Sycamore Hill (38 page)

“Prudence?” I whispered softly into the darkness. Nothing.
“Prudence....” A faint sobbing sounded. “I know why you’re here. I understand.
The sheriff told me how you died.”

My eyes drifted to the rope suspended from the beam. I reached out
and fingered it. For an instant a bubble of hysteria caught in my throat. Then
I felt empty and still inside, almost as though I were already dead and the
fighting was over.

The crying had begun again, low and plaintive in the darkened
room. I knew Prudence was here with me.

“Prudence,” I whispered shakily, again reaching out to touch the
rope dangling from the beam. “I have no one either. No place to go.” The crying
softened and then stopped altogether. There was a strange hush in the room.

My eyes opened wide as I saw something across the room. It defied
description, but sent an instinctive shivering up my spine. Gasping with terror,
I jerked back, colliding hard with my desk and falling sideways.

I was frantic to escape. I rushed toward the front of the
schoolroom, bumping into desks and tripping against things in the darkness. My
breath rasped. My heart thundered. I reached the door and twisted feverishly at
the knob.

“Abigail....”

Something hit me from behind. I cried out in shock and pain. Then
blackness engulfed me.

From somewhere outside, birds were singing. My head ached
abominably, and I did not want to open my eyes. But I have to get up, I
reasoned. I was so cold, and the only way I would get warm was to get close to
the fire. As cold as I was, it must have gone out. I reached down, thinking
that I could pull the covers up more tightly. But my fingers encountered only
my nightgown and then moved to touch bare wood beside me.

Forcing my eyes open, I stared upward and saw the beamed ceiling
overhead. What was I doing in the schoolroom? I fought off the wave of
dizziness and nausea as I pushed myself up. I pressed my hand against my head.
It throbbed, and I fingered a lump encrusted with blood beneath my hair. How
had that happened?

Disoriented, I sat up completely and hung my head down to keep
from fainting. I tried to remember. Then pieces of the night before began to
return. Had I dreamed it all? I had certainly not dreamed up the lump on the
back of my head. But what about the rest? I wondered, looking around the room.
There was no rope suspended from the front beam, and everything seemed normal
except for a few desks shoved from their usual positions.

Had Prudence Townsend tried to kill me? No, that wasn’t right. I
had wanted to kill myself, and then she had come at me. Then something had hit
me from behind, and I fainted. But I had been at the front door of the
schoolhouse. My head was spinning, and I closed my eyes. Nothing made any
sense, and it hurt my head to think about it.

First things first, I thought. I’m so cold. I’ve got to get the
fire started and warm myself before I catch pneumonia.

The fire was out, and the woodbin was empty. Sighing, I dragged
myself into some clothes, pulled on stockings and shoes and started out the
back door. The sunlight hurt my eyes and sent a throbbing pain through my head.
I stood wavering at the top of the steps, holding tightly to the railing. Thank
God, James Olmstead had finally fixed the back steps, I thought. I started
down, carefully, because I was dizzy and unsteady on my feet. I should stop and
sit down. But I’m cold, my mind argued back and forth with itself. The sooner I
get the firewood, the sooner I can build the fire and get warm.

At the bottom of the steps my head was hurting so badly, I knew I
would have to sit down for a minute. But before I could, I fainted.

“Abby... Abby...” The familiar voice roused me. My eyelids
flickered and then opened. I stared up into Jordan’s taut face, meeting his
concerned gaze in confusion. “What in blazes happened to you?” he demanded
harshly. “I found you at the bottom of the steps in a dead faint.”

I still could not believe Jordan was here. I forced my eyes away
from him, afraid he would see too much in my face. The stove came into view,
and the cabinet. Orphan was meowing at the back door, demanding her morning
bowl of milk. I winced as I pushed myself up.

“Ohhh, my head,” I groaned, reaching up to press my hand against
the throbbing spot. Jordan roughly pushed my hand away and drew me forward into
a full sitting position. My hands instinctively pressed defensively against his
chest.

“I know you can’t stand having me touch you anymore,” he said in a
hard voice. “But take my word for it, I’ll be a gentleman.” I closed my eyes,
wishing my heart would stop its erratic beating. I could feel the hard muscles
of Jordan’s chest beneath my fists, and I curbed the desire to spread my fingers.

“You’ve got yourself quite a goose egg,” he commented, and I felt
warm breath against my hair. “What did you do to yourself, for God’s sake. Fall
down the stairs?” His voice was still hard and dictatorial. Bristling at his
tone, I pushed back and then wished I hadn’t. My head spun sickeningly.

“Just take it easy for a minute. I’ve got to clear the blood
away,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. It was almost my undoing. With a
damp cloth he swabbed the spot. I sensed the exact moment when his mood
changed. His hand moved from the nape of my neck to my shoulder. His touch was
subtly gentler.

“Abby....”

I had to say or do something before Jordan knew the power he had
over me. “I... I don’t feel well.”

He gave a throaty laugh. “And it’s no wonder.” His hands moved in
a lingering caress down my back. I took my hands from his chest and clenched
them tightly together.

“Please let go of me.”

Jordan stiffened slightly, and then his hands dropped away. He
remained sitting on the cot, and I could feel his eyes boring into me. Then he
got up and turned away. “How did it happen?” he asked in a curiously flat
voice.

“What?”

“The bump on your head, what else?” he said harshly, raking his
fingers back through his tawny hair and casting me an impatient glance over his
shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” I managed, thankful that he had moved away. My
senses were returning. I swung my feet from the cot.

