Whisper Falls (36 page)

I gazed at Deborah with pleading eyes, hoping and praying she would intervene.

“Mama,” she said, “the little ones are happy. Leave them be. Susanna has enough to do with mending and cooking.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Pratt bent over her thread.

I nodded in gratitude at Deborah. She nodded in return. A debt repaid.

In the dining room, I slid the book under a tangled pile of torn aprons, hoisted the basket, and trudged outside.

“Susanna,” Dorcas said, falling into step beside me, “do you want me to cook dinner?”

“No, it's nearly ready.” I must treat this moment as ordinary. I must not cry.

“Have you packed pails for Papa and Jedidiah?”

“No, but soon.” It was good she had reminded me. Delivering the meals would take Deborah away from the house for a while.

Dorcas followed me into the kitchen and fetched the pails while I stowed the mending basket in the corner. With great attention, she set clean napkins in each pail.

I added buttered bread and wedges of cheese to each. They wouldn't be pleased by this paltry meal. I wouldn't be here to care. It was a welcome thought.

Dorcas frowned. “Is that all you will pack for them?”

“Would you like to add fruit?”

“I would.” She disappeared into the pantry, returned with two apples, and dropped them into the pails.

“If you cover them each with a cloth, we are done.” I kissed the top of her head and smoothed her curls. “It's kind of you to assist me. I am tired of late.”

Her head drooped against my chest. “I hate your chains. I hate Papa for putting them on you.”

The words chilled me. If she were to repeat them to anyone else, I feared for the response.

“Shh, don't say such things.”

“It's true, Susanna.”

“That sort of talk will land you in trouble.”

“Perhaps it will.” She picked up the pails and headed to the door. “I'll take these to Deborah.”

I removed the lid on a kettle of ham and vegetables. It was ready. With deliberate care, I lifted the pot onto the worktable, my movements clumsy from fatigue. I ate a buttered slice of bread as I poured mugs of cider.

There. I had finished my last chore.

Excitement gave me a burst of vigor. I retrieved my other book from the basket, left through the rear door of the kitchen, and limped toward the privy. As I shuffled along, the chain clinked in the dust of the yard, bumping between my feet. I stopped at intervals to catch my breath, weary from straining the muscles of my legs with each step.

Mark hadn't returned.

I entered the shade of the forest and jerked to a stop, my chain catching on a root. I shook it free, wincing from pain as an iron cuff dug into my raw ankle.

I looked back at the yard. Had anyone seen me bypass the privy? Would they come to investigate?

Mark and I needed fifteen minutes to reach the falls and freedom. Had I come too soon?

Why was he delayed? Would he come at all?

I shouldn't think this way. He would be here. He had promised. I edged along the path, deeper into woods. Before I had gone far, I heard the crunch of footsteps. Mark separated from the trees and slipped a green cloth sack from his back.

“Where's your stuff?”

I held up my two books.

“Anything else?”

“This is everything I need.”

He took them from me. “I'll seal them in this special bag to keep them from getting wet.” He wrapped my books and placed them in his sack, then pulled out a peculiar tool, his face grim.

“Let's get the other part over with.”

Assailed with nerves, I peered back toward the house. Nothing moved save the breeze in the treetops. Could it truly be so easy? I could simply disappear into the woods, never to return?

With an ungainly thump, I plopped onto a log and pulled up my skirts while he knelt before me. He grunted with the effort of cutting the chains. A link severed in the center.

“Your legs are free. Let me see if I can cut off the cuffs.”

As the tool clamped down, the iron cut into my raw ankles. Pain pounded like a hammer. I slapped my hands to my face, pressing the moans back in.

He glanced up, then stopped. “You look like you're going to pass out.” He disengaged the tool and slipped it into a pocket. “I'm not hurting you anymore. Let's hope the chains don't give us any more trouble.”

“I won't be able to walk fast.”

“I'll carry you, if I have to.” He stood and drew me up with him.

I clung to his arm and allowed myself to hope. I would be free. Before the hour was out, I would be free.

