Hunter's Prize (40 page)

The reverend nodded. “Exactly.”

Pearson searched out Ceddy under the buckboard and stared. “So you think he …”

“Would you recognize it for a gemstone, now that you know what you’re looking for?” Priscilla asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Pearson said. “I’d like to think so.”

“Let’s find out.” She twisted around to the wagon. “Oh Ceddy! Come here, please. Come to Auntie, darling.”

Ceddy batted his heavy lids, fighting to keep them open. His name echoed in his ears, and he wanted it to stop. Moaning, he raised his head and searched through the slices of pie for the source of the noise.

Gasping, he snapped his eyes open. Sleepy no more, he felt fear churning in his tummy. Blinking fast, he looked through a different slice, hoping the picture would change. Panting, whining, choking, he scooted out the back of the wagon and crawled like a crab to the bank.

Hide! Need to hide!

His legs tangled with a length of rope on the ground. Clenching his mouth against a scream, he kicked his way free. Reaching the rowboat, he scrambled inside and ducked behind the seat.

His skin tingled. His chest ached. The hairs on his head prickled. He longed to peek, to see if they were coming, but didn’t dare. Turning on his back, he lay very still in the rocking boat and watched an osprey soar.

“That’s right, mum,” Denny said, striding out of the woods. “Call the wormy little blighter out of hiding and save us the trouble.”

The old lady’s head whipped around so fast she nearly lost her teeth. Crying out, she latched onto the reverend.

Pearson leaped from the log and turned, easing the pretty little governess behind his back.

Theo, Pearson’s mop-headed puppet, pushed himself off the ground. Both gents’ eyes followed the pistol in Denny’s hand.

Denny beamed. It felt good to have one up on them for a change. “Sorry we’re late to the party. We’d have been ‘ere sooner, but we ran into a little trouble in town. Seems our landlord don’t appreciate the way we settle our accounts.” He nodded at Miss Whitfield. “But he bartered for some of the items you so generously donated, missus, and was pleased to call off the sheriff once we offered them in trade.”

She glared. “You devil. How dare you steal from me!”

Denny pointed at his chest. “How dare I?” He nodded at Charlie and laughed. “It was easy, weren’t it, Charlie?”

Laughing, Charlie wobbled his direction, his shotgun waving wildly.

“Be careful, will ya?” Denny shouted, shoving the barrel aside. “Watch what you’re doing.”

“Sorry, Den. I ain’t used to it yet.”

Denny scowled. “Don’t expect to be. I’m taking that thing away as soon as we sort this out.” He faced his captive audience. “Speaking of which, I’d like to get the ball rolling, if you don’t mind. Now where’s the boy?”

“He’s not here,” Pearson said.

“Go on, don’t take me for a mug. I heard the old cow calling him.”

Miss Whitfield stood, defiance in her eyes. “You’re going to leave my nephew alone. Do you hear me?”

Denny laughed. “Feisty, ain’t she?” He pointed past her with the nose of his gun. “She was facing the wagon when she called for the brat, Charlie. Go take a gander.”

The old girl balled her fists, her eyes wild. “Don’t you go over there!”

Denny hooted. “I think we’re onto something.” He shoved Charlie’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. Just do like I say. Now go on.”

Watching her carefully, Charlie lumbered past.

The little governess paled.

The old woman started to cry.

Pearson held up his hand. “Can’t we talk about this, Denny? You seem to be a decent person at heart.”

“No, he’s not,” the governess spat. “He’s a no-account thief who’s envious of Ceddy.” She challenged Denny with her eyes. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Currie? You’re petty and small-minded enough to be jealous of a lovely little boy?”

He aimed the pistol. “Shut it, missy.”

Pearson tucked her behind him again. “Hold on there, Denny. You don’t want to add murder to your sins. Why not put that thing away before there’s an accident?”

“Please don’t hurt my Ceddy,” Miss Whitfield called to Charlie.

Charlie looked inside the wagon bed, under the seat, and beneath the rig. He circled it once then came back scratching his head. “He ain’t ‘ere, Den.”

Panic shot up Denny’s throat. “Sure he is. He ‘as to be.” His fingers tightened around the pistol. That barmy nipper wouldn’t do him over again or he’d wind up a nutter himself.

The four standing in the clearing passed worried glances.

Furious, Denny squared around to Charlie. “I ain’t ‘ardly in the mood for this, mate. We rode all night, and I’ve missed me kip. Don’t make me come look for meself.”

Charlie pointed behind him. “Look all you want. He ain’t there.”

