “What do you want?”

Three riders on horseback appeared from the trees, silent as ghosts. Surrounded, Ada twisted and stared up at their white masks and robes. A wave of terror moved through her. “Who are you?”

Their silence was more terrifying than any words would have been. She tried to rise to her feet, but a savage kick to her ribs knocked her flat again.

“Shut up! Stop prattling, or I’ll kill you!” The voice was muffled, but the meaning was clear as glass. Cold apprehension crawled along her spine. She looked up at the white figure looming over her. Through the ragged holes in the mask she saw dark eyes burning with hatred.

Another kick, and blinding white pain shot through her head. Panic jolted through her. Purple spots showered behind her eyes. But she was determined not to die. With her last bit of strength, Ada pushed to her feet and lurched away, but her attacker grabbed her arm.

Panicked, Ada swung an elbow and connected with her attacker’s face. A bright circle of blood bloomed on the white mask. Ada grabbed the mask and yanked it free. A cold shudder seized her. “Bea Goldston!”

Bea wiped her bloody nose on the sleeve of her robe. “Surprised, Saint Ada?”

Ada took a shallow breath. Pain shot through her ribs.

“You were warned to stay out of Two Creeks, but there you were, riding around with that Negro boy like he was the king of Siam.”

Then Ada remembered the rig that had passed hers at the crossroads that day. At the time, she’d been too terrified for Lillian to worry about appearances. “What was I to do, let Lillian die?”

“I told you to
shut
your face! The old crone died anyway, didn’t she?” Bea shoved Ada against the trunk of a tree and forced her to sit on the ground. One of the silent riders tossed her a rope, dismounted, and grabbed Ada’s arms. Ada kicked and clawed at them, trying to roll away, but she was injured and outnumbered. She tasted blood and salt in her mouth. Every breath felt like a knife in her chest.

“And then there’s the matter of dear little Sophie.” The rope squeaked when Bea and her accomplice knotted it.

Bound tightly to the tree, Ada felt her hands going numb. Sharp pains shot through her shoulder. She tried to wrench free, but the rope held fast. “She’s . . . just a child!”

“She’s got black blood in her veins.”

“You’re a teacher!” Ada fought for breath. “Charged with influencing young minds. The school board will not look kindly upon any of this.”

Bea smirked. “And I suppose you intend to tell them. You’re always sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”

“This isn’t about Sophie or Two Creeks. You’ve hated me from the first. This is nothing more than an excuse to punish me for coming here.”

Bea gave the rope a final tug and got to her feet. She and the other one caught their horses and swung into their saddles. “Have a nice afternoon, Saint Ada. Maybe one of your little friends from Two Creeks will rescue you. But I wouldn’t count on it. They know what’s good for them.”

“Bea, this is insane! It’s criminal! You’ve made your point. You can’t leave me here!”

“I
am
leaving you here.” Bea wiped her bloody nose again. “But don’t worry. Somebody will come along. Eventually.”

The four left, melting into the dark trees as silently as they had come.

“Help!” Ada yelled. “Please. Somebody help me!” She screamed and cried until her throat felt raw and she was reduced to frantic moans in her throat. After a while, the cold began to seep in. Sometime later, a warm stream of urine saturated her clothes and assailed her nostrils. She slumped against the tree, its rough bark pressing into the sodden fabric of her dress.

She tried to recall the verses she’d read so often to Lillian, to concentrate on something to bring her comfort and hope, but her battered mind was a blank. As the long afternoon wore on, her thoughts drifted to her parents, to Edward, to the past few months in Hickory Ridge.

And to Lillian. What was it she said that night? “
When there’s no other name to call, Ada, call on him.”

Ada turned her face to the brooding sky and closed her eyes.
Dear Lord, I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m in a pickle here. I could use your help
.

Wind rushed through the bare trees.
Be still and know that I am God
.

Be still
. How many times had she read those words to Lillian in the evenings?
Be still
. Her pulse slowed as her mind righted itself. By now Mariah and Carrie would be wondering where she was. Perhaps Libby Dawson or someone else from Two Creeks would find her here. Wyatt would leave the mill by five, six at the latest.