“You’d better not stand up just yet,” he suggested. My head was
swimming again, and I gave a faint laugh.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

“Did you fall down the steps?”

“No. Something hit me last night.”

Jordan’s gaze became piercingly intent. “Last night? You’ve been
out there since last night?”

“No. In the schoolroom.”

“Then what were you doing on the back steps?”

“I woke up in the schoolroom, and I was so cold. The fire was out,
and I didn’t have any wood in the box. So I went out to get some. I guess I
fainted.”

I pressed my fingers against my temple. I heard Jordan move, and I
looked up as he stalked out the back door, slamming it behind him. I stared in
confusion, thinking he had gone away. What had I expected? For him to care?
Hadn’t I learned anything?

A moment later the door opened, and I looked up. Jordan scowled at
me. “Is your head hurting you again?”

“N-no...” I brushed the tears away quickly, averting my eyes from
his.

He dumped a load of wood in the bin and set to work on the stove.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, feeling stupid the moment the
question was uttered.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You don’t have to do that. I can...”

The look he gave silenced me. “No. I don’t, do I? I wonder why I’m
bothering.”

“Why are you then?” I asked, stung.

He exhaled sharply, but ignored my question.

When the fire was restarted, Jordan stood up and turned around. I
had been watching him, remembering what it had been like being loved by him.
There was a warm, curling sensation in the pit of my stomach, and it seemed to
be spreading. When he looked at me, I looked away defensively.

“Do you want to sit by the fire? You’ll get warm faster than
sitting at the other end of the room,” he commented dryly, his eyes coolly
enigmatic. I did not answer. Nor did I move. “I’ll stand by the door if it
makes you feel any safer.”

The bitterness of his tone made me flinch. But I stood up and moved
slowly across the room. The dizziness had lessened, and so had the throbbing. I
sat down at the table, remembering the last time he had been here and what had
happened then. My face felt warm, and I kept looking at my hands. Jordan stood
by the door, his arms crossed over his chest. I could feel him watching me, and
I knew there was no gentleness in his expression.

“You said you were hit from behind,” he prompted, and I looked up.
I thought I saw real concern for me written on his face, but his expression was
quickly shuttered.

“I guess that’s what happened. I’m not sure. I don’t know,” I
muttered.

“When did all this happen?”

“I don’t know. About one or two in the morning, I suppose.”

“What were you doing in the schoolroom at one or two in the
morning? Were you expecting a visitor?” His tone was faintly accusing, and I
looked up at him, bewildered. His expression was unreadable, but he studied my
bemused face with slow intensity, as though expecting to find something very
unpleasant there.

“You’re not making sense,” I said. His mouth softened.

“Neither are you. You’d better start at the beginning.”

Jordan could stand there so aloof, while I sat here knowing I
carried his illegitimate, unborn child. He was asking that I confide in him
even though he cared nothing for me other than as someone he had taken for a
few ecstatic moments on a hillside above the river. I shook my head. “No. I
don’t want to talk about it with you,” I said hoarsely. “You’d never believe me
anyway.”

“Why don’t you try me?” There was something in his voice that made
me want very much to trust him. I swallowed convulsively, wondering why he had
come here and wishing that he had not.

“Just go away. You’d never believe me.”

“Abby, give me a chance.” He moved away from the door to stand in
front of the table. His closeness did awesome things to my insides. I had to
say something; so I blurted everything out at once in a tense question.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I saw Prudence Townsend
in the schoolroom last night?” I asked, attempting a self-deprecating smile
that failed dismally.

He looked at me, and his mouth tilted up gently at one side.

“Before or after you hit your head?”

I knew he was only teasing me, but too much had happened recently
for me to appreciate his humor or the reason behind it. Tears burned as I
glared up at him. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me! I should have kept it to
myself! You love making fun of me. I should have learned a long time ago how
much you enjoy laughing at me. Why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?!”

“Abby....” he shook my shoulder.

A sob escaped, and I clamped my jaws shut, speaking through my
teeth. “Go away.”

“You can’t seriously believe there’s a ghost here, can you?” he
asked rationally. I started to laugh, a high-pitched sound that stopped as an
agonizing pain shot through my head.

“We’d better get you to Doc Kirk,” Jordan decided, putting a hand
beneath my elbow. I thought of the baby I was carrying, and my eyes opened
wide. That’s all I would need! The doctor learning of my condition, and word
spreading like wildfire through town.

“No!” I jerked my arm away. “I won’t go to the doctor!”

“Don’t be a fool! You’ve probably got a concussion. It’s nothing
to fool around with.”

I took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m all right. It’s just a little
bump on the head,” I said.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jordan muttered in frustration.

I put my head in my hands. “Just go away, Jordan. Just please, go
away and leave me alone.”

There was silence for a moment, and then his fingers pressed
comfortingly on my shoulder before dropping away. He came back around in front
of me. Leaning down, he put his hands on the table. “You were saying about
Prudence Townsend,” he prompted again. I shook my head slowly. “Tell me, Abby.
I’m not going to laugh at you.”

“Not out loud maybe,” I muttered bitterly.

“Abby.”

I looked up at him. “She’s here! She is!” He did not say anything,
and I searched his face. “I saw her, Jordan.”

He straightened. “Then we’ll go from there.” He gave me a slow
smile. “Would you mind terribly if I sat down?”

I sighed. “There’s a chair just inside the schoolroom door.” When
he was seated, I felt frozen with tension. I was afraid to look at him again,
sure that he would see how much I loved him. I wondered what he would say and
how he would look if I blurted out that I was carrying his baby. But I would
never suffer that humiliation.

“Start at the beginning,” Jordan urged.