“Susanna?” a girl's voice said.

We turned around.

“Dorcas?” I leaned on Mark for support. “What are you doing here?”

“Susanna? Why are you here with him?” Her lower lip trembled. “What are you doing?”

The heat of shame skittered along my limbs. I had planned to leave without saying good-bye. I couldn't be sorry she had forced a different choice.

I gestured her closer and caught her hand in mine. I had to give her the truth. “I'm leaving with him.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Today?” Tears streaked down rosy cheeks. “You are running away?”

Of all the things I had ever had to do, abandoning Dorcas would be the hardest.

“Indeed. Mark is taking me to somewhere safe.”

She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Shall I see you again?”

“My new home is far away. I don't think I shall be able to return.”

She sobbed in loud, choking gasps and wrapped her arms about my waist. “Now that the time has come, I cannot bear it.”

“Oh, my sweet Dorcas,” I said, pressing her shaking form to mine. “Leaving you behind is my greatest regret. I shall miss you desperately.”

“Susanna?” Mark said with urgency.

Dorcas stared up at him, eyes big and wet.

“We must go now, dear one,” I said.

She nodded and reached up with her apron to dab the tears from my cheeks.

Mark crouched, his eyes on the same level as hers. “You can't tell anyone you've seen us.”

I considered his request and knew immediately that I had to correct him. Were Mr. Pratt to ever learn she knew of our disappearance and had kept the information from him, it wouldn't bode well for her. I couldn't leave with such a possibility on my conscience.

“No, Mark. She must tell what she knows.”

He tensed. “Why?”

“Her father will be most angry if she does not.”

“But…”

I shook my head. He backed down, his eyes darting anxiously toward the yard.

“Dorcas, I have something important for you to do. May I trust you?” At her solemn nod, I said, “You must seek your father and tell him I ran away.”

A hiccup. “No, Susanna. I shall not.”

“You must. Perhaps you should visit Mr. Foster's store first.”

“Papa wouldn't be there…” Her voice trailed away, her brow furrowed as she thought. Then she nodded slowly. “Indeed, I shall seek him at the store. And perhaps next at the meetinghouse.”

“Wise choices.” I straightened and gave her hand a squeeze. “He cannot be angry at your diligence.”

“No, he cannot.” Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She gave me one final hug and ran back to the yard.

“Susanna, let's get out of here.”

He took off. I hurried as best I could, but was unable to keep up. He stopped, linked his arm through mine, and pulled me up the incline. The chains clanked and twisted into my sores. I hissed and stopped.

“Your chains are catching on roots.” He freed them.

Several yards later, the chains caught again. Mark sighed, his face creased with dread. “We have to take off the cuffs. I'm sorry.”

The idea of pain watered my eyes. “Can you carry me?”

“Not for the entire ten minutes. I'd have to stop often. It would be cutting it close.”

As if to punctuate his words, there was a shriek in the distance.
“Mama!”

“That's Deborah. She must've ambushed Dorcas on the path to town.” My teeth chattered. Time had evaporated. Deborah would run swiftly. How long would it take for Mr. Pratt to gather a search party? “All right. Be quick.”

I sank to the base of a nearby tree and pressed my back against its trunk.

“I'm so sorry,” he said. The bolt cutters gripped a cuff.

Agony gripped my leg like a vise. I thought I was prepared, but I was not. A moan escaped my lips.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't waste your breath apologizing.” I gasped between each word.

The cuff popped open and fell to the ground. He picked it up and threw it with a vicious grunt into the woods.

“Okay. Brace yourself.”

The second one proved more difficult. It slipped away from his grasp, its edges digging into my wound each time. I bent over to retch.

“Done. Come on.”

Our progress was slow and painful. Even with the shackles gone, my legs remained stiff and sore, afraid to bend. I forced my mind to ignore the throbbing of my ankles and concentrated only on the path ahead. We had been hobbling along the trail only a few minutes when the first baying of the hounds sounded.