Miss Whitfield skirted the log and took a few staggering steps toward the buckboard. “Then where …?” Clutching her throat, she screamed, her howls echoing off the trees.

Risking Denny’s pistol, Pearson ran to her. “Priscilla, what’s wrong?”

She pointed a trembling finger at the bobbing rowboat, floating forty yards out on the lake.

He gripped her arm. “Ceddy?”

A gulping sob escaped, and she nodded.

“Can he swim?”

She shook her head.

The governess moaned and covered her mouth.

Charlie spun and stared at Denny.

“Don’t stand about like an ‘eadless chicken,” Denny shouted, breaking into a run. “Go after ‘im, you witless dolt.”

Charlie held out his hands. “How?”

He waved his arm toward the bank. “The second boat.”

Pearson and the other men poised to lunge, but Denny trained his pistol on them. “Get back before I drop you where you stand.”

They raced for the other vessel and jumped aboard, Denny pushing off with a mighty shove before he wobbled his way to the seat. “Don’t just sit there, Charlie. Row!”

Charlie snatched up the oars and leaned into them, skimming the boat easily across the water. Shouts and screams reached them from the bank, but Denny focused on only one thing.

A brilliant future awaited him less than ten yards ahead. At last, Denny Currie would have exactly what he deserved.

Ceddy lay very still in the bottom of the boat. His hair, swirling in a shallow pool of water, tickled the back of his neck, but he didn’t feel like laughing.

Holding his breath, he squeezed his eyes shut against the voices in the distance—far away but scary—and tried to think of Mummy. He smoothed his cheek with the back of his hand the way she used to, but it didn’t feel the same.

The middle of his chest swelled like a puffer fish, and he nearly cried out.

Must be quiet, Little Man. Must be careful to be quiet
.

Mummy! I’ll be good, if only you’ll come and get me
.

The words were muddled sobs in his ears.

His eyes flashed open. Water lapped against the side right next to his ear.

Not safe
.

He shook his head.

Not safe. It’s not safe
.

A hard bump, and the boat rocked under him.

Ceddy’s heart squeezed, and a scream rose in his throat as Charlie’s fat fingers latched onto his arm.

His leering face appeared overhead, close enough to touch. “We got

‘im now, Den.” His head turned, long hairs growing from inside his droopy ears. “He’s ours now.”

Ceddy’s trembling fingers slid down to his pocket and cupped the two big stones. Drawing them out, he slammed the side of Charlie’s face as hard as he could swing.

Charlie’s eyes rolled back. Wobbling briefly over Ceddy’s head, he slumped.

Straightening both arms, Ceddy blocked him, shifting his weight to the side.

Charlie slid between the two boats with a terrible splash and disappeared.

“Charlie?” Mr. Currie bawled. “Where are you, mate?” He stood up in the other boat, towering over Ceddy. “What happened? Where’d he go?”

Moaning, Ceddy scrambled over the seat to the other end and perched on the side.

“Where’s Charlie?” Denny screamed. “Where is he?”

In a rush of splashing water, Charlie shot up between them, both hands madly grasping for the boats.

Cursing, Mr. Currie did a curious dance before he toppled.

Ceddy bounced high off the end and hit the water on his back.

P
earson raced to the bank and dove. Cold water closed around his head as Addie’s frightened screams echoed in his ears. Rising to the surface, he swam, demanding more from his body than he ever had in his life. With every stroke, he pushed harder, his mind consumed by thoughts of Ceddy sinking beneath the murky lake.

Charlie flailed near the rowboats, the whites of his eyes shining. There was no sign of Denny.

“Help us,” Charlie whimpered, reaching out his arm. “Please help Den. He can’t swim.”

Three feet away, Pearson drew a breath and flipped, diving toward the bottom with hearty kicks. His heart sank as he realized Charlie’s thrashing had stirred the muddy bottom. Mushrooming silt billowed toward him, impossible to see through.

His chest ached and his head pounded. Frustration swelled inside him in crushing waves.

He hadn’t been there for his family, but he was present this time. He kicked harder, driving toward the bottom.
Please God … help me save him
.

Ceddy drifted down. He kept his mouth shut and held his breath the way Daddy taught him, but he longed to cry for help. Little fish dartedpast, and he reached for them, but then he fell into a black cloud and had to close his eyes.

The stones in his other hand shifted, and one began to slip. He swiped his thumb across it and felt the pointy end of Miss Addie’s jasper.

Bloodstone. Heliotrope. Banded quartz.

He saw her sad face, wet with tears. Latching onto the escaping jasper with both hands, he let the diamond slide away.