She hoped that Smoky had gone home. Wyatt would surely know something was wrong once he found the horse and the broken rig. All she had to do was to stay calm and wait for rescue. But suppose nobody came? Suppose Wyatt were delayed and she was left to face the darkness?

“Call on him
.”

Lord, help me stay strong. Help me . .
.

She shifted her weight, trying to relieve the pressure on her shoulders and hands. Her sore ribs ached. The light waned and cast long shadows on the deserted path, and night birds settled in the trees. Something brown and furry—a rat?—scuttled across her feet and into the underbrush.

Ada couldn’t stop shivering in her ruined clothes. Pinpricks of light darted in the spaces behind her eyes. She blinked and tried to stay calm.
Don’t faint. Wait for Wyatt
. But everything dissolved into a hot, black swirl. Images bloomed and faded behind her closed eyes.

“Ada! Ada Wentworth!” Someone was shaking her. Ada struggled to open her eyes. It wasn’t a dream. He was real. How long had she been out, oblivious to her surroundings?

But as quickly as her hope flared, it died.

“Mr. Pruitt,” she rasped. “I suppose you’ve come to finish the job.”

The storekeeper blinked. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

Already he was studying the knotted rope that held her fast and reaching into his pocket for his knife.

“The Klan,” Ada said. “Bea Goldston and the rest.”

He began sawing through the thick rope. “I don’t know anything about them.”

“They wore masks and white robes,” Ada said. “Bea was the only one who said a word.”

“Most likely it was a bunch of her loyal subjects out to give you a good scare.” He yanked on the rope, and her hands came free. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.” She struggled to her feet, mortified by the acrid stench of her soiled skirts. Her head swam. Her knees buckled.

He steadied her. “Never mind. My wagon’s just there, on the road.” Though she was desperate to get out of the woods, Ada hesitated, paralyzed with fear and mistrust. Was Jasper Pruitt telling the truth, or had he been one of the silent horsemen? What if this rescue was part of an elaborate ruse meant to lead her into worse danger?

“Thank you, Mr. Pruitt. I’m all right now. I can walk home.”

“Listen,” Jasper said. “I’ve already apologized for the things I said to you when you first come here. It’s true that I don’t think whites and blacks should be mixing together. And I still think you oughta stay away from that mutt of a girl over at Mrs. Lowell’s. But I ain’t no Klansman, and I never would hurt you, no matter how bad I disagree with you. Now come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Tears rolled down her face. She wanted someone, anyone, to tell her she would be all right. “How . . . how did you find me?”

“Saw your horse running across the road. Your rig is tore up pretty bad. I figured something spooked him and he throwed you out, so I took a look around. I never expected to find you tied up to no tree.” He shook his head. “No ma’am, I surely did not.”

Jasper Pruitt scooped her into his arms and carried her to his wagon. He removed a small box lying on the seat and set it behind them. “You rest easy, Miss. I’ll get you to Mr. Caldwell’s as fast as I can.”

Ada sagged against the storekeeper’s shoulder. Jasper clicked his tongue to the horses, and the wagon jostled over the road. “Funny how life works out sometimes, ain’t it? Here I was, on my way out to your place to deliver a cake from my missus, to thank you for the hat.”

“Not necessary,” she managed. “You paid a fair price for it.”

“Cost me a pretty penny, that’s for sure, but you can’t put a price on what that hat has done for my Jeanne. Not that it made the pain of losing our baby go away. Don’t reckon there’s no cure for that. But now . . . she seems stronger, is all.” He glanced at Ada. “Never woulda thought a hat had such magical powers. But then, I don’t pretend to understand womenfolk.”

Ada massaged her rope-burned wrists and pressed her fingers to her temples. Never had she felt so afraid and so utterly defeated. It was clear to her now that staying on in Hickory Ridge was impossible. Tomorrow, when she was not so exhausted, she would sit down and figure out her next move. She swayed on the hard wagon seat.