He groaned, his body shuddering. “Climb on my back. We need more speed.”

A slow eternity passed before we reached the clearing. The dogs grew louder with each step.

“Damn. Do they know where we're going?”

“They found me here before. They're astute enough to connect this spot to where Dorcas saw me entering the woods.”

With efficient movements, he placed me on the cliff's edge. “Can you climb down by yourself?”

Never before had the cave floor seemed so far. My legs wobbled and my head spun.

“Susanna?” he prompted in a strained voice.

“I don't think I can.”

Those freaking dogs howled, breaking free of the woods. The humans couldn't be far behind. I'd never been this scared in my life.

“I'll climb down first, then catch you.”

I leapt to the cave floor and reached up. “Now, Susanna.”

She squirmed closer to the edge.

“There she is,” a voice shouted. “By the falls.”

“Time's up, Susanna,” I yelled. “Jump.”

She slid off the ledge, banged against an outcropping of rock, and screamed in surprised pain. I scooped her into my arms, then steadied her on her feet.

“Go to the falls.”

She stared at the water, roaring from the bluff to the creek. “No, Mark.”

“Shut up and move,” I ordered. “I'm right behind you.”

In a bad dream, this type of scene would happen in slow motion. Well, damnit, we were living a bad dream. It was as if I could see each muscle contract and joint bend in her legs. I looped an arm around her back, urging her forward. It wasn't fast enough.

I would stay between her and the search party since I trusted my chances with them better than hers. I was
not
leaving Worthville again without Susanna. And we
were
leaving.

She reached the edge of the creek and wavered, mesmerized by the force of the waterfall.

“Go. It'll be all right. See, I'll throw my backpack through.” When I tossed my green backpack full of tools and books, the falls encased it in a glittery cocoon and then spat it onto a rock on the other side.

“Stop,” a voice bellowed.

We both whipped around. Mr. Pratt stood above us on the cliff.

“Stop,” he repeated. “The water will carry you away, like your father.”

She froze.

“Ignore him. You won't die like your father. Whisper Falls is on our side,” I said with urgency. “Jump.”

Mr. Pratt laughed. “Susanna, you mustn't do this mad thing. Stop now and all will be forgiven.”

“I can't step into that water.” She stared at me with big eyes. “Save yourself.”

“Not a chance. Go on.” I cupped her elbow and urged her forward. “You first.”

Behind me, rocks clattered.

“Come on, Susanna. We're going to win. But you have to move.”

She took a deep breath and then launched herself into the creek, moaning as the water boiled and foamed around her thighs.

“Don't think about the water. The falls
like
you. Trust them.”

There was a roar of rage behind us. It echoed off the cave walls. Mr. Pratt had climbed down. “Susanna, my dear, don't leave me.”

“I am nothing to you,” she yelled as she took another step. Her body disappeared under the surface.

I ran to the boulder's edge. “Susanna?”

She reappeared, still on this side. “Mark, he's right behind you.”

“Don't worry about me. Keep moving.”

A heavy hand clamped on my shoulder and jerked me back.

I went totally psycho. The air seemed to glow in shades of red, the heat of its fury making me itch to leave a mark. I spun around, fists flying, hoping to inflict whatever damage it took to bring this bastard to his knees. The punch glanced off his arm.

Mr. Pratt laughed, head thrown back.

It was like being in middle school again, trapped in the bathroom, surrounded by bullies who jeered and punched. Well, I was five years older, five years stronger, and—after seeing what he'd done to Susanna—
centuries
angrier. I threw a hook, my fist connecting with his nose.

Crunch
.

My turn to laugh. “Yeah, real funny, asshole.”

He staggered backwards, clutching his face. Blood dripped from his chin. I smiled with grim determination and landed another punch. His gasps changed to snarls and his arm flew through the air, the blow glancing off my jaw. It should've hurt, but it didn't. It just made me madder.

This guy was bigger and smarter than most middle school bullies, but I would win this fight, too. I rebalanced and came out swinging.